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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years ago

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

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Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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destielfanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Group Ask #178, part 2

Relevant links to find lost fic

previous group asks

spnstoryfinders

Guide to Finding Fic

Guide to Finding Lost Fic

Ask #10 ( @cactusphillie ): there’s this fic…#10

hi is there a fic where mary works/owns a daycare and i think cas was the single parent but his kid is autistic maybe? and dean gets them to say their first word or am i crazy? i’ve read something like that before but i can’t for the life of me remember it

Found by @anupalya:

Start of Something Good by tricia_16 [NC-17, 184,000 word count]

Dean Winchester is introduced to his new neighbor, Castiel, and his daughter, Claire, in an unexpected way. When an unlikely connection forms between Dean and Claire it also helps to push Castiel and Dean closer together. But Castiel has been hurt badly in the past and it's up to Dean to prove to Castiel that he can be trusted with both his daughter and his heart, even when outside sources try to make Castiel believe differently...

Ask #11 ( @gerard-wee): there’s this fic…#11

Hi, uh, do you think you could help me find a fic? it's a destiel highschool au, and cas is sort of a druggie/tortured artist. R U Mine by Arctic monkeys gets brought up a lot in it, and its a really beautiful story. (castiel also wears a ton of ugly sweaters) i tried using your search engine to find it, but to no avail....

Found by @pomegranatedaffodil and @sunshinegukkie: Get Inside My Soul by angelivenantium (submitted rec)

Ask #12 ( @awkwardpotatonk ): there’s this fic…#12

Hey,I’ve been looking for specific destielfic a while ago I was wondering if you could help mefinding it.It’s about OmegaCastiel and AlphaDean.He andhis AlphaBrother Sam hunt badpeople who neverbeen arrested or caught.Cas life isboring.One day Cas decides to take a shortcut through thewoods to go to college orwork andbumps intoDean who is covered inblood.He tries to run but deanknocks him out cause hepanicked.They had Cas handcuffed in a motelbathroom and took himwith them cause heknew too much

Found by @anupalya

Lonicera by zation [NC-17, 46,000 word count]

Original prompt: dean and Sam are serial killers and they for some reason kidnap Cas and Sam wants to kill him but dean wants to keep him and while Cas is their captive he learns they aren't really the bad guys and they kill only people who have managed to escape justice and prison time. So over time Cas falls in love with dean and stops trying to get away from the brothers. Until he's rescued and the brothers are incarcerated then he has to save them while everybody thinks he's crazy. Bonus if Cas is a teenager like 17-19 also bonus if it's abo universe, if you do the abo I would prefer alpha dean omega Cas and maybe some mpreg Or,The one where destiny had a discussion with faith and they decided to have some fun, much to Dean and Cas’ chagrin.

Ask #13 ( @anupalya): there’s this fic…#13

Hello! I can't get a fic out of my head, but can't remember its name, and i can't find it by searching (so far). It's an AU, where already-friends Dean and Cas are dating (according to Dean) but Dean never said the words "will you go out with me," so Cas thinks they're just hanging out. One day they're with their friends at a bar and someone dares Cas to ask someone out, and Cas says he'll do it. Dean feels betrayed and leaves, crying, and Cas chases after him, and they sort it out.

Found by @anupalya: Taking It Slow by FagurFiskur [Gen, 1,500 word count]

After years of thinking about it and trying not to think about it, of endless ‘what-if’s and ‘almost’s and ‘if-only’s, Dean finally bites the bullet and asks Cas out on a date.

Ask #14 ( @holisticfansstuff): there’s this fic…#14

Hi. I love your blog! I was looking for a specific destiel fic featuring MoC! Dean and Cas in the bunker. Dean slams Cas into a wall. Castiel's face is unreadable. Dean feels Castiel's heart flying fast beneath his fingers. Castiel is *terrified* of him. I'm not sure if this fic has been deleted. I remember reading it on either Tumblr or ao3. I looked through the MoC! Dean tag but couldn't find it. If you find it anywhere, please let me know ? It was really incredibly well written

Ask 15 ( @runawaymarbles): there’s this fic…#15

Do you guys remember the name of the fic where angel trueforms were actually dragons? (It might have been the one where Cas spends the first 20 or so chapters dead while Dean assumes he's going to come back to life, but I'm not positive.)

Found by @heidi-reads-them-all: Into the Fire by NorthernSparrow [M, 259,000 word count] Dean accidentally kills Castiel, and is tormented by grief and guilt afterwards. Dean becomes convinced Cas still exists somehow, and that he will be resurrected; Sam’s not so sure, but is determined to help his grief-stricken brother recover. Meanwhile the Darkness is eating away at Creation, and soon both brothers realize they may have to embark on their longest and strangest journey yet. This time they might not come back. Will they have to fight their last battle without Castiel?

Ask #16 ( @fruitshreddies ): there’s this fic…#16

This is gonna be such a far fetch but I read a fic literally years ago that had a few parts to it. I remember shit like Cas didn't get on with his family and he and Dean lived together with Sam and Cas dyed his hair blue impulsively once and Dean loved it and loved it every time it faded to green and Cas redyed it. One of the parts was them visiting Cas' family but Dean got in a fight (continued in new ask) ...Cas gets quite severe anxiety at one point and uses weed to cope with it and Dean loves him and Cas gets worried the house smells like weed when they're adopted kid comes home for the first tim. Anyone know a name from tjay garbage please??? Hahah

Found by @anupalya : Rock ‘n’ Roll Queer Bar by ChasingRabbits (submitted rec)

If any of our followers have anything to suggest, drop it in our ask box (mention which ask you are talking about by number or bolded title). Our anon is switched off for good, if you know the lost fic but don’t want your url to appear on this list, let us know and we will call you an anon! If you don’t see your ask here, it is because we have quite a few in the inbox. Thanks!!

~ Hey guys, sorry for delay! This summer was incredibly busy for both mods and lost fic Group Ask was left unattended. We did answer privately when we knew the answer, so, these are all the rest. ~

#Group asks #asks #there's this fic #there's this fic...

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whiskynottea · 6 years ago

Photo

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics.

Previously, Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38

AO3

@theministerskat, once more, thank you love, for beta-ing this story! ❤️

Chapter 39. The Exams

Biology.

Cell structure and genetics, homeostasis and synaptic neurotransmission. My first exam, just a week after Jamie’s birthday. A week after that perfect evening; the last time I removed school completely from my thoughts, free of the impending challenge of the exams that would shape my life.

Murtagh had disappeared after we cut the cake – supposedly to leave us alone, although we knew exactly where he was going – and the four of us had decided to make popcorn and watch old Disney movies, to keep the child in Jamie alive.

As if he wasn’t a child already, blowing out his candles with such wonder and fervor, as if a whole new world had opened in front of him.

Ian had declared that one of the movies we had to watch was Finding Nemo, since it had become our party’s unofficial theme. Jenny and I picked Hercules, already giggling over the lines of Hades and the Muses’ songs. Perched on the two couches of the living room – Jamie had stated we were to have the largest one because it was his birthday – we’d sang, laughed, and recited almost all the dialogue of each movie. When Murtagh had come back – whistling a happy tune that made the smiles on our faces broader – I’d given Jamie the longest goodnight kiss in the history of the world and went to sleep in Jenny’s room. After approximately two hours of talking and giggling, Jenny and I had eventually fallen asleep, smiling, celebrating our victory over Jamie’s grief, with his full, belly laughs still echoing in our ears.

When I left their apartment the next morning, I tried to memorize the feel of Jamie’s arms around my body, the softness of his lips, warm and inviting on mine.

We saw each other much less over the following month, and even though we had both agreed that this was the best strategy to follow, it still seemed like the stupidest idea we’d ever had. But we had a goal and we had to achieve it.

Not that many miles south of Edinburgh, lay our future.

Oxford.

Every time I was ready to give in and call Jamie to meet me for a walk, I refocused my mind on that single word, imagining us both strolling around in that fairytale city, hands linked, feet feeling the uneven cobblestones under our shoes. My life was already divided into the pre- and post-Oxford era, and that was enough motivation to make my eyes and my thoughts return to the notes laid out on my desk.

I just had to excel in my exams.

I had been planning, studying, and preparing for more than a year, and it felt surreal that the time of the exams had finally come. I was trying to remain calm, to remind myself that I was ready, that I had done the best I could. It was the truth, after all. Since the beginning of the year I had gone over the content of my subjects more times than I could count. I had even organized my time during the exams; what questions I’d approach first, what I’d leave for the end.

But I knew that my textbooks wouldn’t be enough this time. There was always something more to learn, some new information I could fit in with the knowledge I already acquired. Something that would make a difference, that would demonstrate how hard I had worked, how serious I was about my choice.

When I’d read everything I thought would be relevant, I started watching YouTube videos and reading scientific papers. It was then that Lamb started teasing me, saying if I’d continue like I was I could just skip going to medical school altogether.

Lamb, who kept saying it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I failed my exams, that life always offers new possibilities, some of which I probably never fathomed beforehand.

I couldn’t even listen to him talking about failure, about a future different from what I’d dreamed of. I wouldn’t let that happen.

But… What if I had missed something important? What if I hadn’t paid attention to a significant detail?

“Will ye stop before ye go completely crazy, Sassenach?” Jamie asked me when I voiced my thoughts. “Ye ken everything! Ye’ll do great tomorrow!”

I sighed dramatically and he pressed me tight against his body with a strong arm around my shoulders. I pulled his face down towards me for a kiss, to drink in some of his optimism, to feel the auburn locks cold between my fingers and his lips warm on mine. He had come straight from the swimming pool and had almost dragged me out of my house to prevent me from going through the previous years’ exams one last time.

“Just for a wee walk, Sassenach,” he’d said. “To decompress before the big day.”

It was impossible to say no to Jamie, so I’d tried to silence the little voices in my head, crying that I should stay at home and study, instead of walking around Edinburgh the night before the exams.

“Ye wee nerd,” Jamie said, when I told him I felt bad for going out. I huffed and I nudged him on the ribs, pulling away from him.

“I’m not a nerd!” I protested, in a voice that was more high-pitched than I’d have liked.

He kept silent but raised an eyebrow, while I could plainly see the corner of his mouth curling up in a suggestive smile.

“I’m not!” I repeated, and then crossed my hands across the front of my chest, pouting. Seeing that he still hadn’t said a word, I relented. “Okay, maybe just a bit.”

That made him chuckle. “Come here, my nerd,” he said, curling his index finger repeatedly in a come hither way, broadly grinning.

“Your nerd…” I murmured, thinking, but didn’t move towards him. “So that makes you my jock?”

“I’m not a jock!” he said in a nasal voice, and I could hardly contain my giggle. Following his lead though, I just shrugged and looked at him. “We’re not playing in a rom-com,” he continued, defiant. “First of all, you weren’t secretly in love with me from the beginning.”

I wanted to cackle, but I did my best for a serious voice instead. “No, I wasn’t.” It was a lost battle, trying to keep a straight face, and I knew it, but continued nonetheless. “I could never fall in love with you, the swoon-worthy swimmer... All muscle and no brain… No, not a chance.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at me and pursed his lips, as if deciding what was the best way to take revenge. “Like that, is it, Sassenach?”

“Mmm, you were sae repulsive, ye ken.” I tried my best to mimic his accent and burst out laughing.

“Ye’re dead, Sassenach,” he said and came towards me with long strides. I ran. He ran, too, and I hadn’t even reached the next block when he caught up with me, capturing me in his arms.

I was dead. I was sure my heart would stop beating at any moment, overwhelmed by a euphoric feeling that made happiness seem trivial.

“You do know I wanted you from the very beginning,” I whispered to him, my breath brushing against his lips. “Jock.”

“And I, you,” he said, his voice utterly sweet, and swallowed my sigh with his kiss. “Nerd.”

The next day I sprang out of bed listening to my alarm clock, with blurry images of cell membranes still fogging my thoughts. I had dreamed of the exams, again.

I took a deep breath and checked my phone, finding a text from Jamie.

Scot: Show them how it’s done, Sassenach.

Scot: ILY ❤️❤️

He had set his alarm clock just to text me.

Sassenach: ILY TOO! 😘

I couldn’t imagine a better way to start my day.

An hour and a half later, I was at school, sitting at my desk, waiting for the paper. The moments before we were handed the exams were the worst. I had quickly found that looking around while waiting was the worst thing to do, so I focused on my desk instead, feeling the smooth surface beneath my fingertips. I fidgeted with one of my two pens, swirling it around and running my nail over the carved letters, to hear the reassuring scratching sound of their resistance. Not having much more to do, I took deep breaths, waiting.

The room was quiet, but there was a tension hanging low over our heads, filled with dreams and opportunities, stress and hope. It felt so heavy and real, that I was afraid I would accidentally breathe it in and it would close my throat, linger in my trachea, to end up in my lungs and keep the oxygen out. The atmosphere was thick with apprehension, and we could almost capture it between our fingers. The same fingers that minutes later, gripped the pens and started writing.

The moment the paper was in front of me everything around me disappeared. It was me versus myself – my favorite competition. My brain was on the verge of being burned with overthinking, my hand hurt from holding the pen too tight, but I continued to write the answers. I knew them all.

I almost danced in the middle of the street when I met Jamie later, success making me deliriously happy. Jamie had one more week before his English exam, which was his favorite subject, and the only one he wouldn’t need in his application for a business management bachelor’s degree. He wasn’t anxious at all, the bloody Scot, and I couldn’t understand how he did it.

Not anxious about the exams, that is. Because every day I watched him become more and more worried about the Scottish National Championship. It seemed absurd to me that he would care that much about swimming, right in the middle of the exams. Especially after all our work, to make his grades in math descent again. “You do realize that you have to finish the exams first, right? That we have more than two months until you’ll swim at the Nationals?”

“Aye, Sassenach. I do.” His voice was rigid, and it made me feel like a mother scolding her child. “Ye dinna trust me now?” he asked, and I kept silent, guilty, because the thought that he overestimated his preparation for the exams had crossed my mind more than once. Jamie exhaled loudly and took my face in his hands. “Claire,” he said, “I do study and I will get the grades I need. I’m no’ a fool.”

His eyes were so serious and sincere that I couldn’t but nod in agreement. Jamie kissed my forehead and pulled me in for a tight hug. “Tis just…” he started, but trailed off.

“What?” I mumbled, and nuzzled against his neck, breathing him.

“I think it’s more difficult to win the National Championship than it is to write an A+ in math and business management. My personal best needs so much improvement.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed with the statement, but I decided to trust him. “I know you’ll make it,” I said, and kissed the hollow between his clavicles, that little part of him I had declared mine, months ago.

It’s sometimes difficult to realize, incomprehensible almost, how things you’ve been waiting for so long come to pass, like fast breaths taken after a long run. And the air I breathed in, leaving the testing hall for the last time, had the taste of accomplishment.

Math was our last exam. When I saw Jamie waiting for me with his red curls falling over his forehead totally disheveled from all the times he ran his hands through them, my heart stopped. But then I saw the huge smile on his face, and it told me everything I needed to know.

We had more than a month before the results would be announced, but we had done well. We had made it.

Oxford was waiting for us.

I walked towards him, grinning, and I felt like flowing above the shiny floor, my feet inches away from the surface.The moment I came to stand in front of him, Jamie hugged me tight, lifted me up in the air, and asked me if I would be his date at the prom.

“We’re going to the prom?” I asked, uncertain.This was the last thing I expected to hear at that moment.

“Aye! Of course we are! So, will ye be my date, Sassenach?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” I replied, teasing him. “This is really on short notice, and I might have plans for that night.”

Jamie shook his head, lowered me to the ground and bent his head to kiss me. “Cancel yer plans, mo ghraidh. Ye’ll be all mine that night.”

Chapter 40

#thermodynamics #The first law of thermodynamics #high school au #jamie x claire #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction

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optionalmandatory · 3 years ago

Text

M’s class requested, and the teachers agreed to, a class-wide, ongoing game of Murder which just recently witnessed its very last victim. The children all knew how to play Murder already, apparently from previous experience. It goes as follows: everyone draws a card with the name of a classmate and another card with the name of an object commonly found in the classroom (e.g., ruler, notebook, atlas): these are their victim and weapon. The victim is successfully murdered when they grasp the relevant weapon, when handed to them by someone else. (Not totally clear if both people have to be grasping it at the same time.)

So, if I have your name card and a “ruler” weapon card, I try to get you to accept a ruler from me and wham! you’re murdered. If I manage to murder you, I inherit your name and weapon cards. This can lead to some funny situations, like when Johnny and M coincidentally drew each other as victims. Johnny (being more familiar with the game) promptly murdered M and inherited his cards — that is, Johnny-with-a-ruler. In principle Johnny could render himself immortal simply by keeping secret the weapon that would murder him but turned out to not be quite up to that task. As it happened, someone was showing someone else a cool ruler he had acquired and Johnny got so excited that he interloped himself and grabbed the cool ruler without thinking, and having made it known that rulers were his kryptonite, he accidentally killed himself.

The thing to note about this game, from our perspective, is that, until the last person succumbed this past week, this was a teacher-approved, full-class activity that has been going on — during all school hours — since early February.

Perhaps completely unrelatedly, we got an email today saying that the class has been a bit unruly. Unruliness has been discussed in Klassenrat several times—Klassenrat being class assembly/council, held weekly, to discuss whatever problems whoever wants to bring up. (Klassenrat is kind of fascinating in the sense that it seems to actually be a place where people can raise issues and have them discussed and addressed by the group. Eg, I. was having a problem with his hat being thrown around and a wee bit of bully-like behavior, dropped a note about it into the Klassenrat drop box, had it discussed and addressed by the group, and … that was it. The unpleasant behavior stopped and now he’s in a friend group with the person he complained about.)

Previous discussions of unruliness in M’s class had yielded a system by which people chided for unruliness three times would have to complete some task assigned by the other children (washing all the tables, baking a cake for the class), but this has proved ineffective. This time, the children decided that anyone who was unduly unruly three times in a row should have their parents notified. On the other hand, when they behave particularly well the children collect a token for the class, and with enough tokens they get a special treat. Next week, for instance, they are going to in-the-dark mini-golf. Yes, we also have questions. But when do we not?

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literarystudies · 7 years ago

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8 May 2018 | 44/50 Days of Productivity

It’s nice and overcast today but I did catch a brief ray of sun shining into my room this morning. I’ve been rereading some chapters from Bertrand Russell’s A History of Western Philosophy and it’s interesting to see how much my perspective has changed since I read this last year in August-ish. It might be because I’ve spent the past year only studying the Greeks but it seems to me that Russell dismisses a lot of them (perhaps even the whole lot of them) far too quickly. I haven’t read the second two sections and I wonder if it won’t be much the same. A more accurate title might be A (Fairly Condescending) History of Philosophers as Their Work Relates to The Scientific Method. Jokes aside, I think it is helpful to keep this in mind when reading this book. He writes incredibly well and he’s a brilliant philosopher. Very easy to read and very witty. He explains complex ideas lucidly (albeit sometimes, in my view, incorrectly or with considerable bias) and of course the scope of the book is impressive.

I’d definitely recommend this to anyone interested in philosophy, though probably not to a beginner - or at least, if this is the book you read as an introduction to philosophy, consider supplementing it with other overviews, histories, and introductions. Maybe The Passion of the Western Mind or just read through relevant essays here and here.

Has this accidentally turned into a wee book review? Am I 100% procrastinating studying? Find out on the next episode of Simi Tries To Be Productive!

#studyblr #50dop #100 days of productivity #analytic philosophy #logical positivism #mine #philoblr #Bertrand Russell #bed #book #minimal #minimalist #sunlight #home

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firstfootingscotland · 5 years ago

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Bogha-frois Conversations: Joseph Peach

Early this year during Glasgow’s Celtic Connections Festival I had the pleasure of joining a host of incredible LGBT+ artists for a performance and a panel around the theme of Bogha-frois: LGBT+ Voices in Folk. A brainchild of Pedro Cameron (Man of the Minch), Bogha-frois began as a workshop at the Scottish Storytelling Centre and takes its name from the Gaelic word for “rainbow.” The energy around Bogha-frois has enacted a metamorphosis - far beyond a standalone workshop, panel, or critically-acclaimed gig, Bogha-frois is a movement celebrating gender and sexual diversity within traditional and folk music, song, and dance in Scotland. Following the events in Glasgow, I wanted to continue these conversations and proposed a series of monthly blog posts. It’s hope this series will be a place for dialogue around the intersections of traditional arts, identity, and each artists’ path as a LGBT+ person. Our final Bogha-frois conversationalist is Joseph Peach!

Tell me a story... what was a moment when you felt both your identity as a traditional musician and your identity as a LGBTQIA+ person were in focus? (1)

This is such a rare thing, so far at least. Until very recently, I haven't really seen even that a meeting of these two aspects of myself might be necessary, or indeed possible. The Bogha-frois gig at Celtic Connections was certainly one of these times though, it was an amazing and beautiful celebration. I was really surprised by how profoundly moving it felt to be part of a big group of LGBTQIA+ folkies playing music together, and for this aspect of our identities to be what had brought us there. Thinking about it, music- traditional music in particular, has so far been the biggest factor in making my identity, far more than the fact of being an LGBTQIA+ person. I think that's for a couple of reasons. I've been playing music since before I can remember, but I've only been aware and accepted that I was gay for a comparatively short amount of time. I've found understanding and reconciling this fact to be a process that is much more complex, and definitely still ongoing. To me, being a musician is everything: It's a passion, art, creating, a purpose in life, and way of life. If it was only a job, I'd be doing something else like practicing law, and being paid far more to work far more regular hours. More than ever before, the past few years have been a time of discovery creatively; finding worlds of artists and work to listen to, read, see and watch; things to admire, and be moved and inspired by. They have also been a time of doing more learning, playing, and making music. And what I’m really starting to understand, from work that inspire me, and the work that I make, is that for this whole notion of doing something like this only works if everything feeds in quite unfiltered. In a very roundabout way, I guess what I'm trying to say is that as getting comfy with the LGBTQIA+ aspect of myself continues, that of course there needs to be much more space and consideration for these two identities overlap.

How do you identify? What are the pronouns, descriptors or other words you like to use, if any, to describe yourself in regard to your LGBTQIA+ status.

I'm a (mostly) gay, cisgendered man I suppose, and the pronouns I use are he/him/his.

(photo of Joseph Peach by Somhairle MacDonald)

Talk about your perceptions of LGBTQIA+ identity (both yours and others) within your experience playing traditional music in Scotland.

Perception, especially self-perception is something I find very hard. I'm prone to being quite negative in how I see myself, and massively overthinking (usually in a negative way) my own notion of how other people see me- as a musician, person, and everything else. This is probably going to be a bit of a left field (and very long) answer, but relevant I think. It’s quite telling that when first reading the question that my mind immediately went towards anxiety. I think that for me, so much of what causes and triggers anxiety is to do with being a musician, and being gay. So, the musician thing. To me it is such a deeply personal thing, playing an instrument. How and why you do it is something wrapped up in the very fabric of you. And the nature of doing it for a living is one of always putting yourself out there- putting this really personal thing in all sorts of situations where people can hear and judge it. This is a bit terrifying sometimes, and it becomes a challenge not to be totally overwhelmed by the swirling thoughts that come with thinking about it too much- mainly that I’m doing a shit job, and that the people around me can see and hear that. This can present a major problem, but thankfully not all of the time. One of the things I love the most about the bands and collaborators with which I’m most regularly and seriously involved, are the levels of friendship, support, understanding, and trust which make these emotions fade in to the background, and make the space to focus on the things that are actually important. It’s all a question of perspective about perception I think, and there’s a real challenge in that.

And the gay thing. To my knowledge, there’s never been a better time to be LGBTQIA+, and arguably, in terms of rights, protection, and legislation, you’d struggle to find a better place than Scotland. Sadly, you don't have to look too far, to see very present, worrying and heartbreaking examples where being LGBTQIA+ is literally a threat to your life. So I’m extremely lucky to be where I am, when I am. In the great scheme of things though this comfort and protection is a very recent thing. Even in this progressive country we’re emerging from centuries of this sort of otherness being feared and abhorred- an abomination and illegal; something society said to be ashamed of. Thankfully, for all sorts of reasons that I really don’t know enough about, it feels that as society we’re moving away from this pretty quickly, and have been for a while. But certainly when I was growing up (and I’m sure being from a small rural place is part of it), I always had the impression that being some form of LGBTQIA+, (probably not described in such sympathetic terms) was something to be ashamed of. I was told that, saw it in the complete absence of any such people in the community, and heard it in the way such folk were talked about. Of course it’s a problem far bigger than that specific place. A problem it’s hard to see an end to until we stop raising children to expect that they’ll be straight and cisgendered.

I’m really interested in the Suzuki method. Much of it is based on the notion that it is possible to learn music in the same deeply natural way one learns their native language- by immersion, observation and impersonation. And it's so true- we do learn our first language like this. As a child, you become an expert in speaking your language through this deep and unconscious process. By this same principle, I managed to pick up a whole bunch of shame about being gay. My teenage years were spent agonizing about it, resenting it, and feeling quite isolated because of it; worrying about how others would see me, and tying myself in knots about how I saw myself. These things are ongoing I suppose- it's a lot to unlearn. The understanding and perspective that time and learning brings are hugely helpful, but working on my perception of myself in this way is definitely also still a work in progress.

vimeo

(trailer for Joseph’s forthcoming record Air Iomall with fiddler Charlie Grey made in collaboration with filmmaker Hamish Macleod)

In what ways do you feel your identity as a LGBTQIA+ person and a traditional musician intersect, overlap, engage?

I’m really attracted to music that's quite absolute, just existing to be a wee world of its own, on its own terms, and that makes you go fuck, that’s amazing as an entity in its own right, not as an abstraction of something else. To me that’s lots of piano music, classical things, electronic things, and of course, much of traditional music.

My attitude until quite recently has been that it'd be hard to make any sort of explicit overlap between this sort of music and anything LGBTQIA+. If it is just music for its own sake, how can you make it queer, straight, or anything else for that matter? This is maybe the wrong way of looking at it though- if everything feeds in to music in some way, so being LGBTQIA+ must, even in small ways.

One place this is maybe quite concretely the case is in how I speak and move. It’s an idea that’s crossed my mind quite recently, when I was watching back a film that involves a lot of chat. I don’t often hear myself speak outside of my own head, so watching I was quite struck by how my voice sounded- it was quite camp. I don't mean that negatively- camp as an insult is bullshit from a toxic notion of heteronormative masculinity.

And I notice it too when I see myself playing the piano, the same sort of campness. Granted, I think being quite anxious can make me pretty hyper-aware, so maybe it's not so obvious to other folk. But playing music is a physical thing, so it’s maybe actually really nice that there are ways using my body to do that, or my voice to speak about it that come from an LGBTQIA+ identity. Noticing and valuing these small things already feels like something quite profound.

Talk about your experience connecting with other LGBTQIA+ folks both inside and outside the traditional arts.

I'm extremely lucky in the community around me in Glasgow- I feel very part of something musically and socially. For me, connecting with LGBTQIA+ people is never something I've really consciously sought out- as with everyone else, it just happens over the course of day to day life. Other than accidentally ending up at Pride in Vienna a few years ago, and deliberately going to the Glasgow one once, the Bogha-frois gig was the only time really I’ve been involved in a gathering centered around LGBTQIA+ identity, and certainly a first time it’s been about music. And there was something unexpectedly and completely amazing about that.

If you’re comfortable sharing, talk about any incidents of homophobia or transphobia that you’ve witnessed both inside and outside the traditional arts.

I've been very lucky, sheltered, or possibly both in how little of this I’ve experienced, to my face at least. Within the scene within which I live and work, it's barely ever more than some off-colour jokes. When I was young, I think there was a lot of homophobic language, in school and in the community in which I lived- again this rarely amounted to more than off-colour jokes, but sometimes you’d know the sentiment was serious.

In all honesty, the worst homophobia I've experienced was probably levelled at me by me, during the younger years of coming to terms with my sexuality. That feels like quite a drastic thing to write, and when I think back to that time my inclination is to downplay it, but this is definitely no overstatement.

How do you see the traditional arts changing in regard to LGBTQIA+ people? What are the further changes you would like to see?

Malin Lewis said something really interesting in their answer to this question, about a link between some of what we’re talking about here, and the much needed discussion around women in traditional music that's been a big topic in trad scene over the past couple of years. My mind was really blown when the conversation started a couple of years ago. I had so little idea of the privilege I was enjoying in comparison to my female counterparts. It was quite an eye opener in a much wider way towards the workings of privilege in the world around us. It's kind of everywhere- systemic and entrenched societally, but also very individual- on the scales of privilege and disadvantage we all win and lose in different ways. It's a bit of a fucked situation, and I don’t know what the answer is, but what I don't think helps is denial. I think the most useful thing, for our own folky world, but also in the widest possible way, is simply acknowledging the privileges you have, being aware that they might be what allows you to occupy your space, and that they might well create a barrier that prevents other folk from also occupying that space.

You can learn more about Joseph and his music at www.joseph-peach.com.

First Footing is a collaboration between dancer and dance researcher Nic Gareiss, the Traditional Dance Forum of Scotland, University of Edinburgh Moray House School of Education, and the School of Scottish Studies with support from Creative Scotland. For engagement opportunities check out the First Footing website.

(1) Following methodology developed by Fiona Buckland in her book Impossible Dance: Club Culture and Queer World-making, I began each conversation asking artists to tell me a story. This, Buckland reminds us, redistributes significance to the voice of the artist, rather than the anthropologist/researcher/interviewer. In Buckland’s words, “the meanings they made from the practices are more crucial than whatever meaning I impose with the theoretical tools in my standard issue doctoral utility belt.” (Buckland 2002, p. 11) This feels incredibly important when collaborating with folks whose voices have so often been underheard or marginalized.

#joseph peach #bogha-frois #lgbtq #lgbtqia #queer #piano #accordian #scotland #scottish traditional music #gaelic #charlie grey #rainbow #fiona buckland #trad #fiddle

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randomnameless · 7 years ago

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okay! that's fine!!! i was thinking, shouldnt julia or seliph at least inherit MINOR loptyr blood? unless both julius and julia inherited minor fala, which would leave seliph to inherit minor loptyr blood or saias to inherit minor loptyr blood (from deirdre or arvis respectively) i'm thinking that,, and then i go on the wikia and see that they consider alm and celica to have duma and mila holy blood (whether minor or major, idk) and also list rudolf! in that perspective, wouldnt (1/2)

berkut have duma holy blood and conrad have mila holy blood? since rudolf is listed there, it should be inherited through the royals, which would mean conrad (being celica’s bro) would inherit mila blood, and berkut (being the son of rudolf’s sibling) would inherit duma blood and yet… they dont list either of them. im sorry if this didnt make much sense! the holy blood mechanic is,,, very interesting to me and special interest-y so im trying to make as much sense of it as possible (2/2)

wee - sorry for the late reply!

For the Jugdral people,

Well I think the “only two HB” rule is part gameplay, part lore. At least I hope so, lore-wise, else too many “accidental” major blooded people could happen at the same time and it’d be catastrophic - i mean imagine Azel!Tine’s kid with Lewyn!Ced, kid’d have, idk, major Forseti, minor Fala and minor Tordo. If it hooks up with Julia’s kid, you have the possibility of getting a major Vala when Saias’ kid - if it exists - might already be there. But hey, if the Tine’s kid hooks up with Linda’s kid, that makes a major Tordo! Even if, say, Arthur had to breed with Linda to get a Major Tordo to begin with. See?

(and, more important, a loptyr full blooded random could happen way too easily which is a thing everyone wants to avoid, on that note it’s more of a personal hc of mine but i’m sure Saias has minor loptyr blood).

But maybe it’d work because Jugdral is a shitty place to live in and whatever can ruin the continent, even ultra minor blood!

OTOH, maybe it’s hc but I think a major blooded guy will “always” pass on his HB to his kids (in the form of minor and major) but a minor blooded guy can see his HB disappear in his kids (like Scorpio). But then it raises the issue of Lewyn’s uncles and here… i don’t know.

I don’t know how it is decided that someone will inherit a minor blood or another, but i think it’s important - at least FE5 wise where blood doesn’t make you evil it’s what you do that makes you an evil or good guy - to note that Seliph could have been Julia with major naga or got some minor loptyr from his mom and be naga less. From all the talks about “destiny” and crap F!Lewyn gives us, it was, imo, actually a coincidence that Seliph turned out to have the HB he has and not some kind of destined BS.

About Valentia,

Well, I haven’t checked about Rudolf (nor the wiki) but I’m sure it was stated somewhere that Lima was a descendant of Mila or something like that. Just like @the-banished-one pointed out, I don’t think it’s relevant to the plot because, iirc, the brands are something that appear because of, this time, a prophecy/destiny something like that, not because of HB or not. Maybe having Mila/Duma’s blood is something important regarding to inheriting the throne/skills/entering the Duma vault/using the royal sword but it has no meaning in regards to the brands that marked the “saviors of Valencia”.

Or Maybe Celica’s Brave Zofia is a kind of Holy Weapon because it enables her to use the ultimate Ragnarok - but Conrad can’t? And it is more tied with the “prophetical brand” than with Mila’s HB, or something...

So in short, I think Valencia has HB but the brands came from the “prophecy”, whatever that is supposed to be. And the HB doesn’t do a thing save for letting you use some weapons but even then some are reserved to the brand bearers.

#holy blood anon #late reply #very late #replies #Anonymous #speculating about HB is funny #but i guess each world has different rules #and the Valencia brands aren't from HB #i still don't understand the thing with the prophecy #only HB people could have been marked or Clive could have been too?#who knows?

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filmnoirfoundation · 8 years ago

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Posters from the films playing during NOIR CITY 15′s closing weekend at the Castro Theatre. www.NoirCity.com

NOIR CITY 15

January 20-29, 2017

Castro Theatre

Friday, January 27, 2017

BLUE COLLAR

7:15 PM

Schrader's directorial debut is one of the most politically savvy films of the 1970s—if not ever. Three Detroit autoworkers—Richard Pryor, Harvey Keitel, and Yaphet Kotto—are so fed up with their jobs they decide to rip off the safe in their own union office. When the robbery doesn't go quite as planned, solidarity is only the first casualty. Pryor is, of course, funny as hell—but he also gives his finest dramatic performance in this seething film that remains as timely and relevant as ever. Presented in 35mm

USA, 1978. Universal Pictures. 114 min. Screenplay by Paul Schrader and Leonard Schrader Produced by Robin French and Don Guest. Directed by Paul Schrader

STRAIGHT TIME

9:30 PM

Max Dembo (Dustin Hoffman) starts his parole with small dreams: get a job, maybe meet a woman, but those dreams are destined to be crushed by the system and his own nature, forcing him back into a life of crime. Based on a novel written by Eddie Bunker (Reservoir Dogs) while he was in stir, the tale demonstrates how difficult it can be to leave prison behind, even in the outside world. Hoffman's gritty turn is supported by an amazing cast, including Theresa Russell, M. Emmet Walsh, Harry Dean Stanton, Gary Busey, and Kathy Bates. Presented in 35mm

USA, 1978. First Artists / Warner Bros. 114 min. Screenplay by Alvin Sargent, Edward Bunker, and Jeffrey Boam, from the novel by Edward Bunker Produced by Howard Pine, Stanley Beck, Tim Zinnemann, and Dustin Hoffman (uncredited) Directed by Ulu Grosbard and Dustin Hoffman (uncredited)

TICKETS FOR DOUBLE FEATURE

Saturday, January 28 Matinée

CHARLEY VARRICK

1:30 PM

Meet Charley Varrick (Walter Matthau), Last of the Independents—at one point, the movie's title. Charley's a smart, methodical criminal, so when a robbery at a tiny New Mexico bank nets him way more money than it should, he knows he's in deep. Soon, he's got to outthink the Mafia, outwit his partner, and outrun the cops. This whip-smart underdog story is Don Siegel at his best and includes many members of his colorful stock company: Andy Robinson (Dirty Harry), Sheree North, John Vernon—plus Joe Don Baker memorably playing a hit man named Molly. Presented in 35mm

USA, 1973. Universal Pictures. 111 min. Screenplay by Howard Rodman and Dean Riesner, from a novel by John Reese Produced by Jennings Lang and Don Siegel. Directed by Don Siegel

THE BRINK'S JOB

3:45 PM

Boston's legendary 1950 Brinks' robbery, in which a gang of thieves made off with more than $2 million, was heralded as "The Crime of the Century"—especially after it went unsolved for years. It inspired several filmic adaptations, none better than Friedkin's playful hybrid of comedy and suspense. As the mastermind, Peter Falk leads an extraordinary cast of characters, including Gena Rowlands, Paul Sorvino, Warren Oates, Peter Boyle, and Allen Garfield. A poignant and beautifully realized period piece, this is one of the director's best—if most neglected—films. Presented in 35mm

USA, 1978. Universal Pictures. 104 min. Screenplay by Walon Green, from the book by Noel Behn Produced by Dino De Laurentiis and Ralph Serpe. Directed by William Friedkin

TICKETS FOR DOUBLE FEATURE

Saturday, January 28 Evening

SEXY BEAST

7:15 PM

The movie that taught the world Ben Kingsley—the man who played Gandhi—could scare the pants off us. Ace safecracker Gal Dove (Ray Winstone) is living the criminal's dream, retired in Spain with his ill-gotten gain and an ex-porn-star wife. Things go dreadfully wrong when his old psychotic pal Don Logan (Kingsley) turns up demanding Gal's assistance in one more job. Celebrated music video director Glazer made a striking feature debut with this stylishly nasty piece of work.Presented in 35mm

England, 2000. Film4 / 20th Century-Fox. 89 min. Screenplay by Louis Mellis and David Scinto Produced by Paul Webster and Jeremy Thomas. Directed by Jonathan Glazer

THE AURA / EL AURA

9:10 PM

The charismatic Ricardo Darín (Nine Queens, The Secret in Their Eyes) plays an epileptic taxidermist who amuses himself by plotting perfect crimes. On a hunting trip, he accidentally kills a man who has set a casino robbery into motion—then steps into the dead man's shoes to live out his fantasy. Reality concocts plot twists even his fevered imagination can't see coming. Argentine director Fabián Bielinsky made only two movies before his death, the exquisite caper Nine Queens and this masterful neo-noir, perhaps the best of the 21st century.Presented in 35mm

Argentina, 2005. Patagonik Film Group / IFC First Take. 134 min. Screenplay by Fabián Bielinsky and Pablo De Santis Produced by Cecilia Bossi, José Luis Garcia Espina, et al. Directed by Fabián Bielinsky

TICKETS FOR DOUBLE FEATURE

Sunday, January 29

BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU'RE DEAD

1:00 PM, 6:00 PM

The last movie in the storied career of Sidney Lumet (Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, Network) powerfully fuses film noir with Eugene O'Neill. A desperate man (Philip Seymour Hoffman) cows his weak-willed brother (Ethan Hawke) into robbing their parents' jewelry store. The tragic consequences unleash decades of family demons. The intricately structured script brings out the best in a top-drawer cast that includes Albert Finney, Marisa Tomei, and Michael Shannon. Presented digitally

USA, 2007. THINKFilm. 117 min. Screenplay by Kelly Masterson Produced by 10 executive producers and 7 producers. Directed by Sidney Lumet

VICTORIA

3:20 PM, 8:20 PM

NOIR CITY brings down the curtain for 2017's festival with an audacious thriller filmed on the streets of Berlin in a single epic take. Spanish immigrant Victoria (Laia Costa, in an extraordinary performance) is only looking for a good time when she falls in with four young Germans in the wee hours. Little does she suspect she is about to be dragged into a drug-fueled bank robbery orchestrated by an unforgiving gangster. Armed only with a digital camera and a twelve-page script, director Schipper, camera operator Sturla Brandth Grøvlen, and a driven cast give the audience a night they will never forget. Presented digitally

Germany, 2015. MonkeyBoy/Radical Media/Adopt Films. 138 min. Story by Sebastian Schipper, Olivia Neergaard-Holm, and Eike Frederik Schulz Produced by Christiane Dressler and nine others. Directed by Sebastian Schipper

TICKETS FOR DOUBLE FEATURE

#www.noircity.com #film festival #film noir #neo-noir #heist films #noir city 15

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paharvey99 · 5 years ago

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No Waitrose October 6 - Day 8

Day 8

Bit battered today, lots of things happening from all different directions. None of them involving supermarkets, which made it even worse.

Last night I had some horrible news about a friend of the family. It’s not my place to say any more, so I won’t, but it was horrible and really shook us all up.

Then today at work there was a big announcement, and again, I’m not going to say much about it, but it was pretty big and it’s not clear yet if it’s good or bad. As if we haven’t got enough uncertainty going on in our lives already *glares pointedly in direction of 17.4 million people*.

Speaking of Brexit, that really wasn’t helping today either, with all the briefings and phone calls and blaming and nonsense burbling away in the background. My current thinking is that we need to leave the EU and that I hate Boris Johnson.

Actually, now you’ve got me started (and this is a nice distraction from the rubbish things that have been happening today), I was thinking recently about David Cameron and the EU referendum. It was while watching that documentary that was on when his wee jobbie of a book came out. Basically, if we’d voted to Remain, Cameron would have carried on as PM, would probably still be there (maybe he’d have let Osborne have a go by now) and we’d be looking at a general election next year after five years of Tory rule with a fairly healthy majority.

The Leave vote however, has led to three and a bit years of nonsense, including the 2017 general election - which was completely hilarious and is probably the only reason Jeremy Corbyn is still Labour leader - and the virtual disintegration of the Tories. Taken against the option of a whole term of unfettered Cameronism, I become a much bigger fan of the vote to Leave.

There are massive flaws and holes in this opinion, I know. Doesn’t stop anyone else though, does it?

Anyway, after the big announcement at work I did some work and then left work to pick up the people I live with to go to look at some houses to see if we want to buy them. One of the people I live with is obsessed with Rightmove and is the one who has done all the work finding houses to go to look at. I just drive us there and say whether I like them or not. Today I liked the first one but not the second, but apparently when I’d seen them on Rightmove I’d liked the second one but not the first. It just goes to show: things are different in real life to how they appear on the internet. Who knew?

We made it round both viewings without the three year-old we live with accidentally weeing on someone else’s floor (this is one of my main concerns when viewing houses) and then went home. I made a pork and mushroom stroganoff for tea, just because we had all the relevant stuff in the fridge – pork left over from the weekend, cream from making ice cream, rice from the day before. Using up leftovers can result in some of the tastiest food, I find, and so it proved again.

After tea we tried to fill out some estate agent forms again, as they’ve been sending testy emails about why we haven’t completed them. They were profoundly bewildering, so I’m going to have to call them tomorrow. Went to bed a bit defeated.

Didn’t go to Waitrose.

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iluvtv · 7 years ago

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Break Fast with Snack Blankets

I celebrated the Jewish New Year and the masochistic Jewish tradition of atonement by wrapping up season 3 of Difficult People. I had been waiting, savoring, delaying… but can’t seem to hold off any longer.

Finishing a secular, divisive comedy on the holiest night of the year may seem sacrilege to some but I would argue it is entirely apropos. Much like some choose to fast for their sins, this too is a masochistic “task” as once I finish I will have another ENTIRE lonely year without my dear difficult friends (and that’s counting on another season even being made at all….*).

In the spirit of the season premiere where Julie found it necessary to medicate just to survive Passover I will wager bets that I may need a tranquilizer (or two) to survive the combination of another terribly sad Yom Kippur along with the end of my annual DP fix. Thank goodness a season premier of Great News will quickly follow. While it is, perhaps a more mainstream, accessible sit-com, it also is fabulous and produced by Tina Fey. Let’s be honest I basically need something fresh to laugh at from either Pohler of Fey at all times. It should be like a law or something that their particular female dream-team is always gifting us with their comedic fruits of labor.

So, let’s debrief the season (but seriously let’s put the brief back in debrief as I am a little swamped right now, looking at menus from pricey local restaurant in hopes that my exceedingly generous client will treat me to yet another wonderful dinner —and time is of the essence).

We’ll start where I left off…

Episode 3 delves into Julie’s addiction to her Mother. Grappling with her diagnosis Billy asks Julie what the opposite of Endorphins are.

“Judaism” she replies, deadpan.

And of course it is. Hence the desperate need to self-medicate in episode 1.

In episode 4 I can’t help but notice all the subliminal and yet repetitive advertising of shitty restaurant chains (all of which happen to be in serious financial trouble according to my limited research). Why are Quizno’s, Applebees and Subway advertising with such a leftist show? What is their agenda exactly? Saving face perhaps? Or maybe Julie just really likes sandwiches on terrible bread. And if staring at Applebees doesn’t excite you here are three unbelievably relatable quotes:

Julie: I have plans later

Billy: food or tv related?

Julie: both, I'm curling up with my snack blanket to watch the lifetime movie of all lifetime movies.

Julie (to her doting man): “I need a break from the sweet snack blanket can you grab the savory one from the closet?”

(I literally own both a sweet and savory snack blanket! How am I single?!)

Julie: I know cunt moves, I respect them

And the cunts that move them.

Namaste.

(And that’s literally how I feel about yoga).

And then, of course the episode ends with Billy and his new boyfriend's first kiss taking place in front of Equinox.

And while clearly Equinox and Gay Pride do go together like me and Gay bars (never underestimate a fag hags love of only flirting with the unavailable -- I guess if the “snack blanket” didn’t cinch the deal this might explain things) Klausner and Eichner might be a bit interested in the fact that I (a girl who only flirts with the unavailable) was actually fired from the company on an unfounded accusation of sexual harassment… basically a sexist overreaction to a female saying the word vagina. I know this isn’t really relevant to our debrief but cultural relevance is cultural relevance and basically Equinox isn’t as progressive as you might think....

Which of course, brings me straight into episode 5 where Julie and Billy discover that the part of Central Park which used to be reserved for Gay hookups is now an outdoor Equinox yoga studio. So, it is basically the same thing but with a hefty price tag. Gentrification is everywhere and even fictional butt-fucking in the park isn’t free anymore. Sad face emoji.

This episode is also fabulous for its intense focus on sexism and the tremendous pressure on women to smile at all times.

Julie just can’t do it.

And that’s why we love her.

Then there is episode 6 where there are so many riffs on sex, politics and TV I don’t even know where to start. So, let’s instead discuss OpenTable’s odd arrival to the small screen. First with this quote from a casting agent to Billy and Julie:

We know from your opentable reservations neither of you have NYE plans

(Oh, fuck my life neither do I. Unless, maybe we can count watching the Season Finale of Difficult People on Yom Kippur and call it a day...?)

Later in the episode it is revealed the the aforementioned reservation platform is also “running original content”. And while they may be the one app that isn’t yet doing this I’m sure they actually are close behind. Funny cuz it’s true?

Which reminds me, I must be brief…I have my own OpenTable reservations to make...

But, before we move on I simply must mention one more sexist/tv/food related quote from this episode:

“Like the ad for yoplait where the woman gets so thin she disappeared and the man says, ‘now there's a woman I don't wanna punch’”

If that doesn’t make you lol you’re dead inside.

If you like the recurring theme of how sexist TV is, Episode 7 takes the cake. Julie (thanks to a vision board) is able to try her hand at working in a writer’s room. Clearly though, no matter how hard she tries she simply cannot make the opportunity successful because what we learn from these insiders is TV is written for men by men (though the recent 2017 Emmy’s did prove times are a-changing). The whole episode is perfect but is best summed up with this quote from the writer’s room:

"Oh no I hate women, I got into writing for tv so I could not write for them"

Meanwhile Marilyn decides to “do something for herself” (gasp, I know) and settles on a Bat Mitzvah. And while I (a Bat Mitzvah myself, actually) had no idea, she teaches us you can’t become a woman without a theme. Her theme? “ME”.

Why didn’t I think of that?

Episode 8 is a perfect representation of modern day city life. Billy and his boyfriend aren’t able to fall asleep next to each other as this quiet act is just far too intimate (I can relate). The lovebirds spend most of the episode trying to tire themselves out in a desperate attempt to move forward with their relationship. Their antics towards exhaustion are, of course, fantastic especially when the most tiring thing Billy can think of to do is calling his cousin and asking her “why she decided to take a break from social media.”

They take part in every boring, typically tourist adventure New York has to offer only to discover that those who visit their city are actually bigger freaks than those who choose to live full-time in New York. Fabulous.

Meanwhile, the two most narcissistic people on the show (Matthew and Marilyn) secretly work to manipulate the other in selfish attempts to steal the other’s identity.

And if all this wasn’t enough antics, Julie tries to return to improv only to discover she just isn’t the requisite “yes, and” girl of improvisation but does quite well with “a no but girl.” agenda

Me too Julie, me too.

And finally we have episode nine which includes an unintentional ayahuasca trip, a trans-sorority reunion vacay and most importantly a focus on the premise that the opportunity to change on a whim is available to all selfish, difficult people because we don’t have dependents. You’re welcome world.

Here are the most quotable treats:

Billy (who is feeling very over NY) on Bowling Alleys (and I suppose hipsters in general):

"It's like Poor Man: The Ride "

The team’s view of Etsy:

Julie: “Etsy’s a cult "

Billy: "except for with arts and crafts so basically it’s camp"

Yes, OMG, how did I not think of that?!

And then there is the neurotic Jewish Mother’s method of procrastination/anorexia.

Marilyn: “I should have a lemon wedge. I worked out this morning, I deserve one.”

There is one of the best public transportation scenes I have ever witnessed. I won’t even debrief it because I literally just can’t do it justice.

And then we get down to the nitty gritty: the crew accidentally do the trans-sorority girls’ ayahuasca and in a panic of the unknown Arthur finds a step-by-step guide on Miley Cyrus’s website.

Of course.

They all are on board with most of her steps (no-one even flinches in regards to vomiting) but when the thought of confronting their innermost truth they are less than thrilled.

I agree, who wants to do that?

But they do and it seems to be bliss for them all:

Marilyn enters a Marilyn only world

Matthew hallucinates a terribly fat, naked gay man in a chef’s hat, jumping

Arthur hallucinates Julie taking charge

Billy gets on a tv show and breaks up w/ NYC

And Julie’s crafting persona has a duel with her actress persona

so, basically everyone wakes up glad they did ayahuasca .

Maybe being a difficult person also means you are secretly really well adjusted?

Revelations aren’t easy but they are wonderful from this crew:

Julie reading her closing monologue which is covered in vomit: "because I do comedy I will always be on the misery spectrum...I am an unhappy person but the alternative is being someone I don't know and that, is terrifying."

Motivated to change, Billy starts looking for apartments in LA, but finds the process a wee bit exhausting (even his IMDB page must be submitted— fucking LA).

Meanwhile, the trans-sorority girls recite their pledge:

“never go on CNN to discuss Caitlyn Jenner.”

OH GOD IT’S ALL SO GOOD.

Shall we mourn it’s passing with a yahrzeit?

But before we commemorate this tragic, tragic end I’ll have the series finale recap for you shortly....

*sadly since writing this first draft the cancellation of this essential comedy has been revealed

#difficult people #julie klausner #billy eichner #codechange #rabbitversary #cindarestylox #bernie and blythe #fuzz buddies #criminal minds #sweet tea #andrea martin #cole escola #shakina nayfack

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minithemoocher · 7 years ago

Text

To Meditate or To Medicate...

It’s been a while since David or I have sat down to share some thoughts with you - things have been wild since the move to our new unit - but we are here now! July marks our 6th Month at Lochburn Road, it’s insane how quickly the time is going.

July also marks the one year anniversary of me taking medication to help me manage my OCD. I wanted to talk a little about that subject, medication and the weird feelings it invokes in me. When I actively consider the concept of taking a tablet every night, it leaves me with the strange thought that in some way, it represents weakness. I have had this conversation with lots of people in the last year, about the undocumented possible side effect of taking medication; embarrassment, shame and denial.

I have kind of jumped in head first here, with out much context of what has happened since my previous post about Mental Health so let me spin off some cliff notes and I will loop back round to the above subject...

I found out that I have OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I discovered that OCD takes many forms and the stereotypical hand washing, light switch flipping and cleaning portrayal of OCD is a poor and marginalized representation of the condition.

I have a few different strains of the the bloody thing but the most difficult to deal with is the Intrusive Thinking OCD (sometimes called Pure O).

Intrusive Thinking is one of the more difficult to diagnose given the lack of obvious physical ticks (they are there, you just need to look really closely) It is also commonly misdiagnosed as Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder (yup) and also in my case Health Anxiety.

I have most likely had it all my life (definitely since my late teens) and it has swayed back and forth from various strains.

Read this page for a small over view of the different types of OCD https://www.ocduk.org/types-ocd

I contemplated that I might actually be crazy despite all my nice talking and self reassuring in the months before.

I finally agreed to take medication after a particularly grim reaperish, month long episode.

So that roughly covers it in terms of the diagnosis and I am glad that I have something to work with. It took a good while but we got there (we as in me, Davie, the doc, my family - having multiple personalities is not a symptom).

It’s worth noting my intrusive thoughts & compulsions are around the unknown - vague I know - or you could say a lack of ‘solid evidence’. Read bed bug gate post if you want an example! Another common one for me is the thought that I may, accidentally, have done something terribly wrong and not known it or realized it and the potential repercussions of said terrible thing (that I haven’t done). That kicks off the cycle of the intrusive thought, which becomes the obsession and subsequently the compulsion to try and quell the thought, such as repeatedly asking some one to give their view on a the (bizarre) hypothetical situation and ask for reassurance. I can see why to the untrained eye it looks like someone just worrying and stressing a little. I call it getting stuck in a loop, which can go one for hours, days, weeks, months. It’s no the greatest tbh! And the mad situations I come up with make me question my claim to not being very creative.. So anyway, medication. That’s what I really want to talk about. 2 years ago, when I originally took really unwell and began talking a bit more publicly about it I was all over the place. I was determined that I absolutely would not be taking any tablets, not that there was ever anything wrong with someone else taking them, but I wasn’t going to do it. Don’t get it twisted here - I never had an issue with anyone else taking medication, in fact I actively encouraged those who had made that decision to stick with it, try it and give it a fair shot. It was not that the medication was bad per se but more of the idea that my mental health was not bad enough that I needed it. In other words, for me, denial.

So, I went in pursuit of other means - some work - some don’t! Training, has and will always be the best medicine for me. I’ve covered that off in posts before, but given the nature of OCD and it’s ability to morph quicker than morph himself, I have since discovered that my management programme needs to be able to evolve and change too.

But anyway, my pursuit of holistic and organic management started. I did a lot of research online, sifting through loads of articles, website, blogs and magazines to help me find possible solutions. The obvious one here CBT but I am going to leave that one out just now - it’s not massively relevant to my point, I am talking more of the life style advice stuff that people give. There were some really good, sometimes obvious points; don’t drink, eat well, sleep regularly, exercise, mindfulness, go for a walk, talk to some one etc etc. The list goes on. However, as I researched on and on I started to unearth this concept, from some people’s perspective, that medication is bad, not good, masking the problems and in some case portrayed as being a sign of your inability to deal with your issues.

So I had my plan, no medicine - it’s definitely not an option as it is bad - train, eat well every day, no drinking, sleep 8 hours a night, avoid stressful situations, practice mindfulness, no social media, no TV and avoid conflict. Sorted.... except it’s not very realistic is it. Well for me it ain’t. I am 29 years old, with a family (and some very patient and understanding friends), a wee one to look after and a house and business to run. I also live in a big city in the 21st century. My plan had some challenges. Long story short, it didn’t work. I was fucked (sorry for language but best way for me to accurately describe my state at that time) from being really unwell for a good amount of time at this point. I didn’t have the reserves there to execute my plan. I kept trying, but understandably, given my head space alone, kept failing in my endeavors which in hind sight only added to my issues. And in to the bargain I had managed to convince myself that medication was absolutely not an option because it was bad - it would mask my problems, not help. By this point my aforementioned denial was gone, I knew I was in really deep and really really struggling but again nope - no way - I am not taking pills. In the end it got really grim. We will call this the grim-reaperish stage! I won’t go into the details but suffice to say I am grateful that I made it through that stage for the 2nd time in a year. During the grim reaperish stage, I had no choice but to hand over my care to my family and doctor. I was incapable of making any decisions. So medicine was prescribed and Davie held my hand as I cried taking it. Now for me, it helped me start to turn things around. It took the edge off, i panicked less, I feared things a little less, I wasn’t living in constant state of fear and high alert. It certainly didn’t magically fix my problems nor did it mask them, it just allowed me just a little tiny bit breathing space to help me start to execute my previous management plan. It allowed me to get back training regularly, it allowed me to able to keep some food down and actually have an appetite, it allowed me to not go from 0 to 100 as soon as there was a slight sign of challenge or uncertainty - now I just go to 50. I am taking that as a result.

In essence what I am saying is that medication has helped me a little and that’s ok. Yet sometimes, I still struggle telling people that I take medication every day and for me there is no definitive end date as of yet, we are hoping for next year but who knows. Each day as it comes right. Here is the reason I struggle with this admission; once I read some one else’s opinion that medicine is bad and taking it makes me weaker and it really stuck with me. I was already in denial about the state of mind and this compounded that thought real quick. A rational mind would say ‘ that’s one person’s opinion, you do you’ and they would be right but for me, and for many other’s struggling with that question, the thought process might not be that rational. It’s important to note I also seen people on the flip side, advising that I should me medicating and not bothering with alternative methods of management. It works both ways - the no medication stuck with me because that’s the conformation I was looking for.

So just to be clear, I am not saying that medication is good or bad, nor am I saying that mindfulness and meditation etc is good or bad. What I am saying is that every one person is different, and they already have a hard and laborious task of finding the correct solution for them so if you are issuing out advice, please do so with caution and compassion. Medicine, holistic or pharmaceutical, as treatment is such a controversial subject across many illnesses, I think it’s only fair that the recipient of your opinion has one, asked for it and two, that it is caveat-ed with the fact that is this is your opinion (based on referenced facts if required) and they should make try to make an informed choice of their own.

Information sharing is great for Mental Health issues, and it is something I have actively encouraged in my previous posts, but I suppose the important bit I missed was please do so with a heightened sense of awareness of how someone may react. Please don’t shame someone for taking a more holistic approach or for choosing a medicine based approach. Usually these types of comments come from a place of love and concern, but it’s maybe how we do it that matters. Instead of saying ‘do this not that’, maybe suggest putting some time aside to research options together and approach it with an open mind. You might just be the rational voice that someone needs when they can’t think rationally!

Everyone is different, but they all share the common goal of getting better or feeling like themselves again. My OCD will never fully go away, I am stuck with it for life and whilst it may be peaks and troughs, it is always there. What may be a fleeting comment for one person, is likely to stick with me for longer.

So to medicate or to meditate. I have found that a mixture of both is working well for me - ok not so much meditating, more like smashing pads, bags and sparring, sitting in silence in my head can some times be a little over bearing. The point is you do you, be informed, know the risks and be confident in knowing that you are far from weak. My previous posts re the mental health campaign are over on the NewLife Mental Health Blog which davie has hijacked this week. You can see them here: http://www.newlifeglasgow.com/mental-health-campaign-blog

Thanks Jill

Ps. I always say this but it’s kinda part of my OCD - I am not a doctor or medical professional. I am just some random lassie, who kicks and punches for a living and happens to be trying to figure the shit out of my OCD. My posts are are just my experiences.

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