#i have another canadian friend who agrees it’s not as thick as my one friend’s for sure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years ago

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((my account is @mymiddlenameslove tumblr is still being weird lol)) do you have any fics where john and sherlock hold hands for the first time? i just love the build up/panic that leads to some good fluff thank you (*´∇｀*)

Hi Lovely!!!

Bah, sorry about Tumblr being dumb!!!!

What a fun fic req!! I know for SURE I’ve missed a lot, so these are either fics I remember have hand-holding, are tagged with it, or I’ve just re-read and found it in there :D Hope you Enjoy!!

HAND HOLDING / for COMFORT

The Four Incidents by TheGirlWithRedHair22 (K+, 1,064 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, John Whump, Accident, John POV, Hand Holding, Worried Sherlock, Sherlock’s Self Esteem) – The first time John was present when someone insulted Sherlock, he brushed it off as a strange coincidence.

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

Random Numbers by songlin (T, 1,671 w., 1 Ch. || Ace Sherlock / Straight John, Cuddling / Snuggling, Massage, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Post-TRF, Slice of Life) – A collection of moments in the relationship of asexual!Sherlock and straight!John.

Giveaway Fic #9 - Angsty Sick Fic/Sherlock is Sick by ConsultingPurplePants (T, 1,734 w., 1 Ch. || Sick Fic, Hypothermia) – The next time he awakens is even more chaotic. Two doctors are shouting at each other in the corner, and John is holding his hand so tightly Sherlock is worried he’ll break it. Part 9 of 1000 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics

Once is Enough by Jominerva (T, 3,030 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Domestic Fluff, Whump) – Just as the earth rises to meet the sun at every mountain crest, John reaches out for Sherlock and takes his hand in his own."Tell me it won't end like this," he says, blue eyes holding grey while he laces their fingers together. Sherlock lets out a shaky laugh and shakes his head. "I wish I could."

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

A Gossamer Dream by CarmillaCarmine (E, 15,985 w., 4 Ch. || Writer/Teacher AU || First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Writer John / Teacher Sherlock, Fluff, London, Holding Hands, Online Friendship / Romance, Phone Sex, Anal Sex, Happy Ending, Alternating POV, Scottish John, Online Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, Hand Holding, Forehead Touching, First Kiss/Time, Texting/Sexting, Rimming, Toplock, Sherlock Speaks French) – Sherlock had never realised one could care so much about someone they'd never met in person. Now he is about to meet the friend with whom he's been chatting online for months and his anticipation is reaching a crescendo.

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Insanity in the Middle by DotyTakeThisDown (E, 28,010 w., 8 Ch. || Equestrian Sports AU || Alternate First Meeting, POV John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Clueless Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Passionate Kisses, Hand Holding, Caught Making Out, Bed Sharing, Spooning, Blow Job) – John is a world-class eventing rider with a gold medal and several four-star wins to his credit, but he's never won at Rolex. Sherlock is an up-and-coming rider taking the sport by storm.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 stories || Asexual Sherlock / Straight John, Est. Rel, Queerplatonic Relationship, Romance, Cuddling, Fluff, Platonic Romance, Domestics, Rape/Non-Con) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,100 w. across 45 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They've been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #holding hands #fluff fics #my fic recs #Anonymous

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faejilly · 4 years ago

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nightmares turn to dreams

for @flaine1996 as part of the @masseffectholidaycheer

Part 2 of 2: after (fic) [part 2: before (music)]

aka Thane & Kaidan during ME3, and how they’ve dealt with their lives after they met Shepard (background F!Shenko) because how you do a thing matters.

Hospitals are too damned bright.

This one's at least got big picture windows, so it's not all that fake white sterility.

If Kaidan thinks about it too much it makes him feel worse, though, because he's inside a space station. It's not real sunlight, it's not real fresh air, and yet it fools him for a moment every morning when he first looks "outside", and wants to crack the window to let some of that in.

But the outside's not much different than the inside, even with all the cultivated plants and water out there. (There are plants and water in here, after all. They'd wheeled him to the atrium as soon as he could manage sitting up, and they let him walk himself there now that he's a bit more mobile.)

He misses the wind off the seashore, the tang of real pine as the air starts turning cold, the way frost makes the inside of his nose tickle. (It'd be a terrible idea, of course, sitting outside in a Canadian autumn in the shape he's in, but he wants it, beyond rhyme or reason or logic.)

Or maybe he wants it to be summer, sitting on a porch drinking a cold beer.

Nothing quite like a cold beer on a hot day, his grandmother had told him once, back when he'd been granted his first spare sip of his father's drink, and almost spat it out again at how dank and bitter it had tasted. She'd had a quirk of a smile on her face, and the rest of the adults had barely smothered their laughter at his expression. Though you might not agree with me on that one just yet.

Or ever, his mother had answered, shaking her head over her sparkling water. She never did drink beer, and seldom used wine for anything other than cooking, either. Some of us still don't.

"You still with me?"

Kaidan blinks, makes himself focus on Tiana, his physical therapist. "Sorry," he answers, his voice rough in his too dry throat. He reaches out a hand, and she slips a water bottle in it before he can even ask. He drinks, tries not to think too much about how different the tepid liquid is from the beer in his memory.

Tiana shakes her head when he passed the bottle back, a smile clear in the flare of her mandibles. "No apologies necessary. We're almost done."

Kaidan sighs out a breath in relief, ignores the ache in his thighs and back, and makes himself do one more rep, than another.

"There we go," Tiana sighs with him as he finishes. "Time to cool down."

Kaidan nods, and doesn't bother trying to speak again as they go through the familiar routine. Sweat is slick on his skin, and he hates how exhausted he is, hates the dull throb from the neutral amp they'd put in to make sure his biotics didn't flare during his recovery.

SOP for head wounds; he knows that, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

He never thought he'd miss that sharp-sweet pressure from his L2 implants, that constant background he'd forced himself to accept over the years, but now that it's temporarily suppressed he doesn't quite feel like himself, almost as off-kilter from the change in the static between his ears as from relearning the shape and stretch of his body.

He wonders, a little, how much worse it must have been for Shepard, to wake up with everything different around her, body and mind and galaxy...

He shakes his head, and makes himself focus on the here and now.

He's got it so much better than she did, he doesn't have anything to complain about, not really.

He's not isolated, he's got messages from his folks waiting for his reply, even a quick note from Anderson in his inbox. He's got a tech analysis to go over from Tali, who asked for a second opinion, and a rant from Garrus about their current REV that ends with a truly bewildered how the fuck does this damn thing make me miss the Mako?

Nothing from Shepard, but he understands that, he does. They need more than blank words on a screen. She'd come to visit him, he knew that, but he'd been too far gone, not yet awake, and he wishes...

He just has to wait.

He's getting better, even if it's at a frustratingly slow pace...

Unlike his standing dinner engagement. Krios is never going to get better.

He and Thane eat together most days.

They don't ever talk about Shepard, the one thing that they have in common, the one thing that brought them together...

It's nice, actually, to talk to someone who didn't know him before, who has no expectations, no preconceptions. Who goes still whenever Kaidan does, whenever one of them thinks of something from their past that's too heavy to let slip away quickly.

Only tonight, Thane doesn't go silent, as if he can tell that Kaidan's worries are closer to the surface than usual.

"She keeps a picture of you."

Kaidan blinks, his fork hovering somewhere between his plate and his mouth.

"In her quarters, on her desk." Thane blinks, more slowly than usual, the movement of his eyelids easy to follow. He exhales, heavy and rasping. "A reminder, I think, not just of why she fights, but how she chooses to do so."

Kaidan closes his eyes, puts his fork down with a soft tunk. It aches, twisting and bitter, somewhere in his chest where his heart's supposed to be.

He'd failed to be there for her, and yet she acted like he had been, and he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself...

Thane scoffs in the back of his throat, the noise softer and deeper than one Kaidan would make, caught in the dregs of his illness, in the shape of his mouth and tongue. "I do not say that to make you feel worse, Alenko."

Kaidan manages half a smile, opens his eyes. "But I'm good at feeling guilty, Krios, what else should I do?"

Thane rolls his eyes, his expression soft. "Not that."

"You any good at taking your own advice?"

"I have made my peace—"

Kaidan scoffs that time, louder and sharper. "No, you haven't. Settling into dying isn't the same thing as accepting how you lived."

Thane is truly still this time, his hands pressing down on the table hard enough that Kaidan can see the shape of the seam through the thick joint in his middle finger.

"There are things I've done..." Thane trails off.

"I killed my first man when I was a teenager." Kaidan shrugs as Thane tilts his head, clearly listening, even as he doesn't quite lift his head enough to meet Kaidan's gaze. "And sure, it was provoked out of me, was mostly a protective instinct, and I'm not sure there was a way to have stopped it, not with everything else that was happening..." He trails off this time, swallows. He knows Thane is waiting for him to finish, recognizes that he's not trying to stop, that he just has to line up the words properly. "But for just a moment I was glad I'd stopped him, proud of what I was capable of doing to another person, and no matter how horrified I was a moment later, I will never again not know that about myself."

Thane nods, slow and steady and understanding. Kaidan had thought he'd understand. Not a lot of people would. "And then what did you do, once you learned yourself?"

Kaidan huffs out something that's not a laugh. "I got lost for awhile."

"Perhaps I should let myself get lost." Thane's voice is thick, and a little damp, and Kaidan can't quite tease out the emotion from his illness.

I don't think you have the time. But Kaidan knows not to say that. Doesn’t even want to, really. Thane doesn’t need the time, after all, not like Kaidan had, all those years ago.

"I don't know, I think that's hard to do when you've found yourself again, already." Kaidan lets himself smile; it's not entirely happy, but it's there, and he sees the tension in Thane's shoulders ease at the sight of it. "You've got Kolyat, and your memories. And the Normandy."

"We both have Shepard."

Kaidan nods. He knows he does, knows he will, when he can stand on his own, when she comes back. It might not be what it was, nothing's ever exactly what it was, but they'll still have... something. They'll make it enough, he's sure of it. "We'll always have Shepard. And she'll always have us."

"Always?" Thane doesn't have an eyebrow to raise, but the expression's familiar nonetheless, sardonic but not as heavy as he was a moment ago. Thane doesn't have much time left.

“How she chooses to fight, remember?” How you live matters, even when you're not around to see the consequences. Kaidan knows he'll never forget Thane Krios, and the company he had during this odd oasis in his life. Knows Shepard never forgets any of her friends. Kaidan's smile is a bit easier this time, and it widens even further when he sees Thane smile back, small but sincere. Thane understands. "So yeah. Always."

#flaine1996 #masseffectholidaycheer #mass effect #kaidan alenko #thane krios #jilly writes #me ot

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albertasunrise · 4 years ago

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Coffee and Crisis - Chapter 1

So this is my first Mentalist Fanfiction with Marcus Pike. I loved the Mentalist and only recently realised that it was our dear Pedro that played the perfect Pike.

Summary: Marcus has been pretty unlucky in love. With a failed Marriage and engagement under his belt, will his luck finally change when he meets a pretty, young English girl in his favourite cafe?

Warning/Content: Angst, Blood and Injury,

Paring: Marcus Pike/ Original Female Character

It was a chilly day in September. The trees were almost bare of their leaves. Branches waving in the city breeze, sounds of wood knocking together joined the cacophony of city sounds. Marcus scrubbed a hand over his face as he approached the cafe that had become a staple in his morning routine, always stopping for a coffee and a muffin without fail before heading into the office across the street. This morning was no different except for one tiny detail. Her. His eyes locked with her's almost as soon as he pushed open the door, the small bell above jingling as the wood knocked against it. She was stood in line, eyes staring off towards the door as she waited to be served. He was instantly struck by her, giving her a smile as he pushed the door closed behind him and stepped towards her. She had dirty blonde hair that that was wavy and thick, sitting a little below her shoulders and framing her oval face. Her eyes were a seductive shade of green, accentuated my neat black eyeliner that flicked out at the edges and a subtle brown eye shadow on her lids. Her clothes told him the most about her. She was wearing a Retro Print Star Wars t-shirt that was tucked into her pale Levi jeans that were folded up at the ankles and a black, wool-lined denim jacket. He was instantly drawn to her. She wasn’t like the other women he saw here on a daily basis, tight work dresses, perfect hair and makeup with ridiculous heels that they couldn’t walk in. Not this girl, in her white converses and geeky, acid-wash t-shirt. Her eyes watched him as he came to a standstill behind her, glances and smiles being all they shared for a few moments as Marcus plucked up the courage to speak to her.

‘I like your shirt.’ He said finally, motioning to it with his chin.

‘Thanks.’ she replied, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear as she gave him a warm smile.

‘I’ve not seen you here before.’ He stated, quickly glancing at the muffins to make his selection before returning his attention to her.

‘I’ve just moved here.’ She replied.

‘You’re English!’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Yeah.’ She giggled, trapping her lip between her teeth ‘Well I’m half English.’ She continued ‘Mum’s English, Dad's Canadian so basically, I’m cursed to be too nice and apologise for everything.’

He laughed at her reply, his smile reaching his eyes as they held each other's gaze for a while. It was only broken when the Barista asked for her order. Latte and a Lemon and Poppyseed Muffin. She knew exactly what coffee Marcus wanted, asking his muffin selection for the day before getting to work making their orders.

‘So are you a Star Wars fan or did you just like the shirt?’ He joked.

‘Oh no, I love it.’ She replied, laughing nervously ‘I’m a huge geek.’

‘I’ll let you in on a secret.’ He said quietly, leaning towards her slightly as she looked at him with anticipation ‘So am I.’

She laughed at that, covering her mouth in embarrassment at her sudden outburst. Her laugh was like music to Marcus’ ears, her smile addictive and he found himself wanting to see it more, hear it more. The sound of paper cups scraping against the stone countertop then pulled their attention away from each other.

‘That's Seven dollars.’ said the Barista.

‘It’s on me.’ said Marcus suddenly, handing her the money for both orders.

‘You didn’t have to do that.’ she replied as she looked at him with surprise.

‘Call it a welcoming gift.’ he stated, giving her a genuine smile before holding the door open for her.

They came to a stop outside, Marcus holding out his free hand ‘I’m Marcus.’ He said, smiling as she took it and gave it a shake.

‘Ada.’ she replied.

‘Nice to meet you, Ada.’ Smiling he glanced across the street towards his offices ‘I better get going,’ he continued.

‘Uh yeah, same.’ she replied, her smile dropping slightly at the thought of them parting ways ‘Best not be late on my first day.’

So they parted ways, giving each other a small wave before Marcus sprinted across the street and disappeared through the tinted black glass doors. From that day on, he saw her every morning. She would wait for him and they would queue together, taking it in turns to buy each other's coffee’s whilst they talked about movies, books and art. Marcus learned that she’d studied it at college back in the UK but had decided against pursuing a career in it. He learned that she was a personal assistant but that she worked remotely from her apartment around the corner. She had been engaged to a guy she’d met in college. They’d been together for almost 7 years when she was offered the job in the US and he’d told her that he didn’t want to move with her. So they had ended things, her moving a few weeks later.

‘So have you spoken to him since you arrived?’ he quizzed, sipping his coffee.

‘I spoke to him a few days ago.’ she replied, taking a bite out of her muffin ‘He’s been dating.’

‘Ouch.’

‘No, I’m happy for him.’ She replied, her tone surprisingly genuine ‘He’s never done the dating thing really. Just sort of fell into relationships… Hell, he was single 3 days before we got together.’

‘What about you?’

‘Me?’

‘Are you dating?’ He asked, his question making her choke on the coffee she’d just sipped.

‘No. Wouldn’t know where to start.’ She replied, taking another bite of her muffin and shifting in her seat.

They'd both agreed to meet in the cafe earlier that day, sit down and have breakfast for once.

‘I attract odd people.’ She continued, sipping her coffee.

‘Odd how?’

‘Well, I’m a girl… who’s a geek.’

‘Ahhh.’ He replied, understanding exactly what she meant.

‘You’re the first guy I’ve met that has been normal.’ she replied, her cheeks flushing a little ‘I don’t meet many people working from the office in my apartment either.’

‘I imagine not.’ he chuckled, giving her his signature smile that made her knees go weak.

‘Well, Marcus.’ She started, standing and throwing her coat over shoulders ‘This had been lovely but I need to get to work. Those meetings aren't going to arrange themselves.’

‘Yeah… Right.’ Replied the agent as he stood suddenly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he knocked it back.

‘I guess I’ll see you Monday.’ she replied, giving him a small smile.

‘Well unless you’re free tonight?’ he suggested, his brown eyes ever hopeful.

‘I’m free.’ she replied, pulling her bag over her shoulder ‘What were you thinking?’

‘Dinner?’ he shrugged, giving her a small smile ‘Take you on your first date in the US.’

‘I’d like that.’ She replied, her heart racing.

‘Great! I’ll pick you up at 7?’

‘Perfect.’

He was there at seven on the dot. Ada had spent much of the afternoon panicking about what to wear, knowing that it was a date but not wanting to overdo it. She’d fallen pretty hard for Marcus, the man invading her dreams and leaving her flushed when she woke up. She looked forward to their morning talks, missing them when he was away and over the weekends. When he’d asked her out, she’d almost passed out from the excitement but somehow managed to keep her cool. As soon as her day had ended she tried to figure out what to wear, realising that she had brought very little with her. She pulled a black lace skater dress her friend Liv had given her just before she’d moved. She wore it with some grey heels and minimal jewellery. She did smokey eye makeup and a subtle pink lip stain, her hair in a loose bun with a few loose waves hanging down to frame her face. When three soft knocks sounded on her door she felt her heart in her throat, hands shaking as she grabbed her bag and keys before opening her front door. She felt her nerves melt away when she saw him. He was wearing smart jeans with a Burgundy shirt tucked in and a smart leather jacket that fit him perfectly. He beamed at her as he checked her out, feeling his own heart flutter in his chest at the sight of her.

‘You look beautiful.’ He stated, watching her as she stepped out and locked her door behind her.

‘Don’t look bad yourself.’ She replied, winking at him as they made their way down to his car.

The restaurant wasn’t far from hers and after a fair amount of convincing on her part they ended up walking instead, arms linked as they talked about each other's days.

‘Here we are.’ he stated as Ada looked up at the sign and laughed.

‘A Canadian restaurant?’

‘You told me that you were half Canadian.’ He started, smiling sweetly at her ‘A colleague of mine told me about this place the other day at work and I knew I wanted to bring you here. Is this okay?’

‘This is perfect.’ She chuckled as he opened the door for her.

The inside reminded her of Christmas’ with her grandparents in Canada. The walls we clad with wood and decorated with hockey jerseys, pictures, sticks and pucks. It was the cheesiest place she’d seen in years and she loved it.

‘I feel a tad overdressed.’ She stated, looking around at the other people in there.

‘’You look perfect.’ He replied sweetly, grinning when she got all shy.

They ordered their food which, true to Canada, was oversized and terribly unhealthy. The conversation was easy, new subjects easy to find when old ones were exhausted.

‘So you know all about my dating history.’ she said suddenly ‘I bet someone like you has had women throwing themselves at you.’ She finished as she shovelled some waffle into her mouth.

‘Hah!’ He laughed as he took a swig of his beer ‘Well… I’m divorced.’ he started, smirking when Ada’s eyes went wide ‘We were young, foolish. She cheated on me with my first partner at the FBI.’

‘What a bitch.’

‘Yeah…’ he replied, shrugging as he took another sip of his drink ‘And then last year I met an incredible woman, Teresa and fell head over heels for her. We got engaged but later that day she told me that she was in love with someone else.’

‘Oh my god, Marcus I’m so sorry.’ Ada felt a pang of guilt at the man's story ‘I shouldn’t have asked… I’m sorry.’

‘Wow you really are Canadian aren’t you.’ He smirked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

‘Shut up.’ she laughed, swatting his arm before returning to her waffles.

As they walked home, their hands kept grazing each other’s until he trapped her hand with his. They took their time walking back, hands swinging as they enjoyed the sounds of the city together. When they finally came to a stop outside her building she spun on her heels to face him, biting her bottom lip as she gazed up into his eyes.

‘Can I confess something to you?’ She asked, her eyes drifting down to their hands ‘This is the first proper date I’ve ever been on.’

‘What?’ His head shot back in surprise ‘Really?’

‘I never did the dating thing. I kinda met people and we just ended up together.’ She replied, looking away in embarrassment.

‘So how was your first date then?’ He asked, pulling her a little closer.

‘It was pretty good.’ She replied, green eyes sparkling up at him.

‘Only pretty good?’ he asked, giving her a devilish grin ‘What would it take to make it perfect?’

‘Hmmm.’ She pondered for a moment, a cheeky grin crossing her face as she stepped closer again, her chest flush against his ‘Perhaps a goodnight kiss.’

‘Oh really?’ he grinned as he laced his fingers around the back of her head.

‘Mhmm.’ she nodded, licking her lips in anticipation as he pulled her in.

He pressed his soft lips against hers, his left hand cupping her cheek and his thumb stroking her high cheekbone. She opened her mouth to deepen it, their tongues dancing together as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her even closer. She moaned against his lips as she felt a heat forming in her core, lacing her fingers through his hair as their kiss became more heated.

‘Did you want to come up?’

‘I’d love to.’ He replied, pulling away so that he could look her in the eye.

‘But...‘

‘But this is only our first date.’ He replied, pinching her chin with his thumb and pointer finger as he kissed her again ‘Let me do this properly. No jumping into things.’

‘Are you sure you’re not Canadian?’ She joked, grinning as he kissed her again.

‘Goodnight Ada.’ He replied, giving her one last peck on the lips before watching her walk away.

They spent most of that weekend texting like teenagers. They text about what they were doing, what they were reading. They even ended up watching Empire Strikes back and talked on the phone to each other during. They then continued to talk to each other as they lay in their beds, talking about their schedules for the week and possible plans for the weekend. When they finally said goodnight they agreed to have breakfast together in their favourite little cafe in the morning. Once again the day started as it always did. They stood in line together, ordered their coffees and muffins and sat at their usual table beside the counter. The conversation, as always, was easy and relaxed. They joked about how lame they were talking on the phone in bed like two smitten teenagers. Secretly though, neither of them had wanted to hang up. Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of sirens, screaming and shouting suddenly erupted in the morning air and the door of the cafe crashed open. Two masked guys came screaming in, guns waving above their heads and sending everyone into a frenzy.

‘Everyone get down!’ they shouted, pointing their guns at the customers who were crouching with their hands above their heads.

Marcus instantly switched into FBI agent mode, his right hand wrapping around his gun as looked at Ada beside him.

‘Stay down.’ he whispered as he squeezed her arm and started to stand.

‘Hey, Jackass I told everyone to get down.’ Shouted one of the men, waving his gun at him as he spoke.

‘Let these people go.’ he said, taking a step towards them.

‘Who is this guy?’

‘Dunno but he’s clearly got a death wish.’ One sniggered,

‘I’m Agent Pike.’ He started, hand still wrapped around his gun ‘I work for the FBI. If you let them go I can help you come to a peaceful solution.’

‘FBI huh?’ the leader replied, tilting his head to the side as he studied the agent across from him ‘Well you’ll be useful.’ He stated, pulling the trigger and sending Marcus stumbling backwards

‘NO!’ Ada screamed as she threw herself to his side, catching him as his legs gave out beneath him ‘Marcus…. Marcus look at me.’ she pleaded, shaking him as his eyes darted around the room in shock.

The agent rolled his head to look at her, blood rushing in his ears as he tried to suck in a pained breath. He could feel his shirt soaking quickly with the crimson lifeblood that gushed from the bullet wound to his abdomen. Ada’s shaking hands desperately tried to keep pressure on it as she held him in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. She leaned him against the counter and tore her cardigan from her shoulder, pressing it down hard on Marcus’ stomach which elicited a pained moan from the agent.

‘Well I’m sure this isn’t how you saw breakfast going.’ he joked, placing a shaky hand on hers.

‘Not exactly no.’ She replied, smiling at him grimly as she watched her cream cardigan slowly turn red.

The phone to the cafe rang and the leader answered, screaming his demands to the police on the other end.

‘You will give us what we want or the Federal Agent that’s currently bleeding out on the floor isn’t going to make it.’ he growled, shooting a look at Pike ‘You give us what we want or Agent Pike will die… You have one hour.’ he finished, slamming the handset down on the counter and storming off.

Time seemed to crawl by. Ada watched the minutes ticked by, willing time to go faster as she felt Marcus slipping away from her. Half an hour passed and his skin tone had taken on a sickly grey shade, dark bags forming under his eyes as each breath came in short, laboured pants. She watched as his eyes start to droop, panic rising inside her as his head dipped.

‘Stay with me.’ she pleaded, lifting his head so that she could look him in the eye ‘You need to stay awake.’

‘Talk to me.’ he asked, leaning into her touch.

‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘’Will you go on another date with me?’ he asked suddenly, taking Ada by surprise.

‘What?’

‘I want to take you out on another date.’ he stated, giving her a weak smile.

‘Of course, I’ll go on another date with you Marcus.’ She sobbed, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

‘G-good.’ he stuttered, feeling his strength start to seep away.

‘And then afterwards I want you to stay with me.’ She continued, desperately trying to keep him with her a little longer ‘I’ll make you pancakes in the morning, I have a posh coffee machine that makes amazing coffee. Then we’ll spend all day watching old movies, eating junk food and making out.’

‘Sound’s good.’ He replied, smirking at her weakly.

Ada watched as he started to lose the fight, his lips taking on a startling shade of blue as breathing got harder and harder. A sudden cough painted his lips with blood splatters and her stomach sank. She knew the longer they waited, the less time Marcus had left. Grabbing a napkin from the counter above, she wiped the blood from his lips before placing a soft kiss on them. Marcus felt his heart flutter at the feeling of her soft lips on his, kissing her back before everything went black.

~§~

Chapter 2

#Marcus Pike #Marcus pike x original female character #Pedro Pascal fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro pascal #mentalist fanfiction

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thehikingnerd · 4 years ago

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Day 143 (10/7)

I woke up to damp conditions inside my tent, but Butt'rs again was considerably wet. The only good thing after the cold wet night and plenty of things getting wet was that it wasn't raining when we woke up and packed our things. Also, I had woken up in the middle of the night to a bloody nose at one point, so that was fun. I just hoped that it wouldn't start bleeding again while I was hiking today. We took off and it wasn't long before we bottomed out and began another ascent toward Harts Pass. If we were fast today we might be able to get close enough to the Canadian border that this could potentially be our last night on the trail. So we started off strong and it was no time before the going got tough again. As we ascended the snow started back up and was very steady. Despite the larches still being pretty and the scenery so pretty, it was hard to focus on anything other than being cold. It was starting to be just another miserably cold day and we had already reached our limits on suffering. We were a few miles from Harts Pass when the snow started to drift and get deep in spots. As it turns out, that lady who had mentioned about the guy at Harts Pass making food for hikers was telling the truth. As we neared Harts Pass there was a gravel parking area with a little offshoot from the trail and a sign pointing for hikers to stop in. Butt'rs and I were overjoyed to see a large tent shelter with thick plastic sides that had a stove pipe sticking out with smoke coming out. We popped inside and threw down our bags and started meeting everyone inside. We met a hipster trail-named Luigi, who I remember him saying he wanted to get old-fashioned gear and do another hike in the future (how very hipster lol), his girlfriend (whose name now escapes me) who said her parents would be waiting for them at Manning Park, our friend Will. They were friendly and nice enough to share some things with us. The guy with the tent said he does this every year and we were lucky because he would soon be packing up, we might have been his last hikers he would help with his trail magic since he was going to pack up and leave after another day or so. Within a very short amount of time after seeing a stove with shelter from the snow and cold, and hearing that others were staying the night, Butt'rs and I both looked at each other and quickly agreed to do to same. We had a short day at around only 10 miles, but this was just too cozy and comfortable to pass up when it was so treacherous outside. Besides, if we waited until tomorrow, the weather might improve, never know. We spent the rest of the day talking to other hikers and just hanging out around the stove. I even fixed a real quesadilla with melted cheese and everything on the stove, and was feeling so good and generous I even made one for Butt'rs. We also used this time to come up with a plan for our endgame on the trail. We knew our last stretch would be rough, but if we pushed hard tomorrow, we could camp somewhere near the border. Then we should be able to wake up early, have a very easy hike to the Northern Terminus monument, chill there for a while to celebrate, and to drink our beers and wine. We figured we would need this time to reflect and let it all soak in. Then, we would still have plenty of time to hike the next 8 miles into Manning Park in Canada. That was our plan and it seemed solid. So after rest and socializing and food, we all rolled out our ground sheets and sleeping pads and settled in for the night.

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letterboxd · 4 years ago

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How I Letterboxd #9: Julie Collette.

Christmas movie lover Julie Collette tells Jack Moulton all about her seasonal movie habits, the best big screen Santa Claus of all time, disability visibility in festive films, and some of the weirder holiday picks.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year: when Letterboxd members turn to the Neverending Christmas List to help plan their Christmas movie viewing. Arrange it by highest rated, arrange it by newest release, or by popularity—any which way, there’s something for everyone, from corny TCM romances to obscure seasonal horrors.

Created six years ago by Canadian member Julie Collette, the list runs to more than 4,300 titles, and contains the word ‘Christmas’ 1,837 times at last count. Julie and her husband are die-hard Letterboxd fans, having allegedly used the platform every day for the past nine years. She’s logged every film she’s seen in theaters since 1996.

A message from John McClane in ‘Die Hard’ (1988).

What inspired your Neverending Christmas List? Can you please explain the minimum requirement for eligibility? My husband had told me about a list on Letterboxd of Every Horror Film Made from 1895–Present and that gave me the idea to start the neverending Christmas list. My eligibility rules are not strict at all. It can be a film that centers on or around Christmas time. Even New Year’s counts in my book—as long as there’s a moment in the film that has a Christmas song, a Christmas scene, or Christmas decorations. Die Hard is definitely a Christmas film. First of all, it takes place on Christmas Eve at an office Christmas party. There’s that great note that John McClane sends to Hans Gruber on a dead guy’s shirt: “Now I have a machine gun, ho-ho-ho.” Now that’s Christmas! There are a couple of titles that test my relaxed requirements. Examples would be Psycho—there are a few Christmas decorations at the beginning [and Bryan Fuller agrees]—and the documentary Beauty Day by Canadian director Jay Cheel, which has Christmas lights at the end.

And what percentage of the films have you seen? As of right now, I've watched 20 percent—that’s 882 of the 4,322 films on the list. I’ve got a lot of homework to do. Here’s a few hidden gems I recommend: Mon oncle Antoine, Holiday Affair, Remember the Night, Olivia, On the Twelfth Day…, Bing Crosby’s Merrie Olde Christmas and One Christmas, which is Katherine Hepburn’s last role.

David Bowie and Bing Crosby sing ‘The Little Drummer Boy’ in ‘Bing Crosby’s Merrie Old Christmas’ (1977).

When does your Christmas movie viewing season start? I usually start mid-November to try to keep up with the TV rom-coms because they start to air even before Hallowe’en. This year on Hallowe’en night we rewatched The Night of the Hunter and I had forgotten that there was a sequence that was set at Christmas time. It was a perfect segue between Hallowe’en and Christmas, so I started November 1st. As far as how I pick what to watch, I go through my list and randomly pick some. I try to watch as many first-time watches and mix up the genres. But the closer I get to Christmas, the more I want to watch my favorites—for the most part I go with the flow. Christmas Day is usually a day of family time, but I try to sneak in one favorite if I can.

What was the first Christmas film that got you into all of this? I’ve always loved Christmas and growing up I watched the yearly airings of vintage Christmas cartoons and A Muppet Family Christmas. When Home Alone came out it was an instant obsession, then Home Alone 2: Lost in New York was just as good. Even now it’s our yearly tradition for my husband and I to watch the Home Alones while we decorate the Christmas tree.

If not Home Alone, what is your all-time favorite Christmas film? It’s a Wonderful Life is up there for me. Partly because growing up I watched it every Christmas Eve and kind of forced my dad to watch it with me. I think he secretly didn’t mind. As a kid, I didn’t dwell on the sad parts of the story, I just wanted to go to that candy shop and run in Bedford Falls like George in that beautiful thick fake snow. Now as an adult, I appreciate the story about a small town coming together to support a man at his lowest of lows more. Jimmy Stewart is amazing as George Bailey and we can all see ourselves at some point in his journey in the film. The chemistry and comedic timing between Stewart and Donna Reed is one of the best. Every time they sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’, I always get a bit misty-eyed.

メリークリスマス Japanese style, in ‘Tokyo Godfathers’ (2003).

What have you noticed about the ways in which Christmas films have changed over the years? In classic Christmas storytelling, there are a lot more religion-centered ones like The Bishop’s Wife and It’s a Wonderful Life. The ’80s and ’90s were about the blockbusters that the whole family could enjoy; Batman Returns, Home Alone, and The Santa Clause. The last twenty years have brought us a lot of different movies, but I do find that the start of the 2000s had a better crop of Christmas movies; Love Actually, Elf, Tokyo Godfathers, Far from Heaven, Bridget Jones’s Diary, About a Boy and so many more. The last decade has been saturated by the rom-coms of Hallmark, Lifetime and their imitators, but from the last five years, a few stand out that could be destined to become Christmas classics: Carol, Little Women and The Night Before.

The best, most rewatched Christmas stories tend to be remade. Do you have a classic Christmas story that you always love, no matter who’s telling it? Hands down Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. From my favorite—Scrooge—to The Muppet Christmas Carol, to Scrooged. Growing up, I had the book of Mickey’s Christmas Carol and I loved the cartoon adaptation. I love to see the different actors’ excitement and elation at the end when Scrooge wakes up on Christmas Day. My ultimate favorite is Alistair Sim in 1951’s Scrooge. He’s so jubilant asking the maid what day it is and wishing himself Merry Christmas in the mirror. It’s a bit darker than others. When I was a kid, the intro with Jacob Marley and the build-up of the chains scared me, but I couldn’t stop watching. Patrick Stewart’s Ebenezer [in the 1999 TV movie] is also great for his relief that he survived the journey through time. What an actor! An honorable mention to The Shop Around the Corner, In the Good Old Summertime and You’ve Got Mail, which are all based on [the 1937 Hungarian play Parfumerie by Miklós László].

A Christmas Treat in ‘Dolly Parton’s Christmas on the Square’ (2020).

Treat Williams stars in not one but two of this season’s films (who knew he could sing?!). Which actors bring that special spark to festive films for you? Yes, and boy can he sing! Another actor who can sing and puts me straight in the Christmas mood is Bing Crosby. Those classic songs in White Christmas and Holiday Inn are favorites of mine. Jimmy Stewart is an obvious one. He has that charm that’s perfect for Christmas movies, especially in The Shop Around the Corner.

What’s your guiltiest pleasure on the list? Why do we love cheesy movies so much?! Every year I watch TCM’s Classic Christmas marathon [but I also watch] the Hallmark and Lifetime Christmas rom-coms. For me, I love them partly because there’s always a happy ending. I love to see all the decorations and all the cute small towns—some I wish existed so I could visit them because they’re so darn cute! Another reason I love them is the nostalgia, as some of the better ones star TV actors from the ’90s and ’00s like Candice Cameron Bure, Lacey Chabert, Jonathan Bennett, Adrian Grenier, Mario Lopez, Alicia Witt, Alison Sweeney and so many others.

One of the other great Christmas-themed lists on Letterboxd is the one about Christmas movie posters with white heterosexual couples wearing red and green—though many members pride themselves on having seen none of them. I like those movies because I can zone out and enjoy the predictable Christmas ride. However, like other Letterboxd members, I know that these aren’t Oscar-caliber films—though some are better than others! I’m glad that the powers that make these movies are starting to be more inclusive with more POC and LGTBQ+ characters. As a wheelchair user with a physical disability, I was happy to see that Lifetime has an upcoming one called Christmas Ever After, starring Ali Stroker.

Ali Stroker finds love in ‘Christmas Ever After’ (2020).

Indeed, our Make the Yuletide Gay list is an attempt to highlight queer festive films, but the pickings have been slim. Yes, very slim. There’s been queer characters in Christmas films but it’s your stereotypical gay friend or something like that. This year I feel there’s a shift in the air to be more inclusive. My favorites this year so far have been the star-filled lesbi-rom-com Happiest Season, The Christmas House—featuring a landmark first gay couple in a Hallmark festive film, Dolly Parton’s Christmas on the Square and Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey—with Ricky Martin! I’m looking forward to checking out A New York Christmas Wedding, The Christmas Setup and Dashing in December.

What is the scariest Christmas film that your horror-loving husband has made you watch? The best one is Black Christmas. I love that it’s female-centered and ahead of its time in their portrayals. The killer’s POV really gets me into it and still to this day puts me on edge, so much so that an ornament fell off our tree while watching it this year and it freaked me out!

Also, should we be watching The Nightmare Before Christmas on Hallowe’en or on Christmas? I watch The Nightmare Before Christmas on both holidays so you get the best of both worlds—the ghoulishness of Hallowe’en and the merriment of Christmas!

What other films on your list show Christmas in an unusual light? The first weird one that popped to mind is The Star Wars Holiday Special. That was weird! Also, from what I’ve watched I would say Eyes Wide Shut, The Ref and 3 Godfathers are not your usual Christmas films. I do have quite a few on the list I have to watch that seem weird and unusual like Elves, Santa and the Ice Cream Bunny and Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.

[Editor’s note: Previous How I Letterboxd interviewee Dave Vis urges you not to watch Santa and the Ice Cream Bunny under any circumstances.]

Which actor is the quintessential Santa Claus? For me, it’s the Santa in Miracle on 34th Street, played by Edmund Gwenn. He truly embodied the part in the way he plays Kris Kringle. The gentleness and innocence he shows throughout the film is magical. It’s no wonder he won a Best Supporting Actor Academy Award for his performance.

Gunn Wållgren in ‘Fanny and Alexander’ (1982).

Of course, so many films in the Christmas canon are American films. What are some of the best Christmas films from around the world? This question makes me realize I haven’t watched enough Christmas movies from around the world. With that being said here’s a few; A Christmas Tale from France, A Child’s Christmas in Wales from the UK, Tokyo Godfathers from Japan and Ingmar Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander from Sweden. Mon oncle Antoine is a great Canadian film set in a small mining village during Christmas. It reminded me of the stories my mom and grandma talked about their Christmas traditions in their small village.

Are there any overrated classics you want to protest? I didn’t watch A Christmas Story growing up, so when I finally did watch it as an adult, I didn’t connect with it. The iconic scenes are funny and all, but it’s just okay. Now I’ll be on my hubby’s naughty list!

Does the film marathon continue through that purgatory week between Christmas and New Year? Do you have any film-related traditions to ring in the New Year? It does continue during that week to a certain extent. Some years after Christmas I’m done and what I haven’t watched goes to the following year but other years I can watch a few more and not feel overwhelmed. On New Year’s we have no traditions per se, but this year we might do a Tarantino marathon.

Christmas season is also synonymous with awards season. You keep track of a lot of Academy Awards history. How are you feeling about the awards season this year? First off, like many others, I haven’t even set foot in a theater this year and that is sad. I hope that the theater-going experience is not irreparably damaged. One good thing that came from the pandemic is film festivals streamed online and we were fortunate to watch some great titles from TIFF from the comfort of our home in September. I saw Nomadland, and it’s going to be a frontrunner for many of the main categories. I hope Regina King’s One Night in Miami gets some love. Miranda July’s Kajillionaire script is so unique—Evan Rachel Wood and Richard Jenkins should be contenders. I haven’t watched a lot of docs yet but Boys State stands out. I’m also eager to see First Cow, Minari, Ammonite, The Truffle Hunters, Soul, Mank, The Father and Promising Young Woman.

This Christmas is going to be weird for a lot of people. What’s one film you’d recommend for a guaranteed happiness injection? Weird indeed. If I have to pick just one it would be John Favreau’s Elf. Will Ferrell as Buddy the Elf instantly brings a smile to my face. You can feel his joy for Christmas from start to finish. From the classic claymation, to New York City at Christmas, to eating all that sugar, to that hilarious scene with Peter Dinklage—it’s Christmas gold!

And finally, are there some other Letterboxd members you recommend we follow? Emily, Flurryheaven, Guyzo997, Peter Spencer, Michael Dean, Brent Vanhomwegen, Ara Hiddleston and also some more Christmas lists.

#letterboxd #how i letterboxd #letterboxd community #letterboxd culture #letterboxd members #christmas #christmas films #christmas movies #holiday movies #holiday films #jack moulton

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caramell0w · 6 years ago

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The Acquisition- Chapter 11

Parings: Business owner!Bucky x Reader (AU)

Summary: You are part of a business merger. Can you make it through with your heart still intact, or will The Winter Soldier tear you apart?

Warnings: MBDSM elements and talks, slight angst, kidnapping

A/N: So my warnings say a lot, and I really don’t like to ruin surprises, but here we are. Enjoy...and I’ll see you all next Friday!

Word Count: 1720

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

If you like my fanfic, check out my books

One week until the wedding and it’s going to be the event of the year—according to The New York Times. Everyone is clambering to get an invitation; but if they haven’t received one by now, they aren’t going to get one. Bucky and I have been getting along great, and spend every night together. A normal night consists of us having dinner, having sex and then talking. He has agreed to let Steve sleep at his own place, and I’m thankful knowing he can’t hear us at night.

I look down at the list of fantasies I have and feel the familiar warmth spread through my belly as I read them. We’ve gone back to Asset a few times mainly because of the wedding, but tonight he’s promised we can go and explore the darker side of the club. The one stipulation, and the only way he agreed, is I need to write down a list of desires and hard limits. How the hell am I supposed to know what my hard limits are?

Well, I know there are a few things that turn me off. So I start with those. I’ve been watching more porn lately and reading up on the BDSM community. There are so many toys and items for pleasure and pain I didn’t even know could exist. I thought half the stuff in the fifty shades books was fake until I started doing some research. I know there are a few things I never want used on me, so I add those to the list too.

Bucky and I have started working on a few simple rules. I call him Sir when we are intimate and I have to tell him how I’m feeling—good or bad. I also had to come up with a safe word in case things get too intense and I want him to stop. Anytime before we have sex he asks me what my safe word is and when I should be using it. It really makes me feel secure knowing he’s trying to make things safe for me.

I feel his lips on my neck and I sit up straight. “Don’t stop on my account. I see you have quite an extensive list of things you want to try with me.” He kisses me again and this time nips my neck and soothes it with his tongue. He reaches his finger out and points to the one item I’ve been desperate to try. Full submission. “We’re getting there. If you’re willing tonight we can start with some variation of submission? I already know you like submitting in the bedroom,” the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk, “what other types of submission are you looking for?”

I feel my cheeks flush and I try to hide behind my hands. He pulls them away from my face as he stands in front of me. “You can’t hide from me, shy girl. I’ll get it out of you one way or another.”

“The whole kneeling aspect. Having someone that is willing to command it with such vigor that my knees shake and I’m more than happy to comply. Also, small tasks to help keep me going. I’ve read Doms will ask for pictures of panties or check ins throughout the day. The idea that someone cares enough to want me to check in is appealing.”

His smile turns from a smirk to a full on grin. “Do you feel you trust me enough to want to give yourself to me? Your safety? Your soul?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “It’s only been three weeks, but I like the idea. The game.”

His smile fades and his face is stoic. “This isn’t a game, Y/N. If this is what you want, then it’s something we have to work at everyday. If you want it just in the bedroom, then fine. I can be kinky as fuck in the bedroom and help you with some fantasies. I can force you to your knees there and make you suck me off; but if you want a lifestyle, then that’s what it is. Not a fucking game.”

His sudden change in attitude makes me shrink back from him. I don’t say anything, and the two of us are in a heated stare. My phone rings and I answer it without looking who’s calling.

“I need you for your final fitting. I’m sending a car over for you now. Be downstairs in fifteen,” Nat says.

“Okay.” I hang up not saying anything else. “I have to go for my fitting. Nat is sending a car over now.”

“Steve isn’t here yet.”

“Then have him meet me there. Nat is sending the car. You trust her, right?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Then walk me downstairs and watch as I get into the car if you want. I’m going to be just fine.”

“This isn’t over. We’ll talk more about this tonight.”

“Can’t wait,” I mumble.

“Oh little girl, you have so much to learn. I can’t wait to get you over my knee tonight.” The mere thought of getting spanked by Bucky has my head spinning and my body heating with need. “Go. I trust you can get into a car by yourself. I’ll tell Steve to meet you there; but I expect a call from you as soon as you arrive safely.”

I nod and grab my bag before heading down. So many things are running through my mind. Do I want this? Could I give myself over to him as a lifestyle choice?

“Ms. Y/L/N?” The drive holds the door open for me, and I slide into the waiting vehicle. There is a man sitting across from me that I don’t recognize. My heart starts beating a mile a minute and I reach for the door handle. It won’t budge. They have the damn safety engaged.

“Who are you?”

“Jasper Sitwell. I’m a friend of Brock’s. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. We just want to be able to talk with James.” The vehicle starts moving and I pull my phone out of my purse, my fingers already working to unlock the screen. He cocks a gun and points it at my head. “I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He motions for me to hand the phone over, and reluctantly I do.

“He’s going to find me; and when he does, you’re going to be in so much trouble.”

“Oh, we plan on making sure he finds us. We have a lot of unfinished business with him.”

I scrunch my face and glare at him. “All because he won’t let you join his club? Aren’t you being a bit ridiculous?”

His face lights up in surprise. “So that’s what he’s told you, hm?” His chortle sends a chill down my spine. “No, sweetheart. This is much bigger than a stupid sex club.”

“Please enlighten me.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to be braver than I feel.

The car comes to a stop and the door opens. I try to jump out but Brock grabs me with ease, holding me against him, his lips by me ear. “Hey babe, seems like you and I are going to have some fun. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure James knows you’re safe… for now.”

“Why are you doing this?” My heart is beating so fast and the tears are blurring my vision. He drags me toward an unfamiliar building and I don’t fight him. I know Jasper still has a gun, and I have no clue if Brock has one too; but it wouldn’t surprise me. “Please tell me,” I whisper.

“Because your fucking fiance fed me to the wolves. Because of him I’m in deep shit with some very powerful people.”

“How did you know I was going to be outside waiting for a car? Steve is normally with me.”

“Good thing we found a way to tap your phone. It was perfect timing. All we had to do was be there when you came outside. Easy as pie.”

He pushes me through the door and I look around, looking for anything that might give me a clue as to where I am. He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Don’t need you looking around.” Jasper comes over with a blindfold and I thrash in Brock’s grip. He slams his hand around my throat and squeezes, starting to cut off my air supply. I claw at his large hand and gasp as I fight for air. “Stop fighting and I’ll give you air, or you can pass out on me. Either way I’m going to get what I want.” The world is tipping on its side and everything is spinning. I’m falling unconscious and the last thing I see before everything goes dark is Bucky.

I wake some time later on the floor with a chain around my leg. It’s long enough that I can move around, but thick enough there’s not a chance I will escape. My throat is dry and I would kill for something to drink. I can hear muffled voices and the sound gets closer. I pull my legs up to my chest and press my back into the nearest wall. The door in front of my opens fast and slams into the wall behind me. I jump but remain in my position.

Brock stands in front of me and holds a phone in his hand. “I can promise you I’m looking at her and she’s safe.” A frightening smirk forms. “Tick Tock James. You have one hour before I do something to her. No, you can’t talk to her.”

“Bucky!” I scream as loud as I can. Brock glares at me and the back of his knuckles come in contact with my left cheek. My head snaps to the side with he sheer force of his blow.

“Guess she’ll be a bit battered if you get her back. Get here soon otherwise I’ll sell her off to be used as a fuck toy.” He ends the call without another word, and kneels in front of me. “You don’t want to fuck with me, sweetheart.”

I stand on shaky legs and point my finger into his chest. “When he gets here, you’re going to wish you were never born.”

Tags: Bold doesn’t work

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

New Testament, Chapter One (Branjie) - VoskaVixen

Read on Ao3 | Tumblr: VoskaVixen | Word Count: 3,483

A/N: Hi there! This is my first fanfiction, I hope you all like it! ♡

Summary: Brooke Lynn is your average church-going christian, with a few secrets. Vanjie, well, Vanjie is a secret. Based on the song “Scotty Doesn’t Know” by Lustra, it was on repeat while I was writing!

“Hey Brooke, slow down girl!” Nina shouted as she sped through the crowded hall, squeezing past the hovering groups of students and ignoring the glares they were shooting her. Sighing, Brooke turns around to watch as Nina approaches with Plastique following closely behind.

“Thought we lost you there, is there somewhere you need to be?” Nina continued, slowing to a walk beside her with Plastique at her shoulder.

“Just the usual, Youth Group, you know?” Brooke replies as she throws the pair an apologetic smile. It’s the same excuse she’s been using for the past few weeks now and honestly she’s surprised they haven’t questioned her about her sudden weekly routine, but it seems to satisfy the girls.

“Ah damn! I forgot you were volunteering…” Plastique mused as she piped in, scrunching up her face in thought. “What about Saturday, are you free to come to my party? My parents won’t be home!”

“Oh gosh, I completely forgot… is it okay if I let you know later? It’s just that I’d have to get a lift sorted, I’ll have to get up early for church and all.” She answers, shrugging.

Usually she would love an opportunity to spend some quality time with her friends, but she suspected something else would require her attention, which was currently sounding much more appealing to the tall blonde.

Plastique nodded enthusiastically, happy that Brooke hadn’t completely dismissed the idea. “Of course.” She stated, before glancing menacingly over at Nina. “Just let me know as soon as you can though, yeah? I know a certain guy who would love to see you there!” She continued before dissolving into a fit of giggles as Nina joined in.

Rolling her eyes, Brooke was about to reply with a very sarcastic “if he really knew her, he wouldn’t be interested.” but the words died in her throat as she heard yelling from outside the building. The trio turned and shared a look before heading for the doors, walking through the entrance and being greeted with a small crowd forming around their fellow classmates, Silky Ganache and Yvie Oddly as the two shouted obscene profanities at each other.

The pair faced off for several minutes, and Brooke was about to continue on as she was unable to make out most of what they were saying from where she was standing when a loud booming voice halted any movement that was going on.

“HOLD UP.” A deep throaty voice shouted above the crowd as it’s owner made their way through the growing crowd. Brooke watched as a small brunette elbows her way into the circle, whipping people with her long hair as she passes them.

“I left y’all hoes for two minutes. Two frickin’ minutes.” Vanjie groaned as she stared at the pair of loud mouths. The surrounding crowd began to fan away, disappointed that their show was now over, however, Brooke was even more intrigued as the small firecracker took control.

Just as the last of the group thinned out, Vanjie shot her hand out to grab another girl who had been attempting to silently escape.

“Hold up there Mary, I left you in charge of them, I told y’all they can’t be left alone and now look what’s happened!” Vanjie scolded, still holding on to A’Keria’s jacket as she, along with the other two girls, hung her head in shame.

“Those girls are nothing but trouble, I tell you.” Nina stated as she shook her head, effectively snapping Brooke’s attention away from the group. Realising that both Plastique and Nina were watching her, she quickly wiped the smile from her face and let out a small cough in an attempt to drag their attention away from the awe stricken expression she had been exhibiting.

“Aren’t they?” She agrees as a buzzing from her phone is heard, causing her to glance down at the notification she just received. Illy disguising a smile playing on her lips, she looked up at her friends. “Listen, I’ll text you girls later, but I really need to get going.”

“Oh of course! Would you like a lift?” Plastique offered as she jiggled her car keys in her direction, a wide grin on her face. Smiling at her friend’s thoughtfulness, Brooke thanked her graciously before pulling them both into a hug.

“I’m fine, I don’t mind the walk.”

Glancing over Nina’s shoulder, she could see that Vanjie had finished scolding the rest of her friend group and was waving goodbye to them as she walked towards the car park around the corner.

“Okay… if you’re sure…” said Plastique as she moved back out of the embrace, earning a nod from Brooke in return.

The group waved goodbye as they headed in opposite directions, with Plastique and Nina both heading towards the car park and Brooke heading for the nearest campus exit.

As she neared the exit, Brooke quickly glanced around for anyone she recognised to ensure that she wasn’t being watched, or worse, followed before she continued on, walking briskly for several minutes down the bare path. The Canadian had purposefully chosen that exit as it wasn’t used often.

Continuing down the path at a slower pace, Brooke heard a car approaching and turned around, watching as a beat up economy car jolted to a stop on the road beside her.

“You gettin’ in, mama?” a distinctive voice boomed from inside the car before the window was even a quarter of the way down, causing a wide smile to grace the blonde’s lips.

Opening the passenger door, Brooke lowered herself into the seat, before turning to look at her companion who was grinning back at her. She let her eyes run appreciatively across the small woman’s face as she took in her painted red lips and fluttering eyelashes.

“You look really goo-” She began but lost all train of thought as Vanjie pushed herself across the car’s control console and her lips are on hers before she can finish her breath, a hand snaking up around the back of her head and tangling in her hair as she pulls her closer.

The kiss was over far too soon in Brooke’s opinion, as Vanessa pulled back to grin wildly, her eyes shining brightly from beneath her thick lashes.

“I missed you.” Vanessa whispered as if she was admitting it for the first time and they hadn’t been secretly dating for several months now, causing Brooke to let out a breathy laugh.

“We’ve been in the same classes all day, how could you possibly have missed me?” she questions as she rolls her eyes, simultaneously reaching over to place her hand over Vanessa’s and unconsciously draw shapes along her palm.

“It’s not the same…” Vanessa responds as she frowns and looks away from Brooke.

Using the hand that’s already on Vanessa’s, she interlaces their fingers and uses her other arm to tilt her head back towards Brooke.

“I know Nessa, but we’re together now and we have the whole weekend, yeah?”

The brunette’s lips quirk up in a small smile at the use of the nickname Brooke gave her and she nods briefly.

“You’re right, as usual.” She says in response before gesturing to Brooke to put her seat belt on. “Now, where you wanna go mama?”

|| - X - ||

Finally, the paired decided on a small local diner on the other side of town, partially due to it not being very well known to their friends but mostly because Vanessa swore by their milkshakes and Brooke knew that if Vanessa, the biggest sweet tooth in existence, thought highly enough of them to call them her favourite then they must be good.

As usual, Vanessa chatters away on the drive to the diner, describing in great detail what happened throughout the day, as if Brooke hadn’t been sitting across the room for the most part, competing the story with hand gestures as her voice grows increasingly louder throughout the story.

Brooke is happy to just sit back and watch, drinking her in, as she muses about how enthusiastic Vanessa is about everything. She’s convinced that she could listen to Vanessa talk forever and never grow tired of it, but watching her is even more fun. The facial expressions she pulls without realising she’s doing so are Brooke’s favourite, as Vanessa is known to wear her emotions on her sleeve and Brooke loves watching as her nose crinkles and her eyes flutter close when she giggles.

She’s the warmest and softest person that Brooke knows, and the most fiercest and unapologetically brutal due to how straight forward she could be. Brooke loved how she refuses to sugar-coat anything, yet she still maintains an aura of innocence and elegance.

She is herself; and she is proud.

And Brooke is unworthy.

By the time Brooke snaps out of her thinking, they have arrived at the diner and Vanessa has already unbuckled her seat belt and is looking over at her with a quirked eyebrow.

“Bitch, you gotta stop oferani-, overanu-, overthinking.” Vanessa states as she shakes her head, causing Brooke to inwardly cringe at her unnecessary use of profanity.

“You’re right, sorry.” Brooke quickly apologises and then curses herself silently under her breath. Vanessa is always telling her off for over-apologising and she already knows she is going to do it again, almost hearing the words before Vanessa has the chance to voice them.

“You don’t gotta apologise, baby. Just relax, it’s just us.” Vanessa sweetly replies without realising that, that was half of the problem.

Brooke attempted to suppress her anxious thoughts and let a small smile build on her lips as she met Vanessa’s eyes. Quickly removing her seat belt, she attempts to lighten the mood.

“Come on then, let’s go.”

“Yes! Let’s get those cookies mama!” Vanessa excitedly replies as she jumps out of the car and albeit skips towards the diner’s entrance, only just remembering to stop at the door to wait for Brooke, who simply shakes her head in disbelief at her girlfriend’s response.

The two manage to find a booth in the far corner of the brightly lit diner and Brooke quickly takes note of how quiet it is. It’s small but cheery, a little old-fashioned - just like the rest of the town.

A sweet-looking waitress came over and presented the girls with a menu each, asking if they would like anything to drink before she left them alone again. As much as Brooke tried not to, she couldn’t help but wonder what the woman was thinking.

Did she know? Were they being obvious?

Biting her lip, Brooke attempts to focus on the laminated menu in front of her, the words blurring together into a pile. Just when she thought she was going to pass out from the stress and anxiety, a hand stretched across the table and reached out, grabbing a hold of her wrist and moving to intertwine their fingers.

Vanessa carried on reading the menu, seemingly oblivious despite her actions, and without glancing up she begins to speak. “I’mma get the cookies and cream milkshake… do you think it comes with a cookie? Oh, I hope so!” she mused, as she continued pretending to read the menu. “What about you?”

Sighing in relief, Brooke knew that with Vanessa by her side, she could conquer anything.

“I…” She began, quickly glancing down at her menu. “I think I’ll get the same.” she replies, scanning the menu with not much thought.

“Oh!” Vanessa exclaims excitedly. “Why don’ we get one a them sharing ones? Yanno, with the two straws?” She says, or shouts as she gets more excited. “Sounds real romantic.” She finishes, as she looks up at Brooke while wiggling her eyebrows, earning a giggle from the blonde.

“Sounds perfect.”

It didn’t take long for the two to order and receive their shared milkshake.

The two sipped in comfortable silence for a few moments, before Brooke pulled back to smile at Vanessa.

“This is really good!” She says as she leans forward to take another sip, continuing to keep eye contact with Vanessa as she realises how close they are, their foreheads almost touching.

“Really?” Vanessa questions excitedly. “I’m glad you like it!”

“Yeah. We should come here again, for another date.” She replies as the two continue to work their way through their milkshake.

Vanessa agrees.

“What excuse did you use this time?” Vanessa questions, as she wiggles her eyebrows and before Brooke can reply, she’s already listing scenarios.

“I need to wash my pet goldfish-”

Brooke scowls playfully as Vanessa erupts into a mass of foghorn-esque giggles.

“I don’t have a goldfish, that would hardly work.” She replies as she rolls her eyes.

“Hmmm.” Vanessa pouts. “You should get one.” she replies, causing Brooke to join in on her laughter.

“Wait! Was it the good ol’ I need to reorganise my closet?”

“Nessa! I told you not to ever bring that up again!”

“I can’t believe they fell for that, you surely are something else mama.”

The couple are so lost in their discussion that they do not acknowledge it when the diner’s door opens and a familiar face walks in.

“Brooke?” A voice sounded from the front of the diner, causing the pair’s conversation to come to a halt as they look around.

“Plastique!” Brooke exclaims, almost choking in shock at the sight of her friend; who had already started walking towards their table.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were at that youth club thing!” Plastique questioned, before taking notice of Vanessa sitting across from Brooke and Brooke watches as she observes the singular milkshake, her eyes widening at the two straws.

Brooke’s head spins as she tries to think of an excuse, her eyes fleeting between Vanessa and Plastique.

“We were, we left early.” Vanessa lied as she turns away from Brooke, giving Plastique her full attention.

“Oh right! I didn’t know you went Vanjie, Brooke’s never mentioned it.”

Brooke quickly snapped into action, joining in on the conversation.

“She doesn’t, today was her first day. We came here to discuss it.” She explained, hoping that her expressions were neutral and she wasn’t giving anything away.

“Oh! Well, I hope you don’t mind if I join you, do you?” Plastique questioned, as she began to slide in beside Brooke, not even waiting for an answer as she continues on with small talk about the menu.

Out of the corner of her eye, Brooke can see that Vanjie is feeling uncomfortable and wishes she could do something about it.

“Hey Plastique, how long have you been coming here?” Brooke enquiries, in an attempt to free Vanjie but it only made the situation worse.

“I haven’t been before, actually, one of my cousins got a part time job across the road and comes in for lunch with the rest of the workers - he says it’s good so I had to try it out.” Plastique explains before glancing between her companions. “What about you two? Who’s idea was it to come here?”

“Mine.” Vanessa replied dryly before putting on a fake smile. “My mum used to work here and the girls and I would stop in for a free meal.”

Brooke tried not to look surprised, as she hadn’t known that about her girlfriend. She had just assumed that it was something to do with her friend group.

“Awk isn’t that lovely Brooke?” Plastique questioned as she bumped her shoulder against Brooke’s, earning a nod in response. “We should bring Nina here sometime, for a girls date.” she muses, before looking over at Vanessa.

“Maybe you and the others would like to join us too?” She questions eagerly, oblivious to the look shared between Vanessa and Brooke.

“Yeah! I’m sure they would love that!” Vanessa exclaims, and Plastique is back to making small talk and asking questions.

It doesn’t take long for Plastique to get her order and she eats while she talks to the pair, discussing school projects and hobbies.

“Hey! You’re coming to my party this weekend, right?” Plastique questions as she stares intensely at Vanessa.

“Um, well… I’ll need to see if the girls are goin’.”

Plastique nods in response, satisfied with the smaller girl’s answer.

The trio sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before Plastique bounces back into action with another question directed at Vanessa.

“Oh Vanjie! Did Brooke tell you about what happened to her car?”

Brooke tries not to roll her eyes as Vanessa replies. Although Plastique didn’t know, Vanessa had been with Brooke when she’d gotten the flat tire and had helped her arrange to get it fixed.

As Plastique continues to speak, Vanessa catches Brooke’s eye from across the table and discreetly attempts to signal that she has had enough and wants to leave. As Brooke attempts to check her watch, Plastique catches her.

“Oh gosh, i’m sorry. I must be keeping you both back, especially you Brooke. I know how your parents can get.” As she speaks, Plastique smiles apologetically before rising out of her chair and grabbing her abandoned coat and bag which she had placed down earlier.

“Yes, you’re right. It’s getting pretty late isn’t it?” Brooke replied, as she copied Plastique’s movements and began to get up.

“It was good talkin’ to you.” Vanessa said to Plastique before turning to Brooke. “You ready?”

“You too!” Plastique responded, and just as Brooke was finishing nodding back at Vanessa and started to approach her, Plastique raised a hand and placed it on her shoulder quickly.

“Wait! Would it not be easier for you to come with me? After all, Vanjie lives on the other side of town…” Plastique reasoned, and while Brooke knew her logic was correct - She also knew that Vanessa wasn’t going to be pleased at not only getting interrupted and lying during their date, but also because they would now be unable to say goodbye properly.

“Ahh, yeah- yeah. That’s a great idea… I’ll see you later Ne-Vanjie?” Brooke responded, hoping that Plastique didn’t catch note of the accidental tongue slip, as she attempted to catch her girlfriend’s eyes.

“Yeah… I guess.” Was Vanessa’s cold response, as she quickly turned around and walked out of the diner without a second glance.

“You know, I’ve never actually had a proper conversation with her before. She isn’t anywhere near as loud or obnoxious as she’s made out to be.” Plastique mused as they walked to the car together, after leaving the diner.

“Hmm? Yeah, she’s pretty nice.” Brooke quietly responded, hoping that the conversation would shift to another topic.

Much to Brooke’s chagrin, Vanessa had seemed to be imprinted into Plastique’s brain, as if there wasn’t an uncomfortable silence filling the car, then the constant praising of Vanessa ‘Vanjie’ Mateo was.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like talking about her girlfriend, but she was scared of saying too much and causing Plastique to become suspicious, especially when Plastique was already trying to think of guys to pair her up with at the party.

Brooke could just see the shocked expression on Plastique’s face if she knew that Vanessa wasn’t into guys…

Fortunately for Brooke, she lived relatively close by and it only took several minutes before she was able to escape the metal hell that was Plastique’s car, especially with her driving.

After a quick thank you and a wave goodbye, Brooke sped into her house, fumbling with the key in the lock several times in her haste to escape to her room. With a quick check of the living room, Brooke sighed in relief as her parents were nowhere to be seen.

‘They must have already headed up to bed.’ She thinks to herself, as she makes her way up the stairs and into her room. Plugging her phone in to be charged, Brooke quickly sends Vanessa a text message.

Brooke [23:43]

Hey Nessa, sorry about Plastique… I’ll make it up you tomorrow, yeah? Xo

- Message Delivered.

She watches, momentarily, as the message is delivered before letting out a sigh. Hopefully Vanessa wouldn’t be too annoyed at her, it wasn’t exactly her fault that Plastique had unexpectedly ruined their date - yet she knew that on some level, it was.

While she waited for Vanessa’s reply, she busied herself around her room, completing her nightly routines and getting changed into her pajamas before settling into bed and picking up the phone to check, once more, for a notification.

When Brooke was only met with her lock screen reading ‘00:12’, she quickly unlocked her phone and opened up the chat logs.

Brooke [23:43]

Hey Nessa, sorry about Plastique… I’ll make it up you tomorrow, yeah? Xo

- Read [23:45]

Frowning, she types out a good night message, before reconsidering and backspacing repeatedly to delete the message. Maybe it would be best if she left it until the morning to text Vanessa again.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #new testament #voskavixen

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fanforthefics · 7 years ago

Text

A Step Too Far

Geno pranks Sid. It...doesn’t go as planned.

For the @sidgeno-fluff-fest prompt: comfort items. Not quite comfort, but it sort of centers around an item, at least? Comes in at about 8k.

tw: bullying (sort of, depending on your POV)

Sid’s still talking.

He’s telling the story of some WWII pilot or something—he’s talking too fast for Geno to catch all of it—and he has been for the past ten minutes. It’s gotten bad enough that everyone other than Jake has started glazing over or has escaped to the bar, and Jake’s only still listening because he still has that hero worship thing going on.

Geno wasn’t paying attention that the beginning, to be honest—he was usually pretty good at figuring out when Sid actually cared if he paid attention or when he just wanted someone to nod as he talked at him—but it’s getting ridiculous. Sid is so intense even about this, talking a mile a minute with his whole face lit up even in the dim light of the bar, his fingers running over his chain like he can’t keep still. It’s at least distracting, watching that—Sid’s fingers and the chain, how the gold slips over his blunt, strong fingers.

Geno blinks. Sid’s still talking. He thinks there are submarines involved now? He’s not sure. Sid’s talking and he’s apparently noticed no one but Jake is really paying attention, because he’s reoriented himself from the table at large to mainly Jake.

“Yes, we get,” Geno breaks in, as Sid takes a breath. He’s taking one for the team, he decides, and that’s backed up by the thankful looks Flower and Tanger give him. “You big nerd, nothing new.” Sid’s head jerks to Geno. Geno smiles at him, all teeth. “Let talk about interesting things now.”

Sid grins, and laughs back. He’s always been able to laugh at himself; it’s one of the things Geno finds most endearing about him. Without that, he’s sometimes thought—usually when Sid was at his most stubborn and irritating—he’d be insufferable. With it, well. It made it easy to tease him. “I’m sorry I like to educate myself,” Sid retorts. He rubs the chain between his thumb and forefinger.

“Educate yourself, fine. Educate all of us…Maybe should quit hockey, be teacher?” Sid makes a face. “Then kids have to listen.”

“You’re free to leave,” Sid retorts.

Geno gestures to wear he’s pinned in by Sid on one side and the wall on the other. “Sorry, ass too big. Got me captured.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sid snaps, but he’s chuckling as he rolls his eyes. “You want out?”

Geno makes an exaggerated frown. “No use. Trapped here forever.”

“Maybe we can use that on the ice,” Tanger inserts. Geno glances across the table to wear Flower and Tanger are sitting, watching Sid with judgmental eyes. And maybe Geno too, but Geno knows them. Neither of them will miss an opportunity to give Sid shit either. “Trap Giroux in a corner with your ass.”

“Giroux? Think too small, Tanger.” Geno eyes Sid, who’s turning a little red but he’s smiling too, taking it in good sport. “Weber at least. Chara, maybe.”

“Sid wishes he could trap Weber with his ass,” Flower throws in, and Sid goes a bit redder. His fingers have slowed on the chain, now; they’re resting close to his chest, where his shirt is gaping open just a little.

“You guys can all fuck off,” Sid tells them. He’s always the least creative with his chirps. Then his lips curl into a smirk. “Anyway, Shea wishes I would trap him with my ass.”

“Ooh!” Tanger cheers, and Flower toasts Sid with his beer. Jake’s just watching them all with wide eyes, because it always takes a while for rookies to understand that Sid’s actually the dorkiest person ever and isn’t whatever hero they’ve been hearing about since they were born.

Sid’s still smirking. Geno wonders—he knows he and Weber are friends, they were roommates at the Olympics, they still hang out whenever they play each other. Sid…

“Is okay,” Geno says, patting Sid on the head in the way he knows Sid hates because it makes him feel short. Sure enough, Sid glares up at him. “Good to have dreams. Even if Weber, dream little small.”

“Oh?” Sid’s still glaring, but he’s got that tilt to his head that says he’s enjoying it too. His hands are on the chain again, idly stroking it. It’s almost a little obscene. “Isn’t Shea bigger than you?”

“No,” Geno mutters. “I’m definitely taller.”

“We can check,” Tanger suggests, going for his phone. That’s really not necessary, Geno thinks; he’s pretty sure he’s taller than Weber. Or maybe Weber just lied more on his stats.

“No, don’t think so.”

“Yeah, let’s,” Flower agrees, because all French Canadians are equal opportunity shit-stirrers. Geno glares, and Flower gives him his most innocent look. “What? I want to know for next year’s fantasy team.”

“You think you pick me, you crazier than I’m think.”

“Hey, did you see the Habs game last night?” Tanger puts in, still looking at his phone. “Looks like Shea did well.”

“Yeah—it was great,” Sid agrees, leaning in like he always does when hockey comes up. It’s like everything in him just gets a little bit more when hockey is mentioned. It’s another one of those things that should be insufferable but isn’t. “Their penalty kill…”

Geno lets Sid start talking again, even if this time it’s on something that they’re all actually interested in. Apparently all the Habs had a good night; Geno is despite himself drawn into the discussion of the Habs’ prospects, because he likes a good hockey talk as much as the next guy on the team, as long as the next guy isn’t Sid.

He goes to take a sip of his drink, and finds to his surprise it’s empty. That won’t do. They don’t even have practice tomorrow; he needs more. “Sid.” He pushes at Sid’s shoulder. “More beer.”

“Get it yourself,” Sid retorts. “No,” he tells Jake, who had been asking about the points overlay. “It’s—”

“Siiid,” Geno interrupts. “Beer.”

Sid turns his whole body to look at Geno, his eyes drawing together a little. Geno stares back. They both know who’s going to win this, because they’ve been doing this since neither of them could technically get each other beers.

“Fine.” Sid huffs out a breath, but he gets to his feet. He turns to the rest of the table. “Anyone else?”

“So nice of you to ask,” Flower says with a mischievous smile, and Sid rolls his eyes and pretends to listen to whatever ridiculous drink Flower is going to try to make him order.

“You’re all dicks,” Sid announces, and turns to go to the bar. He greets a few of their other teammates on the way, slapping some shoulders and stopping to talk to some others, making his captain rounds. It’s always amazing, Geno thinks, watching him go, that people think he’s a loner; Geno’s never seen anyone who makes friends as thoroughly as Sid, at least on any team he’s ever been on.

He draws his attention back to the table. Tanger’s taken over Sid’s explanation, and apparently for him it requires props, including but not limited to Geno’s empty beer mug, Flower’s hand, and the menu on the table.

It’s amusing to watch and heckle, enough that Geno doesn’t notice that he remains drinkless until it’s over.

Then he does, and he’s not amused. “What take Sid so long?” he asks. Sid’s usually pretty efficient about completing tasks, even if he can be too polite to edge himself up to bars.

Flower looks around, then he laughs. “I think he started to dream bigger,” he chuckles, and waves at a corner of the bar.

Sid’s leaning against the bar, so from the table they can see his face, but he’s not looking at them. He’s looking at the guy next to him at the bar, whose face Geno can’t see but he can see he’s tall and broad and has thick dark hair, and he’s closer to Sid than is normally acceptable. And Geno wouldn’t even need to see that; he can see how Sid’s oriented himself, how he’s looking up at the guy with that look of his that’s half coy and half a challenge and all trademarked Sidney Crosby intensity, how Sid’s playing with his necklace again but this time it’s less like he can’t sit still and more like he wants to draw attention to the chest showing at his collar, to the deftness of his fingers.

“Well damn,” Tanger lets out a low whistle. “Well done, Sid.”

Geno’s beer is sitting next to Sid’s elbow, forgotten. The guy is leaning in, using the inches he has on Sid to loom just enough that Sid’s flushing. Geno knows that lean. This guy’s not that good at it.

Sid’s chain is wrapped around his finger, and then he lets it fall.

“I’m have plan,” he decides, not looking at Sid anymore. “For prank, on Sid.”

“Okay.” Flower perks up.

“No, I don’t—I’m leaving!” Jake shoves back his chair. “Don’t make me part of this.”

Geno considers dragging him into it, because he needs to learn how to do pranks if he’s going to survive in this locker room, but the kid’s clearly a little tipsy and Geno doesn’t really trust him to keep a secret from Sid anyway. “Fine, go,” he allows, waving Jake away. Jake doesn’t wait for Geno to change his mind.

“Anyway,” Geno goes on. “I prank Sid.”

“Okay.” Tanger nods, and gestures for Geno to go on. “Just, don’t fuck with his game.”

“Of course not!” Geno’s not an idiot. “Not anything with routines. I’m think, take necklace.”

Flower’s eyebrows go all the way up, and he glances at Tanger. It’s not the reaction Geno was expecting. He’d thought it was a great idea. Watching Sid run around like a chicken with his head cut off was always funny. Messing with Sid was always funny, because he took it in good sport and recognized that it united the room and raised everyone’s morale when they got one over on the captain.

But, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Flower asks slowly.

“Yes! Will be funny.”

“He really likes his necklace,” Tanger points out. Geno’s noticed. Sid looks like he likes his necklace a lot like now, still doing that idle stroking thing as he talks to the guy.

“Yes, is why it is funny,” Geno explains slowly, in case something’s getting lost in translation. “I take, he look everywhere, I give back.”

They exchange that look again. They’re going to start talking in French soon, Geno can tell.

“You could figure out another prank,” Flower suggests. “I’ve got one I’ve been thinking of, with shaving cream—”

“No, my prank good,” Geno decides. The guy’s even closer now. Sid would just have to turn his hand to touch his chest. Geno’s beer is probably getting warm by now. “Is what he deserve, for forget our drinks.”

Tanger says something to Flower in French. Geno knew it.

“I’m get my own drink,” Geno tells them, and slides out of the booth. If Sid forgot about him, he can get it himself.

He’s at the bar when suddenly Sid is at his side, and Geno nearly jumps. He’d been very pointedly not looking at where Sid was flirting.

“Hey!” Sid grins, and he’s clearly amped from his flirting, flushed and enthusiastic with the attention. “What are you doing?”

Geno raises his eyebrows. “Think you forget about us. Need beer somehow.” Tall guy is still standing where Sid left them, and he’s very obviously watching Sid. Now that Geno can see his face, Geno can admit that he is hot. It’s not like he expected anything else. Sid occasionally does have taste in men, even if not in footwear.

“I was going to come back,” Sid tells him, but then he’s sliding the beer into Geno’s hand, and Flower’s drink at him on the bar. “Here, see?”

“Take you long enough,” Geno mutters, but he glances over Sid’s shoulder at the guy, not trying to be subtle. Sid grins, almost a smirk.

“Yeah, well. Got distracted.”

“Choose boy over teammates?” Geno tsks. “Bros before hos, Sidney. Know that.”

Sid chokes at that. Geno’s always been thankful for Talbo for making sure he learned the right English first. “That’s why I was coming back,” he repeats, and shoves at Geno’s shoulder. He means it, Geno can see. He’s going to come back with Geno, because Sid takes team bonding seriously. Maybe he doesn’t deserve Geno pranking him. It’s not like Geno hasn’t ditched teammates to flirt a little.

“Anyway,” Sid goes on, and he’s smirking again. “I got his number, so.”

No, Sid definitely deserves it. “Of course you get,” Geno tells Sid. “Now come, have to beat Horny in pool.”

“Geno!” Sid complains, but he lets Geno drag him away from the bar. “You know I suck at pool.”

“No, know you aren’t best at pool,” Geno corrects. “Not same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Sid asks, grinning and Geno grins back. No one’s ever understood him quite like Sid.

///

In the end, it’s not a hard prank to pull off. Sid takes the chain off to shower, so Geno takes a quick shower after practice, gets back to the locker room well before Sidney, and swipes it from his stall. It’s still warm, as Geno puts it carefully in his stall, so he can keep an eye on it while he gets dressed.

Sidney comes in from the showers a few minutes later. Geno’s gotten his pants on, but he’s delaying finishing by chatting with Horny. Horny doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s on a run about his daughter so Geno can zone out a little, watch over his shoulder as Sid comes in from the shower. He’s laughing with Tanger, his chest flushed from the shower and his smile on from a good practice to lead into the game tomorrow. Tanger says something, then whips a towel at him; Sid snorts and bats the towel away before he goes to his stall.

Geno puts his hand in his pocket, where the necklace is coiled. It feels smooth and warm against his fingers—maybe like it feels for Sid; lighter than his own but still solid.

Sid reaches, like he always does, for the chain—then stops. His eyes narrow. The smile drops from his face, as he looks around the rest of the stall. It makes a little noise; Tanger and Flower look at him, then at Geno with matched skeptical expressions. Geno keeps his face innocent.

“Okay,” Sid suddenly says, loud enough that it cuts through the chatter of the locker room. He’s turned from his stall, and is giving the room his most intimidating captain look. “Does anyone know where my necklace is?”

It gets a number of confused looks. Connor actually looks at his hands, like it might have materialized there.

“Maybe you lose?” Geno suggests, still innocent. Sid’s glare turns to him, but then it skates back to his stall.

“No, I put it right here, like I always do.” Sid gestures at his stall, a choppier movement than he usually uses. “I didn’t lose it.”

“You double check?” Geno suggests.

“Yes, of course I did.” Sid turns back to the stall to triple check, the tension tight in his base shoulders and back. “It’s not there!”

“Sure?” Geno asks again. He’s trying to sound helpful, but he’s much better at bullshitting in Russian.

“I’m—” Sid pauses, then turns to look at Geno. All his muscles are still taut, and his eyes are narrowed into his faceoff stare. “Geno.”

“What?” Geno asks, his most innocent face on. Everyone else seems to be catching on; there are some low murmurs and a few giggles.

“Geno,” Sid repeats evenly. “Give me my necklace.”

“I’m not have!” Geno insists.

Sid’s chest expands with a breath. “Geno,” Sid says one more time, flat. He’s focused everything on Geno; staring at him like the rest of the locker room has dropped away.

Geno lets himself smirk, and he draws his hand out of his pocket, the chain dangling from his fingers as he raises it to chest height. “Oh, you mean this necklace?”

There are a few more snorts, more giggles. Geno waits. This is where Sid rolls his eyes and calls him a fucker and punches him and threatens to get him back, where Sid laughs at how worked up he’d gotten about it, where he makes some joke thanking Geno for keeping it warm for Sid. Where maybe Sid grabs the nearest object to throw at him, and Geno will throw it back and laugh and maybe buy Sid a beer to make up for it so Sid’ll have to spend the next time they’re out at their table, playing with his chain as he rambles on to Geno.

Geno waits, the necklace hanging in front of him. Except—Sid’s staring at the chain, and he’s not smiling, not laughing.

His gaze darts to the side, then to Geno, then back to the chain, and then his chin goes up and he’s got his media face on, his Sidney-Crosby-after-a-bad-game ™ face on. “Thanks,” he says, short and humorless, snatches the necklace from Geno, and turns on his heel to stalk back to his stall.

The room’s silent. The low murmur of amusement is gone, and instead everyone’s either looking or very obviously not looking at Geno, at Sid’s set back as he gets quickly, efficiently changed, packs up his bag, and leaves. Tanger gives Geno a glare to echo Sid’s, then hurries after him.

Geno stares after Sid. Apparently Sid wasn’t in the right mood. Maybe he’ll need to buy him two beers.

He rubs his fingers together, remembering the feel of Sid’s chain between them.

///

Geno doesn’t hear from Sid the rest of the day. That’s not unusual—sometimes they text, sure, but they both do other things too. Geno thinks, vaguely, of texting first—just something so Sid knows that Geno didn’t mean anything by it—but Sid’s never needed that before. He knows that Geno only teases Sid so much because—well, he just always does. Because he likes Sid’s smile when he does, and his goofy laugh. Because Sid has a tendency to take himself too seriously if no one stops him. Because it’s what Geno does. So he doesn’t text first.

The next morning, he gets to morning skate on time for him, which is five minutes late for everyone else. He’s got it down to a science at this point, just how early he needs to get to practice to get on the ice on time. It’s not his fault that he can do it in less time than everyone else.

Everyone’s already there when he gets in, so the locker room is full of the normal bitching about mornings and good-natured challenges. Sid’s already there too, halfway to changed and pulling on his under armor shirt as he chats with Kuni.

Geno drops his bag loudly in his stall, and waits for the shit to start. Sid almost always likes to give him shit about getting in late, because he thinks that just because he drives like a grandpa everyone else does. Geno’s turning to him, ready with his normal retorts on his tongue—but Sid hasn’t looked at him. Sid’s still talking to Kuni, and Tanger’s joined them.

It’s not in itself odd. Sid doesn’t always give him shit for it. But Geno knows Sid too, and he knows the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head, and he’s not just talking to someone else, he’s not looking at Geno.

“Sid!” Geno says, loud enough that there’s no way he can pretend he didn’t hear. “Make me get up early, not bring coffee?”

Sid straightens, turns. His media face is back on, a smile like he gives to reporters, and nothing like the squinty eyed smile he gives to friends—to Geno. The chain hangs around his neck, barely visible under his shirt. “I couldn’t carry it for everyone, sorry,” he says coolly, and then turns back. Flower says something in French; Tanger laughs and Sid rolls his eyes and giggles like he usually does when anyone teases him.

Okay, so Sid’s mad. Geno’s not an idiot, he can tell that. Sid just needs to work it out. They always come together on the ice, and it’ll be fine.

Except it’s not. Sid spends all practice being perfectly himself with everyone else, chirping everyone and talking too much and being the good captain, and with Geno’s he’s—well, he’s treating Geno like anyone else. He tells Geno when he did well and when he thinks he can improve, he slaps Geno on the shoulder after a particularly nice shot on Flower, their passes connect like they always do.

But he doesn’t smile at Geno like normal, like Geno’s hockey is the best thing he’s ever seen. He doesn’t laugh or joke with Geno at all. He just—plays hockey with him. He’s never just played hockey with Geno, not even when they were kids and Geno didn’t speak any English.

Back in the locker room, Geno thinks about going over—about saying something. Apologizing, maybe? He’s still not sure what he did wrong, why Sid’s doing this. Sid doesn’t even get mad, not really. He gets hockey mad, sure, but unless you’re a Flyer, it doesn’t go more than a few hours off the ice—and he even got over that with Giroux. They’re friends now, Geno knows. Sometimes they text. Geno’s teased him about that too, about how Sidney has some sort of magic Canadian pheromone that makes all hockey players like him if he spends some time in a room with them.

But other than that, off the ice—Sid’s an even-tempered guy. He gets pissed like anyone else, and sometimes it’s easy to set him off if you mess with his routines, but Geno hasn’t, and anyway, this isn’t Sid’s pissy lectures that last for ten minutes then end. This is something else, something colder and harsher.

Geno gets out of his pads, and makes a move to go over to Sid. To do something, so Sid will stop just talking to everyone else and will start talking to him again. But then Sid turns to survey the room, and his eyes slow as they get to Geno—and then keep going, without even a smile.

Geno makes a face, and turns to Horny to start talking about their line. He doesn’t need Sid either. Horny doesn’t even call him on it, just lets him talk about plays until they’re interrupted by Sid, who’s leaving and does his usual captain not-quite-a-speech telling everyone to rest up and eat a good dinner.

“Like spaghetti?” Geno calls, partly before he can stop himself but also because Sid has to look at him then. And he does, his eyes settling on Geno, and Geno smirks back. Maybe—Sid will laugh and say at least he can cook spaghetti, which is a lie because Geno actually can cook but he likes pretending he can’t so Sid will come cook for him, and they both know it.

Except Sid just nods. “Whatever you want,” he says with a shrug. “See you all.”

He leaves. Geno takes a deep breath, and Horny lets out a low whistle. “Someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight,” he observes.

“I sleep in bed, not know what you’re talk about,” Geno retorts, because pretending he doesn’t get an idiom is always a good way to handle a situation where he doesn’t have a response.

///

He goes home, takes his nap, and gets into his game mode. That’s the same no matter what, and the routine is a comfort. Sid might be mad at him, but Geno still sleeps and eats and gets in his car, and the locker room doesn’t feel any different when he gets there from how it normally does. Sid’s set and as intent as he usually is, the beating center of the team as he moves around the room, talking to the guys who like to talk.

Geno usually doesn’t like to talk—he needs to get into the right headspace, and that means not shooting the shit with everyone else. So he’s not surprised when Sid doesn’t say anything to him, just passes him by. It still feels icier.

Sully comes in to say his piece, then they line up. Geno waits, and then it’s just him and Sid, and Sid looks up and their eyes meet for what feels like the first time in twenty-four hours.

For a second, a horrible, interminable second, Geno thinks Sid’s not going to do it. That Sid’s going to leave him hanging like this. That they’ve broken, utterly and completely.

But it’s Sid, and of course he’s not going to do anything to break his routine. Sid reaches out, and Geno’s hand pressed against his chest, then their heads knock together. It’s only for an instant, probably even less time than usual, but it’s contact. It’s still theirs.

And then Sid’s down the tunnel, and Geno after him, and Geno tries to stop thinking about what Sid’s shoulders are telling him. They’ve got a game to play.

///

They win in OT, on Geno’s goal, and Geno’s hit by four other bodies after it goes in. He doesn’t need to look to know who is who; he knows the one at his side is Sid, hugging him hard in celebration. It’s the icing on a game-winner cake, and Geno goes into the locker room smiling.

He comes out—not frowning, but dimmed. Sid hadn’t thawed. Whatever moment there was on the ice—Sid’s grin and the way he’d looked at Geno like he was the best thing there was—was apparently a one time thing, because when he’d tried to tease Sid about the scuffle he got into in the second, Sid had just brushed it away. It’s getting to the point where other guys on the team are starting to look uncomfortable.

They all end up going out, because they won at home and the rookies are into the idea. Geno gets there late, so people are already settled—the young guys are dancing, and so are some of the older ones but most of them are at a table, arguing loudly in different sets because hockey players are incapable of being quiet in groups.

Sid’s at the table, laughing loudly at something Dales had said. His face is scrunched up into his real smile, and he’s wearing one of his black shirts that always manage to look too small around the shoulders, and his hand’s twisted in his necklace again.

Geno orders two beers, and goes over to the table.

Sid’s not quite in the center, so despite the odd looks it’s easy enough to bully his way into the seat next to Sid, ignoring the wary looks assorted French Canadians are giving him. “Here,” he says, shoving the beer at Sid. “For you.”

Sid looks at it, then at Geno. The edges of his laugh are still in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says automatically. Then, less Canadian-polite reflexes, “I already have a drink, though.”

“I know. Get you another one.” Does Sid not understand peace offerings? When Sid still hesitates, Geno glares. “Sid, take.”

Sid’s eyes dart from Geno around the table, at the people watching them, and then he smiles, that perfect too bright media smile. “Okay, thanks.” He slides it towards himself, and takes another drink of what he already has.

Geno sighs, and starts up a conversation with Kuni across the table from him, because it’s better than thinking about how Sid’s inched his chair over so he’s farther from Geno.

He actually gets pretty wrapped up in that conversation, so he doesn’t really notice when things shift on the other side of the table, until he needs Sid to tell Kuni, Flower, and Tanger that he’s right and he turns to him—but he’s not there. Two empty glasses are, including the one Geno got him, which is something at least, but Sid’s not. Sid, Geno sees quickly, is across the bar, playing pool with Schultzy.

The last time they’d gone out, Geno and Sid had played pool together, and they’d lost but Geno had spent the whole time chirping everyone else as Sid leaned against him and tucked his giggles into Geno’s shoulder, and they’d done a parody of a celly when Geno had gotten a particularly good shot, and Geno was sure Sid hadn’t thought about the guy at the bar’s number at all because they’d been having fun.

Now, Sid is leaning over, that terrifyingly intense look on his face he gets when he’s going to win or god help the world, and Geno’s all the way over here.

He turns away from Sid, only to be met with three looks of varying forms of patience and amusement. He debates bullshitting, but these are actually the guys he probably needs to talk to. “Why Sid so mad at me?”

Tanger snorts. “Because you were a dick?”

“I’m always dick,” Geno points out, which gets a snort from Flower and a nod from Kuni. “Usually, Sid like. Think is funny.”

“He didn’t this time,” Flower informs him. Geno rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I’m notice. Why?”

“You should be asking him that,” Kuni puts in. He always makes what he’s suggesting sound so reasonable, Geno actually considers it for a moment before waving it away.

“Would have to get him to talk, first.” Across the bar, Sid’s shoving at Hags, his face set in that expression where he lost and he’s trying to go against all of his nature and be a good sport about it. “Why won’t he talk to me?”

“You were mean,” Flower says, condescendingly patient in that way Geno hates. “He’s allowed to be hurt.”

“I’m not mean!”

“Seems like it.”

“I’m just tease! Is what we do!”

“Does he know that?” Kuni puts in, and Geno glares, outraged.

“Of course!” Of course Sid knows it’s just teasing. Of course Sid knows that Geno would do anything for him. Sometimes it feels like half the words out of Geno’s mouth are talking about how amazing Sid is, and he stands by every one of them. Geno would move mountains for Sid. Geno would—he would do a lot of stupid things for Sid. Even more than the rest of the team would, he thinks, and that’s a lot. None of Geno’s teasing counteracts that. “Of course,” Geno repeats, less sure. Sid has to know.

Tanger says something to Flower in French, and Flower replies in the same language. Geno glares. He knows that move. He’s done that move. That means they’re talking about him. “What?”

Another quick French exchange, then Flower smiles, all teeth. “Just saying, your pigtail pulling was a lot cuter when you were twenty.”

Geno decides not to humor that with a response. He just shoves away from the table. He needs another drink. He needs not to think about Sid and the wall that’s come down and stupid meddling Quebecois.

Across the room, Sid’s leaning over the pool table again. At this angle, his chain’s fallen out of his shirt, and Geno can see the 87, the glitter of the gold like a magnet drawing Geno’s eyes to the strong lines of his neck.

Geno definitely needs more beer. If he doesn’t, he’s going to go over to the pool table and do something stupid like yell, so. More beer.

///

Geno goes home disappointingly sober, though probably that’s good given they have another early practice then a game the next day, and then a roadie. But in that moment, it’s disappointing, because it means Geno can’t stop thinking. Sid has to know. Sid usually likes Geno’s teasing, and how he pushes Sid around a little bit and doesn’t let him get away with anything. It’s been a basic part of their friendship for almost ten years. Taking his necklace wasn’t anything different.

Except Sid had spent the whole evening away from Geno, circling between groups of teammates in a way that wasn’t abnormal except for how whatever group he was with was never the one Geno was with. Usually at bars, Sid’s the base that Geno always comes back to, going out to dance or flirt or drink and then coming back to try to coax Sid into one of those activities or just to talk with Sid, because that was always the best part of any night out—Sid with his cheeks a little flushed with alcohol and laughter giggling at something Geno had said.

Geno had missed that. And if Sid somehow fooled himself into not realizing Geno thought that, he’ll have to convince him of it again.

The next morning, he gets up inhumanly early so he can go half the city out of his way before practice. He actually gets to practice early, which earns him plenty of mock-gasps and a mimed heart attack, but he flips them all off and carefully sets down his acquisition in Sid’s stall, where he’ll find it first thing.

When he satisfies himself with the arrangement, half the locker room is gaping at him. He glares, his best Russian bear impression, and most of them stop.

Flower’s waiting near his stall, and he’s got his shit-talking smile on.

“Don’t start,” Geno warns, and Flower smirks and holds up his hands like he was never going to say anything at all.

Sid comes in a few minutes later. Geno watches him out of the corner of his eye, and he’s definitely not the only one, because no one’s tried to get Sid’s attention yet like they often do.

Sid sets down his back, straightens—and pauses, as he sees the box from his favorite bakery sitting on the shelf. “What?” he asks, leaning forward so he can open it. His eyes go big, then he twists to look at the locker room. The expression on his face is wavering between happiness and wariness. “My birthday’s not til August, guys.”

“Maybe you have a secret admirer!” Connor suggests, his face very carefully innocent. Geno shoots him a look that he hopes communicates just how much he’s going to fine him next time he has half an excuse.

“Maybe someone’s trying to fatten you up,” Tanger adds, pinching at Sid’s side. Sid bats him away.

“Maybe we stop asking about Sid’s present, and go play hockey?” Geno says, louder than he means to. Sid’s gaze flicks to him, holds. Geno wants to squirm. Wants to memorize how it feels, because Sid hasn’t looked at him in what feels like years.

“Oh,” Sid says, his fingers tangling in his chain and his teeth digging into his lower lip. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t look upset, either. Confused, if anything.

Geno decides to count it as a win, and goes to play some hockey.

///

They lose that night, which is a shitty way to go into a roadie and just compounds the fact that Geno’s offering didn’t immediately clear everything up and Sid didn’t immediately start treating him normally again.

Fine then. Sid’s not a subtle guy; Geno can be more direct, even if it hurts. It’ll be worth it, if Sid’ll smile at him again, and not spend all his time holed up with Flower and Tanger speaking in French so Geno couldn’t understand it even if he wanted to. Sid doesn’t even like French. Tanger and Flower always spend most of their time teasing him about how bad his French is. They’re apparently allowed to do that.

They’re in New York the next day, and the team apparently took the loss yesterday as a fire under them, because they’re playing like a team possessed, Sid most of all. He’s on the sort of tear he gets when someone threw him a challenge, and Geno loves when Sid’s like this, when Sid’s pushing them all forward, pushing Geno to match him, be better. It feels like magic when they’re on the ice together, like it has since they were twenty, and when Sid breaks the tie in the last thirty seconds of regulation off of Geno’s assist with one of those insane shots that make Sid who he is, Geno’s the first one who hits him, grabbing him and spinning him around with his momentum.

“Sid!” he yells, and Sid’s alight with victory and he’s grinning at Geno like nothing else could ever matter.

Then the rest of the guys on the ice are hitting them, and Sid’s accepting the pats from them and Geno lets them in.

He catches Jen’s eye, as they file down the tunnel. She gives him the special exasperated look she saves just for him, but she hangs back to talk. “What?” she asks, sounding harried. “We made a deal, you do—”

“I talk to media today,” he announces, cutting her off. He almost wishes he had a camera to catch her expression.

“Seriously?” then she shakes her head. “Never mind, not looking a gift horse, etc. Okay, you’re on.” She pauses, then raises her eyebrows. “Are you going to do something I should know about?”

Geno thinks about it, but he’s not going to do anything unusual. That’s the whole point. “No,” he tells her. Then, because it was an odd question—he and Jen trust each other generally, and he knows that she never puts his slips down to anything other than language—“Why?”

Her lips press together. “Well, if you were going to make a grand gesture, I’d want to be prepared.”

“Grand gesture?”

She pats his arm, all perfectly poised condescension. “Try flowers,” she suggests. “That’s what my husband does, when he messes up.”

“I’m not—” There were so many things wrong with that sentence, not least of which that Jen knew that something had happened. He hated all his gossipy teammates.

“Okay.” She clearly didn’t mean it, but she let him off the hook. “Be ready for questions.”

“I’m always ready!” he retorts, and she laughs and lets him go.

He gets a lot of confusion when he settles in to let the reporters talk without complaining, both from the team and from the reporters themselves, who basically all know him by now. He catches Sid giving him a sidelong look, that same wary confusion, though, so his plan is working.

He answers all the bullshit questions, the shit they always ask like he’ll say something different, waiting. They always ask him the question when Sid’s had a hot night, he knows it’ll come.

Finally, “So that last goal of Crosby’s was pretty impressive—how do you think it compares to McDavid’s gamewinner that everyone was talking about last week?”

Geno sits up straighter, and glances over to where Sid’s answering questions. They seem to be dying down; he raises his voice as he answers, so hopefully Sid’ll hear him. “I think—Sid best.” Geno shrugs. The reporters are crowding in, because Geno is giving them some great quotes, but it means he can’t see Sid, if Sid heard. “I’m say for years, is still true. New guys, they good, but is no one like Sid. On ice, off ice. Best captain. Best guy. Best player. After me,” he adds, to get the laughs. “But is no comparing. Not to me.”

“Geno—” the reporters start, but they’ve shifted and Geno can see Sid. Can see Sid watching him, his eyes big, before he blinks and goes back to his own media.

Geno gets done first, so he heads to the showers before Jen yells at him for something. Before Sid gets done, maybe, and asks him about it. Before it might not have been enough.

“So,” Tanger says, because he must have been waiting to ambush Geno when he was naked and at his most vulnerable. “That was quite a speech.”

“Not a speech.”

Tanger waves his hand, dismissive. “A gesture, then.” He’s smiling, but his gaze is sharp. “They’re going to get a lot of mileage out of that.”

Geno shrugs again. “Is—if Sid…is worth it.” It’s not like he was lying. Not like it’s anything he hasn’t said before. Everyone knows his position on this.

Tanger’s smile softens, and he claps Geno on the shoulder. “Bon chance, mon ami.”

Geno doesn’t think he needs luck, but he’s not going to say no to it, either, especially not from someone who might be able to push Sid one way or the other.

“Spasibo,” he mutters, and dunks his head under the spray so Tanger can’t talk to him anymore.

///

There’s noise about finding a bar in New York after, but Geno’s tired and he doesn’t feel like getting teased about his sound bite for the whole night, so he begs off. He can’t tell what Sid’s going to do—he’s talking with Flower up by the front of the bus, and Geno’s too far back to figure out what he said. If even after that speech, Sid’s still going to go out—maybe find a guy, in this city where he’s mostly anonymous; maybe even just stand at the bar and flirt with someone, his eyes dark and his fingers teasing at his necklace like a taunt of what else they could do—Geno can’t see it.

He gets back to his room and strips out of his suit, pulls on sweats instead and his laptop, so he can maybe fine something to watch. He’s debating how much distraction he needs when there’s a knock on the door—one of the kids, hoping he’ll go out with them, he bets, and so he’s already saying, “I’m say, I not go—” when he opens the door.

Then he stops. “Hey,” says Sid. He’s changed too, into one of his five million sweats and Pens t-shirt combination, and he’s still a little mussed from the shower, and he’s fiddling nervously with his chain and Geno’s heart thumps painfully. “Can I come in?”

Geno steps back to let him in. Sid pushes past him, getting to the center of the room then turning in a circle, like he’s realizing there’s nowhere really to sit other than the bed. They’ve sat on each other’s beds in hundreds of hotel rooms, but something in Geno’s stomach twists at the thought of Sid on his bed, here and now.

Instead, Sid leans against the desk, half-perching, and crosses his arms over his chest. Geno doesn’t want to sit on the bed, then, and the desk chair is too close to Sid, so he just sort of hoves in the center of the room. What does he usually do with his hands when he talks to Sid? He’s somehow forgotten.

“Um. So…” Sid starts, and it’s so Sid that Geno starts to laugh.

“Sid,” he chuckles, and Sid’s grin flashes, quick and sweet.

“Sorry, this is weird!” he protests. “We’ve never had to do this before.”

He’s not wrong. It’s still so very Sid, and Sid had smiled at him, and it drags something out of Geno that he doesn’t do often. “I’m sorry,” he says. Sid’s eyes immediately go wide, and his eyebrows go up. “For—still not sure why what I did was worse than usual, but am sorry it made you mad.”

“Yeah.” Sid uncrosses his arms so he can run a hand through his hair. “It really—I mean, it was mainly me, and you couldn’t no, so maybe I overreacted, sorry.”

Geno rolls his eyes. His ridiculous Canadian captain. “Can’t apologize for what I’m apologize for, Sid.”

“Apparently I can,” Sid retorts, and Geno relaxes even more. “But, like. I know. I heard you, today. And with the cake. And—it really was—like, it probably wasn’t any worse than the shit we usually give each other.”

Geno sort of wants to drag in Flower and Tanger to make them hear that, so they know he was right. But also, “And?” he prompts. “You take worse, so—why?”

Sid bites at his lip again. “It’s, well. You know how it was for me, when I was a kid? With, well. The locker rooms weren’t always friendly.”

“I know.” Geno has heard the stories. Geno has wanted to go hunt down every kid who ever hurt Sid or made him afraid or said anything cruel and punch them, then shove their face into Sid’s trophy cabinet.

“Yeah, well. Sometimes, they would take shit from my stall—like, normally just little stuff, but it was sometimes my clothes—and they thought it was funny when I freaked out, so.” Sid shrugs, matter of fact. “It just, you doing that…It made me think of you like them.” Sid lifts his head, and his eyes are very very serious, and still just a little hurt. “I know you aren’t, but it still was—that you’d do something like them.”

Geno is going to kill all of those kids, and then he’s going to get someone to punch him in the face.

“Sid, I’m not—I’m not mean—”

“I know.” Sid gives him a weak smile. “I do, and I heard you today, but…”

“I’m not mean,” Geno repeats, because Sid needs to understand this. He crosses the room, so he can grab Sid’s shoulders, make sure he stays here. “Not—not want to laugh at you, or be mean.”

Sid’s gaze is even, but his brow furrows. “Then—what’s the point of the prank?”

“Because—” and here’s the thing Geno’s never really said, never admitted to anyone, even himself, but Sid needs to know he wasn’t like those kids, because he doesn’t want Sid to cut him off again. “Because, I want you to look at me.”

Sid’s eyebrows go up. “G, I look at you all the time.”

Geno shakes his head. He knows he’s going red. “Not like—you at bar, using chain to flirt, and you—want you to look at me always,” he mutters, and lets go of Sid so he can duck his face. He can’t say this and look at Sid. “Not flirt with other guys. Just with me.”

“Oh.” Geno refuses to look at Sid, but he can hear the wonder. “Oh. Geno…”

“Is fine if—I stop, I know, I can be dick about it, and is not—”

“G,” Sid says, and then his hand’s on Geno’s chin, tilting it up so he has to look at Sid. Sid’s smiling—grinning, really, and he’s looking at Geno like the world could fall apart around them and he wouldn’t notice, like all of Sidney Crosby’s famous intensity is focused right on him. “I’m always paying attention to you.” He licks his lips, and Geno can’t help looking, and when he manages to stop Sid’s smirking. “You didn’t have to spend eight years pulling my pigtails—”

“You and Flower, so obsess with pigtails,” Geno retorts, but he’s smiling too, because he knows the look Sid is giving him, and he’d never really thought, but he doesn’t want to be anywhere but here. “You not have enough hair to pull anymore.”

“That’s not really true,” Sid replies, his face even other then his dancing eyes, and Geno chokes. “I mean, unless you don’t think you can—”

“Think you need to shut up,” Geno tells him, and Sid’s laughing even as Geno gets a hand in Sid’s chain to yank him in to kiss him.

///

After, they’re lying on the bed, Geno still has his pants on, but he’s shirtless and Sid’s propped up on one elbow, idly tracing lines on his chest. Sid is naked, though, so Geno thinks he’s getting the better part of this deal, because he can lie back and watch Sid, with his messy hair and swollen lips and the mark on his chest that is definitely going to turn into a bruise, and bask.

Sid drags his finger over Geno’s pec, towards where his own cross is lying against his chest, when he pauses.

“Wait, did you apologize?”

Geno narrows his eyes. “You make me!”

“No, Geno apologized! I’m telling everyone. This is a first.” Sid goes for his phone, and Geno lunges, gets his arms around Sid’s waist to pull him back. It also gets Sid squirming against him, laughing as he stretches. “Come on, I’ve never heard of you actually apologizing before!”

“I say never happened,” Geno warns. “You big liar, everyone knows. Maybe not hear right.”

“Nope.”

Geno tugs, and turns, so Sid’s underneath him, grinning up at him as Geno hovers over him. He’s laughing and his eyes are glinting with it as he looks up at Geno, naked but for the chain on his chest and one sock. “I’m say you apologize first,” Geno decides, and silences Sid’s giggles with a kiss.

#sidgenoflufffest #sidgeno #sidney crosby/evgeni malkin #pens fic #(and then they have a lot of sex where Geno holds onto Sid's necklace)#basically I saw that post about Geno bullying Sid and thought #Sid is clearly amused by it #but what if there was a line in the sand?#my fic #not sure how i feel about this but i don't want to fall behind another week #pens tumblr fic

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keywestlou · 4 years ago

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I AM MY FATHER'S SON

DAY 23…..Greece the First Time

Posted on June 19, 2012 by Key West Lou

I can’t wait to get out of Dodge!

In the past two days, I have been in an automobile accident and fallen two times.

The accident you already know about. The falls are another story.

I have been falling on a frequent basis this past year. Generally stub my toe going up stairs. Forget there is one or two more steps going down.

My first fall yesterday had nothing to do with stairs. Chaise lounges have become a problem, also.

Around lunch time yesterday, I was getting up off a lounge chair by the pool. Rising from low levels has become as much of a problem as the stair bit. I lost my balance in the process. Turned to grab the back of the lounge. Spun myself around to avoid falling. Still fell. Sprained my lower right back. I still am having spasms. Also must have strained something inside in the area of the appendix. Hurts getting up. I no longer have an appendix, however.

Last night, I decided to walk down to Chora for dinner. The previous two nights had been spent eating in the hotel. Pain and all, I was on my way.

My hotel is below street level. A dozen steps to the top and the street. I stubbed my toe on the last step. Down I went. Hard. Tried to break my fall. Somehow my right wrist got in the way. I felt something snap. Terrific! Just what I need, I thought. A broken wrist.

Three ladies were walking along the road nearby. They rushed over and attended to me. They looked scared. In spite of my protestations that I was alright. My right wrist hurt. I wanted to get up. I have already told you I have problems getting up from low levels. Especially the ground itself. I explained this to the ladies. Two of them helped me up.

No going down the hill to Chora for me last night!

I went into the hotel dining room instead. My friend Christina was running the shop. Told her I needed an ice bag and the Beefeater bottle immediately. Yes, my hotel is one of the few places in Mykonos that carries Beefeater. I believe they went out and bought it special for me.

I covered the wrist in ice. Poured my first gin. I wanted to be pain free as much as possible. Did not want to get involved with a hospital till I knew I really needed one. Like tomorrow morning.

Gin #2 followed soon after gin #1. Drank it a bit slower.Then went to gin # 3. Drank that one even slower.

By this time, between the ice and gin, I was feeling no pain.

I had no appetite. Offered my thanks and headed off to bed.

This morning told the tale. No break, fortunately. Wrist swollen. Hurts. No discoloration. Back spasms worse.

About twenty years ago, I rented a house on Block Island for a couple of weeks. The whole family came! They were sleeping everywhere!

Block Island is off the coast of Rhode Island. A terrific summer vacation place. Sun, beaches, clams, lobster, etc.

One morning my father and I were walking in town. I noticed that his head was always down as he walked. I asked him why. To see where I am stepping…..so I do not fall. He was starting to fall a lot around that time.

There was a problem in looking down all the time to see where to step and avoid a fall. He was bumping into people constantly.

I watched. My father started to get mad. He said these people are impolite. They keep bumping into me. I told him it was he who was causing the problem. He could not watch his feet and see where he was going at the same time. He refused to accept my judgment. But that is what was occurring.

I have started to have falling problems about the same time as my father did in his life. Though I am not yet at the stage where I always watch my feet. I will concede however it might help to watch them when I am going up and down stairs.

There is a point to this story about my Dad. Maybe more about me. I am my father’s son. And proud of it in spite of the adverse circumstances awaiting me.

I was up at noon. Felt pretty good. Spasms still there. Wrtist still hurting.

This is my last day in Mykonos. Hopefully. The boat people told me they are not sure the boats will be going to Amorgos tomorrow because of the continuing weather. However, they suggested a back up. Crete! Great! My Facebook friend Jimmy Brown lives on Crete. I would love to hook up with him.

I did not want to stay in bed my last day in Mykonos. I headed for Elia Beach. First time I had been there. The nicest of the three beaches I have visited. Horseshoe shaped. Towering cliffs on each side. Beautifully clear water.

And it is that kind of place! Nudity on the agenda big time!

I have eye strain.

Tonight my last meal in Mykonos. It is to be Nikos again. I was there three nights ago and loved the place. It was lamb shank buried in greens covered in a thick lemon sauce.

I who always had to know precisely where I was going, when I would arrive, where I would stay, etc. am taking everything in stride this trip. I am not sure which island tomorrow. Nor do I have a reservation at any hotel. The two islands are accustomed to travelers like me knocking on their door looking for a room.

I have changed.

Enjoy your day!

—

Today is definitely May Jonson’s last day. My understanding is the library is looking for May’s next diary.

A few closing thoughts.

Loved following May in her diary for two years. So have many others. Her diary also provided an inside view of Key West 1896-1897.

As earlier shared, May never got to marry “her love” Everest. She met a Naval pharmacist and married him. They traveled far and wide with the Navy. His last port of call was in the Philippines. They decided that before returning to Key West, they would take a trip around the world. Which they did.

Everest became a prominent person. His place of employment was Miami. Never picked never picked up on that in the diary readings. At some point, Everest and his brother opened a store in Miami. Then several more.

Everest became head of the Chamber of Commerce. Then Mayor. He served as Miami Mayor several times.

Learned something else. School in Key West must have been only mornings. May was always home for lunch. Lunch actually was dinner during those times.

I, as well as many others I am sure, are hopeful more of May’s diaries can be found. Our time with her has been delightful and informative.

Rush Limbaugh died yesteryear. He was 70.

He became the voice of the conservative right during his years of broadcasting. Most of his comments were to the extreme right.

I cannot recall an instance I agreed with him. Never the less, I respected his right to share his views. As I would assume he would mine.

I have always considered those I disagree with to be the “indispensable opposition.” Contrary voices must be heard. There is always an alternative point of view.

Though my disagreements were vehement, I respected his right to share his views.

I also am not speaking adversely about the man. He is dead. I am one of those who believe persons should only speak good of the dead. Let the dead lie.

Not everyone agrees with me, however. Some pretty harsh comments in the past 24 hours.

Limbaugh has been referred to as “The Bigoted King of Talk Radio.”

“A bigot and a misogynist who saturated America’s airways with cruel lies and conspiracy theories for decades, transforming the GOP in the process.”

“Men like Limbaugh are the enemies of all good people; all decent people.”

Recall Mark Anthony standing over Caesar’s body: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.”

The Canadian blogger Ian Welsh: “Rush Limbaugh escapes the hell-world he created.” He was “one of he most important people in creating the modern right, driving deregulation and spreading hate and racism.”

If money is a measure of a man’s success, Limbaugh was very successful. In 2018, Limbaugh was the second highest paid radio host. His earnings $84.5 million.

Tuesday fast food workers struck in 15 states demanding a $15 minimum wage. Included in the fast food businesses were McDonald’s, Burger King, and Wendy’s.

Something I never knew. What happened to the casket John F. Kennedy had been placed in in Dallas.

On this day in 1966, the casket used to carry the body of John F. Kennedy from Dallas to Washington was parachuted into oblivion.

The casket was blood stained because of the magnitude of Kennedy’s head wounds. The family decided a different casket was required for Kennedy to lie in State and be buried in.

The original casket was initially stored in a secure Washington warehouse.

At the family’s request, the casket was disposed of by the Air Force.

The casket was filled with sand bags, encased in a solid pine box, following which 40 holes were drilled into the structure, bands with metal banding tape used to encase the pine structure, and finally the structure was fitted with parachutes.

A C130 transport plane flew 100 miles into the Atlantic to a specific point where the water was 9,000 feet deep and away from shipping lines. The ensemble was dropped softly into the water because of the parachutes and sank immediately.

The President lies in Arlington National Cemetery where The Eternal Flame burns at the head of the President’s grave.

Enjoy your day!

I AM MY FATHER’S SON was originally published on Key West Lou

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pongpalace · 7 years ago

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the sun can warm the skin (but there’s far less skin about)

Day 1 of #omgcpwomenweek: Seasonal Activities

unbeta’d and based on my experience with canadians who don’t understand what temperature is.

also on ao3

Caitlin bounces on her toes while she waits for her name to be called by the barista. She’s been back at Samwell for just about a month and a half, back in classes for three weeks, and she thinks there’s enough of a chill in the air that Annie’s should have their pumpkin spice drinks out, but the barista didn’t agree when she tried to order ordered a PSL. The caramel latte she’d had to get instead will have to satisfy the sugar craving her Friday afternoon anthropology class always gives her, but she’s not holding her breath. Caramel is the lesser of Fall flavours in her opinion.

Her name is called just as she’s getting on the wrong side of hangry, and she slides the cardboard sleeve she’s been worrying at on the paper cup that holds the extra hot drink. She says, “thank you,” and gets a smile from the tired looking barista, different from the one who insists that pumpkin spice isn’t in season yet. She thinks that maybe he would’ve made her a drink with the pumpkin spice syrup she knows has to be somewhere in the store if the promotional countdowns are anything to go by.

A gust of wind rushes into the cafe as Caitlin shoulders open the door to leave, so she tucks her chin into her collar, grateful for the warmth of the latte, even though it’s not pumpkin spice, seeping into her hands as she walks towards the Volleyball House.

The sun is warm on her skin too, warmer than expected considering how low it is in the sky. The days have been getting shorter too and like every year, Caitlin will mourn the summer, but she’s looking forward to Fall too, when she can get use out of the scarves she’s bought strictly for East Coast use. Thick, knit fabrics don’t really have a place in California. Plus, call her a stereotype or whatever, but pumpkin spice anything doesn’t taste nearly as good iced.

She turns to start up the walkway to the Court and almost drops her latte when she sees another stereotype. This one is Canadian and blonde and Caitlin doesn’t know why she’s surprised by anything that happens at the Volleyball House anymore.

“Are you fucking insane?” she asks March, who’s lying out on a Spongebob beach towel in a bright pink bikini on the dirt that passes for a front lawn. She has Carly Rae Jepsen playing on her phone. April’s there too on her own My Little Pony towel, but she’s got sleeves and pants on, and is sitting up cross legged so she can read from a book thick enough to be a textbook, but could honestly just be something she’s reading for fun.

“Oh hey Farms.” March sits up on her elbows, and pushes her big sunglasses down her nose so she can look at Caitlin.

“Nice to see you too,” April says. She looks up at Caitlin, shielding her eyes from the sun, and smirking now that there’s another witness to March’s ridiculousness. She dog ears the page she was on and closes the book.

“They’re practically selling PSL’s, you can’t seriously be out in a bikini,” Caitlin says, pointing at her paper cup with her free hand to emphasize who ‘they’ is.

“Wanna keep this tan for as long as possible,” March replies, gesturing at her body. Caitlin and April both snort; March is as pale as she was when they left for the summer.

“Fuck you both,” March sniffs, laying back down. “It’s like plus twenty; perfect tanning weather.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it’s been in the sixties all day which is not perfect tanning weather.” Caitlin shakes her head. “Besides, I’m pretty sure if you’re nips are hard, it’s too cold to be tanning.”

“Excuse you, my nips could be hard because I have outtie nipples, you don’t know.”

“I do know because that’s something you would’ve told us.” Caitlin steps over March, the locker room oversharer, and goes up the stairs to the door. She lets herself in and gets through pretending to read half a chapter before March and April join her in the kitchen.

“Oh, sun too hot?” Caitlin asks. March is still standing in the doorway, but Caitlin’s can still see the blonde hairs on March’s thighs standing up from the goosebumps all over her body. April laughs loudly.

“What happened to quiet little frog Farmer?” March asks. “I want her back, she was nice.”

“She would agree that now is not the time to be suntan- hey!” Caitlin protests as March steals a sip of her latte.

“Oh gross.” March makes a face. “That’s not pumpkin. You said PSL’s were out.”

“I said practically.” Caitlin makes a grabby hand for her drink back, but March passes it off to April.

“We’re gonna check out the corn maze tonight,” April says, after she’s taken a sip to confirm that it’s not pumpkin spice. “Oh whoa, that’s sweet.” She smacks her lips, whether to get rid of the taste or enhance it Caitlin doesn’t know, and finally Caitlin gets her drink back. “You in?”

“Is it even open?” Caitlin asks. “It’s pretty early, no?”

“Too early for corn maze, too late for sun tanning, are you ever truly happy Farmer?” March muses. She dodges the cardboard sleeve Caitlin throws.

“I just mean, is the corn tall enough to be a maze?” Caitlin continues.

“Probably not,” April shrugs. “But you feel like a giant finding your way through the baby corn stalks, it’s fun. Plus, we’ll make Irish coffees or something to go.”

“Yeah okay. I’ll go with Chris once they’re fully grown,” Caitlin says. He was on some preseason team bonding things this weekend and she had already done more than she planned for her own weekend off, the last one they’ll have before the volleyball season fully kicks off, by going to the Volleyball House instead of her dorm after classes, but a corn maze sounds exactly like something they could do any afternoon they both have off to hit their self-imposed in-season monthly date quota.

“Fiiiiine,” March and April say at the same time.

“For mentioning a hypothetical date?” Caitlin rolls her eyes and finishes her latte. Her captains have been spending too much time with the hockey captains.

“Preemptive fine?” April tries.

“No.”

“Frog Caitlin would pay the fine.” March says.

“Go hang out with the frogs then.”

“I think they’re still scared of us.”

“Because it’s intimidating when you pretend not to feel the cold!” Caitlin says, pointedly staring at March’s hard nipples. March just grins, unashamed.

“Unless you’re gonna wear that to the corn maze—no,” April cuts herself off when March starts to looks thoughtful. “I’ll start fining for nudity.“

“We’d get a lot out of Grace and Bekka,” March says, but she leaves the kitchen to put on actual clothes.

“Are you gonna be okay in what you’ve got on or do you wanna more layers?” April asks Caitlin. Caitlin doesn’t even have to think about her answer.

“More layers please,” she says.

She may love fall, but that doesn’t mean she’ll ever get used to the chilly East Coast weather during the season. April nods, she probably expected the answer and goes to get more clothes for her and Caitlin to put on. By the time March comes back down in jeans and an oversized flannel, with the sleeves rolled up so no one forgets she’s Canadian, Caitlin has fit another sweatshirt under her cardigan and is in the process of waiting for a text from Bekka that says Caitlin can borrow her puffy vest. She gets the text, and April finishes wrapping herself up her layers and they both ignore anything that March has to say about Fall temperatures.

The sun is just dipping below the horizon by the time they have dinner and get to maze. It provides no warmth and barely any light, but despite Caitlin having to wrap practically her whole body around the thermos of Bailey’s and hot chocolate for warmth, she’s happy that an East Coast fall means that she’s with her East Coast friends.

#omgcpwomenweek #omgcpwomenweek day 1: seasonal activities #caitlin farmer #samwell women's volleyball #march omgcp #april omgcp #women of check please #ive been to a corn maze when it wasn't quite ready yet #and it was hilarious #you're like godzilla there #oh man i wish it was fall her #its like high 20's #i writ i write i wrote

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thepensiverambler · 8 years ago

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Torbali

So Imece has (as far as I can work out) 3 bases, 2 in Cesme and 1 in Torbali. The first base in Cesme is the cafe (where I first arrived). This is the charity’s headquarters, it has room for quite a few people to sleep there and it's where Imece store most of their stock. The second base in Cesme is the village where they are working to improve a piece of land so that a large group of refugees my live and learn there. The 3rd is in Torbali. It had been decided yesterday Torbali is 2 hours from the headquarters in Cesme. Imece have only recently acquired a place there so today we took mattresses, tables and chairs with us in the minibus as well as all the things needed for distribution (nappies and milk). Needless to say it was cramped. There is something quite special about being in a van full of hippies listening to ‘mellow’ music. I don't want to say inner peace but if you're stressed out from work or exams, find yourself a big van, find a load of long haired, unwashed and unshaven people, bung them in with the heating up on full so you can really get the BO out of everybody. If you can find someone that believes toothpaste is the government's way of working to addle your brain or similar, these people will multiply your tranquility. When we arrived at our apartment in Torbali we unloaded the van and after a brief sit down headed out on distribution. This distribution was just for babies, we handed out nappies, follow on milk and powder. It was very different to what I was expecting. Distributions I've been on before are tiring and non-stop work everyone involved. This was quite different. We pulled up at the first camp and all poured out of our van. I was expecting to be handing out milk powder or nappies but instead Massad said they need 2 people in the van. 2 people stayed in the van whilst Yasmin (an Arabic woman) stood negotiating in Arabic with mothers about how much they would need of everything. There were 4 of us without a role in the distribution, our role was to entertain the children. Little did they know of my incredible ability to make even the happiest of children burst into tears with just a look. If I were a super villain I would be the child up setter. So, like chitty chitty bang bang’s child catch I got out the van. Only instead of lollipops I was armed with a bubble maker. I played a little blowing bubbles here and there but soon enough I'd made a couple of children cry. Fortunately Massad said we were to move on to the next camp. At this camp there was a girl who had died her hair using something similar to iodine and had stained her hands with the colour. She clearly took pride in her appearance even in such squalid conditions as she had used mud as a wax substitute to create her center parting. It was undoubtedly an eye catching look doubled with the vague smell of faeces (fortunately i realised we were parked next to the whole in the ground they used). After making one more baby cry it was time to leave this camp too. We went to the largest one last so that people from the smaller camps wouldn't come and ask for the allocation causing a gigantic queue. It didn't really work. There was a mesh of people, mothers holding newborns in the hope they might get what their baby desperately needed. Again the job of entertaining the children fell to me. The girls were teaching a group of children how to play duck duck goose. I lifted a young boy upside down and before I knew it we were pretending to hit each other. I would pretend his punches were immense at one point falling on the ground. The other children saw this and fancied their go at me. This would have been fine as I could have channelled my inner Jason Stathem and stage fought my way to an epic loss. This would have been fine only my genius was my downfall, my acting was too good so that the boys that came to their friends much unneeded aid missed the part that the fight was completely fake. I was set upon by a 4 foot tall army. Immediately regretting my decision to try and get in with the youth of today I tried battling my way out. I fought the children for a while, occasionally I was bitten or punched a little harder than I would have enjoyed or in places more delicate than others but on the whole I lived to fight another day. A little sweaty (drenched) and out of breath (panting like a dog) I got on the minibus again and we drove back into town. We had finished our distributions within 4 hours. Not quite what I was expecting but I decided I would treat this as a settling in few days for me to find me feet before the hard work begins. We had a late lunch and decided we would go to a lake to go swimming. We drove an hour there only to be told that no one would be swimming anywhere by a stern Turkish man. We turned around and drove home. Mission failed. We got back to the house and played a little volleyball. As is always the case with my volleyball I have absolutely fantastic moments and equally horrendous ones. As long as I'm not the worst I can always laugh it off. After we headed out for some dinner and then tearfully said good bye to a Canadian model I had met just the day before. Ok so it wasn't tearful for me but I said goodbye nonetheless. We returned to the house and everyone went off and did their own thing. It was a beautiful night so I went outside and read for a little while. I was quite tired from the day so as we had agreed earlier I got out my roll mat, stripped off and climbed into ‘bed’. I don't know if you've ever slept with bare skin on a roll mat but I can tell you its a beffudling and uncomfortable experience. You're both too cold and and incredibly sweaty. Any moisture on your body will stick to the mat. It was around 25°C in our room and so clothes were not an option. Massad came over and sat on my bed. Massad is a sweet Turkish man who struggles to keep a group in check. Comprised of 2 unruly Spaniards, a questioning German and a strong willed Italian there are few around with the leadership qualities to command the entire groups compliance but nonetheless Massad at this moment in time may have been feeling somewhat downtrodden. He came over to me asked me how I was. I was in bed and told him I was fine wondering what he was about to ask of me. He told me that I, like the girls needed to wear clothes in public (I was sleeping in the living room). I told him that I was too hot and that I would wear clothes as I always do in the morning. Bemused by the fact that Massad had felt the need to tell me to cover up rolled over and went to sleep, unsticking myself as I rolled. The next day we work to the girls shouting at us to get up because we needed to leave. We drove in the same direction as the lake we drove to the day before only this time for distribution not a jolly. We pulled into a house after an hour of driving. Today was a bigger day for the team as whilst 3 of us were on distribution, the rest of the team were helping with the education. This is one of the most important things for the refugees, if you are to integrate properly into a society you must first speak it's language. So teaching the children Turkish is one of the most important things the charity can do, only there are not so many in the charity fluent in both Turkish and Arabic. This means that they spend a few hours every week or so learning a language. Obviously anyone who has tried to learn a language or teach anyone knows that this isn't the level of intensity needed to learn. This all helps to explain (finally) what I am doing here. ‘The village’ will be an education centre in which for 10-14 days mothers and children will come and intensively learn Turkish and other life skills to aid them. Imece aims to run 2 courses a month and hopes to have the first one in mid August. There's hope that these courses will help a new generation to leave the low paid work of agriculture and broaden their horizons into a Turkish society that is ready to accept them. I'd volunteered to go with the distribution team as I felt it would give me less contact with children. It did. It also gave me more contact with a man tasked with navigating through the confusing dirt tracks that made up this area. I never caught his name but from the moment he stepped in the van one knew he knew how to be in charge. His slicked back well groomed hair and thick sweet smelling cigarettes were uncharacteristic of the refugees I had worked with in the past. This was a man in control. He would flick his wrist at Massad whilst jabbering away on the phone and Massad would obligingly slow and turn. Occasionally, the refugees may ask for more than their fair share, this exchange is all in Arabic but I know when it's happening. With our camp guide at the helm there was no nonsense to be had, he would firmly but politely tell them to stop lying to him or stop being greedy, he would light another cigarette and we would move on. Perhaps the most impressive thing about the man was his family. He had 2 wives and a total of 18 children, 3 of which were from a previous marriage so only 15 with him in Turkey. Only 15. The amazing thing was that with 15 children you would imagine that they would all be spaced out over perhaps 15-20 years, I didn't see a child older than 10. With each child he had a different party trick. With one he slapped on the back of the head and then made the boy kiss him on each cheek. With another he lifted the boy up by his ears, not once but twice leaving the boy to walk away rubbing his ears slightly unimpressed with his father's jokes. We left the camp, drove home and got on a train to Izmir. It had been decided for me that we (Claudia, Linda and i) would leave to go to the village today. We caught a bus from Izmir to Cesme. Once we arrived in Cesme we walked the short half hour in 30° heat to the village. Upon arrival in met more of the group I would be spending the next couple of months with. Victorio, Massaki (the Japanese fella mentioned previously) and Beertrit (I have no idea how to say or spell this name and avoid it at all costs. When I arrived they were building a laundry room with a beautiful glass bottle wall. This is a little under halfway through on two walls. I set up my tent, made it my home for the next couple of months. I returned to the main building, had a coffee and offered my help to a girl planting corn in the field. I kept wanting to go to shower I hadn't known what to expect from the camps but what I saw didn't surprise me. They were simple campsites, blue tarpaulins hung making the tents just as they had in Calais only instead of hundreds there were 5-10 in one place at a time but these places were spread out at the most 1 km apart from each other. This made distribution all the more difficult, with a large camp you can create a system, a degree of order. With masses of small pop up camps you must constantly change the way you do things, constantly change where you go from week to week.

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elevenhoursinfront-blog · 8 years ago

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29th April 2017

Steve woke me up at 0915 to go down for breakfast. We normally get up much earlier on Saturday to sit with Mel and Sophie. We went down and they had already finished their food. We sat with them for the next hour or so before Mel rushed off for her day out with a friend. Sophie and I agreed today was finally the day to buy a coat. We said we'd go to KMart at midday. We both went off to get showered and ready. At midday, I went downstairs to meet Soph. She was sitting with Dan and Meg before they checked out. We left around 1220 as we got carried away talking. We got onto a tram to go into Richmond where the closest Kmart was. Richmond is around 15 minutes away. We got there and I was in heaven. I spotted a coat straight away - thick, fury hood and only $35! What an absolute bargain. I was so pleased - Ange would be too. I found a white blouse for $2 in the sale so I had that too. I could've bought so much but I couldn't. I can't wait to go shopping properly again. A trip to lakeside is the dream right now! I found some bras for only $12 so I got one in black and white. I'm so adventurous. We walked around the shop for a good hour or so. Time goes stupidly fast when you're shopping, I have no idea why. We left the store and went to go get Soph's prescription. She's suffering with a really bad cyst on the back of her neck. It's the size of a golf ball. It's infected at the moment but the antibiotics she's been taking haven't really helped her at all. The doctors said that she'll have to have it removed by the plastic surgeon but she's scared. She's got 5 days left on her antibiotics to see whether they've helped. If the infection and pain goes, she'll wait until she's back in Ireland to have it removed. If not, she has to get it done here. I told her I'd go with her and I wouldn't let her do anything alone. I wouldn't like it, so I wouldn't want anyone else to go through it. I've lent her my scarf for the time being as it comforts her neck. We got back to the hostel around 1530. Steve had lunch on the table ready for me. What a man... Tuna and sweetcorn pasta. I was starving. We sat at the table with Sophie and her friend Alana. Alana is from New York, she's been away from home since January. She met Sophie in Melbourne a few months back and has been travelling Asia since. Two days ago, Alana fell really ill with a fever. Her temperature was triple what it should've been, she kept shaking and collapsing. She was in Indonesia at the time but booked a flight straight to Melbourne to go to the hospital. She didn't want to be in an Asian hospital. She went to the hospital round the corner from our hostel who charged her $500 just to be seen. I am never getting ill... She's booking the next flight home as she's still really poorly. She had some plain pasta with us before going to bed. Her mum hasn't been able to sleep and was struggling to get hold on Alana. I can't imagine how stressful that is. Alana's mum will be taking her to the hospital the moment she gets home. Steve and I went upstairs to chill out. I went onto the laptop to apply for jobs and look for houses. We still really want to rent somewhere rather than pay for a hostel. The hostel is going down in price from 15th May to $180 a week which is good. We'll probably struggle to find a house cheaper now. I was texting my mum for quite some time chatting away. She sent me $150 to go towards dieting foods and gym. She knows how much it means to me and I'm so grateful. I didn't ask for it, it just popped into my account. I'll sort something out with it tomorrow. We've got quite a few life admin bits to sort out. Steve's Nan gave me the best update on Eastenders which was brilliant. I now know what's happening with each family. I feel like I'm back at home watching it again. No crying was done today which is good. I feel better, I just hope I get employment at some point soon... I'll drive myself insane otherwise. We went for some food around 2015. Steve was 'literally' about to die from starvation so we had subway. I love their salads. Subway is great fast food place. Sweet onion sauce (basically no calories) is to die for! We got back to the hostel and Soph asked if we wanted to watch a film in the tv room. We went in and another guy wanted to watch something also. Soph decided that she, Steve and I would pick one film each and he would pick one of the three. Steve picked Shawshank Redemption, Sophie picked The Proposal and I picked The Blind Side. The Canadian guy picked Soph's one knowing it was a girlie film. I didn't mind as I liked that chick flick. He walked out of the tv room half way through though... We all got comfortable on the beanbags and watched away. I saw Steve laughing at the film quite a lot. He always moans about chick flicks but I catch him being more into it than I am 99.9% of the time. I reckon most men are like that. They try and act the big man but secretly love the Rom Coms. It was about 2315 when the film finished. We went up to the room to get ready for bed. Steve's alarm is on for 0430/0500 to be at the crown sports bar for 0600... The big boxing fight is on so he wants to go to that. I guarantee when I wake up for breakfast, he's still snoring away in the top bunk...

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teacherkmd · 6 years ago

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Second Week in QuFu: Small Victories

Week 2

Since having my schedule rearranged, I have found myself with a lot of free time. I am having fun listening to the military training that all my freshmen students have to go through. It is also “fun” to walk around campus and have them get in trouble for staring at me when they’re supposed to be listening to their drill sergeant. (All freshmen in university go through mandatory military training lasting from 2 weeks to a month). My classes will start the last week of September.

(Good camouflage)

The English department finally met up with us to talk about expectations and regulations. Since I am teaching all 6 sections of Speaking and Listening 1 for freshmen, I basically get to do what I want. I have textbooks, and there is a loose “use 50% of the books” rule. After looking at those textbooks, I’ll most likely be using them as homework and for support material. This course will basically be a conversation class. The textbooks seem to cover things like making appointments, answering a phone, how to end a conversation, how to begin a conversations, and ordering food at restaurants, etc. This all seems like very low level stuff compared to what the sophomores were capable of doing during the single class meeting I had with them.

I’m hearing whispers of a school sponsored trip to the Confucius temple this month, so look forward to more on that soon. We (the other foreign teachers and I) have also finally gotten the ball rolling on Chinese classes to begin next week. We picked up our textbooks this week to give approval. My book is an HSK5 (proficiency exam) prep book. It basically contains like 8 practice exams. I’m interested to see how the tutor will spend “class” time to help me prep for it.

Since last week there have been quite a few exciting developments.

The foreign teachers all had a potluck. The new teachers (Kim and I) didn’t have much to contribute since we are still figuring out where to get ingredients and kitchen supplies. We did cut up a lot of fruit though. Sharlyn (another Fellow) made some bread, coleslaw, and some yummy veggie pasta. Karen, a short term visiting physics professor from Canada, brought some bread and baozi. Jordan, a French teacher (from France), brought some wine and an interesting perspective to our political talks about Trump, healthcare, and other things affecting Americans and Canadians. Mike (the host) had prepared another pasta dish, and some banana pudding. It was good to connect with the other foreign teachers on campus.

I met a senior physics student (who likes to point out how young I am). Since 1) I don’t teach seniors, 2) physics students don’t take English, and 3) she’s only 3 years younger than me, I felt safe agreeing to hang out with her. This hangout session comprised the first real test of my Chinese proficiency other than small talk or asking for service in stores in restaurants. She took me on a scooter ride around QuFu. Next to the Confucius temple is a shopping/eating district. Apparently, it is where all the young people go to hang out in town. We ordered some vegetarian (much to the regret of my new friend) noodles, some frozen fruit yogurt, and did some shopping. They (her friend showed up at this point) were very interested in how I would look in Chinese fashion. Unfortunately for me, this meant trying on a lot of clothes I knew wouldn’t fit simply because our bodies are shaped differently (particularly, Western shoulders will almost never comfortably fit into Chinese shirts even if your chest and rest of your torso manage to fit that size). Afterwards, we went to a street next to a shopping center I’ve visited before. This shopping center has a KFC and a Watsons (think Walgreens or CVS with no medication). The cool thing, though, was that this street, apparently, turns into a night market. I would have never guessed. They set up carnival games and have lots of street vendor foods. Afterwards, they drove us back to campus and we shared a meal in one of the school’s many cafeterias. This turned out to be very nice because I had been too overwhelmed to enter the flooded cafeterias on campus thus far. After eating dinner, they wanted to see my apartment. This might sound weird to some people, particularly those going “whoa don’t invite students to your apartment.” However, this curiosity is borne out of the fact that there is a huge difference in where the local staff and students are housed and where the foreign teachers and students are housed. I showed them my apartment to which they lamented that I live in a castle. I asked if they would let my friend (another foreign teacher on campus) see their dorm since she hasn’t any experience with Chinese college campuses. They agreed after warning me that it would be very messy. After collecting the other teacher, we went to see the student dorms.

I didn’t take any pictures as it would have been rude. Just imagine a building from a post apocalyptic zombie movie. There are bars on all the windows (I assume to prevent suicides or accidents or both). The lights in the hallways don’t work. There aren’t showering facilities anywhere in the buildings and students resort to sponge bathing. All the doors look like prison doors, short, metal, and inset into thick walls. All the doors are locked with padlocks if no one is in the room, and left unlocked if a student is inside. Each roommate has a key for the padlock. When you open the door to the dorm, you will see a room smaller than most people’s bedrooms back home. On the left side of the room are bunkbeds to accommodate four students and the right wall is lined with desks. There is a small porch for them to hang laundry. There is barely any room to walk and definitely no semblance of personal space or privacy. In some dorms, there are 6 beds (four on the left wall, and two high rise beds on the right side that have the desks under them).

After showing us their dorm, they wanted to show us where the graduate students stay on campus. The difference is night and day. They have a completely newly renovated building. It has an elevator (my building doesn’t even have an elevator). Central heating and air-conditioning. Motion detecting recessed LED lighting in the hallways that turn on and off as you move down the hall. A fancy restaurant like cafeteria in the basement. Only three students to a room, each room containing their own shower and bathroom. Lockers are next to each of the beds for them to put their personal belongings in. They had an even better porch than my apartment, with laundry drying racks that elevate and lower from the ceiling.

Anyways, that ends the “hang out session”.

Monday the 10th was Teacher Appreciation Day. Sad for me since I no longer have students. But not really, since students still used WeChat to send me messages and found me to give me chocolate. One of my students interviewed me about my love life (I was under the impression it was only going to be sent to my students) and then published it on the school website for a “teacher highlight.” Now faculty and staff all know about my love life so that is fun! If not extremely awkward. But the page also included student comments about what they think of me as a teacher. Since I only had one class with them, a lot of the comments are that I smile a lot, I talk loud (#AmericanProblems), and that I’m pretty.

I also finally got paid my living stipend by my university. And since nothing is really available in stores around here (like measuring spoons and cheese and butter), I am happy to announce I have figured out how to have things like this delivered through the Chinese version of Amazon (TaoBao). I may or may not have also purchased a popcorn popper for the microwave (anyone who knows me won’t be surprised by this).

This week also included my first trip to the gym. The other foreign teacher and I joined the most “western” gym we could find. They send us the group class offerings in a weekly WeChat message. Not that that helps either of us since she can’t read Chinese, and I don’t know any workout language in Chinese. However, after doing some conversions from miles to kilometers and figuring out what speed I needed to be running at… I can now report it is extremely hard to run in polluted air. You really can’t breathe. The weight machines are also a trip, because the weights don’t list what weight they are, not in kilograms or lbs. I might take a silver sharpie and just write my best guesstimate. I maxed out one of the machines though, so I’m pretty sure they’re not calibrated the same way they are in the US. Watching the guys faces though when I put max weight on the leg machines was #priceless.

Yesterday, Tuesday the 11th, I observed a local teacher’s English class. It was a group of junior students doing intensive reading. Their text was about hurricanes and the destruction they cause in the US. So naturally, this North Carolinian had to keep her sh*t together and try not to let her anxiety about Hurricane Florence’s approach mess with the observation. The teacher called on me multiple times during class to explain things like the Salvation Army, portable classrooms, and if “returnees” meant the same thing as refugees in the text. The actual teaching of the class was not as bad as I thought it might be (based on what I hear about Chinese teaching pedagogy towards intensive reading word by word). The teacher still did 98% of the talking, but she focused on language choice (“what words show the power of the storm?”) and article structure (“why would the author choose to break up the narration with this paragraph here?”, “Why are so many of the sentences short and elliptical? What effect does this create?”). The major concerns for me were the lack of student interaction in English (when they did work together it was in Chinese) and the fact that all the students had a reference text which included the article written in Chinese with answers to all the questions and exercises. I talked to the teacher after class and she seemed really open to working together to come up with solutions for these problems which she agrees are problems. She also seemed open to the idea that part of my job and hopes for my role on campus is to hold workshops.

All the teachers in my office (the linguistics office) are really open and friendly. I think the fact that I have relatively proficient Chinese abilities is helping me here. I hope to keep observing classes till my freshmen classes start so that I can keep building connections and relationships with the other teachers in my office and the literature and translation offices. That way, when it comes time for me to actually suggest things like workshops or MOOCs or other professional development opportunities, maybe some one will actually make time in their already overbooked schedules to hear what I and other teachers have to say.

That’s all for now!

(I know I promised to be better about pictures…. but next week really I promise… I really will be better. Below are some photos I took while on a walk out of the North gate of my campus.)

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