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troglobite · 2 years ago

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okay calmer but also kind of extensive but hopefully not THAT extensive Thoughts abt t/d l/sso

we are well into s2 now in our rewatch

we watched a few eps tonight

and we ended w the ep where we have ted finally talking to the doc, and crucially, where trent runs into ted at the crown and anchor.

okay. so.

thoughts & observations in no particular order, but a lot calmer now that i'm not screaming and ranting (literally) and kicking walls (almost literally) and dripping sweat bc i'm so worked up abt everything (unfortunately also literally, not an exaggeration)

okay so first of all, nate's treatment of colin in these eps makes me 100 times angrier knowing now what we do abt colin. devastating.

also, though?

when nate insults him, after colin comes in to check w him and see if he's done anything wrong to annoy him, nate says "jamie and dani are like picasso and gauguin" and colin responds "...pedophiles?"

this. is actually so fucking important?

nate, aggressively straight and domineering here, uses this comparison favorably.

colin, timid and gay, calls out these straight artists for what they are: fucking creeps.

A GAY MAN GOT TO CALL OUT STRAIGHT MEN FOR BEING NASTY FUCKING CREEPS.

THAT IS REALLY SUBTLE AND REALLY FUCKING IMPORTANT.

and it's also such a great way for him to accidentally completely undermine nate's point.

that is. fucking incredible writing.

additionally, idr when it was, but roy calls colin a chameleon, right? not in the eps we just watched, but at some point.

colin coming into nate's office--i think will? or someone? bumps into him "sorry i didn't see you" "camouflage!" lol

haha funny

except.

as others have pointed out, colin blends in.

he is literally in the closet. that is literally his hope and goal and purpose. to blend in. to fit in. to fade into the background a bit.

he says to trent in amsterdam, "i don't wanna be a spokesperson."

and here nate is, saying he's not an artist. his work doesn't hang in museums. it hands in a holiday inn. covering up a bloodstain.

that is such a painful way to describe what colin is doing.

and it's not that he's not himself! we ALSO see him go out w the team, sitting between isaac and sam, singing all the words to a song they didn't expect him to know! he has friends, he is himself.

but as he says to trent (and as he's told doctor sharon), he can't combine his two lives into one.

no matter how much they're friends, he's not entirely himself with them, bc he can't be. or he's afraid to be--and justifiably so.

ALSO.

colin is the only one we see repeatedly talking to doctor sharon. they genuinely were setting that up. "i am a strong and capable man." i love him dearly.

but anyway--

my point is. all of this stuff abt how colin blends in. he fades into the background. he's not important. they all lose their minds when zava leaves, and colin's the one that he replaced. and with zava gone, colin's back on the pitch, and everyone criticizes the choice.

it's. so frustrating! and hurtful!

and all of this shit abt him blending in and how he doesn't want to stand out or be a spokesperson.

and i just think. ....maybe it would be good for him to stand out. to shine. to get positive attention. he doesn't have to be a spokesperson. but he deserves....something.

anyway the only other person we see talking to and abt the doc is ted.

the team really appreciates her. she sees the entire team early on. but ongoing? it's mostly colin. and ted.

[stares]

additionally, i was very excited to see trent at the crown and anchor, bc i hadn't realized at all that he was on a date, as several people have presumed.

and i was like "oh i wanna see! i wonder if he is! who's the guy?"

well turns out is a fucking clone of ted but with glasses and stripes.

the scene plays out like this

ted alone at the bar

mae says

"if music be the food of love, give me excess of it" (which does skip the "play on" part)

those are the opening lines of twelfth night.

a play in which orsino, the man who speaks those lines, thinks he's in love with this one woman, but then a different woman comes to him in the disguise of a man, and whoops they fall in love instead. (this is, without a doubt, the most bisexual play in shakespeare's canon. and that's saying something.)

then they hard cut to trent about to leave the bar, but he spots ted, pauses, and turns to his date and says oh sorry i'll just be a second, i'll be right out.

i paused to look at this man.

notable mustache (made so prominent that it was the first thing i noticed abt him--it's literally a styled handlebar mustache)

same exact parting of his hair as ted, and beginning to bald in the same ways

a collared shirt which is worn

underneath a light sweater

the only difference? his glasses.

and then trent walks over

"of all the pubs in the world!"

[stares]

also, trent?

trent's wearing what he always wears: a band t-shirt. literally such a notable detail of his outfits whenever he shows up that it's how ppl identify and talk abt him.

"if MUSIC be the food of love, give me excess of it"

[stares even more]

we also get jamie and roy interactions that are Delicious.

oh wait actually i do want to return to colin real quick.

beard hears what nate says to colin and tells him to apologize because it was "weird and personal"

[STARES]

nate does apologize

but as he's doing it, the team joins in to describe him w insults in order to convey what it was he was being to colin. a dick, an asshole, a cock, a....something butterfly, idr, that last one was dani. lol

but this includes isaac, jamie, dani, and....i wanna say zoureaux/van damme. idr.

but it's just. colin told them what nate said.

and they backed him up.

and then when colin forgave him, they ALL forgave him.

god. i just. i want colin to be okay. idk what i want this show to do w his storyline, but i just want him to be okay. i have to believe he will be. the team truly love each other.

also detail: i haven't forgotten that HIGGINS suggested the problem was ted and that they should look into getting different players. they got zava, that was a winning streak but a Problem.

and then ted came up with total football on his own, and now, bc of the lasso way, it's WORKING. and that's ted.

i LOVE this.

okay back to roy and jamie.

we just saw in s3's latest ep that jamie was UPSET abt not being able to switch roles w someone else! he WANTED to learn and have fun! he was sad and disappointed that he couldn't be trained and included in the same way. :(

that's such incredible growth. as others have pointed out, in s1 he says, "coach, i'm me. why would i wanna be anything else?"

TO HAVE FUN! TO CONNECT W YOUR TEAMMATES! TO LEARN! TO GROW!!!!!

i love this FUCKING show. it is SO IMPECCABLY WRITTEN!!!!

so back here in s2 where we are, jamie wants roy to coach him, bc roy refuses to. he's begging. he'll do anything roy wants, he just wants to be coached. and he's right! it's unfair! (and roy hilariously says to dock his pay by 4% since he's not technically coaching the whole team lol)

which is a GREAT fucking set up for s3 when jamie wants to be better than zava, and ROY OFFERS TO COACH HIM ON HIS OWN AT 4 AM. EVERY DAY. (and as others have pointed out, he notes that 4 am is the time when ppl are least expecting anything and therefore easiest to take by surprise. lol)

an INCREDIBLE turnaround for him, as well. OFFERING to coach jamie, bc now he sees that jamie MEANS IT! he's committed!

they're genuinely growing closer and i love it. it's so sweet.

ALSO there was a callback to this s2 ep in the latest s3 ep!

i had totally forgotten abt it

but roy's coaching advice is that jamie is too nice and timid of a player now, when what would help them win more is him being a prick, again. "so i can go back to being a prick?" "no, only sometimes."

how will he know? he'll get a signal.

what's the signal?

flipping him off, giving him the middle finger. lol

that never comes up again--

UNTIL

THIS LATEST EPISODE.

where jamie has Thoughts abt total football and the team's performance, and he says "yeah i have some thoughts but i don't wanna sound like a prick"

so everyone--starting w colin possibly???--flips him off, TELLING HIM TO BE A PRICK. GIVING HIM PERMISSION.

i had FORGOTTEN abt that in s2!!! in context in s3 while having forgotten the original source of flipping him off, it just read as funny to me, like they were insulting him and implicitly offering him permission.

but no, that's their signal: jamie, go ahead and be a prick, it'll help us win/do better.

I LOVE THAT.

other things i loved abt roy and jamie in these s2 eps

we get the ep where keeley Loses Her Fucking Mind bc roy is unknowingly being overbearing and clingy.

I MAINTAIN THAT SHE SHOULD'VE APOLOGIZED FOR SCREAMING AT HIM AND NOT JUST TELLING HIM IMMEDIATELY.

as an autistic with extreme trauma around that kind of shit, she SHOULD HAVE APOLOGIZED. one of the few things i think the show Got Wrong.

the rest of the resolution was great, though. and roy expresses his feelings very well.

HOWEVER

it's jamie who incidentally offers the perspective he needs to figure out his relationship w keeley. lol

"all due respect, coach, but that's not what he needs from me. what he needs is for me to give him space."

and then of course the iconic

".........FUCK!" and storm off. lol

but i love that! legitimately, all those roy/jamie truthers out there, i mean, I FUCKING GET IT! I SEE IT!

THEY PUT ROY IN A FUCKING RICKSHAW WITH PRIDE FLAGS AND RAINBOWS ALL OVER IT WHILE A LOVE SONG PLAYED AND THEN HE RETURNED TO TED QUOTING EVEN MORE ROMCOMS AT HIM

like i'm fucking sorry. REALLY???

and then jamie always being there for roy w relationship woes. like REPEATEDLY.

and jamie being mature abt his feelings for keeley

jamie being there to comfort roy when they broke up

i'm just

[STARES]

it truly is wonderful and compelling.

also i am still hung up on trent talking abt the 3 things and wondering what the fourth thing is, and then telling ted--like a dork--that the fourth thing doesn't matter, bc the lasso way has all been leading up to this total football thing and they'll perfect it.

and of course it's also abt his book, bc that's the clarity and overenthusiastic rambling of a writer going OH MY FUCKING GOD FINALLY I KNOW WHAT MY CORE THESIS IS lol

and i'm truly. TRULY.

entirely hung up

on them walking onto the pitch for training

the three of them (coaches) pass by trent on the sidelines

and ONLY TED

says

"hi, trent"

to which he responds

"hi, ted"

also at the crown and anchor, after the quote from twelfth night that introduces trent who was on a date with a man who looked exactly fucking like ted, at the end of their exchange, trent says, "love our chats"

I'M SURE YOU DO, BUD.

I'M SURE YOU FUCKING DO

like here's the thing.

ted mentioned being straight exactly ONCE in the ENTIRE show.

now--that would be nothing, normally! a statement of something that is already presumed!

but.

it was in the context of--oh my fucking god i'm going to lose my fucking mind i just realized

okay not only was it in the context of--like okay hang on.

the whole speech he gives is about how he settled on his mustache.

he says

"as a straight white male in kansas and in sports and who's afraid of needles, my modes of expressing individuality were limited"

he mentions being straight as a fucking prison

not as a casual thing, but as a LIMITATION ON THE AVAILABLE WAYS FOR HIM TO EXPRESS HIMSELF.

the story continues--he chose some rancid facial hair, thought it looked great, but then beard said, and i quote, "it looks like you just ate bigfoot's ass"

and roy says "more like ass-squatch. i hate what you've done to me."

eating.........ass............OKAY THEN. in the same ep where beard talks abt how jane wants to try pegging. alsdkfj alsdkjfljdsklf

ANYWAY.

he concludes this tale by explaining WHY he's been talking abt it.

"sometimes the right answer is hidden underneath a few other things."

something to that effect.

basically, the truth and the right choice and what will work is hiding behind various layers of other things that you have to get through first.

THAT'S what he says in the same story where he OPENS by saying he's STRAIGHT and that HETEROSEXUALITY IS A PRISON?!!?

here's where i am with everything

i spent 2 seasons subconsciously ignoring all of the queer stuff bc i fully was like "there's no way this show would actually do that."

i have been burned and queerbaited too many times in my life.

i am now firmly in the camp of "that bitch gay" said for fun at various shows, and sometimes they go there, but most of the time, they don't.

and i just enjoyed ted lasso so much that i didn't even say anything.

until season 3.

where on the second or third episode, i literally said "i think ted and trent should end up together."

i had no proof.

i just liked The Vibes.

and i was like "haha wouldn't that be fun."

and then the show said

HEY GUESS WHAT EVERYONE'S FUCKING QUEER ALSDKJFALSDKJFALSKDJ

so now i am retroactively losing my fucking mind.

this show has a "throwaway" line in one episode that then comes up FIFTEEN EPISODES AND ONE FULL SEASON LATER.

their commitment to the bit is INCREDIBLE. the episode "rainbow"--

they have an episode all about romcoms. quoting as many as possible. the framing of the episode's entire plot is like a romcom. all of it. and they chose to call it rainbow and make the song, which is emblematic of the episode, is she's like a rainbow.

and in that episode, ted says "things will always work out in the end. not in the way you expect or want, but it'll always work out."

AND I AM JUST !!!!!

like their signal to jamie being flipping the bird. keeley and rebecca and "i'm going to reapply my lipliner". the boxes that nate makes with his niece (who we've finally met!).

like ALL of that matters! all of that comes back around!!!

all of these details are relevant and matter, and EVERYTHING is deliberate.

colin wearing camo and joking that that's why someone literally didn't see him. colin, a gay man, being the one to call out straight men for being fucking creeps.

NOTHING IS ON ACCIDENT IN THIS SHOW.

and so i just.......

the most bisexual shakespeare play is quoted AT ted.

it references music.

trent, notorious band t-shirt wearer, then walks up.

he leaves his date, a man who looks exactly like ted but just slightly to the left, to talk to ted.

ted lies to him abt his problems.

and trent says

"love our chats"

ted REPEATEDLY comments on the beauty and appearances of MULTIPLE men in the show.

the rainbow episode features him quoting romcoms at the whole team, but MAINLY roy--who ends up in a rainbow-covered rickshaw to carry out the romcom ending of rushing to the airport (stadium) to declare his love (that he agrees to coach).

ted's only reference to being straight is in a NEGATIVE light.

additionally, we got a couple other small things.

keeley mentions that jane (i genuinely think y'all are right that jane and jack are sisters) once followed her home to ask if beard and ted were shagging.

beard is VERY sex positive and unabashed abt all of that stuff.

he tells nate to not be "weird and personal" abt insulting colin, and to apologize to him.

nate and beard previously teamed up in s1 to talk to ted--and ted says, "are y'all here to tell me you're in a relationship?" and then says something abt being an ally, and beard looks annoyed (they were talking abt needing to bench roy)

in the latest s3 ep, ted says to roy

"look at that head'a hair. god had to take it away to make things fair."

y'know who else has a great head of hair?

trent.

y'know who's in the room that the camera keeps dramatically cutting to for reaction shots?

trent.

y'know what roy says to ted after this?

a grunt of agreement.

jamie literally teaches roy how to ride a bike. they commiserate over keeley and their various familial relationships.

also small thing but i DID notice that we NEVER see where roy lives.

he's either at his sister's place or keeley's. we literally don't know where he lives.

we even know where JAMIE lives, ffs.

and briefly, where beard lives. where rebecca lives. we've even seen dani's bedroom (briefly, after a nightmare abt earl the dog).

but we have literally never seen where roy lives.

and given the fact that he's still so Angry all the time. ....i just find it interesting. is that part of his growth?

also him being "clingy" w keeley--he's so attentive and loving.

and yet HE broke up w her.

and rebecca says to him, "she's going to see someone who thinks they deserve her."

implying roy thinks he doesn't deserve her.

and legitimately--like--roy also says he doesn't have nate's genius football acumen or whatever.

i really think he's battling his insecurity.

and jamie helps him w it, teaching him how to ride a bike, and letting him see a windmill.

roy doesn't like allowing weakness. or vulnerability. he HATED crying at his press conference announcing his retirement.

and i just.............

[stares]

idfk, man.

this show is fucking incredible. everything is so tightly, carefully written.

i still can't get over the fact that everyone saw ted react to colin and michael kissing in an alleyway and immediately went

"that's an older gay having That Reaction"

and it WAS.

and then MORE THAN THAT

that trent has said NOTHING abt it. "for months", as he put it.

and we were like

"well yeah, he's queer. you don't betray one of your own like that."

and what reason does he offer to colin for not outing him?

EXACTLY FUCKING THAT.

it just felt like being seen in such a real way. such a small thing but so genuinely fucking wonderful.

i previously just really enjoyed this show. i cried, i got invested. it was v nice!

but now my entire person is CONSUMED by this show because they MADE IT FUCKING GAY.

and it HAS BEEN GAY SINCE THE BEGINNING.

i just didn't allow myself to believe, to see.

EVEN NOW! I CAN'T SEE IT, SOMETIMES!

will was at that jazz club w higgins in amsterdam, and he's looking over at that couple making out.

and i'm like "ew why is he staring at that woman?"

HE WASN'T JUST STARING AT HER, HE WAS STARING AT HER AND HER BOYFRIEND

HE HAD A FUCKING THREESOME

like i'm just.

even now, i'm assuming things are straight.

fucking absurd. THE ABSURDITY OF IT ALL!!!

so, do i actually think ted might be queer? possibly! if it is true/canon, i think it'll be a late game reveal that sort of leaves implications for his future wide open.

do i think ted and trent will end up together? probably not. i still firmly think that ted ends up romantically alone or open at the end.

but i DO think that it'll come out that trent is fucking in love with ted. or at least deeply enamored with him. there's no other way that fucking plays out.

do i think that roy and/or jamie will come out? possibly! they've laid it on really thick w roy. i can see that happening. and yet still the majority of me is like "that's not fucking happening. there's no way they have more than one of the teammates and coaches be queer. no way." and yet!

and re: jamie, there's less implying that he's queer, i'll say that.

the only thing there really is is his relationship w roy.

do i think that THEY will end up together? probably not, but tbh, who fucking knows? i genuinely think the roy/keeley/jamie shippers ARE ONTO SOMETHING.

i now have no idea how far this show will go wrt queer rep. i just don't.

but like. .....

rebecca is For Sure straight. the way she talks abt men and women, she's straight.

same w higgins--though i would be money he had an experimental phase.

many of the team's players are definitely straight.

i think beard is straight but may have......strayed. not much, though, if he's unsure abt pegging.

nate is DEFINITELY straight.

and like--

all of these characters have said things in a casual, non-performative way to like, confirm their heterosexuality.

.....nobody else really has.

jamie hasn't. since s1 and the v beginning of s2, he's completely moved on from relationships.

there was keeley and then bex (which !!!!), and then one woman he slept w casually. then the dating reality show where he only slept with certain women as part of a strategy to win the reality show.

and ever since then? literally nothing.

roy hasn't. his reaction to keeley having a girlfriend is really calm. he mostly seems sad that she's moved on, and he's having complicated feelings abt it. but it's not the fact that she's bisexual--the way he and jamie react to that news seems to imply that they knew she was bisexual. which!!! to be fair!!! if i hadn't been afraid to believe in the queerness of certain characters, i ALSO would've known!

otherwise, roy has been really sensitive, kind, clingy, dorky and goofy, and fiercely protective of himself and others. and hasn't really otherwise said much abt anything re: other women. keeley is the only one we've really seen and heard abt.

there WAS phoebe's teacher. i think we were meant to get a hint of it when he walks into his office and sees a card from liza or something? but like. .....that's it.

ted hasn't. i know, he says "as a straight white male" in this latest ep. and he previously in s1 calls himself an ally. but. ......[stares] in context, those things don't necessarily confirm much. the amount that he compliments other men. NOW! TO BE CLEAR! he is v much not there for toxic masculinity (toxic positivity, yes, sometimes, but not masculinity). this could v much just be him being comfortable complimenting other men bc that's how he operates.

it just seems. Interesting. all of the things that he says, that are said to him, about him, around him. and the framing of certain things. and him saying straight was not in a "hi, i'm straight!"--it was in the way where........it feels relevant to his social standing, and not who he is, bc the things he lists and the environment he was in were literally limiting his ability to express himself.

and btw, the moment that beard tells him that his facial hair looks bad, like he just ate bigfoot's ass?

RIGHT BEFORE HE WALKS DOWN THE AISLE TO GET MARRIED.

that just.

that seems deliberate.

yes, we've mainly seen ted w women. absolutely. but, to me, the things he's said and done.........aren't really confirmation that we can or should rule out bisexuality. which is. WILD, to me.

anyway.

point being, idk how far the show will go. idk what's in store for the characters.

i know that next week's ep includes a "leak" that has implications for keeley.

i don't think it'll be abt her relationship. if it is, it'll be some shitty information abt jack.

but she's the PR manager for the team, still.

i worry that it'll be abt colin.

could be abt roy? idfk.

but i'm just.

i am along for this ride.

this show is so well fucking done i can't imagine NOT using it in classes to teach incredible screenwriting, and incredible visual storytelling. just absolutely amazing.

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marinabays · 2 years ago

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[F/F] [Strangers on a Train] [Semi-Public Sex] [Masturbation] [Mildly Dubious Consent]

The train to Budapest is an overnight affair, which sounds a good deal more romantic than it is. Charlotte’s cabin is, in effect, a cupboard with a couple of folding cots tacked onto the wall, a cloudy window, and a tiny sink. By the time she locates her berth, her cabinmate is already there, rooting around in her backpack.

“D’you have a spare cigarette?” the woman asks. Her head is still halfway in her bag — all Charlotte can see is mounds of ginger curls spilling over the side. She sounds annoyed, like Charlotte has already said no. She also has an American accent, which Charlotte finds momentarily disorienting.

“Sorry, I don’t?” Charlotte says, like she isn’t quite sure. She stops herself from saying it again with more confidence.

The woman emerges, face pink, and blows a curl out of her unsmiling face. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “‘Scuse me.” She has to shuffle by Charlotte to leave the cramped space. Their knees bumping is the first physical contact Charlotte has had since kissing one of the hostel staff in Germany. She has met more people while traveling than she has since she graduated college, but there’s a certain isolation to it as well.

Once her roommate is gone, Charlotte assesses the cabin. Her roommate’s clothes and chargers are strewn across both berths, a plastic bag with snacks and two cans of cheap Czech beer commanding the little remaining floorspace. Charlotte wonders if it would be rude to go ahead and take the lower bed for herself. It’s clearly the better choice, and she’s the later arrival. After a moment of indecision, in which she imagines the woman coming back and catching her staring at the sturdy tan bra on the bottom bunk, she clears the mattress and stakes her claim on it.

Charlotte kicks off her sneakers and pulls her feet up into the spartan cot. She’s sore from running to catch the train, and from walking over cobblestones in her thin-soled Converse.

Her guidebook has a whole section on Budapest. She could get a headstart on reading, make a tentative schedule for the weekend. She’s always loved being the prepared one on a group trip, and the deference that comes with it.

However, she had promised herself that she wouldn’t over-plan this one. Backpacking is meant to be fun, spontaneous — the sort of thing you do before you turn all serious and sedentary and predictable and boring. Instead of the guidebook, Charlotte rummages around for her journal. Somewhere in the anxiety of packing she had told herself that this would be the keepsake she could page through as an old crone, reminiscing on the golden years of her youth.

She thumbs through the first few entries: Paris, Brussels, Antwerp, Amsterdam. It falls off after that. The cities she has cataloged get very thorough descriptions. There is a list of the museums, churches, and restaurants they visited. Charlotte has given them each a star rating out of five, of which one dodgy Dutch takeaway has earned less than four. Her friends get passing mention, mostly in terms of who got too drunk and who threw up and cried where.

Out her window, Charlotte sees her roommate borrowing a drag from an old Czech man’s cigarette. The train horn sounds, and she bounds back onto the car. The man waves goodbye as the engine picks up. Charlotte waves back.

⁂

The dining car is nearly deserted — maybe because it’s only half past six.

Dinner is a beef stew of sorts, padded out by the same bread dumplings she’s been eating for the past week. The Pepsi comes in a glass bottle. Charlotte drinks it and tries not to let it bump her teeth as the train rattles. There’s not much to do but eat and try to catch glimpses of the farms out of the darkened window. Cell service is spotty, and she can’t shell out for the WiFi, not after she splurged on the sleeper car. There isn’t even anyone in the coach cabin. She could have sprawled across the seats and had a perfectly serviceable sleep for a quarter of the price. The girls will all make fun of her when she tells them about it tomorrow.

Thinking about their teasing questions, she regrets her heavy dinner. She could blame the urge to be sick on the swaying of the cars, but —

Regardless, they’re her mates. They’re not out to humiliate her.

When they get far enough from the light pollution, everything outside the window melts into the inscrutable dark. A smattering of fellow passengers have sat down at their own tables, just as quiet as she is. There’s the redheaded woman from her cabin, seated on the other end of the car, facing in Charlotte’s direction. She’s reading something on her phone and white-knuckling a beer. Charlotte can imagine her looking up and making eye contact, maybe even grimacing or rolling her eyes. Charlotte turns her attention to her fork, testing every tine with the tip of her forefinger.

Charlotte passes the woman on her way back to the cabin after dinner. She smells like cigarettes, and she’s got a hefty wedding ring on her finger.

“Hey neighbor,” the woman says, not looking up from her phone. Charlotte startles, just as she pushes the button for the doors. She didn't realize the woman had noticed her. Charlotte nods, makes a small sound that could pass for a greeting, and is just stepping through the doors when the woman adds, “You took my bunk.”

The doors slide back and cut them off before Charlotte can respond. Charlotte pauses. She knows she should just go back and apologize, offer to move her stuff, but something pushes her down the length of the car. What a perfect time for her hindbrain to choose flight, as though she won’t have to sleep with the predator in the other bunk all night.

The corrosive disquietude only builds as she passes from car to car. It’s nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure, but sleep seems impossible and ages away. She approaches her shared cabin just as the train enters a tunnel. The sudden darkness is disorienting and makes the hallway feel even more cramped. The thought of sitting in her bunk, bound in by the curtain and the other bed above her, is suddenly nightmarish. She keeps walking, down the length of the train, until she arrives at the small convenience stand.

Charlotte scans the slim offerings, growing increasingly self-conscious as the clerk waits. “Sorry,” she says, “but do you have any—” she mimes a cartoonish smoking motion.

“Cigarety?” the woman asks, bored.

Charlotte nods and pushes her last few koruna across the counter in exchange for a pack of Petra Lights. She doesn’t argue when the attendant doesn’t give her any change.

On the way back to her cabin, she stops in the bathroom. She pulls half of the cigarettes out of the packet and stuffs them in the bin. Then she squashes the cardboard for good measure, until it looks nice and broken in.

Her roommate is in the top bunk with her headphones in when Charlotte gets back. So much for switching back. Charlotte plays offline sudoku on her phone until they pull up at the next station, their last stop for the night.

She climbs into the narrow space between the beds and the sink and waves to get the other woman’s attention. When that doesn’t work she taps her arm with the corner of the cigarette pack. The woman sits up and takes her headphones off, looking annoyed for being interrupted.

“I, uh, actually found these at the bottom of my bag. If you want one,” Charlotte says. She doesn’t know why she thought lying about it would be easier than just saying sorry and giving her the pack as a peace offering. Maybe she just doesn’t want this stranger knowing how much thought she has put into it.

They shuffle to the doors, pulling their coats on as they go. The other woman looks poorly prepared for the weather in hers — Charlotte wonders if she bought it specifically for the trip. Sure would be a shame if so.

Charlotte picks a spot near the doors to the station, in the hopes of absorbing the heating through osmosis. She holds the pack out in lieu of a handshake. “Charlotte.”

“Maggie,” the other woman says, picking one out of the pack and eyeing it suspiciously. Maybe Charlotte’s theatrics had gone a bit too far and dented the contents. “Light?”

Charlotte had forgotten about that bit. Still, she pats her pockets. “Sorry, I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry,” Maggie says, turning away and looking around the platform. There are a couple people taking the opportunity to stretch their legs on the platform, and Maggie stops them until someone turns up a lighter. Once she’s lit hers, she turns to Charlotte expectantly.

“Oh, right.” Charlotte takes one from the pack and lights it, thanking the man they had borrowed it from profusely. The first drag is harsh — sour tasting and hot, it scorches her throat and makes her cough. After that, she resolves to stop inhaling and start just holding it in her mouth, like she did when she was a teenager.

Having invited Maggie out, Charlotte feels a certain responsibility to see a conversation through. “So what do you do?”

“Stay-at-home mom.”

“You must be pretty bad at your job,” Charlotte says, cringing as the words come out of her mouth. “Shit, sorry, that was meant to be a joke. In that, like, you’re not at home right now. Not that you’re a bad mum.”

Maggie just laughs. It’s a good laugh, it makes Charlotte feel like she’s gotten away with something. “I’ll tell my husband that one when I get back. He’ll like it.”

“How old are your kids?”

“I’ve got two, both in secondary school. Nightmare ages, to be honest.”

“So, just traveling for fun then? Need a bit of a break?” Charlotte doesn’t really know how to talk to women with kids. None of her friends have kids — as least, the ones who have just sort of… disappeared? She tries not to feel guilty about not reaching out.

Maggie sighs. “Yeah, something like that. There aren’t any seasons in LA. A change of scenery can be good, you know?”

“Right.” Charlotte can’t imagine that late fall in Central Europe is better scenery than California spring, but then again, she’s never even been to America. She won’t press the issue.

“How about you, then? You just graduate or something? Out here finding yourself?” Maggie embellishes her point with vaguely dismissive hand gestures.

“I, er. No, I’m between jobs at the moment.” Charlotte waits for Maggie to correct herself, but she doesn’t. “I graduated a while back, actually.”

Maggie raises her eyebrows a little, but doesn’t follow up.

“I’m meeting my friends in Budapest, I just figured, hey, why not spend a little time alone, you know. And besides, none of them were really interested in Prague, but I’ve always liked Kafka and so I just said you know what, I’ll meet you there.” She can feel herself flailing. It doesn’t help that she didn’t really get to talk to anyone over the past few days, and it feels good to finally justify her choice to someone.

She looks at Maggie, who is nodding with a blank look on her face. “It’s good, you know, remembering you can do things on your own,” Charlotte finishes, quieter.

“Right,” Maggie says. She is traveling solo too. She has to understand.

Charlotte’s phone buzzes while she’s thinking of another question. It’s such a surprise that she jumps a bit.

so excited to see you!!! The text is accompanied by a photo of all of her friends on some terrace or another, cocktail glasses raised towards the camera.

Her phone must have locked onto some shred of a data signal. She types out a response and tries to send it, but her phone flashes an error message. The shred of data seems to have evaporated. She turns airplane mode on and off, then tries again. Still nothing. Not a huge deal — the message has come through late enough that not responding won’t be seen as a slight. Charlotte slides her phone back into her pocket, considers pulling out another cigarette.

Maggie’s has burned down to a stub, but she’s still sucking at it tenaciously.

“Another?” Charlotte asks.

“Nah, don’t want to be kept up. But you go ahead. I’ll see you inside.”

Maggie jogs back to the car before Charlotte can invite herself along. She checks her phone on muscle memory. Both of her messages have gone through now. One of her friends laugh reacts to the second.

It’s too cold to stand around smoking by herself. She gives it another minute before heading back inside.

⁂

If Charlotte expected the swaying of the train cars to be relaxing, she was dead wrong. The tracks are louder than they have any right to be, thundering a few feet below her bunk. She’s starting to wonder if Maggie got the better berth after all. She ran out of melatonin tablets in Warsaw, and it’s late enough that she’s getting hungry again. Usually a wank is enough to knock her out cold, but there’s no way she could do that here.

Charlotte opens up her messages and stares at the photo her friend sent again. It is horribly selfish and teenage to feel left out. Hell, splitting up was her idea. She just can’t get rid of the tight feeling in her chest when she imagines meeting up with them at the hostel tomorrow. At this rate she’ll be sour with lack of sleep, and it will just make her a bitch during dinner, and then she will spend the rest of the trip trying to apologize for it without bringing it up again. It’s all so painfully predictable.

She shoves her phone under the pillow and closes her eyes. In her early twenties she had a therapist who recommended that she fall asleep by focusing on one body part at a time, from her toes up to her head. She had always gotten bored and frustrated around the knees, but anything would be better than getting herself worked up about the noise and the thin, uncomfortable mattress.

Toes, then. Cold, very cold. Worth getting out of bed and rooting around for another pair of socks? Surely not.

On to feet, then ankles. Normal. Sore from walking, but not enough to stop her from hitting the ground running tomorrow. The thought is nice. She lingers another few seconds before moving on to calves. It’s only when she’s there that she realizes she’s been tensing them, along with her quads. She lets out a breath and consciously relaxes them. That’s better — maybe she has a knack for this after all.

Knees and thighs, nothing to write home about. She had slipped on a sidewalk after a night out in Berlin and her left knee hadn’t quite been the same since, but it’s fine as long as she isn’t walking down any steep hills. All the walking had been giving her legs a nice tone though, which she didn’t mind. She has taken to admiring them in the fogged-up mirrors of hostel bathrooms, once she has gotten out of the shower.

Hips, crotch — even less exciting. She can feel herself starting to lose focus. Everyone at home had gotten the idea in their heads that this trip was going to be some kind of lurid continental sex fest, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The only action she had gotten so far was with her right hand.

A few of her friends had hooked up with fellow travelers at the hostels and then recounted it in detail at the next morning’s breakfast, but Charlotte didn’t have any interest in hooking up with drunk British guys on leave from university, even in an anthropological sense. Anna, who had made it her mission to make the trip happen, had said one of her lads was convinced that the clitoris was inside the vagina, and had gone poking around blindly until she had to ask him to stop.

Thinking about sex, even disgusting sex, is a bit of a slippery slope. Charlotte absentmindedly runs her fingers under the waistband of her underwear. It’s the longest she’s gone without shaving in ages. She gets goosebumps when she rubs against the grain of the hair.

There had been a lovely butch who spoke with a whisper of a Dutch accent and had invited Charlotte back to her flat with the hungriest look Charlotte had ever seen. Charlotte had been a second away from accepting, when she saw the rest of the group watching them from the other side of the bar.

It’s hard to be turned on like this. Her fingers are too cold, her senses still tuned in to whatever is going on around her. She just wants to feel better for a minute. Then she’ll be able to sleep. She’s sure of it.

Porn would probably help, but that feels too much like committing to making this a thing, like she would be enjoying herself more than is respectable. She doesn’t even let herself fantasize. She just slides her hand lower, focuses on the dry friction of her fingers on her clit, and tries to breathe evenly.

Another minute and it’s not so bad. Her cunt, at least, is hot, warming her fingertips. She’s starting to get a little wet, easing the way for her fingers. Out of an abundance of caution, Charlotte pulls the thin blanket over her mouth. Her hand is starting to ache from doing all the work, but the end is in sight now. She slips her free hand under her shirt to squeeze her nipple and —

The cot above her squeaks, and her stomach drops.

“What the hell are you doing?” Maggie's voice is very clear in the small, dark space of the room. It’s not a question, not really.

Charlotte snatches her hand out of her pants. She feels cold all over, and she tastes bile. It’s not a situation she’s used to — caught out and unquestionably in the wrong. If she says anything she’s sure she’ll cry.

The top bunk creaks again, and then Maggie swings out and to the floor. She’s standing just on the other side of the curtain. Charlotte can see her chipped toenail polish through the gap. It’s a bit like the one time she got in proper trouble during school. The teacher walked up to her desk, and Charlotte hadn’t even had the guts to look up.

“Don’t be a little bitch about it, come on.”

Robotically, Charlotte wipes her fingers off on her stomach and pulls the curtain back. Maggie’s staring at her with her arms crossed, leaning back against the tiny sink. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and her underwear. Charlotte makes herself focus on Maggie’s face. She looks Maggie in the left eye — she heard once that people trust you more when you do that.

“Sorry, I— Yeah, sorry.”

Maggie chews her lower lip as she studies Charlotte’s face. “So what are you, some kind of pervert? You get off on being caught?”

“Jesus, no, I would never — It’s just, I really need to get to sleep. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking saying you’re sorry,” Maggie says. Charlotte is surprised by how little venom there is in her voice. She sounds more disbelieving than anything — tired.

Charlotte bites back the instinct to apologize again.

Maggie sighs and leans her head back against the wall. It looks like she’s doing calculations on the ceiling. “So you need to sleep. Why’d you stop?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, why did you stop getting yourself off?”

Charlotte’s stomach drops. “Didn’t you— I mean, you’re— You know what, I should just— There are some extra seats in the other cars. I’ll go.”

“No, I think you should keep going.” Maggie says, her jaw tight.

This is surely some kind of justifiably mean joke, and it makes Charlotte feel stupid. She doesn’t know how to argue, so she goes mute, mouth gaping like a fish.

Maggie is staring at her intently, eyebrows knitted. She’s rubbing over the inside of her own arm with her thumb. “I mean, you know how to do it, don’t you?”

“Of course I know how to do it,” Charlotte says, but her voice is very, very small. Maggie is making fun of her, right to her face. On the one hand, it’s a kind of nightmare scenario. On the other, she has dreaded this for so long that it’s almost relieving to get it over with.

“Well then, fucking get on with it, yeah?”

Maggie isn’t budging. There’s a firm, authoritative edge to her voice. Charlotte can’t remember the last time she spoke to anyone like that, let alone a stranger. Worse than it being rude is that it isn’t doing anything to stop Charlotte being turned on. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears and feel it between her legs. She wants Maggie’s permission, even as she can’t bring herself to cooperate.

“Are you sure?” Charlotte mumbles. She keeps picking up her hand and putting it back down on the scratchy bed linens, like a skipping CD.

Maggie rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the wall. She grabs Charlotte’s hand and places it against the damp front of Charlotte’s underwear. “Like this—”

Charlotte snatches her hand back. Her hand feels ultrasensitive where Maggie had grabbed her. She had forgotten that other people’s hands could be so warm.

Maggie pauses. They are so much closer now, their faces are only a few inches apart, and Maggie doesn’t move, despite being crouched at an awkward angle. She’s staring at Charlotte, unblinking. It’s an unnerving amount of attention, interest that could be verging on anger.

“Alright,” Charlotte says, barely above a whisper. She’s laying on her back, underbelly bared. But the door is unlocked. She could just go. “Do you want— Are you going to, er, watch?”

Maggie looks at her like she’s dumb, like she’s wasting Maggie’s time. “You wanted an audience. You got one.”

The denial lodges in Charlotte’s throat. It’s not true — she didn’t want anyone to hear her, let alone see her — but Maggie’s focus on her, the shamelessness of Maggie’s manhandling, is kindling something inside her. She should be horrified, but she’s just more turned on than she was before. Her body gives her away, nipples trying their best to poke through her ex-girlfriend’s t-shirt.

Charlotte tucks her hand back into her underwear, closing her eyes briefly at the first touch of her fingers to her clit. She’s intensely aware of the dead air again, just like she was on the platform. “It shouldn’t take long. I mean, for me to, you know—”

“Yeah, I know. Pull your underwear down.”

Charlotte makes a small noise, but she complies. When she hazards a glance Maggie’s way, she notices that she’s squatting now, her face at a level with Charlotte’s body, gaze no less attentive than it was before. Charlotte had never been that concerned with how her body looked during sex before, but then again, she had never really faced this level of scrutiny before either.

The cold air of the train car is an unpleasant shock. Charlotte sucks her fingertips in her mouth, wetting them as well as warming them, before moving them back to her cunt. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Maggie pulling at the knot on her sweatpants.

She’s not sure she’s had anyone watch her get herself off before either. She’s self-conscious of her little rituals, struck with the incredibly stupid worry that she has somehow been doing it wrong.

All that is wiped out when she gets her hand back on her clit, though. All the tension from being discovered, and from the intensity of Maggie’s attention, takes on another flavor entirely. She still feels wound up so tight she could break — only now, that breaking doesn’t seem so bad. She rubs two fingers over her clit and she tenses all over. The mattress makes a small noise, moving with the flex of her body.

Maggie runs a hand through her own hair, brushes it away from her face. “I’m surprised you had it in you, I really am.” She talks evenly, like she’s discussing the weather. “D’you do this sort of thing often? Rubbing one out with strangers?”

Charlotte can feel herself blushing. Her ears feel hot, like they do when she has been drinking on an empty stomach. She shakes her head, too afraid of how she might sound if she speaks.

“Didn’t think so. What happened to trying to do things on your own, huh?” She sounds disappointed. Charlotte has always hated disappointing people. “You really just want someone to tell you you’re doing the right thing, don’t you? Just pat you on the head like a dog?”

“Yes,” Charlotte gasps out. Just as squeaky as she feared. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then hurry up, will you, so I can go back to bed?” Maggie isn’t even looking her in the face any more, staring down at Charlotte’s cunt.

Charlotte rubs at herself like it’s a punishment, desperate to comply. She could twist out of her own skin. She could snap all her joints until she is rendered infinitely flexible, malleable, tidy and easy.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m close, promise—”

“I’m not gonna help you, you know,” Maggie says, with open contempt.

Charlotte feels tears prick in the corners of her eyes, because she wasn’t going to ask, would have never been that greedy, and it’s so unfair.

It’s too late to argue, though. A bit of Maggie’s hair falls over her face again, and the end of it trails across Charlotte’s sternum, feather-light. It’s not a touch but it’s close enough — Charlotte grinds down on her fingers and comes with a little strangled sob, curling in on herself, shoulders shaking. The afterglow fades fast. It would have been so much less embarrassing to just have a cry.

“Is that better?” Maggie asks.

Charlotte is a bit afraid to open her eyes, but she does it anyway. Maggie is standing up now, re-tying the drawstring on her pants. She can’t have come — does she not care? Maybe she just has the self-control that Charlotte apparently lacks.

“Uh—” Charlotte starts, brain scrambled and misfiring. It would be rude to be unappreciative, but she can’t fight the wave of self-disgust rising in her either. “Yeah, thanks?”

“I’m so glad,” Maggie says, deadpan. She puts on foot on the bottom bunk, apparently ready to haul herself back into bed, and Charlotte has to tug on the bottom of her sweats to stop her.

“Wait, do you want me to—?” Charlotte lets herself trail off. She doesn’t really know what she’s offering, but not offering at all would undoubtedly make her feel worse. Maggie steps back down and ducks her head to look at Charlotte.

Charlotte cringes, thinking about how she looks, underwear still down around her thighs, getting her dirty fingers on Maggie’s clothes. She expects, and deserves, nothing less than scorn, and Maggie seems like the perfect person to deliver it.

Maggie, however, just shakes her head. “I shouldn’t. And you should go to sleep.”

“It’s not like, a burden, or anything, if you like—”

“I didn’t say it was,” Maggie says, but she sounds more amused than annoyed. “Goodnight, Charlotte.” She hauls herself back into the top bunk without another word.

Charlotte keeps the curtain to her bunk open for another few minutes, but she doesn’t know what she’s waiting for. Maybe she’s listening to figure out if Maggie is getting herself off, if she really is made of the same stuff Charlotte is. Maybe she’s hoping Maggie will change her mind and deign to come back down to Charlotte’s register. If she could get Maggie off, then she would know what to call this — sex, albeit slightly weird sex. She could fudge some of the details and tell her friends she finally got laid. They might like that story.

⁂

Charlotte gets up early the next morning, jolted awake by a bump in the tracks. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, and Maggie is, blessedly, still asleep in the upper bunk. Charlotte dresses as quickly as she can, stuffs her things into her bag, and slips out into the public carriages.

In the dining car, she orders a coffee and a roll with butter. She picks a seat facing away from the end of the train with the sleeper car, but she can’t stop herself looking over her shoulder every minute or two to check if Maggie has come to breakfast as well. There’s an older man sitting across the aisle from her, and he’s treating her to a hard, continental stare. Charlotte distracts herself by studying the map of Budapest on her phone, memorizing the path from the station to the hostel.

It’s inevitable that Maggie will eventually emerge from their shared compartment, but it’s somehow still a surprise when Charlotte checks over her shoulder and she’s there, seated at the end of the car, looking out of the window with a coffee in hand.

Charlotte should really go over and say something to her. Apologize at the least, though demanding answers might be better. She can’t really get a handle on how sorry she should really be, but she can’t imagine Maggie apologizing — she doubts she has the words in her vocabulary. And she could just as easily mock Charlotte to her face — lord knows there’s enough material. Charlotte squishes the remains of her roll into crumbs between her thumb and her forefinger.

They’re quickly approaching Budapest. Not saying anything at all feels so terribly rude. Charlotte needs to do it, or it will dog her for the rest of the trip. She watches Maggie in the window and hopes for a little more time to find the guts to cross the car. The conductor seems to be listening — the train is delayed twenty minutes from their scheduled arrival time, but it’s still not long enough. When they pull up to the station, her thumb is bleeding where she’s ripped the cuticle with her teeth.

The morning is bright and crisp, a welcome contrast to the hermetic cabins onboard. Maggie breezes through it with purpose, her massive red ponytail easy to track in the crowd. Charlotte jogs to catch her, tapping her on the elbow just before she enters the station. Maggie turns, surprised.

For all the time she spent waiting, Charlotte hadn’t rehearsed what she was going to say. All she can think is this woman saw me come last night. It makes eye contact unbearable. She rummages in her bag to avoid it.

“Sorry, I just wanted to give you these. I thought you might want them? I don’t really smoke.”

“Wow, thanks,” Maggie says. “You know these are practically free here, right?”

“Oh shut up,” Charlotte says, but she’s laughing, and she’s a little bit proud of herself for it.

Maggie takes the cigarettes all the same, slipping them into the side pocket of her backpack. She idles, sensing, correctly, that Charlotte didn’t run her down just to give her a busted, mostly-empty pack of smokes.

Charlotte forces herself to look at Maggie. She has frown lines in between her eyebrows, and she looks like she could cut Charlotte in half with a sharp word. Before she can think twice, she hands Maggie a scrap of paper, torn out from her travel journal. “And here. If you want to, you know, stay in touch.”

Maggie looks down at the paper with a half-smile. She tucks it into her pocket. “Thanks.”

In that moment, Charlotte is absolutely certain that she is never going to hear from Maggie again. The ending to this story will not be sexy, or satisfying.

She should have just asked Maggie for her number instead — even if it meant enduring the agony of having to text first. She should have asked where she was staying. Charlotte doesn’t want to leave her and go meet up with her friends and pretend that everything is normal. She can’t.

“Wait —” Charlotte says, even though Maggie hasn’t moved. “Do you — would you maybe want to — I’m not meeting my friends for another hour and —” Her hands grasp for something to do. There’s a sign for a single-occupancy bathroom across the way. It’s sure to be cold and filthy but for some reason Charlotte just doesn’t care.

Maggie reaches out and grabs Charlotte’s hand. She squeezes it hard. “I’m sorry, but I should really get going. Enjoy the city.” She sounds apologetic, but again, she doesn’t give Charlotte time to respond. She kisses the back of Charlotte’s hand and then she’s gone, ponytail swaying as she heads down the labyrinthine tunnels of the station. Charlotte follows her with her eyes as long as she can, until she rounds a corner.

Charlotte is sure she looks strange, stood in the middle of the platform, blocking traffic and craning her neck to stare down the hall. The only thing that gets her moving is the arrival of another train, its brakes so ear-splittingly loud that Charlotte has to seek refuge inside. As she passes through the terminal, she unlocks her phone and opens the Whatsapp group she has with her friends.

> hey guys, decided to stay another night or two in prague — don’t have too much fun without me, and i’ll be in touch to meet up soon!

She throws in a selfie she took with the astrological clock, then she turns off her phone completely. Out on the street, she follows the signs for the river, navigating by feel alone.

0 notes

clandonnachaidh · 4 years ago

Text

Light Across The Seas That Severed (Ch3)

AO3

Even after years of friendship, of seeing each other through some of the best and some of the hardest times of their lives, Jamie Fraser would still need to catch his breath at the sight of Claire Beauchamp when she really laughed. With her head thrown back, her whisky eyes would screw shut and she would run her long fingers into her beautiful hair in comedic exasperation.

If watching her laugh was a sight to behold, making her laugh was the best thing in the world.

They were sat across from each other surrounded by a pungent cloud of smoke, both of them situated on plush sofas of green leather that was cracked and worn from use. With each passing minute, Jamie felt like the sofa was beginning to swallow him. He made the mistake of voicing his concern to Claire.

She thought the whole thing was hilarious, obviously, and told him so before taking a bite out of the space cake that she had cut down the middle to share.

“Edibles are stronger, you’ll only need half anyway,” she had said in her matter of fact way that she had, taking charge of the situation from the minute they’d stepped foot in the coffee shop.

Jamie Fraser, being the good catholic boy that he was, had never been inside such a place and he certainly hadn’t experienced anything like the Red Light District that they had just walked through. Of course he had heard of Amsterdam’s relaxed laws when it came to sex work and drugs but seeing it first hand was something entirely different. When he caught sight of the first woman in the window, her long blonde hair tumbling around her bare shoulders, he felt the blush rise to the very tips of his ears as Claire just laughed and dragged him by the hand, deeper into the belly of the beast.

The plan had been for them to spend two days in the city before they said goodbye. Claire was following her heart (which took the shape of one Frank Randall, the same bastard who’d stood her up the night that Jamie and Claire had kissed for the first and only time) to Boston where she’d managed to get a placement in a surgical programme while Frank would teach at Harvard. It had taken everything in Jamie not to break when she told him, the smile that she had plastered on her face not quite reaching her eyes as she surveyed his reaction over her coffee cup. He had swallowed the rising panic in his throat and felt as it soured in his stomach but he managed to calm himself long enough to take a deep breath and tell her the truth — that he was proud of her and he would miss her. He would miss her so much.

Jamie knew that she was lying about not being able to book a more straightforward trip from London to Boston and he strongly suspected that she had orchestrated the two day layover in Amsterdam for the sole purpose of asking if he’d like to join her, a mini break that they both sorely needed after an arduous final year at university. He hadn’t even needed to think about it before he agreed and in the week leading up to it, he had struggled to think of anything but watching her as she wandered around the Rijksmuseum, oblivious to the art hanging on the walls when he had his own masterpiece right in front of him.

“I canna believe I’m in such a place wi’ ye, Sassenach, and for breakfast no less,” he said, hearing a laugh that didn’t sound quite like his own. Frowning at himself, he looked across at her as she chuckled kindly at him, her index finger dabbing a crumb from the corner of her mouth before popping it between her lips. The lips that he had tasted just once years ago in what had been agreed as a funny drunken lapse of judgment in a grubby old pub on the edge of their college campus.

“You just need to relax and you’ll enjoy it, I promise,” she said. It had been her idea to get high first thing in the morning and then spend the remainder of their final day together strolling around the museums and parks of the city, allowing themselves to get into the spirit of the place and cut loose for once.

He watched her waggling her eyebrows suggestively, looking to him like furry brown worms, “You seemed to enjoy the ladies outside well enough.”

He went bright red and tried to sit up straighter amongst the sofa cushions that were trying their best to swallow him, “Dinna be daft, ye ken I wouldnae pay a woman to do that sort of thing.”

“A lot of people pay for sex, Jamie, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Two consenting adults and all that.”

He had always known that Claire was a very liberal thinker and she spent a lot of time and energy educating herself on things to broaden her perspective of the world. Jamie admired her for it even if he did enjoy poking fun at her sometimes, just to watch the spark catch fire in her eyes as she told him precisely why he was wrong.

“Aye well, that’s all fine an’ weel but I winna be dealing wi’ it myself, thank ye.”

“Oh, live a little, Fraser. How long has it been since Annalise? Seven months?” She asked him directly as he made a very Scottish noise in the back of his throat in an attempt to dismiss the conversation about his ex-girlfriend.

“I’ll thank ye to leave her out of our weekend,” he warned her jokingly, delighting in the corner of her mouth quirking upwards in amusement. Before he knew it, the words were tumbling out of his mouth, “Besides, Lise and I, we never…”

He watched as Claire’s eyes almost burst from her skull as she leaned forward, her beautiful mouth gaping at his revelation. Why the hell had he told her that? They never spoke about the personal details of their respective relationships, it was the unspoken rule between them. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Jamie could think of nothing worse than sitting and listening to Claire regale him of her sexual exploits with the uptight historian. It also meant that Claire didn’t know exactly how much sex Jamie wasn’t having.

“Never?! You were together for a year!” The amazement in her voice was evident and Jamie flopped backwards in the sofa, raising his hands to his face. He cursed the effects of the marijuana that had relaxed him to the point where he was divulging information that he would usually keep behind his teeth.

“Never, okay?”

“Wow… okay… not sure what to do with that but okay,” she mirrored his body language, collapsing back onto her sofa and tucking her legs up underneath her. “So you’ve not had sex in what, just shy of two years? Good God, you must have the patience of a saint.”

“Something like that,” he mumbled into his palms, refusing to remove them for the fear of her gaze seeing the truth that he was trying desperately to keep hidden but that was on the tip of his very stoned tongue.

“Longer than two years?” He heard her whisper in disbelief.

“Try 24.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds before it became too much, he had to look at her to gauge her reaction to his honesty. He had expected her to laugh or to yell in surprise but he realised that she mostly just looked curious, like she was trying to figure out the answer to the puzzle that was sat opposite her.

“You’re a virgin?” He nodded in response and watched as her shoulders dropped slightly, smiling kindly at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because we dinna talk about things like this,” he sighed. He could see all the questions that were threatening to slip past her lips.

“Have you not wanted to? Because that’s okay, maybe you’re just not into the thought of-“

“Christ, no! No, I’m definitely into the thought of it,” he laughed. “From the age of thirteen to seventeen, I barely thought of anything else. Besides, I said I was a virgin, no’ a monk. I’ve done stuff.”

She laughed at that, “So why not? I’m sorry, you absolutely do not have to tell me but I- just… how? Why?”

“Was just waitin’ on the right woman,” he shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. Whether she was buying it or not, he couldn’t tell but he was certain that if she listened hard enough, she could hear his heart beating out a rhythm in time with the syllables of her name.

Because that was the real truth, wasn’t it? That he had been waiting for her.

She didn’t say anything in response, just leaned to cut the remaining space cake in half again, offering the larger half to Jamie that he almost snatched from her, anything to distance himself from the conversation that they were having.

He was grateful when she left it at that, being able to intuit that he wasn’t comfortable with the line of questioning. That night, when the effects of their morning had worn off, they rented bikes and attempted to navigate the city like the locals did, getting horribly lost and ending up drinking a beer by the canal as the sun went down. Jamie watched as the rays painted her pale skin gold and the wind caught the folds of her sundress, settling the material delicately against her bonnie wee shins. It had been the perfect day and Jamie didn’t want it to end. But he knew that it had to.

In the morning, she was getting on a plane.

“Shall we head back, d’ye think? It’s been a long day,” he said quietly, pulling her out of the daydream that she was sat in. She turned to face him with a dreamy smile on her face as she nudged his shoulder with her head.

“The best day,” she said simply. “Let’s go.”

They walked the short distance back to their hotel in silence, neither of them needing to fill it with words as they just existed in each other’s company. When they got to their hotel room, he made light work of pulling off his hoodie and collapsed onto his twin bed with the remote in his hand as she shut herself in the bathroom, the lock gently clicking behind her. Jamie ran a hand over his tired face and tried to concentrate on the tv. He had an ear for languages, being the proud new owner of a First in Modern Languages and Linguistics from Oxford, but the rules of Dutch seemed to be far removed from that of the French and German, and a little Italian, that naturally clicked together in his brain.

He strained to listen in an attempt to isolate some of the sounds, let his mind create patterns and try to fill in the gaps but he was tired and gave up quickly, punching the pillow that was under his head to prop up his neck a little further so that he could look out of the window. He heard the bathroom door unlock.

That was when he saw her. Really saw her for the first time. And it wasn’t because he could see more of her skin than he had ever seen before but because of the look that was painted on her face. Her beautiful face radiating a vulnerability and softness that he had never seen the depths of before, never as unguarded as she was in that moment. She smiled shyly at him and her hand came to cover her bare stomach slightly. Panic clutched at Jamie’s chest as he watched her wall build itself back up.

He was on his feet before he even knew it, pulling her hand back down to her side and lacing their fingers together.

It was always easier if they touched.

“What are ye doin’, Claire?” He tried to keep his voice soft, to not let the need he was feeling flow out in every word. She blushed and ducked her head, as though looking him in the eye would break the spell.

“I just thought…” she trailed off before defiantly bringing her head up and fixing him with a stare. “I can’t stand the idea of you having your first time with someone who doesn’t appreciate you.”

She had sounded strong and sure but Jamie’s head was birling. He took a step closer to her, so close that he could feel her breath on his chest and looked down at her body, barely an inch of space between them. The swell of her breasts were contained by a lace bra, a lilac so soft that it made her pale skin look like ivory against it. She was wearing matching underwear, just a scrap of material really, and his cock twitched at the thought of what she must look like from behind. The amazing arse of his best friend that he had shamefully lusted after for so long.

He raised the hand that wasn’t tangled with hers to hover over her heart, not quite touching the skin but watching as the goosebumps appeared anyway. She let out a shaky breath through perfectly pursed lips and he knew then what she was doing, the gift that she was giving him. Because she knew or at the very least suspected how he felt about her. She’d have to be blind not to see it.

She was saying goodbye.

“Claire… lass, we dinna have to do this. You dinna have to do this for me,” he whispered but he barely managed to get the words out before she popped up on her toes and closed the gap between them.

For a moment, they stood still. Neither of them moved a muscle for fear of breaking whatever magic had been cast over them. But then his mouth moved instinctively, applying pressure to her lips in an attempt to open them so his tongue could reacquaint itself with hers, so many years since they first kissed. He heard her, felt her, sigh softly and that was all the proof that he needed to wrap his arms around her and pin her to his chest, his mouth greedily seeking hers. Her hands found his face and thinking that she meant to push him away, he immediately let her go and took a step back from her, breath bursting from his lungs.

“I’m so sorry, lass, I didnae mean to get carried away-“

“Jamie, stop. You’re overthinking this,” she interrupted him by pressing her body back to his and put a steady hand on his cheek, his face leaning in to press a kiss to her open palm. The reality of the situation filled him. When the sun came up the next day, she would pack her things and they would travel to the airport to say goodbye. His chest tightened and he exhaled heavily, trying to take a steadying breath but it shattered in his throat and he tried to suck another in. Noticing that he was beginning to panic, Claire urged him to look at her. “It’s just me, Jamie, it’s us. Do you want this? Do you want me?”

“Oh God, yes.”

Their mouths snapped back together and all was right with the world. He couldn’t stop touching her, desperate to elicit sounds from her that she had kept hidden from him for so many years, ones that he thought he’d never have the privilege of hearing. An errant thought passed through his head, that maybe he should feel nervous about his first time, about not satisfying her, but the way that she was reacting to his kiss put his mind at ease. He would take everything in, commit everything to memory and be attentive to what she seemed to like and not like. She was terrible at lying, his Sassenach, and he was secure in the knowledge that he already knew her better than anyone else on this earth.

He was pulled from his thoughts at the feeling of her hands on his zipper and he groaned into their kiss as her hand brushed against his painfully hard cock through the thick material of his jeans. Everything was happening too fast and at the same time, not fast enough. He wished to be utterly consumed by her, to share something that neither of them would ever be able to take back. Something that he knew he would carry with him until the day he died.

Claire’s skilled fingers divested him of his jeans and he refused to break their kiss as he wriggled out of them, swallowing her giggles when she realised what he was up to. He ran his hands from her hips up the soft planes of her body, feeling her delicate ribs under her skin and brushing around the lace of her bra to where it joined in the back. Whether it was intuition or he fact that he practically ripped the clasp apart in blind need, he had no idea, but his fingers fumbled less than he had anticipated.

“I want to see you too,” she whispered against his lips, pulling his t-shirt over his head in one quick movement before she fixed him with a stare, licked her tongue down the palm of her hand as Jamie’s eyes widened in disbelief before her hand disappeared into the waistband of his boxers.

“Christ,” he shuddered, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to contain the feel of her warm, wet hand on his cock. Her grip was firm on him as his jaw hung open and she greedily claimed his mouth once more as she quickened the pace.

When her mouth disappeared from his, Jamie opened his eyes in confusion to see that she’d dropped to her knees in front of him, her index fingers taking the fabric of his boxers on the same descent. The sight alone nearly undid him but it was nothing compared to the heat that enveloped him as she took him inside her mouth. Fingers immediately threaded through her hair, he squeezed his eyes shut with a gasp as she took him as far back as she could, which was no small task given the size of him. His mind betrayed him with a memory of Annalise trying her hardest but he was never truly convinced that she had wanted to do it, suspecting that she felt like it was an obligation which meant that Jamie could never really enjoy the act. As though she knew that his mind had wandered, Claire’s fingers gripped him tightly as her mouth kept a steady rhythm and his hips jerked forwards instinctively. An attempt at a stuttered apology was on the tip of his tongue but she beat him to it, moaning around him and sending delicious vibrations down his length. Knees buckling slightly at the sensation, Claire’s whisky eyes peered up at him, her lips plump and wet and with a hollowing of her cheeks and a hard suck, she sent him crashing over the edge, moaning her name as he did.

As the stars that had burst into his vision began to fade, he fought to get his breath back, feeling the brush of her body as she got up from her knees.

“Did that feel good?” She whispered as he nodded furiously, bumping their noses together in his enthusiasm. She laughed quietly and went back to kissing him, the feeling of her smile on his lips.

“It was amazing,” he told her. “Thank you.”

She laughed at his earnest gratitude, “I know how you can make it up to me.”

Taking his hand and leading the both of them towards her bed, Claire didn’t allow for too much space to come between their bodies as she lay back and pulled him down with her. Jamie’s mind raced as the sight. How many times had he imagined this? And how pitiful his imagination had been when conjuring it, missing the exquisite details like the way her her skin trembled at his touch and the softness of the sole her foot trailing up the back of his calf as he lay on top of her.

He knew that he was the luckiest man alive as he kissed down her body and a found a freckle on the inside of her thigh. To know the secret parts of her, to have her share them with him when she kept everyone else at arm’s length. How could he not be in love with her?

“Touch me, Jamie.”

He knew that those were the words that would wake him in a sweat for the years to come as he revisited this moment in his dreams. Hearing them fall from her throat was a blessing and he wasn’t one to squander such an invitation. He was trying to be gentle with her so as to not scare her off but in that moment, his trembling fingers became sure and shredded through the thin lace of her underwear, ripping them from her body with a deep growl that he didn’t know he was capable of producing. He felt her body melt into the mattress as his middle finger found her wet centre, her legs quivering in response.

“Oh, my Claire… how beautiful you feel,” he whispered as she moaned loudly, pushing her hips towards him in an attempt to receive more attention. His warm hand left her and closed around her hipbone as he kept her at a distance, blue eyes blazing into whisky ones with so much love that it made her mouth water. Not breaking eye contact, his fingers flexed around her hip, holding her in place as he brought his mouth to her core.

Claire threw her head back against the pillow, mouth agape.

“What the fuck,” she gasped. He had told her that he wasn’t entirely green behind the ears but it was nice to hear the shock in her voice as he set his tongue to work. Within minutes Claire’s body was writhing, one hand fisted in the bedsheets like she was holding on for dear life. It still wasn’t enough and so he shifted his arms underneath her, running them up the length of her back and pulling her closer into his mouth. She squeaked with surprise as she settled her weight onto her shoulders, trusting that Jamie’s strength would hold her steady as he relentlessly licked and nipped at her.

“Jamie, I’m-“

Claire was unable to finish as her words were replaced by a loud moan, Jamie’s growl indicating that he was not willing to let her go without knowing what it felt like for her lose herself on his tongue.

Fingers gripping his curls, Claire pulled slightly and he felt her entire body go rigid as she tried to control the feelings that were coursing through her body. Jamie slid two fingers into her and lightly flicked his tongue against her, holding her steady as she began to convulse in his arms. He was fascinated to learn that she didn’t make a sound, only screwed her eyes shut and let her mouth hang open as she rolled her hips against him, riding out her orgasm.

When he felt her shy away from his tongue, he gave her a final kiss and moved up towards her, delighting in the way that she curled her hand around the back of his neck and brought his mouth down to hers, tasting herself on his lips.

“Not a monk indeed,” she laughed breathily as she ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes shutting slightly as the aftershocks ran through her.

“I’m a man of many talents, if I do say so myself.”

“I wonder what else you’re good at,” she raised a single eyebrow above a pair of seductive eyes and Jamie took the opportunity to press his renewed erection against her thigh.

“Only one way to find out, I suppose.”

Her hands sought out his body again, as though they were always meant to be touching and she moaned a little when she felt that he was hard so soon after his orgasm.

“We can stop here, Jamie. This is your choice. Whatever you want.”

“I want ye so much, I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?”

“Yes,” she sighed deliriously, “Yes, I’ll have you.”

“Come here to me, Jamie,” she whispered as she took him in hand and lead him to her opening. He steeled himself, taking a deep breath and basking in the look of wonder on her face, soon replaced by a quiet, exquisite joy as he pushed himself home for the first time.

She was like velvet. Impossibly soft and hot, wet with her need and it was all he could manage not to immediately race to his finish, to take her with a force and a desperation that he knew was painted on his features. With the strength of an army, he stilled himself and raised his face to hers, nearly coming undone when their eyes met.

Claire had never looked at him like that. Her cheeks were flushed from her pleasure, her pupils blown wide and stunned. His soul was laid open to her and hers to him. And he knew that his face showed the unfathomable depth of his love for her, incapable of hiding it when they were joined like this.

Jamie could have stayed that way forever but his physiology had other ideas, his hips responsively snapping into hers. She moaned and tilted her hips to meet him, raising a knee upwards to cradle his side and deepen the angle of him inside of her. Jamie was completely unaware that something could feel this good and he lowered his head to capture her lips as he began to rock his hips against hers.

All worries that he may have had left him when he watched the way she responded to his body, her fingertips digging into the muscles of his biceps until he was sure that they would bruise. She was panting and moaning beneath him, making tiny movements with her body that produced huge waves of sensation in his. He was so distracted by his own pleasure that the first time she clenched lightly around him, he wasn’t even sure that it had happened. Looking down at her, he mimicked the movement with his hips and earned himself another wonderful contraction coupled with an urgent moan that ripped from her chest.

He slowed his pace, not wanting to be undone before she reached her peak and moved his fingers to her mouth which she accepted greedily. Screwing his eyes shut at the sensation, he trailed his hand down her body to the place where they joined and lightly found the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. She convulsed, eyes snapping open in pleasure and he wished for the hundredth time that he could drown in them.

As his fingers began to stroke her, he watched as her body changed from pliant and soft to frantic and needy. Her hands moved to his arse and pulled him into her, keening at the feeling of his cock coupled by the pleasure that he was seeking in her from his fingers.

“You’re going to make me come, Jamie,” she sobbed in surprise and he doubled down his efforts to find it for her, to let her chase her pleasure before he gave in to his own. What a gift to be able to feel the way her body reacted to his, to know how it felt when she came close to her orgasm. Her tight muscles fluttered around him as he watched the flat plane of her stomach clench in an attempt to control the pleasure that was crashing through her body. It was all too much.

“Give me your mouth, Sassenach,” he gasped as he sealed his mouth to hers, their tongues hungrily seeking the other. It was the moment of combustion when they finally met and her body convulsed once more before she began to shake uncontrollably, noises coming from her that he never thought he’d hear. It was everything he needed in that moment as he began to pour himself into her, unable to stop the frantic jerk his hips as he experienced a blinding white pleasure that he’d never felt before.

Only just managing to shift his body so that he didn’t collapse his entire weight onto her, Jamie rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling as he waited for his heart rate to slow. He was hyper aware of Claire’s body beside him, of the rise and fall of her chest as she descended from waves of pleasure that he had elicited in her. He’d expected for his mind to be running a hundred miles a minute but all he felt was serenity. In that moment, the world was exactly as it should be.

“Christ,” Jamie huffed, unable to stop the air bursting from his lungs. The question fell out of him before he had a chance to stop it. “Is it always like that?”

He didn’t look at her, couldn’t force his eyes to look at her face in case he didn’t like what he saw. But his eyes began to drift closed at the feeling of Claire curling her naked body around his, bringing a bent leg to rest over his abdomen and her hair splaying on his chest.

“No, it isn’t.”

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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lunavadash-creates · 3 years ago

Note

Have I ever told you that you are the sweetest cupcake ever?❤️ It’s impossible to not smile at your posts! I sincerely thank you for all your sympathy towards me! My heart just melts! It’s so rare to find such a pure and kind soul like you. Please, don’t change. Ever.

You made me worried a bit with your last paragraph - maybe I am oversensitive, but I am really worried. It breaks my heart honestly, I feel like you belittle yourself. Babe, you are wonderful! I am not saying this just for you to feel better, but because you REALLY are. Think for a moment about things you’ve already achieved! Darling, you graduated! It’s really something. It is even more something when you study two different majors at the same time and study in language school at weekends. It’s real hardcore! I am proud of you. SO FREAKING MUCH! You did so well and you did so much! Please, be aware of it. You are incredibly talented and creative. YOU are hard working, not me. And you know what? Please, have a proper rest. Don’t overwork yourself anymore. You have to have some space just for you. You have to rest and regain your balance. Don’t think about writing as your duty. I know you feel responsible for all requests you have. But they really won’t run away or disappear. They all will be waiting to be written when you rest. Don’t pressure yourself, I beg you. You know I love your writing. We all here love it. But we love you even more. Taking a break it’s not bad. It’s necessary. When you rest you will be able to concentrate, you will have a fresh mind and new ideas. Just remember that you are a priority.

Speaking of your visit to Prague. OMG, THIS ASTRONOMICAL CLOCK!! I envy you soooooo much! I wish I could see it by myself someday! Thank you so much for the photo! And geez, you are the very first person admitting that museums are wonderful! No one amongst my friends likes them and it hurts so much, because I couldn’t go to the Uffizi museum and Palazzo Vecchio in Florence. I would love to go to any museum with you then! Museum of sex toys sounds really interesting, mostly because it’s not about modern toys. Like, I would never thought that people could have such rich sex life! I heard that in Amsterdam and Paris there are similar museums. But! I bet you would love icelandic museum of punk. Ohh, I am pretty sure you would enjoy it! It’s really small, because well..Its former public toilet. Buuuut, if you like non-obvious museums this is definitely for you. Whale museum was also pretty good. Or I enjoyed it just because I love whales. I was also in a museum of teddy bears in Seoul and it was the cutest museum I have ever been in! Tell me more about that vegan restaurant! What good did you eat? I am not vege myself, but I avoid eating meat on a daily basis so it’s easy to make me excited with such things!

I am not sure if I am better. I mean, I changed my mind about being able to sleep all day. I am not able to sleep at all at the moment. I am tired and my eyelids are so heavy, but sleep never comes. I guess insomnia hits again, it's a never-ending circle. But I am concerned about your leg! I guess you had spoken with doctor since you got xray and usg. Did they say anything? Any ideas of what it could possibly be? It has to be something serious if you have problems with walking! How did you manage to go sightseeing in Prague? Babe, please, take care of yourself! And what does “health problem AGAIN” mean?! Have you had such a problem before?? It scares me like.. we just started adulthood? My friend sneezed and it made him lay in bed for 6 days not being able to move. Literally.

Yeah, I was in South Korea, but please, do not perceive me as your role model. Gods, it would be a terrible decision, really. But, I would love to share some stories with you if you want! I know it's a popular destination these days because of kpop. I used to listen to it, but I think a few years ago kpop was better? More interesting? Now I’m more into khh, but I think I can’t say that I’m into it anymore.

Talking about music! I discovered two new songs and I bet you know them already, but for me it was huge woah woah woah! First of it - Sabaton. Thay covered Metallica’s For Whom The Bell Tolls and they did it so good! Secondly - The Heart Asks Pleasure First. They basically made their own song based on one of my favourite piano songs. Oh my.. it’s sooo good!

And still talking about music! I just wanted to say that I also love our Wombo edits! That one with Ezio singing Stressed out was perfect! Mr Auditore looked very believably singing it. I liked the one with Edward and Haytham. I don’t know the song but it had such a christmas vibe! It made me think of Edward and Shay singing Last Christmas or some other shitty Christmas song together. Why them? No idea. I love Altair, but your latest headcanons could make me love them even more.

And! I just wanted to tell you that you inspired me to take japanese lessons on Duolingo. I am aware that such app won’t help me with learning such a language, but at least I can tell you that katakana sucks. Gods, I hate it so much. Hiragana is so pleasurable to learn. And I know katakana is visually similar, but it is a no no from me. I have learnt some basic kanji signs. And I just admire you so much more.

I hope you will have wonderful and peaceful week, Babe! Once again, please take care of yourself. Remember to have proper rest, sleep at least 8 hours and drink water! I hope your leg will be better soon!

🔪

Hey Knifey! I finally have the right mind set to respond to this ask!

So first of all thank you. You always make me blush with your kind words and I have no idea how to react! I want to squeaze you in a hug and give you all the sweets in the world!

As for the rest. You see i have always worked to hard on studying, so hard it actually burned out everything inside so now all i want to do i nothing! But i cant, i really want to go back to spending my free time in more creative way!

Omg Knifey! Finally i met a museum lover! And gods i want to visit them all! And you know? That Icelandinc museum sounds like such a goal, i want to go there 🥺 and Seoul museum of teddy bears?! I want to go there!

Honestly I love all museums and generally history. I enjoy visiting ruins of castles and villages, going to museums of everything! Art, machines, objects! There are always so many things and so many different ways to find the inspiration! And I always take so many photos for 'future references'. Some time ago i was in a gardens which showed different time of gardens of the world and there was this amazing exhibition of demons from Slavic mithology. That was so awesome! As well as Japanese garden!

In began restaurant i have this fried soy bites in some sweet-spicy sauce. So tasty! Im trying to recreate this recipe but so far its 1:0 for the soy :/

As for my leg. Its swollen AF bht i just... Put on my shoe and pretended it didnt exist. I can walk in good shoes but still im worried. As for that little again... I generally have some weird health issues. I had 5 surgeries for different stuff (spine, tumor, nose) so like... Generally i am healthy... Or at least i was until thst damned foot decided to show off. Its been 4 weeks and im still looking for a solution, running different tests and all. Hopefully they will figure out whag is going on.

Yes TELL ME ALL THE STORIES ABOUT KOREA.! I love stories, tell me everything!

Tbh i never listen ed to k-pop. I guess its just nkt my type of music but I enjoy some Japanese and Chinese songs (one i like is Arrogant by Xiao Zhang). I know songs you sent me and gods they are amazing! I love sabaton, rock/metal im general but I listen to all kind of music. Like Italian soundtrack from Winx, music from burlesque, Dragonforce, shanties. If there are k-pop songs you like you can always send then to me! Ill gladly listen to them all!

Im glad you like those wombos i guess i should make more! 😂😂

And gods. Katakana. 4 years of learning Japanese and I still need katakana board to remember those signs! And tbh i feel like Japanese duolingo has some mistakes ;/ but for Japanese i used lingodeer app and it was nice!

Knifey Im very sorry you have troubles sleeping. Is there something you can do to make it easier for you? Maybe you can take some melatonin pills? Maybe you are stressed? Can you maybe contact doctor, maybe they can help? I dont want anything bad to happen to you! Please take care of yourself? Pretty please?

Love you so much Knifey, you are such a sunshine and I just want you to be happy and healthy!

#Ask #Knifey #knifey my beloved

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kimberly-spirits13 · 5 years ago

Text

Summer Vacation (Pt. 1)

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: When you were young, your mother was killed by some strange force, it was seen as an accident by the police, but your grandmother and yourself thought otherwise. You aren’t close with your father and are often sent home from Gotham back to your grandmother. One day, you get a call, your grandmother thinks she has the answers to your mother’s death

Notes: Okay so I have really weird dreams. Like, this is something you might wanna know about me. Often times, depending on the dream, I might be able to narrow down a plot or something and turn it into a story. The Summer Solstice Museum was a dream so yeah. Needless to say, I have an unhealthily vivid imagination. Also, Ik I make a lot of series, but it’s almost summer time for me so I have time lol. OH, important, if you don’t call your grandmother Mimi, I’m sorry cause it’s what I refer to a grandmother figure in this as since it was in my dream and fit the character well. I basically had this dream and it was a character that I made a while ago but I figured I’d use it here, the reader in place of the character.

Warnings: Mentions of parental death, cursing, crappy dad (no physical or mental abuse he’s just absent and garbage)

Word Count: 1921

You were sitting in school at Gotham Academy the day you got called into the office. It was during History, a subject that you actually kind of liked in school. Damian, your best friend, shot you a look of questioning as you walked out shrugging your shoulders since you had no idea what this was about. It was probably another plan to ship you off to your grandmother’s house this summer. That was something that your father was very likely to do. It sucked not being able to see Damian during this time, but in the words of your father, “It is necessary.”. You walked out of the door with your hall pass and down a flight of stairs before turning left and then stepping into the front office. No one was there but the front desk lady and your father who had his similar look of indifference upon his face.

“Father, why are you here?” You asked as he handed you his phone.

“Your grandmother wanted me to get you to call her. She said that it could not wait until 3:15.” You looked at the clock seeing that it was now 2:55p.m. and school would be out soon.

You took the phone and dialed your grandmother who picked up instantly.

“Mimi, is something wrong?” You asked sitting down in one of the leather chairs that were placed in the lobby.

“Hello Y/N!” Your very peppy grandmother cheered, “How are you sunflower?”

“I’m doing great, school’s about to be out for the week, is everything alright at the farm?” You questioned as you heard the Queen playing in the background. It sounded like she was painting again.

“Oh, everything is... well let’s just say that I’ve found something on your mother, honey.” She paused for a moment thinking as what to say next and the music stopped.

“M-mom?” You asked, your face paling and voice hushing, “What is it?”

“There are mysterious things happening around right now. A strange older house has been spontaneously built up in an abandoned old farm land and my book of spells led me straight to it.” Your grandmother explained, “I know for certain that this has to do with whatever killed her Y/N/N. Finals are next week for you right?” She asked

“Yes, then we have summer.” You answered.

“Good, why don’t you come over and we can solve this entire thing?” Mimi asked giving you a second to think about it.

“Sure. Sure, I’ll see you then.” You smiled some remembering what the farm was like, “Will you just call me if anything changes?”

“Of -course sunflower!” She said, a smile in her voice, “Alright Y/N/N, I love you and will see you next week.”

“I love you too Mimi.” You hung up and went back to class, your father stating that he would wait for you until the bell rang.

Quickly, you made your way back into your class. It was weird walking back in. You saw Damian giving you a different look, rather than questioning, it was some -what of worry. You assumed that he saw the look on your face as you sat down.

“Later.” You mouthed.

The bell rang 10 minutes later and you and Damian headed out of the classroom, trying to beat the rest of the class out before the waves of students hit.

“What was that about Y/N?” He asked.

“My grandmother wants me to come to her farm this summer again. Uh- family matters.” He nodded thinking that this was over your father like it tended to always be over.

“You know you could always come live with me at the manor. Father is ... less than present sometimes like your father, but you would have Brown, Cain, Gordon, and myself as well.” Damian’s eyes lit up when he thought about you coming to live with him at the manor. It was something that he had thought about many times before.

“That would be nice Dames, but I just don’t want to go through all of that until I have to.” You answered thinking of the legal logistics.

“If you’re concerned about legality, we could just kidnap you Y/N.” He said opening up his locker.

“Oh yeah because that’s much better.” You rolled your eyes when he chuckled.

You grabbed what homework you didn’t finish during lunch or your break hour and walked out of the school with Damian for afterschool carpool (pick up). He walked you to your father’s car and gave a darker look upon seeing him. Damian didn’t like that he just left you alone in the massive apartment of yours for so long on “business” and basically acted like you didn’t exist. How could someone do that? You were one of the most amazing and complex people that he had ever met and it was inconceivable that someone would just toss you to the side in such a manner.

“Bye Dames.” You smiled some as he bid you farewell and got into his car when your father drove off.

“So, what was that call about?” Your father asked in a monotone voice.

“Mimi wants me to come to the farm this summer with her.” You saw his face light up some at the mention of this, “I guess you won’t have to worry about me getting in the way of your business trips now even though I could have stayed by myself being 16 and all.”

Your father didn’t reply and in his place was one of your own sighs as you two drove to the apartment complex that housed your penthouse. Your father owned a penthouse in the city after gaining a high position in his company for international business. While he did have business trips, you knew that in reality, all of the free times on those were spent with various women. You figured this out after tracking his phone on an app to the Red- Light District in Amsterdam during one of his “adventures”. This was proving to be a long next few days, and it was only just starting.

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It was Tuesday night, the second night of exams. Damian could tell that something was more than wrong as you sat on his bed with him, papers out studying for your literature and history exams that were happening in the morning.

“Y/N are you alright?” He asked finally seeing your gaze drift to the top of the paper, your eyes setting in like you were starting to zone out in deep thought.

“Y/N.” He said once more snapping you out of your trance.

“Mhmm?” You hummed flipping the paper to a new one.

“What’s the matter with you today?” He asked, “These past few days in fact.”

“Nothing is wrong Damian.” You replied, “I’m just stressed for exams, that’s all.” You looked up, shooting him a fake smile.

“That was one of the fakest smiles I have ever seen in my life L/N.” He scoffed as if you took him for a fool, “Seriously, what’s wrong?” He stopped, his gaze darkening once more, “Your father didn’t-“

You cut him off, “No, Dames, nothing is wrong with my father more than it usually is.” You stopped thinking some, “M-my” It took looking around and lowering your voice to a whisper for you to continue as if something or someone was listening that shouldn’t be, “Mimi saw something on my mom, she thinks that she found something on her.”

“Y/N/N...” He looked at you in sympathy and understanding, using the nickname that he had given you used only in special circumstances.

“It’s fine. I’ve been expecting something like this.” You reasoned more with yourself than him, “I-I love the farm, it’s quiet, peaceful, beautiful, Mimi is there...” You started to tear up some and he grabbed you, wrapping you in his arms, “I don’t know what’s going to happen and it’s just going to be my Mimi and I on a farm in the middle of a new hotspot for this thing that killed my mom and I won’t have anyone. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Y/N/N, you’re going to be okay.” He said softly before pausing, “If you’ll allow it, I can come with you.”

“D-Dami, you can’t. You have Robin and a life here.” You sniffled burying your face into his neck.

You did admit there was a blush creeping onto your face. It was strange being like this, yet it felt so right. You guys weren’t dating, not at all, but you guys were best friends and hardly left each other’s side. You wanted it to be more but didn’t want to mess anything up after seeing your father the way he was when your mother died. You didn’t think he would do that if something happened to you, but you also didn’t think that way of your father but here you were.

“It doesn’t matter. You need someone with you, and I intend to be that person Y/N.” He remarked running his fingers through your hair, his face turning bright red.

“I-I’d have to ask Mimi.” You pulled back and he let go of you, “You really don-“

“I will.” He gave you a determined look as you calmed some and nodded before smiling for real this time once more.

“So, wanna talk Napoleon?” He laughed at your remark flipping through his notes before nodding.

“Whatever you say L/N.”

After your study session, Damian went to tell his father that he would be leaving for the summer. He knew that Bruce wouldn’t be happy about this but also that he couldn’t say no. Bruce knew how close you two were. Plus, if Damian was abandoning his duties to go out to protect and be with someone, he knew it was serious.

You stayed behind, opening up your phone app to call your Mimi. She picked up immediately with a very peppy voice for this time of night.

“Hello sunflower!” She chirped, “How are you?”

“I’m doing good Mimi. I finished my math and science exams this morning and Damian and I are studying for Lit. and history.” You said smiling some.

“Ahhh you and Damian?” You could tell just from her voice that she was smiling at his name.

“Mhmm.” You giggled some like a child blushing, “I told him about what you said, about mom and he told me that he didn’t want to leave me at the farm without him.”

“Well we could always use someone else around here.” Your grandmother said knowing how much he meant to you, “He can 100% come.”

You smiled wanting to squeal in excitement at this response. “Thank you so much Mimi!” “Trust me, you’ll love him.”

“I don’t doubt it one bit. Now you’d better hurry off to bed so you can do well on your tests in the morning.”

“Okay, I love you Mimi.” You said sweetly.

“I love you too Y/N.” She hung up and you saw Damian waiting at the doorway, not wanting to interrupt anything.

“Uh, how long have you been standing there?” You asked seeing a small blush on his cheeks.

“Just came up. So, what did she say?” He asked coming inside and sitting by you.

“She said and I quote, “He can 100% come.”” You laughed doing an imitation of your grandmother as he chuckled, “And Bruce?”

“Father understood and has permitted me to leave Gotham for as long as needed.”

“This is amazing.” You smiled brightly, “You’re going to love the farm.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

I hope you guys liked this one. I’m working on requests once again and I think I’m going to post them on queue because I liked how that worked lol. Anyways, I hope you guys are having a marvelous summer and week and send in any requests if you have them!

#damian wayne x reader #Damian Wayne #damian wayne #Damian Wayne x y/n #damian wayne imagine #dc comics #dc x reader #dc characters #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #fan fic stuff #fan fic #writers #writing #tumblr writers #writers of tumblr

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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years ago

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chapter 11 paragraph iv

What I somehow hadn't expected was a city prinked-up for Christmas: fir boughs and tinsel, starburst ornaments in the shop windows and a cold stiff wind coming off the canals and fires and festival stalls and people on bicycles, toys and color and candy, holiday confusion and gleam. Little dogs, little children, gossipers and watchers and package bearers, clowns in top hats and military greatcoats and a little dancing jester in Christmas clothes à la Avercamp. I still wasn’t quite awake and none of it seemed to have any more reality than the fleeting dream of Pippa I’d had on the plane where I’d spotted her in a park with many tall fountains and a Saturn-ringed planet hanging low and majestic in the sky. “Nieuwmarkt,” said Gyuri as we came out on a big circle with a turreted fairytale castle and—around it—an open air market, cut evergreens lightly frosted with snow, mittened vendors stamping, an illustration from a children’s book. “Ho, ho, ho.” “Always a lot of police here,” said Boris gloomily, sliding into the door as Gyuri took the turn hard. For various reasons I was apprehensive about accommodations, and ready to make my excuses in case they involved anything like squatter conditions or sleeping on the floor. Luckily Myriam had booked me a hotel in a canal house in the old part of town. I dropped my bags, locked the cash in the safe, and went back out to the street to meet Boris. Gyuri had gone to park the car. He dropped his cigarette on the cobblestones and dashed it under his heel. “I’ve not been here in a while,” he said, his breath coming out white, as he looked round appraisingly at the soberly clad pedestrians on the street. “My flat in Antwerp—well it is for business reasons I am in Antwerp. Beautiful city too—same sea clouds, same light. Someday we will go there. But I always forget how much I like it here as well. Starving to death, you?” he said, punching me in the arm. “Mind walking a bit?” Down narrow streets we wandered, damp alleys too narrow for cars, foggy little ochreous shops filled with old prints and dusty porcelains. Canal footbridge: brown water, lonely brown duck. Plastic cup half-submerged and bobbing. The wind was raw and wet with blown pinpricks of sleet and the space around us felt close and dank. Didn’t the canals freeze in winter? I asked. “Yes, but—” wiping his nose—“global warming, I suppose.” In his overcoat and suit from the previous night’s party he looked both completely out of place and completely at home. “What a dog’s weather! Shall we duck in here? Do you think?” The dirty canal-side bar, or café, or whatever it was, had dark wood and a maritime theme, oars and life preservers, red candles burning low even in the daytime and a desolate foggy feel. Smoky, muggy light. Water droplets condensed on the inside of the windowpane. No menus. In back was a chalkboard scrawled with foods unintelligible to me: dagsoep, draadjesvlees, kapucijnerschotel, zuurkoolstamppot. “Here, let me order,” said Boris, and proceeded to do so, surprisingly, in Dutch. What arrived was a typically Boris meal of beer, bread, sausages, and potatoes with pork and sauerkraut. Boris—happily gobbling—was reminiscing about his first and only attempt to ride a bicycle in the city (wipeout, disaster) and also how much he enjoyed the new herring in Amsterdam, which fortunately wasn’t in season since apparently you ate it by holding it up by the tail fin and dangling it down into your mouth, but I was too disoriented by my surroundings to listen very closely and with almost painfully heightened senses I stirred at the potato mess with my fork and felt the strangeness of the city pressing in all around me, smells of tobacco and malt and nutmeg, café walls the melancholy brown of an old leather-bound book and then beyond, dark passages and brackish water lapping, low skies and old buildings all leaning against each other with a moody, poetic, edgeof-destruction feel, the cobblestoned loneliness of a city that felt—to me, anyway—like a place where you might come to let the water close over your head.

Before long Gyuri joined us, red-cheeked and breathless. “Parking—bit of a problem here,” he said. “Sorry.” He extended his hand to me. “Glad to see you!” he said, embracing me with a genuine-seeming warmth that startled me, as if we were old friends long separated. “Everything is okay?” Boris, on his second pint by now, was holding forth a bit about Horst. “I do not know why he does not move to Amsterdam,” he said, gnawing happily on a hunk of sausage. “Constantly he complains about New York! Hate hate hate! And all the holy while—” waving a hand at the canal outside the fogged window—“everything he loves is here. Even the language is same as his. If he really wanted to be happy in the world, Horst? To have any kind of joyful or happy life? He should pay twenty grand to go back to his rapid detox place and then come here and smoke Buddha Haze and stand in a museum all day long.” “Horst—?” I said, looking from one to the other. “Sorry?” “Does he know you’re here?” Boris gulped his beer. “Horst? No. He does not. It is going to be much, much easier if Horst learns about all this after. Because—” licking a dab of mustard off his finger—“my suspicions are correct. Fucking Sascha who stole the thing. Ulrika’s brother,” he said urgently. “Which with Ulrika puts Horst in bad position. So—much better if I take care of it on my own, see? I am doing Horst a favor this way—favor he won’t forget.” “What do you mean, ‘take care of it’?” Boris sighed. “It—” he looked around to make sure no one was listening, even though we were the only people in the place—”well, it is complicated, I could talk for three days, but I can also tell you in three lines what has happened.” “Does Ulrika know he took it?” Rolled eyes. “Search me.” A phrase I had taught Boris years ago, horsing around at my house after school. Search me. Cut it out. Smoky desert twilight, shades drawn. Make up your mind. Let’s face it. No way. Same shadows on his face. Gold light glinting off the doors by the pool. “I think Sascha would have to be very stupid to tell Ulrika,” said Gyuri, with a worried expression on his face. “I don’t know what Ulrika knows or does not know. Has no relevance. She has loyalty to her brother over Horst, as she has shown many and many times over. You would think—” grandly signalling the waitress to bring Gyuri a pint —“you would think Sascha had sense to sit on it for a while, at least! But no. He can’t get a loan on it in Hamburg or Frankfurt because of Horst—because Horst would hear of it in one second. So he has brought it here.” “Well look, if you know who has it we should just call the police.” The silence, and blank looks that followed this, were as if I’d produced a can of gasoline and suggested lighting ourselves on fire. “Well, I mean,” I said defensively, after the waitress had arrived with Gyuri’s beer, set it down, left again, and neither Gyuri nor Boris had spoken a word. “Isn’t that the safest? And easiest? If the cops recover it and you have nothing to do with it?” Ding of a bicycle bell, woman clattering by on the sidewalk, rattle of spokes, witchy black cape flying behind. “Because—” glancing between them—“when you think of what this picture has gone through—what it must have gone through—I don’t know if you understand, Boris, how much care has to be taken even to ship a painting? Just to pack it properly? Why take any chances?” “This is my feeling exactly.” “An anonymous call. To the art-crimes people. They’re not like the normal cops—no connections with the normal cops—the picture is all they care about. They’ll know what to do.”

Boris leaned back in his chair. He looked around. Then he looked at me. “No,” he said. “That is not a good idea.” His tone was that of someone addressing a five year old. “And, do you want to know why?” “Think about it. It’s the easiest way. You wouldn’t have to do a thing.” Boris set his beer glass down carefully. “They’d have the best chance of getting it back unharmed. Also, if I do it —if I call them—shit, I could have Hobie call them—” hands to head—“any way you look at it, you wouldn’t be putting yourselves at risk. That is to say”—I was too tired, disoriented; two pairs of Dremel-drill eyes, I couldn’t think—“if I did it, or someone else not a part of your, um, organization—” Boris let out a shout of laughter. “Organization? Well—” shaking his head so vigorously the hair fell in his eyes—“I suppose we count as organization, of sorts, since we are three or more—! But we are not very large or very organized as you can see.” “You should eat something,” said Gyuri to me, in the tense pause that followed, looking at my untouched plate of pork and potato. “He should eat,” he said to Boris. “Tell him to eat.” “Let him starve if he wants. Anyway,” said Boris, grabbing a chunk of pork off my plate and popping it in his mouth— “One call. I’ll do it.” “No,” said Boris, glowering suddenly and pushing back in his chair. “You will not. No, no, fuck you, shut up, you won’t,” he said, lifting his chin aggressively when I tried to talk over him—Gyuri’s hand on my wrist very suddenly, a touch I knew very well, the old forgotten Vegas language of when my dad was in the kitchen ranting about whose house it was? and who paid for what?— “And, and,” said Boris imperiously, taking advantage of a lull in my response he was not expecting, “I want you to stop talking this stupid ‘call’ business right away. ‘Call, call,’ ” he said, when he got no answer from me, waving his hand back and forth ridiculously in the air as if “call” were some absurd kiddie word that meant ‘unicorn’ or ‘fairyland.’ “I know you are trying to help but this is not helpful suggestion on your part. So forget it. No more ‘call.’ Anyway,” he said amiably, pouring part of his own beer into my halfempty glass. “As I was explaining to you. Since Sascha is in so big hurry? Is he thinking clearly? Is he playing more than one, or maybe two moves ahead? No. Sascha is out of towner. His connections here are poisonous to him. He needs money. And he is working so hard to stay clear of Horst that he has wandered smack into me.” I said nothing. It would be easy enough to phone the police myself. There was no reason to involve Boris or Gyuri at all. “Amazing stroke of luck, no? And our friend the Georgian—very rich man, but so far from Horst’s world and so far from art collector, he did not even know of picture by name. Just a bird—little yellow bird. But Cherry believes he is telling the truth that he saw it. Very powerful guy in terms of real estate? Here and in Antwerp? Plenty of paper and father to Cherry almost, but not person of great education if you understand me.” “Where is it now?” Boris rubbed his nose vigorously. “I do not know. They are not going to tell us that, are they? But Vitya has got in touch to say he knows of a buyer. And a meeting has been set up.” “Where?” “Not settled yet. They have already changed the location half a dozen times. Paranoid,” he said, making a screw-loose gesture at the side of his head with his hand. “They may make us wait a day or two. We may know only an hour before.” “Cherry,” I said, and stopped. Vitya was short for Cherry’s Russian name, Viktor—Victor, the Anglicized version—but Cherry was only a nickname and I didn’t know a thing about Sascha: not his age, not his surname, not what he looked like, nothing at all except that he was Ulrika’s brother—and even this was uncertain in the literal sense, given how loosely Boris threw around the word.

Boris sucked a bit of grease off his thumb. “My idea was—set up something at your hotel. You know, you, American, big shot, interested in the picture. They”—he lowered his voice as the waitress switched his empty pint for a full one, Gyuri nodding politely, leaning in—“they would come to your room. That’s how is done usually. All very businesslike. But”—minimal shrug—“they are new at this, and paranoid. They want to call their own location. “Which is?” “Don’t know yet! Didn’t I just say? They keep changing their mind. If they want us to wait—we wait. We have to let them think they are boss. Now, sorry,” he said, stretching and yawning, rubbing a dark-circled eye with a fingertip, “I am tired! Want a nap!” He turned and said something to Gyuri in Ukrainian, and then turned back to me. “Sorry,” he said, leaning in and slinging his arm around my shoulder. “You can find your way back to your hotel?” I tried to disengage myself without seeming to. “Right. Where are you staying?” “Girlfriend’s flat—Zeedijk.” “Near Zeedijk,” said Gyuri, rising purposefully, with a polite and vaguely military air. “Chinese quarter of the old times.” “What’s the address?” “Cannot remember. You know me. I cannot remember addresses in my head and like that. But—” Boris tapped his pocket—“your hotel.” “Right.” Back in Vegas, if we ever got separated—running from the mall cops, pockets full of stolen gift cards—my house was always the rendezvous point. “So—I’ll meet you back there. And you have my phone number, and I have yours. Will call you when I know something more. Now—” slapping me on the back of the head—“stop worrying, Potter! Don’t stand there and look so unhappy! If we lose, we win, and if we win, we win! Everything is good! You know which way to go to get back, don’t you? Just up this way, and left when you get to the Singel. Yes, there. We will speak soon.”

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sirthisisa-wendys · 4 years ago

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Wendyy! Hello, hello!

I can't believe we follow the same meme pages!! I'm sooo happy. And I also love solitaire, though I've never played Scrabble in my life (maybe some day we can play online. Is that even possible? And please, don't kick my ass if we do 🥺).

I'm sorry to hear you are having a hard time, but I'm relieved knowing that are taking your time!!

I think I can upload some recipes during the weekend! I'll see how I'm going to share them, so bare with me for a few days more! Have you got any specific food in mind? Is there something you don't like? Let me know so I can start passing them to digital format (again, idk if this collocation is ok😣).

I totally get your point about travelling. It's really interesting to see other people who is completely different from you or your friends or the people you normally see in your city! I'd have like to go to museums or art galleries when I went to the USA, but we had really little time!! I guess it'll be the next I'm there!

So, I tried pepperoni pizza and it wasn't bad, but it wasn't my favourite! I'm really curious about the garlic butter crust. It sounds appetising 🤤🤤🤤. Also, thanks for teaching me how to say ice-cream in Norwegian!

About my pupper!! She is not the only one. There is another dog in my family and I forgot about her! I feel terrible! Her name is Florencia, but we call her Floppy! She is really short but she is big! It's so cute. I remember when she first came to my house, she was really ill-mannered. But as time passed by, she became a really good girl! However, she is REALLY jealous of Kira. They don't like each other at all 😣. But my family and I are trying to make them get along well! And about their nicknames, Floppy is just Floppy. But Kira has some others, like Kirita (it's a sort of diminutive), Pelopincho (which is the name of a brand that makes something like kiddie pools. Again, I had to do research about different types of swimming pools and I'm not sure about the terms I'm using. The reason why we call her like that is because she LOVES swimming pools, though she hates showers), pumpkin and baby (both in English 😂).

If I had to choose only one ice-cream flavour, I'd go with Lemon pie. Now, I know that lemon pie is exactly that, a pie. However, there are wonderful people on this planet that made possible to make this amazing dessert into ice-cream.

I haven't had pistachio ice-cream yet, but I really want to try it. I haven't found a place which sells it here yet!

So looked for the difference between gelato and ice-cream and I think we don't have that here. But, considering that gelato has lower fat content, I think that helados de agua (ice-cream made with water instead of cream) are the most similar thing around here. I like them a lot too. I tend to try them every time I have the opportunity. Just yesterday I had pink grapefruit and tangerine gelato (I guess it was gelato). It was really good!

I do have a favourite fruit, which is pineapple 🍍. I also like citrus and berries a lot. The only fruit I don't like are avocados (I hate it, sorry 😖😝) and plums.

What about your favourite ice-cream and gelato flavour? Have you tried pistachio? And what about your favourite fruit? What other countries have you been apart from the ones you have mentioned so far? What is your favourite colour?

Con mucho amor,

♠️V♠️

Ps: I realised I'm writing lengthy messages. If want me to shorten them, just tell me.

Good morning, V!

I promise I won't kick your ass at Scrabble lol! I'll make it easy for you, for sure. And I'm sure there's a way to play scrabble online! We'll have to do that very soon.

I don't have any specific recipes in mind. I just love to cook! I'm excited to see what you send and I'll take pictures when I cook it :)

There are so many beautiful museums and art galleries; I actually chose where to live based on the proximity to the local art gallery )it's within walking distance) and that has been the thing I do on my days off. I've got a membership, so I've seen almost every exhibit they have installed in the gallery for now. It'll change next month, which is what I look forward to the most!

What's your favorite type of pizza? Also, the garlic crust is just *mmmph* the pièce de résistance! My taste buds rejoice when the delivery man comes lol

Lemon pie ice cream! When I think about citrus-y ice cream, I get a little worried, but then again, I do love the taste of lemon and orange normally, so maybe it's worth a try!

F L O P P Y

I would like to buy one floppy, please. (Though Sebastian is plenty floppy himself.)

I'm okay with avocados in quac, but that's it. No plums for me either. To answer your questions: I love chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and berry flavored gelato. I have NOT tried pistachio (too scared to lol) My favorite fruits are apples, raspberries, and blackberries. I've also been to Amsterdam, Turkey, and Italy. We planned to go to Cancun for summer break, but that didn't work out the way we wanted it to. Maybe I'll go after we go to Ireland next year. And finally, my favorite color is blue. (Robin's egg blue to be exact, but I love all shades of blue).

What's your favorite color? Any preference between classical musicians or jazz? Do you prefer coffee or tea??

Can't wait to hear from you.

Jeg elsker deg!

Wendy

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skelffricat · 4 years ago

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Uppa (Mother)Hoods

I have never given birth, yet I have made three children. At the cosy NCT* group in the Ormeau Library, where I went with my first child (when I managed to get up early enough) I felt ashamed of this. The mothers there were Proper Mothers, with scars in their vaginas; tits out for milking; organic rice cakes for snacks; and great pride in their beautiful birth stories. They were horrific to me (the stories, not the mothers). I couldn’t talk about my birth experience without crying. I even made my GP cry, telling her about it. My eldest was whisked out of my unconscious middle in a now-derelict hospital in South Wales, while my legs were stirruped up (I once made the mistake of visiting the Erotic Museum in Amsterdam- the Sex Museum is better- whilst very stoned. One tends to be stoned, in Amsterdam, I suppose. The floors were confusingly slanted, giving me a sinking feeling, and the top floor’s “sexy” scene was a hospital one. Mannequins in stirrups do NOT turn me on. I had to immediately leave. I may have wept.) There was a student in the hospital room, with horror on his young face, gawping between my legs, and a nurse was urging the doctor to wait for me to go fully under the anaesthetic before he sliced my layers open with the scalpel. My eldest’s father had already been bade to leave. I think he signed something as he left. Signed our lives away?

I learnt later, whilst perusing my eldest’s little red book**, that her lung had collapsed. (I asked why they hadn’t told me. Oh, but it’s fairly common, they said. One in ten thousand. Not worth mentioning, really. Wtf?!) She had pooed in my womb (how rude!) and inhaled some of her own meconium. Meconium. Meconium. I had already learnt that word as a teen, from the band James, in their brilliant song, Gold Mother.

Then I had three friends- well, six, really- who had had stillborn children, at full term, and stopped feeling ashamed of how my child had made her clumsy entrance to the world, and merely relieved that she was alive and kicking, and proud of her. The biggest, reddest, loudest, baby in SCBU***. (“How will I know which one is mine?” I had croaked. Then, it was so obvious, I’d laughed.) I can also feel smug about not pissing myself on trampolines, or every time I sneeze, like most of the women I know who’ve had natural births. Perhaps I’ll start an Unnatural Childbirth Trust. Do your pelvic floor exercises. Now.

TRIGGER WARNING: I am going to talk about teenage suicide.

Now my youngest child has died, by suicide, just short of her 15th birthday, and I try to feel relief that she is at peace, and that I got 15 glorious years with her. If I think about birthdays like the Chinese people do, I can call it 16****. Almost a woman.

I found her. She arranged that I would, I suppose because she thought I could cope with it better than her father could (she was right, of course. She was usually right. She was very wise. I miss her wisdom, and her unfailing ability to open any jar I couldn’t. She was strong.) I don’t know how to feel about that. People keep telling me that I’m strong, but it seems strangely shameful to be strong at this time (and I still can’t open jars). Perhaps the anti-depressants are working too well? I wonder. I worry that my blasé attitude to death made her decision easier (though I understand that it is pointless to worry about these things now. It won’t bring her back.) We tended to talk about death a lot. Some of my friends had died by suicide, and I would discuss with my mother, her granny, around the children, how suicide was no longer a shameful thing. How you shouldn’t say “committed” in front of it, because it hasn’t been a crime in the UK since 1961. It shouldn’t be a crime anywhere. We went to funerals in brightly coloured clothes. I celebrated dead people’s wonderful lives with them.

She was hanging from the trapeze I’d had built for her, in our quiet back garden, from a hammock that I had bought for her. I had wondered about the hammock being out there in winter, and thought it was tied in a funny way, a few days before, but not done anything about that. I try not to regret that either. My logic comforts me thus: at least these things could be taken from the garden, and destroyed (the hammock) or used again (the trapeze) and I didn’t have to cut down any trees. I said to myself- she would have done it anyway, somewhere else, at some time. She did it with her things. She used to do amazing things on them. She could soar and swoop gracefully from that trapeze, and even the hammock got strung up high and spun from.

I had been drinking the night before with my lovely Scottish lover. We watched Wild at Heart, and drank red wine. I thoroughly christened the new bright yellow carpet with a full glass of it, oops. Tried to clean it with a sock. My youngest child was baking in the kitchen. She made a vegan chocolate cake. At one point I went in to her and she was sat on the floor, looking at the cake in the oven. Her head was practically in there. When I was a child, we had electric, not gas, and I thought that people who killed themselves by putting their heads in the oven were cooking themselves to death. How did all the heat not escape, I wondered? How long would that take?! Those thoughts went through my head as I looked at her. She had attempted suicide before, around a month ago. We had been to the hospital. She convinced them (and me) that she wasn’t suicidal, and was sent home. I am not angry at this. What is the point in being angry? She is gone. She was a good actress. A cry for help? She had been to CAMHS that very day. I felt hopeful. She was making cake! She was going to try school tomorrow, in her own comfortable clothes. She hadn’t been for ages. She was too anxious, about uniform, about what to learn, about the future. I asked her what she was doing and we laughed about her proximity to the oven.

He and I ate the cake, later, with natural yoghurt. It was delicious. We called her to join us and she wouldn’t. The last time I saw my youngest daughter alive I was thinking about her killing herself, in a jocular way. Then she did. In a jugular way. Fuck, sorry. I find myself saying the most inappropriate things.

Sometimes I imagine her last breath. Or dream of disembodied heads. I wonder did she change her mind at the last minute, or feel resolute, and pleased with herself, her escape? Did she make a noise? Did she call out to me, to anyone? I guess you probably can’t call out...? At first, the shock was so severe, I couldn’t think about it without feeling a massive surge of pure panic. I saw my face in the mirror that morning, and it was ashen grey. Later, my eldest described the sensation as a perpetual feeling of dread. Impending doom. Yes, I said, like we’re waiting for something horrific to happen! Then we would realise it already had. My heart thumped so viciously hard inside of me, it felt like it was going to jump right out of my chest. Proving its aliveness. Until I calmed it with (mostly) legal drugs. In the next few weeks, I liked to listen to hearts beating, breath flowing. People being alive, alive- oh.

My lover had left that night, as he was to go on a walk early the next day. I am so relieved that he had. He has his own demons. He never went on that walk, of course, but at least he didn’t have to find her. He left at around 3am. Her bedroom door was closed.

I awoke just before 6am. I’m not sure why. I expect I needed water, because I’d been drinking wine. Her door was open. The light was on, and I could see her bed was empty. I got water, and went to her room and saw there was a note on the bed. It was written in green biro, on an A4 file page, folded twice. There was a little cheeky red smiley face with its tongue out on the outside. It was a suicide note. Full of love. Was it a suicide note? So much love. It can’t be a suicide note. I started to look for her, around the house. It was still very dark. I was switching on the light in a room and looking around it and switching the light off and looking in another room. I couldn’t find her. I looked in some rooms twice. I even opened the compartment under her bed. I looked in the cupboard under the stairs, like Harry Potter’s room, that she and her friend had once shut themselves into, to see each other’s glow-in-the-dark bicycle helmets. Where is she? I thought. This is the worst game of Hide-and-Go-Seek ever! Perhaps it’s not a suicide note. Perhaps she has run away? I got dressed.

Then I found her, in our dark and silent back garden. As she was on the far side of the trapeze to me, her feet were level with the safety mat under the trapeze. I thought for a second that she was just standing there, very still. I was still hoping it was all a joke. A mistake. One of our white garden chairs was beside her. When I realised she was hanging, I swung her slightly. This movement haunts me. Her face... her face was distorted. Her tongue lolling out. I hope you never have to see that on anyone. Especially not your child. My friend hanged herself years ago and my daughter’s face reminded me of her dead one. So, I was thinking, she is dead, in one layer of my mind, and in another, I was thinking, I shall save her. I was calling her, and caressing her freezing face. She was so cold. Dead cold. I ran into the kitchen, got a serrated knife. I am unsure of the order of things. Had I already phoned 999? Was I trying to talk on the phone whilst doing all of this? I cut rapidly through the hammock- it was easy. She flopped into the muck. It was so mucky. I was trying to pull her by the arms onto the trapeze mat, away from the cloying mud, but she was a dead weight. Dead dead dead. No help there. I couldn’t move her. She was so ungainly. I felt inept and weak. I tried to put her in the recovery position. Then I thought, oh wait, no, I need to do chest compressions- I can’t do that on a soft mat anyway. I kept dropping the phone in the mud, and the man on the end of the line was almost shouting at me.

I put her on her back and was doing chest compressions and he was asking, “is she breathing?”

She seemed to breathe when I pressed her. I thought, oh! She’s alive? I kept pressing, and dropping the phone in the mud, and I was all mucky too, and she wasn’t breathing- I was just pushing air through her- but I had a glimmer of hope, and the 999 man was counting with me through my mucky mobile phone, and I heard the ambulance coming, and I said to him, I have to let them in! and he said, NO! Keep pressing! I said, I have to, my garden is inaccessible, and I let them in. Two ambulances, filling my dark quiet street with noise and lights and hope.

They took over. They asked for towels to kneel on in the muck. I’d never thought of that- I got them, as quick as I could. I paced, and watched, and walked away then watched again, and the cat jumped and wheedled around everything. Did he see her die? I wondered? Why didn’t you come get me, cat, like Lassie, or Skippy, or fucking Flipper!? She must have shut the kitchen door and kept him away. They tried and tried, and I paced. They did the defibrillators. Then her breasts became visible and I baulked at the indignity of it, whilst knowing it was entirely necessary, and just... human. They did the adrenaline shots. Four of them, taking turns. Is there any hope? I asked one. Not really, he said. We’re trying because she is young. She’s been there a while. At least I could feel less guilty about getting dressed. I kept thinking, why did I get dressed? I got dressed to go find my dead daughter.

Was it starting to get light? It was going to be a beautiful morning, I thought, what a pity she can’t see it. I changed out of my mucky clothes. Layered up. It was so cold. There was time, while they tried to save her.

They tried for 20 minutes before they pronounced her dead. There was mud everywhere. They put the mucky towels in a shopping basket I had outside to light fires in. The ambulance people all told me they were very sorry for my loss.

I don’t like euphemisms for death.

Saying I’ve lost her implies I could find her again. I suppose I find her in my dreams. Though I dreamt of different, unknown, children last night. Two little mixed race boys that I was minding in the (huge dream version) of the Carnival Centre. They kept running away and messing about. At one point we were all on top of a huge concrete topped lift (elevator), that lurched away from beneath us so that we flew into the air. It was falling faster than us. How is that possible? We couldn’t catch up with gravity. Griefity? We weren’t falling fast enough. I keep dreaming of losing children. Not children dying. I dreamt I lost my son the other night too. He was led into a room I wasn’t allowed in. I could see him through the window of the door I couldn’t go through. Then he went out of my sight and I woke up, shaking, horrified.

I recently found my daughter alive again, in a dream. She was very wee- three or four. Before her first haircut. She was being really bold and naughty. She kept running away from me, and she had pooed herself a little, and was rubbing the poo on things, half on purpose. I was trying to catch her and clean her and her hands. We were on holiday? Maybe on a big ferry? I think we had to catch a flight. She had run into a swimming pool room and climbed into a pile of boxes and upset the boxes, and pulled another little girl on top of her and hurt her too. I was trying to pull them out, without hurting them, without losing my temper. I was really trying hard to keep my temper. I was thinking as I woke, if this keeps up, she'll be taken off me. It was so vivid that as I came to, I thought, I must text the Woodcarver; I must text my youngest daughter, to see if she's ok. It was quite a while before I awoke properly and thought, of course she's not ok, she's dead. She's already away. Then I got upset, and cried, but I was glad I got upset because I've been taking anti-depressants and not feeling anything much, so it was a relief to feel sad. I accidentally hadn't taken any for a couple of days at that point.

Saying she has passed annoys me more. Passed what? Her exams? Wind? (That’s always funny.) She has passed tense? She is past tense.

It wasn’t until she was pronounced officially dead that I phoned her father, the Woodcarver. I thought, there is no point in giving him false hope like mine. He made a loud guttural noise, like a wounded animal, on the other end of the line. It woke my son, who was staying with him. He thought his father was dying. Wrong relative.

It was a brightening cold morning by now. The police came. Her father came. He kicked the white chair she had used, and broke it. This satisfied and disturbed me in equal measure. He hit his head off the sink. I was frightened by him, despite the police presence. I was frightened for him.

The police were very kind. A man and a woman. The man was comfortingly camp. They had masks on. There’s a pandemic, it is said. They took their hats off, but left the masks on. No-one else really bothered with masks, for the next while. I was fascinated by the police officers’ dark green peaked hats- one for boys, and one for girls- on my kitchen table. I made myself tea and put sugar in it. I never take sugar in tea. I’d heard it was good for shock.

My dead daughter’s father’s brother came. He told me to phone my mum. I said I would wait until she normally got up. What is the sense of breaking your last peaceful night’s sleep early, to find out something that won’t be any less dreadful half an hour later? He had brought my son; my daughter’s father’s mother; my daughter’s father’s girlfriend. This is starting to read like Anna Burns’ The Milkman. My daughter’s grandma was also fascinated by the police officers’ hats. She said that one wanted mending, and she wished she had a needle and thread. I didn’t think to fetch her one. I asked if it is true that pregnant women are allowed to pee in police officers’ hats, but they hadn’t heard that before. I kept checking the time on my phone, every few minutes, and drinking sweet tea. I was waiting for the real morning to begin. Nothing has felt real ever since, though.

When I did ring my mother at 8am, she didn’t wake. My little brother did, though. He went and told her in person, and when she arrived, she was bawling, and had forgotten her glasses. She looked tiny. She was due to see everyone the next day. She had been quarantining as she was not long back from Spain. I deeply regret not bringing the children to wave at her in the garden. She hadn’t seen them for months.

We were flitting between my house and our friends’ house round the corner. My garden was now a crime scene. My daughter’s father didn’t like this. He wanted to hold her lifeless body’s hand. At that point, I thought I never wanted to see her lifeless body again, but I changed my mind a few days later, and that was alright. I saw her in her casket and her face looked... Dead, but not distorted any more. She looked peaceful, I suppose, and very beautiful, in a sad way. She was surrounded by toys, trinkets, food she loved. Dried mango. Finn and Jake. Her elder sister tucked her pride flag around her. She hadn’t seen her for ten months.

There were many people now, milling inside, and out in the sunshine, between the two houses. The neighbours were out and about, too. I had made horrendous phone calls to a workmate and a couple of friends and the word was spreading. I had phoned my eldest daughter in Wales. To spread the word. The bad word. The worst words. I have had Joshua Burnside’s song, The Good Word, in my head a lot, this last while.

“Last night I dreamed

We were running for our lives

From robots in the jungle

Helicopters in the sky

But the ground opened up and I

Couldn't save her

Couldn't save her again

Oh no

No sir

Not this time

Glory hallelujah.”

My lover came down and was of the utmost comfort to me. When the coroner had been and they were to take her away, the Woodcarver’s biggest brother- he that had been there first- came to me in the other house and asked did I want to say goodbye to her body? I said, no, I do not, that is not my daughter any more.

I sought comfort in words. We read poems on her bed.

Various people told us of a humanist celebrant. She offered to help us for free, and she did, and I am so grateful.

A friend gave me valium. At some point, someone went to the offy. More and more people came. The lovely camp police officer returned, with my daughter’s bank card, and people panicked, because of Covid, but he didn’t say anything. He only wanted to help.

The next while was a blur...

*National Childbirth Trust- it was the only secular one. I also enjoyed the ones in churches, with their cream teas, and knitted religious folks, trying not to try to convert you and yours. It perhaps could’ve been called the Natural Childbirth Trust, because they kept banging on about it...

**The NHS issue these red books as personal child health records.

***SCBU- the Special Care Baby Unit. They pronounced it Skiboo, in their lovely Welsh lilts. My doctor looked like a child. She had been working for 24 hours straight, and was still charming and kind.

****Age reckoning originated in China, where it's believed that a baby's age starts from its time in the mother's womb. The practice is also common in Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Hong Kong and Vietnam.

#suicide #scbu #nct #death #motherhood #uppahoods #teenagesuicide

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