#miss you Brunswick

[queenallipics]

Fun

[godbirdart]

june 21 is national indigenous peoples day up here in canada; a day focused on celebrating the arts and cultures of our indigenous neighbours and communities.

if you’re looking for ways to support, or generally further your education on indigenous history, here are a bunch of links to help you get started! please go further and look up events hosted by your local community specifically, as some may not be listed on the sites below.

remember that if you cannot attend events or monetarily support businesses - you can always boost indigenous artists and voices online too.

indigenous tourism; lists businesses, events, and other indigenous-owned / led programs for the respective province or territory

indigenous tourism canada [generalized resources, event listings etc]

yukon

northwest territories

nunavut

british columbia

alberta

saskatchewan

manitoba

ontario

quebec

newfoundland and labrador

new brunswick

nova scotia

prince edward island

art

bill reid gallery of the northwest coast

lattimer art gallery

native northwest [while NNW itself is not indigenous-owned, it is a good way to discover artists and purchase their work. some artists sell on other sites too, so look around]

strong nations [sells books by indigenous authors]

education and resources

two-spirited people of manitoba

alberta indigenous history timeline [pdf]

alberta indigenous history resources

british columba history timeline

list of first nations peoples [wikipedia; could be incomplete / inaccurate]

cbc indigenous [indigenous-focused news]

missing and murdered indigenous women and girls

national centre for truth and reconciliation

native land interactive map

orange shirt day

qikiqtani truth commission

lil’ red dress project

whose land interactive map

charities / support / donations

clan mothers healing billage & knowledge centre

first nations health authority

indian residential schools survivor society

indigenous peoples resilience fund

qajuqturvik food bank

niqinik nuatsivik nunavut food bank

nunavut food security coalition

reconciliation canada

urban native youth association

additional links are always appreciated

[piratewithvigor]

This also goes for whoever submitted Moon Miss and Troy Merrick as two of their favs

Like, there has not been a single Canadian indies wrestler included and suddenly the two of you list 3 of like the 10 Canadian indies wrestlers I've ever seen/met??

Okay whoever submitted Hollywood Cole as their 9th favorite wrestler in my survey, please step forward because I need to know how you know Hollywood Cole

[puffein]

WAITING HOURS AND SUNRISES | late spring [v.]

summary: wanda's abrupt change in attitude marked the beginning of an unrepairable disaster. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: angst, profanities, insults, mean wanda word count: 1117 a/n: my personal fave chapter...!

series masterlist playlist!

New Brunswick, New Jersey

Early-July 2022

Thomas Christopher Greene once stated in a book, "Time can be slowed if you live deliberately. If you stop and watch sunsets. If you spend time sitting on porches listening to the woods. If you give in to the reality of the seasons." 

But right now, time doesn't slow down for you as you sit hours and hours long on the window ledge of your best friend's dorm living room. You can feel the hardness of the wall right at your back, your knees pulled up tightly on your chest, arms wrapped loosely around it.

You gave in to the reality of the season though, summer nights are always wonderful for some people, however, these past summer nights have not been made for you as you have spent them waiting patiently for a certain someone to arrive safely in the comforts of their room. 

Your hair shifts lightly with the swift motions of your head turning upon hearing the quiet sound of keys and profanities right behind the door. 

Altering your body out of the ledge soundlessly, you mutter, "Where were you?" 

"Jesus, you scared me." Wanda's soft voice echoes throughout her dorm, clearly having the knowledge that her loud voice wouldn't wake up her already sleeping roommate. 

She huffs out, slender fingers going through her unruly hair, "You're here again?"

You watch her quietly, nodding your head in resignation as you walk past her, "Just wanted to see if you arrived safely." you say.

Wanda. Wanda has been doing this for the past months. Going out late, going home late. Missing your friendly dates, the sitcom days, the months of months plans the both of you made last year was now forgotten, thrown out like a piece of antique.

Useless and vintage.

You didn't know what changed.

"I'm not a child, you know." she harshly replies, accent coming out strong and venomous. You halted your steps, shoulders tense at the voice she was using at you.

"You don't have to go here, bother Darcy, and wait for me to arrive like some obsessed best friend who can't seem to live without hanging out with me. Stop being so clingy."

Okay.

"I just wanted to see if you arrived safely," she mocked, her phony voice skirting around the corners of your breaking heart. "Bullshit. We both know you're just afraid to be alone. Well, guess what Y/N, I am sick of that. I am sick of you."

Ever felt like someone stabbing you right in your chest, okay, wrong. This doesn't feel like stabbing to you, this felt like a bomb going off, and the pieces of your heart fly in different directions and it doesn't stop there. The pain continues on as someone's pair of hands and feet crush every tiny piece laying steadily on the floor.

That pair of hands and feet are Wanda's.

"You're not gonna say anything?" she says exasperatedly, face warp in aggravation as she stares at your back.

You have many things to say to her. Many unsaid things that you know will go deaf in her perfectly working ears. You want to say how she's been a shitty best friend ever since she met that dude at a party, how you are grasping at that tiny piece of friendship that you knew is being broken piece by piece as the time goes by, how when you look at her, you don't see her, you see a stranger living in the body of your best friend. Of the one you dearly love so much you would go into deeper depths just to see her happy.

You wanted to say that but instead, you utter these words, "What do you want me to say?"

Wanda groans, "Anything! Just— I don't know, say something." she says desperately, trying to make you understand something that you clearly can't comprehend.

"I'm gonna go." You take a step forward, towards the door only to be stopped by her tight grip on your arm.

"You can't just go."

"Wanda, I can't fucking understand you right now. Are you drunk? Are you high?" you snapped at her, voice in an edge as you turn to stare right at her face. 

She opens her mouth to say something but you are clearly not done with your words.

"What do you want me to fucking say? That you've been such a bitch lately? That, what, the old woman I met on the bus weeks ago felt more like a best friend than you ever did for these past months? What do you want me to fucking say?" you finally declare, your brows furrowed, jaw tense with fist clenched tightly against your palm. 

Wanda loosens the grip on your arm as she drinks in every word you have said to her. Not wanting to stare longer at the realization that is coming to her face, your back faces her again as your hand clutches the doorknob and latches it open for you to walk away.

"Y/N, wait—"

You whip your body fast to glower at her, "No, you listen. I fucking don't know what has gotten into you to treat me like this. We were doing fine then I just woke up with you ignoring me. I did this because I care and the friendship I have with you matters."

The timbres of your voice quiver, undertones of heartache can be heard in the staggering of your hardened voice, "But fucking shit, Wanda. You could've just told me you're tired of being in this friendship. I would have respected that, you don't have to make me feel so worthless."

Watching the light trembles of her lips and the brave step she took closer to you, you can see the morphing of hurt flashing right at her face. You're confused. She intentionally spurted those words at you, how come she has the guts to look so anguished?

"Y/N, I just—"

But you are already walking away, time slowing down with your breathing rigid and labored. Your steps are filled with regret at how you have thrown those words at her. You didn't mean it, as much as you want to mourn for whatever has gone downhill for the both of you, what you have said to her was the truth and you didn't really care right now as you are greeted with a magnificent vision of the sun slowly rising for the world to see. 

Funny, you should have listened to Thomas Greene and spent your time sitting on porches listening to the sound of the woods instead of waiting till the sun rises just to make sure your best friend arrived safely.

general masterlist ◄ ►

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

[shoveitshovel]

ok so this is from the recreation of the plane website that guy created (you are our savior) so this is canon. note they live in toledo. so the video tape that we saw would have been done by the local police, which would probably have no idea about the missing person report that parker filed all the way in brunswick. also interesting that all of group one live all across america (liam in san fransicsco, bryce in CT, taylor in ohio, amelia in washington, and charlotte in georgia)

[bestworstcase]

I was reading your wonderful RWBY posts and I just had a random thought: The relics attract the grimm but why? What would the grimm even do if they get the relics? Salem doesn't control every single grimm ever all over the world (even if, I think, the popular fanon interpretation is that the grimm go for the relics for Salem)

So in a hypothetical scenario of a relic "falling into" the hands of grimm, what would happen? Are the grimm attracted to the relics like they're attracted to humans? For food/Aura? Or are they attracted to the relics for a different reason? The relics potentially being a sounds of "food" for Grimm just feels interesting to me, related to Aura and Souls in some way or something. Also if the Grimm aren't attracted to the relics like they are attracted to humans/Aura, what sort of reason do they have for the relic attraction?

Of course the theory that the relic or the relic spirits are the current form of the God of Darkness after he ascended makes it so that the Grimm seem to recognize and feel that the relics have their creator's power in it, but I'm really curious about what sorts of scenarios you could come up with on this because my brain is fixated on this right now and I wonder what the Grimm would actually DO with a relic or multiple relics?

we-ell we’ve actually seen a relic fall into the hands of some grimm, albeit quite briefly. at brunswick farm, ruby startles and drops the lamp because she sees the flash of an apathy’s eyes looking up from the bottom of the well, right, and then a minute or two later the girls all jump down and there’s no grimm and no lamp.

blake suggests that the "current" may have carried the lamp away, but that obviously isn’t the case (the water is less than ankle deep and the lamp, made of metal and glass, doesn’t float; she’s just under the apathy influence which is, i imagine, degrading her ability to think clearly).

what actually happened is the apathy grabbed the lamp and BOOKED IT to rejoin the rest of its pack around the corner, and then they put the lamp down in the muck where its glow would be just visible to the humans in the main thoroughfare, and waited there.

<- the apathy, uh, used it as bait.

here’s two other facts that i chew on a lot with regard to the relics and the possibility of darkness having ascended a la the dragon divided and what the apathy do:

grimm cannot be held in captivity, because if they don’t break free, they die.

when bartleby separated two apathy from the pack and lured them into the waterway, the rest of the pack followed and crawled into the waterway to find their missing packmates rather than attack the farmers.

(the pack then also spent the night in the waterway, which contrasts their apparent behavior in the present—we see them trying to get up into the house through the wine cellar—so it seems to me that the pack just wasn’t hunting at the time it went into the waterway. otherwise they would have found their missing packmates and crawled right back out to eat the farmers in their sleep. but the waterway probably seemed pretty comfy and safe to them before they got bricked up inside of it? nice place to make a nest.)

anyways if the spirits in the relics were once the god of darkness… and the spirits are, as the chains and shackles imply, imprisoned inside the relics… and grimm die in captivity… and the grimm are also, as the apathy pack’s behavior demonstrates, intelligent social creatures who will actively follow and try to rescue captured individuals… well!

whatever the apathy intended to do with the lamp got interrupted by the girls dropping into the waterway, but their use of it as bait demonstrates intelligence—recognition that the lamp is desirable to the humans, forethought to use it as a lure—so if i’m on target with regard to what/who the spirits are (which, ozpin: "i think it has something to do with their origin, but i’m not entirely sure" <- i am of the opinion that this is a true statement and also hilarious foreshadowing), then.

prying the relics apart in an attempt to free the spirits trapped inside would be my guess. it tracks with both the behavior we see from the apathy pack and with grimm being destructive in nature and the true purpose of destruction as a catalyst for change/growth – and a grimm that doesn’t die in captivity is a grimm which destroyed its cage, yeah?

if the spirits aren’t what darkness became… i would bet anything the attraction is emotional. because the spirits inside are human in nature—they have feelings, and neither jinn nor ambrosius seem best pleased to by the rules that bind them. so it’s like. extremely possible that to a grimm, the relics are literally just searing beacons of misery and that’s what’s getting their attention. like grimm puzzle feeders

[dimity-lawn]

As always, feel free to elaborate and/or answer at any time in the notes*, even if you’ve missed the poll.

If any of you feel like including your territory or province, you can include that in the notes*, but I don’t expect anyone to actually do so.

*Or, I suppose you could message me if you don’t want everyone to know, or send an anonymous ask if for some reason you want to do that but don’t want to say who you are, but I’m guessing that at that point you simply wouldn’t bother.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 15-Compromises in Colour

Day 15-Star

Other Stories

Other Days

Other Chapters

Abbey sat outside the works, resting after the mid-day express, waiting for Screech to emerge. It had taken several weeks, but the Night Owl and the works had finally come to an agreement on her paint. They had even bought books with different railway liveries in it for inspiration.

Screech's whistle sounded from the works, twisting and curling through the air, chilling Abbey’s frames.

Screech emerged from the works in a cloud of steam and tendrils, her new paint gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. The main colour, a shade of green so dark it was nearly black, had been found in a book on American locomotives, Brunswick Green of the Pennsylvania Railroad. When the Uman and Din contacted the Pennsylvania’s Altoona works for permission to use the paint, the PRR gifted the recipe to the U&DR for use on Screech. 

Abbey had to admit she was impressed, the dark shade suited Screech very well. Regal, yet understated, the dark tones contrasting nicely with the Great Western style lining and letter. She was also more than a little smugly satisfied at the words Uman and Din properly painted on Screech’s tender, marking Screech as theirs.

Screech looked up, meeting her eyes.

“You look wonderful.” Abbey said warmly. She noticed in the year since Screech arrived that the eldritch engine's opinion of herself was nearly as poor as her opinion of the other railway. Abbey was never going to let that stand, so took every chance to let her opinion of the wonderful engine before her be known.

Screech shifted uncomfortably, her tendrils moving closer to the ground in a way that Abbey was growing more and more certain was her partner's form of blushing.

“It was unnecessarily complicated.” The Night Owl said. “My old paintwork was fine”

Abbey fixed an unimpressed look upon the 2-8-0, “Would you have considered it fine for me?”

Screech blinked at her in the way that Abbey knew meant the engine had been caught off guard 

“No, I…”

“Then it was not good enough for you.”

Screech paused, reassessing. Abbey waited patiently.

“You're a passenger engine,” she rumbled uncertainly, “you're held to a higher…”

“No.” Abbey said firmly, “you know we don't treat any engines differently here.”

Abbey waited patiently for Screech's next rebuttal.

“I do not see the point.” Screech finally admitted with a sigh, “I am a goods engine. I will be covered in soot and dust by the end of the day. It's a lot of effort that will be undone on the first day.”

Abbey rolled her eyes fondly, “One would think you didn't know what a wash down is.”

She gently rolled forward and buffered up to Screech, “the effort is because they care for you. That's why it's worth it. They know you’ll be dirty again in minutes, but you are worth the effort.”

Screech gave her the monster in the headlights look she always had when someone declared they cared for her.

Abbey sighed fondly, “Come on, let's show Miss Morgan their hard work before you go play with trucks.”

“Very well.” 

Abbey rolled back towards the station, reminding herself a railway isn't built in a day. She couldn't help but smile when a tendril tentatively hooked around her coupled as Screech followed. One wheel at a time, they’d have Screech believing in herself again.

[ashleabechaz]

THE WITCH AND THEIR FAMILIAR

Here is my painting for Beinart Gallery’s Small Works exhibition coming up in a few weeks! (Brunswick, Melbourne)

I used gouache on wooden panel in a vintage frame. There are lots of lush gold details that you unfortunately miss in the photograph soooo I guess you’ll just have to come view it in person 😏💅

[corner-stories]

How about (5) lighthouse with Reijean? 👀🌸

September Prompts 🌻

5. Lighthouse Enjoy the whole-ass Early 70s Missing Person AU set in Coastal Quebec that I spent the entire day brainstorming. Why am I like this? Anyways, have some more Quebecois!Jean for the soul.

He's used to September being so cold that it might as well be winter. Since it no longer bothers him, he gets out of bed on an average morning and doesn't bother pulling on anything else.

So in his long-johns he shuffles to the bathroom. As he splashes cold water on his face to wash the sleep out of his eyes, he hears the familiar footfalls of his dog walking through the halls. As Chet the Rescue Terrier wanders into the bathroom, he quickly tells the canine to kindly leave the premises before finishing the rest of his business.

Soon he heads to the kitchen to make breakfast. As his eggs cook on the stove, he pours his last few coffee grounds into his percolator and lets it brew on the stove. As he assembles Chet's daily scoop of kibble, he makes a mental note to pick up more beans on his next visit to town, as well as more butter, tea, and maybe some whiskey. It's barely even winter and he's already finding ways to ward off the upcoming cold spell.

He eats his breakfast of eggs, bread, and coffee at his kitchen table. Every bite and sip is accompanied by the sound of the waves meeting the land and Chet gobbling up his food.

Through the nearest window he sees the century-old lighthouse that he's spent the last few years in, as well as the coast underneath a cloudy sky — a place where the St. Lawrence river becomes the Gulf, where Quebec borders New Brunswick. Since the land is invisible in the line between sky and sea, his little cottage might as well be in the middle of nowhere.

Jean is only a few bites into his breakfast before he hears a knock on his door. Unused to company at such an hour — or company ever — he sighs as he stands from the table, urging Chet Baker to sit his ass down before walking away. He brings his mug of coffee with him as he shuffles to the door.

He's not sure who to expect at this particular time. Most people who visit him are in his field of work, and in that case he'll usually get a telegram or a signal on the radio. If it's not related to work then it's mostly likely a local, and at this time of day he can't exactly fathom who in town feels like talking to the scrungy lighthouse keeper at this hour.

Frankly, Jean is not remotely prepared to deal with another angry husband wanting to kick his ass because he fooled around with the wrong local lady. Yet he continues to walk barefoot to the door, the knocking getting louder and the mystery as to who's on the other side becomes more apparent.

He opens the door and is immediately greeted by two things — a gust of cold air that makes parts of him shrink to the size of raisins, and a person he's never seen before standing on his front step.

The person in question is about his age, maybe a few years older. He's a little bit shorter than him, broad in the shoulders, and sports a clean-shaven face. Unlike Jean and his manly long-johns, the stranger is clad in a peacoat, knee-length leather boots, and a peaked cap with strands of blond sticking out from the edges. Parked behind a stranger is a black and white police cruiser with the RCMP logo stamped onto the door.

If the revolver holstered to the stranger's belt is any indication, Jean guesses that he's currently standing in front of a constable. If not, then the locals in town have certainly gotten aggressive in the last few days alone.

Suddenly Jean is motivated to stand straighter and ignore the sleep tugging at his eyes. He briefly wishes that he had a chance to make himself look more presentable and not like he had spent two years at sea with the beard to match.

"Good morning, Sir," Jean greets in his native tongue. "How can I help you?"

"Uh... hello," the Constable replies.

Immediately Jean can tell that the Constable hails from the more anglophone parts of the coast. He only spends a few seconds listening to the shaky attempts at French before speaking up.

"It's alright, I speak English," he assures. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Reiner," the Constable introduces, then gets down to business. He reaches into his satchel, pulls out a sheet of paper, and hands it to the scrungy lighthouse keeper. "This girl's been missing for a month. Have you seen her?"

Jean rubs his eyes before taking the flyer. Printed on it is a phone number and a black-and-white image of a twelve-year-old girl. Her eyes are big, her hair is tied back in a pony tail, and her name is Gabi Theodora Braun. He reads the words next to her picture and learns that she was born on April 14th, 1960 and has been missing from Campbellton since mid-August.

As much as Jean wants to say he's seen her around, he knows he can't. He can't help but wonder how long it had taken Reiner to come all this way, and whether it was enough time to realize likelihood of a child traversing the coast alone. Not even tourists come out this far.

"I don't think I have," Jean answers. "Not a lot of children up here, not a lot of anyone up here."

"Could you at least keep that around?" Reiner asks. "Just in case?"

Jean nods and folds the paper so he can hold it in the hand that's holding his coffee. "Of course. I can radio the other lighthouses about it, too."

There is a beat as Reiner tilts his head to the side, looking at him quizzically. "You're the keeper?"

"No, I just rent this cottage for the lighthouse view," Jean says a little too sarcastically. In a brief second he suddenly remembers that he's talking to a constable. "I mean... yes." He lets out an awkward laugh to mask his nervousness. "I know what you're thinking, most hear 'lighthouse keeper' and expect someone... taller."

"Older, actually."

Jean chuckles. "Me, too." When he sees Reiner's eyebrow quirk up, he feels the need to clarify.

"Most of the men in town are those ancient fisherman types. Or the kind who pester me about attending church." He shakes his head and laughs to himself. "And I'm assuming that you're neither."

Reiner rolls his eyes. "Most constables have better things to do."

Jean nods and eyes the missing person flyer again, then looks back to Reiner. "You've certainly come a long way from Campbellton," he says, looking the constable up and down. "But like I said, I'll do what I can. If I find anything of interest I'll call you."

The promise makes Reiner look less tense. He smiles enough for it to show, but not enough for it to meet his eyes. "Thank you..." he says, then glances to the mailbox nailed to the side of the cottage and reads the name off of it. "... Mr. Kirschtein?"

"Call me Jean," he says, reaching out to shake Reiner's hand. "Everyone does."

[ltwilliammowett]

Mary Anne Talbot - a female Soldier and Sailor

Mary Anne Talbot is one of the women who have the adventure of serving at sea disguised as a male sailor. She was born in London on 2 February 1778, the illegitimate daughter of William Talbot, 1st Earl Talbot. Her mother died at birth, her presumed father when she was four years old. She was brought up by a wet nurse at Worthen in Shropshire until she was five, after which she attended a private boarding school in Chester, run by a Mrs Tapperly, until she was 14. The only relative she knew was an elder sister, an Hon. Miss Dyer, who also died quite young in the birth of her child in 1791. She enlightened Mary Anne about her presumed parentage before her death and left her a handsome fortune of £30,000 sterling. From this fortune Mary Anne could have had an annual income of 1500 pounds, but her sister's chosen guardian, a Mr. Sucker, did not provide for her further education, but gave her to Essex Bowen, a captain in the 82nd Regiment of Foot.

Mary Anne Talbot, by G. Scott, after James Green, published 1804 (x)

The latter took her to London, where he made her his not-so-voluntary mistress in 1792. But already in the autumn of 1792 he was to go to Flanders and simply took her with him. To this end, he passed her off as an errand boy, who took her to St. Domingo as John Taylor. From there she went to Flanders, where she was now listed as Drummer Boy. As such she took part in the capture of Valenciennes on 28 July 1793, where Captain Essex was killed. She now deserted the regiment and made her way through Luxembourg to the Rhine, until in September 1793, out of necessity, she signed on as a cabin boy to the captain of a French lugger called Le Sage. The lugger, according to her account, had been captured by Lord Howe in the Queen Charlotte, and "Taylor" (as she still called herself) was assigned to HMS Brunswick 74 guns under Captain John Harvey (1740-1794) as a powder monkey, in which capacity she took part in the great victory of 1 June 1794, but was severely wounded by a grape shot that shattered her left ankle.

Captain Essex with his footboy John Talbot (x)

She spent four months at Haslar Royal Naval Hospital in Gosport. She then became a midshipman on the Bomb Vessel Vesuvius. However, this was captured off Normandy by two French privateers. As a prisoner, Taylor remained in Dunkirk for 18th months. After her release, she signed on with the American ship Ariel under Captain John Field, sailing to New York in August 1796. In November she returned to London on the Ariel. There she was picked up by a press gang in Wapping. In order not to have to re-enter the Royal Navy, she revealed her true gender, whereupon she was discharged. She then haunted the Navy's pay office for some time, and various donations were collected for her. But she was intemperate and spent her money frivolously. The Duke and Duchess of York and the Duchess of Devonshire, it is said, interceded for her.

Mary Anne Talbot resisting a Press Gang, by John Chapman (x)

After a series of employments including a gig as a jeweller's assistant or a performance in a small theatre in Tottenham Court Road in the Babes in the Wood, and a stay in Newgate from which she was rescued by the Society for the Relief of Persons confined for small Debts, her misfortunes forced her to take refuge as a domestic servant in the house of the publisher Robert S. Kirby in St. Paul's Churchyard, who recorded her adventures in the second volume of his Wonderful Museum, 1804 and continued her story in  The Life and Surprising Adventures of Mary Anne Talbot, 1809. After three years' service, a general deterioration, caused in part by the wounds and privations she had suffered, rendered her unable to work regularly, and she was removed to the house of an acquaintance in Shropshire at the end of 1807. There she remained for some weeks, and died on 4 February 1808, aged 30.

Mary Anne Talbot, by G. Scott, after James Green, published 1804 (x)

Perhaps some of you have noticed that there are certain similarities to Hannah Snell. And in fact, her story is very much in doubt. Because there are great inconsistencies with the times and the ships that she had given in her biography. Because there is no Talbot on the ships listed and there was no Talbot on the Vesuvius at the time it was captured, and the capture itself is also questionable because the ship was not off Normandy at that time but in the West Indies. Whether she just mixed things up here or whether they were chosen to spice up her story is questionable, and it cannot be ruled out that this story was a product of fantasy.

[firstelevens]

sambucky (bake off AU mayhaps?? 👀) + “bloom” 🪷

“Okay, but why did bodyslamming the dough seem like a good idea?”

Sam scowls at the phone. “I didn’t bodyslam the dough, Bucky. I just applied extra pressure so it would roll out.”

“You threw your entire body weight behind that rolling pin and fucked up your neck and shoulder, Sam; I think that’s a little more than extra pressure.”

“I had to get five dozen danishes shaped, what was I supposed to do?”

“You could have waited literally any amount of time for the dough to warm up.”

There’s no video on the call, but Sam can perfectly picture the look on Bucky’s face anyway, frustration mingled with fondness, and he would call the feeling that blooms in his chest homesickness if he wasn’t already smack in the middle of Delacroix.

“Put Alpine on,” he says, instead of I miss you or thank you for worrying about me. “She’s much more sympathetic than you are.”

“Can’t,” says Bucky. “She’s at my parents’ place.”

“And where are you, exactly? You left her all alone?”

Bucky snorts. “I dropped her off a while ago. She’s busy hanging out with my parents while they set up for the party; I just needed to make a quick stop.”

That, at least, explains why Sam thought he heard a GPS earlier in the call. The neighborhood that Bucky’s parents live in might as well be a labyrinth, and for all George and Winnie’s well-intentioned directions, one visit was enough to put Sam firmly on Bucky’s side of the ‘this is why no one should live in New Jersey’ debate. 

(Not that Bucky ever needs to know that. During his last visit to the city, Sam had shamelessly baited Bucky by praising a bagel spot in New Brunswick, and the resulting angry makeout session had absolutely been worth listening to Bucky’s rant about the superiority of New York tap water.)

Sam doesn’t realize that he’s gone silent until Bucky’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “I didn’t interrupt you setting up at the truck, did I? Tell me you’re not there right now.”

“You’re worse than my Mama, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” says Bucky, and it’s actually stupid, the way a corny line like that makes Sam’s heart stutter.

“I’m not at the truck,” says Sam. “Freddie said he could cover the lunch rush, and Naya has practice after school today, so we’ll just close things up early.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I know you were looking forward to seeing everyone before tonight.”

He sighs. “It’s fine; I’m just glad we didn’t have to shut down completely. I should’ve been more careful.”

“You think I could have that last thing in writing? Get it notarized, maybe?”

It’s very obviously a ploy to make Sam laugh, but it works anyway. “Shut up, Barnes. I’m always careful.”

“Oh, did you get rid of Redwing and just forget to tell me? That tiny little plane that you flew during a storm the other day, because you live to stress me out?”

“I live for other things; raising your heart rate is just a bonus.”

Bucky snorts. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” says Sam. He starts to ask something else, but cuts himself off as the doorbell rings.

“Sam Wilson,” Bucky says, faux-scandalized, “did you just call me to kill time while you were waiting for company to arrive?”

“Not this time,” says Sam, as he pushes away from his desk. “I’m not even expecting anyone; Sarah and Freddie already took the truck.”

“Maybe they forgot something.”

“I think I’d have noticed eight batches of croissants lying around.”

“Maybe they just really wanted to see you again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s that one,” laughs Sam. “Hang on a second, let me just see who it is.”

He’s still got the phone pressed to his ear as he pulls the door open, which is maybe why he’s so confused to find his boyfriend standing on his porch and not a thousand miles away in New Jersey.

“Like I said,” Bucky says, grinning crookedly at Sam, “I just wanted to see you again.”

[fetchmearum420]

1776 lines that have me cackling:

“CHRIST IT’S HOT! 😩”

“I’m coming I’m coming! Hold your damn horses!”

“SIT DOWN YOU SCURVY DOG OR I’LL KNOCK YOU DOWN!”

“Mr. Morris…WHAT IN HELL GOES ON IN NEW YORK?!?!?!”

“Don’t worry John the history books will clean it up”

“Hello! Whose little girl are you? 🤓”

“John why don’t you give it up? Nobody listens to you you’re obnoxious and disliked”

“Done?! Why certain-LEE!”

“HOMICIDE! HOMICIDE!”

“ahhh sweet Jesus!”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake let me get through it once!”

“Oh Mr. Adams you are driving me to HOMICIDE!”

“It’s simple Mr. Chase, increase and multiply”

“Somewhere between New York and Pennsylvania”

“Well Mr. Adams you are chairman of the war committee, do you feel up to whoring, drinking, deserting AND New Brunswick? 😏”

“There must be some mistake I have an Aunt who lives in New Brunswick”

“You must tell her to keep up the good work”

“And our women are serene, full bosomed (🤨)”

“Oh please do go on gentlemen, you’re making the only breeze in Philadelphia 😜”

“Son sir what son? (😃)”

“The Royal governor of New Jersey sir 😄”

*John Hancock getting embarrassed*

“But if we’re arrested now, my name is STILL THE ONLY ONE ON THE DAMN THING” (this part legitimately had me on the floor wheezing)

“Alright step right up gentlemen don’t miss your chance to commit treason 😏”

[koolkat9]

Royal Red Bros Week 2024 - Day 2

@royalredbrosweek

Prompt: Lost || Study Abroad/Exchange

Rating: T

Relationship: England + Canada

Word Count: 546

Read on AO3

Author's Note: Fun fact. This is based on a personal experience from my exchange!

Not Alone

Getting dropped in the middle of nowhere was a great summary of how this whole exchange experience had been so far.

Matthew looked at his app, wondering if he missed the stop he was supposed to get off at to reach town, but no, this was where the app sent him. He grunted, shoving the phone in his pocket.

He started walking towards a nearby suburb and what looked like a collection of stores just beyond it. He spotted a man just ahead, heading the same way. Heart hammering in his chest, stomach flip-flopping, Matthew approached the man.

“Um…Excuse me sir…I-I was just wondering if I’m going the right way to reach the main part of town?”

The man turned to him, brow raised. He was silent for a moment. Matthew shrunk back.

Finally, the man spoke. “Yes. I’m heading that way right now actually.”

“Cool. Awesome. Um…” Matthew tugged lightly at the strings of his sweatshirt.

The man started walking a gestured towards him.“Come along. We’re heading the same way, and you’re clearly not from around here.”

The man spoke sharply, much like his features. It made Matthew straighten up when he spoke.

“A-Alright. Thank you.”

The two walked in silence for a moment. Matthew couldn’t stop looking around at the houses. Many looked straight out of a fairy tale with Tudor siding and worn brick.

“So, where are you from?” The man finally asked.

“Ah. Canada. Just outside Ottawa.”

The man’s face softened slightly, almost as if he was suppressing a smile. “Ah, Canada. Have a daughter out there. Lived there for almost a decade actually, but I was on the east coast.”

“Oh? Where might I ask?”

“New Brunswick. Then I moved to Southern Ontario to be closer to my daughter and her wife.”

Matthew nodded along. “Nice, nice.”

“Are you here on holiday?”

“No. Exchange actually. For about a year.”

“Oh, so are you at the university just down the road?”

Matthew nodded, weight being lifted with each word. “Yeah. I just wanted to get out and explore the area so I came here.”

The two eventually reached the main street. Or at least what Matthew assumed was something like a main street. There were shops, cafes, all things he could check out. The man pointed towards some shops he liked to browse, a cafe that he stated served the best scones, and the waterfront where he liked to sit and read.

“Will you be good from here?” The man asked.

“I think so. Thank you for all your help.”

“Oh, here.” The man pulled out a notebook from his pocket and scribbled something onto the page. “My name is Arthur, and if you ever would like to chat or get together for dinner or coffee. Feel free to reach out." Arthur paused for a moment, looking off to the side wistfully. "I…I know it can feel lonely so far from home without knowing anyone around you. And if I can alleviate some of that…”

Matthew took the paper and stared down at it in awe. “Thank you…that means a lot actually.”

Arthur patted his back. “Now I got groceries to get. Enjoy your adventure lad.”

Matthew smiled softly and nodded before taking off towards the waterfront.

[beatler]

Happy Birthday to my beautiful Mom! ❤️🎂🥳❤️ The first two shots are of us celebrating it together last year in Luxembourg, the third I took of her enjoying her pride and joy in New Brunswick, my childhood playground: Parkbeg Farm. This year she’s living it up on vacation in France with my sister and her debonair gentleman. 😎 Miss you so much, Mom. Enjoy your special day.

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

Traintober 2024: The Game part 2

More about the Victorian Railways Institute Football League from this post by Connor7395 (THANK YOU!).

Information I've found on the VRI Football League from the VR Newsletters I've found PDFs of online (victorianrailways.net). 1964: Newport Shops were premiers. 1965: Loco initially did not field a team, but after a special meeting, the team reformed. Final ladder was Newport Shops (unbeaten although they drew a game with the Lines), Suburban Lines, Loco, and Codon (missed finals). Loco shocked the league by winning the Grand Final, defeating Newport Shops 15.14.104 to 4.6.30. 1966: Final ladder was Newport Shops (unbeaten), Suburban Lines or Loco, and Codon (missed finals). Loco defeated Suburban Lines by 15 points in the preliminary final at McAlister Oval in Brunswick. Newport Shops won the Grand Final easily, 23.17.155 to 1.7.13, at South Melbourne. 1967-72: Competition in recess 1970: The Traffic Branch defeated Rolling Stock by 33 points in Ararat. It also appears that Loco might also be Rolling Stock. 1971: The Traffic Branch defeated the Commercial Branch 18.23.131 to 8.7.55 in the L.W. Butcher-M.J. Noone Shield. The shield is named after two members of the Commercial Branch who were killed in a car accident in 1970. The Secretary's Branch challenged the Commercial Branch to a game with the Traffic Branch offering to play the winners after agreeing to a match with Melbourne Goods. 1972: A few games were played. Estate Office defeated Track and Drainage 12.18.90 to 10.14.74, and Traffic Branch defeated a combined Secretary's-Commercial Branch 18.8.116 to 8.10.58. However, it looks like this was not part of a league. 1973: The VRIFL reformed. Teams were Traffic Branch, Newport Workshops, Melbourne Yard, Commercial Branch, Accounts Branch, Melbourne Goods, Rolling Stock, and a combined Ways and Works and Secretary's team. Games were played outside the metropolitan area, including at Romsey, Sunbury and Little River. Newport Shops easily defeated the Traffic Branch in the Grand Final. 1974: Unclear if the league happened. 1975: Teams were Accounts, Marketing, Melbourne Yard, Newport Shops, Traffic and Waysec, with Traffic on top early. Games were played at Ransford Oval in Royal Park. Traffic defeated Accounts in the Grand Final by 33 points. 1976-79: Little information about the league is available now. Ron Baggott, who played for Melbourne, retired in 1976 after 18 years of service with the VRI. Ron contributed to the VR Newsletter with his own sports page in his first few years. Games against the Australian Postal Institute: 1965: VRI 18.18.126 def API 5.9.39 1966: VRI 18.14.122 def API 8.8.56 1967: API 9.13.67 def VRI 7.7.49. A social game between a combined Accountancy Branch section (from Flinders Street and Spencer Street) and the Preston Tramway Depot took place too. The combined side won 10.10.70 to 10.9.69. 1968: API 15.14.104 def VRI 9.9.63 1969: VRI 14.10.94 def API 10.16.76 1970: VRI 18.12.120 def API 3.18.36 1971: VRI 15.16.106 def API 10.9.69 1972: API 7.12.54 def VRI 5.9.39 1973: VRI 11.10.76 def API 8.18.66 1974: API 11.16.82 def VRI 5.18.48 1975: VRI 10.6.66 def API 7.15.57 Games against the South Australian Railways Institute: 1974: VRIFL 10.16.76 def SARI 9.8.62 1975: VRIFL 11.15.81 def SARI 7.7.49 Not much can be found after the seventies. Footypedia had Melbourne Yard playing in every grand final between 1985 and 1993, but only winning in 88 and 89, and the league winding up for good in the late nineties.