#the punch bowl 1944

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[capswarmedals]

Just realized I forgot about his almost coming out in 3x05 (Something to Share?), and some other things regarding the Button House Archives book.

Okay. So.

This is James desperately trying to remove his shell of The Captain here, but he's held onto it for so long that he just can't let go. A fear of change. He scared of letting go of The Captain, scared of letting go of Anthony, scared of letting go of the fact that he needs to hide his true identity.

And he says "I'm.... Unable to think of anything worth sharing." (or something along the lines, I can't remember exactly), but we also see Alison sigh slightly, perhaps in disappointment. I don't think I was the only one who immediately upon seeing James in the first episode thought that he was gay, and it makes sense considering the fact that this episode is in season 3. We've had Free Pass (Adam the director), Redding Weddy, The Woodworm Men, I Love Lucy. These hints have been chucked at us!! He talks to his pillow! I am a firm believer that he thinks it's Anthony. He kisses the damn thing! /Pos.

This is after Kitty has shared her story. But oh, nevermind! The class has started. James left it to the last second once again. My poor boy, I have so much sympathy for him.

Even in the Button House Archives book we see him long for Anthony. The Cricket Report (pages 80 and 81) being one of obvious ones as well as Home Fires: Diaries from The British Front Part 4 (pages 178 and 179).

"Photo of an unknown soldier found in the Commanding Officer's belongings after Button House was decommissioned at the end of the Second World War."

All of the raging Capvers fans know that it's Anthony. James had a photo of Anthony. Think. That's like... Really sad and also really cute. But we don't know whether Anthony gave it to him or if James found it somewhere. Even his Diary on July 4th 1944 states that he misses Anthony whilst talking about Cricket. Keep in mind this is FOUR years after Anthony initially left. Obviously, when thinking about Cricket, Anthony pops up. He's literally a GOD at cricket in James' eyes.

"Lord knows, I try to remain positive but it's terribly hard. I thought perhaps the cricket season would cheer me, but we've lost so many players to the front..."

"Where's Havers when you need him? Where indeed? This wretched war."

James misses Anthony ever so much, even after 4 years of not being there, James cannot let himself forget Anthony. Once again, he's scared. And the fact that the last paragraph is the foreshadowing of his death again... damn you!

If you have the audiobook for this amazing book, you'll now that during the Cricket Report, just as Anthony is introduced, we hear James smile and laugh as Ben reads. This man is so unbelievably attracted to him, it's hilarious. The quotes are rather self explanatory..

"But then it was Havers' innings. Brisk to the crease as ever, almost marching in, head held high and certainly not listening to my of the chit-chat coming from the outfield. He has a curious way of opening his shoulders up, twirling the bat around in a full circle, first with one arm, then the other. He turned to the RAF's keeper and quipped, 'Just like one of your propellers, eh?'. I laughed a lot at that!"

"A fierce front foot punch that cracked off the middle of his willow streaming through the covers like a tracer round."

"He was off, accelerating like a sports car, and the scoreboard was ticking over."

"Havers was playing without a cap at first, despite the day warming up, his sandy hair tossed about in the summer breeze like wheat as he took the bowling attack apart. Methodical, like a conductor who knows where he wants this particular piece of music to go."

"Hot work! His jumper was off now"

"It's easy to see how hard he hits the ball when you get a good look at his forearms. Firm and string, like oiled oak. Another four! And how polite he is to the bowler too, smiling after each shot in a modest way, re-settling himself for the next attack. A quick twizzle of the bat as he settles himself at the crease, like a bird of prey, (a kestrel perhaps?) on a branch. What majesty! Time itself seems to stand still when one is at the crease with Havers."

"Havers was not out for 88! A stunning innings and he even led the applause for their team at the end. So gracious. I am We are so lucky to have him on the team."

What I think I love the most about these quotes it's so obvious that James is really falling for Anthony. Like... He's Head Over Heels (ABBA song ref) for him. I love that the like quote has the "I am" crossed out. He was going to write "I am so lucky to have him on the team."!!!!

Looking up the meaning of a kestrel online, they are commonly linked to strength and power, patience, and courage, which links perfectly with what James said about Anthony. Anthony possesses all of these attributes. He's patient with James, and bally well good at Cricket! And of course, he will have more courage then James probably ever will. He had the courage to silently hint to James to confess, had the courage to tell James that he knew that their love was mutual, and of course, Anthony had the courage to go off to war. Anthony technically is a Major, a rank higher than Captain, but he still calls James "Sir" because he respects him so much. An unimaginable amount of respect and love.

(I think the fact that a kestrel has a nickname of "windfucker" is genuinely hilarious. They have this nickname from beating the air with their wings.)

Kestrels are also quite large birds, which could also link to the fact that James thinks that Anthony is muscular or the large amount of love James has for Anthony.

Additionally, if you have the audiobook of this book, we hear James' voice turn slightly awkward when seeing the German Pilot (pages 152-153 when talking about him. What's this I spy? ATTRACTION!!!

"Its true what they say about Jerry! This fellow looked like he stepped out of one of their posters! Quite the Aryan, I thought. I was reminded somewhat of a trip to Greece before the war, the statues and so on. A shock of blond hair and tall, yet quite shaken after his air battle."

In the audiobook, he pauses and then awkwardly says "the statues and so on.". Could James either had experienced another falling for a man or was he simply just attracted to the statues in Greece? I don't know. Could be both. I looked up the word Aryan and had multiple responses. The most common response I got was that it was a "supreme race" named by the Germans because the "supreme race" had pale skin, blond hair and blue eyes. Yikes. Anyways. There's also this part.

"Despite being fit (he was one of the fittest young men I'd seen in a while - not sure what they're feeding them over there but it's clearly working) and I'm sure very capable (not to mention having extraordinary stamina), I'm certain he won't get far."

Looks like James like a German pilot! This man can fall so easily, it's amazing. I love him so much.

BBC GHOSTS: DEEP DIVE

"You're a bloody fool, James!" - Ben Willbond, Inside Ghosts: A Christmas Gift.

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR CHRISTMAS EPISODE AND SEASON 5. BE WARNED.

Okay, just before we start, I WILL be referring to BOTH James and The Captain. Wait and see, your poor little dumplings.

We all know The Captain. Brave, stern, always has a stiff upper lip and of course, most obviously, he's an ABBA loving star. Joking (not really though)!! The most obvious part is that he is gay, but he hides it deep down inside himself. You'd have to kill him to find out or well, you know what I mean (/ref). That part deep down inside himself is James. James. The real person, the person under the mask, the villain, the mastermind of it all. Except that... James isn't really anything like The Captain. James is not brave, not stern, never has a stiff upper lift, but he's still an ABBA fan and gay. Incredibly, incredibly gay.

We know that he had a very, VERY strong crush on Havers (Anthony as I will be referring to) as evident in the Cricket Report in the Button House Archives and in Redding Weddy/Carpe Diem. Throughout the series, we see James fall for men. Mike ("Yes, he'd make a very fine soldier."), Adam, the director ("Yes, though I might just... Check."), Pat (even though it's not as obvious, but it's certainly there).

Many people, including myself, head canon James/The Captain to be autistic, and I can very much add some reason and proof to these reasons.

1. A very strict routine. This man will NOT let go of routine, and it is clear in 4x02 (Speak As Ye Chooses) where he states: "It's all very well saying 'At ease', but what do you do for the rest of the day?" and visible expression of shock and anger to finding out that a club was cancelled. As we come to the end of episode, where we see the man casually without his jacket on, he says "We've got forever" before immediately re-settling himself into his strict routine when being reminded of Film Club. But of course, this could be either that James is attracted to Captain America or is just reminded of his strict routine. This links into another point about change. In 3x05 (Something To Share?), this silly man agrees with Pat about how it is frightfully important to have an extremely strict routine. DON'T get me started on his almost coming out. (I will talk about this.)

2. Hyperfixations. This man has a hyperfixation/special interest in tanks, birds and basically anything remotely military related. He made a club solely dedicated FOR birds. He values his hyperfixations over secrets ("This is outrageous, I'll simply have to tell Fanny-" "No more war documentaries, then." "Your secret is safe with me, she'll have to kill me first- Well- You know what I mean."). 1x02, watching Hitler's Secret Superweapons "It's Christmas! I mean, it's Christmas Morning!" and when Mike turns it off... "What the bally heck do you think you are doing? Where the bally hell are the tanks?" "If you were dead, I would thrash your bottom, sir!". As like other autistic people, such as myself, taking away our hyperfixations isn't a good thing. We don't like that.

3. Masking/easily overwhelmed. (Basically what this deep dive is about). James is the true individual. The Captain is his mask, his shell. And he's been living in it for far too long now. He does not like change, and hates loud noises. This is clear when a club is cancelled in 4x02, and when he realizes the Queen's speech is televised in 2x07. He stress stims by using his swagger stick (Or Anthony's) and twirling it around in his fingers, he bounces a lot, he hums a lot, and whenever he matches about the place, he swings his arms depending on what arm the swagger stick is under (usually the right), and yes, I know that military marching is very exaggerating on the arms, but STILL, it's an output of energy that he does CONSTANTLY. I don't think I've seen anybody talk about the fact he hums. He does it SO MUCH.

4. Tone. Because of his ridiculous amount of gayness inside of him, this man cannot always understand straight jokes. 5x04, where they play Blankety Blank and he does not understand the word "saucy" (I mean, it is late 20th century/early 21st century slang...) and does not approve of the meaning. He gets jokes late, but that's alright because I do too.

ANYWAYS. Back to his pining.

In the first GIF, you see James check Adam out. This also happens in another scene with the quote "Do you find yourself to be distracted?" where he takes the moment to check Adam out yet again. In this second GIF, you see James slightly creep out when he realizes that he's openly saying he'll miss a man, with that look down, almost ashamed of himself.

But why does he fall for these men of order? Because it reminds him of Anthony, not because they're bossing everyone about - it's as if they're doing the bossing about for him, so he can relax and be himself. During Redding Weddy, we see Anthony order the unit around whilst James is looking outside the window (suppressing stims, but bouncing slightly on his feet) trying to spot Germans. I could see why James fell for Anthony. Despite everyone else, Anthony does not see these stims as annoying or his remarks to be unfunny. We see him SMILE when James makes a joke.

As we know, their love for each other was mutual.

He knew.

Anthony smiles after saying "James" and saying "I know". Why? He knew he was dying, he knew that James loved him, he knew why James was here. He wanted to be by James' side as he died to comfort him. To just be together, maybe once. Maybe twice. We don't know if they've held hands, kissed, but still. This is a very significant moment.

Additionally, Anthony's knowledge of James' intense crush is during their talk in James' office in Redding Weddy as it starts to reach a conclusion. Anthony subtly hints to the fact that if James should say anything, the moment is now ("Well, if that's all?").

He raises his eyebrow slightly, communicating to James that he is eager to hear what he really says, and that it's okay to be them because they're alone together. But no. The Captain completely hides James away. Anthony understands, he always has. The Captain probably hid James away because of Anthony's reaction to "I shall miss you, Havers." (his smile drops).

But... "I say, Havers?"

The way Anthony turns around. SO QUICK.

His smile. It's so ridiculously warm. But he knows because he saw that hesitancy, he saw James' sad expression. James is bally well sad that Anthony is leaving!!

Masking is clearly shown in this conversation. The Captain is preventing James from speaking the truth. And just like how he buried the limpet mine, he too, buried his feelings. And it became a ticking time bomb to Carpe Diem, where that emotional bomb finally explodes.

He leaves it to the last second. Literally. Let me show you proof.

Ben is absolutely AMAZING at micro-expressions, one of the many reasons I love to delve into The Captain so much. Carpe Diem (5x05) is an excellent example of some of the best James scenes.

Right here, what I am personally reading is that James is attempting to unmask, or is in the process of doing so. He deciding whether he should tell his story or not. This frame is important as it comes just after the quote "When I died, I never got to be surrounded by the people I loved." Blatant foreshadowing here because well, it shows that James loved Anthony and still does, despite it being 83 years since Anthony left of that year, he still holds him very dear to his heart. Of course, he has Anthony's swagger stick, which I love because he's always been there with James to help him out through moments. I love that and I love everything about that. How I ADORE Simon Hynd's directing here of the camera position, openly hinting to the fact that James died with Anthony next to him. God, everyone in that show is a mastermind!!

I also think that he is remembering here. Perhaps remembering the good memories? That Sunday afternoon stroll, or that certain Cricket Report? He's trying desperately to remember Anthony so he doesn't forget him when he moves on. For all he knows, he doesn't even know if Anthony thinks of him. All he knows is that he knew, and is most probably dead. He doesn't know what's beyond the veil. He doesn't know if he'll see Anthony. It's worth it.

This "desperate searching" facial expression is the same as the expression he had when glancing at the gate a few scenes prior to this, eyebrows furrowed and mouths slightly agape. It cuts to the gate, where we know, that in Redding Weddy, Havers walked out of. Anthony. Yet again, he's remembering him. James is obsessed with the memory of Anthony, the good times they had yet the good times they never were really good as laws about homosexuality were extremely strict. You could even say he is clingy.

Another thing is that, The Captain is one of the most favourite characters and people have been demanding to see how he died for ages! Why is it near the end of the last season? Well. I may have an idea to why it is in the last season.

James leaves things until the last second, he leaves the real explanation to things until it's too late. I saw someone on tiktok quote that James is as pretty as poppies because his love sprouts up in the wrong times and wrong places, which I think is amazing. I personally believe that his death was purposely the last one because you needed to see that he's more than just a stern WW2 CO with no feelings. He's an anxious man who's terrified of the real world so decides to seclude himself in a time and place where he was loved. World War 2. 1940. When Anthony loved him. We needed to see this inner secluded character within him to make the death sadder, which is what Ben likes, the silly man.

This also explains why he says "Is it? Is it, Alison?" during Redding Weddy because, well, with his mindset and attitude, he doesn't believe the war is over. He wasn't very good at keeping a unit of alive people under control, but perhaps he could try at keeping a whole bunch of dead people under control to keep himself busy from accepting the fact that Anthony is gone and he should emotionally move on.

In 4x04 (Gone Gone), the episode where Mary moves on, we see that James' coping mechanism is to keep himself busy. Keep himself busy so he doesn't have to focus on his feelings, but when he's given the time to pause and process it... He completely breaks down. Imagine that with Anthony when he left for North Africa.

But why does he like Pat?

Well. It isn't canon. But, the most recent Christmas special definitely hints at it. Pat introduced James to the amazing thing of baby talking, attempting to teach him just as Mia is put to bed. But once again The Captain's hard shell is back again and gives him a monotone voice and tone, rather making him seem like a robot. But at the end of the episode. He learned, and the glance he takes towards Pat is "Did I do it?" and Pat gives him a warm smile and a subtle nod. HUSBANDS I TELL YOU!

The Woodworm Men (3x03): Pat outbests The Captain with camping, yet they are still both very keen. The Captain trudged back though!! In this episode, James is awarded the teamwork badge from Pat, and when you see the scene, you can tell that he is smitten and in love. Because, now rewatching that scene with the context of his death, he must've been the happiest he had been in a while to achieve and properly earn a badge. James, I think, personally likes Pat because he still has all the leading roles (being a scout leader) and that reminds him a lot of Anthony hence why we see them working together in a lot of episodes (2x06, 2x02, etc). It all leads back to Anthony. Who knows what would've happened if they didn't meet.

I also think that Getting Out (1x06) is a good episode that represents self growth as well as debating with the issue of being mocked, as James is mocked in the episode.

This is him overhearing the conversation. Confusion. Anger. This episode is where James learns that not everybody will adapt themselves for him, not everybody will accept the way he acts. It's pretty clear that he cannot control this mindset he has, it was probably drilled into him, the poor soul. The way he brings himself back into the group is through a secret weapon (Kitty, because she's the most likeable and their relationship is mwah).

This episode is also important because of the scene in the library with James and Kitty.

"What matters more? Keeping Alison here, or letting her be happy?"

Now imagine that question but Anthony. James has sacrificed his life and soul towards Anthony, and even has a piece of him with him. This man is obsessed with Anthony. Crazily in love. He can't control his feelings for people. It just... Happens.

After Carpe Diem, it took me only a fraction of a second to see how comfortable he was. He was free to love who he wanted! I was stimming so crazily when the last scene of Season 5 (disregarding the Christmas special) was him being gay. Fanny comforted him after he came out, and every one supported him. He feels safe now.

The mirror and the draw in the intro.

Personally, I believe that the mirror represents the fact that his medals are the right way, meaning that the man in the mirror is The Captain and the man looking at his reflection is James. He's looking what he could've been. A hero. Yet now that he's come to terms with himself, James knows that he can be himself now. Free of judgement. Free of secluding himself away. I believe that the drawer represents him ever searching for more memories to grasp onto, more things about Anthony to remember. I also think it represents the fact that there is something inside of him that is worth looking for, and that thing deserves to be looked for and looked after. The draw is pulled out as far as it can go, so this could point to the fact that there is something buried within the house that needs to be found and given back to him. Could be the limpet mine. Or perhaps that William letter truly was a love letter.

OVERALL:

James is a different man to The Captain. The Captain is merely a costume or a nickname James wears knowing full well of the man he is underneath those perceived images of him. James is a coward. James is obsessed with Anthony. His heart has bled so much he has to rely on the small amount of attention from someone so he can carve it out and then offer it to those people who attention has been wasted on him. Ben is an amazing actor and writer who threads things together so subtly and sneakily it's insane. James won't let go of the military mindset, just incase he meets Anthony when he moves on. He thinks that no one will fall in love with the present him so he tries his best to act like his old self. Ben is right. You certainly are a fool, James. But oh, how I love your character.

[movie-titlecards]

The Punch Bowl (1944)

My rating: 4/10

Das lustigste an dem Film ist eigentlich nur die Vorstellung, dass die ganzen alten Männer da anderthalb Stunden um die Bowle hocken, während Rühmann ihnen erklärt, wie episch das wäre, wenn er einen Teenager spielen würde.

Funniest thing about the movie is the mental image of that gaggle of old men sitting around the punch bowl for an hour and a half, listening to Rühmann telling them all about how epic it would be if he were to play a teenager.

[buckysbitch107]

Birthday Baking | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It’s the first time Bucky is able to celebrate his birthday since 1944, and you really want to make his welcome back into a world of not-torture special. This results in a bit of a baking spree, but no one else is complaining.

Warnings: Swearing, Slightly Horny Bucky, Mentions of sexual activity, Nudity, Slight Panic Attack

Word Count: 2.17K

A/N: Hope you guys like this one! This will be a little bit longer than my last one, and it’s basically the same concept. Y/N is the reader, ~~~ is a time skip, blah blah blah. Hope you know the abbreviations, if not, here’s a website: https://www.wattpad.com/170188425-the-ultimate-guide-to-a-everything-fanfiction-x . Here’s the reference photo I used for the dress: https://www.jbydress.com/products/custom-made-long-sleeves-short-black-prom-dresses-short-black-long-sleeves-formal-evening-graduation-dresses?variant=14603203805226 . Hope you enjoy!

“What about that girl from counter-intelligence? What was her name? Amy? Amethyst?” Bucky speaks, opening the doors for the two of them as they return from their run around New York.

“Her name is Amanda, and she’s a lesbian.” Steve comments, punching in the access code for the elevator. Bucky shrugs as the two of them walk into the elevator, continuing their small conversation as it takes them to the main living area of the Avengers tower. The pair step out of the elevator, the strong scent of vanilla and chocolate immediately filling their noses. “What’s that smell?” Bucky listens to the banging in the kitchen and sighs.

“Oh no.”

“What?” Bucky strolls into the TV area, Steve following as the man confirms his theory. Most of the Avengers sit on the array of couches, silently munching on a plethora of sweets.

“Well if it isn’t America’s sweethearts!” Tony exclaims, standing up from his seat to walk over to Bucky. The two had previously “made up”, also known as agreeing not to kill each other. “Y’know, I have no idea what got into your girl, but she sure does know how to bake.” Bucky sighs once again and makes eye contact with Tony, a look that can only be described as ‘goddammit not again’ on his face.

“How many times has she run out of flour?” Bucky questions, honestly dreading the answer.

“Um three, why?”

“Oh dear lord.” The metal-armed man mutters, moving past Tony and Steve into the kitchen, the other supersoldier following. The two walk into the kitchen, finding every available counter space filled to the brim with either cakes, cupcakes, pies, other sweets, ingredients, or mixing bowls. And in the middle of all of it, is Y/N. Both Steve and Bucky’s focus goes to the woman standing with her back turned to them, an apron tied around her waist and her H/L pulled up into a messy bun. A timer goes off from somewhere and she rushes to turn it off, pulling what looks like a form of cheesecake out of the oven. “Doll?”

“Hmm?” Y/N hums, turning around to face the two men, a cinnamon roll sticking out of her mouth. Now facing the pair, they can see just how much baking she’s done. Her forehead is slightly sweaty, frosting all over her hands, face, and arms, more cake batter showing on her apron than cloth. Bucky walks over to her and tries to give her a hug, pouting when her semi-frosting covered hand pushes him away.

“What? I can’t get a hug from my best girl?”

“Not when you’re all hot and sweaty, and I’m covered in frosting and cake batter.” Bucky accepts defeat and strolls back over to Steve, the two watching her meticulous work for a few more moments before Bucky ushers for them to step out. They walk back into the TV area and Steve turns to his friend.

“Is she okay?” Steve asks, pointing back towards the kitchen.

“She stress bakes.” Bucky responds, his friend’s eyes widening.

“You think? There are enough sweets in that room to feed the 107th and 26th infantries combined. What could she be that stressed about?”

“I think it has something to do with my birthday.” A look of realization crosses over Steve’s face and he nods.

“You should go talk to her. Soon enough, we won’t have a place to put all of that.” Bucky nods before walking back into the kitchen, his girlfriend still in the almost exact same spot. He moves to stand next to her and she gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Hey, doll.”

“Hi.” She mutters, stirring the current batch of brownie mix with a lot of unnecessary force.

“What’s wrong, babygirl? You only bake this much when you’re stressed.” She shoots him a quick glare and he slightly backs off, knowing that messing with her would be a worse idea than pre-serum Steve trying to complete a triathlon (which he did try. once.) 

“Well, maybe it’s because I am stressed!” She exclaims, slamming her hands on the counter. Y/N looks at her boyfriend and sighs, wiping her hands on her apron before resting her head on his shoulder, taking a long and deep breath. “I just want everything to be perfect for your birthday.”

“But baby it doesn’t have to be. I’d be fine if it were just you and me.” Her head snaps up, her eyes wide in a mix of emotions.

“Nononono. It’s going to be your 100th birthday, which is big. It’s also your first birthday out of HYDRA, and I want it to be perfect! But your birthday is in two days and almost nothing is working out and I’m worried that it’s all gonna flop and-” Y/N rambles, her already wide E/C eyes growing even larger as she rambles on, her breathing becoming more and more shallow as she spirals herself into a pit of anxiety and panic. As she rambles, she pours the brownie batter into a pan and slides it in the oven.

“Hey, hey, hey. Listen to me.” Bucky pauses, using his pointer finger to lift her chin up, making sure she is making direct eye contact with him. “No matter what you plan, I’ll love it. You plan a huge birthday bash, I’ll be there with a big smile on my face. You plan a small dinner with just a few friends, it’ll be the best birthday ever. Because you’ll be there. Okay?” She nods, having calmed down from listening to her boyfriend’s words. Bucky leans forward, giving her a small kiss. “Now,” He pauses, pulling away from her, a small whine leaving her lips. “let’s get you cleaned up, your last batch of brownies shouldn’t be done for a while.” Y/N nods once again and lets Bucky lead her out of the kitchen and to the elevator. They get off and Bucky smiles at her.

“Go take a shower.” He whispers, giving her a small push towards their bathroom.

“But I want you to come with meeeeee.” She whines, a pout on her face as she makes grabby hands towards him.

“I’ll be in in a sec, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~~

“Hey Y/N!” Bucky calls, leaning his head back against the back of his seat, Y/N just barely appearing in his line of sight.

“Yes?”

“Would you be a doll and hand me another beer?” He asks, a cheeky grin on his face. She rolls her eyes before heading over to the fridge, weaving in between S.H.I.E.L.D agents and fellow Avengers to do so. Y/N grabs a beer from the top shelf before making her way back over to Bucky.

“Here you go.” She speaks, walking in front of him to hand him his drink. Bucky reaches up and grabs it before stopping his eyes trained on the tight and short black dress Y/N is wearing. The fabric hugs her body perfectly, the length and the neckline making him want to rip it off of her.

“My, my, my.” He whispers, a mischievous smirk on his face. Bucky looks up at her, Y/N noticing how the bright blue of his eyes has almost disappeared behind his pupils. “Ain’t you a dame that makes a man dizzy.” Y/N’s ears turn bright red, soon matching her face and part of her neck.

“Oh shush.” She whispers, letting out a small laugh.

“Come here babydoll.” Bucky mutters, holding out his arms as an invitation. Y/N smiles before walking over to Bucky and sitting down next to him. Her position quickly changes as Bucky pulls her onto his lap, her body situated perfectly on his thighs. His arms wrap around her waist, clasping together in front of her as he rests his head on her shoulder, occasionally kissing her neck. 

“Ew. Relationships.” Sam mumbles, making the woman across from him laugh.

“You just say ew because you don’t know what it feels like to be in one.” Bucky retorts, making Y/N laugh even harder.

“Boys, boy. Settle down. Please.” She requests, shooting a small smile at both of them. The two simply glare at each other for a couple minutes, Y/N turning her head the other way to talk to Nat. Bucky occasionally takes a sip of his beer, mainly keeping his lips on Y/N’s shoulder or neck. They stay like this for a while, Bucky striking up a conversation with Steve and Sam. Bucky’s hands slightly tighten around Y/N’s waist and he tilts his head up to whisper in her ear.

“Why don’t we head up to my room and you can give me that other present you were talking about?” He mumbles, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. Y/N rolls her eyes and shifts in his arms, turning so her upper body is facing him as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Because it’s your birthday, silly. You haven’t opened your other presents, so why should I give you a special one early? Besides, it would be a little rude to leave your friends.” She responds, giving him a quick peck on the lips before removing his hands from her waist and standing up. “Now come on,” Y/N says, holding out her hand for him to grab. “It’s time for cake.” Sam helps her round everyone up, and soon enough she’s walking out of the kitchen with a cake in her hands.

“Make way people, masterpiece coming through.” Peter announces, walking in front of her and talking about the cake in Y/N’s arms. Bucky lets out a short laugh as the cake is placed in front of him, the dessert carves almost perfectly in the shape of a dinosaur. The icing on the cake reads ‘Congrats! You’re old!’ and Steve nearly spits out his drink as he reads it.

“The shape was Peter’s idea. He helped with the words too.” Y/N laughs, most of the people around her joining in. Bucky gives her a fake glare and she takes it seriously before a smile forms on his face and he starts laughing as well. Y/N lights the candles on the cake and they all sing happy birthday, a few of them not on key. Bucky blows out the candles and a few minutes later, everyone has a plate of cake in their hands.

~~~

“Thank you for doing all of this for me, Y/N.” Bucky whispers, standing next to his girlfriend with an arm wrapped around her waist.

“Of course! It’s your birthday and I wanted to make it special!” She responds, turning around so she can wrap her arms around his neck. He places his hands on her waist and pulls her into him, giving her a hug before stepping back after seeing Steve waiting beside them.

“Happy birthday pal.” Steve says, smiling at his best friend before pulling him into a hug. Bucky hugs back and they stay there for a few minutes, Steve smiling at him once again before heading up to his room for the night. Bucky and Y/N spend the next hour cleaning, putting the rest of the cake in the fridge, and recycling the many beer bottles littering the floor.

“So now can you give me that present?” Bucky asks, placing both of his hands on her waist. She smiles and stands on her toes, leaning up so her lips can reach his ear.

“You’re gonna have to unwrap it first.” She whispers, offering him a sly grin before turning towards the elevator, her hips slightly swaying. Bucky follows her figure with his eyes, and that’s when he notices the bow connected to the zipper on the back of her dress, the bow that looks a lot like the one on her present to him from earlier. A small grin forms on his face, and he follows her, deciding he wants to unwrap his present now.

~~~

 “Happy Birthday Buck.” Y/N mumbles, nuzzling her face into Bucky’s neck, the man letting out a soft chuckle.

“Thanks, babygirl.” They lay like that for a few minutes before they hear muffled yelling and Y/N shoots up after recognizing the voice as Tony

“Oh shit. I think we left your pants in the elevator.” A loud laugh erupts from Bucky’s chest, the man only thinking of the look on Tony’s face.

“If he murdered us right now, how much would the forensics team see when they walked in?”

“For me, probably some of my boobs, my back, and part of my ass. For you, pretty much everything.” She responds, resting her head back against his shoulder.

“Y’know, we have a few more minutes before he could possibly get up here and pick the lock on the door.” Bucky suggests, already moving his hand under the covers.

“What? You want more of your present?” Y/N asks, already knowing the answer.

“I think I deserve it, since it is my birthday.”

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut​ @breakmy-bedbarnes @stuckys-hot-dogs​ @andreasworlsboring101​

Just a reminder that all requests are open! I will be creating a masterlist either today or tomorrow so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

[helloorandomfandom]

Little Doves find love in the strangest ways

Eric x reader

Words: 1944

I’m cruising down flop street but I’m still feeling sweet.

*GIFS NOT MINE*

Also let me know if you want other characters. LEAVE SOME REQUESTS! 

Y/n. That was the name you were now living with. That was the name you decided to stick with as soon as you hit the net. You had been asked and that was your decision. Your first day in Dauntless was well daunting.  Making friends was easy being from Amity. Kill them with kindness was basically your motto. You had joined a pretty houmous and lively clique that gladly welcomed you. The first night with the faction transfers was one of your favourites. Most of the group got tattoos but you opted for a personalized necklace. One charm had your name on a vinyl record made of gold and another said ‘Amity’ on a tree. You loved music and you left Amity.  That was the first day.  Everything after that got exceptionally harder.

Physical training wasn’t horrible but you also weren’t a ‘champion’. I guess doing some heavy, weight work in Amity helped with your muscle mass. One week you did phenomenally but the next you were setup to fight Peter and lets say, a few bruises and one excruciatingly painful headache made you lose the Amity spring in your step. Losing that fight brought your rank down a debatable amount. Deciding to not cause a ruckus you kept your mouth shut and dealt with it.  The decrease did however deplete your motivation leaving you with a few lazy punches or easy blocks causing you to earn a couple of bruises.

“Dove, in the ring!” Four’s voice shouted.

Dove was the nickname you got being one of the few Amity transfers. It was Will’s doing because doves are a symbol of purity and peace, and so are you according to him.  Your bare feet padded across the cool smooth concrete and onto the springy mat. You cocked your head to the side, wordlessly asking who you would be fighting.

“Al, jump in.”

Oh come on. Al was obviously no match for you, he was to soft. Although according to others so were you. Eric gave the signal and you began to dance around the ring, arms up with Al.

“Today initiates!” Eric’s voice demanded sounding obviously bored.

You let out a sigh and stepped forward. Lifting you leg up and twisting your body you roundhouse kicked Al in the face knocking him out cold. 

As you reached down and picked up his unconscious body you let out the word

“Sorry.”

The weight was semi-relieved as another person helped you with the unconscious boy. 

“Don’t apologise initiate.” 

Eric.

“Sorry.” 

This made you mentally facepalm.

“Oh my God, Sorry!”

Eric’s steel blue eyes glared at you as the two of you walked the halls to the infirmary. 

“Holy shit Y/n stop it!” You scolded yourself.

You tiny outburst of embarrassment seemed humourous to Eric who let out a chuckle. 

“Don’t laugh at me! It’s not my fault, I blame the bread!”

“Oh little Dove, how innocent you are.” Eric teased, still laughing a little.

Al was dropped into a hospital bed and you made your way back to the training center. Partnering up with Will, you practiced some basic skills involving blocking, jabs and throat hits. 

“All right get out!” Eric shouted. 

Everyone began to shuffle out the room including you.

“Dove, stay back!” 

“UGH!” You groaned clearly annoyed.

Everyone you passed gave you sympathetic looks or a quick ‘good luck’.

“What do you require, Sir?”

“Well I was going to offer you help but with that attitude I don’t think so.”

“Oh great! So I can go and shower now? I really need to.” You jumped from foot to foot towards the door. Peeking your head round the corner you smiled. “Oh Eric? I may be from Amity but you won’t find me begging.” You winked and swiftly made your way back to the dorm room retiring to bed after a much needed shower. 

The next week or so Eric kept holding you back, giving you useless jobs to do. 

“We don’t even use these knives Eric. Why do I have to sharpen them?”

“Because little innocent Dove, I’m exposing your pure self to dangerous items.” Eric teased.

“Oh my-! I’ve had it with you! I’M NOT INNOCENT!”  Your rageful outburst took over your body and the next thing you knew you had hurled a knife straight into Eric’s shoulder.  “Oh for fucks sake!”  The adrenaline coursing through your veins gave you enough courage to grab Eric by the hand and drag him through the halls to his apartment. 

“Code?”

“Do I even want to know why you know where I live?” Eric questioned punching in his code.

The door slid open sending a cool breeze over you.  “For your information, I wish to know my way around thank you. Apparently I’m already gullible enough as is.”

Eric chuckled which caused a muffled groan. 

“Hey, you pushed my buttons that what you deserve.”

“Touché”

Silence fell over the apartment and you dragged Eric into his bathroom. Frantically searching for his first-aid kit you seized the bright red bag and unzipped it. The contents exploded and you found exactly what you needed. 

“Brace yourself.” You said wrapping your fingers around the knife’s handle.

Eric grabbed the bench and you yanked the blade from his skin. He let out a string of mangled groans expressing his agony.

“Shirt.” You guestured.

“Is this an excuse to see me shirtless, not so innocent, little Dove?” Eric flirted.

“It’s either I fix this or you get infected, because we both know you’re too stubborn to tell the nurse an initiate stabbed you.”

Eric rolled his eyes and lifted his shirt over his head with minimal staining to his shoulder. You were awestruck at his Greek God physique. Holy shit, this man is fit. His six pack basically shines like the sun and it’s so hard not to look away.  But you do, opting to unscrew the lid on some antiseptic liquid to keep from drooling. Pouring some onto a wad of spare gauze you warned the Dauntless leader again.

“This is gonna sting like a bitch.”

“I think I can hand-”

Eric cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath as you pressed the soaked gauze onto his bleeding wound. The shocking action caused his hands to latch onto the nearest thing. Your hips.  Your cheeks flushed as your y/e/c eyes met his steel blue ones, causing him to smirk.

“You’ve got a nice set of love handles here Dove.”

“Well your pretty bold aren’t you, Sir?” You replied using the gauze to wipe the excess blood.

Putting the wad in the trash, you fiddled with the needle struggling to thread it. After about the fifth attempt the thread went through and you secured a knot onto the end.  You rested your hand onto Eric’s protruding bicep and pierced his skin dragging it back in and out repeatedly. Once the wound was closed you cut the thread and taped down a fresh pad of gauze overtop to keep it clean. You cleaned up the bench in silence then reopened the cupboard and grabbed some aspirin. Popping two pills out the bottle you handed them to Eric who took them and without saying anything retreated to the kitchen. You put the bottle and kit back, closing the door and exiting the bathroom. 

Walking towards the door you pushed the button and it slid open.  “Where are you going Initiate?” “To hopefully get some privacy for a shower.” “Here.” Eric walked over to his dresser and grabbed a plain black t-shirt throwing it to you.  “Care to join?” You teased.  Eric scoffed and you dashed into the bathroom. 

Once the warm water hit your skin,you were a moaning mess. The steam clouded the glass and you completed your usual routine. Parting with the heat, you dried off and slipped Eric’s shirt over your head. The shirt sat mid-thigh and complemented your curves. You braided your hair into a simple plait and let it fall to one side. Exiting the bathroom the smell of cheesy goodness filled your nostrils. 

“Why are your showers so much better? It’s not fair.”

“Because Dove, we are privileged from passing initiation.” He responded handing you a bowl of Mac n cheese. 

“You’re starting to grow on me Coulter. I’m not sure if I should be afraid or intrigued.”

Eric moved closer towards you. Putting his bowl on the bench, the action which you repeated. Eric’s boots made two short steps towards you ending up face to face with you. His minty breath casted a cool breeze to fall on your lips. You swiftly looked down at the black combat boots encasing your feet, that was until you felt the soft touch of Eric’s fingers under your chin pushing it upwards. Your gaze met his and you flirtatiously blinked smiling a little towards him. 

“Both.”

And with that Eric closed the gap between you, connecting at the lips, eyes closed. The kiss was slow and filled with passion. You deepened the kiss by turning you head to the side and lifting your hand to hold Eric’s neck. The sound of your heartbeat heavy in your ears balanced out the apartment’s silence as Eric’s crisp breath calmed you. Your tense muscles relaxed as Eric placed a hand on your hip and the other on your cheek. He began to walk, backing you into the kitchen bench you were lifted up and onto the frigid marble countertop. Eric stepped between you legs that wrapped themselves around his still bare torso. You wrapped your arms around his neck and began to tug at his hair. Eric let out a low groan and you broke away from his addictive lips letting out a small giggle. 

“Enjoying yourself Coulter?” You giggled again.

“Little Dove, whatever should I do with you?”

“Hmm…this.” 

You leaned forwards and pressed a lasting kiss to Eric’s lips before teasingly pulling away and resting your forehead against his. 

“I should go.” You whispered disappointed. 

Eric pulled away and helped you down from the counter. You gave him a chaste kiss and swiftly walked to the door. You looked over your shoulder and quipped.

“Keep that shoulder clean, yeah?”

You left the apartment and quickly returned to the dorm room hoping not to get flooded with questions.

Your eyes peeked through the crowd of various hair colours in search of the scoreboard. Your name was situated on the third rung meaning not only did you pass initiation you made it to top three. Tris, one of your close friends, sat at the top taking her well earned spot as overall ‘winner’. 

“Top three initiate. Well deserved.” The rugged voice of your secret boyfriend whispered into you ear. 

“Thank you Sir.” 

You reached your arms up and held the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re mine now.” He grumbled and you tilted your head to meet him.

“I suppose so.” You whispered against his lips.

“HEY EVERYONE! I FOUND OUT WHY ERIC WAS BEING NICER!” 

Everyone in the room quickly shut up and stared at the pair of you.

“WILL! I SWEAR TO SATAN I’LL KI-” 

Eric’s lips captured your words and disolved them into the kiss. The once silent Pit erupted in cheers and wolf whistles egging you on.   When you broke apart, the crowd cheered even louder and a few people you knew, including Tris who knowingly hated Eric, congratulated you.  The Pit died down only to spike back up at the loud music blasted through large speakers and the party officially began. 

“It’s this Dove’s time to fly!” You shouted running off into the crowd of dancing Dauntless.

And fly you did. 

Tagged:

@clockworkballerina @shinigamiathene @jaiboomer11 @lacy-love @sophiesworld1992 @home-of-the-lonely-writer @pathybo  @that1girloverthere @buried-in-books @lunaschild2016 @nijiru @kalliewinchester-queenofhell @kgurew 

[lboogie1906]

Edgar R. Huff (December 2, 1919 – May 2, 1994) was the first African-American in the Marine Corps to be promoted to the rank of sergeant major. He served in WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. He was a native of Gadsden, Alabama, and enlisted in the Marine Corps on September 24, 1942, as one of the first African-Americans to do so. He received his recruit training with the 51st Composite Defense Battalion, Montford Point Camp, New River, North Carolina. Following graduation, he joined the 155mm gun battery of the 51st Composite Defense Battalion and served as a gun commander. In early 1943, he was assigned duty under instruction at drill instructor school, and upon completion of his course, was assigned duty as a drill instructor in March 1943. At that time, Montford Point Camp was the receiving point for all African Americans entering the Marine Corps, and by November 1944, he had been assigned duty as field sergeant major of all recruit training at the Montford Point Camp. In November 1944, he was promoted to the first sergeant and assigned duty with the 5th Depot Company, departing for the Western Pacific area, and serving as a first sergeant with this unit in Saipan, Okinawa, and North China. The 5th Depot Company furnished logistic support for Marine divisions in that area. Gilbert Johnson, the only other African American sergeant major besides him to serve during WWII, was his brother-in-law. They were married to twin sisters. Following WWII, he served as Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge of Recruit Training at Montford Point Camp until May 1949. He was then assigned duty as a guard and infantry chief, at Marine Barracks, Naval Ammunition Depot, Earle, New Jersey, until May 1951, at which time he assumed duty with the famed 1st Marine Division in Korea. He saw combat as a company gunnery sergeant with the 2nd Battalion 1st Marines and participated in operations in the "Punch Bowl" area, the eastern front, and in the spring-summer offensive on the West Central front. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence https://www.instagram.com/p/ClqoXfRrKFS/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

D’Un Nouvel Oeil: Chapter Four

Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE, HAUTE-VIENNE, FRANCE EARLY JANUARY 1944

"So your New Year's Eve was pleasant, then?" Maggie Scully asks as she bastes a roast in its own juices in preparation for returning it to the oven.

"Very," says Scully, chopping carrots at the kitchen counter and throwing them into the roasting pan by the handful.

"And that's all I'm going to hear about it? That it was 'very pleasant?'" Scully rolls her eyes and brings the knife down unnecessarily hard, scattering carrot tops all over the cutting board.

"What exactly did you want to hear, Maman?" she asks. "That he made violent love to me on the counter next to the cash register?"

"Dana!" Maggie flips a dishtowel at her daughter, who yelps as it catches her across the shoulder. "There's no need to be vulgar! All I wanted to know was whether or not you and Fox had a nice evening."

"Yes, we did," Scully sighs. "He brought a bottle of champagne that his captain had given him. We had a lovely dinner, we listened to the radio, we talked, we danced a bit, and that was it." Maggie raises her eyebrows, smiling.

"And is he a good dancer?" Scully ducks her head, blushing slightly.

"Yes, he is," she murmurs. "Very good." Her mother gives a haughty, knowing smirk, and returns the pan of meat, now nestled in a bed of carrots, onions, and potatoes, to the oven. Scully frowns slightly as the door is closed. "This is an awful lot of food for just the three of us," she remarks, checking the bowl of dough rising on the counter, waiting to become a loaf of bread to accompany their dinner. "Were you trying to save me the trouble of roasting meat for the week's sandwiches?"

"I've asked Albert and his family to join us," Maggie says, and Scully turns and stares at her, aghast.

"Maman, you didn't," she moans, shaking her head.

"I did," says Maggie. "It's a holiday. They should enjoy a nice, relaxed meal with company. There's no reason for them to hide in the barn."

"But Mulder will be here," protests Scully. "In his uniform, no less. How, exactly, are the Marchands supposed to enjoy a nice, relaxed meal at the same table as a man in a Nazi uniform?"

"I did at Christmas," says Maggie.

"Yes, you did, but the Nazis aren't hunting you, Maman," counters Scully. "And even if Albert and Sophie can manage to ignore the uniform for the evening, I very much doubt that Helene and Christine will. They're going to be terrified."

"It'll be fine, I'm sure," Maggie insists.

But it isn't.

Scully tries to prepare the Marchands, regaling them with the story of how Mulder had broken another soldier's nose in her defense, but she can tell that they're not convinced, and she doesn't blame them. The Marchands- as their forged documents now name them (Scully doesn't even know their real names- it's safer that way)- had fled their home in northern France some months before, and had been smuggled through the countryside to Oradour-sur-Glane. Soon, they'll be moved again, either to Spain or to Switzerland, depending on which route is the easiest. They are all four well-acquainted with the sound of German boots on French streets, and the sight of a German uniform, for them, signals nothing but death and danger. The girls, in particular, find the prospect of a soldier joining them for dinner terrifying, having witnessed men dressed just like Mulder beating and even shooting people in their village.

The dinner is torturous for everyone. Mulder tries valiantly to make conversation, to be friendly, to convince the Marchands that he is not a threat, but it's to no avail. Scully watches, dismayed, as Mulder's spirits sink further and further in response to the rebuffing of each attempted friendly overture. She can read in his face, all too clearly, that as far as he's concerned, their reaction is totally justified- not because of the uniform he wears, but because of who he is. Not for the first time, she wonders: what is it that's happened to him that's convinced him that he is so wholly undeserving of anyone's regard?

When the meal is complete, Maggie tries to convince Mulder to stay a bit longer and enjoy some coffee, but he begs off. Scully doesn't want to see him go, but given the fact that the Marchand girls have looked close to tears all evening, even she has to concede that it's probably for the best.

"I'm sorry," she whispers to him in the front hall, as she hands him his coat. "I didn't know ahead of time that Maman had asked them to eat with us. I feel terrible that that was so uncomfortable."

"It's not your fault, Scully. And it's not theirs, either." He sighs as he does up his buttons. "Your mother's willing to forgive what I am and where I come from, but that's only because she has it in her head that I rescued you from dire peril."

"You did," says Scully, but Mulder shakes his head ruefully.

"Please, Scully. I might not have realized it then, but I know you well enough by now to know that if I hadn't been there, you would have taken care of the situation all by yourself. You didn't need me to save you." The way he states the simple fact of her self-reliance as something admirable, and not as an unfortunate character flaw, warms her from the inside out. She loves the way that he sees her... she only wishes she could get him to see himself in a more positive light, as well.

"But you did anyway," she tells him. "Mulder, you're not like them. You never asked to be here, you didn't have a choice."

"Yes, I did," says Mulder stubbornly. "I could have ignored my conscription notice. I could have chosen prison instead. I could have just left the country, but I didn't. I chose the path of least resistance."

"The path of least resistance would have been to just sit back and watch the show when that soldier was putting his hands all over me," says Scully, "but that's not what you did. You got up, you took a stand, and you tried to protect me." Mulder starts to shake his head again, but before he can speak, Scully brings his hands to her lips and gently kisses his fingertips. "There's more good in you than you know, Fox Mulder. I hope that one day you can see that."

It's a simple enough thing to say, but Mulder's face colors, and he looks down, unable to meet her eyes. Scully suddenly realizes that he's almost moved to tears, and she finds that she wants to cry, as well. What's been done to this man, that he thinks so poorly of himself? Before she can give into the temptation to begin a conversation she knows, instinctively, that he's not ready for, she reaches for her shawl, hanging by the door, and wraps it around her shoulders. She takes his hand and tugs at it.

"Come on," she says. "I'll see you out."

She shivers in the chill outside. Though part of her wishes she were about to walk back to town with Mulder, to put off the moment of parting, she's also glad she'll be able to return to the warmth of her mother's house. It will hopefully be at least a bit warmer in the morning, after she helps her mother with the milking and heads back to town to run through the morning's pre-opening tasks.

Thinking about opening the cafe tomorrow jogs her memory, and she reaches into her pocket, retrieving the key she'd placed there earlier in the evening.

"I nearly forgot- would you be able to do me a favor, Mulder?" She holds the key out to him.

"Of course," he says, taking the key and raising his eyebrows, curious. "What's this?"

"It's my mother's key to the cafe," she explains. "There's a large bowl of bread dough in the refrigerator that will need to come to room temperature before I work with it tomorrow morning. Would you mind stopping in and moving it to the kitchen counter?"

"No problem," he says, taking the key and slipping it into his pocket. "Anything else I can do for you?" She debates for a split second, knowing full well her mother may be watching from one of the darkened windows. But she won't be spending the evening with him, the way she wishes she were, and this is the only chance she'll get.

"Yes," she says decidedly, and seizes him by the front of his overcoat. She pulls his head down to hers and kisses him deeply, thoroughly, until her knees are weak and her head is swimming. He's enthusiastic in his response, gathering her close and returning the kiss energetically- at least, until she feels something entirely unmistakeable pressing against her stomach, and he suddenly draws back, blushing so hard that she can see the red on his cheeks in the moonlight. He looks intensely embarrassed... but Scully simply glances down, then back up at him, smiling in a way she hopes will brook no doubts: she'll be more than happy to investigate what he's hiding there, as soon as the first opportunity arises. So to speak.

"You'll be all right walking home?" she asks him. His eyes follow the movement of her lips, but he says nothing in response. "Mulder?"

"Yeah," he says, his voice cracking. It takes a good deal of willpower to keep from giggling. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"Count on it," he replies. She lets him out of the gate and returns to the house. At the door she looks back to see Mulder still standing there, punch-drunk, a distracted smile still lingering on his face. She waves one more time, then retreats to the warmth inside of the house.

"Just dancing, hmmm?" Scully's so completely unsurprised by her mother's voice, coming from the front parlor (where she's obviously been watching at the window), that she doesn't jump. She sighs and turns to Maggie, whose hands are on her hips, her eyebrows somewhere up around her hairline.

"We may have kissed at midnight," Scully concedes. "But what do you expect? It was New Year's Eve."

"It's not New Year's Eve now," Maggie points out.

"Maman, do you really think my virtue was in danger, out in the front yard, in freezing temperatures? You can't possibly tell me you never kissed Papa at all."

"Maybe I did, but I knew I'd be marrying him," says Maggie. "Is that what your intentions are with Fox?" Scully truly does not want to have this conversation.

"I have no intentions, Maman," she says. "And I'm sure that Mulder doesn't, either. We have no idea how long his unit will be stationed here." She crosses her arms over herself, uncomfortable. "For all I know, they could be moved out next week."

It's troubling, how much the idea upsets her. She tries to convince herself that it's just that she's gotten used to Mulder's company, that sitting with him each evening is a diversion, a distraction, a way to break up the monotony of her life. Her unhappiness at the possibility of his departure isn't because she's gotten attached.

It can't be that she's gotten attached.

"I'm tired, Maman," she says suddenly. "I'm going up to bed." She whirls on her heel amid her mother's protests, shutting herself away in the safety and quiet of her childhood bedroom.

It's too safe. It's too quiet.

Alone in the dark, Scully allows herself to admit it: she wants Mulder here, with her, and not just to break up the monotony, not even to make love. She wants his arms around her, wants to be held in his warm embrace, to rest her head on his chest, to listen to his heartbeat against her ear... to feel loved.

To love him.

She holds her pillow tight against her chest and bites her lip until it bleeds. Temporary, she tells herself firmly. Temporary. Temporary.

--------------------

On Friday, Walter Skinner hands her his empty pie tins, instead of placing them in the drop box out front. They're sandwiched one atop the other.

"Best get them into the kitchen quickly," he advises. "Before the crumbs and filling get stuck on, and you end up scrubbing for an hour." She nods, taking his meaning immediately, and retreats to the kitchen, where she prizes the two pie tins carefully apart. Stuck between them is a tiny slip of paper, bearing the words: "Last-second cherry, to feed one, needed tonight, will pickup in the morning. Extra filling, please." An Allied soldier, injured (the "extra filling" is a code they've agreed upon), arriving sometime tonight and being picked up for transport in the small hours of the morning. Scully sighs to herself. She's been planning on asking Mulder to stay late tonight, but it's looking like that will have to wait.

She returns to the dining room, where Skinner has taken a seat at a table. She nods to him.

"I think I should be able to have your pie ready for you. But you should really try to give me more notice, you know," she chastises him.

"Are you worried you might be interrupted when I drop off an order?" Skinner asks, eyebrows raised. "Or when I pick an order up?"

"You never know," Scully replies archly. Skinner regards her a moment longer; then, decisively, he nods.

"Duly noted," he says. "I'll do my best to give you advance warning from now on. My apologies if I've disturbed your plans for tonight."

"I can reschedule," she says with a shrug. She glances around the cafe. As early as it is, there are very few other patrons, and no other soldiers. Pulling out a chair, she seats herself across from Skinner, leaning her elbows on the table. "I had dinner with my mother and her hired hands about a week ago," she tells him. "On New Year's Day. My mother asked me to bring a guest." She sighs. "It didn't go well."

"No, I can imagine it wouldn't have been a comfortable meal," Skinner agrees. "Your mother's idea?"

"Inviting the farmhand and his family was Maman's idea," Scully says. "I had no idea she'd done it until it was too late to uninvite my guest."

"Speaking of your dinner guest," Skinner says, leaning closer and lowering his voice, "there's been some talk around the camp."

"Oh?" He nods.

"The... friendship... hasn't gone unnoticed, not at all. Your... um...."

"My dinner guest?" Scully supplies, smiling. It's unlikely anyone is listening, but still, better safe than sorry."

"Yes," says Skinner. "Your dinner guest. Your very regular dinner guest, this past week." Scully holds Skinner's gaze, refusing to blush. "The thing is, he's been quite solitary until this point, so the fact that he's spending time with someone isn't likely to go unnoticed." He leans even closer. "It would be to both of your benefits if it were to appear that you were getting something out of the arrangement other than the pleasure of his company." Skinner bites his lip. "I don't mean to insult you, but you know as well as I do that it's less suspicious, as least for him, if it does not appear as though you are in any sort of position to influence him or his loyalties." Scully's not offended; Skinner is absolutely right. If it looks as though she's sleeping with Mulder in exchange for financial assistance keeping her cafe supplied, it will appear to be nothing more than a business transaction, and therefore nothing serious.

If, however, Mulder appears to be in love with her... it would mean that she could possibly change his priorities, could convince him to desert, to pass her information, to sabotage his unit. The very idea would be enough for his commander to forbid the relationship, to find ways to keep them from seeing one another... possibly even arrest her and send her away.

"You're right," she says. "And if there's anything you can do to help it appear he's assisting me... any way you could get that rumor started...."

"I'll do what I can," Skinner says.

-----------------

Knowing that an Allied soldier is expected at her back door sometime tonight, Scully spends most of the afternoon thinking of what to tell Mulder to convince him to leave much earlier than he normally would. She's trying her absolute best not to be annoyed with Skinner, to keep her priorities in order... but the fact remains that she had arranged for Albert and Sophie Marchand to help her mother with the milking tomorrow so that she won't need to be there in the morning, purely so that she could invite Mulder to stay the night... and now it's all for nothing.

She realizes, as she's stewing over it, that even though she has no need to be at the farm in the morning, claiming the exact opposite would be a valid reason to ask Mulder to leave before midnight. If he thinks she needs to go to bed early, he won't interfere; he already seems to think his being there every evening is somehow an inconvenience to her, no matter how many times she's assured him that she lives for the time they spend alone together.

Whoever in Mulder's past has been responsible for completely destroying his self-confidence and sense of self-worth, Scully would pay dearly for an hour alone with them. With her brother's baseball bat.

She breaks the news to Mulder as they're relaxing on her sofa, having just finished several glasses of the lovely wine he had brought with him.

"I need to be at my mother's unusually early tomorrow," she tells him, after she's set their empty glasses aside. "So as much as I don't want to, I'll have to throw you out a bit early tonight." Mulder gives a theatrical moan, dropping his head against the back of the sofa, exposing the line of his throat. "I know," she says, just barely restraining herself from opening her mouth, latching onto his neck, and never letting go. She leans against him, instead, tickling the skin just under his ear with the tip of her nose, feeling him shudder against her. She contemplates her schedule for the rest of the weekend.

She's been busy, between the cafe, the added stress of baking the pies, and assisting in moving refugees. Her mother will understand if she's "too tired" for Sunday Mass this weekend, won't she? "But listen," she says, before she can talk herself out of it, "Maman told me one of her farm hands is taking care of the milking for her this Sunday, and I'm not planning on going to Mass, so tomorrow night, I was thinking you could stay a bit later than normal."

For a moment, Mulder says nothing; he only looks at her. It's just enough time for doubt to begin to creep in: has she misread him? Is he offended by her being this forward? It certainly wouldn't be the first time a man has been put off by her forthright advances.

"How late?" he asks, and she chances meeting his eyes. One look at the wild hopefulness she finds there, and all of her doubts are banished. She grins coyly at him.

"As late as you'd like," she says, delighting in the bobbing of his adams apple as he swallows hard. She's not sure if she leans in first or he does- all she knows is, when they kiss this time, he pulls her up against him until they're closer than they've ever been before. She's very nearly sitting in his lap, and she starts to protest when his lips leave hers, but the words die in her throat as he begins to kiss his way down her neck, then back up again, until his lips latch onto the same patch of skin behind her ear that she'd just been nosing at on him. She gasps sharply as warmth and wetness floods down between her legs- how does he know?- and she can't take it, she knows she can't have him tonight, there's just not time to do it properly, but if she doesn't have his hands on her, she's going to die. She takes his right hand from its place at the small of her back and draws it upwards, placing it decisively on her breast.

She feels him begin to pull away, but she thinks it's a safe bet that it's just a reflex, probably more from shock than from not wanting to touch her, and so she holds his hand in place, returning her fingers to his hair only when she's sure he's going to stay put. And he does, massaging her breast gently, tentatively at first, then more confidently as she kisses him again. She gasps as his clever fingers find her hardening nipple, pinching it just right, and he drops his head to her shoulder with a low moan.

"Scully," he says, his lips in the hollow of her throat, "you're not going to make me leave just yet, are you?" She chuckles, playing with his hair.

"I wouldn't be that cruel," she reassures him. "You can stay a little longer, I suppose." Her casual attitude is a front- if he tries to remove his hand from her breast right now, she will lose her mind. She wants more, wants him so badly she can feel it like an electrical current in her entire body, a low hum that starts in her center and radiates outward to every extremity.

It takes every ounce of self-control that she possesses to gently disengage herself from his arms as the clock strikes eleven. She's already cutting it far too close; the injured soldier could be delivered to her back doorstep at any moment. Still, it's with great regret that she walks Mulder downstairs. At the front door, she kisses him soundly.

"Tomorrow night," she promises him, "you can stay as late as you want. All night, if you think you can get yourself up and back to the encampment in time for your morning roll call." He smiles tenderly down at her, reaching out to push a lock of her red hair behind her ear.

"I can't wait to sleep with you in my arms," he whispers, and that's all it takes for her to melt. It's not seeing her naked that's chief on his mind, not making love, not the gratification he'll feel when they're finally joined. His thoughts have run somewhere far more intimate.

You need to send him away now, she reminds herself harshly. You cannot change your mind and take him back upstairs.

"That sounds like the most wonderful thing imaginable," she tells him, and she's not lying. She kisses him once more; then, gently, she pushes him out the door, locking it as he begins to walk backwards down the street, holding her gaze through the window, until he turns the corner and is gone.

It's not a moment too soon. She hasn't even gotten back to the kitchen yet when there's an insistent knocking at the back door. She runs to open it, revealing Richard Langly standing in the alleyway with a man leaning on his shoulder. The man is relatively short, wearing pants and a suit coat that are much too large for him. There's a nasty gash on his forehead, and his right arm is in a makeshift sling.

"This is John Nelson," says Langly, leading the man past her and into the kitchen. "He's been on the move for three days now. He could probably do with some food, once you've fixed him up." The two men start up the stairs, and Scully follows.

"I've got sandwiches in my flat," she says. "When is he being picked up?" She follows them into the parlor as Langly is easing the unfortunate Mr. Nelson onto the sofa.

"Around two in the morning," says Langly. "Not by us; we've got others we need to move tonight. I'll be meeting the boys as soon as I leave here."

With Langly's help in holding the man down, Scully manages to set and splint his broken arm and stitch up his forehead. She gives him a cheese sandwich and a glass of wine, leftover from the bottle Mulder had brought, and then goes downstairs to let Langly out. When she returns, Nelson is trying to sit up. She drops down onto the stool by his head and pushes him back.

"You need to rest," she tells him gently. "You'll likely have a good distance to walk tonight when you leave here. Take advantage of the comfortable seat while you can, all right?" The exhausted airman nods and closes his eyes.

"You speak English," he says, and Scully smiles. Her fluency never ceases to surprise the men she treats.

"I'm half-American," she explains. The man looks interested.

"American, eh?" She nods. "I knew some Yanks at the airfield I flew out of. Good chaps. We'll need 'em when it comes time to invade."

"Will that be soon, do you think?" Scully asks.

"Must be," says Nelson. "They don't tell us nothing, but they've got to do it soon, haven't they? It's why they've got us running these raids, bombing Gerry's defenses so's the boys on the ground have an easier time of it." Scully opens her mouth to reply... but suddenly, Nelson catches sight of something over her shoulder and sits up so fast, the plate that had held his sandwich falls to the floor. Scully turns to see what could have him so panicked, and her eyes fall on....

Mulder.

He's standing in the archway between the kitchen and the parlor, one of her meat cleavers from downstairs dangling from his hand, a look of total horror and despair on his face.

"Mulder!" she cries, leaping up. "What are you doing back here?" Behind her, she can hear Nelson trying to stand, and though she knows he's likely to injure himself further this way, she can't look away from Mulder.

"I forgot my hat," he says, in English. If he finds her use of the language confusing, he doesn't mention it. "I used my key to let myself back in to get it because I didn't want to wake you. I heard a noise... I wanted to make sure you were all right...." Oh God, his key. Why hadn't she remembered that she'd given it to him? She should have taken it back, claimed that her mother had needed it again.

"What's a German officer doing with a key to your flat?" demands Nelson from behind her. "What are you trying to pull? Are you turning me in?" Scully finally tears her gaze from Mulder and turns back to him.

"No, Mr. Nelson, of course not," she reassures the frightened airman. "This man is no threat to you. Now will you please sit still before you tear your stitches?" She turns back to Mulder, trying to think of something, some reason, any reason why an injured British soldier would be in her apartment in the middle of the night.

But Mulder is not a stupid man. He doesn't need any help to put the pieces together all by himself.

"You're with the Resistance," he says finally. Scully thinks, for a moment about lying... but it's no use.

"Mr. Nelson," she says to the injured airman, "I want you to rest here for a bit. Close your eyes and try to sleep, all right? I need to speak with my friend for a moment." She leads Mulder by the arm through the apartment and into her bedroom, closing the door behind them.

She has no idea what to say to him. Will he turn her in? She'd like to think he would never do that, but she can't be certain. One way or another, it's very likely that this will be the last time he's in her apartment, maybe even in her cafe... possibly even in her presence. Even if he doesn't turn her in, he can't afford to be associated with her.

"What group are you with?" he asks her at last. "The Gaullists? The SFIO? French Forces of the Interior?" She's impressed he knows the different factions, but she realizes that she shouldn't be. Mulder pays attention to the details; it's likely he would have figured all this out about her anyway, given enough time.

Temporary, the voice in her head says sadly.

"I'm not with any particular group," she says. "I help whichever group comes to me... I assist them in moving people, arranging their transportation and their hiding places. The man out there is a pilot who was sent to me by Dutch-Paris."

"How have I not noticed you've been hiding people in your apartment until now?" asks Mulder. "I'm here every night. Late."

"They only actually come to my apartment if they need medical attention," explains Scully. "Most of the time I only make the arrangements and provide information."

"The pies," he says. "That's how you communicate, isn't it?" She nods.

"The flavor of the pie tells me who needs to be moved- if it's Jews, Allied soldiers, or political refugees. The number of people the pie is for tells me how many people are in the group, and the date the order is due is when they need to be moved by. I make the arrangements and put their instructions inside the box with the pie when the person helping them picks it up." Mulder nods, digesting this... then, without warning, his face is seized by an anguished look of terror.

"Scully," he says quietly, "what will you do if they catch you?" She doesn't answer. There's nothing to say. Involvement with the Resistance, even for someone unaffiliated with any particular group, like her, carries the stiffest of penalties. It's likely he's seen the punishment carried out before, more than once. "You can't do this, Scully," he insists. "It's too dangerous. If they find out... if they catch you... I can't protect you then, Scully, I'd never be able to get to you in time. You'll be put to death before I even know you've been arrested."

In spite of her horror at the situation, his words touch her more than he could possibly know. She feels guilty for her thoughts of a moment ago, her worry that he would turn her in. His concerns aren't for himself, for his unit, for the cause he's being forced to fight.

All he cares about is her.

"I know that, Mulder," she assures him. "I'm not asking you to protect me."

"But why, Scully?" he asks. "Why are you risking this much?"

"I have to. I have no choice."

"Yes, you do," he insists. "You can survive this. If you keep your head down, if you keep yourself safe-"

"At what cost, Mulder?" she asks. "How many people can I help to save who would die if I just kept my head down? People keeping their heads down, minding their own business and keeping themselves safe, that's how men like Hitler win, Mulder. Evil things can only happen if good men- and women- stand by and allow them to happen, and I refuse to do that."

"But why you, Scully?" he asks. "Why do you have to be the one to do it?"

"Because I'm here, and because I can," she says. "I can't stand by and allow innocent people to suffer when I have the power to help them, Mulder. I don't know how to do that. It's just not who I am." In her mind's eye, she sees him charging the soldier who had harassed her, sees his shame at the Marchand family's fear of him. She looks at him pointedly. "And I don't think it's who you are, either." He looks down, refusing to meet her gaze. She sighs. "One way or another, Mulder, I need you to go back to the encampment. The man out there has a great distance to travel tonight. He's injured, he's hungry, and he needs to rest as much as he can." Mulder nods mutely, still looking at the floor. Scully sighs. "Come on," she says.

In the parlor, Mr. Nelson tries to sit up again as they approach, and she puts out a hand, stopping him.

"Please, Mr. Nelson, just relax," she begs him. "You're not in any danger." She looks up at Mulder. "Right?" Mulder nods.

"I promise, I have no interest in seeing you caught," he tells the airman, in English. "I mean you no harm." Nelson doesn't look completely reassured, but he does stop trying to stand up.

"I'll be back in a moment," Scully tells him, then takes Mulder's arm and leads him gently downstairs.

At the front door of the cafe, she stops. She reaches for his hand, the same hand he'd touched her with only an hour before, and she's heartened somewhat when he doesn't pull away.

"If I don't see you here tomorrow, Mulder," she whispers, just barely managing to hold back tears, "I'll understand. But..." She gives his hand a soft squeeze and pulls it to her mouth, brushing his knuckles with her lips before letting go. "I hope you'll be here." She knows they do not have time to talk about it now and so does he. He nods at her once and leaves, and as soon as the door is shut and locked behind him she sinks down against it, giving in to tears at last.

She's known this would be temporary. She's known, the entire time, that it can't last. She's reminded herself constantly that it would have to end one day, that eventually it would be over and she'd be alone again. But now, facing the possibility of all of that coming true, she realizes just how little she's taken it all to heart.

No matter how many times she's reminded herself that it can't last, she doesn't care. She wants to be Fox Mulder's forever.

Next Chapter  >

[kclenhartnovels]

Engine Oil and Rosewater

So, since I decided I am actually going to write Eve’s book(s), I was thinking more about the long history she has that isn’t talked about between 1800s France, and present-day America. So I decided to break my own heart and delve into one of her meaningful relationships. Here it is from Eve’s journal.

Her name was Mary.

Her husband always called her 'lamb', and she hated it. I met her in 1943, building engines for fighters and bombers that would bring freedom to Europe. Her husband had been deployed for six months. Six days a week, she and I would punch our cards in the factory and work alongside each other, and within the first few months we could assemble an engine in our sleep. She told me about growing up in a small town, planting roses with her mother and learning to sew from her grandmother. Her grandmother had come to America from Italy, and never learned a word of English, but could stitch such beautiful, even lines that every woman in town would flock to her for wedding dresses. She told me about watching her father's face when he heard about Pearl Harbor, the despair that seeped down every wrinkle. It was the first time she'd seen him cry. He died two weeks later; she was sure his heart had broken.

Six days a week, she would tilt her head close to mine and I would ask her again about her life, our arms stained with grease from fingers to elbows. She told me how she had grown up across the street from her future husband. His name was Joseph. Their parents were best friends, and it seemed they were destined from birth to wed. When their mothers got tipsy on wine, they would titter about creating another holy couple—Mary and Joseph. Then they would cross themselves and ask God to forgive them while still giggling beside the fire. She told me how they got married in the town's only Catholic church, and how through the whole ceremony she could do nothing but study the stained-glass windows that had framed her life. She said she found God only in those greens, blues, yellows, reds, the little squares that told stories best when the sun came lancing through like His fingers to touch her cheeks. She read me the letters Joe wrote to her from France.

Six days a week, she would touch my arm when we took a break for lunch. I would make bread, and she would bring cured meat and hard cheese, and we would sit outside of the factory on a broken rail, making rough sandwiches and letting our hair dry in the sun. She would ask me how I made my bread, and I would tell her I lived in a French monastery and learned their secrets, and she would laugh. She asked where I was from, and I begged her instead for more stories of her Italian grandmother, sewing lace and singing songs of the sea. I helped her write letters back to Joe. She never knew what to say to him.

On Sunday, June 25, 1944, I was in her house. I had gone with her to church that morning, and I promised I would show her how I baked bread. We stood under her kitchen window, flour covering our arms from fingers to elbows, kneading while the sun shone through the pane like the fingers of God. A man in uniform knocked on her door, and with one government-sealed letter, her husband was dead.

I cradled Mary in my arms all night. She didn't cry. Joe had always left her feeling hollow. Their marriage was for their parents, maybe for him, but never for her. He had been mean while drunk and absent while sober. When he was drafted, she didn't cry. She kissed him goodbye. He touched her cheek. Then his absence was a part of her life, too. But now he would never be returning, and she felt like an empty pew, nothing but a promise of salvation and love. I held her against my chest. Her hair smelled like engine oil and rosewater.

In the dark, she told me all her secrets she couldn't confess in the factory and in the sun. She and Joe had a child the first year they were married, but when he was two he died of polio. She still mourned him. Joe had become so much more angry after the death of his son. He drank more. He blamed her. He blamed her for never having another. She took medicine her mother gave her to ensure she would not bear him another child. She felt like a bad Catholic. She felt like a strong woman. She wasn't sure she could be a good Catholic and still feel like herself. I slid my fingers into her hair and she listened to the sound of my heartbeat.

On Monday, June 26, 1944, I moved into her home.

Time makes some memories hazy, but I will never forget Mary in the kitchen, in the sunshine. I was the first one to initiate a kiss. She had pulled bread from the oven, and her smile left me breathless. I had to taste her lips. She kissed me back, and I felt such chills I forgot it was summer.

Living together brought so many questions she never asked me. Her fingers traced over my scars the first time we lay naked together, but she never asked. She would stare into my eyes, and I would see her look from one to the other, but she never asked why one was blue and one was green. The first time she found a bright white feather outside the bathtub, she looked at me and I feared she would call me angel. The only question she ever gave was why I never took off my gloves. I had cut off the fingertips so I could touch her, but I dared not let the skin of my palms ever come close to brushing her. I didn't know how to answer her question. I told her first I was hiding scars. She touched the parallel scars across my temple and said she didn't care about them. I begged her not to ask me again.

She didn't ask again.

On September 2, 1945, the war ended.

People flooded the streets, cheering, praising God, opening bottles of champagne. Mary and I held each other in front of the radio, squeezing so tight I feared we would pull the breath from each other. She ran her hands up my back, and for the first time she found the feathery base of my wing. I kissed her. I took her to the bedroom, and I told her everything. When I couldn't find the words to explain what I was—how could I, when even I don't know?—she traced every scar on my body, she closed my eyelids with her fingertips, and with both hands explored the wing that kept me forever off-balance and afraid of exposure. She came away with a feather, and started laughing. She laughed until she cried, but her smile never ceased. She said she could see why I had both angel and demon in me. I asked her why. She said an angel would never shed so many feathers for her to sweep.

Mary and I lived on that little street for fourteen years. I went to church with her every Sunday. We would lay a bible across our knees and hold hands underneath it. The light from the stained glass gave such life to her smile. I missed the smell of engine oil, but when the men returned, our jobs disappeared. Mary got the deed to her father-in-law's shop, where he would buy and sell goods. When he died, we became pawn brokers. The little street thrived. Roads were paved, commerce boomed, the city seemed to grow around us. Mary swept feathers from the pawn shop floor. I bought flowers for the mantle.

On May 13, 1959, Mary got sick.

For fourteen years, I had held her in my arms every night and watched her glorious dark hair earn silver streaks. For fourteen years, I held her face in my hands and watched the wrinkles form, first at the corners of her eyes from her perpetual smile, then around the curve of her mouth. For fourteen years, she looked in the mirror and laughed how I had ruined her girlish figure with warm bread. For fourteen years, I didn't change.

On December 23, 1959, I carried Mary into the church, curled up with her beneath the moonlight turned red by the stained glass, and cried into her hair. I felt her last breath against my cheek, the tangle of her fingers against my back, holding onto downy feathers as if they would carry her to a heaven I could never get to. She died with a whisper on her lips—she promised she would wait for me. I told her I could never reach her again. She said she would find me. I buried her outside of the church, where the morning sunlight hit first and lingered all day. I leave her bowls of rosewater for her hair.

Today, someone traded in their grandfather's toolkit. In it was a bottle of engine oil, the can so rusted it was a wonder it hadn't leaked. I took it to Mary, and I sat beside her in the sun. I told her when I go home, I'll make another batch of bread, but I'm still waiting on her to join me for lunch. I told her fifty-eight years was a long time for her to find me again. When I go home, and the bell chimes above the pawn shop, the sun lances through the front window like the fingertips of an unfair God.

I'm still waiting.

[coke-zettelkasten]

IMDb: Die Feuerzangenbowle

(9/10) 2021-02-14, TV BR

... immer wieder gern gesehen 😊

[garelloswatch]

I'm watching The Punch Bowl (1944)

[tonyduncanbb73]

Tiki Rock Opens Downtown With a Polynesian Super Burger and Mai Tais

There are cocktail bowls, too

A hot spot in the winter has arrived in Downtown Boston, bringing Polynesian flavors, color, and so many Tiki drinks to Broad Street. Tiki Rock Bar opened its doors on Wednesday, January 10, with an inventive cocktail menu, extensive sushi options, and hearty entrees.

Tiki Rock is the brainchild of general manager Christopher Straub, who took over the former home of The Place at 2 Broad St. and brought in Moe Kuroki to run Oisa Ramen in a space that adjoins the Tiki bar. While Oisa debuts January 15, Tiki Rock is now up and running, featuring colorful lights, a massive central bar, and a designated sushi station.

Straub comes to the project with years of experience in Hyatt Hotels. Charles Smedile (Uni, Clio, Waypoint) is also on board as beverage director, along with chef de cuisine Matt McPherson (South End Buttery, Porto) and Minggan “Tony” Wu, who serves as sushi chef.

The Tiki theme runs through more than just the name: A look at the cocktail menu reveals classic Polynesian-inspired drinks, blended with syrups made in-house and fresh-squeezed juices. The mai tai pays homage to its origin, with a note of its creation date: 1944 at Trader Vic’s in California. Other cocktails — like the Eastern Sour, Jet Pilot, and Rum Barrel — also list a past creation date and origin, while the house-created cocktails bear Tiki Rock’s name. Look out for two large-format cocktails, the Painkiller and the Ohana Punch, each of which serves four people. There are wine and beer options as well.

Those who arrive hungry will find extensive food offerings ranging from a Polynesian super burger (topped with Canadian bacon, a pickled pineapple soy glaze, and an optional fried egg) to pu pu platters full of chicken skewers, squash dumplings, crab rangoon, and coconut shrimp. Other appetizers include pork buns, spring rolls, and a Polynesian chopped salad.

The sushi menu includes several options for diners to “trust the chef,” where they will be presented with seven to 10 individual items, including single and double pieces of sushi, hand rolls, and edamame. There are also several large maki rolls. Entrees include coconut fried rice and ginger soy fried chicken.

Tiki Rock operates seven days a week from 4 p.m. to 2 a.m.

• Tiki Rock Coverage on Eater [EBOS] • Tiki Rock Bar [Official Site]

[swingingliveaway]

Donnie Darko (2001), Die Feuerzangenbowle / The Punch Bowl (1944), Howl’s Moving Castle (2004), 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) @aurrieccentrics, @darkaidenix, @darth-char, @adhdlaurahollis

We want to celebrate the personal nature of cinema and fill your dashboard with the films that define you. Pick 4 films and then tag 4 friends to do the same! 

[fitness-24]

To lose your weight you ought to took your meals in time. Set a timer for twenty minutes and reinvent yourself as a slow eater. this is often one amongst the highest habits for slimming down while not a sophisticated diet arrange. Paced meals provide nice pleasure from smaller parts and trigger the body’s fullness hormones.

Sleeping an additional hour an evening may facilitate someone drop fourteen pounds in a very year. once sleep replaces idle activities and also the usual mindless snacking, you'll be able to effortlessly cut calories by 6 June 1944.

A very common tricks individuals into ingestion additional food and ingestion additional fruits and vegetables may be a good way to change state. The high fiber and water content fills you up with fewer calories.

Add a broth-based soup to your day and you’ll extra service on fewer calories. begin with a low-sodium broth or canned soup, add recent or frozen vegetables and simmer. watch out for creamy soups, which might be high in fat and calories.Whole grains like rice, barley, oats, buckwheat, and whole wheat additionally belong in your furtive weight loss strategy. they assist fill you up with fewer calories and will improve your cholesterin profile, too.Pass on those 2 strips of bacon at breakfast or in your sandwich at lunch time. this easy move saves regarding one hundred calories, which might add up to a ten pound weight loss over a year. have faith in tomato slices, banana peppers, cooked red bell peppers, sandy mustard, or a lightweight unfold of herbed cheese.Choose vegetable toppings for pizza pie rather than meat and it'll cut one hundred calories from your meal. different skinny pizza pie trick, Go light-weight on the cheese or use reduced-fat cheese and select a skinny, bread-like crust created with simply slightly of oil.Replace one sugared drink like regular soda with water or a zero-calorie seltzer. Add lemon, mint or frozen strawberries for flavor and fun.Use a tall, skinny glass rather than a brief, wide tumbler to chop liquid calories — and your weight — while not diet. You’ll drink 25%-30% less juice, soda, wine, or the other potable.

You will loose your weight by limit alcohol drint like cocktail, beer, or glass of wine. Alcohol has additional calories per gram (7) than carbohydrates (4) or macromolecule (4). It may loosen your resolve, leading you to senselessly inhale chips, nuts, and different foods you’d commonly limit.

Drinking tea is nice strategy to weight loss. The body’s calorie-burning engine quickly, probably through the action of phytochemicals known as catechins. At the terribly least, you’ll get a refreshing drink while not heaps of calories.

The yoga regulars according a additional “mindful” approach to ingestion. Researchers assume the calm awareness developed through yoga might facilitate individuals resist gula.Eat home-cooked meals a minimum of 5 days per week to measure sort of a soul. road foods will work fast meals, like pre-chopped lean beef for fajitas, washed lettuce, pre-cut veggies, canned beans, well-done chicken strips, or grilled food shop salmon.Most people have a natural “eating pause,” once they drop the fork for one or two of minutes. expect this moment and don’t take another bite. Clear your plate and luxuriate in the spoken language. this is often the quiet signal that you’re full, however not stuffed. the majority miss it.Chew unsweetened gum with a robust flavor once you’re in danger for a snack attack. creating dinner when work, at a party, look TV, or surfboarding the net square measure many dangerous situations for mindless snacking. Gum with an enormous flavor punch overpowers different foods in order that they don’t style smart.Chose a 10-inch lunch plate rather than a 12-inch plate to mechanically eat less. individuals serve additional and eat additional food with larger dishes. Shrink your plate or bowl to chop out 100-200 calories every day – and 10-20 pounds in a very year.The top habit of slim individuals is to stay with modest food parts at each meal, 5 days per week or additional. “Always slim” individuals lie with and thriving losers lie with, too, in line with a client Reports survey. when mensuration parts many times, it will become automatic. build it easier with little “snack” packs and by keeping serving dishes off the table at time for supper.Choose pasta sauce sauce for alimentary paste rather than Alfredo sauce. The tomato-based sauces tend to own fewer calories and far less fat than cream-based sauces. however bear in mind, portion size still counts. A serving of alimentary paste is one cup or roughly the scale of a ball.Eating feeder meals additional usually may be a slimming habit. Vegetarians tend to weigh but meat eaters. whereas there square measure many reasons for this, legumes might play a very important role. Bean burgers, soup, and different tasty legume-based foods square measure merely full of fiber. Most Americans get solely half this vital nutrient, that fills you up with fewer calories.Restaurant meals square measure notoriously finished, therefore think about these special orders that keep parts in restraint. you ought to Split Associate in Nursing entrée with an acquaintance, Order Associate in Nursing appetiser as a meal, select the child’s plate, Get 0.5 the meal in a very doggy bag before it’s delivered to the table. Complement a smaller entrée with further dish for the correct balance, 0.5 the plate full of veggies.

[sepatusandal-us]

The Punch Bowl 1944 Pelicula Completa en español latino online

The Punch Bowl 1944 Pelicula Completa en español latino online

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Bobby Doerr, Red Sox legend and oldest Hall of Famer, dies at 99

Former Red Sox second baseman and Hall of Famer Bobby Doerr, pictured here in 2007, died in Oregon on Monday at age 99. (AP Photo)

Bobby Doerr, legendary Boston Red Sox second baseman and member of the Baseball Hall of Fame, died on Monday at age 99. Doerr was the oldest living major leaguer and the only Hall of Famer to live to 99.

Doerr played in the majors for 14 seasons, from 1937-51, and spent all of it with the Red Sox. Doerr was the last living major leaguer to have not just debuted in the 1930s, but to have played in the 1930s at all. He was on teams with baseball greats like Ted Williams, Johnny Pesky, Jimmie Foxx and Dom DiMaggio, but among them Doerr was known as the “silent captain,” a title coined by Williams.

Out of a 14-year career, Doerr was an All-Star nine times. He had a career .288/.362/.461 triple slash, along with 381 doubles and 223 home runs. He also hit for the cycle twice in his career, and in 1948 had a span of 73 games with no errors, which was an AL record at the time. He was an elite defenseman, and according to the Associated Press, Doerr credited his skills to a childhood spent bouncing a rubber ball on the steps outside his house in Los Angeles.

Doerr led the AL in slugging in 1944 with .528, but took a year away from baseball in 1945 to enlist in the military. He returned in 1946, the year the Red Sox went to the World Series. Doerr hit .409 with a homer and three RBIs in the Fall Classic, but with the famous Babe Ruth curse still in full force (as it would be for more than a half century), the Sox came up short against the St. Louis Cardinals.

Doerr’s time on the diamond was shorter than most. He retired at 33 due to a back injury, but his career in baseball was far from over. After taking a few years off to fish, ranch cattle and meet his wife, he returned to the Red Sox as a scout in 1957. He’d hold that job for ten years, and then became Boston’s first base coach and hitting instructor until 1969. In 1977, he became the hitting coach for the Toronto Blue Jays, a job he’d hold until 1981.

Thanks to the Veterans Committee, Doerr was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1986, and the Red Sox retired his No. 1 jersey in 1988. When the Red Sox opened their own Hall of Fame in 1995, Doerr was in the inaugural class. He was inducted alongside teammates Ted Williams, Johnny Pesky and Dom DiMaggio, and is considered to be the franchise’s all-time best second baseman.

Beyond retiring his jersey and inducting Doerr into their own Hall of Fame, the Red Sox organization was never shy in telling Doerr how important he was to them. In 2004, they presented Doerr with his own World Series ring, recognizing his effort in trying to end the curse in 1946.

In a news release from the Red Sox, several members of the organization had kind and thoughtful things to say about Doerr’s death, but the words of Red Sox president and CEO Sam Kennedy reflect on Doerr’s place in the great family of baseball.

“There is something fitting about Bobby Doerr becoming the patriarch of baseball, outliving all of those he played with and against,” said Red Sox President/CEO Sam Kennedy. “Bobby was a special player, to be sure, a Hall of Famer, but he also commanded universal respect from all those fortunate enough to have crossed his path. We celebrated his return every time he came back to us here at Fenway Park, and we now mourn his passing, grateful for the wonderful memories he left.”

Doerr’s death marks the final end to a great era in baseball history. In addition to being the oldest living major leaguer and the last player from the 1930s, Doerr was one of just three living players to have debuted before World War II. As far as Red Sox history, he was the only player left who could legitimately say that he outlived the famous Red Sox curse. That’s a testament not just to his long life and great career, but to the place he earned in baseball history.

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Liz Roscher is a writer for Big League Stew on Yahoo Sports. Have a tip? Email her at lizroscher@yahoo.com or follow her on twitter! Follow @lizroscher

More from Yahoo Sports: • Ball, UCLA players to leave China after Trump’s plea • Power Rankings: NFL’s most surprising team • Transit strike threatens to derail Super Bowl LII • Tennessee State player expelled after punching coach

[chrismaverickdotcom]

The Lie of the Anthem and the Flag

James Harrison punching Hitler, one of the most popular comics we ever did at http://cosmichellcats.com

Being an American means I get to bitch and moan. Today I am going to bitch and moan about America.

If you joined the military to “fight for the flag”… well, I’m sorry that you were lied to. I don’t automatically thank you for your service. I don’t think you automatically deserve my respect… in fact, it’s quite possible that I don’t respect you at all. I’m sorry if that gets under your skin. I will happily live my life complaining about shit that I don’t like and sometimes that might include you. And it sucks that you have to deal with that… I’m just kind of a dick. I mean… I’m not going to stop or anything… I’m not even going to slow down. Because my right to complain and bitch and moan is what you actually fought for. This kind of sucks for you. And it’s not your fault. Because you were lied to.

My grandfather was a WWII veteran and member of the fabled Red Ball Express (a predominantly black military convoy that has the distinction of being an early example of mass whitewashing in Hollywood film, but that’s a story for another day). When I was a kid, there was a big controversy about flag burning as free speech. Whenever my grandfather heard someone say that flag burners should prosecuted because “people fought for the flag” or “people died for that flag” he would say “I didn’t fight for a flag. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. If you fought for a piece of cloth you’re an idiot.” See, he understood that he was fighting to protect the interests of a country. A country that in 1944, quite frankly didn’t give a shit about him. A country that treated him like he was somehow less than human because he was black. But he did it anyway. Why, because he had another saying. Something that I, my mother, my uncles, my brothers and cousins heard quite frequently… “who ever told you life was fair? Point them out to me so I can tell them they lied to you.” And he was right. Life isn’t fair. But in my grandfather’s case he was also fighting for a dream. He was fighting for the hope that one day I would get to have a better life in that county. A life where maybe I wouldn’t be treated as less than human because of the color of my skin. And for the record… for that, he gets my respect. I’m not saying he should have your respect. He wouldn���t want it. You didn’t know the man. I respect him because he was my grandfather and I loved him. He earned it. And part of his earning it, for me, was his understanding what he was fighting for. More on that later.

Lets do a little history lesson.

In 1773, a group of terrorists in the city of Boston got together and rioted against their sovereign government because they felt that their tax structure was unfair and that it wasn’t right that they weren’t allowed to complain about it. There were protests, bitching and moaning, civic disobedience and a fair amount of breaking the law. This would eventually lead to them illegally openly revolting against that government three years later. After a bloody seven-year war, they won and formed their own country. One of the founding principles of this new country being the idea being that everyone was equal and had the right to bitch about whatever the fuck they wanted to.

Of course, “everyone” was kind of limited to white men who owned land. The land owning thing was dropped through people protesting a couple years later, but it would take about 80 more years for the white part to be dropped. And it didn’t happen easily. Getting there involved a lot of protests, bitching and moaning, civic disobedience and a fair amount of breaking the law. On both sides. In fact, the people who wanted to maintain the status quo of NOT treating black men as human beings actually revolted and separated from the country. There was a war over it and everything. And in the end, the side that was fighting for more rights for more people won.

Well, not all people. It still didn’t include women. That took another 50 years. Somehow this happened without a war. But it did take a lot of protests, bitching and moaning, civic disobedience and a fair amount of breaking the law.

And that’s not all, even with the right to vote technically guaranteed by the 15th amendment, Jim Crow laws effectively shut down this right (among others) for black people in many cases until the Civil Rights Act of 1964. And it wasn’t until the Civil Rights Act of 1991 that black people got the right to protection from work discrimination. And these anti-discrimination acts didn’t apply to sex, sexual orientation or gender identity until TWO FUCKING YEARS AGO. And each and every one of these things required a lot of protests, bitching and moaning, civic disobedience and a fair amount of breaking the law to happen. It also required a lot of people being killed before anyone paid enough attention. And these are just big popular ones. I could go on and on.

Why do I bring that up? You see, it’s simple. In each and every one of these cases, the country… that is, the government… was on the wrong side of what we, for the most part, now consider basic human decency. That means every time someone, including my grandfather, fought a war to protect the sanctity of the United States, they were defending something that at the time was wrong and inhumane by our standards today. Why did things change? Because people, not the government, not the armed forces, and in many cases not even citizens yet, protested, bitched and moaned, engaged in civic disobedience and broke a fair amount of laws. They did this until enough people paid attention and changed their mind… and then waited for the people who refused to change their minds to fucking die. Because cultural change is hard. I could go into a lot of the reasons why. I could explain hegemony and cultural shift and backlash… but the details don’t matter for what is already going to be a very long post. The point is, change happens… people gain rights… the world gets better… because a lot of people bitch moan and piss off the people who would attempt to maintain the status quo and deny those rights. That’s how it works.

One of the big civil rights things going on right now is #BlackLivesMatter. Because in 2017, some 152 years after the end of the civil war, it turns out we still have a problem with police randomly killing black people. I don’t want to argue this point. I’ve done it before. It’s not what this post is really about. If you don’t think that happens … just… fuck you… really… Fuck you!

Anyway, a couple years ago, San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick, started silently protesting in favor of #BlackLivesMatter by refusing to stand for the national anthem during a preseason game. He’d actually been sitting for a couple games before anyone noticed, because it turns out no one really gave a shit about the 2nd string quarterback for the worst team in the NFC West during preseason. But once people noticed, this became a big story because it pissed off a lot of people because … uh… “how dare he protest something by disparaging the soldiers who died for that flag?” See, told you I’d get back to this. Several other players joined him. And some complained that he was being disrespectful. But really, the big deal was the random people across America that it pissed off.

This weekend, Marshawn Lynch did the same thing. Once again the controversy flared up. Oddly enough, some people were actually more pissed about this than they were the tragedy in Charlottesville this weekend. An irony that was not lost on the internet which helpfully made a lot of memes explaining how stupid it was for people to be more upset about player protests than they were about a fucking Nazi riot. I prefer to not make the equivocation. They aren’t the same thing. That said, if you do actually think that Marshawn Lynch not standing was the most important thing that happened this weekend, again… fuck you.

Anyway, something interesting happened to me yesterday. I spent the better part of the day arguing on Facebook with someone (who I won’t name here, but is welcome to out himself) because they posted a link to an article claiming that James Harrison of the Pittsburgh Steelers said in an interview Sunday morning on KPLX radio that “Anyone on my teams sits for the national anthem, they better be in a wheelchair.” This immediately rang false to me… for one thing, I know who James Harrison is. I’m a big fan, in fact. But he’s not particularly known for being patriotic. In fact, this is the guy who told THE LAST TWO US PRESIDENTS to fuck off when they invited him to the White House after his Super Bowl victories. It didn’t seem like something he’d do. So I did about two seconds of research and found that there was another claim that Harrison had said something similar last year. That also turned out to be fake. And then I thought it through and remembered that I live in Pittsburgh… and there is no station named KPLX here. See, KPLX is a country radio station in Dallas… which is… uh…. not Pittsburgh. And their Sunday morning programming is a local news show followed by a nationally syndicated country music countdown show. There was literally no place for Harrison to have even done this interview. It was clearly a fake news article (so fake that in less than 24 hours, Lockerdome, the website where it was posted, has taken it down).

I informed the person who posted it that it was fake and how I knew and that he’d been trolled.

This set off a big argument. See, the guy who forwarded the article was very much of the opinion that it “doesn’t matter whether he said it or not. Because he should have said it.” I pointed out that the problem was that he’d likely not like Harrison’s actual politics and that there are plenty athletes who actually ARE against the protests. Harrison just apparently isn’t one of them. By posting an obviously fake news article he actually weakens his point. It makes him look like he’s not very smart. This was apparently unimportant to the guy. See, this person is a big armed forces supporter… very much of the “you owe veterans respect. You owe it to them to stand for the national anthem. And if you don’t like it get out of the country or just die.” This devolved into me kind of making fun of him, including making a reference to him being Col. Jessep from A Few Good Men, which he apparently took as a compliment because he seems to not realize that Jack Nicholson plays the villain in that movie.

It also involved me trying to explain logic to him (yeah, yeah, I know… losing battle… and I’ve pointed that out before… but still). He claimed he didn’t care whether it was true or not because it doesn’t matter what the image is, it’s the message that is important. I asked him if he’d feel the same way for any image. Would he have still forwarded the post if it had been attached to an image of Hillary Clinton? He said of course he would, and in fact it would be even better but that he would never live long enough for “her to say something that made that much sense.” I pointed out that he hasn’t lived long enough for Harrison to say something like that either. He reiterated that if he had photoshop he would have added a pic of Hilary to the quote right then and there. Because it’s the message that counts not the image. So I posted the most recent tweet from @PresVillain, a great Twitter feed that simply adds actual quotes from Trump to comics featuring the Red Skull.

…ON MANY SIDES–!#PresidentSupervillain pic.twitter.com/nXhVTNexEm

— President Supervillain (@PresVillain) August 12, 2017

He didn’t seem to like that at all!

So he called me an asshole (I am) and then once again complained that I deserved to die because I don’t respect the tradition of standing at NFL football games. You know, that age old tradition that dates all the way back to 2009. Oh, you didn’t know that? Yeah, 2009 is when the NFL started having players stand for the national anthem. Before that the players weren’t even on the field until after the anthem, and for the most part everyone in the crowd just ignored it. They mostly didn’t play it on TV, except in big games like the Super Bowl. It was just a thing that people vaguely knew happened and nobody cared about. So if you care about it now, it’s not really tradition… unless of course you’re really married to an idea that happened “a little while ago”. No, what you care about is disparaging the black guy who is basically doing nothing except annoying you because he won’t step in line to your expectations just to point out the hypocrisy of the fact that you think your non-tradition is more important than his right to NOT DIE.

And that is kind of the point. That is why the flag protest matters. The specific thing that he is fighting for is to NOT fucking die. To show people that what he deserves is basic human decency… and to NOT DIE. A lot has been made of “well, then he should protest some other way.” But see, that’s the key to a good protest. The entire point of the protest is that it bothers people that you don’t agree with. Sure, Kaepernick could protest in a way that doesn’t offend people who don’t agree with him, but that’s not much of a protest. See, there’s one kind of protest where people go and march somewhere… and that’s all well and good. But the most useful protest isn’t the one that energizes the people who agree with you. It’s the one that pisses off the people who don’t. That’s where change happens. Why? Because at the end of the day, all Kaepernick is doing is… nothing… He’s literally just doing nothing. It’s not very notable. Where all the press comes from is people who disagree with him complaining. They’re the ones doing all the work! The brilliance of Kaepernick’s protest is that his press is generated almost entirely by people who don’t agree with him.

When my grandfather returned from WWII he came back to a world that still didn’t give a shit about black people. Because veterans don’t automatically get respect. When veterans came home from Viet Nam, people literally spit on them. Again. No respect. And the flag? Well, the Supreme Court ruled that the flag was so not sacred that it’s completely ok to burn it just to piss people off way back in 1989… you know, two whole years before the country decided that as a black man I had an actual right to a job. And all of these things are because the actual foundation of this country… the actual ideology behind us existing in the first place, the very thing that soldiers are actually going to war for and dying for, is defending is the right to complain about things you don’t like. Specifically, you are defending Kaepernick’s, Lynch’s and even my right to complain, bitch and moan, and generally not respect you! You are defending our right to engage in civil disobedience just to make things better for ourselves whether you like it or not. That’s why it’s called service. Because you serve.

And for that part, I actually am thankful. Thank you for spreading the message inadvertently with your poorly conceived complaints. Every time you do, other people… people we cannot reach, see your complaints and think “wow, that guy sounds really, really stupid. Maybe I don’t want to think like him” and cultural change happens. I am thankful… but I’m also sorry.

I’m sorry that you were lied to. I’m sorry that you were made to believe that you were fighting for a piece of cloth. I’m sorry you were made to believe that serving entitled you to some level of respect. See, because if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t think Kaepernick should be allowed to kneel… if you’re the kind of person that is offended by it… well, then frankly, you were tricked. You shouldn’t have served to protect the rights of a country and an ideology that you don’t believe in. You were tricked into serving a country that you don’t actually understand. You were tricked by being sold a bill of goods wrapped up in some pretty colors and a catchy tune. You tell me who told you this so I can go and tell them they lied to you. It kind of sucks and it wasn’t fair. And life isn’t fair.  Sort of like being born black in America. And so I’ll make you a deal. And I’m betting Colin Kaepernick will agree with me… I’ll start respecting you and the flag and standing for the national anthem… as soon as cops stop killing black men.

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The Lie of the Anthem and the Flag was originally published on ChrisMaverick dotcom