#and then perhaps a conference trip in october
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i have so much potential travel this year 👀
#just learned today that there's two events my team needs to present (preferably in person) at in april and may#add that to me having a potential conference trip in april already#and a personal trip in may#and then perhaps a conference trip in october#and several not-formed yet but in the works plans to travel to a few other states for work#i also wanna go to another conference (forgot when 💀) but i bet i wont get to go to that one bc of budget reasons#i mostly want to go so that i could take a personal day or two and explore the area it's in. which is not something i can tell a manager LO
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2023 in Review
January: Visited the New Year's Concert with my mum and a friend, visited Hamburg with said friend, had a little mental breakdown over having 5 deadlines at the same time
February: Got a little bit seasonally depressed because it rained for a month straight
March: Celebrated St Patrick's Day in Ireland
April: Presented a poster at an academic conference, visited Sherkin Island with a friend, Moved back to Germany
May: Visited Belgium with my course, did a solo trip to Greece
June: Had my first OBC mission and explored Vienna for a couple hours
July: Saw Billy Joel live, saw some friends again, explored London
August: I don't think I did anything but write this month but it felt good in a way
September: Finished my Master's Thesis, shared my thesis results with one of my heroes
October: Applied for PhD funding, started a Yiddish course, had interviews with UMass Amherst and Columbia, second OBC mission to Vienna
November: Found out I'm graduating with a First, turned 25, visited Cyprus
December: Had my first flight cancellation, got covid for the 2nd or perhaps 3rd time, unemployed
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Life my friends, we are all in it together. I miss this space, busy, busy beavers here.
Brief, too brief, catch up.
1) the original, Famous Jamis, has turned 8.
He loves Pokémon. His best friend is Hau To (pronounced how TONG). He got in trouble this week for peeing in the playground. His favorite book is ‘tickle monster.’ He expects a fist bump at night from dad, and a mom crawled up the cat tree in his bedroom kiss from momma. He wants to be a scientist - to cure diseases, and study them (an epidemiologist perhaps?). He has an infectious smile. Is crafty. Is sincere. Is the best decision I ever made.
2) the rescued and ‘sun burnt’ money plant, my pilea, is surviving and thriving!!!! We’ve named him Chris, because hubs is a redhead, and burns easily himself 😍
3) moms labs and scans are positive. Things aren’t advancing, and that’s something. The path plods on -
4) Chris and I leave Monday for our first trip, sans kids, for 6 years. It’s a work conference for me, and I don’t care. We will stay up all night. Eat meals with amazing friends @lizloveslifexo and live it up.
5) Lilith will be 4 in October and has already ordered a unicorn cake…. It’s our thing, that mommy and kiddo make a themed extravaganza, together. It’s a to do with the whole gang. I’ve been keeping her home with me on days off, as I realized, this next year, is the last I have of her, not in school, and that freedom will be lost.
6) I also made walnut pesto with some basil I grew out back -
I can’t believe I’ve never done this before. It was beyond delicious and the roasted salmon I topped it with? Was DIVINE.
Please hold tight. Trials are always side by side with triumph. Much love - excited to have some time off coming up to catch up with my online family xx
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Oct. 7: Tender Loathing Care
From @oh-no-my-hand-slipped's list of prompts.
There are several of these prompts that don't really fit with my OCs, so for those, we're going with scenarios!
List of all of my October prompt fills.
Character A is a person who likes their world to be neat, orderly, and predictable. They're happiest alone, with their pet, and/or one or perhaps two close friends. They have no desire to deal with the rest of the world and their noise, proximity, and (shudder) germs.
Usually, their work situation allows for this: they work alone, sometimes from home. At most, they present their work from the front of a conference room.
Suddenly, though, their work situation changes. There is an important meeting or conference several counties/states away, a drive just shy of the distance it would make more sense to fly. And, horror of horrors, they must make the trip with Character B.
B is, in everyone else's estimation, a slightly over-enthusiastic extrovert. In A's estimation, they are A's arch nemesis. (This is entirely one-sided. B views A as curmudgeonly, in a "oh, I can get through to them, though!" sort of way. This… does not help matters.)
All of A's protests are for naught. They will be traveling together, and that is final. The day comes, and A is fuming before they even arrive at work to pick up the company car, and then B? B shows up sick. "Don't worry about me!" B insists between insufficiently covered coughs. "Just a tiny cold. Better in no time." A practically has steam coming out of their ears. They try to call their boss to protest again, but their boss doesn't answer the phone. If they don't leave now, they risk being late to the meeting/event where they are both presenting. Being late (or worse, missing the commitment entirely) is beyond the pale for A. They get into the driver's seat, slam the door, glare at B as they get in, and drive.
A stews in silence, but B is apparently incapable of returning the favor. Just a few coughs at first, and then the sniffles start, and then the sneezes— here and there, and then picking up in frequency. And intensity. It's turning out to be an absolutely wretched cold. A opens the window to try to dissipate the germs, and glares some more.
"Oh, A, could we keep the windows closed?" B's voice is pitifully hoarse, and they're visibly and audibly shivering. "It's so cold."
"No." Curt doesn't even begin to describe their tone.
B starts to say something else, to make their case, but they're cut off by a sneeze so unexpected that they don't even attempt to raise their arm to cover it.
"Would. You. Stop that." A's speaking through gritted teeth. Hands tight on the steering wheel.
B blinks at them. "I… can't. That's kind of how sneezing works."
A, who has a finely-tuned ability not to sneeze in front of anyone except maybe their cat, glares at them some more, and then makes a sudden exit at the nearest ramp.
"A, what—"
A doesn't say anything, just pulls into a drugstore parking lot and turns off the car.
"A…"
A finds what they need with incredible efficiency and returns to the car with a bag of purchases that they unceremoniously drop into B's lap. The box of masks is already open; A had put theirs on before even leaving the store.
B blinks at them as A restarts the car. Back on the highway, B starts pulling out boxes: the masks, of course, and multiple boxes of tissues, as well as cough drops, medicine, hand sanitizer, and even tea with honey… iced, as the drugstore didn't have an option for hot. "Oh, A, thank you, you're so thoughtful!" B is looking at them with… emotion? Oh, fuck.
"Self-preservation," A says, because the only intentions here are to minimize transmission of germs and hopefully get B to stop making their terrible sick-person noises, but B looks like they want to give them a hug. "Put on your mask and I might close the window."
B blows their nose for what feels like ten minutes, and then unboxes the medicine in what feels like slow motion, and then finally takes the pills with the iced tea. They sanitize their hands and at long last put on their mask. A leaves the windows down for another five minutes to make sure they've gotten good air exchange, then finally closes them.
B nods off to sleep, and there is finally blessed silence.
(Once they arrive, A scrubs themselves with the hottest water they can find, gets through the meeting/conference, pays for a rental car out of their own pocket to avoid having to drive with B on the return trip, and hides away from everyone except their cat for the next week. And, if you'd like, catches the wretched cold in spite of all the money and effort they'd spent trying not to, and curses B loudly to said cat the entire time.)
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I met my wife when I was, I think, fourteen, maybe thirteen, I remember seeing her at a church retreat and thinking she was very beautiful and probably quite mean
I had almost no ambition in my life whatsoever, I thought dimly I might be an artist but I didn’t feel like I was banking very heavily on it, and figured I’d just go to school and be a high school teacher or something because I wanted to have summer vacations. My wife was achingly desperate to travel to interesting places, a desire I did not share in the least.
In the summer of 2012 when I was looking for jobs after finishing undergrad my wife applied to a job teaching English in Japan, almost as a gag. Neither one of us thought very seriously about it but she was invited for a Skype interview and when they found out that she was married they wanted me to apply and interview too.
I remember in the whole application process several strange coincidences seemed to come together, a sort of planetary alignment that everyone involved but me thought must have been divine intervention. It was a Christian school, which is very unusual in Japan. One of the application requirements was that you be able to sing, which was something I was routinely told I could not do. There was a portion of the Skype interview where you had to sing a line or two just to make sure that you could carry a tune. I figured that would be the end of it, did a couple lines of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and the interviewer approved to my surprise.
They had us come out to Chicago (well, O’Hare) to do an in-person interview with about half a dozen people who’d flown in from Japan. That October they called us to offer us a job, a yearlong contract starting in March 2013, though they made it clear we would be encouraged to stay longer if we wanted. The HR guy in particular would talk about how God had brought me there and wanted me to be there, there had been times in the past they’d had people they wanted to bring over but something would go wrong in the application process but my wife and I made it.
We left for Japan in January for a month of training. After that month, they brought my wife and me into a room to tell me I wasn’t working out but my wife could stay on. I asked what it was, they said they couldn’t point to anything specific, it was just me. I asked the HR guy about God wanting me to be there and he concluded they had been wrong.
In retrospect there were some strange coincidences that made our departure quite clean--they brought over about a dozen people and they set everyone up with an apartment but because of the way the year’s schedule was working out the apartment they’d set aside for my wife and me wasn’t ready yet and so we never signed the lease. We had several opportunities to sign up for mobile phone plans but decided to put it off. I remember sitting in a room with several of our coworkers trying to plan a trip to Disney in Tokyo one evening, my computer in front of me with everyone’s tickets in the cart and everything for that summer, and we couldn’t all agree on a date and decided to put it off. So in the event we didn’t have to break any leases or contracts or anything of that nature. All we had to do was close our bank account--we still have those old Japanese debit cards in a little box on my wife’s dresser. Perhaps the apartment thing was because they had reservations about me but the phone and the tickets for that summer were in my hands and it’s strange they didn’t pan out. Providence, perhaps. He gives and takes away.
No more talk about travel after that. A few months after we got back to our hometown my wife got pregnant and moved on.
Back in 2019 I went over to the UK and France for an academic conference, alone. Now I am off to the UK and Germany for an academic conference alone. In a month I will be off to the UK again for a semester, alone. I’m sitting in the airport now next to a carry-on bag my wife and I bought in the Narita Airport in Tokyo in March of 2013 on our way home to replace the one we’d brought over. Stopped right in the airport to unpack the old bag, pack the new bag, and put the old bag in the trash.
The flight is boarding in twenty minutes.
I don’t like travel
#the window for my wife and I to have our adventures together was so short#oh but Ivan parenthood is an adventure#I suppose#what good is it to go to these stupid places alone#my travels
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starting fresh
Hello! This first blog post is hopefully going to cover my journey from my home in the UK to my new home in the south of Kumamoto prefecture, Japan. I'll try not to make it too long.
August 20th, 2022, Heathrow airport. The drive to the airport was oddly... normal. My parents, partner, and I chatted like we would have on any other day. I think that my parents and I purposely 'forgot' the fact that I was moving away until we got to the drop-off point outside the terminal, so once we arrived, there were a few moments in which we sat slightly apprehensively. Though we wouldn't see each other for some time, none of us really wanted an overly emotional goodbye, so I appreciated them for helping me to get on with it as though it were nothing more than a weekend trip. It was then into the airport to meet the other people from the UK heading out on the program. Even though there were around 100 of us, I actually ended up eating alone in the airport which was not a very me thing to do. Perhaps the gravity of what I was about to do was hitting a little bit, but I think that I just needed a little bit of space. I sat in an Italian restaurant and ate a pizza as I'd heard that pizza was expensive in Japan.
Cue 24 hours of airports and flights - ouch. We flew 11.5 hours to Doha, Qatar, and then, after a few hours layover, another 10 on to Tokyo. It was a lot of flying and I didn't sleep at all (my first day on my own and I was already making poor life decisions, whoops), but other than that, the flights were fairly easy and had very little turbulence.
August 21st, 2022, Tokyo. We landed in Tokyo on the evening of the 21st, and took an hour-and-a-half bus ride to the hotel in Shinjuku. Whilst the flights were tiring, and although I only had 2 days in Tokyo, I still did my best to make the most of the time there. The first full day there, after a full day of conferences and lectures, I fancied a run so I headed out to explore a little. I ran around 代々木公園 (Yoyogi park) and grabbed some breakfast for the next few days from a 7/11 before heading back. It was only about 7km, but in my defence, it was over 30°C and 100000% humidity. Feeling slightly like I wasn't taking enough advantage of being Tokyo, I decided to get up early the next morning in order to head to Shibuya. I walked through the park again and then had a coffee in the Starbucks that overlooks Shibuya crossing before doing a little bit of exploring in the surrounding area. After some more lectures, I went out and sang Karaoke with a few of the other people on the program and then headed back to the hotel to get some rest; we were leaving to fly out of Tokyo at just after 6 the next morning. These are the only pictures that I took in Tokyo but I thought I'd share them here (my inability to take photos is one of the things that I plan to work on in my time here).
August 24th , 2022, Kumamoto. I arrived at my new home around midday on a Wednesday after flying down from Tokyo and then driving for around an hour and a half into the countryside. I have to thank my coworkers for the lovely welcome and help that they provided when I arrived because without them, it would have been a tricky day. We went out and bought some furniture, food and other essentials before they dropped me back at my appartment. With that, my journey was complete, I had travelled 6000 miles from home and was now sat on a single sofa in an empty apartment. I might have been fairly overwhelmed if it hadn't been for the fact that I was absolutely shattered (Maybe not sleeping on those planes was a good thing after all???). I called my partner and my parents to let them know that I had arrived safely and then headed to bed. First step of my 'fresh start' complete.
It's now the middle of October, almost 2 months from when I arrived, but I thought that considering what this blog is going to be about, the journey to get here was a good first post. There are a few things that I plan to write about on this blog, goals, thoughts on different aspects of life here, plans, etc, though I have no idea when I'll get around to writing them. For the moment, here are some rather lovely photos of the area I now live in:
I think that's probably enough for now so thanks for reading; I'll hopefully see you soon with another blog post.
W.
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JACQUELINE LOCKWOOD ( SHE/ HER ) is a FEMALE, TWENTY NINE year old EMPLOYEE AT ZEHR'S BY THE SEA who has been living in Moorbrooke for (her whole childhood but recently) FIVE MONTHS. They were born on OCTOBER 20 and right now, they are currently residing in PRIMROSE AVENUE. It has been said that they look suspiciously like LAURA DREYFUSS and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose A SOFT PLACE TO LAND by SARA BAREILLES.
quick stats
connections
The Beginning
Born to Kelly and Michael Lockwood, Jacqueline is the second of four children. With an older brother and two younger sisters - and only about six years between the lot of them, she was never without a playdate or a confidant.
Kelly and Michael were, most days, the parents every kids dream of. Sure they sometimes worked a little too hard at the nursery, and each of the kids had to work once they were old enough to see over the counter, but they were present and kind, instilled good values in their kids, and never hesitated to close up early to make it to a soccer game, recital, or parent-teacher conferences.
Jackie loved the nursery growing up. She loved the smells, the creativity of plotting landscape, and the special role of helping the community turn their houses into homes.
She was an ambitious child. Tried (and failed) a lot of sports, before turning to the arts - a lover of the stage: music, acting, dancing. She loved the spotlight, perhaps vying for singular attention that didn't often happen with four rambunctious kids at home.
Perfection was her in nature. Straight A's, first place in choral competitions, dance team captain. She didn't know how not to be the best.
The Middle
Once she reached high school, Jacqueline started dreaming of more. She loved her home, her family, her community, but she started to realize life stood still in this small town. Her parents now in the role that her grandparents had had. People graduating from high school and college, settling into a home around the block from where they grew up. It was a nice life, but, she thought, too simple.
Breaking the news to her parents that she was applying to schools in New York had been difficult. Her older brother wasn't going to keep the family business running, and they'd thought Jackie would follow in their footsteps. She didn't have the heart to tell them that was life she was afraid of.
While she started as a theater major, the "small fish, big pond" lifestyle shifted Jacqueline's focus to business, specifically advertising. Combining her love for a world of order and need to be creative.
She met Enzo during freshman year, a bond she instantly knew would be lifelong though she never would have guessed just how impactful it would be.The two dated for years, got engaged, have two children. Things were shaping up to be absolutely picture perfect. But Enzo's sister had other plans in mind. She planted seeds of doubt in Jackie's head, wondering if she would ever be good enough for this man she loved. And, maybe if she loved him, she needed to set him free
.And Now...
Jackie and Enzo have moved back to Jackie's hometown of Moorbrooke with their children, Giada and Jace. While they live together and co-parent, romantically - things are complicated. But it's giving them a chance to settle away from Enzo's sister and the negative effect the whole debacle had.Jackie is back to work for her parents. They'd be thrilled, were in not for the circumstances.Unsure where life is headed, Jackie is trying her best to focus on the best part of life - her kids. She fills her non-working hours with trips to the park, ice cream dates, and anything she can think of to make the two of them smile.Runs on vanilla lattes and pizza, and is almost always singing something.
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your love is my turning page | c. kreider
Word count: 17,700
Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, sex, mention of breakdown of previous relationship, mentions of infidelity.
Author’s note: This was the first long-fic I ever wrote and to say that I was proud of it is an understatement. I’ve made some minor additions to this and hope you all enjoy it second time around as much as you did the first time. Fic title is from ‘Turning Page’ by Sleeping at Last
Summary: Chris Kreider doesn’t believe in fate but a chance meeting in a Manhattan bookstore opens his mind, and his heart, to things he has only ever read about in the books he loves so much.
*
‘We are asleep until we fall in love’ – Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.
Sometimes in life there are moments where everything changes, suddenly and unexpectedly and in ways that make it impossible to be the same person that you were before. It’s a bit like a storm, sweeping in and rearranging your life completely to a point beyond recognition, where everything changes and you’re left with a choice: mourn what was lost or use it as an opportunity to rebuild and come back stronger than before.
That was the dilemma Roseanna Williams faced after the man she thought she’d grow old with turned out to be nothing more than a huge disappointment. She should have seen it coming if she was to be completely honest with herself, years of waiting for him to outgrow what she presumed to be a teenage phase yielded nothing but frustration and a growing sense of impatience. If you asked any of her close friends and family they would tell you that she should have done it years ago but it never was as easy as just walking away, not when it came to the man whom she had been with since the tender age of fifteen. After she’d graduated university and completed her teaching degree, she was itching and ready for them both to take the next step in their relationship, to make more of a commitment, hell, even get married, but every attempt at an adult discussion about their future was met with resistance and a string of excuses. The realisation suddenly began to dawn on her that maybe he was a lost cause and that she was wasting the best years of her life by waiting on him to get his shit together. The final straw came when she’d come home early from a teaching conference and found him in bed with someone she had considered to be a friend. That was when the flood defences failed and all the water she’d been ignoring for so long came rushing in, destroying everything she thought she knew and leaving her shaken to the core and gasping for breath.
It started as a spark of an idea, moving away and getting a fresh start, London perhaps, or maybe somewhere further North. Exeter held too many memories now, the hurt and betrayal burying all of the wonderful times she’d had in the city that had always been her home. She’d discussed it at length with her parents who, while saddened at the prospect of their youngest daughter moving away, encouraged her to pursue whatever would make her the happiest. The spark caught, much like it always did whenever Rosie set her mind to something and before she knew it she was applying for a United States work visa and looking for places to live in New York City. All that was left to do was to pack up her life and trust in the magic of new beginnings.
That was how she ended up in Brooklyn, New York, teaching English Literature at a local high school. It was a different kind of life, one that took her a couple of years to get used to and while Rosie wasn’t quite confident enough yet to call herself a New Yorker, she definitely felt like she had found somewhere that she could call home. That feeling started as a seed, growing roots and leaves every time she would get off the subway at the right stop or find a new coffee shop to try until eventually she could rattle off her favourite places to get an Americano or the best places to get pizza. Her family and friends loved it, naturally, having the perfect reason to come and visit the Big Apple and Rosie loving nothing more than having the opportunity to show off the city she’d grown to adore.
Of course, there were parts of her old life that she missed. How could she not? She missed her family and her university friends. She missed afternoon teas with Devonshire clotted cream and summer days spent at the beach in Torquay. ‘You can always come home, love,’ her mother would say and that was completely true and while a part of her would always yearn for the smell of the sea or the cry of a gull on a soft summer breeze and while her roots were very much planted in Devonshire soil, her heart belonged to New York City.
She’d developed somewhat of a routine during the first couple of years that she’d lived in Brooklyn and it was one that hadn’t changed much, loving nothing more than taking the subway to Manhattan on weekends to spend the day checking out all the small independently run bookstores (when she wasn’t drowning in unmarked papers, of course). This particular late-October Saturday had started much like the others; she allowed herself a well-deserved lie-in after a hectic week of teaching and a bottle of Sangiovese the previous night, savouring her first cup of coffee like it was the first she’d had in months while she set about watering her house plants. A shower that lasted entirely too long, which doubled as a Fleetwood Mac tribute concert that she was sure her neighbours appreciated, was next on the agenda before she finally bundled herself up to face a chilly Autumn day in the city.
She’d stopped off at her favourite coffee shop on the way to the station and chatted with the young barista, Laura, behind the counter, whom she’d grown to know over the months since Laura had started working there. She’d learned that Laura was planning a trip to Europe next Summer and offered some suggestions of places in England to visit, making sure to get her to promise to not just visit London. With her take-out coffee cradled in her hands, the cup serving her well as a much needed hand-warmer, the late-morning had Rosie heading towards Westsider Books, a favourite haunt of hers that she couldn’t help but keep coming back to. She had no reason at all to think that going to that store was going to prove to be another one of those moments that she could look back on as being a defining moment in her story, but with a push of the door, every star and planet aligned that set her on a course that would change her life forever.
*
Christopher James Kreider was a self-confessed simple man, despite his career choice and the lifestyle that came with it seeming to be anything but. He was incredibly thankful for the certain level of anonymity that came with living in a place like New York; certainly, there were times where he would be recognised and would be stopped for a picture or autograph, but in the sea of a-list celebrities that called the city home, he was just a small fish and was happiest when he was flying under the radar. The kind of life afforded by being a professional athlete playing in the National Hockey League was one that he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. Sure, he had a sweeping Tribeca apartment that he called home, he had a nice car, he went to work wearing expensive suits and could afford to eat out in the city anywhere he wanted, but the reality of it all was that he was most at ease sprawled out on his couch with a good book and a bottle of wine.
His teammates affectionately called him the hockey Renaissance man, a nod to his impressive pursuits off the ice, but it was never a name that sat comfortably with him. As far as he was concerned, he was just Chris, there was nothing special about him and his ability to deflect praise or compliments was nothing short of reflexive. His days off during the season were few and far between and he was always keen to make the most of the time afforded to him. An early start and cup of coffee usually preceded a quick workout, followed by a shower, a second coffee and a crossword puzzle while he decided how he was going to spend his day. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to stay within the sanctuary of his apartment and read Hemingway until the sun began to dip below the skyline, other times he would venture out into the city and check out the new exhibit down at the art gallery in Soho before finding somewhere quiet to enjoy a good cup of coffee.
The season had gotten off to a decent enough start, the chemistry between the team seeming to grow with each game and Chris hitting his stride early on. He’d just returned from a three game trip in Canada and despite the slight fatigue he was feeling, he was eager to get out into the city. He wasn’t in the market for anything in particular but there was a lot of joy to be found in rummaging through old record shops or second hand book stores, at least in Chris’s opinion anyway. There was something so special about a pre-loved record or book, he thought, each had their own tale to tell and each held a special place in someone’s heart at one point or another. There were barely any new editions of books on his bookshelves, some so tatty and worn that their bindings were stringy and the pages threatened to abscond if held the wrong way.
Chris was a creature of habit and it was something that he would freely admit. He often visited the stores closest to home, not often venturing further than Midtown, but with nothing but time he found himself on the 1 train and headed towards Upper West Side, Westsider Books his destination of choice. The first thing he noticed upon entering wasn’t the towering shelves that stacked books upon books but the unmistakable scent of vellichor, that grassy, almost vanilla aroma that felt a lot like coming home. The owner offered a friendly smile before nodding towards the vast collection of books.
“There’s fiction all down here, poetry’s at the back and non-fiction’s upstairs. Let me know if there’s something in particular you’re lookin’ for, I know there’s a lotta books in here.”
“Thank you,” Chris replied. “Do you have any Russian literature in at all?”
“We sure do, whatever we’ve got is on the third shelf from the back there, on your left.”
“Perfect, thanks a lot for your help.”
Chris offered the man behind the counter a smile and headed deeper into the shop, stopping in front of an impressive looking collection of Russian classics. It was easy to get lost in the volumes on the shelves, flicking through pages of different editions, some of them older than he’d ever seen before. There was one book in particular though that caught his eye, unassuming and inconspicuous enough, nestled between War and Peace and the Death of Ivan Ilyich. He reached out to touch the navy blue leather but was suddenly caught off-guard by the sensation of cold fingers knocking against his own.
“God, I’m so sorry, I was completely in my own world there.”
His eyes flicked to his right towards the source of the voice, soft and feminine with an accent that he knew not to be local. Rosie hadn’t even noticed him, which now that she was taking in his appearance properly didn’t exactly understand how she’d missed him standing beside her. He was well over six foot, she noted, and impossibly broad, but the thing that stood out to her the most about him was the unmistakable kindness in his hazel eyes, a tranquil grove of moss covered trees with their different shades of bark.
“No, no, you’re good. It’s me, big clumsy oaf over here,” he trailed off with a soft laugh, a slight heat rising in his cheeks now that he was really seeing her, with her eyes that were as blue as a summer sky and hair that reflected the colour of the autumn leaves outside.
“Did you want Anna Karenina?” Rosie asked, nodding towards the shelves.
“Oh, um, it’s okay, you go for it,” he smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that gave him a kind of softness, a familiarity almost.
“Please, I insist,” Rosie reached for the book and took it from its resting place amongst the other Tolstoy works, handing it to Chris. “I already have three different editions of this, if I took home a fourth I think an intervention would need to be staged.”
Rosie grinned as Chris laughed, the sound full and rich to her ears, while he took the book from her hands and tucked it under his arm.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He started, his eyes flitting across her features before they settled to meet her gaze. Her grin had faded into a warm smile that reached all the way up to her eyes and she was surveying him with an almost curiosity, one that he found himself matching. “I’m sorry, I know you probably get asked this all the time,” he continued, with an endearing kind of sheepishness that kept the corners of Rosie’s mouth lifted upwards, “but I gotta ask about the accent. I wanna say British but I don’t want to come across like a stereotypically ignorant American if I’m wrong.”
“Oh it’s okay,” Rosie chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re only the third person to ask me today.”
Chris could tell from the sparkle in her eye and the smirk on her lips that she meant no malice in her reply and made an exaggerated cringing grimace in return.
“God, I know. I’m sorry. You must get sick of it.”
“I mean, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked I’d be a very rich lady, but yeah, your ears don’t deceive you, I’m British. Actually from Exeter in Devon specifically, which is like South West England and now I realise that that probably means nothing to you,” she laughed as she caught the slightly vacant expression that had graced his features while she had been explaining her place of birth.
“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I really am a stereotypical ignorant American.”
Rosie responded with a gentle shake of her head as she spoke, “Nah, I wouldn’t say so. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the rest of the States, it took me longer than I care to admit to just not get lost going two or three blocks down.”
Chris smiled, both at her kindness and the gentle lilt of her accent. “So are you here visiting, or?”
Rosie shook her head again, the auburn waves shaking and falling about her face in a way that had Chris’s smile doubling.
“Well, I’m visiting Manhattan, but I live in the city, been here coming up five years now.”
“Yeah? And you like it?”
Rosie’s smile sparked at the corner of her mouth until it spread like wildfire and lit up the whole of her face. Chris couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it made her look, that kind of smile that was so undeniably authentic and genuine and yet so incredibly rare in a city as big as New York; but there it was, right in front of him and warm like sunshine.
“I love it here,” the affection in her voice clear as day. “It’s so different from anything back home and in the best possible way.”
Chris got the impression from her seemingly deliberate choice of words that there was a story there, but the classic literature aisle didn’t really seem like the time and place to get into it with someone he’d just met, nor did he want to assume that she would even offer that tale to him freely. Instead, he took the book out from under his arm and held it out to her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take this home with you?”
“I’m positive. ‘Live in the needs of the day’ as Tolstoy would say and I don’t really need that book. I’m sure you’ll give it a wonderful home.”
She met his eyes briefly, her stomach flip-flopping at the softness she found there, and gave him a warm smile that matched the one he was wearing. Chris wasn’t sure what had made him feel so bold. Perhaps it was the feeling of being so completely at ease with her, despite not even knowing her name and despite having known her for a mere five minutes, or perhaps it was the gentleness in her eyes. He didn’t spend too much of his time thinking about it as the words were out of his mouth before he could second guess them.
“At least let me buy you a coffee as a thank you.”
“Do you buy all the women you meet in bookshops coffee?” Rosie quipped without missing a beat.
“Damn, you caught me.”
Rosie laughed, easy and free with her head tipped back and Chris knew in that moment that he needed this woman in his life in some way, the sound bright and rich like the first sip of coffee in the morning or the first rays of summer sunshine filtering through curtains. He was still surveying her with an easy grin as she shuffled on her feet slightly, deciding whether she was going to let her head or her heart reign supreme today.
“I don’t usually make a habit of getting coffee with strangers,” the small smile still playing on her lips despite the tentative nature of her words.
Chris instinctively offered his hand out for her to shake.
“Well, I’m Christopher and you are?”
Rosie placed her hand in his, the smile on her face doubling in size at his kindness as she shook his hand, and tried to ignore the way her heart started to race at how warm and easy his touch felt.
“Rosie, or Roseanna if we’re using our Sunday names.”
“Nice to meet you, Rosie,” Chris said, his tone gentler than was probably necessary in the moment but it had Rosie feeling more relaxed in his presence by the second. “See, we’re not strangers anymore.”
“No, I don’t suppose we are. Alright then, Christopher, I accept your proposal of coffee and if you turn out to be an axe murderer then I hope you enjoy the book.”
It wasn’t very often that Rosie let curiosity get the better of her but there was something telling her to surrender to this moment in front of her, to let her heart win for once and throw caution to the wind. There was something about Chris and his aura that made it incredibly easy to ignore that prudent and wary voice in the back of her head that would usually call for rational and cautious thinking in situations such as this one, the voice that is often nurtured during childhood by parents and adults alike to help keep you safe from harm, the voice that would warn you about the dangers of strangers. Chris was a stranger, this was, of course, an undisputed fact, but Rosie didn’t feel like she was in any danger with this man. She guessed that it had an awful lot to do with the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from him that made her feel less like she was with a someone she’d just met in a book shop and more like she was catching up with an old friend. It was incredibly rare that she felt so at ease with someone, let alone a man she knew nothing about except for his name, but she’d grow to learn that that was just the magic of Chris, his sincerity and kindness always radiating from him like the glow of an open fire on a cold winter’s night.
“I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not an axe murderer,” he grinned. “But if it would make you feel better I was planning on taking you to Irving Farm, y’know, so you can check in with someone if you wanted.”
That simple gesture alone told Rosie all she needed to know about Chris, the fact he was so cognizant of how a woman might be feeling going to get coffee with a man she’d just met. It was that thoughtfulness and that tingle of curiosity and wonder that had her following him to the counter and waiting as he paid for his book before they both ventured back out into the chilly air and towards the café. Making small talk on the short walk there was incredibly easy, the effortless nature of their conversation not lost on either of them and as they sat down opposite each other in a quiet corner of the shop, shedding their coats and scarves, Chris took the opportunity to really appreciate the beauty of the woman in front of him.
She was classically pretty, he thought, with her auburn locks freed from the confines of the scarf she had been wearing and the slight ruddiness to her cheeks from the way the cold air had kissed them during their short walk. But more than that, it was the way her presence seemed to uplift him in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. Chris was an incredibly practical and logical man and the idea of kindred spirits wasn’t something that he subscribed to, but there was just something about Rosie. It was a sense of familiarity and a feeling often only felt between two people who had known each other for years. It was a feeling that, unbeknownst to him, Rosie shared too, not quite being able to remember a time where she was able to enthusiastically discuss literature at such great lengths with someone.
“So come on,” Chris said over his cup of coffee after they’d settled at a table in a quiet corner of the café. “You were able to quote Anna Karenina from memory, is there a particular reason for that or have I managed to find an even bigger book nerd than I am?”
Rosie smirked as she took a sip from her cup, eyes sparkling as she surveyed Chris. “I am a pretty big book nerd, but no, I actually teach literature.”
Chris’s eyebrows raised as an impressed little smirk pulled the corner of his lips upwards. He set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of him on the table.
“Forgive me for being bold here and by all means tell me to mind my own damn business, but what exactly makes a British literature teacher cross an ocean and put roots down in New York City?”
Rosie paused for a moment, chewing over her words in her mind.
“A vague sense of wanderlust, I guess,” she began carefully. “I don’t know, there was just… a lot of stuff that happened in my life and it felt like a good time for a fresh start while I was still young enough and brave enough to do it.”
“I’m sorry if that was too personal,” Chris looked at her apologetically, the slight flicker of sadness that had appeared in her eyes too prominent to ignore. “I didn’t mean to bring any painful memories back for you by prying.”
“It’s absolutely fine. All the diversity, all the charm and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade, right?”
“You really love that book, don’t you?” Chris asked her softly, recognising the quote from the book currently sitting in the brown paper bag by his feet immediately, and with a gleam in his eye.
“It’s one of my favourites,” Rosie replied. “It’s probably up there with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Pride and Prejudice and For Whom the Bell Tolls.”
“You like Hemingway?” Chris’s eyes crinkled with his grin and shone with excitement as she nodded in agreement. “I love Hemingway,” he added. “He’s easily my favourite author.”
Rosie leaned forward in her seat and rested her arms on the table with her cup still cradled in her hands, Chris mirroring her action, like two school children about to share a secret.
“I love the beautiful simplicity of his writing. It’s direct but without losing any of the emotion or feeling. Like, don’t get me wrong, Russian literature and authors like Tolkien are wonderful and they certainly have their part to play, but sometimes there’s just no need for pages and pages just to get a point across. That’s the beauty of Hemingway, the straightforwardness of it.”
“Yes!” Chris exclaimed, his face lighting up. “That’s exactly it. Take The Old Man and the Sea as an example, that book is what? Twenty-seven thousand words? But the feeling and the message that he’s able to get across, it’s amazing. God, I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve read that book.”
“A favourite of yours, then?”
Chris nodded as he picked up his mug. “Without a doubt, followed closely by For Whom the Bell Tolls and An Immovable Feast.”
He punctuated his statement with a wink and a smile, savouring the way Rosie’s face would ignite with pure joy as she laughed.
“Perhaps we should compare notes,” she mused behind her coffee.
“Is that you saying you wanna meet up again?” Chris asked, a cocky grin on his face.
“What if it is?” She countered quickly, a twinkle in her eye that had Chris’s heart thundering in his chest.
“Then I think you’d better take my number.”
*
The weeks passed and autumn collapsed into winter, the first frosts clinging to everything and covering the city in opaline glitter. Rosie’s schedule had begun to slow following the initial insanity of the beginning of the academic year as things started to wind down for the holidays. She’d spent a lot of her free time preparing for her annual trip home to England to spend Christmas with her family, something that she looked forward to all year. Whatever time was left was spent reading or catching up with Chris, who had been equally busy with his work as a professional hockey player. He’d mentioned this to her briefly and in passing during their phone calls, which certainly explained why his schedule was often so all over the place, but the concept was so alien to Rosie that she didn’t feel the need to pry further. Growing up in Devon meant that her exposure to a sport like ice hockey was next to nothing, her knowledge extending as far as movies such as The Mighty Ducks would afford. In fact, when she thought about it, she didn’t know anybody who played sports professionally in any capacity and so while she was intrigued by Chris and the story behind how he came to be in such a career in a city like New York (knowing him to be from Massachusetts originally), she also knew that he was so much more than all of the stereotypes she’d heard associated with professional athletes.
He wasn’t a big, dumb jock, far from it actually. Chris was incredibly intelligent, philosophical in ways she admired so much but with an endearing and quick sense of humour. His thirst for knowledge and appreciation for the world around him was unlike any she’d ever seen and it somehow made him more handsome than any of his classically good-looking physical features. There was an intrigue, of course, surrounding him and his job, but Rosie also knew that he would offer that part of himself to her in time and when he felt most comfortable doing so. She imagined that he didn’t always get to have the luxury of authentic meetings with people who didn’t already know about him and his job, and for all the lovely moments he’d already given her in their growing friendship, she wanted to pay him back in kind by not forcing anything on him that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about.
It was incredible really, how easy it was for her to fall into friendship with Chris, made only easier with each discovery of a new shared interest. Their texts would often consist of them sending things the other might find interesting such as a new book or a new song to listen to. Hearing from him was something that she found herself looking forward to, especially appreciating when he would take time out of his day while he was away from home to check in with her and catch up.
As the end of the semester creeped closer, Rosie found herself surrounded by gifts she had already wrapped ahead of her trip home and a small pile of clothes, the open suitcase on the bed still empty despite her best intentions. She always found packing incredibly dull (although admittedly not as bad as unpacking once she returned to New York) and would often preoccupy herself with anything and everything to avoid doing it, which always resulted in a stressful last-minute packing situation that she was keen to avoid this year. She stood with her hands on her hips as she surveyed the situation in front of her, deciding the best way in which to go about organising her suitcase, when her phone vibrated against her dressing table. Unable to contain the flicker of a smile that tugged at her mouth as she saw the Caller ID flash with Chris’s name, she answered.
“Hey, you.”
She could hear what sounded like a group of very rowdy men in the background in what she could only assume was a bar.
“I need you to help settle a debate.”
Rosie smiled as she cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, using her free hands to pick up a pair of jeans and place them into the suitcase.
“Sounds serious.”
“Oh it is and we’re at a deadlock over here so your opinion decides it, I hope you can handle that kind of pressure,” Chris teased.
“Oh, Christopher, I was born ready.”
“Alright, but this is like legit serious stuff.”
“Out with it, Chris,” Rosie laughed.
“Crunchy or smooth?”
“Excuse me?” Rosie asked with an incredulous look on her face that she knew Chris would’ve laughed at had he been able to see her.
“Peanut butter,” he clarified. “Crunchy or smooth?”
“Wow,” Rosie deadpanned. “And here I was thinking you were about to ask me something incredibly philosophical.”
“Oh come on, Ro, don’t leave me hanging here.”
“I suppose if I had to choose, I’d probably go with smooth.”
“Ha!” Chris exclaimed, causing Rosie to jump. “She said smooth, looks like you’re the one with the weird peanut butter preferences, Foxy.”
Rosie furrowed her brow at the incoherent shouting and cheering in the background as she put more clothes into her suitcase.
“I’m so confused right now.”
She listened as the sound of raucous chatter faded into a faint buzz and Chris’s voice came back through the speaker clearer yet softer than it had been before.
“Sorry about that, the guys can get a little excitable sometimes.”
“Rookies had too many beers?”
“Yeah,” Chris breathed. “Something like that. How’re you doin’ anyway? Things settled for you at work?”
“Yeah,” she replied softly, perching herself on the edge of her bed, careful not to knock any of the small wrapped packages onto the floor. “I got all of those papers turned round and the results were actually kind of encouraging, which was nice.”
“That’s probably because they’ve got a good teacher.”
“Oh my god, stop,” Rosie blushed, thankful that he couldn’t see the interesting shade of pink her face had turned.
Chris’s reply was unexpected, somehow managing to knock her back a bit with the sincerity and softness in his tone that seemed more intimate than perhaps their current level of friendship afforded.
“I mean it, Ro. I know you know your stuff. They’re lucky to have someone like you teaching them.”
His words hung in the air around Rosie for a few seconds while she processed them, or rather, while she started to analyse the tenderness in his tone that she was sure she hadn’t imagined. He didn’t give her too long to get lost in it though as he was speaking again before she had a chance to truly unpack her thoughts.
“So things have settled down for you, yeah?”
“Um, yeah.. Yeah. I’ve just been packing for my trip back home,” Rosie replied, picking up one of the small gift-wrapped boxes and examining it for no particular reason.
“Right, of course. When is it you fly?”
“December twenty-first, fly back into JFK on the fourth of January.”
“I’ll be in California when you get back,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “But it’d be great to see you before you go to England. Maybe dinner or coffee?”
“That would be really nice, Chris,” the smile evident in her voice to Chris even through the phone.
“Great, we’ll arrange something once I’m back in the city at the end of the week.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Chris hesitated, not quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he should probably get back to the others and leave Rosie to the rest of her evening. He knew he had to though, even if it did make his chest ache for reasons he didn’t quite understand.
“I’ll let you get on with your packing,” he half-sighed.
“Please don’t feel like you need to,” Rosie replied with the faintest hint of a plea.
“I do because if I don’t you’ll never finish packing your suitcase.”
There it was, that easy teasing that had become a defining feature of their friendship in just the few weeks they’d known each other and had managed to shift the atmosphere between them from something that neither could quite put their finger on to one that was much more playful and familiar.
Rosie groaned exaggeratedly, earning her a hearty chuckle from Chris.
“But I hate packing,” she whined.
“Welcome to being an adult, suck it up, Buttercup.”
“You’re mean.”
Despite her words, Chris knew that there was no truth in them and he also knew that she herself didn’t believe them, which made the playful back-and-forth banter between the two of them come easily.
“No, I’m Chris.”
“Oh my god!” Rosie laughed, exasperated. “I’m hanging up now, goodbye!”
Chris’s rich chuckle was the last thing she heard before she ended the call and tossed her phone onto her pillows, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of his humour before turning her attention back to the pile of clothes by her suitcase.
*
Christmas went as quickly as it came, passing in such a blur that it had Rosie questioning if she’d had any time off at all. It didn’t take her long to settle back into the groove of things though, it never did, and by the time the frosts of winter began to thaw, the warm glow of the festive season was nothing more than a cheerful memory. Much like the first beautiful petals of spring, Chris and Rosie’s friendship continued to blossom.
Rosie would have been lying if she said that she didn’t wish their schedules would match up more. A particularly busy January for Chris meant that they hadn’t had chance to meet since just before Christmas and it had Rosie wondering just what exactly Chris’s job entailed. It wasn’t really something that had come up during their phone calls and it was something that she felt deserved to be done face-to-face rather than over a text message, because truth be told, she didn’t have the first idea when it came to ice hockey. Keen to know more about the man that was fast becoming somebody she considered to be a close friend, she resolved to ask him the next time they met for coffee.
“So are you ever going to tell me about this big, shiny career of yours or am I supposed to just keep thinking you’re some James Bond of professional hockey,” she mused as she broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into her mouth.
Chris blushed slightly as he took a drawn out sip of coffee.
“I mean, yeah, sure. What do you wanna know?”
He set his cup down and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, the flicker of nervousness extinguished quickly by the kindness that rested within her eyes.
“Well,” she started. “I believe I’ve mentioned before that the only hockey I knew of before meeting you was the field hockey they made us play at secondary school. So, everything I guess? Oh, and I’m going to need you to explain like I’m five.”
Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the good-natured smirk on her face and ran a hand along the stubble at his jaw.
“Alright, well. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start from the top. I played hockey in high school, then went to Boston College, they have a really good collegiate hockey programme there and it’s a good school to boot. I got drafted in 2009 by the New York Rangers then I signed my first contract with them in 2012, been here ever since.”
“So you must be bloody good at hockey then,” Rosie said after swallowing her coffee which made the pink tinge to Chris’s cheeks even more prominent.
“I mean, I’m not terrible.”
Rosie grinned at him and at his humility which she had come to know as being one of Chris’s prominent traits. “And your schedule? I know it’s a bit mental but what does an average day look like for you?”
“That depends,” Chris replied. “Are we talking an off-day? Game day? Away trip?”
“All of the above?” Rosie laughed.
“My days off I still like to get a work-out in, even if it’s just a small one. But other than that? I don’t know, maybe meet incredible women from Devon in bookshops?”
It was Rosie’s turn to have her cheeks flush, especially with the way Chris was looking at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. Chris continued though, despite the thundering in his chest at how beautiful she looked in that moment.
“Game days I’ll usually get up, go to practice. I try and take a nap in the afternoon before I have to go down to the Garden to get ready for the game and it’s much the same if I’m away on the road. We usually practice before we travel to wherever it is we’re headed.”
“That sounds incredibly full-on.”
“It is,” Chris agreed. “But it really makes you appreciate the time at home and the moments of stillness. Why’d you think I love getting lost in a good book so much?”
“Because, in the words of Dr Seuss, ‘the more you read, the more things you’ll know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.’”
Chris looked at her softly, a warm smile on his face. “Spoken like a true teacher.”
“So come on then,” she blushed, steering the conversation away from herself and back to him. “You went to Boston College, right? What did you end up studying?”
“Communications,” Chris said as he finished taking a sip of coffee. “I uh, it was really important to my mom for me to finish my degree so I kept plugging away at it even after I went pro.”
“Wow,” Rosie looked at him, clearly impressed. “That’s incredible, Chris. I mean, getting a degree is a hard enough slog when you’re doing it full time, but to do it while you’re travelling here there and everywhere? That’s no easy feat.”
It was Chris’s turn to blush now, too humble and too modest to be able to accept the praise Rosie was giving him.
“I knew how much it meant to my mom and I just wanted to make her happy, that and I was too stubborn to not finish something I’d started.”
“Your birthday is the end of April, right?” She said rather suddenly but as if something had clicked in the back of her mind.
“Yeah, April 30th. Why? You been googling me?”
“Oh it’s nothing really,” she said quickly, face flushing and suddenly aware of how stupid it would sound to him if she actually said it out loud. “And for the record, I haven’t googled you, I just remembered you mentioning your birthday last time we met up.”
“Nah, you can’t just do that,” he chuckled softly. “Come on, what were you gonna say?”
“Well,” she started, her fingers and eyes finding the coffee cup in front of her, anything to avoid the part where he looked at her like she was mad. “I was just gonna say that you really are a typical Taurus.”
Chris leaned forward in his seat, hands settling just shy of hers but the almost contact enough to make her skin spark.
“That so?” he mused. “You big into your astrology?”
“No, well yes, sort of,” she rushed and Chris could tell that she was almost ashamed of the admission. “I don’t read magazine horoscopes or anything like that because they really are a load of bollocks. But natal charts and stuff like that? I find them totally fascinating. I um, I’m kind of into crystal healing, I sage my apartment, I know it’s nuts.”
“No it’s not,” Chris took her hand then, the need to reassure her and ground her in a moment where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “Is it something that I believe in personally? No, not really. But truthfully I don’t know anything about it either. If it makes you happy then it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe you could tell me more about it over dinner or something?”
Rosie looked at him thoughtfully, so appreciative of him in that moment and that ineffable gift of his to make her feel valued and listened to. It was that and all the other wonderful little facets of himself that he was showing her that had her agreeing to his proposal of dinner. She thought about the level of bravery that it must have taken for him to talk about that other side of his life, the side that she knew nothing about, no matter how small or trifling it might have seemed to anyone else. While she might not have had the first clue when it came to the sport or could even truly comprehend what Chris’s life was like, she understood that it must be incredibly difficult for somebody in his situation to forge true and meaningful relationships with people, friendly or otherwise, because when it feels like someone you have just met thinks they already know everything about you, it’s incredibly hard to let the guard come down and let people get close. That is what Chris appreciated the most about Rosie, though, the fact that she hadn’t the faintest idea who number 20 of the New York Rangers was. Every conversation they’d ever shared and every question she’d ever asked came from a genuine and altruistic desire to get to know him better. Even now, as she encouraged him to share that other part of him, that so many others defined him by, it came only from a place of pure and innocent curiosity. She asked about his job much in the same way she would ask an accountant or doctor about theirs.
Being able to have that conversation with her about his life and his job only served to strengthen the bond that they shared and he was incredibly thankful for Rosie’s understanding and willingness to fit her schedule and life around his. As the months passed and summer fast approached, Chris found himself for the first time reluctant to escape the stifling heat of the city after the season had ended. He was enjoying being able to spend more time with Rosie now that the school year had come to a close and he was shocked to learn that even after living in the city for close to six years at that point, she still hadn’t explored all of Manhattan. Their days were filled with walks around the West Village, Midtown or Tribeca and having lunches at tiny hole-in-the wall cafés where they would show each other the books they had picked up in whatever shop they’d found themselves in that morning.
It was that time shared together that made it incredibly easy for Rosie to become a stable fixture in Chris’s life with evenings spent at each other’s apartments having dinner and sharing wine. Rosie had learned quickly that Chris was a capable cook and Chris loved nothing more than when Rosie would cook pasta for him, even if it wasn’t exactly his nutritionist’s dream. It was easy to relax in that kind of way around her, forgetting the strict food regime every once in a while to really savour the beef ragu she made that he loved so much, always washed down with a couple of bottles of Sangiovese shared between them and finished with a homemade tiramisu. It was wholesome, much like she was with the softness of her curves and her insouciant attitude when it came to her looks. That was not to say that she didn’t make an effort, that wasn’t the case at all, for she would always look so put together and incredibly beautiful whenever Chris would see her, but she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t think twice about letting herself indulge in a slice of cake with her coffee or get too hung up on the calorie content of a pasta carbonara, which was a quality that Chris found to be both incredibly refreshing and endearing.
The natural quality of their relationship should have made it incredibly easy for Rosie to give in to those feelings she found beginning to settle in her chest. Chris was a wonderful man, that much was undeniably true and it should have been simple to confront the ache she felt whenever he went away. But if there was one thing Rosie had learned in her life, it was that if you expect too much, if you put people on pedestals that were too high, you would find yourself being disappointed. That was a simple fact of life. People were just that, people, capable of making mistakes. They were not divine beings, no matter how much we saw them as such through our own eyes. It was that idea alone that startled her; that a man such as Chris could be capable of disappointing her by the pure reasoning of the human condition and that was a thought that she couldn’t bear. So she pushed it down, down and down until it was quieter than a whisper. But even whispers can’t be ignored forever, and so with each comment from Chris’s friends about how happy he was since meeting her or each time her skin would spark at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, the whisper grew, growing and growing with every team event she attended on his arm or every party he asked her along to, until it was a shout.
Relationships had never been something to come easy to Chris, he was too careful and too private; the gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him there was always some ulterior motive was often too arresting to ignore. It should have frightened him, the way Rosie came into his life and smashed through every wall he’d ever built without even doing much at all, but it didn’t. Rather than look at all the bricks and the rubble and be unnerved by the ease in which she was able to coax his vulnerability out of him, he found himself inspired, determined even, to build something truly beautiful with her. Chris knew that he would have to find a way to navigate these feelings with her, cognizant of the need to not throw her into the deep end and shock her system. Rosie deserved better than that because this wasn’t just about him and his feelings, it was about them and their relationship, what it was now and what it could be.
She was brilliant, in every way a person could be, beautiful and with a passion that glowed like the fiery tresses of her hair under a New York sunset. She was bold and sharp as a tack, keeping him on his toes in a way that no one else had ever been able to and he was sure that no one else would ever again. It was late night conversations where they were three bottles of wine deep talking about philosophy and ethics or her reading silently while he played guitar, it was listening to Pearl Jam with her whenever she cooked or Billy Joel when they were curled up together on the sofa, debating whether Radiohead or Nirvana was more influential in the grunge music scene. Hell, it was even looking up his birth chart, even though he didn’t believe in astrology, because there was just something about the way she said ‘You’re such a typical Sagittarius moon.’ Her warmth and her kindness always managed to ground him in moments where he would feel himself slipping, as sure as the moon rises and sets each night, especially once the season had restarted and those niggling insecurities would rear up and settle heavily in his chest, and yet he could tell that she never really knew the exact power that she held. She had his heart completely, whether she was aware of it or not and that was something that Chris hoped would never change. She’d slotted into his life like she had always belonged there, like she had always been there and that feeling only seemed to grow inside of Chris with every dinner they shared with his friends and every time he would see her face in the stands of MSG.
*
The week before Christmas brought an uncharacteristically early winter storm to New York unlike any Chris had ever seen throughout his whole time living there, forcing the city to a standstill and grounding flights, which meant that for the first time since moving to the States, Rosie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. The idea of her spending the holiday alone in her apartment made Chris’s heart ache and so that was how Rosie ended up in his Tribeca apartment on Christmas Eve, bundled up with him on the sofa under a blanket, each with a mug of homemade mulled wine. The Muppet’s A Christmas Carol played quietly through the tv, one of Rosie’s Christmas Eve traditions that he would never dream of denying her, although, no matter what he would later admit to, he spent more time observing the gentle expression on her face as she got lost in the nostalgia of it all than he did actually paying attention to the screen. She felt him though, not even needing to take her eyes off the movie to know that he was watching her.
“You’re missing all the good bits,” she smirked.
“It’s okay, I’ve read the book. I know what happens.”
There was a slight grit to his tone that Rosie couldn’t quite place but crawled under her skin and kindled a small flame in her stomach all the same.
“But there were no Muppets in the book.” She turned to face him then and took in the expression within his eyes, darker than she’d ever seen them before. “Kermit really brings Dickens’ story to life.”
“I mean, Beaker steals it for me but we’ll agree to disagree.”
The air thickened around them and Rosie took a long sip of her wine, longer than perhaps she should have, but she needed to swallow away the tightness in her throat from the way Chris was looking at her. Like planets to a sun, Rosie found herself drawn to him, suddenly feeling him everywhere despite the fact they were at opposite ends of his couch. It was that gravity that had her shuffling towards him, crawling into his space in the same way she had crawled into his heart. He was warm, she thought, comfortingly so and the worn hoody on his body felt soft and had the familiar, soothing scent that was so uniquely Chris. Perhaps that is what had her curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder and perhaps that new-found closeness was what had him pressing his lips into her hair.
There was no way either of them could deny what this was between them, the spark too bright to ignore. Rosie knew that they weren’t just friends, she knew that and she knew that Chris felt it too, that was why his face was turned towards hers, his lips impossibly close so that all she needed to do was tilt her head and give in to what her heart was crying out for. But her head was a cruel mistress indeed and it was that irrational but crippling fear of eventual disappointment that made her clear her throat and scoot back a shade, giving herself some much needed breathing room.
Chris exhaled quietly, the deflation leaving him on the breath. It was almost frustrating how close they were, the finish line within touching distance and yet they always seemed to stop short of it. Chris was there, he was there waiting and willing her to take those last few steps and cross it with him but he knew that he couldn’t force this, nor did he want to either. She had to want it for herself and Chris knew, as he looked at her sitting there chewing on her bottom lip with her brows knitted together in pensive thought, that she was worth the wait, even if it took a lifetime.
The post-holiday back to work rush was one that was felt universally. Those first few weeks always seemed to feel as though there was never enough hours in the day to get everything done and it was no different for Chris and Rosie, both caught up in their jobs to really sit and digest the moment between them at Christmas. Christmas Day had been incredibly busy with Chris hosting a couple of the younger players for dinner and no sooner had the festivities ended he was packing a bag ready to depart for Washington the following morning. They both knew that they had a lot of things to discuss, because that’s what adults did, they talked about their feelings in a healthy and open way, but as the busy-ness of their schedules ramped up, the hours slipped away and turned into days. Days spanned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before either of them knew it, the moment seemed so distant in the rear-view mirror, that it almost felt weird to bring it back up.
*
The hockey season ended for Chris some time during May, the Rangers making it as far as the second round of the playoffs but unable to close it out after seven hard fought games. The disappointment sat heavy in his chest, much like it always did after losses like these, but he would have been a fool not to notice the way that it didn’t hang all about him in the way it had previous years. Of course, the wound still cut deep but without the festering ache of poison and he knew the antidote was the woman who had swept into his life nearly two years prior.
It was remarkable really, how she came into his world like that. It was an event that Chris had always described as being purely serendipitous but the longer he spent with Rosie, the more he began to wonder if there was something else at play, hell, even fate perhaps. He had prided himself on being a shrewd man, his practicality something that had always defined him and guided his thoughts and actions, but whenever he thought about them and their relationship, he had to believe that it was more than just some happy accident. Rosie was pure magic, in every sense of the word, always having an uncanny ability to know what he needed before he even did and making him relax in ways he had never previously allowed himself to. It was cliché to say, but Chris genuinely believed that he had never lived until he met her and slowly, over the course of the last year, maybe even longer, the love songs on the radio made a little bit more sense and every love story he’d ever read sat a little bit differently in his heart. He knew that he was going to have to find a way to truly make her his, because despite all of the times where he felt like he could’ve just grabbed her face and kissed her, despite all of the unspoken feelings that had surfaced at Christmas, and despite the fact that they hadn’t yet managed to talk about them, the dynamic between them both after their almost kiss hadn’t changed at all except in the small way that he found himself having to stop himself from holding her in the way that he wanted to more often than not.
He thought about the one night she’d almost burst with excitement over their dinner at her apartment when he told her he had finally sat down and read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, remembering the wind-scattered waves in her eyes and so sure that if anyone was brave enough to enter their depths, all else would blur and they would fall so deeply in love that they’d choose to stay there, no matter what, because he knew for certain that he had befallen that very fate. He recalled thinking that if that was the last thing he was to ever see, he would surely die a happy man. She had recited her favourite quote to him that he thought to be beautiful at the time but now hitting him like a freight train and knocking all of the wind out of his sails. It crawled through his skin and into his veins until he felt it coursing through his body until it had made a home within his very soul:
‘Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body… for that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’
It was those words that had his feet carrying him to his car and those words that had him driving from his apartment to her home in Brooklyn and it was those words that had him standing outside of her front door ready to offer his heart to her. He knocked, more out of habit than anything, the key she had given him a few months ago being turned over between his fingers as he waited and the anxiety beginning to rise with each second that passed without her appearing at the door. He exhaled before finally putting the key into the lock, certain that she was home despite the fact that his visit was unplanned and unannounced.
“Rosie?” he called out into the hallway. “Are you there?”
The silence was unsettling and completely uncharacteristic, made worse by the fact that her car was parked outside in its usual spot and the fact that he could’ve sworn she’d mentioned during their phone call the night before that she was planning on having a day at home to do laundry and catch up on all of those less-important chores she didn’t have the time to do during the school year.
‘Maybe she’s not home after all’, he thought after a couple of minutes without a reply, more to soothe his own anxiety more than anything else. ‘She’s obviously decided to go out for a walk somewhere. That must be it.’ He was just about to turn away and leave, suddenly aware of how intrusive his presence in her home was when she clearly wasn’t there, when he was certain he heard her voice call his name.
“Rosie?”
A sob drifted down the hallway, muted but no less full of raw pain and anguish that had his legs carrying him towards the sound in big, long strides until it brought him to her bedroom where the door stood slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open with an exhale of a breath he hadn’t felt being held within his lungs and his heart lurched at the sight of her curled up on her bed sobbing into her pillow. To go to her was instinctive, his soul called out to hers in a desperate attempt to soothe whatever pain she was in and he found himself kneeling at the side of her bed with his long fingers smoothing back the titian strands that had fallen into her face and clung to her tears.
“Ro, what happened?”
She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him, in fact, and so he moved onto the bed, gathering her up into his arms and held her close to his chest while he rubbed circles on her back, murmuring softly into her hair to try and still her sobs. He felt the way she clung on to him like she was drowning and he was the life-preserver and pressed gentle kisses against her forehead until her crying was no more than quiet sniffles.
“Rosie, sweetheart, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”
“My grandma,” she choked out against the fabric of his t-shirt. “My grandma died.”
Chris closed his eyes and exhaled as the second wave of tears took her, holding her steadfast against him and saying nothing other than reassuring her that he was there for her. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that for, with her still impossibly close to him long after she’d finished crying herself hollow, until after the tears had dried and all that was left was the crippling deadweight of grief. It was Chris that spoke out into the new but deafening silence, his voice barely audible and a little rough from his own emotion that sat threateningly high in his throat.
“I’m so sorry, Rosie…”
The tiny exhale that passed Rosie’s lips had Chris’s heart breaking in two for her. Her reply small and full of defeat. “She’d had dementia for a while… Didn’t really know who any of us were,” she sniffled, dangerously close to losing it again. “Every time I went back home it was like she had to learn who I was all over again. I know that this was the kindest thing to happen but-”
Chris kissed her forehead as she choked back a sob, a wordless assurance that she didn’t need to say another word and a quiet understanding of the pain and emptiness that she was drowning in.
“When are you flying home?” He murmured softly.
“I’m going to try and get a flight home for tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.”
“It’s gonna be expensive to try and get something that short notice, Ro.”
“That’s why I have savings,” Rosie gave a small, almost robotic shrug as she wiped her face, the emotion quickly being forced back down into her stomach as she turned her focus towards the things that she could control to keep herself from spiralling into hysterics again. “In case of an emergency.”
“Let me pay for your flight home,” Chris offered. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”
“You know I can’t accept that, honey.”
Chris had been friends with Rosie long enough to be familiar with the fact she often used terms of endearment whenever she was talking to him, but even now, especially now, with all those feelings of complete clarity about her and about them and their relationship that sat in his chest, it still managed to knock him back a bit and make his heart swell even in a moment as awful as this one.
“Why not?”
He knew that this was a situation where he shouldn’t push too hard, that she would either pull away from him or direct all of that grief and emotion his way, like a cornered animal seconds away from deciding whether to fight or bolt. He knew he shouldn’t push this but he needed to do something, the overwhelming demand coming from his heart to make this right and fix this for her too much to ignore.
“Because I’m not your problem, Chris,” Rosie said, completely deflated. “Because this doesn’t need to be your problem.”
“I want to help, Ro, please. Please let me help. Please let me help fix this.” He was pleading with her and while a part of Rosie understood his desire to make this better for her, the swirling hurricane of emotions inside of her was reaching a fever pitch and, unable to make sense of it all, she found herself directing her howling gales towards the one thing she should have been holding on to.
“This isn’t something you can fix, Chris! You can’t fix this, you can’t make this right and you can’t bring her back!”
She stood with her fists balled tightly, the pain on her face as she sobbed and the realisation that she was right cutting through Chris like a knife. He had never been one to lose his nerve in a crisis, always the dependable one, always the stoic one. He was the guy people could rely on when things were shitty and it was something he prided himself on, but seeing her in front of him, shattered and in agony, knowing that he would have to sit this one out until she’d had a chance to process everything, left him feeling weak and powerless.
He watched her in stunned silence, unable to articulate feelings that he couldn’t make sense of. She was standing no more than three meters away from him but the distance between them felt like it stretched light-years. He couldn’t let her go to England with that hanging between the two of them, that ocean that would separate them felt like she would slip into another universe entirely and leave him with too much uncertainty about how things would be once she got back to New York. She didn’t give him a choice, though, her voice sounding abstract and unlike her own as she spoke into the void between them.
“I’m sorry, I just… I think I need to be alone right now. I need to wrap my head around this and it,” she paused for a moment, a shaky sigh filling the space. “It’s not fair on you for me to throw my emotions at you like this.”
“Rosie,” he spoke her name like a prayer, an oblique supplication that she heard but couldn’t accept.
“Please, Christopher. I know that you just want to help and, Christ, I appreciate you so much but I can’t accept your money, that’s just not my way, and I need to process this in my own way. I promise you though, I’ll let you know when I’m leaving for the UK and I swear that I’ll keep in touch.”
He hated it, all of it, but he loved her and he knew that she needed this, no matter how much it killed him to have to let her do things her own way. So that’s how he found himself nodding and respecting her request before folding her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple that he hoped would convey all of the affection and love that he held for her. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to cry as he drove back to his apartment and prayed to whoever was listening that she would be okay and that they would be okay, because if he lost that magic, if he lost her, he would have nothing.
It was two days later when Rosie reached out to say that she was at the airport waiting for her flight back to England, those forty-eight hours without talking to her the longest he’d ever endured. She assured him that while she was still not in a great place herself, that they were okay and that she appreciated everything he had offered to do for her. The messages were shorter than Chris was used to but it did help to make that feeling of distance between them feel a little less insurmountable than before.
*
June would usually have him heading to his coastal home in Connecticut or making the trip back to Massachusetts to be with his family, but he instead found himself lingering in New York, although with Rosie in England indefinitely he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t committed to definite summer plans. If he really thought about it, though, really gave it more than a second’s thought and was completely honest with himself, he knew that he was waiting for her. He didn’t want to go home to Boxford and for her to come back to a city without him there. He wanted to be the one to welcome her back, pick her up from the airport and wrap her up in a hug that would have her never doubting how he truly felt about her. But really, when he spent time dissecting that desire to be there for her when she got back to New York, it actually stemmed from a desire to be with her, period. That was what had him picking up the phone and scrolling through his contacts, not even giving it a second thought when he hit that ‘call’ button but the guilt instantaneous when a sleepy voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about the time difference,” Chris exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck.
“You never call without texting first. What’s on your mind?”
Chris sighed into the receiver, using the pause to gather his thoughts into some kind of semblance of coherence rather than dumping them all out in one go.
“I don’t even fucking know anymore, Mika.”
Mika’s tone shifted as the last remnants of sleep fell away, taking on the familiar quality that seemed to be reserved only for Chris. “Did something happen between you and Rosie?”
“Not really?” Chris offered, unsure of the answer to Mika’s question himself. “It’s just… It feels wrong, all of this.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What feels wrong? I thought you loved her.”
“That’s just it, Mika,” Chris exhaled. “I do, fuck, I love her so much and the fact that she’s there and I’m here-”
Chris’s deep sigh through the receiver had Mika sitting up in bed, his next words spoken with such a surety as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“So go to her.”
“What?”
Mika laughed so softly that it was barely audible, shaking his head despite Chris not being able to see him.
“Y’know, for someone so smart you really are dumb sometimes.”
“Okay, first of all, ouch,” Chris grumbled. “Second of all, rude. Thirdly, what’re you getting at exactly?”
“What I’m getting at,” groused Mika, too tired from being woken up in the wee hours of the morning to have any great level of patience. “Is that you should book a flight and get your ass to the UK.”
“Just like that? Just go?”
“Yes, Jesus, Chris. I don’t know what else you want me to say, man, it’s three in the morning here and Irma will kick my ass if I wake her up.”
“Right, yeah,” Chris mumbled, the guilt at waking up his friend rearing its head again. “Sorry, I know I shoulda thought about the time difference.”
“The only reason you have to be sorry is if you don’t pack a bag as soon as we’re done talking and go get on the next fucking plane to England.”
Chris paused, long enough to gather his thoughts but not long enough for Mika to be concerned.
“I guess I’ll let you know when I land then.”
“Give her a hug from me, Chris,” Mika said with complete sincerity.
“‘Course I will, and Mika?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks, man.”
Mika smiled into the darkness of his bedroom before answering softly, “anytime.”
*
Chris had never been to England before and he wasn’t afraid to admit that his geography knowledge of the country was somewhat lacking, so to say that this trip was going to be a baptism of fire would have been entirely accurate. He was a confident enough driver, if he were to say so himself, but he’d have been a big fat liar (to put it in Rosie’s words) if he didn’t admit that the prospect of driving the 160 miles from London Heathrow to Exeter, on the wrong side of the road he might add, filled him with a little bit of dread. But if there was a woman worth braving the complete absurdity of a roundabout for, it was Rosie.
He couldn’t help but feel like he was going behind her back a little bit, using the excuse of wanting to send flowers to her as a means to get her parents’ address when he’d spoken to her on the phone the previous morning. He hoped that she would be able to forgive his little deception and see the purity of his intentions behind it, although he did pick up some flowers on the way to her parents’ house from the small hotel he was staying at, wanting to fulfil that part of the bargain at least. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned into a quiet residential street that the GPS was signalling as being his destination. He pulled up outside the house, checking, double checking and triple checking that he had the right address before he shut off the car engine and got out, grabbing the large bouquet of flowers off the back seat. He can’t ever remember a time that his palms were this clammy or where his legs felt like they were about to give way from under him quite like they did at that moment as he walked up the short driveway to the front door.
He rubbed his free hand on the front of his jeans, taking a settling breath before he knocked on the door, unsure of what to expect when it opened. His eyebrows raised in surprise when an older looking gentleman answered, who looked equally surprised to see a slightly dishevelled looking, six foot three stranger on his doorstep.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Chris spoke, thankful that he was at least able to find his strong voice despite the distraction of his heart hammering in his chest.
“Alright there, mate?” the man greeted, with an accent that Chris noted to be far stronger than Rosie’s. “You lost or summat?”
“I hope not,” Chris laughed more out of nerves than anything else. “I’m actually here to see Roseanna.”
He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure of himself, his statement coming out as more of a question and nothing at all like his normal confident self. The older man didn’t seem to pay too much notice to it though, instead breaking into a smile that Chris recognised as being near enough identical to Rosie’s and gestured for him to come inside the house.
“She’s just got back from walkin’ the dog, I’ll get ‘er for you.”
Chris watched as the man disappeared the short way down the hallway and called Rosie’s name into the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her voice reply to the man he had assumed to be her father.
“Someone’s ‘ere to see you, love, what? No, I don’t know who he is… maybe one of your university mates,” he turned back to give Chris a friendly nod before adding, “she’ll be right with you.”
Sure enough, no sooner were the words out of his mouth did Rosie appear in the doorway at the end of the hall, all red cheeks and light freckles from the sunshine. She stopped dead in her tracks, her face switching from total surprise at the sight in front of her to overwhelming joy before finally settling on complete disbelief at the realisation that Chris was standing right in front of her in the home she grew up in. Her legs instinctively carried her into his waiting arms, tears starting to fall before she could even register what was happening. Chris was certain that he would never forget the way she held onto him in that moment, with her face buried into his chest and her arms tight around his back.
“What are you doing here?” She finally managed, bringing her teary eyes up to meet Chris’s. “How? When?”
His only response was to kiss her forehead sweetly, holding her against his body like she was about to float away.
“I wanted to be here for you. I know you have your family but, God, it just didn’t feel right to be back in New York.” He stepped back from her a fraction so that he could offer the blooms he was still holding to her. “And I believe I promised you some flowers.”
“I thought you were sorting them with a local florist not travelling across the Atlantic to hand deliver them,” she laughed through her tears, a hand coming up to whack his chest lightly. “You are completely ridiculous, Christopher James Kreider.”
“Anything to see you smile, Ro.”
He kissed her hair before taking her outstretched hand and followed her as she led him into the kitchen to meet her family for the first time.
*
The next few days had Chris feeling a little bit like a spare part. Rosie and her family were busy with the last minute preparations for the funeral and Chris wished that he could do more to help out but, just like always, Rosie managed to allay his worries and settle his heart by assuring him that his presence alone was enough. They’d spent their free time taking in the sights of South Devon, Rosie relishing the opportunity to show him around the place she grew up and all of her favourite spots. He particularly enjoyed the day they spent down in a place called Torquay, the beauty of the ocean and the way the sun kissed her hair had him feeling bold enough to reach for her hand as they walked along the sea-front while enjoying an ice cream each.
On the day of the funeral, Chris made himself completely indispensable to Rosie and her family, nothing being too much trouble. He held Rosie tightly throughout the ceremony, never once letting her go and whispered words of comfort to her as she said her final goodbyes to the grandmother she loved so much before they exited the church. He stayed by her side throughout the wake at her request. The emotional rawness of the day had her feeling more vulnerable than she would have liked but there was something about the way Chris’s hand rested above her knee as they sat around the table that had her feeling more grounded and centred than she knew she would’ve been had he not been there. It was easy for her to go back to Chris’s hotel with him, the emotions of the day still weighed heavy on her and she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.
The gravity of those feelings wasn’t lost on Rosie and she knew that sooner or later she’d have to really take a step back and take a good look at her relationship with Chris and what it all meant. It was easier to be dishonest with herself and keep up the pretence that they were just friends because if she let herself think about them being anything else for too long she would feel her chest tighten and hear her heart start to whoosh in her ears. Was it childish? Absolutely, but she’d be damned if she let herself get hurt by a man again. Her self-preservation mechanism had been working like a charm so far and if it wasn’t broken then why fix it? It wasn’t completely infallible though and after two bottles of Chianti and the way the lamplight accentuated the softness in his eyes, Rosie found herself slipping.
“What’s on your mind?” He whispered, fingers finding her chin to bring her thousand yard stare away from the wall and back to his searching gaze.
“Everything,” she sighed softly. “It’s loud in my head tonight.”
“Is there one thing in particular that you can pick out?”
He took the wine glass that she was cradling and set it down on the table, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumbs gently across her knuckles.
“Not really, today has just been a lot.”
Chris nodded in understanding, not wanting to pry further and cognizant of the emotional strenuity of the day. Instead he pulled her closer, nestling her into his side and pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.
“I still can’t believe you came all this way for me,” she murmured.
“Why darling,” Chris started, Rosie immediately recognising the quote as being Hemingway. “I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”
She tilted her head up towards him, her lips impossibly close to his as her fingers danced along the stubble at his jaw and swallowed down the nerves that had lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes, so close to giving in to her heart and letting it win, for better or worse. Chris had been dreaming of this moment though, longing for it with every close call and missed opportunity. This is how it should’ve been at Christmas and all of the team events he’d the delight of having her on his arm, but instead he let himself chicken out, the fear of spooking her and losing her too much to allow himself to take the risk. But now, he had Rosie right there. She was impossibly close and all around him and he knew that if he didn’t take that leap and place his lips on hers, he might never get that chance again and that is what had him brushing his lips lightly across hers, his fingers finding a home amongst the loose copper curls that were glowing like hot coals in the low light of the room.
Instinct took over and had Rosie arching her body into him, her hands reaching up into his hair to muss the short curls. Even with her body pressed against his, Chris needed her closer, his big arms looping around her and pulling her into his lap. He kissed her desperately, a kiss to make up for all the kisses they should have already shared and all the words that should have been spoken. It should have terrified him, how easy it was to be with her like this and how easy the push and pull of it was, neither taking more than they were giving in the moment. This was what Boris Pasternak meant when he said ‘you and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent to Earth together to see if we know what we were taught., Chris was sure of it because nothing could compare to how Rosie’s lips felt against his and the feeling of her hands on his skin. Her kiss was heaven and her eyes felt like home and Chris knew in that moment that he needed all of her.
As he carried her to bed, Rosie thought about how right being in his arms felt. It was a strong sense of belonging that she couldn’t ever remember having with anyone else - ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’, she thought. He spoke her name against her ear like a prayer, all the love and want for her conveyed in one simple word while he removed her dress with tender hands. Her body was laid on display for him like a canvas, his mouth was the paintbrush and Chris knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life painting a masterpiece onto her skin with his lips.
They moved together between the sheets as sure as the gentle waves that lap against the shore, her hands never feeling more at home than they did running up his back and over his shoulders before settling against the broad plains of his chest. Her every breath and every moan sounded like an aria to his ears and his name tumbling from her lips with every thrust of his hips was met with a moan of hers. He thought she could never look as good as she did underneath him, blooming like a rose, until he found himself on his back with her above him, her hair falling around them both like a curtain and her mouth panting against his as she rolled her hips. His hands made a home at the dip of her waist, guiding her in her movements but never taking the reins from her, giving her the control they both knew she needed in the moment.
It was intuitive, really, the way she was rocking her hips into his and the steady build of pressure in her stomach had her chanting Chris’s name like an incantation. He saw on her face the exact moment that the coil snapped, moaning as she fluttered and tightened around him and brought his hips up to meet hers as she rode the wave of her orgasm.
“I’m with you,” he murmured against her neck.
“Please, Chris. I need you.”
“I’ve got you, Ro. I’ve got you.”
She turned her face to meet his lips in a deep kiss, Chris moaning into her mouth as he spilled inside of her with stuttering hips. Rosie let out a contented sigh as she kissed him through his release, her chest pressed against his and her fingers playing with whatever ends of his hair she could reach. They stayed that way long after he’d gone soft inside of her, content to just bask in the afterglow of the moment as Chris’s fingers traced up and down her back. Rosie knew that she needed to have a frank discussion with Chris about her feelings but now didn’t seem like the right time for that. The sudden realisation that things would never be the same and that there was no going back to the way things were after this embedded itself like a seed, but Rosie let herself surrender to the feeling of safety and security Chris’s arms offered her before it could take root. She nestled herself against his side, her head resting on his chest with her eyes closed, and let his heartbeat be the gentle lullaby to lead her into the beautiful twilight.
*
Chris awoke to the feeling of Rosie snug and secure within his arms, a peaceful look resting on her features that gave her an angelic quality. He let his mind wander to the night before and allowed the love he felt for her run wild through his veins and fill every corner of his mind, body and soul. For so long it had just been him and hockey, never subscribing to the idea that a person needed a relationship to be complete. But as he looked down and saw his entire world resting within his arms, he realised that he had been right all along. It wasn’t a relationship that made a person complete. It was love. That all-consuming wildfire that burns everything else away until there is nothing left but a new-beginning. He remembered the quote from Corelli that Rosie loved so much and felt everything fall into place. He felt like he’d waited a million years for this feeling and now that he felt it consume him like wildfire, he knew that he would have waited a million more, just as long as he had the privilege of being hers. It was surrendering all that he had ever been for everything that she was, for every kiss and every touch. Her love was his turning page and loving her was the greatest and best thing that he would ever do in his life, he was sure of it.
He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, eyes crinkling with his smile as she stirred.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” she croaked, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”
Chris looked over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “Just gone eight-thirty.”
“Oh, okay.”
She furrowed her brows again, suddenly feeling Chris everywhere as pieces of the night before flooded her consciousness as she fully emerged from sleep and into the waking world. She was naked, she registered, and so was he and she was blindsided by an abrupt awareness that a definite line had been crossed that they could never go back from. It was that recognition of their friendship never being the same again that had her rolling away from Chris without warning. She was out of bed before he could even register what was happening, gathering up her clothes and dressing quickly without as much as a word.
“Rosie?” Chris was sitting up now, a slight waver to his voice as he spoke her name. “What are you doing?”
“I have to go,” she mumbled, an almost robotic edge to her tone that had Chris jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of sweatpants, already catching up to her racing thoughts without her needing to say another word. He rushed to the door that she was making a beeline for, stepping in front of it and reaching desperately for her hands.
“Don’t do this, Ro… Please, don’t run from this.”
“Chris,” she warned, the emotion sitting dangerously high in her throat and her eyes glossing over with tears.
“What’re you so afraid of? I know you feel it too, Rosie. I know you do.”
“Chris, please,” she tried to brush past him but Chris wouldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers, not this time.
“No, we’re not doin’ this anymore. We’re not gonna spend the rest of our lives pretending that we’re just friends because we’re not, Rosie. I don’t think we have been for a long time- look at me, Ro, please.”
Chris saw the flicker of hesitation cross her face but the desperation in his voice was too much for her to ignore. She brought her eyes up to meet his and saw a fire burning within them that she had never seen before.
“I love you, Rosie. You have to know that by now.”
She shook her head vehemently, the tears she had managed so far to keep at bay finally slipping out and onto her cheeks.
“Don’t,” she whimpered. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”
“Who says I don’t mean it?” He brought his hands to cup her face to keep her eyes on him. “You? Do you think I’d travel across an ocean to be here with you now if I didn’t love you?”
Rosie answered only with a sniffle, the feeling of his touch along her skin anchoring her in a moment where she felt like she was drowning in a sea of every repressed emotion and feeling from the last eighteen months.
“But what if this doesn’t work? What if we’re better as friends?”
“I know you don’t believe that,” he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I know that you’ve been hurt before and I know that you’re scared. But you can’t keep holding on to the past, Ro, because if you do you’ll miss out on what’s right in front of you.”
“It’s not the loving you part that’s hard Chris,” she whispered. “It’s admitting to myself that it happened at all that is. I’ve had all these defences that have worked to keep me from getting hurt for so long but it was like you didn’t even see them at all, like they were meant for others while you had your very own door. I’ve spent so long asking myself why that is and come up with nothing. Do you know how terrifying that is?”
He kissed her forehead softly in response before pulling back to look into her eyes, making sure that she saw him, felt him, heard him. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
The corners of Rosie’s mouth quirked up into a smile despite her tears and her doubts, her favourite passage from Pride and Prejudice never sounding as good as it did coming from Chris’s mouth and extinguishing every fear she was holding within her heart. She closed her eyes and nodded, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that could’ve stopped the world from turning. She gave herself to him completely and surrendered to the overwhelming love that burned within her for him. There were no words that could convey to Chris just how much he meant to her but she hoped that ones from Rupi Kaur would do it justice:
“You might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.”
Chris smiled against her mouth and kissed away every fear and worry until there was nothing left but him and her and the love they had for each other.
*
Life continued much as it had before, a testament really to the relationship that Chris and Rosie already shared and the official label did nothing more than earn them a chorus of “it’s about time” from their friends and had Mika looking incredibly smug for the next few months. The passage of time only served to make their relationship stronger, both able to give themselves completely without the uncertainty of their feelings looming over them or holding them back. Rosie often found herself being struck by the easiness of their relationship and she never once found herself questioning Chris’s commitment to her and what they had. When he asked her how she would feel about ending the lease on her Brooklyn apartment and moving into his place in Manhattan she didn’t have to give it a second thought. Everything about it felt natural and they were both ready to take that next defining step in their relationship. Once Rosie’s belongings and houseplants were moved in, Chris couldn’t help but feel as if they had always been there, like his apartment was finally complete and that it was the home he had always imagined it would eventually be.
Of course, there were bumps in the road, both of them had been on their own for so long that they were set in their ways at first, but their disagreements never lasted long, their shared knack for communication often diffusing the situation before it had chance to grow arms and legs. The adjustment was harder for Chris in some ways, especially when things on the ice weren’t going so well and he would retreat into himself or misdirect his frustrations towards Rosie with a sharper tone than was necessary, but she stood firm, never one to suffer fools and for that Chris was eternally grateful. They complimented each other in ways they couldn’t even have imagined, Chris able to pull Rosie out of her own head when the world weighed heavy on her shoulders and Rosie never afraid to put Chris in his place when he needed it. As the months rolled into years and their love went from strength to strength, Chris knew for certain that she was it for him and there was nothing he wanted more than to start and end the day with Rosie for all of the days to come.
*
Rosie looked at Chris with confusion as their Uber pulled up outside Westsider Books one early September evening. There was a faint glow of lights inside but it didn’t look as if the shop was open and Rosie couldn’t understand why Chris had brought her here when she was sure they closed at five.
“I didn’t realise this place opened late,” she said as Chris opened her car door and offered his hand to help her out of the car.
“I think it’s just a one-time thing,” he replied as he thanked the driver and closed the door. He placed a hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her towards the shop entrance, pushing the door open and gesturing for Rosie to go in ahead of him. Rosie wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting to find inside, but hundreds of glittering fairy lights, candles and more flowers than she could count wasn’t even on the list.
“Chris?” she breathed, turning to look at him.
“If you were to list your top three favourite books of all time off the top of your head,” he started, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What would they be?”
“Christopher…”
“Come on, Ro,” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way she loved so much. “Just... play along… Please, for me?”
“Alright, well…” she conceded with a gentle sigh. “Off the top of my head I would probably say Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Pride and Prejudice.”
Chris’s smile somehow managed to double in size, the soft glow of the string lights and candles had his eyes sparkling like smoky quartz, the lush green flecks that usually lived among the dark bark of his irises hidden by the low light. He knew she would say that, of course, knowing her with an intimacy that even after all their years of friendship and the years of loving her still managed to knock him back a bit. He took her hand then, leading her along the aisle before stopping in front of a shelf with a dozen hand-tied sunflowers. He reached out and took a book from the shelf.
“Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières,” he murmured, passing the book to Rosie with an easy grin. “Go on, open it.”
He watched as she opened the cover of the book, her face softening at the sight of a delicate pendant necklace nestled between the pages. A small silver fern leaf hung at the end of the thin chain, a nod to the many houseplants she had brought into his home when she moved in that he had playfully grumbled about but in all actuality loved.
“Chris, it’s beautiful.”
He gently took the necklace from her hands and spun Rosie around, draping the chain across her chest and fastening it behind her neck with sure fingers before turning her back to face him, his eyes falling to the pendant that glimmered in the low light of the room.
“It looks gorgeous on you,” he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Right, what was the next book? For Whom the Bell Tolls, right?”
“Chris, what is all this?” Rosie asked softly, taking Chris’s outstretched hand and following him down the next aisle to another shelf. He ignored her question, simply picking up the book and handing it to her.
“I love that you love Hemingway almost as much as I do,” he whispered softly. “Almost. You have no idea how much it means to me that I get to share that enjoyment with you and I want us to keep making memories together and sharing enjoyment of the things we love.” He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to open the book to reveal the piece of paper he’d folded in there. He took the book from her hands so that she could open it.
Rosie’s eyes widened as she read what she realised to be an itinerary for a trip to Europe next summer.
“I’ve only been to a couple of places in Europe,” Chris started. “And I figured who better to show me around than the girl who’s visited near enough every country on that continent?”
Rosie was unable to contain her sniffles by this point, overwhelmed at the thought and preparation that Chris had put in, not only in the trip to Europe, but this whole evening as well. She shook her head gently as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.
“This is too much, Chris, you shouldn’t have.”
He pulled back from her just far enough to get her eyes on his, his face set with an expression that held all the love in the world.
“Ah, ah, there’s still one more book, which if I’m not mistaken is your all-time favourite and you, Roseanna Williams, are worth all the good things in this world.”
Her slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they walked back towards the front of the shop, Rosie gently wiping the tears away from her eyes. Pride and Prejudice sat pride of place in the middle of a small table, the book surrounded by petals. Chris gave her an encouraging look and stepped back as she picked it up, taking a small envelope from out of the book before setting it back down again. Her eyes found her name on the front of the envelope in Chris’s unmistakable handwriting before turning it over in her hands and opening it, pulling out what appeared to be a letter. She took a steadying breath as she began to read.
My dearest Rosie,
There will never be the words to adequately express just how much you mean to me or how grateful I am to have found you. You are everything that I didn’t even know I was searching for, that I didn’t even know I needed.
I never believed in fate, every happy accident is just that. A happy accident. Coincidence. Right place, right time. But you, you have opened my eyes to the idea of pure magic because how can a love like ours be founded on pure coincidence alone? How can a soul yearn for someone they had never met? I know now that the reason I found myself in this very book store on that day you came into my life was because your soul was calling me here.
In you I have everything I’ll ever need. No matter where my career takes me, no matter what lies ahead, as long as I have you I have everything. I love you more than anything else in this world, you have given me a higher purpose and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy if you’ll let me.
All my love,
Always
Chris
We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright - E. Hemingway.
Rosie closed her eyes and let her tears fall onto her cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest.
“Chris…”
“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes, babe,” Chris chuckled softly.
Rosie smiled as she allowed her eyes to drift open, her hand immediately coming up to her mouth as she stifled an unexpected sob at the sight of Chris down on one knee in front of her, a ring box open in his hand that looked as if it contained an entire galaxy of glittering stars.
“Ro, I can’t even remember what my life was like without you in it, I didn’t even know that I was in the dark. Until I saw your smile. It was only then that I realised and now I never want to live a single day without the warmth and light of your love. It’s us, babe. It’s always been us and it’s always been you, since the day we met. I didn’t even realise I was waiting for you and now that I have you, everything is as it should be. I love you, Rosie. I’ve always loved you and I would be the happiest and luckiest man on Earth with you as my wife. Marry me, babe?”
Rosie sank slowly to her knees in front of Chris, her hands reaching up and cupping his face as her tears fell. In front of her was a man who had given her everything, who had helped her to let go of the past and right now, he was offering her a future brighter and more wonderful than anything she could’ve ever imagined and never dared to dream she would have.
“Oh god, please tell me those are happy tears.”
She cut him off with a kiss, a kiss that gave Chris his answer without her even needing to say it. She kissed him with everything she had, kissed him with all of the love that coursed through her veins, kissed him until her lungs were gasping for air and she finally had to pull away, resting her forehead against his with her hands stroking along his jaw.
“Yes,” Rosie whispered. “A million times, yes.”
As Chris slid the ring onto Rosie’s finger, he took the opportunity to look into those eyes of hers that he’d grown to love so much. It was there that he saw their future, all of their hopes and dreams and the promise of all the joy in their lives that was to come and as her arms wrapped tightly around him, Chris felt their souls sigh as they folded into one another. Chris couldn’t tell what the future had in store for them both, but no matter where their path together would lead them, it was in her embrace that he found solace and it was in her heart that he found a home.
#chris kreider#chris kreider fic#nhl fic#nhl fiction#nhl fanfiction#chris kreider x ofc#nhl writing#hockey fic#hockey fanfiction#hockey fiction#chris & rosie#turning page universe#my writing
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Post canon sangcheng fic recs for @runespoor7
(wooohoo that’s only 25 fics haha)
Silence by inberin
https://archiveofourown.org/works/17441771
a conversation in the snow.
Wonderfully nuanced characterisation. It hints at whole relationship and dynamic with a lot of delicacy.
Windrose by offlight
https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997546
Nie Huaisang is forced into a coma to stop his qi deviation. Jiang Cheng is tasked with waking him up.
There’s a lot of intriguing dreamscapes in this one, and I love Jiang Cheng (and in the background Wei Wuxian)’s desperation and obstinacy.
All the innocence we give by shamiran
https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864910
Learning to renavigate the ground between them is easier than Nie HuaiSang expects. It's also harder than he could have imagined.
Just a sweet story.
Taste the wine off your lips by ExNihiIo
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129245
A light pat lands against his back, and a cup of water is pushed in front of his face. “Not even Zi Shi, and you’re already tipsy?,” asks a teasing voice, while a thin hand puts down the cup.
Jiang Cheng coughs a little more, shaking his head, and sends a dirty look at his host. “I am not tipsy.”
“Hm, and yet your cheeks are all red. What would your disciples think, if they saw you in this state?”
“They’d think about running away while they can. I can break legs more easily than I can drink alcohol.”
A smile curves the edges of Nie Huaisang’s mouth, and he closes his fan with a curt jerk, sitting across the table. He’s wearing lighter clothes, Jiang Cheng notices, compared to the ones he had during the Discussion Conference. Where those had been tight and rigid against his body, these now fall softly on him, the large sleeves sweeping delicately as Nie Huaisang moves to pour himself a cup.
I like the melancholy tone of this one.
The light of autumn: you will not be spared by crooows
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901467/chapters/47138221
Nie Huaisang arrives a week early for the conference which will be held in Yunmeng to discuss the position of chief cultivator.
[Title is from a poem called "October" by Louise Glück!]
A bit funny, a bit melancholy
You can run but you can’t hide by ThirtySixSaveFiles
https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119297
Nie Huaisang has noticed something about the way Jiang Cheng takes compliments; Nie Huaisang has a theory, and he intends to test it out.
Just Huaisang figuring out Jiang Cheng has a praise kink. Established pairing.
Evening Bloom by dragonofeternal
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958518
Jiang Cheng is spry and lithe well into his twilight years, living well off Wei Wuxian's stolen youth; Nie Huaisang's golden core, on the other hand, has always been poor- he blacks his hair with ink and dyes, hides the pudge of indolence and the wrinkles of age behind the latest fashions and the finest fans. Perhaps for their peers, finding the space to be vulnerable came easy, but for them it's taken this long to maybe think of letting someone in.
I have a big weakness for stories about old people falling in love and this is one delivers very sweetly.
Four Days in Lanling by Halotolerant
https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722695/chapters/51817036
Nie Huaisang looks at him. ‘You are confusing me, Clan Leader Jiang, perhaps I misunderstand, but…’
‘You didn’t misunderstand. You don’t misunderstand. You understand all of it.’ For six months Jiang Cheng has been mulling this over, and now with Nie Huaisang in front of him he can’t figure out if he most wants to knock him down or kneel at his feet. What he does is try and breathe. Clench his hands at his sides. ‘And now I am going to ask you to do something for me. You have to do something for me. You have to help Jin Ling.’
Ok so perhaps it’s misrepresentating to call this a post canon fic since most of the action is mid-13-years-of-WWX-death but the fairly important framing part is post canon. Also it’s one of the best sangcheng fic out there and a must read.
Shadow eternal by rynleaf
https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162944/chapters/55439032
“You want me to distract the Chief Cultivator from the Annual Cultivation Conference, so you and other sect leaders can… what. Sign contracts without adult supervision?”
“If Jiang-zongzhu is amenable,” Sect Leader Ouyang repeats with a nod.
Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. The pressure he felt building behind his eyes all morning is swiftly coalescing into a bitch of a headache. “Just what do you all think I’m capable of?”
Sect Leader Ouyang bows with a cheerful smile. “We have utmost faith in Sandu Shengshou’s abilities.”
-
In which a night hunt ends in disaster, Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse of Nie Huaisang's heart, and feelings are discussed after a certain fashion.
One that’s between sweet and angsty.
The way is shut, and we cannot go back by saltedpin
https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592523
One month since Guanyin Temple, and some people are coping better than others (or not).
This one is a mostly sad and bitter take on Jiang Cheng reacting to Nie Huaisang’s plot (and being very drunk).
Living memory by ghosthouses
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827980
Once Jin Guangyao has left, he gives himself two indulgences. The first, a day to scream in his rooms made soundproof with a talisman. The second, a physical list written in code, to keep his older self, who will have let the pain dull with time, accountable for what must be done.
It has only two commandments:
He will die.
and
He will know.
Nie Huaisang puts it in his sleeve with the intention of keeping it with him at all times, to be added to but never reduced, a living memory of his task.
This and its prequel which you should also read is quite short but probably one of my favorite depictions of their dynamic (and probably one I find most plausible).
What’s Left of us by cangse-sanren
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979081
“Well,” Huaisang tries hesitantly, “both of us seem to have a rather fraught relationship with things like older brothers and the concept of betrayal. And regret,” he adds as an afterthought. "Perhaps you just understand me more than most."
Yet another that dwells into Jiang Cheng reacting to Nie Huaisang’s plan. I really like that take although it’s barely shippy (and quite short).
Descending by lightningwaltz
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25296595
“I want to… to not be embarrassed.”
“To not be embarrassed during what?”
“During sex.” There. Jiang Cheng can say it. “In general. Also with you right now.”
“Very good.”
“When did you become so authoritative?” Jiang Cheng wants to sound irked, but can’t quite manage anything beyond nervous curiosity.
Very interesting fic and in many ways unusual. I’d say it’s hypnosis kink, but it’s much more character driven than that. With a context of established FWB arrangement between Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang.
Tell him that I miss our little talks by xiaolongbaobei
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232023
the post-canon fic where Jiang Cheng becomes the Chief Cultivator, realizes that it's not too late to fall in love and learns to ask for what he wants
Longish fic exploring Jiang Cheng as Chief cultivator working with Nie Huaisang and slowly falling in love with him. I adore this one, and not only because I love fics that explore the idea of Jiang Cheng as chief cultivator.
Blind for Love by manamune
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760272
Jiang Cheng is poisoned with an aphrodisiac and needs to orgasm repeatedly in order to flush it from his system.
The first person he thinks of going to for help is Nie Huaisang, who does what any good friend would do: he shoves his three decades worth of feelings for Jiang Cheng deep into the recesses of his mind, locks them up so he can pretend they don’t exist, and then fucks him so hard that he passes out.
Mostly a long smutty piece, but with a lot of fun character bits along the way.
A Tight-Knit Family by aldalin
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500481/chapters/61862899
“Jing Ling, we need to talk.”
Jin Ling has too many uncles, and he’s about to get another.
Sect Leader Jiang announces his marriage to Sect Leader Nie.
A fairly different take, more focused on Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian reacting to Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s relationship.
A trip to Qinghe by Scorpiwriting
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974741
An unexpected hunt forces Jiang Cheng to leave the Lotus Pier a bit earlier than he had anticipated, so he decides to send Jin Ling to Qinghe, for the sake of not sending him back to Lanling so soon: it turns into a learning experience for the young sect leader, who gets to peek into the life of the Headshaker.
or.
Jin Ling learns that not everything people say is true and that perhaps there is some merit to art. He also learns that loneliness is a dark beast and that his uncle should definitely do something about it.
Another one more focused on Jin Ling’s reaction to it. Honestly more of a gen piece about Jin Ling and Nie Huaisang, but an interesting one.
Silver bracelets on their wrists by mercurious
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797715
“Can’t I find excuses to visit an old friend?”
Ok so this one is a bit fucked up in interesting ways. It combines Chief Cultivator Jiang Cheng and explicit longing about Wei Wuxian, and BDSM as catharsis. It’s a fascinating piece.
Welcome to love by amphigoric
https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412866/chapters/53549794
Desire, Jiang Cheng learned, flourished even in love’s absence. It surged hot and fast through his veins at the sight of Nie Huaisang’s spread thighs, marks still lingering from the last rendezvous they had. He felt it burning through his chest as Huaisang raked lines down his back, breaths coming in short, desperate gasps: “Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Wanyin, please, please.”
It’s a little bit clumsy at times, but also very passionate and intense in a way I still find compelling. Featuring a lot of self sabotaging Jiang Cheng.
When your stitch comes loose by heyninja
https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868454/chapters/68234434
Sometimes people see you for who you really are. Sometimes because you let them. Sometimes whether you like it or not.
A triptych of collisions between Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng.
Only the last part is post canon but it’s the most important part, isn’t it?
Peel your heart like a pomegranate by Izumi_silverleaf
https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458974
"It's an extraordinary feeling when parts of your body are touched for the first time. I'm thinking of the sensations from sex and surgery."
Sometimes you just need to read a very hot guro fic. It’s a weird fic but it’s a cool one.
If you give a Nie a cushion by LesbianLazerOwl
https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470236
Prompt: Long enough After Canon that everyone's mostly okay these days, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang get drunk and wind up comparing masturbation habits; each is aghast at how the other spends their personal time.
Funny and hot
To Distraction by isozyme
https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763816
It’s the third night of Yunmeng’s kite festival celebrations. Nie Huaisang has come visiting, eager to partake in the food, the arts, and Jiang Cheng.
Jiang Cheng wants to forget. Nie Huaisang has some new lube and wants to see if he can put his whole fist in somebody’s ass.
Established pairing in which Nie Huaisang fists Jiang Cheng. It’s hot.
Safe in Your arms by Dragon_scribe
https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070503/chapters/74058315
In the aftermath of a night hunt gone (very) wrong, Jiang Cheng wakes up to find himself in the Unclean Realm. As he recovers from his injuries, he and Nie Huaisang grow closer and as time passes, their friendship begins to shift to something more.
Very sweet/sappy and hurt/comfort orientated, with a small bit of reconciliation dimension too.
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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN
October 5, 2021
Heather Cox Richardson
Today, Facebook whistle-blower Frances Haugen testified before the Senate Subcommittee on Consumer Protection, Product Safety, and Data Security. Haugen noted that Facebook co-founder and chief executive officer Mark Zuckerberg controls about 58% of Facebook’s voting shares, meaning he sets the terms of the company’s behavior. Her documents, illustrating that Facebook addressed only about 1% of hate violent speech and that its own algorithms pushed disinformation, supported her general observations about the need for government regulation of the social media giant.
While Haugen was testifying, Facebook spokesperson Andy Stone reinforced that message when he texted the ranking Republican on the committee, Senator Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee, to note that Haugen had not worked directly on issues of child safety or Instagram at Facebook, facts Haugen had already established.
Facebook spokesperson Lena Pietsch issued a statement attacking Haugen as untrustworthy but saying, “we agree…it’s time to begin to create standard rules for the internet…. [I]t is time for Congress to act.”
Tonight Zuckerberg responded in a Facebook post of his own. He echoed Pietsch’s call for government regulation.He called the recent coverage of the company a “false picture,” with claims that “don’t make any sense” because the company has “established an industry-leading standard for transparency.” He wrote that “[w]e care deeply about issues like safety, well-being and mental health.” He says it is “just not true” that “we prioritize profit over safety and well-being,” and that it is “deeply illogical” that they “deliberately push content that makes people angry for profit.” “It’s very important” to him, he says, “that everything we build is safe and good for kids.”
While information about Facebook has demonstrated the dangers the social media giant poses for our democracy, the congressional fight over the debt ceiling has brought into relief a different struggle for the same cause.
The Republican Party has now swung almost entirely behind former president Trump—one heck of a gamble as his legal jeopardy continues to mount. Today, a New York state court said Trump must give a deposition in the defamation case brought against him by Summer Zervos, the former "Apprentice" contestant who said he sexually assaulted her and sued him for defamation after he called her a liar. And as the January 6 committee continues to take evidence, bipartisan groups of lawyers have asked legal organizations to investigate and possibly disbar the lawyers who backed Trump’s attempted coup, John Eastman and Jeffrey Bossert Clark.
Nonetheless, right-wing insurgents are tripping over each other to move to extreme positions behind the positions of the former president.
In Idaho today, for example, as soon as the state’s governor, Republican Brad Little, left the state for Texas to meet with nine other Republican governors about President Biden’s approach to securing the border, Lt. Governor Janice McGeachin, who is challenging Little for governor next year, flexed her muscles over the state. She issued an executive order declaring she had “fixed” Little’s executive order prohibiting the government from requiring proof of vaccines to access services by extending the prohibition to schools, saying “I will continue to fight for your individual Liberty!” Then she enquired about activating the Idaho National Guard to go to the southern border.
Little promptly responded to her declarations with his own statement calling her actions “political grandstanding,” noting that he had not authorized her to act on his behalf, and saying he would be “rescinding and reversing any actions taken by the Lt. Governor when I return.” In the midst of all this posturing, Idaho is suffering a spike in coronavirus cases, with death rates at nearly three times the national average.
But while Republican leaders have encouraged the rush to the right because it fires up the party’s base voters, it may now have painted them into a corner from which they’re hoping the Democrats will rescue them.
The fight over the debt ceiling suggests that Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) is no longer in control of his caucus.
The debt ceiling is a cap on how much the Treasury can borrow to meet its obligations. We are now in trouble because under former president Trump, Congress created $7.8 trillion of debt, and now the Treasury cannot borrow to pay back that money. Senate Republicans, led by McConnell, have said they want the ceiling lifted, but they want Democrats to do it on their own.
But Republicans do not want the ceiling lifted by a simple vote, which the Democrats tried and the Republicans filibustered. They want to force the Democrats to raise the ceiling under the process of reconciliation, which cannot be filibustered. This would prevent the Democrats from using the reconciliation process for their infrastructure package that would support human infrastructure like child care and elder care, and address climate change.
Yesterday, Democrats called Republicans out on this manipulation, and today, Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) set up a vote on the debt ceiling for Wednesday. Democrats today suggested that McConnell and the Republicans are not simply trying to stop the Democrats’ infrastructure plans, but want to sow chaos by crashing the economy. Senator Sheldon Whitehouse (D-RI) wondered on Twitter whether the billionaires “who prop up McConnell actually want a default” so “out of ashes they can build their new oligarchy.”
But tonight Adam Jentleson, an expert on the Senate whose knowledge of the institution is unparalleled among scholars, pointed out that McConnell seems unable to agree to let the Democrats save the country by a simple vote because five or six Republican senators will refuse. So, unable to control them, he seems to be forcing Democrats into a position in which they have no choice but to break the filibuster. Jentleson suggests McConnell knows that his own caucus might obstruct even reconciliation, so he is trying to open a door to make sure Democrats can keep the nation from defaulting and crashing the U.S. economy.
The fall of the Republican Party into the hands of extremists who are willing to destroy it recently prompted former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton to declare, “I'm astonished that more people don’t see, or can’t face, America’s existential crisis.”
Restoring sanity to the country will require free and fair elections, which, after years of Republican gerrymandering and voter suppression, will require federal legislation. The time for that to be most effective is running out, as Republican-dominated states are currently in the process of redistricting, which will determine their congressional districts for the next decade.
Today, in the Senate, Senator Patrick Leahy (D-VT) introduced the John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act. This measure would restore the parts of the 1965 Voting Rights Act the Supreme Court gutted in the 2013 Shelby County v. Holder and the 2021 Brnovich v. Democratic National Committee decisions. Of the three voting acts currently in play, the John Lewis Act seems like the easiest to pass, since Congress has repeatedly reauthorized the 1965 Voting Rights Act, most recently in 2006 by a vote of 98–0 in the Senate and 390–33 in the House of Representatives.
And yet, even this measure will be a hard sell for today’s extremist Republicans. When House Democrats brought the John Lewis bill up for a vote in August, not a single Republican voted for it.
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Notes:
https://apnews.com/article/facebook-frances-haugen-congress-testimony-af86188337d25b179153b973754b71a4
https://www.commerce.senate.gov/2021/10/protecting%20kids%20online:%20testimony%20from%20a%20facebook%20whistleblower
https://www.wsj.com/articles/facebook-whistleblower-frances-haugen-set-to-appear-before-senate-panel-11633426201
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2021/10/04/biden-mcconnell-debt-limit-filibuster/
https://politicalwire.com/2021/10/05/schumer-sets-vote-to-lift-debt-ceiling/
Andy Stone @andymstoneFacebook Statement on today's Senate Subcommittee Hearing.
86 Retweets199 Likes
October 5th 2021
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1WPOaPE6MyWMdMV9f218nsSjGGrmSjnkw/view
https://www.businessinsider.com/trump-deposition-summer-zervos-lawsuit-expected-before-christmas-2021-10
Adam Jentleson 🎈 @AJentlesonThis is your tell. McConnell is forcing Dems into a position where filibuster reform is clearly their best and perhaps only option. Why? Because he can’t control his conference. Reconciliation presents multiple chances for obstruction and he can’t guarantee Rs won’t exploit them. GOP Sen @RoyBlunt tells us he and probably 44 GOP colleagues would be willing to give consent to waive debt limit filibuster but other 5-6 senator would not give UC
Erik Wasson @elwasson
172 Retweets502 Likes
October 6th 2021
https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2021/10/john-eastment-jeffrey-clark-coup-consequences.html
https://www.ktvb.com/article/news/politics/idaho-lt-gov-janice-mcgeachin-vaccine-passport-order-covid-19/277-38c2fcb5-814b-4d33-ac7a-d9c6575cfe64
https://www.politico.com/news/2021/10/05/idaho-governor-guard-border-vaccines-515194
https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2021/us/covid-cases.html
LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN
HEATHER COX RICHARDSON
#Letters From An American#Heather Cox Richardson#political#reconciliation#corrupt GOP#criminal GOP#facebook
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From Margarita Legasova’ book “Academician Valery Alekseevich Legasov”
Travelling around the country
In one of the TV programs, someone imprudently called academician Valery Legasov a religious person. It’s not true.
Reflections on the meaning of intelligent life and on life in general, its origins, the tragedy of existence and death has always been a profound source of inspiration for creative people. Since the fall of 1987, Valery Alekseevich re-read the Bible. He was not baptized and did not give preference to any of the religions. In a primitive sense, he wasn’t a believer, did not fetishize religious rituals, symbols. On the other hand, to all the outward appearances of religiosity he showed great respect. He was never engaged in antithesis, although the environment brought him up as an atheist. In high, philosophical sense, he was interested in the ideas of the Cosmos.
Everything related to religion for him, a materialist scientist, has been a kind of historical and cultural heritage. Religious buildings, as well as other material values passing from one generation to another, in his perception only emphasized their spiritual continuity. One can say that he was curious about this aspect of human existence. For any manifestation of a high human spirit, Valery Alekseevich felt the deepest respect, bordering on admiration. He had a particular weakness for the East. During official trips to Bukhara, Samarkand, and Turkestan, he always visited historical and architectural monuments and mosques.
After the May holidays in 1983, Valery offered me to accompany him to Alma-Ata: from May 11 to May 13, there was a meeting of the Bureau Of the Commission on hydrogen energy of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR. After the end of the evening session, we were happy to see the exhibits of the archaeological Museum. Many things attracted our attention – samples of ceramics, pieces made of bronze, bone, stone, wood, jewelry made of iron, silver, bronze with chalcedony and carnelian, agates and turquoise, gold jewelry from the Issyk mound. In this Museum we first heard about the grave of Saint Khodj Ahmed Yassavi in Turkestan (formerly the city of Yasi). It is 900 kilometers from Alma-Ata, near Chimkent.
What we learned had sunk into our hearts, and in autumn, at the beginning of September, Valery invited me to accompany him to Chimkent for the scientific conference "Khimreaktor-9".
Three and a half hours after departure from Moscow, the plane landed in Chimkent, from where a little later we left for Turkestan.
The ancient city of Yasi was once destroyed by the troops of Genghis Khan. In 1934, having finally defeated the Golden Horde Khan Tokhtamysh, Emir Timur indicated the place where the future Shrine of Islam – the mausoleum of Khoja Ahmed Yassavi - was to be built.
This monument was built in honor of the ancient Turkic poet and Sufi preacher Ahmed Yassavi who lived in the XII century. The collection of his edifying poems "Hikmet", which means "wisdom", is widely known. We bowed to the jade tombstone.
Perhaps a close acquaintance with the history of religions, the spiritual heritage of our great predecessors on Earth strengthened Valery Alekseevich in the idea that any evil is punishable.
On October 29, 1986, my husband returned from Chernobyl once again, and on October 30 we flew to Dushanbe: Valery Alekseevich accepted an invitation to participate in the 21st Avicenna reading, to give a lecture "Chemical aspects of scientific and technological progress." On this trip, we were looked after by the president of the Academy of Sciences of the Tajik SSR, a philosopher, an interesting person, Muhammad Sayfitdinovich Asimov.
I remember that on this trip there were many excursions around the city and its surroundings. We visited all the monuments, honored the memory of Avicenna, visited the graves of ballerina Malika Sabirova, literary figures F. Mukhammadiev and Tursun-Zade. We visited the repository of ancient manuscripts. We saw the windswept Varzob gorge, the mighty Hissar ridges. The atmosphere of the whole trip was highly intellectual.
In my heart, I am grateful to all those who are more or less were involved in organizing excursions in the short hours that Valery Alekseevich could devote to rest - in Azebrajjan, Kazakhstan, Lithuania, Moldova, Tajikistan, the far East and other places.
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Hyde United v Burnley — a personal memory
This is my recollection of the Hyde United v Burnley FA Cup tie in 1983 and the events surrounding it. As Lockdown 3 has closed Tameside Local Studies and Archives Centre, I’ve been unable to double-check some of the facts. Even so, it’s how I remember things.I hope you enjoy it.
THE FA Cup first-round match at Burnley is unique in Hyde United's long history. While it was unquestionably one of the greatest events the club has known, it was also the most divisive.
Many supporters remember it as one of the best days of their life. Yet even now, almost 40 years later, there are others who will tell you they refused to go to the game and have never set foot in Ewen Fields since the autumn of 1983.
The cause of the controversy was the Hyde directors' decision to play the home tie at Turf Moor. Some saw it as sound common sense while others looked upon the switch as an act of betrayal. It can still fray tempers.
Perhaps things might have been a little calmer if the board had stuck to one consistent message. While I never believed Ewen Fields was capable of accommodating a tie involving a third division (league one) club — not from the moment the balls came out of the FA's famous velvet bag — the initial signals from the board were that the tie would go ahead in Hyde.
One or two directors may have got ahead of themselves before a final decision was made, and spoken out of turn. Possibly some people, including me, misunderstood. But when it was eventually announced that the game was being moved to Burnley the air was suddenly so full of the smell of burning rubber that it felt as though a handbrake turn had been made.
When Hyde United's journey to the first round began, the club wasn't really at peace with itself. At the end of the previous season the directors had astonished the fans by dispensing with the services of manager Les Sutton. After cryptic messages in the North Cheshire Herald, chairman Peter Pluck stated that Sutton's contract was not being renewed as the directors felt he had taken the Tigers as far as he could.
Many supporters begged to differ. Sutton was a popular figure who had won a stack of trophies including the Cheshire League championship which had led to Hyde returning to the Northern Premier League. They couldn't understand Peter Pluck's reasoning and didn't accept it. They felt there must have been some underlying issues.
Sutton's replacement was Chorley boss Peter Wragg. Maybe it was the fact he replaced Sutton in such controversial circumstances, maybe it was because Wragg had been a Stalybridge Celtic manager, but the Tigers fans never really took to him. When he quit in 1986, Wragg described his time at Ewen Fields as something like an unconsummated marriage. it had never quite worked out.
In some ways, Hyde were underachievers during his tenure. Although there were some very promising moments, including an appearance in the NPL Cup final, and some excellent signings, such as striker John Timmons, they never quite challenged for the title. League finishes were disappointing.
Yet they did reach the first round of the FA Cup for the first time in 29 years and it was at the end of a run that was far from easy and featured some memorable victories.
In the first qualifying round, Darwen from the North West Counties League, were expected to pose few problems and so it proved. They were dispatched 3-0 at Ewen Fields thanks to goals from Steve Johnson, Peter Coyne and Terry Cook. That, however, was as easy as it got.
Hyde's next opponents were Runcorn, then one of the most powerful outfits in non-league football and boasting a very impressive record in terms of silverware. They had been Alliance (Conference) champions in 1981-2; won the Alliance Cup, reached the FA Cup first round and finished fourth the year after; and were on their way to fifth place in the 1983-3 season.
In 1986 they were beaten finalists in the FA Trophy and starting a run of five consecutive Cheshire Senior Cup wins at a time when it was a very strong competition and taken very seriously. Runcorn, Altrincham and Northwich Victoria all played at non-league's top level while clubs like Hyde, Stalybridge Celtic and Witton Albion were ambitious and difficult to beat.
Even many of the the home fans, if they were honest, were expecting Runcorn to win. Yet the Tigers produced one of their best-ever displays to not only beat their mighty opponents, but humble them. It was giant-killing at its non-league best.
The difference between the sides was George Oghani, who rendered the gap in status between the two clubs null and void. Right from the start Runcorn had no idea how to handle him. George ran the game and claimed one of the goals in a 3-0 win, the others coming from David Holt and Peter Coyne. His performance has to rank as one of the greatest by a Hyde player.
And it wasn't only the Ewen Fields spectators who were impressed. George was barely out of the showers before being whisked to Burnden Park where he was signed by John McGovern. The deal would have put some welcome money in the Tigers' bank account but it also deprived them of their best player. That didn't bode well for the rest of the FA Cup.
When the draw was made for the third qualifying round it gave Hyde another home tie, but against Tameside neighbours Stalybridge Celtic whose boss was former Tigers star striker Pete O'Brien who would soon return to Ewen Fields for a successful stint as manager.
Although Hyde were were probably favourites, the Bridge would be no pushovers. There was a bitter rivalry between the clubs and while Celtic had ended the Seventies as the more successful side, the Tigers had overtaken them in the Eighties. It was a big match in every sense of the word and Stalybridge were more than capable of putting in the necessary big performance.
In the end, Hyde won 2-0 in one of the very rare matches at Ewen Fields to be marred by crowd trouble.
The fourth qualifying round put the Tigers 90 minutes from the first round proper, a stage they hadn't reached since 1954 when they lost to a third division (north) Workington side managed by Bill Shankly. It was good to dream but everyone knew Hyde had form for falling at the last fence.
In 1981 they had lost to Horden Colliery Welfare of the Northern League, so even though they got yet another home draw, there was a feeling of apprehension when they were paired with Blyth Spartans.
Blyth had a national reputation as an FA Cup team. In 1978, in times when everyone wanted to win the competition and no one fielded weakened sides, they had almost reached the quarter-finals which was an unbelievable achievement for a non-league outfit. Among their victims were Stoke City.
The Northern League was also something of a mystery. It included clubs such as Bishop Auckland and Crook Town who had dominated the old FA Amateur Cup, but it had remained separate from the newly-established non-league pyramid. It was known for good teams, tough-tackling and unwelcoming grounds.
A big crowd gathered at Ewen Fields to watch the tie on October 29 and there was a belief that the "impossible" might happen when Hyde took the lead through Peter Coyne. In those days, before the ground was redeveloped, the hardcore fans packed into the Tinker's Passage stand behind the Mottram Road goal and on the day the noise was deafening and the atmosphere electric.
But Spartans came back to grab an equaliser and a replay. Two days later it was discovered the winners would be home to Burnley. It was the perfect first-round tie but no one relished the thought of an early-November midweek trip to a ground north of Newcastle and with a small squad affected by injuries. The odds were firmly stacked against the Tigers going through.
As I was a postman and needed to be in work at the old Hyde Sorting Office at 5am, I was unable to go. In those pre-internet, pre-mobile phone days I had to rely on someone to call me with the result.
I fully expected the worst but when the phone rang, Dave Gresty informed me over a crackly line from a Northumberland phone box, that Hyde had actually won 4-2. Even though we only had 11 fit players, and Peter Wragg had been forced to name himself as sub, we had achieved the unexpacted. Wraggy celebrated by pouring the trainer's bucket over himself. Gary Blore, Peter Coyne, Charlie Pawsey and Kevin Glendon were the scorers.
The next morning, wherever I went, I was asked the same question: would Hyde really face Burnley at Ewen Fields? My reply was always that I couldn't see how it would be possible. But eventually I was abruptly told by a director that the tie would be played at home, so that's what I told people and the view that gained general acceptance over the next day or two.
Whether that director spoke for the club, or spoke too soon, I don't know. He may have thought the rest of the board would follow his lead, he may have got ahead of himself or he may have been talking through his hat, but as the realisation dawned that the tie had been switched, disappointment mixed with anger in many parts of the town.
To be fair, when club chairman Peter Pluck spoke to the supporters he made some very valid arguments. Although modernisation had begun at Ewen Fields it was in a dilapidated state. The main stand was made of wood and rather than having seats it had benches. No one was sure how many people could fit into it comfortably. There was no directors box. The so-called boardroom was small and grubby.
Nobody really knew the ground's capacity. Old programmes had given the record attendance as 9,500 against Nelson in 1950, yet the actual crowd that day was 7,200. As Peter Pluck said, if 5,000 tickets were sold but the stadium was full at 4,000, there was little to stop the other 1,000 pushing down a wall or fence to get in.
There was a general lack of manpower and facilities for a game that would attract thousands. There were many safety questions. How would a programme be produced and distributed considering it was usually printed on a hand-cranked duplicator in a garage? And of course the financial implications couldn't simply be ignored. Hyde would make a considerable amount of much-needed money by playing at Turf Moor in front of a much bigger crowd.
Of course these arguments cut no ice with some people and still don't. Even though the supporters club committee only numbered about a dozen, ranging from some who did a great deal to some who did relatively little, chairman Alan Barton was bitterly disappointed by the decision to switch.
The atmosphere became even more heated when Reporter sports editor Martyn Torr weighed in. Forty years ago the paper was required reading for anyone interested in Tameside football carrying columns of reports, news and gossip. In a strongly-worded editorial Torry railed against the Hyde directors and accused them of looking after the gin-and-tonic brigade instead of the ordinary fans. That was taken to be a swipe at Peter Pluck.
A week later, the argument raged on in the Reporter in a way that would be unthinkable now. The newspaper, which was broadsheet in those days, must have had two pages of letters on the subject of Hyde United v Burnley. The town was divided and it seemed there was no middle ground.
Even so, on November 19, 1983, the tie drew the biggest FA Cup crowd of the day — more than 9,000. Hyde United Supporters' Club must have organised at least ten coaches while others made their own way to north Lancashire.
And those who did go witnessed a splendid performance by the Tigers who were in no way intimidated by an expensive side managed by former Manchester City boss John Bond and featuring players like Scotland international Tommy Hutchinson and million-pound man Kevin Reeves. Hyde may have lost 2-0 but they fought every step of the way and Kevin Glendon was so impressive that Bond signed him.
The line-up on that day was Colin Darcy, Tony Steenson, Kevin Glendon, Steve Johnson, Gary Blore, Brian Hart, David Holt, Peter Coyne, Charlie Pawsey, Terry Cook and Barry Howard with Peter Coutts as substitute.
Somehow, for all the tempers lost and cheers raised, for all the highs and lows, for all the emotion expended, everything ended on a comic note.
As it was such a landmark day in Hyde United's history, the directors had decided to have the match videoed, which was quite a radical move for 1983 when affordable VCRs had only just come onto the market. There was one tape, and it was duly given to Peter Pluck to look after.
Some days later, Plucky decided to watch it and pushed the cassette into his machine. The titles flickered up showing "Hyde United v Burnley (FA Cup)" and then there was a bit of a snowstorm followed by some jaunty yet by familiar music. The no-recording tab hadn't been snapped off and Peter's young daughter had used the tape to record Tom and Jerry cartoons.
A great moment in history was lost, but it's probably better to end with laughter than anger.
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The Top 25 Teams of the Decade: #10 Stanford
Hello everybody, we’re celebrating the arrival of the 2020′s by looking at the 25 best programs of the previous decade.
We’re on to the top ten to celebrate the #10 team from the 2010′s:
Leland Stanford Junior University Cardinal
Record: 98-35 (.737)
Division Titles: 5
Conference Titles: 3
Bowl Seasons: 9
Major Bowls: 5
Final Top 25 Finishes: 7
Final Top 10 Finishes: 4
Final Top 5 Finishes: 2
Best Season: 2010
Stanford had their best decade since Pop Warner nearly 100 years ago. The Cardinal have never been consistently good this long in program history. Part of the great story was just how bad Stanford was in the 2000′s, the Cardinal spent most of the decade as one of the worst BCS conference teams in the country before Jim Harbaugh came to town and turned everything around.
By 2010, Harbaugh had Stanford firing on all cylinders. In just his 4th year in Palo Alto, the Cardinal were one of the best teams in the nation even if nobody knew it at the time. Led by Heisman hopeful QB Andrew Luck, Stanford’s offense put up monstrous numbers. Despite starting the season unranked, the Cardinal quickly climbed up to 9th in the AP Poll by October with huge wins over UCLA and Notre Dame. Stanford had to topple heir-presumptive #4 Oregon in order to claim the PAC-10 title from the Ducks, but they lost in Eugene 31-52 as they were boat-raced by perhaps the best of the Kelly UO teams. The Cardinal were nearly upset by USC the next week, but regained their footing, and won out relatively unchallenged. 11-1 Stanford was pitted against ACC champion #12 Virginia Tech in the Orange Bowl. The Cardinal blew out the overmatched Hokies 40-12 to claim their first major bowl since the 1972 Rose Bowl and finished in the top 5 for the first time since 1940.
Jim Harbaugh’s work was done in Palo Alto, and the architect of Stanford’s turnaround left for the NFL, leaving OC and alum David Shaw in charge. Andrew Luck stayed on despite significant NFL interest, citing unfinished business. The Cardinal raced out to a 7-0 start, hammering all comers and averaging well over 45 points per game. The first real threat was again USC, the Trojans gave Stanford all they could handle, taking the Cardinal to triple overtime before falling at home in a 56-48 barn burner. #3 Stanford climbed all the way to 9-0 before once again reckoning with #6 Oregon. For the second year in a row, College Gameday was present as the nation watched the Cardinal once again fail to outpace the Ducks. Stanford lost 30-53 and was once again knocked out of the BCS Championship Game and Rose Bowl in one blow. Once again 11-1, Stanford was matched up against #3 Oklahoma State in the Fiesta Bowl. Special teams errors kept the Cowboys in the game and OK State eventually sealed the game in overtime 41-38. It was still one of the most successful season in program history, even if everybody on the Cardinal felt they could have done better.
Andrew Luck was now gone, and 2012 began with big questions on the offense. Stanford upset national champion hopeful USC, but struggled to score in that game, as well as in tight losses to Washington and Notre Dame. David Shaw threw in redshirt freshman Kevin Hogan to stabilize the offense and the Cardinal regained their form. Stanford rattled off four wins to climb up to #14 in the nation before their fateful date with undefeated #1 Oregon. The formerly snake-bitten Cardinal completely shut down the Ducks’ high flying offense and Stanford won in overtime, 17-14. The Cardinal claimed the North division and then beat UCLA in the PAC-12 Championship to win the conference for the first time since 1999. #8 Stanford was pitted against Wisconsin in the Rose Bowl and the Cardinal won 20-14 in a game that didn’t feature too many fireworks. It added a bit of closure to the 2010 and 2011 teams that failed to make it to Pasadena, though once again there were grumblings that the team could have reached even higher if the offense had been reworked earlier in the season.
2013 was another successful year on The Farm. Stanford had now reoriented itself fully into a hard-nosed, defense-oriented squad that dominated the lines. The Cardinal began the year 5th in the nation and remained there for the first month and a half before falling to Utah 27-21 in Salt Lake City. Solid wins over #9 UCLA and #2 Oregon saw Stanford’s defense put on a clinic against the mighty Ducks. The 8-1 Cardinal once again climbed to 5th in the polls before losing to rival USC 17-20 in the Coliseum. Thanks to an Oregon loss to Arizona, Stanford was able to remain in the North race. The Cardinal rebounded once more, winning the PAC-12 with an easy 38-14 win over Arizona State in the PAC-12 Championship Game. 11-2 Stanford was once again 5th in the AP poll and faced off against Big Ten Champ #4 Michigan State in the Rose Bowl. This time, the Cardinal were held off by the stout Spartans, who more or less beat Stanford at their own game in a 24-20 trench battle.
The Cardinal began 2014 with high hopes, but luck was not on Stanford’s side this year. The Cardinal lost to USC by 3, the Notre Dame by 3, before Arizona State really shut down Stanford 26-10. The lackluster Cardinal were then blown out by Playoff bound Oregon before falling to Utah in double overtime, again by 3 points. 5-5 Stanford was a far cry from the powerhouse it had been in the previous several years, but they finished strong to come end the year 8-5 and in the top 20 of many computer rankings in a very strong PAC-12 field.
2015 started off on the wrong foot to say the least. The Cardinal carried their troubles scoring into the new season, stalling out in a frustrating game against Northwestern 6-16. Then, they realized how to orient the offense around Christian McCaffrey and the rest is history. Stanford would never score fewer than 30 points for the rest of the season. The Cardinal obliterated #6 USC and then easily outpaced #18 UCLA among mostly easy victories over the rest of the PAC-12′s crop. Stanford was 8-1 and on the outside of the Playoff race when Oregon came calling. This was the last proper year of the Stanford-Oregon saga, and the Ducks finally got to repay the Cardinal for ruining their seasons in 2012 and 2014. Unranked Oregon upended Stanford 38-36 in Palo Alto to knock the Cardinal out of the Playoff race. The damage had already been done, and despite losing to the Ducks, Stanford already had the PAC-12 well in hand. A win over #4 Notre Dame knocked the Irish out of the Playoff before the Cardinal beat rival #24 USC in the PAC-12 Championship to confirm their trip to the Rose Bowl. Stanford was given #5 Iowa as a consolation prize for not making the Playoff, and the Cardinal demolished the Hawkeyes 45-16 in one of the most lopsided Rose Bowl victories of all time. Stanford finished 3rd in the final AP poll, their highest finish in the 2010′s.
The Cardinal returned all-world Christian McCaffrey in 2016, but struggled to replace Kevin Hogan behind center. Stanford started the season 8th in the polls but quickly dropped all the way out thanks to back to back blowout losses to Washington and Washington State. A 10-5 loss at home to Colorado was an extra twist of the knife that left the Cardinal well out of the North division race. Stanford did end up winning their final 6 games and finished the year 10-3 and 12th in the polls to recoup most of their hurt pride. 2017 was similarly disappointing. Back to back losses to USC and San Diego State dropped the Cardinal from the rankings again. A win over #20 Utah helped to bring the squad back to 6-2, but a tight 21-24 loss to Wazzu on the Palouse was another setback. Stanford rebounded the next week with a 30-22 win over #9 Washington and followed that up with an easy 38-20 win over #9 Notre Dame. Stanford was once again in the PAC-12 Championship Game, but this time not as an easy favorite. The #14 Cardinal faltered against #11 USC in their first loss in Santa Clara. A frustrating loss the TCU in the Alamo capped the season.
A slow leaking of talent began to take its toll in 2018. Stanford was no longer the team it had been in the first half of the decade, and sustained regular losses. After a 4-0 start, the Cardinal lost 4 of 5 to drop well out of the division race. They ended the year 9-4 but going 9-4 in the PAC-12 meant a lot less in 2018 than it did in 2013 or 2014. In 2019, Stanford really started to unravel, sustaining heavy injuries to finish a dreadful 4-8, their worst record since 2007.
It’s hard to say where the Cardinal go from here. They will likely regain their foothold as a regular bowl team, but it’s hard seeing Stanford get back to regular Rose Bowl competition. David Shaw is as committed as they come to sustaining success on The Farm. Time will tell.
The 2010′s will go down as a monumental success for the Cardinal. Stanford had a winning record against all its major rivals: outpacing Notre Dame 6-4 and USC 7-5. They absolutely dominated UCLA 10-1 and most importantly pounded Cal into the ground 9-1, easily their most dominant stretch against any of the other California teams since they began playing.
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Ch9 Time and Again
I’m sorry this is so late y'all! The day got away from me again. But here we are! I hope you enjoy the new chapter!
Ao3 link
All the love and thanks to @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 for all their love and support, besides beta services! I couldn’t have done this without y'all!
Also a huge shoutout and internet hug to the CSSNS discord ladies for all their encouragement and love as I worked on this all summer!
And thank you to all of you who are reading! Your messages thrill me to no end!!! They make all the work, all the blood, sweat, and tears worth it!!! Thank you from the bottom of my heart!!!
Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree
Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.
Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.
The month since they’d gotten back from their trip had been the happiest month of her life. She could see why it was called the honeymoon phase. Sultry looks and secret smiles, stolen kisses in offices and sometimes more, nights spent at one of their places. If she thought that working together would be awkward, she was very pleasantly surprised to find that Killian, mostly, maintained his professionalism when there was work to be done, but as soon as it was, he was her tender and affectionate lover.
Word of their relationship had spread through the office like wildfire when they returned. It was too coincidental for them both to take a weeks vacation time. At the same time. With no contact during the week. Or advance notice. Killian had to tell Liam, and with Liam came Belle. Granny of course already knew. But it was arriving at work on Monday with a still visible hickey on her neck, even covered with makeup, that she faced the full scrutiny, interrogation, and subsequent delight of Ruby and Mary Margaret. She kept trying to tell them that it wasn’t serious at this point, but she couldn’t avoid the knowing looks thrown her way when she came out of Killian’s office with mussed hair and flushed cheeks. She was just thankful that M’s never gave her an ‘I told you so.’
The week after they got back, the meeting with Tiger Lily happened and the firm was hired to handle her advertising. With the new client and Killian being somewhat distracted with the planned opening of the LA office after the new year, she had nearly forgotten about being in the running for the Vice President of Marketing position there. Almost. She was starting to worry a little bit, seeing as they were now well into October and she still hadn’t heard anything. She didn’t want to mention her anxiety to Killian, because it would make her feel like she was taking advantage of their relationship. She simply told herself that if she hadn’t heard anything, then the other candidates probably hadn’t either, and she was simply going to have to wait just like them. Plus, and this was a pretty silly thought, with the complication of the new relationship, she didn’t want to remind him that she may soon be leaving him.
But that begged the question. Would she be leaving him? She had told herself that she was in this for the long haul. She loved him. But she also wanted the promotion. She wanted the paycheck and the recognition that came from her hard work. In LA, she’d essentially be in Killian’s position here. She’d have the freedom to take on new clients and she’d have people working under her. But did she really want that? She had people working under her here too. And Killian was here. She had to admit, staying here with him was the biggest draw to actually turning down the promotion if it was offered to her. She knew she loved him, wanted to stay with him, wanted a future with him, wanted forever with him. He all but said he loved her and wanted a future with her on their trip, but without those three little words, she didn’t want to lay out plans with any certainty one way or the other.
With the busyness at work and these kind of thoughts swirling through her mind, it was no wonder that she was susceptible to the illness that was making its way through the office. Aches and pains and digestive issues at all hours of the day and night were really starting to take their toll on her. After three nights in a row of strange, but normal strange, dreams that woke her up with such nausea, that she’d need to vomit before she could sleep again, Killian insisted she take today off, since they had the long holiday weekend ahead of them. She couldn’t argue too much given how truly rotten she felt, and when Killian kissed her goodbye and left for the office, she gratefully fell right back asleep.
~*~*~
“LA,” Liam Jones announced walking in to his office. Killian turned away from his computer and waved a hand at the conference table as he rose to greet his brother. Sitting down at the table, Liam continued. “It’s time we made a decision, little brother.”
“Younger brother,” he muttered under his breath, rifling through his desk. He pulled out the files of the final three candidates for the position. “Emma Swan, August Booth, and Greg Mendel,” he said, coming over to the table. “All qualified candidates, all with management experience.” He settled himself down in one of the chairs. “I have to say brother, I think Emma is the one we need out there. I have first hand knowledge and experience working with her, and I can personally attest to her work ethic and the quality of the work she puts out. She would be a tremendous asset in that market.”
Liam leveled an assessing look at him. “What about you? What about your relationship?” he asked.
Damn, he thought, I should have known he wouldn’t just take my spill without questioning my motives. Killian scratched behind his ear and wouldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “Well, uh, truthfully brother…”
“Yes,” Liam prompted, without taking his eyes off his sibling.
“Truthfully,” he continued, looking down at his shoes, “I love her Liam,” he vowed with a sigh, finally looking in his brother’s face.
“Then why are you trying to convince me that she’d be of more use in southern California?” Liam’s voice was confused, but with an edge to it that he didn’t often see in him.
“I don’t know how she feels about me,” he nearly whispered. “I mean, not for sure.” He swallowed hard and looked away again. “I know I love her, and I want to be with her. Forever. But she’s never given me any indication that she feels the same way. I’m sure she cares about me, but I don’t know if what she feels for me is enough for her to stay here. I guess I’d just like to see what she’d do. If presented with the choice…” he trailed away.
“Oh, Killian,” Liam sighed, “You just want to know if you’re enough, don’t you?” Killian nodded, shamefaced at his cowardly action. “Have you talked to her about it? At all?” Liam implored him. “No, I don’t expect you have, have you? Killian, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. You have to fight for her. If you want her, you have to fight for her; for your relationship. Let her know exactly what you feel. Exactly what you want. Would you follow her there?” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture with a shake of his head. “Never mind. We can work out the details of the promotion later. Is she worth it?”
Pure, unadulterated shock bloomed over his face. “How can you even ask that, brother?” he thundered, “Of course she is!”
“Well then what are you still sitting there for, boy?” A new voice pierced the tension in the room. “I gave you that ring for a reason! Now go get her!” Granny stood at the door of his office, hands on her hips. Just like when he was growing up and she was about to give him a tongue lashing. His response was automatic.
“Yes, ma’am,” he yelped, nearly jumping out of his seat. “She’s at the house. She hasn’t been sleeping well and feeling pretty crummy. I think she may have the flu. We’ll see you on Tuesday,” he threw over his shoulder as he passed Granny in the doorway.
Granny turned to Liam with an amused smile on her face. “Well, that’s one way to get him moving,” she affectionately groused, “And what about you, young man? Your mother’s ring shouldn’t be gathering dust anymore. It’s high time for it to have a new home.”
Liam jumped up almost as fast as Killian had done, face as red as a tomato, stammering out all his reasons why he hadn’t made that leap for himself. Trying to dart by her, she reached up and cuffed him on the ear before chuckling, she turned to follow him out of the office.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Emma?” he whispered, “Emma? Are you here?” Killian entered the bedroom, hoping to find his love still asleep. His forehead furrowed in confusion when all he found was an empty bed. He turned and headed to the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t find her in there still sick. When he found the bathroom deserted, he moved back to the front of the house wondering if he had missed her somehow. When he came in the garage door, he’d gone straight to his office to get the ring that Granny had given him about a year after Milah had died to give to his intended. Her words, not his. She didn’t want him to lose hope that he might find love again. But after her statement back at the office, he wondered if perhaps she might have seen something even then.
When he didn’t find Emma on the couch, he pulled out his phone to call her when he saw a note on the bar.
Hey Babe,
I remembered that I needed to go pick something up. Then I’m heading home afterward to hopefully get some more sleep. I’ll call you tonight.
E
Killian was no fool and the note he held in his hand was quite disconcerting. The subtle hint that he wouldn’t be seeing her tonight left him feeling bereft and wondering why she felt the need to go back to her home instead of back here whenever she procured whatever she forgot. And did that mean that she was feeling better? Why didn’t she just call him and ask him to pick up whatever it was on his way home? He decided to call her anyway, just to see if she was feeling better and if she needed anything else. When his call went to voicemail, his mild worry over her location and well being turned into concern and even fear that threatened to eat a hole in his heart until he could see and hold her for himself.
Stuffing the ring in his pocket, he left his house and headed for Swan’s apartment. Praying the entire way that she was okay.
~*~*~
Emma sat on the sofa stunned. Pregnant. She was pregnant. She looked down again at the wand in her hand, just to make sure that there was no trace of a Not in the window of the test. Why didn’t she see it sooner? Why didn’t she even consider the possible consequences of the nights, and days, of passion she shared with Killian on their getaway? Why didn’t she notice before now that her period was late?
Waking up after falling back asleep after Killian left for work, she noticed the date on her phone. October 10. Going back through her calendar, she saw that her period should have arrived around the first of the month. She put her face in her hands. How did I miss this? She was usually so methodical and particular about things. Honeymoon phase, indeed. She was so busy at work and so busy being in love that the usual discipline that characterized her life was completely absent. She should have noticed… hell, she shook her head, she should have thought about birth control. How was she going to tell him?
And she would definitely have to tell him. She needed to go back to his place, she thought with dismay. The note she left him would probably leave him in a tizzy over where she was and if she was okay. He wouldn’t be back home for a few more hours, so she could sit here for a little while longer and try to come to terms with the knowledge herself.
She was jerked out of her thoughts when she heard a key in the lock. Looking around, she quickly shoved the pregnancy test under a throw pillow and lay down on it just as the door opened. Killian came in calling her name. “Emma?”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, maybe a little more harsh than she needed to.
“I came to check on you,” he replied. “Your note left me a little concerned with how you’d been feeling lately.” He sat down on the sofa and pulled her feet into his lap.
“But, why are you home early?” she questioned. “I realized that the way I worded that note, probably wasn’t the best and I was planning on coming back before you’d get home.”
“Oh, well,” he replied, scratching behind his ear, “Yes, that. Uh, we need to talk, Emma.” He looked away from her and she saw his cheeks and the tips of his ears bloom a bright red.
“I find that when someone says that,” she nearly whispered, “I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”
He turned his face back towards her with a jerk. “What?” he asked, alarmed. “Oh, no, no, no Swan. No. I mean,” he continued, looking away from her again, sheepishly, “I hope, no. But that’s really up to you…” he trailed away, looking at her feet in his lap. He started rubbing nonsense into the arch of her foot that threatened to send her thoughts into totally inappropriate territory given the preface he’d just given her.
“What is it, Killian?” she breathed, before she totally lost herself to his ministrations.
“Uhm, us… and the promotion.” He looked back at her with his heart as well as trepidation in his eyes.
“Yes?”
“Liam, and Granny too for that matter,” he began, shrugging his shoulders and looking down, “made me see something. They made me realize that while I know how I feel about you, and I thought I’d made it pretty clear over the last few weeks, I never told you explicitly.” Emma’s heart thundered in her ears. “And with the decision of the promotion looming, we needed to be on the same page, one way or the other.” Emma nodded, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. Was it possible?
“Liam always says that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. So I am here today to fight for you, Emma. Fight for us.” He got up off the sofa and sank down on his knees before her. His blazing blue eyes delved deep into hers. “I love you, Emma. I have for a long time. And there is nothing I want more than for you to stay right here. With me, with your family and friends. If your heart is set on this promotion, then I hope that you would allow me to come with you. Because if there is one thing I want you to know Emma,” he took her hand in his, “it’s that I’ll always, always be by your side. If you’ll have me. Emma Swan,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out a very familiar ring. Emma let out a gasping sob. “Will you make me the happiest and most blessed man alive and consent to be my wife?”
She was nodding and laughing through her tears before he even finished asking. Leaning over to him, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him as if there was no tomorrow. Drawing him up to the sofa with her, he hovered over her, never releasing her lips. Finally parting, he wedged himself between her and the back of the sofa, drawing her into his arms. Lifting her left hand to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss to the knuckles before he opened his other hand that held the ring. She couldn’t hold back her gasp.
“That’s the same ring from the dream, isn’t it?” she wondered, stunned.
“Yes,” he affirmed, “it is. If I remember correctly, in the dream I had it commissioned?” It was more of a question than a statement, as evidenced by the shrug of his shoulders. “I think so anyway. But in truth, this ring was Granny’s. Her wedding ring. When my parents passed, she took it off. My mother’s wedding ring had survived the crash, and so she eventually planned to give it to Liam for his bride and she planned to give me hers. I obviously didn’t know about it when I proposed to and married Milah. About a year or so after I lost her, Granny gave it to me telling me not to lose hope that I’d find love again. But something she said today makes me wonder if she didn’t know something even then. You hadn’t been working here long, but it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she knew that you’d caught my eye. She’s a sly one for sure.”
She smiled gently at him. “What did she say?” she asked.
“She said, ‘I gave you that ring for a reason. Now go get her!’” He chuckled and raised her hand to put the ring on her finger. But before he could, she drew her hand away.
He looked at her in confusion. “What is it, Swan?” he inquired.
Now it was her turn to be nervous. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and couldn’t look at him. What if this changed things? What if he decided he didn’t want the baby? Didn’t want her? But he just asked her to marry him. That usually results in children, right? So he can’t be entirely opposed to the idea, right? Maybe just not quite this soon. She took a deep breath and looked at him. Reaching under the pillow she was laying on, she pulled out the positive pregnancy test. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at what she held in her hand. After a moment or two, those same eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline as he looked back at her, a look of hopeful joy in his eyes. “Emma?” he questioned, “Truly?” The excited shock on his face was comical, but she was able to hold back her laughter with the smile that broke over her face. A laugh burst from his throat as he took her face in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers. Her laugh broke free as he peppered kisses to her cheeks, eyelids, and nose.
“I take it that means you’re excited?” she asked.
“Oh Emma,” he breathed, “Shall I spell it out for you? Yes, I’m excited. You glorious, wondrous woman. What have I done to deserve you? Deserve this happiness?” His voice and tone lowered as he looked into her eyes again. “You’ve agreed to marry me, we’re having a baby, what more could I ask for?” He lowered his lips to hers again, kissing her thoroughly. When they broke apart, he asked, his eyes twinkling, “Now may I put the ring on your finger?”
She laughed again. “I had to be sure you’d still want to after my news,” she replied, holding her hand out to him. He pushed the ring onto her finger where it gleamed in the afternoon sun. “I love you too Killian,” she avowed, arresting him with her gaze, “And there is nothing I want more than to stay here, with you, with my family and friends. You’re everything I could ever want. Everything I could ever need.”
“As are you, my love,” he agreed, lowering his mouth to hers.
After that there were only sighs of happiness and moans of pleasure as they whispered words of love and longing and promise before their passion swept them away and deposited them on the shores of heaven on earth.
“Always and forever, Swan,” he murmured into her ear before sleep claimed them. “Always and forever.”
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DAVIE, Fla. — Jamaica’s consul general in South Florida held a party at his home on Wednesday night to celebrate the Reggae Girlz, the first national soccer team from the Caribbean to qualify for the Women’s World Cup.
The tables were set up around the pool and the players and their coaches were there, but every guest was asked to bring a little something extra: a donation of at least $100 to help Jamaica complete its preparations to compete at the World Cup in France next month. The tournament begins in less than two weeks, and so time, just like money, was short.
If the story of women’s soccer in recent years has been the ongoing fight for equal pay, there always has been a different inequality just below the surface. While women’s international soccer has made significant progress in some countries, support for it, especially financially, from individual federations and corporate sponsors continues to vary widely.
France, the host country for this year’s championship, has a thriving professional league, and its players have spent the last few weeks preparing for the World Cup at their federation’s national training center. The United States, the defending champion and a three-time winner of the tournament, is completing an opulent send-off tour across the country this weekend, replete with nationally-televised games on ESPN and giant billboards on big-city buildings.
Jamaica’s run-up to the World Cup, by contrast, has been much less visible, and its program’s mere existence far less financially secure. Historically, the Reggae Girlz have received tenuous support from their national federation. As recently as 2015, the federation cut off financing for the team entirely.
As a side trip on their road to France then, Jamaica’s women first detoured to South Florida, trying to raise money one contributor at a time to cover a shortfall — as much as $400,000 by one estimate — created by training camps, travel and warm-up matches, and to begin to establish a reserve that the team can draw on for current and future tournament costs. There was a fund-raiser and an auction of sports apparel at the consul general’s home; a pep rally at a chiropractic center; and an exhibition match on Thursday night preceded by a celebrity game featuring entertainers from Jamaica and Haiti.
But signs of the team’s struggles weren’t hard to find. At Wednesday’s party, the coaching staff wore shirts meant for the men’s national team, and used markers to scratch out that team’s nickname — “Reggae Boyz” — on the sleeves. Some Jamaican players still must buy their own cleats. And when the women’s team qualified for the World Cup last October outside of Dallas, several coaches went to Costco and paid out of their pockets for jackets so their players could train in the chilly, rainy weather.
No high-ranking official from the Jamaican federation was present to celebrate that momentous qualification in a penalty shootout against Panama, the team’s coaches said.
“Their attitude has been pretty poor,” goalkeeper Nicole McClure, 29, said of the Jamaican soccer federation. “We’ve always been an afterthought, and we’re still fighting for equality. We want a seat at the table. It’s been quite frustrating.”
In March, McClure, who grew up in Queens, held her own fund-raiser. She plays without compensation on a club team in Northern Ireland, and she needed money to pay for food, toiletries, a bus ticket, checked baggage for a flight and some soccer gear. Her needs were not uncommon for her team.
Yet she and her teammates — and Jamaica’s coaches — acknowledged this week that things are improving, at least for the moment. Jamaica’s World Cup players have signed a contract with the federation that will pay them $800 to $1,200 a month, retroactive to January, Coach Hue Menzies said. And Menzies, who has been working free since 2015, is to receive $40,000, he said. According to team officials, this is the first time a Caribbean women’s team has signed contracts with its national federation.
“We haven’t been paid,” Menzies said with a laugh. “But we signed a contract.”
Michael Ricketts, the president of Jamaica’s soccer federation, said that criticism of the organization had been “grossly unfair.” The federation has spent about $4 million on the women’s team since it began qualifying for the World Cup, he said. Costs to hold a weeklong training camp can run to $100,000, Ricketts said, and it has been a struggle to get spectators and corporate sponsors to embrace the team. Even so, he said, a women’s league in Jamaica has been restarted on a limited basis, as well as a youth program for players under 15.
Under the circumstances, Ricketts said, “We’ve done exceedingly well.”
The Reggae Girlz coaching staff disputed the $4 million figure. “No way,” said Lorne Donaldson, an assistant coach. “I don’t buy that.”
Instead, coaches and players widely credit a different benefactor, Cedella Marley, for resurrecting the women’s team with help from the Bob Marley Foundation, which is named after her musician father. Cedella Marley, angered by the sorry state of the program, was the one who spearheaded an international fund-raising effort to revive it several years ago, and she was the one who persuaded Menzies, who runs a prominent youth soccer club near Orlando, Fla., to become its coach.
Without Marley, McClure said, “There would be no Reggae Girlz.”
The Alacran Foundation, a philanthropic organization, also has become a benefactor of the team. And the Reggae Girlz Foundation, a nonprofit, is raising money for such things as medical equipment to help Jamaica prepare and compete at the World Cup, but also to support the team in coming Olympic qualifying and youth national team campaigns.
Money remained tight, though, as the team departed Friday for Europe, where it will play a warm-up match in Scotland before continuing on to France. Even after an initial payment of $480,000 from FIFA, soccer’s world governing body, for qualifying for the World Cup, and another payment of at least $750,000 to follow, Jamaica’s buildup to the tournament has faced about a $400,000 shortfall to cover costs of training camps, travel and practice matches, according to Lisa Quarrie, the vice president of the Reggae Girlz Foundation.
Long-term, the foundation is seeking to sustain women’s soccer in Jamaica by creating an academy, building an extensive youth development system and persuading men’s teams in the National Premier League, the country’s top division, to also sponsor women’s teams.
But first things first. The World Cup starts in two weeks, and no donation is considered too small, be it a $10 ticket to Thursday night’s celebrity match or a $25 contribution on the website of the Reggae Girlz Foundation.
“They need money all the way around,” Quarrie said. “We’re going to the World Cup on the fly.”
Women’s international soccer has long faced a Sisyphean battle to gain respect and support. The American women’s team continues to find it necessary to sue U.S. Soccer for gender discrimination. Players in Australia and elsewhere have refused to play matches, and stars in other countries went public with complaints on everything from training pay to a lack of games.
It has been a particularly tough slog in the Caribbean, where soccer has been blighted by corruption, and the women’s game especially has been widely dismissed. When Trinidad and Tobago arrived in Dallas for the final qualifying round of the 2015 Women’s World Cup, its coach, Randy Waldrum, sent out a financial S.O.S. via Twitter.
“I need HELP!” Waldrum wrote at the time. “T&T sent a team here last night with $500 total. No equipment such as balls, no transportation from airport to hotel, nothing.”
Haiti’s women’s team also attempted, just as futilely, to qualify for the 2015 World Cup, relying on benefactors at an extended training camp in South Bend, Ind. Its players and coach received no salary, and the team tried to make ends meet by selling rotisserie chickens and T-shirts, and holding clinics for churches and schools.
In Jamaica, soccer has been considered by many to be too rough of a sport for women and not sufficiently feminine. Players and officials hope that this summer’s World Cup appearance will help overcome the cultural stereotype, and that women’s soccer will be elevated at home in the way track and field became appreciated with the success of the sprinter Merlene Ottey, who won nine Olympic medals between 1980 and 2000.
“The men have always received far more support,” said Oliver Mair, Jamaica’s consul general for the Southern United States. “So when the women qualified for the World Cup, it caught us all by surprise.”
He added: “When you start on the road, you are on your own. They had a dream, a vision. They started to do well and more people have come on board.”
For now, Menzies and his staff have countered the lack of resources inside Jamaica by helping to place top women’s players at American universities and high schools, and in leagues in the United States and Europe.
Jamaica’s star forward, Khadija Shaw, known as Bunny, attended Tennessee, where she was the Southeastern Conference’s offensive player of the year in 2018. She, perhaps more than any other player, represents the indomitable perseverance of the Reggae Girlz, having maintained her career despite the deaths of three brothers in gang-related violence in Jamaica.
Kayla McCoy, a forward and midfielder who plays for the National Women’s Soccer League’s Houston Dash, said, “I think everybody carries self-pride about how far we’ve come but also a sense of humility just because of what people have had to overcome and what people have seen and what people have had to go through.”
She added: “Nothing was handed to anybody here.”
The goal for the Reggae Girlz at the World Cup is to advance out of a forbidding group that includes Brazil, Australia and Italy. Lingering is the question of whether the Jamaican federation will provide the necessary support to keep women’s soccer growing as an international power after the tournament ends.
Asked how confident he was in the federation’s long-term commitment, Menzies, the coach, said, “Not very.”
“But,” he added, “when they tell us no, that just fuels our fire.”
Jeré Longman | New York Times
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