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aonoexpat · 1 year

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Long time no blog

01-04-2023

I've been putting off writing another post for a long time now, I just hadn't found the time to take a moment and sit down for this. Things have been quite hectic, and it feels like months have passed since I wrote anything! I'm in this strange mixed state of thriving in some areas and just surviving in others. But finally the chaos seems to be settling down a bit. I'll give y'all an overview of what's been happening:

Work 💼

Out of those three jobs I mentioned I found, two of them could only offer me a casual contract, and the other one ended up hiring somebody else last minute. Bit disappointing, and quite stressful, because living expenses can be pretty high and I wouldn't feel very comfortable traveling around without saving some money first. I did consider trying my luck in different cities, but my flatmate got me in touch with another bar in the city, and yesterday I finally signed a part-time contract with them! I'll be starting next Tuesday. Combining that with the two casual jobs and busking (and perhaps other bars getting back to me) I'm hoping to finally start breaking even, or even better, be able to start saving 🤞 Oh and old bar news: that manager got fired! He'd been spreading more lies and gossip about me to my other colleagues, but we got to have a good laugh about it 😂 I'm so glad I was able to leave on good terms with them, because they were truly a lovely bunch of people!

Living Situation 🏡

Though living with my wonderful friends and third flatmate has been a blessing, I feel like I could save some money and effort by moving closer to the city. It currently takes me about 40 minutes by bus to get to the centre, or more than that to get to the markets I busk at. Those buses also stop running around 23:00, and frequently get cancelled due to staff shortage, so getting home after a hospitality shift or a night out can be a challenge. Besides that, getting my own place would help me feel a bit more independent. So I used the website roomies to search for a new flat, but that wasn't too successful. Apparently a lot is arranged through Facebook over here, and I don't have an account there. Luckily my dear mother allowed me to use hers, and I joined five flatmate searching pages. It was a bit of a culture shock to look for a room here. You don't look for three weeks from now, no, because all ads are from people looking for a new flatmate for three days from now. Europe's housing crises haven't reached this side of the world, so I could say goodbye to kijkavonden (Dutch room-searching ritual where several people are invited to the same flat at the same time and have to vy for the attention and good graces from the other tenants) and have a much more chill time with the whole process. Mind you, I was still quite picky myself, so I ended up messaging a total of 29 people, and going to 8 viewings. I sent out my first message on the 21st of March, and yesterday I started the process of becoming the new tenant of my new room! The room I got was my first choice, and though it's the cheapest room I've seen out there, it's clean, it's spacious, it's not at the top of one of Wellington's many hills (see how integrated I am, I've stopped calling them mountains!), it's a good distance from everything, it's not on a busy street and best of all: it doesn't have a mould problem like so many houses out here. Apparently that's a huge issue, as I've definitely witnessed in other houses, due to most buildings being made out of wood to make them more earthquake-resistant, humid weather and cold Antarctic (Southerly) winds. I'll be moving next week, and I'm very excited about it 😁

Music 🎶

The biggest reason why I decided to struggle through my lack of work and stay in Wellington was its never-ending music and art scene. I feel like I'm meeting incredible people left and right every day 💜 Here's a quick summary, please go check out their linked pages!

I've been getting together with another busker to jam and harmonise, which we're hoping to debut in public some time soon! He's one of the most humble but extremely talented people I've ever met, and I feel like we're quickly becoming good friends :)

I've been invited to sing in a band and apply my harmonising skills with them as well, which has been great fun. Joined in at one of their band practices, got to chill with their cat, and learned to sing their original songs! The leading lady said she'd love to write music for me and make me famous 🤩 Would be really cool to play a gig with them!

I met another musician on the bus who invited me to an open mic night, where I was blown away by the level of talent! One of the artists that played there invited me to a gig of theirs a couple weeks from now, and I'm going to try my very best to go. I exchanged a lot of compliments with the other singers, all in all felt like a great night!

I got to busk at "Wellington's most creative and diverse free arts festival", Cubadupa. It went wonderfully, I wore my favourite weird little outfit, got to sing songs from Frozen for the little kids that were wandering around, did some contact juggling, and got gifted a gorgeous pair of handmade earrings by Ear Vibes ❤️

I got approached by a very kind woman who ushered me into Newtown Acoustic Sound, a judgement-free, open-minded and welcoming little open mic night that has been running for 7.5 years now. I was lucky to be there and listen to the country sounds of Alan Downes, who was kind enough to invite me to his home in Napier should I pass through!

In general, every time I go busking I feel like I'm doing what I was meant to do. I made a little sign that says "Give me a smile! ... or change :)" and it's the best thing. Watching people read it, look up at me, and flash me a smile makes my day every single time. Kids are the absolute best, there was a young boy the other day who made his parents wait around for me to finish setting up the amp and start playing, and stayed to listen for four songs. Another time a tiny thing of a girl came galloping up to me with a 5$ note in her hand and just held it out to me, so I had to stop playing to accept it, and thanked her a bunch. Sometimes people donate something else, like an avocado or a pear that they just bought from one of the fruit and veggie stalls at the markets. The interactions with the people around me are very special to me, from one of the stall holders joining me for a couple songs to people telling me they thought it was the radio playing. From getting recommendations for new songs to learn, to meeting an elderly Dutch gentleman who was overjoyed to find somebody he could speak his own language with. From getting offered rides and free bread, to a woman telling me that day was her birthday and my music was like a gift to her. It's incredibly fulfilling, and I made sure my market days stay free with my new job, because I don't want to ever stop!

I did manage to get a second busking-induced sunstroke (go me), so I got acquainted with one of these fellows, and it's pretty good stuff if you ever find yourself dehydrated!

Miscellaneous cool stuff

Another fun update: I SAW MY FIRST KIWI! I took a night tour at Zealandia and their wonderful guides led us through the park, showing off the Takahē, the glow worms, the Tuatara, and their pride and joy: the nocturnal Kiwi Pukupuku, or Little Spotted Kiwi. We were lucky to see one, because they can be quite shy! The young male that we saw was calmly browsing the undergrowth for insects to feed on. I wasn't able to shoot a photo or video of him unfortunately, but the image is etched in my memory as a cool little milestone of my Aotearoa adventure :)

I also had a great night out all the way in Upper Hutt, at the Audiology & UKF festival, Wellington edition! Besides being overjoyed to see my all-time favourite drum & bass DJ, Fox Stevenson, I was blown away by a local duo called Jaymac B2B Vujanix. All in all a great night, the organisers were very chill and the crowd was wonderful ❤️

Some more cool nature shots:

Also, I'm finally getting better at understanding the kiwi accent. The thing that messes me up the most is how they pronounce e-like sounds like i-like sounds. So the name 'Ella' is said more like 'Illa'. This caused a really confused look to take over my face when somebody told me the weather was so nice, she "couldn't wait to go home and sit on her deck." 🙃 However: the other day somebody said "I'm gonna get a beer," and my mind automatically parsed it as "I'm gonna get a bear," which was a similarly disorienting experience. But it means my brain is overcompensating, and will likely soon arrive at that sweet middle ground where I won't have to go around asking people to repeat themselves anymore.

Last but not least, a couple days ago I had the honour of witnessing a Māori Karakia and Haka in real life. We've all seen the videos, surely, but being there in the flesh was a whole different experience. Goosebumps galore, and a whole bunch of reverence for their passion and their voices. I hope to learn a lot more about Māori culture and the process of decolonisation on these islands. I've gotten the feeling that descendants of white European colonisers like to paint a more positive picture of their cohabitation with the Māori culture than it realistically is, which is quite depressing. Once I've found my footing a bit more I hope to be able to dive into this a lot more deeply. If anybody has sources or references for me, I'm all ears!

#aotearoa #backpacking

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lewis-faith · 2 years

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Trip 2, day 7. Well it's been agreed yesterday was nothing short of miraculous. So many unlikely strands came together in one day and it seems like we have achieved a vital turning point in Warsaw.

We thought the day was going to actually be very quiet, comprised mostly of negotiating a deal with the hostel we visited the day before. It was clear the property was ideal for our needs but we only had one family for sure needing to stay that night, and no real idea how much demand would be needed throughout the week.

To make matters more complicated we received a few messages in the morning from the Przemysl team. 24 people would be arriving in Warsaw to pick up visas, 4 would go back to Przemysl and 20 would go on to Britain. The catch being of course that these people wouldn't necessarily get their visa, even though they were being asked to attend. So we could in theory have 20 people to find accommodation for on a Saturday evening at 8pm (once the centre closed).

With a reasonable amount of panic setting in we decided to book all available rooms at the hostel, now called amongst the team Heavenly Hostel. They had 3 rooms available so as a trial run we booked them for 2 nights. 11 beds in total. We managed to circumvent the usual online booking method and paid in cash, thereby getting a better rate. After moving a family from a hotel round the corner to our base (to wait all day to join the UK convoy), I went to Heavenly Hostel to pay the money and pick up the keys. I took with me the first guests and bought shopping for them along the way. The mother was very glad to be out of a hotel and have a kitchen.

The cleaning lady and general housekeeper who lives at Heavenly Hostel was just as charming and adorable as the day before. She keeps the property in fantastic shape and is so helpful and patient about everything. I helped the family settle in and talked with the mother over lunch about her visa progress.

Like many families she is waiting for her 5 year old daughter to receive her visa, whilst her and her son have theirs already. She was worried there was a problem, but looking at the dates of emails from UK immigration it looked like it was a bit too early to be concerned. I suggested if the request to pick up the final visa has not been sent by Tuesday then we will try and find out why there is a delay. She told me how much she was missing her life in Ukraine. She said she is still in shock, her life seemed quite comfortable and middle class back in Kyiv. When I was talking to her it did seem impossible to believe she was escaping a war, because her life was so relatable, her job, her tastes all similar to anyone living in modern Europe. There's no advice that can be given to solve the mental hardship, it's not solvable, we can just look for ways to cope more easily. The best I could offer was to remember that there are so many parts of this picture out of our control and rather than letting this weigh on our mind it is better to do the best with what is in front of us, even if that is making a nice meal or going for a walk. A certain amount of ignorance throughout the day may not be a bad thing. I'm sure it is not so easy when loved ones are still in Ukraine though.

I left after lunch to go back to the visa center, there were still a few hours of opening left and by the time I had arrived noone had their visas yet. A nervous afternoon awaited, for the first time I got to observe the process in detail. When a refugee arrives they go to a lobby that is full of chairs and a set of desks. At the desks they present their confirmation code and in return are given a number on a piece of paper. Every few minutes someone appears from another room with a printed visa and announces a number. There is no sequence so I assume they have some lottery system. If your number is called you go up and collect your visa. Due to how busy it is they simply don't have time to call everyone up so those that are not so lucky have to come back and go through the whole process again. It seems an incredibly unfair and unnecessary way to deal with people, especially vulnerable people and those with young children.

As I sat down in the visa centre, placing bottles of water down for all comers, a young lady approached me smiling away. It was the 19 girl from Mariupol that we had rescued from the border about 3 weeks ago. She had been travelling on her own and was being kept safe by a English volunteer. A chance chat with that volunteer put her in our care and there she was, the first time I'd seen here since that night - looking well and happy. I asked if she still had the painted bag she had showed me, I was eager to take a photo this time.

Whilst waiting for the numbers to be called she showed me more of her work on her phone, she has a career in art waiting for her I'm sure.

I also saw Victoria from Kharkiv, she was so nervous she asked me to find her sedatives. Luckily there was a pharmacy right next door so that was easily fixed. I was a bit unsure about this type of medical solution but it seemed to work and she was unbearably anxious.

The hours passed and only a trickle of visas were being awarded to our group, so the tension was mounting. But the waiting area was becoming very thin with refugees so it actually looked like everyone might be called by 8pm.

Around 7pm there was a flurry of results, first Anastasia the girl from Mariupol got her visa, she was ecstatic and I was so happy for her, but this work being what it is, that moment of joy was in a matter of seconds temperd by one of her companions being told her visa hadn't been printed, so she would have to cone back next week, she was in tears. Talk about an emotional cliff drop.

A few minutes later Victoria received her visa, she was over the moon. Whilst waiting I had been telling her about the channel tunnel. She was amazed any such thing existed and was spellbound at the prospect of being a train passenger under the sea, and so she should, it is an exceptional engineering achievement. Victoria has never left Ukraine before, this will be a big adventure for her.

Soon it was 8pm and time to find out how many visas had been issued. First small miracle was that only 1 person didn't get their visa, a very unusual hit rate. Second small miracle was that the family who had been waiting in the hotel all day to join the convoy had a problem, someone made a mistake a there wasn't enough seats for them. Oh boy, not good. But totally independently as volunteers were scratching their heads, one of the families who did have a place in the convoy said they didn't want to drive and wanted to stay in Warsaw and fly. Fantastic news as the other family could take their place, and of course we had that spare room available the stayers at the hostel.

Next magic moment was that one of the drivers seemed to pluck another family of 3 from where I don't know asking if they could be accommodated somewhere. With literally 3 beds left out our 11 the jigsaw was complete.

So off we went with a full van to the hostel and checked in the new arrivals, not before stopping for a late night food shop for them. They loved the new place and our darling housekeeper was there to show them around, I can't help but smile whenever I think of her, her enthusiasm is quite amazing.

I knocked up some vegan hot dogs for myself and Nick in the hostel kitchen and we then made our way back to base. A supposedly quiet day full of uncertainty had turned into an uncanny array of good fortune. The Warsaw project now feels anchored - time to build.

#ukraine #ukraine evacuation

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thewankbankuk · 3 years

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There was six inside! Well, when I say six they where not human anymore more like souls trapped within if, they could choose to leave they wouldn’t want to. Brian was the latest trapped inside he didn’t know about what would happen if he didn’t follow the rules?

Brian was a Firefighter in his hometown of Longridge. Since leaving school at 16 he had longed to fight fires, deep down inside Brian had a thing for protective gear even from his childhood would get excited when he saw firefighters. It was a sort of zing! He felt he was the only one who had it after all nobody else in his station mentioned getting excited about bunker gear! After 11 years of firefighting in the small town he was starting to get bored, same thing every day, sitting around waiting for something to happen, Tuesday was training day, training meant nothing at all when you live in a small town hardly anything fire related happened if he was lucky. Brian was single, never kept in a relationship he had the chances of settling down but, chose not to. Brians sex life was no existent, in a small town like Longridge everyone knew everyone so he found it hard trying to have one. Behind locked doors was the only place where Brian could relax.

Unknown to his fellow firefighters has well as anyone else Brian was gay. This was the reason he wanted to become a firefighter. To look at him you would say never in a million years. 6’4” of pure muscle, he worked out every day toned to protection not an ounce of fat. But, with no-one to show it off to. He had a thing for protective gear and at home had everything he had at work protective wise. When he got home the first thing he would do was to strip down naked and put a full head to toe rubber suit his bunker gear on, the feeling of rubber and his gear over flesh made him horny has hell. Then he would walk into his garage and take a fresh cylinder of air and attach it to his harness and attach his gas mask and then work out in his gear, this was his little piece of heaven until his air ran out, taking all his gear off, time for a shower then to bed where Brian would dream of his future. Brian lived on the edge of town, his place was quite however, he had to be careful as his neighbours would know what he was up to. It was bad enough that every now and then they would take parcels in for him and put in his hallway, just having bunker gear there just went to prove he was just a firefighter and it would be normal. Brian wanted more though. He had firefighting gear however, he was longing for something else, something his station didn’t have and wouldn’t never need……Hazmat gear! Longridge didn’t have any industrial or chemical works neither any mines or even a railroad track in which chemicals would be exported. It instead had a mall on the other side of town, a couple of supermarkets and a few call centres downtown, other than this the town was boring and Brian knew this. Really he thought to himself is it worth it?

Every time there was a course for hazmat training he would apply and would be knocked back by his chief, reason not needed in Longridge. Brian knew this but however, still wanted to try it. Knowing that if he did get a chance to get on a course he wouldn’t be able to strip naked and have fun in a suit. It was mearly for training reason however, still the answer was no. Brian started to subscribe to firefighting magazine looking at chemical protection gear suppliers and places to buy but, His hard drive was full of photos of men in hazmat suits, getting kitted up and working in the suits he wanted this badly and Brian wanted the real deal. He wanted a transfer but, from a small town to a city or an industrial centre questions would be asked why the change and Brian would never be able to say why so he stayed where he was and just went along with daily life. He longed to try a hazmat suit, he purchased a suit off eBay but it did nothing for him. It was a yellow level B suit attached boots and gloves hood for the mask to sit, still it did nothing for him. What he wanted was a level A sadly it was out of his reach. Then it happened right out of the blue. A new company was coming to town! A chemical company was planning a new site just out of town bringing jobs and for a small town like Longridge this was a blessing and for Brian, it meant that the training he sort he would be getting it now. The Chemical company was to have its own in house fire department on site but also needed someone to train with equipment they use from the local fire department. The Chief made the call and selected Brian to be the one from the station to go after all it had to be Brian after all the times he had been turned down. Training was to be out of state at another site, a four week course leaning everything about the company, what it makes, chemical compounds and what Brian really wanted hazmat training. He couldn’t wait. He returned home that day got undressed and put on his yellow level B and had some solo fun in the suit. He cum inside his suit ribbons of milky white man milk stained the inside of his suit, Brian was happy and still in is spunked trapped suit went to bed.

Brian had a few days off and decided to keep the suit on for has long has he could, he wanted to see how long he could go wearing his suit, he showered wearing it in his mind he was preparing for his course showering just decontamination of the suit. Still the inside was covered with sweat, piss and cum which excited Brian no end causing him to rub himself again and again 24 hours in this suit Brian was still on cloud9! However, when it came to take the suit off the stench was amazing. Being naked in the suit was fantastic, he hanged it up in the garage not washing it out waiting for his next play in his suit. Weeks past slowly waiting for his training time to arrive but, each shift after work ended he would return home and instead of his bunker gear would bring out his hazmat suit, kit up and wank off wearing it leaving it on all night. Then the day came. Training out of state meant that he would have to fly 100’s of miles leaving his home for 4 weeks. He was put up in a motel, a quiet mom and pop place. The first 3 weeks was all desk work about the company, practice and chemicals the last week was an introduction to the suits…. Do’s Don’t and NEVER DO! Brian was in a team of five other men who where to be the retained firefighter for the company, These men worked for the chemical plant but where trained for hazmat work whilst Brian was to still keep his job at his local department and would be on call at times of trouble. The trainers had four different kinds of suits that the company used for different spills, each was a level A suit, blue, red, orange and yellow. Each made by a different company and according to spillages a different suit to be used. However in the corner of the room was two very different suit, Auer green ones each hung from the boots and had S4 and T6 on the back. These suits excited Brian because they where different, rubber inside and the smell only just noticeable but he could smell it all the same, he asked the question are we going to try those on. No they where just for show he was told. To Brian these where special for all the wrong reasons has far as he could see these suits had a black rubber inside, just by looking at them he thought best of both world in one suit! Level A, rubber inside and green outside what’s not to like. He lusted over them, knowing that he couldn’t have them. The real reason for these suit was the trainers wanted to see if any of the six men showed signs of interest in them and it looked as if they had found one. The men where taken to another room were they where kitted out with sensors stuck to all parts of the body, shown to put the suits on each day they would wear a different suit and whilst in full kit do different tasks from crawl space training to fixing a leaking valve whilst gallons of water would be applied. Then heavy training whilst wearing the suits, teamwork etc etc, the monitors and probes where attached to show in real time how the men where enjoying the suits or not. Really, it was to see who had an interest in the suits and to whom it was just a job. Brian was passing but, for all the wrong reasons which made the instructors very happy indeed.

Brian was enjoying himself but not trying to show that he was but, the monitors knew other wise, whilst know one was watching he would have a quick grope of this dick inside the suit which the probes would pick up on and send information what he was doing back to the trainers. At the end of each day the other men would be glad to get out of their suits after all being a retained firefighter they would only be in the suit for a few hours no longer however, Brian would alway be the last one out really because he wanted no one to see that he had wet spots on his pants. But, it was too late it was noticed which made the instructors know what they had got their man. The last week of training went too quickly and by time everyone was saying goodbye to each other and see you soon when the plant opens. Brian was last in the room but before he was to leave he had to return back to the room where the green Auer suits hanged from the boots all week. He was the only one in the room but still being monitored by CCTV he popped his head in the hanging suit and took a deep breath… OMG he thought to himself, hoping he was alone. He started the lick the rubber inside and at the same time put is hand down his pants, his cock strained in his trousers and he began to stroke it. All this time he was being monitored and what seemed liked minutes in Brians mind was seconds. Bang! The door swing open and in walked the instructors. Brian explained its not what you think, they both looked at him and said we have been observing you from the moment you arrived and that these two suits have played an important part of your training. Brian looked suprised, confused. Little did he know the purpose of these suits and the role they played in his life from now on.

They explained having two suits in the room was to make interest normally in a group of six, two men would find interest in the Auer suits and want to try them on at the beginning of the week, they would be monitored during the week has the fascination continued and by the end of the week when others would be leaving they would be ask if they wanted to try out these suits for themselves. Both men would jump at the chance of wearing the suits and it would be too late for them, they would be told that these suits play a special purpose and are used when we cannot risk putting normal hazmat fire fighter in difficult situations however, the students who were attracted by them would agree to wearing the suit naked and sweat from there hot bodies would be the catalyst to converting them into hazmat bots usually in 48 hours however, in times of desperation students who didn’t want to wear the suits where drugged, stripped and placed in the suits, with the process not enacted properly they would try to escape before the programming kicked in they would have the choice become trapped in with free will or to escape by tugging the zipper, when opened only remain in soul, their bodies would melt away as soon as the air came into contact with the process. The suit would be left hanging to dry out the remains of fluids left behind but, never washed out for fear of contamination. This time it was different, the process had already started. Normally it took days for the attraction to kick in but, Brian by licking the inside had started it, without knowing his body was being transformed by nanobots. He looked ahead eyes glazed Brian was different though he really wanted it. It was more than a fetish to him. He wanted to be part of it. He stood there in a trans like state. Still with his hard on, his cock standing to attention and the other hand at his side, The instructors had to act fast, they locked the door and suited each other in their own Red level 1 suits as not to get infected, Brian just looked ahead not moving. Strip, they said and right away without hesitation he did what he was told, revealing his torn and ripped body, standing there to attention still sporting a hard on, they looked at him knowing that they could not have him or risk getting infected themselves has the process had began so quickly they placed over his naked body a backpack and gasmask making sure that it was correctly placed, then ear pods where put in. The rubber that clinged from the suits inners formed a hood and helmet trapping the mask inplace along with the ear pods then the rubber started to consume his entire body from head to toe, Brian remained hard during the entire transformation his body rocking slowly back and forth as if he was enjoying the process taking place. The instructors then spoke to Brian that his suit can and will never be removed and it’s not there just for show, you’re body is changing you are becoming a Hazmat Bot, you’re breathing still and is just for show when the tank is empty your training will begin. We will zip you up and the suit will continue to breath for you and give the illusion of that there is a person inside and not a bot. The black rubber inside bonded with Brians flesh has he continued to breathe. The visor of the suit when went from clear too black even though he could still see out his eyes where being upgraded, to look at them you would only see black orbs no features of his face just a black on black mask and visor. Then is visor turn jet black however, Brian could see out no-one could see in. Brian just stood there, his body and mind being re written his DNA changing still some of Brian existed, Just then his eyes rebooted and data hit towards his new digital brain, he knew his name and who he is becoming because Brian wanted it to happen he still remain a bit of Brian they had created him this way if he was going to be a special hazmat bot who would deal with exstream situations that no-one else could attend and be transported at short notice attend the many chemical plants they had, to the

outside world he was just a man in a hazmat suit. The instuctors could not believe it this had to be the quickest conversion they had ever done. One thing that’s important with Brians freewill they explained is that the suit can never be taken off! If it removed you will cease to exist has a physical being and will be trapped in side with the other souls who had worn it before you. Brian nodded and in a monotone voice said ‘Understood!’ The suit number on the back transformed from ’T6’ to ’T7’ Brian now known has T7 had no reason to remove the suit it was all he always wanted. Silently he stood there for hours whilst is programming and training took placed the trainers in their red suits knowing a job well done walked out of the class room with him, down two flights of steps, double doors where keycards where swiped into a restricted basement, there Brian was placed with other Auer hazmat bots in a tiny room all closed in tight waiting patiently, even though he was a hazmat bot his programming pleasured him until it was time to go to work. Information flooded his programming that team work was important to him now he was part of something bigger a wash of green rubber hazmat bots all packed tightly rocking slowly together until needed. His programming kicked in again explaining the importance of team work and being in a team. This went on looping in his mind. His instructors left him with is new teammates to finish his transformation in T7’s mind he was home this was all he ever wanted, meanwhile news was sent to the Chief of the fire department that Brian was killed in a car crash leaving the training centre to the airport and never made it home.

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mephew-j · 3 years

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okay now I'm curious about all the Pokemon headcanon stuff you got 👀

Oh, dear.

Right. Didn´t think anyone would be interested. Thought this was just another story for myself.

But I´ll gladly tell ya what my brain got up with so far (and what my time allows me to write - I´m not done yet!). =)

Also sorry for taking so long but I have been chipping away each evening after work as I wanted to give a proper answer. But then I received my second Covid-vaccination on Monday and I didn´t take it too well and felt horrible on Tuesday. But I´m good again. =)

Ok, so it´s literally a persona AU in the Pokemon world which doesn´t have a name - yet at least - located in a new region due to me wanting to have Pokemon that don´t all exist in the same region.

So there´s the ME! Persona – a human girl/woman who moved to a more rural part of the region with her mother when she was younger when her parents decided to split up.

There she went to a normal grammar school and made a small amount of friends while her mother found an office job at the local breeder´s facility that provides the professor of this region – Dr. Primrose – with starters. And like literally every other child she was fascinated by Pokemon and dreamt about becoming a Pokemon trainer after school. Really basic stuff this far.

But when her friends and her graduated she found herself doubting to be ripe to becoming a trainer at the age of 10. She simply didn´t feel ready to be on her own yet.

So as her friends left to become trainers she stood behind alone.

Her mother told her not to worry too much and to proceed school instead giving her an advantage over the others her age one day. And so she did.

She attended and finished high school and the idea of becoming a trainer had taken a backseat in her life.

When she was asked what she wanted to do now that school was officially over she found herself quite clueless and decided on taking a few internships – at the local Pokemon store, the post office, etc. but nothing really seemed fitting.

One day her mother asked her whether she´d want to give the Pokemon breeder facility a try. She agreed and took another internship there.

After just a week in it was clear that she would do an apprenticeship there to become a “Pokemon nursing assistant”. In these three years of practical and scholar education she didn´t just learn the profession but also grew as a person and got her driver´s licence.

Mostly she got educated by the Pokemon working there as it had always been easier for her to work/communicate with them than with other humans. But her human colleagues took great care of her, too, of course:

There was the leader of the facility – an elderly woman in her mid-50s who had once been a trainer herself - her Machamp, Blaziken, Sceptile, Swampert, Kangaskhan, Chansey and a hand-full of employees along with a few other Pokemon that were rather deemed unfit as starters or simply decided to stay, who did a great job at breeding, hatching and raising starters and orphaned Pokemon.

Especially one Treeko had become fond of her and was usually the one who took her by the hand.

Nearly at the end of her apprenticeship the facility leader took her to the side and asked her to consider becoming a trainer after all as she would have “just the right stuff” to be a considerably good one.

Again Me! hesitated for a while until she decided to give it a try this time. She packed her things and when she went to the breeder facility to say Goodbye the previously mentioned Treeko quickly fetched his Pokeball. He stood in front of her waiting for her to kneel. Surprised she followed the invitation and when she had reached his level the Treeko placed the ball into her hands and gave her an asserted look. She reciprocated with a smile and nodded.

The Pokemon:

-Treeko/Grovyle/Sceptile: A male Treeko who was bred and born as one of the first ones in the breeder facility and was later handed to Dr. Primrose along with other starters to be picked by young trainers at the start of their journeys.

Unfortunately, though he was deemed unfit as a starter after several children had called Dr. Primrose shortly after they had chosen him as their partner and told her that they simply couldn´t handle him; he wouldn´t listen to a word they said or that he would be overall renitent.

Dr. Primrose had taken him back every time to give it a new try but decided to send him back to the breeder facility in the end. “No Pokemon can be forced to be a trainer´s Pokemon.”

The facility took him back and let him help there which he did.

Several years passed until one day a young woman showed up and started her internship at the facility. She seemed lost and shy like a Pokemon that had just hatched so the Treeko was quick to take pity on her. The pity then grew into fondness and when it was clear the now graduated trainee would start her own journey he rushed into the warehouse, grabbed his Pokeball and handed it over to her.

He had decided to be her starter.

The Treeko/Grovyle/Sceptile in my AU has a much higher age than a normal starter would have and more knowledge of life. Sometimes his behaviour will come close to that of a parent. His level also had been a little higher due to occasional fun-fights between him and some other Pokemon at the facility. It´s no wonder that he also had been the first one of the team to evolve closely followed by Yamask/Cofagrigus.

- Yamask/Cofagrigus: Me! and Treeko encountered him as they crossed a small deserted and desolate part of the region mostly inhabited by poison and ghost types just a few days from their hometown.

The Yamask seemed to be alone and hid badly behind the little that was there to hide behind as the two travellers took a quick break and meal. As it wasn´t hard to spot the ghost in his concealment Me! prepared a third meal and cautiously shoved it over the hiding Pokemon who took the food gratefully after inspecting it thoroughly.

When the two went on their way the Yamask must have followed them as they spotted him again when they erected their night quarters many hours later and quite far away from the bleak land.

´Weird, especially ghost Pokemon usually act in groups. Why is this one alone?´ Me! thought as she prepared another extra dish for the unusual guest before going to sleep.

In the course of the night Me! woke up again and again only to find the Yamask having come a little closer every time she opened her eyes until he had found his place right next to her and her Treeko on her camping mat by dawn.

So the next morning it had been clear to Me! that they´d have a new team member and as Treeko didn´t seem to mind the the new Pokemon in any negative way either Me! caught the Yamask.

Me! considered the Yamask could have only been a few weeks old as it didn´t act like a ghost type at all – sure every ghost Pokemon had their own personality but they were usually inclined to show certain character traits such as enjoying the one or the other prank or scare on their fellow Pokemon or even trainer – but this one acted more like it had just hatched. She had seen it several times before after all. This assumption had been confirmed in the next Pokemon Centre.

Yamask was a very timid, shy and overall scared Pokemon who would have always hid behind his trainer and would have always searched for shelter and warmth usually sleeping in Me!´s arms and thus in the middle of Me! and Treeko.

Me! never forced him to fight and in the beginning he didn´t seem too keen on doing so anyway. But the more he watched other Pokemon fight the more he seemed to want to try it on his own because one day – a fellow Pokemon trainer had challenged Me! – he simply hopped in front of Treeko and asserted himself. Treeko took a few steps back and gave him the opportunity. Yamask lost the fight horribly and when Treeko took over he evolved.

Spurred on by that event he tried to fight again and again and lost several times. Whenever he went K.O. he´d always watch Grovyle fight and tried to learn from him as best he could.

Until one day he won. From that they on he insisted on fighting all the more and as he actually won his fights now Grovyle barely had to take over.

When he evolved though he was overwhelmed and had a hard time coping with his new form. Other Pokemon – especially smaller ones – suddenly were scared of him and other trainers that had called his prior form “cute” were now frightened as well. He smiled at them but that only made it worse. He was barely able to move around let alone fight and what was he supposed to do with these appendages? He was especially upset that the couldn´t sleep in his trainer’s arms anymore.

The little self-confidence he had been able to built up through fights was blown away.

Me! hit a countless amount of books trying to help her Pokemon and while she could help him with some problems several other were left untouched.

Luckily though the team met another trainer soon after who had a fully grown/asserted Cofagrigus. The trainer and their Cofagrigus gladly helped and things turned better quickly allowing Me!´ Cofagrigus to move around properly and even fight again.

Me!´s Cofagrigus had never been one of the stronger Pokemon but he always tried his best and at some point his high level alone gave him an advantage.

Through all of the story Cofagrigus´ character barely changed; he had always been a timid and friendly Pokemon searching for his trainer´s affection and proximity seeing her as his mother. Though he had grown as a person being more self-confident (especially in fights) and self-aware having learnt that ghost-types were quick on inclining fear on others. The latter he would only “abuse” when things actually got dicey.

He would oftenly search for his trainer´s hand to hold while they were walking.

Me! had the idea to try and learn and teach Cofagrigus sign language as she had seen and read several documentations and articles about people teaching Pokemon this language. And a Pokemon with hands – how handy was that?

Me! sleeps in a sleeping bag on Cofagrigus whenever they are out in the wild with a ghost hand carefully placed on her shoulder. She would never admit that this causes her sacroiliac pain sometimes though.

- Ralts/Kirlia/Gardevoir: Male

- Sizzlipede/Centiskorch: Female

- Darkrai:

- Honedge/Doublade/Aegislash: Male

The other characters:

- (Name) and her Gastly/Haunter/Gengar “Na-na”: (Name) had never had a very close relationship with any of the family members as she had always been the odd one out even as she was little. Her grandmother – she fondly called “Na-na” - was the only exception as she also had been one to fall out the line.

Her grandmother had always used to tell her stories, myths and legends from all around the globe as she had been travelling as a young Pokemon trainer herself. (Name) had always loved these stories and her grandmother´s presence especially as she had always been the one to encourage her on whatever she did.

“I wanna be a Pokemon trainer just like Nana!” she once exclaimed in front of her entire family at a party. Her whole family immediately turned on her grandmother and accused her of planting stupid ideas in the little child´s mind. It wasn´t common to train Pokemon in this family but to get a good graduation and a well-paying job instead.

From that day on she was forbidden to see her grandmother. Though that didn´t stop any of the two to still be in contact; they wrote little messages and attached them onto “Nana”´s Murkrow to deliver the messages, whenever a lesson would have been omitted she would speed to her grandmother´s house to at least see her a few minutes, etc.

One day though no new message had arrived. Nor had any followed the next day.

She kneeled to her parents and pleaded to drive to her grandmother´s house and after a few hours they agreed and drove there. But when no one opened her parent´s started to worry as well and called the police.

…

A few days later was the funeral. (Name) had only been 7 years old and had lost the only person who she truly cared for and she didn´t cope with it well throwing temper tantrums, hitting other children in school, hitting even her parents.

They didn´t know what to do so they sent her to a children-psychologist with little effect.

One night when she had been lying awake again she had decided to go to the graveyard – she needed someone to talk, she needed her grandmother.

When she arrived at her grandmother´s tombstone she couldn´t keep it in any longer and yielded in crying.

Startled by the sound a Gastly flew up from behind the tombstone and paused in mid-air looking at the child below it. (Name) has had raised her eyes by now and looked at the Ghastly with big eyes.

She immediately remembered one of her grandmother´s stories in which a young couple had a baby but the mother died in childbed fever. When the husband and the baby visited the mother´s grave one night a ghost emerged from it and they were together again.

It had only been a legend from another region her grandmother had told her once but for (Name) it had been very real at this moment.

“Na-na” she had whispered and the Ghastly had come closer circling (Name) curiously.

To (Name) that had been an acknowledgement she was seeing her grandmother again.

From that day on she had been visiting the graveyard every night, so very happy to her grandmother again and talk to her and the Ghastly would await her arrival.

The psychologist had been assuming she would have made her grandmother up as some sort of imaginary friend as some children would do. Telling this her parent´s they were very relieved.

Until one morning a Ghastly came hovering down the stairs next to their daughter. The parents immediately panicked and yanked their daughter away from the Pokemon but when (Name) cried out “No! Leave Na-na alone!” they halted and called their daughter´s psychologist.

He advised them to better leave the Pokemon with their daughter as it did her extremely well and they complied unwillingly.

Why- of all Pokemon out there – did it have to be a ghost/poison type, wouldn´t have a Meowth or a Cleffa done too?

Name and Ghastly would have gone everywhere together from now on if others approved of it or not.

When (Name) had been old enough she started her own journey without her parent´s consent yet still they had known they couldn´t have kept her from going – she had been taken too much after her grandmother.

The two have been travelling the region from then on together knowing they can always rely on each other as many situations have already proven.

Of course (Name) has realized Na-na is not her actual grandmother long ago.

Na-na is female.

Institutions:

- The PSO (The Pokemon Safety Orgnaisation)

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joe-young-stories · 3 years

Text

A Week.

Hey, new to tumblr. This is something I wrote in an enclosed, dodgy Christian community in 2018.

The last time I saw Dad in person I was seventeen, and I’d either just finished my A-levels or I was halfway through them. I’d seen him a year before, for Grandad’s funeral. After we’d got home from the wake I’d nicked a crate of Guinness, and thrown up on my suit. I’d thrown up all over the guest bed as well, and I’d left all the empty cans in the waste paper basket. I told my dad that the emotional stress of the funeral must have affected me, and I didn’t really give a shit about the fact that he knew.

This time it was summer, and it was that one week of the British summer that is actually scorching hot. Dad was waiting for me at Oxford train station for my visit. Visa Skank was there too. Visa Skank is my dad’s Russian wife, and perhaps she married him for a visa or perhaps she really loves him. I’ve never actually had anything against her. It was rude, offensive, calling her Visa Skank, but it made me feel really savage and clever back then. This day at Oxford train station she was in her late forties, and she was wearing this shimmer- shimmer peach linen halter top harem pants combo thing with a dainty cream pashmina and a big floppy straw hat. She was basically just easy mockery.

We went straight from the station to this ultra quaint Riverside pub/restaurant garden. I had Peronis. I had a burger too. We didn’t really have a conversation because Visa had seen a picturesque riverside photo opportunity, and she had my dad take pictures of her next to a drainage sluice for almost an hour, at different angles and filter settings. At the end we walked back through the pub to get to the car and she started draping herself mystically around rustic beams and cosy fireplaces, or sat herself next to like, napkin dispensers that pleased her. And my dad took more pictures. I just wanted to get back to the house. I don’t remember too much more from the meal.

In the daytimes that followed I fell into a routine. Dad would wake up late (his teaching job at the schools wasn’t on) and he might mooch about or he might go into Oxford, or he might just go to Headington High Street. Visa Skank had a busy social schedule attending a young mum’s social club in the Florence Park Cafe. She would spend a lot of time there. I would wake up and take a walk into Central Oxford. And I would stop for a pint in the White Horse, where we used to go for Lunch when I was little. In town I would walk the old streets around the Radcliffe Camera, and this was back when I had academic ambition before I stopped caring about most things, and the scholarly atmosphere excited me. I walked past the cathedral boys’ school – my first school—and into the Eagle and Child, or the Kings Arms, or the Turf Tavern. I would read Franz Kafka stories or Iris Murdoch novels or I’d listen to pretentious students talk shit and praise myself for being more intelligent than them. After a few pints I’d saunter back over Magdelen Bridge and back up towards the house in Headington.

Dad’s house had changed a lot over the years. The retro porn PC used to be in the dining room, and all my 9 year old self used to do at my dad’s was either play SimCity on that computer or watch Dad’s porn. He’d archived literally thousands of pictures, all categorised according to hair/boobs/race etc. Albums of particular stars. I got up early at that age, and if you were proper stealth about it could get up with the dawn and watch a four second clip of a woman getting pleasured by a mechanised shoe buffer. Only if you were stealth though. The computer screen could be seen from the stairs via the dining room mirror. You had to listen for footsteps. God forbid that Visa or even Grandad would walk in. View me wanking it to Dad’s shoe buffer porn.

Now though the house layout was different. Grandad had been a cantankerous twat since Nan died, and all he ever did was sit in the living room watching cartoons and chat shows. GMTV, Pokemon, Digimon, Homes under the Hammer. That was all I ever saw him do on visits to my dad’s. I left him to it.

But he started losing control of his faculties, and Dad and I would walk in from the pub to a stray smell of nappies, the CBBC channel playing in the background. His osteoporosis got worse. The last time he was alive I was seventeen and he’d been moved to a hospice. He was half asleep next to his colostomy bag but he murmured a greeting and a goodbye. The three of us, Grandad, Dad and me, sat in near silence for approximately fifteen minutes. “Good to see you, Grandad,” I said to him as I was leaving. Grandad had written “to a very impressive grandson” on my birthday card seven months previously.

While Grandad was dying his house was being renovated. The dining room and kitchen had been knocked together into this rustique farmhouse experience, with a big beaten up pine table, a pine dresser and a freshly installed aga. An aga in a nineteen thirties semi. There were a lot of wholesome wicker baskets bought in and gooseberry jam jars were placed in them for effect. Next door the garage was knocked down and a den/conservatory/stargazing lounge/music studio was built. The living room, where Grandad watched all the kids TV, and which I was told was always going to be “His Space” had had all the carpets ripped out and new sofas put in. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered every wall, and they were all full of this intelligentsia Russian shit no one read. The retro porn PC was upstairs in Dad’s bedroom now, so after I got back from Oxford that last week I’d sit in the conservatory on my laptop. Sometimes if my dad was around I’d bring up an attractive female friend’s Facebook profile and wait for him to ask me about it. He’d talk about organic food and hand picking your own raspberries, and how Russian customs and traditions were the best way to live. But most of those afternoons he was upstairs in his bedroom checking his email, which took about two hours and was a pretty full-on activity for him. If Visa was at home she’d make still life displays from Kitsch crap she found in charity shops. And she’d do photoshoots. Most of the time she was out though. Presumably with the young mums.

When I was downstairs on my own I would drink from the many, many bottles available on the farmhouse shelf. I never drank in front of Dad, but I’d never bother hiding how drunk I was getting either. A little bit of gin, little bit of vodka, whiskey, white rum.

I’d always done this. When I was about twelve, thirteen, fourteen I’d go through Dads bedroom and raid his wardrobe. I’d find his extensive magazine stash and his books on “Tantric Passion”, “The Multi Orgasmic Man”, “Make Her see you Mean Commitment”. I’d find the hamper full of Bombay Sapphire bottles; I never questioned the water bottles full of urine next to his bed. I wasn’t subtle. I’d try and incite his scorn, his discipline, his parental authority. I’d find glow in the dark condoms in his bedside drawers, and I’d take them out of the packets and leave them under his pillow like a treasure hunt. I would neck a bottle of chardonnay, refill it with tap water and leave it in the fridge for him to find. He’d look at the bottle, look at me, deliberate and stammer “I must have rinsed it out for recycling and put it back on autopilot.” I don’t think he knew me well enough to confront me. He once drove me back to mums with me throwing up ass the way down the M40, and we both agreed that I must have eaten some “ropey” quiche.

I didn’t want Dad to parent me anymore; I just didn’t really care. So while Dad was upstairs checking his email I’d access the WiFi and watch naked men beat each other, and I’d masturbate and drink gin. I think on the Tuesday of that week he found me full-on passed out in the stargazing conservatory, sleeping it off. Later on he’d said something about travelling being exhausting, especially across London, and it always took a few days for the mind to properly relax on holiday. I agreed.

In the evenings we’d go out to a pub, the Vicky Arms or The Chestnut or something. I would tell Dad what A levels I was doing. I’d namedrop attractive female friends quite a lot, and talk about parties I went to with them. I’d wait for him to be like, “Are they pretty?”, “Are they into you?”, “Like yeah, get in, my son!”, “Well done, boyo!” and things like that. Visa would come with us. She’d sit there in peach tracksuit bottoms and some kind of burgundy flamenco/matador top, and she would say things like, “Never microwave food because it changes the molecules. Did you know this? We go through a recipe book and you will find meals you would like to try.” We might order popcorn from behind the bar. Visa might demand a photo shoot of her next to an inspiring sunset or whatever.

At home Dad and Visa would go to bed in Grandads old room. Nans room, now the guest bedroom, was being fitted with a “Roman balcony” so I slept on a blow up bed in the living room with all the Russian volumes. I’d drink more whiskey and watch a comedy show about teenage lesbians.

That was it, really. The last week I saw my dad was fairly uneventful. Mundane. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was the last time I saw him I doubt I would have remembered it

Only two events stand out in particular. On the Thursday of that week Dad was playing at a jazz and tango concert at a bar/club in Wantage. He did concerts like that to keep money coming in when the schools weren’t on. Visa took tango lessons down at the community centre, and she’d met a new friend and tango partner called Allan. He had had a stroke and divorce in a five year period and had taken early retirement, so I was told. So I was briefed. Briefed why? I didn’t care.

Allan met us at the house. We all sat about having a back garden beer and then Dad and I set off for Wantage. Allan’s and Visa came later, in Allan’s car, which he could still drive all post stroked up apparently. We had another pint in a pub in Wantage. Dad introduced me to the concept of a “Session Beer”. Advice I have never followed.

Dad gave me money for the evening and then left me to my own devices. I sat on the balcony and drank a lot of Stella, and from my vantage point I could see Dad playing onstage. I could see Visa and Allan as well, and she had her head on his shoulder and he was holding her close around the lower back. This didn’t look particularly tango-ey, but Visa had told me on one pub evening that tango was more about feeling than steps. “Feeling. Yes?” she had said with gusto. This was the passion of the dance I was watching, then. Dad had told me in the car that tango was Allan’s hobby, it’s what got him out the house, like his physio. I looked at Dad, and he was playing some sassy chords on the piano, watching the two of them become one with the dance. He didn’t do anything else. He just sat there, watching them get on with it. I finished one of my Stellas, and later on I thought to myself that he looked like a drooping bunch of flowers in a vase, half dead. A bit sad, maybe. A bit lacking. I was quite proud of myself for thinking of that. It felt very grown up.

Two days later we were having a back garden beer, Dad and I. The garden had changed, and where a swingset once stood there was now a very wholesome vegetable plot. Beyond that was a washing line. It was one of those washing lines with one pole in the ground, and it folded out like an upside down pyramid. You could spin it around for ease of pegging/unpegging. I looked at the washing line and remembered my eight year old self playing by it. I had been playing with a football. I was staying with him for a few weeks or so over the summer. I was out there, by myself, with the football. But I liked to pretend I was playing with all the other children I knew from school. Kids who were actually busy with their own friendship groups or who called me poofty boy by the wildlife pond. But when I was playing with them by myself they were all like, “I did not see this coming! We have not appreciated your serious skills! Hey guys, check out this Baller!” and none of them called me a poofty boy by the wildlife pond.

I had devised a game where you had to throw the ball into the opened up washing line to score a point. Dad came outside just as I was about to land the sickest shot from ten feet away, the shot which was going to blow George and his gang away, and was going to make Sadia and Carrie-Ann think I was total boyfriend material. He asked me if I wanted anything to eat.

And I really don’t know what came over me, but I said something along the lines of “I’m playing a game. We have to get the ball off each other and get it in the net. Do you want to play?”

“Oh, right!” was something like he said “Yes alright then, I will”. I’d never played a game with Dad before, and we were both a bit hesitant. Like, do we just…start, or what? I chucked the ball at the line and missed, and he grabbed it. We ran around the garden, playing the game. He scored a point. I scored a point. At one point he wrestled me to the ground to get the ball off me, and then helped me up. I remember laughing and smiling, being out of breath. I was tense, too. How did things like this come to a logical end? Did, like, the session finish? Was there a way for this to end without Dad having to just be really rude? Like: “I’m sorry Joe, but I need to stop doing this at this point and go back to my day. You are welcome to continue though.” How did it work? After approximately fifteen minutes it mercifully started raining, and we went inside. It was the only time we ever played the game.

Sitting and having a beer with my dad that last week was the last time I looked at the garden, or indeed spent any time with him. Halfway through our drink Visa came out of the stargazing conservatory doors, and she was wearing a floor length lacy white gown, a white bonnet and silky white gloves. She was carrying a large wicker hamper, and she put the hamper down and pulled out a silver teapot. “I am English lady at tea,” she said, and she raised the teapot in the air. Then she laid the patio table for a country manor high tea, and started demanding a photoshoot. I went inside.

The next day I was due to go home. I woke up that morning to find that I’d drunk too much and pissed the blow up bed. I put my soggy boxers in a plastic bag, and I covered the damp sheet with my duvet and left it to fester.

I hardly spoke to dad after that week. There was no reason to most of the time. I rang him twice to ask for money, once to say merry Christmas can I have some money and once to tell him I’d just left rehab. In 2018 I had written to him to tell him he was a cunt and I wanted to burn his house down. “Past wounds” with my Father had become a significant part of my “Life Story” by that point, and I thought that sending such a horrible letter might activate a Life Event in some way, some dramatic finale.

Dad has always had his settings such that I can’t find him on Facebook, so I have to log in as my mum to see his profile. Him and Visa quote Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare sonnets on each other’s pages. Visa’s profile has about 64 photo albums. They’re all called things like “Casserole dishes on the patio”, “Beauty In Autumn”, “Sensuous mermaid has adventure”. Her name isn’t actually Visa Skank. All the photo albums are silly and innocuous. When I’m drunk, or self pitying, or feeling like a victim, or all of the above I sometimes find myself thinking about the game me and Dad played with the washing line and the football.

#writers on tumblr #writers #short story #story #childhood

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

Starting Over Chapter 29 ~The Reality~

Geillis sat at her kitchen table, looking bright and chipper and way too put together at seven AM Tuesday morning. Geillis had invited herself over for breakfast and coffee before Claire started her shift at The Royal Hospital for Sick Children. It had been ages since they've seen each other, and a much-needed catch up was just what they both needed.

Before she'd started her new job, it had been a tense and hectic past few weeks. While Jamie had been away most of the time in London, Claire had been preoccupied applying for a residency program and meeting for job interviews. When the news of Gerald Forbes' arrest, Geneva Dunsany's stripping of gold medals and investigations in William Dunsany's business' dealings reached her, she'd dreaded her name would be mentioned in the newspaper and evening prime time news. To her relief, Ned Gowan had made sure that didn't happen. Only certain parts of the recording were released to the media, specifically the section where Forbes admitted to spiking Jamie's drink and accepting bribes from Dunsany. Since her voice was disguised with an audio editing application, it had been automatically assumed the sting was done by an undercover reporter; hence, no questions were further asked of the identity of the voice.

The days that followed were even made more stressful after Frank pleaded her to drop the charges against him and requested an out of court settlement, offering her monetary compensation instead. Not having the heart to see a licence stripped away from a brilliant doctor, Claire conceded under the condition he wouldn't practice medicine in Scotland for five years and that he would work for Doctors Without Borders for at least two years before returning to England. Frank agreed without contest, and a settlement was made and signed. But it was only when she had her belongings that he'd been keeping, returned and was informed he'd left Edinburgh for good, was she able to relax and concentrate on her future.

"So, Jamie is back in London again," Geillis remarked, in-between bites of her toast. "Another business trip?"

Claire filled their mugs with coffee and sat down. "I guess you can call it that. Jamie was invited by BBC to a morning show interview," she explained. "And while he's there, he's doing a few photoshoots for some razor commercial and finalising the sale of his properties. He should be back by tomorrow."

"Oh that's good but why aren't ye staying over at his place? Besides me wanting to have a nosy in his posh apartment, it's nearer to yer work and more convenient for him to see ye when he returns from London. And hello ...less carbon footprint."

She took a sip of her coffee and leaned back on her seat, twisting her head from side to side to relieve the tension in her neck. Her new job wasn't as demanding as in the Royal Infirmary; nevertheless, she felt the effects of the long hours at work. "Jamie already suggested that but he's away most of the time and I kind of like my place and ..." she trailed off, shrugging.

"Aaand ... it's a huge commitment and too soon after ye've just got yer stuff back from Frank and ye think he's more into parading himself in the public's eye than he's into ye," Geillis filled in the blanks before scooping some egg into her mouth.

Claire didn't answer, as she toyed with her fork.

"Ye miss him, aye?"

She nodded, giving her friend a wistful smile. She did miss Jamie a lot. Ever since the problems with his former agent settled, she'd seen less and less of him. She knew he was trying to put together something for the future, but at the worse of times, she felt mildly resentful not seeing him as much and hated herself for feeling that way. They've been wrapped up in their own bubble of bliss, she hadn't thought about where their relationship was heading to. Their feelings were out there, larger than life and scary as hell, and now they have to find a way to make this thing work in the real world with their conflicting schedules. But lately, with Jamie's numerous endorsements pouring in, to represent big-name companies and merchandises, she wondered if their relationship could survive and if there was even a hint of truth in what Forbes had told her that Jamie was meant for the limelight.

"Ye think Jamie is going to be lured back to his celebrity lifestyle and ye're waiting for the bomb to fall, is this what's this about?" she asked as if uncannily reading her thoughts.

Damn the girl for being so perceptive. She straightened up on her seat and smeared butter on her toast. "What makes you think that?" she asked, trying to look nonchalant, which was silly really considering Geillis could read her like a book.

Geillis rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. "It's pretty apparent ye're not too thrilled with the load of work he's getting. But if he's going to start this rugby academy ye were talking about, all the exposures and the money he could earn from those adverts will help."

"You're beginning to sound like Forbes," Claire scoffed, pointing the butter knife at her. "And I don't like it."

"And ye're letting fear and doubt grow its ugly head," she quipped, toast shrapnel spraying out from her mouth.

"Good God, Geillis ... that's gross. Don't talk when you're mouth is full."

"Stop changing the subject," Geillis admonished. She crunched down on her toast and gave her a false smile, deliberately exhibiting bits of food between her teeth. "In a perfect world, ye could both get what ye want, dream job and time for each other. But that's no' the case, so ...if ye have issues with Jamie's work and wotnots, ye should be more proactive in addressing them instead of sulking."

"I'm not sulking ...or maybe I am a little. But here's the thing ... I've only seen Jamie for two days for the last couple of weeks. Even when he's here in Edinburgh, either he is unavailable and rushing off somewhere to meet someone important, or he's in the gym. When I'm at his place, he's either too tired to do anything, asleep already, or he has to wake up early ...so there's really no point of me staying there. It's nuts really, I'm seeing less of him now that we're together than when he was trying to pursue me. We talk and text a lot on the phone, but it doesn't make being separated any easier. This evil paranoia is constantly nagging in my head that he's bored with me and finding limelight more exciting. But then he makes up for his absence by regularly checking up on me or having food delivered either at my workplace or here at home because he knows I forget to eat sometimes. And my distrustful and illogical side creeps in and tells me he's just keeping me interested. But when he's holding me, all those whispers in my head shut up."

Geillis wiped her mouth with a napkin and reached for her hand. "Ach, hen, he loves ye. Ye ken fine I have this built-in radar inside me that can detect bullshit from miles away. That man of yers lights up like a Christmas tree whenever ye're around. Why not talk to him and tell him how ye're feeling."

"God, no. I sound already petty and clingy hearing myself talk. Not going to happen."

"Hmmm, have ye been reading things written about him in social media again?" Geillis asked, already knowing the answer and looking on disapprovingly. "Jamie already told ye not to."

Claire sighed and slumped back in her chair. "I can't help it sometimes," she reasoned. "I see something nice written about him, and that makes me happy, and I look for more, but then I end up reading gossips about him that aren't true. I'm supposed to be prepared for this. When Jamie and I first got together, I knew what I was getting into, and I knew our relationship would have some degree of disappointment and compromise. I understand Jamie's work is very important to him, and quite rightly so. But it's still difficult to accept that I'm someone whose boyfriend is lusted after by thousands of women and the way my work colleagues talk behind my back and look at me, serves as a reminder. I thought those days in the limelight would be over when he told me about the academy, but it seems the interviews and photocalls have doubled. I need to find a way to be alright with that because I know those public appearances will help promote his academy. It's just that when I rarely see him, it's so hard and I can't help but think it's the start of our end."

"Quit that rubbish talk for crying out loud! Ye just have to remind yersel' its just work," Geillis pressed in a firm tone. "Whatever is happening right now doesn't change the way he feels about ye." She got up, taking her plate and mug over to the sink to rinse them and put them into the dishwasher. "His popularity has a short lifespan, Claire, most especially now that he's turning down work left, right and centre from other networks. Once the academy is up and running and the talk about his BBC award dies down, the news will be onto something new. And as for Jamie, he will eventually fade into the background as he wouldn't have time for anything else other than building his new business venture. Nobody knows how long this ride is going to last, so he might as well take advantage and get as much exposure out of it."

"I know, I know. You're right with everything you said." Claire cleared the rest of the dishes on the table and stood up. "That's why I don't want to say anything to Jamie. You taking Jamie's side when you've always taken mine can only mean I sound really downright pathetic."

Geillis dried her hand and turned around to face her, giving her a thoughtful smile. "Not pathetic at all and I understand why ye're worried. Not everyone would have been able to handle being in a relationship with Jamie. God, if he was my boyfriend, I'd never let him out of my sight because he's too pretty for his own good. But as an objective bystander, I can hundred per cent assure ye, that man is working his arse off to get that business of his going so he can have a normal life with ye."

She packed her laptop in its case and drank the rest of her juice. "That's what I tell myself all the time. It's just hard when we hardly have a moment to ourselves and when I'm left alone with my own thoughts, that's when it becomes dangerous. All these niggling doubts surface from out of nowhere and play havoc with my logic."

"Ach, Claire. Sometimes I wish ye could see the way he looks at ye when ye're not looking. He looks at ye like ye're the sun itself and it makes me want to puke seeing all that lovefest spewing out of him."

This time Claire laughed out loud and allowed the tension and uncertainties of the future to slowly fade away. Thank God she had Geillis to talk sense into her. After everything that happened recently, she really needed to exorcise all those demons that Forbes and Frank left behind because unless she did that, they would continue to rule her waking hours, even though they were no longer in their lives,

..........

Claire stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower. She had forty-five minutes to get ready before Jamie arrives. She'd received a text earlier while at work telling her he was in the airport in London waiting to get into the plane and he would be heading straight to her as soon as he landed and they would go out on a dinner date.

The water was hot, and it felt good just to stand there and let it run over her skin as she tried to release the tension in her muscles. It had been a long day at work running from ward to ward, and although she loved her job, working with sick children was often challenging since it affected her more on an emotional level. They were innocents and should be untouched by illness and injuries and be out there thriving and healthy instead of being in the hospital. Despite trying her hardest to remain professional, it still proved difficult to not get attached to her young patients.

Suddenly realising the water was getting colder, she quickly lathered some shower gel on her skin and shampoo on her hair. When she turned around to rinse herself, she nearly screamed when she saw Jamie on the other side of the shower stall, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

"Jamie! Bloody hell! You shouldn't sneak in like that! Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack," she scolded, quickly washing the suds off her body.

Jamie chuckled, as he took a huge towel from the rail. "Ye didn't answer when I called out yer name. So I just waited for ye to finish, hoping to hear yer rendition of one of Paloma Faith's songs before ye notice I'm here."

She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower into the towel Jamie was holding. He wrapped it around her and smiled.

"Hi!" he whispered.

She tried to step back. "I'll ruin your suit. I'm all wet."

"I dinnae care." He pulled her back into his arms, and she stretched up on her toes to kiss him briefly.

When she drew away, she stared up at him. "Let me dry my hair first. I shan't be long."

"No' yet." She held her breath as Jamie leaned down and kissed her tenderly. Oh God, how I've missed him! His lips were so soft and warm, making all the air rush out of her lungs. He sucked at her bottom lip before pulling back and angling his head to kiss her again. Though his body was tensed and hard, the delicate way he moved his mouth over hers demonstrated leashed restraint like he wanted to savour the moment instead of giving in to the hormones that were raging between them. If his intention was to make her forget what she was about to say or do, he was succeeding immensely.

Gradually his kisses became more intense, and she gave up trying to think and allowed herself to just feel, letting her muscles melt against his body. He cupped her breast, and when she moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly, he grunted in frustration and gently drew away.

Glancing down at her, he tucked his tongue into his cheek and shook his head. "Ye should get dressed before I give ye a reason to go back and shower again." He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Christ, I've missed ye so much."

Her heart did a pirouette. It was so bloody absurd that after the all this time, Jamie could still make the air catch in her chest and her blood rush with force, just by looking at her. "I missed you too," was all she could muster, feeling the heat creep up her face.

He cleared his throat. "I brought some Thai takeaway. You get dressed, and I'll prepare the table."

"Oh! I thought we were going out," she said, unable to hide her disappointment.

He swallowed and nodded, the muscles in his jaw, working overtime as he took her hands. "I'm so sorry, Sassenach. I had a last-minute phone call from this guy who'll be rewiring the sports complex. He's coming all the way from Glasgow, and I need to show him the floor plans and the list of gadgets I need installing. I'm just as disappointed as ye are that we can't go out." He linked his fingers through hers. "The next few weeks are going to be crazy as hell, but I'm doing everything I can to make sure we'll have more time together. That's a promise."

"That's alright," she murmured, trying her best not to act like a child whose lolly had been taken off her. This was the sixth time he'd cancelled their date, and it didn't help that they hadn't been out together for weeks and that she hadn't seen the sports complex yet. Her brain concocted tons of reasons for all the cancellations, and not one of them was good, but she immediately tamped down the thoughts when she saw the worried look on his face. Sighing, she gave him a reassuring smile. "You go ahead a prepare the food. I'll just quickly dry my hair, and I will be out soon."

Before she could turn away, he hauled her back into his arms, and then cupped her face with both hands and kissed her deeply, almost making her believe everything was fine.

"I love you, Sassenach" he said against her lips. "I promise I will have more time for us soon."

He held her for a few more heartbeats, and then with an effort, he pulled away and headed out the door.

When he left, she leaned her forehead against the damp bathroom tiles. "I love you too Jamie. So much it hurts to breathe sometimes," she whispered to the wall.

..........

Another three weeks went by, and Claire was determined to ignore her growing sense of apprehension about Jamie and her inability to deal with his lack of presence in most of her everyday life. She felt like she had a countdown timer running in the backdrop, and she was just waiting for it to reach zero when it would reveal they were over for good.

She sighed and ferociously tug the weeds out of her garden bed, venting her frustration in her back garden vegetation. Her mood didn't improve when she envisioned herself becoming one of those women who obsessed about their man, fearing they wouldn't be able to cope once the relationship was over. Shut it, Beauchamp! Stop being pathetic and grow a pair!

Nearby, Geillis was collecting all the weeds she'd pulled out and placing them into containers for compost. She didn't want to heap more of her relationship worries on her friend, thinking she's beginning to sound repetitive and whiny.

Even though Jamie was away a lot, he would drop by a few times, helping her with shopping when she didn't have the time to refill her pantry and repairing things that needed fixing in her wee cottage. She tried not to pressure him about sleepovers since she'd refused a few times to stay at his place. Not that Claire didn't want to be with him, but he was hardly in his apartment, and when he was, he spent his time catching up on sleep or speaking with important people on the phone. Over time she realised, he was workaholic, mostly when it involved something he was passionate and excited about. And it made her wonder if that was the reason he never had any proper relationship during his rugby days.

Jamie had often enough apologised for not always being there for her and asked her to give him more time and trust him, and she was trying her utmost best to do just that, even though patience and trust are two things she was beginning to have a short supply of.

"It's yer day-off. Aren't ye seeing Jamie today?" Geillis asked, getting up on her feet and kicking the dirt off her boots.

"Nope. Apparently, being interviewed by some local radio station and filming for Irn-Bru commercial is more appealing than spending time with his girlfriend." She cringed inwardly the moment her pettiness came out in full force, unable to contain what she truly felt any longer.

"Ach, hen. I ken it's been a difficult time for ye both with yer long hours and his busy schedule. Surely, ye ken he'd rather spend time with ye."

"I know, Geillis. Don't mind me at all. I'm just in one of those moods. Think nothing more of it." She dusted off her hands and got up. "Anyway, I'm trying not to dwell on those things. I have to get ready and meet up with John ...you know John Grey from St Leonards', where I did my temp job?" When Geillis nodded, she continued. "He's got a day-off too, and his boyfriend is on a business trip to France. So we thought, since we're both boyfriendless today, we'd hang out together. You can join us if you wish."

Geillis waved her hand. "I'll pass. I have a gig tomorrow for a group of seven-year-olds. Need to organise their party hats and goodie bags. I'll clean up and go." Then she pulled her in for a hug. "And enjoy yersel' and try not to worry about Jamie. He's probably thinking the same of ye ...ye not having enough time for him with yer long hours at work. Just have a little faith with the man, alright?"

"I will," she smiled, kissing her on the cheek. "In case you finish early with your prep for tomorrow and change your mind about joining us, we'll be in The World's End."

Geillis pulled back and made a face. "I doubt it. It's a bath, chamomile and books for me tonight and then early to bed. Need to save my energy for those bairns tomorrow. Kids nowadays are so hyper and fueled with so much sugar, I can hardly keep up with them. But ye go enjoy yersel', and I'll stop by one of this morning for breakfast." And with that, she spun around and headed towards the house.

As she put away her hand garden tools into a bucket, she took deep calming breaths and made a decision to stop thinking so negatively. It had been ages since she'd been to the pub and maybe a change of atmosphere and a few beers with her friend John would improve her mood. She wished she could talk to Jamie right now, but she knew he was working and was probably in the middle of an interview or shoot. She would just have to wait later to send him a message once she's come back home.

As if thinking of Jamie willed him to call, her phone buzzed in her jeans, and when she looked at the screen, it lit up with his number. A wave of elation rushed through her cancelling all her earlier doubts. "Hey, I was just thinking about you and wondering when it's best to call you up. I wasn't sure if you were in the middle of something."

"I have a few minutes before I go on air." He sounded slightly hoarse if not tired, but still, she could hear a smile on his voice. "How are ye today, Sassenach?"

She reminded herself he was working hard for his sports academy, and she needed to be a more understanding girlfriend. "I'm great," she replied, trying to be more cheerful than she felt. "I'm just cleaning up after a bit of garden work, and then I'll head out for a few drinks."

"With Geillis and Joe?"

She picked up her bucket of tools and headed towards the shed. "Actually, no. I'm going out with John."

"John? Who's John?"

She thought she heard the clipped tone in his voice but shook her head, thinking she imagined things. "You know John. The head doctor of St Leonards' where I did my temp job. We both have a day-off, so we thought we'd hang out together for a couple of beers. It's been ages since I've been out and I thought it would be a nice change."

"How come Geillis or Joe is not coming with ye? Are they working?"

"Joe is away somewhere ...God knows where. And I've asked Geillis to come, but she has a gig to prepare for tomorrow." She opened the door to her shed and slid in her tools before closing it again and heading back towards the house. "It'll just be a couple of drinks, and then I'll head back home."

There was a long pause in Jamie's end. "Jamie? You still there?"

"Aye, I'm here," he sighed. "The air is getting colder, Sassenach. Make sure ye dressed up warmly when ye go out."

"It is getting a bit nippy," she admitted, looking at her watch. "Listen. Got to run. I'm running a bit late."

There was another silence for a few seconds before he spoke. "Ye ken I love ye, don't ye, Sassenach?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and smiled. "Of course, Jamie. And I love you too. But I really have to go. I'll speak to you soon ...well, as soon as I get back home. I promise." And then she turned off the phone before he could say another word since she was already running late. As she stepped into the house, she felt loads better already than she did earlier after hearing Jamie's voice. In fact, she was beginning to look forward to having a night out with John and having a refreshing pint. Maybe, later, if she's not too tired, she would pay Jamie a visit to his apartment and surprise him. With that in mind and with more lightness in her heart, she showered and got ready for her night out.

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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pixie88 · 4 years

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Miami

Chapter 5 - Our Little Secret.

A/N: Queen B fanfiction. I’m currently editing and adding all my FF to my new account. All being added to my pinned masterlist on my profile. Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

Find previous chapters HERE under Queen B - Our Little Secret.

Word count: 1702

WARNINGS: ⚠️ Some adult language & sexual content.

Disclaimer: Characters are property of Pixelberry.

Pairings: Ian x MC - Lyla.

Enjoy!

RING, RING, RING , RING!

(Argh, what is that noise shut it up! My head! Ouch!)

I open my eyes and realize it's my phone ringing. I grab it from the dresser and take a look at the screen where Zoey name appears I answer.

'Hey Zo!'

'Thank god! Lyla, where are you?'

(I go to answer, then I stop myself. Keep it a secret and lie!)

'I am at my parents, why?'

'I was worried about you when you didn't come home last night!'

'Sorry, I should've texted but I didn't think. Sorry!'

'I'm just glad you're ok. You sound rough!'

I laugh.

'Thanks Zo! I just woke up'

'Wow, you must have had a good night to still be in bed at this time!'

I pull the phone away to check the time 2.17pm.

(I've slept all day!)

I turn but the bed is empty. I return the phone to my ear.

'Zo, I need to go speak tonight?'

'Sure, I'll see you later. Bye'

'Bye'

I hang up, get out of bed and call out to Ian but I don't get any answer. I send him a text.

[Hey, Why didn't you wake me?]

PING

[Hi, You looked peaceful, and I thought you could do with the sleep.]

[As sweet as that was. I've now missed half of my classes for today!]

PING

[Sorry, I made a mistake. Next time I will wake you.]

[No, I'm sorry I didn't mean that to sound ungrateful. TBH I probably wouldn't of been able to concentrate. My head is banging.]

PING

[In the bathroom cupboard there are some painkillers in there. As drink plenty of water. I have a class starting now. Speak soon x]

[Thanks, Will do. Have fun! x]

I make my way to the bathroom and decide to have a shower too. Later I leave Ian's and head back to my dorm.

2 Weeks later I'm in my bedroom reading when my phone pings I look at the screen.

*1 New Message from Ian Kingsley*

[Hi Lyla, Are you still awake? x]

I smile.

[Hey Ian, Considering I'm replying to your text yes I am still awake. What's up? xx]

PING.

[I miss you.....I wish you were here! x]

I laugh!

[Awww, I wish I was with you too! You would be more fun than this book.]

PING.

[What are you reading? x]

[Nothing interesting. What are you doing? xx]

PING

[I'm in bed with the TV on thinking about you. x]

[Thinking about me? ;) Naughty Professor! xx]

PING

[The things I'm imagining.... x]

[Oooo, enlighten me then? xx]

PING

[God, I wish you were here! x]

[What would you do if I was? xx]

PING

[I'd kiss your lips and catch your lip between my teeth. x]

[I let out a moan and grab your hair at the nape of your neck and pull your head back, so I have access to your neck. Where I can lay kisses down to your collarbone.]

PING

[I let my hands wander down your body taking in every curve.]

[I relish in your touch.]

PING

[I push you onto the bed and trap your body beneath mine. My hands slip under your nightie and tease your breast. My mouth captures yours and I kiss you passionately.]

[Oh Ian! I move my legs so you are between them and I slide my hands down your bare chest, abs and into your boxers I brush against your hard member.]

PING

[I groan Lyla, I pull your nightie up over your head and use it to pin your hands there. I let my mouth slip from yours, nibbling your neck as I go, I get to your chest and my tongue runs over your breast.]

[Oh...Ian! I moan. I arch my back needing you.]

PING

[I brush my fingers against you, hook them inside and move your underwear to the side, so I can roll my tongue along you. You taste amazing.]

[I move my hips, wanting more. I moan as your tongue moves against me, I try to move my hands but your hold is too strong and I spread my legs.]

PING

[I push my tongue into you, you buck your hips up and I push your hips down, pinning them to the bed. I lap and suck at your centre until you can't take anymore.]

[Please, Ian I need you! I beg, you come up and your lips crash against mine. You rub your hard member against me....]

PING

[I push pass your entrance, you moan and I start off slowly letting you get used to the feeling. You wrap your legs around my waist and link your feet behind my back.]

[I tell you to move faster and harder. I need you! I move my hips to match your rhythm. You groan and your grip on my wrists loosens and I pull of my night from around my wrists and wrap my arms around you and dig my nails into your back.]

PING

[God! Lyla, I need you here! I'm....]

[Just imagine it's me, Ian! I flip you onto your back and start riding you hard.]

PING

[I grasp you hips, helping your movements. Making you speed up as your bouncing up and down me.]

[I pull your hands away and pin the above your head before I whisper how do you like to be pinned down Ian?]

PING

[I'm helpless and at your mercy. I lose control and call out your name LYLA!]

[Hearing you lose control makes me hit my own peek. I moan your name IAN!]

PING

[You collapse onto the bed, and we cuddle up.]

[I wish! Thanks for the release professor! I can't wait to see you. I love you xx]

PING

[We have the same wish. Nor can, I. Better get some sleep. Good night and I love you too x]

[Night, Ian x]

A couple of days later I'm walking into Ian's office, he looks up at me with a smile "Lyla, Glad you're here! I have something to tell you." "What is it?" "The New York University are holding a few training days in Miami. I decided to flight out the Sunday night and come back the Saturday morning as the training is on Tuesday and Thursday." "Ian, That's fantastic!" I feel disappointed that he's going to be away for a week.

I try to keep my voice neutral, but my face doesn't get the memo. Ian knows I'm upset, so he makes his way over to me from behind his desk. "Lyla, I booked the extra days, so you could come with me" I try to hide my smile, but it's no use. "So a naughty week away professor?" He gets a heat glint in his eyes.

"We will have time alone together, yes. But I was thinking there was other stuff we could do like normal stuff without prying eyes." He kisses me. Then whispers against my ear "All you have to do is say yes, pack a bag and be ready for 6pm Sunday night" his breath against my ear make my hair stand on end.

"Ian, Yes!" he breaks and his lips crash against mine. As his hand comes to the back of my neck pulls me closer to him. There's a knock at the door, it's one of Ian's students, we pull away and straight ourselves up.

Ian opens the door and I go to leave. "I'll see you Sunday, Ian" I wink and Ian smirks. "Sunday" he says as he turns his attention to his student.

It's Sunday, I'm packing as Zoey walks into my room with Gizmo. "I'm so jealous, I can't believe you're going to Miami with your parents. It should be a girls trip." "They want to spend some time with me before summer break" I avoid her eye, so she can't tell I was lying.

Later I meet Ian at the airport, he smiles when he spots me "Lyla, Fancy meeting you here" "Sorry professor, I am meeting my boyfriend here, can't stop" I smirk and start walking past him, and he grabs my arm.

"Funny, I'm meeting my girlfriend and you seem to resemble her!" he laughs, "Where are you and your girlfriend going?" I ask "Miami, I have training there for my new job and I decide to make it into a little holiday for us" "Wow, I'm heading to Miami too. A romantic break away is just what I need." I smile.

We hear the call for our flight "That's us!" "Better make our way, hopefully my boyfriend will make it on time" "I sure he's closer than you think, Lyla" he smirks.

We get onto the plane "Would you look at that Professor, we are sitting together!" "So it seems" we take our seats. A little later we order drinks "So, are we staying at the hotel the university booked?" "Nope, when I invited you, I booked The Setai for us away from where the others are staying" "So, you could keep me a secret?" "Lyla, quite the opposite. So, I don't have to spend my time outside the training with my new colleagues. I'm free to spend it with you." I smile.

"So, have you ever joined the mile high club, Ian?" I ask as I see his eyes darken.

Once we arrive at the hotel we check in and make our way up to our room. The view is stunning! You can see the whole of Miami beach from here. "Ian, This is beautiful." "So, are you!" I turn to him, and he's staring at me.

"So, shall we head to bed? It is 11pm" I yawn "Yes, We better. I have planned a full day tomorrow for us" "Ian, do you ever just go with the flow?" "Oh, we don't hav.." I cut him off "I was joking. I can't wait to see what you have planned for us tomorrow! But after some cuddles and sleep!" he smiles "Great!" we get changed for bed.

We climb into bed, and Ian wraps me up in his strong arms I can barely keep my eyes open "Goodnight, Lyla" he kisses my cheek. "Night, Ian" I drift off to sleep happy.

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 6.

#ian kingsley #ian #ian x mc #professor #belvoire #queen b #fanfic #choices #pixelberry

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steveramsdale · 4 years

Text

Big dipper Blog - 10.10

This blog is, essentially, the same as last week’s. There are some alternative factual details, but they are superficial. Anyway, you could just reread (or remember) last week’s offering and save yourself a bit of time. If you do decide to read on, we could make it more fun. You could try to decide for yourself the highest high and the lowest low. Remember, it’s just for fun. There’s no prize, so don’t write, text or email.

I think, as people, we are supposed to grow, to learn, to develop. That’s the most startling revelation you’ll read today. Adversity can be, I’m told, an opportunity for such personal growth. It may, in fact, be true, that I have been learning about myself. I wonder if my ‘issue’ is that if one thing is wrong, it affects everything else. See what you think.

On Saturday, my chief goal was to get the car de-registered and get the papers I need for me to be able to export it. The police centre I needed to go to was advertised as opening at 9:30 so I had time to get up and get sorted. I had a wonderful colleague on notice to be available for telephone translation if necessary.

I took a 6am trip to the shop through the park. Many people were already out running, I’d say 100 or more and it’s not a big park. Much of Tashkent has given up on lockdown.

Soon it was time to head off for the simple process of taking my car off its registration here! Google maps took me behind the centre where there was no gate. It was not difficult to find a way round to the front. That was the last time a problem was easily solved on Saturday. When we got the van and went to register it for the first time, the father and son who sold it to us, took me and helped. Even so, when we got there, they accepted the help of a man who was at the centre to do just that - help, for a fee, people through the process. He charged me about £20 but probably saved us 3 or 4 hours by knowing what to do and going to the front of queues. When I returned to the scene of this lengthy but problem-free process, there were, again, these free-lance ‘sorters’ and I decided it would be worth accepting help. The price was about the same. However, the first problem emerged in minutes. The address. I knew, back in September, that this would be a problem one day, would bite me on the bum. Sorry, I forgot to say that this blog would contain strong language and adult themes. I have a credit card-sized, well, card which is my ownership document (log book). It has all of the details about me and my van. So, of course, the address is our old address. Now, in my passport, I have my new address. I did not sort this out. The people at the centre said they could not de-register me until I changed the address (of course I questioned this), and that I could not change he address there but had to go to the centre in Yunusabad. I paid about £2 for something and my assistant asked for (and received) about £5 for his help. I set off for the other centre.

Long-time readers may (won’t) remember that at the original registration, we also went to two centres - the wrong one first. The centre I had to go to now was that ‘wrong’ one. I love symmetry, and here it was. When I got there, again came the offers of help. There were more guys here and they wanted £60. I declined, at this rate. I first drove into the inspection hall. Here they check the car against the ‘tec-passport’ as the credit-card is called. They match up the chassis number, etc. I had the papers from the first centre, so that went through without a hitch. Thereafter, the day was just a big hitch or series of small hitches that’s looked like one big hitch. We return to the Uzbek system, seen at the Kazakh border (remember) of needing to go from window to window, room to room. However, I was soon (a relative term) told that I would not be able to deregister the van until I had proof that I was leaving the country too. This would be in the form of a stamp in my passport given by my landlord! This cuts a longer story short and, by now, includes Miss Viktoriya as my telephone translator. I was certain that this could not be right (by the way, the miss-matched address was no longer an issue. It would mean, for example, that an Uzbek could not export a car to a relative in Russia! I tried explaining this, we went back to the main hall to talk to the boss a couple of times, but no one was changing this story. I phoned Pim, the export guy who has helped with every stage of this van conversion, and he put me on to a colleague. We talked and he also spoke to the officials there but got the same answer. Pim then told me that his people would look in to it more on Monday (yes, this story goes on) and help to sort it. The woman I had been dealing with insisted that I go back to the other centre and get my £2 back - which was an incorrect charge. She even phoned them to arrange it for me. I didn’t go back. Not for £2.

As an aside, there has to be a better way for the authorities to organise this free-for-all. The system is not a system. Queuing is almost non-existent and the mass of people at peak times is ridiculous. The spivs there to help....It is bad enough in normal times, but while a pandemic is still around....

So now I was free, for the rest of Saturday and Sunday to worry and consider the prospect of being unable to send the van (and the ridiculous amount of other stuff) home. Here is where I realised that this one problem took over everything. I heard that cafes and restaurants would be allowed to re-open on Monday and immediately thought of Ecorn. I should have been more happy. I wasn’t. I did decide I would go and have a chicken caesar sandwich after work on Monday.

Monday was a tough day. There quite a lot of end of year stuff at school, practical stuff, which I’m finding stressful. Then there’s this. The rule is ridiculous but it seems to be the rule! Then, some good news - someone offered to help me. I had called Ekaterina, the woman who deals with staff visas and registration. I thought that she would know about this stamp I needed or would be able to find out. She did not know about the stamp but said that she would go with me to the car centre to find out about it. I still had the papers. We went after my last lesson and when she was free. We went to the office of the ‘Saturday woman’. She wasn’t in the office but her colleague remembered me and said I could go to the main room. We went across and up to a free window. Ekaterina spoke to the police officer there. He immediately told us that no such stamp was needed and, had I brought the car, or even just the number plates, he could have done it there and then! We had gone in a taxi. I asked if there was time for me to go and get the plates then, but there was not. I resolved to go early the next day as he said it would take about 30 minutes. And suddenly the world was full of sunlight and joy again. I looked with pleasure upon my fellow Uzbeks, pushing to the front of queues and standing too close to each other.

We shared a taxi as Ekaterina lives quite close to the centre. I enjoyed (really enjoyed) my Ecorn sandwich. Life was good again. As an aside, these were my first taxi rides since The 22nd March. I saw Z—- JB so I’m sure KB is out there somewhere. Will I see it?

On Tuesday morning, as planned, I went back to the Gai. It opens at 8 so I was there at 7:30. The officer from the evening before was the first to arrive and had the key for the room (more of a hall, really). My first lesson of the day is at 9. School is a 15/20 minute taxi ride away away (I was going in to school to do some of the other jobs I have to do), so this would be a doddle. I was the only customer. I had the number plates and the documents and handed them over. The officer began the process. After about 20 minutes we went over to the cassa (the payment room. He took me. It was about £6. The woman there said I should go back to get my refund (I had given her my receipt from the other place). I agreed that I should but did not say I would not. A taxi there and back would be about £4! We returned to the main room. he continued the process. Time continued to move on. More customers began to arrive. Many went to my guy’s window and he flitted between my job and theirs. None of them could see the ‘maintain distance’ stickers on the floor. These were very obtrusive, written in Uzbek and Russian and invisible to local men. As time ticked on, it was clear I would be late for my first lesson. I sent my students an email. I waited. Eventually, my officer moved across the room, to a computer. This is it. he’s going to print my papers. After about another 20 minutes, I saw the ‘printing’ notification/animation appear on his Windows ME screen. And, five minutes later, he was handing me the paper work. It was done. My first lesson of the day was abandoned but I had what I needed.

One more observation here - no one in Tashkent will be getting coronavirus of the chin.

While I was feeling sorry for myself, over the weekend, I saw people collecting rubbish being moved on by the police. I have mentioned previously, that there are always people sorting through the rubbish bin. The mostly seem to be collecting plastic bottles but take anything of value. This group of four had huge bags of plastic and were near ‘my’ bins. I have no idea why four police men were moving them on. I wondered how many plastic bottles you would need to collect in a day to ‘make a living’. I also wondered what these people had done wrong, ‘stealing’ my rubbish. I also wondered why I had been feeling so sorry for myself trying to sort out my ‘huge problem’. Perspective. It had gone. It has returned but I did not know it could be so fleeting.

I did some lessons at school on Tuesday and began all of the sorting, packing and tidying tasks. Mafirat, my TA, was in too. The internet is not great at school! It was good tom see people, but I was not entirely comfortable.

On Thursday, working from home again, I decided to go for coffee out before work. While walking round I saw two kittens playing and stopped to say ‘hi’. One had jumped into a ditch but the other stopped and looked at me. It the looked back at its mother (I’m guessing but 99.9% sure). She came stalking round a bush. She was ready to attack me if necessary. It was not necessary.

The fire engine and disinfectant squad were also back. While I was out, they sprayed all the way up the stairs in my building, so I imagine they were going through all of the buildings.

Thursday was also the day I would take the van. I had loaded everything. I had stuck the paper transit number plate in the front window. I was ready to go. It is a short drive to Pim’s warehouse. Of course I was stopped by a police man. he wanted to know why I was driving without number plates. As soon as I showed him the paper plate stuck in the window, he was fine. At the warehouse, about six guys unpacked everything and re-packed it in their boxes. It was (is) a ridiculous amount of stuff. And so, I left Munisa with strangers, to travel alone on the journey we should have made together.

And if I did stop at Ecorn and have another caesar sandwich, that’s nobody’s business but mine.

There were children playing inside my building. This is the first time this has happened. I could hear three or four playing further up the stairs - laughing and running around. Later, while I was talking to Mairi and Fred, they were outside my door. They were having a good time. I don’t know why they were playing on the stairs and I don’t mind. It was nice to hear voices and laughter.

Also on Thursday, in my last lesson of the day, guided reading, two notable things happened. A high and low (you decide). In our morning English lesson, we had defined some vocabulary, including ‘bittersweet’. We had talked about the meaning, in terms of taste, of the two parts of the word. They said they were happy that they understood it. The guided reading was Kensuke’s Kingdom. I had not realised it was the last chapter. We were suddenly at the end. I can assure you there are no spoilers ahead. As I was reading, I suddenly found myself getting emotional. The two main characters were interacting and I felt that I was going to cry. In fact, I did. The events of the last two or three paragraphs got to me. They are relevant to my situation, I suppose. This has never happened to me before in a lesson. I always tear up at the end of Sister Act 2 (the cinema’s greatest achievement) but this is a new one. One of the students said “Oh Mr Ramsdale, don’t cry!” The postscript didn’t help, but I regained my composure.

We talked about the complex emotions of the ending. One of my brightest students only every joins in through the chat. I looked in the box and she had written one word. -‘bittersweet’. My work here is done.

I know it’s been a longer one, but there are a few loose ends and thoughts.

Returning to an old them, I heard ‘unite together’. I also heard ‘plateaued off’. Unnecessary, people. Perhaps I should have said ‘returning back to an old theme’.

I saw JB. Driving over to the centre, I saw E___JB. So they’ve been out for a little while. Appropriately, the driver got that plate from one of the centres I went to this week!

Let’s finish with Trump. I mean that in both senses of that sentence. This week he again asserted that testing causes cases of the virus, so testing is bad. He also said that if people stop calling others racists, racism will quickly go away. At what age do toddlers acquire the concept of object permanence? He’s not there yet. If we can’t see him, will he cease to exist?

And that’s it. What sort of week has it been? Bittersweet.

See you next time.

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hd-fan-fair · 5 years

Photo

[ Fanworks posted in tropes order here ]

MASTERLIST OF H/D FOOD FAIR 2018 FANWORKS

ART

1. pygmy-puffy drew Meet Me at 6 (PG-13) Summary: Harry owns a food truck. Draco is a grudgingly regular customer. One day, Harry pushes an unsolicited cake pop in his hand; it comes with a little heart-shaped message attached to the stem: “Meet me on the roof at 6.” 2. anokaba drew Cafe, Custard, & Courting (PG-13) Summary: After agreeing to this fake relationship scheme, the boys meet at a cafe to get their stories straight. Of course they can't help but push each other's buttons. 3. epithalamium (art tumblr) drew 4-Ingredient Recipe for a Relationship (PG) Summary: Because of his childhood with the Dursleys, Harry relationship with food is rocky at best. And then he meets Draco, who loves cooking. 4. girl412 (gothzabini) drew Honey and Apples (PG-13) Summary: When Draco’s ability to taste is cursed away, he loses more than just one of his senses. Who can help him, if not Harry Potter? 5. sugareey drew Weekly Cuisine (PG) Summary: It's routine for Harry and Draco to go to a Muggle restaurant every Sunday to try new foods and catch up. During their exciting dim sum experience, they discover something important they should've laid out on the table in the first place. Also, Harry is a (sneaky) idiot. 6. dustmouth drew Draco Malfoy's Reasonably Large Cucumber (PG-13) Summary: After making yet another drunken wager with Malfoy at the pub, Harry finds himself vying for first prize in the Annual Wizarding Vegetable Competition, an average sized pumpkin in tow. 7. citruskk drew Here Comes the D! (G) Summary: Draco loves his soup, especially when he's sick. However, he hates it when he's too shaky to feed himself so he had to rely on Harry to spoon-feed him the soup. Alphabet soup. It's not helping that Harry always, always picks the D letters first and gleefully say, "open up wide, here comes the D!"

ART & FIC

1. fantom_ftnoise wrote and drew Once Upon a Time (R, 12725, Same Artist & Author) Summary: This is the story of Hansel & Gretel - er, that is, Harry & Draco. 2. writcraft wrote and phoenixacid drew Slice of Life (NC-17, 16314, Artist & Author Collaboration) Summary: Luna and Ginny are worried about Harry, Greg is a very a fine baker, Snape’s portrait has a lot of opinions and Draco Malfoy is (probably) up to something. In which one man’s love for jam tarts blossoms into a different kind of love entirely.

FIC

1. ICMezzo wrote Passion Cake (PG-13, 19384) Summary: Once more, with passion. Or, Harry orders a magically enhanced cake from a chic London bakery, except Pansy overcharges him, and then Draco Vanishes it entirely, and really, from there it all goes to hell in a cake tin. And will someone please tell Harry what Passion Cake is? 2. xErised wrote Chasing Treacle Tart (and Draco Malfoy) (NC-17, 23141) Summary: Malfoy, who is sentenced to work as a dinner lady in the Ministry canteen, has an annoying habit of withholding desserts from Harry. Harry puts up with it, but when Malfoy stops him from getting his beloved treacle tart, Harry is determined to do something about it. And Ron? He's really just there for the awkward flirting. 3. Razra_Eizel wrote Birthday Bash (PG-13, 3234) Summary: To cheer Draco up during their Eighth Year, Harry decided to throw him a birthday surprise party, no matter what challenges he may face. 4. bafflinghaze wrote Where There Is Tea (PG-13, 12643) Summary: Somewhere in London, overlooking a garden, sits a little tea room. There, Harry finds tea, distraction, books, conversation, inspiration, himself, and Draco Malfoy. 5. enchanted_jae wrote Feluna (PG-13, 2558) Summary: As the owner of a new bakery, Draco can't afford to turn down business, even if it's with Loony Lovegood's cat cafe. 6. AhaMarimbas wrote The Devil's Aphrodisiacs (PG-13, 3097) Summary: Teddy learns a new word, Harry breaks his favourite coffee mug and Draco loves his little family. Not necessarily in that order. Or, Squirt squirt squirt squirt. Squirtsquirtsquirtsquirtsquirtsquirtsquirt. Squirt??? SQUIRT!!!!! 7. MistyDeath wrote Sweet (S)talker (NC-17, 10296) Summary: Merlin, he’d stalked the asshole for almost a year, you think Harry would have noticed him tongue fucking sugar quills on the daily! 8. JGogoboots wrote A Holiday in Provence (NC-17, 32201) Summary: Harry Potter is turning 50 years old and feeling lonelier than ever. Divorced, retired, and learning he’s not quite as straight as he thought he was, Harry reluctantly accepts a birthday gift from his friends for a week’s stay at an idyllic French vineyard. Too bad Hermione and Ron neglected to mention that the owner of the winery happens to be a certain quick-witted blond Slytherin… 9. maraudersaffair wrote Paidi's Proper Shag (NC-17, 10531) Summary: Draco works at a fast food restaurant. Harry is his worst customer. 10. simplylegilimenss wrote grant that we may feast (in fellowship) (NC-17, 20388) Summary: When the house elves are on strike given Sundays off, a cooking competition ensues in the Hogwarts kitchens every Sunday. Passionate rivalries turn to passionate friendships. Or could it be something more? Or: Draco can’t cook for shit even though he says he can, Pansy and Blaise are also little shits, Hermione Granger is downright scary, Ronald Weasley totally called it, and Draco really needs to stop checking Harry Potter out every chance he gets. 11. lokiperfect wrote There Used To Be A Lightness (PG-13, 3598) Summary: Down on his luck, Draco Malfoy is trying to find a job. It proves more than unsuccessful. Molly Weasley, with all kids now grown up, is trying to start a restaurant. That proves more successful, and makes them cross paths. Harry Potter, running away from memories of the war, returns to London three years later to discover exactly how things have changed. 12. cubedcoffeecake wrote What Happens at the Milk Bar (doesn’t stay there) (R, 10133) Summary: "Draco, look at me. You talk about Potter all the time. Your complaints about him usually just sound like… Well, you tend to give the impression that you don’t like Potter because you find him distractingly attractive and don’t like that you can’t touch.” Meg and Art nodded sagely as Draco’s jaw dropped. “I—what?” “You’re attracted to Potter, Dray,” Meg helpfully supplied. 13. Bangyababy wrote Promising Produce (NC-17, 3068) Summary: Harry knew it was a stupid idea, but Harry'd never been one for listening, even to himself. Now he's standing in Exam Room 3 trying to explain to Draco Malfoy why there's a carrot stuck up his bum. 14. harryromper wrote Let him lead me to the banquet (PG-13, 16066) Summary: The worst part is Harry’s got no idea why Malfoy keeps sending him invites. He’s never replied to a single one. And if the whole dinner is as exclusive and sought-after as the Prophet keeps breathlessly reporting, then presumably the only reason Malfoy wants him there is in his capacity as the Chosen One. So, really, he can fuck right off. Harry doesn’t care about Draco Malfoy’s redemption tour. And he’s certainly not going to help him with it. 15. AhaMarimbas wrote The Godric's Hollow Wizarding Parents Association (NC-17, 26298) Summary: When Draco decided to move his small family to Godric’s Hollow, little did he know he’d have to deal with misleading television programs, some surprisingly friendly neighbours and a bit of peanut butter. Okay, lots of peanut butter. 16. Ingi wrote haunt yourself and refuse to be buried (G, 3354) Summary: Harry Potter is eighteen years old and he is not okay. 17. whiskyandwildflowers wrote Feeling Rough, Feeling Raw (In the Prime of My Life) (NC-17, 7570) Summary: In which Harry has a quarter-life crisis and winds up at a health spa, Malfoy dresses like a cult leader, and everyone consumes a lot of raw greenery. 18. Goldentruth813 wrote Boiling Point (R, 42882) Summary: Ferveret - n. boiling point After an Auror raid gone wrong, Draco ends up trapped in a dodgy safehouse with nothing but Harry Potter’s dubious company and a dwindling supply of food. With only each other and the walls surrounding them, they're forced to confront their past and their feelings which have long been threatening to boil over. 19. PollyWeasley wrote Potter’s Delicacies (NC-17, 4823) Summary: Draco thinks a quiet life is just what he ever needed in his life. He’s got good friends, a nice independent job as an artist, and an exclusive pâtissier just for himself. He doesn’t think much of why Potter likes to feed him treats so often, he’s just that weird. Even if Draco wants to have something with him, Potter is just a nice, good friend who likes to see him enjoying fancy treats. Right? 20. parkkate wrote A picture of ricecake (NC-17, 7030) Summary: After a night of hot sex, Draco wakes up to the smell of Harry cooking. When he eats his food Draco vows that's it, Harry's making him breakfast forever. 21. crazyparakiss wrote Sweet Relief (NC-17, 1708) Summary: It happens on a Tuesday. The most boring, innocuous day of the week. That’s the day when Draco discovers something delectable, something devious...something fun. 22. DoubleAppled wrote Harry Potter and the Showstopper of Doom (R, 11528) Summary: In which Harry’s an amateur baker, Draco wants him to go on the Great British Bake-Off, Petunia never misses an episode, Sue is a witch, Paul Hollywood is Paul Hollywood, and everyone eats a lot — like a whole lot — of baked goods. 23. postjentacular wrote Tectonic (PG-13, 3296) Summary: In which Draco is the unnoticed centre of attention, Harry's unobservant and, (eventually) they talk. 24. maesterchill wrote Eat Me (NC-17, 10954) Summary: Harry's having a terrible morning. That is, until he receives a curious package at work. Inside are two things: a chocolate model of an erect penis, and a note simply saying ‘Eat Me’ in an elegant, inviting script. And Merlin, he’s hungry. 25. Synonym4Life and GingerTodgers wrote The Fair of Artful Pleasure (F.A.P.) (R, 7363) Summary: F.A.P or the Fair of Artful Pleasure is going as splendidly as Harry could have imagined. Which is not splendidly at all. Which is, in fact, the complete opposite of splendid. Two steps in and he's already traumatised for life. And yet, it still manages to go downhill from there: Malfoy is at the fair and he's making Harry lick lube from dildos in front of an audience. As if that wasn't terrible enough, Harry has feelings. 26. jeni_andtheafterthought wrote Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire (NC-17, 22238) Summary: The war may have ended, but Draco was never able to move on with his life. Having no access to his vault and cut off from his friends and family, he is forced to support himself by working jobs in muggle restaurants. With his luck in the gutter and his flat up in smoke, Draco thinks things can't possibly get worse. Harry offers to help, convincing Draco that things could, in fact, get worse. 27. gracerene wrote The Hand That Feeds You (NC-17, 17371) Summary: Harry needs something only Draco can provide. 28. squadofcats wrote Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm (NC-17, 104357) Summary: Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria. 29. RuArcher (coriesocks) wrote Anyone But Him (NC-17, 19323) Summary: Harry thought going to a Muggle university would be the perfect opportunity for a new start. He hadn’t counted on having Draco Malfoy as a flatmate. 30. Magnolia822 wrote The Great Magic Sex Mushroom Fiasco (NC-17, 6789) Summary: Lost in the Siberian wilderness without food, Aurors Potter and Malfoy are forced to improvise, with unexpected consequences . . . 31. timothysboxers wrote The Boy Who Licked (R, 4039) Summary: Draco Malfoy is doing well for himself: he has paid his dues, enjoys his work at the Ministry, and has his feelings safely in check regarding a certain Auror Potter, thank you very much. That is, until he bears witness to the obscene things the man can do with his tongue and a custard filled bun... 32. gnarf wrote The Difference Between Dust And Soup (Is You) (PG-13, 17612) Summary: When Harry returned for his eighth year at Hogwarts he had high hopes that he'd have a normal and quiet year for once—he had earned it after all! But when he found Malfoy starving and unconscious in the Astronomy Tower one night, it all started over again. He had to figure out what happened to him. After Harry started to cook for Malfoy, and while sharing their secret dinner night after night, he couldn't help but wonder if there was a possibility of them becoming more. 33. Blowfish_Diaries wrote How to Handle a Matzo Ball Soup Emergency (R, 22028) Summary: Harry, having left the Wizarding World after his divorce, inherits a deli in a trendy part of London. Draco wanders in and falls in love - with the food. And certainly not with the infuriatingly-fit-father-of-three who runs the place. A tale of growing up and families of choice; of awkward hugs and new best friends. 34. mykesprit wrote Succumb or Retreat (NC-17, 2068) Summary: Draco procures the Forbidden Fruit, and Auror Harry Potter arrives to take it from him. 35. lyonessheart wrote Melange a deux (PG-13, 10006) Summary: This is the story of two men finding love in unexpected places. And lots of delicious food. 36. oldenuf2nb wrote The Chains of Memory (NC-17, 14417) Summary: Harry is growing sicker by the day and Draco wants to know why. 37. Fantasyfiend09 wrote Popular Appetite (G, 16735) Summary: Bad press is destroying Draco’s hotel. There is only one person who can create enough good press to save it. 38. firethesound wrote The Way These Days Seem to Go (And Go) (PG-13, 15112) Summary: Stress baking isn’t a hobby Harry ever thought he’d pick up, but he’s surprised to find how much it helps him to get through those long months post-war. It keeps his hands busy, it keeps his mind occupied, and when Draco Malfoy steadily pushes his way back into Harry's life, it helps with that too. 39. LadyOfTheAttic wrote Cooking Mama (PG-13, 5124) Summary: Harry and Draco are roommates and auror partners but there are certain lines Draco doesn't cross-- namely, he won't let Harry cook for him. This would be fine if Draco didn't live off of frozen dinners and sadness. Harry decides to help with lessons! 40. TheKnitterati wrote The Finest Ingredient (PG-13, 4474) Summary: The Weasley family is in need of help. Help that comes in the form of a rare plant, grown only on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. In order to save the day, Harry might have to flirt with Draco Malfoy. Or worse...they both might have to face up to the reality that they fancy each other. 41. giraffeminion wrote A Hint of Spice (G, 6787) Summary: After the war, Draco breaks ties with the wizarding world to lead a quiet and uneventful life as a financial advisor on the outskirts of Muggle London. His peaceable existence is broken, however, when a damnable food truck sets up shop right outside his front door. 42. groundbreaking wrote Order To Go (R, 17645) Summary: Draco Malfoy opens a new pâtisserie in Diagon Alley, his pastries and desserts are to die for. Harry is the coffee shop owner next door who wants to take Draco home for dessert. Ron is just there for the bread. - in which harry has a sweet tooth, but it isn't for anything on the menu. 43. Sw33tCh377yPi3 wrote Ice Cream (G, 7508) Summary: Sometimes the critical moment passes us by. If we’re fortunate, we get a second—or third—chance. 44. epsilonargus wrote The Right Question (PG-13, 4652) Summary: Harry is having dinner every week with Malfoy - but no, Ernie, they are not bloody dates! 45. Femmequixotic and Noeon wrote Ynys Afallach (I Will Give My Love An Apple) (NC-17, 42472) Summary: Professor Waverley Root's tutorial in the history of magical food is something of a legend at Flamel College. Draco Malfoy wants to apply it to his work in sustainable wizarding agriculture. Harry Potter's taking it for his interest in historical overlap between the magical and Muggle worlds in the West Country. When Root pairs them together, the fireworks (and the apples!) fly. Now if only they can find something original, perhaps they'll make it through to complete their degrees on time. 46. Drarryismymuse wrote The Way to a Man’s Heart (NC-17, 16390) Summary: Draco is released from Azkaban and given one week to find gainful employment...or else. A chance encounter with the ever-meddling Harry Potter changes the course of his week, and ultimately his life. This is a story of mistakes, burnt toast, awkward encounters, rude employees, bold gestures, and a bit of anal. :D 47. milkandhoney wrote Squill & Spoon (R, 19169) Summary: In order to complete the terms of his probation, Draco's mind healer must deem Draco reformed enough to re-enter wizarding society. Squill & Spoon, a new wizarding supper club could be the perfect opportunity — that is, if Harry Potter would stop showing up at his table every. Single. Time. 48. brightowl wrote The Dinner (NC-17, 7795) Summary: Draco had been trying to beat the sunset, walking along the cobblestone road to the Chateau where he would be staying that night, when he saw the door. Le Billet Doux, said a painted red sign. Below it, réservations non requises: ‘no reservations required.’ 49. Wonders wrote The One Where Harry is a Prat (Not Really) (PG-13, 5941) Summary: The one where Harry is a prat, a pig, an incompetent wazzock, an imbecile and ridiculous. Harry hears Draco talking about his favourite flower and buys him a bouquet full of them. Why, then, does he think Harry’s trying to kill him? 50. tigersilver wrote Eighteen Kisses (PG-13, 9436) Summary: Harry is being targeted by a very determined and wily Malfoy, a Malfoy with sly hands and a sweet, sweet mouth. 51. germankitty wrote The Best of Food (PG-13, 16884) Summary: It all started at the Hogsmeade Food Fayre. If some people those idiots Smith and McLaggen hadn't tried to sabotage a few participants, Draco would never have had to put up with having Potter's bread stall jammed in next to his. (And no, that wasn't a pun, thanks ever so.) Because then nobody could have claimed they'd seen him nibble morsels of tasty, delicious home-baked bread directly from Potter's fingers. Or let Potter lick spoonsful of Draco’s exquisite, scrumptious gourmet preserves directly from the jar. Clearly, Pansy, Blaise and Granger those people were quite delusional. At least that's Draco's story and he's sticking to it. 52. potteresque_ire wrote The Kitchen Thieves (and the Kitchen Herself) (NC-17, 67053) Summary: In a deserted cottage miles away from Hogsmeade, a pair of young spirits waited for a new owner to call the place home. One day, Auror Harry Potter bought the cottage. One evening, farm wizard Draco Malfoy showed up to spend the night with Harry… and steal from the kitchen. Why don’t we let Kate tell you their story? She’s the spirit who looks after the kitchen, and she’s got quite a bit to say… 53. sassy_cissa wrote Three Months, Eleven Days and Nine Hours (PG-13, 11029) Summary: Broke and living in a one room hovel in Knockturn Alley, Draco hunts in rubbish bins for food. Nothing could be more humiliating, right? Unless you're Draco Malfoy...

PODFIC

1. semperfiona read Pomegranate (NC-17) Summary: Podfic of "Pomegranate" by treacle_tartlet. More than a decade after the War, Draco makes a triumphant return to the wizarding world as the successful chef/owner of Pomegranate, only to have his world thrown into disorder when Harry arrives unexpectedly in the dining room.

#hd fan fair #hd food fair #drarry fic #drarry art #Harry Potter #harry x draco #draco malfoy/harry potter #please signal boost!

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ikementally-deficient · 5 years

Text

Iron Chef Sengoku - Chapter 1

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Warnings: None-so-far!

Summary: Date Masamune, Chef. Oda Nobunaga, former Chef with ambitions of TV stardom.

Tags: Cooking AU, Iron Chef

Author’s Note: ‘Kojuro’ was the common name of the head of the Katakura clan, who served as senior retainers to the Date clan. You recognise him if you’ve ever played everyone’s other favourite Sengoku warlord Otome, Samurai Love Ballad Party. Saigo Magoichi is a similar title for the head of the Saigo/Suzuki clan, and one of them apocryphally served in Masamune’s rifle troop. ‘Megohime’ was the wife of the historical Date Masamune. ‘Sumire’ is not, to the best of my knowledge, a name associated with any particular woman of the Sengoku era; rather, it’s the name of the lead character in my favourite josei manga, Kimi wa Petto/Tramps Like Us. My Sumire is not related to that one, but I do like the name.

According to the Diabetes Association of Canada and the Mayo Clinic, although onset of Type 1 diabetes is most common in juveniles, it can appear at any age. Development is not linked to sugar intake, but it does give Hideyoshi a good reason to get upset about Nobunaga’s candy habit.

**************

The kitchen of Oshu buzzed with activity and good cheer. It was nearing 11 pm, and the only station still working was the desserts, where Magoichi was artistically arranging several plates of wagashi. The dessert chef hummed absently to himself as he worked, oblivious to any scrutiny. The rest of the staff were wiping counters and sweeping up, preparing to close. The dishwasher sat ajar, waiting for the last diners’ plates.

Date Masamune leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. It had been a good, busy night, and his cooks had performed admirably, as they always did. He nodded approvingly as Magoichi’s plates went past him to the dining room and moved to the centre of the kitchen. He’d never approved of the kind of plating and presentation that went on in haute cuisine, partly because of his own lack of patience, and partly because he felt sub-par chefs used it to distract from the mediocrity of their food. Wagashi was different; each tiny pastry was like a delicious gem, displayed to perfection to nourish the spirit as well as the palate. Magoichi’s wagashi were always beautiful. Oshu was lucky to have him.

“All right, lads!” He clapped his hands and smiled broadly. “The battle is well fought and won. Help Magoichi clean up and get set up for last call. Tonight’s special is curry udon and pork cutlets.” A cheer went up and everyone not already occupied with cleaning went to the open area at the back of the kitchen and started setting up a long folding table. Masamune adjusted the dark blue bandana keeping his shock of chestnut hair tucked inside his toque before striding out to the hostess’s station. Sumire, the senior hostess, was preparing receipts for the table currently tucking into Magoichi’s creations.

“Hey, Chef. No last-minute surprises. These guys look like they’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes. They’ve already told Kita they don’t want any tea.”

“Great.” Masamune rested his forearms on the riser of the hostess station. “We’re just finishing clean up in the kitchen, desserts was the only thing left.”

Sumire grinned. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Curry udon and pork cutlets. Your favourite.”

Her groan was both delighted and despairing. “If you keep feeding us like this, Chef, you’re going to have to roll me out of this restaurant some day.”

Masamune winked at Sumire. For all he fed her and the rest of the staff, the woman was a twig. “Maybe it’s my way of keeping my staff loyal. You can’t quit if you’re too fat to leave!”

Sumire giggled, then waved him away as one of the diners at the final table caught her eye and waved. Masamune chuckled to himself and wandered back into the kitchen.

“Kojuro, help me get the beer.” Katakura Kojuro, his sous chef, followed Masamune towards the walk-in fridge, where they grabbed two cases of Sapporo.

“Good night, eh?” The older man looked satisfied. Masamune grinned broadly at him.

“Good enough, and no dawdlers delaying our after-party!” As the men stepped out of the fridge, Masamune saw the table and chairs were set up and Magoichi had already started serving the curry. As Masamune set the case in the middle of the table, he could hear Sumire answering the phone at her station. “Oi, Sumire, tell them we’re closed and come get your dinner!”

When Sumire entered the kitchen a few minutes later, all the staff but Masamune had a beer in hand and a bowl of curry. Masamune had a cup of tea, which he raised in her direction. “Come on, lass, you’re keeping us waiting!”

“Sorry, Chef, that last call had a message for you.” She handed him a slip of paper with a name and phone number scribbled on it before accepting the beer Kojuro was holding out for her. She popped it open with practised ease. “He said it was vital you call him tonight, if at all possible.” Sumire slid into the seat left vacant for her and raised the bottle. “Kanpai!”

“Kanpai!” the rest of the table cheered back at her. Masamune took a swig of his tea and scanned the note as everyone dug into their dinner.

(011-271-6677) Oda Nobunaga

Oda? He hadn’t heard from Oda Nobunga since the man had retired from cooking two years ago. Now he was merely the owner of the Sixth Heaven, a step down in the opinion of any chef. By all accounts, his former sous-chef Hideyoshi Toyotomi was doing an excellent job with the kitchen there; Masamune had no idea why Oda might need to speak with him urgently.

He stepped away from the table, taking his bowl with him. “Carry on, lads! I’m going to see what this is about.” A few shouts of commiseration trailed behind him as he went to his tiny office and shut the door. He contemplated the number for a minute before shaking his head and opening a line on his desk phone while shoveling curry into his mouth. The speaker blared for a few seconds, then clicked.

“Oda.”

Masamune swallowed hurriedly. “Oda-san, Date. My hostess said it was urgent. Did Toyotomi forget to bleach a counter and give himself psychosomatic food poisoning?”

“Date!” Nobunaga chuckled. “Nothing so dire as that. This isn’t about the Sixth Heaven at all, actually.”

Masamune leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand under his eyepatch. “Then what, Oda-san? Surely you didn’t call at closing time on a Tuesday night to reminisce?”

“Actually, my friend, I have a business proposition for you. Are you free tomorrow morning?”

Masamune sat up straight again. “You know I stay out of other people’s business propositions. Paying you back for Oshu was enough.”

“No, this is nothing like that. I’m not asking you for any money. In fact, if this goes well, you’ll probably get a nice bump out of it.” Nobunaga’s voice was replete with confidence. Masamune eyed the phone doubtfully, letting the pause lengthen. Finally, Nobunaga continued. “At least give me the opportunity to make my case in person, Date.”

A sigh escaped Masamune. “We open at 11 for lunch service. How long do you think you’ll need?”

Nobunaga hummed contemplatively on the other end of the line. “Can you come by my office at the Sixth Heaven at 8 am? Two hours should be more than enough and give you time to get back to Oshu.”

Masamune winced. Early rising was not his favourite activity, but Nobunaga had piqued his interest. “Alright then, 8 am. This had better be worth it.”

“Oh, I think you’ll agree it is,” Nobunaga answered smugly. “Tomorrow, Date. 8 am.”

Masamune put the phone back in its cradle. Whatever Oda was playing at, it’d probably be interesting, but eight o’clock? In the morning? His cellphone chirped from the pocket of the leather jacket slung over the back of the chair, and he jumped. “Shit!” He fumbled it out and answered the call.

“Masa,” a sweet soprano voice purred. “What time will you be coming? I’m getting bored waiting for you.”

“Eh, Megohime,” he smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “Actually, something’s come up and I have an early appointment tomorrow. Rain check?”

“Aww, Masa-kun.” The soprano voice pouted at him alluringly. “You’ll make it up to me, right?” The last word had a wicked curl to it, and Masamune smirked.

“Of course I will. I know what you like best.” He let his voice rumble enticingly. “I’ll text you later this week, all right?”

“Oh, all right.”

Masamune flicked the phone off and dropped it back into his jacket before turning his attention to his cooling dinner, Megohime already forgotten.

********************************

At eight A.M., Masamune rolled his motorcycle to a stop in front of the Peninsula hotel. He cut the engine and cast his gaze up the 24 stories of the skyscraper. Pictures of the skyscraper lit up at night made it seem very dramatic and romantic, but to his jaded morning eye it was merely bombastic. Still suits Oda, he grunted to himself as he pulled off his helmet. A valet hurried towards him, bowing.

“Forgive me, sir, but your motorcycle can’t be left here!”

Masamune toyed with the idea of just tossing the keys to the valet and letting him figure it out, but the chance of damage to his bike outweighed the comic appeal. He sighed. “I have a meeting with the owner of The Sixth Heaven this morning. Where can I park?”

Name-dropping Oda got him directed to a private section of the underground parking lot, near a service elevator. He parked and carried his helmet with him, entering the elevator with several women wearing the uniform of cleaning staff. He towered above them all from the back, but would have stood out anyways in his royal blue moto jacket and leather chaps. He tilted his head enough to see the woman standing immediately to his right, and exaggeratedly winked his left eye at her. She blushed a healthy bright red and the rest of them giggled. When the elevator reached the second floor he exited, tossing a grin and a wave over his shoulder. More giggling and a few sighs were cut off as the doors closed behind him. He made his way down the tastefully silent hallway and ornate restaurant entrance, shaking his head. All this opulence made his teeth itch.

He stopped at a heavy wooden door with ‘Oda’ engraved on it at eye level and banged his helmet against it gently in lieu of a knock. The door clicked open immediately, opening to reveal a slender man with feral features and silvery hair. Masamune nodded briefly.

“Akechi-san. I’m here to see Oda.”

Akechi Mitsuhide smiled thinly and stepped back to allow him access to the antechamber. “Nobunaga mentioned you’d be paying a visit this morning.” He waved Masamune in. “Can I bring you a drink?” Mitsuhide was the head bartender of The Sixth Heaven, and served as personal mixologist for Nobunaga whenever his boss was running business meetings. His mind was as sharp as his ears, and he excelled at serving drinks that loosened people’s tongues. Masamune shook his head.

“You know I don’t touch it.” He was well aware of Mitsuhide’s predilection for sneaking sake into his cup. It would be far from the first time. The arch of Mitsuhide’s white eyebrow indicated amusement at the thought, but he waved a hand in negation.

“I’m well aware of your difficulties holding your liquor, Date-san, but I do have tea and coffee on hand as well. Nobunaga does want you to hear his proposition, not sleep through it.”

“Fine, green tea.”

“I’ll bring it in. Nobunaga’s waiting for you through there,” Mitsuhide indicated the door to Nobunaga’s inner sanctum with another languid wave as he moved towards the door that presumably hid the drink service. Masamune pushed through the door and into a smaller, but no less opulent office. Oda Nobunaga sat behind a desk done in tiger stripes of ebony and lacquer. The carpet was plush, with a geometric design in black and scarlet. The rest of the furniture was black leather. Masamune nodded in greeting as he took a seat in the swiveling armchair facing the desk’s owner, his chaps creaking against the cushion.

“Oda-san. Isn’t all this,” he waved vaguely at the room, “a bit much?”

Nobunaga was leaning back in his vast executive chair, and didn’t bother to sit up when Masamune entered. He shrugged a response, bringing a steaming cup to his lips. The smell of coffee hit Masamune. “Oh, it’s not very minimalistic, I grant you, but we are a Cantonese restaurant. Japanese restraint would hardly be appropriate.” He set the cup down again on the blotter. “Good morning to you as well.”

Masamune let his helmet roll under his seat and shrugged off his jacket, then leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “What’s all this about?”

“Straight to business then? No more comments about my interior decorator’s work? Fine, then.” Nobunaga smirked lazily, then finally leaned forward. “I find that since stepping down as Chef here, I’ve been getting bored.” He paused as the door opened to admit Mitsuhide carrying a cup of tea. “I miss the challenge, and the --” he paused again, searching for the right word. “The performance of cooking.”

Masamune nodded his brief thanks to Mitsuhide as he lifted the cup to his face and sniffed the tea. No alcohol that he could detect, and the tea itself was high quality. “So, what does this have to do with me? You could step back into your own kitchen at any time. Toyotomi would never begrudge you the job.” He sipped the tea and squinted across the desk suspiciously. “There’s certainly no room for you at Oshu.”

This time Nobunaga laughed out loud. “No, no, those days are long past me. Time for the new generation to step up.” He pulled a remote control out of the desk drawer and pointed it at the wall. A black screen painted with a dragon in gold and scarlet silently slid upwards into a recess in the ceiling, revealing a television. The screen flickered to life.

A martial theme began to play as the words ‘Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are.’ floated on the screen. The theme nagged as Masamune’s memory, but he couldn’t place it until the voice over started describing Kitchen Stadium. He stared at Nobunaga blankly.

“Iron Chef? You want to compete on Iron Chef?”

“Compete? No, didn’t I just say I was done with cooking?” Nobunaga shook his head in amusement. “I want to remake Iron Chef.”

Masamune burst out laughing. “With yourself as the owner of Kitchen Stadium, I assume?”

“Indeed. I think I’d make an excellent Chairman, don’t you?”

“You’re certainly hammy enough for it.”

“I think the title of Chairman is played out, though.” Nobunaga gave his guest a significant look. “I prefer . . . Shogun.”

“Shogun Oda. It has a good ring to it. And the chefs would be your daimyos?”

“I think it fits the level of drama the series needs.” Nobunaga leaned back again and gestured expansively. “I want to do the entire series in a Sengoku theme. Shogun, daimyo, samurai chefs, over-the-top uniforms, the whole nine yards.”

“I like it! Everyone enjoys a good historical drama.”

“We’ll update the format a little too. The old one-on-one competition lacks flair. Audiences these days prefer continuity. I’m planning a five episode series, with four Iron Chefs and two competitors. Each episode will have both contenders against one Chef, and then against each other at the end. There’ll be a running ranking, with the winner announced at the end of the series.” Nobunaga clasped his hands together over his stomach. “What do you think?”

“It’s a good plan. But,” Masamune set down his tea cup. “You still haven’t explained why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Nobunaga lifted an eyebrow and smirked at him. “I want you to be one of the Iron Chefs. The most important one, even, since Japanese is your specialty.”

“Huh. And who else have you signed on to this?”

“You’re the first I’ve approached. I trust no one else with our national cuisine.”

Masamune grunted skeptically at that. “You mean, you don’t have enough dirt on anyone else to twist their arm.” His dry tone belied his rising interest.

“Come now, Masamune.” Nobunaga leaned forward. “Your debt to me is cleared, you know that. I invited you here as a respected peer, not a vassal.”

Masamune leaned back himself, considering. For all he mocked Oda’s hamminess, he was self-aware enough to know how much he himself enjoyed the spotlight. He rested his chin on his right hand, feeling the faint scar under the edge of his eyepatch. “It’s tempting . . . ” A television series, a few new fangirls, a little extra fame for Oshu-- That last thought brought him back to reality. “But I can’t. Oshu is too busy these days. I can’t afford to take the time away from the kitchen.”

“Are you sure?” Nobunaga narrowed his eyes. “You know Katakura has more than enough experience to keep Oshu on an even keel for the few months this would take.” The older man was right, of course. Kojuro had taught Masamune most of what he knew about running a kitchen, starting from the day Date Terumune had brought his second son into the kitchen of Date’s.

Masamune shook his head regretfully. Oshu was his responsibility, not Kojuro’s. He hated the idea of not being there to care for his staff. “Maybe next year.” He gripped the arms of the chair, preparing to stand up.

Nobunaga dipped his chin, frowning a little, but didn’t argue further. “Very well. It’s a shame, we could have used you. The audience would appreciate your charisma.” He clicked a few buttons on the remote, and the old episode of Iron Chef was replaced by a woman in kitchen whites, hair tucked into a tight bun under her cap. “Before you go, at least, would you review this audition tape for me? The woman’s name is Mizusaki Mai, and her specialty is Japanese as well.” He hit ‘play’ without waiting for an answer.

The woman onscreen bowed to the camera and smiled brightly while introducing herself. Masamune retrieved his tea and sipped it. She was cute, certainly, and lively, but it wasn’t until she mentioned bringing Ainu cuisine into mainstream Japanese cooking that he really started to pay attention. She spoke passionately about the need to preserve the minority culture and retain its lessons of simplicity and efficiency in nutrition in the modern day of empty flamboyance.

Simplicity and efficiency, and somehow she’s caught Oda’s eye? Masamune looked across the desk as the video ended with the woman bowing again. “I appreciate her philosophy, certainly. Where did you find her?”

Nobunaga looked serious. “You know why I retired from cooking?” He opened another drawer in his desk and removed what appeared to be a leather shaving kit. Masamune shook his head, but stayed silent. Nobunaga flipped the case open and removed a small plastic device with an LCD display and a lancet, which he pressed to his middle finger without flinching before displaying the resulting drop of blood to Masamune. The display lit up and beeped.

“I was diagnosed with Type I diabetes.”

Masamune nodded. “I remember Toyotomi trying to protect the dessert station from your ‘quality testing’.”

“If he were less diligent, I suspect I’d be dead now instead of merely restricted.” Nobunaga shrugged one shoulder as he wiped the lancet with an alcohol swab and packed the kit away again. “The doctors tell me the sugar wasn’t a factor, but --” He shook his head. “Before I was diagnosed, I was eating at the restaurant Mai worked in at the time. I wasn’t feeling well, but attributed it to overwork, too much alcohol, you know how it is.” He barked a short laugh. “Turns out I was falling into a diabetic coma. When it affected my behaviour, my dining companions assumed I was drunk. Mai was passing through the dining room and realised what was happening, and called for help. Thanks to her, I was treated before any brain damage could occur.”

Masamune let out a slow whistle. “That’s quite the tale.” He glanced back at the freeze-frame of Mai on the wall. Add ‘perceptive’, ‘intelligent’, and ‘quick-thinking’ to ‘cute and lively’!

“Indeed.” Nobunaga shrugged again, annoying Masamune with his cavalier attitude. “In any case, I thought giving her a chance to compete on the new show would in some small way repay her, but I’m not sure about her angle here. I mean, Ainu cooking? Even in Hokkaido they don’t much care for it these days.” He fell silent, eyeing Masamune over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Well, it’s certainly not as flashy as your Hong Kong style here,” Masamune snapped back irritably, “But it’s nice to hear a professional show some appreciation for the food instead of the plating.”

Nobunaga waggled his fingers dismissively. “Let’s not start that argument again.” He turned off the television with a flick of the remote. “I assume that means you’d endorse her.”

“I would. If I were involved in this, which I’m not.” Masamune leaned down to retrieve his helmet before pushing out of the chair. Nobunaga shrugged philosophically.

“Very well.” He stood as well, accompanying Masamune to the door. “Thanks for coming out this early, at least. I’m surprised you were able to tear yourself away from whichever woman’s warming your bed this week.”

“Eh, I decided this meeting was worth getting a full night’s sleep beforehand.”

“And Isaka was all right with that?”

Masamune paused, hand on the doorknob. “Oh, I haven’t seen Isaka since I left the Sixth Heaven.”

Nobunaga smirked. “And how many others have there been between Isaka and --?”

“Megohime.” Masamune turned the knob. “And a few. You know that no one stays around long enough to come between me and Oshu.”

********************************

Nobunaga heard Masamune and Mitsuhide exchanging muffled farewells and the outer door closing. By the time Mitsuhide entered bearing a fresh pot of coffee, Nobunaga was back in his chair, staring out the window over his steepled fingers.

“Congratulations, sir.” Mitsuhide refilled his boss’s cup and put the pot down on a trivet. “You played him well.”

“You suggested the leverage, Mitsuhide, as you well remember.” Nobunaga swiveled around to face the silver-haired man. “It will do Mai some good to go up against a chef like Masamune, and it will do me some good to use him to attract the others.” His brow creased. “The man is so damn likeable, we’d never get Uesugi and Takeda without him.” He shook his head, dismissing the thought. “How long do you predict it will take Katakura to change his mind?”

Mitsuhide made a show of pondering. “I suspect it will be within the next 48 hours.” He turned to leave the office. Nobunaga nodded agreement.

“Make sure the contract is ready when he calls.”

“Of course, sir.”

********************************

The motorcycle roared as Masamune pulled into the lot behind Oshu. Gravel flew as he swung around into his spot and killed the motor. Through the window into the kitchen he could see Kojuro going over a clipboard with Sumire. They looked up as the motor stopped; Sumire smiled and waved, but Kojuro looked solemn.

Kojuro appeared in the office doorway as he was stripping off his chaps. “How was your meeting this morning? It didn’t keep you as late as you expected.” Masamune had called him before visiting Oda to advise he might be later than usual.

Masamune shrugged as he hung the leathers on the ancient coat tree in the corner. “Waste of an early morning. Oda’s planning a cooking show.” He grabbed his whites from the cubby hole next to his jacket.

“And?”

“And what?” Careless of Kojuro’s presence and the open door, Masamune unbuckled his belt and let his worn jeans slide to the floor as he sat down in the desk chair to kick them off.

“And did he just want to share his good news, or did he ask you to participate?”

“Oh, he wanted participation, all right.” Masamune swore under his breath when his jeans tangled around his boots, as they did every morning. You’d think I’d learn. Boots first! He fumbled with the laces.

Kojuro rolled his eyes. “And did you accept?”

“Accept?” Finally free of the right boot, Masamune started on the left. “How could I accept? I have responsibilities, Kojuro. I can’t be haring off to a studio for two months.” The left boot was forcefully kicked into the corner, and the right was tossed to join it. Masamune scuffed his jeans the rest of the way off and pulled his kitchen trousers on before looking up at Kojuro. The older man’s expression gave no hint of his opinion, but his set shoulders and folded arms radiated disapproval. Masamune was taken aback.

“Out with it, Kojuro. What’s eating you?”

His sous-chef’s lips tightened. He glanced over his shoulder into the hall, then came fully into the small room and closed the door behind him.

“You spend too much time here, Masamune.” Kojuro squeezed past a box of old menus to sit in the rickety wooden lawn chair that served visitors. “You need to branch out.”

Masamune gaped him for a minute before closing his mouth. “What in the nine hells does that even mean?”

“It means you’re in a rut.” Kojuro gave him a considering look. “You haven’t tried anything new in months, aside from new women.”

“Experiments are risky. I have to keep the good of our staff in mind!”

“Masamune --” The older man paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Masa-bo. Our staff are fine. You take excellent care of them -- of all of us.” Masamune scowled at the use of the childhood diminutive, but Kojuro continued before he could answer. “But you don’t take care of yourself. You thrive on innovation and excitement, but you’ve boxed yourself into a traditional restaurant and traditional cuisine.” He hesitated again. “Terumune wouldn’t have wanted you to limit yourself like this.”

“Don’t you tell me what my father would have wanted!” Masamune snapped, but Kojuro didn’t flinch.

“I know better what he might have wanted for you than you do! You were only eighteen when he passed. He always wanted you to have your restaurant, but he never meant to force you into his mold.” Kojuro scrubbed one hand over the bandana covering his hairnet. “Look, Masa-bo. I’m sorry. You are doing an excellent job with Oshu. But Terumune would have -- I want to see you be fulfilled instead of just ticking the boxes of your life.” He stood up. “Just think about it. Sumire and I can keep Oshu running while you stretch.”

Masamune glared at the empty seat for a minute after Kojuro left. Am I the only one here who understands what obligations are? Underneath his ire, he knew he was being unfair. Kojuro had stuck with Terumune until the bitter end of selling off Date’s. He’d come to get Oshu’s kitchen off the ground at a much lower salary than his experience warranted, to help the man he’d trained in that long-lost restaurant. Masamune had to admit the old man had a point. Life in the kitchen had become routine lately; Oshu was stable now, seven years in. He knew it was madness to tinker with what worked. People don’t come to traditional comfort food restaurants for excitement. But --

He shook his head at last and shrugged into his white jacket. But nothing. Deal with the job in front of you, Masamune. Worry about everything else after dinner.

********************************

It was nearly midnight when Masamune waved off Kojuro and Sumire in the parking lot. Kojuro bade him good night as usual, giving no sign their earlier conversation was on his mind, but Masamune kept turning it over as he strapped on his helmet and kicked the bike to life. He rode home much slower than usual, letting his mind wander.

Once he reached his building, he parked the bike and pulled the cover over it as usual. Slinging his helmet over his elbow by the chinstrap, he pressed the elevator call button and pulled his phone out of his pocket. There were three messages from Megohime.

Message from: Mego-chan

11:44 a.m.

When do you want to reschedule for?

2:37 p.m.

I’m not going to keep my weekend open forever!

7:22 p.m.

If you don’t call me back tonight I’ll be busy for a while.

Masamune winced. The ice dripping off the last message was palpable. He ran his thumb around the bottom edge of his eyepatch before sighing. Might as well get it over with, he thought fatalistically, hitting the call button.

The call barely rang before Megohime answered. “Masa-kun!”

Was she sitting there holding her phone? “Hi, Megohime. Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier.”

“You should be!” There was playful anger in her voice, but he could hear the undercurrent of relief. “It’s not fair to leave me hanging like that!”

“You know the restaurant hours. I can’t have my phone on me while I’m working, it’s too distracting.”

“You like my distractions.” Megohime’s voice dropped to a throaty purr. The elevator door opened.

“Not when I’m working. That comes first.” Masamune entered the elevator and propped himself up in the corner, suddenly very tired.

“Awwwww,” Megohime began, and Masamune saw the pout on her face as clearly as if she was in the elevator with him. All at once the conversation irritated him. Why am I listening to a grown woman whine like a schoolgirl?

“I have obligations, Megohime. Don’t pretend I didn’t make that clear when we started this.”

“This?” she demanded sharply, dropping all pretense at cuteness. “You mean, our relationship?”

Huh? Masamune was caught off guard. “What relationship?” he blurted, then resisted the urge to beat his head against the steel wall of the elevator.

There were several seconds of silence before Megohime answered coldly. “Well, I guess that explains why I don’t rate as one of your obligations. Forgive me for intruding on your time, Date-san.” The call ended.

Masamune let his head fall back and closed his eye. That could have gone better, I suppose.

It was another minute or two before he realised he’d never pressed the button for his floor. The elevator lurched into motion.

Inside his apartment, he dropped his keys and helmet on the bench in the entryway. He let his body go on auto-pilot as he ran the conversation with Megohime over again in his head. I thought she understood we were just casual. By the time he was standing in the bedroom, stripped to his shorts, he’d put it behind him. Oh well, one less ‘obligation’ to worry about.

He sprawled out in bed, peeled off his eyepatch, and hit the light. I guess I’ll have more time to ‘stretch’ now, was his last though before falling asleep.

********************************

The next day, at Oshu, Masamune was sitting at his desk reviewing the seafood order for the weekend when he saw Kojuro pass the doorway.

“Kojuro!” The older man paused, but stayed in the hall. Masamune grimaced. “Come in, please.”

Kojuro did as asked, taking his time closing the door and seating himself. Finally he raised his eyebrows at Masamune. “Yes, Chef?”

The title stung, as it was meant to. Masamune dropped his pen and ran his fingers through his hair before exhaling long and loud. “All right, I deserved that.” He met Kojuro’s impassive stare. “I apologise, oji-san, for my words yesterday. I was being unfair.”

Kojuro’s eyebrows lowered and his stiff expression softened. “You haven’t called me that since Date’s closed.”

“Yes, well, if Father had heard me speak to you yesterday he’d have made me wish I’d never grown up enough to leave.” Masamune looked away awkwardly. “You -- you made some good points yesterday. I’m sorry that I wasn’t ready to hear them.”

A smile spread across Kojuro’s wrinkled face. “And today?”

“And today, I find myself with more free time than yesterday, and someone wiser than I said I should take some time to ‘stretch’.”

The smile faded as Kojuro figured out what ‘more free time’ meant. “Ah, you ended things with Megohime?”

“More like she ended things after I stuck my foot in my mouth, but it had run its course anyways.” Masamune shrugged. “So which one of them called you, Oda, or Akechi?”

Kojuro started, then chuckled. “You always were too quick.” He nodded. “Oda-san, of course. He keeps in touch, even though you’ve paid off his investment. Claims to be making sure Oshu doesn’t bring him down by association, but honestly I think he just worries about you.”

Masamune grunted skeptically. “So, you think I should take him up on his offer?”

“I do.” Kojuro laced his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “He’s not asking for any financial investment, and from what he said, most filming will only be a couple of days a week.” He straightened a finger to mark this point. “You’d only be missing one or two services at most, and we’re closed on Tuesdays.” Another finger. “Saigo-kun is ready to branch out and train as chef de partie, and I’ll make sure he’ll be able to cover me while your episode films.” He smiled again at Masamune’s surprised look. “Do you really think I’d let you cook in public without your sous-chef?” A third finger. “Sumire already keeps the hostesses and servers in far closer line than you ever did, so nothing will change there.” His eyes crinkled in a smile. “She runs a tight dining room.”

“That she does,” Masamune chuckled. He knew he tended to be far too soft on the young girls working the tables, treating them like little sisters.

“Besides,” Kojuro unlaced his fingers and waggled one across the desk, as he had when teaching the younger Masamune. “You need to have some fun.”

“I was having fun!”

“‘Fun’ doesn’t give you that hunted look every time you check your text messages.” Kojuro shook his head ruefully. “You youngsters and your cell phones. You know, when I was a lad, relationships meant talking to face to face --”

“All right, all right!” Masamune lifted his hands in mock defense, laughing. “You’ve made your point, oji-san. I’ll call Oda.”

Kojuro stood, dusting his hands on the knees of his trousers. “Good. See that you do.” He made his way to the door.

Masamune waited until he was out in the hall before yelling “And it wasn’t a relationship!” He ignored the amiably mocking laughter that trailed back to him.

Shaking his head, Masamune picked up the phone to dial Oda. The call was answered quickly.

“Oda.”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” Nobunaga made a good show of sounding surprised.

“I’ll join your kitchen circus. On one condition!” He thumped a finger into the middle of the desk. “Your Mai competes. Against me.”

The faint clink of a coffee being put down sounded from the other side of the line. “She’ll compete against everybody, in the new format. But just to make it fun, I’ll save you for last.” Nobunaga’s voice was warm with repressed laughter. “I’ll have a contract couriered over to Oshu this afternoon.”

Masamune grinned ruefully in return. “You know me too well, Oda-san. How long have you been buttering up Kojuro just to push my buttons?”

“I never let a useful tool pass out of my hands, as you know. And I don’t care if you see through me, as long as you still say yes, Date.”

“Fair enough.” Masamune scrubbed his fingers through his hair again. By now it was standing straight up. His hazy reflection in the glare of his computer monitor resembled some kind of tropical bird.

“You won’t regret it, old friend. We’re going to have a lot of fun this season.”

“I hear that’s what I need, these days.”

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen masamune #ikesen nobunaga #writing #iron chef sengoku #modern au #rating: jalapeno

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partybi · 5 years

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do you have any advice I'm 24 years old and mentally ill 90% of jobs I just cant mentally handle I have been looking obsessively on every site, and feel doomed plus I need to be able to text my family throughout the day to stay calm and most jobs dont want ur phone out, idk what to do I cry every day bc I feel hopeless and worthless and such a burden :(

Dear Anon,

I suspect you found my blog with the mental health tag, as it is very rare I get any asks. So I don’t know whether this will be of any help but I’ll give you my thoughts.

First, you are talking to someone who only made it out of bed today for the first time this week, so gripped in my own mental ill health that I couldn’t fathom why I would get up, and was convinced that if I did, Terrible Unspecific Consequences™ would happen. But I did manage to get out of bed and in to work, though I missed Monday and Tuesday. So your ask is well timed.

I have a part time job, I work four days a week. My pattern now goes 2 days on, 1 off, 2 on, 2 off. I am lucky that I can survive on that money - it pays well and my rent is low due to living in social housing, as a care leaver. Not everyone is so lucky, then again not everyone had such an abusive childhood they get reduced rent as the booby prize but I digress. I need that non-working day for a variety of reasons. I need to have time to recalibrate and put my basic self-care in place: hydrate, eat, wash, chores, try to rest.

I’m aware the application of spoon theory to mental health can be problematic, but I know of no better analogy than to explain that work - just getting up, making a packed lunch, travelling in rush hour, let alone doing the work itself takes all of my energy. ALL. Into minus spoons. I hate it, and I very often feel really resentful that I can’t just pull it together and be an A* version of me but I am ill and I am tired and I can only do my best. Sometimes that best is a B and sometimes is an F in the bin and on fire. Many of us just scrape by and cry in the toilets at work sometimes. That’s ok too.

I don’t know about your specific mental health but for me, I have depression and generalised anxiety order. (I also am quite certain I have CPTSD but no diagnosis on that as yet). Sometimes one or the other is the bigger issue. I am 33, so a substantial bit older than you. I have learned that it ebbs and flows, peaks and troughs. Right now you sound pretty overwhelmed, but you will not always feel that way. That sounds like an empty platitude, but I take comfort in knowing that all things do pass - unfortunately it often feels I am the prisoner of an endless cycle, increasing in severity. Today is one of those days of the latter.

I know that it is very easy of me to say, but your worth is not equal to your productivity. Work is fundamentally bullshit and your ability to work or not work is not equivalent to your value as a person. Anybody worth caring about values your wellbeing higher than your paycheque. You are not hopeless and worthless - the system is hopeless and worthless.

You do not say where you are based and how you are currently surviving financially. There is zero shame in not working and receiving benefits. But it sounds like you want to work and be well enough to endure it. So I guess you are looking for some concrete advice.

Principally then I would say the following, but your mileage will vary:

1) if you are not currently in therapy, get therapy. Good therapy that will work for you, rather than one size fits all CBT bullshit. Many therapists offer a sliding scale of fees.

2) Get medicated and get it right. Medication isn’t going to take the mental ill health away but I do believe it will help you stabilise and get stronger with it. My current medication is really not cutting it and I will need change when I have the mental energy and time to survive getting switched over.

3) Do some voluntary work. A few hours a couple of days a week while you’re trying to find a job will build your confidence and endurance. The types of jobs that will allow you flexibility and to use your phone are office (not customer service/call centre roles) so get experience in those roles. Data entry should be the type of role they leave you alone for.

4) Look for part time work if you can survive financially.

5) Make a list of your positive attributes. Fixate on that instead.

6) Work on coping mechanisms that are more independent. You say that you need to keep texting family throughout the day. One suggestion I have is screen capping the positive messages and bringing them up whenever you feel anxious. That personally helped me a lot when I was coming up to my PhD deadline and wasn’t sure if I was going to get through it, but it also meant I wasn’t constantly seeking validation/comfort through the emotional labour of others, which as I’m sure you realise can be draining for them. This would be a good topic to explore with a therapist.

7) Find a disability confident employer. In the UK we have the two ticks scheme. Be honest with your boss. Be honest with yourself about your limitations and proactively identify what can help you. If they can’t support you don’t waste your time.

8) Or just be self-employed and work around when you can or can’t work. Set up an Etsy if you have any artistic skills, or real talk you may want to consider alternative markets like sex work.

9) Talk to someone. Having someone to just listen is really important. When my mental health is at its worst I’ve been known to hit up the Samaritans, which you can do over email or phone, 24/7. https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help/contact-samaritan/

I hope you will be ok, dear anon. Please be kind with your self. Feel free to ask any follow up asks.

#mental health #Anonymous

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divine-identite · 5 years

Text

So March through July has been most interesting lately -

So, in short, we are going to call these Arcs (like story arcs). There are five of them right now.

Facts to remember about this person; she’s bisexual, into open relationships, looking for fwb, is on the spectrum, had depression and social anxiety - which is why she smokes.

So I met a coworker who I got along with in march. I thought she was really cool and knowledge, however, I had a strange intuition that something was off with her at the same time. So before all that, I tried inviting her out to some events - concerts and stuff. Cause I thought she was legit cool and whatnot. She says no to this and eventually, in late April she invites me out to see Avengers: endgame; she does so because she works Fridays and Saturdays, and her friends are busy on those holidays. So I pick up, okay, so im just 2nd pick for this event? So I let it go and I buy our tickets and set the date and time. She cant do it because she is a tech and im just PRS. ( i just answer phones).

1st Arc

So on the movie day, I meet her at her place. her place is very lacklustre, she lives in a one-bedroom with no furniture - which is fine. Her roommate lives in the living room with an airbed. It’s all fine to me, I know the struggle is real. She’s nice enough to offer me coffee and scrambled eggs. I take just the coffee. She goes on a smoke break in her room, she's nice enough to close the door for her roommate. I sit on the roommate's bed and how she gets off it is odd as fuck; she kind casually brushes her hands along her arm and wrist before asking me to stand up, and it takes her a while to get up and go. Because shes trying to decide what coat she wants to wear. So finally go off, get a ride up to the mall centre in german town. She starts talking about her stories and stuff - and about one time post-banging some freshmen on her sophomore year. I was thinking okay that’s good on you lol. Now the worst part is she starts leaning her head on me afterwards through the whole ride. We get to the movies afterwards, and there two seats left because her dumbass wanted to take her time getting here. So one guy pointed us to two seats left in the crowd. The theatre was packed so what she did was cling to my arm and lean to my shoulder- again. So after the movies, we go to chipotle, and then to the beer & spirits which I pay. Because her ID is expired, how the fuck do you let your Id expire? so I have to get it. We order a lyft head back and drink at her place and play some games. We both had a good time but I left once I saw the roommate had teased her about being autistic and etc. The shoulder leaning thing had me confused - she told me im an associate.

So I bring up the issue with the shoulder leaning issue. So apparent none of that mattered. I got on her about how people can misinterpret that and she said few to interpret that. She gets upset because I bring this issue to mind like a few days. However, she mentioned one time a guy assumed she leads her on. Again she makes it clear we are associates the whole time.

2nd Arc

Next week May 5th we scheduled to watch the game of thrones at her place. I get off at 10:30 pm on a Sunday, and she doesn't work on a Sunday. I had to buy beer again - because so she meets me at my job. it was quite odd because her excuse for coming was “she was in town and though to drop by”. Nothing wrong with that but it did lead to some speculation. My coworker Gloria kept up asking questions like “Oh did you say hi to her?” “She usually doesn't wear dresses, Kelvin, what do you think?”, “ She doesn't work today here” so yeah it was hinting she knew something. Now after my shift we went to CVS and she offered to buy me snacks and food. She asks if I was sure? Now on this day, I had a sausage, cheese & egg. So I went to her place we had to go into her room since her roommate was sleeping. So she offered popeyes which I took only a wing. I sat by her bed rather than on it because - it felt weird lol. She said I could join her bed rather than sit by it - we are coworkers bruh. She leaves out too. So after smashing like 8- 9 beers I get on her bed because my knees were killing me on that hardwood floor. She comes back like “ It’s about time” so after a while she starts to lean on me again. So the beer takes its toll - and I start to nod off. So while watching Game of Thrones she would ask some questions. So around season 5 she stops it there - tells me to get my things. Escorts me out to the door of her complex. The original plan actually to use a spare bed but she apparently didn't want to do that. So she escorts me outside 4:00 am in the morning, it's cold as fuck in may. She couldn't stay out because is only clothed in a skimpy sundress and she's anaemic and plus she left her house keys in her house. So understandable but still no check-in. Which contradicts with her usually thing because she would always see if I got home. I got home around 6 am had like only 4 hours of sleep and had to go to work lol- I had a slight headache but I was good. I texted her to see if she was okay, said she was fine and that I was doing too much. I just added that hey you were right that I should have eaten something. Now this issue sparks something on her end, this literally causes her to snap off and she literally bans me from coming to her house.

After dropping her shoes off that she sent to my location because she lives in an apartment complex. we go to the gym together because of her social anxiety, now the fun part is after the gym. I found out apparently I had spilt beer on her carpet and pissed over her toilet while drunk, to be fair her bathroom is really dark. The only light is a night light behind you when you use the toilet. She had an emotional connection with that carpet so I sympathized with it and made to right my wrongs. So she asked only for three meals and me to go to the gym with her for a week. I decided a month because I felt bad about the situation. we agreed on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, Friday. Wednesday and Thursday are my days off.

3rd Arc

So off to the gym, some days she goes - some she doesn't - but either way I got continuously. Knowing discipline is necessary for progress. But usually, she is very inconsistent. So one week on Saturday she isn't going- rather than going I just leave it be. She's being too indecisive about the matter. I tell her to just tell me when she would be going and went home. So Tuesday comes up and she comes to work. She follows her usual routine; what's for lunch and etc? she comes up to check up on me and etc. But I wait until her shift after 12:30, now after that - my coworker comes up to ask “” Arent you going to the gym”. her reply, however, was “ No, I didn't do any laundry today. So I don't have any clean clothes to go with” That would’ve been news to tell me. So she leaves without telling me the matter - and leaves me hanging there. Wednesday and Thursday im off, and not once did it cross her mind. To make amends, so I actually have to reach out and confront her on the issues. She owned up to it but said her new meds for her depression. I understood in that second but for that whole three days? I felt that was really considerate tbh. I stopped doing favours because that was massive and just focused on me tbh. That was a huge disrespect to me and my time. So around June, I brought up the issue again to make sure we were clear and realised I had backtracked on it based on her logic on of the issue.

4th Arc

After a while, I agreed to invite her out to the movies. Went to see spider-man: Far away from home, I bought the tickets. We went over the seats and I set the time. So on the fourth, I reach the train station to meet her around 10:00 am, the movie starts at 12:45. She literally tells me to meet her at the theatre though we agreed to the train station, because of its fucking raining. Now the forecast said it would rain - but she chose to dress for the heat tbh. So I let it go and get a ride to the theatre and get there. We are early like its 11:45 pm so we decide to go to Starbucks. So she pulls me aside and asks if she can send lingerie and stuff to my house somewhat nervously (think of a typical anime girl who is fidgetting her fingers nervously) - because it's for when she goes to the gym. Still, quite an odd favour but i accept it. So after the movies, it starts to rain, so I got to CVS and buy an umbrella. Because she's wearing a sundress and if she got any wetter it is porn show. So off we go to across town to the Vape shop because the vape she has, has been burning her throat. So at the shop, the lady shows us how it works and after that she needs ID. She doesn't have ID....still so I had to literally use my ID. After a while, we go eat, and meet her roommate at the firework place. She arm links up with him and tries to get me to join - I literally shoot her down like “Nah im good”. So the roommate introduces us to his friends at her house - and off we go to park. Im literally lacking behind and she comes and checks up behind me multiple times. I state that im okay until we get to the park. Now at the park it's fine until it starts to rain, being the only practical person with common sense - hold up a single umbrella for five people. After 20 minutes of holding this damn thing up, I pass it off before she starts asking me if I want to watch Netflix. I say no, and then I went on my phone to text my friend for a while. Again she asks it before not too long she is leaning my whole thigh with the phone on it. Like you would with a couch armchair. This was no way platonic. After she leaning back on my chest with her back while we watch Netflix and stuff. Im like....you have your roommate there fam why not do this with him lol. After the fireworks, we leave but the large crowds cause her anxiety; she clings to my arm and literally is like “sorry for invading her personal space” ... it's a little too late for all that :T. We head to safeway , use the bathroom and head home.

5th Arc

We were supposed to go to Otakon together - because she invited me out to the invite. So I told Mike, a coworker of mine, I and she are supposed to be going. The whole week is excited about Otakon and stuff - and Saturday tells me “whenever she gets up she’ll let me know when she goes down to the convention centre”. I’m like.... what kind of rude shit is that? but I let it be it is what it is. So Friday comes up I call mike, he is down there and I meet him there. He tells me to call her to figure where she is - because she told him she’d be here 3-4. I called her and phone rings twice before going to voicemail. So she tells me “Oh im just got sick. Just my luck!” now I know this feels like bullshit really. You were super excited about this event - and Mike told me she looked healthy yesterday - again not making any sense really. So rather than just telling me you aren't going to show up at all. And she scheduled this event the whole time tbh.

#ooc: █ ▌❝ Tuning Out... ❞#rant: █ ▌❝ No Angels ❞

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timeoutotour · 5 years

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Clear Sky, 13°C

A25, Portugal

Tuesday 9th April 2019

When I woke up this morning after having had a reasonable nights sleep, something was amiss. As normal I checked my watch and found it to be 0800hrs , but shortly afterwards when perusing the news on my phone, the time read 0705hrs , I was a little puzzled but it didnt take too long for the penny to drop. Portugal is in the same time zone as the UK and so yesterday when crossing from Spain we had gained an extra hour. Hurrah ! First job of the day was housekeeping, i.e. water , waste and rubbish. From research I knew there to be a state of the art commercial services just on the outskirts of the town . The facility was fully automated and even had a jet wash facility with a high rise platform so one could clean the roof of your van. I didn't feel this necessary as mother nature had been periodically jet washing the van over several days and the roof was in pretty good order. The services were time limited to four minutes for 2 Euros which included balck waste and fresh water refill. Team work was deployed with Rhian on fresh water detail and me on black waste. We were successful in completing both tasks within the time limit . Tea and medals all round. Next on the list was to travel to our next destination namely Aveiro which was about an hour away on non toll roads(more of which later) and which had been described as the Venice of Portugal. As we were arriving in the town we stumbled across a Lidl . Provisions were generally in short supply so we made a pit stop and after a light snack made our way to a car park within easy walking distance of the town centre. Aveiro was a pleasant town with a small canal system running through its centre, I think the Portuguese tourist department had been a little ambitious or even mischievous in describing it as a Portuguese Venice but there was a nice ambience , boat rides up and down the canals on powered traditional wooden craft once used for harvesting seaweed for fertilising the land. Now a little about the toll road system here in Portugal which quite frankly is an absolute nightmare and ridiculously over complex. My so far limited experience of the normal A roads is that they are of very poor quality , over congested with heavy traffic and HGVs and that the infrastructure appears to have been very much neglected to encourage use of the toll motorways. Fair enough. France and Spain have a very easy and effective system whereby you approach a manned or unmanned Peage(toll area) pull up to the machine , take a ticket and when you leave the road, insert said ticket into machine, insert debit card in machine, no PIN required , 10 seconds, job done. Portugal has a much better hi tech modern way which uses ANPR(automated number plate recognition) cameras on gantries across the motorway which scan every vehicle number plate passing beneath. As a road user in a foreign registered vehicle you have the following options

(cut and pasted)

How do I pay the tolls?

Foreign licensed vehicles

Toll Card

These are pre-paid cards that can be loaded with €5, €10, €20 or €40 credit, and have an additional service cost of 0.74€. They can be purchased online here, but also from other places including CTT post-offices, Easy Toll Welcome Points, tourist offices and the following service areas:

All within A23 highway

All within A22 highway

Celorico, Vouzela and Aveiro on the A25 highway

Viana do Castelo and Vila do Conde on the A28 highway

Almodôvar on A2 highway

Estremoz on A6 highway

Barcelos on A3 highway

Seide on A7 highway

Once purchased, cards need to be activated it by sending a text message including a code on the card and the license plate of the vehicle so that it can be associated. The cards last for one year or until the balance is exhausted, which you can check online.

Do you have remaining credit on your card? It can also be refunded within 6 months, but only if a credit card was used for the payment.

Toll Service

This is also a pre-paid product, with 2 available options:

Unlimited use for 3 days, with a cost of €20 (plus 0.74€)

A single or round trip on two pre-defined routes:

Spain – Porto Airport, via A28 or A41

Spain – Faro Airport via A22

It can be purchased online here, at CTT post-offices, Porto’s airport, or at the following Cepsa service areas:

Viana dos Castelo (A28)

Abrantes (A23)

Olhão (A22)

Easy Toll

This is the easiest option for foreign visitors, especially those driving from Spain. It can be purchased at an Easy Toll Welcome Point without having to leave the vehicle, and it associates a credit card (Mastercard, Visa or Maestro) to the vehicle’s license plate. There is sign up cost of 0.74 € and each journey has an administrative cost of 0.32 €.

ATTENTION HERE:

!!) Because the credit card is linked to the vehicle, the membership needs to be cancelled, otherwise, the same credit card can be charged in the case of a new customer renting the same vehicle.

!!) You are not allowed to use Via Verde lanes with options 1 (Toll Card), 2 (Toll Service) nor 3 (Easy Toll), unless you have a special device called transponder (see option 4).

These are the only 4 Easy Toll Welcome Point available:

A28 – Viana do Castelo Service Area

A24 – at 3,5km from Chaves/Veribn border

A25 – Alto de Leomil Service Area

A22 – next to Castro Marim/Ayamonte border

Easy Toll Welcome Point (source: http://www.carhirefaroairport.com/a22-toll-payment.htm)

Via Verde Visitors

Aimed at longer stays or frequent visitors, you can rent a temporary transponder device for €6 for the first week then €1.50 per week plus a refundable deposit of €27.50. You have to register a credit card with the system and tolls are automatically debited from the card. It is valid for a maximum of 90 days and can be used on electronic toll roads

.............

You see my point ?

You may say , why use the toll roads but as previously stated many of the roads are in very poor order and the extra distance, fuel etc, make it very difficult and time consuming to avoid them. Suffice to say I visited a Post Office to purchase a prepaid ticket and expect a lengthy legal battle with the Portuguese authorities on our return to the UK ! I read an article stating that the Portuguese tourism industry are lobbying the government to make changes to the system as it is significantly affecting visitor numbers and I for one would certainly have to think very seriously about returning after this experience. Anyway using our newly purchased toll ticket we made our way about an hour south to a nice little beach aire at Praia Lavos. More of the same coastline really, big dunes , big seas. So far no plan for tomorrow

Boa Noite

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qdtquietdownthere · 5 years

Text

Day 8- Swim, clay and personal space.

Day 8

Today is going to be a busy day and I wake up and put on my swimming costume before doing anything else.

If that isn't a wild start to a Tuesday, I don't know what is.

I get the tube to Victoria (one stop before my usual Pimlico) and head to the Queen Mother Sports Centre to go for a swim. It is odd getting off here. There have been major delays on the railways and the space is buzzing with frantic energy. Everyone is passing through. No one seems to stop. I down a coffee from cafe-disgusting-Nero before my swim. It is interesting wandering in a mad sea of people who are rushing. I like to guess what job they have and I wonder what they think I do when they look at me. If they look at me. There was a man on the tube this morning swearing at his laptop. I wondered what his day was going to be like. It is funny taking the tube every morning and being in this transient space. It gives me energy and I feel part of the crowd, but it is also so transient and so isolating. A swelling day population and I'm just one of them. As I walk towards Pimlico however, and towards the pool, the swell of people calms. I sit outside the pool and wait until 10am as I sip my coffee before I go in. I am enjoying sticking to the timetable as well as I can, This is the little bit of structure surrounded by unknown activities.

The pool is quite this time in the morning. There are maybe only 5 people in the pool and we are all spread out. Absolute luxury. At first I notice how calm and clean the pool is. There are sheets hanging on the wall which contain workout guides. One for strength, one for cardio and there is one sheet titled ‘silver’ for elderly people. This one looks the most used, and 4 out of 5 of the people swimming today all have silver hair. This is inviting for me as the pace is relaxed. Im not ready to try and fight for a place in the pool. My last experience in Stoke Newington pool was not pleasant, whereas this is already a great experience. I stay for 45 minutes until the local schools start playing on the flumes and distracting the tranquility of the unified breast strokes happening in our orderly lanes. I hear two elderly men in the slow lane laugh with each other. Up until this point I have only spoken to two people today, and that makes me feel a little sad. Most other days I would have spoken to many people by this time. Swimming is also a lonely sport I feel, it is easy to be in your own head. Running for example, keeps your eyes busy and you get to smile at other runners. It is so easy it is to be out in the community, doing an activity in a shared space, but still lack engagement with another human. Later on in Tesco on Lupas Street I wait to pay for my nut bar and notice that the line for the tills run by a real human cashier are almost twice as long as self service. Never have I seen this in another supermarket before. A simple chore is buying food, but for older people, lonely people, it might be the little interaction they get in a day.

After swimming, and sporting a beautiful chlorine barnet, I make my way towards Thames Bank centre. I pop into a few charity shops on the way. In both there are lots of young people, both working and shopping. Its nice to see some 20 somethings and when I buy a dress (which I now regret buying) we have a little laugh. Its nice to have this, and its interesting how the demographic has changed.

Like the market at the weekend, it is wonderful to look in a charity shop and see the identity of a place and area. I think charity shops, and a sharing of items and style is a wonderful way to get to understand a place. There is a great book titled ‘the Comfort of Things’ (2008) by Daniel Miller in which the author, and anthropologist, goes into a London tower block to speak to people about their belongings and asks the owners to tell their stories. It is a wonderful and deeply personal book which unifies through difference, all around a backdrop of belongings. Charity shops for local areas remind me of this. I find comfort in buying something which has its own story.

Thames bank centre is hosting ETAT (Encouragement through the arts and talking). I turn up a little early and walk into a room full of chatting, and laughing and there is clay everywhere. I walk in and have to introduce myself to everyone in the room. Everyone is elderly and they are all chatting away while deep into their clay. There is some confusion about who I am. I am there to come along to the class and do the chair exercises. This however gets misinterpreted that I am leading the chair exercise sessions. I don't really understand and go along with it. This has been the best approach to most of the activities. I start making clay into an underwater theme and then, luckily, like an act of god, the chair exercise instructor turns up and I'm off the hook. It makes everyone giggle.

I am overwhelmed by the sense of community in the room, and once again this free, easy and non comital environment. The space is like a loud living room with clay everywhere and people come and go. Like a living room exactly. There is a range of ages, though I hear the oldest is 97. Once again I am the youngest, but this is something with invigorates me today, excites even. I feel like it is a space I would come to completely by myself. I sit next to a lady who I went on the Warwick trip with and we laugh about her attention to detail while making her ceramic tile compared with my botch job attempt. Yes thats right, I am an ‘Artist’. I speak to Jane and Karen (Who runs CAVE in Pimlico) about ETAT. They are far reaching and busy people. Pimlico million was set up by Jane who shows me videos and photos from events, exhibitions and footage of her singing at SouthWest Fest. They are currently preparing for an art show and ETAT have even recorded an album. However I am told that the album has a parental advisory because many swear words are sang throughout the song…. Again, the eldest member is 97. I'll just leave that there. What is apparent is how both Jane and Karen, and everyone for that matter, are connected to the community. They seem completely involved in its development. They make it feel this way just by simply knowing everyones name. There is power in naming.

Im a little anxious when I meet Jane and Karen, because I am nervous to be seen as a threat to existing services. It has been a challenge explaining why I am coming along to activities which haven't seen a new, or young, member in many moons. I stand out. I feel like a cultural probe at times. However, I'm also there for me. I am interested and excited by these activities and interactions separate from the schedule, the blog, and the cash to eat breakfast.

We begin chair class in the corner of the huge room. There are around seven of us, all with a mixture of abilities. Emily who is in a wheel chair, a woman with dementia, Barney who is a Chelsea pensioner and wont stop laughing and then me who is giggling along with the energy of the place. We dance to music in our seats which are arranged in a circle. We play volleyball and Barney throws a mean punch. Its fun and I'm happy. I loose track of time and have to run out.

Later on in the day, after a visit to Victoria library, I head over to the London Mayor’s Parlour to observe the council meeting of the health and wellbeing board. Im early and then I'm late and then I'm lost. Being lost is hard and I wonder what this residency would be like without a phone. Even more, without a schedule. It makes me see even clearer the obstacles in leaving an area where you grew up when you don't have the funds, the ability or the confidence to leave. It is easy to ‘other’ the next streets across the busy road. It is then easy to other the next community, the young teenagers, the refugees. I wonder how much of a knock on effect this inability to access certain spaces shapes us. Urban geography shapes us.

The streets as you leave Pimlico become busy with suits and men who are walking like they mean business. The buildings get taller and it becomes striking that you have left pimlico. Again, the city scape, the gardens and the design of Churchill Gardens and the surrounding area give you a sense of a village. It is protected. I am desperate to draw this- desperate to map it out.

I eventually arrive to the building I need to be at. In the foyer but the woman at reception tells me the meeting was last week. The only one today is on transport. I feel a little embarrassed but mainly because I'm a bubbly sweaty mess and everyone is in navy blue suits, not sweating and cool as a business man shaped cucumber. I ask to use the toilet but she says no, so I leave.

It Is nice walking back to Pimlico and towards the library. I don't need a map anymore and that gives me confidence and a sense of belonging. I know where streets are and have a sense within me like a homing pigeon for the library.

The day takes a turn and while waiting outside the library in the sunshine I get a personal call with some bad news. I am outside the library in Pimlico, but on the phone feeling very emotional. I am here in Pimlico but I'm transported into my life in Tottenham, in Edinburgh. I wish to be in these places now. I try and clean myself up to go into knitting, but when I walk in I notice only two people sat in the space outside the toilets, knitting at speed in complete silence. It is not the right space for me at this moment. This is the only time I have felt an overwhelming sense of being in a place which isn't mine. I want someone to talk to who knows me and I want to be with my friend. I crave something normal in an abnormal situation and after abnormal news? For the rest of my night I isolate myself. I get off the tube at one point to isolate myself. To be in control. Its demanding giving all the time during the residency. I am always trying to bring energy. It takes energy to walk into a room, to try and engage someone, to listen to long stories, to listen to upset and to ideas you don't agree with. Even the stories which are happy and interesting, it takes energy. I know I bring energy to what I have been doing. I bring a genuine interest and care and a giddiness to talk and connect. I wonder how much I have given of myself. I told the women who I sat with at choir how nervous I was to sing and walk into the room, and it was in this activity which I felt most happiest, and most transformed when I left to go home. I wonder if I should have gone into knitting but be open and honest about how I was feeling and what had just happened to me merely 3 minutes before. How would this have felt? With action research I am aware of mutuality and transparency. It has been this. But I wonder if I had pushed it a little further, and let go of this need to make people feel good and happy and just talked about me, how would this change the residency and my interactions? I wonder if this had happened just before choir, would I have gone in? What is it about knitting club which meant that in that situation I couldn't walk in and be with the sadness I had just received? I believe it was the intensity of the situation, and the fact it was only two knitters sat in the library space. Even more so after this, I celebrate how all the activities and groups I have attended are relaxed and casual. One doesn't have to commit to a 5 week course going every Thursday night. Life happens.

I am someone who recharges my batteries alone and I don't want to talk about hard subject with strangers. I know how to self sooth, how to get back the sunshine. I feel bad I didn't go in but in this moment it wasn't right. It has also shone light on the need for flexible activities in a community which inevitable will encounter childcare problems, ill health ect. Its about designing a service which despite all of what life can throw at someone, the service will continue to be outwards reaching. I think there is value and need for creating something which can be someones fall back. That in despite of sadness, loneliness or not feeling like leaving the sofa, one doesn't feel lonely and isolated from the culture and happenings of the community.

I go home and have a bath, watch some Netflix and I draw a quick drawing of a lobster. I also listen to Stormzy. Lots of Stormzy.

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