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bigbrotherlouis · 3 years

Note

for director’s cut: the raleigh/airport scene in ‘i can’t find nothin’...’ if you would like to!!!!

ANGELA you’re gonna make me talk about sex scenes on main?! let’s DO IT

(director’s cut meme)

andrei understands, on some level, why they have to fly commercial, (i’m always going to make players fly commercial in fic if i can. direct action.) even with a job like theirs, but in practicality, when he’s wandering around the raleigh airport at six am after their flight out is delayed, he doesn’t.

marty’s laughing at him in the way that means he’s trying to be subtle about it, but andrei’s too grumpy to care. (this was for la.) it’s too fucking early and the line for coffee is too fucking long.

“it’s too early,” he whines. marty flips over the book in his hands to read the back cover.

“boo fuckin’ hoo, bud.”

“i’m tired.” and again, in russian, “я устал.”

“не— не— i don’t care,” (i couldn’t remember how to phrase this properly and i didn’t want to look it up, plus it’s funny) marty snaps back. “it’s your own fault for watching tv until one in the morning.”

“it was gossip girl,” he mutters. “important american culture.” (in one of my transition workshops where we learned to handle moving countries, we watched mean girls as an example of american culture. true story.)

“uh huh, and degrassi is exactly how canadian high school was like.” (didn’t like the flow on this sentence but i couldn’t figure out how else to phrase it. oh well.)

andrei is, like, ninety percent sure marty didn’t finish high school in canada, but he’s not willing to take the chance that he’s wrong and get teased about it. “please, can we go to starbucks now? давай, давай.” [let’s go, let’s go] (translation is always a struggle, and even more so when it’s a different alphabet like russian. i decided to include translations when context isn’t immediately clear for the reader’s comfort. also, this is something my family does-- use a different language when we want to stress something, like svechy stressing that he wants to leave)

“talking in russian won’t get me to go any faster, svechy,” marty says, placid for the early morning, and shoves a book into andrei’s hands. “here. read this and distract yourself.”

“i don’t read until i awake.” (svechy’s syntax was hard for me to write, because i want it to be clear, true to character, and respectful all at once which is hard to balance. it’s why svech’s grammar can sometimes seem a little inconsistent-- sometimes, i chose respect and readability over true to characterization. also, transliteration of accents can make people seem childish or dumb which is absolutely not what i want!)

“sucks to suck.”

andrei grumbles under his breath, a mixture of russian and english and some of sebastian’s favourite swedish (this should be finnish. oops.) curses thrown in there too, absently drumming his fingers on the cover of the book he’s still holding. marty is paying him no attention, which almost bothers him as much as the lack of caffeine does.

he’s cocking his head to read the spines of the books in the airport store when he feels the heat of someone step behind him, too close for politeness, and he’s whirling before he can even really think about it. (there really aren’t a lot of places spies can meet up by accident without getting too repetitive, especially in something that’s supposed to be silly and short, but an airport felt plausible.)

“whoa,” says joel, stepping back out of andrei’s elbows. “easy there.”

“joel?”

“in the flesh,” he says with a grin, and andrei’s thinking about how twice is a coincidence but three times is a pattern when (this is me lampshading their constant meetups because i didn’t feel like expounding on it LOL)— “is that twilight?”

“i— what?”

“the book you’re reading.”

andrei looks down at his hands and then scowls in the general direction of the shelves. fucking marty. (this is the whole reason they’re in the bookstore. for me to make this joke about svech holding twilight.)

joel tips his head to the side and grins wider. “didn’t peg (haha peg) you for a vampire guy, but i can see it. wait, fuck, are you from transylvania?” (apologies to americans but this is a little jab at your general geography abilities)

“no, not in in russia,” he says absently. “siberia, yes. transylvania, no. why you here?”

“well, i just like to lurk around airports for fun. you see interesting people like this.”

“really.”

joel snorts. “no, i have a flight, dumbass. i’m a business bitch.” (my rule of thumb for writing joel’s dialogue is to think of the most ridiculous thing i can imagine a person saying in any given circumstance and then assigning him that line.)

“a business bitch?”

“yeah, dude. makin’ money moves n’shit.”

“you’re not following me?” andrei asks, aiming for teasing, pretending it’s not a real question. (more lampshading. i was lazy.) joel makes his eyes go wide and innocent, and mostly doesn’t succeed.

“andrew,” he says, outraged. “are you accusing me of being a stalker?”

“yes.”

“oh, so you’re definitely team edward. (this joke fell into my lap) i see how it is. can’t a bro say hi to his bro in an airport, especially after getting a decent brojob the last time they saw each other?”

andrei mouths the word brojob (i crack up every time this term is used and joel would absolutely say it) and then shakes his head. “no.”

“tough crowd. what are you doing here, buddy?”

“waiting for marty to finish so we can go to starbucks. too early and he is too slow.”

“yeah?” joel looks over at where marty is now examining the overpriced souvenirs with a very careful air, taking them off the shelves and putting them gently back. (i was very into this image) “wanna go stand in line with me?” (high romance there, bee)

strictly speaking, marty and andrei are supposed to be together when travelling, just in case someone gets snatched. it’s happened before, but andrei really, really wants something to drink before they fly out to fucking vancouver, or wherever they’re going. he can’t even remember. besides, if joel was going to snatch him, he would’ve done it earlier, in the hotel when andrei was fucked out and happy. he shrugs. (listen. i didn’t want to do any worldbuilding because it was a fun au so i did the bare minimum.)

“sure. marty, i go to stand in line,” he yells and marty waves a hand without looking up. the line stretches down the hallway, too many people patiently waiting for a rush. (i’m so familiar with this and it makes me sad just writing about it) andrei can’t fault them; he’s tired too, which is why he doesn’t realise that joel’s pulling him towards the bathrooms instead of the coffee shop, pushing him into the family stall and shoving the door closed. (i’m gonna be honest: i have absolutely no idea why i made this a sex scene. like none. i remember being halfway through and being like “....i’m writing?? airport sex??” but i don’t remember why i decided it was a good idea.)

for a second, andrei thinks this is when he gets kidnapped and killed, a rival taking him out in the crowded airport where no one can see. the bulgarian maneuver would’ve been a lot less conspicuous, but oh well. (this is referring to the bulgarian assassins who killed a journalist in the 80s? i think? with a poison-tipped umbrella and i’m just now realising that’s probably not common knowledge)

instead, joel clicks the lock in place and presses up close, plastered to the front of andrei.

“wha—” says andrei, but it’s swallowed up in joel’s mouth, swallowed up in the kiss that joel gives him. he kisses back, of course he does, because it’s a fucking good kiss. joel hums, coaxing his mouth open for a minute and then biting on his lower lip before pulling away. he doesn’t go far, hands skimming down andrei’s body until he drops to his knees on the dirty bathroom floor.

“we are in a toilet,” andrei hisses. “in an airport.” (svech has the practical response)

joel shrugs, giving him the biggest shit-eating grin as he undoes his belt. (joel is never not going to be smug) “guess you have to be fast, then. besides, i owe you one.”

technically, he still got off last time, even if it was pretty basic, it’s not like andrei’s going to say no, not when joel is looking so eager and mischievous.

“don’t make too much noise,” instructs joel, (i realised after i posted the fic that both blowjobs start with someone giving instructions and i’m gonna say it’s because it’s a literary parallel and not because i don’t know how to transition into sexual acts) and then he’s got his mouth on andrei’s dick and andrei can’t think of anything else to say. he bangs his head against the door and clamps a hand over his mouth, digging his fingers of his other hand into the wood behind him.

joel is good enough that andrei’s not going to last long, not like this, getting off on the secrecy of it all. (read: i just didn’t want to write a lot. but also i think svechy has an exhibitionist streak in him and joel definitely does) it’s a tiny bit shameful in the way that makes him groan into his palm, makes him rock his hips into joel’s hot mouth. joel just hums around andrei’s dick and that’s— okay, that’s a lot. andrei’s gonna get a splinter under his nails from digging so hard, or maybe he’s gonna die on the spot, or like something because joel pulls off to just go right back in again and fuck. (fun fact! i’ve never had sex i don’t know what i’m writing)

“fuck,” he hisses through the meat of his hand. “fuck!”

it’s too loud, probably, and joel’s eyes flick up to his with a warning.

“sorry,” andrei breathes. joel pinches his thigh, sharp enough to sting, and embarrassingly, that’s what makes him come with a noise between a breath and a whine.

“baller,” (joel pick something less sexy to say i dare you) joel says smugly when andrei comes back to earth, enough of a douche move that andrei can’t help but roll his eyes. he flicks joel on the cheek.

“you suck.”

he grins. “well, yeah. obviously.” (low hanging fruit but he’d say it so i wrote it)

“idiot,” andrei mutters and then tugs on joel’s shoulders until he stands up, pulls him in until he can nudge at joel’s jaw with his nose. “i help you?”

joel shakes his head, his hair tickling the side of andrei’s cheek. “nah, i like it when you owe me. hey, does it count as being part of the mile high club if we’re still on the ground?” (i was literally in the middle of posting this fic to ao3 before i realised i had not made a mile high joke which was unacceptable. typed it right into the text box)

“no?”

“damn. it’s on my bucket list.”

“you so weird,” andrei tells him, not managing to keep the fondness out of his voice, and then yawns so hard his jaw cracks. “i’ll pay you back with a drink.”

“oh my god,” says joel and then pinches andrei in the side so he twitches. “i just gave you the best airport blowjob—”

“only airport blowjob.”

“the best fucking airport blowjob of your life, and you’re thinking about drinks? fuckin’ ridiculous, andrew.”

“not andrew, yo-el.” (this is svech getting back at joel as best he can. trying to give it as good as he gets it. establishing banter!!)

“sure, bro,” joel mumbles and andrei shoves at him so he can get his pants back on, fumbling with the door. “next time better be fuckin’ phenomenal. you owe me big time.”

“excuse me, you said it was payback. we equal.”

“maybe i changed my mind,” joel says with a grin, bumping him with his hip.

“maybe i disappear forever,” he replies, halfway between teasing and halfway to serious. joel reaches up to fix his snapback (this is also for la.) and shrugs.

“nah, you’re too sweet to do that.”

“i’m not sweet.”

“uh huh, bro. keep tellin’ yourself that shit.”

the line’s gone down, incredibly, and they’re close enough to the counter that andrei has to start thinking about what to order. he should probably get something for marty, or risk getting whined at all flight.

“yo,” says joel when they’re two people away from the barista. “you got digits?”

andrei hesitates and then holds up his hands, wriggling his fingers. “uh. yes?” (it’s probably more in character for real life joel to ask for instagram instead but this joke made me laugh so much that i couldn’t bear to leave it out. also it’s a little fun second language moment)

joel blinks at him for a long second and then breaks out into a wide smile, shaking his head. “nah, not those. i mean, like, a phone number.”

“i don’t have a phone,” he mutters and then pulls one out of his pocket. (YES this is a tumblr post ripoff but svech wasn’t just going to give it up so easily so in it went) “okay, give.”

he dutifully types out the sequence joel rattles off and then sends a smiley face to the number when joel makes him text.

“cool. now we can text instead of ambushing each other in public.”

“that not me,” andrei tells him. “all you.”

“you’re jumpy and it’s cute.”

“i’ll delete your number. block it.” he warns and joel waves a hand.

“yeah, yeah,” he says cheerfully and then leans over to tell the barista what he wants to drink. it’s the most ridiculous sugary concoction, hardly any coffee, and andrei stares at him in horror. (this is projection for my horror at some of the things i’ve seen in american coffee shops. that’s just. so much sugar. also prime chirping opportunity to show their personalities and dynamic a little)

“you gonna drink that?” he asks and joel frowns a little. “is just sugar. candy.”

“yeah, so? it tastes so good.”

“you not gonna have teeth.” he orders two cold brews and pays. “you gonna die early from sugar.”

“somehow,” joel says with a sparkle in his eye, “i don’t think it’s gonna be the sugar that’ll nerf me in the end.” (minor foreshadowing here! also lmao @ the thought of joel saying nerf)

he gets his vanilla bean java chip unicorn whatever frappuccino— literally, what the fuck— and takes a satisfied sip.

“disgusting,” says andrei. “no more kissing for you.”

“aw, bud, how am i gonna practice? you said i needed it.” (it’s not stated in the fic but joel learned how to flirt from watching tk and patty and i think it shows)

“lost cause,” he tells him airily. he’s about to suggest something— he’s not even sure what— when someone appears over joel’s shoulder.

“farabee,” the guy says. he looks stern, but that might be the impressive beard. or the death glare he’s levelling andrei’s way. “where the fuck have you been?”

joel brandishes his drink. “caffeinating it up, g. stayin’ alert and awake.” (real life joel has said this at least once to claude, and i will stand by that statement)

g’s frown gets deeper. “we’re going to miss our flight.”

“nah, we’ve got time— oh, shit. yeah, we gotta bounce, bruh, but i’ll catch you later? text me.” (inelegant departure but my goal was to not overthink things in this fic, like i’m prone to do, so i left it) he almost literally get pulled away by his elbow, towed by his ginger friend through the airport so he can enthusiastically wave his goodbye.

“well,” marty says out of nowhere, reaching for his cold brew and making andrei jump. “there’s good news and bad news.”

“okay.”

“the good news is that he’s cute and somehow into your stupid face.” he takes a long drink, conscious that andrei is about to hit him for making him wait and enjoying it very much. (he’s dramatic and also i wanted to draw out the surprise a little) andrei needs new teammates.

“the bad news?” he prompts.

“the bad news,” repeats marty, grimacing. “the bad news is that he’s definitely in the same line of work as us.”([john mulaney voice] the other shoe just dropped.)

everything in andrei’s head grinds to a stop. “uh. what?”

“i recognize his handler. giroux, french canadian division.” (i’m gonna work g into fic when i can bc i love him)

“joel’s american,” he says absently and marty takes another drink, shrugging.

“so philly’s an international cooperation team. (this was my way of making the international aspect of the spy teams make sense, and also to not have this be enemies-to-lovers, as much as i love that trope) can’t imagine that ever happening.” he gives svech a look which, yes, andrei knows they work together because of a treaty or whatever, but still. he wants marty to be wrong about joel, for so many reasons.

mainly because he doesn’t like feeling like he’s been conned, not when he’s so good at doing the conning, and this is a big one. (it’s not my fic if there’s not at least a little angst!)

“fuck,” he says glumly. marty pats him on the shoulder.

“well,” he says. “at least he’s cute.” (marty’s trying to show his support for svech here! he just wants good things for his friend :)))

that was so fun to do, thank you so much for asking! ily!! <3 <3 <3

#personal issues #fic talk #hockey fic #hockey #hockey bros #my fic #long post #selkiefinalist

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years

Text

Letting Go

AO3

So it’s Sunday morning here and that means another chapter. Thanks for reading x

thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and @happytoobservenolongerdistant

Chapter 7: Crush

It's just a little crush (crush) Not like I faint every time we touch It's just some little thing (crush) Not like everything I do depends on you

Andy Goldmark/ Mark Mueller/ Berny Cosgrove/ Kevin Clark

Even before she opened her eyes, Claire sensed the body lying next to her. Hazy recollections of the night before came back to her… Jamie's coolness, meeting Frank, the overheard conversation and the final realisation that eight years may have disguised her emotions but time had done nothing to erase them.

And then, thankfully she remembered as she turned over to greet the bed's other occupant, Joe had found her, weeping in her flat. Tenderly he had held her as she cried and then supervised her bedtime routine, making sure she cleaned her teeth and removed her makeup before grabbing a blanket from the spare bedroom and lying next to her on top of the covers, listening to her confessions before, exhausted, she fell asleep.

Opening her very sore eyes, she saw Joe, apparently still asleep, breathing softly, next to her. Claire started to get up, but Joe caught her arm, keeping her on the bed.

“How are you this morning?”

“Not too bad. My eyes are sore and I desperately need a shower and a mug of coffee, but no hangover… yet”

“Claire, you know what I mean. All that you said last night. How do you feel emotionally?”

“Much better, yes. Think last night was cathartic.”

Joe looked at Claire and scowled. “The truth, Claire. Don’t be hiding it away. It’s taken you eight years to get this far.”

Claire sighed. “Ok, Joe. Truth… truth is, I think I held myself back from relationships, from letting go, because I thought… hoped… dreamed that he’d come back. He’d come home and find me. And now he has, he's come home and made it perfectly clear it’s not for me. Living here, I’ll have to see him sometimes, but I’m not going to live in a dream world. I’ll get past this. Honest.”

Joe raised her hand to his lips. “I know you will. And I’m here for you. Now you go and make us two incredibly strong coffees, while I hop in your shower.”

With a dehydration headache looming, brought on, no doubt, by a surfeit of both alcohol and tears, Claire stood at the kitchen sink and drank two large glasses of water while she waited for the kettle to boil.

A knock at the door broke her concentration. She wrapped her bathrobe tightly around her and went to answer it, pausing in front of the hall mirror. It was as bad as expected -- red rimmed eyes, pale cheeks and a mass of tangled curls were reflected back at her and she just knew that she probably smelt as bad as she looked.

*******

Nine years ago

“Oh god, I must look hideous. I’m never at my sunniest first thing in the morning.”

“Sassenach, all I can see is a woman who, weel, lets jes’ say, made a man verra happy last night. A wee bit of mascara’s stuck tae yer cheek and yer curls have a mind of their own but ye look beautiful.”

“I can tell how happy by your grin, Jamie… and that’s not the only part of you that seems happy this morning. Ooh, Jamie… ooh, yes… what are you doing?”

“Lie back, Sassenach, dinna move. Fair’s fair. I’m goin’ tae put a grin on yer face as well.”

*******

Claire peered through the spy hole to see John standing on the doormat. She opened the door and stood back to let him in. Fortunately, he looked as rough as Claire.

“Morn...” John cleared his throat and tried again. “Morning.”

“How are you this morning?”

His voice had a throaty rasp. He coughed and carried on. “I can’t say I’m feeling my best. I’ve been awake since six. Jamie crashed at mine last night and had to leave to go back to work… something to do with a new foal or a mare… well, something horsey, anyway. And he couldn’t find the key to the front door, so we had to spend ages looking for it and… well… here we are. I think you look like I feel, Claire.”

Claire led him into the living room. “It was certainly quite a night. Wonder if I should go and give Anna and Mary a hand cleaning up?”

“I wouldn’t bother. They’ll still be asleep. Besides, Anna has an agreement with a couple of the cleaners from the theatre. They come and sort the flat out, cash in hand. No problem. This is a regular occurrence. Bet the estate agent didn’t tell you that -- happens whenever Mrs. Crook goes off to visit her daughter in Edinburgh.”

John sat next to Claire and continued. “That’s not why I’ve come. I need to ask if you’re ok with something…”

With years of practice, Claire heart automatically leapt a little bit.

“I know you were talking to Frank last night. Frank Randall? Yes?”

The leaping in Claire’s chest stopped. She nodded in agreement.

“He’s asked me for your phone number. I didn’t want to give it to him without asking you first. Is that ok? He seems like a decent chap.”

Time to move on, she thought to herself, have to start somewhere. “Yes, why not?”

*******

Joe waited until John had left before he made an appearance, now smelling delightfully of Claire’s L’Occitane Citrus verbena shower gel.

“I decided not to disturb yours and John’s tête-à-tête. I plan on being introduced to him when I’m feeling less hungover and he’s not looking so rough. What did he want, Claire?”

Claire passed a mug of coffee to Joe and nibbled on a piece of dry toast. “That chap, Frank, I was talking to him last night, asked John for my number. John wanted to check it was ok to give it to him.”

“And what did you say?” Joe took the toast from Claire’s hand and consumed it in two bites.

“I’ll go and make some more toast.” Claire headed into the kitchen with Joe following.

“Well,” Claire continued. “I said he could give him my number. Frank seemed like a nice chap and following on from our discussion last night, I need to start moving on. Maybe this is… what is it… karma… no, not karma… synchronicity. Perhaps it’s synchronicity.”

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

The coffee shop was, Claire decided as she looked around, an ideal place for a first date. Intimate enough to be able to hold a conversation yet without being forced to share too much personal space. Quiet enough to be able to hear each other clearly yet without a sterile silence around them. Bright enough to be able to see each other’s facial expression yet without losing a cosy ambience. Good call, Frank, perfect first date.

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

Nine years ago

“I’m sorry, Claire, I didna think it would be sae crowded in here at this time.”

“What did you say? I can’t hear you too well.”

“It’s no’ usually sae busy here. Seems like there’s a couple of stag parties goin’ on.”

“Oops. I didn’t mean to lean against you like that, Jamie. People keep pushing past me.”

“Lean on me all ye want... This first date isna goin’ verra well... I shouldna have brought ye here. I’m sorry.”

“Jamie, will you stop apologising? I think this date is perfect.”

“Me too, Sassenach, me too.”

********

The waitress brought over Claire’s black coffee and Frank’s tea. Claire watched Frank’s hands as he stirred the tea pot: long, elegant fingers delicately held the spoon, the skin smooth and pale. Totally unlike those rough, calloused hands she remembered so well, tanned from all the hours spent working outside. Stop it, Claire forced her mind away from those thoughts and back to listening to the man in front of her.

Frank waited expectantly, obviously having just asked her a question.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Claire blushed.

“I was just asking what it was like growing up with your uncle. Did you travel around a lot?”

“Oh, yes. Every school holiday it seemed we were heading off somewhere.”

“What sort of places did you visit?”

“Varies. Mainly Turkey, but Bulgaria, Ukraine, Georgia.”

“All around the Black Sea then?”

Claire smiled as the memories of those trips came flooding back. “Yes, sometimes staying in little B&Bs or tiny hotels but quite a lot of camping, especially when a team went over. I can still see Lamb pouring over his copious notes by the light of a single lamp, while I tried to fry sausages on a one-ring gas burner. It was great fun. How about you? You do much travelling in your research?”

“Just to libraries or archives, I’m afraid. Nothing very exciting.” Frank shrugged.

“But if you’re writing a book, that’s exciting, isn’t it? I mean, my uncle’s never written a book.”

“Well, yes. I suppose it is. I need to have some outline to John next month, then it may happen. Do you want another coffee?” Frank drained his teacup and looked expectantly at Claire. “Or would you like to go for a bite to eat?”

Claire looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, Frank. I can’t. I have to nip home and then I promised I’d visit Uncle Lamb.”

“Oh well, another time? But you don’t live far from here. Let me walk you home.”

Claire nodded. Frank’s hand rested lightly on her back as he guided her out of the coffee shop. They walked side by side along the pavement towards Claire’s flat, Frank’s hand brushing against hers with each stride. A few paces later, and instead of the slight touch, Claire felt Frank’s hand clasp hers, cool and dry against her palm. She let it rest there and tried to force her mind away from any comparisons.

As they approached her flat, the sky darkened with the promise of imminent raindrops. They stood awkwardly at the front door, Frank still holding her hand.

“So, I had a really good time, Claire. I would like to see you again, if you want to.”

Claire smiled, then jumped as a loud crack of thunder was rapidly followed by a sudden downpour. Quickly she fumbled in her bag for her keys, then opened the door. Frank followed her into the foyer.

“So?” He spun her round to face him. “Another date?”

Claire nodded. “Yes, Frank, I’d like that. Text me and we can arrange something.”

They stood still for a moment before Frank took a step towards Claire and lightly kissed her mouth. His lips were soft and cool, his mouth practically level with hers, no need to crane her neck or stand on tiptoe to reach. She waited for a moment in anticipation of those long forgotten feelings… the butterflies, the tingling, then took a step towards the stairs.

“I’d better go. Uncle Lamb will be waiting for me. Thanks for coffee.”

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

Jamie waited until they had disappeared from view, Claire to her flat and Frank back out into the rain, before he emerged from John’s front door. He hadn’t want to intrude on their moment. Although he had noticed, casually through the spy hole, that Claire hadn’t leant into the kiss... hadn’t seemed inclined to prolong it… hadn’t moved her hands from her sides. Not that it mattered to him, of course. It really wasn’t his business.

******

Nine years ago

“I’m sorry the pub wasna a good idea fer a first date.”

“Jamie, don’t be sorry. It’s far too nice an evening to spend in a crowded bar anyway. What could be better than this, walking in a park, sharing a bag of chips?”

“And Irn-bru… dinna forget the Irn-bru.”

“Well, I must admit, I don’t actually like that stuff. You can have the whole bottle.”

“Come here, Sassenach. Ye’ve got a wee bit of ketchup on the corner of yer mouth. Let me get it off…”

“Ha. I thought you were going to wipe it off with a serviette.”

“Och, no need fer that. Waste of a serviette.”

“Jamie, I think I’ve got something here on the other side… and a bit here… and here… mmm…”

“Ye must be an awfa messy eater, Sassenach. So many kisses needed.”

“Sorry, is that too many for you to handle?”

“I dinna think it will ever be too many fer me, Sassenach.”

#outlander fanfic #outlander fan fiction #letting go #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #chapter 7 #nearly halfway

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littlemissvincentvega · 5 years

Text

“Do you believe in true love?”

Distracted, you carry on scrutinising the carton of eggs. “Hm?”

You and your colleague had been ordered by Joe Cabot to fetch the week’s grocery shopping - the group of criminals (along with you) are being made to live with each other in a rented apartment to get used to each other, you being the caterer, so to speak.

He takes the eggs off of you and places them in the shopping trolley (cart for you american dudes). You look up at him. “I was checking the date on those!” you protest, pushing the trolley down the aisle. “What did you ask, anyway?”

You stop at the milk section as he trails after you. “I-I said, do you believe in true love?” he says timidly.

“Sure I do, carrot boy,” you smile, grabbing a carton and checking the use by date, “do you?”

He shrugs. “Guess so.” Looking slightly stoned, Orange slinks down the aisle, and you trail after him, still clutching the milk carton.

“Why were you asking?” you say, walking alongside him.

He puts the milk in the trolley for you and smiles shiftily. “I dunno, I was just wondering, Miss Violet. Are we getting cereal yet?”

“Sure,” you giggle, heading to the cereal aisle. “Go crazy, Joe’s the one paying.”

He runs to find the Fruit Brutes like a bull at a gate, and you can’t help but laugh at how excited he seems. The tough-looking guy grabs three boxes, drops them into the trolley and blushes when he realises what you’re finding so amusing. “Yeah, yeah, keep laughin’,” he chuckles.

“No, it’s sweet.”

Orange glances at you and smiles to himself, walking a tad more cockily than usual. “Thanks, m’lady.”

“You got the shopping list?”

He stops and turns to you. “No, I thought you had the list?”

“I thought you had the list!”

He smiles an awkward ‘oops!’ kind of smile. “Guess we’ll just have to wing it then,” he says, swaggering down the aisle and tripping over his own foot - he goes down like a sack of shit. You gasp, bursting into a fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry, oh my god!” you cry, scuttling over to him and offering a hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he says, cheeks flushed with embarrassment but still smiling.

You help him up, still giggling. “I’m so sorry, I just-- that was so fuckin’ funny,” you titter, doing your best to resist laughing at him any more - judging by the flustered look on his face, he really was very embarrassed. Feeling sorry for him, you attempt to keep a straight face, and give him a sympathetic smile.

“You’re gonna get it one of these days, Violet,” he jokes, pretending to shoot you, trying to laugh it off.

The two of you take turns in pushing the trolley and shop for a good hour and a half - both of you are desperate to stall the trip to spend more time together, though neither of you will admit it to the other.

Orange checks his watch as you both stand at the checkout. “Jesus, it’s nearly four,” he remarks, leaning against the counter. You smile at the cashier, who is scanning your groceries. “Is it really? Christ,” you say, “how long’ve we been here?”

“Nearly two hours.”

You puff and blow. “That’s $84.60 please, sir,” the cashier says, looking at Orange. He smiles at her and pays with Joe’s card, smirking at you as he does so. You reload the shopping trolley and, when he’s finished paying, head out of the store.

Nice Guy Eddie had kindly handed you over the keys to his gorgeous ‘66 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. Orange helps you stuff the shopping in the trunk and the two of you get in the car. “You want me to drive?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“It’s not your job,” you say, smiling at him. “I just wanna sit for a minute, my legs are aching now.” As you pull out a pack of Red Apples, he instinctively whips out a lighter. You pop a cig between your lips and he leans forward with a smile, lighting it for you.

“Is it okay, I mean-- would you mind if I have one of those?”

You pass him the pack in response and watch him light his cigarette. “So,” he says, puffing away, “what do you think of the other guys?”

Contemplating for a second, you smirk. “They’re alright.”

“Just alright?”

“Well I mean, there’s not much to say yet, is there? We only just met.”

“I s’pose so,” he sighs, taking a long drag. He looks at you sheepishly. “What about me?”

You grin at the man-child. “You’re funny.”

“Funny?”

“Yes, Mr. Orange,” you giggle, rolling the window down for some fresh air, “funny. What about you? What d’you think of the guys?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I like ‘em.”

“W-” you begin, interrupted by your phone ringing. You pick up. “Hello? Violet here.”

The familiar, kind voice of Eddie comes through. “Hey honey, I just wanted to check if you’re nearly done shopping? We’re starvin’ and there’s nothin’ to eat.”

“Yeah, sorry Eddie, we just got back in the car a few minutes ago, my legs are aching.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that, darlin’. Take your time, okay?”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you smile, “won’t be long now.”

“Okay, see you soon sweetie.”

“Bye bye!” You hang up and put away the chunky phone.

“Who was it?” asks Orange, still puffing away.

“Eddie. The guys are starving, he said.”

Starting the engine, you put your seat belt on and, holding the cig between two fingers, drive out of the parking lot. Orange turns the radio on as you drive away from the grocery store. He switches it to K-Billy’s ‘Super Sounds of the 70′s’. “Blonde showed a few of us this. It’s uh, pretty cool,” he says, leaning his elbow out of the car window.

You giggle, glancing at him. “Pretty cool, yeah.”

The rest of the car journey was fairly uneventful and quiet, though it was only about ten minutes at most. You pull up in the parking lot of the apartment complex and step out of the car. “Help me carry the bags?” you smile.

“Of course,” he says, running to the trunk and grabbing about 5 bags at once. You giggle at him struggling.

“Orange, you really don’t have to--”

“SHIT!” he hisses, dropping the bag full of cereal on the ground, the contents spilling out everywhere.

“Well done, you’ve ripped the bag,” you say, bending over to pick it up (little to your knowledge he’s having a quick glance at your ass).

“Sorry, Violet,” he says sheepishly, arms full of groceries.

“I’m only messing,” you grin, grabbing the remaining bag from the trunk before yanking it shut and locking the car. “C’mon, they’ll be waiting.”

The two of you hurry inside to the elevator - apartment no. 28, on the second floor. Orange admires you secretly as you stand in comfortable silence, clutching the bulging grocery bags. Shortly, the doors open, and you nearly drop the shopping as Pink is pacing the space in front. “Jesus, Pink, I nearly shit myself then!”

“We’re fuckin’ starvin’ here, gimme that!” he growls, snatching one of the bags from Orange and stamping into the apartment like an angry toddler.

You and Orange share a look of ‘he needs to fucking chill’ before following the irked criminal, kicking the door shut behind you. Placing all of the grocery bags on the counter top, you sigh and begin unpacking them. Eddie, noticing your arrival, walks over to you both. “Pink, take a fuckin’ chill pill, huh?” he smirks, helping you unpack.

“Sorry we took so long, Eddie,” you apologise, throwing a tired smile his way.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, I just hope you’ve bought somethin’ nice,” he says warmly, “which I can see is very true!” He pulls out a large bottle of vodka, grinning.

“Yeah, I picked that up in case of emergency...” Orange coughs.

“Emergency?” you scoff.

“In case we get bored?”

Eddie stops unpacking and blinks at Orange. “Is that what an emergency is to you?” You stand giggling at them both.

Orange shrugs. “I dunno, my intuition told me to buy some booze, so we did.”

“Christ, Orange, how much did you get?” Eddie huffs, pulling out three more bottles.

“He, uh-- had a tumble in the store, might have something to do with it,” you giggle, feeling slightly guilty as Orange looks daggers at you. “Sorry, tango man.”

“I’d prefer tiger, but okay,” he mutters, shoving some veg in the fridge and sulking.

Blonde senses the bickering and slinks over to the kitchen. He stands in the doorway. “You took your time, didn’t you?” he smirks, studying you all. He spies the alcohol and makes a beeline for it. You roll your eyes and pass him a glass.

“Put some ice in that,” you advise, sliding the whiskey across the table to him.

“Thank you, doll.”

The moment Blonde opens the bottle, Pink storms in. “Nobody told me there was booze!” he splutters.

“No one had the chance,” Orange murmurs, putting the food away quietly.

“Fuck you.” Pink says, scowling. “Pass me a glass, Violet?”

“Magic word, Mr. Pink?”

He rolls his eyes. “Please?”

“That’s a good boy,” you titter, sliding him a glass.

“I’m not a fuckin’ dog, fuck you.”

Eddie steps forward, looking offended. “Jesus, Pink, who shoved a stick up your ass?” he says. “Be kind to our Miss Violet!”

“Christ Eddie, I was kidding, back off, will you?”

Blonde drops a few ice cubes in his and Pink’s glasses before pouring some whiskey in them both - how he managed to look cool as a cucumber doing literally anything was beyond you. He sits down to watch the little show, a vague smirk plastered across his face. “I’m just sayin’ respect the lovely lady!” Eddie threatens, half joking, half serious.

“Yeah, she’s just been out shoppin’ for all of us so shut the fuck up and be grateful,” says Orange, puffing on his cigarette in the corner. He’s leaning against the counter top, frowning at Blonde and Pink.

“Is this respectful ‘nuff for ya, asshole?” Blonde says, taking your hand and kissing the back of it softly. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle, blushing and curtsying.

Orange scoffs. “Piss take.”

“Fuck you, I’m goin’ in there, c’mon Pink.”

The two of them saunter into the living room and Orange lets out an annoyed sigh. “Honestly, they behave like fuckin’ children sometimes. Don’t let ‘em get to you,” Eddie says to him, and you nod in agreement.

“Okay.”

“Be right back,” you say, smiling reassuringly at Orange and heading to the living room. “I’m doing bacon and eggs for you guys, is that okay?”

A murmur of yeses fill the room, all eyes glued to the TV - the only one that looks at you is Mr. White, being the gentleman he is. As you’re about to turn around, Mr. Brown’s head pops up from the armchair. “Miss Violet, can you make my bacon crispy, pretty please?” he asks, giving you puppy dog eyes. You giggle and nod. “Of course, Brown. And for being so polite, you’ll get your food first.”

The other guys whip their heads around hearing this, Pink jumping to his feet. “That’s not fuckin’ fair though!”

“I think you’ll find it is, Pink,” White says.

“But--”

“That poor lady has slaved her ass off the past couple’a hours buying food for us so that we can eat, so leave her alone for Chrissake,” he interrupts sternly, winking at you. You smile in response and go back to the kitchen, where Mr. Orange is looking reasonably calmer than before.

“You look happier,” you say, laying as many rashes of bacon as you can fit in the pan and cracking some eggs in the other one.

“Yeah, well, they’ve fucked off now.” He takes off his leather jacket and drapes it over the back of one of the dining chairs. “You want me to help with that?” he asks, gesturing to the eggs.

“No, you’re fine.”

He ignores you and stands beside you, watching the eggs. “It’s just Pink, he needs to learn some fuckin’ manners.”

“It’s fine, I’m sure he was joking. He’s an idiot,” you smile. “Eddie, would you be a dear and get some plates out?”

“Sure thing, honey,” he answers, clattering them about in the cupboard and placing them carefully on the table.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling at him.

“Hey, I’m gonna join the guys, that okay with you?”

You nod. “I’ll bring it in to you, it won’t be long.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” he says, leaving the room.

“How’d you like yours?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you like your bacon?” you chuckle, looking up at Orange.

He smiles. “Oh, uhh-- normal? Crispy, I think?”

“You think?”

“You put me on the spot!” he giggles, his eyes twinkling.

You press down on the bacon with the spatula, the sizzles echoing through the kitchen pleasantly. “I’m doing yours and Brown’s first, then White’s and Eddie’s.”

“What, are we special or somethin’?”

“Just a bit,” you smile, turning the bacon over. You see him from the corner of your eye biting back a grin as he shuffles over to the cutlery drawer and grabs a few knives and forks to take to the living room.

“Hold on, I’m gonna ask who wants toast with me,” he says, heading out of the kitchen. Blushing to yourself, you chuckle as you hear him asking the guys, “Hey assholes, who wants toast?”

He returns a short minute later, slinging bread in the toaster. “Pink, Blonde, Brown, Eddie and me. You want some, Violet?”

“I’m good, thanks. I turned the eggs over for you, they should be ready now.”

He slides them onto two of the plates and cracks another couple into the pan. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

“I s’pose so,” you smile, not taking your eyes off of the bacon. He leans on the counter beside you, watching the food intently. As you decide it’s cooked, you scoop it onto the plates (making sure Orange gets a little bit more) and, as the toast pops up from the toaster, he darts over before you can. “I don’t want you to burn yourself,” he says, carefully removing them from the toaster and dropping them onto the plates. He cuts them into triangles and wipes a blob of butter on each slice. “Voila,” he grins, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Impressive,” you giggle, laying more strips of bacon in the pan, “would you be a darling and take Brown’s in with you? My hands are tied.”

“Of course. Thanks, Violet,” Orange says, taking Brown’s dinner to him.

“Thank you, Miss Violet!” Brown yells from the living room, making you chuckle.

“S’okay!” you yell back. As you turn from the bacon, you suddenly remember the orange juice and totter to the fridge to fetch it, along with a few glasses. You head to the living room, hands full, and nearly slam face-first into Mr. Orange’s chest - he’s on his way back to the kitchen. “Oh, sorry Orange - did you forget something?”

“No, I was gonna come back to help.”

“You don’t need to do that!” you protest, but he ignores you and goes to the kitchen anyway. “Here, sweetheart, I forgot to bring you a drink, is OJ okay?” you ask Brown, who’s very happily chewing on some bacon. “Oh, yes please, thank you!” he says, his eyes lit up as he fist bumps you.

You smile, tired, and return to the kitchen to find Orange tending to the food - he’s eating his dinner while cooking everyone else’s, and you can’t help but blush and smile giddily. “Let me do that, it’s really not your job,” you plead, gently taking the spatula off him, your hands grazing.

“I’ll do the toast instead, you shouldn’t be doin’ this all by yourself.”

“You’re a gentleman, carrot boy.”

After about fifteen minutes, the two of you had managed to serve up all of the guys’ dinners, with no complaints (unless you counted Pink accusing Blonde of having more egg than him). When you finally sit down on the couch, it’s bliss - after a long day of being introduced to the group, going grocery shopping for all that time and cooking everyone’s dinner, you were glad to finally be able to relax. Orange squeezes himself beside you (it’s a tight fit, seven guys with two couches and an armchair) and the two of you are the last to finish eating.

You stand up, collecting everyone’s plates, and White helps you carry them to the kitchen. “I’ll clean them later,” you say to him, “I wanna just rest for now.”

“I don’t blame you, honey,” he says kindly, “a well deserved rest.”

Smiling at him, you return to your seat between Orange and Blonde, Blonde’s arm draped over the back of the couch. The curtains are shut and with no lamps on, the glare of the TV is the only source of light. It’s warm but not too warm - to you, right now, the room carries a content energy.

“Quit nudging me, Blondie,” Pink grunts.

And... the moment’s gone. “I ain’t nudgin’ you, Mr. Pussy, shut up,” Blonde growls next to you, shuffling in his seat.

Eddie looks over from the other couch. “Hey, shut up you two, I can’t hear the fuckin’ TV.”

You and Orange share a look again and consequently grin at each other. “Oooooh, what’re you two smiling at?” Brown titters from the armchair - he looks like he’s being swallowed by it. Orange opens his mouth to retort, but before he can, Eddie shushes everyone. You flip Brown off lazily from across the room and continue watching TV, your eyelids drooping.

It doesn’t take long for the sound of the television to become a hazy, distant blur in your ears, and your head drops softly onto Orange’s arm. He flinches, biting back a smile, and carefully snakes his arm around you. Half asleep, you cuddle up to him - the faint smell of musky aftershave and his last cigarette lingers on his shirt.

Unbeknown to you, a couple of hours pass and you’re awakened by a gentle poke on your shoulder. “Hey, sweetie?” you hear Eddie whisper.

“Hm?” you mumble, still half asleep.

You feel Orange fidget and he yawns. “What time’s it?” he asks Eddie.

“Nearly eight, I thought I should wake you both or you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Oh, thank you Eddie,” you smile sleepily, sitting upright. Looking around, you see Mr. Brown, still in his armchair, fast asleep, mouth open and snoring. “How long’s he been gone?” you giggle, pointing at Brown.

“Not long. We wouldn’t let him watch this serial killer documentary that was on, so he sulked and fell asleep.”

“Surprised Pink didn’t wake you, Violet, he went fuckin’ mental,” White says from the other couch. You look across at Mr. Pink, expecting him to argue, but he’s fast asleep, mouth hanging open like Brown. “Yeah, we didn’t think wakin’ ‘em would be the best idea... they were fuckin’ everyone off.”

Smiling, you lift yourself off of the couch. “Yeah, I can’t for the life of me see why,” you wink, shuffling to the door. “Anyone want a drink?”

White is the only one that responds. “Would you bring me a coffee? Lots’a cream, lots’a sugar?”

“No problem,” you smile, going to the kitchen, closely followed by Mr. Orange. Blonde’s leaning against the counters and smoking. He watches the two of you enter, cig hanging between his lips. “Been gettin’ your beauty sleep?” he smirks.

“I hope so,” you say, putting the kettle on. “D’you want anything?”

He chuckles in his gruff voice. “I can name a few things.”

“Behave yourself!”

“Just kiddin’ around, honey. No, I’m good for now.”

“You gonna give me one of those or what?” Orange huffs, putting his hand out for one of Blonde’s cigs.

“Hey, I paid good money for these.” He passes him one anyway.

“What about me?” you smile.

“Since it’s you, sweetness,” Blonde smirks. You let him pop one between your lips and light it for you.

“Thanks.”

Orange lights his own and grabs two mugs out of the cupboard. “I’ll make them, Violet.”

Blonde studies him carefully, reading him. The three of you smoke in silence. As the kettle begins whistling, you cringe and both you and Mr. Blonde watch Orange make the coffees - one for himself, one for White. “You should be a barista, not a dealer,” you giggle and he turns around and smiles sweetly.

“If I was a barista, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

You smile. “I guess not.”

He leaves you and Blonde alone in the kitchen and returns to the living room. “White, your coffee’s here.”

White stands up and takes it off of him. “Thanks, kid. Hey, come outside with me, I need some fresh air.” Orange nods and the two guys make their way onto the balcony. “What’s your deal with Miss Violet then?”

“Huh?”

White sips on his coffee. “You like her.”

“You been talkin’ to Blonde?” Orange scoffs, getting visibly flustered.

“No, kid, calm down. That guy’s a fuckin’ nimrod. I can just tell.”

“I-I don’t like her, I mean I-- I like her, obviously, but I mean I--”

“Christ, Orange, you been snortin’ somethin’? Chill out!”

Orange chuckles nervously. “Sorry.”

“She likes you.”

“Uh...okay? Where’ve you got that from?”

“I. Can. Tell! And you should go for it, kid!”

Orange takes a long sip from his coffee. He screws up his face a little. “No... we’re supposed to be professional, I mean can you imagine what Pink’d say?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him, I’ll sort his ass out. He’s the least fuckin’ professional one here if you ask me,” White chuckles, looking at Pink through the window in the door - he’s ranting at Brown about something on the television, pointing at it and looking irate (but what’s new?). “Anyway, I’m goin’ back in. It’s cold. You comin’?”

“Nah,” Orange says, pulling a pack of Red Apples from his jeans pocket and popping a cig in his mouth. As White smiles at him and returns inside, Orange sighs and lights his cigarette, taking a long, thoughtful drag. Of course he wasn’t going to make a move... that’d be too dangerous... right?

note: i hope this is okay! it was supposed to be short but i don’t stick to anything so it looks like there’ll be a part 2 but idk. i’m pleased with this though, i was worried about writing for freddy!!! ♥

#mr orange x reader #reservoir dogs x reader #reservoir dogs fanfic #freddy newandyke x reader

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hipsterfrankcastle · 5 years

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ok i got tagged in this TWICE by the lovely @carry-the-sky and @heidiamalia so let’s goooo

1. how tall are you? 5′8

2. what color and style is your hair?

Currently like a weird.... gingery brown vibe.... the style is what i like to call “poorly box died”. but im like an anime protagonist my hair has been a lot of dumb colours

3. what color are your eyes?

hazel

4. do you wear glasses?

yep!

5. do you wear braces?

not any more

6. what is your fashion style?

weird mix of incredibly formal workwear worn at casual occasions and like..... someone from an ivy park fashion shoot who can’t afford to buy actual ivy park. idk. athleisure shit. but mostly jeans and t-shirts these days seeing as i NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE

7. full name? not today, satan

8. when were you born? 1995

9. where are you from and where do you live now? i grew up in the southwest of england. still here....

10. what school do you go to?

uni of york

11. what kind of student are you?

oh man. i am the Most. v extra. i used to study too much.

12. do you like school? uh Hell Yeah. i like structure, organised fun, being surrounded by my pals. i try not to nostalgise it tho because there were times i was very very stressed out. why do we put so much pressure on teenagers?? good lord. uni sucked ass but i liked the actual study side of it (masters im coming for you!!)

13. what are your favourite school subjects?

english lit (shocking no one), philosophy and ethics, drama (even tho i sucked ass), history

14. favorite TV shows? too many. the hour and in the flesh are all time faves. i looooove us sitcoms i’ve watched the office maybe 13 times through. maybe more, actually. parks and rec, brooklyn 99, 30 rock (great news was such a severely underappreciated tina fey classic). fleabag. broadchurch, black mirror, the handmaid’s tale blehhhh i could go on for hours.

15. favorite movies? im just going to put 2 because otherwise we will be here for days. the darjeeling limited and joe wright’s pride and prejudice. oh wait. no and the new world. and days of heaven. can’t miss my boy malick off there.

16. favorite books? UHHH a little life (all time fave please read but maybe google some trigger warnings or ask me about it), my year of rest and relaxation, the english patient, the secret history (basic lol), stoner.... tHERE’S TOO MANY.

17. favorite pastime? i like walking my dogs. spending time with my dogs. taking photos of my dogs. other things that don’t include my dogs like watching movies (duh), writing, reading, recently gotten into film photography. im realising now this question didnt ask for a list oop moving on

18. do you have any regrets? yeah. my uni degree. quitting my job (one of those ones where you know it’s what was best for you at the time but now, looking back, it SUCKS). oh. yeah. deciding to lose two stone in the space of five minutes and developing an eating disorder and HAVING TO QUIT MY JOB. that’s a big one. not going to the editing lab with a guy the morning after we kissed. that one felt like a sliding doors situation.

19. dream job? baker. book editor. pro dog walker. im realising all of these are fairly achievable.

20. would you like to get married someday? nope nope nope!! well. maybe. if i find someone REALLY good.

21. would you like to have kids someday? hahahahahahahah no.

23. do you like shopping? yes but im trying to less because capitalism is a scourge and im trying to unlearn its various teachings including how our shopping habits make us feel/how the fashion industry affects body image. plus it’s terrible for the environment. shout out to my therapist for teaching me all this shit.

24. what countries have you visited? a lot of europe (holland germany belgium spain france poland scotland italy greece that’s not a lot actually), USA, australia, new zealand. i wanna hit california next cause ive been to new york twice now.

25. what’s the scariest nightmare you’ve ever had? ermmmmm oh man. uhh. i have a lot of horrible nightmares bcos ---trauma lmao. cant think of one standout one.

26. do you have any enemies?

quentin tarantino. OH and this one girl on my film course at uni. she doesn’t know that we’re enemies. but we are.

27. do you have an s/o?

hahahahahhahahahah

28. do you believe in miracles? uh. no? dont think so. im not very spiritual, but i do believe sometimes that the universe sends you signs (even if really it’s just your brain trying to tell you something your subconscious is trying to tell you by interpreting the world around you a certain way)

thank you so much for the tags. i love talking about myself as you can tell. i think everyone i know has been tagged so. if you’re reading this. you’re tagged!

also if anyone ever has any questions about any details of my personal life. ask me. i will tell you anything. like i said. loooove talking about myself.

#personal #ask tag

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mimosaeyes · 6 years

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Stuff I’ve been reading in 2017

The third annual reading list! (Here’s 2015 in two parts, and 2016.) School was killing my love of reading but I refused to let it. And so here we are, three years and 280 books later.

I’ve taken the liberty of bolding my favourite reads this year, and including some background about how I came to read what I did. Here we go:

I pseudo-resolved to read slower this year, and savour books that need time to seep in. Longer books tend to fit that profile for me, so I went and read the longest book in my home library.

1. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, translated from the Russian by Rosemary Edmonds (reflections here)

Don’t know how I zeroed in on this gem in a Kinokuniya bookstore, but I love it and you should definitely read it. Go. Go now. I was two years slow on the uptake for Pulley’s debut, but when her second novel came out this year, I literally ordered it online in 0.0002 seconds. It’s number 51 on this list.

2. The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley

I can’t summarise how I feel about this next one. It just gets to me. After reading it, I went on to watch the film as well as its 20-years-later sequel. I might read some more by Welsh, but gosh the Scottish accent is hard to decipher.

3. Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh

Perfect for bringing along on my first semester studying overseas.

4. Hector and the Search for Happiness by François Lelord

And then the school texts start! As does leisure/procrastination reading: all the Neruda and Sexton poetry, plus Dostoevsky. Only novels, novellas, plays, and anthologies are listed here; this semester I studied many isolated short stories and poems. Books I read twice are the ones I happened to write essays on – it doesn’t necessarily mean I liked them a lot. (In fact, if I really like a book, sometimes I deliberately avoid writing about it, because analysing something too much can ruin it.) I read all the poetry aloud, because poetry, but I worry also in part because the silence in my room was getting oppressively lonely.

5. Joe Cinque’s Consolation by Helen Garner 6. Bereft by Chris Womersley (twice, actually) 7. Melanctha by Gertrude Stein 8. Breath by Tim Winton (twice, actually) 9. As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner 10. Pablo Neruda: Selected Poems edited by Nathaniel Tarn, translated from the Spanish by Anthony Kerrigan, W. S. Merwin, Alastair Reid, and Nathaniel Tarn 11. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson 12. Carpentaria by Alexis Wright (out loud just because) 13. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, translated from the Russian by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky 14. To Bedlam and Part Way Back by Anne Sexton 15. All My Pretty Ones by Anne Sexton 16. Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates (twice, actually; pseudo-thrice) 17. Live Or Die by Anne Sexton 18. Love Poems by Anne Sexton 19. The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde 20. Transformations by Anne Sexton 21. The Book of Folly by Anne Sexton 22. Sorry by Gail Jones 23. The Death Notebooks by Anne Sexton 24. The Secret History by Donna Tartt (her second novel is number 79) 25. The Awful Rowing Toward God by Anne Sexton 26. Burial Rites by Hannah Kent 27. 45 Mercy Street by Anne Sexton 28. Words for Dr. Y. by Anne Sexton

In the break between semesters, I marathoned several TV shows (oops) and revisited a book series from my childhood. (Which, incidentally, ends in a greatly upsetting way?) That series is bookended by two novels which are companions to each other.

29. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce 30. Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer 31. Artemis Fowl and the Arctic Incident by Eoin Colfer 32. Artemis Fowl and the Eternity Code by Eoin Colfer 33. Artemis Fowl and the Opal Deception by Eoin Colfer 34. Artemis Fowl and the Lost Colony by Eoin Colfer 35. Artemis Fowl and the Time Paradox by Eoin Colfer 36. Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Complex by Eoin Colfer 37. Artemis Fowl and the Last Guardian by Eoin Colfer 38. The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy by Rachel Joyce

Back to school! Again, quite a few short stories and poems not reflected here. 42, 48, 49, 51, and 57 for leisure; the rest were for my courses.

39. Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë (twice, actually; making it thrice in two years, dammit) 40. The Hunter by Julia Leigh (twice, actually) 41. Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney 42. Tropic of Capricorn by Henry Miller 43. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens 44. My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin 45. Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis (twice, actually) 46. Slaves of New York by Tama Janowitz 47. Lady Audley’s Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon 48. My Career Goes Bung by Miles Franklin 49. Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz 50. Bad Behaviour by Mary Gaitskill 51. The Bedlam Stacks by Natasha Pulley 52. The Mysteries of Pittsburgh by Michael Chabon 53. The Man Who Loved Children by Christina Stead 54. Simulations by Jean Baudrillard, translated from the French by Paul Foss, Paul Patton and Philip Beitchman 55. Frisk by Dennis Cooper 56. Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (twice, actually) 57.《边城》沈从文著 58. Motion Sickness by Lynne Tillman 59. Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk (twice, actually) 60. Affinity by Sarah Waters 61. The Lost Stradivarius by John Meade Falkner 62. The Twyborn Affair by Patrick White (twice, actually)

The school year concluded, while still in Australia I read books I’d been given or chose on whims. I bought number 65 in Cairns Airport because I had nothing to read for the rest of a five-day trip; I’d started and finished number 63 during my domestic flight on day one. Clearly I’d underestimated how much I still wanted to read, having overloaded during the semester.

63. Mãn by Kim Thúy, translated from the French by Sheila Fischman 64. The Arrival by Shaun Tan (no words, only illustrations; please, please experience it for yourself) 65. And the Ass Saw the Angel by Nick Cave (it’s a Bible reference; think Southern Gothic)

Back home once more, I had access to my personal library, as well our national libraries! Although I’d embarked on a big crochet project as a Christmas present for some close family friends, I went pretty hard in the rest of my free time, which was abundant, because unemployment.

Some of these books just caught my eye on the shelf. Some have been on my To Read list for ages, because of friends’ recommendations (76 and 77, for instance) or because I figured I needed to see what the hype was all about (81 through 83, and 85 through 87). On the subject of YA fiction: no offence if you’re a fan of the genre, or indeed of these two series in particular, but to me it tends to feel like the literary equivalent of empty calories — easy reading that makes for a change of pace from books like 79, or 76. I read each trilogy in a day. Also, yes I realise I’m very late to the party; I haven’t watched the movies, either. Heh.

66. The Great and Calamitous Tale of Johan Thoms by Ian Thornton 67. The Borrowers by Mary Norton (on which Studio Ghibli’s The Borrower Arrietty is based) 68. Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie (before I went to watch the movie) 69. A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka 70. Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones (on which Studio Ghibli’s film of the same name is based) 71. Calligraphy Lesson: The Collected Stories by Mikhail Shishkin, translated from the Russian by Marian Schwartz, Leo Shtutin, Sylvia Maizell, and Mariya Bashkatova 72. The Sage of Waterloo by Leona Francombe 73. The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman 74. The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom 75. The Book of Unknown Americans by Cristina Henríquez 76. White Teeth by Zadie Smith 77. Uprooted by Naomi Novik 78. How To Be Both by Ali Smith 79. The Little Friend by Donna Tartt (her first novel is number 24; I’ll read her third in the new year, as it demands slow enjoyment) 80. The Danish Girl by David Ebershoff 81. The Maze Runner by James Dashner 82. The Scorch Trials by James Dashner 83. The Death Cure by James Dasher 84. Jip by Katherine Paterson 85. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins 86. Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins 87. Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins 88. Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman

And that’s it: another year in books! Do note that thanks to my new theme, I now put updates in the sidebar about what I’m currently reading and watching, respectively. So if you’re ever curious, mosey on over, I guess.

In the new year, I’ll be creating a Goodreads account specially to complement my (admittedly infrequent) postings here. I haven’t gotten an account there previously because the star rating system seemed so reductive, but I have since realised that if professional movie critics can do it, I ought to stop being so high and mighty. Besides, I’m curious about the Goodreads community, and might want to try my hand at writing a couple of reviews, if I find the time and energy.

See you in 2018, everyone!

(Update: here is my Goodreads profile!)

#mimo reads #2017 book list

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