#and i’m tired and i haven’t had a proper meal since thursday and my room is a tip | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

syllvane · 3 years

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breakfast- natahsa romanoff x reader

a/n: this was requested by anon! this is 4.5k words.

You still haven’t gotten used to the quiet that comes with half of the population being gone, but you can’t quite remember what it was like before either- you vaguely remember the hustle and bustle of life before the Blip, but that's all it’s become. A memory, one that seems to become harder to recall each and every day.

“What are you doing here so early?”

You nearly dropped the groceries that you had been holding, startled by Natasha’s voice in the hallway leading into the kitchen.

“You scared me- you’re lucky I wasn’t holding the eggs or something.”

Natasha looked at you somewhat amused, making her way into the kitchen and leaning against one of the counters.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You glanced at her, smiling before turning back to where you were unloading the groceries.

“I was going to surprise you with breakfast, though I suppose it was silly to think I could surprise a spy.”

You didn’t miss the small smile that appeared on her face as you started unloading the groceries anyways, getting ready to cook.

“Silly, maybe, but also sweet. What can I do to help?” Natasha asked and you shook your head, pointing at her with the plastic spoon you had grabbed.

“Sit down, you’ve been doing a lot these past couple months- too much, I would argue. Let me do something for you.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You’ve been doing a lot around here as well,” Natasha protested and you gave her a pointed look before going back to cooking.

“If you really want to do something, then you can make us coffee. But nothing else. I want you to relax.”

“Coffee, I can do that,” She mumbled, springing into action, her arm brushing against yours as she filled up the coffee maker with hot water.

The next time you try to surprise her with breakfast is a little under a week later and when you walk into the Avengers compound, you are met with the smell of freshly cooked breakfast.

Damn her.

You walked into the kitchen, still carrying groceries, to see that Natasha had cooked what could only be described as a feast.

She looked at you, proud that she had one-upped you.

“How did you know?” You asked her, simply setting the groceries to the side.

She looked at you as if she was considering whether to lie or not.

“I didn’t,” She said honestly and almost a bit sheepishly. “I cooked every morning hoping that you’d show up one of these days. I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not, it’s…” You looked over the different plates of food as if one of them held the right words. “It’s incredibly sweet. I’ll make the coffee?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Breakfast becomes a regular occurrence for the two of you and although half of the universe had to disappear for the two of you to grow closer, you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“Hey,” Natasha said, drawing your attention as the two of you washed dishes side by side, your arms touching each other. “I’m going to have to cancel our breakfast date on Thursday. I think I may have a lead on Clint and so I want to go and see it for myself.”

“You want company?” You asked without hesitation and she looked at you.

“I don’t want to bother you and besides, I don’t think anything will come of it.”

“Okay well, one, you could never bother me, and two, even if nothing comes out of it, you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

She didn’t say anything, though a small smile appeared on her face as she loaded the last of the plates and bowls into the dishwasher.

Though the prospect of you coming with seemed to make her happy for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she pushed you away.

“I’ll be fine alone, I promise.”

“Okay, if you promise,” You said, flicking a bit of the soapy water at her.

She stopped moving and looked at you incredulously.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Did what, this?” You asked, doing it again, more boldly this time

She looked at you and though everything about her face screamed ‘serious’, her eyes were alight with playfulness.

She stalked back over towards the sink and although you backed away and lifted your arms to protect yourself, she splashed you nonetheless.

Grabbing the nearest ingredient towards you, you lifted a hand full of flour and aimed it towards her.

“You don’t have to do this,” She said, walking towards you slowly with her hands lifted up as if she was surrendering. “Just drop-”

Before she can finish her sentence, you threw the flour at her.

Her face is covered in flour, clumps of it sticking to her face where you had splashed water previously and she stared at you in surprise, a smile still on her face.

Before you could even process what she was doing, she had her own handful of flour and threw it onto you, the flour coating your clothes and face, as well as the counters and the floor.

You lunged for the flour but she caught your wrist, your eyes meeting hers.

You reached your other hand towards it and she caught that as well, pulling you close to her, closer than you had ever been to her.

“Don’t,” She said softly, her eyes bright. “Don’t start a fight that you can’t win.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” You asked and she let go of your wrists, letting your hands fall back to your side and taking a step backwards.

“We should clean this up- Steve’s going to throw a fit if he sees this mess.”

“You have a meeting in a little bit, you can go. I got this.”

“Nonsense, I threw just as much flour as you. You take the island and the counters, I’ll take the cabinets and floors. It’ll get done quicker this way.”

“Nat-”

“Just… let me help you. Please.”

“You’re impossible,” You said but didn’t protest against her helping any longer.

As Natasha pointed out, the kitchen was completely clean in half of the time that it would’ve taken for your to clean it alone, leaving Natasha more than enough time to change her clothes and to get any remnants of flour off of her face and out of her hair before her meeting.

Well, almost all of it.

“Nat, wait!” You yelled, running after her before she turned the holographs on.

She turned and looked at you, concerned.

“What is it?”

“You just had a little…”

You got close to her and using your thumb, you wiped some flour off of her face that she hadn’t noticed.

“Thank you,” She said softly and the two of you just stood there like that for a couple of seconds before you pulled yourself away.

“Right. Have a good meeting, Natasha,” You said before turning away, not waiting for her response.

That’s the last time you have a full conversation with her before she goes looking for Clint.

You’re almost done making breakfast when she enters through the front door, looking worn out and exhausted, dropping her bag onto the floor.

She continued into the kitchen, blinking when she noticed you staring at her and the food that you had already set onto the table.

“How did you…” She sniffed, wiping her nose, searching for the words.

You turned the stove burner off and closed the distance between the two of you, pulling her into a tight hug.

She hugged you back just as tightly as if you were a lifeboat and she was drowning in the middle of the ocean.

“I don’t know who he is anymore. I don’t… I don’t recognize the man who did those things.”

“I know, Nat.”

“And he acts like we didn’t lose everything as well. We lost everything as well and yet, we continue, no matter how much we’ve lost, because we don’t have the luxury of playing vigilante. Some of us have a world that we’re trying to put back together, you know?”

“I know,” You said softly.

She doesn’t say anything for a while, just stands there in your arms.

“I miss Yelena. I miss Alexei and Melina. I miss them so much it feels like I’m just drowning in it. Like it’s just going to swallow me whole one day.”

“Tell me about them.”

And so she does.

She tells you about Ohio and about life in between her time in the Red Room. She tells you about the destruction of the Red Room and about Yelena buying and giving to Natasha the first item of clothing that she had ever bought. She tells you about forest stars and photo booths and blue hair dye.

She tells you more than she has ever told anyone else, more than she will ever tell anyone else.

And eventually, she lets go.

Her face is red from tears, but neither of you point it out, both of you sitting down at the table and eating breakfast.

“I think this is the first proper meal I’ve had in days,” She said and you frowned at her, your eyes narrowing.

“You need to take better care of yourself. When was the last time you slept?”

She looked away from your eyes, back towards the plate of food.

“Haven’t since I left,” She said quietly, her eyes flickering back up towards yours to see your reaction.

The creases by your eyes deepened.

“Natasha-”

“In all fairness, I was going to go to sleep as soon as I got back, but someone surprised me with breakfast,” She said, punctuating her sentence with a forkful of food.

“Okay, but we’re going to sleep right after you’re done, okay?”

“‘We’?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m tired too,” You said sheepishly and in her tiredness, she did not push you further on it.

She pushed her plate away from her a little, standing up and taking your hand.

“We can do dishes later. Let’s go to sleep,” She said and you stood up, letting her lead you to her bedroom.

She pulled you onto her bed and you fell asleep in her arms, which was somehow only the second most romantic thing you had done with Natasha Romanoff.

The first was, of course, falling in love with her.

If someone had asked you to point out a specific month or day that you had fallen in love with her, you wouldn’t know where to begin.

Months of friendship blended together with something more and you weren’t quite sure where your feelings for her began and where they ended, where they had transitioned into something more, something greater.

It didn’t really matter, you supposed- months passed since her return from looking for Clint and things continued on as normal, with breakfasts and small touches, gestures from her that could be easily misconstrued as something more than friendship.

You didn’t mind the closeness though, the way her hands always seemed to graze over yours when reaching for the same thing or the way her arm would touch yours when the two of you did the dishes.

You didn’t mind it, just wished for more of it. Wished that she would just take your hand outright one day.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? Dinner is a little out of your wheelhouse,” Natasha joked and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll manage. Is it just Steve that’s coming tonight or are we getting the whole gang back together?”

“Just Steve, I’m pretty sure. Banner might come as well, but Pepper and Tony aren’t coming for sure.”

“Well, at least that minimizes the chances of a fight breaking out.”

“I can start throwing punches if needed,” She offered and you looked at her, a small smile on your lips.

“Appreciate the offer, but I think we’re good.”

“Well, if you change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know,” You smiled. “Now are you going to help me make dinner or not?”

The two of you easily fell into a rhythm while you cooked, anticipating each other’s needs before the other even said anything. Natasha would open her mouth to ask for a knife to find that you were already setting it down beside her.

“You know, I think we make a good team,” You said, your hands on your hips as you looked over all the hard work that the two of you had done.

Natasha wiped her hands on a towel before standing beside you, nodding.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this kitchen used before, not like this,” Steve noted, standing in the doorway behind the two of you.

Though both of you were well-trained in stealth and surveillance, you almost jumped when you heard Steve’s voice.

“Don’t sneak up on us like that!” You scolded Steve and before you even asked for it, Natasha handed you the towel that she had been holding and you threw it at him.

He held his hands up in defense, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiled. He caught it with ease and set it down on the island.

“Now, there’s no need for violence. It smells great in here, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day where she would be cooking,” He said, motioning towards Natasha.

“She’s working on it,” You joked and Natasha gave you a pointed look, suddenly wishing that she still had her towel. She settled for swatting at your arm with her hand. “Hey! Like the old man said, no need for violence. I was just joking.”

“What, I’m five minutes late and you guys are already fighting?” Bruce asked, walking in the front door.

“You came!” You smiled widely, walking over to the scientist and hugging him.

Steve looked back at Natasha.

“Can you believe that? He gets a hug and I get a towel thrown at me.”

Natasha let out a breathy laugh.

“You startled her, that was your first mistake.”

Steve smiled as well before grabbing one of the various dishes that the two of you had made and bringing it to the dining table.

Natasha started moving the dishes as well, giving a small, cursory nod to Bruce as he sat down.

You swatted at Steve’s arm.

“Dude, you need to sit down. You’re a guest.”

Steve looked at Natasha, pointing at you.

“Do you see this? She’s going to injure me.”

You shot him a playful glare before helping Natasha with the rest of the dishes and the silverware, setting plates down in front of everyone and taking a seat next to Natasha, across from Steve and Bruce.

Dinner started off lighthearted, the four of your digging into the food.

You talked of past stories and past missions and science and of everything but the unavoidable present, the reality that everyone had been stuck in for more than a year now.

It seemed crazy when you thought about it like that, that half of the population had been gone for over a year, a full rotation around the sun without some of your favorite people.

It was dark outside when the conversation shifted.

“So, how have you guys been with… everything?” Natasha asked and a hush fell around the table.

“I don’t know if it’ll ever get any easier,” Steve said honestly.

“I don’t know how it could get worse,” Natasha retorted, though everyone already knew the answer.

“Another year. Another two, another ten,” Bruce said solemnly before taking another sip of the water that was in front of him. He checked his watch and blinked, realizing for the first time how late it had gotten. “Sorry to leave on that note, but I should get going, guys. Didn’t realize how late it was.”

“I’m glad you came. It was nice seeing you again,” You said genuinely, standing up from the table and walking over to hug him.

He hugged you back, giving Natasha a little wave and Steve a pat on the back before you walked him out of the kitchen, towards the front door.

“You two make a good couple, you know. I didn’t realize the two of you were even dating, but you two seem to make each other very happy.”

“Thank you, but we’re not dating,” Natasha said, her lips pressed together in a tight smile.

Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Are you sure? Because with the way the two of you were looking at each other, I would’ve sworn otherwise.”

“Positive,” Natasha said, trying to stop herself from blushing.

“What are you two talking about?” You asked, walking back into the room.

Steve stood up from where he was sitting and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re leaving us too?”

“Like Bruce pointed out, it’s getting late. It was so nice seeing both of you.”

You stood there for a minute before walking to where he was standing and hugging him.

“Don’t be a stranger, Steve. You are always welcome here,” You said before taking a step back.

He smiled back at you.

“I would hope so- I still technically work here, right?”

“Did Tony ever rehire you?” You wondered out loud.

“Did he ever rehire you?” He shot back and you shrugged.

“Fair point.”

“Drive safe, old man,” Natasha said before Steve hugged her as well.

“Goodnight, to the both of you.”

He walked out of the front door and you began cleaning up the dishes.

“Steve said the funniest thing earlier, when you were walking Bruce out.”

“Oh?” You asked, making it clear that you were listening even if you weren’t looking at her.

“He thought we were dating.”

You stopped what you were doing, turning the water off and setting the plate down.

“What did you say?”

“I just told him the truth, that we weren’t.”

“Why did he think that we were?” You asked, trying your best to seem as if your heart wasn’t pounding.

“Something about the way we look at each other,” She said as if she hadn’t committed the words to memory.

“Natasha-”

“I mean, it’d probably be a bad idea, with us working together and all.”

“Natasha.”

“And neither of us are really used to it either and-”

You turned around, taking a couple of steps so that you were only a couple of inches away from her.

Your hand hovered above her cheek.

“Can I kiss you?”

Her breath hitched.

“Yes.”

And you kissed her.

You kissed her that night and you kissed her the morning after, as her girlfriend, and you kissed her while she made breakfast and you kissed her again and again and again.

You kissed her on your six-month anniversary and you held her when she woke up from the nightmares she’d tell you about and the ones that she would never speak of.

And you keep on kissing her, until six months becomes a year and a year becomes two, until you can’t imagine a world that exists without her love.

“I’m still mad at you for getting out of bed so early,” You grumbled, looking over the breakfast that she had prepared for the two of you.

She nearly jumped when she heard your voice before she smiled warmly and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Morning. How did you sleep?” She asked, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Good. Would’ve been better if I could’ve slept a few more hours.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, though she seemed uncharacteristically anxious.

“We can go back to bed after, okay? Breakfast first.”

“This looks wonderful,” You said, wiping your bleary eyes and looking over the table more carefully before looking back at her. You poured coffee for the two of you. “You seem like you’re on edge.”

“I’m not,” She said, though you weren’t fully convinced. “Let’s eat.”

You sat down across from her, starting to eat when you became keenly aware of the fact that she was carefully watching you as you ate.

You set your utensils down and she nearly jumped out of her seat.

“Nat, what is going on?”

She blinked.

“Nothing, I-”

“You are a surprisingly bad liar, for a spy. Nat, just tell me what is-”

“Can you just… try the pancakes? Please?”

You stared at her for a couple of seconds but when her face remained unchanged, you sighed and cut a piece of the pancake and put it in your mouth.

You started chewing and you bit something hard.

“Did you leave eggshells in this or… oh.” You spit the bit on the napkin and upon closer examination, you could see what you were biting.

A ring.

You stared at it for a couple of seconds before looking back at where she was sitting to see that she was no longer sitting at all, but kneeling on the ground in front of you, a huge smile on her face and tears welling up in her eyes.

You laughed, covering your mouth.

“I’ve always known that you’re a hero. You’ve always shown such great care for everyone around you, whether they be your team members or civilians. You’ve saved so many people and I didn’t realize this when you first came over here and made breakfast for the first time, but you were saving me as well. From my grief, from loneliness. From myself, at times. You saved me and then you kept on saving me and kept on tearing down these walls that I had put up. I am not perfect and I will never promise you anything of the sort, but I am promising you that I will love you with everything that I am. I am promising that I will try to love you in the same way that you have loved me. I’ve never believed in marriage- I’ve never believed in a lot, if we’re being honest. But I believe in you. And I want to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t say anything, tears in your own eyes before you burst out half-laughing and half-crying.

“Natasha, look in your coffee cup.”

She looked slightly confused but she did as you said, moving the coffee cup slightly so that she could see the bottom.

Her free hand rushed up to her mouth before she started laugh-crying as well and you got up and the two of you hugged tightly.

“I think that was the worst pancake I’ve ever had,” You mumbled into the crook of her shoulder, still laughing.

She began to laugh even harder, the two of you rocking in the kitchen.

After the two of you broke apart, she fished the ring that you had placed in her coffee out, admiring it.

“You never said yes, you know,” She pointed out and you looked at her, cleaning the ring she had given to you.

“Yes, I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you today or tomorrow or in a million years.”

“My answer is yes too. Though preferably not in a million years.”

A million years may have been a more reasonable time than you had thought- the two of you originally set a wedding date in the winter, though it was interrupted by a string of killings committed by Clint.

Turns out, he is good for more than making Natasha upset by not coming to your wedding, he’s also good for upheaving your wedding day in its entirety.

You reschedule the date a couple of months later, only for a couple of Widows to call for Natasha’s help in saving one of their own. She can’t refuse and you would never ask her to.

“I don’t know if it’ll ever be the right time,” Natasha said softly, laying next to you in bed, a couple of nights after returning from the mission.

You turned over so that you were facing her.

“For the wedding?”

She nodded.

“I don’t think it’ll feel right if everyone isn’t there with us. I know that you’ve been really busy planning for it, but-"

“Nat, I don’t care about a wedding. I don’t need some ceremony to tell you how much I love you. If you want to stay like this, if you don’t want a ceremony or anything, then okay. All I need is you.”

“How did I get so lucky?”

“You’re really good at cooking breakfast,” You mumbled back and she laughed.

“I love you.”

“I know,” You said sleepily, barely able to keep your eyes open. “I love you too.”

The bubble of peace that you had managed to create for all these years remains for another, until Scott Lang shows up at the front door to the Avengers Compound.

From there, the bubble completely popped, not that either of you minded much.

This was what you both wanted, right? Everything back to what it was before.

Now, with Tony’s plan, everyone seemed to be running around the Avenger’s Compound again, everyone anxious to do something useful after all of these years.

“I still don’t like that he’s here,” You said begrudgingly and Natasha sighed. “He isn’t the Clint either of us knew.”

“I had to go after him. He deserves a chance at forgiveness,” She argued quietly, careful not to be overheard. “You’ve forgiven me for everything I’ve done. Why can’t you forgive him?”

“Because everything you’ve done since you left the Red Room has been in service of clearing out your ledger. He was killing people a couple of days ago.”

She didn’t say anything at that, thinking.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not asking to invite him to our wedding, I’m just asking you to trust him.”

You looked at her, unable to stop the smile that started on your face.

“We can finally get married- we can have our families at our wedding,” You said softly and she nodded, a small smile appearing on her lips as well.

“God, I can’t wait to introduce you to my family. I can’t wait to meet yours. I think you and Yelena are going to get along a lot.”

“Okay,” You said after a while. “I trust him.”

The two of you started walking towards the main open floor, where the machine that Tony had dreamt up had been constructed.

The others were already waiting there in their suits, waiting for your conversation to finish up.

“Okay. It’s Vormir, right? Where you and Clint are going?” Natasha nodded, her forehead leaning against yours. “Okay, well, you’re going to have to tell me all about it when you get back. I wish I was going in space.”

She smiled, kissing you on the forehead before proceeding to pepper your entire face with kisses before landing on your lips.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to kiss her enough.

“Yeah, you only get to time travel,” She smiled. “I’ll tell you all about it, I promise. I love you.”

“I love you too. Come back home, okay? I’ll have breakfast waiting.”

“Okay,” She said softly, stepping back. “I’ll make the coffee.”

“You don’t have to do anything, just be there. Just be there, Nat.”

“I will,” She said, beaming. “I promise I will.”

In the last moments you’re with her, she looks the happiest that you’ve ever seen her.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x you #black widow x reader #the black widow #natasha romanoff #marvel #mcu #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel x reader #mcu imagine #marvel x you #mcu x reader #mcu x you #steve rogers #bruce banner

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flowerfan2 · 4 years

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Private Time

I’ve been reading and writing (and living with) so much angst lately, I decided to indulge in some silly, sexy funtimes with a fandom I haven’t visited in a while. Enjoy.

Klaine, 2k, A03.

Summary: Living with his grad student roommates in quarantine, private time is hard to come by...

Blaine is generally very happy living in the somewhat rickety four-bedroom house he shares with three other grad students. It’s not too far from school, it’s got a workable washer and dryer in the basement, and the kitchen was renovated sometime in the past twenty years so it’s perfectly adequate for making whatever quick meals he manages to scrounge together after class.

But boy, are the walls thin.

This hasn’t been a problem until recently, when COVID-19 struck. School has gone online, but unlike the undergrads, Blaine and his roommates have a lease and all of them decided to endure the quarantine here in Somerville, Massachusetts rather than go home. According to Kurt, Somerville may not be where he wants to end up, but it’s far better than the Midwest town he grew up in and he has no desire to weather the quarantine back in Lima.

Thanks to the quarantine, Blaine has learned this and many more facts about his flatmates – and yes, they have all taken to calling it a flat, after an evening which started out with teasing Sam about how he likes to talk with a fake British accent turned into one of the most carefree nights Blaine has had in a long time. Apparently all it took was a few bottles of cheap wine and a defrosted cheesecake from Star Market to loosen them all up.

“We’re proper mates, now,” Sam had announced, waving his arms and nearly knocking over a lamp in the process. By the time they had all wandered off to bed, Blaine had learned that Kurt’s favorite singer was Lady Gaga, that Rachel had taken a year off from school to film a television pilot, and that Sam played the guitar rather well, as long as it was country music.

Blaine has liked Sam since they met playing intramural soccer in the fall. So when Sam mentioned last month that they had a spare bedroom, Blaine quickly took him up on the offer. Blaine’s previous apartment was lonely and smelled like something had died in the ceiling, so it was really a no brainer.

What had caught Blaine by wonderful, wonderful surprise, however, was that Kurt Hummel was one of Sam’s roommates. Blaine had seen Kurt perform in a production of Macbeth back in October, and had been mesmerized by the man’s performance. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Kurt was a regular grad student just like he was, not until Sam gave him the tour of the house and Kurt waved to him from the kitchen where he was gossiping with Rachel over skinny margaritas.

With just a smile and a nod and an agreement to take his turn putting out the trash, Blaine gained three roommates, including the guy he had been crushing on for months. Not bad for a Wednesday.

Much to Blaine’s dismay, simply moving into the house didn’t result in any quality time with Kurt. Between school and performances Kurt was hardly ever home, and Blaine’s schedule studying history and music theory was hardly better. Since the stay at home order was put in place, however, it’s a whole new world. Now the four of them can hardly get away from each other.

For the first two weeks of their enforced togetherness, everyone was on their best behavior, and the drama of it all gave them a shared sense of adventure. Kurt sewed them all homemade masks, Blaine carefully organized grocery trips to minimize time in the stores, Sam tried to get them to adopt home fitness routines, and Rachel kept them apprised of the most interesting celebrity bits to watch on You Tube.

But they are entering into week three of the quarantine, and the novelty is wearing off. For one thing, Rachel has been getting more and more demanding about household details (she is constantly editing the chore wheel and claiming someone else did it), and while Kurt generally has acted as peacemaker when confronted with Rachel’s whims, even he seems to be getting tired of it. Sam hasn’t done his laundry at all since they got locked in, and Blaine is running out of hair gel. Kurt has taken to cleaning the fridge so often that Rachel accused him of stealing cleaning supplies and rubber gloves from health care workers.

They are all becoming short-tempered and irritable. Blaine even catches himself snapping at Kurt, which is the last thing he wants to do. He’s worried that by the time the quarantine lifts, Kurt will never want to speak to him again, let alone date him.

Blaine has a few tried and true strategies for when he gets like this, but none of them are working. Sam insists on running with him every time he goes out, and his well intentioned chatter prevents Blaine from finding any escape. He can’t let off steam by boxing, because his gym is closed. And as for the things he really knows would do the trick, especially after an afternoon of watching Kurt do ballet stretches in yoga pants, well… the walls of their apartment are very, very thin.

Blaine knows this because Sam apparently feels no shame in indulging in his own solo activities. It’s easy to hear him, even from across the hall. Given that Blaine’s bedroom shares a wall with Kurt’s, there’s no way Blaine’s going to risk Kurt hearing anything of the sort from Blaine’s room.

Towards the end of the third week, Rachel calls a roommate meeting. Blaine has just finished an endless zoom call with his research supervisor, and he feels like his eyes are going to pop out of his head if he doesn’t get his contacts out soon. But Rachel insists, so they all gather in the sitting room, Sam and Blaine on the lumpy brown couch, and Kurt sitting on the edge of an armchair, looking to Blaine like he could be posing in a fashion magazine.

“Thank you for coming,” Rachel begins, as if they had any real choice in the matter. She launches into an overview of their past few roommate meetings, and brings up an excel spreadsheet on her computer, on which she has apparently made further edits to the chore wheel.

Blaine tries not to be distracted by the way the asymmetrical neckline of Kurt’s cashmere sweater drapes over his collarbone when he leans forward to look at Rachel’s chart.

“So I decided on Saturdays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays,” Rachel says, looking around the room for approval. Blaine realizes he has lost the plot completely, but luckily he’s not the only one.

“Wait, what?” Sam asks. Kurt has found a nail file somewhere and isn’t paying much attention either, but his mouth quirks up at little at Sam’s question, so he’s probably glad Sam is taking the blame for this one too.

Rachel lets out a long suffering sigh, and places an Amazon box on the table. “As I said, I haven’t been able to use the practice rooms for weeks now, and my vocal production is suffering. I need to be able to focus properly on allowing my voice to soar over my accompaniment at its expected volume, without having to censor myself.”

Sam still looks confused, and Rachel glares at him. “I need to listen to loud music, and sing loudly, ok? So I got these for all of us.”

Sam frowns. “I don’t mind if you sing, Rach.”

Rachel’s hands clench at her sides. “It’s not about you, it’s about me.” Kurt coughs not indiscreetly into his hand, but Blaine doesn’t quite catch what he says. “I need you all to wear these, for an hour, three times a week. I’ve clearly marked this as private time on our schedule, from 11 to midnight, Saturdays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.”

“But what if-“

“Sam, let it go,” Kurt says. “We’re all missing <I>private time</I> these days.” Kurt stands up and smooths his hands down his skin tight jeans. “It’s fine with me, Rachel.”

Blaine stands up too, and peers into the box, then takes out a set of headphones. They are high end noise-cancelling models, clearly expensive, and probably quite effective. “These are great, Rachel. Thanks. But you didn’t have to do this. I’m sure we could have worked something out so you could practice.”

Rachel glares at him now too, and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I <i>have</i> worked it out.

Private time commences at eleven o’clock on each designated night. I expect you all to go to your rooms, and wear the headsets. It’s the least we can do to help preserve our collective mental health during this trying time. Do I have your agreement?”

They all agree, and Rachel smirks, satisfied. Blaine chalks it up to roommate harmony and sets about seeing what he can make for dinner out of tortillas, one cucumber, and three apples (answer: nothing, they eat frozen pizza).

Later that evening, he and Sam are on the couch trying to find something to watch on Netflix. Suddenly Sam leans over and slaps Blaine on the shoulder.

“Ow, Sam, what was that for?”

“I know why Rachel got the headphones for us,” Sam announces, grinning crazily, “It’s so she can have a wank!”

Blaine attributes Sam’s ongoing affinity for British slang to the amount of Sherlock fanfic he’s been reading lately, but now really isn’t the time to get into it.

He reflexively starts to deny it, but then he realizes with a flush of embarrassment that Sam is probably right. Sam watches his face and his grin gets even bigger.

“She’s kind of a genius, isn’t she?” Sam grabs a set of headphones and bounds away up the stairs.

“Sam,” Blaine calls out, wanting to remind him that it’s Monday, and therefore no private time is scheduled. Not that it’s stopped Sam before.

The next night Rachel reminds them all after dinner that private time will begin precisely at eleven o’clock. After a group viewing of the first episode of Deadwater Fell (during which Blaine divided his attention between watching David Tennant, watching Kurt, and watching Kurt watch David Tennant), Rachel checks the time on her phone and orders them all upstairs. At five minutes to eleven, she screams “put your headphones on,” and slams the door to her bedroom.

Blaine thinks this is all fairly ridiculous, but he puts on the headphones anyway, and settles on his bed with his laptop. He surfs around for a while, finding clips of some noteworthy Shakespeare productions (okay, fine, it’s Benedict Cumberbatch playing Hamlet), but then his mind starts to wander. Being cooped up with his roommates has been… constraining… for him too, and maybe he should go ahead and take advantage of the private time Rachel has arranged for them.

Blaine makes himself more comfortable and slides a hand down his body, wondering if his roommates are doing the same. Wondering, especially, if Kurt is doing the same. He unzips his fly and takes himself in hand, letting out a long sigh at the sensation – and then freezing when he hears himself. Blaine quickly realizes that as he got comfortable on the bed, the headphones had slipped off his ears.

And if he can hear himself, what if Kurt can hear him too?

Any interest in solo activities leaves him in a flash, and Blaine quickly zips himself up and plants his feet on the floor. He makes sure the headphones are properly situated on his ears, and spends the remaining twenty minutes of private time organizing his sock drawer.

The next morning his roommates seem downright cheery, and Blaine starts to regret his nerves. It would have been nice to get a little relief from the stress of quarantine, even at the risk of potential embarrassment. Maybe he just needs to be quieter, next time.

Thursday night Blaine fluffs his pillows and arranges himself on the bed face down, so that any noise he makes will be muffled. This turns out to be a brilliant idea, and he has quite a good time imagining that Kurt is underneath him, writhing and squirming and rutting against him, all long lines and warm skin. It’s not a pillow stifling his cries, it’s Kurt’s wet mouth…

When Blaine finally comes to, he feels a little guilty, but he’s more relaxed than he’s been in weeks. Maybe he’ll get through this quarantine after all.

#klaine #klaine fic #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #glee #quarantine fic

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joshslater · 4 years

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The Reformatory

A rewrite of jd07201990′s swimmer story. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

T -1

Dear diary or however you are supposed to start.

So tomorrow is the big day. Dad and I are sleeping at a Holiday Inn at the other side of the state. Well, I'm obviously not sleeping. How could I? So I thought I should start a journal of some sort to document this experience.

Some background. Two months ago I was in a fight with Mark Samberg on the football team. It had gotten pretty bad between the football schmucks and us swimmers. The jockheads were constantly harassing us, calling us fags and prissy boys. It happened often and was getting boring. As the captain of the swim team I asked Mark to knock it off and get his players in line. Idiot as he is he tried to knock me out instead, and I lost it. In our scramble I managed to knock him down and was about to kick him in the shin when he shifted and instead I connected with his knee. Apparently it fractured. He'll be able to walk and even run, but he'll not be able to play again for years, so he lost his Scholarship.

His family sued everyone they could. Me, the school, the swim coach. In the end all the lawyers sat down in a room with a local judge and came up with something they all could agree to. Mark gets some study assistance to get his grades up, the school had this quickly brushed under the carpet, and could pretend I was never student there. Me not graduating wasn’t really a blow, as my college fund now went to pay for Mark’s education, as compensation. They were rich enough to afford it anyway, but they wanted to see punishment. I get the honor to spend the next 180 days at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center, where I will "participate in all scheduled exercises, activities, therapies, meals and medication programs". They can tack on some extra days for bad behavior without going back to the judge, but essentially I get 6 months at bad boy camp for standing up to bullies.

What will I do there? No idea. The website talks a lot about work ethics and responsibility and working together with the local community. Sounds like labor camp to me. I'll guess we'll know tomorrow. But first we have to visit the hospital for a check up. My first day in prison will mostly not be in prison!

Day 1, Monday

We started with a checkup at the hospital, and man did they do a thorough job. Our appointment was at 10, but before that I had to fill out a form with 100 questions. The doctor spent more than 30 minutes doing the most extensive check I've ever had. Not only that, but after the check we had to go to the sample lab to draw blood, and finally I had a CT scan at noon. After that, and a quick lunch, we drove to the actual reformation center, which was in a smaller town 2 hours away.

It's an old boarding school building that they've turned into this "Reformation Center", and it clearly looks more like a prison than a school. Just a heap of two story brick and concrete buildings out in nowhere. Not much of security, but then everyone was there "voluntarily", meaning that we all had a proper punishment waiting for us if we left. I hugged dad goodbye and was shown to Mr. Kerwin’s office by the entrance guard.

Mr. Kerwin was a lean, ripped man in his forties that oozed military discipline. He explained that he was responsible for my rehabilitation and that he wouldn't start soft. He would give me a packed schedule, and if I didn't pull my weight he would add more days for "noncompliance". If I didn't like it I could run back to judge Stephenson and ask to start over in juvie.

Perhaps that would be better, because the schedule he showed me was totally insane.

4:30-5:00 Breakfast 5:00-8:00 Exercise pass 1 8:00-12:00 Work pass 1 12:00-12:30 Lunch 12:30-14:30 School 14:30-17:30 Work pass 2 17:30-18:00 Dinner 18:00-21:00 Exercise pass 2 21:30 Lights out

He explained that my breakfast, lunch and dinner would be pre-portioned and I was required to eat all of it. The exercise passes would be lead by himself or one of the assistants. Again, I would have to follow every instruction. The work passes were done at local businesses that wanted an extra hand, and changed depending on demand. The school passes were done as a group on whatever subject Mr. Reed selected.

Next he ordered me to get naked and place all my clothes on top of my bag and move to the other side of the room. Having done so he pointed at a stack of clothes on the table and told me to pick my size and get dressed. I quickly dressed in one of the track suits from the table. There was a baseball cap also, which confused me, but was told that it was instead of sunglasses when working outdoor.

With that I was given a rule book to study and was led by an assistant to my room where a dinner was waiting. Turkey, rice, water. I was reminded of lights out at 21:30 and wake up at 4:30. The assistant left and locked the door. 10 minutes later he came back with my journal book and pen, and told me that they'll keep the rest for now.

Having eaten the dinner and having three hours (I'm almost sure 21:30 is 9:30 PM) to kill before the lights go out I'm now summarizing the day. I'm sitting in something very similar to a prison cell. Bed, toilet, sink. Everything is clean, though somewhat worn. Looking into the mirror is kind of depressing though. I look like some jailed gang member.

It's kind of weird that I haven't met any of the other inmates, sorry students, here. I saw some of them while coming in, but perhaps this is their kind of hazing, or they do an official presentation tomorrow. Anyway, I should study the rule book and go to bed, since I didn't sleep much last night.

Day 2, Tuesday

So much to write about, so little time. I might have to split this into several entries since lights out is in 20 minutes.

I was awaken at 4:30 and given a tray with a large bowl of porridge and berries and some chalky smoothie or shake or whatever to drink. After that an assistant lead me to the gym room where we went over various machines, mainly for cardio. Elliptical, bike, treadmill. Weird thing was that it was only us two in the room during all three hours.

Sweaty and a bit tired I was then taken outside to a bus where some of the other boys where chilling. Apparently everyone else had breakfast between 7 and 8. They had no idea why I didn't join them there. The bus then drove around town and the driver announced who should exit where. My group of four people exited at a farm before town, only about 5 minutes away. I don't know exactly since I haven't been given my watch back.

There we spent hours just moving hay. Don't they know about tractors? Sweaty, itchy, tired and hungry we were then picked up and driven back. At lunch was the first time I saw the real common area. To my surprise there were more boys there than had been on the bus.

Everyone else could pick what they wanted from what was served, but I was given a ready tray with an heap of salmon and pasta. I was starving though, so it wasn't a problem to eat it all. I didn't have much time to talk, but the guys at my table were nice. Somewhat rough, as could be expected. Apparently you were chosen for the different work assignments, and if you were not picked you stayed at the center for sports or craft or similar things.

After Lunch followed a session with Mr. Reed. The first boring hour was on English grammar and the second boring hour on US geography. I aced the quizz getting all 50 states and state capitols right, so I didn't learn anything new after that. Then Mr. Reed announced who had work assignments, and I was again selected.

This time I and Troy were dropped off at a different farm where we spent almost three hours helping with fencing. Mainly carry posts and sawing them to length.

For dinner I had some meatballs with roasted sweet potatoes while everyone else had meatballs with tomato sauce. Mr. Kerwin picked me up and led me to the gym. Unlike the morning session this was all about weight training. Most of it was on finding my limits for different exercises while Mr. Kerwin pointed out how I could improve my form. You could tell that this was what he liked to do, and encouraged me to push a bit further. Once we were done I had a bottle of post workout mix of some sort and a very quick shower before rushing back to my room.

Here's the thing. My room is on a different floor than the other guys. Also, my schedule appears to be different and much more rigid than the rest of the guys. I also

Day 3, Wednesday

I couldn't finish the last entry before they cut the light. My entire body is in pain right now. I woke up like that, and it didn't go away all day. Same schedule as yesterday, but different tasks and different dishes. The assistant really pushed today during the morning session, so I was exhausted already at the bus. Planting bushes at the city park all morning didn't help. I got some rest during Reeds rehash of elementary math. Then back to doing fences, and top it all off with weight training. I asked Mr. Kerwin about the schedule and why it was so different from everyone else’s. He said that everyone's schedule is individual and that he'll adjust mine as needed.

One more weird thing before I fall to sleep. Everyone else is using their normal clothes. I haven't gotten mine back yet.

Day 4, Thursday

FUCK! I was back on moving hay today again, with Sam, Trevor and Rick. I'm still hurting like hell and Rick is one lazy motherfucker, so old fart Farmer Joe decided to complain. The end result is that I am getting 2 days added for noncompliance. Sam, Trevor and Rick got nothing. WTF!

Day 5, Friday

We were carrying merchandise all morning and Troy heckled me on how I got more days because of the piece of shit Rick. But he then said that it was a weird coincidence that every work shift I've been on has been the toughest one.

Instead of going to class I met with the doctor from the hospital who made a visit. He asked me about how I felt, where I was sore etc. Then he gave me an injection which he said would ease things for me. I didn't feel much different, but I was getting really sleepy getting back to Mr. Reeds class, but it might just be that everything he did was too simple and boring.

Apparently while I had a check up Troy had shared his theory about me being a work magnet, so there were some groans from the guys placed in my group. God damn fence work again.

Man, I'm tired. I was tired even before Mr. Kerwin gave me the toughest weight pass ever. Fuck, I'm tired.

Day 6, Saturday

So the weekend schedule is different. There is still a morning work pass, basically only used by the local farmers. But the afternoon is free both on Saturdays and Sundays. Conditions and terms applies, apparently. Since I haven't done any cleaning or dishes all week (how could I?), I'm assigned washing clothes, sheets etc. Man, how much better it is to carry laundry than hay. Best job assignment all week. Lots of downtime. Only real drawback is all the humidity. It’s steamy AF here.

Still fucking 3h workout pass in the morning and evening. The other boys were pretty vocal in mocking me on my way to the gym.

Day 7, Sunday

So the day started out as any other so far. Woke up sore. Breakfast alone and 3 hour gym session. There are no work passes outside LARC on Sundays, so I was hit with cleaning, together with Kyle G. and Rick. Rick ghosted after like three minutes, but KG did a solid work. It took us all the time til lunch though to finish it.

Then my first free couple of hours all week. It’s insane. The other guys were low key avoiding me, so I did what Mr. Kerwin had suggested and had a walk in the forest. It was actually kind of nice, and for some weird reason I didn’t feel like sitting still.

Day 8, Monday

Same shit again. Mr. Kerwin gave me a shot in the arm this evening. Apparently I’ll have one each Monday from now on. Whatever.

Also I found out today that the others don’t have formal lights out. I’m on my own floor so they can lock me up and cut the power. What the fuck?

Day 9, Tuesday

That fucker Rick slacked off again, taunting me about another two days. Ha! I got 10. Mostly for kicking him in the teeth. They locked me in my room, so I had lunch there and sat in this boring ass cell during class and work. Fuck, I don’t know what’s worse. I had to do some body weight exercises to keep sane. Fuck this shit.

Back again. I still got to have my evening workout. Kerwin was pushing harder than ever. The order of exercises was different too. Apparently to make the major muscles tired so smaller muscle groups then get to work. Or something. I don’t give a shit.

Day 11, Thursday

They fucking work now, don’t they the little shits. They know I ruined someones career to get here and another one for slacking off. They better pull there weight

Day 14, Sunday

I think I’ll stick to just write on Sundays. There is only half an hour from evening gym to lights out, so there isn’t much time for writing. I’ve even skipped shower a few times. It’s not like it matters when you start every fucking day getting soaked with cardio. Not like there are any girls around to impress either. Sunday has a different vibe tho. Cleaning, running in the forest and taking a long shower.

Starts and ends with fucking gym time though.

Day 21, Sunday

I really fucking like the forest runs. Its like you don’t have to think and can just run wherever and grab whatever and smash whatever. Fucking love it

Day 28, Sunday

Yay! A full fucking month!

It’s crazy though how much stronger I’m. I have gone up one size larger track suite and 2 sizes larger sneakers. Working hard to make me the best I guess.

Day 42, Sunday

guess i forgot about writing last week. i think the monday shots make me angry or something because last week fucked up someone else on tuesday. at least they all give me fucking respect at least.

Day 92, Monday

i dont give a shit abot reeds borin ass lessons and they fuckin repeat on a loop or some shit. today he was back on gramr and the states. i most time dont fill out his shit but wanted to do it again today. fucking aced most of the states. not so good on the capitols tho

Day 203, Sunday

only 2 weeks left tomorrow lol then im gonna yeet the fuck outta here !!!! adios motherfuckas

Mr. Kerwin enters the room, carrying a folder, and walks behind his desk, not even looking at me. I am sitting in his precious fucking antique chair I pulled from the corner. He’s sitting his ass down, rifles through the papers in the folder and starts to read from one of them.

“John Hamlin agrees to 180 days of rehabilitation training at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center, where he will participate in all scheduled exercises, activities, therapies, meals and medication programs, with a possible extension of 30 days for noncompliance and a possible extension of 60 days for infractions as described by the Juvenile Rehabilitation Act (JuRA), section 1103 (b).”

He looks up at me. It sounded like easy shit when I said yes to it. I thought half a year in a bad boy summer camp, or worst case something like prison, but that would have been miles better than this fucking non-stop hard labor shit. And 180 days was a fucking joke. They never fucking intended that to be the actual time. Have someone else slack off and the slap another 2 days to the time. Kick a chair to pieces, 5 days. Punch a guy for being a cunt, 10 days. I’m close to having another fucking outburst again. It must be all that fucking shit they put in the food or shakes or whatever. I fight it. I don’t want to show any emotion in front of him. I don’t think he buys my shit.

“There is another document in the agreement that you haven’t heard. This one between Mark and judge Andrews.”

He pulls out another paper from the folder and read it.

“The state hereby directs Mark Samberg, or person(s) by him so designated, to design and oversee the rehabilitation program of John Hamlin to be administrated at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center. This includes physical exercises, physical therapy, education, consoling, dietary plan and medication, as long as it fulfills the positive development criteria (Appendix D), is within the available services at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center (Appendix A) and within the given budget (Appendix C). Additional services require external financing and approval from the Reformation Center management (Appendix B).”

That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Why the hell had the judge put Mark in charge of my schedule? I understand why he’d want to make the experience suck as much as fucking possible for me, by why had everyone agreed to it? Kerwin looks at me as if he can read an open book.

“You are wondering what has happened to you. What was the meaning of all this? Stand up.”

I jump to my feet. There are still weeks he can add to my time here, and I don’t want to give him any fucking reason to add some shit.

“Stand with your feet as close together as you can.”

He’s never asked me to do that before. I can easily tap me feet together, but I can’t really stand still with my feet right next to each other for long. What the fuck is this bullshit? My thighs are too massive for that.

“Sit down again.”

He leans back and watches me with a bemused smirk.

“Imagine that you’d been away from swimming half a year. Even if you kept in shape it would take you months to be back in good enough technique to clear the swim team tryouts. But you have not kept in shape, have you? You have a completely new shape.”

The blood is draining from my face. I understand where this is going.

“With your upper body build you can physically really only do butterfly strokes properly, but if you can’t bring your feet together the leg kick will just be a wild thrashing of water. You swimming medley would be a hilarious joke. We haven’t even talked about you almost doubling in weight, and how much more oxygen you would need to swim. Sure, you are much stronger now, but old you would swim circles around new you. And that is of course the point. If Mark couldn’t have his sports career, he didn’t want you to have yours either. And the judge agreed.”

I’m surprised that the chair doesn’t break, as hard as I’m squeezing it. I’m boiling with fucking rage. I have to really focus to not to act on it.

“Now the judge specifically set out that this transformation couldn’t be punishment in itself, but rather that you were trained in a way that just wasn’t optimal for swimming. We may have gone a bit overboard with the body building to leave you many options though. You’ll obviously never be competitive in anything with speed or agility, like football or boxing. The metabolic conditioning, hormone treatment and gene therapy have far to long lasting effects to change you back from where you are now. You could try wrestling or weight lifting though, unless you mind showing your erection through spandex.”

“What the fuck?”, I said, as much as a general question to all the things he’d said. What does metabolic conditioning mean? Gene therapy? Erections?

“The medical regimen that Marks family found for you kind of put the feet on both the gas and the break at the same time. It forces the body to grow a lot at the same time as we try to stop it, so it has to try even harder. By injecting stem cells with the right CRISPR-modified DNA we could get rapid, major and long lasting changes. Well, I say we, but all I did was to make sure you kept to the exercise regimen, for a little cash on the side… Surely you didn’t think you got larger feet and dick from eating much and working hard?”

I don’t understand exactly what they done to me, but the result is pretty fucking clear. There was no way I would swim competitively ever again, if I could even fucking swim at all now. I would come out of here looking like a fucking balloon animal muscle jock, and shedding the muscles back to where I were would take shitloads of years.

“The hormone treatment finished two weeks ago and last blood sample shows that your natural hormone levels will keep you muscled and pumped probably well into your forties. So this morning I also cut you off from all suppressive medication as well. That is going to spike your hormone levels and mess quite a bit with you, so we need to see just how badly fucked up you are before we can release you.”

“The good doctor say that you’ll be more irritable and have more excess energy than before. Both something you can work on with regular, hard exercise. But I want to see where you really are at now, so starting today you’ll have no required gym time and labor passes. You can wake up when you want, eat what you want and do what you want.”

“You said erections?”, I asked.

“Yeah, the suppression medication should have kept you limp. You haven’t jacked off while here, have you? Well, you heard what I said about gas and break and compensation. Your body has been pumping massive amounts of hormones into your blood, and will continue to do so. But now that you don’t have the suppressives anymore you should expect to be horny for the next decade or two. You’ll be nothing but a lumbering muscle dildo.”

There’s a crack somewhere inside the wood of the armrest. Fucking fourteen more days, I have to remind myself. Don’t fuck any shit up before then. If I let go of the chair I’m quite positive I will knock him the fuck out. Fourteen fucking more shit days.

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lauraisasurvivor · 2 years

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Day 16: Into the water

It was a pretty great day! I woke up and I followed up with my nutritionist, who reminded me about the 80/20 rule. For some reason, 80/20 never really seems to click with me. I think it’s because of my perfectionistic tendencies - I feel like you have to do 100% or it’s pointless, might as well do 0%. I know that all-or-nothing thinking is flawed, but the coldly clinical numbers 80/20 have always failed to connect with me. I need to find my own amount of on/off with eating, exercise, not freaking out when life happens and screws up my schedule that I’m okay with. I think it’ll be more of an instinctual feeling, and numbers aren’t helping me get there. Any other suggestions?

We discussed how planning with this challenge is one of the things helping me to eat better. I’ve always been pretty sucky at meal planning, and tend to freak out when things screw with my schedule. For example, I went to Jewel today, intending to get the $5 sushi, but apparently they stopped doing the spicy tuna and spicy salmon in that promotion. Guess I have no reason to go to Jewel anymore...

So I just fell back on beans and rice for breakfast, but because of the extra time it took me, I had to scrap my plan to walk to my appointment and drive instead. Which made me sad at the time, since it was such a nice day.

BUT! I made up for it.

After I saw the weight loss specialist (I’ve lost 6 pounds since the start of this thing, yay!) I went and got an oil change. There’s an LA fitness across the street that has a pool, so it was like...no excuses. TIme for the swimming challenge. Honestly, I was freaking out about it all morning. What if someone steals my stuff from the locker room? What if I get an ear infection? I feel like it was swimming that may have triggered my back issues back in 2014. The problem was already there, but my muscle imbalances really became an issue when doing the front crawl.

But once I got in the pool, I remembered how much I’ve always liked swimming. I wanted to do it right this time. My shoulders were feeling stiff, so I didn’t do the backstroke as I had planned, for fear of incorrectly using compensatory muscles that could lead to problems like before. So, I just did tickle-punch-pull, which Google tells me is actually called elementary backstroke.

I like that - I’ve got to start from the elementary swimming level to build up the proper muscles. I haven’t done it in 6 years, and probably haven’t done it right my whole life. Rather than working to correct my strokes, the Y always just failed to advance me to the next level. I never understood why. But probably I was doing it wrong.

My concern about the ear infections remains though. Maybe I’ll schedule a visit with my ENT to get advice on how to manage it.

And hey, I was in a great mood, so I managed to convince the garage to give me a discount on the oil change! People like to give you things when you’re happy, I noticed. And when I visited my mom, she had a good time too. Her mood always mirrors whatever mine is when I visit. I brought her on a little hike and we saw some ducks. She thought my quack-quack-quack mimic was hilarious.

Since it was a beautiful day, I also went on a bike ride when I got home. (3/10 rides to get my towing kit and hitch bike rack!) I felt confident to bike on top of swimming because I was seeing my chiropractor later. And surprisingly, I was actually in better shape than I often am! Maybe swimming is the thing for me! Boy am I tired from all that exercise though.

So as a reward for passing the swimming challenge, I earned that jambalaya I mentioned in my bug video last week. I feel like this Thursday was the day I was intending to have last Thursday. Better a week late than never!

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londonlanded · 6 years

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Week 54

Monday, my job got a little more fun, and a lot more sweet. As part of our latest marketing campaign designed to advertise our beautiful property in Budapest, I arranged to work with my friends in the pastry kitchen at my old haunt, Four Seasons Park Lane, to make a Hungarian treat to send to some of our top clients. The issue with Hungary (of which there are very few, in my opinion, if any really), is that it doesn’t really export much even though it totally should! Aside from the occasional small specialty shop, and the bottles of Tokaji you can find in the wine section of most stores, there aren’t many things that make it out of the country for our liberal consumption. I remember falling in love with a couple of Hungarian sweets while I was there, and I haven’t been able to find them since. That’s not particularly unusual of course, it makes sense that something that’s from a country might mostly stay there, but I get murmurs of agreement from my two Hungarian flatmates when I moan about how annoying it’s been to get Hungarian fineries worthy of being sent in the mail to our clients - they have just as much trouble finding products from home as I was seeming to. The solution? Make it yourself!

I headed over to the hotel and was met by David Oliver, our quirky pastry chef who had spent the weekend trying to sort out how to make our campaign happen. He also happens to be dating a Hungarian girl, which boded quite well for the fact-checking aspect of my project. He brought me to the pastry kitchen, which I had never been in, in spite of the fact that I had been on property for 7 months, and he presented me with his version of something called a Gerbeaud cake. This cake was created by a French chef living in Hungary (named after himself, of course), and it’s become one of the most famous desserts in the country. It was also created in a cafe that’s just down the road from our hotel, so it was an easy choice in terms of how to best represent what the city is capable of providing its visitors.

Tasting it (poor tummy) was more than worth it, it’s apricot preserves, walnuts, butter biscuit and chocolate ganache all in one. And of course, it wouldn’t be Four Seasons without a little flair - I watched, mesmerized, as my new friend placed delicate flakes of gold leaf under the newly cut-out chocolate logos he had placed on each bite.

It looked almost as good as it tasted.

The only catch of the day was the fact that, well, London doesn’t quite know how to handle the heat, in any sense. I left work and walked out into London’s version of a sweltering day, and beyond being deeply concerned about my little treat packages making it to their recipients without turning to mush in the muggy mail, the rest of the city was breaking down in slightly more concerning ways. My local Tesco’s fridges couldn’t handle it, and neither could the rest of England. Never ceases to amuse me how a little weather just shuts this place down. When the sign below was posted, it was a balmy 25 degrees...

Wednesday, a real highlight, Paris’ mum made me traditional Cantonese food and I think I definitely ate enough of it to show the appreciation I couldn’t exactly articulate in words. Paris translated for me, we were having mung bean noodles with traditional mushrooms, scrambled eggs, and dried scallops that were rehydrated and used as a stock base before being added into the main dish itself. They’re apparently a delicacy, and I can see why - they’re salty, briney and taste like stronger versions of the larger versions I’m more accustomed to (if one can be accustomed to scallops?). She also served potatoes and chicken wings in Gojuchang sauce, equally good, though I’m always more of a fan of noodles than anything else.

We finished the meal with a vegetable broth that’s usually served on its own, either before a meal as an appetizer, or afterwards if you still have room. It was strange but delicious, you could taste the whole cobs of corn she had used, bought from the Chinatown farmers market earlier that week. As much as I’m sure Paris has had enough mother-son time for a while (like, two months, bless him), he’s definitely not tired of this little aspect of it. Dessert was a very non-traditional one, at least for mum. Paris popped open his bottle of 20 year old balsamic vinegar, and sought his pint of vanilla ice cream from the fridge, I grabbed the blueberries. Sounds weird, but give it a go and get back to me. Mum was excited to the point that she sent a photo of it to all her friends so they could see how strange her son’s palate had become, but she tried it like the chef she is. Everything once, eh.

Thursday, early start at work since I was going to be heading out an hour early for my next adventure. Thankfully, I made it out in time to catch an earlier train to London City airport, since I found myself on a massively delayed Jubilee line that would have otherwise completely screwed me over had I not taken off an hour early. I always do wonder what’s a massive enough deal that could result in shutting down an entire tube station, but part of me doesn’t want to know why Waterloo was bypassed that afternoon. I got the airport with my version of just enough time (aka two hours), and stopped at Pret to grab some dinner before boarding my first ever TAP Portugal flight, to go to Lisbon to meet Brooke!

Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that apparently TAP stands for ‘Take Another Plane,’ which wound up being more funny than it was inconvenient, I am grateful in hindsight for the anecdote it left me with though I was little grumpy at the time. I know this is classic anglicized entitlement, but the pilot hardly spoke English, so when I realized that the code he had spoken to us in was actually an announcement that we’d have to stop for gas halfway to our destination, we were landing in Nantes, France. My first thought was, ‘well hey, I guess pilots can forget to get gas, too,’ and my second was, ‘well thank you sweet lord he was able to voluntarily fall out of the sky before gravity forced it upon us!’ After an hour or so on the ground, extended by the fact that Nantes wasn’t expecting us and didn’t have the proper paperwork ready, we took off a second time, and landed in Lisbon a bit after midnight. But hey, at least the customs line for non-EU citizens was manageable...

I hopped in an Uber, and while doing so managed to rip a hole the size of a graperfruit in my favourite pair of pants, quickly changed into something less shredded in the back seat of the car without the driver noticing (I’m an artist, thank you), and within about 15 minutes, pulled up to the Four Seasons Hotel Ritz Lisbon.

I wasn’t with it enough to really appreciate it when I arrived, but I did take a good look around the next morning - it’s really a stunning place, it’s much bigger than many of our other hotels, and it’s as grand as the name states it might be. Hard to be underwhelming when you’ve got both Ritz and Four Seasons in your title.

Swaths of pink flowers and vines hang from the main floral display in front of the Concierge and reception desks, I checked in and was told that not only were we on the 9th floor, we’d been upgraded to a Premier room for no reason that I could discern beyond proper kindness. It made getting to the hotel around 2AM sting quite a bit less. Brooke was asleep of course, but she’d picked up some snacks for me to arrive back to, and after downing a few of them while opening the letters the staff and sales team had left me, I climbed into bed, too.

The morning meant really seeing the mess I had gotten myself into. I woke up to the largest hotel room I’ve ever stayed in (not that I’ve stayed in many, but regardless), and I noticed we had a terrace all to ourselves, too, with a view overlooking most of Lisbon. What a life.

I had arranged to meet one of my long-distance colleagues for a tour around the hotel, Patricia was born and raised in Lisbon and had no shortage of recommendations for Brooke and me once we finished my tour. She showed me all their ballrooms and meetings and event spaces (as per my job’s main focus points), and I was struck over and over again by just how beautiful the place is - it’s honestly art, every corner is glowing or decorated somehow, there’s no shortage of places to stop and admire, whether you’re looking at the ceiling or the ground.

After my hotel tour, Brooke and I met up in the room to find our way to the city centre to go on our free walking tour of the city, which wound up being just the two of us thanks to everyone else’s cancellations. We began in the Luís de Camões square, which is dedicated to the famous poet of the same name who began Lisbon’s reputation of artistry. He was responsible for writing one of Portugal’s most famous pieces, The Lusiads, which earned him the reputation of being Portugal’s Shakespeare. One of his less gallant contemporaries, António Ribeiro, has a statue a few metres away, outside the tavern he used to spend his earnings in, which he collected by writing poems for those who requested them.

As we continued, we noticed some musicians playing in the street we were walking on, Juliana went on to explain that the bands we see, wearing what looked like uniforms, were actually groups of students who were doing this voluntarily. Most of them are paid in f & b, and whatever money they earn by playing is usually donated to a cause that the group chooses. Every university faculty has a band you can join, this one happened to be a group of medical students, but we were told that nurses, engineers, and beyond all put on the same kind of show.

Just beyond where they were standing, we walked to the Elevator de Santa Justa. This Gothic-style elevator was built by Raoul Mesnier de Ponsard, who was rumoured to have been one of Eiffel's contemporaries. However, our guide Juliana did not hesitate to point out that, unlike the Eiffel Tower, this actually had a purpose.

The Santa Justa lift was responsible for bringing people up to the upper levels of the city, since Lisbon’s basically a collection of hills, this makes a ton of sense. If you’re a child or if you’re elderly, I can’t imagine anything worse than going for a circuitous stair climb in 40 degree heat, when you could instead wait a few minutes to be lifted to your destination.

We walked on see what was easily the most evocative part of the city tour, the Carmo Convent, which was destroyed in the 1755 earthquake and fire that effectively leveled the city. The earth shook beneath the feet of Lisbon’s residents for about a minute, which doesn’t seem like long but only to those whose worlds aren’t collapsing. Thing is, the world shaking is bad enough on it’s own, but it gets a bit worse when you’re standing in a room full of candles, that might as well be made of kindling framed with stone.

You can still see char marks on the inside of the Gothic arches that line the outside of the convent, scars from a fire that burned over 200 years ago but that hasn’t been forgotten. Similarly to St. Dunstan’s in the East, they haven’t replaced some of the roof, though this time I think it was more out of an effort to illustrate devastation than it was for the sake of making a centrally located garden.

As if matters could get worse, those who fled the earthquake and the fire, of course, headed towards the sea where they would not get burned. Unfortunately, as is often the case with seismological activity, a tsunami followed the quake, and destroyed most of the city and killed many of its citizens who had escaped the first round of disaster.

That earthquake made way for a new government since, well, their leader at the time fled the city instead of cleaning up the mess, and the person that took over was responsible for saving Lisbon. His mantra of bury the dead, heal the living, and rebuild the city, cam true over the next years, and Sebastião de Melo, the prime minister at the time, became one of the city’s heroes. He redesigned what was broken, and you can plainly see the results of his efforts today. The new streets are wider and more spacious, they’d give anyone the chance to find open air if the earth were to ever shake again.

Still, Lisbon’s reformation continued even into the last century, Brooke and I were both astounded to learn that so much change had occured so recently. Up until the 1900s, Portugal was living under a fascist regime that had begun to harm the citizens it ruled over. In 1974, the Portuguese had had enough, and at around 10:55 PM on the 24th of April, a song played on the radio that included a code to the members of the military that knew what was coming. At 12:20 AM, a second song played, this time with a lyric in it that included the sentiment of ‘the power returns to the people,’ and at that signal, the military took over ‘strategic points of power’ in the city, thereby beginning the revolution. Our guide continued, telling us that announcements were made over television and radio that everyone should stay inside, safely out of harms way, in case things turned violent. Much to the military’s surprise, Portuguese citizens emerged from their homes to join the military, as they felt it was their country to fight for alongside their forces. The revolution was successful, and since then, April 25th has been called ‘Freedom Day,’ and is now a public holiday.

There’s also another powerful side to the revolution’s story. While it’s always been known as a relatively ‘peaceful’ one, as in it had very few fatalities, there’s another tale for how it got its name of ‘the Carnation Revolution.’ Carnations are in full bloom around the time that the revolution occurred, and apparently, one of Lisbon’s residents who didn’t have access to either television or radio had gotten up at dawn to go to work. She got there, realized that no one else was, but figured she’d made the trek so she might as well stay. A soldier walked past, and saw her shop was open, so he walked in and asked, ‘please, tell me you sell cigarettes?’ The woman replied, ‘no, but have a flower,’ and she proceeded to place one into the end of the soldier’s rifle. From then, it became a symbol of their peaceful revolt, and soldiers began to place flowers in their weapons to show that there was no real intent or desire to use them. Brooke and I both got genuine chills at this point, our tour guide’s delivery was only a bonus to an already powerful tale (albeit likely a bit embellished, but anyway).

As Juliana led us through Lisbon’s winding roads, we walked through a tunnel depicting a cartoon version of Lisbon’s entire history, from the fire to the revolution to the present, another testament to the city’s artistry that I did not know it possessed. That tunnel gave way to a beautiful plaza, decorated in the same bright pink flowers we’d seen in the hotel lobby. I realized then that these are the same carnations that were talked about a few minutes prior, they were in full bloom. Not quite the red colour that we were told about, but a bit of googling tells me carnations can take on a range of shades, so I’m sure these bushes cousins were those in the story.

From there, through the area that Juliana described as the Jewish Ghetto, which was actually one of the only areas of the city that survived both the fires and the tsunami of 1755. The streets are narrow, pedestrian only, and buildings are built high and narrow, closely packed to each other. Juliana told us that if we wanted to listen to traditional Portuguese Fado singing, we should come here, since it’s one of the only places in the city you can see the ancient art form practiced. She also pointed out the reason that the Portuguese haven’t invested much stock or money in CCTV surveillance systems. We were puzzled by this, but she pointed upwards at the windows behind us. Sure enough, out of every single one of them, there was an elderly Portuguese woman looking down at us. ‘The second something happens, everyone knows,’ said Juliana with a laugh. Apparently no language barrier exists in the context of suspicion?

Finally, we headed towards the last stop on the tour, which was actually the most surprising part of the adventure for me. We walked to the front of a large building that had large, diamond shaped bumps all over the front of it. Apparently, the building was used as a cod-drying warehouse before it was left to ruin. Someone came across it and decided that no building this beautiful should be left the way it was, and turned it into a museum. The House of Spikes is now home to the museum of Jose Saramago, who is perhaps Portugal’s most famous writer. His most famous piece Blindness (great, in case you wanted my opinion, sure you did), won him the Nobel Prize for literature in 1988. The moment that surprised me the most though, was the end of the tour when Juliana pointed to the tree we were standing beside. She said, ‘not to alarm you, but he is buried under this tree.’ So I got a little closer to one of my favourite writers than I counted on getting, but being able to see the olive tree that marked his grave, while standing in front of the building designed to tentatively immortalize him, was a pretty fabulous way to top off a tour that proved there was far more to Lisbon than I could have ever imagined.

We then headed towards Juliana’s recommended restaurants, and found ourselves at a cute Portuguese place for lunch. After a slight translation error, I wound up with Bacalhau à Bras, which is basically salted cod and hashbrowns fried together, served with salad, and Brooke had cod fritters and a side of rice, beans and tomato sauce. An odd mix that worked pretty perfectly, as far as I could tell.

We walked (read, rolled) to the Praça do Comércio, which is the largest square in Europe, and walked through the archway that marks the entrance to Lisbon from the sea. The top of it is marked by the King who was in power during the 1755 earthquake, but he is shown facing the ocean since he fled the city instead of staying to protect it. Our guide said she wasn’t sure why he was given a monument at all, but I suppose being immortalized as a traitor is one way to pay for being one.

Before we made our way back to the hotel for a break, Brooke and I stopped for a quick shop down the main strip of the city, and for a requisite Pastel de Nata, which is the famed Portuguese egg-custard tart that the country is famous for.

We walked into a bakery where I watched them briefly being made, and Brooke treated me to one - again, worth the pain it caused me, sometimes you’ve just got to eat some gluten and figure out the rest later.

We headed back to the hotel, and while Brooke headed down to the spa, I went upstairs to enjoy one of the most amazing things about our Lisbon hotel - the fact that it’s got gym and a sprinting track on the 11th floor, where you can look out on the entirety of the city while working off your tarts. I spent a generous amount of my workout looking at the city I had spent the day traipsing around, it’s hard to focus when the world outside is just so much better looking than the dumbbells you’re only half-convinced you want to be holding.

We had a beautiful walk down to our dinner destination, and while it was booked out that evening, we made our way to a backup place called 11 Tapas. With no real expectations, we sat down at our tiny table and took in the well-loved vibe the restaurant gave off. Before long, our heavy-handed waitress had poured us two of the largest glasses of wine either of us had ever seen, and we were sitting in front of some of the most delicious tapas I’d had in a long time. Octopus, peppers and cilantro, smoked chorizo that came to the table while still on fire, mushrooms and sauteed onions, mussels, and a grilled chunk of goat’s cheese on arugula and tomatoes, we were two happy campers.

Our heavy handed waitress the placed two glasses of equal volume on our neighbour’s table, and before long, she came over to us and replaced what we had on ours because she said something along the lines of, ‘you looked jealous!’ She went back to the counter, and returned with her glasses, pointing to them and saying, ‘I couldn’t see!’ when we laughed at the volume she’d poured for us.

We ended the night with a lava cake and ice cream for Brooke, and cottage cheese with honey and walnuts for myself. Our first full day in Portugal set the bar quite high, don’t you think? That, and the fact that it cost a grand total of 32 Euros didn’t hurt either.

Saturday morning, we started our day up on the 11th floor gym, taking in the sunshine before hopping on a 5 Euro round-trip train from the city’s central Rossio station, out to Sintra, a region known for its beautiful views and stunning architecture. We were surrounded by people wanting to do and see the same, and after a rather rough and windy bus ride to the top of the hill, we saw what it was they were trying to come and see.

Pena Palace is a UNESCO world heritage site, and stands in the heart of the Sintra Mountains. Apparently you can see it from Lisbon on a clear day, which wasn’t the case for us, but it’s high enough up that we saw clouds rolling over the grounds as blue skies remained open above the world beyond the mountain.

Though it was initially built as a monastery in 1493, it was left to ruin before King Ferdinand the II came across it and fell in love with it, commissioning its Romantic reconstruction between 1842-1857. It’s a pretty impressive place, with tiled interiors and intricately carved furnishings. The real stunner is the outside though, colourful stucco and tile and stone, engraved and painted and all-together looking like a piece of artwork standing tall and proud out of the greenery below.

Brooke and I headed back to Lisbon and stopped for some picnic supplies on the way back, and headed down to the hotel spa to unwind for a bit before heading out for dinner. Turns out, you don’t need to buy out the hotel to have exclusive use, if you’re lucky! Not sure how we managed to take over during peak season, but hey, sometimes it’s best not to ask questions.

We headed out to our dinner reservation at a place called Minibar, which was an adventure all on its own. It’s a tasting menu designed to be more of an experience than a meal, and we wound up getting quite (sometimes too) daring with our orders to the point we didn’t always know what we were eating! After accidentally downing a chunk of foie gras covered in cocoa and hazlenuts disguised to look like a Ferrero Rocher, we chose to choose a little more conventionally for the rest of our meal.

I wasn’t feeling totally myself, so I went easy, but still managed to try some of the most amazing food we had found all trip. The walk home wasn’t too shabby either, I sometimes forget that life goes on after bedtime, and that in some places, leaving the restaurant after dark doesn’t mean you’ll be too cold to make it home.

Came back to the hotel and finally had a second to walk around and attempt to capture it, turns out, I can’t.

Sunday started off, you guessed it, at the top floor gym, where Brooke and I worked out and took one last look at the Lisbon skyline before dropping our bags at reception and checking out. We also had a little photoshoot in case our future selves need some motivation at the gym, since our workout views were no doubt going to pale in comparison from here on out.

The grand total cost of my stay at Four Seasons Hotel Ritz Lisbon? 6 Euros, 1/person/night, city tax. Otherwise, we’d been allowed to stay at the cost of having a contract with the company for almost a year and a half. Fair enough.

We hopped in an uber to one of the places we’d been recommended - Cascais is a city on the west coast of Portugal, and we had been told to go there for the beach, to compliment the city-exploration we’d been doing for the past two days.You can definitely take a train, but we chose the 30-minute car ride option since we had our flights to catch later in the day. We hopped in and soon realized our driver was from Cascais, and he decided he’d take us right to the sight we were in his car on his way to go see! We weren’t counting on a full blown tour, but turns out kindness and national pride are as abundant as the other here in Portugal.

Boca del Inferno is named that way because of the noise the waves make when crashing into it during a storm - it’s a large rocky outcropping that you can climb all over.

Much to Brooke’s chagrin I was one of the wannabe monkeys that was turning it into my playground.

There’s not much to see beyond the chasm itself, but the walk on the way back meant we could see a bit of Cascais without even meaning to. before long, we were in the centre of the city, or at least along the coast at a point where we decided to stop.

The difference in design between both Lisbon and Cascais is palatable, one is densely packed and bustling, while Cascais bears a bit more of a resemblance to Los Angeles along the coast, but not the Venice beach part, more like LA on a Sunday morning. It’s actually earned the reputation of being the California of Portugal, Lisbon’s main bridge looks a ton like the golden gate, and the vibe of Cascais resembles its equally laid-back counterpart. Walking around, we could feel why they were being compared to one another.

We found ourselves a spot on the beach and settled in, I saw some clouds take shapes I’d never seen before, and we watched the day go by as the sun told us we had made the right choice in how we were spending our day.

Our Uber driver home was playing jazz on his car radio, and we made it back to the hotel slightly more sandy and much better off than we had been when we left. We also wound up far less broke than we expected to be, sure Cascais is 24 km away, but Uber is notoriously inexpensive in Portugal, and we found ourselves pleasantly surprised with the fact that we’d managed to conveniently and relatively inexpensively hit another city on a day we thought we’d be too tight for time to do so. We decided on the way back to the hotel that we’d make the most of our stay, and we chose to use my employee benefits to try out the hotel’s acclaimed Sunday brunch. We were seated, and soon, we were beyond glad we’d made that choice. I’m here to change your opinions of Four Seasons - whatever they are, they now need to include the fact that an FS brunch is probably the best meal they serve.

I’ve had three of them now (spoiled much?) and this one was by far the best, Portuguese delicacies, seafood, an entire honeycomb suspended for you to break chunks off of and use at your discretion, dozens of desserts and a handful of one-hit appetizers that left you wanting about twelve more. Aren’t all berries dusted in gold???

It didn’t hurt that our waiter was an angel with a sense of humour, whose version of punshing us for not yet having tried Port during our trip was to bring us two glasses of it on the house. No matter what you think of Four Seasons, no matter what comes to mind, I know that this experience will mean that at least for me, the first thing I’ll think about will be the people who make these experiences happen. They’re phenomenal, almost every single time.

Unfortunately, even the best things have to end, and we headed down to the spa to shower and change before heading to the airport to come back to London. One final moment of joy though, it’s usually me who says sentimental things that usually stay inside peoples heads, but that I choose to share with the planet. On our Uber ride to the airport, our driver spoke only French and Portuguese. We were chatting, and out of the blue, he came out with something along the lines of, ‘sometimes I think it’s so useless to know this language, I never really use it. But then I do, and it reminds me how important it is, it let me talk to a Canadian that I never would have been able to talk to otherwise. I think that’s special.’ And I think he’s right.

After our slightly delayed flight finally made it to London, Brooke and I made a beeline for bed. Nothing like having to land in France though, I’m hoping that only happens to me once. And to end off, a shot of my all-time favourite part about air travel - that no matter where you are, the colours just seem brighter above the clouds, whether there are any or not.

Next week, some down time? Maybe?

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