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tinyhistory · 2 years

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It’s the first of September! The first day of spring, which is my least favourite season on account of its unpredictability.

Anyway, here’s a snippet of a fic request I’m currently filling for @stargazing-enby who submitted it two years ago aaaagh

The office is tucked away in the suburban sprawl of Bexley. It’s an old terrace townhouse; the original staircase, a hefty wooden beast, smells of furniture polish. The floorboards creak beneath Harry’s feet. The reception room is converted from the front parlour, and still has touches of the home that was once there: a lace doily over a dainty hall-table, and faded curtains framing the window. Harry glances at the wall, noticing the vintage brass light switch. This was once a Muggle home, then.

“May I help you?”

There’s an elderly witch he doesn’t recognise at the reception desk. She’s peering at him suspiciously over her spectacles, one hand resting on a typewriter which is furiously tapping out letters by itself.

Harry looks away from the typewriter. “Harry Potter. Here to see Malfoy.” It’s a little petty, he knows, but he won’t use Malfoy’s full title. Cursebreakers love that. They love the showmanship of it. The little flourishes of their wand (completely gratuitous), the dramatic pauses (unnecessary) and of course, their amazed and grateful customers (audiences; the only thing missing is the applause). It’s why Harry won’t see Levinson any more, or Sheldrake, or Vittily. It’s why he ditched Fromer after just one appointment, and why he left Clarkson’s office without even beginning the appointment. One glance into Clarkson’s delighted face — ooh, the great Harry Potter! What fantastic publicity for my little agency — and Harry had turned around and walked wordlessly out the door.

Now he waits for the usual reactions. But the witch doesn’t widen her eyes, or glance at his scar, or nervously smooth her robes. She just keeps squinting at him, and then she says, “Henry Potter…”

“Harry.”

“Harry.” She frowns. “Potter with a P?”

Harry can’t imagine what other letter Potter might begin with: he pauses, then says, “Erm. Yes.”

She picks slowly through a little wooden box filled with small white cards. “Ah. Here you are. Eleven o’clock?”

“That’s right.”

She puts a neat little tick onto the card and then moves it to another box. “Take a seat. Tea and coffee’s across the hallway.”

He sits down on one of the straight-backed wooden chairs next to the dainty hall table. There’s a little magazine rack nearby, with very well-worn copies of Cosy Homes for Country Witches and Enchanting Gardens of Magical Britain. Once Harry thumbs through them and then finds a copy of Knitting Patterns for Thrifty Witches, he begins suspecting the collection has been generously donated by the elderly receptionist. He glances up at her, then at the grandfather clock standing ponderously by the door. It’s only been fifteen minutes, but perhaps Malfoy is sitting somewhere in a comfortable office, laughing at the fact he’s keeping Harry waiting.

The receptionist speaks then, as if sensing his thoughts. “Mr Potter? Mr Malfoy will see you now. Directly up the stairs, second door on the left.”

Harry dutifully goes upstairs. There’s a narrow hallway with a window at the end of it, showing a rather unspectacular view over the grey rooftops of Bexley. He passes by the first door, which looks like a cleaning closet, and then stops at the second.

D. Malfoy

5th Order HCJ (DefM)

Cert HM (C. II)

It’s a faded set of letters printed upon the frosted glass pane. The dark-blue paint of the door is beginning to slowly flake away. Harry’s annoyed, though he can’t pinpoint why. All the other cursebreakers he’s visited have had their name, bright and glossy, upon their doors, with CURSEBREAKER emblazoned in large letters below. They love that word. It’s exciting. Full of action and danger. Curse, and breaker. Destruction and glittering shards. Smashing spells to pieces and then getting called a hero for it. Of course Malfoy would love to call himself cursebreaker.

But instead Harry’s left to decipher 5th Order HCJ (DefM) and Cert. HM, C. II.

The door swings open suddenly, leaving Harry blinking at Draco Malfoy’s face. He’s seen him around in the years following the war — it’s hard not to, really, with the magic community as small as it is — but always a distant glimpse of a blond-haired man disappearing into a shop, or waiting for one of the elevators at the Ministry (and despite Harry firmly telling himself he’d outgrown schoolyard scuffles, he’d always elected to choose a different elevator instead).

Now, however, an awkward meeting seems inevitable.

Malfoy looks down his long nose at Harry and says, “Take a seat.”

Harry won’t give him the satisfaction of pausing. He walks into the office and sits down in the nearest chair; a squeaky relic from the seventies, by the look of the avocado-coloured vinyl and slightly rusted metal legs.

Malfoy closes the door and then sits at his desk, ignoring Harry and picking up a file instead. Harry had expected the cold shoulder, and anyway, it gives him time to look around. He’s been in plenty of cursebreaker offices. Large and grand affairs, with ceiling-length windows and bookcases lined with rare tomes, and little gold name-plates on solid-oak desks. And the trophies, of course. Cursed jewellery glittering in the sunlight. Beautiful dresses stained with unicorn blood. Portraits of subjects which whisper just too quietly to decipher the words.

But Malfoy’s office is small and neat and efficient as a Ministry cubicle. There’s two framed certificates on the wall, which give Harry his answer to the riddle on the door — Fifth Order of Defensive Magic specialising in Hexes, Curses, and Jinxes, and Certificate of Healing Magic, Class II. There’s no grand bookcase, but instead a simple row of tattered texts on a shelf above the desk. A filing cabinet, grey and mildly threatening, sits in the corner.

Malfoy says, without looking up from the file, “You’re here today because…” He turns a page, “…you’re not very good at your job.”

“What?” Harry asks incredulously.

Malfoy does look up then. His expression is blandly polite, which somehow only makes Harry more angry. “You don’t currently fill the criteria of your role as an Auror. Is that correct?”

“No, that’s not correct. I’m a fully qualified Auror — ”

“Says here,” Malfoy says, looking down at the page again, “That your supervisor has referred you here on the basis that…” He taps his finger against a line of spindly writing. “Let’s see… ‘Auror Potter requires further training in sensing areas of concentrated magic.’ Says last December, you walked directly into a ward and set off a Caterwauling Charm, which compromised the entire operation.”

“What? Well - what it doesn’t mention is that the ward was very well-hidden in a staircase — ”

“And in February, you tripped a jinx when you opened a door during another operation, which resulted in several minor injuries.”

“Yes, but it was — ”

Malfoy turns a page, somehow managing to do it loudly. The rasp of paper cuts through the air. “February again. Declared a room cleared when in fact it was still armed with a Severing Curse. Your partner suffered a significant injury.”

Harry looks away. That had been a particularly difficult incident, and the guilt still lingers. “I could’ve sworn that room was — ”

“March. Picked up a cursed wand, resulting in moderate burns.”

“I had to, I was trying to disarm — ”

“Which brings us to April,” Malfoy says, closing the file. The pages flutter shut. “Ran straight through a basic security ward, shattering it. Minor injuries sustained.” He finally looks up, his expression indecipherable. “Anything you care to add to these notes?”

“I do my job,” Harry snaps. “And I do it well.”

“Mm,” Malfoy says, and it’s maddening exactly how much condescension he manages to fit into a single syllable. “Well, that particular judgment is up to me, isn’t it?”

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virgil-achyls · 2 years

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Through the Looking Glass||Bex&Virgil

Timing: April 16th

With: @inbextween

Triggers: Sibling death, violence, vomit, parental death, mentions of abuse

Summary: Bex helps Virgil get home to the Mirror. They don’t receive the warm welcome Virgil was hoping for.

As Virgil loitered on the shore of a small lake listening to Bexley talk, he was oddly restless. Up until the moment he’d gotten to the designated meeting spot, he’d been apathetic about the whole thing. He didn’t think that some human spellcaster could learn anything about his home when it was apparently just a rumor to the handful of creatures who knew about it. But it’d done it, somehow. It was going to figure out the secret which had been right in front of his face his whole life, which he’d failed to pay attention to. The way into the Mirrored Realm. He’d never cared enough to ask his brother, who made this trip regularly to hunt for humans with their dad. Nassus would’ve told him if he was curious. But Virgil was comfortable at home, looking after the humans; growing crops for them was time-consuming. He didn’t like the idea of chasing humans down, and after hearing the tales of glory Nassus told, he was certain he couldn’t stomach the violence of it. He let his brother and dad do the dangerous job, and he made himself irreplaceable at home to make them stop inviting him to join in. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need to know how to get in and out because it was never going to matter to him. Now, he wished he hadn’t been so naive, because he had to rely on the worst kind of human to help him get back.

But his mother was waiting for him. With his father killed by wardens and Nassus- well. Virgil was the only one left, and it became his responsibility to hunt and bring home humans. He’d promised her humans. She’d thrown him into White Crest with no idea what he was doing and no clue about how to get back.

Bexley was talking about the technicials of magic, which Virgil didn’t understand. Then it went into the topic of the moon phases, which made a bit more sense. They were just going to do a test, to figure out if Bexley’s theory about the moon needing to be full was true. Virgil wanted it to be true. He longed for the familiarity of his world. But at the same time, he dreaded what might be waiting for him.

Virgil thought of home as the large, roughly constructed house the gray-brown color of old wood, of furniture mended time and time again after his mother’s tantrums, of warm soil against his knees and palms as he bent to tend to his vegetables, of humans murmuring their thanks to him for their food despite him never answering, hurrying through his chores because his brother was home for a few days, and he wanted to spend as much time together as possible before going out again, just enjoying the sound of his voice, the scent of him, the way he always seemed to long for contact, and the intimacy between brothers that only they shared. Nassus always made him feel welcome.

That was a lie, though. The last he’d seen of his home, it was up in a blaze unnaturally hot, fueled by one of their captive spellcasters burning itself and his brother to death. His memory of being outside the burning house was blurry from trauma, but the sound of his brother’s wailing, the panicked confusion conveyed in the look he shot Virgil when the spellcaster locked him in its filthy arms and started to smoke, was all but imprinted on his brain. The fire had still been blazing when his mother tossed him into the lake. The house, the humans, and the garden no longer existed. His mother certainly wouldn’t lift a finger to build another one. But lying to himself was keeping him grounded and focused through his banishment to White Crest, and he wasn’t sure he could let it go just yet. It was all that stood between him and insanity. He had a bad feeling that going back home now would shatter that thin barrier, leaving him exposed to deadly reality.

The moon was round and bright in the sky, its reflection broken by shallow ripples in the lake they were about to jump into. The night was fairly clear of clouds despite the low temperature. Pebbles crunched under his shoe as he shifted his weight, dizzy already just from watching the natural motion of the water. Despite it being summer, White Crest was having a cold spell, and it got down to nearly freezing overnight.

He was in human form so he didn’t accidentally hit Bexley with his eyes, and that was just making him antsier. This was just a trial run, he told himself. Bex could be wrong about the moon. He wasn’t going home tonight, so he shouldn't get worked up about it. But he was worked up. He wasn’t sure what emotions were showing on his human face, but he thought he might have a spectacular frown if Bexley’s apologetic body language was anything to go by.

He rubbed his temples, feeling stifled in his layers of clothes. “I guess this is it. We’re going to see if you were right about all this.”

He made an effort to compose himself. As much as he hated Bexley for being a spellcaster, and as satisfying as it’d been to bully it into working for him, he’d become the tiniest bit fond of it. It threw itself into figuring out how to get him home like it was separated from the Mirror too, and he had to admire its determination. He almost felt bad about being mean to it with how alarmingly docile it was, but not enough to stop him from using it. They were going to make this journey together, and he wanted to be excited for it, because it at least deserved to see him eager to go home after enabling him to do so in the first place. But he couldn’t manage to summon any enthusiasm.

“If it works, we might get spit out in separate places. We should be able to call or text each other if we’re both in there. But if you get really lost, just go back to the place you came out of and get back to White Crest. This is just a trial run. Just t o see if it works. A quick in and out. I know my home is going to be very disorienting because it’s, you know, upside down. Just try not to go running off. It’s going to be embarrassing for both of us if I have to carry you out. Did you bring food?”

“And that’s basically it. Just…wait for the moon, say the words, hope it works.” Bex finished explaining as she set the last bit of ingredients down on the pentagram. Virgil looked distracted, perhaps even worried, but Bex couldn't afford to feel that way. Her magic reacted to her emotions and she needed to stay calm for this. She’d even taken a calming potion before she’d come here tonight, knowing that her nerves would get the better of her if she didn’t do something. When Virgil spoke up, finally, Bex stiffened and listened carefully. The warning was welcome, and she remembered his other warning about the mist that would be surrounding the city. She didn’t bother to ask what happened when someone walked into it– it was a strict no-go. Whatever was on the other side of this portal, she needed to come back from it. With or without Virgil.

“Yes, I brought food. And water. And some dramamine, just in case,” Bex nodded, hefting the pack on her back as if Virgil could see inside and see all the emergency supplies she’d brought. It included the things she’d listed, as well as a first-aid kit and a blanket and a change of clothing. Just in case. She wished she could’ve told someone she was leaving but whenever she tried to get the words out, they wouldn’t come. So she was stuck with this. She’d just have to do whatever she could to get back. She looked up at the sky and watched as the clouds cleared away from the moon. She swallowed. “It’s almost time,” looked over to Virgil, “are you ready?”

“Good. I’m glad you’re prepared.” Rather than lying about his lack of readiness, Virgil instead shrugged. “I guess we’re going to see if you’re right about this.” That was all it was, after all. Just a quick hop into a pond to see if Bex was right about the full moon playing a part. They were just testing a theory. Or, that was all he let himself let it be for now. Of course he longed to go home, but he didn’t feel exactly ready to be there right now.

Putting aside his misgivings, Virgil held his breath and hopped into the glistening black water with both feet. He fully expected to land on the bottom of the shin-deep pond. He thought it might take at least a few tries before they did it for real. But Bex was apparently pretty good at these things, because he never landed on the rocky pond bottom.

There was a split second of confused panic as his feet kept going down, with nothing to land on. It wasn’t unlike the moment when you’re going down stairs, and you think you’re on flat ground again, so you take a big step, except there’s still another stair. You have that moment of primal panic as your body finds itself off balance, confused, with time slowing down as you fight not to fall. His body was struggling to find its footing as he sank like a rock.

As if playing out a distant nightmare into reality, he recognized this as the exact same thing that he’d felt when he left home for the first time. He’d managed to block off most of that day to save himself the nightmares, but he knew how he’d felt in that moment. The betrayal as his mother threw him into the water, how confused he’d been at the smirk on her face, like she’d caught him in a trap. And she had. He’d kept sinking like the water was quicksand.

His head spun. He was falling down, right down through the icy depths. Water closed over his head. Knowing better than to try to fight the pull, Virgil went limp. He kept descending, bubbles coming from his hair and nose floating to the faraway surface as he sunk deeper and deeper.

The momentum slowed gradually. There was a silvery flash behind his shut lids. Then, it was like he was flipped.

The world was the same, but gravity was suddenly dragging him in a completely new direction. With no other way of navigating the world, Virgil exhaled, and followed the bubbles to the surface. Which surface it was, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to get onto dry land.

His head crested the water to a night quite like the one he’d left behind. He heaved in a deep breath, arms and legs paddling towards dry land. His fingers and toes were stinging, but something set inside his chest as he saw the familiar sandy slope.

Virgil staggered onto the smooth bank, then collapsed to his knees. He made it! He was home!

The chill meant there wasn’t as much greeness as there usually was. The flowers were still dormant, with only more resilient pine trees thriving. It was almost funny how big they seemed compared to the ones in White Crest, each one towering into the sky like giants. The air smelled like petrichor and earth, much cleaner than the disgusting kind which lingered in the town. He could hear the creaking of pines around them, as if the trees had recognized him, and wanted to welcome him back. Even though his feet crunched through a layer of white, foamy frost when he climbed the bank, even though he was shivering and miserably cold, he was home.

His head was steady as he walked. He didn’t feel as though he was on a boat. Gravity was back where it should be, the sky was beautiful, the moon was full, and he was free of the weakness which plagued him in the other place. He let out an odd laugh, raspy and manic from the unexpected flood of emotions. He ran a hand along the bark of a smaller tree, enjoying the solid weight of it, certain that it would stay as it was no matter what crisis happened elsewhere. Nothing had ever been so beautiful to him. It was incredible.

Touching the tree made him want to go home to check on his garden. The ache was so clear, but it was a sweet ache, one that told him he was just a short walk from home. It was tempting to go. Just to see it. Maybe say hello to his neighbors. His mother didn’t need to know.

He nearly left right then and there. His feet knew the way home. He’d gone swimming in this pond as a child, and it was merely a question of walking, and he’d know exactly how to get home. He wanted to. It’d be so easy. All he had to do was go. His garden was waiting.

But he’d come here with that human. He needed to at least make sure it didn’t die. That seemed a poor way to thank it for bringing him home. Reluctantly, Virgil turned to the water again, searching the misty surface for any shape or glob of dark hair which might reveal the location of his pet spellcaster. “Bex?” He called. He was grinning so wide his voice came out with predatory giddiness. “Bexley! Are you here?”

Bex had never been on a rollercoaster before, but if she had, she imagined it would’ve felt like this. Except this was worse. This must’ve been worst. Bex felt as if her insides were being scrambled, flipping inside out. Her skin was on fire. Her eyes couldn’t stay open. Water surged into her lungs as she gasped for air and she sputtered, thrashing, as she was pulled down, down, down– just like at the Falls, with Mina. Bubbles left her mouth in a flurry and Bex tried to shut her eyes against the painful memories pressing against her eyelids. She was choking, sputtering, hands on her arms. She wouldn’t let go, she wouldn’t let go.

The world flipped upside down and Bex twisted around under the water, clawing at it as if searching for something solid to grab onto– but she couldn’t find anything. She wasn’t good at swimming. Her heavy boots were dragging her down, the thick coat she wore, the denim jeans. She kicked and flailed her arms and tried her best to reach the surface, but she just kept sinking further and further.

She couldn’t drown here, she couldn’t. She couldn’t die here. She thought of Mina and Nell and Morgan and Cass and Toni. She couldn’t die here. Something grew in her chest, a warmth, and her magic spread out from there, encapsulating her. It burst and she was thrust upwards through the water, until her body breached the surface and she took in a large gasp of air. Her arms scrambled for solid ground, landing on a log in the water, grasping it desperately. Panting, she blinked and looked around, squinting through the darkness. She heard someone calling her name. “Here,” she choked out, “I’m over here!”

Virgil nearly had a heart attack as Bex rocketed to the surface, sending waves through the crystal clear surface of the pond. He saw it paddle around blindly, then latch onto a log, clinging to it with all its might. If they’d been back in White Crest, he’d have left it to fend for itself. But here in the Mirror, he was already back into the mindset that he was responsible for the humans, and included Bex.

He reluctantly waded back into the water, pushing his body past the shock of the cold. It was easy to make it do what he wanted now, without every damn sense telling him that something was wrong, or being constantly on the edge of fainting. Now in his element once again, he felt more like himself. Perhaps not exactly the same as he’d been, but more whole. Happy, even. Joy was in short supply for him in White Crest, yet as soon as he set foot on his home soil, he was on cloud nine. It didn’t bother him that he had to brave the icy pond again. He was glad to.

He swam to Bex, laughing gently at the death grip it had on its log despite the water being only chest-deep here. When he was within reach, he planted his feet on the silty bottom and pulled the log towards him.

“Do not burn me alive,” he told it, not really able to add any bite to the warning.

He leaned in and plucked Bex up, transferring it from the log to his shoulder, one arm looped around its torso with the other helping him navigate through the deep water and back to the shore. It wasn’t out of concern for the spellcaster, nor was he doing it because he’d suddenly changed his mind about its kind and grown to like it. It was simply because Bex was now a human in his world. He didn’t want it to die; he thought that it was probably too stunned to find its way to shore. A wild sheep that followed him home, and now needed some help navigating captivity.

Once again, he waded out of the water and onto the shore, with Bex in his arms. Usually he preferred to keep humans over his shoulder when he transferred them places, just to make sure they couldn’t bite or scratch him, but this position let Bex keep its head above the water, so he went with it. He was well used to carrying humans, so it wasn’t awkward. The only downside was that Bexley’s freezing, shivering lump of a body was pressed to his, making him that much more aware of how dire things were. It was winter, well below freezing despite a lack of snow on the ground. The sand made odd crunching noises, both sinking and snapping under his weight. As much as he wanted to draw this taste of home out, they shouldn’t linger.

But he wanted to. He wanted to stay so badly it was hurting him. There was something bitter and loving welling deep in his chest, and the urge to at least walk the path a few feet, just to see what memories it brought up. But now that he knew how to get here, he could come whenever he wanted. Perhaps one day he’d ask someone to watch his human while he got back in touch with the Mirror.

Bex was placed on its feet, though Virgil kept his hand on the back of its coat to make sure it didn't fall. “We made it! You were right about the full moon.” He shuffled his coat back around himself, acknowledging to himself the debt he owed it now. “How do you feel? Are you alright over there? Dizzy?”

From the woods came a distant sound which carried over the water dripping off their clothes. A conversation, from the sound of it. Virgil dismissed it almost as soon as he figured out what it was, falsely believing that it had nothing to do with them. He didn’t remember what fae from the Mirror could be like to outsiders. So he didn’t bother to lower his voice as he kept talking.

“Can you do your witch thing? Warm us up? I’d hate to let frostbite ruin the reunion.”

Bex sputtered and shivered as she kept her eyes slammed shut. Every time she opened them the world spun and she felt as if it were going to be yanked out from under her, leaving her to tumble straight up into the sky. The sky that was below them even though it was most certainly not supposed to be below them. Something– someone– plucked her from the water and pried her away from the log, wading back towards the shore as she struggled not to simply lose everything in her stomach right away. She’d at least like to have her feet planted on solid ground before vomiting up the entire day’s worth of meals. Not that that was much for her.

When her feet finally hit solid ground, she swatted Virgil away from her before heaving, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when it was all done. She shivered uncontrollably from the icy waters, hair already freezing at the edges. She looked back at Virgil, the upside down world making her dizzy for even glancing at it for just a moment.

“Yeah, just– just dizzy,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again. “C-come over here and I-I’ll warm us up.” She took Virigl’s hand and let magic spread through them, buzzing as it warmed their skin and dried their clothes, speeding up the molecules around them as it reached through the ether to touch them. “There,” she said when it was done, unaware of their onlookers, “better?”

When the witch shoved at Virgil, he let it go without resentment. He knew firsthand how it felt to land in some strange world and find that the body just refused to settle. It fell to its knees, and he wandered a few steps away to give it some privacy as it emptied its stomach. He wasn’t unused to this reaction from humans.

Voices echoed through the clearing, too loud to be missed now. Virgil peered down the path. Two familiar fae were walking towards them, relaxed, yet eager to see exactly who had come through the water. Virgil recognized them immediately as the same fae who typically watched for outsiders. He’d worked with them before, though it was usually only when they brought him humans, or came to tell him his brother was back. After a moment, their names came to him. Antaeus and Geryon. He waved to them, grinning, though the action seemed to cause them concern more than anything.

Bex managed to pull itself off the ground, obviously miserable. Virgil turned back to it, and when it reached out a hand, he took it. He could sense the pool of its magic sparking just below its skin, felt the way a small portion of it surged up and out under the witch’s direction. A faint bubbly sensation buzzed against his skin, and all of a sudden, he was dry, perhaps even warm. The stinging of the water and the air no longer felt quite so dire. He let go, and his sense of the witch’s magic vanished.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and found that it was perhaps the most genuine words he’d ever spoken to it. He was grateful. Not just for getting the two of them warm, but for being the sole reason he was able to come home in the first place. “Much better.”

Virgil straightened and faced his old neighbors, trying to look casual about the way he stepped in front of a prone Bex, hiding it at least partially from their view. It seemed to be more comfortable on the ground, so he left it there. His neighbors already knew it was there, but at least he could explain to them that it wasn’t a gift for his mother. Virgil didn’t realize that they wouldn’t recognize his human form. He didn’t think about how life in White Crest had changed him, reflected in his physical form. He just thought that, like him, his neighbors would recognize him on the spot and greet him as if they were seeing an old friend.

Antaeus, a nymph who looked more like a seven foot tall conglomerate of stones than a living thing, stopped just at the edge of the clearing. At his side was Geryon, a Hulder, who was an odd cross between a fox and a tree, with fur-covered bark skin, a hollow in his back, and a long red tail.

“Looks like a new human arrived. It’s been a while since we had new humans, hasn’t it?” Geryon said to his companion, not bothering to address Virgil or Bex.

Antaeus squinted at Virgil. “That guy’s a fae. I’ve never seen him before, but he feels familiar somehow.”

Geryon considered this, and agreed, putting his hand on his chin. “You know who he reminds me of? That Horan fellow. Is he still out in White Crest?”

Virgil went stiff as brittle anger flooded through him. He’d never in his life expected to be compared to his ass of a father, and yet that was undoubtedly what was happening now. He set his jaw, clenched his teeth, and took a deep breath so he wouldn’t give himself away. His neighbors were probably just sensing that he was a Lampade, and comparing him to the only Lampades they knew. It wasn’t personal. Yet, how could he take it any other way? Virgil opened his mouth, intending to say his name to end the miscommunication, but Antaeus spoke again before he could.

“Horan died, I think. Poor guy got it from a Warden. Maybe it’s Nassus I’m thinking of.”

Something deep within Virgil’s chest pulsed, as if someone had just stuck their finger into a raw, bleeding wound. It surprised him at first. Hearing that name spoken aloud after so long not. He didn’t realize at first why it was so wrong for these two to say it.

“Nassus is dead too. He went up in that fire, remember?” Geryon’s voice was callous, as if he wasn’t talking about someone who’d died, and left Virgil alone.

The second hit broke through. Nassus. Virgil’s brother. They dared to say the name of Virgil’s sole protector and friend as if he was nothing while they spoke of his abuser with respect. Virgil was the only one who loved him in life, and he was meant to keep his memory pure in death. And these stupid lackeys were defiling his name like it was nothing! Something hot spread from the wound in his chest, as if he was on fire again, though he knew distantly that it had to be rage.

The clearing lit up with burning white light as Virgil’s glamour fell away, revealing his true form to the fae. At the same time, darkness lashed in around them like an entity, freshly woken and angry, blocking out the sky. Virgil felt like something in him had snapped.

“You keep that name out of your filthy mouths!” The words tore out of him, jagged like glass that’d been broken in just the right way to cut.

Geryon froze, slack-jawed with dread as he tried to place the voice and form. Antaeus just looked confused. Virgil didn’t give them time to find an answer. He was done listening to what they had to say about him and his family.

Virgil strode towards them, even walk morphing into a run, charging towards the stunned fae as the shadows whipped at his feet. Instead of targeting the one who’d been talking, the fleshy one, Virgil went for the one he knew could take the hit without being seriously hurt: Antaeus. He lowered his head, feet digging into the sand. His antlers skewered straight through the gravelly body, jolting his neck. With a twist of his head, the tines sliced up through his torso. Antaeus let out a bellow as his stone form dissolved. Pebbles and rocks scattered to the ground, clattering against the frozen sand. He wasn’t dead, but he was stunned; it’d take a moment for him to reform.

“Is that all he is to you now? Just someone to gossip about while you lay around and pretend to watch for outsiders?” He spat at the fallen nymph.

Geryon’s hands clamped over his elbow, grasping him as if he was trying to grab a striking snake.

“Are you- Virgil?!”

Virgil dropped his solid form, leaving Geryon holding nothing but smoke. Still enraged, he twisted around to face him, turning solid again. He sunk his long, needle-sharp teeth into the Hulder’s arm, which provided only a little resistance. A strange mix of living blood and sap ran down Geryon’s wrist and into Virgil’s mouth, tasting of nothing at all. Geryon screamed.

Virgil pulled off, spitting the gummy blood out, and leaned in to whisper to him, though his voice was so much louder than intended when it came out. “You think you can just talk about him like that? Like he’s nothing? You both make me sick!”

Geryon flinched away, pain and fear twisting his features. He looked like he was staring death in the face. Virgil spared no time to wonder what was so frightening. Instead, he dug his claws into the Hulder’s body, locking it into place, leaning up into its face with his jaws open and poised for another bite. His gaze bore into the wide, terrified fox eyes of Geryon, lighting his face up white.

Grinding rocks rattled behind him. Antaeus had reformed, though Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Tell me you’re sorry.”

Fae were immune to the effects of his eyes. Geryon was not stricken with madness. But he still squirmed and breathed a terrified sob, cringing away from the searing beam.

“Vengeful spirit, please forgive me! I won’t speak of your brother again!”

Spirit? Did he think Virgil was a ghost? He paused, letting his jaws close just a fraction. “I’m not dead.”

“You must be! The kid I knew as Virgil would never hurt me the way you’re hurting me now!” Geryon took a deep breath, and spat the words out as if he was just throwing whatever words he thought might make enough of an impact to make Virgil let him go. “You’re just a shadow of anger now. You must be haunting your brother’s name. Maybe we can help you.”

Virgil was stunned by the accusation. He couldn’t argue. Geryon was wrong about him being dead, but something about the meat of the words rang true. Had he lost more than he’d thought in the fire? Was the old Virgil just ashes now too?

A huge hand clamped around his antlers, dragging him off Geryon. The stone nymph seemingly had no qualms about messing with ghosts. The hand twisted his neck, yet ever so slowly brought him into striking range, though Virgil was still reeling mentally from the words of the Hulder. “He’s no ghost. I’m touching him,” Antaeus rumbled.

Geryon took a nervous step away from both Virgil and Antaeus, a hand pressed to his punctured bicep. “I don’t know. I’m not messing with him either way! You can talk to him. I’ll get the human.”

Antaeus heaved a sigh and mumbled under his breath about superstitious nonsense. Geryon turned to Bex, who was still crumpled on the ground, casting a critical eye over it.

“Come here, human. If you come with us willingly, we won’t have to hurt you.” The Hulder’s voice took on an odd, indescribable air. It was kind, commanding, and threatening all at the same time. Each emotion had a different pitch, as if it was three creatures saying the words in synchrony instead of just one. Huldra had the power to draw non-fae to them, taking away their willpower with charming words (though with Geryon, the words weren’t charming) and luring them close enough to kill. Geryon wasn’t looking to kill Bex, but he was going to bring it to someone who would.

Virgil avoided the impulse to stare at Bex, knowing that it might catch his eye and go mad. Instead, he listened for the shuffling of its feet, or a blank word of agreement that’d truly let him know if his spellcaster had been charmed into following the Hulder.

Confused, Bex took a step back as the two figures approached them. She didn’t understand why they were acting so cold and strange to someone who lived here and was like them. They were obviously fae, not even under glamorous as they approached. From what Bex had learned of the mirror district, this place was like an entirely different dimension, with mostly fae existing inside of it. It was an Aos Si, a fae community, hidden away from the rest of the world. So why were they so hostile towards Virgil? Hadn’t he said he lived here? He came from here? Was this not his home?

Bex tried to stand again, but the vertigo of seeing the sky beneath her feet made her stumble and fall back to the wet ground. The world was still spinning in front of her eyes but she could barely make out the yelling and fighting going on, someone crying out. A ghost? Was there a ghost here? Bright lights shone from the direction of the fae and Bex put a hand up to shield her eyes, looking away. After a moment, the fighting grew silent. Mumbled voices were heading towards her, footsteps on the grass. She peeked under her fingers to see who it was, hoping it would be Virgil, there to tell her it’d all just been a mistake. That she’d made a big mistake. In coming here, in trusting him, in doing this.

She backed away quickly, peddling herself towards the shoreline. It wasn’t Virgil, and something was tugging at the inside of her chest, begging her to listen, to go forth and take the fae’s hand. But everything else in her knew not to. Mina and Deirdre might’ve been Fae, but Morgan had impressed upon her just how dangerous most of them could be. Just how much most of them hated humans. Her magic wrapped around her like a lilac blanket, coating her body and mind from the Fae’s touch. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted, a pulse of energy bursting from her to knock back the tree-like man. “Get away from me!” She was alone in this now, she knew that. Virgil wasn’t going to help her. She stood and stumbled back into the water, falling to her knees. She held up her hand, magic at the ready. “Let him go and I won’t hurt you!” If she could just reach the moon’s reflection, then it wouldn’t matter either way. She doubted they’d follow.

Virgil was impressed that Bex withstood Geryon’s charm. Apparently its mind wasn’t as weak as he assumed. But judging by the noise of splashing water and the shrill note to its voice, things weren’t going all that well for it. When it ordered Antaeus to let him go, Virgil started, not sure if he’d heard right. Was the human defending him?

No longer interested in the fight, Virgil turned into a shadow. He drifted out of the stone grasp, slipping away as Antaeus chuckled at the audacity of the human. He reappeared crouching on the ground, eyes still pointed away, and plucked up his glasses. The red lenses looked a little beat up, but they were still functional. Only when they were safely on did he dare to look at Bex.

The human had somehow knocked down Geryon; he was on his back in the icy mud of the shore, looking stunned. Antaeus was still laughing. It’d been a mistake to stay this long. Virgil was no longer glad to be home. And as much as he’d have liked to just disappear from under the noses of these two nymphs so he could go walk around unbothered, he had the human to take care of. A human who’d just yelled at them to leave him alone. Maybe Bex was better than the ones he’d known.

He rose up and ran for the human. Not intending to charge it, but to get the two of them the hell out of there. Geryon screamed and jerked away as Virgil darted past, scrambling back up to Antaeus’ side. Antaeus’s laughter cut off, and he rumbled into motion, trying to follow, but Virgil was far out of his reach.

He slowed when he reached Bex, not worried about outrunning the other nymphs. It seemed to be encircled by some kind of purple magic barrier, which gave him pause, but there wasn’t exactly time to ask it to put its magic away (if it even could). He reached down, hand cutting through the magic with a dull buzz, black claws reaching carefully through the bubble to take Bex’s arm. He pulled it to its feet and deeper into the pond.

“I was not in danger from either of these creatures. But I’m grateful you tried to help.”

Icy water closed around his lower body, stinging straight through the layers, but he didn’t have time to slow down. A heavy rock sailed past them, missing them entirely. Geryon shouted at Antaeus to just let them go. Virgil pulled Bex under after him, losing his grip as the pull of the door opened up underneath, dragging them both down and back into the upside-down safety of White Crest.

#wickedswriting #inbextween #sibling death tw #violence tw #vomit tw #parental death tw #domestic abuse tw #through the looking glass

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books-in-a-storm · 4 years

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Snowflake Book Review’s

Title: Eat Crow(Cheap Thrills #6)

Author: Mary B. Moore

Pages:328

Snowflake Rating:❄❄❄❄❄(4/5)

Synopsis: Logan I made a mistake seven years ago and opened my mouth, letting words fly out of it that I didn’t mean. I said something about the one person I never wanted to hurt and lost my best friend. Now she’s back and needs help her with her loss, and I’m going to be the best rock in the history of rocks and make it right between us again. I’d do anything to get Bexley Heath back in my life, even if it means helping out with her dog, who hates me and loves to destroy everything around him. Time doesn’t kill love. Neither does a giant Irish Wolfhound eating my favorite chair. Bexley I’d successfully avoided Logan Richards for seven years, but somehow losing my grandpa brought him back into my life. Perhaps Papa was right when he said in his last letter that it was time to get over it and just let it go. Life’s too short, and forgiveness is divine, right? He’s my anchor when I need it and my tissues when I cry. But that doesn’t mean I can’t reward my dog for causing him grief and destroying some of his furniture, though, does it? To heck with it, good Doyle.

#snowflake reviews #contemporary romance #contemporary romance star review #booklr #booklbr #books #adult booklr #eat crow #mary b moore #bookworm #recommendations #march 2021

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strange-n-unbluusual · 5 years

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Pink! Ch. 3: The Ex Lover

*Beetlejuice/Original Female Character. Adult situations. 18+ only.*

Summary: After six breather years away, Beetlejuice returns to find the house on the hill overrun by coeds. Lydia allows him to stay, but has rules. Things get more interesting when Beck, one of the housemates, reveals she can see him. Following a sordid affair, Beetlejuice finds himself lingering around Beck more and more. But will her affection last? And why does it seem to bother Lydia so much?

Chapter 1: The Setup

Chapter 2: The Buzzkill Date

DMs are always open for thoughts, feedback and suggestions. Ty. On AO3 as CopperContessa_13

The Maitlands sequestered themselves inside the house’s old root cellar.

Despite their work to make it livable, the windowless room was still not ideal. Two cots, a small stack of books and an oil lamp were really all they could fit in the space. Of course, it wasn’t meant to be “home” forever. It was just supposed to be for as long as it took to convince Lydia to get rid of Beetlejuice.

They hoped she would come to her senses in days but, by now, they had lost track of how many months they’d been down there.

Lydia tried so hard to make them understand her decision, but it was all in vain. Apparently Beetlejuice had come back to her one night with a sob story and it worked. She made him leave for a few hours while she reasoned with the Maitlands. They weren’t as relenting, however.

“He’s manipulative?” Lydia argued. “Don’t you think it’s just as manipulative to leave me because… because I can forgive the past and you can’t?! You promised you’d never abandon me!”

Adam stayed quiet, but Barbara had reasoned back.

“The scars are lasting for the rest of us, Lydia,” she said calmly. “We thought it’d be the worst for you! The marriage and the death threats against your family? You can really forgive all of that?”

“Summoning is out of the question. I told him that. He can’t hurt us if he’s not summoned. And I’ve read the handbook all the way through now! I know how to get rid of him if we need to.”

“Because the last time you read something from it went really well,” Adam said quietly.

Barbara’s eyes dropped to the floor and Lydia paled.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“Adam and I love you very much, Lydia,” Barbara said, reaching out a hand to reassuringly squeeze the girl’s arm. “We won’t ever abandon you, but this is just asking too much of us. We’ll be back when you come to your senses.”

And that was that.

She was a capable and educated young woman, they agreed. The Maitlands couldn’t blame her choices on adolescent idealism anymore. She was being selfish and dangerously shortsighted by inviting him back into the home. Plus, it wasn’t just the Deetzes and the Maitlands in danger this time, either. Lydia’s five defenseless housemates didn’t know what she had signed them up for.

They kept their word. Adam and Barbara never abandoned Lydia. They made sure to keep an eye on Beetlejuice, but maintained their distance by hiding behind furniture or carefully peering just their eyes through walls. It wasn’t a flawless endeavor, of course. In fact, one of the housemates, Beck, realized she could see ghosts after catching Barbara leaning through her bedroom wall to look into the next room.

From what Adam and Barbara had seen, they still weren’t satisfied with Beetlejuice’s behavior but knew it could be worse. They hated how he’d steal from the housemates and shamelessly watch them during private and intimate moments. It seemed tame compared to his usual antics, though. At least, nothing was alarming enough to break their vow of silence. In fact, they started to wonder if Lydia was right about him being changed.

That is, until that party happened.

Those big house parties were the easiest time to keep an eye on Beetlejuice. The amount of people in the house made it easy to sneak around in the open without raising suspicion.

Barbara was watching Beetlejuice sit on the kitchen counter but got distracted when she noticed a particularly violent make out session in the next room threatened to knock over one of Delia’s giant sculptures. He wasn’t on the counter anymore when she came back. Adam didn’t see him slip away either.

They searched the whole ground floor but there was no sign of him. That was particularly odd, considering he typically spent each party ogling people and standing uncomfortably close to them while they danced. They even checked the second floor, but they only came across Beck changing out of her party getup. She never seemed to notice Beetlejuice’s antics. Why ask her about him now?

The Maitlands hung around the crowd of young people for another 45 minutes or so, but the ghost with the most didn’t make a reappearance. He did look pretty bored that night, Barbara pointed out. Maybe he finally decided to leave.

"I’m gonna check the attic,” Adam said. “If he’s really gone, he would have taken his mess up there with him.”

He returned a few minutes later, his face twisted in an unpleasant expression.

“Is everything okay, dear? Was he up there? Did he touch you??” Barbara asked with growing concern. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone!“

"It’s not that, Barbara,” Adam said quietly. “I, uh. I don’t know how to say this but… Beck definitely knows about Beetlejuice.”

⁂

“I’ll give you ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t exorcise your ass right now,” Lydia seethed.

When she confronted Beetlejuice, her long hair was frizzy, her face was bare and she was still in her favorite nightgown. The Maitlands had waited until morning to break the news to Lydia, not wanting to spoil the night for her. At first, she was overjoyed when she awoke to the gentle sound of their voices. She sprang out of bed and hugged them both tightly. Her demeanor dropped quickly, though, when Barbara finally broke the news.

Lydia was about to confront Beck when she passed by the guest bathroom. The door was closed, but she could clearly hear the sound of Beetlejuice moaning her housemate’s name through the wood.

“Did they really have the audacity to do this next to my room?!” she thought.

More enraged and disgusted now, she ran back to her room to grab something before confronting them.

In front of him, Beetlejuice saw that she was clutching The Handbook for the Recently Deceased in a white knuckled grip.

She’s serious, he realized with terror.

He gulped loudly and looked at her with wide eyes. Beetlejuice scrambled to get up and even clattered to the tile floor once in his panic. Settling to beg on his knees, he pleaded incoherently at her. He was more terrified than she had ever seen, his hair just a shock of pure white.

Lydia didn’t listen to any of what he was trying to say, instead focusing her attention on scrutinizing every detail in the bathroom with her eyes. She scanned the clawfoot tub, behind the toilet and behind the door. The cabinet below the sink was too small to fit a person. Though he’d been moaning her name, Beck was nowhere in sight.

Beetlejuice’s babbling slowed to a more manageable speed when he noticed Lydia’s posture ease.

“That shady ‘Blood’ guy promised me it wasn’t cursed or anything, Lyds! I swear! I mean, if I can’t trust him, who can I? Plus, Beck was the one who pulled out the vib—“

“Shut up! Shut up! Just stop talking!” Lydia finally snapped.

Beetlejuice obeyed.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes tightly. A small, wavering sigh was followed by a deep breath in. When she released the breath she opened her eyes, too. He noticed that they watered, but he wasn’t about to ask why, precisely, she looked like she was about to cry. Beetlejuice didn’t dare provoke her more while she still had that book.

“Adam told me he saw you with Beck last night,” Lydia said sternly. “Is it true?”

“Lydia,” he pleaded. “She was the one who—“

She raised her hand.

“Save it. I don’t want to hear about it. I asked a question. Yes or no.”

He shrunk back into the corner.

“... Maybe a little bit.”

Beetlejuice shut his eyes tightly and he wrapped his arms over his head protectively as if that would save him from being banished. Seconds passed and no incantation was read to him, though.

He watched the hem of her nightgown flit away when he finally reopened his eyes. She was walking down the hallway as if nothing had just happened.

“Lydia?” Beetlejuice called after her. “Are you mad at me?”

“This isn’t about you,” she said.

⁂

Beck’s bedroom was at the end of a short hallway that branched off from the rest of the second floor. The door was open and Lydia approached it just in time to catch a flash of skin as Beck pulled a lilac sports bra over herself.

Lydia suspected Beck had planned for her to see that.

She rolled her eyes at the thought and crossed her arms, shifting her weight so she was leaning on the doorway. The creak of the frame caught Beck’s attention. She looked over and gave a small smile.

"Hey, stranger. Did you just get up?”

“Yeah.”

"I’m just about to go on a jog. You want to come?”

“Why?” Lydia sneered while sauntering into the room casually. “I heard you got a workout last night.”

Beck’s eyes darted to Lydia for a second. She tied her blonde hair into a ponytail and walked over to the bedside table to grab a waiting pair of headphones.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lyd.”

The other girl’s demeanor darkened.

“I just noticed you left the party early night,” she tried to say as nonchalantly as possible. “Were you… entertaining someone upstairs?”

“That’s a pretty personal question,” she chuckled.

A surprised noise came out of Beck when Lydia suddenly slammed The Handbook for the Recently Deceased down on the nearby dresser.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Bexley,” Lydia choked out, pointing a finger back at her.

“What is your deal?!” Beck said.

Her expression softened a bit when she saw a tear roll down Lydia’s cheek.

“Even Beetlejuice had the balls to own up to it. The literal demon from hell owned up to the fact that you two fucked, but you won’t.”

Beck averted her eyes and crossed her arms.

“We didn’t fuck.”

“You’re such an unholy bitch, Bexley!” she said venomously.

“You have some real nerve saying that,” Beck growled back. “I don’t care what he said, we never fucked.”

“That’s not what matters! You still messed around with this guy I told you not to!”

“I don’t get your deal, Lydia. Okay, yeah, it’s kinda weird that I’m hot for a dusty, green ghost. But I don’t get what your problem with it is.”

“My problem is I told you not to.”

“Yeah? Well, I told you to stop making such a scene when you bring Mariah over and I still have to listen to you fake it.”

“This isn’t some kind of lover’s quirrell,” Lydia said, frustrated. “Did you know that asshole forced me into a marriage and threatened to kill my family if I didn’t do it? Is that good enough reason for me to be mad?”

Beck looked at her in shocked disbelief.

“Well I never would have started anything if you’d told me that! You can’t hold it against me if I didn’t fucking know!!”

Both stood in silence for awhile. Lydia paced the floor in front of the dresser. Beck ran an exasperated hand down her face and sighed.

Like oil and water. How they even ended up with each other in the first place was a mystery.

They knew each other from class but formally met at a too-crowded garage band concert in someone's basement. Everyone was surprised that they lasted as long as they did. Everyone knew it was a bad idea for them to sign a lease together.

Beck was like a black sheep among black sheep in Lydia’s social circle. Everyone else in the house dripped with the aesthetics of old arthouse films and hand rolled clove cigarettes. Despite sharing a major with some of them, Beck never really found common ground with them outside of knowing Lydia. She was just too preppy for their taste.

Lydia was petite, dressed in flowing garments and preferred to spend her Saturdays alone in thrifted bookstores. Beck was proud to be plus-sized, rocked whatever was at the local department store like no one's business and fed off of the energy of other people.

Opposites attract then repel, so the saying goes.

“Okay. Yeah. I did it to piss you off and make you jealous,” Beck finally said. “But…”

“But what?!”

“But can it really be that bad if you let him come back?! And don’t get testy with me!” she screeched. “You want to talk about hurting people? Do you remember who cheated on who?!”

“Beck, listen...“ Lydia sighed, averting her gaze.

Beck raked a hand through her hair.

“You told me not to think too much about how much time you were spending with Mariah and that your classes kept you from answering your phone as much. Did you think you were just going to ghost me out of our own relationship? Lydia, I live here with you!”

The demure girl was quiet.

“And when I caught you kissing her, I accepted it. I fucking accepted it. I told myself that it’s natural for people to change and grow apart. I forgave your gaslighting and said we could still be friends. But fucking hell, Lyd! You’re not playing fair!”

Lydia averted her stare, leaning against the dresser with crossed arms.

“Well?”

“...I guess we’re even then,” Lydia muttered.

They studied each other intensely for a minute. Breaking the gaze, Lydia finally grabbed her book and started towards the doorway.

“Hey, you don’t want your vibrator back, do you?”

“No, Beck. I don’t… that’s… that’d be weird. No,” she said with an awkward half-laugh.

Beck closed the door behind her ex-girlfriend and sighed. No longer in the mood to go outside, she walked over to her closet to find something more befitting for a bad break up. Like an old shirt and a pint of Chunky Monkey...

“Hey, babes,” Beetlejuice said when she opened the door.

“Geezus!” she gasped, clutching her chest, “doesn’t anyone fucking knock around here?!”

“I walk around like I own the place, babes. You know that by now,” he said stepping out into the room.

Beck rolled her eyes at him.

"I didn’t tell her we fucked, by the way. She caught me in the bathroom and… anyway, it’s not important. Did you really used to date her?”

“Yeah. Why? You don’t think it’s weird, do you?”

“Oh, of course not! A hole is a hole, babe.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m just, uh, surprised I never noticed you had a thing for girls. If you know what I mean.”

“I broke up with Lydia, like, a week before you showed up,” she shrugged. “It hurt a lot. Watching her date the girl she literally cheated on me with kills me. But, like. Why is she the only one allowed to do shitty things?”

She felt a little bad about those words as soon as they left her mouth. Beetlejuice’s expression dropped, his hair turning purple in spots. He fidgeted with his suit jacket for a second before looking up at her.

“So, I’m just cannon fodder to make Lydia jealous?”

The way he said those words broke her heart.

For someone who hung around her room almost exclusively to watch her undress, Beetlejuice had proven himself to be rather dynamic. Between the dream about the speakeasy, the way he backed off of her when he thought she’d drank too much and his genuine worry about what it all meant to her, he really had proven to be more human than demon in her eyes.

Instinctively, she reached out and pulled him into a protective hug. She rest his head on her chest and pet his hair comfortingly. She was a little bemused that his hair matched her sports bra.

“I can’t lie. You kinda are,” she answered honestly. “Is that okay?”

She gasped as his sharp fingernails dug into her hips. His hair shifted into a blaze of pure magenta. When he adjusted his head to look up, Beck was both terrified and thrilled at the way he looked at her with hunger. A devilish grin was spread on his face from ear to ear.

“It’s more than okay, babes. It’s showtime.”

#musical beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fandom #drama #exes #writing #betelgeuse #fanfiction #fluff #dramatic #adult language #bisexual character #beetlejuice nsft #nsft

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djbcadventures · 5 years

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November/December 2019 Networking Calendar

Tis the Season to not let the holidays distract you from networking. We’ve got you covered for the rest of 2019, taking you to the end of the year and decade. And a special Thank You to GETDOT Networking for your years of donations to local charities. In December, we bid farewell to GETDOT Networking, which will be replaced by Arch City Engagements in 2020.

November 2019

November 1 - Coffee With a Cause: Veterans Services (7:30AM; M+A Architects: 775 Yard St., Suite 325, Grandview Heights; http://www.cypclub.com) (Bus - # 3, 22, or 31)

November 5 - Election Day - VOTE! (Polls Open from 6:30AM to 7:30PM; COTA will be offering FREE Fares) - Morning Perk (8AM; Expert Office Furniture: 1080 W. 3rd Ave.; 5th by Northwest; http://chamberpartnership.org) (Bus - # 3) - Grow Your Business Expo (2PM; The Estate at New Albany: 5216 Forest Drive, New Albany; http://www.columbusbusinessfirst.com) - Dublin Area Networking Group (6PM; Dublin Entrepreneurial Center: 565 Metro Place South, Dublin; http://www.chrisborja.com) (Bus - # 33)

November 6 - Start Your Own Business Workshops - “Marketing & Social Media” with Joshua Wagner (6:30PM; St. John Center - Campion Hall; 640 S. Ohio Ave. Old Oaks; http://stjohnlearning.wordpress.com) (Bus - # 1 or 22)

November 7 - Bexley AfterHours (4:30PM; Gerber: 580 N. 4th St. - Smith Brothers Building, Short North; http://www.bexleyareachamber.org) - AMA Happy Hour (5:30PM; B*ckeye Bourbon House: 36 E. Gay St., Downtown Columbus; http://www.amacolumbus.org) (Bus - Various) - Gahanna AfterHours (6PM; Redwood Living: 1101 Pin Oaks Lane, Blacklick; http://www.gahannaareachamber.com)

November 9 - The Free Press Second Saturday Salon (6:30PM; The Columbus Free Press: 1021 E. Broad St., Olde Towne East; http://www.columbusfreepress.com) (Bus - # 10)

November 12 - Dublin Business After-Hours (5:30PM; First Federal Lakewood: 6601 Dublin Center Drive, Dublin; http://www.dublinchamber.org) (Bus - # 33) - Diversity Columbus Tuesday Edition (6PM; Seventh Son Brewing: 1101 N. 4th St.; http://www.diversitycolumbus.org) (Bus - # 4 or 12)

November 13 - CYP Entrepreneurs & Innovators (6PM; Serendipity Labs Short North: 886 N. High St. - 4th Floor, Short North; http://www.cypclub.com) (Bus - # 1, 2, 5, or CBUS) Postponed

November 15 - Breakfast with Columbus Business First (7AM; Bartha: 600 N. Cassady Ave., Bexley; http://www.columbusbusinessfirst.com) (Bus - # 7) - Creative Mornings: Lost (8:30AM; Smart Columbus: 170 Civic Center Drive, Downtown Columbus; http://www.creativemornings.com/cities/clb) (Bus - # 4, 5, 7, or 11) - Hilliard Chamber Luncheon: Hilliard Economic Development Update (11:30AM; Heritage Golf Club: 3525 Heritage Club Drive, Hilliard; http://www.hilliardchamber.org)

November 19 - CYP Coffee Talk: The Art of CBus (7:30AM; Crimson Cup Innovation Lab: 700 Alum Creek Drive, Near East Side; http://www.cypclub.com) (Bus - # 2 or 11) - Network Dublin! Business Breakfast (7:30AM; CostCo Northwest Columbus: 7300 State Route 161, Plain City; http://www.dublinchamber.org) - Standing Out In the Job Candidate Crowd (6:30PM; Improving: One Easton Oval, Suite 175, Northeast Columbus; http://www.amacolumbus.org) (Bus - # 7, 23, or 32)

November 21 - CSCA Creative Best (6PM; Vue Columbus: 95 Liberty St., Brewery District; http://www.cscarts.org) (Bus - CBUS, # 5 or 8)

December 2019

December 3 - Dublin YP Coffee Connections (9AM; Barry’s Bagels: 5760 Frantz Rd., Dublin; http://www.dublinchamber.org) (Bus - # 21) - Dublin Area Networking Group (6PM; Dublin Entrepreneurial Center: 565 Metro Place South, Dublin; http://www.chrisborja.com) (Bus - # 33)

December 5 - GETDOT: The Series Finale (5PM; Scene 75 Entertainment Center: 5033 Tuttle Crossing Blvd., Dublin; http://www.facebook.com/archcityengagements) (Bus - # 21) - AMA Happy Hour (5:30PM; Location TBD; http://www.amacolumbus.org) - Westerville Business After Hours (5:30PM; Elevate Office Westerville: 670 Meridian Way, Westerville; http://www.westervillechamber.com) (Bus - # 102 or CMAX)

December 6 - Breakfast with Columbus Business First (7AM; Legoland Discovery Center: 165 Easton Town Center, Easton; http://www.columbusbusinessfirst.com) (Bus - # 7, 9, 23, 31, 32, or 34) - Coffee With a Cause: Disability Awareness (7:30AM; M+A Architects: 775 Yard St., Suite 325, Grandview Heights; http://www.cypclub.com) (Bus - # 3, 22, or 31)

December 9 - Westerville Quarterly Membership Luncheon - “Business in Ohio” with Congresswoman Joyce Beatty & Congressman Troy Balderson (11:15AM; Crowne Plaza Columbus North: 6500 Doubletree Ave., Northland; http://www.westervillechamber.com)

December 10 - CYP Speed Networking (6PM; Serendipity Labs Short North: 886 N. High St. - 4th Floor, Short North; http://www.cypclub.com) (Bus - # 1, 2, 5, or CBUS)

December 14 - The Free Press Second Saturday Salon (6:30PM; The Columbus Free Press: 1021 E. Broad St., Olde Towne East; http://www.columbusfreepress.com) (Bus - # 10)

December 17 - CYP Coffee Talk: The Art of CBus (7:30AM; Crimson Cup Innovation Lab: 700 Alum Creek Drive, Near East Side; http://www.cypclub.com) (Bus - # 2 or 11) - Network Dublin! Business Breakfast (7:30AM; Carlile, Patchen, & Murphy: 535 Metro Place South, Dublin; http://www.dublinchamber.org)

December 19 - Dublin Business After-Hours (5:30PM; Brookside Golf & Country Club: 2770 W. Dublin-Granville Rd., Northwest Columbus; http://www.dublinchamber.org)

December 20 - Creative Mornings: Silence (8:30AM; Land-Grant Brewing Company: 424 W. Town St., Franklinton; http://www.creativemornings.com/cities/clb) (Bus - # 3, 6, or 9)

#networking 101 #networking calendar

1 note · View note

adsthumbsblog · 2 years

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Packing and Moving Furniture Made Simple

When it comes to moving there are a lot of things that need to be done in order to have the situation go along smoothly. Here we will take a look at packing and moving furniture made simple so that you can get some ideas to make the transition of homes a far smoother event in your life.

Making sure that you have all of the items you need to pack your belongings before starting the task can make it a lot easier. Be sure that you have boxes, paper, scissors, labels and markers. These are imperative items a person needs to have in order to pack things in an organized way.

Fragile items need to be packed in a more delicate manner to ensure that they will not get broken when they are moved. By using a box that is smaller in size can help ensure that this will not happen as the weight of the box will be lighter due to the size of the box.

Make sure that the fragile / breakable items you own are wrapped carefully before being put in the box. A lot of people find that using bubble wrap helps a lot when it comes to protecting your valuables. Once the box is full, tape it and label it as "FRAGILE". You should also put the room that this box is to go in when taken to the new house to make the job easier for the person that will be moving it.

This is the time that many people find that they have made an error by throwing out boxes for the small appliances that they own. If you have the packaging for these things it is wise to use them, but if not use a box that is a size that is close to that of the appliance, but wrap it before placing it inside.

Try to stay as organized as possible when getting ready to move. Make sure that all boxes have a label of some sort on the top of them to help those that will be moving it to know where the item is to be put. This also allows you to be able to tackle the task of unpacking a lot easier when that time finally comes.

Taking some of your well deserved vacation time is a good way to have a few days to be in the new home to deal with the unpacking issue that is ahead of you. Many people find that the new house can be completely in order in a very short period of time as long as they have the time to focus on getting the job done. By having a few days off you would be able to have it done in no time at all.

Following a few simple things can make packing and moving furniture made simple the organized task that it should be, and by being organized it can make everything else involved a lot easier as well.

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the-magnus-archives-archiver · 6 years

Text

Piecemeal

Case: 0112905

Name: Lee Rentoul Subject: Murder of his associate Paul Noriega Date: May 29th, 2011 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

Let’s get one thing straight right off – this is not a goddamn confession, alright? If you go to the police with this, I will deny every word, and I know enough about the law to know that even if I spill my guts to you about all the horrible things I’ve done, it will count for nothing in court. It’s not like you’ll even be able to help me, I just... My mate Hester said he came to you a few years back, been seeing ghosts and that, and you guys looked into it and told him it was some sort of noise messing with his head, ‘infasound’ or something, and he’s fine now. I need that. I need you to tell me that it’s just coincidence and my mind’s playing tricks, and I need to not lose any more bits of me.

So yeah, I killed that asshole Noriega. Stabbed him in the throat and left him to bleed out on the dockside. Maybe that shocks you a bit, maybe not, but trust me when I say he had it coming. Eight years we worked together, and it was him that got carried away kicking McMullen’s head in and moved it from assault to GBH, but sure enough when we get picked up he turns on me and I get pinned for it. Five years I served because of him, while he walked free as you please. I’d say that I was due a bit of payback and I certainly got it.

It wasn’t my first choice, though. I’m not stupid and parole keeps you on a short enough chain that slitting Noriega’s throat was not my top priority. Don’t get me wrong, it was something I’d been itching to do for five goddamn years, but I wasn’t in a rush. I had plenty of time to arrange something nasty for him, and I wanted him hurt more than I felt I had to do the deed myself. So when I got out in June last year, I bided my time and kept my ear to the ground. Tried to get in touch with him, but was told by the few friends we had in common that he wasn’t interested in talking to me. He’d clearly done ok for himself in the years I’d been away, and could afford some muscle to make sure that I didn’t bother him. I ended up with a couple of bruised ribs when I finally got tired of the run-around and tried to have it out with him properly. It was laying there, some grim side street in Lewisham of all places that I came to the decision that if I was going to hurt this asshole, and I mean properly hurt him, I was going to have to think outside the box a bit.

I decided to pay McMullen a visit. Before Noriega had gone to work on him, Toby McMullen was just some street punk. These days he was just a street punk who had trouble turning his neck. I’ve met plenty of born losers in my time, I mean it’s kind of a given in this business, but I’ve never met someone so intent on being a screw-up as McMullen. When I saw him he was high as a kite and barely knew I was there, but you bet his eyes lit up when I mentioned Paul Noriega. It took hours to get anything useful out of that waste of skin, but eventually I pieced together his side of this sorry tale. Noriega had paid him a visit in the hospital, apparently, before the police had picked us up, and promised that if he fingered me for the assault, then he’d have all of the narcotics his little junkie heart could dream of. Only once he was out of hospital and my conviction had gone through, it wasn’t two days before McMullen was out on his arse again, and Noriega didn’t want to know. Any idiot could have seen it would play out that way, but not poor, stupid Toby. Still, he’d been itching to get the knife in for almost as long as I had, and he had had the freedom to plan it, so I asked him if he had anything I could use.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when he suggested magic. Toby had always been into all of that mystical crap, even before the drugs, and if there was some half-baked New Age fad going round you could bet you’d find it dribbling out of his mouth whenever he was coherent enough to actually talk. I punched him in the gut and turned to leave. He followed me, doubled over and struggling for breath, begging me to help him. He said he was serious, said it wasn’t like the other stuff, said he knew someone with real power, who could put the hurt on Noriega, but he just didn’t have the money.

I should have kept walking. I should have shaken him off. I should have beat him so bad he couldn’t turn his neck the other way either. But I didn’t. I stopped and I listened to what that piece of human garbage had to say. I was an idiot.

So Toby took me to see his friend Angela. He never gave me her second name. I asked him what it was: Wicca, voodoo, some crystal bull? But Toby said no, nothing like that. Said he didn’t really know how it was supposed to work, but had a girl a few months back, had told him about Angela; said she’d used her services on a particularly unpleasant ex-boyfriend. Apparently he’d disappeared, and they never found a body. So then I’m thinking maybe there’s no magic there, just a killer with a schtick, but hey, if that was the case it was fine by me, just as long as Noriega got done.

When I finally met Angela, it was all I could do not to cave McMullen’s head in. I’d just about convinced myself I was going to be meeting with a hardened killer, maybe one that kept a bunch of spooky Halloween crap around, but still someone who’d get the job done. I wasn’t even put off when we pulled up to a well-kept suburban house in Bexley. But when the door was answered by an old lady in a lilac dressing gown, I almost lost it. McMullen asked if she was Angela, speaking in a quiet voice like he was actually scared of the geriatric fool. The old woman said yes, she was Angela, and asked us to come in.

The house felt almost as old as its owner – faded floral print wallpaper, dark oak furniture and threadbare carpets. The walls were covered with framed portraits, the sort you’d get in any cheap antique store or charity shop, although as we went into the living room I noticed something that I didn’t expect: they weren’t paintings, they were jigsaw puzzles, each completed and framed. And sure enough when we sat down on the worn cloth sofa, there in front of Angela was another jigsaw, half- finished. I’ve got no problem with the elderly, and if they want to throw away their last years putting together a damn picture then I’m sure not going to stop them, but it wasn’t exactly going to kill Noriega, was it?

I was so angry at this massive waste of my time, that when she offered us a cup of coffee, I almost put McMullen face-first through the glass table in front of us. I grunted something which Angela apparently took as a “yes please”, and so a few minutes later there I was drinking instant coffee from a chipped mug that this doddering old ass clearly hadn’t thought to wipe the dust off of. When she asked if I wanted Paul Noriega dead, I nearly choked.

She asked it very matter-of-factly, like it was a question on some form she knew the answer to but had to fill it in anyway. I glanced at Toby, who nodded at me, and I thought what the hell, I might as well play along. So I said yes. Yes, I did want him dead. And more than that, I wanted him to suffer. Angela smiled when I said that, a warm smile that suited her round face, and said that that wouldn’t be a problem. I started to explain the situation, but she waved it away and told me that Toby had filled her in on all the details, and that there was just one thing she needed from me, that he couldn’t provide. I started to tell her that I wasn’t paying for someone’s gran to take out a hard case like Noriega, but she said no, she wasn’t after money. She said that she was “well-compensated” for the service she provided and that all she needed from me was an object, anything that I had taken from Noriega. Not a gift, she said, staring into my eyes with a look that I recognised from years of working with very unpleasant people. It wouldn’t work if it was a gift.

At this point I was starting to feel uneasy. Not scared, alright, I wasn’t scared of this old woman, but being around her was... bad. I don’t know how else to say it, she was bad. You’ve got to understand, I know dangerous, I understand dangerous, hell, I am dangerous. This was something else. But I wanted Paul Noriega dead so badly. Five years ago, just before we’d been picked up by the police I’d borrowed his lighter. It was a battered old Zippo, used to have a picture of a topless woman on it, but now that was almost worn away. After he turned on me in questioning, I didn’t feel much like returning it to the treacherous backstabber, so I held on to it. I hadn’t thought much of it, but here it was, still in the pocket of my jacket, all those years later. I handed it to Angela, and she gave me that look again, and told me that it would work just fine.

And then we left. Angela told us not to worry about it, that Paul Noriega wasn’t going to be bothering us for much longer; we just had to wait until she was finished. Finished with what exactly, she didn’t say, she didn’t need to. We knew whatever it was we were probably better off not knowing.

The waiting came hard, though. After he’d had me roughed up, it seemed like Noriega had decided I wasn’t worth worrying about. I’d see him walking those streets like he owned them, his pair of leg- breakers in tow, and I knew there was nothing that I could do about it. He knew it too. So I waited. And I waited. I waited for the shot, or the knife, or the poison or the... whatever would end him for good. It never came. Days turned into weeks and there he still was, as cocksure as ever.

I was patient. God, I was patient, but after three weeks I had almost written off that useless old bag as a time-wasting con job. I was going to give her one more week, just one, but then something came up that I couldn’t ignore. Word came down that Noriega was meeting someone at the docks, some fence by the name of Salesa. The man dealt mainly in stolen art and curios, valuable stuff, and was paranoid as hell, which meant Noriega was going to be there alone. It might have been a trap, sure, but I’d been sitting on my ass waiting for him to magically drop dead for so long that if there was even a chance it was on the level, I had to take it.

Turns out it was true, and went off smoother than I could have hoped for. I found the warehouse a few hours before the meet, and staked out a good spot. Then I waited. Salesa turned up first, a big Samoan guy with close-cropped hair, flanked by four men in dark suits, who carried a square wooden crate between them. They went into the warehouse, and sure enough five minutes later there he is, that snake. He was alone, and seemed to be limping slightly. He headed inside through the same door, leaving it unlocked. Perfect. There was no point me going in yet. I wasn’t keen to get my head kicked in by Salesa’s goons, so I just watched, my hand gripping the hilt of the combat knife I’d bought at an army surplus store I know is happy to sell off-the-books.

It was almost an hour later that Salesa and his men left, still carrying that box. They didn’t look happy, but I could have given a damn. As soon as they were round the corner I headed inside, as quietly as I could, and there he was, leaning up against a pile bricks, smoking. I started to move towards him, but as I got near he must have heard me, and turned around. He started to say something about reconsidering, and lowering the price, when he realised I was not Salesa. Then a look passed over the face of Paul Noriega that I will treasure forever. No matter what happens to me, the memory of that look of panicked terror will stay with me.

He turned to run, but whatever was wrong with his leg meant he tripped over the bricks instead. I grabbed him by the collar, my knife already out, and dragged him up. I had always been the stronger of the two of us, and he knew he couldn’t fight me. Holding up his hand, he begged me to wait, to listen. I noticed that his hand was missing a couple of fingers, old wounds that had long healed over, though I didn’t remember seeing them before. It didn’t matter; I could hear the blood pumping in my head and nothing was going to stop me taking my revenge. He begged for mercy, as I plunged the knife into him once, twice, three times. Again and again and again I stabbed that backstabber until, finally, I him let him fall. He landed on the floor hard, dead weight, his head making a thick, cracking sound as it hit the bricks, and blood began to pool on the floor around his body.

As the rage started to fade and my breathing returned to normal, I took a second to look over poor dead Paul Noriega, and saw something seemed to have been knocked loose when his head hit the bricks. Picking it up, I saw it was a glass eye. I looked back at the corpse, and sure enough there was a gaping hole where his left eye should have been. When had that happened? He certainly had both eyes when we had worked together and all ten fingers as well. He’d also had all his teeth, where now I saw gaps all over that dead, smiling face. I shivered, though I don’t know why.

I won’t go into detail about how I went about disposing of the body. Just trust me when I say that even if the cops did find any piece of Noriega’s corpse, they wouldn’t be able to pin it on me. And life went on. His boys did come looking for me when their boss didn’t return, but I knew to lay low for a while, and soon enough they realised that if he was gone, they weren’t getting paid either way and moved on. And so I had my revenge, and that should have been the end of the story. But it wasn’t.

It was five days after I killed Noriega that I found the first package. I was on Tottenham Marshes, near the reservoir, on business you don’t need to know, and I came to a metal bridge over one of the streams there. Now this wasn’t a place I went often, and I don’t think I’d ever crossed that bridge before in my life, but there, lying in the centre of it, was a small box. It was wrapped in brown paper and string, like an old-fashioned Christmas present, and had my name printed on it in clear letters: LEE RENTOUL, FOR IMMEDIATE CONSIDERATION.

Obviously I was a little bit freaked out at this but not as freaked out as when I opened it. Inside, lying was a black cardboard box, full of cotton wool and a single severed finger. It was obviously some sort of threat; some punk reckoned they could put a scare on me. No chance. I threw the finger into one of the canals and set the box on fire before throwing it in a bin. I headed home quickly, keeping my attention all around me and my hand on my knife. I was so busy looking behind me, I didn’t see the hole in front of me, and I tripped. As I fell forward, I felt a hot pain in the hand that had been on my knife. You guessed it. Falling had caused the blade to slice clean through my little finger.

I’m not too proud to admit that I screamed at this. I tore up my shirt, trying to make a bandage to stop the bleeding, at least until I could get to a hospital. But as I began to wrap it up, I noticed that it wasn’t actually bleeding. The wound was closed. It had healed, like it had happened years ago. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to do. So I just went home. I wasn’t getting my finger back, so I figured I could try to deal with it after a decent night’s sleep.

There was another box at my flat. Same as before. This one contained two toes. I tried to ignore it and keep my foot well away from any knives, but... I was trying to adjust the settings on my flatscreen when it fell off the wall. Hit my right foot and, well, have you figured it out yet? That was two weeks ago. Since then, I lost four more fingers to accidents, most of my toes, this eye I managed to put out on a goddamn fencepost. I’ve lost count of the number of teeth gone, and believe me when I say that you don’t want to know how I lost the hand. Each time, a box wrapped in brown paper: LEE RENTOUL, FOR IMMEDIATE CONSIDERATION.

I’ve tried everything. Once I thought I managed to outsmart it. Spent the day in my bedroom – nothing sharp, no edges. I’d taken out everything except the mattress. It didn’t matter, I woke the next morning with an agony in my foot far sharper than any knife could cut, and the big toe missing, just like the one I’d received the morning before.

I knew it was Angela. Of course I did, I’m not thick. Whatever curse she’d laid on Noriega must have passed to me. I went over there, you know. Went to confront that old... and you know what happened? She let me in. She was, nice, civil. Offered me another cup of coffee! I told her where to stick it. Demanded, asked, begged her to stop whatever was happening to me. You know what she did? She shrugged. She just shrugged! Told me that “Some hungers are too strong to be denied”, whatever the hell that means. So I went for her. I was going to strangle the life out of that curse-flinging bag of bones. But as I reached for her, I... I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. I know that that’s how I lost the hand. I know I chewed it off.

Look it doesn’t matter. I just need your help. I need this to stop. I don’t know how, but this is your area, right? This is what you do. You look into this weird ghost crap, right? Well this is the definition of weird ghost crap, and I need you to help me. I need you to save me from whatever is happening.

I don’t have much time. I got a box this morning, a few hours before I came here. It was a tongue.

Archivist Notes:

It doesn’t look like this case was ever properly followed up. According to the supplementary notes, shortly after making his statement, Mr. Rentoul became violent towards Institute staff and in the ensuing incident there was... an accident. No details are given, but it apparently required Mr. Rentoul’s hospitalisation. I’m reminded of a somewhat tasteless joke about loose tongues. He did not return to the Institute afterwards, and his statement was archived. According to the arrest records Sasha uncovered, Mr. Rentoul was telling the truth about the somewhat chequered past of himself and his associate Paul Noriega, with extensive files on both of them. The last listed interaction between the police and Mr. Noriega is two months before Mr. Rentoul’s statement, and since then no sign can be found of him in police records, or indeed anywhere else.

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character, not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

Tim has done his best to try and hunt down Mr. Rentoul and see if we can contact him for a follow-up interview or evaluation, but it looks like he disappeared shortly after making this statement. We were able to find his old landlord, though, who said that Mr. Rentoul vanished in early April of 2011, leaving many unpaid bills and no forwarding address. He said that when he had gone to clear out the flat, he had been surprised to find there was no furniture left. All that remained in the house, he said, were hundreds and hundreds of small cardboard boxes.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 14 Piecemeal)

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG14 #MAG 14 #Piecemeal #Statement #The Flesh

4 notes · View notes

architectnews · 2 years

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Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre, Leeds Cancer Care

Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre Leeds, Yorkshire Cancer Care, Bexley Wing St James’s University Hospital, England

Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre, Leeds

St James’s University Hospital Development, West Yorkshire design by Heatherwick Studio, UK

5 May 2022

Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre is one of four 2022 RIBA Yorkshire Award Winners

2022 RIBA Yorkshire Award Winners

photos © Hufton and Crow

Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre Award

Jury Report

Sitting on very un-presupposing piece of land in the heart of St James Hospital campus in Leeds, next to a multi storey car park and the main ambulance route through the hospital, the latest in a line of Maggie’s cancer support centres has been born.

When approaching the exterior of the building it is immediately apparent that this is no ordinary building, submerged in tree and shrub planting with cascades of foliage running down its glazed facades.

The building addresses the storey change in level across the site by sprouting a series of timber canopies (three in all) like giant toadstools, which add further to the natural wilderness of the planting.

External materials of whitewashed timber, glass and dark bronze coloured glazing and roof edging, all combine to provide a convincing, non-threatening and friendly aesthetic, the antithesis of many of the adjoining hospital buildings themselves.

Upon entering the building via the gently sloping path, you are struck instantly by the sense of calm and the peaceful atmosphere within the generous open spaces which form the interior.

Organised around three cores, which form the trunks to the canopy structures above, a series of generous plywood staircases lead you to each level, arriving at open lounge areas of varying sizes for individual or group discussions. The cores themselves, house a series of private counselling rooms each varying in size and decoration, but all emphasising a domestic and homely feel, to put the patients at ease.

As with all Maggie’s centres, the kitchen is the hub and heart space of the building, encouraging staff, patients, and visitors to make their own cup of tea and sit down for a chat at one of the gorgeous bespoke cork kitchen tables.

The entire building is cleverly filled with a variety of high-quality furniture and planting, using bespoke shelving between the structural canopy ribs, to reinforce the domestic and homely feel.

The use of materials internally is practical and warm, with superb attention to detail. The cocoa coloured floor screed is separated by the thinnest of brass strips, dividing the perfectly cut perimeter band of giant plywood which forms a sinuous border that flows around the perimeter of each space. Even the aggregate to the exposed concrete retaining walls which form each of the principal levels has a carefully chosen hue, which blends perfectly with the overall palette of materials and furnishings.

Maggie’s as a charity, are well known for commissioning high profile Architectural practices with a clear intention to not only provide an oasis of calm for cancer patients but at the same time, furthering Architectural debate.

In Maggie’s Yorkshire this approach has once again been followed. And it has paid off. In spades!

It would be very easy to take a generous budget, yet squander it, making grand gestures which aren’t practical or sustainable. It would also be easy to achieve a practical building which works for its client but has no soul.

To the benefit of all the patients who visit this Maggie’s, to all the staff who work there and to anyone lucky enough to visit, the Architect has created a very special building, which addresses the client’s brief with full marks but moreover, has created a building with real heart and soul.

RIBA region: Yorkshire Architect practice: Heatherwick Studio Date of completion: Jun 2020 Date of occupation: Jun 2020 Client company name: Maggie’s Project city/town: Leeds Contract value: Confidential

Gross internal area: 462.00 m² Net internal area: 460.00 m² Cost per m²: Confidential Contractor company name: Sir Robert McAlpine

Consultants

Structural Engineers: AKT II Landscape Architects: Balston Agius Timber Subcontractor: Blumer-Lehmann AG MEP Consultant: Max Fordham LLP Lighting Design: Light Bureau Fire Consultant: OFR Approved Inspectors: Butler & Young Approved Inspectors CDM Advisor: CDM Scotland

Quantity Surveyor / Cost Consultant Robert Lombardelli Partnership

Awards

• RIBA Regional Award • Regional Award Short List

22 Feb 2022

Maggie’s Leeds Shortlisted for RIBA Yorkshire Awards 2022

photo © Hufton and Crow

Five projects have been shortlisted for the 2022 RIBA (Royal Institute of British Architects) Yorkshire Awards:

• Carnegie School of Sport, West Yorkshire, Sheppard Robson • Courtyard House, West Yorkshire, Doma Architects • Leeds Footbridge, West Yorkshire, Gagarin Studio with DP Squared • Maggie’s Leeds, West Yorkshire, Heatherwick Studio • The Alice Hawthorn, North Yorkshire, De Matos Ryan

2022 RIBA Yorkshire Awards Shortlist

7 Jul 2021

Award for Maggie’s Leeds by Heatherwick Studio

Maggie’s Leeds by Heatherwick Studio – photo © Hufton+Crow

Maggie’s Leeds is a winner of the 9th Annual Architizer A+Awards

15 Feb 2018

Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre

Design: Heatherwick Studio

Location: Bexley Wing, at St James’s University Hospital, Leeds, West Yorkshire, Northern England, UK

Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre by Heatherwick Studio in Leeds Starts on Site

images courtesy of architects

The Centre’s innovative design consists of a series of contained gardens that will capture the therapeutic effect of plants and contrast with the more formal surrounding hospital buildings. The design will create a warm, informal interior space as well as an inspiring exterior to encourage positivity among Centre visitors and passers-by.

The building will take the form of a collection of stepped planter elements, each holding a piece of garden, bringing the planting into and over the building itself. Shared and private internal spaces will be playfully created between and within the planters.

Heatherwick Studio’s building design provides the setting for the surrounding gardens which will be created by award-winning landscape designer Marie-Louise Agius of Balston Agius.

The focus on greenery is logical for a centre based on health and healing. Some recent Maggie’s Centres have some wonderful pockets of greenery, with Maggie’s Centre Gartnavel by Rem Koolhaas’ OMA standing out, where the whole building rotates around, and looks onto, a central green space. The first schemes by Richard Murphy (Edinburgh) and Page\Park Architects (Inverness) had gentle external gardens, whereas more recent centres are starting to bring greenery inside. A lovely example is the Maggie’s cancer centre in Oldham where the building floats over a new landscape, with a cluster of small trees popping up into the heart of the project.

The design reminds me of the studio’s recent Learning Hub in Singapore, though obviously a lot lower.

Heatherwick Studio’s work includes the award-winning UK Pavilion at the Shanghai World Expo 2010, the Olympic Cauldron for the London 2012 Olympic Games, joint design with BIG of the new Google Headquarters at Kings Cross, the abandoned Garden Bridge, and the New Bus for London.

7 Aug 2014

Maggie’s Centre in Leeds

Design: Heatherwick Studio

Location: Leeds, England

Maggie’s comes to Yorkshire Heatherwick Studio to design new Maggie’s Centre

Maggie’s, the charity which provides free practical, emotional and social support to people with cancer and their families and friends, is delighted to announce that Heatherwick Studio will design the new Maggie’s Centre in Yorkshire due to open in 2016 within the grounds of St James’s University Hospital, Leeds.

pictured: Maggie’s Manchester

Built in the grounds of NHS hospitals, Maggie’s Centres are warm and welcoming places, with qualified professionals on hand to offer a programme of support that has been shown to improve physical and emotional wellbeing. The Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre will be built adjacent to the Bexley Wing at the St James’s University Hospital, the hospital’s world-class cancer unit. Situated among a number of multi-storey buildings, the site demands a high degree of ingenuity to create the calm, uplifting environment so important to the people who visit and work in Maggie’s Centres.

Laura Lee, Chief Executive of Maggie’s said:

“We are delighted that Heatherwick Studio is designing the new Maggie’s Centre in Yorkshire. Great architecture is vital to the care that Maggie’s offers and the studio is renowned for its inventive approach to design and its ability to truly get the best out of a space. This will be our first Centre in Yorkshire and we look forward to providing the vital help and support needed to people living with cancer in the region.”

Founded by Thomas Heatherwick in 1994, Heatherwick Studio is one of the most experimental design studios practising in Britain today. The studio’s work spans the disciplines of architecture, engineering, transport, urban planning, infrastructure and landscape. Notable works include the Olympic Cauldron for the London 2012 Olympic Games, the New Bus for London, the award-winning UK Pavilion at the Shanghai World Expo 2010 and the highly anticipated Garden Bridge, a stunning new public garden and pedestrian crossing set to span the River Thames in central London.

Thomas Heatherwick said:

“We are honoured to be working with the Maggie’s team on a new Centre. Our role is to make a special place that will support and encourage people affected by cancer and inspire the staff that work with them.”

St James’s University Hospital in Leeds sees over 9,000 people newly diagnosed with cancer per year. It provides specialist cancer services to a population of around 2.6 million people across the Yorkshire region and beyond. Maggie’s and St James’s University Hospital are working in partnership to create cancer support of the highest quality for people in the surrounding area.

Linda Pollard CBE, Chair of the Leeds Teaching Hospitals NHS Trust, adds:

“We are proud to have one of the most modern and well equipped cancer hospitals in the world here in Leeds. It is therefore fitting that an internationally-renowned designer will be working on our site to develop our own Maggie’s Centre in Yorkshire, which will complement the excellent care our staff already provide.

“This is a tremendously exciting opportunity and we are looking forward to working with the charity to make this fantastic project a reality. The philosophy behind the Maggie’s Centre fits perfectly with the holistic care and support we aim to provide for cancer patients from across Yorkshire, and it will be a wonderful and uplifting resource for them.”

Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre Leeds images / information from Maggie’s Centre

Maggies Centre London : main page with photos photo : Speirs and Major Associates / James Newton

Address: St James’s University Hospital, Beckett St, Leeds, West Yorkshire LS9 7TF Phone: 0113 243 3144

Website: Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre, Leeds

Location: St James’s University Hospital, Beckett Street, Leeds, LS9 7TF, West Yorkshire, England, UK

Buildings in Leeds

West Yorkshire Architectural Projects

Leeds Architecture Designs – chronological list

Leeds Building News

Maggie’s Centres : Buildings across the UK – information + images photograph : Thore Garbers

A recent Maggie’s Centre building on e-architect:

Maggie’s Centre Nottingham Design: CZWG Architects photo : Martine Hamilton Knight Maggie’s Nottingham

Hospital Buildings

Maggie’s Centre Building : Design in Fife by Zaha Hadid Architects

UCL Cancer Institute building by Grimshaw

Hospital Architecture

Sheffield Northern General Hospital

Comments / photos for the Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre design by Heatherwick Studio page welcome

Website: www.maggiescentres.org

The post Maggie’s Yorkshire Centre, Leeds Cancer Care appeared first on e-architect.

#e-architect

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hannahsbllakes-blog · 6 years

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❝Maybe you should sit down.❞

H O L L A N D / / B E L X E Y

The brunette nodded slowly at her friend’s words, knowing very well she needed to do so. she was tired, having not slept in a few days, her eyes burned, craving sleep. she looked as if she was going to pass out. she left like she was going to faint. her head was spinning, and f u z z y. she hated being sick. she hated being sick more than anything. because when she was sick she couldn’ t enjoy anything. it hurt to laugh, or even smile, and most of the time she didn’t want to. “ O-okay.” she nodded to Bexley as she bit her lip, letting herself sit down on the closest piece of furniture as she saw spots, and felt as if she was going to fall over.

S A R A H / / J O H N

Sarah had, yet again, worked herself to the bone. the dark circles under her eyes making it somewhat obvious. letting herself loose sleep, and not eat. well, it wasn’t like she was trying to. she just forgot. that’s how her brain got when she was stressed when she had things to do. it prioritized people over her own physical, emotional, or biological and basic needs. “I…” she let out a breath. finding it harder to speak than she thought it would be. “I’m fine john.” she insisted, knowing that the group needed her. once again. and, she truly didn’t notice how much she was actually suffering. how exhausted she really was. sure she noticed the aching everywhere, as if her body was begging her to take a break, and the constant throbbing migraines and slight ringing in her ears. but it wasn’t enough for her to put herself first.

#belexy // holland #Sarah // John #ask meme #cvckroach

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thewanderingcotabus · 5 years

Text

Short update about the coronavirus where I live and status of this blog.

There are 4 confirmed cases in Columbus. 1 is in Bexley, one involves a firefighter, and the newest one is confirmed as community spread.

My workplace is prioritizing patio furniture, sofas, fans and Easter candy instead of water, toilet paper, paper towels, bleach, Clorox wipes (Shame on them!)

There is no eta when this blog will return to normal but after this week there will be no extra scheduled posts. Only the queue and reblogs from the feed.

I may make a master post of art station finds every 2 or 3 days since the way they they do things is not very convenient compared to deviant art and Tumblr's archive. (Its even worse doing this on a phone)

And to end off this post here's an earth titan.

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lightskinrry · 5 years

Text

Dance.

the one where the date sucks and dancing is a good coping mechanism but you’re still a dumbass (part two of Pivot)

A/N: Part two of Pivot!!! Thanks for the love!! I hope you enjoy this shit!!!

Word Count: 4.1k

TW: fluff….. like if you thought Pivot was cute…. This is going to kill you

thank you Sierra @belladonna-styles for supporting my shit and making my english decent!!!

Read Part One!

London grew fast on you. Bexley didn’t seem like such a hellhole after a few months and your apartment didn’t feel like the worst decision you’ve ever made anymore. You finally got enough money to furnish the place and even had a little extra for a new book. Of course by furniture, you meant; an Ikea table, a second hand sofa, Harry’s mattress, two shelves that you filled with books and records and a green plant that was going to die by the end of the month if you didn’t give her the attention she deserved. She was quite like you actually; about to die if she didn’t get attention. You called her Bob, it seemed to fit her quite well.

You started working in a fancy restaurant in Kensington. It was hard work for not such a good pay but the neighborhood was lovely and on your tube ride back home, old little ladies would give you candies and sex advise you definitely didn’t need but also didn’t refuse. Working in Kensington did teach you something; rich people are skinflint. You probably never saw a good tip-bill ratio. They would pay hundreds of pounds for their meals and leave a £5 tip… Ridiculous. But you had to go with it, and try not to murder anybody that would treat you like crap despite your kindness and helpfulness.

The only good things that came out from working there, other than the candies was the free meals and the cute waiter at the bar. You plucked up enough courage to ask him out last night and he accepted. Proposing you a date on Friday night. You were so looking forward to this date; not only because he had beautiful brown eyes, large hands and smelled good but because it’s been ages since you had an actual date. You broke up with your girlfriend two months before you moved to London. You were together for so long you thought she would be the one. Your one and only. But it turned out that she had another one in mind and you were never her only. Part of you hated her and the other part hated yourself. It was her fault everything went wrong, but also perhaps you were never good enough for her?

If you always had good self-esteem and sometimes you were overly confident, getting cheated on by your partner of 2 years did shatter your ego like crazy. So dating was more of putting on a performance for you than actually trying to know someone. But you felt different about this one, who knows what it could bring? You were eager to find out.

Regarding your weird craving to kiss Harry the night of your moving in, you realized you just needed to show him more affection and you didn’t know how. You spent days together after he helped you move in and the ‘i want to kiss him’ thing didn’t surface again. You brushed it off and didn’t overthink it. He left a month later your move in and got back in London last night. You couldn’t wait to get caught up on what happened in LA and even if he wanted the album to be a surprise, you knew he was throwing hints in every conversation. So you’d spend hours listening to him talk about it, hanging on every word he’d say, bathing in his stories, just giving him your full attention because that’s what he deserved. And you just loved listening to him.

Friday night came sooner than you expected. You spent your afternoon pampering yourself, trying on clothes and watching Buzzfeed Unsolved because your upcoming date (and what you hoped would be your upcoming boyfriend) mentioned once that he liked the show. You knew you didn’t have to go all the way but you wanted the date to be perfect. Harry told you that being yourself was the best way to go and he was right, there was nothing not to love about yourself. But a little extra wouldn’t hurt.

You hesitated between pants and dress for hours. But finally set your mind on a mid-thigh golden silk dress that complimented your figure just right. After all, he invited you to a lovely restaurant in Soho, you had to put on something worth the ride. Harry texted you a good luck text filled with compliments and his usual “All the love.” You were ready for your date now and was just as nervous as excited.

You rode the tube all the way to Soho and walked to the restaurant. He told you he’d be there by 8pm and you were a little ahead so you went inside and sat at the bar. You ordered grenadine, not wanting to consume alcohol before his arrival. Your phone vibrated in your purse and you checked it to find a message from Harry telling you to call him if the guy’s a creep. You smiled at the sight of his protective behaviour. It was still good to know that he had your back, in case.

After your second grenadine, you started feeling anxious. It was already 8:30 and no one showed up. You didn’t even receive a “sorry I’ll be late” text.

It was now the third waiter you sent away after he asked you if you were to get a table. It was past 9 now and you had no hope anyone would show up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying not to cry for something as stupid as being stood up. But it hurt. It just did. Why would he stand you up? You thought he was interested? He didn’t even text you to cancel or postpone. What a dick. You grabbed your purse and went out of the restaurant in a hurry. You stood outside for a minute, taking long breaths; trying not to let the tears fall out on your face. It would ruin your makeup.

You started walking fast to the subway, not wanting to spend another minute out. You ran into someone and apologized when your phone vibrated inside of your hand. You inhaled deeply before looking at it, expecting a message from the jerk who stood you up tonight. You opened your phone and found a text from Harry.

Bambi sent a message

How’s it going?

You felt the tears grow inside of your eyes at the sight of the message and you didn’t want to alarm Harry. You just typed in that everything was okay. Next thing you knew another text popped in.

Really? Why you’re on your phone, then?

You could almost hear his cheeky tone through text. He knew you well. You didn’t want to lie to him, and what else would you do anyway? So you just answered quickly before putting your phone away.

Got stood up.

You walked a few more minutes before you heard your phone ring inside of your purse. You picked it up and answered but before you could say anything, the person at the other end spoke.

“Where are you? I’m picking you up.”

“Harry… There’s really no need to…”

He cut you off. “It’s cool, I’m already in my car. I’m picking you up.”

You sighed through the phone. “You really don’t have to.”

“I know. I want to. That’s why I’m calling you.”

You smiled at his answer. “I’m in Soho. Next to Oxford Circus station.”

“I’ll be there in ten. You can walk up to Piccadilly so we meet up there?”

You took a look around, checking what way Piccadilly was. “Sure. Call me when you’re there.”

“See you in 10, Milkie.”

He hung up and you started walking. The other station was just a few miles away so you walked slowly, taking the time to clear your mind and get rid of the negative energy. You didn’t want to project negativity and especially not to Harry. You met him almost three years ago now and you grew so fond of him. He was always there for you and the last thing you wanted to do was to pressure him with unnecessary emotional labor.

You arrived at the station and within a few minutes Harry texted you. You saw his car down the road and walked fast to it. You opened the door and jumped in. He smiled at you and you went to kiss his cheek to greet him.

“Seatbelts on.”

You grinned and put on your seatbelt while he started driving. He stopped the car a few miles down where he could park easily.

“So… What do you want to do?”

You asked as you watched him squeeze in his seat to turn around and face you.

“How about I take you out to a nice place and we get pissed drunk?”

You chuckled at his proposition. It did sound appealing.

“That sounds good to me, Bambi.”

He smugly shrugged and started the car. “Then let’s go.”

He drove for a few minutes and in the meantime you took his phone to go through his spotify playlist and play some music. He parked in an underground parking before getting out of the car, he went to your side to open your door. He reached out his hand to help you get out of the car. You gently grabbed it and carefully stepped out. He closed the door and took a minute to look at you.

“Wow. You look incredible, Milkie.”

Your cheeks burned as his glistening gaze went all over you. You smiled shyly and whimpered. “Stop, Harry.”

He smirked down at you. “Alright, I’ll stop but this dress fits you wonderfully.”

You looked down at yourself and smiled. When your eyes met his, he just tilted his head to the side to make you understand he meant it. You rolled your eyes at him before smiling to yourself. Harry complimenting you was always a huge ego boost and you needed that tonight.

You walked next to him and he placed his arm around your shoulders.

“So Milkie, any idea where we going?”

Harry always knew about nice underground parties where there was good music, fun people and nobody to bother him. You shook your head no and kept walking. You just knew it was going to be good. And even if it sucked, Harry was there and it couldn’t be better than with him.

***

The party was going rather well. After a few shots, a lot of dancing and laughing, you went to sit next to Harry; who was sipping on a Gin Fizz and talking with a woman that you guessed was Alexa but you couldn’t quite tell in the dark.

You dropped your ass on the couch next to him and he placed his arm around your shoulder as an instinctive move. Alexa giggled at something Harry said, before addressing the two of you.

“I didn’t know it got serious between you two!”

You looked at her confused and then gazed at Harry. In the moment where you and him looked at each other, the realization of what she meant struck you, and you and Harry started laughing.

You shook your head at Alexa. “Oh no! No! We’re not…”

You looked at him and giggled a last time as he took a sip of his beverage. Alexa apologized for assuming you two were together. It wasn’t the first time someone made a comment about how cute you two would be. You were quite physically close because both of you were touchy-feely and affectionate. It was like the nicknames, just a way of showing affection. It was a tender friendship.

Alexa got up to get some drinks asking you if you wanted anything. You politely declined as you already had a Malibu waiting for you that Harry ordered. You grabbed your glass and tried finding the straw with your mouth. As Alexa left, another woman and what seemed to be her partner took her place. Harry greeted them and you did too.

You watched the conversation flow between the couple and Harry, and your head fell back on his shoulder as you were carefully listening to him, taking a sip of your drink from time to time. Harry’s arm was still around your shoulders and your hand was resting on his thigh. Just casual touch that still got you some side-eye by the couple. A strand of hair fell on your face but you were too lazy to pick it up. It’s when Harry took a look at you that his hand reached your face to brush the strand away, his fingertips gently stroking your skin in the moment.

“So how long have you been together? You two are a really cute couple!”

The woman’s voice resounded above the music and the other girl next to her added a word too.

“Looks fresh to me!”

Harry chuckled at the comments and placed his glass on the table before answering.

“We’re just friends.”

It didn’t seem to make him uncomfortable; he actually tightened his embrace. It didn’t make you uncomfortable either but it was fun to see that most people associate casual affection with romance. It was just a good form of intimacy between the two of you. Just like talking about your insecurities in the dark. Or singing I Will Survive at the top of your lungs in the car. You and Harry were just very comfortable together.

The two women brushed the conversation off and started talking about something else. You finally decided to get up, one of your favorite song was playing and even if you were tired, you were also tipsy enough. You pulled on Harry’s hand.

“Dance with me.”

He shook his head no and you pleaded before letting go. You walked to the dancefloor and started moving. Your eyes never leaving Harry, begging him to come dance with you from afar. He finally gave in and walked up to you. You started dancing together, shaking your hair, and throwing your hands in the air. Sometimes your hands would fall back on his chest or you would turn around and he’d place his hands on your waist. You were dancing eyes closed, moving against Harry, your back against his chest, not minding anything around you at all. The voice of the girl next to you brought you back to reality.

“You two look so hot together!”

You felt Harry laugh against you. “Yeah. We do. Thanks.”

His answer left you confused for a second but you chose to play with it. “I’m the one who makes it hot!”

The girl snickered at your comment before asking, “How long you’ve been together?”

The music was so loud you didn’t quite get her question but you heard Harry answer, “A few months!”

You turned to face him and met his usual smirk plastered on his face. The girl tapped on your arm. “I hope this is going to last!” She kept dancing and faded in the crowd.

“A few months?” You asked as you raised your eyebrows at Harry.

“Yeah. ‘Was going for years but then I figured out it wouldn’t be plausible.”

You chuckled and shook your head at him. “Glad to know we’re dating.”

“What kind of couple are we?” He laughed as he grabbed your hand to take you out of the dancefloor. You two taking your seats back.

“I think we’d be the annoying type.”

He pinched his lips in reflection and shrugged. “Most likely.”

“We’d be annoying and kinky.” You giggled as you faked a claw at him.

“Oh most definitely. The kinkiest, Milkie.” He winked at you before calling a waiter and ordering a few more drinks.

The joke lasted throughout the evening, whether it be some random person telling you, you were cute together or a douchebag trying to flirt with you; you were his girlfriend tonight. It left a weird impression on you. It felt nice. You’d even say, it felt right. It was just this natural feeling that the way he held you, the way he touched you made you feel like he was yours.

The party started fading away when you asked him to leave. You started feeling tired and sore and a little bit too tipsy. He agreed and you left the party. You walked in the dark for a moment, arm in arm, laughing. You were reminiscing about the first time you met, when you laughed so hard that milk went out of your nose. And that time he fell in the kitchen while trying to show you his best dance move. Just sharing memories of the past years you spent together.

You were starting to lose sight of the busy street in which the party was going on. It was darker and darker and you two were alone in a street you didn’t know.

“I think we’re lost.” You laughed as you tottered. And Harry snickered too, almost stumbling over you.

“I guess we are…”

You shook your head at him in a giggle and grabbed his arm under yours. You kept walking in the dark, talking and laughing. You walked for what seemed to be hours. He finally decided on calling a Uber, seeing you carrying your shoes in your hands and begging him to carry you on his back.

“The Uber will be here in ten.”

You sighed relieved and he picked you up to put you on his back. You walked to the side of the road where Harry told the driver to meet him. The Uber didn’t take long to arrive and both of you jumped inside of the car.

“Get the car from the parking tomorrow.”

Harry’s voice resonated in the car. He was talking to his phone, putting a reminder for him to get his car tomorrow as he was too inebriated now to drive. You laughed at his over-organized ass and let your head fall on his shoulder. After a quite long and silent car ride, the Uber dropped you both in front of your residence.

You opened the door and walked the stairs, holding on each other for some balance, laughing softly and shushing each other when one of you would make too much noise. You missed the last step again, making Harry fall with you. Hopefully nothing too bad but you two had a laughter in the stairs. Both of you sitting on your asses in weird positions, screeching softly, trying not to wake up the neighbors.

You finally got inside of the apartment and closed the door behind you. Harry let his body fall on the couch and grabbed your hand to pull you close to him; making you fall by his side. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his head in your hair.

“I had fun tonight.” He mumbled as he placed a kiss on top of your head.

“Me too.” You beamed at him.

The moonlight was shining through the windows and the shadows of your furniture was dancing on the ground.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Bambi.” You looked up at Harry with a soft smile on your face.

“Always, Milkie.” He booped your nose tenderly and his eyes shifted to the ceiling.

“I’m such a mess, you know. I’m glad you’re here.”

You felt like you needed to let him know how good of a friend he was. But it seemed like it was gonna be one of your rambling about how being steady was hard for you.

“You’re a bit of a mess.” He giggled before turning his face over you. “But you’re truly one of a kind, Y/N.”

You chortled a little bit before letting your head fall down on his shoulder. You strangely remembered now that you’ve been stood up earlier. You felt a pinch in your heart. You truly hoped something good would come out from this date.

“I guess you’re the only one to see it, Bambi.” You giggled but it wasn’t genuine, it was a hurting laugh.

Harry looked at you in the eyes. “He’s a jerk.”

You looked over at him. “Maybe it’s something about me…”

He grabbed your chin firmly but with a gentle touch. “Listen, you have to be bloody dumb to stand someone like you up.” His gaze intensified, you could see his eyes get darker. “It’s nothing about you. If there’s one thing about you is that you’re bloody incredible.”

You felt your heart beat faster and your eyes were glistening. You reached your hands to his face and cupped his face tenderly.

“You are the most incredible.” You started tearing up; the alcohol, the fucked up date and Harry’s tenderness didn’t seem to be a good mix. It just made you emotional. “And I hope you’re right about me; otherwise I clearly don’t deserve a friend like you.”

He smiled and kissed your fingertips. He brought his face closer to yours and whispered, “Dance with me.”

You looked confused and tried wiping away the little tear at the corner of your eye.

“Dance with me.” He repeated himself, his gaze getting more bright.

“There’s no music, Harry.”

He larked about your comment. “I know. Do you remember that time I was upset about something about the album and you said you can always dance your worries away?”

You nodded, remembering the time he mentioned.

“And you made me dance to that Britney song so that I’d stop worrying?”

You raised your eyebrows at him, a smile glued on your lips. He got up and reached out his hand.

“I’m doing the same for you. Dance with me.”

You shook your head in a laugh and grabbed his hand. He pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arms around you. Your face was buried in his chest and his cheek was resting on the top of your head. You swayed in the middle of the apartment, a little less empty than the last time, no music on, the moonlight shining on you, your shadows dancing on the floor. The only sounds filling the space being your breaths, and sometimes a giggle as one of you would make a weird move.

You were glued to him, bathing in his embrace, feeding on his warmth. His cologne filling your lungs, his arms tightening around you, the softness of his silk shirt brushing against your cheek. He felt just like home. You loved him so much. He was your best friend. Sometimes you’d wish he’d stay there forever.

You looked up at him, catching his gaze upon you.

“Why are you so good to me?” Your voice was soft and when the whisper reached his ears, he smiled tenderly.

“You’re my best friend, Milkie.”

Instead of warming your heart the way it should have, his answer hurt. It was like a sting of reality. Like you were slapped back into the realm of existence where you were only his friend. And it hurt. You wished it didn’t. But it did. What even did that mean?

He was your friend. Your best friend. It was only the truth. You should not feel this way about his words. Maybe it was the alcohol… Or perhaps, you needed more than a best friend right now.

When your eyes met his, his tender smile faded away. He looked worried.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You sniffed before bringing your hands to your face to cover it. You didn’t realized that a few tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Yes, everything’s okay.” You cleaned your face with the back of your hand and got out of his embrace. You offered him a big smile.

“See... That’s the reason, I shouldn’t be drinking, Bambi.”

A nervous laugh fell from your lips as you watched Harry’s worry turn into confusion. He saw you way more drunk than that and still he never saw you cry because of it.

“I’m just emotional, tonight, Bambi. It’s okay, I swear.”

He stepped closer to you and cupped your face with his hands. “Sure?”

You nodded and he kissed your forehead. “Let’s put you to bed, then. You need some rest, Milkie.”

You definitely needed some rest because tonight felt like a revelation to you, and you truly hated it. If it wasn’t for the dance, you wouldn’t be asking yourself why being Harry’s friend wasn’t enough.

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eastbourne-removals · 5 years

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djbcadventures · 5 years

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March/April 2020 Networking Calendar

**EDIT: MARCH 12, 2020** **We are closely monitoring cancellations of events due to the COVID-19/Coronavirus Pandemic Outbreak. They will be edited in, as soon as there is confirmation from the source. We will keep you posted. - Bryan**

Virtual Hiring Events through Ohio Means Jobs - https://www.omjcfc.org/virtual-events

Leap Forward with Your Business and Your Network This Spring! Here are some networking events near you in the Columbus area. (Bus - # ) - On Bus Line $ - Cost < $ 15 $$ - Cost is $ 15-30 $$$ - Cost > $ 30

March 2020

March 3 - Tri-Village Morning Perk (8AM; Class Acts - CA Backspace: 1266 Virginia Ave., 5th by Northwest; http://chamberpartnership.org) (Bus - # 3) - Connected: Dublin/DANG (6PM; The DEC: 565 Metro Place South, Dublin; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) (Bus - # 33)

March 5 - News & Brews With Columbus Business First (5PM; Olentangy River Brewing Company: 303 Green Meadows Drive South, Lewis Center; http://www.columbusbusinessfirst.com) $$ - Connected: Upper Arlington (6PM; CoHatch - The Overlook: 1733 W. Lane Ave., Upper Arlington; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) (Bus - # 3)

March 6 - CYP Cares Coffee With a Cause: Women’s Empowerment (7:30AM; M+A Architects: 775 Yard St., Suite 325; Grandview Heights; http://www.cypclub.com) (Bus - # 3, 13, 22, or 31) - SOLD OUT!!!!

March 9 - Hilliard State of the City (6PM; City Hall: 3800 Municipal Way, Hilliard; http://www.hilliardohio.gov) (Bus - # 21 or 32)

March 10 - Westerville Quarterly Luncheon: The State of Healthcare (11:15AM; Crowne Plaza Columbus North: 6500 Doubletree Avenue, Northland; http://www.westervillechamber.com) $$ - Northland Business Luncheon (11:30AM; 1900 E. Dublin-Granville Rd., Northland; http://www.nabacolumbus.org) (Bus - # 8 or 35) $$ - Bexley Women in Business (6PM; Piccadilly: 2501 E. Main St., Bexley; http://www.bexleyareachamber.com) (Bus - # 2)

March 11 - Taste of Grove City (5PM; South-Western Career Academy: 4750 Big Run South Rd., Grove City; http://www.gcchamber.org) CANCELLED due to Coronavirus - Whitehall State of the City (5:30PM; Wasserstrom: 4500 E. Broad St., Whitehall; http://www.whitehall.oh-us) CANCELLED due to Coronavirus - CYP Member Mixer (6PM; Value City Easton: 3740 Easton Market, Easton; http://www.cypclub.com) (Bus - # 34) $ - Diversity Columbus with Columbus Business First (6PM; Stonewall Columbus: 1160 N. High St., Short North; http://www.diversitycolumbus.org) (Bus - # 1, 2, 5, or 102*) (* - 102 stops at High & 5th)

March 12 - Tri-Village Monthly Luncheon (11:30AM; Hofbrauhaus Columbus: 800 Goodale Blvd., Grandview Heights; http://chamberpartnership.org) (Bus - # 3, 22, or 31) $$ - Dublin State of the Community (6PM; The Exchange at Bridge Park: 6520 Riverside Drive, Dublin; http://www.dublinohiousa.gov) CANCELLED due to Coronavirus - Westerville State of the Community (6PM; The Point: 60 Collegeview Rd., Westerville; http://www.westerville.org) CANCELLED due to Coronavirus

March 13 - Charitable Roundtable (11:30AM; The Gahanna Sanctuary: 82 N. High St., Gahanna; http://www.charitableroundtable.com) (Bus - # 25) (Moved from Westminster-Thurber due to the Coronavirus)

March 14 - Second Saturday Salon (6:30PM; The Columbus Free Press: 1021 E. Broad St., Olde Towne East; http://www.columbusfreepress.com) CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus

March 17 - Primary Election!!! (6:30AM to 7:29PM; Your Neighborhood Polling Location; http://vote.franklincountyohio.gov or http://www.sos.state.oh.us) - CYP Coffee Talk: Job Search Tips (7:30AM; Crimson Cup Innovation Lab: 700 Alum Creek Drive, Near East Side; http://www.cypclub.com) - POSTPONED due to the Coronavirus - Connected: Polaris (6PM; CoHatch - The Pub, Your Personal Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com)

March 18 - Dublin Women in Business Lunch (11:30AM; The Club at Tartan Fields: 8070 Tartan Fields Drive, Dublin; http://www.dublinchamber.org) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Bexley Networking Luncheon (Noon; The Old Bag of Nails: 18 N. Nelson Rd., Near East Side; http://www.bexleyareachamber.org) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Connected: Worthington (6PM; CoHatch - The Library, Your Personal Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com)

March 19 - Gahanna State of the City (5:30PM; The EDGE Innovation Hub: 1140 Gahanna Parkway, Gahanna; http://www.gahanna.gov) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Westerville Business After Hours (5:30PM; Art Van Furniture: 1551 Gemini Place, NOW at CoHatch: The Pub - 1554 Polaris Parkway, Polaris; http://www.westervillechamber.com) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Connected: Delaware (6PM; CoHatch - The Newsstand,YOUR Personal Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) - CSCA Presents Tito Melega (6:30PM; Gateway Film Center: 1550 N. High St., University District; http://www.cscarts.org) - PPD due to the Coronavirus - Young Professionals Thirdsday Networking (6:30PM; Location TBD, Grove City; http://www.gcchamber.org) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus

March 20 - Breakfast with Columbus Business First (7AM; Whitehall Community Park YMCA: 402 N. Hamilton Rd., Whitehall; http://www.columbusbusinessfirst.com) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Creative Mornings: Identity (8:30AM; CCAD Design Studio: 390 E. Broad St., Discovery District; https://creativemornings.com/cities/clb) - MAY be CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus

March 25 - Small Office/Home Office Networking (5PM; Winans’ Chocolate: 1125 Yard St., Grandview Heights; http://chamberpartnership.org) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - CYP Club Speed Networking (5:30PM; Serendipity Labs: 886 N. High St., 4th Floor, Short North; http://www.cypclub.com) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus

March 26 - Network Dublin! (7:30AM; Sleep Number: 6465 Sawmill Rd., Dublin; http://www.dublinchamber.org) POSTPONED due to the Coronavirus

March 27 - Creative Mornings Columbus (8:30AM; Your Personal Computer; https://creativemornings.com/cities/clb) (Limited to the first 100 participants in Zoom)

April 2020

April 1 - Connected: Easton (6PM; Your Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) - ONLINE ONLY

April 2 - Grow Your Business With Purpose (7:30AM; Gerber Office: 580 N. 4th St., Suite 400, Short North; http://www.columbusbusinessfirst.com) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Connected: Upper Arlington (6PM; Your Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) - MOVED to ONLINE ONLY

April 3 - Coffee With a Cause: Diversity & Inclusion Part 1, The LGBT Community (7:30AM; M+A Architects: 775 Yard St., Suite 325, Grandview Heights; http://www.cypclub.com) - PPD due to the Coronavirus - Rise + Design - Social Media (9AM; Video Chat; http://rise.design; LIMITED number of “SEATS” available) - MOVED to ONLINE due to the Coronavirus - Charitable Roundtable (11:30AM; The Gahanna Sanctuary: 82 N. High St., Gahanna Zoom Chat; http://www.charitableroundtable.com) (Date Change due to Good Friday on April 10) - MOVED to ONLINE due to the Coronavirus

April 7 - Tri-Village Morning Perk (8AM; Brush Crazy: 1299 Bethel Rd., Northwest Columbus; http://chamberpartnership.org) - CANCELLED due to Coronavirus - Dublin YP Coffee and Connections (9AM; Barry’s Bagels: 5760 Frantz Rd., Dublin Your Computer; http://www.dublinchamber.org) - MOVED to Video Chat due to Coronavirus - Dublin Area Networking Group/Connected Dublin (6PM; Your Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) - MOVED to ONLINE ONLY

April 8 - Grow Your Business Expo (2PM; Nationwide Hotel & Conference Center: 100 Green Meadows Drive South, Lewis Center; http://www.columbusbusinessfirst.com) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Small Business Bootcamp: Developing a Business Plan (5:30PM; St. John Learning Center: 640 S. Ohio Ave., Old Oaks; http://stjohnlearning.wordpress.com) (Bus - # 1 or 22) - PPD due to the Coronavirus

April 9 - Tri-Village Monthly Luncheon (11:30AM; LUPO: 2124 Arlington Ave., Upper Arlington; http://chamberpartnership.org) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus

April 10 - CYP Club Virtual Lunch & Learn: Social Distancing and Mental Wellness (Noon; Your Computer; http://www.cypclub.com)

April 11 - Second Saturday Salon (6:30PM; http://www.columbusfreepress.com) - CANCELLED DUE TO The Coronavirus

April 15 - Tax Day! Get ‘em filed and done! - MOVED to JULY 15!! - Dublin Women in Business Lunch (11:30AM; The Club at Tartan Fields: 8070 Tartan Fields Drive, Dublin; http://www.dublinchamber.org) - PPD due to the Coronavirus - Bexley Networking Luncheon (Noon; Location TBD; http://www.bexleyareachamber.org) - MAY BE CANCELLED - Small Business Bootcamp: Insurance (5:30PM; St. John Learning Center: 640 S. Ohio Ave., Old Oaks; http://stjohnlearning.wordpress.com) (Bus - # 1 or 22) - PPD due to the Coronavirus - Connected: Worthington (6PM; Your Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) - MOVED TO ONLINE ONLY

April 16 - Westerville Business After Hours (5:30PM; BMI Federal Credit Union: 543 N. Cleveland Ave., Westerville; http://www.westervillechamber.com) - PPD due to the Coronavirus - Connected: Delaware (6PM; Your Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) - MOVED TO ONLINE ONLY - CSCA Presents (6:30PM; Gateway Film Center: 1550 N. High St., University District; http://www.cscarts.org) - PPD due to the Coronavirus

April 17 - Breakfast with Columbus Business First (7AM; HighBank Distillery: 1051 Goodale Blvd., Grandview Heights; http://www.columbusbusinessfirst.com) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Creative Mornings Columbus: Purpose (8:30AM; Location TBD; https://creativemornings.com/cities/clb) - MAY BE CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus

April 20 - Grove City YP Thirdsday Networking (6:30PM; Zassy’s Tap Room: 3490 Broadway, Grove City; http://www.gcchamber.org) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus

April 21 - Dublin Business After Hours (5:30PM; The Club at Tartan Fields: 8070 Tartan Fields Drive, Dublin; http://www.dublinchamber.org) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Connected: Polaris (6PM; Your Computer; http://www.connectednetworkinggroup.com) - MOVED to ONLINE ONLY

April 22 - Westerville YP Breakfast with a Leader (7:30AM; Location TBD; http://www.westervillechamber.com) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus - Small Business Bootcamp: Loans and Grants (5:30PM; St. John Learning Center: 640 S. Ohio Ave., Old Oaks; http://stjohnlearning.wordpress.com) (Bus - # 1 or 22) - PPD due to the Coronavirus

April 24 - Bexley Business Breakfast (Time & Location TBD; http://www.bexleyareachamber.org) - CANCELLED due to the Coronavirus

April 27 - Columbus YP Week Kickoff (5:30PM; Polaris Fashion Place, Polaris; http://www.cypclub.com) - PPD to AUGUST due to Coronavirus

April 29 - Small Business Bootcamp: Marketing & Social Media (5:30PM; St. John Learning Center: 640 S. Ohio Ave., Old Oaks; http://stjohnlearning.wordpress.com) (Bus - # 1 or 22) - PPD due to the Coronavirus

April 30 - NetworkDublin! (7:30AM; Peters Photography: 6990 State Route 161, Dublin/Plain City; http://www.dublinchamber.org) - MAY BE PPD due to COVID-19 - Columbus YP Week Volunteer Expo (5:30PM; Dave and Buster’s Hilliard: 3665 Park Mill Run Drive, Hilliard; http://www.cypclub.com) - PPD to AUGUST due to Coronavirus

May 1 - Coffee With a Cause: Diversity & Inclusion Part 2, Minority Issues (7:30AM; M+A Architects: 775 Yard St., Suite 325, Grandview Heights; http://www.cypclub.com) - PPD due to the Coronavirus

Virtual Hiring Events through Ohio Means Jobs - https://www.omjcfc.org/virtual-events

Now this is not all of the events. There are other organizations and groups that are not open to the public, but only to their members or clients. This post will be updated through April 30, 2020 to include events that were scheduled after the initial deadline, or events that were cancelled/postponed due to the COVID-19/Coronavirus Pandemic.

#networking101 #networking calendar #coronavirus

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