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[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Here is my little drabble for Writer Wednesday @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Armitage Hux x GN!Reader

Warnings: Soulmate Au. This is me, angst. Pain. Mentions of an accident.

Word Count: 1541

Soulmates. Everyone wants one, everyone wants to find that extra special person they spend the rest of their life with but it’s so difficult when all you have to go on is the last words they ever say to you tattooed on your body. You had poured over yours for years wondering what it meant, everyone had this vision of spending their whole lives with the right person but fate never worked out that way. You’d given up anyway, everyone was destined to meet their soulmate at some point, it was just a case of when.

You stared at the tin of soup in your hands, you hated shopping. No one told you as an adult you’d have to feed yourself at least once a day if not more and you’d have to think about it and cook it. Every. Damn. Day. The sound of the tin hitting the bottom of your basket rang out loudly and you looked up hoping not to have disturbed anyone in the quiet shop. There was only one other person near you, a tall gentleman smartly dressed in a suit and he certainly looked too well put together to be shopping here. You looked back at the shelf but the urge to look at him more was almost overwhelming and you ducked your head, turning slightly so you could see him out of your peripheral vision. His shoes were smart and shiny, his suit a rich black, the shirt crisp and white creating the perfect contrast. He shifted slightly and you got a good look at his profile, high cheekbones and light green eyes that were looking at you. He was looking at you. Oh shit. Embarrassment made you feel hot and uncomfortable so you quickly walked round to the next aisle, standing in front of the fridge of ready meals and hoping it would cool you down. You grabbed a lasagne and dumped it in your basket trying to think of what else you needed but nothing was coming to mind.

“Hi.” You flinched and looked up momentarily speechless. His bright red hair fell over his brow, his eyes were intense as they looked at you, a slight smirk tugged at his pink lips and you found yourself thinking he was the most gorgeous person alive.

“I…um….oh….sorry….hi.” You muttered, feeling the heat creep under the skin on your face wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Can I…?” He pointed at the meals you were blocking from him and realisation washed over you.

“Oh! Yes of course…sorry.” You sidestepped and watched as he reached across you to retrieve a packet of Macaroni cheese. He was close enough to smell and you couldn’t help but breathe him in, the brush of his jacket swiped your arm making goosebumps race over your skin and you shivered slightly. “Good choice.” His head turned to you and you wished you could just keep your mouth shut but when you felt uncomfortable you always spouted nonsense. And now you felt you had to talk yourself out of this. Your eyes rose to meet his amused gaze and before you knew it you were babbling. “I mean I like that meal too…I chose a lasagne today though. I hate cooking, it’s such a chore. I mean…I’m not being nosy…sorry I ramble…..” You were drowning in air. What was wrong with you? You shifted the basket to your other arm and stuck your hand out offering your name. To your surprise he took it, his skin smooth and soft but his handshake was firm and sure in your grip.

“I’m Armitage. Armitage Hux.”

“Hi,” you breathed, caught up in the open expression on his face as his eyes studied your features. You snapped your hand away, realising you've been holding it for far too long. “I haven’t seen you here before. I mean not that I make a point of scouting the men that come in here, it’s just….” You gestured to him. “You kind of stand out. In a good way!” You almost yelled, your eyes wide. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t walked away yet, just standing here looking at you holding his macaroni cheese and sandwich.

“I haven’t seen you here before either.”

“Oh. Oh.” You didn’t know what to say, a numbness was creeping over your brain and it was making you feel sluggish and even more stupid.

“Have you lived in this area long?” He asked. He wanted to keep the conversation going. You raised an eyebrow in surprise expecting him to run in the opposite direction long ago.

“A while, the days just kind of all slip into one another, what with work and then coming home to an empty flat and cooking.”

“You live alone?” He enquired.

“Oh I mean I have like 6 housemates and they’re all burly body guards….you’re not a murderer are you?” His laugh was loud and rich and you smiled nervously.

“No I am not, sorry I was trying to deduce if you were single or not.” Oh.

“I am so very single…” you murmured.

“Then you wouldn’t say no if I asked you out to dinner?” Your brain stuttered, your thoughts scattering, fleeing, leaving you utterly thoughtless and your mouth opened but no sound came out. “You know, what with you hating cooking and all….” He trailed off. “You can say no…”

“No! I mean yes! I mean I’d like that.” You smiled slightly as the nerves twisted your stomach into a million knots. “I hate cooking so, yes. I would really like that.” He smiled and it changed his whole face softening that intense demeanour he had just moments before.

“What do you like to eat? I’ll let you pick the restaurant.”

“Oh, I am so indecisive….” You looked him over again and realised you were judging where he’d like to go by the way he was dressed. He could like a greasy burger from a fast food joint for all you knew. “Somewhere that does chips?” He nodded.

“That’s good, I like chips too.” You smiled shyly as he looked at his watch, his mouth pulling down in surprise. “Damn I need to go, my meeting started 5 minutes ago.”

“Wait!” You dug around in your bag quickly scribbling your number down. “Here, otherwise knowing my luck we’d never find each other again.”

“I promise I’ll message you as soon as I can!” You followed him to the tills, noticing he placed your number in the pocket inside his jacket and a warm sensation began to expand through your chest. He paid and turned to you. “Enjoy your lasagne for a family of five. I’ll be seeing you,” he breathed close to your ear with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

“You bet I will!” You called after him. Both of you smiled at one another before the door closed after him. You frowned, something he said made your mind race.

“Miss, are you ready to pay?” Said the cashier but you didn’t hear her as a cold sensation ran through your body, the basket crashed to the floor at your feet, falling from your numb hands. Everything was muted, like your ears were stuffed with cotton wool, your hands shook as you pulled back your sleeve to see the words scribbled on the inside of your wrist:

I’ll be seeing you.

“No….” You were aware someone was trying to talk to you but all you could think of was to get to Armitage. Your legs moved but they were slow, too slow. The door to the shop opened and you saw him stop in the middle of the road, looking down at his wrist. You wanted to shout at him, scream his name but your throat had closed up. He turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours and you saw the realisation dawn on his face. He took a step towards you, his mouth open to say something when a waft of air ruffled your hair and he wasn’t there anymore. The screech of tyres rendered the air around you, tears already sliding unbidden down your cheeks. People shoved past you, voices rose in panic but you didn’t register any of it. He had been right there, just seconds ago. His red hair glinting in the sun, his green eyes full of concern for you. But he was the one who had been taken. You flinched as your wrist burned, the writing of the last thing your soulmate would ever say to you began to fade. Everything about him was being erased making your heart flutter in your chest. It pained you to think your soulmate had been around all this time and as soon as you met him, a cruel twist of fate took him from you. Turning away from the accident you found your feet moving, leading you down an alleyway where you stumbled. Your legs gave way and you fell to your knees as the pain of your soul splitting in half engulfed you. A cry ripped your chest echoing against the walls heightening the anguish you were feeling to an almost unbearable pitch. He had been right there…and now he was gone.

[infinitevariety]

Ice Cream

Crowley lifts his wrist from where it’s resting on the floor to look at his watch. It’s already five past two. He should really get going. He needs to stop off and buy feed, but if he doesn’t get to St James’s by half past, then the ducks will wonder where he is and be hungry enough to set the geese after him.

But he’s comfy. Face down, spread long on Aziraphale’s sofa, limbs every which way. He doesn’t want to move and resolves to stay put for another few minutes. The ducks’ll get over it.

He does turn he head to rest sideways on the sofa cushion though. The better to watch Aziraphale as he putters about the shop. Crowley smiles as Aziraphale pulls a book down from the shelf, muttering to himself and shaking his head, before re-shelving it five books over.

It’s because Crowley is watching so fondly that he sees it. The flicker of delight that crosses Aziraphale’s face as he looks up at the window. It’s only there for a fraction of a second though, before it’s replaced by a disgruntled scowl.

“Angel?” Crowley pushes himself up to sitting. “Everything all right?”

“Fine, fine,” blusters Aziraphale. He gives one last glare to the window before turning back to the bookshelves.

Baffled, Crowley twists to look at the window. He sees nothing of obvious import, just people and traffic passing by on the street outside. But now he’s paying attention he can hear something. The cheery, obnoxious music of an ice cream van. And it’s getting closer.

“You want an ice cream?” ask Crowley, turning back to Aziraphale. As he speaks he realises he must be wrong—the prospect of a strawberry split would never make Aziraphale scowl.

“I would.” Aziraphale snaps the book he’s holding closed with a huff.

“But?” Crowley pushes, aware that Aziraphale’s mood could turn on him at any moment.

Aziraphale heaves a put-upon sigh. “But they never stop near here. They blast their luring music, whet a person’s appetite, and blow right by. At least once a week! Always not long after lunch, too.”

Crowley watches as Aziraphale looks back to the window. This time, instead of scowling, he looks soft and longing, eyes large and glossy. And Crowley is weak for that look, even when Aziraphale isn’t actively weaponising it.

The annoying, jovial music is now extremely loud. Almost right outside.

“That’s a real pity, Angel.” Crowley stands up. “Look, I’ve got to head off. Late for very important demonic business, but I’ll see you for dinner, yeah?”

Aziraphale’s, “Of course, my dear, mind how you go,” follows him out the door.

Outside he jumps in the Bentley, tyres decidedly not squealing—because they know what’s good for them—as he pulls off at speed and takes chase. He sees the ice cream van several cars ahead, and easily catches up and keeps pace. He follows it down various streets and around multiple corners before it enters Hyde Park.

As soon as the van pulls to a stop, music still blaring, Crowley’s out of the Bentley and charging forwards. His only competition is the short-legged variety, and he easily reaches the window of the van ahead of the several children racing towards it.

“You!” Crowley all but shouts at the woman inside the van.

“Me?” she replies.

“You. Why do drive through Soho with your shitty music playing but don’t stop?”

“Oh, I get so used to it I always forget to switch it off!” She turns away and a few seconds later the music abruptly ceases. She faces Crowley again. “Sorry!”

Crowley waves a dismissive hand at her. “The problem isn’t the music, it’s the not stopping.”

Her brow creases. “I never stop in Soho.”

“I know. And that’s the problem.”

“Soho is mostly shops and bars.” She shakes her head. “Not exactly the place for ice cream.”

“Who’s inside those shops and bars, though?” Crowley points out. “People. Hungry people. Warm people. People with a bit of sweet tooth, a craving for a strawberry split, and the softest smile when he gets what he wants.”

“Er...”

“I got too specific.” It’s Crowley’s turn to shake his head. “My point still stands.”

“Right, okay. Could you… move? There are kids behind you who want ice creams.”

“There are people in Soho who want ice creams. And I would suggest—” Crowley gives just enough of a demonic push. “—that you start stopping there. On Berwick Street, opposite that old bookshop with the funny opening hours.”

Crowley doesn’t wait for a response before he walks away, because he knows his words have taken. It’s definitely not because the brat queuing behind him has started poking him in the back of the knees.

-

A week later sees Crowley lounging on Aziraphale’s sofa once again. His eyes are closed, but he’s not sleeping. Yet. When his ears pick up the vexingly jolly music in the distance, he knows he’s not going to get his afternoon nap.

The sound of a book being slammed down on to a flat surfaces tells him Aziraphale has also heard the music. This time, instead of being concerned, Crowley feels a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He cracks open an eye to watch Aziraphale.

Soon the music grows to a crescendo and… holds. It doesn’t go by and fade into the distance, but remains disgustingly loud and located right opposite the shop.

Aziraphale looks up from his desk, clearly puzzled. He glances at Crowley, who quickly clamps his eye shut. Then Crowley hears Aziraphale stand and bustle quickly to the door.

There is stillness in the shop for a few minutes, before the bell above the door tinkles and announces Aziraphale’s return.

“Crowley, wake up, I’ve got you a 99.”

Crowley opens his eyes, sitting up and letting his grin run free across his face.

“Thanks, angel,” he says, taking the ice cream cone.

Aziraphale sits back down at his desk, licking his strawberry split and staring at Crowley.

“Did you have something to do with that?” Aziraphale uses his lolly to point in the direction of the ice cream van outside.

“Why on earth would you think that?” says Crowley innocently.

“Because you’ve been humming that sodding awful tune all week.”

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Written for the Summer Omens challenge that @thetunewillcome is hosting. IDK. Anthony JActs of Service Crowley is my favourite, okay?

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(Sand)

[chaletnz]

Furano Trip

To make the most of my two days off I decided to drive to Furano after finishing work, to ensure I would be able to see the lavender first thing in the morning. I packed up the car and had a shower, then headed off. About 5 minutes after leaving home, I approached a cat sitting calmly in the middle of my lane, I screeched to a stop and the cat didn’t run so I rolled over the top and then it must’ve slunk away. It was enough to give me a fright, I drove a little slower from that point on since I was still in town. Well, after clearing Kutchan town I was on a country road on the way towards the mountains and the second cat was not as lucky... He darted out from a farmhouse and I saw his little ginger face in the split second before he bounced into the right front tyre. There was a bit of a thud but no bump. He ran off into the bushes. Very shakily I pulled over and went to investigate, there was a woman there who could speak English and she said she had seen him run down into the bushes surrounding the farm. I left with an eerie feeling that maybe I should go back home and drive tomorrow, like these cats were meant to be a sign. I drove on for about an hour, my lights on highbeam and my eyes on high alert – I was more concerned about deer now. I pulled over after another hour or so and sent a message to my mum just in case the universe was conspiring, and then the spookiest part... As I was sitting in the car recording my message, a third cat came running towards me! In the middle of nowhere! Very carefully I drove around it and back on to the road and that was thankfully the last cat I saw on the drive. After that it was smooth, I stopped for a late night McDonald’s at Chitose and then drove on until I found a nice big parking lot with a 24 hour toilet. There were bugs everywhere in the heat of a warm summer’s night, flying around the lights of the toilet building. I slept quite well all things considered.

The next morning I woke up around 6am when the heat in the car simply became too much to bear. It was gearing up to be at least 30 degrees today. Somehow the exact time I wanted to use the bathroom there was a cleaning crew surrounding it and I could just quickly brush my teeth and wash my face before leaving. I started by visiting a large campground park that I had intended on staying at last night but didn’t quite reach there, and luckily I hadn’t because it was a crowded carpark with a far worse toilet! I drove up to the first lavender field of the day, Choei Lavender Farm. There was a winding road up the back to reach a mountaintop viewpoint overlooking the lavender and the Kamifurano township. I battled to take some videos with my GoPro that seemed to be struggling in the heat already – by 8am it was already 28 degrees. Japan doesn’t do daylight savings so it means that sunrise is about 3am in summer so the hottest part of the day is earlier in the morning than you would expect. I parked down at the bottom of this farm and took a few more photos although it wasn’t possible to get a good angle of the word “Kamifurano” spelled out in Hiragana in large lettering filled with colourful flowers. I decided to get some gas because Kimbo was already thirsty again, and then arrived at Farm Tomita just before 9am. As Google maps directed me there, she made sure to inform me “this destination will be closed when you arrive” but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to wait for 10 minutes in the carpark. Well it seemed that the Japanese had the same idea! The main parking lot was already full and the parking attendant waved his lightsaber to guide me right down to the back lot. Furano has great flower fields but not much shade so poor Kimbo had to suffer in the sun while I went for a walk around. By now it was 30 degrees and humid. Japanese people carried umbrellas and wore full length sleeves in the heat. Many people were dressed up in their Sunday best to take family photos in the lavender with a bouquet purchased from the gift shop for 500 yen. Dogs were posed for photos and then taken back into the shade where they could lie down. I took my photos and walked around the perimeter but it was far too hot for me so I had to browse in one of the air conditioned gift shops to cool down. I tried to walk up the side of one of the more shady lavender fields but it was deceivingly steep and I struggled to get halfway! It was time for an ice cream break by 9.30am, and of course I had to try the lavender ice cream again. It was a soft purple colour, with a mild taste and started dripping immediately. Luckily there was a shady seat to sit and eat it and appreciate the views of Kamifurano and the mountains in the distance. In winter Furano is also a hugely popular ski resort that is often paired with Niseko for longer snowsports trips. To distract my thoughts, a child squeaked in with those annoying shoes that sound like you’re standing on a plush toy squeaker with every step. All heads turned to look at the child, who promptly trips up and starts scream-crying uncontrollably. And now my relaxing ice cream break was ruined. I walked around a little bit more and bought a few postcards and lavender things to send home then sat down for a drink and a potato croquette for an early lunch. I had been waiting around for a bit because I wanted to visit a café nearby that opened only at 12pm. It was relaxing anyway to sit and watch Japanese people enjoying the lavender and trying to get the best photos when the entirety of the scene is purple!

I drove to Kamifurano town and parked at the post office as I couldn’t find any free parking lots near the Polar Coffee café, I withdrew some cash and then walked there as a loud alarm sounded through the city – presumably a test as no one seemed even mildly concerned. On Instagram yesterday I’d seen that my colleagues Tim and Nick had come to this café which is owned by a Taiwanese guy (they’re also Taiwanese) and it had a good vibe from their photos so I was determined to try! It was even better than expected, I ordered a flat white and it was not only very Instagrammable but also cheaper than anywhere in Niseko. Cooling down in the air conditioned café was also a highlight. After my coffee I made the long drive to Asahikawa to see a rice field. But not just any rice field, one planted very carefully with different varieties of rice that had coloured shoots. The reason I made this long drive just for a rice field is because the second half of July is the perfect time to view such rice fields - the rice shoots have grown in and are brightly coloured at this time. I was very proud of myself as I directed myself to the field. Although a lot of people online said it was so hard to find, I had no trouble at all. Actually my Google map would have led me exactly there but I followed some signposts instead that said “tanbo art” on them in Japanese, and the reason I was so proud – I could actually read what it said! I was the only person there so I parked where I pleased and climbed up the viewing platform to see the art. Unfortunately the field was so wide that it was hard to take a photo of the entire thing, even with panorama! The design changes each year and this time it was a couple of anime characters, there was also something written way off to the left that wasn’t really visible from the platform and I could only see “2021” and some squashed Japanese characters from the ground. Anyhow, it was a very unique attraction and I was glad I had made the trip to see it. My next destination was the Ningle Terrace; a series of log cabin-esque boutique shops arranged along a wooden walkway in the forest. If my phone wasn’t so terrible with capturing greenery then it would’ve been another Instagram-worthy place to see but other than a cool photos the souvenirs were quite expensive and many of the shops were closed anyway. I took a long drive from Furano to Obihiro for tomorrow’s adventure and stopped at a mall for a KFC dinner. Usually Japanese KFC is great, but this one had unfriendly staff and they gave me a half frozen burger which I had to send back for a fresh one. I bought a few supermarket supplies and then drove towards the small Obihiro airport once it was dark to find a suitable parking space for the night. I passed the airport parking lot as it there were too many floodlights which would make it hard to sleep, further up the road there was a small shoulder so I stayed there in the pitch black instead, with a nice forest on either side. I got out of the car to change into my shorts to sleep but I heard rustling in the bushes and freaked out! Instead I changed inside with the doors locked. I felt a little uneasy falling asleep as there had been searchlights beaming around the sky that I’d assumed were to find intruders sneaking into the abandoned Gluck Kingdom theme park and I worried someone would knock on my car window and tell me to move on. Of course I didn’t want to get caught on my urban exploring but I thought “you would have to be absolutely insane to venture in there at night”. As it turned out though, the lights were for the airport perimeter security and nothing to do with the theme park coincidentally located about a kilometre opposite.

[michaelsaxton]

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[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

The Crash

THE CRASH

ONE

 George carefully lifted the ornate mirror from its place on Pattie’s dressing table, and carried it downstairs, held aloft in front of him, step by step, mind tuned to the possibility of disaster so as to avoid his falling on the stairs. He carried the mirror into the kitchen and placed it carefully on the big kitchen table. He then went into the scullery where he knew he’d find old newspapers that had been read by staff, friends, whoever, and he brought one into the kitchen and spread it out in front of the mirror. Next he moved across to one of the kitchen drawers, and drew out a large pair of scissors. He placed the scissors next to the mirror, pulled the nearest chair over to the mirror, and sat down.

He looked into the mirror.

The eyes that looked back at him showed no expression, no reaction. They were deadened in shock. Thus it was that the purple bruising already forming across his cheekbone, the dried blood encrusted in the long dark hair, and the lurid and swollen stitches tracing up the shaved strip on his scalp were viewed with deadened equanimity. George stared at the nightmare vision of himself. He looked into the pretty dressing table mirror, and saw himself, and also saw the sickening whirling view from his windscreen as he wrenched the steering wheel to try to avoid the lamppost and he heard the sound again, that incomprehensible sound of crunching metal and screaming tyres.

He picked up the scissors. He chewed at his inner lip. He picked up a hank of deep brown hair in the other hand and opened the scissors and crunched them down on the hair, near the scalp. He dropped the length of hair onto the newspaper.

There was still no expression in his eyes. He looked across the room at the telephone. They said he could ring at nine. He looked across the room at the clock. It was fifteen minutes to nine. He looked at himself again in the pretty mirror.

She’d been unconscious, still unconscious, when he’d last seen her. She’d been unconscious since the crash. He hadn’t spoken to her. He grasped another hank of hair and cut it off.

They were good sharp scissors. He’d seen her on the gurney. Blood on her head, eyes closed, pale. He looked at the clock. Thirteen minutes to nine. He looked at the hand holding the scissors. It was trembling, very slightly. He tightened his grip. They told him he had to go home. They were moving her, to a nursing home, he had to leave. They called a taxi for him. He couldn’t even sit with her while he waited for it. They sent him into a waiting area at the front of the hospital.

He cut off another length of hair. He was working around the side they’d shaved off. He now had one long side and one very short side. He couldn’t even bother to find it amusing. He realised he’d need another mirror to help do the back. Maybe. His hand brushed against the stitches and it hurt. Then it carried on hurting. There were paracetamol in the bathroom. Upstairs. He wondered if he could be bothered to go up there. Maybe.

He stared into the mirror. His eyes reflected – guilt.

George put the scissors down, propped his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on the heels of his hands. She could have been killed. He couldn’t get past the thought. She could have been killed. So could he, but that seemed a bit irrelevant right now, since he was sitting in his kitchen with little more than a sore head and she was in hospital and her ribs were broken and they’d told him that concussion was serious, as if he didn’t know. And it wasn’t as if some crazy driver had hit him or knocked him off the road. He was the crazy driver. He always was. She’d told him. And he knew it. But the worst that had ever happened before was a few speeding tickets and a squashed shrubbery one night on the way back from the chip shop. He was the crazy and invincible driver. It’s okay, I always know what I’m doing.

Yeah right.

He looked at the clock. Twelve minutes to nine. Why was it going so slowly?

Guilt.

In one of the offices in Apple, one of the secretaries, on the long velvet sofa that Derek had found in some second hand shop in the East End and had brought in because he “couldn’t leave it in the shop”, which is what he always said when he bought yet another crazy oddity; but the sofa wasn’t crazy and had been very comfortable when George had laid that secretary the day before his birthday and the day before Pattie had given him the beautiful mosaic wall plaque and three days before he nearly killed her.

The huge oak front door slammed shut. George’s head jerked up, pulling his stitches again, and he stared up at Terry Doran sauntering into the kitchen. Terry stopped dead. Halted by sight of his employer,the George Harrison, piles of bloodstained dark hair on the table, his head half shorn, his face white and his eyes…

“George! What the fuck?? What… George, what’s happened?” He was on his knees in an instant next to the chair and one arm around George’s shoulders and his own eyes wide with shock. “George!!”

“Car crash.”

At that point Terry found himself looking around, looking in vain for the other person…

“She’s in hospital.”

Terry blinked rapidly as he tried to order his thoughts and his frantic questions. “How…”

“Concussion. Broken ribs.” The two men looked at each other.

“But she’s alright?”

“I can phone at nine.” Both looked at the clock again.

“George… what are you doing?” Terry pointed at the hair, the scissors, the mirror. George gestured weakly towards the stitched gash on his scalp.

“They… they cut it. I’m… I’m doing the rest.”

Terry’s eyes widened even more in near disbelief, and then he made one quick decision; an attempt to bring some kind of order to this almost apocalyptic scene. He pushed himself to his feet, and picked up the scissors. “Here. I’ll do it.” He moved himself to stand behind his friend, and grasped a handful of the elbow length hair. “Here,” he said again. “I’ll do it.” He went to work with the scissors. George sat, motionless, watching. A tear pooled in the corner of one eye and he blinked it away. Terry moved the scissors around the head, cutting away the rest of the long strands, trimming the parts that George had tried to do himself, evening it all up, and when he’d finished it looked - almost - properly done. George nodded faintly, turned away from the mirror to look up at his friend and nodded again.

“Thanks.”

“It’s okay.”

It was nine o’clock.

With a hand that was still slightly trembling, George fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the number they’d given him for the nursing home she’d been sent to. He swallowed hard and dialled. “Pattie Harrison,” he said to the voice at the other end. “They said I can call now to see how she is.”

………………………

TWO

“I think she’s awake.” The nurse could be said to have sounded brisk; George thought she’d snapped at him. She looked and sounded as if she disapproved of him. A part of him dismissed her as irrelevant. Another part of him felt so responsible that, perhaps, she was right to snap. “Room 25. You can’t stay long, she needs rest.”

That was definitely a snap. Way beyond just brisk. He nodded curtly at her, and moved along the corridor she’d indicated, following the room numbers until he reached 25. He paused, lips pressed together, and then knocked quietly on the door. There was no reply. This time he chewed on his lower lip and then, as quietly as though he was trying to secretly break in, he turned the handle and opened the door. 

She was lying half turned away from him, very still, and he wondered if she was actually still asleep, but she must have heard the opening of the door because she slowly turned her head to look at him.

And screamed. Her hands flew to cover her mouth and her blue eyes were wide in shock. 

The snappy nurse materialised so quickly that it looked as though she’d teleported. Or got there on her broomstick. “Mr Harrison, I’m sorry but you’re going to have to leave…”

“No!!” Pattie’s voice cut in, and she was trying to push herself upright and reaching out towards him. “No,” she repeated, “it’s fine. I want him to stay…”

“But…”

“No.” 

The snappy nurse looked from one to the other, and clearly concluded, unwillingly, that she had to concede this one. With a parting glare at George she turned on her heel and marched back down the corridor, leaving George still standing by the door and almost as shocked as Pattie had sounded. He shifted forward just enough to allow the door to close behind him, and then stood, uncertain and absolutely devoid of any idea on how to proceed. Pattie held her hand out again.

“I’m sorry – it was a shock.” She tried again to sit more upright, but again lay back against the pillows. George shook his head. “But… what have you done?? Why?”

George tried to smile, and began to move slowly towards her across the room. “They shaved a bit of my head. For the stitches.” He reached the bed. “I cut the rest off.”

She looked up at him. “It gave me a fright.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, but he continued. “I’m sorry. Pattie – I’m sorry.” He lowered himself slowly onto the bedside chair, as though unsure of his right to sit there without invitation. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was only a bit of a fright…”

“No.” He interrupted her, his gaze fixed on her face as though he didn’t dare look away. “I mean… I‘m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” And then she understood his meaning.

“Oh.” They looked at each other and George didn’t think he could say anything until she had answered him. She looked down at the bedspread, smoothing out the sheet until it lay across her lap in pristine neatness. She rested her hands on it a moment, and then looked up at him again. “You’re a crazy driver.”

“I know.”

“I’ve always said so.”

He nodded.

“It was your fault.”

“I know,” he said again. His hands were clasped so tightly together between his knees that they hurt.

Silence fell again. She looked into his eyes again. “But you’re still you and that’s the way you are and I still love you.”

His lips parted in a silent gasp; he unclasped his hands and, tentatively, reached one out towards her. She took it in both of her own. George looked down, and then up at her again. “You forgive me then?”

She regarded him for a moment, unsmiling, then pursed her lips. “Except for one thing.”

George found himself frozen in anxiety. “What?” was all he could manage.

“I hate the hair.”

George blurted out an involuntary snort of laughter, and raised his free hand to brush through the shorn locks. “You don’t think much of Terry as a barber then.”

“Terry?”

“He came in and found me trying to do it. He did a better job than I was.”

“I dread to think what that was like then.”

“I thought you might be dying.” And his voice caught, and she let go of his hand and held out her arms to him, and he slid forward to take her in his arms. She gave a yelp.

“Careful! I can’t lean forward!”

“Get yourself comfortable.” He waited whilst she carefully wriggled herself into a more pain-free position, and George pulled the chair closer to the bed and rested both his elbows on it and reached out to stroke her hair.

“You’re shaking,” she fretted

“I think it’s shock, from… you know.”

“Oh god…”

“What?”

“How was it when you drove here?”

“Terry drove me.”

“Oh, that’s alright then.”

George studied the hospital bed. “Is there room for me on there too?”

“Of course. But be careful… I can’t…”

“I know.” He pushed the chair back and, very cautiously, slid himself onto the bed next to her and slithered his arm under her neck.

“George, you have to take your shoes off!”

He blinked at her in surprise. “Why?”

“It’s a hospital! You can’t put your shoes on hospital sheets!”

“That’s crap.”

“No it isn’t.”

“You sound like my mum.”

“Well?”

He sighed. “But I’m comfy now. And so are you.”

She snuggled closer to him. ”Ok. But don’t blame me if they tell you off.”

“They will. That nurse hates me.”

“At least she can’t call you a long haired layabout.”

They both giggled, Pattie as carefully as he could so that it didn’t hurt, and she turned her head so that her forehead was touching his; they lay quietly together, absorbing their shared relief and letting stress dissipate as the moments ticked by in the sterile and alien room. For George, the remission from stress was so profound that his mind started to shut down. For Pattie, his physical closeness at last after all the fear and pain was having exactly the same effect. He leaned forward just as far as he could without affecting her position and kissed her on the lips. She smiled; both pairs of eyes drooped closed.

They heard the brisk footsteps in the corridor outside but didn’t have time to react before a sharp knock at the door was followed by the door opening. “Mr Harrison!”

“Oh god,” he muttered under his breath. He twisted his head as best he could to try and look round at her. “Yes?”

“Mr Harrison, I did say she needs rest. You really must leave now.”

“No!!”

The shouted denial came from both of them in complete unison, and the nurse frowned in surprise. “But…”

“I’m fine,” Pattie assured her, probably not very accurately by medical standards but as firmly as she could manage. She peered at the nurse over George’s shoulder and looked as stern as she could. “He can stay for a while,” she insisted.

“I won’t be long,” George added, unconvincingly.

Once again, the nurse had to concede defeat. “No more than half an hour and then you really will have to leave.” The door clicked angrily closed, and the two subsided again into each other’s closeness and love. Neither bothered to check the time for half an hour. He would leave when they were both ready and not before. He gave her another kiss, she smiled, and they dozed once more in each other’s arms on the uncomfortable but still clean hospital bed.

[cherryrogers]

Falling For You.

— Chapter 10

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

(Modern High School AU)

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, fluff!!

Synopsis: Unlike most teenagers, you had your life completely mapped out. You’d graduate high school, go off to the university of your dreams, and live the life that your parents always wanted you to. That was always the plan.

Falling for Bucky Barnes, however, was never part of that plan.

Being ‘just friends’ isn’t enough. Becoming anything more is too much. But suppressed feelings can’t stay ignored forever, and you were about to learn that a lot sooner than you thought

Inspired by the song, ‘Fallingforyou’ - The 1975

Series Masterlist

_______________________________________________

Wiping an aching hand across his forehead, Bucky stood from where he’d been crouching next to the tyre of the large truck and set down the tool in his other hand. He eyed the exterior of the vehicle, taking a mental note of the work on it that he still had to finish with a tired exhale.

It was only him in the garage, the rest of the guys were holed up in the break room eating lunch, one of which being his father. His dad suggested that he took a lunch break too, but Bucky hadn’t felt like eating - he hadn’t felt like doing a lot since the beginning Winter break, since the last time he saw you.

Bucky had spent most of the cold days working in the auto-shop, hands slick with grease and a tool of some sort in his hand. He’d barely touched his phone, leaving countless unopened messages and unreturned missed calls from his concerned friends clogging up his notifications. None of them were from you, though, which he wasn’t really surprised about.

You hadn’t left things on bad terms with Bucky back at Carter’s, but you’d made it clear that you needed your own space for a while, and the boy wanted to respect that, even if it was a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t realised how much time he actually spent with you until it’d been a week without doing so. It only made his more anxious, knowing that the feeling of missing you might become a regular thing if you decided that you didn’t want him. He tried not to think about it too much, delving into whatever work had to be done at the shop to take his mind off you.

Christmas had came and gone quickly; a casual day spent with his parents at home, the thought of you passing his mind one too many times. He wondered what you you were doing that day. Your parents had came home for the holidays last Christmas, but considering your mother had practically disowned you that last time the two of you spoke, he wasn’t so sure that they’d make an appearance this time. Bucky would’ve been more than happy to let you spend the day with him and his family, but the last thing you needed for the time being was to be around him, so he only hoped that you’d enjoyed the day in your own way.

His friends had tried to get in touch with him a lot after that day, wanting to get the group together again before Val’s party on New Year’s Eve. None of them knew what happened at the Winter Formal - apart from Natasha, but he didn’t know that - and none of them knew about the conversation you’d had the day after. Bucky just couldn’t bring himself to tell them about it. He didn’t want to talk; he only wanted to hear from you. To know what was going to become of you and him, but he had to be patient. And until then, he felt like the only person he wanted to be around was himself.

However, his friends weren’t going to let him isolate himself for the rest of the break, that was for sure.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to the doorway of the garage, seeing no other than Natasha Romanoff leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. He didn’t respond, not knowing what to say as he grabbed the towel from the stool next to him and began to wipe himself down.

It reminded him of when you’d shown up at the shop to get an explanation as to why he was still friends with his ex. That was a simpler time, a much simpler time.

The click of the girl’s boots echoed through the garage as she neared where Bucky was stood. “You’d always come here after we had an argument. I remember, it became such a routine for me to come here to try and work things out...” Nat chuckled softly, recounting the memories of a time long ago. “...that your dad would see me step one foot through the door and direct me to whichever part of the shop you were holed up in.”

Bucky didn’t think about his relationship with Natasha a lot, not as much as he used to, anyway. Sure, they could look back at it now and laugh because they were friends, but the two knew that their relationship was never healthy. It was argument after argument with a few nice moments in between, and the people around him weren’t oblivious to that.

The boy glanced up at his friend, manoeuvring himself around the truck to examine the rest of the damage. “I know, ‘cause after you’d leave, he’d try to question me about what our third fight of the week was about.”

A sympathetic smile set on the redhead’s lips. “I think he always knew that I was bad for you.”

“He knew that we were bad for each other.” Bucky caught her gaze, standing still for a moment before shaking his head and focusing back on the truck. “What’re you doin’ here, Nat?”

Natasha’s gentle expression turned serious at his question. “I told you I was coming to see you; you’d know that if you checked your phone.”

Sparing a glance at his phone on the counter across the room, Bucky let out a sigh. “I haven’t been on my phone much lately.”

That wasn’t necessarily a lie, but he’d seen all texts and Snapchats and whatever else his friends had tried to contact him on. He just wasn’t sure that he could deal with talking to them yet.

“Something’s up with you, Buck.” Nat pressed, deciding to just get straight to give point. The girl was never one for beating around the bush; it was only a waste of time. “Have you talked to (Y/N)?”

Hearing your name caused Bucky’s stomach to turn. “What?”

“(Y/N), have you talked to her since the dance?” The girl repeated. Truthfully, she’d been surprised that she’d remembered the conversation you’d shared while she’d been drinking, but she was glad that she did. If Bucky wasn’t going to talk to her about it himself, then she was going to confront him about it.

The boy’s brows furrowed confusedly. “How do you... how you even know what happened?”

“She told me.” The redhead shrugged. “Well, I kinda coaxed it out of her when I was tipsy, but... it definitely sounded like something you needed to talk about with her.”

Bucky bit down on the inside of his cheek, hesitant to talk about the situation that he’d been trying to take his mind off for the past week. There was a short silence before he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I talked to her.”

Natasha raised her brow. “And...?”

“And... she needs time to think things through.” Bucky dragged the nearest stool in the garage over next to the truck, sitting himself down with his elbows digging into his thighs. “She wanted to kiss me, and I think a part of her wants more than just a friendship. But... she’s still scared, Nat. She’s convinced that the both of us are just gonna end up getting hurt, and I don’t know how to show her that she doesn’t have to be afraid.”

The girl pursed her lips, eyes glued to the ground as she considered Bucky’s words. She was careful with her response, cautiously looking back up at Bucky and letting out a quiet sigh. “She’s afraid because you’re opening her up, Buck. Being open with you makes her problems yours, and that means if things get complicated in her life, they’re gonna affect you just as much. She doesn’t want that for you, just... just like I didn’t.”

Blue eyes darted over the redhead’s softened features. The only time they ever referred back to their relationship was in a joking manor, but Natasha didn’t have a hint of humour in her expression. The girl could tell that Bucky was unsure of how to respond, so she carried on speaking.

“I have a lot of regrets, Bucky. One of them is how I acted when we were together. I shut you out without an explanation and got mad when you only wanted to help. There was stuff going on in my life that I didn’t want anyone but me to have to deal with, so if it meant that my issues didn’t become yours as well, then I wasn’t ever going to open up to you.”

For a short while, Bucky was speechless. He’d had no idea that Natasha was dealing with her own problems during their relationship; if she was hurting, she’d never let it show in the slightest.

“Fuck, Nat.” The boy ran a hand over his face, standing from his stool. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

“That was the point, Buck. I didn’t want you to know.” The corner of Nat’s lips upturned. “I wasn’t ready for a relationship, but I think (Y/N) is. I didn’t want to open up to you, but she does. I could see it when I talked to her at the dance; she really wants things to work out between the two of you.”

Bucky smiled at that. The redhead was smart, and she didn’t say things if they weren’t true. It sparked hope in his heart, hearing that she was sure you wanted him. “So, what do I do?”

Placing her hands on her hips, Natasha smiled softly up at him. “You show her that letting you in is okay. That you wanting to help her isn’t going to end up hurting you, and she doesn’t have to deal with whatever she’s afraid of alone.”

A laugh escaped Bucky’s lips, not because he thought what Nat said was funny, but because he was amazed at her words. While the two didn’t get on and boyfriend and girlfriend, Bucky truly couldn’t ask for a better friend than Natasha. The boys were great too, of course, but they definitely couldn’t have came out with anything that the girl just did.

“You’re pretty smart, you know that?” Bucky grinned for what felt like the first time since the dance.

“I know.” Natasha sent him a wink, beginning to take a few steps backwards from the boy. “The guys and I are grabbing dinner later, you should join us.”

Bucky didn’t waste any time thinking about his answer. “I’ll be there.”

“Awesome.” She nodded, heading for the exit of the garage.

“Nat?” The boy called out, prompting the girl to turn around with a quirked brow. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Don’t sweat it, Barnes. I just want you to be happy.”

There was a certain warmth in his chest as Bucky watched Natasha leave the shop. It was similar to what he felt when he first saw you across the room at the Winter Formal, when he was ready finally make a move on you. While that plan didn’t necessarily pan out correctly, he had a feeling that the next time he saw you would be different. Good different.

As long as you still wanted him, Bucky was going to show you that you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

* * *

After walking for fifteen minutes in what you’d hoped was the right direction, you finally began to tell that you were nearing Val’s place, the sound of blaring music getting louder with each street corner you turned.

Somehow, you couldn’t really believe that it was New Year’s Eve. The majority of what had occurred in the past year had happened within the final month. Falling out with your parents, falling even more for Bucky... the year hadn’t quite ended how you’d thought it would.

And now you were off to a New Year’s party that you didn’t really want to go to, to apologise to a friend for not reciprocating the feelings he had towards you, while hoping to avoid the friend that you actually did reciprocate feelings with. What a year it’d been.

Wanda had told you to just meet her at the party, since Pietro had offered to take her and Vis, and you couldn’t even imagine the sheer awkwardness that car ride would ensure if you tagged along. At least the long walk allowed you to rehearse your actions going into the party.

Find Pietro, apologise, leave.

It was a very simple plan, but if you lingered at the party long enough for Val to find you, the girl wouldn’t let you leave before midnight, and your limited social battery definitely wouldn’t last for that long.

Soon enough, you’d arrived at Val’s house, hesitantly making your way up the stone steps to the open front door. You immediately recognised a bunch of familiar faces, and assumed that Val had literally invited the whole of senior year, which wasn’t so helpful when you were specifically there for one person.

Everyone was pretty dressed up for the night, as opposed to you who had pulled on a pair of jeans and swiped a layer of mascara over your lashes to not look utterly out of place. You weren’t staying for long, and when you got home, you were hitting the hay as soon as possible.

As if luck was on your side, you saw a flash of messy silver hair a few feet away from where you were stood at the front of the house, seemingly heading into the backyard along with Clint. Bingo.

However, as you did your best to swerve in and out between the number of bodies blocking the way to the sliding door leading outside, you suddenly stopped in your tracks, hearing a familiar loud laugh from the room on your right.

Your eyes widened as you whipped your head to the side, eyes landing on the one and only Bucky Barnes with a bright smile on his face, amused at something that Sam looked to have said. Even though you knew that Bucky wasn’t one to miss a party, it still didn’t make seeing him at Val’s any easier. It’d been a week since you’d talked to him, and even just hearing his laugh pained you a little.

You knew what you wanted; you wanted him. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, you’d had the displeasure of learning that in your time away from Bucky. It made you wonder if being more than friends with the boy perhaps wouldn’t be such a bad thing. If it meant you could spend your free time with him, be close to him, just let yourself care for him openly without having to push your romantic feelings away... didn’t that sound perfect to you? Almost like it was too good to be true.

Except it wasn’t too good to be true. Bucky wanted you too, he’d made that clear. If being with him was really what you wanted, it was your call to make if it was going to happen.

The silver hair came back into view momentarily, snapping you from your thoughts and encouraging you to make your way outisde. It was pretty dark apart from the array of LED lights decorating the rim of the roof, but you still managed to locate Pietro on the far side of the yard, thankfully stood alone with a beer bottle in his hand as Clint left his side to talk to some other people.

The rate of your heart was speeding up as you paced over to the boy, and as you approached him, you fiddled with your hands nervously.

“Pietro?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a lopsided smile on his lips. “(Y/N), hey.”

The words left his lips in a slurred manner, and by the way his body was swaying as he stood in one place, it was safe to assume that Pietro was drunk. Great.

You sighed, unsure of how what to do next. This conversation couldn’t be had while he was drunk, right? “Uh, I came here to apologise to you, Pietro. We need to talk, but I don’t think you’re in the best state of mind to-”

“No, no; we can talk.” The boy interrupted you. “Let me s-save us some time. Y-you wanted Bucky to be your date to t-the dance, but you said yes to m-me because you felt bad for me...”

“That’s not-” You tried to intervene, but having a productive conversation with a drunk person just wasn’t possible.

“And then, you ran away from me at the dance to go and m-make out with him! You could’ve just told me you liked him and not me, (Y/N). Man, I’m such a moron for even thinking you’d choose me over h-him.”

You shook your head at the boy, guilt building in your stomach. Even if you didn’t have feelings for him, you still cared about Pietro, and you didn’t think you could stand having him not wanting to be your friend again. “I went as your date to the dance because you’re my friend, Pietro. I did want to go with you, but... I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to go with Bucky too. Look, I don’t think we should talk about this-”

“I n-never had a chance, did I?” He let out a strained laugh, hand gripping his empty beer bottle tightly. “It’s always been him, hasn’t it?”

Your eyes moved to ground, Pietro’s words cutting deep. For being drunk, he couldn’t have said anything that was more right.

It had always been Bucky.

There was no point in trying to deny it, to Pietro or to yourself.

You thought you’d move on eventually, that your stupid crush on your best friend would fizzle away as the end of senior year got closer. But it wasn’t just a stupid crush, it was much more than that and it definitely wasn’t something you could just move on from. No one would ever be Bucky; no matter how kind, or funny, or loyal, nobody would ever make you feel the way that Bucky did. You didn’t have to be a fortune teller to know that, you could feel it.

Biting down on your bottom lip, you gave the boy a weak nod, finding the courage to look him in the eye. Hurt was evident in the gaze he had on you; that was all he needed to hear.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Pietro murmured, shaking his head as he walked away, leaving you with a heavy feeling in your chest.

While the boy wasn’t sober, you could tell that his pain was genuine. You didn’t want to hurt him, you hadn’t wanted to hurt Bucky either, yet you ended up doing both of those things, all while hurting yourself in the process.

“God fucking dammit.” You mumbled under your breath, regretting ever stepping foot out of your house.

After being left alone for a couple of moments, you almost flinched when you felt a gentle hand on your forearm.

“(Y/N)?”

Concerned eyes pierced into yours when you looked up, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief being in Bucky’s presence.

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight.” He stated softly, mutually relieved to see you too.

You offered him a sad smile. “Honestly, I kind of wish I hadn’t.

By the way he nodded understandingly, you assumed that Bucky had heard the conversation with Pietro, which also meant he heard you admit to only having feelings for him. Well, that was just amazing. You needed to get home; you needed to get home and forget that you even thought about going to the party.

“I should go.” You said hurriedly, stealing your eyes away from his before his baby blues alone could change your mind. The only reason you’d came was to make amends with Pietro, and you’d only made things worse.

“Don’t go.” Bucky suddenly spoke, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Please, just stay for a little while.”

“Bucky...”

“We can go upstairs, outta the way of everyone. Just you and me.”

The way he was looking at you, his ocean eyes pleading you to stay, there was no way you could say no to him. It’d been too long since you’d seen each other, and you missed him. You missed him a lot.

You glanced to his hand that was still resting on your arm, your lips curling into a faint smile at his touch. “You’re insufferable.”

A grin crept onto his lips as his hand slowly trailed down your arm to your hand, enveloping it in his own, and your mind for once wasn’t screaming at you to pull away. “Can’t be that bad if you’re agreein’ to come with me.”

You could only roll your eyes before Bucky began tugging you through the cramped hallway, up the stairs and into what looked to be Val’s bedroom; it was obvious by the bottles of alcohol lined neatly on her dresser as if they were ornaments. Did that girl ever stop drinking?

Bucky gently closed the door behind him, the loud music and chattering voices muffled through the wall separating you and Bucky from everyone else. The quieter setting allowed the conversation with Pietro to replay in your mind again, and the boy in front of you noticed the way your eyebrows dipped and a frown formed on your lips.

“Can I ask what happened?” He asked quietly, pressing his back against the door.

He’d heard the majority of the conversation, so you weren’t exactly sure why he was asking. Though, you did need to get the matter off your chest. “I wanted to apologise to Pietro about what happened at the dance, but then I realised he was drunk when I started talking to him. He has feelings for me, well, he did. I’m not so sure now since he... thinks that I’ve chosen you over him.”

A sigh fell from your mouth as you took a seat on the edge of the bed, actively avoiding Bucky’s stare on you. There was a battle going on in your head; to tell Bucky that you had feelings for him, or to just let go. It wasn’t fair to let him wait any longer for an answer that would change everything no matter what it was. You needed to tell him soon, now.

“He’ll come around, (Y/N).” Bucky reassured, walking over to the bed and taking a seat next to you, your hands merely inches apart. “It’ll take some time, but he will.”

“Were you...” You started, a little hesitant about asking the question. “Annoyed when I didn’t like you back?”

The boy shook his head, smiling shyly. “No, not annoyed. Kinda bummed, I guess, but I couldn’t get mad at you for somethin’ you couldn’t control.”

With every word that left his lips, Bucky was making you fall more and more for him. You knew a fair share of guys would likely throw a hissy fit if they got rejected by the a girl they’d pursued for months, but Bucky wasn’t like that. He cared about you, truly. He’d remained only your friend for over a year in spite of his feelings for you just because he still wanted to be in your life, romantically or platonically. The universe was definitely on your side when it decided to bring Bucky Barnes into your life, and the fact that he was still your best friend proved that it still was.

“I don’t deserve you, Bucky.” You exhaled after a moment, playing with your hands in your lap. “I lied; I did have feelings for you then, and I have ever since. You didn’t know that, yet you never tried to push me into liking you, or tried to make any sort of move on me no matter how much you wanted to be more than friends. And even now that you know that I like you, I just... I don’t think I can be the person that you want me to be, the person that you want to be with.”

Peeling your eyes up from the floor, you looked at Bucky directly, who had his brows crinkled while he bit the inside of his cheek in thought. His hand moved slowly to cover yours, a feeling of comfort running through you when you felt it thumb stroking your hand. “I just want you to be you, sweets. I want you to be whoever you want to be.”

“But what if I don’t know who that is anymore?” After your solid plan for the future had crumbled due to the argument with your mother and how you’d fallen hard for your best friend, you didn’t have a clue what the future now held for you.

Refusing to let yourself get upset, you swallowed the lump in your throat. You’d never felt so vulnerable before, your heart so out in the open for Bucky to see. It was odd, scary even. But it felt okay. Everything felt okay with Bucky.

“Then I’ll help you figure it all out.” He spoke quietly. You weren’t sure when his face got so close to yours, but it was a lot closer than it was, your noses barely brushing together. “It’s always gonna be you and me.”

Inhaling sharply, your eyes flickered between his bright eyes and pink lips, your heart pounding against your rib cage. “You know, if we, um... if we kiss right now, we can’t ever go back to just being friends.”

Bucky chuckled deeply, a sweet grin pulling at his lips. “That’s okay, sweets, cause I don’t wanna be your friend. Now, will you let me kiss you?”

You had barely started to nod when the boy’s hand came to your cheek, cupping it gently as he pulled your lips to meet his.

Fireworks. There were fireworks erupting in your stomach, flaming sparks coursing through your veins as you leaned into him, feeling more at home with his lips pressed against yours than you ever had in the house you’d lived in for eighteen years. All that time you spent pushing him away, telling yourself that Bucky Barnes was your friend and nothing more - if it all added up to this exact moment, then every second of it was worth it.

It was a long kiss, one that was around a year overdue, and neither one of you wanted to be the first to pull away. It was Bucky who did it, though, worry momentarily flashing in his eyes in case you were immediately regretting kissing him back. It was soon replaced by relief, however, when he saw how you were gazing at him. It was like you’d just awoken from a beautiful dream, a soft smile sitting on your lips.

“I don’t wanna be your friend either, Buck.” You whispered against his lips, causing the corners of his mouth to upturn.

The boy picked up your hand that was still enclasped in his, pressing a kiss to it before standing up, a sudden new glow to his presence. “C’mon, sweets. Let’s get outta here.”

“And go where, exactly?”

“Shakes at Carter’s?”

You quirked a brow, gradually rising to your feet. “Bucky, it’s like, eight o’clock.”

“Closes at nine.” He winked boyishly, wasting no time in interlacing your fingers together and tugging you out of the bedroom.

Like magic, anything that had stopped you from kissing Bucky the first time had disappeared from your mind. Once you entered back into the swarm of drunken teenagers, you didn’t focus on the strong scent of alcohol lingering in the air or the bodies that were accidentally bumping into you in the crowded space; you could only focus on him. Bucky, and the kiss, and the way you felt in that moment with him.

It was always going to be Bucky, you could feel it in your soul. Your were sure you’d always known it, but it’d taken you a hell of a long time to finally admit it to yourself. The problems in your life certainly hadn’t gone away just yet, but you weren’t going to handle them by yourself anymore. It wasn’t going to be easy, letting someone in after so long of building walls around yourself, but you were willing to try for Bucky.

As far as New Year’s go, this one was definitely one to remember, and it’d be the first one where you were able to have a stupid New Year’s kiss that you’d always secretly wanted.

And that kiss was just as mesmerising as the first; the sweet taste of strawberry milkshake still on your lips, his fingers gripping gently at your waist. Bucky had insisted on kissing you at midnight, so he walked you home from the diner and you let him hang around until the clock struck twelve, talking about anything and everything and laughing like children to pass the time. Even after staying for so long, once you’d had your second kiss of the night, the boy eventually returned home, not wanting his mother to lose sleep over him not being home on New Year’s Eve.

That night, you had maybe the first good night of sleep you’d had in a long time, the warmth from your night with Bucky never fading even as your eyes fluttered shut.

Things were still going to be hard, you knew that, and you and Bucky weren’t necessarily ‘girlfriend and boyfriend’ yet. You’d agreed to take things slow, and that meant not rushing into a full-blown relationship that you weren’t yet ready for. But it was different now; you trusted Bucky wholeheartedly, and you were okay with being vulnerable in front of him.

If your past self could see you now, falling for a boy so easily and pushing aside your college plans - well, for now - you probably wouldn’t have been able to believe it.

Yet, it was real, all of it, and you couldn’t be more simultaneously scared and excited for what was to come next.

* * *

Taglist:

@americas-ass-assins @stevieboyharrington @itz-kira @broco8 @bxrnsfeyson @lovvliies

[deetheteadrinkingdragon]

City Lights and Coffee Nights

Welcome to the City. A wonderful, magical place split into various districts, home to all manor or humans, elves, and dragons alike. Might we interest you in the business adventures of the great Avizandium Industries? Or perhaps you might like to try a coffee at the Katolis Castle café? There's something here for everyone here!

---

A collection of little Modern!AU oneshots by me (Dee) Sugarssaur (Jade) and Piecesofarose (Dani)!

You can read chapter one ‘The Winter Shift’ below the cut, or here on AO3 ! 

---

‘The Winter Shift is always so cold and dark at the Katolis Café. When Callum gets stranded with no safe way home, he's offered a lift from Rayla.’

Winter shifts at the café were always such a pain.

The hours were still the same, and yet it always felt so much longer, it was barely brightening when Callum got in to open up, and it was pitch black by the time he left. There were few highlights to his day, whether it be the interesting stories of customers, or the regular visits of his new regular friend Rayla, and it was those moments he clung to dearly to help him get through the day.

Rayla was here now.

He was acutely aware of that. She was sitting in her usual spot by the window decked out in the leather she wore when she was out and about on her moped. If it hadn’t been so busy he’d have happily strolled over for a chat, but it was always frenzied at this time of day, with everyone bustling in to get out of the cold.

He was rushing about in circles for almost an hour to keep on top of it, and it wasn’t until he was back behind the counter he allowed himself to sigh and catch his breath.

“Busy day, huh.” It was her standing there, slightly aside so she wasn’t being obstructive. She offered him a sympathetic grin.

“Gods, you have no idea. Do you have the time?”

“It’s 2:30. Don’t worry, you’re past the busiest bit, from what I’ve learnt coming here.”

He smiled weakly at her. “You after a refill?”

“No, I was just heading out. I uh-” She paused, suddenly uncharacteristically unsure of herself. She glanced down nervously, then back up to meet his eye. “Are you gonna be able to get home safely tonight?”

“Huh?” Well that caught him off-guard. “What do you mean?”

“Well it’s just, it’s starting to get really dark now. And I know have to cut through the Skywing district to get here… I dunno.”

“Oh! Rayla that’s so sweet of you to worry, but I have a bus pass, it’s okay!”

“Callum… the buses aren’t running today, remember? They’re doing a bunch of road work for the next couple weeks.”

Callum faltered. “Oh… I… I forgot about that.”

The concern grew on her face now. “Callum… I can give you a lift home on my bike if you want.”

“What? No, no, you don’t have to do that, I live so far out of your way-”

“It’s fine.” She waved him off with a gentle smile. “I’d just… feel better knowing you got home safe. That’s all.”

“O-Oh.” Callum managed, his heart stuttering. “I… Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yeah, your shift ends at 5 today, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool. I’ll be here about 4:45, okay?”

“Okay!” He grinned, and she smiled that soft little fond smile she often gave him just lately.

“Alright. See you in a bit then.” As she turned, she gave him a little wink and a casual wave, before heading out the door. Callum’s eyes lingered on the frame with a little sigh, even as he meandered towards a customer flagging him down. He hardly registered himself refilling their glass out of instinct until;

“Um, sir? Sir. Sir! Sir you’re spilling-!”

“Huh? Oh!” Callum squawked in alarm, yanking back the jug of water. The poor customer stared at him concerned, holding the overflowing glass of water as it puddled, creeping outwards over the table. “I’m so sorry! Let me go get something to mop this up-!”

 ---

 4:45 couldn’t come soon enough. The busy day was lulling into a slow sleepy afternoon, the sun not long having disappeared over the city horizon. With little to occupy himself with, his anxiety rattled in his brain.

‘She won’t stand me up, will she?’ He thought as the clock crept to 4:42. ‘Gods, I really hope she doesn’t, I don’t want to have to walk home through Skywing territory in the dark.’

The clock ticked over to 4:46 and his heart did nervous flutters. As he wiped down tables his eyes flicked constantly, desperately to the door, willing her to appear.

4:47.

4:48.

4:49-

Ding.

The bell on the door chimed and his face lit up. “Rayla!” Her name dropped from his lips without thinking, his voice warm and relieved. Her face was hard for a moment as she stared irately at her watch, but the second her eye met his, her face melted and she gave him a sad, apologetic smile.

“Hey! I’m so sorry I’m a little late, the traffic was a nightmare, and then I got a puncture a few minutes away.”

“It’s okay! Oh, a puncture?”

“Yeah,” She sighed. “It’s alright, I have a repair kit with me. It might just take a minute once we’re outside.”

“It’s alright.” He smiled. “I’m in no rush or anything.”

She relaxed, leaning against the counter. “Well that’s a relief since we’ll probably have to take the long way to yours to avoid the roadwork.”

After his shift came to a close and he locked up, Callum scurried off to get changed and grab his belongings from his locker, and he met Rayla around the side of the building where she was already busying herself with repairing the offending tyre.

“Is it bad?” He asked, walking over. She grunted and shrugged.

“Not as bad as it could’ve been.”

“Can I help at all?”

She smiled up at him. “Nah, it’s alright, this’ll only take a moment.”

It wasn’t long before she seemed content and she stood, stretched and smiled back at him. “Alright, sorry for the delay. So where’re we heading? It’s in the Katolis suburbs somewhere right?”

“O-Oh, yeah. Do you know Castle Lane?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s near the top of the hill, number 72.”

“Right then!” She turned to her bike and rummaged around, throwing something rather large over her shoulder. “Catch!”

With Callum’s terrible hand-eye co-ordination it nearly hit him in the head, and by some miracle landed in his panicked arms. It took him a few seconds to register what it was. A helmet. She had slipped her own on, her face now obscured all but her eyes as she hadn’t flipped the visor down yet, and hopped onto the moped, staring at him. Waiting.

“Well?” Her voice came out muffled.

“Oh!” He slipped it on, a rather large fit then joined Rayla on the bike. “U-Um, Rayla?”

“Hm?”

“Where… where do I um…”

“You can hold onto me, it’s fine.” She laughed. “I don’t want you falling off and getting hurt.”

He did so a little sheepishly, suddenly highly aware of what little space was between them. But Rayla seemed unfazed, starting the engine and off they went, speeding down the road.

Rayla didn’t take the same roads as the bus, or the ones he took when he walked to and from work. No, it seemed she really was taking him the long way, avoiding the city centre and taking him way out into the Xadian suburbs.

…She was taking him the scenic route.

Callum would have never dared set foot in these parts of the city at night. Though elves and humans lived in relative peace, tensions were still high, and muggings weren’t uncommon for elves or humans if you stepped into a different residential territory. But he was here with Rayla. And that made him feel… safe. Safe enough to appreciate just how beautiful it was here in the evening. There was a glow to it all, it truly was rich with magic here, he could feel it radiating all around him.

He could just make out her voice shouting over the engine. “You alright back there?”

“Yeah! I’m just taking in the scenery!” He called back. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? This is an Earthblood district. I love driving through here at night. Check out the trees, Callum, do you see the lanterns? They’re enchanted.”

Enchanted and enchanting, Callum thought, watching as the lights in the trees glowed warmly in the dark, floating like fireflies of all different colours of the rainbow.  He relaxed, and before he knew it his arms had wrapped gingerly around her, his chest flush with her back. He felt a chuckle vibrate through her back, and fought back the giddiness in his heart as he rested his head, or well, at least the helmet, between her shoulders.

“You falling asleep on me or something?” She teased. “If you do you’ll miss the best part.”

“Best part?”

“You’ll see.”

Well now she had piqued his curiosity. They drove silently for a good five minutes, Callum watching the world go by in a colourful blur, before she began to slow to a halt.

“Here.” She kicked out the stand and then turned slightly to look over her shoulder at him, pulling off her helmet. “Look.” She pointed out and Callum gasped, his eyes glistening as they reflected what he saw.

She had stopped them on a ledge overlooking the cityscape. It stretched as far as the eye could see, all of it, Callum could see and make out every district, every residential area, every park, shopping centre…

“Nice, isn’t it?” She smiled softly. “I like to stop here as I drive past sometimes. There’s something about… seeing it all, the bigger picture. Like you can see the divisions where the Xadian districts meet the Pentarchy ones, right? But when you see the whole thing together… it’s just one big city. It makes all the petty little conflicts seem so silly, don’t you think?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, listen to me, I’m getting sentimental. You’re rubbing off on me.”

Callum laughed at that. “Rayla, what you said is beautiful, and very true.” He gazed out over the twinkling city lights. “It’s… sad that not everyone gets along and there’s still so much division and tension everywhere in the districts. But at least in the city centre people get along. …Mostly.”

She softened. “That’s true. It’s better than it used to be. Maybe there’s some hope yet, hm?” She elbowed him gently in the ribs. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

 ---

 They drove silently the rest of the way, both quite content and relaxed in each other’s company. Perhaps, Callum thought, winter shifts wouldn’t be so bad if they always ended like this. He was almost a little disappointed when she slowed at his house and he had to let go of her.

“This the place?”

“Yes, thank you so much.” He stumbled slightly, his leg catching on the seat as he hopped over it, and he heard her chuckle fondly as she pulled her helmet back off to walk him a little way up the path. Her fingers wove almost coyly into her hair when she stopped, her eyes glancing back to her bike.

“I uh… better get back. Y’know, before my dads worry.”

“Oh… sure.”

And yet she didn’t go. At least, not right away. Rayla stood there sheepishly, staring at him like she was trying to make sense of something, fingers still twirling her hair. Callum’s own feet felt glued to the floor. Was she waiting for him to leave first? To make sure he got in okay? Well now this felt a bit awkward-

Before he knew it Rayla’s hand had found his shoulder and his breath hitched in surprise, his eyes snapping back to hers. She pulled him, or rather guided him a little closer to her, and he let her with a clumsy little stagger, confused.

“Ray-” It was all he managed before a little surprised squeak left his lips as Rayla leaned in and he felt her lips press to his cheek. It was soft, but fast, barely enough time for him to register what had happened, and she tore back quickly, whirling around before he got a chance to see her own expression.

Her ears were burning. That was the one thing he could see, bright red almost glowing in the dark. His own cheeks felt alight, the sensation of her lips lingering on his cheek like static electricity thrumming over his skin.

“See ya, Callum!” She called out without looking, her voice a little too cheery, forced, as she pulled the helmet back over her head.

His own voice came out small in comparison, barely a breath on the cold winter wind. “Oh… b-bye…”

He watched her hop back onto her bike, and she turned to look at him, her expression hidden behind the visor. What was she thinking, he wanted desperately to know, as she threw him a quick peace sign before driving away. Callum couldn’t see the giddy elation and pride on her face, nor feel her pounding heart as she sped off back towards the inner city. But neither could she see him standing there, stunned and breathless, his fingers at his cheek as though hoping to preserve the feeling, the moment that had just happened, as his other hand waved a weak little farewell.

Callum stood there his eyes lingering on her until she was far out of his sight, his brain stalled, lost in the moment, until his toes and fingers began to go numb. Only then did his lips split into a love-struck grin, his face and chest warm enough to distract him from the stinging cold. He nigh on pranced to the door, barely able to get his key in the door with his shaking hands, and he skipped over the threshold unable to contain the joy in his heart.

A voice snapped him out of his dreamy daze. “So… Who was that?” Ezran was kneeling on a stool by the window, his hands on the windowsill and a sly expression on his face.

“W-What? Oh, that’s Rayla. She’s uh… she’s a friend from work. Well, I mean, she doesn’t work at work, she just… hangs out a lot there and-”

“Does dad know you’ve got a girlfriend?”

“Wh- What?! No! No Ezran she’s not my-!”

It was too late, with a cheeky grin, Ezran had already sprung from the stool and was bound for the living room, shouting, “Daaaad! Callum’s got a girlfriend!”

“What?” Came Harrow’s startled voice.

“No!” Callum’s voice went shrill as he sprinted in after his little brother. “It’s not like that I swear! Ezran!”

[chobit92]

Home: Jacob Seed/OC Chapter 11

(Three days later: Mara is sitting on the steps of her trailer. It’s dark now and she has a fire going. She is smoking a cigarette. She went down to the Elk Jaw convenience store last night and broke in. She stole several packets of cigarettes, three packets of batteries, two litre bottles of whiskey, a litre bottle of vodka, crisps, sandwiches, chocolate, several litre bottles of water and several pot noodles. She really didn’t think this through at all. She just wanted to find her sister she didn’t think about how she would live once she got here. When she was with Franky it wasn’t so bad. Franky had friends that they often stayed with. Then she had Bonnie and Alex who she lived with for a while. Then when Bonnie died she was back on the streets. But she was always near civilisation. Bins and shops she could steal from. Restaurants that threw away perfectly good food. There were homeless shelters she could turn to when things got tough. But here...She sighs.

Her sister has been trying to contact her on the radio but she ignored her. She doesn’t know what to say. She loves her sister and thought she would do anything for her. But now she’s not so sure. She switched the radio off in the end. She has been waiting for them to come up here again. She is glad they haven’t. She still can’t believe her own sister would drug her. That is something she never saw coming. It has left her wondering how much her sister actually cares about her. Whether or not her sister is angry at her because of what she did eleven years ago. She sighs and finishes her cigarette throwing the butt into the fire. She then goes back inside and pours herself a whiskey. She then remembers that she still has Jacobs dog tags. She feels a pang of guilt again as she remembers how he searched for them. She picks up the radio and turns it on. She switches it to channel thirteen. She looks at the small round plastic green clock she stole from the store. 9.43pm. She sighs, he’s probably asleep. She can’t hear any talking on the radio at the moment. Well here goes nothing. She raises the radio to her lips and pushes the button.). Mara: Hello? (She feels stupid. Hello? That’s all she can say. She waits about a minute. Nothing. She sighs. She tries again.). Mara: Hello? Jacob? (She sighs. Just as she’s about to give up however a voice sounds damn near making her jump.). Jacob: This is Jacob. Who is this? (She feels like she’s been punched in the gut. Who is this? Really?). Mara: It’s Mara. You forgotten me already handsome? (There is silence. It seems to drag on for ages.). Jacob: What do you want? I’m a very busy man. (She starts to wish she hadn’t bothered.). Mara: I found your dog tags. I figured you’d want them back. Jacob: You found them? Where were they? Mara: Under the steps of my trailer. I only noticed them because I was getting the tripod out for the fire. Did you want to come and get them now or wait until tomorrow? Jacob: Your not bringing them over? Mara: Your gonna make a girl walk all the way up to the veterans centre in the middle of the night? (He chuckles.). Jacob: Your gonna make an old man come all the way over there in the middle of the night? (She giggles.). Mara: You’re not old. It’s okay just...swing by whenever. I’ll catch you later. (She switches off the radio and puts it back on the side. She sighs. Was she really expecting him to come over? Stop this idiocy. She opens her holdall and gets out a black silk nightie with lace trim. A gift from Bonnie. She changes into it. She then downs the whiskey and turns off the fairy lights. She gets into bed and lies down wrapping the blanket around herself.).

*

(Jacob slowly drives his truck through the trees past the wolf beacon. The tyres crunch over leaves and twigs. The trees get narrower and he narrowly misses taking off his wing mirror. He finally pulls into the clearing, his headlights illuminating Mara’s trailer. He stops the truck and switches off the engine. He gets out and locks the door. There is a small fire outside the trailer but it’s almost burnt out. It’s started to rain. He walks up to the door and hesitates. He sighs. Then he knocks on the door.).

[andrewtillman]

Day 14 - Tasmania - Devonport to Zeehan

Thank you for all your gluey boot repair suggestions, its nice to know you care. Unfortunately, the stickiest thing in the boat shop was wild hibiscus jam so I decided another solution was necessary.

I had a great night’s sleep on the top bunk. Apparently Alan and Charlie not so much, as someone’s snoring kept them awake. I assume it must’ve been from the next cabin, thin walls I suppose but I’m such a good sleeper I never heard a thing! 😊

We were off the boat bright and early at 6.30am and set off to find a cobbler.

Nothing was open at that time so we set off North hugging the coast towards the town of Burnie. As we arrived, Alan, a.k.a. ‘Oh spotter of hard stuff to spot’, spotted a Yamaha motorcycle dealer, so in we went, and out I came with a new pair of boots - sorted!!

Then we continued North to arrive at Stanley, a picturesque fishing village in the shadow of a huge rock called the Nut...

We had our first tea of the day in a cafe in the middle of nowhere....

Near the giant lobster....

Here’s Charlie, behind his souped up Vincent Comet ‘on steroids’ as he calls it...

I fell asleep waiting for everyone to get ready to go....

Then we set off...

...and that’s when it all went wrong!

We rode out of Stanley, turned right and set off into open countryside. Rolling hills, lush green valleys, mountains, beaches and ocean. At around twenty miles out I heard Alan say something along the lines of ‘What the &@** was that?’ over the intercom.

Something had come off Charlie’s bike at 110 Kph, narrowly missed Alan, and rolled past me into the grass verge.

Alan caught up Charlie (who doesn’t have an intercom - or, as I already said, any post-1967 technology whatsoever), stopped him and discovered it was his oil filler cap which had been jettisoned.

We went back and spent half an hour trying to find it but needles in haystacks and all that, so Charlie shoved a rag in the hole and we carried on regardless.

About 60 miles into our journey from Stanley, Charlie abruptly stopped and looked at the map.

Remember I said earlier in this post that we turned right out of Stanley? Well, we should have turned left! The road we were currently on was about to become a 75 mile-long dirt track!

Unfortunately, Charlie is riding his classic 1950 Vincent Comet and Alan is riding a cruiser (Think comfy sofa with two wheels - it has central locking and a heated seat!) so only my bike was capable of actual dirt track off-roading. However, my bike has two issues. One, it has road tyres, not off-road tyres and two, it has me riding it, so the only way to our destination was to go back 60 miles to Stanley and start over again.☹️☹️

This 120-mile detour (on fantastic roads it should be said) (twice!) meant a total journey of 301 miles in the saddle today, so it’s not just sore arses now. In fact, I’m having trouble identifying a non-sore body part but, as Alan quite rightly keeps pointing out when I moan into the intercom, we are so lucky to be riding some of the world’s greatest motorcycling roads, so put up with it and enjoy it.

Which I am.

Still hurts though😀

Can you believe that he also threatens to turn off the intercom every time that I sing. 😡

Tomorrow was supposed to be our longest day in the saddle - 220 miles - as we reach the southernmost point of our journey. My bottom is already grimacing at the thought☹️

Tonight we recovered by playing pool...

..and gatecrashing a wedding where only us and Uncle Dave turned up...

***STOP PRESS***

We just got back to our rooms. Alan’s heater has a clear warning on it.....

Which he claims not to have seen...

Liar, liar, pants literally on fire!!!

21:30 29th October. Zeehan, Tasmania 29th

[xradinoxinterloperx]

Vs Cp2 - Trip off (draft teaser)

Roughly translated English fragment of  the beggining  of the second chapter im  writting in my Vaggie centred fanfic.

Characters: Angel Dust, Niffty, Vaggie. Alastor, Charlie (minor appearences)

- What horse crap is this! - Angel complained- the interhell (Internet) also exists down here for something, ya know? i never agreed to this.

-Come on, it's just hand out some papers, we're not asking much of you! - Vaggie answered by his side trying not to lose his composure .

a speeding car in a corner flew one of the papers on Angel’s face  and worse,  splashed him with  water from the drains. Vaggie evaded spatter receding, Niffty, who was also with them, jumped aside to grab the papers she was carrying so that they also did not fly away, evading the water by chance and lack of height.

The spider growled hysterically, taking out a paper from his face then curshing it in his hand

- This stinks ...

Niffty looked at him containing herself, although her legs and arms were shaking. Charlie had  friendely nag her several times when  she throw herself on top of any guest or hotel member to remove any small stain or crumbs that she noticed on  their clothes or body. Considering that, slowly the little cyclops took out a white handkerchief and asked calmly, almost shy .

- Oh, Angel, do you need me to clean you a little?

 - If you want, I don't think you do much with…. Hey wait!

Niffty had thrown herself on him and rubbed him frantically, causing the spider to barely stand  by the tickling. When Niffty reacted and stopped, Angel was as clean as before being splashed and Niffty's handkerchief was absolutely brown.

- Oh, I'm sorry - The little girl apologized.

Angel looked surprised and just ended up combing his hair a  bit.

-Mmm ... I can't complain about the results ... Thanks honey. - Angel rubbed the head of Niffty who smiled at her with all her teeth back satisfied with herself. Vaggie also smiled a little behind them, then cleared her voice.

- Well, let's continue with this, the sooner we finish with this pamphlets, tickets and lists, the better for everyone.

Angel eyerolled resignedly and followed.

The Organization for the meeting and presentation at the hotel continued. First Charlie and Alastor had dreamed big about making it open to everyone, but soon Vaggie made them realize that something so public could be too chaotic and uncomfortable. Something The Overlords that had agreed to go (Mainly Stolas, and other feathered ones, plus Lucifer) might find unpleasant. And annoying the "Nobility" of hell could not only cause things to fail, but that the people who attended were at risk of dying.

 So they had decided that the assistance will be based on limited tickets or quota lists that will be distributed to some key sites in the city for those interested. Alastor had insisted that they be tickets, pamphlets and conventional tickets, even if it was outdated, for several reasons. First because the digital media were influenced and monitored by the Overlord Vox, who could intrude on or sabotage anything  digitally published, even more being a rival of Alastor himself. When everyone commented that they could probably easily damage the papers they distributed as well, Alastor said that it would make the papers not so easy to break and that even if they discarded most of the papers distributed, then the people who would come would be the one really interested or as he remarked , "Desperate enough to come," and that he would make sure, that those who will sign the ticket lists really "would" come. Vaggie understood that as something related to his powers and his reputation as a deal maker, probably his powers would force the ones enrolled to attend. 

She was not 100% sure of any of this, or the way to attract public or the meeting itself, but without better ideas, she did not oppose. Again,  more than anything she did this for Charlie. After all, what was the great presentation they would make at the hotel? They honestly had no results yet to surprise anyone. But Charlie was already rehearsing a speech for presentations with Alastor, and she seemed to think she would do better than the first time in her presentation at the news station with Katie Killjoy. Vaggie supported her mainly for another reason, because Charlie would see her parents again, whose relationship had been deteriorating due to their absence for a long time now. Although Lilith had said to support that  her daughter had initiative with her idea of ​​the hotel. After giving them that old building, she had known little more about her or Lucifer.

On hard days and nights where things were not going well, and even Charlie's mood could not cope with everything, sometimes she realized that The Princess was hiding or leaving the hotel, only to find a corner where to call her mother secretly . And for a long time it seemed that most of the time Lilith seemed not to answer her and not return calls. Then, Charlie had to gather the little mood she had to at least console herself by leaving a presentable voice message to her mother, telling something that especially bothered her but always wanting to pretend that she would get over it anyway and that everything was going well. Before the Last time, when Vaggie asked, Charlie had even lied to her, pretending she had talked to her mother on the phone. She knew Charlie didn't do it with bad intention, I did it because I didn't want to feel weak and useless in revealing being ignored. She felt guilty for the rejection she felt. The last one had been even worse, she had listened to her, running the water to cover his sobs and trying unsuccessfully to leave a message, 2 or 3 times ... Until she broke and resigned. She had not been able to bear it and had entered the bathroom just to hug her, to repeat her tiressly "It's not your fault, You're not a failure." Seeing her like this broke her heart, so she understood how important this reunion would be at the party for her. She would have bet that Zaza would know what to say, to overcome and not suffer so much the shadow of her parents, if only Charlie knew her and grow fond of her.

Now, while that memory crossed her mind, Vaggie approached with the remaining tickets, lists and pamphlets near the bar "Los Condenados." In the following days she had not had the opportunity to go back to the bar, although Charlie had shown interest in meeting the place. Surely Zaza, Vic and company would agree to go to the meeting and behave. The Moth Demon approached the place, it was about 5 p.m. on the clock in hell. The Bar sign moved slightly as usual, but the site was silent and there was no one, it was closed. They should open only at dusk. She approached the door anyway, and ran under it some of her papers, optimistic. A voice behind her surprised her.

-¿Que Hacés?

The imposing and elongated figure of Maria was behind her, carrying market bags in 4 of her 6 arms, her long serpentine body stretching down the steps leading to the entrance.

-Oh. hola Maria-  Greeted Vaggie.

Maria watched her be, tilting her head aside for a moment, until finally recognizing her.

- Oh, it's you.- she said not very sure- Vic's friend, mmm ... Vac, Vig ...

- Vaggie ... - she clarified in a good mood.

- Yes, sorry. What are you doing here? We don't open until later. - Maria said in her neutral tone and straight to the point.

- Yes, I imagined, but hey, I thought maybe Zaza would be interested in giving some of these for me - Vaggie said approaching and offering her the pamphlest, having to stretch and make the Serpent  lean down to take it, seeing that her 4 lower arms were occupied with the bags.

Maria took a quick look. Vaggie offered help with a bag but the huge demon denied carefree, Vaggie continued explaining.

It is an event that we will do, nothing too big, but it will be a presentation of the project we have, and we will accept certain amount of  Invited Guest. Maybe they want to come, we have a good lobby and bar to hang out, it will be fun with Zaza and Vic there.

Maria smiled a little looking at the paper. Vaggie felt somewhat beaten when she felt a hint of irony in her smirk smile, but at least she wasn't laughing, throwing the papaers out or making fun of them like most places they were tyring to deliver the papers.

- Well, it will surely be something interesting, but I don't know how lucky you are with us. The Bar opens every day and Vic left the city again, I don't know for so long.

Vaggie couldn't help looking down with some discouragement.

-Oh ...

Maria encouraged her by speaking somewhat condescending.

- But fear not, I will accept some tickets  and that list. Zaza sure will leave them in sight, although I cannot assure you that our clientele  will be  interested in this.

- I would really appreciate that Maria,  Muchas Gracias.

- No Hay de que. Zaza is also shopping for the bar,  Otherwise I would tell you to wait for her, she would love to see you. Let's see when you come with us again.

Vaggie appreciated the gesture of the imposing Bouncer. They shared a few more positive words before Vaggie said goodbye to the reserved Maria. A shame not to have shared a little more time in the bar, she really wish  for that today. Spreading the pamphlets, tickets and lists had been a challenge, and even a test of temper and redemption for the trio. Most sinful demons still gave a damn about the hotel and its cause. Some of them directly did not even let the pamphlets hang because in the proximity of their home or bussines, or they would use them as toilet paper. In some places where they were distributed, then they saw them flying through the streets almost minutes after leaving them there. It was frustrating, but Vaggie noticed something hopeful in all that boomer. While she was collecting thrown tickets, she saw people in the alleys, the poorest and most miserable ragged demons, take some of the thrown tickets. Hell was no place for weakness and perhaps the most miserable would be the most suitable to accept at the meeting, although perhaps they would have to be separated from the VIPS and only went  for food, what would be more redeeming than taking the most helpless demons ? She hated to admit it but Alastor was right about that of the most Desperate biting the hook.

Even going down the steps near the bar, Vaggie thought about where to start looking for her other two companions, she didn't see them for a long time when they separated. Surprisingly she found Niffty not far from where she was and apparently free of his papers.

-Niffty! - she smiled surprised - you have no papers left?

The last time she had seen her, Niffty had had the great idea of ​​using her small size and speed for, seeing that no one would take the papers from her hands even if she offered them to screams, just run around people without being noticed, and leave the tickets and pamphlets in their pockets, clothes, hair, ears, mouths, stick pamphlets on their backs without being noticed and things like that, although it had not always worked out well.

- Yeap!, Angel had a very good idea of ​​how to make demons take the tickets and  he already  gave all that I had left! Now he is with the rest.

Vaggie grimaced not very convinced, a "Oh No" was already ringing in her head, thinking what madness would  the spider had planned. And it would always be something worse than she could imagine.

In a corner of one of the main streets, wagging and lifting the short dress and flirting provocatively. A spider with long white hair and exquisite makeup was offering to those who passed, with a sign next to it that said "Take a ticket and have a sample of Angel Sugar" The Premise was simple, Angel had the tickets hidden in different parts of his body, and whoever wanted to touch for free had to accept one of the papers. The thing had gone very well since every pervert that happened to pass by did take one and most seemed to be complying with the premise, at least for now. Like Drag Queen, Angel was giving a pretty effective show, although he had to put some idiot in their place ...

- ANGEL WHAT THE FUCK? - Roared Vaggie clenching her teeth and with her eye on fire. The spider got distracted and turned. Niffty looked all innocent next to Vaggie.

- What Toots? is working, you told me we had to be witty, right? And I know what people want... - said the spider taking the fur that made up his colorful breasts.

. YOU'RE NOT GIVING TICKETS FOR A FUCKING CABARET!

 - Oh, quit yapping...

While Angel turned from his view to the street to talk to Vaggie, a colorful pink limousine parked behind him on the side of the street.

- ... Maybe if you showed a little sugar you would also do better, I could show you how ...

Before Angel could react, one of the car's   windows came down and one hand took an arm of the spider , immediately the car would start speeding dragging Angel with him.

- Angel! - Vaggie shouted helplessly, while the car accelerated down the street.

The Strong arm dragged Angel inside, in the sudden movement he finished with his wig covering his eyes.

-Hey! What the fuck is going on? - Angel exclaimed until he could finally tear off his wig and look around.

In front of him, with his intimidating face and looking angrily at him, he recognized his "Boss".

Valentino ... - he suddenly exclaimed calming his tone.

The Pimp only responded by frowning more, with his arms crossed.

- Hello Angie. - A sweet girly voice beside him exclaimed taking one of his arms

Angel opened his eyes wide.

Velvet? - He said after seeing the dark and cunning face of the smiling Overlord, immediately noticed his own voice and smiled -... dear ...

[themyskira]

The Life of Captain Marvel - issue #1

So here we are. Issue #1 of The Life of Captain Marvel, the miniseries that was touted as a bold new origin story that would change everything we thought we knew about Carol Danvers.

And it starts strong by exploiting family violence, trauma, mental illness and traumatic brain injury for melodramatic effect, with no intention of dealing with any of these complex themes in any depth or sensitivity.

For all that, infuriatingly little actually happens in this first issue. No exaggeration, the issue actually includes a stretch of nine months wherein Carol essentially does nothing except mope and grow her hair out. The dang plot doesn’t even arrive until the final seven pages.

Content warning: This issue begins with a flashback to Joe Danvers verbally abusing and hitting his kids. I haven’t included any images, but I talk at some length about Margaret Stohl’s abysmal handling of themes of abuse and family violence. Just a heads up.

The story opens on a flashback to an idyllic childhood holiday in Harpswell, Maine. There’s a montage of Carol and her brothers flying kites, wrestling each other, splashing in the water and stuffing their faces with candy, while adult Carol muses that she used to think her family was perfect.

Then the flashback takes a turn. One of Carol’s brothers rips the kite from her hand, tearing it. Their father, Joe, descends on the boys in a rage and begins verbally abusing and physically beating them as Carol looks on, because — surprise! — it’s Traumatic Past Retcon time!

Goodbye Joe Danvers, well-meaning but hard-headed dad who’s never understood his daughter and whose approval always seems to be out of reach. Hello Joe Danvers v. 2.0, scary unpredictable drunk who hit his kids and terrorised his entire family. Aren’t comics fun?

The flashbacks are interspersed with shots of Carol in the present day, where she’s battling supervillains Tanalth and Moonstone. As the flashback progresses, present-day Carol lashes out violently, alarming friends and foes alike.

“That’s why fighting’s easier than remembering. I tell myself that if I’m strong enough… I’ll beat the memories down so hard they’ll never come back.”

What’s strange to me about this page is the way it deliberately draws a parallel between Joe, snarling and raising his fist to strike his powerless young children, and Carol, snarling and raising her fist to strike down a powerful villain. By implication, it places Carol in the role of abuser, indicating an intergenerational cycle of violence.

Which of course is never explored or discussed beyond this, because Stohl doesn’t want to actually talk about the lasting impacts and terrible toll of family violence, she just wants to exploit it for THE DRAMAS.

As Joe whales on his sons, kid!Carol tries to run to their defence, only to be held back by mother Marie, who tells her, “You’ll just make it worse. Now’s not the time.”

We will be told numerous times over the course of this book what an incredible, loving mother Marie Danvers is, and how she’s prepared to sacrifice everything for Carol. Her actions, though? Her actions consistently portray a woman whose number one interest is in not creating more work or emotional angst for herself, even when it means hanging Carol out to dry.

This is not to say that Marie isn’t a victim as well in this scenario: though she never fears for her life or safety (she could pummel Joe into the ground without breaking a sweat), it could well be that constant gaslighting and emotional abuse have left her feeling unable to oppose her husband in anything.

It could well be, but that is nuance that Stohl is not interested in exploring, and all we get throughout this miniseries is Marie making excuses for Joe’s abusive behaviour and prioritising her own comfort over Carol’s emotional wellbeing and safety.

So anyway, flashback!Marie says “Now’s not the time”, and in the present day Carol shrieks “WHEN - IS - THE TIME?!” while damn near beating Moonstone into a pulp.

The other Avengers are disturbed by this.

Iron Man: Hey, Carol? Could you maybe leave a little something on the plate for… you know… bad guy jail? Black Panther: Would you call that rage… disproportionate?

hellooooo unfortunate paternalistic implications. A female superhero has a hysterical outburst on the battlefield, while her almost exclusively male colleagues look on in bewilderment. (‘This is why women can’t be superheroes, they’re too emotional!!!’)

Cap and T’Challa have to physically pull Carol off Moonstone, as Carol begins to hyperventilate.

Adding to our list of things that this series has zero interest in exploring:

What it’s like to experience a panic attack or traumatic flashback

What it’s like to live with an anxiety disorder

What it’s like to live with trauma

The Carol of this story is not a woman living with trauma and mental illness, she is a woman who swoons hysterically whenever the narrative starts drag a bit. Her panic attacks are purely a plot device used to ratchet up the dramatic tension at convenient moments, and it’s some of the most insensitive handling of mental illness I’ve seen in comics for a while.

Next comes the obligatory scene of Carol getting a full medical in Tony’s lab, only for Tony to throw his hands up and declare, ‘welp, there’s nothing physically wrong with you, are you sure there’s not something else going on????’. Because apparently neither Tony — who has personal experience with trauma — nor Steve — who lived through a FUCKING WAR — know PTSD when it’s punching them (well, Tanalth and Moonstone) in the face.

I mean REALLY.

Tony: Look, the breathing thing is probably some kinda nervous tic.

hi, hello, person with an anxiety disorder here, please do not tell somebody having a full-blown panic attack that it’s just a ‘nervous tic’, you absolute insensitive fuckstick.

Carol: [sigh] It’s… Father’s Day. Not my favourite day of the year, you know?

waitwaitwait, so CAROL recognised that she’d triggered and experienced a traumatic flashback, but for some reason decided to play dumb about it until she’d after she’d had a pointless medical examination??

Tony tells Carol she needs to get herself sorted out or else somebody is going to get hurt, so she goes to visit her mother and younger brother Joe Junior at the family’s holiday home in Maine.

Carol flies into town past a sign that reads, “Harpswell Sound / Summer Home of Captain Marvel” Carol: [narration] Oh, brother.

‘Oh, brother’ is right. I guess at least it isn’t as embarrassing as the time Stohl introduced a D-grade Captain Marvel TV series.

“Sugar’s Donuts / Official Donut of Captain Marvel”

hoookay yep that’s a bit much now.

At the donut shop, Carol runs into childhood friend Louis Lee, who’s grown into a Designated Love Interest with an obnoxious phonetically-spelled accent

“Better keep that to yah self, Ms. Danvers. Wouldn’t wantitah get out that yah cheatin’ on us…”

I despise him already.

Carol goes up to the house and hangs out with her mother and brother. Over dinner, Marie and JJ ask her why she’s dropped by so suddenly. Carol evades and JJ blows up at her because apparently he’s been holding in some anger about how he feels she abandoned the family and didn’t even bother to come home when their dad was terminally ill. (Which, hey, here’s another potentially rich thread to explore — PITY IT NEVER COMES UP BETWEEN THEM EVER AGAIN.)

Carol shoots back that he knows full well she was avoiding home because of their abusive father, only to be interrupted by the door slamming as their mother walks out.

…eeeeeexcept apparently that was an art mistake, because the very next page is Carol chasing after her brother, the one who actually stormed out. She finds him at their father’s grave, drinking booze.

He offers his recovering alcoholic sister the bottle, and when she lightly turns it down he gripes that she’d always thought she was better than everybody else and she should feel free to piss off any time now. Then he gets into his car and Carol lets him drive home drunk like the responsible person she is.

“Part of me knew I should go after Joe Jr. I mean, nobody in my family was any good with a bottle.”

WHAT IN THE HELL, CAROL.

But nah, see, she has more important things to do, like scream at her dead father and desecrate his headstone, because that’s sure not going to upset her family further, nope.

Her little tantrum is interrupted by the sound of tyres screeching and a car plunging off a bridge because YOU FUCKING MORON you stood there and watched your brother stagger drunk into his car and made the conscious decision that ‘nah, I’m gonna let this one play out’.

and ohohohohoho how ~poetic~! He crashed right through the ‘Summer Home of Captain Marvel’

god I hate everything in this comic.

JJ is rushed to hospital, where he is diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury, leaving him in a catatonic state.

And of course, Stohl’s Carol makes it all about her-fucking-self.

“In an instant, everything changes. You ruin someone’s life… it ruins yours right back. You’d give everything to have gone after him… and acted like the hero you’re supposed to be.”

Yes, JJ is in a coma with a traumatic brain injury, but let’s talk about how his near-fatal car accident ruined Carol’s life.

Anyway— NINE MONTHS LATER.

No, really.

We just skip over nine months.

Wherein apparently Carol has been doing nothing but poor-me-ing over her brother’s hospital bed.

Like.

She gave up her entire life and career.

Stopped saving the world.

Stopped interacting with everybody.

Just sat by JJ’s hospital bed looking melancholy and growing her hair out so that comic bros would stop complaining that she looked like a lesbian.

Tony tries texting her and she turns off her phone. So he appears beside her in an explosion of pixels.

which-- how?!?

There’s no visible technology at work here, nothing to indicate what’s projecting his image or enabling the two of them to communicate. Tony might as well be speaking to Carol via magic, for all we can tell.

Christ, it’s a superhero comic, it’s not like you have to work that hard to sell it to the reader. Two lines of dialogue: ‘What the actual hell, Tony?’ ‘Well, you wouldn’t return my calls, so I [insert technobabble here].’ That’s all you need. How lazy can you get?

Tony asks her to come back to the Avengers — we miss you, we need you, this isn’t good for you, etc. — and Carol’s like, ‘nah, I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity’.

And yes, like Carol’s PTSD and panic attacks, like the family violence, JJ’s brain injury exists solely here as a plot device. It’s not a disability he lives with or a trauma he survives, it’s a vehicle to bring melodrama to Carol’s story and a weakly-fabricated excuse for Carol to stay with the family and discover what she’s about to discover.

Because now it’s time to bring the still-catatonic JJ back home. And since the downstairs living room is more accessible than his upstairs bedroom, he’ll be taking the couch, where Carol has been crashing.

Yes, even though Carol has her own childhood bedroom in this house — we see it next issue — she has been couch-surfing for nine months.  But now that somebody else has claimed her spot, she’s got to move into… JJ’s bedroom.

So she goes up the room and rather rudely starts going through her catatonic brother’s wardrobe and pulling his clothes out to make room for her own shit. Again, I cannot stress enough that she had her own bedroom in this house. She’s just… weirdly choosing to impose on everybody else.

In the wardrobe, Carol finds a box belonging to her dead father. The box contains a love letter, in Joe’s handwriting, addressed to a woman who is not his wife — along with what is obviously a piece of alien technology.

This is a comic with a goddamn identity crisis. It keeps tossing out plot hooks, only to abandon them pages later in favour of the next shiny idea.

It begins by announcing, ‘This is a story about Carol returning home and confronting her childhood trauma.’ Then it abruptly swerves: ‘wait, scratch that, this is a story about Carol struggling to hold her fractured family together after her brother is hurt in an accident she had the power to prevent’, and then, ‘hold up hold up what we meant to say was, this is a story about Carol discovering a hidden truth about her family and parentage’.

It’s like Stohl doesn’t know editing exists. Because spoiler alert: this story is not about either of those first two things. The first fifteen pages of this issue are a dead fucking weight. They do not need to be there, and in fact a lot of problems could have been solved by cutting them.

Carol decides to spend some time with her family because she’s working through some personal shit, and discovers a letter hinting that her late father was leading a double life. That’s it; that’s the story.

All these convoluted logistics around who gets the couch and who gets the bedroom? Not necessary. Again, Carol has a bedroom in this house. Since she’s not around much, it makes sense that Marie might be using it as a general storage space. So: Carol is staying in her old room and has to shift a few boxes to make space. In the process, her dad’s shoebox gets knocked loose from whatever nook it was stuffed into. THERE. EASY. DONE. PLOT UNLOCKED.

Like, the car accident actually makes it harder to get Carol to that point. The only reason I can see for it being there at all is to force the passage of time so that Carol can grow her hair out and dudebros can stop complaining that she’s unattractive. Because I guess it just never occurred to anybody that they could draw her with long hair to start with?

But ‘oh no, the aliens and the superpowers I can accept, but in the last comic I read Carol had short hair and I AM SORRY BUT there is NO WAY human hair grows that fast, this is BEYOND THE PALE’.

Oh, and can we talk about how Carol’s response to finding OBVIOUS ALIEN TECHNOLOGY is to go, ‘huh, I wonder what this is, let’s see if I can open it by smashing it repeatedly with a hammer’??

Carol: Huh. Let’s see if we can open it. [starts bashing the device wildly] Gah! Why — won’t — you— Marie: [off-panel] Carol! Can you help me with Joe’s tube? Carol: [wandering off as the device activates] Coming, Ma!

And then IMMEDIATELY GETS DISTRACTED AND WANDERS THE FUCK OFF, failing to notice that the OBVIOUS ALIEN DEVICE has suddenly activated and is now beeping ominously????

So while Carol blunders around obliviously, the obvious alien device sends a signal to a galaxy far far away, which in turn activates what is seriously and embarrassingly called a Kree Kleaner. A small spherical vessel orbiting a distant planet lights up and begin speeding towards Earth, while inside some kind of Kree cyborg gestates and grows to maturity at a rapid rate.

Meanwhile Carol sits by the sea with Digital Tony and mopes that “I knew my family wasn’t perfect… but I thought love was”.

you.

you fucking.

Look, I recognise that trauma is complicated and that family shit is even more so.  I know people process and cope with things in different ways and at different speeds. And for Carol to suddenly discover that, on top of all the grief he was causing at home, her father was leading some kind of secret life with another women, must surely feel fucking horrible and bring up a lot of deeply painful memories.

But her reaction doesn’t gel with everything Stohl has told us about Carol’s relationship with her father.

We’ve been told that Joseph Danvers was a physically and verbally abusive alcoholic who terrorised his family to the point where, to this day, Carol struggles with PTSD and anxiety attacks. We’ve been told that Carol thinks of him as a mean, violent drunk who even in death haunts her family. She doesn’t understand why her mother stayed with him or why her brother still defends him, when all he ever did was make all of them feel small and powerless.

The idea that Carol would think all of this and yet still be totally blindsided to learn that Joe and Marie’s marriage was not a true-love-fairytale-romance is utterly, outrageously laughable.

Stohl presents the letter as bombshell that overturns everything Carol thought she knew about her family, indicating that Joe was leading a secret life she never knew about. It’s not. All it is is a confirmation of everything we’re told Carol already thinks about her father: that he was a cruel, self-absorbed bastard who treated his family like crap. You know what is a fucking bombshell?

The fact that Joe Danvers apparently had personal access to OBVIOUS ALIEN TECHNOLOGY.

AND AS FOR THIS LINE.

“And like they say, families were made to be broken.”

literally nobody says this.

I even checked, just to be fair to this comic, on the off-chance that it was in fact a thing.

One of the six search results is somebody on instagram quoting this comic. The other five are all related to the title of a single playlist on 8tracks.

But hey, like they say, Margaret Stohl is a fucking hack.

[loiswolf]

Day 56 July 28 Drogheda - Dublin 65kms

Day 56 July 28 Drogheda -Dublin 65kms

It’s not really 65kms to Dublin from Drogheda, it was only meant to be 47kms. I did my extending trick again today.

First of all I think I may have misrepresented my accommodation last night. It was really lovely and my host was great fun. She really didn’t mean to use all the hot water.

This morning I slept in because I had no fixed plans. Bridgie at Renville had led me to believe accommodation in Dublin was ridiculously expensive and I hadn’t received confirmation from a Warmshowers host. I was thinking about staying another night in Drogheda but when I checked Booking.com I found plenty of cheap accommodation in the city.

My slow start meant I didn’t get away until after 10 but I had a whole day to fill in. I had discussed my route with Trudi last night and she recommended the coast road. Hmmm.....hasn’t this happened before?

I started off on the 132. It was actually a beautiful day. Sunny and warm!

Since I had plenty of time and the 132 was getting bigger and busier I decided to try the coast road. I turned off onto the 127 and just up the road was a Lidl! What a lovely surprise! They even had toffee twists!! I quickly loaded up on goodies and kept pedalling  towards Skerries.

I’m afraid I also have to apologise for giving such a grim description of the beaches here yesterday. Today the sky was blue and the water almost blue. The sand was still brown.

Cycling along on Shirley with my music turned off the only sound I could hear was the soft hum of her tyres on the road. How amazing is she? Except when I use the front brake and she squeals like a girl. I probably should have got those brake pads changed.

With 25kms under the belt it was time for morning tea. I stopped when I saw a little coffee shop. Strangely enough, it looked just like the one I went to yesterday. This one was so much better. It had good coffee, cannoli, and Hazel, the lovely owner who came out to admire Shirley and talk to me for quite some time. She had once been to Byron Bay and could confirm my opinion of which country has the best beaches.

Unfailingly, whenever I talk to an Irish person and tell them what I’m doing, their comment is always,

“Fair play ter you!”

My other favourite comment is when someone sees a photo I have of my son Joel. It’s like a recording, I show people now just because it’s fun to hear exactly the same response. It’s always,

“ Oooh, he has the look of Prince Harry about him.”

The Irish are so much fun!

Back to the ride....From there I rolled down the road through the town and out to see some more passable water views.

.

The 127 became the 128 then looped back onto the 127 which in turn emptied back onto the 132. I fully intended to follow that road all the way into Dublin but when it turned into a monster dual carriageway I turned off towards Malahide. I knew there was a castle there. The traffic was very slow so I took to the footpath and was soon at the castle gardens. The gardens were lovely to cycle through but the castle was better from a distance. I cycled around to the shops and cafes and they were way too crowded for me. I went back to where I took this photo

And sat on a bench to eat my cheese roll and chocolate bar.

I had succeeded in using up nearly the whole day so it was time to complete my 5000km journey and ride into Dublin.

Even the 107, which I thought would be a quiet back road, was very busy. It did have a cycle/bus lane which I was able to share with the monstrous double decker buses.

My fall near Sligo several days ago had resulted in another wound on my knee which has started festering.

( this photo is pre-festering stage. I thought I’d spare you that). When I saw an open pharmacy I stopped to buy something to put on it. ( something apart from the chopped up panty liner which was currently in place.) Two delightful blue eyed boys inspected festering wound 2 and listened to some of my stories. They seemed to think I would live and sold me a small tube of Savlon. I think they were having a boring Sunday afternoon until I came along.

Playing leap frog with those huge buses I pushed on until I finally reached the Liffey.

My accommodation was not much further. It’s another student accommodation and it’s like a carbon copy of the place I stayed at in Plymouth. One of the staff, Taran, saw me struggling with Shirley and my luggage and not really knowing where to go. ( these places are a maze!) He kindly helped me unload, put Shirley in a special lock-up with the other bikes, then showed me to my room. He also requested a hug when he found out I had just cycled 5000kms from Athens. It’s not such a big deal to me compared with my other trips, but I guess it’s something.

The end of my tour seems to have coincided with another better known cycle tour. I have also been rereading ‘round Ireland with a fridge’ ( highly recommended) and Tony Hawks final entry into Dublin was my reading material just now. He went the opposite direction. We crossed paths in Sligo.

Tomorrow I will be doing some sightseeing around Dublin then cycling to accommodation closer to the airport. I will be getting a box for Shirley and hopefully packing her up before I fly to Iceland.

Maybe I’ll write a wrap up blog when I get back.

Notice I drew my own line on the map!

[gimmesumsuga]

Sweeter than Sweet (22)

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Namjoon x reader + others as the story progresses

Warnings: Blood drinking, daddy kink, spontaneous orgasms

Word count: 4.3K

Previous / Next 

You spend the remaining hours of the early morning shopping online on Jimin’s laptop, burning a hole in Hobi’s wallet as you go.  You make sure to buy the tickets for Romeo and Juliet first, squirming in delight when you manage to get balcony tickets on the night of his birthday, and then turn your attention to finding yourself something nice to wear as Hobi had suggested.

It takes you a while – you’re not nearly as good at picking out clothes as Jimin – but eventually you settle on a classic little black dress with a sweetheart neckline and off the shoulder sleeves.  There’s split up the side of it, too, ascending far enough to show a little thigh without it coming off trashy, and you add a pair of black patent heels to your shopping basket to complete the look.  They’re high enough to look elegant but not enough so that you’ll tower Jimin when you have them on – or at least you hope you won’t.

You’re not quite sure how it happens but somehow, at some point, you find yourself entering an ‘adult’ website that sells collars and browsing curiously through all the varied and colourful designs.  You’re not sure you’d ever want a name tag – that might be taking it a little too far – but you have to admit some of them are quite cute, especially the lacy ones or the sort that have extra bows of silky ribbon attached.  Before you know it you’re buying yourself a brand new collar to match your outfit, pretty confident that Jimin will like what you’ve chosen and biting your lip when you imagine just how enthusiastic you hope his reaction might be.

You make sure to clear your browser and search history before you turn off Jimin’s laptop to ensure he doesn’t inadvertently spoil his own surprise, and by the time you’re done your blinks are starting to feel slow and heavy.  You’d wanted to wait up for Jimin to come home but the longer you lay on his bed with Nova curled up against your side, the harder the feeling becomes to fight, and it’s with a groan that you force your unwilling body to get up and move, persuading yourself that you should at least get changed and fetch yourself a drink just in case you wake up thirsty later as you so often do.

It’s Jimin’s clothes you choose to put on rather than any of the nightwear he’d bought you before.  His t-shirt is infinitely more comfortable, and you love the way it sits tightly over your bust and hips but hangs loose around your waist.  It’s much more your style than the skimpy little negligée hiding away in your bottom drawer, though you’re sure there’ll be another occasion that calls for you to dig it out of there again soon enough.

You pad your way down to the kitchen quietly, fairly certain that everyone else must already be in bed from how deathly silent the house has fallen.  It feels almost oppressive, all this quiet, and it’s really hard not to notice the similarities between now and the time you heard all those noises coming from Namjoon’s room…

The sound of the kettle starting to bubble and boil makes you jump, all the hairs on your arms standing on end at the sudden fright, and as you whirl round to see a cloud of steam behind you and nothing more you shake your head, laughing at yourself.  It must be a more potent memory than you realise to creep you out so much just thinking about it.

You start to prepare your drink – hot cocoa with plenty of milk – and just as you’re opening up the fridge door you suddenly hear a tell-tale crunching of tyres as they roll over gravel that signifies Jimin’s and Yoongi’s return.  Your heart leaps up into your throat with excitement, a smile spreading across your face as you rush to finish your drink, so eager to see them both that you have butterflies swirling in your stomach.

You’re just getting into the entrance hall when the heavy front door swings open, cold air flooding into the room with a strong gust of wind that whistles through the hinges.  Jimin steps through first and you’re relieved to see that he’s not covered in blood this time; neither someone else’s nor his own.  His eyes immediately find you where you’re stood near the staircase with your mug clasped between both hands, a soft smile on your face that he quickly mirrors.  He walks to you and drops his bag by your feet, grabbing a fistful of his own t-shirt and using it to pull you close.

“Were you missing me, kitten?”  He captures your lips in a harsh, hungry kiss that makes you think that you mustn’t have been the only one missing someone if the desperate way he grabs at your hips is anything to go by.  He smirks once he pulls away, pleased by the sight of your flushed and breathless state, and as he stands there with looking down at you you can’t help but appreciate just how good he looks when he’s tired and sweaty.  It makes him look more real, slightly less polished, and frankly you can’t get enough.  

You become distracted when you hear the door hinge creak as it’s pushed further open, and from over Jimin’s shoulder you see Yoongi come trailing in in a significantly poorer looking state than the man who’s holding you so tightly in his arms.  Jimin looks at you and then back at Yoongi, noting the way your lips have slightly parted and a frown bends your brows, and then he gently touches your chin to regain your attention.  

“I’ve got to go and debrief with Namjoon.  Won’t be long.”  You nod your head agreeably as he releases you from his hold, and when Jimin ascends the stairs he takes one last backwards glance to see you already walking towards Yoongi, concern written all over your face.

You place your mug of cocoa on the windowsill next to the door, and as soon as your hands are free they instinctively reach out to the injured vampire to take his face in both of your hands.  He winces as you touch the bruise that’s discolouring his jaw but he doesn’t pull away, looking back at you with surprise in his eyes at how openly tactile you’re being with him when Jimin isn’t even yet quite out of sight.  

He’s got a split across his eyebrow and a matching one on his bottom lip; purple bruising on his jaw, his neck, and you’re willing to bet several other injuries under the baggy black t-shirt he’s wearing.  It hurts you to see him looking this way and your eyes start to sting as they fill with moisture.

“Please tell me Jimin didn’t do this,” you softly implore, not wanting to believe that the man you love do such a thing to… to whatever Yoongi is to you.  Yoongi gives you a lopsided smile, tonguing the split on his lip when the movement on his mouth causes it to open up and start bleeding again.

“Only this and that,” he replies, pointing toward the bruise on his jaw that your hand is presently covering.  Both were probably caused by one good punch, so at least that’s something.  It doesn’t really make you feel any better about the rest of his injuries, though, whether they’re Jimin inflicted or not.  “The others were my fault.  I’m out of practice and I wasn’t careful enough.”  You run your thumbs along the sharp angles of his cheekbones, biting your lip as you try and keep your tears at bay.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble but Yoongi just tilts his head into one of your palms, smiling softly whilst he brings up his own hand to curl around yours.

“Don’t be,” he assures you, his eyes twinkling happily, “It was worth it.  I’d take it again, a thousand times.”  He twists your hand away from his face just enough so that he can press his cool lips to your palm in a kiss, his closed eyes missing the way you blush as your heart skips a beat.  Yoongi always seems to know just the right things to say to make you feel more conflicted than you ever have in your entire life.  You love Jimin, you know you do; so why does your pulse start to race whenever you’re around Yoongi too?

Reluctantly, Yoongi removes your hands from his face and lets them go to fall at your sides.

“I wish I could help - if I could feed you you’d heal so much faster.”

“Jimin really would kick the shit out of me if you let me do that.”  There’s not a hint of smile on his face or humour in his voice as Yoongi speaks, and you know he’s perfectly right.  Jimin is possessive enough with your body, nevermind when it comes to your blood.

“How were things on the way back?  Are you guys ok?”  You’d really hate to become a constant source of animosity between the two of them when you know how close they all are.  The group are more than friends - they’re brothers - and damaging that bond is something you’d really like to avoid.  You really don’t think you’re worth it, in all honesty.

“We’re good.  He punched me, we talked - we’re good.”  Yoongi shrugs his shoulders, adding nothing more, and though you’d love to know what exactly it was they spoke about it’s at that very moment that you hear Jimin come back down the stairs, effectively cutting your conversation short.  He’s eyeing you and Yoongi as he takes the last few steps, though not as angrily as he was before, and he extends his hand out to you once he’s collected his bag off the floor, cocking his head slightly.  

“Bed’s calling, kitten.”  You give Yoongi one last smile before you collect your hot cocoa off the side and return to Jimin, linking your fingers through his.  You know Yoongi’s watching you both walk away, you can feel his eyes on your back, and you wonder whether he’ll still be thinking about you when he climbs into bed later, too.  

“You look so pretty in my shirt,” Jimin tells you as you walk down the drafty corridor, releasing your hand and putting his arm around your shoulder instead, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of your temple, “I might’ve been wrong about knowing what suits you best.”

“I don’t know,” you reply, smiling shyly and glancing down at your bare legs poking out from the bottom, “I like the dresses too.”   Your answer makes him smile a little, the corners of lips slanting upward to make his mocha-coloured eyes crease up smaller.  He’s so gut-wrenchingly beautiful when he smiles that you can’t help but want to make him do it all the time, and as you walk side by side into his room you’re once again left feeling totally and utterly torn about how you could possibly be developing feelings for Yoongi too when you already feel so strongly for Jimin.  

He throws his bag into his closet as you’re climbing into his bed, cocoa in hand, and he strips out of his t-shirt as you get comfortable, readying himself to join you.  Even after all this time the sight of him half-undressed has you fighting the instinct not to choke on the sip you just took, swallowing it too quickly and ending up with a slightly burnt throat for your trouble.

“Has Nova behaved tonight?”  Jimin puts his shirt in the hamper and starts undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants whilst carrying on with casual conversation like he’s not almost naked.  How Jimin can be doing things like this when he looks the way he does and be completely oblivious to the effect it’s having on you is beyond your understanding.  

Maybe he does know what he’s doing, and maybe that’s why he pulls his belt out of the loops on his pants extra slow as he awaits your answer.

“She was fine,” you reply once your brain has managed to click into gear, focusing your eyes on his face rather than his body – not that that particularly helps. “Tae is still trying and failing to win her over, and Jin spoiled her with a whole plate full of chicken for dinner.”  He steps out of his pants and straight into his sweats, giving you just a brief, blissful glimpse of his tight red boxer briefs.  You take another gulp of your cocoa, hiding the light blush on your cheeks behind the mug.

“And what did he spoil you with?”

“Crème brûlée,” you grin as he walks over to the bed and pulls back the covers.  Jimin hums thoughtfully as he climbs in next to you, a cheeky smile spreading across his face, and then leans over you unexpectedly and takes the drink from your hands, placing it on the bedside table.

“Does that mean you’ll taste extra sweet?”  he growls, tone more playful than lusty, and you brace yourself for something to happen when you see all his shoulder muscles tense like a cat ready to pounce.

In one quick movement Jimin grabs both your shoulders to pin you down and starts to place short, staccato kisses all over your mouth, pulling you with him when he rolls onto his back a second later.  You’re half lying on top of him whilst he places kiss after noisy kiss to your lips and you giggle uncontrollably as they get progressively messier, landing on your nose and closed eyes too.

“Jimin, stop!  You’re so gross!” you laugh, trying to push his head back into the pillow, shoving your hand across his mouth to place a barrier between his lips and your face as soon as you possibly can.  He tries to say something but it’s so muffled by your palm that you can’t make it out.

“My kisses are gross?” he pouts once you remove your hand, jutting out his bottom lip and widening his eyes.  You’ve never seen anything more adorable in your entire life, and seeing him lying underneath you with an expression like that makes your heart just melt, all of your insides turning into warm, gooey mush when faced with such an unfathomable level of cuteness.   

“Not even a little bit,” you smile, leaning down to give him a kiss that’s long and lingers, his hands coming to rest on your behind by the time you’ve pulled away.  Jimin’s sulky expression has long disappeared when you open your eyes, replaced by something far more familiar, the corner of his lip curled into a tiny smirk.

“You’ve upset me now.”  He squeezes the flesh of your buttocks gently, rolling his hips up into yours.  “I think you need to make it up to me.”  He cocks his head to the side, his silver hair spreading out on the pillow behind him as that self-assured smile of his grows.

“Oh?”  You tilt your head to the side too, biting down on your bottom lip, more than happy to play along with his little game.  “And how would I do that?”  You see his eyes flicker down to your neck, his tongue slowly slipping out from between his lips to moisten them.

“Daddy’s hungry, kitten,” he tells you, and you can tell from the way he swallows heavily that it’s true.

The very mention of him feeding from you has you tingling between your legs with excitement even though his request isn’t in any way sexual.  Feeding and fucking - the two of them seem to have become synonymous in your mind, and it’s been far too long since the last time drank from you as far as you’re concerned.   

You’re so eager to feel the press of his fangs against your skin and the bliss that it brings that your fingers are shaking as you sit up and take off your collar, your breath already quickening, and the desire with which he watches you do it makes you feel as though you’re performing a striptease.  All the blood rushes to your cheeks, your pulse bounding rapidly through your veins, and Jimin must be able to sense it or hear it because suddenly he groans, reaching to grab the back of your neck and bring you sharply towards him.

“Ask me for it,” he whispers into your ear, fingertips digging into the side of your neck.  You swallow, the words sticking for a moment in your throat before you can finally choke them out, wanting it so badly but almost too afraid to say.

“Bite me, daddy… please.”

When Jimin had first told you that you could call him daddy you’d actually had to hold back a laugh.  The idea of calling someone who wasn’t actually your father ‘daddy’ had seemed ridiculous to you - more than just a little perverted - but the more you’d thought about it over the coming days the more appealing it had started to seem.  You’d tried to put aside whatever familial meaning the word had and focused instead of the feeling it conveyed; dominance, power.  Love and care.  If those words would make you think of anyone it would be Jimin, so perhaps it hadn’t been such a ludicrous suggestion at all.  

And now, when the word passes your lips and you witness the reaction it spurs, you know that saying it was definitely the right choice.  You hear Jimin’s sharp intake of breath, you feel the way his body tenses underneath you, his fingers grabbing at your buttocks, erection digging into your stomach, and instantly the word becomes a thousand hotter than it’d ever felt before.

“Please daddy,” you ask again, realising that hearing you say it that first time had stunned him into inaction.  This time, when you thread your fingers into his hair and drag his mouth towards your neck, Jimin doesn’t hesitate.

His fangs sink deep into you as you let out a strangled moan of pleasure, barely feeling the pain anymore, just an excruciating bliss that’s getting you wetter by the second.  Your body starts to seek out relief all of its own accord, rubbing against the thigh that sits between your legs as Jimin drags the blood from your veins, gorging himself on you, and within seconds you can feel an orgasm begin to grow, throbbing deep in your core.  You can’t tell if it’s from his thigh or from Jimin feeding, but as it hits, melting your bones and setting your blood on fire, you really couldn’t care less where it’s coming from - so overwhelmed with pleasure that your body jerks uncontrollably against him and renders you unable to make a single sound until it’s eventually come and gone.

“God,” you hear Jimin huff breathily into your hair from where your face is now resting in the crook of his neck having collapsed on top of him, “Did you cum, kitten?  Do you really love daddy’s bite that much?” He slips his hand up the leg of your shorts to trace his fingertips along your folds and you shudder as he discovers the wetness that lingers there.  “Fuck, you did,” he groans as he rocks himself against you, pressing his erection against your stomach.  

Unfortunately all you can muster is an incoherent murmur as you nuzzle against his rock hard chest and you hear him laugh softly, his fingers finding their way into your hair to stroke through it gently.  

“I want to fuck you so badly... But right now I’m not sure you could take me.”  The offer of sex has you lifting up your head sleepily, fighting extra hard to stay awake when whilst drowsiness threatens to pull you back under.

“I could... I could do-“ You have to pause to yawn, the blood loss induced dizziness making Jimin’s face appear slightly fuzzy round the edges, “-could do it,” you finish with a murmur but he just laughs at you again, gently pushing you off of him to lie at his side, one arm curled around you so you can lean on his chest.  The both of you lie quietly for a while, Jimin's fingertips lightly tickling up and down your arm as you drift somewhere between wakefulness and sleep.  

After a little while you hear him sigh and you rub your cheek against his pec, placing your arm across his middle and squeezing slightly.

“I hope you know how happy you make me,” he tells you quietly, a soft kiss pressed to the top of your head after he speaks, and even through your sleepy haze his words still make your heart feel like it’s leapt up into your throat, momentarily choked with emotion.  You didn’t know, no, not until he just said it, but now you’re almost delirious with happiness too.

“And I want you to be happy here, too.” You’re about to open your mouth and tell him how that’s definitely the case, but then he carries on speaking.  “So I want you to be honest about what I’m going to ask you.”  You swallow, suddenly overcome with nerves.  What does he want to know?  Is something wrong?

“Ok,” you agree hesitantly, looking down at the lumps under the covers that you know are your legs all intertwined underneath.

“Do you have feelings for Yoongi?”  There’s a very long, pregnant pause in which your heart starts to beat rapidly, your mind at war with itself as to whether to tell him the truth or lie.

“I care about him,” you answer truthfully, but you know you’re being too vague and that’s not really what he asked.

“The way you care about your friend, Sam?  Or the way you care about me?”  Again you pause, biting down on your lip as  panic rises in your chest.  You’re about to lie - to make out it’s all platonic - but then Jimin speaks again. “Don’t lie to me kitten, I’ll know; I can hear your heart racing.”

This isn’t fair; talking to him is like speaking to a polygraph machine, and you've never been very good at lying in the first place.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you admit, knowing that there’s at least some truth in it - you don’t know what you really feel for Yoongi, only that it’s strong.  You tilt your head back to look up at him nervously, afraid you’ll see anger in his eyes but pleasantly surprised by how calm he looks.

“Did you like it when he kissed you?”  The question catches you off guard, but you figure you may as well carry on being honest if he’s going to be able to guess anyway.

“Yes,” you answer quietly.

“Have you wanted to kiss him again?”  Of course - you’d wanted to kiss him right there out in the hall.  

“Yes.”

“Have you thought about fucking him?” Jimin asks, the pitch of his voice lowering.  You immediately blush, turning your head, unsure you can even bring yourself to answer.  Almost a full minute passes before you manage to nod, looking back up to him and chewing on your cheek.  He sighs as he looks away, his eyes searching the room as if he’s looking for answers to how he should feel.  

You feel so guilty.  Jimin has been so wonderful to you just lately that you’re loathe to cause him any pain.

“He answered the same way.”  He did?  You think deep down you already knew that, but still, knowing that he said those things to Jimin makes all your insides clench with both nerves and excitement. “He's been happier since you arrived.”  He squeezes your arm gently, looking down on you.

“He has?” Jimin nods, expression serious and thoughtful.

“Yoongi has always had periods of depression... some of them worse than others.”  You can easily believe that.  That cold, emotionless front he puts when he’s around other people has always felt like a mask just to hide everything that’s going on inside his mind.  “He went off completely on his own a few years back.. Just left without a word.  We didn’t know where he was or if he was ever coming back... and when he did it was obvious he hadn’t been eating.  He was skin and bone, starving to death, and he barely even cared.”

Your heart breaks at the thought of seeing him like that.  You can see how people might think he’s aloof or harsh, but when he’s in high spirits you’ve seen glimpses of the sweetest, silliest person inside; a boy with a wide, gummy smile and a kind heart.  You love seeing him like that, and knowing that you might be helping to bring it out of him makes you feel so warm inside.

“I want you to be happy, and I want Yoongi to be happy too.”  Jimin tilts your head up with his finger under your chin, smiling kindly before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss that feels almost like a goodbye, and for one horrifying moment you think it might be - that Jimin’s going to step back and not want anything to do with you anymore. But then he pulls back and caresses your cheek, his expression decisive.  Determined.  “So I suppose I’ll have to learn to share, won’t I, kitten?”         

[abhikasach-blog]

Time Traveller

Time traveller, yes I have become one. Last evening I visited 1930s of somewhere. Last year, same time I was somewhere else which can easily be 2030s of here. This back and forth in time is magical. Some five years ago when I landed (drove) to this village, the first pan shop I stopped at was playing a cassette of a movie from 70s. This village is locked in time in a strange way. Some parts of it is pre independence and some advanced pockets have reached the 80s. After a month when I went to a city, the street lights were hurting my senses and the motion sensor lights caught my attention and I imagined the century when this village will see something like this. Often times I imagine the look on the face of the ba (old man of the village) if he would ever see a mall or travel by a metro train. It's as big as NASA finding a house in Mars. Some people never get a chance to travel at all. There are many such trees in this village.

Years ago, during my first interaction with a group of women of this area I was asked in the local dialect “whose are you?” I touched my forehead to feel the horns, lock or any symbol which gave them a hint that I was either cattle or a metal suitcase travelling with an owner. Having found none I told them I did not understand their question. “who do you belong to”, “sorry” “who is your husband/father/brother/son?” Son? Now that took me by surprise. Living here I came to know that even if seven or seventeen women have to go from one village to the other, the only mode of transport apart from the vehicle is a male person, it really doesn’t matter if he is just six years old. They are allowed to travel, it reminds me of that iron knife some people keep under their bed to ward off evil.

So last evening I was craving human interaction, my eyes wanted to see flesh, of course appropriately covered. They wanted to see the shadows of the people as they walk. My ears wanted to eavesdrop to conversations I was not party to. I wanted hear emotions, expressions, tones. I wanted to see, smell, and hear at the same time, which the gadgets have taken away.

I drove up to a village a few kilometers away and parked my car at the bus stop. I started walking in the narrow alleys which wind deep inside like the arteries going to some internal organ. More like those fine branches drawn from one of the branches when one doodles. My feet kept taking me deeper into the village. Sound of drums from quaint little temples were coming from almost all directions. These temples were made either under old trees, or were just a piece of stone. As I approached one such temple, there was only a pujari and no one else, he was still absorbed in beating the drum to the loudest. The entire village was echoing with beats from different corners.

There were two children on the street, as I looked at them I was reminded of my childhood. Just before dinner time my mother would realise there is no salt, and my brother and I would walk down to the closest shop to get it. On our way back from the shop we would have looked like these two, with gait in their strides, tossing their heads to some silent music. Laughing like they are watching a Stand up comedian in a bar. Settling some deep life changing conversations oblivious of the fact that salt has to reach the pan on time.

As I moved further down the lanes, there were matchbox size shops. Without selling anything through the day the old men were holding the fort of their little shops, busying themselves repairing or rearranging inventory. Disinterested crows and bats were sleeping on the trees. A solo slipper was left behind to become a part of the road.

I peeped in a silver shop which seemed to have some activity. In the shop was a man, who looked like he was in his early 90s, he was getting his walking stick repaired, yes it was a pure silver walking stick. He was crouching near the silversmith and instructing him in details, I interrupted them asking the price of a toe ring, well they didn’t have time to engage with me, some millions were on fire at that moment. Sitting there, I kept marvelling at the difference between need and want . A stray cat attracted my attention and I followed it to narrower lanes.

Houses in these lanes had as much dirt on their walls as there was on the mud path I was walking on. Some of these houses have not even been opened even once in the last fifty years. The windows have fought time, got injured and opened themselves to see some life, but only to see the locked attic of the houses in front of them. Some torn kite hanging on some or a dead bat on others. Only in years of good monsoon does the earth from these windows and those attic walk down the lanes surveying the other lanes collecting the mob of mud from all the houses.

After an hour or so I traced my steps back to the hub of the village. There used to be a very enterprising guy who kept provisions of 2018, I thought I must buy some cheese. When I reached the place where his shop was, only a closed door met me. I asked the neighboring shop “where is that guy” his remark “whatever he used to keep is available here” had the underlined hatred which is very visible in the country these days and it was completely obvious that like most of the people from ‘other religion’ his only option was to leave the village. Some people need to travel to live. It reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend. Once we were sitting and I was telling him that when people ask me about my caste and religion I tell them I have none. His reply was “it's easy for you to do that as you come from the privilege of your birth in a certain family, if I do jj same it will be read as cowardice, or a plea of inclusion”.

An unaccompanied woman walking in the village this late in the evening attracts audience. How they were looking at me reminded me one time when I and another friend had accidently drove into a naxalite village. It was three in the afternoon and there were very few people on the street. There was a man apparently repairing his cycle and keeping an eye on my car. As we approached the man and asked him the way out, he responded “I am new here” we moved further down on and there was a man washing his auto rickshaw. There were two three children playing with a tyre and a stick. They had the same look in their eye as the cycle man, the auto man and a couple of women we had crossed on the way. The women had the same piercing look but they refused to talk to us. We stopped near the auto guy and asked him the way out. He responded “I am new here”. After some 30 minutes we hit the highway, but the look in their eyes follow me still.

So, while I was standing there, I knew everyone was observing me, its less intimidating than how I felt in that trip. If you have seen any Guru Dutt movie, or a movie of that time, imagine a village market from there. People were sitting together in groups of three and five, discussing important things, there was this one man six feet tall, well built and he had a noticeably sharp nose. He was absorbed in the newspaper which had arrived a few hours ago with the bus that comes from the city. As he heard my voice he turned around and acknowledged my presence. I sat with them on the stair of the shop and we started talking about education. The old man on the edge of the stair kept peering through his broken spectacle without moving even an inch. Another person asked me,”since you are a teacher I want to ask you a question if you promise that you won't be offended”. I told him I can promise him that I won't be offended but the nature of the question will determine whether he would get an answer or not. He asked me “why are the people from your State so short in height?” It was easy, I told him about how genetics and geography along with nutrition and chance work on people’s physical built. The man with the broken spectacles just moved enough to readjust his glasses.

This person who was reading the newspaper told me that he teaches veda and upanishads to young boys holding residential camps. For him education means educating the young men and boys about the veda and the richness and exactness and applicability of all of it in present day. Well, you have to remember we were in 1930s and it was making complete sense to him. He actually looked like a freedom fighter. He spends millions of rupees annually to conduct these residential camps where more than 400 boys stay for a week in each camp and learn the vedas. He wanted to understand my perspective on education. I had recently, as a time traveller touched the meteorite iron which is billions years old. The children in the village only get to read one passing sentence about it in their textbook. Whereas the children in that city of that country have the luxury to see it, touch it and feel it. They also know about the vedas and the richness of the culture of not only India but also other countries. When I ask the children of this village about the country they live in, they happily name the state. These saplings need to be transplanted soon otherwise they will end up as trees here.

After talking to them for a while I went to the shop and bought the cheese cubes, which the shopkeeper had stored in an ice cream freezer. As I left the place I heard the old men started a fresh conversation on what cheese is.

As I approached my car I met someone from 1970s and as I reached the car there were more people from 2018. Finally when I reached Ayaad I came to my timeless zone of here and now.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: What Comes After (10/?)

Summary: Dead Like Me AU. After Belle French loses her life in an accident, she finds out that she has been recruited to join the ranks of the Grim Reapers, helping souls pass on. It’s a huge upheaval to deal with, but her fellow reapers are there to help her out, especially head reaper Gold.

Who says you can’t find love after life?

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [AO3]

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Ten

There was a definite spring in Belle’s step as she made her way towards Gold’s shop that afternoon, having gone home to change and leave her bicycle. The days were getting warmer and stickier, and after a morning spent cycling several miles, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her day red-faced and sweaty.

She was dating. She and Gold had begun their fledgling relationship a week ago and things were going very smoothly. Neither of them really had a clue what they were doing, and they were still at their most comfortable when they were hanging around in the back of the shop together. It was the same easy friendship that they had shared before they had decided to act on their mutual attraction, but now there were the occasional kisses to remind them that their feelings no longer needed to be hidden out of fear of what the other person might think.

Her post-it wasn’t due until later in the afternoon, so she thought that she might as well go over to the shop and see what was going on there before heading out to claim the soul of S. Lyman on New Street at approximately four o’clock.

Gold was as happy to see her as he always was. Even though they had seen each other earlier in the day at the diner, he always smiled whenever she came into the shop as if he was seeing her for the first time after a long separation. Belle had to smile in return. It was a long time since she had been in a relationship and she had felt so… wanted.

The time passed quickly in easy conversation until it was time for her to go out to her reap, and she found Gold shutting up the shop and coming with her, continuing what they had been talking about until they reached the street and Belle had to concentrate on what she was about to do.

She hung around at the corner, kicking her heels and watching the people moving past in dribs and drabs. Reaps in big open spaces like this were always the worst; there were so many people about and it could have been any one of them, and there was never usually an easy way to tell without having to interact with people and ask them awkward questions. She’d taken to watching for the gravelings rather than the people, hoping that their actions would give her more of an idea of who exactly she had to look out for.

There were no gravelings in sight today though, no matter how much time she spent trying to look out of the corner of her eye to see if she could see them, and that worried her.

“What’s going on?” she asked Gold quietly. “I can’t see any risk factors that might cause an accident. I can’t see any gravelings either.”

Gold looked around the street. “No, you’re right, I can’t see any. It could always be that whatever they’ve done to set fate into motion doesn’t occur here. It could have happened miles away and it just so happens that everything comes to the end here.”

Belle looked at him. “You’re really not inspiring a lot of confidence here. It’s almost four o’clock and I’m still no closer to knowing whose soul I have to take. I know I’ve been getting a lot better at observing and learning from that, but I think that this might be my first missed reap.”

Reaps had been missed before, with the soul being pulled out just after death rather than before it, but in order to spare the soul the trauma of experiencing the death whilst inside the body, it was courteous to pull it before. The trouble with reaping after the fact was usually getting near enough to someone who was ostensibly a total stranger, especially near enough to touch them and get the soul out. Sudden deaths had a tendency to attract crowds, as Belle knew only too well.

She heard it then, and the moment that the sound reached her ears, she knew what was going to happen. A look around at the street told her who it was going to happen to, as well.

The sound that she had heard was a screech of car tyres. Someone was going to die in an accident. That someone was going to die in the same way that Belle herself had died.

Belle remembered her own death. Not her actual death, but the realisation of it, when she had seen her own shoes beneath the car and knew what had happened.

She couldn’t let that happen to someone else. Every bone in her body was screaming against it. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that this was fate, that she couldn’t change something that had already been pre-destined and that the gravelings had already set in motion. She knew that she couldn’t just refuse a reap and let the person die without taking their soul at all. She knew that she couldn’t intervene so that people never made it to their appointments with death.

But what if someone was there, and ready for their appointment, in the right place at the right time, and they just… didn’t actually die?

“Belle?” Gold must have caught the determination in her expression. “Belle?”

She only had a split second in which to act. The woman, her reap, was about to step off the pavement. The car was already on the road.

Ignoring Gold’s protests, Belle sprang into action, sprinting across the road and grabbing her reap out of the path of the out of control vehicle. It skidded past her, finally coming to a stop, and Belle looked at the terrified woman whose life and soul she had just saved instead of taken. People were running up all around her, but since the woman was unharmed and already in Belle’s capable hands, they steered clear of her, instead going over to the shaken car driver.

“You’re ok,” Belle said. “Everything’s going to be ok.”

The woman nodded, wide-eyed.

“Thank you,” she squeaked.

Belle felt a hand close around her upper arm and she looked over her shoulder to see Gold standing there. His expression was unreadable, but he really didn’t look all that happy to see what she had just done.

“Belle,” he said. “Can I have a word please?”

Belle left her reap and followed Gold around the corner into an alley, away from the fracas on the main street.

“What the hell did you do?” he demanded of her once they were alone.

“I saved her life,” Belle retorted. “What does it look like I did?”

“You were supposed to take her soul!”

Belle shook her head, turning away.

“Do you honestly expect me to see someone about to die in exactly the same way that I did and not want to spare them from that fate?” she asked. “Do you really think that I could do that? I couldn’t just stand there and let her die in the same way I did if I had the chance to prevent that! What’s so wrong with that?”

“Her time was up, Belle! Her soul was due for reaping!”

“And now it’s not and she’ll die some other day in some other way!” Belle snapped back. “I’ve given her years more!”

Gold shook his head. “No, you haven’t. Her soul is due. Her soul was always due. She was in time for her appointment, that means her soul has already expired.”

Belle didn’t like the sound of that, and fear coated the back of her throat.

“What do you mean?”

“Her soul is expired,” Gold said quietly. “Her soul met the appointment even if her body didn’t. You saved her body, not her soul. That’s already dying inside her now, and since it’s still trapped inside her, it can’t move on. It will wither, and die, and that young woman will just be a soulless shadow.”

Belle looked out of the alley, back at the young woman whose life she had thought she had saved.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me something as important as that?” she hissed. She wanted to scream at him, but she was very aware that there were people only a few yards away who would have been rather disturbed to hear the content of their argument.

“I didn’t think that you were going to go around saving people!” Gold replied.

“How can you not think that I wouldn’t try to save her? You saw me die, Alistair, it was only four months ago! How can you not think that experience wouldn’t still be with me?”

“I know, Belle. I know how hard this is for you, but you have to take her soul. We can’t save people, Belle. That’s not what we do. We help them on their way, but we cannot change their fates. Life and death don’t work like that.”

Belle turned on him, feeling the fury heating her face.

“If you want her dead so badly, you go on over there and take her soul!” she snarled.

Gold shook his head. “It’s your reap. It goes on your record. I can’t take it from you.”

“You gave it to me in the first place! You can take it back! Why would you ever make me do this? Why would you be so cruel?”

“Belle, I didn’t know that it was going to be a circumstance like this! I never know exactly how people are going to die!”

Belle shook her head, heading on out of the alley. She had to do it, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she let this woman’s soul rot inside her, but that didn’t mean that she had to be happy about it, or that she had to forgive Gold for the horrible situation that he had put her in.

Her reap was still shaking as she approached, still so disbelieving of her lucky escape.

Belle wiped her eyes and took a deep breath before reaching out and touching her shoulder gently.

“Hey, are you ok? Everything’s going to be all right, I promise.”

She felt the wisp of soul and drew it out, and immediately, as if a switch had been flicked, the woman collapsed into Belle’s arms. Thankfully she didn’t have to shout for help, the others who had been crowding around the driver in the car came over to assist and took over, letting Belle slip away to burst into tears in privacy. She reached the alleyway where she had been ensconced with Gold and fell down onto her knees, howling with the misery and the unfairness of it all. She should have been able to do something. She should have been able to save one person. Just one person. That was all. Was that really too much to ask? They had so much power and yet they couldn’t use that power for good?

“Hey, are you ok?”

They were the same words that she had just spoken, and Belle looked up to see the young woman she’d just reaped looking at her. There was nothing but concern and kindness on her face, and that sent Belle into fresh floods of tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, I had to, I didn’t want to, I tried so hard to save you, but they wouldn’t let me. I’m so sorry.”

The woman crouched down beside her.

“I don’t really know what to say,” she said. “But I’m here.”

Belle just kept crying. She knew that she needed to get up. She knew that she needed to get her reap to her lights and bring this to a close once and for all; she was never going to be able to get over it whilst this poor woman’s soul was still hanging around her. All the same, the weight of it all pressing down on her was unbearable.

At last, she cried herself dry, and looked up to find the soul still crouching beside her.

“You’re really very calm,” Belle observed.

The woman shrugged. “Not a lot I can do to change it, so I might as well accept it.”

“What’s your name? I know it begins with S, but that’s all.”

“I’m Sophie.”

“Thank you, Sophie.” Belle got back to her feet, still feeling like her knees were going to give out at any moment, and she stepped out of the alley, Sophie following her. The lights were there and waiting, a white horse standing patiently beside the building. Sophie broke into a grin and ran up to the horse, getting onto its back without any visible assistance and riding off down the road on silent hooves before the lights swept her up into whatever was going to come next for her.

Belle looked around for Gold, but he appeared to have vanished. She thought that he had just stepped out of the alley to give her some space in which to break down in private, but no, it looked like he’d just left her in the lurch completely. She shivered, although she didn’t feel particularly cold. She didn’t feel anything apart from misery. She was numb to everything except the darkness clouding over her soul.

She wanted to rage. She wanted someone who would listen to her vent her anger at Gold, at her situation, at the fact that she was dead and she didn’t want to be and she had to go around taking the souls of all these other people who didn’t want to be dead either. Why did they get to move forward on the backs of white horses when she was doomed to stay here and repeat the trauma of her own death over and over again? Gold had said that she wasn’t going to hell, but right now, Belle couldn’t think of anything worse than her current predicament.

She moved on down the road blindly, not caring for her destination and barely caring for traffic. It wasn’t as if she could die twice, after all, and with tears still clouding her vision, it was a long time before she reached somewhere that she recognised and heard a voice calling her.

“Belle? Belle, sweetheart?”

It was Ella, trotting along the pavement after her in a cloud of Gucci perfume and cigarette smoke.

“Gold called me, he let me know what happened,” she said as she caught up. “Come on, let’s go somewhere inside and you can rant about how he’s an insensitive idiot as much as you like.”

Ella steered her inside the nearest coffee shop and folded her into a chair before going to get them some drinks. Belle stared at the steam coming off her mug of tea, not really taking it in at all.

“It’s just so unfair,” she said.

“I know.”

Ella didn’t try to justify it, or tell her that it wasn’t all that bad, or tell her that it was going to get easier the more that she did it.

“How can you stand it?” Belle asked.

“We all have our ways of getting by,” Ella said. “You might have noticed that my coping tendencies veer towards gin.”

It was, ironically, the soberest that she had ever seen Ella. It was like a layer of outrageousness had been pulled away, and she was seeing the real Ella for the first time.

“This life isn’t easy,” Ella continued. “You’ve lived it for long enough to know that now, but no matter what, it always finds new ways to kick you in the arse just when you think you’ve got the hang of it. I don’t imagine that Gold helped on that score.”

“He was just so cold about the whole thing. So brutal and matter of fact. As if it didn’t matter. As if my feelings weren’t important. As if I might not be traumatised by seeing someone else die in the same way I did.”

“I know,” Ella said. “Gold’s been dead a long time and he’s not likely to ever come across a reap that reminds him of his own death, not in this day and age. Considering what I know of those circumstances, I’m grateful for that, but at the same time, it doesn’t give him carte blanche to chastise you for your feelings.”

Belle gave a weak laugh. “I thought you were his friend.”

“I am. Friends are always the first people to call you out when you’re acting like a complete wanker.”

“And then he just vanished afterwards,” Belle continued. “That didn’t really help.”

“Well, that’s Gold.” Ella sighed. “He has a tendency to remove himself from situations that are getting awkward. Believe it or not, he does it for your preservation, not his own. He knows that he’s not your favourite person right now, so he thought that it would be easier for all parties if he absented himself so that you wouldn’t have to look at him.”

Belle groaned and flopped down onto the Formica table top, feeling it cool against her forehead.

“What if I want to see him?” she muttered. “What if I want to scream at him till I’m hoarse?”

“That is also part of the reason why he’s not around. He does have some sense of self-preservation as well.” Ella reached over and patted her shoulder. “Gold has a very complicated relationship with cowardice and conflict.”

Belle raised her head up a little and looked at Ella. “He fought in the first world war, didn’t he?”

Ella nodded curtly.

“Did he… Was he executed for cowardice? Was that how he died? I know, I know, it’s not your story to tell.”

Ella shook her head. “No, you’re right, it’s not my story. But no, that is not how he died. He’ll tell you those circumstances in his own time, but you may be waiting a while for them. As far as I can tell, I’m the only other reaper who knows.” She gave Belle a wan smile. “He’s an idiot, and he’s concerned about the reaps. He’s seen a lot and he’s seen reaps go wrong. That combination of things has, today, made him act like more of an arse than usual. You have every right to be mad at him.”

Belle sighed. “I can understand where he was coming from. I just… I couldn’t stand back and do nothing, and I don’t think he quite grasps that. I didn’t do it out of some spite for him and the powers that be.”

“I know that. You know that. Gold knows that. He’s just terrible at showing that he knows that. You know what he’s like with communication. It took us this long to get you two dating.”

Belle laughed. She was feeling a lot calmer now, and she took a deep breath, going over the events of the day, culminating in Sophie riding off into her lights. She had looked so happy then. She was free, she didn’t care that she was dead. All of that was behind her. She wasn’t like Belle; she wouldn’t be trapped here in this undead existence with all of the trauma of her death still hanging over her. It was all over for her, and it had all been over within a matter of a few minutes. She might not have been able to save Sophie from sharing the way she died, but Belle had the comfort of knowing that Sophie would not live on as a reaper in the way that Belle was. It was all over.

“Come on.” Ella patted her shoulder again. “Let’s get you home. It’s been a horrible day and you’re well within your rights to veg out on the sofa and watch really terrible soap operas until you feel better. At least with TV, you know that there’s always someone out there having a worse day than you are, even if they are fictional.”

They left the coffee shop and Ella linked her arm through Belle’s as they walked back in the direction of the apartment she shared with Dorothy.

“Do you have anyone, Ella?” Belle asked eventually. “Like me and Gold, and Mulan has her pen pal in Scotland, and Jefferson has his whoever he has.”

Ella shook her head. “No, my love life was a done deal a long time ago. I’m an outrageous flirt, but there was only ever one for me.”

“Do you ever find it lonely?”

“No, not at all. I’ll see her again eventually. She’s not going anywhere. She’ll be there whenever I get there, wherever there is. In the meantime, I just surround myself with fabulous friends. Like you.”

They walked on together for a while, and Belle finally felt her heart begin to lighten. If Ella could retain a positive outlook despite everything, then perhaps she could too.