#i miss my dogs and my garden and my local pubs already

[thegreatduggo]

Dispatching from the Edge

Summer 1982, we'd upped sticks from our halcyon hangout in Topsham and shut up shop on our dog day afternoons. It was a bit of a sad goodbye as we'd had a great few months doing nothing but go to the local pubs, play darts and hang out. We were on social security and our rent was paid for, hell we even had our own housekeeper!

One time Mark looked up out our French doors onto the palatial garden and saw an old guy mowing our lawn. Chuckling and mystified, he asked who it was. We had no idea. It turned we also had our own gardener! They both got a bit ticked off about how damn lazy we were, sometimes leaving a whole week of dishes for our housekeeper.

At the end of the summer, the crew split off to our separate corners. Some went back home and others headed off elsewhere.

Me, I headed off to London to try my hand at dispatch riding in London on my trusty RD400.

Julian, kept signing on as if he was still living there and he used to go back, let himself in the front door and pick up his DHSS check. He let himself in one time and a voice came from the living room "Alan, is that you?" He picked up his check and very quietly retreated.

It was reputed that you could make a tidy sum as a dispatch rider in London, so I decided to head up to London and give it a shot. The truth was that it was not as easy as it seemed.

I was staying in the comfortable enclave of Barnes at the time - just a block away from where Marc Bolan had died after crashing his Mini into a tree.

I found a motorcycle courier firm nearby and they agreed to let me join their roster. You get paid by the job and most of the jobs go to the top riders but the company was quite fair in giving a slice of the jobs to novices like me. I wasn't making a lot of money but I felt it would get better if I stuck with it.

Navigation was by A-Z map book and I often got lost. One time I got badly lost and missed a deadline. One of the other riders found me and took the rest of my deliveries off me. She apologized but said that's just the way it goes. It was disheartening.

The only way to make it work well was to really know your way around London - akin to the black cab drivers with "The Knowledge".

I was more or less keeping afloat and I was hoping to get better at it until I was handling my jobs competently and earning trust.

However, after only 2 weeks, I was heading back to base, up Putney Hill towards Putney Heath at around 40 mph. There was 2 lanes of stopped traffic to my right and unbeknownst to me, the cars had made a gap for a car to turn right in front of me. Being a motorcycle, I'd got away from the lights ahead of the cars and this guy must have not looked and just assumed the road was clear on my side.

Before I could do anything, he was already full length broadside to me. All I could do was brake as hard as I could and then at the last instant, I decided to jump up off the pegs to help clear the car and avoid the handlebars.

I careened into the side of the car and catapulted over the roof. I felt a brutal impact as my legs got crushed into the handlebars from to the top of my thighs all the way down to my ankles. I flipped head over heels, over the top of the car and miraculously landed on my feet on the far side.

Why did I land on my feet? Well, when you've been in a major smash, you want to be able to tell yourself quickly that you're actually alright - it's basically a denial of what just happened - so in that moment, I searched for my feet and thus landed upright.

I recently saw a video of a Russian soldier being blown up inside a tank. He managed to crawl out the turret and then roll off down the side of the tank and land on his feet, before crumpling to the ground. He then proceeded to crawl away. He made it a few feet, before his legs ended up just paddling against the soil and he wasn't moving anywhere. He was probably thinking to himself "If I can just get away from here, I'll be ok" when in fact these were probably his last moments. It doesn't bear thinking about.

I stood by the side of the car and then hobbled round to the pavement and sat down. After I sat down, the pain overwhelmed me and I lay back on the pavement and gritted my teeth.

The petite girl dispatch rider who helped me out before, happened to be passing by and she stopped - a lovely little thing - and she took my deliveries. She said she'd contact HQ for me when she got to the next delivery. That's what we'd do, we'd call in from the reception of the drop-off for our next instruction.

While this was happening, a guy from across the street came over and he said he'd seen the whole thing. He gave me his name and number and said he would be a witness. He paused for a minute and then said "Don't mind me saying this, but that was very acrobatic how you flipped over the entire car and landed on your feet!"

The cops showed up and they insisted that I go to hospital. An ambulance turned up and took me down there. I got checked up and nothing was broken so they let me go.

A van driver from the Courier company came to get me and then pick up the bike.

He was a lovely fella and he was avuncular and comforting. When we got back to the bike, we manhandled it into the back of the van. I was in pain but I was able to limp my way thru it.

After we were done, he said that we should get a cup of tea. I demurred but then realized I could do with the comfort.

He took me up to Putney Heath where they had one of those hackney carriage comfort stations. These are those green shacks that you used to see round London and they have a long history.

He got me a big mug of tea and we stood outside the shack under the awning in the afternoon sun and I felt quite forlorn and lost but he really comforted me. And then on the radio, they played Margaritaville. I'd never heard it before and it seemed to sum up the moment: melancholy and poignant but a little hopeful too.

I didn't know the record and pre-internet, such things often remained mysteries and it wasn't till many years later, in the US, that I heard it again and was able to identify it. Great record with a special meaning to me.

Pete Dixon and Phil Purver's had a place in Ealing which I knew had had an accessible backyard so we dropped the bike off there and I left an explanatory note on it.

At the time, I was staying in a flop-house up the road for 35 quid a week. It was truly disgusting. I was in a room with 3 others. There was no place to lock your stuff up so it was blind faith that your stuff would not go missing.

The next day, I showed up at Phil and Pete's to explain the situation. Pete took one look at me and said "Doug, you look like shit! What's going on?"

I hadn't showered for days and I was covered in road dirt and I was staggering around like a drunkard on my battered legs. It just so happened that Phil had just gone away for 2 weeks and Pete offered me to to stay there. Oh my, was that ever a relief!

I'd spent only a few days in the flop-house and I really felt for those poor fuckers who had no other choice but to stay there - how soul destroying that must be and this was far from the worst of the worst. You see a place like this and see why people might choose the streets instead. We have to do better. The homeless situation is insane.

Without a bike, I had no obvious means of employment. I went to interview with a guy who claimed to be a diamond courier. Sounded like a fun job, right!

He interviewed me and the diamond courier option quickly receded. He tried to make out that he was an international man of mystery, but what he did do was a bit of motorcycle courier work some mini-cab work. He was a major bullshitter - one of many that I've met over the years.

He did have a Bentley and he would do chauffeured wedding work with it. He also had a Yamaha 100 which he would lend to me to do courier work. Most of my time was spent waiting for a job to come in, sitting in his living room, bored to tears.

The bike wasn't taxed or MOTed - which was nothing new to me - I would try to make sure that cop cars couldn't see the missing tax disk by staying in the blind spot.

One day, a passing cop car spotted the expired tax disk and I got pulled. I don't remember what happened about the expired tax, maybe Bob just renewed it, but the MOT didn't exist. Bob got all irate about it and said something along the lines of "I'm an upstanding businessman - how dare you suggest that my vehicles that are not fully legal!" Eventually he got a duplicate MOT - I think he knew the guy at the garage and got a forged one.

Bob was a total bullshit artist and a fraud - a Walter Mitty type who made up outrageous and far-fetched stories. He had a photo up on his wall in the living room which was his pride and joy, of him standing next to his Bentley. It was a professionally taken photo.

One day when I was waiting woefully for the next job to come in, the photographer showed up at the door. Apparently - and not all surprisingly - Bob had never paid for the photo. Soon it escalated it into a full-on shouting match, with Bob claiming that his impeccable business bon fides were being assaulted and how dare he impugn him!

The feisty little photographer managed to work his way round Bob, and into the living room where he grabbed the photo off the wall and headed out. Bob was a big guy, so it was quite brave of the little fella to hold his ground. He left Bob huffing and puffing about how outrageous the photographer had been. Lots of bluster in the aftermath.

There was another guy who working for Bob who drove a Ford Granada for Bob's car service. Let's call him Raj. We spent hours a day just hanging out waiting for work. The guy had a Kawasaki Z1000, which, aside from exotics, was the best and most powerful motorcycle generally available.

One day a dispatch job came in. Raj was bored and he said "Hey, let's do it on my bike!" I was like "Great - let's go!" So, we were riding along and the bike felt mean and powerful - champing at the bit. I kept saying "Let's give it a bit if stick!" And he was saying "Look there's no point. As soon as we speed up we'll have to slow back down again." And admittedly there was a lot of traffic around.

I had a large package under my arm and I could only hold on with one hand but once we'd delivered it, I could hold the grab rail tightly with both hands. We were heading towards Kingston Bridge and the bridge was wide and clear. I urged him again to give it some stick. There was a pause and then he decided to go for it. I leaned forward against the acceleration but as he opened it up more, I was inexorably pushed backwards, until I hit the point of no return and started to topple backwards off the bike. I was getting ready to kiss the tarmac, but as my feet came up off the pegs and got level with his elbows, i wrapped my legs round his waist and we went across the bridge with me lying horizontally - it must've looked pretty funny.

Fucker didn't slow down until we reached the other side. He made out that he hadn't noticed my legs round his waist, but he had tears running down running down his cheeks when we finally slowed down.

He was a funny guy. He claimed that he didn't slow down for roundabouts (meaning the big ones) - he would just drive onto them at 60 mph and he reckoned that because he was going faster than the traffic already on them, he could just slot in wherever he wanted.

Bob's wife was quite a cutie but he was sometimes a bully and would belittle her. He got uppity when I defended her when he'd been particularly unreasonable.

She recalled a time when he'd been trying to change a tire on the side of the road on a cold, rainy night. He wasn't very practical and as he kicked down on the tire iron, his foot slipped off, he lost his balance and fell into the puddles. She said that he looked like a hippopotamus, rolling around on his back trying to get back up. She fucking loved it and she was convulsed with laughter as she remembered it.

Eventually, I found a full set of RD400 forks on Motorcycle News including the headlight. When I went to pick them up, I couldn't help but notice that the VIN on the host motorcycle had been ground off. But it was 35 quid and I needed to get my bike fixed and get it out of Phil's garden, so I just let it go.

My bike wasn't taxed, MOTed or insured, but the cops let it go - I guess they felt sorry for me because of the accident. I took the damages up with a lawyer under legal aid and ended up getting 600 quid, which was a pretty damn good result. It wasn't a lot considering the injury but taking my circumstances into account, it was a good result. The bike had cost me 420 quid originally to give it some perspective.

My knees hurt for months afterwards. If I couldn't stretch my legs out for too long, like when sitting in the back seat of a car, I'd end up in a lot of pain. I couldn't get down on my haunches for even longer but eventually I think I more or less got completely back to normal. But I smacked up my knees numerous times thereafter so it's somewhat of an academic position as to how much was due to that accident!

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Love Is Blind

Masterlist

Summary: The time has come to reveal your and Henry's relationship to your brothers, simple right? Well it would be if your wasn't the baby sister to the infamous Shelby brothers.

Warnings: RPF, Swearing, Slight Angst, Fluff, Confrontation, Implied Violence

A/N: so here is the Peaky Blinders AU that i started a few days ago, Im really happy with this and had a lot of fun with it. But please excuse the typo's

Taglist: in reblogs

You looked around the road eyes wide ,watching the passers by. The peaky blinders were everywhere... this was always a risk, not to mention you wasn't entirely sure where each of your brothers were. Or aunt Polly you only knew that Ava was off with her lover Fred. And you were doing much of the same... Well not Fred but Henry, your own lover. You'd met him when welcoming Tommy home from the war... He was hard to miss tall- taller then Tommy even! and injured he was searching the crowded dock but... It was clear to see that noone was there to greet him off the boat. He looked distraught and shattered. You were a bleeding heart and had approached him as your family had a small get together, you'd given him a hug pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek and welcomed him home giving him one of the flowers in the bouquet you'd brought for tommy. He had appreciated it, more then you'd ever know.

What you hadn't known was that he was moving into a home a few streets away. A few weeks later you saw him and he thanked you politely, you couldn't help think how very handsome he was, perfect blue eyes but for a speck of brown in his right eye, sharp regal features and pale alabaster skin now free from the bruising of his injury. He hadn't been as broad or muscular back then, but had been tall and lean.

Over the next few months chance meetings became dates, dates became full days basking in one another's presence until finally after a few months you'd fallen for the amazing gentle giant. It had been hard falling so hopelessly in love with Henry and having to hide from brothers and gangsters alike. But somehow you'd both made it with minimal near misses. Three years. Three years you'd been having this secret romance with him. But now you wanted more, as selfish as it was you wanted to be free to love him in public. Without worrying who may have seen you or if Aunt Polly will tell Thomas.

Yes she knew alright. There are no secrets from Aunt Polly. She said you done well and had even spoke with Henry a few times, she liked him. He wasn't in the business but could protect you, his shear size would be enough of a deterrent to others. And honestly she thought Tommy would get along with him, henry was clever and had an imposing frame. If Tommy had the chance, you knew Henry would be pulled into the fold, you were just unsure if that's what you both wanted.

Henry hadn't had much luck with work at first when he was here, so he became a boxer for a time learning to fight and defend himself and bulked up. It was terrifying to watch him be so ferocious in the ring and you thanked god each day Henry had avoided gaining a crooked nose. A few times you'd run into Tommy at the fights, your brother had singled you out and had you brought to him to stand and watch. But you were pleased to find out that your brother always placed his money on your man... So that was a good sign wasn't it?

Henry knew you didn't like his fighting but continued, he wanted to offer you everything. A home with kids and garden a cute little dog and the best clothes and food money could buy. So he saved everything! Kept all his winnings and in just over a year he had a nice sum of money in bets from his winnings and managed to earn enough for a small house. Since then he had a job doing the heavy lifting in a local Steel works.

Everything was set! Henry had a home for you, which you had a hand in help decorate. He promised a long and happy future with you! There was just the small problem of your family. They were... Protective to say the least, not only were you a Shelby sister but younger then Ava.

You quickly left the street today you were meeting Henry by the docks where Tommy kept the horse he'd just got. It was close... but not too close, it was worth the risk to be able to see Henry. Today was the day. You both decided! Henry will talk to them, introduce himself to your brothers this afternoon at the pub before they could drink too much.

You rounded the barn casting one final glance over your shoulder out of habit and slipped into the stalls. You could see him already, his flat cap and dark blue suit. Oh god he had dressed up for it, shit tommy would laugh him out of the bar. You chewed your lip and quivered you were anxious, this could be make or break. If Tommy was against it there was no way you could sneak about and keep your relationship going. They would chase henry out of Birmingham. Or kill him.

You stepped around the horse and giggled watching as henry gave himself a little pep talk twisting his signet ring on his pinkie with shaky hands. He was terrified and so were you. He paused and spun around to face you when he heard the small clicks of your heels on the concrete floor.

"W-what do you think?" he said spinning around holding his hands out letting you get a look at him. You stepped closer to him trying to settle your rapid heart. He was immaculate, stunning and handsome, sculpted by the gods... But looked too pretty. And god knows a Shelby girl wont be allowed to date a pretty boy. You smiled at him stopping inches away from him and walked your fingers over his chest slowly unbuttoning his suit jacket.

"You are magnificent... But a little too refined." you hummed motioning for him to shrug out of the loose suit jacket. He hissed out a shaky breath as you took the jacket from him and tucked it over your arm. That was better, the vest and white shirt showed his frame perfectly, and it also showed the slight strain on the buttons of his shirt. Hinting at the powerful man hidden beneath. You wanted them to see he was a strong man and it wasn't all the cut of the suit. You needed them to see you'd chosen a strong man capable of protecting you.

"There perfect" you said stepping back straightening his tie a little and stood back eyeing him carefully. There really was nothing more you could do. He would have to prove himself in what ever test your brother would conjure on the spot. By god you hope he impressed them.

"Yes you are" he quipped quickly eyes locking on to you making you blush and look away tip toeing around the horse in the stall that hid the two of you. Henry drew in a deep breath watching you closely. This was it. Today was the day, and he hadn't a clue what he was going to say to the great Shelby men. He cursed under his breath turning from you for a second. You understood, this wasn't just your future you were risking today, it was his life. Not many impress Tommy and far less managed to get in his good books when they were trying it on with the baby sister.

"You know that you have to just... Go in there and say 'I'm dating your sister' Right? Be firm and tell them like it is! Stand up to them! They would respect that" You cooed grinning at him from across the barn watching as your love eyed you from the other side of the magnificent white horse Tommy had recently got.

"What and have John blind me with his blades?" He scoffed at you before rounding the horse ducking under the stallions huge head and leant forward trapping you with huge hands resting either side of the horse stall you were leaning on.

"Ugh Johnny boy couldn't even reach your eyes Henry... Its just Tommy and Arthur you need to watch..." you rolled your eyes at him trying to act normal and ignore the black cloud hanging over your head. If this was the last time you were to be alone with him you wanted him to remember you as you are, not the nervous terrified woman you were at this moment. You smirked rising on your tip toes and teased his lips with your breath making him groan silently, the deep contracting of his wide barrelled chest the only give away to the effect you had on him.

You pulled back just as he dipped down to meet your lips and giggled at him as he wound his large arms around you hoisting you up by your waist and sat you on the wooden fence on the box stall bringing you eye level with him. You giggled folding your arms in your lap with his jacket knowing he wouldn't let you fall, he never did.

"Ah just Tommy and Arthur... That is cruel, I'm shaking in my shoes love" he teased wetting his lips with the luxurious pink tongue you knew all too well.

"Aww my poor bear, so frightened of my brothers I know, perhaps this will help you find that courage of yours~" you cooed before pressing forward kissing him on the lips. His lips drew up into a beaming grin and he stepped closer forcing your legs to part and dress to rise up to your knees as he devoured you in a heated yet forbidden kiss.

"Well then lets go shall we?" He grumbled eyes alight with a new want, a deep desire he had never shown before. It was thrilling and awe inspiring. Like he had a new lust, a lust for life and not just what was hidden beneath your skirts.

"Oh love like you said Tommy and Arthur?! I'm going to need all my strength for this meeting" he laughed as your face held a look of shock and disbelief then a petulant pout when you realised  there will be no quick romp in the hay this afternoon. With one final wink he spun around heading for the door.

You stood outside the pub. Your brothers were inside, you could feel it. There was a buzz in the air, the destinct feeling that followed 'the boss' hanging around. You had drawn a little attention walking the streets With henry at your side. People watched as the young Shelby woman walked arm in arm with an undisclosed male carrying his jacket no less. It made you cringe hearing the murmurs of 'should we tell the boss' 'does tommy know?' 'should we help her?' but luckily none made any moves towards you as you moved deeper and deeper into the heath. Towards the pub. You slowed as you neared the final destination and henry pulled out his cigarette tin fishing out the small stick deciding to have a quick smoke before entering the proverbial lions den.

"It will be okay... He will... Test you, but remember family is everything and I'm his youngest sister so..." you trailed off, the truth was you didn't know what Tommy would do or say. He was unpredictable and cunning, he liked to test people. You just hoped Henry passed with flying colours... or the only thing flying will be... you closed your eyes trying not to think of what would happen if things went sour. Henry could die, literally die today for loving you. It curdled your stomach you cant loose him. You hoped Tommy would see that.

"I know that... Here twos?" he said offering you the small cigarette he had been dragging on quickly nervously trying to pull some more courage from the small stick. Because once he was inside he couldn't show any weakness. It was daunting unable to show weakness when the love of his life was on the line. Henry was under no illusions Tommy could and would kill him, and there would be little Henry could do.

"Just remember y/n no matter what I love you. I will always love you" henry said as you toom a few drags on the cigarette. You whined and nodded breathing out the smoke trying to exhale all the tension and anxiety with the fumes.

"I love you too Henry, so much more then I thought I could ever love anyone" without a thought Henry pulled you to him and pressed a kiss to your lips. He didn't give a damn he was kissing the forbidden princess right outside her king brothers castle, or that the others around them would see. Be needed this one final pick me up before faceing the firing squad.

You smiled pulling back handing Henry the remainder of the cigarette and nodded to him. You got this. Then entered the pub walking right into the private room where your family sat. Instantly Polly looked at you frowning seeing you were pale, worried. Then her eyes flicked to your hands still folded with Henry's jacket draped over them. She drew a deep breath and sat straighter looking at the three males wearily. Oh god.

"Tommy I need to talk to you" you said seriously. But the blue eyed man rolled his eyes flicking the ash off his cigarette into the crystal ashtray before speaking dismissively trying to wave you off.

"Your not having that cat its final" john and Arthur chuckled at the automatic response Tommy gave but you frowned. You wasn't to sure what to say next, you didn't want to agitate him but you needed him to listen.

"No its not that- I have something to tell you and its important" you said drawing the attention of John and Arthur, but tommy heaved a sigh and moved stubbing out the lit cigarette and flicked his eyes to you letting you know he was listening.

"Mr Shelby could we talk?" You looked up seeing Henry standing there, tall and wide. Firm and unafraid confidently eyeing your brothers in a way oud never seen before. People cowered. Henry wasn't there was no hint of the anxious man outside. Henry was on a mission.

"Not now can't you see I'm speaking with my sister?" He grunted his voice was even. But to others could be seen as irritated. You turned as Henry didn't so much as flinch, you thought he'd run off but Henry let himself into the room standing closely behind you, one hand moving to his head removing his flat cap revealing the neat styled hair. The usually fluffy curls pulled into a slick style that accentuated his angular features. You nodded to him with a smile pleading him to carry on. What you didn't expect was for henrys huge arm to wrap around your waist in front of your sibling's. Fuck. You felt the shift in the room, anger and shock radiating from the men but an overwhelming curiosity. They wanted to watch this, it was rare someone was so god damned stupid as to put hands on you.

"She is the reason I'm here Mr Shelby" Henrys voice carried over the small space in a low determined tone. You tucked yourself into him, pivoting and twisting a hand to his tummy resting there, fingers twisting the button on his vest. You just needed to feel him, you felt like you were shielding him, but it was also self soothing. You needed to reassure yourself he was here for you. No one else. You.

"Oh? And why is that then?" Tommy shifted leaning back eyeing the man who was being so familiar with his baby sister. Tommy was no fool, you hand flinched or pulled away, this male had been around you enough that you were used to him touching you. You gravitated towards him like... like a lover? Tommy's blue eyes bit into the man. As unsettling as it was seeing his sister so close to another man Tommy couldn't help feeling a little relief, a small spark of joy. If this was your beau you'd done well. Tall, muscular wide and imposing. Not many would pick a fight with him, even drunk people would steer clear of him.

"She invited me" Tommy smirked hearing the man speak, he was confident. Unafraid that boded well too. He wasn't a fucking coward... or atleast he was pretending not to be.

"This is what I wanted to talk to you all about...Tommy, Arthur, John... This is Henry... My?" You hesitated and looked between henry and our family. You just froze, clammed up at the calculating look on Tommy's face. It was frightening being scrutinised by him.

"Lover sweetheart we agreed no more secrets" Henry finally broke the silence tipping his face down to yours with a smile. Ignoring your family in favour of snapping you back to reality.

"Oh no you fuckin' aint sonny boy- y/n you get your ass over here now!" Arthur broke the silence with a rough voice shouting, ordering you to round the table and sit next to him. You grit your teeth and shoo, your head at Arthur watching as he turned red in anger. You wasn't like Ava, you never caused trouble or made trouble for your brothers, heel you were a 'goody two shoes' always doing as you were told. But this time you refused to do as you were asked and stayed put.

Tommy ever the eagle eye noticed. He had been ready to rip this man to shreds but, your simple act of defiance caught his attention. You wasn't a girl to play silly games, so to blatantly refuse and tell them no and side with this Henry meant you were serious. This was serious. And Tommy was wracking his brain he recognised this man... But from where? He was sure he wasn't a blinder so who was he?

"Now y/n don't make me come and get ya"

"I said no"  you snapped at your eldest brother, but your eyes were on Tommy. Henry squeezed your waist as you stared down your most threatening of brothers. Eyes locking with his blue gaze as you held your ground. The smallest of smirks tugged at his lip. You were unsure if it was good or bad but he wasn't scowling so you'd take that as a win.

"Your the one that was boxing...pulverised the others" Tommy said pointing slowly at Henry whilst pulling a crystal glass of whisky towards him, his thumb skimming the rim of the glass in thought. He was thinking, scheming... but then again when was Thomas Shelby not scheming?

"Yes, not that it was personal I needed to win" henry spoke clearly not letting the severe glares f your other brothers shake him. He was impenetrable a solid rock- a mass of a man all firm and sharp angles determined and poised.

"Oh? And why is that then?" Tommy purred still keeping his cards close to his chest, no one knew what he really thought of you and henry or the relationship at that moment. But he was speaking, not shooting. And that was all that mattered.

"I needed the money to buy a house for your sister" Henry said plainly placing his hat on the table in front of him. It was a strange gesture but one you understood. He was making himself comfortable but also using it as a metaphor throwing his hat in the ring so to speak, showing your family he had no intentions on hightailing it out of there and leaving you in the dust.

"You did, did you?" Here was something, a twinkle in the cool blues. You tried to dig deeper but as soon as it was there it had vanished. For a second you dare say your brother was impressed with your choice in man.

"I wasn't coming to you without being able to offer your sister something... I wanted to prove I'm capable of providing her a future" Henry shrugged feeling Tommy with a stare. You shivered hearing the iron will, the absolute control Henry had over himself. John scoffed and leant over the table glaring at Henry dragging on his cigarette then spoke up trying to mimic Tommy's own indifferent threatening demeanour, but failed. There was only one Terrifying Tommy.

" and some tiny house on a backstreet in Birmingham is a future?" john scoffed laughing outloud trying to dampen Henry's resolve. But your man was ready and grinned smugly showing off the perfect teeth and stunning looks.

"Medium actually... not huge but its bigger then what she is used to, with front and back garden bought and paid for... Last week I even got her a kitten... Russian blue expensive but y/n wanted one and I wont deny her" he replied without missing a beat. Henry was proud of what he had achieved, and so he should be. The house he had managed to buy was a  nicely sized three bedroom home, and it was indeed larger then where you lived with your family at the moment. Well decorated and furnished with tasteful furniture most of which you picked out together.

"And what you think I'll give my blessing because you got her a bloody cat?" tommy drew the attention back to him. You swallowed dryly. Tommy sounded mad now. You moved shuffling in front of Henry trying to cover him more, yet your hand wandered behind your back and you clasped your lovers hand tightly hoping things wont go from bad to worse.

"No, you don't need to bless anything, I'm not here to ask. I'm telling you that we are together and serious...We've been a couple for almost three years... And its about time I informed you" your breath hitched as Henry's voice resounded in the room. Oh god that was too far! You paled and snapped your head to him on the brink of tears and pressed back into Henry trying to make him pull back, but no. The man was a brick wall- immovable and stubborn... yet cool and unfazed. But what struck you most was the shock on your brothers faces. No one had spoken to any of them like that for a very long time. And for good reason.

"There is a fine line between courage and stupidity Henry" Tommy said recovering from the shock quicker then the others. He didn't even see you now standing on shaking knees trying to shield henry as much as you could with your frame. But it was no use, Henry was to big, you were but a tiny waif of a woman in front of him. But Tommy bore his curious gaze into the huge man. It would appear your love now had his undivided attention.

"I know, but I'm on the right side of it. I love your sister. And I have loved her for three years, since the day I got off the boat" tommy tilted his head to the side surprized once more by your lover. You drew a slow breath in. You knew tommy respected those who fought for their country.

"You served?" came the question as tommy poured himself another glass and then lit up another cigarette. You saw a quick smile light up his face, but again it was gone before anyone could really notice. Henry heaved a deep breath and nodded, he was no fool. He took a chance and it had paid off, or it seemed to have paid off he wasn't staring down the barrel of a gun or had a peaky cap flung at his face.

"Yes, along side you in fact... I was smaller then... Easy to miss. Your sister showed kindness to me when I had no one and nothing. She gave me hope, hope for the possibility of family and a normal life. She managed to ease my terrors and pull me from the memories of the war. And for that I will give her everything" henry spoke, you noticed your brothers each shrunk. They understood, the war left scars on the mind and it was true even henry had suffered, but you were able to sooth him and bring him back from the worst night terrors. Tommy grunted and flicked his gaze from you to your man then back again. There was a warmer hint to the blues, dare you say an acceptance. But even you knew he was still going to pull something out of the bag and throw a curveball at your love. Tommy still needed to test Henry, but atleast you could say so far so good.

"And taken something I assume?" Polly hissed looking away as your brother spoke. You rolled your eyes, did he seriously want to know if you'd fucked? Tommy held Henry captive in his gaze he knew the answer but for some reason he wanted the hear it out loud. You couldn't help this was Tommy's test, he was daring your lover to lie to him. You prayed Henry wasn't that stupid. To your reliefe he proved he wasn't as he replied sincerely.

"I shared something freely given I assure you there was no pressure" the statement wasn't smug, henry didn't make you sound like an achievement, something to conquer. And he made it clear that he hadn't pressed you into anything. It earned him a nod from all three men, you smiled they were coming around to Henry. Thank fuck!

"And you come here and say that to my face? Tell me you've broken in my sister? You certainly have balls" your smile dropped and you shifted on your feet. What just happened? Things were going great, and now they weren't? Luckily Henry was more prepared for this then you and he answered smoothly not fazed by the way things had turned so quickly.

"Yes I'm not going to stand here and lie about our relationship I love her. And I'll not hide it a second more. I will protect her and cherish her she has my upmost respect"

"So you say you respect her? Yet... She's carrying you jacket around like some maid?" tommy tried twisting things pokeing at Henry trying to get a rise out of him. Probably so he had a reason to chase him off. But you wanst having it.

"Tommy, I'm holding it so he cannot run! Stop being an ass" you growled releasing Henry's hand and moved forward seething at your brother who lounged back regarding you carefully.

"That's enough mouth from you y/n you've done enough becoming a fucking little whore when our back is turned?" you paused takeing half a step back as tommy's furious gaze landed on you. You quivered feeling hurt, flushing in anger and embarrassment. Not once had he spoke to you like that, you were always praised by your brother, protected and loved to hear him growl at you so cruely was heart breaking.

"I'd ask you don't speak to her like that-" Henry spoke up growing angry himself with the way Tommy had spoke to you. But henry was ignored as Tommy began to lay into you hissing venomously belittling you in front of your family and lover.

"Tell me sister is this some last mineut attempt to cover up a bastard? If so is it even his? For all we know you could be bed hopping all over the heath" you whined at the assault mouth hanging open trying to form words but it was hard. Your eyes welled with tears. Call you a cry baby but you loved your brothers and tried to do them proud to have one of them be so nasty cut you deep.

"No!- Tommy of course not-"

"So your just becoming the heaths bike then? To think after everything you'd sink so low to ruin yourself- Ava was one thing she's always ran around behind our backs but you? I really expected better then to become a two bit whore" his words were like razors ice picks hitting your chest, he always knew how to slice deep. It came with being a blinder- but you never thought you'd be on the receiving end. You moved back another step bumping into Henry, you wanted to run and hide. For the first time in your life you were scared, you didn't want to feel your brothers fury.

"Do not speak to her like that in my presence ever again" Henry snarled brushing past you hiding your quivering from behind him. He was livid and for a second you thought he was going to swing for your brother.

"She's my sister-" Tommy started looking back at henry who had taken the bait hook line and sinker. But was cut off by henry stepping forward leaning over crowding Tommy thumping the table with more force then necessary. Everything jumped, the glasses ashtray even the bottle leapt from the table. You jerked gasping as the bang echoed  in the room.

"I don't give a fuck. You wont ever talk to her that again. She is mine and brother or not you will treat her with respect or you will pay for it!" everything stopped. No one moved. No one breathed. It wasn't everyday someone threatened A Shelby, least of all Tommy. Henry growled at your blue eyed brother. Tommy tilted his head taking him in.

"H-henry?" you whispered moving forward pressing a hand to the small buckle as the back of his vest tugging him back, making him stand at his full Hight just in time as John shot up from his seat ready to lunge.

"Oi! Don't you talk to him like that I'll have your fucking eyes!" he roared jumping up turning on your lover but Tommy stopped him fisting a hand in his jacket and tugging him to sit back down... He was grinning?

"Tommy?" Arthur asked not following, but then again he always was a few steps behind everyone. You frowned blinking back tears and gasped. That bastard! It was a trick! You slumped  and wrapped yourself around henry before anyone could realise what happened. Henry curled himself around you frowning confused and you tucked yourself into him.

"Any man who a the balls to defend her against me...Will protect her from anyone..." Tommy spoke and tipped his head to the seat across from him offering Henry a seat at the table. You both sat quickly beside one another Polly moved pouring you both a drink, you looked like you needed it.

"So? So you mean we can be together?" Henry asked trying to keep up with how he'd just gone from having a target on his back to having a seat with the family. Tommy smiled nodding whilst bringing his own drink to his lips sipping the amber liquid then spoke.

"Mmm But you've broken her... You'll repay me for ruining her by making her an honest woman"

"The rings in my pocket" Henry said rubbing your back as you shook next to him, the adrenaline and worry now rushing through you. All these years of anxiety washing away with sweet tears of reliefe. Henry tucked you under his arm and held you close on the bench seat hushing you as you crumbled. You didn't really register what was said instead pressed your self into him hands tugging his clothes trying to calm down.

"Then do it- but you ever turn your fists on her I'll kill you" Tommy threatened holding out his cigarette tin offering one to henry, he took it thanking him then popped it between his lips and lit the white stick. His hand only quivered slightly, the rush of what just happened hitting him.

"It will never happen, I couldn't live with myself if I ever made her feel less then perfect let alone harm her" he said squeezing you tighter to his side.

"Then we have a deal?" tommy smiled, a genuine smile as he spied the two of you. He had no doubt, if henry was willing to go toe to toe with him in his pub, in front of his family- probably the most dangerous thing you could do in the heath. Then henry will take care of you and protect you with his life. Plus Henry made you happy and that was all Tommy could ask for, your safety and happiness. Contrary to what people thought he had no issues with anyone dating his sisters. He just didn't want his girls to have weak simpering husbands to protect them should the worst ever happen... And Henry knew how to shoot a gun from his time in the forces, so when handed a weapon Tommy wont have to worry about having a newbie protecting his baby sister. And Henry will be given a gun to protect you with.

"That we do" Henry grinned shaking Tommy's hand and quickly snagged your own placing a thin gold band on your left ring finger before you could even muster a single sound. You blinked wiping your eyes pawing at the salty droplets and gasped seeing the band on your finger, a small diamond in the centre or the dainty ring.

"W-what your not e-ven gonna ask me Henry?" You stuttered at him hiccupping and sniffling trying not to have a full blown breakdown and cry from both relief and happiness. Henry laughed pressing a cheeky kiss to your cheek making you flush and tuck your head back into his chest trying to hide from the onlookers.

"Now why would I give you the chance to say no? Hmm? I may be a tad slow sometimes but I'm not a complete idiot" he purred finishing with a small chuckle, that the others echoed everyone had calmed down accepting the news. You whined at him and slapped his chest lightly pouting as henry laughed.

"Besides your brother and I made a deal" he added as you pulled back eyeing your new ring with a weak smile managing to control yourself bar a few sniffling gasps and the odd rogue tear.

"Oh s-o I'm b-business?~" you tried to tease him but the words lost their bite as you were still tearful from your crying. You were weepy you couldn't help it, today had been stressful- hell this past week had been stressful!

"Business? No... Your my world love" he cooed not caring in the slightest at how soppy he sounded. He wasn't here to put on a show for your brothers. He was here for you.

"I love you" you said peeking up at him with a shy smile.

"Good to know~" he hummed winking at you taking another drag of the cigarette, but you pouted sticking out your bottom lip like you did each time he teased you.

"Yes, yes I love you too" he caved pressing a chaste kiss to your lips drawing a growl from your eldest brother, but nothing was thrown so you summarized you were safe.

"Congratulations Henry I told you they weren't that bad" Polly spoke up quickly ending your sweet kiss before anything could go south.

"Yes Ms Polly you were right, we should have listened to you" henry admitted rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly

"Wait pol you knew?" tommy growled snapping to his aunt but the older woman rolled her eyes. Honestly you think he'd learn by now. No one pulled the wool over Polly's eyes.

"Who to you think has helped keep her from having a kid for three years Tommy! At least that's one thing I don't have to worry about anymore thank god!" she huffed pretending to be annoyed but you knew she was happy for you. She had been routing for henry, and trying to get you to tell the boys for a long time. You were just scared.

"Polly! Stop it" you squeaked flushing, no one needed to know  just what Polly had been helping you with! Least of all your fucking siblings!

"What its true? Now your free to pop them out without any uncomfortable questions from this lot, and i have no doubt it will be soon" she teased with a smirk enjoying tormenting you, she had bit her tongue for too long it was about time she got to poke fun at you. You were such a shy innocent little thing.

"Oh my god stop" you moaned ducking down as everyone chuckled at your expense. Henry then made it worse by ducking down beside you and whispered in your ear.

"...She does have a point love" then nipped at it quickly before turning back to your brothers as your face flamed.

It hadn't been the easiest of days, but in the end all the worry and anxiety had paid off not only had you managed to reveal your relationship to your family with no casualties. But you also became engaged to the man of your dreams. Tommy seemed relived, he was happy for you in his own over protective brotherly way. The freedom that came with todays outcome was worth it and now you and henry were free to start your lives together. Truly start with a marriage kids the whole nine yards! And you'd never been happier.

#peaky blinders au #henry cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #rpf #henry cavill au #henry cavil x y/n

[novelconcepts]

Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it. 

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like? 

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle. 

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun. 

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it. 

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from. 

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left. 

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity. 

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves. 

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated. 

She looked real. 

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available. 

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it. 

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours. 

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach. 

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good. 

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself. 

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system. 

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night? 

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons. 

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit. 

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough. 

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?” 

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a  different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively. 

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now. 

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart. 

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on. 

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette. 

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips. 

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says. 

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane. 

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?” 

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight. 

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make. 

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #okay I liked this one way more than planned #it's sort of nice doing a modern AU under a million words long

[simkaswriting]

Charming-(Charles Xavier)

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: (Y/N) goes to the School for Gifted Youngsters in hopes of finding her dog that ran away.

A/N- Not set during any particular movie/time period.

She tapes the last 'MISSING' poster onto the dull post standing next to Wallmart and sighs heavily. Her eyes scan her surroundings with hope, perhaps she’ll catch a glimpse of her furry friend that ran away from her home. But when all she sees is the bad traffic jam and a few people arguing over a parking spot, she decides to move on. That’s all she could do, tape posters of her dog around town with hopes of someone spotting him and being kind enough to return him. 

Her feet carry her to a large black gate, with a plaque reading ‘Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters’. Every resident in the surrounding towns knew of the school. No, every person in the country knew. It’s the place mutants go to, that’s what they’re called. To (Y/N), they are just people. People with extraordinary abilities. People who might have seen her dog. 

There’s an intercom on the stone wall, a button with a bell symbol and a speaker. She timidly presses it and awaits an answer. After a few seconds and some static, she hears a voice on the other end. 

“How can we help you?”

She searches for the right words, not really having thought ahead, not expecting anyone to answer.

“Um. My dog, he ran away two days ago. Is there any way you could take a poster? Pass it around? Maybe someone seen him.” She glances around, taking in her surroundings. Greenery and trees, and far off the Esquimalt Lagoon.

A noticeable pressure settles over her brain, a feeling she can only compare to when a Doctor takes your blood pressure, but on her brain. Not painful, but definitely there. If she were anywhere else, her instincts would tell her to pop a painkiller for the oncoming headache. But here, at the school, she knows the source of the pressure isn’t entirely natural.

(Y/N) leans into the intercom, frowning, and half-whispers. “Are you in my head?” 

The voice chuckles, unbeknown to her, a certain telepath already knows quite a few things about her.

“Come on in, Miss (Y/L/N).” 

Then a beep, signalling the conversation is over. The gate slowly swings open.

Contemplating whether or not she wants to go in only takes a few seconds, the need to find her dog winning over. Her feet carry her down the long driveway, passing various normal looking people, who are probably mutants. She doesn’t stare, instead appreciates the nature surrounding the school. And doesn’t bother trying to figure our how the voice knew her name. 

She walks up towards the impressive structure, a man in a wheelchair waiting with a small smile at the door. This must be the owner of the school. Professor X, was it? He was often in the towns local news, whether it be because people fear him or worship him. It changes each week. Though his youth surprises her.

His hair is pushed back, a tweed suit adorning his body. He seems wise yet full of mischief. The blue of his eyes is simply breathtaking. Overall attractive, though she can’t quite figure out what it is about him that makes her heart skip a beat.

“Miss (Y/L/N), let’s see this poster then.” He smiles at her, confident but not arrogant, arm outstretched. His eyes linger on her lips.

Fumbling with the paper, she passes one of the flyers into his waiting hand. She’s not sure how to act, the man is beyond powerful, and though seemingly friendly, she doesn’t know if she can trust him, or how to really act.

He scans the paper. “Adorable dog, what’s his name?” Eyes full of amusement look up at her, though she’s not sure why. Is he in on a joke she isn’t aware of?

“Alfie.” She says slowly, as if waiting for him to announce a prank he’s pulled on her. After a few seconds of the Professor and (Y/N) looking at each other with curiosity, it dawns on her.

“But you already knew that, just as you knew my name.” She chuckles, relaxes a little, strangely enough. Something about the man in front of her reassures her, for whatever reason. 

The Professor nods. He reaches into the pocket of his blazer and produces a small business card. (Y/N) takes it and examines it. The schools name, his name and the address along with a phone number. 

“I’m Charles Xavier, the Professor at this school. I’ll pass this poster around, maybe someone will have seen him, stay in touch with me. Thank you for your visit, Miss (Y/L/N). It truly was a pleasure.” The Professor, or rather Charles, takes the girls hand in his own and shakes it, his eyes never leaving hers. In his mind, he’s already thinking up a plan that involves Peter.

Charles has never fell so hopelessly for someone, let alone a confused human who lives just a short walk away from the school. The moment he glanced into her mind, purely to make sure she wasn’t posing a threat, he was captivated; hooked and ready to do anything in his power to get to know her better.

(Y/N) almost lets slip her comment about how young he is for a professor. But instead, her smile widens, her hand reluctantly slipping from the Professors. Somehow she knew he’d help her. Somehow, in the pit of her stomach, she knew she would see him again. Though she didn’t realise just how soon that would be.

“Call me (Y/N), please. I’m not old enough for you to use my surname.” She chuckles, before thanking the Professor one last time and walking down the long driveway. Away from the school, the onlooking strangers with knowing smiles on their faces, and the man who will preoccupy much of her thoughts, both waking and sleeping. 

                                              -----------------------------                                                

A soft knock on the front door jerks (Y/N)s body awake from deep sleep. The image of the Professors face lingers at the border of her consciousness, but is gone before she can fully comprehend why. Her fingers work to brush the sleep from her eyes, and then the knots out of her hair. Standing up, her back cracks in several places, accompanied with a painful moan, an aftermath of sleeping on the sofa.

The knocking comes again, this time slightly louder. The clock above the door shows that it’s 8:12am. Too early.

She makes her way to the door, and unlocks it. As soon as the door is open, a ball of fur collides with her aching body. The impact knocks her to the ground, and before she can even process what’s happening, a wet tongue starts licking her face.

An excited laugh escapes (Y/N)s lips, her hands slightly pushing her Lab away so she has a clear view of the door. And on her porch, she sees a smiling Charles.

Quickly, (Y/N) stands up off the floor and wipes at her face, not wanting the Professor to see her in this dishevelled state. Alfie runs off into the kitchen to look for food, tail wagging.

“Where did you find him?” She asks excitedly, walking towards the door. Her eyes scan the man in front of her, noticing that he’s dressed more casual than when she last saw him yesterday. Behind him, parked on the road, is a black SUV with tinted windows.

“A student of mine happened to stumble upon him on the school grounds, he was hiding in the bushes.” Charles chuckles. Was that the truth? Partially. He misses out the part where he asked Peter to go on a wild goose chase as soon as she left the School grounds.

(Y/N) smiles at the man in front of her, beyond grateful for his help. If she hadn’t gotten the courage to ring the intercom bell, her boy might have still been running around lost. 

“I can’t thank you enough for going through the troubles and bringing him home. You could have called, I feel slightly bad now.” She blushes, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. 

Charles chuckles, a noise she finds extremely charming, before raising his brow. “You didn’t give me your number.”

Eyes widening, she recalls their conversation from the day before. And, to her embarrassing horror, he’s right. ‘Though, if he wanted it, couldn’t he just search my mind for it?’ she thinks.

“I didn’t want to invade your privacy. Again.” A voice in her head, just as British as in real life, answers her. A voice that undoubtedly belongs to the Professor in front of her, yet she isn’t entirely sure how he did it.

Charles chuckles, loving how flustered he’s making the woman standing in front of him. Just like in the old days, when he used to hit up the local pubs and charm women from all over the world, often scoring dates. Back when he could still walk. Since then, nothing.

Shocked, (Y/N) doesn’t know how to answer. If he can read her thoughts, project his thoughts into her head... He must know a lot about her already. Slightly ashamed, she wonders if he knows how attractive and enigmatic she finds him.

“However, and do stop me if I am too bold, I would love to see you again. Perhaps over a coffee? You’d love the Schools gardens. Maybe I could arrange a private tour for you.” Charles smiles, oozing confidence and charm and allure. His smile emits one from (Y/N) herself, who can’t quite stop the full force of it. 

She takes a few seconds to compose herself, to hide the painfully obvious happiness and attraction she feels towards the Professor in front of her. The growing feeling of adoration she knows he’ll pick up on sooner or later.

With a small nod, she meets his eyes. “I’d love that. Though please stay out of my head, it’s not exactly polite.”

Enthralled with her, Charles scratches the back of his neck, a nervous habit, and chuckles. He’s still got it. “I promise. Does 11 sound good?” 

“11 sounds perfect, Charles.”

#x men #x-men #xmen #xmen x reader #x men x reader #xmen imagine #x men imagine #x men imagines #xmen imagines #charles xavier #professor xavier #marvel #james mcavoy #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier imagine #charles xavier imagines #james mcavoy x reader #peter maximoff #quicksilver #evan peters

[thisisthewayitis2021]

Finally, I'm getting round to posting my first piece of writing. I suppose it is to be expected. I cannot plan for anything as every day brings a complete unknown in the way of energy.

I absolutely do not want this blog to be any 'sorry for myself' kind of emotional outpouring, and depressing to read. It is a journal, like the journals that people used to write, in lovely notebooks with a key. But not locked of course. That's ok, I don't mind. Books are the same; people write books and people read them. Books are as freely available in bookshops. In fact more so, as there is no membership of bookshops required or vetting of readers. No questions asked by the assistant in Waterstones if you want to buy a book on any subject, to see if you are suitable and respectable enough to buy it. It's just a bit more effort to go to town and go to the shop, buy the book, go home, make a cup of tea and sit down to read it. Although you can buy also buy a book online nowadays of course, or even read one. And as instantly, anyone can write and read a blog on a phone.

A blog is the only way I can think of, that I can actually do, to record the information as requested by the long covid clinic. I'm not even after 'followers' to be honest, as really it's like a scrapbook, something creative for me to do and enjoy, that I can add photos to, and other lovely things perhaps. Pretty to look at maybe, if I can figure out how to do that. If anyone wants to look too, they are very welcome. Though I can't imagine it will be that interesting. Not sure what hashtags to put, or how people find each other really on Tumblr. It's all new to me. I can't read long things online myself at the moment, but maybe one day I will follow some blogs myself. I will have to come back to things throughout the day, or even over several days to edit. But that's ok too. There is no one to answer to or give me their opinion. And I will have no idea who reads it.

A diary was requested by the Long covid clinic adviser, (an Occupational therapist called Christine, who was really kind) during my initial appointment on June 24th. That was over a month ago. I instantly ordered a lovely notebook to do it. "I can do that", I thought, relieved to finally be able to do something to help myself. But have not written one word in it. Unbelievably that is too much effort. So then I thought of a blog, to just do on my phone. But I just have not been able to get that together either, to a) read the instructions on how to create a blog, and b) write anything, until Friday (4 days ago) when my son set this Tumblr blog up for me. This is the first day I have felt able to write anything. It seems a bit strange to ask for a diary, of someone who has difficulty thinking and committing themselves to tasks because they have energy, focus and thinking problems. But hey, finally, here it is. I can't look at a computer screen for longer than half an hour on most days before feeling scrunched up inside my head, so that seemed the best way forward. I can just sit on the sofa and at least write a few lines to say how that day has been. And edit and add to it at intervals. And if my eyes aren't sore, then something a bit longer on my laptop. Then there will be a record for the long covid people. Or at something I can refer to to remind myself, when I eventually have the appointment. This is, to be honest, something patients are getting on with themselves. Self management. I'm on a mission to recovery. It will also be something I can look back on when I am better.

So here I am. And hello to anyone reading this. This is a better day. I have had 3 lying on the sofa and doing zero. Therefore I am feeling pretty good today as that is how it works apparently, I have been told. You have to wait to recover from the most gentle activity which if I was well, would be no problem at all, and perhaps one in a series of activities as I like to do stuff.

But now I have to pace myself. Where are the emoticons on here? Rolling eyes emoticon to be inserted here when I can find them. This is tricky as I am a very usually a very active busy and rushing about kind of person. I have not had to take my dog Maisie out today as Ed the Borrowmydoggy walker has taken her for a walk, and I have not used up much energy at all. I'm saving up my bank of energy for hopefully meeting some colleagues for tea and cake tomorrow afternoon. I'm so hoping I will feel up for it. I really miss work, and a sense of routine and normality, and daily contact. And a sense of purpose. I love my job. Tomorrow would be the first time I have been away from out of my local area for two weeks. And it's only 10 minutes away. I'm nervous though as last Friday I met 2 friends in a local pub for 1 1/2 hours for lunch and it took 3 days to recover. It took about 6 minutes to walk there. I had lunch with them which was really lovely. I walked the 6 minutes home and picked up Maisie and walked her round the block. My legs felt like lead and it was really hard work but I needed to. She needed to have a walk. I then saw another friend in my other local's garden which I walked past and went and sat with her for half an hour. That wasn't essential I know, but I wanted to. I live on my own you see, and with feeling so poorly, can get quite down if I don't see or speak to anyone for a day or two. That was all I did. Less than two hours activity. But it completely knocked me out for the rest of the day. And the next. I could not think. I could not watch tv or listen to audio speech. My mind was completely still and I lay still on the sofa, staring, listening to sounds on the Calm app. I felt very depressed. The day after that was marginally better. I could watch 30 minutes of tv, but then my brain started to feel scrunched up inside after that, with the concentration and I had to switch it off. The TV that is, not my brain. That was already off.

Anyway. That is nearly all I can write today. That's what happens. I hit a wall and know I will come to a stop in few minutes and need to close my eyes. I have a few sleeps a day. There is loads to say, But I will write a bit more tomorrow.

As far as today is concerned, it is ok so far. A bit better than yesterday. I will rest now and listen to the radio for a bit. Maybe watch a bit of tv later. I think I'll be able to manage an hour or so today. Feeling more cheery. I did some meditations on Calm this morning. Mindfulness. Being on my own and having noone to talk to, the grief of missing my dad who passed away in January, my health weighing me down, and thinking of my future can feel a bit overwhelming sometimes. I have always been someone who doesn't bottle things up, and expresses myself.. can say how I'm feeling and says what I think. So it's helping.

I am a glass half full person though, so this blog isn't going to be all gloomy. And I still have my sense of humour. So catch you tomorrow.

Take good care.

[ginasneesby]

September- Viv and Andy part 2

On my previous trip to New Zealand in 2008, I and my friends spent a crazy month driving around the whole country with multiple stops and lots of road time, this time round I wanted to spend less time in the car and more time doing things. Top of Viv and Andy’s list was Whale watching in Kaikoura which is on the South Island near Christchurch. With our base in Auckland we decided to fly down meaning maximum time doing stuff and no long days hauling ass down the country. Domestic travel is super easy in NZ so I booked us some last minute fights to Christchurch  for the Monday and with no plans till the next day we were able to take our time and minimise travel stress.

We got in mid-afternoon and with google maps in hand tried to work out where our hostel was in relation to the airport, fairly typically I remember it being the opposite side of town, but decent buses and small bags meant it wasn’t too much of a hardship. We stayed at a youth hostel near the botanical gardens in a 3 person room, I guess meant for a family with one child, Viv and I hadn’t shared a room for a good few years so that was a bit weird; but it was comfy enough and we were going to be out most of the time anyway. After a quick freshen up, and a mini google, we headed back out to find somewhere to eat, Monday night in a big city, shouldn’t be too hard eh?

The town centre was absolutely dead. The shopping streets were clean and well-kept with big high street brands, wide streets with multiple pedestrian crossings and yet no people around except us. There didn’t appear to be any little bars dotted around, no bustling restaurants, the only place we found that had a few restaurants/bars in one location was dark and shut up. Perhaps this is different at the weekend, but it gave a slightly abandoned vibe, since the 2011 earthquake it seems lot of people left town for safety/work/the ability to drive on roads that hadn’t collapsed; and really you can’t blame them. We eventually found a small place that was one of those airstream caravans with a heated outdoor seating area that did burgers and pints of beer, by this point we were pretty hungry so it would have been good but honestly, I remember it being particularly good. On the way back to the hostel we passed a giant old school joystick controller mounted in the pavement which was linked with a large screen on the side of a building, with this you could play a giant game of space invaders. Again, we were the only people around in the streets so we played undisturbed for some time; although Andy was the only one good at it so after a while we gave up.

We were picked up Tuesday morning by a local man with a van who drove us all the way up to Kaikoura for the day, it’s about a 3 hour journey so a lot of driving for a day trip, but if you wanna see whales, Kaikoura is where you need to be. It was also really great to have a local drive us as we didn’t know much about the earthquake, save what had been on the news, so getting his insight and experience was sobering but important. On the way out the city, he pointed out some of the local sights that were no longer there, including the CTV building that completely collapsed leading to 115 of the 185 deaths in the disaster. The roads up the coast were also all twisted and broken having been fixed up slowly over the previous 7 years, at one point completely undriveable due to landslides and collapse. They took a long time to be fixed to the point of everyday use partly due to the extensive damage but also lack of money in region (Canterbury is quite a large area to share a budget).

Looking into the earthquake, the reason it was so devastating was three fold:

1)      It measured 6.3 on the Richter scale, the epicentre was only 6 and half km from the city centre and it was shallow. This meant there was simultaneous vertical and horizontal ground movement, with eye witness accounts describing people being ‘tossed in the air’ as well as increased liquefaction causing more ground movement, undermining many building foundations.

2)      There had been 2 large quakes in 2010, one measuring 7.1, which had already weakened some buildings and infrastructure in and around the city.

3)      It was midday so the city centre were full

 We made our way fairly slowly up the coast with a bit of chat and narration, over the last 7 years despite the money problems, a lot of work had been done to make these roads passable. Highways in New Zealand are pretty much all single lane and in most places it’s the only road, so with highway 1 out of commission there is no way north from Christchurch without going across to the west coast and back again (a 400km dogleg.) We were booked on a whale tour in the early afternoon and arrived with just enough time to have a loo stop and a quick drink before heading out; we had to watch a health and safety video first which was basically, boat go fast/sit down. The company then took us the last bit of the way to the harbour and onto the boats which were catamaran style and set up inside with swish bucket seats. The boat was pretty full with what seemed to be one large group of Chinese tourists so if we had any hope of getting 3 seats together and by the window we needed to be quick; I knew from experience that I get a bit sick so having somewhere to sit inside where you can still see the sea is useful. After another small health and safety talk (boat fast/sit) we were on our way; most of these tours have the ‘if we don’t see anything we’ll book you on another tour’ policy which isn’t always great coz people don’t tend to hang around Kaikoura for more than the day they’re booked, but it does mean the company would lose money so they really want to see something as much as we do.

Sick as a dog, I spent the whole time sitting outside on the back staring at the horizon coz I was told staring at a stationary line can help (it didn’t) but I made it through without spewing so I call that a win. We didn’t see much to begin with but these boats are set up with all sorts of underwater gadgets so they can try to identify where whales can be located. Kaikoura sits at the southern end of the Hikurangi trench which has depths of 3km very close to shore which has led to a large number of deep sea species ending up here; this food source is pretty irresistible to whales and so unlike a lot of places they can regularly be seen within a short distance of the coast. The boat sent out a pulse thing and the responding squeaks gave us a heading and eventually we came upon some sperm whales; the sickness subsided for a few minutes so I could watch and take some pics. To be honest, the whales were great, but even just being on the sea and looking back across the southern alps was amazing enough to justify the days travel, I’ve never heard my sister exclaim as much as our drive up once we got near the mountains. We returned to the harbour and were met by our driver who took us into Kaikoura for our included fish supper, having felt sick for the last few hours a giant pile of chips with decent ketchup was literally the best.

On our journey back we went at our own pace stopping for photos across Kaikoura, the southern alps and the pacific ocean; every one suitable for display like most of the south island. We also came across roughly a billion seals lying on spits of rock right next to the coastal road who were totally unfazed by our proximity and were, I swear, posing. The main bulk of the journey back we spent listening to our own things, I’m pretty sure I had the newest episode of ‘My dad wrote a porno’ which I was trying to get through without disturbing the driver or laugh so hard he asked what I was listening to. Having consulted my guests, we cannot remember what we did that night so it was clearly super important but having had a long day I’m sure we just flopped into bed.

Our flight back wasn’t until the evening so we had the whole day to play with in Christchurch; I wanted to go to the earthquake memorial which was a short walk through town. I had been the CHCH briefly in 2008 but only stayed for a half day due to time constraints so I don’t really remember what it looked like; I only really have a picture in my head of an old cathedral with a spire on a square. This, as it turns out, was the famous Christchurch cathedral who’s spire fell in 2011 and still wasn’t safe for visitors so they had built a ‘transitional cathedral’ while they fixed up the original. This was right next to the earthquake memorial so we were able to see both; the memorial ‘185 empty white chairs’ is a sombre little patch of grass on a junction with a bunch of chairs all painted white to represent the 185 people that lost their lives. The chairs are all different and range from wicker to kitchen to office to wheelchair, there’s even a baby carrier as sadly there were some children who died. There is discussion of how to make this memorial permanent as the chairs are just made of normal chair material and have required some upkeep and painting since 2012; I think it’s totally worthwhile as it’s a poignant reminder of the 5th worst disaster in NZ history.

After lunch we still had some time so we headed to the Canterbury museum in the botanical gardens, here there was a large exhibition on Antarctic exploration as a number of famous expeditions have taken off from CHCH. Now people tend to travel from Chile or Argentina as it’s a shorter journey by sea and they come to the Antarctic Peninsula which has a lot of wildlife, however, what’s-his-name Scott and thingy Shackleton didn’t know this in advance so left from NZ on a few trips. I don’t remember what else was in the museum but we did head to the café for a cuppa and large piece of cake before retracing our steps from a few days earlier and heading to the airport. I was really hoping for us to get back in time for my regular Wednesday night pub quiz at Zac’s bar; we just about made it only missing the first round. As we were 3 extra we had to form our own team so Canterbury UNT were not the same size as all the other teams put together; I don’t remember how we did but I’m sure we won. Right?

#newzealand #travelling #christchurch #earthquake #kaikoura #whale watching #wildllife #fish and chips #canterbury museum #pub quiz

[funnyfolk]

The Tent

I was lucky enough to grow up in the sleepy countryside further North than I am now. My days were filled with big fields, meandering streams and local pubs who would serve a 12 year old a pint if they knew who their dad was (like a farmers Masonic lodge, there’s straw everywhere and a faint smell of cow). One of the highlights of my youth was a festival held deeper in the depths of the countryside, into the picturesque valleys of closer to wales than anyone will admit. The valley provided the perfect backdrop for consuming large amounts of brightly coloured alcohol until you couldn’t see, cow tipping and sourcing your red diesel. Legend had it there were panthers and all sorts lurking about up there but then there was also some fairly strong psychotropic mushrooms going around at the time so that was taken with a pinch of salt. I never went in for psychotropic drugs, the thought of suddenly being surrounded by shapeshifting rabbits and jumping out of windows was unappealing. I digress.

Festival time rolled around again and I was working in the local hardware shop (I stand by this shop being integral to the functioning of the village. I was a hero in a blue polo neck). During my time of employment in the house of the never ending lightbulb (a nightmare to organise) a young man used to come into the shop fairly regularly, for the purposes of this story we shall call him Peter. I had known Peter for a great many years, he had been a couple of years above me at the substandard secondary school we both attended. I used to find Peter and his friends lurking in the back lane to my house, smoking and talking about boobs (I imagine, they were 15 year old boys. I can’t think what else they would have to talk about). I had an adolescent crush on Peter so naturally used to berate him for his smoking habit, a memory we later shared over several pints whilst working through a pack of tobacco like a pair of poorly swept chimneys. I was such a self righteous adolescent until I discovered alcohol, cigarettes and my ability to adopt the roll of the class clown (much to the annoyance of most teachers, my parents and the librarian) that I had somehow convinced myself that acting like a 40 year old parish councillor would make Peter fall in love with me. It did not. Peters semi regular visits to the shop used to be the highlight of my fairly mundane existence.

The weekend of the aforementioned festival arrived and I had planned to attend the event with friends for what I had built up in my mind to be the night of the year. The vodka had been bought (and smashed, then subsequently re bought) there was beer and brightly coloured spirits with labels written exclusively in polish and we had picked outfits suitable for being in the middle of a field but still retaining an air of nonchalant style. As i worked away in the little shop- one hour feeling like 4- in came Peter. It transpired that he also would be attending the weekends frivolities and as such I gracefully hinted that I might see him there. He told me that he would have to get in in the boot of his friends car because he hadn’t bought a ticket, which was probably the sexiest thing seventeen year old me had ever heard, my insides turned to mush and I spent the rest of the day looking misty eyed into the distance thinking of all the romantic ways we could meet up and declare our undying love for each other (full of cheap alcohol, yet still able to speak without dribbling. High hopes.).

The time finally came for to leave for the festival and we piled in the car of a friend of a friend who was frankly far too old to be ferrying around a load of excitable 17 year olds. On reflection I question his motives. We arrived in the picturesque valley, and within three minutes I’d seen four vaginas, a penis and a poorly hidden sexual act. I was having the time of my life. The next forty minutes were spent filling ourselves with as much cheap alcohol as possible and busily speculating about the evening, whilst sat in the caravan of another man who looked as though he shouldn’t be around children. As I stumbled out into the vast expanse of fields, I followed the sounds of alcohol induced vomiting to find the toilets. As I wandered through the field in an alcohol haze , who should I bump into but Pete! What luck! Words were exchanged and I must have been both coherent and persuasive because we tripped off into the field to sit together and listen to music we didn’t like whilst drinking alcohol that made us feel sick.

The evening wore on and at some point, magic happened. Pete kissed me. Or I kissed Pete, whatever, his face was on my face and things were looking promising. We made our way back to his tent (which, on reflection was exceedingly lucky because I hadn’t actually worked out where I was supposed to sleep). What followed was classic drunken fumbling in the dark. Pete had managed to pitch his tent (pun intended) on a slope, which lead to many a polite and slightly trepidatious “Um.. sorry... could we just... my neck is at a funny angle...” and a number of awkward stop starts, as we retreated back up the slope to the top of the tent. Now, I look back at this evening with a sense of regret. Not for Pete, I liked him very much for quite some time and indeed I still see him occasionally when I return back to the promised land of trees and cow shit (he has a delightfully tiny girlfriend now.). No, I regret not actually going ahead and doing the deed. In my adolescent hormone riddled brain, filled with the advice of Mizz magazine (excellent free gifts, fantastic problem page) I decided that in order for Pete to foresee a future with me, I best not sleep with him. Hand stuff was fine, oral was maybe crossing a line but I’d risk that, but no full sex. Put me in this situation now, and I would have already been well into round three without so much as stopping for a rejuvenating cup of tea (judge as you will, I know what I like), but all those years ago my abstinence did not waver. The fumbling continued until we heard voices outside... and the unmistakable sound of the outer entrance of the love tent being unzipped. Loud protestations followed as I made myself decent and after scrabbling around I managed to put some clothes on. It was one of Peters friends inviting us to sit by the fire and enjoy the bohemian sounds of a poorly played guitar. The offer was accepted and I sat by a fire with people I didn’t know wondering when I could get back to fumbling. It was a delightful experience and I thoroughly enjoyed myself, Petes friends were just as lovely as he was and I basked in the warm glow of the fire thinking “this couldn’t have gone much better”. Eventually we returned to our abode for the evening, fumbled some more and then fell asleep (it wasn’t very romantic, I’m an unattractive sleeper and I’ve often been compared to a corpse that occasionally twitches and speaks. Evil dead style.). The next day rolled around and everyone hazily stumbled around, still half drunk from the night before and wondering if there was any chance of a full English in the heart of the sleepy countryside on a Sunday morning (there wasn’t).

Peter very kindly offered to drive me home, which, on reflection probably wasn’t really that kind as he only lived three minutes away from me. He was pretty much obliged I realise now. On the way home through the country lanes my favourite song (Jamie T- Sheila) blared out of be radio (with a tape deck) and I confidently recited every single word perfectly without missing a beat, until I realised it was a radio edit and an entire chunk was missing from the middle of it, I was too late and had already launched into the verse before I realised. The wind was rushing through my already out of control hair (I looked like a lion) and the sun was blazing down upon the lush green countryside. Life was looking good. Peter dropped me off home and said a casual hello to my mother who was loitering about in the kitchen with a glint in her eye. The sly old dog knew exactly what I had been up to but spared me the humiliation of ever asking about it. As we walked down the garden to put my camping equipment (a sleeping bag) into the shed Peter pulled me in for a snog as soon as we were shielded by the large and fairly out of control ivy bush. I was stunned and more than a little excited- this was the morning after! Maybe this was something? Maybe I could replay my drunken fumblings with Peter for real? repeatedly? It was not. Peter and I crossed paths romantically a couple of times after that however, the romance burned quite considerably brighter on my side than it did his. In the end, his sister, who was also the local barmaid, informed me that maybe he would prefer someone who was more conventionally attractive (thin). I gave up after this. The moral of this story is, always fuck on the first date if that’s what you feel like. You may never get another opportunity.

#writers on tumblr #writer #writers #prose #spilled words #my life #stories #short story #funnystory #funny #life #camping #an excerpt from a book i'll never write

[beingrayna]

Oh dear, the year’s almost over

—and I have not written a darn thing on this blog.

This year has seen many pullings-away, from the good and the bad. As a family we are growing more together and more confident in our faith and values. We’ve had our hiccups but recovered from them with introspection and best-foot-forwarding. My purpose, has flip flopped and slid around. I recommitted to work in the birth and postnatal world briefly but have since withdrawn from it. My Human Givens diploma studies have come to a temporary halt—I’ve done all the Part I in-person days, read all the required reading, just missing some online courses. Originally I thought I would be doing Part II, a two-week residential, next October, which is still possible, but I’m not sure I would be able to meet the application requirements. So yeah, that’s on hold.   Toby, conversely, is gaining momentum work-wise and he’s meeting and befriending many interested and interesting people, pulling together a London village for himself. He’s committed to staying in integrity in a messy corporate world which means he doesn’t work that often ;) Which we, the girls and I love, but alas, our bank account suffers. Speaking of suffering, the most suffering I have done this year had nothing to do with health, money, natural disaster, human letdowns, parenting but with denial of a cat. In the summer our one-year lease was coming to an end, but we liked living in Twickenham, Asrai was about to start school, we moved our bedroom downstairs to make the most of our house, we put work and money in with abandon. We thought, let’s sign on for two more years, maybe we’ll live here forever and just pretend like we own it, the landlord doesn’t want to sell and he’s not going to move back. The only problem was feline in nature. My wishful thinking was that with all the work we had done, and would continue to do, the landlord should and will let us adopt a cat. We dropped hints that we would replace the kitchen, we offered a rent increase at his discretion, an additional pet deposit, anything, a blank check, really. He wouldn’t budge.

This is what provoked our feet into itching. I actually slumped into a mild depression after I agreed to stop bothering the landlord via agent regarding pets. The house felt empty of that special joy I knew as a child, having grown up with at least three cats and a dog. I worried that the kids wouldn’t develop empathy as deeply without caring for a pet. Toby suggested we get a cat anyways and lie about it when needed, I jumped on that idea, that is until we realised we would live in fear of being found out and need the girls to lie too. Briefly we thought about moving to another house a few streets away, one whose landlord allowed pets. We gave up on this idea too but the struggle left an impression. I did start feeding our local pub cat, a black and white male named Alice.

He’s not very cuddly but he will eat what we offer and does like to play with the us if we have a bit of string about.

We thought surely we won’t be like this landlord when we own property. Our idea was to use the inheritance money we have sitting in the bank (being used to fund wars, oil pipelines or dangerous pharmaceuticals no doubt) to buy a house somewhere in England, maybe somewhere we would move to eventually, maybe not. That house we would lease to the council or to a charity. Something noble. Toby and I don’t know anything about living outside of London. We looked at lists of cheapest commuter towns, thought about Birmingham because David Benjamin Blower lives there and we like him. Toby was even going to go up there. But really, we weren’t inspired by the areas we could afford. Leicester, no, Derby, no. Then I went to get a haircut. “Why not Sheffield? My fiance’s friend has just bought a four bedroom house with a huge garden for £150,000″ said my hairdresser. I told Toby and he didn’t really take it on, but as things often do, this lead to that lead to that lead to that. It’s a gorgeous little town, very affordable. There’s a two bedroom house on the street we live on, priced at about £750k. You couldn’t even buy an estate for that much in Sheffield. We felt like we needed to buy something soon or we would waste all our money on rent and things we don’t need just because we could. Then we thought, hey, maybe we should move and not just own a property for the sake of it. There’s a comprehensive religious studies department at the university; there’s a volunteer doula training program in one of the hospitals. Toby’s favourite teacher of all time lives there and does a radio show. Everyone he met on his trips up there to look at houses has said, something along the lines of “Yes! Come move here, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.” We almost made some bad choices but have luckily learned from them without having to weather any negative consequences. Putting a ridiculous offer on a nice-enough house in a location we no longer want to live; putting a reasonable offer on a house that is actually dangerous; almost signing a six month lease in an area that would have likely been very isolating without a car with long trips into town being necessary to do anything, even get a cup of coffee. After hearing Toby say to multiple people how he saw himself being in London frequently, something clicked, or maybe unclicked? We were just about to bed and I sprung my news on him. Within the next twenty-four hours we withdrew our rental offer and set up yet another day-trip for Toby up to Sheffield, this time to look at flats in the city centre. Well we found one that I love from the pictures and Toby loved in person, especially after visiting three other flats that don’t quite compare. The landlord has accepted pending reference check, which shouldn’t be an issue as we will be paying up front for the ease of it. Should be out of Twickenham by the end of the month! Other interesting developments Realising we had lost our way, we have picked up our daily “morning meditation” again which sometimes includes the children. We stopped going to church recently and do it at home, at our kitchen table, instead. We sing songs we all know, encourage the children to choose prayers from a nice illustrated book of childrens and adults prayers. Either Toby or I tell a story or parable. The girls have requested that we do communion every week. We usually end with an enthusiastic, plastic instrument-accompanied rendition of “Lord of the Dance,” followed by the Lord’s Prayer known as the Bread Prayer in our household. We hope to find a church or even check out the Quaker centre when we settle in Sheffield but for now we like our way. It’s a little crazy, but we like it. Speaking of crazy we have been vegan as a family since the end of May, a class on the mind-body connection sparked our interest in trying it and the more we learned [Proteinaholic] and experienced the harder it became to look back. (Though Toby is not as committed and gets upset tummies when he strays) It’s funny identifying as vegan because I used to mock them. Zoë and Asrai have reaped benefits as well, all a bit gross, so details spared. I have oodles more energy and can breathe, even when faced with allergies and illness, which I have to admit, I did have. I didn’t want to get help, but when I did Dr. Wu, the local TCM acupuncturist and herbalist sorted it. Ever disillusioned with allopathic medicine and mainstream stuff in general, we have become disillusioned with the school system. Yes, already. Asrai enjoys it well enough, but she likes vegan cupcakes too, doesn’t mean they’re good for her. I realised the only thing that was holding me back from being comfortable with home-educating, which both Toby and I have felt would be optimal for their well being, was me-time. A conversation with an internet stranger whose ideas I admire helped me to see that I could work around that easily. I discussed it with Asrai, we looked at the classes in Sheffield she would be able to do if we weren’t bogged down by keeping school hours. There’s a huge community of home educating families  there. Zoë stopped wanting to go to nursery and I can’t say I mind it. I like being a mum, finally, now that I’ve sorted it out as my divine occupation, and I’m finding my groove.

#the woman #the mother #Sheffield

[gopunksphilly-blog]

Into the abyss....

Dusty rolls his banged up, Ford Grenada across the lot, parking it next to Otis.  People are still milling about, irritated, cursing… max pissed off to say the least. The ‘Misfits’ all wear a hang-dog, dejected look.  “Oi, what the fuck are we going to do, guys?  Halloween is in the crapper now.”

           “Yo, you got that right, Dusty.  This fuckin’ sucks,” Skate replies dejectedly as he and Tim kick beer bottles to and fro.

I flick the spent Red into the gravel and try to hold the ‘Misfits’ from totally giving up. “Just chill for a minute, Skate, there’s gotta’ be something going on to salvage this night.”

           “There is something,” replies a meek voice from behind our cars.  Florian McDonnell, a thin, scrappy runt of a punk from Trenton typically appears out of nowhere at almost any City Gardens production we attend; tonight is no exception.  “Gather around guys, I think you might like this idea.”  We encircle him as he pulls out a band flier and immediately let out war whoops and tribal screams that shake the heavens above.

           “Are you for real, Flor?  This is just sick….pure fuckin’ crust man,” Dust blurts out.

           The flier reads like a Who’s–Who of hardcore acts. ….

Mammoth

Nevermore

Ultra Violence

Psychos

Reagan Youth

Murphy’s Law

Cause for Alarm

And headlining……The Cro Mags

AT CBGB’S!!!!!

 The Zippo’s orange/yellow flame lands under another Red before huddling up the boys for a brainstorming session.  “Listen, this would be a fuckin’ brill’ night for sure, but we have to make sure the girls know what kind of crowd this is gonna’ be.  Sammi has never been to a show before, so it will be like tossing Christians to the lions for her.”

           “Fair enough, bro’, we’ll talk to them right now.”

           “We have to do it soon, Dusty cuz’Jersey Transit will be leaving in an hour. We don’t catch it, we miss the last acts,” Florian adds.

           We get the girls together to tell them about how hardcore the night may be, but they all give an approving, thumbs-up to our plan and even Sammi seems psyched about the change of events.  Gem grins and hugs our newbie Princess.  “Don’t worry Samms, you will have a ton of bodyguards tonight. We’ll be like a fortress around you. Hell, Oren is a fortress on his own.” Gem yanks on his massive forearm and her eyes grow wide when he hoists her off the ground like a rag doll. “That’s right, love, old Oren here will take care of em’!”  The big man grins, snagging Sammi off the ground for good measure.  We get a good laugh at Gem and Sammi’s expense and start shoving each other around in anticipation of the night possibly being salvaged.  Florian tries not to be too much of a killjoy as he points to his wristwatch.  He’s fuckin’ right, we have to haul ass.

           “All right, so we’re all good on this?  Flor, jump in with us.  Dust, follow me over to the train station.  We gotta’ get booking, brother.”

           “Yo, Rob, I’ll be right behind you!  Just keep that motherfuckin’ Otis moving!!”

           With Otis primed…miraculously, he starts up in a flash, everybody’s in the car and very amped about the nights’ prospects.  Darting through the dark, mean streets of Trenton with Dusty giving hot pursuit, there are a few times I chance it, blowing through consecutive red lights to make up some time.

Dusty wails on the Grenada’s horn, flashing his high beams in approval.  The ride plays out like a chase scene from a bad 70’s detective show, and the ‘Misfits’ are laughing their asses off at how ridiculous these two smoking, bucking shitboxes must look flying through the potholed, scarred city streets.  With a hard turn, our tires are squealing relentlessly until both cars come to a smoking, screeching stop in the station parking lot.  The amused attendant gives us the overnight rate and I pay for both rides just to save time.

Tumbling out of the cars like a Chinese fire drill gone bad, sprinting across the street with reckless abandon, everybody lets out their best war whoop, while Gem runs alongside of me, laughing hysterically as we invade the train station.  What a beautifully ridiculous sight we must be to the commuters groggily going about their mundane travels tonight.  

Our group of Bohemians is in total disarray, making sure funds are available to get into Manhattan and for the return trip home.  Dusty, Steph and Otto say they’ll pay for Tim and Skate, our true street punk cat burglars, who very rarely have two nickels top rub together at any given time.  Their drug of choice right now was speed or crystal meth, and they were notorious for smoking it to get a full ‘rush.’  The hard charging days into night of no sleep or eating has them looking older than their true age of sixteen, making it a lot easier to pass them off as college kids at clubs.

Eventually, we get into line.  I’ve had several very good months of cleaning offices along with making some very righteous coin busing and waiting tables at a local pub by college, so money is not a big issue for once; a rarity in a punk kid’s life.  I take care of Gem’s ticket, and have already let Otto, Yuka and Sammi know that I’ve got their door charge at CBGB’s.  

There are a growing number of people staring at us and the late night, Wall Street expatriates give us their fair share of contempt.  Much as we’d like to give them a hearty “fuck off,” we keep our tongues in check, since there is an overwhelming Brody presence out tonight.

Sadly, the homeless population overtakes the station tonight as well and there have been a few instances of assaults on them lately which anger me to no end.  Like Gem has said before, “no one chooses to be homeless.”  Sleeping bags and clothing are strewn about and their hollow eyed, unwashed faces stare out from behind ratty looking blankets.  This epidemic of despair is tragically replayed throughout major American city and industrial town unfortunate enough to be raped by the global economy and the awful scourge of Reaganomics.

A girl, possibly a few years younger than Gem, catches her attention.  She sits alone in a tattered, light green jacket, with what look like her few worldly possessions scattered about.  An empty canvas bag and a blanket are at her side and her eyes are swollen and red from what must have been endless bouts of sobbing, drugs or heaven knows what.  Gem puts a tight grip on my hand, sighs and rests her head on me.  

“That was me, four years ago; in despair, shivering in the cold, all spun out from a daily diet of booze and speed.”  The pain in Gem’s eyes is hard to bear and she can’t stop staring at the bedraggled girl who looks blankly back at her.  Lena and Steph notice the girl too, as both of them now hold Gem’s hand tightly, giving her a sad nod of acknowledgment….these sisters of the street, so sympathetic to the despair and vulnerability of this young girl.

“Babe, give me a minute.  It’s not much, but there’s something I have to do.”

“Steph and I’ll come with you, Gem,” Lena adds in an angelic, soulful tone. The girls depart to the vending machine to each get a cup of coffee.  Gem took a small day pack with her when we left the apartment, and she now produces a few creamers, packets of sugar and what looks like a plastic stirrer.  

Walking slowly to where the girl is sitting, kneeling down next to her, she initially recoils in their presence, but Gem smiles, leaning in tenderly to reassure her that they mean no harm before handing the girl the coffee, creamers and sugar, and for the first time, this young, threadbare soul smiles lightly at their gesture.

I can’t avert my eyes from Gem because she is a true angel of mercy, holding this girls’ hand and talking to her so peacefully.  Lena sweetly helps her drink the coffee while giving her a reassuring smile and Steph pulls a small brush from her jacket, finding a water fountain near where this young child of the hardscrabble streets sits.  She runs the brush under the water, quickly returning to kneel on the ground and carefully stroke the brush through the girls’ straggly hair.  

Yuka and Sammi, the ever caring den mothers, gather the girls’ possessions together, put them in the canvas bag, and take the pilled, worn blanket gently placing it across her legs.  Yuka softly rubs her back and smiles.  “There you go, baby.  You have to stay warm tonight.” The rest of us surround her and Gem introduces us to Claire, who says she’s been on the streets for the past three months.      

Claire smiles sheepishly and keeps thanking us for the warm drinks.  Otto, Dusty and Oren spot another vending machine, scrounge up some loose change for a few sodas and put them in Claire’s bag. Oren pats her shoulder lightly. “Make sure you drink them, little girl. They’re not for anyone else,” he says in a fatherly tone.  She shyly asks us if we have any smokes to spare, so I give her a few Reds, and Tim hands her a pack of matches.  We try to keep her company for as long as we can, until we hear our train being announced to arrive on Track 4.  

Steph gives Claire a light kiss and tells her to keep the brush, which she now cradles like a prized possession.  The rest of the ‘Misfits’ wish Claire well before making their way downstairs to the platform, leaving Gem and I alone with our young waif.  Gem strokes Claire’s cheek, softly telling her to get some help and find a way to escape the dangers of the street before Claire clutches onto Gem’s arm as if begging her not to go.  

Gem leans down again to give Claire a long, thoughtful hug.  “I know where you’ve been, little sister.  Get some rest and please get some help because you owe yourself that much, Claire.”  I kneel down next to Gem, discreetly putting a ten spot in Claire’s tiny, porcelain doll-like hands.  “Keep this hidden, little one.  It’s not much, but if you use it well, you can feed yourself for a few days.  Take Gemma’s advice, Claire, please get off the streets.  You have your whole life ahead of you.”  

Claire hugs both of us tightly and kisses Gem on the cheek.  “Thank you so much, for just caring, Gemma.  You are my angel… I won’t forget you.”  Tears stream down Claire’s cheeks but Gem holds her closely, wiping her tears away.  “Don’t ever let anyone out here see you cry, little girl.  Do it in private.  Be strong…get help.  We’ll be back in town sometime tomorrow.  I promise, I’ll look for you, little Claire.”

Their hands slowly separate as we say goodbye to Claire who’s already starting to drink her second coffee after we depart.  Gem and I sprint quickly towards the entrance, turning long

enough to observe Claire smoking a Red, smiling and waving to us.  Gem blows her a kiss before we run downstairs, jumping onto the platform, where our tribe eagerly awaits us.  The conductor lets us board but not before giving us some good natured ribbing about our looks.  

The passenger car is half empty, so we’re all able to sit together.  The ‘Misfits’ start talking about Claire and how they hope she’ll be alright.  Gem sits quietly, holding and caressing my arm as we pull away from the station. Her eyes keep focus on the outside world until she loosens her grip, pressing both hands against the window.  Lena has the same reaction, and soon all of us are against the glass, glancing up to the passenger waiting area, where little Claire stands with her tiny hands pressed firmly against the large window.  I just about make out the warm smile on her face before we all wave goodbye to our newfound little sister.  The train picks up speed and Claire’s outline grows smaller by the second.  Gem, the hardened, shivering girl from the street, wipes a tear away and forces a smile. She takes a breath, letting the words swathe through the passenger car as only her strong, soulful voice can do.

 “Look me in the eye

Then, tell me that I’m satisfied

Was you satisfied?

Look me in the eye

Then, tell me that I’m satisfied

Hey, are you satisfied?

 And it goes so slowly on

Everything I’ve ever wanted

Tell me what’s wrong”

 I lend my voice to the refrain and the strength of our sound has caught the attention of everyone in the car, whether they want it to or not.

 “Look me in the eye

  And tell me that I’m satisfied

Were you satisfied?

Look me in the eye

Then, tell me I’m satisfied

And now are you satisfied?

 Everything goes

Well, anything goes all of the time

Everything you dream of

Is right in front of you

And everything is a lie”

 Any of the Misfits who know the rest, now add their emotional refrain…

 “Look me in the eye

And tell me that I’m satisfied

Look me in the eye

Unsatisfied

I’m so, I’m so unsatisfied

I’m so dissatisfied

I’m so, I’m so unsatisfied

I’m so unsatisfied

 Well, I’m a-

I’m so, I’m so unsatisfied

I’m so dissatis, dissatis….

I’m so…”

 The singing ends with nods from the tribe because we understand what this song means to all of us, the words, the emotion, it fits us completely.  The aching, strain of Westerberg’s lyrics….it is our lives, our hopes, our fears.  It’s the painful reality of our abuses and abusers; it’s the not so distant past of street life for some of us.  It IS the painful realization of Claire and those who face it now.  

The green eyes glisten and she latches onto me, as if readying for a fight against all the evils wanting to hurt us.  Her warm breath reaches my ear and the words which follow make my heart melt. “No matter what you do, whatever you decide…I am yours, Robbs.  I will fight for you until my last breath departs to be one with the spirits.  I will love you forever.”  

The train glides hastily over its steel skeleton, on past the cold, brick facades of factories with their ominously billowing smokestacks, past the rolling hills, the dark, menacing forests, past the harsh realities of the hollowed out, burnt and boarded up squalor of urban tenements, only to be followed by the bedazzling glitter emanating from the towers of wealth and power.

New York, its lure of dreams come true and hopes dashed into the abyss lies dead ahead.

Excerpt from the draft of Rich Cucarese’s (that’s me!!) upcoming, fictional novel, ‘PUNKS’, Chapter 11, ‘Into the Abyss’.....

#punk rock #'punks' novel #the replacements #unsatisfied #trenton #city gardens #cbgb omfug #newyork #homeless #trenton punk rock flea market #'punks' the novel

[reynardinepttr]

The weird things

The important thing to remember is that I don’t think I’m special or clairvoyant or particularly different in any way. But, there are things that have happened to me over the years that I can’t entirely explain away.

The nicest have happened more than once, and are actually quite comforting. I was sitting in the kitchen of a friend’s house, gaily chatting away and drinking tea like the young Brit I am, when I unexpectedly felt the unmistakable warmth and pressure of a cat winding its way around my calf. I jumped a little and tried to look down, but the tablecloth was in the way and I couldn’t see. I delightedly asked my friend when she had got a cat, and why hadn’t she told me? She looked at me oddly and said “I haven’t got a cat”. Standing quickly and looking all around in case a neighbour’s pet had somehow snuck in, we came up empty. We haven’t talked about it since, and now she has a dog.

The second, similar happening was with my grandparents’ cat. A true stray, he had followed them home after a walk one day and never left. No one locally had lost a large, ornery ginger tom and so he was welcomed into the household. He had obviously been living rough for a long time, as he wasn’t very trusting, but he wasn’t feral - he had moments of softness when he would deign to sit in your lap, and was housetrained. After a few years of belligerently accepting a warm retirement, he died of old age. The next time I came to stay with my grandparents, I kept catching little movements out of the corner of my eye, exactly the quick darting moves a cat would make if he was skirting around the outside of a room. Again, I asked my grandmother when she’d gotten another cat, and jokingly wondered if this one was another vagabond who had insinuated himself into their lives. She smiled and said that no, she hadn’t adopted another stray, but that she had also been seeing glimpses of Corky and assumed her memories were just filling in what she expected to see. I thought it odd that my brain, far less used to his presence, would also automatically play back the cat’s daily routine, but didn’t dwell. In time, he faded, and we’ve not seen anything in years. They never did get another cat.

If it were just phantom remembrances of pets, it wouldn’t be so bad. But there’s more, and they are less warming.

My grandparents live in part of a converted Georgian mill house, on the banks of the mill race. Being Georgian, it is solidly and squarely built. All the rooms and corridors run parallel to the mill race, giving views over the marshy garden and willows down to the original beck on one side, and looking over the rest of the old mill complex (stables, barns and storerooms around a courtyard) on the other. The room I stay in is at the end of the house on the top floor, at the end of a corridor. Between my room and the head of the stairs are ranged one other bedroom and a few built-in cupboards. On this occasion (post-Corky), I had travelled up by myself to stay with my grandparents - I assume my parents were working and my brother was still busy at school. It had been a fairly ordinary day, and as is normal I had gone to bed and stayed up to read until I fell asleep. I was just thinking about putting the book down and turning the light out when I heard footsteps, a child’s footsteps, running down the corridor from the stairs to my bedroom door; hesitate; and then dart back the way they came. In my early 20s, I was the youngest one in the house. And while my grandparents were still pretty spry, there was no way they were sprinting around the house at nigh-on midnight.

I did not tell my grandparents, and I left the light on that night and the next.

The fourth incident was more than auditory.

I did a year of university in York. At the time, archaeology was split between the main campus, and rooms and a shared specialist library at King’s Manor, right by the old city centre. If memory serves, Henry VIII had a hand in its construction, or else stayed there for an appreciably long time. There were the usual ghost stories of a lady in grey, probably one of his unfortunate wives, and/or the ever familiar hooded monk. I didn’t pay it much mind; why would I? Most old buildings have identikit stories of a similar ilk, and it’s not unlikely that grizzled academic veterans would pass on the knowledge to the latest batch of freshers out of a sense of tradition, nay, duty, to those who had gone before.

One day while researching an essay, I needed a book from the library at the manor. Retrieving it from the shelf, I found a quiet desk next to the staircase and set to work. After a while, I heard footsteps on the creaky floorboards behind me. I didn’t pay it much attention, but as they got closer I could feel the boards flexing under the legs of the chair and through my feet. There were shelves behind me to the left, so I assumed someone was looking for something. Suddenly, I felt a light touch on my shoulder and heard a gasp of air being sucked into lungs. I turned around, thinking it was one of my course mates. There was no one there, and nowhere anyone could possibly have hidden. I didn’t go back alone again, and found another source for my essay in the regular library on campus.

The fifth is less certain, but still makes my skin crawl. I was in the bedroom of my first flat, on the second floor of a modern building. Normally once I eventually fall asleep, I stay asleep. However, for whatever reason I woke up very late at night, or bloody early in the morning depending on your point of view. My cohabiting boyfriend, pre-proposal and pre-wedding, slept the undisturbed sleep of the righteous by my side, as he infallibly does every night. It wasn’t him who had woken me, then. As I rolled onto my other side, listening to find out what it was that had disturbed me, my eyes landed on a darker patch of shadow on the carpet. It looked dense, and for a while I thought perhaps it was a t-shirt or something that rightly belonged in the laundry basket. But no, I was sure I’d put things away properly the night before. Puzzled and still groggy with sleep, I looked more closely. And then, it moved. Slowly slowly crawling along the floor, towards my side of the bed. I sat bolt upright in silent alarm and quickly flicked the bedside light on. Whatever it was had gone. On the plus side, it definitely wasn’t a shirt, and if it weren’t for the creeping sense of dread that lingered until dawn I would have put it down to a bad dream, or an imaginary shade born of half-wakefulness. But I do wonder what disturbed me in the first place.

The sixth is the last for today, and for me the most concerning. I, a young female, decided it would be a good idea to walk back from the pub alone at closing time. In all fairness, in deepest darkest rural Hampshire, this is not a great risk. Added to the fact it was cold as well as late, there was no one else around and no one heading in the same direction as me. I would have heard anyone coming behind me, rustling through the still air, I was tipsy rather than drunk, and the moon was high, giving me ample light to see by - which was fortunate as I’d forgotten my torch, and it was before the days when every phone had the capability as standard. The lack of torch but still having good visibility is an important point. No torch means that there were no bobbing and weaving shadows as I walked home; everything was static except for my own image ahead of me on the pavement, cast by the moon.

In this small out-of-the-way village, there were no cars passing through at this time of night either. Perfectly silent, frost already forming, gentle clouds of steam from my breath as I made my way back up the hill. On my left, right by the pavement, was a row of what used to be workers’ cottages, long since knocked through into one larger house. There is a small gap between the end of this row, and the high garden wall of the grander residence ahead, wide enough to walk down to get to the back garden. With the moon behind me, it was in total darkness. As I passed by, every instinct in my body yelled that there was something there sweet Jesus fuck it’s going to grab you IT’S GOING TO GRAB YOU GET OUT OF THE WAY GET OUT GO. Absolutely terrified, I leapt sideways into the road, yelling, flailing my arms to prevent whateveritwas from getting a hand hold. I have never, ever, felt so scared or flooded with adrenaline. Not in near misses in the car, not when I have fallen from horses, not during arguments with angry people twice my height and width. I quickly turned to look down the alley, to prepare for whatever or whoever was surely halfway across the space between us already.

There was nothing.

I stared long and hard to make sure, looking all over the wall of the house and the garden wall next to it. No movement, no glint off buttons or knives or teeth or claws or godsdamned wings for all I knew. No foliage that could have moved to give me a shock. Absolutely piss all.

I ran home, and next time I was sure to cross over the other side of the road.

Is it just me? Or does this sort of thing happen to other people, too?

#ghost #eerie #weird #britain #personal

[anneedmonds]

This is Not #CottageCore

Here I am, wafting about underneath a canopy of wisteria. It all looks very serene and idyllic, but don’t let appearances fool you! Just out of shot: a cockapoo eating the remains of a small dead bird, a three year-old trying to touch the remains of the aforementioned small dead bird, Mr AMR shouting at both the dog and the three year-old in an attempt to get them to leave the dead bird alone and a four year-old crying because her empty blackbird eggshell has broken again.

(The egg is called Layla. Everything seems to be called Layla in this house, from dinosaur torches to “precious” stones that have been unearthed from the flower bed. But now we also have the remains of a tiny egg, called Layla – it’s the smallest slither of impossibly delicate, pale blue shell. It started off as roughly two-thirds of an empty shell, but four year-olds have no concept of the word “fragile” and so within two seconds it became half of an empty egg and half a day later the majority of that had disintegrated too.)

Anyway. I read an article at the weekend that discussed something called “cottagecore” which apparently is a sort of romanticised vision of what people think their lives would be like if they lived in the country. Possibly in a tiny, wisteria-hung, seventeenth-century thatch cottage, making pots of jam on the AGA and securing little squares of red and white gingham over the tops of the jars with bits of old string.

Now I’m not one to shatter people’s dreams (I also don’t live in a cottage, so perhaps I don’t even count) but if you’re living in the city and tinkering with the idea of finding a remote abode somewhere and replacing your daily London commute with Zoom meetings plus a weekly office trip then note that:

a) you will never make jam, or if you do then you will make it only once

b) you will want to take a sledgehammer to your AGA within a matter of weeks

c) your thatch will have a bazillion insects and small, crawling animals living in it – think of it like Mr Twit’s beard, but with more activity

Oh, it’s easy to see country life as one big romp around the haystacks in a smocked white dress, but the reality is is that you’ll spend 90% of the time wearing your oldest tracksuit bottoms and mud-caked wellies, standing on the roof of your car in an attempt to find some mobile phone signal. And if you’re doing that then you’re probably trying to phone the oil people to come and fill your oil tank or the sewerage people to come and empty your septic tank or a roofer to come and repair your ancient roof.

I jest, of course. I am the most susceptible person ever to romanticised visions of pastoral life – how do you think I ended up here? And country life has much going for it – a slower, less frenetic pace, clean air, lots of space and greenery and wildlife, gorgeous old stone houses and picturesque #cottages – but dear God don’t think that you’ll suddenly turn into the sort of person who has time to make jam. Unless, that is, you’ve already got the time to make jam.

One of the biggest things I’ve realised, since moving to the sticks, is that plopping yourself somewhere geographically different, especially somewhere more remote, will not in itself automatically change your life. We moved from the outskirts of London to the depths of Somerset with a two year-old and a six month-old baby and for some reason, perhaps because I was postpartum and slightly crazed, I thought that by escaping to the country we would also escape the overwhelming intensity of our everyday lives. But if anything it made life harder. People (the three that we knew in our new county!) were suddenly more spread out – there was no peering out of the window on the offchance that we’d get a friendly wave – and each trip to the shops or a cafe or a baby class involved an epic loading and offloading of small children into the car, so much so that eventually I just didn’t bother.

And you think you won’t miss the bright lights of the city (“I never use the theatres anyway! Why pay such a premium to live in a city when I don’t even use it?”) but once you’ve unpacked all of your boxes in your remote Herefordshire manor house/Devonshire bothy and you’ve knitted your hemp blanket to keep the vegetable patch warm, won’t you be itching for just a little bit of excitement?

Just playing devil’s advocate! Don’t shoot the messenger!

It has taken me the good part of three years to get used to living in the countryside. Granted, I did double-whammy and moved the whole way across the country as well as going remote (what can I say? The house sang to me like a wanton temptress) but still. There are things to consider – things that don’t seem important at the time of moving, but will gradually creep up on you after the three month Honeymoon period is over.

It starts with a general sense of unease – a niggling feeling of is this it? – and then it grows, daily, until winter sets in and you feel the full, bleak force of untempered weather. Because there are no distractions, really, if you’re out in the middle of nowhere; you wake up and look outside and it’s all about the weather. In winter that means rain, rain, wind and a lot of mud. In a town, or in the city, you notice the weather but I feel as though it’s more of an inconvenience if it’s bad – and a huge bonus if it’s good. Life still goes on, streets have Christmas lights and stalls have mulled wine; but if there are no buzzing cafes, bustling pavements and nice shops, and your immediate entertainment involves walking, tending to the garden and more walking then… It’s a different way of life.

I now feel at peace with it, but it’s taken a while and I’m not afraid to admit it. I’ll also come out and say: it can be lonely. There.

So, people lusting after the cottagecore life; if you’re feeling isolated now, in lockdown, then it’s a good time to consider how you would feel with the slightly different level of ongoing isolation that living remotely brings. True, outside of lockdown you are free to socialise and visit family and meet friends at the local organic (“all meat is raised and butchered on the estate!”) pub but everything is slightly more effort. You don’t just pop out for a donder to the shops if you live in a hamlet – you pop out to walk the dog and yes, you see the owls taking flight as the sun goes down and you get to appreciate the sound of absolute, definitive silence as you lay your head on your pillow at night, but you have to ask yourself, would you miss the sound of human life around you?

If the answer is no then go full steam ahead with your #cottagecore dream. Have chickens pecking at your doorstep and dry your boots on the top of the AGA and lomp down to the river with the dog instead of queuing to get into the tube station at Holborn at rush hour. For me, the benefits of living in lots of space and peacefulness vastly outweigh the perks of the city, but then I did live in London for over a decade, then a few more years within easy commuting reach, and I feel as though I got my fix.

So who am I to tell you what you want? If the #cottagecore life seduces you and you find yourself on Rightmove then the best of luck – maybe I should write a guide on what to consider! Just don’t expect to make jam…

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©2020 " This is Not #CottageCore published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

[huntress-of-the-forest]

Introductions meme

RULES: List the openings of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any! Then tag some friends. @crunchywrites left this on an open tag and i couldn’t help myself

1. Since we’ve no place to go (Fjolly, Widofjord, mentions of Fjollygast) When Fjord woke the next morning, it was still snowing.

From his position on the bed he could hear the slight howl of the wind, much softer and quieter than it was last night. He went to get up so he could look out the window but found himself trapped by something. Or, more specifically, someone.

At some point in the night they had shifted so that Molly was lying on top of him, arms probably numb beneath Fjord’s back amd their legs tangled together. There was no blanket over them, but from Molly’s heat Fjord didn’t really need one. He slowly slid out from underneath Molly, and as he did he was hit by the cold air and shivered before he scrambled for his clothes. Once he was dressed he wrapped the discarded blanket around his shoulders and made his way to the window.

2. Born In A Box, How Do I End? (Widomauk, Eventual Beauyasha) (WIP)

Fjord had been missing for a month.

Just over that, actually, but Beau avoided the whiteboard in the kitchen that told her the exact date. Jester started it as a joke, so she could show Fjord when he got back, then it turned to anger, and now it is an unbreakable habit.

The police had come and gone. Since he’s an adult, and he had no family, an orphan under the government's jurisdiction, there wasn’t much they could do. Especially with every body they kept pulling out them Thames.

( “At least”, one of the officers had said, “at least he is not one of the bodies.”

The “yet” had been left off, but was heard by everyone in the room)

Beau struggled. They both did actually, Fjord’s jobs were what kept them paying the rent. She had been able to snag his job at the pub, a shitty little local one full of middle aged men that only looked at the TV and her tits. Not as good a pay as his fishmonger job, but they had got a new guy the moment Fjord went missing. The pub wasn't that good, but it was a good way to keep up with the football.

3. But The Tiefling is So delightful (Fjolly)

“Okay, okay, okay- we won't be long, you guys!” Jester shouted from the porch of the lodge.

The lodge was lent to them by The Gentleman; it was a holiday home of his in the Zemni Fields. It was 3 stories high with 5 bedrooms, a library, a large dining hall, and quite possibly the biggest hot tub Molly had even seen, not that he had seen many in his lifetime. It was also surrounded by a huge forest, separated from civilisation and it took an hour on horseback to get to the nearest village. It was truly the perfect place to recover from stopping the war in Xhorhas.

However, as nice as the building was, it was incredibly under stocked, so though they had only arrived yesterday the girls were making a trip to the village for supplies. Though Fjord didn't like it.

4. It May Have Stolen My Soul, But You Stole My Heart (Sjord. God i love that ship name)

“Yo Fjord, it’s your turn for watch.” Beau said as she shook him awake.

Though the dome was pretty protective and prevented anyone from getting in, they’d all agreed that one person should stay on watch, just to keep an eye on what was going on outside. Fjord had agreed to take a watch every night on their way to Nicodranas, as these past couple of nights he had struggled to sleep anyway. No point more people being up than necessary.

He made his way from the centre of the dome to the edge of it, sitting close enough that when he sat the tips of his hair grazed against it as he stared out into the dark. The rocky mountain pass had many dangers, and he listened out for every one.

5. Soft (Clayleb, mentioned Clay/Molly/Caleb)

As Caleb slammed the front door shut, he felt the tears start to fall.

The day had been horrendous, from soccer mom’s demanding discounts on books that had never even been on sale, to small children knocking over carefully put together displays, to that one guys who didn’t understand “no” and thought “I have two partners” meant “of course I’d have a third”. Everything had been too overwhelming and so he had to come home early. He had apologised to Nott as she came in to take over but she wouldn’t accept it, saying its not his fault and to go home , get some rest.

So here he was, at home, crying against the door.

He heard his bag hit the floor before he even realised he’d dropped it. His shoulders shook as he weeped silently, the tears slowly sliding down his face and onto the floor.

He didn’t turn when he heard the footsteps behind him, but he did reach out his hand and a large, fuzzy one grasped it and pulled him into a hug. Clay.

6. Memories of Snow and Ice (Widofjord) 

The two stood in the doorway of the balcony, too cold to truly leave the building. From here it was hard to see the snowfall over the city, the clouded night made sure no moonlight came through. If you looked hard enough though, you could see the streets slowly begin to turn white as the snow piled by the street lights. The balcony itself was slowly beginning to be covered. They stood in silence, before Caleb spoke.

7. Learning To Be Capable (Widofjord)

The two of them slipped into retirement like a pair of well worn shoes.

It wasn’t full retirement; Caleb had gotten himself a job at the local library that lets him read to his heart's content, and Fjord picks up odd jobs now and again. But, the two no longer travelled. No longer woke up in uncomfortable places at sunrise in the middle of nowhere. No longer risking their lives for some monetary gain. They had their own house, just the two of them, with a back garden where Fjord was growing vegetables and the biggest dining room they could find so when the others come back from their travels (because even though they had retired, there was no stopping those dumb idiots) they could come over to eat.

They had a routine for Pelor’s sake. Fjord would wake up at 7 and take Mondeo out for a walk, before crawling back into bed about 7:30. Caleb usually got up an hour later to make breakfast, and Fjord would join him after he decided the bed was now too cold.

8. Happiness is Here (Widomauk)

Caleb wonders, after everything he has been through, how he ended up here of all places.

Here currently being a drive through Mcdonalds, on the way back from a beach party, with his very high and munchie ridden boyfriend half in his lap as he leans over to flirt with the lady at the window, and his other friends in various states of sobriety shouting their orders from the back. Trent would be disappointed.

9. Safe Right Here (Widofjord)

Caleb was woken by the sounds of vomiting and hacking.

Caleb wonders when this became so normal to him.

He opened his eyes to the mid morning sun entering the room from the partially opened window, the rays positioned in such a way they just miss the bed. The sounds of people bustling is distant but present, at this time most folk have already reached work. But right now the Mighty Nein are between jobs, so they have returned to stay in their townhouse in Zadash.

what im learning from this is boy do i have a thing for Fjord. seriously 7 out of my nine fics have him as a main character. also you can see how i started with the nice soft things like “these boys retire and i give them a dog and a kid!” “molly and caleb dancing to abba!” to “angst ridden i turn fjord into a vampire” and pure smut. 

hmm i’m going to tag @matt-the-blind-cinnamon-roll @readytobebolder if they want to and anyone else that wants to do it! this was fun!

#ask meme #my fics #i love my boy fjord and want him to be loved in game