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esonetwork · 1 year

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Timestamp #CLS4: Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart & Brave-ish Heart

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Timestamp #CLS4: Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart & Brave-ish Heart

Class: Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart Class: Brave-ish Heart (2 episodes, s01e04-05, 2016)

Loads of character development in a two-hour adventure.

Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart

Far across the universe in the halls of the Shadow Palace on The Underneath, Corakinus receives word that his servants can make his heart whole again. Unfortunately, his attempts to sever the attachment to April only strengthen the connection. On the other end of that connection in Shoreditch, April gasps in pain before picking up the sword of the Shadow King.

The next day, a strange petal dances on the wind before landing on April’s window as she practices her violin. April breaks a string and cuts herself, but the power of the Shadow King allows her to heal quickly. She also shares some bad news with her mother Jackie: He father has recently been released and made contact with the family.

Ram is feeling better after connecting with April. Meanwhile, Charlie shares the truth about the Cabinet of Souls with Matteusz. Everyone heads to school where Miss Quill watches as Mr. Armitage‘s name is added to the memorial and meets Dorothy Ames, the new headteacher sent by the Governors.

Later in class, April challenges her teacher during a lesson about warfare and the Dunkirk evacuation. As she literally breaks into her locker later, it’s apparent that the Shadow King is bleeding into her psyche. After ignoring a call from her father, she asks Ram for help. While they chat in Ram’s car, several more petals fall on the city and April’s father Huw MacLean shows up. His appearance is a violation of a court order, but all he wants is the chance to apologize. When he presses the issue, April manifests as the Shadow King and scares him away.

They are confronted by Ms. Ames for their truancy and Ram is encouraged to take April home while the headteacher is bitten by a flower petal. As Ram and April talk in her bedroom, the Shadow Kin locate Earth and plot an attack. April and Ram turn from talking to romance, which has a similar effect on the Shadow King 9,000 years of space travel away. Unfortunately for him, the Shadow Kin are disgusted by the thought of intimacy during sex. Afterward, April and Ram are discovered by April’s mother.

Charlie and Matteusz discuss the Cabinet of Souls and the prince reveals that the cabinet could transfer the souls into the bodies of another race. The cabinet is a powerful weapon capable of genocide. Miss Quill is angered by the discussion and storms away.

Later on, Tanya confronts Charlie about how he lords over the team. Matteusz chimes in occasionally while also being bitten by a flower petal. In fact, the petals are growing in number. Meanwhile, Miss Quill requests time off to deal with something at home, but Ms. Ames calls her into a meeting. The new headteacher also has a file with Charlie’s true identity on paper.

Jackie confronts the two teens about their relationship. Ram acts with respect toward her, but after he leaves, Jackie expresses her concerns about Ram and the parallels with April’s father. Ram calls Tanya and tells her that April is in trouble, which is a call that Huw overhears as he lurks nearby. On the ground is a squirrel, bloodied and killed by the flower petals.

Ms. Ames shows the petals to Miss Quill, remarking that there haven’t been many squirrels or birds around. One drop of blood causes the petals to multiply rapidly, and Ms. Ames asks Miss Quill to help solve the problem. She offers to remove the creature from Miss Quill’s head and free her from the contract.

April leaves the house to make up with Ram, but her departure is interrupted by Huw. After her parents argue, April is attacked by the Corakinus and the two personalities begin to merge. The Shadow King’s servant amplifies the effort but April resists as she attacks her father. Ram arrives just as April is about to execute her father with the Shadow King’s swords. April spares his life as she returns to lucidity. The rest of the team arrives just as April turns on her mother and heals her with the Shadow King’s power.

The act displaces enough energy to reveal Earth’s location to Corakinus, so April takes the initiative and slices open a rift. She dives inside, headed toward The Underneath, and Ram jumps in after her.

Brave-ish Heart

Ram races through The Underneath as a Shadow Kin chases him. He is saved by April and her scimitars, joining her as she makes her way to the Shadow Palace. She reveals that she cannot open a rift back home, so the two of them may be trapped there permanently. Back on Earth, Tanya reveals the truth of April’s condition to her parents, and they accompany Charlie to find help. Tanya finds Ram’s father and brings him into the team.

Meanwhile, Miss Quill and Ms. Ames continue their discussions. Ms. Ames asks for her thoughts on genocide, linking her plan back to Charlie and the Cabinet of Souls. They meet up with April’s parents and Charlie and Miss Quill confronts the prince over the cabinet. She’s angry that all of the people who slaughtered her people are still alive. Ms. Ames and the Governors want to use the cabinet’s power to destroy the petals.

April and Ram make their way through a cavern that reminds the Shadow Kin that they must defeat the universe or be crushed by it. They believe that they are a mistake of the universe and destined to live as shadows beneath everyone else unless they can overpower the universe. Ram discusses his Sikh heritage with April, proclaiming that doing good for the sake of doing so means getting closer to his god. They are interrupted by a telepathic link to Corakinus. He knows where they are.

Ram’s father and April’s parents argue about their children’s relationship while Tanya talks them down. As April gears up for war against the king and his army, Jackie’s heart glows. At the Quill/Smith home, Ms. Ames, Miss Quill, Charlie, and Matteusz debate the merits of using the cabinet to save the planet. Since only a Rhodian can operate the cabinet, Ms. Ames threatens Matteusz’s life to force Charlie into action. Tanya escorts everyone to the headteacher’s office as Matteusz sends her a text message. Apparently, according to Ms. Ames, shadows can kill the petals. But bringing the Shadow Kin to Earth is a non-starter even though the petals are now consuming humans.

April engages Corakinus in a one-on-one battle where the victor becomes the new king. As they duel, the connection between Jackie and April intensifies. Using that connection, April opens a rift and she is joined by her father and Ram’s father. April finally defeats Corakinus. Huw talks her out of killing the king, and April declares that defeat is enough to depose Corakinus. The newly-crowned king has Corakinus locked away before she returns to Earth.

Under duress, Charlie decides to use the cabinet, but Matteusz is able to ambush Ms. Ames and throw her gun away. He stops short of committing genocide when April opens a rift and dispatches the Shadow Kin against the petals. Once the threat is obliterated, April orders the shadows to return home and destroy the path along the way.

Inside his cell, Corakinus severs the link that his followers created. April’s powers are gone, but they still share the same heart. Fortunately, the actions she took with the powers remain, including her mother’s ability to walk again. Her family is healing, but she needs Huw to stay away until the MacLean women can forgive him.

Meanwhile, Ms. Ames reveals that the Governors foretold all of this. The offer for Miss Quill still stands.

This should have come a lot sooner in the series. There is so much character development in this pair of episodes and it is a shame that we had to trudge through two really thin and slow plots to finally reach it.

I love seeing the weight on Charlie’s shoulders as a deposed prince, the last of his people, and the pressure placed upon him by his former enemy now turned indentured servant and protector. Miss Quill is hungry for revenge for her people and she’s willing to make a deal with the devil to get it. These two living under the same roof is delicious tension, particularly as Matteusz tries to tread the thin line of armistice between them.

We got a glimpse of Tanya’s leadership last week, and this week brings it back as she wrangles the personal conflicts between April and Ram’s parents while trying to save her friend. April and Ram continue to develop their new relationship, and they both show intense boldness alongside brilliant empathy. April’s personality tempers her heart – a most appropriate weakness for her empathy – with her wisdom, making her my favorite character of the bunch.

I also love that she’s practicing “Night Visiting” on her violin. A follow-on from that previous story, it’s a song inspired by legends about the spirits of deceased loved ones. Those spirits would knock on their living relative’s windows at night and appear as either warnings of danger or as an escort to drag their living relatives to Hell. It seems to have stuck with April, especially since she’s a student of folk songs.

Finally, in a neat bit of trivia, Charlie’s last name is Smith. Presumably no relation to the other Smiths that we know, either Time Lord or journalist.

Rating: 4/5 – “Would you care for a jelly baby?”

UP NEXT – Class: Detained

The Timestamps Project is an adventure through the televised universe of Doctor Who, story by story, from the beginning of the franchise. For more reviews like this one, please visit the project’s page at Creative Criticality.

#Class #Doctor Who #Timestamps Project

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mariolopezgoicoechea · 2 years

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"When Running and Writing Cross Paths" The brawn of one and the brain of the other combine in a beautiful synergy Despite having run and completed four #marathons and now three half-marathons (London’s Big Half last Sunday was my latest), I still struggle to get going sometimes. Even my usual eight-mile run is a slog at the start occasionally. I either sprint away and tire quickly or kick off with the kind of jog that would see a turtle bomb past me and crack jokes at my pace. Similarly, when it comes to #writing, the beginning is often arduous. It takes me a while to conjure up the words and phrases that will convey the message of my piece. No matter how much I cajole or trick my brain into handing over the precious material I’m after, my grey matter eludes and mocks me defiantly. Yet, last weekend, there was a beautiful moment at the start of the Vitality Big Half when I felt that this time my run was going to be just fine. Maybe it was the music I’d brought with me (my playlist kicked off with James Brown’s Sunny. You can never go wrong with that), but as soon as I began to move, something clicked. This was reflected in my time: one hour and forty-eight minutes. The same process occurs when I have a blank page in front of me. Words tumble out and trip over each other like drunkards filing out of a Shoreditch bar after closing hours. Phrases that had hitherto evaded me like butterflies ducking spiders’ webs in mid-September re-align themselves like toy soldiers on a child’s bedroom shelf. Just like the finish line hovers in the distance beckoning the resolute runner, inviting them to cross it and relish their achievement, the completed page or manuscript fulfills a similar function. The latter is the culmination of the slog at the beginning, the slow, hurdle-threatening start which, through sheer determination and hard work, gives us the spiritual, mental, and intellectual reward we deserve. The extra bonus is that we probably will have forgotten about the teasing turtle by now. #visitbritain #visitengland #visitlondon #strava #stravaphotos #BigHalf #streetphotography #urbanlandscape #photography (at Greenwich, London, UK) https://www.instagram.com/p/CiXXAJnMfc1/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#marathons #writing #visitbritain #visitengland #visitlondon #strava #stravaphotos #bighalf #streetphotography #urbanlandscape #photography

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jokerwho17 · 3 years

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The Shoreditch File Epilogue

Archive of Our Own FanFiction.net

#whouffald #12 x clara #12 and clara #twelve x clara #twelve/clara #twelve and clara #the doctor #clara oswald #the impossible girl #12 #12th doctor #twelfth doctor #doctor who #fanfiction #the shoreditch file

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buckyskorpion · 4 years

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11 hours - part three

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: we got some spicy things happening this chapter folks!! a lot of natasha too and plot and a tiny bit of fluff at the end. i hope you enjoy!! let me know what you think. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one | part two

Mrs Shoreditch had agreed to meet you at the cafe you’d been inhabiting daily as you kept watch on Steve’s shop, and you’re waiting for her now at your usual table with unusual trepidation. Your leg is bouncing under the table, you’re darting looks left and right down the street trying to catch sight of her. You have to finish this job - seeing Bucky last night confirmed that. Looking into his friends and his life feels wrong, and you want to end it as soon as possible. It’s none of your business unless Bucky wants it to be.

She’s late, one o’clock ticking by and then some, anxiety hiking with every passing minute. The file on her husband sits unremarkable on the table in front of you, and you drum your fingers against it unconsciously. The sooner this meeting is over the sooner you can move on with your day, maybe go see your dad, take on some normal clients who don’t have eery connections to your personal life and keep you up at night.

Someone approaches the table and you’re about to feel relieved, until you look up and instead of seeing Mrs Shoreditch apologising for her tardiness you find Natasha standing before you. She blocks out the sun, a ring of red wisps escaping her ponytail lit up like a halo behind her head but the calculating look in her eyes is nowhere near angelic. She looks nothing like the girl you met at the party - gone is the sundress, replaced by an outfit weirdly similar to yours. Leather jacket, skinny jeans, Docs and chipped black nail polish you catch as she wiggles her fingers at you in that same, condescending wave.

“Natasha?” You can’t believe she’s caught you, but you’re technically not doing anything wrong right now - you just feel like you are, with the way she’s looking at you like a ‘gotcha’ moment not gone your way.

Natasha nods, smirking, and says, “What a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, but you know neither of you believe it. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting Steve,” she says. It takes everything in you not to glance over at the tattoo shop, giving yourself away. You bite the inside of your cheek and keep your eyes trained on hers, furrowing your brows in an approximation of confusion. She waits a beat, you don’t think you’ve convinced her, but then she says, ”He works over there.”

She jerks a thumb to the tattoo shop and you nod, following her finger with bone-deep relief. It doesn’t last long, tension eating it’s way back up your spine as she asks, “What about you? I haven’t seen you here before.”

Been here every day, lady, you think, but say with a tap to the folder on the table, “Work. Meeting a client.”

“Oh?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. She doesn’t question you further, but that in itself is suspicious. Everyone always presses for more with your vague answers - client? For what? Announcing you’re a private investigator kind of ruins your confidential reputation so you often have to work a lot harder than this to keep your work life private. Natasha doesn’t press it, though. Like she already knows. Dread curls low and heavy in your gut.

At that moment, Mrs Shoreditch finally shows up. She doesn’t seem harried, out of breath, or concerned she’s late in any way, shape, or form. She takes the seat opposite you, offering you a smile and placing her ridiculously expensive handbag on the table. With blonde hair tossed over one shoulder, to your absolute horror she looks up to Natasha and smiles at her, too. Recognition, as Natasha returns it.

“You should come over to the shop when you’re done,” Natasha says to you but it sounds more like a demand than a request, shattering the silence with a sledgehammer. You’d miscalculated, somewhere. Something isn’t right.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, making eye contact with Mrs Shoreditch and hoping Natasha understands. You hardly think Mrs Shoreditch would want you going in there after you reveal that’s the place her husband has been shovelling her money into for months. Mrs Shoreditch avoids your gaze, however, picking at her perfect manicure. It clicks, then. You’re so fucking stupid.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha says, ignoring what you said entirely with a sparkle in her eyes that doesn’t bode well for you. She crosses the street, gone in a second, and you turn back to Mrs Shoreditch as a numbness creeps into your veins.

She’s a typical socialite, perfectly up-kept in every aspect and dressed to the nines even for a rubbish cafe in Red Hook. You didn’t think she was capable of hoodwinking you, and maybe that’s where you first went wrong. She finally meets your eyes, apologetic and almost tearful. She reaches a hand out, resting it on the file you’d prepared as if she realises last minute trying to touch you is a bad fucking idea.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I’ve been wasting your time-“

“Natasha hired you to hire me,” you say, cutting her off with the coldness in your voice. She nods mutely, retracting her hand back to her lap as if burned. “You already knew about Mike’s other bank account.”

“Yes,” she admits, rolling her lips together. At least she has the decency to look ashamed. “Ms Romanoff said she’d pay off an instalment of Mike’s debt if I hired you, and I- I didn’t ask questions. I’m so sorry, you seem lovely-“

You don’t wait to hear her finish, standing from the table and leaving your useless file behind without a second glance. You head across the street, for the first time approaching the front door of the tattoo parlour. Natasha knew you’d come here eventually, knew you’d see Steve and start putting dots together. She baited you here, but why? You were Bucky’s fuck buddy, nothing more. Why play this game at all?

You take a deep breath before shouldering the door open, entering the permanent twilight of the shop you’d come to know so well through the lens of your camera. It’s cool in here, the street noise dampened so all you can hear is pop-punk playing low through speakers and the buzz of the tattoo gun. Steve is at the back, bent over someone’s arm and doesn’t break concentration when the bell above the door rings, announcing your entrance. Natasha waits, however, hip propped up against the counter and smiling as she sees you stop at the door, not daring to enter further.

“What do you want?” you ask, calling out across the shop. It draws the attention of the two guys in leather, Steve’s regulars, sitting on the couch in the waiting area. They eye you suspiciously, as does the kid who mans the cash register you often see doing homework instead of his job. Natasha pushes off the counter, beckoning you to the back of the store where you know Steve’s office to be. You follow, heart in your mouth, aware you’re walking further into the trap you hadn’t even known had been set for you.

Natasha closes the door behind you and takes a seat at the desk, covered in stencil designs and files which she seems to entirely disregard as she crosses her feet on top of them, dirt smears be damned. You sit in the chair opposite, back ramrod straight with how uncomfortable you are, and wait for an answer.

“You’re smart,” she says, which is not what you were expecting. You blink, confused by the compliment, and Natasha smirks. “And a lot more observant than Bucky gives you credit for.”

“It’s my job,” you say, unsure of what to give away. Obviously she knows you’re a private investigator or you wouldn’t be in this mess, but she doesn’t know what you know. Not yet, anyway.

“I know,” she says, inclining her head, “I googled you.”

That makes you uncomfortable. Bucky doesn’t even know your last name, how does she? All that she would’ve found is your business website because you’re not stupid enough to put your life online, but still, the thought that she had been trying to look into you makes your blood run cold. You’re starting to really regret going to that party with Bucky - if Natasha’s weird behaviour then wasn’t a tip off, then your deep-dive into their secret lives has clearly shown you there’s a lot more to Bucky than he was ever intending of letting on. Natasha’s intervention in your job merely confirms what you’d already figured out.

“Why did you get Mrs Shoreditch to hire me?” you ask. Natasha regards you for a second, thinking, and it’s a look that reminds you eerily of Bucky.

“I wanted to see what you’d find,” she says. You feel your jaw clench, despite yourself - she’s being evasive even now, and it’s like she can read your frustration because she smiles then, says, “And I wanted to see if Bucky’s choice to trust you was a wise one.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” you say, defensive, too quick. She raises her eyebrows. Frustrated at this cryptic and frankly dramatic conversation, you ask, “Can you just tell me what you want? You’ve wasted weeks of my time and I think I deserve to know why.”

“As I said,” Natasha said slowly, clearly amused at the rise she’s managed to get out of you, “I want to see what you found.”

“Are you going to pay for it?” you snap. You don’t want to tell her - you don’t know why. Clearly, she already knows far more than you ever will, but this is the only thing you have over her and it feels like the most important thing in the world in this moment.

Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “You’ll be well compensated, don’t worry.”

You have a small stare off with the red head before you huff, conceding. That was a fight you were destined to lose, anyway. You grab your laptop from your bag and send a quick email of everything you’d collected to Steve’s business email. His monitor pings with a notification and and you raise your eyebrows towards it, watching Natasha unfold her legs off the desk and lean forward to start reading. You don’t trust her with your laptop as far as you can throw it, so you make sure it’s shut down completely before placing it back in your bag.

Natasha reads for a long time, because you’d found a lot. Her eyes dart across the screen almost too-fast, the set of her mouth growing tenser and tenser as each silent minute passes. You feel a weird, sick sense of satisfaction at that - clearly, you’d surpassed her expectations.

You had been thorough. Pictures of Steve, the kid working the counter, the regulars who park their bikes at the back, the bikes themselves, the inside of the shop from your window vantage point, Sam at one point, Natasha at others, meetings they held and rough angles of deals gone on inside the shop. You couldn’t get a clear shot, but you saw them exchanging money with leather-clad strangers for something. The long hours after closing they spend at the tattoo shop doing everything but tattooing is all captured and saved on your computer. You’d written up a run-sheet of the shop’s routines as well, based on what you’d observed from your little cafe spot - Natasha spends longer looking at that then anything else, mouse hovering over the word you’d written at the bottom. Gang?

You’d researched them all, except for Bucky. He never appeared at the shop while you were watching it, and it gave you the perfect out to leave him alone in your investigation. Steve and Sam had wrap sheets longer than your arm, and Natasha notably had nothing online at all. None of them had social media, which is weird, and the only photo you could find dated back to a highschool cross country picture of Steve and Sam, first and second medals respectively. You refused to look for Bucky. It made you sick just thinking about what you’d find on him, so you decided you just didn’t want to know. Not like that, behind a computer screen in your apartment with a bottle of red-wine half gone beside you. Bucky doesn’t belong there.

You could have kept digging, given more time. It had been eating at you, though, consuming the hours you were supposed to be sleeping and waking you up when you finally closed your eyes. It didn’t matter how much you found, ten more questions would arise from it, and you were becoming obsessed. So you decided to end it. Clearly, you’d come to that conclusion a bit too late.

“Bucky doesn’t know your last name,” Natasha says, suddenly, shocking you enough to flinch. She doesn’t look away from the screen, but goes on, “He doesn’t know you’re a PI, where you live, what you do in your spare time. He knows noting about you, but he doesn’t seem to care. I told him that was stupid.”

You swallow past the hard lump in your throat. You knew Natasha hadn’t exactly warmed to you at that party but you hadn’t expected this level of- what would you even call it? A threat? You feel threatened, a metaphorical knife to your throat as Natasha finally looks at you again, pinning you down with a cold green stare.

“He’s not in any of this,” she says, tapping a fingernail on the keyboard to emphasis your research. It’s not a question, but you know what she’s asking.

“I wasn’t hired to look into Bucky,” you say, refraining from adding because I have self control and I don’t need to invade his privacy to have sex with him. “Anything I need to know, I can get from him.”

Natasha is silent for a long time, staring at you, and you don’t dare look away. This, too, is a test. After god-knows how much time has passed, she stands and you do too, hurrying to grab your bag and meet her at the office door she holds open for you. Conversation over, you suppose - you’re starting to get used to Natasha’s cryptic ways even if they piss you off beyond belief.

“Delete everything you just sent me,” she says. You scoff, rolling your eyes at her, but she stares you down with the darkest, scariest look you’ve ever received from someone who’s a head shorter than you. You think about that word you’d written in your notes, gang, after one too many red wines and thinking back to the way Natasha looked at you when you described them all as a family. Maybe you shouldn’t argue with her, given everything you’d experienced today.

“I’d cover that window if I were you,” you say, instead of answering. A muscle ticks in her jaw but she says nothing else, so you take your leave. Steve waves awkwardly as you go but you ignore him, shouldering out of the shop and practically running down the street.

Energy burns in your muscles that you can’t seem to get rid of, even as you chose to walk all the way back to your apartment which takes over an hour. It’s anger, you realise, fisting your hair and pacing around your apartment like a crazy person. Uncontrollable rage at being played with, tested at every turn, and for what? You never asked to be a part of this game. You’d never done anything but exactly what Bucky asked and it still wasn’t enough.

Your phone begins to ring, Bucky’s name flashing across the screen, and with a scream of pure frustration you throw it full-force into the nearest wall. It makes a dent in the drywall, falls to the ground and the impact shatters the screen but that won’t stop it vibrating uselessly against the floorboards as Bucky rings and rings and rings.

You won’t pick up. This time, or ever again. And not just because you’ve now fucked your phone beyond repair, either. You never asked to play this game, so now you’ll take yourself out of it.

***

This is exactly why you keep yourself so guarded - cutting people out is easy when they have nothing to hold onto. You change your phone number when you go to get it fixed, and it’s like Bucky never even existed. He doesn’t know where you work, where you live, and you don’t go back to any of the bars you went to with him. It’s easier than breathing to remove him from your life.

The same cannot be said about removing Bucky from you.

He’d crawled inside your ribcage and stayed there, burnt a cigarette hole in your heart to claim it as his and you hate that. You never allowed him to do that. So he might not be physically in your life anymore but he’s still there, a ghost of a hand on your throat and an ache that might mean you miss him.

His friends are crazy and he’s in a gang, you tell yourself daily, like it’ll help. Like you believe it even slightly. It’s better this way.

“You’re quiet, kroshka,” you dad says, handing you a cup of tea. You remove your thumb from your mouth where you’d been gnawing at a hangnail to take it, smiling up at him in thanks. He doesn’t go back to his armchair, though, rather kicking a cushion off the couch to sit beside you. You dip with his added weight, closer to him, and he allows you to rest your head on his shoulder while you both blow on your teas in unintentional tandem.

“Kroshka is tired,” you mumble. He clicks his tongue at you, which is fair. Shit excuse, anyway. You sit up, twisting to face him, and ask, “How do I know if I’m overreacting to something?”

“With you, overreacting is baseline,” your dad says, grinning as you slap him on the arm. He takes a sip of tea and says, “Tell me.”

“No,” you say, aware you’re being a brat, but what are you going to say? This woman tricked me and she’s smarter than me so I cut the guy I like out of my life because I can’t let anyone in or I feel like I’m going to die? Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.

“Well,” he says, giving you an unimpressed look, “If you’re questioning whether you’re overreacting, I would say there might be some truth to the feeling. It’s not like you to be unsure, though. Are you sure everything’s ok?”

“Yes, papa,” you sigh, going back to leaning on his shoulder. He might have a point. “You’ve just raised an idiot.”

“I did no such thing,” he says, placing his tea on the side table to pull you into a hug. You feel small, like you’re a little girl again, and you close your eyes against your father’s chest. Maybe you can just stay here and forget about the mess you’ve made of your life. He rubs circles into your back and says, “You’ll figure it out.”

“Ya lyublyu tebya, luna,” you say softly. I love you, moon. You’ve been saying this since before you can remember, your dad whispering it into your hair when he tucked you in at night or you calling across the playground when he’d drop you off at school. In your secret language so no one else knows, a message just for him - from you to your entire world.

“Lyublyu tetbya bol’she, zvedzdy,” he responds, kissing your hair. Love you more, stars.

He sends you off with a bag of donut holes, an obvious reminder you’re both not actually Russian but New Yorker to the bone, and you eat two on the subway ride home while you think. Deleting Bucky from your life is instinct, protection - he’d gotten too close. But really, when you allow yourself to examine the tight knot of feelings sitting in the base of your throat, what’s making you run is guilt.

You crossed a line, investigating his friends. You pried into the life he very purposefully kept you away from and you’d changed your number not because you didn’t want Bucky contacting you anymore, but because he might decide not to and you couldn’t live with watching your phone for a notification that would never come. Natasha will have told him everything by now, probably even showed him, and he’ll never trust you now. You’d blown it. You could be angry at Natasha for baiting you into doing it, but she never would have felt the need to if you had just been honest.

You stuff another donut hole in your mouth to stop yourself from crying. It works only a little bit.

The apartment feels colder, lonelier than it ever has even though being alone was what you thought you wanted. It just allows you to think of Bucky some more, curled up on your couch with the bag of donut holes now empty on the coffee table, sniffling into the sleeve of your hoodie. His smell, the way he always runs hot, the callouses on his hands probably from working in his garage you’ll never get to see now. Stubble, short-shaven hair, tattoos all down his left arm you never gave proper attention to. You can’t remember them all. Just the star, red and big in the middle of his deltoid. You thought you had more time.

“Fuck it,” you say, fishing your phone out of your jeans pocket. Bucky might not have your number anymore but you have his. Maybe if you just called him and heard his voice for a second, just that rumbly ‘hello,’ it might scratch the itch driving you insane. Before you can dial though, you get a notification from your banking app - a deposit from a new contact.

Natasha Romanoff jumps out at you, stopping your heart in your chest. Does she have a sixth sense for any time you so much as think about Bucky? She’s transferred you an obscene amount of money, and it takes you far too long to realise she’s paying you for the Shoreditch case that turned out to be one giant trust test you spectacularly failed. The reason you’re being a pathetic mess alone in your apartment pining over a guy who, as Natasha said herself, doesn’t even know your last name. Get a grip, Jesus Christ.

You open up the notification just to check it’s real and she really did triple the quote you’d given Mrs Shoreditch. That’s when you read what she’s written as the name of the transaction - an address for somewhere in Queens. You should probably at least think about jumping up, grabbing your jacket and practically sprinting from your apartment to an address sent to you by someone you’re 99% sure is part of a biker gang, but you don’t. You have a pretty good idea of what that address means, and curiosity is your biggest vice. Natasha’s sending you a cryptic message and you might not quite understand what it means just yet, but you’re certainly not going to ignore it.

Half an hour later you’re standing across the street from White Wolf Mechanics, hiding in the gaps between street lights and watching Bucky fix up a motorbike. The three huge roller doors are all open, letting light spill out onto the street as well as the thump of a baseline from a song you recognise, because you showed him it. Natasha sits on the work bench cross legged, scrolling on her phone and occasionally handing Bucky tools as he asks for them. He stands, wipes his hands on his skintight black t-shirt and says something into the depth of the shop. Sam appears, grinning wide and tossing a greasy rag at Bucky’s head which he catches easily.

He seems well, and that makes you happy. It’s only been a couple of days since you last saw him but it might as well have been months from how much you’ve spiralled. He might not have even noticed you’d separated yourself from him, and that thought makes you sick. You should go. You need to go. But your feet carry you across the street, jogging into the shadows so they don’t see you. You’ll hear his voice and then you’ll go.

You linger by the farthest roller door from them, sticking outside the pool of light and half-hiding behind the wall of the shop. You can still see them, though, Bucky’s face now turned towards you as he learns over the bike. Brow furrowed in concentration, and you want to smooth out the dent between them with your thumb but that’s not for you anymore. It never was.

“Have you talked Sam about it?” Natasha asks Bucky. You watch him glare at the part he’s holding in his hands and his whole body stiffens. He keeps his back to Natasha so you can see the anger play across his face clear as day.

“What’s there to tell?” he snaps. “You’ve taken care of everything, fuck what I want, so what’s the point?”

“Cut it out, James,” Natasha snaps back, “You know I was protecting you.”

“When did I ask,” Bucky grits out through a clenched jaw, throwing the part to the ground so the clang of metal on stone echoes out onto the empty street, making you jump. He balls his fists up at his sides and says, “You were out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says evenly. She unfolds herself from the table with an unfair amount of grace and steps behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bucky sighs, shoulders curling in and tension leaking out of his body. You want to hug him, but you will yourself to stay where you are.

Eventually, Bucky shrugs off Natasha’s touch and says, like a moody teenager, “Whatever.” Natasha rolls her eyes, watching him go back to work on the bike with a bit too much aggression that is strictly necessary. She hands him the part he threw silently, and it takes him a beat to unclench his fists and take it. A peace offering, you suppose, in Natasha’s strange language. She doesn’t go back to the workbench, rather staying by Bucky’s side despite his annoyed grumble.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she says, “You proved me wrong, and I’m not too proud to realise that. I am sorry.”

Bucky looks up at her, as confused as you feel because where the fuck did that come from, and says, “Proved you- have you completely lost it?”

But Natasha isn’t look at him anymore. She’s looking at you.

Busted, you think, and you consider turning around and running before Bucky can see you. It’s a bit late for that, though, so you step into the light of the shop and halfheartedly return Natasha’s welcoming grin. It takes Bucky a second, snapping his fingers in front of Natasha’s face like he’s worried she’s actually gone in insane before he follows her eyeline and lands on you.

You’ve never seen Bucky shocked before, but he looks it now as for the second time the spare part he’s holding hits concrete with an ear-grating clang. You flinch at the sound despite yourself, and that seems to shock Bucky back into action. He whips around to glare at Natasha, pointing at you as he does.

“What did you do,” he demands. Maybe coming here really was a bad idea after all.

Natasha, ignoring Bucky completely, walks over to hold out her hand for you to shake. I’m lost, you think, as she says, “Let’s start again. I’m Natasha, James is the only family I have and I’m neurotically protective of him. He’s right to trust you, as much as it pains me to say I’m sorry for meddling in your relationship.”

You don’t take her hand. You’re not entirely sure you want to forgive her just yet, even if she did extend the olive branch to get you here. You fold your arms over your chest and say, “Next time, if you want to know something about me, just ask.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, retracting her hand back to her side and you hate the way she always seems to be laughing at you. Natasha ducks her head, smirks, and disappears into some back office without another word. It’s just you and Bucky, the body of a bike between you as well as the weight of all the things you never said that’s all out in the open now. You’re looking at each other like you never have before, eyes open to the vast chasm of secrets you’ve both been keeping, and for the first time since you met Bucky you keep your distance.

“So,” he says, folding this arms over his giant chest. Not fair, you think, as his biceps flex against the tight sleeve of his t-shirt. Bucky averts his eyes to somewhere beyond your head and says, “You’re a private investigator.”

“You’re in a biker gang,” you reply, mimicking his folded-arms tight-lipped expression. He raises his eyebrows in a silent touché, and now that it’s out in the open you feel something inside you break off, slide down the tense hunch of your shoulders until you feel weightless. You should want to lock up tight, keep Bucky out because he’s gotten far too close already - you should use this blight as an escape. Somehow, though, having Bucky see you like no one else really has doesn’t feel as scary as you thought it would. Maybe because you have something of him, too, tucked against your head and healing that metaphorical cigarette burn. A secret for a secret. You can work with that.

“You changed your number,” Bucky says, and he’s walking over to you now. Guard dropped, hands by his sides, pinning you in place with his eyes on yours for the first time in what feels like centuries.

“I was scared,” you say, coming out more like a breath than a sentence, too transfixed with Bucky being so close to you when you never thought you’d get this again. He smells like car oil and sweat, but you’ll take any gross combination over nothing at all. He places his greasy hands either side of your neck, pulling you closer so practically standing between his legs.

“You know,” Bucky says, rubbing his thumb over the protrusion of your collarbone like he’s trying to turn your brain and legs into jelly, “Nat doesn’t have a high opinion of a lot of people. She means a lot to me.”

“She’s terrifying,” you say, and Bucky throws his head back in a laugh that has you grinning like an idiot. That sound settles warm in the pit of your stomach, spreading through all the dirty guilt and fear you’d been living in for the past few days. Biting your lip as you sober slightly, you say, “I’m sorry for prying, I should’ve just-“

“Don’t,” Bucky says, stern, shutting you up pretty effectively. “I’m sorry Nat is a nosy bitch-“

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice comes from the back office, startling you both into laughing even as Bucky turns to face the door with a murderous glare on his face.

“Don’t you have anything better to do!” Bucky yells, voice thundering through the echoey garage. He waits few beats for absolute silence, neither of you convinced Natasha had actually left, but it’s the best you’re going to get. He turns back to you, small smile on his face so at odds with how rough and messy he looks. Hulking muscle and scars and tattoos and you should be cautious, should be running, shouldn’t be letting him back you up until you hit the wall and he can pin you there with his hips pressed into yours.

But you’ve never been one to ignore something as intriguing and mysterious as Bucky Barnes, no matter how dangerous it might be. Bucky slides one hand up from your neck to splay across your jaw, fingers pressing almost too tight into the soft skin, and you should run from this, too. A reminder, a promise, a warning. You let him.

“Are we even?” Bucky asks, mumbled into the minuscule space between you. You can’t find your voice so you just nod, and Bucky cocks his head to the side as he asks, “You can still leave, y’know. I’ll understand.”

“No way,” you say with a vigorous shake of your head, probably too quickly if Bucky’s amused smirk is anything to go by. You shut him up real quick with a roll of your hips into his, watching with a sense of victory as his expression darkens and he tightens his grip on you. You say, eyebrows raised, “I’ve still got way too many questions.”

“Like what?” Bucky asks, but he’s not got his full attention on what you’re saying anymore, too busy using his grip on your jaw to tug your head to the side and kiss up your neck, warm and open-mouthed with just a bit of teeth.

You nod your head towards the bike he was fixing before, drawing his attention for a second as he flicks his eyes in its direction before resuming his trail of bruising kisses. A bit breathy maybe, you say, “Ever fucked someone on a motorbike before?”

“Absolutely not!” you hear a male voice practically scream, and soon enough Sam is practically running out of the back office with a smirking Natasha on his tail. “This is our place of work! It’s sacred!”

“Go home, Sam,” Bucky says into your skin, still loud enough for them to hear but he doesn’t get off you. You’re blushing, making eye contact with Bucky’s friends and wishing the ground will swallow you whole but Bucky just digs his teeth into the crook of your jaw and grins as he watches your eyes flutter shut. This mixture of embarrassment and unadulterated horniness is making your brain short-circuit.

“My eyes!” Sam cries as Natasha grabs him by the wrist and drags him from the garage. Not without a wink sent your way, and you’ll find time to be humiliated by that later. Right now, you’ve got Bucky’s mouth on yours to contend with and it’s going to take all of your attention.

Part 4

~~~

let me know what yall think of this part!! THANK YOU

#bucky barnse x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #biker!bucky #biker!bucky au #11 hours #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #reader insert fic #pov fic #pov #avengers au

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cemilexsadik · 3 years

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MARCH 18TH || CEM’S FLAT, SHOREDITCH || @zachariaswinchester

Cem answers the door and grabs Hugo’s collar in one fell swoop, preventing her oversized child from jumping on Zach before he can even get through the door. “Hey, sorry he’s going to jump on you the moment I let him go.” Despite having met Zach before, Hugo’s excitement gets the better of him sometimes, especially when Cemile has been an absent companion more than she’d have liked these past few weeks. Once she lets go of Hugo, he makes good on her warning, bounding up to Zach with an eager excitement, licking the other’s face as all of 40 kg of him all but jumped on him. “Okay, okay, he gets the idea, you’re happy to see him,” she rolls her eyes, apologizing again before grabbing a toy from the table by the entryway, and tossing it down the hall. It does the trick and Hugo’s off, bounding after it.

“I’m about to hire a dog sitter,” she explains with some remorse, “he’s been alone too much lately, even though someone comes to walk him several times a day.” Work keeps her busier than ever these days, between Bellum and War and it’s unlikely to slow down anytime soon. “If you know anyone who’d be interested, let me know.” Greer had come to mind briefly but she didn’t quite know the Angel all that well and wasn’t sure what her interes in animals was. “Anyway, thanks for coming,” she ushers him down the hallway, at the end of which Hugo was chewing on his toy, and towards the living room. “And sorry it’s dinner time, I was going to order in if you haven’t eaten yet either.” Meetings had taken up most of her day, newly appointed position occupying as much of her time as was expected.

She’d asked Zach if he’d be up to helping her prepare ahead of a press conference. As much as she’d have liked Bellum Nova to be able to stay silent on all matters regarding the attacks and Juno’s disappearance, it sends a bad message when they shutter their doors to the press entirely. Optics are half the battle now, and Bellum can’t afford not to show its face. She leads him to the living room, laptop, two iPads and a box of files and folders scattered over her glass coffee table. “Can I grab you anything before we start?” She’d grown up interacting with Zach as part of the Warden family, and knew that this wasn’t any easier for him than it was for his cousins given Juno’s disappearance. So, more than actually needing his help, she seeks to give him something useful to do, rather than fielding calls and taking messages for someone who seems increasingly less likely to return them.

#;; zach #;; zach 1 #;; march 18 #abduction tw

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slothgiirl · 5 years

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FOREVER ISN’T FOR EVERYONE (IS FOREVER FOR YOU?) part 2

Lucy and I are up before the sun. I've called a cab and manage to grab a banana from the complementary breakfast. Most of the team's still asleep.

"Fucking techies," Ben mutters, rubbing at his eyes from behind his sunnies, "get to sleep while I do all the work.” He'd stayed out with the rest of the band all night. Who knows they'd gotten back in. And now we had actual work to do.

"Just you," Lucy replies archly.

"You two weren't out until three in the morning. At least I got a nice shag out of the whole thing."

"TMI Ben!" It's too early for this. But the whole city is too beautiful too miss. New Zealand. I have too at least make it to the beach once during these few days we have here before heading to Auckland. Maybe even make it to hobbit town.

"It's true. I hate dealing with the business side. I just signed on to party and travel."

"Where did you guys even go?”

"A bunch of bars. Got some late night eats." He shrugs, looking way too relaxed in jeans and a t shirt. But maybe I was the one out of place in slacks and a silk cami. I just couldn't get my head around doing business in jeans. "You should've come with us Ellie. We missed you last night."

"I prefer not feeling like shit two days in a row actually."

Lucy snorts, "oh you're perfect. You'll do great out here with us."

There's complimentary coffee and I make sure to pour as much creamer as I can into the cup. Ben and the venue manager talk, go over some last minute papers. He passes them to me and I read them and nod, passing them back. They're the same as I have in my files.

Ben signs off and then they're joking and bantering and I want to stab my eye out. Lucy's gone to go over the press list and signing off on the state of backstage. It's not a huge venue. Nothing like the O2 back home. But the size does give everyone a better look at the stage, probably without selling a kidney for it.

We're done, having taken longer than we planned. We have to race back to meet up with band to do press. Fuck. Our taxi gets caught up in traffic.

"How's there even enough cars for there to be traffic," Lucy complains. She doesn't trust the band to speak without her there to do damage control.

"Fuck it. We're just meeting them at the radio station. Then we can head to hotel and do the rest of the day's press in there." He sends a text. "Can you send a taxi for them Ellie?"

"Got it." At some point I've got to get lunch. A banana and coffee isn't enough to hold me over.

We barely make it in time and I run off to get them all breakfast while they do their radio interview for the morning. Without specifics I'm left with a bit of time to wander about and find someplace to eat.

The air feels fresher. Everything has a rose colored cast from it's newness to me. Even I feel lighter without the weight of being known here. Like I could change and be the person I wanted to away from home. In this new place.

There's a restaurant a street over and the coziness amid the skyscrapers catch my eye. It's homey and welcoming and it smells amazing. I order a couple of their breakfast specials and lunch sandwiches, taking one for myself as the kitchen preps the rest.

"Large family," the waitress asks.

I shake my head, "for work actually. I went to school for years to be a glorified assistant." It's funny. I did. But this job, it felt right, even now.

"That's what my son keeps telling me."

The foods great. I sip at some tea and wait to be called back. Content to use to wifi. After we get back to the hotel, where some of the crew are setting up for the press, and with the help of the first interviewers of the day, I'll finally have some free time.

Go walk about the beach. Oriental bay is supposed to be beautiful. And close by.

Ben texts me and I met up with them at the curb, carrying a large bag of takeout, "It's good," I promise.

"You ate without us," Miles accuses, all boyish naughtiness, clad in a wife beater and trackies.

"Down old boy," Lucy says, slapping his chest. Nick laughs, taking a box eagerly as Ben hails us a cab, of which there are plenty in this part of the city.

"Do we really have press all day," Jaime groans.

"Bet you didn't think of that when you wanted more people to hear you play," Ben notes with a mouthful of sandwich.

Miles shimmies, features twisted in delightful amusement, "fame's half the reason I joined a band. Who doesn't want to be a fmaous rockstar. Sex. Drugs, and rock n roll baby."

"You look more like the fifth Beatle than Mick Jagger," I note as we pile into a cab. His hair's certainly Beatlesque. He's also got the boyish charm down, however rakish.

"Oi!"

Lucy and Ben shepherd the boys to another interview, with promises of partying and beaches later on our last full day before the concert here.

I wave them off and head up to our room to change out of slacks. I'd been right, I'd been overdressed. And the heat only made it worse.

By the time I change into some shorts, I feel to tired to go out and sigh see, figuring tonight I'll actually go out with the rest of the crew. It'd be more fun that way. Instead of alone.

Instead I head down to the lobby with a bag and book and head out to wander the area at least. There's some fast food, the names I know, Mcdonalds and Domino's, and some obvious tourist traps that I go into.

My family and roommates will at least want a mug. For the first time, I use my own card to buy some souvenirs, opting for keychains to save space. I wander into some of the regular shops to kill time.

All the stores nearby have a striking similarity to the ones back home. But the architecture's all different.

My phone is soon full of pictures of streets and buildings and me wearing a New Zealand hat, before I give in and get Mcdonalds, heading back to the hotel, ready to curl up in the beautiful lobby with the book I've lugged all the way from home.

The air conditioning is a gift. The couch by the indoor fountain perfect and I try to focus on reading Anna Karenina. It's been nagging me since uni. But I've never managed to get through it.

So many beautiful quotes out there and I can't ever finish a book.

I almost drop my book as Lucy startles me, taking a seat next to me. "Want to grab lunch by the beach? I mean dinner really but either way?"

"And the boys?"She rolls her watery eyes, the color of fog bound sky, "up to change before having margaritas by the pool. I think they're going out bar hopping again later if you're up for it."

I shrug, "let's see how we feel after wandering about." It's a long walk, but how else will we get to see everything.

Lucy makes me take a pictures of her against various backdrops. "Make sure you get that building!" She poses. "Wait, over here!" She fixes her hair, back and out of her eyes, "Wait! I think I closed my eyes in that one."

I laugh, willingly taking photo after photo and waiting for her to check them, swiping and zooming in to make sure she likes how it came out.

"Thank you so much Ellie!"

"It's really no problem."As we get to the beach we duck into the first place that smells good and has a line.

"First rule of traveling," Lucy grins. "Follow your nose."

It's not half bad. Fish and chips. The fish claiming to be fresh from the day's catch. A perfect dinner.

Lucy tells me about her last job. "A smaller band, mostly big in europe. I think breaking out into the world's the hardest part. So many bands flounder in the states and unfortunately it's a huge market setter."

"Did you always want to do this kind of PR?"

"No. But who could refuse traveling! Especially compared to a desk job."

We each pay for our food and head down to the water. The water too inviting to refuse, both of us wading in.

"It's warm," we both squeal, use to the icy waters of England.

"It's probably easier to deal with them though."

Lucy's eyebrows rise as she snorts, "you'd be surprised at how crazy things in the boardroom can get!"

We go in past our knees. Yelping as the waves splash, breaking against us. "My underwears soaked," I admit, blushing fiercely. The wet feeling making me want to go running into the water or for a change of clothes.

"Didn't you say we were just dipping our feet in?"

We laugh.

The groupchat goes off and we glance at each other, before heading back out of the water. We read over the texts with the sun setting on the water. "This place is paradise," I tell her. Its warm and by the beach and so green.

"Oh and we've barely even started. Ben told me you didn't even have a passport?"

I blush. "Yes. I'd only ever been up as far as Scotland." It had been the first and only time I had met my mother's parents. Her family. And despite how it ended, it was a lovely time in the highlands.

Lucy laughs, scrolling through the messages. "Ben and the rest are heading out to drink up on Cuba street. 'cept for Miles and Alex. They want to go catch some film at a quaint little theater."

"What movie?"

"The Red Shoes. There'll be food and drinks there too." We trudge through the sand and peddles and reach the sidewalk. This time we hail a cab.

"How's Cuba street," I ask. She's travelled before. Probably been here with a different band. A different crew. Older than me, lines around her eyes.

"I mean it's cool," she offers, "but mostly pubs and-it's very much Camden town than Shoreditch."

"A movie sounds nice after all the walking. Maybe along with a nice glass of wine."

"I'll tell Miles we'll be over then," she says, looking up with a smile. It's great to have her here, to get along with her so easily. I'd been nervous before, never having made friends easily in school. Just my dorm mates and whoever I ended up sitting near in class.

"And I'll tell the cab where to."

Miles and Alex are waiting for us outside when we pull up. Even illuminated by dim streetlights, it's easy too see how pretty Alex is, his face now sans aviators and with a good night's sleep.

Large and expressive caramel eyes, a softness to his sharp jaw, and a well formed mouth. It helped that he was a good mood, joking with Miles.

"-and I said fuck that mate and drained the whole thing. Burned to bloody hell and back though!"

"Just can't beat an englishman!"

Lucy rolls her eyes, "boys will be boys."

"Ah my dear sweet Lucy who pelts me with candy as I mouth off! Reminds me of me history teacher," Miles winks exaggeratedly. "This is me mate Alex ," he clasps him on the shoulder, pulling him into his embrace, "Alex. This is Lucy and Ellie who I know you already met but."

"Speaking of which," I note, aware of the sand still stuck to my legs and the drying hem of my shorts, "you owe me a drink."

"Oi! What a woman! Hell El, gotta at least wait until we sit down or you might be what we call the local old dog who spends all his days in the back booths of pubs." His voice is all over the place as he twirls an imaginary mustache and it's a combination of it all and him being him that has us all laughing at his antics.

We order chips and a bottle of wine, "to keep it classy," Miles winks, and take our seats in the tiny theater.

Alex takes the seat between me and Miles, attention dominated by the other man. All the better for me to sneak glances off and it's stupid but I already feel my heart speed up at the sight of him like I'm a teenager all over again.

"Any if you seen this movie before," Lucy asks conversationally.

" 've not but then again i'm not the most cultured," Miles does a very bad accent as he continues, "je ne sais quoi."

"The french give us films and Serge Gainsbourg and this is how you pay them back," Alex teases, smacking Miles lightly in the arm. I chuckle at that, watching Miles go all mock affronted and tease Alex right back.

"Is it anything like that old fairy tale?" I can vaguely recall something about cursed red shoes, but the twelve dancing princesses was the story I asked for night after night to my mums despair.

Alex nods, with a delighted smile on his lips, "loosely. It's great. I think you'll like a lot."

The lights dim and the screen flickers on. I sit back and watch, glass of wine in hand feeling like I'm finally living that life that doesn't really exist, the moments that come straight of of films like this one.

Alex is right. I do like the film.

Its beautiful and I'm not bored at any point. I can here Miles making quite snide comments and am not surprised.

"It was good," Lucy remarks after as we head out, "very black swan."

"Wouldn't black swan be like this film since it came out before?" I utter.

"She's got you there Lucy darling," Miles snipes. "Who's up for some drinks! The rest of the boys are still out and about and I've got a bloody mary calling my name."

He glances at Alex for a second before erupting into laughter that has Alex smiling as well. Must be an inside joke of there's.

"Are you two coming," Alex asks, meeting my gaze.

I shake my head. If I wake up early enough tomorrow I could probably squeeze in a trip to hobbit town and back before I had to run anywhere.

I tell him as much. "Mums a huge Tolkien nerd, so I kind of have to."

Alex nods in understanding, "I've never cared for Tolkien. 've always preferred science fiction. Going way back to good ol Mary."

It take me a second for it to click. Mary Shelley. As in Frankenstein. "Never read it."

"You should. It's a great little book."

Miles snorts, "just watch the movie with the willy wonka fella!"

Alex rolls his eyes fondly.

We hail a cab and part ways.

Lucy boldly proclaiming she intends to get a good nights sleep and still look "banging in my fourties."

"Ya that old Lucy darling," Miles snorts, unable to help himself.

"Don'tcha know never to ask a lady her age Kane," Lucy calls out as the cab pulls away and I'm giggling, carefree. No one here knows me. I feel unabashed, making a scene and taking cabs about town.

"So that Alex is right fit," Lucy states with a knowing smile as she plays the spice girls loudly in our room, handing me more wine. I blush and think I must've drunk way more than I though I did. He is! And I don't know what to do with that.

So I shrug and reply, "I guess," to her very unconvinced face. With ease, a down another glass of wine, shamelessly crying out spice girls lyrics.

I might as well be thirteen again.

#Alex Turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #alex turner x reader #mine

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downthetubes · 5 years

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Boxpark Shoreditch to host Original Stormtrooper Pop Up Next Week

Stormtrooper Steve from Original Stormtrooper

Science fiction and Stormtrooper fans on the on the hunt for Halloween costumes or exclusive Stormtrooper themed gifts have been given the countdown to invade Boxpark Shoreditch next week – for the launch of an Original Stormtrooper pop-up store.

Hosted by Shepperton Design Studios, the pop-up will run for five days, from Tuesday 22nd until Sunday…

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#Andrew Ainsworth #Box Park Shoreditch #Original Stormtrooper #Star Wars #Super Loot

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itsrattysworld · 4 months

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Without Prejudice Mervelee Myers Name Devonshires Solicitors Narin Masera, Housing For Women 23 Years Hate Crimes With Deborah Agnes Gilchrist, County Court At Clerkenwell Shoreditch District Judges Allow HMCTS To Be Used To Continue Discrimination Starts At LEYF After Death Of Mother With Dementia See Facebook Memories Those Involved With Miscarriages Of Justice I Did Not Accept £58,000.00 NDA…

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goodproofingwater · 5 years

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Wildfire Records - Chapter One

Read the order. Stamp. Pass along. When Victoria had started working for Fieldworks Studios she had expected her life to be a little more exciting that this. Read the order. Stamp. Pass along.

Of course there were tasks that she loved doing, such as writing smal reviews of up and coming bands that no one else cared about, but those had been few and far between on her internship. She hadn’t been expecting to meet Arctic Monkeys right away, but after six months it might have been nice to be doing something other than stamping invoices. Was this even a job that she should be doing as a marketing intern? Surely someone in accounts should be doing this?

Rolling her eyes she took another sip of her coffee, pushing vibrant red hair away from her face and glancing up as she heard footsteps walking toward her desk. Cindy, her manager, walked across the open plan office with a girl that Victoria had never seen before, her curly brown and green hair enough to ensure that the girl would have noticed her had she been working here before.

“And this is your desk…” Cindy spoke, poker straight blonde bob swaying slightly as she pulled the chair out for the new girl who sat cautiously. Victoria looked up at her manager who gave a small and fake smile before offering no further information and walking off into the direction of her office.

The new girl settled herself on her desk, pulling green stationary from her green bag and organising the desk before she switched the Mac on by the screen.

“So you really like the colour green, huh?” Victoria spoke, smiling at the girl and hoping beyond anything that she wasn’t going to be one of those stuck up bitches that she so frequently came across in this industry.

The brunette looked up at her with a bemused smile, blue eyes meeting each other and she nodded, “How could you tell?”

Cindy called a meeting at 3pm that day, the entire floor of their building cramming into a boardroom meant for 12 people, and she started a presentation on facts and figures over the last months. Victoria had seen a similar presentation each month, and she had long since stopped caring about what was actually presented in them. Of course she wanted to climb the ranks in this business, but she couldn’t see what the point was of her, and now the other intern who’s name she had found out was Juliet, sitting in on something that was so above their pay grade.

“And our final item..” Cindy spoke, flicking to the final slide on her presentation, a list of bands that she had never heard of appearing and she felt the rest of the room recoil at the sight. This was a new addition to what she had seen, and she leant forward to try and understand the small font size, trying to figure out what the hell it was.

“Now as you know, every February the big boss hikes up the discovery targets. I’ve split this list into four quadrants for each of your teams, I’ll send you the names and dates of the bands you will be going to see. This is quite a good list, only a few that i’m not sure will be right for us.”

“With respect,” James piped up, and Victoria stifled a groan - he always had something to say, thought he was too high up to do anything when he was really only a Senior Talent Scout - two levels up from an intern, “Why are we going to see bands that we don’t think are right for us?”

The room muttered in agreement and Victoria tried her hardest to bite back the words that were about to erupt from her chest. But she had never been one to hold back. You had to take risks in this business, and she didn’t want to remain an intern forever.

“We’ll go.” She spoke, Cindy’s eyes darting to her own and she assessed the girl. The manager had always seen these interns as an inconvenience, had given them the menial work to do because if they really wanted to be anything but an intern why had they not applied themselves? But finally, there was one with some spunk.

“What did you say, Victoria?” The blonde questioned, more to stop the room from talking, and the younger girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat as everyone’s gaze fell on her.

“I--” She spoke, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter in her seat as she glanced momentarily at Juliet, realising that she was volunteering this new girl without knowing if this was actually want she wanted to do. What if Juliet wanted to be in accounts?

“I said that we’ll go -- we’ll go and see the bands that you don’t think are right for us.”

The silence was deafening, and while Victoria would have appreciated some backup from Juliet, she appreciated that it was her first day - and that Victoria had just thrown them both off the deep end in a meeting with 25 talent scouts and their managers, as well as the boss of the entire floor.

“I mean --” Victoria continued when no-one spoke, “You guys know what you are looking for, you know that you need to hit targets and that you are most likely going to find the bands that you do something with out of the pool that Cindy has signed off.” She turned slightly in her chair as she addressed the room, swallowing the lump in her throat and ignoring the part of her that was telling her to shut. up.

“Why don’t you let me and Juliet go and see the ones that you’re not sure will be any good. We can report back, do some recordings - I’ve been here months and have filed hundreds of scout reports. You can then look over them without having to actually waste your time going to see them right?”

Cindy leaned forward, both arms resting at the head of the boardroom table as she mulled it over. Victoria was right of course, and she would much rather reject a shitty band from the comfort of her office than go to a dive bar in Shoreditch, but she was acutely aware that the brand needed to be represented properly. Her eyes narrowed and she ran her eyes over both Victoria and Juliet, and she stood up as she made her decision.

“Fine.” She spoke, and Victoria’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. She hadn’t really expected it to work - had expected their manager to shoot her down and perhaps keep her in mind the next time they were planning something. “I’ll give you two a shot at one band” She held a digit up as her eyes ran between the two of them, acutely aware that she was giving a bit chance to a girl who had been here only a few months, and a girl who had only started that morning.

“Amazing..” Juliet sat up straighter and Victoria let out a breath that she hadn’t realised she had been holding. She did want to do this.

“Rest assured that if you fuck this up, you will not be given this chance again.” She spoke, eyes still uncertain as she looked between the two of them and it felt like the entire room was against this.

“We won’t fuck it up.” Victoria sat up, trying her best to not show how excited she was, “Who are we seeing and where?”

“I’ll email you with the rest of them.” She stood up, placing her hands on her hips as she stepped away from the table, “Now get back to work, the lot of you.”

The stood, and Victoria glanced over at Juliet, smiling a little more as she could see that the girl was also doing her best to play it cool.

Sitting back down at their desks, Juliet glanced around and waited until everyone was back at their desk before she leant across to Victoria, “You’ve got balls” she grinned, “cheers for involving me.”

Victoria shook her head, glancing around and allowing herself to let the facade slip slightly, “Don’t be silly - we’ve got to stick together in this place.”

The girls smiled at each other, and both held in their excitement when the promised email landed in their inbox.

The Dangers - 8:30pm - 11 Hoxton Square, Shoreditch

#wildfire records #original fiction #ya fiction #young adult fiction #lauren writes

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