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carnationcreation · 4 years

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Safe haven (Will Byers x reader)

Masterlist

Prompt/summary: Reader is new in town and gets trapped in the upside down with Will

Word Count: 1,988

Warnings: Kidnapping (if you can call it that), mentions of PTSD, trauma bonding, etc.

Hawkins, Indiana was definitely a… strange town. I could never really pinpoint what made me think that but somewhere in the back of my mind that is just how I would describe it. Adjusting to a new life in a town that made me vaguely uncomfortable was not how I pictured my middle school years to finish up.

The move came as a surprise. With my dad getting a job at Hawkins lab my mom and I didn’t really have a choice but to move with him. After about a week of unpacking my mom finally got a job at the local newspaper as a secretary.

My science class was definitely interesting. Mr. Clarke was an enthusiastic teacher who really only taught to the four boys sitting up front, the rest just seemed like background characters. Everyone realized that they could get away with raising their hand only once a day and sometimes even less than that. Regardless of if the answer was correct or not Mr. Clarke would take that as participation and wouldn’t really force anyone to talk after that. Being the new kid that was amazing.

When I wasn’t at school I was either one of two places. One being at the office with my mom, or two blowing my allowance money at the arcade. Tonight was arcade night. Mom stayed late to finish up some last minute papers while I spent 2 hours playing Dig Doug and stuffing my face with chilli dogs from the concession stand. I even made the top score tonight. Before I knew it the clock finally hit 8:30 signalling closing time. I grabbed my bike off the rack and began my ride home.

The ride home was dark. My bike lamp was out so I tried to use the flashlight I kept in my bag. Riding one handed was not fun. I could feel clouds forming leaving the moisture smell in the air.

I heard something behind me and soon enough Will Byers pulled up next to me, “Hey!” he shouted, “you ride through Mirkwood?”

“What?” I shouted back.

“This road is called Mirkwood by the locals, where’s your house?”

“Just beyond the ridge, my dad works at the lab” I said, his bike lamp was now illuminating the way so I put my flashlight into my front basket.

“I didn’t even know you lived that close to me,” he smiled.

“Me neither.”

Just then Will’s lamp started flickering. We both jolted on our bikes trying to adjust to the darkness. Right as we started up the hill a tall lanky figure appeared in front of us. We both swerved to the right. We sped down a hill and into a ditch. My bike crashed into a try sending my flying onto my back. For a second I laid there trying to regain the wind that was knocked out of me.

“(Y/n)! Come on we gotta get out of here!” Will said. He pulled me to my feet and we began to run through the woods. Tripping over tree limbs and stumbling over rocks.

“My house is right over here,” he yelled.

We ran inside. Turning the lock and the deadbolt before he grabbed my hand and pulled me to the back. “Johnathan? Mom?”

His dog continued to bark. Will grabbed the phone and tried to dial 911, but a loud static sound was heard even from where I stood. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the sharpest knife out of the block. A loud bang was heard at the front door and Will dropped the phone.

“There’s a gun out back,” Will said.

We barricaded the shed door as much as we could, Will fumbled with the rifle but soon had one in the chamber and pointing at the door. I gripped the knife so tight my knuckles went white.

A strange gurgling was heard behind us.

As we turned around, there it was.

We were gone before we could react.

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We woke up in the woods.

Not in the same woods we ran through, but I swear it was the same one just… dark. The same feeling I got in the back of my head walking through town. Random particles flew through the air. Spores? Dust?

Will groaned from beside me.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I think so.”

From ahead was the same gurgling we heard last night.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Run.”

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We ran.

For 2 days we ran. Breaking into gas stations and the grocery store to hide and steal food when we could. Everything tasted bland or stale. We stashed water bottles in our backpacks along with chips and granola bars. Taking turns sleeping and staying on the move.

It was terrifying.

Every single noise felt like it was my last moment alive. Every movement out of the corner of my eyes made me jump. When I could sleep it felt like I hadn’t at all. We never got a good look at that, well, thing, that took us. All we knew is that it was huge and dangerous. The tentacles tried to grab us but we dodged as much as we could.

It was so cold we would sleep in the same sleeping bag we found. Any embarrassment went out the door due to me almost getting frostbite on my toes. We took shifts sleeping when we could. I think Will let me sleep longer than our agreed time but I never said anything. It made me feel selfish.

Sometimes when we thought it was safe we would talk. Anything that came to mind we would discuss, trying to make it feel like we weren’t being hunted by a creature in a strange world we didn’t know. We talked about music, books, science, video games. Anything.

“Do you think they’re looking for us?” I asked. Will shifted so he could look down at me. My head was on his shoulder and his arm was around me. The ground was hard under us but I felt the most comfortable I could be at that moment.

“Well, I think so. My mom always tells us how she loves us more than anything, and Johnathan is the only brother I have. What about you?”

“My dad isn’t around much, my mom tries her best to make my life seem normal but it doesn’t always work out. I know she’s probably tearing up the town trying to find out where I am. Oh gosh I hope she doesn’t think I ran away.”

“Our bikes were left in the woods, I think they would’ve found them by now. How long has it been?” Will said, he stretched his right arm out to place behind his head as a pillow.

“A few days at least,” I said before I yawned loudly.

Will smiled, “Get some rest, I’ll take first watch.”

I pressed my nose towards his shoulder to hide my smile. Just as I began to drift off the words popped into my head. He’s my safe haven.

We were exhausted.

I think that was part of the creature's game. It wanted us to run and wear ourselves out so it could kill us easier. I tried to fight that theory with everything I could. I stocked energy drinks when we could find them, we made coffee one night to drink the next morning, anything we could to give us enough energy to run the next day.

But it wasn't enough.

________________________________________________

It finally got us.

All that running just made us fall into its trap.

Watching Will get picked up by the tentacles and dragged away from me played over in my mind. The last thing I remembered was the thing shoving some sort of gross tube down my throat. And now it just feels like I’m lucid dreaming. I saw my house, not the one in Hawkins but the one I lived in before we moved. My family was inside. I thought I was safe yet I still felt that feeling in the back of my brain. That’s when they attacked me.

The nightmares only got worse from there.

I felt myself slowly slipping away. Like a battery in my brain was slowly being drained. I fought to keep dreaming but I was getting flooded with the exhaustion and the want to give up.

Where was Will? I just wanted to be back in the sleeping bag with him. I wanted to feel his arms around me and his slow breathing in my ear.

I felt something being ripped out of me. My lungs felt like I was underwater. I felt someone pressing on my chest and I woke up coughing. I sputtered, gasped, and cried as I was lifted into someone's arms.

“(Y/n)? This is police chief Hopper. You’re safe now.”

He looked familiar. I racked my brain trying to think of where I saw him but I only had one thought on my mind. Hopper placed an oxygen mask over my face.

“Will?” I gasped out. My chest still hurt.

“He’s right here,” a woman said, she had him cradled in his arms.

I reached out to him. I needed to make sure he was still there. That this wasn’t a nightmare.

He grabbed on to my hand.

“Please don’t let go,” I sobbed.

“I promise,” he said.

And he didn’t.

Not when we were put into the car, not when we got to the hospital, not even when we were being treated. The adults just left us alone. We were put in two beds as close together as possible. At one point a doctor came in to take my vidals and tried to pull me away from him, I don’t know exactly why but I broke down. Another doctor came in and explained something about trauma bonding and PTSD.

My parents came to see me. Dad didn’t look too happy about me holding hands with a boy, but he still didn’t say anything. Apparently he quit his job at the lab.

Weeks passed by in an instant. The nightmares never stopped but they did get better. Will showed me castle Byers and we often went there after I asked him over the radio. His friends accepted the fact that I would hang around since I never wanted to be far from the Byers boy.

At one point Mike pulled me to the side, “Thank you for keeping him alive.”

“We kept each other alive.”

I never got to meet El. Which was a shame because I’d always wanted to meet a real life Jedi. But as time went on she became an afterthought. My mind stayed focussed on school and the next time I’d get to see Will again. I slowly managed to deal with my separation anxiety (as my therapist called it) and began doing my own thing most days, but I was still over at the Byers house as often as possible.

“Do you think they’ll stop?”

“Stop what?” I asked.

“The nightmares,” Will said, “Do you think they’ll stop?”

I sat the comic book I was reading down on my lap and sighed, “Maybe one day, for now I’m just so thankful that we’re alive they don’t bother me as much.”

“Can I say something?”

I looked in confusion, “You can tell me anything Will.”

“I think-” he coughed into his hand, “I think… I’m in love with you.”

I wasn’t surprised but was still left speechless. I scooted closer to him on the bed.

And we kissed.

After that, I knew there was gonna be no one else but him. No one else who will ever know what I went through, no one else who will know how I need to be held after I had a nightmare, no one else that can calm the racing thoughts I’ve had since November 6th, and no one else I would want to face the fear of something as new as relationships.

He was my safe haven.

#stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #will byers #will byers imagine #will byers x reader #noah schnapp #noah schnapp imagine #noah schnapp x reader #carnationcreation #netflix

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patrick-in-the-junkyard · 5 years

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My Girl.

Henry Bowers x Hanscomb! Reader

Notes: This was a request I gotten a while ago which I started on but never finished until now. Hope you enjoy! (Sorta canon, no clown lol) (A bigger note will be posted after I post this)

Summary: The reader dumps Henry after a stunt he pulls that involves your brother and hooks up with Patrick out of vulnerability (so a small Patrick X Reader. Through the broken hearts they still have feelings for each other and come to terms.

Warnings: NSFW, Language, Alcohol, Sexual Harassment + Harassment, Physical Altercation, Unprotected Sexual Intercorse, Blood, and Some Angst.

Words:+5000

(The song that inspired the title to this is called Where’s My Girl from The Sparks)

(GIF not mine)

The pounding in your head got even worse as your younger brother hadn’t arrived home yet. You've heard about the missing kids including the tragedy that happened to the Denbrough family and their younger son. You stood looking out your open bedroom window that had a high up view of your driveway and the one that had a view of the side of your house. After walking downstairs, you took a glance at the clock. Eight-forty three, it had been hours since you last saw him and you sure hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

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“Hey, Bro!” You attempted to get the attention of your younger brother as he stood outside of the Derry Scoop.

“Mom says she's going to be out of town and I’ll be in charge of you for the next week. Grandpa has gotten really sick and she is going to be visiting him.” He frowned but then a smile formed on his face as he realized that you’d let him pick his bedtime.

“Alright, well I’m going to the library, I’ll be back before dark so you don’t have to worry about me.” He turned to walk away, it was then a minute later when he finally disappeared from your sight.

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You took a seat on the comfy couch, hands resting on the dial-up phone, contemplating if you should wait for it to be at least ten-o'clock before you even began to dial the Derry Police Station. Out to get your mind off things, you pick up the book filled with crossword puzzle off of the coffee table.

It was around nine-twenty when finally you heard the heavy footsteps of what seemed to be your brother coming up to the front porch. You jolted up, throwing the book down and rushing to the door. He was dusting his dirty shirt off and tried to fix his hair but it was too late. When you opened the door you felt relief to see him alive but it was until you looked into his saddened eyes and knew something was off. He looked as he tried to hide something from you as he tried to push through you. You stopped him, noticing the dried-up blood from his nose and his blood-caked shirt.

“What happened?” No answer was given as he looked at you with bloodshot eyes, you then took the time to raise his bloody shirt to a messy placed bandage. It didn’t stop you there as you pull the tape off the bandage and see an ‘H’ carved on the side of his stomach. Your heart ached as your eyes traced the deep cut. You really didn’t want it to be true as you already had an assumption of who did this to him.

“Ben, who did this to you?” You questioned him, which he looked up and into your eyes as if he couldn’t get the name of the culprit out.

“It was your boyfriend, H-Henry.” He choked out, tears now pouring down his cheeks. It was true and inside your heart hurt, you felt crushed as you could only imagine what to do next. You walked him to the stairs, told him to go to your room as you sped to the phone. Spinning the dial, you call him expecting something but ending with no answer. Unknown to you, Henry was now hiding under his bed, cowering with silent sobs and shaky arms. His drunken father was home and the sound of the ringing phone with bottles breaking flooded his house. It wasn’t going to end well for him that night.

You throw the phone down angered, you rush up and grab a load of new bandages. He was sitting on the edge of your bed, wiping his eyes and lifting his head at you. Rushing to his aid you lay the bandages on the bed and pull out a clean bath rag.

“This is going to sting for only a second.” You pour the rubbing alcohol on a clean rag and placed it on his wound. He hissed in pain and you could only wish it would get better.

“Why do you even like that guy?” His question made you stop tapping the rag on the wound.

“Well, he treats me like I’m not an outcast like everyone else at school does and besides if he wouldn’t be a dick and you got to know him better you’d understand.” You tried to explain as best as you could, still knowing the damage was already done. You placed a fresh new bandage over the ‘H’ and taped the sides securely.

“All done, you should go downstairs and get supper. I made sloppy joes and french fries.” Your voice chirped high and cheery while you gave your brother a simple smile. He stood up and began to walk out until he got to the door frame and turned back around.

“I met some new friends today. Like you said I should try to make friends this summer so I won't be alone and stuck with you.” You laugh as you could already guess what kids they were when they usually rode their bikes down your street while screaming.

“Let me guess, the supposed losers club?” You gave a chuckle at the name as it was what they called themselves. Even during the past month right before the end of the school year, you’d hear them say random shit while walking behind you in the halls.

“I guess that’s what they are called.” He responded, starting to walk away leaving you to do whatever you could to relax. You were definitely going to give Henry a piece of your mind the next morning.

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

You woke up in a cold sweat, hearing your window bang closed with a loud clank. You bolted up and on your feet, prepared to knock out anyone who was intruding. Turning the lights on you were faced with nothing, nobody at all. But as you could see the room looked overturn and been rummaged through. It looked like your drawers were ransacked and the stuff inside moved around. Your underwear drawer was turned upside down but seemed as if nothing was taken. Opening, you take a softball bat that you'd had since seventh grade. You went downstairs slowly, listening to each creak on the wooden floor. Your fingers clenched the smooth softball bat you had in your hands.

You began to turn on every light in the house, leaving no corner of the house in the dark. It was insane as was no one incomplete sight, Ben heard the commotion downstairs and got up from his bed. He noticed that every single light in the house was lit and expected that it had happened again.

“Is everything okay?” He asked concernedly while taking a good long look at the bat in your hand and the panic on your face.

“Yeah, just go back upstairs.” You told him, with no hesitation he ran back up to his room. Checking both doors, making sure they were still locked and in good condition.

After putting everything back in place, you laid down and covered up in your blanket. Closing your eyes, you start to overthink to the point you pass out.

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

You spent the next morning downtown shopping at the local grocery store and looking at the displays in the windows of stores along the sidewalk. You carried a bags stocked with the canned beans, hamburger patties, two-liters of soda, and three quarters.

After looking around in Freese's Department Store for the past hour you walk out of the downtown area and past Victor’s house. You caught a little glimpse of people standing around and talking in his backyard. It only took you a second to decide to go back and see who was back there. Carefully you sat down your bags by the mailbox.

You tiptoed to the back of the house and of course, Henry had his back turned to you and standing around him was Victor, Belch, and Patrick. Patrick was the first to notice you stomping up the side of the house. His grin gleamed on his face as he could recognize that you found out about the event that took place the other day.

“You really had to pick on my younger brother you rat headed asshole!” Running up behind Henry you push him to the ground, paying attention to him only. You left one punch to the back of his head, Patrick jumped down trying to grab at you but ended with your hand colliding with his face. Victor grabbed your arms from behind and pulled you up with a strong grip. Henry stumbled up and gradually walked towards you, his face close to yours that you could smell the cigarettes on his breath.

"You're so lucky I haven't treated you badly yet and slapped you down like the slut you are!" His hot breath hit your face and you struggled to break loose.

"Maybe we should tie her up and show her what she's good for..." Patrick said, which ended up with him getting shushed. Belch looked with worried eyes at you but was speechless. Tears began to trickle from your eyes and pour down your face. You felt hatred for Henry and you managed to slightly kick him as you struggled as Vic’s fingers tightened on your arms.

"You hurt my brother, what am I supposed to do praise you and suck your dick!" You yelled into his face, almost falling to the ground. You felt vulnerable, emotionally drained and nauseous all at once. Victor dropped you, making you fall onto the ground face first.

“I’m done-, I can’t do this bullshit anymore!” You limped away from him, leaving him speechless and surprisingly hurt. It’s never felt like this for him, every time conflict or a breakup would happen in a relationship he'd brush it off and start to flirt with another. He was genuinely hurt and disappointed this time, and definitely couldn't stand it. It was like he had actually felt heartbroken.

You stumble back to where you had dropped your bag sat and started on your way, limping from the fall. When arriving home, you tiptoed to the bathroom and stood in the mirror. Bruises lined your arms from the altercation, Vic certainly had a hard strong grip on you.

A loud knock broke you from your trance. Of course, your brother saw you go into the bathroom and began to notice how long you were in the bathroom and grew very concerned.

"Are you okay in there?" You opened the door to not make him worry any longer.

"Yeah, What's up?" You did your best to cover your arms up.

"Bill is having a sleepover, could I go, pretty please?" He begged to know since if he would ask his mother she would definitely take hours to decide or plain say no.

Before you could think of anything to say you both heard a loud crash in the kitchen.

"-Look what you did you dip shit!-"

"-You were supposed to catch it Eds!-" The quarrel became louder and louder as you got closer to the kitchen.

A blue glass plate, now shattered into little tiny pieces, littered the kitchen floor. It was clear that one of the kids that stood in front of it had to be the culprit.

"Oh fuck- that's Bowers girl!" They all had frozen still, fear in their eyes. You knew how Bowers was to them and you felt bad about it. If you could you would try to help them.

It was until then that you decided to put a big smile on your face, look at Ben and tell him he’s free to go for the night and to just give you a call. The other kids went from almost terrified to ‘Hell yeah Ben can come’. Ben rushed up the stairs to his room to pack.

“Hey pretty lady, Richie Tozier’s the name and doing voices is my game.” The kid reached his hand out for you to shake it but one of the other boys slapped his hand away.

“-Dude!-”

“Beep Beep, Richie!”

“Oh I know you, what would you think Henry Bowers would do if he saw you talking to me. Besides I’m way out of your league.” You joked before you turned away from them and went up to your room.

“Holy shit you just got burned by Henry’s girl.” They all laughed to which Richie just shrugged it off.

Ben had put an outfit, a few books, a VHS tape, probably The Breakfast Club, and a few of his notebooks. Before he could leave, he had to stop by and say goodbye. He gave you a bear hug before walking out the door with his friends.

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It was about 9 o clock and you were finally alone. It was about the third time you had gone into the bathroom to look at your bruises.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you were appreciating the large colorful tee covering the silky neon pink underwear you wore. It was as if you looked like you had attended one of Gretta Bowie’s ‘slutty’ sleepover afterparties. It had been hours since the altercation and the bruises had started to fade. No need to worry about it now

Treating yourself, you walk to your mother’s liquor cabinet that stood in the kitchen and grabbed a few things out. Walking to the kitchen, you take a glass out, pouring and mixing more than one drink, not even caring about how you would feel in the morning. After at least ten minutes of hardcore drinking, you felt the blood rush to your head as you walk back upstairs giddy. You were certainly buzzed.

“All we need is a little music and we could have a personal party.” You spoke out loud to yourself.

You went to your cassette player on your dresser, putting one of the tapes you’d accidentally taken from Belch’s Trans Am. You've ridden with all of them while on Henry’s lap, while his hands were in your hair. There were times where you brought you cassettes because Belch was curious of what you listened to. It was when one of your tapes got mixed with his and you hadn't seen it since.

The tape that you had now was labeled “Date Night” in messy writing which consisted of -of course- loads of rock love songs from previous years. Your favorite song out of the whole tape was ‘My Kind Of Lover’. You could only imagine what happens during this song when it's playing in the Trans Am.

You couldn’t help but rock your hips side to side to the beat of the song not taking notice of your windows open blinds. Your whole street could now see you dance, half-naked and drunker than a frat boy at a party. This wasn’t the first time this has happened, only a month prior to this occasion there was another incident. As your neighbor, Mr. Keene caught a group of boys that stood by your mailbox ogling at your figure in the window. One of their flashlights shined into his and his wife’s room on accident and they thought as they were in the clear.

It was until Mr. Keene scared the living shit out of them and made them start running. Of course, that was before they couldn’t be identified. Let's just say that their mothers weren’t pleased with their sons and you for “showing off your body” to their “delicate sons”.

Sounds of pebbles hitting your window hard had stopped your dancing daze, it’d had almost felt like the night before. There was only one catch, your room wasn’t turned upside down because there was no one there and the noise was coming from outside.

“Ugh, Patrick you’re such a cliche.” You looked over and out your window and see him standing, waiting for your silhouette to open and peek out the window. He mouthed for you to let him in giving off his signature look. Knowing him you had to let him in or else he’d break in another way.

Stupidly running downstairs, you make your way to the front door. Looking through the peephole you see Patrick now with a lit cigarette in his mouth. You were going to have to open the door.

He walked in, his muddy boots making dirty prints on the nice freshly waxed wooden floor. You were considering just running out but you had to stay and protect your house. Your only worry was now safe asleep at a friends house, exhausted after watching Sleepaway Camp with his group of friends.

You shut the door to only be met with nothing behind you and the sound of someone pouring Alcohol. His cigarette was placed in the ashtray on your kitchen counter. He had taken a plastic cup from your cabinet and poured random drinks, but mostly Vodka in and chugged it down. Some had missed his mouth and ran down his chin onto his shirt. He crushed the cup and threw it next to the trash can, missing it completely.

“I saw your little show from outside Princess, that was some hot shit.” He sounded majorly aroused but there was no doubt that he was.

“What show? My dancing?” You could barely hear yourself let alone him since your music was at a high volume. He nodded which was your cue to go upstairs to turn your cassette player off.

He followed you up to your room and watched you remove the tape which he took from your hands. His eyes skimmed the tapes label taking a laugh at the title.

“You know Belch was looking for this the other day, He had a very special date and couldn’t find this. In the case was something totally bizarre and ruined his date.” You laughed at his comment but couldn’t help but feet bad.

You sit down on your bed and he tries to sit on the fluffy stool in front of where you sat. He almost drunkenly tipped over and fell on his ass making you laugh.

“Why are you even here? What do you want?” You asked him, heart now racing. He stood up and leaned over you. His rough, damp fingers traced your arms. It was when he leaned in and licked your face only making you shiver in disgust and confusion. He kissed your lips roughly and sloppy, ignoring your disgust. It was when he moved over to your neck that you couldn’t help but scream out.

“Wait-!!” He stopped only for a moment and then continued on.

“I still love Hen-.” He kept kissing your neck until you pushed his head off of you.

“He won't know, we don’t have to go all the way if you don’t want to.” He practically begged for your touch as he always did seeing you around Henry and the gang.

“Would you try to talk to him if I do this.” At this point in time, you were desperate to see him again. In your heart, you felt as if you could make a deal with Henry to at least leave your brother alone. He grinned and nodded, even if he lied you felt like you had no other choice.

His actions began again as he starts back at your neck, his fingers traced down to your panties. Fingers gliding over the now prominent wet spot lining your underwear, your breath hitched as he pushed his thumb again the fabric. He let out a small groan, he could feel his half-hard cock twitch and start to rise in his pants.

You began to feel anxious as his hand began to tug at your panties, his tongue gliding on your neck. You got up and pulled down your panties for him, looking deep into his soul.

His smile was plastered on his face as he unzipped his pants pulling them down to his knees. You sat back down, unknowing of what to do next.

His cock was glistening and flushed a pretty reddish-pink, it looked as it had been painfully erect for a while. His pale hand gripped yours painfully as he slowly moved it onto his hard-on.

“You feel that? You did that to me.” Your hand was small compared to his cock. He had a hold of your wrist, guiding your hand up and down his cock. You couldn’t help but laugh to the point that if anyone had seen your face you’d be compared to a tomato.

He took a headful of your hair and pulled you back making you gasp.

“Do you want a taste.” You nodded and he pushed your head near the tip of his cock. You couldn’t help but lick the tip. Because of this he slowly bucked his hips up into your mouth, making you take more into your mouth. He pushed your head way down and that was when you choked and pulled off before you could vomit.

“Keep strokin’.” His face was dotted with beads of sweat, you kept your pace with your hands meeting his thrusts. That was when he flipped his head backward, grunting loud and deep.

“Fuck-” He came all over your hand, his face in complete bliss.

You were in awe, ‘So this is why Hockstetter gets a lot of girls.” You couldn’t help but think to yourself.

“Your turn now.” You get on your knees, then it had hit you. The last thing you remember is looking at Patrick’s expression before closing your eyes and blacking out.

“Shit, Good enough.” Patrick was heavily disappointed but decided as this was already worth the phone call he was going to make to Henry the next morning. He laid back, letting sleep take over his body.

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Waking up was weird for you, your head pounded and you felt a little sick to your stomach. Last nights events then played through your mind and you then realize why you felt that way. Patrick was talking on the phone, his back towards you.

“Just talk to her Henry, she loves you... Okay ill tell her if I see her downtown, I'm taking a walk to Vic’s. I’ll see you later.” He slammed the phone down and turned around.

“Go see him, he’ll be waiting. Also when you get him back you owe me big time Princess.”

He opened your door walking out and left your house without saying another word.

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You stood at his front door, already knowing his father would already be on duty this night. You knocked as hard as you could, trying to see if anyone was there at all. After a minute, you began to turn around, giving up, until the door opened. There was Henry, shirtless, his pants covered in dirt and oil, hair greasy and a tempting smile.

“What the fuck you want?” He kept glancing back while waiting for you to answer.

“We really need to talk.” He huffed and then moved to the side letting you in. The air smelled like alcohol, cigarettes, and dirt which was normal because his dad never cleaned up. It was always Henry.

“Sit your ass down.” He pointed to his bed, your eyes darted to his walls, tracing to the little prints in the yellow wallpaper.

“Henry, you know how much I care for my brother. You have to understand, I have to look out for him because I don't want him to end up like our dad. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have hit you that wasn’t me, I was just so angry that you hurt him.” You were tear-jerked as you tried to explain what had gone down in that brain of yours.

Deep in his heart, he hated seeing you like this. He really did care about you just had the hardest time expressing it.

“Come ere.” His arms were open and you wrapped your arms around him, taking his scent of cheap cologne and beer.

“You missed me that much huh?” You laughed but then pushed up and away from him, crossing your arms.

“I want you to carve an h on me Hen.” He gave a look of concern and shock at first.

“Are you sure, I mean-.”

“Yes, I don't think its fair for you to mark my brother.” He took a moment to collect his feelings and then got out his switchblade. You lifted your tee to show the side of your stomach. He popped the blade open and put it towards your skin. The blade pressed into your skin, a stinging pain was all that it felt like. Tears rolled down your face by the time he was done.

“Shhh, It’s okay.” He began to press soft kisses on your cheek down to your neck. It was in the heat of the moment when you took your shirt off to show off the bra you had on. His eyes traced the pretty blue lace that cupped your breasts. He put his fingers until the straps and pulled them down before moving the cups from your bra down. Taking one look at your now hard nipples he leaned down and took one into his mouth, other between his fingers.

He yanked down your underwear, ready to touch you but before he could do that you begged.

“Henry, Please fuck me!” At that remark, he unzipped his pants and pulled his hard cock out of his briefs, giving it a few strokes. Moving over to you he had placed his cock at your dripping wet entrance, taking a deep breath he pushed in.

“Oh fuck!” He held still for only a moment, knowing if he were to move for a second he wouldn’t last. There you were, his girl, in his bed only, under him, he couldn’t think of anything better. He then started to move, starting off slow and gradually building up a faster pace. Placing your leg over his shoulder, he thrust at an angle, making his cock rut against your g-spot.

“Oh- Henry!” Your hands were in his hair as his hips snapped a faster rhythm, making the sound of his cock meeting your wet entrance echo throughout the room. You felt the heartbeat in your lower region grow as you become closer and closer to falling over the edge. A finger made it’s way, trailing towards your clit, swirling gentle circles onto it. That was it, that was all it had to take to push you over.

“That's right, come on my cock Princess, fuck! I’m coming-” He pressed his face into your neck, biting down roughly. He fucked into you three more times before coming to a complete halt, spilling his cum deep inside you. The only sound that fills your ears was both your breathing. Now, you both were sweaty and dirty. Henry's body has flushed a bright red and his hair stuck to his forehead.

“You sure put up a fight a few days ago, if I knew you needed some dick this badly I would have fucked you on the spot.” He laid snuggled into your body, craving the current embrace. It was when he got up and looked down, leftover blood had gone onto his stomach and down to his pubic hair. His hair was puffed up, greasy and sweaty.

“You wanna shower with me, I'll clean you up and we can talk about everything.”

“Yes on one condition, could you wash my back?”

“Yea sure sweetheart but we have to hurry up. You don’t want the gang walkin’ in on us in the shower, do ya?.” He grabbed a random pair of clothes out of the pile on his bed. He began his way toward the bathroom but waiting outside the door for you to follow

You smiled to yourself and made your way to his bathroom.

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

It wasn't until later when the rest of the gang arrived and noticed that you were tangled into Henry’s arms on the couch.

They didn’t question anything and kept silent, but only Patrick knew.

Later on, after sitting around drinking and watching MTV, Henry, Belch, and Victor went to go to the other room to grab a pack of beer out of Henry’s room.

Patrick looked over at you, grin on his face.

“Remember, you owe me, Princess.”

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

It was around 10:30 when you gave Henry a kiss on the cheek and opened the car door. Hoping off of him and outside, you turn around and lean into the window.

“Remember, Call me later.”

“Yeah, I know. I love you, Princess.”

“Love you too Hen.”

You stepped away and watched the car speed off down the street, causing some people to wake up from the sound. Warm, warm was all that you felt, your heart felt like it was on fire with butterflies flying around. It was time to go inside.

The door was locked so you tried the doorbell, it was when you heard a bunch of yells inside.

A girl opened the door, she had red short hair and her face was dotted with freckles.

“Another sleepover huh?” You asked and she replied with a yes.

Walking in, there were empty pizza boxes on the floor and a loud booming sound coming from the living room. Your brother stood along with two other kids, Richie Tozier, and Stan Uris, poorly reenacting movie scenes making the others cringe and laugh at their attempt of acting.

“Hey Ben, come here for a second.” He moved away from the game, having Mike now take his place. He walked with you to the kitchen, you opened the pizza box on the table and took out a slice of pepperoni.

“If you feel embarrassed because of that scar don't worry cause now we have the same one” You lift up your shirt to your waist showing off a fresh, deep cut. Carved into your skin was an ‘H’. He was a little confused but didn’t dwell on it too hard.

You walked upstairs, excited for that phone call that would come soon enough.

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

Taglist: @pattycake-hockstetter, @forgottencandy, @bowersgangvslosersclub (If you want to be added for Bowers Gang stuff just inbox me)

#smut #bowers gang #Henry Bowers #patrick hockstetter #belch huggins #victor criss #it #it 2017 #it 2019 #patrick hockstetter x reader #henry bowers x reader #henry bowers smut #patrick hockstetter smut #nicholas hamilton #Owen Teague #bowers gang imagine

513 notes · View notes

letsjustkeepitbetweenyouandi · 3 years

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Buddie Recs For You

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Don't Take My Sunshine Away

Eddie is in a coma, and Buck blames himself. He should've been there to protect Eddie. The least he can do now is to be there for Christopher, even if Buck doesn't know if he has it in him to be a parent without Eddie. Buck makes Eddie a deal: he'll fight for Christopher in the real world, while Eddie fights to wake up.

Eddie's come a long way since those bleak days in El Paso, listening to his parents comments about how he's not fit to be a father. How Christopher doesn't deserve to be dragged down by the likes of Eddie and Shannon. Eddie thought after moving to LA, he and Chris had escaped that. When he wakes up and finds Buck neck-deep in a legal battle with his parents for custody of Christopher, Eddie must face his own mistakes, and find the confidence to stand up for himself against his absolute worst nightmare.

113k - 21/21 Chapters

Leading with the Left

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."

And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"

In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

84k - 18/18 Chapters

Six Different Ways To Mark Your Territory

Or "5 times Eddie was a possessive bastard, and Buck (being the oblivious puppy he is) didn't notice. And the one time he couldn’t help but notice."

5k - 6/6 Chapters

Tread Lightly

Healing after a truck bombing, breakup, pulmonary embolism, tsunami and lawsuit is a slow process when you're afraid to talk to your team when it feels like the world is crumbling in on you. Finding your way out of the crippling darkness is a lonely process when you're afraid you'll get benched again for something beyond your control. Learning to love again is a terrifying process when you're not sure your best friend will ever truly forgive you.

151k - 36/36 Chapters

Accidental

It was an accident. He slipped. That doesn't mean he isn't going to take advantage of the opportunity that presents itself.

---- Post Lawsuit, Buck accidentally cuts his arm. He decides that maybe not getting help is best for everyone.

--- TW for suicidal idealization and injury that turns into a suicide attempt.

36k - 14/14 Chapters

Left Unsaid

A woman shows up at the station with a picture of Buck on her phone.

It goes better than last time.

The discovery of a small facebook group full of tsunami survivors rocks station 118.

33k - 7/7 Chapters

If The World Was Ending

Eddie doesn't realise how badly he's destroyed his friendship with Buck until his former partner has swapped stations, changed phone numbers, and moved homes without warning. It's nearly impossible to track Buck down and it's clear that Chris is suffering too. After Eddie is injured on the job, he has to start piecing together the broken pieces of who he is with the help of family and friends. Under those sorts of circumstances, a chance to repair his fragile friendship with Buck might be possible - but it won't be easy when Buck has a new boyfriend.

121k - 25/25 Chapters

Commentary: Right, I've read this one before, and I have conflicted feelings about it... the writing is really good, but well, they deal with Eddie getting amnesia, and there's not a real resolution of him getting al of his memories back, only some of them. Now, for me, that didn't really work out just as I wanted it, but I still liked the story, and like it's written really well with good character driven story and whatnot... So yeah, read at own risk

a leaf falls on loneliness

Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.

But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”

—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—

So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence.

11k - 1/1 Chapters

The Space Between Sleep

It all started innocent enough but Buck can no longer deny it.

He has a stalker.

Someone so obsessed with him that they would spend hours and hours following him, unnoticed, taking pictures of him, taking notes of his habits.

But life has been so good lately, and Buck doesn’t want to worry anyone. So he tells no one about it, he can deal with it on his own.

38k - 11/11 Chapters

Reaching In The Dark

It all started innocent enough but Buck can no longer deny it.

He has a stalker.

Someone so obsessed with him that they would spend hours and hours following him, unnoticed, taking pictures of him, taking notes of his habits.

But life has been so good lately, and Buck doesn’t want to worry anyone. So he tells no one about it, he can deal with it on his own.

38k - 11/11 Chapters

Commentary: Okay, so, I think I've read this one before... and I can't remember if it's like quality or what it is... but imma leave it for you to figure out, cause there's a lot of other ones that I wanna read for you to make sure they're good, so... read at own risk!

I'll Be Your Arms, I'll Be Your Steady Satellite

Buck couldn’t believe how quickly the day had turned. When he had been thinking about what came next, this hadn’t been what he expected.

--- The 118 takes a call that changes everything, turning Buck's world upside down and pushing his life in a new direction.

54k - 25/25 Chapters

Commentary: So, this was the one where he had a kid, and like, man, dad!buck was a thing I didn’t know I needed that much, but apparently I did, cause man I love it so much! Also, now I really wanna read more dad!buck kid!fic’s, preferably where like Buddie is together, and they want another kid, and so they decide to do surrogacy with Buck this time, and like, have most of what happens in this fic happen, but with some additions to it that I wished they added, with there being more Christopher being a big brother... anyhow, read it! It’s very good and adorable!!!

Like We Never Loved At All

Prompt: The lawsuit is all a front to protect the team but they don’t know so they treat Buck harshly. Buck bares all of it until Eddie or Bobby just breaks whatever hope he has left. By the time the truth comes out Buck is gone. Fast forward to a year or more later Eddie and Christopher are out with the team when Chris sees Buck. He’s got longer hair and cold eyes but most importantly he’s pushing a baby carriage with twin babies. He’s loving to Chris but frosty towards the team. What happened

22k - 6/6 Chapters

Commentary: Right, read it, and like it’s good, but the writer said herself that she was thinking of continuing it (But she has yet to do so) so though it has an ending to it, it’s not really a resolved one... more like a very very open-ended one... So again, read at your own risk.

Of Bikes and Concussions

Buck gets into an accident on his way to work in the morning, and before he can explain why he's late, he gets thoroughly chewed out and the rest of his day goes way downhill from there.

7k - 1/1 Chapters

Mistletoe

After Buck grabbed the mistletoe and kissed Hen, he decided he wouldn't stop there. After making the rounds, he reaches Eddie, and nothing is ever so easy with that man.

9k - 5/5 Chapters

Rewrite the Stars

Buck is struggling with nightmares weeks after he has returned to work after the tsunami. He is struggling to sleep, and distancing himself from everyone-- most of all, Eddie.

39k - 19/19 Chapters

Bury Your Dead

If you had asked Edward Buckley to describe his parenting style, he would’ve told you that he was a “disciplinarian.”

28k - 13/13

Commentary: Stumbled upon this one, and I’m pretty sure I’ve read it before, it sounds familiar, and as far as I can remember it was rather good!

it’s okay

Finally back with the team, Buck isn’t going to let anything tear him away again. He has to prove his place, his part in the family, even if that means smiling through the pain.

Or, Buck gets hurt on a call and doesn’t tell anyone.

11k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: Oh, it has a lot of angst and it will warm your heart!

Broken Silence

combined prompts asking for quiet Buck trying to stay out of everyone's way after the lawsuit--he and Maddie get hurt but he thinks they won't care, because of how they've been treating him lately, so he doesn't say anything, but does request time off, and then comfort ensues!

2k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: Listen, I know that it’s shorter than what you usually read, but man, it’s so heartbreaking and gooooooood

Comfort of Strangers

"I don't want anyone else to have your heart, kiss your lips or be in your arms. Because that's my place."

Buck and Eddie grow closer, one kiss at a time.

15k - 15/15 Chapters

5+1 Times People Call Them a Family

5 times someone points out that Eddie, Buck, and Christopher make an adorable family and 1 time where they say they are family.

4k - 6/6 Chapters

Stay

Buck’s voice was soft and hesitant, but full of patience when he finally spoke again. “Did I do something to upset you, Chris? I can leave—”

“No!” Chris whirled on him, a complete shift from the standoffish vibe he had been giving a second ago. The tears he bravely held back finally broke free from his eyes, sliding down his rosy cheeks from behind his glasses. He shook his head vehemently, the yellow crayon falling to the table. “No, I’m not mad. Please…” His words turned to whimpers, his lip trembling. “Please don’t leave me too.”

31k - 10/10 Chapters

Commentary: This was the one I linked you too on messenger. It has like a minor supernatural element to it, that they don’t warn you about, cause it’ll like spoil it, but it should not make you shy away from it, because it’s a thing that makes the story fits so well together and makes it so heartbreaking and good! So yeah, check it out, and be prepared for the angst!

All Bets are Off

"Enough!" Bobby sighed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously exhausted. "Alright, I'm gonna need everyone to be completely straight with each other from here on out. No more fighting. Okay?"

Hen rolled her eyes but nodded. "Okay Cap."

"I'm always straight." Eddie called defensively.

Bobby's mouth opened to respond when they heard a strangled chain of coughing behind them. When they turned, they saw Chimney, choking on a bagel.

"Oh man…" Chimney coaxed through his wheezing. "That's the biggest lie you ever told."

Or, the five times the firefam realized Buck and Eddie were in love, and the one-time Eddie finally did something about it.

35k - 6/6 Chapters

Commentary: So it’s a 5+1, but it’s a lengthier one than the other one, and it’s so good! It’ll both satisfy your buddie need, but also your Bobby being a father to Buck need!! And like a lot of other good stuff, so yeah, should definitely give this a go

you working?

a request for some jealous!Eddie

Summer is winding down and the 118 is out for one last event at the local park before kids are back at school. Buck attracts attention, Eddie glares at the world, and Hen is honestly having a blast.

4k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: In reality, it’s a part of a series that’s 18k words long, but like 10k of it is a lot of smut, and like some of it’s plot driven, other very much isn’t, and then like the last part is an engagement one, so like, if you’re prepared for the smut, then sure, otherwise, you could just enjoy the first part of it, with a very adorable jealous Eddie Diaz

am I coming out of left field?

5 times it was obvious to literally everyone that Buck and Eddie are in love, and the one (first) time Eddie actually admits it.

3k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: Short, but cute, though the last part could be better

Can't Stay Away

“Long story short, your kid is too damn smart," Buck began. "Seriously, Eddie, maybe you need to pull him out of that fancy school and send him back to public school. Dumb him down a bit so he’s easier to handle.”

Buck’s words became so tangled in his anxiety that he couldn’t really process what he was saying. “What the hell are you talking about? Is Chris okay? Is he in trouble?”

“He’s fine. Safe and sound, happy as a clam, but I’d say he is definitely in trouble.”

...

In which Eddie's parents hate Buck, and Christopher is too damn clever.

6k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: Oh this is a good one... Like, proper whump and Christopher being the captain of our ship!

There It All Is (What's Always Been Mine)

“You alright Buckaroo?” Hen asked and Buck shrugged. “You’re not worried about hosting this sleepover, are you?”

“I just don’t want to screw this up,” Buck said. “Like, I’m the one who’s not a parent here. Am I really qualified to be in charge of three kids?”

---

Or, when a sleepover becomes the sight of a dangerous emergency, Buck learns what his friends and family knew all along; he’ll do anything for the people he cares about.

8k - 1/1 Chapters

Commentary: I said I wanted Buck with kids, and I got it. Basically, it’s cute, and I luv buck with kids, and this is a good one.

TO ADD MORE

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A Dive Into My Bookmarks

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light me and i'll burn for you

In which an old friend of Buck's joins the 118, and Eddie does not like him. At all.

31k - 3/3 Chapters

all the stones and kings of old

Edmundo Diaz, King of Calder, does not want a husband.

He had a wife, he has a son. He doesn’t need anyone to try and fill the void in his life Shannon left when she died—he is perfectly content with an empty bed, with Bobby and Athena advising him, with household staff taking care of Christopher when he can’t.

But. Apparently he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

(Theirs is not an auspicious start.)

36k - 14/14 Chapters

Commentary: So this is the AU that I talked about, with it being medieval, and like, something out of Merlin, only I don't really think there's magic in it... i can't remember if there is... So I don't think there is. Anyhow, it's pretty good!

Everybody Knows

The five times someone assumed they're together, and Eddie had to correct them, and the one time it happened and he didn't have to.

14k - 1/1 Chapters

You square all the corners, I straighten the curves

Five times Buck and Eddie pretend they're dating (and one time they don't)

11k - 1/1 Chapters

The things we lost in the fire

Commentary: Now, this is a two part story, I'll add the summary for both parts.

Part 1:

Evan Buckley left his past behind when he left home for good at age 19. But an unexpected phone call on a quiet shift disrupts the life he's built for himself: forcing him to confront his past in order to build a new future.

Part 2:

It was fall at the 118. That was supposed to mean pumpkin spice lattes, Athena’s world-famous pumpkin pie, and the yearly tradition of getting bullied by children at the annual firehouse trick-or-treating.

Instead, it was a disastrous cornucopia of Maddie’s pregnancy, the Buckley parents visiting, and a sexuality crisis for good measure.

Oh, and?

It was wildfire season.

204k - Part1: 10/10 - Part 2: 22/22

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The Ones I Need To Read First

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waiting on the sunrise

When Buck left home, it was a rushed decision. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do, but he had a high school diploma and enough street smarts to make it as far from his father as possible.

It's been nearly ten years since then, and now his father is in town. Buck quickly learns that some things haven't changed. But other things have, and his family will help him realize that.

28k - 10/10 Chapters

Two Weeks Noticed

With Christopher away at camp, Eddie finally has a chance to catch his breath after the hellish year he's had. Meanwhile Buck is still reeling from the sudden reappearance of Abby. On a routine night of movies and pizza, Eddie and Buck discuss some feelings and stumble into something that may just take some time to figure out. Good thing they have two weeks to get a handle on it.

148k - 15/15 Chapters

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse)

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

68k - 15/15 Chapters

the weekly bet (but the forever kind)

When the squad bets on how long it will take for Buck and Abby to get back together when she comes back to LA, Eddie is forced to reconsider keeping his feelings for Buck a secret. “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, hiding his face deep in his pillow, even if Buck can’t see him in the dark. “What for?” Leave it to Buck to be confused about something so obvious. “Being you, idiot.” “And again with the name calling,” he answers, content and sleepy. Nights like this, Eddie feels like asking for a miracle. But to the team, it wasn’t a matter of if Abby would take him back, but when. A matter of days.

49k - 9/9 Chapters

Guess We'll Just Have to Adjust

No, Buck does not have a damn crush on Eddie fucking Diaz. No, Buck is not thinking about Eddie's stupid smile or his stupid hair or that obscene sound he made when he pushed the couch the way he did.

Having a crush would be weird. And dumb. And the last thing Buck needs in his already fucked up life.

36k - 12/12 Chapters

Speak Now

Fake Dating AU idea from a tumblr post that got out of hand the minute I started writing.

Eddie lies to Shannon about being in a serious relationship when she wants to re-enter his and Christopher's lives, and of course the person he asks to be his pretend significant other is none other than Evan Buckley, because what are bros for?

25k - 3/3 Chapters

Pack a Bag, Say Goodbye

It wasn’t the first time he felt unwanted. In fact, it was an all too familiar feeling. But the last time he felt this way, he had left. Run off to South America and wherever else he could find himself. But the one thing that had helped him stop feeling lost, the place where he had found himself, had been ripped away from him.

So, why was he still there? What was the point in sticking around? ---

After the lawsuit, Buck is struggling when he realizes how unwanted he is at work. When he makes the decision to leave, how will everyone react? And to what lengths will they go to get Buck back?

61k - 30/30 Chapters

According To You

“He’s gonna’ be fine, they did scans, they said it’s just a scratch--”

“Just a scratch?” Eddie blinks incredulously. “‘Just a scratch’ doesn’t require stitches Evan! God, how could you be so irresponsible?! How the hell were you not watching him at the park?! How could you let him get all the way across the street without you?!”

5k - 2/2 Chapters

When it comes to an end (I will want you to plea)

After the lawsuit, Buck and Eddie are casually sleeping together. Eddie tells himself it doesn't mean anything more than that. An unexpected incident at work brings up something Buck thought he'd long buried behind him and makes Eddie re-evaluate his feelings for his best friend.

26k - 8/8 Chapters

Protector

He didn’t know who he could contact.

Even though it had been months since he had returned to work, there was still an awkwardness that could not be cleansed. There had been a chill at the start, he had been confined to the station, knowing that his decision to reveal personal information to his lawyer had truly been a mistake. Eventually, the team went back to how they once were in the field, working together to save lives without hesitation. They would share meals, the comradery slowly showing once more.

Outside of work, Buck felt alone.

21k - 10/10 Chapters

Helping Hands

Everyone wants Buck to heal from the past year, and they think getting laid will help him. Buck doesn't want to revert back to Buck 1.0, but he also doesn't want his friends to worry about him. So Buck enlists the help of his best friend Eddie in fooling his friends.

55k - 9/9 Chapters

Next To Me

Buck and Eddie started off in different places but eventually they ended up in the same. Eventually, they ended up in love.

Told from Buck and Eddie’s perspectives, a canon-compliant take on Buddie and how they could realistically get together.

Buck had never had a friend like Eddie before. Someone that burrowed under his skin and wrapped around him and became a part of him — like an extra limb, someone he couldn’t do without.

He loved him. Eddie loved him. Eddie was in love with him. With Buck. With his best friend. But it didn’t matter…loving him meant that the only thing that mattered was being able to keep him in any possible way even if that meant that Eddie could never tell him.

93k - 17/17 Chapters

burn 'em up and scatter their remains

A serial killer taunts L.A., targeting first responders. Fear creates tension among the 118, at the station and outside of it, but they’re going to need to come together stronger than ever to survive this.

50k - 25/25 Chapters

Eddie's Not-So-Secret Feelings

5 times Eddie says sweet things about Buck in Spanish so Buck doesn't find out he's in love with him +1 time Eddie realises Buck speaks Spanish and knew all along With special guest stars: Eddie's entire family

17k - 6/6 Chapters

More Than You Know

Eddie's forgiven Buck, and things are back to normal between them. By normal, we of course mean they are in love with each other but haven't confessed to anyone yet. After a bad call, Buck goes over to Eddie's to keep him some company. Except Eddie isn't home. And when Eddie does arrive, he bruised and bloody.

44k - 17/17 Chapters

a christmas miracle

The 118 are discussing their plans for the holidays, but Eddie's plan has Buck reeling with hurt.

38k - 4/4 Chapters

i think i might've inhaled you

How do you tell your best friend that you're actually in love with them? If you're Evan Buckley, you don't.

25k - 2/2 Chapters

You're Standing Here Beside Me

In the beginning, May doesn’t know much about Evan “Buck” Buckley.

Also known as my 1 + 5 + 1 Buck & May sibling fic or "1 time May finds out she has a big brother, 5 times Buck and May are totally siblings and 1 time May and Buck spend time with the rest of their family.

14k - 1/1 Chapters

The 118 Quarantine Chronicles

A look at the 118 during Quarantine. Featuring cooking competitions, tirades against math, parades, idiot boys in love, prank wars, and happiness.

16k - 11/11 Chapters

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger...Right?

Behind the Scenes: What we didn't and should've seen when the screen went black.

Four Times we could've seen so much more Buck Whump, Eddie caring and 118 protectiveness and one time it could've been a lot worse.

11k - 1/1 Chapters

Now when do I start to feel again?

Buck's first call back with the team doesn't go as well as Bobby and Eddie hoped. It leads to Eddie having to make a tough decision. A decision that only gets made after a very emotional day.

Buddie fic, pre-slash, 3x06 Coda, Bobby is clearly not only Buck's emergency contact but also his dad. Re-edited for typos 11/11/19

11k - 2/2 Chapters

Nothing to Lose

A simple trip trip to the bank ends badly when the robbery crew takes a firefighter with them.

Will his family and friends be able to find him before it's late. Will he realise everything he has and fight to get back to them.

Buck always needs to be the hero, even if he doesn't think he is.

Pre-Buddie because I am absolutely not confident writing how that would even unfold. There are hints of it of course because that's basically canon.

15k - 10/10

now that it's over (and i'm sober)

Eddie felt like he was going to choke on his own tongue.

It was a wildly inappropriate thought, given that they really were trying to rescue this girl from a fly-away hot air balloon, running at it with all the speed their legs could muster.

Even digging his heels into the ground and wrapping his hands tightly around one of the drop lines couldn’t stop him from staring slack-jawed at his best friend.

13k - 1/1 Chapters

and the winner is......

When Maddie convinces Buck to join her and the rest of the couples of the 118 on a couples game-show with Eddie as his partner, he does so hesitantly, if only because he knows that by the end of it -- the rest of the team will realize he and Eddie are way more than best friends.

18k - 1/1 Chapters

Drift Away

“You’re getting a call tomorrow from the Chief. You’re being reinstated to active duty. The city gave me the option of transferring you to a different station...I declined.”

“You won’t regret it”

“You might”

He did

18k - 3/3 Chapters

1 note · View note

mxtantrights · 4 years

Text

✹ PART FIFTEEN

HAWKINS, INDIANA

MAY 21, 1984

It's my birthday. And I'm hiding out underneath the covers in fear that my mother is some weird memory erasing villain. I know I sound crazy, but it's not just me. It's also Dayton. He's called me almost everyday since the month of May rolled around, except for the past two days. He's on edge too.

I know the sun is out because I can see the light peeking though my comforter. I feel like I haven't moved an inch. Just to make sure. Not to give her any reason to come into my room and snatch my memory away.

But at some point this ruse has to come to an end.

My birthday falls on a Monday. School waits for no man or woman. Soon someone is going to come in my room and wake me up. Whether it be Mickey, My dad or my mom. And then my dad would have to start.

I don't think I play sick too well.

If I just jump out my window and book it to school I doubt I won't get reprimanded. Even if it is my birthday. Figures.

My dad has been throwing out things for me to do. Since I am turning 17 it is 'a lot of responsibility' and I should 'not take it lightly'. I don't know. I'm desperately wishing he brought me a car or something. It sucks having to be a junior and biking to school, or being driven by the parents.

I hear my door creak open.

Here we fucking go.

"Jessie? Are you up?" My dad's voice asks.

I slowly remove the covers from my face and take a look.

He's got a cupcake in his hand with a candle on top. The fire is dancing a little bit because I've got the window open. And I can't forget his partner in crime. Mickey is holding another cupcake with another candle.

Dad's cupcake as a one. Mickey's has a seven.

I smile. "Wow all for me?"

"It's your seventeenth! It's only up from here kid." My dad jokes and brings Mickey closer with him over to me on the bed.

They both hold up the cupcakes near my face for me to blow out the candles. If wishes really did come true, I really needed a miracle right now.

I wish to make it through my birthday without forgetting it.

I blow out the candle.

They cheer for me and put the cupcakes by my bedside. They don't say anything else as they walk out of my room and close the door. Looks like my day has begun already. If she doesn't know I'm up now, she'll know soon enough.

I throw the covers off of me and get out of bed.

Not even a second to spare and my bedroom door is being thrown open.

My mom looks at me with a smile. "Oh I didn't know you were up already. Well, now that you are I can ask what your plans are for today."

I need to lie.

I need to lie so well that even a part of me believes it.

"Well I'm going to school, there's an important test I need to take for math. And then after that is still up in the air. I'll think of something while I'm at school." I put lightly, walking to my drawer.

As I rummage though it to pick an outfit I can see her tense a bit. Wasn't expecting that now were we mother dearest?

"So you and me aren't doing our girl thing this year?" She asks, with a little pity in her voice. Like I'd have pity on her. She basically locked me in this house for two months. And after that it's like I'm on a leash with her. It's not fair.

And the whole, birthday thing.

I shook my head. "No mom. I just wanna try something new, something different. Don't mean to offend you."

I pick out a yellow tank top and some blue jeans. This will have to do. It get's hot here and it's not even officially summer yet.

She almost scoffs. I catch it at the last second but she turns it into a sigh. "Alright then. Happy birthday then Jessie."

She doesn't even close my door.

The bell that signals the end of last period rings. I can't get out fast enough because I'm flying out of my seat with my bag on my back. I don't need to linger here for any surprises. Today has been long enough with trying to keep a low profile with my mother.

Jonathan caught me at my locker and wished me a happy birthday, with a present in tow. It was a pick. Of course I had many at home but those were the ones that I had stuffed in my room from the old pawn shop. They were free with my guitar purchase.

He asked me if I was doing anything special and I told him no. I didn't tell him the whole truth, but some part of it. He's my closest friend here and I don't feel like lying to the only person who knows me well enough here.

Then Nancy caught me at lunch. She wasn't with her usual posey. I don't know what happened with her and Carol and Tommy. But all I do know is that she just rolls with Steve now. It seems like he's really shaping up for her.

Anyways, she wished my a happy birthday. So did Steve, but it was kind of under his breath. Maybe he feels guilty about being friends with Carol and her goons. Or maybe he's was just trying to be polite for the sake of his girlfriend.

She then asked me what I was doing. And I lied. I told her that my family and I were going out to diner some place fancy. I didn't have to lie but I didn't want to air out my dirty laundry with her boyfriend standing right there. I know I can trust her because after all she was there that night when I went looking for Mickey and the gang.

I don't know it's just complicated.

My thoughts must have blocked my vision because I'm colliding with a body outside of the school building. I don't fall though, but I do wobble. When I look up to apologize to see who I bumped into I stand back up straight.

It was Steve.

"Uh hey, sorry I wasn't watching where I was going." I apologized- I was raised with manners. Surprisingly I remember them.

"It's fine." He nods his head once. I wonder where Nancy is? "H-"

My mother's station wagon pulls up right beside us with a skid.

SHI-

My eyes search the vehicle for any chloroform or anything that could knock me out but I don't see it. Granted I doubt she'd carry a tank of it, or of anything in the back of the car. It'd be in like a napkin or something.

Instead I find my brother.

He rolls down the window and leans over to speak to me. "Come on sis, we've got plans remember?"

I almost collide with Steve again but he moves me out of the way. "Jes- sorry."

I don't hear his response as I run to the passenger side of the wagon and hop in. I slide my bag off and place it by my feet.

"What are you doing back? I mean- I'm thankful of course but, whats happening here?" I ask him as he drive out of the school parking lot and onto the main road. His eyes don't go off the road for a second.

"I'm here to make sure mom doesn't take you on a birthday special. And because school is out and I'm here for the summer." He explains to me.

"Wow for the whole summer? Aren't you gonna be missing your significant other?" I couldn't hide the smirk on my face when he looked over at me for a moment's glance. He was so whipped! I can't wait to meet him!

He chuckles at me. "Yes I do miss him. But he's back home in Pennsylvania. We can still call each other though and it's not like it's long distance forever."

"Oh you're so whipped! Wow! I really do want to see just who has a acquired your heart like this! It's amazing!"

Since my parents weren't expecting Dayton back home so soon, they didn't clear out the guest bedroom. It's filled with boxes of untouched stuff and clutter that neither of my parents wanted to throw away.

That means Dayton is camping out in my room for the foreseeable future. And I really really need to thank whoever it is that grants birthday wishes because I have been blessed with a miracle on this lucky day!

He fell asleep a few minutes ago- his snores gave it away.

The door creaks open and in pokes in Mickey's head. I rest on my elbows.

"Hey sleepyhead, what's going on?" I whisper to him.

He comes into my room and closes the door behind him. He never really comes into my room at night like this. Usually he comes in here to bother me, annoy me, ask me weird questions or whatever. But he has never in the dark of night walked into my room.

Mickey quickly hops into bed with me, under the covers and all.

"I had a nightmare." He whispers back.

And he never tells me about his nightmares.

This must be about the whole upside-down thing. It has to be. It's the only nightmare we share under this roof.

I turn on my side to face him. "What was it about?"

"You."

"And?"

"And the accident you had a few years ago."

Accident? What accident? When did I ever get into an accident? I think I would re- unless it happened on my birthday. In that case I need to hear every single detail about this.

"Maybe talking about it will let the fear go, Mickey."

He sighs and shuts his eyes.

"You and me were out in the yard at our old house, in the tree house. You were going down to get something and then out of no where you just fell to the ground. I tried to wake you up but it wasn't working. You were just laying there until mom showed up."

Of course.

"But I'm okay now. I'm right here."

"I know that it's just that when El fell that night I remembered it again." He opens his eyes and looks at me.

Is that why he grabbed my hand? Because it was like reliving a memory for him? He got scared again?

I hold out my hand for him to take.

He takes it.

"I promise you I won't scare you like that again. I'm sorry Mickey."

"It's okay." he squeezes my hand as he says it. "At least you remember now."

"What do you mean?"

"When I asked you about it after mom showed you to the doctor you couldn't remember. And she said that because you hit your head, you wouldn't remember. A few things."

"Mickey, do you know what doctor I went to?"

If I can get the name, I can get the number. And I can ask for a file. A file that I can use to explain why there are so many gaps in my memory. I know that whatever fall I took can't be the whole explanation for it, but it could be what I need to spark a memory.

He shook his head.

He didn't know.

"You didn't go to the doctor. He came to you."

I don't remember my regular doctor ever going house calls. Yes we were a small town, but he had an office. And it's not like we personally knew the man. He was the whole town's pediatrician so he had a lot of patients. No one I knew back home got house calls.

I don't think it was my usual doctor.

I think it was my mother's memory eraser. Or something to do with it.

#steve harrington x oc #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things #Steve harrington #here's part 15!!!#DAMSEL #okay I would very much like to talk about this part #and just Steve and jessie in general #like I have things to share if y'all want that

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arctic-comet · 4 years

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Fic: Full Moon Over Central Park (Jancy Week 2019 Day 5: AU)

Posted under the cut and here at AO3

Jonathan found himself lying on the moist soil of the cave he always locked himself into for his transformations. Groaning, he pulled himself up, the pain on his cheek telling him that something had cut into his skin sometime during the previous night. As usual, just about every bone, muscle and joint in his body was complaining. It always took him a while to recover enough to even dress himself and get home, so he grabbed the blanket he’d been smart enough to bring to the cave, wrapped himself into it and curled up into a fetal position. Just for a little while…

The cawing of a flock of crows woke him up again when the sun was already high in the fall sky. Hell. He’d totally overslept, not that he would be delivering any documents or packages today anyway. He wasn’t sure if he could even get on his bike to ride to the train station to go home. Eventually he forced himself off the ground and pulled a pair of jeans and a sweater on. The air was chilly, but that was just about the least of his problems anyway.

As he pedaled to the station, he remembered fall days like this that he’d been able to spend at home, with his younger brother and their mom. His mom would make the most delicious hot chocolate before they all burrowed under blankets on the couch, where either Jonathan himself or she would read a book aloud. His brother Will had always preferred adventure novels, but Jonathan liked horror and science fiction. Well, at least he had until horror had become a permanent fixture in his life.

A bite during a full moon in the woods close to his home. At first he thought it was a stray dog, then he’d determined it had to be a wolf. Fearful of rabies, his mom had taken him to the hospital. He hadn’t contracted rabies, but instead something much, much worse.

It took him a little over an hour to reach his dingy apartment building in Brooklyn, and when he did, the place was surrounded by police cars and ambulances, all their lights flashing and making his sensitive eyes hurt and his head throb. What had happened?

Approaching the nearest cop, he was determined to get inside. Shows. Food. Bed. “Excuse me? What’s going on? I live here,” he told the stern middle-aged man, who eyed him warily in response.

“Can I see some ID?” He asked, and Jonathan reached into his pocket, hoping to God he hadn’t lost it last night. To his immense relief, he managed to locate his driver’s license.

“Here you go.”

The cop scanned the license, his eyes darting between the photo and Jonathan. He smiled nervously, uncertain and tired.

“One of the apartments is a crime scene. It’s being sealed off as we speak , but you can go home. Someone will be there to talk to you later.”

“Why?” He asked, frowning. He had no desire to talk to anyone.

“We need to talk to all neighbors, to check if someone heard or saw anything suspicious last night.”

“I wasn’t at home last night,” he replied bluntly. Cops made him nervous due to his ‘condition’, as he’d been picked up by a squad car a few times after a transformation before he’d learned to stay away from people until he was truly lucid.

“Doesn’t matter, kid. We’re going to talk to everyone,” said the cop, handing Jonathan back his license.

With an acknowledging grunt, he left the officer behind. Lucky for him, the cop was approached by a woman mere seconds after he’d moved on.

There inside of the building was swarming with cops, too, and he had to dodge at least three of them on his way to his 4th floor apartment. On the landing there were even more cops and the door to his neighbor’s apartment was open. He’d barely seen the woman a handful of times during the time he’d lived there, but a chill still ran through him. Was she dead?

“Is this your apartment?” Asked a female cop standing guard at the crime scene, motioning to his door.

“Ummm, yeah, it is.”

“Can you please go inside for now? Someone will be in to talk to you soon.”

Yeah. That was exactly what he was afraid of. If his neighbor had been murdered, of course he’d do his best to help out the police, but the thing was… He knew nothing.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, he realized how bad he smelled. Sweat and animal carcasses. Jesus. His sense of smell was still heightened, so the stench nearly made him hurl.

***

“Oh no, no, miss! This is an active crime scene,” growled the uniformed officer.

Nancy Wheeler nearly rolled her eyes, but managed to stop herself in time. Well, no shit Sherlock, that was why she was there in the first place.

“What happened?” She asked, testing her ballpoint pen on her notepad.

The cop snorted. “We’re not telling the press anything at this point, so I suggest you scamper.”

“This is a free country and I have every right to be here,” she argued. If she got a dime for every time she was dismissed both in and out of the office, she’d be a rich woman. Listening to police radio had become her biggest hobby since moving to New York, and she often hung around fresh crime scenes, hoping to get the scoop early and actually break something worthwhile. Maybe then Mr. Adrian would at least acknowledge her existence.

Her hunch told her that they could be dealing with a multiple homicide. This wasn’t a particularly good neighborhood, but not one of the worst ones either. No rich people, but supposedly no gangs either. The scene had gathered quite a crowd, with curious commuters and other people passing by sticking around to stare. Not that there was much to see at this point, nothing nearly enough for Nancy get front page material.

“Besides, you just let that guy in there!” She continued, pointing at the back of the young man who she’d seen talking to the cop minutes before.

“That guy? He lives there.”

If they were letting tenants in, it probably meant the crime scene was almost sealed off and that most of the police would be clearing out soon. Good. That meant she could go in soon herself, and talk to the neighbors. No doubt the police would be doing that, too, and she didn’t want them catching her doing it. If she got into real trouble with them, they’d end up calling the paper. Not to mention that she was currently supposed to be on her way to a Halloween fair in a small town in Long Island. Screw that.

Biting into her lip as she considered her options, she spied a donut shop across the street. Fantastic . The perfect place to survey the cops, particularly when they left the scene.

She ordered a cup of coffee and a chocolate-covered donut and chose a window table with a good view of the building on the other side of the street. It turned out that she didn’t have to wait long to get something worth writing about, as a pair of cops stepped in and stood in the queue.

“Man, have you ever seen anything like that before?” Asked the younger officer.

“Kind of, but that was years ago and when I was stationed in Harlem. Never seen anything this bad around here.”

“Sure makes you lose your appetite.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Finding the second body in the bedroom…”

“I know. Freaked the shit out of me too.”

So at least two people were dead. Nancy’s pen flew on the pad, writing down everything the cops said. She’d come to learn that eavesdropping was one of the most important skills a reporter could have.

***

Jonathan groaned in desperation when there was yet another knock at his door several hours after he’d shut the door in the last officer’s face and retreated into his bed. He didn’t even bother turning the lights back on to answer the door this time. Why couldn’t these cops leave him the hell alone?

Practically yanking the door open, he expected to come face-to-face with another uniform, but instead there was a girl. Well, she was as much of a girl as he was a boy. She was… Girls like her- or even girls in general- or people- didn’t usually end up on his doorstep. And when he said usually, he actually meant never. She didn’t look like a cop, but there was a determined set to her jaw, making it clear she wanted something from him. And yet she wasn’t saying anything, seeming just as flabbergasted at the sight of him as he was of her. She was lovely, her wavy hair the color of chocolate, her eyes the deepest blue.

“Hi,” she finally spoke, flashing him a smile that didn’t strike him as genuine.

“Hi,” he replied.

“I’m Nancy Wheeler, I work for the NY Daily Courier. I’m here to ask you about the murder-“

“I already told the police everything I know, which is basically nothing,” he said, interrupting her.

“Uh, right. I understand, but please, can I ask you a few questions?”

Although he wanted little more than to get back under the covers, he found himself unable to deny her simple request. It would be a short talk anyway for sure, as he had so little to contribute.

“Okay,” he sighed, allowing her inside, before realizing how messy his place was. His face probably flashed red as he watched her curious eyes scan his dirty dishes and discarded clothes. He wasn’t even that messy of a person, but when the change approached, it always made him uneasy and somehow that uneasiness manifested itself as him skipping housework. Why did it even matter, though? She was a reporter, here only to do her job.

“I’m Jonathan Byers, in case you want to put that in your notes,” he continued, realizing he hadn’t even introduced himself. His mom would smack him upside the head.

“Thank you. So, how long have you lived here?” She asked, obviously wanting to get straight into business.

“A couple of years.” The manners taught to him by his mom nagged at the back of his head, insisting that he offer her coffee and perhaps a sandwich. “Would you like something to drink? I’ve got coffee, and some sandwiches.”

“Coffee sounds great, actually. How long did your neighbor live in that apartment?”

“I think she moved in a few months after me, so maybe about a year and a half.”

“Did she live alone?”

“I think so, but I can’t be sure… I- I guess I don’t pay that much attention to my neighbors.” And most of the time he hoped they didn’t pay attention to him either. That was why he only spoke to people when he absolutely had to, like at work.

“Did you ever talk to her? What was she like?”

He shrugged. “I guess I ran into her on the stairs a few times. She seemed normal to me, nothing that would suggest-“ he began, struggling to find the right words.

“An impending violent death?” She suggested.

He nodded. “Yeah. She never caused trouble here, as far as I know.” He would’ve looked for another place to live if the police had started coming around regularly.

“Apparently there was a second body in the apartment.”

He raised a brow. “Really?” The police hadn’t told him that.

Nancy nodded.

“How do you even know that?” He wondered aloud, his brows rising in surprise.

“I can’t reveal my sources, but I heard it from law enforcement.”

Jonathan nodded. Impressive.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I wasn’t home last night, only got back this morning when the cops were already here,” he replied, almost apologetically.

“So you wouldn’t know who was with her last night?”

Jonathan shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

“Well, I’ll keep looking. Sorry to have bothered you,” she said, standing up to leave. He walked her to the door, hoping that despite his haggard appearance and the state of his apartment, she wouldn’t remember him in a bad way. That was new, since usually he settled on hoping people wouldn’t remember him at all. Reporters were at least as dangerous to him as cops were, so wanting her not to forget about him had to be a sign of him losing his mind.

“You- you didn’t bother me. Good luck with your story.”

“Thank you… Would you mind giving me your number, in case I think of another question you might be able to answer for me?” She asked.

That was a surprising request, but he recited his phone number to her automatically, although the only other people who even knew it were his current and potential employers.

He watched as she turned the corner and began her descent. Just before he closed the door, he heard her knock on a door on the floor below him and introduce herself once more. He bet she’d already forgotten his name. He’d just be the clueless nextdoor neighbor of a murder victim, who she never had to see again.

***

Even as Nancy listened to the old lady prattle on and on about how wonderful and polite the murdered woman had been, her thoughts were elsewhere. She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Jonathan Byers, nextdoor neighbor. He’d claimed to not have been home during the murders and she believed him, but something about him nagged at the back of her mind. The deep dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he seemed to be mostly skin and bones should’ve led to the conclusion that she’d just spoken to a drug addict. But this wasn’t that kind of a neighborhood, and he didn’t… He didn’t seem like an addict. Although how in the world could she know that?

Either way, he’d struck a chord within her, which was unusual. As much as she would’ve liked to think it was only her reporter’s instincts sensing that something was off about him, she had to admit her desire to know more about him wasn’t only about that. Nevertheless, she had to focus on finding out all she could about the murder case, and unfortunately Jonathan didn’t seem to be able to help her with that.

“What about Alaina Torres’s neighbor, Jonathan Byers? What do you know about him?” She asked in a whim before considering whether it was a good idea.

The old woman blinked at her, obviously confused as to why she’d want to know about Jonathan.

“Well, he’s a quiet boy, that one. Carried my groceries up the stairs once when I sprained my ankle, but I don’t believe he speaks much with anyone here.”

“Does he ever have guests?”

“I haven’t seen anyone. Why are you asking about him, do you think he may have had something to do with poor Alaina’s death?”

“Uh, not really, at this stage I’m trying to get a feel of the people who lived close to her,” she claimed, feeling embarrassed about lying.

“Surely he can’t be a bad guy.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Mrs. Johnson,” she replied, flashing a smile.

Her phone rang, filling the apartment with its shrill sound. Shit. She should’ve muted it.

“Are you going to answer that?” Inquired Mrs. Johnson.

“Yeah. Uh, please excuse me for a minute.” Removing the phone from her purse as if it was a dangerous insect, she brought it to her ear.

As usual, her boss didn’t bother with the basic niceties. “Where are you?” He demanded.

Biting into her lip, Nancy rolled her eyes. “I’m in Long Island at the Halloween fair you sent me to. Should be ready to come back to the office within an hour.”

“Well, get back here as soon as you can. I’ve got another job for you.”

Really? Over the last few months, her naivety had dissipated little by little with every filler story she was asked to write. And yet she still held onto hope that one day she’d be given a chance to make her mark, to be the top journalist she aspired to be.

“What is it?”

“An adoption event for a local shelter in Queens.”

Nancy liked animals, she truly did, but this was yet another feel-good story gig. Nothing serious. Wat was even worse that this meant she’d be stuck in Queens until tonight, which meant having to give up on this case for now.

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised Mr. Adrian.

“Oh, that sounded exciting!” Exclaimed Mrs. Johnson. If she only knew…

Responding with a tight smile, she explained to Mrs. Johnson that she had to leave.

As she exited the building, she couldn’t help but turn to direct one last glance at Jonathan’s window. She could swear she saw the curtains move.

#jancy fic #jancyweek2019 #jancy

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timeagainreviews · 4 years

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Twin Peaks s01e01 “Traces to Nowhere”

Happy New Year, and welcome back to Twin Peaks, friends. Before we dive further into the mystery of Laura Palmer, I would like to tell you about my friend Jason. Jason was a pal of mine in high school. We used to hang out, listen to music, watch TV, and smoke. He lived with his girlfriend at the time who was also my friend. This may sound sappy, but around these two, I genuinely felt like the best version of myself. I miss those days incredibly. Jason also happened to be the first person to ever introduce me to Twin Peaks. One night, he and a friend were watching the movie as I came over to buy a bag. On that day, I discovered what was to become my newest obsession, one of which would stick with me for the next eighteen years of my life. Sadly, Jason and I fell out of contact and we lost track of one another.

I mention this because I recently heard through a mutual friend that Jason died two years ago. I'll not go into the details, suffice it to say, it was too soon. I always wanted to track him down to say hello, and now I'll never get the chance. While my friendship with Jason was immensely rewarding, one of the most persistent things he left me with was a love for Twin Peaks. Much of my personal philosophy comes from Twin Peaks, and it continues to inform the person I am today. If it weren't for Jason, I wouldn't be me. Therefore, I would like to dedicate this article in his memory. To Jason Walton- My friend in the stars.

Thank you for allowing me that moment, friend. Now if you remember, we left off on kind of a spooky note. Through some sort of line of sight, Sarah Palmer was given a vision of a gloved hand retrieving James' half of the heart necklace from where he and Donna had buried it. Dale Cooper, after a long day of detection, has turned in for a night of sleep at the Great Northern hotel, which is exactly where today's episode begins.

I've read in the past that you can tell right away when David Lynch is directing, or in this case, when he isn't directing. This is not a complaint about director Duwayne Dunham's work, but there is a clear departure from the slow wave of emotions that permeates the pilot episode. However, the more straightforward procedural pacing works much to the episode's credit. Being written by David Lynch and Mark Frost, this episode is drenched in Twin Peaks tones and textures. I'd go as far as to say Dunham does a damn fine job following the hard act that is David Lynch.

We start with a pan across Cooper's hotel room. As I've done with my Doctor Who reviews, I found myself trying to see this scene as though it were my first time. You watch Twin Peaks for eighteen years, and you tend to forget just how strange the decor at the Great Northern truly is. Off-camera we can hear Agent Cooper talking to Diane through his recorder. As the camera searches across taxidermied deer hooves holding hunting riffles, and ornate nature paintings, we fall upon Cooper, hanging upside down by a pair of metal hooks around his ankles. It's never explained why he's doing this, but for some reason the late '80s and early '90s had a weird thing about hanging guys upside down as so form of exercise. Michael Keaton did it in Batman, Patrick Bateman had one, and even Dale Cooper. Perhaps it was quick way to indicate both athleticism and eccentricity.

Cooper, hanging about in his hot dad garters and boxers dismounts from his perch with an ease that is both impressive and sexy. Before ending his recording session with Diane, Cooper waxes philosophical about Marilyn Monroe and the Kennedys. In a way, this is Lynch and Frost drawing parallels between the deaths of both Monroe and Laura- two blonde women surrounded by powerful men and mystery. It's fitting when you consider that Lynch and Frost's first collaboration was in the form of a Marilyn Monroe biopic which never came into fruition. In many ways, the project laid some of the groundwork for what would become Twin Peaks.

Starting his day right with a balanced hotel breakfast, we're treated to yet another fascinating glimpse into Cooper's diet. As Sheriff Truman says later in the episode, he must have the metabolism of a bumblebee. Cooper orders a breakfast he refers to as "hard on the arteries," which is as hard as he wants his eggs. He wants his bacon super crispy- cremated. It may sound as though I'm exaggerating, but I've always loved watching Cooper order breakfast. He seems to revere food in a way not regularly seen on dramatic television. The morning coffee is more than one of the best, it's "damn fine." People have complained that the way people talk about food in Twin Peaks is weird. Sure, maybe in life creamed corn isn't an allegory to pain and suffering, but we've all been there when someone is having a similar reaction to the stuff. Food is personal, and it's a part of everyone's lives, why wouldn't characters talk about it?

Arriving at the tail end of Cooper's order is Audrey Horne, who has seemingly grown a good six or seven inches of hair overnight. Out of all of the mysteries in Twin Peaks, this was the least perplexing. Somewhere between filming the pilot and the first episode, Sherilyn Fenn grew her hair out, and it looks stunning. Everything about Audrey is stunning. Her eyebrows are stunning. That sweater is stunning. But at the moment, it is she who is stunned by Agent Cooper. Just as charmed by his eccentricities and his slicked black hair, she approaches Agent Cooper and asks to join him. Immediately Cooper sizes up that she finds him attractive, she's not exactly hiding it, and neither is he for that matter. For many fans, this is the moment the ship of Cooper and Audrey set sail. I personally always prefer the version where Cooper does the adult thing and doesn't date a high schooler.

After questioning Audrey, Cooper heads off to the Sheriff Station where they seem to still be having their breakfast as everyone he encounters has a mouthful of donuts. I'd also like to note the weird guy with a welding torch and ladder near the entrance. Twin Peaks is a lived in world filled with these people toiling away. Sheriff Harry Truman, mouth full of donuts, can't get a word in as Cooper flies into the room. After spelling out the itinerary, Cooper disappears to "urinate." This marks the first of many references to Dale Cooper's pee. Much like Tom Hanks, our favourite FBI agent is passionate about pissing. It's one of those life things, like food, that Twin Peaks likes to celebrate. Sometimes it's really nice to have a good piss, therefore sometimes Twin Peaks is about having a really good piss. I'm being completely earnest here.

Dr Hayward arrives to the sheriff station to report the findings of the post mortem. Unable to carry out the procedure himself, he outsourced the job to a nearby colleague. I've always admired the way Warren Frost plays this scene. His sadness seems to come and go in waves of realisation. There are the same echos from the pilot episode present here. From the report we learn that Laura died from a loss of blood from numerous shallow wounds. She had bite marks on her shoulders and marks on her arms from having been bound. She had also had sex with at least three men the night of her murder. The doctor also concludes that there is no doubt that Ronette was also present. As Dr Hayward relays this grizzly tale, his eyes wander to the photo of Laura. Pangs of sadness wash over his face as he questions who could do such a thing. He was the doctor present at her birth. She was his daughter's best friend. Laura was family to him.

On the other spectrum of family, we join the Johnsons at their incomplete home. Unable to just ask Shelly if she would do his laundry, Leo has to play mind games. He asks her if she did his laundry and chastises her as if catching her in a lie because his bag of nasty truck cabin clothes are still dirty. Eric Da Re is not a great actor, but there's something perfect about that. Leo is a big asshole that gaslights his wife, I don't expect much depth there. The only good thing I say about him is they got rid of his awful perm from the pilot. Even the way he pinches her cheek is controlling and unnatural. There's clearly no love between them, which is why when she discovers a blood-stained shirt in Leo's laundry she hides it. With Laura recently dead, and his behaviour as of late, this could be evidence. When he comes back later in a frenzy to find said shirt, he flies into a rage at its absence.

We're back at the Sheriff Station where we learn James Hurley owned the other half of Laura's necklace. As compared to Bobby's interrogation, James is Mr Manners. He answers all of Agent Cooper's questions with a quiet intensity. He admits to shooting the picnic video, and to owning the other half of the necklace, but not knowing who dug it up. He was also aware Laura was taking drugs but tried to get her to stop. On the night she died, James picked Laura up on his motorcycle. Acting strangely Laura disembarked from his bike, a disagreement ensued, Laura told James she loved him and disappeared into the woods. Cooper seems pleased with this information. We're then shown slow-motion picnic footage of Laura smiling at the camera. A somewhat cheesy "Help me," is played over the sound of wind and haunting music. It's a sort of fourth-wall-breaking that makes Twin Peaks feel as though not only the town, but the show itself is haunted by the late Laura Palmer.

Bobby and Mike, freshly arrested from their fistfight with Ed argue in their holding cells about the money they owe Leo Johnson. After being briefly questioned by Agent Cooper, they're both sent away with a warning not to harm James. James is also released into the custody of Big Ed, who confides that he believes the bartender, Jacques Renault, slipped a Mickey in his drink. Ed wasn't just meeting Norma that night, he was also staking out Jacques' activities as a suspected drug dealer.

Speaking of Norma, we're given a brief but intense encounter at the general store between her and Nadine. At this point in the show, Nadine is completely bonkers. While I don't feel like she becomes any less touched in the head, we do begin to see more depth to her than just Ed's crazy wife. Wendie Robie is so good as Nadine, that Peggy Lipton only really need to react in kind as Nadine goes on about her drape runners. You can tell there's a quiet rivalry between the two women, both of whom resent one another for what they represent to one another. Norma is the woman Ed loves, and Nadine is the woman that stole him from Norma. When Nadine emphatically mentions the cotton balls that will make her drape runners completely silent, Norma can only stand as if in disbelief. It's the epitome of "weird flex, but ok." It doesn't help that all of this cotton ball talk is nestled into a conversation about Ed being in intensive care. Nadine exits as soon as she entered, leaving poor Norma looking confused and slightly violated.

Speaking of forbidden love, we're given a great scene between Donna Hayward and her mother, Eileen. We learn that despite her grief for Laura, and the guilt it makes her feel, Donna is finding herself loving James. Despite the nightmare that surrounds her, this love for James is like a beautiful dream. Eileen encourages her to invite James over for dinner, which she does. When watching James meet the Haywards I couldn't help but think of Eraserhead. In both, we get two entirely different, albeit very Lynchian "meet the parents," scenes. While James isn't asked to carve any manmade chickens, the awkward politeness permeates both scenes. There’s a sort of wholesomeness that borders on absurdity. Watching James make small talk in his big boy sweater is about the cutest damn thing that you almost forget how violent and terrifying Twin Peaks can be at times. This is something lifted straight out of the Waltons with it's cheesy Americana and good-natured sincerity. Of course, not everyone is as pleased about this new pairing as Mike and Bobby spot James' bike outside Donna's house.

Meanwhile, Dale and Harry find their way at the Martel residence to speak with Josie about her language classes with Laura. Through body language alone, Cooper deduces that the Sheriff and Josie are an item of sorts, as indicated at the end of the pilot episode. Pete is his usual charming self, offering up a cup of Joe to our boys. We're given another Cooperism as he asks for his coffee "black as midnight on a moonless night." That's pure poetry. We don't learn much from Josie here, other than the fact that Laura used to tutor her English and that she seemed distracted the last time they met. The biggest takeaway from the scene is that somehow Pete accidentally brewed a pot of coffee with a fish in the percolator. This is easily one of the most iconic scenes from the original series. Jack Nance was a treasure, and I will never not feel absolute delight when he comes rushing in just a touch too late- they've already tried the coffee.

Josie is called away for a phone call from the ice queen Catherine who informs her that shutting down the mill for the day cost the company more money than it was worth. After hanging up with Josie, we can see Catherine is in a strange motel, sipping champagne with Ben Horne. They're clearly working against Josie, but it's no secret that neither of them trust one another. Everyone is playing the double secret con, and it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. However, we do learn that the two are on again off again lovers. On the other side of town, Deputy Hawk follows up with Ronette's parents at the hospital. The Pulaskis don't have much information other than the fact that Ronette used to work the perfume counter at Horne's Department Store. As he is leaving, Hawk sees a suspicious one armed man skulking around the morgue. Following his gut instinct he starts tailing this mysterious figure through the dark halls of the hospital. Upon entering a room alight in a trippy dayglo black light, Hawk finds himself alone. Whoever this mystery man was, he disappeared into thin air.

A lot of this episode's theme seems to centre around the relationship between the parents and the high schoolers. Along with her conversation with her own mother, we get a scene between Donna and Sarah Palmer. Sarah, still sick with grief, seems genuinely pleased to see Donna until she sees Laura's face superimposed over Donna's. As she's pulling her closer she gets another vision, this time of a creepy grey-haired man sitting at the edge of Laura's bed. Sarah goes into full-on panic mode in a way only Grace Zabriskie is capable of delivering. Leland rushes in to whisk Donna away from the traumatic experience. In his own home, Bobby is getting a stern lecture from his father, Major Garland Briggs. The Major awkwardly tries to treat Bobby with some tough love, but ultimately misses the mark. Bobby's problems are bigger than anything his poor parents could fathom. The Hornes also experience a bit of domestic turmoil with Ben confronts Audrey about how her conversation with the Norwegians cost their family greatly. But unlike the Briggses, if Ben wanted to understand Audrey's rebellious nature, he only need look in the mirror.

Let's take a moment now to consider Laura Palmer. She was a troubled teenage girl with a drug habit, yes. Add to that being homecoming queen, in Spanish club, tutoring immigrants, caring for Audrey's special needs brother, and even heading Meals on Wheels for the elderly and shut-ins. It's the Meals on Wheels program that brings Cooper and Truman to the Double R Diner, where Laura used to work. We learn that Laura didn't just head the program, she created it. If any fictional characters were gunning for sainthood, Laura would be high on the list. It's easy to see why losing her has wounded the town so completely. The Log Lady approaches Cooper about Laura Palmer informing him that her log saw something the night Laura died. However, Cooper's reluctance to ask the log directly leads to her leaving before relaying the log's message.

Fresh off her shift from the Double R, Shelly returns home to Leo who has just put a bar of soap into a sock. He questions her about the bloody shirt, but she feigns ignorance. He tells her he's going to "teach," her about respecting people's property as he advances toward her with the sock swinging over his head. We can only look on hopelessly as the brutish Leo approaches a cowering Shelly. The scene graciously cuts away, as we know what comes next. The episode concludes in Dr Jacoby's bizarre Hawaii themed office (or maybe apartment, maybe both). Inside a fishtank sits three dried out puffer fish filled with blinking lights like paper lamps. After putting a tape into his stereo he dons a pair of giant headphones revealing a taped conversation from his former secret patient- Laura Palmer. He pulls coconut from a palm tree and settles in to listen to his tape. He opens up the coconut to reveal the other half of Laura's necklace. It appears that Dr Jacoby was the one following James and Donna into the woods.

The contents of the recording are revealing, not just about Laura, but also about Dr Jacoby. Laura's flirtatious nature indicates that we can add one more sexual partner to Laura's list. She mentions how James is sweet but too dumb to talk to her about her problems like Jacoby is capable of doing. But part of the brilliance in the scene is that you can also sense that Laura is acting for Dr Jacoby. Fulfilling the role of a young helpless girl who loves him, so that he may fulfil some role she needs. Whether it be a form of protection or just a soundboard for her problems, she had him wrapped around her finger. So what is this ritual of Jacoby's? Are these the actions of a killer reminiscing over the trophies of his hunt, or a man grieving the real, if not inappropriate relationship he had with a young girl? As the tape continues, we hear Laura talking about a man in a red car who can really light her "F-I-R-E." She continues to make a confession about a mystery man, but the audio drops out, leaving us only the doctor's perplexed face to clue us into what she said. The credits roll as we're left wondering.

Truth be told, I could have written this review without having to rewatch the episode. I try and rewatch Twin Peaks in its entirety at least once every one or two years. However, I am glad I did revisit this one as there are lots of little pieces of minutiae I may have overlooked. More than anything, I was curious to weigh Dunham's directing against David Lynch's, and I have to say, it's not bad. The tone is correct for the series and the emotions are played for real. It's always going to be different because the two directors are different people. But as certain episodes in season two prove, some directors begin to parody Lynch's style, adding weird for the sake of weird. But this early on, it is as though Twin Peaks is a juggernaut of unstoppable creativity. Even the duller storylines take on the energy of the greater mystery. Lynch only directed a handful of the original series episodes, which is why the next episode I'm reviewing is an especially exciting one. Not only is episode two (aka the third episode) directed by David Lynch, but it also begins to introduce some of the more metaphysical elements of the series. You could almost say that Lynch directs the most important episodes, and my god is this next one a doozy.

Well, friends, that's all from the world of Twin Peaks for now. I'll have the next review up soonish, but not before the new Doctor Who review. Speaking of which, it is now less than an hour until it airs! Who else is excited? What a great way to ring in the new year! See you all soon!

#twin peaks #season one #david lynch #mark frost #dale cooper #kyle maclachlan #Laura Palmer #Sheryl Lee #dr jaboby #donna hayward #audrey horne #duwayne dunham #traces to nowhere #james hurley #bobby briggs #ronette pulaski

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swyllh · 5 years

Text

we could be heroes

title: we could be heroes

pairing: soonyoung / reader

genre: superhero

synopsis: in a world where superheroes exist, you’re just a measly insurance agent, and kwon soonyoung is an unlucky guy who winds up at your office every few days.

Kwon Soonyoung is absolutely nothing like what you’d have expected; a foot holding the door just barely agape, hands tangled in the bizarre ritual of a makeshift meal, thick blonde hair wrestled into submission beneath a pink headband. Your fist, resolute and professional, falls back to your side. He grins.

“Hmm?” Kwon Soonyoung swallows thickly, before exhaling sharply. “Hot- hot!”

As he begins fanning himself with his chopsticks, you clear your throat. “Is Mr. Kwon Soonyoung in?”

“Oh,” he says, taking in your tweed suit and collared shirt. “Um, that’s me.”

You peer over his shoulder, scanning through the mutiny of colours and one too many acid-washed denim. Kwon Soonyoung hurriedly tiptoes, blocking as much of his apartment as he can.

“So, um, who are you?” he says.

Straightening up, you fix him with a level stare. “Sunny Insurance, Junior Manager. Pleasure.”

Kwon Soonyoung stares, jaw dropping. “Oh.”

He hastily backs away from the door, eyes darting between every possible flat surface. As the door slams shut, you can’t help but wonder exactly how someone - in a sulking hoodie and worn out bike shorts - could rack up so much insurance coverage for the past two months. He looks like he hasn’t even left his apartment in days; a broken femur, a fractured arm, two operations on either leg...

Kwon Soonyoung swings the door open, and extends a hand out to you. “Hello.”

It’s a firm grasp.

Coffee Dally worms its way into your intricately balanced diet of sleepless nights and tampered dreams. Somewhere between the first sip and the fifth satchel of sugar, a quaked murmur reaches you. It’s another attack somewhere, on fifth street? You squint at the sprinting lines, caught between fickle numbers and hedging arrows. Sixth street. That’s just within the perimeters of your agency’s ward.

Great. The screen fizzles out of focus and sharply into one of a burning building. Something bright red and tardy zips around the complex. It’s a superhero, and he’s ripping parts of the building out. The fires get worse. A ball of flame launches into yet another building - a bank! - and the scaffoldings go up in smoke.

You down your coffee in a gulp, seethe through your nose. Joshua glances over from the counter, barely hiding his smile. He walks over with a refill.

“It’s gonna be a long day at work, huh?”

You nod, moulding your neck in preparation for all the craning you’re about to do.

“-so I was saying, that man just swooped in, and-” your latest client is miming the sounds of an impaired aircraft, fingers bunched together as they spin around a bottle. “-and he just grabs this wall-”

“From what I hear, you’re claiming for damages dealt by the,” you pause, sifting through your files. “Hurricane Hero?”

Mr. Lee nods indignantly, lifting his bandaged foot. “They’re getting out of hand now - ripping buildings out, as though those villains aren’t doing enough damage! I should really-”

“Yes,” you say blandly, circling his insurance policy with a bright red pen. “See, it’s unfortunate, but you’ve only insured against the Bloody Banker, the Vice Vista and… Hummingbird Henry.”

“But this- this is! This is a hero who did this shit! You don’t have heroes to insure against! Do you see how, exactly how unjust this is?” Mr. Lee shrieks, wheeling back to demonstrate the extent of his injuries. “I’m a ballet teacher, I need my legs!”

You sigh. “I’m afraid I can’t help you - while a claim under the accidental fires would have been completely covered under your insurance policy, you were nowhere near the actual fire. Your injury was caused by the um, Hurricane Hero tearing the wall off-”

“That’s got to be an accident! Or some,” he attempts to read the letters upside down. “‘Acts of God’-”

“We don’t cover for ‘Acts of God’, I’m afraid,” you say firmly. Outside, there are multiple pairs of narrowed eyes glaring through the blinds. “You’ll have to write to the Association of Superheroes, or The Daily Tab. Jasmine outside will put you in touch.”

To assuage his beet-red flush, you scribble frivolously on a name card and pass it to him with a wink. Mr. Lee snatches it out of your hands, and wheels himself out with as much dignity as he can muster. You pretend not to hear his wince when he underestimates the distance to the door.

The next client shuffles in, arms bandaged thickly like the ends of Q-tips. He grins sheepishly at you, and your first thought goes to the singed strap of his messenger bag. Kwon Soonyoung plops down in front of you, arms gingerly resting on either sides of the chair.

“Mr. Kwon,” you greet. “How can I be of assistance?”

“You know the fire on sixth street,” he begins, grimacing. “Yeah, got caught up in it.”

He raises his arms - stubs, really - and lets them fall back down delicately. His body begins to bob up and down, as does the desk as it rattles incessantly. A halo of something green or fluorescent glimmers around his mop of hair.

“Do you have any medical documents?” you ask, rolling back in your chair to reach for his folder. Kwon. K, right behind J. There.

He nods vigorously. “Yeah, they’re all in my bag, but I’m kind of. Bandaged right now. Do you mind?”

You’re scanning his file half-heartedly - the entire team’s gone through this disaster-prone dossier so many times you can recite which villains he’s insured against - when the rattling ceases. Kwon Soonyoung wriggles his brows, and jabs his stubby arms in the general direction of the messenger bag.

“So, who’re you betting on?” Jun says, leaning over the bar.

You cup your ears and lean in. “What?”

Jun repeats his question over the grain and strain of Thursday’s Telecast. You look down at the card in your hands, eyes flitting between the names of superheroes and villains alike. There’s the family-friendly Couch Tater, or the prime time favourite, Vint Age. Even Hurricane Hero’s registered for the match. You flip the card over to see another table of names, all of them foreign.

“They’re getting guests to pick up the ratings,” Jun explains, wiping a glass. “Think they’re from Camdella this time.”

“How long?” you ask, turning back to the domestic list.

“Not long enough to register on your radar, Junior Manager,” Jun teases. “But if you want my opinion, I’d say you might wanna bet on Mortar.”

“Mortar,” you echo. “That’s the guy who snuffed out the landlines, right?”

“He’s wrestling against Hurricane in the first round,” Jun says. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Didn’t Mortar get the Telcomm shares?”

Jun hands the man a pint and a betting card, before turning back to you. “Can’t get enough spare cash - heard he got his insurance terminated for fraud.”

You shake your head. “But Hurricane’s a wild card. There’s no guarantee he’ll make it through.”

“What, Mortar?” Jun shrugs. “No station would let a vet down before a fire hazard. Not even RHK - just looks bad.”

“The Association?”

“Yeah, probably,” he says, and then pauses. “Well, maybe they’re reverse-psyching us. But my money’s on Mortar - he’s unpredictable but safe enough for RHK.”

You nod, and pencil in your bet. Jun collects the card, tongue sticking out as he checks your ballot. You shrug your shoulders back, and take the first sip of your mocktail.

He winces. “Hurricane, really?”

“It’s a free county, barkeep,” you say.

Jun laughs. “Well, that’s more cash for me.”

You let him go on with his duties, watching as he flirts very successfully for a tip. The rim of your glass ponders, a glimmer of a face sprinting as you shift from side to side. Thursday’s Telecast always draws a huge crowd, and with the upgrade in equipment, there’s no doubt that people are getting riled up. Violet haunts the walls as the jukebox begins thrumming out a solemn beat. Someone kicks it, and hops away howling.

“No more bets!” Jun exclaims. A scrawny teenager hurriedly shoves his into Jun’s hands.

On cue, the screen lights up with the opening theme. Someone whistles along, and is promptly shushed. You watch the line up of eager, bravado-dipped heroes and determined villains enter the ring. They pose and growl and preen over their muscles, but all the same, everyone’s got their masks on. For a moment you wonder if it’s possible that they’re just stuntmen under the suits.

“I can’t believe they got the villains onboard,” you say, mirthful after your second glass. “As though they weren’t trying to kill each other on even weeks.”

Jun yawns. “Well, it’s a fine line. They’re still trying to set up an association for the bad guys.”

“Would be helpful,” you rest your chin in your palm. “There’re always new ones popping up, how are we supposed to update the lists?”

Jun pats you on the back. “Tough job, insurance.”

“Is it me, or does Hurricane look a bit winded?”

“No take backs, you know.” Jun squints. “But yeah, a bit. Probably from the fire.”

You grimace. “He shouldn’t be there.”

On screen, Hurricane Hero stumbles over the mat but stands his ground. Mortar turns on him, and the two begin pacing dramatically in circles. The chanting of the crowd heightens, grows with bated breaths. The camera cuts to a brief shot of Mortar’s stubbly chin, where his thin lips stretch into a smirk. The shot pans out to a wider one, and Mortar lunges.

This time, it’s your office building that’s under attack. It’s the rumbling of the panels, and then the trip in the circuit - your computer shuts down, mid-word. Kimmy throws the door open.

“It’s Vibrata,” she shouts, and moves on to the next room. “Code Pink! Leave the papers behind!”

You’re about to reach for the second drawer when the ceiling fan begins to swing ominously. The tremors are rippling up the walls, raging against your dollar-store filing cabinet. The blinds behind you fall off their racks. Kimmy’s screams dull, drowned out by the colossal proportions of a shuddering crash.

A ball of red-hot shrill pierces through the air, tumbles into the frame of your door. Hurricane Hero yells, pushing himself up onto his feet. Another wave of tremors hits the building. Hurricane folds in, grip tight on the walls. He glances around, disoriented and stubborn, and meets your eyes - just as you’re finding purchase on your desk.

“Ah-” Hurricane says, and then, realisation dawning, “oh, fuck.”

You clamp a fist around your flash drive. “You won Mortar.”

Hurricane grins, flashing a peace sign. “Yeah! You saw?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Think you can deal with Vibrata?”

Hurricane pretends to think, tucking his chin into a fist. “Well, she is a Class B villain.”

You make your way to the door, and promise, “I’ll bet next month’s rent if you get her within the next half-hour.”

Hurricane lights up, and offers you a pinky. You take it. Renewed, he charges back out the gaping hole in your wall, shards showering off his tacky spandex suit.

Sunny Insurance takes a day off. You flop back into an armchair, feeling the strain in your back dislodge themselves. Joshua tops off your order with extra whipped cream. Even places a cherry on top.

“Seems like there’s a lot of damage these few weeks,” Joshua says.

You grimace. “Tell me about it - sometimes I wonder if there’s a difference between the heroes and villains.”

“Guess so,” he says. “But at least you’re insured.”

“So’s the rest of the town,” you say, wincing. “Yikes, Monday’s not gonna be good.”

“No, but that’s for you to figure out. Chill, you’ve got the weekend,” Joshua pats you on the shoulder, shoots you a reassuring smile. “And if you need more whipped cream, that’s on the house.”

As you sip slowly on your sugar-filled monstrosity, the murmurs of a report catches your ear. More accurately, the words “Hurricane” and “Vibrata” do. Turning around, you find yourself looking at the blurry loop of an unsatisfying footage. Something red and small rushes up against a bigger purple entity. The red one, Hurricane - you presume, crashes back into another building. The scene cuts back to the anchor’s studio, and a jumble of words drift below her professional facade.

Guess you’re not losing next month’s rent.

Some files are unrecoverable after the incident; you’ve tried your best, but your trusty old flash drive only had annual reports. But when Kwon Soonyoung pokes his head through the door and grins at you, you can’t help remembering the exact list of things he’s insured himself against. With the tiniest speck of doubt, you realise you’ve gone exactly two weeks without seeing him. Strange.

“I don’t remember you being here when Vibrata was shacking up the area,” you say.

You peek at him, wondering exactly which part of him’s injured. Not the arms, not the legs, clearly. There’s a clear lack of a cast or any offending bandage. But he does look thinner - cheeks hollowing out. You wonder if it’s the slight limp on the left foot, but it could just be because these are a new pair of kicks.

Kwon Soonyoung shrugs. “I got hit by a bus on second street.”

“Really,” you say. “Which one?”

Kwon Soonyoung blanches. “You’ve never been this specific.”

You level him with a look. “We’re weeding out insurance fraud.”

He pauses, documents in mid-air. Before you can say anything, Kwon Soonyoung’s leapt out of his chair. He speedwalks to the door, manila envelope crinkled around his fist.

“Um, so I forgot something,” is what he offers before running out of the office.

Jasmine walks over, heels clattering against the floor. She leans in, wide-eyed, and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“That was Kwon Soonyoung, wasn’t that?”

You nod, numb.

“It’s only been five minutes?”

Again, you nod. “We… do you think… god, he’s committing insurance fraud, isn’t he?”

The insurance fraud is not exactly surprising. In fact, you’re mildly impressed that he’s managed to pull it off for so long. In the evening, you make your way over to his apartment, a bookbag and a cold drink in hand.

As you begin the treacherous climb up, a cloaked figure rushes past you. Without much thought, you reach out and grab them by the scruff of their coat. A startled yelp, and then you’re tackled against the wall.

“Hey!”

“Oh,” they say, body peeling away immediately.

“What-” You round up on them, then stop short.

Even in the dark, you can make out the squirmy reds of this suit, and the tell-tale burns along his collars. There’s a badly stitched mark running across his right shoulder down to his left hip. Hurricane Hero doesn’t look his best.

He hurriedly covers his suit, hands in pockets and pulling his coat back in place. You raise a brow. He clears his throat.

“So, guess you get to keep your rent.”

You nod. “You didn’t get Vibrata.”

“Take it easy on me,” he winces in exaggeration. “Bruised ego and all.”

You pause. “Should you really be going for tonight’s match?”

He pulls a hand from the toasty confines of his pockets and reaches for the crown of his head. Then, noticing the mask, drops it down to his neck.

“Worried?”

You shrug. “I have to.”

Through the slits in his mask you can see his eyes widening. And then, swiftly, unexpectedly, he tugs the mask off. Kwon Soonyoung stares back at you with steely resolve.

“Mr. Kwon?”

He makes a noise of assent, then backs away. “Wait, you didn’t know?”

You hold out a hand, then grab onto his arm for security. “Why would - you’re Hurricane Hero?”

He pauses. “Oh my god, please don’t sue me.”

You try to say something, but your throat falters miserably in light of the development. Kwon Soonyoung grimaces, tugs his mask on, and slips away down the stairwell. You hurry after him, clinging to the railings. The thuddings on the stairs hasten.

“I’m not gonna sue you!” you holler.

He stops, “Really?”

“Well,” you trip down the last couple of stairs. “Not me.”

He snorts, and helps you up. The warmth of his palm lingers on your elbow, and before you know it, he’s bolting for the bus.

“This is from an actual traffic accident,” he swears, pulling his sweater up to expose a bruised rib. “I’m not claiming for the fracture, but the bruise!”

You narrow your eyes. “Really? Not that match with Staunch Little?”

Kwon Soonyoung flops back painfully onto his seat. “No! I have the bus number and everything here.”

You flip the page to see a blurry selfie - Soonyoung’s cheesy grin in the top right corner, and the barely legible letters of a license plate. Seconds before disaster. Glancing up, you see him make a peace sign.

“Did you take this right before getting hit?”

He shrugs. “Uhh, can’t say for sure.”

You roll your eyes. “You can’t go around crashing into buses just to claim for pre-existing injuries.”

“Fine,” he pouts, then scoops his pile of documents up. “Tell me at least you’re coming for the match tonight?”

#seventeen #seventeen fic #kwon soonyoung #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung imagines #this is a mess #i haven't been on for a while because of school #and along with that my writing has gotten rusty #to be honest im not sure i want to be back #but ye #inspired heavily by this instagram post about marvel #i think i'm gonna need a nap

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itsanerdlife · 6 years

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Captivated (MC Series) 22

Pairing: Biker!Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Characters: Natasha Romanov, Merlin, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Scott Lang, Peter Parker, Gwen Stacy, Michelle Unwin, Frank Castle, Roxy, (Mentions of) Harry Hart, OFC Logan and Markus, Tony Stark, Charlie Hesketh.

Warnings: Swearing, creepy boss, a girl who can handle her own, stalking, creepy guy, law breaking, random hook ups mentioned, angst, sass, drama, cops involved, sexual harassment (nothing happens tho promise), melt downs, and allegations of abuse.

In your town there is a Biker club Called Kings Rebels, you weren’t a good girl and you surely weren’t a biker girl, or were you? One night changes everything in your life. You started that night out as a hostel waitress who works in Stark Tavern, one ass grab and a sucker punch later, did you just slip the Pres of a Biker Club, Eggsy Unwin, your work hours? But is MC life for you, being an old lady? When your faith is tested for the club, they follow through with everything Eggsy promised you. Will your world stay upside down since walking into the Clubhouse, or do you fit into their lifestyle more than you ever thought possible??

“Brother!” Buck, Peter, Frank, Clint and Steve stood outside the station, holding his kutte and his keys.

“What an ugly bunch to see fresh out of jail.” Eggsy laughs as they clap him on the back, high fiving him, Peter full on hugs him.

“Thought you might want to ride home.” Peter pats the handle bars of his bike.

“You got it out of impound?” Eggsy looks surprised.

“Your girl paid for it.” Buck laughs helping him into his kutte and handing the keys over.

“Speaking of, where is my girl?” Eggsy laughs, each one of the guys looks down, away or shifts in some type of way. “What?” He blinks.

“She said she was doing something, she would meet you back at the club.” Peter sighs.

“Doing what?” He squints.

“No clue, she practically ran out of the clubhouse after forking over a grand in cash, and we haven’t heard from her since.” Buck sighs.

“Cash? Where did she,” He pauses as it clicks in his head. “she used her tip money she had saved.” He nods. “I’m going to kick her ass.” He sighs, swinging his leg over his bike, as the guys laugh.

“I don’t think that’s going to be the worst thing.” Steve laughs.

“What you going on about?” Eggsy looks at him as the bike roars to life.

“She mentioned that she might need bail money next before she ran off today.” Peter laughs.

“She’s going to be the god damn death of me.” Eggsy shakes his head.

You couldn’t make your feet move, your hands shook, your throat closed on your gasp.

“Y/N?” Markus hisses behind you, making you startle, the strangled yelp leaving your throat. “It’s me.” He wraps you in his arms pulling you into him. “What the fuck is going on?” He whispers. Your lips moved, your chest heaved for air, but nothing came out, no sound, no words. He takes your phone, shinning it at the walls, you feel him stiffen, around you. “Holy fuck.” His voice no longer a whisper. He turns you quickly, his hands on your shoulder, your phone still in his hand. “Get out of here now.” He demands, you nod, turning you run for the window. Logan helps you out, holding you tightly to his chest as you shake with fear.

“What the fuck is going on?” He looks down at you. You shake your head, burying your face into his chest.

“Fucker.” Markus hisses, Logan pulls away, taking whatever, it was that Markus was handing him, before your brother attempted to crawl out of the window, getting stuck he jerks hard on his pant leg. A tearing sound followed by Markus hitting the ground, with a disgusting crunch sound. “Mother fucker!” Markus cries into the grass and dirt.

“Let’s go Queen Graceful.” Logan pulls him up and the three of you are running for the SUV parked the next block over. “You good to drive?” Logan asks helping a whimpering Markus in the back.

“Get in.” You nod, starting the truck. As soon as Logan’s door is shut you slam it into gear, hitting the gas, you peel out around the corner, heading for the clubhouse.

“What the fuck did you two find in that house?” Logan looks from you to Markus as he holds tight, you take another corner sharp.

“I think I fucked my shoulder up.” Markus groans.

“You sure it ain’t your head?” Logan snorts.

“We need to tell the club. Maybe the state police?” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you wait at the red light.

“First the club.” Markus pants holding his shoulder. You nod, pressing down on the gas once again.

“Babe?!” Eggsy calls walking through the clubhouse, he pauses waiting, no response. He jogs up the stairs, opening the bedroom door. Empty, the bed made, her sleep shirt folded at the end of the bed, the box she had stashed under the floor board with her tip money it out on the dresser. He sighs, turning, pulling the door closed behind him as he heads for the stairs.

“Eggsy?!” She shouts, her voice panicked. He sprints for the stairs, racing down the sound.

“Y/N?” He comes around the corner as she hits his chest, arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around her squeezing her to his chest as she shakes.

“What’s wrong babe?” He pulls back looking at wide eyes, her lips trembling.

“Call a meeting. Now.” She pleads making his heart slam into his ribs.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Eggsy looks at Markus, Logan was supporting most of his weight, Markus was cussing up a storm as they moved into the room.

“Moron busted up his shoulder.” Logan looks at his brother.

“Call Rox.” Eggsy looks at Peter who nods, pulling out his phone.

“Hot blonde?” Markus perks up suddenly.

“Chapel boys. Now.” Eggsy shakes his head at Markus, he looks to Frank who nods, starting to round up the men as Eggsy leads Y/N and her brothers to the room. Markus and Logan sit off to the side, in the two chairs against the wall. Y/N paces behind the head of the table, her arms wrapped tightly around her. Fear traced those wide eyed, under the shade of his black ball cap, she was leaving teeth marks in her bottom lip she chewed relentlessly.

“Babe?” Eggsy reaches from his chair where he sat, his fingers brushing her arm. She jumps, flinching away from him like he struck her. His hand drops mid reach falling into his lap with a thump, she blinks wide, scared eyes at him, before she thaws swallowing hard returning to chewing on her bottom lip. The sting of watching her flinch away from him was a shot to the heart, what had he done?

“She’s been like this, since the night you got arrested.” Peter whispers in his ear before taking his own seat. Fucking Charlie, his jaw clenched.

“What’s going on boss?” Steve looks around the room. “And what happened to him?” He chuckles.

“We broke into Charlie’s house tonight.” Logan nods, Markus was making a sound something between a pant and a growl, it wasn’t exactly clear. “What they found, I have no idea.” He looks to Y/N.

“You ever see the movie a Beautiful Mind?” She looks at them all with wide eyes as they stare at her. “Or one of those shows about obsessed stalkers?” She breathes.

“What are you saying?” Buck leans forward, anger etched into his face already.

“Charlie isn’t just the costumer that tips well and flirts with me.” She swallows, she shivered. “He’s obsessed with me. He’s been stalking me.” He watches her, jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair.

Captivated: @mo320 @rileyloves5 @irepeldirt @travelwithwords @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @elle88531 @lesmiserablememelovingfuck @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @lovemarvelousfics @mrskokitztelford @live-for-the-avengers @shamptainshmerica @misspygmypie @mariekoukie6661 @bluebird214 @allyp1023 @sarahp879 @nerdyandexhausted @i-love-superhero @supernatural-girl97 @petersunderroos @kazuha159 @sweet-honey15 @ingridsigne @red-writer13 @nessy-bearxb @cece-daughter-of-pitch-black @thedarklightwithinus @itsemmyb @debbienewnes84 @captain-princess-smash @eggsy-unwinnn @paranoiadestroyah @mellxander1993 @crazyblonde124 @pcterpvrker

#Cross Over #Eggsy Unwin x Reader #Kingsman Avengers #Eggsy x Reader #Captivated #MC Series #Eggsy Unwin AU Series #Cross Over AU Series #Eggsy AU Series #Kingsman Avengers AU Series

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inthequeeryetgood · 7 years

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Still Looking Up

A Raven’s Home fanfic Rating: T Paring: eventual Raven/Chelsea (Chrave) Summary: PARENT TRAP(ish) AU. Raven and Chelsea ended up falling out big time after the chinchilla controversy in their senior year of high school and haven’t spoken to each other since. When Levi, Nia, and Booker discover a photograph of their moms from their good old days, the kids decide it’s time to try and bring the two old friends back together. Chapter: 1/?

(You can also read on AO3)

They’d only just begun their new adventure in Chicago (that’s what she’d called it when she’d told Levi about the move—he’d seemed less than convinced) and everything was already stressful. Their new landlord had conveniently forgotten they were moving in that day and had gone off on vacation with his mother, so they’d had to push back their move-in by two days. Then, the first hotel they’d tried to check into didn’t allow pets, and neither did the one after that. Chelsea thought this was not only inhumane and unfair to all of the poor dogs and cats and turtles and other creatures that may be traveling with their humans, but wildly inconvenient for her. But they were finally settling down in their third-attempt hotel, which did allow pets, with less than—she glanced at her watch—ten hours to go until Levi’s first day of school and thirty-four hours until her first day of work. She closed her eyes and rested against the headboard for just moment, just taking in the fact that, yes, she was really here, and yes, this was really happening. Her entire life had been turned upside down within a matter of months and had kept spinning and spinning ever since. But it felt like things were finally settling down, despite how crazy the past twenty-four hours had been. And soon, they’d be in their own apartment and settled into their new work and school routines and things would be back to normal. She couldn’t wait for normal. When she opened her eyes, Levi was climbing up onto the foot of the room’s single queen bed, his nearly-as-big-as-him backpack in hand and their golden retriever Zoodles at his heel. In one quick movement, Levi dumped the entire contents of the backpack on the bed. Pencils, pens, crayons, folders, and notebooks covered the white, standard hotel-issue bedspread in a rainbow of color. “What are you doing, bud?” she asked, rolling some of the crayons that had strayed her way back toward Levi’s pile, with little success. “I have to organize my backpack for tomorrow. I can’t be the new kid and the kid with a messy backpack,” he answered, without lifting his gaze from the task at hand. With nimble hands and a little (unhelpful) help from a slobbery dog, he began sorting his pencils and pens into piles. “Do you want any help?” She started to reach forward but he shook his head and stilled her hand. “Thanks,” he said. “I got it.” Chelsea nodded, and returned to her resting position against the headboard. She admired and respected her son’s independence, absolutely, but it always made her a bit sad to think about why he was so self-reliant, so willing to go and do things his own way. “Alright, but make it quick, okay? You need to get to bed soon. There’s school in the morning.” “I know, Mom.” Chelsea sighed, and felt a warm, wet patch forming on the side of her jeans. She looked down, and, of course, Zoodles had his nose pressed into her outer thigh, bashfully begging for her attention. “Come here, buddy,” she called, and he scrambled happily so that his head was resting safely in her lap. She gave him a big scratch behind the ears. “Tomorrow everything will be back to normal, I promise.” She didn’t know why she was hoping so hard for normal, all of a sudden. For years before her marriage had started to fall apart, she’d been hoping for a return to anything but normal, anything but the monotony that she had inexplicably and then unwillingly fallen into Garrett. Her life had once been just a bit extraordinary, had had a touch of magic. But that was a long time ago, almost eighteen years now, and nothing worth thinking about anymore. She had a new life and, starting tomorrow, a new new life with a new job and a new apartment in a new city. She had a lot to look forward to. There was no use in looking back. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Paris Fashion Week was always the most stressful time of year for Raven, even though it probably wasn’t supposed to be. Fashion Week was supposed to be a time of socializing and showing off (both of which were things which Raven knew how to do very, very well). By the end of the week, though, she was always exhausted and cranky and even a little bit intimidated by all the other amazing designs she’d seen, and all she wanted to do was go home and do nothing for another week except take several long bubble baths and spend some time with her kids. If you had told Raven fifteen years ago that she would be passing up shopping in Paris so that she could go home to be with her children, she’d laugh in your face and go back to flipping through her latest copy of Vogue. Yet, here she was, in the back of a car on the way to the airport, bouncing her leg in anticipation. “Could we go a little bit slower?” she muttered under her breath, checking the time on her phone. She still had over an hour before her flight was supposed to leave, and didn’t need to worry about silly things like security to get on the private jet. But the sooner she was there, the sooner they possibly could take an earlier space in the take-off queue, and the sooner she could be back in Chicago and on her way to pick up her kids from school. Raven sighed and leaned her head against the cold glass of the window like she’d done as a child in the backseat of her parents’ station wagon. They were stuck in the usual traffic around the Arc de Triomphe, which meant the stop and start and stop and start of almost standstill traffic. Raven closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. There was no need to be anxious, there was no need to get upset. She’d be home with her kids in ten hours’ time and she wouldn’t even remember this car ride. If she just let herself let go of the things she couldn’t control, she could be at peace. At least that’s what her therapist always said. Her pilates and yoga instructors, too. Even her ex-husband had said something to the effect at one point, long ago. But Raven Baxter was all about taking control, and always had been. Letting go wasn’t a concept that came to her easily or often. She managed, though, and with just a few more deep breaths she felt herself center and her muscles relax. Things were better. Things were calm. When she opened her eyes, she would be at peace, able to enjoy the rest of her ride through the city before they hit the Autoroute. But when she opened her eyes, she immediately felt her muscles re-constrict and her breath catch in her throat. Her body became the absolute opposite of at peace as a shock of red hair flew past her window. Raven’s face pressed even further against the glass, trying to catch another glimpse of the red-haired cyclist, but to no avail. The bicycle was gone, disappeared into the mass of cars ahead of them. Her every nerve felt on fire. Raven would love to say that was the first and only time she’d ever jumped at the sight of long, red curls that seemed at one so familiar yet so distant. She felt silly for her excitement, for thinking that, of all the places in the world, she would find her here. She didn’t even want to, she told herself. They hadn’t spoken in almost eighteen years, despite Raven’s earliest efforts, and now she wanted nothing more than for it to stay that way. She could hold a grudge as long as anybody. She settled back into her seat, head against the leather interior instead of the window, and closed her eyes once more. Her body was still vibrating with energy, and her heart still thumping wildly in her chest. She needed to calm down. She needed to relax. She needed to take a nap. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — The plane landed that afternoon in Chicago at 2:12, which gave Raven exactly 48 minutes to collect her things, get the car, and get over to the Lakeshore Day School before the final bell rang at 3:00. When she pulled into the parking lot and looked down at the dashboard clock, she smiled victoriously. It was 2:51. She still had nine minutes to spare. In the spring, the grounds of the Lakeshore Day School were lush with blossoming trees and beautiful flowers, and during the fall the leaves on the trees all turned magnificent shades of orange, yellow, and red that Raven hadn’t really gotten to see while growing up in San Francisco. But during the winter, the campus looked no more appealing than the arctic tundra, its perfectly manicured lawns hidden beneath a layer of frost and its trees mere skeletons, crouching over the stone façade of the school building. On a normal winter day, Raven would turn up the heat and wait in the car for the kids to come out of school. But it was unseasonably warm outside (thanks, global warming) and she’d been cooped up in cars and planes for too long already. She needed fresh air and to stretch her legs. Benches lined the walkway up to the school’s giant front staircase, but Raven had had enough sitting, so she decided to lean against one instead. She pulled her phone out of her purse and began swiping through meaningless email after meaningless email and responding to some less meaningless texts, when she caught sight of something in her peripheral vision, a flash of red hair leaning a bike up against the other end of her bench. She shook her head and sucked in a breath. “No. Not again. You’re not gonna fall for this twice in one day.” She kept her focus fixed on her phone, sent a text to her group message with the twins telling them she was outside, but her curiosity was messing with her, telling her to look up! look up! She scoffed again. She wouldn’t. She had more dignity than that. She looked back at the clock on her phone. It would still be five minutes before the bell rang. She could last five minutes without looking up. She had to beat this damn urge somehow. She was a grown woman, a famous fashion designer, she traveled around the world on a weekly basis. She couldn’t keep doing this. It was getting pathetic. A few seconds later, the figure finally stepped out from the edges of her vision, and Raven rejoiced. She’d done it. She hadn’t looked up. She was probably cured now. She’d never ever have to— A large weight crashed into her lower legs and sent her almost toppling over the back of the bench, but she was able to catch herself, keep herself upright. Her phone was another story. It crashed to the concrete on the other side of the bench with a horrifying crunch. She tried to go get it, but the thing that had crashed into her—apparently a giant golden retriever—was blocking her path no matter which way she moved. “You better get your slobbery mouth away from my pants, dog. They’re suede,” she muttered, trying to push it away, but to no avail. The dog would not budge. She kept up the struggle. “Where is your human?” “Zoodles, come back here!” Zoodles? Raven thought. What kind of weirdo name for a dog was that? But the dog backed off instantly and took off jogging toward the voice, leaving Raven covered in hair, slobber, and her own sweat. She leaned over to dust off the bottoms of her pants as best as she could, hoping the slobber wouldn’t leave any stains. “Are you okay?” the voice said, much closer than it had been the last time. There was something about it that felt so familiar. “I am so sorry about that. We just moved here and he’s been really excited by all the new places and people. Haven’t you, Zoodles?” Raven froze. That voice. It was more than just familiar. It was the voice. Her voice. She couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or ashamed or proud that it had taken her so long to figure it out. After all these years of compulsively searching for that voice, for that hair, for that girl, she’d found her. But suddenly, she couldn’t unfix her gaze from her feet. She watched the tiny droplets of melted frost roll down the rounded toe of the leather boots. The voice spoke again. “Are you okay? Should I call somebody?” Raven shook her head, finally stood upright, and turned so she couldn’t see the other woman, but more importantly, so the other woman couldn’t see her. “I’m fine,” she grumbled, with a cough, hoping her hardest to disguise her voice. She was a bit out of practice. “Okay, good.” She could hear the woman’s smile in her voice. “My name is Chelsea Grayson. My son Levi just started school here today. He’s in the fourth grade, but I should probably get him tested out. He’s a really smart kid, a lot smarter than I was at his age. Or I was ever, really. I’m assuming you have kids that go here?” Raven remained silent. The bell rang, a shrill hum in the distance, but then it was quiet for a long time between them. Raven could hear Chelsea shifting in what was surely a pair of pleather loafers, and release then a soft sigh. “Sorry to bother you,” Chelsea finally said, her voice quiet, the disappointment carrying through. Raven heard the soft clip-clop as she began to walk away toward the school, but it stopped abruptly. “Oh, is this your phone?” Raven held out her hand behind her, still unable to turn around, and she felt the cold metal of her phone thunk heavily into her outstretched palm. “Thanks,” she squeaked. She didn’t get a response this time. As she was inspecting her phone for damage—apparently the fall sounded a lot worse than it had actually been—a pair of voices that she could never forget called out to her, and two pairs of footsteps began pounding thunderously down the pavement. Before she knew it, she was sandwiched between two eleven year olds. Her hands quickly found rest on the backs of their heads. “Hey, babies,” she whispered, squeezing them closer, planting a kiss to their hairlines. “I missed you.” “We missed you, too,” Nia, her youngest but wisest answered. “Did you bring us anything back from Paris?” Booker, her oldest and decidedly less wise, but loveable nonetheless, asked immediately after. “You know what? I don’t remember. We’ll have to see what’s in my suitcase when we get home.” She chuckled softly, reveling in being home again, having her children so close. “How was school today?” They shrugged out of her hug simultaneously. It was okay,” Booker answered. Nia nodded her agreement. “Yeah, nothing special.” “What about last week?” The twins shared a look. “The same.” Raven narrowed her gaze. “Well, how about I give you two the car ride to think of some better answers, and we’ll talk about it more at home. Sound good?” The twins both shrugged and began to trudge toward the parking lot, their shoes, the only non-regulated part of their uniform, leaving two trails of footprints in their wake. Raven started after them, but as she began walking, she realized that she’d made a critical error. She’d forgotten entirely about Chelsea, forgotten that she’d left her bike at the other end of Raven’s bench, forgotten that she would be standing directly in Raven’s path to the car. But she realized her mistake too late. Chelsea was standing frozen at the end of the bench, her eyes wide and her now shorter red curls flowing gently from beneath a floppy winter cap. “Raven?”

#raven’s home #raven’s home fanfic #raven’s home fic #raven x chelsea #chrave #writing tag

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nickgerlich · 4 years

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Going Forward From COVID-19

The Road Ahead: After COVID-19 Five weeks in to a pandemic, and the amount we have learned and changed thus far is enough to fill volumes. We have learned about how the human animal reacts when confronted with the very real fear of being locked up for weeks. We have seen shoppers go crazy over basic items the likes of which were taken for granted the week before this all happened. We have seen people struggle with boredom and ennui, to the point of gathering at the playground anyway for an impromptu game of hoops, or the sudden urge to stroll the aisles of Lowe’s just to get out. We have tried to shelter-in-place, but it’s tough. We’ve seen 16 million people (so far) furloughed from jobs. We have started to wonder how many of those jobs will come back once the curtain of disease is lifted. We wonder how many abandoned restaurants and retail shops will litter the landscape down the road. If we are among the lucky, we have worked from home, having realized the offices in which we once congregated are luxury and probably not all that necessary. We have started pondering if there will be school and university this fall like we once knew it, or whether all academic institutions will be virtual. We have taught from home, we have studied from home. We have Zoomed like a boss, held office hours in our pajamas, and typed profound lectures and essays for our students. Like this one. We have cooked with reckless abandon, and more than we did in the previous five years combined. We have baked bread and added the word “artisanal” to our vocabulary. We now know more ways to cook beans than we ever thought imaginable. We have cauliflowered, Brussels sprouted, and squashed to the point that everyone is at least half-vegan now. We have gloved, masked, and covered to the point that no one recognizes us in public. We can visualize six feet now, we know that we shouldn’t reach in over someone else’s shoulder (well, most of us), and we are aware that we should give way on the bike and hike path so we can all safely pass without inhaling another person’s exhaust. We have found the end of Netflix, cleaned out the garage and basement, organized old photos, and alphabetized our closets. We’ve mowed, mulched, and planted (even if we did violate shelter-in-place orders to go to Lowe’s). We’ve clicked “Add To Cart” to the point of getting a blister on our right index finger. We’ve got enough empty boxes around the house now to start a small shipping company. I could wax poetically for many more paragraphs, but suffice it to say that this is only the beginning. Sure, someday the virus will have run its course and we will be free to carry on. But we will emerge into a very different world once more, one unlike we are experiencing right now mid-pandemic, but also unlike the one we left behind in February. If you’ll pardon me while I slip on my crystal ball gazers, here’s what I see in that brave new world post-COVID, and if you look at these through the correct lens, you will see a wellspring of opportunities for savvy businesspersons. What We Will See All buildings will be reimagined so that people can come and ago with little or no physical contact. We’re all going to be germaphobes anyway, so now is the time to start preparing. Entry ways will have optical sensors to automatically open and close doors, or, at minimum, doors will have handles that can be in such a way that does not require people to use their hands. Public restrooms do not need doors at all; instead, they can be designed or reconfigured to have L-shaped doorless entries. This does not solve the problem of doors on the stalls, but it is a move in the right direction. Beverage coolers and freezers will have automated doors as well. The same goes for office doors; there’s no reason we can’t use retina scanners or ID cards that can be scanned or tapped. Companies able to ramp up to this new reality will do well in the future. And don’t get me started on mass transit and airplanes. Those are going to be tough, but precautions can be taken, even if it means having crews disinfect everything on a regular basis. In addition to soft drink and candy machines, as well as cologne and condoms in public restrooms, we will see vending machines for gloves, masks, hand sanitizers, and other disinfectants. While supplies of these will hopefully be better in the future, it is inevitable that people will be caught out in public without one or more of these new survival essentials. Having them available, and, most importantly, knowing that these machines are ubiquitous, will ease fears wherever we may roam. This change does not require any advances in technology, other than machines that do not require any touching, especially if people have a special tool with them at all times for when they have to revert to old-school. Oh, and the mass transit and airplanes I mentioned a minute ago would be well-served by these machines at train and bus stations, as well as airports. Which brings up devices like the CleanKey, being promoted heavily on Facebook and Instagram right now. It is a handy little tool that attaches to your keyring, and functions either as a door puller, or like an iPad stylus to push buttons or sign names. Until contactless payment systems are installed, products like this will serve as an effective bridge.

Better yet, though, would be the proliferation of stores like Amazon Go, the one currently still in west coast prototype that allows people to enter, check-in to an app, and then shop without ever having to touch a thing other than the products they are adding to their basket. Cutting out the payment gateway, whether it be with a clerk or a self-check, will cut down on virus vectors. But until then, though, we will see more stores with self-check options. Yes, I know this means the elimination of many cashier jobs, but who wants to be a cashier these days anyway? Yes, the pay has historically been among the highest in the store, but you are exposed to hundreds of people and their germs every day. Self-check, along with the CleanKey, allows us to take care of ourselves and once again cut down on contacts. Speaking of stores, once the pandemic is over, I surely hope that everyone offering online ordering and curbside pickup has perfected this process. It’s a great idea to order online and pick up the order later, but there has gotten to be such long wait times, as in multiple days, that it is hardly worth it anymore. I am certain that people would happily allow for the potential germs of the order picker in lieu of having to share space and oxygen with dozens or even hundreds of other shoppers. Efforts will no doubt be made to get turnaround times back to a couple of hours instead of early next week. Education will forever be changed. While we in the College of Business have been teaching online since 1997, the same cannot be said of other parts of my university, and certainly at many other schools. Professors and Instructors will have to rethink everything in the future, including how quickly a class could be flipped to online should the need arise. Furthermore, the entire K-12 curriculum will change, since that environment seldom if ever involved online teaching. While the use of Zoom for class meetings is a laudable short-term adaptation, everyone will have to consider how to make everything asynchronous, just as the online pioneers did from Day 1. It defeats the purpose of being online if you have to be somewhere at 11:00am every Monday and Wednesday, even if that was the original class meeting time slot. The pandemic has thrown everyone’s worlds upside-down, and that 11:00 reference point may no longer be viable. Manufacturers and their supply chains will work better in the future to try to avert shortages in the event of panic buying. While it has been widely reported that toilet paper manufacturers have long been running 24/7 at full capacity, that left zero room for any shift in the demand curve. While it is laudable to not have any unused capacity, it is just as unlaudable to be caught unable to respond. The ability to produce and distribute more toilet paper suddenly became as complicated as the Titanic trying to avoid an iceberg, and it shouldn’t be. Shifting gears between consumer and commercial production must be easier in the future. Similarly, supply chains for agricultural crops must be able to turn on a dime. The state of Florida is now reporting massive amounts of vegetables that are either being plowed under or allowed to rot, all because commercial contracts dried up. While there are indeed big differences between foodservice and institutional users on the one hand, and supermarkets on the other, once again rigid thinking has made it impossible for growers and distributors to change gears quickly. Since we’re talking about food, buffets have got to go. They are a pandemic waiting to happen. Think about how careless people have been in the past, at everything from Golden Corral to massive Las Vegas casino buffets. In fact, restaurants in general will have to rethink everything, from sit-down dining to takeaway and drive-through. Everything from filthy-dirty menus to tables wiped with the same nasty rag the bus boy used yesterday needs to be revisited. Gloves and masks for everyone, regardless of whether they work as well we would hope, because they at least instill a little confidence in customers. Every kind of event will have to work through the reality of a pandemically-aware population. From churches to concerts, sports arenas, bars, and anything else that attracts large numbers of people, heightened attention must be paid to allowing participation without putting everyone in peril. It’s going to be tough. I think back to all of the concerts I have attended, from the mosh pits of the 1970s to more sedate seating in my later years, there’s still a lot of humanity all sharing the same space. I will think twice before I go to church or another concert again. New home construction would be wise to include expanded pantries so that people can stockpile their pandemic stash. My 1980-ish house may have a lot of cabinets, but could sure use a walk-in pantry. We will all need a place to inventory toilet paper, paper towels, disinfectants, non-perishable foodstuffs, and more. The pantry will become a very important room in the house, almost as important as the kitchen to which it is attached. Everyone must embrace e-commerce, not just Walmart and Amazon. This means even the smallest of shops, the mom-and-pop stores who for too long have dismissed technology and are now wondering how they can ever survive. If you want to make the sale, you must go where the people are, and I suspect that post-pandemic, more of us than ever before will be online. One somewhat scarier proposition is that contact tracing will become a way of life, whether we like it or not. This means that government bodies, working in partnership with cell phone carriers, will easily be able to track us, our comings and goings, and people with whom we may have come in contact, even strangers. Given that this is an enormous invasion of a privacy we once took for granted, we will have to weigh the benefits of trying to shorten infection vectors with less personal privacy. This is not going to be a fun one, as we are already finding out with some states moving in this direction. But the most important thing we will see from the COVID era is an emphasis on agility and preparation. Many companies have already learned their lesson the hard way. In many regards, we were all caught flat-footed and empty-handed. From PPEs to toilet paper, from inability to process and fulfill online orders for curbside pickup to restaurants too stuck in place to consider converting to takeaway, the survivors will have figure out all of this, and will continue to refine their operations so that they can adapt on a moment’s notice. It’s OK to be a sit-down restaurant with perhaps only a small portion of orders sold to-go, but the ability to pivot on a dime is needed to be able to modify operations quickly to react to a changing environment. The same goes for manufacturers and supply chains. No amount of whining and complaining is going to fix things in the short-run; only those prepared and willing to make major changes now, not in a few years, will continue to stay in business. Five Weeks And All This Yes, this is a lot to process after just five weeks, and the changes confronting businesses in many regards pale compared to the divisions within broader society. People either accept the statistics, warnings, and precautions as gospel, or they defy and deny everything, living their lives as if nothing has happened, and fearful that our liberties are gone and a totalitarian state is imminent. I’ll let the social scientists worry about the people part; my concern is how to prepare future business leaders for the road ahead. I hope and pray that all of my charges pay heed to the seriousness of the matter, the implications, and how they should respond. I’ll see you on the other side. Dr “Stay Safe, Stay Healthy” Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #business #coronavirus #COVID-19

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punmasterkentparson · 7 years

Text

A Late Night (With Sake)

(ao3)

i got inspired on the walk home from the station last night.

Alexei takes Kent out for sushi because Kent’s never been.

“I’ve had takeout sushi before, at my friend’s place,” Kent had said, when asked his opinion on it. “It’s not bad.”

“Takeout,” Alexei had repeated, and then shaken his head. “Is good, but not same as real Japanese restaurant sushi.”

“Raw fish on rice, what’s different?”

Kent is, at present, learning exactly what’s different.

“Here,” Alexei says, and delicately picks up a slice of a salmon-avocado roll with his chopsticks. He holds the morsel across the table, inches from Kent’s lips. “Has little taste of lemon. I think you like.”

They’re in a private alcove, seated on opposite sides of a low table with only flat mats to sit on. The floor is tatami and their shoes are in cubbyholes outside the dining space. There’s a button to call their server, and Kent can hear other people talking and laughing in other alcoves throughout the restaurant, but it’s all muffled through layers of wood and insulation.

Five plates of sushi are spread on the table between them. Alexei has been feeding selections off them to Kent since the server left ten minutes ago. Kent can use chopsticks but why the hell would he bother? There’s a self-satisfied smile on Alexei’s face that grows every time Kent opens his mouth and lets Alexei rest the sushi on his tongue.

Kent chews the salmon-avocado roll thoughtfully. “Yeah, I taste the lemon. Goes well with the fish.”

“I make connoisseur of you yet,” Alexei says, and takes a roll for himself to eat. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and his tie is gone, plus he’s undone the top two buttons of his shirt. His suit jacket is on a hanger behind him and his three hundred dollar Tag Heuer watch is on the table at his elbow. His hair is coming loose of the product he worked into it that morning. Kent’s never seen Alexei all made up for the office, only how the seams of that persona come undone at the end of the day.

Kent is still in his work slacks and has his tie on. Alexei had picked Kent up from work—had parked his sleek, red Tesla outside on the curb and texted Kent from the front seat. When Kent had slid in and closed the door, Alexei had curled his hand around the back of Kent’s head and guided him into a slow, sexy kiss with enough tongue to make Kent’s pants tight.

“This car is really quiet,” Kent had said five minutes later when they’d been driving for a bit and he’d regained his senses.

“Is electric.”

“What’s something like that go for?”

“This model, seventy thousand.”

“That’s not bad. Uh, speaking of cars, you know mine’s still in the parking garage across from my building, right?”

“I know. We come back for it later, is okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” The garage was open twenty-four hours. Another few bucks on his ticket wouldn’t kill him.

Moreover, those few bucks were buying him this entire evening. Kent pours himself more expensive sake and takes a good sip. The burn as he swallows is soft, not sharp, the taste heavy and acidic.

Another sushi piece appears in front of him.

“Here. Plain tuna, is good with sake.”

The fish is savory, the rice a bit sweet with vinegar. The flavors melt on Kent’s tongue. He makes a throaty noise of enjoyment as he swallows.

“Is good?”

Kent grins. Alexei’s eyes are so interested in his mouth. “You tell me,” Kent says. He puts a slice of tuna roll half in his mouth and gets up on his knees to lean across the table.

“That is not how you treat good sushi,” is what Alexei says, but the crinkling of his eyes betrays his amusement. He catches Kent’s tie in one hand and reels him in, until Kent’s got two hands on the table and is stretched all the way over it. Only then does Alexei crane upwards to bite off the protruding bit of rice and nori. His lips brush Kent’s. Kent feels Alexei’s mouth moving as Alexei chews and swallows.

“Is very good,” Alexei agrees, and the way he says it—deep and rough and oh—makes Kent think he’s about to get ravaged on the table. But Alexei just pecks him on the mouth and releases Kent’s tie. “You want try crab next?”

Kent chuckles and slides back down into his seat. “Sure.”

When they leave an hour later, Kent’s head is pleasantly swimming and his stomach feels just this side of too full.

“You have red cheeks, ptichka,” Alexei teases once they’re out on the sidewalk. It’s almost deserted, with just streetlamps to show the way. The sky is dark and lit with stars. “Maybe you need time to walk off sake.”

“I’m gonna need a week to walk off that meal,” Kent says. “Fuck me, that was good. I’m never eating takeout shit again.”

Alexei chuckles and guides him along with a hand at his back. “Takeout not shit. Just not as good as Akabe.”

It takes Kent a moment to identify that as the name as the restaurant. Then he laughs. “Babe, I might be drunk.”

Alexei laughs, too, and moves his arm to cover Kent’s shoulders. “So, we walk.”

“You have the best ideas.” Kent gropes until he gets his own arm around Alexei’s waist. It’s cool out but he’s got his suit jacket back on, and the warm weight of Alexei both around and against him. It’s a great night for a walk.

This part of the city is full of more bikes and pedestrians than cars. Now, it’s mostly just empty and closed up, with only a few determined restaurants or late-night bars throwing light onto the narrow streets. They walk, wrapped up in each other, and there’s no one around to mind. It’s not the first time they’ve gone out for food—the third time, actually—but it is the first time they’ve strolled down a street as a pair.

Kent enjoys the hell out of it.

They talk little. They turn down a side street and go through a residential area full of thin houses and low apartment complexes. Then they pass by a park, and Kent stops in his tracks when he sees a swing set.

“Babe. Babe, look!” Kent points vaguely and wiggles out from under Alexei’s arm. “Come on, we gotta swing!” If Alexei tries to call him back, he doesn’t hear it. He dodges a see-saw and almost falls onto the swing set, grabbing the chain link of one swing to hold himself up. He plops down into the seat. “Come push me!”

Alexei walks over, shrugging off his jacket and setting it on a nearby bench. He’s shaking his head and laughing. “You’re such child.” Getting behind Kent, he puts both hands on Kent’s back and says, “Not too high. You still tipsy, might fall off.”

Kent drops his head back so he can look at Alexei upside-down. “You’d catch me.”

Alexei’s smile goes soft. “I would. Are you ready?” At Kent’s nod, Alexei gives him a push.

It’s probably the sake that makes swinging in a darkened playground so much fun. Kent laughs and kicks his legs as he goes, telling Alexei, “Higher!” even though he knows it’s not going to happen. The motion is giving him a bit of vertigo, though not enough to make him fall. Every time he swings back, Alexei’s hands find him again, broad and warm and reassuring.

Eventually, Kent decides he’s had enough and stabs his feet at the ground to make himself stop. The gravel is probably not good for his oxfords, but they do slow him down. Kent hops off the swing. “Your turn.”

Alexei opens his mouth, halfway to objecting, but then his eyes find Kent’s smile and he stops. Smiles back. “Okay.” He gets on the swing, and Kent gets behind him.

“Not too high, Kent.”

“Got it. No space cadet Alexei.” Kent ducks to kiss the back of Alexei’s neck, since it’s there. “You know how to do this, right?”

Alexei snorts. “We are have swings in Russia, ptichka.”

“What’s that mean?” Kent asks, and gives Alexei a gentle push. There’s a lot of Alexei to push. Kent’s always loved these little reminders of Alexei’s size. “I think you called me that before.”

“Da, I did. Is cute way to say ‘bird.’ Is like... pet name. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. How do you say it again?”

“Ptichka.”

“Peach-ka.”

“Close enough.” Alexei slows his swing and reaches out to tap the one next to him. “Swing with me, ptichka.”

“Peech-ka,” Kent tries again, and gets on the swing. The night air and the exertion of swinging and then pushing Alexei is helping him work off the sake. He kicks off the ground and joins Alexei as a human pendulum. They’re out of sync but only just. Kent says, “Teach me more Russian.”

“Okay.” Alexei thinks for a moment. “Этот мужчина платит за всё.”

It sounds like word salad. “What’s that mean?”

“Repeat, first. Etot muzhchina platnt za Vsyo.” He draws it out slowly, and then says each word individually, after which Kent repeats it.

“Etot, mu-mushina plat Vsyo.”

“Etot muzhchina.”

“Platnt za Vsyo.”

"Platnt za Vsyo.”

“Etot muzhchina platnt za Vsyo.”

Alexei applauds. “You very fast learner.”

“Bet my accent is terrible, though.”

“Beginner accent for any language always is terrible,” Alexei says.

“So, what’s it mean?”

Wearing the biggest grin, Alexei says, “Means, ‘This gentleman will pay for everything.’”

Kent gapes at him, and then starts laughing. “Oh my fucking god, Alexei.”

“Is very useful phrase, I think.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Kent has to stop swinging so he doesn’t fall off while laughing. “Etot muzhchina platnt za Vsyo.”

“Yes.” Alexei stops swinging, too. “Of course, only useful if establishment is Russian.”

Kent snorts, still amused. “Guess I know where we’re going to eat next.”

Alexei shrugs. “If you like.”

Despite the obvious pleasure Alexei’s taken from pampering Kent in these last several months, Kent feels obligated to say, “You know I don’t expect you to pay for me all the time, right? I don’t mind, God no. But it’s not... um. It’s not a whatever-you-call-it, for us hooking up.” He waves his hand. “There’s a word for it, help me here.”

“Of us two, you are native English speaker,” Alexei replies, and then adds, “Do you mean ‘stipulation’?”

Kent snaps his fingers. Trust Alexei to know English words having to do with contracts and other such legal agreements. “Yes. It’s not a stipulation. I’m not fucking you for your money.”

Alexei chuckles wryly. “I know. You are fucking me for my ass.”

“It is a really superior ass.”

“You treat it very well.”

Alexei’s giving him bedroom eyes. Kent reaches over and clumsily swats his arm. “You missed your chance fucking me over the table at the restaurant. I’m not fingering you in a park.”

“We find nice bush. I’m be quiet.”

Kent swats him again. “Who are you, and what happened to the guy who stared me down after I suggested fucking in the men’s room at a wedding?”

“I am same guy. Just hungrier, more I’m with you.”

Kent looks at that soft smile and the pull of Alexei’s pants over his thighs and his crotch. “Babe, I’m too inebriated to turn you down right now, and I know you don’t wanna be arrested for public indecency. I’m feeling just stupid enough right now to blow you on the swings, so if you don’t want that in the headlines tomorrow...”

This warning is met with laughter, and then Alexei is getting out of his swing and holding out a hand for Kent. “So let’s go home, ptichka, and you do as many nasty things to me as you’re like.”

Kent grabs the offered hand and lets Alexei haul him to his feet. “Babe, you have the best ideas.”

“I know. Is because I am best.”

“Fuck yeah, you are.”

Alexei retrieves his jacket and pulls it on. As they leave the park, he puts his arm back around Kent, as easily as if he’d never let go. “You are best too, you know.”

The warmth Kent feels right then has nothing to do with the sake.

#savvy writes #top shelf series #and so sunday ends #the week starts #gah exam weeks suck for everyone involved #patater #fluff #fic

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dylan-hague · 7 years

Text

Chapter 34

Jump City. May 4th, 2018. 11:44 AM.

Damian scanned the shelves of books lining the wall of the little shop, overcome with embarrassment. He was always so good about keeping an eye on the gas in both his bikes, so having to pull over because his motorcycle literally wouldn’t go any farther was a total shock to him, and it was accompanied by many bewildered looks and annoying questions from bystanders outside the bookstore where he’d come to a stop, because “why is that kid riding a Yamaha, he can’t possibly be old enough to drive”. Wanting to avoid any more awkward questioning, Damian decided run into the bookstore, because somehow he forgot to charge his phone last night, and when he went to ping a Lyft, his phone was dead. Of course he had his charger on him (preparedness is a prerequisite for victory, after all… although he’d be better prepared if he’d just remembered to charge his phone), but it would still take a while for the cellular device to build up enough juice to get him home. So he went inside, asked if he could plug in, and the man behind the counter was nice enough to let him charge up, as well as use the store’s landline call for someone to bring him a gas can.

While he waited, Damian figured that the least he could do to repay the man for his service was take a look around the store, see if anything caught his eye, which it certainly did: Todd had been nagging at him to pick up a copy of Wuthering Heights for sometime (“It’s a classic! How have you not read it yet??” his brother carried on), and Raven mentioned that she had enjoyed it. Damian figured it couldn’t be any worse than the last book someone had recommended to him… Make no mistake, Machine Man was perfectly fine as a book. It just wasn’t as spectacular as Damian had been led to believe. It relied greatly on ironic turns and played heavily towards the action sci-fi crowd, which Damian found to be an odd mixture that could have worked out better than Drake had convinced him it would. Either way, Damian decided to pick up Wuthering Heights, as well as a new copy of Tolkien’s Unfinished Tales for Raven. (She had apparently loaned her copy to Tara, who then let Garfield take a look at it… Raven got it back yesterday in shreds. She was pretty upset about it.) By then, Damian’s phone had enough power for him to call Jon, who was there a few seconds later with a can of gas for the bike. Say what you will about ol’ Jonno, he was dependable. So once a Damian filled up on gas, he took off without another word to anyone on the street, determined to get home as soon as he could.

And why did Damian not pay attention to his fuel tank? Because he was distracted. Everything was practically upside-down in his life at the moment; despite his claims that he would publicly bring Damian to his knees, Riddler had yet to make any further appearances to anyone, and certainly wasn’t leaving any clues to his whereabouts. Damian didn’t know if he had been immensely over-prepared for his one-on-one with the green-suited puzzler, or if Riddler intended on dragging out this waiting game long enough to wear him thin, but he was upset about it either way. And somehow, Riddler was on the back-burner of Damian’s mind, as he was much more concerned about Raven… she was still shaken up over what he’d done. Damian kicked himself for being so inconsiderate of how she was feeling, because he hadn’t seen her so quiet since before Pier 64 two years ago. She refused to acknowledge it, insisted that everything was fine, but her sentences had become quick, one-word snippets of speech, and it seemed as though she held onto him tighter now than she’d ever done before, wouldn’t let go for much longer. Everywhere in the Tower he went, she would be close by, like she didn’t want to let him out of her sight for a second.

Damian would have loved this if not for the fact that it came as a result of her hurting… it had taken every bit of misdirection, distraction, and disappearance he could think of to keep her from following him right out into town. Why he insisted on going alone, he still didn’t know… but he had an inkling. It was that craving for intimacy that he’d been experiencing, the need to be more affectionate with one another. He and Raven had discussed it, sure, and they agreed they wanted to get closer. But something kept eating at him, gnawing at him from the pit of his stomach. He wanted more, and this time he didn’t like it. He was afraid to find out how much more would be enough. He was an addict, hooked on her like a drug he’d barely tasted. She was his heroin. He didn’t know what he could do, because for every thought he came up with for how to fight back against his body’s unruly impulses, ten more thoughts manifested that made him turn beet red, filled him with shame, and that he couldn’t for the life of him shake off. That look in her eyes that made him wonder if she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, that curve in her lips that made him want to drown himself in her kiss, the warmth of her silky-smooth skin that swallowed him up every time she drew near…

Damian found himself so consumed by his thoughts, he failed to notice the drunk man plowing through the red light to his left until his bike–and the world–had already disappeared from underneath him.

Titans Tower, Jump City. May 4th, 2018. 11:44 AM.

“He ran out of gas.”

Raven kept her eyes shut as she focused on Damian from the roof of the Tower. She could feel the breeze running through her long black hair, she could hear the sound of her breath as the air moved in and out of her lungs. She could even feel Jon’s eyes lock onto her, bewildered by her statement. But her attention stayed on her Damian.

“What? Who ran outta…” Superboy ask about to ask, but his voice trailed of as he realized what she was referring to. “… Raven, are you seriously watchin’ Damian right now?”

“You should go get a can ready for him, he’s gonna ask you to bring him enough to get him home.”

“Raven, look at me.” Jon’s brow furrowed as the pale girl turned her head slightly, half-opening one eye. “I get it, alright? What happened was scary, and Damian coulda got hurt real bad if we all hadn'ta been there. But that don’t mean ya gotta keep him under lock'n'key like this.–”

“No, Jon. You don’t get it.” Raven’s shadow began to waver as she opened both eyes to look back the boy. “You could have caught him yourself, no problem. You’re a Superman, nothing is too big or moves too fast for you to catch. But I couldn’t have saved him by myself. I put everything I had into grabbing him, and he still would have died. I understand you’re only trying to help… but he already died in my arms once. I’m not gonna lose him again.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Jon let out a sigh as he stood up to fly away. “… Y'know, I can hear your heartbeat from anywhere in the world. Once you found him, I could hear his again too… and I heard it stop.” His feet slowly drifted off the roof as he moved out into the open air. “… you weren’t the only one who lost him that day.”

Raven’s eyes were already closed again by the time Jon took off towards the nearest gas station.

She hadn’t thought about that, but it made sense… like she said, he was a Kryptonian. Of course he could hear their heartbeats. Of course he liked to check on them every so often… she did that all the time. So of course he was probably listening for her everyday when she left for Gotham, just to see if she’d found their friend yet. Damian wasn’t just her best friend… Damian was Jon’s friend too. They both loved him.

“Jon, I’m sorry…” she reached out to try to speak to Jon through their minds… she’d never done so before, but she figured it was worth a shot. “I just… he’s all I have. Everything in my heart, it’s for him…”

Silence.

Again, it was worth a shot.

She turned her mind back to Damian. Apparently he’d picked something out at the bookstore, but she couldn’t tell what. He had already put the purchase out of his mind and was just then texting Jon for gas. He walked out the door, and there was Jon, already waiting for him. Many things could be said about Jonathan Kent… but he was a good friend.

Damian seemed troubled, so Raven decided to peek into his mind as he filled the gas tank… she smiled as she saw herself looking back at him in his mind. She blushed as she realized why he seemed so at odds with himself: he wanted to be more. More intimate, more… physical. He was ashamed… no, not just ashamed, afraid. The thought of being so close, so interwoven into someone else… he was terrified. He’d never been in a relationship like that with someone before. Neither had she, now that her mind was on the subject… did she want the same thing? Well… yes. Yes she did. I mean, look at him now. The wind running through his hair, those pale blue eyes looking coldly down the road in front of him, the hands covered in callouses that still felt gentle and welcoming on her skin…

She almost didn’t notice the white station wagon racing towards him from his left. But she did. And she nearly shattered when it barreled into him, sending him spinning through the air, crashing into the back windshield of a blue van parked several feet away.

She let out a scream as she threw herself off the edge of the roof, flying towards the city as fast as Azar’s magic would carry her.

…

When “Rachel” finally reached the hospital, Jon was already there, hugging his knees anxiously in the corner of the waiting room. As she ran to him, he jumped up to do the same and the two latched onto one another, each one clutching at the other’s back for dear life.

“Oh my God… Jon, oh my God…” Raven could barely manage the words before she broke down, falling into the alien’s arms as he sobbed.

“I know Rachel, I know,” Jon fought as hard as he could to hold himself together. “The doctors are doing everything they can, I swear. It’ll be alright… it’ll…” he let out a cough, and sucked in a shaky breath as he struggled harder to keep the tears at bay. “Listen, he’s alive… he’s alive, okay? His heart is still going. He’s breathing, his blood is still pumping.”

“I saw it, Jon…” the witch’s words were broken, and she pulled Superboy in tighter. “I watched him get hit… I… Jon, it was so bad. It happened so fast. It was so fast.”

“Rachel, don’t talk like that. He’s gonna be okay,” Jon was insistent, pulling away and looking into Raven’s eyes. “I promise you, Damian is gonna be fine.”

“Rachel! Jonathan!” The Titans turned to see Bruce and Cassandra Wayne marching towards them.

“Daddy!!” Raven cried as she jumped into Bruce’s arms. “Oh God, I saw it happen! I saw him!!” Bruce wrapped his arm around the half-demon, the other arm bringing Cassie in and holding them both as tight as he could.

“It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart… listen to me, that’s our boy in there,” the Batman whispered into Raven’s ear comfortingly. “That’s our Damian. You know he’s a fighter, you know how strong he is. He’s gonna be fine.” As he held the two girls close to him, he realized what she’d just done: she didn’t cry out “Bruce” or “Mr. Wayne” or even “Batman” (thank God she didn’t say Batman). She called him Daddy. And as much as it warmed his heart to know she felt welcome in his family, he knew what that meant… they were in a public place, surrounded by slack-jawed ordinary people... and frankly, he was Bruce Wayne. Word was bound to get around. He could already picture the headlines… “Daddy’s Girl: Bruce Wayne’s Second Daughter?”

“Rachel…” Raven looked up over Bruce’s shoulder to see Talia al Ghul standing behind them. She rushed forward, cupping Raven’s face and looking right into her with her piercing jade eyes. “Rachel, I’m so sorry. We came as soon as we heard…”

As Raven reached up and put a pale hand over Talia’s dark fingers, a grey-haired doctor stepped out into the waiting room. “Excuse me, we’re looking for the family of Mr. Damian Wayne…?”

Bruce turned to look the man in the eye. “I’m Bruce Wayne. I’m Damian’s father… we’re his family.” The billionaire began gesturing to everyone in their group. “This is his mother, Talia Head, his sister Cassandra, and his fiancée, Rachel Roth. And over there is Jonathan White, Damian’s Best Man.”

Cassie stepped forward. “How is he?”

The doctor put a hand on Cass’ shoulder and smiled. “It’s a miracle, but he’s gonna be fine. We’d like to keep him here for a few days just to be on the safe side, but he’s sustained very little injury. We had to pull some glass out of his back, and he’ll have to come back in a few months for the stitches to come out, but he’s practically undamaged otherwise. No broken bones, no damage to any organs… all he has are some shallow glass wounds and a mild concussion.”

“Oh God!” Bruce fell to his knees, hugging Raven close to him as he began to tear up. “Thank God!! Oh God, my boy… our boy’s okay. He’s okay.” Talia threw her arms around both of them as Jon ran up and did the same, all of them crying and laughing at the good news.

“Can we see him?” Cass asked, her face expressing her relief.

“Of course. He’s just woken up, and asked for Ms. Roth by name.” The doctor beckoned them forward. “If you’ll all just come with me…”

The group rushed down the hall and into a small room at the end of the corridor. There lying in a bed by the window was Damian, all dressed down in a hospital down, his eyes half-open and glazed over, with a little smile on his face.

“Hey…” the Son of Batman said slowly, still clearly dazed from the sedatives. “Dad? Cassie…? Mama? What are you guys doin’ here?”

“Damian…!” Raven ran to the bedside and grabbed her Damian’s face, pressing their lips together as tears streamed down her face. Damian’s eyes drifted shut as he brought his hand to her face, one lighting on her cheek as the other ran through her hair. After a brief moment, Raven broke away to look into the boy’s tired eyes.

Damian licked his lips and grinned back at her. “Rae…” he mumbled, “… have I ever told you you smell like strawberries…?”

Raven bit her lip as she felt her laughter coming up, holding in her reaction as best she could… unlike Jonathan, who had to walk back out into the hallway because he was laughing so hard. “Baby, you were in an accident,” she said, fighting back her giggle. “Do you remember?”

“Yeah… yeah, I got hit by a car.” Damian scratched his head as he thought back. “Like… I got hit by a car… into another car, right?”

Raven grinned as she nodded. “That’s right, Damian,” she stuttered. “But the doctors say you’re okay. You’re gonna have to stay in bed for awhile, but you’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh, good!” Damian exclaimed, his face beaming. “That’s really good! Can I… can I come home?”

“Not yet, baby…” the mage-girl cooed as she stroked Damian’s hair. “We need to wait a few days, okay? But I’m gonna be right here. I’ll be right here until we get to bring you home.”

“M'kay…” Damian smiled back at the girl. “Raven, I’m so glad you’re here…”

“Me too, Dame… me too.” Raven touched her nose to his gently, prompting a tired giggle from the boy. She turned to walk off so someone else could see him, and…

“Ooh… still cute.”

Raven’s face turned completely red as she realized what the drug-addled Titan was referring to. Damian lazily snickered as the poor girl walked past Talia, whose jaw had long since dropped at her son’s practically non-existent inhibitions.

“Damian!!” Talia yelled, biting back a cackle. “That was incredibly inappropriate!”

“Hey, Mama!!” Damian shouted, arms outstretched. “I love you, Mama!” Talia just shook her head and wrapped her arms around her son.

“Damian, I think we ought to have Raven heal you now…” Bruce whispers from across the room. “I heard about Riddler being here in California, and it would be best for everyone if we got you back in the field soon.”

The half-conscious Damian shook his head. “We rely too heavily on Rae-Rae’s healie-doo…” (Raven visibly cringed at the mention of the nickname) “I think I should juss do thissun analog. Old-school healies, y'know.” At this point, even Bruce had to hold back a chuckle.

“Well, that still leaves the issue of Riddler to deal with. I have to get back to Gotham, but I think I know someone who can help…” the Batman smirked as he pulled out his phone, holding it up to his ear. “… Hey, it’s me. Your semester just let out, right? Because I’m calling in a solid you owe me.”

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spiritcc · 7 years

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The Mistresses of Lord Maulbrey

Was it the mistress and not mistresses that goes around in the translation? Should’ve been mistresses, but anyway.

Much spoilers, very series, beware, so wow, you know, all that.

The case case episode, the main plot is still there, but I think it’s still in the old school Holmes style, a complicated detective story with twists and turns and drama and all that. Quite enjoyable, I like Holmes’ aethestics there, always end up screencapping the guy the most.

He’s beauty he’s grace he’s got a joke for a face.

This is incredible that I managed to miss the entire build up to Watson proposing to Mrs. Hudson in the future, but I just had a really hard time understanding these idiots. Funny, huh, yesterday I called Holmes and Adler a bunch of idiots, now it’s Watson and Mrs. Hudson. Love sure does some fucky things to you.

Fucking Holmes in the end actually spelled out the answer to my question as to what exactly Mrs. Hudson is going for here, like holy tits, thanks buddy, like you actually helped. Now it’s clear to me that the love is not one-sided, but Mrs. Hudson is sure a weird lady in her ways. And yeah, she wanted something from Watson, and there came drunk dating advice Holmes and rightfully said that she’s waiting for him to make a move, and a cool move for that. Like huh. Understanding women, I had trouble understanding her across all these years, what are you saying.

Take a look at this lady and please answer me what kind of transformation was this

Talk about villain wardrobe.

Okay, the case. Very smart again, very overcomplicated as well, just like Moriarty likes it. I just can’t drag a man for this if he slaps his fucking initials on everything he breathes, those fucking maths nerds just can’t think simple, can they.

I mean I guess it’s worth to fight for like 500k pounds, it’s no rocket science Moriarty does self-funding for his big ben plans and he needs a fuckton he can’t get any other legal way, but still. Really, some sort of manslut inheritance scheme? Too fucking bad all your plans relied on an assumption that Maulbrey isn’t a troll, buddy.

Anyway, in this case I again saw some patterns both from the previous and future episodes. Future ones? Getting people via card debts, exactly how they got Calloway on the force here, and how they got that blueprints chancery man from the last episode: get them into huge debts, promise to let them go if they do a job for Moriarty. And from the previous ones, using people with their own personal interest in the matter. Using racist Sholto to foil the Indian plans, and using Maulbrey’s bastard daughter to get to his money. Never surface in the case, throw these people under the bus: nobody suspects you and the criminals had a solid motive and did everything willingly. Bingo.

Why the hell did I understand it only just now why Moriarty makes such a big deal out of staying hidden, he’s literally being hunted by the queen herself. Literally, all the high top secret unknown forces are on his ass, if he doesn’t make an extended effort to hide, he’s fucked.

So, the case was kind of complicated, let me clear it up for myself: this artist gal was Maulbrey’s illegal daughter. When the thing about his mistresses getting showered with money became known, she somehow got hooked up with Moriarty. Moriarty proposed this entire scheme. The gal grabbed her two half-sisters and threw them into the lord’s bed. Both her and Moriarty agreed they weren’t actually going to share with these gals, so they killed them. That’s two out of five total mistresses, including miss “Baker”, the other three, I’m suspecting, were actual mistresses that pushed Moriarty to his idea in the first place. In the end, Moriarty wanted to outplay everybody, lying not only to miss Baker, but also to the artist gal as well: Baker gets rid of the nephew, thinks she’s the sole candidate and gets her ass chopped => she was the actual last element in the scheme to get rid of, and, according to the first will, Maulbrey’s closet relative gets all the money, i.e. the artist gal. Then the gal would’ve been disposed of as well, and therefore everyone involved is dead and Moriarty gets himself a cigar shower.

What still remains fucked up about this entire story is the fact that one of that gal’s sisters was her twin, so Maulbrey was her dad. Like,,,,

Anyway, yeah, quite a nice old school case, nice episode, but it’s still a kind of one-off that was just another quick plan foiled, doesn’t play a big role or anything.

Double anyway, very good Holmes content. Black shirt - 10/10, soup eating skills - 10/10, faces - 10 weird laughs/10.

Yeah, in this episode we find out that Moriarty is Robert. As sve-tka once pointed it out, this is an ancient reference, so ancient it goes way back to some stage play that used to run during the times when ACD himself was alive and well, and there, apparently, Morarty’s name was Robert. *shrugs* I find it kinda cute though, there ain’t a bad guy called Robert nowhere. Rob Moriarty. Robby. Amazing.

That gal kind of looks like Mrs. Hudson, but either way she’s really pretty

Holmes legit busted a nut somewhere during this episode because of her, have you seen the faces he made while talking to her? They even legit spell it out, she said she liked him, and Holmes replied he sadly liked her too, like??? Irene would be shook at the sight of this fuckery, good thing this gal turned out to be psychotic and now chills in jail, amiright. Why do you always fall for such shit, Holmes. Why can’t you just find yourself some chick that goes into a seizure at the faintest wind of problems brushing her ass, not some type of freelance gold diggers with a fucking body count? Honestly.

Speaking of freelance assholes with a body count, here’s Watson and his first time in jail.

That is incredible that I have to mention it was only his first time there yet, what the fuck is going on with people in this series. So casually too, punch a homeless dude, steal someone’s bike, wait until your friend makes a walk up to the police station to bail your ass out, and make no deal out of the entire event whatsoever. Did I mention Watson scares me more than Moriarty? There you go.

Let’s appreciate the man that managed to fuck everyone over with his touching trust for a man he’d never met.

I got so emotional when his parcel came in, he literally never met Holmes ever in his life before (ironically Holmes was the last person he’d seen in his life), but he went on and sent these exceptionally crucial documents that Moriarty himself was hunting for, to Holmes. Because he’d heard that Holmes is a great man with great abilities, and Kibby’s trust in that was so strong he turned this entire case upside down, in the favor of a man he never knew, but believed in. Holmes was giggling like a bitch reading his letter, he was showered with compliments. I don’t know about you, but I find this very touching. Hats off to Kibby.

Goggles on, that’s right. Velcom to ma labratory where safity is namber one preority.

Here comes the detail that will make it into the Sign of Four. You thought some little black peeps were this dangerous and exotic? Take, that, literature bullshit, there’s a country more fucked up than all of the Andaman Islands combined - Australia.

Let’s talk about this Henry dude, which could’ve been the prototype to sir Henry in the future, as a nephew of a rich guy and the only his known heir. They forced the guy into a pissy bathroom and made him write his testimony with a pencil on a toilet roll.

They’ve stressed this dude out so much he died on a shitter of a heart attack while writing an all-important information on a toilet roll.

He visibly blinked on camera while dead. I rest my case.

Oh man, the “Actually I heal people” scene.

“Actually, I’m a doctor” is what he really said, but my proofreader changed it to reflect on the actual meaning of that phrase. Vrach = doctor, learning Russian with Sherlock Holmes, you’ve heard this word a lot. Syschik = detective, all the time. In the Soviet series Watson was exclusively a doctor, here it’s both vrach and doctor. But both adaptations avoid calling Holmes a detective religiously, and that’s what everyone is calling him nowadays. But it’s funny how persistent they are when it comes to this detail, always a syschik, never a detective. Very Russian for a British show, don’t you think.

Also, I did point it out once and I’ll point it out again - guns here matter and I love it. They’re actually counting bullets shot, and their barrels do run out - when Roy’s did, he was harmless. Thank you.

The face reveal wasn’t exactly a reveal because we kinda saw Moriarty already in the previous episode, but thanks I guess?

Shades have just rendered the entire achievement pointless, but yeah, alright? Holmes now can hang it above his bed, which is exactly what he does? Do you caress the picture before going to sleep or something?

What I’m saying is, we just saw his face, but a lot of people have never guessed that he was there ever since episode one personally, so that face reveal was rather yeah. Still love ya Rob, cool shades.

So yeah, a nice episode and all, many good moments, but it kind of falls out of the overall plot because of the “and I could’ve gotten away with that too, if it wasn’t for you meddling kids!” story. Like yeah, the plot didn’t happen, they found out about it this episode, foiled it in the same episode, the end. I still like the case though, as I’ve said before, the good old Holmes, as canon as it can ever get with this series.

#new russian sherlock holmes #marathon notes #the mistresses of lord maulbrey

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rebeccahpedersen · 5 years

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Who Really Wants To Move, Anyways?

TorontoRealtyBlog

Renovate or move?

It’s an age-old question, one that a lot of people in Toronto ask themselves, and a tough one to answer no matter how you look at it.

Renovate or move? In a perfect world, it would be neither. The current abode would be great, the inhabitants would be happy, and the “bother” of moving or renovating would not be necessary.

I don’t know anybody that actually likes moving, although I suppose if you were moving into a bigger, better home in a premium area, there would be no qualms.

Unless, of course, if you were me.

Throughout childhood, my parents had this weekend ritual whereby they went and looked at other people’s houses. I didn’t quite understand it at the time, nor why they always went with this guy named “Richard.” This went on for what seemed like my entire childhood, but since things always seem longer, bigger, or more substantial when you’re younger, perhaps it was only a short period of time.

In any event, I didn’t really understand what they were doing, but my sister informed me that they were looking to buy a home. “Cool,” I thought, not really grasping the idea of moving. They never did buy anything anyways. Life went on, and they’d go see more homes with Richard thereafter, and it went on, and on.

One night in the spring of 1992, my father was out late, and when I asked where he was, my mother said, “He’s working on a house.”

Of course, I assumed this meant he was putting on a new roof or something, but it wasn’t until my sister explained, “He’s going to buy it for us, and we’re going to move,” that my heart started racing.

Move from 128 Parkhurst Boulevard? My home of 12 years? Never.

I don’t know if children really get anxiety, but I do believe I had it that night. I wasn’t interested in playing Super Mario II, I didn’t want to watch Family Matters on TV, nor did I have the appetite or wherewithal to take the white icing out from in between a dozen Oreo cookies to make one, massive, disgusting cookie-sandwich.

The phone rang later that night – the home phone, back when that was a thing; back when you would answer, “Hello?” and not actually know who it was. My Dad said, “Hey buddy,” and I asked him, “What happened? How did it go?”

I’ll never forget the words, the tone, and the pause before he answered: “We bought it.”

I dropped the phone. My pink phone; the one my sister handed down to me when she got her first cordless. I dropped it right on the floor, right out of my hand, and I started to cry immediately.

My sister picked up the phone and was elated. She was in Grade 8, ready to start high school in the fall, and the idea of moving up to Bessborough Drive, into a bigger house, was exciting.

I was curled up in the fetal position in the corner of the room, crying, one step from sucking my thumb.

I was 11-years-old, and this house was all that I ever knew.

My bedroom was tiny, the window stared out at the house next door, but it was my bedroom. It was my domain.

Actually, I think I have a photo of that somewhere, believe it or not.

Here we go:

Yup, that’s my bedroom in 1992.

That’s a “ghetto blaster” on the bed. And I can see my “Casio” keyboard sticking out from behind what I always thought was a massive wooden headboard, but is actually like doll furniture considering that’s a single bed. That’s what I meant about how everything seems larger in your mind.

Anyways, that’s about 80% of my bedroom. There was a window on the other side, a shelf above the bed, and a small closet. It was “home.”

I didn’t want to know which house my Dad had purchased, where it was, or what it looked like. I just knew that I didn’t want to move.

It was irrational, but so too are children.

I wrote in my “Diary” that week at school that I wanted to set my new house on fire, and Mrs. Withers wrote back in her cursive-writing comments, “Oh, that would be too bad. Your family has purchased a very nice home. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

A few weeks later, I was walking down Parkhurst Boulevard and from afar, I could see a sign on the lawn.

I got closer, and there it was: “FOR SALE.”

I was so angry. I drop-kicked it, but the sign was on a swivel, and it merely swang back a little as I fell to the ground.

I took my Easton baseball bat out of my backpack; all 30-inches, 24-ounces, and swung it at the sign. It made a huge dent, but one that only I would notice.

That weekend, we went to the “new house” at 96 Bessborough Drive, and I wasn’t impressed.

It was a huge home, and my Dad was going to renovate and add-on, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even know where we were (ironic, since it was like 8 blocks away), the street was way too busy (even though it wasn’t), I didn’t like the look of the neighbours (even though I almost never played with the kids on Parkhurst), and the owners had a dog. And I didn’t like dogs.

I told my Mom and Dad, “I’m not moving.” But my Dad simply said, “Will you come visit us though?”

My sister was already making party plans for that fall, and she and her friends would ride their bikes by the new house at lunch-recess, but had never really ventured to the other side of Millwood Road. In fact, it now dawned on me that if we moved to this house, I wouldn’t be able to walk home after school with my friends! Fraser and Jeff both lived north of the school, as did I. We walked home together every day after school, for years! Chris too! Who was I supposed to walk home with now? Who lived down that way? What the hell was down there anyways?

Leaside is tiny, but at 11-years-old, the idea of going in the other direction, eight blocks “thatta-way” scared the crap out of me.

And living in somebody else’s house? That was so unappealing.

From birth, I only knew one home. I knew every square inch of it; even under the back patio, where I would venture to find tennis balls that had made their way under the bottom step, or to find quarters that had slipped through the boards. I knew the roof of my garage, where I almost blew off my fingers with M-80’s the year before. I knew behind the clubhouse (we had a clubhouse, but the raccoons sort of lived there) where I was obsessed with digging. That was my hobby, seriously. Digging a large hole, for no reason. Just digging. And I had really worked on it! It was eight feet, and I needed a ladder to get in and out!

The concept of moving was difficult to grasp, and the concept of selling our house was something else altogether.

My mother made us pack up our toys, clean our play areas, and even get rid of a lot of our clothes!

The kicker came one day when I came home and found my hole, my precious hole, had been filled in with dirt.

My mother had to do that herself, by the way. Today, I feel awful thinking about my mother outside with a shovel for two hours, filling in a hole that, for some reason, her son dug. But she told me, “We can’t have buyers falling into some random hole behind the garage, which, for some reason, you filled with spikes last week!”

True story.

I tried my best to hold up the sale.

I had this rubber-vomit that dated back to my “gag” days, when card tricks, flash paper, and those packs of gum with the snap-like mouse-trap thing were all the rage, and I would always make sure to come home at lunch and put the fake vomit in the front hallway so it was the first thing that buyers saw when they came in.

I could always tell when somebody had been in my room too.

My light switch was covered with my “baseball player” wallpaper; a nice touch by my mother. And one day, the switch, and the player, were upside-down.

My Mom said, “It must have been the Cinderella’s,” which I suppose was the early-90’s term for Realtors. I actually haven’t heard that term since.

I remember when “offers” came in on the house, and I remember my Dad arguing with Richard all the time. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have my Dad as a client, wow.

The house was listed at $399,000, and then $389,000, and then $379,000. Once it was listed at $369,000, it eventually sold for $362,000.

The house we purchased was a whole other story! $999,000, then $899,000, then $799,000, then $699,000, then $599,000, and my father bought it for $565,000. Different market, right?

Once the house was sold, it was just a matter of waiting for D-Day. That was what I called moving day, anyways.

The summer was our last in that house, and starting Grade 7, with an influx of kids from Bennington & Rolph now invading our quaint Bessborough, I was distracted from the September 30th move date.

Seriously. Twenty-seven-years later, and I remember the date.

I remember my mother wanting me to “stay out of her hair,” as the saying went back then, and giving me about ten bucks in quarters to go up to Pizza Pizza and play Mortal Kombat for a couple of hours. This was when arcade games were everywhere.

We had the world’s worst movers, and they literally put our crap anywhere in the house. I’m talking mattresses for the bedrooms, in the basement or kitchen. It was absurd.

It seemed to take us three months to fully unpack, and some things just stayed right in their place for more than a decade until the house was eventually sold.

Two weeks after we moved in, we went back to the old house for a “goodbye,” as the three of us kids had been pestering my mother to go back. After we walked in, separated, and went to our own special places, my Mom found me on the floor of my room, hugging the carpet. “Oh Lord, I knew this was a mistake,” she said, and then shuffled us back into the station wagon to pull out of the driveway for the very last time.

Over the next couple of months, it became very apparent that moving was not such a bad thing. I had a larger bedroom, the house was bigger, the yard was bigger, and there was more space for us kids to get away from one another, and have our own time and place to spend with our friends.

It wasn’t long before I would look back and ask, “Why didn’t I want to move?”

But it’s not easy to pull the trigger, whether you’re the one buying, or you’re just a naive kid who doesn’t know any better.

You know what?

I was going to talk about this “Move vs. Renovate” article I saw on a mortgage broker news site this week, and provide a brief, one might say, “folksy” intro.

But then I felt like writing. And sharing. And it bodes well with my laid-back Friday theme, so it became a blog unto itself.

Here’s the article, albeit somewhat lackluster after my brief childhood fable, but enjoy!

“Most Canadians Prefer Renovations To Moving If Given A Windfall – Survey” Mortgagebrokernews.ca

A recent survey found that most Canadians are satisfied with their current neighbourhood and would rather renovate their current home than move.

According to a poll conducted by online rate finder RateSupermarket.ca, if presented with a $50,000 windfall, 50% of Canadians prefer to stay put and renovate their existing home while 30% would choose to move.

“Given the current real estate market and tightening mortgage rules, renovating your existing home makes a lot of financial sense for many Canadians,” said Janine White, vice-president of marketplace and strategy at RateSupermarket.ca. “Our survey shows that Canadians understand and appreciate the value of their real estate investment.”

The survey also found that 40% of respondents felt that renovating will increase the value of home, and 32% reported that moving is ‘too much hassle.’ More than a quarter of respondents (28%) stated that they would stay put because they don’t think they can find a house right now within their budget.

Almost eight in 10 (78%) of respondents said that they like their current home or neighbourhood, with almost six in 10 reporting this as their top reason for staying in their home. Additionally, the RateSupermarket.ca survey indicated that rural and suburban Canadians would prefer to stay in their homes, with 54% of suburban and 59% of rural dwellers saying they’d renovate, against 44% of urbanites.

The survey also revealed a split between younger and older respondents. In fact, 43% of Canadians aged between 18 and 34 say they’d move, while only 15% of Canadians over 65 would leave their current house. Less than 20% of Canadians aged 55 and over say they’d buy a new home while 43% of millennials felt this way.

“The desire to stay put by older Canadians may stem from them being more established in their current homes,” said White. “Those in their 20s or 30s are looking to acquire some equity and build their financial portfolio, which translates to their greater willingness to move. Additionally, the added transfer tax, moving costs and general hassle of moving houses might deter some Canadians.”

The post Who Really Wants To Move, Anyways? appeared first on Toronto Realty Blog.

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adamandbrittanyinhawaii · 6 years

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Day 12 - May 27th

We may only have about 36 hours left in our trip but that doesn’t mean we aren’t packing it full! Today’s adventure: a day-long bike tour around Kyoto! This city has so many temples and shrines that it is a bit overwhelming to go and try to visit them on your own. After all, how do you know which ones are worth seeing and which ones aren’t? So having someone provide the highlights for you while also explaining it all in English and getting exercise is a complete win for us. One of my favorite activities I did in Berlin was the bike tour through the city, complete with a stop at a beer garden for lunch. I thought we may be able to recapture that magic in Kyoto.

After dropping our bags off (again!) at the train station we headed to the bike tour shop. Our tour group was relatively compact with an older couple from the Netherlands, a family of 4 from Florida and us. It was an interesting dynamic because of course the Europeans knew what they were doing on a bike since everyone in that country is a daily biker and we’ve gotten comfortable with biking in Hawaii. Juxtaposed to that was the family from Florida who flat out seemed lost on bikes because we would cruise at 6-7 mph and they would still fall behind. It was boggling.

Anyways, our first stop on the tour was the West Pagoda gate. Interesting fact is that Tokyo and Kyoto are anagrams, but there is a reason. When translating to English Kyo-To is just 2 symbols meaning “Imperial Capital”. To-Kyo then means Capital East. It was established as the modern capital a few hundred years ago, hence the name. Another interesting fact is that the West Pagoda Gate used to be the Eastern Pagoda Gate, but the other one got taken down and the city ended up developing farther east than anticipated, making this gate the Western side of the city by relative position.

Japan was actually a very insulated culture until the mid 1800’s when they decided to open up to the rest of the world. Once they moved away from the Imperial system slowly western influences began to move in which is why Tokyo was more or less created so that it would enable more shipping and prompt contact with foreign countries.

When one visits Europe you are overwhelmed by the influence of Christianity and Catholicism. However in Japan you are overwhelmed by the unique mixture of 2 religions: Shinto and Buddhism. Buddhism needs no introduction since it is one of the largest religions in the world but what is strange as that the most common practice in Japan is to combine it with Shinto, not choose “either/or”. So holidays get conflated and people can actively practice rituals of one faith and be doing the other 24 hours later. It would strike me as strange to come across someone doing this but for an entire culture, well let’s just say I don’t know if another country functions like this in the world.

Along the route of our journey we made many stops, obviously so many that I’m not even bothering detailing them here for you, rather just sharing history and stories. With all these stops we have the chance to fill our brains with all sorts of info. Our guide decided to teach us how to count to ten. Are you ready? 1 = Itchy, 2 = Knee, 3 = Son, 4 = She, 5 = Go, 6 = Roku, 7 = Nana, 8 = Hachee, 9 = Cue & 10 = Jew. Obviously we have no clue how to write this in Japanese but we can at least say them now. Here’s the kicker: there are literally dozens of numbering systems in Japan though and it all depends upon what you are describing. So in effect all we learned was how to count to ten in one very specific way. This country is full of surprises!

Our next stop was at an interesting temple. Basically this man tried to incite a coup, failed and when he was banished he died and it was believed that the bad luck that fell on the government and people in the years that followed was a curse from this man! So naturally, they built a temple to worship this guy! The temple has oxen everywhere because the man died with an ox.

Inside the Shisenen temple are a few ingenious games, er, I mean, worship rituals that people pay money for. One is a can that you tip upside down and a stick slides out with a number. Whatever the number is you go and share it with a guy at the desk and for 300 yen he will tell you your fortune. Another one is for a fee you can come hang sheets of paper in the temple to cast wishes for the upcoming full moon. If none of that strikes your fancy you can always through a few coins in the box when you go bow at the temple. Not too shabby of a business, I mean, religion.

The next stop was at the Golden Pavilion which is a gilded pagoda. I guess the monk that initially painted it gold was thought a fool but now it is the most famous temple in Kyoto, or at least most popular for tourists, so perhaps they feel differently now. The group was given free roam to take pictures, get some snacks and use the restroom so we broke away and had some fun taking way more pictures than can be considered normal. While doing so, a group of middle school girls and their teacher approached and they asked us if it would be okay to ask us a few questions to practice their English. It was pretty cool to see them reading the English off the page they prepared while struggling through it. I could totally relate from when I learned Spanish. Anyways, we took some pictures afterwards with them as evidence to their teacher that they spoke with someone. In Hawaii this happens in reverse quite often with students seeking out Japanese tourists in Waikiki to ask them questions in Japanese for practice.

After stopping for lunch in the park we continued onto the part of town we had dressed up and did tea at a few days ago. This area is famous for the Geisha Girls that study in the area. Geisha Girls, contrary to popular stereotypes, are very sophisticated and knowledgeable entertainers. They are almost like how royal families basically exist nowadays for high society, almost like something out of a movie. There is a formal apprenticeship that occurs before becoming a Geisha and it is extremely costly, not only in terms of dollars, but it is a lifelong commitment. It can be seen though as one of the first feminist movements as Geisha promotes self-sufficiency for women.

We finished the day at another famous spot: the Fushimi Inari Shrine. Marked by the path of over 5,000 orange gates (which of course are all sponsored by corporate entities) this shrine is dedicated to prosperity. What marks prosperity in Japan? Rice (insert eye rolling here). So the fox has rice balls in its mouth or will have a key which unlocks the cellar where you store rice and on and on it goes. Inari is the Shinto god of rice so it all checks out but I just can’t fathom the love for rice here. If we had more time, there is a really cool hike through this shrine and it’s orange gates that leads up a mountain. It takes several hours to complete but is supposedly gorgeous at the top.

As for things we learned on our ride today that I couldn’t fit in elsewhere, there are symbols for big and small in Japan. These are the symbols that have perplexed me on the toilets for 2 weeks now and it all makes sense: it is for when you need a small flush or a bigger flush!

Today we learned a little bit about why there are no trash cans. Apparently ~20 years ago a terrorist attack was carried out by putting bombs in trash cans which led to the country getting rid of a lot of trash cans for safety. After 9/11 happened, that was enough for them to justify almost completely eradicating trash cans from public life.

One thing I still haven’t had explained to me though is why nobody wears athletic gear or even shorts. It is almost like there is an agreed upon dress code here. Even business men look to be in uniform as all suits and dress shirts are essentially the exact same color.

One last thing that I’ll remember from the tour is our guide who was a French national living here because he knocked up his girlfriend 20 years ago who was from Kyoto and stayed to raise the kid. That’s unremarkable, what was amazing is that Japan consistently produces the best workers and highest productivity per capita of any country and yet he, like every other Parisian I’ve ever met, had some hot takes about how the French way is superior and other people are idiots. So he explained to us how his sons went to French schools in Kyoto because the Japanese don’t know how to school kids properly. I’ll never understand and I’ll certainly never agree with French smugness. It’s exhausting.

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