#AND. I FORGOT THIS ANGLE UNTIL JUST MOW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thisisthehardestthing · 5 years ago

Text

This Is The Hardest Thing - 2

CHAPTER 2

Synopsis: A exchange student from the US in enrolled into UA when her father has to move to help with the increased crime rates in Japan. The final year of high school is a lot to handle, adding on top the class of 3-A and the trouble they get into will make for a wild ride.

Author’s note: Switches to third person in the middle. I hope it’s not complicated lol. I have been reading this chapter over and over and over again trying to tweak it but I think this is the best I’m going to get it. After this chapter, the plot is going to get a jumpstart in a new direction.

Triggers: swearing

Word count: 3.4k

@whats-her-quirk , @aizawascumslut

CHAPTER 1 , MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 2 - BUTTERFLIES

Sun’s setting earlier, you mused. Different to what you were used to. The cool breeze of this morning was back. In a few days, it would officially be autumn. Your chest rose as you took a deep inhale. The scent of sweet grass lingered in the air as though it was recently mowed. There was a sigh of content that escaped your lips.

You walked to the dorms that you were to live in. Large doors loomed in front of you as you dragged your purple suitcase over the stoned walkway. The 3-A was hanging above the entrance painted in white on the red brick.

During the last class of the day, you were called to the reception to fill in some forms about the living arrangements, and received the key to your bedroom and front door. You recalled the amenities mentioned by the smiling receptionist; a full gym, kitchen, laundry and bath area’s. Your suitcase had also arrived, being couriered directly from the airport. You had only one that wasn’t even full, so it had felt like a waste to not have waited for it yourself.

As you stood in front of the large doors to the dorm house of Heights Alliance, the butterflies in your belly managed to start up again, wings fluttering and getting caught in your intestines. There you stood in front of the closed front door, not knowing what to expect on the other side. It almost felt as if you were supposed to knock before entering, even though you now lived there too. Your eyelids shut as you took a breath before gripping the handle with white knuckles.

The floor was wooden. A light birchwood that bent and bounced under your weight as you walked across it. Inside the large front room, the lights were bright and gave the room a warm glow. Some of your new classmates were sprawled in the lounge area, watching T.V. It was a collection of arms on the back of the chairs, legs thrown over the top of pillows. Mineta was sitting on the floor near the tv as an actress was jumping off a building, almost as if he could look up her skirt from his angle.

There were dishes clattering in the kitchen, it was carrying voices arguing about who is cooking and who is washing up. Kirishima wants barbecue meat, Momo wants a green salad with plently of fried sides to share. You heard them come to a decision of a mixture of both. Todoroki was standing in front of sink, filling up empty ice cube trays with water. It was as if the house was both the eye and the storm at once. They were working together in a neat chaos and you took it all in as you walked in.

The sounds of your footsteps and the bag wheeling behind you caught the girls’ attention and they all rushed to you. Mina and Uraraka gave you a welcoming hug. Your intestines unwound and you forgot why you were nervous in the first place.

“Finally! We were wondering if you were going to be living with us in the dorms or not!” Mina gestured, linking her arms with you like when you first met. She was extremely friendly and put you at ease with how natural it felt to talk to her.

“Yeah, I am. I had to go fill some stuff out before I got here.” You replied, smiling back at her.

“Awesome,” She said with a thumbs up, catching you off-guard because it was in English, and your smile widened. You pulled your arm out of hers and fumbled for your room key in your pocket.

“What room is 2-3?” You ask, showing the girls the yellow tag.

Mina, Tsuyu, Momo and Uraraka said they would accompany you up to your room.

“Do you mind if we help you unpack?” Uraraka asked, footsteps lightly padding on the floor as you made your way to the staircase, past the kitchen. “We want to get to know you! There are so many boy’s in our class, it’s nice to have another girl to talk to.” You heard a laugh that bordered on a bark.

“HA! As if she’s a girl.” Bakugo roared out, still bitter that you had the upper hand for a few seconds during the short fight. Kirishima grabbed him in a headlock, pulling him down low. Your eyebrows shot up as he was able to keep a firm hold on the neck, not faltering under the strength of Bakugo’s threats and tugs. He had a grey gym tank on that had wide armholes. The movement had shifted one so that half of a dark brown nipple was on display.

“Ignore him,” He flashed a toothy smile. “He just needs to get used to you. Kind of like a dog.” You gave Kirishima a small grin in return. Your eyes snapped back to Bakugo who had set off an explosion against Kiri’s side to free himself. The girls dragged you up the stairs as they rolled their eyes.

“See what we mean?” They all giggled.

Your bedroom was on the second floor, the third to the right of the split hallway. You unlocked the door. It swung open with ease, as if welcoming you home.

There was a simple bed with light grey covers folded neatly on the end. A dark wood desk and chair to do your work on, a set of drawers and a single closet, that already had some school uniforms hanging, courtesy of dad. The mini-fridge and microwave was snugly against a marble counter that had storage space both above and below it. There was an attached bathroom with a toilet and a sink. It was a bare room, which was fine because it meant you could decorate it throughout the year with things you come across.

Your bag fell heavily on your bed and Mina jumped on after it, giddy with excitement. Uraraka explained that they wanted to see what kind of clothes you wore in the USA.

“Well, I don’t want to disappoint you, but it’s pretty normal stuff.” You laughed. They were acting like you came from another planet. “I also don’t actually own a lot of things, so I’m sorry if it’s not up to your expectations.” The purple trolley bag was now unzipped and open. Tsuyu peered over your shoulder as everyone looked at the items. They watched as you hung up your clothes and they chatted animatedly among themselves, handing you some of the shirts and jeans.

It felt good to be talking to other girls your age. Ever since your mom left, it had been you and your dad. The people in your old school had started to shun you after a particularly bad incident with your quirk, which is why you didn’t want to bring it up for as long as possible. And the girls were fine to not talk about what it was, instead bringing up other topics. They’d seen how you’d danced around the questions about yourself from Midoriya’s examination during lunch. He’d been scribbling a notebook about your father but you had changed the topic as soon as he asked about you.

“Oh my!” Momo interrupted as she saw your underwear. It was a rather large collection of thongs, some lacey, most plain. Yet you only owned three bra’s in total. “So skimpy!” She lifted one up by the waist band and stretched it out gently, blushing red. You grabbed it from her, your own face and ears going pink, burning hot.

The girls fell down in their laughter. You quickly gathered it all up and stuffed it into a dresser, deciding to sort it out later.

“I like nice things” you shrugged, closing the drawer quickly.

“What else can we expect from the land of Victoria’s Secret?” Mina wiggled her eyebrows.

They soon left you to your own devices to sort out the rest of your room, welcoming you to UA as they closed the door.

It was 1 in the morning when you were finally ready to climb into bed, having just changed into your red night dress. Everything was meticulously packed away, and you were happy with the way the day turned out. Three framed photograph’s of your family sat atop the dresser. You were about 10, gap toothed smile on display with your parents staring lovingly at each other behind you. The other two were more recent pictures of you with each of your parents after their divorce.

But then your stomach rumbled and you moaned as you realized you had never eaten dinner. You raked your fingers through your thick hair, pulling it against your scalp. How could you have completely missed it? That’s also when you realized that you had not looked at your phone the entire day, and had no one’s numbers. Which was a shock. Your body was still not used to the time difference, so you convinced yourself to head downstairs since you wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

Maybe there are leftovers? You thought to yourself as you shrugged on a thin, white cotton bathrobe and padded quietly down the hall with your bare-feet to make your way to the kitchen. The nerves in your feet hummed in response as your quirk begged to be used.

*************************

Bakugo was definitely not expecting to see anyone. He’d went to the gym after dinner, training until late and was once again hungry. He’d just finished a shower, drops were dripping down his neck. Fingers combing through the blonde hair to fluff it back to its usual points as he made his way to the kitchen, stopping when he saw the light was already on.

Who else could be awake at this time? He thought to himself, eyebrows knitting together as the corners of his mouth turned down.

He really did not feel like talking to anyone and he was exhausted from the extra hours of exercise, so he had every plan of ignoring who else was in there until he saw her. The sight of Rei’s back to him made his blood boil, white-hot heat exploding in his body. It was a melting pot of hormonal lust, embarrassment and knowing there was an unfinished fight. It was made worse by the red nightdress hanging on her body. It dipped into a slight V, showing half of her back. She was fit and muscular, it was obviously the kind of body only achieved by intense training. He found her insanely attractive, which pissed himself off even more. He was 100% focused on being the top hero when graduating at the end of the year. He did not have time for feelings. Especially when it was only normal hormonal lust. So he redirected the anger onto other things: the punching bag in the gym, the sponge he scrubbed himself with and at Rei.

He watched in the shadows as she opened the fridge, bending forward slightly to scan the contents. Her short nightdress rode up, dangerously close to the fold of her ass and he felt his hands begin to sweat. His frown deepened. It felt stifling hot in the dark common area and if he wasn’t already shirtless, he would’ve been pulling at the neck to try and get some air. She straightened up, not finding anything that would satisfy the midnight cravings, and her dress dropped again to a somewhat respectable length.

What an idiot. Dressing like this in a common area. He thought to himself, then he saw the bathrobe on the table that had been taken off when she thought no one was going to be there. He wondered if she was as warm as he in that moment.

He heard a huff and she put one hand on her hip, the contours of her shoulders muscled reflecting in the warm glow of the kitchen and moved the hair that was over her shoulder to the back, thick strands covering smooth skin. It bounced with the movement, natural highlights glinting from the hours she would spend in the sun. It was almost mocking Bakugo for staring so intently.

He watched as she moved to inspect the cupboards and scowled when his designated doors in the corner were opened. Rei’s hands lifted up above her head as she reached for a cookie tin that was just out of reach, her dress lifting up one again. Part of him wished for it ride a little higher, the other part of him wished she would crawl back to the hole she’d come from. It was his cookies that he saved for whenever he wanted a treat. There was no way he was letting her take some. They were his.

*******************

The cookie tin kept shifting away from your fingertips as you made a grab for it, pushing it back a little further each time. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth as you stretched up onto your toes. You huffed as it scooted all the way back and you dropped back down onto your heels. Someone tall must be their owner to store it up so high, or someone wanting to keep it hidden. Your stomach grumbled again, egging you on for the sweet snack.

Fine. You grumbled, stretching your arm out, hand open. To an outsider, it seemed as if an invisible string was connected to the tin, dragging it from the shelf as it flew into your hand. But what you felt on the inside was pure bliss. It was the first time you used your quirk, in weeks. You loved the rush of endorphins it gave you to have control over the object and you smiled. The cool metal of the tin vibrated against your palms, double chocolate chip goodness gripped firmly.

“Oi, new girl!” A gruff voice cut through the silence of the kitchen and you froze, painfully aware that you were naked underneath the dress. Pivoting on your heels, you saw Bakugo standing across from you, leaning against the counter top with his arms crossed across his bare chest. His biceps and shoulders bulged, nostrils flared.

How long has he been standing there? You wondered. Usually nothing could sneak past you, especially when your feet could feel the vibrations of everything.

Then you realised he saw you. It was nothing impressive, just moving a small object to you, but it wouldn’t be long until the rush of power it gave you would call out to be used again.

“Is that your quirk?” He sneered, with an eyebrow raised, “controlling cookie tins? That’s so shitty.”

You frowned. It was anything but that, but you learnt your lesson a few months ago when people challenged you and it went horribly wrong, and so you bit your tongue.

“Whatever, I’m not trying to impress anyone.” You retort back, opening the lid. You saw his eyes dart to the cookie tin, pupils narrowing.

“I don’t think you can impress anyone even if you tried.” He snapped, his hands dropping to the counter behind him as he leaned back. The pose was relaxed, inviting you to prove him wrong.

“Oh yeah?” you challenged, slamming the tin on the countertop, taking a few steps forward. If he wanted to fight, you wouldn’t back down. You were now a meter away from him, and you puffed your chest up to show that you weren’t going to take any of his shit.

“Yeah, dumbass. You fight like a girl, can’t even punch right.” You had to look up to him. Even though you were tall, he was still a few centimeters above you. His eyes glanced down at your chest before glaring at your eyes again. It was so fast that if you weren’t paying attention, you most probably would’ve missed it. The purple bruise on your sternum that he gave you was bright against the skin of your chest, perfectly in between the sun and moon tattoos underneath both your collarbones. His eyes glinted wickedly.

Your body moved before you knew what you were doing. You stuck right your hand out diagonally, a few centimeters away from touching him. He didn’t flinch, eyes traveling to look at your outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow.

“What’re you going to do? Throw the cookie tin at me? Hah.” He barked, laughing at his own joke.

You held your tongue and just dragged your hand horizontally through the air. Your toes pressed into the floor, feeling for the vibration you wanted. His eyes followed your hand and before he knew what was going on, the cupboard door behind him opened and smacked into the side of his head. He grunted and you turned on your heel, walking back across the kitchen. You were no longer hungry, angry at a man that taunted like a child.

“What the fuck!” Bakugo shouted, his voice echoing in the empty space.

“What are you going to do? Swear at me?” You spat back his own ‘insult’. Your comeback felt sour on your tongue. It wasn’t any good, but you were pissed off and anything you said seemed to make him angrier, which was fine with you. “I was going easy on you during training today.”

His nostrils seemed to flare at that last sentence. The palms of his hands began to steam and spark. There was nothing he hated more than people not giving their all when fighting, people thinking they had to hold themselves back when fighting him.

“YOU WERE WHAT!?” He bellowed, his fists clenched. “I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS BACK TO AMERICA!”

If you weren’t already used to intimidating men in New York, you probably would’ve flinched at his shouting, but instead you squared your shoulders and started walking back towards him, your own fist closing. You both pulled back to launch punches at the same time. Then, the air got freezing cold and Bakugo’s fists came crashing down as two thick balls of ice wrapped around them. If he weren’t as strong as he was, he would’ve fallen to the floor. Instead, they dropped to his sides, making his shoulder droop down with the weight. A look of complete shock came across both of your faces and your heads snapped to look at the source.

Shouto Todoroki was standing behind the dining room table, looking extremely pissed off in his beige pyjama set. His half-white, half-red hair messy and shadowing his eyes.

“Can you guys please just shut up and go to bed. You’ve woken up the entire building.” He said, voice dripping with contempt. A slew of curse words erupted from Bakugo’s mouth as he lifted up the ice to bang them against each other, trying to crack them open.

You felt your nipples harden in the now cold room and grumbled, once more aware of just how bare you were. You grabbed your dressing gown that was on the dining table. Wrapping it around yourself as you walked back to the cookie tin to put it away. Bakugo seemed to ignore what Todoroki said, instead calling out to taunt you again. There was no way he was going to let this go.

“What, don’t want to eat the cookies anymore? Fine with me, you were pretty fucking heavy.”

You froze. Through the vibrations, you felt Bakugo adjust his weight to lean back, pleased that it granted a response from you. With the cookie jar away, you strode back up to face him for the final time that night. Shouto tensed up, ready to interject once more. It was a low blow, Bakugo knew it too but his chin was raised indignantly.

You said nothing as you stood in front of him. Your eyes searching one another for a hint that either one of you would back down. The balls of ice were already melting and forming puddles by his feet, the cold water spreading to tickling your toes, so you twisted them out. The cupboard door that you had opened next to his head slammed shut. The loud noise echoed in the kitchen and you turned away from the irritating man.

“Sorry, Todoroki. Good night.” You nodded to him and walked back to the stairs, fuming with anger. You could just hear Todoroki mumble about the time to Bakugo and a scoff in reply, but you couldn’t care enough to pay attention anymore, his insult replaying over and over in your mind.

****************

Thanks so much for reading Chapter 2! <3 Hope you liked it.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha x oc #fanfic #TITHT #chapter 2 #swearing tw #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #mha #writing #mine #this is the hardest thing

74 notes · View notes

takeiteasypeasybaby · 4 years ago

Text

Save Me: Chapter 61 - A Foiled Plan

~Hey guys! I hope everyone is doing well under the current circumstances :) I hope everyone enjoys this chapter and as always have a good week!~

Michonne and Negan decide what is best for Molly, on the basis of their own good intentions. But, will Molly be able to respect their wishes or will vengeance get the best of her?

The following morning...

I awoke early, having not really slept well last night because my mind was buzzing with thoughts of killing that woman.

I know that Negan didn't want me going out there by myself, but regardless of the outcome, I had to do this for Tara and for me.

I tiptoed past Lydia's room and down the stairs where I picked up my jacket and my weapons.

The snow was clearing now and I couldn't wait any longer, I had only promised to wait until the end of the storm, which I did.

Hardly anyone was about so I managed to walk to the front gate unnoticed.

Just as I creaked the gate open, Michonne stood behind me and said warningly 'don't try it Molly'.

I sighed, saying sternly 'I have to do this, you have to let me do this. If it was Rick, you wouldn't stop'.

She contemplated my plea, but still insisted.

'I'm not gonna let you go out there' she said pulling out her walkie talkie.

'I want all eyes on Molly, under no circumstances can she leave the compound. George and Sam, I need you two to guard Molly' she spoke into it.

I scowled, saying 'you can't be serious'.

'I'm deadly serious, you're not well Molly' she said pleadingly.

'Who said that?!' I asked furiously.

'You're acting rashly' she continued.

But I wouldn't let up, 'who said that?' I asked again.

'Who?!' I added, getting increasingly frustrated with her silence.

'Does it matter?' she asked as George and Sam started to walk towards us.

I looked at them and begged again, 'it matters, tell me'.

'Negan, he came to me and said you weren't ready' she said sternly.

I just looked at her in shock.

'He wouldn't' I said angrily.

'You know that he would Molly, if he thought it would protect you' she said calmly.

I stormed off as Michonne pointed to the two guards to follow me.

I barged past them both, almost knocking them to the ground as I marched down to Negan' cell.

'What the hell?!' I screamed at him.

He sighed, saying 'so Michonne spilled the beans...'.

'How could you do this to me?! After everything I said yesterday, did that mean nothing to you?!' I yelled.

He stood up and said sternly, 'it means everything to me, you mean everything to me so I'm not sorry that I didn't want you going back out there when your judgement is blinded'.

I paced around the room angrily and yelled, 'that's what you think?! That my 'judgement' is blinded?!'.

'Yeah I do! I know exactly what you want to do, you wanna go out there guns a blazin' by yourself and take her down and you don't care if you die in the process! You can hate me all you want for this, but if it's what keeps you safe and alive, then screw it' he yelled back.

'It wasn't your decision to make' I said sadly.

'Well I made it. Look, I want you to kill her, but you have to be 100% because if not, you will be putting yourself and everyone else at risk. What happens if something goes wrong? She could kill you and then come here and kill everyone you love. You are strong as shit Molly, but you have to be all in, you can't be dealing with grief when you do it' he said sternly, but like he was more afraid for me than angry.

'I don't think that's the whole truth' I stated angrily.

'What do you mean?' he asked as I got closer to the bars.

'I think you're sabotaging us, you're backing out. Looks like you're saving your own ass by going to Michonne. Was that you trying to get in her good graces?' I said harshly.

'That's not fair' he replied.

'Oh isn't it?! Literally hours after we kiss in front of everyone, you give Michonne intel. You can't say that that was all about me' I said sadly.

'You really think I'd do that?' he asked with hurt in his voice.

'You could've gone to anyone else, you could've asked me! But, instead, you make me feel like some sort of mental patient trying to break out of an asylum! I have burnt all of my bridges for you, over and over again fully knowing that the people I love will hate me for it, why haven't you?' I asked as I walked out of his cell.

When I left the cell, dumb and dumber followed me back to my house and stood outside the front door, effectively caging me in my own home.

I needed to do something in our fight against the whisperers and this morning Michonne seemed like she was hiding something from me.

I rifled through my bag and boxes until I found an old walkie talkie.

I audibly shouted 'yes!' as I tuned it to the Alexandria radio, to listen in on the latest intel.

It took a while but soon enough Luke connected the line and said that a hoard was heading towards Hilltop and that it was probably the whisperers.

I had seen that hoard and connecting the pieces it all made sense, she wanted to hit me where it hurt, my former community.

I packed a bag and chucked it out of the window which faced the fence.

I knew no 'eyes' would be watching me from that angle, so I hopped out the window and jumped down to the ground.

I winced as I felt my legs shudder, but there were no sprains or broken bones so I was all good.

I knew that climbing the fence would clang and rattle, alerting my guards so I brought a shovel and dug a hole straight under, filling it mostly back up so that walkers couldn't get in.

I sprinted for the woods and was undetected as I ran towards Hilltop.

I knew it would take several hours on foot so I kept running as fast as I could until I came across any abandoned vehicles.

Most of them had no gas and were practically falling apart but a miracle must have befallen me when I came across an untouched motorbike.

I whispered, 'yes!' to myself as I hot-wired the engine and it had enough gas to get me to Hilltop.

As soon as I got there, the gates opened as Luke welcomed me frantically and said 'boy am I happy to see you! But I thought that Michonne said-'.

I stopped him and said, 'that doesn't matter now, we need to get ready'.

He nodded seriously as we both briefed everyone on the plan.

I knew that Michonne and Judith would be here somewhere so I did my best to hide in the shadows until I saw the whisperers.

A few of our snipers fought some off, but they increasingly started to surround our defences.

Many stabbed at them with long pikes from the watchtowers and others simply shot them dead.

I made my way to the front gate when I saw Michonne and Judith battling off walkers outside the walls.

'Shit' I said as she saw me.

'What the shit?!' she yelled as she kept on fighting.

'Can't stop me Michonne' I shouted as I ran off in the opposite direction and slipped through the back gates.

I sliced down walkers that came after me and shot a few whisperers.

The only advantage was that they didn't have guns, only knives.

I was starting to get swamped by them when a shadowed figure mowed them down with an assault rifle.

When the smoke cleared, I looked up at the watchtower to see Lydia.

'Lydia?!' I shouted.

'Molly?! Doesn't matter, I can cover you' she said enthusiastically, clearly ignoring the part where she forgot to tell me about her going to Hilltop.

I looked at her sternly but nodded, thanking her for helping me out.

Amidst all the chaos of dropping bodies all around me, I saw her.

The woman who murdered my sister was standing away from it all.

My eyes locked onto her and I sprinted towards her, not caring about the whisperers near me.

The woman smiled sinisterly as she saw me running after her and started to run into the forest.

I grunted and paced after her, when suddenly, like in slow motion, I saw Daryl and Connie going after a tall whisperer.

He looked like her right hand man.

I hesitated and shot a couple whisperers chasing me and then changed my course of direction and headed to help Daryl.

As much as I wanted to kill that woman, I needed to prove that my judgement wasn't clouded.

I sprinted after Daryl and Connie as they chased the tall man.

I shot at him, but he managed to weave in and out of the trees, avoiding each bullet.

'Son of a bitch' I said as a whisperer came out of nowhere and tackled me to the ground.

Connie stopped and was about to help me when I told her 'Daryl'.

I struggled with the masked man as he tried to strangle me but using the barrel of the gun, I whacked him across the side of his face, sending him toppling off me as I drove my dagger into his skull.

Then a dozen whisperers came after me and then Connie after I caught up to her, we were encircled and unable to go after Daryl.

It took a while, but standing back to back, Connie and I managed to take them all out.

We took a deep breath as I said 'okay let's go' just as Daryl came running back towards us.

We both looked at each other in confusion, as Daryl said breathlessly, with his daggers covered in blood 'that son of a bitch is dead'.

I nodded and smiled, saying 'yeah, we did some damage here too' as I high fived Connie.

Daryl smiled slightly and said 'c'mon let's get the fuck outta here'.

I chuckled, saying 'don't have to ask me twice'.

I thought I would feel angry or at least upset that I didn't go after their leader, but killing some of them was enough and knowing that Daryl had taken out her second in command, made it all the more sweeter.

Negan was wrong, I was ready.

But, I was also wrong, whether he thought I was ready or not, he had lost me all those years ago and he just didn't want to lose me again.

I knew that now.

The only guilt that wracked my brain was what I said to him before I left.

Fuck I could be a bitch sometimes...

#negan #twd #the walking dead #mollychambler #saveme #negan x original female character #negans thirst squad #the walking dead negan #michonne #daryl #saviour #lydia twd

2 notes · View notes

trilliontreesinitiative · 5 years ago

Text

THE TRILLION TREES INITIATIVE

It was really all my fault. Stars in my eyes, I haphazardly met strangers from the internet in more-or-less public places and pled my case, just to be brushed off over and over again. Months of pounding the keyboard, and trying to find people to help me, I gave up and decided if it needed doing, I could at least give it a game try.

I posted my plea to every corner of the internet, every newsgroup I could find, every fledgling website. This was back before there were pictures on the internet. I was a true believer then and was sure that if I found the right people, somehow we'd find a way to plant a trillion trees on our planet.

Spare change went to seedlings that I nurtured through frigid winters and increasingly hot summers. I surreptitiously planted them - a spade in one pocket and a sapling or ten in another, all wrapped in a damp rag ready for a moment no one seemed to be watching--I could add a sapling to a border of trees along the waters' edge, or in a little clearing of national forest.

Time passed, kids came, and overwhelmed by the responsibilities I'd willingly accepted without any real sense of the gravity of my commitment to the humans I'd made, I let my zealous mission drift off like my trapeze artist dreams from thirty years earlier. My kids were smarter than me, and kept me busy ferrying them back and forth with their extracurricular activities. I felt like an unpaid lab assistant for their science fair projects, but I knew that sacrifice was part of parenthood and I tucked my passions behind a mask of nurturing officiousness.

I truly forgot about the pleas I'd broadcast so carelessly. The internet was a wild place in the late twentieth century, and twenty years after my last screams into the abyss came the most unexpected answer, delivered simultaneously to my old and new email account and sent as a text.

WE CAN HELP WITH THE TREES.

It looked like it came from my own email address, my own cell number, and it was only addressed to me.

I almost swiped away the messages, but ... but what was I rejecting? My old mission? I still knew we needed trees to help counter our own environmental carelessness. What if my shouts into the void reached someone who could actually help?

I wrote and discarded responses, one after another. Finally, I replied with "I'm open to suggestions," and watched as my own words buzzed my telephone and felt foolish and a little more cynical as nothing happened. What was I expecting? Hackers to show up with bushels of acorns?

__________________________________

It wasn't hackers, it was a strangely bland man who rang my doorbell the next morning right after I'd hugged my kids and seen the bus shuttle them to school. Since I was still wearing pants, I answered the door.

"Sorry, we're renters" has been my greeting to anyone at my door for the last decade. It’s not actually true, even -- we bought our rented house before the kids were born, but it usually cuts off any sales pitch and lets any visitor trundle off to a more likely mark. I wasn't even really thinking about the weird message of the night before--my chore list was mighty and overwhelming and if I wanted to live in a clean house, I needed to make it happen--but the bland man took a breath before I closed the door in his face.

"THE TREES"

I don't know how it sounded like thousands of voices, all at once, at a conversationally comfortable volume, but I got a sense of foreignness, of something far beyond my understanding, happening right at my front door.

My chores didn't seem to be much of a priority anymore. I felt no danger from the stranger, just overwhelming urgency to do as he wished. My desire to invite the stranger to sit at my dining room table and listen was my only priority. I led the way to the table and offered some coffee to my guest.

"NO, THANK YOU" the myriad voices replied, sitting across the table from my spot. He just looked like a guy in his late twenties or early thirties. He could be my pizza delivery dude, or the guy who managed the movie theater, or a shoe salesman. Sandy brown hair was cut and combed neatly. He seemed to be in reasonable shape, with rested placid eyes and a neutral expression on his slightly ruddy face. He seemed both comfortably solid and like he was vibrating almost too fast for me to tell.

"HERE'S OUR OFFER" echoed (maybe only in my head? Maybe I'm actually going crazy. This is the weirdest interaction I've ever had with a sapient creature. I'm pretty sure that guy was not a pizza deliverer or salesman, he was something, maybe many things, different.)

The paper felt high-quality -- thick and smooth, but the letters were iridescent, black at first glance, but racing oil-slick colors at any angle. My eyes couldn't focus on it at first. Did this guy drug me? Why did I let him in my house? He was probably a serial killer. Or a mass murderer? All those voices all at once? This was insane.

"PLEASE READ IT"

I obediently looked down at the words.

"WE, THE UNDERSIGNED, WISH TO SAVE YOUR PLANET WITH YOU"

I looked up at the bland man and tried to explain my insignificance "I like where you're going with this, but I'm just one person. I'm not in charge of anything really, including my own children. I can't even keep my houseplants alive." I pointed at browning foliage in my house, a spider plant that was purportedly unkillable until my indefatigable inability to keep track of my own commitments caught up and dried out.

"WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WHO YOU CAN BE. KEEP READING."

The words seemed to swim and reform as I looked down again.

"WE WILL BUY VAST TRACTS OF LAND AROUND YOUR PLANET. WE WILL PLANT YOUR TRILLION TREES. YOU JUST MUST AGREE."

I felt completely inadequate. I was in no way qualified to agree to this. I'm a suburban mom, not a diplomat or foreign dignitary. I recycle and try to avoid single-use plastics, but I'm not even sure that I'm doing that right. What if I was agreeing to an alien invasion? My authority is limited to two small humans who were at least half jerk, and that's not counting their father's influence.

More words scrambled across the page. "WE WISH NO HARM TO YOU. WE JUST WISH TO MAKE YOUR PLANET MORE HABITABLE, BOTH FOR US AND YOU."

Ah, there's the catch. Who the hell are they? Do I want to cohabitate with another species? What if they're like kudzu -- invasive and impossible to remove?

The page seemed to shimmer as the letters reformed: "WE WILL ONLY GROW TREES THAT CAN THRIVE WITHOUT DAMAGING OTHER SPECIES."

"But why me?"

"YOU ARE THE DREAMER"

"Even if I didn't want you to do this, there's no way I could stop you, so...sure! Go for it."

A pen rolled across my table and stopped, pointing at a big black X at the bottom of the page.

"SIGN AT THE X"

I looked over the page again. No legalese had suddenly appeared. The words were the same, The pen felt heavy and I knew I was doing something irrevocable but I couldn't seem to stop. I used my best handwriting and signed my name, which of course you all know by now.

The bland man inclined his head and took the paper at once, tucking it into an inside pocket of his tan corduroy jacket.

“THAT SHOULD DO IT,” his voice buzzed more as he stood, and moved to the door.

I felt bemused and a little like I’d signed something expensive away without fully understanding the value as I locked the door behind the stranger. Maybe I was seeing things. Maybe none of it happened.

__________________________________

The first sign that I hadn’t suffered a psychotic break -- to be honest, I was a little surprised it wasn’t, I’d always felt precariously balanced on the edge of sanity and figured this was the final separation of my tenuous grasp on reality -- the first sign was a few days later, when I finished matching another dozen socks, rolling them together, and throwing them in my older child’s underwear drawer. Her room was a pigsty, but we’d come to an agreement that her worktable was her problem and that no food was consumed in her room, so it was relatively hygienic. I looked out the window and saw that the empty lot next to my house no longer had a sign advertising a local Realtor and something was happening.

I slid my feet into flip-flops and walked to my mailbox and saw the bland man riding a giant lawnmower, cutting the native brush to nearly barren dirt. I flipped through three credit card offers I planned to dump straight into the recycling and leafed through the grocery circular and noted that pork chops were a few dollars cheaper per pound, so McRibs would be coming back soon.

The silliest things played through my head as I watched him clear the land, as a flock of quail (I have Opinions About Quail, mostly that they’re only saved from extinction by reproducing so much, because they seem to have a death wish near motorized vehicles) ran on foot just ahead of the mower.

I waved at the man, since we were acquainted. Sort of. I didn’t know his name, and I’d never even thought to ask. Why didn’t I ask? I’d signed a contract that I didn’t truly understand and I didn’t even know his name. I patiently waited for him to mow back toward my property line, the forgotten junk mail between my arm and chest.

He shimmered a little as he hopped off the mower and moved towards me.

“WE MUST PREPARE THE LAND.”

I nodded, like I knew his plan all along and was magnanimously supervising him. I offered him a bottle of water, or the use of my toilet, if he needed it.

“WE HAVE WHAT WE NEED.”

Why was he speaking in the plural? It hadn’t seemed odd until just then. My sense of incongruity and that something was Just Not Right began to ramp up. I waved at them and walked back to my bungalow. I popped online to see what was happening in the world and saw the bigger picture, easily seen by less self-absorbed human beings.

Every single vacant lot in the world was being mowed flat by a bland looking man, who was identical in feature to every other bland-looking man mowing a vacant lot. Too weird. Reporters tried to talk to the men, but they placidly mowed each lot, one after another. Where did all of the mowers come from? There were no brand markers on the machines. As soon as the lots were cleared, furrows were plowed. The bland men moved implacably, good neighbors every one, and stopped the racket of agricultural busywork well before dinnertime. They started the next day after sunrise.

The story got bigger as the days passed. It was on the front page of newspapers, and everyone seemed to have a hot take on what was really going on. Aliens? Nah, they looked too normal. Clones? How could millions of clones make it to adulthood without someone catching on? As far as I could tell, I was the only one who’d successfully spoken to any of these….people, if that’s what they were. I thought I might be able to tell someone about my weird experience, but I was also positive that no one would believe me. I told my husband the strange tale and he laughed at my creativity and rubbed my back as I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I drove the kids to school and went to the public library. I used it frequently for escapist fiction, mostly about young women in the early 19th century trying to snag a spouse. I went straight to the reference desk.

“Do you know what’s going on with these guys mowing and plowing everywhere?”

The librarian grimaced, “You’re number six to ask today. We have no idea.”

I returned a stack of Regencies into the slot next to the desk, and walked back to my car without grabbing any new trashy fiction. I drove home pensively, worried that I had fucked up something big.

Safe in my garage, I felt my anxiety rise, and I tried to breathe slowly and smoothly and reason my way through this mystery. I agreed to let someone plant the trees that I knew we needed. We clearly weren’t taking care of our planet and someone else was stepping in for us. Did it really matter that I didn’t understand their reasoning or motivations? I’d been begging the world for so long, and someone finally listened. Panic attack averted, I stepped into my kitchen and rinsed the breakfast dishes before loading the dishwasher.

__________________________________

I looked out of my kitchen window and saw a wall of trees in the formerly vacant lot. Not seedlings, fully grown and mature trees. I flipped on the news, and it was the same everywhere. The trees were in. The space station reported that there were just new trees everywhere, they hadn’t been uprooted from forests, they just suddenly existed. Every tree fit perfectly in its microclimate, and fruit and nut trees were included in each single-lot forest, freely available for hungry mouths.

I ran outside and looked for the man. He was standing with his hands on his lower back, looking up. Fruit trees were in full bloom. Conifers looked like they’d been growing there since time began. I stood next to the man. I didn’t even know what words I could use to express my gratitude, my discomfort, my fear.

“WE ARE DONE, MS. APPLESEED” he buzzed, and suddenly became a cloud of bees. The cloud, the machinery, the man all dispersed. The signed paper fell to the newly turned earth. The trees stayed where they were.

A lot of people had been watching the planters. A lot of people saw the planters become clouds of bees. A lot of people grabbed one of the billion copies of my signed contract, and everyone saw my name, clear as day. “Terra Appleseed, Mother of Trees”, the headlines called me.

My number was unlisted, but my phone didn’t stop ringing for weeks. I didn’t have any of the answers that the reporters wanted. I was just a dreamer, I told them. I don’t know why the bees listened to me.

The scientists had the most to say, of course. Carbon dioxide was down, oxygen was up. Glaciers stopped melting, and while I was trying to sound like a functional adult, refusing any interview requests, my older daughter figured out how to make cold fusion work.

She’d built a variation of a Farnsworth Fusor that fused two atoms of hydrogen into one of helium at room temperature, and suddenly eliminated the need for fossil fuel combustion. With a ready-built platform, we freely gave away her discovery to anyone who’d listen. At first, people thought I’d somehow organized the tree thing to sell my daughter’s invention, but I knew we’d get by fine without charging a dime. The truth was more mysterious and unexplainable, but we, as a species, weren’t going to get ourselves in such a fix again -- we didn’t need to. We just needed the bees to start us off, and my daughter to finish our addiction to combustion.

People started planting their own trees, too, but nothing made them grow forty feet in a day. The bees kept that secret. I was much too boring to stay in the spotlight for long, and I returned to my diet of trashy novels and quiet longing for that feeling of secret importance that had filled the days of planting, the wonder at this enormous leap towards peace and understanding that seemed to fall into my lap.

It was enough. My obituary decades later would focus on the mystery of the trees, the dream I tried to spread, and the unexpected way it came true.

The trillion trees initiative worked. We reached for the stars, comfortable that our home planet was safe. We found life everywhere we looked. As far as I know, no one ever spoke to the bees again.

28 notes · View notes

arysafics · 6 years ago

Text

this is really gonna mess her up

Summary: Bellamy has been married to Roma for seven years, but he can't stop thinking about Clarke, the student teacher taking his class.

Rated E, ~5,100 words

for @youleftme-clarke

Clarke already has the class of fourth graders sitting quietly at their desks by the time the bell goes at the end of the day, packed up and ready to go. Bellamy can’t help but admire her aptitude for the profession. She’s the perfect amount of kind but firm with the students, and where other student teachers he’s had have let the kids walk all over them, or had to resort to screaming to get the ten-year-olds to listen, Clarke has them eating out of the palm of her hand. She has him eating out of the palm of her hand. He finds himself just as mesmerised as the kids while she’s teaching. She’s a natural. It’s been the easiest three weeks of Bellamy’s career.

Unfortunately, Clarke’s teaching skills are not the only thing he admires about her. He’s barely paid attention to her actual lesson for the last hour, instead focusing on the way her form fitting sweater accentuates the swell of her breasts. He searches for a panty line through her tight skirt every time she bends over to help a student, and wonders whether not finding one means she’s wearing a thong or nothing at all.

He feels a little guilty for thinking about it at all, but he’s spent the better part of three weeks trying to ignore his attraction to her with little to no success. But he figures as long as Clarke doesn’t know, and Roma doesn’t know, he’s not hurting anyone. The ring on his left hand doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to look.

His class doesn’t even spare him a second glance as they chorus their goodbyes to Miss Griffin and stampede out of the classroom. It’s going to be a tough transition next week when Clarke has gone back to university.

Bellamy stands, the desk creaking under him as his weight shifts, and makes his way to the front of the classroom, where Clarke stands waiting for him. She glances at the notebook in his hand, grimacing.

“Okay, give it to me,” she says, bracing herself for his notes. Bellamy shows her the blank page. His notes for improvement have been steadily decreasing over the past three weeks, and he honestly has nothing else to teach her. Plus, the whole, fantasising about what she looks like naked instead of actually paying attention.

Clarke grins. “You’re just being nice.”

“You know that’s not true, Clarke. You’re already a better teacher than I’ve ever been or ever will be.”

Clarke ducks her head, flushing. It’s cute. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear that’s fallen out of her messy bun, and it immediately falls into her face again. Unthinking, Bellamy reaches out and brushes it back. Clarke meets his eyes, swallowing. Bellamy quickly withdraws, clearing his throat. “Should we go over the lesson plan for tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Clarke says, flicking open her neatly organised display folder. It probably doesn’t need going over, she’s got this down pat by now, but it’s a necessary distraction.

He sits down at the desk and pulls Clarke’s lesson plan out, and Clarke leans over his shoulder. He can feel her warm breath against his neck, and the scent of her flowery perfume fills his nostrils. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, willing himself to concentrate on the page in front of him. He quickly scans over it, suddenly desperate to be away from her.

“Looks good,” he tells her, slipping the page back into its sleeve. Truthfully, he would have let her get away with the entire day being just one big party tomorrow, seeing as it’s her last day, but the closest she’s come is dedicating the whole afternoon to arts and crafts. Technically the art stuff is supposed to be left to the specialty art teacher, but Clarke loves it, and is good at it, and it seems like a good send off.

“Great,” Clarke says. Bellamy closes the folder and hands it to her as he stands up. “Do we have any meetings or anything this afternoon?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No, you can go if you like.”

“Oh. Um…” Clarke glances down, and she’s fiddling with the corner of the folder nervously. “I thought… never mind.”

“Clarke?” Bellamy says, tilting his head. She’s never been shy about asking questions, giving suggestions, or voicing her opinion before. Bellamy can’t quite figure out why she’s so tongue-tied all of a sudden.

“It’s just, yesterday you said you would give me a ride. But it’s fine if you can’t,” she adds hurriedly.

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry.” He’d only found out yesterday that Clarke has been taking the bus to school every day, and without thinking, had offered to drive her home. It’s not that he regrets that offer now, but he does wonder what being alone in a car with her for twenty minutes will do to both his sanity and his libido.

“It’s okay!” Clarke says. “I can take the bus.”

“No, no,” Bellamy says. “I can drive you. It’s fine. Just let me pack up and then we can go.”

Twenty minutes later, Clarke slides into his passenger seat, and he averts his eyes as her skirt rides up her thighs. It’s a modest skirt, by anyone’s standards, but Bellamy’s mind still finds its way to the gutter.

Clarke pulls the door closed and Bellamy starts the car.

“Looking forward to your placement ending?” Bellamy asks. School, a safe topic. Clarke being in his car is doing weird things to him. There’s something so intimate about being alone in a car with someone. Or perhaps it’s because he’s jerked off to the thought of her while sitting in this very seat, parked in his garage, while his wife is inside, none the wiser.

“No, not at all,” Clarke sighs. “These past three weeks have been so fun. I honestly can’t wait until I graduate and can finally have a class of my own.”

“I mean, my class likes you much better than they like me. Maybe you should just stay,” Bellamy smiles.

“If only. And by the way, those kids love you. They only like me because I’m a novelty.”

Bellamy glances at her. “You’re kidding right? You’re so good with them. You wouldn’t believe the number of teachers who are terrible with children.”

Clarke chuckles. “No, I think I would.” She shrugs. “I’ve just always liked kids. I can’t wait to be a mom. You know, once I’ve got a job and a house and someone to have kids with.”

“That does sound nice,” Bellamy muses.

“Well, you’ve got all three of those things, right?” Clarke laughs. “So what’s stopping you?”

Bellamy hesitates. He knows she’s joking, but her words strike a nerve. Clarke seems to notice this, and hurries to cover up her mistake.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she says. “None of my business.”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says. “Roma doesn’t want kids. I knew that when I married her, and I thought I was okay with it,” he shrugs. “I am okay with it,” he corrects, though it’s a lie. But he shouldn’t be telling the twenty-one-year-old he has a crush on about his marital problems.

“Of course,” Clarke says quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put my foot in it.”

“It’s really okay,” Bellamy says, grinning to show her he��s not offended. But it’s probably best if they change the subject. “You want to put a CD on?”

“A CD?” Clarke says, teasing. “God, how old are you Bellamy? I didn’t even know they still made CDs.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I know.”

“They’re in the glovebox.”

Clarke drops the glovebox open and pulls out the stack of CDs. She flips through them, reading the artists out loud, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Elton John? ABBA? Johnny Cash? Beyoncé, but it’s not even one of her new ones. Oh my god, the Twilight soundtrack.”

“That one’s my sister’s.”

“Sure it is. You have a weird taste in music.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you know any new music?”

“Sing something and I’ll tell you if I know it.”

“I can’t sing.”

“I bet you can,” Bellamy says, trying not to smile too much. He shouldn’t be flirting with her, probably. Is that over the line, or is he still toeing it? It’s harmless, right?

“Let’s just listen to ABBA.” She says it like it’s a hardship, but she sings along to every song.

“You can sing,” Bellamy accuses. Clarke just screws her nose up at him.

They pull up at the front of Clarke’s house, a rundown looking place she’s renting with a friend.

“When was the last time you mowed your lawn?” Bellamy asks, peering over the front fence through the windscreen.

“You’re not allowed to judge,” Clarke says. “Unless you’re going to come and mow it for me.”

“Nice try,” Bellamy grins.

Clarke shrugs. “Worth a shot,” she says. Her smile is cheeky, and Bellamy wants to kiss it off her face. She has the most infectious, beautiful smile he’s ever seen. And thoughts like that are very dangerous, and very stupid.

“I should get going,” he hints.

“Right, sorry,” Clarke says, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for driving me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She opens the car door.

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot,” Bellamy says. “A few of us are going out for drinks tomorrow after work if you’re interested. It’s your last day after all. Monty wanted me to ask you.”

“Yeah, okay, sounds good,” Clarke beams. Bellamy’s heart misses a beat. Clarke waves him goodbye and doesn’t look back as she walks to her front door and lets herself inside. Bellamy takes a deep breath and grips the steering wheel with shaking hands. The gold band around his finger glints back at him. He starts the car and drives home.

Bellamy knows he got married for all the wrong reasons. He got married because that’s what people do. Because he’d been with Roma for two years, and he didn’t want to break up with her, but he knew she was angling for a proposal and it would be over if he didn’t marry her soon.

He always knew she didn’t want kids, and at twenty-three that kind of thing didn’t matter to him. And now, seven years later, it does matter to him, but he doesn’t feel like there’s much he can do about it. Is he really going to divorce his wife just because he changed his mind? That’s not fair on her. And it’s not like he doesn’t love Roma. At least, he thinks he does. He’s pretty sure he does.

He’s not exactly happy in his marriage, but he’s not unhappy either, and that’s more than a lot of other married people can say, right? And he thinks Roma is happy. He hopes she’s happy, because one of them may as well be.

He’s just finishing breakfast when she comes downstairs, hair and make-up perfect. Bellamy hands her a cup of coffee.

“I’m going out for drinks after work,” Bellamy tells her. “Not sure what time I’ll be home.”

Roma pouts. “I was hoping we could stay in.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says. “I know it’s last minute but Monty organised it because it’s the student teacher’s last day. I should probably go, since it’s my class she’s been taking.”

Roma sighs. “Fine. But tomorrow you’re watching a trashy romcom with me to make up for it.”

Bellamy smiles. “Deal.” He gives her a peck on the cheek. “I’ve gotta go, babe. I’ll see you tonight if you’re still awake when I get home. Don’t wait up though.”

Bellamy has never wished for a school day to go slower. Every minute that ticks by brings him closer to saying goodbye to Clarke. He doesn’t want her to go, and it’s not just because he’ll have to actually start teaching his own class again. It’s obvious the kids don’t want her to go either.

After lunch, Clarke brings out the art supplies, pushes the tables together to form small groups, and gives the students free rein to make whatever they like. As soon as one student announces that they’re making a thank you card for Miss Griffin, the rest of class follows suit.

Bellamy sits at the back of the class, as per usual, until one of the girls, Amy, tells him he has to make one too. Bellamy is so not the artistic type, but he finds himself a seat amongst the students anyway, and starts making a card, taking suggestions from Amy and some of the other girls.

He senses Clarke standing behind him, looking over his shoulder as he glues a badly cut out flower to the front of his card.

“Nice work, Mr Blake,” she teases. Bellamy looks up at her, and she turns her attention to the girls surrounding him. “What do you think girls?”

“Mine’s better,” says Amy. “I tried to tell him how to draw a flower but he wouldn’t listen.”

Clarke laughs joyously, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and Bellamy’s stomach tightens. “I think it looks great,” she lies. She squeezes his shoulder, then drifts off to check on one of the other tables. Bellamy doesn’t stop thinking about that shoulder squeeze for the rest of the afternoon.

At the end of the day, the class hands Clarke their cards, and tell her how much they love her, and then they run off without a second thought. Bellamy wishes he could say goodbye to her so easily.

“You didn’t give me my card,” Clarke says, once all the students are gone.

“What makes you think it was for you?”

“It has my name on the front.”

Bellamy hands her the card, definitely worse than all the fourth graders efforts. It’s just a bit of yellow card folded in half with a red flower on the front and Miss Griffin in block letters on the front.

Clarke keeps eye contact with him as she opens, then drops her eyes to read it out loud. “Clarke. Thank you for brightening up my classroom these past three weeks. You’re going to make a wonderful teacher, and my students are going to be all the better for having known you, even for such a short time. So am I. Love, Bellamy.”

Bellamy watches her as she reads it, notices her tearing up. He looks away as soon as she looks back up at him.

“I guess words are more your thing than art, huh?”

Bellamy shrugs. “You can use that in your portfolio if you want,” he jokes.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, way too serious for his liking. Thankfully, Monty chooses that moment to duck his head into the classroom.

“Did you ask her?” Monty asks.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “We’re coming.”

Clarke looks to Bellamy. “I have no way to get there.”

“I’ll drive you,” Monty offers, before Bellamy can. It’s somewhat of a relief.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees. She gathers her things from the desk and heads for the door.

“We’ll see you there?” Monty says.

“Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “See you there.”

When Bellamy gets to the car, Monty has claimed a booth, and there are a few other teachers there already, including Clarke. She scoots out of her seat as he approaches the table. She’s got her hair out now, and an extra button on her shirt undone. Not that Bellamy is paying attention.

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want me to get you something?”

“Sure, a beer would be great. I’ll get the next round.”

Clarke skips off towards the bar, and Bellamy slides into the booth beside Monty. He gives a nod across the table to Raven, Harper and Diyoza.

“I think Clarke has a crush on you,” Monty says.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What? Hot, older guy, who’s mentoring her and is good with kids? As if she wouldn’t have a crush on you.”

“What are you trying to do? Set us up? I’m married, remember?” Bellamy snorts.

“No, I’m warning you,” Monty says. Bellamy frowns. “Don’t lead her on.”

“She knows I’m married.”

Monty gives a nonchalant shrug. “Okay. Just be careful.”

Monty is drawn into Raven and Diyoza’s debate about whether or not technology in the classroom is getting out of hand, and Clarke returns from the bar with a beer and some kind of bright yellow cocktail. Bellamy eyes it warily as Clarke sets both drinks down on the table and shuffles into the booth next to him.

“What is that?” he asks, nodding to her drink as he picks up his own.

“Vodka, mostly,” Clarke grins. “You want to try it?” She offers it to him, and he takes it from her, dubiously taking a sip. He screws up his face at the overpowering sweetness.

“Doesn’t taste like alcohol,” he says, handing it back to Clarke.

“That’s the point,” she says.

Maya and Jasper show up then, and Clarke scoots even closer to him to give them room to sit. Her thigh is pressed against his under the table, and somehow his arm ends up around her. Not on purpose. It’s just resting there on the back of the seat, and she just happens to be sitting there, leaning back against it. Bellamy takes a sip of his beer and pretends he doesn’t notice.

Over the course of the few hours they’re at the bar, Bellamy only has a few drinks. He has to drive home after this after all. Plus, the way Clarke is kind of tucked in against his side is making him feel things he doesn’t want to feel, and drinking more is only going to make him flirtier and more likely to do the exact opposite of what Monty said, and lead her on.

Clarke must be tipsy at least, because she’s laughing loudly and talking faster than normal. She seems to have no inhibitions about touching him constantly, or being practically in his lap. He feels like he’s holding his breath the whole night. His hearts stops every time she touches him. Every nerve in his body screams for him to touch her back, to press his lips against her neck, to bury his hand between her legs. His head pounds.

More people arrive, and Clarke doesn’t hesitate to somehow move closer to him. She hooks her leg over his, and before he can stop himself, he pulls her all the way into his lap. He catches Monty’s disapproving look but ignores him. Clarke settles back against Bellamy’s chest, clearly comfortable. Her ass presses against his crotch, and his semi hard on grows to full size. If she notices she doesn’t react.

Bellamy stops following the conversation entirely, not that he’d been keeping up with it that well before. But now he zones out, imagining pulling Clarke’s skirt up and fingering her right here under the table. He imagines secretly meeting her in a bathroom stall and fucking her up against the door. She would look so good with that freshly fucked look. He’d fill her with his come, get her pregnant with his baby.

It’s that thought that snaps him out of it. He swallows guiltily, and downs the dregs of his beer.

“I should get going,” he announces to no one in particular.

“Oh, I was going to ask you earlier,” Clarke says. “Would you be able to give me a lift home?”

He should say no, probably. It’s not like he thinks she’s going to throw herself at him, but he hasn’t exactly done the best job tonight of not leading her on. She knows you’re married, he reminds himself. She’s not expecting anything to happen.

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

They make everyone get up so they can leave, and the group of teachers chorus their goodbyes as Bellamy ushers Clarke out of the bar, his hand on the small of her back.

Neither of them speaks on the way to Bellamy’s car, and they’re both silent even as Bellamy pulls out onto the road.

“You have a good time?” Bellamy asks. He’s afraid the pounding of his heart is too loud in the silence of the car.

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “It’s bittersweet though. I’ll probably never see most of them again.”

“Well, you know where we are,” Bellamy says. “You can always come and visit.”

Clarke smiles. “Maybe I will,” she says, but Bellamy can hear it in her voice that she won’t.

Bellamy pulls up out the front of her house. He looks over at her, and she looks so fucking sad. Something tugs at his heart. He’s not ready to say goodbye to her just yet.

“I should walk you to your door,” he says, his voice coming out in a whisper. “Make sure you get in okay.”

“Good idea,” Clarke agrees.

They walk up the front path in silence, and Bellamy can feel the tension between them. She wants him to kiss her. And he wants to kiss her so badly. They reach the door, and Clarke unlocks it, then turns to face him.

“I just want to say,” she says, swallowing. “Thank you for everything. You’ve taught me so much and I couldn’t have hoped for a better mentor.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says. “I meant what I said before. You can drop by the school any time. And if you ever need help or advice, you can always call me.”

Clarke nods. She steps forward and presses her soft lips against his cheek. Bellamy feels like he might combust. She lingers there longer than would be seen as socially acceptable, and as she pulls away, Bellamy’s heart lurches, and he’s no longer in control of his own actions. Before she can step back, he captures her lips with his, his hand snaking around her waist to pull her closer.

She gasps, and Bellamy takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, as if it has any right to be there. Kissing her is intoxicating, far more so than the two beers he’d had earlier, and his head spins. Her body moulds to his, and yet he’s still desperate to be closer to her.

The kiss only lasts seconds before Bellamy returns to his senses, and pulls away from her like he’s been shocked by an electric wire.

“Shit,” he says, guilt already pooling in his stomach. “Shit. Shit.”

“Sorry,” Clarke whispers.

Bellamy looks at her, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who kissed you.”

“But I wanted you to.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I was all over you at the bar.”

“I could’ve stopped you.”

Clarke bites her lip. “What if I want you to kiss me again?”

He wants to. He yearns for her. “I’m married, Clarke,” he says hoarsely. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

He’s not sure why it doesn’t bother him. He knows it’s wrong to want her. He knows it’s wrong to act on it. But at this moment, he can’t bring himself to care. Or perhaps it’s because he knows it’s wrong that makes it all the more appealing.

“I’d rather have you this way than not at all.”

That’s all it takes for Bellamy to press her up against the door, his mouth on hers again. Clarke fumbles with the door knob, and then the door swings open, and they stumble inside.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “I want you so much. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you these past three weeks.”

“Me too,” Clarke says, breathless.

“Where’s your room?”

Clarke takes his hand and leads him down the hall until they reach her room. Bellamy’s heart thunders in his chest. Is he really doing this?

Clarke flicks the light on, and Bellamy tugs on her hand to spin her around to face him. If he wastes any time, if he stops to think, he might change his mind. He doesn’t want to change his mind.

Lips on hers, Bellamy urges her towards her bed. Every kiss, every movement, is frantic, urgent, like they’re both afraid it could be over any moment. Like someone might catch them in the act and ruin it all.

Bellamy’s hands drop to the buttons on Clarke’s shirt, his fingers too big and clumsy to undo them with any finesse, but with her help he gets them undone, and then she’s shrugging her shirt off, and then her bra, and Bellamy is gifted the sight of her tits, more magnificent than he’d even fantasised about.

“God,” Bellamy groans. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about these.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yes, Clarke,” Bellamy says. He palms her breasts, watching as her nipples harden. “You like having your nipples played with?”

“Yes,” Clarke nods. “But—”

“But?” Bellamy tilts his head.

“I just want you to fuck me. Please. Before my roommate gets home and you realise what a huge mistake you’re making and that you don’t want me after all.”

“I’m way too far gone for that, Clarke,” Bellamy says, hoarsely. Clarke surges up to kiss him, and Bellamy’s hands slide around to her ass, gripping her through her skirt. She spreads her legs as she lets him lift her slightly, then lay her down on the bed, where he imagines she’s fingered herself to the thought of him more than once. He hikes her skirt up her thighs and is greeted with a tantalising view of her swollen, wet, pussy. His cock throbs painfully at the sight.

“No panties, Clarke?” he growls.

“I stopped wearing panties after the first week,” she says. “Just in case.”

“You really wanted me, huh? Didn’t care about the ring on my finger?”

Clarke shakes her head. “You don’t love her. She can’t give you what you want.”

“And you can?”

“Uh huh.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“I see you watching me,” Clarke says huskily. “You want these,” she squeezes her tits. She runs her hands down her stomach, then cups her pussy. “You want this.” She rolls over onto her stomach and wiggles her ass for him, looking over her shoulder cheekily. “You want this.”

“You see right through me, don’t you?”

She rolls back over and sits up. “Do you think about me while you’re fucking your wife?”

“All the time. Every time. I wish it was you every time.”

Clarke reaches up, fists her hands in his shirt and tugs him down towards her. “So what are you waiting for?” she whispers. “Now’s your chance. Fuck me.”

Bellamy hurriedly rids himself of his shirt, and then the rest of his clothes, until he’s standing naked before her. Clarke eyes his cock hungrily, lip caught between her teeth.

“How do you want it, baby?” Bellamy asks. He puts a knee between her legs on the bed, and she lies back down, pulling her skirt up higher so it’s bunched around her waist. Bellamy leans over her, running his hands up her arms, lifting them above her head, grasping her wrists tightly to keep them there. Her loves the way it makes her tits look, straining towards him like they belong to him.

“I want it hard,” she says. “Please.”

Bellamy lowers his mouth to hers, drawing a long kiss out of her, positioning his cock at her entrance at the same time. Her can feel her slickness against his cock, letting him know she’s more than ready for him. He enters her slowly, and she squirms beneath him. He keeps her hands locked above her head, so she has no choice but to let him take control, to take his time and do as he pleases, though she’s clearly desperate to pull him closer. She cants her hips towards him, trying to get him deeper inside her.

Bellamy groans, the feeling of her tight cunt clenching around his cock almost too much to handle. He thrusts into her, abruptly, his whole cock filling her up. If she wants it hard, she’s going to get it hard.

“Oh my god,” Clarke moans. “This is too good to be true,” she murmurs, more like she’s talking to herself than to him. Bellamy isn’t sure if she’s talking about his cock or just the situation in general, but either way he finds himself agreeing. This can’t be real. It feels too good.

She isn’t quiet while he fucks her, and every sound she makes thrills him. Most of it is unintelligible, but he’s not exactly thinking straight himself. All he can do is focus on keeping it together long enough to make her come. For a moment he thinks he won’t make it, but just as he’s about to lose it, she cries out, arching towards him, her cunt clenching around him like a vice, drawing his own orgasm from him as she comes. He comes inside her, like he’s imagined doing time after time, and then he collapses on top of her, spent.

She presses her thumb to his hip, and he rolls off her, but she goes with him, lying on top of him.

“Good as you imagined?” Bellamy asks her.

“Better. What about you?”

“Much better.”

“You don’t regret it?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“Maybe.”

Bellamy rubs his hand over his face. He never thought he’d be a cheater. But here he is, lying naked in bed with a woman who isn’t his wife. And all he can think about is how good it felt, and how much he wants to do it again.

“Are you going to fuck me and leave? Or will you stay a while?”

“I can stay,” Bellamy murmurs. He doesn’t tell her that he never wants to leave her. It doesn’t matter if it’s true, it’s a promise he can never keep. “But this can’t happen again.” He has a wife, and he knows whatever this is with Clarke has to stay here in this moment, in this room. He can’t screw up what he has with Roma for what is probably some passing infatuation with a girl who won’t remember his name in a year.

“I know,” Clarke says, and Bellamy tries to ignore the sadness in her voice. She’ll get over it. She’s twenty-one, she’s resilient. She’ll fuck someone else to get him out of her system, and she’ll move on. And Bellamy will go back to Roma, and let this night with Clarke fuel his fantasies, to keep his sex life with Roma going for a few more months at least. It’s the best he can hope for.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #mine

108 notes · View notes

theimaginesyouneveraskedfor · 6 years ago

Text

Blame it on the Alcohol

So this is a little one off I wrote because I was bored. It's goofy and dumb but please enjoy neighbour!Bucky

Your head was spinning. Or was the world spinning around you? Maybe it was the alcohol burning a hole in your stomach. You stumbled out of the cab, tossing a generous tip to the driver and slapping the roof like a cowboy rousing his steed to noble action. You turned, nearly falling on your face, your heels twisting under you, the sharp stilettos sinking into the grass as you tried to cross from curb to pavement. You held your hands out in front of you, catching your balance as the ground threatened to come up to meet you.

Your heels clopped up the walk, your purse swung perilously from your elbow as you dug inside for your keys. You weren’t so skilled at multitasking with six shot of tequila in you. You giggled as you stumbled up the step to your front door, you didn’t remember that being there before. Goddamn, where were your keys?

You shook your entire bag, listening for a jingle. Uh oh. You leaned against the door and dug more frantically in the bag, pushing aside your wallet and an empty pack of gum. Shit. You’d just have to crawl in the back window again.

Woah! You were suddenly falling sideways, the door opening inward, a shoe slipping from your foot and leaving you entirely off-kilter. You were saved by a firm but warm wall and a pair of strong arms that wrapped around you before you could overturn entirely. You held in a burp and looked up at the confused pair of blue eyes that mirrored your own wonderment. Wow! So handsome, but you didn’t recall having a roommate. You definitely would have remembered one so hot!

“Um, hello,” His brows knitted together as he straightened you up and you searched with your barefoot for your errant heel. You wavered and he kept one hand on your arm. “I think you have the wrong house.”

Now you remembered those eyes. It was your hot neighbour who mowed his lawn with no shirt on. You turned your head slowly, looking to the familiar awning at the front of the next house. You looked back to the door realizing the brown facade was far from your painted dark blue entrance. Shit!

“Uh, sorry,” You slurred, touching your hot cheek; the alcohol and your embarrassment fueling the singe. “I’m...so drunk.”

“Really, never would’ve guessed,” He said dryly and you cringed. You had been waiting for the right moment to introduce yourself to your handsome neighbour and now you were intoxicated on his front porch having been caught trying to break in.

“I’ll just be going,” You touched your chest as you held in a hiccup and pulled away from him, turning with a wobble. You bent to grab your loose heel, removing the other, and stood, ready to gather the last sliver of your dignity and retreat to your actual home. And you forgot about that step again. You plummeted forward, your hands and knees scraping on the walk as you tried to catch yourself. You lowered yourself so you lay on your stomach, tucked your arms under your head and gave a great sigh.

“Oh god, are you okay?” He was right beside you. You just knew it. You could feel his warmth and judgement radiating over you.

“Yes,” You shot your head up, “My dear sir, do help me up and I shall be on my way to my own homestead and away from yours.”

He stared at you; half-bemused and half-stunned. You weren’t sure why your speech pattern had reverted to the Middle Ages, perhaps it was a silly attempt to seem sober which only made you seem more ridiculous. Even so, he bided your request and took your arm, helping you shamble back to your feet. With heels and purse in hand you bowed to him and hiccuped. “Adieu, my lord.”

You swayed away from him but you sensed his lingering gaze. Surely he was watching this psychotic lady who had just face-planted on his front law and spoken to him in verse. You began once more to struggle with the depths of your purse, fighting not to look over at him as you walked up your own sidewalk. There was no step to your front door and so the way was much easier.

Your keys weren’t in your bag! You got to your knees and dumped your purse on the ground, searching through the clutter and still no shining silver saviour, only a hair tie and pair of scratched sunglasses.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Your neighbour appeared at your side as if he had some secret super power. You looked up at him pathetically, your eyes doe-like and glossy as your panic set in.

“I lost my keys,” You bemoaned, a harrumph following as you hung your head. “Looks like another trip through the basement window for me.”

“No,” He bent and began to gather your mess back into your purse, “You’re in no state to be squeezing through tight spaces.”

“But...what am I going to do?” You asked, “Where will I go?”

“Come on,” He took your bag and shoes in one hand and stretched his arm across your shoulders, lifting you easily to your feet. “You can crash on my couch until you sober up.”

“Oh my lordy loo, you are strong,” You smiled dopily, swaying on his arm, “I bet you could tear a stop sign in half.” You heard him chuckling, the rumble of his laughter lulling you as he guided you back to his front door. “Carry me over the threshold, my prince.”

“Okay, that’s not going to happen,” He said bemused as he angled you through the door. He set aside your things and helped you through the doorway to his left, leading you to the couch and sitting you down. You fell back against it and he stood back, eyeing you with a sigh. “I’m going to get you a glass of water...and maybe a bucket.”

He left you to sit there and reel on the foreign but cushy sofa. He returned with a glass of water, placing it in your hand, and placed a pail beside the couch. “Drink,” He said and disappeared again, appearing once more with a soft throw and pulling a pillow against the arm of the couch. You dutifully drained the glass as he watched and he took back the empty container, bidding you to lay down. “I’ll check on you, okay? Sleep on your stomach.”

He flipped the light off and his shadow faded down the hallway, leaving you to drunkenly splay out, your eyes closed easily and the darkness welcomed you as your head touched the pillow.

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

Your head felt like it was filled with sand when you woke. Your face was buried in the sofa, the pillow covering your head as you cocooned yourself in the woolly throw blanket. It was difficult at first, opening your eyes, rolling over, the sunlight streaming in painfully as your head pounded. You weren’t in your own house and you looked around in confusion, the memories slowly coming back to you in fragments. You groaned as you pushed yourself up to sit against the arm. You could sneak out now and look into voiding your lease and moving somewhere far away.

You stood up, your stomach gurgling dangerously and fell back onto the cushion. You caught your breath and tried again, quietly inching your way towards the front hallway. You found your shoes beside your purse on the mat and picked them up carefully. As you stood, a shadow caught the corner of your eye and you turned to face your neighbour, watching you sneak pathetically around his house. You gulped and smiled guiltily at him, your lips tense and drawn.

“Would you like a coffee before you go?” He grinned, “Maybe a glass of water? I have tea.”

“You really don’t have to do this,” You protested, “I...I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing. I should, uh, just go.”

“We all have our nights,” He shrugged, “What was it? Tough day at work? Bad news?” He slowly neared, “Guy troubles?”

“The first one,” You replied, narrowing your eyes at him, “But I think I may have overreacted in hindsight.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was actually kind of entertaining.” He leaned against the wall as he spoke, “I almost regret not letting you try to crawl through your basement window. I suspect that would’ve been even more endearing.”

“Is that what we call a drunken mess now?” You wanted to facepalm but instead, rubbed your neck, trying to hide your burning cheeks.

“What else can I call you? I don’t even know your name,” He mused.

You pursed your lips, realizing he was as much a stranger to you. “It’s Y/N,” You said quietly and your stomach growled loudly. You touched it and groaned.

“I’m Bucky,” He returned, “So, now that we know each other a little better, you wanna stay for a coffee?” He pushed himself against the wall, waving his hand towards the other end of the hall, welcoming you in, “Maybe feed that beast growling in your belly?”

You exhaled loudly, looking around sheepishly. “Fine,” You accepted quietly, setting your purse and shoes back where you’d found them, “I’ll need some caffeine before I try to break into my own home.”

#bucky barnes #fic #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader

166 notes · View notes

manuelmueller · 6 years ago

Text

go gentle into that good night

Pairing: Julian Draxler/Matthias Ginter

A lil’ birthday present for @temsah that I started Saturday after the game, then forgot about, along with her birthday – I’m a terrible friend. I hope you had an enjoyable day, my dear! (And I hope this does at least a bit make up for me being a shit friend, even if I still have no idea what this is.)

The air smelt clean, fresh, as if the storm had swept all of the day’s heat and sultriness away. Now, almost all traces of the rain were gone. It was already dark outside and the stone tiles were cold underneath Julian’s feet. During the day, they would have been too hot to step on, but now, it was a calming feeling, grounding him, as if there were roots growing from his soles into the ground.

Most of the windows had already been dark, most of his teammates asleep, and not even the reception had been manned when Julian had snuck out five minutes earlier. Usually, they met up earlier, in one of their rooms, but tonight felt special, different.

It was almost midnight when he reached the spot. Matze had found it, six days earlier when he’d been on a stroll in one of their breaks. Adjoining to their hotel was a vineyard, and just at the border, when you walked up a steep hill, where the mowed lawns met the perennials, there was a little arbour. It was nothing much more than a wooden frame, overgrown with vines, and a wooden bench underneath it.

“During the day, you have the most amazing view over the valley,” Matze had said with a quiet awe in his voice that Julian hadn’t heard before. It had quickly become his favourite spot, the place he went where he wanted to think, clear his head, Julian knew, and he’d been honoured when a few days later, he’d asked him to come along, making it theirs.

It had been Julian’s idea to meet there tonight, now that it had been decided, far away from the curious glances of the staff and their teammates, from the road and the village.

He almost couldn’t make out Matze’s silhouette in the dark, and he blinked a couple of times before he realized that he was laying on the bench, staring up through the beams of the arbour, up to where the stars that were shining above them.

“Hey,” Julian whispered, and he could hear Matze’s jacket rustle as he sat up, extending a hand for Julian to take, pulling him down beside to him.

His body felt warm next to him, comforting and familiar in the dark of the night. Julian shivered as their arms touched and Matze searched for his hand with his own again before shuffling closer to him, laying his head down on Julian’s shoulder.

Julian breathed out slowly, savouring the feeling, his heart suddenly beating faster even if he was unable to tell why.

“It’s beautiful out here.” He said, staring up at the sky. He hadn’t seen that many stars in a long while. The leaves of the vines rustled, somewhere far away, a car soared over the streets.

Matze nodded against his neck, his nose cold, before he sat up straight again. It was him who leaned in first, claiming Julian’s lips with his own in a kiss as gentle as the night surrounding them.

Julian startled at first, but then he pressed closer. He framed Matze’s face with his hands, stroking over the browbones, the cheeks, his ears. The bench had still been wet underneath his fingertips, so different than the warmth of the skin they were greeted with now. Their noses brushed against each other as they tried to find that perfect angle.

He smiled when he felt Matze’s tongue trace over his top lip, granting him access as soon as he’s wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer and closer until their bodies merged into one. He slipped out of his hoodie, placing it on the damp wood before gently lowering Matze down on the bench, feeling the younger one’s lips spread in a smile as he pushed the jacket down his shoulders, pulled up his shirt. Matze let out a little gasp when Julian moved on to his neck, pressing gentle kisses against the vibrating skin, licking over his jawline, pressing kisses underneath his chin.

It felt wrong to let go of him, but Julian craved for skin to touch skin, so much that he sighed when he finally lowered himself down on the blond’s body, enclosing him in his arms. Matze panted as he traced his hand down, down over his abs, his navel, before ghosting his fingers over his most sensitive area, savouring the quiet mewl Matze let out.

“Are you laying comfortably, babe?” Julian whispered, his voice unusually loud, drowned by the silence of the vineyard.

He couldn’t see Matze nod, but he felt it from where had placed his hand on the side of his face, thumbing over those cherished sharp cheekbones again and again. He leant back down with a smile, making them become one once more as he rid them of their last garments, making them a bed out of their own clothes before the night swallowed the two lovers whole.

Later, when they laid next to each other, their heartbeats slowly returning to a normal pace, finding warmth in the other’s embrace, with Matze’s jacket serving them as a tiny makeshift blanket, it was Matze who found his tongue again first.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going. Up until the last minute, I doubted it. Doubted that we could have this.”

Julian sighed, almost irritated before. pulling him closer, pecking him on the forehead.

“Better believe it. We deserve this. Both of us.”

Matze chuckled, amusedly, turning his head. His eyes shone bright in the darkness. “Guess I’ll have to get used to the thought that I won’t get rid of you for the next month.”

That startled a quiet laugh from Julian. “You wouldn’t be able to if you wanted to. I don’t intend to let you go again.”

And when they kissed under the stars for a last time that night before stumbling down the steps together, finding their way back to the hotel, they didn’t have to look at each other before deciding they’d spend the rest of the night sleeping in the same bed again.

#draxlinter #temsah #my writing #bday ficlets

7 notes · View notes

bloojayoolie · 5 years ago

Photo

Alive, Children, and Comfortable: trilliontreesinitiative THE TRILLION TREES INITIATIVE It was really all my fault. Stars in my eyes, I haphazardly met strangers from the internet in more-or-less public places and pled my case, just to be brushed off over and over again. Months of pounding the keyboard, and trying to find people to help me, I gave up and decided if it needed doing, I could at least give it a game try. I posted my plea to every corner of the internet, every newsgroup I could find, every fledgling website. This was back before there were pictures on the internet. I was a true believer then and was sure that if I found the right people, somehow we'd find a way to plant a trillion trees on our planet. Spare change went to seedlings that I nurtured through frigid winters and increasingly hot summers. I surreptitiously planted them a spade in one pocket and a sapling or ten in another, all wrapped in a damp rag ready for a moment no one seemed to be watching-- could add a sapling to a border of trees along the waters' edge, or in a little clearing of national forest Time passed, kids came, and overwhelmed by the responsibilities I'd willingly accepted without any real sense of the gravity of my commitment to the humans l'd made, I let my zealous mission drift off like my trapeze artist dreams from thirty years earlier. My kids were smarter than me, and kept me busy ferrying them back and forth with their extracurricular activities. I felt like an unpaid lab assistant for their science fair projects, but I knew that sacrifice was part of parenthood and I tucked my passions behind a mask of nurturing officiousness. I truly forgot about the pleas l'd broadcast so carelessly. The internet was a wild place in the late twentieth century, and twenty years after my last screams into the abyss came the most unexpected answer, delivered simultaneously to my old and new email account and sent as a text WE CAN HELP WITH THE TREES. It looked like it came from my own email address, my own cell number, and it was only addressed to me. I almost swiped away the messages, but.. but what was I rejecting? My old mission? I still knew we needed trees to help counter our own environmental carelessness. What if my shouts into the void reached someone who could actually help? I wrote and discarded responses, one after another. Finally, I replied with "I'm open to suggestions," and watched as my own words buzzed my telephone and felt foolish and a little more cynical as nothing happened. What was I expecting? Hackers to show up with bushels of acorns? It wasn't hackers, it was a strangely bland man who rang my doorbell the next morning right after l'd hugged my kids and seen the bus shuttle them to school. Since was still wearing pants, I answered the door. "Sorry, we're renters" has been my greeting to anyone at my door for the last decade. It's not actually true, even -- we bought our rented house before the kids were born, but it usually cuts off any sales pitch and lets any visitor trundle off to a more likely mark. I wasn't even really thinking about the weird message of the night before--my chore list was mighty and overwhelming and if I wanted to live in a clean house, I needed to make it happen--but the bland man took a breath before I closed the door in his face "THE TREES" I don't know how it sounded like thousands of voices, all at once, at a conversationally comfortable volume, but I got a sense of foreignness, of something far beyond my understanding, happening right at my front door. My chores didn't seem to be much of a priority anymore. I felt no danger from the stranger, just overwhelming urgency to do as he wished. My desire to invite the stranger to sit at my dining room table and listen was my only priority. I led the way to the table and offfered some coffee to my guest "NO, THANK YOU" the myriad voices replied, sitting across the table from my spot. He just looked like a guy in his late twenties or early thirties. He could be my pizza delivery dude, or the guy who managed the movie theater, or a shoe salessman. Sandy brown hair was cut and combed neatly. He seemed to be in reasonable shape, with rested placid eyes and a neutral expression on his slightly ruddy face. He seemed both comfortably solid and like he was vibrating almost too fast for me to tell. "HERE'S OUR OFFER" echoed (maybe only in my head? Maybe I'm actually going crazy. This is the weirdest interaction l've ever had with a sapient creature. I'm pretty sure that guy was not a pizza deliverer or salesman, he was something, maybe many things, different.) The paper felt high-quality thick and smooth, but the letters were iridescent, black at first glance, but racing oil-slick colors at any angle. My eyes couldn't focus on it at first. Did this guy drug me? Why did I let him in my house? He was probably a serial killer. Or a mass murderer? All those voices all at once? This was insane. "PLEASE READ IT" I obediently looked down at the words "WE, THE UNDERSIGNED, WISH TO SAVE YOUR PLANET WITH YOU" I looked up at the bland man and tried to explain my insignificance "I like where you're going with this, but I'm just one person. I'm not in charge of anything really, including my own children. I can't even keep my houseplants alive." I pointed at browning foliage in my house, a spider plant that was purportedly unkillable until my indefatigable inability to keep track of my own commitments caught up and dried out. "WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WHO YOU CAN BE. KEEP READING" The words seemed to swim and reform as I looked down again. "WE WILL BUY VAST TRACTS OF LAND AROUND YOUR PLANET. WE WILL PLANT YOUR TRILLION TREES. YOU JUST MUST AGREE I felt completely inadequate. I was in no way qualified to agree to this. I'm a suburban mom, not a diplomat or foreign dignitary. I recycle and try to avoid single-use plastics, but I'm not even sure that I'm doing that right. What if I was agreeing to an alien invasion? My authority is limited to two small humans who were at least half jerk, and that's not counting their father's influence More words scrambled across the page. "WE WISH NO HARM TO YOU, WE JUST WISH TO MAKE YOUR PLANET MORE HABITABLE BOTH FOR US AND YOU." Ah, there's the catch. Who the hell are they? Do I want to cohabitate with another species? What if they're like kudzu -- invasive and impossible to remove? The page seemed to shimmer as the letters reformed: "WE WILL ONLY GROW TREES THAT CAN THRIVE WITHOUT DAMAGING OTHER SPECIES. "But why me?" "YOU ARE THE DREAMER" "Even if I didn't want you to do this, there's no way I could stop you, so...sure! Go for it. A pen rolled across my table and stopped, pointing at a big black X at the bottom of the page "SIGN AT THE X I looked over the page again. No legalese had suddenly appeared. The words were the same The pen felt heavy and I knew I was doing something irrevocable but I couldn't seem to stop. I used my best handwriting and signed my name, which of course you all know by now. The bland man inclined his head and took the paper at once, tucking it into an inside pocket of his tan corduroy jacket "THAT SHOULD DO IT" his voice buzzed more as he stood, and moved to the door I felt bemused and a little like l'd signed something expensive away without fully understanding the value as I locked the door behind the stranger. Maybe I was seeing things. Maybe none of it happened The first sign that I hadn't suffered a psychotic break - to be honest, I was a little surprised it wasn't, l'd always felt precariously balanced on the edge of sanity and figured this was the final separation of my tenuous grasp on reality the first sign was a few days later, when I finished matching another dozen socks, rolling them together, and throwing them in my older child's underwear drawer. Her room was a pigsty, but we'd come to an agreement that her worktable was her problem and that no food was consumed in her room, so it was relatively hygienic. I looked out the window and saw that the empty lot next to my house no longer had a sign advertising a local Realtor and something was happening I slid my feet into flip-flops and walked to my mailbox and saw the bland man riding a giant lawnmower, cutting the native brush to nearly barren dirt. I flipped through three credit card offers I planned to dump straight into the recycling and leafed through the grocery circular and noted that pork chops were a few dollars cheaper per pound, so McRibs would be coming back soon The silliest things played through my head as watched him clear the land, as a flock of quail ( have Opinions About Quail, mostly that they're only saved from extinction by reproducing so much, because they seem to have a death wish near motorized vehicles) ran on foot just ahead of the mower waved at the man, since we were acquainted. Sort of, I didn't know his name, and I'd never even thought to ask. Why didn't I ask? l'd signed a contract that I didn't truly understand and didn't even know his name. I patiently waited for him to mow back toward my property line, the forgotten junk mail between my arm and chest. He shimmered a little as he hopped off the mower and moved towards me. "WE MUST PREPARE THE LAND. I nodded, like I knew his plan all along and was magnanimously supervising him, I offered him a bottle of water, or the use of my toilet, if he needed it. "WE HAVE WHAT WE NEED" Why was he speaking in the plural? It hadn't seemed odd until just then. My sense of incongruity and that something was Just Not Right began to ramp up. I waved at them and walked back to my bungalow. I popped online to see what was happening in the world and saw the bigger picture, easily seen by less self-absorbed human beings. Every single vacant lot in the world was being mowed flat by a bland looking man, who was identical in feature to every other bland-looking man mowing a vacant lot. Too weird. Reporters tried to talk to the men, but they placidly mowed each lot, one after another. Where did all of the mowers come from? There were no brand markers on the machines. As soon as the lots were cleared, furrows were plowed The bland men moved implacably, good neighbors every one, and stopped the racket of agricultural busywork well before dinnertime. They started the next day after sunrise. The story got bigger as the days passed. It was on the front page of newspapers, and everyone seemed to have a hot take on what was really going on. Aliens? Nah, they looked too normal. Clones? How could millions of clones make it to adulthood without someone catching on? As far as I could tell, I was the only one who'd successfully spoken to any of these....people, if that's what they were. I thought I might be able to tell someone about my weird experience, but I was also positive that no one would believe me. I told my husband the strange tale and he laughed at my creativity and rubbed my back as I drifted off to sleep. The next morning, I drove the kids to school and went to the public library. I used it frequently for escapist fiction, mostly about young women in the early 19th century trying to snag a spouse. I went straight to the reference desk. Do you know what's going on with these guys mowing and plowing everywhere?" The librarian grimaced, "You're number six to ask today. We have no idea," I returned a stack of Regencies into the slot next to the desk, and walked back to my car without grabbing any new trashy fiction. I drove home pensively, worried that I had fucked up something big. Safe in my garage, I felt my anxiety rise, and tried to breathe slowly and smoothly and reason my way through this mystery. I agreed to let someone plant the trees that I knew we needed We clearly weren't taking care of our planet and someone else was stepping in for us. Did it really matter that I didn't understand their reasoning or motivations? l'd been begging the world for so long, and someone finally listened. Panic attack averted, I stepped into my kitchen and rinsed the breakfast dishes before loading the dishwasher. looked out of my kitchen window and saw a wall of trees in the formerly vacant lot. Not seedlings, fully grown and mature trees.T flipped on the news, and it was the same everywhere. The trees were in. The space station reported that there were just new trees everywhere, they hadn't been uprooted from forests, they just suddenly existed. Every tree fit perfectly in its microclimate, and fruit and nut trees were included in each single-lot forest freely available for hungry mouths I ran outside and looked for the man. He was standing with his hands on his lower baçk looking up. Fruit trees were in full bloom. Conifers looked like they'd been growingg there since time began. I stood next to the man.I didn't even know what words I could use to express my gratitude, my discomfort, my fear "WE ARE DONE, MS. APPLESEED" he buzzed, and suddenly became a cloud of bees. The cloud, the machinery, the man all dispersed. The signed paper fell to the newly turned earth. The trees stayed where they were. A lot of people had been watching the planters. A lot of people saw the planters become clouds of bees. A lot of people grabbed one of the billion copies of my signed contract, and everyone saw my name, clear as day. "Terra Appleseed, Mother of Trees", the headlines called me My number was unlisted, but my phone didn't stop ringing for weeks. I didn't have any of the answers that the reporters wanted. I was just a dreamer, I told them. I don't know why the bees listened to me. The scientists had the most to say, of course. Carbon dioxide was down, oxygen was up Glaciers stopped melting, and while I was trying to sound like a functional adult, refusing any interview requests, my older daughter figured out how to make cold fusion work. She'd built a variation of a Farnsworth Fusor that fused two atoms of hydrogen into one of helium at room temperature, and suddenly eliminated the need for fossil fuel combustion With a ready-built platform, we freely gave away her discovery to anyone who'd listen. At first, people thought I'd somehow organized the tree thing to sell my daughter's invention but I knew we'd get by fine without charging a dime. The truth was more mysterious and unexplainable, but we, as a species, weren't going to get ourselves in such a fix again -- we didn't need to. We just needed the bees to start us off, and my daughter to finish our addiction to combustion People started planting their own trees, too, but nothing made them grow forty feet in a day. The bees kept that secret. I was much too boring to stay in the spotlight for long, and I returned to my diet of trashy novels and quiet longing for that feeling of secret importance that had filled the days of planting, the wonder at this enormous leap towards peace and understanding that seemed to fall into my lap It was enough. My obituary decades later would focus on the mystery of the trees, the dream I tried to spread, and the unexpected way it came true The trillion trees initiative worked. We reached for the stars, comfortable that our home planet was safe. We found life everywhere we looked. As far as I know, no one ever spoke to the bees again. Super long, sorry - A modern day fairy tale about trees.

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Alive #Children #and

0 notes

jonnotmoxley-archive · 7 years ago

Text

I guess this counts as a love letter.

Do you ever get the urge to just… document a moment?

We’re lying here in bed, in the sunshine, on a day off. You’re dozing in my arms, and things are probably as perfect as they get in life. I don’t normally get religious, but I’m feeling incredibly blessed and content. It was a kind of lazy morning; reading the paper, coffee, breakfast. Then I wanted some sun, so I mowed the lawn, while you cleaned the kitchen… then met me at the door with fresh-squeezed juice. I couldn’t contain the smile. Who even squeezes their own juice anymore? Let alone meets their hot and sweaty man at the door with it? It’s pretty much a fucking fairytale. I’m not even getting into what came next. Let’s get back to the present. Early afternoon sunlight is coming through the window where the blinds aren’t quite drawn tight. Everything has a golden tinge to it, especially your skin. You tan to a beautiful olive color, where my tan is more brown. I’m looking at the fan of your eyelashes across your cheeks, and I am struck yet again by how beautiful you are. I’m only barely restraining the urge to lay kisses in across your cheekbones, slide my thumb along your jaw. The angles of your face captivate me in a way no one else ever has. I could look at you forever. But it isn’t just your obvious physical beauty that keeps my attention. I thought we knew each other pretty well before; hell, we practically lived in each other’s pockets for a couple years. But I didn’t pay attention, and I’m kicking myself for it now. I love the way you humor me when I cook. I know my skills are… lacking. Competent to feed myself, but not in style or anything but functional. Everything gets the same seasoning – onion powder, garlic salt, table salt, and a fuckton of black pepper. It’s all I knew as a kid growing up. If it was green, it was something that had gone off, not fresh – or even dried – herbs. Pepper covered up the blandness. I thought I knew and could handle spicy because of that, but then you started cooking for me and it was almost a religious experience. I have no idea how you do it, and I don’t have the patience for it even if I wanted to try and duplicate it. I love the way you laughed with me and not at me when I ate that whole hot pepper and tried to act like it wasn’t burning my face off. I did okay until I forgot that I hadn’t washed my hands… then touched my face. You were so gentle trying to wipe my eyes for me as I frantically washed my hands, and it was the first time that I can remember someone laughing but knowing it wasn’t at me. The way your eyes softened… all I can say is that now I know what love actually looks like on someone’s face. I love the way you get mad at me when I put the toilet paper on the roll the wrong way. I thought I was doing well by actually putting it on… learning that there is a right way and a wrong way was an eye opener. I just can never remember what is what. And honestly, half the time I don’t even think about it. You’re absolutely fucking adorable in your tiny rages, and I know it’s not really even that big a deal to you because you let me kiss you into silence. I love that you are always hot and cold at the same time. You hate having extra clothing on – bless you for that – but you also always want under a blanket within about 15 minutes of sitting down. And the way you generate heat… I mean, we both tend to, it’s the metabolism, but I think I will never be lacking for warmth, even in winter in Iowa. My personal furnace. Your focus is stunning. I know I’m perpetually in an ADHD state, so it’s either all or nothing with me, hyperfocus on one thing or doing 17 things at once. But I watch you and the way you sink into something, even something small, and the way your face relaxes as you get into it, and… it’s fascinating. You can’t hide anything at that point, every emotion flashes across your face, it’s just raw honesty. Like I said, I could look at you all day and never tire of it. My hyperfocus tends to be you. I love it though. Nothing makes me happier than you do. Literally nothing. I’m sitting here wishing this moment could last forever. Of course it can’t, and I know with you beside me there are many more perfect moments to come. Maybe even more perfect than this one. Right now we have nothing but time for our day. We’re going to take Kevin to the dog park with a frisbee, pick up something for lunch, probably make supper together, maybe go on a bike ride after dinner. Just a perfect lazy day off, the world at our feet. And I think about it, and think about how lucky we are that this is our life. About how a year ago we were both in such different places. How this was never on our radar; how I, at least, never knew this was what I needed to be happy. How I had no idea this kind of happiness was even possible. I’m grateful. So grateful. For you, Colby. For our life together. For all the fortunate accidents that brought us to where we are. Even for your injury, because it forced me to really look at my feelings and what I wanted from this so early on. It gave us extra time together, and then we had the stroke of luck that meant that from April onwards we got to work and travel together. We have basically been living together full time for five months and I can tell you I don’t want a single day away from you. I’m not sick of you yet and I am pretty confident that I’ll never get sick of you. The reverse might not be true; I am well aware that I can be challenging, and a little strange, but I choose to believe you when you tell me that you love my “little quirks” (and me) more than enough to make up for it. And I am back to feeling blessed. I have a wonderful guy who loves me as much as I love him. Who smiles at me in the morning like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen in his life, even with my hair a disaster and my annoying habit of scratching my chest hair loud enough to wake the dead, as you put it. Who puts up with my insistence on being the big spoon. Who is mellow enough to let me take the lead, who encourages me, even when he probably shouldn’t, who opened his heart to me so completely and let me move right into it before I even knew what was happening. Who never put any pressure on me in any way, just let me go at my own pace and matched me step for step, supporting and not judging when I made missteps along the way. Your passion and enthusiasm are infectious, and I know that with you by my side everything is possible. You are my number one cheerleader. You always lift me up, even when I’m wrong; you don’t judge, you are gentle in correcting me if I need it, you have opened my eyes to things I never thought critically about before. Your heart is good and it makes me want to do better, to try and make you proud of the person I am. You bring out the best side of me, and I think it makes me happier and more comfortable in my own skin at the same time. You do so much for me, just by being near me, by being in my life. I have found my soulmate, the person who I can open myself up to completely. I have spent a lifetime locking different parts of myself away and I know with you I am safe to be fully, completely, authentically myself without any fear of judgement or reprisals. It’s a gift, one I don’t think you really get, but trust me when I tell you I am grateful every day for it. I love you, Colby. Always. Forever. For all that you give me, for all the little ways you don’t even know you make my life perfect. For all the many other things I can’t even articulate. I mean it when I say I’ll always love you and be grateful for having you in my life. I promise. I’m yours. And I’m so very glad you’re mine. I’m not going to be able to keep from kissing you much longer. And I know you’re going to look at me with a smile and ask what brought that on. And I’ll say nothing, no reason, I was just thinking about how much I love you. And it’s true. It is what I have been thinking about. But I won’t know how to say all this in a way that will make sense, it’ll get all mixed up and not come out right, and I’ll leave the best bits out. Or I’ll get distracted by the pull of your lips on mine and all thought will go out the window except how right and how good it feels. My heart will nearly beat out of my chest as I pull you in, breathing you in, try to get as close to you as possible and hope you know what that means without me saying anything at all. So know that a slow smile and a shrug and a kiss means all this, all at once. I love you, @kvngslvyer. That’s all.

#jon speaks #keeper #love of my life #my heart #sweet prince

2 notes · View notes

valmaior-blog · 6 years ago

Text

A River Runs Through It

Progress has been disappointingly slow. I have excuses of course….

Broken car

Unanticipated complications

Garden became impenetrable jungle

Delays in supply chain

Changes to plans

Portuguese red tape

Too much prevaricating about the bush

(points awarded for knowing the source of that mangled idiom)

Sickness and injuries

etc.

So, the car. I drove to Lisbon, spent a few hours there and drove back. After about 100km on the expressway, the engine suddenly felt stiff as though it was about to seize. I pulled over and checked the gauges. Engine temperature was at maximum. Before I had come to a stop, the “check gauges” light came on, and the warning chime sounded. A little earlier would have been useful!

We waited for the engine to cool down, then removed the cap – no water, and no sign of a leak. Poured in all the bottled water we had and limped to the next service area. Let the engine cool again, filled up and set off. We had to stop and refill a few more times before we got home.

The next day, I started the engine and let it idle until it was warm. The water began bubbling, but not boiling. Exhaust gas in the coolant! - so either a cracked head or a blown head gasket. I decided to assume it was the head gasket, because that would be easiest to fix. Looked for an online car spares vendor in Portugal and ordered a new gasket set. It seems that there are no online car spares companies here. The web site I ordered from is just the Portuguese front end to a German supplier. I also ordered new head bolts. They have to be replaced every time the heads are removed. “Heads”, because it transpires that my engine has 5 separate heads. It seems that Chrysler didn’t have a suitable diesel engine so obtained engines from an Italian company, and these engines were designed for a static generator.

So, off to Europcar to rent again.

One week later, the German package arrived. The head bolts (two different sizes) are of a design I have not seen before, a 12 point star drive. The manual says that a special tool is required, I cannot find a supplier. I emailed VM Motori, and they eventually replied that they are Chrysler tools, but by this time I have established that these things are also known as Torque drive, and I order a set from ebay UK – no ebay in Portugal. There is ebay in Spain, which I have used before, but same stuff is more expensive, and takes just as long to arrive. I decide to move the car to the house, about 45km– I can work undercover there, and if I make an oily mess on the floor, it is my floor. So packed the car with bottles of water, and drove as gingerly as possible. Arrived without incident and didn’t need to stop to replenish the water.

I eventually get the heads off, but worryingly the old gasket looks fine. I check the heads as thoroughly as possible, but there are no obvious problems. I replaced the gasket and put the engine back together. Reassembly is such fun. I guess that Chrysler assumed that any major work would be done with the engine on a bench. Access is extremely limited. Another fun job is tightening the 12 main head bolts, start in the middle, torque to 30 ft/lbs (can’t think in newton meters yet) continue in a zigzag pattern to the end, then opposite zigzag to the other end and back to the start. Execute the same pattern again, tightening each bolt by another 75°, then execute the same pattern again, tightening each bolt by another 75°! The second 75° needs a long lever. That does partly explain why the bolts have to be replaced every time – the bolt is actually being stretched.

Continuing, I discovered that several of the rocker assembly studs were iffy, so had to find a helicoiling kit supplier. Re-coiled 3 studs in situ, so I can now torque the nuts to the prescribed values.

Unfortunately, no change. Remove the heads again, and tried making blanking plates so that I could pressurise the heads and check for leaks in a bucket of water, but that didn’t show anything. It only seems significant when the engine is hot. Took all the valves out, checked the seats, didn’t see anything wrong. Replaced the seals at the top of the guides. Put everything back together, and ordered a compression tester, from ebay.

During this time, several weeks, I had been renewing my car rental on a weekly basis. I decided to buy a cheap car, and suspend leak hunting in favour of house fixing.

Came back to the car after a significant delay. I thought I could use it for local trips the builders merchants etc. Started the engine, and was running it to get it warm, when there came an horrific clattering noise from the top end. Stopped the engine and looked hopefully for an external cause didn’t see anything – started the engine again – same noise so switched off and gave up.

Next return to the car, I took off the rocker covers, expecting to see things bent and broken, but all looked fine. Removed all the glow plugs, and dug out the compression tester. Checked all the cylinders with the engine cold. I knew that wouldn’t diagnose my cracked head, but it would show a broken valve or piston.

Surprisingly all were fairly close. 420psi lowest, 440psi highest (can’t think in bars yet – but then that could be a family failing ;-) )

Ran the engine with the rocker cover off – no nasty noise. Hmm – could it have been a transient problem which resolved itself, perhaps an issue with one of the hydraulic tappets? or is it something lurking, and waiting to strike at a more inopportune moment….

Enough car stuff..

One day, we wandered into the garden to look at the fruit trees, and realised that the garden had gone wild. A waist high tangled mass of brambles and grass – genuinely impenetrable, so house fixing was suspended again to tackle the blackcurrant menace. After several days of vigorous hacking, we could finally access most of the garden, a few of the trees were seriously choked with ivy and brambles. (still an issue). Our big fig tree had blackcurrants at it’s crown.

I was thinking about ordering some turf to create a lawn on the upper level, but after a couple of days of rain, in October, we suddenly had a lush green lawn! Seems like Spring. - had to dig the lawn mower out.

Oh, and I found a 1 meter long snakeskin in the garden, on a patch of grass that I had mowed, so at most 2 days old. Not seen the snake, but seriously poisonous snakes are rare, so probably not a problem – probably... (another chance to earn points)

We have 3 peach trees, an orange tree, a fig tree and two fig saplings, A tree that I don’t recognise, no blossom of fruit that we noticed, but it is choked by ivy, and strangely, 4 small oak trees. Why oak? Acorns are not much use, Cork harvesting is not viable on a small scale. Some other harvest-able fruit trees would make more sense.

Some kind neighbour secretly harvested our figs for us. Understandable I guess. The peaches were not very good, we didn’t look after them, or protect them from pests, so the bugs had a feast. We salvaged a couple of edible peaches but didn’t bother picking the rest. I suspect that a neighbour noticed the peaches apparently going to waste, and chose to save the figs from the same fate.

We decided to tackle the rampant ivy that was invading the orange tree via much larger tree that had fallen against it some years ago. Disassembling the broken tree was a major task. Oddly, our house does not have a fireplace or chimney, so now we have a lot of wood which could have kept the place warm in winter.

There is a chimney in the kitchen, but no fireplace.

So, The house.

We have a 220V supply limited to 3.4kw. To upgrade, we first have to get a technical certificate issued by a qualified Portuguese electrician stating that the home installation is able to handle the increased power, Ours isn’t. Some of the cables are fabric covered, with failed insulation (guess how I know).

All the existing cables are external. Lights and power socket are all on the same circuit, clipped to skirting boards and door frames. Regulations now require that all cables run in conduits buried in the walls. I got a few quotes for a complete rewire of a 4 bedroom house.

When I had recovered from the shock (pun intended), I crossed professional rewire off the options list. Current plan is to do the rewire myself – to Portuguese standards, and then get a qualified electrician to inspect it and issue a certificate. I still haven’t found the standards in English, and Portuguese translated by Google is too risky, so no progress there yet.

The final decision for home heating was air conditioners for the rooms, and an electric thermo-accumulator (insulated pressurised hot water tank with immersion heater) for the water.

All the plumbing has been replaced and the thermo-accumulator installed (though not yet tested). The laundry room/second bathroom is still using the old plumbing until we replace the toilet and washbasin, which won’t happen until the main bathroom is functional.

Kitchen.

Found a bargain online, so rented a van and drove down to the south coast to collect it. Three guys loaded the van in about 25 minutes. Me and Ping unloaded the van in about 4 hours. We managed not to break anything, even when my fingers failed and I dropped a granite worktop on my foot. I was hobbling for a while and it was still sore 4 weeks later. That is not as silly as managing to drop a heavy chisel on my head! I left it on the top step of a very tall step ladder, and forgot it was there when I moved the ladder.

Funny thing, there were 3 guys working on a new build house opposite when we went to get the longest section of worktop from the van (3 meters) – they disappeared when we started to unload it. Another odd thing is that our kitchen is not quite rectangular – it is a parallelogram with angles of 92.5 and 87.5. This only becomes apparent when trying to fit a kitchen.

It’s beginning to look kitcheny

Yet another odd thing is that the kitchen floor is vaguely dome shaped. It obviously wasn’t always like this, because the kitchen floor tiles seem to have been laid on large rectangular (presumably concrete) rafts. At the doorways the kitchen floor is level with the external floor, but then slopes up toward the centre. Our rafts are flat but not level with noticeable gaps and height differences. The floor seems solid, so what could cause the floor to rise in the centre? The obvious first choice that the walls have subsided was quickly eliminated. Some of the walls are build directly on bedrock, so could not subside. If other walls did, there would be some significant and visible cracks. It seems unlikely that all the walls would subside at the same rate.

What could cause the floor to rise? Gas seems unlikely. Tree roots? No big trees close, and I doubt they could tunnel under walls without causing visible damage. The ground level outside the kitchen is lower then the kitchen floor by 1m on one side and 2m on the other. Hydraulic pressure? Possible, the well is right next to the kitchen, but the water level is much lower than the floor, and as the house is on a sloping site, that also seems unlikely.

The capped well next to the kitchen wall, and the water level is below ground level. The kitchen floor height is within a centimetre or so of the boundary between the brick shaped tiles, and the cement plastered wall. It seems unlikely that water is accumulating under the kitchen floor.

The bathroom has been the biggest job so far. The position of everything has been changed, so the old solid floor had to be destroyed to run new drains for the shower, toilet, bidet and washbasin. The walls had to be destroyed to remove the old steel pipes and fit new multilayer pipes.

I was originally intending to keep one tiled wall and stick new tiles on top, but decided against that. I later realised that the internal bathroom walls are actually slightly curved, and rectifying that was a major task.

A flat(ish) bathroom wall!!

The floor and walls are now fixed and flat except for the shower door area. The big delay is the shower door which is out of stock, and the delivery date is constantly being pushed back. I really need that to finish the walls, because the shower door is the full width of the bathroom. The distance between walls in the shower is 2cm less than outside. As things stand, I can adjust the position of the door. to whatever looks best. I would rather make the walls to fit the shower door rather that have to modify the door or walls later.

An issue that is more serious than I originally thought is a sloping floor in the main corridor. One side of the corridor is 5cm lower than the other at one point. This has been caused by the internal stone wall that has been built on a woefully inadequate sagging wooden beam. This has caused the internal wall to pull away from the main house wall.

In this pic you can see the gap increasing upwards up to the point where the gap was previously filled, and has continued pulling away, or rather tilting away.

The only solution is to build a supporting wall in the cellar, but to do that I would have to demolish the internal wall, and that wall supports the ceilings on both sides. The cellar has a concrete floor. I don’t know how thick the concrete is or what is beneath it, but I would replace the wall with a timber and plaster board (dry wall) construction which would be much lighter. I estimate current weight is about 3 tones. Or maybe not replace it at all if I can support the ceiling from above. I would rather not have a visible supporting beam.

While we are in the cellar, I should explain the title. We have an occasional stream in our cellar. The house is mainly built directly on the bedrock, When there is a prolonged period of rain – enough to saturate the soil, but unable to penetrate the underlying rock. a small stream flows ‘into’ the building (over the exposed rock in the cellar) and down a gully (last chance to earn points ;-)

OK, I give up. There is a little video of the stream, but I can’t put it in here, It seems to insist on being at the end of this post. So scroll down to watch now, or carry on reading and watch the vid at the end

The pic at the top was cut from this

..taken from the other side of the valley.

And this is from google earth, but is several years out of date

The trees shown in that pic don’t match what is there now.

This gives a good idea of the slope we are on, and though it looks like a cute little bungalow,

This is Ping opening the front door from the inside.

Update, the thermo-accumulator has been tested, and works better than expected. Water is still hot after 48 hours without power, and luke warm after 72 hours

Update 2, our single breaker tripped a few days ago when not under load. I needed to do some electrical stuff, so wanted the power off. I pressed a button marked “T”, which I assumed was test – nothing happened. I flipped the main breaker and completed the work. Switched it back on, and the fuse thing tripped a few minutes later. I reset it and no further problems, but looked at the box. It was marked 25A. Hmm, 25A * 220V = 5500W. I believed the electricity company when they informed me that I was limited to 3.4 kw, and was making sure that we didn’t exceed that, I have since proved that we can exceed 4.5kw without issues.

Stupid weather. Now just 1 week until December. Grass is still growing vigorously, small mosquitoes in the garden are still biting furiously, rain is falling continuously. Still the same in January, except no rain, just brilliant sunshine.

The misplaced vid.

vimeo

0 notes