#North London Cabs

[wordingg]

Colours

Dead Boy Ween Day 1!

Summary: Crystal, Edwin, and Charles attend a party and then promptly shut the whole thing down.

It started like this: a middle aged woman stopped Crystal in the street as she exited an ice cream shop.

"Crystal?" she asked, looking surprised. She was well dressed with funky glasses, flowy green dress, and salt and pepper hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun that looked too coiffed to actually be careless. "Not Crystal Palace Surname Von Hoverkraft?" she asked, her face struggling toward pleasant but not quite getting there.

"Actually, I just go by Crystal Palace now," Crystal responded hesitantly, shooting a look at Edwin and Charles over the woman's shoulder. She wasn't used to being recognized on the street, but she supposed she was back in London and in a nicer neighborhood. It wasn't out of the question that people from her old life might recognize her.

"Oh, of course," the woman said with a crinkle to her brow. "I suppose your full name is a bit of a mouthful," she laughed.

Crystal didn't laugh with her. She glanced at Edwin and Charles again. Edwin was looking exasperated and impatient, while Charles looked curious but patient. She gave Edwin a small shrug. What was she supposed to do, just shrug the woman off and keep walking?

The woman glanced over her shoulder to where Crystal was looking and the crease between her brows grew deeper.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were talking to someone earlier?" the woman asked. Her smile was fixed on her face in a way that Crystal didn't like and her hand was still on her elbow.

"Uh, no?" Crystal said uncertainly. A second after her eyes darted to Charles and Edwin she realized her mistake. But, it was too late. The woman's eyebrows raised and she too glanced back to the boys, but obviously didn't see them.

Edwin rolled his eyes so hard his whole head rolled with them and started to walk away. Charles snickered and hopped after him, heading toward the subway.

"Sorry, I've really got to go," Crystal said, trying to delicately step around the woman, but her hand clenched down hard on Crystal's jacket.

"Do you recall your fifth birthday?" the woman asked frantically. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing all the way around her dishwater gray eyes. "Do you remember you told me you saw my husband?"

Her heart pounding in her chest, Crystal shook the woman off and took two quick steps back. "Sorry," she gasped, "Sorry I've got to go."

Crystal hustled away as the woman called after her "Nice seeing you, Crystal! Tell your mom I said hi!"

---

Or, maybe it started like this: a text from Crystal's mother saying she was invited to go to a party with her.

"Can you believe it?" Crystal smiled, looking down at her phone screen. "It's just so out of the blue!"

Charles' pointy chin hooked over Crystal's shoulder as he read the text message chain along with her. Crystal had read and reread the messages so many times, but she couldn't get enough. Her mom! Wanted to hang out! With her!

"She's not really inviting you here, though," Charles said uncertainly, frowning down at the phone screen. "She says here you have to go."

Crystal yanked the phone screen away from Charles with a thunderous frown. "She can be a little abrupt, but that's just my mom. It doesn't mean anything," Crystal said.

Charles frowned harder and opened his mouth to say something else, but Edwin cut him off.

"Of course," he said curtly. "You would know her best, Crystal. We trust your judgment," he said with a pointed look at Charles. "It's wonderful that you are reconnecting with your mother."

Charles frown lessened, but didn't disappear completely. "Yeah," he said slowly. "We're happy for you, Crystal."

---

No, how it really started was this: Crystal in the back of a cab sitting between Edwin and Charles on their way to an event at a haunted manor north of London.

"I still don't understand why we have to tag along," Edwin sniffed from Crystal's right. The cab that was driving the three of them trundled slowly down narrow country lanes, making all three of them sway side to side together. Crystal had airpods pressed into her ears and her phone out in her hand to at least attempt to make it look like she wasn't talking to herself in the back of the cab.

"Because, I'm nervous, okay?" Crystal snapped. That was the third time Edwin had complained about tagging along since they got into the car well over an hour ago. "My mom never asks me to come along to any of her stuff, but she asked me to come to this," Crystal continued miserably, her anger disappearing in a puff as soon as she let it out. "What if I mess up and she never asks me again?"

The phantom sensation of an arm settling over her shoulders gave her a little bit of comfort. "Hey, that's not going to happen, all right?"

Crystal could feel Charles giving Edwin a look over her head, but it still felt good to hear him agree with Charles. "Of course. You're a lovely young woman and your mother will be happy to spend time with you."

Unfortunately, Edwin was not a very good liar, especially for those who knew him well. She appreciated him trying, though. It wasn't like it was outside the realm of possibility that this could be the beginning of a renewed relationship with her mother. But, she suspected that she and Edwin shared a certain kind of pessimism that made even entertaining the thought feel frivolous.

Crystal looked up into Edwin's face, which was carefully folded into a kind and encouraging expression. The kindness was real, she could tell from the way his eyebrows tilted up and his eyes crinkled a little at the corners. But, the smile was fake. She could tell he wanted to frown in concern. Not that she could blame him. She did too.

The manor, when they reached it, was a huge stately building that was in need of some repair. But, it was still impressive, despite the cracks in the stone and the sagging of the doorways. The garden huge and lush, the drive curving around an old dry fountain with a praying angel in the center, wings spread wide, with huge red painted double doors set at the top of three curving marble steps. It was like something out of a regency romance novel.

Except that the circular drive was packed with posh high end cars parked every which way in the grass and on the gravel drive, so that the cab had to drop her off a ways off or risk getting trapped in the chaos. Crystal immediately regretted wearing sleek black stilettos as she struggled to toddle her way across the gravel on the balls of her feet. Holding onto Charles' and Edwin's hands helped, but once they got closer to the entrance and the slow moving knot of people moving inside she had to make her way on her own or risk embarrassing her mother in front of all her friends.

Inside, the manor was much more richly decorated. It was the height of summer, but it seemed like whoever designed the event had something Halloween adjacent in mind. There was glittering black velvet drapes everywhere along with sparkling purple spiders hanging from gossamer webs, waiters walking through the crowds were carrying trays with shots bubbling with dry ice and atmospheric music piped through the dark wooden halls. It sort of clashed with the warm air and orange summer sunlight cascading through the tall windows, but whoever had set it up obviously was making a big effort to stick to a theme.

Crystal looked around the foyer for her mother, scanning heads and faces with the help of the little bit of height her ridiculous shoes gave her. She could feel Charles and Edwin hovering at each of her shoulders, which certainly helped her to straighten her back and focus. She could do this.

Her mom had left directly from the gallery. She was busy, obviously. She was always busy. But, she would definitely be at the party and Crystal was at the party now too and that was all she needed.

She started to weave through the party goers, her eyes on the lookout for her mom's distinctive hairstyle, her tall willowy body shape, her intelligent (and judgmental) eyes that Crystal knew as well as her own face. It didn't take long to find her.

In what was probably a ballroom in the manor's heyday, her mom was trapped talking to a woman who looked vaguely familiar. The tense smile and crinkled brow were a combination Crystal remembered from a lot of stiff adult parties she was dragged to as a little kid. Obviously her mom needed a rescue and Crystal was ecstatic to provide it.

"Mom!" she exclaimed, stepping up to the two older women with a wide smile. She didn't even have to fake the smile, she was so happy to have found her mother in the press of strangers. She felt more than saw Edwin and Charles hang back a little, but they didn't go far. When she glanced over, both Edwin and Charles were bent over Charles' hands, looking at them like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. The urge to hiss at them to knock it off was strong, but Crystal swallowed it down at the last moment.

"Crystal! So glad you made it!" her mom enthused, a little stiff but sounding sincere enough. She pulled Crystal in and kissed the air by each of her cheeks while Crystal did the same. If she noticed Crystal glance at the empty space behind and to her right she didn't mention it.

As she pulled away, her mom turned to the other woman she had been talking to. "You remember Kat Runnover? She's been so excited to see you," her mom enthused.

As Crystal turned to her, she suddenly remembered where she had seen her before. The woman who had accosted her outside the ice cream shop stood before her, now dressed in a tasteful black cocktail dress, martini glass in hand, her eyes wide and wet and shining as she pressed the pads of her fingers to her mouth.

"Oh, Crystal! It's so good to see you again! I'm so glad you could make it," Kat warbled before pulling a frozen Crystal into a hug. Her perfume was strong, but didn't quite mask the scent of her hairspray. Crystal hesitantly patted the other woman on the back.

"Now that you're here, we can finally start the party! Just a moment I have something I have to set up. Be right back," she sang, waving with the fingers still clutching the stem of her glass before dodging through the crowd toward the back of the room.

The second the woman was gone, Crystal turned back to her mother. Gone was the warm socialite smile. Instead her mother looked tired and cranky, her eyes roving over Crystal's dress and heels and hair, her mouth twisting into a moue of distaste.

"It certainly took you long enough to get here. Did you walk all the way from London?" he mother snarked, snatching a cocktail from a wandering waiter and almost downing the whole thing in one swallow.

"There was a lot of traffic," Crystal said awkwardly. She tried to pull down the hem of her skirt, but there wasn't a lot of give to the fabric. She felt incredibly self-conscious under her mother's gaze and already resented that she had made her feel that way. "Kat, huh?"

Her mother scoffed. "Poor Kat. She's never been the same since Stephen died. This is another one of her awful death day celebrations. They just get more unhinged every year." Crystal's mother stopped and gave her another assessing look. "She asked for you specifically, but wouldn't say why. Did you do something?"

"Just stumbled into her outside an ice cream shop. I didn't recognize her, but she recognized me," Crystal said with a shrug.

Her mother sighed heavily and knocked back the last swallow of her cocktail. "I guess it would be hard for her to forget you. After that whole fiasco back then."

Crystal frowned and forced herself not to fidget. She saw the flash of Charles' red polo in the corner of her eye moving closer, but forced herself not to react. Even if it wasn't warm and fuzzy, this was more words than she'd heard from her mother in the last month combined.

"What fiasco?" Crystal asked.

Her mother raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You really don't remember? At your fifth birthday party, you insisted that you could see her husband right behind her. Sent the poor woman into hysterics," she said with a curl of her lip.

Crystal winced. She did vaguely remember that, now that her mother brought it up. It had often been cited as the reason why her parents didn't celebrate her birthday, even if it had long ago become clear to her that holding the actions of a five year old against her was more than a little unfair. She hadn't realized the woman from the memories was Kat, though.

"I haven't seen any other ghosts here. At least the poor man has moved on," Edwin's voice came from just behind Crystal's left shoulder.

"Wow, even as a toddler Crystal was psychic," Charles chuckled from her right side.

Crystal wasn't sure what her face was doing, but was extremely thankful when someone tapped on a microphone, effectively distracting her mother from frowning at her face.

Kat had stood up on a low table and addressed the crowd, thanking them all for coming. Crystal tried to push her emotions down and watch dutifully, but it was hard when the boys were still talking in her ear.

"We do have a bit of a situation, Crystal," Edwin said stiffly, stepping up to her side so that she could see him clearly out of the corner of her eye. He was rubbing his hands together in an unusual gesture for him.

"Not sure who set it up, but this room must be enchanted," Charles contributed. "Seems like we're corporeal, while we're here," he explained, snapping his fingers and startling a few people who unfairly shot Crystal a dirty look. She shrugged apologetically and then shot Charles a dirty look once they had turned back around.

Kat had moved on to talking about death and her love for her husband, but Crystal was barely listening by that point.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she whispered, "What do you mean you're corporeal? Can people see you?"

"Not as such," Edwin sniffed. "But, they can feel us, we take up space, and we have weight, so long as we are under the effects of the spell."

"Why would someone put an enchantment like that on this room?" Crystal hissed.

"Crystal, hush!" her mother said from the corner of her mouth.

"Maybe someone set it up and then forgot about it?" Charles suggested.

"Or perhaps our host is about to do something ill advised..." Edwin said slowly, frowning at the front of the room where Kat was still talking, but much more emotionally now.

"I believe that the dead walk among us right now!" Kat was shouting into the microphone, mascara running down her cheeks with her tears. "I believe that with the right tools, with the right help from the right people," she smiled wetly right at Crystal, "we can finally see what's been right beside us all along."

"Oh, god," Crystal's mother groaned.

A second later, there was a mechanical thunk, and then hundreds of little fabric balls were hurtling down from the ceiling onto the crowd of people below. As they landed softly on hair and shoulders and backs, they exploded into clouds of bright primary colors, puffs of vibrant shades covering all the tastefully neutral colors of the crowd.

People started shouting right away, complaining about their designer clothing and their hundred dollar hair styles, literally shouting their fists at Kat who still stood on the table, her eyes desperately scanning the crowd.

And then people were screaming in a very different way.

"Oh, bugger," Charles grumbled, looking down at himself.

People started falling over themselves to get away from Charles and Edwin. Both of them were absolutely covered in paint, the colors clinging to them in a way that looked normal to Crystal but probably looked like something out of the Invisible Man to everyone else in the room.

Crystal was nearly bowled over at least three times as people rushed to get away from Charles and Edwin who stood placidly in the center of the room. Crystal fought against the pull of the crowd until she was able to break through and back into the empty space around them. When she turned back toward the doors, it was to see only the backs of dozens of people as they shoved at each other to escape. She couldn't see her mother anywhere.

"Really, this is quite childish," Edwin sighed, trying to brush a splash of bright red paint off of his sleeve and only succeeding in smearing the color around more.

Kat was screaming from somewhere in the house. Crystal thought she might have seen some muscular guys in off the rack suits tackle her out of the room once everyone started stampeding, but she wasn't sure. Everything had happened so fast once the screaming started.

Looking out the tall windows, she could see scores of people sprinting for the mess of cars in the circular driveway. The people who were already in their cars were laying on their horns and bumping into each other in their haste to escape.

"I don't know, mate. I think you look good in red," Charles said. Crystal turned just in time to see him wink at Edwin. Edwin scoffed in return, but looked pleased nonetheless.

"Well," Crystal said. She threw her arms out in an exaggerated shrug and then lets them slap back to her sides. "So much for mother daughter bonding."

"There will be other chances," Charles said, his expressive eyebrows folding in sympathy.

"I'm quite sorry, Crystal. Perhaps we should not have come along, after all," Edwin said quietly, his eyes looking old and tired in a way that was familiar, but that Crystal hated to see.

Crystal huffed a breath out her nose. She tried to imagine coming to the party by herself, riding in the cab by herself, talking to her mother without backup, inevitably going home to an empty flat all by herself. Maybe if Charles and Edwin hadn't come along she could have spent an interminable evening being stiff and unhappy beside her mother at the party, but somehow the prospect didn't seem more appealing than being covered in paint in an empty Manor with her two favorite dead boys.

"Nah," Crystal said with a lopsided smile. She leaned over and picked up one of the little fabric balls off the floor. It felt like a hacky sack in her hand, but was powdery with pale blue paint. "And miss you covered in paint? No way."

With a hard throw, Crystal nailed Edwin right in the chest with the ball and it exploded all over him in a pale blue cloud.

"Crystal!" he shouted, scandalized.

Charles was cackling, already loading his arms with a dozen discarded paint balls. "Yes, Crystal! That's my girl!" he laughed, whipping a bright yellow ball at her head and covering her in paint while she squealed.

And, maybe this is how this story ends: with three teenagers in various stages of life and death laughing in an empty house. With their laugher and playing spilling out of the house and onto the lawn until the paint balls finally run out of paint and they lay panting in the grass, covered in all the colors of the rainbow. And maybe the boys can drop their corporeal aspect and let the paint fall off them like a slowly dissolving paint palette while the girl has to find a shallow stream to wash the worst of it off. And maybe later they go back to the boys' office and sit in a circle on the floor and play board games until the sun comes up and the girl is snoring on their small worn love seat.

And, maybe it's a happy ending after all is said and done.

[sempersirens]

a bird in your teeth, I

masterlist

summary: since moving into the neighborhood a couple of years ago, you've become close with the miller family. as a young woman living alone joel is protective of you, and he intends to show you how much so

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni, neighbour!joel, age gap: reader is early-mid 20s, joel early 30s. no break-out. no smut (yet)

word count: ~1k

"Okay, missy. Bedtime!" Slapping your knees, you rise from your armchair to eject the copy of Notting Hill from the Millers' VCR.

You check your watch and curse softly under your breath. 10:06 pm. Joel should be pulling into the driveway any minute.

"Are there really guys like Hugh Grant back in England?" Sarah asks, tossing her quilt over her shoulder and bundling the pillows under her arm.

"If there are, I could never find them."

"That why you moved all the way across the ocean?"

You turned to Sarah, clutching your chest in mock outrage.

"Maybe. I liked the idea of finding a cowboy. Like Clint Eastwood!" You giggled and clapped your hands together. "Anyway, get upstairs before your old man gets home and initiates a Mexican standoff because I let you stay up past nine on a school night."

Smoothing down Sarah's hair, you place a quick kiss on the top of her head before scurrying her up the stairs.

"Goodnight!" She shouted over her shoulder before her bedroom door closed behind her.

Sarah was definitely old enough to look after herself on evenings like these, but since you moved into the neighborhood a few years ago it became routine to watch the teenager whenever her dad was going to be home late. Neither of you minded, you had bonded like sisters over your time spent together, despite your ten year age gap. You got the impression that Joel liked knowing you were both under one roof while he was away.

Ain't no need f'a young woman to be alone too long he would say, always eliciting an eye roll from both you and Sarah.

Living alone wasn't something that bored or intimidated you. On the contrary; independence excited you. The thrill hadn't subsided in the slightest. Texas had been more than welcoming to you since you decided to leave North London for a new life. As soon as you received the scholarship letter to undertake a Ph.D. at UT Austin, your bags were packed and you hailed a cab to Heathrow Airport.

You had, however, been immediately put at ease when you pulled up to your new home and caught a glimpse of Joel and Sarah walking to the truck in their driveway, lost in conversation, wide-eyed and giddy on an inside joke. You watched over time as the two spent their days in a blissful world of their own making, soaking up each other's company as naturally as the sun burns into the tops of your shoulders on a hot afternoon.

It had been an exceptionally warm Friday evening when Joel first knocked on your front door.

"Evening, ma'am." He had spoken, tipping his head slightly with his hands tucked loosely in his jeans pockets. Your palms had instantly turned clammy, internally praying that he didn't reach a hand forward to introduce himself.

"Hey. What can I do for you?" You had just about managed a reply between mediating your quickened breathing and trying to actually speak words rather than babble.

The rest of the encounter felt like it had flown by. Joel had invited you to a barbecue, too many burgers for jus' two people, he had reasoned. No such thing, you'd replied. Like you had needed any incentive to accept his invitation. You spent the evening with your ankles dipped in their paddling pool, belly laughing and wiping ketchup from the corners of your mouth. You'd be lying if you said your stomach didn't flutter every time Joel directed a question or comment solely toward you, or that your breath didn't hitch when you accidentally brushed fingers passing him the bottle opener. But that had been then, and you promised yourself you wouldn't get so Pride and Prejudice about a man you had just met. A single father, no less. As time passed, you spent most weekends together along with Joel's brother Tommy. Barbecues, family get-togethers, birthday parties; you were invited to them all. Weekends bled into weeknights, and you became an extension of their little family, let into their secret language of exchanged glances and inside jokes.

Lines were never crossed between you and Joel, but that knot in your stomach never seemed to fade either. You knew it was just an unreciprocated crush; misplaced gratitude for all the kindness he had shown you. Southern hospitality and charm had that effect.

Pulling you from your thoughts, Joel's truck headlights illuminated the living room. You quickly cleared the bowls of popcorn and bags of M&Ms from the coffee table before heading into the kitchen to refill your glass of water.

Joel's keys turned in the door and you heard his shoes wiping on the doormat. He called your name softly.

"In here." You responded in just above a whisper.

He walked in wearing a smart button-up, the top two undone, rubbing a hand over his stubble.

"Pint?"

"If you'd be so kind, darlin'." Joel sighed, pulling out a stool before tapping the one next to him for you to perch on.

"Date not go so well?"

"Do they ever?" He laughed as you handed him a cold bottle of beer. "Not having one f'yourself?"

"They won't if you keep expecting them to be a disaster. None for me, I need to head out soon. Meeting some friends for a few at a bar in the city."

"They're all fine women. Just got nothin' in common. S'probably me."

It made you feel dirty when Joel came back tipsy. With his guard down and inhibitions numbed, he was so open. It felt like you were taking advantage of him. You had to fight everything inside of you to argue with his self-deprecation. Of course it wasn't him. He was the perfect man. You tried to not show too much pleasure at his string of failed first dates.

"Should've told me y'had plans, sugar. I would've come back earlier so you could get goin'."

You waved his statement away. "It's no problem, the less time I'm there the better. I should probably head off, though." Before you could move to grab your keys, Joel's hand hovered over yours resting on the table.

"Thank you, by the way. I doubt I say it enough." Eye contact with Joel always stirred something inside of you. Those damn brown eyes. You smiled at him, softly.

"You don't need to thank me, Joel. I like spending time with Sarah. You know that."

He shook his head slightly. "S'not just that. I mean for everythin'. If you ever need me, you call. You know that, right? Hate thinkin' 'bout you in that house all alone."

It's not the first time he had said something of the sort. You always assumed it was the over-protective father inside of him, bursting out at the seams. Or maybe his Southern chivalry finding its feet after a couple of beers.

"Thank you, Joel. I appreciate it." You turned your hand in his and squeezed once before making your way to the door. You felt his eyes on you as you walked. You always felt his eyes on you. Sometimes you would be changing in front of your window and be sure you could feel Joel's gaze from across the street burning into you. But whenever you turned around, he was never there.

"I'm sorry your date didn't go well." You said, lingering in the doorway.

Joel scrunched his nose slightly and shook his head.

"I'm not."

a/n: hi guys! this is my first fic uploaded to tumblr lol kind of nervy but hope you guys enjoy. i plan on writing a couple more parts to this! message me for taglist for part two!

dee x

[lasiocampa--quercus]

For all those stuck in 2019...

I have been very reluctant to share any art / writing for — oof, five years. First because it was plain awful, then because it was not good enough. It still isn't, but as the years passed I got increasingly lonely on other social media, so this is my last resort. After I've failed smashingly here, well, I guess I'll just have to stop trying altogether.

Anyway, a first time for everything. So here's one for you.

[Detail. Scroll down (I mean to say, read the whole post) to see the full artwork]

We don't choose what we love, now, do we?

For five years I've been desperately in love with the idea of putting two brilliant characters — Eggsy from Kingsman (2015, 2017) and David from Bodyguard (2018) — into the context where they could meaningfully interact and explore one another's worlds. Such a context has been established (it is not the subject of the current post but I'd be willing to tell all about it later), resulting in their taking a shine to each other almost immediately. For Eggsy this acquaintance was something excitingly in between the two class extremes he was most accustomed to, sabotaging his life-long distaste for having anything to do with coppers. For David it was a breath of fresh air. He'd been two years well into therapy after the events covered in the series, and he was still struggling to get back on track when he met Eggsy, arch and lively, and at the same time so dashingly insightful as he was. Somehow it felt like they'd known each other for years as they talked throughout afternoons and after-work hours over a pint of lager somewhere in North London. David, usually rather inhibited, smiled and laughed at Eggsy's jokes, charmed by his candour and straightforwardness, taken aback by his astute remarks often delivered in a childlike unassuming manner. To be sure, he'd never met anyone quite like him. The prospect of friendship was an enticing one despite all their differences and despite the pressures of their jobs. While at first one was suspicious of the other's occupation (David, of course, more suspicious than Eggsy, being inherently averse to secrecy of any kind), they soon grew to respect the boundaries imposed by respective lines of duty (David was inclined to believe Eggsy's agency couldn't be that bad seeing as it employed such a brilliant lad). In effect, Eggsy trusted him more than he could ever trust any of his old mates and occasionally slipped into the conversation uncanny details of his field experiences. But best of all he liked exchanging ideas, relaying to David something that Harry had told — or taught — him, expounding on his reflections that were philosophical or even biblical in essence, although he couldn't ever say whom he unwittingly quoted. David would recognise a concept or two, but he never abashed him by mentioning the fellow's name. Over time the content of their communion had got more intimate, insomuch that Eggsy took to dedicating a huge chunk of time to moaning about his relationship with Harry which had gone on for quite a while after he split up with Tilde.

One such time, fuelled by a considerable amount of drinks, Eggsy set to illustrate the supposed reasons for Harry's recent aloofness. He clamorously hurled his jeerings and complaints at David, impinging on much-cherished privacy of the pub tables. Before it started to wear on virtually everybody in their proximity, David took his noisy, fairly plastered companion outside for a breather. The cool evening air didn't seem to have the desired effect of sobering him up a bit as Eggsy nearly blacked out after a brief (but crucial) exchange between himself and David. That occurrence prompted David to call a cab and take him to his place to recuperate. He reasoned it would not be wise to let him dart off home to Harry in such a flustered state, for it appeared as if the conflict between them was merely an ember, or rather, a heap of embers waiting to be stirred. From then on David's conduct was laced with strange acts of gracious benevolence, such as taking Eggsy's trainers off before laying him down, sleepy and a tad confused, on his sofa and leaving the keys to his flat for when he woke up and presumably wished to go home, with little trim notes strewn around telling about it, as well as where to look for aspirin if his head was giving him a hard time after the other night's drunken debauchery. At the time David didn't question his actions, although they clearly ran counter to his long-conditioned circumspection and, to a lesser extent, his vague views on male intimacy. If anything, the day when he, trying not to disturb Eggsy's healing sleep, snuck away for work he couldn't shake off a quaint feeling of invigoration which seemed to permeate his otherwise dull routine of desk duty. Later that day, confident that Eggsy had left, he got back to a startle in the form of his coyly looking, supper-serving friend with unkempt hair and a crumpled white T-shirt. Eggsy stayed not only to defer having to face Harry, but to show gratitude for David's kindness the best way he knew — by doing a kindness in return. He furnished their dinner table with a bottle of wine, promising to go easy on it and proposing a toast to David's general gemness. There they were, having another quiet night of good conversation, the homely setting and their tipsiness conducing to even more warmth and unrestraint, when Eggsy accidentally tipped over his half-emptied glass and stained his T-shirt. If one could ever be sure of such things, one would say that exact moment was the point of no return, the moment of truth. A simple, ordinary incident that tore down a facade with the light tinkle of glass as it touched the floor. From lighthearted jocularity Eggsy went on to unbosom his brooding insecurity. The change in his disposition was so thunderboltingly sudden it made David somewhat uncomfortable. It made Eggsy uncomfortable too. The only suitable course of action suggested they should comfort each other, so Eggsy placed his hand in David's. A bashful kiss ensued. Once it was reciprocated, little smiles creased their flushed faces. Both hardly had an opportunity to process what was happening, but it somehow felt ridiculously, madly right. And peaceful, too.

Well, now that all the heavy lifting is done by that snippet above we can sit back and (hopefully) enjoy this little picture depicting David and Eggsy decently progressed in their ‘comforting each other’. I must point out, however, that what you've just (hopefully) read is really only a summary, a squeeze if you will, of what transpired, produced specifically for purpose of acquainting you with the context. In actual fact the story is teeming with dialogue and detail which, with your kind permission, I would like to show you some other time.

[tavolgisvist]

They were to spend the night at a hotel on the outskirts of Doncaster. As they drove, the car kept lurching over to the right-hand side of the road. ‘Uh, hey, driver,’ says John, ‘we’re not on the Continent. This is England, where we drive on the left.’ For the next twenty minutes the car kept weaving on the road. John and Paul began to mumble prayers, and at one point Ringo began reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Paul, sitting in the front, wrote ‘Help!’ in the frost on the window. Gradually the car came to a halt. The driver had forgotten to fill the tanks with petrol. Aspinall climbed out and after a few minutes managed to hail a lorry. The four Beatles clambered into the cab with the surprised driver. ‘As soon as we get to the hotel I’m ringing up Brian about this driver,’ says George. It was then 1.30 in the morning. By 10 a.m. the Beatles had a new driver. <…> The north-west comer of the huge lobby of Grosvenor House in London was filled with clusters of people fidgeting. As an apple cheeked young man carrying an Aquascutum package approached, several of them rose and surrounded him. A room clerk came over and handed him a sheaf of papers. ‘Mr Epstein,’ he said, ‘the telephone just hasn’t stopped ringing all day.’ Later, in his suite, Brian Epstein relaxes and pours himself a drink. He has just spoken with the last of the people who have waited in the lobby. She is a woman who has flown over from New York to try to get him to endorse a jewelled live beetle. ‘They’re rather fun,’ he said, looking at one she has left, ‘but it does seem rather strange, having to make money from insects.’

(Love Me Do. The Beatles Progress by Michael Braun, 1963/1995)

Part (I), (II), (III), (IV), (V), (VI), (VII), (VIII)

[carcrashbaby]

graham coxon after being hit by a cab in north london (1995)

[flameraven]

Got Your Goat

Gävle, Sweden December 2021

It was meant to be a simple holiday. A chance to get away from the hustle and bustle of London, to go up north and enjoy a bit of real winter for a change. Snow, cozy sweaters, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, hot cocoa and mulled wine-- Aziraphale was looking forward to all of it. Especially since he'd finally be able to enjoy it with a certain demon cuddled close by his side. He really should have known that when it came to Crowley, nothing was ever that easy. “Hang on,” Crowley said, as they stepped out of the cab. “I know this place. This is the Goat Town.”

“No, Crowley, this is Gävle,” Aziraphale said. “See? It says right there on the sign.” “Yes,” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale a Look, “but it's also Goat Town. Look.” And he pointed across the square, where a team of humans were busily erecting a straw goat of impressive size. “Oh!” Aziraphale said. “Why yes, so it appears. What a charming local tradition.”

Crowley chuckled, and there was a tone in that laugh that Aziraphale knew all too well, a tone that meant mischief was fast approaching.

“What are you up to, you old devil?” he muttered. “It's like you said, angel,” Crowley purred, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale's shoulder and leaning in conspiratorially. “It's all about traditions. And the tradition in this town is about more than just putting up the yule goat.”

“Yes..?” Aziraphale said warily, certain now that he wouldn't like where this was going.

Crowley flashed a sharp, feral grin. “It's also about seeing whether the yule goat stays up. Or whether it's knocked down, or destroyed, or burned...”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, sternly. “We are here on holiday.”

“What?” the demon smirked. “Sounds like great fun to me. Besides, we're here to engage in local traditions and festivities, aren't we?”

“I meant things like sightseeing, and you know it.”

“C’mon, angel,” Crowley wheedled. “What do you say? Shall we make it a contest? Give you a chance to do some goat-related thwarting, for old times' sake?”

“Fiend,” Aziraphale said fondly. “Very well. But you owe me dinner first, before you run off and start your plotting.”

Crowley laughed at that, and looped his arm through Aziraphale's. “Now that, angel, I am more than happy to do.” ==//==

Slightly more than two weeks later, they stood together just outside the protective fence, watching as the human fire crew put out the last of the flames. Aziraphale’s gloved hands were wringing, and Crowley’s usual slouch had a distinctly sulky angle. “I did say I was sorry,” Aziraphale said, eventually. “I didn’t even get to try my plan,” Crowley sighed. “I told you, it was an accident.” Undeterred, Crowley continued to pout. “It was a good plan, too. Very sneaky.” “I was just trying to help that young man.” “Was going to do it without miracles and everything. Just like Bond.”

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale said, and reached out to wrap an arm around Crowley, pulling the demon close. “I’m sure it would have been very wily.” “The wiliest,” Crowley muttered.

“I suppose there's always next year.”

Crowley brightened. “You calling for a rematch, angel?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I could never deliberately condone such vandalism,” he said, archly. But then he smiled. “... but I don't have anything planned for next year.”

Crowley grinned. “You're on, angel.” Then he shivered. “Now, let’s get a drink, eh? Something hot. I’m freezing.” (If you liked the fic, please leave a comment on Ao3!)

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 30 A-The Lady

Day 30 A-End 

Other Stories

Other Days

A Western Summer

Duck knew he was dreaming as soon as he opened his eyes. The forest around him was tall, taller than the tallest building in Tidmouth…or London for that matter. Where he could see the sky above him through the forest canopy shimmered strangely despite it being night, reminding him of the air surrounding Screech. Fireflies flew through the air, lighting the forest in a golden ethereal glow. None of this was what told him that he was dreaming. It was the woman polishing his buffers.

She strangely reminded him of Cassandra at first glance, large round eyes and elegant features, but her’s were sharp were Cassnadra’s were rounded. He felt her presence on him like a physical weight, pressing down on his frames so that they creaked from the strain of her mere proximity. It felt pleasant, almost fond, but he understood that if he angered her, she would not have to kill him, he would be crushed in an instant by the weight of the emotion itself. Even before she glanced up to reveal burning gold eyes, he knew who was before him.

“My Lady.” He said, bowing his head as far as it would go, his mind racing as he tried to figure out why the Lady herself had called his spirit forth.

She smiled, “So polite Montague.”

 She reached out a hand to cup his cheek, the sensation of withheld power almost burning him as she sat there for a moment staring at him.

“Forgive me,” she said as she removed her hand, leaving a red handprint behind, “it is not often I get to interact with my living children.”

Duck nodded slowly, even within a dream he could feel the effort it took for her to keep her presence from overwhelming his existence.

“I am honored, My Lady.”

“Hmmm…” She flicked a speck of dirt from his running board, the speck incinerating in the air from her power. “I had debated sending you to Sodor.”

Duck's eyebrows shot up, the Lady was the one who sent him? It had always been strange that he was chosen for transfer to the North Western rather than one of his Welsh siblings, who were far closer, but to think it was her…

She glanced down at her palm, “I saw that you would remain faithful to your ways, to the Great Western. That it would be born again on your line.” a golden flame flickered into being on her palm.

“I did not see my champion falling for you.”

She closed her hand, the flame disappearing into her fist.

Oh.

She looked up to stare into Duck’s eyes, her lips tight in a thin line.

“I know I have unfairly burdened them.” She said tightly, the air thrumming with her power and frustration, “that she needs companionship of her own kind. That she is dangerously close to falling.”

It was tensely quiet between the engine and his creator for a long moment.

“She would not have asked to be spared.” Duck said quietly, “I would be surprised if the thought had ever occurred to her.”

“I am aware.” She said, her voice pained. She laid her other hand on his running board, tracing her fingertips along his running board as she walked around him.

She paused by his cab, “I am a jealous being.” She admitted carelessly, as if the weight of her words wasn't causing his springs to creak. “I am possessive of all my children, perhaps beyond what is healthy.”

She walked forward again, and Duck wondered if this is what sheep felt like when stalked by wolves.

 “above all others, she is mine. The only one of my children I can see while they still live, the only one I can pour my care into while they still draw breath.” She turned to face him, repressed anger, frustration, and helplessness clear  on her face, “and I can only hurt her.”

She stepped close, Duck barely daring to breathe, “I can only reach her because I ask her to risk herself for me. To bear the weight of divinity on her mortal frames.”

She opened her fist, revealing the flame still flickering in her hand, “even now I can only speak to you without shattering your being because of how much time you've spent in her presence.”

She locked her eyes on the flames, “you need to understand, my dear child, that she is mine first. Now, and forever. She was only supposed to be a champion, but I have poured too much into her, asked too much of her, to ever let her go. She is a part of me now, and I could no more let her go than you can withstand my power in life.”

Duck eyes the flames in her hand warily, “I knew as much when I asked her. To deny your claim on her would be to deny her.”

The Lady sighed, and let the flames die away, “which is why I did not protest when she asked my permission to court you.”

Duck should have expected her to have asked permission before agreeing to court him, but then why…

“Because you have to understand she's mine.” she answered his thought before he could even finish it. “She's grown attached to you, and you need to understand that you will never be first in her life before I allow this to go any further. Not just as a fact, but as your reality.”

Duck actually thought about it, considering how he felt. “It's an adjustment, being with her.” He admitted, “I'm not used to allowing others to go into danger, much less without me…but asking for Cassandra or Thomas without Caomhnóir would be like asking for me without the Great Western.”

“A fair enough comparison.” She allowed. She cupped his cheek again, “I do not say this out of malice or anger, but protectiveness. I would not see you hurt if she were to ever choose her duty over you…either of you.”

Duck swallowed, “I would not ask that of her. Only that she allows others to help her where possible.”

The Lady was quiet for a moment, before she sighed and stepped away.

“She needs you.” She admitted, “as loath as I am to admit it, she needs another engine to trust, to help her bear the weight.” she looked up to meet the panniers eyes, “but you will be affected by this.” She warned. “Just as her crews have been, you cannot spend so much time with my own without being affected yourself.”

“I understand.”

“Hmmmm…perhaps you do.” She glanced to the sky, “I must release you now, but know this.”

She glanced back to Duck.

“She chose well.”

The fire in her hand flared and Duck woke, gasping for air in the Arlesburg sheds, startling several of the engines awake.

As they asked him what was wrong, he glanced into a mirror that had been left leaning against the shed walls, revealing a red handprint on his cheek.

A/N: Hello Loves! The Lady appears Human here as a measure to keep her presence from destroying Duck. I hope you all enjoyed Day 30! Love Y'all!

[morrigan-sims]

On Repeat Tag

I was tagged by @salemssimblr! Thank you!

shuffle your On Repeat playlist and post the first 10 tracks.

Maybe Man - AJR

Favorite Liar - The Wrecks

Fresh - Artist Vs Poet

Call My Name - The Unlikely Candidates

Steve's Going To London - AJR

Second Thought - Raynes

Moon - The Cab

Final Destination - The Unlikely Candidates

I Won't - AJR

29 - Run River North

For once this is actually accurate to my recent listening. I've been listening to The Maybe Man on repeat for the past 5 days, and I've probably listened to it at least 20 times by now. And the rest of these songs are on the playlist I was listening to frequently pre-The Maybe Man.

I tag @hibiscustease @void-critters @voidcreek @goldenwaves

[aryburn-trains]

Only a few months old at the time, shiny GO Transit F40PH 511 heads up a westbound 9-car train of new bilevels and an APCU on the tail end, passing by Spadina Avenue just west of Toronto's Union Station. GO 511 was part of a six-unit order of F40PH units built by GMD at their London ON plant in April-May 1978, a change from GO's previous orders of freight GP40-2W units. New F59PH deliveries a decade later would result in GO flipping the six orphan units to Amtrak in 1990. 511 would see another decade of service on Amtrak as their 411, and would go on to work AMT's commuter operations out of Montreal. It last saw service on the the Saratoga & North Creek Railway (via LTEX) with another ex-Amtrak F40. The bilevel cars trailing are also new, part of the first order built by Hawker Siddeley and in service for a little over a year since introduction in March 1977. Since the first bilevel order included no cab cars, another locomotive, APCU, or old Hawker Siddeley single-level cab car had to be used on the other end in the early years. This scene off Spadina Avenue is notable in that it's under transition: the old CN steam-era freight platforms, team tracks and yard trackage east of Bathurst Street yard are still present, but truncated for the new CN Tower's parking lot (note the yellow bridge crossing the rail corridor near TTR's John St. interlocking tower). In later years the RBC's new data center (325 Front St. W), the Metro Toronto Convention Centre and CN's L'Hotel would fill much of the vacant land along Front Street in the 80's. The usual downtown office towers of the day including the TD Centre, Royal Bank Plaza, CP Hotel's Royal York, and the CNCP Telecommunications Building (151 Front Street) are quite unobscured compared to today. July 30, 1978 Bill Mischler photo

[sharpened--edges]

Couldn’t face the Underground, being under ground. Couldn’t face a cab either, those black theatres playing cockney monologues. Spat out by the hospital into the middle of nowhere, Alex finds instead an Overground station and a line that will take him tolerably close to Mountjoy. The platform is all cigarettes and schoolgirls. This feels like travelling. The train does not simply appear as it does under ground. Under ground you get impatient with lateness, because essentially you don’t believe the tube has any real distance to travel. It should just be here, and then be there. But with the Overground, you will wait, and quite happily wait, and smile when you can see it coming, the train, rounding the corner under the vast azure sky, chuffing past trees and houses.

The doors open. Everybody in the North of London knows this line affectionately as the Free Train. There are no machines and no one ever pays. Kids smoke on it, tramps live on it, and the mad like to sit in the lotus position and strike up conversations. It takes you to the big parks at the top of the city and the ghettos at the bottom. Teachers ride it because admin and essays can be laid out on the many empty seats and calmly dealt with. Nurses sleep on it. Buskers play concerts uninterrupted. Dogs are welcome. Sometimes you walk into a carriage and the clouds of marijuana smoke make your eyes sore. To look out of the windows at the passing world is to think that the city consists only of forests and schools and sporting arenas and swimming pools. The dark satanic mills must be somewhere else. The whole place looks like the Promised Land.

Zadie Smith, The Autograph Man (Penguin, 2003), p. 372.

[northlondonlocalcar]

North London Taxis and Cabs Provide a reliable Minicabs Service in London,

[itsrattysworld]

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Refer to 22 December 2024 LLOYDS BANK Amphlett Lissimore Solicitors Greystoke House 80-86 Weston Street London SE19 3AF Tel: 020 8771 5254 Email: contact@allow.co.uk DX: 34150 Norwood North W: www.allaw.co.uk Ref: EBO/EBO/Tomlinson/0194670 You Will I confirm that your WILL has been executed properly and that it has been placed in my firm’s strong room for safe keeping. Please let your…

[candy-floss-crazy]

Over the years I have owned some crap cars. I remember a little Nissan Cherry, it wasn't actually mine, my dad bought it as a second car, but it was that clapped out that my mam wouldn't travel in it, so I sort of got left to use it at will. It ended up being in a 6 car pile up near the Metro Centre in the North East, so that was that. Gradually over time, as business got better I ended up with a Jaguar X-type estate. I loved that car, but Ian, one of our event managers blew the engine up when I lent him it to go to London to see his girlfriend. Funnily enough he also blew the engine up in our mini camper van, and one of the London taxi cabs. Dream Car Over the years I always had a hankering for a Maserati Quattroporte. I think it is one of the most beautiful saloon cars ever made. The fact that it is a true four door 5 seater makes it an ideal family car, and the 440HP engine, limited slip diff and active suspension means it can hold its head up with many a performance car. Eventually my wife got sick of me nagging about wanting one, and I convinced her we could also hire it out as a wedding car, so eventually she gave in and we acquired a gun metal grey version with black and cream leather interior. It was the executive version, with massaging, heated, cooled rear seats that also reclined. A nice touch, but to be honest one I never took advantage of as I always drove. Maserati Quattroporte I owned that car for three years and loved it as much at the end of them as I did at the beginning. Now, my wife isn't one to swap a car in that is running OK, so imagine my surprise when she announced one day, "I think you should go and look for a new Maserati". I was worried she had suffered an unnoticed anurism or was having a breakdown but she seemed fine. Looking back I had just received my pilots licence, so I think now, it was me mentioning I fancied a share in a small Cessna aeroplane, that got her thinking once I swapped my car in, it was an excuse to put me off an aeroplane for a few years. Quattroporte 2 I ended up speccing the new model Quattroporte in Nero black with full black leather interior. It seemed a good idea at the time. The colour is absolutely fabulous, deep black, with large flecks of colour. When the sun hits it, it looks sublime. Unfortunately you would need to be cleaning it 24/7 to keep it looking that way. I have spent hours washing and polishing it to a gleam. Withing 30 seconds of hitting the road it looks like its been neglected for months. For anyone thinking of buying their dream car all I can say is do it. Mine is totally impractical. I have had it as low as 3 m.p.g. on twisty roads with my foot down. Heck it will pass anything on the road except a fuel station. Things like tyres and consumables are an arm and a leg. And last about half as long as any other car I have owned. It is so big it doesn't fit in parking bays. My wife hates it. But I don't care, once I get in, fire it up and push the sports mode button, the engine roars. Sounding like a symphony of angels, floor the accelerator and it pushes you back in your seat, and all is right with the world. Maserati Quattroporte Wiki Read the full article

[stadtfunk]

The Hack Green Adventure

Date: October 17, 2020 Last week I decided to head North and revisit Hack Green Nuclear Bunker in Nantwich, Cheshire.

Originally I was going to stay at my second home in Paddington and catch the train up to Cheshire, but then Covid struck back and I didn’t want to take the risk.

The next best thing was to drive up, so that’s what I did.

After finishing work yesterday, I slept overnight in the car (I say slept but it was far from it), just off the M25 in Surrey.

I then set off around 8.15am, round the M25, up the M40 and a bit of the M42, then the M6. I passed Birmingham on the journey too so that’s another place ticked off the list. 😄

The last time I came to Hack Green I went by train to Nantwich, got a cab to the bunker and then walked back to the station, so it was nice to go by road this time and not have to worry about the walk back.

The staff were as lovely as ever, and we had a good old laugh about being Cold War nerds.

As I write this, I’m already in bed in the Crewe Travelodge (nearly called it a Travel Tavern there 😂) and am feeling pretty shattered.

Tomorrow on my way ‘back South’ I hope to be able to visit Greenham Common, but we’ll see how I feel.

Before I go on to the photos from Hack Green, I’d like to give a shout out to the staff at Travelodge in Crewe. I’d never stayed in a Travelodge before and I was really impressed with the service and the room.

Looking back on my old website, through the Internet Wayback Machine, I’d previously caught the train up and ended up walking to the site! Here’s what I said before

After a 4 and a bit journey from hell, up from Brighton, across London and up to Cheshire I arrived at Hack Green. Tip: The bunker is 3.5miles away from Nantwich Station. If you are planning on going and don’t drive, get a cab! The walk is pleasant enough but it’s goes through a country road and lane which can be a bit hairy at times!

I’m glad I drove this time, I got to see the sights of the M6 Toll, the outskirts of Birmingham and I had to get a silly pic of my car by the security check point.

My summary is still the same though and hasn’t changed

Being legally bound by the Official Secrets Act, I can’t tell you anything else apart from; The staff are really friendly, The NAAFI is great, it’s well worth a visit and, it’s very very real!

[xridetaxiservice]

Gatwick Airport Taxi: Choosing the Right Service

Traveling to or from Gatwick Airport by taxi is a popular choice due to its convenience and ease. Whether you're heading to central London or another destination, here's what you need to know about Gatwick Airport taxi services.

1. On-Demand Taxis

Gatwick Airport  taxi ranks located outside both the North and South Terminals. These ranks are serviced by licensed taxis, ensuring a reliable and safe journey. You don’t need to book in advance; simply follow the signs to the taxi rank and wait for the next available cab. The fares are metered, and you can pay by cash or card.

2. Pre-Booked Taxis

Pre-booking a taxi can save you time and provide peace of mind, especially during peak travel periods. Numerous companies offer pre-booked taxi services to and from Gatwick. Booking in advance ensures that a driver will be waiting for you upon arrival, helping you avoid any potential delays or long queues.

3. Comparing Prices

Taxi fares from Gatwick to central London can vary significantly depending on the service provider and the time of day. It’s a good idea to compare prices from different companies online before making a booking. Look for fixed-price fares to avoid any unexpected charges due to traffic delays.

4. Special Services

Many taxi companies offer special services such as child seats, wheelchair accessibility, and executive cars for a more luxurious experience. When booking, make sure to specify any additional requirements to ensure a comfortable and tailored journey.