#also i was standing sort of deep in the water while my mum was swimming and a little brown duck swam up and just kind of sat next to me

[c-kiddo]

birthday geese

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

Forgotten in the rain

The streets were empty and quiet, devoid of life, save for the occasional passing car, rushing and hissing over the wet asphalt. Dark clouds swirled in the gray sky, pouring their sorrows on the desolate city below. Most remained in their homes far away from the endless rivers of water falling from the sky, but not Sirius. No, he most certainly did not despise the grim weather or the rain. On the contrary, he rather enjoyed it, finding it peaceful and almost…serene. He liked to hear the sound of the millions of droplets of water clattering against the windows and cars, sliding down vibrant green leaves, falling on the ground, sinking into the earth and turning it into mush, and disappearing down the drains into the cold metal pipes. It calmed him, washing away the restlessness, pain, and memories, even if it only were for a few short minutes. A light, trembling wind fought his way into his body, past his leather jacket, chilling him to the bones, ruffling his wet hair. But again, he did not mind. A dark green leaf, the colour of Aisha’s eyes, detached itself from a low hanging branch, fluttering briefly in front of his face, before titling down and falling at his feet on the gray cobblestones.

Aisha…she was lovely. A smart, funny, gorgeous woman filled to the brim with joyous life. A temperamental, but kind soul. But it was not the same. Something was still missing inside of him, a small, but important void in his chest, almost as if he had lost something he had never possessed in the first place. And it hurt. He hid it well but it pained him.

He continued walking, immersed in his thoughts and not paying attention to his surroundings. Sirius was so distracted, that he did not notice the pots full of flowers standing on the side of the sidewalk and nearly fell flat forward on his face, as he tripped, knocking them over. White petals flew in the air, and gently settled on the dirty pavement, around withered green stems. Cursing he picked the, up, stepping on one in the process and leaving behind ugly black stains on the squashed flower. They were beyond salvaging.

With a heavy sigh, he entered the little flower shop, water running down his clothes and heavily dripping on the floor. His hair lay in wet black and gray strands on his face and neck, sticking to his skin, and his blue-gray eyes shone bright with curiosity in the dim lighting as he looked around. The place was small and dark, walls covered in crackled navy blue paint, and a couple of dingy light bulbs hung from the bare ceiling, casting their flickering light on the room. Flowers of every shape, colour, and size were cramped in glass vases, broken stems and yellowed leaves were strewn here and there across the floor, and dried bundles of faded pink roses and baby breath flowers hung upside down above the counter, suspended on thin strings.

Sirius stood there, immobile, holding the damaged flowers, at loss, when the green door behind the counter opened, and an old man appeared. He was very tall and slim, dressed in a knitted cream jumper and brown corduroy pants. His hair fell on his face in a mess of graying dark copper curls stricken with white locks, casting shadows over his eyes. He seemed oblivious to Sirius’ presence, nose deep inside a large leather-bound book he cradled tightly with one hand, a steaming red mug of tea in the other. Clearing his throat, the black-haired man walked up to the counter, running a nervous hand through his dripping locks.

“Hello, sorry…I…Uhm,” he stuttered.

The shopkeeper looked up, clever green eyes meeting a confused silvery blue gaze. It was as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over Sirius, filling his bones with fear, chilling every inch of his skin with anxiety. Those brown flecks swimming in pools of emerald, those sun-kissed golden curls, the millions of little freckles peppering pale, once youthful now wrinkled skin, the warm wool of knitted cardigans, the sharp scent of burning hot tea that has just been brewed, the crinkle of rapidly turned pages…he knew all of these things. He was more than familiar with them. It all belonged to Remus John Lupin. It was his Moony. His Moony, who he hadn’t seen in years. Memories washed over him, flicking in his mind like a flipbook, rushing through the years.

The first time he saw the tall, lanky boy with gangly limbs on the Hogwarts Express, the nervousness written all over his face, clear as day, as he sat on the stool, the Sorting Hat heavy on his head and insecurity dancing across his taught features as the name “Gryffindor” resonated in the Great Hall. Sirius remembered the first year, spent in nervous glances and reclusion, the bitterness and resignation when his secret came out, and they found out he was a werewolf.

He remembered Second Year, when Remus’ smiles gradually got brighter and he became more comfortable, yet he still wouldn’t change in front of his friends.

Then came Third Year, and the whole Animagus process, where he finally saw what it was like to turn into a vicious beast once a month, what it was like to tear yourself apart and wake up the next day, just a little more tired and broken than the day before. Fast forward to Fourth Year where his problems with his family truly began, Remus’ constant worried glances, and that cold, dark Christmas Eve of 1974 where he, Sirius Black, appeared at the Potter's barely breathing, beyond hurt and wrecked.

He, of course, never forgot Fifth Year and the stolen, longing stares, the minute he realized he liked boys, and the precise moment he understood that the boy in question was Remus John Lupin, his best friend. He also recalled, with regret and sorrow, the time that he gave away Remus’ condition to Snape; an idiotic, dangerous, so-called prank that near,y cost him one of the most important people in his life.

And then Sixth Year and its tension, the first drunken kiss, the secrets, the lies, and the blissful nights spent at the very top of the Astronomy Tower. Sirius kept the memories of summer 1977 dearly, reminiscing of the sweet warm nights, the bonfires, the day the rest of their friends found out about him and Remus, and the pure joy and happiness of those few weeks.

He remembered Seventh Year and the mounting fear, hanging heavy in the air, the worried whispers, and the empty, saddened stares...all things that perdured even after Hogwarts.

Then came the War, accompanied by mourning and grief, only brightened for a few moments by James’ and Lily’s wedding, and then Harry's birth. A joy that didn't last long, as Sirius’ rapidly deteriorating relationship with Remus finally broke with the death of their best friends and his unjust imprisonment.

He remembered every excruciating full moon of the twelve years spent in Azkaban, every other remaining day blurring into an unintelligible mess, slowly sinking into insanity, with no knowledge of Remus’ whereabouts.

He remembered, without doubt, the first time he saw his godson, Harry, all grown up, looking just like his father, brave and kind, having survived more than he had ought to. And then there was Remus too, looking exhausted and grayed, only a pale, faded shadow of his former self. The next few years were spent between Order missions, confrontations with Death, and the same old, familiar stolen glances. They attempted to rebuild their relationship, yet they never regained that special, magical even, bond.

And after the War, Remus disappeared. At first, they exchanged weekly letters, which then got rarer and rarer, until they stopped coming altogether and for years, Sirius knew nothing of him. Until now.

“Excuse me, sir!” said Remus waving his hand awkwardly in front of his face. “You...wanted something, right?”

The other wizard suddenly shuddered, blinking, as if he had just been roused from a trance.

“Yeah, sorry...I...um...was just, you know...thinking,” he stuttered, blushing.

His former friend raised a sarcastic, amused eyebrow.

“I just wanted to pay for these flowers I sort of...destroyed. By accident of course!” Added Sirius hastily, watching him apprehensively.

“That’s alright, I should have thought to bring them in a while ago already. It’s curious, really, you remind me of someone I used to know a long time ago. His name was Sirius Black. Quite a peculiar name, isn't it?” he replied pensively.

A flare of hope lit up inside Sirius. Maybe, just maybe, he remembered and recognized him.

“Remus?” he asked quietly.

“You know me?”

A look of surprise crossed his face.

“I…,” he hesitated. “No. I thought I knew you but I guess I was wrong. I must have mistaken you for someone else, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s alright, it happens to everyone from time to time,” answered Remus lightly. “Do you want anything else?”

“Maybe white roses, for my girlfriend.”

“Excellent choice! These are my personal favourites” he said, reaching for a bouquet of snowy white roses, with soft petals and lush, dark green leaves.

“I know they are,” thought Sirius bitterly. “You told me in Third Year on a lazy summer day that white roses were your favorite flowers because your mum’s garden was full of them.”

“I’m sure she will love them,” he smiled.

[reversecreek]

struts onto the dash carrying this deliriously wriggling little elf in my arms like a swaddled bebe......... they’re genuinely my oldest muse of all time i think i created them when i was like. 13 possibly. n i haven’t written them in Years but. i’m literally so excited to jst vibrating w muse. smiles at u all demurely..... they have risen. u can find their pinterest here n their playlist here.

* alana champion, nonbinary + they/them | you know nyla palmer, right? they’re twenty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, eight months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to 6669 (i don’t know if you know) by neon indian like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole a two headed doll of a prairie girl with stitched on rabbit ears and butterfly wings, befriending shadow puppets & finding god with your eyes open underwater in a public pool you broke into thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 2nd, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her  )

HISTORY:

was born in georgiaaaa georgiaaaa (phoebe bridgers voice holds my bang...) to a vry honest hard working man named george (omgggg he’s called GEORGE and he’s from GEORGIA? ahaaaaa fuckk ur jestinggg) nd a woman who did her best named pamela..... george worked on a construction site n pamela was a pharmacist..... their house was this small rickety white thing with a wrap around porch n a very rabid overgrown garden tht kind of looked like the earth ws trying to reclaim it bc nobody ever hd the time or motivation to mow the lawn.... there ws literally a piece of fold out furniture just entirely submerged by weeds n foliage

nyla ws always closest w their dad george..... he hd this way of looking at the world tht was seeing the best in all of it.... he took them on long walks where he talked abt how u have to respect the trees bc they’re breathing fr us n we’re breathing fr them..... he hd a strange whimsical sense of humour n a gnome alter ego called grundlebolt who always tickled them..... in a way this closeness created a distance between nyla n their mother but not so much that it ws rly a problem. just enough tht nyla sometimes waited until their mother ws out of eye n ear shot to tell their dad they loved him bc they didn’t wna make her sad >_>

(mental health, death & grief tw) pamela always struggled w her mental health but george ws great n understanding n knew how to help her thru this... nyla didn’t get it too greatly at a very young age bt they knew their mum got “the sads” sometimes (how their dad wld explain tht she needed to lay down in the quiet for a while or why she’d stood at the stove n let the dinner burn until the smoke detector went off without doing anything abt it). when nyla was 14 they got home one day to a police car in the driveway n came prancing in exuberantly as they always did. immediately hugged the legs of an officer bc this is hw they wld greet everyone they ever met. they only realised something was wrong when they let go n saw their mum sat at the table crying. essentially there ws an accident at the construction site george worked at n :/ yeah. 

(jst mental health & grief tw now) this rly had an intense ripple effect on everyone tbh. pamela’s mental health deteriorated quite a lot without george there as her rock n nyla sort of had to step in as best they cld but it was....... hard. some days she ws better bt some days nyla had to sit her in the bath n stroke a wet sponge over her back bc they didn’t know how else to calm her down. nyla always had a very overactive imagination which george encouraged bt it ws like. losing him rly opened a window in nyla’s head n all rationality went floating out of it. their dreams seemed more real than being awake. fantasy wasn’t jst the way they coped bt it was the way they thought n the way they saw. everything on earth was alive. the trees n the clouds n the wall with a brick missing at the bottom of her road n especially their dad. their dad was alive in everything in nyla’s head. the sun shining extra bright in the morning was george. ponds were a veil they could dunk her head under and find george waiting on the other side. reality rly just pulled the plug n said bye tbh n they were ok w that <3

(abuse implied tw) their mum remarried too fast to a man named stephen n it was jst not a good arrangement. he was Not a nice man. i won’t go into this but home wasn’t a nice place for nyla any more n after a couple of yrs stephen wound up asking them to leave n their mum said nothing to contradict tht. there’s more to this bt long story short nyla left <3

(drugs tw) they couch surfed fr a while before settling living w their best friend. they got up to like... all sorts of trouble n grew up far too fast. nyla’s lack of sense n realism hd a habit of getting them into some sticky situations n these few yrs were a rollercoaster where they got by on the skin of their teeth. when they think of high skl they think of gravel and skinned knees and sucking sherbet dunkers to ignore the taste of pennies in ur mouth and getting lost in the woods a lot bc they’d take FAR too many drugs n be lead astray having conversations with kind trees whose branches held their hands

(drug mention) got by on odd jobs like making candles n selling them at market stalls. leaf blowing at cemeteries. face painting fr children’s parties (where they were blatantly high). random stuff. all over the place. in this time them n their best friend also hd a sugar daddy named tony who always wore very impressive colour block suits n mink stoles n jewelled fedoras n hd a swanky apartment w marble floors. rly just. surreal. lots of strange stories frm this time.

things kind of blew up in their friendship group n they fell out w their best friend raya bc she slept w this guy aj who nyla hd been madly in love w for yrs.... he was a Stinker n honestly so ws their best friend so good riddance i say bt obviously it felt like having their entire world flipped upside dwn fr nyla.... they split after this came out bc they just did Not want to b around these ppl any more n they decided to leave w this guy frm a band they barely knew tht much save fr a one night stand to tour w them..... this ws another whirlwind. jst chock full of them. it ws similar to being on a teacup ride at a carnival n spinning round n round n only knowing u were surrounded by lots of lights. tht’s how they’d best describe their time on tour.

SO in terms of them coming to irving 8 months ago they came w the band.... they honestly did pretty well on tour n wound up renting a big beach house on dorado as a kind of “retreat” sort of place fr them to shack up in while they worked on writing and recording their first big studio album (they gt signed w a label so it’s all vry exciting stuff). nyla among like 3 others were allowed to stay w them too bc they hd a lot of fun on tour. literally jst. taken on as professional groupies essentially. nyla loved it bc they’d never seen the ocean n when they first got there they jst threw off all their clothes n ran straight into the water. it was 3pm on a tuesday afternoon. they got arrested fr public indecency n didn’t get why bc they were like but i just wanted to hug the ocean u silly little oinker? i picture the beach house as like. the loudest one on dorado.... comes alive like a jungle at night..... they r probably bad neighbours. anyway. onto personality puts hand on hip.

PERSONALITY:

sets out patio furniture on someone else’s lawn n jst takes a seat n leans back like ahhhhh vat a nice day to be alive ya! (swedish accent suddenly bc they think it’s fun). they come out n start yelling n they’re jst so confused they’re like hey wat’s the big idea hey wat’s go on here why u angies why this happen?

likes drawing imaginary veins over their arms in all different colour blue pens in a sudden fit of hyperfixation n then forgets all abt it n goes out like tht n scares several townsfolk bt they’re oblivious they’re jst in her own world loving life already onto the next fixation. has many many different fads like this. one day will jst start snipping up a bunch of magazines bc they’re like EYES ARE COOL N THEY SEE EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :P n they’ll stick a bunch of them over their wall n then forget they was doing that n leap onto the next. quite a pattern. bt they love the vein thing a lot it makes them feel like a walking planetarium like they have their own constellations

sometimes jst doesn’t make sense. they’re honestly kind of strange. pops up in places like they suddenly materialised there n it’s like how did u get there where have u been when were u last seen are u ok. has the energy of an ancient deity frm deep in a mountain cave n an ambiguous forest sprite all at once..... talks shit honestly. abt anything n everything. sometimes outrageous. sometimes plain incoherent. like what are u talking about? i dnt kno. even i dnt kno sometimes.

luvs stick n pokes will let anyone tattoo whatever they want on them for the price of a gummy bear kindly placed onto their tongue n swallowed whole

has this obsession w being underwater w their eyes open luvs it. calls it their tadpole time. runs baths just to lie there blinking looking around n drifting her arms. best friends w the bottom of any local swimming pool n hs probably given it a quick kiss so it knows they’re bff’s n then got sick bc there’s sm germs in a public pool. says the kgb probably poisoned their oatmeal n r finally here to deliver on their promise n THAT’S why they got sick unrelated to the pool incident. what promise? noone knows.

unclear if they believe what they say or if they jst has a very expanded sense of humour where they nvr let on if they’re joking.... lines r blurred a lot..... 

loves excitedly shouting things. sometimes just screams at the sky bc they say it’s good to let the creatures in ur belly fly out every once in a while otherwise their wings get sore.

(drugs tw) still does an excessive amt of hallucinogens n it kind of shows. very bad fr their brain bt we’re going to ignore it.

dresses fun n strange n eccentric n careless. loves to experiment. does nt care abt what’s considered to be societally appropriate. living in their own world.

sleeps around a lot... jst doesn’t rly see sex as a big deal.... very free w themselves in that way..... sometimes greets their friends w a kiss on the lips they’re like awww :) kisses <3 when they run into them in the middle of the cereal aisle n then pulls away n suddenly breaks into a box tht has a free toy in it bc it’s a banana with googly eyes n that’s the best thing they’ve ever heard in their LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! n isn’t he so HANDSOME????? enchante indeed my good sir ;)... gives the toy a kiss too.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

other groupies of the band: self explanatory a little.... i dnt have a name for the band yet bt all can b worked out..... i picture them as kind of. not that nice but like. there for a good time........ rock genre.... bit chaotic...... to say the least........ they dnt have to have come there w the band like nyla n the others they cld have been adopted in their time there.... whoever wld b wild n down fr a good time <3

chaotic trash goblin friends: idk what this title rly means it just came to me in a vision....... jst ppl tht r rly kind of off the rails n don’t care abt anything...... they r who nyla tends to mesh very well w......... they rly r living in their own world n by their own rules n they like ppl who do this too <3 inevitably they get up to no good n party far too much...... cld be angst to this if they enable each other’s bad habits...... world’s our oyster. opens my office door. let’s talk abt it.

nyla set up camp on their front lawn: maybe jst w a fold out chair. maybe w a literal pop up tent w someone else too. genuinely so bizarre of them bt that’s what we’re dealing with. they poke their head into the tent n nyla’s lying down crunching on a cracker crumbs over their tits n they just hold it out to them nt even fully consumed n are like hey polly want a cracker? :)

they responded to her craigslist ad: they posted one saying they cld cleanse their house of demonic energy bc they’re an all seeing eye in touch w the spirits. this is a lie. they came n waved sage around n did a little dance as they did it w bird sounds playing on a special cd they brought fr the occasion (had weird indistinct doodles over the case it ws brought in) n then ws like OOH! scary.... n jumped at something in the hall. they go in thinking maybe they’ve seen a ghost bt they just were startled by their own reflection in a mirror n is like. scary mirror placement...... might wna reconsider that........ they charge them merely 10 dollars fr their time n is like this was so fun we shd do it again some time :) also i think u have mould on ur bathroom tile! vanishes. they dnt recall them ever going to the bathroom.

came knocking asking for items for a garage sale: yes. u heard that right. they’re asking for ur muses things to set up their own garage sale. selling items that do not belong to them. they think this is a genius business strategy n don’t understand why ppl think this is so strange or why they cant just ask ppl to donate them things to sell bc hey they’re an entrepreneur? they even had a pencil behind their ear when they knocked on the door so why aren’t ppl taking their business seriously? probably got distracted several times trying to explain their pitch n chattered abt random other things instead.

honestly anything... fwbs... flings... good influence... someone who cnt stand the fact they’re barely coherent.... someone they stopped on the street one day n asked for their opinion on water beds.... we cn do literally anything. fling ur chara my way n we can talk.

[mistersshelby]

Could you write a fic about Tommy’s long-lost daughter that is gay. After a while he found out about his daughter. She’s really scared about the families reaction but they don’t care about who she loves, they’re just worried about the dangers added by this that?!?! Love your writing btw ☺️🥰😍🥰😕

HIIII this isn’t exactly what you asked for but it’s almost the same!!! I hope you like it!!!

questions, comments, concerns

masterlist

Lucy keeps raising her hand to the door to knock and then dropping it, turning to leave the big house only to turn back around when she reaches the end of the drive. “If he sends you away then you’ve lost nothing.” She reminds herself and finally knocks.

She hears voices on the other side of the door and they grow louder until the door swings open and her father stands there, an older woman a step behind him.

When Lucy just stands there, unable to form words, he looks at her with annoyance, “Can I help you?”

“I-- uh-- um-- Are you-- Sorry, are you Thomas Shelby?” She knows he is, she has been watching him for weeks, but she asks anyway.

“Who’s asking?”

Lucy takes a deep breath, “My name’s Lucy Bennett. I’m your daughter, sir.”

The older woman’s hand flies to her mouth, but Tommy doesn’t react, only looks her up and down, “That’s not possible, sorry.”

He goes to shut the door, but Lucy thrusts her boot between it and the threshold, “Wait! I can prove it, please.”

“Can’t prove something that never happened.” He tries to kick her foot out of the way, but she remains firm.

“My mother died a few months ago and all I have left of her is this diary.” She holds it out to him now, “I thought the drunk soldier she had been married to my whole life was my father, but this diary says otherwise. I did the math, according to the diary she didn’t meet the man she married until six months before I was born. She writes of your encounters three months prior.” Lucy talks quickly, afraid he’ll break her foot to get the door shut, “Please, I can show you, I’ll explain everything and if you still don’t believe me, I’ll go.”

The older woman puts a hand on Tommy’s arm, “Let her in, Tommy, listen to her.” She leans in close to his ear, “She has your eyes.” She says, trying to make sure Lucy doesn’t hear, but she does.

Lucy relaxes at the older woman’s words and looks to Tommy expectantly. Finally, he sighs and steps aside to allow her to pass.

The older woman, who Lucy learns is Polly, asks the maid to brew some tea and makes friendly small talk while Tommy sits, arms crossed and scowling at Lucy.

“Who’s your mum?” He asks roughly, “You look like you were born around the time I was in the war. I wasn’t-- I didn’t have anyone then.”

He had a good eye, you had just turned seventeen and were born at the very end of 1914, according to your research, his first year of service. “Yeah, I was born in December of 1914. My mother was a whore in France.” She takes out the diary, opens to a page she had marked, and slides it over to him, “She only writes about you as Tommy, but later goes into more detail about your station and platoon and I was able to figure it out from there.”

Tommy eyes her carefully as he takes the diary from her and reads it over slowly, flipping through pages. Lucy resists the urge to tell him to be careful, it’s all she has of her mother now. It’s a good ten minutes before he puts the diary down and slides it back to her. “You don’t sound French.” It was an accusation, but she didn’t mind.

“One of her other clients, after you, was another British soldier named William Bennett. After the war, he married my mother and took us back to England. I was only four or five at the time so as I was in school I dropped my French accent. My mother never learned English fully, though, so we always spoke French to each other.” She says some quick things in French to prove to him she wasn’t lying.

“Where’s William Bennett, then? Why isn’t he taking care of you?”

Lucy looks down at her hands, afraid he’ll see the shame in her face if he looks too closely, “He, um, he never much liked me. Kicked me out after my mother died. I took my mum’s diary and when I found you I moved to Small Heath, found a job at a shop, and rented a flat. Told myself I’d work up the courage to talk to you once I was settled.” He’s still quiet, and she realizes quickly what he must think, “I don’t want money, I can take care of myself just fine, I just-- I just wanted the chance to know you.”

“Know me?” He scoffs, “You live in Small Heath and you’ve done your research, so you know who I really am. What I do. Why would you want a father like that?”

Lucy swallows, “Yes, I’ve heard the talk. But I’ve also heard of the lengths you go to to protect your family. You care about them. I’ve never had a father who cared about me. Was hoping that-- well-- maybe--” She realizes how ridiculous she must sound, knowing no one in their right mind could love her once they knew the truth. It was why even her mother had turned her cheek to her in her last year of life. William had always seemed to know something was off, and finding out seemed like a victory for him. Lucy’s head spins as she recalls how he kicked her out the second her mother’s heart stopped beating. She realizes Polly and Tommy are staring at her blankly as she’s stopped talking and knows she has to go, “Nevermind, I-- I’m sorry--” She stands abruptly, snatching the diary and nearly knocking over the table, “I’m sorry to have bothered you, this was a mistake.” Lucy practically runs to the front door, ignoring Polly as she calls after her.

Tears stream down her face as she runs through the gravel driveway and unties her horse, hopping up quickly and riding away. She doesn’t see Tommy standing in the doorway, looking longingly after her.

“What are you doing?” Polly says, exasperated, “Go after her!”

Tommy shakes his head, “Not right now. She’s hiding something. I’ll have to find out what it is.”

“She’s your daughter, Tommy, who cares?”

“Yes, she’s my daughter. And that’s precisely why I need to make sure she’s not dangerous.” 

Polly rolls her eyes and walks away, but Tommy stays, watching as Lucy turns into a speck on the horizon, and then nothing. Only then does he finally go back inside and lock himself in his study.

His mind is reeling from the realization that he’s had a child this entire time and he missed out on everything. He knew what it was like to have a father who never cared and it pained him to know that one of his own children had to go through that, something he promised himself would never happen.

He would make it right with her, but first, he needed to know what she was hiding. 

***

Lucy sniffled and took a deep breath before walking into her flat where she knew Abigail was waiting. Abigail’s curly red hair bounced against her shoulders as she turned to see Lucy step in through the door. 

“So? How’d it go?” She said as Lucy was still taking off her boots.

“It didn’t. I chickened out.” Lucy lied.

“Well where were you the whole time then?”

“Riding,” She continued the lie, “Trying to work up the courage to knock on his door.”

Abigail pushed out her lower lip in a pout that Lucy found adorable and walked over to her, placing her hands on Lucy’s shoulders, “It’s probably better, Lu. I mean, he is a murderer.”

Lucy shrugged off Abigail’s hands and walked into the bathing room. “Lu, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” But Lucy shuts the door and listens to Abigail sigh on the other side before walking away.

Abigail hadn’t been very supportive of Lucy’s stalking of Tommy, had very nearly ended their relationship over moving to Small Heath. “I don’t see why you need a man’s approval so badly, and a gangster to boot. This is just going to end with you hurt again.” She would say, and Lucy would explain over and over again that Abigail didn’t understand because her parents both still loved her. And they would go around like this over and over again. She was tired of seeing the condescending look on her face, and besides, she didn’t know Tommy. No one did, except his family. She wanted to know him before she decided he was a no good gangster. But maybe she’d never get that chance. Maybe he didn’t want to know her.

***

Tommy had done some asking around and had found the residence of Lucy Bennett in Small Heath. Since finding her residence, he had been following her around, the way he assumed she had been following him for weeks. It bothered him that he hadn’t known she had been following him this whole time. A test to her skills and a hit to his own. The first day he followed her didn’t reveal much. She went to the shop early in the morning, stayed until late afternoon, and then she’d go to the stables. 

He watched her from afar and smiled to himself as he saw her tend to her horse, talking to him gently and petting him. She took him for a ride, which he followed as closely as he dared, but she only took him for a trot around the city and back. She then tied him up and left. He followed her just long enough to see that she had gone home and then turned back to the stables.

“Hello there.” He said to her horse when he got there, “Is she taking good care of you?” 

The horse huffed in response, but allowed Tommy to pet him eventually and Tommy whispered gently to him. He seemed in good shape, Tommy couldn’t find anything he or Curly would do different with him. And when he turned to look into the water trough, he couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face when he saw goldfish swimming around in there. “A gypsy through and through, eh?” He murmured to himself and then headed back to where he’d left his own horse.

The next few days were more of the same, but one day after arriving back from the shop, Lucy left her flat again. Tommy would’ve figured maybe she was running out for food or something of the sort, but she came out wearing different clothes, makeup done, hair curled and with a red headed girl on her arm. He didn’t think much of it, it was a Friday and she was young, she was probably going out with a friend to get drunk.

He followed her anyway, just in case. They go to a bar Tommy doesn’t recognize, and he waits in an alley next to it, smoking cigarette after cigarette as he waits for her. Finally, he hears a drunken giggle and sees two girls walking by. He confirms it’s Lucy, gives her a fair lead, and then follows her out. It seems to be exactly what he suspected it to be, a night out with a friend, and he feels a bit stupid for following her. Maybe he was wrong, maybe she’s not hiding anything. 

But, still ways away from her flat, Lucy giggles and pulls the girl into an alley. Frowning, Tommy picks up his pace and then quietly peers around the wall. It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust to what he’s seeing and his ears to accept that, yes, that is indeed what he’s hearing. Lucy has the red headed girl pinned to the wall with her body as her mouth and hands wander. The red headed girl starts moaning, but Lucy shushes her which results in lots of giggling and Tommy decides he has heard and seen more than enough. This is what Lucy was hiding from him.

***

It’s about a week after Lucy first showed up at Tommy Shelby’s door when there’s a knock at her own door. “Lucy, can you get that?” Abigail yells, “I’m in the loo!”

“Yeah!” Lucy yells from the table where she was sat reading and walks to the door. When she swings it open and sees Tommy Shelby, standing in his long black coat and hat, her face falls.

He doesn’t waste time with a greeting, “Is Abigail here?”

The blood drains from her face, “How do you know about--”

“Darling, who’s at the--?” Abigail stops dead in her tracks when she sees Tommy there.

“Do you mind leaving so I could have a private word with my daughter?”

“Excuse me?” Abigail huffs, “This is my flat!”

“Abigail, go.” Lucy says, eyes still on Tommy.

“Lu, you shouldn’t be alone with him, you don’t even know him--”

“I asked you to leave.” Lucy says quietly, “I can handle it.”

Abigail seems affronted and Lucy knows this will be an argument later, but she can’t bring herself to care. Tommy knew about Abigail and still called her his daughter, that had to mean something. Once she’s left, glaring at Lucy the whole way, she brings Tommy to the kitchen table and asks if he wants tea, which he declines.

“I’m sorry to show up like this.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind.”

“When you showed up at my house, when you were talking I could tell you were hiding something--”

“I wasn’t--”

“It’s alright, I’m not upset, you’re my daughter, I hide things plenty. But I wanted to know what it was before I brought you into my home, my family.”

Lucy is sweating now, “I suppose you know now and decided you don’t want an abomination like me in your family.”

Tommy scoffs, “An abomination? Because you fancy women? That’s a bit harsh.” Lucy frowns, confused, but he continues, “I admit, I was surprised and things don’t surprise me much anymore. But I was relieved.”

Lucy shakes her head, “Relieved?”

“Oh, Lucy, you come from a line of murderers, addicts, a long line of bad bad men and dangerous women. I thought maybe you were a part of a drug ring, or a part of a rival gang, or some sort of assassin. All I found out in my days of following you was that you love your horse and you like women so yes, I was relieved.” Lucy is still processing everything he’s said when he continues, “Now, when I found out I started doing some research on Abigail, when did you meet her?”

Her head is still spinning, “Research on Abigail, wha--? Why?”

“You met her around the same time you sorted out that you were a Shelby, yeah?”

“I--” She blinked, but then sorted through her memories, “Yeah, I guess so, why?”

“She’s been working really hard to deter you from trying to meet me, yeah?”

Lucy frowned, “Well, yeah, but she was just… She knew about what you did, your family, she was trying to protect me.”

“The reason she didn’t want you to meet me is because she comes from a family that’s just as dangerous as ours.” Ours. Lucy tried not to fixate too much on that word. 

“Wait, Abigail? No way, she’s-- Her family runs a farm on the outskirts of the country. They’re from Ireland, they’ve never even been to Birmingham.”

“That’s what she told you, but her father wants me dead. And she knows that. And she’s been staying with you because her father eventually plans to use you as leverage to get to me.”

“No,” Lucy, stands and backs away from the table shaking her head, “No, that’s not true. Abigail loves me. She--”

“Lucy--” Tommy rises too and he sees she’s about to bolt.

“No.” Lucy says again and goes to walk around Tommy who tries to keep her in the apartment, but she shoves him away, “Don’t. I need to talk to her. If you must tag along, fine, but I’m not leaving here without talking to her first.”

Tommy sighs, but follows her anyway to where Abigail is smoking a cigarette outside the building. “Do you love me?” Lucy says as soon as she steps out the door.

“Christ.” Tommy swears, feeling very uncomfortable having to watch this exchange, but he must because he knows no daughter of Alexander Galligan walks around without a weapon.

Abigail eyes Tommy, frowning, but turns back to Lucy, “Don’t be stupid, of course I do. What did he say to you?”

“He says your family is a rival gang who wants him dead and you’re just keeping me close to use me as leverage to get to him and that’s why you’ve been trying to keep me away from him.”

Abigail snorts and looks towards Tommy, “Did your research, did ya? You obviously didn’t do it well enough or you’d know I haven’t spoken to my family in years. I cut off contact. You’re right about one thing though, my father does want you dead. Has for as long as I can remember.”

Lucy is still shaking her head, “But you told me you were close to your parents, that they loved you even though you liked girls.”

“I lied,” Abigail brings a hand to her face, “I didn’t want you to know my family, I’m… I’m ashamed of them and what they do. And they’re ashamed of me so I guess we’re even.”

“Then why were you trying to keep her away from me?” Tommy butt in.

“Because I know better than anyone what being in a family like yours is like. She won’t find love with you like she thinks. You’re dangerous. You’ll just get her killed.”

“If anything what’ll get her killed is traipsing around Small Heath with you letting the whole world know you’re… intimate.” He ends awkwardly, “I don’t care who you love.” Tommy turns his attention back to Lucy who had reddened considerably at his last sentence, “I’ll protect you from anyone who thinks you’re fuckin’ less than because of it, but you two need to be more careful if you’re going to live here. Understood?”

They both nod, Abigail rolling her eyes. “And you’re wrong.” Tommy continues, looking back to Abigail, “I know what it’s like when a parent or a family member doesn’t love you. I wanted my father to love me more than anything in the world and I promised myself my children would never feel the same. She’s a Shelby and that means I will protect her and love her until my last breath. And if you stick around for long enough, though you can’t get married, that protection applies to you as well.”

Abigail softens a bit at his words, “Okay, Mister Shelby. But if you hurt her I’ll have to cut you.”

Tommy smiles, “Same goes for you, Abigail.”

***

Lucy came back to the Shelby house a week later, Abigail in tow to meet the rest of her family. “It’s gonna be fine, Lu, the worst that could happen is one of the Shelby brothers pulls a knife on you and tells you not to fuck his wife.” Lucy gives her a horrified look and Abigail laughs, “I’m joking, relax.”

Just then Tommy opens the door and wraps Lucy in a hug, which she is surprised but delighted all the same by the affection. He rests his head on top of hers and then says, “I am so sorry for everything you’re about to endure.”

Lucy frowns, about to ask him what he means, but he immediately whisks her into another room where there are immediate joyful yells as her new family pulls her into hugs and welcomes her and not one of them bats an eye at Abigail, not even when they hold hands. Everyone is lovely to her and makes her laugh until she snorts, but she most enjoys playing with Charles and Ruby, her half brother and sister.

Finally, when everything’s quieted down and Abigail is dozing off on the couch, Tommy asks to take her for a walk.

“You like horses?” Tommy asks.

She nods, “Begged my mum for one every day from the day I could talk until I was eleven and she saved up everything she had to get me one. His name’s Oliver, but I call him Ollie.”

Tommy smiles, “That’s the gypsy in you. Before the war all I wanted to do was take care of horses.”

“Really?” Lucy smiles, delighted to have something in common with him.

He nods, “I went to go see your horse one night after I followed you, you take good care of him.”

She looks shocked, “He let you near him? He never let’s anyone touch him but me, it’s a battle to even get him to let Abigail ride behind me.”

“It’s the gypsy blood. Never met a horse that didn’t like me. Anyway, I saw you put goldfish in his trough. Where’d you learn that?”

“My mum told me when I got him that she used to have a horse before I was born, but when she found out she was pregnant with me, she sold him, to save the money. But, anyway, she told me a soldier she serviced once really liked horses and went out to see hers. He also told her that putting goldfish in her water trough would keep it clean and free of bugs and other things that were dangerous to the horses. So that’s how I learned.”

When Lucy looks over to Tommy he’s got a big grin on his face, “What?” She asks.

“I remember your mum now.” He says, “I taught her that.”

Lucy’s grin matches his, “Really?”

He nods, “She had a beautiful horse.” They’re silent for a moment, “I’m glad that even though I wasn’t there for you when you were growing up, at least you got that small thing from me.”

“Me too.” They walk in silence for a few minutes before Lucy breaks it, “Did you mean what you said before, to me and Abigail? That you’d always love and protect me no matter… no matter who I love?”

He nods, “Yes.”

“It doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Lucy, I would be a hypocrite if I judged you just because of someone you loved. We can’t help who we love and we certainly don’t choose it. I spent the better part of my adult life committing crimes and killing men. Bad men, mostly, but still. Knowing all that, you still wanted to meet me. Wanted me in your life. I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done. You’re my blood. It changes nothing about how I feel about you. Alright?”

Instead of answering she flings her arms around his waist and pulls him close, “Thank you.” She says, muffled against his chest. 

He smiles and strokes a hand down her hair, using the other to pull her close to him, “You’re welcome.”

[yvaquietdays]

Deciding to be happy.

Sometimes meditation doesn’t work.  Sometimes being mindful of your downfalls doesn’t work. Sometimes yoga doesn’t work. Sometimes writing doesn’t work. It’s a little hard for me to describe how I’ve been feeling the last month or so. Of course I’m going to try, that’s why I write a blog. *sly face* So I’ve talked about cycles before. Being aware of the small turnovers of life makes the every day manageable; being aware of how our emotions and vibrations fluctuate certainly makes everything seem a little less daunting.

I’ve been conscious that I’m entering a new cycle of my life. I’m not so far away from turning 28, an age I’m told is the beginning of the fourth cycle in life. And whether you buy into the hokey-pokey, it makes sense if you suspend your disbelief for a moment. Apparently you have the first 7 years, the years of your childhood and innocence, of unadulteratingly questioning and experiencing the world you live in. Then the second stage, taking you to 14, where you’re contemplating adulthood and experiencing massive physiological changes and all the outcomes of that. Then to 21, where all the shit hits the fan and explodes outwards all over you and the people in your life. I’ve been dealing with the proverbial shit of this third cycle for a while, experiencing existential fear and anxiety for the first time, sorting through the people in my life, assessing how I relate and love, seeing my familial relationships through new eyes, shaving off the bits of me I don’t like. Essentially, the un-conditioning of myself and becoming a new person. 

The last time my life seem to change, there were signals. Life threw me signs that I was about to turn things upside down for a bit. I emotionally and spiritually gave up on London and I lost two friends to the music industry; its hold over all of us to get as much out of our creative outputs as possible (i.e money). This is important enough to mention because it damaged me a lot. It affected my trust with people and I felt so betrayed and let down. I’ve made my peace with them and with the situation, but I’ve learned from it, because at the time, it was just another knife in the side, and I didn’t want it happening again. From that point though, I headed steadily downhill somewhere close to the bottom, where I was thinking of jacking it in altogether. I considered going into property with my savings and my Dad. I considered opening a home-brew shop with my partner, who really was my anchor when I was close to floating off unmoored. I didn’t though, because my other anchor was my own spirit, the relentless resilience I seem to have inherited, that I’m sure I don’t deserve; my music and my innate and absolute desire to howl at the moon. Nitin played a huge part in getting me through this phase. Had I not worked with him, I might have forgotten how important singing was to me. He was a kind of the lifeboat that kept me chugging along in the rougher waters for a while; I was desperately unhappy but those days of rehearsals, shows, and being involved in the dance piece were all life rings that I could swim to and gradually get closer to solid ground. At this point, I believe I was shedding off the things I didn’t need to prepare myself for this next stage.

And this time, I’ve also lost two friends. I’m not going into any great detail about this, only that I believe it was for the best and ultimately the whole experience told me a lot about the people in my life, who I am, and what I stand for. It had a lot to do with how I’ve allowed people to take advantage of me for too long. This ties into one of my previous blogposts about saying sorry and not wanting to rock the boat. I have been conditioned to be nice and I am actively changing this. I have Jameela Jamil to thank for opening my eyes and forcing me to see that it doesn’t make me difficult or manipulative to call out the truth and stand strongly within it. They ended up deleting me from their life because of it. But I hated the entire situation. It hurt. Needless to say it had a big affect on me. That combined with new opportunities taking a while to come to fruition seemed to trigger my anxiety and low mood for the first real time since I wasn’t well. It brought back a lot of bad feelings about inadequacy, self-doubt and the need for external validation that I’ve worked so bloody hard on eradicating. 

Validation is the key word here. I believe it is what most of us struggle with going into our adult lives. I’ve worked very hard to not rely on other people’s voices to bolster my own self-esteem. I’ve done my soul-work, I only listen to my own. I’ve learned to tell the ignorant slut (pls read past post re this: it’s what I call my anxiety) in my mind to shut up when she’s being unkind. But over the last few weeks and returning from LA, which now seems like a dream, the voice has elbowed its way in and I’ve allowed it to have an affect on me. I’m waiting; waiting like I did before, waiting for good feedback, waiting for someone else to come at me with the next opportunity. Stagnant. Waiting for the world, looking for someone to blame.

So what the fuck am I doing? I mean, really. I have been arranging my own sessions, writing my book and flirting with a second, being open and vulnerable about my talent and about my humanness. I’ve been rocking it.

But recently, the difference was that I was doing my yoga, not practising it. I was forcing myself to set an intention of success, orienting everything around my goals. I meditated just to check it off the list. But you can’t apply mindfulness with brute force, with a shotgun to the head and your arm twisted behind your back. What I was doing went hand in hand with the thought that, “If I don’t, I will fail.” Before I knew it, I was telling myself I wasn’t worth it. I’m not creative. I don’t have any ideas. I don’t have an emotional scale. I feel nothing about anything. Have a baby, do something else. You don’t belong in that world (LA). You don’t know who you are. You’re not passionate enough about your art. You’re not passionate about anything. Why is nobody getting back to you? You’re forgettable. It’s because you’re not assertive enough. They deleted you because you meant nothing to them. They didn’t apologise to you because they don’t value you.

The rabbit hole is deep and it is wide. Once you’re on that slope, it seems pre-destined that you’ll end up at the bottom before you even notice you slipped. But I noticed. I’ve my best mate and flatmate to thank for a conversation that made me realise what I was doing, ‘cos I was feeling pretty low there for a minute.  The truth is that it takes real mental effort and strain to drag yourself up the mud slide back to even ground. When I was feeling pretty bad, I used to dream about doing the same thing over, and over, and over again and never reaching a resolution. I dreamt that I was at the bottom of the muddy bank and I could not get to the top where the grass was still green. So doing yoga and meditating over and over to force wellness doesn’t work. Negativity does not beget negativity. You have to accept your feelings and do the work to counter-argue with yourself in a gentle and loving way. I am worth it. I am creative. I feel everything, that’s why it hurts. I know who I am, more than ever. I’d be a great mum, but if I have a baby now I’ll probably forget about it and leave it in the washing basket. I am passionate. I am open and patient, and I trust that things will work out. I am hardworking. And they deleted you because they didn’t value you. That says more about them than you, you stone cold, lovely, bad ass bitch. 

Bye felicia.

I am entering a new chapter of my life soon, and I feel my world shifting to allow for it. It isn’t waiting if I regain control and organise my life. Just because someone is giving you an opportunity doesn’t mean that the work is done. It means that you’re just getting started, and you have to work, now more than ever.

Last week I wrote a song on the guitar. This has not happened in a long time. I was consuming a lot of emotional TV (Queer Eye, k thnks), and I was inspired to assess my own mental health. I got complacent, and the doubt got in. It never really goes away, and just because I was feeling better there for a hot minute in LA, doesn’t mean that the work is done. It continues. Always. I don’t want to wake up one day and realise I’m missing something vital because I looked to others to tell me what I’m worth. Everyone else wants as much as possible for themselves. If that means cheapening you so that they’re worth more; that is what they will do. Know. Your. Own. Worth. ‘Cos even your friends will undervalue you.

Self doubt waits at the door, constantly. It wants to be let in, but you keep it at bay. You nod to it, but you don’t allow it across the threshold.

After I recorded the song idea into my phone, I sobbed. Hard. I cried my eyes out. And then I was done. I let the tears come out, unbidden, because I needed to feel it. I think I needed to remember the power of that musical release, why I do what I do. Sure, I’m not like other musicians or singers. Maybe I am depressing, but I’m communicating something that is honest and what we all go through. I am me. And that is enough. It doesn’t matter, all that other stuff. It doesn’t. What matters is how I feel about my music. 

I’m getting to my conclusion, I promise. I meditated earlier this week, and the lovely Andy Puddicomb at Headspace told me to see my mind as the sky. Behind all the clouds, there is always a blue horizon. Just like when you’re on a plane and you finally get above the candy cotton clouds, and in your head you do a little Peter Pan style bounce across them. There’s a soft kind of release I get when I see that. Peace and quiet. Space and breath. Everything else; feelings, thoughts, how we dress, what the world might think...they’re the clouds. When I feel low, my mind seems like an overcast horizon that will not break. An endless, grey, unfeeling cloud of bleak whatever. When I feel good, it’s a summers sky with fluffy white clouds rolling through; you know they won’t stay forever. Meditating is grounding, and reminding yourself with nothing more complicated than breathing that your default setting is a vast blue sky. Warm and peaceful. It might even feel like nothing, but that’s ok too. Everything else is temporary. Clouds are impermanent. The sky is always clear.

So this is my point. I set my intention that day to have a good day. 

Enjoy the little details, enjoy my trial shift at the cafe, enjoy the look on southerners faces when I have a bit of craic with them. Enjoy cooking, enjoy the process, enjoy the walk between here and there, the blossoms, the warmth of the sun on my face. Choose happiness. Choose the blue sky. Decide to be positive. It’s not always easy, and maybe it doesn’t always work. After all, life throws us curveballs and it hurts to get whacked in the face, but it’s a damn sight better than choosing to be an arsehole about it. Try it.

Decide to be happy. 

xxx

[islandpcosjourney]

Day 26 – May ’22 challenge

4th June 2022

Just a quick post tonight! It’s 1am and I’m just in from the fabulous surprise birthday party – the event I was going to “break” my 28-day juice run for.

It’s been an amazing day really, considering I had so much anxiety attached to today’s beach visit.

Juices for the day all done before 9am ✔️ Dressed and packed before 10am ✔️ Hair sorted in a way I was happy and comfortable with ✔️ Leggings, sports bra & top sorted ✔️ Keeping calm all morning ✔️

Then at the beach I chilled out, applied sun-cream (although clearly not enough because I forgot about my feet 🤦🏻‍♀️) and got into the water! First dip was chilly but bearable, quite refreshing actually. Enjoyed drinking my healthy juice while snacks of wine gums & crisps were passed around (ok, I might have had a few wine gums 🤷🏻‍♀️) but I didn’t feel out of place, and I physically felt very alive, ready for the water etc.

I took the opportunity to try out paddle-boarding. Something which I’ve never tried before and always fancied having a go. My balance is pretty bad, always had been really so although I was confident kneeling on the board and using the oar, when I tried to stand up, I found myself frozen in one position, unable to find the confidence to try to stand. This kind of thing has happened to me before where I’ve been daring to try something but get stuck halfway. I was a bit of a climber as a toddler. Even climbed out of my cot once and frightened my mum to death as I crawled into the kitchen. She never forgot that moment. I climbed our garden fence to see our neighbours, but couldn’t get down, I got stuck. Not sure I attempted much climbing after that. Mum said I’d sort of learnt my lesson and wasn’t much of a daredevil after that. Perhaps that’s some deep-ingrained childhood memory which has followed me through, without realising. I took forever to get the stabilisers off my bike. I remember a girl on our street being a year younger and she took off well before me and my mum tried to guilt me into doing it too. That didn’t work. I wasn’t bothered that somebody else could ride before me and she was younger. I was me. However, when practicing one day and realising that my grandpa was about to arrive, I wanted to impress him so that forced me into it, and I was off. So clearly that was another incidence of lack of confidence in my balance.

Today was definitely all of those feelings flooding back. And then I fell off when I finally got upright and had to adjust my paddle to be longer 😂 Shock as I hit the water and gulp in the sea water. I got back on with a friend’s help but continued on my knees. My attempts to stand up were well and truly scuppered now. Still, I enjoyed the experience on my knees, sitting on my feet.

Later I went back in to swim and thoroughly enjoyed that too. Yes it was cold, yes I wasn’t wearing a wetsuit, but I was very much alive and loving it and that’s all that mattered. We also played rounders which I hadn’t done since primary school – I was awful 😂 Can’t throw a ball, can’t catch a ball, can barely bat a ball. I can run from one point to the next though 🤷🏻‍♀️ Not much use as a team player but nevertheless, I enjoyed myself and that was the aim of today!

Tried some more paddle-boarding before we left too. Attempted to get up on my feet again but no, that wasn’t happening. However, I did manage to kneel up on my knees (rather than kneeling down, sitting on my feet) so my centre of gravity was higher, and I could keep my balance that way. Lots of effort on the thigh muscles that way but it felt good to be a little further up off the board and being confident with it. I was also able to move around on the board a bit more, changing positions to sitting and dangling my legs off the side. I’d love to try it again and I’m determined to master standing up on one, one day!

As time went on, normally I’d have been worrying about getting home for a shower, but I wasn’t checking the clock, my phone was nowhere near me and I was at the mercy of a friend driving me home anyway so there was no control over that – a great feeling as I could let go and just relax. By the time I got home and picked up the dog from next door, I had just under an hour to get ready and I did, ready early even! Or “on time” I should say, when normally I’m late 😁

Felt amazing in my dress, which I have worn before for a wedding last August when it was tight. Now it “fits” although it’s on the roomier side so it’s at least comfortable but I wanted to wear it this one last time because I’m suspecting that I won’t have another event to wear it to, if I am aiming to lose another 2 stone.

At the birthday party, I ate what I wanted, drank coke (no longer addicted because I actually got a bit of sick of it after a few cans so I’m in no rush to get back to it – strange that!) enjoyed compliments about my figure and good condition of my skin, had tons of energy and Ceilidh-danced the night away! I enjoyed the company of many folk who I don’t see nearly as often as I’d like to but showed me I still have the sociable side to my personality and thrive on it.

All in all, a very positive day but I’m looking forward to a more chilled out day tomorrow on my own where I don’t have to think about how I look. Good job really because I’ve got some “tan” lines developing. My feet are red where I forgot to sun-cream them, my forearms are a bit patchy where I think the sun-cream has wiped off from being in the water. I’ve caught a bit of sun on my face, showing a line where my headband was sitting (make-up covered that up tonight) so I’ll be treating that with Aloe Vera gel in the hope that come Monday, it’ll have calmed down a wee bit. My make-up is SPF15 but that clearly wasn’t enough. I could perhaps look for a stronger SPF for future or at least apply sun-cream before powder. The sun-cream, even though it’s out-of-date, did seem to work for most of the areas I applied it to but I also might have caught a bit of sun on the back of my neck (based on me scratching a wee bit tonight and feeling it on fire, a little). A small price to pay for a wonderful day with fabulous people on a pretty secluded beach all to ourselves for most of the day, until a few families and dogs appeared - they obviously didn’t get the memo that we’d booked the entire beach 🤪!

[writing-away-in-ingo]

First Draft

Selkie Story - First Draft

My alarm goes off at five fifteen.

The house is always freezing in the morning because we can’t seem to get the stupid timed heater to work, so I normally end up pulling on about five layers before I eventually get up the courage to stagger out of bed. Our My bedroom is up in the attic, so I also have to climb down a ladder before I’ve gained any sort of co-ordination in the morning, which has led to me falling on my face more times than I’d like to remember. It isn’t a problem though; I’ve yet to break a bone. I wouldn’t trade sleeping in that attic room for every bruise I’ve got falling down the ladder. It feels like a little secret nest, hidden above the rest of the house, and you can climb out of the front window and onto the flat stretch of roof at the front. The sea looks beautiful from up there.

When I finally manage to make it downstairs, I make coffee (black, I’m not American, I don’t need fifteen sugars) and let Minnie out of the kitchen. She’s so old and so loyal that I’m certain we don’t need to keep her cooped up like that at night, but dad insists that we do. He double checks the back door for foxes every night, triple locks the front. We’ve never had a dog run away before now, I don’t see why it would be the ancient precious collie that finally made a break for it. Minnie loves us all in that wonderful unconditional dog way, but its more than that. She’s a part of the family and she’s very aware of it.

Its possible dad may have some remaining trust issues from you-know-who. I do my best not to think about it.

Minnie and I tend to eat breakfast together, because dad won’t be up for a little while, and its nice to have companionship. I don’t really like eating breakfast, especially this early, but it’s a necessary evil if I’m going to have any sort of luck at surfing when I finally get down to the beach. I’ve tried surfing on an empty stomach and you just end up feeling defeated, which is not the sort of thing I need before a day of manning the shop and café. When it reaches six fifteen, I scoop Minnie into my arms, give her a quick kiss on the top of her forehead and send her in to wake dad. He’s always delighted to see her, no matter what kind of shitty night he’s had, and he yells a greeting through the door for me.

Next, I grab my board and my bag, tossing the dishes from breakfast into the sink as I go, then make my way out of the door. The world is so quiet at this time, especially in the winter months when there are no groups of tourists. It feels like I’m the only person here, like

There’s this huge painting of a selkie woman on one of the crumbling down walls near the cove. The colours are faded and chipped away, but she’s still recognisable, rising from the sea like some sort of ancient spirit. It’s definitely one of the more well-intentioned ones; she has nice brown eyes and a sort of melancholy expression, and there’s no innocently falling-down sealskin to make her seem “sexy” for some reason. Everyone always seems to draw selkies with their tits out somehow, as if you can sexualise a seal. They’re just big round blobs of cute. I never turn into a half seal, half stereotypically attractive woman with one boob peeking out around the skin. It’s unrealistic and sexist. Frankly, it’s a little disturbing.

I probably should have mentioned the selkie thing before now.

It’s a weird sort of thing to put into words. It’s always been a part of my life, but not a part that I’m allowed to share, so I don’t have any practise in putting it into words. When I was a kid, I assumed that everyone had clandestine sealskins that they weren’t allowed to show anybody, and that we were all just really good at keeping secrets. I only learned the truth when I was eleven, and I slipped up and made a joke to Brannok. She didn’t laugh, just looked at me curiously, her big brown eyes all serious. I never talked about it again, and Brannok never mentioned it, but I can still remember how it felt, to feel like I wasn’t alone and then to be reminded so suddenly and completely that that wasn’t the case.

Day Tremayne is the only other person outside my family who knows about my sealskin. I don’t trust a lot of people with a secret like that, but Day is different. He’s lying on the edge of the surf when I jog down – he’s so bold with it at this time of morning. Not many people know about this cove, but I do worry that someone will wander down in the early morning or stay overnight and get a sudden glimpse of Day and his tail. He doesn’t have the luxury of hiding it sometimes like me, but I don’t think he’d like being able to shed it. He’s much happier than most people I meet in this village, able to swim off at a moment’s notice, spending his days chasing the tide or hunting for pearls. He doesn’t like the term “Merman” because he thinks it’s too gendered. We eventually settled on “Mer” as a sort of compromise, but he still doesn’t love it. Day’s one of those people who doesn’t place a lot of stock in language or words, and he has no patience for those who do. I like to joke that it’s a fish thing.

“Caja!”

I wave my arms over my head as I run towards him, the wind tugging at my hair.

“You’re out early! What if someone had seen you?”

He grins up at me, water dripping from his hair.

“You’ve got to learn to live a little, Angove. We wouldn’t be given gifts like these if they weren’t meant to be enjoyed.”

He gives my bag a pointed look.

“Will you be joining me, or will my company be more… aquatic?”

I take a quick scan of the beach. The sand is clear, I can see all the way across to the town, and there’s no sign of anyone coming down the path.

The sea is so wide and inviting. I haven’t had a proper swim in months. Being human means you just dabble along the surface.

Day’s already smiling when I turn back to him. He knows. I scoop up a handful of seawater and throw it at him.

“Stop being smug!”

He laughs as I unzip my bag, rummaging in the bottom to find the hidden compartment that I hide my sealskin in. It’s like warm velvet against my fingertips.

I wrap myself in sealskin, and the world shifts and grows and shrinks until I’m-

The ocean swallows me and I am whole. Water. Shifting around me; push and pull. Swoop down and brush the seabed. Flip up and taste the air. Let yourself fly, let yourself weave in and out of the weeds and the fish and the sunlight.

Crest the wave.

Breathe.

I surface out of the sea in a mass of limbs that are suddenly too long for my body, in a body that doesn’t quite feel like my own, the sealskin gently unspooling from me. Quickly I gather it in my hand, pulling it out of the waves and away from the sand. Day appears next to me in a burst of seawater, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

“That was great! I feel like we haven’t done this in ages.”

It’s a beautiful feeling; I’m not tired per se, but my body has the distant ache of a good morning of exercise, and the buzz of adrenaline that comes from open swimming in deep water. My watch says its been about an hour and a half since I changed, but this morning already feels like its drifting away, growing a little fuzzy around the edges. Whenever I wear the sealskin it makes me feel like nothing else matters, like the time I spend as a seal is all-consuming compared to the dull hours I put in at work. Human eyes don’t see the same kind of beauty that seal eyes do.

My phone buzzes, and I look over at it without thinking, without remembering.

abt an hour out! c u soon! Exx

Elowen’s back today. How could I have forgotten that? It’s not like I have anything more important to be doing today. Every day’s the same in the village; I wake up, I meet Day for surfing, I work at the bookshop in the morning and the café in the afternoon. It’s not like I don’t want to remember her coming back. It isn’t like I haven’t missed her. I suppose I didn’t really believe that she would. When people leave my life they tend to stay gone.

“Having a twin is the best. It’s like having a best friend already built in.”

Elowen and I were so close when we were kids. I used to feel like she was my other half, like she was filling in the gaps of the person that I was and making me better

“I don’t understand why you have to go so far. It isn’t like there aren’t science jobs out here.”

She was always cleverer than me, at least in an academic sense. People like to talk about the different types of intelligence like being attuned to people’s emotions is an actual skill you’ll be able to use in the world beyond making people like you. Sure, I’m emotionally intelligent. It isn’t going to give me a job beyond working at my father’s old bookshop. I didn’t stick around for much of school. It didn’t seem to have much of a point beyond making me miserable for a piece of paper which would only confirm how unsuited I am to the corporate world of work. Elowen loved school though. She was great at it, so of course she wanted to keep going. And there isn’t a lot of scientific research work available in a small place like Zennor.  

“She didn’t have to leave us though, did she?”

“She didn’t have a choice!”

I don’t really remember my mother. She only stuck around long enough to push out two babies and leave my father with a crippled sense of self and emotional issues and the burden of being a single father with a self-owned business.

“You’re leaving dad just like she did!”

Sometimes I think my mouth is too big for me. I say things like that and there’s no taking them back. I don’t really think was Elowen did is comparable to what our mum did. She didn’t want to leave us, she just felt like it was what she needed to do to keep fitting in. Elowen’s had a plan for her life ever since she realised that we weren’t normal, and anything that deviates from the plan is something she isn’t allowed to follow.

I just stand there stupidly as they hug, and then Elowen turns to face me, beaming. Her hair is shorter, neatly trimmed so it hangs just below her shoulders, and she’s wearing eyeliner. I never could figure out how to do the wings, even though she offered to teach me. Elowen always looks freakishly normal, ever since she was small, she’s managed to hit the perfect note between stylish and boring. I remember watching her plan her outfits. Working from pictures of her classmates, different styles cherrypicked from the kids that no one bothered, no one questioned. She tends to take a more serious approach to fitting in than I do.

“Caja, I missed you so much!”

I can’t seem to move my feet.

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

The words are wooden from my mouth, shrouding months of the pain and worry and grief I felt at being separate from her. I never expected her to leave, but once she did, I pretty much gave up hope on her ever coming back. I risk a look up at her, and I’m startled to see there are tears in her eyes. She reaches forward to take my hand.

“Of course I came back.”

Then she notices the wet sealskin hanging out of the side of my bag where I stuffed it, and I see her eyes go hard. Her grip tightens on my hand.

“I thought we agreed it wasn’t safe to be out anymore.”

I pull my hand away from her and step back.

“I’m not having this conversation again. Welcome home.”

She doesn’t follow me.

When I get up in the morning, for the first time in a long time I’m not alone. Elowen’s dark hair is spread out over the pillow; she doesn’t seem to have been disturbed by the alarm, so I creep down the ladder, trying not to make too much noise. I feel a little strange, like the house is listening in on my footsteps, and if I move too quickly or too loudly, the whole thing will collapse. The squeak of my chair is so loud it makes me jump, and I almost forget to leave the gate open for Minnie, who gives me a confused tilt of her head.

I shouldn’t feel like this, it shouldn’t feel wrong to have my sister in my house. I can remember nights of staring at her empty bed with tears pooling in my eyes, days of trying to shake the feeling that I was suddenly operating without the use of half of my limbs, half of my mind. I knew it was going to be difficult living alone without her, even with dad. He’s lovely, of course he is, but even he can’t replace a twin bond, no matter how hard he tries. I spent so long trying to get used to living without her that it feels like I’ve done it too well and now I don’t know how to function with her back in my life.

 Day is still waiting at the beach when I come down that morning. We don’t speak. He doesn’t try to ask me what’s wrong. 

[captainignatiuspigheart]

I’m now three days into a mostly well-earned week off and have no real knowledge of what came before… We’ve been trying to do more things, or at least more things that involve the outside world. It’s been a fortnight of new firsts. I’ve finally been into Nottingham city centre for the first time since mid-March. It was very strange to wheel back in – I only visited for an eye test – and see what seemed like millions of people. In retrospect it was probably the equivalent of a disappointing Tuesday morning. I went back in a week later to pick up my new glasses  and it was certainly a lot busier. I cycled around for a bit, and there’s just nothing there I need any more. My desire to wander round a shop is at a new low (unless it’s a charity shop, bookshop, or LEGO shop. And there were none of those available), and I find it hard to imagine that changing much. I guess I’m not gonna be the shot in the arm our economy needs… We’ve also finally been to a pub, for a spot of birthday lunch with my mum. It was great to see her, because it has been ages, but the weirdness of being back in the Victoria was overwhelming. Not just having to wait to be seated, and leaving my name and phone number, but its gaping emptiness. We were the only people dining inside on a Saturday lunchtime, except for the group that briefly ate directly behind us (there was so much other space!) and perhaps fifteen people in the beer garden. I didn’t feel unsafe, just a little weirded out with thinking “what’s the point of this place?” I imagine some of this feeling will fade as these places become normal again with more activities being arranged in them. 

Oh yeah, and I’ve been swimming! My beloved Lenton Centre is open again, and I am delighted. I’m not a huge fan of evening swims, since I’m normally well into wind-down and the sleeping drugs are kicking in, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity. They’ve done what they can for safety: super-wide swimming lanes, restricted numbers, widely spaced changing rooms, and (alas) no showers. Mind you, can you be safer than when immersed in a giant tank of coronavirus-murdering chlorinated water? I did the full hour, taxing muscles which have been utterly forgotten for four months. The next day I felt like I’d been crudely hewn from wood. It was a joy to be in water again. So much so that I’m getting up before midday on my birthday to do it again! Plus, we’re going to the cinema this week – The Empire Strikes Back is available on my birthday, and that’s the kind of normal I can’t resist. I’m even contemplating a trip to a real live LEGO store this week, though I may not if I don’t have my AFOL flag added to my card for the VIP day next Saturday. Who knows! It’s not like I’m short of LEGO at home…

LEGO: Merging Hidden Side Sets

I’ve been really happy with LEGO’s Hidden Side line, even though I’ve little interest in its augmented reality play features – the sets are just really cool! I was very taken with the Shrimp Shack Attack and Wrecked Shrimp Boat, which were both a delight to build with nifty techniques and great colour scheme. They seemed to have that same nice subdued sand-green/blue vibe as the stunning LEGO Ideas Old Fishing Store, so why not combine them… Originally, I wasn’t going to change very much at all. I wanted to retain the fantastic shrimp shack sign and the generally grungy vibe of the shrimp shack, plus the whole shrimp boat. As you can see, it did get a little more complicated. I ended up curving the shack round so it could fit in a corner of the baseplate and leave room for the boat, but it didn’t leave enough room, so… the boat became part of the shack, and into a nice little cafe. Making a floor I could tile around the three sections of the restaurant was challenging, but I like how it turned out. Inevitably, including the boat meant taking it apart and rebuilding the underside with different elements. There’s an awful lot of junk under the pier which was a nice chance to use my many crates and lobsters. I had a little fun making an ice-cream stand too, with a rather nice LEGO Friends sticker. I’ve hidden many things in the build and intensely enjoyed its construction. I reckon it looks pretty sweet next to the Old Fishing Store too. Hurray.

Watching: Snowpiercer

I expected to have a lot to say about this TV show, but I… don’t. It’s a good, more detailed, and fuller version of the movie that came out a few years ago, but it doesn’t really add anything. It’s equally bonkers – the conceit being that a super-train 1001 cars long that continuously circles the ice-choked globe – but has more detail, like seeing more of the engineering and a slightly better sense of this ten mile-long train as an environment. The story is much the same too (I guess that’s not surprising), it’s one of social revolution as the tailies (the “freeloaders” who jumped on the train without a billion-dollar ticket) seek to escape their appalling conditions and democratise the train by uniting with third class (who keep the train going – wait, that might be second class… doesn’t really matter) against the total wanker rich class who live in luxury in first. It’s fun, violent, fast-paced, and has many things to make you shake your head at the excesses of the wealthy. Jennifer Connelly is excellent, as is Daveed Diggs in the two (mostly) opposing leads, and the rest of the cast is well chosen. It works! I assume we’ll watch season two, even though we got confused about whether we’d actually finished season one.

Reading: Djinn City by Saad Z Hossain

I’ve continued to struggle with reading, and I think this was a change in pace that really worked for me. Djinn City has a familiar setup: Indelbed is a sad lonely kid living with his alcoholic father, who discovers that his dad’s actually a magician deeply involved with the djinn we’ve shared our world with for millennia. He only finds this out when his dad ends up in a coma and he’s kidnapped by bad guys and dumped in a magical oubliette filled with horrifying flesh-eating dragons and an utterly sociopathic djinn who kinda befriends him… This is profoundly weird reading, both funny and very grim at the same time. There are lovely splashes of Bangladeshi society alongside the wildly arrogant and powerful djinn cultures, against the really awful things that happen to Indelbed (experimented on and then burned alive…), and the fantastical worlds and creations of the djinn themselves. Super-dark, full of intrigue and deep dark conspiracies, there is a huge amount to love and get into here. I am… perplexed that this isn’t book one of a series (or isn’t yet) as the ending feels an awful lot like it needs to continue. Read it, even if there isn’t a book two!

We Are What We Overcome

We met up again for our last fortnightly webchat. Much sadface for me as this has been one my anchoring events through lockdown. However, it’s quite a time commitment for those of us with exciting new jobs, so we talked about how we feel about the future. Not just our post-COVID future, but how we look forward in general. It turns out we somewhat suck at it. I’ve always been bad at imagining the future – I just can’t see myself in it. Still, interesting to ponder on, and I found it both thought-provoking and reassuring to hear the others’ attitudes. We’re planning to meet up in person late in August and get back on track with the regular podcast. Speaking of which, I keep forgetting to mention that new episodes are going quite regularly. Check ’em all out here: https://anchor.fm/we-are-what-we-overcome. 

Workstuff

It’s been a busy couple of weeks, especially running up to a week off (to continue being at home, without work to do…). Much finalising of cover art, preparing books for print, for very soon our first books will be published! September sees the first two – Wrath of N’kai and Tales from the Crucible: A KeyForge Anthology, but we sorted those out months ago, before the whole pandemic thing flipped the world upside down. It’s October I’ve been working on, and will hit November’s books the second I return! In the last week we’ve finally been able to show off the first two Marvel novel covers we’ve been working on: Domino: Strays and The Head of Mimir – check ’em out at Marvel.com. Full credit to the wonderful Joey Hi-Fi and Grant Griffin for the two covers. 

We followed that up with a little chat about how they came together on Facebook Live:

Watching: Preacher, season three

I’m not sure I know how to summarise Preacher. Ex-man of the cloth / career criminal Jesse has the voice of God (the power to command anyone to do anything) but dark super-Catholic religious corporation, Grail, wants that power so they can invest it in the actual descendent of Jesus – a heavily inbred idiot. In this exciting season of insane and hilariously grim adventures, Jesse and his best friend, the vampire Cassidy, bring the recently killed Tulip to Angelville, the hell hole where he grew up because his grandmother can save people’s lives, by eating their souls… It’s a very over the top show, with great fight scenes, lots of swearing, blasphemy and gore. All the good stuff. I’ve given up trying to understand what’s really going on and am just here for the ride. The return to Angelville explains a great deal of why Jesse is such a mess, while Cassidy’s adventures in New Orleans both delightfully mock The Vampire Letsat etc and subvert it. A lot of what I like is the largely British cast having an absolute whale of a time. Also, Hitler working at Subway and using that to restart the third reich is kinda special…

MissImp: Making Monologues Work for You with Jon Nguyen

We still can’t do proper in-person drop-ins and it looks like there won’t be much in the way of live shows this year, so we’re continuing with our video series inviting great improv humans to share their brilliance with us. These are now fortnightly so we can do a live online Gorilla Burger on alternate weeks! Jon is splendid.

  Last Week: Preacher, Snowpiercer, Djinn City, LEGO Hidden Side, Aconyte Books, “leaving the house”, LEGO building, more MissImp improv and y’know the usual ramblings. #TV #books #LEGO #podcast @aconytebooks @missimp_notts https://wp.me/pbprdx-8HZ I’m now three days into a mostly well-earned week off and have no real knowledge of what came before… We’ve been trying to