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my-fanfic-library · 5 years ago

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Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [7]

Masterlist

~^*^~

Looking down, Dracula noticed how his hands easily covered most skin on the exposed thigh straddled over him. Warmth radiated from the skin, and although pleasant, he knew for a fact he’d felt better with another’s.

Her fingers trailed from the back of his neck, down to his chest and rested there for a moment. She was so close. Her heart did not race. She was comfortable with him - too comfortable - and he didn’t know why. The way she seemed to invite such dangers, such recklessness that would easily induce her fatality intoxicated him. Her dismissal of her mortality fascinated him.

Slowly, wanting to cause a shiver to run down her spine, he let his hands trail up to her waist. She smirked, clearly enjoying his attention. He looked up at her, locking eyes.

“What would you like to dream about tonight?” He asked, allowing his hand to run over her neck. She had not bothered to cover up, his mark evident on her skin.

“I don’t know...” she mused, voice low, “you pick.”

It was evident to the Count that she was trying to be seductive. But to him, she was trying too hard. Women like this, women who threw their sense of self and pride away like this, were never good news. The woman currently on his lap proved that. No, Dracula preferred something a little more muted. An insult to him here or there, a no-bullshit attitude, a fierce front and a willingness to be close to him. Sister Agatha had fit this mould very well. He had enjoyed her company.

He looked at the woman he was currently occupying. He was mildly disgusted by her, if he was being honest. She would make a very good bride. Her attributes would make her one of the best if he erected his plan correctly.

And by God, did he want to construct and carry out a perfect plan. A perfect bride.

Repopulation had been so difficult for him. He had tried and failed and tried and failed again. It would not work. But then again, nobody had willingly given themselves to him like this. She was the perfect specimen for this next trial. But that was the only way in which she was perfect.

“How about...” he smirked a little, pretending to think, “a little dream about [First].”

He halted her movements and the enjoyment in her eyes wavered before fading out. Her mouth dropped a little. Her shock become evident within a second.

“[First]?” Her voice was laced with that same shock, “[First] [Last]?”

“The very one.” He smirked.

“How do you know her?” The tinge of jealousy that came through in her voice made Dracula chuckle.

“Let’s just say that she’s a colleague.” He spoke with ease.

“I didn’t realise you knew her... how long...?”

“Quite a few months now, she really is a special person, isn’t she?”

“And you chose to stay here... with me...? Instead of with her?”

“It would seem so, yes.” It was so easy for him to feign a subtle shynes. Just a little smile and a small drop of the head. She was immediately smitten once more.

“Again... it happened again... she really must be dull.” She whispered, mostly to herself.

At those words, Dracula had to hold back the noise of sheer anger bubbling up to the surface. In his eyes, there was nothing worse than a person like Lucy Westenra. Conceited, vain, without care for another. Now, Dracula could not say that he truly cared for most himself. Why, that would be an absurd lie when he would easy devour any person who gave him a second of a chance to. But to be a creature that could still fathom compassion and to ignore that... now, that was something he didn’t like. He was using this girl, it was too easy to.

He said no more to her, opting to expose the mark on her neck. Lucy smiled. The anticipation of the dream that awaited her grew in her chest. When Dracula bit down, a familiar heat spread throughout her body. It scorched her veins, but she did not care. Her eyes fluttered and she entered that sweet dream.

~^*^~

With Dracula’s absence, you had found yourself growing closer once more to Jack Seward. He had been the only friend you had been able to count on before you fled to Yorkshire those years ago.

Currently, you had decided to show Jack one of your more favoured places. It was a small bay, not too far from Whitby, with a stunning little town and steep hills. Robin Hood’s Bay. This had been your place of solace whilst living here, and after two months of growing closer to the male you had once been so friendly with, you chose to share this secret place with him.

Sitting on the rock armour that spread along the bottom of the cliffs, you both looked out to sea. You spent quite a while in silence, enjoying each other’s company.

“I was really glad to see you again, [First].” Jack suddenly piped up.

“Hm.” Was your only reply.

“You know... the stuff with Lucy... and Daniel...”

“It wasn’t your fault Jack, you didn’t know. I was angry with you but I think that’s because you chose to stay friends with her.” You turned to smile at him, wind catching a few hairs in your eyelashes.

Jack said nothing, but reached over and tenderly brushed away the hairs. His warm fingers caressed your face as he did so. A warmth spread over your cheeks.

“Even so... I still felt bad. I mean, it made you move so far away from us all.”

“I couldn’t stay there. There was no need to feel bad. Lucy was the catalyst.”

“Still... I missed you, [First].”

You spent a few hours together, wandering up and down the beach before deciding to walk back to Whitby. Although it was a good hour back to the town, you enjoyed the company, looking out to sea and reminiscing about old times. By the time you arrived back to Whitby, the sun had set and darkness blanketed the world once more.

Jack offered to buy you a drink, just to finish the day off nicely. You agreed, leading him to Bar 7. It was already quite full by the time you got in. So, in order to keep Jack by your side, you gently took his wrist and lead him towards the bar. He had no issues with letting you lead him, and was quite surprised at how natural contact between the two of your felt.

Music was playing loudly, but not loud enough to distort the words you spoke to each other as you enjoyed your drinks. Outside, the world was tucking in for the night. The windows left little to the imagination on what was going on inside of the bar, and one figure was leaning against the metal railing of the harbour, watching with patience.

Another hour passed, along with two more drinks when you both decided to call it a night. Jack offered to walk you home, and you accepted on the condition that you could call an Uber to pick him up. Although he denied, you decided to let him walk you home. It had grown quite cold, and upon noticing your shivering, he took off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders.

“Oh, you don’t need to-“

“I’ve got long sleeves on anyway, it’s fine.” He smiled again you.

“Thank you.” You whispered. There was a moment of silence, “today was nice.”

“It was...” his voice trailed off, “it was nice to spend time with you again. I��m glad you’re doing better.” You hummed.

“Me too.”

“You’re still cold aren’t you?” He looked over at you. Even though you were walking, you were visibly shivering.

“Just a little.” You chuckled.

“Here.”

Without warning, he moved closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to bring you close. His warmth radiated onto you and you hummed, allowing your head to drop onto his shoulder. Behind you, Jack heard a noise. It sounded a little bit like a growl of a dog, and turned his head. Nothing.

Strange.

The rest of the walk was quick and soon you found yourself standing on your doorstep watching Jack disappear. You shut the door once he was out of sight and sighed. It had been a good day. It felt like no time had passed between you and Jack, but given how close you once had been, ten years could have passed and it would have felt the same.

Eyes watched as Jack began his walk back across the viaduct. It would be too easy to have him. His body would be too easy to throw over into the river, but a splash that loud would certainly alert people.

Just as you slumped down on your sofa to take your shoes off, your door knocked. Had Jack forgotten something...? You made your way to the door and pulled it open.

“Good evening Miss [Last], it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The shock that coursed your veins was almost enough to induce you to pass out. Standing there with a picnic basket in hand, grinning from ear to ear was your vampire acquaintance that you never expected to see again.

Your heart was racing. It had been so long since you last saw him, since you last became drowned in his scent, in him. And here he was, grinning at you like he’d never even left in the first place.

“Shocked to see me, darling?”

“Dracula...?” You whispered. You were afraid to move, afraid to anything. What if he disappeared if you spoke too loudly or moved too quickly?

“How endearing. Come, I have something for you.”

He extended his arm out to you and you felt obliged to take it. A familiar and oddly comforting coolness took ahold of you when your hand slipped into his and you let him lead you out of your house and towards the soft, plush grass of the river bank. You watched as he took his hand from your own and pulled a soft blanket from the basket first, setting it down on the grass so that you could sit without worry of staining your clothes.

Once again, he extended his arm to you and you took it. When you were close to him, both standing on the blanket, he brought your knuckle up to his lips and pressed a tender kiss. His mouth lingered before he helped you settle down and he followed suit.

“Did you miss me much, darling?” He inquired, pulling out two glasses from the basket.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m merely curious. Though I believe your answer would be no.”

“And how would you know that?” You eyed him.

“Well, it seemed that you had a lovely evening with the young gentleman who works with Dr. Van Helsing and yourself.”

“Jack? Were you following us?”

“I actually intended on collecting you myself, however, it seemed you had other plans.”

He did not look at you, opting to pull a few more things from the basket. First, a Tupperware box with a brown substance, then a second, full of strawberries and lastly, a bottle filled with a black liquid tinted crimson.

“I hope you don’t mind, I brought leftovers.” He grinned at you, having seemingly forgotten the edge of the tantrum he had just been on.

“No... I don’t mind...”

“I also brought you something. Do you remember one of the last conversations we had?”

“The strawberries... you remembered?” There was a softness to your voice that Dracula could not help but think that he had missed. Despite your clear knowledge of some very dark and evil things, you couldn’t help but ooze a certain degree of innocence. He loved it.

“Of course I remembered.”

You watched as he began to open the boxes. Strawberries first, followed by the chocolate that was still cooling and melted. And then, he opened his own bottle of his “takeaway” and poured himself a little.

“I would have opened your own bottle, but I think you’ve had enough for one night.” A mischevious smile pulled at his lips.

“How long were you watching?”

“Long enough.”

He didn’t dwell on his growing anger for the mortal male, and instead reached out to pluck a strawberry.

“May I?”

You nodded. Your eyes followed his fingers as they moved the strawberry to the chocolate, coating it in a thick layer of goodness. Anticipation grew as he let a little excess chocolate drip off. He leaned forwards, his eyes locked on you as your mouth opened, allowing him to near you with the treat. You bit down, a wet and slightly sensual noise emitting. An explosion hit your tongue. The freshness and the firmness of the strawberry mixed with the sweetness and the gooeyness of the chocolate causing a low moan to rumble through your throat.

It was good.

Dracula’s lips twitched into a smirk. Your blood wasn’t pounding as hard as it usually did, but it was a nice, steady beat. He wondered what it would take to make it race once more. He watched as you chewed, eyes glossing over with the satisfaction of such a delicacy.

“How was it?” He asked. His voice was low and gravelly, like he was intentionally trying to wind you further up.

“Delicious.” You breathed.

“I’m glad.”

It continued like this for a while, Dracula feeding you strawberries. He was enchanted by the way your lips spread over the fruit, catching all that you wished to eat. He enjoyed watching your eyes flutter with every bite, and hearing every noise you had to offer in enjoyment.

On one particular strawberry, he perhaps left too much chocolate on, and some of the gooey substance found itself attached to the corner of your mouth, slowly trailing down. Dracula made a small noise, placing the half eaten strawberry down and using his index finger to swipe up the chocolate. You looked at him, and that devilish smirk on his face, and then at his finger, the tip coated in chocolate.

His eyes were locked with yours when you looked back up. He was testing you. He was inviting you. And for once, you weren’t going to back down.

You kept your eyes locked with his, leaning forwards and catching the tip of his finger with your lips. He couldn’t suppress the look of surprise that flooded his features. You kept your eye contact, swirling your tongue over his cold finger, lapping up the chocolate. When you pulled away, a string of saliva kept you connected to him.

“Oh my,” Dracula cooed, “I did not expect that.”

“Yeah, well...”

“What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? I really must find out sooner or later...”

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker

#dracula #bbc dracula #netflix dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #netflix dracula x reader #claes bang #dolly wells

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petitkibu · 4 years ago

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a post for me and you;

reminders for my panicky days, depressive episodes, manic states, when i feel hopeless or out of control. maybe it’ll help someone else, too. ~ ess, they/them, nonbinary, queer, shawol. i have anxiety. i’m a minor.

- think about the small things you have control over: the lights/curtains/window/tidiness in your room, having a drink of water/juice/soda, how you decide to spend your free time, or how you talk to the people around you

- write everything down: how you feel, why you think you might feel this way and if there’s a reason, write down every detail about it that made you feel sad/angry/scared/alone. it’s okay to cry, to be sad, and lonely. let yourself feel those emotions and understand that you’re human.

- make a little plan: for what to do now, what to do tonight, or what to do tomorrow. don’t be strict or precise, and forgive yourself if you miss some steps/forget something/something goes wrong- it’s just a reminder of small things to fill your time/mind/hands with, and you’re going to be okay.

- tidy up your bedside table: decide to put away the book you’ve left there for a week now, or read it for a few minutes. dust the lamp, clean up any crumbs, dust, tissues, or dishes. if something’s there that doesn’t belong, put it back in it’s home and tell the object that you’re proud of it’s journey, you’ve worked hard, now take a nap and stay there for a while

- take a bath: this is what i have to do if i’m very shaky, feeling very unstable or nervous, and can’t think straight. do anything you can to make it enjoyable for you. if you’re having issues with your body image and it’s going to scare you more, you can wear a swimsuit(of course if it’s too much, absolutely don’t force yourself. you know inside what’s good for you and what’s not. you are growing, getting better and getting stronger, even if you don’t see it now. be patient.). bath bombs are nice, or bath salts. bring a glass of water. if you want, you can put on your favourite album. mine is jonghyun’s ‘poet | artist’, or epik high’s ‘shoebox’. or do none of those things and just lay in the bath. think about your breath, and be thankful for it; even if it’s difficult. forgive yourself.

- drink a cup of tea: i drink sleepytime tea, even if it’s morning (black teas and berry/’boost’ teas sometimes add to my nausea and make my episodes more difficult). but whatever you like. i like putting a little bit of honey in, too! even if you don’t like tea, just make some and sip it. try not to drink it quickly(this is a bit hard for me), just be patient. don’t force yourself to finish it, either.

- get off of twitter, instagram, and tiktok for a little while: i don’t mean delete your account, or the app. i just mean don’t click on the apps for maybe 30 mins. for me, tumblr is much less in-your-face and fast paced, and snapchat is more of an app to message friends. of course, you could just do something else instead of go on your phone/laptop, but it’s also comforting to be distracted(some people might find snapchat and tumblr more triggering/stimulating. this is just my personal experience).

- take a quick look through your own social media account(s): delete posts, change your layout. scroll for a little while, recall on your feelings from just a few days ago: think about how it made you feel or what came of it. if it doesn’t make you feel good, take it down. unfollow some people, block some people that have been making you nervous/posting content you don’t really want to see(no one is going to blame you for this. remember that you have some control over the content you see everyday, and don’t just put up with everything. you can unblock them a little while later if you want).

- think about things that make you happy: this seems really obvious, and is an overused “sentiment”. but for me, i think about writing a story(i’m always writing one in my head), or about how with each day that passes, i’m getting closer to seeing my boys back together again! i think about shinee a lot, actually, about how they’re doing, and i make little wishes for them, and if i see the moon at night, i tell them to him and i know he makes them come true! i think about epik high, about grateful i am for them, and how they’re such role models/idols for me. think about people you love.

- cry: let yourself cry, let yourself feel bad. we’re not only supposed to feel good things and feel happy. probably not everything is good right now. let yourself feel. you don’t have to cry alone, and you don’t have to cry quietly.

- watch a comfort movie: mine is pinocchio! this is hard for me to do, to sit through a movie. i’m not sure why, but i’m not good at it. i get very distracted/bored and end up turning it off most times. but if you love movies, or have one that makes you feel like a kid again, put one on.

- reach out: tell a family member, your online best friend, your teacher, anyone. talk to someone. for me, sometimes i have to go on a walk with my brother and talk about random stuff. sometimes i have to go to my best friend’s house for an afternoon. sometimes i have to vent to the group chat (shoutout to kibu nose luvers global). there are people who will listen, you just have to reach out.

- listen to a podcast: i love true crime podcasts, like counterclock, and and that’s why we drink (shoutout to em for the nonbinary representation!)- but during an anxiety attack, hearing about all the details of death is not good. for me, at least. the tablo podcast (lots of talk about mental health!!)is my favourite. tablo is a korean-canadian hip-hop artist, most known as being a third of the group epik high. he’s a rapper, dad, marvel and lego lover, and he’s constantly making fun of his manager, eddie. just listen to it! i don’t know what i’d do without it. also, the jenna and julien podcast is amazing, of course. they play games, interact with their fanbase a lot, and talk about important stuff too. they’re good people and a hilarious couple(hope you’re doing well, jenna! love you lots)! jumping in an elevator is a great podcast, too, it’s a new one! he talks about everything from nicki minaj to physics. ones i haven’t tried but have heard good things about are: how did i get here? with jae of day6, teenager therapy, not too deep with grace helbig, get real with peniel, bm and ashley choi, and beach too sandy, water too wet.

- make a playlist: picture your most perfect or ideal moment, feeling, place, or day. and make a soundtrack to it. put your headphones on, go on a walk and listen to it. it’s so healing.

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soultek · 4 years ago

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American Country Love Song - Jack Hoskins x Reader (The Outsider)

@thatgirlinthecemetery @lipstick-and-lycanthropes @deanyta-wrc @fancycinderella

I’m not gonna lie I was kinda blown away by your responses! I got inspired again - so, here’s a fic with a 24 hour turn around time! I hope you enjoy this one just as much 🥰💜 Thank you so much for all your kind words!

Author’s Note: Here we are again! You really all outdid yourself last fic, I have to say, I was blown away by the response I got. I’m so happy to find more people that love him!! (I certainly have more ideas in the works-!)

We changed the lyrics to this beauty by Jake Owen!

Disclaimer: The Outsider & The Outsider HBO (+ all associations) not mine / lyrics not mine / one again I capped the cap (I always like those kinda arty not looking at the camera shots when I cap and Jack is no different) Premise (Well. I guess it’s a snapshot fic, there’s not much ‘Premise’): It’s essentially one of those “the 5 times that...” Fics. So, may I present to you, Five different kisses - by Jack Hoskins.

Words: 2874

Warnings: Hmmm... slight sexual Pre-Amble

_______

Wonderin' who's gonna kiss who first, you know what I'm talkin' about Hey baby what you doin' tonight? It's butterflies and Bud Lights Under the stars and on the stripes of a beach towel in a spring break town It's playin' in the night air, through the speakers all night long Couple kids just livin' that American country love song It's one last kiss in the driveway Hey radio DJ, can you play that song that she loves So I can turn it up, and maybe turn her on An American country love song In every town and every place There's a boy who's tryin' to take a chance and dance And find a way to run away with her heart In the back of an old Ford truck In the bar just lookin' for love In a pair of oh my blue eyes Let them fireworks start That American Country love song Ain't never gonna quit playin' on and on and on, and on So let's raise a glass Cheerleaders and quarter-backs Cowboys and country girls All around this small town world To the same old pick up lines We've tried a million times All the bad and good as it gets To the ones that you ain't met yet In the bar just lookin' for love In a pair of oh my blue eyes Let them fireworks start That American Country love song Ain't never gonna quit playin' on and on and on

---

Your first kiss was never particularly how you might have envisioned it. Even though it also shouldn’t have surprised you. Jack Hoskins was a drinker, and your little bar happened to be one of his favourites. He didn’t always arrive sober, but you liked it best when he did. Then you could control his measures and at least try your best to look after him. You always worried that if he got too drunk he wouldn’t come back. He opened up to you pretty easily; and soon enough you knew his life story. Sometimes you thought he aught not to be telling you the things he was, but you wouldn’t stop him – only listen. That was all Jack needed, still, he kept coming back and you wanted to give him something back, so you told him a little about yourself – and started to have real conversations about things. It was always nice to see him. You weren’t sure if you should, but you always looked forward to him coming around. And with the way Jack was, it was always bound to happen. You had yet to need to point at your sign and say “I have the right to refuse to serve you.”, Jack always seemed to behave here – but you’d heard enough stories around town, from friends of yours that also owned and tended bars, that this wasn’t normal. You didn’t know if he’d been banned from any full stop, but you did know that the weird little strip club only let him in because he was a member of Cherokee City PD. Tonight though he was in one of his worse moments, and it was shot after shot after shot. The only reason you didn’t cut him off was because it was so close to closing time. He would have to leave soon anyway; what worried you is he’d find somewhere else open. Jack’s truck was in the parking lot and there was no way in hell you were about to let him go driving. “…I’ll be fine!” “Jack! You’re slurring your words! I’ve called you a taxi!” You’d also like to point out to him that you were having to support him as he staggered across the parking lot. “Well what about you-!?” “I can drive just fine – do you need anything from your truck? House keys? Anything?” “No.” “Okay…” You breathed, thankful, continuing towards the parked up taxi. “Now before you do anything stupid, give me your keys.” “What-!?” “It’s for your own good, hand ‘em over.” Jack grumbled, but didn’t put up any more fight than that as you pocketed them. You told the taxi driver his address, to make sure it was clear (and Jack wasn’t about to start bar hopping), and opened the door for him. “You gonna be okay?” “I’ll be fine.” Unfortunately you didn’t doubt this wasn’t new to him. “Good, I’ll bring the truck back tomorrow. I’m not sure you’re gonna be all that fit to drive with a hangover.” There was momentary silence, nobody moved, even though he should be getting in the cab and going home. Instead Jack tilted his head, blinking. “What?” He continued to stare, and you looked around you, “What? What’s wrong?” You weren’t uneasy; Jack never made you feel uneasy. He laughed, “Nothin’.” “Then what is it?” Jack’s laugh continued, “You’re just… you’re really beautiful.” You raised both your eyebrows and tilted your body, arms folded, “Okay- get in the cab! You’re clearly very-” You didn’t manage to finish the sentence before he pulled you in, lips on yours. You froze when you shouldn’t have. You should have pushed him back, told him to stop. He was drunk, and you could taste an amalgamation of liquor on his lips. You didn’t want him to stop. But you were aware of the cab meter running and pulled away, heart racing; fast – too fast. You were taking deep breaths and blinking furiously. “J-Jack, get in the cab and go home. Please?” before you do something else you might regret… “Y- Y/N!” “Please?” Yet you took his hands; “I’ll see you soon, okay?” “Y/N!” You turned from the cab and hurried across the parking lot as he called after you – but by the time you’d turned back, the car was pulling away – so at least you know he was heading home. You didn’t leave the bar until much later than you envisioned – the buzz of alcohol remained on your lips, and you couldn’t get the feel of his body against yours - arms around you, hands on your back – out of your head. Maybe he wouldn’t remember tomorrow; you weren’t sure if you’d be disappointed if he didn’t. You’d surely find out. When you pulled the black RAM Truck smoothly into the unoccupied parking space by his apartment, and the electronic voice told you you’d reached your destination, it was late morning. You peered around as you stepped out; this wasn’t an area of Cherokee City you knew too well; but it looked like a good neighbourhood. You were glad of that much at least. By the time you had ascended the stairs to his apartment Jack was at the door; half opened and peering shyly at you. “Hey!” You were cheerful, in no way did you want this to be an awkward interaction. “Hi…” Jack seemed hesitant, “How are you?” “I can’t complain, how’s the hangover?” You grinned “Believe me I’ve had worse.” “Mmm…” You nodded, thinking ‘well that’s good!’ probably wasn’t the best phrase to use. You held out his keys, “I think you’ll find she’s still in perfect condition!” “Right.” He chuckled, “Thanks!” “You’re welcome. Better this than any other scenario, right?” By the look on his face you thought you probably shouldn’t have let that slip out either. “Yeah… I guess…” He looked to the keys, “Well, wait, what about you – how you gonna get home?” “Oh,” You gave a shrug, “Call a cab – it shouldn’t be too bad!” He pointed behind him, “Do you – do you want to use my-?” “No!” You waved your mobile at him, “I’m covered, but, thank you!” Jack nodded, biting his lips together, and you waited for the sentence you could see him fighting to say; “I’m- I’m sorry.” “For what?” “Last night, I was drunk and I-” You cut him off with a shake of your head, and small knowing smile; “Don’t be.” Before Jack had a chance to respond you held your hand up in goodbye and started back towards the stairs, “See you around Jack! You’re welcome!” “Y- Y/N!!” He called after you and this time you did stop at the top of the stairs. Jack had let your response sink in, and there was a pink tint to his cheeks, “Would… would you like to stay, for a bit?” Your little smile slowly became a grin, and this time you expected the response your heart gave you; “I would love to.” *** If you thought him going on cases was bad for you, then him going away hunting was ever so slightly worse. Depending on timing; but usually he was gone for around a week. At least on cases it might be hours; but that always made you jumpy because cases could be just as dangerous. And sometimes Jack found himself in dangerous situations. You didn’t want to lose him now. Sometimes he’d invite you out with him but, you both knew that was little more than courtesy. You didn’t really want to go, and it was unlikely you ever would. Still, it was sweet of him to ask and you always made sure to decline politely. Sometimes you might even smile and add; “Next time!” Jack did let you help him pack for his trips, and that was at least enjoyable – the faster you packed, the faster he went, the faster he was back to you… - but then again, loading it all into his truck wasn’t. You sat on the tailgate of the truck swinging your legs with a small pout, this wasn’t a long trip – but it was a nice day, and your friends were having a nice summer BBQ. Jack had pretended to think it over very carefully, but you both knew where he’d be happiest. That didn’t make you any less downhearted that he’d be missing it. He loaded the last of his things and turned to you, still sitting there. “A’right, sweetheart, lets shut this back up.” “Aw…” You slipped off and watch him lock the hatch back in place, “Do you have to go?” You always whined at him like this with a jokey smile “Would that I could stay.” He gathered you in his arms, making you laugh, “Ah no – I know when you’d rather be out there than with me!” “Not at all!” Though Jack couldn’t help but laugh with you, “You know I’d much rather stay here!” “Yeah, yeah!” You cupped his face and pushed up on your toes to place your forehead gently to his; “Stay safe, okay?” “I will.” “Check in, even if it’s just when you get there.” “I will!” “And come back to me-!” “Baby…” He gave you an are you serious?! look, “I’ll be back – tonight!” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before you pulled him to your lips, winding your arms around his neck. “Still doesn’t seem soon enough to me!” Jack only smiled as he pulled you into a tight hug, pulling you from the ground, “I promise, it’s not gonna be as long as it feels.” “I’ll miss you.” “You will not-!” He scoffed, “You have your friends, go have a good time!” Jack placed you back on the floor and stole another quick kiss, before he rounded the truck and jumped into the driver’s seat. You backed away as he started it up and wound down the window, “You can say Hi from me, if you like?” “I’ll make sure to tell Ralph how much you were gutted you were gonna miss him-!” Jack couldn’t help but laugh hard at that; “Oh, okay, I see how it is!” You gave a wink, before blowing him a kiss, “Go on! Go enjoy yourself without me!” “Awww-!” He reversed onto the road, “That’s so hard!” Jack’s clear sarcasm had you laughing, “Shut up!” “I love you!” You shook your head; “I love you too-!” He gave a final wave, with a wink of his own; “Later sweetheart.” Yeah you’d miss him, and you’d worry about him. But Jack was right, he’d be back soon. By all accounts this was a short one. Besides, you had a party to get ready for! *** From time to time however, he’d use his precious few vacation days on you, and you would get to go on a real holiday together. Sure, Florida was only one state over but it afforded pretty beaches and still wasn’t Georgia. You would much rather be with him out here than close to Cherokee City, where they could just call him back and away from you. Jack was always so much more relaxed too, holding hands with you and walking down a beachside boardwalk. He looked happier too, and that was important. The sunset was just beginning and you’d had yet another amazing day out here, winding yourself around his arm and fingers laced with his, you talked softly as you made your way back to the hotel. You didn’t know how many days you had left; you didn’t want to dwell on it. Time wasn’t a construct if you managed to pull him away from work. Jack was probably thinking on it, in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t saying it out loud – or letting it affect him. A fact for which you were grateful. “You look beautiful.” He murmured, as if he hadn’t been musing this all evening since you’d put this sundress on. But it was the way he was saying it now, in the quiet of the evening, that really made you blush and giggle. “Stop it!” “What, no! You do – you should let me say it, you deserve to hear it…” You squeezed his arm a little tighter and rested your head against his shoulder shying away from his face; “Well, thank you…” then you did look to him, with a small smile, “You look particularly handsome tonight.” He scoffed, “Yeah alright, that’s enough from you.” “NO…!” You untwined from him and stepped so you were ahead of him; fingers still linked with his; “Why shouldn’t I be allowed to tell you that?” “It just ain’t true. At least what I said was true-!” You frowned, eyes narrowed, pulling him closer as you slowed to lean up against the railing; “Don’t you presume to tell me what I can say is fact, Jack Hoskins.” “She says.” “Don’t you start…” You ran your hands up his chest, before drawing him in by the collar of his shirt. Jack placed his hands either side of your body; you were perfectly framed by the setting sun – and if he’d thought you looked beautiful before… “You should just let me love you.” “Don’t I?” “You can be a little awkward about it.” “Oi-!” But you weren’t about to let him finish the thought as you tugged him into a kiss. Fierce enough to shut him up, gentle enough to entice him into kissing you further. His hands ran down to your hips and lifted you up to sit on the rail. You had to steady yourself against his shoulders with a small gasp, but he supported you delicately. Kisses becoming soft and romantic against the appropriate back drop. He tasted like sunshine and summer, the salt from the beach and sea air; perfect and everything you wanted. He kept his hands balancing you as he pulled away, blue eyes shining to match the sea as they were bathed in late sunlight. Slowly Jack wound his arms around you, placing his head gently to your chest to listen to your heart and closed his eyes. You smiled, comfortable in his embrace, running a hand through his hair before resting them around his shoulders, turning to look back out to sea. “It sure is beautiful tonight…” “You should see it from where I’m standing.” You chuckled, “I guess it can’t be too bad, huh?” His arms tightened around you; “As long as you’ll let me stay.” You grinned, turning back to him, and embracing him fully, “As long as you like.” ***

It wasn’t always sweet and romantic. No relationship was, after all. Sometimes you just needed him. Sometimes those kisses were hot and heavy and your breathing was short and sharp. Tonight was no exception, sitting on your kitchen counter with Jack between your legs. It might have started with a sweet kiss, but it wasn’t staying that way as you ran through the buttons on his shirt. His kisses were hot and heavy and everywhere on your skin he placed them burned like contact from fire. You just wanted more, and more, and more… His hands gripped your hips and pulled you forward; you gasped at the friction but you craved it. Winding your legs around his waist, your lips found his again as you pushed his shirt from his shoulders. His bite of your lip was not gentle and you gasped again, tilting your body away from him. Jack went for your neck, hands running under your own shirt. “Jack… Jack please…” you whispered, “Jack, I need you…” You felt him smirk against your skin as he continued his trail of kisses, shuddering as his teeth graved your skin. “Jack-!” His lips found yours again as your shirt found the floor and you whined against the travel of his hands, and then moaned louder as his hips ground against yours; “J-JACK!” He only chuckled, kissing you again; you didn’t exactly need to tell him how much you desired him; “Hush, baby.” If his tone of voice wasn’t making you shiver you’d almost call it soothing, “I know what you want…” His next kiss was teasing, an almost kiss that ghosted your lips and he held you back from the gratification of a real kiss, “and I’ll give you what you want…” Jack found your neck once more as he moved his hand between you. Your body immediately arched into his as you cried out; cheeks flushed and suddenly his kisses seemed even hotter than before. “Just be patient…”

***

You didn’t ever want this to end. It was comfortable, you felt safe. For the first time in years you felt home… as if you were finally with the person who was meant for you.

Like the quiet night in bed together, lying on your backs as if you were in a field looking at stars, his hand clasped around yours, the feeling of the warmth of his body. When Jack shared his dreams with you. When you started formulating dreams of your own, when they included him. When you saw your future... that kiss was sweet and innocent - but full of promises; these ones to be kept. Like the ring around your finger.

The beginning of the rest of your life together...

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Thank you for enjoying these so much! It’s very sweet of you all! 😘😘😘😘

He’s fun to write when I get inspired for him..!

#jack hoskins #jack hoskins x reader #john jack hoskins #Marc Menchaca #The Outsider #The Outsider HBO #hbos the outsider #Still not the fic I wanna write - I think I'm gonna have to finish Ralph's version to really get a head up on this one...#i was today years old when I found out its boardwalk instead of broadwalk #Lyric switch like 3 weeks after you publish it? More likely than you'd think.

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therandomfics · 6 years ago

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Anniversary: 20

As spring rolled through New York and the ice and snow melted not only from the ground and trees, but from your shoulders as well, you found yourself trying to get out and meet new people. Not necessarily for dating, although you weren’t opposed to it entirely - after all, how long had it been since you’d been hugged, or kissed, let alone had physical intimacy? You tried to think back. It had a month since your divorce, plus six months of separation, plus the month that you’d left Sonny alone... eight months? And that was only because of the limited but enjoyable lip service you’d had with Sonny.

You didn’t want to think about how long it had been since you’d had sex. The idea of opening yourself up to someone like that made you vastly uncomfortable. It reminded you of how you felt your freshman year of college and how you’d almost had a panic attack when you lost your virginity. Similar feelings took you over again, but you shook them off. You were an adult, a grown woman, beautiful and capable, and if a man wanted to rush you or shame you, he could piss off.

In your attempts to meet new people, you’d struck up a friendship with the woman who lived beside you. You lived on the top floor of a house, essentially an attic transformed into a studio, and she lived in the next house over in a similar situation. Her name was Anna and she was close to your age. She worked in the city and trekked in daily, so you saw her mostly on the weekends, but you enjoyed her company nonetheless. She was witty and funny, always had a good story to tell, and always brought the wine when she visited you. It was a good friendship.

“So, confession,” you began as you sat at her apartment one Saturday afternoon. You were both single but didn’t know each other’s stories just yet, so the topic of men was on the table at any given point in time. “I think I’m gonna branch out and start dating. I mean, not really dating. Nothing serious. Plus men are kind of stupid. I just don’t know where to start because there’s so many places online to look - and I know, online isn’t everything but I wanna screen them first if I can.”

Anna laughed and filled your glasses up again before she pulled her phone out and hesitantly held it to her chest. “I was on Tinder. I thought we were too old,” she explained and you nodded in agreement, having had some interesting experiences of your own on that app. “But I met this guy a year ago and he’s really charming! I’m so surprised! He lives in the city, so sometimes I see him after work and we’ve actually spent the night together a few times. I deleted the app and so did he.. I mean I guess it’s getting serious?”

You smiled and let out a laugh. “After a year? Yes, I think it’s time to get serious. That’s great, though! I’m happy for you! So you’re saying there’s hope on Tinder after all?”

She nodded enthusiastically and unlocked her phone. “Oh. Wait. Well I was going to show you a picture but neither of us are on Tinder and he’s not really the selfie type.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure if he’s gotten your attention he’s pretty handsome,” you said encouragingly.

“He is! He’s tall and athletic, and smart, and sarcastic. He’s got really gorgeous eyes that I swear change color.. blue, green... so nice,” she swooned and took another sip from her glass. “I’m so glad I met him! We’ve worked near one another for a few years and didn’t know it. He said he’s just been out of a really bad relationship so it’s good we’re taking it slow. Actually, Y/N! Actually! He’s going to come over later tonight and stay. Won’t you please come meet him?”

You smiled and nodded, finishing your glass of wine. “Yes. I will! But that means I’m going home for a while so you can do whatever you need to before he gets here. Just text me, ok?”

“Okay!”

Although you were happy for Anna, you were jealous, too. You’d been on Tinder and OkCupid for nearly a month now and your only successes were in trolling men who thought they were God’s gift to women. One guy on Tinder sent you his address. You declined, politely, only to be called a whore. It was an entirely different world now than it was when you’d been dating - the era now known as BPS. Before Peter Stone. You had, though, been chatting with a guy you’d matched with on OkCupid. He was very articulate and humble, two traits you appreciated, but you were kind of bummed that for whatever reason, he only had one picture and it wasn’t exactly close enough to really see his face. Still, he was nice, and you at the very least appreciated having someone to talk to these days.

And then, at the end of the day, there was always Sonny. Always. You hadn’t spoken in ages although you’d considered sending him a message nearly every single morning when you woke up and realized that you’d lost him. Maybe it was better that way? You’d reactivated your Facebook but you’d been hesitant to see if he was really in a relationship. You were quick to assume when you saw him post a picture of himself with a gorgeous female, tagging her and the works. Instead of investigating, you just unfollowed him. He wouldn’t know you were friends but he wasn’t visible to you anymore, and he wouldn’t know how angry you were with him for moving on.

He had promised, and you reminded yourself of that every morning, about ten seconds after you thought about reaching out to him. He promised to wait forever and he hadn’t. What did he think, you were just going to run off with him into the sunset? This wasn’t a Harlequin romance. This was real life, and you had to sort your life out before you dragged him into your pit of misery. You thought you were doing him a favor, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

The ding from your computer let you know that you had a new message. You were pleased to see that it was from your new friend on OkCupid.

Brighton19: Hey, cubsarescrubs. One day you’ll tell me your real name. Anyway just wanted to let you know that I hope you’re having a great day. I spent the morning doing some volunteer work - does that get me brownie points? - for underprivileged kids. Thankful to say that they were all really appreciative and despite their hesitations at first, we grew on them. If you’re ever in the city and you see lime green bikes I bet we built them. How’s your day going?

You smiled. He was so nice. It was weird, though, that he was from Brighton Beach. In your time in New York you’d never met anyone from there.

cubsarescrubs: Alright I give. My name is Y/N. What’s your name? Or should I just call you Brighton? Sounds like you had a really productive day!! That’s great. I love that you’re part of outreach programs; that’s a really big bonus for you. My day is going well. My neighbor’s introducing me to her new boyfriend tonight so that’s.. fun? I mean surely I’ll be jealous but patience is a virtue and all of that jazz. Get it. Chicago.. all that jazz? Ok.. I’m going.

Brighton19: Benjamin. But you can call me Ben. Actually if you called me at all I’d be happy. :) No pressure I’m only teasing. I won’t keep you, but I hope you enjoy your time tonight. I’m heading out soon myself, got some friends I’m going to meet up with and maybe if I can con them into it, head to see the Yankees.

cubsarescrubs: Gross... to the Yankees. I fully support the White Sox though.

Brighton19: Why? Your name says Cubs? I don’t know too much about baseball just trying to impress you.

cubsarescrubs: Well you know I’m from Chicago. Let’s just say I used to know a guy... hope he’s got herpes now. Probably does! Talk later! :)

So Benjamin from Brighton Beach. What an interesting development. God, you hoped he wasn’t 50 and balding... if, that was, you ever decided to meet up with him.

Another burst of inspiration hit you as you sat in front of your laptop, scrolling through the endless drama of Facebook. Maybe you needed to get over yourself. You typed in Sonny’s name in the search bar and then clicked on his profile picture to bring up his page.

There it was, in plain view.

Dominick Carisi Jr Detective at NYPD Lives in Manhattan, NY From Staten Island, NY ❤ SINGLE

Your heart stopped. So who was she? You picked up your phone to text him, but as soon as you did Anna called.

“Hey.”

“Hey! He’s here. He’s cooking us dinner, isn’t that great! So come over in like twenty minutes.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your dinner, Anna.”

“NO!” She laughed in the most giddy way you’d ever heard. “He’s making all three of us dinner, Y/N. See you soon! Can you bring another bottle of that cab? Thanks!”

She hung up and you looked at the small wine rack on your kitchen counter. Cab, hmm? You slipped your flats on and grabbed your purse. It would have been quicker to take the car out of the garage and drive, but you didn’t want to arrive too early, so you set out on foot to the grocery store. Anything for Anna and her mystery man.

Tag List: @halloup @sasbb23 @enthusiastic-french-toast @juliie-isabel @inlovewith3 @glimmerglittergirl @babypink224221 @thebeckyjolene @braincandyreads @cecilyjmorgenstern

#peter stone #peter stone fanfiction #Peter Stone X Reader #svu fanfiction #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi fanfiction

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wyrm-wolf · 7 years ago

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I couldn't stop crying with @vulcanplomeeksoup about the ship Royale Evening, Buddy Wittenborn from Evening and Le Chiffre from Casino Royal, and well we were talking about them staying in this little house to hide from MI6, and ;u; lots of fluff happens ok ~~ The Hideaway Series Part 1 Having to go hide out in the little house is not Le Chiffre’s favorite thing in the world, actually he hates having to hide from his enemies. MI6, FBI, he doesn’t care about them, wanting to just stand up and fight back. But sometimes even the mightiest of villains have to turn tale, and hide out, lay low for a bit so all the commotion dies down. But this, this is just unacceptable, he sneers, looking at the little house his men had settled him in, it was small, and unlike most of the places he was used to sleeping in not at all fancy. There is no room service, no fancy food, no nothing, just a small one bedroom one bathroom house, that barely has anything to call a kitchen. The only thing enjoyable about the place is that it’s looking over the beach, secluded enough that he can go down for a walk with Buddy if he wanted to. When Buddy sees the house, he just smiles and looks in awe before commenting a small, “Looks just like my old house.” setting his bags down, before walking towards the kitchen. Le Chiffre raises an eyebrow at the kitchen, scoffing to himself as Buddy rummages through one of the cup boards. He’s half expecting the man to pull out some secret hidden wine bottle, only to be surprised when he actually pulls out a frying pan. Buddy’s eyes seem to light up at how old and worn down the pn looks, setting it down on the stove, before looking through the fridge. “Wow, I’m getting old college memories now, I use to have a pan like this, and a place like this. But much smaller.” He chuckles at the last part, leaning into the fridge, one foot wrapped around the other as he keeps his balance. Le Chiffre, sets their stuff into the ‘bedroom’ before walking back to sit down on one of the stools at the counter, watching as Buddy grabs a few items and sets them on the counter. “College? What was that like for you?” “Well it wasn’t anything like this,” Buddy snickered, setting the stove to low, as h rolled his sleeves up. “My room was small, almost closet sized, and I had some dumbass for a roommate. He would always steal any of the food I cooked, so that was a thing, I ended up having to hide food under my bed. Ate cold meals some nights, and small warm meals the other nights, but i was always happy, drunk too. Besides when I was in class, at parties I was probably smashed, can’t remember those though.” Le Chiffre smiles at the thought of a younger Buddy, getting through each class, studying up late, or going out to parties. He wonders if his curls were longer back then, or if he was as much of an alcoholic as he is now, though they have been working on it. The image of a younger looking Buddy makes him smile, thinking of those flush red cheeks that he would have, and his lovely smile. Thinking to himself, what would have happened if we met then?, would he have helped Buddy with his addiction, or would he have ignored the lovely boy. Le Chiffre doesn’t think too hard on the thought, as Buddy starts making a show out of cooking in front of him. “Do you always like to show off your cooking skills, love?” Le Chiffre hums, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. Buddy glances up at him, grinning smugly as he turns to pull out two wine glasses, filling them halfway. Le Chiffre takes his own glass after Buddy filled it up, watching as his boy flips the noodles in the pan over, adding some spices to into the pan as he does. Watching in silence, Le Chiffre sips his wine while his lover cooks, working up a storm in the kitchen as he does, only to be interrupted by a single phone call that takes minutes until it finishes. Stepping back inside he freezes, the small two person table has been set, one of Buddy’s white button up shirts being used as a table cloth, with plates stacked high with food, a candle and their wine glasses. Buddy walks back into the room, placing down the silverware, before turning to smile up at Le Chiffre. “Buddy...I…” “It’s not the best, I know, I had to use some improvisation with the tablecloth. And the food isn’t really fancy, it’s just mou chen, also there was only half a can-” He’s stopped by Le Chiffre’s lips placing over his own, melting under the older man’s touch as Le Chiffre wraps his arms around his boy. When he pulls back, Buddy’s cheeks are flushed red, bright and lovely like wine. He looks down at their feet, chin tucked under as if feigning shyness, “I don’t even know if you like Chinese.” “Dashuri, I love you so much, the only thing that brightens up my day is having you around.” Le Chiffre coos, lifting Buddy’s chin back up to kiss him once more. Buddy chuckles, rolling his eyes, before pulling a chair out for Le Chiffre to sit in. “Old sap.” “Only for you, dashuri.” Their meal is eaten in silence, besides the words said through the loving glances they throw at each other. Buddy tries to hide his smile as he sips his drink, avoiding looking over to Le Chiffre, as he knows it will result into him laughing, or just melting into puddy. When they finish, Le Chiffre offers to clean up, pushing Buddy towards the bathroom so he can shower. Smiling as Buddy leaves him with a chaste kiss on the cheek, then turning around to hower, Le Chiffre watches the sway of his lovers hips, before turning to clean up the kitchen. Finishing up, he walks down the hall to join Buddy in the shower, only to slow down as he hears him singing in the shower. It’s always rare for him to catch Buddy singing, as the man always seemed so keen on keeping the skill hidden, and was just too shy to actually do it in front of anyone. Taking slow steps, he stands in the doorway to the bathroom, watching as Buddy washes his chest, humming some sort of tuneless song, before singing a few notes. Grinning to himself, Le Chiffre takes of the last remaining pieces of clothing before stepping in behind Buddy, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist, placing soft kisses to his wet curls. Buddy jumps, turning around with a grin on his face, as he laughs at Le Chiffre’s tender lips. “Stop scaring me like that, you know I don’t like it when you sneak up on me.” he chuckles, kissing the side of Le Chiffre’s cheek, before nuzzling against his neck. Slapping a hand against the other’s chest to put a little emphasis on his words, Le Chiffre, only grins wider. “I know, but it’s the only way I can hear you sing, your always so shy about singing. I don’t know why you don’t like your voice, it’s beautiful, dashuri.” His smile grows as Buddy rolls his eyes, turning back around to finish washing his hair. “What i would give just to hear you sing a private song for me.” “Don’t get your hopes up too high, I’m not one to fall too easily to your tricks Jean.” Le Chiffre raises an eyebrow, his mouth twitching in a mischievous grin, leaning forward to mouth a kiss over Buddy’s neck as his hands slide down to his his. “That can be changed.” Humming, Buddy tilts his head back to kiss Le Chiffre, before snaking his way out of the older man’s arms. Stepping out of the shower, to wrap himself up in one of the yellow towels, drying the water out of his hair while standing nude in the bathroom. He looks back to give Le Chiffre a lustful look, before sauntering off to the bedroom, making sure that his hips sway just a little more. Le Chiffre breathes through his nose, hurrying to wash his hair out, before grabbing down a towel for himself, stalking after his main choice of prey. Tonight the panther will eat.

#hannibal #hannigram #le chiffre #buddy wittenborn #evening #casino royale #rare pair #royale evening #my writing #hannibal fic writers #hannibal fic

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arazialotis · 8 years ago

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The Thunder Rolls - Part 1

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: About 2000

Summary: Dean and Sam are on a case in your hometown but the trail is running cold. Dean is hoping to make a move before they leave town and start another case. Based of the Garth Brooks song with the same title.

Warnings: Domestic Violence

Please, if you are or ever find yourself in a situation of domestic violence, *do not hesitate* to reach out for help, support, or just to talk to someone about what is going on. The United States National Hotline (24/7 and Confidential) is 1-800-799-7233. This blog (http://togetherweare-strong.tumblr.com/helpline) also has hotlines for multiple other countries.

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors.

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Sam and Dean rolled into town with the all too familiar rumble of the impala. To them it seemed like a straightforward case. Three demons had been causing havoc in the area. Not for any reason in particular, probably just to stir up the dust of the small conservative town. Earlier in the week, they had tracked all three demons to a beach house. They were able to take care of two but the third smoked out. They reckoned the thing was still in town but laying low based on sulfur that was found at several violent thefts. However, they couldn’t establish a pattern and the trail seemed to turn cold. They discussed back and forth on whether they should head out for bigger and badder things. Dean argued they should stay but Sam saw right through his intentions. The fact that he had been eyeing a bartender every night gave him away, not wanting to leave town before he made a move. You had been born and bred in this town. Never leaving for more than three days at a time. As everyone did in this town, you married young. Travis would have been a catch in high school and only after a year he swept you off your feet. Travis went straight to work in a factory full time. He was unable to move forward with his life, saying high school was the glory days and the best time of his life, it only went downhill from there.

When you confronted him about his lack of ambition, that’s when he started hitting you. Just a push here and there at first, but eventually you started having to hide the bruises. Travis helped, he was smart about it, never hitting you on the face, always on the back or upper arm. He knew you would never leave him. You were too concerned about the church and your parents viewing you as a failure and disgrace. He would he even tempt you to walk out and call you a coward when you wouldn’t. You tried everything to please him. You’d let him have his way with you, you’d never criticize him, do all the cleaning and cooking, being affectionate when he wanted it and distant when he didn’t. You eventually had to pick up jobs yourself to cover bills. Travis blew all the money from the factory gambling or on drinks. Two part time jobs got you by, waitressing in the morning at a local diner and bartending at night. Your bar shift usually ended at 1:00 am and recently Travis had not been home at that time. That’s when you started suspecting he was having an affair. Of course, you would never accuse him of it, fearing of what he would do to you. You only prayed it would get better. If you worked hard enough, remained pretty enough, and did your best to be a good wife, maybe he would change. Your shift started with a rush and finally grew slow and steady thanks to it being a weekday night. You unconsciously remembered to keep your selves to your elbows so customers wouldn’t see the discolored green and purple. You were filling an order while simultaneously wiping up a spill when your eyes caught the two gentleman in the corner. You brought the customer their drink but your eyes did not leave the two of them. You saw them around a lot this week, both here and at the diner. They were usually in suits but tonight they were dressed down. When the shorter of the two looked your way, you averted your glance to a customer down the bar and checked if they wanted a refill. After tapping out a guy, the shorter one was back at the bar. Well shorter than the other, but he was by no means short. He had clean cut sandy hair and was rocking that 5 o’clock shadow. His enchanting green eyes made you feel like a giddy teenager all over again. He tipped the top of his long-neck bottle your way while analyzing you up and down. “How ‘bout a refill sweetheart?” You hid your blush as much as you could. You used to eat it up, flirting right back with the customers. It usually meant bigger tips. But the night Travis caught you, you had learned your lesson and never tried again. You kept it strictly professional when you untwisted the cap and set it down in front of him your ring finger front and center of the bottle so he could clearly see your band. You threw the dishrag over your shoulder and went to clean glasses directly opposite of him. You stood on your tiptoes reaching for the brush your coworker obnoxiously kept on the top shelf. “What a view.” He playfully teased sending you into a state of shock. The brush you were reaching for fell straight out of your hand and straight into the sink. You landed back on your feet. The nerve this guy had. Sure, you had come across your handful of unwanted remarks but coming from someone looking like him. You turned back around facing him as he smiled like a confident child. You bit your lower lip unsure of how to react craving more of his attention yet fearing the consequences. “You new in town?” You simply asked trying to acquire more information. He leaned back in his chair taking a sip of Oberon. “Perhaps.” Still keeping that cocky smile of his. “Haven’t seen your face before this week.” You noted. “So you’ve been keeping an eye on me?” He playfully inquired. You paused before answering. “...Perhaps.” You mimicked his sly grin. You studied the features of his face, the soft dusting of freckles over his skin, dazzling green eyes, and his tongue that flicked out before taking a sip of his beer. “You gotta name stranger?” You asked. He played around in his head whether he was going to be honest with you, but he looked into your eyes and knew he didn’t want to lie. “Dean.” “Huh?” You pondered. “What?” He sounded defensive. “Oh, nothing, just not what I pictured.” You remarked. “If you’re such an expert with names, what is yours?” You pointed at your name tag. “Y/N” “Hmmm.” He hummed analyzing you once more. “Fits perfectly.” “So what are you doing in town, Dean?” You smiled saying his name, it already growing on you. “Well...” He started. “Me and my brother...” He accidentally slipped instead of partner and pointed over at Sam who was on his laptop probably researching another case. “We are here on a case.” You tried to put two and two together but came up empty handed. “A case?” You asked confused. “Yeah, we are here due to the recent spike in crimes.” He continued. “Oh,” you tried not to sound disappointed. He was probably just grilling you for information. “Have you noticed anything strange or unusual? Something off in anyone’s behavior, tendencies of violence, smells of sulfur?” Dean automatically asked, cursing himself silently for probably just screwing up his shot with you. Your mind automatically flashed to Travis, but you tried to divert your thoughts. “I work at a bar,” you laughed. “I see anything from a full out brawl to people pissing on the wall to two dudes who just beat the shit out of each other start kissing. And that was just this week alone” You rambled. “True, true. Wasn’t it just last night that everyone was sobbing and singing ‘Piano Man’ together.” He laughed. “Shhh,” You tried to cut him off. “Don’t give anyone any ideas. I get a bonus if we make it through a night without that song coming up.” You teased. “You do know it’s on your jukebox though?” He pointed out. You slyly smiled. “Why don’t you go check it out while I get you another beer?” Dean took your offer and walked over while you quickly tended to some other customers. He took a quarter out of his pocket and selected the song. He watched the record labeled ‘Piano Man’ come up and the needle drop slightly scratching at first before ‘Have You Ever Seen The Rain?’ by CCR started playing.You had another beer ready for him by the time he made it back.

“It took some trial and error.” You explained. “A great improvement in my opinion.” Dean commented. “Listen, I don’t have anything against Billy Joel, but working at a bar, it is kinda a broken record.” You explained and you leaned against the edge of the bar making yourself just a bit closer to him. “I can imagine,” Dean said leaning in closer as well. Rain started to pitter-patter on the roof above and most of the customers got up to leave before it started to hit harder. You helped quickly cash some of them out. Most of the regular drunks stayed, they’d be walking home anyways or finding somewhere close to crash. Dean didn’t appear to be going anywhere. “So, you travel a lot for your job?” You asked picking up the conversation again. “That’s the understatement of the century,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Must be hard.” You stated. “Ah, it suits me. Sure it's been hard to settle down but there’s something about the open road.” He explained. “Hmm.” You tried to imagine. “I’ve never been outside the county. I’d love to travel, see the world, but, I don’t know, I guess I am just tied down here. Not to mention, must get expensive if you don’t have a job to pay for expenses.” You rambled while you fiddled with your wedding band, Dean’s eyes intently staring at it. “Where would you go?” Dean asked curiously. You paused lost in thought. “Anywhere…. Everywhere.” You smiled. It was then you noticed Dean was eyeing your arm, you tried to control your panic realizing the shirt’s sleeve must have slid up a bit. You quickly pulled it back down as Dean looked you straight in the eyes. “Who did that to you?” Dean frankly demanded.

You smiled and laughed a bit, having had plenty of experience making up stories to cover up what had really happened. “Only myself, I am a complete cluts.”

A soft roll of thunder sounded overhead. Dean knew you were lying. He had watched you all week and you carried yourself with elegance and grace in his eyes. He never saw you trip, break or drop anything, bump up against something or someone. He clenched his jaw and looked back at your wedding band assuming the worst. You had shifted your attention to cleaning out some glasses and pitchers.

“Sounds like a storm is rolling in.” You commented trying to do anything to change the subject.

Sam came up next to Dean and acknowledged you with a polite smile. “Hey, I might have a lead.” He explained. “We should check it out, soon.” Sam strongly suggested.

Dean sighed, wanting to stay with you, but knew he had an obligation to the case. “I’ll meet you out in the car.” He directed to Sam. Sam looked at him sternly as if almost to confirm Dean was not going to ditch him. “A few minutes.” Dean assured.

Once Sam left Dean pulled out his FBI card. “Y/N,” he called you back to his attention. “If you can think of anything that could help me out on this case, even the littlest detail could help.”

“I honestly have no idea.” You tried to rack your brain about recent crimes.

“Well then, even if you just need help with anything. Call me.” He gently grabbed your wrist and looked you dead in the eye. “I mean it.”

You smiled trying to play it off while analyzing his card eyes widening seeing the FBI logo. “Sure thing, Agent.”

Dean laid out a couple of twenties covering both him and Sam and walked out of the bar as the sound of thunder grew louder and closer.

---------

Click Here for Part 2

#dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #spn fandom #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you

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carina-debayle · 8 years ago

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Serick’s Friendship

Log Date: 12/3/16

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the readers enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participants knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: @lightsinshadows

After the Grand Alliance I returned home to my apartment. Well… our apartment. Our home. I suppose I was still feeling uneasy after Armont and I’s… could it really even be called a spat? Our disagreement. I mostly felt discouraged, unsure of what to do or how to go about expressing myself to him. Sitting alone within our living room, the air felt dry and suffocating. And I was left to my dreadful thoughts… well, at least for a moment…

Serick Burwani kicks the door open, a brow perked as he glances about the room. “Shit. Living fancy again aren’t you?” he spies a hat on a rack and knocks it off. Replacing it with his own, more superior hat. Across his back is a large package, larger at the bottom and narrow at the top, bound in black leather with clasps holding it shut on the side.

Carina Roussos: “What in seven- Serick?! You can’t just barge in like that!” she huffs. Perking a brow toward the man, Carina inspected him some. “What brings you here…?”

Serick Burwani: “Ha! You need sturdier doors for that, girlie.” he pauses at the use of a familiar nickname, letting out a low growl. “Chasing someone down. Shitlord of a bandit. Targets caravans with women and children so they put up less of a fight. Gonna feed him his own guts when I find him.” he had a couple of daggers strapped to him, and at his leg was a pistol.

Carina Roussos: “I see… so then you’re here because?” she waves her index finger up some, a small smile spreading across her lips, “this does bring back fond memories I suppose,” she laughed out gently, taking her hat out, “does that box contain this man’s guts you intend to force feed him?”

Serick Burwani scoffs and slings the package off his back, setting it on the ground. “No. It doesn’t. Ain’t found ‘im yet, so I can’t exactly cut his guts out.” he looks up at the cake and his tail flicks to the side. He reaches up to it. “Was gonna crash here. Didn’t think you’d be here.”

Carina Roussos: “Didn’t think I would be in my own house?” she laughs with a sigh, “fortunately my daughter is out with her uncle for tonight and Armont is well… not here,” she sighs, “you’re more than willing to sleep on the couch though if you need a place to stay the night.” Carina narrows her eyes toward him as he reaches his hand toward her cake, "no touching. I’ll get my axe, don’t try me.”

Serick Burwanu stopped just before his fingertip swiped a portion of icing. “No shit huh?” he sneers at her and narrows his own eyes. “We haven’t fought in some time have we? If we ever did. You weren’t out of your sorry self-pity pile of shit state by that time were ya?”

Carina Roussos waves her hands up, “I think you may find that some things never change. Were you looking to fight?”

Serick Burwani: “Ha. Not until after I get this job done.” he waves it off and looks around for a wine rack or something similar. “Afterwards, though. We’ll see if you’ve toughened up any.” he hops up onto the counter and peers around. His boots were filthy.

Carina Roussos: “Serick! Come on, I cook food here!” she scoffs, shooing him off the counter, “you’re just like a cat,” she stuck a tongue out at him, “tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

Serick Burwani hops back and just gives the most shit-eating grin. “Booze if you got it. Ain’t had a drink in too damn long.” he takes up his package and hops over the couch, kicking his feet over the sidearm.

Carina Roussos: “I try not to carry too much 'booze’… Armont is a bit of a heavy drinker,” she mumbles, digging through her wine rack to pull out a bottle, “this is one of my own… only because I know Armont would be annoyed if I gave someone one of his wine. He is very protective of it,” she says, walking over to place it on the Miqo'te man’s belly. “This seems like a familiar sight…” she laughs.

Serick Burwani rips the cork off with a grin and spits it back over the couch. “Aye. Old times. Hells girlie, how long 'as it been?” he takes a deep swig, scrunching his nose at the taste, wine was always too fruity for him. “Least we don’t got a bunch of lizards sittin around the house, eh?”

Carina Roussos sits beside him, scooting him back farther into the back. “Yeah… I suppose. The diversity wasn’t bad, but most of the Au Ra we knew had some… issues. Not that we didn’t have issues of our our,” she sighed out with a shake of her head. “It has been a long time… I was reminiscing recently on a time since past.”

Serick Burwani: “Reminicing eh? Usually folks drink to avoid shit like that.” he grins and takes another sip. “And here you are. Married and with a kid. Lookin like you’re going to a beach. Living the life.” his package is sat across his lap, and he drums his fingers against the lid to make a hollow sound.

Carina Roussos: “Right…” she said out softly, “if I said otherwise, I’d sound ungrateful. I made Armont upset with such a statement. This new life, it’s secure. That is good. see you’re still mixed up with trouble. Must be exciting.”

Serick Burwani: “Ha. Nearly got my guts scooped out myself not long ago. Big ole ugly fucker swung an axe at me, caught me off guard.” he pats his side and drains a portion of the bottle before holding it out to her. “It’s the only thing what doesn’t bore me to tears. I’m good at killin folks, what can I say?”

Carina Roussos takes the bottle back from him, staring down at the dark green glass. “We were similiar in that aspect… as much as I hate to admit it, I am not built for a still life. That makes me ungrateful though…” she says out plainly, “I don’t pity myself though, I do feel fortunate. Security is good. I am happy you’re not dead. I don’t think you quite understand how relieved I am to see you every time… I fear every time I see you will be the last.”

Serick Burwani: “Eh, if I die I die and the buzzards get a meal.” he shrugs and flips open a few of the clasps on his case, closing them afterwards. “Wait till your baby girl’s older. Take her everywhere. Show her the world. You get your adventure, she gets to learn.” he shrugs like it was an easy decision. “Don’t settle for anything less than what you want. Gotta take it. Remember?” Serick casts her a sidelong glance, flipping the clasps open and closed.

Carina Roussos: “Yeah… you’re right,” she smiles lightly, “I just, have to be patient. It will be good I’m sure,” she glances over to him, poking a finger to his head, “I consider sometimes just going away a bit on my own, I think perhaps that will help quell my idle-unrest.”

Serick Burwani: “Ha, yeah. Leave the hubby to watching the girl. Go crack some skulls and have some fun.” he whaps her hand away and undoes all the clasps on his case. “If you ain’t careful you’ll get fat and lazy. That just ain’t you, now is it?”

Carina Roussos: “Pssh… please, I practice swinging my axe everyday. Armont has only beaten me once of six times. His brother I have beaten as well. I will say though, I have gained some weight since having Hestia…”

Serick Burwani glances her over, entirely unabashed. “Aye. That you have. Not bad weight, though. Looks to be muscle.” he nods and flips the case open. “I gotta say, though. Lots of free time when all you do is run around chasing people.” he plucks one of the strings inside the case and it lets out a nice twang.

Carina Roussos glances inside the case, “you… you’re not wrong. I do miss that…”

Serick Burwani: “Got into woodcarving. Learned to play this.” he pulls out the old lyre and pushes the case to the ground with a clatter. “Got good at knives again. Mostly I try to drink the time away, but fuck if that doesn’t get expensive.” he smirks and starts plucking idly at the strings. “Ain’t no piano. But it stands in well enough.”

Carina Roussos smiles happily, her elbows resting to her knees as her cheeks went into her palms, “easier to transport as well I’m sure…” her eyes drop to the strings, “have you gotten lots of practice in? I am not doing much at the moment if you want to play a song,” she grins.

Serick Burwani: “Practice. Ha.” a chord sounds and he leans his head back, closing his eyes. “you’d be surprised how many hunters got songs they want to share. I can’t sing for shit, though. Not since this.” his chin tilts up to show off the old scar on his neck. “Not that I ever did before, mind you.” still, he starts strumming up a song.

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Carina Roussos scoffs, “yeah… I understand. I sing for Hestia sometimes but… it’s a bit embarrassingly,” she snorts, “I have a lousy voice, smoke inhalation does that to you…”

Serick Burwani: “You don’t smoke. Could always potion yourself up a fix, too.” he shrugs and goes into the song, his voice gravel and stone as he muttered out the phrases.

Carina Roussos: “I am sure I inhaled enough to have a lasting effect… Calamity you know,” she glances down to her bare belly, scars running down all of her skin. Humming along some with the song, Carina smiled contently, “it’s nice… I like it.”

Serick Burwani stopped singing, but kept strumming on his instrument. “Heard it from a couple of other hunters. A couple what shot down any who hurt them. We teamed up to go after a bandit clan in the shroud.” his brows knit into a glare. “Had to shoot one of 'em. Wasn’t no saving them after those arrows hit their chest. Ruined their lungs.”

Carina Roussos: “I see… that is the sort of life some choose to live. A hard choice… but not for you I’m sure,” she placed the bottle down on the wooden floor, “were you friends with them?”

Serick Burwani: “Nah. They were both right pricks. Thought they were better'n me.” he scoffs and strums out a few chords. “The guy. He looked like he was about to rip my throat out with his bare hands after I killed his wife.” he shrugs and flicks a ragged ear. “Parted ways. I kept the bounty.”

Carina Roussos: “I see… that too is hard to avoid,” she stays silent a moment, her eyes moving toward the fire, “your sentiments… they start to ring through me. At times… I wish I had just decided to cut myself off from others and stayed alone.”

Serick Burwani: “ha. Too late for you now, girlie.” he shakes his head and stomps his foot on the ground, making a steady beat for a shift in chords. “Got yourself a family. Wouldn’t have done that if it weren’t something you wanted to fight for. That baby girl’s your life now. Least until she can take care of herself.”

Carina Roussos: “My daughter means everything to me… but I can’t just strap her to my back and go adventuring… I wish I could, but it’s too dangerous.”

Serick Burwani: “Then wait. Bide your time. Someday she’ll be grown and you’ll be free. Unless you got yourself another brat by then.”

Carina Roussos: “I don’t like to think of her as a burden… she’s not. I just don’t want something bad to happen to her. Unfortunately, being selfish simply isn’t an option.”

Serick Burwani: “It is. But if you pick it you’re a worse person than I am.” he looks over with a sneer. “And that’s really shitty.”

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Carina Roussos: “You’re not as bad as you think you are Serick… you’re never as bad as you think you are. If you were, well I think you would have finished me off sooner.”

Serick Burwani: “You weren’t worth the trouble before. Now? Maybe. But I’ll be damned to the seven hells before I take a momma away from her baby girl. Everyone else? Fair game.” Serick scoffs out a low laugh, tapping his boot to the floor.

Carina Roussos she laughs some, “well I guess I appreciate it. I suppose. You do know I consider you to be my friend… even if you don’t consider me to be yours, yeah?”

Serick Burwani: “Yeah yeah you’re sappy and sentimental. I know. Picked that up some time ago yeah?” he stops and drums his fingers against the side of the guitar. “Nice to know there’s someone out there what don’t hate my guts though. Even if it’s you.” his nose scrunches up into a sneer.

Carina Roussos laughs at his reaction, “gee, thanks!” she snorts out, poking her elbow against his arm, “still hate the water?”

Serick Burwani grumbles and shoves her back. “Aye. That ain’t something you get over. Least when I was with the pirates they didn’t swim either.”

Carina Roussos: “I guess… I mean I couldn’t swim for the life of me either until Hito taught me… I’d say some things are surmountable.”

Serick Burwani: “I don’t do enough growing. Let me drink and smoke and fight and enjoy the shit I enjoy without trying to drown me.”

Carina Roussos smirks, “yeah… I suppose that’s just who you are. Oh well… so long as you don’t end up dead too soon, I’m happy with how you are. Not that I know you care,” she leans back against the couch, playing with her jacket, “guess Armont’s isn’t coming to get me tonight… probably got caught up planning for his House’s expeditions…”

Serick Burwani leans forward and sets his guitar into the case, snapping it shut and pushing it forward with his foot. “I don’t got any plans to die. Too much fun.” he sneers and slips off the couch himself, kicking his feet up onto the couch cushions. “Sounds like your man’s too busy playing with that stick up his ass.”

Carina Roussos: “I wish I knew what to do to remove it… even for just a bit,” she grumbles.

Serick Burwani: “I say you kick him right off that high horse he’s sittin on. Or let me do it.” he laughs and folds his arms over his stomach. “Imagine the look on his face. Gettin his racist, noble Ishgardian ass handed to him by a fuckin homeless, bounty-huntin cat.”

Carina Roussos: “Oh please Serick, he already gets beaten by me,” she snorts, “I just wish I knew what I could do to interest him… I know his work is important to him, but I’d like his attention as well,” she crosses her arms, sinking into the couch seat.

Serick Burwani is quiet for awhile, his eyes closed. “Like what I used to give.”

Carina Roussos opens her mouth some, before shutting her mouth choosing to not respond to that. “He’s just a busy man…”

Serick Burwani chuckles at that. “Remember. Gotta take what you want. If that’s his attention, gotta take it from him.”

Carina Roussos: “Yeah… yeah, guess the who self-deprecating aspect of me makes that hard. Not very good at being you know… persuasive like that.”

Carina Roussos: “Oh come on!” he growls out, smacking his metal knuckles to the ground. “No more of this self-pitying crap! You’re better than that Carina. What the fuck have you been doing all this time to go back to being a piece of shit like that again?”

Carina Roussos winces some, frowning, “it’s a scar of mine that can only be covered… never really fully healed. You of all people, should understand that,” she leers toward him, “I’d say it’s gotten better, but I still struggle. I try not to let it win though,” she laughs softly, “at least you’re honest about it, I respect that.”

Serick Burwani just grumbles and flips her off. “Yeah well it still pisses me off. You keep saying crap like that and I WILL fight you.”

Carina Roussos: “Fight me then! Perhaps just the thing I need for a pick me up is a good spar,” she winks to him.

Serick Burwani taps one of the hilts of his dagger. “No holds barred. Beat the shit out of each other until we’re both satisfied that you’re not gonna dig yourself a pity pile.”

Carina Roussos: “I’m willing if you are, sometimes you just need the pity beaten out of you.”

Serick Burwani: “If I win I get that cake,” he had the most serious look he’s ever had.

Carina Roussos sighs, "fine… and if I win, you have to come and visit me again some time before Starlight.”

Serick Burwani pushes himself up and hops up and down a few times, peeling off his gloves. “We going outside or do I got permission to fuck this place up?”

Carina Roussos: “Outside,” she said plainly.

Serick Burwani: “No fun.”

Carina Roussos: “I’d rather keep my home in one piece, thanks…”

Serick Burwani: “Noooo fun!” he calls back over his shoulder, stuffing his gloves into his pocket. “We going fists, or weapons?”

Carina Roussos: “Probably safer with fists.”

Serick Burwani: “Aye. Don’t need to be bleeding each other out. It’ll get all over my cake.”

Carina Roussos: “Oh hush about the cake…” she rolls her eyes, leading them out.

Serick Burwani pulls out his knives, throwing them into the dirt a ways away. His gun is tossed next to them. “Aight. Here we go.”

Carina Roussos tugs at her gloves some, the leather squeeze as she closes her fists, “ready as I’ll ever be,” she grins, digging her heels into the grass.

Serick Burwani launches himself forward, throwing a swift right hook to her jaw.

Carina Roussos more or less eats shit as he knocks her to the side with a swift fist to her face. Breathing uneasily from the rather sudden hit to the face, spitting some blood that she tasted from her teeth more than likely cutting the inside of her mouth, Carina swiftly swung a muscular leg up toward the side of his head.

Serick Burwani let out a laugh when his first strike connected. “COME ON, I THOUGHT-” his words were cut short by a kick to the head, stumbling back while the world spun around him. He blinks and shook his head to settle his vision before hopping forward, grabbing for her hair to distract while he brought his knee up to her stomach.

Carina Roussos brings a fist back, stepping back to avoid his hands before launching her fist forward to him back in the jaw. “Best not be talking shit before the match is even over! Three hits, Serick!”

Serick Burwani was off-balance from the failed attack, trying to bring his arm up to block the strike. Seems he’s gotten slow in his time away. The fist connects and knocks him to the ground, bringing a loud laughter from him as he un-crumpled himself from the ground. “Atta girl! Now you got some fire back!” Legs coil beneath him and he launches towards her, shoulder aimed at her diaphragm in a shoulder tackle.

Carina Roussos topples back as a loud crack was heard. Seething through her teeth painfully, Carina’s eyes lit up in ferocity as she fought through the burning pain in her shoulder to bring her legs up to kick Serick harshly in the chest to send him back.

Serick Burwani was indeed sent flying back, his own ribs cracking in a couple of places from the rage-fueled kick. He coughs and sputters, laughing on his back in some twisted, pain-laugh combination. “Fuckin hells. Thought we were tryin’ to avoid killing each other.” he rasped out, staring up at the sky.

Carina Roussos: “You aren’t dead are you?” she grunts, “I win, besides… you know you like this sorta stuff,” she groans out painfully as she sat up, staring up at the sky, “fuuuuuuck!” she yelled out, taking a deep breath and exhaling it out noisily, “that was… that was good…”

Serick Burwani coughed out another laugh. “Ain’t dead yet, girlie. Gotta try harder than that. He waited for a time before trying to sit up, wincing and twisting his lip up into a snarl, showing off his chipped fangs. "Now. Don’t pull this shit again you hear? You got too much business to take care of to whine and cry to yourself.”

Carina Roussos: “Yeaaah… yeah… you’re right,” she takes a few deep breathes, looking up at the sky, “you know.. dusk is my favourite time of day… just between day and night… it gives me such a strange feeling and it feel so fleeting.”

Serick Burwani looks up to the sky, one arm held to his side, the other scratching at the scruff on his chin, sliding down his scars. “Like taking just the right shot. Only got a moment and it’s gone. Aye. I know how ya feel.”

Carina Roussos: “It’s nice… I wish it lasted longer. Seems the good moments in life are like that. Come and go so fast…” she exhales again before painfully standing to her feet, “well probably broke my collarbone some, but that’s not something a potion can’t fix,” she smiles toward the Miqo'te man, “thanks, Serick.”

Serick Burwani scoffs and flips her off. “Well fuck you. You broke my ribs.” still, he breaks out a grin and turns back to the apartment complex. “If I don’t take one'a your potions, can I still get the cake?”

Carina Roussos: “You can have a slice of cake and a potion, how about that?”

Serick Burwani: “that’ll do girlie.”

Serick Burwani: “Your potions still taste like fried marmot asshole?”

Carina Roussos: “Yeah, pretty much.”

Serick Burwani: “Fix that.”

Carina Roussos grabs two vials filled with a light green substance, returning back into the main area, “afraid they have their purpose,” she tosses him one of them, “will still probably have some bruising, but it will heal anything broken.”

Serick Burwani had a knife out, nearly to the cake, “Oh yeah. Should wash it down with this.”

Carina Roussos narrows her eyes toward Serick, “I will cut your cake, I am sure your idea of a slice is half the cake,” she scoffs.

Serick Burwani scoffs back and snatches the potion from her hand, downing it with a scrunched nose. “Fuckin hells that’s awful.”

Carina Roussos: “Yeah well, that’s medication for you,” she moves over to the cake, cutting him a decent sized slice with a nearby knife. Placing it on a plate for him, she offered it to the man, “want to take Hestia’s bed since she’s gone for the night?”

Serick Burwani takes the cake and goes over to the fireplace, laying down with the cake balanced on his chest. “Naw. I’ll sleep here…

…Hey.”

Carina Roussos: “Yeah?”

Serick Burwani: “Remember that time I hadn’t slept in like, a week and passed out in the main room. Some big fight broke out and I woke up all bruised up?” He was eating the cake with his hands. Like an animal.

Carina Roussos: “I suppose… you got into a lot of fights. Why, were you thinking about it?”

Serick Burwanj: “Naw. Just sleeping in front of a fire reminded me of that. What a pile of shit eh?” He sneers over at her. “I’m gettin old.”

Carina Roussos: “Oh hush up… if you’re getting old then I am too…” she spat back in annoyance, “it’s not like I was much better… remember when I’d sleep under my desk instead of in a bed? We weren’t that much different you know…”

Serick Burwani: “Ha. Yeah. What a child,” Serick knocks the plate off onto the ground, lucky to not have it break, and pulls his hat onto his face.

Carina Roussos brings her boot up, pressing it to his head, "what’d you say…” she asked through grit teeth.

Serick Burwani grumbles something and waves her foot off. “Said you come a ways since then.”

Carina Roussos: “That’s what I thought,” she 'humphed’ removing her boot from him as she reclined against the couch cushion quietly, “there were a lot of places you probably could have gone to… did you at least come here to see me?” she asked softly.

Serick Burwani didn’t say anything. Didn’t think he’d have to.

I think… things would get better. No. I believed they would.

#journal #serick burwani #rorick aster

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shenala · 6 years ago

Text

Familiar Faces in Unexpected Places Chapter 5

AO3 link - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Summary: Sophie lives isolated from everyone and is safe in her solitude, until one night the outside world comes crashing into hers.Steve recognises her, but why? Who is she and why is she alone?

The elevator ride passed quickly and quietly, and before Sophie had much time to think she was stepping out behind Tony as he led her to one of two doors. "This is you, you'll have the entire East side of this floor, the other side is home to the Icemen."

Stuck between a frown and a smile, Sophie queried "Icemen?", with Tony explaining with a short laugh "well we already had Capsicle but Barnes was harder to.. 'frostify', so icemen. What d'you think?". The frown of confusion now gone, Sophie nodded with a grin "it's perfect. And, Tony, thank you for letting me stay here tonight" she added before dropping her chin to hide her embarrassment.

It snapped back up only moments later though, when Tony lay a gentle hand on her shoulder "it's not just tonight, you can stay as long as you like", he paused before continuing with what Sophie already recognised as his trademark smirk, "besides I'm not sure those two" he nodded at the door opposite "will be letting you go any time soon."

Not waiting for a reply, Tony opened the door to her room and stepped aside so Sophie could enter ahead of him. As soon as she did lights flickered on and she was unable to contain the gasp of surprise as her new living quarters lit up in front of her. She had expected a simple room with a bed to sleep in and instead she was now faced with a cosy living room that housed floor to ceiling windows looking out over the city, a small kitchen area and two doors that she assumed led to a bedroom and bathroom, something Tony confirmed seconds later as he pointed out the different areas with a casual wave of his hands.

As her eyes filled with tears Sophie found herself suddenly exhausted from the unexpected generosity and kindness, the shock of hearing the events of the past 70 years explained to her and the surprise of being reunited with Bucky and Steve. Turning back to the brunette man it was Sophie that reached out this time, "Thank you Tony" she breathed, desperately trying to convey all her emotions in just a few simple words.

Evidently, she succeeded as she saw just a hint of moisture creep into his own eyes as he cleared his throat and dropped his gaze. "No thanks necessary" he assured her with a quick grin that didn't quite fit, "any friend of Steve's is welcome."

It surprised Tony when she so clearly saw what he had left unspoken as she asked, "What about James?" and he wasn't sure what he was more taken aback by; the question or the firm set of her jaw as she asked it.

Releasing a tired sigh Tony turned to the door to signal he was going to leave but answered her as he did so, his eyes as tight as his voice "I think I'll let Rogers and Barnes explain that one... but" he heaved another sigh "he belongs here, with Steve, and every day is easier."

With that he forced himself to brighten as he shot a final smile her way "That's enough chitchat. You need to sleep" emphasizing his words with a wiggle of his index finger before softening, "Go on, relax. We'll all still be here in the morning. Goodnight Sophie."

And with that he was gone, clicking the door quietly shut behind him before leaning back on it and taking a deep breath as he tried to reign in the emotions coursing through him. After a few moments, he pushed himself straight and returned to the elevator.

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Sophie stood unmoving even after she heard the soft whoosh of the elevator doors closing before finally shaking herself out of it as she looked around the space. After making a quick decision she first grabbed herself a glass of water before heading to the bathroom.

She hadn't planned on taking a shower, after all, she'd had one in the med lab before Bruce had taken her upstairs, but the idea of standing under hot, steamy water was calling out to her irresistibly.

Finding everything she needed already in place, Sophie took her time showering, relishing the feel of the water hitting her skin as she breathed in the soft scent of the body wash, before taking just as much simple enjoyment from the feel of the soft fluffy towel wrapped around her body when she stepped out.

After quickly brushing her teeth and tying back her hair, Sophie headed into the bedroom and began opening drawers to hunt out something to sleep in. She struck lucky and on just her second attempt found a t-shirt and shorts set that looked as though they would fit.

Crawling under the soft covers Sophie breathed in the fresh scents that surrounded her and cocooned her in a feeling of safety. Sleep wasn't something that usually came easily but within seconds of nestling her head into the pillow, she was out.

Sadly, the peace was broken all too soon.

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Bucky shot up from the bed, suddenly wide awake and wondering what had interrupted his dream about walking on a beach with Steve. He knew it hadn't been him and his hand instinctively reached out to the man softly snoring next to him. Frowning as he realised that neither of them had been the cause of his waking, Bucky listened again and after just a few seconds he heard it.

Whimpers and cries; sounds he knew all too well from his and Steve's own nightmares.

Carefully getting out of bed so as not to wake Steve, Bucky pulled on a pair of sweatpants before quietly leaving the room and heading across to Sophie's side of the floor.

He knocked gently on the door despite knowing it would do nothing to wake her and entered carefully before crossing to the bedroom door which was already open.

Peering into the dark room, Bucky felt his heart clench as he saw Sophie curled tightly into a ball on the bare mattress (the covers kicked to the floor) shaking violently and crying out incoherent but pain filled mutterings.

Not knowing how Sophie would react, Bucky approached the bed with caution before crouching down next to it and gently beginning to call to her. When his voice alone made no obvious impact, he reached out to carefully nudge her shoulder as he continued to speak reassuringly "Sophie, come on doll, wake up. You're safe here. It's just me, Bucky."

After a few gentle shakes, Sophie woke suddenly, sitting bolt upright and breathing erratically as Bucky continued to soothe her verbally.

Once her breathing settled, Sophie finally looked at the worried man still crouching next to her bed and offered him a weak smile, "I'm sorry James. I didn't mean to wake you."

Shaking his head Bucky stood and moved to sit on the edge of the bed instead "It's ok. Me and Stevie are used to nightmares. Hell, I don't think there's a single person in this building who isn't! Do you want to talk about it?"

With a groan it was Sophie's turn to shake her head as she declined his offer, "No thank you James... not right now anyway. I think I'll just try and go back to sleep."

Despite knowing that was unlikely, Bucky also recognised her desire for space so nodded in agreement as he stood, "Ok doll. If you need us, we're just across the hall ok??" as he walked towards the door he stopped before reaching it and turned back to Sophie before adding "and you should really start calling me Bucky, or do I need to wait another 70 years for that?" with a wink and a cheeky grin that struck Sophie as so very familiar that she couldn't help but return it with a smile of her own.

"Ok... Bucky. Thank you."

Nodding, Bucky again went to leave but this time his exit was stopped by Steve who appeared so fast he almost blurred before he leaned against the doorframe and looked at the two of them, "What's going on? Everything ok?".

It was a casual question but Sophie couldn't miss the careful way Steve's eyes scanned Bucky from top to toe. The sight brought a flash of memory to the forefront of her mind as she remembered a smaller, sicker Steve being given the same once-over by Bucky all those years ago and she smiled softly at the two men as she answered Steve's question, "Fine Steve, I just had a nightmare. Jam--" she caught herself with a wink in his direction, "Bucky woke me up. Sorry."

An understanding smile tinged with sadness crept onto Steve's face as he stepped into the room to move shoulder to shoulder with Bucky as they both looked at her. "You never need to apologise for nightmares. We all have 'em." To which Bucky quietly added, "that's what I said" with a smirk, causing Steve to mutter back "Jerk" with a grin of his own, before Bucky ensured he had the final word with a laughter-filled "Punk".

As they looked to each other they were shocked back to the present as Sophie's bright chime of laughter filled the air as she watched them. "Oh," she giggled breathlessly, "You two haven't grown up at all have you?" As they frowned at her in amusement she continued "All the shit you two have been through and deep down you're still those cheeky boys from Brooklyn."

As they grinned at her, her laughter died down and morphed into a gentle smile as she thanked them, "I don't remember the last time I laughed, thank you." She paused to stare at them for a moment, "it's so right, y'know to see you two, just together, the way it should've always been."

Sophie would've continued but found herself squeezed in the tight embrace of Steve as he whispered a thank you in her ear before pulling back. Nodding a smile she held his gaze as she murmured, "I'm glad you finally got the body to match the strength of your heart Steve."

As Steve eased back from the hug he found himself unable to speak so settled for a soft nod and a slight tilt of his lips before intertwining his fingers with Bucky's and pulling them both towards the door.

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Once the door had clicked shut behind the pair Sophie collapsed back onto the pillows and drew a deep, shaky breath.

Looking over at the clock on the bedside table she saw that it was still the early hours of the morning and decided she really should try to sleep again.

Picking the covers up off the floor she again got herself comfy, while silently praying that this time the nightmares wouldn't return.

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reekierevelator · 6 years ago

Text

Bricks of Gold

A short story

Behind the far off spires of St Mary’s Cathedral the reddening sun was dusted with gold. Autumn, and Auld Reekie’s streets ablaze with evening sunshine. The particles of mica in the granite kerb glinted playfully.

Geoffrey hurried home after yet again working late, his denim jacket flung carelessly over his shoulder and his soft suede trainers tripping quickly over the flagstones. He finally felt free to think of holidays. It might be September already, but at last it was his turn to exchange the long tense hours of the open-plan insurance office for a few glasses of sangria in the Spanish sun with his wife. Yes, the days might be shorter but the evenings would be more enjoyable. There was less compulsion to laze around on the beach and more time to enjoy those leisurely meals and promenade walks in warm air at dusk.

Stopping for a moment to admire the view and reflect on his good fortune Geoffrey felt a tug on his arm. Startled, he almost tripped and, looking down he saw a grubby hand had reached out from a dark stairwell and attached itself to his elbow. An ethereal echoing voice emerged from the close’s black shadows.

‘I’m really sorry mister, I don’t like do this, but I’m really desperate. Have you any spare change?’ And the hand dropped from Geoffrey’s elbow.

Squinting into the darkness Geoffrey found find himself facing a pair of watery, world-weary eyes, eyes set in the dark sunken hollows of a grey, heavily lined face. Stray tangles of silvery streaked hair obscured its other features. Geoffrey perceived an old man but, on peering intently, realized with a start that the face belonged to someone who in all likelihood was actually much younger than his own fifty-three years.

‘Spare some change please?’ the man repeated, the phrase less a question than a plea. Only then did Geoffrey notice the battered paper coffee cup the man held loosely in his other hand.

Quickly rummaging in his pockets, Geoffrey located some coins, dropped them casually into the cup and prepared to move away as quickly as possible, keen to escape this vision of poverty and scurry homeward.

Yet something held him back, a curious half-remembered conversation he’d had with a wife a week ago prevented his legs from rushing onward. Something she’d told him about. She’d met a young girl, that was it, and had been talking to her under some tiny awning erected in splendid isolation on a patch of scrub land near where they lived. He’d vaguely listened to her while watching Eastenders. Lynsey had mentioned the girl and something about a charity. Something about helping homeless people to get back on their feet.

As he stood, silently scratching his head, Geoffrey became aware of the beggar watching him intently, and his mouth tightening, obviously concerned that Geoffrey hadn’t moved away and worried about what he might do next.

But it was coming back to him; Lynsey telling him how first of all she’d spotted a sign stuck to a lamp-post. It invited local people to come and talk and, feeling community-spirited, she’d gone along and discovered the girl. It turned out it was a charity attempting to engage local people in an idea for helping the homeless, the young girl being keen to explain to anyone who would listen what her charity hoped to do that very patch of land. And since Lynsey was the very few who’d turned up, so she’d got the girl’s whole story in detail. The girl herself had been homeless, living on the streets, until the charity had come to her rescue.

Geoffrey turned towards the beggar, seeing his shabby, torn black anorak and mud-spattered trousers for the first time. ‘Are you really homeless?’ he wondered aloud. ‘How did you end up like this?’

The man sighed a little sigh of relief. ‘So, what, you want my story, is that it? Ok, well, I was married for two and a half years,’ he explained woefully.

His watery eyes released thin trickles of water which ran through the dark smudges billowing beneath them like a miniature river delta.

‘Married young. Left home as soon as I could. The man my mother lived with used to beat me. We found each other, Mel and me; thrown together. Both of us busy fighting the demons we’d inherited and then taking it out on each other. Oh, we tried to make a go of it, even managed to rent a small flat but, to be honest, it was obvious from the start that it wouldn’t work. We were incompatible. We made each other worse instead of better. Fortunately, there were no kids to worry about. I agreed to move out. Just didn’t realize how hard it would be to find another place. I had a job then, working as a shop assistant in a clothes shop. Slept on a mate’s floor for a month but with his wife and kids there it was easy to see I was outstaying my welcome. Just couldn’t find anything I could afford.’

His eyes having adjusted to the light, Geoffrey noticed the sign, handwritten on brown cardboard, which lay pushed up against the flaking paint and plaster of the stairwell wall. Shaky capital letters read ‘Homeless and Hungry’.

‘You know,’ the man continued, ‘I thought I’d at least find a cheap hotel or hostel to tide me over. But they were already full, or just too expensive. So I said to myself, well one night in the open air is hardly going to hurt you. And that was nearly a year ago.’

‘Yes,’ Geoffrey agreed, ‘house prices are, er, through the roof. Rents are sky high.’

‘Any kind of housing, it’s like gold dust in this town. Like the houses are being built with gold bricks. Get a place in a hostel at best. But those places, people so depressed all living on top of one another, and walking the streets all day. They do what everyone else does when they feel stressed and hopeless, they take a drink or try to blot it out with drugs. And take their frustrations out on other people. Can get quite violent.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘Well, after a few weeks of struggling to get washed and shaved and find clean clothes every morning it just got too much for me. The public toilets I was using suddenly closed down. I was late in to work a couple of days running and the manager phoned my wife. Of course, she told him I didn’t live there any more. The company wanted my new address. But I didn’t have one to give them. I suppose I could see why the shop had to let me go. Presentational problems they said. Plenty of others waiting to take my place.’

‘So how do you survive now?’

The young man nodded towards the cup in his hand. ‘It’s the begging isn’t it? It’s horrible but what can you do? People can be quite generous. At any rate these last few days I’ve had enough for food. Sometimes in winter it could be pretty bad and a few times I was able to pay for a hostel. But now I’m trying to get some cash together to buy copies of the Big Issue to sell.’

‘But what about social security?’

The man managed a weak smile. ‘Well, I think my wife claims housing benefit. But me, with no address and needing a computer for everything these days, it’s nigh on impossible. Even if the address problem was sorted out it would be universal credit these days, and you don’t get anything for weeks, often months, after you’ve claimed. No point me looking for somewhere to rent. N that situation you just can’t hold on to rented accommodation.’

‘A bit of a Catch-22 then, eh? Tough situation. Well, look, I’m really sorry to hear it. I hope things work out for you in future. But I need to get on. My wife wants me to go out again tonight so I’d better not be much later. Anyway, best of luck.’

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

Arriving home, Geoffrey found Lyndsey as usual already home from her day at the coffee shop where she worked. With her usual efficiency she already had a meal ready, spaghetti bolognaise, and was getting ready to serve it up.

As he ate, Lynsey poured him a small glass of red wine, and Geoffrey related the tale of the man who’d asked him for money. ‘It reminded him of that homeless girl you talked about. I asked him how he’d ended up like that and it was just an ordinary sort of separation from his wife and he’d not found anywhere to stay.’

‘That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Lynsey. ‘I hope you’ve remembered we’re going to the meeting this evening.’

‘I did remember you wanted to go out after tea,’ Geoffrey replied unenthusiastically.

‘Well, you remember that girl I told you about from the Street Soccer charity? Well, it’s a meeting of the local community to discuss the charity’s proposal.’

Geoffrey looked blank and, deciding to pretend he was concentrating on his meal, he shovelled in another large mouthful of pasta.’

Lynsey pursed her lips. ‘Geoffrey,’ she said in her best school marmish voice ‘The charity’s idea is a result of their many years working with homeless people all across the Scotland. They’ve concluded that what homeless people need most, at least as much as food and a simple roof over their heads, is a proper stable social life, stability of relationships, and some knowledge of the basic skills needed to navigate through the complexities of life nowadays. They want us to help.’

Geoffrey’s face straitened, became serious.

‘Do you think they want us to offer them accommodation? I suppose we have got the little boxroom? Is that what the meeting is about?’

‘Surprisingly Geoffrey, no, that’s not what the meeting is about.’

‘I mean we already do our bit, don’t we, we donate to food banks, even if we’re not up to volunteering at soup kitchens and suchlike?’

Geoffrey looked up from his empty plate to see Lynsey’s eyes had narrowed and were staring at him. He realized he’d somehow made Lynsey cross and decided to restrict himself to smiling and nodding for a while until Lynsey specifically asked for comments.’

‘It’s true that we help a little,’ Lynsey conceded, ‘and the Council does what it can to provide temporary accommodation in hostels or unfurnished flats. And all those things are well worth doing, well worth fighting for. But in the end, even if homeless people get some kind of temporary accommodation, as the girl explained to me, all too often all that results in is social isolation and a terrible sense of inadequacy, a dreadful fear of being unable to cope. So they often end up stressed out and tackling it with the same stress-reliever as the rest of us, alcohol. And soon the whole homelessness cycle begins again.’

Guiltily, Geoffrey replaced the almost empty glass of wine he was holding back on its small square straw matt. He contrived an expression to indicate he was concerned and giving Lynsey his full attention.

‘You see,’ Lynsey was saying, ‘for a long time the charity has been trying to provide stability and companionship using the catalyst of football. Homeless people forming their own football teams. It’s an idea that has been adopted by numerous homeless charities all around the world. They’ve seen how effective it can be. Apparently, homeless football leagues are well established and there’s even a homeless world cup.’

‘A world cup?’ queried Geoffrey, startled out of his self-imposed silence.

‘Yes, a world cup,’ Lynsey reiterated firmly. ‘It was set up by charities and it’s held every year. In fact in 2016 it took place in Glasgow.’

‘Ah,’ put in Geoffrey, rubbing his chin, ‘yes, I think I remember there was something about that in the news. The winners fielded a ringer or something.’

But Geoffrey was surprised to find even his knowledge of football now being bested by his wife. ‘No Geoffrey, it wasn’t a ringer. The homeless of Mexico won the tournament and one of their players was homeless and sleeping rough although he also happened to be an ex Mexico internationalists. The girl told me. You see, anyone can fall on hard times, fall through a trapdoor and end up living on the street.’

‘But this meeting, it’s not about homeless Mexicans?’

‘For goodness sake Geoffrey, are you listening? It’s a meeting of our community. It’s about homelessness in our town.’

Geoffrey didn’t like it when Lynsey became angry and irritable and resolved once again to keep quiet and listen attentively.

‘Surely you recall me telling you about providing companionship, stability and structure instead of isolation? Unfortunately, many homeless people have escaped from backgrounds which provided few of these things. And placing them in socially isolated temporary accommodation only tended to exacerbate their problems.’

Geoffrey couldn’t help himself. ‘Yes, I know all that,’ he replied testily. ‘Remember, I was talking to one of them not so long ago.’

‘Well,’ Lynsey continued, more calmly, ‘this charity’s approach involves creating ‘change centres’. A change centre would be a sort of little urban village. Homeless people would live there in their own one bedroom flats. They’d learn any skills they needed to get back on their feet – cooking, cleaning, managing their time, routines, and so on - including carrying out the responsibilities and obligations of regular work.’

‘So different kinds of training, education, will be needed?’

‘Yes, professional assistance, it’ll be there, available as required so the people in this sort of little village can make a go of running a non-profit making business.’

‘A business?’ queried Geoffrey.

‘Yes, of course, the business would be the maintenance and letting of football pitches and an associated café – a sort of little sports centre.’

‘It seems a lot of money and equipment to help out a handful of homeless people.’

‘But they’ll only be there till they are ready for regular life again. Thousands of homeless people could eventually pass through this ‘change centre’. And they wouldn’t just be back on the streets homeless again in no time. The change made in the change centre would really stick. Think what could be achieved. Maybe sort out homelessness altogether.’

Lynsey got up and transferred apple pie and custard from oven and pot to plates. She set the plates down on the table. Geoffrey happily lifted his spoon.

‘So why do you think this meeting is so important that we need to go?’ Geoffrey asked, convinced that there wasn’t much about the charity’s proposal that was left to talk about. It didn’t sound very controversial.

Lynsey got up, left the room, and returned with an A4 sheet of paper in her hand which she passed to Geoffrey saying ‘This came through the door.’

It was a notice of the meeting, typed in a very large typeface. It read ‘Please read this and pass it on to a neighbour’. Underneath in slightly smaller upper case letters it read ‘STOP THE BUILDING OF A FOOTBALL COMPLEX FOR THE HOMELESS – EMAIL YOUR OBJECTIONS TO YOUR COMMUNITY COUNCIL, YOUR LOCAL COUNCILLORS, YOUR MSPs, AND YOUR MP.

‘Poor old Uncle Tom Cobbley’, said Geoffrey, ‘left off again’.

Lynsey gave him a look. ‘Yes, someone’s trying to launch a campaign.’

In even smaller writing the notice declaimed ‘Our green space to be stolen by a football club, bringing added parking problems and anti-social behaviour that could endanger our children.’

‘Added parking problems?’ queried Geoffrey. ‘Heavens, there are so many cars parked around here already that they’ll have to go some to make it any worse.’

‘Maybe,’ said Lynsey. ‘But what irks me is the assumption that ordinary people who have had the misfortune to become homeless are necessarily anti-social neighbours and likely to endanger children.’

‘Maybe they’ve misread ‘homeless’ as ‘pederast’?’ Geoffrey commented flippantly.

‘More likely they believe if you’re homeless you’re a drug or alcohol fiend with no moral scruples.’

‘Have you seen the glass recycling boxes on our streets on bucket days? They’d have to go some to beat that level of alcohol consumption.’

‘The thing is,’ said Lynsey, ‘They’re trying to whip up an opposition based on half-truths and innuendo. They’re trying to build enmity based very largely on peoples’ fears. They’re trying to turn assumptions into what people perceive as facts, trying to whip up a moral panic based on a one-sided argument.’

‘Who is?’ asked Geoffrey.

‘That’s part of the problem. The notice is anonymous,’ sighed Lynsey. ‘There’s nothing to say who put it out. But clearly the meeting won’t be a community information-seeking exercise. It’s no more nor less than an outright protest meeting, a gathering to foment unrest, to encourage people to follow the crowd and use it as an excuse to let off steam, with the outcome already assumed.’

‘You make it sound like a meeting of the North Korean parliament or the assembly of the Chinese Peoples’ Republic,’ said Geoffrey. And in a false deep, authoritative voice, he declared ‘I have made the peoples’ decisions. This parliament’s role is to endorse these decisions by loud acclamation. Thank you very much.’

But Lynsey admonished him. ‘Don’t be silly Geoffrey. It’s just democracy at work’.

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

Right after their meal Geoffrey and Lynsey made their way to the nearby local community centre, becoming aware of various other groups and individuals heading in the same direction.

They entered a large, functional room, the same room which housed the voting booths on election days, where individual chairs were set out in rows. They found a number of people had arrived already. Indeed, by the time the meeting was due to start the staff of the community centre had been obliged to bring in extra stacks of chairs so that the room was filled up completely with rows of chairs and yet more people were still arriving, most ending up having to stand round the walls.

At that point a tall clean-shaven older man with thinning hair and a shorter chubby woman in an emerald dress and blonde hair from a bottle emerged from the shadows and took the seats kept vacant behind the top table.

The woman stood up and, with a voice trembling, it was hard to tell whether from nervousness or an anger barely held in check, thanked the crowd for coming. They would now have the opportunity to voice their displeasure at the charity’s proposal. She indicated that as well as local people, local businesses were also represented and noted that, somewhere in the hall, a local councillor was in attendance. Representatives of the charity making the proposal were also present. She nodded towards two young men in polo shirts sitting to one side of the table and wearing anxiously bemused expressions.

So this is it, Geoffrey thought, the future lives of dozens of desperate people coming up against the current lives of dozens of desperate people; the first lot desperate for a home and the second lot desperate to defend the marginal utility they enjoyed as provided by a patch of scrub land.

He whispered to Lynsey ‘You know, if I was religious I’d be tempted to compare this to Pontius Pilate presenting the convicts to the mob and asking which should be given amnesty – the homeless or a bit of barely used land.’

‘The crowd will always call for Barabas to be freed,’ Lynsey whispered knowingly, ‘expect nothing less.’

As the meeting got underway the tall man tried to provide a brief history of the patch of ground in terms of ownership and quickly became entangled in legal niceties.

This mattered not a jot to some of the most rabidly vociferous critics of the proposed scheme, those sitting towards the back of the room or standing against the walls, sometimes hidden by pillars. As the charity’s two young representatives gave a brief overview of their scheme to help the homeless the grumbling of these critics grew until they were howling condemnations of the proposal before it had even been properly presented. The charity’s spokesmen quickly wound up and sat down as insults started to fly at them from all directions. Geoffrey wondered if it was the normal habit of those round the walls to search out well-defended positions from which to fire off bombs of inflammatory invective.

‘Do these venom-spouting manic neighbours of ours feel under attack?’ he wondered aloud. ‘It’s as if they feel they’re defending themselves against being caught in the cross-hairs of some meek liberals finally driven mad by their inarticulate abuse.

‘Maybe in this society they do feel under attack, like victims a lot of the time,’ whispered Lynsey ‘and they’re treating this as an opportunity to get their own back for once. Personally, I’m glad to hear the issue being debated in such a calm, logically coherent manner. In fact, occasionally, I’m just about able to hear myself think.’

The uproar rose to a deafening pitch, a loud stream of vehement bile coming from several ladies seated a couple of rows immediately behind Geoffrey.

‘They’re obviously incandescent,’ said Lynsey ‘at the thought of this marginal patch of land, the last bit not already concreted over by the KM housing estate they live in, being left largely as unprofitable grass.’

Geoffrey knew Lynsey had to be very angry before she turned to sarcasm.

‘I mean to say,’ Lynsey added, ‘that whole vast estate was only built twenty years ago. Before that the whole area was grass. Surely it’s reasonable to expect that the little bit left might be used for two decent grass football pitches along with several small flats to accommodate people with no homes at all, at least temporarily, as they struggle to get their lives back on course?’

‘Of course,’ agreed Geoffrey. But the noise in the hall was not diminishing and he noted that ‘If a gold mine had been discovered on that piece of scrub land I don’t think their urge to fend off intruders could have been any more vociferous.’

Lynsey reflected that she would be only too pleased to meet some of the angry people in the hall for coffee and a frank exchange of views, just as soon as she could save up enough for the life insurance cover that would be required.

The lack of an experienced Chairperson became only too evident as the meeting progressed. It was more and more dominated by some of the loudest shouting and most disinhibited orators Geoffrey had ever encountered outside of a crowd of football fans.

Then an older man in white shirt and blue tie, holding a clipboard, was allowed to take the floor and the noise hushed a little. Geoffrey was stunned, being a traditional Old Labour supporter, to discover that among the banshees and over-fed sumo wrestlers populating the hall the person with whom he felt most affinity was the man who spoke in careful, rational, and reasonable tones, the arch Conservative, Councillor Thorn Rose.

Since proportional representation had been introduced to city government four Councillors represented the local area. But Thorn Rose was the only one who had chosen, or dared, to attend the meeting. It was known that the meeting organisers, presumably assuming that NIMBYism was official Conservative Party policy, had in fact asked Thorn Rose to chair the meeting. But he was obviously wise to such manoeuvres, and reluctant to be cornered into taking public positions on issues unnecessarily. In declining the invitation to chair the meeting he knew his mere presence would endear him to the protesters. But equally, by not chairing the meeting he avoided alienating any potential voters who might be inclined to an alternative point of view. No doubt he saw this as an important gambit given that this meeting was barely the beginning of what would inevitably be a long and arduous political and bureaucratic process. His was a carefully manufactured impartiality. Who knew what side he might be on when the issue reached a conclusion many months or years hence.

Fortunately, for the moment Thorn Rose sought to bring a little sense to the proceedings. He politely dampened the ardour of those baring their teeth to scream that the patch of grass should be left alone and the homeless accommodated instead in a nearby Council-owned but now closed and unused old folks home, by making two quietly devastating points. Quite apart from the unsuitability of that building for the ‘change’ function envisaged by the charity, Thorn also dropped the bombshell that the building had already been earmarked for a totally different function. It was already part of a separate planning process. In fact, the Council had decided to convert t into flats to help alleviate the housing shortage.

Fortunately, no-one in the crowd chose to, or was able to, muddy the waters by pointing out that this strengthened another of their arguments for rejecting the proposal, increased pressure on car parking. The conversion into flats was guaranteed to create a lot more demand for parking spaces, putting existing parking under much more pressure, and without even providing the alleviating factor of the extra parking spaces proposed as part of the ‘change centre’ village.

When Thorn Rose sat down tempers again flared like reignited volcanoes.

As an Old Labour man from the days when it was actually not unusual for employees to be members of trade unions Geoffrey had always hated the pernickety adherence to rules that had characterised union meetings. Yet now he longed for someone to slap a copy of Walter Citrine’s ABC of Chairmanship down on the top table and insist on motions being carefully formulated, taken in order, and discussed separately.

Geoffrey felt it wasn’t so much that hatred was spewing from their mouths; it was more akin to projectile vomiting. They exhibited all the tender compassion and sympathy of a lynch mob. The two representatives of the charity looked longingly at the door. Don’t kick a man when he’s down was a phrase Geoffrey heard on no-one’s lips.

‘Despite the Scottish Government’s lately implemented minimum alcohol pricing legislation,’ muttered Geoffrey, ‘my impression is that there’s clear evidence of extensive brain damage in this community.’

His blood was boiling over. He had a desperate urge to stand up and roar ‘I hope you all get sacked from your jobs, default on your mortgages, and end up homeless. At least with no local homeless facility nearby at least I won’t have to put up with you lot any more.’

But instead it was Lynsey who rose unsteadily to her feet and commanded the floor as people turned to look at her, expecting another powerful denunciation of the heinous plan to help the homeless. The background noise reduced to mere pandemonium.

‘I can only assume,’ she said, gradually raising her voice above the din, ‘after having listened to the eloquent, expletive-riddled contributions offered by numerous people in this room, that this homeless charity’s founder must have earned his MBE for successfully destroying community amenities.

Her audience screwed up its collective face as it tried to understand her.

‘You ask where will our children play if this patch of land - which actually still belongs to the building company which built the estate on which you live – has some small buildings put on it while all the rest remains as grass? But very few children ever play there anyway. [This remark was met with bellows of anguished rebuttals from the crowd] The reason few play there is partly because the owners have entirely surrounded it with a very high fence except for a the very small entrance gate on the main road. And to reach this entrance children must exit the KM estate, via its only entrance on to a separate road, and walk all the way round the pavement at the side of the wall surrounding the estate, the wall which separates the estate from the main road. Another reason is the simple fact that there is the vast and wonderful, newly landscaped, Craig Country Park almost as close, where they can play. Also, and fitted out with goalposts and a children’s playground, there is the Presty Park, situated almost immediately adjacent to the single entrance to the KM estate. And that’s without even mentioning the vast expanse of the Ince Park, situated just behind the shopping centre which most KM estate residents visit on a regular basis. And all that does make me wonder why the people in this hall place so much value on one piece of undeveloped land left over from the building of their own estate.

‘Those leading the opposition to the charity’s proposal also say you can’t build anything on this scrub land anyway because it’s on a flood plain. Whimpers, the building company which actually owns the land, and which redeveloped all the surrounding pristine grassland to create the wonder that is the KM estate, have stated that for multiple reasons, and not least because of the danger of building houses in a flood plain, they will not take the risk of developing this patch of land. Yet local parents seem much more concerned that the proposed football pitches might prevent their children roaming freely over this area than they are about the possibility of their little ones falling and drowning in ponds formed on a flood plain, or indeed that houses built to accommodate homeless people may flood.

Lynsey was well into her stride now and continued her strident speech despite a rather impolite request to ‘Sit down bitch.’

‘KM residents represented here complain that the proposal will put intolerable pressure on parking spaces. Cars carrying footballers will descend on the proposed facility. Yet the plan includes an additional thirty parking spaces. Will thirty spaces not be enough for the otherwise homeless residents? How many cars do homeless people generally own? But yes, it’s true, there will also be professional staff. But will there be thirty professional helpers arriving by car each day? No, there won’t. So if there is pressure on parking it is extremely unlikely that it will be any worse than it is now.

‘Currently, Saturdays and Sundays are the only days the ground is used to any great extent at all. On those days it is used by a different charity, a charity which organises teams of children playing football, a charity helping over six hundred children and which fully supports the repurposing proposal. And on Sundays cars are already parked all the way along the main road.

‘At the moment, the daily tsunami of cars seeking parking spaces such that workers can hurry on to work is only stopped from sweeping down into the KM estate by a bus gate. But now that this pseudo Park and Ride location, the immediately neighbouring area, is saturated with vehicles it won’t surprise me a bit if, sooner rather than later, the daily flood of cars finds its devious way around the bus gate and ends up in the KM estate. Then the KM estate will find cars blocking its driveways and parked half on its pavements much the same as the neighbouring area has already experienced. Wailing about possible increased traffic because of a homelessness facility will then be recognised for what it really is, the cry of prejudiced people tilting at windmills.

‘Some people here have complained, more loudly than anyone could really consider necessary, that a facility for the homeless will operate into the evenings, not just Saturdays and Sundays. Football teams will arrive in the evenings, take up parking space, make noise, and cause homes to be invaded by light from floodlights. Yet the university playing fields occupy a huge area on the other side of the main road and those playing fields are nearer to many parts of the KM estate than the patch of grassland under discussion. The shouting, the parking, and even the floodlighting from evening training sessions are seldom suggested as being problematic. This is possibly because the university playing fields were there before the KM estate was built. Indeed the land now occupied by the KM estate was once itself college playing fields - playing fields which became redundant when the college merged with the university.

‘I’d also like to address the point raised by KM estate residents here who insist the patch of land can’t be developed in any way because it is designated as Green Belt. It’s true, it is. But I think it’s time to wake up and smell the coffee. What is the purpose of green belt land? Its sole purpose is not to provide an amenity for citizens but to prevent ribbon development, to stop adjacent urban areas simply joining together. And if anyone has failed to notice that previously designated green belt areas has already been built on, with new estates and hospitals, for miles around the city in all directions, they must have been living in a bubble. The reason for building on previously designated green belt land is simple: the city’s population is expanding and people need homes. ‘Green arteries’ have been created and maintained as far as possible but at the end of the day living space has been adjudged more of a priority than unused space. And living space is especially necessary for people reduced to sleeping on the street.

‘Some of you have made it abundantly clear that you don’t want ‘those kinds of people’ anywhere near to, and especially not interacting with, your children. Yet even looking at the people in this room it’s easy to see that the KM estate has welcomed incomers from Spain and France, from South Africa, and even from England. This is no surprise. Edinburgh’s reputation as a cosmopolitan city is greater now than ever. What is a surprise is that at the same it is those same people who are vehemently opposed to accommodating those strange, despicable people, the merely homeless. Sadly, from what I’ve heard this evening it seems even the Spaniards and South Africans in the room espouse that viewpoint. I only hope those aren’t views they feel they’ve had to adopt simply to fit in with the rest of the community.’

At this point the wailing and gnashing of teeth rose in a crescendo, an assault on the ears that Geoffrey felt was surely not unlike a battlefield. But Lynsey stood her ground, waited briefly for the volume to turn down a few notches, and then continued.

She waved her arm around the room, saying ‘With screaming banshees and harridan harpies like these for friends and neighbours I confess I’m driven to wonder who needs enemies? But at least you have saved me from living life within my own little bubble of imagined reality. Some of you may well be here because of lives lived mainly on social media, in an echo-chamber where you only hear and repeat the views of like-minded people. I’m pretty sure now that I’m not one of those people. This meeting has made me more aware than ever of the radically different ways of seeing the world which exist even in my immediate backyard.’

As noise levels reached new heights and abuse rained down on her Lynsey finally said ‘Thank you’ and deigned to take her seat again.

Mightily impressed by her performance Geoffrey squeezed her hand.

One lady in the crowd had her arm raised aloft and had held it there the whole time Lynsey was speaking – a feat many Indian holy men would be proud of – in the vain hope of catching the so-called Chairperson’s eye and being formally selected to speak to the assembly rather than just shouting out like everyone else.

Well, thought Geoffrey, reflecting on his own views of how meetings ought to be run, I suppose there are always a few misfits in any crowd, people like me. People who don’t understand that the current version of democracy involves bawling out your preconceived opinions, whether apposite or not, whether using social media or not, whenever you feel the urge; ideally shouting at the top of your voice over anyone else trying to address the meeting by putting more than two coherent sentences together.

But when the lady who had held her arm aloft was eventually allowed to speak Geoffrey was saddened to hear her simply repeat, albeit in a less frenzied tone of voice, much the same biased attitudes that others had been bawling out throughout the meeting. At least when she sat down some degree of civilisation seemed to have been restored as her contribution was met with a polite scattering of applause.

As the meeting stumbled towards a close Geoffrey found himself cogitating deeply.

NIMBYism, that’s at the heart of it, that’s really all it’s about, he thought. Even some of those shouting the loudest say they’ve ‘nothing against the homeless’ it’s just that they desperately need to protect the bit of grass they almost never utilise. It is about people whose moral priorities begin and end in selfishness. People who think society is better served by holding on to whatever they have, however marginal its value and utility, rather than sharing it with others whose need is much more desperate.

And in truth, Geffrey considered, NIMBYism is usually just a form of short-sightedness. It’s people who don’t see that through their taxes they will continue to pay indefinitely for extra health care and social care, for extra demands made on charities and the police, for the lowered tourist appeal of their city and the money that brings, if they don’t help to resolve a glaring social problem by making small sacrifices now.

Geoffrey wasn’t religious but the idea flitted through his head that NIMBYism is like the priest and the Levite, who preferred to turn their backs on the traveller hurt on life’s journey, the traveller who had been stripped of clothing, beaten, and left half dead alongside the road. It had taken someone of a different religion and culture, a Samaritan, to care for the injured man. Having always considered Edinburgh a civilised, cosmopolitan city, he was used to thinking of its people as, more likely than not, good Samaritans. But unfortunately the meeting had brought him short. With a shock it dawned on him that this was maybe no longer the case. If there was any possible risk, however minor, to the value of their properties, it seemed Edinburgh people were now only too willing to walk by on the other side of the road.

Geoffrey’s faith in a compassionate, tolerant, intelligent, European city of Edinburgh had been sorely tried, indeed almost shattered, more by his attendance at this one meeting than by all the reports that he had heard of a worldwide resurgence of authoritarianism, autocracy, and populism put together. He realized, perhaps for the first time, that these were not external changes in the body politic of distant parts of the world, changes which would only impact him though his television screen. These were changes that were happening here and now amongst his most immediate neighbours.

While the NIMBYism he saw breaking out here was enough to remind him of the reaction to a proposal to site a nuclear power station in the Thames Valley, it gave him a whole new insight and appreciation of that shock experienced by Jews who watched their long-standing neighbours smash their windows and kick in their doors on Kristallnacht, or the blank astonishment of long resident Italians watching mobs attack their houses on the outbreak of the Second World War, or the gypsies being confronted by gangs unrestrained by authority and forcing them to move on again knowing that while the places they could legally halt in theory expanded in practice they were dwindling to almost nothing.

Geoffrey had never experienced a display of such raw emotion as he had at that meeting and was astonished that Lynsey had managed to stay sufficiently rational and coherent to mount such a spirited defence of the charity’s project in the face of so fierce an opposition.

Indeed, even when the ‘Chairperson’ had tried to conclude the meeting by saying ‘Well, I think I can report the unanimous opposition of this community to the homeless people project’ she had jumped to her feet again and exploded ‘No, you certainly can’t say unanimous!’ And Geoffrey had politely added rather more sotto voce ‘And not even nem con either.’ Demanding a show of hands the ‘Chairperson’ counted eighty-one against the charity’s proposal and only four in favour.

As they left the hall and made their way home Geoffrey confessed to Lynsey ‘That meeting really worried me. Such shocking hatred on display which seemed to lie just below the surface, beneath a veneer of civilisation. People you thought you had so much in common with, people with whom you thought you shared a common humanity, seemed to suddenly undergo a strange metamorphosis and re-appear as mysterious aliens harbouring altogether unlikely cultural beliefs and grudges.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ agreed Lynsey. ‘It was the shock of suddenly feeling like a foreigner in the place you were born and raised. It’s had a bit of a traumatic effect on me too.’

‘Well you managed to rise above it with extraordinary stoicism. I’ve been thinking that maybe that patch of grass is symbolic of a much more wide-ranging social malaise. Perhaps it acts as a lightning rod for latent fears and unhappiness, for a general dissatisfaction with life, for a feeling that no matter how much the country might claim to be richer they themselves felt very dissatisfied, felt they were being made much poorer.’

‘Yes,’ added Lynsey, ‘there’s a lot of pent-up anger and frustration, the kind of emotions that I suppose have been exploited by Brexit, not to mention Trump, Erdogan, and Orban. Finding that such views had a wide appeal and ready audience even amongst Edinburgh’s pressurised lower middle class was a genuine eye-opener wasn’t it?’

But, thought Geoffrey, Lynsey was right when she’d pointed out, that’s democracy for you – allowing people to let off steam, shout and complain. Even Churchill quoted the man who said that democracy is the worst type of government apart from all the rest. And it’s hard to deny that in that room it was some kind of rough and ready democracy that was at work. So what if some people had set it up as a scenario to exploit a situation? There were probably other people with a different opinion who realized that was happening and, seeing it as a one-sided protest meeting, simply decided not to attend. But all the same it gave you an empty feeling inside and you couldn’t help visualising jolly old people like Hitler came to power through the democratic process.

Geoffrey had felt in his bones that if someone in the room had suggested bringing back hanging it would have been endorsed by a huge majority. For that was the reality of the democratic majority in this country. The only saving grace was that the meeting wasn’t a meeting of all the people. It was a protest gathering of a self-selecting group of vehement opponents of the proposed scheme. Geoffrey hoped against hope that if the meeting had been framed to encourage a more universal attendance and been properly chaired it might have inculcated greater knowledge, awareness and enlightenment and perhaps reached a very different conclusion.

Both Geoffrey and Lynsey were still shaking when they opened their front door and sat down to re-live the horror for each other.

‘Well, at least we weren’t entirely on our own,’ Geoffrey spluttered after a welcome cup of tea. ‘At least two others felt the same way.’

‘Yes, but I don’t know who they were, and they’d gone before I had a chance to speak to them.’

‘Probably escaping from the mob, same as us.’

‘Yes, but it’s a pity since we’ll need to start building alliances, co-ordinating support.’

Geoffrey gasped. ‘What, you mean we can’t just put all this behind us now? Remember we can forget all this now. We’re off on holiday in a couple of days. Sunny Spain beckons. There’ll be sea, sand and sangria. Here we come.’

‘Heavens no,’ said Lynsey, turning away as Geoffrey tried to land a restorative kiss on her. ‘In fact I’m going to volunteer with Bethany for the night-time soup kitchen runs right away. You’ll want to come too, won’t you? It’s just possible we might even run into the man who begged money from you today. And we do still have a spare room. It’s only occupied with all our old junk just now. That would make five of us at least. There are bound to be more. We all have to do something. There are so many men and women out there who are still desperately trying to find a roof to live under.’

At first Geoffrey’s head dropped in dismay. He wanted a holiday in the sun. Lynsey’s alternative suggestion was a real body blow.

All the same, after thinking about it for a few hours Geoffrey still wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad but did conclude that Lynsey was right.

And he experienced an epiphany. He suddenly understood the true meaning of making personal sacrifices for the greater good, and why it really was better to give than to receive.

Eventually he turned to Lynsey and said ‘Ok, a two week holiday on the streets of Edinburgh it is. Actually, I really enjoyed the walk home from work today. And if that beggar shows up then ok, he can have the spare room.’

And as Lynsey grinned with delight an oddly beatific smile spread across Geoffrey’s face.

#Reekie Revelator #homelessness #rough sleeping #edinburgh #scotland #short story

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roodiaries · 7 years ago

Text

Tropical Thunder

The Journey North

I'm not talking of a Game of Thrones journey north, where the bitter cold whips one's bones to the brittle core as they pass beyond The Wall and into the icy depths of the unforgiving wildling realms. No. A nice gentle tropical journey north towards the equator, where beaches and tourists are plentiful, the palm trees nestled along an expansive Pacific coastline and the state of relaxation knows no bounds as yet another shrimp is procured from the figurative barbie. Stereotypes aside, the East Coast is fun, but a little too popular and similar at times. You have to make it your own, with good travel mates and a random journey.

Fresh from my incredible holiday in Vanuatu, I left Sydney with Yusuke on 11 September, excited to jump in the Nissan and plough northwards. I had to be in Cairns (2400km away) in 9 days for my new job. We didn't bother messing about too much in New South Wales, as we'd both spent a lot of time here and seen all we wanted to see. We Byron Bayed for a night, and enjoyed the tremendous views on offer there, before a short jump over the Queensland border to Brisbane, where we spent two nights and almost got towed.

The real journey into the unknown began after this, along with an epic 14-hour driving day where we ended up talking to a local woman about the effects of the recent cyclone in Rockhampton (which lies on the Tropic of Capricorn) and eventually reached Airlie Beach. Its electric atmosphere was unfortunately wasted on us tired travellers, as all we wanted to do was go to bed and shovel food down without the pressure and distraction of hostel kitchen chit-chat. Of course, we were awoken by an Aussie guy screaming – “I'll fucken' cut ye open, yer cunt!” – to a guy who had boldly told him to quieten down. Next day was the legendary Whitsunday Islands trip. All prior knowledge about this archipelago and national park had conjured up images of a calm sandy paradise, but we were in for a huge surprise as it turned out to be the ferry ride from hell and one of the roughest sea journeys I've ever experienced. I'm never sure whether I'm just being overly affected by things (scientifically known as OABT Syndrome), but it was bumpy as. Whitehaven Beach was a real treat, however.

It was more driving, driving in our car, north past the dispersing Great Dividing Range and glinty inland sunsets, through forests and fields, over sugar cane train tracks and past vast banana plantations. Townsville & Magnetic Island was the highlight of the trip for me. Mostly because the hostel was good quality – a good balance between social and quiet – and we met spirited Dutch Oz-newbie Jenny, who joined us for the sunset hike up Castle Rock, a towering and majestic hill over Townsville. The Maggie Island daytrip involved joining forces with Jenny's friend Lizzy, renting a mini open-top 4x4, a hot hike past wild koalas to WWII fortifications (I think I bored the others with any over-zealous talk of wartime history), one incredible sunset at West Point, a shy echidna and two brown tree snakes.

Cairns

Named after Irishman & Governor of Queensland, William Wellington Cairns, and unpronounceable without adopting an Aussie accent, this modest city of 140,000 inhabitants is a surprisingly pumping tourist mega-hotspot. Go more than 200m from the ocean and everything basically becomes shit (e.g. classic highways lined with industrial outlets and nothingy commercial suburbs), but the heart of the city is the marina and downtown area. Despite a smaller size, it has a nightlife to compete with most other Australian cities and a huge mix of nationalities. Steamy nights at Salt House, Pier Bar, The Reef Casino, Three Wolves and even The Woolshed will stay with me for a long time. The gorgeous green hills provide a tropical backdrop, and the Trinity Inlet is a beautiful spot to the south, while the beachside suburbs to the north – Trinity Beach, Kewarra, Palm Cove to name just three – are incredibly chilled out and enjoyable. Fishing with fun work-mates Max, Tun & Rankin on a boat trip up the river was a real privilege; as well as trips to Shangri-La's North Bar overlooking the marina with ex-Pullmanites and great friends Caitlin & Davide; the work-mate pool party at Caitlin & Max's house with poker and Cards Against Humanity was yet another reminder that this is not a normal life for an Englishman.

Nothing makes you feel more like you're in the tropics than the pungent smell of bat shit outside the Cairns Library, where hundreds of them gather before fleeing and feeding across the night sky. They are the animal that most represent Cairns for me, along with the ominous curlew, a gangly and awkward flightless bird that drifts in a ghostly way by night. I discovered the city by bicycle and was able to experience the city in all its hot, heavy, pungent glory.

The Winkworth Way

I moved in to 45 Winkworth Street in the western suburbs, paying $135 per week for a single room with a double-bed and air-conditioning. It was by far the best accommodation I've had in Australia. I loved the house for its airy openness and traditional Queenslander ambience, but mostly because of the fantastic people I lived with. I don't say this often, because I generally seem to end up in accommodation that's less than ideal. We were all travellers in the house, and all worked a lot so often wouldn't see each other for days at a time. But that made it all the more special when we did meet and hang out. There was Yukie, a Japanese lady from downstairs who dropped her keys in a bush when she fell down the stairs drunk one time; Ander from the Basque Country, who enjoys parties, bed bugs and violently offering biscuits as well as taking me on some excellent and fun day-trips; Leonie whose surname and town of origin (Ter Stege and Enschede respectively) Ander and I always enjoyed repeating back to her in a Dutch accent for immature amusement, who works too much but has a heart of gold; Tim, an Austin Powersy German dive instructor and goon connoisseur as well as a valued source of Stephen Colbert episodes; and Kacie from Texas, who is a rock of a friend and proves the Trump-American stereotypes wrong with a kind, fair outlook on life, and loves Australia if only it weren't for the cockroaches constantly falling on her head.

Even Andrew, the landlord, was pretty cool. Except for the occasions when he simply could not stop swearing in anger for minutes at a time, over some trivial thing that's happened with the roof or his phone. “Oh no. You baaastard!”

Pullmania

Working took up the bulk of my time. 39% of my waking hours over three months in Cairns were spent in the Pullman Cairns International Hotel. I actually calculated it. I had transferred up here from Sydney to fill the same role (a Food & Beverage Attendant, in Banquets), so technically should have known what I was doing. However, a few factors made PCI more challenging than PSHP: the climate was hotter, the furniture heavier, and many of the events much bigger and more challenging. It was a hectic & sweaty 3 months, and below I've chosen some events to paint a picture:

Friday 22 September: my first shift. I found my way through the labyrinthine back-of-house corridors in time for briefing, simultaneously meeting my manager, Karen, and the staff working tonight (most of the banquets team). In addition, we had lots of staff from Coco's (the restaurant in the lobby) and Staffing Solutions (a hospitality agency). I was behind the main bar with Italian sage Davide for a 400-pax cocktail reception, meaning canapés and free drinks for a bunch of lairy let-loose corporate types. Since it was the pool-deck, we couldn't serve glass bottles, so had to pour every single beer into a plastic cup. The queue was infinite, with murmurs of disapproval when not getting served immediately, and over the fact they had to drink beer out of plastic glasses. The struggle was very real and lasted for hours: one guy simply sighed, while another shook his head and laughed in disgust at my occasionally over-foamy beers. An arrogant racktastic blonde kept appearing at the bar, clicking her fingers and demanding to be served her rum & Coke (she knew it was my first day and that I would be a soft touch). I really felt shell-shocked when the event finally ended, and then overwhelmed with fatigue and frustration for the next few hours when we had to replace all of the furniture and polish all of the glasses we'd used tonight, which took us until 2am. 10-hour physical shift, no breaks. I soon realised this was not unusual.

Tiffany & Gareth: The Unhappy Bride. The grand ballroom was used to host the wedding reception of Tiffany and Gareth, an aboriginal couple who had married earlier today. Most of the guests were indigenous, too, and I always enjoyed doing events with aboriginal people, since I had seldom met any during my time in the South-East. However, Tiffany decided she wanted to ruin her own day by complaining about everything and causing problems in a truly bogan manner. Why didn't everyone have champagne for the toast!? This wasn't what I asked for on the buffet! Why are people getting too many free drinks!? Why did I get married!? The banquets team was on edge, and people snapped at each other, while our trooper of a supervisor, Shontelle, bore the brunt of the complaints (she had met with Tiffany several times before the event, and none of the things she was complaining about had ever been mentioned). She wanted a Fairytale Wedding, but wasn't the fairytale bride.

Melbourne Cup Day: I hadn't slept well the night before, and my body and mind weren't ready for a rare daytime shift. Some of the richest people in Cairns came to the hotel to mingle with fellow poshos over lunch, look fancy and watch the Melbourne Cup horse race on big TV screens. I was put in the fenced-off VIP section with my Team Leader, Harumi. All we had to do was pour drinks for them, or fetch beers from the bar, then clear their plates when they were finished with their buffet lunch. But things went wrong early on when I opened a bottle of champagne and the cork literally flew up to hit the ceiling, bouncing off it and landing in someone's lap on the other side of the ballroom. I could have melted with embarrassment, but played it off as the fault of the bottle (“she was a fizzy one!”) to the gawkingly judgemental woman I was serving. Luckily, neither the General Manager of the hotel, my F&B Manager nor the Banquets Manager had noticed, but I still felt traumatised and on-edge for the rest of the day. I over-compensated by being especially servile and smiley, and somehow managed to gain a $10 tip for my efforts. It was a horrible shift and I felt very alone. Some staff, like Tun, were supportive, patient and helpful, some were less understanding, while others simply didn't care. I hate the pressure not to mess up in these kind of VIP environments, constantly being on display and concentrating hard not to bump into stuff, drop things or spill drinks (difficult for me). And to look busy, even if you're inconveniencing the customer by reaching over unnecessarily to grab that one extra glass. It made me question whether the job was for me. But is this my career? Hell no. I decided to try meditation to relieve stress, which was reaching unhealthy levels during some shifts, like this one. It would have been nice to have some kind of feedback on your work, and to be told you had done well, or how to improve in certain areas. But that didn't seem to happen much here.