#her neighbour sure is a busybody

[casuallivi]

So is Elain’s Neighbour in “the midnight kiss” named :

Sue Rielle ?

I had a HC where Azriel says “yes” to taking with Mor and Elain says its fine (obviously it’s not) then she is distraught and while she is leaving she runs into Cassian who consoles her 😱 but then Mor ( before all this happened) had made a deal with Cassian to fire Elain because of reasons….

Then there is huge drama and miscommunication and heartache and then you fix it all up.

Lol my brain was like giving me all these angsty possibilities but no solutions to them!!!!

Ahhhhh love this Fic and love this Elain !!!

I have read it more than once.

Looool, that is a nice one for the neighbour's name 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Your HC sure is dramatic, but that's not where I'm heading, I'm more of a couples-who-communicate-can-rule-the-world enthusiast, cause they render me dialogues like:

~~~~

"Listen, there's something bugging me out. I know you gonna say I'm perv, but physical intimacy is a big deal for me, so, can I ask you something?” Azriel opens his mouth, but acting on her best Elain behavior, she doesn’t wait for his answer before continuing with, “you are attracted to me, right? Like physically attracted?" Azriel nods. "Sure." Elain gasps, dramatically placing a hand on her forehead. "Sure? Oh my, that's the least sexy answer I've ever heard in my life!" "Is there a sexy way to answer a "yes" or "no" question?" "Dunno. You could confess you undying love for my sexy body, recite poetry about my curves, kiss the life out of me to prove your point. You know, basic stuff like that." She pulls her clothes this way and that to exemplify how he should manhandle her, grabbing his hand to slap her naked thigh, using her fingers to press his against her flesh. “Like this, and go all the way up to,” Azriel pulls his hand from her leg, coughing to mask his embarrassment.   "I'm a gentleman." "And I’m woman in my prime, who recently got a guy begging to date her," "No one begged," he interrupts. "Except for you,” she mocks, shushing him, “and this begging guy happens to be a hottie. What do you think that makes to a woman's hormones? They go crazy, that’s what they do. I know you don't like casual sex, me neither, but this,” she points between the two of them, “this is not casual. My question is: you barely touch me." “That’s not a question.” His weak interruption wins him nothing but an eye roll. “Oh, bite me Azriel. In fact, please bite me!”

~~~~

😅😅😅

knowing you've read the fic more than once makes my heart all kinds of warm 😍🥰😘😍🥰😘😍🥰😘 I also love this Elain, she's a blast to work with

[hannahssimblr]

Night descends upon us and yet, as usual, the stars don’t shine brightly the way that they did last summer when our bonfire roared under clear, sparkling skies. I think of that night now as I sit on a patch of cool earth in the dunes above Dollymount Strand surrounded by rusting cans and the sun-bleached wrappers of discontinued chocolate bars.

I remember the balmy air of late July, how I didn't even heed it until now when the night is still too cold to sit out in yet we all pretend it isn't. Anyway, it’s too late to point it out to the crowd that's already gathered here, drinking and playing music from a speaker that crackles every time the bass gets too loud, so I sit as close as I can to the flames without climbing into the pit with them, and let their heat lick over my skin. 

I share a few beers with a big, severe looking boy next to me for a while. He's got silver spikes protruding from his lip, and high cheek bones that make his face look kind of gaunt and hollow like a Tim Burtonesque character. We called him Lurch at school, because he’s also about six foot five and rake thin, but tonight I learn that Lurch’s real name is Rob, and actually, Rob is a very nice person.

He talks to me about music for ages, about his drum kit and how the neighbours keep complaining to his parents about the noise. I tell him that I’ve always wished I was musical but I have absolutely no sense of rhythm. I’m kind of a loser like that, despite my dreams of being that guy with the guitar who impresses all the girls, but I have long since accepted that I will settle to be a humble music-recommender instead. Jen still keeps all of the silly mix tape CDs I made for her in primary school in her room, and it gives me an inexplicable sense of worthiness whenever I spot them.

Never once during my conversation with Rob do I tell him about the Lurch thing, though it crosses my mind several times. What seemed so funny once in the confines of my little group seems kind of obviously mean now, but I suppose I never took the time to think about it before.

Katie is nice too, the girl with a stammer who snorts when she laughs, which is often once she joins in our conversation, because she seems to think my stories are very funny, as does Rob, and I have to tell them not to laugh so hard because it only encourages me to put myself in more situations that might be entertaining to retell later on. They think that's funny too, but actually, I am being serious.

Still, I know they’ll love that one about the time I was using the desert as a toilet and a military helicopter flew overhead, convincing me that my great aunt’s busybody neighbour had called the FBI to report me for public urination, so I make sure to tell it in the most energetic way I can. It’s easier and way more fun to reveal embarrassing things about myself when I’m drinking, and by the time I have finished telling it, I toss my empty bottle to my feet where four others already lie. I hadn’t even realised I had drunk that much, but who cares when I feel this good.

“Jesus, you’re so funny,” Katie says once her giggles have subsided, “I can’t believe we all thought you were an arsehole.”

“You thought that?”

“Not really,” Rob assures me, “We just thought you were… like, a bit…”

“...of an arsehole,” I finish, and he’s clearly being polite so he denies it, but he shouldn’t bother, really, because I already know how I am. I'm aware of the things I’ve said and done to other kids for the sake of relieving my crushing, constant boredom, never really thinking about the consequences beyond ‘it will be funny’. Maybe I should say I’m sorry. 

“Nah you’re right, I’m kind of a horrible bastard,” and I laugh at myself, which gives them permission to do so too, albeit awkwardly.

“You’re not, you’re not,” Rob assures me, “You definitely weren’t the worst of the guys in our year…”

I want to ask him who is the worst, purely for the satisfaction of hearing him say that it’s Fitzy, or Murphy or Breener or any of those other awful, rugby wanks, but I don’t because someone coming through the grass has derailed my train of thought. 

“What’s she doing here?” 

I have interrupted Rob and now he’s blinking in surprise as he turns to where Leah, fucking Leah, is approaching us. 

“Uh, she comes to talk to Evan sometimes,” he explains, “just for like, a few minutes usually and then she heads off. Do you know her?”

“Yeah.”

I watch with a clenched jaw as she and Evan disappear into the darkness for a few minutes, and pop open a brand new beer bottle as Rob and Katie chat as I sit between them having lost all of my sense of fun in an instant. I’m also drunk, if not very much getting there judging by the slightly blurry flames that dance exotically in front of my eyes. I have a dim thought that it’s probably a good idea to stop drinking if I plan on seeing Jen later. I doubt Michelle’s parents will be too pleased if I show up steaming drunk at their door…

“Oh my God, Jude, I didn’t expect to see you here!” Leah is back and standing right over me. I don’t even bother to look up at her face, and instead just stare at her ratty Vans that I’m almost certain are the same pair she wore when we used to hang out two years ago, and they were ratty back then.

“Yep,” I say. She sits down so closely to me in the sand that I can smell her distinct, Leah smell. She doesn’t smell bad, just like an unpleasant sensory memory. 

“How are you?”

I clear my throat, “Are you buying drugs from teenagers now? Is that what it’s come to?”

“Oh, I thought you already knew how Evan and I knew each other.”

“No.”

“Well, mister policeman, it’s just weed,” she pulls the baggie I saw earlier out of her jacket pocket, “We can even smoke some together now if you like.”

“Weed makes me sick.”

“I remember that! Ha!” She offers it to Rob and Katie who both decline and exchange alarmed looks over our heads.

“Are you going to sit here all night?” I ask her, and even to my own ears it’s unbelievable how rude I am to her, but I don’t care, she deserves it, and it’s not like she even seems to register my tone anyway, she’s always been completely oblivious to what people think about her. She’s that person who hangs around at the party for way too long and keeps bringing up conversations that everyone stopped talking about ages ago. 

“Jude and I go way back,” Leah explains to Katie beside her, “I met him when he was, what,” a nudge to my arm, “thirteen?”

“Twelve.”

“We used to be friends, back when he was fun.”

I scowl and she drapes herself over my shoulder with an effortless laugh as though she somehow believes this is our usual banter, “I’m joking, he’s still so fun! And cute!” She tries to grab my face and I shake her off insistently so she settles for fisting a hand in the front of my sweatshirt to hold me hostage instead, “Isn’t he, though?” she presses poor, sheepish Katie who explodes in a ferocious blush. “Would you say he’s the cutest boy at school?”

“I- I don’t know,” Katie stutters. 

“Well guess what! I got to be the lucky girl who took his virginity!”

I rip her off me but she comes back at me with more grabbing hands and tickling fingers, “Ooh! It’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t it Judie? Oh, isn’t it?”

I wrench her off me with finality and clamber to my feet, my heart beating, my stomach queasy, “Leave me alone, okay?” I bend down to swipe my beer bottle out of the hollow I made for it in the sand and even then she tries to touch my hair. It infuriates me. “I’m serious! Piss off!” I spit.

“Oh God, mister grumpy!” She says as I stagger around the bonfire to get away from her and everything that she represents. I’m definitely drunk now, it's in my sluggish movements, the way my eyes drift unfocussed from person to person, but being drunk is preferable to remembering Leah as vividly as I would if I were perfectly sober. Right now, it is just snippets of an evening three years ago that play through my mind. The week I turned fourteen, and the hard, frozen November ground by a swing set. The things I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to do but thought knew I should by then, and Leah, and the heat of her skin, the smell of her sweat, the hyper fixation I had on that piece of bark mulch I felt tangled in her hair which somehow became the strongest memory of all, something that I still associate with her when I feel the sharp dig of something in my palm.

When I don't see her I don't think of these things, so I circle the bonfire until she is invisible, obscured by the roaring flames and swallowed by the darkness.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[sjsmith56]

None Shall Sleep

Summary: Bucky comes to the aid of his neighbour one night when he hears her crying after breaking something in her apartment.

Length: 5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, named but not described OFC, minor OFC, Pepper Stark.

Warnings: Description of eye surgery (personal experience), trust issues, Bucky feeling inadequate, health insurance company assholes.

Author notes: Inspired by this video of a tenor who sang Nessun Dorma (from the opera Turandot) accompanied by a flash mob orchestra in a German bookstore. The video showed up on my FB feed but I’ve always loved this piece, as it’s full of passion. My description of the opera is taken from the internet. https://fb.watch/pE60YHrtsM/? I’ve been to one opera in my life (La Boheme) which I enjoyed. Bucky is a big softy in this one shot which ends very romantically.

👁️ 🎶 🌖

Sam carried the last box into Bucky's new Brooklyn apartment, taking note of the high ceilings and windows this place had, compared to his old place, the small studio apartment.  With the settlement for his back pay, and damages for what had been done to him awarded from the now unfrozen assets of Alexander Pierce and several other high ranking HYDRA officials, James Buchanan Barnes was finally in a position to live in a manner that he deserved.  Buying this apartment was the start of his new beginning.  He also had plans to take some college courses so that he could prepare for a life that didn't involve using just his physical attributes.

"This is really nice, Bucky," he said, as his friend came out of the bathroom with an empty box, pulling the tape off the bottom so he could flatten it.  "Pepper found this place for you?"

He looked around.  "Yeah, it is nice.  Still has enough of the old features like hardwood floors and finishes, vintage claw foot tub in the master ensuite bathroom, mosaic floor tiles in both bathrooms.  Feels familiar but it's mostly modern so it should last a long time.  Not sure how the other owners feel about me living here but no one's said anything yet."

"Why would they?" Bucky scowled without answering.  "Hey, your money is as good as theirs.  You're quiet, you're not a criminal, and honestly, it will likely make criminals think twice about trying to break in.  I'm sure you'll be attuned to everyone's coming and goings pretty quickly."

"You calling me a busybody?" 

At least he said it with a grin.  It was true.  His bad sleeping habits meant he was often awake at night, watching out the window for anything out of the ordinary.  Knowing his neighbour's habits came easily to him but wasn't always understood or appreciated by them.  Still, his previous landlord and Pepper Stark wrote character references for him when he first applied to buy in the building.

A week later he had met several neighbours, finding most of them quite nice.  It surprised him on the one night when he heard crying from his nearest neighbour's apartment, a woman he hadn't met yet.  At first, he listened carefully for any sounds of fighting or abuse, but it sounded more like frustration than anything else.  Then he heard the sounds of something breaking and jumped out of bed.  Approaching her door, he listened carefully again then knocked before speaking.

"Hello?  Is everything alright?  I heard the sound of something breaking."

He could hear the sounds of someone approaching the door.

"Who are you?" Her voice sounded both anxious and upset.

"Bucky Barnes.  I just moved in next door.  I could hear you crying but tonight sounded like you broke something.  I can help."

"Fuck."  He could barely hear her swear.  "Hope he's not an asshole."

With the sound of her locating the locks and turning them, he waited, only to be surprised by the sight of a woman with both eyes heavily bandaged.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she said, extending her hand outwards, not quite in the right direction.  "As you can see I have temporarily lost my sight.  I'm supposed to have someone to help me but they haven't showed up for the past two nights and that's left me trying to fend for myself."

He took her hand gently in his, squeezing it then releasing it.

"Well, I'm here and I can help you if you wish."

"I know I broke something, and I stepped on it."  She lifted one foot, that seemed cut open.  Spreading her hands helplessly, she began to cry again.  "Could you just help me?"

"I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the bathroom," replied Bucky.  "You have cut your foot.  I can take care of bandaging that.  Then I'll clean up what you broke.  After that, we'll see what more I can do for you, okay?"

She allowed him to pick her up in his arms, carrying her into her bathroom, where he placed her on the counter.  Returning to his place for his first aid kit, since she only had a kit of bandages for her eyes, he gently cleaned her foot in the sink, then checked the wound for any pieces of the broken glass.

"What's your name?" he asked, as he applied some antiseptic to it.

"Roberta," she replied.

"That's a pretty name," he smiled.  "How long have you lived here?"

"About a year.  I sublet from the owner.  You just moved in?"

"Yeah, a week ago.  If it's not too personal, may I ask about your eyes?"

She lowered her head.  "I was mugged, hit my head pretty hard on the pavement.  It gave me a concussion and partially detached the retinas in both eyes, so I had to have surgery to fix them.  It sounds kind of gruesome, but they had to empty the eyeball of the vitreous gel to do it, then used a laser to seal the tears, and then a bubble of gas to reinflate the eye was inserted to keep the retina in place.  As the gas is absorbed into the body, the eye replaces the gel with new liquid, but it takes about six weeks for it to heal properly.  This past week I had to sleep on my stomach at the hospital, face down so that the bubble stayed at the back of the eyeball and kept the retina from detaching again.  I had an aide to help me at night for the first two nights when I was released, to make sure I didn't flip over onto my back, but she didn't show up last night or tonight.  Since I can't see, I can't call my insurance company to find out what happened to her and the woman they got for the daytime doesn't speak much English.  She just cooks and cleans for me."

He listened, fascinated by the medical process that would restore her vision, knowing that during the 1930s the success rate for repairing that was abysmal. 

"When were your eye dressings last changed?" 

"Two nights ago," answered Roberta.  "I was trying to do it myself because it felt gross, but I knocked something over and it broke."  She lowered her head as if she was looking at the floor.  "I just feel so helpless.  I'm sorry I woke you up."

Once again, he took her hand in his.

"I'm a lousy sleeper and was already awake.  You stay here while I clean up then I'll see if I can help change your dressings.  Is that okay?"

She nodded, waiting patiently for her neighbour to return.  At least he sounded nice.  Bucky wasn't a common name, perhaps it was a nickname.  Carefully, she listened as she heard him sweep a broom over the floor and into a dustpan.  The running of water was followed by the sound of a cloth being wiped over the floor, presumably to clean up the blood from the cut in her foot.  Then she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Just me," he said, before he entered.  "Everything's cleaned up out there.  Now, how do I take care of your eyes?"

She told him to boil some water first and let it cool, then add a little salt to help with cleaning.  He left coming back a few minutes later.  He washed his hands, then unwrapped the larger bandage which released the plastic eye shields that protected her eyes.  Under them were gauze pads, which he carefully peeled off.  All she saw was the light of the bathroom, and the bubble of gas inside her eyes which kept her repaired retinas in place.  Everything else was blurred or distorted.

"It's pretty red," said Bucky, his face close enough to hers for her to smell his aftershave.  "Is that normal?"

"Well, it's pretty invasive eye surgery so I guess it is.  If you could take some clean gauze and dip it in the boiled water, as long as it's not too hot, you can clean the guck off, gently."

Patiently, she waited as he did as he was told, slightly surprised at how gently he cleansed her damaged eyes.  She noticed the sound of whirring and that one of his hands was warm and the other cold, which she brought up.

"I have a prosthetic arm and hand," he explained, hesitantly at first.  "It's a very high tech one.  I'm kind of the only person in the world with one like it.  It functions almost like normal, but they can't make it feel warm, or mask all the sounds it makes.  I'm thankful for it but I worry about how people see it."

Roberta smiled.  "Good thing I could only hear it and feel it then," she said.  "Although, I bet it's impressive looking.  Is it a prototype?"

"I guess," he admitted, then she was aware his face was further away.  "Okay, that looks better.  What's next?"

"There's a tube of ointment," said Roberta.  "If you pull the lower eyelid out, you can squeeze a small portion into each one and distribute it a bit.  That's to heal the incisions."  She waited while he did it.  "Okay, new gauze to cover my eyes, then the shields over top.  Just check that the shields are clean.  They can be cleaned with soap and water if they have anything on them."

She smiled as she heard the sound of water, assuming that the shields needed cleaning.  Then they were placed over her eyes, and she held them in place as Bucky wrapped the bandages around her head to keep them there.  By his silence, other than his breathing which seemed to shift slightly as if he was moving his head, Roberta assumed he was checking his handiwork.

"How is that?" he asked.

"Feels great," she answered.  "Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?  I'm guessing anything involving the eyes are out."

"I wouldn't mind listening to some music," she answered.  "My phone is around here somewhere.  If you could open the playlists, I could choose one.  You're welcome to stay if you're not sleepy."

She felt his warm arm circle around her waist as he helped her off the vanity, then he placed her hand on his arm as he led her out to the living room, telling her when they were a couple of steps away from the couch.  He joined her a moment later, as he placed her phone in her hand.

"Needs to be unlocked."

"Oh, it's set to Face ID which won't work with these bandages.  If I give you the code, do you promise not to go snooping?"

"Scout's honour." She could just feel the smile from him.

After giving him the code she waited while he opened her playlists, then he began listing them off.  When he got to her guilty pleasure one of opera, she told him to choose that.

"I'm a bit weird, I know," she joked.  "Not many people my age like opera but it was something my dad and I would do every time the Met put on a new one.  We always had discount tickets, would go for dinner, then to the opera.  Dad loved it and it was time well spent with him before he died."

"I'm sorry.  You must miss him."

"I do.  He died of cancer just five years ago." 

The sounds of La Traviata came on and he smiled as she relaxed, slightly leaning into him.  She quickly told him the plot of the opera and encouraged him to close his eyes and lose himself in the singing.  There were several other arias from other pieces that played then another came up and she straightened a bit.

"This is one of my favourites," she said.  "It's called Nessun Dorma, from Turandot.  A disguised prince falls in love with a princess who is indifferent to him.  To win her hand a suitor must solve three riddles, but if he gets any of them wrong, then he will be executed.  The prince succeeds but she still refuses him, so he challenges her to guess his real name, which would allow her to put him to death.  If she doesn't then she must marry him."

"Does she?" asked Bucky.

"That's the mystery behind this opera," said Roberta.  "The composer, Puccini, didn't finish it as he died, so no one really knows if he meant this to have a happy ending or a tragic ending.  This piece, Nessun Dorma, means none shall sleep, as the princess commands everyone to put aside sleep and find out the prince's real name.  Whether she found out and chose to reveal it or not is one of the great mysteries of Turandot.  Both endings have been used, written by other composers."

He listened with her, finding it a stirring piece of music.  As they listened to several more, he became aware of her breathing becoming deeper and more regular.  Roberta had fallen asleep.  Gently, he extracted himself from beside her then remembered what she said about sleeping with her repaired eyes.  Going to the linen closet he pulled out some towels and rolled them into position on her bed, to surround her face, keeping it off the surface of the sheets.  Then he returned to the couch and gently lifted her into his arms.  She whimpered a little and buried her face in his chest.

"You smell good," she whispered, sleepily.  "I like it."

"Thank you," he whispered back.

Gently, he positioned her face down, making sure that she was set in a way that was comfortable but allowed her to breathe.  Then he covered her up with her bedcovers and turned off the light.  Returning to his apartment, he laid on the couch, falling asleep until the morning.

Knowing that Roberta wanted to phone the insurance company about the aide not showing up, Bucky woke up early then listened carefully to any signs of the young woman getting up.  When she did, he went over and knocked on the door, waiting as she approached.  Instead, it was another woman who opened it and he looked at her a little surprised.  She spoke Spanish, identifying herself as Maria, the daytime helper who cooked for Miss Roberta.  Addressing her in Spanish, Bucky identified himself, waiting while she checked with Roberta before she let him in. 

"I thought you might want me to help phone the insurance company," he said when she came out of the kitchen.  "Find out what happened to your night-time aide.  I also speak Spanish if you want me to tell Maria anything."

"Yes please, to both," said Roberta.  "Thank you for putting me to bed last night.  I actually had a good sleep because of how you arranged the towels.  How did you know how to do it?"

He shook his head.  "Just seemed right."

She gave some instructions for Maria, which he passed on, then dialled her insurance company for her, placing the phone on speaker so she could talk to the agent.  When she told them the aide hadn't shown up for two nights they disputed her account, saying the woman had clocked in.  Bucky frowned as he listened then asked if he could speak.

"Hi, I'm Roberta's neighbour," he started.  "I can't say about Monday, but your aide was definitely not here last night because I heard Roberta crying after she broke something and cut her foot open.  I looked after her, cleaning her eyes and changing her dressing.  She wouldn't be phoning to complain if your employee actually showed up, don't you think?"

"Well, our employees are very professional and whose to say that you aren't lying on behalf of Miss Paxton?" said the woman on the other end.

Roberta's face reddened when she heard that, and Bucky felt his own irritation grow at the insinuation.

"Well, why don't I give you the name of someone to verify my identity," he said.  "If you would be so kind to contact Pepper Stark at Stark Industries, I'm sure she can vouch for me."

"Your name, sir?"

"Bucky Barnes, currently one of the Avengers.  My full name is James Buchanan Barnes."

There was no sound from the insurance agent for a moment.  Then there was a little cough, and she came back on.

"I will make that call and get back to you, Mr. Barnes," she said.  "Will you be at this number?"

"Yes, I'm not going anywhere." 

He hung up and placed the phone on the table.  There was silence between them until Roberta extended her hand towards him.  Gently, he took it and held it.

"You're really him?  I didn't quite hear your last name when you came in last night."

"Yeah, I'm him, the former Winter Soldier.  Once we get this cleared up, I won't come around anymore, if my presence makes you uncomfortable."

"No, I mean, I would like it if you came over.  I enjoyed your company.  You were kind to me and let me talk about opera and never once interrupted.  That's more than most men have ...." 

She coughed, then began to cry and Bucky reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, then looked at it, realizing her eyes were still bandaged.  Maria looked at him, whispering in Spanish that perhaps an arm around the young woman would be acceptable.  With a slight smile to her he did just that and pulled Roberta close.

"I'm sorry.  I'm kind of predisposed to being rejected and kind of jumped the gun on your reaction to who I was."

His phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket, seeing that it was Pepper.  He explained to her why the insurance company was calling, smiling as she expressed dismay that they would leave a woman without home care when she was basically helpless because she couldn't see.

"If they don't send anyone, I'm happy to help her," he said to Pepper.  "Roberta is very nice, and we got along just fine."

"Well, if they don't send someone, or if no one comes, you let me know, and I'll hire a small team myself to help her out."

He passed on the message to Roberta, who thanked Pepper profusely, then hung up, expecting to receive a call from the insurance company.  When it still didn't come an hour later, they phoned again, were put on hold then the call was dropped.  At that time, Maria came out of the kitchen with her phone, looking like she had bad news.  With a halting voice, she told Bucky she was laid off, as Miss Paxton's insurance policy had been cancelled.  Worriedly, she looked between Bucky and Roberta.

"Hold on, Maria," he said in Spanish.  "You won't be laid off, I promise.  Wait with Miss Paxton while I make another call."

After telling Roberta he had to make a private call he headed out to the hallway and called Pepper to pass on what he had learned.  She swore profusely, then he heard a large exhale of breath from the executive. 

"Alright, I'm assembling a team to take over Miss Paxton's care, and you tell Maria she now works for Stark Industries starting at twice the measly pay they were probably giving her.  Then I'm calling my lawyer and getting them on the sudden cancellation of her policy.  They can't do that, and I won't let them get away with it if I have to buy the company myself.  Don't you worry, Bucky.  We'll take care of Miss Paxton while you're on mission."  She hesitated for a moment.  "Okay, I wasn't supposed to say anything, but you'll be getting a call shortly."

Returning to the apartment, he broke the news gently to Roberta, then assured her that she would be looked after.  He also told Maria she still had a job, with Stark Industries, sending the woman into her own joyful expressions that someone would do that for her.  As she thanked him enthusiastically for his help, he received his mission alert from the Avengers and looked at the readout.  He had six hours to report for duty.

"Well, I have some sad news," he stated.  "I'm being called out for a mission, but you can take Pepper Stark's insistence on a team to look after you as the complete truth.  She'll make sure you're taken care of while I'm gone."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know but we can talk whenever I have a chance," he replied.  "Give me your phone and I'll put my information in."

He entered his information in her phone then did the same to his.  Then they sat together on the couch.  Her hand slowly inched its way towards his and he held her hand while they waited.  An hour later, the doorbell rang, and the first member of Roberta's care team, Julie, arrived, along with a contract for Maria to sign that she explained fully to the woman.  He stood up, then began to walk towards the door.

"Bucky, can I see you privately for a moment?" asked Roberta, then she blushed and grinned.  "You know what I mean."

Julie took Maria into the kitchen, leaving the couple alone.  Hesitantly, Robert lifted her hands towards Bucky, and he took them, holding them in his hands.  She stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them.  Raising one hand to his face, she cupped his cheek as he watched her intently.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she murmured.  "You're a very nice man."  He began to protest but she placed her fingers on his lips, and he instinctively kissed them, bringing a smile to her lips.  "You are a nice man and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  When you get back, I would like to see you again.  I don't know many nice men and I kind of want to keep you around."

If she could have seen it, his smile likely would have dazzled her.  With his free hand he brushed some hair over her shoulder then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I would like to see you again, Roberta," he answered.  "You're a very nice lady and I don't know many.  You let them take care of you while I'm gone, okay?"

She nodded and they kissed again, for longer and with some feeling.  Then he caressed her face and left to get ready for his mission. 

Two months later.

Carefully, Bucky looked at himself in the mirror of his apartment, satisfied with his haircut and the trim of his beard.  After making sure his tie was right and that there were no white cat hairs on his black suit, he turned towards the window.  Alpine, the stray kitten he found on the mission and brought back with him, watched from her cat tree in front of the large window.  He confirmed he had his wallet and his car keys, then checked the inside pocket for the tickets, smiling at how excited Roberta would be when he told her where they were going.

"What do you think, Al?  Do I look good?"

A cross between a meow and a trill greeted him, confirming that he did indeed look good.  Leaving a light on in the living room, he gave the kitten a quick stroke on the head, then left, locking the door behind him and walking to the apartment next door.  He could hear opera playing in the apartment and smiled, then knocked loud enough to hear the music stop and footsteps approaching the door.  It was opened and for a moment he was dazzled at the vision in front of him.  Roberta was in a form fitting black dress that seemed to glitter like the night sky.  Its open neckline highlighted her collarbones, and a hint of décolletage completed the top part of the dress.  A long slit on one side showed off her shapely leg, along with the strappy-heeled sandals she wore.

"Wow!  You look amazing," he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.  "Pepper helped you get that dress, didn't she?"

Roberta blushed.  "Maybe.  We've become good friends, I think.  So, we must be going somewhere fancy because you're looking good as well."

"Darlin' I always look good," he grinned, then his face grew soft as he came closer.  "I mean it.  You look like a dream and I'm the luckiest guy alive."

They kissed and she used her thumb to wipe off the lipstick that transferred to his lips.  Taking her lipstick out of her clutch she reapplied it then waited as Bucky approached with her coat, helping her put it on.  They held hands on the elevator down to the parking garage, where Bucky held the car door open for her until she was belted in, and he got in behind the wheel.  As they passed over the Brooklyn Bridge, he told her to close her eyes so that it was a surprise.  When he pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Opera House, he reminded her to keep her eyes closed.  After helping her out, he handed his keys to the valet, then whispered in her ear.

"Open your eyes."

She opened them, ignoring the camera flashes from the paparazzi and seeing they were in front of the Metropolitan Opera House.  A big smile appeared on her face, and she looked up at him.

"It's Turandot, isn't it?" she asked.  "You got tickets?"

He nodded, then took her hand into the crook of his arm and began to walk to the entrance.  There were several calls of his name, and he stopped once, to the sounds and flashes of multiple cameras going off, then they turned away and continued inside.  After dropping off her coat at the coat check, they went up the staircase to the Parterre, where they were shown their seats, two in the front row of the left center box.  Two programs were already waiting for them, and he watched with an amused smile as she excitedly read it through.  When the music started, she watched the performance intently, occasionally glancing at him and squeezing his hand. 

At the intermission, they went out and ordered champagne for her, bourbon for him, sipping it as several celebrities approached them, introducing themselves.  Bucky was polite but reserved, his attention directed all towards Roberta.  The second half of the performance was just as enthralling as the first, especially when it came to the performance of Nessun Dorma, which drew a standing ovation and cries of "Bravo" for the tenor who sang it.  Bucky watched Roberta's face as she sat, enthralled at the whole experience.  When it ended and the theatre started to empty, she sat bright eyed, still staring at the stage until she turned to him.

"That was amazing," she enthused.  "I've never seen it before, and it was everything I ever hoped it would be.  Thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled, standing and offering her his hand.  "Now, we can go to dinner, or we can pick up some takeout and have it at your place.  I'm good either way.  Which do you prefer?"

"You really don't mind takeout?  These sandals are beautiful, but I'm not used to them, and I wouldn't mind changing into something more relaxing."

"Takeout it is," stated Bucky, as they approached the coatcheck and he helped her on with her coat. 

On the drive back to the apartment building, they held hands, stopping only when they picked up some Chinese food.  They were both quiet on the elevator ride to their floor.  Inside her apartment, Roberta left Bucky to open the containers as she disappeared into her bedroom, coming out in a pair of leggings and a soft tunic.  He took his jacket off, draping it over the back of the chair, then slipped his shoes off.  They both ate a good portion of their food, then Roberta winced when she stretched her one foot, noticing she had a blister forming.  Putting his food aside, Bucky switched positions on the couch and gestured for her foot, gently massaging it.  As he ran his hand over her foot, he rubbed her ankle then her calf muscle, watching her intently.

"Stop," she whispered.

He stopped.  Carefully, she shifted closer to him, ending up on his lap.  Looking at his tie, she loosened it enough to raise it over his head, then unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, placing one of her hands on his upper chest. 

"Stop," he murmured.

She stopped, still perched on his lap, close enough that she was well aware of the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt and the hands that rested on her thighs, in addition to the bulge already forming in his pants.  They gazed at each other then Roberta leaned closer.

"None shall sleep," she said softly.

"You're sure?"

"Very sure."

Slowly, he ran his right hand up her body to her neck.  Placing his hand at the back of her neck he pulled her closer then wrapped his arms around her as they kissed passionately.  They explored each other's lips and mouths thoroughly, before pulling away, each of them a little breathless.  Lifting herself off of Bucky, Roberta went over to her phone and brought up the opera playlist then turned off the light and stood in front of the couch, offering him her hand.  He kissed it, then raised himself off and picked her up in his arms.

"You smell good."  Her eyes were luminous in the dark that was lit only by the moonlight coming in the floor to ceiling windows.  "I love you."

He smiled softly, kissing the top of her head.  "I love you, too."

To the sound of her favourite arias, Bucky carried Roberta into the bedroom where neither of them slept until much, much later.

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One shots Masterlist.

[drwcn]

continuing on the fem!lwj thought experiment. previous posts are here → [x]  [x].

俗话说的好，寡妇门前是非多。Translation: as the old saying goes, troubles are aplenty upon the doorstep of the widow. Which really, is more of a reflection of society's bullshit than of widow's character because a) in a society where women aren't allowed means to financially support themselves, when their husbands kick the bucket, they'd have to rely on other men in their lives to survive. If these men aren't their immediate family like son, father, or brother, then they incite gossip/scorn from others; and b) fuck the fuckbois who try and take advantage of widows who they deem easy prey and fuck the busybodies who go around sniffing out a widow's secrets.

Previously, I threw out the idea of Badass Rogue Cultivator Lan Wangji, going where the trouble is, helping people, a literal beacon of light, the renowned but mysterious Hanguang Sanren, accompanied by her sole disciple/son Sizhui — but now, consider this. For the first couple of years after she left Cloud Recesses, in order to avoid detection and to heal from her discipline lashes, Lan Wangji camouflaged herself and Sizhui and straight up became a peasant. A young, widowed peasant with "limited" means and a young son.

(here are some nice peasant aesthetics bc we don't really get those: [x] - the hair of this one; [x] [x] the outfit style of this one; [x] - a variation of a headscarf of this one.)

Lan Wangji found a mid-sized village and a small abandoned house with a modest yard that looked like it hadn't been inhabited for some time. The reason was rather obvious - the place was a haunted. But luckily it was an entry level ghost (and I mean really entry level, like this ghost isn't even getting paid, probably a ghost intern) and a short exorcism later, it was perfectly safe to settle down in. A-Yuan wasn't even fazed; boy grew up in the Burial Mount where ghosts probably read him bedtime stories.

LWJ: 阿苑，从今往后，如果有人问起你我的事，你该怎么回答? A-Yuan：嗯。。。阿爹死了，就剩下我和阿娘了。 LWJ：好，好孩子。

LWJ: A-Yuan, from now on, if someone asks about me and you, what should you tell them? A-Yuan: Hm...a-die died, only a-niang and I are left. LWJ: Good, good lad.

Literally the next day, the local Aunties™ arrived to sus her out. Early that morning, they had seen steam coming out of the chimney and thought it was local boys causing mischief again but was surprised to find a young woman and a small child. The fact that the young woman was the prettiest thing in a 500 mile radius was not lost on the village Aunties. Lan Wangji introduced herself as Qiu Er-Niang 邱二娘 (Qiu being her mother's last name, and #-niang being a fairly non-classy, peasant-esque way of referring to women) and A-Yuan as Jiang蒋 Yuan (not the same Jiang as Yunmeng Jiang but pronounced the same and still a very common last name, a nod to WWX without it being very explicit). She spun a very simple story of how her village was devastated by bad harvest and disease and that her family, including her husband, had all perished. She was not much of a liar, but the injuries she carried on her back was fresh, so she did appear genuinely fragile and gaunt.

The Aunties were suspicious but could not find a flaw in her story. One of them was nice enough to give her some rice and flour. Not that Lan Wangji really needed it; Lan Xichen had made sure she had plenty of funds for the road, which she was initially reluctant to accept. Leaving Cloud Recesses, she wanted no part of her clan in her new life, but her brother had convinced her after he reiterated and stressed on A-Yuan's needs as a growing boy.

Second day into her new life as a peasant, Lan Wangji realized her problem. For the first time in her life, she had noisy af neighbours who were all up in her busy. Pushing aside the obvious need to hide her cultivation, she could not be blatant with her finances either. The villagers saw a sickly widow with a child; they'd expect to see her struggle with food, with clothing, with keeping it all together. If she strolled up to the nearest town and bought all the things she needed...that would be way too suspicious. Besides, she'd have to do something to make a show of "earning" her living, at least for a little while. She did not plan to stay in this village forever. Once she was fully recovered, once Gusu Lan Sect's initial searching frenzy passed and they exhausted their means, she could leave and be free. For now...she'll just have to play her part.

One of the Aunties of the village told her that one of the richer households being to a landlord of some kind was looking for female staff to do the cleaning and washing and cloth-fending. The Auntie pulled some strings with the women working there and got her hired. Lan Second Jade of Gusu never washed a single sock in her life Wangji found herself faced with Laundry Duty, Jealous Landlady and Co-Workers, and Lecherous Overlord.

Fuckboi #25: How pretty you are, sweet thing. Poor you, working with those slender hands. If you marry me, you wouldn't have to slave away for money. I'll take care of you.

LWJ: *silently contemplating how to slit the man from nape to navel*

A couple times a week, Lan Wangji worked, and during her free time, she taught A-Yuan to read and write and began his training with the sword. Beyond that, Lan Wangji put every second of her free time not taking care of A-Yuan and not playing Farmer McPeasant into cultivation. For the first time in her life, her days were simple. There was nothing to distract her, no other bullshit or duty to family or clan to restrict her against her will. She left the headband in Jingshi, and Jingshi in the past.

And when the night is dark and A-Yuan is asleep, Lan Wangji seals the house with a barrier talisman and goes into the forest to play Inquiry.

Wei Ying never answers, but soon the village starts a rumour of a Lady Ghost haunting the woods with her song.

[ladyhearthkeeper]

Community

It’s hard to explain what a community is, in general. For me, it means the people in my life that I didn’t necessarily choose but who are in my life. It stats with neighbours, friends of my now deceased grandparents, family friends etc. It includes (without excluding others) people from the muslim community in my area etc.

When someone dies in one of my communities, the phone is ringing incessantly. What some may call being busybody is actually playing a central role in the community : Letting others know someone passed away so that people can relay each other in praying for the departed and offer support the ones left behind with food, company etc. Nobody is left all alone unless they ask to be left alone.

Same when someone is sick... The bell rings and food is left at your door. Especially now with the pandemic.

When a child is born, when people are getting married... Everyone gets together to help and celebrate. At my brother’s wedding, neighbours shared furniture, flowers, others made food, helped us set up and calmed our nerves.

Nowadays, we complain about people being “too nosy” or involving themselves too much with our lives. But we are all so alone.

I’m a solitary person, I like being alone but I believe in community. Leave no one behind. Together, things can be easier. Sure respect people’s boundaries but don’t give up on people.

One of my family friend lost her mother, friend of my now deceased grandmother. She doesn’t like seeing people and generally likes being left alone. So, people organized special prayers for her mother, deliver food in her letterbox and we just send her texts from time to time, to check on her.

Same goes for people sick because of the virus or isolated because of the safety measures. According to our region’s laws, we can still leave food in front of their house, groceries, call etc. And meet those who are alone (but not sick) in the park (here we can meet people but we cannot be more than 5.)

Community is so important. And it can exist in different forms but it’s what makes us safer and human.

Tell me about your community, your people...

[collidingxworlds]

@blindeddevil​​​ sent: The door bell rang loudly against the silence of the corridor. Nick dropped her hand. The blond haired woman blew a raspberry and thugged around at her black suit as she waited for Crowley to open the door. Ringing once more, she called: “I know you are home, Crowley! Do not worry. I just want to talk.”

Crowley had purposefully ignored the first ring of his doorbell when it had echoed in the otherwise quiet flat, reaching him in his study. He wasn’t expecting any sort of visits, since he was supposed to meet Aziraphale much later on, around dinner time, and the angel always made sure to call if he decided to come over. In his best friend’s eyes showing up announced might have been a defining trait of a Serpent, but it was quite unbecoming for a Principality, even a former one.

He had assumed that, whoever had come to bother him, would have just left, eventually. At times his neighbours decided to try and pay him a visit, with some pathetic excuse, mostly because they were curious about the mysterious, eccentric redhead that had bought the attic of their building. Honestly, people should really learn to mind their own business. The demon might have taken a liking in humanity and he might have even stuck his neck out for it, but that didn’t mean that he enjoyed the company of every single humans. Especially not busybodies.

Other times, it was some vendor who had managed to sneak inside and then had decided that climbing up to the last floor of the condo was a good idea. He had been the one to come up with the idea of door-to-door sells, back when they had first started, and he had been delighted to see how much annoying for people they could be. At least until those sellers had started to show up at his door.

When the bell rang a second time, the Serpent started to roll his eyes, still showing no intention of wanting to get up and open the door, but everything changed when a voice followed the sound, causing him to freeze on his spot and mid gesture. Of all the people he might have expected, that one wasn’t even in his list. And, truth to be told, it was also the last Crowley wanted to see.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Not without reluctance, the demon pushed himself off his throne and hurried towards the entrance of the flat. What else could he have done? He had put some protection spells and wards around his place after Armageddoff, but this was Lucifer they were talking about. She might not go under that name anymore, but it didn’t change the substance of what she was.

“Do not worry, Crowley,” he repeated, as he opened the door just enough to be able to stuck his neck out. “Easy for you to say. How am I not supposed to be worried when my former Boss shows up? After...uh, after the whole...affair that, ah, kinda got me fired. Even if I liked thinking of it as, uh, me being very insistent with my resignation letter.”

[blitz-and-hearth]

11, 27, and obviously blitzstone

Neighbour AU + Sick/Injured Fic

This really wasn’t any of Blitzen’s business. His mother was a busybody and he did not want to end up inheriting her bad habits. But it was clear someone had to help when his next-door neighbor collapsed in the hallway of their apartment building. Blitzen’s neighbor was a good looking guy, tall pale and handsome. He dressed in literally all black with a lot of piercings in his ears and bags under his eyes dark enough to match his outfit. Blitz would put money on him having had a serious emo phase as a teen. Hearthstone, that was his name. They’d talked a few times, just casually. Blitzen was excited for a reason to practice his sign language again. He hadn’t really used ASL since his father passed….. But despite their chats and Blitz finding the taller man incredibly handsome, they weren’t even what he’d call friends. Defiantly not close enough for Blitzen to be dragging the other man into his apartment after he’d fainted, but here they were anyway. He wasn’t too surprised Hearth had passed out. The man was so pale and thin as a twig. That was a good thing right now, made it easier for Blitzen to haul his skinny ass onto his couch. His first thought was not hospital. Some people would call him stupid for that, but this apartment building was in a real shitty part of town. Blitzen doubted if you pooled all the residents of the building money together they’d have enough for one hospital visit. Ah, America, what a great dystopia they lived in. Only if the guy was really and truly dying was he gonna call an ambulance. And he didn’t look like he was dying, just real sick.

Blitzen put a hand on Hearthstone’s forehead, hissing through his teeth as he felt how high his temperature was. Damn, he was burning up. Must be the flu. Was the season for it. Hearth was coming back around now and fumbled a bit, trying to push him off and get up

“I’m fine, let me up”

He signed. Or at least that’s what Blitzen assumed that’s what he signed. His signs were half the movement they should be and his hands trembling.

“Like hell you are. How long have you been coming down with this?”

He demanded to know. Hearth hesitated

“… Awhile. it’s not…  its none of your business”

He signed clumsily  

“Maybe not, but you can’t just go around with a fever, collapsing everywhere. I know you’re a teacher, what if you got a student sick? So unless you have someone else I can call you’re stuck with me”

Blitzen replied scoldingly. He might not know Hearth well but had figured out enough to know bringing up the other male’s own health wouldn’t do much good. But suggesting getting someone else sick had Hearthstone sinking back against the couch with defeat.

“…. Fine. Take me back to my apartment”

“Nooo You need some help or you’re not gonna get better! You can’t just lay there in a puddle of gross fever sweat. Like it or not I’m helping. Now lay down and text your work to let them know you’re sick”

Blitzen ordered. Hearthstone scowled at him and for a second he thought he was about to get punched by the sick man, but instead after a minute he looked away and begrudgingly got out his phone to do as he’d said. Blitzen was pleased he didn’t just try to brush him off. While the deaf man texted in sick Blitz went about getting everything he’d need. Thick blankets, tissue box, some flu medicine, and water. He’d also be making some tea and soup too. But first he needed to get Hearth comfortable, and then call in to his own work for the day. Blitz returned and dumped the thick blankets on Hearthstone, tucking him in even as he tried to shoo him off. As the pale man glared at him from under the pile of blankets Blitz was reminded of those pictures on the internet of cats wrapped up in towels like burritos. What’d they call those? Purritos? Hearth was like purrito. Very cute but also being restrained for their own good.

“Here, drink. I’m gonna make you some soup”

Blitzen said as he pushed a glass of water into Hearthstone’s hands before heading towards the kitchen, putting a pot on the stove as he took out his phone to call up his manger. Blitz knew he wouldn’t be getting a sick day. He worked at Walmart and his manager was the absolute worst. She believed in the “if you won’t do it I’ll find someone who can” mentality and fired people often. But it would be fine. He’d been meaning to move onto a new job soon anyway, he was pretty sure the Starbucks on the corner was hiring…

“Hi, Boss. No- Yeah I know I’m late”

He grumbled, glancing at the clock. It was literally a minute over when he was supposed to be there.

“Listen I can’t come in today”

Blitzen explained before holding his phone at arm’s length as his manger started yelling. He caught Hearthstone’s eye and gave him an exasperated look, like “can you believe this shit?” His sass seemed to amuse the sick man, his pale lips twitching a bit in a half-smile. Once his manger finished yelling herself horse Blitz brought the phone back to his ear

“Fire me if you want but I can’t come in today, I’ve got something much more important to take care of right now”

He said shortly before hanging up

“Ugh she’s such a bitch, good riddance”

Blitzen muttered mostly to himself as he turned to head back into the kitchen, missing the surprised flustered face Hearthstone was making. He returned about ten minutes later to the living room with a hot bowl of chicken soup, and only then did he see how red Hearth’s face was

“Oh jeez I think its getting worse, you’re so red”

He muttered as he put a hand on Hearthstone’s forehead again. To his surprise, he didn’t try to slap his hand away, though his face did turn an even darker shade of red.

“I’m important to you?”

He asked with shakey hands. Blitzen blinked with confusion, his turn to flush red as he jerked his hand back shyly

“Wha- What’d you mean?”

“You said you had more important things to take care of. I’m more important than your job?”

Hearthstone explained. Blitzen didn’t know how to answer that without completely exposing his crush, stuttering

“U-uh no- I mean yeah but- Not- Urg…. Maybe”

Blitz finally mumbled

“That’s not much of a real answer”

Hearth replied

“Well…. If you want one maybe you should work on getting better. If you die you’ll never find out”

Blitzen huffed, cheeks still red

“Now shut up and eat some damn soup”

He dismissed as he shoved the bowl into Hearthstone’s hands. He looked like he wanted to press Blitzen further but after a moment of carefully considering him, he just ducked his head, starting to eat. Though Blitz couldn’t help but notice the small smile on his face

[internutter]

Dandelion Prompt

Taako had what one might call a happy ending. He had a home, he had a husband who could make him blush on the regular. He had an apprentice. He had his sister back, which was one hundred percent bonus... He had a school, he had fame, he had it all.

Unfortunately, he also had Susan, busybody neighbour and president of the local homeowner’s association. She was on him about everything. Not forming an Elven gang, conforming to gender norms, not dressing like that, perfectly legal additions to his home, the cats, the boy, the friends, the family...

The last straw was the plants.

“This is a gated community,” said Susan. “We have standards we like to maintain, and one of those standards is a perfect lawn.”

“That’s why I’m converting it all to garden beds,” said Taako. “Lawns are wasteful, and garden beds are perfectly allowable according to the terms of accomodation.” He, too, had absorbed chapter and verse. One had to be a pedantic little rules lawyer to get anything approved by the homeowner’s association. Susan was always the outstanding ‘nay’.

Susan didn’t like many things, but she hated weeds more than anything else. Even beyond Ango stimming from time to time. She was still salty about the hundreds of rows of raised gardens that Taako was creating, and especially the strimmer usage on the dot of eight in the morning. Which always seemed to happen after Susan had had a wine and cake night with her cohort of anti-vax soccer moms.

“Yes. Well. I have noticed a few little invaders in your garden. You are aware, aren’t you, that dandelions are an unsightly weed?”

“I’m growing them on purpose, sweetie. They’re for my anxiety.”

Susan sneered and pursed her lips so hard that her face resembles a pickled cat’s ass. “It is not an approved plant,” she insisted.

“Medicinal herbs may be grown, so long as they’re grown in elevated garden beds,” quoted Taako. “I planted them in rows as prescribed, and I think they’re coming along nicely.” He pointed off towards a particular garden bed where happy little dandelions were growing in neat little rows. “Do you want to see my hemp crops? They’re the most luxurious plants in the county, I’m told. Must be all the horseshit I’m getting out of your mouth.”

Susan did her Offended Gasp. “How dare you! I’m the president of the Homeowner’s Association! I can have you evicted!”

Taako’s smile grew wider. “Not during an election year.” He waved his wand and the garage opened up to reveal Angus McDonald and half the neighbourhood kids running the Taako For Homeowner Association President office. The slogan was, “A kinder, friendlier neighbourhood.”

“Haven’t been campaigning much, this year,” said Taako. “Too busy regulating lawn depths to make sure folk’ll vote for you. You’re gonna have to hustle if you want to beat the influence of my Diet Buster Brownies that I offered to everyone in the community, last week.” He conjured one on a little paper doily for her. “Want to try one?”

“Those,” she said, “are loaded with gluten.”

“You and I both know none of your family have celiacs, you’re just avoiding gluten ‘cause it’s trendy. Meanwhile, you little homeopathic cake shop down the road couldn’t get an order right if it would save their souls. You nearly poisoned my boy and I five times. We had to learn Purify Food and Drink, over here.”

Susan was reduced to sputtering incoherence.

“Also, if you don’t like a lawn full of fairy pom-poms, then fuck you.”

Taako cut her dead and got back to the garage, where he was manufacturing T-shirts for his campaign.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 1]

[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]

[grigori77]

Guilty Pleasure #22

ELFIE HOPKINS

Dir. RYAN ANDREWS; Wri. RYAN ANDREWS & RiYAD BARMANIA; Music. JORDAN ANDREWS; Starring. JAIME WINSTONE, ANEURIN BARNARD, STEVEN MACKINTOSH, RUPERT EVANS, KATE MAGOWAN, JULIAN LEWIS JONES, KIMBERLEY NIXON, GWYNETH KEYWORTH, WILL PAYNE, RAY WINSTONE, RICHARD HARRINGTON; R.T. 82 mins; 2012, United Kingdom

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: 22-year-old slacker Elfie Hopkins (Jaime Winstone) dreams of escaping her dull life in a small country village, spending her days getting stoned with best friend Dylan (Barnard) and living vicariously through her obsession with noir detectives while spying on her neighbours. Then a new family moves in next door, the seemingly perfect Gammons, and Elfie can’t help digging a little deeper, only to uncover a truly terrifying secret that threatens everything she holds dear.

WHY IT’S GUILTY: This marks the only feature-length offering to date from writer-director Ryan Andrews, and it smells acutely of first-film-indulgence, its creator clearly having thrown EVERYTHING at it in the hopes that something stuck.  As a result it’s a bit of a mess, never quite sure of its tone and therefore continually shifting between satirical black comedy and slowburn creepy cannibal horror, never able to settle.  You can see most of the twists coming from miles away, while there’s real frustration to be found in the fact that this marked the first time Ray Winstone got to work with his little girl on the big screen, and yet he’s barely even in the movie – his character is one of the most interesting here, but he ultimately feels like he’s popping in briefly from another, much better film … in the end this was absolutely PUMMELED by the critics, and suffers a truly ignominious ZERO PERCENT SCORE on Rotten Tomatoes, and I can kind of see what they’re on about – there’s SO MUCH potential here, but by and large Andrews failed to deliver …

WHY IT’S A PLEASURE: And yet, there IS some good stuff here if you’re willing to dig and you don’t mind the smell too much.  (Sorry … couldn’t resist that one.)  Jaime Winstone is DEFINITELY one of the film’s major saving graces – in her hands, Elfie is a playful, snarky little minx who SHOULD come across as irritatingly self-centred and intrusive but is in fact such an adorably stubborn little busybody you can’t help liking her; it also helps ENORMOUSLY that Aneurin Barnard (Hunky Dory, Citadel, Dunkirk) is SO lovable as Dylan, a shy, down-to-earth, geeky genius who provides a strong grounding anchor to keep Elfie from getting TOO full of herself.  And then there’s Rupert Evans (Hellboy, The Man in the High Castle, the new Charmed series), not so much chewing the scenery as furiously devouring it as the head of the Gammon household, seductively suave one minute and downright TERRIFYING the next – films live or die by their villains, and in this regard at least this one of truly blessed.  Winstone Sr. is also typically brilliant in his frustratingly brief role, and at least he does get to play ONE cracking scene (definitely one of the film’s actual HIGHLIGHTS) with his daughter.  There are also moments of genius scattered amidst the more clunky material, Andrews occasionally showing glimmers of genuine talent that make you hope he can get his act together sometime with something genuinely GOOD, while the film is often genuinely enjoyable when Winstone and Barnard get together, and things do finally kick into gear in the last half hour once the Gammons’ nasty little secret finally comes to light.  Shame it takes so long to get there, really. Ultimately, there’s a lot wrong with this film, but there’s enough right that you might enjoy yourself if you’re willing to just GO WITH IT …

[yarnings]

Fitting In

I am far too concerned about little details, so here’s a fill-in. This takes place before the epilogues in A Breath of Snow and Ashes, and contains spoilers for that book.

If you’re better off not reading the stories that get too deep into religious content, let me know if there’s a specific tag that you’re filtering, I’m not quite sure yet how I’m going to tag these going forward, so here’s your chance to influence it.

As always, if there are problems with the story or its content, please feel free to let me know.

The sound of the blaring alarm clock slowly brought a groggy Bree to wakefulness. She blinked open her eyes, and fought the strong temptation to turn the damn thing off and go back to sleep. Up until now, Mandy had handled moving residences calmly, not seeming to notice changes in either century or location. But this last change had not gone as smoothly. Whether it was the fact that, at 18 months, she was now old enough to be more aware of her surroundings and be particular about them, or just that something about Inverness disagreed with her, her sleep had been horribly disrupted these last few nights since the move, resulting in Bree’s sleep being lacking as well. Mandy had finally fallen into a sound sleep around 4am, giving Bree a solid 3 hours until the alarm clock woke her so that she could get herself and the kids ready for mass at Saint Mary’s in Inverness.

But why bother going to mass today? She was too tired to focus, and once Mandy was woken up, she was likely to be cranky all morning due to her lack of sleep. Brianna sighed, and pulled herself out of bed before shutting off the alarm. Mass today wasn’t just for herself. She didn’t want to do anything that would give the busybodies of the congregation (or worse, the priest) reason to judge her. There would be enough of that as it was. Not only was she an outsider coming in – a sassenach, as her father affectionately referred to her mother – , but she was attending with just her and the kids.

Bree wasn’t actually sure if things would be better or worse once it was known that she did indeed have a husband, and a church-going one at that. Having a mixed marriage had raised a few eyebrows back home. Here, the main reason that the heavily outnumbered Catholics weren’t warned daily of their pending damnation was that their Presbyterian neighbours assumed the message had already been delivered. With the relations being so much more strained, the mix would be even more outrageous.

And that’s before Roger figures out what’s happened to his vocation to ministry.

Having taken the time needed to wake up enough to get out of bed, she grabbed a bathrobe and tied it tightly closed before she left the bedroom in search of some coffee and some breakfast. If she was going to play the part of a devout mother who would never consider neglecting her Sunday obligation in the name of a few hours more sleep, she would do so while well-caffeinated and on a full stomach.

Despite having left herself ample time to drive to the church, a couple of wrong turns followed by a search for parking resulted in Bree rushing up to the front door, Jem in tow, Mandy in her arms, shortly before mass started. Things were not looking good. With the perversity inherent to all toddlers, Mandy had reacted to her lack of sleep by being high-energy (once she got over being woken up). Jem was behaving as well as he ever did, but that wasn’t saying a lot in terms of sitting quietly.

At the door of the church, Bree paused and reflexively patted her head. Upon encountering nothing but her hair, she remembered where and when she was, and converted the motion into smoothing her hair. She was apparently so tired that she was reverting to her teens. Despite her two years’ practice with the new mass – not to mention the two children with her – she seemed to be expecting to walk in to a Latin mass. And wouldn’t that do a wonderful job of convincing everyone that she had been to church some time in the last decade, if she got her responses mixed up.

There was a small table with a couple of missals left on it just inside the door, and she snagged one for Jem. Neither reading nor following along with the order of mass were enough to keep him distracted, but hopefully these were the kind that included stories about the lives of the saints whose feast days were being celebrated this month. Presumably he’d find something sufficiently gory to keep him from needing to look for some other form of entertainment.

The processional hadn’t started playing yet, although Bree had to squeeze past the priest and altar servers at the back of the church to get into the nave. Not wanting to take the time to let Jem and Mandy be picky about where to sit, she got moved them to an empty pew she spotted about a third of the way back, and hurried genuflected in the direction of the old altar as she set Mandy down just inside the pew. Bree had just enough time to sling the bag of books and dolls off her shoulder and on to the seat before the processional hymn was announced. Kneeling just long enough for a quick “Please let us all make it through mass without anyone melting down”, Bree grabbed a hymnal and brusquely motioned for Jem to do the same while she leafed through it.

To her surprise, the mass was sung. The priest had a good voice, and even the ability to vary the note he was singing, and Bree lost herself in the ritual, the familiar Latin and Greek responses helping her find a peace that she hadn’t expected to be able to find this morning, following her harried night. Jem and Mandy even seemed to sense her mood, because Jem was on his best behaviour, and Mandy had decided to imitate him in sitting in the pew (although Jem had rather less of a tendency to suck his thumb, and lacked an older brother with a shoulder at a convenient height for resting a head.)

At the Prayers of the Faithful, Bree mentally added her parents’ names to the list of the dead being prayed for. For some reason, when she was at church she could acknowledge the fact that both Jamie and Claire were long dead. At any other time her mind shied away from the thought, preferring to work instead in the strange personal timeline she had lived, where it was not more than two hundred years ago that her parents had bid her farewell, but less than a year, skipping over all the years that she had not herself lived.

After mass was over, Bree lingered over gathering up their things, accepting compliments on how well the children had behaved themselves from the old ladies she had been worried about making a good impression on. By the time that she and the children made it to the back of the church, nearly everyone else had left. Just outside the open doors, a last couple were finishing up their conversation with the priest when Jem remarked in a conversational tone (and volume)

“I think I like mass here. It’s less boring than at St. Finbar’s.” Bree could see the grins on the faces of the couple as they walked away, and felt herself blush. At least he didn’t say it was the other way around.

The priest managed (mostly) to keep his smile friendly as he came up to Jem and bent down slightly to be at the same level. “I’m glad to hear that ye enjoyed the mass. Will we be seeing you again then?”

A little surprised by the realisation that other people had heard what he said, Jem got suddenly shy. Bree answered for him.

“We hope to keep coming, Father. We just moved to Inverness, and are trying to buy a farm nearby that turns out to have been built by an ancestor of mine. Hopefully it works out, and this will be home now.”

“Weel, I look forward to seeing ye and yer sweet bairns again. Have a good week.”

With that he walked inside to lock up, leaving Bree and the kids to make their way to the car.

 As she navigated the unfamiliar streets back to the flat, Bree scoffed at herself for being so worried about if she’d be welcome at church. No questions about where the kids’ father was, no pointed remarks, not even any subtle fishing. And to think that she hadn’t been willing to risk someone noticing that she’d been in town for more than a week before she showed up for mass. She gave up that sleep for nothing. Well, maybe not nothing. At least she made it to mass.

[jooliargh]

Fire Non-starter

Back in July I saw this tweet and started typing up a reply thread. 

(twitter.com/lizduckchong/status/1285428567782723584)

The reply got longer than anticipated so I decided to come back to it when I had more time. Then months passed. And now here we are, and it turns out the story is too long for a tweet thread anyway.

My most on-brand story from school

I was about ten years old so this was the early 80s. I was The Sensible One even then, but disobedient with it and loved a bit of mischief.

Where I lived in South London there were a lot of big, old Victorian houses split into flats, with back gardens that connected together. With a bit of sneaking about you could climb over a few walls, duck down a few alleys and cover quite a distance without seeing a road or a pavement or - best of all - an adult. (The adults all probably knew we did this, but it felt secret and exciting nonetheless.)

There were 'in between' spaces: fenced-off places where buildings had once stood, gardens from derelict houses, undeveloped wedge-shaped areas between other things. (They've all been built on by now, of course. At least one unfeasibly small plot has had a thin, triangular, Grand Designs-style house improbably squeezed into it.) One of these was an area blocked off from the street with corrugated metal fencing which contained the shell of a small building. Brick walls, concrete floor, no roof. A gap where a door once was. At the time we thought it used to be a chapel, although looking back it seems too small. But The Chapel was what we called it.

One day in early summer, before the school holidays, some kids from my primary school who lived nearby decided to have a bonfire in the chapel. A bonfire. Without adults. Clearly this was an exciting proposition. The mastermind of this idea was a kid I will call Angela. (Hers and all other names in this story have been changed.) Angela had already acquired some matches (I think her parents smoked) and would bring other combustible materials as yet unspecified. Jane and Penny, who were sisters, would go to Angela's straight from school to help carry things. It was quite normal for us to be out riding our bikes until evening so being outdoors unsupervised wasn’t unusual and didn’t present a challenge.

For those who grew up later or were subject to more risk-averse parenting, surprising as this may seem, kids trespassed on waste ground or around derelict buildings all the time in the early 80s. It was enough of a problem that between TV programmes on a Sunday there were Public Service Announcements about the dangers of falling off things or being hit by falling things. We heeded the warnings of dire gravitational misfortunes that might occur, so we didn’t climb and we looked out for what was over our heads. (Thanks, PSA people!)

Angela was not noted for her common sense, so when I heard about the plan I did a quick risk-assessment and suggested it would be good to have a bucket of water nearby just in case things got out of hand. This is how I attached myself to the group. I'd also learnt somewhere that plastic is not a good material for a fire bucket, but no problem, we had a galvanised metal bucket at home I could sneak out. While the other three were gathering flammable things and incendiary things, I filled this bucket with water from the kitchen tap and carried it down our garden, over a wall nearly as tall as I was, and through some bushes to the chapel.

I don't know if you spotted that I said I filled the bucket. A full bucket of water is heavy, let alone a metal one. And I was a small, scrawny child, even for my age. I can’t imagine how I got it down from the kitchen sink, let alone out of the house and over this bloody great wall. I'm sure it made a hell of a noise and I must have splashed water everywhere. How my parents didn't notice remains a mystery. They were both partially sighted but they weren't stupid. (It’s also quite possible they did notice and just left me to get on with it.)

We met up at the chapel. The other three were there with matches, newspaper and pampas grass. I have no idea why we thought pampas grass would be flammable, but Angela had some from her garden and it seemed like a good idea at the time. (I have since been told that growing pampas grass in the front garden was how swingers used to signal to other couples. I don't know whether that's true, or if Angela's very straight-laced parents knew. For all I know they were playing swapsies with half the street.)

We had a go at lighting the newspaper, but it was damp. Also, it quickly became apparent, none of us had ever successfully lit a match before. After striking each one, as soon as it flared, we would chuck it onto the pile of newspaper, at which point the match would go out, to our great disappointment and frustration. Eventually one of us must have figured out not to do that and maybe found a dry edge of newspaper, because finally it started to catch a little.

You know the expression "no smoke without fire"? Well, damp newspaper smokes like a bastard, even with only the vaguest bit of smouldering going on. (I have no recollection of what happened to the pampas grass, but I assume it’s not very flammable either because nothing caught fire properly.)

After not very long we were coughing uncontrollably, eyes streaming from the smoke, and also helplessly laughing, well aware of the ridiculousness of four small kids trying to get a fire going, none of whom have the faintest clue how to get a fire going.

Then we heard something from the street that made us fall silent and our blood turn to ice in our veins. A hideous, terrifying sound. One we hadn't expected or prepared for. It was the voice of the local busybody Mrs Turner. She'd seen smoke and heard laughing children, correctly deduced that there was mischief afoot, pressed her face against a gap in the corrugated fence, then spotted and - worse - recognised us. She called each of us by name.

Mrs Turner had been an omission from my risk assessment. She worked in the chemist’s down the road and was acquainted with everyone in the area, including all of our parents. She was also a volunteer at our school so knew our headmistress. This was bad. The laissez-faire approach to discipline in my household meant I probably had the least to fear, but I was scared the others would face much worse consequences if their parents found out, it might have somehow been my fault, and they'd never speak to me again.

I threw the water on the non-fire, which was entirely extinguished with barely a fizz of protest, grabbed the bucket, and ran through the overgrown bushes to climb over the wall (much easier from this side) and head back through our neighbours' properties to my garden. Angela, Jane and Penny were all close behind.

We must have reeked of smoke. While it was normal for us to just come and go while we were out playing, god knows how my parents didn't have more questions when we tried to saunter all casual-like through the back door into the kitchen. Perhaps they reasoned that I'd survived various mad schemes and adventures so far, so I was probably ok. Perhaps they just had other more pressing things to worry about, like how to pay the gas bill.

We knew we hadn't escaped. Mrs T had seen wayward children, up to no good, and there was no chance she'd just go home and forget about it. One way or another, we’d be in trouble. There were no more laughs to be had and we dispersed quietly to await our fate.

Next day at school, PC Carver, the local police station’s schools liaison officer, came into our classroom. He was a frequent visitor, so there was no need to panic just yet. But then he called our teacher outside for a quiet word in the corridor. Shit.

We'd underestimated the level of seriousness with which Mrs T viewed our misdemeanour. She had called not only the school, but also the police. Our teacher returned to the classroom, called out our names, and sent us with PC along to the office of Mrs Krabappel, the headmistress. (Obviously not her real name, but close enough that I couldn’t resist.)

The school secretary kept guard to make sure there was NO TALKING, while PC went into Mrs K's office. We would be called in one at a time for The Bollocking.

I think I was called in last. It turned out we were being ACCUSED OF ARSON, I AM NOT EVEN SHITTING YOU. Mrs T had told the police that we'd SET FIRE TO A FUCKING BUILDING.

I mean, I know policing was different back then, but the absence of an actually burnt building would, you'd think, serve as evidence that no such crime had taken place. I don't know. Maybe the police knew perfectly well we'd set fire to a total of bugger all and just wanted to frighten us. Maybe (I like to imagine) they'd told Mrs T to stop wasting their time, but decided they should probably scare the crap out of us anyway, to save us from a life of crime and/or playing with matches. Looking back, that seems the most likely explanation because there were no charges, our parents weren't even brought into the school, the PC probably wandered off to do some liaising somewhere else, and we were left with Mrs K.

Now seems like a good time to mention that Mrs K was, with hindsight, a not-always-very-functional alcoholic. She was drunk a lot of the time. As a result, she had some... unorthodox discipline methods. Her favourite involved a coat cupboard next to her office with a mirror and an overhead light in it. An errant child would be told to stay in there, facing the mirror, with the door closed and the light on, "until you see how guilty you look and own up". Depending on what the child was avoiding in class by being in there, confessions could take minutes or hours. Whether or not the child had done anything wrong was immaterial. There was a school legend that a notorious repeat offender had once curled up and gone to sleep on the floor of the cupboard. (Do I need to say that OFSTED hadn't been invented yet?)

On this particular day I guess Mrs K wasn't at her creative best, because all I remember is her shouting "YOU'RE AN ARSONIST, WHAT ARE YOU?" and we weren't let go until she was satisfied that we’d said, with sufficient volume and clarity, "I am an arsonist." We were told, for homework, to think about what we'd done, write a story about the dangers of setting fire to things and report back to her in the morning.

Now, I had a good vocabulary for my age, and while I couldn't have told you precisely what "arsonist" meant, I was pretty sure I wasn't one. Bearing in mind what you now know about ten-year-old me and my home life, the following scene may not surprise you:

Me: Mum, can I borrow the dictionary? Mum: [Doesn't glance up from some feminist literature she's probably reading through her magnifier] Mm-hmm Me: [after a minute looking in the dictionary, and another minute deep in thought] Mum, you know how an arsonist is a person who causes criminal damage by fire? Mum: Mm-hmm Me: Is there a word for someone who just really likes setting fire to things?

Next morning, all four of us kids were again lined up outside the headmistress's office. One by one we were brought in to see Mrs K. My turn came around.

Mrs K: Did you do your homework? Me: [hands it over] Mrs K: And did you think about what you've done? Me: Yes miss Mrs K: And what do you have to say about it? Me: Miss, I'm NOT an arsonist, I'm a PYROMANIAC.

And that’s why this is the most on-brand story from my childhood.

I don’t know what happened to Angela. She never liked me anyway, and we lost touch when we left primary school. I kept in contact with Jane and Penny a couple more years, and more recently I heard that they both became primary school teachers. I didn’t pursue a career in pyrotechnics, or as a firefighter. And while I love a bit of harmless mischief, I'm still, at heart, The Sensible One. I am not, and have never been, an arsonist.

[iamastrongchristian-blog]

The Sins of the Daughters

And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat.

Genesis 3:6

1. The sin of disobedience

Many women fall into ugly sins. These are often difficult to talk about or even mention. Woman, you are loosed from the effect of your past mistakes! When you look around you, you may think that you are the only one. The devil’s plan is to isolate you and make you depressed.

2. The sin of covetousness

Many women fall prey to the sins of jealousy and covetousness. Woman, accept the blessings that God has given to your neighbour. Do not fight it because you cannot win! Gladly attend the wedding of your friend. As you rejoice with her today, people will rejoice with you one day.

Do not be covetous or think that you must have what everybody else has. Women commonly compare lifestyles and clothes. They want their children to attend certain schools because their neighbour’s child does. Woman, be content with your position! When you force yourself to possess things that are not yours you will only turn into a “Jezebel”.

3. The sin of being unequally yoked

Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?

2 Corinthians 6:14

Some women disobey God and marry unbelievers. But to marry an unbeliever is not the unpardonable sin. The Church must not drive away people who are married to unbelievers. It does not mean that you must not come to church anymore. The fact that you are married to an unbeliever, does not mean you are not a Christian. You are welcome in the church!

The pastor is not the one married to the unbeliever, you are! So don’t be worried. If you have any problems, see your pastor and he will counsel you and pray with you. Woman, the fact that you have made a mistake does not mean you should stay away!

4. The sin of influencing others to do evil

Woman, thou shall not make thy husband sin. Some women prevent their husbands from going to church. The man is the head, but the woman is surely the neck. Woman, you have a lot of influence. Use it wisely! Do not use your influence to make your husband stay away from God.

The Woman Who Made Her Husband Sin

I remember a woman whose husband was willing to donate some money to the church for some instruments. When the man raised up his hand, the woman pulled it down. She stopped him from giving to the Lord. She came up later to lie to the pastors about how stingy the husband was. Woman, do not make your husband sin.

Eve was the woman who made her husband fall into sin.

…and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat.

Genesis 3:6

Abraham knew how important it was for his son to have the right woman. He knew that she would influence him all the days of his life. He was very specific about whom Isaac could marry.

And Abraham was old, and well stricken in age: and the LORD had blessed Abraham in all things. And Abraham said unto his eldest servant of his house, that ruled over all that he had, Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh: And I will make thee swear by the Lord, the God of heaven, and the God of the earth, that thou shalt not take a wife unto my son of the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell:

But thou shalt go unto my country, and to my kindred, and take a wife unto my son Isaac.

Genesis 24:1-4

Abraham sent his servant Eliezer to look for a wife for his son Isaac. He knew how important it was to have the right kind of wife. So he went the extra mile to get a good wife for his son. Your role in your husband’s life is crucial to the fulfilling of his ministry. You are a very important element in his life. Even if your husband is not saved, you influence him spiritually. Perhaps you are married to an unbeliever; remember what the Scripture says in 1 Corinthians 7:14.

For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband: else were your children unclean; but now are they holy.

1 Corinthians 7:14

The Bible teaches that the believer sanctifies the unbeliever. Whatever that means, we know that the believing person has a spiritual influence on the unbeliever. This is the reason why Abraham went so far to get a wife for his son.

5. The sin of destroying God’s creation

And the Lord God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast done?

Genesis 3:13

Through a woman, God’s creation was destroyed. God’s lovely creation was greatly deformed and destroyed through the pressure created by a wife. In the end, both she and her husband dwelt in the world that she had destroyed. That is why God asked her, “What is this that thou hast done?”

Woman, do not bring a curse on yourself or your loved ones. Please do not do it! If you hunt for somebody else’s husband, his wife and children may curse you. If you have a child with someone’s husband, you may disrupt a family and even break it up. Woman, do not attract curses into your life.

6. The sin of idle chatting

Woman, do not gossip and spread bad stories about God’s servants. Do not let your gossip and idle chatting destroy people’s faith in God’s servants. Many women speak about things that they shouldn’t speak about.

…they learn to be idle, wandering about from house to house; and not only idle, but tattlers also and busybodies, speaking things which they ought not.

1 Timothy 5:13

7. The sin of the strange woman

Woman, do anything you can to prevent yourself from becoming a curse. Do not become a strange woman. A strange woman is someone who deliberately goes after men. She hunts them down and has sexual affairs with them. She is a destroyer of churches. She comes with an agenda and carries with her a curse! Are you a stalker? Are you a predator of precious lives?

A strange woman brings down many mighty men of God. There are some ladies who specialize in sleeping with pastors.

For she hath cast down many wounded: yea, many strong men have been slain by her.

Proverbs 7:26

One of my pastors spoke in fear of a lady who had slept with all the pastors in his town. Woman, please do not be a strange woman. Allow God to use you for a good thing and not for evil. Decide never to be a Delilah to anyone! Woman, please do not bring a curse home with you.

Daughter, you can make it. In spite of all these sins, I see you making it! His grace will see you through.

by Dag Heward-Mills

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot RC Ch19

Chapter Warnings: Reference to previous self harm, food (I hear that’s a thing)

Word Count: 1,798

Masterlist

Previous

Epilogue

2.00AM Friday 12th November 2038

Despite Ivy and Maggie offering, Ella and Paul ended up driving.

The roads were quiet, though icy, and the human members of Android Allies were exhausted. Too exhausted to drive safely.

Megan didn’t know what it looked like in the back of the vans, she was up front with Paul.

She was curled up, watching the dusting of snow get shunted off the windscreen by the wipers, the regular movement almost hypnotic. The trip was mostly silent, except for Megan’s breathing.

She could finally relax, after what felt like an eternity, Paul was safe. She was safe. Everything was calm.

Her anxiety still whispered in the background, but right now, she was too tired and too relieved to care.

She knew Paul was occasionally sending her looks, as if to check that she was still there.

“You can sleep,” he spoke softly. “I’m happy to carry you.”

“Everyone will want carrying then,” Megan mumbled tiredly. “You should save yourself from that.”

“True. Oscar might be awkward.”

Both of them huffed a small laugh and settled back down.

They reached Alex’s place and everyone went down to the basement, collapsing on whatever soft surface was available. They were all quickly asleep, leaving Paul and Ella awake.

Paul found himself by Megan, feeling an urge to stick close. Ella probably felt the same, as she sat next to where Alex was sleeping.

The female android leaned her head against the wall, and looked into space, LED flickering.

“Are you alright?” Paul sent across so no one woke up. Ella jumped, but nodded.

“Just, getting used to it,” a pained expression flitted across her face. “And trying not to think about, certain things.”

It didn’t take much to guess what she meant. She’d been partially disassembled and repaired again, becoming deviant very quickly. That definitely wasn’t something you would want to dwell on.

“I take it you’ve known Alex a long time,” Paul changed the subject, and Ella nodded.

“Six years. Possibly not the best decision, Alex was fourteen, certainly not a child. Their parents also seemed to realise this a bit late, but, they never got rid of me. So, small mercies.”

She looked over at Paul. “What about you two?”

“We only met about a month ago, believe it or not. I used to…” Paul paused for a second, not wanting to use the word ‘belong’, “be with her neighbours. But they needed someone to do things, quicker, and Megan lived alone, so they thought they’d be a bit busybody-ish, and gave me to her. It’s worked out quite well, all things considered.”

“Yes, we are both lucky,” Ella looked down at Alex fondly. “Having people who come to rescue us without a thought for their own wellbeing.”

“If I were human, I’d have a lot of grey hairs and a heart attack from this one. It’s a damn miracle she didn’t get shot!”

“Someone did,” Ella looked over at Julia. “Alex desperately wanted to go make sure she was okay when they heard, but they were running around reloading and we needed all the help we could get.”

“They’ve been friends for a long time?”

“They used to live next door to each other since they were children, apparently. I came in when they were having a rough patch, as childhood friends often do when they become teenagers, but they sorted things out.”

Paul nodded to himself. “I know I haven’t known Megan long, but now I wish I had known her for longer. From what I’ve heard it seems that she could have used someone like me in high school.”

Ella’s LED whirred as she thought about it, and decided to change the subject.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you become deviant? It wasn’t, there, was it?”

“No,” Paul confirmed. “It was, to protect Megan, from herself.”

“You two are quite dependant on each other,” Ella noted.

“I suppose we are. I probably shouldn’t be, but, she needs me, and, I get scared sometimes. There’s so much I thought I understood, and I don’t. I, I feel safe with her.”

Ella tilted her head to one side, but didn’t say anything else about it.

1.12PM Friday 12th November 2038

Megan groaned as she slowly woke up. Well, she had woken up in the night, for nightmares she no longer remembered. Now it didn’t feel like she’d come out of a nightmare, and she sat up on the blow up mattress.

Android Allies were still milling about the basement, and Julia was still asleep for now. Megan didn’t feel like getting up, not from low energy or feeling bad, she actually felt good. She didn’t want to get up yet because everyone was safe, she was warm and cosy in a blanket nest she had made in her sleep, and the sheer relief of not waking up at the camp again made her want to sigh and relax.

“Afternoon sleepy head,” Paul spoke somewhere above her, out of her line of sight. “You getting up?”

“Nooooooooooo,” Megan burrowed into her blanket nest. “I’m asleep.”

“Hmmmm, I’m not sure I believe you…”

Megan began making overly fake snoring noises with her eyes closed.

The blanket was ripped off and she blindly reached out for it.

“Nooooo! It’s cold!” she protested.

“It’s one in the afternoon, get up,” there was a smile in Paul’s voice, but since he didn’t give the blanket back Megan rolled into a sitting position.

“I’m up, I’m up.”

“Good, there’s lunch upstairs,” Paul pointed up the stairs to make his point.

Megan stumbled off the mattress and followed Paul’s finger upstairs.

In the kitchen was a pile of bread, cheese, ham, jam, peanut butter and various other sandwich fillings out. Ella was organising some of them, keeping the stuff that needed to be kept cool in the fridge, all while humming to herself.

The android turned to the door when Megan walked in.

“Ah, Paul said you’d be coming up.”

“Moring, er, afternoon,” Megan corrected.

“Afternoon indeed. How do you like your sandwiches?”

“You don’t have to, I can-I can do it.”

“I know sweetheart,” the word ‘sweetheart’ was tossed out so casually it threw Megan off, “but it’s giving me some normality after a traumatic experience. Just, humour me. Please.”

Megan managed a small smile as she looked at the options, and her brain went blank.

“Ham, ham and cheese?” she fell on a staple.

“Toasted?”

Megan nodded, and before she could blink the sandwich was assembled and in a sandwich press.

Ella watched the sandwich press. She had changed clothes, no longer in the android uniform. However it was clear that the clothes had come Alex’s eclectic wardrobe, as she was in a royal blue shirt with a purple denim jacket with black jeans. Her hair had changed to blonde, which hung loose around her shoulders. Her LED still spun on her temple, although given what Paul had said about his, Megan could understand why that was still there.

“Do you know what’s going to happen now?” the android asked quietly, and Megan was surprised.

“I, er, no?” Megan fumbled. “I-I-I don’t know.”

Ella nodded to herself. “Me neither. It’s, kind of exciting.”

“Terrifying,” Megan muttered.

“That too,” Ella chuckled. “I’m, I’m just a bit worried about when Alex’s parents come home. They, they gave me up, after all…”

Ella moved to wrap her arms around herself, and Megan was at a loss. Should she comfort her? How? She didn’t know Ella, she didn’t know how she’d react to certain things. What if she made it worse!?

The press beeped before a decision could be made and Ella quickly retrieved it, dropping the two halves of the steaming sandwich onto the plate. It was handed to Megan, and she took it carefully.

“…Are, are you okay?”

Ella’s face fell. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “But, please don’t tell Alex that.”

“They, they’d want to know,” Megan’s fingers tapped the plate. “If you were worried about something.”

“Maybe. Just, not now,” Ella smiled. “Why don’t you head back downstairs?”

Megan recognised a dismissal and went back into the basement with her plate.

Back downstairs not much had changed. Alex looked up when Megan came down and grinned.

“Hey, heard you were up!” they grinned. “Now we can start. Everyone, gather around Julia!” they called out into the basement, and you could just hear Julia groan.

“Just in the general vicinity. Your voice carries Alex.”

Everyone grabbed a chair and sat near Julia. Ella came downstairs and also grabbed a chair, and the group was arranged in a loose circle, with Alex close to the centre. Megan ate her cooling toastie as Alex talked.

“So, in the space of roughly a week, the android revolution has been and won,” Alex declared. “We have contacts with the rebel leaders, which may prove useful in the future, so, what’s next?” Alex rummaged for a tablet and flicked through it. “We still have groups in California, Alabama and Phoenix, plus support that Nathan’s drummed up overseas.”

“That support might have changed,” Nathan interrupted. “Given recent events, but it has made the plight of androids more public.”

“Fair point, that’s a bit iffy,” Alex conceded. “Now, Detroit is under evacuation order, although in no uncertain terms, fuck that. So, we first need to sort out who’s going to stay where. Student accommodation would likely have been evacuated. So, who needs a place to stay?”

Nathan, Oscar, Ivy, Maggie and Allison all put their hands up.

“Okay, we have plenty of room in the basement if you want. Any other options…?” Alex cast around the room.

“I can put someone up,” Lucas volunteered.

“There’s some space in my apartment,” said Julia.

“I think it’s best you stay here Jules,” Alex said softly. “Just in case.”

Julia nodded, and Paul nudged Megan.

“Can we get anyone with us?” he whispered.

“I don’t know. Don’t think so, my place is tiny, and…” Megan thought about it, “And the only way it would work was if they slept on the couch; my bed isn’t big enough for two, not that I’d want to…” she trailed off as her face went as red as her at the thought.

“On the floor perhaps?” Paul tried to rescue.

“I don’t have a blow up mattress or anything like that.”

“So the only space is the couch.”

“Yeah, but, the couch is your space.”

“Anything to add you two?” Alex asked, and Megan startled.

“I, erm, my, my, apartment is small, and-”

“Breathe Megan,” Alex held their hands out appeasingly. “I have plenty of space here. While everyone thinks about that,” Alex flicked through the tablet again, grin slowly growing. “Who wants to go to DC for a protest?”

We're at the end! This has been something. This doesn't seem to have had the same reception as the first main part, which is understandable, given the six month break. As you might have guessed, this leads to the same Epilogue, although Hank wouldn't be there with this ending, because they never met him.

I do have other endings listed and roughly planned. I will try and write them, but I make no promises.

I will admit this was rushed (I know, hear me out) it took me a while to get the drive to finish this. I basically did this in drips and drabs, unlike the Protest Path which I knocked out in two months. The ending of this is especially rushed, I admit, mostly because I got really stuck on the firefight section. If I had written three storylines like OG Detroit (ha ha ha ha oh no, not happening on my own, thank you) then I could have dropped in their storylines. But, i didn't, and I don't want to!

Hope you enjoyed this ride with me, and hopefully it won't take another six months for me to post something. By which I mean it will probably take at least that long.

Other Options Flowchart

(Megan) Agree to being carried.

(Paul) Be more vague about how he became deviant.

(Megan) Get up. Don't answer(Megan) Keep trying for the blanket. Try to sleep without it

(Megan) Cheese sandwich. Tuna. Pickle. Peanut butter. Chocolate spread. Something unhealthy and ridiculous.

(Megan) Comfort Ella with words. Hug Ella. Do both.

Tags! @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation