#i went to the circus yesterday and so obviously today is going to be a bad pain day but i'm still tired of always being in pain

[yukiwhitetm]

I'm not surprised that my leg is on fire from chronic pain but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it.

[gumnut-logic]

Virgil stared at the piano.

The ivory stared back.

Reaching out a gloved hand he touched the familiar keys, but as if in an echo of reality, his glove prevented him from feeling their silky touch.

“Virgil, you coming?”

He looked up as Scott tore into the room still in his uniform, as Virgil was, no time between rescues.

No time for anything.

“Yeah, give me a second.”

He rolled his shoulders, willing the ache to just go away.

It didn’t.

“You okay?”

Virgil blinked. “Fine.”

“Great. Launch in five.” And he spun into his chute. Idly, Virgil wondered if his brother had remembered to disengage the uniform spinner.

With a sigh he followed suit, throwing the broken piece of Thunderbird Two on the floor beside the desk, and heading to his chute.

Another day, another rescue.

It would have been nice to have had the night in between.

-o-o-o-

Thunderbird Two landed hard and Virgil swore. There went the damn landing gear alignment. Another afternoon of repairs lined up and he hadn’t even gone through post flight checks yet.

The hangar loomed and he cut speed, the mountain’s shadow passing over him as it swallowed him whole. The turntable caught his ‘bird and spun her ready again for the next rescue.

Which by all accounts would be, five, four, three, two…”Virgil, we have a situation.”

Goddamnit!

-o-o-o-

He stunk.

There was no other way to describe it.

Virgil walked up the module and lay his head against the cold cahelium. God, that felt good.

But he stunk.

Five rescues in a row. All undeniably urgent. Three involving children. Two with fatalities. And that was only today.

He didn’t want to think about yesterday.

He wanted to stay right where he was, no going back out into that damn desert sun.

“Sir, are you with International Rescue?”

No, I’m with the circus, we just arrived in town. He swallowed a sigh, lifted his head and turned around. “Yes, ma’am. Can I help you?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, obviously having gotten a whiff.

“Do you think you could move your equipment? We can’t get the tour bus out of the carpark.”

He stared at her.

The remains of a second tour bus were still hanging off the cliff fifty metres away. Two people had fallen to their deaths despite all his efforts.

Total blank.

“Sure.” Just let me wash this blood off my hands first.

She smiled at him. “Thanks.”

He resisted the urge to connect his head with the cahelium with an audible thunk.

-o-o-o-

He staggered into the comms room, there was no other word for it.

His head was pounding, his shoulders aching and there was a stone in his right boot.

“Woah, eau de hard work just walked into the room.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“I’m sorry, my mistake, eau de bear.”

He ignored him. Sometimes that was all you could do.

“Virg, how did it go?”

He stared up at his big brother for a moment, briefly wondering what the hell he was talking about. “Oh, the climbers. Caught both of them. One was okay, the other was a whining cow.”

The room fell silent and Virgil looked up from where he had been attempting to pull out a piece of grass that had gotten stuck in his harness. “What?”

Scott was frowning at him. “Are you okay?”

He flicked the grass onto the floor. “Oh, I’m dandy. Haven’t slept for a while. Three people died in my arms today. I ate food earlier, but it tasted like cardboard. Must have had something to do with all the blood on my hands. How are you?”

And there was more grass! How the hell did the damn stuff get through the neoprene and his undershirt to scratch his skin? The material was space-rated, for crying out loud. He picked at it.

A shadow passed over him and he looked up to find a pair of worried blue eyes blocking out the setting sun.

“Virg?”

“What?!”

Okay, so he yelled a little. Didn’t realise he could make his brother flinch quite that way.

He scratched his head and something fell out of his hair and on to the floor. Whatever it was, it scuttled away behind one of the lounges.

Gordon yelped and backed away.

Virgil really didn’t have the energy to do anything much at all. “Sorry about that.”

“I think you should sit down.” And his brother was trying to usher him in the direction of the lounge without actually touching him.

“Why?”

There were calculations going on behind those blue eyes, he could tell. “Are you tired?”

“What do you think? There have been countdowns and fall downs and let downs, so why shouldn’t there be sit downs as well.” He took a step towards the lounge, but apparently the day hadn’t finished with its fall downs yet, because the floor suddenly flew at his face.

“Woah!” And there were hands on him, grabbing at his uniform, and then he truly was sitting down.

On the floor.

“I stink.”

An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and there were words that didn’t really make sense. Then there were more people than before.

Grandma was there.

“Hey, Grandma.”

“Hello, Virgil.” She reached out and touched his face. He edged back a little and she dropped her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

She blinked at him. “Are you hurting anywhere?”

“Everywhere.” And the world started to slide to the left.

There were hands again. Something soft. And he was finally resting. The floor was hard, but it was cool and there was no energy required. “Oh, god, that is good.”

There were voices, lots of them, but he understood none of them, and quite frankly, he didn’t care.

He could finally relax.

He drifted.

-o-o-o-

Someone was stroking his hair.

“Mmm, tha’s good.”

“Virgil? Are you with us?” Scott. But there was a fragrance.

“Grandma?”

“I’m here, honey.” The fingers in his hair patted him gently.

“Not feel so good.”

A shadow fell across his eyelids and a kiss brushed his forehead. “Don’t you worry, you’re safe.”

And it was only then he realised that he was surrounded by the sound of his beloved ‘bird. “Wha-? Why?” He tried to sit up and discovered blankets over him and a needle in his arm and hands hurrying to hold him down. “Woah, Virg, you relax. We’re on our way to the hospital.” Opening his eyes produced a blurry approximation of his big brother.

“Who’s flying?”

“Gordon.”

He struggled to sit up, attempting to throw his legs off the side of the bed. But something was wrong.

He stilled and the hands holding him back steadied him. “What’s wrong with my legs?” He tried to move them again. The left one shifted a little, but the right one might as well have not been there. Panic hit. “What happened? What’s wrong?” He couldn’t remember.

“Virgil!” It was Scott’s command voice, but something inside Virgil wasn’t right. His heart rate soared and an alarm shrieked somewhere.

But then a pair of soft hands cupped his face and he was turned to look into a pair of clear blue eyes. “Virgil, it is going to be alright. Do you hear me?” One of those hands returned to combing his hair.

A breath fell out of him and he sagged, his body sliding forward before being caught by a familiar pair of strong hands. He was lowered slowly back onto the bed.

Grandma didn’t let her touch slip for a moment. He forced himself to take in breath, expel it, and calm down. “What happened?” Why was he so breathless?

“You collapsed in the comms room. Do you remember?” Scott’s voice was like a lifeline.

He thought back. “Something...I smelled bad.”

“Yes, you did.” And there was a touch of a smile in that voice. “That was thirty-six hours ago.”

“Thirty-six?”

“You were exhausted, Virgil. And you have been asleep for most of it. Damnit, why do you do this? There are rules for a reason.”

“I-I broke no rules, Scott. There were people-...who needed hel-“ And he had to catch his breath. His lungs just weren’t filling properly. “Wha’s wrong w’ me?”

Scott looked at his grandmother a moment before turning back to Virgil. Quietly. “We don’t know yet.”

Gordon’s voice suddenly filled the room. “We are on final approach to Wellington. Please take your seats for landing.”

“Wel-lington?”

“Hospital, Virgil.” Grandma brushed his temple with her fingertips. “We will find out what’s wrong, honey. You just rest.”

He leant into her touch. “Sorry, Grand-ma.” His eyes drifted shut, his focus shifting to her gentle touch, clinging to it. “Sor-ry.”

A breath that wouldn’t come.

And he was forced to let go.

-o-o-o-

Scott spun as both an alarm started shrieking and his grandmother cried out. “Virgil?!”

His brother’s body shuddered slightly and then stilled.

A pause, a moment, no indrawn breath.

God, no.

“He’s not breathing.”

The ship around them shuddered as if in sympathy and Scott moved. Don’t think, just do.

The roar of VTOL vibrated through the hull as he reached for a bag ventilator and started breathing for his brother. Grandma lowered the bed, helping to move her grandson into the correct position.

Damn you, Virgil, don’t do this. Scott scanned the readouts. If only he had realised what was happening faster.

They had thought it was simply exhaustion taking his brother down. The man had fallen asleep on the floor, for goodness’ sake. Once he and Gordon had manhandled him into the infirmary, everything had checked out. Virgil had just over done it, and not for the first time. They had decided to let him sleep it off in the infirmary where they could keep an eye on him.

Something had niggled at Scott, something about how Virgil hadn’t seemed himself before his collapse. It bugged him. But there were no indications that there was anything else wrong with him.

Fourteen hours later and he was still sleeping. Scott reassured himself that it was just Virgil, who slept long periods normally anyway.

But still the niggle.

At sixteen hours, he cracked enough to attempt to wake his brother.

Virgil responded by swearing at him, rolling over and going back to sleep.

Okay, the bear was still in residence.

But sixteen hours was a ridiculous length of time to go without fluids, sustenance and a toilet break.

So he woke him again and against Virgil’s protests, dragged him out of bed and into the infirmary’s bathroom, before shoving a glass of water and a bagel in front of him.

The glare was epic, particularly when Virgil realised exactly where he was.

“I’m not sick!”

“Eat your breakfast.”

But the moment his brother set eyes on the bagel he paled to a ghastly shade of green. “Not hungry.”

“Drink, at least.”

Half the water made it down his throat before Virgil’s eyes began to droop again. “‘M tired.”

“Drink the rest of the water, or I’m calling Grandma up here.”

The rest of the water made it past his lips, the glass hitting the bed table just that little harder than intended as Virgil pushed the table away. “Wanna sleep.”

Scott sighed. “In a moment. Just let me check you over first, okay?”

His brother rubbed his ear as he lay back on the pillow. “O-kay.” But he was asleep again before Scott had a chance to do anything.

Twelve hours later, Scott was really beginning to worry.

“Something is not right, Grandma.”

Gordon was examining his prone brother, checking Scott’s assessment of his condition. “Bro, I can’t see anything more than you. Virgil is just sleeping. No indications of anything else.” A sigh. “He just pushed it too far. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind once he is back on his feet.”

“Get in line.” Scott and Grandma said at the exact same time.

Another sigh. “Let’s wake him up. Time for some more fluid, in and out.”

The bear was still firmly in residence upon being disturbed. “For god’s sake, leave me alone.”

“Virgil, toilet break, then food.”

“Who died and made you boss?”

Scott froze, just as Virgil realised exactly what he had said. “Shit. Sorry, didn’t mean that.” Sitting up, he dragged himself to the side of the bed, letting his feet hang off the edge, and dropped his head into his hands. “Hell.”

Yet another sigh, and Scott reached over to help his brother off the bed. “Apology accepted, if you pee, drink and eat something.”

“‘M sorry.”

“I know.” And he did. This was not the Virgil he knew and it was setting alarm bells screaming in his head.

They started screaming even louder once Virgil’s feet hit the floor. “Ooh, that’s weird.” And then his brother was falling.

Scott only barely managed to catch him, the larger man more difficult to manhandle than he appeared. “Gordon!”

The aquanaut appeared in the doorway, diving into help the moment he saw Scott stagger. “Virgil, whatcha doing?”

“Feet feel weird. Numb.” And as Scott watched, Virgil attempted to get those feet under him and failed. “Don’t think I can...can’t...what the hell is going on?”

They managed to get him back on the bed. A sensitivity assessment later and they realised that their second oldest brother was suffering a creeping paralysis.

The anxiety level in the room skyrocketed.

But Virgil didn’t know because he had fallen asleep again.

Thunderbird Two was prepped and they left the island within the next fifteen minutes.

But apparently they weren’t fast enough.

-o-o-o-

They torched a park near the Wellington Hospital, foregoing the airport the moment Virgil stopped breathing. They could charge them for damages later. It wouldn’t be the first time the Tracy’s had to pay for extra greenskeepers and it wouldn’t be the last.

An ambulance met them there.

It was a huddle of the three of them as they pushed the hover stretcher out of TB2. Scott at the head of the stretcher was keeping his brother alive, pumping air into his failing lungs. Grandma held his hand.

Gordon held them together.

A blur of paramedics, vitals and his brother was rushed off to emergency. Scott going with him.

Gordon found his arms full of his grandmother, quietly crying on his shoulder.

He bit his own lip. Now Virgil was in other hands, he had no emergency to occupy him, nothing to distract him from the fact that his brother may be dying this very moment.

And Grandma was crying.

He blinked and a tear ran down his cheek. He cleared his throat. “C’mon. We need to get to Scott.” His big brother was likely a mess. Try and help what he could.

And pray for what he couldn’t.

-o-o-o-

The hiss of the ventilator hurt.

It was a rhythmic sound, something no doubt Virgil would be able to sense, perhaps even create some music to, but to Scott, it just screamed pain.

Virgil couldn’t breathe on his own. There was concern that he soon wouldn’t be able to do anything on his own and he would die.

Why?

They didn’t know.

Scott had clung to the hospital having the answers. He was only a paramedic, doctors knew so much more.

But they didn’t know.

He had sent Gordon back to TB2, to return her home and gather the rest of the family in Tracy Two. John had declined to come down just yet. He wanted the power of Thunderbird Five to support his sudden research into the causes of paralysis.

Grandma sat under his arm, her head on his shoulder, her expression lost as she stared at her dying grandson.

Yes, dying. There was no denying it, just futile rage against it.

And the lack of reason was pure torture.

His medical history had been scoured. And what a history it was. The doctor had many questions.

What had his brother eaten in the last week? Considering how busy they had been, Scott figured the better question would have been ‘Has your brother eaten in the last week?’ Not that Virgil ever had any trouble eating, he had a healthy appetite, but time, there had been so little time.

Where has Virgil been in the last week or so? Had he travelled internationally at all? Scott was so tired he actually burst out laughing at that question. Grandma had wrapped her arms around him as the laughter had nearly turned into tears.

In the last week, Virgil had landed on every continent with the exception of Antarctica. Though, he had been there the week before to assist the US Airforce at McMurdo. As Scott listed off the sites of the rescues his brother had attended, it sunk in exactly how much work Virgil had been buried under. Sure, Scott had been alongside him on many of them, as had their brothers, but Virgil was so integral to IR’s operation that, bar a space exclusive rescue, he was on site for almost every event. And if he wasn’t, it was because he was attending another site at the time.

Scott ran his hands through his hair. International Rescue was stretched thin, and this was the result. What the hell had he done? What would Dad have done? Was this his fault?

“It’s not your fault, Scott.”

He dropped his elbows to the side of the bed, his head into his hands. “How can you know that, Grandma?”

“Because it isn’t.” And her arms were around him again, her head against his shoulder. As always, he was a little stunned by how physically small his grandmother was. Her personality was so strong, so vibrant, it out shone her size. He had shot up above her at fourteen, but she still seemed larger than him.

He still looked up to her.

“Grandma, I...” And he scrunched his eyes shut as his throat caught. “I can’t lose him.” The breath he dragged in strangled him. “I can’t.”

The arms around him tightened, but there were no words of reassurance.

There were none to be had.

-o-o-o-

Gordon was surrounded by his brother.

That’s what it felt like, anyway. Virgil was everywhere he looked. The sound of Thunderbird Two screamed Virgil, the seat he was sitting in was Virgil’s pilot seat and the very green of the cockpit was just simply his brother.

Gordon’s throat was tight as he launched her into the air. He knew his brother would be protesting him flying his ‘bird. He understood it was no reflection of his brother’s trust or a lack of confidence in his piloting skills. Hell, it was more a running joke than anything else. Just that this was Virgil’s Thunderbird. His. Just as TB4 was Gordon’s.

Gordon bit his lip, blinking away the blur.

Damnit.

It was just so senseless. The man worked his ass off to save the world and suddenly his body just stops working.

The doctors had bandied around possibilities, but none had been conclusive and most of them had come with the words ‘no cure’. So symptoms were to be treated as they appeared.

Too bad if death was one of them.

Gordon wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Oh, goddamnit.

As TB2 hit cruise height, he engaged the autopilot for the short journey home and took himself to the little bathroom.

And wished he hadn’t.

Virgil was here, too.

A used uniform was shoved in one corner, such a sign of how rushed the usually tidy man had been. Almost in contrast, a handful of flowers had been shoved in a cup of water and jammed up against the faucet to stop it from falling over. Pretty red, orange and yellow tiny little flowers, now rather wilted, moved in rhythm with the vibrations of the Thunderbird, trembling just enough to shiver.

Gordon reached out to touch one. His brother had probably stashed them for photographing or painting later, but in the rush had forgotten them. Even his eye could see the colours were lovely.

Something tiny scurried across his fingers. “Ah!” It was only little, but it set off an immediate reaction. His skin tingled and red marks appeared where the creature had touched him. “What the hell?!” He shook his hand and it was flung across the room, landing in the shower recess. Damn fingerless gloves. Useful for dexterity, but damn vulnerable when ...touching flowers?

He stared at the flowers for a moment, then back at the shower recess, suddenly reminded of the thing with legs that had fallen out of Virgil’s hair shortly before he had collapsed.

He absently scratched his damn itchy fingers, before picking up the flowers, eyeing them for any more bugs and carried them into the cockpit. “Hey, John?”

“Gordon?” His holographic brother was obviously distracted, his fingers flying over unseen data.

“Do you know what plant these flowers belong to?”

Green eyes glanced up at him for a moment. A blink. “Lantana of some kind. Why?”

“Virgil, had them in TB2’s bathroom.” He shook his itchy hand again. Glancing at it he realised it had become a little swollen. “Had some kind of bug on them.”

John frowned at him before returning to his research. “Give me a moment.” Another blink. “Lantana can cause internal paralysis if eaten.” An arched eyebrow.

“I can’t see him eating the flowers, bro. I suspect he was going to paint them.”

“Then I don’t...” And John paused staring at something Gordon couldn’t see.

“What?”

“You said there was a bug on them. Describe it to me.”

“Tiny, with legs. Didn’t see much, didn’t want to. Damn thing has made my hand itchy and now it is swollen.”

“Show me.”

Gordon held it up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” John’s voice was low and his eyes wide. “I need to speak to Scott.” And the hologram vanished.

“What?! John!”

But his brother was gone.

He dumped the flowers on the console, and tried not to gouge one set of fingers with the other.

-o-o-o-

“Scott!”

He jumped. He couldn’t help it. John’s voice startled him out of memories and dark thoughts.

“What?” Oh, so professional a response there, field commander. He rubbed his face with a hand. “Yes, Thunderbird Five?”

“Was Virgil checked for bites and stings?”

A blink. “Yes, it was one of the first things they did.”

“Check again. This time, focus on his hair and behind his ears.”

Scott rose to his feet, throwing a questioning look at his grandmother. She shrugged and also stood up, walking around the bed to Virgil’s other side.

Turning on the overhead light brought out the stark paleness of his brother, his dark hair in such contrast to his bloodless face enough to corpsify him.

Scott swallowed hard before reaching to gently touch his hair. It was soft, but obviously in need of a wash. He fingered through it, scouring his brother’s scalp for any indications of injury.

At first he found nothing and despair of an answer nagged him, but then...”What the hell is that?!”

A tiny swollen lump of a creature was attached to his brother, deep in his hairline just behind his left ear.

Then he found another one.

A gasp from his grandmother produced a third.

“John, what the hell are we looking at?”

“I suspect Virgil is a victim of a paralytic tick.”

“Three so far.”

“Three?! Call in the doctors now. Get them removed immediately.”

What followed was a blur of action. He notified a nurse, the doctor was called, the ticks were removed, five in total, and bagged for identification.

By the time Alan, Gordon, Kayo and Brains arrived, they knew what had taken their brother down.

What they still didn’t know was whether he would ever get up again.

-o-o-o-

“How the hell were they missed in the first place?”

That was Scott. An angry Scott.

Damn.

“This is a rare situation that usually only presents in children and most certainly not in New Zealand.” John’s calm and matter of fact voice was reassuring. “The ticks do not usually go unnoticed for such a long period of time. Virgil’s exhaustion compounded the situation.”

“So what you are saying is that it is Virgil’s fault.”

“It is nobody’s fault, Scott. Sometimes shit just happens.” And there went John’s calm.

Hell.

Virgil fought against lethargy. He knew what would happen next if he didn’t intervene. An agitated John was as dangerous as it was rare. Combine it with an angry Scott and the explosion could take out a building.

Or any bystander brothers.

“He could have died!”

“Don’t you think we know that?!” Oh great, Gordon was in the mix? Mount Vesuvius had competition.

“You’re not the only one who cares about Virgil, you know.” And his littlest brother. The emotion in his voice hurt. Goddamnit, wake up.

He tried to move his body, but nothing responded.

Except his nose. It wrinkled, tingled, and then he was sneezing.

Over the ringing in his ears and the pain in his throat, there was the clatter of moving chairs and shadows fell over his eyelids.

A tentative, “Virgil?” Scott.

He moved the muscles in his face, scrunching up his eyes and nose, attempting to move his eyelids.

Finally a crack, a dip, another crack...and four brothers hovering around his bed. Blink.

“H-y.” And apparently he could talk, but not quite. Another try. “You guys are loud.”

He didn’t miss the smiles that spread over four faces, or the tears in several sets of eyes. His heart softened. “You all okay?”

And the moment broke. Gordon blinked away moisture, Scott looked like he wanted to thump him in the arm, Alan had a stupid grin on his face, and John, John had that calm half smile that said little yet everything at the same time.

Virgil tried to move his hand, but it didn’t respond. “Wha’s wrong with my hands?”

Serious took over the room once again. “There was some paralysis.” Scott held up his hands. “Doctor says it should all come back, it just may take some time.”

Virgil stared at him. “Paralysis?”

“You were bitten by a bug, bro. Several bugs.” Gordon, as always, was so specific.

“A bug?” At least he could turn his head.

“Remember the Fitzroy River floods last week?”

Virgil’s blink was slow, but he remembered. “The three little girls?”

“Uh, yeah.” Gordon ran his fingers through his hair. Only two of the three had made it. “Remember the flowers?”

Flowers? Oh, they had been everywhere. “Wanted to paint some.” To remember little Lily. He closed his eyes for a moment. But that had been a week ago. The flowers had been left on Thunderbird Two. No time.

No time.

“Virg?” Scott’s voice was quiet.

His eyelids were once again heavy to lift. “Yeah?”

Gordon again. “You got yourself infested with some ticks, bro. Nasty ones that can cause paralysis if they are left unattended.”

“Oh.”

Scott spoke up. ”But we found them in time. You’ve got Gordon and John to thank for this one.”

“Thank you.” His voice had become a whisper and his eyelids fighting to droop.

“It will take a while, but you’ll get better.”

“Okay.” And then it was all too much energy and he let his eyelids drop closed.

And he let go.

-o-o-o-

Three weeks.

Three goddamned weeks.

Of embarrassment. Of being unable to do the easiest tasks. Of frustration to the extreme.

Of four brothers, one sister, and one grandmother being both the most wonderful family in existence and the most annoying.

Of course, of all of them, Gordon was the most understanding, as he had been through something similar and could empathise.

Scott was willing to do everything for him to the point that if he saw Virgil attempting it, he would jump in immediately.

Virgil was both grateful and ready to kill him.

John was ever the practical one, providing technical assistance and a quiet presence.

Alan cared a lot, but had no real idea what to do to help. Of course, Virgil the bear was often growling at Scott, so Alan tended to keep near the doorway. But waking up one afternoon to find his littlest brother flaked out in the chair beside his bed, his hand centimetres from his own, did bring a fond smile to Virgil’s face.

But it was Grandma who kept him sane. She kicked out Scott, reassured Alan, relieved Gordon and stopped Kayo from killing nurses. But most of all she sat with him and ran her fingers through his hair at those most frustrating and confronting moments.

And she brushed away his tears when he couldn’t do it himself.

-o-o-o-

Gordon approached Virgil’s room with a little apprehension. His brother had been taking it hard over the last week. Recovery sucked and Gordon had to admit that he was having to face his own paralysis fears as he watched his brother struggle through it all. There had been a few nightmares to make it all the more enjoyable.

But the worst had to be seeing his usually calm and kind brother so frustrated and helpless. Virgil was the powerhouse of IR. He was the guy you went to for help. The rock. He wasn’t used to asking for help. He wasn’t used to being so dependent. It was confronting for all involved.

Gordon understood.

But it didn’t make it any easier.

When he entered, Virgil was on his side in the bed, facing away from him, staring at the window. His family had done their best to brighten up the room for him. He had a digireader at hand, basically a tablet with accessibility turned up to the max and supported by an arm attached to the bed.

A pair of TB2 dice hung from the bedhead. John had installed a holographic interface in the bedside table and a huge communications screen hung from the ceiling, able to show all the TV reruns anyone could ask for.

But Gordon knew it wouldn’t be enough. He had been in the same position, with four similar walls staring at him day in day out.

He so wished his brother didn’t have to go through this.

Stepping into the room quietly, he stood just inside the door, not knowing whether Virgil was awake or asleep and not wanting to disturb if he was the latter. Scott was down in the cafeteria with Grandma. She had dragged him there an hour ago to give Virgil a break. Kayo was doing her rounds of the facility, while John had dragged Alan back to the hotel for a shower.

This gave Gordon the opportunity to spend a few moments with his brother alone.

While it could be said that Scott and Virgil had the legendary relationship in this family, Gordon liked to think that he and his second eldest brother had their own special thing, too. After all, Gordon depended on Virgil for almost every rescue he participated in. He was the voice above the waves, the one who dropped him off and picked him up, and the one who disabled the shower controls just to stir the pot.

A mental snort. Gordon may be the prankster in this family, but he had learnt to never underestimate Virgil. The man played his smarts close to home and could whip out a retort as easily as breathing, if necessary.

And now he was just procrastinating. A sigh.

“So are you going to come in or are you going to just stand there?”

Okay, so he jumped, but he wasn’t going to admit it. Walking around the bed, he found his brother wide awake and watching him. “Hey, bro.”

“Hey, Gordon.”

He grabbed a chair and brought it to the side of the bed, sitting to bring his eyeline a little closer to that of his prone brother. “How was rehab today?”

“Sucked.”

“Usually does. Any progress?”

In answer, Virgil lifted an arm above the bedsheets and onto the edge of the bed. A frown of concentration and his fingers moved as if he was playing the piano, the absence of keys not enough to hide the slow precision of his brother’s artistic reflexes. “Almost able to play again.” He let the hand drop onto the covers. “If I could sit up.”

“It will come.”

“I know.”

A silence descended.

After a moment, the expression of concentration returned to his brother’s face and he continued to tap invisible keys on the side of the bed.

Impulsively, Gordon reached out and placed his hand over Virgil’s stilling the rhythm.

Brown eyes met brown eyes.

“I love you, bro.”

Virgil’s eyes widened.

Gordon looked away for a moment, but didn’t let go, his fingers squeezing his brother’s just gently. “Please don’t do that again.” And he wasn’t referring to the piano playing.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

A half smile. “Good.��� And the smile got wider. “Because next time there will be tarantulas involved.” And he managed a laugh at his brother’s horrified expression. “Yes, tarantulas, at least six, and in your bed. Gotta keep those bugs under control after all.”

And Virgil was smiling at him, the sudden glisten of tears in his eyes.

God, the man was the powerhouse, but he was also a damn big softie.

“Maybe even a scorpion. They have enough attitude to kick your butt into gear.” Yep, that stopped the tears and replaced them with fond exasperation.

“No scorpions, Gordon.”

“Why not? They are such elegant creatures.” A pompous arm emphasised the statement. “Claws of such grace, and that stinger, ooh, just hits the spot.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“One of five.”

“Not six?” And yes, that was a smirk on his brother’s face.

“God, no, even I’m not stupid enough to call Kayo names. I like living.”

A smile and the conversation stopped.

Gordon still had his hand on top of Virgil’s and his brother’s eyes were looking at it.

Another moment.

Quietly. “Thanks, Gordy.”

One last gentle squeeze before he let go.

“Anytime.”

-o-o-o-

“We need to talk.”

It was inevitable. he knew it had been coming and he guessed he was fortunate enough that his big brother waited until he could at least sit up before lambasting him.

“About what, Scott?”

“About operational procedures.”

“What?” Perhaps it wasn’t what he expected. He fiddled with the blankets covering his legs. He was due to leave the hospital tomorrow and he was so looking forward to seeing his own bedroom, with or without the necessary hoverchair.

“Once you are back on duty, you are not to attend more than three rescues in twenty-four hours and for no more than twelve hours at a stretch.”

He stared at his brother. “But what if I’m needed?”

“But that is just it, Virgil, you are always needed.” The commander swallowed. “But I need you more, and I need you alive.”

Virgil continued to stare.

Scott grabbed a seat and sat down beside his bed, putting his arms down on the covers, not quite reaching for his brother, but almost. Voice quiet. “Virg, we nearly lost you. And for a stupid reason. If you hadn’t been so overworked, you would have noticed the issue far earlier. Hell, it may never have become an issue. Those damn ticks have to be attached for days before they become a problem.” His blue eyes glazed over with guilt. “I have been asking too much of you, and it nearly got you killed.”

Virgil reached out and grabbed his brother’s arm, grateful he actually could now. “It was not your fault, Scott. It was mine. I know my limits and I pushed them too far. It’s just...” And he pressed his lips together. “They needed my help. All of them. How can I not give it to them?”

Scott’s hand landed on top of his. “You can only give so much, Virgil. You have to keep something for yourself.”

“And let them die?”

Scott looked away. “We can’t save them all.”

“But you are asking me to turn my back on those I could.”

“You can’t save them if you are dead.” And his brother’s tone was firm and final.

Virgil went back to staring.

Scott pinned him with his eyes. “Think about it. What if it was Alan in that bed? What about Gordon? Apparently he is allergic to ticks. His hand swelled up because one walked across it. What if he had been the one to encounter them at the Fitzroy Floods? How would you feel to be sitting where I am?”

“I...” The words caught in his throat. “Can’t let them die, Scott. Please.”

“I can’t let you die either.” His brother’s lips thinned. “This isn’t about the world needing Virgil Tracy. It is about your brothers, sister and grandmother needing you.” Scott looked down at his hands for a moment. “I can’t lose you, Virg. I just can’t.”

And to Virgil’s horror, his big brother was blinking away tears when he looked up. With a poorly managed smile, Scott untangled himself from Virgil’s hand, stood up and left the room.

His brother left to stare at where he had been.

-o-o-o-

Virgil tentatively reached out and touched the piano keys, his fingers automatically falling into his usual warm up routine.

Notes bounced off the comms room walls and danced out onto the balcony.

A moment devoted to flexing long neglected muscles and he dropped into a simple tune, left hand strumming the chords, right managing the tune.

Just.

He frowned and pushed it, closing his eyes. The tune shifted playing to his emotion, frustration leaking into the higher notes. He forced in determination, weaving a deeper purpose, making his fingers work.

He missed a key and swore under his breath, eyes shooting open and glaring at the keyboard.

Run the riff again.

His dexterity had taken a hit in his illness. He needed to get it back. Practise.

Work damn you.

Repeat.

C’mon.

Concentrate. Calm. Draw in a breath.

He closed his eyes once again and let his fingers find their familiarity.

Play.

The frown came back, but he ignored it, once again forcing it.

Music filled the room.

Until that same key, that same stretch, stuttered.

Goddamnit!

A soft hand landed on his right, drawing his fingers from the keyboard, stealing the music from the air and startling him out of his frustration.

Grandma reached out her other hand and wrapped it around his shoulders as she sat down beside him on the stool. “You have always been such a stubborn boy. Quiet, polite and kind, but as stubborn as a mule.”

“Grandma?”

“No, don’t deny it. And I won’t necessarily say it is a bad thing, stubborn has its uses.” She squeezed his hand again. “But honey, you need to give yourself time.”

“I’m just practising.”

“No, you’re not. You’re forcing it, Virgil.” And she held his hand up gently in her own. It was trembling just slightly.

He glared at it, forming it into a fist to stop it from shaking.

And his grandmother wrapped it in both of her hands. “You know, your father was just the same. Always had to take it just that one step further. Caused no end of trouble for himself and those around him.” She sighed. “Of course, it got him where he needed to go. Five beautiful sons and a dream to save the world.”

She drew his hand to her cheek, and caught his eyes with hers. “And then he had to take that one step further.”

Virgil stared at her. “Grandma?”

“Please, honey, we don’t want to lose you, too.”

His heart clenched, and there must have been something in his reaction, because his grandmother once again put her arm around him and drew him close, resting her head on his shoulder. “Give yourself some time. You are just as valuable as all those people out there. Look after yourself, so you can look after them.”

“Yes, Grandma.” Could he say anything else?

Gently pulling his hand from hers, he reached around and drew her in close. She was so small compared to him. So fragile. He dropped his head to touch her hair.

“Promise me, Virgil.” He almost didn’t hear her whisper.

“Promise, Grandma.” He never could deny her anything.

“Good.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil flexed the muscles in his shoulders, striding past the piano towards his chute. “John, any further information?”

“No, I’ve lost communications with the sub. Gordon is waiting in Thunderbird Four.”

“Well, he’ll just have to wait a moment longer, Two needs to refuel. No fuel, no flight.”

“What about you? You okay?”

He stopped in his tracks. “Uh.”

“Virgil?”

He took a moment, assessing himself. Sure, he was a little tired. A couple of aches were making themselves known, but really nothing too bad. He rolled his shoulders again. “I’m good. Got at least one more rescue in me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine, John.”

“You better be.”

Neoprene creaked a little as he resumed his stride towards his chute.

“Don’t worry, I am.”

-o-o-o-

[desi-lgbt-fest]

Day 5: Platonic

A story I wrote for today's prompt. It's a story about two middle aged men realising the happiness they want can come in many different forms.

1. 8 k words.

Cw: Mild homophobia. Incorrect language. It's indicative of character's understanding, not mine.

...

When Vikram Kumar first transferred to their branch, Nath wasn't impressed. Theirs was a small transport company, still somehow holding on against the giants of the industry. They were doing well for themselves; they had branches in few neighbouring states where the business was concentrated. And yeah, the company policy does state that employees should get transferred around every 4 years or so. But that never really happened. Nath had been working at Gada transport ltd for more than 25 years now and the only way anybody new ever came in the office was if someone died or retired.

That was what had happened. Another clerk, Nisha Bhagwan, had a heart attack at the computer and in came Vikram Kumar, a transfer from Nagpur. The office people took to him like animals take to the new clown at the circus. Nobody was really sad about Mrs Bhagwan's passing. She was old and in an office full of other old people, they were just waiting for the hat to drop on someone. Better Mrs Bhagwan than us.

They inquired after him, after his family, his mother's family, his neighbour's family, his neighbour's dog's family. When they found out that he was divorced and currently living in a sketchy hotel, they immediately turned to Nath.

Nath, or Adinath, as his name was, owned two flats in his society. Two flats side by side, one in which he lived. He very famously refused to rent it out to families or students or single women. Which meant, he never really rented it out. It actually quite suited to his own solitary silent life. But he regretted boasting about it in the office because here came his perfect rent.

"I- uh. The apartment is very dirty and I'd have to clean it," he started making excuses.

Vikram Kumar shrugged. "I don't mind. Better than listening to the sex noises coming from the side wall." Raucous laughter emerged, unhampered by the fact that their only woman employee wasn't there anymore.

Nath couldn't say no.

Vikram Kumar did turn out to be an ideal renter. He was silent. No guests. Rent, which Nath had kept a little high to dissuade, always on time. Sometimes old hindi songs drifted from his flat but Nath didn't mind. As his novelty wore off and office people stopped fawning over him, Nath did find himself to be quite okay with Vikram Kumar's existence.

A distinct mark in his favour was that he didn't laugh when at their regular chai break (5 minute break that always turned into a 45 minute one) the others made him familiar with Nath's title as the resident Bramhachari.

"Never married, never looks at a woman," Bhosle, their manager remarked.

"Hey you remember that time when that bombshell came in complaining about some lost package? Nath did not even look away from her face."

"Pakka gentleman, I tell you. He's not the customer complaint manager for nothing."

Everybody guffawed. Nath gave his regular pained smile. Vikram Kumar smiled back. For a moment, Nath thought it was a smile of understanding.

Eventually, Nath started offering Vikram Kumar a ride home on his ancient scooter. He obliged. When the ride turned regular, Vikram Kumar started contributing for petrol. Another mark in his favour.

13 months later, Vivek Chand, accountant, retired. In came a new hire, Ashalata Waad.

Suddenly many colleagues started turning up in pressed shirts and oiled hair. Nath merely shook his head and laughed at their preening. It was their colleagues' turn to laugh when Ms. Ashalata, recently widowed, took to Nath. Furtive smiles. Sympathy over dealing with difficult clients. Nath of course did not notice. But the other colleagues did. And out of sympathy for Ms Ashalata's feelings, they gently took her to a side after a week or so and directed her towards someone more likely to respond; the new divorcee, Vikram Kumar.

That, Nath certainly noticed.

That evening, Nath left without offering a ride to him.

Next morning, everyone noticed the distinct coldness between Ms Ashalata and Vikram Kumar. It was a long day too. Some trouble with licensing of a large shipment, everybody had to stay behind. It was well over 8 when people started leaving. Vikram came over to Nath's desk and tapped on it.

"I don't think this late I will find a riksha like yesterday. Will you please give a ride home?"

Nath sighed. He wasn't petty after all. Well, not much.

The streets were near empty. Theirs was a small town. One that eats at 8 and sleeps at 10. Nath's scooter cut through the silence and the sickly orange lights of the streetlamps like an interloper. They were crossing the Hutatma Chauk when Vikram asked him to stop.

"What for?"

"It was a long and stressful day. I wanted us a relax a bit at the park bench before we go home."

"I'm not going-"

"Please yaar."

Nath sighed.

Stopping the scooter at side, they both walked to the circle where statue of some forgotten freedom fighter stood, benches around it. Surprisingly, there were some people ambling around. Old couples taking a rest from nightly walk. A group of youngsters.

After having the sound of scooter in the ears for past five minutes, the sudden silence was deafening.

"I don't think Ms Waad would be talking to me again," Vikram Kumar started without preamble, a laughter in his voice.

Nath sighed and ran a hand through in thin hair. "You didn't do any-"

"No no, oh god no! I just said I'm not interested. I think that was enough for her to be offended."

"She's not your type?" he probed gently, curious.

Vikram was silent for a moment and then burst out with sudden emotion, "Why does it matter? Why one single woman and one single man can not stay without having an affair? Ye saala bollywood-" Nath hushed him, noticing the people around.

"Sorry." Vikram said, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

"I get it. Years ago, when I told my father I was gay-"

"You're what??"

Nath felt like he made a tremendous mistake in judgement. But he was a grown man dammit, he will hold his ground!

"I said I am gay." Nath held his gaze. Vikram Kumar stared back, unknown range of emotions passing. Eventually he broke the gaze, ran a hand through his own balding hair and sat back.

He shook his head. "I am not gay, if that's why you-"

"That wasn't-"

"I'm NOT. I like women. I- I mean men are good too. I. I don't-"

Nath couldn't help it. He broke into a loud laugh. Like Vikram had performed some excellent comedy sketch.

Vikram punched him lightly on his shoulder, a smile evident on his face.

"I just meant, men, women. All are same to me. Honestly, I didn't mind being married to Sheela. I provided for her, I cared for her wellbeing. Our.. bedroom relations were less ideal but I didn't shut her out. I did my duty."

"I'm guessing she wanted someone who didn't see her as a duty?"

Vikram shrugged. "She was nice about it. Told me plain and simple she found someone else. We didn't have kids. It was easy. Well. As easy as it could be. She told the court I was impotent for swift divorce. I agreed. It caused drama in families though, which is why I asked for a transfer."

"Mrs Bhagwan died at a really opportune moment then."

They both shared a laugh and things fell silent once again.

"So you are... one of those," Vikram tried to say casually.

The elderly couple had left. A newly wed looking one took their place. Nath suddenly felt he was thrown back in time.

"I don't have much family," he started. "Mother died when I was young. Theirs was a love marriage, quite unusual for the times. They had run away and so had lost their families. My father raised me well enough; started pestering me for marriage when I got the job at 22. I kept avoiding for few years. But eventually I had to tell him. I wasn't going to ruin some poor woman's life." Nath looked pointedly at Vikram. Vikram didn't take offence. Just laughed self-consciously. Mark in his favour etc etc.

"Father raged for days. Didn't raise his hand on me, didn't tell anyone else but we fought a lot. It wasn't that he denied my condition. He just wanted a family. On some level we understood each other. I realise it now. I knew he wanted me to marry because he didn't want his hard fought family to die with me. And I guess, he probably knew what it meant to love someone you weren't supposed to.

He died soon after."

"When you were thirty, I remember you telling me."

Nath nodded. "I was free. I had a place of my own. A job. No family to hide myself from. I felt guilty over feeling relieved. I felt angry at being guilty. Then came sadness over being angry. That sadness stayed for a decade."

Vikram asked, "So you never...?

Nath shook out of his trip to memory lane. "Hm?"

"Are you? A bramhachari? Did you ever find-"

"There were some men here and there. Obviously there wasn't going to be a relationship," Nath scoffed. "If you know where to look, you can find release. But after Father died, I don't know, I rarely ever went looking for anybody. I didn't have it in me."

Vikram laughed. "Look at us. Two old men, all on their own, no happy family for us."

"Speak for yourself, I'm barely a day over 40," said the man, almost 50.

Vikram laughed again, looking at him with such fondness in his eyes. Nath felt sharp fear for a moment. Then he decided to be an adult again.

"You look well for your age too."

"Nath..."

Nath shivered at hearing his name. It was an intimate name. People didn't say it much. But it fit in Vikram's mouth.

"I don't want to change anything," Vikram said. "I'm happy as things are. It's ideal. I can't offer anything more."

Nath got up, brushing dust from his pants. It had gotten late. They were alone at the circle. A vehicle passing by to remind them of the world that exists.

"I'll take whatever you can offer," he said, looking away from him.

"Friendship? For as long as I live?" Vikram held out his hand.

Nath looked at it. Big, warm. Hairy. Pale skin where the wedding ring used to sit. He extended his own and took it.

"As long as I live."

... Let me know if you like it enough to see some other prompts involving them... I have so many headcanons for them.

[avengerscompound]

It’s You and Me - Chapter 5

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x  F!Reader

Word Count:  2575

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Action, mentions of sex and death

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back.  Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you.  For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down.  Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father.  Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 5: Now

You blinked over at the three children that were sitting watching morning cartoons.  All had dark hair, light eyes, and pale complexions, with a smattering of freckles over their cheeks.  They all definitely looked related but none particularly resembled the blond 6’4 archer who was claiming to be their father.  The oldest was a boy around thirteen years old that sat on the recliner with his legs crossed playing a game on a tablet.  The girl was the middle child and only a couple of years younger than her brother.  She sat on the couch with a glass of orange juice, her eyes fixed on the episode of Adventure Time currently playing.  The youngest which you assumed was the one Clint had called Nate, was sitting in front of the coffee table with a plastic cup of milk.  He was much younger than the other two by a lot.  You figured he couldn’t be older than five but was more likely three or four.

As you took it all in, the shock didn’t seem to abate at all.  You looked at Clint with your brow furrowed.  “Why didn’t you tell me you had kids?”  You whispered.

“I didn’t think you’d be here when you woke up,” Clint said, sliding the dinosaur pancakes onto a colorful melamine plate.  You watched on as he added more batter to the griddle and then syrup to the pancakes and attempted to get your head around what was going on.  He took the pancakes and put them in front of the little boy before coming back to you and taking your hand, leading you back into the stairwell and up a few steps.  You noticed the girl notice you.  She watched as her father led you up the stairs and then turned back to the TV.

“What… what… what the hell, Clint?”  You said when you were safely out of earshot.

“Okay,” Clint said, putting his hands up like he was surrendering.  “We haven’t seen each other for years.  Years and years.  I had a life.  That’s all.  And I didn’t tell you yesterday because you seemed so flighty.  I figured what was the point.  You’d run off in the night and we’d go back to being exactly where we were before yesterday happened.”

“But you blew up my before yesterday life,” you argued.

“I know,” he said, and relaxed his hands, gingerly taking one of yours.  “I know, okay?  I’m sorry.  Can we start fresh?”

You let out a breath and nodded.

“Hey,” he said.  “Remember me?  It’s Clint.  I met you at the circus when you were still a kid.  Shit, I was still a kid too.  I taught you how to use a sword and ride a horse.”

You smiled a little.  “Yeah, I remember.”

“What have you been up to?”  Clint asked.  “Me?  I joined the government organization, SHIELD.  I was a spy and assassin.  I bet you didn’t expect that.  But I have to admit, I wasn’t great at either.  Then I was an Avenger.  You’ve heard of those guys?  They’re like Superheroes?  It’s kind of a big deal.  Anyway… what else?  Oh right.  I got married.  She was a single mom.  I ended up adopting her kids, and then later we had one together.”

“Where is she?”  You asked the sudden concern that you might have helped Clint cheat on his wife hitting you.

Clint frowned.  “She died,” he said.  “Car accident on the way home from the store.  A drunk driver slammed into her at a T intersection.”  He closed his eyes and shook his head.  You let him have time to work out what he wanted to do with the emotions he had attached to the memory and when he opened his eyes again, he looked a little sadder than he had before.  “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.  I kinda assumed you’d bail on me.  But I am totally here for you sticking around too.  I wanted you to come with me back… before.  That never changed.  So if you wanna try - whatever.  Or the kids are a deal-breaker.  Whatever.  Just… I’m here.  Okay?”

You nodded.  “Okay.”

“I know you never liked kids…”

“I liked kids,” you interrupted.  “I just never wanted them.”

“Right, well,” he said.  “You want to meet mine?”

“Sure,” you said with a small nod, closing your hand around his.

Clint led you back downstairs and flipped the pancakes on the griddle as he passed it.  “Hey kids, I want you to meet my friend.  She’s going to be staying here for a bit,” he gave them your name and then began to indicate to each kid.  “That’s Cooper over there.  Then Lila.  And the little guy is Nate.”

“Hi,” you said, aiming for cheery.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

They all echoed their hellos not particularly giving you too much attention, the way most kids did when you interrupted them doing something they enjoyed.  Clint’s dog ran to the door and began wagging his tail and a second later the door opened.

“Oh and this is Ebony,” Clint said.  “The nanny. She lives here too.”

Ebony had a flustered look about her as she sidestepped Lucky with a large basket of laundry.  “Here’s the clothes.  I really gotta go.  I’m meeting people in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Thank you.  I mean it, thank you.  You’re a lifesaver,” Clint said, taking the laundry basket off her and thrusting it into your arms.  “I owe you one.”

“You owe me at least fifty,” Ebony said.  “Do not call me unless it’s the end of the world.”

“Right, of course.  Have fun,” Clint said as she grabbed her purse.

“See you, trouble makers,” she called as she hurried back out the door.

Clint returned to the pancakes and served up another batch before adding more batter again.  “Your clothes are in there,” he said, indicating to the basket.  “She agreed to do an emergency load of laundry for you because she said it would be a crime to force you out of the house in old Mrs. Wheeler’s clothes.  And don’t worry, she knows how to launder armor, she takes care of mine.”

You laughed.  “I like her already.”

“Go up and change and I’ll have breakfast waiting for you when you get back down,” he said.

When you came back downstairs, Clint was plating up the last of the pancakes as well as bacon, eggs, and fresh fruit.  It was a little startling to you given the last time you’d seen him he lived on coffee and cold pizza.

Clint smiled at you and when you approached, he put his hand on your arm and drew you in a little closer.  Just before his lips touched yours he looked into your eyes.  “Is this okay?”

You swallowed and nodded, not exactly sure if it would be, but wanting it nonetheless.  Clint brought his lips to yours.  This kiss was brief, but passionate, like you were doing something forbidden and clandestine, even though there was nothing about the two of you together that should feel like that at all.  When he pulled back, he tapped your ass and grabbed his plate.  “Come on,” he said.

You grabbed your breakfast and followed Clint to the couch and sat down on the only available recliner.  “Alright kids,” Clint said, as Lucky came and put his head in his lap, in the hopes Clint might give him bacon.  “We have a little bit to get done today and you’re with me.  We’re gonna take the subway into the city.  I need to drop something off at work.  I might see if Auntie Nat can hang out with you for a bit.  You all okay with that?”

They all agreed and then he turned to you.  “We can go over to your place after that if you want.  Grab some of your stuff.”

“You gonna go armed?”  You asked.

“Naturally,” Clint said, dropping a wink at you.

“Then after all that, we can do something fun.  You wanna go to Central Park while we’re in the city?  We can go to the zoo or on the carousel.”

“Can we stay late and see a musical?”  Cooper asked.

Clint raised an eyebrow at him.  “Of all the things I expected to come out of one of my kids’ mouths, that was not one of them,” he said.  “What do you guys think?  I guess we can see Aladdin.”

“Matilda,” Nate said, excitedly.

“Oh yeah?  You want to see a play about someone like your Auntie Wanda?”  Clint joked.

They all talked plans over breakfast and you sat quietly feeling a little out of place.  It was clear that Clint loved his kids a lot, but even more clear was that he wanted to give them the happy, healthy, childhood that he’d been denied.  There was never a suggestion that was thrown out without discussion.  Nothing was a bad idea.  It also explained the effort that he’d put into breakfast.

There were signs of the Clint you knew when you left though.  The dishes were just dumped into the sink and rather than putting the weapons he planned on bringing in a case, he just shoved them into a duffle bag.

The dog came along on the trip and for a while, you wondered how he was going to get him on the subway.  But when you got there he was put awkwardly into a backpack that Clint had been carrying and Clint wore the golden retriever on the train.

The kids and the dog were dropped off with the person you only knew as Black Widow from news reports.  Thankfully your criminal activity was fairly low key and more of the civil disobedience kind, so the Avengers ignored you. But you knew people who had had run-ins with her, and it never turned out well for them.

Then Clint had taken you up to see Captain America and Tony Stark.  They’d obviously been alerted to his presence and the reason for him being there because both were dressed fairly casually (the Captain in a light blue t-shirt that clung to his skin and a brown leather jacket while Stark had a t-shirt with a science pun on it over dress pants), but they were both waiting for him.

“Got it,” Clint said, pulling the microdrive out of his pocket.  Stark snatched it and patted Clint on the cheek.

“Not just a pretty face after all,” he said, going over to one of the consols and plugging it in.

“And who is this?”  Steve asked, nodding to you.

“This is my friend,” Clint said.  “We knew each other at the circus.  She helped with this, but I got her burned.  You think she can … you know…?  Join up?”

“Just going to start recruiting people, Link from the past?”  Tony teased, without looking up from the computer.

“What can you do?”  the Captain asked, ignoring Stark and looking you over.

“Whoah,” you said holding up your hands.  “Who said I even wanted to be part of your elite group of do-gooders?”

“I like her,” Tony said. “She’s got my vote.”

The Captain rolled his eyes but that was the most he acknowledged either you or Stark.

“She’s good, Cap,” Clint said.  “She can fight, and she’s agile as hell.  Can get from one side of the room to the other without touching the ground when it’s just a room with a few other people.  She can even balance on the blade of a sword.”

Steve looked at you, impressed.  “Well,” he said.  “If you ever change your mind, you’re welcome to try out.  If you can keep up with Clint and Nat, you’re in.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you snarked.

“Alright,” Clint said, shaking his head.  “Enjoy your intel.  We have a couple of other things to do today.”

The Captain looked at the duffle bag Clint was carrying.  “Do you need any help?”

“We’ve got it,” Clint answered.  “It’ll probably be nothing.”

Clint couldn’t have been more wrong.  When you got to the rundown building you lived in, the security doors were both broken wide open but when you got to your floor, the door was still closed.

“Ready?”  Clint asked as you looked over the door for any signs of tampering.

You nodded.  “Wonder what their plan is?”  You said.  “You think they’re inside?”

He nodded.  “Either that or watching us through that apartment and they want to block our escape route.”

“Should we go through the window?”  You asked.

“Nah,” he said.  “Might as well take them head-on.”

You shrugged and pushed open the door.  Jasper meowed at you impatiently and hissed in the direction of the neighbor’s door.  He was the only life to be found in your place and you sighed.  They were planning to ambush you.

“Lock the door and push the table up against it,” you said.  Clint nodded and you went and started shoving things into bags.  It was hard to decide what you wanted to keep and what you didn’t when you were under pressure to decide.  You tried to balance things that you needed now, with things that had some kind of sentimental value.  Thankfully, the circus had meant you’d gotten good at packing light and didn’t have a lot of things that you had a strong sentimental attachment to because it was only a couple of minutes before they were banging on the door.

“Might want to hurry, sugar,” Clint said, as someone fired at the locks.  He nocked an arrow and pointed at the door.

“I’m hurrying,” you said, and grabbed a jacket and put it on.  “Jasper, come here buddy,” you said, picking up your cat and zipping up your jacket around him.  He wasn’t exactly happy to be in there, but thankfully despite your kevlar not being strong enough to keep out snake fangs, it handled cat claws fine.

The door shoved forward a little and Clint loosed an arrow, pinning someone's hand to the doorframe.  Whoever it was screamed.  One of Zelda’s snakes slithered through the gap as whoever it was that was pinned to the door tried to muscle it open.

“Time to go,” Clint said, rushing to your side and wrapping his arm around your waist.  You let him hustle you to the window and he shot a grappling arrow at the building across from yours.  “That open window, there,” Clint said, pointing.  “You got this?”

“Please, look who you��re talking to,” you said.

The two of you hoisted yourself through the window and jumped as the door was shoved open.  Clint let you go as you arced over the gap between the buildings and you launched yourself off Clint’s thighs, stretching out, whilst holding your bags close to your body, so you dived headfirst through the window over the road, tucking yourself into a ball and rolling as you hit the ground. The old lady who lived there started screaming.  Clint, came through the window feet first just after you, forward rolling to break the impact.  “Sorry, ma’am!”  He announced as he rolled straight to his feet and grabbed your arm, running to the door.  “Avengers business!”

You started laughing as the two of you ran through the door and out into the hall.  “Oh my god, Clint!”  You shouted.  “I missed this!”

Clint grinned at you as he jumped over the staircase railings.  “Me too, babe.”

// NEXT

[pebblysand]

hello! on the topic of everything ginny went through and people finding out about it, i was wondering about your approach to general wizarding britain’s interest in the events of the year at hogwarts during voldemort’s reign. i have seen other fics like annerb’s armistice series where the events of the year at hogwarts get turned into a media circus, like tragedy porn. what made you decide to have wizarding britain as a whole seem to take the “we’d rather not know” approach? why do you think they’d rather not know? and do you think this attitude will continue indefinitely or that at some point (even if not in the timeline of castles) the wizarding world will want to know what happened in the castle that year? thank you!

Hi there! Thanks for your question, and sorry for taking so long to answer. I had a friend visit last weekend and this week was my last week at my current job so it’s been a very busy few days!! I’ve not much left to do in work today though and I had my booster shot yesterday afternoon which basically has made me unable to really do anything so I’m finally (finally) answering your ask. Sorry about that!

As a disclaimer, I first want to say that just because I wrote it differently, it doesn’t mean that I believe Annerb’s version of this moment in HP History (or other people’s, for that matter - I’m also thinking of this fic) is wrong. In fandom, there’s a natural tendency to assume that if an author chooses to opt for a different take on a particular trope, they automatically think that the people who’ve done it before are wrong or misguided. That is definitely not my case. I’ll explain why below. Also, please note that I only read the Armistice series once, a couple years ago, so while I remember the gist of it, my memory may be hazy on some of the details.

Secondly, I’m not a History expert, just someone who’s taken college classes and… reads shit. I am aware that the below is a gross oversimplification of contemporary History, and told from a very western perspective. Lads, I’m writing a tumblr post about context for fanfic, not an academic thesis. I’m also mostly focusing on European History because a) that’s where HP is set and b) that’s what I know best. You can pretty much find examples of the below in a lot of countries/wars around the world, though.

(see 2,000 more words under the cut)

1. The Historical Perspective

I think - like a lot of other post-war authors - I tend to look at Muggle History to shape the post-war HP world. Obviously, fantasy and dystopian works are meant to act as a metaphor and a distant reflection of our society, and I don’t think HP is any different. You could argue that we need to think of brand new worlds and dilemmas that humans could face in a parallel society, but that is neither my circus, nor my monkey. So, yes, my reflections of the wizarding world are completely bred and influenced by modern day Muggle history.

Now, if you look at Muggle History in the past century, you see that generally, rebuilding society after a war is hard, and the result of years of struggles. In Europe particularly, both the head-in-the-sand perspective and the media circus/tragedy porn perspective have happened, at some point or other. As such, reproducing both those takes in post-wizarding-war fanfic is historically and ideologically accurate. In my opinion, as I said before, there’s no wrong or right way to go about this.

To give you an example: in France, after WW2, a lot of time was spent, immediately after the war, trying to punish those responsible for collaborating with the Nazi regime. This was a time of show trials, imprisonments, shaving women’s heads, etc. You’ve surely seen the pictures in History class if you’re from Europe.

Now, if you transpose what happened there a) to modern-day (well, to the 90s at least) and b) to the Wizarding World, you very quickly get into the realm of Annerb-like tragedy porn. This is a very human (albeit abject) reaction, and I find her take on it incredibly realistic, well-written, and also supported by the way these things have happened in the past. In the wizarding world, this is also kind of what happened after the first war (see Barty Crouch trial) and as humans, we are very prone to endlessly repeat our own mistakes. So, my point is, the tragedy porn perspective works.

However, I think the other version, the put-your-head-in-the-sand version has an equally strong basis in modern day History. If you go further back in European History, you’ll know that after the humanitarian disaster that was WW1, most European countries spent years playing a blame game, especially with regards to the “losers” of WW1, i.e. Germany. In simple terms, the cleansing, airing-the-dirty-laundry-out approach led to Germans holding a lot of resentment towards their neighbours for the post-war humiliations and punishments they’d received (on top of economic difficulties, political imbalances, etc.), which ultimately led to the rise of Hitler, and to WW2.

As a reaction to this (and this is where this whole historical context becomes relevant to Castles), a line of thinking emerged in modern political theory where, post-WW2, many experts thought that assigning blame, hosting trials, and generally holding people responsible for crimes committed during a time of war and punishing them, both as a nation and as individuals, was maybe not the most productive way for society to move forward. According to them, replicating the post-WW1 approach would inevitably foster resentment and blame on both sides, and accentuate threats of populations turning against each other, resulting either in another war (as it had with WW2) or in civil war. Today, you can kind of see that with terrorism where the more the west fought and tortured the populations of Iraq & Aghanistan in “retaliation” for 9/11, the more resentment built against the US and its allies - it’s a very noxious circle of violence.

The line of thinking geared at reconciliation to avoid this circle became more prominent in the 1950s and onwards, where many countries stopped chasing after Nazi criminals, or generally looking for justice/revenge (up to you to decide which applies term here), and instead focused on reconciliation of their people, and the glorification of the “good guys” but without necessarily blaming the “bad guys.” Through that, you get initiatives in Europe like the ESCS, which much later became the foundation for the EU. At its height, this line of political thinking led to many Amnesty laws being passed after subsequent authoritarian regimes fell in the 70s. Spain and the fall of the Franco regime is a pretty striking example of this. This meant that individuals who had committed crimes during these subsequent wars/regimes would simply be allowed to walk free, in the name of moving on and reconciliation and not wanting to turn a very traumatic period of History into an ex-post-facto blaming game.

Now, obviously, the shortcomings of this mindset have become pretty apparent in modern day. Today, in Spain, you can see that countless families of victims and people who were brutally murdered under Franco are still trying to obtain justice for their loved ones. It turns out that sweeping all the pain and anguish brought by a war (especially a war where the enemy is inside, i.e. the government, a part of the population, etc.) under the carpet and making it so that it never existed is… not a thing. People don’t actually forgive and forget. People want justice, and when you’ve suffered a loss, that’s a pretty legitimate request. Amnesty laws can be incredibly brutal on victims and equally fail at avoiding resentment and payback mentalities to emerge.

As a consequence, you can see the hardest feat of modern day post-war reconciliation emerge: striking the right balance between the two options. Between: a) people on the oppressed side having a very legitimate need for justice and reparation, but b) also not wanting the trials and the media circus and the blame game to result in another conflict/civil war. And, let me tell you, the English and Irish have tried to do it with the Troubles (which is IMO a very interesting comparison with HP as these wars are contemporary), and have failed. Hardcore. Satisfying all parties is virtually impossible.

So, to come back to Castles after this short Muggle interlude, this is the dilemma that, I believe, Kingsley (and his government) face in Castles. Especially because the way justice was carried out after the first war was very much a reflection of option a) above (see the Barty Crouch trial). This spectacle-trial/revenge approach, like it led to WW2 in the Muggle world, kind of led to the second wizarding war in theirs (or, at least, failed to prevent it). And, I think like we did in the Muggle world, in Castles, the wizarding world is trying to learn from its mistakes and strike the right balance between providing its people with justice and a witch hunt. This is quasi-impossible on its own, but is additionally complicated by the fact that Kingsley himself and most of his government was part of the rebellion and legitimately wants justice for the people they’ve lost. As Minister, Kingsley is obviously trying to rise above that, above his own instincts of revenge and exposing all the wrong that’s been done, which is a very hard thing to do as a human being.

And, so, I think, to answer your question, I wrote Castles the way I did because I wanted to show how hard that balancing act is. It’s not really the rather-not-know, Amnesty-law approach because they are having trials, they are trying to provide some sort of resolution, but they’re just not very thorough. They know justice is important so they’re holding trials, yes, but they’re not being very effective, because they also don’t want to stir up resentment and end up in another civil war. Exposing what happened during the war, especially what happened to children during the war, as your question relates specifically to Hogwarts, would only worsen the rebuilding and reconciliation efforts that are being attempted by the Ministry. For the trials themselves, they’re also struggling with providing a defence to the accused, but that defence is not allowed to cross-examine or hear witnesses, because that would be too traumatic for the victims. The Ministry is encouraging guilty pleas, because they specifically don’t want a media circus. They know that a lot of their own war heroes have committed crimes, but you’re not going to put Harry Potter on trial, are you? Press is allowed in the trials, but only friendly press, etc… It’s a whole lot of trying and sometimes failing at that balance between competing interests.

And, again, don’t get me wrong: I am not saying that mine is the only way to write this moment in wizarding History. The media circus version is just as interesting and legitimate as mine. But, I think, as an author, you’re always looking at what’s been done before and thinking: okay, but how would that work differently? If everyone’s writing about the media circus, I want to write something else, you know? I think it’s part of those executive decisions you make as an author, i.e. the ones that aren’t dictated by character/the world. You could go either way and you’d be correct, so you need to make a choice, and that’s generally where, as an author, I tend to gravitate towards the road less travelled, because to me there’s more space there and it’s more interesting to write.

To give you another example, another executive decision of this type I had to make was: would Harry talk to the Commission, or would he go no comment? Which is a larger question of: would he speak up and try to right all the wrongs after the war, or would he shut down? Frankly, I don’t know. Both options work. Sometimes, in the books, he wants his truth to be heard by everyone and their cousin, and sometimes, he shuts down and refuses to talk to anybody, thinking they won’t understand, and telling himself he doesn’t care. Well, in that case, I’ll look at what other people have done and if everyone else has written him speaking up after the war (which is kind of the case, from the post-war stuff I’ve read), I’m going to go the opposite road and see if I can make it work. I think that’s the challenge of writing something as common as post-war fics - to see what different perspective you can take on them, while still being faithful to the books.

So, tl;dr, I wrote it this way because it fits historically and because I hadn’t seen anyone else write it that way before, so I thought it was an interesting thing to explore

2. My Own Personal Writing Preference

Now, I could stop with the above demonstration and surely sound very clever and cultured, but the truth is, there’s another reason why I didn’t go the media circus road: I’m shit at writing dramatic scenes. By which I mean: when you read the Annerb stuff, she is incredibly good at writing dialogue-y scenes where people argue, shout, or make stunning declarations in front of a grand audience. I guess you could call it “melodrama” but like, in a good way? Big and loud drama, maybe. And, let’s be honest, if you’re going to go into the media circus road, you need that. You need the glitter and the bling of a spectacle. Harry, Ginny, or whoever is on the spot will have to argue and get angry and make points and all of that, for it to work towards your plot.

I - on the other hand - am utterly shit at writing those scenes. If you look at Castles, every time there is an argument, I sort of skim over it or change perspectives, etc. because to be honest, I’m just bad at writing that shit without sounding cliche. I am not a good ALL CAPS writer. So, I’ll admit it, by choosing the aforementioned road of a more quiet head-in-the-sand perspective, I’m also playing into my strengths, as an author, and that’s definitely something I considered when I made the executive decision I wrote about above. It may not be as noble of a reason as wanting to do things differently from a historical perspective, but it’s definitely a reason. I think knowing your strengths and weaknesses as an author is very important and I’m much better at writing the quiet moments than the loud ones.

3. Lastly, a Couple of Ending Thoughts

First, I remember you asking me in your initial PM about Molly (and the Weasleys) participating in that head-in-the-sand mentality. I think for them, this is not a reconciliation thing, like Kingsley, it’s purely a thing of: there’s only so much suffering someone can take. For Molly, specifically, she’s lost a son. As long as her other children are alive, to her, that’s enough - they’re doing well. Especially, since Ginny is trying very, very hard in Castles to appear fine. Sure, she’s being provocative and lying to herself, and hiding how she’s really feeling, but Molly is and has always been someone who’s pretty surface-level with her children. Percy’s behaviour was clearly bred in fear of inadequacy and teenage rebellion but both his parents take his actions at face value. And, that isn’t to say Molly is a bad mother, but I think she’d be much more inclined to console someone who’s clearly struggling, like George, rather than someone who tends to hide their symptoms more, especially behind provocation, like Ginny.

Second, you’ve asked if that perspective will change later on in the fic. Without revealing too much, I think it’s pretty much a given that yes, it will. Our perspectives on wars and historical events change as time washes over them, and that’s - I think - one of the most interesting aspects of writing a post-war fic.

Okay, this post is already way too long, so I’ll stop there. But thanks so much for this wonderful question, it’s the kind of ask I live to answer, ahha.

[dansnaturepictures]

18/04/2021-Stoke Park Wood walk and home photos: 5 different pictures in this photoset to those I tweeted tonight the second, third, fifth, sixth and ninth 

On another very sunny day I took the first picture in this photoset of one of the lovely young trees out the back on the street looking great and brightly green. I took a picture of the other tree too which I tweeted on Dans_Pictures tonight I’ve never taken different pictures of them on the same day before. Before we went out I took a few photos in the garden including the second in this photoset of little white flowers. 

We then came to Stoke Park Wood today where I hadn’t been since Boxing Day, in the hope we could see some great bluebell wood scenes like we did on Good Friday 2020. We arrived and took in the brilliant warm temperatures and stunning sunshine, and as we walked through bright green and blossoming woods we felt very spring like when a Chiffchaff flew into views and flitted between thin branches a bit and also called which was fantastic to see. It was not alone in the chorus as a Robin beautifully piped up too and I saw this. 

We reached the area we had been stunned by the bluebells all together on the forest floor last spring knowing it may be just about time, and other factors meant a local walk was a good choice today, and we saw the spring was maybe a bit further behind this year as we had observed anyway as they didn’t quite seem to be there on the scale as this time last year I am sure they will get there though. However we did notice a few swathes of bluebells just starting to get to a sea of them, and lots more swathes of yellow made mostly by the the brilliant lesser celandine that I have had such an amazing spring for seeing they have really brightened up the forest floors and the like this year for me I’ve noticed them more than ever and I find them beautiful and some of a flower we saw for the first time ever yesterday a group of marsh marigold. I took the fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset today showing this. As we walked through this wooded area we did catch sight of another flower I really hoped we could, the wood anemone that are a key part of spring and I could tell from social media had been emerging a lot lately. A flower I’d never photographed before although I felt I had seen them here on Good Friday last year, but thinking about it I now think it could have been something else. More on that later. I was really happy to see these fantastic white flowers, I found it notable how big they were really I had them in my head as smaller but they rather dwarfed the lesser celandine which are a fair size for a flower I think. They really are bright, smooth and immaculate gems of flowers. I loved seeing so many, I took the third picture in this photoset of some. I took another which I tweeted of one with a lesser celandine right next to it which was great for contrast and there was a bee on the latter flower which looked brilliant. I also took the sixth picture in this photoset of one with bluebells I left feeling very pleased indeed that I saw the wood anemone. 

Walking on I was thrilled to see a star of Stoke Park Wood which I saw so well on Boxing Day and I think Good Friday too something we do tend to see here loads, one of my favourite birds the Jay. This charming crow stayed for a little while and I was so happy to just about manage to photograph it, the seventh picture in this photoset I was quite pleased with how this one came out of a bird I adore I took quite a few photos I was proud of today. A great moment and I spotted another later on too lurking in a shadow making me think it was a Jackdaw first of all but upon further inspection in the binoculars I saw it was Jay.

As we walked onto a path that was butterfly rich with Peacock and Brimstone showing, seeing Peacocks battle with each other today and go nice and high up against tall tree lines it made me think of summer days when the butterfly season is a bit further on and how much I enjoy being in places like this then. Also here where I did love being today as well I noticed as we would for the rest of the walk another bright white delight in the form of the smaller greater stitchwort on the ground. This is a flower I saw at Hut Wood on Easter Saturday last year, following my assumed introduction to wood anemone here the day before I first thought it was that but realised not when home and a kind Twitter friend identified it for me. I now think the ones at Stoke Park Wood which I didn’t photograph last Easter may have been greater stitchwort as I do remember them being small. I had hoped to see these another I learnt last spring soon too this year so to see them both on a day was brilliant and I really got to enjoy their beauty and see the differences. It was amazing to see so many flower species out today and photograph so many it was a good day for my macro lens. I had much content for #WildflowerHour on Twitter tonight which was great. I took the eight picture in this photoset of some of the stitchwort and ninth of some with some bluebells. 

I knew it was very likely to be a flower walk here and a butterfly one also with it obviously a great one for birds as well, and as we walked on I was happy to see another species we saw here on Good Friday last year when a bright blue butterfly flew past us. At this stage in the season you have to do no work to identify a blue butterfly, as Holly Blue is the only one on the wing at this time of the year in the UK so it was a very welcome sighting for what was my next butterfly target. A great refreshing view of this nice light blue butterfly today. It meant I’d got three butterfly year ticks in as many days after Orange Tip at Lakeside on Friday and Large White which I went on to see well on this walk today at Winchester Cathedral yesterday. Holly Blue where it was butterfly number nine of my 2020 year last year today it was my milestone tenth butterfly of the year always a great point to get to in spring and I am thrilled to have made it with this great view of a lovely species a very strong start to my butterfly year. Holly Blue, Peacock, Brimstone and Large White with multiple sightings of all but the blue provided a sweet circus of colour today, helped by great colour in the trees too. I took the tenth picture in this photoset of a Peacock before we left, and an interesting soft cloud scene on a blue sky which lingered all day quite nicely and a really beautiful sunset awaited on a lovely evening when home today which I tweeted pictures of as I relaxed a lot this afternoon and evening. I enjoyed doing so without the usual Sunday night feelings really as my annual leave for a week officially starts tomorrow and we do hope to do some exciting and safe trips. I hope you have all had a great weekend and thanks for all your support. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary for Stoke Park Wood: My first Holly Blue butterfly of the year, one of my favourite birds the Jay, Song Thrush, Blackbird, Robin, Chiffchaff, Blue Tit, Peacock, Brimstone, Large White, bees and hoverfly.

[allie1804-fan]

New Beginnings (Chapter 8)

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New Beginnings Baby Drabble

New Beginnings Baby Drabble No2

A couple of hours later they were back at home, lying on their bed staring at the ceiling lightly holding hands.

Keanu spoke first

“Is it OK with you that I’m more terrified than happy” he said turning to look at her.

“Thank god you said that first” she sighed “because that’s exactly how I feel. Like we’ve been sent back in time to possibly let fate have another go at beating us up!

“Come ‘ere” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against his chest.

“Well at least we’re on the same page!” he chuckled lightly “I know we saw it, in the right place and everything but about 5 minutes after we left I didn’t feel reassured anymore!”

“me neither!”

When Emily spoke again her voice was choked with tears

“It’s not fair is it, we should be thrilled and excited but that’s all been stolen from us”

“mmmmm but maybe that’s up to us? You know what’s that poem?”

“oh Kipling you mean? She recited ‘If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster   And treat those two impostors just the same’”

“Yes that one, maybe we just try and remember that and take it one day at a time. I know it’s easy to think that expecting the worst makes it easier to face the worst but it probably doesn’t. I mean we’re not going to blindly assume it’s all gonna be a piece of cake, obviously but maybe we need to let ourselves be just a little hopeful?”

With that he leaned over and lifted her shirt, pressing his lips to her belly

“Hey little one, please just stay put do you hear? And grow big and strong and come out screaming your lungs out, OK? Because we really, really want you, OK?”

He came back up then to kiss Emily, stroking her hair then kissing at the tears that had leaked out while he said his piece to the baby.

“I love you, more than anything or anyone ever and I know there are no guarantees but let’s just let ourselves imagine that next summer we get to meet this little person we’ve made and love them and see them grow up OK?”

She nodded, still too choked to speak.

The next week they had two important appointments. The first was with the obstetrician for another scan. The peanut was still there, heart beating away and they guessed that by now Emily was between 7 and 8 weeks along. They offered to repeat the weekly scans through the first trimester given their high levels of anxiety.

The next day they saw the counsellor.

Once they had explained the situation she asked Emily first how she was feeling.

“well I guess we just feel”

“let me just stop you there, you don’t have to speak for Keanu. He might very well feel many of the  same things, but speak for yourself first – you might have some different worries”

“Well, I guess I was surprised how the news made me feel.  Disappointed is not it exactly but we went to that appointment feeling, you know, purposeful and in control and when we left I felt” she paused “all at sea all over again and that made me” she paused again feeling ashamed at the next word she wanted to say

“angry”

“that’s not surprising – and how do you feel now?”

“well, still out of control - and the relief from the scan yesterday seemed to last about 3 hours before I started thinking maybe it’s already gone wrong!, but I’m trying, really trying to have a little hope, but I’m struggling if I’m honest’

“and you Keanu?”

“much the same”

“You are?! I thought you were getting hopeful, talking to my belly and everything”

“That’s just me trying to control my fear sweetheart, I’m as scared as you are!”

Emily’s shoulders relaxed from the tensed up state they’d been in until now and she took his hand and squeezed it tight.

The counsellor asked a few more questions and let them voice their worries. Her main advice was to keep busy, keep talking and listening to each other and take one day at a time. She also reminded them that whatever happened, their thoughts weren’t going to change the outcome. Stress was to be avoided of course but thinking it might all go wrong or all go right for that matter wasn’t going to make it come true or make it easier to deal with either outcome.

Back at home Emily told him how relieved she was that he still felt the same fears as her. She’d started to feel like she was ‘letting the side down’ by not voicing more positivity.

The following week, both Keanu and Emily got back to work having taken the previous week to acclimate themselves to the news.  Keanu was busy training at 87/11 for an action movie as well as checking in with Arch and Emily was in the writers’ room for a new TV show.

The next scan came and went, with another short window of elation and reassurance following it.

Emily hadn’t got many typical symptoms but the sickness had just started to kick in and she needed to eat to keep it at bay. Jane, one of her fellow writers spotted that Emily, who never normally indulged in biscuits, was powering through them during the writers’ room sessions as well as bumping into her splashing her face in the bathroom after being sick.

 “You OK?”

 “Yeah, yeah just been burning the candle at both ends” she lied.

Emily had never been an adept liar and felt like her lie was written all over her face and that the  cat could be out of the bag. Jane was married to a presenter on Entertainment Tonight and she could just imagine her passing on what she’d seen to him and if anyone had spotted them at the hospital visits as well, the game would certainly be up!

At that week’s counselling session, the focus was all on people finding out, both those close to them  and the wider public. They hadn’t told a soul so far.

“so” the counsellor asked Emily, “can you tell me what it is in particular about people finding out that bothers you so much?”

“well if people know then it’s more real and then if it goes wrong ……” she trailed off

“if it goes wrong and people know, is it more real than if they didn’t?”

Emily smiled realising she’d had her so called defence strategy unpicked.

“No, of course not, I guess it’s all just another way my stupid brain is trying to protect me huh?”

“It’s not stupid but you’re right, it’s a coping strategy. Let’s turn the idea on its head. If you lost your baby and no-one knew, how would that be?           “

“Well I guess we could more easily pretend it never happened!” she said, giving Keanu a knowing look since he had confessed before that he’d done exactly that after Ava.

“but it would be pretty lonely too”

They talked some more about the potential value of support - regardless of the success or not of the pregnancy and they made the decision to tell close friends and family.

They also talked about what to do in case anything leaked to the press.

They had never released a statement about the ectopic (one had been ready in case a member of staff had  leaked it or if a member of public had seen them at the hospital) but no one had fortunately. They would need to talk to Cheryl given the frequency of their visits to the Obstetrics Wing of the hospital.   Keanu recalled that even in 1999 pre the days of social media, news of Jennifer’s pregnancy had got out when she was around 4 months along and they’d had to release a statement. Their chances of keeping it under the radar in today’s 24 hour news circus were slim.

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New Beginnings Baby Drabble

New Beginnings Baby Drabble No2

[littlemisswolfie]

does she know that my destiny lies with her?

AO3

Summary: Trips are made, conversations are had, and truths are revealed.

Two things are decided the next day during breakfast.

One: Darius won’t be rejoining the troupe for shows or missions until after the baby is born. There are a few reasons for this decision. For one, Darius is out of practice after a few months of being away. He needs to get his weight and muscles back to what they used to be for him to be safe. There’s also Kozholok to worry about; the less of a spectacle he makes of himself, the safer he, Yi, and the baby will be.

Two: Darius has to explain himself to Yi’s mother. This is mostly a Wrath decree, because she wants to keep the peace between the troupe and a woman who cooks for them once a week. “Plus,” she says, eyeing Darius’s hand on Yi’s knee, “I don’t think you want your child’s grandmother to hate you, right?”

Cal is obviously in the doghouse with the rest of the troupe members, but no one is openly hostile with him. They mostly just make him do menial tasks, like hand-washing the dishes after breakfast even though they have a dishwasher and Onyx asking him to do her laundry for her. It’s a very sibling-like dynamic, and, thankfully, Cal doesn’t seem too put out by all of it. Yi’s glad; she would hate for Cal to be alienated like that.

She’s not quite ready to forgive him for the things he said, but she doesn’t want him to suffer, either.

*

After breakfast, Yi finally shows Darius the nursery. It’s mostly an excuse to be alone together again, so when Darius is finished poking around, he sits in the rocking chair and pulls her into his lap. “When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” he asks her.

“This afternoon,” she says. “At two. Do you want to come with me?”

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

She cranes her neck to kiss his cheek. “Of course I don’t mind. I’d love for you to come.” Then she laughs and adds, “My doctor keeps pestering me about meeting you, actually. Her name is Dr. Rudy. I think you’ll like her.”

“After, we should go see your mom.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Wrath’s right. I need to clear the air with her before the baby comes.” His hand brushes her stomach again. “I just need to prove I’m going to do right by you.”

“She compared you to my dad,” Yi admits.

He winces. “The one who ran out on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Hey.” She cups his face and makes sure he looks at her. “You came back. That means a lot more than words ever could.”

He kisses her sweetly on the lips and they sit there in a comfortable bubble for a while longer. 

*

Dr. Rudy is indeed thrilled to finally meet the father of Yi’s baby. She can tell as soon as she walked into the exam room that Darius is The Boyfriend, because she’s never seen Yi look at her other friends like that. “I’m glad you got back before your little guy decided to make an appearance,” she jokes as she gets the sonogram machine up and running. “Everything’s going just fine. Ms. Cheng is having a perfectly normal, healthy pregnancy.”

Darius smiles and rubs Yi’s hand. “I’m glad.”

The sonogram appears on the machine, and there he is, their baby. Yi hears Darius’s gasp next to her. “Right now,” Dr. Rudy says, “he’s a little over a foot long. That’s a little small for thirty-two weeks, but nothing to be worried about.”

“Holy shit,” Darius says. His eyes are glued to the screen, where he can see their son moving around. 

She turns her head to smile at him. “That’s him,” she says. “That’s our baby.”

Darius squeezes her hand and says nothing, but she’s pretty sure he’s happy about it.

“You’ll be considered full term in five weeks,” Dr. Rudy says. “As long as you avoid too much stress and keep a healthy diet, I can’t see any complications that could arise between now and then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dr. Rudy casts an amused look in Darius’s direction. “I’m guessing you’ll want a sonogram picture.”

Yi laughs. “Yeah, I think so. Right, Darius?”

Darius just nods, and Dr. Rudy shakes her head and prints out the picture.

*

Darius drives them to the shop after her appointment. They have a copy of her most recent sonogram as a peace offering for her mom; Darius never said exactly what happened when he talked to her yesterday, and Yi can only hope her mom isn’t too angry.

They don’t get out of the Jeep as soon as he parks. Instead, he leans over to kiss her and says, “Let me talk to her alone.”

“Are you sure?” Yi asks.

He nods. “Her issue is with me. I won’t make you play mediator.”

“Alright.” She puts one hand over his and squeezes, and she can feel him relax a little at the contact. “I’ll stay in the shop, then. Just don’t take too long, okay? Otherwise I’ll think Mom killed you or something.”

“I think I can handle myself a little better than that.”

“You’ve obviously never met an angry Chinese mom, then.”

*

Yi, like she predicted, has to watch the shop while Darius and her mom talk in the apartment upstairs. Her mom had given him the stink eye when they walked in together but agreed to speak with him privately. So far, Yi can’t hear any shouting from upstairs, so she guesses the conversation is going well.

Some of the regulars are both surprised and thrilled to see her again. “Your mom said you had a bun in the oven,” says Gar, a rugged old man who had drawn a unicorn on her hot pink cast when she was four because she asked for it, “but I didn’t believe her!”

Yi ducks her head and blushes. “Guilty as charged,” she says, rubbing her stomach. “He’s moving around in there. Want to feel?” 

He does, and the baby kicks against his hand rather enthusiastically. Gar laughs. “That’s a strong little guy, huh?”

“Takes after his dad,” Yi says.

“What’s your guy do for a living?” Gar asks. “Your mom never said.”

“He’s a trapeze artist for the Night of Sin circus.” Gar looks skeptical, so she rushes to add, “It pays a lot better than it sounds, I promise. Tickets are over a thousand bucks a pop. We live in a penthouse over a casino. We have plenty of money.”

“I knew you were only with me for my money,” Darius’s voice says, and Yi turns around to see him coming out of the employee’s only door that really just hides the stairs to the apartment. His arms wrap as far around her middle as they can and he drops a kiss on her forehead. 

“Well,” she jokes, “what other good qualities do you have?”

“My dashing good looks, for one.”

“Whatever you say, babe.” Yi turns her head a little to look at Gar again. “Darius, I want to introduce you to Gar. He’s been coming here since I was a kid.”

Darius takes one hand off of Yi and extends it to shake one of Gar’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“So you’re the guy that got our little Yi knocked up?”

Yi knows Gar’s just joking, but Darius doesn’t, and Gar, at almost six feet tall and more muscle than fat, is an intimidating man. Darius winces. “Uh.”

“I haven’t been ‘little Yi’ since I was ten, Gar,” Yi protests.

Gar laughs. “You’re still ‘little Yi’ as long as you can’t reach the top shelf without a footstool.”

“That’s discrimination.”

“That’s facts.” Gar finally smiles at Darius, and Yi feels him relax against her. “It’s good to meet you, kid. How old’re you?”

“Twenty-nine. My birthday is at the end of July.”

“And Yi says you’re a trapeze artist?”

“One of the best.” Darius squeezes Yi’s hip. “I caught Yi out of a freefall the night I met her.”

“Because you singled me out of the crowd as a volunteer,” Yi fires back.

“I knew you’d have the balls if I dared you.”

“She’s always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie,” Gar says, humor evident in his voice. “One time when she was in middle school, she tried strapping fireworks to her bike to see if they would make it go faster.”

Darius lets out a shocked laugh and Yi scowls. “I broke my damn nose,” she says. “You should be more sympathetic to a pregnant woman, Gar.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart! This is the first time you’ve liked a boy well enough to bring him around, and you went and got pregnant before you introduced us! I have a lot of embarrassing stories to catch him up on.”

The employee’s only door opens behind them again, and when Yi looks towards it, she sees her mother emerge. “Please stop harassing my daughter,” she says, voice light like it always is when she jokes with their regulars. “Unless you want me to tell the story of when Yi came to ask you for help with her period and you—”

“Ahhhh, nope! You awful woman, I’ll stop.”

“Good. Now buy what you need and get out, please. I’m closing up early today.”

*

Half an hour later finds Yi, her mom, and Darius all sitting in the living room of the apartment over the shop. Yi knows she should probably tone the PDA down a little around her mom, but she’s been separated from Darius for too long already, so she doesn’t pull away when he tugs her legs up and into his lap so he can rub her feet. She groans in appreciation. “Thanks, babe.”

Darius squeezes her knee with his free hand. “I could tell they were hurting. You kept shifting your weight downstairs.”

“Was I? I didn’t realize.”

“That’s why you have me around.”

Her mom clears her throat, and Yi jumps a little and turns her head to face her. “Oh! Sorry, Mom.”

“I already talked to Darius,” her mom says, crossing her arms, “but I’d like to hear your side of everything. Do you love him?”

That’s the easiest question in the world. “Yes.”

“And does he love you?”

Yi feels Darius stiffen under her, but she doesn’t waver. “Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he shows me with everything he does.” Yi squeezes his hand and feels him relax. “I know Darius like I know myself. He loves me, Mom, never doubt that.”

Her mom regards them both with a critical eye for a moment longer than is really comfortable and sighs. “Alright. I’ll give him a chance. Have you decided what name my grandson will have?”

Yi freezes up because, well, no, they haven’t talked about it, but Darius pipes up with, “I don’t really care about my name. It  has no real meaning to it. I’d like the baby to be a Cheng instead of a Ricci.”

“Are you sure?” Yi asks, a hand falling to her belly.

Darius presses a kiss to her temple. “I’m positive.”

*

When they’re done talking to her mom, she and Darius hop to the next building over to see Nahara.

Yi’s gut twists a little at the thought of seeing the seer again. Their last interaction wasn’t exactly positive, after all. But Wrath insisted. “Your baby is half demon, Yi,” she said. “You need to make sure it’s not going to hurt you.”

So Yi squeezes Darius’s hand and lets him lead her inside.

Nahara takes one look at them and almost combusts. Her hair whips around her like an angry cat’s tail and when she speaks, the air goes still. “Yi Cheng,” she says, “what is your father’s name?”

Yi and Darius both stiffen at the mention of her deadbeat dad, but Yi answers, “Bai. Bai Cheng.”

The crease in Nahara’s brow deepens and her frown widens. “I feared as such.” Suddenly looking very tired, she gestures to the sitting area of her shopfront, inviting them both to sit. Darius pulls Yi into his lap and she leans back against him, confused and worried. Why does Nahara know his name?

Nahara disappears through a door and returns with two cups of tea. The one she hands Yi smells of ginger, which would have been nice back when she was still vomiting every few hours, but she doesn’t say this. “Is something wrong?” she asks instead.

Nahara sighs. “I’ve had a suspicion for a while now,” she says, “and your child and your father have confirmed it.”

Darius tightens his hold on Yi as she shivers at the chilly tone in Nahara’s voice. “What do you mean?” His voice is stern. Protective. 

“It means that Yi is about as human as you are.”

And the world spins.

[redroseworks]

safe dickroyweek day one midnight/secrets @dickroy-week

Roy hated when Ollie dragged him to Gotham. The place made him feel like he was in some sort Addams family nightmare. He especially hated the galas in Gotham. Especially the ones hosted by one Bruce Wayne; playboy billionaire. 

Roy side eyed Ollie as he talked to Bruce Wayne. 

"Long time no see Brucie." Ollie forced a smile. Roy didn't care for his drama with Wayne.

"Some might say it hasn't been long enough. I heard you adopted a son, is this him?" Bruce asked with a smile. 

"Yeah, I'm Roy. Ollie says you're a man wh-" Ollie clamped a hand over Roy's mouth.

"How about you go find Bruce's son, uh, Rick or something like that." Ollie said.

Bruce nodded. "Great idea. And his name is Dick. Dick Grayson. He's hanging by the food and drinks." 

Roy groaned and made his way towards the table that had fancy foods and other shit. He easily spotted a short guy about his age.

"Yo, you're Dick, right? Terrible name." Roy said.

"Thanks." Dick looked at him funnily. 

"I'm Roy. Ollie Queen's orphan." Roy held out his hand.

Dick shook it. "Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's ward."

"Ward? Wow that sure is a fancy fucking word. What is this? The nineteenth century?" Roy smirked.

"My main caretaker is a British butler that may or may not be over a hundred years old so I shall use some fucking fancy words." 

"I like you. You're not a rich asshole."

[[MORE]]

Him and Dick spent the rest of the night talking about the other party goingers.

"There's the Drakes, their son is freaky quiet and I never seen the parents even hold hands." Dick pointed out a small family.

"Wow that kid is tiny. What is he? Three?" 

"I think he's like eight." 

"That's a gremlin. That's a literally gremlin. I could throw him across a room."

Dick laughed. "Yeah. He looks like Tiny Tim." 

"Ha! Yeah okay… what about that red head with that blonde girl?" Roy pointed at a pair.

Dick shrugged. "Oh that's just Kate and Bette. They're Bruce's cousins. Kate is pretty nice plus she makes fun of Bruce a lot. Bette is annoying but she's okay. She tries to act like she can boss me around because she's Bruce's cousin even though she's younger than me." 

"Huh. Five bucks says Kate is a lesbian." 

"She is." 

"Can I get five bucks?" Roy asked. Dick rolled his eyes but laughed.

The next week Roy was in Star City.

Roy walked out into the kitchen. A small figure was on the counter. He flicked on the lights while his heart raced.

But it was only Robin, eating ice cream in the dark. His mask hid his eyes but his face obviously was damp from crying. Robin stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Hey Rob, you alright?" Roy asked.

Robin shrugged. "Had a nightmare. A really bad one. Couldn't sleep after that so I'm eating cotton candy ice cream that Wally brought." 

Roy nodded. Robin had fallen asleep on the couch while they were having movie night at Roy's home. Well, Ollie's home. Ollie and Roy's home. The Arrow House. Roy would have to work on that later.

"Let me grab a spoon and the cookie dough ice cream and I'm gonna join you on the counter." Roy said.

"Okay?" Robin said before shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

In less than a minute he was sitting next to his short best friend. 

"So you wanna talk about the nightmare?" Roy asked.

"No. Why are you up?" 

"I always eat a midnight snack." Roy licked the scoop of ice cream he had made.

"Oh." 

"But for real, talk to me Romeo." Roy said.

Robin said. "I shouldn't have came over today."

"Yesterday. It's midnight." Roy pointed out.

Robin lightly hit his shoulder. "You wanted me to talk so let me talk." 

"Okay, okay. Carry on."

"Yesterday was an anniversary… of the death of my parents." Robin said.

"Shit. That sucks Rob. I get it though. I remember the day of the fire that killed my old man so vividly even after nine years and then old Raymond's death about two years ago… how long has it been for you?" Roy asked before taking a bite of his ice cream.

"Five years. Five years ago yesterday my mom and dad were dead in front of me. And watching Dumbo didn't do me any favors." Robin sighed. Dead in front of him? Roy wanted to hug Robin and make him feel better.

"Were they killed by elephants?" Roy asked.

Robin laughed. "No… don't tell anyone but I was raised in a circus." 

"Were you a clown?" Roy asked with a smirk.

"An acrobat, you asshole." Robin elbowed him. In return Roy hit him lightly with the spoon; leaving ice cream on Robin's cheek.

"Roy!" Robin hissed.

Roy chuckled and licked the ice cream off of Robin's cheek. The smaller boy made an inhuman noise before licking Roy's arm.

"You dick!" Roy yelled.

"Oh you have no idea." Robin giggled.

A few months after that night Roy and Robin were up again late at night, however this time the whole team was with them.

Robin stood in front of them. "I have something to tell you guys." 

"You're gay? Because same dude." Donna asked. Roy kinda hoped Robin would agree 

"No. Well, I'm bi but that's not what I'm talking about." Robin's hands went to his mask. Holy shit. Roy's eyes widened. Was Robin really gonna finally tell them all his secret identity?

Robin pulled off his mask and Roy held his breath. Robin had beautiful blue eyes that reminded Roy of the night sky. "My name is Dick Grayson." 

Roy blinked he knew that name. Bruce Wayne's ward. The cute funny boy he met months ago. That dick knew who Roy was.

"Robin. Home now." A voice behind them all made Roy jump. Batman. Bruce Wayne. 

"But they're my friends." Robin, no, Dick said.

Many years later Roy found Dick alone on a roof in New York City. 

"Hello Romeo." Roy said.

"Hello Mr. Harper." Dick raised an eyebrow.

"Whatcha doing up here?" Roy asked.

"Just thinking about stuff."

"Girl or boy stuff?"

"What are you thirteen?"

"Give or take twenty-six years." Roy laughed.

"Girl stuff. Sort of. Kori's back."

"Oh." 

"She has a daughter. A baby." 

"Oh. Oh. Yours?" Roy asked.

"Yeah. Her name is Princess Mar'iand'r Donna Grayson." 

"That's a fucking fancy name. Lian is just Lian Anna Harper." Roy sat down next to Dick.

"How'd you handle it?" 

"I didn't. I just tried my best. You know?" 

"Not really." 

"Well I can help you. Besides Lian loves you and will love little Mars."

Dick laughed. "You haven't even met her and you already gave her a nickname." 

Roy smiled. "Well, Mr. Grayson, she's your kid so she's definitely amazing and wonderful and adorable and sweet." 

"Wow, you're such a charmer." Dick smiled.

Roy wrapped an arm around him. "Of course I am, baby."

"You were cuter when we were younger." Dick said.

"Really? Am I ugly now?"

"No. Just not cute." 

"Handsome?" 

"Maybe." 

Roy didn't know who kissed who first but his lips were definitely touching Dick's lips and his tongue was definitely in Dick's mouth and Dick's tongue was in his mouth. And wow now he was thinking about Dick and Dick's dick.

He started to laugh. Dick pulled away, "What's so funny, Red?" 

"Your name is Dick." 

"You're so immature." 

"But you love that about me." 

"Oh shut it." Dick said before kissing Roy. 

Roy could definitely get use to kissing his best friend.

[fic-al]

People Call Me Trixie

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE UNEXPLODED TRIFLE

As the number 55 made its return journey back to central London. Trixie was pleased she had visited her friend. Sister Bernadette had looked frail. Trixie was certain she had lost weight. Although difficult to tell in her more fitted dressing gown, rather than her usual habit, but her face did look thinner.

She had found her in good spirits, if not a little tired and a bit preoccupied, which was to be expected. She seemed particularly thrilled with the dead butterfly. Trixie, not for the first time, heard Marianne's laughter ringing in her ears. She knew exactly what Marianne would have said.

She had tried to talk to Dr Turner, she really had. Tried to take more of an interest in Timothy. She had asked them to join them in the dining room on more than one occasion. He always made some excuse, she had taken to making up a little bag of food for him to take home for the pair of them. Quite often he would leave before she had finished preparing it. Sister Bernadette always seemed to know what to say and Trixie felt awkward and out of place. A bit like a spare set of forceps, left behind in the autoclave.

By Christmas 1958, Trixie realized she had been more than a spare set of forceps. She felt like she had been offered a front row seat at Billy Smart’s Circus and had foolishly been sat facing the wrong way throughout the entire performance.

It was Christmas Eve, and she knew she wasn't the only Nonnatun, whose wedding invitation had seemingly got lost in the post. Unless of course they had arrived at Nonnatus House following its inhabitants and half of Poplar, being evacuated due to a newly discovered unexploded bomb. When she saw the bride-to-be coming out of the nuns makeshift chapel in the Rescue Centre. She could hardly believe her eyes. Trixie had seen her former colleague so little since she had last visited her in St Anne's and was still a little startled at seeing her out of the habit.

"Si..Shelagh! I didn't expect to see you here, on the day of your wedding!"

Trixie didn't know if she believed in fate, but she would put this meeting down to divine providence and ask her burning question, anyway. Even though she had been told to wait until after Christmas.

"We have a patient, Jenny and I, here in the Rescue Centre. Mrs Bridges, her husband is suffering from battle fatigue and I wondered if I could talk to Dr Turner. Obviously not today, I mean, I know this isn't a good time..."

Trixie reeled back on her heels at the sight of the anger in the former nun's eyes.

"No, this is not a good time, Nurse Franklin!" She snapped, "I am sure I don't know what you are talking about! Dr Turner is sat by his son's bedside and has been since yesterday evening." Shelagh seemed to gasp for air but continued,

"Timothy has polio and has been placed in an Iron Lung. I am very sorry to hear about your Mr...I can't imagine why you think Patrick would be more suited to deal with this, rather than the designated locum. If you feel it is an emergency, I suggest you refer to him, Nurse!"

Shelagh had finished talking through frustration and tears. Trixie could only watch her walk away. She had been on call all night, dashing between her patients, the ones who had been fortunate enough to remain in their own homes, then checking on Alan and Yvonne Bridges. She hadn't even been aware Shelagh had spent the night at the Leopold Institute or why?

Trixie found a quiet spot on the stairs and hugged her knees together. She knew it wasn't her fault, but she had only added to Shelagh's distress. She had been so wrapped up in her own efforts to help Alan; she hadn't questioned why Shelagh was at the Rescue Centre on the morning of her wedding. Or stopped to think before hastily asking for what she wanted.

Her thoughts soon went beyond Shelagh to Timothy and Patrick. Just over two years ago she had sat at the Nonnatus dining table and heard the worst news imaginable. She couldn't comprehend that today she had just been told similar news concerning the same family.

That old familiar taste of bile climbed up Trixie's throat, as the shouts and the laugher from the main hall started to echo and move further and further away. All Trixie could hear was the rhythmical ticking of the unexploded bomb a few streets away, she could hear it, keeping time. It was getting louder and louder.

The bomb did go off, but Trixie, everyone, and everything else survived. This time.

Yvonne Bridges was able to give birth in her own home and unbeknown to the sisters with her childhood sweetheart present.

Alan offered the emotionally tender Trixie a sweet sherry, after Jenny had left to meet Alec. She followed him into the kitchen.

"I think I will have one myself, just to wet the baby's head."

Trixie noticed him pull out a bottle of Famous Grouse scotch whisky.

"Yvonne's old man, got me onto this, never used to touch anything stronger than a pint a' mild, but he always fetches me one when he comes to visit." Alan poured a hefty measure into a tumbler, "A little nip, now and again Nurse, well it sometimes calms, what do you call them.. the horrors?"

Alan reached for a sherry glass for the midwife.

"Actually Alan, I wouldn't mind a nip myself. It's awfully cold in that beastly working men's club and if Jenny's boyfriend is right about Nonnatus, we may be there for a few more nights."

"Have a drop of the low flying bird, as my father-in-law always calls it." Alan poured her a rather large dram equal to his own. "You've earned it, you've really helped me Nurse, let me do something for you."

Trixie knew that she was now last on call and was rather glad of it after leaving the Bridges, once ensuring the baby's head was more than sufficiently wet. She was finding her bike didn't quite go in the direction she wanted.

She stopped at the little tobacconist off Chrisp Street, that never seemed to close. The proprietor had stocked Marianne's colour coordinated accessories and when Marianne finally gave up smoking forever; he switched his stock to Nurse Franklin's favoured all black selection.

As soon as he heard the bell chime, as she walked through the door, he was there. She wondered if he ever slept? He immediately took the Sobranie Black Russian from beneath the counter.

"What tickles your fancy today, Nurse? Something a bit special, it is Christmas after all! How's about a nice bottle of advocaat, I have Warninks. Makes a lovely snowball with a drop of Lowcocks lemonade. How are you off for maraschino cherries, sweetheart?"

Trixie realized she hadn't actually spoken since she stepped into the establishment. The eternally cheery shopkeeper always seemed to know what she wanted.

She had intended to buy a small bottle of scotch and try to hide it from the nuns, but maybe the garish bright yellow liquid combined with a bit of child's pop, wouldn't seem so much of a temptation to the sisters. It was Christmas Eve after all and it might be something even Cynthia might enjoy. She had a feeling Sister Monica Joan might not be able to resist.

As she was about to pay, she noticed something catch her eye, reflected by the glass of the countertop.

Trixie finally found her voice, "A bag of those too, please."

The lights were on at Kenilworth Row. Dr Turner's car was parked in its regular spot. Surely that was a good sign?

Trixie went up to the flat door where she had boldly let herself in maybe a hundred times before, but not recently, not these days. She tripped up the steps and stood on something soft.

"Damn and blast!" she cried as she removed, first her foot, then her work shoe, from a sherry trifle. It had been left on the Turner doorstep by some thoughtful patient . Trixie tried to repair the damaged greaseproof paper covering it, hoping no-one would notice.

She took a large handkerchief from the bottom of her nurse's bag, fumbling past the advocaat bottle. She tried to clean from her shoe, the cream, jelly, and hundreds and thousands. For the first time in her life, Trixie realized the popular pudding decoration was so aptly named. The tiny sugar sprinkles were in, her shoe, her stocking, between her toes and absolutely everywhere, hundreds and thousands of them.

Trixie sat on the step for a few minutes, took a deep breath of Poplar night air, nearly making herself dizzy. Wiped her leaking eyes, on the trifle and street muck, stained hankie and realized how ridiculous she must look. If Marianne came to the door now, she would...

Trixie put the small net bag with the shiny glass marbles through Dr Turner’s letterbox and slowly made her way to her temporary home, giving herself enough time to clear her head.

[leaves-of-three]

Day Two || Blood on Your Lips

Connor Murphy x Reader

Word Count: 2240

Summary: The reader is confronted by her former friends. Both Connor and Evan are characters who appear in this. [This is part of an in progress series. You can follow along here.]

Author Ramblings: Sometimes when I write I often miss certain words in a sentence. Like my brain is working faster than my hands can type or something. Even when I reread I still sometimes miss things because I already know what I’ve meant to write and the old brain skips right over the mistakes. So I do apologize if you’re reading and you stumble over a sentence because my dumb self missed some key words like “the, not, at, etc”. It gets worse when I write late at night which is when I like to write to best...so that doesn’t help much. Anyway, I hope you still enjoy! ~Xo Katie

“You’re welcome.”

The scrap of paper fluttered to your feet as you opened your locker the next morning. The message sat face up, chicken scratch writing staring back at you, as you bent down to pick it up. You bit your bottom lip to stop from smiling too wide. Before you could stand up, someone shoved you from behind. The force caused you to lurch forward into your open locker. Your top teeth sunk into soft flesh of your lower lip. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. A snicker of malicious laughs rang behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to know exactly who it was. Alyssa and your former posse. 

Alyssa Gordon. Your best friend since middle school. It was her senior year and she was prepared to run this school as queen bee. She had been preparing for this since the moment you met. Total popularity was all you two had strove for. She seemed to have achieved it. You, on the hand, had not. 

“Reading love notes?” Her voice pierced through your ears like a knife. You tried your best to subtly swallow the blood coating your mouth as you turned around. Connor’s note crumbled in your hand as you balled your fists at your side. This meeting was bound to happen eventually. You managed to avoid her yesterday by hiding and skipping classes. Today was going to have to be different. It was the first time you had properly faced her since the night everything changed. 

“Alyssa.” Your voice was low but you held your own. You weren’t going to show her fear. You knew how she operated. Any hint of fear and she’d pounce on it like a lioness to her prey. 

“I almost didn’t recognize you with all your clothes on.” The two girls posed behind her snickered. Madison and Valerie. They were always following Alyssa and you around like a bunch of groupies. Obviously they sided with her after the party. It only helped to fuel Alyssa’s need for attention. She wasn’t always awful. You used to see something special behind her harsh exterior. She was confident, spontaneous, and always knew what she wanted. You had loved that about her. She knew what she wanted and she went to get it. Too bad you were now cast as the villain in her story. 

“Look...I know you hate me...but-” 

You weren’t allowed to finish your thought because she had shoved you back against the row of lockers. Her face hovered inches from your own. Up close, you could see the layers of foundation caked over her skin. She had probably spent a full hour this morning attempting to perfect her makeup. The wings of her eyeliner were just as sharp as the words she hissed out of her pink stained lips. “Hate you? I despise you. You fucked my boyfriend.” She backed away, looking around to the all the student’s mulling in the halls. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen! Y/N Y/L/N is nothing but a little, sleazy whore! Keep your men close because this bitch won’t hesitate to get on her fucking knees!” 

A hushed silence fell across the hallway as people turned to stare. You felt your face drain of color. You were mortified. You could feel every pair of prying eyes piercing into your soul. A teacher stuck his head out of his classroom at the noise. He surveyed the scene and shouted, “Get to class! Move along!” His tone broke the silence and the loud chatter began again as students started to clear out. Alyssa looked back at your stunned expression and gave you a smug smile. “See you later, Y/N.” She winked, leaving her words to fill you with dread for whatever she had planned for later.

The halls slowly began to clear out but you stayed staring blankly at the wall ahead of you. The noise in your head was too loud to focus on anything in particular. Your stomach churned with anxiety, making you feel as if you might vomit. You tried to fight off the heavy lump in your throat. How were you supposed to sit through pre-calc like everything was fine after that episode? 

The last bell rang. Anyone left in the halls without a pass could now officially be given a detention if caught. 

You turned back to your open locker. Your fingers released the note still crumpled tightly against your palm. Any joy you had from finding it this morning was officially shattered. You shoved the note into your pocket, put your calculus book into your bag, and slammed the locker shut. When you turned to head to your class you saw him standing there. 

He was wearing the same black hoodie he wore yesterday. His hair still hung in his pale face. He was staring at you. The same, knowing stare he gave you in the library. When he didn’t make a move to say anything, you looked down at the ground in disappointment, and walked by him. A hand reached out to grab your arm when you passed. Your head whipped around to stare back at him. 

“You have blood on your lips,” he spoke softly as if he was unsure if he wanted to speak at all. 

His words took a second to process. Blood. Right. You had bit your lip when you were shoved. His hand was still lingering on your arm when you lifted your sleeve to your mouth. He quickly released his grip when you moved. Both your eyes stayed locked onto each other as you wiped away the drying blood. 

“Gone,” he said. 

You nodded once. Your voice was lost under the lump against your throat. If you dared to open your mouth to speak, the tears would flow instead. You stepped away from him and walked towards your class in a daze. He had left without warning yesterday, you could do the same today. 

“You’re late, Ms. Y/L/N.” Your teacher gave you a disapproving look when you entered. You kept your head down as you headed to an open seat in the back of the class. You could feel all the eyes on you while you walked to your desk. Ignore them. Go to your happy place. Pretend you’re somewhere else. 

When the bell rang for lunch, you were already prepared to make a beeline directly to the library. If you could make it there before Alyssa found you, you’d be safe from her wrath. You needed to avoid any repeats of the earlier incident at all costs. You needed to become invisible. You had managed to survive your three morning classes. All you had left was lunch then your three afternoon classes. She wasn’t in any of them. You could do this. 

You were so focused on getting through the library doors that you didn’t even see the person standing in front of you until you had smacked directly into them. They stumbled forward and fell onto their knees, papers scattering across the floor. A blank, white cast caught your eye as the boy reached to collect the papers. You had trampled a crippled kid. Way to go. 

“Oh my god. I am so sorry! I didn’t see you,” you bent down to help him collect his things but your eyes kept scanning through the glass doors. You couldn’t help but keep a look out for Alyssa passing in the halls on her way to lunch. 

“Not many people do...” he mumbled to himself in reply. “It’s okay. Really.” 

“I- shit.” There she was. Madison and Valerie trailing behind her. “Sorry.” You quickly got to your feet, tossing him the papers you had collected, and scurrying to back of the library before they could see you. 

Your safe spot was empty as you took a seat on the ground. A breath of relief washed over you. They hadn’t seen you. You began to relax now that rows of books covered you from view. If you thought yesterday had been shit, today was worse. You could only imagine what tomorrow or the next might bring. How long was this going to last? The whole year? Shit. You didn’t think you’d be able to make it that long. You should just drop out now and join the circus. That was still a thing people could do, right? An ominous laugh echoed in your head. Lion tamer was always a fall back plan. 

Ten minutes after the lunch bell and Connor had yet to make an appearance. You weren’t sure what you were expecting. He wasn’t your friend. You had to keep reminding yourself that. He was nice to you one time. He didn’t owe you anything. You felt a little disappointed. You didn’t want to be alone. You hated alone. Alone was lonely. 

The library had perfectly good tables. You could eat there instead of on the floor. Everyone was already in the cafeteria by now. It would be safe to come out. You collected you bag and stood up. As you walked towards the tables, your eyes scanned the near empty room for the long haired boy. Nowhere. The cast kid was still here though. He sat alone at a corner table and was staring out the window in front of him. You started to feel a bit guilty for how you had brushed him off after knocking him down. You quietly approached him. “Hey. See any cool birds out there?” 

He jumped at the sound of your voice and looked over his shoulder at you. His eyes were wide as he stared at you. “Not today. Uhm, one t-time I saw a juvenile red-tailed hawk t-though...oh...you were probably joking, right? Never mind. Sorry. Uhm, sorry.” 

Your heart began to break for him when he spoke. He seemed terrified. “Can I sit?” You didn’t wait for him to answer before you sat down across from him. “Hawks are pretty cool. They’re bad-ass. Have you ever heard of falconry? It’s this sport where people hunt using birds of prey. I saw a special about it once on tv.” As you talked, you pulled your brown paper lunch bag out and retrieved your peanut butter and nutella sandwich. You didn’t have any problems making conversation with new people if it meant you didn’t have to be alone. 

Cast Boy just watched you carefully though. Like he was trying to judge if you were making fun of him or not. You weren’t. He was the least un-intimating person you had ever seen. It was kind of cute. He seemed like the exact opposite of your lunch buddy yesterday. Remembering Connor, you scanned the library once more, just in case. Still nothing. When Cast Boy refused to reply, you filled the silence like a pro. “I’m Y/N.” You smiled warmly at him. 

“I know. I’m, uhm, I’m Evan? We actually did a project together once last year. In history. We had to p-present it to the class.” 

What? You had no memory of this. Why didn’t you remember this? Why didn’t you remember him? You thought you knew everyone in your grade...

He kept on speaking, his words coming out fast and erratic. “You were absent that day. I had to present it myself. We didn’t get a very good grade. That was probably my fault. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean- well, you were absent. I did it myself...I had to do it myself...” His voice trailed off like he was remembering that day. You started to feel guilty for forgetting him. 

You tried to give him a sympathetic smile. You looked down at the other half of your sandwich sitting in the zip lock bag. You slid the food over to Evan. “Here. It’s a pity sandwich. It’s the best kind of meal.” 

“Pity?” He looked confused. 

You just smiled at him. “Pity food. It’s how we make friends in the library. Trust me.” 

He stared at the sandwich with a wary expression like it might explode if he touched it. Instead of taking the food, he looked up at you with panic in his eyes. “Friends?” 

You shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Friends.” 

He carefully picked up the sandwich and took a small bite. You smiled, happy that he accepted. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the library door open, and a flash of dark clothes caught your attention. You quickly turned around to face it. Pathetic hope rested on your face when you saw Connor staring at you from the doorway. Your breath caught in your throat and your heart started to beat faster. You felt a little confused by this reaction to seeing him. Why were you suddenly so eager to be in his presence? 

Connor’s eyes traveled from your face to Evan sitting next to you. It was obvious you two were sharing a lunch. They flashed with envy. Before you could even raise a hand to motion for him to join you, he had turned around and stormed down the hall. Evan turned towards the noise and glanced at you with confusion. He seemed to be able to sense the sorrow which had fallen over you. With the hand not clad in a cast, he reached into his bag to pull out a bag of plain potato chips. He slid them over to you. “Pity chips.” 

You locked eyes with him and gave him a sad smile, “Thanks.” 

[rhina988]

Indecent Proposal - Chapter 7

Read from the beginning

Read Chapter 6

Melody’s POV

I woke up the next morning, and at first it was weird being in someone else’s bed. I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder to see Jared sitting in the bed and scrolling through his phone. I sighed a little and rubbed my eyes.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” Jared said and chuckled.

“Morning,” I yawned and rolled on my back raising my arms to stretch. The cover was spread only over my knees, and the rest of my body was bear. I’ve always been a restless sleeper, so I hope Jared didn’t feel like he was sleeping through an earthquake.

“Well, I guess you’re pretty comfortable, huh,” he looked at my body and smiled. What I didn’t realized is that my shorts was all the way up, looking like I only had my underwear on, and my shirt barely covered my boobs, slightly showing off the bottom part of them.

“Oh shit!” I gasped and pulled the cover all over me.

“That’s OK, I don’t mind,” Jared was being smug again.

“Yeah, but I do... ugh...” I covered all over my head and huffed under the sheets.

“You should really get out under there, or you’ll suffocate,” Jared said and nudged me a little.

“I can’t I’m embarrassed,” I almost squealed. Jared kept silent, but I could feel him smirking. I peeked over the cover and saw Jared occupied with his phone, not paying attention to me.  “I should get up and dress, we have a long day ahead of us” , I said as I slid off the bed and ran into the bathroom.

After I’ve freshen up I got out and picked out the wardrobe for the day. As I was getting my jeans and black blouse, I looked at Jared hoping he’ll go to the bathroom so I could get dressed, but he just laid on the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna go take a shower,” I said as I looked at him, taking the blouse out of the suitcase.

“I already did. I’ve been up for quite some time, ” he answered not taking his eyes off the phone.

“Oh...OK” I said and walked towards the bathroom again. I couldn’t dress in front of him.

“You do realize I’m gonna have to see you naked eventually, right,” Jared asked and I immediately froze. I took a deep breath and gulped.

“What did you just say,” I said with the voice filled with tremble and fear.

“You heard me,” he said through a cocky grin, then lifted his head and looked at me “marital duties, and all that” he said and wiggled his eyebrows.

I literally started shaking, but I didn’t want to let him know this comment affected me. I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing me hurt again.

“Ha, in your dreams,” I said sternly and went to the bathroom. He said something but I couldn’t hear what, since I was in the bathroom within less than a second.

Now there was no doubt. Jared was set to turn my life into a living hell. But what if he actually meant what he said? Does he really expect me to have sex with him after we’re married? I couldn’t ... I have never...

Knock, knock

“Are you alright in there,” Jared knocked on the door and kept me away from my thoughts.

“Yes, why” I snapped at him.

“I couldn’t hear a thing, so I thought you might’ve ran through the window,” he giggled.

“I’m getting dressed Jared, I’ll be right out”, I said and zipped my jeans. I looked myself in the mirror, put on a bit of make-up and combed my hair. It was slightly wavy, and all I had to do is spray a bit of dry shampoo to add volume, and it was ready. 

I got out of the bathroom, and Jared was finishing his outfit. He stared at me, and slightly smiled.

“What?” I asked and widened my eyes, expecting him to tease me about my outfit or something.

“Um...” he cleared his throat, and shook his head, “Nothing... just that... you look nice, that’s all”, he said and put his triad necklace on.

“Thanks... I think”, I said and frowned. I was completely taken aback with the comment.

Then we both went to the living room expecting to see Emma there, having the plan for today ready.

“Morning lovebirds,” she said and smiled.

“Please Emma,” I said and rolled my eyes taking a deep breath.

“Morning, Em,” Jared said and chuckled. He obviously enjoyed this whole circus.

I sat on the couch and Jared set right next to me placing his arm right behind my head, and then slowly putting it over my shoulder bringing me closely to him. I just looked at him with the sternest look in the world, and frowned.

“C’mon wifey, don’t run away from me,” he said and pulled me closer giving me tickles.

“Stop that, we’re not married yet, and even when we become I don’t want you to do that... I hate tickling...” I said and tried to get out of his arms, but he was so damn strong, so I just stayed put letting his arm lay on my shoulder.

“You two are adorable,”. Emma said and chuckled as I crossed my arms over my chest.

“So, what are we doing today,” I was curious.

“Considering the front lawn is filled with paparazzi, you two should go out and be seen in public. Breakfast, coffee, whatever... as long as they make pictures of you I’m fine”, Emma said and left the room.

“Great” I sighed and got off the couch.

“So, are you hungry? Thirsty? Where would you like to go,” Jared asked and looked at me, while he still sat down.

I stood with my back turned to him, so I just whispered to myself hoping he wouldn’t hear, ”Home”.

“What was that,” Jared asked with the sweetest voice.

“I don’t really care where we go, as long as we’re done fast,” I wanted to go see Jamie as soon as possible, so I hoped today’s outing won’t take long.

“Fine, we’ll have breakfast then” he said and we were out in a couple of minutes.

As we got out of the house, the paparazzi almost threw themselves at the car. These people were insane. They were in their cars and on their scooters in no time, not wasting a second, following us all the way to the bistro Jared liked to go to. We got there, stepped out of the car holding hands, to make this more real in a way, and barely made it inside, because the photographers were crowding the entire entrance.

“Jeez, they’re relentless,” I said and walked behind Jared still holding his hand. He looked me over the shoulder and smiled.

“This is just the beginning,” we were finally at our table away from the window, which was odd.

“How come we didn’t sit next to the window,” I was confused.

“No need. They’ve seen enough for now,” he said and we ordered food as the waiter approached.

“Can you drop me over to the hospital after we’re done,” I asked him.

“Why do you have to go to the hospital,” he was suddenly worried.

“Um... I just need to get my results from yesterday,” I lied in a blink of an eye.

“Oh, sure, I’ll drive you and take you back home”.

“No need, I can come back by myself, it can take some time,” I wanted to stay with Jamie for a while, and I couldn’t do that with Jared waiting for me.

He frowned and didn’t understand why I reacted the way I did. The waiter brought us food and we had an amazing breakfast. Jared had his vegan portion, while I enjoyed an omelette with vegetables. We didn’t talk much, but we exchanged a couple of looks that I couldn’t quite decipher. I used to see only malice and pride in his eyes, but now when I looked at him his eyes were warm and it appeared as if he didn’t see me the way he did before. I had the feeling something changed in him.

We were done, and Jared took care of the check, so we could leave. He took my hand and took me outside.

“Don’t say anything, just follow my lead,” he said and wrapped his arm around my shoulder bringing me closer to him. I took his hand as it rested on my shoulder, and I intertwined my fingers with his, walking as if I was attached to his body. The moment we stepped outside the bistro, I could feel his eyes on me, so I lifted my head and looked back at him. We were walking by the reporters and he slightly leaned his head to mine brushing my lips with his. Somehow, I got caught up in the moment and kissed him back softly. I could feel him smiling during the kiss, which instantly brought me back to reality. I opened my eyes and saw him smirking at me.

“You said to follow your lead, right” I asked, trying not be so obvious that I kinda liked his kiss.

“Mhm, yeah. Good job,” he said and pulled me closer.

---

We drove off to the hospital and he parked the car in the garage, even though I told him back at the bistro, that I don’t want him to wait for me.

“Thanks, I’ll see you at home” I said and unbuckled the seat belt.

“That’s OK, I’ll wait.”

“No, Jared, you don’t have to...”

“I’ll wait. The conversation is over”, he said and took his phone to kill time.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, as my phone buzzed. It was Karol. I hope everything is OK with Jack and Jamie.

Jared’s POV

I had the feeling Melody was hiding something from me, so I decided to wait for her. But when her phone rang, her face instantly turned white, so I knew something was wrong. I thought I should follow her inside instead of waiting in the car. As she picked up the phone, I walked out of the car and waited a second to follow her, without her noticing me. I heard her saying “On the third floor? OK, thanks”, so I knew where to find her even if she escapes my sight.

I went to the third floor, walking slightly behind her when I saw her walking in a room. But it wasn’t the doctor’s office. Melody came to visit someone. I was standing right in front of the room trying to hear who she was talking to.

“Hey Karen, did he wake up earlier,” she asked the woman sitting by the bed in which a young man was lying.

“Hey, sweetheart, yes he woke up just when I came here, but he fall back asleep. They say it’s normal. He won’t be able to wake completely up for a day or so.”

“And Jack? How is he holding on?”

“Great, he’s much better now, and will recover soon.”

“That’s great news,” Melody sighed in relief. But who were these people?

“Melody, sweetie, can I ask you a question”, the woman said.

“Of course Karen, anything.”

“How did you get the money for the surgery?”

Oh my God! Is this how she used the $250 000 I had given her? She paid that guy’s surgery. That’s why she accepted my offer. To save that young man’s life. Wow, I couldn’t believe it. This girl just took my breath away completely. She’s like a modern day superwoman.

“I just cashed in my pay check for the entire year, in advance,” she said and giggled. But I could tell the giggle was fake and that she actually felt trapped. 

Now I felt horrible somehow. I gave her such a hard time when all she did was being the sweetest girl in the world. What the hell is the matter with me? How could I have such an incredible urge to hurt her, when all I should do is love her and make her the happiest woman in the world? I immediately went back to the car so Melody  wouldn’t see me here. She would probably leave soon, so I wouldn’t call her or come for her. As I was walking out of the hospital I dialed Emma.

“Hey, I need your help, it’s an emergency,” I said and went to the car to wait for Melody.

Reader’s POV

“I don’t understand,” Karen said after I told her about the way I got the money for the surgery.

“It doesn’t really matter Karen. All that matters is that Jamie’s getting better,” I tried to change the subject and leave so Jared wouldn’t come to look for me. “Look, I’m really in over my head with work today, so I should leave. Please let me know if he wakes up today, and I’ll be here”

“OK, honey, I’ll see you later. Thank you for coming,” Karen said and gave me a hug.

I got out of the hospital and saw Jared leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for me. He seemed kinda happy. His look was so warm and cheerful. It was pretty awkward.

“Hey, sorry it took me a while.”

“That’s OK, how are the results? Are you OK?”

“Um... they’re not done yet, that’s why I was inside for so long. I have to come back tomorrow too, and then...”

“That’s fine, I can take you here tomorrow as well. Let’s go home now.” He interrupted me and that was the last thing I needed to hear. I can’t have him follow me everywhere. Jamie will be up tomorrow and I need to spend more time with him.

“You don’t have to bother with that, I could come alone.” I insisted.

Jared just looked at me, and I knew exactly what he meant by that. There was no chance he’d let me come alone.

We drove back home, and couldn’t wait to see if anyone posted the pictures of us. We walked inside the living room and there Emma and Shannon were. They seemed pretty content.

“So?” Jared asked Emma.

“Perfect, everything is perfect. You two are all over the internet, and that’s everything they’re talking about” Emma was more than pleased. “Jared, I called the je...”

“That’s great Emma,” Jared interrupted her as if she said something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Look, we should go record and you two, get to work. Just because you’re gonna be Mrs. Leto, it doesn’t mean you can lay back the whole day” Jared was being an idiot again.

I just ignored his comment and got to work. Emma was all over the place, which wasn’t unusual, but she was kinda nervous at the same time. That WAS awkward. At one point she and Jared went somewhere and were gone for almost two hours. When they got back, they were both really excited and acted weird around me. Did Emma and Jared kept something from me? It definitely seemed as if they did.

Read Chapter 8 

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Hope you enjoyed it.

@legolasothranduilion @chris-evans-whaaat @woohooargentina-blog @nikkitasevoli @wolfgirl1074 @snewsome756 @leto-madness @iamthejaredleto @notjanelle @spaceshipteam44 @sanellv @lanfear619

[bountyofbeads]

Trump Impeachment Is Far Less Likely After Mueller Testimony https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/25/us/politics/mueller-impeachment.html

The article itself wasn't worth the time but the responses are!!! This just a sampling🤔

#MuellerReport #MuellerHearing

"None of that changes the truth he presented and the clear and present danger Trump represents to this country if not the whole planet. The man (Mueller) took a bullet for this country and went back into combat after healing. He has unlike Trump or any of his cabal served this country with courage and integrity. Semper Fi is more than a motto to some of us...."

DCREAMER, MOUTAIN WEST

"I found this article to be re-affirming in that: journalists (like Hulse who isn't terrible) are human just like everyone else and can make errors in their analysis. I (and maybe others) assume sometimes that because someone is in an official capacity in some area (be it journalism or whatever) they're experts, that they know more than us, etc. In the age of the 24 hour, MSNBC, CNN, Fox news cycle, everything is supposed to be brightly colored, have vibrant graphics moving all over the screen, good looking anchors, etc. All of those things capture peoples' eyeballs and generate ad revenue. Policy, substance and old people who are thoughtful and speak slowly 'aren't electric' and wonkishness doesn't typically seem to be rewarded. Yesterday's testimony was substantively electric for many reasons: "Did you exonerate Trump"? Mueller: "No." "Did you clear him of obstruction?" Mueller: "No." "Was Trump truthful when you were investigating?" Mueller: "Generally no" "Would you indict Trump if he was a private citizen?" Mueller: "Yes" "Did Russia interfere in the election to help Trump?" Mueller:"Yes" In the same way that the report didn't seem to be all that much when it came out - but then turned out to be 'all that much' - I hope assessment of his testimony evolves in the same way." GERALD, PORTLAND

"I watched the entire testimony live. Director Robert Mueller's testimony was captivating and urgent. What Mueller described are federal crimes committed by the President. What precedent will it send to future occupants of the White House (and to the world) if we are derelict in the duty of an impeachment inquiry just because it is speculated that it may hurt us politically and isn't electric sound bite television? Instead of stories like this one, why not write more on how citizens can get involved and turn this democracy ship around. Yes, I am horrified, appalled, disgusted and outraged. But in the struggle for the soul of America, there can be no by-standers. My members of Congress have already heard from me today. Have they heard from you?"DEANNA, ST. PAUL MN

"With or without Mr. Mueller's testimony, it is baffling that House Dems haven't opened an impeachment inquiry. It is their constitutional duty to do so yet all we see is a political circus with the same old delay and do nothing outcome. Oops. I forgot we are dealing with Congress, right?" LH, BEAVER OR

"Mr. Hulse spins this entire story as Democrats "losing" the impeachment fight against Corrupt Don's administration, despite the understanding by many (and Mueller's own statement) that Mueller was not going to provide any additional information outside of the report. To say there was a "lack of electricity" simply because his testimony served as televised coverage of the Report while not dropping any bombshells is a gross characterization. His testimony provided historic confirmation of Trump's many crimes documented in the Report. While it remains incredibly difficult to watch as Trump continues desecrating our country, the media needs to pull it together. New bombshells will not drop daily, or even weekly. Rather than focusing on how Pelosi and top ranking Democrats are working to organize an ironclad case against Trump's crimes, the media continues to cast it as a losing battle. Not as the immense war it really is. This is a war to protect our country's democratic institutions. It is difficult to keep waiting, but this impeachment must be recorded as the most thorough and substantive cases in American history. That is the only way we can begin regaining respect on the global stage. The Democrats are attempting that, even despite the current administration's unlawful stonewalling of subpoenas. As difficult as it is in 2019, patience is key." ALEX, MN

"I am so sick of the coverage of this event. All the news (and Trump) is talking about Mueller's 'performance', this article is talking about the 'lack of electricity', that's all so beside the point. You don't impeach based on a performance. You impeach based on the facts. We have the facts. We have the report. We have the testimony reiterating the facts of the report. Now we impeach." DAVE, CALIFORNIA

"Lack of electricity? Personally, I was riveted. Perhaps pundits were looking for Mueller to be more "exciting" meaning that he might have hammed it up more before the cameras. If that's what we want in our civil servants, then perhaps we deserve a president like Trump. I wonder what would have happened if, during the 1940 presidential election, Roosevelt had invited Japan to make a military strike against America, telling Japan that the media would reward them. I don't see the difference between this and what Trump did. We all heard Trump invite the Russians to attack our country and our election system. We heard Trump side with Putin on several occasions against the US intelligence community and against Trump's political opponents. Mueller's report merely fills in the details behind these acts of treason. Mueller has made the facts clear. He is asking Congress and the American people to make the decision because he can't do it: sanctions for Trump as president fall outside the criminal justice system. Obviously Trump's guilty. So get on with it!"

DON, WISCONSIN

"Were you all watching when Mueller said he would be indicted as a private citizen? Was it too hard to think up a good headline for that?" KITTY COLLINS, NYC

"I think the media is wrong about the Mueller testimony, by calling it a non-event, and taking impeachment off the table. The American people are not such fools they need a theatrical hearing to inspire them to do their duty. Yesterday, my own position on impeachment of Donald Trump changed. The breadth of Trump's encouragement of foreign interference in the 2016 election, his disregard since 2016 for safeguarding future elections, and his questionable financial conflicts and possible financial crimes, may likely rise to grounds for impeachment. If the facts show Trump broke the law, committed "treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors,” he must be impeached to preserve respect for our Constitution, and to allow for further functioning of government. This is not a hypothetical situation any longer, and we must have courage to go where the facts lead. Period."

DR, SEATTLE

"Relying on the absence of an "electrifying Washington moment" in Mr. Mueller's testimony as an excuse for not pursuing the impeachment of Trump is shockingly pathetic. Listen to yourself: You're suggesting that all that was needed was one "electrifying moment" to tilt public opinion in favor of impeachment? Aside from what that says about how shallow the public is, Congress is supposed to do the right thing and inform public opinion, not just blindly follow it. If Democrats refuse to do what needs to be done, and which Mr. Mueller was kind enough to spell out for Congress in the equivalent of big block letters, they deserve four more years of a Trump White House." JAY ORCHARD, MIAMI

"Ms. Amanpour on PBS last nite said something to the effect, "after all Mueller is not Superman." Just the opposite. In his years of public service, assembling the report after a two year investigation, and just suffering the speeches of Republican congressmen as they too hurriedly tried to present their manufactured alternate evidence, he still was Superman. Flying around if need be and jumping over buildings in a single bound. A reminder also, Superman is mild-mannered. The evidence is there, plus leads to other evidence. He's not going to do it for us. It's up to Congress and the rest of us to get the job done." LOVEMANO SF, CA

"Optics over content. The Democrats are missing another opportunity to go ad Trump with pliers and a blowtorch. Mueller's testimony was damning but everyone is obsessed with how he looked, how he may have stumbled a bit - how he might not have had an encyclopedic knowledge of every detail of his office's massive report. What is wrong with these people? I guess they really can't figure out how they're are going to beat Trump and have essentially given up. Appalling." G LAW

" Unbelievable! This is the media narrative? That because Mueller wasn't charismatic, impeachment is off the table? Ridiculous! The substance hasn't changed. Trump still obstructed justice and welcomed Russian interference in the 2016 election. He still committed acts that would have been prosecuted except that he is a sitting president. That was made very clear in yesterday's hearings as well as in Mueller's report. This is media malpractice."

C HART, LOS ANGELES CA

[emilypemily]

yesterday was long.

my i had my friend over in the morning cuz they stayed the night, but once i kicked them out, got dressed, packed my bag for london, cleaned up, whatever, i barely had time to process anything except like, a a 5 second cry before i had to leave to go to the coach station. except i had to go to boots first to get like, an actual big proper wound plaster as opposed to like, the small normal kind that did shit all.

which, my elbow is super raw and Not Okay, but also it’s not infected or anything, so as long as it’s covered properly and like, dry i guess, it should hopefully heal just fine. though my dad reassures me that it will “definitely scar!” (aw man).

so, bought a pac of wound dressings, went to the coach station, to find that there was a huge crash on the M4 (which, i read the news about it today - really, really horrible), which meant that my coach was delayed coming into bristol. so like, i was meant to leave at half two and get to london at like, 5ish, leaving a lot of time before i had to be at the restaurant where i was having dinner with my family at leaving 6:30.

the coach turned up super late - obviously - massive scary dangerous crash), so i had time to like, change my dressing in the queue for the coach (kind of gross but whatever). once it turned up the journey ended up being fine (the road was only closed one way), except that i got into london at like...10, maybe 20 past six. and the plug on the coach didn’t work, so i couldn’t charge my phone. and then my phone died when i got into london so i couldn’t contact my dad. i knew which line to take to get to the closest tube station, but from there had no idea where i was going. 

luckily central london is all ‘bout them tourists, was able to find the restaurant. got to the restaurant...maybe at like, 7. maybe just a little earlier. i actually have no idea, cuz my phone was dead. and i’m at oxford circus which is an absolute HELLSCAPE. it’s awful. it doesn’t matter which direction you’e walking, literally everyone else will somehow be walking the opposite direction to you.

so at this point i was super tired, in a lot of pain from my arm, which, although covered, the wound is on the side of my elbow touching my body, and i had kind of been bumped around a lot at this point, just from the coach and then an incredibly packed rush hour tube, i haven’t had any time alone to process anything, due to my friend being here all morning and then travelling the whole rest of the day (which like, 30th really isn’t a good day for me), i greet my family, sit down, do some catching up, it’s super hot in this restaurant, everything is overwhelming, 

and i burst into tears. 

finally, i guess. because it had been coming all day.

anyway my dad takes me outside (also like, this restaurant is just behind oxford circus and it’s a saturday night so it’s the MOST busy) and gives me a bear hug whilst i just like, sob.

which is embarrassing, esp cuz all my siblings saw plus my brother’s gf and that’s like, Too Many People.

so. that’s kind of where that particular anecdote ends.

 i actually ended up having a really nice evening. it was a greek restaurant. at some point some guy did an acoustic set and it was terrible and my family were sitting right at the back of the restaurant (he was at the window) and we all mercilessly made fun of him. not that he could hear, he was too busy singing wonderwall (not kidding, we all cheered when he started strumming it)

(if you’ve ever wanted to know why i’m Like This, my family is also Like This).

anyway, my elbow is still gross and painful and gross and painful and gross. i need to figure out how to wash my hair with a hundred percent guarantee that i won’t get my arm wet. plastic bag and duct tape didn’t work so well, plus it was the getting it slightly wet when i had a shower that led to it getting so much worse LAST TIME. so like, i’m really paranoid about that. 

actually, right now, is the least my elbow’s hurt since yesterday morning, but that might just be because i haven’t bashed it at all since i last changed the dressing (like, an hour ago).

blogging!

[pajama-nerd]

Part Eight

This could probably have been posted yesterday, or even the day before, but I, uh... I learned about FNAF world...so, uh...yeah, that’s what I did for the last two days.

anyway...

Night 3

**

“Welcome back to another pivotal night of your thriving new career,” HU greeted Jess as the elevator began its descent. She gave a nod and a wave, stifling a yawn as he continued. “Where you get to really ask yourself, what am I doing with my life? What would my friends say, and most importantly, will I ever see my family again?”

Jess snorted, leaning against the side of the elevator.

“We understand the stresses of a new job, and we’re here for you. To help you reach a more stable and relaxing frame of mind, we offer several musical selections to help make this elevator ride as relaxing and therapeutic as possible. We offer contemporary jazz, classical rainforest ambiance as well as a wide selection of other choices,” HU said. She arched an eyebrow as the glitchy keyboard once more appeared, mouth quirking as she wondered what random-ness she might be subjected to tonight. “Using the keypad below, please type the first few letters of the musical selection you would prefer,” HU instructed.

“This should be good,” she muttered, aiming for the ‘H’.

She only typed in one letter when the glitchy keypad deactivated and folded back down into the floor.

“It seems that you had some trouble with the keypad. I see what you were trying to type, and I will auto-correct it for you. Thank you for selecting: Casual Bongos.”

Beach music filtered down from the speakers and Jess smiled a little as she rubbed her eyes. Lord she was tired.

“Now that your elevator experience has been customized to your needs, and you are thoroughly relaxed, it’s worth mentioning that due to your lackluster performance yesterday, your pay has been decreased by a substantial amount,” HU said. Jess scoffed.

“Really, HU?” she asked.

“Please enjoy the rest of your descent,” HU said without acknowledging her. She shook her head and stared at the floor, hooking her thumbs on the straps of the backpack she’d brought with her. She needed to figure out how she was going to proceed once she was down in the facility.

Her first thought was to talk directly to Ballora, but given that the ballerina had attempted to maul her the night before, that was probably inadvisable. She didn’t want to deal with Fun-time Freddy, given that there was nowhere for her to go if he came after her, and talking to him directly kind of defeated the entire purpose of that tape-deck someone had obviously found very necessary to make. She hadn’t dealt with Fun-Time Foxy yet, so best not to tempt fate.

Somehow, she would have to gain entry to Circus Baby’s Auditorium.

After all, Baby was the only one who’d spoken to her so far.

Well, aside from HU, but that hardly counted.

Eventually the elevator stopped and she hit the button with her left hand before getting down and crawling through the entryway vent.

“Due to unforeseen malfunctions from today’s shows, your nightly duties will require you to perform maintenance that you may or may not be skilled enough to perform,” HU said when she emerged in the Primary Control Module. She dusted herself off disinterestedly and smirked wryly at the bag of cleaning supplies she’d left there the night before.

“Is that so,” she said, not really expecting a reply.

“It became necessary for technicians to attempt to disconnect Funtime Freddy’s power module. However, they were unsuccessful. Allowing them to try again would be an inefficient path forward, as we would need to allow six to eight weeks for recovery and physical therapy,” HU informed her. Jess slowly shook her head and regretted a lot about her life.

“Seems perfectly reasonable,” she muttered.

“You will need to reach the Parts and Service room on the other side of Funtime Auditorium to perform the procedure yourself. Let’s check on Ballora first, and make sure she’s on her stage,” HU instructed.

Jess hit the light, blinking at but not really reacting to the sight of pieces of Ballora being held aloft by the Minireenas she performed with.

“Huh,” she mused.

“Great. It looks like everything is as it should be in Ballora Gallery,” HU said, and she gave a single laugh, eyes sliding closed as she shook her head. This guy, she thought to herself. “Let’s check on Funtime Foxy. It’s important to make sure she’s on her stage before entering,” HU added.

“Sure, sure. Wouldn’t want to interrupt anything,” Jess muttered, wiping a hand over her face before reaching for the light. She was looking at the glass when she reached for the button, so she had time to register the shape of two shadows before the light came on to reveal that Fun-Time Foxy was right up against the glass, staring in at her, and right alongside her was a mangled mess of wires and endoskeleton with an almost identical head.

She made weary eye-contact with both of them.

She waved.

They watched.

The light went out.

“Great,” HU said cheerfully. “It looks like everything is as it should be in Fun-Time Auditorium,” he told her.

“Yeah, nothing out of order there,” Jess muttered.

“There is no need to check on Baby tonight. Please refrain from entering unauthorized areas. Proceed directly to Fun-Time Auditorium,” HU said.

Jess’ heart began to sink as the vent to Fun-Time Auditorium opened, but there was a sound to her left, and when she looked, the vent to the Circus Gallery Control Module was open too. She looked back at the glass. The shadows were still there.

“Be with you ladies in a minute,” she said, turning and crawling through the Circus Gallery Vent.

It was completely dark in the Circus Gallery Control Module, and Jess looked up and around for a moment, unslinging her backpack and dropping it by the vent before turning to face the glass.

“Hey,” she said, glancing back at the vent and then up at the ceiling. “Circus Baby, can you hear me?” she asked.

There was no response. Jess took a breath and rubbed her face, stifling a yawn before sighing.

“Real talk, Baby. I found out why you guys were created. It’s awful, and it has to stop, so I’m gonna get you guys out of here. I just...need you to talk to me so we can hash out the details,” she said, leaning closer to the glass and trying to see inside. She considered using the light, but the little panel wasn’t lit, and anyway the light in the Auditorium had never been that helpful.

She stiffened at the sound of a noise coming from the vent and stifled a curse as she knelt down and tucked herself hurriedly into the space under the desk, pulling the metal plate over the opening. Eventually the noise stopped, and she eyed the holes in the plate warily, wondering if this was yet another visit from the freaky plastic babies – what her research had revealed to be called ‘Bidybab’.

“Did you know I was on stage once?”

Jess blinked at the sound of Baby’s voice.

“It wasn’t for very long; only one day. What a wonderful day, though,” Baby said wistfully. “I was in a small room with balloons and a few tables. No one sat at the tables, but children would run in and out. Some were afraid of me; others enjoyed my songs. Music was always coming from somewhere else...down the hall,” Baby went on.

Jess listened very carefully, thinking about the article of the premature closure of Circus Baby’s Pizza World.

“I would always count the children. I’m not sure why. I was always acutely aware of how many there were in the room with me: two, then three, then two, then three, then four, then two, then none,” Baby said.

Individual Entity Tracking, Jess thought, swallowing hard.

“They usually played in groups of two or three. I was covered in glitter. I smelled like birthday cake,” Baby went on happily, before growing more serious. “There were two, then three, then five, then four.”

There was a pause.

“I can do something special. Did you know that? I can make ice cream – although I only did it once...There were four, then three, then two...then one. Something happened when there was one,” Baby said, sounding distant and sad. “A little girl, standing by herself. I was no longer…myself. And I stopped singing. My stomach opened, and there was ice cream,” Baby said. Jess gritted her teeth, closing her eyes with a quiet sigh.

“I couldn’t move; at least, not until she stepped closer,” Baby said.

Because of the ice cream, because what child doesn’t like ice cream? Jess thought, a tiny ember of fury and disgust roiling in her gut.

“There was screaming for a moment – but only for a moment. Then other children rushed in again, but they couldn’t hear her over the sound of their own excitement. I still hear her, sometimes,” Baby said. If she were human, Jess would say she sounded on the verge of tears.

“Why did that happen?” Baby asked, and then fell silent.

Because your creator’s a sick fuck, Baby, that’s why, Jess thought before swallowing to clear the lump from her throat.

“Did she say anything to you?” she asked in the dark. “The girl you...made ice cream for?”

There was silence for a long moment, and Jess stayed still, worried that she might have driven Baby away with the question. But then there was a new voice, younger.

“Don’t tell Daddy I’m here,” the new voice said, and Jess’ stomach dropped. She put a hand over her mouth. “I’ve been wanting to watch the show too. I don’t know why he won’t let me come see you; you’re wonderful! Where did the other children go?” The little girl’s words sent a wave of horror and disgust through Jess. These were the last words of a child whose trust was about to be grossly betrayed. And the truly disgusting part was that it wasn’t just any child. The horror subsided, leaving only rage in its wake.

“Do you know who that was?” she asked, fists clenching despite the pain it caused. There was no answer, but she hadn’t expected one. “Well, I do. I know exactly who that was. Let me lay it out for you,” she said. She turned her body so her back was braced against the back of the console and kicked the metal panel out so that it clattered across the darkened room. She pulled herself out and faced the glass, jaw set in a furious grimace. “William Afton – that’s the guy who created you. He built you. He built you in his house. He built you in the place where his kids lived. And he didn’t say, ‘hey, kiddos, look what daddy’s building: murder-bots! Cool, right?’ No. His kids grew up in a house where their dad made ‘toys’—” Her hands came off the hips they were planted on and made lop-sided, sarcastic finger quotations. “—that they weren’t allowed to play with. They probably asked. They probably asked a lot. ‘Dad’s making toys, but I don’t get to play with them? How come daddy makes toys for other kids but not for me’—I am so fucking mad, right now,” she broke off, taking a deep breath and holding it until the red seeped out of her vision.

“So, Clara – that’s William’s daughter – Clara’s pretty smart. She probably thought to herself, ‘well, daddy’s new toy is going to be at the big party down the block. I’ll just sneak in and see her real quick – no one will know’. That’s why it happened, Baby. Because William Afton was a sick fuck who made you to kidnap and kill kids,” she said, stopping to rub a hand over her face. “This guy – this asshole – made you specifically to kidnap and kill kids and didn’t once think ‘well, hey, maybe I should program in a safety feature to make sure they don’t kidnap and kill my kids’,” she ranted, putting on a pretentious asshole voice before sneering into the dark. ‘What a piece of – I was already going to bust you out of here, but holy shit, I am fucking committed to it now,” she said. She’d begun restlessly pacing side to side in front of the glass, responding to the primal urge to do something. What she would really like to have done is find William Afton and beat his face to a thin red smear, but since that wasn’t an option, pacing would have to suffice.

Except it wasn’t doing much, because the Control Module was tiny width-wise, so she turned to pace length-wise instead and froze.

She wasn’t alone.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7  Part 8 (this one)

[marykenyon-blog]

Day 2

           To start the day, I turned off my alarm in my sleep and Megan had to wake me up. Not only are we jetlagged but also running on very little sleep. At around 7:45 am, a rare time for me to be awake, we headed down to the breakfast buffet provided by the hotel. There I found traditional English breakfast food, including grilled tomatoes and mushrooms and “black pudding”. Luckily, there were some safer options. Megan and I found some croissants with Nutella which made our day and also had some melon. The service provided by the hotel was impressive. When we arrived downstairs they showed us to a table and offered us coffee or tea right away. They also cleared our table quickly after we were done. The food was well prepared and looked fresh. After a quick breakfast we headed to the “tube” or subway which is about 2 minutes from the hotel. We decided on buying something known as an Oyster card which is similar to a Charlie Card. It allows us to just swipe into any station and refill the card when there is not enough on it. The ride to the city of London was about at 15-minute ride and getting there was pretty self-explanatory.

We got off at Westminster station and walked out right in front of Big Ben. Obviously we needed to take the most touristy pictures possible. I was truly shocked at how tall the clock is in person. After taking in Big Ben we walked across a bridge towards the London Eye. We had bought tickets at the hotel to ride the ferris wheel. Unfortunately for the next couple of weeks the hours of operation are 11-6 so we made the most of the wait by walking along the river. We were told that the walk to the London Bridge was only about 20 minutes so we thought that would be a good filler. Turns out 20 minutes in London actually means 40. Along the walk we saw really cool food truck-like restaurants. Each one had its own funk and appeal. The architecture of the buildings in the city was very different than in Kensington, which is where we are staying. When we finally made it to the bridge we got there just as there were opening it to let a ship through. I didn’t know before watching that that was something that happened. It took about 10 or 15 minutes in total.

On the other side of the Bridge there is the London Tower, which is a historical castle that is officially Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress of the Tower of London. Since our walk took longer than expected, we thought we might as well check out the Tower. The tickets were 22 pounds with a student rate. One of the highlights was being able to see the Crown Jewels. They are stored in a two-foot thick vault and in thick glass cases. It was amazing to see all the detail that went into designing the crowns and tiaras as well as all the other jewels that the Royal Family had. There was one room filled with solid gold alter plates that has immaculate details. It was amazing to think about how little tools were available when they were made yet they have things like lions and leaves sketched out to look extremely real. Looking around the tower in a whole and especially jewels was like a whole new world. It’s crazy to think about the way of life in that time and even now. The idea of a Royal Family is so foreign to me. William and Kate live in the town that we are staying in and both days I’ve walked by the entrance to their home. When we got to the end of the tower we continued walking back on the opposite side of the river as before towards Big Ben. We had little time left before we had to meet the group back at the hotel so we decided that the London Eye will have to wait for tomorrow. Before leaving we walked by Westminster Abbey and saw the church when William and Kate were married. It was pretty cool to look at from the outside and will probably buy a ticket to go inside tomorrow. We looked for an underground station to take the tube back and got a little lost. After going to four wrong stops we finally found ourselves in the right location. The girls and I were running very low on time when we made it to the hotel and had about 10 minutes to run to our rooms, throw on something dressy, and head to lobby to meet with the group for High Tea. Our professors planned for us to be able to have tea at the Kensington Palace which was really cool. The location had a very clean and minimal look to it that I love. The staff was friendly and gave us a history on how High Tea became a tradition. I was surprised by how much I liked the tea because I’m not usually a tea fan but today was really good. We were given finger sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and jam, and sponge cakes. Clotted cream is made by heating full-cream cow’s milk steam or a water bath and then leaving it to cool slowly. The cream contents rise and “clot”, making something very similar to butter, but better. I really enjoyed participating in an English custom and learning about the culture.

We finished High Tea earlier than was planned for and had time to go to a museum dedicated to Princess Diana’s dresses. At first I was hesitant to spend the money on the ticket but the second I saw the first dress it was worth it. The place was designed so tastefully, with quotes about her. They didn’t just focus on her fashion but on who she was as a person. There was a slide show detailing all the work she did. Seeing a picture of her in a dress and then having the physical dress in front of you was a really cool experience. We got learn about how each dress was made and where she wore each one.

After finishing up at the museum, Erica and I ran into a “Pret A Manger” which is similar to Panera Bread and grabbed sandwiches due to the fact that all we had to eat since breakfast was finger food and we were about to get on a three-hour bus tour. Again we ran back to our rooms and threw on some comfy clothes for the tour. It was the same tour guide from yesterday, Mark, who gave us the walking tour. He had so much knowledge on the city and was able to provide us with information we wouldn’t get from just roaming the city alone. Some of things that stuck with me are:

           London has hosted the Olympics three times, and is the only country to do so

           After English, Polish is the most spoken language

           London has a 9/11 memorial. About 200 London citizens died that day

           A “circus” in London means a rotary

           The stop lights turn yellow before they turn green

While waking up at 7:30 and being on the go is exhausting, I am so happy with how much we have been able to pack into the short amount of time that we are here. Tonight, Megan, Erica, and I are going to check out a local pub for a little and see what the Kensington night life is like. Wish us luck!