#signed “i read what posted from queue and found a part of the conversation that made me go Hey Wait”

[wreckedhoney]

ough

[onewithnomightypowers]

Old Habits

pairing: Tom Holland x fem!reader

summary: Old habits come back when you meet an ex lover after a long time. Conversations feel like you never stopped talking to them. Sometimes you have to see them one last time to say goodbye like you mean it but most of the time it doesn’t go as planned.

warning: drinking

words: 2.1k

a/n: could be read as part 2 of last kiss but is a stand alone. got a bit poetic at the end. hope you guys like it. and as always, love reading your opinions/reactions. also asks are open. (gif not mine)

masterlist 

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

 She picked up her phone to open Instagram. Yes, Y/N still had notifications on for his account even after they were broken up for months. Classic Tom. 

 He posted two of the same picture on his story. No one understood how that would happen almost every time, not even the people working at Instagram to whom they contacted about the glitch.

 Tom had his hair slicked back, standing in a white t-shirt next to Harry, his brother, giving a million-dollar smile. They were holding a clapperboard together. There was text on the picture too, 'day 1 let's go!!' She smiled to herself. Just because they weren't together doesn't mean that she wasn't allowed to feel happy for his achievements. Even though she wishes to know all these big things from Tom himself she is, unfortunately, left here, watching a small part of his life flash in front of her for less than thirty seconds.

 "Are you listening?" Hope, Y/N's date said.

 "Yeah, I'm sorry. You were saying?" Y/N placed the phone back where it was resting, next to the cold wine bottle.

 "You seem distant," they said.

 When she 'met' Hope (she only really met them 30 minutes ago), Y/N wasn't looking for love, just sex, and that is what online dating specializes in. She hoped Hope knew what they were signing up for, sexual intimacy and nothing else.

 "It doesn't matter does, does it? We both know what we are here for. Why not just cut the chase," Y/N replied.

--

It was early in the morning, the sun had yet to shine in its full glory. Y/N could only think of the first time she stayed over at Tom's old apartment but then she turned her head only to find Hope's naked body next to her. Her heartbeat accelerated with the realization that he was not hers anymore. Being in a foreign environment didn't help her growing anxiety, twisting and turning her intestines.

 It's been four months, her feelings for Tom refuse to quit on her because she knows she could never quit on them, on him, even if he has. He probably has already found someone else in Canada, she thought. She didn't want him anymore but she still needed him, one last time just to teach her stupid heart how to say goodbye.

 Y/N wore her clothes and picked up her shoes, going on a trail to find Hope's door to get out before they wake up. Climbing down the stairs, she took out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

 '5 new messages from Sam' 7 hours ago

Sam: hey

Sam: ik it's late

Sam: I am going for a run tmr morning @6

Sam: do you wanna come?

Sam: will go to the new coffee house near my house after that

 Y/N texted him back

Y/N: I'll meet you at the coffee place

Sam: come fast. already here

--

Sam and Y/N were standing in the queue to place their orders. “You look especially shitty today,” Sam said, running his right hand through his sweaty hair.

“I haven’t been home yet,” Y/N reasoned her appearance.

 His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. The person in front of them left the queue, they moved towards the counter. “One hazelnut latte, double shot with skimmed milk,” Y/N gave her order.

 “And you?” the cashier’s question directed to Sam.

 “I’ll have a matcha latte with oat milk”

 Sam turned to Y/N, “Harrison got me on matcha, and now I can’t go back to coffee”

 They paid their dues and moved over to the barista counter to collect their order.

 “So, what were you doing last night?” Sam inquired.

 “I was on a date, it isn't a big deal though. Just had some needs to take care of”

 “Oh, was it any good?”

 “It was fine. I was distracted the whole time. Saw Tom’s story about halfway into the bottle of merlot. Couldn’t stop thinking about him”

 “Seems…sad. But you know Tom is coming back for the Christmas weekend, I think. He might attend Harrison’s Christmas eve party”

 “One hazelnut latte and one matcha latte,” someone behind the counter screamed.

 “That’s us,” Sam raised his voice.

--

Harrison had a bucket inside his house, under a sign that said 'drop your tracking devices here' with an arrow pointing to the bucket. Y/N dropped her phone on a pile of roughly fourteen others. Debating whether to see Tom's face was something she wanted or not made her late and not very fashionably.

 The house was decorated with empty liquor bottles along with red and green streamers from one wall to another. Everyone was drunk in their best dress. There were no signs of Tom yet. Y/N took a deep breath, walking towards the kitchen to get herself some liquid courage to help her socialize.

 The kitchen was rather scarcely populated. Empty glasses were lined up next to the sink. Are they clean or used? Bending down, Y/N opened the refrigerator to see if Harrison had any chilled wine. No luck. "Hey," a familiar voice was heard.

 She looked up at the familiar stranger.

 "Hey Tom," she smiled. The refrigerator light falling on Y/N made her blush visible.

She grabbed a half-cut lemon placed in the egg tray.

 “How have you been?" Tom asked leaning back on the kitchen counter, observing her movements.

 Y/N walked towards the sink to grab herself a crystal glass hoping for it to be clean. "Just busy with work these days"

 "I heard you got a job at Condé Nast, is that true?" he took a sip from his beer.

 "Well, you heard right. You are looking at their new senior brand manager for digital", she said proudly.

 Tom hugged her from the side she was holding a knife to cut the lemon for her gin and tonic. "That's great darling! You always wanted to work there"

 Darling. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering like the first time she met Tom.

 "I saw your story the other day. You started filming your script, right?" she dropped the lemon in the glass.  

 "Yup, it was a long time coming," he grabbed the knife she was using and washed it without even knowing. He was so used to Y/N never washing utensils after using them and, he would always have to clean up after her.

 "Congrats on that babe!" The word 'babe' just slipped out of practice.

 Y/N grabbed a Bombay Sapphire standing still on the marble slab. The blue of the bottle shinning even in the dim-lit room.

 "I missed you," Y/N made eye contact, screwing the cap back on. A long, silent pause.

 I miss you too, so very much

 She cleared her throat, "so, how long are you staying?"

 "Going back Monday morning"

 She opened a can of tonic water.

 "Are you seeing someone?" Tom asked.

 "Wouldn't you wanna know" a smirk on her face grew. "I've been out on few dates, nothing serious. What about you?"

 "Met this girl online, dated for a bit but, she wanted something I couldn't give to her"

 Y/N scoffed, "did she have a foot fetish or something?"

 "No, Y/N. She wanted love, not my feet" they both laughed.

 "On that topic..." Tom calmed himself, "...I was listening to this song a few weeks ago and, there was this line, 'the smell of your hair reminds me of her feet' and it made me think of you"

 "I reckon," she took a sip of her gin and tonic.

 "No, seriously, I really related to that line. No matter how many people I hook up with, it will be hard to find the type of intimacy I shared with you. I still relate to it"

 "I hate going on walks alone and having faceless dreams," Y/N blurted, lacking a proper reaction.

 "You're still the face of all my fantasies," Tom confessed.

 None of them knew what to say next. Anything they thought of saying now included walking over the blurry line of exes to lovers.

 "You look pretty"

 "Classic me, had a glow up after getting my heartbroken"

 "You always looked this pretty. You are beautiful," Tom assured her. The 'heartbroken part did not sit well with him. He already felt guilty for taking a job across the pond which was a great opportunity for him to grow but was only possible by severing his ties with Y/N.  

 --

It had just started snowing on Boxing Day. Tom was alone in his cold home, boiling a pot of ramen noodles. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the burning stove with the pot on top.

Tom: *attached photo*

Tom: I come back after months and my family leaves me alone with no food

Y/N: you should add a poached egg

Tom: Thanks. I shall.

Tom: I think I made too much ramen for me

Tom: do you wanna come over and share?

 Her indecision was visible by the coming and going of the gray dots. Then finally, Tom could tame his anxiety by her simple reply.

 Y/N: sure.

--

There was a loud knock on the door. Tom put two bowls of hot ramen on the dining table and went to open the door. Behind the door, Y/N was standing with her hands inside her brown checker coat. There was dust of snow sitting on her shoulders. Her braided hair was made by the most anxious hands in town.

 The door opened and, Tom’s hands flew to take Y/N in his arms. They hugged like little kids hug their parents after being away from each other, for them, an eternity. It did feel like an eternity to them too but, they hadn’t forgotten each other’s touch.

 “I parked my car at the church, couldn’t find any spot here ‘cause of the snow," she pulled out.

 “The snow seems to be gaining momentum.”

 Y/N hummed in agreement. She took off her coat and hung it in the Holland’s coat closet.

 “Come on, the ramen is getting cold,” she followed tom into the kitchen.

 They sat adjacent on the wooden table in comfortable silence. Tom used chopsticks and, Y/N used a fork. Only the occasional noodles falling in the broth were heard, along with the gushing of wind.

 “It’s really spicy for me,” Tom said.

 “Yeah, I can see your ears turning red.”

She still remembers 

 Y/N raised her hand to cover her mouth while yawning.

 “Since you made the food, I’ll do the dishes,” she got up, grabbed their bowls, and walked over to the sink.

 Wearing the gloves, she turned to Tom, “it was quite tasty”.

 Tom gave her a smile.

 She spread the soap on the dishes and turned the tap on. Tom pushed his chair back to get up.

 “Have you made any friends at your new job,” he jumped and sat on the counter next to Y/N.

 “Yeah, sort of. Kyara works there too so, I have just made her friends my friends,” she washed his chopsticks.

 “That’s good. Have you talked to Emily after the wedding? She told me they are planning on adopting.”

 “They invited me over for dinner when they got the approval from the agency. Kyara made this amazing Hyderabadi biryani, it was her mum’s recipe so, it was obviously better than the restaurant”

 “God! You and your love for Indian food”

 Y/N removed her gloves, “I should go. Thanks for the ramen, by the way”

 “Are you sure you can go out in this weather?”

 “Yeah I think," she started walking out of the kitchen.

 Tom grabbed her hand. “Stay”, his voice was like cotton.

 Y/N turned and made contact with his pleading eyes. She moved closer to him. “Please”, he said. They both were inching in to lock their desperate lips.

--

Y/N did not notice when she had fallen asleep talking to Tom. Their naked bodies were covered by the white comforter. Her eyes slowly opened to a boy with brown eyes and messy hair looking at her.

 “I like it when you sleep. I love watching you sleep”

 She chuckled. “That’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?” She had a sleepy voice.

 “You look so serene, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I could stare at you for eons”

 “But love, I'm only here till the snow settles,” she caressed his cheeks.

“Then the cold shall frost our limbs," he leaned in to kiss her.

tags: @elios-timotea​

[theycallmebeccawrites]

Chris & Ellie Series: Episode 24

Hello loves! Hope you guys are having a good day and, if not, hopefully this gives you something to smile about. (You guys might actually like me after reading this episode 😉.)

Anyway, I was going to wait and queue this up to post later this afternoon... but I’ve decided to just post it. There is no point in making you guys wait when it’s already on AO3 and Wattpad (which, by the way, always get the updates first because of how I do my formatting).

To my fellow USA people, Happy Early Thanksgiving.

xoBeccaxo

Pairing: Chris Evans x Ellie Spencer (OFC)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: minor language

Episode Summary: This episode takes place in November 2014 and features Chris's mom finally finding out what happened between Chris and Ellie.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

This episode can also be read on AO3.

The Chris and Ellie series is primarily chronological. It begins with a flash forward to 2016 and has a few other scenes in the future. However, the majority of their story is told in chronological order starting in 2013 and going through 2017. Each episode starts with a date to help you place it within the story.

The Chris & Ellie Series Masterlist | Chris & Ellie Masterlist

Episode 23.5

Episode 24: The One Where Momma Evans Gets Involved

November 25, 2014

Lisa Evans was sorting through her mail when she found a greeting card sized envelope with her name and address handwritten on it. Not recognizing the return address from California, she almost threw it away, assuming it would be an invitation for her in hopes that she'd bring Chris along, but something stopped her.

Turning the envelope over, she saw the company's slogan on the back flap.

"Sharing the gift of reading with kids since 2008."

Heartstrings successfully strung, Lisa opened the envelope and pulled out the card inside. The front had a collage of photos from kids receiving books to volunteers sorting through boxes of books. Written at the bottom was "Thank You for Your Donation".

Eyebrows raised, Lisa turned to the inside of the card and found a folded note along with what was clearly a mass produced thank you card they sent to their donors. Putting the card down on the table, she opened the folded-up piece of paper, finding a handwritten note from the founder and director of the charity. In the letter, the woman expressed her gratitude for Lisa's multiple donations. Explaining that, thanks to her donations alone, they'd been able to buy more books than they'd planned for the year and, therefore, were able to gift even more kids with books.

Lisa was trying to make sense of the whole situation when Scott came into the kitchen. He had arrived on Sunday from Los Angeles to spend Thanksgiving with the family.

"Hey, ma," he greeted, then paused, seeing her confused expression. "What's up?"

"Are you familiar with this charity?" she asked, pushing the card towards him.

Picking it up, Scott saw the pictures and then his eyes caught the wording at the bottom. Specifically, the "donation" part. He didn't know for sure, but he had a feeling that this was the charity Ellie had told her sisters about on her birthday. 

If Lisa hadn't been watching his face, she would have missed the telltale signs of her youngest son trying to think quickly. He glanced at her and tried to mask his expressions, but she was on to him.

"What do you know?" she asked him, calmly but in her best mom voice.

Scott squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze for thirty seconds before he caved. "Ellie made the donations," he told her. "She didn't feel comfortable accepting your money. Not after -"

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs made Scott stop talking. Having grown up in the house and around his family members, he could tell the difference between his sisters and his brother coming down the stairs and that was Chris.

Chris appeared in the doorway, a couple seconds later, and froze when Lisa shifted her "mom look" to him. "I didn't do it," he said, automatically.

"Ok, the two of you sit down," Lisa said, shaking her head. "We're going to have a little talk."

"What's going on?" Chris muttered to his brother as they sat down at the dining table.

"Scott was just getting ready to tell me," Lisa answered before Scott had the chance to. "But before I let him finish explaining. I got this in the mail today." She plucked the thank you card out of Scott's hand and handed it and the handwritten letter to Chris.

While he read both, she watched his expression. He looked surprised but pleased. He hadn't known about the donations then, she deduced. Glancing at Scott, she found him unable to sit still. He knew something.

"Seems like a good cause," Chris said, once he had finished reading. "I didn't realize you had made a donation, though."

"That's because I didn't make the donations," Lisa told him. "But Scott told me that Ellie did."

A flash of surprise or maybe shock shot across Chris's face and then he looked at Scott, but Scott avoided his eyes.

Lisa's eyes caught every second of it. She had suspected something wasn't right when Chris came home from filming the new Avengers movie. Then she had noticed the way he and Scott, usually the best of friends, seemed awkward around each other the last couple days. She had figured they'd had an argument or something, but now she had a feeling it went deeper than that.

"What is going on?" she asked her sons. When neither of them spoke up, she sighed. "Alright, fine, I'll tell you what I think is going on."

Pointing at Chris, she said, "You have spent the last six weeks moping around this house like a wounded puppy." He opened his mouth to argue, but she silenced him with a look. "And you and Scott have barely said a word to each other since he has been home. Then this shows up and when I asked Scott about it, he said that Ellie didn't feel comfortable accepting my money."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Scott staring down at the table in front of him. But her eyes were trained on Chris. Her oldest son was normally able to mask his feelings, but that resolve was cracking.

"So here's what I think happened," she said, her tone softening. "I think you and Ellie were seeing each other earlier this year. I don't need or want the full details or even a definition of what you were or weren't. That is between the two of you. And don't lie to me, I saw the two of you with my own eyes. It was obvious."

She saw Chris's jaw tighten and he crossed his arms as she spoke. He was preparing himself for a fight.

"But I think something happened, something went sour between the two of you," she theorized. "Something that made Ellie uncomfortable accepting the money I was paying her and ultimately led to her moving out of the house and eventually quitting." Knowing Chris wouldn't answer her question, she looked at Scott, "Am I on the right track?"

Scott glanced at Chris then at her before giving a subtle nod.

"It doesn't matter if you're on the right track, ma," Chris stated, his voice thick with the emotion he was trying to keep back. "She's moved on. It's over."

"Ellie hasn't moved on," Scott cut in before his mom could say anything.

"You don't have to lie for your friend," Chris snapped, defensively. "I was there. I saw it with my own damn eyes."

"Your own damn eyes -" Scott started, but stopped when he caught his mom's look.

"What did you see?" she asked Chris. "When?"

"It was in July, after you told me Ellie was moving out," he told his mom. "I went to the house. She was with another guy. They were hugging and shit in front of the moving trailer."

As Chris spoke, Lisa shifted her gaze to Scott and watched as he reacted to his brother's words. He went from confused to rolling his eyes by the end. Before she had a chance to say anything, Scott exclaimed, "That was Pierre, you dumb ass!"

"Pierre?" Chris repeated. "Pierre, who?"

"My friend Pierre who has been to your house like a million times," Scott retorted, throwing his hands up. "Pierre who only dates guys and therefore has no interest in Ellie."

Chris's heated expression faded quickly into one of confusion. "Why was he helping her? Where were you?"

"I was at a job," Scott replied, his voice dropping to a calmer tone. "If you had texted me, I would have fucking told you what was going on."

"So you're saying that she hasn't moved on? She isn't dating anyone?" Chris asked, ignoring his brother's jab.

"No, she's single," Scott replied. "She's been trying to get over you. She moved out because it hurt to be in the house with all the memories."

"Excuse me," Chris said, suddenly pushing back his chair. He left the room and they soon heard his footsteps pounding up the stairs.

Lisa stared after him for a moment before another thought crossed her mind. Turning to Scott, she asked, "Is Ellie ok?"

"She will be," Scott said with a small shrug. "I don't know the full story because neither of them wanted to make me hate the other. But it didn't end well between them… and I got caught up in the worst part of the breakup."

Lisa listened while Scott told her about the text he'd received from Chris asking if Ellie was ok. She saw the hurt flicker across his face when he described the conversation that had followed between him and Ellie. By the time he had finished telling her, they were both in tears.

Her heart ached for both her son and for Ellie, her friend. Needing to hug someone, she stood up and walked around the table and wrapped her youngest son in a hug.

"I'm so thankful Ellie had you with her," she told him. "You've been a good friend to her."

"She's become one of my best friends," he replied, sniffling. "And she and Chris... Mom... They're perfect for each other. But I don't know what happened. I couldn't fix it."

"You did your best," she assured him. "Don't worry about Chris, I'll talk to him."

Lisa waited until after dinner and after everyone else had settled for the night before she carried a tray up to Chris's room since he had skipped dinner. She knocked on the door to his room, not sure if he would answer or not.

"I brought you a couple sandwiches," she said, when he opened the door.

"Thanks," Chris replied, stepping back. He gestured for her to come in and then closed the door.

"How are you doing?" she asked him as she sat down on the chair that matched the desk in his room.

Chris shrugged his shoulders from the spot he'd taken on the bed. Then he picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite. It was only as he started to chew that he realized how hungry he was.

"Sorry I missed dinner," he mumbled.

"It was a tough afternoon," she said, shrugging off his apology. She wanted him to tell her what had happened, but Chris only spoke when he was ready to speak. The fact that he had even let her into the room was a sign that he was almost there.

It wasn't until he'd finished the second sandwich that he started to talk.

"We were just friends until the night the Sox won the series," he said, his tone a mix of remorse and longing. "I kissed her at Fenway after the last out."

"Is that why she hid in her room the next day?" Lisa asked with a smile. Looking back at it now, Ellie had seemed flighty the next day.

Chris nodded his head. "She didn't want to risk messing up our friendship," he explained then sighed. "Turns out she might have been right about that."

"How so?" Lisa asked, relaxing into her chair.

Talking about it was the last thing Chris wanted to do. What if scenarios had been running rampant through his brain in the hours since Scott's revelation. He was mentally and physically exhausted. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. But as he stared at his mom, that child within him begged to spill his guts and beg her to help him fix it.

He opened his mouth to suggest they talk it over in the morning. But those words weren't what came out. Instead, he found himself pouring his heart, his pain, everything out to his mom as she listened to every word.

By the time he finished talking, they both had tears running down their faces and it was nearly midnight. His throat was raw from emotion and dry from all the talking. At some point, his mom had moved from the chair to the edge of his bed and when he'd finished, she had pulled him into a hug, making him cry more as she soothed him.

It was after midnight when she left his room and as he laid in his childhood bed, staring up at the silly glow in the dark stars that no one had bothered to remove since, he felt an inkling of hope spark in the depths of his broken heart.

Ellie hadn't moved on.

Episode 24.5

Want to find me off tumblr? I'm @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

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[violetsystems]

#personal

I was invited the other day to join a community as a Creative Advisor from a survey I filled out for Adobe.  I made the choice last November to purchase Creative Cloud for an entire year at a discount.  When I worked at an art school I had all those applications free.  Anybody in the arts community will tell you that software is expensive.  I don’t necessarily feel too connected to the local arts community these days.  But being a Creative Advisor basically means I participate in focus groups and offer my opinions in writing.  It’s a not a bad way to stay active as a creator.  I bought a drone basically so I had 4k footage to mess around with in Premiere.  I am a YouTube Creator by definition.  Yesterday after posting a video of the stream there was another survey in the right hand corner.  I cautiously opened it and read through it.  It was an inclusion survey.  YouTube wanted information to help with their community.  The first question was what race I identify as.  I can’t really argue I’m not white.  The next question was if I identified as part of the LGBTQ community.  I don’t so I answered no.  The third question was what gender I identified as.  I said male because I’m cis.  I completed the survey and went on about my business.  A few minutes later another popup asked me how satisfied I was with the YouTube community after all this.  I answered Very Satisfied and closed the window.  I’m also part of a larger community here in Chicago.  This can be drilled down so far that you can find yourself standing in a lonely circle with a thousand fingers pointed back at you.  My immediate neighbors identify.  I wouldn’t know what specifically or why so I don’t ever really pry.  I live on a pretty diverse property when it comes to tenants.  That expands into a pretty diverse neighborhood with a pretty diverse set of issues when it comes to power sharing.  I live the mad max sort of mentality these days.  Think more Fury Road than Road Warrior.  Where he helps out then silently fades away to focus on his own car wreck of a life.  One winter while shoveling snow I discovered somebody had written something in front of one of my neighbor’s doorstep.  It said “gay people live here.”  I processed it, shrugged and shoveled it away.  I couldn’t tell if my landlord was supposed to discover it, if my neighbors actually wrote it, or if it was somebody being hateful.  I made a judgement call on the account of safety and made a mental note of it then made it disappear.  I cared enough to think about it no matter how much this entire process exhausts me.  People join communities for connection.  People seek out authentic communities for safety, pride and respect.  And people in America should be able to do this freely without being exploited, judged, watched, or compared.  Communities overlap and the geopolitics therein get a little tricky.  When you live in a city with so many different influences, cultures, and hang ups the fog of the ideological war muddles up everyone’s intentions.  I think we retreat to the sanctity of our own communities because they understand the narrative and context best.  I’ve been welcomed into many communities that aren’t my own.  But my circle is pretty small these days.  Mostly because for all the care and attention I apply to the concept of community, I’m often left out to fend for myself here in my bachelor Castle of Doom.  Communities do consolidate power for better or for worse.  Just like rich people hoard money and dodge taxes.  Communities have their own cultural queues and signifiers.  Communities in America have increasingly become more like tribes in the economic desert.  Impenetrable communes at war with myopic definitions and hidden rules that are meant to keep people out for resource sake.  So much so that the Road Warrior doesn’t seem like science fiction to me from personal experience.  

It was the great poet Lord Humungus who may have set it best.  Just walk away.  Safe passage in the wasteland they said.  Be your own boss.  Own your sexuality and answer for your horny crimes.  Shit, I don’t even know where to begin when it comes to where I belong in all of this.  For me things have become equally obfuscated and easy to understand at the same time.  I’m more of an anarchist these days than I would like to admit.  I don’t really want to be on Tucker Carlson’s radar.  Simply because everyone is looking for something to label you as so they can pass an easier judgement on you.  People want you to identify so they can fit you into whatever conversational hole they wish to project at you.  I run into my neighbors all the time.  I treat people like people.  Simply because I’ve been treated enough like shit to know I don’t want anyone else to experience that.  I don’t really want revenge.  I want all this nonsense to stop getting in the way of my pursuit of life, liberty and happiness.  And the constant arguing and debate team every step of the way is troubling.  It’s people with a beaten down sense of self confidence proving themselves in the arena of mob rule.  For all the chest beating online on twitter or facebook people are kind of shook in the streets.  It is a winner take all mentality.  And even the more valid sides of the fight have taken to dirty tactics leaving some of us in the middle of an absolute shit show.  Par for the course if you ask me.  There are plenty of opportunities to be the hero these days.  Not many to be acknowledged as one.  You can be you and still support people that think differently.  I had a dream about guns last night.  I don’t own a gun.  That’s not the right choice for a person like me.  It doesn’t mean I can make a sweeping generalization for the rest of America.  Neither do I actually care to.  I’m cis.  I don’t spend my time psychoanalyzing or judging gender or sexuality other than my own biases towards it.  This is to treat people better and learn respectful communication.  Communication is a two way street.  And some communication is blocked, obfuscated or hidden for it’s own protection.  It can also be self serving.  Some of my closest friends are behind infinite onion layers of identities.  Layers of firewalls that I pirouette through like a whirling dervish just to show I still care deeply.  We take the time to show love.  We take the time to understand the obstacles.  And we have patience to understand that we have to sacrifice things sometimes for the sake of change.  Make no mistake the way I see things on my own is fucked.  I am part of a community here on Tumblr.  A much wider community.  There are times when I don’t fit in.  When it’s not about me or you or whoever behind the screen.  It’s what we connect to and how we learn to respect each other as human beings first.  Not as names.  Or fame.  Who we really are behind all of this doesn’t really matter as much as the content and ideas we share.  Community has it’s own memory and it’s own duty to hold things sacred.  Some larger communities do a totally shitty job of understanding the needs of their ideological neighbors.  And passion, pride, and lack of patience can burn bridges more quickly than building them.  There are times when you realize you are part of a community that doesn’t honor your identity at the core.  Sometimes it’s worse.  You find you aren’t welcome in a community for whatever reason.  If you are an abuser this is a safety issue and not really up for argument or discussion.  But sometimes its far less deserving.  And it’s a game of musical chairs to understand where you fit in and where you aren’t welcome.  For me I’m part Swedish and also a minimalist in nature.  Just look at Ikea and my habit of rearranging furniture.  I grew more inward this year in terms of who I trust.  Now it’s just me and a small percentage of screen names that might be owned by the same person or people.  I identify them as my closest friends.  

The thing about community I’ve learned over the years is that it can always be infiltrated.  Trust can always be broken.  We find we don’t belong to the bigger picture because motives are out of place.  We long to just be normal and accepted for that.  It’s exhausting to have to identify every time you walk out the door.  I identify as human.  Mostly I identify as Tim.  Freedom in America is best summed up by a quote by my favorite person in the world.  She’s from China.  She said once she loved New York because it was the only place where she felt free to cry in public without anybody prying into why.  I’m paraphrasing.  But that shit has stuck with me like a knife for years.  That isn’t what America is about right now.  It’s almost like it’s looking for victims.  Looking for signs of weakness to trick into a confidence game.  It’s a setup on every corner.  A prank waiting to happen.  A constant obstacle to your main quest.  And this isn’t what America is about.  At least not the way I live it.  I don’t think I solve the situation with more policing.  I don’t think I solve it by doing anything other than continuing to live free. The challenge here in America is constantly evolving as it is around the world.  America’s idea of free isn’t always well thought out.  It’s riddled with paradoxes.  And yet this is all I really have.  I’ve seen enough people stalking me in the streets with shirts emblazoned with messages.  Freedom isn’t free.  Penetrate the world.  Blue lives matter.  Make seven up yours.  I’ve made statements too and found myself more and more alone.  And then I’ve started to realize geographically what’s worth fighting for.  I’m tied to an address.  That’s the address where the government sends my ballots and rejects my state taxes at.  That’s the address where the utilities are in my name and I pay my rent on time.  Sometimes even a month ahead.  I’m fiscally responsible for once in my life.  I’ve conquered years of societal glue that held me to mediocre and half assed standards.  I’m a diamond in the rough except I’m not really all the rough.  I’ve stood up for people who aren’t like me so much that I feel more isolated and weird every day.  And I learn that sometimes it’s better to shy away from places where you aren’t welcome than to make a scene.  I am stuck in my little hole here.  If the answer were getting out there and networking, I’d ask people to look at my passport.  It’s not good enough for the state to acknowledge as proof of my identity.  But I spent a lot of money going back and forth to Asia trying to do just that.  And I paid off all that debt awhile ago.  I know the world is bigger than me.  And I believe sometimes people think they’ve travelled the world in their computer.  They’re the authority on everything.  And here is the problem with freedom in America.  The authority isn’t always right.  This is why we seek out communities.  For democracy.  For peer review.  To have our narrative understood and respected.  And we need communities to be more about democracy and less about autocratic reactions to a zero sum game.  I think it’s okay to not be part of something you don’t belong.  And I also think it’s okay to respect people’s wishes to seek out where they do.  But we have to learn to live together in America despite of this.  And well this would require us as Americans to really look the beast in the eye.  And doing that alone is scary.  I should know.  I do it every day.  So much so that I’m literally not fucking around with much of anything other than what’s easy enough to read.  Even when it’s easy to read it doesn’t mean it’s done in earnest.  I can only really worry about the things I hold intimate and secret.  The creative culture I’ve salvaged with my bare hands.  I really don’t care if you don’t get who I am.  But I want you to know I care about the world being free.  At least for the people I care about.  If you ever catch yourself crying in public just remember I’m right there over your shoulder cheering you on.  I’ll fight for your right to cry about it and scare off anybody who interferes.  That’s just who I am and nobody will know or even acknowledge me by name.  Sometimes I do feel like a ghost.  I’m not trying to walk through walls people set up for protection.  But I will break down the barriers people put up to keep us from living together.  <3 Tim

[beesloosewithcanon]

Fictober2019

Thank you, nonny for the prompt submission! 

I’ll admit - I was half tempted to just write smut for this. BUT - the next part to my Close to You series will be preeeetty smutty. So have a Korrasami Bikini Barista AU scene, instead! (I live in a USA State where there are drive-through coffee stands where the baristas wear string bikinis. It’s a thing I didn’t know existed until I moved here almost three years ago now.) It’s over 4k words. I’ve put a “keep reading” line so I won’t bog down your feed.

If you’re interested in seeing a writing drabble from me for a specific f/f pairing, look at this post and let me know which you’d like to see! (I currently write in Dragon Age, Mass Effect, and Avatar Legend of Korra; I’d be open to also delve into the following fandoms – Avatar the Last Airbender, Overwatch, Stardew Valley, to name a few).

Prompt #8 – “Can you stay?”

Fanfiction – Avatar: Legend of Korra

Pairing – Korra & Asami

***

Asami pulled off her sweater in a fluid motion, tossing it towards her discarded leggings. She looked at the window and then back to Korra, a plea of urgency radiated from her bright green eyes bore straight into Korra’s soul. 

“Can you stay?” she pleaded, emphasized by the way she bit the corner of her lip. “Please?”

Korra swallowed hard and her hand missed the handle of her trusty hand truck, causing her to flail slightly before regaining her balance. She’d already dropped off her delivery and would normally bid the barista a good day and be on her way to her next delivery stop. Korra both loved and hated this particular stop - it was Perky’s Beans, the only bikini barista stand on her delivery route. She loved it because the deliveries were often small and quick, allowing her to keep her day moving; she hated it because it made her feel like a cringy pervert. 

The word bikini wasn’t the right term, as the “uniform” the women had to wear were little more than a string and three minuscule triangles of fabric, one over either nipple and the third covering the apex between their legs. So she usually made her delivery as quick as possible so she didn’t ogle the women working; they had enough of that from the men coming through the drive-through. They didn’t need it from the supposed professional who delivered the milk products.

Lately, the same barista, Asami, was the one working when Korra came by for her twice-weekly delivery. Every morning, Asami greeted her with a warm smile and was always still clothed when Korra arrived, usually in loose off the shoulder sweaters and leggings, as she didn’t don her uniform until the stand opened at 6 AM. Korra usually got there around 5:45 and rarely was there longer than ten minutes, considering the delivery itself usually fit on one trip with her hand truck. But she always took the time to actually unload the products and take the empty crates so the baristas didn’t have to worry about storing them in the small confines of the coffee stand. 

Most of the other baristas simply ignored her while she worked which kept the deliveries quick. Asami, on the other hand, always struck up a conversation with her while she was readying the stand to open. It went from being one of her most dreaded stops to her favorite as she got to know Asami over their short conversations, and would try to get there earlier and earlier every time so she could have more time to talk with the woman. She knew it wasn’t professional, but there was just something about her that Korra couldn’t ignore. 

“Please? This customer always gives me the creeps,” Asami continued to plea. 

Korra glanced out the window and saw a large red truck with a suspension rig that made it almost as tall as her delivery truck. She’d seen the truck here every morning as she was leaving. In fact, Korra couldn’t recall ever seeing a different vehicle to be the first to queue up at the stand in the morning.

“Y-yeah,” Korra stammered. “Of course I’ll hang out. I’m running early on my route anyway and have some time to spare,” she fibbed. She was actually already running late, considering her co-worker Bolin had called out for the second day in a row and she had been given extra deliveries to help compensate for his route being unattended to yesterday. She was only on her fourth stop of the morning when she should have been on her sixth. But she couldn’t find it in herself to say no to this woman. 

“Oh, thank you!” the barista said as she moved forward and took one of Korra’s hands in hers, squeezing tightly as she smiled. The movement brought her breasts together and Korra made a distinct point to look up at her face and not at her barely covered body.

Really, the strings left nothing to the imagination. 

The barista’s smile lingered as she let go. She moved away, pulling a hair tie from her wrist and tied her hair up in a high ponytail, situating herself in front of a small mirror in the back of the coffee stand near where Korra stood. 

What Korra liked about this particular barista was that she stayed clothed as long as possible before she opened the stall. It wasn’t that Korra was a prude, but being around women in barely anything this early in the morning always made her feel like she was invading their privacy. Especially with how close she had to be in the small confines of the coffee stand to get her deliveries put away. She wanted to be a professional and treat the women in the coffee stand like she did her other, fully clothed delivery customers, but she was always averting her eyes and feeling uncomfortable and had learned to simply complete this particular stop as quickly as possible. 

But this barista was different; she’d never actually seen her in her work uniform before and it honestly was more than Korra felt she could handle. The woman had supple curves that paired with her somewhat athletic build. The woman was toned, but Korra was unsure what sport she played to gain her physique, but it was a physique that made her hot under her collar. 

She was glad Asami was focused on getting ready for the day instead of trying to keep talking to her at that moment, as Korra knew she would have fumbled over every syllable that came out of her mouth. She knew she needed to look away. The barista had asked her to stay because a customer was a giant creep. And here she was, staring, unmoving while her mind raced with how goddamn attractive Asami was.

It definitely wasn’t the first time she’d found her attractive. Not by a long shot. Korra had been attracted to her the first time she’d seen her in leggings, a holey sweater, and a messy bun. Her smile was what got her - the genuine way her mouth moved as her teeth shone whenever she saw Korra come into the small stand with her delivery. The way her voice sounded when she asked how she was doing or what was new. She was an effortless kind of beauty. Korra was convinced the woman could have been in front of her in stained pajamas and no makeup and she would still be utterly flustered by her mere presence. 

She bit her lips between her teeth and moved forward. If she was going to be a buffer between Asami and the creepy customer, then she needed to at least look like she belonged in the space. So she moved and knelt in front of the milk fridge and loaded some milk jugs back into the crates she’d just uploaded them from.

She then heard the drive-through window open but decidedly stayed staring at the jugs of milk in front of her. If she looked up, all she would see was Asami’s ass with literally nothing covering it. She gulped and looked sideways - she was too curious not to look.

Asami had put on heels, too, and stood leaning slightly towards the window of the drive-through. The position put her legs, her impressively sculpted calves, thighs, and rear on perfect display. 

“G’morning, Shin. Same as usual?” Asami asked brightly. 

The tone took Korra by surprise and she forced herself to look back at what she was doing. Asami’s chipper tone sounded fake and so unnaturally forced that she was surprised that the customer didn’t pick up on it. 

“Oh, you know it, babycakes.”

Korra gagged to herself. The man’s voice practically dripped with slime. 

“Coming right up!” Asami said and turned around, spinning on the ball of her impressive heels. Korra chanced a look upward and Asami looked like she was withholding an eye-roll. 

“Just let me know if you need me to pop up,” Korra whispered. 

Asami nodded and mouthed thank you before she reached for a cup and then poured ice into it. Korra watched curiously as she pretended to fuss with the contents in the refrigerator while Asami made what looked like an energy drink mixer. Korra eyed the cup as Asami worked.

Why the hell did this guy get up at the crack of dawn every morning to go to a coffee stand for an energy drink? There were cheaper options for caffeine in the morning. But when Korra looked and saw the man’s expression as he watched Asami work, it was clear as day - he came to ogle the women working. His eyes roved shamelessly up and down her body, not even noticing Korra herself. He kept licking his bottom lip and nodding to himself as if he was approving of something.

Korra had the immediate urge to punch him. But she ground her teeth and looked back at her full crates of milk.

“Y’know what would make my day, baby doll?” he asked.

Korra glanced up and saw Asami subtly clench her fist as she reached for a syrup. “What’s that, Shin?”

“If you let me take a picture of you.”

“Shin, you know the rules,” Asami said, her tone fakely flirtatious and sweet but Korra heard past it to hear the annoyance. She then brought a slender finger up to a sign on the window as she mixed the drink with her other hand. “No pictures.”

“Awe, c’mon sweetcheeks. Just for me? I am your favorite customer,” the man said as leaned more against his arm that was perched on his door as he offered his card.  

Korra did her best not to fume. She wanted to help but wasn’t sure how to. She watched as Asami grabbed his card and moved to the register to ring him out, Shin now looking at her chest.

But then an idea shot through her head. She just hoped that Asami would play along. 

“Aw,” she said as she stood, lifting a crate of milk in either hand as she faced the window, doing everything she could to show off her arm muscles. Each crate held four one-gallon jugs of milk, which roughly calculated to be about 35 pounds in each hand. Korra did reps of 50-pound bicep curls at the gym and lifting the crates was effortless. She was thankful for the polo that she had to wear as a part of her uniform, as they were fitted to her arms and made it easier to show off her muscles. “I thought I was your favorite customer?” she said in what she hoped to be a flirty pouty voice. Acting wasn’t something she was good at. But she was willing to give it a whirl to keep this guy from making Asami feel even more uncomfortable. 

Without missing a beat, Asami looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Babe, you know you are,” she said flirtatiously. “And always my first customer of the day,” she added, her voice heady and suggestive. Korra didn’t hear any sound of annoyance, but she did see the thankful look on her face change to one of surprise when she fully looked at Korra, her eyes lingering on her arms. 

Korra might have imagined it, but she was sure that Asami bit her lip. But she definitely imagined it. And even if she hadn’t, she was probably just playing it up for Shin. Especially with how her tone fluctuated when she said first customer of the day - the sexual innuendo wasn’t lost on Korra, nor apparently Shin when Korra glanced at him and he flattened his back to his car seat. 

Korra offered the barista a wink and blew her a kiss, trying to play up her impromptu role before making eye contact with the sleazy man in the window. He looked shocked and leaned further away from the window, his eyes looking anywhere but Asami. She then smiled to herself and bent down and began returning the milk to the refrigerator. 

“Oh,” Shin said from the takeaway window, clearing his throat. “Didn’t know you was taken, pretty lady.”

Asami handed him out his card and his drink. “I’ve told you a dozen times that I’m taken,” she said flatly, not trying to maintain her mandatory flirtatious attitude anymore.

“Well, some girls lie about it, y’know? Rather pretend they have a boyfriend than test the waters with a guy who's interested.” 

Asami shrugged. “I have no idea why women would lie about such a trivial thing,” Asami said, playing up the innocent naivete in her tone but Korra read the bitter sarcasm loud and clear. Shin just gave her an awkward smile and a nod, raising his cup to her before revving his engine and driving off. 

“Well he’s grade A gross,” Korra said as she stood from the milk fridge.

Asami turned around and made direct eye contact with Korra. “I know, right?” She shook her head, the tips of her dark black hair brushing across her shoulders. “If I wasn’t working and had to be nice to him, I would have handled him a long time ago. But here… I have to be miss perky peppy flirtatious airhead.” Asami articulated the last four words with a tilt to her head to either side before she stopped and rolled her eyes. 

Korra frowned, leaning her hip against the counter of the coffee bar and crossing her arms loosely over her stomach. She looked out the window and saw that there weren’t any other cars queuing up yet. 

“They why work here?” she asked, genuinely curious what a woman like Asami was doing here. 

“Because I have to pay for my engineering degree somehow.” She shrugged, setting an empty coffee cup down as she looked through her syrups.

Korra’s frown deepened when Asami wouldn’t look at her as she focused on finding a specific syrup, making her worried that she’d offended her. But before she could begin to articulate her apology, Asami continued.

“Despite how gross some of the people who come through here are,” Asami continued as she pulled two different syrups out and pumped them into the cup. “I make good money doing it. And when it’s slow I can work on my homework. The work is mindless enough that it doesn't interfere with my mental energy that I need for school. So, it works for now.” She then flashed a quick smile towards Korra. “Besides, not everyone who comes through here is all that bad. I have one regular that I really actually quite like.”

“That totally makes sense,” Korra said. “The, uh, money for school bit, I mean.”

Shit. There she went, stammering like an idiot. Of course, there was some cute guy who came through here that she liked. Or maybe she was referring to her boyfriend.

Asami pivoted, her heels scuffing quietly on the wooden floors. She took a few steps, walking directly towards Korra. Her throat felt stuck. Despite being here for the last few minutes while she worked, she had tried ignored the fact that Asami was practically naked in front of her. But now that she was actively walking towards her, she got the full view of how her hips swayed when she walked and how each curve of her body lead into the next. It was impossible not to watch.

The woman was a goddess. And Korra was a mere peasant, unworthy of looking upon her. 

Korra’s collar began to feel uncomfortable when Asami reached out and placed one of her hands gently on Korra’s hip while the other one moved past her. “I need to get in here, babe,” she teased with a wink as she then opened the door to the milk fridge, letting it bump into Korra’s backside. 

Korra finally swallowed but felt the heat of her collar spread up and over her cheeks. “Yeah, yeah of course. Sorry!” and she practically hopped to the side so Asami could work. 

Asami laughed, which caused a whole new sensation to sweep over Korra’s senses. The barista’s laugh was divine and washed over her body in a wave that felt like she’d actually reached out and touched her again. 

She retrieved a jug of milk and poured some into a frothing pitcher and returned the jug to the fridge. “Sorry about the whole babe thing, by the way,” Asami said as she closed the door to the fridge and looked up to meet Korra’s eyes again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by calling you that and insinuating that we were dating.”

Korra shook her head a little too vigorously. “No worries here! You can use me all you need as your pretend girlfriend if it’ll get customers like him to leave you alone.”

Asami gave Korra a sly smile as she packed the grounds of an espresso shot. “And being perceived as gay doesn’t bother you?” she asked passively as she continued to work.

Korra shook her head, letting her arms drop as she shrugged. “Nah. I mean, I am, so it doesn't bug me one bit.”

“You are?” Asami asked, looking over her shoulder as she moved to heat the milk in the frothing pitcher.

Korra nodded. “I’m bisexual.”

Asami smiled and went to say something, but stopped because the sound of the steam wand heating the milk overtook the small space, making carrying on their conversation impossible. Korra simply watched her work, unsure if she should just start to leave. But something compelled her to stay put. 

Turning off the steamer wand, Asami went about putting the drink together. She was meticulous in her craft, taking more time to make this particular drink than she had for Shin. She even finished it with creating latte art, making the foam look like a heart as it mixed with the espresso before she added what looked like a finishing touch of caramel drizzle on top. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Asami said, an edge of flirtation to her voice as she reached for a cardboard sleeve and a pen, writing on it as she spoke. “I mean, telling my regular cringy customers that I’m dating the delivery man will hopefully keep them on their toes and quit asking for pictures.”

“Ha,” Korra sounded with a smile. “Feel free to embellish all you like. I’m just the humble deliverer of jugs.” Korra bowed, extending one hand out as she placed the other flat on her stomach.

They then looked at each other and broke into a loud fit of laughter at Korra’s intentionally poor choice words. 

Despite still being overwhelmed by how little Asami was wearing, she didn’t notice it as much as they continued to laugh together. Their banter felt natural. They’d built up a good conversational foundation from their many mornings of deliveries while Asami was fully clothed that Korra realized that the conversations itself hadn’t changed with the removal of clothing. The only thing that changed was Korra’s growing attraction to the woman with each encounter. But, she knew it wasn’t professional to ask her out. And besides, she had just told her that she was bisexual. Usually, if a girl was interested in women, she would say “me too” or say she was a lesbian. But Asami didn’t do that. And she had mentioned to Shin that she’d been saying she was taken for a while. She most definitely had a boyfriend. So friendly banter and one sided attraction was perfectly okay with Korra. It would fade someday.

Asami shook her head, laughter still in her eyes as she placed the sleeve on the drink she made and handed it to Korra with a genuine smile. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Korra asked as she reached out and received the drink, the hot cup making her somewhat sweaty palm feel more uncomfortable.  

“I call it special delivery,” Asami teased with a wink. “It’s a toffee hazelnut latte with an extra shot and a tiny drizzle of caramel.”

Korra smiled. She’d only ordered the drink once and it had been about two weeks ago. It had been a miserable rainy day and dreadfully cold out and she was having a hard morning staying warm. Asami had offered to make her a drink before she opened the stand to help her warm up and that had been what she’d asked for. And it had been downright delicious. Despite seeming to do the job to simply put herself through school, Asami was damn good at her job. 

“It’s your drink of choice, right?” Asami asked, her lips pursing slightly as she looked down at Korra, their height difference exaggerated by her pencil-thin and tall heels. 

“Hell yeah, it is! Thank you,” she said sincerely before she reached for her wallet. “What do I owe you for it?”

Asami shook her head and took a step forward, putting a hand on Korra’s forearm as she continued to hold her gaze. “Nothing. It’s my way of saying thank you for helping me with Shin. You didn’t have to, but I really appreciate it.”

Korra smiled, hoping that Asami couldn’t see the blush she knew was forming on her cheeks. “A-anytime,” she said. Asami’s touch on her bare skin was overwhelming. It felt hot and cold at the same time and it sent shivers through Korra’s entire body and she didn’t want the sensation to end. “I’m happy to help. And, uh, free coffee is just a side bonus.” She smiled nervously. 

Asami hand gripped slightly tighter on Korra’s forearm and it wasn’t Korra’s imagination this time - she bit the corner of her lip, too. It looked like she was about to say something, but then a small bell chimed in the small space, causing Asami to look at the takeaway window. 

“Shit, my morning rush is about to start. I’ve gotta get to it.”

“Yeah,” she said as she thumbed over her shoulder with her free hand. “I’ve got people in dire need of milk and should probably head out, too,” Korra joked back, trying to ignore the flipping sensation in her stomach from the sustained contact from Asami’s hand.

The barista smiled at her, her hand squeezing one more time before releasing her arm. “See you Thursday?”

“Absolutely! Bright and early as always.”

“Good. Have a fabulous rest of your day, okay?” Asami said.

Korra watched her for a second. She wasn’t imagining it. There was a blush on her face. It was there. There was no denying it. Maybe she was blushing because Korra was blushing? And now she was staring at her, which probably made it worse. 

Korra gave an uncharacteristically curt nod. “Yeah yeah. You too! Thanks again for the caffeine!” she said as she held up the latte to show her appreciation before she moved back, making a grab for her hand truck that she’d already loaded with the haul of empty crates.

Asami gave her a small wave before she turned on her impressively tall heels and greeted a customer at the window, leaning forward and putting her body on display; Korra was sure that the view of her leaning out the window was marvelous, but she got to see her toned legs and ass again and knew she had the better view.

Korra swallowed hard and maneuvered her hand truck with one hand, forcing herself to look away and not be a giant, sleazy creeper. The last thing she wanted was for Asami to think she was anything like Shin or her other unruly cringy customers.

She opened the cab of the truck to put her coffee down in the cup holder before hopping back out to reload her truck with the empty crates and hand truck. When she hopped back into her cab, she looked at the drink and smiled before grabbing it and taking a cautious sip. 

The drink was utter perfection. It had just the right temperature, had the ideal amount of foam and flavoring that mingled with the espresso shots that were perfectly pulled and not at all bitter, like most coffee shops pulled them. Korra let out a satisfied sigh and leaned into her seat. The truck was still running - the perk to having a refrigerated load - and moved to put the latte back in her cup holder to shift gears to drive away and go about her day when something caught her eye.

Asami’s handwriting was on the side of her latte’s sleeve. Korra looked down at it curiously and blinked. She remembered watching Asami write on it, but was apparently too distracted to remember to look at it in her presence. She smiled and picked up the cup again to see what it said.

From one bisexual to another - what’s a girl gotta do to take you on a date? was scrawled on the cardboard sleeve in pristine handwriting, accompanied by Asami’s name, a small heart, and a phone number. 

She didn’t care that she was blushing this time. She was in the privacy of her delivery truck and her smile overtook her face. She was sure it was spread from ear to ear. She unbuckled her seatbelt with the idea of going back in to talk to Asami, but when she looked up she saw that the coffee stand had three cars deep on either side, she remained seated in her cab. She was too busy to talk about a potential date. 

Still grinning to herself, she fished her personal phone out of her uniformed cargo shorts and entered Asami’s number. From one bisexual to another, how does dinner tonight sound? she texted hastily while she bit her bottom lip. Seeing the note from Asami now was probably better. If she’d known that Asami’s flirtations were serious while she was standing practically naked in front of her, spirits knew what Korra would do. She smiled to herself as she shoved her phone back into her pocket, looking back to the coffee stand. She knew exactly what she would do - she would have been a bumbling nervous mess. She normally was so confident in her flirting, even being called overconfident by a date or two. But there was something about Asami that made her a silly nervous ball of butterflies. 

And she was perfectly okay with admitting that she liked it. 

She put the truck in drive and started to pull out of the small parking lot that held the popular coffee stand. Despite already being behind on her scheduled deliveries for the day, she was confident that she would be able to get off work at a reasonable hour. If she was quick and deliberate, she’d get off with minimal over-time and would have plenty of time to get ready for and enjoy whatever date they planned for the night. If Asami was available tonight, that was.

Spirits, she hoped she was. 

[firefly-in-darkness]

Christmas in New York - Part Two

Characters: Thor, Val (Valkyrie), Jane & Loki (as a pet..)

Summary: Y/N is clouded by her love for her boss, Brock Rumlow, but is that about to change with a trip to New York?

Prompt: The Holiday

Word Count: 2.8k

Beta: @princessmisery666​ - the fantastic Stacey - but as always, mistakes are my own!

Warnings: Angst, fluff

A/N: This is for @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​ Winter challenge. Only a little bit of Thor in this one... BUT Y/N gets to meet Val and visit the Lake this time. Oooh and I’m posting a day earlier than planned!! I’d love any feedback too

A couple of days had past since Y/N had met Thor and Loki, her feet began to itch at the laziness she had revelled in previously; reading a book at the window, completing sudokus and word puzzles beside the fire and sitting on the porch with a hot chocolate to watch the navy velvet sky come to life as the stars sparkled in all of their glory. Last night, Y/N decided that today would involve visiting the local town and taking the less difficult path to the lake.

After breakfast, the grey clouds had shifted to blue skies and Y/N rushed out of the house before the snow began to fall once more. As she took a left out of the drive, she spotted a woman in a wheelchair being pushed towards the path of the drive not far from hers. The woman had her head in her hand in a sulk, whilst their carer chatted away cheerfully. So those are my neighbours, Y/N smiled at the pair before she continued on her journey. 

Twenty minutes and after a consultation of a map she found in the cabin, she was rewarded with the sign; Welcome To Lake George Town. Y/N grinned from ear to ear at the small triumph and entered the first store she came across, Marvellous Cafe. A bell chimed above the door as she pushed it open, the immediate warmth and smell of coffee, bread and… vanilla occupy Y/N’s thoughts.

“Welcome to Marvellous, how may I help you?” A young woman greeted her with a bright smile.

Y/N clocked her name badge and began to remove her gloves. “Erm… what would you recommend Maria?” 

“Oh, you’re the out-of-towner everyone keeps talking about!” Maria chuckled, “Well, you’ll have to try my boss’, Nick, wonderful blueberry muffins. What do you think?”

“Yes that’s me!” Y/N unravelled her scarf to hang loose around her shoulders. “Sounds perfect. How about a cappuccino too?”

Maria set about making Y/N’s coffee and Nick handed her a plated blueberry muffin. She found an armchair next to the window and watched the town in action. Various people passed by, either for work or leisure, and they all greeted one another with kindness. 

Y/N was deep in her thoughts of how different life in a small town was compared to the one she had come accustomed to in LA. Soon she began to think of Wanda, her old job and Brock. I wonder what he’s doing… Probably planning his wedding with Ruby. Y/N’s thoughts began to turn sour and she would not allow that in this place of tranquility that she had found.

As if on cue, Maria interrupted Y/N to pass her a second cup of coffee. “On the house from the boss. Apparently, he loved your five star review on trip advisor.”

Y/N held the mug of coffee to her chest, the heat warmed through her jumper and settled her mind onto what she should do next. Then she spotted Loki, her heart began to pound against her rib cage, as Loki halted outside the door of the cafe. She craned her neck to see Thor walking hand-in-hand with a woman. He never mentioned a girlfriend, Y/N tried to recall any mention or hint of one during their conversations but came up blank. 

I guess it wasn’t necessary, he only saved me from being lost in a snowstorm and drove me home… and helped start a fire…. In my panites. Y/N blanched at her thoughts and tried to ignore the blush that crept up her cheeks. She sank into the armchair further and tried to occupy herself with the small menu on the table in front of her.

The bell chimed and try as she might to avoid them, she had no choice to but acknowledge them when Loki’s muzzle came to rest on her lap.  His brown eyes looked up at her with pure happiness. She petted his head and looked up to meet Thor’s large grin when he stepped behind the dog and into her line of sight.  Her eyes drifted to the dark haired beauty beside him, and it seemed Y/N’s confusion was contagious. The gorgeous woman regarded her with confusion that mirrored her own from earlier.

Y/N felt the awkward silence between the couple seep into the atmosphere. His friend  glared at her, even though a smile was on her lips, and Thor watched Loki. A cough from the woman wrapped protectively into his side brought Thor back to reality and he placed an arm around her waist.

I hope this doesn’t get any more awkward, Y/N chewed at her cheek.

“Jane, this is Y/N, the woman that Loki found lost in the woods the other evening.” He gestured between the women as Y/N stood to greet them, “Y/N this is my Jane, Jane not Myjane.”

Y/N waved at Jane, who shook her head before she headed to the counter. Jane looked at her phone and sent texts one after the other, a smile grew on her face and she reached the front of the queue, out of sight.

Y/N turned to Thor and smiled, “How are you?”

“I am well, I see that you found the town easily.” He chuckled and rubbed at his neck, “I should have said this the other day, but if you ever need any help or would like company then please text or call me.”

Y/N placed her phone in his hand and he dialled his own number. Jane returned and passed Thor the coffee in a to-go cup, widened her eyes at him and walked towards the door.

Thor patted his leg for Loki to follow and reluctantly left the cafe, “See you around.”

Loki hesitated, as if Y/N was supposed to follow, “Go on boy, maybe your dad will let us go for a walk soon.”

Thor watched the way Y/N interacted with Loki, love and affection in her words and touches. He liked the way her warmth was shown in the simplest of gestures; a smile, a pat on Loki’s head or the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. Loki barged past him at the door, and trotted after Jane. 

Two waves and a bell chime later, Y/N discovered her coffee was almost cold. She placed the mug on the counter and said her goodbyes to Maria and Nick, zipped up her jacket and put on her gloves. She was ready to explore the town even further and visit the lake.

Y/N casually strolled along the sidewalk with the intent to make the most of her visit. She watched parents with their children entering Banner’s Bookshop, a group of construction workers leaving Stark’s Workshop and a few people chatting outside Vision: Prints & Digital Designs. She approached another store on the corner before the turning for the lake, Y/N realised it was a bar and smiled to herself, I’ll visit you on my way back.

Tall pines flanked the edges of the lake, protectors of the peace that flowed through Y/N as strolled along the snowy covered path towards the pebbled beach. When she reached the opening of the trees, her breath was taken away by the spectacular view. The silvery-blue water remained still and mirrored the trees and hilltops that surrounded it as she walked beside the lake, only a slight hush of a wave along the shore could be seen. 

Y/N settled on a bench and closed her eyes as she attempted to empty her mind, to get away from all the uncertainty she had thrown herself into. A breeze flickered across her face and brought a shiver down her spine.The crisp air was thick with the smell of fallen leaves and a comforting freshness. Y/N could hear her heartbeat echo alongside the birds’ chorus that softly floated along the light wind, tears pricked at her eyes and fell slowly down her cheeks.

Why was I never good enough for him? What did I do wrong?

Her mind spiralled as she thought of Brock, the way he looked at her on that last day; without a care, the way he played with her heart and soul and how he broke her down. He used her job promotion to torment her and the final blow of an engagement was enough to shatter her dreams. She replayed in her mind, over and over again, how she thought she was happy, and  that she was convinced he would show up at her door after she walked out of his office, her job, his life. Y/N’s bottom lip trembled as her sobs took over. 

Footsteps and laughter disturbed her emotional outlet, she quickly wiped away the salty remnants of tears. She turned around to see Jane talking on her mobile phone. She had her gloved hand twirled around her locks and a smile that beamed out to the lake. Y/N recognised the look of infatuation, she couldn’t blame her. Thor seemed like the type of guy to find his way into someone’s heart and take up permanent residence. 

Caught up in her envious thoughts, Y/N hadn’t realised she was staring, until a voice bellowed from behind, “Loki don’t you dare jump in that water, I am not rescuing you again!”

Y/N ducked behind the nearest tree and watched as Jane scrambled to end her call before Thor appeared behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. 

The walk back to the main street was quicker than Y/N had expected, her thoughts focused on Jane’s reaction; I’m just caught up on Brock and Ruby. Plus, it’s none of my business. She decided that alcohol wouldn’t be the best move, particularly with her current state of mind. As she reached The Red Room bar, a dark haired woman was being brought out of the doors by another. Y/N immediately recognised her neighbour in the wheelchair, who was now using a walking stick.

“Please, just one more.” She pleaded with the redhead.

“No Val, you’ve had enough already. Go home.” Her words were stern but concern was etched across her face. “What do you want?”

The woman had turned her attention to Y/N who flinched, “Nothing, I-”

The redhead turned on her heel and walked back into the bar, leaving Y/N wide eyed and Val slumped on her stick. She was uncertain what to do next, she could see the pain behind her drunken stupor.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Are you okay?”

“Val. I’m fine. I just need to get home,” her expression changed from determination to an uncertain blankness as she looked around.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Val kept her eyes on the ground, her voice quiet that Y/N almost didn’t hear. “I don’t know how to get home.” 

Y/N’s gave a half smile, “Good job I know the way, now.”

As Y/N walked beside Val, and attempted to fill the silence; she spoke of the competition for a cabin retreat and how she had gotten lost the first day she arrived, which received a few chuckles from Val.

Val mumbled, “I’ve lived here for nearly five years and I still manage to get lost or forget where I am. I suffer with short term memory loss. I drink to forget the past but it doesn’t always work out well. Nat, the bar owner, she’s only looking out for me. I don’t always have to use a stick, or even a wheelchair.”

Y/N helped Val up the porch steps and grinned, “Well this was some Meet Cute.”

Val’s brow pulled down in confusion, “A meet-what?”

“It’s from a film, I can’t remember which, but it’s about how two characters meet for the first time, it could be any situation and ours was outside The Red Room.” Y/N spotted the confusion on Val’s face, “You’ve never seen a Rom-Com have you?!”

“Not my thing…” Val turned and stretched out to unlock the door. Her hand shook as she aimed the key at the hole and failed a few times.

Y/N softly took the keys to help, as she opened the door she was greeted with a large hallway. Val planted herself into the wheelchair by the door. Y/N was overwhelmed by the amount of photographs that lined the stairwell; Val in army uniform, meeting the President, award presentations. 

Valerie Brunnhilde receives the Silver Star for their gallantry in action.

The Purple Heart was awarded to Valerie “Valkyrie” Brunnhilde for their wounds suffered in combat.

Y/N followed Val into the living room and saw a few more photographs. The various awards and medals glittered against the sunlight that streamed in through the large bay window. Her attention turned to the veteran who had begun to set up a spot on the couch, a discarded microwave meal on a lap tray.

What happened to you? Her heart ached for the woman that, even though these accolades shone at her, sought the comfort of alcohol and isolation.

“Thank you for rescuing me, I enjoyed our meet cute.”

“Val, I don’t really know anyone here, and I am going for dinner in town tomorrow evening, would you like to join me?”

What about Thor? Isn’t he someone you know here… No! I need to be around friends not someone I find attractive. Plus he’s got a girlfriend, Y/N reminded herself as she awaited a response.

Val nodded, “I’ll book a table for 7pm at Bistro Barton. I haven’t been there in a while actually.”

The lighting in the restaurant provided a soft orange glow, the air was filled with the scents of different foods and the ambient music drifted over the sounds of chatter and laughter. Y/N twirled the spaghetti around her fork as Val recounted stories of her time in the army and the tours she completed.

“I’m actually supposed to be going to New York City to receive an award but I am not sure I’d like to go.” Val noticed Y/N had hardly eaten or said a word for the last five minutes, “Hello, is anyone there?”

Y/N chuckled at Val waving her hand in front of her, “Sorry, I don’t seem to be the best company at all.”

Coffees and a dessert replaced the pasta dishes and wine glasses. Her mind wandered back to Thor and Jane, the way she had looked whilst on the phone to someone that was obviously not her boyfriend. How could she be so casual about it? How had Thor not noticed? It’s none of my business. 

Y/N returned her focus to the present, and her lava cake and licked at the melted chocolate on the spoon.

“So, what’s a beautiful and charming girl like you staying in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for their Christmas vacation?” Val scooped the gelato up into her mouth, an eyebrow raised at Y/N.

A sigh escaped her lips and she stirred the spoon in her coffee cup, “I guess, I wanted to get away from work, the people I see all the time. Actually, there was one person, a guy that I was in love with.”

Val reached over and squeezed Y/N’s hand, “Well, he’s an idiot for letting you go.”

Tears welled as she confessed her pain to the woman opposite her, she dabbed the napkin under her eyes, gave Val a watery smile and sipped her drink.

“It seems to me like you’re behaving like the best friend instead of the leading lady. Like in those rom coms you’ve mentioned.” Val pursed her lips and rested her head in her hand.

“Wait a minute, that’s from The Holiday! You said you hadn’t seen any?!” Y/N smirked and pointed at her companion.

Val rolled her eyes and huffed, “I might have watched it last night. But, what I’m saying is that you need to take ownership of your own life and be the leading lady, always. I’ve spent too many years in a haze since my last tour, I have tried to forget my past and drink it away but that hasn’t worked for me one bit. Now you, you need to put yourself first.” 

Val pointed at her with sternness to which Y/N smiled and nodded, tears and heartache long forgotten as she listened to some well needed words of wisdom.

“So what’s this about an award in New York?”

To be continued...

[alleiradayne]

Unconventional A J2 x Reader RPF Series

After a rousing evening of Friday Night Karaoke at the Supernatural convention, you’re tired and about to go to bed. But then a distinctly familiar laugh echoes through the hallway outside your hotel room door, and sleep is the last thing on your mind.

Part IV - Traditional

Summary: Saturday Night Special and afterparty Warnings/Tags: Floofs Characters/Pairings: Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Female Reader, Briana Buckmaster, Kim Rhods, Rob Benedict, Mike Borja, Steve Norton, Rich Speight, Jr., Ruthie Connell, and Matt Cohen  Word Count: 1,567 A/N: For the love of everything good in this world, assume everyone involved is single or polyamorous. No. Wife. Hate. Allowed. This series as a whole will fulfill my Polyamory square for @spnkinkbingo but not until closer to the end. Beta’d by @atc74 because she’s awesome and managed to read this hella long buncha nonsense.

Hope. An eager sort of anxious anticipation shuddered in your fingers as you gripped the barricade railing. The hall buzzed with an energy so palpable, the fine hair on the backs of your arms stood on end. Fellow fans pressed in all around, their own little space of floor carved out for their spot amidst the tiny sea of bodies. As the house lights dimmed, the stage lights illuminated in their vast array of colors and shapes, and a crescendo of hundreds of voices filled the hall. Louden Swain took the stage as they always did and kicked off their set with Present Time.

They played favorite tunes and lesser known tracks, as well as their covers with other actors. Briana belted out a tune that showcased her vocals with her classic aplomb. Kim rocked the house, as usual. Matt, of course, couldn’t stand in a single spot his entire song. Ruthie in all her five-foot-three glory, danced as beautifully as she sang. And then there was Richard. Oh, Richard. With his big acoustic guitar and that gorgeous Tennessee twang, he could melt a heart with just one note.

You did your best to live in the moment, but with each song, that fervent expectation of what came next crawled up your spine and settled at the base of your neck. Part of it, you thought, had to do with your proximity to the stage—within arms’ reach of Rob and the rest. But the other part, the larger part, kept you on your toes the entire evening.

“We have a very special guest singing a couple songs with us tonight,” Rob started.

Your hope, it seemed, was about to pay off.

Rich leaned into his microphone and spoke. “Oh, we’re gonna let him out of his cage?”

“Something like that,” Rob replied. “Please welcome to the stage, the one, the only, Jensen Ackles.”

Louden Swain always earned a tidal wave of applause when they performed. But the roar, the deafening wall of sound that exploded from behind you put that to shame. Jensen crept out from behind a curtain on the stage, with his leather jacket and wide-brimmed hat, his perfectly tight jeans and shit-kickin’ boots.

“Thanks,” he mumbled into the mic. “Ready?”

Another burst of sound from the crowd blocked out the first set of elevens of Whipping Post. But when the cheers faded, that unique rhythm caught your hips in its steady rock beat, swayed from side to side. And Jensen’s baritone drowned out any other sound you might have heard, for his voice was the stuff of gods. He thumbed a boot in time with that smooth set of elevens—bless Gregg Allman for gracing the rock world with the 11/4 time signature—and damn it all to hell if you didn’t ogle Jensen’s bow legs.

S.O.B. followed, hot on the heels of Whipping Post. Those words in Jensen’s growl left you wanting more, bolstering your hope again for more of it later that evening. Amidst that hope, the whirlwind of music passed in such a rapid blur that Rob had cued the closer before you noticed. But with a quick sweep of the crowd, Jensen found you front and center, and as discreetly as possible, pointed stage right and mouthed, “Go, now.”

Through the throng you shouldered past your fellow fans, your space filled as soon as you vacated. To your left you pushed, side-steps bearing you slowly to the far end of the platform until you broke free of the mass of crowded bodies. There a Creation staff member stood and as you approached, smiled and asked for you name. When you gave it, she asked for an ID, and, after you flipped open your wallet, ushered you around the corner to the hallway behind the riser.

“I’m Sara,” she started as she held out her hand. When you took it, she said, “How long have you known Jensen?” she asked over her shoulder.

A quick lie took shape and you shrugged as you said, “Several years, now. Damn near a decade, actually.”

Face unreadable, Sara simply smiled as she led you around a corner. “Here we are,” she started as she unlocked a door and pushed it aside. “Welcome to the green room.”

She held the door aside as you stepped over the threshold. Though empty, the signs of life lay scattered about the room. Bottles of water at various levels of consumption littered every surface, as well as plastic cups, some empty, some containing hints of liquor. On the far wall, a table stood laden with beverages, liquor, beer, soda, and water, and a melting bucket of ice perspired on the end beside the cups.

“Folks will be back in a bit. Get comfy, help yourself to a drink.” She pointed at the table on the far side of the room laden with options. “Have fun!” she added with a bright smile as she slipped back through the door, a soft click following her.

What then? A drink? Maybe one or two would calm the creeping sensation beneath your skin. You headed for the table and snatched a cup from the stack, dropped in a single ice cube, and poured over it a generous amount of whiskey. The first sip warmed your tongue, slid down your throat, and settled in your belly as the door to the room burst open. You turned to find Rob leading his bandmates into the room, followed by the cast that had sang that night. Briana and Kim chatted excitedly while Matt and Ruthie continued singing the closer. Rich brought up the rear, face buried in his phone until Rob spoke.

“Hey,” he started as he crossed the room. “You’re Y/N?” he asked.

“I am,” you replied as you held out your hand, “I guess Jensen warned you?”

A bewildered shake of his head preceded Rob’s curious smile as he looked over his shoulder. Briana held back a laugh when Kim raised a brow at her. When Rob checked in with the others, they all shrugged. He turned back to you and said, “No, Sara only mentioned a gal with a backstage pass, although I didn’t know we did that here. So, you know Jensen?”

Your casual lie faltered, far too thin to work on Jensen’s actual friends. “Not… really.”

“Jared, then?” he continued as he reached for a bottle of water.

You struggled to find a response to that after memories of the previous night flooded your mind. “Yeah, we’re sort of acquaintances,” you said with a shrug.

“Oh, cool, for how long?” Rob continued.

“About…” you paused as you checked your phone, “36 hours.”

He laughed through his water, nearly spitting it out. “Are you—”

The door opened once more, and Jensen stepped through with Jared in tow. “Oh, awesome, they’re already picking on her,” he said over his shoulder. “Give it a rest, Rob.”

“What?!” Rob shrieked, “I wasn’t doing anything!”

“Uh huh, sure,” Jensen retorted as he neared you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “Alright, only time we’re gonna do this. This is Y/N, she’s a friend of ours. Cool?”

The others shrugged their agreement, and without another word, the afterparty started.

Long conversations led to stories about longer friendships, and as the minutes ticked by, the group eased in around you. They each took their time to talk with you, learning a little bit about you and eager to regale you with their favorite moments as a part of the family. Most common of all, though, was that each one of them shared a memory of Jared and Jensen being their incredibly kind and giving selves. And it was during those stories that you realized how damn lucky you were.

An hour had slipped by as you finished your drink, and Jensen took a queue from Jared. He stood from his chair and headed for the table, grabbing three bottles of water, and returned to the group as he spoke. “We’re off.”

“Boooo.” Rob’s hands cupped around his mouth and amplified his voice. Jared, much to your delight, flipped his middle finger at him for a laugh.

When you stood and followed Jensen to the door, Jared fell in behind you. The conversation picked back up and you thought yourself clear of any further teasing as you stepped over the threshold. That was until a catcall of a whistle pierced the din of the room. Jared did his best to push you onward, but as you turned over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Briana winking and Kim’s two thumbs up.

The door closed with a click and Jensen pressed into at your side. “I'm beat. What about you?”

“Exhausted,” you said. “Probably gonna pass out when I get back to my room.”

Jared's giggle from behind you drew your attention over your shoulder. His wicked grin and wandering eyes betrayed his indifferent shrug. His hands grasped your shoulders as he leaned into your ear and whispered, “I think Jen has other plans for the two of you.”

As you rounded the corner, Jensen slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer. You wanted to say something, anything, but dumbfounded excitement seized your tongue as you approached Clif at the end of the hallway.

“Hotel?”

Jensen nodded as he looked to you with a wicked grin. “Yeah. We're exhausted. Right, Y/N?”

“Yeah… exhausted.”

Reblogs and feedback are awesome. If you want in on the tags, send me an ask or a DM!

UNCONVENTIONAL MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN KINK BINGO MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74  @hannahindie @bevans87  @meganwinchester1999  @plaided-ani-on-hiatus  @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox@wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm  @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs  @seenashwrite  @canadianspnhunter  @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27  @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @scarletluvscas @donnaintx @blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride  @lazinessisalliknow  @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology

Dean’s Dames (Jensen):

@supernatural-jackles @jerkbitchidjitassbutt

Unconventional:

@wayward-and-worn @evansrogerskitten @squirrelnotsam @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @pink1031  @kutie-stans @aomi-nabi @wilde-abandon @samwichesterssexyface @heavensheadbitch @amandamdiehl @thatonecurlygirl

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Yours Truly [Part Three]

Summary: As the summer continues, Chris and Sadie bond over his ex-wife’s refusal to see Layla for her birthday. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 1595 Warnings: Mentions of divorce and abandonment. A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post. 

June 12

Caroline,

My dear friend … you already sound like you’ve got it bad for this guy!! D.C. sounds amazing so definitely keep telling me about that, and the campaign, but don’t spare me on the tabloid-esque details, either!

Kidding, of course. I know you’re a professional, but don’t let that stop you from having a little fun while you’re out there — hmm, speaking of fun, no mention of Charlie in your first couple of letters. I want those details, too, missy.

Farm life has improved from that first day. Chris is warming up to me, I think, and I already can’t picture life without Layla in it. That little girl is going places, C, I’m telling you! Teaching her is more fun than work, and that’s on top of the fun we have throughout the rest of the day. I hate to break it to you, but I think I got the better deal this summer. No offense to your campaign of course ;)

Layla wants to sign her name at the bottom, as we have been practicing that. I’ve shown her pictures of you, and told her about your job. Chris and I watched the CNN bit, and Layla snuck out of bed — she can’t believe my best friend is working with the man on the TV!

I’ll send pictures of the farm and Layla with my next letter. Once little miss writes her name, we will be heading to town to get some fabric for her birthday dress — I made the mistake of telling her that my aunts used to make me dresses when I was younger and taught me how. We’ll see if I remember how to do this.

Yours truly,

Sadie

After Layla carefully etched out her name at the bottom of Sadie’s letter to Caroline, Sadie folded the page and put it in the envelope. She let Layla lick the adhesive, laughing at the girl’s nose crinkling in reaction to the bitter taste.

“Okay, letter’s in my purse, your daddy put your seat in my car … let’s see if we can find him and let him know we’re leaving,” Sadie suggested.

Chris was easy enough to find, sweaty and smiling at the girls’ presence. Just as she had told Caroline, Chris seemed to be warming up to Sadie. She figured it had been difficult to invite another woman into his home to care for his daughter, and Sadie chalked his initial attitude towards her up to that.

After looking at a few sewing patterns, Sadie found one that Layla liked, and even found one for herself. They combed through the bolts of different fabrics and, after Sadie convinced Layla that yes, flannel was so soft but not good for a summer dress, found a breathable cotton in Layla’s favorite shade of pink. Sadie took a little longer to look for her own fabric, finally settling on a creamy-colored cotton with a vintage floral design. They made their purchases, then headed over to the grocery store to get a few things for supper that evening.

“Adie, how many days till my birfday?” Layla asked on the trek back home.

Sadie mentally counted the days until July 1st. “About eighteen, sweetie. Almost three weeks.”

“That’s forever!” Layla whined.

Sadie chuckled. “It’ll go by before you know it. Besides, I’ve got to have time to make your dress.”

The child grew quiet in the backseat. Sadie hummed quietly, not daring to turn on the radio, as Layla would be talking again soon enough.

“Adie?”

She decided then and there she never wanted Layla to get her name right. “Yes?”

“Do you think my mama will come back for my birfday? She been gone a long time.”

Sadie’s heart broke. She had heeded Chris’s warning that Layla might bring up the subject of his ex-wife, but it had been a couple of weeks now, and nothing had been said. She could hear the tears in Layla’s voice, so she waited the couple of minutes until they were parked back in front of the house. She got Layla down from her seat and crouched in front of the small girl.

“Sometimes mommies and even daddies have to figure out how to be the best mommies and daddies they can be, Layla, so they go away for a while. Just like it seems like eighteen days is a long time till your birthday, I know it seems like she’s been gone forever, huh?” Layla nodded; a tear slipped down her cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Your mama is just trying to do what’s best for you.”

“What if she never comes back?” Layla cried.

Sadie couldn’t help it; she picked Layla up, resting the child’s head on her shoulder. “Then, as sad as it is, it just means that the best thing she can do for you is leave you here with your daddy.”

Layla nodded against Sadie’s shoulder but didn’t stop crying. Sadie held her until she quieted, realizing a few minutes later the child had fallen asleep. After putting Layla in her bed for an afternoon nap, she brought in the groceries and the purchases from the sewing store.  

No doubt this would break Chris’s heart too, but Sadie knew she would have to tell him about the conversation with Layla.

After supper, Sadie asked Chris to talk with her in the kitchen while Layla played with her toys in the living room and out of earshot. While she loaded the dishwasher, she quietly recounted her conversation with Layla about her mother coming back for her birthday.

“Damn it,” Chris muttered under his breath. He realized what he had said and checked to see that Layla hadn’t heard him curse. “Honestly, Sadie, she hasn’t talked to me about her mother once since you came. I don’t expect you to fix me or my daughter, but having you here has really been a blessing for us. Guess I was too hopeful about what that blessing meant.”

Sadie pushed the button to start the dishwasher before facing Chris. “I know it’s hard, for both of you, but you can’t just sweep it under the rug. Layla hasn’t talked to you about your ex-wife, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk to her about it — or at least let her know that she can talk to you about it. Maybe she needs to you to tell her that your love for her is bigger than your sadness over your wife leaving.”

Chris stared in Sadie’s direction for a few seconds before sucking on his teeth and giving a nod. Picking his mobile up from the counter, he asked Sadie to keep Layla inside for a while. He was out the front door before Sadie could answer him.

They had been playing for several minutes before they heard Chris yelling outside. Layla looked up at Sadie with wide eyes.

“Daddy’s mad.”

Sadie let out a sigh. “Go play in your room, sweetie.”

Layla did as she was told, and Sadie waited for her to disappear down the hall before stepping onto the front porch. Chris was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, shaking his head at the conversation.

“Em, it’s her birthday. She’s asking for you!” He paused, catching Sadie’s eye before quickly looking away. “I don’t need you back here for me. If you wanna run off with some big city accountant, that’s your business, but don’t leave your daughter in the dust without at least explaining to her. She’s four years old, but she’s gonna know you abandoned her!”

A couple of seconds later, he dropped the phone from his ear and kicked at the sidewalk that led up to the house.

“She hung up?” Sadie guessed.

Chris nodded. “She’s gonna be in Cancun for the first week of July. Won’t be able to come back for Layla’s birthday.”

Sadie pursed her lips and held back her anger. How could anyone leave behind a child as sweet as Layla, and not look back? Or a man as willing to work hard to love and support his family as Chris?

That last thought took her by surprise; Sadie quickly dismissed it and promised Chris that she would make sure Layla had the best birthday any five-year-old could ask for.

“I know I’m not her mom, but I can try my best.”

Chris smiled, coming up the steps. “I know you will. You’re really amazing with her, and she adores you, Sadie. I was serious when I said it was a blessing that you came to us.”

Sadie blushed and bit the inside of her cheek. He stopped two steps down, putting him right at eye level with her. “Well, you know, just doing my job. Layla’s easy to love.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and shook his head instead. “We’ll find out what Layla wants for her birthday, and make it happen, the two of us. She’ll have no shortage of love that day. With any luck, she won’t even remember Emily’s gone.”

Sadie nodded, then something occurred to her. “When’s your birthday?”

Chris looked a little surprised by her question, but answered it anyway. “The twenty-first.”

“Maybe we’ll do something special for you, too,” Sadie smiled, somewhat teasing.

As she turned back in the house, she didn’t see Chris staring after her, wondering at the flutterings of his heart – not for the first time – when it came to the woman who had come to teach and care for his daughter.

Part Four

[wanderingaunt]

Where'd You Go, Robin?

This is the first post in my 30-day blog challenge.

Oh look, Robin seems to have disappeared again.

No one actually realizes I’m gone.

Those are the voices I hear in my head as I think through getting back online. My thoughts are very judgmental. I often create fake scenarios and conversations about myself or what I think others are saying about me.

That’s my queue to take a step back.

Honestly, the virtual world was getting to be too much for me. When COVID began to spread throughout the U.S. in March, I found myself feeling pretty grounded and focused. It was the first time in 2 years that I had stopped to slow down. I was in Dallas at my sister’s and learning to adjust to suburban life for a change.

Slow down.

That’s normally not a phrase I say. Yet, the more I learn about my Human Design and how I’m wired, the more I recognize this to be part of who I am. According to my Human Design, I am a 6/2 Manifesting Generator. Manifesting Generators can often be perceived as flighty or non-committal. We like to try things on before we know if it’s going to be a fit for us. The 6/2 identifies the part of me that is a hermit as well as a role model. As I look back at my life over the past 2 years, I can see this pattern unfolding. I am free-spirited and tend to do life at my own pace. Sometimes my pace is consistent and steady, while other times it’s slow as molasses. Sometimes I’m out in the spotlight while other times, I’m going deep within and tuning out everything around me.

While I was settled in Dallas, I found myself adjusting to being in one place. When Stay at Home Orders began, I took it as an invitation to settle in and focus on my work and completing my Retreat Leader certification as part of my yearlong coaching program with Darla LeDoux. I was feeling pretty great and proud of myself for actually focusing and having a routine. As someone who moves around quite a bit, routines are few and far between.

As May approached, I realized that the coursework due date for my certification was fast approaching. In true Robin fashion, I waited until 2 weeks prior to May 2nd to complete 4 months’ worth of assignments. I thrive off of deadlines, yet I don’t always embrace that about myself. I hunkered down and became laser-focused. I completed my work on time and only had a couple of assignments that I needed to redo. I continued to press through and show up fully.

Completing my coaching program became my focus and refuge from the craziness happening with COVID. Yet, my focus was quickly pulled back as hardship came upon my family.

On Mother’s Day, we received a message from my Mom that my Dad was in the hospital with Severe Sepsis. My Mom called an ambulance to take him to the ER earlier that morning. He spent a week in the hospital and came close to death. Thankfully, he survived and has since made a full recovery.

Soon after that, the terrible tragedy with George Floyd happened. I found myself consumed with social media activism—posting and sharing content on my feed, signing petitions, reading, and learning. And then within a week of that, we received the news that my beloved cousin, Clint, had died of cancer at the young age of 44.

My nervous system went into shock.

Another aspect of Human Design is that it shows which channels you have open. I have many open centers and as a result, I’m highly sensitive or in other words, an empath. An empath is someone who is highly aware of the emotions of those around them, to the point of feeling those emotions themselves. Empaths see the world differently than other people; they’re keenly aware of others, their pain points, and what they need emotionally. When I’m not conscious of protecting my energy, I can literally feel the weight of the world. When I go into overwhelm, I retreat into my cocoon (hermit phase).

2020 has been an extremely difficult and unexpected year for the entire world. For me personally, there’s been a lot of change, heartbreak, loss, and regret. As a nomad, I went from the freedom of traveling the world to being confined to one spot; in February, I ended a relationship with a man that I love and have had to deal with the regret and heartbreak from that decision; and then with COVID and all of the anti-racism movements happening, my system was in overload. After my cousin died, it was the final straw for my emotional well-being. I found myself distant from my friends and family and unable to maintain healthy boundaries or communication.

I knew it was time for me to go inward and tune out for a bit.

"I was becoming more and more of a hermit. It's not so much that I was running away from something, I was running into myself."  -- Michael A. Singer, The Surrender Experiment

I rented a car and headed west to Colorado for a personal retreat at the beautiful Six Eagles Haven. It was the first time I had left Dallas in 4 months, and ironically it was the last place I traveled to prior to COVID. When I was nearing my arrival, tears fell upon me, and I began sobbing and yelling uncontrollably.

I was having an emotional breakdown.

The breakdown lasted for at least 30 to 45 minutes. I was near panic mode. I showed up at the retreat center completely exhausted and emotionally drained. I knew I was in the right place to come exactly as I was and that nothing was wrong. I knew I was safe. My coach, Allison, was there to guide and support me through this time.

My emotional breakdown, while painful, was the start of a magical journey for me.

Six Eagles Haven is such a special place and has created many profound experiences for me. Each week there will be a movie night where Randy (Allison’s husband) will select a movie for us to watch. He selected Where’d You Go, Bernadette. I had seen this movie earlier in the year while flying back from Africa, yet this time I felt connected to the main character. The movie is about a former architect named Bernadette played by Cate Blanchett. In the movie you witness Bernadette go through her own life crisis. She’s distant, always starting and not finishing projects, and unable to cope with the real world. Without going into much detail, Bernadette has lost her art and power to create. She gave up creating, which in turn caused her to give up on life.

I found myself relating to Bernadette. I was born to create, and I’ve been resisting that part of me for far too long.

One of the main reasons I went to Colorado was so I could have access to nature and hiking. I got up everyday and lost myself in the woods. I am a explorer at heart and love going off the beaten path. One morning I woke up and decided I was going to climb a mountain. I walked into the kitchen and told Allison that I was going to hike Mount Garfield. Allison looked at me and asked if I was looking for a challenge.

Yes, a challenge is exactly what I need.

Be careful what you wish for. ;) I had looked at the reviews and had read that it was a difficult, hard, and challenging hike. I’ve been on several challenging hikes before, so I figured this wouldn’t be too big of a deal. My ego laughed at me when I thought this.

“What is My Mountain?”

This is the question I contemplated as I was climbing Mount Garfield. This climb caused me to confront how I go about challenging situations and embrace the part of me that wakes up and declares, “Today, I’m going to climb a mountain.” When I made it back to my car, I felt so accomplished and on fire. This was exactly what I needed. I needed to remind myself of how strong and capable I am. I needed to remind myself that I thrive off of challenges and need my own mountain to climb.

The next day as I was taking my daily walk within the labyrinth, I got a download. Every time I enter the labyrinth, I set an intention for my walk and open myself up to signs and answers. This day, I asked Spirit for guidance around the question, “What is my mountain?”.

Spirit: Write 30 blogs in 30 days.

Me: 30…? How about 15?

Spirit: No, 30.

Me: 20?

Spirit: No, you asked for a mountain. 30.

Me: Gulp. Okay, 30…

This is what happens when I try to negotiate after I get a clear message. I’m not as great of a negotiator as I think I am… The call to write has been with me for over a year now. I have dismissed it again and again. I’ve enrolled others in my writing a book, yet, I’ve been in major resistance around actually starting. I’ve come up with every excuse and avoidance tactic. Even though, I keep receiving the call in meditation to write. Even though my oracle cards tell me, “Get thee to thy desk and write!” Even though others ask how my writing is going…I allow time to pass by and wait for tomorrow to come.

So here is my mountain: 30 blog posts in 30 days.

As with most challenges I take on, starting is the hardest part. I sit in resistance for a while and then over-analyze each word and sentence I type. I erase, write again, and repeat. I have no idea where this challenge will take me or what topics and words will be uncovered in the process. I trust the guidance of my higher self and Spirit to guide me. I trust that whatever is meant to be written will be written. I trust that answers to many questions I hold will come to surface.

Where’d You Go, Robin?…You’ll have to read to find out.

I invite you to take some time to sit with the question “What is my mountain?” for yourself. Really sit with it and listen. What shows up for you?

Ways You Can Support the 30 Day Blog Challenge

I would love your support during this challenge. While I am taking on this challenge for myself, I trust that you will identify with my writing and read the posts that you are meant to read.

Subscribe to my newsletter so you receive posts on a daily or weekly basis.

Donate to my work. I’ve been writing this blog for 3 years now and produce all of my content for free. As an artist and creator, writing is my outlet for being fully self-expressed. Your support provides encouragement (and pays the bills) to keep going. <3

Share with your network. If you are inspired by my writing and this challenge, I’d appreciate you sharing it with anyone you feel will benefit.

Comment on the posts that speak to you. I’d love to hear your thoughts and learn which topics you relate to or identify with.

[otp-armada]

A Time Capsule

I’ve been lurking across several fandoms spanning a decade now, since my days of reading “Bones” fanfics on fanfiction.net. Before any inkling of Ao3’s existence. Maybe longer, my memory is murky at times.

I’ve never made a splash in any fandom, so to speak. I’ve always been content to stand shrouded in anonymity, residing on the edges of fandom, never an active participant. Perfectly at peace to never have a voice. Never brave enough to want to be heard. It has only been in the last few years that I discovered Tumblr and felt comfortable enough in taking advantage of its anon feature to interact mostly with The 100/Bellarke crowd, “conversing” with one user in particular. In the instances I chose to speak, there was safety in knowing my words never had an identity attached. A safety that lent itself to sending anon asks a fairly common activity until I wrote one recently sharing a remnant of my “The 100” viewing experience. The warm response from the users who read it left me smiling for the rest of the day. Their reply took a direction I didn’t expect. They encouraged me to take credit for my words under my username, which of course, I didn’t have, not being a Tumblr user.

I was flattered by the response, bolstering me to continue the line of conversation with another ask and was met with reiterated sentiments.

In the wise words of one of those awesome people,

“I was the ultimate lurker for a long, long time. I had a Tumblr account for four years before I ever made a single post, and even then I had to be talked into it. And you know what? When I finally starting “talking,” it was so freeing! Even if no one else was listening, even if I was speaking into the void, I was no longer dependent on anyone else to share my thoughts and opinions. I could do that myself.”

I took the compliment but waived the advice. Tumblr is made of communities built upon sharing and I have always been unto myself an island. It goes against my shy, introverted nature to take part in a community. I have no business pretending I have a place there. None at all.

And yet, despite my misgivings, the idea wouldn’t leave me as I believed it would. I started to genuinely ponder the merits of creating a blog.

There are strong reasons to support the affirmative.

First, the utilitarian benefits. In the absence of a blog, I turned to alternative methods of archiving appealing posts. If by some miracle, the item count of my browser reading list hasn’t yet ascended to the thousands mark, it most assuredly rests in the hundreds. My camera roll queue has indubitably reached the thousands count, currently sitting pretty at 3,300. I shudder to think of the sheer number of my bookmarks. One hundred and eighty notes on my phone. The final frontier has been broken, at last, habitually inundating my laptop with screenshots. Long has it been overdue to clean house.

Second, I find writing to be a herculean undertaking I enjoy in the moments it doesn’t drive me to the brink. A slow-going process, but when I’m able to appreciate the fruits of my labor, marvel at the polished product, I often feel quite proud. Writing is a skill I’ve lost touch with over years of disuse but found incrementally returning while expressing my opinions via Tumblr asks. Like any skill, it can be honed with time and practice. Transferring my streams of consciousness onto written medium challenges me to think critically, ask myself if my POV genuinely holds true or falls apart, requiring further reflection. If nothing else, it’s a good way to process thoughts and emotions. I find it easier than and therefore preferable to oral communication. I am a perpetual editor, always amending my statements which can’t really be done as effectively in speech.

Third, if there was ever a time to join the Tumblr fandom I’ve found a home in for the last three years, why not in time for the show’s last ride? The night I signed up for Tumblr coincided the first day of “The 100” cast and crew filming their 100th and poetically final episode. Around the same space of time, we got a release date and the nostalgic goodbyes of a few cast members rolled in. I know when Bellarke crosses the last threshold, I’d want it plastered all over my dash and I’d be able to make it happen.

But where there are pros, the cons inevitably follow.

Do I really need a further distraction from my responsibilities, spending additional hours and expending more energy I should not spare online? The too easy potential for more hours behind a screen when prone to headaches and horrid habits of not regulating my eating and sleeping schedules? The answer is a clear and resounding “No.” Would maintaining a blog be harmful to my mental and emotional health? Remaining anonymous has historically done a fine job of insulating me from general rebuke, which has mitigated the risk of reproach at least. No corner of the internet can be designated as a safe space. I knew I would in all likelihood have to work diligently to curate and be responsible for my experience, leading me to doubt how the effort could possibly be worth it. How could it be worth feeling exposed, self-conscious? Constantly second-guessing myself, debating whether or not my thoughts are best kept within the privacy of my mind to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes? Combating the periodic skepticism that my thoughts possess value worth writing?

There was always the lingering possibility I was overthinking the decision to my detriment, as is my norm. After all, it seemed silly and dramatic to regard one obscure little blog in a sea of hundreds of millions of social media users as momentous. But I know myself better than that. It is a really fucking big deal for me.

I vacillated between both sides of the argument for days before deciding not to follow through with the venture.

And then one night, a single stray observation ran through my mind. One observation became another, became another and before I knew it, I had formed the grounds for an entire meta post. It didn’t end there. More ideas filtered through. I expanded on those ideas. More traction gained. Another meta formed. More jumping off previous points. Before long, I had mentally written the foundations for four metas. And I was so excited and proud of forming these connections to this puzzle without even trying that I wanted to share it. I sat down to write them in my trusty Notes, outlining, trying to jot the main points down before they fizzled away from memory. I saw how long-winded these spiels had gotten sans the full writeup, subsequently rationalizing…well, not blowing up someone’s inbox is just good manners, isn’t it? And terribly inefficient to boot. More to the point, it seemed a disservice to myself to censor my rumination to fit the small confines of a Tumblr ask box.

The part of me that wanted to push forward envisioned what the future of my blogging efforts may look like. That part knows that this blog is for me and only me. What makes me laugh, what makes me cry. Smile. Rage. Flail. Think. Whatever the hell I want. I get to say what I want, however, I want. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking. It’s also exciting, thrilling, and yes, freeing. The notion of carving out a tiny space for me to fill to the endless brim with whatever brings me joy makes me…really damn happy. It’s not an easy feat to accept and harder to retain. I should be ok, so long as I never forget that I get to be in control of what happens here. It’s within my right to block anyone I don’t want to engage or associate with. It’s my full right to not care what anyone else has to say if I don’t want to. Block out anything negative I don’t want to endure with only a few clicks. If I decide I want to walk away, permanently or otherwise, for any reason, it’s within my right to do that too. It’s comforting.

There was a time when I “knew” I would never sign up for an Ao3 account until one of my favorite authors withdrew the majority of her stories from public consumption. I “knew” I was never going to post commentary until I did. I “knew” my username would never be seen by anyone aside from me, never to be affiliated with my commentary until it was.

I did. Each and every time I thought I would never, I did. I broke my own barriers with patience and some courage. Maybe the most intimidating aspect of something new is simply the beginning. I said earlier that I’ve been an island for nearly as long as I can remember. It’s still true, I don’t expect overnight results. It’s probably going to be true for a long time. Perhaps forever. But maybe it’s all the more reason why I should take this step toward peeking out of my self-imposed shell. Do what scares you, or whatever it is they say.

I wish I could say it was enough to reverse my earlier verdict.

Nope, I had to agonize some more.

What can I say? Fear is a damn powerful inhibitor.

Lo and behold, as if the universe took pity on me, I got the chance to communicate directly with the same awesome lady whom I quoted above and she kindly offered some more merciful wisdom to a truly maddeningly indecisive individual:

“When you create a blog, you are STILL anonymous. You have a username, yes, but it doesn’t lead back to you unless you want it to. You still have your personal privacy. Tumblr isn’t Facebook. If you want to disclose personal information, you can, but you certainly don’t have to.

And second, your blog is for you, not for anyone else. It’s for you to express your own opinions. Or create gifs or other visuals. Or just repost what other people create. You can be on every day, or just once a week. It’s also a great way to save stuff you might want to look at again. And then… and then… when brilliance suddenly hits you, you have somewhere to let it hang out! 😁”

It was much I had already considered, but it helped immeasurably to have my reasoning reaffirmed from an external source I respect. I logged into Tumblr for the first time the very same night.

After much deliberation, an uncharacteristic burst of bravery and a grueling four hours I owe to technological ineptitude, I have, tentatively and cautiously, opted to give this Tumblr thing a go.

With luck, a day will never arrive when I dust this preamble off for a much-needed pep talk. Instead, it is my hope that one day, this memo-to-me will stand as proof that I don’t always need to be afraid of the unknown. Not all endeavors have to be as frightening as they may appear. And if I can apply this attitude to all else suppressing my personal growth, I might just be peachy someday.

Bearing this in mind…

…here we go.

[mochalattaehyung-blog]

Seoul ☕️ Namjoon

✩ 1840 words | Namjoon x reader one shot

✩ A quaint little café seems innocent enough, but when you see the cute musician in the corner you to not expect to be whisked into a whole new frenzy of emotions

↠ A/N : I may or may not have stole a couple of quotes from films for this, but I think it’s cute and I hope you like this ☁️

-

It’s a cold morning, the kind where your own breath visibly floats around you with the cool air, every rooftop covered in a thin layer of twinkling frost. You don’t miss the shiver that runs through your veins as you wrap your woolly scarf further around your neck and face, just wishing the sun would peak out a little bit from its place behind the greying clouds.

It’s Tuesday afternoon and all of your lectures for the day have finished. Sadly, the depressing white walls of your dorm just wouldn’t do any longer and you decided to leave the clammy place in favour of an expedition through Seoul. You’ve always loved this bustling city, full of energy and people. It’s never lonely here, whether that’s a good thing or not. You must say that whilst it is one of your favourite places, it’s also one of the least. At night it becomes a struggle for you to understand the maze-like streets and in the early mornings car horns just never seem to leave you and peaceful sleep alone. You suppose love and hate are alike, mixing together in a fiery passion which calms the storm inside of you every now and then. Seoul isn’t a bad place to be.

Whilst you roam the streets, you find yourself drawn to a beautiful café across the road. It’s shrouded by trees of the birch kind, trimmed to suit the sleek style of Seoul. Few leaves fall at the door of the café, the whole building seemingly lined with gold. A large, thick window pane with white lettering on it reveals the name to be ‘Honey Café’, and much more inside. You can see tables which seat couples and families alike, everyone focusing deeply on muted conversations and steaming drinks. You feel opposite, your own breath providing your steam out in the cold atmosphere. Slightly reluctant due to a lack of money, you decide that it’s worth a try.

The minute you enter the place, you feel elated somehow. The whole place smells like a pot of honey; golden and warm. You feel a shine on your lifted cheeks as you smile, the sweet smell mixing with the sound of coffee beans hitting each other in the barista’s hand as he pours them into the grinder. Behind the counter, the staff seem happy enough to work at their own pace, their nimble fingers creating beautiful concoctions which seem to tame all of your questioning thoughts.

What captivates you most is the music, loud and in the present. It leads you to find the source, a man sitting on an oak stool, dimples forming on his tan cheeks as he strums away at a guitar, singing along to a beautiful song who’s melody you immediately fall for. It balances the harmony of the place, but also intrigues your mind.

The man seems so happy and content to be sitting there, simply singing away mindlessly. He’s wearing a thick green cardigan, along with a cute smile that warms your eyes. His eyes are focused solely on nothing. His skin is like golden syrup, pouring everything into this one song that flows like water through the café. To the customers, it’s merely a sound, but without it people would definitely notice.

He looks up, completely missing you and instead looking out of the window. Your heart stops it’s exaggerated beating. This isn’t some romance film, Y/N. You aren’t going to lock eyes and become soulmates. Shaking your head, you join the queue towards the counter. With the music still teeming in the air, leaving the café seems a stupid and vague concept. How can you leave this heavenly like place this?

Soon enough, it’s your turn to order. Knowing full well that the bitter taste of coffee is one that you despise, you decide on hot chocolate. Slightly embarrassed of your childish order, you pay for the drink with blushing cheeks and find a seat on one of the tables. It’s round and pretty, with coiled metal legs that catch your foot and cause you to trip—still pretty though.

The man begins another song, pausing a little to rest. He looks around again, smiling at a few people that clap at him. You decide to form a plan that will get him to possibly notice you. After every song, you’ll clap just a little louder than everyone else. Thankfully, you chose a rather close seat to the window, and he seems to look out of it a lot, which gives you moderate hope.

Sipping on the hot chocolate, it comes to your realisation that the liquid is far too hot, causing you to jump as the scalding liquid meets your lip. Turning red at the collar, you scratch your nose nervously in hopes that no one saw. Especially not the man. He seems like the guy that probably likes the kind of poetry that everyone posts online and never reads again, but he actually reads it. He’s the kind who annotates books and actually takes art into consideration rather than just taking a meaningless picture. You realise that your rather in depth opinion of him is a little far fetched, scoffing at yourself.

When his next song begins, piano drifts into the once thick silence, his skilful hands creating a mixture of notes that form a rather pleasant tune. When he begins to sing, you find yourself humming along to the new found tune, enjoying the downcast but still tempting medley of notes. You finally feel warm as the chocolate drink runs down your throat, the big white mug creating a sense of belonging. You only get these kind of mugs in places like these, it’s like a trademark and you feel honoured to be a part of it. As weird as it sounds.

You don’t realise the darkening sky and faces leaving the café, the whole ambiance of the place becoming a blur. In the end, the orange sky creates enough of a shadow for the street lights to turn on and you realise just how long you’ve been listening to this man sing. He still hasn’t noticed you, favouring the floor rather than looking anywhere else. You finish the last of your drink and are just about to pay when a tap comes to your shoulder.

Your hopes are at their highest, hand coming up to fix your hair just in case. Turning around, surely enough it’s the man. He seems to have clambered over here, limbs much longer than you had previously given him credit for. He’s immensely tall, creating a nice height gap between the two of you. His scent is earthy, not that you smelt him of course. You would never do that.

“Hello.” You decide to say, taking note of his small stutters. His voice sounds deep, but you are too caught up in your curious obsession for the mysterious man to take note of the finer details. His long fingers are intertwined, fiddling and fussing. It’s adorable, you almost find yourself cooing.

“H-hi. I noticed you clapping at my music. Not many people really care about it.” His voice most certainly is deep, like a crackle of firewood mixed with the intensity of a crashing wave. You decide that you need to start thinking poetically, since your stereotype has stuck to you so dearly. Perhaps he would’ve appreciated that ensemble of descriptions.

“It really fit with this place, were they your songs?” You ask, engineless interested in the boy in front of you and his music. The questions is merely a catalyst to an endless conversation which has him erupting into a frenzy of his adoration towards music and how each song was created. You find yourself on your third hot chocolate when he has finished the music talk, filling your mind with all kinds of new information. The way he wrote his song, Seoul, has you mind blown. It did exactly with your perception of the city’s balance between love and hate, making you strike up your own string of theories which have him laughing.

“You really like my music?” He says, almost seeming deflated as he asks the question. He probably hasn’t had too many good replies to it, which dampens your mood a little. The sky is almost pitch black, spade a few wisps of grey clouds.

Before you can answer, his voice fills the silence of the almost dead café, “Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes, and loved them anyway?” He looks at you with that teddy bear face of his that you have definitely not associated with a million different stuffed animals of yours, dimples coming from his round cheeks which makes you smile warmly. He is charismatic, he is gentle. He hates poetry, which shocks you.

“What do you mean?” You say, resting your heavy head onto the palm of your hand, the other gripping your big mug. You study him for the hundredth time tonight, his sandy blonde hair falling into a comma-likely style on his forehead, converse clad feet tapping against the tiled floor. Both of your innocent nervousness mixed with the stuttered sounds coming from the radio work together to create a perfect night. This is one of the best moments of your life. With the street lights illuminating his face from the enormous window tin sit by, you feel like a star. You feel love for the first time. And it’s all that the movies made it out to be. Perhaps even more.

“When I asked you the question, your eyes just seemed so conflicted.” He says sincerely, sipping on his own small mug of coffee. The cup seems so tiny in his large hands, but he holds it with so much care that it comforts you. All of these strange emotions make you wild, why does the way someone holds a cup comfort you?

Namjoon, is his name. The man that over thinks and worries and stresses. The man that isn’t afraid to tell you those things. They boy who loves all kinds of movies, especially the romantic french kind. The hopeless chef who can’t cook to save his life. The music producer who used to sell his music to make a living and is now seconds away from being signed to a label and beginning his dream. The man that seems too incredible to exist. Namjoon.

“I just wish people would have paid more attention to your music, it took me on a journey, Joon.” You sound so lovesick that it hurts. A bell rings and you realise it’s the one on the counter, and the way employee is ringing it to signal that he is about to close up. Giving him a small apology and a smile, the two of you leave the café, your new favourite place. Holding all of his gear, he moves everything to one side of his body so that his left hand has the chance to grip yours.

“What if I take you on a real journey?”

[nerdylittleshit]

So, I spent the most part of the last week watching The Umbrella Academy, which I loved a lot and I have a lot of feelings and thoughts about, so here is my rambling.

I will put some posts in my queue, a lot of them containing spoilers, so please blacklist The Umbrella Academy if you don’t want to get spoilered.

(Some general stuff at first, spoiler stuff under the cut)

On October 1, 1989, 43 women around the world give birth simultaneously, despite none of them showing any sign of pregnancy until labor began. Seven of the children are adopted by eccentric billionaire Sir Reginald Hargreeves, and turned into a superhero team through what he calls "The Umbrella Academy". Hargreeves gives the children numbers rather than names, but they eventually come to be known as Klaus, Luther, Diego, Allison, Ben, and Vanya. Number Five is never named.While putting six of his children to work fighting crime, Reginald keeps Vanya apart from her siblings' activities, as she seemingly has no powers of her own.

In the present day, Luther is an astronaut, Allison is a famous actress, Vanya is a violinist, Klaus is a party animal with a drug addiction, Ben is a ghost only able to converse with Klaus, and Diego has become a vigilante with a penchant for trouble. The estranged siblings learn that Reginald has died and gather for his funeral. Number Five returns from the future, revealing that a global apocalypse is imminent. Meanwhile, the reunited siblings try to uncover the secret of their dysfunctional family while beginning to come apart due to their divergent personalities and abilities.

Source

So, one of the few times (Ok, the only time) that I actually read the comic this is based on. Because back in the old days I loved My Chemical Romance a lot (I still do), so naturally I would buy a comic written by Gerard Way (and illustrated by Gabrial Ba), and then never actually read it until Netflix released a show based on said comic. Ahem. I liked the look of the comic and the overall weirdness factor of the story, but I liked the show more, because they take more time to develop those characters (and make them more diverse in the progress).

Because it is basically a story with six main characters the plot takes some time to move on, but I didn’t actually mind that much because I loved the characters and their relationship to each other too much. They fortunately kept all of the weird ideas the comic presents. The casting is great (Ellen Page, Robert Sheehan and Aidan Gallagher who is way too talented for a 15-year-old dude). The look is great. And the soundtrack as well (lots of old songs, which I love). The show isn’t like most superhero stories, because the children are raised to become heroes, so you don’t get the typically origin story. And at its core it is about family, a highly dysfunctional family. Which I loved. Because as much as I love the concept of found family, I liked the different approach they took, the concept of family as a bunch of strangers really, who are so very different, but also united in their shared trauma and the unique way they were raised.

Some more thoughts under the cut.

SPOILERS AHEAD! DON’T READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE SHOW YET!

- First of all I loved Klaus. I loved Robert Sheeran back in “Misfits” and I think the role was perfect for him. Something that irritated me was the way his siblings treated Klaus. Apart from the fact that nobody noticed he was kidnapped they constantly look down on him because he is a drug addict. They know he can’t communicate with the dead when he is on drugs, and yet it seems they fail to see that it is because of that that he started doing drugs. That the entire experience is traumatic for him. They are probably unaware of the incident where their father locked Klaus up in a Mausoleum, but still. We see a glimpse of the experience during the time Hazel and Cha Cha kidnap Klaus and he sees all the mutilated bodies of their victims. Imagine seeing this all the time (also we don’t see an obvious wound on Ben, which makes his death even more mysterious). I would love to see him use more of his advanced powers though. He was able to channel Ben to extend his own power. When Ben hit Klaus it was because Klaus was angry at himself. Ben saved Diego because Klaus wanted to save him but couldn’t reach him. He used Ben’s power in order to help his siblings etc.

- The relationship between Klaus and Ben. Of course they are stuck with each other, because Ben can’t talk to anybody else. But Ben is also very supportive of Klaus and always there for him (and Klaus can even see him when he is on drugs). And that moment in the final episode when Klaus used Ben’s powers? that was the first time the other siblings saw Ben since he passed away. I hope we see more of Ben in season 2.

- Also loved Allison. She is the most empathic character, especially in the way she reaches out to Vanya and never blames her and forgives her and tries to support her and protect her. She obviously has her own issues die to her power and it was interesting to see that she lost her power at the end, because it could really mean a new beginning for her. Also, what I found interesting is that Vanya took away Allison’s voice, but not her life as she feared. She wanted Allison to shut up, to prevent her using her powers on her (again) but she only cut her vocal chord.

- Speaking of Vanya, she really is a victim, not a villian. I can get why Sir Reginald thought her powers were too dangerous, considering she killed several of her nannies (and really he should have built Grace after the first murder and not repeat the experiment several times). But to lock her up? To surpress her emotions, causing in return depression and anxiety? To abuse Allison and her powers? To isolate her constatly from her siblings, her family? Especially the last part was in no way neccessary.

- Diego is really the one who loves his family the most. He is protective of Klaus and Grace and everyone really. His beef with Vanya is based on the book she wrote and has nothing to do with her lack of powers. He is very soft.

- Number 5. Praise again to Adain Gallagher for playing an old man trapped in the body of a boy. Loved his sass. Also 5 sees the bigger picture, so when it seems at times as though he doesn’t care it is really because they literary have bigger problems to solve. There seemed to be a connection between 5 and Vanya (he visited her first, she made sandwhiches for when he would return etc) and in the end he is the one who says they are going to save her. Also loved that nobody cared about his relationship with Dolores.

- Villians: the real villian of course is Sir Reginald, as he fucked up both his children and Harold/Leonard. And still the Umbrella kids didn’t start mudering people because they had a hard childhood (I mean Klaus becomes an assasin but for different reasons). The trope of an abused child becoming a psycho-killer is over-used.

- Looking forward to season 2. Will the Umbrella children remain actually children? At what time will they travel? What about the other children born that day? Do they all have special powers? Is this a world full of superheroes? How come Sir Reginald knew the apocalypse would happen? And why do mobile phones and computers not exist in this world?

Hope to get some answers soon.

[hellomissmabel]

Et coronam florum (I)

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Forest spirit!Bucky x wicca!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death (natural causes, passing away of a loved one) and abandonment (by a loved one)

Word count: 2k

Summary: Every spring, the forest spirits come to collect three gifts. These gifts allow the spirits to restore a part of your soul from a past life. But Y/N doesn’t believe in this tradition anymore and one year, the spirits take her with them into the forest.

A/N: I have the flu but managed to post it :) Written for @bithors

Series masterlist can be found here

It’s the time of the year again. Spring has come and on the first day of a new season, the hair of all the girls in the realm are adorned by their mothers with a crown of flowers from the garden. This year is different however, as it’s your brother that’s weaving your hair. He tries his best but in the end you have to make some adjustments yourself or it won’t hold through the day.

“You ready?,” Peter smiles excitedly as he grabs his pouch. “You got everything?”

He is incredibly excited as it’s his first time. He recently turned sixteen and is therefore allowed to participate, but you would’ve preferred him to wait another year, as you’re only obliged to participate once you turn eighteen. So he’s got two years left to abstain from this nonsense, because that’s what it is to you now.

“Tell me about the spirits once more, please?,” he whines with a boyish smile, probing your arm. “Mom’s story about the spirits, please?”

Your mother was a wicca and often took a stroll in the woods to reconnect with the spirits so many of the younger generation shave lost. There are female forest spirits with flaming hair who start their dance at midnight and end at dawn. They represent the element of fire. There are male spirits who represent the element of earth, that guides the hunters safely through the forest. As there are also dark spirits, like the shapeshifting woodland spirit, that would lure them to those parts of the forest where they would lay down there life.

“Lastly there are forest spirits who practice the elements of air and water. The spirits of air can fly and have beautiful, white wings. And before you ask me whether or not the spirits of water are mermaids and mermen, no they aren’t. They don’t leave the forest and instead stay by the creaks.”

Together you make your way to the edge of the forest where the others of the realm are waiting for the arrival of the collector. Every year it’s a different face, as last year it was a woman with auburn hair, one of the fire spirits, but the year before than a black man with golden eyes who you reckon was an earth spirit.

Spotting your friend Natasha in the crowd, you join her side and give the redhead a quick hug. “Hi, Y/N. Hi, Peter.”

Even though you and your brother live further down the creek and your house is on the edge of the realm, you have managed to maintain a friendship with Natasha despite that she lives near the royal palace in the centre.

“What did you bring?,” she asks your little brother as he jumps up and now impatiently.

He’s happy that Natasha shows some interest in him as he obviously can’t talk to you about it. Every attempt for a conversation he makes it blocked by your excuses. He talks animatedly to Natasha about his three offerings while you stare blankly into the distance. Then your gaze locks with the young prince, who looks just as disinterested as you.

His name is Steve and he is the first in line for the throne. Rumour has it his mother, upon her death, joined the forest spirits. She was a wicca and healed many people in the realm with her herbs and potions. You were there when they spread her ashes in the forest, as she was your mother’s childhood friend.

Natasha nudges your side when the crowd suddenly falls silent. A wisp of wind blows your hair in front of your eyes, drawing your attention away from the entrance of the forest. When you look up again with a sigh, there are two collectors welcoming the people. It’s the same girl as last year, Wanda, but this time a brown-haired man stands by her side.

“Welcome,” he addresses all of you, “the spirits of the forest look forward to your gifts.”

The crowd falls in two lines, one for the female and one for the male spirit. You wanted to take Peter with you to the male forest spirit, but he shook his head and told you he wanted to go to the female spirit. “She looks nicer. I don’t like the guy.”

The man is only wearing white, loose-fitting trousers and is barefoot. There’s a necklace of purple flowers around his neck, similar to the one Wanda is wearing but with red roses. But what truly sets him apart from the female spirit, are the markings on his left arm. They have the shape of vines and leaves, the sign that he is one of the eldest spirits of the forest if not one of the firsts. Therefore his queue is much shorter than the one for Wanda, as the older spirits tend to be much less accommodating.

When it’s Natasha’s turn, you are still halfway the line. You watch her with a sad smile when she gives a pen, a peach and a toy to the forest spirit. Then she tells Wanda about the pen that used to belong to her grandfather, who died in the past year.

The peach is the first peach of this year’s harvest. She is extra grateful for the abundance of fruit now she’s got an extra mouth to feed, hence the toy. Natasha recently gave birth to a little baby boy and the spirit blesses both of them.

Then it’s Peter’s turn, who gives a copy of his favourite book, a ball of wool from the sheep your father gifted him with for his sixteenth birthday, and a bottle of your mother’s homemade apple juice. The spirit seems pleased by his enthusiasm and blesses him.

Natasha promises to keep an eye on Peter while you’re waiting for your turn. After half an hour the person before you has presented their offerings and received a blessing. But the male forest spirit thanks you for coming and asks you for your gifts, you simply shrug. “I don’t have any.”

The man seems baffled by your comment and asks again to make sure he isn’t mistaken. The vines on his arm start to glow softly, the light falling through the leaves of the forest reflected by them. Yet when you refuse again, his blue eyes narrow and he speaks slowly.

“Every spring, when the flowers decide to peek out from under snowy ground, each person in the realm is meant to bring three items special to them from memories they’ve made the past year to restore part of their soul from a past life. I’m one of the collectors of the items and you brought nothing?”

“Yes. Because I have no memories to be grateful for,” you reply dryly, eyes dead serious and boring into his blue ones.

“May I?” He gestures towards the crown in your hair and you nod, giving him permission to touch the delicate flowers.

As he does so, he absorbs the memories that are interlaced with them. He closes his eyes and sees your parents, kissing you and your brother goodnight. He feels the radiance of your mother’s warm personality in you and how it has been pulled apart by loss, grief, self-destructive thoughts, pain, anger, depression,…

“Your mother died. Your father left you and your brother behind because of the resemblance you share with your mother.” The crowd behind you is silent and so is the female spirit, her eyes glued to the man who is reading your aura. He opens his eyes again and drops his hand. “I am sorry.”

Cradling his head to the side, the spirit studies you silently, his gaze puzzled as he tries to get a read on your essence. There are hints of wicca in your aura, and from the pieces of your soul you restored with previous offerings, he senses the element of air plays a very big part in your life.

“You have no offerings, so I cannot restore a piece of your soul,” he eventually speaks again. Exchanging a look with the auburn haired spirit, he further informs you that without the three gifts he also cannot let you return home.

A man steps out of the line from behind you, walking towards the spirit with confident strides. “I am sorry to interrupt.” It’s the prince, Steve, smiling hastily at you as he comes to your rescue. “But I would like to offer you three goats. For the girl. Our mothers knew each other. I know she is a good person, she’s still grieving.”

Soon other people follow his example and start to make additional offerings, such as plums and bread and other animals. But the forest spirit turns them all down, thanking the blond prince kindly for his suggestion.

“It has to be something from her. If there’s anything, anything at all you can offer me, no matter how small, I can make an exception but just this once.”

You think it over and after some careful consideration, you take off the ring that used to belong to your mother. It was her wedding ring, made of solid gold and a small rose quartz stone. “Here, you can have this.”

You drop the ring in the palm of his hand and intend to leave when the spirit’s left hand grasps your shoulder. “Y/N…” He sings your name as his lips speak in the language of the forest, a language normally only the spirits understand. But through his touch, the spirit shares his knowledge with you and you can perfectly capture the message he wishes to pass along to you.

“Next time, I guess you won’t bring anything either. If you don’t, I will be forced to take you with me into the forest and show you why these three offerings are so important. If you still refuse afterwards, your soul will merge with the forest and you will become one of us.”

His eyes turn dark while the green of the forest mixes with their natural blue colour. “And no matter how beautiful I think you are, your soul is worth so much more than the life of a collector. There are grim creatures inside the forest, Y/N. Not all spirits are as kind as me.”

Tag list: @melconnor2007 @learisa @mrshopkirk @dont-speak-just-read @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @lovemarvelousfics @pleasantdreamqueen @petersunderroos @palaiasaurus64 @ssweet-empowerment @lovemarvelousfics @rrwilson66 @reniescarlett  @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @barnes-heaven  @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival  @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven  @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @a-little-hell-to-raise @knittingknerdy  @milkywaybarnes @hymnofthevalkyrie  @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @howlingbarnes  @themcuhasruinedme @persephonesinferno @hollycornish  @delicatecapnerd @tomhollandzs  @aletheladyinred @xbergiex @capbuckybuchanan @pegasusdragontiger   @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @sophiealiice @sarahmatthews7 @lumelgy @kudosia @moonbeambucky @suz-123 @breezy1415 @always-an-evans-addict @thefanficfaerie @4theluvofall @curvybihufflepuff @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @holomasque @pineapplebooboo @thefridgeismybestie @supernatural508 @supernaturaldean67 @cant-decide-at-this-moment @mehrmonga @specs15 @kanupps06 @imnotinsanehunny @sarahgracej @jasurahe13 @nerdyandproud9 @geeksareunique @jesspfly @badassbaker @whenallsaidanddone @ailynalonso15 @thebookisbtr @animechick725  @true-queen-of-mischief @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @ugh-supersoldiers @california-grown @dreamer7black

[tgr489]

Race to Big Yellow

A break at the servo. A needed rest, for both me and my rental car. I was tired from the long journey and the emotional drain of the past couple of months. I knew the road ahead would be empty so grabbed some time to collect myself before I took it on. I’d spent the day in Berlin looking at a vacant building with Kristof, a friend, and its possibilities for development. He wants me to come in on this project with him. I’m not so sure. He has a vision which I don’t think he’s totally thought through, despite voicing my concerns. I thought about it on the flight back and wrote him a pretty comprehensive deluge of thoughts. He now has it in writing so he can pour over it for a while, and I can get some headspace away. 

The flight was half full of weary travellers and uneventful, so I got to spread out across three sets, get me. I wrote Emily and told her briefly of my brief visit, letting her know I’d to call her the next morning and fill in the details. There’s something there between us, well for me anyway. Our rally of conversation has increased enough that she’s now in my thoughts often. I mentally collated my wardrobe change for colder climes in a fly-by visit to my flat. The two days in Berlin was tagged on to three glorious weeks in Ibiza, with the same Kristof, plus others. I’ll come back to that at some point.

Even with flights half full, we were delayed, and passport control was as expected, full of pissed off vacationers itching to get through the check. I pondered on what airports may be like, post-Brexit, and whether there will be a UK nationals queue as well as an EU and RoW sections, or will the EU one disappear. I’m sure no one has thought of this eventuality. Or they have and maybe decided to do away with all sections a free-for-all scramble type set-up. 

Convinced I had a wait ahead of me for the train, I was ambling along buried in my phone when I heard the beepers signalling the doors were closing. Realising I may not have to wait however long the next train would be, I ran like an idiot towards the closing doors, only to face plant into side of the train with one arm halfway through the door. Thankfully there was no one in the carriage or on the platform to complete my humiliation. I’m sure the station staff had a good laugh when reviewing the CCTV footage. I pryed my arm free and stood back from the now departing train and watched the passengers, longing to have been one of them, and then I saw the girl. It was her, the girl with the long blonde hair who plagues my dreams. I jogged along with the train, banging on the window, and she turned to look out, but the train was already going too fast. I stood there for a minute, shocked and astounded, trying to play the whole scene back, capture the details. I wandered back to my bags and got a telling off from a guard for my ‘antics’. I grumbled some half apology as he slopped off totally uninterested.

I was pretty wired for the remainder of my journey, calmed a little by eating most of the Baumkuchen I’d bought at this great patisserie on the way to the airport. All I wanted was a smoke and some Percocet. To try and speed up time I started a convo with the cabbie about the football, which was a mistake, as he slowly revealed himself a fascist and total nut-job. However, because of his anger fuelled driving prowess the journey was short-lived. As I was passing the cash through the glass I caught his iD badge, and his name ‘Dave’. I found this quite ironic, laughing, as I mentioned the ‘Book of Dave’ to him; If you’ve not read it it’s about a London cabbie who’s journaling forms the basis of a future religious order in life. It’s very funny. I told him he should read it as it may give him some perspective in life. He looked confused as I turned to my front door.

There were two pairs of sneakers in the hallway as I came into the flat, a girls and a guys, not mine. I crept in, prepping myself for a conscientious burglar, but the flat was dark and silent. I crept to my bedroom, looking for other anomalies along the way, but nothing. I quickly found my gear, skinned up and mellowed it out amongst the detritus of clothes on my armchair. Was the girl on the train the same one I saw all those years ago, and from my now nightmares? Because that’s what they are now. I don’t know what it’s about and it’s confusing the hell out of me. Is it her, or is it me projecting my dream onto anyone looking vaguely similar…. Maybe this is how dementia starts. 

By the time I finished the banger I’d decided I didn’t wanna hang around until daylight, so packed the clothes I would need for the next month, plus some other stuff like cameras and my stash, leaving some for the girls just in case. Like a ninja, I exited as quietly as I’d entered. I came to the conclusion that the shoes were Lexi’s, they had to be. The guy’s…. I don’t know. A friend, a date… it would be quick work on her part if it were, we only parted ways a week ago. I felt a bit pissed at this eventuality as I hit the street, but I rationalised it that our lives carry on. It was indeed a mutual parting, for all three of us, and we are all still good friends. 

The whole multi-love thing was mental fun, but eventually, it checked into my head and trashed it, like a hotel room. The more we continued, the more the thought of it ending hurt. And it would end at some point, a relationship like that only works in Utah. Also, I sensed an element of jealousy between us, usually when we’d been apart like we had FOMO of each other. When we were together it was bliss, as were the bedroom activities, but we couldn’t be together long term.

With a head full of herb, a tank full of gas and a belly full of coke, I pulled out of the servo and took on the A303 to Exeter. Google laid down the gauntlet, indicating it was gonna be 2 hours 15mins. My aim was 1hr45, which is totally achievable at 4am-ish when the roads are totally empty. If you are ever travelling to the West Country from London, this is the better, more fun route to take, but you only do it late, because in places it’s only one lane and you don’t wanna be stuck behind some muppet with a trailer. But the road is straight and long, so the horses under the bonnet can be unleashed.

My Focus ST did me proud, with 1hr38. No traffic, no wildlife, just me and the tunes on my pod. The storage facility was a nondescript concrete edifice, devoid of any features whatsoever. The carpark was empty and probably wouldn’t have another occupant until 8 when it opened. I killed the time catching some long overdue Zzzs, parked up on the fringe facing the main door. I slept past the opening time, but only just, and was awoken by a truck pulling in. 

Hurriedly I grabbed my bag and made for the doors. I wanted this to be quick and painless, knowing it would be neither. The dude at the desk was organising himself, somewhat protractedly, as I waited for him to be ready. I understood his torment. Sometimes precious alone time is needed once work has started before you actually do anything, and no matter how trivial or minor that first request is, it will be painful to action. All I needed to know from him was the location of my storage room, a simple request one would think. I stood there, half asleep as his computer finally booted up, smelling his instant coffee, wishing I had one of my own, but something more refined. My iD matched his records and with the log signed, my entry, the first ever to the facility, was confirmed. The short distance to the lock-up was taken with some trepidation. The cavernous elevator crawled up the shaft two floors, prolonging the feeling of unease. When I arrived in front of the doors I stood there nervous, with my heart thumping like a kick drum. It felt stupid and scared. The journey to the doors in front of me had been protracted and taken the best part of 10 years. I’d purposely put it off so I didn’t have to deal with the anticipated pain of resolving my earlier life. I unlocked the door, took a deep breath and walked through it to face the music. 

[thesevenseraphs]

Bungie Weekly Update - 9/28/17

This week at Bungie, we’re rallying to our favorite faction.  

Anytime your favorite faction is brought up, some friendly smack talk follows. With Faction Rallies, we get to settle those old scores and declare a winner based on which garners the most Guardian support. Right now, millions of Guardians are seeking out and destroying enemy supplies, completing public events, competing in the Crucible, and tackling the endgame. They’re doing their part. Would you like to know more?

Many of you are asking, “Who’s in the lead?” We won’t report on the race while it’s still in progress, but next week, once the winning faction rules the Tower unopposed, we might give you some insight on how things shook out. We will announce the winner on Tuesday, October 3, as soon as the scheduled downtime to deploy Hotfix 1.0.3.1 ends. That will be your chance to purchase the weapon from the winning faction in the Tower. There will be a significant discount if you pledged your loyalty to them during the event. The winning faction’s weapon can be purchased anytime during victory week, which lasts until the next reset.

Faction Rallies is set to become a new ritual that visits the Tower periodically. Once the event is over, tokens can no longer be earned, but you can still redeem any that you’re still holding to receive packages. Any engrams that are waiting to be claimed from a faction vendor will be auto-decrypted and placed in your inventory at the reset. Make sure you turn in all of your tokens before the end of victory week. They will reset before the next Faction Rallies event returns… sometime in the near future.

We are eagerly waiting, along with you, to see who prevails. You have until the weekly reset to make your mark on this event, and earn some loot to help define your identity. Get back out there and fight!

The Sands of War

Destiny 2 has a brand new sandbox full of weapons and abilities at your disposal. The community is already discussing what they believe to be the best tools of destruction to dispatch both alien combatants and other Guardians in the Crucible. Our team has been monitoring these conversations, along with the constant flow of data, to continue supporting the live game as we learn more from the millions of players playing it. We asked Senior Designer Jon Weisnewski to give us a brief update on their mission to keep your box full of sand fun.

Jon Weisnewski: Hello, Guardians. Since the launch of Destiny 2, we have been reading your feedback, spectating streams, and watching YouTube videos. Very recently, we received our first real batch of player data from our analytics team. We’ve also been shoulder-to-shoulder with you in the trenches daily, playing the ever-loving crud out of this game. We’re not ready to go into detail about any weapon or ability tuning at this point, but there is an ongoing process in play, so we did want to drop a quick line and say… We have heard your feedback. Thank you!

Destiny 2 will get updates that tune the sandbox experience. We are aware of MIDA Multi-Tool’s popularity and are looking at it very closely. It is popular, but according to our data, there are options out there that match or exceed its effectiveness in all activities. Have you found one? It’s only the first month of a long adventure. Many players are still gathering weapons for their arsenal and we have a handful of guns that haven’t even hit the game yet. We’re excited to see how things evolve. As always, thanks for playing, and keep the feedback rolling in.

Thanks for being part of the process. If you want to make your voice heard, but you’re not sure where to jump in, I’m always keeping a sharp eye trained on our #Feedback forum. Constructive criticism and war stories are shared with the entire development team.

Patch Notes Preview

Next Tuesday, October 3, we are deploying Hotfix 1.0.3.1. It contains some fixes for issues some players are experiencing. Here is a preview of some of the changes you can expect to see when you download the update next week.

Fixed an issue in which players could lose access to the Veteran’s Transmat Effect by deleting characters

Fixed an issue in which clan engrams would grant Trials of the Nine and raid rewards at only 10 Power

Fixed an issue in which progress for the Exotic Quest Step "His Highness's Seal" was not incrementing properly

Quest progress will still increment by 1, but the Quest Step now only requires 10 Seals to be collected

Fixed an issue in which raid milestones would not show for some players after the weekly reset (This didn’t affect any raid rewards)

Fixed issues in which players could enter a state where they are continuously killed or unable to resurrect if encounter complete and failure events occurred simultaneously

If you’re still experiencing an issue not listed in the fixes above, check the list of known issues we are still investigating. If it’s not included, let us know. There will be more updates in the future. Destiny is always evolving.

Hotter Fixes

Speaking of known issues, our Player Support Team is in charge of monitoring our help forum for any player reports and making sure our team has the info they need to diagnose and treat any ailments in the game. 

This is their report.

Destiny 2 Hotfix 1.0.3.1

Destiny 2 Services will be taken offline on Tuesday, October 3, in preparation for Destiny 2 Hotfix 1.0.3.1.

Maintenance begins at 8AM PDT (3 PM UTC)

Players will no longer be able to sign in to Destiny 2

Players will be removed from all activities at 9 AM PDT (4 PM UTC)

We advise players complete raid and Nightfall activities well before this time to avoid a Cabal victory

Maintenance expected to complete at 12 PM PDT (7 PM UTC)

Players may encounter the Destiny Server Queue when attempting to sign in after maintenance

For vital information concerning Destiny 2 Server and Update Status, please see this Help Article. Stay tuned to @BungieHelp or monitor our support feed on Help.Bungie.net for status updates throughout the maintenance window.

PlayStation 4 Crashes

We are continuing to work with our platform partners at Sony to address an issue where players encounter PlayStation Error CE-34878-0 when attempting to visit the Tower, or during general gameplay. Stay tuned to @BungieHelp and @AskPlayStation for updates.

Cayde’s Stash, Lost Sector, and Planetary Chest Reward Issues

We are investigating reports of players opening rewards chests and not receiving loot. If you are encountering this issue, please post a report to the #Help forum detailing the following:

Which type of chest did not grant rewards?

Had you interacted with alternate chests or planetary materials prior to this issue occurring?

It is expected that if too many planetary chests are opened within a short amount of time, players may not receive items. Cayde’s Stash and Lost Sector chests should not follow this functionality. We will provide updates on our investigation when available.

Leviathan Raid Keys

Through our investigations with internal teams, we have identified two instances where Leviathan raid keys are erroneously removed from character inventory.

Signing in with alternate characters will remove raid keys if the character had not been signed in since the weekly reset.

If a player earns Raid keys and creates a new character, raid keys are removed from inventory.

[accuhunt]

How to Indulge Your Wanderlust During the Coronavirus Pandemic.

The past few days have been rather scary. Mask-covered faces. Queues to wash hands in public toilets. Sanitizers constantly out of stock. Accusatory looks towards anyone coughing or sneezing. Eerily empty hotels, flights and streets following the lockdown travel advice for Coronavirus. Places that were once plagued by overtourism are now deserted. The spread of the COVID-19 Coronavirus has suddenly brought all usual life – and travel – to a halt.

Until a week or two ago, the panic felt rooted in social media, whatsapp forwards and even racial profiling. At that time, I posted on Instagram that I would continue my travels. But in light of recent developments, I’ve archived that post, cancelled some rather exciting travel plans until April and urged everyone to do the same.

I was scheduled to conduct a workshop on responsible tourism marketing in Madhya Pradesh and speak at the prestigious Economic Times Women’s Forum this month – but both events have been cancelled.

In fact, India has cancelled all visas for foreigners till mid April. Sri Lanka has suspended its e-visa facility. Italy is under lock down. Public events have been cancelled in most parts of the world. Schools and colleges have been shut in most Indian states. India’s travel advice for coronavirus is to cancel all non-essential travel abroad. Indians returning from China, Italy, Iran, Korea, France, Spain, Germany, Malaysia, Nepal and even the US can potentially be sent to 14 days of quarantine!

Chances are, you already know that. You, like me, have cancelled your immediate travel plans. And probably you, like me, are wondering what you can do now to indulge your wander-lusting soul!

Here are some creative ideas to satiate your travel cravings – safely and responsibly – during this uncertain coronavirus period:

Read non-fiction books by local authors to virtually explore a new region or country

I’ve dreamt of setting foot in Tibet for a long time, knowing fully well that the Tibet of my dreams is off limits (or no longer exists). So a while ago, I did the next best thing to travelling in Tibet – reading a book that movingly explores its lost beauty, culture and way of life. Tibet With My Eyes Closed is a collection of short stories by Madhu Gurung, based on the lives of Tibetan refugees in India. Some stories moved me to tears, while others left me with an insatiable longing. I can’t recommend it enough!

My point is, as per official travel advice for coronavirus, the entire world is off limits right now. But we can do the next best thing – travel to our dream places through the words and insights of people who know them deeply.

If you dream of Iran, for instance, read Reading Lolita In Tehran. If you dream of Myanmar, read From The Land Of Green Ghosts. If you dream of the Caucasus (Georgia / Azerbaijan), read Ali And Nino.

For more book recommendations, see my favorite (unusual) travel books by local authors around the world. If you’re keen to explore the world from my lens, you can also get a copy of my travel memoir, The Shooting Star

Also read: What No One Tells You About Writing and Publishing a Book in India

Learn a new language that will make a future trip more meaningful

Everywhere I travel, I try to pick up a few words in the local language. But in the weeks before I travelled to Japan, I tried to listen to one episode of a Japanese language podcast every day. By the time I landed in Tokyo, I was able to say many basic phrases in Japanese – which sure made it easier to make friends, find local vegan food and even get some unusual recommendations.

The process of learning a language can certainly make us feel like we’re almost on our way somewhere. The Survival Phrases podcast is good for conversational skills and the Babbel / Duolingo apps can help with basics. But if you really want to commit, consider signing up with an online teacher for one-to-one Skype lessons on a site like italki (I haven’t used it yet but heard good things).

I took Urdu writing lessons last year, but have been terrible at keeping up with what I learnt. I’ve pledged to practice a bit everyday now!

Also read: Unusual Solo Travel Destinations to Feed Your Adventurous Spirit

Document your past adventures

I still have tons of untold stories from my travels over the years. If you’re a travel writer, blogger, photographer, Instagrammer or any kind of storyteller, you’re probably full of stories too – and always wishing for more time to be able to tell them. Or perhaps you have a special interest in architecture, vegan food, wildlife, languages or something else – and you could combine that with your past travels to create unique stories.

All travel advice for Coronovirus suggests not going on a physical journey. But we can still journey into the recesses of our minds, relive some of our adventures and share them with the world. After all, we could all use a little break from the negative news out there!

Also read: How I’m Funding my Adventures Around the World Through Travel Blogging

Binge watch the wonders of our planet

Many of us travel to witness the breathtaking beauty of nature and the cultural wonders of the world. Unfortunately both are fast disappearing.

Video streaming sites online are full of films and documentaries about our incredible planet, wildlife, remote cultures and more. Now is a good time to plug into them, both to feed our wanderlust and to remind ourselves what we stand to lose. Maybe the travel advice for coronavirus and this time away from the road, work, school, college and social gatherings can be a time to reflect on how we need to make better life and travel choices to collectively help the planet.

I’ve been meaning to finish watching One Strange Rock on Netflix, which explains the wonders of earth from the fascinating perspectives of astronauts. And start Our Planet, which documents the impact of climate change on the world’s most remote and vulnerable regions.

Also read: Tajikistan: A Country That’s Not on Your Travel Radar, But Should Be.

Support small responsible travel businesses virtually

As you can probably imagine, this is one of the worst times for the travel industry. March, otherwise peak travel season for many places around the world, has been a month of cancellations. April might go the same way, though I really hope not. Small business owners, family-run homestays, social enterprises and responsible tourism businesses will be some of the worst hit this year.

All travel advice for coronavirus suggests we can’t physically travel this month to support them or the work they do for local communities and environment conservation. But small gestures can go a long way. Leave them a heartfelt review on Google Reviews / TripAdvisor. Mention them on Instagram / Twitter. Recommend them to family and friends for future trips. When the coronavirus pandemic is behind us, they’ll need our tourism money the most. Let’s make sure they’re found, remembered and supported then!

Also read: Offbeat, Incredible and Sustainable – These Travel Companies are Changing the Way You Experience India

Work on your storytelling

Perhaps experimenting with writing, blogging, photography or videos has been on your mind for a long time. Or you still need to perfect some skills. I know I need to get better at editing videos. I could use some professional photography help, but my heart is only half in it. I still have a ton of SEO work to do on this blog. And there’s no end to becoming a better writer.

Here’s a silver lining for the travel advice for coronavirus: Use the time you would’ve spent travelling or socializing, to work on something that might enable you to travel or work on the go in the future!

Also read: Advice for the Young and Penniless Who Want to Travel

International travel is out. But should you travel domestically now?

Many of you have reached out to ask for my travel advice for coronavirus with respect to domestic travel in India (and elsewhere). I think it’s a bad idea. For several reasons:

It’s just not fun. I felt an inexplicable anxiety during the last two days of my recent Chhattisgarh trip. Hearing someone cough sent a shiver down my spine. The last thing I wanted was to have to put myself in self-isolation in someone’s homestay or in a soulless hotel. Or worse, be quarantined in a government facility.

The fear of carrying the virus to a remote part of India. The idea of travelling from urban India – where the majority of coronavirus cases are (in Delhi, Mumbai, Jaipur, Kochi etc) – to rural India is a scary one. Imagine if we have the virus but the symptoms haven’t yet shown up. We could be carrying it to small villages where medical facilities are rare and self-isolation is difficult because entire families live in a single room. It’ll be mayhem.

The fear of infecting people more vulnerable to the virus. People over 60 and those with respiratory issues seem to be the most vulnerable to the coronavirus. We can’t risk being the vectors infecting them.

Flights, buses and trains can be coronavirus hotbeds. Given how infectious the coronavirus seems to be, being stuck among scores of people in a closed environment is a big no-no.

It’s best to postpone all international and domestic travel atleast until April (maybe longer, depending on how things turn out). We need to avoid busy places, public transport and any physical contact. We must constantly wash and sanitise our hands. And if we have even the mildest symptoms of fever, cough, cold or flu, we absolutely must stay at home and follow official protocols!

How has coronavirus affected your travel plans? If you run a travel business, what’s it been like for you?

Also read:

11 Tips to Ease Your Transition Into a Vegan Lifestyle

Incredible Experiences That’ll Make You Fall in Love With Uzbekistan

Should Travel Bloggers and Influencers Voice Their Political Opinions?

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