#three wheel walkers for elderly

[opera-ghosts]

OTD in Music History: Legendary virtuoso pianist, composer, conductor, and pedagogue Franz Liszt (1811 – 1886) gives his final public performance in 1886. Although his health was failing, the elderly Liszt felt that he could not turn down a request by the Luxembourg “Societe de Musique” to attend a benefit concert being put on at the Luxembourg Casino during a short trip that he made to that country to visit friends. At 8:30 pm, with the orchestra assembled and the conductor waiting before a packed house, Liszt was given a long standing ovation as he was slowly escorted into the grand hall on the arm of one of his students. The “Journal de Luxembourg” reported the next day that “Liszt is a very fine-looking old man with long silvery hair and distinctive features; slightly stooping, his eyes are nevertheless bright and his face flashes with a kindly smile.” Once Liszt had taken his seat (in a large plush armchair placed in the very front), the concert began. The program consisted of Carl Maria von Weber’s (1786 - 1826) “Freishutz Overture,” Franz Joseph Haydn’s (1732 - 1809) Symphony #6, and orchestral excerpts from Richard Wagner’s (1813 - 1883) opera, “Lohengrin.” At the conclusion, however, the audience must have been delighted to see a grand piano being wheeled out onto the stage as Liszt stood up and slowly advanced towards the platform. In “the most profound silence possible,” Liszt played his “Liebestraum #1,” his arrangement of Franz’s Schubert’s (1797 - 1828) 6th “Soirees de Vienne,” and his arrangement of Frederic Chopin’s (1810 – 1849) “Chants Polonais.” Per Liszt’s great biographer, Alan Walker: “This was certainly the last time that Liszt played in public, and it may well have been the last time that he ever touched the keys of a piano. With these three final pieces, then, Liszt’s magical playing fell silent forever.” Onboard an overnight train to Bayreuth the next day, Liszt found himself seated behind a couple who insisted on keeping their window open all night; in his already-weakened state, Liszt caught what would become a fatal case of pneumonia... PICTURED: A c. 1910 real photo postcard showing Liszt at the very end of his life.

[goofygargoyle]

(thanks for the image IDs ^_^)

still no electric wheelchair here unfortunately but I gotta add some more because I did get one of those 2 wheel standard walkers

one of these

[ID: an aluminum walker with 2 wheels on the front, with no frills or accessories. /End ID]

so:

How you think it will feel:

[ID: a blank version of the "Sure, Grandma, Let's Get You To Bed" meme: an elderly person with a walker standing on a sidewalk and a younger adult steadying them. There's no words except the stock image watermark of "Adobe Stock" and "#7608713" on the bottom right corner. End ID]

How it actually feels:

[ID: three images of professional wrestlers in the ring holding steel chairs.

1: "Triple H" holding a folded steel chair horizontally at waist level over an opponent on the floor. Triple H appears to be yelling.

2: "Big Show" holding a folded steel chair in front of his lower body idly. He is also holding a microphone but not to his mouth. He appears almost tentative.

3: "Triple H" slamming a different folded steel chair onto the head of a different opponent on the floor (who appears to be laying on a folded steel chair). End ID.]

also it helps me walk or whatever

[ID: a digitally drawn two-panel comic. / Image 1: Text reads: “How I expected using a cane would feel:” Panel depicts a miserable person in tattered clothes, hunched over a cane and shaking as she walks. / Image 2: Text reads: “How it actually feels:” Panel depicts the same person, now standing tall and wearing flowing wizard robes and a long white beard. Her cane is at her side, glowing with magic, and she looks confident and powerful. /End ID]

[macamadamia]

The Coffee Table Incident Chapter 1: The Coffee Table

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51051661/chapters/128982094

Ship: Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature

Total Word Count: 3,037

AO3 Tags: Total Power Exchange, 24/7 Dom/sub, Punishment, Cock & Ball Torture, Bondage, Human Furniture, Gags, Discipline, Collars, Leashes, Light Sadism, Verbal Humiliation

Cas arrived home early the day of what he’d since dubbed “The Coffee Table Incident.” Dean still didn’t like to think that Cas had given it a cutesy nickname. Or the air quotes he made whenever he’d mention it.

“Dean, do we need to have a repeat of�� – and up go the air quotes – “‘The Coffee Table Incident’?” Raised eyebrow.

Fuck no, thank you very much.

The week after they’d moved in, three months after the fire that destroyed their home, they’d found the coffee table on the grass outside a house a few streets over when they were first exploring the area. Driving around the neighbourhood, Dean behind the wheel of the Impala while Cas followed their route on his phone.

It wasn’t a great neighbourhood, and it wasn’t nearly as good as the one they’d left, but it wasn’t the worst place Dean had lived.

They passed row after row of small wooden cottages. Two- or three-bedroom single level homes, similar to their own, in various states of care and maintenance. For every overgrown yard with one or more rusted vehicles out front, they passed a small but well-maintained garden. Teenagers worked on cars, and elderly residents walked small dogs.

Waiting at the traffic lights while the kids from the local grade school trooped past in their high visibility vests, being herded like day-glo geese by a couple of adults, Dean’s mind was on paint samples and flooring timber.

The house needed a fresh coat of paint, and he was itching to rip up the linoleum flooring and lay down some floating wooden floors. The kitchen also needed a full renovation. He’d have to run it past Castiel first, but maybe they could replace the small stove with a range cooker. Cas might agree if he could find one cheap enough, and promise to do it up…

He jumped, ripped from his reverie, when Cas flung an arm out in front of his face and pointed to something out his window.

“Dean!”

Adrenalin flooded his veins as he looked for whatever threat he’d missed, even as he berated himself for his lack of attention. All he saw was the gaggle of brightly coloured children, and a little old lady standing at the traffic lights holding onto a walker.

He was already reaching for the crowbar he kept under the driver’s seat, silently cursing Cas that his no guns in the house rule extended to the Impala.

“Look Dean! Look at that table. It’s perfect.”

He took in the pile of furniture Cas was pointing at. Out the front of a dilapidated house surrounded by a hurricane fence, a pile of furniture rotted on the kerb. 

“What the– Cas! What the fuck?”

Cas had wanted to pick it up then and there, but covered as it was in mud, grass clippings, and bird shit, there was no way Dean was putting it in the backseat of his Baby.

“It’ll still be there tomorrow; we’ll come back then and pick it up in the work truck.”

“But Dean!” Cas stared at him like he was the loopy one. “It might already be gone by then.”

“Seriously, dude? It’s probably been out there for weeks.” There was grass growing up between the legs. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

Instead of answering him, Cas jumped out of the car and ran across the road.

“Cas! Goddamn it. Get back here!”

When Dean flat out refused to allow Castiel to load the table into Baby, no matter how much he pleaded, he insisted on waiting at the side of the road until Dean came back with his work truck.

It was Dean who loaded it into the truck, and Dean who carried it into the garage at home. 

It had taken him a solid two weeks to restore the table to its former glory, and he – somewhat grudgingly – had to admit that Cas was right. It was perfect. Cleaned, sanded, and lacquered to a shine that highlighted the wood grain, simple but well made, it was probably the nicest piece of furniture they owned.

After witnessing how Dean treated their last table, the one that had gone up in the fire that had claimed everything else they owned, Cas had gone so far as to make it one of their Rules. No shoes on the coffee table. In fact, no feet on the coffee table at all.

Dean mentioned at the time that Cas should probably talk to his therapist about his fixation on the first piece of furniture he’d chosen for their new home.

Whether Cas spoke to Missouri or not, Dean would probably never know. But Cas’ indignant huffing was almost worth the time spent over his knee, and the ten stripes he’d earned from the belt taught him not to mess with the object of his partner’s obsession.

Mostly, anyway. Sometimes he forgot.

Sometimes, he came home from work early, grabbed a beer and made a bowl of popcorn, and sat down on the sofa to watch Dr. Sexy on the second-hand television Charlie had given them as a housewarming present because.

And sometimes, he put his feet up on the table in front of him because it was his furniture too and what Castiel didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, right?

“Comfortable, Dean?”

Son of a bitch.

[phelanspharmacy]

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[smoke-and-waves]

I wanted to add something to this. I’m an american who went from living in a very typical american city and driving long commutes to living in whats called the bike capital of Germany. (I no longer live there so it’s not like I’m doxxing myself)

And guys. The DIFFERENCE

Everyone had bikes. Most people had multiple bikes. There was a thriving bike black market. The city would periodically fish out masses of bikes that had gotten dumped in rivers. Some people had bikes that they could fold in half. All food deliveries happened on bike. Children were towed behind bikes in covered baby chariots like little roman emperors. There were electric bikes. There was free bike events to help immigrants get a bike and repair the bikes they already had. It was bike nirvana

I did not ride a bike.

I also didn’t own a car. And I still got around better than I did in America. Why?

Reliable public transport.

I could take a bus at any point in the city and get to the other side. And this is the other part of “walkable cities” that doesn’t get talked about as much (mostly because I think taking the bus vs riding a bike has Class Connotations in the US but that’s not the point of this post)

And I saw more disabled people in Germany in three months than I did in the US in my entire life. Because here’s the thing: busses are designed to accommodate wheelchairs here. They have hydraulic wheels so they can lower to the curb. There’s a massive door in the middle that people with bikes, strollers, and wheelchairs can all fit in. There’s a place with no seats so there’s enough space for up to three people with wheelchairs to sit—and I’ve seen that many. There’s a ramp you can pull open so that people can wheel themselves on and off, and someone almost always jumps up to get the ramp open before the person in the wheelchair has to ask.

It also allows the elderly a lot more mobility. I’ve seen so many grandmas and grandpas tottering onto the bus with their walkers and sitting down and having a chat with the person next to them. I’ve helped a blind lady find her right bus and get on

And that’s not even mentioning the non bus stuff! There were bikes specifically designed to offer lower back support

There were electric bikes so that people who had issues with stamina and speed could still get around comfortably. That’s not even mentioning the scooters

Europe isn’t perfect with how it accommodates disability (most bathrooms in restaurants are at the end of an insane labyrinth of narrow halls and twisting stairs) but one thing that I really love about it is how you can see so many different types of people. A walkable city doesn’t mean getting rid of roads, it just means that you don’t have to drive

But okay. One last story and I’m done

One time, I was walking home. I was coming up to a bridge, and the sun was setting, and I heard a buzzing noise of a motor behind me. I looked back, and blazing up the bike path was an old man in an electric wheelchair. He must have modified this thing because he was flying up the path. Cyclists were jumping out of the way, he was dinging his bell to get the ones in front of him out of the way, and then he blew past me, just like that. He must have been like 60, and he was in a wheelchair, and he was the fastest person on the street

How to tell someone's feelings about urbanism in 1 easy step

Ask them their opinion on Dutch Cycling infrastructure

[richajain11]

Buy Disabled Walking Aids in Ireland Online

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[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: BLACK PAPER ALBUM by Karen Schulte

Black Paper Album is the story of a young girl growing up in the 1940’s and ’50’s absorbing her immigrant grandparent’s hardscrabble life in the foothills of New York’s Catskill Mountains and her parent’s struggles to make a life for themselves and their family in the hustle of New York City. From the juxtaposition of these two cultures, comes the second generation of Americans holding fast to their vision of the “new world.” Captured in family photographs that date back to the turn of the 20th century in a crumbling “black paper album,” the family story emerges like “the driving spokes of a wheel always turning…” From the old bonds in the Catskill community of family, friends and religion where the past continues among the elderly men in the village synagogue chanting their prayers “as if they first heard it” and a NYC dance class where the dancers “gather all they can of speed and desire, inhale deeply, glide through thin air until grounded…centered…still.” All these poems are connected by decisions to choose what to hold on to, and what, by whim or necessity, to let go.

Karen Schulte is a retired social worker/therapist who began writing in grade school and since retirement has had her poetry published in a number of journals and anthologies including Long Island Quarterly, Poetica Magazine, Paterson Review, Long Island Bard’s Review, Performance Poets Association Literary Review, Nassau County Poet Laureate Literary Review. Her collection of poetry, “Where Desire Settles,” won first place in the Writer’s Digest 2017 Annual Contest for a self-published book of poetry.

ADVANCE ORDER: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/black-paper-album-by-karen-schulte/

PRAISE FOR BLACK PAPER ALBUM by Karen Schulte

Karen Schulte’s vividly detailed and heartfelt poems capture “the crumbling edges” of life always in motion, forever “coming apart,” like treasured family photos held together by string around an old “black paper album.” She depicts how old photos, like old memories, can’t hold, meanings shift “no longer attached to time or place.” One’s identity is a “shifting thing,” reduced in the perspective of anti-Semitic bigotry, magnified in the perspective of love, reshaped by large and changing cultural and natural forces. She aptly reveals how old family photos offer important, beguiling “clue[s]” to deeper essences of identity and relationships that can never be fully accessed. Regardless, what matters most, as Schulte helps us appreciate, is “for a while, we were,” “where [our] presence was valued.”

–Gayl Teller, Author of Flashlight: New and Selected Poems (Cherry Grove/ WordTech, 2019, Nassau County Poet Laureate 2009-11, Walt Whitman Birthplace Poet of the Year for 2016

Karen Schulte’s Black Paper Album is poignant, mysterious, revelatory, and illuminated with love. From a disintegrating photo album, the poet reconstructs lives and roots of family lore. The poet’s vivid poetry, rich with sense details, preserves family history for the future as she rescues the order of photos on acid-free paper. Picture taking becomes an art in the hands of her father’s loving eye as he captures the three year old poet and her grandfather in “Rembrandt’s Camera. The child’s face is hidden by a bonnet and her grandfather’s smile is stopped short, but all is illuminated in the beauty of “sitting peacefully.’ The child in the photos grows, losses a young friend to an early death, takes dance lessons, becomes a woman in a red taffeta dress. The final poem, “Fault Lines” recapitulates the poet’s growth in time and understanding. Schulte recognizes all the “fault lines” merge in her “leaving traces of lost causes, old griefs/whose shadows stretch long and everlasting.” Family bloodlines, family hopes, family love unite in these poems through memories engendered by salvaged portraits of the past.

–Virginia Walker, Ph.D., taught writing and literature at New England and Long Island colleges. She has curated six Webinars on poets and poetry for the Shelter Island Library, NY and is the co-author of the poetry book Neuron Mirror (with Michael Walsh}. Her poems have appeared in Nassau Review, Minutia Review, Light of the City and Sea, Touched by Eros, Bards Annual, Poets 4 Paris, Suffolk Co. Poetry Review, and the Humanist.

In this compilation of poetry, Schulte demonstrates an impressive talent for creating an artistic conversational line of poetry packed with poetic skill, including the musicality of her line, precise diction, and excellent skills to intuitively know the accurate visual architecture for the poem on page. Her book takes you on a poetic journey inspired by an aged album of the poet’s family photographs. The honesty in these poems unlocks the private experience and becomes the universal. With restrained urgency to tell her truth, she elevates these poems to to become sacred writings of our own human families. I encourage you to add Black Paper Album to your bookshelf.

–Gladys Henderson, Author of ECLIPSE OF HEAVEN, Finishing Line Press 22010, Suffolk County Poet Laureate 2017-2019

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry

[kosmochemmumbai]

Three wheel walkers are good mobility aids for elderly that need support due to issues with balance, strength and endurance. 3 wheel walkers are Rollators with hand brakes, a bag/basket and three wheels. They reduce the risk of falling and can improve confidence the seniors have of their walking ability.

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[elpida]

"It's not, god I know it isn't easy to let go darlin'." he sympathised, it wasn't to take a dig about how much it hurt for him after years, years upon endless year, but it didn't change her experience right now. "And isn't it better to see him for what he valued those years as now, than waste another three? Right?" his hands kept rubbing soothingly up and down, it's all he knew to do, talk and try. "There's a... hell, there's a comfort in what we know, especially when we know that we shouldn't want it anymore, that's is changed and different and we go out seekin'... seekin' comfort in what we wish we could have back and it might seem similar, he might seen familiar, but it'll always feel different now, never quite the same and that really sucks ass to hear I know that, but you go back to him now and you know what, every time you end up going back you'll want what it was the time before more and more."

When Agatha moved to nuzzle into his shoulder and hold around him, he stayed as solid as a rock, someone to rely on. His arms closed around her, and that hand that'd been on her arm moved to her back to rub soothing circles. He even moved a little, side to side like a calming motion. His head rest against hers until he arched his head to press a little kiss into the side of his head. "S'alright darlin', I've got you."

He stayed like that, even leaned them back so if she needed to cry, to just let it all out? She could. He hated Ryan for this, for making her cry like that and if he were honest, he intended to make him cry ten fold as repayment. She could ruin his shirt, she could hit his chest to get the anger out, she could scream about it and brsut his damn eardrums if she wanted to, none of it would matter so long as she ended up being okay. He should have known there and then that what he felt was more than just friendship. "You're never gonna be alone, you know that? You've got me and you're stuck with me, so don't go thinking you're gonna end up some old lady sat on her own, I'll be there to wheel you about." he teased lightly. "You just wait, we're gonna be racing with walkers and obviously I'll win. Ryan 'aint gonna make it to those elderly years though."

During the fifteen minutes that elapsed, Agatha held onto the pillow, unable to look at her phone as she recalled the moments both her and her boyfriend had spent together during the last months, only reaching the conclusion they were all deceitful. His betrayal cut deep, slicing through the trust she had painstakingly built over the years. It wasn't just the act of infidelity that shattered her, but the realization that the foundation of their relationship had been built on falsehoods. Every cherished memory now felt tainted, every whispered promise a hollow echo of what could have been. Had she been blind to the signs? Was she not enough? How could he throw away everything they had shared for a fleeting moment of passion? But amidst the anguish, there was a profound sense of loss—a mourning for the future they had envisioned together, now shattered beyond repair. The betrayal left her feeling adrift, her once-solid ground now crumbling beneath her feet.

Her chest rose and sunk with every heavy breathing, each inhale and exhale of air was difficult, and the realization of her world crumbling wasn't helping. When Cade arrived, her gaze was lost on the view of the city from her window. She appreciated him bringing food, but she couldn't bring herself to experience hunger now. Her gaze shifted to meet his, her look filled with sadness and pain. Right now, this man was the only one she could trust and reveal how she was feeling to. Agatha sniffled once more as he spoke, suggesting her to delete Ryan's number. Tears began rolling down her warm cheeks, leaving along a glistened trail. At this point, even the lines of her black eyeliner had smudged. The feeling of his warm hand against one of them seemed to soothe her. Her hand reached for his, her little finger hooking around his.

"It's not easy to let go..." she confessed, her fingers hovering over Ryan's contact in her phone, unable to take the final step of erasure. "It's been three years, Cade. Three years where I thought we were heading somewhere." Her voice cracked with emotion, tears threatening to spill anew as she bared her soul to him. "He managed to completely shatter my trust, and I'm afraid to ever let anyone in that way. It's awful. I have feelings. I feel like I love him, but I also hate him with all my being." The agony in her voice was palpable, a tumult of conflicting emotions tearing at her from within. With a heavy sigh, she set the pillow aside and buried her head in Cade's shoulder, seeking solace in his embrace. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, as if clinging to him for dear life amidst the storm raging in her heart. "I hate this. I hate this so much," she whispered, her words muffled against his shoulder, her tears dampening the fabric of his shirt.

[quietmyfearswith]

tied to you ; deliveryman!august walker x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

word count —3,953  words

summary — in which august walker delivers grocery and somehow that delivers him straight to the love of his life

warnings —curse words, mentions of stalking, mentions of mean people, fluff??? 

pairing — august walker x fem!reader

a/n —feedback for this fic or any of my works is appreciated,, hope everyone is doing fine and staying safe ❤️

tagging —​ @iloveshawnieboi @la-cey​ @melancholyy-hill​ @beck07990​ @pedropcl​

masterlist | series masterlist | join my taglist (please follow the rules)

“Fuck’s sake why am I doing this?” August groaned out as he walked down the aisle of the dry foods section of the grocery; Benji who was filling up the cart as he checked off all the grocery list of the customer answered his rhetorical question, “Well this is what you get for going against your father’s wish of accepting the CIA position that was being offered to you.”

He hit the back of his coworker’s neck as he pushed the cart as he followed him to the dairy section of the grocery, “I didn’t mean that, idiot! I meant why am I helping you out do these groceries when my job is to deliver them.”

Enjoying the sight of a whiny hulk of man groan about how he didn’t fancy picking out salted butter. “Well what’s the difference with picking out the items to you delivering them?” Glaring at the shorter man, he grabbed the carton of eggs that was indicated on the list. “For starters, I won’t have to deal with these sticky products.”

“Lucky for you we’re done with all those four orders,” Benji marked the orders as complete on the tablet as he pushed the cart towards the delivery area. August sighed out in relief, thankful that he didn’t have to deal with the sticky product labels — preferring to deliver the goods once they were wrapped in paper bags.

As he was loading up his delivery vehicle, August was softly humming as slid one of the last few crates in the back of the van. “‘Tis the last of them, Benji?” He shut the back of the van and received a nod from his closest friend from work. “And after that you’re free to go after delivering all of these.”

Pumping his fist slightly, he eagerly made his way to the driver’s seat and sighed out loud, “Last hour, Walker,” He lightly tapped the steering wheel as he glared at the road ahead of him, “One more hour and you’re done for the day.”

Turning on the radio, he hummed along to the familiar song that he once heard back in his years of highschool. The first household he had delivered to was a decent enough household — the mother was polite though her kids were a bit of jokesters who crowded their parent for Oreos yet were disappointed to find none; luckily however their other mother arrived with their desired snacks.

An elderly man was the second customer whom he delivered too; he was kind enough to give him some of the crocheted beanies he’s been making as a way to pass time. It was a pleasant combination of the colors blue, grey, and white — reminding him of his favorite winter jacket that his father had gifted him back then. Even though the sun was shining bright while the wind danced gently as it prodded his thick skin, he put the beanie on just as he was bidding adieu to the elder — it wasn’t just for show, but it also served as a wonderful reminder of the times he spent with his father.

As he knocked on the third door of the house he was supposed to deliver to, he was taken aback when a lousy man nearly spitted on his face as he clunkily greeted him. Another thing that rubbed him of the wrong way was how he brashfully dismissed him and quickly escorted him out of his house once he brought all of his groceries in himself.

“Last one for the day, Walker,” He chanted as he parked in front of the last house he was supposed to deliver to. After setting the car in park, he looked around to take in the surroundings as he drew his eyebrows together with slightly pursed lips, “Never been around this part of the neighborhood before.”

Hopping off the van, he headed to the back of the van and grabbed two of the paper bags and headed to the front door. His pointed elbow expertly rang the doorbell and stood still as he waited for the customer to open it. Truthfully, August wasn’t sure who or what was he expecting to greet him — but it certainly wasn’t a beautiful woman who was dressed with a pair of sweats and an oversized sweater.

“Oh! My groceries,” She smiled as she took the bags out of his grip and placed them by the floor near her coat hanger; after doing so she looked up at him so gently and sincerely that it helped snap him out of his dazed state, “There’s three more bags in the van; hold on and let me go get them all.”

“Don’t be silly, let me come and help you!” As he was heading to the parked car, she trailed behind him and tried to initiate a conversation, “So sorry about having so many groceries by the way. I just moved here and well, may have bought one too many items; but I just wanted to make sure I had a full stock for things.”

Once they both were faced with the remaining grocery bags, August handed her the one that weighed the least — relishing on how soft her skin was as they briefly grazed against each other — and carried the two that were leaning on the heavier side. “Don’t apologize for that, ‘m just doing my job and making sure your groceries get to you safely.”

“Does that involve you handing me the lighter bag?” She scrunched up her nose to him — and he thought that it was the most adorable expression he has ever seen on any living thing — and he shook his head and let out a soft laugh, “No it’s not that, just don’t a pretty woman like you stressing and lifting these kind of items.”

“So is that where you come in? You come in to save me and act as my knight in shining armor?” Y/N cut him off as she guided him to the dining room, she pointed to the table after she placed the bags down, “You can set those down over there.”

He nodded as he mimicked her actions, “Well I’m not sure that’s how I want to be known by you; how about I start off being known as your friend?” Surprised with how he responded, he covered him up his surprise with a boyish smile, “I can deal with that, I am bound to meet new people anyway,” She held out her hand and offered her name to him and took his soft hand in his rougher one, “I’m August, and welcome to the neighbourhood.”

Once their hands unclasped, Y/N then cleared her throat as she smiled at him, “Can I offer you a drink? Being out and about must have tired you out.” Her concern over his well-being was touching but her statement had him bulging his eyes as he remembered how technically he still was working, “Oh shit I need to get back so Luther can take the van out for his shift!”

She giggled at his panicked state and led him out the door, “It was very nice meeting you, August.” He looked at her with gloomy eyes as he apologized, “I’m sorry to cut our conversation short; but I promise to stick around longer next time.”

“Guess that means I’m gonna have to order something again next week huh?” Was her cheeky reply to him as she waved him off one final time.

“Benji! We can see the customer’s name once they place in an order, right?”

Pausing his movements halfway through his drinking of the hot chocolate he prepared, Benji suspiciously raised an eyebrow at his coworker, “Yeah we do; why’d you ask? You gonna stalk one of our customers?” His genuine concern of what his friend’s intentions were masked behind a nervous chuckle; but he was astonished to see faint traces of a blush appear on his cheek.

“Nothing like that, you moron!” August was quick to defend himself as he grabbed the tablet that was on the break table and scrolled through the application of the grocery store they were working for — each grocer had been assigned a certain amount of customers and from there they will be fulfilling their orders . His eyes lit up when he saw her name included in the list who ordered; he looked up at the top right of the screen, “Break’s over, Benj, let’s get back to work.”

As Benji threw the cup he drank on earlier in the trash as he craned his neck at his friend, “Why are you heading over to the aisles? Luther came in today and he’ll help me out with the grocery picking.”

“Let Luther pair up with Etahn, then we both can go together,” Came August’s reply as he carried the tablet on his way out of the break room. Holding a hand in his broad chest to stop him from coming out as Benji looked at him suspiciously, “What is up with you? Last week you were bitching about how you hated picking up peppers and now you're as giddy as Jack and Jill before they fell down after getting their water.”

Huffing out loud at his friend who wouldn’t budge and accept his mumbling response; with a sigh, August then had no choice but to vaguely share his encounter with a customer, “I met a girl the previous week as I was delivering groceries, and I saw her name in the list,” He gestured with his hands to try and divert the attention from his blundering state, “Just wanna make sure her groceries are filled up correctly.”

Rarely seeing his friend smile and be all giddy, he decided to tease him as they both carried on with their duty of picking out the products, “Look at the big bad wolf becoming such a softie for his crush huh? Who knew a girl was all it takes to get you to smile!”

Despite shooting daggers in Benji’s back as he picked up a bag of spinach, he was internally agreeing with what he said. After picking up everything that was on the list for their customers, August decided to pick up a bunch of fresh flowers for Y/N — he paid for it of course, it would be a dick move on his part if he were to charge it on her for it would thus spoil his surprise.

Similar to the last time, he decided to deliver to Y/N’s house last — in hopes that would grant him more time to bond with her. As he carried two bags while he rang her doorbell, he nervously shifted his weight between the heels and toes of his feet; but his nervousness eased away once the door opened to reveal her smiling face, “Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

A wink accompanied her greeting as she removed her arm from the doorway, “These all the bags for today?” She immediately took the two bags that her arms were on his bulging ones; he held up a finger, “There’s one more! Can I bring it inside?”

She nodded as she tilted her head towards the kitchen, “I’ll leave the door open and you can head inside okay?” Nodding to her, he skipped over to the van to grab the last bag containing her groceries while the other hand carried the bouquet of sunflowers he picked out for her. Idiot, what if she’s allergic to flowers? He scolded himself as he entered through her front door.

As he entered inside her home once again, seeing her move around her kitchen as she began to organize her produce in their proper cupboards when he nervously declared his arrival, “Hey, here’s the last batch of your orders,” He slid the the bags on the dining table then held out the arrangement of the flowers to her surprised face, “And these are for you, lovely.”

Grabbing it from him, she smiled at him as she teased him, “Does this come with an extra charge?” Laughing at her antics, he tickled her sides and shook his head, “No mam! This one’s on the house.”

“Well thank you so much! Sunflowers are a beautiful symbol for hope,” Placing the flowers by the sink, she grabbed for the vase her next door neighbour gifted her with when she first moved in, “Any particular reason why you gave me flowers? Hope I didn’t miss the memo for any important event.”

Something about seeing her place the flowers delicately in the vase and fill it up with water filled his chest with joy; once again she shook his head, “No particular reason, just felt like giving a pretty girl something pretty too.”

“What a flirt you are!” She lightly hit his arm after placing the vase in the center of her table, “By the way, can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m good,” August assured her as he began helping her unpack the items she had ordered; unfortunately for him, the bag he was emptying was filled with hygiene and feminine products she ordered. Noticing what products he was left with, she quickly shoved the vegetable on the fridge as she came to him and removed the items from his hold, “Oh no no, don’t worry about those. I can clean those up.”

Opening his mouth to retort, he was about to assure that it wasn’t in any means awkward for him but she was already walking away with that bag and placing it in her bathroom, “Is this standard procedure by the way? Delivery drivers come into houses to help keep the groceries?”

“No it isn’t actually,” He shouted out so she could hear him even if they weren’t in the same area, “I only do so for the customers I wish to get to know you better.”

Coming back from the bathroom she then squinted her eyes at him as she crossed her arms while leaning against the doorframe, “And what am I? The fifth customer you’ve been intrigued with?” Walking to her with a smirk as he bopped her nose, “Luckily for me, you’re the first and I’m hoping you’ll be the last one too.”

Feeling her heart speed up at what he said paired with the sincere look he had on his face. Wanting to test the waters with how comfortable she was around him, “May I?” A hand gently hovered near her cheek; when granted the consent through a gentle nod, his palm lifted her chin gently as his thumb gently smoothed over the skin of her cheek lovingly. Smiling at each other, they silently took in each other’s beautiful features. As they were inching closer, their lips almost touching, until they were interrupted by the ringing of August’s phone.

Biting his lip as he groaned out and fished his phone out from his pocket as he muttered a quick apology to her as he checked the screen of his device, “I’m sorry about this, lovely. I have to go back to the grocery — they need me back there.”

Despite being disappointed with how he had to leave, she understandingly nodded and smiled at him, “Maybe next time try reaching out to me outside of your working hours?”

“I will, I promise,” He kissed her cheek and winked at her one last time before waving goodbye to her, “See you soon, lovely.”

She didn’t place an order for the following week — at first he thought that perhaps she did order, but not during his shift or perhaps while he was having his day off — but according to Benji who had access to seeing the entire history of orders, she didn’t place an order.

“Maybe she got sick of your face,” Benji teased as he placed the bag of spinach on the cart that the larger man was pushing down the aisle. “Way to help my self-confidence, Benji,” He grunted out as he got the bag of tomatoes that his coworker pointed out that was needed by their customer.

“I’m just worried that maybe something bad happened to her?” The thought had him worried and his friend didn’t read the memo that maybe he needed an uplifting message and not to contribute to his downward spiral of worry, “Well it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it right, Walker?”

He was almost gonna shove him off when Benji held up his hands and clarified what he meant, “You know her address, so what’s stopping you from dropping by her place to check if she’s doing well?” That made him pause for a bit, that thought never crossed his mind — but now that his coworker brought it up, he feared that it might come off as rude and stalker-ish.

“Wouldn’t she think of me as a creep just for knocking on her door?” His hands were starting to feel clammy as he pushed the grocery cart and began to list out the different ways his suggestion could go wrong; but all his friend could really have to say with a shrug was, “Guess there’s only way to find that out then, right?”

Standing in front of her front door, he was now cursing out at himself for following Benji’s advice. Wedged between his right underarm were the stems of the another bouquet of sunflowers he picked out for her while his left arm carried a paper bag-filled of chocolates, chips, and some cookies. If he recalled correctly, the items he briefly got to unpack for her were filled of feminine products that were useful for one had their period.

After ringing the doorbell, the door opened a few seconds to reveal Y/N who had messy hair and a tank top and a pair of sweatshorts, “Oh, August! Hi, how are you?” At the end of her greeting, her face wrinkled up in pain as she clutched her stomach, “I’m doing fine but I take it you’re not doing well?”

She nodded and frowned, “I’m sorry but it’s just been a rough few days; I don’t think now is a good time to have guests, I really am sorry.” Having a guest — despite the current one she has was someone whom she wanted to get to know better — while she was going through shark week might turn out for the worse due to her hormones and mood swings getting in the way of her interacting with them.

“Not to sound creepy or anything,” He said but thought that that’s how must come off as he continued, “But I figured that you might be going through something since I got a quick glimpse of your groceries the last time you ordered, so I hoped to bring you comfort with some flowers,” He handed her the fresh bouquet with a nervous grin, “And some comfort food,” He gestured to the paper bag and handed it over to her.

When she took the bag from him, she snuck a peek to see that it contained her favorite snacks and smiled warmly at him, “August, this is so adorable, thank you! Would you want to come in?” Stepping aside when he nodded yes, he smiled at her and closed the door behind him. “Wanna help me pig out everything you’ve given me?”

Following her to the couch, he laughed as they both sat down; opening the package of her favorite chocolate, she then turned to him, “Wait, are you working right now?”

“Nope,” He popped the sound of the letter p as he shrugged off his jacket and placed it on top of the arm of the couch, “I decided to drop by your place, and this time not during my shift, and see if you wanted some company?”

“Oh? And what would happen if I said no to you?” She grinned at him as she took another bite of the chocolate bar, “Then I’d be extremely disappointed but understand why — some of us just need space.”

Though understanding was practically the bare minimum, she had to give it to him for not being a dick. “You’re something else you know?” She said after swallowing down the tasty chocolate, “Charming and just the right kind of mysterious, I like it.”

“To be honest, I was hoping you would be soon liking me.”

Smiling wide at his admission, she then trailed her fingers along her hand, “And incredibly straightforward too; see you are just full of surprises huh?” They both laughed and he felt himself let loose and enjoyed how they both were bonding.

“It might be the wrong time, but maybe I can take you out on a date sometime?” That question could make or break it for what their relationship would entail, but he decided to stand by it.

“Instead of going out sometime, how ‘bout we have one right now?” She suggested, “You already brought some snacks, we can order in and watch some movies or shows too if you’d like?”

Unfortunately for him he could feel his cheeks redden, “And aren’t you a bold one too? And yes, I would love that idea.”

They then ordered food through a delivery app and decided to start an action movie; and wanting for some sort of comfort, she then moved to lean on August’s arm not before asking, “May I?” Nodding, he then draped an arm over her shoulders which allowed her to lay the side of her head across his chest.

Feeling the heat radiating off of him somehow reduced the discomfort she was feeling whereas August loved the feel of her skin against his, “I’m sorry this is how our first date goes,” She spoke suddenly when she looked up to him and smiled, “Hopefully you’ll warrant me worthy enough for a second one?”

Chuckling to himself, he shook his head, “You have no idea just how whipped I am for you huh?” Bopping his nose with her finger, he then answered her, “I think that maybe you can guarantee one by, I don’t know,” He shrugs his shoulders as he pretends to think for a few seconds, “Perhaps a kiss? Only if you’re fine with it though.”

“That simple?” Came her immediate response as she moved to sit on his lap, with her hands rubbing his stumbled cheeks. Leaning over to him, she smiled as she connected her lips with his; his hands pulled her closer to his body by dragging her by the hips. Their opened mouths became the venue for their intermingling tongues. Hands were clawing and feeling out every inch of them that they could reach.

Biting his bottom lip, she broke away from the intense kiss with a smirk, “Will that give me a second date with you, August?” The way she batted her eyelashes at him sweetly contradicted the way she sultrily said it and made him chuckle as he winked, “Even without the kiss, I was gonna give you another shot anyway.”

The doorbell once again rang and Y/N stood up and told her she was gonna go get the food; when she walked back to the living area with their food in hand, she handed August his order while she began eating hers, “We kinda did the whole thing backwards huh?” The grocery store worker then tilted his head to the side as he was curious with what she meant which prompted her to explain, “We made out first before having dinner and watching a movie!”

“Maybe so,” He said after swallowing down a portion of his meal, “But I’m not complaining since all of these led me to being with you.”

[chasing-classics]

Leave Out All the Rest- Bucky x Reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

 Warning(s): mentions of PTSD, fluff

 Summary: Bucky can never forget the things he has done, despite trying to piece together the memories he lost. He thinks himself a monster; you’re here to set the record straight.

  His yelling woke you up, your heart racing despite it being a nightly occurrence. Your bare body instantly covered his, gentle hands firmly holding his wrists down to stop him from hurting himself. He thrashed under your hold, shouting phrases that you still couldn’t quite understand after all these years of being with Bucky.

 ‘’Baby, baby. It’s ok, it’s ok. I’m right here,’’ you soothed, one hand shaking him awake while dodging his flailing fists. You never forgot how hard that metal arm could pack a punch and Bucky, to this day, never forgave himself for that incident. He never forgave himself for anything.

 ‘’D-Doll?’’ his bottom lip trembled as those ocean blue eyes of his sprung wide open.

 ‘’Shhh, Bucky. I’m right here, baby,’’ your hands cradled his head, drawing him close to your chest. The ticking of your heart always seemed to work for him, as if he were a scared puppy.

 You weren’t aware how much time had passed as the moonlight filled your shared bedroom. You could faintly hear birds chirping not too far away as you continued to comfort and soothe your boyfriend of nearly three years. Eventually his heavy breathing slowed to normal, but those massive hands were still clenched tight.

 ‘’Do you want to talk about it?’’ you hummed, fingers raking through his hair as he leaned into your embrace.

 He shook his head, sighing. ‘’Have I ever?’’ he joked, but you could taste the truth on his words. You sighed and pulled away, sitting up as the gray sheets pooled at your waist.

 ‘’Talking could help, Buck. Maybe if-,’’ you paused as he sat up beside you, towering over you as he rubbed his human hand over his face out of frustration.

 ‘’Nothing can help, Y/n. This is my punishment,’’ his voice was firm now as he glared into the shadows dancing at the foot of your bed.

 ‘’You know as well as I do that those things, what happened, none of it was your fault. That was H.Y.D.R.A,’’ your brows furrowed, hand placed on his shoulder.

 Bucky scoffed, shaking his head as if he could cause his night terrors to evaporate. As if he could will his trauma away. ‘’Let’s just go back to bed,’’ he tried laying back down, your firm grip preventing him from doing so.

 ‘’Bucky,’’ you huffed, gently tugging on his hair to get him to meet your eyes.

 ‘’Y/n,’’ his tone shifted from sleepy to annoyance instantly. You gave a playful tug on his locks once more, cracking a tiny smile. It worked, as he sighed and sat back up. You saw in his eyes that he struggled to process his words and make sense of his thoughts and emotions. You slowly traced invisible patterns onto the palm of his hand and up his forearm.

 ‘’I don’t know how to do it,’’ he finally spoke.

 You quirked a brow. ‘’How to do what, honey?’’ you pressed.

  His mouth twitched a bit, releasing a shaky sigh as his shoulders quivered.

 ‘’I don’ know. . .I don’t know how to look at strangers on the street, on the subway, in the grocery stores. Even in the fucking movie theaters. I don’t know how to pass by and look at all of these strangers, these people, and not know if I hurt them. . .if I hurt their loved ones. I try to remember and I-I can’t.’’

 Your heart clenched at your boyfriend’s words. You could tell he was choking back a sob but trying his absolute best not to in front of you.

 ‘’Bucky. Bucky look at me,’’ you whispered to him, your hands gently encompassing his chiseled face. Those baby blues glossed over with unshed tears as you stroked his cheeks.

 ‘’Nobody blames you for what you weren’t in control of. Honey, you need to let that all go or it’ll eat you up. You’ve saved more lives than you took, trust me.’’

 A lone tear streamed down his cheekbone, hot against your skin as he let out the most broken sound you had ever heard. You sat there, holding him as sob after sob racked through his form.

  You strolled around the museum, thankful that Bucky was training with Sam today. You analyzed the numerous posters and holograms, read the several plaques that detailed the victories Steve and Bucky accomplished.

 ‘’I got your call, rushed over as soon as I could,’’ Steve’s voice made you look up. He greeted you with the usual hug.

 ‘’What do you need, y/n?’’ his eyebrows rose in question.

 ‘’James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes was born in 1925. He served as a Sergeant in the United States army, assigned to the 107th in 1943. . .’’ the narrator began, causing the two of you to look away and focus your respective gazes on Bucky’s hologram. His strong jaw showing off a proud smile as he looked dashing in his uniform. Unable to help yourself, you smiled as your heart swelled with pride. That was your Buck, and you so desperately wished he saw himself as the hero he was rather than the monster he feared he had become.

 ‘’That,’’ you nodded your head toward the plaque that gave a basic run-down of Bucky’s accomplishments during the war. Your index finger tapped at one particular area, causing Steve to squint his eyes as he read the passage.

 ‘’Sergeant Barnes is accredited with saving over 58 lives while serving,’’ Steve read aloud before turning back to you. ‘’What are you getting at, doll?’’ Steve smiled, clearly seeing the wheels and cogs turning in your head. You beamed.

  ‘’Doll, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you treating me to a date, but really?’’ Bucky chuckled as you led him to the theatre.

 ‘’Shh, I’ve been waiting to see this movie for years,’’ you silenced him, practically dragging him to your assigned auditorium. Bucky just snorted and shook his head. ‘’Alright, alright. You don’t need to be so pushy, you’re practically burning through the carpet,’’ he teased, earning a gentle smack to his chest.

 He fell silent when he saw the theatre fully lit, over 200 seats completely taken as their eyes fell on the two of you. In the first three rows, many of them were elderly. Some adorned their uniforms as they shakily rose using their canes or walkers. Soon everyone stood up, applauding.

  ‘’What’s going on?’’ Bucky asked, tensing up as his eyes surveyed the crowd. You just smiled, feeling yourself become emotional as you two gazed at all of the different faces. You held onto his hand to steady him.

 ‘’These are just some of the people you saved, Bucky. They wanted to thank you, and some are their children and grandchildren and even great grandchildren. They’re standing here today because of you,’’ you spoke quietly as the thundering of applause continued. Many had tears in their eyes as they continued clapping, shouting their thanks and blessings. You turned your head to look at Bucky, tears cascading down his face as his mouth hung open in complete awe. He looked down at you and you nodded your head. He swallowed a sob as his hands held the sides of your face, leaning down to plant a passionate kiss to your lips. You cried as well, grinning into the kiss as people slowly began making their way to thank their hero.

 ‘’You’re a very lucky lady,’’ one veteran stated, wrinkled eyes bright with joy as his grandchildren ran around his wheelchair, begging Bucky for an autograph.

 You beamed, watching as they clung to your boyfriend’s legs, his laugh something you would treasure for the rest of your life as you nodded slowly. ‘’I know,’’ you agreed.

 ‘’Papa look! It’s Bucky! He’s my hero!’’ another young child called from the crowd, his grandfather proudly nodding in agreement.

 ‘’Mine too.’’

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Five:Sensory Integration 1

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: A Friday full of teasing for Shane ends in a steak dinner with a blue-eyed beefcake. If you don’t finish this chapter hungry for one or the other, if not both, I haven’t done my job! Lol! (For inspo on Sy’s date outfit, think back to that one Men’s Health photoshoot Hen did and just imagine his hair shorter. That’s what I did. lol!) 

Click me to catch up on the story and other stuff by Hannah!

Word Count: 4k (This date got away from me! Lol! And it’s only half over!)

Warnings: Mostly this is utter fluffy fluff, but I’m gonna put the following warnings on, anyway. Language, mature themes, alcohol consumption, borderline food worship (Shane may have a problem, I definitely do! Lol!) Also, pretty much every Sy fic I’ve read says that his given name is Logan, so...should his given name be used henceforth, that’s what I’m going with because it seems the most cannon and I like it and if it’s good enough for Wolverine...

Author’s Note: So, guys, this is crazy. First off, the reaction and love Sy and Shane’s story has been getting has taken me completely off guard and utterly made my day/week. (I’m serious. Every note makes my heart do a happy dance. A like, a reblog, a comment. It all means the world to me. Thank you for your feedback and for sharing this story.) Second, YOUR FEEDBACK MATTERS TO ME! Because initially, idk what I was thinking. I was going to skim over their first date and like…not write it…and I kept getting notes as I worked on further chapters to the tune of “can’t wait for this date!” and I thought…hmm…well, the date must be written! So, here it is, the first half-ish, of Shane and Sy’s first date. I hope it’s all you were expecting…or at least half of all you were expecting! Lol! More to come in part two of Sens Integ! (BTW, fun fact, these chapter titles are all named after treatments that therapists actually use on their patients sometimes! Lol!)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira @oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland @speakerforthedead0@tumblnewby @suavechops

Friday morning. She was up with the sun. And a bit before, really. Today was the day. Her first date with Sy. She’d taken extra care in the shower, less clumsy, thank God! She shaved her legs because she had chosen to wear a knee-length blue dress with a scoop neck and cap sleeves in wrinkle-proof Jersey knit since it would be in her tote bag all day. She was not shaving because she thought anything would happen tonight with Sy. She didn’t think she was ready.

That is, she was ready, but, only physically. Emotionally, mentally, she would need to prepare for him a bit longer before taking him as a lover. She hoped he was on the same page.

He had an appointment in the early afternoon. He greeted her with his warm “Hello, sunshine.” Following it up by telling her how pretty she looked today, causing blush to burn in her cheeks. She’d reciprocated, even though he was in his typical tee and shorts look. It was still true. They got on their usual bikes to warm up for about 15 minutes, and then took to the leg press to try to advance his strengthening.

“I’m really proud of your progress! You wouldn’t have been able to do this much weight two weeks ago!” She encouraged him.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Now, we are going to do some drills next. Simple ones, but they aren’t going to be fun for you. I’ve chosen to do them on your last day of the week for a reason. You may be sore. Ice and whatever you take OTC if you must. Ibuprofen or acetaminophen. But try the ice first. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Okay.” He conceded, dejected.

“Stretching afterward.” She promised.

“Okay!” He pepped up. She knew he just loved an excuse to have her hands on him.

Later, as he lay on the mat, sweaty from the exertion of the drills, with her up there with him having to use her whole body to leverage the proper stretch out of his hip flexors, she felt the heavy weight of his gaze. She tried to look anywhere but those sapphire eyes below her. They were too vulnerable. She couldn’t handle that right now. Not here.

“Shane?” Dammit, he was gonna make her.

“Hmm?” She looked down at him, smile meeting smile.

“I just…” he couldn’t seem to get out the words. But she thought she understood what he was feeling.

“I know, Sy. I know.” She gently patted his outer thigh where she had been bracing her hand for the stretch, and let his leg back down, while dismounting the mat, as well.

“Well, that’s about the hour. Any questions before I let you go?”

“Are you as excited for tonight as I am?” He asked. She chuckled. She couldn’t imagine him being more excited than she was!

“Yes! Hehe! But I still kinda meant about therapy, Sy.”

“Oh, right. Are you excited to finish up with your therapy patients at therapy today so I can pick you up from the therapy clinic and take you on our date?”

“Just because you say therapy 20 times doesn’t make it about therapy.” She laughed.

“Okay, I do have a question for you, since I’m here.”

“Shoot.” She encouraged.

He stood and held her face, taking it into a kiss so devastatingly and painfully tender, she could not process what to do next. She was leaning toward fainting. But then tackling him onto the mat again seemed an attractive option. She settled for placing her hands on his waist, ready to control the situation as need arose. But after a brief moment of slight deepening, he broke away, still holding her face in his large strong hands.

“Ahem. That’s a good question. Why don’t I have you a reply later this evening?”

“Sounds good to me, sunshine.” He grinned widely, and waved a quiet goodby to her.

She walked to the doorway of the small room to watch him walk out…his gait still uneven from his injury but improving enough that she could tell he once took very…confident strides. She could almost picture it. She sighed, forgetting herself for a moment until Anita came up behind her walking her elderly patient with a gait belt and front wheeled walker.

"Is that a bit of drool on your chin, Shane?" she said quietly, but still startling the younger therapist from her reverie.

"Oh, uh, hey." she checked her chin, absentmindedly, late in getting the joke, and rolled her eyes. "Funny, Nita. Do you need anything?"

"Nope, Gladys and I are just headed to the gym for a few minutes on the NuStep to round out her treatment." Nita grinned at Shane.

"Who was that handsome young man that just left, Shane?" Gladys asked her, as women of her…demographic tended to do.

"He's just one of our patient's Miss Gladys. But I can't tell you his name. It's against the privacy policy." She explained.

"Oh, okay. Well, if I was a few years younger, I'd let ya give him MY name…and my telephone number." she smirked with pride in herself. All three ladies giggled.

"I'm pretty sure he's spoken for, Gladys." Anita broke the news to her randy patient, smirking at her coworker.

"Shame! Well, that's one lucky young lady!" Gladys hobbled on with the walker as Anita cued her not to let the device get too far ahead of her feet. Shane was beet red from the whole interaction. At least she wouldn't have to wear blush tonight.

Her day finally finished, notes done, and final communications sent,  the most important (in her opinion, probably not her employer's) message of them all was next. The text to Sy that he could head toward the clinic to pick her up.

She touched up her eye makeup, applied another coat of mascara, and dabbed on some of her favorite lipstick in a deep red that complimented her skin tone. She also spritzed on a bit of her favorite Armani perfume before slipping on her dress and black ballet flats and sliding on a pair of simple hoop earrings. She'd had her hair pulled up all day in a clip, so it should be pleasantly wavy when she took it down…and with a bit of flipping, shaking out, and finger diffusing, it was.

She looked in the mirror. She was ready.

Was she ready? She examined herself in the full length mirror in the empty locker room at the clinic. The dress and the shoes suddenly seemed all wrong, both together and as individual pieces for the occasion. She looked great, it wasn't that…but…was it right for tonight? Should she cancel? Was she being ridiculous? Clearly she was, as she'd already sent the message telling Sy he could come get her. But the closer she got to being ready to go, the less ready she felt. Those butterflies were suddenly clawing at her esophagus, disrupting the bile in her stomach, and threatening to choke off her air supply. They were no longer pleasantly fluttering. She felt like she had a boot against her windpipe.

She was snapped out of the panic attack when she heard her phone go off. A message from Sy.

Your chariot, m'lady. Should I come in and get ya?

She grinned like a lunatic. How could she have considered calling tonight off?

Nay, m'lord, verily the gates be locked. I shall use the rear exit and meet thee around yonder forsooth.

Wow, you ran with that one. *laughing in tears emoji*

I have that tendency. Lol. *monocle wearing emoji*

She grabbed her bags, walked out the back door, and tossed the one that wasn't her purse into her vehicle, which was parked nearby and walked around to the front. He was standing on the sidewalk near that edge of the building.

The sun was just setting, and the light from it hit him so bewitchingly that it took away her breath. Not in the frightening way of the panic attack she'd just had, but in the nice way, like right before you surface from a deep dive and you know the sweet relief of oxygen is imminent. She assessed his ensemble with approval. Black books, sleek dark blue jeans, and a sapphire v-neck polo that even in the low light of near dusk made his blue eyes dance with vibrant intensity against his fading tan. His hair was starting to grow out ever so slightly, but it was still very close cropped. His beard, she could tell, had been finely groomed, combed, and styled. He looked…well, she'd never looked up the word "handsome" in the dictionary, but she imagined it would describe the image before her quite succinctly. And alternatively, Sy's image could be used as an illustration in the reference book, itself.

The best part, though, was the look on his face when he saw her.

She felt like he'd never properly looked at her, perhaps. Maybe he wasn't expecting a dress, or loose hair, or red lips. Or maybe it was a combo of the whole Date Shane package he was seeing before him. As his eyes beheld her, he almost looked confused. As if she was a stand-in. Or maybe an alien. Some body-snatcher. Only he wasn't frightened. She was having a hard time working out his expression as she'd really never seen it before, and particularly, never aimed in her direction. He said one word.

"Wow." It was reverent. Not a whisper. But barely a decibel above.

Again, her cheeks required no artificial pigmentation.

"Hey. You look…you certainly scrub up good, mister." she giggled nervously, feeling immensely awkward at her inability to properly compliment the chiseled image of Adonis before her. His every muscle hugged to perfection by the fabric covering it. How did you even begin to tell such perfection how perfect it was?

"You…Shane, I don't remember the last time I saw anyone look so beautiful." he frowned, as if trying to recall, then giving up with a smile, and leaning in to kiss her cheek. He lingered a moment to hug her, hold her as the day faded, breathe her in. She did the same. He was freshly showered and wearing cologne, as he often did, but it rarely hit her so solidly as it did tonight. She loved this scent. Woody, but earthy, with notes of bergamot, a kind of musky scent similar to amber, but more masculine, and something spicy that she loved. The combination exploded like an olfactory fireworks display.

The shirt was an unthinkably soft cotton (blended she thought perhaps with kitten, she could not stop touching it.) and the warmth of him radiated into her as his chest rose and fell over the course of his numerous breaths as they stood there holding each other and enjoying this feast for the senses.

"You ready for supper?" he asked, a faint but distinct rumble from his abdomen indicating that he most certainly was.

"Yes." she smiled up at him as he took her hand in his and led her to his truck. A Ford F150, the same sapphire blue as his shirt and his eyes. She was sensing a pattern, here. It wasn't the newest vehicle, but he had taken immaculate care of it. She felt shame for her own treatment of her Explorer, Bessie, which often functioned as storage shed, trash can, and sometimes, hotel, when she felt like a road trip on a shoestring budget. He walked her to the passenger side, opened the door for her, and helped her in, as the truck sat a bit higher than what she was used to.

"So, I have us a table saved at this great steakhouse just down the road. And then, it's supposed to be a nice night, I thought we could take a walk by the lake?"

It sounded perfect to her. Quiet and simple.

"Amazing. As long as your knee is up for a walk?"

"I've got all weekend to rest before getting tortured again." he smirked at her as he pulled the truck out of the parking lot and on the main road toward the interstate. "B'sides, who better to have with me if I start hurtin' than my PT?"

The emphasis he placed on the possessive pronoun, claiming her as HIS PT sent a delighted shiver through her that she blamed on the AC, which he promptly turned down.

He had his Spotify shuffling Kings of Leon at a low volume as they conversed lightly and pleasantly. Since it was an earlier model, even well equipped as it was, it wasn't quite ready for auxiliary or Bluetooth sound, so he'd bought one of those radio receivers that tune into an unused frequency and connect to your phone or iPod. She'd retrofitted her 2003 Ford Explorer in a similar fashion.

They were both caught a bit off guard when "Sex on Fire" came on, and tried valiantly to keep talking. But it was hard to hear anything but those lyrics. Singing of exhibitionism and dangerous sex acts that were definitely moving violations…and simply the sex being on fire. She was thankful, for once, that this song that she'd always found catchy without paying much attention to the actual lyrics, was now fading into the night as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

She remembered to wait for him to get the door for her, even though it had been ages since she'd been on a date or had any kind of romance whatsoever. He helped her down from her perch, giving her a gentlemanly moment to adjust her skirt before taking her hand and leading her into the building.

He opened the door and led her in by that lumbar lordosis that made everyone tremble and swoon. She was no exception just because she knew that part of your back was not actually called "the small" and she got perturbed when she heard it referred to as such.

"Welcome to Mark's, how can we help you?" the host greeted warmly.

"Reservation for Syverson." Sy piped up. She was used to being the voice in these situations. She was thankful not to have to for once. It was a small thing, but it was still nice.

"Right this way, folks." he grabbed two large menus, a mid sized one, and a small one, and led them to a cozy but still spacious two-top in a quiet corner of the dining area. The warm light was low and ambient, and there were real kerosene lamps on the tables, which she loved. It had the rustic ambiance of a cabin with all the refinement of any four+ star restaurant she'd ever been to. Not that she'd been to many.

"Here you are, the table you requested, and your menus. Have a look at them, and Katie will be out soon to answer questions and take your orders."

As he walked away, Sy pulled her chair out for her, and aided her sitting. His gentility was so refreshing to her, because it was so sincere and kind, and in no way oppressive or domineering, as some men seemed to use such gestures. Wielding them like a club rather than a feather. She was just used to seeing a certain side of him, teasing and silly as he was in therapy that this side of Captain Syverson, or as she may end up calling him one day, Logan, his given first name, if it pleased him, had taken her off guard.

"Nice place." she approved, looking around at he exposed beams of the ceiling and the iron and copper chandeliers and light fixtures on the wall. She also noticed quite curiously a copy of American Gothic by Grant Wood on one wall and The Kiss by Gustav Klimt on another. Such different styles to be displayed in one room. She really liked it though.

"It's one of my favorites. I try to come in every couple weeks or so." The fact that he liked steak on the regular was definitely a point in his favor. She loved it but rarely went out for it on her own. Eating out alone wasn't so bad, but it was hard to enjoy a steak dinner by one's self.

"What's your favorite cut?"

"Oh, I've tried most of them, and you can't go wrong." He assured her.

They had a crazy selection. Ribeyes, filets, sirloins, prime rib, all seasoned, smoked, topped and wrapped in every way you could imagine…it was like staring at the Netflix menu of steak. And much like she tended to do with Netflix, she relied on a classic favorite. After all, who goes for an obscure choice their first time at a new steak house?

"I'm keeping it simple and going for their prime rib and a baked potato."

"Ah, that's a perfect choice. We're getting some of their lobster mac and cheese to start, though. Unless you're allergic or something?" he added the disclaimer when he saw her eyes widen.

"Not at all, that sounds…"she was thinking "sexual," but decided instead on "heavenly."

Soon, Katie, a peppy, slender young redhead in black jeans she'd been poured into and a white T-shirt she had outgrown some time ago, descended upon their table with gusto.

"Howdy, I'm Katie and I get to take care of you fine folks this evening. What drinks and appetizers can I start y'all off with?"

Sy looked at Shane to prompt her to start.

"Sweet tea?" she half stated, half inquired. Katie nodded and jotted.

"Sure thing! Sir?" she thought her eyes sparkled when she looked at Sy…she couldn't blame her. But…she thought she could take her if she tried anything. She was certain there was a very sharp knife in the black napkin set-up at her right hand.

"Same for me, Katie. And we are also gonna need an order of your lobster mac to start and a bottle of your house cab."

"Fantastic. I'll be right back with the teas and wine after I put in for the lobster mac for ya, and then I'll take your meal order." she smiled brightly. Sy looked at Shane, though, as he replied "Wonderful."

~~~~~~~

Her instincts about the lobster mac and cheese had been spot on. She couldn’t contain her yummy noises of enjoyment which amused Sy to no end. She couldn’t imagine the steak any better.

About that, she had been completely wrong. It was so succulent, tender, and flavorful, she debated on whether or not the provided au jus and horseradish were even needed. They were also too good to resist, though.

Her potato, twice baked to the perfect tenderness had a salt brined skin, and a garlicky butter that just sung with the sour cream and chives. She was in food heaven, and even if that meant she was dead, it was fine.

He’d ordered the same entrée as she had, but took his baked potato…a bit differently.

“You don’t like sour cream?” She asked, nonplussed.

“Nah, I mean, I can eat it, but…it feels weird in my mouth. I prefer the au jus and butter, instead. It’s much more tasty.” He said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” She laughed.

“You’re welcome to try mine when I get it all doctored you how I like it!”

She did, right from his fork. And he was right about it being so flavorful, but she preferred the mild, creamier texture of her own side with the savory notes of her steak.

They ate and enjoyed each other’s company and conversation.

“Ya know, Sy, I totally had you pegged as a beer man, instead of a wine guy.” She said, as she brought her own glass of the deep red liquid to her mouth and nose, inhaling the bouquet before she took her sip.

“Normally, you’d be right. With a burger, pizza, sometimes tacos or what not, definitely. But I can’t do beer with steak. It’s gotta be wine. Red. And full-bodied.” He held her gaze as he drank from his own glass. Why did he have to look at her like that when he said those kinds of words? Her cheeks were warm from more than the booze.

For desert, they shared a decadent marbled brownie/blondie a la mode. He’d had the idea to slide his chair so he was sharing a corner of the table with her, rather than looking across it at her. Purely so they didn’t have to keep sliding the dessert…not so their knees would brush against one another now and then, or so they could feel the heat radiating from one another’s bodies…but actually, exactly for those reasons.

“Last bite is to you, Sy.” She set her fork down, full to bursting.

“Are you kiddin’? My mama’d tan my hide if she knew I took the last bite from my date.”

“You’re being gallant, actually! Rescuing me from a certain belly ache.” She patted her small but slightly rounded tummy. She did like her food, and was no gym rat, after all. He didn't seemed to mind. Yet.

“How 'bout we share the last bite?” He suggested.

“Technically that’s not physically possible. Becau…”

He interrupted what was going to be an intellectual explanation of why no matter how small you cut up a bite, the remaining bit was still technically one bite, and couldn’t be shared.

“No. Shh. I know you’re smart. You got nothin’ to prove here. I’m gonna cut what’s left in half until I get a bite you’re willing to take. Okay?” She nodded.

He only had to take the fork to it twice before she conceded, also letting him feed her, feigning paralysis from the food coma. She held the fork tightly between her lips, making him work to pull it from her mouth. She looked innocent, but she was an intentional little shit.

“You're so cute when you eat.”

“Said no one ever!” She held her hand over her face.

“You are, though. You enjoy the food. Experience it. It’s like you’re…getting a story from it, or something. Like it’s…almost like it’s entertaining you, I don’t know. It’s just…beautiful.” He leaned his elbow onto the table, supporting his head in his hand as he looked at her.

"Well, sometimes I think I like food a little TOO much for my own good." she lamented, reaching for the cabernet only to have it snatched by her date. He uncorked it and dispensed a generous pour for her, and topped off his own glass, killing the bottle.

"No such thing. Like I said about the wine, full bodied is the way to go. Nothin' wrong with a little cushion." he winked at her. She could not resist finishing a rhyme she'd always heard about the desirability of curvy girls…for the pushin,' and hoped the flush in her cheeks from the wine was enough to disguise the deepening color from the current blush she was feeling thinking of Sy…pushin' her cushions…but something tipped him off to her distraction.

"What's on yer mind, sunshine?"

"I'm wondering if you're prepared to carry me on this walk we're planning, actually." It was possible to think more than one thing, after all. "I don't know how I'll ever even walk again."

"Ah, give it fifteen minutes. Finish up your sweet tea, and by the time we're done with our walk, you'll want an ice cream cone."

"Ha, doubtful." But she was ashamed to admit, ice cream already didn't sound bad. Vanilla…maybe pistachio….no, coffee! In a waffle cone…with fudge drizzle…and almonds…maybe she had a problem.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded. He flagged down Katie and gave her cash, and what one might call a benevolent tip. They left the warm steakhouse, and entered the breezy late summer evening, the humid air seeming thick with promises.

Up Next: Chapter Six-Sensory Integration 2

[msotherworldly]

10 CAS Features I Would Like to See in the Sims 5

I’ve already made two lists on features I would like to see in the next installment of the Sims series, but I thought the area of character creation necessitated it’s own category. For some, building is all they do; others simply want to play the game, completing as many of the aspirations and befriending as many other sims as they can. Then there are those of us who are obsessed with the characters themselves. We use mods to give them height or new hair colours, spend hours downloading virtual clothes online, and craft elaborate backstories. Even the length of our Sims noses are important to us. With both improvements and losses in the fourth game, it’s only natural that I have a wish list for the fifth title.

1) Hair Options

EA’s hairs have improved over the years, but you’re required to buy numerous expansion and stuff packs to acquire them. Even with several expansion hairs at my disposal, I find myself turning to mods to find the type of hair I like: wavy, long, and with bangs.

The ability to craft your own hairstyles would be a boon to the series. What if you could change the length of your hair, as well as the type (straight, wavy, curly, or kinky)? What if you could add or remove different bang types? The ability to dye different parts of your hair, as seen in Sims 3, any colour you wanted, including roots, tips, or even streaks, would be feasible. Even throwing colour down wherever, as seen in the Sims 4 Pet system, should be possible: at that point, you could have someone with rainbow hair!

For more complicated styles, such as braids, buzz cuts, or accessorized updos, default hairs could still be provided, but even some of these should include the option to add bangs (straight fringe, uneven fringe, or side swept) as well as dyes and types.

2) Clothing Customization

To the same end, the ability to edit the game’s clothes would excite those of us who have become addicted to Animal Crossing’s latest “Pro Design” option. Outfits would have a “remove sleeve” option, or the ability to make them long or short. Hoodies could be toggled, so that Sims could choose to wear them up or down. Skirts or dresses could be made short, medium or long, and designs could be asymmetrical. Patterns could be added to less complex outfits using a stamp tool, similar to what was developed for Pets; t-shirts could have stripes, polka dots, or chevron patterns added! More skilled simmers could even draw their own illustrations on to clothes.

3) Accessories & Additional Categories

In the Sims 4, you can have hats and necklaces, but not tiaras and scarves. More accessories should be given their own categories, allowing you to add kerchiefs, woolly scarves, tiaras, headbands, or bows to your Sim—in addition to everything else.

Some accessories could be added to other clothes, such as a “belt” option you can use to add colour to any of the game’s pants. All of the shirts would also include a “tie” category. Purses and backpacks could be added to the game, independent of whatever outfit your Sim was wearing, as well as more slots for rings and earrings.

Jackets and t-shirts might even be made separate, allowing your Sim to don their favourite hoodie whatever their outfit for the day. There could be capes, shawls, masks...more categories would make for some fun combinations (and perhaps more notoriously ugly townies).

4) Colour Wheel: Skin, Hair, and Eyes

The Sims 3 featured a colour wheel for both hair and eyes which was missed in the Sims 4. Gone are the days when you could give your Sim dark purple hair and blood red eyes without the use of mods. What Sims 3 didn’t do was include a colour wheel for skin (though the options given through expansions over time gave a close approximation).

The types of Sims you could make in the Sims 5 with a colour wheel would be endless. In addition to making them all resemble anime characters with purple eyes and pastel pink hair, the ability to choose any skin colour would enable the creation of characters like Grimora or Thanos. You could make a town full of Simpson’s type characters if you wanted to.

Having free rein over skin tones would also allow players to tweak any EA skin tones they weren’t happy with. You’d be able to add more red to the tones, darken them, or simply make them appear less washed out.

5) Height Slider

It’s understandable why a height slider hasn’t been implemented, given the strain it would put on animations. While I won’t be (too) upset if this is too difficult to add, there’s no denying that it greatly diversifies characters. A tall character stands out from a short one, leading to cute but awkward couples of drastically varying heights, as well as making the world more realistic.

At the very least, there should be a notable height difference between teens and adults, whom I can’t tell apart.

6) Sex & Gender

The Sims 4 added great options for sex and gender when they enabled unisex clothes and the ability to make transgender Sims. It was the first game I saw that enabled that level of control, and I hope to see an improved version of the system in the Sims 5.

Still absent are more gender categories. In addition to “male” and “female” identities, there should also be a “non-binary” option. In game, depending on what you choose, your Sims would then be addressed as “he,” “she,” or “they.”

Having body types that sat more on a spectrum could open up the character creator too, adding a third body slider that would tend towards masculine or feminine without being strictly one or the other unless you chose to sit at either extreme. Masculine or feminine attributes (such as breasts) could be added independent of the body type, and all clothes and hairs would remain available to all Sims.

7) Personality Quirks

Some of these aspects might feel more like grocery shop lists to some people, but I found they added to my Sims. The Sims 3 allowed you to choose your sim’s favourite food, colour, and music. In the Sims 2, you could choose your turn on’s and turn off’s, such as hair colour or body type. The Sims 3 also introduced a biography section where you could type out your Sim’s backstory and any additional details you wanted to include.

While these attributes mostly contributed to generating moodlets, they could be made more integral to the game. Sims could experience increased happiness wearing their favourite colour or seeing it in a room. Sims could write higher quality songs in their preferred genre. Socials could be opened around these traits, with Sims finding friendships easier to build after discovering that they shared one or more.

The turn on and turn off system could be extended to all levels of attraction: a Sim’s sexual orientation could be defined, offering straight, gay, bisexual, or pansexual as options. No more having your female Sim chatting up Brent or Brant when you’re not looking!

8) More Traits

The ability to choose only three traits for adult sims has never felt sufficient. Even five traits don’t feel like enough for more complex characters. The option to have five traits by default (and then to unlock more “default traits” through the rewards store using a potion) would be welcome.

The inclusion of more options would be great too; who doesn’t want a “sarcastic” trait?

8) Disabilities

There are dozens of disabilities in the real world, making the inclusion of them all impossible. However, more common disabilities, such as having a bionic leg or being relegated to a wheelchair, should be represented. Elderly Sims should have the option of needing canes or walkers.

More complex disabilities, such as being deaf, mute, or blind, would be difficult to add, owing to the array of socials, such as sign language, that would need to be added. However, if such disabilities could be included, the game would be even more inclusive than it already is.

At the very least, wheelchairs and prosthetic limbs should be doable. There’s some hope that even Sims 4 could receive such features.

9) More Tattoo Options

As someone who’s a tattoo enthusiast in real life, I find the game’s selection disappointing. Moreover, I miss the versatility offered by the Sims 3 system, which allowed you to edit the size, colours, and placement of the tattoo. There need to be more tattoos, particularly with each pack; they should follow the typical categories (tribal, new school, traditional, Japanese, and more) with some funkier pieces thrown in.

Tattoos shouldn’t be limited by slots either, meaning that you should be able to have ten different designs on one leg if you choose. More skilled Simmers should be given the option to draw their own designs, and then share those designs with others on the Gallery.

A Sim could have their name, or a portrait of their significant other, inked into their skin—with wonderful or disastrous results.

10) Save an Outfit

This final feature is more about convenience than anything. Have a fashionista Sim for whom five outfit slots aren’t enough? Plan to create an asylum or group in which a single uniform is needed? Wish to transfer the same outfit to another outfit category?

This feature would allow you to save an outfit. You can already save Sims and houses to the library, and a third “closet” category could save hours of sifting through clothes in order to recreate a look. These looks could be uploaded to the Gallery. With the other features I mentioned (colour wheels, hair manipulation, dyes and stamps), outfits, along with their matching hairstyles, could be accessed effortlessly and shared with the community.

Shirts with detailed illustrations or zanier dye jobs could be uploaded and accessed by others, thereby removing the need for simpler mods and the barrier they present for those who want to keep their game “cc free.”

There are more features, most of them small, that I would love, but these ten cover what I would like to see. It goes without saying that I want to see other aspects (such as the click and drag tool and the two body sliders) given further freedom, but if even a colour wheel is added I’ll be enthused.

[walkingaidsforelderly-blog]

List of Benefits of Using Walking Aids for The Elderly

Nowadays, walking aids for the elderly are getting more and more popular due to their wide range of benefits. These devices are designed to help people who have problems moving around enjoy greater freedom and independence. Most often, people who have disabilities or injuries, or older adults who are at increased risk of falling, choose to use mobility aids.

Walking aids provide several benefits to users, including more independence, reduced pain, and increased confidence and self-esteem. Below are the additional benefits of using walking aids for elderly UK:

Built solely for walking

Walking aids for the elderly like a rollator come with a seat, so it doubles as a resting station whenever you’ve taken too many steps for your liking. A standard walker gives you no seat, so locating a nearby bench is necessary if you find yourself needing a break. The built-in seats of rollators make it easy for their users to put on the brakes, turn around and sit down. This feature offers the utmost convenience and is one of the reasons why a lot of people prefer rollators over normal walkers.

Used indoors and outdoors

A rollator is made to be used both outdoors and indoors. For starters, the wheels eliminate the need for tennis balls. Many people put them on the legs of traditional walkers to avoid getting scuff marks on their floors. Besides, rollator wheels make walking along trails and dirt paths so much simpler. As a result, many people who use rollators can enjoy walks in the park with their families.

Can carry items

One benefit of this type of wheeled walker is that some of them come with a basket that is usually fitted immediately beneath the seat. This is accessed by flipping the seat upwards and is great for carrying shopping or other items. Using walking aids for elderly like a rollator can therefore make it viable for longer journeys by foot, maybe to the shops or elsewhere. Using one not only takes the strain out of walking but also provides a portable resting point. Keep in mind that walkers with three wheels don’t typically have a seat.

Extends your walking range

If you’re only capable of walking for short distances and might need a break if you travel further, walking aids for elderly like a four-wheeled rollator might be ideal. The majority of the models have a set in between the handlebars. These provide a great resting point if you find yourself out of breath when you’re out and about.

Lightweight

While the heavier rollators are stronger and great for heavier people, their lightweight counterparts are more manoeuvrable and relatively easy to direct and control. For elderly people who need more support than walking sticks offer, walking aids for elderly UK such as rollators like this often come to play a significant part in their daily lives. Most often, these are made from aluminium than of steel, but both are lightweight and usually resistant to corrosion. Available with either four or three wheels and in a range of colours, these walking aids are ever more popular in the UK. The three-wheeled models tend to be the easiest to control and are generally narrower. This can make them suitable for indoor use as well as outside. Some come with a bag or basket attachment which fits between the handles. Almost all three-wheelers fold up to a relatively small size, making them super easy to transport or store.

Ultimate options in portability

Though deciding to accept help with such a basic skill like walking can feel intimidating, you are no longer limited by the traditional walker. Using a rollator walker can help you maintain an active and independent lifestyle by providing support when you want it, a chance to rest when you need it, and the ultimate options in portability. No longer are you restricted to dragging around a clunky walker when you just aren’t at the level of needing it. Walking aids for elderly UK provide you with an easy transition into a mobility assisted lifestyle.

Now that you have gone through this article, it is time for you to decide whether walking aids for the elderly is for you or one of your family members. Regardless of the reason behind their injury or need to have one of these devices, they must get the right support they need to live their lives smoothly. The last thing you would want is to hinder their happiness by not letting them walk independently wherever they want to. Hence, you have to make sure that you consider getting one of these devices and consult a therapist or doctor first before doing so.

[artificialqueens]

colour me blue, chapter one (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 7422

Vanessa knows as much about the heart as any cardiologist in a hospital.

The four chambers and the valves that connect them. The way that they’re responsible for pumping blood around the entire body, spreading oxygen to where it’s needed the most and keeping the cells alive. How the heart is like the engine of a finely tuned machine, a ticking clock beating out a rhythm that the rest of the body falls into step with.

Vanessa also knows what happens when the heart begins to fail.  

AN: This fic started as a drabble to take a break from my WIPs but then turned into its own beast. It was…an absolute process to write but definitely pushed me in ways that helped me grow as a writer, which is always a good thing. CW in this fic for medical terms, hospital stays, uncertainties re: long term illness. I usually don’t like to give away spoilers, but I will say that there will no main character deaths in this fic, just to be clear. Writ is the absolute best - not only for giving me the prompt, but helping me brainstorm, pushing me to keep writing when I was ready to leave this fic in my google drive forever, and being the best encouragement one could ever ask for. They deserve the world <3

Vanessa knows as much about the heart as any cardiologist in a hospital.

The four chambers and the valves that connect them. The way that they’re responsible for pumping blood around the entire body, spreading oxygen to where it’s needed the most and keeping the cells alive. How the heart is like the engine of a finely tuned machine, a ticking clock beating out a rhythm that the rest of the body falls into step with.

Vanessa also knows what happens when the heart begins to fail.

Her dad keels over during Christmas Day brunch when she’s five, clutching the dining room table with a grip that loosens as he falls off his chair and onto the floor. Vanessa doesn’t understand what death means at the time, not really, at his funeral. The fact that her dad isn’t away on a work trip, that he isn’t ever coming back. That he isn’t going to walk in the door one night in his uniform the way that he always does.

That the stone in the cemetery bearing his name is a finality, a marker that takes his place in this world, now that he’s no longer here.

Vanessa is twelve and her lungs feel like they’re clawing their way out of her chest in gym class, when the teacher is making them run faster, damnit. She doesn’t know that she isn’t supposed to feel like she is going to pass out when she jogs, or as if her insides are collapsing inside of her ribs. She’s not supposed to be seeing white spots in her vision as some of her classmates carry her to the sidelines when her body can’t push her any farther. She shouldn’t be constantly lightheaded, grabbing onto tables and bookshelves and chairs just to keep herself upright.

There’s appointment after appointment and test after test, specialist after specialist because Vanessa’s mother is fiercely protective, overwhelmingly worried after their unit of three becomes a unit of two. She pushes and pushes and pushes until they get an answer, but it’s one that makes Vanessa’s mom nearly keel over, too.

It’s genetic. Autosomal dominant. Passed on from Vanessa’s dad, making the walls in the chambers of her heart stiffer, rougher. Keeping them from being able to properly pump blood to where her body needs it the most. Enough to create the possibility of heart failure at any time, when the well oiled machine will simply crumble under the pressure.

Vanessa’s told that she’s lucky that they’ve caught it so early. That this means they can test solutions and try different medications to maybe make it easier for her heart to pump, to reduce the strain that it constantly shoulders. When the medications don’t work it’s okay, really, she’s told, because there are less invasive surgical options. Ones to try that don’t put her under for that long or have an extended recovery period and will allow her to bounce back quickly.

Except that she never does. Her heart never heals, never reaches its maximum potential. Hell, her heart never lets her be a regular person, because it’s breaking down more and more no matter what the doctors do. No matter how many surgeries she has.

Vanessa’s twenty five and has to quit her job because she’s used up all of her sick days, and because getting up out of bed in the morning is impossible when her body feels so weak.

Her mother hopes, prays, lights candles for the possibility that things will get better. That Vanessa will bounce back, that she’ll get to go back to living without having it snatched away from her like it had been from her father.

Except life doesn’t feel like it’s being snatched away, to Vanessa. It’s being dangled in front of her, possibilities that she isn’t quite able to reach because she’s too weak and can’t exert herself because her heart can’t take it, and maybe, just maybe, another procedure will work. Another surgery.

Until she’s twenty six and lying in a hospital bed and in complete heart failure because nothing has worked, and she can’t walk the five steps to the bathroom without the support of a walker.

Because Vanessa needs a new heart.

Vanessa’s been in the hospital for three months and her current nurse on the cardiology floor is making her scowl.

“It’s not going to be forever. Probably just a few weeks. Then when the floor is less busy, they’ll bring you back.” Asia’s trying to explain why they’re moving Vanessa to another unit the best she can, Vanessa knows. Vanessa just doesn’t get why it has to be her.

“I’ve been stuck here long enough. Why are y’all moving me? Why not someone else on the floor?” Vanessa crosses her arms, careful not to tug on the various wires attached to her chest that are connected to the monitors behind her displaying her heart activity.

“Because apparently the universe wanted to make my day harder and give me a headache, like the one that I’m getting from this argument with you.” Asia lightly swats her shoulder before her features soften. “Look. They don’t move people to other floors unless they’re stable. Which must mean that the team needs to keep less of an eye on you, which is a good thing.”

“I guess.” Vanessa grumbles as she says it, because still. Being the one that gets booted off of the cardiac unit because it is too full isn’t a good feeling, not in the least. Instead, it makes her feel like she doesn’t matter to the team, not if they’re fine with pushing her somewhere else.

“Look on the bright side,” Asia tugs on Vanessa’s phone charger from where it’s hanging off of the side of her bed, blending in with the various wires that are protruding from Vanessa’s frame. “Maybe the room you’re moving to will have an actual working outlet.”

“It better.” The electrical outlet closest to Vanessa’s bed is sporadic, often failing to charge her phone when she plugs it in. She uses the call button more often than not to get the nurses to plug her phone into outlets that she can’t reach from her bed, ignoring their muttered comments of that’s not what the call button is for, Vanjie.

“Besides, you get to bond with a new crop of nurses.” Asia fiddles with the monitors above Vanessa’s bed.  “Aren’t we boring you yet?

“What are you talking about? I love kiki-ing with y’all.” It’s true. Being in the hospital for an extended period of time can be…lonely. There’s only so long that friends and family will continue to visit, before they realize that the hospital is Vanessa’s new normal. Before they get bored of her.

Before they stop visiting.

But she’s got nurses and therapists close to her age, ones that she’s trying her best to bond with. It’s worked with most of them, especially Asia. The cardiac nurses get her. They’re nice, they gossip with her about their lives and feel like coworkers, at most. Coworkers that give her medication and help her transfer out of her bed and try to keep her alive.

“I’ll miss your ass, that’s for sure.” Vanessa sighs as Asia fiddles with the electrode stuck to her collarbone.

Asia snorts. “Will you miss me prodding your arm at 7 a.m. to take your vitals?”

“Better you than some random whack nurse I don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t be mean to them before you even meet them. I heard the general internal medicine team is nice. Kameron is, at least.” Asia’s voice rises slightly as she says the name, and it piques Vanessa’s interest.

“Who’s Kameron?”

“No one.”

Vanessa narrows her eyes. “That sounded hella suspicious.”

“She’s a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” Vanessa nudges Asia’s side, laughing as she scowls.

“So goddamn nosy. Tell me why the other patients don’t needle me like you do?”

Vanessa grins. “‘Cause I know you love spilling shit too, that’s why. I’ll be sure to say hi to Kameron for you.”

Asia’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “Don’t you start.”

The general internal medicine unit is chaotic.

Doctors, nurses, family members running back and forth between rooms, instructions being yelled left and right, beeping machines that somehow did not seem as alarming when Vanessa had still been on the cardiology unit.

While on the cardiology floor, Vanessa had shared her hospital room with a pleasant enough elderly lady who slept for most of the day. So much, in fact, that Vanessa had never actually spoken to her.

Vanessa’s worried about who they’ll place her with now, as she’s wheeled into her new room. Someone in the throes of delirium who will be up at all hours of the night? Someone who turns the TV up way too high, not letting her sleep? Someone who has too much family that comes to visit, meaning that the room will never be quiet again?

But the girl lying in the bed closest to the window is none of those things. Her hair, albeit mussed, is pulled back into a high ponytail, and her makeup-free face is somehow the most beautiful thing Vanessa’s ever seen.

“Hi.” The girl waves at her, a tentative smile on her face and Vanessa realizes, coincidentally, that she has forgotten the entirety of the English language.

Vanessa’s normally bold, brash enough that she has the confidence to go after girls that she’s into. Except that it’s easier when she’s wearing more than a hospital gown, when she’s standing on her own two feet and not feeling like she’s weaker than a year-old baby.

Vanessa squeaks out something that sounds close to a hi, and wants to groan when it makes the girl’s brow furrow.

“You okay? Not in too much pain, are you? I can call the nurse with my call bell-”

“Nah, I’m fine.” Vanessa mumbles the words under her breath, trying her best to tame the mess of her hair with her fingers as discreetly as she can.

“Okay.” The girl shifts in her bed slightly to face her, and Vanessa notices the way that she flinches in pain as she does. “So, fellow inmate. What are you in for?”

The words make Vanessa let out a surprised laugh, make her feel less wound up. “Got a heart that’s been right messing with me.”

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Why, did someone break it?” Her expression is deadpan as she says it, and it makes Vanessa snort.

“Funny. What about you?”

“Appendix nuclear explosion.” The girl points to her abdomen, and Vanessa’s eyes widen at the sutures that criss cross it. “They didn’t get it fast enough and now it’s a mess that they’re still trying to clean up.”

“Damn.” Vanessa lets out a whistle. “So, Miss App-app-appendick, what’s your name?”

“Appendick?” The girl holds back a giggle.

“What?” Vanessa shrugs. “It sounds right, don’t it?”

“Close enough.” The girl’s smiles are reaching her eyes, and the sight makes the tightness in Vanessa’s chest lessen, if only a little. “Brooke. Yours?”

“Vanessa.” She’s not sure, really, why she doesn’t tell Brooke that her name is Vanjie, considering that most people call her that, anyway. But something about the girl makes her want to hold back on it, see what the girl thinks of her actual name.

“Vanessa. I like it.” A small smile builds on the edge of curve of Brooke’s lip, and for a second, Vanessa feels her regular confidence flow back towards her.

That is, at least, until a nurse bounds into the room, muttering about how it’s about time that Vanessa goes to the bathroom, since she hasn’t had a bowel movement since yesterday, and we can’t have that, can we?

Oh, well. She’ll get her game back, somehow.

Vanessa finds out that she likes having a roommate who’s actually awake for most of the day.

Brooke is fun to talk to, almost enough to sometimes make Vanessa forget that she’s stuck in a hospital bed. Almost. Vanessa learns that Brooke is a ballet dancer, part of the corps and working towards becoming a soloist. She’d been performing in a matinee when her appendix ruptured, managing to hold off from collapsing in pain until the curtain call, when she could safely bend over in the wings without any audience members seeing her.

Brooke’s form underneath her gown is toned, long, looking every part of the graceful dancer she is. Vanessa’s lying if she says that she isn’t mesmerized by the way that Brooke reaches over to grab water from her bedside table, especially with how it’s done with an air of delicateness, lightness.

“What about you? What’s your story?” Brooke’s propped up by pillows, turned on her side slightly when she asks the question. Her grey eyes aren’t cool but rather they’re warm, inviting, waiting for Vanessa to talk.

Vanessa, for her part, pauses.

“Oh, y’know,” she tries to keep her face light, her voice casual, “Some shit happening with my heart. Felt some weird beating the other day and they wanna look into it more.”

It’s a lie, maybe, but she doesn’t regret it.

Ever since she was young, Vanessa’s only been known as the sick girl. The girl who’s always in the hospital. The girl who had missed so much school when she was a kid that she’d had to be taught by a teacher in the hospital. The girl who is unable to keep a job for too long because she has to take off work again and again, days when she’s so weak she can’t get out of bed, other days spent in clinics and at appointments with specialists monitoring her useless excuse of a heart.

Vanessa hates it. Being defined by something that she has no control over, something that she wish could fix itself because it’s taken over way, way too much of her life. For once, just once, she doesn’t want it to be a big deal. Even though she’s in a hospital.

Brooke, for her part, buys it. “Wow. Hope they find out. Nothing too serious, you think?”

“Nah.” Vanessa shrugs. “I’ll be out of here in no time.”

God, she wishes.

“What do you do for work?” Brooke looks at her expectantly and it surprises Vanessa, almost, how fast she lets the subject change, because she’s not used to it. Her friends, her family draw out conversations about her shitty heart for ages, fake pitying expressions on their faces that Vanessa wishes she had the power to slap away.

“Makeup artist.” Vanessa grins when Brooke’s face lights up. “I work at MAC, and got a few freelance clients on the side.”

So what if MAC shifts are far and few between because she’s not a dependable employee anymore? She’s trying. It helps to be in a job where she gets to rest, sit down quite a bit. Her body wouldn’t be able to handle it otherwise.

“Is that why you still have mascara on while in the hospital?” Brooke’s smile is cheeky and it makes Vanessa snort.

“Maybe. Can’t ruin my brand and be fully makeup-free.”

“You’re still cute without it, though.” Brooke winks at her, or at least Vanessa thinks so, and the sight makes her heart do a little flip in her chest. Is she flirting with her? Vanessa can’t tell. But she’s absolutely going to play into it.

“So are you, you tall, leggy model.” The words leave Vanessa’s lips before she can stop herself, but Brooke is grinning, thank god, hasn’t taken them in a bad way.

“Leggy, huh? You can tell even under these blankets?”

Vanessa shrugs. “You can’t get up and show me, so a girl’s gotta assume. How tall are you?”

“Five eleven.”

“What?”

Vanessa’s mouth drops open and Brooke’s laughing, laughing at her, but goddamn. Brooke really is an Amazon.

“Why, how tall are you?” Brooke can’t tell from all the blankets that Vanessa is under, but she doesn’t want to answer, really, not after hearing that Brooke is five eleven.

“Five three.” Vanessa mumbles the words, scowling when Brooke claps a hand over her mouth. “What?”

“You’re tiny!”

“Am not.”

“Practically pocket-sized.”

“I’m tall in personality!” Vanessa huffs and crosses her arms. She’s not that short, she isn’t.

But Brooke’s still grinning. “So tall. Though I do like short girls.”

Vanessa’s brain is about to short circuit. Is Brooke flirting with her? Or is the extended time being cooped up in a hospital bed making her brain go a little bit loopy?

Vanessa normally has game. But right now she can’t do much more than stare at Brooke open mouthed, something that Brooke is clearly enjoying.

“You’ll let bugs fly into your mouth if you keep it open any longer.”

“Shut up.”

They’re eating shitty hospital food for lunch and Brooke is antsy beside Vanessa.

“Okay, what?” Vanessa turns to Brooke because she’s been tapping the railing of her bed for the last half an hour. Vanessa wouldn’t press the issue except for the fact that Brooke keeps biting her lip, clinking her fork on her plate, her eyes all shifty.

“Nothing.” Brooke looks away from her, down at the pasta on her tray that doesn’t appear to be very appetizing, from the way that most of it is still in the bowl.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Brooke bites her lip. “They rounded this morning while you were asleep.”

“As they do every morning at 8 a.m., yeah.”

“They wanna do another exploratory surgery.”

“For your appendix?” Vanessa’s eyes widen. Brooke’s complications must be worse than previously thought.

Brooke pauses. “Hey, look at you pronouncing appendix correctly.”

“Shut up.” Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. “We’re talking about you right now.”

Brooke sighs. “They wanna see if they’ve missed things. I mean, aside from the first surgery, I’ve never really had any, and I don’t want to go under again. What if things go wrong?”

“Hey, hey.” Vanessa wishes that Brooke were closer so that she could reach over, squeeze her hand. “They do tons of surgeries every day here. They know what they’re doing.”

“But what if this time, they don’t?”

“You don’t know that. But you gotta trust that they do without assuming the worst before it even happens.”

“I guess.” Brooke sighs, and Vanessa wants to tell her, she really does, about the various procedures that she’s gone through as a child to make Brooke feel better, but at the same time…

It’s nice not to be the focus of medical attention for once.

“When are they thinking of scheduling it for?”

”A week.”

“Does this mean I can film you coming out of sedation?”

“What?” Brooke looks over at her, lets out a laugh, the exact effect that Vanessa wants.

“Bet you’ll say hysterical shit.”

“You better not.”

Vanessa grins. “Sorry, didn’t hear you there. Can’t wait to hear all the crazy things you say.”

“Nooo.” Brooke whines, and Vanessa doesn’t want to tell her that she won’t come back to the unit until the sedation has worn off, because her reaction is making her crack up.

“Maybe you’ll spill all your deepest darkest secrets.”

“Absolutely not-”

“Maybe you’ll confess your love for your nurse.” Vanessa holds back a laugh at Brooke’s look of horror.

“Anita’s at least 60!”

“And quite the looker. Hey, maybe you’re into cougars.”

“Ugh.” Brooke makes a face but she’s grinning too, Vanessa can see it. “Definitely not my type.”

“So what is your type?” Vanessa meets Brooke’s gaze with a raised eyebrow, a challenge. Two can play at this game.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Brooke wastes no time in answering, winking again, and Vanessa’s definitely not imagined it this time around.

She’s glad that Brooke goes to take a sip of her coffee, so she can try to come up with at least something coherent. Sure, she’s become more used to being Brooke’s hospital roommate as the days go by, but her gay ass sure hasn’t yet.

Vanessa’s cardiologist and physiotherapist and nurse pop into her room one day while Brooke’s asleep.

“Bad time?” Nina’s holding a clipboard, rifling through the sheets in front of her. Vanessa’s known her cardiologist for long enough that she doesn’t have to call her Dr. West anymore. It’s both a great and terrible feeling.

Vanessa gives her a look. “You really think I got anything else to do right now?”

Her physiotherapist, Kameron, snorts, though tries to stifle it under Nina’s gaze.

“Fair enough.” Nina leans against the wall, peeking over at Brooke. “Are you worried about her overhearing? We can move you outside into the hallway if you want-”

“She’s asleep. Doesn’t matter.” Vanessa waves a hand. “So, any news on the waitlist?”

“Moved up a couple spots, though not by much.” Nina’s face is apologetic, and it makes Vanessa want to scowl.

“Why am I so damn low on it?” Vanessa doesn’t want to show how scared she really is about it. She’s been waiting for months, months, unable to do much or exert herself lest her heart give out on her. Waiting for the other shoe to drop and for things to go south. It’s like she’s walking on a minefield, about to step on explosives at any time that will finally take her out.

She wishes it could stop.

“You’ll move up soon enough. These things are dynamic, they fluctuate.” Nina’s words don’t even look as if they’re convincing to herself, which bodes well for Vanessa. “In the meantime, we’re thinking we may trial another medication. We’ll see if it helps with oxygenation a little bit more.”

“Sure, why not.” Vanessa’s resigned as she says it, because really, will it even make a difference? Will anything actually change for the better?

After so many years, she’s stopped hoping. It’s hard to hope when it feels like she has no fight left in her anymore.

Her situation has been the same since before she was a teenager, and nothing’s changed. She’s still living a half life, one that she can’t fully enjoy because she always has the worries in the back of her mind. Ones that keep her away from everything that she wants to be able to do.

But she has to tolerate it. She has no choice, not when her doctors and nurses are walking away, waving at her as they go to consult on another patient. Not when they have nothing left to give to her.

Vanessa and Brooke fall into a routine, of sorts. They binge shows, alternating episodes of Schitt’s Creek and 90 Day Fiancé because they can. They complain about the shitty hospital food, trying to bribe the nurses to get them something better from the cafeteria, a tactic that never quite works.

It’s another week before Vanessa meets Brooke’s family, arriving in a flurry of buttoned up peacoats to fawn at her bedside.

“Honestly, Brooke Lynn, why do you have to work so far away from home?” Brooke’s mother is smoothing her hair, tucking it behind her ears, and Brooke looks younger than Vanessa’s ever seen her.

“I can’t control which ballet company gives me a job, Mom.” Brooke’s eyes are happy, when her sister and her mom pull up chairs at her bedside. It makes Vanessa’s heart tug, just a little.

“Still, I wish you were closer and we didn’t have to take two flights to get here.” Brooke’s mother sheds her coat on her chair. “Though the food they gave us was quite nice.”

Brooke snorts. “You’re the only person who actually likes airport food.”

Brooke’s sister turns towards Vanessa then, and the sudden eye contact makes her freeze. Vanessa hadn’t wanted to bother Brooke and her family; she had wanted to look busy, but it’s too late, because Brooke’s sister is waving at her.

“B, you didn’t even introduce your room buddy.”

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “Room buddy?”

“Hey, it fits.” Brooke’s sister shrugs.

Vanessa finds her voice then, because Brooke’s family looks nice enough. “Vanessa.”

“Nice to meet you, dear.” Brooke’s mom has kind eyes and Vanessa feels a longing in her heart that isn’t being caused by her existing cardiac problems.

“Nice to meet y’all, too.” Vanessa grabs a book from her bedside table, buries her face into it while Brooke and her mom and sister continue talking, trying to ignore the realization that her own mom hasn’t visited in weeks.

It’s not her mom’s fault, it’s really not. Vanessa has to remind herself of that. She gets it.

The fact that her father died of the same thing makes it…eerie. Vanessa feels like a ticking time bomb, one her mom clearly doesn’t want to watch as she slowly reaches end of her timer, when history will inevitably repeat itself. Vanessa understands why her mom wants to stay away and avoid watching her daughter go down the same route. Save herself from the pain as much as possible and instead burying herself in her work.

It doesn’t stop Vanessa from feeling lonely, though.

She misses having people. Having her mom brush her hair out of her face, hold her hand while she’s getting tests done. Be there to listen with her with the doctors spew more and more predictions about how her heart is going to hold up.

It’s not that Vanessa can’t handle the burden, be the foundation on her own. She just misses having reinforcements, strengths around it.

She misses her mom.

Brooke’s mom and sister leave for the night, but not before bringing the two of them McDonalds. The sight of the bags, with the mouthwatering smell from the food inside wafting around the room, makes Vanessa pause.

Technically, she’s supposed to avoid foods with excess sodium, as the extra salt makes her heart work harder than it’s supposed to, wears it down faster. But at the same time, she can’t bring herself to care.

She picks up a burger.

“I haven’t had McDonalds in ages.” Vanessa’s missed burgers, she really has, because there’s only so much bland hospital food she’s been able to take.

“I’m more of a Swiss Chalet fan, myself.” Brooke’s still munching on her burger, but Vanessa tilts her head.

“The hell is that?”

“Food place in Canada. Lots of roast chicken and gravy.” Brooke’s eyes are already getting a wistful, a faraway look in her eyes as she’s thinking about it.

Vanessa wrinkles her nose, because it doesn’t sound that appetizing. “That’s some white people fast food.”

Brooke shrugs. “It’s good. The gravy is nectar from the gods.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” No wonder Brooke doesn’t mind the hospital food as much. Vanessa looks over at her, the way she’s tossing back some French fries. “Real nice of your mom and sister to bring me some food, too.”

Brooke smiles, her face all warm and Vanessa’s glad that she has support from her family, at least. “They’re great.”

Brooke pauses then, looking over at her, and Vanessa can tell that she’s figuring out how to word a question. One that Vanessa already knows is coming.

“So, I’ve never seen yours come to visit.” Brooke’s voice is light as she looks down at her food, clearly trying to avoid eye contact. “Do they live far, too?”

Vanessa bites her lip, takes a bite of her burger to give herself time before she has to answer. “Oh, y’know. My mom works a lot, that’s all. Besides, we talk here and there on the phone.”

It’s a lie, and Vanessa knows it, and Brooke does too, from the way Vanessa can see the gears turning in her head. “I’ve never heard you talk to anyone on the phone except-”

“It’s while you’re asleep, drop it.” Vanessa scowls, crossing her arms. She doesn’t mean to snap, she doesn’t, but she doesn’t want to talk about the fact that her mom doesn’t fucking visit and that her friends are too busy with their own lives and settling down and she’s been left behind.

She doesn’t want to.

“Okay, sorry.” Brooke holds her hands up in defeat and Vanessa almost feels bad. Almost. “Won’t bring it up.”

“Good.” Vanessa takes a bite of her burger, chewing with a little more force than necessary, and she wonders why she’s feeling a bit more out of breath than usual.

Kameron knocks on their door while Vanessa and Brooke are discussing the finer points of the latest season of Stranger Things.

“I’m just saying, the ending was a cop out-”

“Was not- ”

“Ahem.” Kameron’s grinning at both of them when Vanessa’s about to talk about the next potential season. “As much as I want to join in this discussion, I gotta take you one after the other for physio.”

Vanessa lets out a grumble that is mirrored by Brooke, and it makes Kameron snort. “Y’all are quite a pair. So, who’s gonna suffer first?”

Vanessa’s mouth drops open when Brooke immediately points in her direction. “Traitor!”

Brooke shrugs. “You snooze, you lose.”

Vanessa huffs but does her best to sit up nonetheless, letting Kameron bring her walker over to the side of her bed.

“Can I ditch this thing yet? I feel old as hell.” Vanessa hates the damn walker. It only serves to remind her of how weak she’s gotten.

“As soon as you can walk the length of the unit without near collapsing on me, it’s gone.” Kameron’s hand is on her back to steady her as she stands. Vanessa hates how much she has to lean her weight on the thing.

“Walkers are for the elderly.” Nonetheless, Vanessa clutches the handles to keep her balance.

“Technically, it’s a rollator.”

“Giving it a fancy Transformers name ain’t helping.”

Brooke’s watching them with a thoroughly entertained expression. “You always this much fun in physio sessions, Vanessa?”

Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. “I’m a delight.”

“Not sure if that’s the word I’d use.” Kameron snickers, poking her shoulder when she begins to protest. “C’mon, time to walk and build up that strength.”

Vanessa’s drained after one lap around the unit, gripping the handles of the walker with shaky hands and Kameron’s hands keeping her half-upright. By the time they get back to the room, Vanessa’s bed feels like heaven rather than the prison that it usually is.

“You good?” Brooke’s brow is furrowed in concern as she sits up from her own bed, ready for her turn to walk with Kameron.

“Yeah, fine.” So what if the words come out in a slight wheeze? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. “I’m good.”

Except that Vanessa feels like her body’s made of lead, pulling her down, down, down into the earth to never be able to get up again. Not with the way she’s exhausted from just one lap around the floor.

“That tired you out more than usual.” Kameron’s brow knits in concern as she lowers the head of Vanessa’s bed.

“I’m fine.” Still, Vanessa has to close her eyes, catch her breath as she says it. Not a convincing lie.

Thankfully, Kameron lets the subject drop, and part of Vanessa hopes that Brooke’s laps around the floor take longer so that she has a second on her own to contemplate how messed up her life really has become.

“So, she says it’s to match the ‘rainforest’ theme that’s been chosen for the party, right? Well, get this. She goes orange and green. Orange and green! Who fucking wants that for a look?”

Brooke’s laughing at everything Vanessa is saying and Vanessa can’t help the way she preens a little, embraces it. “What did it turn out like?”

“Oh, hideous.” Vanessa waves a hand, laughing when Brooke claps a hand over her mouth. “She looked like a fucking weird snake creature.”

“Oh my god. You’re ridiculous.” Brooke’s giggling, and Vanessa never, ever wants to stop hearing the sound of it. “Are you this indulgent with all your clients?”

“Only the crazy bitches who’d try and fight me if I didn’t do exactly what they wanted. Even if the final look was more scary than anything.” Vanessa pauses, remembering the client, along with every other person she’s done makeup for. “Didn’t want them to speak with no manager.”

“You should do my makeup sometime. It would be fun?” Brooke phrases it like a question, and her smile is tentative, but it makes Vanessa gasp, try and sit up, before falling right back down on her pillow.

“Are you kidding me? Absolutely. I’ll make you all banjie, fit my aesthetic.” She’s excited just thinking about it. Brooke’s high cheekbones, her eyes, her bone structure-

Vanessa’s only ruminating on all of it because of the possibilities for makeup, that’s all. No other reason.

Nope.

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “What’s banjie?’

Vanessa can’t help but grin. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Vanessa makes a mental note to her own body to get its shit together. To allow her to fucking sit up again without running out of breath, becoming light headed, feeling weak. She has a new client, after all.

The attending doctor and resident and nurses pass by for their evening rounds as Vanessa’s describing the kind of makeup look she wants to try out on Brooke. The attending frowns when he looks up at the monitors above Vanessa’s bed, a sight that makes Vanessa’s stomach churn in unease. She hates that look.

“Miss Mateo’s sats are getting pretty low, aren’t they?”

“Hello? I’m right here.” Vanessa stops just short of lifting up a hand, snapping it in the healthcare team’s faces. She hates the way they pretend to talk above her sometimes, as if she’s not privy to conversation about her own body.

The attending pays her no mind, turning towards her nurse instead. “I’d say lets try nasal prongs for the next couple hours, see if that increases her oxygen saturation.”

Vanessa tilts her head slightly, looking up at the monitor behind her. Eighty nine percent. She knows from years and years of being in the hospital that anything below ninety five percent is considered low, and that dropping saturation levels mean that she’s not getting the oxygen she needs, that her heart isn’t doing a good job of pumping the blood to where it’s supposed to go.

She doesn’t want a tube by her nose, though. It would make her look sicker than she already is.

“Don’t I get a choice?” She grumbles the words and only the resident hears her, sympathetically reaching out to pat her shoulder.

“It’s only to help you.” The attending doctor doesn’t even look up as he says it, and it makes Vanessa bristle.

The doctors to round on the next patient without much room for argument, and Vanessa’s nurse is apologetic as she brings over a set of nasal prongs.

“They’ll make you feel better, promise.” Scarlet hands over the tubing to Vanessa so that she can put it on herself, and part of Vanessa appreciates it, that someone at least is recognizing her competency.

“Don’t mean I gotta like it.”

Brooke turns to her as Scarlet leaves the room. “Gotta say, you pull them off well.”

“Don’t you even start with me.”

“Latest fall trend?”

Vanessa snorts in spite of herself. “I know what you’re tryna do.”

“What?” Brooke’s face is the picture of innocence, and it makes Vanessa feel a little bit lighter, with how she’s playing along.

“Tryna make me feel better.”

Brooke tuts. “I’m doing nothing of the sort. Just saying that you’ve started a new couture look. Might have to pick up a pair myself.”

Brooke winks at her, and Vanessa can’t help the small smile that’s growing on her face. “Still. Thanks.”

“I get how it feels, being stuck in here. It’s…not easy.” Brooke bites a lip. “I’m glad it’s you that I’m sharing a room with, and we have a blast, but I feel-”

“Powerless?”

“Yeah.” Brooke’s looking up at her, all traces of previous joking gone. “Like we’re disconnected from everything on the outside.”

“God, I get it.” Vanessa really does. Everyone’s moving on without them, getting farther and farther in life. Working, settling down, doing something with themselves. “Everyone’s doing things while we can’t.”

“At least this isn’t going to be forever. We’ll be back out there in no time.” Brooke’s smile is encouraging, and it makes Vanessa’s stomach turn a little, because Brooke will.

She won’t.

Though she doesn’t want Brooke to know. Doesn’t want her to worry.

“Yeah, we’ll get better before we know it.”

If only.

Their room feels just a little bit too empty to Vanessa when Brooke is whisked away for her surgery. It’s strange - back on the cardiology unit, she had relished the chance to have some peace and quiet. Now, though? She can’t stand the silence.

Their little micro-universe feels like it’s slipping away as Brooke begins to heal. She needs to stay in bed less, being less tired as the days go on, walking more and more with physio.

Vanessa’s happy for her, she is, because being stuck in a hospital bed is not something she would wish on anyone. The mundaneness. The feeling of helplessness. Watching everyone come and go, walking past their room without any inkling of how lucky they are just to be up and moving.

But at the same time, she wishes she was improving at the same rate. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to happen any time soon. Vanessa’s been needing the nasal prongs more often than not, no matter how much she grumbles as she wears them. She gets lightheaded, weaker, without them, closer to passing out the longer she tries to keep them off to prove that they’re not necessary.

Her stupid excuse of a heart is truly testing her patience.

Kameron doesn’t push her to walk anymore, something that makes Vanessa pissed, because she’s still gotta try, damn it. But at the same time, she’s grateful. She doesn’t want Brooke to see how weak she’s gotten. Hell, she doesn’t even want to know the whole scope of it herself. She doesn’t want to deal with it anymore.

She wants things to go back to normal. Well, as normal as they’ve ever been. For Vanessa, normal is being able to walk and talk and work and not be in the hospital. That’s all that she wants.

Brooke is dangling her feet from the edge of her bed one afternoon when they’ve finished a Jeopardy episode. “I’m still hungry.”

“We just had lunch.” Vanessa’s half right, because Brooke had her lunch. Vanessa’s not that hungry.

“You haven’t been out of bed in days. Let’s go somewhere. Let’s grab coffee from the cafeteria.” Brooke’s looking excited by the idea, standing up and slipping on her shoes. Without her walker, since she doesn’t need it anymore.

Vanessa’s only a little bit jealous.

“I’m tired as hell.” It’s not a lie, because Vanessa really is. Except that there’s not a time these days that she isn’t.

“Are you sure? Want me to bring you something back?” Brooke’s question makes Vanessa smile, just a little.

“I’m fine.”

Vanessa doesn’t want Brooke to know that Kameron downgraded her to using only a wheelchair, rather than the walker. It’s embarrassing. She doesn’t want to use it. So, she’s not going to. So what if she’s going to be in bed forever now?

Brooke is unfazed. “‘Kay. I’ll be back.”

She’s waltzing out of the room before Vanessa can even say goodbye, past the four walls that are slowly becoming the only part of the world that Vanessa is exposed to these days.

Vanessa tugs off the nasal prongs when Brooke gets back. Brooke raises an eyebrow as she does, but doesn’t comment. Hands her a muffin instead.

“I wanna get out of here.” Vanessa’s made up her mind.

Brooke takes a sip of her soft drink. “Thought you were tired.”

“I’m always tired. I don’t wanna be tired here.”

Vanessa doesn’t want to have to die while staring at the same four walls day in and day out. A prison of her body’s making, her heart the instigator that’s dooming her to a half, trapped life that may not even last that long.

If this is all she’s going to get, if this is the extent of her future? She doesn’t care anymore.

“Are you even allowed to leave the unit?”

Brooke’s question is valid, but it makes Vanessa scowl, tuck the red bracelet that denotes she can’t under her sleeve. “Doesn’t matter.”

Why should it even be an issue? Why does Vanessa have to spend her already shitty existence trapped where she doesn’t even want to be?

“Pretty sure nursing will ream you out if you try and go.” Brooke’s biting her lip now, and Vanessa’s starting to regret ever roping her into it. Someone who still has an inkling of self preservation left, someone who’s still trying to play within the rules.

Brooke deserves better than her.

“They’ll get over it. Come on, it’ll be fun.” She wiggles her brows, and she can see Brooke’s resolve beginning to break. “We can be like Bonnie and Clyde or some shit.”

“Okay, but didn’t Bonnie and Clyde rob people-”

“Irrelevant.” Vanessa waves her hand before pointing at the wheelchair in the corner of the room, still folded up and unused. Brooke gives in, walking over to grab it and bring it towards the side of her bed. Success.

Vanessa takes a deep breath before attempting to get up. Sure, physio and nursing had drilled the importance of having two people helping her transfer to and from the bed. Saying that she’s a falls risk, that she can hurt herself with the slightest of missteps.

But when Vanessa’s able to get her butt into the wheelchair with just a smidge of exertion, she smiles for the first time in days. Nursing and physio can suck it.

Brooke giggles as she pushes Vanessa’s wheelchair into the hospital’s atrium, past the piano and the front desk and the small garden. “I feel like we’re fugitives.”

Vanessa cranes her neck to look up at her. “Does that make me precious cargo?”

Brooke snorts. “You’re priceless.”

Vanessa can’t help the way that she peeks around the hallways as the walk, eyes out for any nursing from their unit, any therapists or physicians that could spot them and wonder why she’s not on the unit.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. She can go without her nasal prongs for twenty minutes. She can handle being up in the chair for the length of time it takes to get a fucking coffee.

At least, that’s what she’s trying to tell herself as Brooke pushes her up to the Starbucks.

Brooke’s debating between a London Fog or a latte, and Vanessa’s never noticed, really, how pretty Brooke’s eyes are. How her face lights up while she’s scanning the menu, how delicate her movements are as she goes to pay. Even as a patient in a hospital, Brooke manages to glow. Vanessa’s not sure whether to be jealous or infatuated.

But by the way she can feel her own cheeks heat up as Brooke passes her drink to her, she has an inkling of which one it could be.

Vanessa’s breathless as they head back, dropping her head to rest on her hand. She’s still giggling over the pianist’s song choices in the lobby, and can hear Brooke doing the same as she pushes her chair.

The elevator ride back up to the unit feels final, as if they’re reaching the end of something. Vanessa tries to ignore the feeling and push it away, to focus instead on how she and Brooke had people watched in the lobby, giving every passing by patient or doctor or nurse an outlandish backstory. How Brooke had given her a sip of her drink, taken a sip of hers in return. How Vanessa hadn’t felt like a patient for once, ignoring the aches and pains in her body and the straining in her chest so that she could focus on the way Brooke beamed at her, eyes alight and full of so many possibilities.

Except the lightness in her chest drops, pulling her back down deep into the earth like an anchor as soon as the doors of the elevator open back up.

Because there’s a gaggle of nurses. Doctors. Her cardiologist. Her… mom?

A group of people looking very, very, mad.

Vanessa shrinks in the wheelchair as she hears Brooke gulp above her.

Whoops.

[rockthistowninsideout]

So you might know that I’m writing an October Man fanfic. I’ve already published the cover and two chapters. What would follow would be chapter three, but that’s not finished yet.

What is finished, though, is chapter four and I want to share it with you because I’m really proud of it. Until further notice only here on tumblr.

Thomas Nightingale is not the only tragic gay practitioner from whom the War took everything...

When the door buzzed, I suddenly felt it: herbal liqueur, heavy machines stomping, a dust of coal that triggered a cough even though the air was as clean and fresh as a daisy.

A signare.

As I had noticed in my first KDA case, I was remarkably sensitive for magical traces even though I had never had anything to do with it beforehand. Thanks to that and the training I had received by now, I knew instinctively what was about to come. I pulled Tobi, whose frown told me that he had reached the same conclusion, behind my back and opened the door.

A sizzling werelight shot out of the door with a blazing white train trailing behind it. It stopped midway hovering above the weedfree pavement before it suddenly made a sharp beeline and came racing towards us.

I watched in horror - I was lucky if my werelights lasted longer than a minute and shone as bright as a flashlight - but then my view was blocked because Tobi yanked me back and stepped in front of me. A heartbeat later, the feisty werelight burst into a thousand sparks. I took a deep breath.

Tobi turned to me. "You okay?"

I exhaled relieved. "Thank you, yes. What about you?"

He just nodded and rounded the still open door. As I followed him I saw an elderly man now standing in the doorway, a rogueish smile gleaming in his piercing blue eyes. He might have been around eighty, judging by the crowfeet around those eyes and the many creases around his mouth that was curled upwards in one corner. His hair, though, was mostly still black. While my eighty-three-year-old grandpa needed a wheeled walker all the time, the man in front of us didn't; on the contrary, his stance was square and precise, despite the protruding belly, as if he'd been in the military before retiring.

"Paul Arno Rossbusch?" Tobi asked in a professional tone, though I heard a certain edge of wariness in his voice. He tried to make it not too obvious but I felt how he erected a shielding spell in front of him.

The man nodded. "The one and only." He huffed and scrutinized Tobi from head to toe, amused by something I couldn’t place. Maybe he knew that Tobi’s shield was useless against his repertoire.

Tobi and I held up our ID's. While I was a little impressed with his skills, I definitely couldn't let slide how he had demonstrated them. "You are aware, Mr Rossbusch, that your werelight classifies as attack on enforcement officers? That can earn you a jail term from three months up to five years. I guess that would not be the way you want to spend the rest of your pension" I said sharply.

Rossbusch just waved. "Nah, it was merely a test. Bianca had called and said that the wizard police was on their way."

We exchanged a glance. He certainly was a practitioner himself, why did he use incorrect terminology?

"So you call yourself a wizard?" Tobi asked slyly?

He laughed. "God forbid! I share a certain dislike for the police with my granddaughter, is all. But please, come in. There are no practitioners around here anymore."

We followed him into a typical GDR single-family house, the one we had seen countless identical times since leaving the A4 in Schmölln this morning. I supposed that the uninspired grey plastering was still original.

Inside, the vestibule was already crowded with only three people standing in it, before we proceded through the hall and then into the kitchen. Its floor was tiled in a black and white checkerboard pattern, footworn but polished, and the cupboard fronts were brown and a faded white, dulled by grease and dust and years of use.

"Do you want a coffee?" Rossbusch asked and turned to a coffee brewer, aside from the ceramic glass cooktop the only new-looking appliance here.

"Yes, thank you" we said simultaneously, then chuckled both. Before joining the KDA I would have said “Jinxed” to this but now I was more careful because I could actually get jinxed.

While the brewer was fizzling, Rossbusch leaned against the countertop and crossed his arms. "Bianca was reluctant to tell me what exactly brings you here, so please enlighten me."

Tobi stood up straight, scraping together all possible inches, but he was still half a head shorter than Rossbusch. Positioning his thumbs in the belt loops of his cargo pants, he said "We are investigating the incident on the A72 construction side. Witnesses say that there was a supernatural force involved."

"A supernatural force!" Rossbusch huffed. "What kind of supernatural is that supposed to be?"

"Actually, we are the ones asking questions" I said with a raised eyebrow.

Tobi lifted his right hand just a bit to shush me. "My colleague's actually right but because you might have useful information for us I'm gonna tell you. The witness said something about ghosts."

Immediately, Rossbusch's brow furrowed. "Ghosts? There? I don't know about that. And if, then they are either not recorded or haven't been ghosts for long. The only ghosts that I know of walk abroad in Peche, Geitn, Grimme, and Flößberch. But maybe that one stayed under the radar? Since my time in Flößberch, I'm out of sorts with ghosts. They're nothing but trouble." He snuffled disparagingly.

I had pulled out my notepad to keep track but stumbled over the places he'd named. "Uhm, sorry, could you repeat the towns?" I asked, still trying to make sense of the names.

He eyed me for long moment before said with a sneer "You're not local, aren't you. Pardon my Saxonian dialect. The official names are Pegau, Geithain, Grimma, and Flößberg, young lady."

"Don't call me 'young lady'" I muttered grouchily. Those places I faintly recognised from the map I had studied while we'd been driving to Rossbusch's place.

"What happened in Flößberg?" Tobi asked in a tone that raised my hackles. It sounded as if he knew of something I didn't.

Rossbusch seemed to have noticed that, too, because when I saw his cold stare another shiver ran down my spine. I hoped that Tobi knew what he was doing.

Just in that moment the coffee brewer beeped, and Rossbusch turned to fill us all a cup. After having taken a long sip, despite the coffee being scaldingly hot, he finally said "Flößberg was my Ettersberg. Did you know that Flößberg was a subcamp to Buchenwald? So you bet your ass that they did the exact same thing. Originally, I'm from Leipzig, taught by Wilhelm August Großmann, esteemed publisher and one of the most flamboyant practitioners of the 1920s -"

A shell-shocked "The what?" slipped from my lips before I could stop myself. If he had been a young man in the 1920s he shouldn't be alive anymore.

Rossbusch directed his cold stare at me now. "I don't like to be interrupted" he hissed.

I shrunk under his gaze and apoligizingly said "Sorry! Go on, please."

He cleared his throat and resumed as if I'd never interrupted him. "We met at the St. Thomas Choir. I was a pupil, just about fifteen, and he was the half-brother of our cantor Karl Straube. They disliked each other passionately, Straube was one of the first to enter the NSDAP while Wilhelm, considerably younger than Straube, was more or less openly homosexual and a big fan of jazz music. I realized pretty quickly that Wilhelm was interested in me in a way that surpassed friendliness. Today he'd be seen as a pedophile, and I agree on that now. But back then I was flattered and, yes, later on also hopelessly in love with him."

He took another sip from his coffee. I noticed that I'd held my breath and inhaled needily.

Rossbusch continued. "He showed me what he knew which was more than I could have ever dreamt of. He was a registered practitioner - that brought about his downfall. But I guess that Straube had his fare share in his brother's deportation by ratting him out to the authorities in 1932. He was sentenced to eight years in gaol before being deported to Auschwitz. It's not recorded what happened afterwards but I guess he was gassed upon arrival. I doubt that he was 'strong enough' to carry out any work."

He paused again and stayed quiet for a long time, his face a mask of unfathomable grief. I tried my best to keep my professional façade up but internally I was shaking. I wondered what had happened to Rossbusch.

After another stretch of silence he finally spoke again. "I was spared because I fled Leipzig right after Hitler's rise to power and hid with my parents who had a farm somewhere in the countryside. Still, they found me in '44 and deported me to Flößberg, for both being gay and a practitioner. They had offered me redemption by joining the army. But I refused. Because Ettersberg was bursting at the seams, and Flößberg was, as I said, a subcamp I was sent there. I guess that this saved my life. This and the fairies populating the forest. I'd strayed there while working on train tracks, and only emerged a few days before the camp was closed and we were all deported back to Weimar until the Allies freed the camp. The Folly raid had already happened, otherwise they might have killed me as well."

He shrugged. I shot Tobi a glance. The Folly was the British version of the KDA, led by Thomas Nightingale. He and his decision to train an apprentice were basically the reason why Tobi and I were standing here. By having an apprentice, Nightingale had broken a treaty between Germany and Great Britain. I was not too mad about it as it gave me the chance to become a practitioner myself. And I hoped that one day I would meet Nightingale and Peter. And if it was just to ask what exactly had happened in Buchenwald. The concentration camp that I had visited during my school time was Natzweiler-Struthof near Natzwiller in France.

I wondered why he had spoken so freely about his trauma when he had admitted earlier that he didn’t think too highly of us. But I realized that we were, beside his granddaughter, the only people he could disclose his true identity to. From what I knew, the Director had been the only registered practitioner for a long time. That’s why she’d been chosen as head of our Department. I suspected that Rossbusch was unregistered, despite some secret decrees on both sides of the Iron Curtain during the Cold War that required well-trained practitioners. Maybe he’d pledged himself to never serve an authoritarian regime after his experiences under Nazi rule.

“This is truly heartbreaking” Tobi acknowledged after some moments of reflection, “But I fear that we have to establish you as an unregistered practitioner. Usually, this is followed up by severe consequences for the suspect, especially when having gone unnoticed for so long, but maybe, considering the traumatic events in your early life a reprimand will suffice. That’s not our decision to make, though. Now back to the reason we’re actually here for.”

I bumped his shoulder with mine and gave him a long look. That man had just spilled his heart out, was probably right back in the camp after having torn his scarred wounds open for us, and Tobi wanted to go back to business just like that?

One of his eyebrows shot up, asking what I wanted from him, and I jerked my head sideways towards Rossbusch who just in that moment broke his mug because he’d held it too tight.

We both jumped while Rossbusch, muttering “sorry” under his breath, cast a cleaning spell. The splinters reassembled in the air between us until the mug was perfectly whole again.

“Err, Mr Rossbusch, what I actually meant to say is: If you see yourself able I would like to ask you one more question about the ghosts that you talked about. Maybe one of them turns out to be our suspect after all” Tobi asked more gently now.

Rossbusch chuckled. “I highly doubt that. But sure, I if it makes you happy I can tell you.” He refilled his cup, took a sip, and continued “In Pegau, in 1664, died a young man at the hands, actually at the beak, of a gander which slashed the man’s wrists and he bled to death. That happened as part of a morbid form of people’s merriment: The gander was hung between two poles and young men contended on horses to take the poor animal down. The young man’s fate is the late gander’s revenge, I suppose.

In Geithain, a cry of dismay can be heard every once in a while. It stems from a young choir boy’s ghost who died when he and his friends wanted to steal the young of a jackdaw. He had climbed up to the nest but refused to share the offspring and so the other boys let him fall down the tower. A stone at the church commemorates this incident.

In Grimma, a wedding was cursed when attending students sang reworked funeral songs that send the bride to a grave and prophesied her resurrection. Three days later, the bride died from the plague, a few days later also the groom and the bride’s two brothers.

And the camp in Flößberg was filled with ghosts. All those who’d died there haunted the place because they’d been left to rot in a mass grave only a few feet away from the barracks. Most of them were Jews, one or two I knew a little closer but most of them I had just seen a couple of times in camp before I’d disappeared. When I came back the camp was hopelessly overcrowded, and the ghosts just made it more claustrophobic. But they’re all at rest now since the place’s become a proper memorial site. I think that’s a dead end for you.”

“Please leave it to us what is and what isn’t relevant” Tobi said coolly before extending a hand. “Nevertheless, thank you for your time and my sympathies for the loss of your loved one.”

Rossbusch just waved and led us outside. After I’d said goodbye as well and we sat in Tobi’s VW I said “I think he’s right, you know. That his ghost stories are a dead end for us.”

Tobi admitted through gritted teeth after a moment of hesitation “Yeah, I know. But I still think it’s a good idea to check them, just in case. We should drive there and have a look.”

“But not today. It’s late and I’m tired. I count on our ghost to not kill anyone during the night.” I all but whined and tried to stretch myself in the limited space that I had.

Tobi nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a long day. And I suppose you’re also hungry?“ He smiled.

I grinned and asked in feigned surprise “How do you know?”