It had been thirty-four hours since you’d yelled at Jungkook and he had left your office. It had been thirty-four hours since you’d collected yourself after shattering your phone set into pieces and ran out of your office looking for him. Jaebum told you with a dejected frown that Jungkook had left. Where to? His guess was just as good as yours, if not worse.
You ran out to your car, the chill of the night air biting against your bare arms and cheeks, but you’d be lying if you said you felt it. You went at a crawl through the streets, stomping down on the brakes and squinting to make out the face of each and every pedestrian you past who resembled Jungkook in any way. You had even called out to a few of them, earning you nothing more than odd stares or blatant ignorance. You didn’t believe he could have gotten very far, but after two hours of driving, there was no sign of him.
The hospital’s visiting hours were long over, which cut that out as an option. And it took a persuasive conversation and a few slow swipes of your tongue across your painted lips to convince the security guard of Jungkook’s apartment building to tell you that no one had come in or out since six that night. He’d left your building much later than that.
You returned to the building, your jaw aching from hours of clenching your teeth and your eyes downcast, staring at nothing in particular. Jaebum greeted you, and before he could get the chance to ask you what had happened, you held your hand up to him. You were tired of questions, you were tired of explaining things. But, mostly, you just didn’t want to relive the truth of the matter–this was entirely your fault.
“Around two years after I had joined Manfred Mann and we had just released Ha Ha Said The Clown, [c.1968] two music papers, Disc and Music Echo were both running a competition called ‘Win a Mike D'Abo Siamese kitten’ because I simply love cats. It was a good bit of publicity for the record, for me and also for Disc and Music Echo. I don’t know how he got hold of my number but George Harrison called me and said “Hello Mike, it’s George here. Have you got any kittens left?”. I told him that I had and he said that he wanted to buy one for Pattie’s birthday and asked if he could over and buy one from me.
“He came over and climbed up the four flights of stairs to my flat in Knightsbridge and there he was, George Harrison was standing at my door wanting to buy a kitten. I invited him in and showed him all of the kittens and he chose the one that had climbed right to the top of the curtains saying “that one looks like an individual; I think I’ll have him”. George insisted on writing me a cheque for £10 and of course I kept that cheque for ever and ever in my wallet to show off with (laughter). However, one day when I was low on funds and really needed to use that £10 I cashed George’s cheque only to get a letter back from the bank a month later to say that the account was closed and they never returned my lovely George Harrison cheque. So I never saw it again.”
[Mike D’Abo, Nottingham Post, 2nd March 2017]
I thought that the Siamese cats, Jossstick and Rupert had come as a pair, but apparently not. I wonder if George got two or if one of them came later…?
Here are some ideas of things you can do to make you feel like you have achieved something. This can be helpful to do once a week, once a day or just on a bad day… I personally to one or two things everyday. To keep myself striving forwards…. See what takes your fancy!!
1. Spend uninterrupted time with family or children
2. Go shopping for items you NEED (Toiletries, groceries etc.) stick to a list and a budget
3. Go to the bank, balance your account…Pay off some money…Cash that cheque etc.
4. Go to work or do some work from home
5. Finish a task you have been delaying
6. Ask for help with a task you are finding hard
7. Challenge yourself by completing a new task without help
8. Help your child with their homework (little sister or brother….)
9. Wash the dishes or load the dishwasher
10. Wash your clothes and sheets or take them to the launderette
11. Hang up your clothes
12. Fix something that needs repairs or a new button or battery
13. Clean your room or bathroom
14. Take a shower or have a bath (wash your hair, exfoliate, face mask etc.)
15. Organise a shelf, drawer etc.
16. Prepare a healthy meal for yourself (and others)
17. Write a letter or email to someone you have been thinking about, miss or who you have been avoiding. (An older relative might love a letter!)
18. Take care of the way you look (Bleach your roots, dye your hair, paint your nails, cut your toenails, straighten your hair) This can boost confidence too.
19. Do something creative…. Cut up last years calendar and make a collage for your room. Achievement and art!!
20. Take your car for a service
21. Plant some seeds, or do some weeding
22. Redecorate your room, or move furniture around to make it more spacious
23. Take care of your physical health; make an appointment for a health check with your GP or just take the steps for that needed visit you have been putting off
24. Get involved in your local community; offer to walk the dog for a neighbour, volunteer, ask your sister if she needs a babysitter…
25. Return a phone call you have been avoiding
26. Resolve a situation or conflict that has been bothering you in life
27. Take your pet to the vet; or just give them a good brush or long walk.
28. Do some exercise; go for a walk (or run), have a good stretch, do an exercise DVD etc.
Francis Bacon :: Enlarged contact sheet of two men wrestling, New York, from the studio of Francis Bacon, circa 1975.
From: ‘The Image as Question: An Exhibition of Evidential Photography’ at Michael Hoppen Gallery / src: theGuardian
“An enlarged contact sheet of two men wrestling in swimming trunks and caps, originally taken by Francis Bacon in New York in 1975, nestled for years in a bin bag in the attic of a Mr Robertson
from Surrey, who turned out to be the artist’s electrician. (Other bin
bags given to him for safekeeping included personal diaries, cashed
cheques, letters and holidays snaps.) The photographs highlighted in red
were used by Bacon as models for painting particular body parts in
motion. They echo another exhibit, a 17-frame series of a nude man
walking by Etienne Jules-Marey, whose motion studies preceded those of
the better-known Eadweard Muybridge.” (quoted from source)
This is for the awesome and talented belated birthday girl @howeverlongs for her love and that gorgeous cover, I hope you like this mini drabble in the meantime.
New Orleans (present day - 6 months after the TVD finale)
Klaus thought he was going mad. His eyes flickered opened, slowing trying to gain his bearings as his nose picked up a very familiar scent. It wasn’t just any scent either, it was hers. It was Caroline. It wasn’t the first time though and Klaus knew it wouldn’t be the last given his frequent visions.
“So, is this how you treat all your guests? Or am I just lucky, Mikaelson?” She asked, appearing in the doorway hands on hips. She looked gorgeous as usual, her golden waves falling over her shoulders and those expressive blue eyes staring him down. What he couldn’t quite work out was whether she was real or a figment of his imagination, yet again.
New Orleans - Three months post TVD finale
Klaus remembered that day well. It was a Friday and he’d stumbled out of his studio around 10am after a long night painting. The morning sunlight was spilling in through the large bay window as Klaus walked into his expansive kitchen. He flipped on the kettle switch, hoping that some tea would aid some much needed sleep.
It was the third night that week he’d painted through the night, too restless to sleep. Klaus knew why of course, not that he’d admit it aloud. It had been three months since he sent the cheque. Klaus hadn’t really expected a response but it didn’t mean that he didn’t want one. His thoughts had been filled with her and her reaction. She hadn’t cashed the cheque, that was all he did know. But Klaus needed to know more.
“That scruffy, homeless look is really becoming on you, Niklaus,” Rebekah drawled, breaking Klaus from his thoughts. He didn’t respond just emmited a low growl of frustration. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Can’t a girl want to spend time with her brother?”
“No,” he shot back.
“I think its time you get some sleep, grouchy, unbearable insomniac isn’t your best look.”
“No, its time he got laid,” his younger brother interrupted, swiping an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. Klaus rolled his eyes, all he wanted was to have a nice cup of tea and here he was stuck with the bloody peanut gallery. “All of that brooding over blondie isn’t going to relieve the stress.”
“I am not brooding,” Klaus scowled, not even bothering to deny that she was on his mind. “And not that it’s any of your business but I happen to relieve plenty of stress in the studio.”
“Only because all you do is paint Ms Forbes,” Elijah added, opening the fridge door and inspecting its contents.
“Could I maybe get at least two seconds of peace?”
“Not until you open the letter that arrived for you from blondie which Rebekah has in her greedy, little hands,” Kol scowled. Klaus suddenly felt buoyed, he’d been desperate to hear from her for what seemed like forever. He immediately narrowed his eyes in his sister’s direction.
“You took my letter?”
“I was about to bring it to you,” she replied, defensively.
“Only because I insisted she did,” Elijah murmured.
“Did you read this?” He insisted, snatching it from her grasp unexpectedly.
“Unfortunately not,” Kol muttered. “Elijah went all overbearing big brother on that possibility too.”
“Maybe we should leave Niklaus in peace to read his letter,” the eldest suggested, attempting to steer his younger siblings from the room.
“But we’re just getting to the good part,” Kol whined.
“How about I leave instead,” Klaus growled, leaving quickly his cup of tea long forgotten. He wasn’t sure what to expect but all Klaus cared about was that she’d responded. After shutting his bedroom door, he undid the flap equal parts nervous and excited.
The first thing he noticed was his cheque as it fell from the envelope, and floated onto the floor beneath him. Klaus should have known the obstinate blonde wouldn’t take his gift so easily. He sat down on the nearest chair and finished unfolding the white stationery, her neat cursive coming into view.
“Klaus, while I appreciate your kind gesture I cannot accept your rather enormous and quite frankly over the top gift. Might I suggest flowers or chocolate for the next girl you want to impress?” She’d signed it quite formally at the bottom and Klaus let out a small chuckle. In two sentences she’d captured everything he loved about her. That unapologetic pride, that snappy wit and her apparent need to impart advice.
Klaus wasn’t going to let this go and walked towards his desk, scooping up his cheque as he went. It would be a crime not to respond given how much her words spoke to him. He produced a piece of paper and began writing.
transferred to your high school, all of the other girls – be it freshman or
senior, cheerleader or band geek – were drawn in to his green eyes and freckles
and that ‘devil-may-care’ attitude.
You, on the
other hand, found it boring.
it before dozens of times, be it in movies or on TV shows, and you couldn’t
bring yourself to give a damn. He was the hot new bad-boy who would swoop into
town and fuck everything with a pulse in a skirt, break apart friendships and
You weren’t interested in that. You wanted to get your diploma and leave. High
school was for passing tests so you could cash cheques, and some wannabe
gangster wasn’t going to change that in your last year.
At the age of 20, Christopher Knight parked his car on a remote trail in Maine and walked away with only the most basic supplies. He had no plan. His chief motivation was to avoid contact with people. This is his story
Christopher Knight was only 20 years old when he walked away from society, not to be seen again for more than a quarter of a century. He had been working for less than a year installing home and vehicle alarm systems near Boston, Massachusetts, when abruptly, without giving notice to his boss, he quit his job. He never even returned his tools. He cashed his final pay cheque and left town.
Knight did not tell anyone where he was going. “I had no one to tell,” he says. “I didn’t have any friends. I had no interest in my co-workers.” He drove down the east coast of America, eating fast food and staying in cheap motels – “the cheapest I could find”. He travelled for days, alone, until he found himself deep into Florida, sticking mostly to major roads, watching the world go by.
Eventually, he turned around and headed north. He listened to the radio. Ronald Reagan was president; the Chernobyl nuclear disaster had just occurred. Driving through Georgia and the Carolinas and Virginia, blessed with invincibility of youth, buzzed by “the pleasure of driving”, he sensed an idea growing into a realisation, then solidifying into resolve.
I had to cash a cheque with my birth name and title on (from someone I haven’t seen in a while) and my account has my new name and title on. The cashier went to check it for me, then called me “Mr. [My surname]”
I grinned and told them that I’d never been called Mr before. They immediately and calmly responded “well, that’s who you are, isn’t it?” as if it was completely obvious, then a lot of courage to be who I really am.
I was really nervous when I first went to change my name at the bank, but every time I’ve gone since then I’ve looked forward to it because they’re so helpful and make everything really easy :)
never thought much about money. His
father made sure of that. He’d always
known he was destined for the Distillery, yet he was made to go to Uni, study
hard, and spend holidays and such working with his Da. Brian Fraser made sure his son learned every
single aspect of the business, with no special treatment. Jamie did every dirty job, every strenuous
job, and every boring job. He was even
injured on the job.
His shoulders tensed with the memory.
now, standing in the florists shelling out £150 on an arrangement for Claire,
he was thinking about money. Not that he
was against spending that much. He’d
fill the flat with flowers if it made her smile, but Claire never seemed
impressed by money. She’d been in his
car, a luxury vehicle, and never commented.
She’d been in his flat with its first edition books and antiques, and
never batted an eye.
was why the idea of a prenuptial agreement made him sick to his stomach. No wonder she was hurt.
Not hurt, devastated, he amended.
Elizabeth Beauchamp had a career of her own, and would soon elevate that career
and become a doctor. She didn’t need his
money, or his position. He thought about
Annalise to whom money was everything. She was in it for the fancy restaurants
and the expensive gifts. Laoghaire was
hell bent on snaring him for his position and standing. Arm candy, as they say.
I wonder what either of them would have
thought about my back.
the florist wrapped the huge bouquet, Jamie thought back to the first time he
and Claire made love. She wasn’t the
least bit repulsed by his body. After
the accident he never thought he’d find a woman who would look past his
scars. Yet he did. And, God! What a woman! His groin grew tight as memories of Claire
filled his mind, digging her fingernails into his back in passion, or slowly
running her hands down his spine in foreplay.
She’d even called him beautiful. Twice. He let that slip to Ian over a beer one night
and recalled his brother-in-law’s comment; Now
ye ken how yer sister makes me feel.
Like a man whole again.
was damn lucky to have her. And he
needed to make sure he still did.
called her from the florist’s and asked her out on a proper date. She giggled at his formality and he had to
grin when she said, “Well, I was
going to wash my hair tonight,” but in the end she capitulated. She answered the door all ready
to go. Then she saw the flowers, and he
could tell by her face that she loved his romantic gesture. Good
she didn’t reach for the bouquet.
don’t care about your money.” Her whisky
eyes bored into his. There was
conviction behind those eyes. He would
take her at her word, or not at all. A Dhia, the hurt. The initial feeling that she was going to
leave him again came flooding back.
“I never asked for that prenup, Claire.” His blue eyes were clear and steady on hers. She knew the truth of this yesterday, seeing his reaction to those horrible papers. God, the betrayal. The initial feeling that he actually thought it mattered came flooding back.
Sassenach. I never thought ye were like that.” He watched her shoulders relax as she
absorbed his pet name for her. He
watched her eyes soften as she extended her arms towards the flowers.
Claire waited until they had their wine, and had ordered before asking.
“Jamie. How did it happen?”
reached across the table, and she met him halfway. Threading his fingers through hers he told
her the story. All of it. From the night in the pub, to the scene in
his office. He watched Claire’s
expression through it all. Raised
eyebrows during the drunken pub snogging.
A smirk during the firing.
Finally, a set jaw as he explained Laoghaire’s last ditch effort. Through it all, she kept her fingers
intertwined with his. It seemed easier
to talk when they touched. As if the
touching conveyed the trust.
each have a past, Claire. I mean,
neither of us is innocent. I ken there
are things in yer past, as there are in mine.
I’m sure there are things ye’d not wish to tell me. I’ll not press ye, ever, or insist on knowin’
things that are yer own concern.” He
looked at her then, and saw the truth of what he was saying on that beautiful,
“I’ll ask nothing of ye that ye canna give
me. But I promise ye, when I do tell ye something, it’ll be the truth. I respect ye too much, and love ye even more,
to offer ye anything less than that. And
I think that respect has room for secrets, but not for lies. Do ye promise me the same?”
thought of her past. The things she’d
done as she traveled with Uncle Lamb.
The guys at University. Some of
the choices she’d made. The person she
was once that she wasn’t now. Yes, there
were things she wouldn’t want to tell him about herself. If she was honest, there were things she
didn’t want to know about Jamie’s past.
His life with his family, as a little boy, sure. But past loves? No.
Definitely not. But when those
conversations or moments came up, as they inevitably would, she would want the
I promise. I’ll give you honesty.”
He lifted her
hand and placed a kiss on their intertwined fingers.
dinner as they were getting ready to go, Jamie’s phone pinged. He checked it and laughed.
Claire asked, finishing the last of her wine.
at the pub with Niamh, and he wants us to come down. Seems he’s running out of things to talk to
really dressed for a pub, are we?” Claire gestured to Jamie’s suit and looked
down at herself.
all he’s done for me?” Jamie helped
Claire on with her coat, and dropped a kiss on her neck as she lifted her curls free of the collar. “Come,
Sassenach. Let’s go to the aid of my
best assistant. He likes this lass quite
a lot. I ken how he feels, wantin’ to
make a good impression and all.”
Her girlfriends thought it would cheer her up. She wasn’t much in the mood, but they said it was better than sitting at home and moping. It was fun, for a bit. Now, she sat in the corner of the pub and
watched them come in and make their way over to that stupid snake who stole her
job. Would she get no peace today?? Why did they have to show up here, of all
places? She watched the introductions
and the conversations, and the rounds of drinks. She watched Jamie put his arm around Claire,
and watched that bitch snuggle into his shoulder. She watched him press a kiss on her
temple, and linger overlong. She even watched her caress his
thigh under the table. Slut.
She watched the men play darts, and
the women talk. She watched Jamie stand
behind her, still in his suit, tie askew, pressed up against her, arm around
her middle, pretending to teach her how to throw. She looked ridiculous in her leather skirt,
and her high heeled boots.
Through it all her stomach tied itself
in knots, tighter and tighter until it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She had such longing in her heart for that
man. Her eyes burned from a desire to cry tears that had been shed a hundred times before. A lump formed in her throat.
Anger seethed just below the surface. Why couldn’t that be her? It was her once, in a different pub. One night, with his hands on her. His lips on hers. Damn Claire Beauchamp. Damn her to hell.
liked tipsy Claire. She laughed more,
and flirted openly. In private, tipsy
Claire had zero inhibitions. As the
night wore on, Jamie wanted nothing more than to get her home and into his
bed. She looked posh, and sexy at the same time. He swore she was wearing the softest sweater in all of Scotland, and the leather skirt - faux leather, he mentally amended (”I don’t wear animals, Jamie”) hugged her curves. Vixen. He watched her walk back from the dart board,
telling Niamh to “win one for the women.”
settled her leather clad bum down in his lap.
Draping her arms around his shoulders she tilted her head and came in
for a kiss. Jamie was ready. Zero
inhibitions. She tasted of dark red
wine and desire. Her tongue flicked at
pulled back and looked at him seriously.
“You,” she tugged his curls, “are very rich. There were a lot zeros on
that duc…document. And that was jus’ if I agreed not to ask for anything else
should we divorce.”
Jamie tried to match her seriousness, even though he found her adorable.
own the building we live in. You’re my landlord.” She pointed in the vicinity of his head.
am.” He nodded, and made to bite the
finger she was waving.
that why my January rent cheque hasn’t cleared?” Claire wound her fingers around his tie and
leaned forward to make her point, resting her forehead on his. “I pay my own way, James Alexander
Mackenzie…wait. Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Cash the cheque.”
canna.” When Claire went to protest he
continued. “On account of the fact that
yer to be evicted soon.”
mouth dropped open.
the owner is going to be doing some renovations. See, he wants to combine the two apartments
into an upstairs and a downstairs.
Proper bedrooms up, extra bathroom. And a study and office downstairs.”
eyes widened. Jamie warmed to his topic,
like the Scotsman he was. He pushed her curls behind her ear, and slid his arms down her back feeling the softness of the sweater as it met the smooth leather of her skirt. He settled his
arms around her hips, both hands sliding down further to cup her arse. His body was reacting strongly.
the man’s getting married. Needs the
room for the bairns he hopes to have.” Claire pushed on his chest. “Oh! And his new wife will be going back to school so she’ll need her own
room to study.”
rolled her eyes at him. “When were you
going to tell me all this?”
I had something from the architect to show ye.”
many secrets, Jamie,” Claire whispered.
shook his head. “No secrets,
Claire! Surprises!” He couldn’t help it. He needed another taste. She met him, mouth open. And nipped at his bottom lip.
he rasped. “Can we go home? Please?”
stood up and leaned down to whisper in his ear, giving him a glorious view down
the V of her sweater to the swell of her breasts, the dark red of her
bra. “Get the car, Jamie.”
went in to use the bathroom before leaving.
When she came out of the stall she noticed the girl standing by the
door. She washed her hands, and dried
them, thinking the woman was waiting for someone.
me,” Claire said, as she tried to reach for the door handle to leave.
woman stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Claire’s fuzzy brain searched her face,
trying to recall if she knew her. She
was drawing a blank.
I help you?” Claire’s mind went into
nurse mode. Was there something wrong
“Aye. Ye can give me my man back.” The blond stepped forward so fast, Claire
almost lost her footing in an attempt to move backwards.
God. This must be her. This was Laoghaire. The realization sobered Claire up quite
“Look,” Claire moderated her tone. She tried to keep her voice calm. “I know you had feelings for Jamie,” Claire
began, “and I know you’re feeling hurt.
But the simple truth is, I never took Jamie from you because he was
never yours to begin with.”
a lie.” Laoghaire spat. “Jamie Fraser was mine. And ye stole him away.”
Don’t engage, Claire. Leave.
She tried to step
around her, but her path was blocked again.
be why he brought ye to the pub tonight.
Must have to get himself right sozzled before he can stand to fuck ye.”
felt the sting in her palm before she registered the sound of her hand hitting
flesh. She watched the outline of her
fingers blossom scarlet over the woman’s cheek. Jesus H. Christ, I’ve slapped her. The girl staggered to the left, gasping,
tears filling her eyes. I should say sorry.
straightened her shoulders.
away from me,” Claire said through gritted teeth. “And MY husband.”
I’ve heard it said by many that you don’t become a blacksmith; instead you are born a blacksmith.
The knack for working metal seems to be as innate as an artist’s talent, a writer’s skill or a musician’s ear. It can be taught, yes, but a true master can only be forged from the right stock.
And I’ll tell you now – without the slightest hint of arrogance – that I am quite likely the greatest blacksmith who has ever lived.
Everything to which I turn my hand is flawless. Each piece of steel is wrought in crystalline perfection, the symmetry of the atomic structure uncanny, unnatural. I have forged blades for collectors, enthusiasts, the rich and the famous; each of them the newest pinnacle of my craft, and unmatched by any other blacksmith on this Earth.
After the Winter Soldier and Black Widow’s night-time visit to your clinic, nothing is really the same. There isn’t some dramatic change in your life, like superheroes falling out of the sky or something, but everything just feels slightly different. You scan every patient’s face for James’, you stay an extra hour every night just in case he shows up again with an urgent injury, and you can’t bring yourself to cash in the cheque from Tony Stark for a lot more money than a quick stitch-up requires.
You’re staring at that cheque in your office, as you have been for the past fifteen minutes during your lunch break, when your receptionist, Peter, knocks on your door. He pokes his head in looking absolutely terrified and frazzled out of his mind, which instantly has you standing up and focused.
i learned hennessy and enemies are one hell of a mixture, even though it's fucked up girl i'm still fuckin with ya, damn (hyfr)
people are funny, you don't even know bout the shit that i've been through, i just want some head in a comfortable bed, it could all be so simple (the language)
i am the kid with the motormouth, i am the one you should worry bout, i don't who you're refferrin to, who is this __ you heard about? (the language)
i'ma give you the benefit of the doubt and i'ma love you, you can even call me daddy, give you someone to look up to (practice)
cashing cheques and i'm biggin up my chest, y'all keep talkin bout who next but i'm about as big as it gets (all me)
always presidential, do you like your new room? always presidential and tonights no blue moon (we'll be fine)
i got bitches askin me about the code for the wifi, so they can talk about they timeline, and show me pictures of they friends just to tell me they ain't really friends (enemies)
i got no friends in this mama, i don't pretend with this mama, i don't joke with this mama, i pull the knife out my back and i cut they throat with it mama (you and the 6)
i don't like how serious they take themselves, i've always been me, i guess i know myself (know yourself)
started not to give a fuck and stopped fearing the consequence, drinking every night cause we drink to my accomplisments, faded for too long i'm floatin in and out of consciousness (headlines)
i took her for sushi but she wanted to fuck so we took it to go, told em don't even plate it, and we never talked so much after i blew up (hyfr)
every thing that i write is either for her or about her so i'm with her even when I'm here without her and she know it (the motion)
“rounding onto the long stretch that made up lilith lane, she was faced with the far off smudge of faded blue that signified the wilder residence at the end of the street. it was only painted up to the first floor windows, the rest a burnt out, cigarette ash excuse of grey – a grey almost as bleak as scout found some mornings to force herself to wake up to. their father had promised to finish the job one summer and split smack bang in the middle of it. sometimes scout thought of it as a fitting metaphor: their lives all had the promise of something more vibrant back then but god had never cashed in the cheque.”
Okay, check-list time. You got the cash, right? No personal cheques? Yes. Left a stack of flyers? Yes. Stuck business cards in all the wind-shields in the area? Yes! and yes to the next forty things you’re going to ask me!