sleep out for the homeless

werevampiwolf  asked:

Once my co-worker was about to use the compactor, was already filling it up, when he realized there was a homeless guy sleeping in it. Co-worker noped right out of there. I mean, I was homeless for a year and am the defacto ambassador to the homeless at my work, but damn, even I wouldn't have wanted to wake up the guy who thought it was a good idea to sleep in an operational compactor during business hours. It wasn't even raining or anything.

Hello Detective (Chapter 23)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38  Part 39   Part 40     Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49   Part 50 Part 51  Part 52  Part 53  Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60

After a little while your phone rang. You noticed it was Sherlock calling, which was strange because he usually prefers to text. You answered it and Sherlock immediately began talking.

“It’s me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?” He spoke fast.

“Um, let me check.” I said, before asking Lestrade the same question. He flipped through some papers before answering.

“A body’s just washed up.” He said. Grabbing his things to leave, you followed. Sherlock must have heard Lestrade because he hung up.

Once you arrived to where the body was, Sherlock and John showed up no more than five minutes after.

“Do you reckon this is connected then, the bomber?” Lestrade asked Sherlock.

“Must be, odd though, he hasn’t been in touch.” Sherlock answered.

“Then we must assume that some poor bugger’s primed to explode, yeah?” Lestrade asked again.

“Yes.” Sherlock said.

“Any ideas?” Lestrade asked.

“Seven, so far.” Sherlock smirked, bending down to examine the body.

“Seven?” Lestrade said, amazed. Sherlock finished looking around, stood back up and pulled out his phone. John then bent down to look at the body as well.

“He’s dead about 24 hours. Maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?” He asked.

“Asphyxiated.” You said.

“There’s quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.” He pointed.

“Fingertips.” Sherlock suddenly said.

“I’d say mid thirties, and he’s not in the best condition.” John continued.

“He’s been in the river a long while. The water’s destroyed most of the data.” Sherlock spoke. He then suddenly smirked. “But I’ll tell you one thing. That lost Vermeer painting’s a fake.”

“What?” Lestrade asked, lost.

“We need to identify the corpse find out about his friends and…” Sherlock said before Lestrade cut him off.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. What painting? What are you on about?” Lestrade asked.

“It’s all over the place, haven’t you seen the posters? Dutch old master, supposed to be destroyed centuries ago. Now it’s turned up, worth £30 million.” Sherlock explained.

“Okay, so what has that got to do with the stiff?” Lestrade asked.

“Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?” Sherlock asked.

“The Jewish folk story or the assassin?” You asked.

“Oscar Dzundza, one of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style.” Sherlock said, pointing to the body.

“So this is a hit.” Lestrade said.

“Definitely.” Sherlock said.

“The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.” You explained.

“But what has this got to do with that painting?” Lestrade asked, still lost. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked up to you, asking you to explain. You nodded slightly.

“The killers only left us with the shirt and pants. Cheap, and too big for him so standard-issue uniform. So he was going to work. There’s a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie.” You began.

“Tube driver?” Lestrade asked.

“More likely a security guard.” Sherlock said, urging you to continue.

“You’d think he led a sedentary life but his feet and legs show otherwise. So a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guards looking good. His watch showed he did regular night shifts, the buttons are stiff so he set it a long time ago and his routine never varied. There was some sort of badge or logo ripped off the of the shirt front, so it must have been something recognizable. Wad of ticket stubs in his pocket so probably a museum gallery.” You said.

“I did a quick check, the Hickman gallery has reported one of its attendants is missing. Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the rediscovered masterpiece. Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid £30 million. The pictures are fake.” Sherlock said, wrapping it up.

“I better get my feelers out for this Golem character.” Lestrade stated.

“Pointless, you’ll never find him, but I know a man who can.” Sherlock returned.

“Who?” Lestrade asked.

“Me.” Sherlock smirked. You shook your head smiling. Lestrade went back to the office, and as you were apparently Sherlock’s handler you got in a cab with him and John.

“Why hasn’t he phoned? He’s broken his pattern. Why?” Sherlock said, talking to himself. The question was simple enough but the answer was complex. The numerous possibilities each frightened you. The bomber wasn’t just sitting and watching us now, he was planning something. His end game. He’s clearly not afraid to rack up a boy count. He also isn’t going to allow himself to be caught by authorities, this was about him and Sherlock. They had to share some sort of connection. Every single case so far had been about him. Car Powers was his first case, the shoes were found in his bloody flat. The rest of the cases were tests, trying to find out just what makes him tick.

“The Hickman is contemporary art. Why have they got hold of an old master?” John asked, breaking your trance.

“Don’t know. It’s dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data.” Sherlock said, jotting something down in his notebook and ripping out the page. He then pulled out 50 pounds and wrapped it around the note. He suddenly yelled at the cabby to stop and asked him to wait. Sherlock jumped out of the cab and gave the money to a homeless person. Must have been someone in his homeless network.

When we arrived outside of the gallery Sherlock stepped out of the cab, he helped you out and then stopped John before he could exit.

“No, I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address.” Sherlock said.

“Okay.” John said annoyed.

“You know Mycroft is going to get upset the longer you wait to solve his case. If I keep ignoring his texts he’s just going to trick John into looking into it.” You told Sherlock as you were walking to the gallery together.

Once inside, you went to talk to some of the other security guards to see if Alex Woodbridge had told them anything about the painting. Sherlock on the other hand grabbed a hat and jacket out of the security office and slipped off his long coat. He handed it to you and you folded it over your arm, parting ways. You wondered what he had planned, but he walked off before you could ask.

After about twenty minutes you met Sherlock back outside of the gallery. He stalked towards you in just his suit, it was odd seeing him without his large coat. It was as if that coat protected him, not just from the cold but from reality. The coat was his security blanket in a way, it made him safe, comfortable, and at home. You stuck it out to him as he approached, he smiled and took it from your hands. He slipped it on and flipped up the collar as usual. The two of you began the 30 minute walk back to Baker Street. As you were nearing the door you noticed the same homeless woman from earlier leaning against the fence.

“Any spare change?” She asked repeatedly.

John’s cab pulled up and he informed us that Alex Woodbridge knew nothing about art, but he was an amateur astronomer. Sherlock told him to hold the cab as he approached the homeless woman.

“Spare change, sir?” She asked.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, receiving a slip of paper from the woman.

“Vauxhall Arches.” Was all it said. The three of you hopped back in the cab. You checked your phone and ignored three more texts from Mycroft. You texted Lestrade quickly that there was still no word from the bomber.

The cab ride was surprisingly silent. By the time you got there it was about 10 o’clock at night. You could see the stars overhead.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sherlock said, when he noticed where you were looking.

“I thought you didn’t care about…” John began before Sherlock cut him off.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.” Sherlock said. You hopped the two of them wouldn’t get back into the ‘earth goes round the sun’ fight again.

“Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat. A Professor Cairns.” John began. The three of you continued into the arches, they were covered in filth. The only people who come down here were homeless people trying to sleep out of the rain.

“Nice. Nice part of town.” John said, looking around. You took a step closer to Sherlock, nervous of what might pop out of the shadows. You pulled your coat closer around your body.

“Uh, any time you want to explain?” John asked Sherlock.

“Homeless network. Really is indispensable.” Sherlock stated.

“Homeless network?” John asked, confused.

“My eyes and ears all over the city.” Sherlock explained.

“Ah, that’s… clever. So you scratch their backs, and…” John said, looking around.

“Yes, and I disinfect myself.” Sherlock said with a smile.

You moved deeper into the tunnels, the only light now was coming from your flash lights. You noticed homeless people curled up against the walls and surrounded by piles of belongings. You turned around as you noticed Sherlock staring at a large shadow emerging down the tunnel, he quickly pulled you behind a wall, out of view of who you assumed was the assassin you were looking for.

“What’s he doing sleeping rough?” John whispered.

“Well he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won’t wag… Much.” Sherlock whispered back. You pulled out your gun as Sherlock pulled one out of his coat and handed it to John just as he was about to say he’d wish he’d brought his gun.

Oscar Dzundza began to run down the tunnel, we turned on our heels and chased him. He jumped into a car at the clearing and ran off. Where ever he was heading, he seemed to be in a hurry.

“No! No! No! It’ll take us weeks to find him again!” Sherlock shouted angrily.

“Or not. I have an idea where he might be going.” John said.

“What?” Sherlock asked him, surprised.

“I told you. Someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can’t be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.” John said, we followed him. He was right, there was only one, she worked as an astrology professor at Roland Kerr Further Education College. We hurried there and once we arrived we saw the car that Oscar Dzundza sped off in parked behind the Astrology Auditorium. We rushed into the building before it was too late.

You ran into the room, gun at the ready.

“Golem!” Sherlock shouted as you saw the tall man squeezing the life out of the woman that had to be Professor Cairns. You heard her neck snap and the lights cut out of the room as her hand slipped down the control board.

“Pro koho pracuješ pro tuto dobu, Dzundza?” You yelled in his native language. Who are you working for this time, Dzundza? The lights acted almost in strobes. One moment they flashed on, the next was complete darkness. In the momentary lightness, you saw him perk up at the sound of his native language, Czech. The lights cut out for what seemed like minutes this time, and when they came back on you noticed him standing behind Sherlock. In a moments notice he had his hands over his face, restricting his breathing. You cocked your gun up and pressed the cold metal against his head.

“Já bych ho nechal jít, kdybych byl tebou.” You muttered fiercely. I’d let him go if I were you. He removed his hands from Sherlock, who let in a sharp breath. Dzundza towered over you as the lights cut out again, before you knew it he had thrown your body into the first row of seats. You landed with a thump and let out a groan. You stood up as fast as your body would allow and searched for your gun. When you found it and turned around, Sherlock was on the ground. The Golem was above him with his hands over his face again, but John was on his back, trying to pull the Golem off Sherlock.

You tried to stand but couldn’t. When the lights cut back in you saw the Golem throw John off his back and began to run out the door. You fired three shots at him, one seemed to clip his arm, but he continued running.

By now it had to be nearly morning but you had to get back to the museum before the painting premiered.

anonymous asked:

Hi! Could you write a hidashi AU in which Hiro is a homeless boy and Tadashi meets him when he finds Hiro sleeping in front of lucky cat café? Thank you! c:

[This sounds a lot like Street Love tbh, but I’ll do it anyways- I always sort of wanted to try out this AU. I also apologize in advanced for the shittiness of this fic! I hope you somehow like it anyways <33]

“Can we keep her?” Tadashi asked his aunt; holding a small, drenched kitten against his chest protectively. The cat was scrawny- definitely abandoned. Cass wondered if maybe it somehow got separated from a cat breeder, or rejected from it’s mother. It barely looked like it would survive the night- let alone become their pet. 

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A Fic a Day in the Month of May - Day Twenty-Three

based on a prompt: sex on a train or on a plane

They were on the L on their way back from Ian’s job at the other end of town. It was pretty late, early hours of the morning late, and the train came screeching upon empty station after empty station. They still had about a half hour to go before they made it back to the station on the South Side and ever since the last stop Ian’s hand had been inching closer up Mickey’s thigh.

Mickey raised his eyebrow and turned to face him with a smirk. “What you doin’ there Firecrotch?”

Ian shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“You know there are other people on this fuckin’ train don’t you?” Mickey said, letting Ian squeeze the inside of his thigh and brush the tip of his semi-hard dick with his pinky finger.

“Yeah, You mean the two sleeping homeless guys who’ve been passed out since we got on?” Ian asked, raking his eyes over Mickey’s lips and snaking his tongue out to wet his own.

“And the fuckin’ cameras in the corner, you trying to get me sent to prison Gallagher?” He raised an eyebrow and tried to spread his legs without Ian noticing.

He did.

“Those things have more spray paint on ‘em than the outside of this hunk of metal. You couldn’t see a thing out of them if you tried. And besides, why would I want you to go to prison where you’d be screwing guys so you wouldn’t seem like a bitch?” He lifted his hand to push his palm into the bulge in Mickey’s jeans.

“So gettin’ off in public is a turn on for you huh?” Mickey asked, rolling his hips up into Ian’s hand a little.

“Seems like you’re kinda into it too Mick…” Ian said, exhaling heavily as he leant into Mickey’s ear. “Come on, let’s have some fun…”

“Why the fuck do I let you make decisions, huh?” Mickey muttered, closing the distance between their lips.

He kept an eye on the other train goers as Ian inconspicuously unfastened his jeans, hiding his cock behind his oversized coat as he ran his thumb over his slit.

Mickey groaned, biting down on his lip. Ian was being as sly as possible but Mickey was still holding back, afraid that someone would see but his entire body tingling with desire. He gave another scan of the carriage - no one was watching, the only ones still on the train were asleep like Ian had said.

“Oh fuck it,” he said, getting up to straddle Ian’s hips.

“That’s it Mick,” he breathed, running his tongue over Mickey’s lip and giving it a little nip. “Fuck… you’re so hard already.”

"You never really shut up do you?” Mickey muttered, rolling his hips down into his boyfriend’s lap.

“You know you like it.” Ian said.

As they approached the next stop Mickey wrenched himself out of his arms and tucked himself back into his jeans. A woman got into their carriage, gave them a dirty look and carried on to the next car. Mickey seemed a little reluctant to carry on, but Ian’s hands on him changed his mind without much effort.

He urged Mickey onto his lap again, reaching his hands down the back of his well-fitting jeans and rubbing a finger against his puckered hole. He hissed and forced his mouth down against his again.

The other people were mostly forgotten as Mickey’s hips moved back and forth, Ian’s hand reaching as far around as he could.

“How exactly is this gonna work Firecrotch?” He whispered against his lips. “Didn’t really think it through did ya?”

“Get up, loosen these fucking jeans,” Ian growled.

“Jesus Gallagher…” Mickey mumbled, looking around as he did what he was asked.

Ian unbuckled his own jeans as Mickey let his hang loosely on his hips. He reached into his pocket and fished about for the condom he knew was in there and handed it to Ian.

“Anyone would think you planned it this way Mick,” he said with a flick of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up wise guy.” He took Ian’s hand in his and put his finger to his lips.

He sucked it down in one go and Ian watched him with a slack jaw. Mickey gave him a smirk and pulled his lips back to flick his eyebrow.

“Come on then, you gonna get on me or are you gonna sit there staring?” He grinned.

Ian grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him in again, his hand slipping far easier down into Mickey’s jeans. This time he urged the tip of his finger inside him, twisting it just so to make Mickey groan. He changed his angle to go deeper, stretching him a little more.

Mickey pushed himself down further and this time it was Ian’s turn to cock his eyebrow. He used his other hand to latch onto Mickey’s hair, pulling him in to whisper in his ear. “Turn around, we’ll be at our stop soon.”

Mickey just grinned, turning to sit in Ian’s lap while he unbuttoned and pulled out his hard cock from inside his jeans, shrouding it from any possible prying eyes. He tore the condom packet open with his teeth and Mickey leant on the seat in front of him.

“Not in any rush here Firecrotch…” He said with a grin.

“Alright, alright…” Ian rolled his eyes as he rolled the latex down over his dick and gave Mickey a slight pinch on the hip.

“Hey, watch it there,” Mickey said, leaning back to slide Ian’s hot cock between his cheeks and against his hole to which Ian let out a groan and took a tight hold of his hips.

“I’m watchin’ it,” Ian mumbled. “You need me to go slow?”

Mickey scoffed and lifted himself up, checking the carriage again in his paranoid state. “Fuck off with your goin’ slow shit,” he said, lining himself up and sliding down onto him.

Ian had both his hands on Mickey’s hips now, guiding him down slowly to start but Mickey never was patient.

“That all you got Gallagher?” He said quietly and Ian just laughed, bucking his hips a little until he heard that guttural grunt from Mickey which he knew to mean he was doing his job right.

He moved carefully, he knew Mickey was worried about getting caught but the adrenaline rush was making both their heads spin and the whole thing was spurring Mickey on. He leant further forward all the while moving his hips in time with Ian’s to hit that spot inside him that craved attention.

“Can’t.. can’t move like this… stand up…” Ian said in ragged grunts.

“You wanna wake up the homeless assholes over there?” Mickey said, an alternative to ‘are you crazy?’.

“Shut the fuck up and stand against the wall,” Ian said, pushing him up and off him.

Mickey growled a little, annoyed at how well Ian can get him to do what he wants. He was still worried about someone seeing them but right in that moment all he could think about was having Ian inside him again and so he stood up and squared off against the wall, bracing his forearms against it as Ian stood up and pulled his hips back.

He was able to slide back into him quickly, only this time he had enough room to thrust into him even faster. Mickey rested his head against his wrist, his other arm coming around to latch onto Ian’s hips, digging his nails in.

“You better… uhn… you better make this quick Gallagher… I ain’t - ah fuck, fuck… I ain’t going down for this shit…” His complaints were shallow, with every pump of Ian’s hips he pushed back just as hard, planting loudly and sweat beginning to form on his brow from being still dressed in his full winter coat.

“You always go down for me… come here…” Ian breathed, reaching around to take Mickey’s leaking dick in his hand and rub it quickly, making Mickey’s legs shake as he struggled to keep himself standing.

Ian’s other hand moved to wrap around Mickey’s waist, holding him up and burying his face in the crook of his neck, ears trained in to the sounds Mickey was making and adoring every single one of them. Each pant, each groan, each strangled grunt of pleasure that slipped from his perfect mouth made Ian grow closer to his own release so he pumped his hand faster until Mickey’s nails were causing pain against his skin.

He felt Mickey tighten around him and his feet nearly slipped but he held himself up as Mickey came inside his boxers. Ian’s thrusts grew erratic as he finished himself, pinning Mickey to the wall of the train as his aftershocks rocked through him.

When Mickey knew he was done he threw a gentle elbow back into Ian’s ribs to get him off.

“Jesus, you wanna throw me through the glass next time?” He said, buckling up his jeans as Ian slumped into the chair and did the same, a stupid smile on his face.

“Maybe,” he chuckled.

Mickey grabbed him by the shirt, pulling their chests in close and raking his eyes over Ian’s face.

“And by the fucking way,” he said softly. “I end up in prison, I ain’t gonna be fucking any guys.” He flicked an eyebrow at him before pulling him in for a rough kiss on the mouth.

“Oh yeah?” Ian asked as he tore his mouth away. “How you gonna last all that time, huh?”

“You kidding? If I’m goin’ down I’m taking you down with me.” He grinned.

“You saying you’d let me make you my bitch in prison?” Ian raised an eyebrow.

Mickey smirked, “maybe, that turn you on?”

Ian just grinned, kissing his boyfriend one more time. “Maybe.”

im looking to follow more blogs!!

if you post any of the following:

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  • muse
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reblog this and i will follow you!

this random but when today i was thinking about what would happen if my dad ever lost his job and i was thinking about how i don’t think he’d ever beg for money/help from anyone even at his lowest point and like…

even tho he’s never said it out loud, the way he goes about life and working says enough to where i know that he’d never go out of his way to ask for anything he can’t ultimately attain himself

this really just came about cuz someone was criticizing me today about how i told them i don’t like asking for help and i hate taking shortcuts and how id rather die than ask for help

like…that shit is just not in me and i really could never see myself asking for money i rather find my own way even if it means struggling longer or taking more Ls i rather fuck myself over by keeping to myself than to say im in a weak spot idk my family didn’t raise me like that it’s not in any of us

Basically my goal within the next 6/7 years is to find or start an anarchist house with murals on the outside and it’ll be riddled with art and lotsa plants and me and my housemates tend a large garden and give away all the food we grow but don’t need, and have dinner nights where we open our doors to anyone who wants food and company and music and host shows and poetry nights and have a few dogs and use some of the money we make to help out addicts and homeless people and sometimes have travelers sleeping over as they pass through and we go to protests and we help each other out when we need it and create a network of help for people in need and provide a family for people who need it that’s just the best thing I can think of

"Do you fancy me?" 1/?

Word count: 1740

You were in the train on your way to London.

Finally, It has been almost 3 years since the last time you saw your best friend Dan. He and his mate Phil moved to London while you stayed at Uni in your home town. You’ve missed him so much, skype can’t replace human interaction.

After a couple hours of Artic Monkeys blasting in your ears and a small nap, you arrived to the train station.

“Hey, (Y/N)” someone shouted from behind, right away you turn around to see a grinning Dan about 10 feet away. Smiling back, you walked towards him.

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(Requested) You’re Drunk and Crash at Luke’s xx

My vision was blurry and the doorknob was colder than the night air as I held onto it, balancing myself as I knocked on my best friend Luke’s door. I probably smelled like alcohol and I couldn’t think and I had no place to go.

The door swung open a second later, Luke’s figure in front of me. He looked so beautiful in moonlight, his blonde hair almost silver and his black lip ring glinting like the North Star. “Jesus, Y/N,” he said to me, concerned, “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I snarled sarcastically, shifting around, my hands plastered to the doorway. “Come in,” he said, grabbing my arm and dragging me inside, slamming the door. He never had to worry about waking anyone up due to the fact that it was just him and his dog.

He sniffed around me, his nose crinkling, “Are you drunk?”

“Are you Australian?” I scoffed pretentiously.

“Come, upstairs,” he said choppily, wrapping his arms around the back of my knees and hauling me up the stairs and into his room, placing me on the bed. “Ooh,” I teased, “Sorry, but I’m taken, or used to be,” I giggled.

“Where were you?” he asked from his walk-in-closet, turning on a light and grabbing a blanket. He pulled it over me, kicked off his shoes, and crawled inside next to me.

“I was out,” I snapped, rolling over.

“What were you doing, ‘out?’” he countered.

“Drinking!” I huffed.

“Well I know that—but why?” he said, his voice becoming soft and gentle again. I smiled to myself—he could never fight with me for long.

“Jace broke up with me,” I sighed, a tear rolling down my face, my vision blurring even farther.

“He’s an asshole,” Luke said sharply. Oh no, here we go again, I thought. “What kind of asshat breaks up with a girl on the fourth of July?” he asked partly to me and partly to himself.

“Well if today’s so special to you then why are you home doing nothing at…,” I glanced at the bedside clock, “three o’clock?”

“I dunno,” he said, giving up, then changing the subject, “so are you okay?”

“Um, let me see, I broke three glasses at the bar that I have to pay for, some bitchsquealer tried to rape me on my way here, my boyfriend broke up with me and kicked me out after I caught him sleeping with another girl, I’m practically homeless, I’m broke as hell…,” I snapped, “but yeah. I’m cool.”

“Holy shit, Y/N,” Luke said, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me into him, “Fuck, I’m so sorry. You deserve so much more than that.”

And that’s when I began crying—like really crying—bawling.

“Shh,” Luke hummed, “It’s okay, you’re okay now.”

I began to drift off when he said, “You know, two years ago when I met you, the boys and I had a fight over who had keeps on you. Ridiculous, right? But man, you—you were just—amazing. And Michael told Cal and Ash that you were mine. And on Valentine’s last year I finally got the balls to ask you out when you told me your were dating that asshat, Jace. You broke my heart, Y/N, but of course I couldn’t let you go. I refused to let myself. And I’m in love with you, so much, and you’re here and I…,” he paused, breathing for air, “I want to kiss you so hard and make you mine and tell you it’s alright and marry you and spend the rest of my life with you knowing you’re safe now. But you probably couldn’t give a shit about me, and I don’t know why I’m saying this, but, God, I love you.”

I pretended to fall asleep, but after hearing him, I was sobered up and I knew I wouldn’t forget.


The next morning I woke up at two in the afternoon, Luke still wrapped around me like a little kid and I was his teddy bear. I twisted around so my nose was lined up with his, and I leaned in and kissed him as hard as I could for a groggy, hungover girl.

He woke up, his blue eyes wide, and eventually fell into sync with me, kissing me back.

I pulled away, and his eyes were still glued shut; he leaned in to kiss me again but I placed my hands on his chest. “Luke,” I whispered, a tear rolling down my cheek. His eyes fluttered open and he noticed I was crying. He took a short strand of my hair in fingers and wrapped it behind my ear. “Babe, don’t cry,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry, Luke, I’m—I don’t know what I’d do without you and I heard you last night and I remember and I’m so sorry I haven’t been paying attention to you and I wish I’d known sooner because I would’ve left Jace instantly because maybe I didn’t see earlier but now I do, and I’m in love with you,” I said in a rush, kissing him frantically.

“I’m,” I kissed him, “In,” kiss, “Love,” kiss, “With,” kiss, “You,” kiss, “Luke.”

He pulled away from me and looked at me with beautiful crystal eyes. He wrapped his arms around me and buried his head in my shoulder.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he mumbled, and kissed my neck lightly, forcing a smile from me.

And I realized, suddenly, that I was waiting to hear myself say it, too.

Mad Spaced (1/?)

A/N: So, this is the MMFD/Spaced crossover I’ve been talking about for awhile now, and I don’t know why, but I got inspired last night. I’m just going to put this out there and see what everyone thinks. This is about the first five minutes of the first episode of Spaced, but I just thought it would be cool to drop Rae and Finn and the gang into this kind of world, the sort of quarter-life crisis in a big city thing, friends being the family of the 21st century, just to see what happens. 

If I continue it, the other characters would come into play, obviously. 

So, please, let me know what you think! (If you haven’t ever watched Spaced, now would be a great time to start! But I also hope you don’t need to watch it to appreciate it.)

* * *

North London, 2004

Okay, Rae, you are twenty-four years old. You should not be sleeping with strange men who turn out to be technically homeless as a way of dealing with the fact that your boyfriend lives 200 miles away. That is bad behavior and you are above all that! 

She shook her head to try and forget about last night and think about Richard instead. Lovely, kind Richard, up there in Hull, finishing his second degree. She’d taken four years to earn a third in Humanities, which is fine, because that’s what she expected to get, anyway. It was fine. Michelle from EastEnders got a third, as she would be quick to point out to anyone who made a face after she revealed her grade. She could have tried harder, but just couldn’t be arsed. After hanging around Hull for a couple of years, living with Richard and working odd jobs where she was almost invariably fired after the first paycheck, she decided she needed a change of scene.

She’d come to London a year ago, to try and be a writer, but she felt that no one ever got what she was trying to do. She wanted to smash the patriarchy, but be funny about it, and maybe write about bands and how music had gone to shit just lately. If that didn’t work, she could always write articles about skin care for Grazia. She was currently on the dole.

The first thing she needed to do was move out of the squat she had found herself living in. It was like something out of Trainspotting, for fuck’s sake, and though she wanted gritty, real experiences to color her writing, she didn’t actually want to walk in on a girl fellating a junkie while he shot himself up. As glamorous as Irvine Welsh made it all sound, deep down she knew she was a little too boring to be a drug-addict. A spliff now and again was as far as she ever ventured down the dangerous path of illegal substances.

She pushed the door to the cafe open, wearily, and after she bought herself a cup of tea, managed to snag the last empty table, and sat down to face the windows, so that when she got bored of trawling through descriptions of flats she couldn’t afford, she could look up and people watch.

* * *

Finn peered into the window, eyes scanning the cafe. It was full. Full of twats, some in suits on their lunch break and some in pseudo-grungewear taking a break from all responsibility. He just wanted a place to sit down and look through the flats for rent section of the paper he’d found on a park bench.

He resented finding himself in this position. He and Stacey were good together. Well, comfortable, at least. So, why had she thrown everything away to cheat on him with her boss, Duane? Ugh. And she was kicking HIM out? Sure, she paid most of the rent, but for fuck’s sake. He wanted to jump on his skateboard and carve up the pavement, get some of his frustrations out, but he was twenty-five years old and the average age of the kids at the park was depressing close to half his. 

The only free seat in the whole place was across from a girl with long dark hair, wearing a leather jacket and a band t-shirt. He folded his second hand copy of The Telegraph up and stuffed it in his back pocket as he queued to get his coffee. A moment later, he found himself standing next to her table. “Um, sorry, d’ya mind if I sit here?” She looked up, slightly startled, but then smiled. “Uh, no! No, go right ahead.” She gestured to the seat across from her, eyes meeting his for a split second, before looking back at the paper in front of her.

She was looking at the classifieds, too. As he pulled his paper from his back pocket and started to unfold it, he asked, “What’re ya lookin’ for?”

The girl’s head shot up. “Nothin’! What d’ya mean?”

Finn shook his head and pointed at their papers. “Don’t worry, I jus’ meant I’m lookin’ for a flat and wondered if you were, too.”

She visibly relaxed, and simply said, “Oh.”

Finn took his knit cap off and peered over at her.  “What, did ya think I were a drug dealer or somethin’?” He grinned.

“Nah, jus’ … well, maybe.”

“Ah, thanks a lot!” He laughed and the girl smiled back. “I’m Finn, by the way.” He stuck his hand out to be shaken.

The girl looked at it for a moment, like she didn’t trust it, but eventually timidly shook it. “Rae. As in Rachel.”

“Nice to meet ya.”

* * *

The next day Rae got to the cafe earlier. She flashed back to yesterday, and chatting with that bloke, Finn. He was proper fit, but seemed cool. Easy-going, maybe? She was always catching herself talking too fast and she was sure he was bored by her rapid fire prattling about how she’d ended up in her horrid, squalid squat. He had wrinkled his nose and joked, “Skip to the end?” when she found herself merrily sprinting along a tangent. “So … I’m moving out!” she finished, a cheery note in her voice. He was nice, commiserating about having to find a new place, too. Too bad she’d probably never see him again.

She’d looked at three places this morning, which were all just as bad if not worse than where she was living now. The only major difference was that they were a hell of a lot smaller. She was musing about going back to Hull as she bought her tea, and liberally dosed it with cream and sugar. She splashed out and treated herself to a banana, as well. She’d just turned around to sit at the same table as yesterday, and found that Finn had apparently arrived just as she had and claimed it, sitting on the same side as yesterday. She glanced around, the cafe was filling up. Should she sit somewhere else? Just as she made to walk past, he looked up and gestured hello with his eyebrows. “Any luck?” he asked.

She paused, shrugged, and plonked herself down opposite him. “No, but it’s early days yet. You?”

He just shook his head slowly, turning the page of his paper. “‘M’gonna hafta find somewhere soon, though. I’ve been crashing at my mate’s place, and his mum isn’t too happy abou’ it.” He looked up at her. “Save my spot? I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee.”

Rae nodded, hoping she looked nonchalant, but as soon as he walked away, she let her eyes bug out of her head. What was happening?

When he got back, they chatted easily. She found out he’d just split up with his girlfriend. He was kind of upset about it, but she thought she detected that he probably thought it was inevitable. She was usually good about reading people, and it seemed to her that he’d probably gotten complacent in the relationship. Of course, she didn’t make any comparisons to her own arrangement with Richard. In fact, she didn’t mention him at all that day.

* * *

Finn was kind of chuffed to see Rae’s dark hair and leather jacket in line for a drink when he came in the cafe. He saw the table they’d been sitting at yesterday empty, so he slid into the same seat he’d occupied yesterday and waited for her to turn around. There’d been one split second when he thought she might walk on past him, but when he asked her if she’d had any luck, she immediately sat down opposite him and they chatted for an hour. She was a right laugh, and he could use someone fun in his life just now.

When they started to get dirty looks from the staff, Rae stood up and said, “Well, I’d better see about a few of these before they get snapped up.”

As she walked to the door, Finn twisted around in his seat and said, “Maybe I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

She glanced over her shoulder and nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

* * *

Over the next week, they met up at the cafe almost everyday. One day Finn came in wearing an Aquaman costume and carrying an inflatable guitar, looking sheepish. 

“What have you come as?” Rae snorted with laughter. 

“I work at a record store SLASH comics shop, and we’re havin’ a promotion. Buy three CDs and get a free comic. Oi, quit laughin’!”

“Sorry, mate, it’s hard to take you serious in that get up. Are you on your break or somethin’?”

Finn nodded. “Yeah, I work ‘round the corner, at the Fantasy Music Bazaar.”

Rae raised her eyebrows. He’d come to have a coffee with her on his break? Interesting.

She shook her head, and just then her mobile buzzed on the table next to her hand. “Oh, bollocks,” she muttered, when she saw who it was.

“Mmm?” Finn asked through a sip of coffee.

“Oh, it’s just … my boyfriend, Richard.”

Finn cleared his throat and sat up straighter, scratching his head for a minute. “Oh? Trouble in paradise?” he asked in a voice somewhat higher than Rae had gotten used to.

“Nah, just … never mind. Everythin’s cool; just, long-distance can be tough at times.” 

Finn nodded like he understood, but from what Rae could work out, he’d only had the one long-term girlfriend, and he’d moved in with her right after uni. 

“Anyway, back to the hunt; I’ll text him back later.”

They both turned their attention to their papers.

A couple of days later, Finn flopped into the chair opposite Rae, nodding hello. 

“How’s it goin’?” Rae asked, the slightest edge of concern in her voice.

Finn sighed, “Oh, y’know. Same as always.”

“That bad, huh?” 

They both laughed at that. Finn had stopped trawling the parks for papers; they now shared the two free papers that Rae picked up every morning. It was hard, because they were essentially looking for the same thing, but somehow they’d never run into one another looking at a place. Finn stood up. “I’m gettin’ a sandwich. Y’want one?” 

Rae shook her head. She couldn’t afford to pay him back at the moment; she didn’t get her benefits until Friday. Plus, she never really liked eating in front of someone else. A cup of tea was one thing, but a sandwich, no.

Finn came back to the table and took a massive bite. He got a smear of mustard on his cheek, and took two more bites before Rae subtly got his attention. She inclined her head and gestured between her cheek and his. 

“What? What is it?” Finn didn’t know what she was on about. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Rae exhaled and grabbed a napkin to wipe it off his face. 

Finn looked down, embarrassed. “Hey, thanks.”

“No worries, mate. I’d expect the same from you. Friends don’t let friends walk around lookin’ like knobheads.”

Finn grinned up at her, finishing his sandwich with smaller bites. 

* * *

So, they were friends, eh? That was good. Finn didn’t have many friends. There was Chop, his best mate, the one he was stopping with. They’d been friends since they were kids, but Chop was way into his Territorial Army gig. It was fun, sometimes, but other times, Finn wished he’d just relax a bit. And there was Bilbo, his boss at Fantasy. (He’d heard a rumor that Bilbo’s real name was Kester, which would explain the name change.) 

The next day, though neither of them realized it, was their two week anniversary of meeting up. Rae showed up in a strange satin jacket; it was a little too hot for her usual leather one. She stared dead-eyed out at the passersby, and Finn glanced at her uneasily. He ventured a cautious, “Any luck?”

Rae snapped. “No, I haven’t had nor will I EVER have, any luck!” Her face crumpled a bit. “I can’t DO this anymore!” She started tearing up, and Finn didn’t know what to do. He looked around, but everyone pretended not to notice that Rae was breathing heavily and rambling loudly. 

“Whoa, there, pickle!” He couldn’t help it, his nan’s pet name for him slipped out. She’d always call him Pickle when he got upset. But before he could say anything else, Rae continued.

“Every morning it’s the same! I wake up and phone all the places I’ve circled out of the Evening Standard, only to discover they’ve been taken by a bunch of fuckin’ PSYCHIC HOUSE HUNTERS!”

“Well, y’know, you’ve only looked at a few …” He reached his hand out to sort of pat the air near her shoulder, not sure if he should actually touch her when she was upset. 

“Yeah! And they’ve all been cold, infested rat-holes!” 

“Well, I’m in the same boat and you don’t see me … gettin’ upset.” Just then, he did get swept up in a feeling of hopelessness. Was he going to be kipping on Chop’s mum sofa until he was forty? The two of them had a collective grump, Rae burying her head in her arms on the tabletop and Finn pinching the bridge of his nose.

Rae sniffed loudly, and began to sit up, away from the table. “Oh, hang on. I didn’t see this one!” She pointed to a listing in tiny print near the bottom of the page and read: “Spacious two-bedroom apartment, fully furnished, 100 pounds a week.” Rae looked up at Finn, hope in her tear-filled eyes. His eyes fell to the listing and he saw another line, which he read out: “Professional couple only.”

Rae slumped forward again, “Why? Why? Why?”

He hated to see anyone this way, and he could understand why she’d hit the wall. Just then, an idea came to him. “You could always lie,” he suggested.

“What d’ya mean?” Rae raised her head, looking at him curiously. 

“Well, have you got any homeless male friends?” 

“How—?” Rae shook her head, but then she looked off to the side, clearly working on this puzzle. Then she turned back. “Well, I do have one homeless male friend …” She smiled at him, and he wondered who it could be, until she was still smiling at him a minute later. 

“Who?” he asked. She just kept smiling at him, and then he realized. 

It was him.

I am broken.

Not physically.

Emotionally. Mentally.

I have been through so fucking much over the past five years.
I have been literally homeless; sleeping under bridges and eating out of dumpsters.
I had to overcome a monstrous cycle of pill addictions after I found myself unable to breathe for over five minutes, my extremities were dark blue, and I was unable to move my body for over 48 hours.
I am still struggling with cigarette and alcohol addictions.
I have attempted suicide 9 times in the past five years, including last night.
I have dealt with physical torture from someone I trusted 4 years ago, which has left me mentally and physically scarred, and has created several unshakable phobias.
I have been sexually assaulted multiple times.
I must mentally prepare myself to accept the fact that I will be misgendered for the rest of my life because I will never be able to afford testosterone or surgery.

And yet I push myself. I have finally gotten a job and am trying to better myself, but I’m reaching my breaking point.

I just.. I need time. I need to have time where I can just.. have someone care for me for a little while.. because I can hardly do it for myself anymore.

But I can’t. That won’t ever happen. I’m selfish for even wanting that.