#Georgian guy with glasses

[hoeforhao]

Most Ardently // Wonwoo Fic //

✧. pairing: professor!wonwoo × student fem!reader (featuring mingyu and dino)

✧. genre: fluff, mild angst? very short smut(as i wanted to keep this as a pure emotional fic) minors dni, lots of pining and comfort at the end.

✧. warnings: nothing heavy, just a very slow burning romance based around my favorite novel, slight mentions of a yandere ex boyfriend,use of swear words, joking use of the word k!ll.

✧. synopsis: what happens when your one night stand becomes your new literature professor, taking both of you down a blissful lane of old school love.

✧. word count: 3.2k (approx)

✧.banner credits: to the sweetest @classicscreations

✧. author's note: as wonwoo fluff+smut won in the 50 followers poll, here it is finally. although it became more of an angsty fluff(i absolutely suck at writing puppy romance). hope y'all will enjoy it and if this gets some love, i'll bring out its prequel. last but not the least, if you enjoyed my writing then...

Likes, comments and reblogs will be heartily appreciated ♡

and on page 157 she fell in love...

"Love"~ a word meaningful only between the withered folds of literature, luring one into the Georgian haze.Realistically tho, finding a love that will entwine both soul and mind, seep through your cracks and reconcile the cores, is as strange as a diffident person like you getting raveled into a one night stand.

Quite literally clawing out your scalp, ensuring the inevitable headache later on, you kept on asking yourself, what made you so wild to sleep with a random ass stranger, that too on the night before fall semester started??!!!! The guilt clouded your mind so much so that the trance had to be broken by mingyu's hard slap on your shoulder.

"Are you dead or what idiot? The new professor's been here for over a minute now and called out your name almost seventeen times" the tall idiot sitting beside you, nearly howled into your ears.

Before the count could hit eighteen, you quickly pried up from your seat, taking a glance at the man standing in the teacher's place.

Why does his face look so familiar? That same hairstyle with heart shaped strands sticking to the forehead, those harry pottery glasses overshadowing the cat eyes, his exact little stubby nose and most importantly the bewitching plump dahlia lips.

No way it's who I think it is!!! It's definitely the hangover towering. How can he be -

"Ms y/n?"a soft hushed voice called out, pulling your train of thoughts to a sudden halt,"Mr Bennett handed over your thesis to me before he left." Only a single nod left your body as you took over the file and made your way back to the place beside the giant sized puppy,body completely washed off by an unknown tingling sensation.

"Morning students!! I'm your new literature professor from now,Jeon Wonwoo. Mr Bennett's knowledge and aura are indeed irreplaceable but still I'll try my best to bring out the beauty of literature to you guys." the man spoke, eyes a bit tensed up yet briming with a certain sort of joy.

Throughout the entire lesson, your beads were fixated onto your teacher ; as a person who would never let their focus sway, specially in literature classes, you now didn't even know what chapter the class was going through.

"Looks like someone is enchanted huh" your annoying ass bestfriend pushes you a little from the back as the entire class gets ready to head out for lunch.

"Y/n?" you hear the same raspy voice seek out your name. "Go go! Your prince is calling you!!" mingyu teases you again with a mocking smile on his face.

"Utter a single word after this, and I'll make sure you walk reverse footed the entire week" you stomp on his feet before turning around to listen to what your teacher had to ask.

"Yes sir?" you coo out softly, trying to make your racing heart less obvious.

"Meet me at my office after lunch. We need to discuss on your thesis."

"But I already submitted it to Mr Bennett once,then why again?"

"He ran short of time,while packing things up and couldn't scrutinize the papers properly, so now I'm in charge." jeon said as politely as possible.

"Okay sir. I'll be there in an hour"

"You can call me wonwoo" a light smile painted the older's face as he made your cheeks flush bright red with the comment.

Swirling around on your heels, you swiftly made your way out the room, not wanting to flash him with your blushing profile.

Stomping your feet in impatience and somewhat a little bit of anxiety, you wait for your beanstalk of a best friend to choose his drink from the vending machine.

"You're not choosing a wife Kim Mingyu. Hurry the fuxk up pls"

"Getting that worked up for a four eyed nerd! What a loser!!" mingyu spat out, while he bended down to collect his can.

"Says the one who has been bitchless since the cracking dawn of civilization. Oh wait you need to have human traits to get a partner, not that of chimpanzees" you spank his butt from absolute annoyance.

With a loud 'ouch' and his characteristic puppy eyes, mingyu rises up from his position and hurriedly drops you off at wonwoo's office door, otherwise who knows what more parts of him you'll break.

Cold sweats dripping down your face, you stand still at his door, an unfamiliar feeling shivering down your spine as you slowly bring up your hands to knock on the knob.

"M-may I come in sir?" why is it that you're shaking so much, is strange to you too. You haven't ever felt like this,not even when you met your bitchass ex for the first time.

"What are you doing to me jeon wonwoo" you whisper under your breath before stepping into the gloomy wooden space,following the green light from him.

Sitting yourself comfortably on the swiveling chair infront of his desk, you wait for wonwoo to speak up, legs shaking uncontrollably beneath the stilted plank.

"Welcome y/n. As far as I'm knowledged, your thesis is on Georgian Era pieces, and you've chosen Pride and Prejudice as your muse right?"

You just hmm in response, words refusing to leave your body, as you feel drugged by his honey voice.

"Let's get you started then" his eyes sparkling like fireworks.

Completely engrossed into your work, you almost became unaware of wonwoo's presence in the same room as you, posture quite stable now; oblivious of how quickly that composure is gonna get washed off of your body.

"Si-" picking up your head from the paper, you tried to call out his name as you needed some help with the summary, only to feel a hot breath fanning on your neck, his soft nose brushing againt your skin, as he stretches out his hand to the book infront of you.

"How many times have i told you to call me wonwoo, huh berrybub" the older's voice wooed into your system,his other hand gently tucking in the lose strands behind your ears.

"W-wonwoo can you r-read out this verse to me pls? I can't make out few parts of it" you were yourself astonished at how stable you sounded, completely ignorant of the shiver running down your spine.

"Anything for you y/n" wonwoo spoke out again,his wet lips lightly grazing against your cheeks, as he pulled the book into his hands and took his place back on the chair.

The rest of the session was as quite as a viva room, with him occasionally stealing glances at you, while you kept your eyes fixed onto the table.

An entire week went by like this, where wonwoo would read out the piece to you as you wrote your papers, with a regular comment of "if you keep staring at me like that y/n, then I fear we would be able to submit your work in time" from him. But that one suspicion refused to leave your mind no matter how much you tried.

Strolling down the hallway like a happy puppy, forgetful of all the worries with this newfound feeling of warmth and butterflies, you made your way towards the restroom, when suddenly a hand pulled you back into a dark corner.

"C-chan! What are you doing!" looking up at who this man was, you started feeling heavy in the head almost instantly, chest heaving up and down at the rate of a storm . It was no other than your yandere ex boyfriend, who cheated on you with your cousin sister!!!!

"Missed me princess?" his hands roaming all over your body as he pinned you down to the wall, a dirty feeling gushing over your entire body.

"It's over between us Chan. You knew that I would forgive anything but cheating. And you did the exact same thing. That too with Angie? Pathetic!!!" tears building up in your eyes as you try to sound as confident as possible. "And moreover, I don't think I have feelings for you anymore. Maybe it was never even love"

"Oh such a naive girl you are! You really think i give a shit about your feelings and all?" a devilish grin flashing on his face as Chan brings his lips closer to yours, hands gripping onto your waist tightly.

Your body was starting to give up, tears continously streaming down your face as you kept on praying for him to stop. But this is the 21st century, and God only helps those who help themselves. Coring up all the strength left in your body, you brought up your legs and karate kicked him on his groin.

A painful whimper left Chan's lips as he held onto his throbbing manhood, while you took this chance to run away from his grasp.

Running down the corridors, that now seemed to be endless, with his voice echoing through the walls "I'll not let you go off that easily bitch. Come back here", you tightly shut your eyes closed, desperately waiting for someone to save you from this nightmare.

And looks like the heavens finally listened to your helpless pleas as you felt a pair of bulky arms wrapping around your body like a warm blanket, pulling you into a bleak rim. Both9f your frames sandwiched against each other, hearts beating in unison, as your trembling body was now being warmed with the heat radiating off of you two.

You slowly look up at the man who saved you from that lunatic ex of yours; not like you already didn't recognize him from the strong scent of his cologne. Yes, you were unconsciously so in love with this boy, that you even remembered his smell.

As soon as your eyes met with wonwoo's, the first thing you noticed was some sort of burning rage in him, a fire powerful enough to burn down an entire forest in just a matter of few seconds.

"Wonw-" he didn't even let you finish your sentence before pulling you into the tightest hug, resting his head on the crook of your neck as he mouthed "I'll make sure to destroy anyone who dares to stain this blissful face of yours with teardrops, to lay even a single finger on your body", with an unreadable tone of anger yet sadness.

You hugged him back as tight not knowing what to say, completely taken aback by this sudden comment. Losing consciousness of what just happened with you just few moments back, you two kept on bear hugging each other as if it was the last day the Earth's gonna revolve 'round the sun, with wonwoo being the first to let go.

"I-i am sorry" that's the last thing you heard from him before he left you standing so empty in the dark, mind clouded with a bunch of unanswered questions.

"How can he leave like nothing happened, after what he did that day?" is the only thing that kept eating you out for the next few days, as you kept attending your college, both of you never crossing paths since the incident. Wonwoo didn't even show up to the classes, which surely was of no help to your intense craving. But you were highly stubborn yourself ; if he could ignore those close moments between you both so easily, you could too.

Another strange thing that bugged you was that Chan was never seen in the college campus after that day, ever again. Even his classmates failed to contact him anymore!!!

Throwing away these negative thoughts outta your head, you were strolling down the gallery, all ready to go back home as you suddenly took a halt before wonwoo's office. It was open and left unattended. You don't know what took over you and you entered the same place that gave you so many warm memories. With a silent sigh and sullen face, you carefully inspected the interiors, running your fingers along the places that were stained with his scent.

"Y/n?" the voice your ears have been longing for all these days, disrupted your probe midway. Turning around, your eyes immediately landed onto the figure standing at the door, the one your heart now beats for; at that moment all you wanted was to run to him, pull him into the warmest embrace and never let go.

But your self respect and self doubt was chaining you down, as you lifted up your feet slowly to leave the room, head hanging down low. "Sorry won- I mean sir. Sorry for intervening into your space. I'll be taking my leave"

"Don't! pls!" a muffled voice echoed around the room"W-we need to finish your project. I don't want you to fail because of me."

"It's okay sir. I can do it by myself. Thanks for all you've done for me till now" you blurt out quite sternly, with a hint of underlying taunt.

"P-pls" a sudden change of tone was evident in wonwoo's voice, as if he was on the verge of crying, which was enough to melt your composure. I mean who would want to see their loved ones cry because of them right?!

He guided you to your seat as he swiveled his own towards yours and sat right in front of you,with just a few inches gap between the two.

With a drooped down head, wonwoo pulled out the book from his drawer and took out a kitten shaped bookmark from the last done page. You lightly chuckled at the older's choice of stationary, while bringing out your thesis file.

"Let's start. Only some part is left" eyes still not daring to look at you , he started reading out the last few chapters of the piece, while keeping his gaze fixed between the folds.

Turning the pages to the one marked 157, wonwoo's voice came to a stall, slowly picking up his head from the book,his feline beads finally landed onto yours, hazed by a soft yet painful daze. Wonwoo soon started to read out again, but this time instead of looking at the book, he was looking at you, with a mixed expression of agony blended with intense pining.

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Even though your mind wanted to go by the reason that it was just a line from the novel, your heart exactly knew what he meant. You wanted to let him know how much you loved him too, how much your soul craved for his, how long you've waited for this one moment....but you couldn't! A strange feeling of unjust kept you from running to his arms at that instant; so instead you got up from your chair and twirled around to leave the room as quickly as possible.

"Pls y/n pls don't leave me. Again!" two pair of arms wrapped around your waist tightly, immediately stopping you on your track. "You don't know how happy I was when I got to see you again that morning. I couldn't sleep for nights as i kept on squealing thinking about your smile lit face.You came into my life as the brightest ray when I lost all hope. Pls don't push me into the dark again."

Your heart clenched at the sound of soft sobs coming from your back, as you swiftly turned on your heels, only to be a met with a teary eyed wonwoo.

"I-it was you that night wonwoo?"drops now threatening to slide down your eyes. "They say the heart knows it all. No wonder why it always kept telling me that it was you" you said while wiping off the tears of his pale face.

"I've wanted to have you by my side since the moment you held my hand and pulled me into that hotel" closing the gap between you two as he softly placed his lips on yours ; pulling both being into a soft yet passionate kiss as you reverted back to him with equal thirst.

Grip never leaving your waist, he finally lets go of your lips, as you two gasped for some air, face all stained with fresh hot tears. Not long after, he attacks your face again, but this time painting it with affectionate sloppy kisses all over, as if a lost kitten found their home after days. He couldn't get enough of your body, as his wet lips gradually started going down your jaw and landing onto your shoulder, imprinting his teeth onto them.

Wonwoo gave a small tap on your legs and getting his intentions straight away, you quickly wrapped your legs around his torso, as he carried you towards the couch, unbuttoning your shirt in the mean time.

After he placed you onto the couch gently, sliding a cushion under your head, he carefully positioned himself on top of you.

"Can I?" soon afterward you gave him an assuring nod, wonwoo dived into your body, ripping off the white satin shirt of you, as he started placing wet sloppy kisses onto your chest. Fingers roaming around your clothed nipple, he swiftly freed your breasts off your bra and devoured them into his mouth ; earning soft alluring moans from you that were ringing like music to his ears.

Following a good thirty minutes of ravishing and worshiping your body, wonwoo finally plopped down on the couch, embracing you from behind as he pulled the covers over your bodies [do not ask me how a couch had covers pls]

"If you want you can leave me later, but please let's stay like this for some time" a whimper left his lips as he tightened the grasp around your belly.

Turning around to face him, you cupped his face onto your hands, rubbing your fingers onto his squishy cheeks as you softly assured, "Woo, I was smitten by you the exact day you came into our class. Maybe I couldn't properly recognize your face because of the alcohol, but my heart started longing for you since then. You have no idea on how hard I've tried not to fall, but look at me, I'm now head over heels for you. So don't even think about me leaving you, you dumbo. Neither are you allowed to leave, understood Mr!!" you flooff up your nostrils trying to imitate an angry puppy, earning the biggest flash of sunshine smile from bigger flooff beside you.

my darling,

you would never be unloved by me

you're too well tangled in my soul

finishing off your night with such a beautiful verse, you both drift off to deep slumber, entangled into each other's spirits.

[philliam-writes]

you are in the earth of me [02]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Content: canon-typical violene, patching up Reader, author pining for Lockwood

Summary: Your eyes pop open. Lockwood is standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister with his arms crossed, an amused look on his face. All tousled dark hair and brown eyes as sharp as glass, he is as tall as Kipps, perhaps taller, and lankier. But their demeanours are quite different. Where Kipps is calm and steady like stone, reliable like the earth that is always solid under your feet, Lockwood seems striking like a flash of bright lightning—quick-witted and assured in the path he carves as though the mere thought of something standing in his way is so far-off that he just barrels ahead with no regard of what he sets ablaze.

Notes: [01] | [03]

Words: 7.3k

A/N: Nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming positive feedback I got for chapter 01!! Thank you so much for everyone who's joined the ride. I hope you guys will enjoy this as much as I!! (I'm on my 4th rewarch of Lockwood & Co. and I still delight in noticing all the small details they put into the show. Also. Lockwood's voice! Makes! Me! Weak!

02: for whom the bell tolls

each man’s death diminishes me, for i am involved in mankind. therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee

      — John Donne

The Rotwell dormitory you live in, nicknamed the Lions Den, is a stocky brick house taking up a good chunk of Dovehouse Street. There used to be a hotel there, way before the Problem, and then an apartment complex for the rich elderly until Rotwell bought the whole building and its private gardens just to prove they can. Echoing the classical Georgian townhouses of Chelsea built out of pale toast and earthy red shades of brick, every residence features timber-panelled walls, triple-glazed windows, and smoked oak floors throughout.

The front entrance has glass doors sliding open for anyone entering. Somehow, the foyer always smells like pine needle polisher. To the right side is a row of mail boxes with each tenant’s name, on the left side is the guard’s office, separated from the foyer by sleek glass panels. Someone decided to put a whole rainforest inside, monstera, rubber trees, philodendrons. They nearly swallow tonight’s agent covering the shift: a bulky, young girl with dark curls to her chin looking like a malformed porcelain doll—delicate features on top, sinewy muscle stretching the seams of her wine red agent jacket going down. She stares at you for a moment, blinking with her long black eyelashes.

You wave.

She doesn’t wave back, and returns to painting her nails a vibrant yellow you could pick out from space.

Inside your mail box, you find ads and unpaid bills, reminders to pay said bills, and a very unflattering drawing of you working out in the dormitory’s underground gym area. You crumble the note and throw it back inside, slamming the window shut.

Your two-room apartment lies at the end of a long corridor, facing the backside and gardens. It is a copy paste of all other living complexes inside this building: a small entrance leading into a spacious living area with a cream-coloured two-seater couch at its centre, a solid cherrywood desk next to the curtained window and a heavy antique armoire twice your size pushed against the wall. Behind an ornate cedar door is the small bedroom, king-sized bed and heavy bureau and all that makes it look more like a hotel room advert than a place where you could wind down after a hard day.

As always, you stand in the hallway for a moment before turning the lights on. It is quiet, the room smells of polished wood and washed laundry. As always, it feels as though the walls are closing in.

You flick the light on and stash your rapier inside the umbrella rack by the front door, ignoring the two trash bags waiting to be thrown out. The laundry has been hanging for three days, but there was just no time to clean it away because you’re barely here—every minute spend within these walls is taken up by sleeping, eating or occasionally staring bleary-eyed at the ceiling and counting the heavy thuds from above whenever the agent living in the upper apartment decides it is time to practice tango in high heels at three in the morning.

You cross the room and open the window, letting in the cool night breeze. The smell of dawn hangs in the air, crispy and cold like the crackling of dry leaves. It will take only a few more hours for the sun to rise and draw London’s people from their homes to go about their daily lives. Jobs, grocery runs, late afternoon dates, strolls through the parks. When the world wakes up, you turn in to sleep, bloody, beaten and bruised, but alive.

You wonder if every day will be like this. Fight against the Problem and only chip away at the immeasurable scale of its extent. This night, you have secured two Sources, stopped two hauntings. But how does this affect the grand scheme of things?

Your head hurts. Best to leave the existential crisis for another day; right now all you need is your soft pillow and the familiar smell of your lavender-detergent. The Problem will still be there once you wake up; it will not ruin those precious hours asleep where you don’t have to worry about anything.

Every apartment has a tiny kitchen and bath adjacent to the living area. A cup of tea before you turn in, and maybe one or two of those chocolate chip biscuit a client gave you last week in appreciation for driving off the Lurker in her basement.

The kitchen looks just like you left it: as though a salt bomb has gone off. There was no time to put away the dishes or give the pan a quick scrub before you left for your shift, and now the leftover burnt bits stick to the dark surface. The half-full cup of coffee has grown cold since the morning, left forgotten. You’re too tired to clean up. It’ll have to wait until you wake up, or maybe even after the next shift.

You consider throwing your head back and screaming for a second when all of a sudden an intense hate for this apartment geysers up and threatens to swallow you. It is tiny, suffocating. There is nothing personal about this—you could disappear from the world and it would just become someone else’s responsibility and property. Nothing would indicate that you left a mark in this place.

Putting the kettle on the stove, you pick out your favourite mug with a broken handle—Kipps’s fault when he knocked it off the table a couple months back—and return to the living room. Your coat smells of burnt fabric from ectoplasm. The agency is very strict when it comes to appearance and representing Rotwell's splendid work ethic, so replacing it will put another dent in your account, but that is still better than going through the same trouble as last month when you appeared with a chocolate smudge on your jacket and every supervisor spotting you gave you hell for it.

Half-shrugged out of your coat, you walk back, past the closed window.

And stop.

Slowly, you turn. Only your own reflection stares back at you—wide-eyed and dishevelled from today. There’s a dark patch on your shoulder where ectoplasm has eaten like acid through the fabric of your coat. The lock is latched firmly on the inside, the metal clip winking at you under the Tiffany lamp’s reflection. Suddenly, everything depends on how still you are against the moving world.

Where did you leave your rapier? Ah, inside the umbrella rack back in the hallway. What’s the closest bludgeon weapon you can get your hands on? Only an empty Pringles can, yesterday’s dinner.

In the window’s reflection, the dark patch on your shoulder rises, distorts. Grows a head. Even with the room plunged into silence, your heart beats rabbit-fast and you hold your breath to keep from making a sound. Just this once, you’re thankful you were running late this morning and didn’t have time to clean up the leftover breakfast on your office desk that stands against the wall. Not even five steps separate you from the blunt silver knife glinting under the lamp with specks of dried jam on its blade.

The shadow behind you grows bulky shoulders and broad arms. When it steps onto the small area just a little to the right from the entrance, the wood creaks.

The world jerks back into motion.

You lunge for the knife on the table when a hard body slams into yours. You crash against the wardrobe, your head hitting the hard wood with a loud crack. The room spins as all air is knocked out of your lungs. You notice a blurry shadow rising in front of you, and your body moves on autopilot—rolls to the right and falls to the ground just in time to dodge a fist punching a hole into the wardrobe.

Nauseating headache throbs like lightning flashes in the back of your head as you scramble back to your feet, wheezing from the pain spreading through your body from the impact. Your rapier. You need your rapier.

Wood splinters when your attacker draws his hand back. He is almost two heads taller than you, completely clad in black. Even his face hides behind a ski mask. All you see are two pinpricks of unfathomably dark eyes as though this man has gazed into an abyss and the abyss has gazed right back at him.

He doesn’t move for a second, stands as though frozen on the spot. Only his hand flexes, relaxes. Clenches. Silver glints off his gloved knuckles. He is here with one intention only: to hurt you.

You don’t have time to ask why. His legs are longer; he closes the distance between you with two long steps, swings his arm towards your face. You spin and fling yourself over the backrest of the sofa, bounce off its cushions and jump to your feet on the other side. With furniture between you and the intruder, you finally force yourself to take in deep breaths. Think.

The smell coming off of him. You recognise it. Grainy, woody with a fruity note. The sweetness you picked up earlier this night must have been caramel. Alcohol.

“Look, if this is about me bumping into your table earlier at the Green Goose, you could just ask for a proper apology,” you press out between gritted teeth. Your whole body feels like a giant bruise, sore and laden from exhaustion.

Every step he takes around the couch, you mirror until it becomes a dance of bodies and mind to see who gives in first; who slows down and loses focus.

At first you believe the noise to be your frantic breathing—or his rattling wheeze, but then you pick it up. A rough, scratchy voice.

“Dickey … need … dickey …”

Your muscles are so taut you fear they might snap any second. Another circle around your couch you go. “What? I don’t—I don’t know what that is.”

“The … the key,” he repeats, louder this time. “I need the key.”

“Key? What key?” You feel the gnawing urge to squeeze your eyes shut against the vertigo of this situation. “I don’t have a key—”

The memory flies back so fast it nearly knocks you out like an incoming brick. Bronze, small, resting within the cushions of a small seal. Disappearing into the deep pockets of a black coat. The echo of death and violence still sticking to your fingers even through the fabric of your gloves.

You round the couch again and stop, the desk at your back. The knife is just in reach. “I don’t have that key.”

“I saw it. He gave it to you. You have no idea how important it is to us.” His voice rises to a snarl, the quality rougher than satin scratching over bark.

“He never gave—” Another memory hurtles your way—it is a wonder you don’t pass out from a concussion. The candy. It is still inside your pocket, suddenly heavier than a stone.

Everything makes sense now.

You take a step back towards the table. “You’ve got it all wrong,” you say, your words tumbling over themselves in their haste to get out, “I don’t have the key, and I don’t know where it is. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“LIES!” he hollers, and punches the backrest of your couch. The loud thud is like a gunshut, and you move, whirl around and grab for the knife—and completely misjudge where it is. Instead, your hand slaps on the dirty plate.

It could be worse.

Heavy steps thump behind you. You grab the plate, turn and hurl it at the man. It slams into him, shattering into thousand pieces.

You fly past him, towards the hallway and umbrella rack where your rapier is waiting. Stretching your hand out, your fingers brush against the silver handle—

A hard grip catches the end of your trenchcoat, yanking you back. The blow comes out of nowhere, slamming into your face so hard you see stars. Your back teeth clang together. Black dots dance before your eyes and blur your vision as pain radiates from your cheek. Something sharp and hard slides across your knees, slicing the fabric of your jeans clean in half.

Fingers curling, tightening their hold around the familiar hilt, you turn and draw back your arm, and let it snap forward like a snake lashing out and sinking its venomous teeth into its prey.

The silver-tipped edge of your rapier drives into the man’s shoulder and he cries out in pain, staggers back—and takes your rapier with him. He curls his gloved fingers around the thin blade and yanks the tip out of his shoulder, throwing your weapon to the ground where it lies useless and completely out of reach.

He reaches into a side pocket and draws a jagged, razor-sharp knife.

On second thought, maybe you should just run.

You bolt for the hallway once more, this time aiming straight for the door. The sound of a fast-moving object sailing towards you—something moving quickly and swiftly and with enough force to slice the air in half—makes you throw yourself forward, just in time to dodge the glinting edge nipping your hair.

You yank at the handle, letting white light spill into the apartment from the outside hallway.

Two thinks happen at once.

You wrench the door open and squeeze through the narrow gab. The man behind you slams bodily into the door and you hear a pained groan. At the same time, something sharp cuts through your trenchcoat and jacket. Searing-hot pain explodes in your left side.

You manage to push through and shut the door with a loud slam. A second bang shakes the door; he must have run into it again trying to chase after you.

Hot pain radiates from your side. You grit your teeth hard enough your jaw hurts and follow along the hallway all the way back to the foyer.

When you reach the night guard’s office, there is nobody inside. As if this night couldn’t turn even worse. A small glass bottle lies disturbed on the table, spreading yellow nail polish like spilt blood on its surface. The girl must have knocked it over, now gone to fetch a cleaner.

Great.

You throw yourself under the table and disappear from sight; somewhere on the first floor a door slams shut.

There has to be a way out. A way to draw attention; a way to drive him away. As your eyes rake across the room to find something, anything, they land on a red button behind a small glass window. The ghost-alarm in case of hauntings inside the dorms.

You crawl out from under the desk and scurry across the room, heart beating in your throat. If you turn and he is behind you …

Slamming your fist into the small panel, the button gives away without any resistance.

Sirens blare in the building. More doors slam—opening this time as hundred agents emerge from their rooms. Voices echo from the hallways, drowned by the sprinklers going off and raining salt from the ceiling like little diamonds.

You back into a corner, wide eyes staring at the foyer and counting down the seconds until your attacker enters—any moment, any moment, any moment. Only agents begin to spill into the hall, pale faced, groggy from being rudely awakened after tiring shifts.

With the imminent threat gone, the adrenaline pumping through your body slowly ebbs away—leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion, and mind-numbing pain as though your whole body is one giant bruise.

Your clothes stick to your skin, something warm tickles down your side. You cross the room on wobbling feet, forcing yourself not to look; convincing yourself that it is just coffee, just like a few hours ago when you sat in the booth next to Kipps.

The phone receiver on a corner stand is heavier than you remember. Your fingers move as if possessed, finding the familiar numbers on the dial. It rings. Once, twice.

Tears prick in the back of your eyes as it keeps ringing, your call remaining unanswered. Maybe he hasn’t come home yet. Maybe he is still out. Your throat is dry. You feel like an animal trapped against a corner. Suddenly, everything goes blurry.

Click. Kipps’s tired groan is all you get for a hello.

“Quill,” you choke out. Because despite having to call DEPRAC or maybe an ambulance, Quill Kipps will always be the first you turn to in moments of crisis. “Quill, I might have been stabbed.”

Silence. On the other line, you hear fabric rustling, as though he is crawling out of bed.

“What,” Kipps says, his voice rough from sleep, “the fuck.”

You still don’t know what is so special about the address Kipps has sent you to compared to the hospital or Scotland Yard where you assume they are more qualified to handle your dilemma, but you hope that you arrive soon because the daggers the cab driver keeps throwing at you seem more lethal than the gashing wound in your side.

When he finally stops the car—abruptly enough to launch your body against the frontseat—you rummage through your pockets and empty them completely, leaving a generous tip for bleeding on his car seats.

You barely manage to close the door behind you when he speeds off, leaving a dust trail behind.

The sky is turning cotton pink on the horizon. Dawn spreads light and hope across the city, bright and clear, and very painful for your strained, exhausted eyes. You turn away, taking in your surroundings.

The cab has left you in a residential area at the centre of London where the Victorian semis look like they might belong on old postcards from better times, before the Problem. 35 Portland Row is an inconspicuous, four-level house at the very end of the street. Just like its neighbours, it would not suffer from a new repaint, or maybe just a good clean-up.

A lone shadow sits by the stairs leading into the building, rising when you approach. Kipps looks like you feel: his hair sticks out in all directions and there are half-moons of shadow under his eyes, as if they have been smudged there with coal. He rubs the back of his neck as though that would release all the tension from the last twenty-four hours. Worry is etched deep into his face—worry and guilt, and it is an expression you haven’t seen in a long time. It makes your heart clench, turning it into something small, hard, and cold.

He meets you halfway and catches you when you stumble into him, allowing yourself to be held at last. His hold on you is strong and hard, until you hiss when sharp pain from your wound makes it hard to walk. Kipps’s hold lightens.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, his long fingers gently nudging your head left and right by your chin. You’re pretty sure there is a nasty bruise blooming from the punch.

“Turns out someone out there really wants that bloody key,” you say, unable to put quite the heat into the words like you wanted.

The effect is pretty much the same.

It is like a door slamming shut; his expression closes off completely. He puts your arm around his shoulders and hauls you up the stairs. To your surprise, the door is already unlocked and swings open when he pushes against it with his other shoulder.

You enter into a narrow, dark hallway, only illuminated by light streaming into it from an adjacent room. The house smells of iron and salt, leather coats, and a curious dusty, musty tang. On both sides of the walls hang weird masks and odd curios on shelves. Everything about this entrance screams extravagance, but also something inexplicably homely. The complete opposite from your apartment. Voices sound from the first door to your right, silencing upon the front door clicking shut behind you. Now everything is dead silent.

Kipps leads you past an old, chipped plant pot that functions as an umbrella stand and rapier holder. They are old French models with specks of ectoplasm stuck to blades, and dents in the hilts. One long, black umbrella is bent in the middle as though someone had used it as a weapon and didn’t get around to throw it away.

You emerge into a small, cluttered living area containing a fireplace, an old sofa and a few sturdy armchairs grouped around a coffee table. Heavy dark curtains obscure half of the window where the first streaks of sunlight steal through the gap, showing dust dance in the light.

Three heads swivel your way, all in different states of confusion. You recognise one face.

Anthony Lockwood jumps out of his armchair. It has only been a few hours since you last saw him, and so far he has only taken off his black coat. His white shirt is wrinkled, his black tie thrown over his shoulder. There is something restless about him, like a moth fluttering from flame to flame.

Kipps slides you into the free seat on the sofa right next to a giant pile of crumpled ironing. Shirts, pants, and briefs tumble to the ground as you finally allow yourself to slump into the seat and let your guard down.

The room tilts for a moment. You close your eyes, trying to comprehend today’s events. Multiple voices bombard you from all directions and turn into a pounding headache at the back of your skull.

A metal lid clicks open. Careful hands remove your coat, then lift your shirt where the blood has seeped into the fabric, making it stick to your gashed skin. When your eyes flutter open, Kipps kneels before you on the rug, a deep worry crease slicing through his forehead as he inspects your wound.

“Well, good news. It’s not that deep,” he observes. With swift fingers, calloused from handling rapier and tools, he takes the antiseptic and a clean wipe from the first-aid case—expert hands that are used to medical attention; that know the dance of patching up wounds and tending to injuries. You doubt it is something any agent will forget, even when they have served their duty.

When he applies the disinfect after cleaning the blood, you hiss; your body tenses from the pain. “Cool. I’ll thank him next time I see him,” you say through gritted teeth.

Kipps gives you a curt, quick look—but there is still some relief; relief that even now you can be snippy.

“Did you see his face? What did he look like?” Loockwood asks. He’s leaning over the back of the couch, hand holding onto the backrest hard enough his knuckles turn white.

“I don’t know, I was busy trying not go get turned into a shish kebab.” You kick at Kipps when he dabs the gauze a little too hard into your wound.

“Stop moving,” he warns.

“That didn’t work out much,” a girl’s voice notices drily.

You open your eyes. Behind Lockwood’s shoulder, two agents stare at you, blinking their wide eyes like owls.

The boy’s nose twitches. “She bled on the new rug, Lockwood.”

You feel like an exhibit in a museum. Lucy Carlyle and George Karim. Names only familiar to you because you can’t remember a day where Kipps has not complained about them as much as about Lockwood.

“Yeah, why exactly—am I here?” You shift in the seat. Something is poking you in the back. When you pat the cushion, you find an old, dry biscuit.

Behind Lockwood, Lucy gives George a long, pointed look. Seems like this isn’t the first time they witness someone finding leftover snacks in the crevices of their couch.

“You said he was looking for the key?” Kipps is applying gauze to your clean wound which makes everything just a little better; you begin to feel like a human again. Now all you need is a good, healthy amount of sleep. Preferable for the next three days.

“He thought I had it on me. Said something about … how important it was to them.”

Lockwood perks up. “Who is them?”

“Well, he didn’t give me a list or anything.” You pull out some stray socks from under your bum and let them join their siblings on the ground. Slumping into your seat, you notice it is quite comfortable. You’re sinking into the cushions and there is something calming about the smell of old wood and the heavy curtain’s detergent. “But he was desperate. It seemed like … I don’t know. He’ll be in serious trouble without it.”

“Well, good thing it’s with DEPRAC now,” Kipps says, settling back on his heels after he finishes bandaging you up. The silence hanging in the room is stifling. Kipps looks over the backrest of the sofa at Lockwood. “You did bring it to DEPRAC like we agreed to. Right, Lockwood?”

Slowly, Lockwood leans away from the sofa as though that is the only appropriate measure to take in case Kipps decides to hurl himself over the sofa and strangle him. He has the good manners to look almost contrite. “I might have missed out on the chance to deliver it to Inspector Barnes,” he says slowly. His face is calm and betrays nothing, like the blank statue of a saint in a cathedral.

Kipps is on his feet in an instant. Red patches of rage have broken out over his face and throat. “You lying, conniving piece of—”

Lockwood claps his hands loudly. “This just proves that we cannot let anyone except professionals handle this case. Least of all DEPRAC. Someone’s after it because they know whatever that key unlocks is important.”

“Or he was the Visitor’s killer and he knows it could be evidence,” George points out. “Like Annabelle Ward and Fairfa—”

Lucy slaps her hand over her coworker’s mouth. Her wide eyes stare at him, then pin you down. George blinks, then nods slowly.

You raise your hand. “You know, being the one who got stabbed over this, I veto you let the adults handle it.”

Lockwood gives you a dazzling smile. “Overruled.”

“Let’s sleep on it first,” Lucy says, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes with her sleeve. “We’ll decide what to do next when we wake up. And yes, leaving it with DEPRAC is still an option.” She looks over at Lockwood, her eyebrows raised. You can’t think of many who manages to make a proposition sound like a threat.

“First reasonable thing I hear any of you say today,” Kipps scoffs. There is still anger in his voice, but you don’t think it is directed at anyone specific this time. This anger smells of frustration. It stems from knowing days like these are in the fine print of becoming an agent. The danger from having to deal with the living from time to time, which can be so much more dangerous than the dead. He turns to you. “Let me drop you off at a hotel.”

“I—” You don’t want to be alone, not after tonight. But Kipps also lives in the Fittes dormitories and they are mercilessly strict when it comes to non-employed visitors, despite being a senior supervisor like Kipps who enjoys some privileges.

“We must assume whoever attacked you might be out there still tracking you,” Lockwood says, and leans forward to settle his elbows against the backrest. His white shit stretches taut over his shoulders and back, catches over his spine. He lowers his dark eyes to you, within which swims a quiet, but solid confidence as though he has never faced a situation he couldn’t handle. It makes you want to rely on him, a thought you quickly push away the moment it steps into your mind. “We have a spare couch in the library you can crash on until morning—” He glances over his shoulder towards the window where sunlight peaks through the heavy curtains. An almost coy smile captures his lips, showing the hint of a dimple. “Until we wake up.”

You raise both eyebrows. “I can?”

Both Lucy and George give Lockwood the sideye. “She can?”

Lockwood frowns. “Unless you have somewhere else to go?”

“A couch sounds perfect.” You are tired enough you wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor. You throw Kipps a quick look. He doesn’t look happy, but even he realises this is better than leaving you all by yourself.

With nobody objecting, George heaves a defeated sigh. “Let me go and pick up the empty chips bags,” he says, and shuffles out of the room. You hear wood creak when he stalks down the hallway.

When you tear your eyes away from where he left through the door, you notice Lucy keeps staring at you with an odd look you can’t place. As though she doesn’t really know what to think of you and why you are suddenly here, only 'here' doesn't seem to apply to the living room of her home. It feels like she doesn't seem to know why you have suddenly stepped into her life. She manoeuvres around Lockwood, painstakingly making sure there’s furniture between you and her.

Kipps is by your side helping you up. He follows Lockwood's directions through the entrance hall. You pass the stairs to the end of the hallway where George is carrying an armful of empty bottles and plastic bags out of what you assume must be the library.

It is a small, oak-panelled room across the hall from the lounge. No light sneaks inside with the heavy curtains shrouding the windows. Up to the ceilings, hardback volumes are crammed into black, heavy shelves that line all four walls. It smells of books and ink and printed paper, making you immediately feel at ease under the dim, warm light of an old standard lamp tucked into a corner.

Kipps makes sure you’re comfortable on the leather couch, throwing a worn, chequered wool blanket over your legs. He looks at you for a long moment. Then he seems to crumple inside, like paper; he sinks down in the leather chair opposite you, and puts his face into his hands. “I should have just told Lockwood No when he asked for someone with Touch. I never wanted you to get involved like this.”

“It’s a little too late for that now, isn’t it?” you state, but there is no malice or accusation in your voice. You are too tired for that.

Still, Kipps makes a sound like a kicked puppy. When you look over at him, you see him pale and slumped down, like someone who’s taken so many blows that the doesn’t want to stand anymore.

Your grab for his hand and squeeze until he returns your gaze. His pale green eyes look haunted. “I don’t think this is anyone’s fault,” you say. “Least of all yours.”

Kipps purses his lips. You squeeze his hand tighter.

“Maybe,” he allows. He scrubs at his face, eyes flitting over the hardcover books surrounding him. You grow drowsy with every steady ticking of an ornate mantel clock above the fireplace. To your side is a small, mahogany Victorian pedestal table with a leftover cup next to a stack of London Society magazines. “Or maybe I should have been more careful,” he continues. “Be more careful. So this doesn’t happen again.”

The fog of sleep that almost takes you is cleanly cut by his words. You blink against the dizzy feeling that tries to pull you under; dragging you down like wet clothes when you swim. You let go of his hand and sit up. “You are not responsible for me,” you say, unable to keep the heat out of your voice now. It comes back full force, scathing and blazing. “I can look after myself perfectly fine, and I would not have you waste your life away because you think you are obliged to protect me.”

“You could barely fend off that attacker by yourself,” he shoots back—his voice strains to remain diplomatic, calm, but this is Quill Kipps, and he has never been capable of putting the lid on the smouldering fire when it comes to your safety. “I made a promise and I mean to keep it until you’re retired and old and stop getting into danger—”

The rage that always lives inside you rears when he says that ugly word—promise. It is an almost physical pain, like nails against flesh.

“You are not my brother,” you snap. “And I don’t want you to be!”

All colour drains from Kipps’s face, then comes back in a rush of angry red as he tries to keep his anger under control. You know a lot about rage. How hard it could be to rein it in without a lifetime of practice. How it could eat you up inside.

He stands, slowly, calmly—and that is so much worse than when he explodes. This is him in his upset mood that you call ‘scary-calm.’ It is a calm that makes you think of the deceptive hard sheen of ice before it cracks under your weight.

“Quill—” you begin, but he is already moving towards the door.

“If I were Matthew,” he says at the threshold, not looking at you, “I would actually be able to protect you.”

It is a blow not meant to be a blow, and yet it drives through your chest like a poison-tipped spear. It stirs up age-old dust from a past you try to bury so hard that now you choke on it.

Matthew. Mat. Mat is gone because of you. And now Quill leaves you too.

You jump to your feet, ignoring the piercing pain in your side and stumble after him. Kipps disappears down the hall, then you hear the front door open, and slam shut.

You close your eyes and bang your head silently against the doorframe. Beneath your gloves your palms are slick with sweat and your fingers shaking. All day you felt like walking on a tightrope, and now a single misplaced step sends you plunging. You have never felt this alone before.

“Do you do that because you enjoy it, or because it feels good when you stop?” says a drawling voice from the corridor outside.

Your eyes pop open. Lockwood is standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister with his arms crossed, an amused look on his face. All tousled dark hair and brown eyes as sharp as glass, he is as tall as Kipps, perhaps taller, and lankier. But their presences are quite different. Where Kipps is calm and steady like stone, reliable like the earth that is always solid under your feet, Lockwood seems bright like a flash of lightning—quick-witted, assured in the path he carves as though the mere thought of something standing in his way is so far-off, he just barrels ahead with no regard of what he sets ablaze.

Any retort dies on your lips when he throws something your away, and you catch the first object mid-air, pulling a face when your wound protests. It is cold and heavy—a pack of ice cubes wrapped in a towel. The second thing hits you in the shoulder and clatters to the ground. A package of painkillers. If you would look up the word Oops in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of Lockwood’s current expression.

You bring the ice pack up and press it against your cheek. “Thanks.”

Lockwood gives a crooked smile. “Plenty of time to figure everything out later. If you need anything, our rooms are just another floor up.”

Your mouth is dry. He isn’t nice because he wants to; he too does it out of an obligation. “OK. Thanks.”

He crams his hands into his pockets, eyes raking from your feet up to your face. It seems as though there is something else Lockwood wants to say, but he decides otherwise and ends up simply nodding before he ducks back towards the kitchen where you can hear the hushed, urgent voices of Lucy and George.

You retreat into the library and shut the door gently. Only the clock’s ticking fills the room now, so loud it is almost grating against your ears. You tug your gloves off gingerly and place them next to the magazines. The skin on your knuckles and the back of your hand is dry like sandpaper. Later this evening, you have to make sure to get your hand lotion.

Ignoring the unpleasant feeling, you lie down and shimmy under the blanket. You tug your hands close to your chest where there is no danger to accidentally touching anything—you know there is no threat from objects belonging to the living, but after almost a decade of experiencing death echoes ranging from mild joy to severe depression, it is soothing to know that the gloves conjure a sense of separation, of safety. Without them, you feel naked and vulnerable.

Just a few hours of sleep. Then you’ll figure out what to do. Maybe you can pretend the whole day didn’t happen—run a few jobs, clean up your room after the attack. Return to normalcy. Return to your day-to-day life before you got roped into Lockwood & Co.’s business and their wayward modus operandi.

You close your eyes and pretend you don’t feel strangely safe listening to the muffled voices coming from the other room.

Something has taken a hold of your legs.

Your stomach roils with panic as you thrash against its grasp, smelling damp soil and rotten leaves—someone is trying to put you under the ground, bury you alive in unholy ground where all hope and virtue is lost, just like—

You jerk free—

—and fall.

The floor is hard and unyielding, slamming you awake on impact. The pain follows right after, radiating from your side to the rest of your body. Groaning, you try to turn to your other side, but with your legs still half-entangled in the blanket, you don’t make it far.

There was a dream. At least you think there was a dream. You can’t remember much, only the smell of rotten soil and copper.

From under the closed door, you see a slim sliver of late afternoon sun peak into the dark room. You lie very still for a moment, even though your back and neck hurt from being curled up on the small couch all night. It is not the foreign place that startles you, but the noises that belong to a lively home: cabinets open and close. Dishes clatter. Water boils. Voices drift through the walls, muffled but heartily warm and bright. It smells of heated butter, herbal tea, and something burnt.

A home. This is a home where people come to wind down after work, to be vulnerable, to pick up the broken pieces after a case.

For just a minute, you close your eyes and imagine this is your life. Your home. This is your room, smelling of books, ink, and candles. Somewhere downstairs a cup smashes into bits, but there is only laughter, bright and cheerful—someone shouts a jolly “Luce!”

You pop your eyes open; the pipe dream dissipates. Your body is a medley of bruises and aches as you get up. Kipps was right, the cut isn’t too deep, you didn’t even bleed through the gauze during the night. You look at the ornate clock hanging above the fireplace. It is past three o’clock. You have to be at Rotwell’s in an hour.

Blinking against the sting in the back of your eyes, you get up and grab your gloves from the small table and your torn, dirty Coat hanging from a chair’s armrest. The fabric stinks of blood and sweat, but there is no time to get back home and change into clean clothes. You can’t get late to work a second time this week.

Your initial plan to just march through the front door and leave doesn’t work out when you pass the open kitchen door. It is a small, cluttered room with a huge table in its centre like a pillar of strength. Several plates with food have been placed down, breakfast served for three people: boiled eggs in cute little eggcups, sandwiches, a fruit bowl, some hot, greasy sausages just out of the pan. There is flatbread and right beside it a plate with small bites like fruits, walnuts, sliced cucumber and radishes.

The agents of Lockwood & Co. coordinate around each other in a way that seems like a practised dance—Lucy swiftly dodges George carrying a plate with doughnuts while Lockwood steps out of her way striding towards the water kettle without even looking.

When she pauses and says something to him, he does that thing you find annoyingly attractive in men: since he’s much taller than Lucy, Lockwood leans down and tilts his head towards her to hear her better. He has a striking side profile, all sharp lines and elegant curves, a pointed jaw.

You see him smile, and grow increasingly annoyed at how effortlessly handsome he is.

George clears his throat, and then all three are staring at you standing in the doorway.

Lockwood’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Hiya.”

Lucy’s mouth twitches into something that hasn’t decided yet if it wants to be a smile or a scowl.

George notices you looking at the food on the table and promptly says, “We don’t own enough dishes for another person.” He calmly closes the cupboard behind him where you see another stack of plates and cups.

“Wasn’t interested. I’m not much into burnt toast,” you say like a liar. George huffs in offence. “I have to go anyway. Work and all that.”

Three heads nod at the same time, a conjoined Hydra.

Remembering you have something like manners, you quickly add, “And thanks for letting me stay.” That should be enough pleasantries. You hastily make your escape through the front door and manage two steps downstairs before you hear footsteps behind you.

“One more thing,” Lockwood says, propping himself against the doorfrome. You wonder if he owns any other piece of clothing other than his white shirts and ties. “Regardless however we proceed with our case, it would be to both our benefits to work out an association. There is no harm in having friends in established circles.” He puts on a smile, one you recognise from meeting him for the first time. Charming, but bashful, he plays coy to try and pull you around his little finger.

So this is how he wants to play it.

You slip into your jacket and smooth down the fabric to appear at least somewhat dignified. “We are not friends, Tony,” you say, and notice with some satisfaction the tick in his jaw whenever someone uses that nickname. “And frankly, if our paths don’t cross anytime soon, I wouldn’t mind. Now, if you excuse me—“ well aware of the ectoplasm stink and the tears in your jacket, you push your shoulder blades together— “we at Rotwell are quite busy with actually solving the Problem instead of playing detective games.”

With a confidence you don’t feel at all, you grant Lockwood one of your sly grins, your usual selling argument whenever you’re wearing your Rotwell armour. Lockwood’s face remains impassive. When you turn, heading out to the main street to get a cab, you feel his eyes burying like a dagger into your gut. In the distance, a church bell rings on the quarter hour, and you try and remember the poem about the bell tolling.

A/N: I cheated a little, the Rotwell dormitories are pretty much the Auriens Chelsea apartment complex. I'll upload a masterlist for this sometime this week to keep things a little more organised.

Taglist: @helpmelmao, @simrah1012, @chloejaniceeee, @fox-bee926, @frogserotonin, @obsessed-female, @avelinageorge, @quacksonhq, @wordsarelife, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @che-che1, @breadbrobin, @anxiousbeech, @charmingpatronus, @starcrossedluvr, @yourunstablegf, @grccies, @sisyphusmymuse

(Just a heads up, if I can't tag you, it might be because of your settings)

[froshele]

something soooo fucking funny about the one mission in Exile now that im getting around to actually playing through it. you meet this guy Vasil who looks totally normal, he has hypermobility and a runny nose, theres people like that, thats a startlingly normal guy to have in your life as the Exile

you do him a solid and forget for years

and at this point in the game youre like well i really need an ally im on the run from my monster hunter dad (or at least some other male figure in my life i have a reason to know deathly fears heights and the ocean)... I fucked up hard earlier and now I'm in Tbilisi trying to get my old buddy Vasil to help me not die

And Vasil is totally normal about this but he's like well I would but Some Very Unsympathetic Men... well the Jews... The Jews have kidnapped my grandmother ...

and of course youre completely taken aback by this because what the fuck, why would the guys at a yeshiva in Tbilisi kidnap someones grandma

AND THEN YOU FIND OUT THE TRUTH: THAT THEY DID... And that it was a completely reasonable thing to do, and that you probably just monumentally cocked it up for everyone in the funniest way possible

because you know,, ok so you're some little old rabbi and you look at your weird little neighbour Vasil...

You make an ASSUMPTION, you know. Like ok he is a fugitive big deal we all are a little. Ok maybe he's a Grail adept or just the son of some really goated ones, and that's why he's so handsome and yet so... moist? He has the grailness about him. You just wouldn't think... well whatever listen.

So you're minding your business, and then you see your moist neighbour Vasil interacting lovingly and filially with... uh...

with her

Someone please make an artistic rendition of Vasil's grandma the Undergoer. I imagine her as a little old lady in probably Czech but possibly Georgian folk costume and a wig and glasses, except that of course she is also a horrific tangle of pulsating limbs. She has exactly the accent and mannerisms of a normal grandmother somehow except of course she's exceptionally filthy and constantly mumbling prophesies of doom

And she's just full on babbling absolutely deranged warnings of the horrors to come in public, just completely not adjusted at all to living as a human because why would she be. As a representative of the Watchman's Tree you are fully aware you have to Do Something about this.

And of course your first instinct is CHOLERA JASNA HOLY SHIT OMAIGAD KURWA SHADDAP, being that as confirmed in Book of Hours you are a type of baal shem or other occult adept concerned with keeping people safe, and the way you do this is by helping enforce the secret works of Calyptra, the Hours (divine names, kind of, close enough) that forbid the magic world spilling out on the normal one. You will be in serious trouble and so will people if something weird happens, but of course you can't expect an Undergoer to know or care about that, look at her, she's busy with her prophecies of doom and meat and things. Flirting with the mailman like that and all. Good Lord.

So obviously (thats someones grandma!) you can't murder her, but you also can't leave her as she is without telling her off politely and hiding her from the powers that be for a bit.. you have a convenient magic forest that can do that, might as well use it, right?

Depending on what you saw Vasil do exactly you might even misguidedly attempt to rescue the poor guy, except of course he's on the run from the Reckoners, he had plans in this sort of vein...

Well so you send some bored little guys with nothing else to do down with a big butterfly net, a burlap sack and a box trap baited with some tinned pilchards someone found in the kitchen (you are an all male institution of wizards in 19beforethegreatwar, none of you can cook). The whooping tells you it worked. (Horrifyingly, the undergoer whoops along. She's showing support, probably.)

Somehow you contain the undergoer (who is quite at home in the magic forest your yeshiva connects to, and claims her containment is "ok she supposes" except for the lack of meat or [redacted] or [redacted] or [you didn't even know this was something someone would conceive of doing; truly, sheydim have their own strange ways]).

It goes OK, she's well behaved, in between raving about the feast at the end she crochets and sews little hats for all the students. Mostly the hats don't eat anybody, except Davarashvili who had it coming honestly, you won't even do anything because he started it. Life goes on.

Then one evening a ratty Antaean and his chums, probably drunk off their gourds (mechanical interpretation of preparations) and armed with lord even really knows what, bust down your doors, bother your guard Percussigant, terrorize and possibly murder some people and spring her loose. As they fuck off into that good night you overhear approximately this:

Exile: So madam uh... what the fuck, how did that even happen, I mean--

Grandma: Well sonny you see first I [unholy] and then I [unprintable] and then I was pregnant : ) then i gave birth in [absolutely nightmarish] and i [this is just obscene for no reason] and thats how i had my son! and of course he was vasil's grandfather, and [antiphonal voices deliver a prophecy of doom concerning vasil personally] but to me he'll always be my little flesh orb : ) [wet squelching] I have a few digestive biscuits still rattling around in here from back there, that nice little fellow Shimon gave them to me, do you maybe want a few dear ? I could regurgitate them for you!

Where do even gou go from here, what do you do?

Now imagine you're the Exile. You go on this whole roller-coaster of odd feelings (especially if Jewish yourself, there's room for the headcanon) and moral quandaries thinking the grandmother in question is human, only to have to keep going on this deranged raw prophet's fetch quest because you're already committed

Your friend Vasil is delighted to have his weird, pulsing, horrible little grandmother back from the clutches of very unsympathetic men (they didn't even let her eat or make any small children) and you have to go along with the idea that this is a totally normal situation. What's worse, like all Undergoers, Vasil's grandma is supernaturally compelling and charming, and well you haven't gotten any the entire time you've been on the run from dear old dad

The entire thing is just so stupid and so funny. It's so stupid its so funny its my favourite caper in the whole legacy barring maybe the Knotwingknot's Nest for vibes alone

[pollonegro666]

2023/12/24 Mi papi ya tiene preparado el vino tinto que quiere para la cena de esta noche. Por favor, amigos, sírvanse un poco para hacer un gran brindis.

My daddy has already prepared the red wine he wants for dinner tonight. Please, friends, pour some to make a great clink of glasses.

Google Translation into French: Mon père a déjà préparé le vin rouge qu'il veut pour le dîner de ce soir. S'il vous plaît, les amis, versez-en un peu pour faire un grand tintement de verres.

Google translation into Italian: Mio padre ha già preparato il vino rosso che vuole per cena stasera. Per favore, amici, versatene un po' per fare un gran tintinnio di bicchieri.

Google Translation into Portuguese: Meu pai já preparou o vinho tinto que quer para o jantar esta noite. Por favor, amigos, sirvam um pouco para fazer um grande tilintar de copos.

Google Translation into German: Mein Vater hat bereits den Rotwein vorbereitet, den er heute Abend zum Abendessen haben möchte. Bitte, Freunde, gießt ein wenig ein, damit die Gläser laut klirren.

Google Translation into Albanisch: Babai im ka përgatitur tashmë verën e kuqe që dëshiron për darkë sonte. Ju lutem, miq, që disa të bëjnë një shirit të mrekullueshëm të syzeve.

Google Translation into Arabic: لقد قام والدي بالفعل بإعداد النبيذ الأحمر الذي يريده لتناول العشاء الليلة. من فضلكم، أيها الأصدقاء، لكي يقوم البعض بعمل عيادة رائعة للنظارات.

Google Translation into Armenian: Հայրս արդեն պատրաստել է իր ուզած կարմիր գինին այսօր երեկոյան ընթրիքի համար: Խնդրում եմ, ընկերներ, մի քիչ լցրեք՝ բաժակների հիանալի թխկոց պատրաստելու համար:

Google Translation into Bengali: আমার বাবা আজ রাতে ডিনারের জন্য যে রেড ওয়াইন চান তা ইতিমধ্যেই প্রস্তুত করেছেন। অনুগ্রহ করে, বন্ধুরা, চশমা একটি মহান clink করতে কিছু ঢালা.

Google Translation into Bulgarian: Баща ми вече е приготвил червеното вино, което иска за вечеря тази вечер. Моля, приятели, налейте малко, за да направите страхотно дрънкане на чаши.

Google Translation into Czech: Můj táta už připravil červené víno, které chce dnes k večeři. Prosím, přátelé, nalijte si trochu, abyste mohli skvěle cinkat sklenicemi.

Google Translation into Simplified Chinese: 我爸爸已经准备好了今晚晚餐他想要的红酒。 朋友们，请倒一些，让酒杯叮当作响。

Google Translation into Korean: 우리 아빠는 오늘 밤 저녁으로 원하는 레드와인을 이미 준비했어요. 친구 여러분, 술을 좀 부어서 멋진 유리잔이 부딪히도록 해주세요.

Google Translation into Croatian: Moj tata je već pripremio crno vino koje želi za večeru. Molimo vas, prijatelji, natočite malo da napravite sjajno zveckanje čaša.

Google Translation into Danish Min far har allerede forberedt den rødvin, han vil have til aftensmad i aften. Venligst, venner, hæld lidt op for at lave et fantastisk klirr af glas.

Google Translation into Slovak: Môj otec už pripravil červené víno, ktoré chce dnes na večeru. Priatelia, nalejte si, aby ste mohli skvele štrngať pohármi.

Google Translation into Slovenian: Moj očka je že pripravil rdeče vino, ki ga želi nocoj za večerjo. Prosim, prijatelji, nalijte malo, da boste odlično žvenketali.

Google Translation into Estonian: Mu isa on juba valmistanud punase veini, mida ta täna õhtusöögiks tahab. Palun, sõbrad, valage klaasi, et klaase kokku lüüa.

Google Translation into Suomi: Isäni on jo valmistanut punaviinin, jonka hän haluaa illalliseksi tänä iltana. Olkaa hyvät ystävät, kaada vähän lasien kolinaa varten.

Google Translation into Georgian: მამაჩემმა უკვე მოამზადა წითელი ღვინო, რომელიც მას სურს ამ საღამოს სადილისთვის. გთხოვთ, მეგობრებო, დაასხით ცოტა ჭიქის გასაკეთებლად.

Google Translation into Greek: Ο μπαμπάς μου έχει ήδη ετοιμάσει το κόκκινο κρασί που θέλει για δείπνο απόψε. Παρακαλώ, φίλοι, ρίξτε λίγο για να κάνετε ένα υπέροχο τσουγκρισμα των ποτηριών.

Google Translation into Guarani: Che ru ombosako’íma pe víno pytã oipotáva okaru haĝua ko pyharépe. Por favor, angirũnguéra, peñohẽ michĩmi pejapo haĝua peteĩ clink tuicháva umi vaso-gui.

Google Translation into Hawaiian: Ua hoʻomākaukau mua koʻu makuakāne i ka waina ʻulaʻula āna i makemake ai no ka ʻaina ahiahi i kēia pō. E ʻoluʻolu, e nā hoaaloha, e ninini i kahi mea e hana ai i ke kani nui o nā aniani.

Google Translation into Hebrew: אבא שלי כבר הכין את היין האדום שהוא רוצה לארוחת הערב. בבקשה, חברים, מזגו קצת כדי ליצור צקצוק נהדר של כוסות.

Google Translation into Hindi: मेरे पिताजी ने आज रात के खाने के लिए अपनी पसंदीदा रेड वाइन पहले ही तैयार कर ली है। कृपया दोस्तों, गिलासों की शानदार झनकार बनाने के लिए इसमें कुछ डालें।

Google Translation into Hungarian: Apám már elkészítette azt a vörösbort, amit vacsorára szeretne. Kérem, barátaim, öntsön néhányat, hogy nagy poharakat csorgasson.

Google Translation into Icelandic: Pabbi minn er búinn að útbúa rauðvínið sem hann vill í kvöldmatinn í kvöld. Vinsamlega, vinir, hellið smá til að gera frábært glös.

Google Translation into Indonesian: Ayahku sudah menyiapkan anggur merah yang dia inginkan untuk makan malam malam ini. Tolong teman-teman, tuangkan sedikit untuk membuat dentingan gelas yang bagus.

Google Translation into Japanese: パパは今夜の夕食に欲しい赤ワインをすでに準備してくれています。 友達の皆さん、グラスにカチャカチャという音を立てるために注いでください。

Google Translation into Kyrgyz: Атам кечки тамакка каалаган кызыл винону даярдап койгон. Сураныч, достор, бир аз куюп, стакандарды шакылдатыңыз.

Google Translation into Latvian: Mans tētis jau ir sagatavojis sarkanvīnu, ko vēlas vakariņās. Lūdzu, draugi, ielejiet, lai lieliski saskandinātu glāzes.

Google Translation into Malayalam: എന്റെ ഡാഡി ഇന്ന് രാത്രി അത്താഴത്തിന് ആവശ്യമായ റെഡ് വൈൻ ഇതിനകം തയ്യാറാക്കിയിട്ടുണ്ട്. സുഹൃത്തുക്കളേ, ഒരു വലിയ കണ്ണട ഉണ്ടാക്കാൻ കുറച്ച് ഒഴിക്കുക.

Google Translation into Malay: Ayah saya sudah menyediakan wain merah yang dia mahukan untuk makan malam malam ini. Tolong, kawan-kawan, tuangkan sedikit untuk membuat dentingan cermin mata yang hebat.

Google Translation into Malagasy: Efa nomanin’i Dada ny divay mena tiany hohanina anio alina. Azafady, ry namana, arotsaho ny sasany mba hahatonga ny solomaso mahafinaritra.

Google Translation into Mongolian: Аав маань өнөө оройн хоолондоо хүссэн улаан дарсаа бэлдчихсэн байгаа. Найзууд аа, аятайхан аяга цохихын тулд бага зэрэг асгана уу.

Google Translation into Dutch: Mijn vader heeft de rode wijn die hij vanavond wil eten al klaargemaakt. Alsjeblieft, vrienden, schenk wat in zodat een geweldig gerinkel van glazen ontstaat.

Google Translation into Nepali: मेरो बुबाले रातो खानाको लागि रातो रक्सी तयार गरिसक्नु भएको छ। कृपया, साथीहरू, चश्माको उत्कृष्ट क्लिङ्क बनाउन केही खन्याउनुहोस्।

Google Translation into Norwegian: Faren min har allerede forberedt rødvinen han vil ha til middag i kveld. Vær så snill, venner, hell litt for å lage et flott glass.

Google Translation into Panjabi: ਮੇਰੇ ਡੈਡੀ ਨੇ ਅੱਜ ਰਾਤ ਦੇ ਖਾਣੇ ਲਈ ਰੈੱਡ ਵਾਈਨ ਤਿਆਰ ਕਰ ਲਈ ਹੈ। ਕਿਰਪਾ ਕਰਕੇ, ਦੋਸਤੋ, ਐਨਕਾਂ ਦੀ ਇੱਕ ਸ਼ਾਨਦਾਰ ਕਲਿੰਕ ਬਣਾਉਣ ਲਈ ਕੁਝ ਡੋਲ੍ਹ ਦਿਓ।

Google Translation into Pashtun: زما پلار لا دمخه هغه سور شراب چمتو کړی دی چې هغه د نن شپې د ډوډۍ لپاره غواړي. مهرباني وکړئ ، ملګرو ، د شیشې عالي کلیک کولو لپاره یو څه واچوئ.

Google Translation into Persian: بابام از قبل شراب قرمزی را که برای شام امشب می خواهد آماده کرده است. لطفا دوستان مقداری بریزید تا یک لیوان عالی بسازید.

Google Translation into Polish: Mój tata przygotował już czerwone wino, jakie chce na dzisiejszy obiad. Proszę, przyjaciele, nalejcie trochę, żeby w szklankach rozległ się głośny brzęk.

Google Translation into Romanian: Tatăl meu a pregătit deja vinul roșu pe care îl dorește pentru cina de diseară. Vă rog, prieteni, turnați câteva pentru a face un clinchet grozav de pahare.

Google Translation into Russian: Мой папа уже приготовил красное вино, которое хочет сегодня на ужин. Пожалуйста, друзья, налейте немного, чтобы бокалы громко звякнули.

Google Translation into Serbian: Мој тата је већ спремио црно вино које жели за вечеру. Молим вас, пријатељи, сипајте мало да направите сјајан звекет чаша.

Google Translation into Swedish: Min pappa har redan förberett rödvinet han vill ha till middag ikväll. Snälla vänner, häll upp lite för att göra ett fantastiskt klingande av glasögon.

Google Translation into Sundanese: Bapa kuring parantos nyiapkeun anggur beureum anu dipikahoyong pikeun tuangeun wengi ayeuna. Mangga, babaturan, tuang sababaraha pikeun nyieun clink hébat gelas.

Google Translation into Tagalog: Inihanda na ng daddy ko ang red wine na gusto niya para sa hapunan ngayong gabi. Mangyaring, mga kaibigan, ibuhos ang ilang upang makagawa ng isang mahusay na clink ng baso.

Google Translation into Thai: พ่อของฉันเตรียมไวน์แดงที่เขาต้องการสำหรับมื้อเย็นคืนนี้ไว้แล้ว ได้โปรดเพื่อน ๆ เทเหล้าลงไปให้แก้วแตกกันหน่อย

Google Translation into Telugu: మా డాడీ ఈ రాత్రి డిన్నర్‌కి కావలసిన రెడ్ వైన్‌ని ఇప్పటికే సిద్ధం చేశారు. దయచేసి, మిత్రులారా, గ్లాసెస్ యొక్క గొప్ప క్లింక్ చేయడానికి కొన్ని పోయాలి.

Google Translation into Turkish: Babam bu akşam yemeği için istediği kırmızı şarabı çoktan hazırladı. Lütfen arkadaşlar, harika bir bardak şakırdaması için biraz dökün.

Google Translation into Ukrainian: Мій тато вже приготував червоне вино, яке хоче сьогодні на вечерю. Будь ласка, друзі, налийте трохи, щоб вийшов чудовий дзвін келихів.

Google Translation into Urdu: میرے والد نے آج رات کے کھانے کے لیے ریڈ وائن تیار کر لی ہے۔ براہ کرم، دوستو، شیشے کی ایک بڑی جھلک بنانے کے لیے کچھ ڈالیں۔

Google Translation into Uzbek: Dadam kechqurun kechki ovqatga xohlagan qizil sharobni tayyorlab qo'ygan. Iltimos, do'stlar, bir oz quyinglar, shunda ko'zoynagini ajoyib tarzda chayqating.

Google Translation into Vietnamese: Bố tôi đã chuẩn bị sẵn rượu vang đỏ mà ông ấy muốn cho bữa tối nay. Các bạn ơi, hãy rót một ít để tạo ra tiếng kêu leng keng tuyệt vời.

[idiotwithanipad]

Happy Death Day (Pt2)

How Humphrey asked Alison for a special favour for Amy (My OC) ⚔️🖤

Alison paused. An adoption certificate? That was new. 

Alison looked around discreetly, keeping her eyes peeled for anyone in the reception area that could potentially be catching onto her strange conversation, who, presumably was over the phone. If only they knew. 

"And- why would you want one of those?" Alison asked, partly to let the Tudor's head do all the talking so that she wouldn't be a big distraction in the quiet space. 

"Well... I care about her, really. I know there's not much I can do for her when I don't have my body- apart from run me jaw" Humphrey explained, his eyes drifting down past his nose to look at the polished windowsill beneath his cheek. 

"... Feeling paternal, Humphrey?..." 

Alison watched his reflection in the glass of the window like a hawk; she knew what was going on inside his head, yet, she wasn't sure if he really knew how to get the words out. The Tudor's brows rose and his jaw opened. 

"Well, I- I ba- it's a- what's be- it-...yeah...yeah, you could say that, yeah..." His brows lowered again, defeated and caught out. Would she refuse? Think it was uncalled for, or that he was unfit? Unworthy? 

"I've got an idea..." Alison smiled. Humphrey perked up a little and tried to look over his cheekbones at Alison. 

"Yeah? What's that?" 

"I'll b- I'll call back in a bit..." Alison corrected herself and 'put the phone down', stuffing it back into her bag and leaving the reception area as quickly as her aging legs could carry her. 

Upstairs, Zumba almost over, Alison waited outside the room and listened for her ghostly friends on the other side of the door. Over the sounds of the living folk, Kitty's gleeful laughter rang like a little bell, and the squeaking soles of Amy's platforms pierced through the room like nails on a chalkboard. 

Alison stood, and waited, not long now. Until finally, patrons started to exit the room carrying their equipment with them, giving Alison room to slip inside and find them. She spotted Robin by the window rubbing at his knees and cracking his shoulders. Kitty stood at the back of the room with Amy. The latter looked deranged, wild. 

Unbeknownst to Alison at the time, the usually quiet nineteen year old had periods of extremely high energy and mania on occasion, a result of the caffeine from the drink that had killed her, which remained a part of her and would rear it's head to take control. These episodes could last minutes to hours, and when they were over, the girl would pass out, unconscious. Even a hurricane couldn't wake her. 

That was usually the go-to explanation to finding Humphrey's head neglected again, and instead spotting his wandering body carrying the passed out Amy on it's back through the house after coming down from the manic phases. 

Amy stood, wide eyes twitching, sweat on her forehead, her arms stiffly at her sides with her hands trembling, her knees jerked every few seconds and she giggled. She couldn't stand still. Kitty watched her with an amused smile.

"Goodness, Amy. I don't think I've ever seen you take off your hoodie before, I didn't know you had a tattoo" Kitty beamed. Amy giggled again and her head twitched to the left. 

"Haha, yeah. Shame that the bastard thing won't stay off" Amy blurted, tugging at her cuffs, a smile that could compete with The Cheshire Cat spread across her face. 

Kitty gasped and surpressed a smile. 

"Language, Amy!" It was a task for the young Georgian to hold back a giggle. But Amy did the giggling for the both of them as she shook her hands at her sides and bounced up and down like an excited toddler. 

Alison waited until the room was vacant, save for the three ghosts, and closed the door behind her as she entered. 

"Good class, guys?" Alison asked, stepping over to them. 

"Oh yes, the best!" Kitty smiled brightly. Alison's attention switched to Amy who stood trembling on the spot.  

"You alright, Amy?" Alison asked, raising her eyebrow sceptically. 

Amy stood to attention like a meerkat. 

"What?! Oh yeah! Great fun." Amy beamed. Time for the plan. 

"Um, Amy? Uhh, Robin told me he wants to teach you how to skin a Mammoth..." Alison lied, the caveman's interest peaking at the mention of the word 'Mammoth'.

"I do?" He was caught off guard. Alison turned to face him and nodded, more to encourage him to take a hint and register to look of imploring desperation in her wide eyes. 

"Uh, yeah.. Weren't you saying yesterday before- film- club?" 

Amy continued to buzz on the spot to their right, none the wise, looking between Alison and Robin. Robin grew confused but shrugged anyway as he stepped over to Amy who followed him through the wall. 

"Okay. I show you. So you get good sharp rock and grab the hair tight in fist-"

Perfect

Alison turned to Kitty. 

"Alright, Kitty. I've got a plan for something. Humphrey's head is downstairs in the Reception, I need you to bring him up to The Higham Suite right now before Amy spots him" Alison said, a determined smile on her lips. Kitty clapped and nodded. 

"Are we going to be doing something special? Like a tea party or a picnic?" Kitty asked.  Alison gave a tilt of her head and righted herself. 

"It's more for Humphrey and Amy than for us, just bring him up to your room, okay? I'll meet you up there now" Alison smiled before turning out of the room and gathering her bag. 

Kitty wandered downstairs with a pleased hum and spotted Humphrey's head, still on the windowsill. 

"Hello, Humphrey" Kitty smiled. Humphrey looked in the direction of the voice and cleared his throat. 

"Oh. Afternoon, Kitty"

"Alison asked me to bring you to my room for an idea. Sounds interesting, she looked rather excited" Kitty explained as she softly plucked Humphrey's head from the windowsill. 

"Ooh, did she- tell you what it was?..." Humphrey hoped that the answer would be 'no'; given Kitty's inability to keep secrets in the past, he dreaded everyone else getting wind of this and Amy finding out too soon. 

"I'm actually not sure, but it must be nice because she was smiling a lot" Kitty said, skipping from the windowsill and towards the stairs, Humphrey's head in hand. 

"Here he is, Alison" Kitty exclaimed triumphantly, producing the Tudor's severed head as though it were a trophy. Alison sat at a coffee table by the bed, laptop already booted. 

"Brilliant, Kitty. You can just pop him here" Alison beckoned, patting the table softly beside the laptop. Kitty nodded and gently placed Humphrey's head on the table so that he could see the screen. 

"Right, so. I've had a look on Google and I think there's one-" Alison stopped abruptly when Humphrey cleared his throat and flicked his eyes over his cheekbones towards Kitty who still lingered behind him, smiling. He liked Kitty, but she'd surely let slip of his plan. Alison caught on. 

"Kitty, fancy another task?..." Alison mused. Kitty gasped and shuffled closer. 

"Is it for the plan?" 

"Yeah, do you mind searching for Humphrey's body? We need him to be whole for the plan to work" Alison smiled, hoping that Kitty would take the bait. 

Without a word, save for an excited giggle, Kitty gatherered her dress skirts and fled the room to search for the loan body. Alison sighed with deep relief and turned her attention back to Humphrey who also looked relieved. 

"Alright. So I'm thinking if you pick out a template for the certificate, I can print it off and sign it for you. Since- you know-" Alison said, her face crinkled, remembering that Humphrey couldn't touch anything. 

"Okay, then what?" Humphrey asked, sounding eager. 

"That's when the plan starts. Amy's death day is two days away. Kitty's gone off to find your body, that'll give us thirty minutes minimum, we can find a template in that time. When she brings your body back, you'd better hold onto it for dear life and not fall off it until Amy's death day" Alison said, eyes wide and warning. 

Humphrey rose his eyebrows and blinked, his head's language for a nod since he didn't have shoulders at that moment. 

"Tomorrow I'll take Mike to Tesco and pick up some balloons, turns out that he's the best at party decor" Alison proposed. Humphrey's interest peaked. 

"Then what?" 

"Then I'll find The Captain and ask him to gather everyone apart from Amy in here at noon, we can have the party in here" Alison explained. 

Humphrey's face dropped. 

"What's wrong?" Alison could help but notice the sorrowful twitch in his eye. 

"Well, Amy's probably gonna be with me tomorrow, she is everyday, so- how am I supposed to just-?" Humphrey sounded dejected. Alison paused. 

"Oh yeah... She spends every day with you, doesn't she? She'll notice if you just- leave out of nowhere... " Alison thought out loud. Humphrey sighed. 

"Guess the ideas off then? Worth a try, Alison". 

"Unless you just- stay out of sight all day?... " Alison proposed with a mischievous smile. Humphrey raised his eyebrow in confusion. 

"How?" 

"Well. Remember the crawlspace where you-?" Alison mentioned, remembering the unfortunate circumstances of Humphrey's last use of the tiny space up the chimney breast. 

"Once you get your body back, go and hide in there until The Captain comes for you, I'll let him know you're in there so don't worry. If it's a task, he won't forget" 

"But Amy'll be wondering where I am" Humphrey said, sounding mildly like a lost puppy. 

"Let her wonder where you are..." Alison sneered playfully, some of that old sinister spark that Humphrey had seen in her many years ago that one April Fools Day had returned. 

"Think about it. She'll be looking around for you while we set everything up in here, and when she finally comes in here, she'll see you. It'll be a big surprise, trust me" Alison smiled. Humphrey gulped. 

"It'll be just one day. Just one day of her not seeing you. She'll be relieved to see you, Humphrey. And you never know... If she's scared that you've- moved on, or something, it'll be an even bigger surprise to see that you're still here" Alison said, playful evilness in her voice. Humphrey's eyes drifted, he dove deep in thought. 

"Think about it... "

[fantasynamesbymeforyou]

Language Spotlight: GEORGIAN

Hi guys, this is my first language spotlight! Below I have a list of 100 Georgian names I found on behindthename.com.

Georgian names seem to have a lot of diminutives, including: iko, ika, una, ona, utsa, uka, and uko. A diminutive is basically a nickname, used for shortening names and indicating affection and familiarity. To use a diminutive, shorten a name to its first syllable, then add a diminutive element.

I couldn't find the naming conventions as far as gender goes, so if anyone knows them let me know.

If you're looking for more inspiration, I recommend starting with the Wikipedia page on Georgia. It will lead you to Georgian history, mythology, places, words, and folktales.

Thanks for reading and thanks for the request @tamisdava2!

----------------------- 100 GEORGIAN NAMES ------------------------

Anuka - (f) favor, grace. Also: Anouki, Anuki, Aniko

Anzor - (m) noble, from the Georgian noble title azanuri. Also: Anzo, Anzoriko

Apareka - (m) The name of a famous folk song from the mountainous region of Georgia

Arminda - (f) I don't want you. Given to children of an unwanted pregnancy

Baia - (m/f) buttercup, ranunculus flower. Also: Baiko

Basilisa - (f) queen

Batura - (m) plump. Usually used in reference to a healthy plump child.

Betkil - (m) the protagonist of a tragic Svan folk song

Chichia - (m) very little. Also: Chichiko

Chinchara - (m) stinging nettle

Chiora - (m/f) little bird, darling child

Chito - (m/f) bird

Dedisimedi - (f) mother's hope

Devi - (m) a type of giant from Georgian mythology

Dilavardisa - (f) morning rose, heart rose

Dzaghlika - (m) little dog, puppy

Ednar - (m) strong name

Elvard - (m) rose of the nation

Endzela - (f) snowdrop flower

Eter - (f) ether, air. Also: Eteri, Eta, Eteriko, Etiko, Etuna, Eto

Gela - (m) wolf

Gulchara - (f) flower face, flower like appearance. Also: Gulchora

Guri - (m) lion cub, young lion

Gvantsa - (f) wren / mischievous, restless, wild. Also: Gvanca

Hatuna - (f) lady, woman

Ia - (f) violet flower

Iadon - (m) nightingale, singer

Iakinte - (m) hyacinth flower

Inola - (f) peace

Jambul - (m) soul of steel. Also: Jambulat

Jansugh - (m) burning world. Also: Jansug

Javara - (f) jewel, pearl, gemstone

Jilda - (f) sacrifice, value

Keklutsa - (f) playful, flirtatious, coquettish

Kesane - (f) forget-me-not flower

Khuntula - (m/f) small, chubby, cute, beautiful. A Georgian term of endearment reserved for loved ones

Khokhta - (m) dainty, dapper

Lado - (m) famous rule

Lamzira - (f) shrine, place of prayer. Also: Lamzo

Lazhvardi - (m) azure, lapis lazuli. A poetic term for the sky

Lela - (f) bulrush, a type of grass

Makhare - (m) you make me happy, I rejoice!

Mtsinara - (f) laughing, smiling

Mtvarisa - (f) of the moon

Mukhrani - (m) of the oaks, oak grove. The name of a historical district in eastern Georgia

Nariman - (m) heroic mind

Nazibrola - (f) delicate crystal glass

Nestan-Darejan - (f) unlike any other in the world, unique. A princess from the Georgian epic The Knight in the Panther's Skin. Also: Nestan, Darejan, Nestani, Darejani, Daro, Dariko, Nestiko, Nesto

Nugeshi - (m) solace

Okropir - (m) golden mouth

Olia - (f) holy, blessed. Also: Olgha

Otar - (m) pasture, meadow

Palavand - (m) hero, champion, paladin

Pepela - (f) butterfly

Pipkia - (f) snowflake. The Georgian name for Snow White.

Puntusha - (m/f) bun, doughnut, roll

Qaplan - (m) tiger

Qsenia - (f) hospitality

Qutlu - (m) blessed, fortunate, happy

Qvarqvare - (m) to love, beloved

Rekhan - (f) basil

Roin - (m) brazen

Rostevan - (m) straight, righteous, wise, sage, truthful

Rusudan - (f) day. Also: Rusiko, Ruska, Rusudani

Sardion - (m) carnelian, a gemstone

Sevdia - (f) melancholy, sorrow

Shukia - (f) ray, beam of light, beauty, elegance

Sulkhan - (m) peaceful leader, ruler of reconciliation

Tariel - (m) king of heroes / dark hero, obscure hero. A prince of the Georgian epic The Knight in the Panther's Skin

Teimuraz - (m) strong body. Also: Teimurazi, Temo

Tsiala - (f) shimmering

Tsisana - (f) of the sky. Also: Tsisa, Tsisia, Tsis

Ucha - (m) black, dark, swarthy

Ushisha - (m) fearless, brave

Vakhtang - (m) wolf bodied

Varskvlavisa - (f) of a star

Velodi - (m) I had expected you. Given to children of planned pregnancies

Veriko - (f) faith , true

Xatia - (f) holy icon

Xvaramze - (f) sun

Zinati - (f) ornament

Zurab - (m) red water

Zhuzhuna - (f) sun shower, blinking

Zviad - (m) proud, arrogant. Also: Zviadi

[chilling-seavey]

When Universes Collide - The AU Mini Series

The Lotus Inn is a place we all know well; and a place where all universes collide in a small ripple of the time space continuum. It’s the spot for characters of alternate universes to meet and interact – even those who are from vastly different worlds and timelines. In this one-shot, the characters from the universes of this blog gather for lunch at the Lotus Inn restaurant and discuss their similarities and differences.

Warning: This does contain spoilers to any and all fics on my blog so read with caution if you haven’t read all of them!

A/N This obviously isn’t part of any timeline and is just something I wrote for fun with a bit of help from T-Anon and @randomlimelightxxx​! To tell each Daniel apart, they will be called by their fic name as their formal title…it might be a bit awkward at first but it would be the only way to not confuse the heck out of you since there are five nearly identical looking Daniel’s sitting around one table. (Also, I see this play out like a stage performance in my head which is weird).

A/N2 Let’s see how many times the word ‘Daniel’ is used in this story

The Lotus Inn – 11:54am

A table for five sat empty in the corner of the restaurant. The room was trimmed in purple neon lights and decorated in floral pictures with an old brick wall supporting the large bar along the back. It wasn’t busy as the crowd usually came in for the daily after-dinner partying and the quietness of the restaurant was only filled with the bar tender wiping down the glasses to stock.

The door to the restaurant opened and a stream of bright light pooled into the room from the outside, nearly brightening the space more than what the large paned windows along the from wall allowed. In stepped a young man, his hesitation obvious as he stepped over the threshold and his blue eyes scanned his surroundings. He wore a military uniform that was ironed to perfection, donned in two well dressed medals on his left breast, and he took off his matching cap when he stepped inside, offering a stiff nod in greeting to the bartender.

Passchendaele Daniel

Age 22

He was the first to arrive and he made his way over to the reserved table in the corner, sitting on the chair closest to the door. Habit. Made for an easy getaway if it was ever needed. He held his hands together on his lap, back straight, and his flat expression starting to fall into space.

The restaurant stayed silent. The bartender kept to himself and the few other patrons sat on the far side of the room, minding their own business.

The door opened again and a voice fell inside along with another pool of light.

“She’s a one-year-old, Jack, give her a cookie and sing her a song and she’ll go right to sleep. Ask the other two for help; they’re great with her. I can’t come back now, my meeting has barely even started. I’ll be an hour, tops. I think you can survive that long.”

The slightly older man who just came in had his cellphone pressed to his ear and closed the door calmly behind him. He looked a bit flustered and definitely tired; his dyed blonde hair was faded to mostly its natural brown tones again and he shoved his car keys in his pocket messily as he listened to whatever his friend was saying through the line.

Anything But Mine Daniel

Age 25

His blue eyes landed on the young man already at the table and he paused in spot for a moment before saying much quieter into his cell phone, “I gotta go. I’ll call you after.”

He hung the phone and headed slowly over to the table, holding out his hand to the man in front of him.

“Hey. Nice to meet you. I’m Daniel.”

Passchendaele Daniel glanced up at him and then to his out stretched hand and pulled a tight smile before taking his handshake, “Myself as well.”

They shared soft smiles as Anything But Mine Daniel sat down in the chair on his other side. They fell into a momentary silence, not quite knowing what to say at first. It was a strange situation to be in: staring at yourself from another universe and entirely different timeline.

Gentle music filled the restaurant and the two young men glanced across the room to the jukebox. A third stood in front of it, having just slid in a quarter to select a record, and the gentle voice of Elvis brought liveliness to the restaurant. He turned with a pleasant smile, his hair slicked back in a soft wave, and startled slightly by the older two staring back at him.

Heartbreak Hotel Daniel

Age 18

He offered them a crooked smile and headed over to join them, “Hi.”

They shared their introductions – being easy since they all shared the same name and nearly the same face – and Heartbreak Hotel Daniel took his spot across from Anything But Mine Daniel. He glanced over at the man in his old military uniform beside the oldest but looked away against before he could be caught staring. He adjusted the collar of his button-up shirt and dropped his shy gaze to the wood table top.

“What desserts do you offer here?”

The three men all looked towards the bar where another was stood on the bottom brass foot rest of the bar counter to stand higher, holding himself up on the marble top as he spoke to the bartender. He wore a Georgian style suit, dressed poshly down to the puffed tie in the collar of his pale blue jacket and shiny black shoes, his soft brown hair brushed pristinely over his forehead.

Amoureux Daniel

Age 17

The bartender eyed the young prince for a moment and then simply gestured to the menu hung on the brick wall behind him.

“I’ll just take the lot of it.”

He slid a few paper bills across the counter before heading over to the reserved table. His smile was wide and infectious and he offered firm handshakes around the table.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Prince Daniel of York. Second in line to the British throne.”

“Royalty at our table? That’s unbelievable.” ABM Daniel gaped, eyeing the youngest’s clothes as he plopped himself down in the free chair across from Passchendaele Daniel.

“Forget Royalty. I’m going to be a composer.” Amoureux Daniel tisked as he leaned back and loosened his tie around his neck to let himself breathe before rolling up his sleeves too.

“A composer? I’m in music professionally. What do you play? Piano?” ABM Daniel asked.

“Piano and cello. Piano’s my favourite though.” Amoureux Daniel grinned.

“Mine as well.” Passchendaele Daniel smiled shyly.

“You as well? Oh, splendid.” Amoureux Daniel clapped excitedly. “I was worried you lot would be as lame as my older brother honestly.”

Passchendaele Daniel’s smile fell as fast as it was formed and he dropped his head down. The other three easily saw this change and the youngest two from across the table habitually looked the eldest for guidance. ABM Daniel’s eyes were wide with surprise and he set a gentle hand on Passchendaele Daniel’s shoulder.

He spoke softly, “Are you okay?”

“I…” Passchendaele Daniel took a moment to compose himself before looking up into the friendly eyes of his older counterpart, “I lost my brother in the war. He was my best friend.”

“Shit.” Amoureux Daniel breathed from across from him.

Heartbreak Hotel Daniel slowly pressed his hand to his mouth in shock.

ABM Daniel hesitated a moment but gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze, “I’m really sorry.”

Passchendaele Daniel only shrugged lightly, “It is what it is, I suppose.”

“What war were you in? The First World War or the Second?” Heartbreak Hotel Daniel asked as gently as he could around the obviously traumatised man.

Passchendaele Daniel’s eyes went wide in fear suddenly and he looked between the other three guys, “There is a second?!”

“I didn’t even know there was one in the first place.” Amoureux Daniel said in defence as he reached for one of the desserts before the bartender could even set the plate down at their table.

ABM Daniel and HH Daniel exchanged wide eyed glances before looking back at the frightened soldier. ABM Daniel rubbed his hand over his back soothingly, offering the best reassurance he could, “Not in your time, don’t worry. But I think we need a new topic to talk about now.”

“Please.” Passchendaele Daniel mumbled thankfully.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a fifth one of us here too?” HH Daniel asked.

“I thought so too.” ABM Daniel pulled out his cell phone to check the time.

“What is that?” the other three young men asked him at the same time.

ABM Daniel glanced up at them and looked between their mirrored confused expressions like he was sitting at a table with triplets. Different brunette hair styles and different clothing but all with the same light blue eyes and youthful faces. He looked back down at his iPhone and held it up slightly, “This?”

They all nodded.

“It’s my cell phone.”

“It’s a telephone? Where’s the chord?” HH Daniel asked, leaning over the table to lift it up as if to look for the chord that should have somehow attached him to the wall.

“Where is the handset?” Passchendaele Daniel added. “If there is no handset, how do you hear your friends?”

“I have no bloody clue what the hell any of you are talking about.” Amoureux Daniel laughed through a mouthful of cake.

ABM Daniel smiled and looked between the other three, “I guess that’s right since you are all from the past, huh? Well in my time they make telephones that can go in your pocket. They don’t need chords.”

“That’s brilliant.” Passchendaele Daniel breathed. “And you can talk to your friends into that little box?”

“Yeah. Wanna hold it?” ABM Daniel offered.

HH Daniel leaned over the table to get a look as Passchendaele Daniel carefully took the iPhone from ABM Daniel and cradled it in his two hands like it would break if the wind blew too hard. The screen lit up as a text message came through and Passchendaele Daniel gasped in surprise, staring down at the lit-up screen and the little box that read words.

ABM Daniel reached over to swipe away the notification, revealing his lockscreen wallpaper: a photograph of his family from the day his youngest was born, all cuddled up together on the couch.

“Is that your family?” HH Daniel asked, still leaning over the table.

“Yeah. It is.” ABM Daniel smiled widely, taking his phone to set it on the table for all of them to see, “That’s my wife, Florence, and our girls; Clementine, Penelope, and Lucy.”

“That’s so sweet.” Amoureux Daniel said, “I just had a son a few months back.”

“You have a child?” HH Daniel gaped over at him. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“You have a kid at seventeen?”

“Yes. Ran off and got married young. He’s just born so no need to have a fit.” Amoureux Daniel snickered teasingly. He picked up the plate of desserts and held it out to him. HH Daniel stared down at the desserts for a beat but then shook his head politely.

“My wife is expecting our first child.” Passchendaele Daniel spoke gently.

“Oh, congratulations!” ABM Daniel said, helping himself to a dessert from the spread.

“Yes, thank you.” Passchendaele Daniel mumbled. “I am a bit frightened; I must admit.”

“Parenthood is a scary thing but it’s also the most amazing thing you could ever experience.” ABM Daniel assured him as he slid his phone back into his pocket. “I am sure you will be a great dad.”

Before anyone else could speak, loud muffled music could be heard from outside the restaurant and they all turned to looked out the large front windows; watching as a shiny white Tesla pulled up to the curb. The music cut off as the drivers side door opened and their fifth guest stepped out. His hair was dyed blonde and hair sprayed to messy perfection and the sunglasses perched on his nose were designer, his whole outfit dripping in expensive pieces, down to his leather pants and black boots and silver chain hung around his neck.

He came inside the restaurant and everyone’s eyes were on him – even the bar tender – as he slid off his sunglasses and offered a cool smile to the room.

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit Daniel

Age 23

He caught the glance of the other four young men at the table in the corner and he sauntered over to greet them. He offered a handshake to all of them before sitting at the far head of the table, “Sorry I’m so late. Promo ran later than expected.”

He glanced around the table at the four pairs of wide blue eyes staring back at him. There was a beat of silence.

“Wow, this is sick. It’s like I’m looking in four mirrors.” QTVTP Daniel chuckled. He set his sunglasses on the table. The other four pairs of eyes followed the action but they didn’t speak. “You’re right. Need to at least make up for my lateness. Hey, bartender?”

The man looked over to the table as QTVTP Daniel raised his hand up to get his attention, “Pitcher of water, round of beers, and let’s get some appetizers? Give us your top…six sellers. All on my card.”

“You don’t have to pay for all of us.” ABM Daniel said.

“Let me. It’s the least I could do. You come all the way out here to this shabby hotel and I’m thirty minutes late.”

The bartender brought over the pitcher of water, five glasses, and five bottles of beer, setting them all on the table. QTVTP Daniel took out his OffWhite wallet and pulled out his credit card, passing it over to the man with a smooth thanks.

“Let’s drink, boys.” he smiled, rubbing his hands together before reaching for one of the bottles.

“I’m not of age.” HH Daniel mumbled.

“Neither am I.” Amoureux Daniel added.

“I don’t drink anymore.” Passchendaele Daniel said.

“I have to pick up my daughters after this so no alcohol for me either, thanks.” ABM Daniel finished.

QTVTP Daniel looked between the four sitting around him, “Wow. Alright. More for me then.”

ABM Daniel took the initiative to pour the others their glasses of water as he offered a casual question to the late arrival, “What promo were you at?”

“For my record company.”

All four heads snapped back up to look at him.

“You work at a record company?” HH Daniel gaped.

“Own it. Yeah.” QTVTP Daniel chuckled. “My best friend and I have owned our own company for the last…two or so years? We’ve travelled the world together. Made some music. Made a name for ourselves. It’s amazing.”

“Wow. It’s always been my dream to be a signed artist but my parents convinced me to go to university instead.” ABM Daniel said.

“It’s pretty sick.” QTVTP Daniel smirked. “You meet a lot of cool people.”

“Are you well known?” Amoureux Daniel asked. “Do you work with people such as Bach? Or Mozart?”

“Bach or Mozart? Nah. Not yet at least. But we just signed a band that dropped their second album and it went number one worldwide.”

“Good God.” HH Daniel gasped. “You’re like Elvis.”

“I guess.” QTVTP Daniel laughed lightly, taking a sip of his drink as he leaned back in his chair.

“Do you produce too?” ABM Daniel asked.

“Yeah. We do most of the producing but we write and manage too. I have an eye for the industry.”

“That’s so cool. I’m working at a production studio myself. I’d love to run some demos by you…get your professional opinion…bounce some ideas around.”

“Yeah, for sure, bro! That’d be awesome. We can do that later.”

The other three young men stayed in momentary silence, sipping their water with Amoureux Daniel nursing the plate of desserts. He glanced over at HH Daniel on his right, staring at him for a moment, especially the remanence of a bruise that was colouring just under his left eye.

“Did you get in a fight?” Amoureux Daniel asked bluntly.

HH Daniel looked over at him, watching the youngest bite into a truffle, “Yeah. Corbyn beat me up.”

That caught the table’s attention and they all looked at him in surprise.

“Corbyn hit you?” ABM Daniel gaped.

“Mhm.” HH Daniel nodded shyly. “I was trying to stick up for my soulmate and he didn’t like that I was trying to take her from him so he beat me up.”

He stood up and lifted up the bottom of his shirt to show off the fading bruise over his stomach as well. The men groaned pitifully at how obviously it must have hurt.

“My Corbyn is so nice.” Passchendaele Daniel frowned.

“Mine too.” ABM Daniel added.

“Mine’s kind of lame. Everyone in my life is lame.” Amoureux Daniel tisked.

“What? You think you’re better than everyone?” QTVTP Daniel chuckled, taking a sip from his glass bottle.

“Not necessarily. I just don’t want to have to live the same boring life that they think I need to.”

“I’ll drink to that.” QTVTP Daniel agreed.

“Here, here.” Passchendaele Daniel raised his water cup and they all held out their glasses into the middle of the table to cheers through soft laughter.

Their conversation paused a moment as they drank. HH Daniel shifted in his seat slightly, tossing back the rest of his glass of water is he had been deprived for days and set the empty glass back on the table with a loud clunk. QTVTP Daniel slid over a bottle of beer and none of them spoke as they watched him unscrew the cap and take a long sip. The eighteen-year-old grimaced through the drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re really going through it, bro.” QTVTP Daniel stated.

“Yeah, I suppose.” HH Daniel grumbled, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Well obviously since he got punched in the face.” Amoureux Daniel added.

“I just…” HH Daniel sighed, staring at the table top, “We have soulmates in my universe and even though I found mine…she doesn’t want me so I’m suck tasting everything she tastes and it being a constant brutal reminder of her.”

“Why doesn’t she want you?” ABM Daniel frowned.

“I’m a loser? Hell if I know.” HH Daniel scoffed, he took another long sip of the beer no matter how disgusting he thought it tasted. At least it overpowered the taste of tea that was grazing his tongue.

“There’s a girl you’re in love with who has a trashy boyfriend? Well, take it from me who has literally been in your shoes,” ABM Daniel reached across the table to grab the beer from the eighteen-year-old, “You get nowhere from drinking away the pain or hating yourself.”

“You had this happen too?” HH Daniel asked softly, hopefully.

“Yeah; was best friends with this girl I was hopelessly in love with and I had to see her go from boyfriend to boyfriend no matter how often I was there for her.”

“So what happened?”

“She became my wife eventually.” ABM Daniel smiled softly, “Just give it time. Don’t push her because she’ll just feel suffocated. Let her come to you. She’ll see what she’s missing.”

Amoureux Daniel held out the half empty plate of desserts to HH Daniel and he finally took a small pastry as the youngest said, “In addition, you are in a universe where you can taste what she tastes and, from my experience, the way to a woman’s heart – and up her skirt – is through her stomach.”

Passchendaele Daniel choked on his water while laughter rose over the rest of the table.

“What do you know about ‘going up skirts’? You’re, like, barely fifteen.” QTVTP Daniel scoffed through his disbelieving laughter.

“I am seventeen, thank you very much, and I have a baby.” Amoureux Daniel corrected, nearly boastfully. “I know just plenty about going up skirts.”

Of course, that was right when the bartender came over with their food and his confused expression had the five young men smothering back their nervous laughter. ABM Daniel and Passchendaele Daniel cleared a space on the table for the food to be set down and all five of them thanked the man before he headed back behind the bar. With a full spread in front of them, they all dug in and piled up a small plate each to start to eat. It was quiet for a moment as they got settled and started to eat, passing the salt and pepper and various plates to each other when asked. It was comfortable.

“So,” ABM Daniel broke their silence first, directing his question to Amoureux Daniel, “how did you and your wife meet?”

Amoureux Daniel cracked a cheeky smile, “Well, she came to England to marry my older brother, but she liked me better, to be blunt. We would sneak around the castle and a few times at night…you know…”

There were two ‘oo’s from ABM Daniel and QTVTP Daniel, while Passchendaele Daniel looked between them all with wide eyes.

“You…You were involved with her before you were married?” he stammered.

“While she was engaged to my brother too.” Amoureux Daniel hid his smirk behind a bite of a mozzarella stick. “My most thrilling and incredible few months, I must say.”

“Oh my gosh.” Passchendaele Daniel’s cheeks flushed a slight pink and he tugged at the collar of his uniform. “That’s…ahem…”

“Did you not go near your wife before your wedding night?” Amoureux Daniel asked bluntly.

“Let’s not go nosing into everyone’s private business.” ABM Daniel said strongly.

“Wait, I’m still confused. Where did you sneak off to?” HH Daniel asked shyly.

The table chuckled lightly – even Passchendaele Daniel cracked a nervous smile – and HH Daniel looked between all of them, waiting for an answer.

“To bed.” Amoureux Daniel laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ll understand one day.”

“I…you…I-I understand perfectly well.” HH Daniel blushed furiously, turning quickly down to his plate and shoveled a nacho in his mouth to avoid continuing the conversation.

“To answer your question,” Passchendaele Daniel continued, trying to keep himself a bit brave and a bit interesting to the four other men, “No, I did not go to bed with Elizabeth until our wedding night. It did not feel right to deflower her until our union was official.”

“Deflower her.” QTVTP Daniel repeated slowly, biting back his smile as he took a sip of his beer.

“Well that’s what it is, is it not?” Passchendaele Daniel said sternly, narrowing his eyes at him. “I like to think that making love is the most sacred act and shouldn’t be just thrown around to anyone.”

“I agree.” HH Daniel mumbled, earning a thankful smile from the soldier.

“Jeez, then I’m quite the sinner.” QTVTP Daniel chuckled to himself. “I slept with my girlfriend on our first date.”

Passchendaele Daniel huffed softly and turned down to his plate. Amoureux Daniel and HH Daniel glanced at each other through the awkward tension that seemed to settle.

ABM Daniel cleared his throat, “Let’s maybe change the topic. This isn’t really lunch appropriate.”

“Wow…you are such a dad.” QTVTP Daniel snorted, shaking his head in near disbelief.

“What’s wrong with that?” ABM Daniel frowned at him. He couldn’t get much of an argument out before his phone was ringing in his pocket and he pulled it out, sighing when he read the caller ID, “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

The other four watched him get up from the table and head across the restaurant as he answered the call,

“What is it now, Jack?”

The table fell into a momentary silence.

Passchendaele Daniel broke it first with a mumble of, “Jack in my universe is dead.”

The other three looked between themselves nervously. They didn’t answer, ducking their heads down to their plates to focus on eating their lunches. No one spoke until ABM Daniel returned and he sat back down with a heavy exhale.

“Sorry, being a dad is a job that is never done. What did I miss?”

Amoureux Daniel, HH Daniel, and QTVTP Daniel just looked at him and shook their heads ever so slightly. Passchendaele Daniel sniffled, keeping his head down, and took a sip of his water.

“Everything alright back home?” HH Daniel asked softly over to ABM Daniel.

“Oh, yeah. My youngest just hates when I’m not within arm’s reach so she’s been giving Jack some trouble. She’s only one so…doesn’t know much better.” ABM Daniel smiled at only the mention of his daughters. “I have pictures…if you want to see.”

“Of course.” HH Daniel beamed.

ABM Daniel took out his phone again and opened up his photos app to swipe through a few and he passed the phone across the table. Amoureux Daniel and HH Daniel shifted closer together to see and QTVTP Daniel leaned over the side of the table to look at the pictures too. QTVTP Daniel took control of the swiping since he was the only one who knew how cell phones worked and they all smiled at the pictures on the screen, ‘awe’ing at the cutest ones.

“The baby looks just like you.” HH Daniel said. “Well…like us, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” ABM Daniel chuckled. “I get that a lot.”

Passchendaele Daniel stayed quiet on his right, eating in silence, and unbothered. He sat as if he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself. ABM Daniel looked over at him as the other three kept scrolling through his pictures and he reached a hand onto the table to gently get his attention. Passchendaele Daniel looked up at him with a flat expression and almost tearful eyes.

“Are you alright?” ABM Daniel asked softly.

“I don’t do well without my Elizabeth.” Passchendaele Daniel whispered for only him to hear. ABM Daniel was always the best listener and the easiest to talk to and it was obvious to the struggling soldier that he was someone he could trust.

“Do you have a picture of her?” ABM Daniel offered, as some way to keep his mind busy but happy.

A small smile perked at the side of Passchendaele Daniel’s lips and he nodded, reaching into his uniform jacket and he pulled out a small sepia photograph and held it out to his new acquaintance. ABM Daniel smiled thankfully at him and took the photograph, looking down at the old fashion photograph of the gentle young blonde woman.

“She’s beautiful.” ABM Daniel said politely.

“She is. I’m the luckiest man in the whole world to have her. She saves my life every day.” Passchendaele Daniel breathed, his gentle smile grazing his lips ever so delicately as if he was in deep thought.

Three teasing exclaims from across the table caught their attention and ABM Daniel quickly reached over to snatch his phone back. The picture they had swiped to was of Florence in nothing but a small towel blow-drying her hair in the bathroom mirror; a simple moment that ABM Daniel couldn’t help but capture with her in all her natural beauty.

“No more of that.” he blushed furiously as he pocketed his phone again.

Passchendaele Daniel offered his photograph of Elizabeth to the table and the three young men on the other side gladly took it. She was effortlessly beautiful and the three youngest at the table stared at her for a bit longer than was honestly necessary. Passchendaele Daniel bit back a proud grin at their obvious interest.

“I don’t have a photograph of Loretta.” HH Daniel mumbled. “If I did, that would be considered extremely creepy on my part.”

The photograph was passed back to Passchendaele Daniel who pocketed it again and HH Daniel reached to grab another serving from the platters in the middle of the table. A small corner of paper poking out under the dish caught his attention and he wiped his hand on his jeans before pulling it out from under the plate. His eyes went wide at the photograph of Loretta that stared back at him from his hand.

“What’s that?” Amoureux Daniel asked, leaning over his shoulder to take a look.

Surprised, HH Daniel couldn’t find his words for a moment, “I-It’s Loretta.”

The Lotus Inn works in almost magical ways through this ripple in the time space continuum. HH Daniel pulled the picture closer, his heart only aching slightly at simply the sight of her.

“She is hot.” QTVTP Daniel broke the momentary silence.

The four other Daniel’s glared at his bluntness and he put his hands up in defence as he sat back in his chair.

“You can’t have her so don’t even try.” HH Daniel scolded softly before turning back to the photograph. 

“I don’t want her. I have my own girlfriend.”

HH Daniel glared warningly at him as he passed the photograph across the table to ABM Daniel and Passchendaele Daniel to take a look at too.

Amoureux Daniel shifted in his chair and reached into his pocket, sure enough to pull out his own picture of Louisa and their brand-new baby son. He stayed perfectly quiet for a moment as he stared at the image himself, disbelieving.

“Oh wow.” he breathed. “It looks so real.”

HH Daniel looked over his shoulder and smiled at the sweet photograph of the young mother holding her baby, “That’s adorable.”

Amoureux Daniel smiled over at him, “That’s my Louisa. And our little prince.”

“Let’s see!” ABM Daniel excitedly held his hand out to take a look at the photograph.

QTVTP Daniel and Passchendaele Daniel glanced over his shoulder with mirrored smiles.

“Damn,” QTVTP Daniel said as he sat down again, “Glad to know we have taste.”

Their pictures were passed around and stories were shared – QTVTP Daniel offering up his phone to show off pictures of his girlfriend and he shared his excited plans to propose to her. 

The five young men seemed to find their comfort with each other. Laughter soon filled their table between words of advice and guidance and comfort and soon the food was gone and the drinks were finished and they were all resting back in their chairs through their conversation.

“Is your hair naturally that colour?” Amoureux Daniel asked QTVTP Daniel.

QTVTP Daniel habitually ran his hand through it, fluffing it up a little at the sides, “No, it’s dyed. I kinda like it like this though so I might keep it.”

“It looks cool. Maybe I should go blonde too. Loretta seems to like blondes better anyway.” HH Daniel said.

“No!” The other three at the table said quickly.

HH Daniel looked between all of them in confusion, “Why not?”

“Florence cried her eyes out when I went blonde.” ABM Daniel said. “I swear she was ready to divorce me. It’s not worth it.”

“You look just fine the way you are.” Passchendaele Daniel agreed. “Don’t change just because her boyfriend looks a certain way.”

“Yeah. You’ll regret that.” ABM Daniel nodded.

“I dunno. I don’t regret it.” QTVTP Daniel said coolly.

“You’re not helping.” ABM Daniel snapped lightly, making the rest of the table laugh.

A momentary silence fell over the group, all of them staring into space with content smiles and full stomachs, most topics of conversation well used. The bartender came over to clear the empty plates and they all thanked him once more. ABM Daniel took out his phone to check the time again.

“Well, it’s been over an hour. Maybe we should say our goodbyes. I have little ones to pick up.”

“Yeah.” HH Daniel sighed, setting his napkin back on the tabletop. “I have to pack for college.”

“I have a meeting...” QTVTP checked his watch, “5 minutes ago. Shit. Jonah’s gonna kill me.”

He got up quickly from the table and put his sunglasses back on before taking one last sip of his beer. They all stood up after him and started to gather their things to go.

“Can we take a selfie before we leave?” ABM Daniel offered.

“A what?” HH Daniel laughed.

“A selfie.” Amoureux Daniel breathed. “That’s a ridiculous word.”

“A picture of yourself.” QTVTP Daniel explained.

“Yeah! Come over here.” ABM Daniel took out his phone again and opened up the camera.

“You can take photographs on your telephone? Incredible…” Passcehndaele Daniel breathed as the group gathered behind ABM Daniel and they all leaned in close.

The picture was taken, framing five exact smiles, five exact pairs of light blue eyes, and yet five slightly different hair styles and fashion choices. All their own individual but yet all one in the same.

They shared handshakes that turned into friendly embraces with pats on the back, well wishes, and final goodbyes as they headed their own ways home to once again be seperated by the division of space and time between alternate universes.

ABM Daniel lingered back in the restaurant for a moment, grazing his finger over the table he stood beside with a calm smile. He approached the bartender and ordered a plate of desserts to go – he didn’t get much since Amoureux Daniel seemed to hog them all for himself – and he wanted to bring home his girls a treat. He paid for the cakes and thanked the bar tender before heading out of the restaurant and into the bright sunlit street. His car was parked farther down and he waited in the drivers seat for Florence.

She came quickly out of the Lotus Inn as well, the heavy wind blowing urging her to hold her jacket closed as she rushed down the sidewalk, her dark blonde hair billowing around her head messily and she helped herself into the passenger seat of their car. With the door closed and the wind kept out, she sighed deeply with a content smile and smoothed her messy hair down.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

They both leaned in for a quick kiss.

“How was lunch?” she asked.

ABM Daniel thought for a moment as he took the car out of park and pulled out onto the street, “It was strange at first but really nice. How was yours?”

“Super fun.” Florence giggled.

“Great! Oh! We took a selfie. I wanted to show you how similar we all looked.” Daniel pulled his phone from his pocket and blindly passed it over to her as he drove through the streets of their city.

Florence took it and typed in his passcode with an excited smile. She opened up his pictures and tapped the most recent one, her smile falling, “Dani, this is only a picture of you.”

“I know!” Daniel laughed. “We looked like quintuplets or something!”

“No…I mean you are the only person in this picture.”

Daniel stopped the car at a red light and glanced over at his phone in her hand. His smile fell as well as he stared at the selfie he had taken before they all parted ways, only his own face captured in the frame, his four new friends missing as if they never existed in the first place.

[angietmilover]

I am turning 24 tomorrow

Wtf

Today is a birthday dinner with some friends so I am going to look hot AF

It‘s in 5 hours and I am already getting ready lol

My family comes tomorrow to celebrate my real birthday let’s hope for no drama

I am not sure what to wear

Help me decide: dress or ripped jeans with a corset

Getting older and dumber every year

I wanted to do 24 of these but i do not know what to write

So eurovison happened and I hope we all simp over italy?

My cats are cute

I hope my parents give me money because i need a tablet for uni because drawing bones and shit

*laughs in archeology*

I am writing this while not wearing glasses because i have a face mask

My mutuals will know why that’s difficult

Fuxk next year i could get eye surgery finally

But i don’t have 5000€

I made it to 17 (lol I never thought i would get this old)

Fyi depression and Anxiety are getting better to handle when your older and have gotten therapy so FUCKING DO IT

I will drink wine today but I will not get drunk

Oh damn we are nearly there

I am starting to learn georgian in honor of my grandpa

This semster in uni wasn’t really good ya know

Fyi i am gonig to read my tarot cards tomorrow to know what this year of growth holds for me

I did it 24 weid sentences! Love you guys!

[perriewinklenerdie]

Evening conversations (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N:  Hello, hello, hello! How are we feeling, fam? PB delivered, we finally did it guys. I, of course, what else is new, couldn't help myself, and had to attempt a rewrite. Added some scenes cause I have no impulse control. Now, we have a few long weeks ahead of us, but it is 1) understandable and 2) so incredibly smart and good of PB to put the health of their people first. We live in hard times, the lives and safety come first. It will fly by, and hopefully, in the meantime, that scary situation is over. Take care of yourselves, guys.

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23738884

Tag list:   @paleweasels, @hopelessromantic1352, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian , @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @strawberrwess @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements,  @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h 

  Enjoy! <3

------------

Her shoulder comes in contact with Landry’s chest and suddenly her mind is quiet. No amount of shouts or looks thrown her way could puncture the fog that surrounded her for that one moment. It was nothing, and then all at once, it came with double the force, knocking the air out of her lungs.

Both of them tumble to the ground, Claire’s elbow digging into Landry’s ribs, a sharp pain radiating from the point of contact. Before she knows what is happening, a pair of hands grab her by her arms forcefully, fingers digging into her skin, and make a move to pull her up, when a voice booms over the field and next thing she knows, the weight on her back is eased.

“Don’t touch her, you son of a bitch.” His tone is chilling, filled with newly found rage that wouldn’t be easily explained if anyone asked why he was so quick to defend her. Luckily for him, the fight breaks out and his act of protectiveness gets forgotten by everyone but her, too stunned to participate in the insult fest that ensued as a result of her attempt to secure a win for Edenbrook.

It only stops when a very disappointed Naveen scolds them, breaking them all up and sending them on their own way. Claire was getting her clothes out of her bag when she heard his voice again, just behind her back.

“So? Was that worth dragging me down here?” Ethan’s words were slightly slurred, and as soon as she turned around to face him, she knew why. He was holding a cold bottle of beer to his cheek, the skin beneath the glass turning an ugly shade or purple. She winced, feeling a pang of guilt in her chest.

“I regret you getting hurt, but I don’t regret having you here.” She revealed, a proud smirk pulling on the corners of her lips when she thought about a crushing defeat that left Mass Kenmore licking their wounds. “I came to mess them up and I definitely achieved that.”

He smiled without humor, his eyes remaining emotionless. The lines of his face are even more pronounced under the floodlights over the field than normally, making him seem even more tired than usually.

“I got the feeling your head wasn’t really in it tonight.”

“It’s softball. My head was never going to be in it.” he responded matter-of-factly, looking past her. There was something in the way he closed himself off to his surroundings that worried her. Something was off, something was bothering him, and she would be damned if she didn’t try to help him, any way she could.

Her fingers brush against the back of his hand with the softest touch, raising goosebumps up his arm. It was all she dared to do in public, where everyone could see them and draw their own conclusions.  Despite all that, the warmth of his skin against hers made her pulse jump, endorphins rushing through her bloodstream rapidly.

“I know it’s more than that. Talk to me, Ethan.” Her face fell, realizing how little they could keep from each other, despite their best efforts to keep things professional and keep their private affairs separate from their work. His gaze made its way back to her eyes, and the depth of his yearning is as strong as her own. When he speaks, its with the softest tone she’s heard from him in a while, almost like he didn’t care about all the other doctors that were passing them by.

“Not here.”

“Then where?”

His eyes flashed with something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He finally let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “… I suppose you could come home with me.” a muscle on his face twitched like he was about to smile, the line feeling too domestic, too familiar. “I have a new recipe I’ve been looking for an excuse to try.”

He was trying to impress her. He was definitely trying to impress her, she was sure of that. If not because of the way he said it, then because of the way he smiled when she asked, surprised. “You cook?”

“I do. Often. I find it very meditative, actually. It always helps me get my thoughts in order.”

“Okay, now I’m intrigued. Take me home.” She blurted out, then blushed a crimson red when she realized what her sentence carried with it. His lips curled into a warm smile, a reaction she didn’t expect, but wasn’t about to ask questions.

They separated briefly, for just enough time to shower in the locker rooms and change into their casual clothes. When they met again, they walked to his car, picking up their conversation about the patient they had earlier that day.

Ethan opened the door to his apartment, the space as clean and spotless as she remembered it to be. Her eyes got drawn to the view behind the windows, the curtains being thrown open only making it easier for her to watch how the lights flickered above the water.

She walked further into the room uncertainly, running her hand along the back of the couch. “So what’s this recipe you’ve been dying to try?”

“Georgian Stuffed Chicken.”

“On a random weeknight?” she asked, surprised that he was willing to go through such a meticulous process when they both knew they had an early shift the next day.

“Correct. Come over here.” He nodded, tilting his head towards the entrance to the kitchen, letting her go first. Following close behind her, he walked over to the fridge and then placed a full chicken and a bowl of butter in front of her.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Claire’s voice went up an octave when she voiced her concern. She did know how to cook, she was pretty good at it too, but measured up to Ethan, she was almost certain that she was a novice. He grinned at her slightly.

“Get massaging.”

Her moves were insecure and awkward, not entirely convinced that she was doing it correctly, and she was completely right, for she heard him laughing under his breath as he watched her struggle.

“You’ll have to do better than that. Rub it right in. Full coverage.” He instructed her, then turned towards his own work. His body seemed completely at ease and strangely content when he occupied himself with chopping ingredients and sautéing them in a pot.

“Ethan, just how long have you been a secret chef?”

“For about as long as I can remember.” He answered her question, wiping his hands on the towel he had by his side.

“As in… you had an Easy-Bake Oven?” she tried imagining little Ethan helping around the kitchen, the vision of it endearing more than she anticipated.

“As in my Dad liked to cook, and he let me help him with all the easy parts as soon as I was old enough.” He set the record straight, his face not revealing any emotions connected to the memories.

“That’s painfully adorable.” Claire giggled, leaning against the counter, her eyes focused on him. “Did little Ethan have a special apron? Or a little chef’s hat?”

“… No.”

The scent of their food being made filled the air around them, occupying her senses for a moment. Ethan turned back to the counter, chopping the cherries into smaller chunks. While he was working, he continued explaining. “My dad worked a lot. He took on extra shifts. The kind of thing single parents have to do to keep the lights on. One way I could help was making dinner sometimes when he was exhausted.”

“That’s pretty sweet. I guess you got good at it.” she pointed out, a sweet smile brightening up her face. A satisfied smirk made its way into his features.

“I make it my business to get good at everything.”

As she finished up with the chicken, Ethan added more ingredients to the pot, inhaling deeply, something weighting on his chest heavily.

“It’s missing something.” He mused, shaking his head after a second of thought.

“Did you check the recipe?”

“Recipes always tend to the safe side, flavor-wise. What would you add?” he asked, pulling out peppers and herbs from his fridge. She nodded towards the peppers.

“I should have known you’d want to add more heat.” He grinned, putting the herbs away and getting started on chopping the peppers.

“It’s not the only kind of heat I’d like to add…” she muttered under her breath, clearly enough for him to hear and understand. His gaze zeroes in on her, eyes meeting in a look of longing so intense it makes him weak in the knees. It lasts only a moment before it’s gone, with a deep breath, and then he’s back to being his self-controlled self, focusing on the cutting board once more.

“You make it hard to stick to my intentions, Claire.”

“Good.”

They both got busy with keeping their eyes on their food, but time went by and Ethan still didn’t say a word about what they were meant to talk about in the first place.

“So… are we going to talk about whatever’s got you so…” she extended her arms widely and Ethan sighed in defeat.

“I suppose I did promise you an explanation. The thing is… I’ve been avoiding my father.” He told her, and it felt as though he let go of a heavy burden. He’s always been on his own, dealing with his problems alone. Now, at least in that moment, he had her to rely on, and the way she looked at him told him that she was there to listen, and help should he need her to do so.

“But why? It sounded like you and him have a strong relationship.” She noted, trying to find the straightest line through all the parts she couldn’t possibly understand. Perhaps one day, she would be by his side to help him deal with it all, but today was not that day. Today, he needed her to just be with him and help him any way she knew how.

“I can’t stop thinking about what you and I talked about in the care that day we followed my mother. I always thought that Dad and I had a decent relationship for two people with not much in common.” He placed the knife back down on the cutting board, exhaling loudly before continuing. “But I’ve come to realize that I never tried to get closer to him. Because I couldn’t truly understand him.”

“Because he still loves your mom.” She understood what he meant with a somber realization, seeing past the façade of a strong man that was rarely rattled by missiles that hit him. He only nodded.

“That kind of unconditional love… I could never comprehend it.”

“He loves you unconditionally too.” Claire pointed out to him what was obviously there. In any other circumstance, she would try to get to the bottom of it, but it was clear what he meant, and they didn’t have the time to delve into it just yet.

“Everything in this world is conditional, Claire. Everything. My dad, he never pushes anyone. He never challenges anyone. He never demands anything of anybody.” He tapped his finger against the counter every time he pointed out a trait of his father, his face as blank as it could possibly be. “What my mother did to us, it’s like it didn’t matter. And I needed it to matter. I need what I do to matter.”

“I take that it’s not how your relationship with Dr. Banerji was.”

“The opposite. “ he smiled softly at the mention of his mentor that became a second father figure to him. A man that pushed him to be the best doctor he could be and was now pushing him to be the best man he could possibly be, even if Ethan himself wasn’t aware of what his friend was doing. “Naveen challenged me every single day. Still does. If I ever came up short of what I was capable of, he let me know.”

Her face fell when she put his words together with what she knew was a typical Ethan Ramsey reaction. “And you haven’t talked to your dad about any of this.”

“I have no idea how I’d start that conversation.”

“So you’re avoiding him altogether?” she asked, already knowing the answer. It was such a characteristic thing for him to do, and yet she hoped that she was wrong. But she rarely was wrong.

“Yes.” He breathed in deeply, stirring the content of the pot.

The perfect silence of his apartment is shattered by the knock on the door, and Ethan’s whole body visibly tenses at the sound.

“Just how long have you been ignoring him? Long enough for him to show up unannounced to make sure you’re still alive?” her eyes flickered between him and the door, a look of concern blooming on her face. His face twisted pensively.

“… I’d better go answer that.”

His own footsteps ring in his ears as he approaches the door. He counted the distance between him and his father, dreading the conversation that most likely would ensue the moment he opens the door to greet him.

He could feel the pleasant warmth on his back, in the place where Claire had her eyes on him, offering her silent support from afar. He took a deep breath, then answered the door.

‘Hi, Dad.”

“Thank goodness you’re here. I was starting to worry about you.” a relieved smile lit up his father’s face, his posture visibly relaxing as soon as he was sure that his son was safe and sound.

Ethan’s expression fell when he realized how worried he must have been. “Sorry, Dad, I’ve been…”

“Busy, as usual. Don’t worry, I understand.”

Alan stepped into the apartment, sweeping his eyes over the room, and then his eyes stopped at Claire and his movements halted instantly.

“Oh. But I see you have company… Hello again, Dr. Herondale.”

Claire smiled at him warmly, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t mind me, Mr. Ramsey. Pull up a stool and help us make fancy chicken.” Her comment made him laugh, his gaze shifting from the chicken on the counter to his son.

“I see a chicken that needs proper seasoning. Do you mind, Ethan?”

He waved his hand at his dad’s comment. “Add whatever you like, Dad.”

Moving around the room with comfortableness of a person that knew the area well, Alan reached into the cabinets and pulled out a few bottles of spices, spreading them over the chicken. “This chicken’s going to give us all a little punch in the jaw.”

Ethan kept his line of sight on the stove, refusing to look up and face the situation he was in. But then he felt warmth on his face and found it impossible not to look back at her. He was met with her smile and shining eyes.

Deciding to break the moment before he did something irresponsible, he took the pot off the stove and moved towards the counter. “Incoming.”

Alan and Claire stepped aside, observing as Ethan stuffed the chicken, then moved it into the baking dish. Ethan’s father cleared his throat. “So what exactly have you been busy with these past couple weeks?”

“Work. Same as usual.”

“… I see. It’s just that until recently, you always had time to answer my calls.” He pointed out, his face twisting with sadness. Silence fell upon the three of them, Ethan remaining quiet, unable to answer. Claire’s eyes find his own once again, asking a silent question. He shook his head, refusing to act.

“Talk to him.” she mouthed towards him, frowning. Alan noticed something was off, and he caught their little exchange.

“Am I missing something?”

Her eyes were still on him, still encouraging him to talk to his father like he should have done weeks ago. With a heavy sigh, he gave up and turned towards his father.

“Dad… I have to talk to you about something.” Ethan said, then turned towards her with tired eyes. “Can you handle the bird?”

Her hand itched to reach out and rest on his arm. She resisted the urge, instead nodding her head reassuringly. “Sure. You two go talk.”

Claire tried not to focus on their conversation too much, tried to give them as much privacy as she could, but one line reached her ears despite her best efforts.

“Love is complicated, Ethan. I thought you’d know that by now…”

In her peripheral vision, she was convinced she could see Alan looking at her, and then, a second later, a hot flash brushed against her skin. Ethan looked at her too, convinced she wouldn’t notice.

The conversation the two men needed to have was private. So much so that she felt as though she was intruding, despite knowing what the said conversation was about. Knowing all that, she decided to make sure that all in the kitchen was taken care of, and then started creeping towards the door of the apartment. Ethan’s worried voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Claire? Where are you going?” she turned around, nodding towards them both.

“Home. I think you two need some privacy.”

“But the chicken…” he was genuinely upset that she was leaving, which made her smile so widely her cheeks hurt. Winking at him playfully, she responded with humor in her voice.

“Bring me some tomorrow.”

She could see the war that was waging in his mind as he looked between her and his father before he nodded, relieved that he would have time to set things straight with his dad and still catch up with her later.

“Wait here, Dad. Claire, I’ll walk you out.”

“It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Ramsey.” She bid the older man goodbye, smiling at him widely. He reciprocated the gesture in kind.

“It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, Dr. Herondale. Get home safe and have a good night.”

Ethan led her out of the building, holding the door open for her.

“Can you get home okay?”

“Sure, I’ll call a car.” She shrugged, reaching into her pocket for her phone when she was stopped by Ethan’s hand. He rested it on her shoulder, his touch gentle and warm, and then turned her towards him.

“Claire…”

He pulled her even closer, resting his other hand on her cheek. His thumb caressed her skin, tracing the line of her cheekbone tenderly. When he spoke, his voice was low and filled to the brim with longing, not for the first time that evening.

“Thank you.”

“Ethan…”

It all felt familiar, the determination in his eyes, the certainty of his moves, the warmth of his touch. Without another moment of hesitation, he leaned down to make their lips meet, wrapping his arm around her securely. He couldn’t get her close enough, couldn’t hold her tight enough.

So many times, he imagined what it would be like to have her by his side again. So many sleepless nights he spent missing the heat of her body, the softness of her touch, the tenderness of her caress. Now that it was finally happening, he felt as though he was dreaming again.

He could feel the desperation in the way her lips moved against his, the fierceness and eagerness to bring him closer. It was everything he’d wanted to do, to have her close and keep her there. He wanted it to happen every day of those past months, every time she came near him, talked to him, argued with him. The fire was still there, simmering lowly, waiting for the circumstances to change so it could flare up again.

Their breathing got irregular, both of them trying to catch as much oxygen as they could. The intensity of the kiss was rising fast, threatening to destroy the scale. Every cell in his body was calling for her, to hold her, to have her, to bring her back home with him. She held him tighter, their lips coming together fast and hard, desperately trying to prolong the moment. His fingers grabbed the material of her dress that covered her back, willing to do whatever it took to hold onto her.

At long last, she pulled away from him, forcing herself to not dive right back into him. Their eyes met, longing in them clear as day. They still held each other close, unable to put even an inch of space between them.

“Ethan… what does this mean?” she muttered, her voice small and insecure. He felt a pang in his chest when he realized what she was expecting him to say.

“I don’t know.”

Ethan pulled her right back in, the kiss having an entirely different tone. Slow, soft and tender, filled to the brim with emotions he was beginning to understand and come to terms with. She kissed him back, her hands caressing the sides of his face.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

They were breathing the same air, electricity cracking all around them. The invisible force slammed them back together, his hands moving lower to grip her hips. She leaned backwards, kissing him hungrily, like she was never going to get enough of him.

Ethan’s lips left hers, moving along the line of her jaw, descending down her neck. The sound she made bordered on obscene, definitely not suited for the situation they were in currently, but he couldn’t care less. It did things to him, things he could definitely name, things he definitely wanted to explore with her, over and over again. But it wasn’t the time and place for it.

“Do you think-“ he leaned back for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough for her to reach for the door handle, pushing him back inside.

The corridor was dark and she slammed them against the wall, hiding them from the view. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she pulled tightly, a low groan ringing in the empty space around them. The thought of letting her go seemed impossible, and he had no idea how they were going to say goodnight.

Kissing her was intoxicating him, making him feel lightheaded. His hands wandered on her body, touching every part he could reach. With just the tips of his fingers, he brushed the skin of her legs beneath the hem of the dress she was wearing. A heavy sigh slipped out of her mouth, sending a shiver down his back.

Ethan’s touch got more insistent, now gripping the soft skin of her thigh, pulling her leg up and around his hip, growling at the contact. Claire’s smirk was concealed by the darkness they were drowning in, but they knew each other well enough for him to know she was smug. Pressing against her, he elicited a desperate sound of her own, grinning against her.

He trailed off from her lips yet again, sucking on the skin of her collarbone gently, then leaned back and rested his forehead against hers. Their breaths were elevated, shoulders moving up and down rapidly. Any more teasing, and he would have to take her against the wall, which he didn’t want for multiple reasons, the main one being that he wanted to take his time. He waited so long to have her by his side again, he can wait one day more.

“Let’s get you that car.” He whispered and was met with a slight nod from her, the same thought process happening in her mind at the same time.

They waited for her ride to arrive, holding each other close and kissing each other from time to time. When time came for her to leave, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him into her one last time, kissing him like there was nothing else in the world.

“Goodnight, Ethan.” She whispered, then got into the car. Once seated inside, she looked back at him, his eyes staring at her with longing. He followed the car with his gaze until it disappeared from his view.

---------

“You were gone for a long time.” Alan greeted him, leaning back on the couch with a knowing smile. Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, then scoffed and went to the kitchen to check on the chicken.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He tried deflecting the obvious question, to no avail, for his father laughed loudly.

“Ethan, you’re grinning like child that got candy. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say that it has nothing to do with her? Or something that happened while you two were gone?” a suggestive undertone in Alan’s voice made Ethan blush. He really was that obvious, so evidently taken with her that even his own father noticed.

“I- that’s not what we were supposed to be talking about.” He walked back to the couch, and his dad laughed a bit more.

“And you’re blushing! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered. Makes me regret that I came here and interrupted your evening together.”

“Don’t. Claire is right, I do need to talk to you. It’s weighing on me, ignoring you like that. I want us to talk and resolve it.” Ethan sighed, running his fingers through his hair. His relationship with Alan was never stellar, but they made it work as best as they could. With his mother back, the pain he felt since he was a child came back to the surface, widening the chasm between the two men more and more with each day that passed.

“She’s got a good influence on you. Promise me that you will talk to her when we’re done here.”

“I promise.” He nodded, his eyes shifting to his phone, left on the table. His fingers twitched in a gesture to reach for it, but he caught himself just in time to stop himself.

“Text her. Now.” Alan advised, knowing that his son would not act on his feelings if he didn’t encourage him, one way or another.

“She isn’t even home yet, and even if she was, she won’t have time to respond right away.”

“Then ask her to call you when she does. Come on, you’re one second away from bursting.” He said with a clear indication that there was no point in Ethan denying or arguing the point his dad was making. Letting out an annoyed huff, he produced a short message carefully.

“There. Happy now?”

“You’ll thank me later-“ the ping of an incoming message interrupted his smug remark, both men looking on the phone, then at each other. Ethan, almost like he could read his father’s mind, snatched the phone before he could reach for it, causing the older man to laugh.

He could lie to himself all he wanted, but there was no lying to Alan. Ethan’s face lit up as soon as he read Claire’s message, and it was at that moment when he was finally hit with the reality.

“… oh god.” He muttered, leaning forward heavily. Turning to his dad, he tried to form a coherent sentence, but found it impossible. Alan put his hand on his son’s shoulder, offering a smile.

“Congratulations, son. You just realized what everyone else already knew. Including Claire herself.”

For the next two hours, they walked through all the issues Ethan had developed over the years. There was no way they could resolve it all in one night, but it was a good start. By the end of the evening, they had a solid foundation for their road to forgiveness.

Just as they stood up to end their night, Ethan’s phone started ringing. He jumped slightly in his seat, and then started breathing a bit heavier when he saw who was calling. Alan’s grip on his shoulder tightened briefly before started walking towards the guest room he usually occupied when he was visiting.

“Tell her, Ethan. You already know how you feel, it’s time to let her know too.”

“Thank you, Dad.” Ethan walked over to him, hesitating for just a second, before he hugged him tightly. Alan was stunned for a while, and then embraced his son, thanking silently for the universe placing Claire and Ethan on each other’s paths.

[canceraquariuscancer]

slang from the past that i love and would love to make a comeback

*Any slang mentioned that’s still used today is marked with an exclamation point (!) before the word 

The Tudor Period (1483-1603)

Barnicles - glasses

!  Break Up - to end a relationship

Green - new, inexperienced 

Pigeon - a gullible person 

!  Scott Free - without any penalty or damage at all

The Elizabethan Era (1558-1603)

Lubberwort - a lazy, stupid person 

The Regency/Georgian Era (1811-1820)

 A Fudge - a false rumor

All The Crack - very fashionable

Bag Of Moonshine - lot of nonsense 

!  Bamboozle - trick

Become a Tenant For Life - marry

Befogged - confused

Civil Whiskers - polite small talk

Cock-Sure - proud and confident

Faradiddles - lies

Pudding House - stomach

The Victorian Era (1837-1901)

Bit o’ Raspberry - attractive girl (raspberries were thought to be the most flavorful preserves, so the prettiest girls were called bit of raspberries)

Bubble Around - verbal attack

Chuckaboo - close friend

Dying Duck in a Thunderstorm - u g l y (or, in a nice way, unattractive)

Gigglemug - ‘a habitually smiling face’

Lallygagging - flirting

Rain Napper - umbrella

Sauce Box - mouth

Wooden Spoon - idiot

Edwardian Era (1901-1910)

Bonehead - stupid, foolish person

Boner - a mistake, an error

! Boy! - an emphatic interjection

Bunk - nonsense 

! Butterflies in the Stomach - fearfullness, stage fright

! Buzz Off - leave, say good-bye

! Can - to fire

! Cold - completely, immediately 

Curtains - the end

! Doll Up - dress up

! Double-Cross - betray

Duck Soup - something easy

! Fall For - fall in love with 

! Frog - hoarseness 

Gas - a joke

! Goof - someone stupid or foolish

Goop/Goopy - stupid person

Hoosegow - jail or prison 

! Ice - diamonds, jewlery

! In the Bag -assured, guaranteed

Jake - good, okay

! Killer - something or someone excellent, outstanding

! Lay Off - to fire (temporarily)

! Lick - a bit, in the smallest amount 

! Loaded - rich, wealthy 

Louse - mean, despicable person

! Noodle - the head

! Nut - a crazy person 

! Nuts! - an interjection of disappointment 

Pug-Ugly - very ugly

! Screw - to harm greatly

! Side-Kick - accompanied by someone else

! Snarky - iritable, short-tempered

! Stand Up - to not show for a date 

1920′s

Applesauce! - nonsense

! Bee’s Knees - something excellent, outstanding

Big Cheese - important person

!  Cat’s Meow - something excellent, outstanding [similar to bee’s knees]

! Cat’s Pajamas - something excellent, outstanding [similar to bee’s knees and cat’s meow]

Cheaters - eyeglasses

! Heebie Jeebies - nervousness 

1930′s and 1940′s

! All-Nighter - a store or restaurant is open all night

! Bananas - crazy, insane

Bill and Coo - to hug and kiss

! Bonkers - crazy, insane

Fruit - homosexual

Ginchy - sexy

Malarky - nonsense

Mickey-Mouse - minor, unimportant

Monday Morning Quarterback - someone who offers advice too late

Rhubarb - argument, sqwabble 

! Take a Gander - look at, examine

Take a Powder - leave

Tomato - a female

1950′s

Chrome Dome - bald guy

! Eureka! - i’ve got it!

Fantabulous - fantastic, fabulous

I Feel Like A Defective typewriter - i missed my period

Kibosh - to stop something

! Later Aligator/In a While Crocodile - a fun way to say goodbye 

Mickey-Mouse - easy, simple

On Cloud Seven - really happy

On the Rag - having your menstrual period

Peepers - eyeglasses

Razz My Berries - impress me

Ring-a-Ding-Ding - similar to ‘woop dee doo’, but it’s used as sarcasm

Zonk - to hit

1960′s

Boob Tube - tv

Cherry - (something) excellent, outstanding

Golden Arches - McDonald’s 

Klutz - a clumsy person

On Cloud Nine - really happy

Zonked - tired, exhausted 

1970′s

! Cool Beans - amazing, inceredible 

Duck Soup - excellent, outstanding 

Rug-Rat - small child

! Zippo - nothing

Zonk Out - to fall soundly asleep

1980′s

Crackalack - to happen, take place

Dead Presidents - money

Earthbound - old fashioned

Goober - an unsophisticated person

Paper Shaker - cheerleader

Squerrel - attractive female

1990′s

Betty - a girl

Circle - to marry

Illuminations - good ideas, thoughts

See the Dinosaur - misunderstood completely

Zeen - to understand 

[inactive-shroomiehomie]

May I request either a Carisi or Barba fic where he is charmed by reader's Southern accent, even though most New Yorkers are critical of it? And it's not a smooth Georgian drawl like Amanda's, it's a twangy Appalachian east KY/east TN coal-miner nonsense haha

A/N: Ok, I love this. Being from Western Kentucky myself, this one was so fun to write. Thank you for the request! I really hope you like this one 💖

Warnings: Child Abduction/Trafficking

Summary: There's a bunch of missing kids and SVU needs to get to the bottom of it. You meet Barba for the first time when you go to get a search warrant.

Word Count: 950

-

"I think I'm going to want a lawyer."

There was a knock against the one way mirror to the interrogation room that made your mouth shut. You looked at the glass but not at the reflection of yourself, but at your boss behind it. You let out a heavy sigh through your nose.

"Lawyer or not, we're gonna find out what you did to them kids." You hissed at the perp sitting in front of you. He feigned innocence, trying to keep the devious smirk he had under control.

You stood up from your seat, purposefully making a loud noise with the chair as you pushed it into the table and left. As you shut the door, you leaned your head against it to look at Olivia. You shrugged at her, not knowing what to say- defeated.

"I tried, Cap."

"I know you did, (L/N). You're new here. Don't beat yourself up." She started walking away, motioning for you to follow her.

"Look," You started, "We have this guy at the playground at the time of the abductions. We know he owns the same make and model of the truck that witnesses saw leavin' the scene." You huffed, running your hands through your hair. "This guy done somethin' with them kids and we have nothin' but circumstantial evidence."

Olivia nodded while she listened to you. The two of you made your way into her office. She sat down at her desk and took her glasses off to look at you, "Alright. Here's what we need to do. You and Amanda go down to the ADA's office and get a search warrant for any of his properties and his vehicle, I'll get Fin to go to TARU to check out the GPS on his phone."

"Gotcha, boss." You nodded, preparing to leave her office.

"And detective-"

You turned around to look at her, leaning up against her door frame.

"Mr. Barba can be a little... brash."

You chuckled to yourself, "Ma'am, I'm from Kentucky. Folks from down there are born t' take things lightly."

She smiled at you, waving you off to go do your job.

-

"So what part of Kentucky are you from? What brought you to New York?" Amanda asked as the two of you neared the elevator.

"Originally, I grew up in Henderson. But I moved t' Louisville fer my job. But I guess..." You shrugged, pressing the elevator button. "I've always been drawn t' New York."

"I always thought it was pronounced Lewis-ville. That's how you say it?" She smiled at you, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup." You nodded, a light laugh coming from you as you guys entered the elevator. "It's nice t' meet another southerner up here. One that understands how we talk."

Amanda nodded and raised her fist up a bit, which you gladly met with your own, "Agreed."

The ride up to the ADA's office was pretty quick. Amanda led you to where you needed to go and even greeted the nice receptionist, which you came to find out her name is Carmen. She smiled and waved her hand, giving you permission to walk in. Amanda knocked on the door and the two of you walked in.

"Ah, Detective Rollins. And... a new face." He greeted, giving you a curious look.

"Y/N L/N." You stuck out your hand for him to shake. He accepted it.

"Rafael Barba." He drew his words out looking you up and down, which made you blush. "Where did they pull you up from?"

You let go of his hand and shoved your thumbs in your pockets. "Kentucky actually. I worked vice down there fer quite a while." Your accent seemed to be thicker at the moment. Were you nervous?

Rafael hummed and walked behind his desk to shuffle through some papers. "What are you two here for? Search Warrant?"

"You guessed it." Amanda answered, staring at you. She could tell how fidgety you became. "I'll go call Liv to e-mail the info to you."

You looked back at her with your eyebrow raised, "Don't leave me-" you mouthed. All she did was wink at you before walking out.

"So, how long have you been with SVU? Haven't seen you around here yet." Rafael sat down in his chair, propping his feet onto his desk as he twirled a pencil between his fingers.

"Only about a week or so." You breathed out, sitting in a chair in front of his desk. "I'm really likin' it up here so far."

"Your accent is really thick." He blurted out, "I actually kind of like it."

Your face grew even redder. You would melt into a puddle if that were possible.

"U-Uh.. Thank you?"

Rafael stood up and rounded his desk to stand in front of you. He shuffled in his spot, crossing his arms. "I'd honestly like to hear it a lot more."

What.

You swallowed heavily. "Well," You started, standing up to face him, "How's 'bout when this case is over we grab a coffee?"

Rafael smirked. Damn, how was he so cocky?

"I'd like that."

You nodded, looking down to your shoes and tucking your hair behind your ear. You reached into your blazer pocket and plucked out a business card. You held it out to him, trying not to make eye contact.

"My personal line is on there."

He plucked it from your hand, reading over it briefly before tucking it into his own blazer.

"I'll be sure to-"

"Liv said she sent the e-mail over." Amanda said as she entered, interrupting Rafael. "But Y/N, we gotta head back. Liv said something's come up."

You nodded and looked to the neatly dressed man in front of you. "Good t' meet ya, Rafael."

Rafael cleared his throat, a light pink dusting his cheeks when you said his name.

"You as well, Y/N."

As you and Amanda left, Rafael couldn't keep his eyes off of you. This man was smitten and he had only just met you.

[zrtranscripts]

Season 9, Mission 4: Out of the Past

Heist

~

[birds twitter]

AMELIA SPENS: Okay team, let's go over this one more time. General Bakari has sent Abel a distress call from a remote Tunisian base, Red Scorpion, which is probably home to red fungus and definitely home to one Ernest Van Ark.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, despite the fact that you, you know, um, what was it? Oh yes, blew him up with a rocket launcher, Five! That's... [laughs] It's typical! My luck. We get Janine back safe, and oh, who pops up but the devil himself?

AMELIA SPENS: Bakari wants a team to sneak something out of Red Scorpion. Our hope is that it's a red fungus countermeasure. To get there, our team needs to infiltrate New Agadir, a city in the middle of the desert, while posing as Death's Hand, a mercenary group whose greatest hits include assassinating a blue chip CEO using a neurotoxin-tipped knitting needle and overthrowing at least three heads of state.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: This is all so exciting! Proper Mission Impossible stuff!

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, remind me why you brought the new person along. It's Frances, isn't it? From the Hebrides?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I wanted to try a run. Janine said I could come because it's a low-danger assignment, and because I promised to stop asking to be on the Tunisia team if she let me. I overheard Sam talking about the mission.

AMELIA SPENS: Marvellous. Janine should add “make Sam keep a secret” to her bucket list. [sighs] At least you're not pestering me to let you go. I've already had to veto Jody's involvement. I need her here working with me to train runners on McShell tower protocol.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] I bet she was thrilled about that.

AMELIA SPENS: Anyway, our problem is getting a team to Tunisia. The information in Bakari's transmission enabled us to contact the Maghreb Protectorate, a government which operates in what used to be parts of Tunisia, Libya, and Algeria.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Another government, that's incredible!

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, well, they're no use to us yet. They have no jurisdiction over New Agadir, and besides, our governments do not yet trust each other enough for them to provide assistance. Our team can't risk crossing Europe - too many unknowns - and our few ships are all either exploring or acting as repeater stations for overseas agents - too far out to be useful.

All we have left are small coastal merchants. I've found one scow captain willing to take people to Tunisia, but he's cautious. He wants the latest nautical charts. Pre-apocalypse, obviously. Not a lot of hydrographic surveys since Z-Day. You're approaching the London home of Horatio Brewer, famous British investor. Should have what we want.

PETER LYNNE: Are we sure about that, Amelia?

AMELIA SPENS: Fairly. Mr. Brewer was a keen yachtsman. Old Ministry intel says he planned to escape Z-Day by sailing to a second home on the Tunisian coast. Had all the prep work done, then his neighborhood turned gray. We think zoms got him, but he was keeping his preparation safe in a basement vault.

PETER LYNNE: Great. So basically, we're looting a dead man's travel plans. Lovely. Um, see that street across the park, Five? That'll be his, so better hurry while it's still light out. Come on, everybody. Run!

~

[birds twitter]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wow, this is a classy street. Look at the mansions. That one's got ivory cherubs carved over the gates.

PETER LYNNE: Neighborhood's in pretty awful condition, though. You've got overgrown gardens, smashed windows. No sign of V-types though, thank God. Dearg made me a prototype one-man burn cube, Five, sewn right into my chest. Anti-P-type measure. Got the trigger, but not massively eager to try it.

AMELIA SPENS: Maybe not, but it's the only reason I'm letting you near Tunisia.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: So Amelia, who exactly are these Death’s Hands people? Will they be tough to impersonate?

PETER LYNNE: Frances...

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, they're a nasty bunch. Former special ops, freelance since Z-Day. Bakari says they've been traveling the world as hired guns. Their rep gets them a lot of private security gigs. He's given us contact details for the real team, so we can lure them out of our operation’s way.

PETER LYNNE: Frankly, I don't think we should be trusting Bakari. This whole thing is probably a trap, which is why, Frances, Janine said that you can't – [zombies moan] Oh, God damn it!

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, isn't that the place we want? Big Georgian house covered in ivy?

PETER LYNNE: Well, Amelia, there's a horde of zoms milling outside Brewer's house, so we can't make it to the entrance.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Well, we could gain entry by the house next door. Look at the big white mansion. Its roof's half collapsed, sloping into the road. We could clamber across it, jump to Brewer's roof, and get in through his attic window.

AMELIA SPENS: You know Peter, I'm warming to the new blood. Quickly then, off you go. I've got the scow captain waiting on tenterhooks. I need this deal closed ASAP. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we um, we got in through the attic window, followed a ladder leading deeper into the house. Now we've found a sort of private antique collection? So we're in a carpeted hall full of artifacts in glass cases.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: They've got plaques. That's a Roman bust, Celtic coins, an Egyptian amulet. That's a Carthaginian pot from Tunisia. Shouldn't these be in a museum?

AMELIA SPENS: Ah, well, Mr. Brewer was a rather avid black market trader, made a fortune trafficking plundered historical artifacts. Actually, it might make a good impression if our little expedition returns some stolen goods. Grab the Carthaginian pot, Peter.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, burglary with Amelia, just like old times. So let's see. It's a classic. We've got the pot on the pedestal, so if I just lift its case - [alarm blares] Ah. I honestly didn't think the alarm battery would have lasted this long. Um, Five, grab that pot, would you?

[zombies moan]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, guys, apparently there are zoms in the house too, coming up the stairs behind Five. Six big ones in dark suits.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, that'll be Brewer's former home security. Alarm's got their attention. Hello! Still on the job, eh, boys?

AMELIA SPENS: Wish I could find staff that dedicated. No need to waste rounds, blueprint says there's a master bedroom down the corridor on your left. Brewer always left a spare key in the lock for his mistress. If you can lure the zombies in, you can trap them there. Run!

~

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Keep going, Five, there's the door past the amphora vases. God, how big is this house?

AMELIA SPENS: It was originally five smaller houses that were joined together behind a Georgian facade. Brewer felt he needed the space.

[door creaks open, floor creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're in the bedroom. There's a – ooh, four-poster bed, lovely. Uh, photos of Brewer and his family. Nice mustache. It's very Howard Hughesian. Um, Frances, you okay?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Zombies! I forgot how scary they are up close. Didn't have them on Dearg. I'm actually shaking.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, uh, oh yeah, of course. No no no, um, it's okay, Frances. See, so the key was in the door and um, here's what we're gonna do. We're all going to get behind the bed. This room's really big, so when the zoms come at us, we'll then be able to circle around and lock them all in.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The house isn't in the best structural condition. There are big cracks in the walls, and that creaking probably means the floor is compromised. If any more bodies start stomping in here -

[zombies growl]

PETER LYNNE: See, there are the zoms and they're... coming straight over the bed, so run for the - ! No, no, no! [shouts]

[floor collapses, glass shatters, PETER and FRANCES cough]

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, Five? What happened?

FRANCES DEMSPEY: The floor gave way under the bed! [coughs] The zoms were too much weight. It just smashed down through the house, took the zoms with it.

[house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: This house is definitely unstable. Yep, uh, sounds like the whole place is coming down.

AMELIA SPENS: If you follow the corridor outside the bedroom, you'll find stairs. Take them down to the basement. It's a reinforced garage, should remain intact if the house collapses. Plus, it's where that vault is. Hurry up, you don't have long to grab those charts, and they're absolutely vital.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, also um, there's a horde of zombies chasing us. Come on, run!

~

[zombies moan, house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Yep, there's the stairs, Five. Straight down, down you go.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The chandeliers overhead are really shaking. Five, look out!

[chandelier falls, glass shatters]

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] That was close! Chandelier smashed right through the stairs. Could have done without the glass shards in my face, to be perfectly honest. Um, edge around the hole it's left in the stairs. [house creaks, zombies moan] Oh, fantastic. Amelia, we just passed the ground floor and I can hear more zombies barging into the house. So that'll be the horde from outside, attracted to all the noise.

AMELIA SPENS: Just keep following the stairs down. There are exits in the basement, but you have to reach the vault first. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Yep, yep, yep. Five, close the door, close the door! [door slams shut] Oh, good. Amelia, we've made it. We're in the basement garage, and the stairwell’s collapsed behind us. Ooh, this is a huge concrete car park. There's tons of fancy cars. There's Bentleys, BMWs... a Model T? All right, just, could you give me a minute, Five? I've just got to pick some chandelier out of my face and eyes.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's amazing. Your wounds, the way they're healing. Enhanced cell regeneration? The scientists on Dearg talked about it. [gasps] This is what Van Ark did to you!

PETER LYNNE: Yes, it is. Not really looking forward to meeting him again. Rather pull my kidneys out, honestly. But Janine is not leaving me behind this time. I just got her back and I won't lose her again.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Dearg was his, you know. I was trapped there for ages. If you're going to a Van Ark lab, I can help. And honestly, I can't stay in Abel. It's funny, when we got security fixed at Dearg, first place I wanted to see was where Alice lived. But being there... a lot of older runners, they look at me, they see her. It's hard.

That's why I really came today. I needed to get out. And I guess I started to feel... if I was going to be her ghost, I might as well run, like she did. I don't want to be a ghost, Peter, and I don't want to go back to Dearg. I want to see the world, find out where I fit in.

AMELIA SPENS: People, you should get moving. That wasn't the only staircase leading to the basement.

PETER LYNNE: Over there, Five, look. It's built into the concrete wall, huge round metal door. That looks like a vault to me. Come on, run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're at the vault door. Here's the C-4. Do the honors, Five. [explosion] [coughs] Okay. Okay, right. Uh, vault is a big gray room with shelves, lots of shelves. Uh, model yachts, dusty piles of... ooh, gold. Five, Frances, look for those charts.

[paper rustles]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Hey look, found a massive file on a shelf titled Inventory. It's an index of Brewer’s deals and trade contacts. There's a whole chapter on Tunisia.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] Gotcha! There's tons of nautical charts on this desk under the sextant. [dragging footsteps] Uh, what was that sound? Five, could you go and check behind the shelf of canned food? [zombie groans] Oh, good. Hello! Amelia, we've found Brewer. Looks like he locked himself in here after he'd been bitten, entombed with his wealth like a rubbish pharaoh.

[laughs] Oh good, we've also got a zombie wife and two zombie children in the shadows. Welcome, everyone. He's taken his whole family down with him. [more zombies growl] And that is going to be the rest of the zombies in the garage. So Five, Frances, we're gonna move towards the door. Need an exit now, Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: There's a ramp on the west end of the car park, leads up to the surface. The shutters open from inside. Hurry, get the charts to safety, run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Okay Five, Frances, I think we've lost the zoms. Street looks clear behind us.

AMELIA SPENS: Well, I'd call that a success. Five even kept the Carthaginian pot. Now we've got the charts, I can have people heading to Tunisia in days.

PETER LYNNE: Janine's finalized the team. It's her, me, Five, Sam, Maxine, and uh, computer expert. Look, I-I am sorry Frances, uh, but honestly, you are safer here. We're going a long way from home, and trust me, Van Ark isn't to be taken lightly.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wait a second, look at this. The folder I took, it's full of photos, Brewer logging artifacts he traded. Look at this Roman mosaic from Tunisia, the symbol in the corner.

PETER LYNNE: That is the endless circle from Mor Island.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's not all. Brewer's notes say he sold the mosaic to a military base code-named Red Scorpion in Tunisia before Z-Day. He says the commander of the Red Scorpion base scared him, told him not to record any names. Whatever that place is, it's definitely connected to the fungus, and they've known about it since way before we have.

~

[workingonmoviemaps]

Popular Locations Wednesday

Toronto’s Art Gallery of Ontario

The massive Art Gallery of Ontario began its life as a Georgian manor home known as The Grange which was built in 1817. The home was bequeathed to the museum upon the owners death in 1911 and greatly expanded upon over the century in more than a half a dozen different expansions. The most recent expansion occurred on the supervision of architect Frank Gehry and included the new glass entrance on the north side of the building and a titanium and glass structure over Walker Court with a distinctive protruding staircase.

The gallery can be seen above in Hannibal, Lost Girl, and Warehouse 13.

[battybumboy]

But he was falling |Pt 2 | Thomas Thorne

Part two of And he was falling. I decided that leaving this story on a cliff hanger wasn’t fair. :p

There isn’t any other ghosts characters xReaders that I know of on the Internet... sooo... I had to make more!

Thomas Thorne x Female reader

Find and read part one here! :

Enjoy part 2!- xx 🍯

______________________________

Two glassy eyes look at the figure opposite them “Henry?”

“You shouldn’t be here! You’re a criminal!”

“I came to see you! You know how painful this day is!”

“You have no rights to be sad! You’re involved with the thing that caused this mess! You’ve picked your side!”

“I didn’t only travel here for that! I came to see you as well!”

“You shouldn’t have bothered! You need to leave!”

___

“L/N?”

“L/N?”

The pirate jumped at the feeling of someone tapping her shoulder and was immediately brought back to her senses by the dozens of eyes that were looking at her with expectant gazes.

“I’m sorry chaps, I must’ve started daydreaming. Repeat the question?” The other ghost, Julian, groaned in mild annoyance as the other ghosts sighed along with him.

“Who do you think would win a game of chess when we were alive. Me, or Pat?”

“Oh, uhm... that depends on how much chess you both played in your lives. Well, I knows that Pat was a man who liked many ‘a game so Pat I suppose. No hard feelings Julian- it’s just that if you were to play during your life... it would soon evolve into more than a game of chess.” This was met with a moment of agreeing murmers.

“I see your reasoning and I must say, you’re quite right.” The MP replied, “You know, one night, me and Margot- we were having a spot of chess- and, you see, we were slightly tipsy after having... one to many glasses of wine and I- we-” Julian’s speech was suddenly interrupted with a number of groans from his peers, all attention now lost from Y/N, “Anecdote, people! I’m telling an anecdote!”

“Yes. Very good, Julian. Now that this silly debate is over, which has gone on- quite frankly- long enough, we can get on with what I have to say.” The Captain spoke, “Right. I have a complaint about something we all know has been going on for quite a while now...” he paused to look at the blank faces surrounding him before resting his eyes on a particular person, “What ever is the matter, Thorne! You’ve been- sitting around like a pile of melancholy limbs ever since that argument we had! If this is about what I said, please know that it was a heat of the moment thing.”

“Oh no... it’s quite alright. In fact, it rather opened my eyes to the subject of my love for Alison.” This to was met with an ovation of groans as the poet continued, “I’ve realised that Micheal and Alison’s love is a bond unbreakable by a hand of no flesh. I shall cease my wooing for no where will it get me if I want the love of another but Alison. Me and Alison were so close, yet so far. Our ships are never to get closer, yet lie in the same port on opposite sides of the dock. I know that although my heart will suffer... I’m doing the right thing and everything will be ok.”

“Wow...” came the small reply from Julian as everyone looked at Thomas, his head bowed and eyes closed softly. An overwhelmed silence lay over the other ghosts as they looked upon their most irritating housemate in shock

“That’s a lot of emotional baggage.” Julian continued, causing Y/N to lightly hit his shin with the toe of her boot before giving him a half amused glare.

“Yes, t’was what I thoughts. Lots and lots of emotions.” Chipped in Mary.

“Quite melodramatic If you ask me.”

“Well it’s a good thing no one did then, isn’t it, Cap?” Y/N replied, playfully.

“It’s Cap-tain” the Captain answered back, fondly.

“Did I stutter?” she winked playfully before turning back to face the majority of the crowd before Pat spoke up,

“I believe it was very brave of you to share that Thomas.”

“Oh pl-ease! It’s not like there’s anything he doesn’t share with us!” commented the mildly amused MP,

“I think it’s healthy for people to share their worries with the people they love!” Kitty replied, as always the sweet ball of sunshine,

“I seconds!” Exclaimed the peasant Stuart lady,

“Quite” Lady Button responded

“Well I do keep some things to myself.” The poet said, a soft smirk on his features for proving the politician wrong.

“Really? Like what?”

“That would be none of your concern, Julian.”

“But come on!”

“One hasn’t the must to share every woe they bare, ought they plead not to” Y/N chided, always the voice of reason.

“Easy for you to say, Captain Secretive! We don’t even know your first name!”

“Tell that to Cap over there.” She responded, rolling her eyes so hard that, if she were to roll them any harder, they’d have fallen out of her head,

“It’s... Cap-TAIN, L/N!”

“She has a point though, Captain.”

“She only told us her name because I was also a captain and you can only call one of us captain.”

“I felt the need not to be problematic... if the newly dead were to kick a fuss then it’s curtious to fix the problem they mewl ‘bout” Y/N said, before winking for the second time that hour.

“Yes but most of these lot went two, maybe three, centuries without any clue of your name.”

“Guys! Please! Settle down! Secrets of our lives can be kept a secret, secrets in general can be kept as secrets.” Pat said, directing the last part to the forgotten poet of whome was looking more more conflicted by each jab the other three ghosts threw at each other.

“A lady always keeps a secret!” Came Fanny’s stern reply,

“Aye, thank you, Lady Button.” the pirate replied, sending a grateful smile at the lady whome was only older in appearance, yet so much younger in age.

“I believe that the only secrets that should be shared are ones at sleepovers about people you have feelings for and want to start pining but need advice on how even though it might be unaccepted because of reasons to do with religion...oh and the secret that you ate or stole something you shouldn’t have” Kitty exclaimed, still smiling.

“That was oddly specific, Kitty.” Lady Button responded, eying the happy Georgian woman.

“Oh yeah, that’s because I once ate more cheese than I was supposed to” she said with a giggle as the rest of the room looked at the naive woman, brows raised,

“Not that one, Kitty, the other one.” Fanny corrected

“Oh? Oh yes! Does a bit... Just make sure the person your pining isn’t at the sleepover. That would be awkward... oh and the friends you’re with are ones that are trustworthy- people might tell the church.”

“Does there be witches?” Asked Mary, looking at Kitty’s faultering smile before a look of nervousness,

“Oh, I hope not. Well, at least I don’t think so.”

“Rights”

“I think they have by now”

“What?”

“Oh, you were just saying right...”

“Well, I agree with Katherine. Secrets that are held close can be kept secret”

“But t’isn’t the greatest sin to ask advice and spead few ‘a rumour on the status of ones love life.” Y/N countered

“On the subject of love, all of us love food... and that leads us on to food club!” Pat exclaimed excitedly

“Whoopie-doo” came The Captain’s sarcastic response before Mary stood up to tell the group about the best way to make butter.

“Thorne?” Y/N whispered quietly to her melancholy friend

“Hm?”

“Remember... if you need to talk, ‘bout anything at all...”

“Right- yes... I’ll.. tell you.”

The poet kept mentally denying the fact that he was slowly but surely catching feelings for his housemate but the nagging at his mind never stopped... neither did the frantic butterflys in his chest or the urge to be near her. But he resided in the fact that it would possibly go away and turn out to be a silly phase. At least he hoped, for his heart couldn’t bare to be rejected... not again.

He looked at her soft features and felt a twinge in his quiet heart. Thomas couldn’t help but smile at her softly; He didn’t want to love again...

But he was falling

____________________________________

I hope you liked part two! Part one did ok so I’m making it into a series! -🍯xx

Part 3-

[sigilscriber]

You’re a Witch??? Rant ahead

Today, like so often, I got that same reaction when I told someone at work I was a practitioner.  As always the sterio-typical “But witches are women” was the first thing that crossed their mind. But it often goes beyond that when it comes to me.  

I am also tagged with “Where is all your crystals and pendants?” “I thought they only where black?” “Where are your robes?” “Where are your rustic renaissance clothes?” “Where are you goth clothes?” “What is you wand?” “What school can I apply to?” “Is there really a sorting hat of sorts.” “Where is your familiar?” “Do you know Alyssa Milano?” “You must have thousands of books” “My bosses best friends daughter is Wiccan?” “Aren’t you actually a Wizard?” “Can I see your book of spells?” “Ooooooooooh My daughter soooo loves Sabrina.” “My ancestors lived in Salem during the trials”  DEEP SIGH!

Thanks Hollywood, 

I guess we went from being classed as being green and ugly to being new age- sparkly-hippies, battling monsters and bad witches. No change. Still mis-represented. If even more so. 

On average I am just your average college guy. No robes or outrageous garb, no crystals or rings, no piercings. Not even a tattoo. Okay I DO have one heptagram pendant that I wear under my shirt (Just like a Christian or Jew.) And yes I admit I do have a small collection of mortar and pestels and herbs. I just happen to like the shapes and makes of different mortars.  I do have a wand but it stays in the draw of my altar. I am not bashing people that do where and have all that gear, clothes and stuff. To each their own. I’m not into hats at all, not into robes and ren shirts. I do not even have a car slathered with tons of witch stickers. I do not need that stuff. Yes, I do have a special pair of jeans and T shirt I like to wear for certain ceremonial works. But even the shirt is just a plain blue t-shirt. Nothing on it. I mean if you saw me crafting, I would look like a pain ordinary guy. I do not have a book of spells of Shadows. I do however have a prayer book I made. I use to have tons of books, but realized it was all the same wiccan stuff being written over and over and over and over and over and over. I ditched them all.

And this whole idea that because I am a witch, people think the only way they can relate to me is bringing up something like “Oh I know someone who sells crystals in Australia” or “Do you know Rowling?”  Point of fact. not only do I NOT know her but I LOATH her. She is the cause of my bitterness.

There are days when people pull this on me I feel like asking “Oh you are Christian? Can I see your bible? Do you know Archbishop Wenski? Why are you not wearing a head covering? Yeah I had a Christian relative that was mauled by lions in Roman. Of course I won’t but there are days....

Its bad enough that they continue to make shows and movies that makes ANYONE that’s remotely new age or a witch like they are some comical nerd, dim-witted or clutz. There are times I would love to see a show were the family is Pagan or witches and look and act as normal as anyone else or even well-off, but its the Christian/Jewish neighbors that are made to look like the “freaks”. And seriously, if I ever met Rowling  or the creators of Salem, Charmed or Sabrina I would probably bash their heads in  with the closest thing I could grab. And you seriously do not want to know what I would do to the asp-hole creators of Supernatural and all those Ghost Hunter shows.

They think its cute to play around and make TV series and movies out of peoples seriously dedicated arts and lives. Let see them make a “Magickal/MIracle” movie about a church of Christians VS Jews. Have them casting “miracles” like parting water, multiplying food, turning furniture into animals. burning flora and water into blood. Lets have a movie where kids go to a different monasteries and learn to make holy water and oils, learn prayers to battle other monasteries. They can be based off of the 4 arch angels and can be chose by an animated rabbi hat. The headmaster can be Noah. And they can get helper cherubs. And it all can take place in the Garden of Eden that they reach by a golden elevator shaped like an arc. Oh and there will be giants, unicorns, fauns, phoenixes, talking snakes and dragons (Because all of these creatures are mentioned in the bible as real) Yeah and the Jews and Christians can turn each other to pillars of salt. And hey, lets have prayer beads and rosaries bestow special powers like strength and invisibility. I mean why not????

Lets have a Show where the family is Pagan/Witches living in a nice house in Suburbia, dad is an executive and mom is a teacher. No special effects, no house with tons of “supposed “ withy stuff is strewn everywhere. No mention of them being pagan or a witch. Maybe just one small pentacle or sacred symbol on the far wall. Now and then at dinner they will have a meal blessing. Have the friend/neighbor be some half wit blonde Christian with huge hair that’s like “Oh I have a rosary for that” any time a problem pops up and works in a Christian book store.

In short: No. Not ALL witches wear tie-die shirts with pentacles on it, Not all witches where tons of rings and pendants. Not all look like some uber goth chick or stoner hippy. Not all have arms emblazed with tattoos. Not all have spell books. Not all live in Victorian/Georgian manors with herbs and glass baubles everywhere. There is no wrinkled elves, Hogwarts or invisibles trains. Some of us wear suits or gym clothes, live in Levitown houses and 40 floor apartments and do not have a single tattoo or crystal. We do not go to special invisible schools nor battle evil witches and monsters with wands. The only robe we wear are bathrobes and the only hat we wear is a hoodie or driving cap.       

[notasapleasure]

WIP Wednesday

HI Lymond fandom. This one’s for you 🙃

By which I mean it’s set in the Band AU, and it’s a crossover with the other stuff I’ve been writing recently (which I’m not tagging in this right now).

Niche WIP is extremely niche.

@erinaceina-blog‘s demented and brilliant prompt was that the guys from That Dance Movie I keep posting about should end up in London and encounter Lymond and his friends in a Georgian restaurant. Intergenerational, international bonding! Activism and art!

Here’s a snippet of the crossover.

---

A thought occurred to Merab, and he rummaged in his memory for the name the sous chef had given him. "Hey, do you know the rock star Lemon?"

Mary's aunt peered at him over the rim of her spectacles. "Lemmy?"

"No, I think it was like..." Merab waved a hand for inspiration. "Lomont?"

"Oh!" Mary's aunt blushed girlishly and she laughed. "Lymond. Oh, I had his posters all over my wall when I first moved to England."

"Seriously?" Merab grinned.

Mary's aunt took her glasses off, and the topic animated her. "Oh he was amazing - he still is, though he doesn't release much himself these days. Political and outspoken, and music you could - well, music you could really live to. Music for all moments in life. He was the best thing to come out of that decade."

Merab smiled at the evident pleasure she took in the memories. "Political? How?"

"Oh," she gave him a strange, sideways look. "There was a lot to be political about then, and musicians were not afraid to speak on it. He wanted to stand up for the oppressed, wherever they were. He tried to bring a musical revolution behind the Iron Curtain, he sang about injustices and environmental damage. I'm not surprised he's making a comeback now, actually."

"I don't know about that," Merab shrugged. "He's booked a room at the restaurant apparently. The owner asked me and Irakli to put together a routine to dance to so our special guests don't get bored between courses."

Mary's aunt raised her brows, her eyes round. "Well, you'll be dancing for cultural royalty."

"Want me to get his autograph for you? If he doesn't hate the dance?" Merab grinned playfully.

She blushed again, and he thought it was sweet, and she managed to say, graciously, that she did not need him to do that, though Merab could tell that this was not the same as an outright 'no thank you'.

"He will love to see you dance, I'm sure," she added.

She put her glasses back on and tapped something into her phone. "You should look up some of his videos, he's always supported and worked with artists of all kinds. There are some where he just uses dancers to tell the story of the song, he's not in the video himself at all."

She turned the screen to face him and tapped at the corner until the video went fullscreen. Merab leaned his elbows on the table to watch as the distinctive, warm sound of old synths emerged from the speakers.

Dancers in red or black outfits filled what appeared to be a blank grey space - but the empty areas resolved themselves into more figures through some outdated video trickery, and the red and black dancers tussled over these new participants. The lyrics were about war.

Merab glanced at Mary's aunt, who shrugged. "It was the eighties, this is about as subtle as it got."

"No, I like it," Merab reassured her. He looked more closely at the choreography of the dancers and admired the eye that had guided their movement.

Behind him, he sensed more than heard Irakli wander into the kitchen. The back of Merab's chair creaked as Irakli leaned a hand on it and bent to peer at the video. He kept his distance, but Merab closed his eyes briefly at the scent of him: it had been made into something concentrated by sleep and the memories of last night's dancing.

"Huh, what's that?" Irakli asked in his drawling voice.

"That's the guy who's coming to the restaurant this week," Merab explained.

"What, that guy?" Irakli laughed, pointing one elegant finger at a grey-clad dancer being pulled in two directions by a red dancer and a black dancer.

Merab slapped his finger away. "Shh, no! He just did the music, right?" He looked up at Mary's aunt for confirmation.

She nodded. "He's got a pretty impressive back catalogue. There's enough that I'm sure anyone could find something to like."

Irakli had gone over to the kitchen counter to pour himself tea. He shimmied his hips and Merab had to twist his mouth and look away to stop his delighted grin from showing.

"It's got a good beat," Irakli conceded, continuing to move idly to the song as he arranged his breakfast.