#and the stairs has been removed years prior

[chimaerakitten]

The house you grew up in had secret passages?? 👀

technically only one was truly a secret passage, but I like to count the easily visible trapdoor-accessible loft anyway because unlike a typical trapdoor-accessible attic the loft was two parts on two sides of the house and the only way to the second half was an honest-to-god indoor wooden bridge.

The true secret passage was actually the door to the only bathroom, which was a sliding bookcase. It was a tiny house and when it was being built the options were "will we use this space for a bookcase, or a bathroom door?" and the answer was "yes"

[soupandsimple]

Just The Three Of Us (with James Potter)

[ you and James consoling your little boy after Harry leaves for Hogwarts ]

* fluff!

** warnings? pregnant reader ; Hogwarts exists but other than that the story is non-magic

This was requested: see the ask here

…………..

“Love. Over here,” you heard James call you from across the hallway.

Harry had headed off to Hogwarts that morning and although not biologically yours, you felt every bit of pain any mother felt at being separated from their first born child. But even with your six month pregnancy hormones it had become obvious after getting home from dropping off Harry at the station, that you were not who was being affected the most by the departure of the 11 year old.

As James closed the door behind him upon arriving at the house, you excitedly asked your six year old son Maximus what he felt like doing for the rest of the day. Equal in tone, James threw in some fun options for Max to pick from but instead of getting a reply from the little boy, his lip quivered and he immediately turned and sped off up the stairs.

“Was it something I said?” James wondered out loud to you.

“Honey,” you said, failing to smile with a shake of your head, “c’mon let’s go talk to him.”

Making your way up, you let James rush up ahead while you took your time going up behind him. Your pregnancy wasn’t at the point of needing help walking up the stairs but it was starting to slow you down some.

“He’s not in his room” James announced once you finally reached the top.

“Check Harry’s room, I’ll check ours” you instructed.

It wasn’t until after you looked under your bed, the closet and your bedroom bathroom that James called you over from across the hall. Instantly, you beelined to the sound of his voice coming from Harry and Max’s shared bathroom. That bathroom connected the boys bedrooms but also had a hallway door which is where you entered from.

When you walked in, James signaled with his head over to the little boy huddled by the hamper. He had his face covered with his little hands and although silent, you could tell he was steadily crying. You wanted to crouch down to his level but of course that wasn’t possible right then with your belly so you made do with softly speaking to him from above.

“Maxie, what’s wrong baby?”

Max didn’t answer.

James then squatted down and affectionately rubbed one of his small knees.

“Buddy, c’mon tell us what’s the matter. I bet we can help.”

“You can’t help,” Max spoke, hands muffling his voice.

“Well we don’t know that for sure unless you tell us what’s wrong first,” James replied.

Max went silent for some seconds then removed the shield he had created from his face. Wiping at his eyes, he then looked down at his damp fingers.

“I didn’t want Harry to go.”

You looked at James and he to you; both with sympathetic expressions. This revelation was a bit of a surprise seeing as how days prior, Max had been all smiles helping Harry pack his things and had been all too pleased stuffing himself full of cupcakes and cookies at Harry’s going away dinner. To think he felt otherwise didn’t cross either of your minds then or now.

“Honey, why didn’t you say something sooner?” you asked him.

Max shrugged his shoulders and wiped at his eyes again.

“Has this been bothering you for a while now?” James asked, trying to remain composed. Remain composed because seeing his children or you hurting was something he had never been able to bear easily.

“No, but when I saw him leave on the train today it made me know he was going to be gone now.”

James and you both felt a huge wave of relief wash over yourselves because although Max was sad right now, knowing he had only just started feeling this sadness today and had not been silently suffering alone with it the past few days was of most alleviation.

“Didn’t hit you he’d really be leaving until then huh?” James gathered from Max’s confession.

Max nodded up at his dad then looked down to the floor.

James didn’t even have to look at your face to know that you wanted to hold your little boy so he stood up, took your hand in his and aided you in sitting yourself down on the floor. You winced at the ache you felt in your back upon lowering yourself to the hard surface, then slowly criss crossed your legs as James squatted down again to his previous position.

“Maxie, I’m sorry you feel this way” you said, taking one of his little hands in yours. He looked up at you and you stretched your other hand out, creating open arms to invite him to come sit on your lap.

Without a hint of hesitancy, he stood up and did just that…ever so cautious of course, just like James had told him to be with you ever since your belly had begun to grow.

You kissed his little head and wiped at his eyes to get some of the drying tears off best you could.

“We’re all going to miss Harry sweet boy, but it’ll be okay. I know it’s going to feel different without him here but we still have each other and it’s not like we’re losing him forever. He’ll be back for Christmas pretty soon and in the meantime, we’re going to write to him so much to keep up with all he’s doing at school and to tell him all about what’s going on here at home.”

“I can write now some too, remember...” Max quietly added.

“Of course we remember,” James spoke, ruffling his son’s hair. “I think it’d be a good idea to go out and let you pick out a stationery set for your own letters to Harry, hm? How does that sound?”

Max’s eyes twinkled with excitement but his smile was still a weak one. Seeing that, you pressed a quick kiss to the side of his head and tenderly squeezed him further into you momentarily.

“But we’ll sit here with you until you feel you’re ready, okay? There’s no rush.”

“She’s right, we’ll sit here until needed,” James repeated, sitting his bum all the way to the ground then criss crossing his legs like you had. “This is actually a pretty cozy spot and hey, if we need to use the toilet at least it’s right here.”

Max laughed as James patted the closed toilet seat and after a few seconds, voiced a concern of his.

“Will my baby sister be here soon? Because I really want someone to play with while Harry is gone.”

“Well she won’t be here for another couple of months..” you frowned, rubbing at your belly. “But we’ll be more than happy to play with you in the meantime,” you kindly assured.

“That’s right. But I mean it is going to take your sister some time to grow and be able to play with you anyhow so I don’t know…maybe we can also look into getting a dog?” James said, eager eyes shifting over to the six year old.

“Yes!”

“James!”

James chuckled at Max and your distinct reactions to his suggestion and raised his hands up in defeat in your direction.

“Okay, okay we’ll think on the dog…” he said to you but with a wink shot over to Max.

Max smiled big, stood up and got behind you and draped himself on your shoulders. “Mum, let’s go buy my stationery now! I need to hurry up and write to Harry about the dog we’re getting!”

“Uh-uh-uh… maybe getting a dog” James corrected Max before you could shoot him a stare of doom.

“Okayyy maybeeee .. but let’s go buy my stationery anyways! I wanna tell him some other stuff too!” Max urged, running out the bathroom presumably straight to the car.

James smiled to himself then stood up and once again stretched out his hand to help get you up from your spot on the floor.

“You just really had to go and bring up a dog did you now? A dog won’t replace Harry y’know,” you teasingly scolded as you walked down to the front door.

James pouted as he walked behind you. “I know, I know but I am going to miss all the noise he and Max made together. It’s going to be so quiet around here these days.”

“James Potter, you’re going to be begging for a quiet house once this little girl of ours shows up” you laughed as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

You were then able to tell this was something James really wanted for Max though, because instead of reacting to your jokey comment, his expression remained contemplative.

“Baby,” you began softly, “look I know you mean well and want to fix the way Max feels right now and believe me, I do too, but let’s give it a little time and spend a while with just him for a bit… this period in life of just us and him is only going to come once. Can we do that, give it some time? Afterwards I promise we’ll talk dog ...yeah?” you asked, reaching up to push back some of his front hair with one hand and caressing one of his cheeks ever so lightly with the other.

James exhaled and relaxed in your touch. “You’re right. You’re always right” he admitted with lovesick eyes and a kiss to your lips. “Don’t know what I’d do without you love.”

“Probably get a dog anytime you or someone you loved was upset…” you taunted.

He chuckled at that and gave you another kiss. “The dog can wait a bit, now let’s go start spending time with just our boy.” <3

[riverxsong-ao3]

For the first time in a long time, Barty was anxious. He’d not felt this way since he had originally taken the Dark Mark at only seventeen, having had to conceal it from his father. After that, his life had taken a sharp turn, with the attack on the Longbottoms, the months spent in Azkaban, and then finally the dreamy years held under his own father’s Imperius. There’d been no room for anxiety in all that time, but now it was back – he’d received a missive, just days prior, that his father had managed to fight off the Dark Lord’s control and escape their household, no doubt making a run for Hogwarts where he would find the one man who would not immediately censure him for his mistakes – Albus Dumbledore.

It was in this state of anxiety that he watched as his father burst through the doors, babbling wildly and demanding in stuttering, gasping tones to speak to the headmaster.

“Alastor,” Dumbledore said, as Barty’s father collapsed in front of them, his robes torn and his hair wild, “help me escort him to my office. Clearly something terrible has happened to your former colleague.”

“Of course, Albus,” Barty said gruffly, doing his best to stifle his fear. He limped around the table, swallowed a mouthful of Polyjuice Potion from the flask at his side, and scooped his own father to his feet with help from Dumbledore, dragging him step by bloody step from the Great Hall as the students from all three schools watched and whispered.

This was a nightmare.

“Albus…” Barty’s father rasped, glancing back and forth wildly. “I’ve made a mistake… I must tell you… the Dark Lord… my son…”

“Calm yourself, Barty,” Dumbledore replied soothingly, as he and Barty supported him up the stairs. “You can tell us all you need to when you’ve had a chance to rest and perhaps have a bite to eat. You’ve obviously been through quite an ordeal.”

“You don’t understand…. Albus… there isn’t time…”

“Inside my office, Barty.”

The two of them managed to wrestle Barty’s father into one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk, him fighting and kicking at them the entire time. Once he was ensconced within the plush red upholstery, however, Crouch Sr slumped into it, looking exhausted. Barty gave him an appraising look — the man must’ve been travelling this entire time, racing headlong towards Hogwarts. He wondered if he’d even thought to Apparate, or if he’d simply run headlong into the night without stopping for rest.

Dumbledore knelt on the floor in front of Barty’s father, leaving them at more or less the same height, and gazed deeply into his eyes. “I’m going to need you to stay very still, Barty,” Dumbledore intoned, his voice steady and even. “I need to ascertain what’s been done to you.”

To Barty’s surprise, his father complied, his eyes bulging but no longer flickering back and forth. He watched with bated breath as, for several minutes, Dumbledore probed into the man’s mind, and wondered just what he’d find there – was this it, the moment everything came crashing down? Dumbledore was a genius, yes, but would he piece together the truth of what Barty had done? After a long, tense silence, Dumbledore sighed.

“The Imperius Curse,” he stated. “A particularly strong one, at that, Alastor. There is only one wizard I know who is capable of this level of mind control. It’s a wonder Barty Crouch was able to break through it at all.”

Barty inhaled sharply. “Can it be removed?” he asked in trepidation.

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied. “With very little trouble at all… I should be able to… but the consequences may be – there,” he stated, as Barty’s father sank further into the armchair, his eyes fluttering closed. “Well, the curse has been removed, but…”

“Merlin’s beard, Albus,” Barty said gruffly. “He’s not – is he –?”

“Just unconscious,” Dumbledore replied, crossing the room and opening a cabinet. “The ordeal has done a number on his mind. I’m not sure that the man who awakens will be recognisable as the Barty Crouch we know. For now, I think a simple Strengthening Potion is in order.” He pulled a small vial from behind the wooden door, strode back to where Barty’s father sat, limp in his seat, and tipped the contents into his mouth, massaging his throat to make sure the entirety of the potion was swallowed.

“There,” Dumbledore said quietly, as he settled behind his desk. “Now, we wait.”

“Albus,” Barty said as he limped across the room to take a seat of his own, “what does this mean for us?”

“So far, very little that we did not already know,” Dumbledore replied. “It confirms what we’ve suspected – that Lord Voldemort is growing stronger and has somehow acquired a physical body once more. That he’s capable of performing tangible magic but has not yet revealed himself tells me that he is weak, as of yet – comparatively speaking of course. But I believe we can rest easy for now, knowing that Voldemort will not re-emerge into the public sphere until such time as he has fully restored himself.”

[bornonthesavage]

Detective Steve x Serial Killer Eddie 

CW: Discussions of dead bodies and methods of murder 

The hot tip of the cigarette smoldered red, burning up the end as smoke swirled away into the damp afternoon sky. It had been a wet October, the air already thick with the smells of dead leaves and petrichor. Steve liked the rain, he did, but shit. Sometimes it would be nice to stand out in the sun. At least it wasn’t raining now, something his hair was grateful for. He tilted his head back and blew out a cloud of smoke, the tip of his tongue pressing into his bottom lip.

Behind him he heard movement, the steady sound of familiar footsteps, followed as always by Nancy’s no-nonsense voice. “Steve, hurry up with your smoke break. We have work to do.”

He nodded once, taking a last drag before stubbing it out on the nearby wall. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t get your holster in a twist.”

When he turned, she was already giving him a stern look. “This is no time to mess around.”

“Why not? It’s not like the body’s going anywhere.”

It was the third one in a month. Which, for a city like Indianapolis, wasn’t a ton. The problem was that they knew all the murders had been committed by the same person. They had a serial killer on their hands. It was Steve’s first, since he’d joined the force three years prior. Sure, he’d dealt with plenty of homicide cases, but a serial killer was something else entirely. It set the force on edge, as they knew they were on a time crunch before someone else ended up dead. Nancy most of all, it seemed.

“Stop joking. Henderson says he has some more info for us.”

Steve nodded. “Alright. Lead the way.”

They marched through the first level of the empty building, a construction sight that had been put on hold, until they reached the stairs. The victim had been found on the second level early that morning by the owner of the property, as he’d been doing his weekly inspection. As soon as they’d been called in, Steve knew what they’d find. It was a gruesome sight.

They stepped into the room together, the space already full with others as they moved around and collected evidence. Jonathon was crouched near the head of the victim, taking photos, while Henderson stood nearby taking notes.

“What information do you have for us?” Nancy asked at they approached.

Henderson glanced up and gave Steve a head nod. “The body is in pretty much the same state as the others. All the bones in each limb are broken, as is the jaw. We’ll need to do an autopsy, obviously, but I’m willing to bet all breaks happened premortem. As did the removal of the eyes.”

“So, they were tortured,” Steve summarized. “Just like the others.”

“Yep.” Henderson nodded. “As you can see, the body was also strung upside down using cable wire. Again, we’ll need an autopsy, but the cause of death was almost certainly blood loss from the cut throat.”

Yeah, Steve sort of gathered that. The kiddie pool filled with blood, placed just below the strung-up body, sort of made it obvious. He took a step closer and leaned down to get a better look at the gash along the throat. It was deep, done with a sure hand.

Nancy looked back at Henderson. “So, you’re absolutely positive that it’s—”

“The Upside-Down Killer? Yeah, positive.”

Steve snorted as he straightened up. “I can’t believe you’re all calling him that.”

“Them,” Nancy corrected. “We don’t know it’s a man.”

“Statistically, it’s the most likely outcome though.”

Nancy pursed her lips, unable to argue that point. “Alright, well, were you able to find anything else? Anything that might help us catch the son of a bitch?”

At that, Henderson’s face lit up. “Actually, yes. Maybe. Come over here.”

They followed behind him to the far corner of the room, Steve keeping a pace behind. Henderson crouched down and pointed to what looked like a partial boot print. It was just the back half, imprinted in some dirt that must have blown in during the last rain storm. A small smile tugged at Nancy’s lips.

“This is good. This is the first bit of evidence we’ve been able to gather on this guy.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, so it is a guy now?”

“Obviously. Look at how big that boot print is. So unless the killer is a woman with oddly large feet, it’s a man.”

Steve hummed, his eyes trailing back to the print. It was extremely clear, easily picked up to add to evidence. The killer was getting sloppy. This was good for the department, evident by Nancy’s bolstered mood. She straightened up and turned to Jonathan.

“Make sure you get plenty of shots of the boot, with measurements. Then get the rest of the team in here to collect the body and get it back to the lab. If our killer already messed up with this boot print, who knows what other ways he could have slipped.”

Jonathan nodded, already making his way over. Nancy turned and marched out of the room, but Steve lingered behind. He stopped beside the body, taking in the gaunt and twisted face of the man. It never really got easier, to see bodies twisted and mutilated in this way. It was a part of the job, sure, but there was a reason Steve hadn’t gone into pathology. He would rather be on the puzzle solving side. Henderson came to stand beside him.

“We’ve got to catch this monster, Steve. He’s getting bolder. This murder happened only a week after the last. A whole week sooner than between the first and second. He’ll kill again, and soon.”

Steve let out a deep sigh and nodded. He knew that was true, of course. More people were going to die. He clapped his hand onto Henderson’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Don’t worry. We always catch them eventually, especially nowadays. He’d have to be a mastermind to get away with this for long.”

Henderson gave him a smile. “There’s the cocky Steve we all know. You always get your man, huh?”

Steve tossed him a wink. “Always.”

By the time he made it outside, Nancy was finishing up her call beside the car. He caught the tail end of what she was saying as he approached.

“Yeah, will do. We’re headed back to the station now, and once we have the full autopsy we should have a better grasp on this thing. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

She hung up and turned to Steve. “Hopper says to get back to the station now so we can write up our full reports. We need to figure out if this guy has any relation to the other victims.”

Steve nodded as he climbed into the car. “He might be the missing link we’ve been looking for. I still haven’t been able to find any common thread between the other two, but maybe we’ll find something here.”

“Hopefully. We need a break in this case.”

Indianapolis had never been where Steve wanted to end up. It was never more obvious than on days like this, with the sky overcast in grey and the littered streets flitting past outside the car window. No, Steve had always wanted to move some place with more sun. Maybe California or Arizona. Someplace warm. But for now, he was needed here.

Steve had always had a thing, ever since childhood, that made him need to be useful. Perhaps it was because his parents never even looked at him unless he was doing something they deemed good, something they could show off to all their friends. Daddy issues, how original. It was the whole reason he’d gotten into this line of work to begin with. As a detective, he could help someone in a way that really mattered. In a way that was important.

His therapist would tell him it was unhealthy to get off on the idea of only holding value so long as he could provide a service. That was precisely why he didn’t have a therapist. There was no way he needed another person inside his head, picking apart all the reasons he did what he did.

When they reached the precinct, Steve lingered in the car for another second while Nancy jumped out almost as soon as it was in park. She was always like this when there was a case she deemed important. At first, some of the other guys had called her Nany Drew. Both she and Steve had shut that down pretty damn fast. Steve watched as she marched up the steps and threw open the door, not even waiting to see if Steve was following. Which was fine. He usually needed to take a moment before walking into the chaos. Steve leaned against the headrest and took a few measured breaths, then pushed open his door and climbed out.

Almost as soon as he was through the door, the new recruit, Will, approached him. “Hey, Hopper’s waiting for you in his office. I think Nancy’s already there.”

Steve gave him a brief nod. “Thanks for letting me know.”

By the time he got to Hopper’s office, Nancy was already pacing back and forth as she recounted the new information they’d learned. Steve leaned against the wall beside the door and listened.

“This means he’s getting sloppy. And that’s only what we have on a first inspection. Once forensics gets in there, who knows what else they’ll find? I think we’re getting close. I can feel it.”

Hopper leaned back in his chair. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. This guy is a sick son of a bitch and we don’t know what he’s capable of. I want you two to revisit what we have so far and this new evidence. Get an ID for this victim, see if there are any connections.”

“Already on it,” Nancy said. “I have Max looking through the missing people who’ve been reported in the last week. If this victim has anyone who cares about him, he’ll be there.”

“Good. Steve, what have you found about the previous two victims?”

Steve straightened up and pulled out his phone, where he’d made a file. “The first body we found belonged to Andy Phillips. He was a local tax broker, no history or record in our systems. As far as I can tell, he was pretty straightlaced. The second victim was Martin Brenner. He was a surgeon, one of the tops in his field in fact. There were some rumors about him being sued for malpractice, but nothing ever came of it. So far, I haven’t found a connection.”

Hopper drummed his fingers on his desk. “Alright. Get to work on adding this new evidence to the case. I want the report on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes sir,” Nancy said, already storming out the door. Sometimes it surprised Steve, just how much of a force of nature she was.

It was hours later, when Steve was bent over his computer and writing up his report, that Nancy burst into the room with a wide smile on her face. It was a little unnerving, considering the case they were working on. She slapped a file down on his desk.

“Fred Benson.”

Steve blinked, looking at the papers. “What?”

Nancy slid a few sheets around until it revealed a picture of a bespeeched man in a white pressed shirt. “Fred Benson. That’s the name of our newest victim.”

“Jesus, how did you find that so fast?” he asked, picking up the file to flip through.

“Oh please, you know I’m just that good. Max also helped. This guy was reported missing two days ago when he didn’t come home from his job. Apparently, he worked for Indianapolis Times as a journalist.”

Steve hummed as he read the missing person report. “Any connections to the other two bodies?”

She shrugged and moved around the desk to sit in the chair opposite him. “I haven’t got that far yet. But I do think we’re starting to see a pattern in this guy’s victims.”

Steve snorted. “What, that they were all really fucking boring?”

“No,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “They’re all middle to upper class white men.”

“Eh, that’s not really an MO.”

“How can you say that? If they were all women with red hair, you’d see it.”

He tossed the file back onto the desk and leaned back, kicking his feet up. “Yeah, because that would be specific. These guys look nothing like each other. Hell, that Brenner guy was at least forty years older than the other.”

Nancy pursed her lips. “Still. It’s something that we should consider.”

“And we will. We’ll consider everything, just like we always do.”

Nancy opened her mouth to say something more, but just then the door opened and Chrissy walked in carrying two cups of what smelled like coffee.

“Hey guys!” she said with a bright smile. “I heard you were working hard on that new serial killer case and thought you might both need a pick me up.”

“Oh my god, you’re a life saver,” Nancy said, reaching out for the mug offered to her.

“It’s no problem,” she said, turning to hand the other mug to Steve. “Have you made any headway?”

Steve motioned to the file. “Yeah, actually. Nancy thinks we finally have an MO for who the killer goes after.”

Chrissy’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Eh,” Steve waved a hand. “Sort of. Considering so far all we have is ‘White guys’, I’d say that’s not too helpful.”

Nancy shot him a look. “Hey, it’s something! We can start building a character analysis, at least.”

Chrissy took the file from Nancy’s hand and flipped it open, her big eyes scanning through the papers. “Let me take this down to evidence so it can be documented. I’ll let you guys get back to it.”

Steve raised his mug and gave her a smile. “Thanks, Chris.”

She slipped out the door with one more wave. In her wake, Nancy got a thoughtful look. Steve knew that could only mean trouble.

“I think this guy, this serial killer, has some issues.”

Steve almost choked on his coffee. He set the mug down and dabbed at the drops that had fallen on his tie. “Gee, Nance, you don’t say? What could possible have given it away? Was it the torture? Or was it the kiddie pool filled with blood?”

“Cut the sarcasm, Harrington,” she said, pointing one manicured nail at him. “And I mean, yes, it’s all of it. But more so, it’s the painstaking details this guy goes through to make every kill the same. Usually, it’s something pretty simple, like strangulation with electrical cord or cutting off a persons head. But not this guy. He always makes sure to break all the bones in the exact same place, saving the jaw for last. Then it’s the eyes, which he takes. After that, he strings them up in the exact same manner with the same pink kiddie pool beneath them. It’s so specific. Like, there has to be something there.”

Steve turned his eyes away, back to the blinking cursor on his computer. Nancy had always been good at this, at seeing the patterns he couldn’t. It was amazing she hadn’t been promoted yet. Surely within the next five years, she’d be his boss rather than his partner. Puzzles really weren’t his thing. Which was ironic considering his job. But when everyone else gave him the pieces and showed him where they went… yeah, he could do that.

“You’re probably right. And if that’s true, there’s a good chance he sticks to other patterns in his life. And patterns mean leaving clues. Don’t worry, Nance. We’re going to catch him. It’s just a matter of time.”

By the time Steve left the precinct that night, it was pushing ten o’clock. He didn’t love working long hours, but it was better than sitting in his empty apartment, letting the worry and stress take over until he spiraled. At least if he was working, he was getting things done.

He trudged up the stairs to his second floor apartment and shoved the key into the lock with a little more force than was necessary. But his feet were killing him, and he could already feel the migraine coming on. All he wanted now was to drop into bed and close his eyes until morning.

Once inside, Steve kicked off his shoes and shrugged his jacket from his shoulders, hanging it on the rack beside the door. He left the lights off as he walked down the hall to the living room, where he dropped his carrying bag. The room was a little colder than he’d expected, which he realized a moment later was due to the window he’d left open beside the sofa. Well, there went his heating bill.

Steve began to walk toward it when a sudden pressure at his throat made him stop. His whole body froze up at the cold press of metal and the contrasting hand that wrapped around the base of his throat. A spike of adrenaline rushed through his system, making his heart pound harder and his breath catch. The feeling of a body pressing to his back stopped him from shaking too bad.

A voice spoke directly into his ear, the touch of wet lips and hot breath making him shiver. “Guess who.”

Yeah, he could take a pretty good guess based on context clues. Steve licked his lips. “What are you doing here?”

A deep laugh rolled across his neck, making Steve’s hair stand on end. “Oh, I just couldn’t stay away. I saw you today, outside the site of my latest work.”

Steve turned his head slightly, feeling the soft scrape of the blade. “You were there?”

“Mhmm. And I have to say, you looked fucking delicious. All brooding, with your long coat and cigarette. Can you really blame me for not staying away?”

The hand tightened slightly before relaxing again. Slowly, Steve turned around. The blade never left his throat, just shifted to sit along the underside of his jaw. He took in the dark eyes and wild curls of the other man, the wicked tilt of his lips as he drank in the sight of Steve. He wore a nondescript black long sleeve, with just the hint of tattoos peeking out. Steve met his eye, barely able to make out the depths of them in the shadows of the room. Then, slowly, a smile grew across Steve’s face.

“Hey baby.”

Eddie’s own smile softened. “Hey Sweetheart.”

[jenysmithnews]

Heather's review of Jeny's latest video

" The Lost Warehouse, Oil "

We begin our adventure outside an abandoned warehouse as Jeny welcomes us 'hello guys' (one day she's going to make my year with 'ànd Heather') .Jeny is wearing what at first glance appears to be only a short trench coat ànd high heeled boots and carrying over one shoulder a folding seat and on the other shoulder a bag and, finally carrying her camera on its selfie stick.

Jeny starts to investigate her surroundings which on the ground floor is covered in broken glass which given the fact that she is in high heeled boots and not the easiest footwear to clamber about in (the lengths she goes to for her members!). Whilst looking about, Jeny spots a guy who may or may not have seen her (the other units at the location are in use with the constant noise one would expect).

Jeny eventuaĺly finds a relatively quiet spot and putting down all of the baggage she has been weighed down with, and undoes her belt and then unbuttons her jacket revealing her gorgeous bare breasts and a short black skirt which she pulls up and, guess what! she's not wearing panties. Jeny is looking so sexy but at the same time she clearly is nervous with every sound echoing around the empty shell of the building.

At that moment Jeny whispers to us that she needs to find a place to sit ( she's brought a folding one with her) and so she covers herself up and climbing up a further flight of stairs, Jeny reaches a large open space where she sets up the camera. Stepping back, Jeny unbuttons her jacket and this time she removes her skirt After further investigation she retŕaces her steps to the stairs only this she removes her coat ànd confidently strolls around in just her boots and gloves, her nakedness like a beacon of beauty. Jeny poses in the doorway and at windows for an imaginary photographer, showing her arousal, Jeny's nipples now erect point in the direction of another stairwell where Jeny almost skips down and back up, full of the excitement of being nude in the early Spring weather to where she's left her seat ànd clothes

Moving the seat to a more central space, Jeny makes sure her wonderful butt cheeks are always in view. Now we get to see the contents of the other bag, some kitchen towel and more importantly a bottle of oil! Tearing off some sheets of paper Jeny wipes the seat (our Queen isn't going to sit on a dirty throne!) She removes her gloves and rubs her hands, warming them prior to applying oil. Suddenly she is disturbed ɓy loader sounds and unlike the rest of us who would automatically reach for something to cover our nudity Jeny goes in search of the source of the noise wearing nothing but her boots and her large J and S earrings. Finding nothing she returns to the centre and applies more lotion stopping briefly to adjust the camera at the moment when we catch sight of our lone voyeur and as quickly he disappears back to the stairwell. Jeny's sixth sense is telling her that she was correct (me shouting at the TV 'behind you!' wasn't in the least bit helpful) she still doesn't dress immediately, stopping to wipe off the oil, well if you knew how long Jeny had been searching for a short trench coat!! Now fully dressed (well as fully dressed as Jeny normally is) She eventually makes it back to the car, passing by groups of workers amazed at seeing a beautiful high heeled clad woman jumping out of the abandoned warehouse

Back at the car, Jeny admits how scary things were before suggesting that this may well be the start of a series of oiĺ in abandoned buildings! I can only admire her courage in doing something that clearly excites her.

To see this video and many more like it, join us at JenySmith dot net

[arcanekai]

Dear Detective | Chapter 7

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cw | mentions of bruises and scars as well as a deceased person

an | none

Previous | Next

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As Heizou walked into the precinct, he expected to see a pile of papers  and files on his desk, however, he was met with the complete opposite.  A single file was placed in the middle and it was rather thin.  Laying on top of it was a piece of paper and a post-it note stuck on top.  The post-it note was from Kujou Sara and stated that it is of utmost importance he solve this case as it was a request from none other than Grand Priestess Guuji Yae.  As for the paper, well it read:

Dear Detective Shikanoin, 

I have heard a lot about you and your expertise in solving cases.  I wish to commission your help to solve this one.  It is of great importance to me to see this case solved and you are my only hope in solving it.

With nothing to go on other than the emphasis of its importance, Heizou would have not taken the case, however, since it was requested from Guuji Yae herself, how could he refuse.  With his curiosity piqued, Heizou opened up the file.

A cold case.

The murder of a Liyuean woman, Renshu Ong, occurred almost fifteen years ago.  Her body was found buried in the forest of Wu Wang Hill.  Married a man by the name of Hsin Ong, but he died five years prior to cancer.  The autopsy report states she died from blunt force head trauma and there were multiple bruises and scars along her body.  No DNA was recovered.  

To the untrained eye, one would see this case as having no leads.   Detective Shikanoin, however, is not your ordinary detective.  The one crucial piece of information everyone overlooked, no soulmate mark.  In the detective's eyes that could mean two things: one, she was born without one or two, she got it removed.  However, based on the time frame that the murder happened, getting rid of a soulmate mark was a lot harder to do.  The machines used to remove them could not properly remove it without leaving some sort of scarring.  Also, the procedure is expensive.  Based on the clothes she was wearing when found, she was part of the lower class.  There was no way for her to afford it.  

Since Heizou debunked the latter, that meant the victim was born without a soulmate mark.  It was a little strange that there wasn’t much information on the victim.  A lot of crucial information was missing, but his intuition was telling him that all would be revealed later. 

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

The evening sky was at its peak when Heizou walked up the stairs to the Grand Narukami Shrine.  He would have come earlier had it not been for Uesugi talking non stop, but he couldn't exactly blame him since he was telling Heizou what had happened when he was gone.  Finally reaching the torii gate at the top of the stairs, he sees Kano Nana patiently waiting by the prayer box. 

"Hey cuz.  So, when do I get to meet this mysterious person?" 

"Heizou," Kano Nana replied, "just in time.  Our guest arrived not too long ago and is with Lady Yae as we speak.  I'll go fetch them for you."

After waiting for a few minutes, Heizou sees a familiar mop of pink hair coming out of the shrine along with his cousin and an older man.  As the older man approached him, Heizou notices the man has some gray streaks in his hair.  Just from that, Heizou guesses that he is most likely in his mid fifties.  He also noticed that he has the same icy blue eyes as Y/n and can't help but feel like she is related to this case in some way. 

The man stood in front of him and reached his hand out to Heizou, 

"Hello Detective Shikanoin.  I am Bai Jun.  It's a pleasure to finally meet you.  Thank you for coming all this way."

While grabbing Bai Jun's hand, Heizou replied, 

"There's no need to be so formal.  I'm more than happy to help, so it's no problem at all.  But I must ask, why did you decide to have me, an Inazuma Detective, take on this case instead of a Liyue Detective?  If I am not mistaken, this is a Liyuen case."

Bai Jun slowly drifted his gaze to the floor and let out a sigh before looking back at Heizou, his face stern and eyes piercing straight through his soul. 

"As you have probably guessed, I have a deep attachment to this case.  The victim was my younger sister.  Although our family wasn't on speaking terms back then, she is still my family.  This case needs to be solved in order for my sister's soul to finally be put to rest which is why I requested Guuji Yae's help.  And trust me, I tried with the Liyuean police, but they are also the reason why it's a cold case in the first place, so there is no one else, except you."

"Well, if I'm going to solve this case, I'll need that information that was missing from the case file which I assume you have because it was never used in the first place, am I right?"

"Your assumption is correct.  Although we are related to her, the police at the time believed that our little family quarrel was not something worth investigating.  I have our testimonies, along with all of my family's records.  I hope they will be of use to your investigation."

Bai Jun opened his messenger bag and pulled out a file folder, handing it over to Heizou with two hands. 

"As much as I would like to be a part of this, I'm afraid I can't be away from my shop for too long.  If you have everything you need, I'll be heading back to Liyue.  I hope to see you there."

And with that, Bai Jun makes a swift exit, back facing Heizou, never looking back.  

With all the information finally in his hands, Heizou bids goodbye to his cousin and Lady Yae Miko.  As he walked through the torii gate and down the stairs to the entrance of the shrine, he utters these words of affirmation:

“I guess it's time to visit Liyue.”

[seaofolives]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

@ofdemonsandangels tagged me! I don't get on this site much anymore so idk if this has gone around at all but if you're a writer who's reading this and you have time to burn, pls feel free to answer these questions for yourself!

also i didn't bother linking any stories so just uh here's the link to my portfolio

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

232 but I need to note that at least 31 of those are drabbles (that I couldn't put into one multi-chapter bc of the varied ships)

2. What's your total AO3 wordcount?

2,002,567 (what the fuck) but I also need to note that several of these are stories in at least two languages and that some of these are not written with the Latin alphabet system so the word count would be different in those

3. What fandoms do you write for?

g witch is my homebase rn! but I'd love to be able to write at least one ffxv fic again next year which is the biggest collection of fics in my ao3 rn. briefly I was also active in sk8 and even more briefly in hadesgame (but that's not counting the pre-pandemic years)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

HUH my ffxv fics have been completely nudged out of place! :ooo this is a surprise but hygge remains unbeatable since I published it uhhhhh 2017? it's a 30-day fic challenge where the brodinsons settle into earth following the events of ragnarok so that's why it's so popular I guess. the next fics are (from most to least) お持て成し omotenashi, weather report (the only hadesgame fic, the others are sk8), 浮世 ukiyo and save the date.

5. Do you respond to comments?

absolutely! they took the time to let me know their thoughts, I need to honor their generosity. THO I did delete some anon hate once bc my friends told me it's not worth it to engage and my friends are much smarter than me so

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

HUH man idk. like I define angst so differently than others (most people: liv why is this so angsty??? me: it's not???) but off the top of my head, the meeting on the turret stairs? mostly bc it's unresolved forbidden love gladnis and I really upped the ante there…i don't remember if it's to match the tone of the original artwork or if it was a client decision

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

there's a lot!!!! I'm not just all bittersweet stuff, I can tell other stories, I swear, but most of them are probably gladnis stuff but uh…if you filter my portfolio to just the fluff category, it's probably all of those there

8. Do you get hate on your fics?

HAHA oh man. so that anon hate, right? it was that time I posted my first guesulemio fic (forget me nots is the title) and I woke up to like 5-7 anon comments who got upset that I tagged it as sulemio (never mind that I also tagged it as polyamory but ehh there's a certain type of ao3 readers, right? we all know this) and like, 1 other anon baby later on in the day when I refused to remove the sulemio tag bc it was a fic where guel, suletta and miorine weren't a closed triad yet. to be fair, that was a fairly educational experience! I read up on some reddit stuff about tagging ot3 fics and while some people don't mind if the all-encompassing ot3 tag was used indiscriminately, other people, especially in the cases of open triads or where one corner of the triangle is missing, would love to know what subship of the ot3 they're going to expect going in. anyway that was the first and only fic I locked away from public bc lord do the anon babies have a lot of time in their hands (not a lot of reading capacity tho)

surprisingly the one before this—not hate, just disappointment—was a fic where gladio married that rando woman (we're talking about ffxv now) he mentioned in the hammerhead camp prior to the insomnia chapter. that's the woman that only exists in the English localization. the ending was that they got married in spite of gladio and ignis' committed relationship so there's basically three of them now. and people apparently hated that even tho one of the points I wanted to make with that fic was how gladio and ignis would always be together no matter what happens 🤷🏻‍♀️

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

what do you mean what kind isn't smut is smut is smut???? I mean yes I do write smut but damn if I know what kind of smut???? it's just smut?????

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

YES I love crossovers!!! of the ones posted on ao3, I think it might be joche in ffxv? mostly bc I couldn't fuse a lot of the lores together (kaoru was a lucian locked out of insomnia when Regis put up the wall, Kojiro was an altissian, that's it) but I do have one fic that I deleted from ao3 which is basically suikoden characters and events in the lore of pacific rim. and it's not on ao3 rn bc you could really tell I was just pulling shit out of my ass, it was all so bad and jarring 😂😂😂

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

MAN idk like i highly doubt it but I also don't take the time to find out you know?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated

ooh yes, two yeses in fact! mog (and ulan??) have translated some of my filipino fics to english but there was also a stranger who asked if they could translate one of my hadesgame!patrochilles ficlets (patience) into russian! that was very thrilling. and then just recently, I joined a guesule advent calendar project in Japan and the friend who invited me told me to give them a machine translation of my ficlet and they would go over it and clean it up to make it more readable to the jp audience. that ficlet isn't up on ao3 yet (it's on pixiv) but man I gotta remember to ask the project organizer if they would mind if I uploaded it there

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

YEAHHHH we never finished it tho!! it was a friend I made on some final fantasy rpg yahoo group and it was going to be a retelling of ff7 or smth? I don't remember much else, this was during ff.net's heydays.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

clerith. which i have barely written for (I mean i used to write them a lot back when I was still some 13yo anti-cloti lmao) but if we're talking about like based on recent fic counts and productivity and stuff, gladnis.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh man, I got this zares reincarnation au going that I got distracted from with ghost of tsushima and then now g witch (it's the "I'll get back to this after xyz" kinda thing) and I'd LOVE to finish it! I know I will, I have a 99% wip-finishing rate, but I'll need to replay hadesgame to get some voices and inspo back, you know?

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have the brain of a project manager, hence the 99% wip-finishing rate.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can hardly write or even translate if i hear sounds! whether it's the TV or the radio or if it's someone talking to me, I can't do it bc I can't hear my own words

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

IF IT MAKES SENSE ABSOLUTELY I was soooo happy when I got guel and lauda to speak in my hokkien bc they're Chinese in the Manila au I have but also like, since the pov is guel (or miorine, who's also Chinese in that au), it makes sense to me for him to hear and understand the dialogue in the language. but if it's say like suletta who's filipino through and through? I would just write it like "meanwhile, Guel and Miorine are speaking in Chinese and, though Suletta doesn't understand a word, she can tell from the tension on their jaws that no one is happy". and also like, yes, especially for us multilinguals, I say we should flex our knowledge, but these dialogues need to get translated in the common language, too. if it's just purely flexing without understanding, then it makes no sense to even use a different language in the first place

19. First fandom you wrote for?

it was rpf 💪🏽

20. Favorite fic you've written?

lol pls I have the memory of a goldfish when it comes to my fics. as soon as it's done (and optionally up on ao3), I forget about it as I'm writing a new story. but like…I don't finish or share a story that I made that I don't like. every one of those that I declared finished is bc I was satisfied with them and wouldn't change a thing about them

[nemenalya]

Mortal; Day 4 of @tes-summer-fest

Death has a habit of catching you unaware. One moment you have plans to discuss whaling rights with the master of Tel Seyduhn, only to hear the next that his prentice and half his leg got eaten by a daedroth— leaving you to flounder alone before the parliament‘s congregation. A right fool it makes of you. 

Other times, death simply leaves you climbing through a Skyrim snowstorm with rapidly diminishing bemusement. 

The problem really lay less in the weather as much as it lay in the insanely wobbly and unbalanced stairs. Whoever had come up with it had been a failure of a mathematician, a mediocre architect at most. Fyahelm could state with significant certainty that they had been no conjurer at all, prior experience with Nords of yon considered. 

Extant Nords too, judging by the gravely insulted innkeep, likely held back from rash action only by indecisiveness whether he wanted to spit in the summoner’s or the summon’s face. The name ‘Windcaller’ might have done the trick too. A right shame, and that where the man had been so helpful about the single local landmark for just that moment.   

As a boy Fyahelm was fascinated by the Seven Thousand Steps, wanting to follow quite literally in his father‘s footsteps. Their sailing turns on the Sea of Ghosts had given him a harsh sodden idea what freezing really meant, but still, stairs, how novel! What mad genius! An entire mountain‘s worth of stairs!

Instead the war had made his father hesitant enough about sending a blatantly Chimer child into Alessian hands that he got to prentice under mighty Ysmir instead. Less divine and imposing if you grew up climbing him at dinner parties, but what an honour indeed. A blessed year that one, before the mainland decided they‘d had enough of Nords altogether and would stop at nothing to drive them out. Not that House Telvanni minded, or registered really, but Jurgen Windcaller had never quite mastered carelessness at his fellow Tongues’ antics. 

Self-imposed isolation while mulling about the secrets of insane power was only to be expected of a native of Port Telvannis really, as was domination by sheer might. The right way of the voice is peace, guarded by violent mastery. Hardly a culture shock.

The Telvanni had taken to calling him Jarl years ago, with his father‘s disappearance. Why bother correcting them, for few would pay any heed at all. Few Telvanni would even know what a Jarl was if their towers depended on it; the only reason most were aware the title had passed on from his grandfather to father was that very public fatal duel —just the proper way to do it indeed. Half their neighbours likely assumed Fyahelm had killed his father at some point in the war, removing a distraction, an obstacle. Alas, it was only now that death had come knocking for Jurgen Windcaller. 

Still, Fyahelm is here as a Nord on this sorrowful day, taking measured steps up the stairs instead of simply levitating up to the far mountain top. If water walking keeps the snow from swallowing his calves whole, that’s only to add to the solemn mood. A one man funeral procession treading soundlessly up the highest peak in the land. 

One man; and the dremora. Veritable pack mules, both daedra bound to his will and swaying under the piles of light travel luggage. His mother has heaped him full with scrolls and trinkets enough to summon the hosts of Oblivion to stomp out of the harsh ice a tomb worthy of his father. Passwall and pitfall spells for carving the earth in broad strokes, hulking ogrims to carry stone and rubble, scamps for mixing the mortar and all kinds of humanoid daedra with restless hands nimble enough to put to shame any mortal mason. Charms and gems and traps to set the finish once his father lay interred. 

Mistress Reynel had told him a last time in no uncertain terms to bring her bones and ash for the waiting door, then thrown all her grief into her treatise on soul gem refraction. Jhanel still has netch to herd in Apocrypha –a fine saying it might make once his wizenly wizard brother deigns help on their last filial duty– but for now it is him and an endless icy staircase leading up to the heavens and the feet of a corpse. An icy staircase like a drawn spring leading the then four of them back down the jolly way to a tomb yet unbuilt with a view of the sea his father loved so much.

“Little monotonous, eh?” Fyahelm asks one of the silent daedra in a terrible attempt at a proper Nord drawl. Not his fault both his parents were brought up speaking Chimeris. “Shame bout the view, but the things you could carve into this mountain…” The heavy clouds gravid with snow they had to traverse are fittingly mournful, but any student of his father’s could have cleared the skies and paths with a word. Such inhospitable recluses, just like home. 

When they circle around there is a break in the clouds –almost as though his father’s ghost has heard his lamentations– light pouring through the window onto Skyrim below. Not one to dismiss omens, Fyahelm pulls himself into a lounge a good metre above the ground, motioning for tea as he regards the scenery. The Sea of Ghosts breaks on the horizon, blinding white in white– “There. Where he can hear the waves.” 

No response, but then he needed the approval of neither thrall nor monk to lay his father to rest.

[forensicated]

This was a Live Episode to celebrate 50 years of ITV, airing on 22nd September 2005.

(Out of interest this is the first episode I've heard them refer to SO19 as CO19. It will be interesting to see if this continues in the episodes between 349 and the ones that would be filmed prior to this live episode in Sept 05. As a rough guess that would be the last few or so eps of this series and potentially the start of Series 22 so roughly Sun Hill Christmas onwards (373+)

(ETA: In Episode 359 they're 'armed support' by Jack and Smithy. Episode 360 Adam and Jo both refer to them as SO19 as do Amber and Dan in 361)

I know you don't need reminding but this is just for those at the back. Strap in, it's going to get complicated and LONG.

Smiffina Episodes - Episode 349

The Fake Gabriel (TFG) tries to talk Jeff down and Amanda keeps begging Jeff to tell her what it is he wants her to do. He tells her he wants to get outside with her. She asks what is outside but he doesn't reply as TFG fudges the situation which allows Amanda to get free during a struggle. Jeff shoots at TFG and misses him but gets the water dispenser. The Real Gabriel (TRG) checks on his brother and Amanda holds her hands up with the gun pointing at her.

Downstairs is full and loud with people arriving and milling around. Jack takes over in Reg's absence and welcomes the visitors. Gina feels all eyes on her. "Feel like I should have a paperbag over my head." She muses. "Ah you don't look that bad." Adam smiles. "Bit of make up..." Smithy watches Gina enter, obviously pleased to see her.

Upstairs Jeff tells Amanda to charge the driver who killed his son but she can't as there's no evidence. Zain and Jo return and interupt them as Jack sends Dan to look for Amanda. With too many hostages to keep contained in an open area, Jeff moves them all to the CID office where Dan enters to be taken hostage. In the chaos of Dan arriving, Amanda manages to radio in that there is an emergency - right as Jeff shoots at her, shattering a CID window.

Jack reassures the guests in the canteen downstairs that they'll checkout the noise and not to worry but to stay in the room. Smithy and Phil creep up the stairs to CID but can't get in as the door is baricaded. Jeff orders Terry onto his feet to tell them what's happening through the door. I shouldn't be amused by the shot of two disembodied heads peering through but I really am!

Phil and Smithy update Jack and Roger comes in from outside having overheard Jeff's name being mentioned. He tells them what happened the day before. Jack gives his orders whilst Jeff removes radios from all the officers (Zain, Terry, Jo, Prosser, TFG and Dan) He also has 3 civilian hostages including TRG who murmurs "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you organised this." to his brother. Dan whispers to the gathered officers that if they should try disarm Jeff. Zain and Jo both tell him no and to let the others do their job. Amanda says she doesn't know - then maybe.

Plans are afoot, the road is cordoned off, CO19 are on the way as are negotiators, the building opposite looks into CID and is being checked by June and Suzie, Sam is setting up a temporary CID and Sheelagh is trying to control the visitors. The natives are getting restless until Gina pushes her way to the front and orders them to remain calm and to do what they are told by officers who will get them safely out of the building.

Jeff has made contact and it's been put through to the incident room. He tells Jack he wants the driver of the car charged with murder. The gun is at his side and Amanda tells Dan to disarm him whilst Jo and Zain repeatedly tell him not to. Dan launches at him and tries to overpower him with Terry trying to help secure him once he realises what is happening. Zain and Jo shout for the other hostages to run and they all get outside other than Terry and Dan with TRG getting shot during the escape and falls over the balcony on to the floor below with his phone and wallet having fallen out. Dan gets shot in the arm during the struggle.

Amanda tells Jack he's in no position to pass judgement because he wasn't there. Terry is doing his best to patch Dan up. They can't get to TRG yet as Jeff hasn't moved from the landing. TFG challenges Jeff to shoot him, saying he can't just watch a man die. Jeff lets him pass and TFG hurries down to 'help', pocketing TRG's phone and wallet. Sam and Phil help him move him out of the line of immediate sight but Jeff won't let an ambulance approach so Terry suggests 2 paramedics and a stretcher and Jeff agrees.

Jo asks Adam who is in charge and he tells her Amanda. She scoffs and tells him it requires a cool head and not someone who would tell an unarmed PC to tackle a gunman. Sun Hill does not have faith in Amanda. Amanda also has no traction with Jeff either and there's no sign of the official negotiating team as they're coming from Richmond and it'll be at least another 45 minutes at the earliest. Amanda tries to refuse Gina being used as a trained negotiator!

Terry tries to take control of the situation whilst supporting Dan. He tries to get him onside and find out if he's ex military. He's looking for something and it doesn't appear to be the ambulance. Terry gets him to agree to getting a first aid kit out of his desk so he can patch Dan up. Terry gives Dan a nod and he screams out in pain, distracting Jeff so he can slip a listening device he had from the covert job he'd just finished under the desk whilst he gets the first aid kit out.

Sheelagh, Phil and Sam perform CPR on TRG, TFG tells them that he had no ID on him. Smithy gets the paramedics to the front office and tells them to just get him on the stretcher and not to hang around. Sheelagh follows them to the ambulance and TFG goes with them 'incase he comes round so they can find out who he is'. At the hospital TRG has had a cardiac arrest. Sheelagh has to drag him away, telling him that he's not even concious so he can't talk to him!

Dan and Terry continue talking to Jeff and find out that the mother knows but she's on holiday and trying to get back to the country. Jeff 'wants this sorting' before she returns. Sam report that Jeff is ex military and finished a tour of Iraq just after Christmas where it's likely he got the gun from. He was looking after his son at the time of his death and he feels the guilt immensely as well as the total injustice of Ashley Morgan, the driver, not 'being punished'. Jo tells them that his ex wife was due back via Heathrow at 6.30pm and Jack sends a car to her house to collect her if she is home. "Ma'am that was CAD-" Jo starts to say after another call, speaking to Gina rather than Amanda who is just staring into space. Gina has to point at Amanda to get Jo to tell her instead. She tells her CO19 have arrived but Amanda is clearly affected and not all there. ".... Ma'am?"

Dan is suffering and needs medical attention. Jeff will only allow him to move to a chair whilst he goes out to check on the balcony. With that distraction, Terry manages to put in an earpiece. Gina manages to make contact but all Jeff will tell her is time is running out but won't clarrify what or why. Gina tells him the investigation is still ongoing and open - but he tells her that's not what Amanda told him. He orders her to deal with Ashley Morgan or he will. Sun Hill have no idea how or what he means and can't call back as he's disposed of all telephones. Adam's taking charge and suggesting lines of action. Amanda is completely silent and frazzled and has no idea what to do.

Terry asks what Jeff will do if his wife wants to talk to him now he's thrown all the phones out the window. He insists that she won't. He asks if Terry is married and if he has kids, he says he does and that he doesn't see them anymore because of the messy break up. Jeff tells him he should be ashamed of himself. Gina quietly asks Terry if he can hear her and he whispers 'yeah' before speaking to Jeff again, summing up the situation in a subtle way that tells Gina and those in the incident room what is happening/has happened.

Roger calls the station from Ashley's house - there's been a break in, the boy isn't there and his parents don't know where he is. They assume that Jeff has taken him but they don't know where he could be holding him. Adam actions a search of Jeff's house. He's not there.

Terry acknowledges they might all die in CID and wants to know why if it came to that. CO19 have a clear line of sight from the opposite building and can take the shot whilst Jeff is ranting on the balcony about time running out. Amanda says to those in the room that he should take the shot if he has it but then when it comes down to it she can't do it, she dithers and tells them she doesn't know. If they take the shot they might not find Ashley. If they don't then Terry and Dan might be killed. She dithers further and then replies no to CO19 and tells Adam that she has no authority and no experience and can't deal and asks him to take over officially. She says she's spoken to the Borough Commander and Ian agrees - it's Adam's station and he should be running it she tells him, handing over her radio.

Jeff scoffs at the lack of action, telling Terry that noone is listening still. Terry calmly tells him that's because he's been ranting and there's been no negotiation. He has to make a gesture and should let Dan go get help for his arm and keep Terry as a hostage.

TRG is hooked up to lots of machines but alive. Sheelagh goes to get TFG a drink and he takes the opportunity to stand menacingly over his brother and threaten him. "Are you alright?" She asks. "I am now."

There's no sign of Jeff's car at the house so he must have moved it somewhere else so Ashley couldn't be found, assuming he's being held in it. They circulate the registration and head to CID where Dan is being allowed out so he can get into an ambulance. Jeff gets Terry to lock the doors again and block the door. Terry asks Jeff why he's come to Sun Hill and not looking for Ashley. Jeff starts to get suspicious, especially as he keeps returning to the same seat. He tells him it's simply just because it's his desk. Jeff threatens him and tells him to remove whatever listening device he's got activated because he knows there must be one from the questions. He has no choice but to show it. Terry is now forced onto his knees with his arms behind his back, tied with a wire. In the yard Smithy has arrived with Jeff's ex wife. Sam and the rest of CID work out that the balcony of CID looks out over Shipley St so it's likely that's where the car is. And Suzi spots it.

Outside, the mother of the boy who was killed and the father of the missing driver share a very awkward but understanding sad smile. She tells Smithy she doesn't know why Jeff would do this because they're not together anymore. Sam, Zain and Phil are trying to work out how to get to the street without being seen... Sam suggests using armed officers but Phil and Zain take the keys to one of the cars outside and take that instead. They speed out of the yard with Jeff shooting after them, shooting the back window in. They crash into roadworks after losing control of the car (Amusingly the big cheer that went up after the car failed to do the stunt 100% (it started to roll but regained all four wheels) has been edited out of the credits running into the break in the DVD release). Zain and Phil fight their way out of the car and without Jeff at the balcony they have a look at the car.

Jeff thinks that CO19 are coming so loads up on more ammo, stalking the room like a soldier. Terry works on him, starting to play on Jeff's guilt for having taken his eyes off Jake which allowed him outside in the first place He'd shouted at Jake who hated being in trouble. He started crying and Jeff hit him in the heat of the moment, causing him to run out into the street which meant he got hit by the car. In the mean time Zain and Phil are trying to break into the boot to get to Ashley.

He admits that if Amanda had refused to do what he wanted, he was going to commit suicide in the car with Ashley - the car being wired up to explode. That is why the time is running out. Terry gets him to give himself up and he agrees to on his terms. He leads him out, shouting that he wants to talk to his wife. Adam tries to get him to put the gun down and Terry shouts to put the gun down and back away to let him do it because his car will explode if they waste time. Terry begs them to listen to him that he's not going to shoot him despite having him held hostage. Jeff wants to tell his wife that he's sorry and he loves her.

Suzie and June run to them to tell them the car might be wired at the same time they get the boot open. They grab Ashley and RUN as the car explodes behind them. They hear the explosion in the station but Phil radios in that everyone is ok.

Jeff walks Terry outside with Terry begging him to give himself up. Jeff doesn't want to survive with the guilt and without his son though and he whispers to Terry to go and he won't shoot him and that he should go see his kids. He lets go of Terry and pushes him away but aims his gun at him so a CO19 officer can shoot him - suicide by armed police officer.

Gina has to comfort Terry and literally haul him away with Smithy, before Smithy drops to put Jeff in the recovery position but it's too late - Jeff is dead.

[dvandom]

One reason they "ignore" complaints is that the ADA has a grandfather clause. Any structure built prior to passage of the ADA may remain out of compliance as long as it is not altered in any way. So, a well-meaning but too-steep ramp built in the 1980s? As long as it's not renovated, it's legal. That initial "stairs but no ramp other than going through an entirely different building" thing? Probably hasn't been touched in any significant way since the 1970s...it doesn't exactly look shiny and fresh. As long as they don't have to do any work on the stairs or that slope, they can get away without adding a ramp. And if they do have to work on it...they might just remove the stairs entirely.

Yeah, that's one of the ways ADA compliance can suck for everyone, when an institution decides to obey the letter and trash the spirit of the law. It's often cheaper to remove a feature entirely than bring it into compliance. The building where I work was extensively renovated in the 00s, so every part of it is covered by ADA rules, no grandfathering. A few years ago, someone noticed that the shelves in the restrooms were a hazard to anyone navigating by cane. To bring them into compliance, floor-level barriers would need to be installed so that someone with a cane would know there was something to avoid. But it was cheaper to remove the shelves entirely. So, to look at those stairs at the start of her trip, if something forced a compliance check, they might just remove the stairs entirely and post a sign saying the slope is hazardous when wet (to avoid getting sued by abled folk cutting through the place the stairs used to be).

The steep ramp is part of a building, though, so they couldn't get away with just removing the ramp, they'd have to fix the ramp next time they do any work on the building.

All this assumes that the problems shown are due to things built/renovated prior to the passage of the ADA. If they're really violating ADA, though, and have ignored reports...might be time to get local news involved. Or student media, if they're up to risking annoying the Board of Regents.

"Love taking an 8 minute route that takes an abled 2 minutes"

[chloesunit4]

Saisbury Lawns:

The creation of the Salisbury Lawns and the removal of the old formal gardens occurred prior to the arrival of Lancelot 'Capability' Brown at Chatsworth in 1758, most likely in the 1730s.

The lawns to the east of the house are known as the Salisbury Lawns, possibly after the plain, and are separated by a long gravel walk that runs east to west from the Cascade to the long Walk. Great Salisbury, the lawn to the north of this route, is slightly under three acres in size. Little Salisbury, the lawn to the south, is slightly over two and a half acres in size. They cover a total of 5.57 acres. Although incorrectly credited to Lancelot 'Capability' in the past, Brown's development of the Salisbury Lawns and dismantling of the existing formal gardens took place before to his arrival at Chatsworth in 1758, most likely in the 1730s during the reign of the 3rd Duke, probably with the suggestion of William Kent. Kent pushed for less formal, more natural garden design. Weather variations have been recorded at Chatsworth more or less consistently since the 18th century. For many years, there has been a 'weather station' on the Salisbury Lawns to satisfy this curiosity in the weather. Every day, the rain gauge is measured and emptied, and the number of hours of sunshine is recorded using a Campbell-Stokes Sunshine Recorder. A little glass sphere directs the sun's rays onto a card attached on the back and positioned on a stand. The burn marks on the card indicate when and for how long the sun has been shining. The Stevenson Screen houses thermometers that record the lowest, maximum, and ambient temperatures for the day.

Canal Pond:

The Canal Pond was dug between 1702 and 1703. It is set a few inches higher than the South Lawn, so when it is viewed from the south end of the pond, the house appears to rise from the water.

Flora's Garden, depicted to the south of the vast parterre on Kip and Knyff's aerial image, was demolished to make way for the Canal Pond. Before the creation of the refrigerator, a 'earthe house' - possibly the ice house beside the Canal Pond - was built and thatched in 1728 and was used until the 1920s to provide ice from the Canal Pond to the house kitchens. Since the pond was excavated, there has been a fountain at the north end of the Canal. The Great Fountain is flanked by two river gods, both of whom are credited to Nadauld. For over 150 years, it was revered for being the highest in the country, reaching 28 metres. It came from what is today known as Morton's Pond. In 1844, the Emperor Fountain, designed by Joseph Paxton, supplanted the Great Fountain as the principal attraction in the Canal Pond. When it became known that Czar Nicholas, Emperor of Russia, may visit Chatsworth the next year, 1844, the Duke was intrigued by the notion of welcome the Czar with a fountain even higher than the one at Peterhof (the Czar's residence in N.E. Russia). Despite the fact that the Czar never visited Chatsworth, the new fountain was named after him. It is known to have reached a height of 90m (300ft). The pressure of water plummeting 122m via a 40cm iron pipe powers it. The fountain received two new nozzles in 2014. One has the same diameter as the original nozzle, but the other is somewhat narrower in order to create a higher column of water, comparable to what Paxton must have achieved. The narrower nozzle, along with a new debris grid at Emperor Lake (which provides the fountain's water), assures the highest flow of water possible, allowing us to reach a height of 60m (200ft).

Casade:

For more than three centuries, the Grade I listed Cascade has been a centrepiece of Chatsworth Garden. Monsieur Grillet, a French hydraulics expert who worked on Louis XIV of France's waterworks, finished the initial design in 1696. Grillet's design was both shorter and more intricate than the one we see now. The water cascades down 24 stairs that descend 60 metres to simulate natural waterfalls. It makes use of rainfall that falls from the east moors and gathers in ponds on the Derwent Valley slope inside the Chatsworth Estate. The Cascade House, or Temple, was built at the summit of the slope in 1702. The Cascade House, designed by Thomas Archer and featuring spouts, fountains and carvings by Samuel Watson and Henri Nadauld, allowed visitors to control the variation and flow of the water, continuing the established tradition of water being used to surprise and delight visitors, one of whom reported in 1725 how jets within the building 'throw up several streams and wett people' (the spouts in the floor are still there). The Cascade was significantly altered in 1713, increasing in length and being broader and steeper than the original. These modifications were most likely the 1st Duke's reaction to the growing influence of French culture on large formal garden architecture. Additional changes were undertaken between 1825 and 1828, when the Cascade was moved to line with the house's South transept and a new gravel road was built up the slope.

It is currently part of a bigger decorative waterworks system. In a marvel of nature-based engineering, water from the moors above the home is channelled down through the forests and garden, powering the Cascade and a hydroelectric turbine on its journey to the river Derwent. The lowest pool of the Cascade immediately feeds the 1st Duke's Sea Horse Fountain on Chatsworth's South Lawn.

First Duke's Greenhouse:

The 1st Duke’s Greenhouse, built in the 1690s, is a long, low building with ten arched windows and is shown in Kip and Kynff’s 1699 view of the garden.

The greenhouse was relocated by the 4th Duke from its original location north-east of the house to the northern border of Salisbury Lawn, where it is now fronted by the Rose Garden. Such structures were initially built in Holland at the beginning of the 17th century and were known as 'greenhouses' because they were originally used to shelter sensitive 'greens', or evergreens, during the winter. They were also known as 'orangeries' since they were commonly used to cultivate citrus species and related plants. The 1st Duke's Greenhouse, which is available to the public, is one of the most significant 17th century greenhouses still standing in England, and it currently contains a portion of our Camellia collection.

Flora's Temple:

Originally called the Bowling Green House, Flora’s Temple was built between 1693 and 1695.

The etching by Knyff and Kip depicts the temple in its original location, beside the Bowling Green to the south-west of the House. In 1750, it was relocated to its current location to the north-east of the house. Flora's statue was created by artist Caius Gabriel Cibber. It used to be in the heart of Flora's Garden, which was located between the south parterre and the border road (where the Canal Pond is now).

Grotto House, Grotto Pond & Morton Pond:

The Grotto was originally constructed in the late 1790s at the instigation of Duchess Georgiana, but was much altered by the 6th Duke in the 1820s.

The Grotto is made of large rocks and features a rectangular chamber ornamented with stalactites (which is not available to the public), which is topped by a rustic timber bandstand with a conical slate roof. The Grotto Pond was presumably built about the same time as Morton's Pond (around 1700) to serve the new Canal Pond. The overflow from the Grotto Pond stream was transformed into a water feature, the 'Trough Waterfall,' in 1992, utilising a series of stone drinking troughs taken from neighbouring fields and agricultural steadings. Morton Pond was once known as the Great Fountain Pond because it served as a supply pond for the 1st Duke's Great Fountain in the Canal Pond. The pipe from Morton Pond to the 1st Duke's Great Fountain became extinct when the Emperor Fountain was built, although it still remains. Duchess Deborah described Morton Pond as 'the least recognised location in the garden where you may sit alone beside the water on the busiest Bank Holiday'. The Drummer (1989-90) by Barry Flanagan is located at the north end of the Grotto Pond and was purchased by the current Duke and Duchess in 2006 to celebrate their move to Chatsworth.

Ring Pond:

The Ring Pond is a survivor from the 17th century gardens. It originally lay in the middle of a formal plantation of trees, with the Willow Tree Fountain at its centre.

To the right of Kip and Knyff's overhead perspective, you can see the original location. The herms (stone busts on columns) were designed in the 18th century by William Kent and were only installed here in 1893. They used to be in the gardens of Chiswick House in west London.

South Lawn & Sea Horse Fountain:

The south parterre began construction in 1694 under the guidance of George London and Henry Wise, who also worked at Hampton Court Palace. The parterre was a pattern of intricate flower beds, hedges and gravel paths.

The 1st Duke was among the first Englishmen to succumb to the excessive design of formal gardens, which was already popular in France, Italy, and Holland in the late 17th century. Caius Gabriel Cibber sculpted the Seahorse Fountain, which still stands in the midst of the South Lawn, between 1688 and 1691. Water flows into this fountain from a conduit at the foot of the Cascade. The force for the show here is provided by the pressure created by the 50-foot drop. The fountain was recently repaired and restored before being returned to Chatsworth in the summer of 2015. Francesco Bienaime created the eight Carrara marble sculptures and two urns between the pleached limes for the 6th Duke in the 19th century.

Willow Tree Fountain:

The Willow Tree Fountain was an ‘artificial tree of brass’ originally created by Ibeck in 1695. It was first in the centre of the Ring Pond and has been remade twice.

Celia Fiennes (1662-1741), a pioneering traveller, stated in 1696, 'all of a sudden by turning a sluce it raines from each leafe and from the branches like a shower, it being made of brass with pipes to each leafe but in appearance looks perfectly like willow'. The current fountain is a replica from the early nineteenth century that was built to replace the original, which had deteriorated. Bowers of Chesterfield, who worked for the 6th Duke, created it. The Willow Tree Fountain was given a new lease of life in 1844 when it was relocated to the Rockery's northern border, in a little glade behind a group of Paxton's rocks.

Arboretum and Trout Stream:

The Arboretum, started in 1835, was one of Paxton’s greatest contributions to the Chatsworth landscape; a systematic succession of trees in accordance with botanical classification.

The new Arboretum took up most of the previous eastern section of the pleasure grounds. It was a massive undertaking that included, among other things, diverting a natural stream for more than two miles along the Trout Stream from its original path on the East Moor in order to create a suitably attractive feature in the design. The Arboretum is now a component of the garden's broader Trout Stream section. The Trout Stream inspired the Laurent-Perrier Chatsworth Garden at the RHS Chelsea Flower Show in 2015. We are thrilled and honoured to have won Best Show Garden at the 2015 RHS Chelsea Flower Show. The garden, designed by Dan Pearson and constructed by Crocus, captures the spirit of Chatsworth, borrowing inspiration from Sir Joseph Paxton's 19th century decorative Trout Stream and reinterpreting parts of this intimate feature. The garden also included features of Paxton's Rockery, such as a rock wall and rock stacks fashioned from Chatsworth gritstone. The landscaping, which embodies the "lightness, freshness, and delicacy" of Laurent-Perrier, includes azalea, Rhododendron loderi, native woodrush, and numerous ferns brought straight from Chatsworth. The plants and rocks used in the exhibition garden, as well as many of the other plants, seats, decks, and the enormous oak sculpture, arrived at Chatsworth in fall 2015. These have already been erected and planted along the Trout Stream, with further planting planned for 2016.

The Case:

The Case acts as a protective cover for the tender plants grown here. Originally called the Conservative Wall, it was designed by Joseph Paxton in 1838.

The Case is supported by a clever system of flues and hot-water pipes that keeps the temperature high enough in the winter for half-hardy plants to thrive. Originally, there were protruding wooden panels from which canvas curtains could be hung in inclement weather, but Paxton covered it with a wood and glass frame in 1848. The 91-meter-long tower shields figs, peaches, nectarines, apricots, and other bushes from the unpredictable Derbyshire environment.

Coal Hole & Tunnel:

Horse-drawn carts brought coal from the railway station at Rowsley, entered the garden above the stables, and took the track that went under the Cascade and on to the Coal Hole.

The Coal Hole is located to the north-east of the Great Conservatory, away from the main road through the Rockery. Once at the coal pit, the coal was transported in miniature waggons down the subterranean railway. Although the Coal Tunnel's exit was always open, there was a barrier farther up the tunnel. In 2002, shooting at Chatsworth prompted an exploratory excavation to determine the cause of the obstruction. The Coal Tunnel and Coal Hole have been filled up with garbage, including plants and pots, since the Great Conservatory was demolished. The tracks were removed once the tunnel was dug, and railings and lights were built. The Coal Hole and Tunnel was opened to the public in 2003.

Great Conservatory:

Paxton’s Great Conservatory took four years to build and was completed in 1840. 

The notion was broad. Before the construction of Paxton's later miracle, the Crystal Palace in London in 1851, the structure was 84m long, 37m wide, and 19m high, making it the biggest glass building in England. There was enough room inside for two carriages to pass on the main highway, and stairs covered by climbing rocks led to a gallery from which you could observe the tallest branches of the exotic palms and other plants that flourished there. In a tropical environment, there were ponds full of aquatic plants, rocks, mosses, ferns, and brightly colourful flowers. There were eight subterranean boilers powered by coal that arrived through underground train waggons to generate this atmosphere. From the Coal Hole entrance, a brief section of the tunnel is currently exposed. The boilers supplied hot water to a seven-mile network of 6-inch hot water pipes. In the winter, 300 tonnes of coal were required to fire the boilers. The boiler fumes fled through ground-level flues to a chimney high in Stand Wood, well out of sight of the garden. There wasn't enough coal to heat the conservatory during and after World War I (1914-18), thus many plants died. Due to the high cost of reconstructing the now-derelict structure, as well as the high cost of maintaining and heating it, the Great Conservatory was demolished in 1920, leaving just the supporting walls as a permanent testament to this amazing structure. The Maze was founded by the 11th Duke in 1962 within the walls of the ancient Great Conservatory.

Pinetum:

The Pinetum was created between 1830 and 1831, established from eight acres added to the garden from the south park (The Old Park). Here, the 6th Duke and Paxton indulged their passion for collecting on a grand scale.

In the early to mid-nineteenth century, significant developments were taking place in British gardening. Gardens grew in intricacy, scale, and importance, and there was a rising interest in scientific horticulture during the period. New plants from the Americas, Africa, and Asia had been arriving in greater quantities in Britain during the 18th century, but scientific plant-hunting trips, many of which the Duke financed, were suddenly becoming more popular and successful. This was one of England's earliest pinetums, or groupings of coniferous trees. It had Lebanon cedar Cedrus libani, Douglas fir Pseudotsuga menziesii, Norfolk Island pine Araucaria heterophylla, a huge redwood Sequoiadendron giganteum, monkey puzzle Araucaria araucana, and Japanese white pine Pinus parviflora in it. David Nash created the artwork 'Forms that Grow in the Night' specifically for this place in Pinetum's south-east corner in 2009.

Rock Garden & Strid:

The Rock Garden was built as a reminder of the 6th Duke’s visit to the Alps during the Grand Tour of Europe. Work began in 1842 and the stone was brought from Dobb Edge, north of Stand Wood.

The Wellington Rock, the tallest structure, is about 14 metres high and has a waterfall cascading down it. A network of trails winds around and beneath the rocks. Work on the Bolton Stride or Strid, a shallow gap filled with a flowing stream and encircled by further rockwork, also began in 1842. This was inspired by an actual feature on the Duke's Bolton Abbey estate in Yorkshire, a chasm formed by the River Wharfe. Wild currants, bilberries, and other plants transported from Bolton Abbey were planted around the rocks. The largely collapsed upper rockery was partially restored in 2002-3. Simultaneously, a platform with views west over the Strid, over the Ring Pond and Serpentine Hedge, and into the park beyond was built. The current Duchess planted a selection of dark or black flowers in the Dark Side area near the northern entrance to the Rock Garden in 2007. Since 2018, we have started redesigning the Rock Garden to give better access as well as mass perennial planting for summer appeal.

Vinery:

Built circa 1834, this is the sole survivor of three glasshouses constructed specifically for orchids by Joseph Paxton. It contained the 6th Duke’s superb collection, gathered from all over the world.

Several orchids in the Vinery were named after Chatsworth, Paxton, or the Duke, for example, Coelogyne cristata Chatsworth, Dendrobium paxtonii, and Stanhopea devoniensis. It presently holds white peaches, camellias, and our Royal Horticultural Society prize-winning Vitis Muscat of Alexandria dessert grapes, which were largely planted in the 1920s.

Cottage Garden:

The Cottage Garden was created in 1989 with topiary 'rooms' and 'furniture' created out of box, privet and yew hedges. The Cottage Garden has a formal ‘front garden’ and a pair of vegetable plots at the back. These are planted by Chatsworth’s two annual trainees as part of their education.

Ravine and Azalea Dell:

In the early 1930s, Duchess Evelyn, in collaboration with the head gardener, J. G. Weston, created a new feature in the garden inspired by the latest 'woodland garden' fashion. The Ravine and the Azalea Dell were built in the early 1930s by Duchess Evelyn in conjunction with the head gardener, J. G. Weston. These planting sections were obviously in the 'woodland garden' style advocated by famous horticulturists William Robinson and Gertrude Jekyll, who preferred 'wild' or 'natural' gardens to traditional formal gardens. A creek was dammed at various points to form many ponds. Primula, ferns, meconopsis, berberis, viburnum, buddleja, and rhododendron were planted. The rhododendron on the 'cliff-like side' was left alone, save for a tiny walkway carved through them and accessible by a wooden bridge over the top half of the valley. This region was neglected during WWII but was substantially restored by Duchess Deborah in the 1980s. More work in this region has recently been completed. In numerous spots, the walkway now meanders across the stream, and the pools have been expanded. All of the Rhododendron ponticum has been removed as a precautionary measure to prevent the spread of Phytophthera ramorum. As a consequence, the Ravine's 'cliff-like side' was replanted in 2013. The bushes in the Azalea Dell put up a spectacular show twice a year. The thick mass of Double Ghent azaleas and Rhododendron luteum combine to give a strong perfume in late May, and the leaves colour quite beautifully in the fall.

Rose Garden:

Originally the French Garden, in 1939 Duchess Mary, wife of the 10th Duke, remodelled this area and it became known as the Rose Garden.

Following his ascension in 1811, the 6th Duke created a new parterre to the south of the 1st Duke's Greenhouse. Flora's statue, sculptures from Carnac's temple, and a 'white cistern…from Carrar' adorned it. So the basic layout of the garden was developed, and it was christened the French Garden. Duchess Mary, the 10th Duke's wife, rebuilt this area in 1939, and it became known as the Rose Garden. She planted hybrid tea roses and surrounded it with a yew hedge. Almost all of the statues and ornamentation have been relocated. The centre stone bed is now a fountain in the house's inner court, as are the stone pillars. The four middle flower beds are planted with White Phlox, which blooms later than roses and so extends the season of appeal. The flower beds in front of the First Duke's Greenhouse are home to a variety of tree peonies, which bloom from April until mid-June and were introduced by Duchess Deborah. Because the stone border of the Rose Garden had grown so uneven, a small group of our garden volunteers painstakingly removed and re-laid it in 2011. It is now straight and level, a result of their hard effort.

Serpentine Hedges:

In 1953, the Serpentine Hedges were created, an idea which Deborah Duchess took from the ‘crinkle-crankle’ wall at Hopton Hall near Wirksworth. At the same time, the circle of beech hedging around the Ring Pond was planted.

Display Greenhouse:

This greenhouse is sited to the north of the First Duke's Greenhouse and has three climate zones: tropical, Mediterranean and temperate.

The temperate and Mediterranean zones were initially offered to tourists in 2011. To minimise heat and humidity loss, the tropical zone is closed to visitors. We are building a collection of plants that have been cultivated at Chatsworth for over 400 years in the temperate zone, which is regulated at a minimum temperature of 4°C. Each bed will represent a different era; one will represent the period between Bess of Hardwick and the 1st Duke, the second will represent the 6th Duke and Joseph Paxton, the third a small collection of what the 11th Duke and Duchess built the Display Greenhouse to house, and the fourth will feature some of the 12th Duke and Duchess' favourite plants. Oranges, lemons, limes, and loquats flourish in the Mediterranean zone, where the minimum temperature is 13-16°C, and are utilised in some of the items available at the estate farm store and kitchens. There is also a night flowering cactus, Epiphyllum species, that develops masses of blooms 30cm wide for only one night twice or three times in summer. A Citrus limon Imperial may be found at the extreme left part of the Mediterranean zone. This hybrid of lemon and grapefruit produces enormous yellow fruit. The Imperial lemon is used to produce marmalade in the house. In the Royal Horticultural Society Autumn Fruit and Vegetable Competition in 2012, it took first place in the Miscellaneous Glasshouse Fruit category. Two banana plants, Musa acuminata Dwarf Cavendish, are assumed to be stock from the original plants Paxton managed to fruit in the extreme reaches of the tropical zone (maintained at 16°C and higher). This was introduced from Mauritius in 1829, and it thrived at Chatsworth, prompting Joseph Paxton, the 6th Duke's chief gardener, to send one to a missionary in Samoa, where it thrived. It is currently produced commercially all throughout the world, and the bulk of the bananas consumed in the UK each year are Musa acuminata Dwarf Cavendish. A massive water lily may be found in the centre pond. Paxton had brought one from Kew Gardens, where it had not bloomed. In 1849, he succeeded to get it to blossom for the first time in the United States in a specially built lily house (since demolished). It is an annual that continues to develop rapidly in the pond in this greenhouse's Tropical zone. The lily is propagated in our glasshouse using seed taken from the previous year's plants.

The Maze:

Originally the site for Paxton's Great Conservatory, this garden is now home to a large yew maze.

The Maze was designed by Denis Fisher, then Comptroller, in 1962 for the 11th Duke and required 1,209 English yews, Taxus baccata. Flower beds were set out at each end of the Great Conservatory's surviving walls in the 1920s, with walks running through and around them. The plants have changed, but the beds have not. Russell hybrid lupins, Lupinus Russell Hybrids, are planted in the four centre beds at the north end, and late summer and fall flowers are put in the gardens that surround them. Outside gardens at the south end are planted with Michelmas daisies and Aster. The inner beds are planted with tulips in the spring and dahlias in the late summer until the frosts arrive. The Hundred Steps were designed in the 1980s. This long, straight rise runs upward from the Maze and is aligned with the Maze's core. It is broken up halfway by a lone monkey puzzle, which has been left as a dramatic event in the view by the clearing of the surrounding jungle. The Greek Altar, unearthed during clearance work in the mid-1980s by then-head gardener Jim Link and his crew, has been placed at the top of the stairs on the Arboretum Walk to urge people to pause and gaze west, over the Maze, to view the park and surrounding woodlands. After seeing one in a magazine, Duchess Deborah had a human sundial placed at the north end of the Maze in 1990.

Kitchen Garden:

Chatsworth has grown its own food for centuries and all manner of fruit, salad, cut flowers and vegetables are grown in the Kitchen Garden.

The 11th Duke and Duchess Deborah established the contemporary Kitchen Garden in the late 1980s. However, gardens providing food for the house have existed all across the estate for about 500 years. The first Duke most likely planted fertile gardens in 1549. The third Duke erected walled gardens in the mid-1700s, and variants of them were utilised until the 1900s. The modern Kitchen Garden may be found east of the stables. This area was previously known as the Paddocks because it was where carriage horses were put out to graze. The greenhouses were already there, but it was a bleak, featureless plain until the early 1990s. The 11th Duke and Duchess Deborah believed that the renewed interest in producing fruits and vegetables justified an investment to make the area more fascinating and accessible to everybody. It was built throughout the winters of 1991/2 and 1992/3. Drains were installed, raised beds were constructed from old bricks, and some new walks were edged with railway sleepers. Fruit trees were supported by iron arches. Mummy peas, supposedly cultivated from peas unearthed in Tutankhamun's tomb in 1922, are among the many fruits, salads, cut flowers, and vegetables grown here. The kitchen garden provides vegetables for the home, and any excess is sold in the stable yard and farm shop. A little orchard is beyond a beech fence in the lowest section of the property. We cultivate a variety of Derbyshire-bred fruits here, including the apple cultivar Beeley Pippin.

Snake Terrace:

In 1974, the Snake Terrace was constructed in the space between the First Duke's Greenhouse and the Display House. Like the Maze, the Snake Terrace was designed by Denis Fisher (the then Comptroller), using wedge-shaped stone taken from Paxton’s old Lily House, and with the serpent motif (the crest of the Cavendish family) picked out in pebbles taken from the beach at Eastbourne. The terrace was linked to Paxton’s Case by the Laburnum Arch (1974) which from late spring is a mass of yellow scented racemes. The leaves, flowers and seeds of laburnum are poisonous.

Sensory Garden:

The idea for the Sensory Garden was instigated by Lord Burlington, the 12th Duke's son. The Sensory Garden was created in 2003 at the instigation of Lord Burlington, the 12th Duke’s son, with plants which were chosen for their impact on the five senses – sight, smell, touch, hearing and taste.

Quebec:

In 2008, the 12th Duke and Duchess re-established Quebec, a long-over-grown area below the Canal Pond. The 9th Duke may have named this area on his return from being Governor-General of Canada. When this area was cleared, a cascade dating from the early 1700s was revealed. Déjeuner sur l’Herbe, by the sculptor and artist Allen Jones is situated at the south end of Quebec.

Summer House and Golden Grove:

Near the Summer House is a plot planted in gold and yellow – the Golden Grove. All the shrubs and small trees here were given by friends and neighbours of the 11th Duke and Duchess to mark their golden wedding in 1991. Holly Walk, the path above the Summer House, has several hollies that were planted after the rhododendron bushes were removed. Ilex aquifolium Flavescens, Madame Briot, Bacciflava, Silver van Tol, Ferox Argentea, and Handsworth New Silver are planted in large groups, with Araucaria araucana from Monkey Puzzle intermingled. Deborah Duchess put seventeen of them from seed amid the hollies, and many are still growing. Deborah Duchess characterised the Summer House as "a hideous building of the Bachelor Duke's." 'Here is, or ought to be,' he wrote. The style is Saracenic; the columns are of Aberdeen granite, and the rough central capital of serpentine arrived with me from Palermo, and is the source of this form of decorating.' Malus x zumi Golden Hornet, Gleditsia triacanthos Sunburst, Acer shirasawanum Aureum, Rhododendron Haida Gold, R. Golden Wedding, Spiraea x japonica Goldflame, and Spiraea x japonica Gold Mound are among the plants planted in the Golden Grove. Shrubs that bloom in the winter and early spring above the Golden Grove include Mahonia, Hamamelis, and Viburnum x bodnantense.

[prettybbychim]

why do all my pets fall terribly i’ll while i’m going through a major medical event myself? i lament. am i cursed?

let me count the ways:

1. drove 3 hours for top surgery consultation and spent the night in that city - ripley, my little sunshine baby, had to be put down the day after i returned. she was in a lot of pain prior and i became her full time caretaker. she could hardly do much by herself, declining quickly and nobody knew why, nothing was helping. my mom didn’t believe what i tried to tell her because she was working a lot and was never home to see the worst of it. thought my baby was playing it up for attention (dogs aren’t capable of manipulation like humans. they might play up a hurt paw for snuggles and a treat but they will not collapse climbing stairs or need assistance to get on the couch or be unable to turn around in her kennel because her tummy hurt so bad HMPH) i was so conflicted leaving. but i left her with my mom (i checked in a lot a lot bc i did not have much faith in my mother after refusing to listen to me). either my baby declined while i was gone or my mother finally realized how serious it was, they took her to the emergency vet where they found she had metastatic cancer in over her abdomen. i’m so sorry for all the pain you were in for so long and that i didn’t do more to advocate for you. i’m so sorry. rip little one 🌻

2. immediately post-op top surgery - princess had to leave us too. she was nearing 20 (97 in cat years) and a grandmama to 4 adopted generations of kitties. she had lived a long life and she was tired. rest well, sweet old lady 👑

3. a little ways into the post-op healing period - neko required emergency surgery to remove bladder stones. he’s no longer screaming his head off in the basement for hours (we just thought he was a vocal boy 🥹) and has made his way to the top of the charts of most cuddly cats i’ve ever owned. he’s such a sweetheart now that he’s not in pain and uncomfortable all the time, before i thought he was a stereotypical aloof cat 💔

4. nearing the end of the major healing period, where i’m allowed to lift heavy things again - little yo-yo had worms! thankfully was in the early stages and cleared right up with medication, but i was so so worried. he is the Devil when you try to pill him. sweetest little baby boy, so gentle when he plays w me, always careful of his teeth and claws. skittish little thing running a biscuit business. try to give him a pill tho and none of that matters anymore, he don’t care who you are, if you’re his absolute favorite person (me) - boy will utilize everything in his toolbox to get away. ended up crushing up the pill, wetting some dry food, mixing it up and hand feeding it to him. i guess he got enough in his system though because he hasn’t had any issues since.

5. gallbladder removal - mom had moved out by this point and adopted a new puppy, adding to the two she took with her when she moved out. we took in younger one of those dogs while new puppy was fixed and healing because they play too much together, too hard, and too often for it to be safe

6. and now! i’ve been battling an ear infection, a subsequent yeast infection, and lingering dizziness, nausea, fatigue, and lightheadedness from fluid buildup behind my eardrums. will probably end up with another infection by the time my appointment with the ENT rolls around and will most likely need them drained manually and ear tubes inserted. all that to say, chewie is sick! not sure with what but his body language spells something is wrong, his meow sounds off, and he’s not eating much (boy is a vacuum).

so yes i am never in a good position to provide fully for my babies when they are ill. i can at least get by doing the bare minimum for myself but they rely solely on me for everything.

in hindsight, it seems like all my issues coincide with theirs but really, i had many other sicknesses in between. ear infections, sinus infections, colds, covid, bronchitis. i’m always down with something but it seems more obvious when there are unexpected events at the same time.

[kjack89]

Peace

Alright, so I promised soft old men, but then this happened, and well...

E/R, canon divergent post-Barricades. Canon compliant character death, canon-typical violence and mistreatment of prisoners.

It was barely dawn when Enjolras slipped out of bed, trying not to wake the man snoring next to him. But even the simple act of trying to get out of bed without rousing his companion seemed beyond him now, as the lump wrapped in the majority of the blankets let out a disgruntled noise, a hand emerging from under the covers to reach for the emptiness where Enjolras had just lain.

“Come back,” Grantaire said grumpily, and Enjolras just laughed lightly, bending down and reaching for Grantaire’s hand and entwining their fingers together.

He ran his thumb lightly over Grantaire’s gnarled knuckles and the veins that stood out starkly against the liver-spotted back of his hand before raising Grantaire’s hand to his lips. “Go back to bed,” he ordered, his voice quiet but no less commanding than it had once been.

Grantaire’s head emerged finally from under the covers, his grizzled features thrown into shadowy relief in the dim light. “Only if you come back to bed with me,” he said, his voice pitched low to suggest Enjolras return to bed for reasons other than resuming sleep.

Enjolras laughed lightly. “I’m not certain my back has recovered enough from last evening’s activities, and your knees absolutely have not.” He arched an eyebrow at Grantaire. “Of course, you are welcome to remove yourself from bed and prove me incorrect.”

Never one to forgo a challenge, Grantaire attempted to sit up, only to give up with a groan. “Fiend,” he muttered, waving a dismissive hand at Enjolras. “Leave me be to suffer in peace.”

Laughing again, Enjolras hastily dressed before shuffling around the side of the bed so that he could bend over and kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “Sleep,” he murmured. “I shall return before you wake again.”

Grantaire rallied himself enough to kiss Enjolras properly, cupping Enjolras’s wrinkled cheek with his hand. “You had best,” he said. “Or else I shall have to content myself to seeing you solely in my dreams.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately, turning his head to kiss the palm of Grantaire’s hand. “I’m certain you would see me in your dreams regardless.”

Grantaire smiled softly at him. “You know I shall.”

Enjolras straightened again, wincing as he did, and by the time he made it to the door, Grantaire was snoring once more. He shook his head before starting slowly down the stairs, wishing he had thought to bring his cane upstairs with him the previous night.

Of course, the prior evening he had been rather preoccupied by the man now asleep again in their bed, their shared enthusiasm leading them to act, and at least temporarily feel, far younger than their current ages. And if his body protested this morning, he still couldn’t quite find it in himself to regret it.

Well, he regretted that they had not been able to do this when they were in their prime, when one night of lovemaking would not leave them both with well-earned aches for the next week, but better now than never.

He retrieved his cane from its spot by the front door and made his way outside where the sun was just beginning to peak over the rooftops that lined the narrow street, and he turned his face up to it instinctively, pausing for a moment just to feel its warmth on his face.

Then he strode determinedly in the direction of the baker’s, to fetch the breakfast that both men desperately needed after the previous night.

He walked slower now, but no less proud despite age and a bayonet wound to his knee having finally caught up with him. His hair glinted more silver than gold these days, the youth once embodied by his most-hated nickname ‘Apollo’ as well as his visage now lost to the wrinkles and creases that mapped the life he had lived.

Of course, he carried with him more evidence than that of the hardships he had faced over the years, but those scars were seen only by Grantaire these days.

The baker did not look surprised to see him despite the early hour, instead reaching automatically for a loaf of the bread that Grantaire favored. “Fine morning,” he said warmly, passing the bread to Enjolras, who nodded.

“That it certainly is,” he agreed, handing his coins to the baker, including, as always, a little extra in case any came in begging later that day. It was not much, but it was a small gesture for Enjolras to couple with the work he and Grantaire did to uplift those who needed it most.

“But where is your companion this fine morning?” the baker asked.

“Where else?” Enjolras grumbled, pretending to be put out, as if he and the baker did not have this conversation at least once a week. “In bed still, lazing the day away.”

The baker laughed. “Then give M. Grantaire my best when finally he rouses himself,” he said, and Enjolras just smiled.

“I certainly shall,” he promised, tucking the bread under his arm before continuing up the street.

He had a few more stops to make to complete their meal, and by the time he returned home, the sun had eclipsed the rooftops fully and the housekeeper was already bustling in the kitchen. “Oh, M. Enjolras!” she said when he came in to deposit the food on the table. “I thought you and M. Grantaire were still asleep.”

“He is,” Enjolras told her, breaking off the end of the baguette and taking a bite. “But one of us had to seek provisions, and I appear to have been the unlucky one.”

Her face softened. “I don’t think M. Grantaire would ever dispute you on who is the lucky one between you two,” she told him. “And not just because you let him sleep in.”

Enjolras nodded, his chest suddenly feeling tight, and it took a moment for him to speak. “On that count, I believe we are both lucky,” he managed finally.

She smiled at him. “Best take that up to him, then,” she said, hurrying to grab some cutlery and a napkin for him to take along with the food. “You know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

“Don’t I ever,” Enjolras said with a short laugh. 

He turned to head upstairs but she stopped him. “I know it’s not my place to say anything, but I worked for M. Grantaire for a long time,” she said, and Enjolras paused, glancing back at her.

“Yes?” he said, curious where she was going with this.

“I just wanted to tell you that I don’t think he was ever truly alive until you returned,” she said, and Enjolras’s heart clenched painfully. “For whatever that is worth.”

“Everything,” Enjolras told her, the starkness of the word underlining its sincerity. “It means everything.

— — — — —

Enjolras had thought his life over when the barricade was taken, but life ��� or at least, the National Guard – had a crueler fate in mind. While his companions had perished, he had been dragged before a mockery of a court and promptly convicted of treason before being handed over to the prison system. 

“Kill me, then,” he had snarled once while being beaten for the minor offense of, seemingly, continuing to exist. 

His jailer, a paragon of cruelty, had just laughed. “You think we would be foolish enough to make a martyr of you?” he had asked. “Oh, no. Your punishment will be far worse than death.” He had grabbed Enjolras by the hair, yanking his head back as he sneered in his face, “His Majesty’s grace will allow you to live the rest of your miserable days in prison where you will suffer the worst fate of all: to be forgotten.”

And he had been, relegated to stints of hard labor in between prolonged periods of solitary confinement, seemingly at his guard’s whim. At first he counted the days, but as they stretched to years, he found he could no longer keep track. There was little point in counting, after all, when the number mattered not: five, ten, twenty years, his fate remained the same.

It would have been enough to break any man, as Enjolras had quickly learned that fortitude held little bearing on those who survived. Those who made it, it seemed, were driven by something far deeper than hope and stronger than courage.

Enjolras had thought, at first, that the Cause he had given so much for might be what drove him, but as the days dragged onward, he found himself tiptoeing closer and closer to despair. What good was believing in a Cause that presented no change to his circumstances, or those of any of his fellow prisoners?

For that matter, what good was believing in a Cause that had left all those he had ever loved in this world dead in the streets?

That thought plagued him most of all, haunting his nightmares with specters of his dead friends. Most of the time, he just saw their lifeless bodies in a horrifying tableau, but on occasion, they spoke to him, mocking and taunting him. Those were his darkest nights of all.

It was one of those such nights when he lay alone in a damp, cold cell, feverish and delusional, that he had seen them again, first Combeferre, eyes vacant and staring, then Courfeyrac, crumpled in a heap. “No,” Enjolras moaned, covering his face with his hands. “No, please.”

“Enjolras,” a voice whispered, and Enjolras shook his head wildly.

“No,” he repeated, pleading. “Not again—”

“Enjolras,” the voice said again, stronger this time, and different from the jeering tone the apparitions normally had.

Slowly, he lowered his trembling hands, staring at the figure of the man crouching in front of him. “Grantaire?” he managed, his voice a croak.

The figure nodded. “Enjolras,” he said, and Enjolras gasped at the familiar sound of his name from Grantaire’s mouth. He rarely pictured Grantaire in his hallucinations, but this was different. This was as if the man himself was there in the cell with him. 

“This is a dream,” he said, and Grantaire cocked his head.

“Is it?” he asked.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I mean—” He pushed his hair from his face. “This is not a nightmare. It is a dream.”

Something softened in Grantaire’s shadowy features. “A good dream, then, I hope,” he said. “A dream that might take away some of the pain in your heart.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened. “How can it?” he whispered. “When you – when they—”

He couldn’t continue, and Grantaire just nodded slowly. 

By knowing that those you love will never truly leave you.

That is an answer for a child. I know better. With all I have seen—

With all you have seen, perhaps what you need is to feel like a child again, however fleeting it may be. You have seen loss, and pain, more than anyone should in one lifetime. Would it be so terrible to at least pretend, for a moment, that you haven’t?

It won’t change anything to pretend.

Won’t it?

How can I, though? It is too much to bear alone.

But you are not alone. I am here.

But you’re not. You’re not here. You’re—

He couldn’t continue, burying his head in his hands. “Peace,” Grantaire whispered in Enjolras’s ear, and he could almost imagine that he felt Grantaire’s arm around his shoulders. “I am here. I have you.”

Perhaps it was just that Enjolras had been exhausted, and ill, but for the first time in more nights than he could count, Enjolras had slept, wrapped in Grantaire’s lingering presence.

Maybe it was just that there was no one else he would rather have there, no one else he would tolerate to see him like this.

Or maybe it was that there was so much that he had wished he had told Grantaire, so many moments that he wished they had shared. All those late nights in the Musain…

But that was a different dream entirely, and when the morning dawned, when the guard banged on the bars of his cell, Enjolras woke up alone.

For one dark moment, he had felt worse than he had the night before, stricken as he was with the clarity that Grantaire was gone, that he had never really been there, that he, too, was dead, that he had inevitably been struck by a cannon blast or a rifle shot or pierced by the point of a bayonet, just like the rest of them.

But then Enjolras had sat bolt upright, realization hitting like a thunderbolt, because Grantaire had not been like the rest of them. Grantaire alone had not fought, had not stared down the cannons and bayonets.

That Grantaire alone had slept.

That Grantaire alone might have lived.

Enjolras had found what was to drive him, a singular obsession that held the despair just far enough at bay that he could survive. Even if he was to spend the rest of his life behind bars, knowing that Grantaire might still live meant that all hope could never truly be lost.

And while he would never be happy with his circumstances, he thought perhaps he could live with this kind of peace. 

At least, until one day which later he learned was 22 years after their failed revolution,  when he was escorted by the guard to the front door of the prison he’d spent some time in and told, roughly, “Your conviction is overturned.”

“Overturned?” Enjolras had questioned, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window in the door. “But the king—”

“—Is no longer the king,” the guard told him curtly. “You’re free to go.”

With that, he has been all but shoved outside to a world that looked very little like the one he had left or even the one he had lost. In looking back on it, he had no idea what he would have done, put out on the street with nothing but the clothes on his back, save for—

“Enjolras!”

The years had been hard on Enjolras’s body just as well as his spirit, but still he would know the voice that called to him from the crowd even if 50 years had passed – even if 50 lifetimes had passed. “Grantaire,” he had gasped, clinging to the name and the memory like a buoy.

And there had been the man himself, like the vision from his dream. Time had perhaps been kinder on him than it had been on Enjolras, but he could mark its passage nonetheless in the gray that streaked Grantaire’s still-unruly curls, in the creases in Grantaire’s brow, even in the way he hurried forward to Enjolras, not quite moving as fast as he once had and lacking some of his usual grace.

But the hand that had closed on Enjolras’s elbow was as strong as ever, and Enjolras let out a wordless cry before embracing Grantaire, not caring that he was covered in dirt and grime and all the evidence of the horrors he had faced. Grantaire, it seemed, equally did not care, as he had pulled Enjolras closer still, burying his head against Enjolras’s shoulder.

“You lived,” Enjolras breathed, clutching Grantaire as if he could not bear to let him go.

Grantaire nodded. “I lived.”

Enjolras pulled back just far enough to search Grantaire’s face. “But this whole time, I thought – I feared—”

His voice broke, but Grantaire seemed to understand. “I know,” he said, his voice low. “And I do not know how I can ask you to forgive me for letting you��”

“But why did you?” Enjolras interrupted. “Why, when but one visit from you…”

“I wanted to,” Grantaire told him, his voice pained. “I asked the court to keep me apprised of your well-being – well, actually, I had Marius do it. He’s a baron now, did you know that? But—”

“But you did not come see me.”

Grantaire bowed his head. “I did not think you would want to see me,” he said, his voice soft. “To know that I survived, when all else was lost—”

“My friend,” Enjolras interrupted again, the word feeling strange on his tongue for how it failed to capture everything Grantaire was to him, everything he had always been, even if only in his dreams. “The thought that you still might live is what has sustained me these dark years. Knowing that you slept, hoping that you were not roused, that the National Guard might mistake you for one already dead…”

He trailed off and Grantaire shook his head slowly, doubt flickering in his features. “Truly?” he asked quietly. “You do not begrudge the libertine whose survival hinged solely on the overindulgence of wine?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No more than I begrudge those who could not be stirred from their beds. Besides, you were always where I pinned my hope. If I could convince no other but you, I would never consider myself to have failed. And this means I have time yet still to try.”

That realization hit him as he spoke the words, and his knees buckled. He would have fallen were it not for Grantaire’s arms holding him upright. “I have you,” Grantaire whispered, and Enjolras let out a wordless sob at the words he had dreamed so many times being spoken to him.

“I know,” he managed. “I know.”

When finally he was able to straighten, Grantaire gave him a slightly shaky smile. “Well,” he said briskly, clearly attempting to change the subject, “since you have consented to forgive me, or at the very least not begrudge me, I must tell you what I have done, or what I have tried to do, in your absence—”

“Beloved,” Enjolras said, and while he had never before called Grantaire that, it felt more right than friend ever had or ever could. “There is nothing you have ever needed to do.”

Grantaire had looked as if he wished very much to argue with that, but for once, he had said nothing. “Then let me, at the very least, bring you to my house, that there you might find food, clean clothes, and some respite.”

“Very well,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire had reached for his hand, then hesitated. “Do you permit it?” he asked, almost shyly, and wasn’t that a revelation – Grantaire, shyer as he neared 60 than he had ever been when Enjolras had known him before.

Enjolras had wordlessly taken his hand, squeezing it once.

Their hands had stayed clasped as Grantaire had led him through the streets of Paris, at once achingly familiar and hauntingly foreign. As they walked, Grantaire filled him in on the political happenings, but Enjolras found it hard to muster the enthusiasm that was perhaps expected of him for the revolution that had, this time, succeeded.

It would return, in time, and in no small part because of Grantaire – the cynic leading the believer back to faith! – but even the thought of it seemed too far away for Enjolras to then grasp.

When they had arrived at Grantaire’s house, a modest lodging, Enjolras spared barely a glance at the building before setting upon the food Grantaire’s housekeeper had thoughtfully prepared, wolfing it down as if he knew not when he would find his last meal.

“What next?” Grantaire had asked when he had finished, having watching all of this silently.

Enjolras had swallowed before hesitantly saying, “I thought, perhaps, to bathe?”

Grantaire had silently taken his hand once more and led him upstairs. There, he had a bath drawn for Enjolras

Again he had asked, so soft and low that Enjolras might have missed it had he not been listening for it, “Do you permit it?”

Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire’s fingers trembled for just a moment before he helped Enjolras remove his clothing. For a fleeting second, Enjolras wondered if he should be embarrassed, to be naked in front of Grantaire, but he could not bring himself to be, even as Grantaire’s fingers gently skimmed his ribs, sticking painfully from his thin frame, or traced a bruise against Enjolras’s thigh.

This was Grantaire. Even after all this time, Enjolras knew that he had no need to be embarrassed with him.

Then Grantaire helped Enjolras into the bathtub, and without asking this time, rolled up his sleeves before picking up the soap and carefully, reverently, beginning to wash Enjolras’s back.

His touch grew firmer but no less reverent as he continued, moving Enjolras as if he weighed nothing to lather and scrub seemingly every inch of his skin without flinching. Enjolras offered no protest, trusting Grantaire as he always had. He closed his eyes and leaned against the bathtub, drifting into a sort of half-sleep as Grantaire cleaned him.

When he was finally clean of at least the dirt that stained his outside, Enjolras stood shakily with Grantaire’s help, letting him towel him dry before dressing automatically. “I am sorry that I have no better fitting clothes—” Grantaire started, but Enjolras just shook his head.

“They will do,” he said softly. “Thank you. For – for everything.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “There is no need to thank me. It is the least I could do.” He paused before adding, a little hesitantly, “And this house, I know it is not much, but—”

“It is more than enough,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before blurting, “Then I hope you will consent to stay, here, with me.” Enjolras stared at him and a mottled flush rose in Grantaire’s sagging cheeks. “This house, the life I have built, the work I have done – there has always been something missing, something I left room for – someone I left room for.” 

“Grantaire—”

But Grantaire did not let him interrupt. “I know what you will say. You are predictable even now, at least to me.” Enjolras shook his head, but Grantaire did not pause. “You will say that you have changed, that you are no longer the man whom I loved all those years ago, and that may well be true. But I never stopped believing in you, and I hope in time I can convince you to believe in me, too.”

“I already do,” Enjolras told him honestly. “I always have.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment. “And yet you hesitate.”

“Because I have changed,” Enjolras said. “You have seen what the past years have done to my body but you have not yet witnessed what they’ve done to my mind, or to my spirit. And those are wounds that I fear may never heal. So to offer to shackle yourself to someone who may be broken beyond repair—”

“Did you love me, all those years ago?” Grantaire interrupted, and Enjolras flinched at the question.

It was one thing they had never said to each other, but even with all the time that had passed, he knew that they had never needed to. “You know that I did.”

“In spite of my drinking, and my cynicism, and the darkness that always threatened to overwhelm.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question but Enjolras still answered. “Yes.”

“Why?”

The question took Enjolras by surprise, and it took him a long moment to answer. “I do not know,” he admitted.. “I just did.”

Grantaire didn’t look surprised. “Then is it truly so hard for you to believe that, just as you loved me at my most broken, I too may still love you at yours?”

Enjolras did not smile. “Belief and I parted ways some years back, I’m afraid.”

Now Grantaire’s expression softened, just a little, and he took a step closer to Enjolras. “Then how is this for belief: I do not believe you beyond repair. But even if you were, it would temper my love no less.” He reached for Enjolras’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “And if you and belief have truly parted ways, then I shall simply have to believe it enough for the both of us.”

He said it with the conviction that Enjolras had once hoped Grantaire would espouse, and a part of his heart he thought might never heal seemed to beat just a little stronger. “I love you,” he told Grantaire, a little helplessly. “Still, always. You—” He swallowed, hard. “—you kept me alive when I thought I could not go on.”

“As you have always done for me,” Grantaire told him. “So will you stay with me? Will you make this house our home so that we can keep each other alive?”

Enjolras managed a small, tired smile, his first real smile in what was almost certainly years. “I have nowhere better to be,” he told Grantaire before asking, “Do you permit it?”

Wordlessly, Grantaire kissed him.

And after Grantaire had led him to bed, Enjolras had laid in Grantaire’s arms, feeling safe for the first time in years. And for the first time in years, he had allowed himself to cry.

“Peace,” Grantaire had whispered, his lips brushing against Enjolras’s forehead. “I am here. I have you.”

— — — — —

Enjolras stood in the doorway, watching Grantaire sleep, warmth spreading throughout his chest. Wordlessly, he set their breakfast down on the dressing table and with as much grace as his old bones would allow, he clambered back into bed.

Grantaire let out a snuffling noise before turning to squint at him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Enjolras just pulled him close. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Grantaire just hummed, his eyes already closing as he pillowed his head on Enjolras’s chest. Enjolras stroked Grantaire’s gray curls, marveling at how much had changed, and how much hadn’t. How much never would.

He closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the top of Grantaire’s head. “Peace,” he whispered. “I am here. I have you.”

[astrella-writes]

prompt | @ssoftlydreaming​ asked: nfjsja ok from sweet home can you do lee eun-hyeok and basically he has to decide if he should risk the danger of everyone in the apartment complex or save reader who is outside and struggling to survive.

warnings | female pronouns, angst, spoilers for episode one of the netflix adaptation of sweet home, if you haven’t watched episode one complete then this won’t make much sense, panic attacks, the general horror of sweet home, eun-hyuk being a logical pain in the ass, somewhat of an open-ending.

word count | 1.7K

author’s note | i hope this satisfies your masochistic desires! i’m honestly so happy to have angst as my first request, and that isn’t sarcasm at all.

The sound of his descending footsteps echoing throughout the concrete stairwell became background noise to Eun-Hyuk as he stared at the unanswered messages he had sent you well over an hour ago. This was strange behavior coming from you, considering you usually responded back within minutes. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, he tried to think of a logical explanation to calm his increasing worries. Perhaps your phone died on your walk home, or you had to work over-time without a chance to inform him.

He was certain some minor inconvenience caused your abrupt absence, although he couldn’t shake off the unnerving feeling settling like a burden of tense muscles upon his shoulders. Realizing there wasn’t much more he could do, especially since all the calls he gave you went straight to voice mail, he decided to wait patiently for a reply from you and try to keep his thoughts clear during the meantime.

Eun-Hyuk stuffed his phone into his pocket as he finally reached the half-open double doors that led out onto the first floor, his ears immediately picking up on the commotion before he looked over at the front entrance that was blocked by the shutters. A group of people stood dispersed nearby, talking amongst themselves and watching one resident in particular as he tried tugging on the metal bracing that barely budged. The man sighed, dropping his arm and admitting defeat as he walked away from the shutters, mumbling to himself.

‘First the elevators aren’t working, and now this?’ he thought to himself, unimpressed with the current situation, especially since he had work that night. He wasn’t the only one annoyed by the circumstances as the surrounding people openly expressed their vexation. Although, unlike most of them, he remained calm and simply observed the scene with his hands in his pockets. Multiple residents spoke loud enough for him to catch on to the fact that the security guard was missing, which made little sense considering this was an issue for him to resolve.

“Excuse me?” a feminine voice sounded from behind him, causing him to turn around and look at the woman. “Do you have any service on your cell?” Despite having just been on his phone, Eun-Hyuk was so preoccupied with his thoughts regarding your whereabouts that he didn’t notice the minor detail of whether he had any service.

Pulling out his phone and unlocking it, he immediately dialed your number, taking the possibility to hopefully connect with you and find out where you were. When his ear met with a high-pitched ringing, Eun-Hyuk lowered the phone, lost in thought for a second before looking at the woman.

“I guess not,” he said, watching as her face dropped in disappointment and she turned to walk away, but he stopped her with a question. “What’s going on here?” 

The woman hesitated, wondering if anything was even worth sharing considering she would give him more questions than answers. She went on to explain how every main exit had been closed up, locking everyone inside. Although she speculated someone was behind this, she had no idea who it was and for what purpose it was done. 

The explanation caused Eun-Hyuk to swallow thickly before turning his gaze towards the concealed entrance. He stared for a moment, silently wishing for your safety.

                                                          ―――

A shrill ringing penetrated your ear, causing you to jerk your head away from your phone and hang up on your attempt at calling Eun-Hyuk. With a frustrated cry, you threw your cellphone upon the ground, hearing the shattering of the screen as it smacked face-first against the concrete.

On the verge of tears, you made yourself as small as possible in the alleyway's corner, pulling your knees up to your chest as you rested your forehead on top of them. Your breathing grew increasingly more labored as the sensation of dread and pure hopelessness consumed your mind.

Eun-Hyuk’s words repeated in your head during times like this, when you were at risk of having a panic attack. Stay still. Take slow breaths. Think of something nice.

You squeezed your eyes shut, allowing the gathering tears to flow freely down your cheeks as they gathered at the tip of your chin. Forcing yourself to take in deep breaths, your trembling body gradually stilled. Eventually, your thoughts morphed as you focused on your breathing, rather than the surrounding chaos.

Think of something nice.

Eun-Hyuk’s face filled your mind, the sight prompting a ghost of a smile. You recalled your first meeting which occurred almost a year ago, when you had just moved into Green Roof Apartments. Someone had suddenly removed the towering stack of boxes you were carrying from your hold, and just as you were about to thank the person for helping, you realized you recognized him.

It turns out that you both used to attend the same high school, although you weren’t in the same class, your friend group interacted with his friend group quite a lot. Seeing his face brought back all those times at lunch when you would sneakily try to steal glances at him without your friends noticing. They noticed, of course, and teased you relentlessly about your crush but they were nonetheless supportive. They even proposed setting you two up on a date, because a ‘little birdie’ told them he had been crushing on you too.

Unfortunately, you were in such denial that someone as handsome as him had feelings for you, and rejected the offer. He was simply unobtainable, the extent of your relationship never surpassing polite greetings and friendly smiles until you both graduated and never saw each other again. Or at least, that’s what you assumed would happen.

It seemed fate gave you two another chance, unsatisfied with your prior silent pining and not acting upon anything. Considering you both matured immensely, talking came easy, and it wasn’t long before a much deeper connection began blossoming between the both of you.

His sister reacted indifferently when she walked out into the hallway one day, only to witness the both of you moving suspiciously away from each other, as if trying to conceal something. She caught on immediately, especially since her brother had been mentioning you quite often.

“Seriously? He’s the best you can do?” She scoffed, eyeing her brother disapprovingly before pushing between the both of you and walking off. You stared at her retreating figure in shock, oblivious to the smile on Eun-Yoo’s face as she disappeared down the stairs.

Once his sister found out, Eun-Hyuk became increasingly more open in terms of your relationship. And eventually, after a long week of his sister degrading him for not moving to the next step, he asked you to be his girlfriend. It wasn’t the most romantic of set-up’s; he had knocked on your door and asked you so casually that you wondered if he was joking.

When he assured you he wasn’t, you almost knocked him off his feet from the abrupt hug you gave him, accepting his simple proposal.

The memory faded, and the realization hit you like a truck. Eun-Hyuk was waiting for you, and you couldn’t give up on him. Taking a deep breath, you got up from the ground, trying not to focus on the screams and sounds of destruction in the distance as you lightly jogged towards the entrance of the alleyway. You peered behind the wall and looked both ways. The coast was clear; it was now or never.

                                                           ―――

You raced around the corner, narrowly dodging the attention of a nearby monster as its head popped up from one of the many dumpsters lining the brick wall of Green Roof Apartments, the location you had been trying to reach from when this all started.

The sound of metal creaking, which you quickly recognized to be the shutters descending, urged your aching legs to run faster as the darkness before you faded the closer you got to the entrance. That’s when you noticed Eun-Hyuk struggling to keep the shutters open as a distraught woman crawled towards him. He reached out a hand towards her, just as he looked up and made eye contact with you. His eyes widened at the sight, although bloodied and bruised, you were very much alive. You smiled at him, relieved, feeling safe already.

That was until you heard a rustling coming from your right, along with animalistic groans, as if something was just stirring back to life after being immobilized and ready to lash out again. A flurry of panicked voices came from the lobby of the apartment, everyone watching in horror as the hunched-over silhouette of the monster with a snake-like tongue began recovering to its full height.

Luckily for you, the monster disregarded your presence as it ambled towards the entrance. You stood frozen in fear as the shadow of its body passed over you, the sound of its languid steps lulling you into a trance as your body trembled lightly. 

It was perceptible that trying to run past it would end in your demise, leaving you stuck on what to do. Your pleading eyes drifted towards Eun-Hyuk, hoping he would come up with a plan to distract the monster long enough so you could make a break for the gap underneath the shutters he had been holding open - a perfect enough size for you to slide under.

He stared you dead in the eyes as he dropped the shutters; the metal clanging loudly against the tiled floor. You blanched, staring back at him in disbelief. A semblance of guilt took over his features, and you shook your head in denial. 

Your eyes stung with tears, and you wondered whether to cry and beg for him to help you or keep the remaining bit of dignity you had left. The monster suddenly shot its tongue within the gaps of the barred metal and Eun-Hyuk disappeared from sight as he dodged; the trance you were in instantly dissipating as you came to terms with the situation.

He left you to fend for yourself, surrounded by a horde of monsters. You weren’t sure whether to give up or keep going, considering nothing seemed worth fighting for at the moment. 

Did he regret it? Of course. Would he do it again? Without question. Eun-Hyuk would sacrifice anyone to keep his sister safe, even you, and even himself.

[talatomaz]

lockdown | jj x fem!teen!reader

a/n: i can’t believe that a year ago today, the last ever episode of criminal minds aired. i miss jj so much 🤧

this is sort of in line with my own experiences (to a certain extent). and there’s not as much jj x d!r as i’d intended but I hope you still like it.

(feedback/positive comments are appreciated)

requested by @ouat2017 : “could you do a jj x daughter where the daughter’s school is on lockdown and jj is worried or something like that?”

warnings: gun violence. blood

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | request list | request rules

r is jj’s 18 year old adopted daughter and suddenly finds herself on lockdown after someone brings a gun into her school

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Look, you’re the one that needs to be tutored so can you please focus?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance.

You were currently in the tutoring centre trying to help a self-absorbed jock pass English so he could remain on the school’s football team.

Looking around you, you saw a handful of students giving both you and Cameron - the man-child you were tutoring - disparaging looks.

“You’re not supposed to be yelling at me. You’re meant to be telling me the answers.”

The aforementioned narcissist leaned against his chair, smirking at you in a way that made you fight to hide a shudder.

You could have easily wiped the grin off his face by mentioning who your mother was and who she worked for but instead, you decided to just continue ignoring his advances and carry on teaching him.

“That’s not how this works, Cameron. Now either you listen to me or you fail and get kicked off the team. And quite frankly, I’d rather the latter happen.”

You watched as his brows furrowed in confusion. Sighing, you answered, “latter means the second thing of two things mentioned in a sentence. Now, for the love of God, just finish writing your paragraph on Heller's satire of capitalism in Catch-22.”

You let out a breath of relief when he finally relented and started to scribble on his sheet of paper. You glanced over at one of your friends, who was also tutoring for extra credit, and smiled when she rolled her eyes at Cameron’s actions.

Leaning against the large desk that stood at the front of the room, you relished in the long-awaited silence aside from hushed whispers that came from other students asking for help.

Taking out your phone, you glanced at the screen to see that it was only midday and soon the lunch bell would be ringing.

You smiled softly at your lock screen.

It was a photo of you and JJ, your adoptive mother.

It was taken a few weeks prior at your 18th birthday party. You’d been living with JJ for almost 5 years now; her having fostered you before later adopting you when you were 14.

You still didn’t know what she saw in you on that day you’d first met her - you’d lost your family in a home invasion, barely surviving yourself - but whatever it was, you were grateful because you’d gotten a second chance at life.

Several minutes passed and you’d only broken from your train of thought when you heard someone clearing their throat beside you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw your friend, the one who’d rolled her eyes earlier at Cameron, standing beside you.

“I see you finally got him to do his work.” She whispered, loud enough for your ears only.

“Barely. He still has an essay to write and hasn’t even finished a paragraph yet.”

“I would have smacked his sorry ass by now.”

You laughed before clamping your hand over your mouth, her comment having caught you off guard.

“Ally!” You whisper-shouted, playfully hitting her arm.

She looked at you with a raised eyebrow causing you to smirk, “Trust me, I’ve thought about it but-”

Before you could finish your sentence, a large bang rang out, shattering the silence the room had once held.

With wide eyes, your head whipped to the door where the gunshot had presumably come from and you listened as the hallways were filled with panicked screams.

Running to the door, ignoring the gasps and shouts from the other students behind you, you turned the lock on the door, pulled down the blinds, switched off the lights and jammed a chair under the handle.

Looking up, you saw everyone had the same look of panic in their eyes; a few were crying, including Ally, and others were pale with shock, Cameron was one of them.

“Guys, we’re gonna be okay but we have to be quiet.” You whispered harshly, constantly looking over your shoulder at the door, listening for any indication of the shooter coming your way.

Everyone stared at you, as if you were the leader of a camp and they were small children awaiting for further instruction.

You supposed it wasn’t far off.

By taking charge, you were the one who’d been unwillingly given the role of protector.

“First things first,” you walked over to the group of 10 students, “I need you all to make sure your phones are on silent. We can’t risk being caught.”

You watched as everyone followed your instructions.

“I know you all want to call your parents but that’s going to attract attention to us so for right now, we need to be quiet.”

Your heart was beating out of your chest and as you spoke, one thought repeated in your head. JJ.

Taking out your phone, you scrolled to find your mother’s name in your contacts. You watched as your thumb hovered over her name.

Just breathe, y/n. Breathe.

Tapping your mother’s name, you brought the phone to your ear.

“I thought you said we couldn’t call anyone.”

Your eyes locked onto Cameron’s, his face pale and his eyes filled with terror and a hint of anger.

“My Mum works for the FBI.” You whispered as the phone rang out.

Any other time and you probably would have laughed at the way his face grew paler, if that was even possible. But, in a situation this tense, it was going to be difficult to find any levity.

Your Mum picked up on the second ring and you let out a shaky breath when you heard her voice.

“Hi baby. A bit early for your lunch, isn’t it?”

You closed your eyes at her soft tone, as if you were trying to engrave the way she spoke into your mind lest you would never hear it again.

From your lack of response, the blonde sensed there was something up, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

A single tear dropped down your cheek as you struggled to maintain a steady tone. Catching a glimpse of Ally staring at you, you steeled yourself and spoke.

“Mum, you need to come quick. Someone’s brought a gun into school.”

“Oh my-AARON.”

You winced when you heard her shout for her boss, listening as you could hear her run up stairs. You held your breath as she filled Hotch in on what was happening before telling Garcia to hack into your school’s security system.

“Are you okay? Stupid question. But are you hurt?”

“Mum,” you interrupted her rambling, “I’m fine. I’m in the tutoring centre with 10 other people. I don’t know how many people are injured. It just all happened so fast.”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”

Though you could hear the clear panic in her voice, her words did bring some form of reassurance to you.

“Penelope’s hacking into the system so hopefully she can have eyes soon.”

As she spoke, you could hear the clacking of keys in the background of the call; presumably Garcia doing exactly what JJ said.

“Mum?” You questioned when you heard Garcia swear.

Instead of JJ answering, the usually peppy tech analyst replied, her voice shaky and wet, as if she was crying.

“Y/N, thank God you’re okay.”

“What’s wrong, Garcia?”

“Someone’s disabled the cameras remotely. I can only get them back online if someone reprograms them from the inside.”

Grasping what she was explaining, you nodded, “I’ll fix them.”

“What? No!”

Your mother had taken the phone off of Garcia.

“You are not leaving that room, y/n. We’ll find another way in.”

“Mum, someone needs to fix the system from inside the school. I need to do it.”

Ignoring your mother’s worried shouts, you continued to speak, “Mum, I have to. I love you.”

You disconnected the phone and switched it off, preventing her from being able to call you back.

“Y/N, you are not leaving this room.”

You’d only just realised that everyone had been watching you intently during that entire interaction.

“Yes, I am.”

Moving away from the huddle, you rose to your feet and replied to your friend.

Cameron rose to his feet and towered over you as he challenged you, “No, you are not. You’re going to put us in danger.”

“Do you know how to hack into our school’s security system and then reconnect the transformer and enter the Mastercode?”

His face contorted to a look of confusion making you reply,

“Exactly.”

Turning to leave, you felt a large hand enclose around your arm.

“I said, you’re not leaving.”

Your eyes flickered from Cameron’s hand up to his face that dared you to take another step.

“Remove your hand from my arm before I remove your hand from your body. You may letter in football but I’ve been trained by some of the best FBI agents there are and unless you want to end up in a sleeper hold, I suggest you shut up and do what I say for once.”

His harsh grip almost immediately lessened as his hand returned to his side.

“Good. Now, have any of you been shot? No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have and whoever did get shot is probably bleeding out in the hallway. I can’t not do anything.”

No one dared to respond and instead, shook their head ‘no’ at your asking if anyone else would try to stop you.

Content that you weren’t going to deal with any more unnecessary distractions, you made your way to the door and gently removed the chair that was beneath the handle.

“Ally, you’re in charge. Lock the door when I leave. By my count, the FBI will be here soon. And Cameron, you do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Unlocking the door, you stepped out into the empty hallway and hastily made your way to where the main security hub was located.

Just a couple of hours ago, all you had wished for was silence but now that your wish had been granted, all you wanted was to hear the playful shouts and conversations between your friends and fellow students.

The silence that currently fell on your school was unnerving and unbearable. And with each step you took, you flinched at the sound your shoes made against the marble floor. Each noise practically acting as a beacon for the shooter to come find you.

You let out a sigh of relief when you found the Hub and you quickly worked to reconnect the security system. Typing on the laptop that rested atop one of the servers, you couldn’t help the smile that formed when all the cameras re-engaged.

Tapping on one of the keys, you navigated through the various cameras, looking for any indication of the shooter or of any injured people. You stopped when you caught a glimpse of someone.

Squinting at the screen, you saw, what appeared to be a freshman - since you didn’t recognise him as being a part of your year - laying on the ground, a hand clutching his stomach as blood coated his clothing.

Immediately knowing where he was, you cautiously made your way to the east hallway before running when you noticed him laying on the ground, his blood coating the once-white marble floor.

Falling to your knees, you pressed your hands against his wound, trying to stop the steady flow. He groaned out in pain, tears staining his face.

“H-Help me.” He choked out.

“What’s your name?”

“Jackson. But everyone c-calls me J-Jack.”

“Jack, you’re going to be okay. I just need you stay with me, okay? I’m-”

“Y/N.”

You failed to hide the surprise from your face making the younger teen smile despite his predicament.

“You’re t-tutoring Cameron. Everyone knows who you are. Y-You’re the one who doesn’t take any of his shit. I think h-he likes you.”

“Well, tough shit for him. I may be bi but he’s definitely not my type.”

Jack’s laugh quickly turned into another groan of pain.

Unzipping your jacket with one hand, you used the other to keep pressure on his wound. After removing the jacket, you harshly pressed it against his torso and watched as it barely absorbed the blood.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let you.” You said, tears filling in your eyes as memories rushed back of when you tried to save your brother after he’d been shot.

“You’re going to be okay. I just need you to-”

You stilled when you heard footsteps come up behind you.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You didn’t recognise the voice and couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to face the person who’d caused all this pain.

You opened your mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.

Closing your eyes, you readied yourself for your inevitable death when a shot rang out and a body slumped to the ground beside you.

Jumping at the action, you turned around and almost collapsed in relief at what you saw. Your Mum and her team stood behind you with several SWAT members flanking them.

The tears that had once filled your eyes now spilled shamelessly down your cheeks.

Without saying a word, JJ holstered her gun and ran to your side, hugging you as best she could since your hands were still pressed against Jack’s wound.

Paramedics soon followed and after that it was all a blur. It was as if you were floating outside of your body. Logically, you knew it was the effects of an adrenaline crash but you felt so disconnected from your body.

You barely took note as your mother gently lifted you to your feet, allowing you to be briefly looked over by the paramedics. Nor as your mother escorted you to one of the school bathrooms where she rinsed the blood off your hands.

You didn’t even say a word until you’d arrived back at the BAU where a worried Penelope wrapped you in a tight hug which you returned.

“I’m gonna take her up to my old office, Hotch.”

The Unit Chief simply nodded as he and the rest of the team watched as JJ led you to the abandoned office that was still filled with random case files.

Closing the door, she sat you down on her sofa and stared at you, not touching you in fear that even a simple caress would cause you to shatter.

You exhaled a long breath before finally speaking, “I’m sorry.”

Her brows narrowed, “Sorry? Sweetheart, why?”

You looked at your hands that had been coated in blood less than an hour before and then up at your mother; her blue eyes filled with nothing but concern, love and confusion.

“You told me not to leave and I did. I’m sorry.”

And with that, you started to cry heart-wrenching sobs that made your shoulders shake.

JJ gathered you in her arms, gently rocking you as her long blonde hair draped over you.

“It’s okay, y/n. I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around you as she laid soft kisses on your head, her hand stroking your back.

That only served to make you burrow into her even more, seeking comfort in her motherly embrace.

You muttered your apologies as she continued to reassure you that you were okay.

JJ was afraid that if she stopped, you wouldn’t be here, safe in her arms.

Still rocking you in her arms, she whispered in your ear,

“I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

[themockingcrows]

hey. so something happened.

I was and still am stoked as hell for Colossalcon, but uh.

The changes to the shuttle system this year are not it. I wish to bite someone. Instead of having the normal shuttle run between the overflow hotels like usual, with a handicapped accessible option shuttle going around as well (the normal shuttle is an old school bus with steep stairs and narrow seating), the local Sandusky public transit bus is just increasing its running times to catch people.

However, this means:

no being picked up at the overflow hotels themselves, you must get to a bus stop.

it is not going to be free anymore, it's $1.50 per ride.

it's handicapped accessible, yes, but if you can't make it safely to the bus stop or from the bus stop to the con center you can pay $5 per ride for direct transit pickup and drop off. because disability tax, y'know.

the distance from my hotel to the bus stop, and then from the drop off stop to the con itself, is .7 miles. .7 fucking miles. i sublux my goddamn shoulders on flat ground in the convention itself because of how screwed up my joints and stuff are. i can't thermoregulate for shit. i cannot safely walk that without severe symptoms kicking up, and i cannot push myself that distance safely either because of the heat. this convention takes place in june.

I was in contact with the disability office. I also asked other staff directly where to discuss this matter further via facebook, especially for future conventions, because this seems like a big thing that was overlooked. was told "We've received your email, we'll keep it in mind for future years." which... good but like. that doesn't solve any of the issues right now and doesn't really ring with resounding certainty that this'll be cared about.

i'm aware they're doing things in the con center itself for disability access, and i appreciate it. but if i can't fucking safely get to the convention like i'd have been able to do literally every single other year prior, what then? what about people who are more able bodied but who will get jacked up by the longer unplanned walk???

i'm lucky, i have friends who can just. pickup and drop off and brave the parking lot, pain in the cock though it be. but not everyone has that option. not everyone has the spare cash to throw around for accessibility options they didn't need to pay for before.

i'm honestly scared even posting about this outside of discord because i'm always afraid of rocking the boat but like. this doesn't feel right at all. this feels very very wrong and unwelcoming and i hate that there's nowhere i can really post about it but here on tumblr lest someone from staff just remove the damn post.