#french language instruction

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"A l'Ecole française d'été de McGill," La Presse. August 11, 1943. Page 3. --- Cet instantané a été pris pendant la collation des grades de l'Ecole française d'été de l'Université McGill, ce matin, au Royal Victoria College, rue Sherbrooke ouest. On voit M. LOUIS ALLARD, professeur émérite à l'Université Harvard, au moment où il remettait la Médaille d'argent du lieutenant-gouverneur à Mme Dora Helen Smyth, de Belleville, Ont., qui a conservé la plus haute note dans la section supérieure du cours de français. Dans le groupe des professeurs présents, on remarque, de gauche à droite: Mile YVONNE JUGE, Mile EDITH GARTLAND, M. LOUIS ALLARD, président d'honneur de la collation des grades; M. J. HOUPERT, M. J. DARBELNET, directeur de l'Ecole française d'été et du département français de l'Université McGill; Mme TOUREN-FURNESS et Me MADELEINE BODIER. (Cliché la "Presse".)

[general-sleepy]

Really appreciate the AD writer who decided that a song someone was singing in archival footage was not comprehensible without subtitles but that the lyrics were important to hear, so the narrator would have to read them aloud. And the narrator who decided, correctly, that he was going to sing them along with the footage with full enthusiasm.

[slav-every-day]

[itstimeforstarwars]

Figuring out what is normal to understand vs what would probably need translated in the Galidraan au re: Anakin, Ahsoka, and Derry is very difficult because despite being bilingual and working on a third language I do not know if the gaps in my language skills are normal or if I am just an idiot.

[readingloveswounds]

writing in french makes me realize why i have weird quirks when i write in english. 'thus' and 'thusly' don't flow quite the same as 'ainsi'

[gender-euphowrya]

i'm a guy who gets way too excited about instant noodles

[allie-tt]

360° VIRTUAL TOUR: PRACTICING YOUR TARGET LANGUAGE

You are a newly-settled expat and you are required to get to know your flatmate, run quest-like errands throughout the city using and improving your target language (think groceries, job tasks, help a friend...), and you get to learn general knowledge while visiting around.

Clicking on items and characters sets the game in motion (quests, extra-information, audios...).

A short crash course about the Eiffel Tower while on a quest throughout the city:

[dd-phd]

Hello Mr. Noun!

Source:

Girault, Dialogue pour apprendre les principes de la langue latine (Lengres: Jehan des Preyz, 1590)

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

#doesnt bertie do something similar with his vocabulary lapses and the numerous instances of 'if x is the word i mean'#bertie is writing his stories after the fact just like jeeves - he could look it up. he doesnt. in jeeves in the offing bertie gets a word#wrong ergo dahlia doesnt understand what he means and bertie reacts as though it were self-evident that dahlia couldnt have understood him#even if he'd used the right word: 'you are probably not familiar with the word but its one i've heard jeeves use'#if we assume that that is how bertie looks at the world then he doesnt have to look it up - to bertie people like him (people who will read#his writings) dont know words like jeeves does and therefore it is unneccessary to be 100% sure which word he means - noone else would know#and while jeeves doesnt include literary allusions in his narration he very much establishes himself as an authority in that area#except he does it through bertie - he is writing a guide addressed to new valets and right at the beginning he quotes emerson at bertie#who is immediately portrayed as the guy who cant remember the name of the play he saw the evening before. jeeves is absolutely showing off!#there are three foreign words set in cursive in the first paragraph alone! but the difference is while he may be showing off he - just as#you said - has nothing to prove - he is already the authority and here hes just establishing another way in which a valet#has to keep the upper hand

@noandnooneelse's tags for further discussion about jeeves as a narrator but responding in the tags because that's the most superior method of communication

you guys ever notice how in his dialogue when he's in bertie's presence, jeeves uses quotations and references constantly, but in his THOUGHTS during "bertie changes his mind," he doesn't use any? this is obviously because he doesn't care if we the audience know he knows shakespeare, but he will languish and die if he doesn't get to dazzle bertie with his wit and knowledge every five seconds

[reiding-writing]

i can totally see Spencer buying tickets for a movie and asking cold!reader to go with him cuz he knows she'd say yes

À BIENTOT— SPENCER REID!

spencer takes an opportunity to get closer to you based on nothing more than a passing comment.

spencer reid x cold!reader | fluff | 2.2k | cold!reader masterlist

a/n— this may be a tiny bit of self projection bc i’m trying to pick up my french again (ça ne marche pas)

main masterlist.

It’s a quiet day in the office. Quieter than usual for a Friday.

Quiet enough in fact, that you actually had time to take the whole hour of lunch that you were technically mandated to have every single day.

Most of it was still spent at your desk, although with a book in your hands instead of a case file. A distraction, maybe, but not a very optimistic one.

It wasn’t long before you had company. Spencer wasn’t really a ‘socialist’ in the physical sense of the word, and once he’d had enough of sitting in the kitchen eye with the group he too had decided to retreat back to the bullpen.

There’s a tinge of curiosity as he spotted you, sat cross-legged in your chair with both elbows leant on your desk and an open book in hand.

“Auschwitz and After?” He had to tilt his head to see the cover, but his ‘question’, his assessment, was confident.

You hum passively, like you’d already known he was coming over despite his quiet footsteps and your eyes trained on the pages. He’s not too surprised, it wasn’t very easy to catch you off guard.

“What drew you to it?” Spencer questioned, his gaze leaving your blank expression as it went back to observing the book in your hands, scanning the words on the pages.

“Practicing my french,”

Simple and to the point, and to your credit it made sense—when Spencer was knee-deep in a book he didn’t want to interrupt that focus either.

“You’ve read it before?” Socialist he may not be, but he wasn’t ready to leave you in your solitude yet.

“In English,” You turn the page with another small hum. “Doesn’t really count,”

Spencer hummed in agreement.

He could go on for hours about why reading a text in its intended language was superior to reading its translation. How much meaning and sub-context is lost in the transition between languages and completely distort the original meaning.

But you didn’t need to hear that. You already knew it.

So he didn’t say anything, instead choosing to focus his gaze on your face for a few more minutes, wondering if he’d be able to read the emotion on your face like he was so used to doing.

There was still nothing though. No facial twitch. No eyebrow raised. Nothing to indicate what you were thinking.

It was almost like your face was carved from marble.

If he thought about it too much he’d probably say your face deserved to be carved into marble, to keep a relic of you perfect and untouched forever.

But that was a bit too much for him to settle with.

Spencer shifted nervously on his feet, trying to think of something else to say to rid of the silence that was leaving him with his own overthinking.

“Hey— uh— There’s this um— If you’re wanting to brush up on your french—”

“Spit it out, Reid,” Your voice isn’t as harsh as it is blunt. You appreciated conciseness, although you’d never cut him out of a tangent unless it was something that was unproductive.

This one definitely was.

“Uh— Right, right,” he stumbled over his words for a moment before finally taking a deep, steadying breath. “There’s this movie coming out in a few weeks— well technically it came out in France back in May but—”

Spencer’s words came out so fast in his rush to just get to the point, that, for a moment, he was worried that you would only understand half of what he was saying.

“Reid,” You hold up your hand towards him as an indication for him to stop, before moving your hand in a single spiral as a non-verbal instruction for him to breathe.

His rambling stopped almost immediately, and if he had the conscience to be embarrassed, he most definitely would be at how readily he follows your order to take a second to calm down.

Especially considering you still hadn’t even turned your eyes up from your reading in the process.

Still, he follows you with no hesitation, and once you signal for him to continue, he starts back up again, slower this time.

“‘L’armée du crime’, uh, ‘The Army of Crime’, it’s only being shown in a few select theatres here in DC, but—”

The words came out slightly more measured this time, although that little hint of the usual rambling was still, very much present.

“It’s in the original French,” he continued after a beat, his previous hesitation slowly disappearing under the knowledge you weren’t put off by him just yet.

“With subtitles, of course— but still, the entire— dialogue is in— is in French.”

He exhales heavily.

“I was thinking of going to see it.”

He paused again, the hesitation creeping back into his voice.

“What’s it about?”

He swears the whole office can hear his sigh of relief.

“Um, it’s a war-movie,” he said after a few, silent moments, pointing lamely towards your book.

“Set during the Second World War, it talks a lot about the French Resistance, and how it’s not only the people who were fighting in the trenches who made it possible for the Allies to win…”

The start of his explanation is seemingly enough to grasp your full attention, echoed by the way you shut your book with no effort to remember your placement and leave it on your desk to look at him instead, eyebrow raised.

That little gesture, the almost unnoticeable quirk of your eyebrow, was all that Spencer needed to know that he didn’t need to summary the entire movie.

You were interested, but you didn’t want to know the entire plot ahead of the time.

He chuckled lightly at that, before biting his lower lip slightly. The next words that came out of him were almost just breaths.

“… Do you want to come with me?”

It’s enough for your eyebrow to raise more noticeably, enough that Spencer wouldn’t have to be standing less than five feet away to notice it.

“When?”

“Friday night—” It felt like the words were tumbling out of his mouth, like if he didn’t get them out fast enough he’d loose your attention and go back to square one.

But when he actually said the words out loud, he realised how much they sounded like he was asking you out on a date.

He was worried that you would reject him if you thought it was a date.

“…Unless you have other plans?”

There’s a small moment of silence, and Spencer feels like he might vomit from the anticipation.

“Friday’s fine,”

That’s it took for a small, satisfied smile to pull at Spencer’s lips. Those two words, combined with the small nod you throw in his direction, was all the reassurance that he needed to take you at your word.

“Great. That’s uh, that’s— that’s great,” he fumbled over his words, just barely reeling himself in from another ramble of him over-explaining his appreciation for your company.

“Friday’s fine for what?”

He doesn’t really have to worry about that.

Morgan walks over with a mug of coffee in his hand, eyebrow raised in amusement. “A hot date?”

“If you consider watching a french re-enactment of world war two as ‘hot’, then sure,” There isn’t a single ounce of sincerity in your tone, and Morgan glances between the two of you with a barely hidden smile, a chuckle bubbling in his throat.

Spencer, meanwhile, was just staring at Morgan with an indignant expression, silently begging him to not make this into a ‘thing’.

Unfortunately for Spencer though, Morgan was, well, Morgan.

He took one sip of the coffee in his hand, his eyes drifting between the two of you once more.

“French reinactment of the Second World War, huh?” he repeated, his smile turning into a cheeky smirk. “Why am I not surprised?”

There it was, that smirk.

It was the same one he always had on his face when it came to you two.

“It’s- it’s not like that” Spencer mumbled, his tongue quickly flickering out to lick at his suddenly dry lips.

“Sure, it’s not.” Morgan chuckled, enjoying every moment of this as he took another sip of his coffee. “The two of you are just gonna be sitting in a dark room… all alone… together…”

“Watching people get tortured…” You mimic the song-like drawl of Morgan’s voice to throw his ‘joking’ back onto him, rolling your eyes. “So romantic,”

A smirk remained fixed on Morgan’s face as he leaned over your desk until he was looking Spencer directly in the eye.

“I don’t know, you’re both nerds. This sounds like a perfect date to me”, he teased, causing Spencer to scoff in response.

“If that’s your idea of a ‘perfect date’ then I pray for whoever has the unfortunate circumstance of ending up with you,”

“Nah, don’t worry about me, Snowflake,” he chuckled, lifting the mug of coffee to his lips once more. “I’m not the one who’s gonna be sitting in a dark, lonely movie theatre with Doctor Genius here,”

“I don’t need to be ‘prayed for’, Reid is perfectly fine company,” You give Morgan another roll of your eyes, although whether at his comment or his ‘nickname’ Morgan is unsure.

“Sure, sure” he murmured, before pushing himself up off your desk with a smirk. “Enjoy the movie, lovebirds.”

He leaves the bullpen with a blown kiss in your directions, throwing the two of you a wink as he catches up to Garcia walking into the conference room.

You re-open your book once he’s out of sight, letting out a soft groan in lieu of Morgan’s tormenting.

You didn’t really hate it per se , but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get on your nerves.

Spencer wasn’t unalike in his reaction, a breath of relief leaving his lips once Morgan’s back was turned.

‘Lovebirds’.

Spencer tried to mentally scoff the thought away, and tried not to blush at the thought either.

He glanced back at you, praying that hopefully you didn’t notice that small, involuntary flush that seemed to be crawling across his cheeks.

He continued to be frozen on the spot, eyes locked on your relaxed expression as you scanned the pages to see if you recognised certain parts of the text.

“Page 212...” His voice came out quiet as he spoke.

“What?” You take a second to divert your attention from the pages, eyebrows furrowed curiously in his direction.

Spencer swallowed, hoping that he at least looked composed despite feeling like the exact opposite.

“You were on page 212,” he explained, a small smile pulling at his lips as he caught your gaze.

“Right,” You don’t question his recollection as you skip to page 212, throwing him a dismissive “Thanks,” once you confirm you’re in the right place.

“You’re welcome,”

Spencer’s voice was quieter once more, not as anxious as before but still quiet. He watched you as you returned your gaze back to the pages of the hardback copy, and he was torn between the urge to just stand there and keep looking at you reading the book, or heading back to his desk to work on one of the many case files that had stacked themselves there.

Deciding that it would probably be a little creepy for him to just stand there watching you read, even if you didn’t seem to particularly mind it, he forced himself to look away.

Just as he turned to head around to his desk, he found himself blurting out something without even realising.

“You look nice today,”

Your eyes flicker back upwards from your book through furrowed eyebrows. “Thanks,”

You hadn’t actually changed anything about your appearance, the outfit you were wearing was practically identical to the one you wore most days, your hair was done the same, you hadn’t even showered that morning.

He quickly realised that he must’ve looked like a complete idiot and, for a moment, was wondering if he could rewind time to not say what he had just said.

“Uh, I mean—” he tried to backpedal, hoping that his awkward rambling could save him from this situation. “Not that you don’t usually look nice! I meant-!”

As he fumbled over his words, he mentally slapped himself. Why couldn’t he just be normal and not blurt out something so stupid at such a random time.

God he hoped this wouldn’t make you change your mind about wanting to spend time with him one on one.

Thankfully, the universe seemed to have a little mercy on him.

“Team, I need you in the conference room.”

So much for a full lunch break.

[literaryslapshot]

LUNCH ⎯ C. Berzatto

carmen interviews a new girl for the recent waitressing job at the bear, and she's been the recent reason for his journal entries the past two weeks.

carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: sexual themes (18+ MDNI), cuss words, carmen being super whipped but also kind of a perv, reader is kind of a ditz but so am i, reader has tats because i do too, reader also doesnt have much dialogue bc it's mostly from his pov.

word count: 1k

a/n: not really based off any specific episode or season in the series. i just love carmy so much <3

"Chef i need you to take over for at least an hour, i got an interview in 10." Carmen instructed Sydney, walking into the office as the kitchen staff began to prepare for open. The staff- mainly Sydney, Richie, and Carmen desperately needed a waiter in house. With how busy the restaurant was beginning to get they needed more than Nat out there.

"Are you gonna hire her?" Sydney asked; Carmen had briefed her about the applicant a day prior. He sat down, refreshing himself on the resume before meeting with her.

"Well she's the only applicant so far, so I don't really think I have a choice chef," before he could finish his thought he heard the chime of the entrance door. Glancing down at the time it read 10:51.

Early, off to a good start, he said to himself quietly. He gave one puff of cologne on his neck to try and musk the smell of kitchen before going out into the front of house to start the interview. Carmen forgot how to breathe for just a few seconds when he saw her- easily the most beautiful person he's seen walk in his restaurant.

"Um- Hi I'm Carmen Berzatto, the owner, you must be Y/N?" He introduces through a deep breath and a shaky hand that he extends. She takes it with a smile, following his lead. The soft taps of her high top converse against the tile floor, the flow of her skirt twirling as she turns in front of him slightly. It's exhilarating.

"Can I get you something to drink before we start? Water, a soda, coffee?" He offers, standing tall next to the table side. She grins and shakes her head denying his offer, her sweet sounding voice making butterflies flutter around in his stomach. That hasn't happened in a while.

They make small talk for a little while, Carmen asking pre-thought out ice breakers before getting to the real questions. But if he's honest with himself he isn't even listening to her answers. He's too focused on the way her lips move and how she purses her lips when she thinks about an answer.

He's taken great notice of the tattoos she has on her arms, in similar places to his own, all black outlined like his too. one is written in french, he assumes, right above her wrist on her arm. One is two small birds on the inside of her forearm. He wants to pause the interview just to talk about what they all mean to her. Partially because he wants to hear her voice for the rest of his life. He wants to press record on his phone and listen to her talk about whatever she wants to, her voice is that angelic.

"Can I ask you what the tattoo on your hand means?" she asked and he thought he was going to faint because she grabbed ahold of his hand gently to get a better look at it. She giggled when she got a better look at the artwork.

"It's to remind me to be careful when I chop vegetables, essentially," Carmen explained with a chuckle. "What does the one on your wrist mean?"

"Terre à terre, down to earth. I dont want to stray too far from who I was raised to be, so that's a reminder. I also have a couple more in french- my grandmother was french so I have a lot of french things in my life." She pulls up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal another tattoo, "étoile filante, shooting star. The first time I saw a shooting star was on my sixteenth birthday, my worst birthday actually."

He reminded himself to close his mouth because he knew he was about to start drooling, hearing the way her silky voice sounded even better in a foreign language.

He breezed through the interview, Natalie insisting that even though there are no other applicants and she'll probably get the job, do it the right way. "I'll give you a call by the end of the week, Y/N. It was a pleasure having you today." He shows her out of the restaurant, walking her to her car for safety, of course."

When Carmen got back inside, before he got to joining the team in prepping for the lunch crowd he pulled out his journal that he started to carry with him. It was full of various things: different dinner ideas to try out on the menu for a special, addresses, phone numbers, and other journal entries. he's made a habit of journal three times a week and he has a feeling he's going to be doing it a lot more with Y/N joining the team.

-

I could eat that girl for lunch. She smelled sweet like fuckin brownies or something, rich and delicious. Her tattoos, her gold necklaces, her smile, her skirt. I feel like a perv but god i know her skin would be so soft, and she'd have the best blind reactions to recipes, and i bet she'd taste good too. I'm closing the applications, this Y/N chick is gonna be the death of me.

-

"Hi Y/N, this is Carmen from The Bear, how're you?" he couldn't even wait a full 24 hours before he hired her. Embarrassing. "I just wanted to call and let you know that we're offering you the job if you are still interested." He bit the cap of his pen with a grin hearing her cheer and laugh on the other side of the phone. "Yea- yeah that's great, listen could you start Monday? I'll get you trained n'all that."

Carmen ends the phone call and moves some papers around on his desk, printing the papers for Y/N and putting them in her folder. He couldn’t stop grinning like a kid from hearing her excited voice over the phone.

Instantly he’s thinking of a million things to write in his journal about her. But he doesn’t have time, he needs to prep the special for tonights dinner service before anything else. Carmen will be thinking of her, however. Thinking of how soft her hands must be, or how sweet her chapstick tastes. He'll think of how it'll be nice to have her around, not just the help but to have someone with a softer tone around the place, too.

He thinks about Y/N while making glaze, mixing everything together to get that perfect spicy honey taste, he's imagining how her face lights up when she laughs. He doesn't even really know her yet but he's already making up what a first date would be like. He'd take her out for coffee, go see a movie, then go for a walk. But not too late, though. Even if she might be a night owl it's still inappropriate to keep a girl out past ten, at least that's what he read in some magazine a long time ago.

"Chef you ready to prep the team for tonight?" Sydney asked, interrupting his thoughts. He stumbled, dropping the spoon into the bowl and biting his tongue.

"Fuck- yeah, yeah I am."

-

"'M gonna go over the menu with you, if m'goin too fast then stop me." He pulls up a chair and tucks his hair behind his ears. Setting the laminated piece of paper in front of her, explaining each dish to her in firm detail. Carmen watches as her french tip acrylic nails trace along the menu, guiding along the words that he says from memory.

She's impressed, shocked even that he came up with this himself. She jokes that she can't cook and it gains a laugh from him.

"I'll teach you a few things, if ya want." He didn't mean for it to come out sounding like he was hitting on her...but secretly he was. Since when was he that slick with words?

-

I can't stop thinking about her. She's on my mind all the fuckin' time. She smelled really good, must have been her shampoo. I would love to just sit with her there, not sexually. Just be. I bet she's really calm and chill. I'd love to get ready with her in the mornings, again not sexually. To spend time, to laugh, to talk. I could eat that girl for lunch.

-

When Carmen walks into the front he catches Y/N taking pictures in the mirror by the entrance. He chuckles, watching her pose and smile. She turns around and gasps, cheeks getting darker when she realizes she's gotten caught.

"Sorry, the mirror is just so aesthetic."

"That? Um, okay? Guess we have different opinions of what aesthetic is." Carmen guides her to the back counter, teaching her how to count inventory of everything.

He feels out of place- no, he feels gross when he watches her bend down. He sees a peek of white lace stick out from the band of her jeans and he knows he shouldn't stare, but he can't help his mind from wandering. He wanders about what other types of underwear she might have, if she has any special ones, what they'd feel like wrapped-

"Carmen!" Sydney snaps him out of his daydream. "Sorry to interrupt, but you have a phone call from the AC guy." He's pulled away, for the better, but he knows he's going to write about this as soon as he gets the chance.

-

I'm interested in more than just being her boss. I could eat her alive, i'd let her take a seat on me wherever she wants for however long she wants. She'd taste like....like sweet watermelons on a sunny summer day. Yeah, something like that. She can't be real can she? I don't know how long I can keep acting professional. I just know she'd be the one for me.

・。♡.・゜✭・.・✫・゜✭・。. ♡・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜♡・。

feedback | masterlist

[17unfinishedprojects]

Vintage Knitting/Crochet Patterns Masterlist

Recently, I’ve been getting really into more older styles of knit and crochet, and in my search for vintage patterns I’ve come across a ton of sites and articles that have been incredibly helpful to me, so I thought I’d share them all with you. The majority of these are free, and this post is still being updated as I find more. Hope you enjoy!

(p.s. most of the places you can get crochet patterns are in the ‘Misc.’ section bc most sites have both knit and crochet patterns)

Knitting:

vintageknittingpatternarchive.com

An archive featuring a variety of patterns from the 1920s-1980s

Pros:

Completely free

You can search by bust size, colorwork, yarn weight, decade, and clothing article

Also features some crochet patterns

Cons:

The site can be hard to navigate

vam.ac.uk

An article featuring a 15 clothing patterns from the 1940s

Pros:

Completely free

Cons:

Only has instructions for one size

sunnystitcher.gumroad.com

A collection of vintage knit clothing patterns from the 1930s-1970s

Pros:

A “name your own price” site, you can choose to pay $0 if you choose

Cons:

Not a lot of patterns

aranpatternarchive.com

A collection of vintage aran knitting patterns

Pros:

Completely free

Has a wide variety of patterns

Crochet:

antiquecrochetpatterns.com

An archive featuring a variety of vintage crochet patterns

Pros:

Completely free

A lot of home décor patterns

Cons:

Most of the clothing patterns are for babies and children

A lot of the patterns are currently unavailable due to the site being updated

Misc:

thevintagepatternfiles.blogspot.com

Pros:

Completely free

Has patterns in different languages, including Dutch, Finnish, French, German, Icelandic, and Russian

Has patterns dating back to the 1800s

You can search by size, clothing article, and decade

Cons:

The site can be a hard to navigate.

marymaxim.com

A collection of vintage knit/crochet patterns

Pros:

You can filter by pattern type and yarn weight

The patterns are relatively cheap, ranging from $0.99-$4.99

Cons:

No free patterns

You can’t filter by size

trove.nla.gov.au

A blog post featuring 2 vintage knit patterns and 1 vintage crochet pattern

Pros:

Completely free

Cons:

Patterns may be hard to read because they appear as old newspaper/magazine excerpts

antiquepatternlibrary.org

An archive featuring a variety of vintage knitting, crochet, embroidery, sewing, quilting, macrame, weaving, tapestry, and many more pattens.

Pros:

Completely free

Wide variety of patterns across many crafts

Cons:

Website has an older layout and can be hard to navigate

(p.p.s I didn’t put cons on a few of them bc I honestly didn’t find any. If you encounter any problems with any of these sites let me know and I will add that to the con list.)

(p.p.p.s. if you have any other websites you use for vintage patterns please share them I’m always in need of more)

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada och Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Dug, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

���Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[yeloenk]

grins mischievously and rubs my hands together like a fly

i think human ink would frequently get bored of his hair color and hair style, trying out lots of different things!! he would definitely forget to maintain the dyejob tho so his white roots get REALLY bad until he dyes it again LMAO

while his dads aren't japanese (zephyr is french and idrk about undertop), they enjoy ink showing them japanese culture and participating in traditions and such :-)

ink, since they're immortal, decided he would dedicate his freetime into learning a bunch of different cultures and languages! this always tends to surprise others, since ink's short-term memory is absolute garbage. nobody understands how he remembers EVERYTHING about EVERY culture 😭😭🙏 you CANNOT keep a secret from this mofo no matter what language you speak

i think they would keep a digital diary with a camera! he records important events/moments so they can always look back at them, since he forgets a lot. his camera is mostly filled up with memories with their dads 🫶

ink LOVESS to bake!! he enjoys trying out different recepies and pastries from all around the world, but his favorites are macarons. he enjoys cooking as well, but moreso appreciates baking because of the exact instructions/measurements. (he is autistic like me and needs clear instructions or he will combust real and true trust me on this)

he has WAY too many hobbies for a normal person to keep up with. flute, baking, drawing, painting, writing, dancing, crocheting, knitting, embroidery, singing, gardening, you NAME it. any form of art, they know how to do and are surprisingly good at it

ink struggles with keeping up with his own very very busy mind. they have so many projects he wants to execute, but can only push out a few at a time. he hates having unfinished projects, and will stick with something until the end—for better or for worse.

he loves to paint over his vitiligo spots, or just painting on himself in general. they think it's fun & interesting to see how the spots shift and change on his skin, never growing bored of them.

-> his spots shift whenever code for a new AU is created, soo it's never really consistent LOL

he loves all forms of music, but holds a special place in his heart for songs that include lots of different classic instrumentals, like violin. he loves artists like fish in a birdcage and sparkbird (yes im projecting and you can't stop me)

he sometimes will drink paint out of the blue in front of others just for their reactions. they are priceless to ink and ALWAYS make him crack up so bad.. and then he has to explain that "nonono my paint specifically is okay for me to drink guys im not gonna die dw" ☠️☠️

ANNDDD i should probably stop there.. this post is so long LMFAO 😭😭 honestly most of these are just my normal ink headcanons, human or not, so take these as you will 🗣️🗣️

[noneorother]

The puns are never ending : Aziraphale's miraculous "visable" bullet.

Aside from this closeup diagram of how to perform the bullet catch being objectively hilarious, it's also got a pretty fascinating *spelling mistake*.

If you look closely at the part of the pamphlet in red, you'll see that the bullet should be hidden in the mouth where it won't be visable. Not "not visible". Not visable. Seems innocuous enough right? But of course, the layers are never ending.

"Visable" is actually a Middle English word, *not* a modern English one. The last time it was used was before the printing press was invented, so pretty old. Here's a little background :

What's really fascinating though, is that just like the expression "dark horse", the word has two meanings : one is "Capable of good judgement, prudent" the other is "Tractable and docile".

There are also only two examples of the word in context that I can find, and they really should be sending you into orbit :

The first one is actually from Henry Lovelich's translation of the French epic poem "The Romance of Merlin" also known as the first English treatment of the Arthurian legends. It's modernized as "He was a worthy knight, valiant and visable in every fight." Which uses the "good judgment" meaning and sounds... a lot like Aziraphale in his role of guardian and protector.

Why do we care? They are standing literally in front of Excalibur, Arthur's sword.

The other one is from "Ipomadon", another middle English epic poem about a hidden identity romance between a beautiful but proud heiress, and her dark knight in disguise. "She was... visable and virtuous, meak and mild, and marvellous." Which clearly uses the "tractable and docile" meaning, but also... kinda sounds like Aziraphale in his damsel in his distress mode, which:

Ahahahah fuck off. But wait, there's more!

I originally twigged to this error because if you, like me, also happen to speak the language of la plume de ma tante, you know there's a reason why the uses happen in epic poems that originated in France: it's a loan word from old French, and still exists today in modern French, but it doesn't mean tractable and docile...

For the non-french speaking among you, it's a derivation of the verb "viser" :

Verb 1 To aim 1.To aim, to carefully direct one's gaze or a weapon towards a goal to throw something at it.

And so, if you happen to be, oh I don't know, a demon and have been alive for thousands of years and can definitely speak all the languages on earth and happen to have participated in the Arthurian age in England, when you read that pamphlet really carefully because someone is making you do a crazy stunt and there's a miracle blocker on, you could *conceivably* have read the instructions as:

"IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT YOU LOVE, DO NOT SHOOT AZIRAPHALE IN THE FACE." ________________________________________________________ Thanks to @thebluestgreen and @embracing-the-ineffable as always.

[readingloveswounds]

constantly being told by my advisor to not quote so much in french (and instead paraphrase and footnote) which i HATE but it's FINE i guess. at first i couldn't figure out why it's such a struggle but having thought about it, it's 100% because in undergrad i only wrote in french (as the dept required), so when i got to grad school and started writing french papers in english i was like of course i can just put a french quote in here no problem. and no one brought it up tILL NOW