#george has so many paper cuts

[ughgoaway]

idk if we’ve spoke of matty meeting girlies parents for the first time?? but i think maybe he would bring annie to meet them and girlies parents would just absolutely fall in love with her!!!

Oooh, we haven't spoken about this!! I have established that you have kind of a complicated relationship with your family (more in this blurb) it's not awful, but there’s some distance just to make sure you can live your life in some peace.

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿ 

So you're slightly freaking out, to say the least. Your parent's reactions to you dating an older man, who is a musician for a living and has a daughter from a random hookup were… interesting. They weren't explicitly rude, but they were definitely questioning.

But you have been together for a while now, and they've spoken to Matty a few times over face time, and they seem to like him a bit more. They haven't ever spoken to Annie directly, but they have seen pictures of her and heard her running around in the background.

Your family finally manages to get you to come up to visit them, so you pack everyone into the car and off you go. Annie is happily chatting away in the back whilst you are freaking out a little, but Matty tries to relax you, “It's going to be okay, babe, they're not going to hate me. Your dad is my friend on Facebook!”

“...why are you talking to my dad on Facebook” you ask, confused, but matty waves you off and keeps driving. turning up the music a little bit louder.

You arrive at your parent's house, and Annie is so nervous, bless her. She's pulling at her dress and hiding by Matty’s side, “what if they don't like me?” she whispers to Matty as you walk up the driveway.

“Don't you worry about that sweetheart, they'll love you. C'mon, let's go have some fun, yeah?” Matty says, picking Annie up and taking a deep breath before walking up to the door.

“Well y/n is my teacher, so she taught me lots of things. I know how to read properly all on my own, you know.” annie continues to talk about school and you, and your mum gives you a soft smile over her head.

Surprisingly, they more than love Annie. They are obsessed with her. Your mum immediately chatting away to her and gave her presents that she bought for her.

Annie is relaxed so quickly, painting your mum's nails with the nail polish she bought her and chatting about school after your mum asks her who taught her to paint nails so well.

Your dad and Matty get along like a house on fire, chatting about the football and what they think of the latest games. And soon enough, the band gets brought up, but in a good way.

“You know, I was in a band when I was young.” Your dad says later on in the evening when you're all sitting in front of the TV drinking tea. You all have painted nails at this point, your dad even sporting the pink glitter on his fingers.

“You were?” You say with your face scrunched, you don't remember your dad talking about music at all during your childhood. Let alone being in a band.

“Oh yeah. I was the drummer, was pretty good, too. Do you play the drums, Matthew?” Both your parents insist on calling Matty “Matthew”, despite you telling them that they didn't need to.

“I do, I do. But not in the band, that's my mate George. But if he ever needs to tap out, I'll give you a call.” Matty says, which gives your dad a boost of confidence and makes his face break out in a cheesy smile.

Your mum is chatting away about Annie as she lies asleep on her lap, “and Annie is just so lovely. You've done a great job raising her, Matthew.” she smiles down at sleeping Annie, and strokes her hair just like you do.

“Ah thank you. But I couldn't have done it without y/n. She’s the real reason Annie is so great." Matty squeezes your hand as you speak, and you can't help but look at him with the most lovesick look in your eyes.

“Oh you two remind me of us when we were young, your dad was the only thing I ever wanted to look at or talk about,” Your mum says wistfully, looking over at your dad with a cheeky grin. 

So after that, you visit a little bit more. Annie falls completely in love with them both, and your mum cries when she calls her nanny for the first time. Your dad tears up when she calls him grandad, but denies that the whole time. 

A happy little family!! <3

[beiasluv]

forbidden fruit pt.2 | charles leclerc

part 1

a/n: i wrote last part at like midnight, apologies for any typos 💀 enjoyy 🤍

‘y/n l/n and charles leclerc. forbidden love, rival or lovers?’

front line mercedes driver, l/n, and the ferrari driver, leclerc, had been seen having a conversation together before the grand prix in italy…

“y/n, question for you please.”

the conference room. same old same old. lewis, you, and george were seated together in front of thousands of lenses, ready to pick each and every length of your skin just to get a piece of information they could sell to the media.

it was the day before the big race in italy, the media was catching their eyes closely at all the drivers - especially you know which two.

“..yes?”

“about the incident after the qualifying round, what had happened with charles?”

the clicking of the pens and the scratching of the notebooks were starting to get you any minute. clearing your throat you grabbed the mic closer to your mouth,

“i’m sure charles meant no harm..we’re racers..erm…rivalry isn’t the furthest thing from us.”

“are you dating charles, y/n?”

alarms were set off in your mind. it would be a crime if george and lewis couldn’t hear them. you were nothing with charles leclerc. he’s the reddest flag of all. really. you were nothing.

"we," clearing your throat and grabbing your mic closer to your dry lips. "we're not talking on any terms."

smile, y/n. smile for the cameras.

"what are your thoughts on the ferrari team this season? any comments?"

the journalist raised his hands through the crowd, his pen almost fell off his lap from the enthusiasm.

"it was always a challenge to race with any team on the track, ferrari included," you nodded. "the ferrari has a strong car, they are one of the many tough contenders. obviously, every team wishes to win...and so does mercedes," glancing a tight smile at the interviewer who took the answer down the notebook. perhaps a little bit too messy for your driver's head to decipher.

"how about when leclerc saved you? any additional comment?"

"i.."

you caught lewis shifting in his seat; his hands started to calm up together in front of the mic, seated between the three drivers and the whole internet. you could only pray your zoning out was missed by the media and you know who.

if only you could express your infinite pain of being the only female in the male-dominant sport, no paper could ever hold just a nick of the feminine rage pregnant inside you.

how come the only question you got asked was about 'charles,' 'men,' 'dating' and never the sophisticated 'performance car racing' or the ones filled with personalities?

george russell, for the record, your biggest shipper, even chipped in. he pushed the mic closer to his face and looked dead into the camera - if looks could kill - "please, this is a mercedes drivers' briefing."

the tension is sky-high, or you could say: rocket-sky-high. george settled back in his seat as you threw him a quick thankful smile. only god knows what the media is going to make up this time.

'george to the rescue'? bullshit.

"lewis, over here please."

--

"y/n, leclerc's getting aggressive. be careful for an overtake-"

"copy-"

the adrenaline is rushing, flowing, and doing whatever the heck it can in your bloodstream. pushing the pedal as hard as your baby could possibly could, the wind rushed against your face. if it wasn't for the helmet you had on, your face would've been cut like it were a thousand knives thrown at you.

looking to your right you see the infamous red ferrari again, surging with the wind and springing out against the green grass beside the track.

"leave space! you fucking-" you muttered as your fingers tick all the necessary buttons of the formula 1 car in order to keep your position above the ferrari. "what the fuck is he doing!"

praying the car tires could take a bit more, you applied as much pressure you felt comfortable on your baby for the first place behind the checkered end line. you glanced at the body behind the mask of the helmet as you continued to push and pray, push and pray.

if only you knew the ferrari was reciprocating the act.

what was important was you finishing above leclerc - mercedes finishing above ferrari, of course.

"leclerc! y/n! leclerc! who's going to win?! would he complete the overtake?!"

holding on to your steering wheel for your dear life, you saw something of a maroon color rushing to your side. perhaps it was the speed of the car that distorted your vision or was it something in your cheeks?

shut up-

"leclerc! leclerc! leclerc! ferrari have gained another victory home! ladies and gentlemen, charles leclerc!"

"fuck!"

the cracking sound from your radio chimed in your ears - at the worst time possible - "y/n! 0.02 second behind leclerc! P2!"

yeah, thanks. thanks for rubbing it in your face that leclerc had beaten you once again.

"..thanks," slowing your car down against the wind, you came to a halt after the race line; obviously at a considerable distance behind the red ferrari. climbing out and plastering on a fake smile for the media and your beloved fans.

--

the monégasques national anthem was blasted through the speaker throughout the whole podium. any fan knew this song belonged to any of the leclerc and ferrari, for now.

holding your hands in the comfort of in front of you, you tried to remain calm throughout the whole song. nevertheless, your heartbeat was beating fast for the obvious reason after the race.

the shit-eating grin was plastered on the driver standing on P1. can you even blame him? congratulations, you had beaten your rival for the longest time and were placed on P1 while wearing your infamous red suit.

while you were wearing your notorious mercedes's fire suit on your waist, just like all the drivers on the grid (and charles), you grabbed the champagne bottle as the others did so.

"good one, leclerc.”

you sprayed the champagne straight onto the monégasques’s back, maybe it was a little intentional that you shook the bottle a little harder for more pressure of the liquor.

no hard feelings, of course. you only knew his hair was soaked under the cap on his head and the tingling of the bubbles down his neck.

how unfortunate.

charles smirked back as he aimed his half-empty champagne bottle at you, "it's still not a date."

what.?

seeing you in your stunned state, he lowered the bottle to an acceptable level. leclerc cleared his throat and wiped the foam of champagne off his upper lips and chin; looking back with the biggest annoying grin on his face, "congrats on the podium. next race?"

oh, how you wish you could smack his grin off his mother fucking face again. rubbing it into your face.

the media..the media. breathe in, breathe out.

"will do, 16."

--

"congratulations on P2,"

toto patted your back as he entered the mercedes's headquarters. how lovely it is to see his drivers bundled up in his room, once again, after a race 'gone wrong.'

"what is it this time," he sighed as he lowered himself to his chair, not ready to be resigning the team principal position for a therapist for his driver.

the room was your comfort zone, safe to say. the picture of toto's kid, susie, and all of his essentials to complete the job for a team principal. crashing into his room with george wasn't an abnormal thing in your team, nor was it the first time of your career with him.

"they kept asking if you're dating charles, huh?" toto grinned as he faked wipe his mouth for the dramatic effect.

"i'm sick of it-"

the environment of the room shifted - for the better, surprisingly. also. did you mention the fact that this room felt more like a therapy session than a team principal's room?

and. wikipedia got it wrong, it was: toto wolff, team principal and CEO of mercedes, and a part-time therapist.

perfect.

"i'm sure we've put on a great fight," toto nodded towards you, the unspoken tension of the media was killing you inside out.

"i'm sick of the media, toto-"

george shifted next to you on the black sofa, "who knows, they're just trying to write a story out of nothing."

"it'll be the death of me if I have to continuously declare my love life on the internet," resting your head back on the back of the couch you did.

the coldness in the room was cleared by a bit as george snaked his arm around the back of the couch, he whispered into your ear, "you don't have a thing for charles..do you?"

"i hate you."

--

"night, toto. night, george."

bidding toto and george goodbyes, you grabbed your bag from the floor and beeline for the exit door.

the hotel bed is calling your name like a mantra at this point. the race was mentally and physically exhausting, what could be better than a nice, warm bath and a soft bed waiting for you?

the sky was pitch black, darker than your deepest thoughts in solitary, but the pitch was never dark. thanks to the eyes-scorching light to illuminate the track during the night races.

“sup lando..sup daniel”

“good race, l/n.”

walking past a couple of drivers, quick and friendly nods were exchanged as you head for the garage for your beloved mercedes.

and for the love of god, the eyes of the ferrari next to your mercedes were ignited.

how could this get even better?

making your way into the garage, you tried to be as quiet as you possibly could. digging in your purse for the key was a painful ride to ride.

'ah, found it.'

your fingertip dug into the muscle memory as you press the button you hoped was coded with 'unlock.'

fuck.

how gracious of mercedes to make the unlocking sound so loud. so loud that it caught the attention of the ferrari driver. so loud that leclerc's neck flicked towards the sound of your car and you swore you could feel his grin growing.

the second slowed down by a quarter as you seized the handle for the door and swung your bag and body inside the car. perhaps it was not fast enough for the P1 winner today as he made his way next to your car before you could even shut the door. ignoring his steps as he teasingly walked over to his ferrari and played with the key in his hand.

"you put up a great fight for the first place," he grinned. "next time.." he opened his ferrari,

“eyes on the track, l/n.”

"how-...don't you worry about it, leclerc," you scoffed, hiding the beating of your heart. fucking hell- stop beating so fast-

raising his eyebrows in one quick, swift motion, he entered his ferrari, "of course." the driver was fully engulfed by the shadows of the vertical door, but his eyes were still looking into yours, "nice drive today."

"you too."

--

your phone screen screamed it was 2 in the morning, but who cares? the tiktok on your phone was a little more entertaining than seeing charles off the track - okay, maybe a lot less - but the thing so addicting about tiktok was a life mystery for you.

curling up to your side, your phone was plugged into the wall next to your bed, your hand starting to get numb from holding your phone for too long.

asmr. f1 edit. asmr. f1 edit. asmr. f1 edit. you were going to go mad. for the love of anyone, if you see one more edit of charles leclerc on your fyp, you are going to throw your phone out-

honestly, you wouldn't lie that you enjoy an edit of yours once in a while, but hell, charles leclerc..fucking leclerc...who told him that he can look so fucking fine after a horrible race from the ferrari?

you were almost tempted to slam your phone on the nightstand and get some sleep for the night. also. who cares if you wake up late tomorrow?

knock..knock

"oh, come on," you cursed. the audacity to knock at 2 in the morning?

you swung yourself off the comfort of your hotel bed and tiptoed towards the door of your room. your pajama short and oversized t did not help with providing the necessary warmth.

peaking through the cat-eye, you saw the last thing you were expecting.

charles leclerc, in the flesh. he was leaning one of his arms on your door as he was about to raise his hand for another knock.

"gasly! open the door-"

"have a problem, leclerc?"

gosh, you wished you could take a pic of how terrified he looked. shit. was he looking at the unbearable state of yours, or what? short shorts, oversized t, and your hair-

"y/n- i'm-"

squinting your eyes, you adjusted to the light of the hallway, "gasly's not here."

silence engulfed the air between you like a buffet. he continued to stare blankly at you. gosh- could he stop with his dark, green, eyes- fuck. "…leclerc?"

was it the tension or your ears going deaf - you weren't sure - that made you couldn't even hear his - probably lame - excuse of why he knocked at your door at 2 in the fucking morning.

what did matter was the blabbering of his mouth traveled through one ear and straight to the other, just like an f1 car, speeding on any straight path-

"-i think i'm fucking in love with you"

"charles...don't."

charles stopped - his breathing, his steps, his brain, and whatever he could be conscious of. you started - started leaning onto the door, started clutching the other hand to the door blocking the other half of your heart from his.

"what d'you mean 'don't'?" leclerc's mouth was gaped, letting the least amount of air in to keep his heart beating - for you.

retracting your hand, and the door, away from him; you still found his hand in the comfort of over yours, the one that you held onto the door to not fall onto the wooden floor of your hotel room.

every breath you took was a sharp nick on your lungs, but you've managed to heaped out, "i'm sorry, charles-" just in time before your lungs would betray you.

"why?...why?...please-"

"why? -really? why?"

finally regaining the willpower to look back at him, and not cry, you were greeted with his reddened eyes, "what the fuck do you want with me-?"

"you- you could go around and tell me all these nice things in front of my face and- and god knows what you've been calling me behind my back-"

his grip on your hands tightened as he opened his mouth again, but you cut him short- "it drives me crazy- fucking crazy that you act all so nice to me when we've fought our whole lives against each other."

"...what ever happened to all of your loathing glares when i'm on the podium?"

who cares what the sleeping people, ghosts, or whoever the fuck on this floor hears. you were done with cradling your heart as far away as you could from the pitch. it was stupid. fucking humiliating, at least, that you've found yourself back - back at the start.

all the effort to fight for your place on the grid as the only female driver and all of your effort to carry your dignity above all the scandals came crashing down just for a second of your selfish desires. was it so bad to want love from someone who really cares for you all your life?

dancing, kissing, crying, loving. was it so hard to deny when it is literally in front of your fucking face? under the reddest flag of all.

you wished and prayed every day that the races would be over soon so you could stop seeing his shit-eating grin, his eyes, his remarks, his cologne filling the air whenever he walked past.

charles stood in silence, unmoving, as if the time had stopped. if only you knew he was trying- trying to find the right word to express this weird sensation in his brain, his chest, his fucking heart. they all just ended up tangled in italian, frech, and english. mon amour. my life-

"..is that how you really think of me-" he felt slightly betrayed by his wrong tone, but even more by your thoughts.

"you think- y/n- you think i'm just trying to tick you off the podium?"

"..are you?" wiping the tears that betrayed you and escaped from the comfort of your eyes. "look- look at all the headlines- 'mercedes and ferrari.' is this really the- the condition you want to love under?"

"i'll love you under any condition i want," he breathed shakily as he continued to hold the door of your room open. who cares about the ruffled sheet you left or your phone uncharged by the bed?

"there's nothing between us-"

"you have a girlfriend for fuck's sake!"

"it's a PR relationship! and who cares what the media thinks? i'm not doing ferrari any good by confessing my heart raw to you-"

"you think mercedes is getting anything out of this but rumors? i've fought the press for all my fucking life from the scandals inside the pit-"

"this isn't about mercedes, and this isn't about the goddamn media-”

charles ran his hand through his messed up hair, "and I would have thought you knew that..."

"maybe- maybe i don't. maybe i'm too scared to love again. maybe i'm too scared of what would happen if we ended on a bad note. maybe i'm a coward for not wanting to open my heart for you.

-maybe i'm stupid...for you"

"you're not stupid," he said- decreasing the gap between you two, trying his hardest not to reach to wipe your tears.

"we won't work out," you sighed. "we'll focus on our drives, we'll fight, you'll leave."

"please," charles grabbed your waist and pulled you in, once again - you gave in. "i'll make it work."

all your walls came crumbling down as you broke down like a dam on his shoulder. you buried your face onto his chest and gripped his shirt until you didn't care it would crease. a mantra of apologies came out of charles's mouth that you wouldn't even waste an energy to decipher.

his hands found their natural comfort in your lower back, rubbing in lines of traces and tracks you'd spend the rest of your life trying to decipher.

tucking a piece of your hair behind, he kissed all of your tears away. his mustache which had grown since the karting days grazed your skin like they were made for each other. his cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling too much like an idiot in front of your hotel room..106.

you were still gripping his shirt hard, as he closed the space between your lips and his. it seemed like all of your walls were crushed to the point of no returning; towering over you, he pressed his body against yours like there was no more- like the last lap of the race.

the level of oxygen in your lungs was starting to set off an alarm in your head, but you didn't care. you were kissing the reddest flag of all in the grid and you were not regretting anything.

pulling away for air, he smiled against your lips; sending a wave of breath onto your chin.

"you have a lot to explain to toto."

"i'll have my ways..."

oh my goodnesss. if you like it, please do whatever you want to, I’ll appreciate it 🫶🏻

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, luvv 🤍

tag: @leclerclvr @buendiabebeta @be-your-coffee-pot @al-luvx

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Addison Montgomery x fem! Reader

Could I please have an imagine where the reader is Meredith’s childhood best friend that came to work at Seattle Grace with her. While Meredith is pining for McDreamy her best friend wants McDreamy’s wife. (Imagine all of the hilarious and awkward moments this would result in).

Hi! I couldn't figure out how to turn this into a oneshot, so I just gave you a shit ton few scenarios!!

Sitting at lunch and getting the whole McDreamy situation out of Meredith and Cristina and Izzie spilling more to you than Meredith

Standing at the nurses station with MAGIC and Addison is on the other side of the station filling out a chart

She has her glasses on.

And her white coat.

And she's wearing black heels with a nice professional dress.

Mommy.

And you can't take your eyes off of her and you lean into Meredith and ask, "Who is that?"

She responds, "McDreamy's wife."

"So, is she into the whole adultery thing too?"

Cristina chimes in, "Considering that's why they seperated, I'd say so."

You can't stop thinking about McMommy Addison for weeks

Then, you're assigned to a case with her.

You get incredibly involved with your patients

Addison admires you so much for it.

"The world needs more doctors like you," she says after a crash C-section.

You ask, "And what do I have?"

"Empathy. You don't see very many doctors who want to get to know their patients. Most of them just see them as something they can cut into."

You're on her service almost every day for the next few months.

Asking Dr. Bailey, "Can't I have another assignment?"

Her responding, "Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd asked for you specifically, take it up with her."

But you didn't want to take it up with her.

At lunch, George brings it up and you say, "Meh, I don't really mind it."

But you start blushing.

And Cristina and Meredith start teasing you.

"Oh, she's got a crush on McDreamy's wife."

"George says, You can't have a crush on her, she's married."

"So is Derek and I still slept with him."

Cristina grins, "No wonder she has you on her service every day. You're her little bitch."

You insist that it's not true.

They continue teasing you until your pager goes off.

"Aw, is it Addison?"

"Give her a kiss for us!"

They continue making kissy faces the entire time you leave.

The first time you two kiss it's after you lost an OB patient.

Both of your emotions are running high.

You're trying to calm yourself down in an on-call room

She comes in and tries to comfort you

"It'll be okay."

"How are you so calm about this?"

"Well, eventually, you learn how to cope. You'll never get used to it, but you'll learn how to cope."

You lift your head off her shoulder and look at her in the eyes

Then your eyes flicker to her lips

And hers do the same

You finally give in and press your lips to hers

She returns the kiss and suddenly both of your scrubs are on the floor

Months of longing looks and pining and private moments in the elevator, you want to make your relationship official, but you know you can't

You're both in an on-call room once again making out

You pull away quickly and stop her

"Addison we shouldn't be doing this"

"What do you mean?"

"You...Addison, you're still married. And until you file for divorce, I can't see you."

She's speechless.

You, Addison, Derek, and Meredith all end up in an elevator together.

But weeks later, she presents divorce papers to Derek

And just a week after that, she shows you the signed papers

You don't know what to say.

"You actually did it? You filed for divorce?"

"I've made a lot of mistakes in my life...but you...you're not one of them."

This is the first time she says 'I love you'.

She gets a nice hotel room for you two that night.

Meredith asks why you aren't going home with them and then it dawns on her

You see that shit eating grin

Izzie and George and Cristina start cooing at you

"Awww, you're officially Addison's bitch."

"I am not Addison's bitch!"

"You so are!

"You'd do anything for her!"

"...Okay, fine, so I'm her bitch."

And it turned out to be a very lovely night.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 1.3

Okay can anyone explain the “false hotel registration” thing to me? Does it mean they registered under a false name? So Paul registered under a false name so he could go fuck a girl in his room without getting in trouble with the press? I'm confused. Didn't they bring girls to their rooms all the time without getting in trouble? It doesn't make sense. Why did he feel the need to register under a different name?

Paul, talking about American conservatism, “So many organizations over here that are nuts anyway.” John, “Yeah, they're so far right they just–” tape ends. They really were brave, though. To say what they thought and risk losing what they'd only just got. I wonder who cut the recording. 

Journalist: Paul, are you planning to marry Jane Asher? John: scream ‘no.’ Go on. Lol John certainly says what he feels doesn't he?

Paul making fun of the racist question. Good job bud. 

The whole “Yesterday” thing is crazy. Like, what a feat, first of all. I think we forget how unbelievably successful the song was.

Second of all, I know John's reaction was childish and mean, but his feelings were valid if you just look at the treatment and reception of “Ticket to Ride”  (John's dead mum song). Like objectively yesterday is a better song, but still.

Oh, John. Poor thing. 

If “Girl” is secretly about Paul . . . yeesh. It's so obsessive and adoring and simultaneously so disappointed and disparaging. John always has such impossible standards for Paul. “She promises the earth to me and I believe her, after all this time I don't know why.” Um… maybe because he literally did give you the world? At so many points I find myself asking, “what more could Paul possibly have given John?”

People always take this quote as a sexuality thing, but couldn't it also be a conscience thing? Revulsion at taking advantage of the fact that all these women are fans? At the scale of his infidelity? I don't know, am I giving him too much credit?

The thing about Paul, John – and though it drives you insane, it's a big factor in why you love him -- is he's not going to be bullied into anything. If he decides to take LSD it's going to be on his own terms. And I know you think it'll bring you two closer, and you're right, but peer pressure just doesn't work on him. There's no point. You know that.

I LOVE Paul and the Indica. Designing the wrapping paper in secret up in his little attic room, covering over the shop windows so he can do his handyman work building shelves and painting in peace. It's Linda's Paul pre Linda, you know?

John is so good at PR as in making something sound as beautiful and important and powerful as possible. Which is something Paul absolutely relied on John to do and clearly could not do on his own after the break up. Look how John makes them almost into prophets here.

"I really wanted to live in London but I wouldn't risk it." Another thing to make John envious of Paul and resentful of Cynthia. I really wish those two had just never got married. 

“I don't object to people having a lot of money, I never did. But I do object to people being stony broke and starving.” RIP John, you would've loved the American “left” of today. But you can't have the former without the latter, sorry.

This picture always gets me. It's ridiculous. Pattie and George. Mo and Ringo. John and Paul. With Cynthia awkwardly by herself. It's funny. It's adorable. It's crushing. And with that quote? It's impossible.

I think Tara Browne is overlooked. Paul brought him home for Christmas. That's a big deal. And John hated him enough to laugh when he read about his death. That's also a big deal. Paul and his messed up social climbing obsession. I do think it's worth pointing out, though, the difference between Paul’s LSD trip with Tara and his trip with John. More on that later.

I really do think they were all staunchly anti-racist for their time, you know, besides John's racist jokes and drawings… but Paul particularly. And I have to wonder where that came from. Did he have empathy for people being judged on appearance and background? Was it partially due to his idolization of black artists? Did Little Richard maybe say something to him about racism in America? Anyone have any thoughts?

Actually, same, John. 

Okay and I have to share my hot take on the whole Jesus scandal. It's this: the American right doesn't actually care about Jesus. They care about protecting their hegemony. They didn't like that the Beatles were openly and stubbornly integrationist. They didn't like Paul's comment about their inhumane racism. But they couldn't openly counter that without showing their hand. So they used the Jesus comment as an excuse. If they play the religious persecution card, they get to paint themselves as the victims and therefore the good guys while they take down anyone who challenges the status quo that keeps them in money and power (aka the Beatles). 

Maybe I should've had a “poor baby” tally because the number of times I've said that about John in these comments has got to be tally-worthy. I would've driven around in a gorilla suit with you, honey!

It is actually amazing that there hasn't been more speculation on Paul's sexuality with all these serious boyfriends. 

Paul tells a story about a time he flew a plane, and how much better he liked it than being a passenger. First off. Imagine being a pilot and just being like “oh, you've never touched a joystick in your life, but you're Paul McCartney? Sure, go ahead. Fly the plane.” But also. His control issues and his confidence are both off unreal. No one in their right mind would feel more safe flying a plane – as someone with a complete lack of experience – than when a licensed pilot is flying it. 

Okay I literally JUST learned that Here There and Everywhere says, “how good it can be” not could. Can. And it's one of those in my "for sure this was about John" folder. Okay then. Wow.

The thing is they really did compliment each other's songs a lot more than modern Paul makes it seem like. So I wonder what it was about the “Here There and Everywhere” compliment that made it so special to Paul?

This footage where John is hiding behind McCharmley. I love protective Paul and how different he is to protective John and how much they needed each other. 

Hall of Fame quote: “what composer do you respect the most?” “I dunno really. John Lennon.” “Paul McCartney.”

[geese-in-a-frock-coat]

What's your evidence for Watts and Murdoch being autistic? (I totally agree btw)

Hello, internet stranger. Buckle up cause I've thought too hard about this.

Ok disclaimer I have not really sat down and watched the whole thing for a hot minute. Its past nine, you're just gonna have to trust me this one.

Credentials: Mega autisitc

Murdoch:

Does not understand social conventions. Like this ones pretty obvious. He doesn't understand why people keep dogs. Raises his kid in a completely non traditional way. Frequently doesn't get why people care about something that he sees as not being worth it (sports and popular trends and so forth).

Doesn't like small talk

Cares about justice NOT the law. The thing that really makes me think he's autistic is that he cares about things being just and is prepared to break the rules to do so. The main example being he lets that woman out of prison depsite the fact that he could go down for it. He turns a blind eye to Watts and lets Giles go even though they're both criminals in the eyes of the law. And on the flipside he sends George to prison because I think that's what he percieves as justice (if anyone's seen the bridge this really reminds me of Saga at the end of season 2)

Sees through hierarchy. There are so many epsiodes that play out like "I think Mr X is the killer." "But Mr x is extrememly important and influential!" "I don't care he killed her."

Interest in science and inventing. Look I know we joke about stereotypes but like, its a stereotype for a reason. He builds things with an autistic brain. He uses pattern repition through learning about previous inventions and applying them to his own devices.

Visual learner. This is not autism exclusive but he solves cases in such a unique way that it screams ND to me. Murdoch often literally builds a case. They make a joke about clue/cludo but he literally has to make the model of a house to picture where everyone is. He makes all those model of the ladies that were covered in metal. And let us not forget his famous chalk board.

Buzzkill. I say this as a long-term sufferer of leaves parties at 8:45 syndrome. He does 'boring hobbies' which autistic people often have because we don't feel the need to take up traditional ones.

Remember that scene where he attempts to read out his and Julia's book and just absolutely cannot tell that no one gives a single toss about anything he's saying.

Wears the same thing for nearly 20 years. If it ain't broke don't fix it.

Refused to let his wife cut his hair because he didn't want to change from the lady who used to do it.

breather. Part 2: watts.

Cannot read social cues: Frequently insults other station house four people. Pretty sure he called someone's baby ugly but I might have hallucinated that. "You're face is symetrical." Got chucked out of station house because he didn't get on with any of them

Disregard for societal norms: doesn't feel the need to be polite or tactful with anyone or to really follow police protocol. Acts very 'improper' a lot of the time. Only got one shoe shined that one time because that was all he needed. Puts his feet on the sofa, lies on the desk and leans over tables.

Makes limited eye contact.

The man will fidget with anything: Look this is clearly a character decision from Daniel Maslany but its an autistic character decision if ever I saw one. We're talking pencils, cups, fabric, anything. If it is on the set, he will find a way to play with out. And I don't normally like to assign autistic traits onto behaviour implemented by actors but it's basically stimming at this point. I dare you to keep an eye on this man's hands for any scene and I garuntee you they will not stay still.

Disorganised, but not: He always has tiny bits of paper and whatnot in his pockets but always seems to know where everything is. organised but doesn't have to time to be tidy. Same whenever we see his flat, it's equally disorganised. as an autistic person I find things end up all over the place because I don't have the capacity to keep them in order.

Bad handwriting and can't spell

Physicality: Most autistic people will have some sort of problem with co-ordination. He walks uneavenly. He has an odd posture. I always think about that scene where he steps in sick and moves around like a dear on ice. He's clumsy, can't sit straight and has a strange posture.

can't think when being interrupted

can't focus on two things at once.

George realised he'd been possessed by aliens because he was acting normally.

pretzels: dare i say safe food. If not, they're bland, usually the same everytime and take little mental effort to consume.

Strong sense of justic: see william murdoch.

SPECIAL MENTIONS:

Dr Emily Grace: didn't become a doctor becuase she didn't want to adopt a 'cheerful bedside manor.'

Dr Julia Ogden: Married to Murdoch (like calls to like) and sees through the bullshit of victorian society.

Susannah Murdoch: has those two as parents and I have the full confidence of genetics on this one.

In conclusion:

There's probably so much more I could talk about that I just don't remember because there is a lot more of this show than most others. But anyway. Murdoch is autistic because he has to be for the show to work and becuase he often comedic-foils far too close to the sun. And Watts is autistic because there is no way on God's green earth a man who stands like that is neurotypical.

Thank you, internet stranger, I am here all week.

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 1x01 - A Diamond of the First Water (Part 3)

Hi! Welcome back to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I'm taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton's character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Girls Like You

Jumping back in, we start off with a montage of suitors for both Daphne and Marina set to Maroon 5's Girls Like You. Usually, I have some great thoughts on the use of music within shows but this one feels... just like a fun little pop song to put to a montage? Most of the lyrics involve -- needing a girl like you -- and -- yeah yeah yeah. It's not the most profound song, but it works nicely for the montage.

Also, I love when they match the Featherington girls' dresses. I'd love the backstory as to why Portia is obsessed with citrus fruits.

As a nice touch, when the LW voice over starts, the camera pushes in on Penelope. I kind of love all the hints they give that LW is Pen -- it's incredibly obvious once you start looking for them. Anyway, Penelope is so devilish here. She loves the attention Marina is getting - not only because she finds Marina a nice person, but because it's pissing her mother off. I love that the LW narration is Pen's way of throwing salt in her mothers' wound. It's a bit wicked. And delicious.

What's somewhat wild, though, is that LW goes after the Queen about her choice of Daphne as a diamond. THE QUEEN! Like, that is bold, Pen. Incredibly bold. She even throws shade at King George, like wow. It's no wonder the Queen is obsessed to track her down. Pen's playing with fire here. But I wonder if she doesn't realize, yet, that there can be consequences to her words? I mean - right now, LW is almost like her journaled words being published -- unedited thoughts that aren't necessarily filtered, but are done so anonymously. The only reactions she's really getting are her mother's frustrations -- which she delights in.

It'll be interesting to watch the LW development as the show continues...

Courting I

Awww, it's our first real Polin scene of the show! And it's... like ten seconds long. But! Still plenty to dig through.

Colin's decided to call on Marina - I'm assuming he's the one (or one of the ones really) who brought her flowers. And during one of the suitor's atrocious poems, Colin's throwing Pen (and you could argue Eloise) looks. Like, can you believe this guy? Seriously?

But, no, I love that there's this layer of non-verbal communication right off the bat. Colin isn't just some random dude Pen has had a crush on from afar. They have an established relationship from the onset (which I'll talk about more in a sec) and how many times -- cutting through the ridiculous nature of the society they live in, do they shoot each other knowing looks.

They grew up together, and while Colin probably very much thinks of her as an additional sister at this point -- there's a comfort there that he can express how he's feeling over the situation to her.

A quick second about the dog - it took me a sad amount of times to realize that one of the suitors had brought it as a gift. It also doesn't show up after this episode (I think) so I really hope it's safely living at a neighbor's house after Portia decides to get rid of it.

Anyway... I was thinking about Eloise in this scene. Why is she even in this scene, she doesn't need to be. Well, actually, in a way, she does! First of all - we can appreciate Claudia Jessie's fantastic comedic skills (Btw - anyone else up for a buddy comedy with Claudie Jessie and Nicola Coughlan? Because I sure am here for it).

Secondly, it helps reestablish that Pen and Eloise are bffs. Which helps establish why Colin would otherwise randomly come up to talk to her after calling hour is over. This is the first episode of the series, and all of these relationships are being established. And it can be done without dialogue having to confirm it. It's all subtle, but it's better than the trap of over explaining things in expository dialogue.

Anyway, I want some backstory... How often do Eloise and Pen sneak over to each other's houses? They were children when they met - how often did Pen play over at the Bridgerton house? It's interesting that children are allowed some freedoms that once you get older, aren't allowed anymore. I have to wonder - if one reason that Pen and Colin are so free with each other later on is that because they they were children together, and probably played together as kids, they don't feel as bound by society's rules because they didn't have to when they were younger.

And now I just have all of these headcanons about a much younger Colin chasing his sister(s) and Pen who is visiting around the house in the way siblings do. And Eloise deciding she wants to take revenge, and she and Pen coming up with plots to play pranks on her brother(s). Think of Gregory and Hyacinth at the beginning of the episode, running around causing havoc. And I can just imagine that Eloise and Colin are a lot like that, too. And of course, Pen, who wanted to be away from her own family, from her own sisters who treated her like a disease, would want to be a part of it as much as she could.

Before I get into their exchange, a small, but important detail is what Portia says a moment before -- she encourages the young men to acknowledge her other daughters in hopes that someone will notice Prudence or Phillipa. But the way she includes Penelope's name -- "or even Penelope" -- it's an after thought. It's like, oh yeah, I have a third child I guess if you really want to acknowledge her, go ahead, but meh, who cares. It's so sad, really that Portia thinks so little of her at this point in time.

But then here's the kicker -- not one of these suitors even takes a glance over in Prudence or Phillipa's direction. But Colin takes a moment to full on have a short aside with Penelope. He makes it a point to go over to her to share a laugh -- because they'd probably been rolling their eyes at each other during all of this suitor business, and now that the official courting moment is over, they can have an exchange.

The fact that Portia is so blind to what goes on with her youngest daughter is the reason LW works. Penelope is left to really be on her own - and while that's devastatingly lonely, it also allows her a freedom that other women her age and place in society don't get.

Anyway, back to Colin -- and the fact that the first thing he does is seek out Penelope. He could address his own sister, who is sitting right there, but he doesn't. Because Eloise probably usually ignores him. Penelope doesn't. She latches on to pretty much everything he says, and that's gonna be a big deal for Colin (but we'll get there...)

Their exchange is only a couple of lines, but they're able to be witty with each other. Penelope mentions that the suitor is no Lord Byron (and -- guys, as an aside, if you want a wild time, look up the life and times of Lord Byron and the Shelleys. It's just... a good time...) Anyway, Colin's face subtly shifts in this moment. Her wit and intelligence is impressive, and he clocks that. It's why he keeps coming back to her - because they can share similar thoughts - but also she's deeply amusing on top of that.

And, oh, dear Penelope... Her eyes never leave him. She is just so, so gone. Not only is she just over the moon that he comes to stop to talk to her, not only is she gazing adoringly up at him during the quick exchange, her look lingers as he leaves. Of course, part of this is visual storytelling to show the depths of her feelings. But, we're beyond crush stuff here -- this girl has got it bad.

Seriously -- how does Eloise not notice all of this? I mean, plot purposes, yes, and the fact that Eloise is usually caught up in her own drama to really notice other things. But you'd think you'd notice your best friend being moony for brother after a while. Because, Pen, girl, you wear your heart on your sleeve...

Courting II

Before we get into the meat of this short, little moment - I have to mention the transition. In the scene before, Simon and Anthony were talking, and Anthony mentions that he's not worried about taking a wife because he has brothers... And we cut to this scene where Colin is courting Marina. And, I think it's a neat little transition because - we see Colin doing something that Anthony is actively not doing. Looking for a wife. (Or at least a romantic partner)

That's the thing about Colin -- he is a romantic. Unlike Anthony, whose position is different because he is the oldest and therefore there's more responsibility there, and therefore he'd rather not deal with it at all (and who has a ton of trauma going on in addition) and unlike Benedict, who is kind of caught up in finding himself more than anything, Colin (who is young still at this point) likes the idea of a wife and a partner and a domestic home.

It's one (of many - I'll get to it) reason he is so quick to propose to Marina. It's why he doesn't fuck around ages later when he figures out his feelings for Penelope. It's actually something Colin and Penelope have in common -- they both have a shared love of romance.

Okay, so onto this moment, I want to note the blocking of the scene. Notice how Penelope is on the floor, playing with the dog? It's purposeful! It positions her to reflect that she's still a child, or at least a child when compared to Colin and Marina on the couch, deep in their courting moment. It highlights the chasm currently between them -- something Marina will bring up later, that Penelope is still a child, a younger sister, not serious marriage prospect in Colin's eyes.

There's Lady Whistledown narration going over this scene -- where LW proclaims that Colin might be rewarded with the prize of Marina. And we see Penelope watching with a mix of emotion.

Penelope was having fun with all the suitors back when there were a ton of them and they were spouting bad poetry. But now that it's just Colin and Marina, the knife twists a bit in Pen's heart. She's playing with the puppy, as a way to pretend she's not that interested, but she's dutifully watching. And yes, a small part of it is her LW ways. A bigger part of it is to watch the development of this particular courtship. And, a third part of it is that there's a twisted sense of -- I may hate every thing about what's happening, but we're still in the same room together. She doesn't miss opportunities to be near Colin whenever she can.

The LW narration is somewhat brutal and almost petty. Pen is mocking Marina through the guise of carefully placed compliments. (Note - Julie Andrews doesn't oversell it the narration, but the hint of sarcasm is there.) Again, they did a great job at layering the narration over Pen's face, so we literally are hearing what she's thinking.

Here's the other thing about the narration :: 'It has come to my ears that Mr. Colin Bridgerton will win the grand prize when he sweeps Miss Thompson off her pretty, little, slippered feet.'

There's a lot in that little sentence. Pen is watching Colin and Marina laugh together. And that is hard for Pen -- because we saw it even in the first scene they have together. They laugh, have in-jokes, seek each other out and share cute, sweet little moments. Sure -- we know (or will be told) that Colin is flirty in general, he cracks jokes, makes people seem at ease, and is genuinely kind to everyone. But Pen has taken a lot of those interactions for herself, has buried them away as something special between the two of them.

Colin flirting out during promenades (or whenever) is kind of a distant thing. Pen having a front row seat to watch Colin lay his natural charm at a serious romantic partner is something else entirely. She hates it. And that's why she turns away, because it's a bit too much. And yet, she doesn't leave -- because she can't.

Also, ALSO! The - sweep her off her feet - comment in the narration. Marina will find Colin a bit fun, but it's a nice connection. And I do think she likes Colin. But she's not really swept off her feet. Pen was the one who got swept off her feet. I just... think they did a great job keeping up the duality of having LW be her own thing and having it really reflect Pen's inner thoughts.

So on that angsty note... one more post about the first episode to wrap it up, then we can move on!! See -- I told you there's a lot in this first episode!

[heyyesimtrash-whatofit]

Alright J I hate to ask but,

I just love the fact Marty is getting NO sleep with those Docs around

Sorry that I want to see more, but really there SO GOOD!!

(p.s maybe Marty could be ‘resting’ and something that the Doc’s did woke him up, something funny maybe, idk)

DO NOT APOLOGIZE!!!! HAVE YOU SEEN MY TAGS?? I LIVE FOR THE ENTHUSIASM!!

Also what a lovely idea! Oh Marty~!

Good luck fighting him on this one, Marty. He’s a dad now. He’s used to putting stubborn kids to bed. Not pictured (because I’m lazy and didn’t wanna pose that many ppl-) is 1931 Doc and 1955 Doc standing around a shattered beaker, multiple piles of flaming…something (paper, gel, idk), and a still lit Bunsen burner. You can kinda guess what happened from there-

Transcriptions and more silly under the cut :)

*honk shooo Marty Sleeping Position.jpg*

CRASH!

Marty: What blew up? Who’s on fire?

Doc (present 1986): Everything is fine, Marty, now go lay back down- 😅

Marty: But you’re literally-

Doc: I know.

Marty: And-

Doc: Back to bed.

This will be the vicious cycle that will repeat at least twice more before Marty gets a decent amount of sleep (which is thanks to Einstein finding the chaos and laying with the poor kid like the amazing dog he is) And yes, 1986 present Doc is the best at getting the stubborn teen to sleep because of his acquired dad skills, but that doesn’t mean the other Emmetts aren’t just as capable. 1955 Doc has had to get Marty to sleep multiple times during his week there, 2015 Doc is no different, and 1931 Emmett literally let Marty sleep in during the game because he seemed really tired so what makes you think he won’t find a way to help his friend sleep?? Marty is going to rest whether he likes it or not. This is not a question, but a fact.

I’ve been playing with other characters in my mind as well, because it won’t just be Marty forever. I think Jennifer gets dragged in when they remember Marty’s parents, and she’s called in to come grab him. Speaking of George and Lorraine, either they don’t find out at all or, if they’ve figured out time travel, they do and it’s chaotic. (If you wanna see how I think them finding out would go, there’s a link to my fic on @squoosh-the-floof-writes It’s called The Truth About Time Travel do read it) Then ofc there’s Clara and the boys. Clara stumbles in first, which is nothing short of entertaining as she somehow manages to effortlessly contain the chaos (“I know how your brain works, Emmett. This is just that times four”) The boys don’t bump into all of them at first, but rather I think they meet 1931 Doc first which is just all sorts of funny. Anyway more to come from this

KEEP ASKING QUESTIONS AND GIVING YOUR THOUGHTS I LIVE FOR IT

[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: Week 3 (June 16)

TLDR: I have too many unread books, and I’m asking tumblr to help me downsize. Pick one or none, and comment if you can - a convincing sentence is worth a dozen votes! You’re also welcome to just choose the one that sounds the worst :D Book descriptions below the cut, see my pinned post for more info.

The Queen’s Readers: A Collection of Essays on the Words & Worlds of Tamora Pierce ed. Amanda Diehl & Holly Vaughn

(Listen, I mostly just put this one on here so y’all would know it exists.)

Over the course of her career, Tamora Pierce has created two worlds that continue to inspire readers more than 30 years after her first book was published.

In The Queen's Readers, contributors explore a myriad of topics as only fans can: with love and a critical eye. With more than 30 essays covering topics from feminism to Pierce's mythical creatures Stormwings, no fictional stone is left unturned.

Adulting: How to Become a Grown-Up in 468 Steps by Kelly Williams Brown

(A friend in college bought this for me and I have no idea if it’s at all helpful or just annoying.)

If you graduated from college but still feel like a student . . . if you wear a business suit to job interviews but pajamas to the grocery store . . . if you have your own apartment but no idea how to cook or clean . . . it's OK. But it doesn't have to be this way. Just because you don't feel like an adult doesn't mean you can't act like one. And it all begins with this funny, wise, and useful book. Based on Kelly Williams Brown's popular blog, ADULTING makes the scary, confusing "real world" approachable, manageable-and even conquerable. This guide will help you to navigate the stormy Sea of Adulthood so that you may find safe harbor in Not Running Out of Toilet Paper Bay, and along the way you will learn: What to check for when renting a new apartment-Not just the nearby bars, but the faucets and stove, among other things. When a busy person can find time to learn more about the world- It involves the intersection of NPR and hair-straightening. How to avoid hooking up with anyone in your office -- Imagine your coworkers having plastic, featureless doll crotches. It helps. The secret to finding a mechanic you love-Or, more realistically, one that will not rob you blind. From breaking up with frenemies to fixing your toilet, this way fun comprehensive handbook is the answer for aspiring grown-ups of all ages

Silhouette of Mary Ann: Being a Life Story of George Elliot by J.E. Buckrose

(This is from at latest the 1930s and I can’t easily find a description of it; it seems to possibly be a novelization/fictionalized version of George Elliot’s life? I have read ONE George Elliot book, idk)

[roscoehamiltons]

Silly Season 2024 Predictions

aka predicting how the grid will look for 2025:

red bull: max verstappen, daniel ricciardo

mercedes: george russell, fernando alonso (or alex albon, if fernando remains at aston martin)

ferrari: lewis hamilton(!!!), charles leclerc

mclaren: lando norris, oscar piastri

aston martin: lance stroll, yuki tsunoda (or fernando alonso, if he doesn't go to mercedes)

alpine: esteban ocon, pierre gasly

williams: kimi antonelli, alex albon (or valtteri bottas, if alex goes to mercedes)

visa cash grab rb: liam lawson, sergio perez (or yuki tsunoda, if he doesn't go to aston martin)

sauber: carlos sainz jr, nico hulkenberg

haas: ollie bearman, kevin magnussen (or zhou guanyu, if kevin retires)

thoughts, explanations (and a lot of babbling) under the cut:

red bull: maybe i'm delulu for thinking daniel to red bull will still happen lol but it makes perfect sense on paper-- daniel's already familiar with the team and works well with them, he has support from the higher ups, he's a marketing dream, he has a similar driving style and preference to max...

also i know there have been rumours about alex going to red bull again but i don't think he'll do it in the end.

mercedes: i want it to be fernando that replaces lewis bc it would bring the most chaos and drama lol, but it's also a decision that actually makes sense? swapping a world champion with another world champion, and one that isn't likely to want to stay long term (5-10 years)? i guess this is dependent on how both mercedes and aston do this year but 🙏 pls make it happen lol

alex is my second choice for the seat if fernando doesn’t take it. i started making my predictions before james confirmed that alex was signed to williams for 2025, but even with that news, i still think it's a possibility he could go to mercedes. there's been so many whispers in the press about alex wanting to either leave williams or getting offers from top teams, that i can't help but think that alex is trying to gun for a top seat.. and mercedes is his best choice for a top seat imo. not to mention that james did say that he wouldn't stop alex from leaving if he wanted to, and of course the ties with mercedes that james and williams have... it would be easy for them to do some negotiations and make it happen. also i'm sure that george would put in a good word for alex, if alex was interested.

also some honourable mentions, because there's a lot of possibilities to consider: everyone is talking about kimi antonelli and mercedes and i do think that they're going to try and push him into f1 as soon as they can.. i just don't know if they'll take the risk of putting him in the merc seat right away. i'm really interested to see how he does in f2 either way-- if he's as good as everyone says then the results will speak for themselves. i think esteban is a good option too; he's a solid driver (and underrated imo), and more importantly he has ties to merc and toto. if merc wants a more short term option then carlos is a good choice, though it's more likely he would go to sauber. as for mick, i don't think that he's merc's first (or even second or third) choice for the seat, unfortunately for him and the mick girlies. lastly, this one is a bit random but nico hulkenberg also came to mind as a solid short term option (plus, he's german).

ferrari: still can’t believe lewis is going to be driving for them.

mclaren: no notes, very solid pairing.

aston martin: i think the lineup will stay the same if fernando doesn’t want to move to mercedes. i suppose there’s a chance that the rumours about lance going to wec could be true but we will see.

if fernando does go to mercedes then yuki is probably the most obvious choice as his replacement. i also think it’s in yuki's best interest in the long term to leave the red bull family, and this would probably be the best opportunity to do so.

i was actually initially considering checo as the driver to replace fernando — they have history after all, and checo seems to love the team. however, thinking about it, 2023 really took a hit to his reputation as a driver and I don’t know if aston would want him back anyways? i think checo would absolutely reach out to them though if the seat opens up, i think he’s going to try and stay on the grid if it's possible.

alpine: i think both will stay, but if one was to leave it would probably be este (to mercedes?) rather than pierre. if he were to go then jack doohan would be the likely replacement, maybe victor martins if his results in f2 are good.

williams: like i said earlier, i think mercedes is going to try and get kimi into f1 asap, even if he doesn't win f2, and aside from merc itself, williams is the most likely option for that to happen. alex will stay if he doesn’t get the mercedes seat—the supposed red bull offer doesn't start until 2026 and i don’t think he would break his contract to go to aston or alpine.

as for who would replace alex if he does go to mercedes, i would love for it to be valtteri. i stole this idea from @velvetsainz actually, but the more i think about it, the more i like it... the idea of valtteri and james on the same team again tickles me and valtteri is a fantastic mentor (as evidenced by his relationship with guanyu). also i'm fairly certain that toto is back on valtteri's management team again so i can see toto mentioning valtteri as an option for williams in their negotations for the hypothetical alex to mercedes move. is this likely this is to happen, idk, because valtteri did pick sauber over williams in 2021 for a reason but a girl can dream lol

visa cash grab rb: this one was the one i probably struggled with the most ngl.. i think liam is definitely going to be in f1 in 2025 (and deservedly so) but the question of who's going to be in the other seat.. the three main options would be yuki, checo and daniel (if daniel remains at visa instead of moving up, either checo stays at red bull or yuki is the one getting promoted). i originally had the lineup as yuki and liam (and checo at aston martin) but ended up switching yuki and checo around in the end. if checo does end up retiring at the end of this year and yuki goes off to aston then i'm not sure who would replace him..maybe ayumu iwasa? i looked at their list of juniors and am not really familiar with anyone besides him tbh

sauber: this one pains me because i'm a huge fan of both valtteri and guanyu, and they're actually my favorite pairing, in terms of overall vibes and personality... but i would be (very pleasantly) surprised if they both manage to stay at sauber next year. i think it's a given that carlos is going to go to sauber now that he isn't with ferrari, especially with his ties his dad has to audi. i also think sauber/audi would want to start preparing for 2026 and they would also want a german driver to drive for them, hence nico hulkenberg (plus the rumours that they were interested in hulkenberg last year, but ended up renewing guanyu instead).

there's a chance that one of the current drivers could stay, which in that case it would likely be valtteri (with carlos as his teammate, rather than nico). they could also promote theo pourchaire to f1, but i think it's likely they would stick to established drivers, especially during the first couple of years that audi settle in.

haas: the new haas tp has spoken very highly of ollie and with the amount of free practice sessions they have scheduled for ollie this year, it wouldn't surprise me if they're trying to get him on the grid. i know some people think that kevin might retire after this year, but i think they would like to keep one of the current drivers since the last time they had two new drivers didn't go well 😬. on the chance that kevin does end up retiring, i think guanyu is a good shout for a replacement. it might seem a bit random but he's a consistent driver who rarely crashes and more importantly, brings a lot of money and sponsorship, which haas needs.

[goetiae]

Leeches were largely popular in the medical field during the Victorian era both in Europe (primarily England and France) and America. The 19th century saw progression of the academic study of leeches as used in medicine that was conducted prior and laid basis for the modern application of anticoagulant in medical practice.

At the time, many famous Englishmen found leeches fascinating: zoologist Arthur Everett Shipley, for instance, wrote papers marveling at the beauty and functionality of a leech. This fascination often grew personal. Lord Thomas Erskine, a lawyer, underwent a successful bloodletting, afterwards taking with him two leeches; later naming them Home and Clina. According to the memoirs of Sir Sam Romilly, Erskine's friend, he took great care of making sure the leeches "knew him".

In France, the obsession with leeches took drastic turns as well. François-Joseph-Victor Broussais, a notable surgeon of Napoleon's army, was known to possess a certain infatuation with leeches.

Leeches were in growingly high demand in the 19th century Europe. France imported leeches in terrific quantities equating up to dozens of millions a year.

Overall, bloodletting for medicinal purposes is not strictly unique to the 19th century Europe. Like many other medical methods, it has its roots in Ancient Egypt and Greece where bloodletting via cutting veins was often practiced by the followers of the method described in the Hippocratic collection of the 5th century BC. The medicinal use of leeches dates back to 1500 BC and is not a recent invention. However, it is only in 1884 that Haycraft learned why leeches are so efficient in bloodletting: their saliva contains an anticoagulant hirudin (hence hirudotherapy). These observations are listed in Haycraft's work, On the Action of a Secretion Obtained from the Medicinal Leech on the Coagulation of the Blood. For this property, leeches are still in high medicinal demand.

During the Victorian era, leeches were used for all kinds of medical treatment: from headaches to hemorrhoids, from fatigue to nymphomania. Sir William Henry, for example, writes that bloodletting is far beyond any other medical treatment in helping many diseases.

Albeit, the effectiveness of such treatment is a matter of much questioning as often leeching only weakened the fragile state of those being treated. Some patients were, unsurprisingly, allergic to the treatment and either suffered reactions to leeches, larger loss of blood than intended, or even died during treatment.

Leeches and bloodletting were studied with much attention: physicians wrote books on the physiology and medical benefits of leech usage, and a very detailed description of leeches was added in the 1880 edition of Johnson's Universal Cyclopaedia.

The curiosity for leeches found its way into much earlier publications as well. For example, J. R. Johnson released multiple medical studies on leeches in the very beginning of the 19th century. His A Treatise on the Medicinal Leech (1816) and Further Observations in the Medicinal Leech (1825) dwelled on the precise details of leech usage and preservation.

From Johnson's studies mentioned above, we learn that he worked with cocoons of different sizes which he received from other leech enthusiasts. He recorded that leeches are to be kept in an enclosure with a stream of fresh water coming in and turf placed conveniently so that the leeches could "retire in a shady spot". He also studied leeches' detailed anatomical structure.

Such academic interest centered around leeches in England roots within earlier academic research done by the scientists of the 18th century - for example, an apothecary by the name George Horn who published his An Entirely New Treatise on Leeches: Wherein the Nature, Properties and Use in 1798. Interestingly, even this early into the studying of leeches, he mentions the dangers of infections if leeches were to be attracted by walking bare-legged into a river (as was done in India, according to him). Instead, he promotes the English method of agitating the leech-infested waters until the animals come up to the surface to then be caught by the nets. Overall, prior to Horn's manual not many spoke in favor of leeching: William Buchan in his study from 1769 speaks on leeches as unreliable and inefficient as it's unclear how much blood is taken per use.

Horn describes four species of leech (two of which are found in England) and dwells on their peculiar anatomy:

no eyes but a teeth-filled mouth

lips to catch blood from escaping

lack of a proper stomach

presence of the so-called "bags" across their body that "get saturated when leeches receive nourishment"

Based on the gathered information, one can claim leeches were awakening more and more scientific curiosity among the English apothecaries and physicians even at the end of the 18th century.

The medical treatment of patients with the use of leeches is described by Horn as well, though he tends to recommend additional treatment - usually mixtures of milk and syrup with herbs - to be given to the patient alongside bloodletting. This as well as other studies of the late 18th century certainly became the basis of medicinal usage of leeches in the upcoming 19th century and far into the 1910s.

It is impossible to speak of leech therapy of the early 19th century in England and beyond without mentioning the influence of François-Joseph-Victor Broussais, a surgeon of immense medical fascination with leeches who employed them vastly in his treatment of Napoleon's soldiers. Broussais used around fifty leeches a time per patient and was thus called "the vampire of medicine" for his fascination with bloodletting. He claimed, among other things, that all "fevers" had the precisely same origin: inflammation. Letting out "bad blood" was thus a plausible solution to the issue.

Women wore embroidery in colors inspired by leeches' dim, soft shades. A whole sort of fashion - à la Broussais - was born out of this unusual fascination. The notable traits of this fashion, according to Michel Valentin who wrote a large biography of Broussais, were purple garnitures - embroidery, trimming - and top coats that resembled leeches' colors.

This conclusion was, of course, the result of the "humoral theory", which was widely supported in Europe. Rooting from Greece, it centered around the idea that the human body held inside four types of liquids: two kinds of bile, phlegm, and blood. Each humor was associated with two qualities, either hot or cold, and either wet or dry. Having one of the liquids "in excess" was associated with certain conditions (for blood, it was any that caused redness, for example), hence bloodletting was a naturally sought out practice.

The leeches were placed “inside the nostrils, on the inside of the lower lip, on the chest, and on the side, sometimes by four at a time.” Leeches could access otherwise inaccessible parts of one's body (such as perineum) and were often used for treatment conditions that were believed to be connected to genitalia - for example, "nymphomaniac" states. To apply a leech, one would hold a small leech-containing vessel filled with water to the desired spot, wait until it bites, and then gently remove the container; tubes could be used as well.

A whole industry related to leeches was established in the 19th century: propagating leeches rose to the state level of importance and leech keeping became a popular activity. Leeches were, in fact, nearly hunted to extinction in some European countries in the 19th century, including England. Containing leeches started to become complicated: leeches only needed meals once every six months (and thus were not suitable for frequent use) and required specific conditions of containment. Thus, the mechanical leech quickly became a popular invention. The first prototype of 1817, called bdellomètre, is credited to French doctor Jean-Baptiste Sarlandière.

Transactions of the Pharmaceutical Meetings (1855) notes some statistical numbers regarding the "leech hunt" of the 19th century: in imports alone England received 8 million leeches annually, besides the large numbers collected within the country. The practice of using mechanical leeches (two types for different purposes) is mentioned as "ingenious" and discussed as a great opportunity to keep the natural leech healthy. The book tracks down purchases of various vessels for fresh water used as leech enclosures.

Actual preservation and propagation of leeches are described in various books of the time, though the peak of such publications in England comes around in the 1850s. In 1855, Specification of Nathaniel Johnston: Breeding, Rearing and Carrying Leeches is published. Johnston, whilst in Paris, invented an apparatus for keeping and breeding medicinal leeches: a complicated water vessel to keep leeches at the perfect temperature and humidity for the breeder - the inventor titled these containers hirudinieres. A similar invention was marked by another author in Specification of George Lifford Smartt: Vessels for Preserving Leeches and Fish Alive.

There was a lot of thought and effort put into keeping leeches healthy and vital - either for medicinal purposes or out of personal fascination.

[ukulelevillainwrites]

who follows the rules anyway?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

complete

pairing : anthony lockwood x she/her reader

word count : 3.4k

notes : with this part the plot actually takes off, more will happen in part 3 obviously i'm just getting started ;)

The following day they met again at the client’s house to take care of the final details. They explained that the clock was the source and that they had to get rid of it for the haunting to cease. She simply needed to open the case and they would be on their way. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as it should have been.

“This clock has been in my family for generations. I don’t care what you say, you are not taking this heirloom to be burned among other rubbish.” Mrs. Overton was very upset. She didn’t want to hear any advice given and categorically refused to open the case.

“I understand your disappointment Madam, but if you want your house to be safe again, I really don’t see any other solution.” Mrs Dufour explained.

The conversation had been lasting for hours. Well, metaphorically at least. It really had been 15 minutes, but hearing a client complain about the source wasn’t what y/n liked about her job.

“What if you got display cases made out of silver glass?”

All eyes turned to her.

“Maybe we could find a compromise, we keep your clock while you install new displays and put it back once everything is made safe. That way you can still enjoy your family’s history without the creeping fear. Would that be possible Mrs. Dufour?”

“I don’t think-”

“That is an excellent idea!” Mrs. Overton exclaimed.

“But Mrs. Overton I’m not sure it could be that simple. I really think you should consider giving up your clock.” Mrs. Dufour objected.

“I’d rather keep it. Hopefully you oversee young people with practical solutions! You should listen to them.”

Kipps and Bobby had smiles on their faces, but Mrs. Dufour glared in her direction.

They agreed on a date to bring back the clock, signed a few papers and soon after the team was on its way back to the Fittes headquarters.

“You did a great job keeping our client satisfied today y/n. I’m really impressed.” Kipps said.

“Th- Thank you. That means a lot.” She looked down at her feet, she felt incredibly intimidated. Somehow, she still wasn’t used to receiving that many compliments. She finally got those four words she had waited a month to hear. Her dream of taking on more responsibilities was getting closer, she could feel it.

“Miss y/n, could I have a word with you?”

Her happiness was cut short. Was she really in trouble because she tried to keep a client happy with their service?

“Your behavior today was extremely disrespectful. Contradicting a supervisor in front of a client is beyond unprofessional. What image of the Fittes organization does it send? I hope you won’t do this again.”

“I was just trying to keep Mrs. Overton satisfied. But I understand.” She tried to remain civil. But really she had a hard time not rolling her eyes.

“Good. Now I must leave, I have another appointment.”

“I can take the clock back to Fittes’ if you want. It’s where we’re headed anyway.”

“Thank you but it won’t be necessary.”

“Really it’s no trouble at all.”

“I’ll take care of it myself, no need to insist. Good day.”

What a nice and pleasant person. Clearly if she considered this insubordination, she must have had her hands full when she had to supervise George. As she thought about him, she noticed how insistent she was on bringing the clock back herself. Especially if she had another meeting before…

---

“You should break into her office too.”

“Haha very funny. Will you ever stop making fun of George? He really was worth knowing if you gave him a shot. You shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him.” she told El.

“I’m not joking. If he’s such a great guy maybe, he was onto something. And her behavior with you was in fact very suspicious.”

“I think I might be reading into some things. I was tired, I’m probably not even remembering it right. Plus, it would serve me right if I got caught and ended up like George. How am I supposed to become a higher up in the Fittes organization with that on my record?”

“Yes, but you don’t see the bigger picture. If you expose her activities, you get all the praise and move up the ladder even faster.”

They couldn’t be serious. How could they even offer to do this? On the other hand, she was very curious to see what Mrs. Dufour could be hiding.

“There’s no way I’m doing this.”

“I wouldn’t let you do this alone! I’ve got your back. I would be on the lookout; you take five minutes inside her office and you come out without being seen. It’s no big deal. And if she is at a meeting right now chances are she won’t be back for hours. Now’s our chance!”

She considered their offer. How could she even think about doing this? But if she didn’t find anything, it would put to rest her suspicions. And if they did find something, it would benefit her in every way possible.

“Okay let’s go right now. But I’m only staying inside for two minutes, non-negotiable.”

“As you wish.”

They located the office easily. It was on the first floor, second office on the left after the elevators. It was lunch time, everything was quiet. y/n couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. Her mind dissociated from her body. It went totally blank and watched as her fingers methodically picked the lock to Mrs. Dufour’s office. El stayed outside to warn her if someone came nearby. She entered the room with determination, trying to remain calm. Her heart was beating atrociously fast. What was she doing? As she stared at the desk in front of her she realized she had no idea what she was looking for. A source from another case that hadn’t been burned maybe? She opened a first drawer, and a second, a third… Nothing. That was such a bad idea. She had to leave. Now. As she turned around the door slammed. Oh no. Was Mrs. Dufour back already? Would El be able to distract her long enough for her to exit discreetly?

“I heard her mumble something about sources being stolen and suspicious behaviors, I didn’t catch all of it but it sounded like nonsense.”

That was El’s voice. What were they doing? She heard steps coming her way. She needed to hide. As she stepped behind a coat hanger near the door, Mrs. Dufour entered the room.

“Miss y/n, I know you are in here. Come out. Right. Now.”

She was holding her breath. There was no escape. She took a step forward. El was standing next to Mrs. Dufour. But they didn’t look panicked. In fact, they were smiling.

“I can’t believe this is the second agent I find here illegally this week. Between your behavior this morning and your break-in, insubordination isn’t enough to describe your insolent attitude.”

No words came out of her mouth. The shock she felt froze her in place.

“You are of course fired, that goes without saying. You can collect your things, I want you gone by the end of the day.”

“I’ll walk her out.” El said, a proud look on their face.

This wasn’t happening. It was just another vivid dream that merged with reality. She was going to wake up in her bed, the sun slowly rising in her window, and none of this would have happened. This could not be the end of her career. Her dream could not be crumbling in front of her eyes in just an instant, to be replaced with a horrific nightmare instead. No this wasn’t real.

“I can’t believe you followed me that easily to be honest.”

She looked up at El, tears now starting to blur her vision. She could only frown.

“But I guess when you’re that naïve and gullible you can’t possibly be qualified to be a supervisor. People like you shouldn’t be put in charge at all to be honest. I’ll never understand why you of all people were selected to be on Kipps’ team. Well now I guess there’s a spot open.” They said with a wink.

She shoved her “friend” aside.

“You betrayed me to get my job?”

“I would say I was smart and did my job correctly, betray makes me sound like a villain.”

y/n had shared a room with El for the past 4 months, she had grown to like them. Of course they were close, they basically lived together. Trust was part of the deal. How could she ever sleep next to that person again? Oh. Right. She wouldn’t have to. As of now she didn’t have a job and didn’t have a place to live either. She would be kicked out of the Fittes housing. She needed to get out, to walk, to breathe. She felt the walls closing in on her, she couldn’t breathe.

She rushed back to her room, tears streaming down her face. She opened her suitcase and bags, filled them with her stuff without taking the time to fold anything. She had to get out of here fast, she couldn’t look El in the eyes. She didn’t want to see their face at all. How could they have pretended for so long, putting on phony smiles and cheering at her success when really they just planned on replacing her one way or another? What did she do to deserve their hate? Was she really the problem? Maybe El was right. Maybe she was too naïve to ever be successful. Maybe she had brought this on herself.

She put on her backpack, took her rapier and her suitcase and exited the room. As she closed the door, El was coming back.

“I see you can’t get out fast enough. Good for you. Enjoy the night watch!” They had an arrogant smirk across their face.

She dropped her luggage, took one step closer and punched her dear friend in the face. They brought their hand up to stop the bleeding and looked at her with pure hatred in their eyes.

“Enjoy the broken nose!”

----

That helped relieve some tension. But she still felt like shit. What was she going to do? She couldn’t just go back home. Her parents would be so disappointed. Not because of the career but because she got fired. And because of the reason why she got fired. She was so ashamed of herself. How could she do something so stupid?

She wandered the streets of London, luggage in hand, for hours, lost in thought and mostly beating herself up. Aside from her life falling apart it was a beautiful day. The leaves were starting to change color, the light was still warm and golden. A fresh breeze rustled her hair as she crossed the street. She had no idea where she was going. She didn’t know that part of London well. She had passed Mayfair at least 15 minutes ago and was now in a more residential part of the city. The white houses had lavender at their balconies and most of them had an iron gate in front of the stairs that led to their door. The neighborhood was quiet and everything was still except for two crows hopping around at the end of the street. She was staring into space when a sudden loud noise made her jump. It was a malfunctioning ghost lamp that had went off even though curfew wasn’t for another couple of hours. It made her look up and she saw a sign reading Portland Row. That sounded familiar. Where had she heard of that street before? Wasn’t George living nearby? What was the number he had told her… 45? No, 35. She could always pay him a visit. It’s not like she had any place to be.

She hesitated. He would probably laugh at her. Though the situation was ridiculous. At least she would make someone smile. And she would get a cup of tea before wandering some more for the whole night. She looked for the number 35 and saw the sign across the street. She stared at the house for a while. She felt nervous for some reason. She looked at herself in a car window. She looked like a mess. Her hair was tangled, her eyes swollen from crying so much. George would probably take pity on her. That was so embarrassing. But given how her day was going she didn’t really care anymore.

As she opened the iron gate, she noticed a wooden sign that read “A. J. Lockwood & Co. Investigators”. The name didn’t ring a bell. The sign looked brand new. She vaguely remembered George mentioning a friend he was working with, but it didn’t look like she had met them before.

She felt lost. She wanted to run away, her shame growing with every step she took towards the door. It was almost unbearable. Burying herself into the woods in the middle of nowhere sounded more appealing suddenly. She forced her hand to knock on the door. She waited a few seconds that felt like hours. After a minute she figured they might be out. She turned around, ready to leave. This was a terrible idea. It was getting rid of the last tiniest bit of dignity she still had. As she stepped back one step the door suddenly opened.

“Hello, welcome to Lockwood & Co. Do you have an appointment?”

She turned around, surprised by the voice behind her.

“H-Hi George…”

“y/n? I didn’t expect you to come by so soon.” He looked at her and realized she didn’t look as proper as she’s used to. “Are you okay?”

“Not really if I’m being honest. Could I come in?”

“Of course, yes please”

He showed her inside.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Don’t worry it’s a slow day, I was just cleaning the kitchen.”

The hallway felt welcoming and seemed traditional at first. But as she walked deeper into the house, she noticed the masks hanging on the walls, the rapiers in the umbrella stand, the ancient weaponry on the shelves. The atmosphere was homely but also unsettling. It wasn’t unpleasant or threatening though. She felt strangely at ease.

They settled in a living room with the same atmosphere as the hallway. He brought her some tea and doughnuts she felt really grateful for.

“So, do you wanna talk about what happened to you? You clearly look like you’ve had a rough day.”

“I got fired from Fittes.” She blurted out. There. She’d said it out loud. It was official. George opened round eyes and looked at her in total disbelief. As he was about to say something she added

“For the same reason you got fired.”

George stared at her. His eyes couldn’t get any wider. They looked at each other for several minutes. After what felt like an hour George burst out laughing. y/n quickly followed. She relieved all the tension and stress she had been accumulating today. They laughed, laughed and laughed until they were out of breath.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am.” She said wiping a tear. At least this one wasn’t from sadness or anger.

“But what? How?” He could barely articulate full sentences.

She told him the full story. How she hadn’t believed anything he had told her. How Mrs. Dufour’s behavior had been strange. How she got talked into breaking the rules. How she was betrayed. How stupid and gullible she felt. How guilty she felt. For once it was her turn to talk. George found himself on the other side and listened closely to the whole thing.

“You really go all out when you break the rules.”

This threw them into another fit of laughter. At this moment, they heard the front door close.

“Hey George, sounds like you’re having fun. Who’s your friend?”

She turned around to look at the guy who had just entered. Her smile dropped. Could this day get any worse? Standing in front of her was the most arrogant and pretentious guy she had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

He took a step forward, putting out his hand as he said

“I’m Anthony Lockwood, pleasure to meet you. You must be y/n, George told me you would be stopping by.”

She stared at him; her anger rekindled. She didn’t shake his hand and simply waited, remaining perfectly still. After a few seconds he casually took a seat in a sofa opposite the couch she was sitting on.

“You look familiar, have we met before?”

She couldn’t believe him. Of course he didn’t remember. If the doughnuts hadn’t been that good, she would have gotten up and left without looking back. But she was desperately hungry, and she wasn’t so eager to spend the night wandering the streets of London with no place to go.

“You might have seen me around near Fittes, but I don’t think we’ve met.” She answered politely. He looked at her with a strange intensity, his expression briefly unreadable before changing into a complaisant smile. “It’s nice to finally meet George’s colleague.” She concluded.

“Well, more like his employer technically.”

For heaven’s sake. She mustered all the self-control she had left to not roll her eyes. She forced a smile, but it looked cold and stiff. The room fell silent, but it was probably for the best.

“So how are things going over at Fittes?” Lockwood asked her. He was trying to start the conversation again but there was a certain disdain in his tone that she didn’t appreciate.

George shot her a glance before turning insistent eyes towards Lockwood. It was sweet how considerate he was trying to be.

“Not that great actually since I was fired a few hours ago.” She said in a nonchalant tone.

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked at his shoes, avoiding eye contact. “Having heard you laugh so much I expected a much happier context.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, I didn’t mean-” He stopped mid-sentence. He looked defeated and just drank his tea in silence.

George turned towards her.

“So what are you gonna do now?”

“I haven’t got the slightest idea…” She admitted. “Maybe wandering the streets of London tonight will inspire me.”

“You don’t have a place to stay?” George asked, a certain worry in his voice.

“All the trains were booked, so I couldn’t go back home.” She lied. She didn’t want to admit that she was scared to tell her family about her situation. “I could always find a hotel I guess.”

“Don’t bother, you can stay with us tonight. Right, Lockwood?”

“Um, sure. I have an extra room in the attic.”

Fantastic. That was just what she needed. To stay even longer in his company.

“I really don’t want to impose. I’m sure you’ll be better off without me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just one night. It’s the least I can do after putting those ideas about Mrs. Dufour in your head. It’s all my fault really.”

“Why would you say that?” Lockwood asked, intrigued.

“I sort of got fired for the same reason he did.” She admitted. She couldn’t help the shy smile that appeared on her face. She genuinely wanted to laugh at herself.

Lockwood laughed at the situation too. He looked at her with a charming smile but she felt like he was laughing at her for being so naïve.

“Rule number one around George is to do the exact opposite of what he does.”

“I had my reasons for acting like this. I wasn’t blindly imitating him, she was being suspicious.” She said defensively.

“Maybe next time, or at least if there is a next time, don’t let George’s wild theories get to you.” He said with a wink. There was another face she wanted to punch.

She took a deep breath to keep her urges under control. Giving in to anger would only get her kicked out and then she would really be wandering the streets all night. She could always find another plan tomorrow but for now she needed to eat and to sleep soundly. The day had been exhausting.

[atopvisenyashill]

i think the problem with hotd is that people are expecting asoiaf levels of writing or early got levels of writing but they're just not built like that lol martin is a generational talent but f&b is not that good and some changes are needed

okay so-

f&b is bad

objectively yes. i think it has better world building than a lot of other fantasy out there but the concept of “hiding my hints about the main series through world building with an unreliable narrator” is not done particularly well with f&b. i think it just doesn’t fit george’s gardening writing style and i wish he’d let it go or at least rework the concept.

some changes are needed

again, yeah objectively, and that’s not even just an f&b thing. adapting a series with this many characters and this many moving parts is monumentally difficult and that’s not even getting into how moving from book to film is always a challenge bc something that works on paper won’t work visually. but also, with how all over the place f&b is, it makes sense to tweak things to be more thematically resonant.

people are expecting better writing but these people do NAWT have that dog in em

again objectively right. it’s not just that no one can stand up to george’s writing, it’s that d&d just fundamentally misunderstand or don’t care about a lot of the main themes and characters in the books. they specifically spoke derisively about fans of the books who were “moms” (what the fuck does that even mean!) and nerds who like to analyze themes, because d&d are fake nerds, they are NOT fantasy lovers and they are NOT good writers. then you get condal, who imo buys way too much into the idea of the divinity of nobility in fiction (which is a very common thing in american fantasy. i think i’ve talked about this before, but mia from btb had a really great thread basically saying that divine nobility is so common in american fantasy bc we’ve never culturally HAD a monarchy & therefore don’t have that cultural memory of “this system sucks and we should be guillotining these freaks post haste” and this is something george is specifically critiquing!) which is why he’s so willing to cut lowborn or what i like to call “middle class nobility” like jeyne poole, beth cassell, and nettles (and tbh i think there’s shades of this in why sandor is written so abysmally too) and i do think ryan UNDERSTANDS that monarchies are Bad but he has this preoccupation with Exploring Divine Right that eclipses a lot of the class analysis. and hess is just like. idk what that woman’s problem is tbh i think she has a preoccupation with women being victimized and while i think understanding the ins and outs of what Being A Woman In The World is incredibly important to have in the writers room, i also think what she wants is catharsis and that’s just not something this series is ever going to offer anytime soon.

all of that to say, condal & hess may have a better understanding of the series and less weird hang ups about gender, race, and sexuality than d&d, they’re already kind of fucked bc the og show is such a bad adaption and they have their OWN hang ups that they seem completely unaware of, and no one to tell them no bc this ip is hbo’s cash cow.

the problem

HOWEVER. i feel similar about like, the last jedi for example in that i think that was a deeply flawed and annoying movie that misunderstands the entirety of lucas’ skywalker saga and is way too focused on kyle ron’s whiny bitch baby tantrums over his parents getting divorced when it should have been focused on THE MAIN FUCKING CHARACTERS in rey & finn, ntm the incredibly weird racial dynamics of how rian wrote finn, poe, rose, and tio benicio’s character who i forget the name of. BUT. i also think a lot of the good, necessary, and CORRECT criticism of tlj gets lost in the misogynistic racist nerdboy backlash to Women And Brown People Existing, and then further buried by Disney running the IP into the fucking ground (as well as, unfortunately, queen carrie fisher dying before production was finished).

So IMO i think there’s a non zero chance that HBO does some meddling with hotd bc it’s expensive and a big ip, and because tbis is a series that means a lot emotionally to a lot of people, including some of the most annoying illiterate assholes on the internet, a lot of the really good, necessary, and CORRECT criticism gets lost under the sheer amount of people with nicola-or-holliday-as-rhaenyra-icons bitching about how they don’t let rhaenyra look girly enough and never mind that outside of like two scenes where she HAS to wear trousers, she’s ALWAYS WEARING DRESSES AND JEWELRY??? it’s like, yeah i DO think the way they write daemon’s interactions with his daughters & laena is stupid & bad & makes him less interesting as a character and i think part of that is hess’ preoccupation with victimization and catharsis but do NOT put me in the same goddamn conversation as people unironically saying that targaryen problems started when they started fucking andals, it’s not MY fault the h particles go craaaazy in this fandom!

[justahumblememefarmer]

Ultimate Doctor Who Poll Round 1 - Matchup 20

Episode Summaries under the cut

125: Night Terrors - Season 6, Episode 9: The Doctor receives a distress call on his psychic paper from a little boy scared of monsters. He takes Amy and Rory to investigate. The Doctor meets the boys father, who insists that his son is scared of everything and has many neuroses, and that he and his wife have encouraged their son to put everything he's scared of in a cupboard. Amy and Rory take the lift of the building, which frightens the child. The lift crashes and Amy and Rory find themselves in a life size doll house, where they are followed by human-sized dolls.

The Doctor talks to the child, George, about his fears, and scans the wardrobe, finding intense energy readings off of it. More neighbors begin disappearing into the doll house, and when captured by the dolls, are turned into one of them. The Doctor talks to the father and looks at a photo album, realizing that the photos taken shortly before the George's birth show that his mother is not pregnant. His father reveals that his mother is infertile, and yet they somehow forgot. They question what George is, and frightened by his father's anger, he and the Doctor are sucked into the dollhouse.

Amy and Rory are followed by the dolls and Amy is caught, turned into one. The Doctor realizes that George is a Tenza, an alien species that find foster parents and adapt to what they want their child to be. However, something frightening him set of the cycle of fear. The Doctor insists that George can save them, and George enters the house himself, but cannot control the dolls as they come for him. Realizing that his biggest fear is his parents rejecting him and sending him away, his father goes to protect him, and everything is restored to normal.

George's mother arrives home to find George much happier, and the Doctor, Amy, and Rory leave in the TARDIS.

132: Boom Town - Season 1, Episode 11: The Doctor brings Rose and Jack back to Earth for Rose to visit Mickey, but see a newspaper article about the new mayor of Cardiff, who they recognize as a Slitheen in disguise. They confront her about her plans to build a nuclear power station, and discover her plan to blow the station up, and escape on a cosmic surfboard back to the stars. They capture her and the Doctor agrees to take her back to her home planet, where she faces the death penalty.

The TARDIS needs time to recharge, soaking up energy from a time-space rift in Cardiff, so the Doctor agrees to take the Slitheen to one final meal, where she confronts him about the morality of bringing her to her death, and he talks about her justifications for killing. It turns out to be a stall tactic as her cosmic surfboard has latched onto the TARDIS, intending to use the rift to destroy it and be an alternate escape route for her.

In tearing apart the TARDIS, the console opens up, revealing the heart of the TARDIS, and the light reverts her back into an egg. The Doctor takes Rose and Jack back to the Slitheen home planet to give the egg to a nice family so that she can grow up better.

[givemea-dam-break]

ephemeral - chapter four

a/n: this chapter introduces the reader's talents and although touch likely doesn't work exactly like I've written it here, jonathan stroud hasn't really given many details as to how it works so I've taken creative liberty lol :) hope you enjoy!

warnings: language, mentions of death, violence gn reader tag list -> @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @nessa-stark @superpositvecloudshipper

full collection: here

The inside of Yvette Jeffries' mansion is even grander than the outside. Floral wallpaper adorns the bottom half of the tall walls of the entry hall, the upper a plain cream colour, accented with dozens of gorgeous paintings. A gold chandelier dangles from the ceiling, glittering in the sunlight. There are a number of comfy armchairs filling the space, along with stands for coats and hats, and a long patterned rug that shouldn't match the decor, but somehow does. An archway, ornately carved, leads into the next room.

Abiding by the first rule of ghost hunting, the four of you don't linger on the threshold, instead making base in the next room - the foyer. It's massive and hosts a grand staircase, made from glittering white marble and golden rails, that breaks off into two separate stairs that finish at the opposite side of the landing above. Somewhere on the landing are the bedrooms and another staircase leading even further up.

You all place your kits down on the next patterned rug, staring around at the room. There are two more archways on either side of the staircase leading to the east and west wings of the ground floor.

"Right," Lockwood says, clapping his hands together. The sound echoes. "Where should we start?"

"The west wing," you say, eyeing the archway. "Leave the drawing room for last on this floor."

Lucy sips on the last of her milkshake. "I agree. I'd like to put that side off for as long as possible."

The furthest room away is the kitchen which, compared to the rest of the house, is pretty drab. The tiles are made up of black and white squares, like you've only ever seen in movies, and the countertops could do with a good scrub, but there is nothing overly strange about it other than the rotting bananas and dusty lampshades. Although it's still broad daylight, you all take temperatures.

"Eighteen-degree average," George says. "Next room, here we come."

Next is the dining room. Another chandelier dangles from the ceiling, glittering with crystals, and the light reflects onto the large mahogany table, accenting it with little rainbows. A long, floral table runner in the centre of the table hosts a large vase of sickly-looking flowers. Once again, the temperature is nothing concerning - seventeen degrees on average.

Slowly, you make your way from left to right until, eventually, you arrive at the door to the drawing room.

"Bagsie not opening it," you say.

"Bagsie not," Lucy and George both say.

Burdened by the rule of Bagsie, Lockwood rolls his eyes and pushes the door open, stepping into the room first.

Even though it's barely mid-afternoon, you can feel a slight chill in this room compared to the rest of the ground floor. Thirteen degrees, George informs you all.

Apparently, in her time living here, Miss Jeffries has converted the drawing room into a study, of sorts. While it does still retain some of the typical furniture a drawing room would, or so George tells you - a large piano, comfy settees, towering bookshelves, the likes - a large desk cuts through the centre of the room, paper neatly laid atop it, each pen and pencil expertly arrange. There's a thin layer of dust over everything, but the neatness is still striking.

"Tidy woman," Lockwood says, plonking his finger on one of the piano keys. "Twelve degrees over here."

George, standing by the window, says, "Twelve here, too."

"Twelve," Lucy repeats by the desk.

You stay rooted by the door. "Ten. That's awfully cold for it not even being, what, three p.m.?"

"We'll set up an iron circle just outside the door," Lockwood says. "Then we'll check out the next floor. Everyone alright so far?"

Everyone is. The iron circle is made with a lantern placed inside, though none of you lights it just yet.

The first floor, though sporting gorgeous bedrooms and bathrooms that are bigger than the attic back at Portland Row, is relatively standard. The temperature remains the same in every room, and there are no signs of previous distress in any of them. It's hopefully safe, but you set up an iron circle a good few feet away from the staircase anyways.

Then comes the second floor. The stairs leading up to it are thinner, steeper, and are hidden behind a wall that is covered with portraits of important-looking people. Lockwood strides up them, ever confident, while the rest of you trudge behind, less than enthusiastic.

There are a few bedrooms up here, and everything is much simpler than the rest of the house. Everything is bathed in a gloomier light, and the staple floral wallpaper is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by peeling and yellowing wallpaper. The hallway averages fourteen degrees, with the coldest part being just in front of the stairs at eleven. Each of the bedrooms is inspected, but one in particular peaks your attention. The final one on the right is the coldest, ten degrees, but that's not the only thing. There are burns on the walls; ugly black marks on the old wallpaper.

Lockwood is at your shoulder. "Definitely a ghost in here. Those are ectoplasm burns."

"I know what ectoplasm burns look like," you grumble. "Have you seen my shoes?"

He looks down at your mucky boots then, taking into account the multiple scorch marks on the thick toes.

"Why didn't you wear different shoes?"

"These are my ghost-hunting shoes. The toes are well thick. They've lasted me this long, and they'll last me a while longer. What? Were you expecting me to wear my nice pair of shoes for this? Will I fuck."

"I just think it would be safer to -"

"Okay, kids, pack it in." Lucy shuffles into the room, staring at the marks. "God, that chill cuts, doesn't it?"

"Let's head back down," Lockwood says. "Make a plan."

And so you do.

An iron circle is made at the foot of the stairs with a clear view into the entryway. It's large enough to fit the four of you, made with the new heavy-duty chains Lockwood bought earlier. You pass around a bar of chocolate, and Lucy pours tea into the flask's cups. Really, you could go to the kitchen and nick a few mugs, but none of you are overly keen on leaving the circle quite yet.

"I say we go in pairs," George says. "Two down here, two on the second floor."

Lockwood nods in agreement. "Me, too. I say you and Lucy down here, and me and (name) upstairs."

"What?" you ask, frowning. "Lockwood, you don't have to monitor me. I might be rusty, and I might have tripped over once last time, but I can manage without you nannying me."

"Seeing as that trip ended up with a very narrowly escaped ghost-touch and a broken elbow, I'd beg to differ," Lockwood says. "But that's not my reasoning. Lucy is a Listener with a bit of Touch, and George has a relatively good Sight. I've got good Sight, and you've got Touch and a little Listening. This way, both pairs have everything. It'd make no sense having two people who don't have Sight going together and missing a ghost or some important deathglows."

You want to argue with him, but he's right. It's the best decision. "Fine."

He grins triumphantly, and you want to push him over.

A few hours pass, spent alternating between keeping an eye on the time and surroundings, and playing a game of Monopoly - a little to-go version you'd found in a charity shop. Time seems to drag, the hours passing slowly and the sun setting even slower, but the Monopoly game lasts a horrible amount of time. George has somehow purchased the most expensive parts of the board, and you and Lockwood are fighting for the cheap ones. Everyone keeps landing on Lucy's streets. Soon you'll be bankrupt.

Finally, it becomes dark enough for you to light the gas lantern in the iron circle, and you all stand.

"Be careful," Lockwood tells Lucy and George. "We don't entirely know what we're up against yet. Got your salt bombs?"

Lucy hoists a small bag filled with them. "Yup. Plus, I've got Skull, and I'll find some way to get him talking. We'll be fine. But you guys stay safe too, yeah?"

A smile is shared between the four of you, albeit forced, and then you split off - George and Lucy to the east wing and you and Lockwood up the stairs.

"Listen out for anything," Lockwood says. "When we're off the stairs, use your Touch."

You nod, opting not to speak and instead use that energy to focus on your hearing. Lockwood leads the way, flicking his torch on as you ascend the darkening stairs, and you keep yours off. The less light, the better.

The silence that engulfs the first floor is innocent, light as a feather, and though your Listening is nowhere near the standard of Lucy's, you know that there is nothing to be heard here. Lockwood reports no deathglows and no apparitions.

None except one at the foot of the hidden stairs. Bright. Bad.

It's the climb up to the second floor when the nerves start building. They begin in the centre of your chest, no more than a little prickle of worry, before spreading to the rest of your body as you reach the top, swallowing you whole. Your hands are shaking. It takes longer than it should to force down the creeping fear.

Next comes the horrible taste in your mouth - bitter and rotten as if you've bitten into an apple that's gone off. You reach into your kit bag, fish out your gum and chew it quickly, desperate to get rid of the taste.

"Miasma's increasing," you murmur. "Temperature?"

"Six," Lockwood says, keeping his voice low. Quickly, he ushers you away from the top of the stairs and to the centre of the hall. "See what you can get with your Touch and Listening now."

Unsure as to why you've chosen the spot you have, you press your hand down on the floorboards, creaking under your fingertips, and steel yourself for the feeling of the past. Your eyes close.

You've never been able to describe it, really. It's almost like sitting in a car and it moving off too quickly, a little like whiplash. You become a little disoriented, and your neck always seems to hurt afterwards, but usually, it's worth it for the results.

When your eyes open again, the hall is slightly different. The walls are not yellowed, nor are they peeling, and you can hear quiet laughing in the bedrooms. There are footsteps behind you, and then through you. Finally, a person appears before you, walking to the top of the stairs, her form so faint it's hard to see. A servant, you assume from the plain clothes and dirty hands. Her light hair is twisted in a bun.

She's barely passed you when another pair of feet sound, quicker, more determined. Someone else appears, just as faint as this girl, but something about them is different. The air surrounding them is violent. They're broad-shouldered and very angry.

All of a sudden, the girl is shoved forward, and you can only watch and listen as she screams, falling down the steep stairs. There's a bang, and then nothing.

You're torn from the vision, and vertigo makes you feel ill. Lockwood's hands are on your shoulders, steadying you.

His eyes have locked yours in place, and they're so dark they seem almost endless. For a moment, you get lost in them just as you always used to, and it takes all of your willpower to focus on what he's saying.

"What is it? What did you see?"

Swallowing thickly, you say, "The lady that made the deathglow down there. She was pushed by someone. I heard her -"

"Don't. You'll get worked up, and we both know that's not a good idea."

He's right. You nod and gather your thoughts, all the ones that feel sick at the scene you just witnessed, and bury them deep, deep down. Lockwood offers a hand and helps you stand again, not letting go until the slight tremble in your legs has subsided.

"Are you alright?" he asks. His voice is soft, a familiar comfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It just shocked me. Let's check out that bedroom before we get any Visitors."

He follows you down the hall and into that damaged bedroom. Swiftly, he makes an iron circle while you light a lamp, placing it in the centre and keeping it dim.

"Deathglow over by the wall," Lockwood says. "If my guess means anything, I'd say that the last team fought a ghost in here. These burns are old."

He's likely correct. That maid hadn't told George anything about recent attacks from ghosts.

"I'll be right here," he reminds you from inside the circle. His rapier is in his hand, gleaming in the faint light.

With a nod, you step over to the wall and place your hand next to the largest ectoplasm burn.

That same whiplash-like feeling occurs. The room looks similar to the hall, with its pristine wallpaper, though nothing else has really changed. A horrible feeling twists your gut.

Crying is the first thing you hear. Horrible, heart-wrenching sobs that only grow louder and louder. The door behind you slams open and you jump, watching as a faint figure dashes into the room, slamming it shut behind them. With a lot of effort, they drag a dresser in front of the door, still crying hysterically as they back towards the window.

Then comes the banging. At first, it's not too loud, the sound permeated only by insistent apologies, but they soon become persistent, angry, until the door is shaking on its hinges. The first person's cries only become worse, and they flatten themself against the wall.

"Let me in!" a faint voice yells. It's male. "Let me in right now, or I swear to God, I will tear you apart!"

More banging, more crying, until the door cracks, and the dresser is shoved forward. A massive, hulking figure storms in, and you've barely had a chance to realise what's happening when large hands wrap around the first person's throat.

Choking. It's a horrible sound, and it brings tears to your eyes.

Silence.

Before you know it, the figures fade away, and the burns return to their places on the wall. You're breathing heavily, and your chest hurts.

When you look up, Lockwood's already watching you carefully, eyes filled with concern.

"I -"

"Get back in the circle before you tell me anything," he says. "We can't risk anything."

You shuffle over, trying your best to shove down all of the anxiety and panic plaguing your bones. It's such a struggle that you barely feel Lockwood's hand envelope yours.

"Strangled to death," you mutter. "It was brutal."

"You're okay," he assures you. "I'm right here."

In the iron circle, the chill of the room isn't so harsh, but you still feel it. You're not sure when you drew so close to Lockwood.

You're both silent for a while, monitoring the room. Without much information about these ghosts, there isn't much you can do to find the source until they show themselves and you can figure out where they appeared from or where they retreat to.

Lockwood's hand is still holding yours, and you don't mind. It's surprising, but even these last eight months haven't been enough to really quench the things you felt for him before things went wrong. You used to spend your mornings smiling and laughing with him, enjoying little intimate moments between you both: fixing his tie, stealing his limited stash of hoodies on cold days, talking over cups of tea at one of the cafés near Archives while you both waited for George to finish up. Over the course of a few months, you'd fallen for him hard.

Then you made a small slip-up. You can understand what he did - originally, he had tried to get you to stick to research and only come on cases when absolutely necessary, or take on Type Ones, but you wouldn't agree. You both got heated, and things escalated. The night ended with you in tears in the attic of 35 Portland Row, your bags packed and ready to leave in the morning.

You stand by a lot of things you said that night, and you're not ashamed of most of them. No, you told the truth, and he didn't handle it well. That was on his part. He did the same, and you don't blame him for that, but you're allowed to be mad. Just like he is.

"We should go for a coffee someday after this," Lockwood says. His voice shocks you from your daze. "Well, whenever you decide to grace me with your company again. If you do."

Your lips press together. "You sure have a way of making what should be a compliment sound like an insult."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Yeah, well, you've said worse."

Maybe it's the atmosphere working you up, but the all-too-familiar feeling of anger is trying to break through. It's all you can do to keep it at bay. It'll only feed the Visitors.

"About that," he says, cringing as your hand slips from his. "What I said back then - well, I meant some of it. I don't like the thought of you getting hurt, and the only way I could think to stop that was to prevent you from coming on cases."

"It wasn't your decision to make."

"Actually, it was. I was your boss."

"There it is! That line." Your teeth grind together. "You weren't just my boss, Lockwood. You were my friend. You were the person I trusted the most. And then you just turned around and tried to control what I do. Then, when I wouldn't comply, you fired me. That's what bothered me the most. Not the comment about me hindering the team. Not you calling me names that I've probably earned over the years. It was that betrayal. That feeling of knowing you didn't see me as anything more than an employee when I saw you as everything."

You turn away from him, facing the wall with the ectoplasm burns. Taking steady breaths, you try to calm down, but your nerves all feel frayed and there's a pit in your stomach that just feels inherently wrong.

"(name) -"

"Be quiet."

"Oh, come on -"

"Shut up, Lockwood!" You slap your hand over his mouth, gaze darting over the room. "A ghost's coming."

It's the crying again, but this time it's in the present day, not back from whenever it happened. Very faint, but it's there all the same. Lockwood draws his rapier and you do the same, grasping a salt bomb in your other hand.

"Ghost fog," he murmurs when you move your hand. "Just the misty stuff, nothing dangerous."

"Tell her that."

He follows the shape of your rapier to the end, where it points at the ghost standing just beside the window.

It's a Wraith, but you recognise it dimly from your vision not long ago. A woman, barely older than the two of you, and beautiful once. Now, her neck is ringed with dark bruises, and her skin is far too pale and hollow. Her eyes are empty, staring at nothing. Even then, you know she's watching you both carefully. Her lips move as she utters something quietly.

"Help me." It's barely audible beneath her cries. "Help me."

"She wants us to help her," you say.

"She's a ghost, there's no helping her."

"Maybe she means by getting her source. She can finally rest, then."

"(name), she's a Wraith. I doubt she wants anything other than to attack us."

"Ah, yes, because you know the very motives of all ghosts. The Great Anthony Lockwood, Ghost Expert."

He scoffs. "They all want something, and it's rarely ever good."

You're about to elbow him, but there's a loud bang somewhere far, far below, and a shout of pain. A faint voice calls Lockwood's name - Lucy's. The two of you share a look.

"Go help them," you tell him. "I'll be fine up here."

"No, I can't just leave you here on your own."

Giving him a sharp look, you say, "Lockwood, you know I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. Besides, you're not my boss anymore, so you can't tell me what to do. Go and help Lucy and George, they need you more."

He doesn't want to leave you, that much you know from the look on his face, but your expression tells him that there's no arguing on this. Eventually, he nods.

"Just stay safe, yeah? And don't do anything stupid. Stay in the circle until I get back. Don't try to get the source without me here."

"I won't."

"Promise me, (name)."

"I promise."

But, as he leaves, you know you won't keep the promise.

<- part 3 part 5 ->

[ficjoelispunk]

CH 03 - ARCHIVE ROOM

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

Author's Note: Guys, let me know if you like gifs in the middle of the text to illustrate the narrative. 🥹 And, like always, I'm sorry for any grammatical errors, don't give up on me, translating is not easy, but I did my best. Correct me as much as you can. Thanks.

Pablo Escobar was a guy who would never be without allies. He was basically a Hydra, if you cut off one head, two more would be born in place.

And with the smaller cartels, which formed the Medellin cartel, there were no treaties of trust. The gangs did what it took to keep themselves standing and alive.

Peña and Murphy would spend time in Medellin, start the day in La Catedral harvesting evidence. Then they went to the Central Agency, a former police academy that was transformed into a base, which would be heavily used in the hunt by Pablo Escobar.

This would give you a little peace at the embassy, since that way you didn't have contact with them, so often. And you could swear that the two of them were already missing you, since now to go out in operations the requests were made directly to the Colonel.

The biggest enemy of the police in the capture by Pablo was the people themselves. He used the children and the people as a shield and protection, in exchange for money, and small services.

So the president of Colombia offered on the national network, a reward of 1.4 million to those who provided information, worldwide. Anyone would think he was fucked. But Pablo wasn't just anyone. And that only set precedents for him to start a show.

This particularly doubled everyone's work. Since many calls arrived, but without any foundation. And Pablo started working with the media, messing with the head of the Colombian population, putting himself in a place of victim.

The guy was a genius. It was so cunning that it made the population forget all the deaths and blood that was on their hands. And many people ended up feeling sorry and compassion for Pablo.

President George Bush offered appropriate support from the American army. When President Bush says "appropriate support" it is worth remembering that, we were talking about a man who had been head of the CIA.

To begin with, you got a new boss, Ambassador Arthur Crosby. A navy guy specializing in Latin American issues and counterterrorism. And to the joy of Murphy and Peña, they also won a Chief, Messina. What you still had no idea if she made your life even easier or made your life even more hell, due to the bad mood of the duo of agents.

And finally, you had to leave Bogotá and go to Medellin.

When you arrived in Medellin, you were faced with a much more terrifying scenario than you imagined. The more Escobar felt threatened, the worse things got.

As soon as they arrived in Medellin, your new boss called a meeting between all of you. You had the opportunity to meet the new members on the plane on the way to Medellin.

When Peña entered the room, you were already there, next to Crosby. And strangely, you were happy to see him. Known face maybe, the feeling is not known.

But where was Murphy?

Peña took his eyes on you, you felt his eyes on you. But you were focused on keeping your attention in the words of your new boss. It was a gift that you were not relocated along with Noonan, a sign that your work has been observed.

You would follow the DEA's operations, the intelligence team and also the Centra Spike eavesdropping, which should all be sent to your Boss, outside of course, everything else. It was a lot of work

The meeting is over, and you were careful to reorganize the room while everyone leaves. Less Peña.

While you were collecting the folders and papers, you looked at him.

"Miss me?"

He smiled, walking around the room slowly.

"I thought you'd come back with Noonan."

"Disappointed then?"

He smiled again.

"I think I must be doing a good job, after all," you completed.

"With so many new bureaucracies, you will be the highlight."

"Ha ha ha, funny" you made a face at him.

Javier kept looking at you through his eyelashes smiling maliciously.

"Where is Murphy?" You fixed all the folders in your arms, and walked towards the exit of the room. "Is he okay?"

Javier offered help with the folders, but you dodged him. He rolled his eyes.

"He's fine. He's having some problems at home..."

You walked to your new table, which eventually Javier would do this way a lot. You dumped the folders on the table, opening a file behind your table, to start storing them, between one movement and another you looked at Javier who was leaning his hands on the table.

"Is Connie okay?"

"Yes... she went back to Miami"

You took a break. Looking at Javier.

"That's bad." You furrowed the corner of your mouth.

"Agent Peña? Have you a minute?" Messina appeared in the hallway behind you calling Javier.

He turned around, and nodded to her. But before he went, he took another look at you, from top to bottom, so as not to lose the habit.

"Good to see you," he said with a crooked smile. The dimple in the smile was a little appealing in those moments.

You smiled and nodded to him, continuing the automatic movement of saving the files in the archive.

That was weird. There was no provocation. You don't hear a pin. Just a normal conversation. Were Medellin's airs different? What was going on? Maybe it was everyone's nerves the best of the skin.

***

You hated Escobar more every day. After an interview that a newspaper published. The movements began to drive the department crazy.

First of all, the police were everywhere. Blockings searching everything and everyone. On the streets. In the houses. Everywhere.

The whole department moved to the Central Agency, and you being the Ambassador's representative were also there. So basically all the sectors were together and reunited.

This meant that from where you were you could hear Javi's typewriter typing in your head. It meant that you bumped into him in every corridor. It meant that you saw him every day. It meant that you were sleeping in the same place. Because they gave up dorms for you.

It was a big nightmare.

You watched from the box Colonel Pizon put the two DEA agents to the corner, making them work as if they were telephone operators, answering the calls of the tracks behind the millionaire reward.

Javi and Murphy were completely out of their mind.

It was already late, when you went down to the file room, and you were smoking in hiding, so you didn't have to leave the complex just to smoke a cigarette.

You heard the door creaking when someone opened it. And he put out his cigarette as fast as he could.

"Are you smoking in the file room?"

Peña.

"You know it's a room full of papers, right?"

"I'm already leaving"

"Sorry" Peña passed through the corridors looking for you, and when he found you at the bottom near the window he walked more wandering following in his direction in the middle of the paper box corridor, "I didn't want to be a nuisance"

You closed your eyes ignorantly, and sighed.

"Yeah, your presence is very pleasant."

You walked towards the exit, but Javier came in front of you preventing you from passing.

"Excuse me?!" You looked at him with your eyes snapped, faking a surprise.

"What did I do for you?" He spoke in that tone that you hated, because it gave you goosebumps.

You sighed.

"What do you mean?"

Javier approached, shortening the distance from you, with his head tilted running his eyes for you, from head to toe, in a way that made you disconcerted.

"What did I do to make you hate me so much?"

You snorted while letting out a low laugh, and decided to ignore it, taking a step to the side, so that you could access the hallway and leave the room.

Javier mirrors your movement, hitting his hand on the bookshelf next to your head, preventing you from passing through it.

He leans over you, shortening the distance from your faces even more.

"I asked you a question"

His darkened eyes danced in your face.

Your mouth opened, looking for the words, trying to remember how to speak, as he entered the silent dance that Javier's eyes did under you.

It's been a while since you were like this, ready for provocation and exchange of free pins with each other.

"I don't hate you Javier, you don't deserve so much sentimental space inside me. I just can't stand the fact that you are egocentric enough not to respect my work and realize that what I do also saves lives. That without my work, without my arguments in your requirements for licenses and authorizations, you would not get a single unit of reinforcements."

Javier frowned, straightening his posture. You continued.

"You get all the merit, all the euphoria, but who is behind the table doing the operational service, it's me. The tactical only works because I use this little head of mine and deliver a perfect system for you. I think about everything. For you to execute. And I never received a thank you"

He looks to the side, and smiles. Putting the arm back under the shelf.

"So that's it?"

You frowned.

“What?”

"Do you want recognition?" He shrugs his shoulders.

You close your eyes and shake your head.

"Unbelievable" you pass by him, bumping into his shoulder.

But he holds your arm. The hands are so large that your fingers are easily circling the circumference of your arm.

You look at where his hands hold you.

"Let me go"

He pulls you close to him. You are frightened by the abrupt movement and let out an air through your mouth in surprise. You are so close to each other that you feel the heat of his body radiating over yours.

He almost touches his forehead on yours while talking.

"This beautiful little head should know that in this environment no one will congratulate you for doing your job. And that doesn't mean you don't do it very well."

You smile ironically. Maintaining eye contact, not knowing exactly what to say, because all this contact with him, the force with which he holds you pressing his body into yours, makes you feel your core throbbing.

"Funny, I see you being congratulated. For me, this is nothing more than a sexist excuse, so that a woman is not recognized in the proper way. Now excuse me, that I need to keep working so that imbecile men get their decorations"

He shakes his head without letting you go, while the eyes stuck in you are darkened.

"You always have to have the last word"

"Let me go Javier" you pull your arm to yourself "or me..."

Javier smiles when he hears your mouth pronounce his name. He pulls you back to him, holding your face, with your free hand, and pressing a kiss on your lips.

You stay still at first. Your eyes are shatangled, seeing Javier with his lips stuck to yours.

He releases your arm, and uses his hand to hold your back. Your heart is racing. Jumping from the chest.

His hands on your back press your body on him. And from then on, something took over your body.

Surrender.

He was right all along, if you couldn't escape, you would give in to your desires.

Your hands held the lapel of his jacket, gently. He breathed, with his head falling to the other side. And you tilted yours to the opposite side, so that your lips would fit. Your eyes close slowly.

Javi's index finger, gently brushing against your cheek, a soft moan coming out of his throat, with the feeling of your soft lips merging with him.

A kiss like that had nothing to do with the profile described by the other women you've heard of. It was a soft, soft kiss.

He pulled back gently, his mouths opening, his tongue running out to slide into your mouth. His nose brushed against yours as he continued to push a little forward, but then back again - your breaths mixing in the tight space between you.

You were totally delivered. Your arms went up to intertwine in Javi's neck. And his hands went down to his waist. His fingers pressing his flesh. He kissed you stronger, more intense, more in need, you heard his breathing getting heavy.

Your fingers melted over his hair. And he moaned on your lips. In response, your body pressed against his, and it was like waking up a hungry man.

Javier took a step forward, pushing you back, so that your back pressed on the shelf behind you.

His hands on your waist opened full of fingers, slide down the side of your breast. You let out a heavy air from inside you, moaning deep in your throat, while Javier's tongue fought a friendly battle inside your mouth with your tongue for the first time.

You pulled his hair, with the feeling of his fingers caressing the side of your breasts. You arched to him, and Javier lowered one hand to your ass, squeezing you flesh so hard that you could have the marks of his fingers the next day, you both moaned with the feeling.

He slid his hand to the back of your thigh, raising your leg on his side, so that he could position himself in the middle of your legs.

He held your thigh next to his hip. And he pressed his rigidity in your middle. You shuddered. Javier was so hard, it seemed like he could break the fabric of his pants. His greeting was so big and thick, you unconsciously grinded your sore clitoris against him.

Your lips parted, and the two moaned. Your two foreheads glued to each other.

"I think I found a way to make you quiet" his voice was a panting murmur, he kissed your jaw, tracing a path to his earlobe, biting it lightly. You get goosebumps, instinctively tilting your head back.

Your breathing is erratic.

You open your eyes. And it's like regaining consciousness.

"Stop!" You push Javier's shoulders.

You're panting. Taking steps backwards. Fixing your skirt.

He looks at you scared. Open your hands wrapped around your body in surrender. Confused.

You turn around, and walk away so fast, you believe you might be running.

In high heels. For The Academy. With a whole department housed there.

Shit!

[pebblewritesj]

Pretty Hippie

George met a girl once.

The last they saw each other, they had a one night stand and spent the whole week together, until one day she had to leave. Years later, she finally gets to him again. Though things have changed, their hearts are still in the same place.

An excerpt from my upcoming story, 'Norwegian Wood', where a roadie, Courtney Lindsay, meets The Beatles while working for The Rolling Stones on tour. She and George Harrison hit it off, quickly finding themselves closer than most.

——

"You're back.”

George stared in awe at the woman who stood before him at the front door, watching with wide eyes was she smiled and nodded, "I am." she confirmed.

She wore a pretty long sundress, one he hadn't seen before, the shoes she was wearing made her taller but he couldn't see them due to the length of the dress. She looked the same as when they last saw each other, there was only little things different about her. New freckles on her face that hadn't been there before, maybe she'd been spending some time out in the sun. God knew what she was doing these days.

He stared for a moment longer before finally lunging towards her, pulling her into a tight embrace, "You're really back, I thought I'd never see you again." he said, his voice horse.

Courtney laughed, returning the gesture as he swayed their bodies left and right, finally pulling back and inviting her in, moving to the side, "Come in." he nodded.

She smiled and walked inside, he closed the door and followed her to the living room, "What have you been doing?" he asked, sitting down on the couch next to her as she looked around the new environment. He stared at her from behind, looking over the open back of her dress, she'd cut her hair.

"Aren't you gonna ask how I found you?" She asked, he laughed and nodded, "I guess that would be the better question."

She laughed, "The papers tell a lot these days." she said, George nodding, "I know, it's scary."

A second of silence passed before George continued, "Do you want anything? I could get you a cuppa, I--"

She interrupted him, shaking her head, "No, I'm fine."

He chuckled, laying back in his seat and taking a moment to process things. It was really her. It must've been three years, maybe longer, but he still remembered everything like it was yesterday.

"It's good you came today, I leave on tour in a few days." He said, his voice cracking several times as he spoke. Courtney's eyebrows furrowed, "Are you ill?" she asked, George thinking before nodding in response.

"Laryngitis." He said, she nodded, "I've had that before, hurts like hell."

He nodded in agreement, "Hurts even worse when you have to make a whole album with it, and then the critics talk about how you sounded like some sort of smoking priest."

Courtney laughed, "I thought you did very well. I didn't think it was too preachy, did they?"

He shook his head, "It's all they talked about, they hate that sort of talk." he waved off with a shrug, "I don't care, really."

Courtney nodded, "They're all talk, they wouldn't be able to do any of the things you have." she said, George pursing his lips and looking away as he listened to her words, her voice was so nice to hear after so long.

"I feel like it's been so long since I last saw you." Courtney said, breaking the silence. George pursed his lips, "It has, far too long. Longer than you said it'd be." He said, the last few words having a certain bitterness to them.

"Things came up." She said, avoiding eye contact with him out of pure shame. He continued to watch her, trying to read her mind, figure out what was bothering her other than the obvious guilt tapping at her brain. He wondered how many events in each others life they must've missed, if he knew how differently he was living compared to the last time they saw each other.

"Things came up? Do you know how many times I tried to call? How many times I tried to find you?" He said, shaking his head with a face of disbelief, "It's hard to be angry, too. It's like now that you're here, everything's just like it was years go."

She chuckled dryly, "Well it's not, and yes, things came up." she paused, leaning closer to him, "It'll never be the same. You'd never even begin to guess the things I've been through since then.”

George looked over her expression, his eyes looking over every part of her. She felt vulnerable under his gaze, though she looked at him just the same as she sat back in her spot, "You're brave, coming here. You know Pattie doesn't like you." he told her, she shrugged, "I don't care."

"You know I hate when you two talk, as well." he said, leaning his head forward as she nodded, "I don't care if she calls me ugly, Geo, I care that it's her man that I'm after. That's not something I'm proud of. It is ugly."

She was taken aback when he began to chuckle, shaking his head, "She's been going off with some other man. She can't say anything about it anymore."

He watched as Courtney's eyes widened, "Who?" she asked, he shrugged, "I've been having suspicions of Clapton for about a year now."

He couldn't help but chuckle as her eyes got even wider, "Holy shit, you're joking." she said, watching as he shook his head, "Don't go spreading that around." he told her. She shook her head, facial expression still the same as she put her hand over her heart, "I would never, I know better, but you're being serious? You're not playing me?"

George shook his head again, "I don't play around like this, Court, you know that."

Courtney sat still before adjusting her position, "Christ, meanwhile you're going out with some old nobody. How's it feel?"

He laughed, shaking his head, "That's not how I feel, it feels more Dylan and Sedgwick to me." he said, watching as she laughed and shook her head, "I'm no Edie, I wish I looked like her."

He rolled his eyes at her words, "You're beautiful, always have been, since the first time I saw you I thought you were one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever seen." he praised. She pursed her lips, looking away as her face turned a deep shade of red.

"I never did like cliches, you know." She said, he nodded, holding eye contact as she finally looked back at him.

He nodded, "I know. That's what I love about you, you're so simple, but so complicated. I still haven't got you figured out." he said, inching closer to her as he adjusted his position next to her, "A simple way to put it; I can never figure out what the hell is wrong with you." he chuckled, she laughed along with him.

"You look so good." She said, looking over his faced after a bit of silence had passed, "The mustache really suits you. The hair, too." she observed, the man trying to overcome his common nerves as she looked over his features.

"You too, though you haven't changed at all. Only your hair got shorter." He observed, bravely moving his left hand behind her band to feel at the ends of her hair. She blushed, nodding, she could feel the cold of his wedding ring brush against her back, "I had to cut it. People don't like hippies anymore, they just call you dirty.”

He chuckled, "You were such a pretty hippie." he said, moving his hand back to his side as she snickered along with him.

"You are a pretty hippie." She laughed, putting emphasis on 'are'.

The two laughed together on the sofa, going silent for a bit, "Do you still like me?" Courtney asked, "Like, as a person."

He sat in silence, his lips parting as he looked down at the glistening wedding ring on his fingers. She followed his gaze, taking his hand to observe the band, "It's pretty, you know. I've never really looked at it before."

"I could take a guess as to why. Are you trying to make yourself feel better? It doesn't make me feel better." He said, she shook her head, "No, I'll never feel good about it. I just want to know if you still like me, Geo."

He shook his head, "Of course I still like you. I love you, remember?" he said, his words quiet but clear. The two sat back on the couch, slowly realizing amidst the silence just how close they were to one another.

That's when she kissed him.

George immediately kissed back, running his hands through her hair and pulling her closer. She did the same, he let out an involuntary groan as she tugged at his hair, she chuckled through the kiss. He took his right hand out of her hair, moving it to her back, before finally pulling away for air.

"Go lock the front door."

***