#newspaper current affairs

[knowledgepower56]

[aspireias123]

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Aspiring to be an IAS officer? Ace your UPSC exams with the right guidance on current affairs for upsc and daily news analysis from Aspire IAS. Their comprehensive newspaper analysis programme for UPSC provides ready 1.5 years consolidated current affairs coverage and in-depth analysis of The Hindu Editorials - customized for prelims and mains success.

[newsbuck]

In the rapidly evolving food service sector, staying informed about Food Industry News Today, food-related current affairs, food business headlines, food industry latest news, and the latest food industry trends is essential for success.

[krispycreamcake]

Interview with a vampire:

A Sakamaki exposé

The Sakamaki name has long since been involved in political disputes in the human world, and with the current upcoming election, one has to wonder, what is his Highness, Karlheinz Sakamaki, doing to prepare for this election? Being the almighty ruler of vampires and overseer of the Bat Clan, one must wonder, why is our Highness, the King, participating in mortal public affairs. With no sight of his six potential heirs, many questions arise from our very own citizens who claims that the King himself, hasn't been to loyal to his own species.

Joining us here today, is critically acclaimed videographer and journalist, Decima Amadeus. She has been working on tracking down these lost heirs of the demon realm and have come to us with her research. Let's see what she has to say about this whole debacle.

"Throughout recent years, many have wondered exactly where have our precious princes went. Did they leave behind their duties, or were they pursuing something much greater than we can conjure? I'm Decima Amadeus and here with me today, is one of our guests, Reiji Sakamaki!"

"Good evening Decima, I do hope all is well...."

"I wish I could honestly lie to you and say it was, but with your father neglecting our race, it's hard to say anything is ever really 'well' as you say. Ah- speaking of neglecting, shall we move on with the questions?"

".......Very well then, let's begin."

"Fantastic, well as you know, everyone's been wondering, where have you and your brothers all been? You're certainly not in the demon realm anymore."

"Ah- of course. Well, currently we've been staying in Shimane, Japan."

"And why is that? I'd say it's a bit over a couple hundred years too long to be vacationing."

"Well, as you may know, none of us has been yet designated to take our father's place as King yet, so-"

"So you decide to run off and leave behind your kingdom? Without a word or a trace as to where you've all been these past years?"

"I'd hardly call that 'running off' as you put it. Our father simply decided that we perhaps needed a more quiet life and gave us many opportunities to prove to him which of his children would inherit the title of Vampire King."

"Wait- so then- ha! So let me get this straight, it was Karlheinz himself that shipped you off to the human realm and left you there for hundreds of years without saying anything? He was the one that decided this and still he chose to not notify the public even once."

"Well Decima, one would think that something like that was a much more personal family matter and that it didn't need to be disclosed to the public. Just because he is King, doesn't give others the authority to police his every move and decision."

"Except in this case it does. Mr. Sakamaki, in case you haven't picked up the newspaper yet, there's a mass famine going around. Our blood supply is low and yet no one has yet to make any official announcement, almost as if they weren't affected by it! My sources have led me to believe that the distribution of humans in the demon realm has been at its peak for the last 3 years, and still there's nothing to account for it, considering the multitude of hungry mouths, which subsequently happen to also be those of middle to lower classes!"

"..... While you may think so, I've no comment on the matter as I refuse to contribute to conspiracy theories. The fact of the matter is, my brothers and I have no impact on this, whether here in the human world, or there in the demon realm."

"It's quite funny you say that Mr. Sakamaki. You see, we have an external source that claims that for over 100 years, you've all been personally receiving a blood supply from the King himself, while the rest of us suffer from inflation and the inability to feed ourselves, to the brink of relying on animal blood, which has caused a minor epidemic of Septicima O8, which is a highly mutated form of Sepsis that can affect us immortals."

"I- I'm truly sorry to hear that you've all been going through this, but I still can't see how we can help. None of us can overrule the King and besides-"

"Overrule the King? Have you forgotten that it is your duty as a prince to inherit that golden title? For years we have suffered and yet, you six sit back and get pampered while the King continues to fail his kingdom! And now you claim there is nothing you can do? Have you forgotten the reason you were brought into this world in the first place? Or is it that you've been getting too overtly comfortable with the humans that your roles no longer hold meaning to you?"

"That is nothing but a fib! I already declared that I will not be participating in conspiracy theories against my own father! Being royalty does come with its benefits, that I agree, and I'm once again apologizing to those that cannot afford that luxury, but if I had known what was going on, I surely would have stepped up!"

"So you admit to not having any knowledge of the current ongoings of our society when it is on the verge of collapsing? And not only that, you're apologizing because you refuse to do anything while the rich get richer and the poor get poorer? And I've been wanting to ask this for a while, but when we originally called for the oldest of the Sakamaki household, we were turnt away and had to make do with the second eldest. Thus, further showcasing how lackadaisical you Sakamakis have been regarding our current world affairs."

"T-that's not!-"

"Cut to commercial......I need a break."

From author: I didn't want to make this too long in case it doesn't get any attention, so let me know your thoughts as I honestly want to make this a brief series where we interview all the brothers and certain truths get revealed. (Guys lie to my face and tell me you loved it)

[lamarseillasie]

"Nothing out of the ordinary has happened here, and it is to be hoped that the evil-doers will not succeed in their maneuvers this time. Panic terror is gripping many minds, and the crowds at the bakers' are considerable. Marat's death will probably be useful to the Republic because of the circumstances surrounding it. It's a cy-devant from Caen, deliberately sent by Barbaroux and other scoundrels, addressed first to a member of the right wing in Paris, that fanatic Duperrey who twice drew the saber in the Assembly and repeatedly threatened Marat. We have indicted him as an accomplice to the assassination. You will see the details of this affair in the newspapers, and it will not be difficult for you to judge the men we were dealing with. The Minister of the Interior had, it seems, been singled out for the dagger of this monstrous woman who brought Marat down under her blows; Danton and Maximilien are still threatened; one remarkable thing is the means this infernal female used to gain access to our colleague's home. While Marat was being painted as a monster, in such a terrible way that the whole of France was fooled into believing that there was no cannibal comparable to that citizen, that woman nevertheless begged for his commiseration by writing to him: "It's enough to be unhappy to be heard". This circumstance is well suited to demaratizing Marat and opening the eyes of those who see us as bloodthirsty men. You should know that Marat lived like a Spartan and gave everything he had to those who came to him. On several occasions he said to me and my colleagues: "I can no longer satisfy the wretched crowd that comes to me, I will send some of them to you", and he did so on many times. Judge our political situation, a situation brought about by slander. Ardent but unenlightened patriots are currently agreeing with the conspirators to Pantheonize Marat. Such are the circumstances, that this proposal may eternalize the calumnies, that the hatred which seems to abandon a corpse will attach itself to Marat in the grave, and that the system of the enemies of liberty will resume with greater force than if our colleague were still among us. The most astute observer must be astonished that the most terrible weapon of the enemies of liberty is slander, and must groan at the ignorance and credulity of a people who constantly disregard it. A slander, no matter how absurd, cannot be erased, and Paris, which sees its most ardent defenders slaughtered and is content to shed tears over their graves, will still have to defend itself for centuries to come against its detractors, while Evreux, Caen, Lyon and Marseille will enjoy an almost immortal glory, because these cities will have the most skilful of conspirators and the most wicked of men as their defenders."

Augustin Robespierre in a letter to Antoine-Joseph Buissart, July 15th, 1793. From Maximilien et Augustin Robespierre, Correspondance recueillie et publiée par M. Georges Michon [p. 174-175].

[opencommunion]

"Al Mezan’s latest investigation reveals that since the onset of the genocidal military campaign against Gaza, Israeli forces have detained at least 3,000 Palestinian residents of Gaza, including women, children, elderly people, as well as professionals such as doctors, nurses, teachers and journalists. This aggressive detention campaign is unparalleled, with detainees subjected to multiple forms of cruelty, torture, inhuman and degrading treatment from the moment they are arrested and continue throughout their detention at interrogation centers. This occurs without any judicial oversight or legal protection, in blatant defiance of international humanitarian law and international human rights law.

Based on its firsthand documentation and available information, Al Mezan has estimated that around 1,650 Palestinian residents of Gaza are interned in Israeli prisons under the Unlawful Combatants Law. This figure represents a substantial increase compared to previous reports. These detainees are held in total isolation from the outside world at Nafha and Negev (Ketziot) prisons. A ruling from the Israeli judiciary prohibits the release of information about them, and they are denied the right to appoint lawyers or receive legal representation.

The ‘Incarceration of Unlawful Combatants Law’—introduced in 2002 and lastly amended in December 2023—grants the Chief of the General Staff of the Israeli army the power to incarcerate individuals without charge based on suspicion of them being 'unlawful combatants.' This law deprives detainees of any meaningful judicial review and due process rights. ... Detainees held under this law are neither granted the status of prisoners of war under the Third Geneva Convention, nor afforded the protections of civilian detainees under the Fourth Geneva Convention.

An additional 300 Palestinian residents of Gaza, including 10 children, who are not currently detained under the Unlawful Combatants Law, are being held in Ashkelon and Ofer prisons pending investigation. The Palestinian Commission of Detainees Affairs reported the deaths of at least 13 Palestinian detainees in Israeli prisons since 7 October 2023, while the Israeli newspaper Haaretz reported the death of 27 Gaza detainees during the same period.

Over the past six months, Al Mezan has been actively monitoring and documenting arrest operations by the Israeli military in Gaza. Recently, Al Mezan lawyer managed to visit approximately 40 detainees in Ashkelon and Ofer prisons. This visit occurred after the Israeli Public Prosecution had exhausted all legal deadlines preventing lawyers from visiting detainees. The testimonies provided by these detainees to Al Mezan unveiled harrowing accounts of torture and inhumane treatment from the moment of their arrest. They were forced to strip naked, wear blindfolds, and have their wrists tied. They were also brutally beaten, deprived of sleep for several days, denied food and deliberately starved as a form of torture and collective punishment.

A 19-year-old detainee told Al Mezan lawyer that he was tortured from the moment he was arrested. He described how three of his fingernails were removed with pliers during interrogation. He also stated that investigators unleashed a dog on him and subjected him to shabeh—a form of torture which involves detainees being handcuffed and bound in stress positions for long periods—three times over three days of interrogation. He was then placed in a cell for 70 days, where he experienced starvation and extreme fatigue.

The detainee described the conditions within the detention rooms, stating that there was nothing in them but mattresses, which were brought in at 10 pm and removed after four hours. He stated that detainees were forced to shower in cold water and that food provisions were meager, with a breakfast of ten slices of bread and one small labneh container for the 12 detainees in the room. The second meal of the day consisted of three tomatoes and a plate of rice and the third meal of either one egg or one can of tuna for the entire room.

Al Mezan lawyer reported that all detainees suffer from acute emaciation, fatigue and back curvature due to being forced to bend their backs and heads while walking. They also bear marks from handcuffs on their wrists. Additionally, detainees are experiencing starvation and difficult psychological conditions, with many unable to even recall the names of people present in the room. The lawyer remarked that in his more than 20 years of working with detainees, he had never encountered conditions as appalling as those observed at Ofer prison. He noted seeing one detainee who, six months after his arrest, had become skeletal, with bruises on his face.

... Issam Younis, Director General of Al Mezan, stated, 'The evidence and testimonies gathered by our lawyer reveal a level of reprisals and torture that lacks any semblance of humanity. What Israel is doing to Palestinian detainees forms part of its genocide against the Palestinian people. It is imperative to halt this genocide and ensure accountability for those responsible for heinous genocidal acts.'"

15 April 24

[moonchild1]

AO3 List PT.2

here's part 2 of my favourite bts fics on ao3 ♡ if you have any of your own recommendations feel free to tell me I would love to hear them ♡ some contain smut so no minors do not interact find pt. 1 here...

s- smut a- angst f- fluff

all of btssmutgalore’s work (sadly they aren’t on tumblr anymore)

all of univsa work

all of personasintro's work

roommates with benefits by joonswhistle f s a

↬ You and Namjoon are roommates. You're both really horny one morning. So you come to an understanding:

1. It's not a regular thing.

2. It happens on the couch.

3. Kissing is allowed.

4. Condoms, always.And just like that, you're roommates with benefits

seoul underground by hunniejimins s a ft. jungkook

↬ You're a crime & corruption journalist for one of the most esteemed newspapers in Seoul currently investigating drug trafficking in Hong Kong. A hit is taken out on you and as a twisted stroke of luck, a member of a rival gang inadvertently saves you - Jeon Jungkook. He kidnaps you and brings you to the gang's kingpin, Kim Namjoon, who initially had plans to kill you, but a certain bracelet ends up buying you time. Things only get further complicated when they realize who you are and what you can offer them.

OR

Namjoon and Jungkook both fall in love with you and it's a mess, but monogamy is overrated anyway, right?

Covenant by fringesofsanity f s a

↬ You are betrothed to Kim Namjoon, the heir of a real estate mogul. To say that it was a fairytale romance would be erroneous. You’re instead loped in the sad tale of the rich and melancholy.

Faith by AndrastesChosen f s a

↬ It's time to let yourself believe in someone. You're probably an idiot for it, but you're going to put your faith in this man named Namjoon. (AKA You fall in love with underground rapper Namjoon and make a difficult choice so he can follow his dreams)

Partners by btssmutgalore f s a

↬ As a part of a literature assignment, you get paired up with Kim Namjoon, a guy you’ve never even heard of.

the wedding arrangement by sugalights f s a

↬ You are in love with your best friend, the only man who matters, Kim Seokjin. Unfortunately, he's just gotten engaged to someone who isn’t you. Even more unfortunately, he expects you to help plan the wedding alongside Kim Namjoon, his other best friend and, based on your first meeting, just another judgemental jerk. Putting aside your distaste for the sake of your friend’s happiness, you both set about giving Seokjin the wedding of his dreams. Following a rough and satisfying affair at the caterer’s, you strike an unusual deal: you and Namjoon will be enemies with benefits until the wedding is over. And after six months of wedding planning, you both just might learn that weddings aren’t usually the end, but a brand new beginning.

formula for love by bluesxde f s a

↬ newly single and in the midst of a bitter divorce, with a custody battle thrown in, chemistry professor kim seokjin tries not to fall in love with the new library assistant. and fails, horribly

The Stranger by btssmutgalore f s a

↬ When your plane hits turbulence, you start panicking and tell some of your biggest secrets to the attractive stranger sitting next to you.

Before Your Very Eyes by vyduan f s a ft. myg poly au

↬ After decades of being friends, Y/N finally realizes just how attractive Yoongi and Seokjin are and wonders why she never noticed. Except, Seokjin might be getting back with an ex and Yoongi is a permanent fuckboy. Is Y/N just desperate to get laid or does she love them? (And if she loves them, is she too late?) Oh, and also, THEY WERE ROOMMATES (but there are three beds)

Amalthea by Daechwitatamic s a

↬ You can count on two things in life. One: that your lifelong best friend Minji will always be there for you, in your corner, your brightest star. Two: that you'll never be free from her older brother Seokjin's orbit - the gravitational pull is just too strong.

Paris For A Day by automnesleaves f a

↬ On his last stop of his European tour to spread Korean culture, Kim Seokjin, the South Korean president's son, plans to escape his duties for a day to enjoy the sights of Paris with your help.

In other words: a slight adaptation of Roman Holiday, one of my favorite romantic films.

arranged by obiwrites f s a

↬ If you thought entering an arranged marriage with the person you love would be a dream, you were in for a rude awakening. Jung Hoseok was far from the doting husband you’d dreamed of and most of it could be chalked up to the fact that he was in love with his best friend. And you are without a shadow of a doubt, not her. But what happens when Hoseok starts to realize he doesn’t want you to be her? That there might be more than meets the eye with you?

piece by piece by underthejoon f s a ft seokjin

↬ a collection of drabbles where your love life is muddied up by two men – the one you love and the one that loves you.

tip 143 (for ∞ seconds of love) by minlouvre f s

↬ Even though he is everything you find attractive in a man, your friend and co-worker Jung Hoseok is just exactly that - a friend and co-worker. For some reason, you have never found yourself attracted to him even though all the girls and guys around you go absolutely crazy for him. But that all changes for you one night while scrolling through Heart2Heart, a sex live cam website...

the december of our adulthood by vyduan a

↬ Jimin collapsed all over you and the middle console from his seat in a fit of giggles and did his best to tease a smile back onto your face. “Thanks for picking me up so early on a Saturday morning, Y/N. You’re the best friend a guy could ever have.” Even after all these years, you couldn’t control the dip of disappointment at his words. It wasn’t that you didn’t love being Jimin’s best friend. It was more that you knew you would never be anything more. You grunted in acknowledgment and pushed the sadness down, burying it under years of practice and half truths. You would be content with what you had. You would be satisfied with the love Jimin was willing and able to give. You were not entitled to anything more. It was enough. It was enough. It was never enough.

[d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n]

Let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: You got hurt. It was his fault. And he feels absolutely awful.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Angst, Claustrophobia, Near-death situations, Some lightly mentioned family issues, Arguing, Couples? Quarrels, ANGST.

AN: The summary is awful - I feel like I say this every time. Idk if Reader and Lockwood are a couple, they don't have to be, but they can be if you want to. Love you all! (BTW I have not read the books in years so creative liberties were taken - I'm sorry for any and all book inaccuracies.)

The body of one 'Sergeant M. Bowers' floated precariously towards Lockwood. He backed up against the door of the bedroom, eyes darting between you and Bowers, rapier extended in front of him. You rifled through the bedroom, looking for anything precious or valuable. You had to find the source for Lockwood.

Lockwood had taken the case of this particular house out of pure greed. Mrs. Miller was willing to pay a pretty price to take care of her 'little problem' as she called it. You had warned him against it - the Bowers' manor was about a mile outside of the town you grew up in and you'd heard almost every story there was to hear about the house. About the family that inhabited the house. Lockwood hadn't listened.

He'd convinced you to come, saying the stories were 'probably just stories told to children to scare them away.' He assured you they weren't true. After George had done his research, you were more confident - apparently, reports of apparitions of children predated the problem and were therefore hoaxes.

The Bowers were an affluential aristocratic family before the war - the First World War, that is. "They were known for hosting Gatsby-esque parties to celebrate the most menial of affairs - like their dog turning one." George had rolled his eyes at that pushing the picture of the newspaper your way. April 6th, 1912. A week before the Titanic sank.

The sinking of the Titanic began a series of unfortunate events for the Bowers family, starting with the death of the youngest son, James. James and his to-be wife, Miranda, died aboard the ship, thrusting the family into a long period of mourning. In the following two years, 6 of the 12 members who lived in the house had passed away, forcing the rest to flee the countryside manor, claiming it had been cursed - which brought about the misfortune of the family.

The last of the family to inherit the manor was Sergeant Michael James Bowers, who was the youngest nephew of James. He had lost his life in the second World War; after being shot in the arm and leg, he had been honourably discharged and sent home. He succumbed to sepsis not long after, surrounded by empty halls and unhappy memories. Apparently, he had never left.

You shook your head in discomfort - dispelling the dark feeling that had crept over you since reading about the family's terrible fate. Something seemed off about this case - something seemed to have been omitted from all the research you and George had done.

At first, you disregarded it as nerves. The Bowers manor was big - bigger than any other case you had taken. Plus, it was close to home, which was full of unpleasant memories. Maybe the added pressure was playing on your mind. You tried to explain yourself to Lockwood, who dismissed you. Apparently, Lucy had to help Kipps with some research, and George was working on another case. There was no point in arguing with Lockwood when he had made up his mind, and he was not going to budge on this case.

Which led you to your current predicament.

There were many ghosts haunting the halls of the Bowers manor. It seemed that everyone who had died here didn't want to leave. You had rid the house of most of the ghosts - sealing almost ten sources in different iron boxes. Lockwood had danced his way through the Type Ones that he was dealing with - he was evidently the better agent out of the two of you. You had lucked out - you came face to face with a Type Two. The small girl kept repeating about her teddy which you had found in an upstairs bedroom covered in filth and cobwebs. You threw an iron net over it before leaning against a wall to catch your breath. You were exhausted - and you hadn't even dealt with the real problem.

Sergeant Bowers.

Sergeant M. Bowers was a lot more tortured than you had initially thought. His wife left him when he left for the war, leaving to follow her true love into the country - countless correspondences scattered across the rooms told you as much.

Then came the matter of a child - Timothy. Pictures of him were littered through the halls - toys left to rot in the hallways. Clearly, no one had cleaned it until Mrs. Miller bought it at that country house auction. Except the trace of him ended there. There was nothing in your research to tell you about him, nor any sign of him outside the walls of this home.

It was peculiar.

You had tried to tell Lockwood, but he brushed you off. "The kid must have died - explains the tortured relationship between his parents."

It seemed odd to you. What kind of mother would run off without her child?

A glint caught your eye. A small jewellery box lay on the vanity, dust laid over it as if it hadn't been touched in decades. You dashed towards it, opening it quickly to find a simple silver band inside. A wedding band. A source.

You placed the ring in a small iron box - one of your many engineering feats that made your job safer and easier to do. Bowers disappeared from over Lockwood and you ran over to help him up.

"See? Not too bad, was it?" Lockwood joked, taking the box from your hand and putting it in his bag with the rest of them.

"The only reason I'm glad we don't work with Fittes is the paperwork. We'd be drowning in it after tonight. Can you imagine? With all those Type Ones and the two Type Twos. I'd be crying into my pillow for weeks." You grabbed the rest of your equipment and headed towards the stairs. Lockwood's fingers wrapped around your arm, pulling you back sharply.

He pulled out his rapier and pointed it toward the woman - an apparition of a young woman, dressed in a maid's uniform and carrying a basket, seemingly full of laundry.

"Another Type Two. Great." Lockwood sighed, "You check downstairs and I'll check upstairs. She's a maid. Look for... maid things? I don't know." You nodded before hopping downstairs, armed with your rapier.

You went down to the servants' quarters, which you had seen on the blueprints of the house. The room was small, just off the side of the kitchen - and was perhaps the cleanest room in the house. The maids had been let go long before Sergeant Bowers had inherited the house. Clearly, they had taken the cleanliness with them.

You looked around for anything that could be a source. Why would staff die here, you thought, when the Bowers were known for treating staff well? And why would she choose to stay? You walked around the room, running your fingers over the sparse wooden furniture around the room, leaving trails in the dust in your wake. You tripped by the door to the bathroom, cutting your hand on a small loose nail by the door - probably used for hanging coats or aprons. You winced as you stretched your hand, closing your fist to stop the blood from dripping all over the floor.

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "Did you find anything, Lockwood?" No response. "Lockwood?" The door to the servants' quarters slammed shut. You pressed up against the door, trying to force it open. "LOCKWOOD? LOCKWOOD, HELP!" You screamed, trying to push the door hard. "LOCKWOOD, PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

Lockwood called to you from the landing, telling you he's found something interesting. You tried screaming for him again, but he was too far away to hear you, just like you were too far away to help. Ghostly yelling startled you as you turned around. The maid was here, clearly oblivious to you in the room. She was humming softly as the ghostly yelling continued.

You watched her from a distance as she folded some invisible clothes, her humming still ringing out around the room. She laughed at nothing, before turning towards the door, expectantly. You turned towards the door, expecting to see some other apparition in the doorway but there was nothing. She seemed to get frantically worried by the lack of whatever presence she is expecting, her humming becoming erratic and eerier by the second.

Her eyes grazed over you, and she seemed to relax. She spoke to you gently, reaching her hand out to you, "Come, Elizabeth. There's no need to be scared." You felt the effects of Ghost-lock wash over you, as lethargy numbs your senses. You saw her drifting toward you, but you had no energy to run or even to poise your rapier in front of you. And she seems so nice.

You heard the door fly open and felt someone grab your arm, tightly. You were pulled out of the room and back into the kitchen. "Thanks, Anthony." You whispered, resting on the kitchen counters.

"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" You looked up, unamused by Lockwood's attempt at a joke.

Your jaw dropped. In front of you was a man that you thought you may never see again, "Grandpa? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard you screaming. Just wanted to make sure you're okay?" He said, eyes looking you over, searching for injuries. You hid your arm further behind your back, not wanting to worry him more.

He brought his hand up to brush your cheek, staring down at you lovingly. "I'm sorry about this, kiddo."

You felt hands pulling you up off the floor, and a strangely familiar voice whispering soothing words in your ear. You struggled in the grasp of this strange person, trying - unsuccessfully - to flee. They held you firmly, arms tucked neatly beneath you.

Tired from your busy night, you gave up, resting your head against the person's chest. You knew this cologne. It was Anthony's - you teased him for putting on too much and the scent lingers in the hallways some mornings. You settled, seeking his warmth and his comfort.

"Nice to have you back. You worried me for a minute back there."

"Lockwood? Worried? God, are there pigs in the sky?" You bantered back, your voice weak with exhaustion. He laid you down on the stairs, running back to grab your rapier and your flares. You must have dropped them when your Grandpa showed up. Grandpa?

Where did he go? You stood up trying to walk back to the kitchen. Grandpa couldn't see any apparitions - if one came for him, he'd be as good as dead.

"Whoa, slow down, Usain Bolt." Lockwood caught you as your legs folded beneath you. "You took a nasty hit to the head, plus you might have had a bit of ghost-lock as well."

"Lockwood, my grandpa," You said, looking past him, and back at the kitchen door, "He can't see them. We have to help him."

"Your grandpa? Honey, there's no one here." The nickname fell on deaf ears. You tried to scramble back towards the room, but Lockwood held you tightly.

He walked with you back to the kitchen - to prove there was no one there. There was no sign of anyone being there - nothing at all.

"Look - there's no one else here. You must have hit your head while getting away from the maid. Just," He huffed, pulling you closer to him, "let me get you home. Let me check you over - make sure you're alright."

You let Lockwood drag you towards the taxi and push you inside. You let him maneuver your body so that your head is resting on his chest and your legs dangle over his. You let him carry you like a rag doll into the house and set you down in the kitchen.

You shivered slightly - involuntarily - but Lockwood noticed. He draped a large blanket over you, boiling some water for hot tea. He grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and sat down in front of you.

He held out his hand for yours, "Let me clean it for you." So you do.

He spent the better part of the next hour meticulously cleaning every scratch and scrape he can find - only slowing down when you wince, or to pour you more tea. He makes it how you like it - a spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk

Once he's done, he lifts you again and carries you to bed, tucking you in like a mother would their child. He turns out the lights with a soft goodnight and crosses the landing to his own bedroom. The first floor is plunged into darkness, but you stare up at the ceiling.

Sleep doesn't come to you easily. When you close your eyes, the maid's face is above yours - her hand reaching out to you, beckoning you. You want to take it. You see her holding Elizabeth, cradling her as she cries. Your grandpa's face comes up next to the maid and you see your grandpa die. How he screams for you to help him as the plasm burns through his skin. Your mother blames you - tells you that she should never have let you go to Fittes. The maid shields Elizabeth from the loud arguing coming from upstairs. No, not from upstairs. The arguing is happening below you. You shake yourself awake from your restless night, wincing as you contort your bruised body. You slip on your Fittes hoodie and creep downstairs.

Lucy and Lockwood are facing off in the kitchen. Again. You sit on the step, listening in.

"She told you she didn't want to go! And now, there's a chance she won't be able to go into the field."

"She'll be fine. She's tough, she'll get through it."

"You don't know that, Lockwood! You can't just assume that everything will be fine just because you want it to be." You could hear Lucy's voice breaking as she fought back tears.

"Maybe, she won't want to go on missions anymore," George piped up. Clearly, he'd been forced to sit there through breakfast and listen to the argument, "After all, you didn't listen to her doubts when she said she was scared."

"No, she didn't. She just had nerves."

"No, Lockwood. I was terrified. And you didn't hear me out."

"You're awake!" Lucy threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly. "God, I'm so happy you're okay!" You smiled at her warmly, hugging her back. She moved past you, saying something about needing to meet Kipps to finish their case.

"I'd hug you too, but you should probably shower first. Who knows what kind of bacteria fester in hundred-year-old manors? I'll see you after lunch - heading to the archives." George walked out quickly, almost as if he was being chased out by rats.

Lockwood stood in front of you, straight as a board, "You look like you've been electrocuted. Sit down. I'm not going to bite." Lockwood sent a weak smile in your direction.

You poured yourself a mug of tea and put some bread in the toaster. You made a mental note to send George a shopping list before he came back.

"So..." Lockwood started, and you wanted to laugh. In the almost three years you'd lived with him, you'd never seen him so nervous.

"So?"

"We should probably talk about what happened back there." Ah. He wanted to do this now.

"Yeah. We probably should."

"What happened? I mean, one minute you were fine, the next you were unconscious in the kitchen?" Lockwood said, leaning back in his chair slightly.

You grabbed your mug and sat in the chair opposite him, "Was I, though?" Lockwood raised his eyebrows, "Was I really fine, Lockwood, or did you just want me to be fine?"

"I don't understand?"

"Lockwood, I voiced my doubts to you! I told you to let it go! That this was a case we didn't have to take! That we'd find something better." You were standing now, leaning over the table, staring Lockwood down.

"Worth more than 90 grand? Do you have any concept of how much money that is?"

"YES! YES, LOCKWOOD, I DO! IT'S NOT NEARLY ENOUGH MONEY! We fought how many ghosts? 10? 12? Do you even consider that?"

"14, actually."

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELF. YOU MAY BE THE LITTLE PRODIGY OF FITTES, BUT SOME OF US ARE NORMAL. SOME OF US ARE AVERAGE." You sat back down, your legs shaking. You were still too weak to force this argument. Your voice trembled, "I can't keep up with you, Lockwood, none of us can. Lucy, maybe, but even she needs a break. Hell, even you need a break sometimes."

"We're fine, aren't we? We're all alive and kicking, still fighting ghosts another day?"

"Yeah, but for how long? How long do we keep getting to cheat death?" How long until one of us gets buried for the unnecessary risks we keep taking? You didn't say it but the question took root in the back of your mind.

Lockwood sighed, "I don't know where this is even coming from. We survived. We did the job. We got our money. Aren't you happy-"

"HAPPY! HOW CAN I BE HAPPY, LOCKWOOD? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT HOUSE YESTERDAY! One minute, we were sealing up a source, the next I was being lured in by a Type Two, ghost-locked and bleeding. Somehow, my GRANDPA WAS THERE, AND THEN I'M UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR. NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE, nothing - nothing makes sense. I feel - I feel like my brain's been scrambled. It just - I can't - I don't-" Lockwood kneeled next to you, his palm gently cradling your face, and let you cry. You stayed there for a few seconds before you looked up into his face, eyes brimming with tears, "You know what the - what the worst part was?"

"What was the worst part, honey?" There it was again, the nickname. Your heart skipped slightly at the sound of it.

"That you couldn't hear me." Lockwood looked at you, pain sweeping over his expression. "I called for you. In the servants' quarters. I needed you, but you couldn't hear me. I screamed and I cried and I begged and I- I needed you, Lockwood."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, before stroking your hair. You cried into his shirt, the white fabric turning translucent in the dampness.

"I will always come." He whispered to you, eyes bright with determination. "I may not have always been there before, but I will be now. I promise. No matter where or when, if you call, I will come to you." He cradled your face in his hands again, thumbs gently rubbing away your tears, "I will listen to you - and George, and Lucy. If you tell me you're scared, I'll hear you. I won't take jobs out of greed, we'll make decisions together. We're a team. I'm sorry I haven't been acting like it."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking yourself into his neck, "I like the sound of that."

You felt Lockwood smile against your neck. "I'll take care of you. If you'll let me."

You pulled back, "Taking care of each other goes both ways. You have to let me take care of you too." He scoffed lightly, but you knew that he had agreed. He couldn't ever say no to you. Not even at Fittes.

"As much as I hate to ruin the moment, George was right. I don't want to think about how much bacteria was probably growing in that house." Lockwood helped you up, "You should probably shower." You nodded your head, chuckling lightly. You grabbed Lockwood's phone from the table and before he could steal it back, you sent a text on the group chat.

"We need food. PLS. WE HAVE NOTHING." You threw him his phone as you ran up the stairs. Lockwood laughed at the text.

"They'll know it's you." He said waving his phone as you grabbed your towel.

"Or they'll have a heart attack knowing that Frosty can change his mind."

fin.

[downbadf0rficppl]

let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: You got hurt. It was his fault. And he feels absolutely awful.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Angst, Claustrophobia, Near-death situations, Some lightly mentioned family issues, Arguing, Couples? Quarrels, ANGST.

AN: The summary is awful - I feel like I say this every time. Idk if Reader and Lockwood are a couple, they don't have to be, but they can be if you want to. Love you all! (BTW I have not read the books in years so creative liberties were taken - I'm sorry for any and all book inaccuracies.)

Repost

The body of one 'Sergeant M. Bowers' floated precariously towards Lockwood. He backed up against the door of the bedroom, eyes darting between you and Bowers, rapier extended in front of him. You rifled through the bedroom, looking for anything precious or valuable. You had to find the source for Lockwood.

Lockwood had taken the case of this particular house out of pure greed. Mrs. Miller was willing to pay a pretty price to take care of her 'little problem' as she called it. You had warned him against it - the Bowers' manor was about a mile outside of the town you grew up in and you'd heard almost every story there was to hear about the house. About the family that inhabited the house. Lockwood hadn't listened.

He'd convinced you to come, saying the stories were 'probably just stories told to children to scare them away.' He assured you they weren't true. After George had done his research, you were more confident - apparently, reports of apparitions of children predated the problem and were therefore hoaxes.

The Bowers were an affluential aristocratic family before the war - the First World War, that is. "They were known for hosting Gatsby-esque parties to celebrate the most menial of affairs - like their dog turning one." George had rolled his eyes at that pushing the picture of the newspaper your way. April 6th, 1912. A week before the Titanic sank.

The sinking of the Titanic began a series of unfortunate events for the Bowers family, starting with the death of the youngest son, James. James and his to-be wife, Miranda, died aboard the ship, thrusting the family into a long period of mourning. In the following two years, 6 of the 12 members who lived in the house had passed away, forcing the rest to flee the countryside manor, claiming it had been cursed - which brought about the misfortune of the family.

The last of the family to inherit the manor was Sergeant Michael James Bowers, who was the youngest nephew of James. He had lost his life in the second World War; after being shot in the arm and leg, he had been honourably discharged and sent home. He succumbed to sepsis not long after, surrounded by empty halls and unhappy memories. Apparently, he had never left.

You shook your head in discomfort - dispelling the dark feeling that had crept over you since reading about the family's terrible fate. Something seemed off about this case - something seemed to have been omitted from all the research you and George had done.

At first, you disregarded it as nerves. The Bowers manor was big - bigger than any other case you had taken. Plus, it was close to home, which was full of unpleasant memories. Maybe the added pressure was playing on your mind. You tried to explain yourself to Lockwood, who dismissed you. Apparently, Lucy had to help Kipps with some research, and George was working on another case. There was no point in arguing with Lockwood when he had made up his mind, and he was not going to budge on this case.

Which led you to your current predicament.

There were many ghosts haunting the halls of the Bowers manor. It seemed that everyone who had died here didn't want to leave. You had rid the house of most of the ghosts - sealing almost ten sources in different iron boxes. Lockwood had danced his way through the Type Ones that he was dealing with - he was evidently the better agent out of the two of you. You had lucked out - you came face to face with a Type Two. The small girl kept repeating about her teddy which you had found in an upstairs bedroom covered in filth and cobwebs. You threw an iron net over it before leaning against a wall to catch your breath. You were exhausted - and you hadn't even dealt with the real problem.

Sergeant Bowers.

Sergeant M. Bowers was a lot more tortured than you had initially thought. His wife left him when he left for the war, leaving to follow her true love into the country - countless correspondences scattered across the rooms told you as much.

Then came the matter of a child - Timothy. Pictures of him were littered through the halls - toys left to rot in the hallways. Clearly, no one had cleaned it until Mrs. Miller bought it at that country house auction. Except the trace of him ended there. There was nothing in your research to tell you about him, nor any sign of him outside the walls of this home.

It was peculiar.

You had tried to tell Lockwood, but he brushed you off. "The kid must have died - explains the tortured relationship between his parents."

It seemed odd to you. What kind of mother would run off without her child?

A glint caught your eye. A small jewellery box lay on the vanity, dust laid over it as if it hadn't been touched in decades. You dashed towards it, opening it quickly to find a simple silver band inside. A wedding band. A source.

You placed the ring in a small iron box - one of your many engineering feats that made your job safer and easier to do. Bowers disappeared from over Lockwood and you ran over to help him up.

"See? Not too bad, was it?" Lockwood joked, taking the box from your hand and putting it in his bag with the rest of them.

"The only reason I'm glad we don't work with Fittes is the paperwork. We'd be drowning in it after tonight. Can you imagine? With all those Type Ones and the two Type Twos. I'd be crying into my pillow for weeks." You grabbed the rest of your equipment and headed towards the stairs. Lockwood's fingers wrapped around your arm, pulling you back sharply.

He pulled out his rapier and pointed it toward the woman - an apparition of a young woman, dressed in a maid's uniform and carrying a basket, seemingly full of laundry.

"Another Type Two. Great." Lockwood sighed, "You check downstairs and I'll check upstairs. She's a maid. Look for... maid things? I don't know." You nodded before hopping downstairs, armed with your rapier.

You went down to the servants' quarters, which you had seen on the blueprints of the house. The room was small, just off the side of the kitchen - and was perhaps the cleanest room in the house. The maids had been let go long before Sergeant Bowers had inherited the house. Clearly, they had taken the cleanliness with them.

You looked around for anything that could be a source. Why would staff die here, you thought, when the Bowers were known for treating staff well? And why would she choose to stay? You walked around the room, running your fingers over the sparse wooden furniture around the room, leaving trails in the dust in your wake. You tripped by the door to the bathroom, cutting your hand on a small loose nail by the door - probably used for hanging coats or aprons. You winced as you stretched your hand, closing your fist to stop the blood from dripping all over the floor.

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "Did you find anything, Lockwood?" No response. "Lockwood?" The door to the servants' quarters slammed shut. You pressed up against the door, trying to force it open. "LOCKWOOD? LOCKWOOD, HELP!" You screamed, trying to push the door hard. "LOCKWOOD, PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

Lockwood called to you from the landing, telling you he's found something interesting. You tried screaming for him again, but he was too far away to hear you, just like you were too far away to help. Ghostly yelling startled you as you turned around. The maid was here, clearly oblivious to you in the room. She was humming softly as the ghostly yelling continued.

You watched her from a distance as she folded some invisible clothes, her humming still ringing out around the room. She laughed at nothing, before turning towards the door, expectantly. You turned towards the door, expecting to see some other apparition in the doorway but there was nothing. She seemed to get frantically worried by the lack of whatever presence she is expecting, her humming becoming erratic and eerier by the second.

Her eyes grazed over you, and she seemed to relax. She spoke to you gently, reaching her hand out to you, "Come, Elizabeth. There's no need to be scared." You felt the effects of Ghost-lock wash over you, as lethargy numbs your senses. You saw her drifting toward you, but you had no energy to run or even to poise your rapier in front of you. And she seems so nice.

You heard the door fly open and felt someone grab your arm, tightly. You were pulled out of the room and back into the kitchen. "Thanks, Anthony." You whispered, resting on the kitchen counters.

"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" You looked up, unamused by Lockwood's attempt at a joke.

Your jaw dropped. In front of you was a man that you thought you may never see again, "Grandpa? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard you screaming. Just wanted to make sure you're okay?" He said, eyes looking you over, searching for injuries. You hid your arm further behind your back, not wanting to worry him more.

He brought his hand up to brush your cheek, staring down at you lovingly. "I'm sorry about this, kiddo."

You felt hands pulling you up off the floor, and a strangely familiar voice whispering soothing words in your ear. You struggled in the grasp of this strange person, trying - unsuccessfully - to flee. They held you firmly, arms tucked neatly beneath you.

Tired from your busy night, you gave up, resting your head against the person's chest. You knew this cologne. It was Anthony's - you teased him for putting on too much and the scent lingers in the hallways some mornings. You settled, seeking his warmth and his comfort.

"Nice to have you back. You worried me for a minute back there."

"Lockwood? Worried? God, are there pigs in the sky?" You bantered back, your voice weak with exhaustion. He laid you down on the stairs, running back to grab your rapier and your flares. You must have dropped them when your Grandpa showed up. Grandpa?

Where did he go? You stood up trying to walk back to the kitchen. Grandpa couldn't see any apparitions - if one came for him, he'd be as good as dead.

"Whoa, slow down, Usain Bolt." Lockwood caught you as your legs folded beneath you. "You took a nasty hit to the head, plus you might have had a bit of ghost-lock as well."

"Lockwood, my grandpa," You said, looking past him, and back at the kitchen door, "He can't see them. We have to help him."

"Your grandpa? Honey, there's no one here." The nickname fell on deaf ears. You tried to scramble back towards the room, but Lockwood held you tightly.

He walked with you back to the kitchen - to prove there was no one there. There was no sign of anyone being there - nothing at all.

"Look - there's no one else here. You must have hit your head while getting away from the maid. Just," He huffed, pulling you closer to him, "let me get you home. Let me check you over - make sure you're alright."

You let Lockwood drag you towards the taxi and push you inside. You let him maneuver your body so that your head is resting on his chest and your legs dangle over his. You let him carry you like a rag doll into the house and set you down in the kitchen.

You shivered slightly - involuntarily - but Lockwood noticed. He draped a large blanket over you, boiling some water for hot tea. He grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and sat down in front of you.

He held out his hand for yours, "Let me clean it for you." So you do.

He spent the better part of the next hour meticulously cleaning every scratch and scrape he can find - only slowing down when you wince, or to pour you more tea. He makes it how you like it - a spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk

Once he's done, he lifts you again and carries you to bed, tucking you in like a mother would their child. He turns out the lights with a soft goodnight and crosses the landing to his own bedroom. The first floor is plunged into darkness, but you stare up at the ceiling.

Sleep doesn't come to you easily. When you close your eyes, the maid's face is above yours - her hand reaching out to you, beckoning you. You want to take it. You see her holding Elizabeth, cradling her as she cries. Your grandpa's face comes up next to the maid and you see your grandpa die. How he screams for you to help him as the plasm burns through his skin. Your mother blames you - tells you that she should never have let you go to Fittes. The maid shields Elizabeth from the loud arguing coming from upstairs. No, not from upstairs. The arguing is happening below you. You shake yourself awake from your restless night, wincing as you contort your bruised body. You slip on your Fittes hoodie and creep downstairs.

Lucy and Lockwood are facing off in the kitchen. Again. You sit on the step, listening in.

"She told you she didn't want to go! And now, there's a chance she won't be able to go into the field."

"She'll be fine. She's tough, she'll get through it."

"You don't know that, Lockwood! You can't just assume that everything will be fine just because you want it to be." You could hear Lucy's voice breaking as she fought back tears.

"Maybe, she won't want to go on missions anymore," George piped up. Clearly, he'd been forced to sit there through breakfast and listen to the argument, "After all, you didn't listen to her doubts when she said she was scared."

"No, she didn't. She just had nerves."

"No, Lockwood. I was terrified. And you didn't hear me out."

"You're awake!" Lucy threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly. "God, I'm so happy you're okay!" You smiled at her warmly, hugging her back. She moved past you, saying something about needing to meet Kipps to finish their case.

"I'd hug you too, but you should probably shower first. Who knows what kind of bacteria fester in hundred-year-old manors? I'll see you after lunch - heading to the archives." George walked out quickly, almost as if he was being chased out by rats.

Lockwood stood in front of you, straight as a board, "You look like you've been electrocuted. Sit down. I'm not going to bite." Lockwood sent a weak smile in your direction.

You poured yourself a mug of tea and put some bread in the toaster. You made a mental note to send George a shopping list before he came back.

"So..." Lockwood started, and you wanted to laugh. In the almost three years you'd lived with him, you'd never seen him so nervous.

"So?"

"We should probably talk about what happened back there." Ah. He wanted to do this now.

"Yeah. We probably should."

"What happened? I mean, one minute you were fine, the next you were unconscious in the kitchen?" Lockwood said, leaning back in his chair slightly.

You grabbed your mug and sat in the chair opposite him, "Was I, though?" Lockwood raised his eyebrows, "Was I really fine, Lockwood, or did you just want me to be fine?"

"I don't understand?"

"Lockwood, I voiced my doubts to you! I told you to let it go! That this was a case we didn't have to take! That we'd find something better." You were standing now, leaning over the table, staring Lockwood down.

"Worth more than 90 grand? Do you have any concept of how much money that is?"

"YES! YES, LOCKWOOD, I DO! IT'S NOT NEARLY ENOUGH MONEY! We fought how many ghosts? 10? 12? Do you even consider that?"

"14, actually."

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELF. YOU MAY BE THE LITTLE PRODIGY OF FITTES, BUT SOME OF US ARE NORMAL. SOME OF US ARE AVERAGE." You sat back down, your legs shaking. You were still too weak to force this argument. Your voice trembled, "I can't keep up with you, Lockwood, none of us can. Lucy, maybe, but even she needs a break. Hell, even you need a break sometimes."

"We're fine, aren't we? We're all alive and kicking, still fighting ghosts another day?"

"Yeah, but for how long? How long do we keep getting to cheat death?" How long until one of us gets buried for the unnecessary risks we keep taking? You didn't say it but the question took root in the back of your mind.

Lockwood sighed, "I don't know where this is even coming from. We survived. We did the job. We got our money. Aren't you happy-"

"HAPPY! HOW CAN I BE HAPPY, LOCKWOOD? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT HOUSE YESTERDAY! One minute, we were sealing up a source, the next I was being lured in by a Type Two, ghost-locked and bleeding. Somehow, my GRANDPA WAS THERE, AND THEN I'M UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR. NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE, nothing - nothing makes sense. I feel - I feel like my brain's been scrambled. It just - I can't - I don't-" Lockwood kneeled next to you, his palm gently cradling your face, and let you cry. You stayed there for a few seconds before you looked up into his face, eyes brimming with tears, "You know what the - what the worst part was?"

"What was the worst part, honey?" There it was again, the nickname. Your heart skipped slightly at the sound of it.

"That you couldn't hear me." Lockwood looked at you, pain sweeping over his expression. "I called for you. In the servants' quarters. I needed you, but you couldn't hear me. I screamed and I cried and I begged and I- I needed you, Lockwood."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, before stroking your hair. You cried into his shirt, the white fabric turning translucent in the dampness.

"I will always come." He whispered to you, eyes bright with determination. "I may not have always been there before, but I will be now. I promise. No matter where or when, if you call, I will come to you." He cradled your face in his hands again, thumbs gently rubbing away your tears, "I will listen to you - and George, and Lucy. If you tell me you're scared, I'll hear you. I won't take jobs out of greed, we'll make decisions together. We're a team. I'm sorry I haven't been acting like it."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking yourself into his neck, "I like the sound of that."

You felt Lockwood smile against your neck. "I'll take care of you. If you'll let me."

You pulled back, "Taking care of each other goes both ways. You have to let me take care of you too." He scoffed lightly, but you knew that he had agreed. He couldn't ever say no to you. Not even at Fittes.

"As much as I hate to ruin the moment, George was right. I don't want to think about how much bacteria was probably growing in that house." Lockwood helped you up, "You should probably shower." You nodded your head, chuckling lightly. You grabbed Lockwood's phone from the table and before he could steal it back, you sent a text on the group chat.

"We need food. PLS. WE HAVE NOTHING." You threw him his phone as you ran up the stairs. Lockwood laughed at the text.

"They'll know it's you." He said waving his phone as you grabbed your towel.

"Or they'll have a heart attack knowing that Frosty can change his mind."

fin.

buy me a coffee

[sanicybele]

TwiYor - Precious Moments

Pair Piano · 방탄소년단 (BTS) - Euphoria (유포리아) Piano Cover 피아노 커버

[masterlist]

Twilight was flipping through a newspaper when his wife almost died. His eyes were scanning each page, reading about the current political affairs in Ostania.

"War talk, war talk, oh, wouldn't you know, more war talk," he let himself laugh. He was never much a fan of the political columns, but it was all for the sake of keeping up his facade, as well as gathering information. The news provided an interesting lens in that it was biased, giving him a look into the world through the opposition's eyes.

"Is there going to be a war, papa?" Anya asked, turning away from her cartoon.

"No, sweetie," he said, not even looking up.

"Then why does the news always talk about it?".

"Aren't you a bit too young to watch the news?".

"Becky says she watches it, and that makes her a big girl," Anya huffed.

"Watching the news doesn't make you a big girl, just like watching cartoons doesn't make you a baby," he said, finally putting down his newspaper. He knew what Becky had sometimes called her, despite the two still remaining very good friends.

He glanced over at the clock.

8:30? Shouldn't Yor be home by now?

As if on cue, Anya asked, "When is Mama coming home?".

Loid sighed. "I'm not sure, I guess I'll just have to put you to bed".

He stood up, walking over to pick up his daughter. She wriggled in his grasp.

"Wait, wait, I still have to finish the episode!".

"I'll tape it for you. It's way past your bedtime, young Lady," Loid said.

Anya groaned as she slumped over in his grasp, giving up. He carried her over to her room, opening the door with his foot. He set her down in bed, as she started to snore.

He smiled at her as she fell asleep.

He draped the blanket over her before heading out, silently cursing at himself.

You're not supposed so get attached, Twilight.

He sat down back on the couch, flipping to the news channel.

"-'ve got Jeremy Jackson on the scene".

"Yeah, Katie, another massacre has been reported at around 7 PM this evening. These killings have become more and more frequent with the upcoming election. Police suspect that these murders have been carried out via a skilled assassin. Some even theorize this involves the legendary assassin operation, Garden."

Loid flipped off the channel. He didn't have time for rumors and legends.

You're a legend yourself, Twilight, he reminded himself.

There was a knock at the door. Frantic and pounding.

"Coming, coming, ", he mumbled under his breath as he got off the couch. It took him a few seconds to undo the locks he'd installed when they first moved in. The person knocked again.

"I said I'm coming."

He yanked the door open, and stared into his wife's face.

"Yor, hey, we miss-".

She stumbled into the room, right into his arms, holding onto something on her stomach.

"-ed...you."

He noted her surprisingly pale, pallid face. She looked like she was about to collapse.

"Hey, Loid, ", she gave him a weak smile. He grabbed onto her shoulders, trying to steady her despite her protests.

"Are you...alright?" he asked. He wasn't really sure why, because she definitely wasn't.

"Yeah, ", she said, her voice airy. Her breaths were heavy, like she was fighting to stay conscious.

He guided her to the couch, trying to get her to lie down, but she still refused to remove her hand from her stomach.

"Yor, something's wrong."

"No, it's not, I'm fine," she said.

"Is your hand okay?".

"Yeah, it's fine," she said wryly.

"Let me see it."

He pulled her hand away from her body and almost dropped it in surprise.

It was covered in blood.

"Yor! You're bleeding."

Bleeding was an understatement. With her hand removed, he could see she had a long slash extending across her stomach. The cut wasn't, thankfully, deep enough to cause too much damage to her organs, but it was certainly big enough to kill her from blood loss.

"It's nothing. I've had worse, ", she said.

"What do you mean you've had worse?" Loid said, trying to keep himself from shouting, so as not to wake Anya. Yor stayed silent. "Yor?"

"Exactly what I said. I've had worse, ", she said. "I can fix it myself".

"No, you can't, here, j-just stay right there, ", he told her, surprised by the shakiness in his voice. He ran over to his room, silently cursing at himself for giving it so many locks. He had a few minutes or so, considering Yor's...less than typical body. He grabbed his first aid kit and quickly rushed back to Yor. She was trying in vain to stanch the wound.

"Loid?"

He looked over at her as he grabbed some bandages.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry you have to deal with this."

He sighed.

"It's never a chore to deal with you, ", he said.

"I never said it wasn't, ", Yor said. "God, I'm so stupid."

"You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit, Yor, ", Loid said as he pulled a needle from the first aid kit. "I think I might have to stitch up the wound."

"Yeah, thought so, " she grunted as she twisted to lie down on her back. "You seem quite knowledgeable on this whole first aid thing."

"Well, we had to learn it at school, ", he said, the lie as smooth as any other words. He pulled out a bottle of iodine and a clean rag, dampening the rag with the liquid and dabbing it on the wound.

It only hit him then that he hadn't questioned why Yor had come back like this. He knew he shouldn't pry, but almost dying was certainly a motivator.

But he stayed silent as he stitched up her wound, trying to ignore her painful winces. When all was said and done, she pulled herself up and leaned into the couch, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, " she smiled at him.

"Anything for you, Yor."

He wasn't really sure what spirit possessed him that night, but he leaned closer to her. His breath hitched in his throat as she leaned closer to him. She was so close now, he could see the tiny freckles that littered her face. They were like stars, making them look like constellations littered on her cheeks.

He wondered why he hadn't noticed them before.

Yor's eyes were so pretty, like blood red rubies.

Her lips were so sweet, like biting into a peach and feeling the juice fill your mouth. Kissing her felt like coming up for air after diving into deep waters. He'd kissed a thousand women before, but never had it made his heart skip a beat, make his breath disappear.

Kissing her felt like love itself had fallen into them.

He pulled away from her as a smile graced those beautiful lips.

"I should probably go change out of this.," She gestured at her dress. "And it was my favorite, too."

Loid put a hand on her cheek, rubbing her face with his thumb.

"We'll get it fixed up, dear."

Dear? What the hell had gotten into him?

Yor smiled again as Loid helped her to her room. Her face was practically glowing.

"You'll sleep alright?" Loid asked. Yor nodded as she kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm glad I married you, Loid ," she said.

Guilt panged in his chest, but he ignored it.

"I'm glad I met you that day, " he smiled, allowing himself a chuckle. "Now, goodnight."

The guilt came back, washing over his body, drowning him.

You'll have to leave them one day, Twilight.

He sighed as he watched his wife close the door.

Maybe I will.

But that doesn't mean I can't cherish every moment with them.

[eddy25960]

"The love relationship of Salvador Dali and Garcia Lorca / 1920/30s.

The Catalan surrealist artist Salvador Dalí (1904-1989), known for portraying dreams and fantasies on his canvases, in addition to keeping his exotic extremely thin and pointed mustache and his controversial paintings, Dalí's biography hides the love affair between him and the poet, also surrealist, Federico Garcia Lorca.

In 2013, the researcher Vitor Fernández released in Spain the book "Dear Salvador, dear Lorquito", where the love letters between the painter and the poet were gathered during the period 1923 to 1936, when they had an affair and worked in artistic partnerships.

Some excerpts were published in El País newspaper. "You're a Christian storm in need of my paganism. I'll give you the cure for the sea. It will be winter and we will light the fire," says a passage written by Dalí.

"You will remember that you are an inventor of wonderful things, and we will live together with a machine to create," Lorca replies.

In 1926 Lorca published, in the Occidente Magazine, "Ode to Salvador Dalí", recognized by critics, the most beautiful hymn to friendship ever written in Spanish. Reading the poem it is possible to perceive the praise for Dalí's painting and tears praises to the realism and objectivity of Dalí's work of this period, in addition to the evocation of the artist's Reason.

Dalí also paid homage to Lorca in the painting "Honey is sweeter than blood", painted in 1927, and was exhibited the same year at the Autumn Salon in Barcelona.

The screen came to belong to the stylist Coco Channel, a friend of Dalí, and is currently lost. You can only have a photographic reproduction in white and black In the picture, you can observe various elements of life, love and friendship between the two.

Salvador Dalí also made several engravings and drawings; many of them, illustrations for books such as "Alice in Wonderland", "Fausto", "Dom Quixote" and "The Old Man and the Sea"; 15 photos, 40 documents and 4 films, among them the famous "The Andalusian Dog", directed by Luis Buñuel, probably the third element what caused Dali and Lorca to split.

The film contains various literary references of the time. The title, for example, "An Andalusian Dog", is an irony against Garcia Lorca, who understood the hint and from then on never talked to the two again because of the movie.

Buñuel is an essential piece in Garcia and Salvador's story. The story of the relationship between the two can be seen in the 2008 film "Little Ashes", starring Robert Pattinson long before he became the vampire Edward in the "Twilight" trilogy. And the hot scenes with the actor.

Dalí met Garcia Lorca at the age of 19, at the University Residence in Madrid, during the first months of 1923. The painter was admitted to the San Fernando Academy of Fine Arts in 1922.

And he was already an extravagant character, being accepted into the student group in which Luís Buñuel and Lorca were part of, proving to be modern and talented. In the movie Little Cinzas you can notice Lorca's intimacy with Salvador and jealousy for the painter's approach with Buñuel. "

Credit - original owner ( respect 🫡)

(American Philosophy publication)

[sssammich]

Platonic breakfast ritual (prompt)

oh what's up anon thanks for sending me this prompt

you didn't give me a ship so i just picked my own to write for so hope it's cool i wrote it for swan queen. if not, just come back and i'll do something else haha

thanks!

---

It’s temporary, this thing. This current arrangement that they have while Emma finds a new place to live away from the loft—cramped and cacophonous; too full a house with a new baby. She doesn’t think too deeply about how she feels about it, pretends her heart doesn’t throb and ache at being displaced and replaced once again. It's a noxious thought to keep, so she does her best to clear it out of her.

So, yes. The arrangement to stay at the mansion until she sorts out her affairs. Yet Emma is not exactly rushing to end it. Not when the choreography of her waking hours brings about a certain comfort that she does not want to relinquish, happening in a place that devastatingly feels more like home than she has ever felt in all the decades of her life. In a place that isn’t hers to claim, but for now she’ll pretend because the walls are present and the sheets are soft. 

It is inconveniently pleasant to wake up rested at Regina’s house in one of her massive guest bedrooms. It is even more so when she languidly makes her way down the stairs and towards the kitchen where she first gets a whiff of food being made, and the lingering scent of coffee in the air. The rest of her senses catches up to her when she hears whatever Regina is cooking just as she inevitably sees Henry already sitting in front of his breakfast plate, fork in one hand and comic book in the other as if it’s the morning newspaper. 

“Good morning, Ma,” he offers, his eyes never once straying from the page. She shakes her head, but greets him in turn. 

“Morning.” Then, she casts her eyes up at Regina and offers her a smile. “Good morning, Regina.” 

“Good morning, dear.” Regina accompanies her gentle morning greeting with an offered plate brimming with food right in front of the seat that Emma has deemed as hers during her stay. Despite Regina’s frequent comments about Emma’s abhorrent appetite and etiquette, she’s there enabling Emma with a full plate. Emma notices, of course, but doesn’t say anything for fear that Regina will change and give her one less hash brown in the stack. 

Still, even as her mind slowly eases into the morning, she doesn’t immediately take her seat at the table. Instead, she heads towards the coffee bar—which is literally just the far end of the kitchen counters where there’s one of those fancy single-serve coffee machines. She sets to brewing herself a cup since that’s the only machine she’s allowed to touch; the Italian espresso machine beside it is off limits. For the best, Emma thinks. 

Once her coffee is done, Emma lets the mug sit to the side and plucks another mug out of the cupboard, repeating the steps, waiting quietly while the machine cranks and whirrs and gurgles before the dark sea of coffee fills the new mug. It is the first full cup that Regina has in the morning, the first dose of caffeine coming from the espresso machine that Regina handles herself upon rising. Emma only skirts the edges of her thoughts at what it means to have Regina trust her to make her first cup of coffee for the day. Yet on that first morning she'd received the request, Regina only arched a brow and exasperated teasingly, "surely, you can't completely flub up making coffee."

Emma doesn’t move in place, uncharacteristically settled on her feet, her arms folded across her chest as she waits. Not wanting to break the tranquil silence, she doesn’t say anything, and neither do the others in the kitchen. It’s a quiet morning, but comfortable and companionable. Normally when things are too quiet, she gets restless as if she must fill the space herself or excuse herself entirely. But the last week at Regina’s place has given her more peace than she’d gotten in months, and she hates that by the end of this upcoming week, it’ll be gone again. Still, she doesn’t think too hard on this. 

For now, she grasps both the filled mugs and places them on their respective placemats as she’s done almost everyday this week. She sits in her chair and she waits until Regina does the same. She offers the other woman a shy grin, perhaps more tender than she’d intended (she’ll simply blame the morning hours for it if pushed) and Regina returns it, the gentle smile across Regina’s face splitting her face so beautifully.

The three of them sit like a family that Emma has always wished for and eat breakfast together.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[Kyiv Independent is Private Ukrainian Media]

The European Union will urge its member states to shut off all EU funding to Budapest if Hungary does not back down on its pledge to veto the EU's proposed $55 billion military aid package for Ukraine, a leaked document prepared by EU officials and seen by the Financial Times revealed on Jan. 28.[...]

The leaked document, drawn up by officials in the European Council, criticizes the "unconstructive behaviour of the Hungarian PM," while establishing a framework for countries to permanently cut EU funding with the intention of "spooking the markets, precipitating a run on the country’s forint currency and a surge in the cost of its borrowing," according to the Financial Times.

The alleged document also notes that Brussels would aim to impact investor confidence in the country's ability to create jobs and drive growth.[...]

The EU has also considered using the "nuclear option" of revoking Hungary's voting rights if it again vetoes the $55 billion aid package for Ukraine at an upcoming European Council summit next week, Politico reported on Jan. 26.

The Hungarian far-right party Our Homeland declared its claim to Ukraine's Zakarpattia Oblast if Ukraine loses the war, party leader Laszlo Toroczkai said on Jan. 27.

Zakarpattia Oblast, bordering Slovakia and Hungary to the west, and Romania to the south, has a significant population of ethnic Hungarians. The issue of minority rights has created friction between Hungary and Ukraine, particularly centered around Ukrainian state linguistic policies.

The language law that has long been a source of strife between Hungary and Ukraine was instituted in 2017 and requires at least 70% of education above fifth grade to be conducted in Ukrainian.

In response to criticism, Ukraine has said that it does not intend to limit the linguistic rights of its minorities but rather to simply ensure that all Ukrainian citizens have the sufficient capability to speak the national language, Ukrainian.[...]

Hungary's Foreign Ministry did not respond to requests for comment on Toroczkai's statements, Reuters said.

The news came ahead of a meeting between Ukraine's Foreign Minister Dmytro Kuleba and his Hungarian counterpart Peter Szijjarto scheduled to take place on Jan. 29 in the Zakarpattia Oblast city of Uzhhorod.

In the leadup to Szijjarto's visit, the Hungarian newspaper Magyar Nemzet, considered to be closely affiliated with Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban, published an article condemning the state of Ukraine's press freedom. It also criticized Ukrainian media directives for journalists to use the official Ukrainian spelling of city names instead of the Russian version.

28 Jan 24

[Ukrinform is Private Ukrainian Media]

The Hungarian side is asking Ukraine that a Hungarian minority be given back all the rights it had before 2015.

This was stated by Hungarian Minister for Foreign Affairs Peter Szijjarto at a joint briefing with his Ukrainian counterpart Dmytro Kuleba and Head of the Ukrainian President’s Office Andriy Yermak following the talks in Uzhhorod, according to an Ukrinform correspondent.

"We have come here to reestablish good neighborly relations, we have a long way to go, but we, from the Hungarian side, are ready to do this work. In Zakarpattia, Hungarians and Ukrainians live in peace," Szijjarto said.[...]

"Since 2017, laws have been passed to reduce the rights of the Hungarian minority. In December, Parliament passed a law that stopped that. But we have a request - maybe it's too much, and you will think I'm not being polite - but we ask that the Hungarian minority be given back all the rights it had before 2015. We are not asking for anything else," the minister said.

The Foreign Minister said that the Hungarian side had formulated an 11-point request: including restoring the status of the national school, the possibility of taking a high school diploma in Hungarian and using Hungarian in social life. According to him, the commission was tasked with agreeing on these issues as soon as possible and developing proposals for the ministries.

29 Jan 24