#then I realised that the relatives we might be seeing today

[the-fibre-stuff]

I made a fren.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

three | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Julianna is a real princess. As a granddaughter of the Queen, step-daughter of a prince, her title is official. She’s been a princess nearly all her life, and it’s a detail you can’t miss. 

James’ hand is hot but amicable against your shoulder blade. He hasn’t stepped away from you since Julianna arrived, though what threat she poses has yet to be seen. She doesn’t seem particularly volatile. You can’t imagine her in all her dewy skin and fine clothing lifting a finger, let alone her fist. 

“Mama says you’re an artist,” she drawls. 

“Not really.” How her mother knows anything about you is a mystery. “It’s a hobby, is all.” 

“And you didn’t finish university?��

“No.” You don’t owe her anything. You know you don’t. But it’s not just her you want to defend yourself to, not when Remus is sitting by the window of the parlour and James is close enough to hear your heartbeat. “I tried to, obviously, but I couldn’t, uh, afford to not work.”

“Ah.”

You don’t expect her to understand it. You know most people don't. Studying and working, the majority can handle both. You’d been ashamed of yourself for failing, but you’d come to the realisation that it was sink or swim. You could sink —resent yourself for needing more time, more space, more accommodation— or you could swim. Accept your ‘shortcomings’. Make the most of what you have. 

Find yourself in a foreign country surrounded by the highly educated and the ridiculously wealthy. People who might never comprehend why you’ve struggled, or how. 

In that moment, you decide to treat this heart-wrenching trip as nothing more than a holiday. James is nice to you. The food is free and apparently plentiful. The grounds… 

Fuck, the grounds. The scenery. The royals aren’t currently living in their most famous residence, Loswell Castle, but are instead mourning the Prince at the more private and more subtle Bellaverden House. Subtle, yet gorgeous. The grass is green and stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions, broken up only by the silhouette of the alps to the east and the shimmering Lake Orlo to the west. The palace itself is nothing like you’d expected, and so far from the capital city of Genovia it is no surprise to find that the royals let their personal tastes bleed into every corner. It’s tasteful, silent wealth, no crystal chandeliers hanging from the eaves but instead a Rembrandt in the hallway. No solid gold cutlery, but instead Noritake porcelain tea cups and their matching exorbitant saucers.

“Loswell is the gaudier of the two houses,” James had said, evidently pleased by your wide-eyed surprise.

A nice boy who’s being paid to spend time with you and his funny friends. All you have to do is survive the paparazzi (check!) and your suspicious possible relatives (less so).

Any hour now, the paternity test will come up negative and they’ll be shepherding you home in search of the actual princess, wherever she may be. 

If she exists at all. 

“You haven’t eaten anything today,” James says softly, for your ears only. “Should we go down to the kitchens?”

It’s hard to describe the true and daunting scale of Bellaverden House, but James’ use of ‘kitchens’ rather than ‘kitchen’ sums it up nicely. 

Julianna rolls her shoulders, reaching for a black telephone on the side table. “No need. We’ll have it brought up. What do you like? They have yards of fresh pasta prepared by now. Doesn’t matter, I’ll ask for some of everything.”

“Oh, no,” you say, stepping out of James' reach. “I don’t want to be an imposition while I’m here.”

“That ship has sailed,” she says neatly. 

Ouch. You look back to James without intending to, an automatic movement. He’s become your safety net too quickly. His job is to protect you from harm, not your catty maybe-cousin’s mild disdain. 

“Sit,” Julianna says. “James, you can take up station in the hallway. Go on.”

Her voice possesses all the snobbish airiness you’d expect it to. She’s regal, elegant, and rude. James’ hand stretches toward yours, your fingers not quite touching. You think it might be his silent way of saying he won’t be far.

He gives you a reassuring half-smile. “If you need me,” he says. 

“Tutor,” Julianna adds once James is at the door, “you can leave us.”

“Remus, please.” You smile at Julianna appealingly, piping up before she can steal your last lifeline. “I need him to tell me what silverware to use. If I have any hope of catching up, I’ll have to start learning about proper etiquette straight away.”

You look to your tutor to make sure he’s on board. Remus gestures for you to sit and crosses the hardwood floors between you, his footsteps soundless. Julianna sniffs, your suggestion agreeable but tiresome for her, and pulls the telephone receiver to her ear. 

Remus settles into the chair next to yours at the table. 

“Don’t worry. We won’t leave you for wolves,” he says.

You’re grateful. You nod to the book in his hands. “What are you reading?”

He turns the book around. A Comprehensive History of Contemporary Genovia. 

“I’ve never had to educate someone who didn’t already know a very specific, very intricate history of our country,” he says in his melding voice, the barest hints of his accent peaking through. He says our country like you already belong as he does, not native but citizen anyhow. “I provide supplementary education for the well-educated, I… I’m like a second chance for rich slackers. You’re neither, and so I’m not sure how I can make this easy on you.”

You admire his thinking. You’ve been lucky to find yourself in the care of people who put your comfort first. Remus, James, Sirius, even the ambassadors of the country, and the matron you’d been introduced to upon your arrival here, they’ve all been so conscientious. 

But it won’t matter. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. 

“You do?”

“You’ve made it clear how much faith you have in the current situation. I believe…” that you’re who we suspect you are, you think he might say, but he parts his legs to bump his knee into yours. “I believe we’re going to be good friends.”

That is… “Thank you,” you say softly.

The telephone jingles as Julianna slams it down. “So, what’s with the bruise?” she asks. “And the bad makeup. Mean boyfriend back home?”

Her cavalier attitude chafes. “I was a little too close to the door when someone opened it,” you say.

“Ah.”

Again with the Ah. Extra syllables must be at cost. 

Positivity, you remind yourself. This is a vacation. This inane and insane need to constantly prove yourself to the people around you is going to make you crazy, especially when all of this is temporary. Who cares what princess Julianna thinks of you now when, in a day or two, she’ll remember you as nothing more than the girl who they brought by mistake? And wouldn’t it be nice to just… not care? Who cares what Julianna thinks?

You stand and walk to the door where James is standing, because calling for him would make you feel like an entitled dick. He turns his head to you obligingly. 

“Would you come back inside? The painting is giving me the jeebies.”

“That’s a portrait of your great great grandmother.”

“She’s scary.”

He claps your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “If the test comes out negative, I’ll happily commit royal espionage for you and fix the results.”

“That is not a joke you should make,” Remus calls mildly. 

“Probably not. I’ve made it now. Sit down, Princess, the food’s arriving.”

The food they bring up to you is Genovian specialty cuisine, recipes borrowed from the Italians hundreds of years ago, and how fortunate you are for that. You have no clue where to start, surrounded by rich smells of broth and stewed vegetables, the spritely aroma of white wine and tomatoes so fresh their roasted skins split under the gentle bottom of your spoon. 

James refuses to eat with you, as he’s on the clock, but Remus sits down at the table as promised to guide you through the fascinatingly intricate etiquette it takes to be a new royal. 

“That’s Cioppino,” Remus says, pointing to a dark red stew bragging large pieces of crab, smaller chunks of a white meat you’re unsure of, and the distinct dark brackets of mussel shells. “It’s actually an Italian-American dish. It’s served with sourdough or French bread, but in our case, where you can’t necessarily use your hands, we’ll go without.”

“There’s nobody here I need to impress, right?” you ask quietly. 

You swear you can hear Julianna twitching. 

Remus doesn’t respond to your comment, though his voice is riddled with amusement when he continues. “It’s more common for the crab to be served in its shell, but I don’t suppose they want the royals using crab forks and crackers." He points to a second bowl. “This, from the looks of it, is a variation of stufato di capra e fagioli, Italian for ‘stew of goat meat and beans’. Self explanatory. It’s very popular here in the winter, it’s,” —his voice drops to a lower register— “Sirius’ favourite. Shoulder meat, onions, carrots, celery, white wine and white beans. I don’t suppose I have to tell you what that is.” He nods to a heaping bowl of gnocchi coated in a green, buttery sauce, and its familiar wingman — fettuccine alfredo. 

“Now there’s one I know,” you say with a smile. 

“I think they’ve gone easy on you,” Remus says. “Given you something they knew would be familiar. The head cooks, Marlene and Marsha, hardly ever serve fettuccine without ragù di pollo. Chicken ragù. It’s a sacrament in Marlene’s eyes to separate the two.”

He moves so easily from English to Italian. You wonder if he speaks Genovian. Is there a Genovian language? You’re too embarrassed to ask, instead piling a mound of unadventurous fettuccine into your bowl. 

Julianna picks up the telephone again and you let yourself relax as her conversation begins. She pokes at her food and talks in Italian down the line, staring straight at you as she says the word, ‘principessa’. You don’t have to be a linguistics expert to know she’s talking about you. Eventually, her attention fades. Remus loosens at your side. 

“This spoon,” he corrects, before opening his book and sagging into his seat.

You're famished, yet all the rich food makes you nauseous. You toy with your fettuccine and a little of the cioppino. Weirdly, you miss the ordinary smells of your kitchen.

A figure moves behind you, James’ shadow shifting to cover your hands. “Unladylike as it might be,” he says, “you’ll regret it if you don’t try the bread, Princess. Freshly baked, soaked in pesto, it’s what us peasant folk fight over at the end of a shift.”

You hold your hand to a beautiful sliced baguette, “This one?”

“That’s the one.”

You pull the bread apart and enter a stodgy, olive oily sort of heaven. The only thing better than how it tastes is James' happy sound when you set aside a huge slice in a napkin and usher it behind your back, as inconspicuous as you can possibly be. He has no choice but to take it. A telltale crunch comes quickly and poorly smothered. 

Julianna excuses herself, and a maid comes to take her plates and dirtied cutlery on a silver cart.

You lean toward Remus with a hand over your mouth. “What do you call them? The ladies in uniform?”

“Princess, you can call them whatever you want to,” James butts in, returning to your side now Julianna is absent. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and sits in one of the chairs facing the door.

“But what’s nicest?”

“You’ll learn their names in time,” Remus says easily. “You’ll be fine. Officially, they’re ‘attendants’. Maids, cleaners. Oh, you’ll have a lady in waiting–”

“A what?” 

“A personal assistant,” James says. 

Your face heats up like an instant flush, all hot pinpricks and embarrassment, “No,” you beg, standing up, “please, that would be entirely unnecessary, it’s not like I’m some sort of–”

“Princess!” A familiar voice shouts. Sirius has weaselled inside the door and closed it tight, his back pressed against it for a moment like he’s keeping someone out. He wears an exuberant smile and a brilliant dark ensemble with fine pinstripes that mess with your eyes as he approaches. He’s practically running. “I’ve spoken to Delilah who’s spoken to Beau who’s spoken to Lily who’s been in contact with the legal team in charge of your care here in Genovia, and they’ve heard from the medical team who have been fighting tooth and nail to be put in talks with you,” —he looks at you emphatically now, and there’s something about his expression, part wide-eyed awe, part sympathy, that freezes you to the spot— “because it’s technically your care, and–”

“Sirius, get to the point, please,” James says. He’s looking at you in a different way. Like he’s waiting for you to fall over. 

“Your father,” Sirius says, promptly deciding to start again. “The paternity test is positive. Your DNA is a conclusive match for the Prince, may he rest in peace. You’re a princess. You’re the Princess, by blood. You are a Renaldi.”

There’s a stretching silence. You wrap your hand around the back of your chair and stare at the velvet upholstery of the seat. 

“Terrible last name,” he adds sympathetically. 

You don’t want to be the girl who faints. That would be ridiculous, to fall over and crack your head. So, though you hate to ask for anything, you mumble, “James?”

He wraps a shapely arm behind your shoulders and under your armpit before you lose the feeling in your legs. 

“I think I need to sit down again,” you say. 

“Reckon you do," he agrees, as he pulls the chair around with his foot and arranges you in it efficiently, the tip of his thumb pushed into the pulse point on your neck. “We’ll get you something cold, Princess. You can breathe.” He gives you a little shake, hand spreading wider as it drags down your collar. The pressure is like the safety release of a suction cup. You take in a huge breath. “Breathe, lovely.”

“I’m fine," you say meekly. 

“It’s alright,” he says, with his impossible softness. He’s unafraid to be kind even when there are people watching. 

“I’m fine. I–” You can’t finish your sentence. You’d wanted to say you’ll be okay. That this is just some melodramatic episode, but it isn’t. This is a human reaction to unbelievable news. Because you’re a– you’re a princess. 

You cover your face with both hands and curl in toward your thighs. Silence pervades, your ears abuzz with white noise. You aren’t sure how long you sit there paralysed, but soon James’ gentle murmuring and shushing cuts through the ringing. “It’s alright,” he’s saying, his hand at your elbow, “I swear, it’s alright. You take as long as you need.”

“Mickey’s at the door,” Sirius says. 

“Good. Tell him to radio in a level two security detail and stay there for now. Who else knows, Sirius?”

“By now? Everybody in the castle. Including government officials.”

“And you’re sure?” Sure said severely. 

“Of course I am.”

You’re trying very hard to keep your pasta down. This can’t be happening. It can’t be right. Their test is wrong. They swabbed the inside of your mouth wrong, or got it mixed up with some other person test, or the doctors are lying. Not once in your whole life has there ever been any indication that you are more than the nothing you’ve always been. All your worst insecurities rip to the surface. Not me. Not me.

“Level two isn’t as bad as it sounds,” James says, still so gentle. He’s been talking to you again. “All it means is that I’m not at full attention, and I need someone else to watch the room. That’s all it is.”

“I’m not,” you say. 

“You’re okay.”

“I’m not a princess,” you say, peeking at him through your parted fingers. 

His hand curves around your arm. He pulls it toward him. Encouraging rather than demanding. You let him. 

“Whatever it is that you are,” he says, meeting your eyes, “I’m here to take care of you. Okay? Try to calm down for me.” He nods, hoping you’ll nod back no doubt. You worry at your lip, your teeth scratching delicate skin. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“No one’s expecting you to feel a certain way right now,” Sirius says.

The urgency in his expression has departed completely. He has an air of regret about him now, an uncomfortable set to his jaw. 

It’s not just James in the room witnessing your wobble. You cover your face again and try to become one with the furniture. 

James stands off of his knees, having seemingly decided that you aren’t in any mental peril. He stays hovering behind your chair. You think you might’ve found them all at a loss for what to do. 

The door opens. You imagine a nightmare, Julianna coming to play nice, but it’s the British ambassador Lily once again. She looks as perfect as she did when you saw her last with an immaculately straightened sheet of hair fluttering behind her, her steps hurried. Despite her speed, she doesn’t look unhappy. She’s smiling. The Genovian ambassador Emmeline follows behind her. 

You try to straighten up. 

“We have wonderful news,” Lily says.

“You’re the Princess!” Emmeline squeaks, her tiny stature no bounds for her excitement. “Welcome home!”

She begins clapping. It slows when nobody joins in. 

“What?” she asks cluelessly. “Has something bad happened?”

That’s what you’re trying to work out.

—

James can hear you sniffling.

He rests his shoulders against the wall by your bedroom door and sighs. You'd held in tears for hours after the announcement. Sirius' last announcement has toppled you over. You have to meet your grandmother tomorrow to begin preparing for your father's funeral. James thinks you might have reached your breaking point. He can't imagine the grief of losing a father you didn't know you had, and the stress of being pulled out of your life so suddenly, carted across Europe and left under the judgemental eyes of royals and officials with little direction. Now that the paternity test has been found positive and checked by many, many professionals, your confirmed identity should provide a more stable schedule. From James’ perspective, the days ahead will be easy. For you, they are going to be very, very hard. 

You'll meet the Queen tomorrow at breakfast. The plans for your permanent residency in Genovia will be decided. Your entire life is about to change, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. 

Well… James doesn't really want you to stop it, but it's not entirely true that you can't. You could reject your heritage and go home to your flat, your art, your degree equivalent classes. Maybe you're crying because you're scared you don't have options. 

James thinks about knocking on the door to talk to you. He meant it when he said he has a duty to all aspects of your health, the mental as well as the physical, but it's difficult to define the line between professionalism and being friendly. He's already crossed it. 

He sighs and rubs his weary head. He's tired. Today has been the longest day ever. You'd slept for an hour in the car from the airport to Bellaverden Castle, and James had watched you half jealous and half enraptured. He won't mind looking after you no matter how you look, but your being easy on the eyes is a brilliant plus. Well, when ignoring the huge bruise staining your cheek. 

"Fuck," he says. 

He hasn't been doing very well. Honestly, his failure to keep you from harm in your flat (even if the harm had been him) and then his screw up with the paparazzi has left him off kilter.

James pulls out his pager. He should swap with one of the night guards, and he trusts them all, having picked them himself, but he won’t feel right walking away while you're crying. 

He clicks in Remus' code and waits until he hears it back. It's shorthand between them: if Remus wasn't awake or didn't want to see James, he could've ignored James' page and there'd be no hard feelings. But he answered. Tonight, once James has made sure you're okay, he'll crawl into Remus' bed like when they were kids in a cold dormitory and missing home to sleep for a glorious eight hours. He might even tell Remus how stressed he is. He knows his friend will listen. 

He'd invite Sirius, of course, (and that's assuming he isn't already there) if it weren’t well past ten. Sirius is definitely asleep. 

James hasn't had a proper night's sleep in a week. He feels poorly. He misses his mum. He's hungry. This job is great, he loves what he does; he gets paid to take care of people. It's also too much. It eats at him. 

"Fuck," he says again. 

"James?" 

He flinches hard. 

There it is, his third mistake. He's very lucky that the chief of royal security is busy making funeral arrangements, because if Mary were here she'd gut him. 

You've crept up on him in his distraction. How could he not notice your footsteps across the floor, or your door handle's heavy metallic thunk?

"Princess," he says, biting his tongue when you wince. He'll have to call you something else. "I'm sorry, I–" James squints at your sore eyes. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to ask… are you alright?" 

"Am I alright?" 

“I just heard you and I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You sounded… stressy." 

"You don't have to worry about me. That's my job." He frowns at the remnants of your tear stains, dampness shining at the corners of your eyes and your lashes sticking together in darkened triangles. "I was just about to come and see you, actually. I know today's been hard, and I know I haven't helped. I'm so sorry, again, for hurting you. And at the airport, I know the scuffle with the photographers didn't help your nerves. I know," he stresses, "this is hard. I swear things will be smoother from now on. You have my word." 

You rub your elbow wordlessly. He's about to backtrack, perhaps dig himself a bigger hole, but then you give him one of the softest smiles anyone's ever given him in all his years. 

"It's forgiven. Believe me, James, this is the least of my worries," you say, gesturing to your cheek. It only takes a second for shame to stick its hooks in you, yanking your gaze to the floor. You're wearing an expression he's seen a thousand times on the people closest to him. 

He flicks you under the chin gently. 

"Things are gonna get easier. I swear it," he says.

You plaster a smile on. James figures he can push it some more and wipes the smudgy shine of old tears off of your cheeks. 

"There. Looking good, angel. Why don’t you try and get some rest now, yeah?" 

He keeps getting this odd feeling like you're an old friend and not his charge. It's fleeting and it's making him stupid. This and the sleep deprivation. He swears to himself he'll be better tomorrow. 

You bid him goodnight. James listens to your night time motions until another guard comes to release him from duty, rushing to his room for a shower and a cereal bar, giving his teeth a half-hearted brush before he sets off for Remus' room halfway across the castle. Remus and the other scarcely employed scholars don't have to sleep in the servant quarters like he and Sirius do. Schmucks.

He finds the door unlatched. Mercifully, James decides to spare them both the safety-related lecture. He tries to be as quiet as he can, a head of sandy brown hair turning his way just two steps into the room.

"James?" Remus asks, his voice thick with fatigue. 

"Sorry. You can go back to sleep." 

"I was waiting for you. Drifted off." 

James scrubs a hand through his damp hair and closes the door. He can find his way in the dark. 

"Sirius isn't here?" 

"James…"

"What, are we still pretending?"

"James."

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, Moony." 

"Yeah. Don't lean on my left side. I'll move over." 

"What's wrong with your left side?" 

"I don't know. Maybe from carrying the bags. Maybe not." 

James slides into the warm space Remus has made for him and tries not to feel overprotective. Loving someone who's constantly in pain can be confusing. You don't know how much love you're allowed to give before it starts to be patronising. Remus can take care of himself, but he doesn't need to. 

"Anything I can do?" James whispers. 

"Tell me what's bothering you." 

"Oh, you know… Everything. Nothing. I'm so happy we're all together again, I mean, what are the fucking odds? How long has it been since I could come and see you guys after work without making an appointment? … I didn't love the Prince, but I hate that he's dead, and I…" 

Remus turns his head to James. They're a pillow apart. When James looks at him, he can't remember what Remus looked like when they were young, but he can feel the years of knowing one another stretching out between them. A straining cast of light from under the door catches the edges of Remus' features. James can see the corner of an uneven smile. 

"Go on," Remus says quietly. 

"She's nice. She's really nice. I don't want her to get hurt, but I don’t know that I’m up to this, Moony."

"James, you're up for everything. Always have been." 

"I thought this was a demotion." 

"Isn't it?" 

"If it is, it's one I deserve. I deserve another one. Once Mary sees the mess I've made…" 

Remus reaches across the sheets to pinch James' bicep. "Nobody is good at their new job. Sirius didn't touch up the princess' bruise when we got off the plane, and while they're paid off for now, someone who needs the better payout is going to publish those photos, and soon. Sirius should've been doing his job, but he was too busy looking after me." 

"I tried to cover it–" 

"I know. You did a good job and I'm not blaming you. My point is that he made a mistake. Does he deserve a demotion?" 

James wrinkles his nose. Hate you.

"And I should've better prepared her for meeting Princess Julianna. It was my fault that she felt embarrassed. I tried my best to fit in some coaching for breakfast tomorrow but the poor girl doesn't know a butter knife from a paring knife." 

"That's not true." 

"No," Remus agrees. "I'm making her seem less educated than she is to prove my own point… James, she isn't a princess. She has the blood, and soon she'll get the official title, the land and the money and the education and maybe some of the bad bits, as well. But right now, she's new to being a princess, and she's not very good at it." 

"I get it." 

"Yeah, I know." 

Remus readjusts in bed. James almost misses the pain in his friend's exhale under the sound of crunching fresh sheets. 

"Are you sure I can't do something for you?" 

"I wish," Remus says. He isn't depressed. The opposite, he sounds way too spritely for the time. "You could stop hogging the blankets, for starters." 

James feeds Remus some more blanket and sighs. The mattress is heavenly. The quilts and sheets and pillowcases are soft and thick. By all means, James should've fallen asleep the second his head touched Remus’ pillow.

"You've asked Mickey to look after her tomorrow, right?" Remus asks. 

James had radio'd Mikkelson after his shower to put the early morning shift and protocols in his jurisdiction temporarily. That means James will hopefully be able to sleep until his body feels like it can hold itself together again. He doesn't like leaving you to face the Queen by yourself but it's not as though she'll hurt you, and Sirius will see you bright and early to help you get dressed. James isn't worried. 

"I have. How did you know that?" 

"You're the only one of us who knows how to properly take care of themselves," Remus explains easily. "Good. I'm glad you did. You haven't been sleeping."

"How do you know that?" 

"I love you. I know everything about you." 

James smiles at the ceiling. There is nothing quite as valuable to him than his family. He would do more to keep them all safe and healthy than he should admit on the record, so he keeps it tucked inside and out of view. It's terrifying and freeing at once to look at someone you love and know you're going to do something awful one day if it means they'll come out on the other side of it alive. 

"Not everything," he murmurs. 

"Everything, James."

"Yeah? How many fingers am I holding up right now." 

"One." 

"Which?" 

"Middle."

"Lucky guess." James laughs at their childish squabbling. "I love you, too. I'm really glad we're in the same place again."

"What did you say? What are the fucking odds?" Remus quotes, so tired now that his words are running together. "I'm not sod enough to do the maths, I think it's gotta be deep in the decimals. Lily's and Mary's involvement definitely helped, but to have someone come along who needs security detail, special education, and a lady in waiting is unfathomable." 

James laughs and feels his abdomen shaking. "I'm telling Sirius you called him a lady in waiting." 

"Sorry," Remus says, and James knows his friend is genuinely repentant, though Sirius would've laughed himself if he'd heard the joke. "I'm not trying to put him down. He's worked so hard, he– He's working so hard. He thinks it's easy work because he's good at it. He doesn't realise it's easy because he worked hard to be good at it." 

James has to chew it over for a moment to understand what Remus is saying. Once he understands, he vehemently agrees. Sirius is skilled in many areas. He's a media liaison, a sleuth, a sweet talker. He understands the inner workings of Western media — Sirius can deduce the honesty of a smile from a precursory glance. He may not always trust what he's seeing, but he sees it undeniably. And he can dress well.

"He's the best of us," James sighs agreeably, stretching down the length of the bed until his spine pops and his calves burn. "Shit. I need to start working out properly again now we're here." 

"Tomorrow. We'll figure it all out tomorrow, James. Go to sleep." 

James is obedient. He falls asleep, and doesn’t wake until the sun is warming his cheeks. His hair is still damp at the back and he feels awful in a new way. Better for having slept with someone close by, and catching up on the hours he’s been missing. But his back is stiff. 

He goes back to his room. His neck aches as he brushes his teeth. He does a workout and stretches his rigid limbs until he feels human again. 

The black telephone on his nightstand starts to ring.

“Hello, sir,” Lily says cheerfully down the line. James can picture her sweet smile. “I couldn’t help but notice your absence this morning.”

“How did it go?” he asks, trying to tug on a new pair of socks one handed. 

Lily hums. “It wasn’t awful. It wasn’t good, but it could’ve been worse. Her majesty liked her. Y/N was quiet, she was awkward, but we all know they prefer quiet to mouthy. The last thing they wanted was another Julianna. I felt kind of bad, really. Like I was handing her over.”

“She…” James sighs. “She didn’t seem upset, did she, Lils?”

“No, I actually think she was feeling good. Your boys took good care of her.”

“Brilliant. Oh, and to answer your unasked question, I’m being slovenly. I’ll be back on duty by noon.”

“Slovenly,” she repeats. “I’ve never known you to be any sort of lazy.” She laughs. James is happy that the sound doesn’t break his heart anymore. “Alright, James. I’ll see you later.”

He appreciates what she’s doing, letting him know you’re okay while he’s away. It’s uncanny how fast the people in charge of your care can band together, and Lily has always been kind.

James gives himself a minute to wipe away yesterday and prepare for today. He closes his eyes and shakes his head ferociously, his hair flying every which way. He sorts through all his worries one by one, letting that anxiety eat at him methodically —he’s a bad bodyguard, he’s a bad friend, he doesn’t call his mum enough, he’s chicken shit scared of dying alone, the works— and then pushing it away. Today is a new day with new opportunities. He can prove to you and to himself that he’s good at his job, he can make sure his friends are doing alright, he can call his mum tonight before dinner, and dying alone? He isn’t dying today. That one’s on the back burner. 

He makes his way from his room in the quarter and into the main building, wary that he might come upon a duke or duchess. His radio, clipped as it always is against his left shoulder, chirps with chatter. He bites back a scolding about keeping the line clear and looks out of a Goliath glass window at the grounds below. A marble water fountain spurts proudly at the foot of the stairs, and an elaborate hedgework stands at pruned attention. It’s a nice day. He wonders if you’ll be up for walking. 

He looks for you in the secondary parlour, the den, the library, the dining room. He swings by your room, and when you aren’t there he admits defeat and unclamps his radio, cutting through an inappropriate joke unapologetically. 

“Afternoon. Location on Princess Y/N?”

He imagines his subordinates scrambling to answer, embarrassed by their unprofessionalism, but it’s likely they just don’t know where you are. 

“If I don’t get an answer in the next five seconds, you can all expect to be running laps tonight. That includes you, Mikkelson, I don’t care how much overtime–”

“Sir, this is Daniels. Me and Roma are with the princess in the south wing.”

“Why?”

“She wanted a pencil sharpener.”

James grins to himself. The south wing (or, as James might put it, the guest wing), houses the scholars, the ambassadors, and whatever government official the royals are trying to butter up at the time. He’s feeling positively joyful when he finds you sketching, your face pressed to the window. The Genovian mountainscapes take shape on your page one confident stroke of graphite at a time, a small leather bound sketchbook pressed flat to your knee.

“Settling in?” he asks. 

You raise your head but not your eyes. “You could say that.”

“How was meeting Her Majesty?”

You frown. 

“That bad?” he asks. 

“No, I mean. You know. She’s a queen. It was terrifying.”

Despite your unhappy mouth, you look as relaxed as you have since the moment he met you, dressed in a casual Genovian dress with subtle but remarkable stitching a shade darker than the dress itself and a squared neckline. Your calves are out and glossy in the daylight. They’re rather distracting. 

“You look good,” James says carefully. 

“I’ll miss the fancy lotions,” you say. Your pencil scratches away. 

James’ hands falter where they’re clasped behind his back. “What?”

You meet his eyes properly. He hadn’t realised you’d been avoiding his gaze until you weren’t, your face ringed with guilt, an explanation slow to come. 

“I’m not staying. I can’t be a princess, James.” You shake your head mildly. “I’m going home.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thanks so much for reading! oh no, you want to go home!! rest assured, james and co aren’t letting you go too easily. i hope you enjoyed, reblogs are always appreciated, a thousand kisses for all of you either way <3<3

[pyro-les]

It's a blessing and it's a curse part 3

Regina George x Reader

After dropping Gretchen and Karen off in town Regina goes to drive along the route Y/N walks home. They had already arranged for Y/N to quickly hop into her car discretely when she goes past, whe even took her mum's car so it wouldn't be easily recognised as hers if anyone saw.

Finally spotting Y/N's figure Regina slowly pulls up alongside her so she can quickly jump in the car before continuing to drive. "Hey baby." Regina says sweetly as Y/N gets in.

"Hi." Her girlfriend says, smiling softly. "How's your afternoon been?" She asks.

Regina sighs saying "Awful, I missed you." Y/N giggles saying that it had only been 3 hours since she last saw her. "Don't laugh, do you have any clue how hard it is putting up with stupid boys like Aaron all day when all I want to do is spend time with you?" Regina pouts.

"Well we've got all of tonight and tommorow morning, we can just order take out, watch a movie and cuddle." Y/N replies

Pulling into Y/N's driveway the couple head into the house holding hands with Regina leading the way, eager to finally have some proper alone time with her girlfriend. What they don't realise however, is that Damian had just got to the door of Cady's house only a few doors up and had seen a flash of blonde hair entering Y/N's house seemingly dragging her in behind them.

"That was weird." Damian says as he enters Cadys house to see her and Janis already sitting on the sofa happily chatting away.

"What was?" Cady asks.

"I just saw some blonde girl drag Y/N into a house down the road." Damian says kind of confused. "I didn't think she really hung out with anyone other than the drama kids at school, and well none of them have hair like that. Or are even that tall to be fair."

"That's weird. I mean I don't really see her around them in school much, let alone out of school. " Janis says equally as confused.

Cady, realising the girl Damian had seen must have been Regina tries to stop the conversation. "It's probably just someone from out of school, or a relative or something. I mean it doesn't really affect us. Can we just watch a film now?"

"That's a good point it could be a relative!" Janis exclaims. "Wait that's quite sad, if she doesn't have any friends. Maybe we should invite her over here." Janis proposes which Damian immediately agrees to.

"Um I'm not really sure if my mum would like that." Cady says earning looks of confusion from Damian and Janis. "I just mean that she only agreed to you two coming over. I guess I could ask when she gets home though." She adds on.

Back at Y/N's house Regina holds Y/N from behind, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she puzzles her head into her neck. "What are you doing baby?" Y/N asks as she tries to make some tea however that is proving a bit difficult with Regina stopping her from being able to move around the Kitchen.

"I'm hugging you duh." Regina says confused why Y/N is asking about something so obvious. "Am I not allowed to love you?" She adds on with a pout.

"Of course you can, but you're making this kind of difficult. I can't get to the fridge." Y/N replies.

"Hmmm fine." Regina says moving to get the milk from the fridge for her girlfriend.

"Thank you" Y/N says with a smile as she takes it from Regina who gives her a light kiss on her cheek.

After they finished making their tea the couple headed to Y/N'S room to watch a movie. They had already been home over an hour watching a random show Regina chose although neither of them really paid much attention, opting to talk to each other instead. Just as they started to head up the stairs they heard a knock on the door.

Turning to Y/N quizzically Regina asks "who is that? Is it your mum?"

Y/N shakes her head "no, she's working a night shift today. And she has a key anyway, she wouldn't need to knock." She pauses for a moment wondering who it could be before adding on "it might be one of the neighbours, I think we got a parcel for one of them."

Taking Y/N'S mug from her Regina says "OK, I'll take these upstairs while you answer it then."

Heading back towards the door Y/N hears a few muffled voices from outside now even more confused on who it could be, who would need multiple people to pick up a parcel? "Hey, I've got your-" Y/N says as she opens the door before noticing who's there. "Oh, hi? What are you doing here?" She asks incredibly confused.

Janis smiles and says "we're watching a movie at Cady's house, do you want to join?"

Hesitating for a moment Y/N says "I'm really sorry I can't I've got, um, homework to do. Yeah homework, I really want to finish it before my mum gets home."

Damian and Janis glance at each other seeming to know something, but what? Y/N wonders if they realised she's bluffing. "Oh, OK well we just thought we would ask because you seem pretty cool and we don't really talk as much as we should." Damian says with a smile.

"Thanks! I really appreciate it, I'm just really busy tonight but I'd be down to hang out another day?" Y/N offers, genuinely happy they want to be her friends.

The pair nod and smile before Janis says "that's alright, see you at school next week?"

"Yeah, definitely. See you!" Y/N says with a smile as Janis and Damian turn to leave.

After Y/N closes the door, Damian asks, "Did she have a lipstick print on her cheek?"

"I think so"

Back inside her house Y/N hears Regina ask who was at the door as she heads up stairs she shouts "it was Janis and Damian." Reaching her bedroom door she sees her girlfriends confused face and adds on "they wanted me to go to Cady's house to watch a movie with them."

"That's weird. What did you say?" Regina asks as Y/N sits next to her on her bed.

"I told them I had alot of homework to do. They were fine with it but it's just really weird, I mean they're nice but we barely talk to each other and now they're suddenly inviting me to hang out with them." Y/N responds.

Regina just hums in agreement grabbing her cup of tea before saying "Anyway, what are we watching today?"

"I was thinking we could continue our Ghibli marathon?" Y/N says as she grabs the TV remote.

Leaning into her girlfriends side Regina responds "Yeah that sounds good."

"Good" Y/N says with a smile, "I still can't believe you hadn't watched any studio ghibli films before, not even Totoro."

"I only really watched whatever was considered cool, no one ever recommended it to me before you and everyone else I know thinks anime is really lame." Regina says a bit sadly.

"Honey, you shouldn't let other people's judgements effect what you like, if you're interested in something then watch it."

Regina nods before saying "I know but it's hard, I'm getting better at doing my own thing though. And I do really like the films now, I'm glad you recommended them to me."

Smiling Y/N says "and I'm very proud of you for that."

Finally finding what she was looking for Y/N smiles pressing play on the film and says to Regina "okay so now that we've gone through some of the most famous ones you can finally watch my favourite, When Marnie was there."

Even though she doesn't know what the film is Regina finds so much joy in seeing Y/N this excites about it and happily agrees to watch it saying that she's sure of her girlfriend like it this much then she will too.

And she was right, the two happily watched the film together as they lay in bed holding each other close occasionally talking about the plot with Y/N trying really hard not to ruin the ending and she just about managed to not spoil it. Instead she got to see Regina's reaction to who Marnie really was exclaiming that she thought they had a bit of a thing going on and it wouldn't work now causing Y/N to giggle before telling her her own original thoughts when she watched the film.

She also got an earfull when Regina started crying in parts of it exclaiming that she didn't tell her it was a sad film to which Y/N responded "Hey atleast it's not grave of the fireflies!" Leaving Regina confused and now scared for when they'll watch it.

After the movie the pair ordered pizza and watched a movie of Regina's choice however they spent alot less time watching the film and alot more time either talking or making out, neither of them half as interested as they had been in the previous film. Everything had been normal, the most weird thing being some strage noises ourside when they had been making out, otherthan that it was what the couple would call the perfect night at home. There was nothing more they could ask for than relaxing, watching movies, having good food and being together. Everything was perfect, as far as they knew.

Taglist:

@l1lass

@riveristrying13

@moonpheus

A/N:

Thanks again for reading I hope you enjoyed this (I think) slightly longer chapter, as always let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged on the next part. Also let me know if you have any ideas on what the strange noise outside was, I'd love to see if anyone got it right.

Also, please note this is not proofread so I apologise for any typos or grammatical errors, that being said if anyone wants to beta read to both help me and essentially get early reading access that would be greatly appreciated! :)

Thanks for reading!

[demontobee]

Parallels between Lord Jim and Good Omens (2)

I have rewatched GO2 at least 10 times now (still counting, obvsly), and every time I notice new easter eggs that emerge from the massive web of intertextuality that Neil Gaiman created for us here.

So today, I wanted to focus on the way Aziraphale came up with the “undercover” name “Jim” for Gabriel. He read it on the spine of a book: Lord Jim.

That book was written by Joseph Conrad (a Polish-British writer with dubious ideas about colonialism) and published in 1900. The plot basically follows the life of a young idealistic seaman called Jim who has to defend himself in a trial that concerns a sinking ship which he and other members of the crew abandoned in a storm, leaving it and the helpless passengers to their fate. The ship did not sink in the end, and he was the only member of the crew who was held accountable for his deeds by stripping him off his naval certificate. The trial is where he meets the narrator of the story, Marlow, who is strangely intrigued by the young man, who seems to be engulfed by guilt and shame over his morally wrong decision to leave the boat. The narrator tries to help Jim to his feet and lands him a job as a post manager at some remote colonial outpost. There he becomes a hero by capturing a local bandit. Later he falls victim to a scheme against him, and a pirate raids a neighbouring community and kills the son of their chief, Jim’s close friend. Jim then goes there, and the chief shoots him as a revenge for his son.

I mean, the most obvious parallel is that Gabriel gets named after Jim. He, too, abandoned his ship (Heaven; and the question here is, did he know it might be a sinking ship as well?) and was put on trial and lost his position as archangel before he came to Aziraphale for help. But that’s not all there is to it.

Let us start with the formal (concerning style and structure) aspects:

narrative structure:

“Marlow has complete control over the story … and he exercises his power in increasingly complicated ways. Time is broken up: in a single paragraph of narration, Marlow will reference the past, the present, and the future. By manipulating the flow of the narrative, Marlow is able to create juxtapositions and contrasts that highlight particular aspects of the story. He is a master at withholding information …” (Source: Sparknotes)

As I have already discussed in another post, this is more or less how narrative structure works in GO, too (S2 maybe more than S1, but this still applies to both). We get minisodes from the past that directly reference and juxtapose situations in the story that takes place in the present. Take, for example, the Job minisode, which gives us information about the development of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship, but we also see how devastating and hard it was for Aziraphale to realise that sometimes he had to lie (or do something considered wrong in heaven) to do the morally right thing. This sequence is juxtaposed with the relative ease he exhibits in the present day when he has to lie to heaven on a regular basis (in this case, about the miracle and hiding Gabriel, which is kind of a big lie, too). The show also plays with our understanding and expectations of how time works, as S2 starts with a scene that takes place “before the beginning,” which undermines dramatic structure as it has been known and accepted since Aristotle. It is also interesting to note that in S1, we have a strong sense of an almighty narrator, since god herself is narrating the whole time and she sure lets us know that she is playing her own ineffable game here. In S2, however, we don’t have a clear narrative voice. This might make it seem like the narration is more neutral or less meddled with, but in reality, it just makes things even less reliable and situations more ambiguous, as we have no single voice to interpret them for us. Someone is definitely “withholding information” here, and I guess we’ll have to wait for S3 to get the full picture.

language/style:

“Marlow constantly ponders the "message"--the meaning of Jim's story. His language is dense with terms like "inscrutable" and "inexplicable," words that denote imprecision and indecipherability, but which also possess a certain quality of uncertainty in themselves, as words. He struggles to name things, and is often reduced to wondering if there even is a meaning to Jim's story and his fascination with it. Sometimes he concludes that the meaning is an "enigma"; sometimes he decides there is no meaning to be found at all. Words are constantly being contested in this novel; at least three major episodes center around the misinterpretation of a single spoken word.” (Source: Sparknotes)

I mean, “inscrutable” and “inexplicable”? Why not just call it “ineffable”? I also love how Crowley seems to wonder about the meaning of things (especially the distinction between “good” and “bad”), as one of the first things we here him say in S2 is something like: “Do you ever ask yourself what’s the point. I mean angels, demons, heaven, hell … it all seems a bit … point … less.” And obviously, the whole show is full of misinterpretations of words (e.g., “what does your exactly mean, exactly? I feel like my exactly and your exactly are different exactlies”), or, as we are all painfully aware, a whole way of communicating with one another (“aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear”).

Now for some similarities concerning informal (aka content) aspects:

moral balance and “naïve heroism”:

“Even more tortured is the analysis of idealism and heroism that lies at the center of Lord Jim. Jim is a young man who enters the world motivated primarily by fantasies of daring and noble deeds lifted from cheap novels. His ideals break down, however, in the face of real danger; they are, in fact, untenable when applied to any form of reality.” (Source: Sparnotes)

That sounds like both Crowley and Aziraphale in a way. They both set out as naïve idealists, and both of them learn (Crowley earlier and faster that Aziraphale) that their (heavenly) ideals do not hold in the complex reality of life. A lot of what we see in S2 is Aziraphale coming to terms with accepting that doing the “right thing” on earth often involves breaking his heavenly rules and allowing for “shades of grey.”

struggling to comprehend own identity and moral consequences of own actions:

Both the narrator, Marlow, and the protagonist of his tale, Jim, are trying to figure out their identity. Marlow seems to tell the story mainly to kind of make sense of identity itself but also of him personally, while Jim tries to make amends for his morally wrong behaviour and tries to manifest his identity (as a hero) through action.

In GO2, we have a lot of identity struggles and questions of “who am I?”: Jim the amnesiac angel is the most blatantly obvious case, but we also have Aziraphale negotiating his identity constantly, e.g., in the Job episode when he asks “Then what am I?” after having lied to heaven for the first time . And I mean Crowley is just on another level of liminal identity entirely, isn’t he?

As a bonus (and I am probably going overboard here, but well), this is the description of Jim’s death:

“Then with his hand over his lips he fell forward, dead.”

  The imagery reminds me of something…ahhh yes:

Feel free to add your thoughts in the tags or comments!

[sirhamburrger]

𝐢𝐯: 𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 (𝐧.)

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 (𝐧.): 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐚𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚 (𝐧.) [𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

word count: 1238 || prev || next

akaashi slides the manuscript back over to you, pointing at the neatly underlined part. “this part - you need to explain this a little more. you might have context, but the readers probably don't.”

“hmm.” you muse over his suggestion, then pick your pen up to make a few quick edits. “thanks, ‘kaashi.” you look up from the document, the tip of your pen pressed to your bottom lip. “what did you think about this part, then?”

he looks down at where you're pointing, and his dark messy locks fall into his eyes. as he runs a slender hand through his hair, you can't help but admire his side profile. a slight blush creeps over your cheeks when you realise what you're doing.

things between the two of you have been changing lately. somehow or other, your chair is now on his side of the table when you come into the office, with a mug of freshly-brewed tea ready for you. so it's easier to discuss edits, you distinctly remember akaashi saying. no sense in sitting across from me when we're working on this together.

and honestly? you think you might just like it. but he is your coworker, first and foremost, and you need to keep things professional. 

no harm in teasing him a little every now and then, though.

“it's good,” he says appreciatively, eyes still locked to the page. “you've not only developed your deuteragonist's perspective, but that of other characters as well. it adds a lot of depth.”

“what can i say?” you turn in your seat to face him, purposefully crossing one leg over the other. the fabric of your short skirt shifts in your lap as you do so, riding up on your thighs. “you do give the best advice.”

you see akaashi’s eyes dart downwards quickly as he lifts his head, then flick back up to you. he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. 

“don't mention it,” he says thickly.

oh. 

just then you hear his stomach grumble, and you decide to take a leap of faith. 

“i was thinking we could have lunch together today, my treat,” you offer. “you've been working your ass off lately. you don't even go on your lunch breaks some days, don't think i haven't noticed.”

he waves a hand in front of his face, embarrassed. “thank you, but there's no need. i wouldn't want to inconvenience you-”

“let me,” you insist. “just so you know, i won't stop until you give in, okay?”

akaashi huffs and rolls his eyes, a small smile creeping over his face. “fine,” he relents in mock helplessness, though you hear the gratitude in his voice. “i'll bring you to my favorite spot.”

it's only when the two of you have taken your first steps outside the office building, and you feel the cold winter breeze nipping at the skin of your palms, that you realise you've left your gloves in akaashi's office. “damn,” you mutter, shoving your hands in your pockets. 

you feel his eyes on you just then, and look over to see him pulling his own gloves off his slender hands. wordlessly, he presses them into your palm. his hand is warm and slightly rough where your bare skin brushes against his, and you gape up at him. he's blushing madly, eyes darting around, looking anywhere but right at you.

“thank you.” the words come out a tentative whisper from between your lips. your hand feels like it's on fire where he touched you, and you quickly pull on the gloves. they're much too big on you - his hands really are big, huh - but so, so warm.

you make the rest of the walk in relative silence and stop right outside this cozy-looking onigiri place, where the man behind the counter works impossibly fast to prepare customers’ orders. akaashi waves at him, then excuses himself to go to the bathroom, asking you to join the queue first. 

the line is getting shorter by the minute, and you suddenly realize with horror that akaashi hasn't even told you his order. as the old lady in front of you picks up her takeaway bag and walks away on slightly shaky legs, the man at the counter flashes you a dimpled smile, beckoning you forward. he looks strangely familiar.

“welcome ta onigiri miya, what can i get for ya t’day?”

“i've never been here before,” you find yourself admitting to the dark-haired young man, whose name tag displays the kanji for ‘miya osamu’. he must own this place, then. “what would you recommend?”

he leans forward against the counter, adjusting his cap where it sits on his head. “you should get the tuna mayo and the salmon mentaiko. they're popular among my customers.”

you smile. “sure, i’ll get that.” 

“i'll hook ya up with keiji's usual, too,” the owner calls out as he turns to the ingredients on the counter behind him. “ya his new girlfriend or what?”

“uh…” blood rushes to your cheeks at what he's saying. “no, i work with him. he's my editor.”

osamu shoots you a sideways smile. “sorry, m'bad,” he says. “you look good together, though, so i just assumed.”

you think your heart might've just stopped beating.

akaashi seems to appear right by your side, saying a cheery hello to osamu. you tense up slightly as his elbow knocks against yours, your mind empty of all thoughts as your face tingles, and it's not from the biting cold of the wind. osamu fixes you with a knowing, devious look, and you squirm. 

“here ya go, wait a minute and i'll be right out t’join ya.” he sets a tray of food on the counter, which akaashi brings over to one of the tables out on the sidewalk. you trail along behind him. 

“how do you know him?” you ask the editor.

“he's atsumu miya’s twin brother,” he responds as the two of you watch the man in question walk towards you, carrying a tray of his own. “played each other a few times in high school.”

osamu sits down with you, and you find yourself watching on as akaashi says a quiet ‘itadakimasu’ and digs in, seeming satisfied. “go on, take a bite,” osamu prompts, observing you intently.

rather tentatively, you unwrap the packaging on the rice ball and take a bite. immediately, you're greeted with a myriad of flavours. the tuna with the creaminess of the mayo, plus the crunch of fresh green onions is heaven on your tongue.

you swallow, a smile on your face. “it's really good,” you tell him.

osamu beams. “ya should bring yer friend here more often, keiji-kun. i'll even give you a special couples’ discount-” “thank you for your kind offer,” akaashi cuts him off, and you don't know how to feel about that.

“got another offer for ya, i’ve got two tickets to the ejp vs. falcons game on saturday morning.”

akaashi’s ears seem to perk up immediately. “really?”

osamu smiles the same devious smile as before. “yeah, but i don't think i can go, i can't seem to clear my calendar.” 

your editor narrows his eyes in suspicion. “how much do you want for them?”

“bring yer cute friend here along and you get them completely free of charge.” his kansai drawl practically drips with teasing playfulness.

sighing heavily, akaashi turns to you. “well,” he says more to himself than to you, looking down into his lap. “this looks bad now, doesn't it?”

your face burns. “it's fine, i get it-”

“i… i'd still like to take you, though. i really would.” he meets your eyes almost bashfully, and you're surprised to see your usually stoic editor blushing like a timid middle-schooler. “will you go to the game with me?”

“y-yeah, that… that sounds great,” you stammer. “i'll meet you there, i guess.” 

you have a date now, it seems; this isn’t quite the landing you were expecting from that leap of faith.

but you'll take it.

author's notes:

realised i don't have to care how long chapters are if it has to be 1.3k i won't force it to be 1.2k

i need to rush back over to molto vivace now (i might have set up the next chapter to come out on tsukki's birthday on the 27th)

technically the definition of apricity doesn't really match up with the events of the chapter but! akaashi’s kind of like the winter sun warming yn up (can you tell i just pulled that out of my ass)

i jump at any chance i get to put suna in a story frfr IM SO PUMPED FOR THE MATCH!!

likes, comments, follows and reblogs are greatly appreciated :) don't hesitate to correct any factual discrepancies or ask questions about this fic!

taglist: @tobiosluvr

send an ask to be tagged!

© sirhamburrger 2024

[darkbluekies]

King Edmund asks #2

Previous one

Concept: I've put multiple asks into one post to avoid too much loose posts on my account! This way, you have more to read too<3

Warnings: yandere

Hey there^^ I wanted to say that I’m sooo in love with your blog🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ Thanks for the hard work^^ I had a question about king Edmund. What if Edmund took darling to the meeting and he tried to convince the other king to give him recourses. But that king refuses and Edmund’s about to loose. And that’s the moment when darling joins the conversation and after some time the other king agrees(basically his darling knows politics and really smart).

[Thank you so much<3]

To be fair, this is a time where it isn't appropriate for women to be interested in politics, so he'd be shocked that you know so much. He'd also be a bit worried. If you're smart, that means that you'll stand against him easier. He'd rather have you cute and dumb.

"My love ... what are you doing? I mean ... thank you for saving me, but what the hell? How do you ...? Why do you ...?"

i was listening to music today and i realised that the song ‘The masochism tango’ by Tom Lehre reminds me sm of Edmund

I listened to it, I can see Edmund listening to it!!

What would yandere king do if he woke up in the morning to us gone again. He might panic and be mad again but it just turns out the reader was in the restroom

"Ah, you son of a bitch, Y/N, giving me a fucking heart attack at eight am! You better come back into bed and make up for that! What if my heart would have stopped, hm? The king could have died!"

It's no secret that Edmund is now.....not a favorite among the people, especially after the conflagration he arranged in the village. And for sure, some relatives of his devoted guardians ended their lives in the most painful way, this circumstance was the last cup of patience, but what darling takes advantage of this and plays the cards so that the hated king falls off the throne into the slums, thereby bringing justice to the people and yourself?

He will never let that happen. He refuses to let anyone take the power away from him. But if it does happen, he will get his revenge on you. You won't be leaving him whatever happens. So, would you rather be locked in him in a big castle where all of your needs are met ... or chained together with him in a ditch somewhere?

I would enjoy living in lavish paradise with Edmund but wouldn't want kids unless there furbabys/dogs/cats would Edmund be fine with this?

I mean ... he wouldn't have too much of a problem with it, but the country would. You need an heir. Edmund would try to convince you to have one ... even if you've made up your mind.

"We don't have to care for it", he says. "We can just birthed it and let maids take care of it. My parents did that to me and it worked."

You take one look at him and shake your head. "Over my dead body. I don't need another one of you."

"And what's that supposed to mean-"

When I think of the Edmund five I think of a Marie Antoinette vibe I really liked that time period.Most likely because of the indie movie I really liked that movie what do you think?

Hm, interesting thinking, i can see what you mean. For me it's more of a fairytale thing, like medeveal (?) but not at the same time? His timeline is quite timeless.

hi i want to tell you about this random thought I had, but what if edmund's darling was a noble and his fiance right from the start? what would change between their relationship?? and would it make a difference if the fiance only feel obligated and complied to care about him cuz of the arranged marriage?? thank you and have a great day/night‼️‼️‼️

He'd be more than thrilled because he wouldn't have to create that blood bath he planned, but his violence wouldn't end. He is a young man needing that spark in his life. For him, it wouldn't really matter why you were nice to him, as long as you were.

What would Edmund do if we don't like being pampered? As in like we don't want to wear jewelry or fancy clothes we just want to wear comfy clothes also we'd start crying and begging not to wear fancy clothes if he forced us

He'll try to pursuade you since his reputation is a big deal for him, but when your eyes become so red and puffy with tears and you can barely breathe, he'll give up. He'll embrace you, whispering that you won't have to wear the clothes often. Only on important events. His heart will ache at the feeling of your trembling body in his arms, but he knows that he can't give in too much, he's still a king who has his rules.

"Don't cry, my queen, everything has a solution. We just have to compromise. Wipe those tears and sit down in my lap so we can talk."

Edmund - *kills hundreds* Reader - >:( Edmund - I Uh- I love you? Reader - >:( *angrily happy*

aww haha itll be like that sometimes

——————————————————

Edmunds (or however you spell it) better gimme attention now or I'ma throw a tantrum.

Oh, don't you worry, his eyes are all on you. You have all the attention he can give a person. Now spin around and dance with him.

[myheadsgonenumb]

OK - round two of my obnoxious in advance Brit picking for authors wanting to write Hogwarts authentically,

(Post one here)

This time I'm going to go into meals - times, names (it can be complicated) and what they eat.

First off, something that fans from overseas (and Brits who just aren't as old as me) might not realise is that Harry Potter isn't just an urban/low fantasy book but that it also very much sits within what was once a very popular genre in Children's English Literature - which is Boarding School books.

Like HP, these would be a series of books which followed students (usually girls) through their time at a fictional boarding school. There were many many different series set in many many different school and by many many different authors. Throughout the whole of the twentieth century, these were big business. One of the most iconic series, which JKR almost certainly read and was inspired by, was The Malory Towers series .

As I said, these were popular throughout the 20th C (The Chalet School series started in the 1920s, Malory Towers was published in the 40s, Trebizon was published in the 80s) and as such are very Traditionally British and set in a Britain which was not as diverse or global (in the modern sense, some are from the days of empire) as it is today.

And, like I said, these types of books were huge and when JKR wrote Hogwarts she was almost certainly leaning into the aesthetic of these books, and using what she learned from them to write boarding school life (she did not go to boarding school herself). This means that Hogwarts is also very Traditionally British - and that includes the food.

Everything the students eat at mealtimes in the Great Hall are real British dishes. The sweets are made up just for HP, but the actual food is real (again, this is something I learned from the internet that other people did not just "know").

Hogwarts students are not eating curries and pasta and croissants because, in tradition with the boarding school genre, they are surviving on good, hearty stodge. Nor are they eating things like burger and chips, because they are too modern and do not fit the traditional aesthetic.

So - what are they eating and when?

Breakfast

Most British secondary schools start their day between 8:30 and 9:00 am (as the students are already in the school, they probably start at the later end of the spectrum). Which means breakfast probably starts serving at about 7am for the early risers, but we see plenty of them are still eating when the bell for first lesson goes (teenagers like lie ins).

Hogwarts students canonically eat porridge (which is a bit like oatmeal), toast and kippers for breakfast. There is a mention of Harry feeding Hedwig his bacon rinds, so it is likely bacon and eggs and perhaps sausage are also served (these make up part of what is know as a full English breakfast which was presumably considered traditional enough to include).

Students spread Jam (which is like American Jelly - though it tends to be raspberry/ strawberry and blackcurrant whereas grape is relatively unheard of) and marmalade (which is sort of like jam but made of oranges) on their toast.

Muggle characters might also use peanut butter*, marmite or nutella - but these would never be seen in Hogwarts as they don't fit in with the traditional aesthetic (though wizards do appear to have peanut butter because Florean Fortescue uses it in ice cream - but the plastic jar and the blue lid? no, that can't go to Hogwarts).

*PB and J is not a thing in Britain, it is just something American we have all heard of.

They drink both coffee and tea at breakfast time. Tea is always a blended black tea (asam, ceylon and Kenya is in the blend literally called "English Breakfast tea"). It is always hot and is taken with milk and sometimes sugar. They also drink orange juice at breakfast.

What they are not eating is pancakes and waffles! seriously, step away from the waffles! biscuits and gravy, grits, bagels, breakfast potatoes and bear claw are also not a thing that will ever be seen there.

Similarly, from the European side, they don't eat little pastries (though I don't think that would be too world breaky as British people will eat pastries for breakfast if they want to treat themselves), cheese, fruit or cold cuts of meat.

Porridge is the closest thing they eat to cereal (apart from once, Neville has cornflakes), though cereal is a popular breakfast food in the UK. I assume it just doesn't fit the aesthetic. As a person with a sweet tooth, I would pour syrup on porridge - syrup is golden, not maple. Some people might sprinkle sugar on, hard core people add salt.

If you want any muggle characters to eat a bowl of cereal, cornflakes is a safe and international bet - but Rice Krispies, Frosties, weetabix and Coco Puffs are also popular ones. There are no Lucky Charms in Britain!

Lunch

Lunch can also be called dinner, but - regardless of name is always the midday meal (probably served at some point between 12 and 2). Calling lunch "dinner" is regional and class based and mostly used in the north, I think. But "school dinners" is a very common phrase and means the midday meal and Christmas Dinner in the HP books is also the meal Harry eats at lunchtime (I will do a separate post dedicated to Christmas Dinner).

Hogwarts serves hot lunches and the type of food served is generally the same as they eat in the evening and is mostly casseroles, shepherds pie (which is not a pie in the traditional sense), steak and kidney pie (which is a pie), steak and kidney pudding (which is similar but is wrapped in suet not pastry) and pork and lamb chops. Molly Weasley also cooks a chicken and ham pie.

Other traditional foods, in the same vein, you could use to add a bit of variety are: toad in the hole, bangers and mash, cottage pie (not a pie - its shepherds pie with beef not lamb), fish pie (same) and steak and ale pie (some of these even I'm not hundred percent sure what they are - but they are traditionally British).

Traditional British fare tends to follow the "meat and two veg" rule. So if the steak and kidney pie is representing the meat, then it will be served along with two types of vegetable (carrots and peas being the most standard) and some form of potato - usually boiled or mash.

The students seem to only drink pumpkin juice with their midday meal.

Dinner

This can also be called "tea" - again this is regional and class based, though "Christmas Tea" is the turkey sandwiches Harry eats in the evening of Christmas Day. "tea" is the name of the meal and not the drink, in this instance - and there is no assumption that tea- the-drink will play any role. So if a Brit ever tells you they are having their tea - the don't mean they're sitting down to a fancy afternoon tea or daily ritual surrounding the drink, they mean they are about to eat their evening meal.

The timing of this at Hogwarts is a bit of a conundrum, as the students often leave their last lesson, go straight to eat and then straight to their common room, where they stay for the rest of the evening. UK Schools usually finish at 3-3:30, so this is very early for them to eat and means they are spending hours in the common room and must be starving by bed time.

The reason this happens is because timing isn't actually important in the narrative, the students just need to move from place to place to place - and so its not worth trying to "correct" this or make it makes sense, as that just bogs your story down in needless minutiae. However, it is possible that the evening meal is served over a few hours - so students can go straight there from lesson if they wish, or wait until later in the evening. Leaving it open for an extended period means you can send you characters to the Hall whenever it is plot relevant without worrying about it being consistent.

In the UK we do tend to eat earlier than our European counterparts - between 5-6, especially for children. Eating at 8 is considered late to eat (and a bit middle class). As Hogwarts is so Traditionally British, I would expect the evening meal (apart from feasts) to be over by 6:30 at the latest.

The main course is much the same as is eaten at lunch, but deserts get added in. Desserts in Britain are often called "pudding" and this is a catch all term and has nothing to do with what Americans think of as pudding. So, in the films, when Luna says she "hopes there's pudding", she means she hopes there will be dessert - not that she is hoping for American style chocolate pudding.

(as a side note, pudding does actually have a specific meaning - which is a dish which has been cooked by being boiled or steamed in something such as a piece of cloth or even an animal intestine and can be sweet or savoury but, though many traditional dishes have the word "pudding" in their names, most people are using it to mean dessert).

Traditional British puddings that appear in HP are Treacle Tarts (Harry's favourite), Spotted Dick (it's safe to click!) rice pudding and trifle .

Others you could add for variety are apple or rhubarb crumble, jam sponge, sticky toffee pudding, jam roly poly and Eve's pudding.

Custard is a popular accompaniment for pretty much all of them (though I think a treacle tart would go better with ice cream)

Again they seem to only drink pumpkin juice in the evening.

How tea fits into it all

Like I said, tea can refer to a meal or a drink.

"Afternoon Tea" is a rather fancy affair with little sandwiches, jam and scones and miniature cakes. This is usually done as a treat (cake culture is huge at the moment, probably thanks to "The Great British Bake Off", and afternoon teas as nice things to do are popular). Day to day when people refer to tea, they are not referring to this. I don't think there is any reference to Afternoon Tea in HP, though I imagine Aunt Petunia would love it.

The type of "tea" you eat every day is just your regular evening meal.

Tea the drink is - like I said - a black tea, always hot, usually with milk, sometimes with sugar - and is drunk much as other places would drink coffee (and coffee drinking is also popular in Britain). With breakfast, as you sit at your desk and work, while taking a break, watching TV etc etc. It's never not time for tea (the drink).

Culturally, Brits drink hot tea all day long, all year round - it can be 30 degrees (80 degrees to Americans) outside and a Brit would still make themselves a hot cup of tea and consider it a refreshing drink.

That's all I can think of for food now. I will do a separate post specifically for Christmas. But if you only take one thing away from this please make it: no pancakes and waffles at breakfast!

If you have any more specific questions, please leave them in the comments and I'll do my best to answer them ❤ 🇬🇧

[amphibious-thing]

Honestly I think we all need to realise that sexual orientation, sex, gender identity and gender presentation/roles are all complex and overlapping spectrums and that labels are just words that we made up to try and explain these things.

Particularly with an old word like lesbian we see a shifting and changing in definition with the shifting and changing on how we discuss these things. Lesbians that don't see themselves as women or men but as lesbians/butches are not a new thing. However the label non-binary is relatively new. If you understand the complex history of lesbianism and gender it not really surprising that we are seeing more-and-more lesbians ID as non-binary. But then someone with 0 understanding of lesbian history will come in with the dictionary definition and scream that you can't be a lesbian if you're not a women. Which leads to these imperfect definitions of lesbian (non-men loving non-men) when really we just need to embrace the fluidity and ever-changingness of language.

The word lesbian (in the sexuality sense) has been around since the 18th century of course it might mean something sightly different to those of us who use it today than it did to William King when he wrote The Toast in 1732.

[forumgamer]

A Jane Austen moment

I am currently re-reading Northanger Abbey (not my favourite Austen, but also not my least - probably rank 3-4 I'd say), and I was struck with the realisation how ODD the notion of Catherine Morland's trip to Bath would be to many modern people.

Here is a young girl (17), going on a trip to Bath with a rich older couple that are neighbours to her parents - not as an au pair or governess or whatever, but as a guest and companion. Taken along to have fun, as a kind gesture of favour and goodwill. And they aren't even her godparents or relatives or something!

And I find that notion so very charming.

Catherine is not like poor Fanny Price, rather abused than cherished, used as an indispensable companion for a very silly and lazy lady (though Mrs Allen certainly has her share of silliness and indolence...). From how their relationship is presented, the Allens seem genuinely motivated by wanting her to enjoy herself. They don't mind her meeting new people and spending time with them, and she in turn refers to them when she is unsure about how to behave in this to her completely new and exciting world. And rich as they may be, they also seem to spare little expense in taking her to Bath and there to balls and plays.

We have today a weird aversion to inter-generational friendships, or so it seems to me. Yet when I was growing up, in a semi-detached suburban house, I was always welcome at our neighbours' house and table. Sure, mostly because they had a boy my age who quickly became my friend, but even now, when we have both moved out, I rarely visit my parents without also checking in with their neighbours, who are like an uncle and aunt to me.

And as for myself, I have no children of my own, and will never have any either. Yet working as a teacher, I get to interact with younger people on a daily basis, and you guys, young people can be amazing company. Sure, some of their concerns appear trivial to me, but I remember they weren't that way when I was their age - just as some of my views or hobbies might seem odd or boring to them, yet they also know I have seen more of the world than they, and apply to me for insights into issues that they feel unsure about.

And guys... I get it. I get what the Allens feel. I might still be a bit young to QUITE get it (I assume the Allens to be in their 50es or so, which I am not for another decade), but... imagine taking a seventeen-year old teenager, that has never been able to travel so far, to a prime holiday spot! Showing them Paris, London, Prague or Rome, seeing their amazement and delight, presenting them the art, cuisine, culture and pleasures of such an unfamiliar site... to find new enjoyment in these things yourself by witnessing their effect on someone younger and more excitable than yourself.

I doubt I will ever have the option to do so, because a) times have changed and b) if Mr Allen had been a bachelor/divorcee like me, the book's plot could not have happened back then either, but... I think I might like it. I really would.

[grey-pastels]

Names

Fandom: Six of Crows

pairing: platonic! Kaz brekker x reader

summary: reader is set on finding out what kaz' name is.

_________________________________________

It was ten bells and the night was just getting started. This might have been a quiet time in any place but not here,not in ketterdam,not in the barrell.

I was currently leading Jesper back to the crow club after having to basically pry the cards from his hands. I had found him in one of the gambling dens,as usual. And he was losing,as usual. Normally I would've just sat next to him,letting him do his thing. But tonight I wasn't in the mood for it. I really didn't want to deal with the speech Kaz would have about him losing all the money again. He would most certainly still hold one but I was just hoping it wouldn't take 10 minutes this time. As we entered the crow club I spotted him sitting in a dark corner,his corner. He glared at us, his usual unamused glare or maybe it was just how his face was stuck by now. When Jesper spotted him he immediately looked away and made a beeline for the bar. I did not. I walked towards him and sat down. I was waiting for him to speak,but of course he didn't. He was waiting for something. Maybe an apology or maybe a simple explanation. I would not give him that,not today. If he wanted it he could ask for it nicely and I might just comply.

"Fancy seeing you here,kazper" I said mockingly.

He was staring at me. He hated it. Ever since I joined the dregs, approximately 3 years ago I had started bothering him with these nicknames. To me it just seemed improbable for someone to name their kid Kaz. I have met jespers and even inejs before. Not many but they existed. So I have made it my goal to get his name. Not for the reason others might want it. I didn't want leverage on him or his past. I just wanted him,to know him. He was a walking mystery to everyone, but not to me. I have tried many names over the years. My personal favourites include kazzie, kazper and kazpian. He didn't show a hint of emotion other than annoyance when I said them so I presumed they weren't right.

He stood up and walked up the stairs. He walked rather fast despite his limp so I had a relatively hard time keeping up. He didn't say anything yet but that didn't stop me. I followed him to his room.  When I closed the door of his office he stood alarmingly close to me. Something Kaz never does. He seemed irritated,by me.

"Why are you so set on knowing my name?"

"Well for starters,kazstration. you know mine. You know me and I know you would never admit to it but i am the closest thing to a friend you have. I am aware inej and jesper are there too but it's different with us. Inej is your faith and jesper your- well actually I am not sure what he is to you"

" You are my crow, an investment. You all are. Not more nor less"

"I don't believe that"

He leaned his head to the side in disbelief. He always hated how stubborn and blunt I can be. I would never change it. It was one of my many talents to help annoy people, annoy him especially. When we first became acquaintances he had said " if you keep that up you won't survive long in the barrel and even shorter in the dregs" I simply smiled at him and continued with my day. Three years later I was still alive and he still disagreed with my ways.

"You are my family,kaz" he almost laughed at that. And  I realised what I had said. It wasnt the fact that I called him my brother, I meant that and I wasn't ashamed of it. But it was the first time I had called him kaz in years. I am not sure why I had done it but it felt right. I needed him to see I was serious and it wasn't another joke.

He kept quiet after that. I didn't expect him to say it back. I didn't need him to. I slightly pressed my palm against his shoulder,shoving him gently out of my way. I could hear his breath hitch for a second but he calmed himself rather fast. I was aware of his aversion to touch and I did my best to avoid physical contact. But now I just needed space and I didn't have the nerve to communicate it. Why would I need to speak my thoughts when he never does? I turned around and opened the door to leave. Before I fully shut it again I spoke up again. "You won't get rid of me, not of my energy either. And one day your gonna have to admit it. Speak the truth. Say that you like me around and perhaps admit it to her aswell,she isn't as patient as me with you and i dont blame her" I didn't need to speak her name, he knew. He always did. " I will see you tomorrow, Kazimir" he made a noise. I shut the door and I was sure I had it. I had his name. I had him.

[faye-writes-stories]

A Soldiers End

My english assessment for last terms mark is finally out!!! This means I can post the thing!!!

I got an A- lol

So, it's inspired by the poem 'In Flanders Fields'

When I stood, I could no longer feel the grime that covered me, feel the wind in my unwashed hair. I could no longer smell the stench of blood, of burning flesh, of death. I couldn’t feel the sogginess of my shoes, and as I observed my surroundings, I noticed everything appeared grainy, blurry, and I couldn’t focus on anything. It simply didnt feel real... 

I looked around slowly, my gaze unfocused, and then something... No. Someone, caught my eye. He looked oddly like myself, although honestly? Most of us looked relatively similar here. Same uniforms, haircut, and I couldn't see this guys front. I’m overreacting, right? It’s just... I have this odd feeling that I can’t shake... Either way, he was collapsed on the ground, gun wound in the head. 

I sigh. I may as well move him to the side, wouldn’t want someone tripping over him... But when I lean down, when I try to roll him over, I couldn’t touch him. My hand... it went through him. 

I scramble back, shocked, eyes wide, passing through a comrades' legs as I did, not a single one so much as noticing me! I fell, landing on my ass, and realised something. On top of the mud, I was blood splattered, blood all over me. Usually there was a lot less, but I’d been standing next to poor old Tom when he got shot last week...  

We’d been friends for a long time, you see. Our mothers had been friends for years, and we’d been raised together, so it’s no wonder. I told him everything. We shared our secrets. It was only because of him I'd gained the courage to talk my beautiful girlfriend, Mary... 

We’d been dating maybe three years now, and I’d promised her. I promised her that when I came back from the draft, that we would get married. But... that could never happen now... 

I curled on the ground as my throat closed up, I could feel the tears burn my eyes... But before I managed to break completely, a familiar face caught my eye. I rubbed my fists over my eyes as I slowly came to my feet, staggering closer. 

“Tom... is- is it really you?” I stare wide eyed at him, a man who’d supposedly died a week prior... Bullet in his head. He’d stuck his head out above too long. 

He chuckled to himself. “Yeah, James... ‘fraid so.” 

I stumbled back a few steps, yet he just smiled oddly, offering me his hand. 

“I was hoping we wouldn’t see each other again this soon, old friend...” 

I choked back more tears as he spoke, and seconds later I’d rushed forward, flinging my arms around him. 

“I thought I’d never see you again!” 

He laughed quietly, hugging back. 

"Well, you thought wrong, didntcha?” 

I choke out a laugh and nod, squeezing tighter. He always had this way of making me feel better.... 

But then he sighed softly, nearly inaudible, shutting his eyes for a few moments before standing up, pulling me with him. 

“Well, James, you’re the only one in my sector who died today. You’ll be buried later, but for now, you should come with me. Meet the others.” 

And that made me frown. 

"What do you mean, Tommy? Aren’t we going to pass on?” 

He smiles sadly, shaking his head. “’fraid not, James. None of us can. Not until this war is over, whichever side wins... We’re stuck here for God knows how long... And none of us know how to fix it. So... we might as well get used to it, hey?” 

I let out a long sigh, but nod. 

“I mean, I suppose so... but uhm... what do you mean by ‘sector’” 

“Well basically, us dead people – there’s a group of us – we sort of wander around parts of the battlefield to take the newly dead, and explain what happened. Mine is relatively small, I requested to be near you so that if you died, it wouldn’t be a stranger here now.” 

I nod slowly, my brow furrowed as thoughts rush through my head. Would I have to watch the battles tomorrow? Would I have to explain this? I didn’t understand, myself, surely they wouldn’t expect me to explain! But of course, I don’t say a word about that. I just sag against him and sigh. 

“Whatever you say... But where to now? Do I just.... stay?” 

He grins, taking my hand and leading me to a nearby hill, a hill that I knew. They called it Flanders Fields, it was where the dead were remembered... This would be my life now – if it could even be called as such – and there was nothing I could do about it. 

[ace-malarky]

Happy Blorbo Blursday!

No question today, just give us a ramble about a character you don't usually get a chance to ramble about!

Beloved, I have so many characters I have never rambled about but also ok we're doing side characters with Relevance now so it's Drassa's turn

by the time of any story we see her in, she's a retired adventurer, well respected if distant member of society, definitely nobility if a bit strange, and

of course

our boy Jasper's mother

(and also the character I played in the game that spawned them both. No I don't know why Jasper then got the limelight but it's better this way because I can just allude to all of Drassa's stuff rather than having to write it)

Except! no one knows she is Jasper's mother because she is Unwed and Respectable and Surely Drassa Would Never so he's obviously just like. a foster child or a distant relative's because she is so Sweet and Noble, of course she would Help Out to give him a good start in life

but anyway. She starts life as like. almost a normal kid, actually! She's friendly, she has a family! There's no tragic backstory here, she's just kinda bored with it all. She just has a hankering for something more and, being stubborn and unwilling to listen to people telling her to cool her jets and also No, she just strikes out with whatever group is going and learns fast how to fake everything. She isn't a fighter but my god can she talk her way into and out of everything! In a world of elves and orcs and lizardfolk where they haven't quite forgotten that humans are only so many generations out of being colonisers, with no access to the magic of the world, she's got to be smart about it and she is. She moonlights as a thief for a little bit (this is how she meets her main party/friends) but rather than stealth, her strategy is to act like she owns the place and not give anyone an opening to suggest that she doesn't

Her main party/friends are a lizardfolk & elf couple who have their own enemies-to-lovers arc already sorted by the time they meet Drassa, and they become very ride-or-die in the... ten or so years that they hang out together. despite claiming that they themselves are retired at that point. they couldn't resist Drassa's charm either

I am still somewhat hazy on how she meets Jasper's dad. it was probably just for a good time! Jasper definitely wasn't planned! (and had she known about the curse, she probably wouldn't have gone there but my god she would have liked to have known before it all explosively comes to light)

but when she realises she's pregnant, she figures she's got to make sure the kid isn't like. caught in the little circle of enemies she's getting known by? So she enlists her friends to help her get off world (fraud is committed), sets herself up as Rich Aristocrat (crimes are committed, but politely), and settles herself in for a life of refined ease. There is absolutely never a moment where she goes "ha this kid is going to be someone else's problem I'm too busy" she just fully adapts to being a single parent

but ok yes, she's looking after a kid and settling into her place in society with her big house and her garden and the servants that she pays to help out when she has to, and as Jasper grows up she finds she's just. she's missing it all! She wasn't aiming for retirement this early, but she's got a kid, man, and by god is he going to grow up in safety and with the freedom to get into whatever the fuck he wants!

so she might still be doing some light facilitating and blackmail and information gathering on the side. Oh I need to write in her and Nuvian knowing each other, that's a necessity. You know she's working with our travelling crime merchant! He's definitely fencing stuff for her!

and she doesn't exactly keep this quiet from Jasper & Llinos but I think they're definitely mostly laboring under the idea that she's retired (or at least only still has like the vaguest of historic links to it all), so when they come back to find that her past has come back to bite, they're a little surprised to find that she's holding her own in whatever form the fight has taken haha

Tamhas and Tadhg do not know any of it, and this is for everyone's safety. It's bad enough that they wriggled their way into crime as it is, but at least it's where Drassa can keep an eye on them. This is why they panic when they realise that Drassa is in trouble, and like while she appreciates the back up it was not entirely necessary! She'd got herself out of tighter fixes before and she'll do it again

[ironpour]

wow... had the most gorgeous day today that unfurled in to such a comedy of errors.

i spent hours and hours reading in the hot sun, i might have even gotten a bit of a tan. i cooked so many different things i'd wanted to cook for so long & used all of these ingredients from my garden.

then i took myself off to the cinema in the car with my housemate, and i had such a fun time. but as we arrived at the cinema my housemate's phone died, not really a big deal because he had his charger but he did need his phone for his ticket because he has a monthly pass to the cinema. so i waited with him for a while while it charged, before going in and saying i'd see him in there once it was on and he managed to get his pass up to get his ticket. he never came in to the cinema so i just assumed he'd waited too long and then given up and gone home - we live like 15 mins walk from the cinema. i had a great time in the cinema but it was a shame we didn't get to share the experience. i had a message on my phone that he'd sent me from his laptop to say that his phone was completely dead and he'd had to go home. so i got in the car to get up the road and something was very off - the engine was shuddering and jerking me around. i had thought maybe something was off on the way to the cinema but that journey was almost entirely downhill. but the way back i shuddered and crawled back up to the house with the engine failing the entire way and just barely managing to get me home. and then. at the front door of the house my key won't go all the way in. i'm locked out because my housemate's keys have been left in the keyhole on the other side of the door. my housemate who's phone is dead and may have already gone to bed at this point...

luckily i managed to get in relatively quickly because he was still up. but fuck me am i still reeling from realising i'm probably going to have to scrap the car given the recent history of issues with it. basically i'm going to kmsssssssss

[mrepstein]

Clive Epstein’s Foreword to the 1984 edition of ‘A Cellarful of Noise’

A Cellarful Of Noise first came out in 1964 when we were all very young - Brian, too, although we never thought of him that way. It feels strange now, even a bit frightening, to look back at the original photographs and realise how young he was to have the whole world on its ear. We’ve all aged and, maybe, grown wiser since then. Brian’s wisdom came all at the beginning. It wasn’t conventional wisdom, the sort that professors or politicians are supposed to have. Brian himself would never have admitted it. Still, that’s the quality I remember in him even now, nearly seventeen years after he died. And I do - often - remember him.

In this book, I think he tried hard to be honest about himself. It wasn’t as fashionable a thing to be in 1964 as it is now. He could easily have left the whole job to the ghost writer. But, as you can see, when Brian got his proofs, he added his own personal foreword, perhaps because he felt the book as it stood was too glib. That kind of honesty - doing his best to come clean, whatever the pressure - was characteristic of him.

Even so, you shouldn’t believe all he says about himself. He wasn’t such a dunce at school as he liked to make out. He wasn’t a failure at RADA or in his family business. In Liverpool, you can still meet people who’ll tell you how hard he worked before he was famous, or even dreamed of it. He always had the knack of making people work - or over-work, gladly. He was old fashioned in a lot of ways: he believed you had to set an example.

It’s misleading to say, as some do, ‘Ah - he had money and advantages - he succeeded the easy way.’ Nothing was easy for Brian, but he made it seem so. When people first met him, all those years ago in Mathew Street, what impressed them was his professionalism. He showed The Beatles, who didn’t really care, how to have a goal and how to reach it. I only wish he’d been as certain about what he wanted for himself.

You’ve heard the stories - how Brian made The Beatles ‘respectable,’ and put them into suits and ties instead of leather. Some people say he watered down the music they were playing in Liverpool, but I can tell you that’s not right. He never interfered with what they played or pretended to be a musician. He did the hard slog around London and put up with rudeness and indifference and doors being slammed in his face. In Liverpool, in London, on all the roads The Beatles followed around the world, he stayed the same - always there, taking care of things. It saddens me to think that many of us only really appreciated him when it was too late. Perhaps he made mistakes, but who didn’t? We were all relatively young and, with The Beatles, bouncing the world up and down.

What would Brian have done if he had lived? Being Brian, he’d have been doing a lot. He’d still be on three telephones at once. He’d probably be involved in the theatre, which was always his first love. He might have become a performer in his own right. You probably didn’t know that he was negotiating for a chat show of his own on Canadian TV just before he died. I feel certain he’d be doing a lot for Liverpool, possibly in the form of a Centre for the Performing Arts. He always loved and valued the place, even though it wasn’t the kindest of home towns to him. He may have wanted to take on some of the problems which Liverpool is suffering today.

There’s no future in saying ‘if’. But you should remember people - especially when they give you as much as this to remember them by. I’ll remember my brother, in the early and the unreal days, for fun and friendship, and the honesty I mentioned, when he need not have been honest. I hope you think as I do that his character shines through this book. Brian Epstein changed the world but didn’t do it any harm. Isn’t that reason enough for history to remember him?

Clive Epstein

February 7, 1984

[rubberduckrobin]

𝙍𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨. - Kaveh x Alhaitham

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Paring: Kaveh x Alhaitham

Type: Slow-burn, angst, in-character and lore accurate,

Summary: Two roommates, two diaries. Kaveh started a diary to understand himself. Alhaitham found himself writing in his to understand Kaveh.

Chapter word count (2/10): Around 2k.

AO3 Link Here

TW: Alcohol abuse, mentions of death.

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 3: 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙣𝙤𝙬.

Please note that this is Chapter 3. Tumblr link for Chapter 1 here!

Kaveh

December 20th, Around 1:00 AM

I haven’t written in a while, because I’ve had to get on. Again. I’m considering just scrapping this. I might as well do one last entry for closure. 

It’s gotten to a point where the drinks don’t ‘drown’ me. It’s not an ‘escapism’ anymore, just a past time away from work. I’m thinking of quitting. The drinking. The more work I do rather than drinking, the better, I think. I’ll try.

Today was just spent on my projects, although I did take a short break to stretch. 

The winter holiday is coming up and I can’t help but feel excited yet dejected at the same time. I know it’s an excuse for me not to work, but is the guilt I’ll sit through as I relax worth it? I should just get it done and out of the way. 

But, I don’t really want to. I find that this year my urge to spend the holiday with other people is  overbearing. More than usual. Last year, I went to see my mother for the first time since she left, upon an invitation, but I’m not sure I can face her this time. Not until I’m somewhat sober.

 I don’t really know how to spend it.  I’m sure Tighnari and Cyno will welcome me, but can I really face them either? And would they want to spend their last moments of the year with me? In fact, I think they both mentioned something about going to visit family. 

This feeling of wanting to spend time with someone is almost as strong as when I was able to be with my family, when I was a child. I can’t help but wonder if Alhaitham has ever in his life felt this urge. I know he has a heart, somewhere, but does he even care about the winter holiday? Or any other holiday? 

I actually feel exhausted. I don’t think I can do any more work tonight. I’ll just do double effort tomorrow.

I don’t know when I’ll write in this again. 

Signing off.

Alhaitham

December 21st, Around 1:00 AM

The weather today was alright. 

I realise that since starting this year's diary, the majority of my entries are about Kaveh. We do have a relatively long history, and we live together, so that makes sense. My diaries usually, although not as meticulously as this year, observe the world around me, and are to record daily events, so I suppose the main subject this time is him. 

He has such a different view to mine. If I could have just a glimpse of his part of the world, his perspective, perhaps I would know how to help him learn that a comfortable independence can stop him from living in self-induced sorrow. Or at least understand why he doesn’t recognise this.

I don’t even know why I have such an urge to help him. It’s likely just my interest in how similar yet different we are: we both have no family to rely on properly or take motivation from, and we both, to an extent in regards to myself, value work and responsibility. However, he finds himself in a pit with an assignment and doesn’t give himself time to recover, whereas I know that if I did the same as him, I would find no purpose in work and therefore in life. He works to get pleasure from other people and not himself, despite being so passionate about what he does, which I don’t understand. 

I see him as a mirror image of myself, as his views are reversed to mine. It occasionally frustrates me, but it’s a cause of intrigue. It’s refreshing to be reminded that there are so many different types of people. I’m often told I’m different, but I don’t care much for it. It could even be considered beneficial, as my grandmother once said.

It’s that time of year where the holiday and its celebrations are unavoidable. It’s not that I don't like it, but I think I’ll be caught up having to deal with Kaveh again. 

This year, I’ll probably just go on a trip somewhere. I’m inspired by the Traveller; I might go to Fontaine as their innovation and culture interests me. 

Perspective change.

December 22nd, Around 6:00PM 

“Where are you going?”

Alhaitham is just about to leave the house, with a bag full of supplies suited for travel.

“Fontaine.”

“Fontaine? That’s…far.”

“And?”

“No- I was just saying - that’s quite far. I can’t imagine you going through all of that effort.”

“I’m trying to get away from you”, he says in his usual snarky tone, hoping to get a reaction out of him, but it’s not the reaction he expected. He doesn’t even know what he was looking for.

“Okay.” 

Kaveh turns and slams the door to his room, and a few minutes later, Alhaitham finds himself knocking at it, a sigh caught in his throat.

“Kaveh.”

“I’m not-”

“...Kaveh.”

“Fuck off. Go to Fontaine. Or whatever. Just go far away from me. It’s what you want anyway, isn’t it?” 

“Don’t be pathetic. It was only a joke, and you know that.”

“It wasn’t just a joke. Don’t lie to me.”

“Come with me, then.”

“Pardon?”

“Come to Fontaine with me. If you can’t bear to be away from me for a few days”

Alhaitham knew that this could turn out to be a bad idea, but he felt an uncharacteristic itch of guilt. That guilt could also be longing, but he didn’t know himself. 

“No way in hell am I going to be caught with you in Fontaine.” 

“Get caught with me? What am I, a criminal?”

“Hold on... Maybe…maybe I should visit my mother afterall…I should…okay.” he mumbles to himself and takes a moment of consideration, before unlocking the door, “Don’t be an asshole about this. Okay? I know it’s difficult for you but-”

“So, you’re coming?”

He scoffs, “yeah.”

“Hah. Pack your stuff. Quickly. You’ve already delayed me.” 

“If we get caught together, you’re going to be the one to make up something as to how this happened.” 

“And you’re going to be the one making it quite obvious it’s because we were lonely during the winter holiday and wanted something to do other than to wallow away drinking and doing whatever it is we normally do.”

“I’m not lonely. I’m going to visit my mother. Hold on, key word: ‘we’. You’re lonely? Alhaitham feels lonely?”

“Oh, sorry, are emotions other than stress unfamiliar to you now? Besides, I phrased it wrong. You were lonely and I  supposed I wouldn’t mind the company.” 

“Didn’t I say not to be an asshole?”

Alhaitham goes to the front door and opens it to leave.

“Hey! Don’t just go after making an arrangement! Asshole!”

Perspective change. Fontaine. 

December 23rd, Around 12:00AM

The week-long winter holiday in Fontaine is like a whole other world. Because snow is such a rarity in Teyvat, Fontaine entrepreneurs and engineers took that as a challenge; they have made machines that blanket snow onto their streets, only for the occasion, just to make it that more special. 

In Teyvat, decorations during this time are considered a necessity in honour of tradition, and Fontaine certainly didn’t shy away from this. Every street lamp, every signboard, every staircase is adorned in coloured lights, and wreaths are on each building door. The decorations are spread much farther than just the centre, as the boats that harbour, leave and return to the port are just as spectacularly decorated with lights and other details. It’s a sight that no other region can live up to during this time of the year. 

And Kaveh is just taking it all in. He'd seen it before, but never had it been so breathtaking. 

Alhaitham, however, had little interest in the decorations, and more so to Kaveh’s reactions to them. He felt as though he was watching a child discovering something for the first time and he is brought to remember the childhood that Kaveh lost, and the childhood he could have had himself if it were not for his parents’ accident. 

This is the first time Alhiatham has seen him look so at peace since the Traveller last visited.  And for some reason, he couldn’t help but feel inside him the things Kaveh was expressing: feelings of happiness, excitement and admiration. The efforts of the people and the love that went into it. 

“This is even better than last year!” Kaveh’s breath puffing out weakly, spiralling into the air, “It’s freezing though.” 

During this season, the cold can be just about escaped in places like Natlan and Sumeru, but here it borders on the temperatures of Dragonspine. The snow falling around them gets caught in their hair, melts on their clothes and drips down to their glove-covered hands.

“Sure.”

“Have you not got anything to say about this amazing sight? And technology?”

“It’s very well done. I can tell a lot of effort went into this.”

“Are you capable of saying anything without making it seem half-hearted or sarcastic?”

“I meant what I said.” 

“Well, I guess you’ve got to save that energy to compliment my mother’s dinner.”

“I’m joining your visit?”

“What, were you planning on just shivering out in the cold? Hah! I can just imagine that. But, no. Seeing as you said you’re lonely, I can’t let that happen.” 

“I’m not lonely. I wouldn't mind a home-made meal though, so long as it’s not soup. Are you sure me coming won’t be a problem with your mother?”

“It shouldn’t be. I called her on the way here when you were off getting your drink, and told her that I was coming, and that I may bring a…” Kaveh pauses at the thought. On the call, he had described Alhaitham as a friend by accident, but should he say that? “an acquaintance. She seemed happy to have more company, as her husband is busy up until right at the end of the holiday.”

“I see. Well, thank you.”

“No problem…God, it’s just getting colder and colder.”

“I feel fine.”

Alhaitham

December 24th, Around 11:00PM

It‘s snowy here in Fontaine, but this snow is artificial. The region didn’t disappoint me, rather, it really impressed me. As did Kaveh when I saw him deny wine from his mother, claiming he hadn’t drank for a while and was intending to continue this effort.

I was convinced to join Kaveh and his mother for dinner, and quite enjoyed it, despite the meal of choice being onion soup, a specialty of Fontaine. We were caught up in a conversation about the past, but managed to sidestep it easily by claiming that it was complicated and leaving it at that. His mother was lovely and I sensed that she understood our dynamic and let us be. 

I am currently sharing a room with Kaveh, as his mother insisted, despite my rejections, that I stay rather than spending ridiculous money on a hotel room, or even attempting camping. He’s currently gone off to another room, probably to hide the fact he’s writing in a diary, or something like that. 

He’ll be asleep on an inflatable mattress as he was unyielding in his idea that I should have the luxury of the bed as I was the guest, whereas he’s family. And he absolutely refused even just the thought of sleeping next to me, and I’m glad he did because I would have to put on two different sound-proof headsets to be able to have even just an hour of decent sleep. I see him as the sort of person to toss and turn in bed, giving the person unlucky to sleep beside him a heavy wack every now and then. 

Sleeping on the floor can’t be comfortable, and regardless of whether he planned this to avoid sleeping with me, he still did it to my benefit as I wound up with the more comfortable position. He's just like his mother from what I’ve observed, considerate to a point of stubbornness. I can see her in his eyes, a soft glow of passion, the light around them caught as a glimmer of hope. 

He's just come in a few minutes ago, and surprisingly has fallen asleep quickly, and is not snoring as badly as usual. Yet. It must be the hot food and the warmth. I will take that as my cue to sleep too.

Kaveh 

December 24th, Around 11:00PM

Alhaitham is writing in something that seems like a diary, then again he’s always writing so it could just be late night scribe work. I thought I might as well slink off and write in mine because I’ve had a lot to think about and no one to share it with. If he did have a diary, I wonder what he’d say. I’m currently hiding away in the darkness of the lounge, my mother in bed and Alhaitham occupied.

Seeing my mother again warmed me, knowing that this could very well become a tradition every winter holiday, and this is comforting considering the many other moments I lost.

 I’ve never really been concerned with meeting with my mother, because I didn’t want to bother her after all that’s happened. I fear that all I am to her is just a reminder of the past that she’s tried to escape. Last year, I visited on a whim with the absent comfort of history inescapable in my mind like a caged bird, and that whim turned out to be more enjoyable than I thought. It set all my fears free, even if it was just for the hour or so I spent with her. 

And it’s happened again. It wasn’t in my plan to visit her this year, but I just couldn’t help myself and knew deep down that perhaps she doesn’t dislike me, or even feel an indifference towards me as I thought. She hasn’t forgotten about me, she says that she considered sending letters but fought the urge so it wouldn’t disturb either of our new lives, and gave in last holiday due to, primarily, loneliness.

Despite spending my childhood with her, I never got to know whether she truly loved me. I suppose it’s a mother’s duty to love her child, but if your true love and purpose is stolen from you, what much left is there to give?

I’m happy I came.

And with Alhaitham, that made it feel more special. Seeing him in a different light changed my perspective on him ever so slightly. His politeness to my mother, possibly even a hint of shyness, and his consideration, when he asked after the meal if I was okay. 

I think that’s the first time he has directly asked me if I was alright, and in that moment I wasn’t because it hit me that the eve was almost over, and I would have to go back to overworking myself after the next few days. Did he notice? I wouldn’t be surprised, I guess he’s quite perceptive.

I was happy.

I’m tired so I’m signing off. I wonder if in the new year I can look back at my rants and struggles written in this diary and laugh.

(Chapters 4-10 are posted on my AO3. They will be posted on here soon! Thank you for your patience.)

Thank you very much for reading! Take care <3

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[seoll3miwrites]

Doing Time | Criminal Minds S.R

Chapter 4. Oh My God

Back to Masterlist

Hana first case goes surprisingly smooth, and the Doctor is great company Chapter Title: Oh My God by (G)-Idle

When they finally landed Hana was almost reluctant to leave the comfort of the Jet’s soft chairs, in truth while she had travelled a lot in her early life, she’d never had the full opportunity to fly in a private check. As she stepped onto the tarmac she breathed in a large breath of fresh air and made her way to the SUVs waiting for them

“How do you ever get off that Jet and away from that couch beats me.” She’d chimed to Reid as he help her lift the duffle bag she brought into the trunk of on of the SUVs. The young laughed in response before replying.

“The needs of the many outweighs the needs of the few.” 

“Oh don’t get philosophical on me Doctor.” She drawled, before hoping into the right back seat, where she greeted Rossi who’d taken his spot in the driver’s seat. “Buongiorno Agent Rossi, where we headed?” 

“We, Bambino are going to the attack site,” He explained fondly to her, “we need to see exactly how the Sarin got on it in the first place. And just it’s just Rossi no need to be so formal rookie.”

“Ooo how exciting first case and I get to go to my first crime scene.” She spoke as the buckled herself in a getting comfortable. At the same time, Reid entered into the passenger seat.

“You know you’re the first person I’ve meet who’s been excited to be at a crime scene.”

“Part of my charm Reid.” She winked at him, as he was turned towards her.

“It does beg the question though, Rookie…” Rossi looked at her through the rear-view mirror, “How are you really feeling today?”

At this questioned Hana was about to answer her reflex ‘I’m fine’, before she realised saying that in a car full of FBI profilers would probably the stupidest thing she could ever do. Instead, she sighed while look down and began to fiddle with the silver ring on her right hand.

“It’s okay to be nervous kid,” Rossi commented, “But I know you’ll do just fine on our team.”

“Yeah I mean it’s been a while since we’ve had someone new and to have to both you and Dr Lewis joining us will be interesting, but in a good way.” Reid added making sure to say the last part incase he was misinterpreted. 

Their words of encouragement made Hana feel more comfortable and a small smile grew on her face as she continued to play with her small silver ring. She looked up briefly and made eye contact with Reid through the rear view mirror, who then responded with a bright smile that reached his eyes. 

“Hey Doctor, know any cool bus facts that might be useful?” She asked suddenly, happy to spend her time listening to some random facts that she’d probably never need to know. Ignoring Rossi small groan, the Doctor was happy to entertain and inform Hana as they made their way to the location.

Eventually, they pulled up to the crime scene and were greeted with a sight of multiple cop cars and several forensic analysts already collecting evidence. The three stepped out of the SUV and Hana placed her sunglasses on to avoid being blinded by the L.A sun.

One of the local agents approached as they walked towards the bus, “I’m Agent Young” he introduced himself before continuing, “The Hazmat teams says they're almost done with their decontamination.”

“Well, the good news with sarin, if there is such a thing, is that it's a relatively short-lived threat. Once it dissipates, there's very little cleanup to be done.” Reid had stated as Young made his way towards some forensic workers that had gotten his attention.

“If sarin is so fast and deadly, how can someone release it without harming themselves in the process?” Rossi had asked to the two agents.

“Especially in such confined space.” She added turning to the young Doctor who no doubt had the answer. 

“Excellent question. The cult members in Tokyo wore surgical masks, and even with them, some of them were still injured. I'm guessing that—“ Rossi was interrupt as Agent Young 

“The techs just found this, stuck under a seat in the third row.” The other agent explained before handing something off to Rossi. “It tested positive for sarin residue.”

They crowded round as Hana looked on in confusion at the small circular device Rossi was holding in his hand.

“It looks like some kind of time-release device.” Spencer noticed as his eyes squinted slightly to look at it more carefully.

“Looks homemade.” Rossi chimed in 

“It’s battery operated.”

Reid’s eyes suddenly shined with recognition before he began to explain, “You know, it reminds me of an automatic fish food feeder.”

“How would it work?” Young looked to the Doctor for clarification.

“With a fish food feeder, there's a disk inside with multiple slots. Each slot is filled with fish food.” He explained to the group, “As the disk rotates, the food is released at very specific times. My assumption is, with this device, only one slot was filled with sarin, because even in a minuscule amount, sarin is deadly.”

“So someone could have planted that a long time ago.” Rossi added, slowly putting the pieces together.

“How long ago?” Hana asked, already expecting the answer.

“My fish food feeder lasts 6 weeks, so, theoretically…”, he paused before continuing, “The unsub could have left all the slots empty except for the very last one, and then waited 6 weeks for the sarin to be released. We need to look at everyone who got on and off that bus for the last month and a half.”

“Narrow” Hana grumbled to the group.

At the same time, Agent Young sighed slightly, “Great”

After that the small group went their separate ways, with Hana following Reid to the crime scene. 

“So you have fish?” She asked as they looked around the bus’ exterior. “What are they called?”

He smiled at her question before answering, “He is called Perseus.”

“Aw cool like the Greek myth?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Can I meet him?”

“What?” His voice rose an octave with surprise.

“I wanna meet you fish..” she replied more forcefully to make her point, “and I guess us hanging out would be a bonus.”

“You want to hang out?” He asked confused, “with me?”

“Do you know anyone else in the BAU with a fish?” She smirked at him, he smiled back before hesitating and looking down.

“We should head back.” He muttered, sounding colder than he did moments before. Hana recoiled slightly at his sudden change in tone but swiftly followed behind him anyway. 

It only took a few days until the case was eventually solved after they were able to stop the unsub before he was able to attack the federal building they were working at. The team were all heading towards the jet when Hana’s phone rang and she stepped aside to answer, and then immediately stepped further away as Reid heard someone speak in a load hurried voice. He watched as she ran her fingers through her hair, worry spread across her face and continued to speak into her phone in gentle tones. It was only a five minute call before Hana hung put her phone back in her pocketed an headed towards the jet where Reid was still waiting. 

“Everything okay?” Reid asked as she stopped in front of him.

She shook her head for a moment before speaking, “My friend’s boyfriend just broke up with her, apparently he’d been seeing someone else the whole time.”

“I’m sorry, do you need any help?” He offered as the pair made their way onto the jet.

“Well my plan was to take her out for drinks and clubbing, if that’s your scene you’re welcome to join.”

“I’m not a huge drinker...” He paused, “or clubbing type of person really but I’d be happy to come along.”

Suddenly, Morgan approached the pair with surprise on his face, “Did I just hear our good doctor agree to a night of clubbing?” He then followed up his question by grabbing onto Reid shoulder and shaking him slightly. Meanwhile, Hana giggled softly at Reid embarrassed expression as he swatted the older agent away so he could take his seat.

“You’re welcome to join Morgan, I mean you guys all can if you want?” She questioned to the whole jet.

“You sure, we wouldn’t want to intrude on you and your friends night.” JJ spoke, at which Hana turned to face her.

“Oh no it’s fine, me and Sasha were planning on going out once I got back to celebrate my first case anyway.” She explained, “I think it’s fitting that I invite my new teammates to join us.”

“Sounds good Babushka, let’s say we meet for nine?” Morgan suggested.

“Yeah there’s a nice bar called the Empire, we could go there?” Hana added, to which most of the team agreed all happy for a night to relax. Most surprising was Rossi and Hatch also agreed. She then turned to Reid who had yet to respond. “What do you think Dr Reid?”

He lifted his head from the book he had begun reading as the rest of the team were talking, to look at the newest agent. “Yeah, sounds like fun.” He smiled at her which she returned in kind before taking the seat next to him, to which Reid leaned in and spoke gently. “,and you can call me Spencer when were not on the field.”

“Sounds good, Spencer.” She replied still smiling at him, “You can call me Hana.”

“Okay, Hana.” He nodded before looking back to his book, still smiling gently. 

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