etherdwellers - Tumblr blog

[etherdwellers]

calling this place a town is pushing it. (for nate!)

sentence prompts.

Katrina's quip prompts Nate to flash a brief smile: awkward as always, and slight, like he's not sure he should be smiling at all. If the most diplomatic thing Katrina can say about their latest tournament stop is that it's not a town, he has to wonder what she's really thinking. Still, the countryside is scenic, gorgeous but sparse; Nate is inclined to agree with her assessment.

"It's probably got some... arbitrary, civic definition. Something to do with population density or the number of recycling bins." He lifts his brows, looking a little more thoughtful. "It makes a change from London, though. Don't you think it's nice, at least, to get a break from all the concrete and mangy foxes?"

[etherdwellers]

It takes a moment for Thomas to identify the weird thing the Captain is doing with his mouth. But then, Thomas cannot recall the last time he saw the Captain smile at him without an edge of contempt. He finds himself smiling back—albeit in the bemused, dubious way he smiles when presented with something bizarre. Like when Kitty insists she'd once encountered a tiger in Woking.

He doesn't hate this turn of events, though: to have discovered a knack for taming the shrew. There's a schoolboy kind of mischief to it. If only he'd learnt this sooner.

"You see," he says, studying the Captain knowingly, while one hand curls coyly under his chin, "I am keenly observant. One must truly understand the human condition to capture it in verse—so I could recount many nice things about you, actually."

Thomas himself sounds surprised by that last bit, because he's never really given it much thought. Certainly, the Captain ranks in his bottom three (all categories), but he still likes things about the man. Or at the very least, is neutral about them.

"You make a more preferable neighbour than Annie, for a start. Not once have you compared me unfavourably to vulgar aspects of the male anatomy. And you've an eye for music and fashion, much as you posture otherwise. You are perhaps the only other soul here who appreciates the care required to properly construct a bouquet."

One corner of Thomas's mouth inches higher than the other, as the novelty of the situation wears off and leaves him feeling distinctly smug instead. With the grace of a dancer, he extends one arm and gestures elegantly, again, to the space beside him. Like he is a prince holding court, his gaze fixes to the Captain—but the gleam in it telegraphs very much that his invitation is more like a deal with the devil.

"I could go on."

Though he's simmering, his fires are put out near-immediately as he realises the depth of what Thomas is saying. A slight to good men certainly but- praise for him. For his dedication to his work. Although not spoken directly, the poet is jumping to his defense and while the Captain struggles to believe he deserves such a thing after his disgraceful demise, it does warm him a little. His face relaxes and as Thomas reaches toward the swagger stick, it is gently lowered before his fingers make contact with the end of it. It's difficult to know exactly how to respond to such a unique situation and thus there's a beat of silence between them. The two of them are very different men, one of arts and one of action but the Captain can't help but feel there's a modicum of newfound appreciation for Thomas' presence in the house, if only for this strange moment. -- ❝Yes, well..- While I don't appreciate your disrespect to the good men who fought for our country.❞ Another beat of a pause, shorter this time as his face scrunches slightly, eyes narrowing in some internal focus while trying to find ample words to make his point. He's no wordsmith like Thomas, nor is he used to the other playing 'nice' with him but as they say, 'encourage the behaviour you wish to see'- and he would not complain at seeing more of this side of the poet.

-- ❝I can appreciate your- hm, kind words for me. For my work. I think I've had more than enough of hearing what you dislike, enough for several lifetimes, in fact. It's a pleasant change of pace, Thorne.❞ The words are spoken with the hint of a smile, he's never been a man to beam at others like Pat or Kitty might and that isn't about to change any time soon. The Captain can only hope it's coming across as sincere. He supposes it's inevitable that all of them butt heads on occasion, being trapped together for what already seems like an eternity but it is shocking how unusual kindness is between many of them. Perhaps it's time he works on morale, just as he once had to do while serving as commanding officer here. Come to think of it, it had turned out spectacularly - his men all assured him he'd never need to do it again countless times. That might be just the trick.

[etherdwellers]

Even at the best of times, Julian only ever half-pays attention to whatever his unsolicited housemates say. But it's around the point where the Captain starts saying something about one hundred years that he starts to fully zone out.

Because it's always time with these people: a record on futile loop, like the progression of the outside world holds any true meaning for ghosts who can't meaningfully interact with it. And the Captain's memory parades may just be the most boring of all. It's been this many decades since that battle, that general would have been this many years old...

Miraculously, the Captain snatches it back at the end, restoring some light to Julian's glazed-over gaze. It is only a week, he says. How fascinating, that the Captain would concede the timeframe for Julian's request is not especially lengthy, but still aggressively shun the mere suggestion.

"Forget the kid coming to visit," Julian says, airily waving a hand. "I don't care about that any more." (He does care, and will most certainly return to the topic later, but for now he deigns to hit pause.) "I put it to you that what we really have here is a commissioned officer evading questioning by an MP. I'm proposing seven measly days of doing things differently. Your transparency is in the public interest—what's the worst that could happen?"

Rolling his eyes as Julian began rambling on about 'fighting for this country' as though he knew anything of what that meant, the Captain let out an irritated huff, his expression soured by the gall the man had. His entire life had been plush comfort from what the Captain had heard, nothing less than champagne and caviar, gold and golf courses. One could hardly call that fighting, even if he had to face a difficult debate on occasion. His attention snaps to the moment his schedule is brought up, eyes narrowing as though the man is blaspheming. As fair of a question as it might be in some situations, it wasn't something he was quick to discuss and he certainly wouldn't be doing so with a man who'd sooner use it against him than try to help him. Routine had kept him as close to sane as one could be in a situation such as theirs, helped him maintain a sense of normalcy throughout.

-- ❝Dead or not, I have a routine. A routine I have followed for near one hundred years and I am not about to sully that because you cannot handle a child's presence.❞ He retorts sharply, dodging the crux of the question altogether. Showing weakness is just something that isn't done, the country had gotten through countless hardships with a stiff upper lip and he intends to continue that tradition. -- ❝There is nothing you can say or do to change my mind on this matter, so I suggest you either ask someone else or simply face the situation head on. As you said yourself, it is only a week.❞

[etherdwellers]

Misc. headcanons: Connor Roy ➜ Maternal line & 'parentification' content warning: discussion of mental health, abuse, suicide

Connor's mother was Julia, youngest child of Roger Martin, a telecommunications mogul based in Massachusetts. Today the Martins are a footnote in broadcasting history, but at the time Logan met Julia, theirs was a well-established company dating back to the 1910s. Logan and Julia's attraction was initially genuine but their relationship mostly made a kind of serendipitous business sense. The Martins provided broadcasting infrastructure and Logan intended to fill the airwaves.

Julia, never especially business-minded, regarded her family's wealth as a means to support her passion for the arts. She was a sheltered but mostly sweet and well-meaning socialite who delighted (at first) in permanently relocating to New York after marriage, because it meant she got to hang with the trendy artistic crowd, playing benefactor for poets and galleries.

Some of Julia's qualities that made her attractive to Logan—'flightiness', an offbeat charm and an ability to soldier through conversing with strangers no matter what—came from her loving upbringing, but also from what would be recognised today as ADHD. The traits which made her a social butterfly were just what an austere man like Logan needed to help him navigate America's old-money scene. (These are, of course, the same traits Logan dislikes in Connor, but the irony is lost on him.)

Julia was also prone to depression, exacerbated by Logan's treatment of her and her increasing isolation from her family. When Connor was ten years old and Julia in her early thirties, Julia experienced her first major depressive episode with psychotic symptoms, which eventually saw Logan having her institutionalised. Connor did not see his mother for a year.

When Julia was able to be released, the Martins seized the chance to assume responsibility for her care, arranging divorce from Logan and taking on the bulk of Connor's upbringing. Logan was happy with this arrangement, becoming increasingly consumed with work and, eventually, his second marriage. Between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, while Logan was remarrying and having Kendall, Connor had no contact with Logan at all. Subsequently, New York has never fully felt like home to Connor, but then, neither has Massachusetts.

Julia would spend the rest of her life in and out of care, with the mental health provision of the seventies and eighties leaving much to be desired. She experienced delusions of her doctors and relatives meaning her ill, and tended to trust only Connor a little more consistently. Though this time, he would assume the role of carer: bringing her food so she'd trust it enough to eat, sitting with her, helping her dress or reading to her. He also began retreating into an inner fantasy life and voracious reading, mechanisms he'd go on to use all his life.

Connor was in his mid-twenties when Julia died by what might have been a suicide, but was officially a prescription overdose. The Martins' company had long been sold off; today, they exist as a middling old-money dynasty with a comfortable investment portfolio. Just as he is with the Roys, Connor is not fully a Martin. He has a good relationship with some of his cousins and plays Fun Uncle to their kids, but older members of the family blame Connor in part for what happened to Julia, given that his existence served as a constant reminder of Logan and his cruelty. Still, the Martins are much likelier to take Connor up on the offer of visiting him than the Roys.

Connor's involvement with his half-siblings' upbringing was limited to family events and scooping them up where he could for breaks from the Roy household. He wasn't quite a fatherly figure but tends to assume that role with them to this day anyway, because playing the caregiver is what he knows. It's part of the reason he doesn't want children of his own: on a conscious level he believes it's because he doesn't want to risk passing down what his mother suffered from, but on a subconscious level it's because he's sort of "been there, done that" in regards to parenting through his mother and half-siblings.

[etherdwellers]

unpregnant.

dialogue prompts from unpregnant by jenni hendriks and ted caplan.

i said hello and you flipped me off.

you still know my voice?

am i dreaming? life cannot be this perfect.

hold on. i want to remember this moment forever.

can you stop being a bitch for one minute?

i'm not going to tase you.

come on, now. don't you want to share the moment?

can you not tell anyone? please?

whatever you're thinking right now, just stop.

are you sure you're gonna be okay?

what are your feelings on polyamory?

if i say it, it'll make it real.

maybe you're just tired of always being so perfect.

you are way too nice.

can't you sink to my level and engage in some schadenfreude?

you can be kind of intense.

i've never been to a place this nice.

isn't this place romantic?

you don't need an ivy league degree to be successful.

i know when we look back on this, we're going to laugh.

it's like i'm seeing you for the first time.

i'm doing a lot of crying in bathrooms lately.

you want me to be your escort?

everyone has different kinds of friends.

can we please be a little more subtle?

you say 'romeo', i say 'restraining order'.

nobody ever wanted me like that before, you know?

i'm sorry i lied to you about all of this.

come on. it was funny. we laughed.

maybe i just don't know what fun feels like.

sorry i couldn't be perfect for you anymore.

that's what they say about me? that's pretty badass.

that's enough. we listened to the whole album.

i have to keep up appearances.

don't you have any friends?

calling this place a town is pushing it.

guess we finally found the class you failed: common sense.

it's not safe to be walking along the side of the road.

i thought you were running away from something dangerous.

i tried to convince myself for years that it wasn't true, you know?

can anyone really be 'together' in this world? we all walk alone.

we've evolved past labeling ourselves.

i kind of love you right now. don't ruin it.

i meant what i said last night. all of it.

sorry. you're just going to have to look average.

i know how to get by without anyone's help.

no one expects you to remember everything.

i'm so tired of being a stupid, sad six-year-old.

you just need to remind me my dad is a dick. promise me.

go get 'em, tiger.

what's the matter with you? you look like a wounded moose.

remind me never to get on your bad side.

they are not my friends. they almost killed me.

i just wanted to let you know i'm okay.

you ever think about playing for my team?

you're the valedictorian and i bark at people.

hey, sunshine. i let you sleep for a bit.

i'm so wired, i think i can hear my arm hair growing.

i looked exactly the same, but i didn't recognize myself.

when you wake up, i'll be here.

[etherdwellers]

Anyway, Skunkhead Tanner over there took three grand. Shot her in the parking lot.

[etherdwellers]

She sagely decreed him to be 'not boring' and he huffed a laugh, with a good-natured gee, thanks. But what really piqued Connor's interest was everything that followed. All these years, and he still hadn't managed to shake his automatic trust of animal people. Nobody who liked animals could be malicious—well, exempting Austrian demagogues from the 1940s. Still, part of him did recoil from learning she had…

"A pet snake," he echoed, flatly, brow furrowing. "Sorry, but—I'd like to delete those things from history." That's right; inventions of God fell within the purview of his thought experiment. "Rattlesnakes have a spiritual affinity with my ranch back in New Mexico, which is a shame 'cause my horses really wish they didn't. But I guess your faithful no-legged friend isn't the venomous kind."

Dionysia chuckled, raising her own glass towards him. "I'll challenge you to that. You probably won't do it, but we'll see, I suppose." One thing she knew to be true, that had yet to prove itself false; politicians were liars. Even the so called "good" ones. They all seemed to have the inherent urge to lie, whether it was to protect themselves, to boost themselves upwards, to take others down, to hide things, to convince and charm people.

"Oh, you couldn't lose me. You haven't gained me in the first place." Dionysia informed him with a smirk, before taking a drink from her glass. "I'll give you one thing though; so far you don't seem boring, so congratulations on being a step above your peers. And I do actually like horses, though not as a mode of transportation. They're slower than sportscars, and my Ferrari won't take a shit while it's parked. But I do like horses. I like most animals. I own a stable, an animal hospital, and currently I have a pet snake."

[etherdwellers]

Of course. Julian would miserably drag his hands down his face, were he not certain he'd be inviting another earful by doing so. As per usual he tries to tune out everything the old goat says, though he identifies something about schedules and standards in there. The Captain's greatest hits, really.

"You think you're the only person here who used their life for the betterment of the country, do you? I'll have you know I voted against further integration with the European Union at every opportunity. If the electorate had listened to me, we could've avoided the war of my generation—the war on funny-looking bananas."

Julian doesn't suppose the Captain will fully appreciate what a massacre those EU regulation debates had been. Still, it occurs to him that this situation is similar. In negotiations, one party refuses a proposal only when the terms aren't juicy enough, which means he just needs to get to the heart of the Captain's objections.

Julian presses the tips of two fingers together and rests them on his lips, eyes narrowing while he takes a second to study his fellow phantom.

"And you know you're dead, don't you?" Sometimes he wonders, when it comes to the Captain. The guy still acts like Button House is more likely to fall to the Blitzkrieg than upstairs' black mould problem. "You can do anything you want, now, so what exactly do you think would happen if you broke your schedule for seven measly days?"

Not buying Julian's innocent act for a second, the Captain waits patiently for all the excuses in the world to spill from the politicians lips. Afterall, he's grown quite wise to the manipulation over the years and it's been a hard won battle, especially given how someone like Julian might have once been seen as a superior. He's extremely satisfied when those suspicions are proved correct. ❝Mm, as I expected.❞ He hums, relishing in the vindication that comes with the slip of Julian's tongue, all while the man himself tries to play innocent - for all of five seconds. At the very least the man knows when he's been beaten and doesn't try to continue the ruse, the Captain is thankful for that much, he'd rather not waste an afternoon with him feigning obliviousness and simultaneously try to con him out of his room. Straightening, he once again tucks his swagger stick under his arm as he consider just how much of an inconvenience it might. Children are unpredictable at best and at worst? Well, it doesn't bear thinking about.

-- ❝Wouldn't bother-?❞ The repetition is cut off with a scoff, his face screwing up as he shakes his head in immediate dismissal. It's as though the man has forgotten exactly who he's talking to. -- ❝A bally lie! A child would make an absolute pigs-ear of my morning regiment! The rest of you may spend the morning doing whatever you please but I have a schedule to maintain and I don't intend on compromising it for the likes of your comfort. There are standards to maintain and without those standards, this country would have fallen long before you were born!❞

[etherdwellers]

"The," Nate begins, then glances down at the purple chunk he's holding. His brain is not making the connection between Jamie's description and what's in his hand.

His first thought is that Zava somehow made these rocks, as though it is within Zava's powers to create minerals. Apparently that's infinitely more plausible than assuming they were bought from a shop. But such is the power of Zava's personal mythos; Nate may not have experienced it up close, yet he felt the ripples. West Ham's failure to sign him put Rupert Mannion in a foul mood for a solid week.

"Oh," he says, after a moment more, when it dawns on him that what he found was probably less a booby-trap and more a box of abandoned property. "Right—Zava left them. I see. So maybe they're… lucky?"

He visibly cringes when that leaves his mouth. Only tabloid gossip had suggested some kind of personal rivalry between Tartt and Zava, but Nate hadn't needed a first-hand source to suspect all had not been well at Richmond last season. He knows Jamie too well. Every gushing commentator who pointed out Zava's total domination up-front must've felt like a death by a thousand cuts for Tartt.

"Well, not lucky. He was just a person, I suppose, not some kind of wizard who charms things, and—you can help me pick them up, if you like." Nate doesn't particularly need help, but he's eager to change the subject. "Or bin them. Either way. Don't suppose he'll be coming back for them now."

Jamie, like everyone else in the room, voted yes at the end of last season when it came to inviting Nate back to Richmond. He knew from firsthand experience just what Rupert Mannion could do to a person once he got into their head. Sometimes, Jamie wonders if Mannion ever took Nate to Bones & Honey, if he ever forced women and drinks onto the man, or if his sweet words in his ear about greatness, about glory, about being a star were enough. Jamie knows that Mannion's power doesn't come from his money, no... it comes from his words.

But, since Nate's return, Jamie's found himself in a bit of a... situation. He still owes the man an apology. He's apologised to all of his teammates - he did that way back when he first returned. But he never apologised to his coaches, never apologised to Nate, who deserved an apology just as much as Sam did. Jamie had been cruel to him, dismissive of him, unkind to say the very least. And now, three years after the fact, Jamie's still trying to figure out how to say he's sorry for everything he did.

He's lingering in the dressing room, waiting to see if Roy might need him for anything else after training, when he hears the sound of a yelp and then... a bunch of things falling. His brow furrows as he slips his phone back into his crossbody bag, and then the man in question [ Nate, not Roy - Jamie sincerely doubts that Roy has ever once in his life yelped ] emerges from the coaching offices, and looks at Jamie with eyes that look like they've just seen hell in all of it's United red glory.

"Oh, y'found the Zava Rocks," Jamie says, emphasising Zava Rocks like it's a brand name. The rocks in question had been shifted around through the clubhouse, no one really knowing what to do with them. "If they were magical, Zava would've taken 'em with 'im t'America, don't y'think?" he asks, his head tilted slightly to the side like a quizzical puppy. "I think you're safe from a curse, but if it'd make y'feel better, I can pick 'em up and drop 'em myself?" Zava's not around anymore, but Jamie would like sending a universal fuck you to the man.

[etherdwellers]

After being shot to death, threats of violence need some real bite behind them to make Thomas take notice. So he doesn't quite flinch in the face of the Captain's crop, but he does tip back his head with an indignant little huff.

What he finds on the Captain's face is genuine anger. Thomas supposes he's touched a nerve. They'd been getting along so well—for a record five minutes—that it is a shame to spoil it now, but Thomas cannot deny that ruffling the Captain's peafowl feathers instils a flicker of delight. Well, negative attention is still attention.

"What are you if not your work?" Thomas scoffs. "After near a century, I scarcely know a thing about the man you were before pledging your life to service. You committed to your duties here with near-religious devotion—yet you ask me to extend grace to those who sought to deny this of you?"

Here, Thomas realises he's scowling, which has never been his best look. Father always said it made him bear a closer resemblance to a pouting milkmaid than a formidable lord of the manor. So he flattens his mouth, glaring up at the Captain from beneath his brow with slightly less venom.

It seems the brand-new art aficionado who'd complimented Thomas's work is gone again. The Captain will need things put to him simply. Thomas reaches out to gently nudge down the offending swagger stick, and almost manages to speak without an edge of petulance to his tone.

"Besides, as it has clearly escaped your notice, I'm trying to be nice, you—miserable oaf. If you prefer, I'll go back to pointing out everything I don't like about you."

Considering how minute the praise was, the Captain is startled slightly at the way Thomas recoils, jumping away as though the spot he'd been sitting had been replaced with hot coals. It's not what he expects from the poet, given the only one craving compliments more than the soldier himself is the man in front of him. Though he's about to question it, he's halted rather sharply when Thomas continues to speak about those who were once under his charge as CO at Button House. His jaw grits slightly, hands tightening on the swagger stick that still lays rested on his lap. To speak ill of them doesn't sit right with him. They're still heroes, men of honor and he won't sit there while someone dismisses that. -- ❝Are you saying they weren't honorable, Thorne?❞

His voice is stern and he brings himself stand as he asks the rhetorical question, the impliment in his hand now pointing toward the other ghost as though it were a weapon to defend said honor. Perhaps in part it's because he doesn't believe Thomas - at least that they'd talk ill of him prior to his untimely and frankly shameful death. Before all that he'd been the model of a good leader, keeping everything ship-shape and following protocol to the letter. They'd have no reason to dislike him as far as he's concerned. So it must be a falsehood. -- ❝I'd hold your tongue on matters you don't understand - those were good men! They were hardly off on holiday when they left here. Many of them died to protect this fine country! Any gripes they may have had with me certainly didn't extend to my work, I can be sure of that much if nothing else.❞

[etherdwellers]

Sure, Connor had expected the rhetoric—but bringing Willa into it is the dig that really lands. He straightens up, gaze bearing a little more fire and steel.

"You got me," he says, free hand waving in cartoon surrender. "All I've got is decades of experience as a major shareholder of a Fortune 500 company. And I guess I've only spent my whole life rubbing shoulders with this country's real power centre."

He shrugs, figuring he doesn't need to spell out that to be a Roy is to be American royalty—so who cares if some Swede bought ATN? Connor still has an in with every old-money dynasty who'll pick up the phone to him in a way they won't for his siblings, not now the proximity to Waystar is gone.

Because Connor was always the nice one. The unassuming human face who throws dinners with parlour games and sends gifts on their kids' birthdays.

"Don't need me even as a donor? Sure, rag on me all day long. But can you legislate years of goodwill with big-name players right across the political spectrum?"

    Before election night, Jeryd rarely dealt with Connor personally. Both men, he thought, assumed they could get enough without the other and while a was miniscule part of him knew Connor had enough reputation to split to vote, he refused to believe the eldest Roy was more than that. Additionally, there was an anger underneath the resentment that someone like Connor could have taken away all Jeryd had worked for.

“Not revisionist, factual.” His words are harsh, and he knows it but makes no effort to soften his tone. “I don’t mean to be blunt,” but he does, “but your Conheads were never going to go Dem. They’re the stragglers, the unimportant and forgotten people with an overinflated self worth that comes from nepotism and money.” He knows he’s going below the belt, but his foul mood makes him more uncaring than normal. “You were a distraction for them. They wanted something new and someone they could relate to and that’s you for the latter part. Where are they now? Calling for you to be in office? Jiminez has his guys doing that, why don’t yours?” Irrelevancy, he thinks.

 Mencken gives a look around, sees his team signalling if he wants to be pulled from the conversation but he gestures that he’s staying in it. Attention is snapped back to Connor with a degrading laugh. “Economy? Come on. You don’t have the qualification or the experience. What you know about the economy is what your dad gave you and what you spent buying your wife.”

[etherdwellers]

Now you live through the ages I can feel your pulse in the pages

[etherdwellers]

Now that's more like it, Connor thought. He dropped the schmoozing-politician smile just long enough to channel a hint of schoolboy mischief instead, regarding her while he drew a sip. So far he'd only received safe, bland answers: social media divides us, video games radicalise kids, your father's news conglomerate is societal poison.

"Excellent," he said, tipping his glass towards her. "That's exactly the kind of specific bugbear I wanted, and you've convinced me. Maybe I'll ban the damn things once I get to Pennsylvania Avenue—or, hell, screen new drivers for souped-up NASCAR wannabes. A federal douchebag filter."

Connor was not a car person, in the sense he could view them only as means to ends. But it was interesting to him that she was—and flagrantly, too. Extravagance was the sturdy bole that ran through his family tree, but not in the accumulating classic rides kind of way. Collecting something would mean caring about something, a concept to which most of his kin were diametrically opposed.

"Here's where I lose you. When it comes to cars, you'll have to enlighten me on the appeal of anything other than the latest and greatest. Full disclosure: if it were up to me, America's favoured mode of transportation would still be the mighty horse."

Dionysia knew a little about the host, mainly that he was a fellow billionaire, only he was running for President apparently. That was the extent of what she knew. Mainly she arrived to have an excuse to drink in a way that was less lonely and sad. She hated parties, but being drunk at parties; the best and only proper way to experience them in Dionysia's opinion. Besides, her CFO thought it would be beneficial to attend, which was truly the main reason she was there, even if her reason for agreeing was wildly different.

His question, at least, was interesting. Dionysia glanced up from her glass and considered it.

"Hm... personal grievances." she repeated, thinking of what most recently annoyed her. She certainly had a lot of options to choose from, as a lot annoyed her, but she spoke the first one that came to mind. "Exhaust tip resonators or any other modification that intentionally makes a car louder than it is. I would absolutely get rid of those bastards. Annoying as all fucking hell."

"Keep in mind, I love cars. I own nine sportscars and thirteen cars in total, two of them also technically being sportscars but they're far more vintage. However all of them, even my Bugatti, my Zenvo, my McLaren, they're all modified to be smooth and quiet. When I hear a loud engine pointlessly revving on some douchebag's tiny dickmobile in the middle of the night, I think to myself, wow, I really hope they get into a car crash."

[etherdwellers]

BBC Ghosts | The Ghost of Christmas (2020)

[etherdwellers]

If Piranha's tone did not startle him, her abrupt change of direction would. Again Thomas thought of fanged fish as he scurried backwards to put distance between himself and the panicked woman now advancing across the room. Still, Thomas intimately recognised emotional distress, and was not entirely unsympathetic.

"What's the matter?" he asked, raising both palms as if to steady her. "You look like you've seen a… well, a me, but you've seen me already."

He wondered, then, if he'd said something to upset her. It would not be the first time. Modern customs changed so quickly, and being dead made it hard to stay up to date. But when he thought about it, he realised he'd said very little, leaving only one likely conclusion to the mystery of what had spooked Piranha.

She was obviously so taken with him that she could not control herself. He couldn't blame her: he radiated sophistication and worldliness, and had oft been described as easy on the eyes. Being visited by a ghost alone was quite possibly the most exciting thing to ever happen to her—but to be in the presence of a gentleman like himself?

Thomas's expression shifted into one of pity, brows tilting, gaze soft and knowing. "You poor thing. Come—sit—no need to rely on your unsteady feet. I know this must all come as quite a shock, but I assure you, in life I was just the same as you: a mere mortal. There is no need to stand in awe."

| @etherdwellers | God, Amanda, you should see this, Piranha couldn't help thinking as she stood by the fridge looking at the ghost man across the kitchen. I think I might have just topped your adventure, and I wasn't even trying.

As he listed off the possibilities to her, Piranha quietly applied them to herself. Unless her best friend going back in time to marry Mr Darcy counted as a death that needed to be grieved, that probably wasn't it - though now that she was actively thinking about it, technically Amanda would be dead given Pride and Prejudice seemed to have been set some two hundred ago when Piranha read the book. Her wide eyed look shifted to one of attempting to hold back the sudden need to cry as it properly sank in that her best friend really was gone.

Any other time, Thomas' comment about her taste in decor would have gotten a laugh from her but once she got stuck with the thought of never getting to say a proper goodbye to Amanda, the overwhelming regret of not taking the risk of seeing what Amanda wanted to share with her latched on. Absentmindedly opening the fridge to get the water she'd gone back to the kitchen for in the first place, it took her a few seconds to notice that there was now a brightly lit drawing room in place of her groceries. Letting out a gasp, she quickly slammed the door shut and turned back to Thomas, moving toward him as if she wanted to usher him out of the kitchen, only to stop short the moment she remembered: he's a ghost. He can't be pushed anywhere.

"I've changed my mind about the water! Shall we return to the sitting room? I think we should," she declared frantically.

[etherdwellers]

"You suggested that a little fast," Connor said, fondly, though with an undercurrent of suspicion. He straightened up, drumming a rhythm against the back of the couch while he thought it over. "Ibiza… It's been a while, but I seem to recall that place is party central." Now his playful tone grew a shade more serious, despite his best efforts to hide it. "You got any wild plans I should know about, honey?"

She did feel sorry for the fact that Con's dream didn't come true, but at the same time she thought this was for the best. It would have been too stressful for him, plus that she had never liked the idea of being the First Lady. She wanted to be remembered for being an amazing playwright, and not because she was married to the President.

" Yes, I completely agree. What about Ibiza?" she would have loved to go there for their honeymoon, but at that time they have been too busy with the election.

[etherdwellers]

@ohsunshine / for roman

For the first few days of Roman's stay, Connor affords his brother space. It's not that he isn't delighted to have a sibling visit—because of course he is. But Connor has never quite mastered the art of discerning when Roman might be amenable to conversation from when he's on his highest shock jock setting, ready to go full Howard Stern on any naïve soul who dares say good morning.

By day three, Connor has tired of dancing around. He knows better than to barrage Roman with deeply personal questions like what the hell happened at that board meeting, so it's a good thing he has little interest in asking anyway. When he pauses by Roman en route to the kitchen—once dad's in decoration, now very much Willa's—it's with more practical purposes in mind.

"C'mon," he says, making a point of mussing Roman's hair because why wouldn't he? The opportunity was there for seizing. "Come make yourself useful. I'm making eggs and you're gonna brew the coffee."