#like someone take me back to 18th century London

[muffinpink02]

Bronze Is Better Then Gold

part 2 here

Summary - Ona has transferred to a new police force, she meets her partner, Lucy Bronze. The girls hit it off right away, flirting at every chance they can get. But will Lucy’s past get in the way?

This is an AU story, but its got most of the girls from the lionesses featuring. People seem to like it so thought you guys might too.

Warnings - some suggestive scenes (lets keep it 18 and above) lots of angst, gun violence, smut to come in last chapter (chapter 4)

Ona shivered from the crisp cold morning air. It had just hit the start of October and the signs of autumn were already showing. Even after nearly five years of living in the UK the Spaniard still hadn’t got used to the cold English weather.

She drank the last sip of her coffee, taking in the grey building in front of her. Her new place of work.

She watched as a couple of uniformed police officers walked into the building, talking amongst themselves. She took in a deep breath, trying her best to shake off the first day nerves.

It was her first day at the new firm. She had been personally scouted from the Chief Constable to have a chat. When asked if she wanted to transfer it was an easy yes for Ona. The building was closer to home, it was a day shorter in the working week with Mondays off. And the Chief Constable was well known to be excellent at her job. Her team was one of the best in the city of London. She was definitely someone Ona wanted to be working under.

She dashed her empty coffee cup in a nearby bin and made her way to the buildings reception, where she was greeted by a very overly happy receptionist. Not something that she was used to back in her old firm or in London for that matter.

“Hello, how can I help you today?” The blonde smiled brightly up at Ona.

Ona cleared her throat. “Good morning, I’m Ona Battle, it’s my first day today, I was told to go to reception.”

“Ohh lovely! Welcome! I have all the bits you’ll need.”

Ona smiled at the bubbly blonde. She glanced at her name tag, Esme Morgan.

The blonde grabbed a folder that had lots of paper work inside, she handed it over to Ona.

“Right here’s all the bits you’ll need from me, I’ll take you over to Sarina, the ‘important’ part of the building. I’m Esme by the way. Follow me.”

The blonde was taller than Ona expected her to be, but that wasn’t hard in Ona’s experience, most people in the room were always taller than the Spaniard, unless they were under the age of ten.

“You’ve met Sarina right?” The blonde smiled.

Esme reminded Ona of an excited puppy in the nicest possible way, the girl was full of beans.

“Ahh yes, on video call. She’s really nice.”

“Oh yeah she is, she’s like a mum away from your own mum. Well that’s how I see her.”

Ona smiled, she liked this girl, she wasn’t like your usual Brit, she was genuinely cheery. Not fake cheery, but someone who actually seemed happy.

They walked down a long green corridor, Ona looked over at the pictures on the wall of police officers from across the years, even going back as far as the 18th century.

“We’ve heard such good things about you. I know Sarinas really happy that you joined us.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard good things about this branch. I could never have said no.”

Esme smiled, she had a happy bounce to her as she walked, her cheerful character was almost infectious.

“Ahh that’s great. I hope you like it here, we’ve got a lovely bunch on the team. Do you know who your partner is?”

“Ahh that’s good to hear. Erm I’m going to be working with Gold.”

“Gold? Who’s Gold? I didn’t know we had a gold.” Esme’s face scrunched in confusion.

Ona rattled her brain for the right translation, she was sure it was gold, or was it?

“Oh do you mean Bronze?”

Ona laughed, just slightly embarrassed of her mix up.

“Ahh yes, sorry I haven’t got my elements down.”

Esme smiled widely, Ona couldn’t help but smile back.

“Oh yeah, neither have I, don’t worry about it.” She laughed to herself, turning a corner with Ona following.

“Yeah Bronze is a lovely girl. She’s such a hard worker, one of the hardest workers on the team actually. You’re lucky to have her as your partner.”

Ona smiled, she already liked the sound of her new partner, but she had to try and forget ‘Gold’ and remember Bronze.

But little did Ona know that wouldn’t be hard.

They stopped outside a room with a plaque ingrained with ‘S Weigman’ on the door. Esme knocked a cheery tune.

In a heartbeat she heard a women’s voice coming from inside.

“Come in Esme.”

Esme opened the door motioning for Ona to enter.

“Right, here we are, this is where I leave you. Sarina will take it from here. Good luck today and if you need anything you know where to find me.”

“Thank you Esme, it was lovely to meet you.”

Esme nodded, a happy smile still sitting on her face.

“Oh by the way, Claudia called, she’s had to cancel the 10 o’clock meeting.”

Sarina nodded, smiling fondly at the blonde, it was as if she was looking at a young child.

“Thank you Esme, and thank you for bringing Ona.”

The bubbly blonde nodded and bounced off, waving at everyone she passed in the corridor. Ona couldn’t help but smile again at the brightness that Esme left on her mood.

“Ona! Please come in. It’s so good to finally meet you in person, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve joined us. Come take a seat. Do you want a tea or coffee, a cold drink?”

Ona took a seat in front of Sarinas desk.

“Oh no, I’m okay, I just had a coffee. Thank you.”

Sarina nodded, smiling at the young girl in front of her.

“Okay, well firstly welcome. I know I’ve said it already but I’m so excited to have you on the team. Emma told me how much of a hard worker you are, you’ve accomplished so much at such a young age. It’s incredible. Emma did not let you go easy! But I’m glad you were happy to move to us.”

Ona smiled at her feet, feeling slightly shy at the compliments.

“Ahh thank you. It’s just part of the role, I really enjoy my job. And yes the move felt right, I had been there since I moved to London, so it was nice for a change. I’ve also heard a lot about you and your team. You’re well known how efficient your squad run.”

Sarina smiled and nodded, taking in the girl in front of her.

“So where are you from? That’s not a British accent I can hear.”

Ona laughed. “I’m from Spain, Catalonia. I’ve been in the UK nearly five years.”

“I see, so why police here and not Spain? What made you move here?”

Ona played with her fingers. “I was in the police force back in Spain, I joined when I was 18 but I wanted a change. I love my city but things didn’t work out how I wanted. I’ve always loved the UK and the people. There’s something special about it.”

Sarina nodded again, smiling warmly at the younger girl.

“I can understand, I’m originally from the Netherlands. I came here to study and never left. I then found my now husband and have lived here ever since.”

Ona nodded, smiling at the women. “The UK spoke to both of us.”

Sarina hummed in agreement. “It did indeed. Do you ever go back home much?”

Ona played with her fingers again, feeling a little uncomfortable. She kept her eyes casted down.

“Erm, not really. I went back once but that’s all.”

Sarina noticed the change in the younger women. She didn’t want to push so she changed the subject.

“Well, these next couple of days I just want you to get to know the team and the building and how we work here. I don’t want to throw you right in the deep end, even though I know you can handle it. I like my staff to feel comfortable first. Bronze and the team will be going on a raid next week. You’ll be joining them.”

Ona nodded. “Okay, that sounds good. I’m really looking forward to meeting everyone and getting stuck in.” She smiled at the older women.

“And I want you to know I am always here if you need to talk about anything, from work, to general life. We have our therapist on site that we ask you to at least see once every two weeks but you can go as much as you want.

Ona now understood what Esme meant about Sarina being a mother figure, she could sense a genuine care from the older women but also a firmness to her.

The Spaniard nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Great, I’ll take you on a tour of the building and you can meet the team and meet your partner.”

Sarina showed Ona around the building, stopping off at certain floors that Ona would need in the future.

They then walked into the main office, where it looked like most of the staff worked. Ona suddenly felt a little nervous, she was fine with meeting new people, she was a social butterfly really, but it was always daunting meeting your new work colleagues.

“Nobbs, Stokes, come and meet Ona Battle, it’s her first day and I want you to make sure she settles in.”

Two short women smiled brightly at Ona, both walking towards her.

“Hello, I’m Jordan or Nobbs. It’s nice to meet you.” She reached her hand out to shake Ona’s.

“Hello Jordan, lovely to meet you.”

“I’m Demi or Stokes. Really happy to have you on the team.” The slightly taller woman also holding her hand out for Ona.

Ona smiled, shaking Demis hand.

“Hello Demi. Also lovely to meet you.”

“You’ll be working a lot with DC Nobbs and DC Stokes. They’re some of the best Detective Constables I’ve ever worked with.”

Serina patted Demi on the back. Looking at the girls like a proud mum.

“Yeah, yeah. You say that about everyone.” Demi rolled her eyes, joking with her superior.

“No? Do I? Oh just the good ones then.” Sarina winked at the Spaniard. Causing the group to laugh.

Ona once again could see the pride this woman had for her team, it was refreshing to see. It definitely wasn’t something she was used to in her old firm.

Demi then spoke. “We’ve heard only good things about you Ona.”

A slight tint of pink rushed to Ona’s cheeks.

“I’m scared I’ve got to live up to this reputation now.”

All four of the women laughed.

“Don’t worry. You have Bronze as a partner, she’ll make sure you live up to it.” A new voice entered the chat.

Ona turned around to face a women even taller then Esme. A cup of coffee in hand.

“Don’t try and scare her Scott.” Jordan scolded the older women.

The taller women laughed at her own joke. She stuck her hand out for Ona to take.

“I’m only joking. I’m Scott, it’s good to have you on the team.”

Ona noticed her thick Northern accent, she knew she’d have to listen extra hard when speaking with the tall woman.

“Thank you, it’s great to meet you.” Ona smiled.

“Ona, this is our SFC Jill Scott, one of the best I’ve ever worked with.”

“That’s true.” Jill took a sip of her coffee looking pleased with herself, while the other two girls rolled their eyes at the banter.

“Where is Bronze?” Sarina looked around the room.

“Gym.” In unison all three of the girls replied.

Ona quirked an eye brow at the response

“That girl! I told her to be here to meet Ona.”

“She probably wanted her muscles to look extra big to show off.” Jordan laughed.

“Yeah, like she needs them any bigger.” Jill took another sip of her coffee.

“Jealousy is a shit trait to have Scott.”

Another voice entered the conversation.

“Ahh Luce, you know I’m only joking. I am indeed just jealous.” Jill laughed.

Ona turned around wanting to give the new voice a face.

Wow.

Ona nearly forgot how to breathe, the woman standing in front of her was stunning. She took in the girl in front of her, she had almond shaped eyes, filled with a beautiful intense shade of green. Like Ona she had a face covered in freckles but a lot less dark and less condensed.

Her face was strong and soft at the same time, her jawline was perfectly defined, yet her other features were soft and feminine, she was gorgeous.

Her face was flushed, a thin layer of sweat glistening over her muscular arms and neck. Her dark hair was wet and scraped back, small curls escaping the messy bun, clearly wet from the gym that the girls had mentioned.

Ona was lost for words, the girl was beautiful.

“Ona this is CI Bronze, she’s going to be there for whatever you need, all of the girls will be, but Bronze is your go to girl.”

Lucy couldn’t hold back the smile that appeared on her face, Ona was breathtaking. It was her eyes that Lucy noticed first, she had wide, soft doe eyes, innocent looking eyes. A beautiful chocolate brown surrounded her iris, making her face warm and inviting.

Dark freckles covered her face, another feature Lucy couldn’t help but admire. Her skin was slightly tanned but not bronze, more of a milk colour. Lucy imagined that was because of the English weather.

It was when Ona smiled that Lucy felt her stomach flutter. She thought her face was beautiful and soft before, but her smile made her perfect. She noticed how chiseled her jawline was when she smiled, how perfectly it fit with her features. The girl was utterly beautiful.

Lucy held out her hand for Ona’s to shake.

Ona had to kick her brain into gear to move, she took Lucy’s hand, instantly loving how soft her skin was against hers.

“It’s great to have you on the team Ona, and like Sarina said, I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Thank you, I can’t wait to work with you.”

They held hands for a second longer than the usual handshake would normally last.

The interaction wasn’t missed by the other women, Jordan and Demi eyed up the the older brunette, smiling between each other as Lucy and Ona kept eye contact for a second too long.

“Okay, well. I’ll let Lucy take care of you from here, if you need anything let the girls know, or if you need anything from me you know where I am.”

The older lady smiled warmly at Ona, leaving her with her new co-workers.

“Let me show you your desk, it’s next to mine.”

“Great.” Ona followed.

Lucy walked towards a row of desks with computers and files of paper work neatly piled on each space. But there was one desk with only a computer that Ona assumed was hers.

“This is you. I apologise in advance my desk can get a little messy now and again.”

“Ahh that doesn’t bother me.” Ona couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

“I’ll try keep and keep it tidy though.”

“She won’t Ona, she’s lying.” Jordan poked her head over Lucy’s computer. Hers and Demis desk both opposite their own.

“Shut it Nobbs,”

Jordan smiled cheekily at the older brunette.

“Trust me Ona, give it a week.” Jordan smiled.

Ona laughed at the banter between the girls, she wondered if her and Lucy would ever get as close.

“Ignore her. I’m going to quickly head for the showers. I know you’ve got all that paper work to go through, so you can just chill here. Kitchen is just over there, help yourself to a drink. Once I’m back I’ll go through some bits with you.” Lucy smiled at the younger girl.

“Sure, sounds good. Enjoy your shower.” Ona had to stop herself from thinking too hard about Lucy in the shower. She looked around the room, noticing other people at their desks working, she was going to have to try and remember a lot of names today.

She started to read through her paper work, it was mostly rules and work conducts she had to read and agree to.

Eight pages in to her paper work she felt Lucy hover over her.

“God I hate all of this, it’s so boring, but I get it, it has to be done.” Lucy rolled her eyes.

Ona smiled, she agreed but she wasn’t going to make it obvious. “Ahh yeah, I know. Nearly done though.”

Lucy nodded. “Do you fancy a tea or coffee? I’m going to make one.”

“Coffee please.” - “Tea for me.” Jordan and Demi loudly put their order in.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t asking you!”

“Don’t be like that, you’re going anyways.” Demi shouted back.

“Fine. Ona?” Lucy started to get up.

“Erm, tea please? With two sugars please.” Ona smiled.

Lucy had to hold herself back from saying the ‘you’re sweet enough’ line.

“No problem.” Lucy made her way to the kitchen.

Ona smiled as she read on with her paper work.

Ona drank her tea that Lucy made, listening to the brunette talk about what investigations the team was working on.

“But don’t stress too much, I’ll have you sitting in the catch up on Friday, so you can get an idea. I’ll send over some bits so you can read them in your own time. I know the first day can be a lot.”

If Ona was honest she was more than grateful for the slow introduction to the work. She was finding it hard to concentrate with Lucy. She’d never been one for distractions with work, but she was having to listen extra carefully to Lucy, instead of watching her lips, wondering what they would feel like against her own.

Ona nodded. “Yeah that’s great. I’ll go over that tonight, thank you Lucy.”

“Great. It’s nearly lunch, Sarina has insisted we go for lunch together to get to know each other. Partners and all that. But don’t feel like you hav-.”

“Yes!” Ona internally winced at her own eagerness

Lucy chuckled.

“I mean yeah, that’s sounds great. It’s a good idea.”

“Cool, do you like pizza?”

“I love pizza.”

“Oi, don’t try and par us off, we was CC’d on that email too.” Jordan’s head pocked over the computer.

Lucy rolled her eyes once again at her friend.

——————-

The conversation between the girls came naturally, they spoke about why they got into the police force, and some of their hardest cases.

Ona explained that she fell in love with London, and how she always wanted to be a police officer when she was young. She kept some bits brief, not wanting to get into certain bits of her life.

She noticed those greens eyes watching her throughout the meal, every time she caught her, the older brunette would dart her eyes to something or someone else, but she was caught every time.

*********

By the end of the day Ona was tired, she’d already not slept great the night before down to nerves. She had met everyone else in the office after lunch, so by five she was yawning.

Lucy was on her computer sending Ona some notes to read.

“Right, don’t stress about reading this tonight. It’s been a long day.”

“But don’t be tired on Friday, we’re going to The Rose and Crown. And it’s the rules, you have to come.” Jill had come up behind Ona.

“Well it doesn’t sound like I have a choice, you can buy my first drink.” Ona smiled, getting used to the girls banter.

All the girls laughed, Jill put her hand on Ona shoulder giving her a squeeze.

“I like this one.”

Lucy was watching Ona, a bright smile on her face, Ona felt her heart beat just a little faster.

——————-

By day two Ona was obsessed with Lucy’s laugh, the girl had a serious nature to her, but once Ona made her laugh she couldn’t stop. She wanted to hear that beautiful sound whenever she could. It was a good thing Lucy actually seemed to find her funny. Ona felt a rush of excitement go through her, even at a glimpse of Lucy’s beautiful smile, the girl did have a beautiful smile.

By day three Lucy had to physically stop herself from staring at Ona. The younger girl would be doing the simplest of tasks and Lucy seemed to find it fascinating. She watched the Spaniard making them tea in the kitchen, talking and laughing with others in the office. Lucy maybe even getting a little jealous when someone made the shorter girl laugh hard.

Ona may have noticed the eyes on her and was loving every second of it. Making sure to laugh a little harder at something someone would say.

By day end of day there neither girl could keep the other out of their head. Lucy thought about Ona as she made dinner at home, wondering if Ona would like her cooking. Meanwhile Ona got comfy on her sofa to watch a film, wondering what it would be like to have Lucy cozied up next to her.

By Friday morning, Ona thought about Lucy as she ate her porridge, wondering what her morning routine looked like. As Lucy finished her workout in the gym she wondered if Ona was a morning person. She wondered what it would be like to wake up next to a groggy Ona. The thought made her body heat up.

———————

“We have eyes on Harvey Smith aka ‘Bugz’ and Frank Smith aka ‘Slims’. We know the brothers are highly dangerous to the public. We believe Slims is the brains behind most of the drug operations and Bugz is mostly muscles for Slims. On Wednesday at seven hundred hours, our teams will raid the location that we suspect they will be. We’ll have Scott and her team ready with arms. Carter will have the K9s unit, Bright and Greenwood will have their teams ready on site.”

Lucy looked over at her team.

“Any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads, and Ona wasn’t surprised. Lucy was clear with her instructions, she’d gone through many different stages of the plan. Ona understood why she was in this role.

“If you have any please come to me.”

Lucy looked her watch. “It’s 4.45 and Friday let’s call it a day.”

The room hummed in agreement, light chatter broke out as people started to leave the room.

Ona went to her desk to grab her bag and jacket, she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders.

“Ready for the pub?”

Lucy’s voice filtered into her ears, Ona nearly shivered at how close the brunette was.

“Sii. I’m ready.”

“Great. Nobbs, Stokes, Scott, let’s go.”

—————-

Most of the staff from the office were at the pub, clearly a favourite of theirs. They made their way upstairs to a booth next to a fire place, Ona instantly felt the warmth from the fire kissing her cheeks.

“Right, I’ll get first round who wants what?” Lucy stayed standing.

The girls gave in their orders. Before Ona could offer to help with the drinks and also just have an excuse to be with Lucy, Jill got in there first.

“Right come on then, I’ll help ya.”

At the bar Lucy gave in the orders. She knew Jill wanted to say something as the Geordie had never offered to help anyone with the drinks since working with her.

“Go on then, what do you have to say?” Lucy looked hard at the taller women.

Jill smiled smugly. “Nothing gets past you.”

Lucy hummed.

“Just noticed you’ve been a lot more chirpier around the office. A lot more happy. Started since our new Detective Inspector started.”

Lucy felt the knot in her stomach, was she that obvious? Did Ona notice? Who else noticed? Either way Lucy wasn’t going to fess up.

“You chat shit Scott.”

Jill laughed loudly.

“You know I don’t. Come on it’s okay, no harm in it. Just happy to see you happy to be honest. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that smile on your face.”

Lucy knew what Jill really meant when she said that. She could tell the older women said it with her own hint of sadness to her voice. If she was being honest, it was the first time this year she had felt a little happier. And it was all because of the short Spanish girl sitting upstairs.

“So Ona are you seeing anyone at the moment?” Jordan asked.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone. I’m a single, how do you say? Dingle?”

The girls laughed. “Pringle, a single Pringle.” Demi corrected.

Ona laughed. “Ahh that’s it. Single Pringle. What about you guys?”

“Demi here’s engaged, with a baby.” Jordan smiled.

“Ahh that’s lovely.” Ona smiled.

“And Jordan has a little thing going on with a blonde in the HR team.”

“Oi, shut up.” Jordan looked panicked.

“Oh come on Jordan, everyone knows. You guys really aren’t subtle.” Demi laughed at her friend.

“Who’s not subtle?” Lucy placed the tray full of drinks on the table, sceptically looking at her friends.

“Just Jordan and Leah.”

Lucy let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

“Oh yeah, you guys aren’t subtle.”

“You can talk.” Jordan muttered.

Ona didn’t miss the daggers Lucy shot at Jordan.

The evening was full of laughter, Ona couldn’t help but feel a little sense of relief that these were her colleagues. They instantly made her feel like she was part of the team, it felt like she had been there longer than four days, it felt like she’d known these girls in another lifetime.

The pub bell rang.

“Last orders!” A bar girl shouted.

“One more for the road?” Lucy looked around the table.

“Not me, I’m at a coffee tour tomorrow.” Jill sipped on her pint.

“Yeah me too. I’m a plus one for a 2 year olds birthday party tomorrow.” Demi slumped in her seat.

“Yeah I’ve got to head off. I’m meeting a friend tomorrow.” Jordan cleared her throat.

“Yeah ‘friend’.” Demi laughed.

“I’ll stay for another.” Ona looked at Lucy.

Lucy had to hold back the excitement that bubbled up in her chest. Herself and Ona hadn’t really gotten any one on one time since the girl joined the team.

“Finally! Someone who isn’t a lightweight. Same again?” Lucy looked at Ona.

“It’s my turn. I’ll get this.” Ona shot up, going down to the bar before Lucy could argue.

Once the Spaniard was gone all three of the girls looked at Lucy, smirks on their faces.

“What?” Lucy looked at her friends.

“Oh come off it Luce, you like the girl.” Jordan nudged Lucy’s arm.

“What? No I don’t.” The brunette tried to defend herself.

She looked at Jill, hoping for some back up.

“I’m staying out of it. I’ve already said enough.“ She shook her head putting her coat on.

“Come on Bronzey. You can tell just by the way you look at her.” Demi laughed.

The smirk that creeped on her lips gave her feelings away.

“Is it that obvious?”

All three girls smiled happily at the brunette.

“Awww our girls got a crush.” Jordan grabbed the back of Lucy’s neck, making the girl duck her head.

“Get off.” She laughed.

“She’s single.” Demi quirked.

“Yeah but I don’t even know if she’s into girls.”

All three of the girls laughed hard then.

“Come on Luce, I thought you was a detective. The girl looks at you like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. I think this its a mutual feeling.” Jill lightly chuckled.

Lucy scoffed. “I doubt that.”

Before the girls could harass Lucy anymore Ona returned.

“Right I’m off. I hope you’ve enjoyed your first week Ona. The real work starts on Wednesday.” Jill winked.

“Sii, I’m looking forward to it. And thank you girls for making me feel so welcome. I appreciate it.” Ona smiled at the girls.

“It’s been a pleasure Ona.” Jordan smiled.

“Yeah, you fit in so well Ona, so glad we got you on our team.” Demi grabbed Ona’s shoulder.

“Look after her Bronze.” Jill pointed at the older brunette.

“Oh, she will.” Jordan winked at Lucy.

Ona didn’t miss the comment, or the way Lucy’s face went a shade of pink. Before Lucy could think of a come back the girls were gone.

Suddenly the room became quiet and the air between, Lucy and Ona felt thick. It was the first time Lucy had felt nervous, they had never been alone before, with no one sticking their nose into their conversations.

Ona was buzzing, don’t get her wrong, she loved getting to know her other colleges, loved being a part of the team but she had wanted some alone time with Lucy since she met her.

The fire made a loud cracking noise, the pub still had a few people nursing their drinks.

Lucy had forgotten all words, she hadn’t been able to think about nothing else since this girl came into her life only four days ago, and now her mind had gone blank.

After ten seconds of silence that actually felt like hours, finally Lucy’s brain woke up.

“So speaking about first weeks, how has yours been?”

Ona took a sip of her new drink, smiling.

“It’s been amazing. Everyone has been so friendly, so welcoming. It’s been great.”

Lucy nodded, smiling. She was happy to hear Ona was feeling welcome, she understood it was hard to start a new job anywhere.

“You especially have made me feel so welcome, I’m really happy that you’re my partner Lucy.”

Ona’s smile was shy, she looked at Lucy with those big beautiful brown eyes.

Lucy’s face had definitely changed in colour, she couldn’t hold back the dorky smile that plastered her face.

“I’m glad I have.”

Lucy smiled with her brilliant teeth.

“And yeah, you’re not too bad yourself. Definitely need to get you better at making tea, then you’ll be perfect.” She smiled cheekly at Ona.

Ona laughed hard. “Aye it’s not that bad!”

Lucy drank her drink, looking around making a point to not look at Ona.

“You’ll have to teach me.” Ona didn’t mean to sound sexy, but Lucy couldn’t help but think her voice got an octave lower.

Lucy pointed between herself and Ona. “If this is gong to work, then yeah, I’ll teach you.”

“Fine.” Ona smiled.

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Perfect.”

“No puedo esperar.” (I can’t wait)

Ona definitely lowered her voice that time. Lucy felt the heat rise up in her cheeks. Lucy laughed trying to gain her nerve back. She tried to change the subject before her face went any redder.

“Are you going back to Spain for Christmas?”

Ona’s smile dropped, she hadn’t told anyone the real reason for leaving Spain. It wasn’t because she was ashamed, it was just still a hard thing for her to digest. But if she could tell anyone Lucy would be the best person.

“No, I, ……. my parents don’t talk to me because I am gay.”

Lucy’s own smile dropped. She could see the sadness in Ona’s eyes, it broke her heart.

“Oh, Ona. I’m so sorry. When did they do that?”

“It happened when I was 19. They found out and kicked me out of my home. They blocked me and never spoke to me again. So I moved here. I wanted to move here at some point anyways, but it was sooner than I’d have liked.”

Lucy could feel her own tears well in her eyes.

“Have you spoken to them since?”

Ona looked down at her drink.

“After a year of living here I went back to Spain, to see if they would speak to me. But when I got to my home my mum closed the door on my face. I tried to reach out in many ways but they won’t talk to me.”

Lucy couldn’t believe how anyone could purposefully hurt the girl in front of her, let alone her own parents. It made her angry but Ona didn’t need that kind of response. She reached out her hand, gently grabbing Ona’s.

“I know we haven’t known each other that long but I am here if you ever wanna talk. Or if you ever just want an ear, I’m all yours.”

Ona smiled at Lucy, she heard everything she had said but mostly ‘I’m yours’ stood out most to her. “Thank you Lucy. I appreciate it.”

Lucy squeezed Ona’s hand, not ever wanting to let go, her hand felt so small and delicate in her own.

“Hi guys we’re closing up now.” The girl from behind the bar shouted loudly.

The last thing she wanted to do was leave Ona now. She wanted to do nothing else then scoop the girl up and hug her until she could smile again, even then Lucy wouldn’t want to let go.

“I guess we better leave.” Ona smiled sadly.

“You hungry?”

Ona nodded. “Starving.”

“Do you like chips?”

Ona nodded again, gaining back a smile.

“Right, come on then. I know the best place.”

——————-

“Okay don’t tell no one but I prefer curry sauce with my chips, and as a northerner that’s a bit of a crime. The northerners prefer gravy, I like both but the curry sauce just tastes so good.”

“I don’t think I’ve had it with chips before.”

“What? Okay, I’m about to blow your mind Battle.”

Ona laughed hard, she loved this excited version of Lucy, it probably was the fact that they were both tipsy and not in the office but it was nice to see the girl relaxed.

They left the chippy with their precious chips in hand.

“There’s a bench nearby if you want to eat there?”

“Yes, let’s do that. I want to give my full attention to your curry sauce.” Ona giggled.

“Thats what I like to hear. It’s just five minutes from here. It’s worth the walk.”

Ona followed Lucy down the coberrly streets of London. She watched as some business men stumbled into a black cab as they passed a posh looking restaurant.

They came to a busy road, with a few more pubs and bars lining the street. She felt Lucy link her arm into hers as she guided them easily through the crowds. Her heart skipped three beats from the simple gesture, just like it did in the pub when Lucy took her hand.

“Just down here.”

They got to a dark stair case leading down, Ona followed the older women, she would follow her anywhere at this point, no questions asked.

And as they got down the steps she saw why Lucy brought her here.

It was the perfect skylight of London. Ona had lived in London for nearly 5 years. She had seen the skylight in many different ways. Different times of the day, different seasons, different angles but this was the prettiest she’d ever seen it.

“Wow! It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Lucy was looking at Ona. Agreeing with both views.

“I come here sometimes when I need to think. Or just needing some time alone. Come sit.”

They sat on the bench facing the Thames, the lights of London lighting up the sky.

“Right, get your chip and dip.”

Lucy held out the curry sauce.

Ona dipped a thick chip in the sauce, she already liked the smell of it, so she hoped she’d like it. And she did, she loved it.

“Oh wow, that’s so good.” She dipped another chip.

“Yes! I knew you’d like it. Get in.”

Lucy dipped her own chip then, a satisfactory smile on her face.

Ona watched the girl, smiling at her. There was something about Lucy, something that seemed like a comfort that she had known before, a comfort she hadn’t felt in years.

The girls spoke about random things, laughing at the one another as they ate their chips.

Once they had finished their food a comfortable silence settled between them.

Until Ona yawned.

“Yeah, it’s late. Where are you from here? We can maybe share an Uber” Lucy picked up her phone.

“I’m in Battersea.”

Lucy’s eyes brightened. “I’m in Wandsworth. Nearly neighbours.”

Ona loved the thought of them being so close. She couldn’t help but wonder if Lucy would ever meet up with her on a weekend.

Ona gave Lucy her address for the Uber.

“Cool, they’ll be here in two minutes.”

They walked to the pick up destination, both suddenly quiet. It felt like neither girl wanted the night to end.

The Uber picked them up, both girls jumping in the back. It was at least a 20 minute drive to get home, so Ona grabbed the aux cord.

She put on Rosalía - BESO. Lucy turned to her smiling. The older brunette began to sing perfect Spanish like it was nothing. Ona’s mouth fell open in complete surprise.

“What? You can speak Spanish?”

Lucy laughed at the girls shock. “Yeah a little bit.”

She didn’t know why but it turned Ona on to know Lucy could speak Spanish, not just Spanish but Catalonian, it was hot.

The girls sang mostly to Rosalia all the way. Lucy was first the be dropped off. She turned to Ona.

“Night Ona. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Lucy wait, I should have your number.”

“Oh yeah, you should. Pass it here.”

Ona handed her phone and Lucy put her number in it, she called her phone to save Ona’s.

“Text me when you’re in please.”

“I will.” Ona smiled at the older women.

Lucy slid out the car and walked towards her home. Ona and the Uber driver watched as she walked into her house.

As soon as Ona got in she texted Lucy to tell her she was home.

Ona - Hola! I’m home. I owe you for the ride x

Lucy replied instantly .

Lucy - don’t worry about it x

Lucy - actually you can pay me back by making better teas 🤔 x

Ona - Fine! I’ll do better! I’ll make your tea better then you do for yourself 💪 x

Lucy laughed to herself.

Lucy - hmmm bit confident, we’ll see x

Ona - got to be confident in yourself 💅🏼 thank you for a good night Lucy, I really enjoyed myself xx

Lucy - you’re right! And you’re welcome, I really enjoyed myself too. And always here if you need a chat xx

Ona - thank you Lucy ❤️ good night xx

Lucy - good night xx

[dandelionterminal]

Invisible String Part 2 - Prologue II - His Butler, a Shadow

link to next part

tags: not beta read, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, like demon ranking stuff, Demon Deals, demon biology, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Family Feels, Platonic Relationships, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Song: invisible string (Taylor Swift), Cross-Posted on AO3, eventually part of a collection

characters: Sebastian Michaelis, Original female character

Summary:

-One single thread of gold tied me to you-

Demons, angels, and grim reapers roam the streets of London in the latter half of the 18th century. Adelaide DuPont knows that whatever killed her parents was not human. Someone, or something, killed them and left no trace. Adelaide and her brother, Luca, are left almost desolate. Their only hope is to get the Earl of Phantomhive on their side as an investor in their parents' company. Sebastian Michaelis is a leashed demon. However, that does not stop him from smelling his mate. He will not let the fate of humans in this world take her away from him. He can balance two goals at once. He can care for his master and convince his mate to return to the pits of Hell with him.

Adelaide Manon DuPont was born to her parents Elise DuPont and Alain DuPont on September 17, 1868, in France. She was a bright and cheerful child. Her hair was a vibrant red during her childhood but lightened and dulled with age. It settled into an almost pink strawberry blonde. She always loved to learn and create. Her parents fretted about her playing make-believe so much as a child. She always seemed to have imaginary friends that she would talk to and play with. She called them the most terrifying and archaic names. One she seemed to talk to the most was called Malphas and she described him as wearing feathers and having “really long nails”. She seemed to outgrow it though, as she got older. Little did Elise and Alain know that Adelaide simply stopped sharing her strange visions and visitors. Malphas stopped visiting her though in 1885. The family moved to London in 1870 in preparation for their company launch. 

In 1873, Luca Gabriel DuPont joined the family. He was much quieter and withdrawn than his elder sister and was rather apathetic growing up. Luca did not enjoy make-believe or have imaginary friends. But he did listen to his sister whisper to her in the night. When Luca was around 12, he listened to his sister whisper to the shadows through a crack in her bedroom door. 

“I’ve told you, monsieur, you cannot keep coming here. My family worries, I worry, that I am crazy,” she said to the shadows in the corner of her room. Luca squinted, trying to see what or who she was speaking to. That’s when he saw it, a faint golden glow around his sister’s ring finger. It led up to connect to something lurking in the shadows. An arm reached out of the shadows. Monstrous, long black nails on the hand tried to stroke his sister's cheek. She backed away in fear and Luca covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. “No,” she said firmly. “Do not touch me.” 

The shadows moved, as if laughter was coming from a chest. “I am trying to prove to you that I am real,” the shadow said. Luca could not believe it. The imaginary friends, the delusions, of his sister were real. They were tangible, visible, and speaking audibly. 

“No, you are not. You are in my head, you’re a part of my imagination that has gone on too long,” Adelaide said, throwing herself back in her bed and covering her head. “I will not see you anymore, Malphas.”

The shadow chuckled again and seeped back into hiding. “If you say so, Adelaide,” it said and then vanished into the night. Luca ran back to his room and pretended to have never seen anything. From that night on, however, he never heard Adelaide speak to the shadows again. 

______________________________________________________________________

One night, in 1886, the DuPont home caught on fire. The blazes were so large that the public did not believe there would be any survivors and the DuPont Confectionary Company would vanish into the night with the embers. However, once the blaze had died down, the children of the DuPonts were found unscathed, huddled together in a corner of the home. The 18-year-old heiress to the DuPont Confectionary Company and her younger brother were not burnt and barely coughed as they emerged from the still-burning coals of their home. The bodies of the former Earl DuPont and his wife were found to be burnt beyond recognition. From that moment on, the homeless DuPont heirs were shunned from society. 

______________________________________________________________________

Let me give you an example of the treatment of the DuPont heirs. After the fire, the siblings were invited to a ball with the ton. It was assumed that the heiress would find a husband during this ball. The siblings' aunt in Paris sent them nice garments to wear to the event. When the two walked into the event, the room fell hushed and ladies started whispering behind their fans. Adelaide walked up to a group of ladies she used to spend these high society events with only to overhear the whispers they were hiding behind their fans. 

“Do you think it was Addie or her brother? We know one of them had to start it, right?” one of the ladies said, her perfect curls bouncing as she spoke. 

“Oh of course. How else would they be unscathed but their parents burnt to a crisp?” another asked. 

“Do you think that the DuPonts had that much money? Enough to risk your own life and well-being for?” the first one asked. 

Adelaide pauses in her steps, head bowed to the ground. They were not there that night, she reminds herself. They did not know the screams, the horrors she had to endure that night. The sounds of tearing flesh and hellfire echoed in her and Luca’s ears every night when they closed their eyes. Even as she squeezed her eyes shut in the moment to try to blink away her tears she saw the smiles of those monsters in her vision. The obscene fangs and tongues were covered in her parents's blood. She had shielded her brother from their line of sight, protecting him. She did not know why they targeted her home or her family that night. One thing she did know for certain was that those creatures were not human. Her family was murdered, but they were not murdered by humans. And, as your narrator, I can confirm that she is correct. 

______________________________________________________________________

For the next year, the DuPont heirs struggled. It turned out that running a company on your own as a teenager was not an easy feat. The business seemed to be going down farther and farther. Part of the issue was the tainted name of DuPont. Everyone associated the candies the DuPont Company made with the fire and assumed familicide. Try as she might to clear their name, Adelaide could not convince the public that she and her brother did not kill their parents. 

As the year went on, the siblings struggled more and more to make ends meet. Food got scarcer, sacrifices had to be made, and Adelaide started eating less. On the nights when she was the hungriest, she really missed talking to Malphas. 

It was one of these nights that Adelaide started thinking. She had heard of Funtom company, and how the company was run by a child. She started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he would take a chance on DuPont Company, on her and her brother.

[evita-shelby]

The Witch and the Scarecrow

Dc!Villain!Eva and pretty boy!scarecrow from the nolanverse won't leave me alone lol

So have another foc for Halloween 🎃 y'all

Rated: MA for sexual situations/smut 🔞

Gif by @firecracker-ani

“I’m not like the other girls, Johnathan Crane.” She said as her grip on his throat tightened enough to put pressure on his windpipe, but she continued to ride him.

Him inside this woman who was immune to his fear toxin. Him tied to the bed with his own shirt and gasping in both pain and pleasure as the lovely Eva fucked him as she choked him.

“How?” he gasps as he held himself back. This had never happened to him, no one was immune to his drugs. She should be petrified, driven insane by things that aren’t there and completely under his control.

Instead, he is there fighting with the part of him that enjoys this reversal of power and wants to give in to her and the part that should be breaking out of his makeshift restraints and kill her before she does.

Had to be law enforcement or one of Falcone’s people.

There is no way this could be coincidental.

“I’m immune to the blue flowers you use.” She smirked as she leaned down and kissed him without ever releasing her hold on his throat.

When Eva isn’t working for her family, she is working for Him.

Well, working implies the liberty to choose.

To put it simply, the League of Shadows owns her, and she does as she’s told…most of the time.

A deal they’ve had with her family since one of the false Ra’s al Ghul discovered them in the 18th century.

Their Gifted offspring were then sent to be trained by him and they would beget the next generation of weapons upon finding a suitable mate with a worthy set of genes.

Ra’s wants this man to work for him. He’s mastered how to use those rare blue flowers and effectively weaponized it in just a few months.

Still, Eva had to be careful around Johnathan. There is no room for mistakes, and she would suffer in the name of Ra’s fucked-up game of eugenics.

He was a little nutty, but he was good looking in that pretty boy sort of way. Beautiful blue eyes, boyish charm and a big, beautiful brain underneath those pretty brown locks.

Reminded the witch of someone she used to love in a past life.

“Be careful, my dear little witch, he may be of use to me today, but I’d be a fool to let Crane have you.” Ra’s al ghul says as he orders her to find Bruce Wayne and see if she can make a killer out of him.

Wayne is someone he wants to bend to his will, to make him one of them and use him to breed her replacement.

But Eva knows Bruce Thomas Wayne will never be one of them. It isn’t his nature.

Besides, she's seen Ra's get his hands tied and be forced to let her be with Crane.

“Miss Smith.”

Johnathan looks at the assassin waiting for him at his new office, sitting with her legs crossed as on top of his desk reading his latest research.

He had not seen her since she introduced him to her master, Ra’s al Ghul, and he had been inducted into the League of Shadows. He had gone far since then, enough to make guest lectures at Gotham University and take Arkham Asylum from its former head psychiatrist.

He was allowed to practice his craft within the League and with the victims inside prisons, asylums and the like. All those people had spent their lives terrorizing others and now would suffer justice by his hand.

One dose and they were afraid of the Scarecrow.

All except the woman waiting for him inside.

“So formal, Johnny, would’ve thought you’d be happy to see me.” Eva didn’t bother moving from his desk. He doubts she is wearing anything under that designer coat.

The assassin/businesswoman wanted him, and he wanted her, so much so that Henri Ducard had warned him off her.

She is one of the best, he had seen footage of her taking down targets with the grace of a dancer. She had been valedictorian at London Business School, had a Ph.D in Business Administration and majored in international business.

The Riley family served and procreated at the League’s command. Ra’s al Ghul treated them like purebred hounds, or so he had heard from his new assistant.

Eva was the work of generations and the League had better men to offer her.

“Did you enjoy my lecture this morning, Evie?” he had seen her there, seen her wearing just a little more clothes, looking at him like there was no one else in the world, seeing her pupils dilate as he began his lecture and hearing that orgasmic gasp as he fired that gun to prove his point.

“Immensely, to hear the greatest psychologist of our generation speak with such passion does things to a woman, you know.” Eva watches him remove his coat and scarf with such interest that he forgets she is off limits.

“You should’ve seen the habituation I preformed last week at Columbia.” He makes his way over to her and nudged her knees apart to stand between her legs. Johnathan had cuffs in one of the drawers, make her the one at his mercy, make her the quivering mess she made him.

“I heard of it, live tarantulas? I bet many panties dropped that day.” Eva lets him undo the belt and buttons of her trench coat slowly.

She is fond of the color black, an elegant and sensual color especially when she wears skimpy lingerie with her league of shadows pendant nestled between her breasts.

“Got me banned from there, the volunteer bitched about it to the board. You know how they are.” Johnathan peeled the coat off her shoulders while his right hand went to her throat and kissed her like she did that night.

“Fools too blind to see your brilliance, my dear Doctor Crane.” Eva’s breathless and yet there is no fear in her.

She is the only one immune to it, a trait bred into her lineage so it wouldn’t die out with her father. Crane had been tasked to find a way to make an antidote by studying her blood.

One that had been successful, but oh so difficult to replicate.

That was how the League would destroy Gotham and cleanse the world of evil, of men like Falcone and Zasz and Maroni.

Johnathan had yet to name his price, and now that she was here almost shaking from her own arousal and desperation for him, he knew what he would ask for.

“Are you going to fuck me or is the Master of Fear afraid of what people will say?” she taunted as he released her neck and searched for the handcuffs.

“I’m going to make you mine, dear sweet Eva.” He answered as he handcuffed her wrists behind her back.

She understands him, understands his desires to make the world fear him and control it that way.

And they will be glorious.

[queenclaudiabrown]

She'll Be Coming With Us | Chapter One: Down The Rabbit Hole

Chapter content warnings: censored cussing, canon events, leg pain, some condescension/light misogyny/that one sleazy guy hitting on her at the bar, Claudia’s world imploding.

Word count: 6,292

Series Masterlist

13:02 / 1:02 p.m.

     The Eddington Hotel was not what Claudia had expected.

     The building was made of brick and three stories tall, and its shape was vaguely reminiscent of an 18th-century estate home.  Inside, it was rather homey, and the lobby went straight into a bar.  Opposite was a long row of comfortable booths, all wood and dark leatherette, with a fish tank on one end and a piano on the other.  An odd touch, in her opinion, but not unwelcome.  A man was sitting at the piano and playing a lovely tune that she didn’t recognize.

     Having arrived just after noon, Claudia booked a room and ordered a plate of bangers and mash.  She had packed a light bag, which she left in her room, and after she freshened up she went back downstairs.  She selected a booth in the middle and sat facing the door, and she waited.

     She ate her lunch when it came- surprisingly good for a hotel meal- and left a generous tip, then headed back to her room to brush her teeth (sausage breath is unprofessional).  On her way, she caught sight of a tall blond man, clad in an olive drab woolen military jacket, speaking to the barman.  She recognized him as one Professor Nick Cutter, a paleontologist who lectured at one of London’s universities.  He would be the perfect person to ask to clear up this whole mess.  She quickened her step, finishing her errand speedily, but when she returned the professor was nowhere to be seen.  So she returned to her booth and sat down, intending to remain until he returned.

     Into the hotel strode a man- average in looks, wearing a cheap suit and carrying a sorry excuse for a briefcase.  His gait was a cocky swagger that he probably thought made him a chick magnet but was more likely to be chick repellent, if the way she instinctually cringed was anything to go by.

     Definitely not Professor Cutter.

     She averted her gaze, but it was too late- the random man’s gaze was already firmly affixed to her.  He sauntered over nauseatingly, flashing her a terrible smile.  “Hey, doll.”  He greeted.  Her stomach turned at his tone.  “This seat taken?”

     “I’m waiting for someone.”  She returned politely.

     He was apparently incapable of taking a hint, and promptly slid into the booth opposite her.  The briefcase was plonked down beside him and he gave her what he probably thought was a charming smile.  “I’m Gareth.  What’s your name, gorgeous?”

     She did not answer.

     “Playing hard to get, huh?  That’s alright.  I bet I can guess your name.”  He boasted.

     She immediately tuned him out.

     Maintaining a neutral expression that he was too dull to realize was one of boredom and disregard, Claudia searched her mind for an excuse to escape.

     Fortunately, it came a few minutes later.  The professor returned and sat down, and a few moments later, he was poured a glass of something amber and probably strong enough to sterilize a wound.  (She wondered if it would also sterilize… Gary?  Garth?  Whatever his name was.)  Hope flared in her chest.  She quickly formulated a coherent excuse in her head, chocolate eyes trained on the professor’s back.

    “…especially ones as pretty as yours.  I must admit though, I’ve never seen you around here myself, and uh, hey, why don’t we get a drink afterwards?”

     “Excuse me.”  She spoke, interrupting his drivel and grabbing her leather bag from beside her.  “My boyfriend just got here.”

     Determinedly, she moved with a faux nonchalance and a surprisingly real enthusiasm toward the professor and prayed that he would play along with the charade and not deem her unprofessional or fail to take her seriously.  The professor took out a leather wallet and flipped it open, seeming to inspect the photograph inside.

     “Excuse me.”  Claudia drew his attention to her, depositing the bag on the bar close by.  He turned, and she dropped her hand onto his shoulder and leaned down to kiss him. 

     After just a couple seconds, she pulled back and flashed him a smile, half awkwardness and half playing the part.  “Don’t panic.”  She pleaded as she shifted to sit on the barstool beside him.  “I just told that slimeball over there you were my boyfriend.”  The professor leaned slightly and glanced in the man’s direction.  “One more sleazy chat-up line and I was going to have to kill him.”  She half-joked.

     The professor only smiled along with her.  “Well, I’m very glad I was here to help.”  He returned, surprising her with a Scottish accent.  “Um, I’m Nick Cutter.”

     “Actually, I know who you are.”  She admitted.  “Claudia Brown, Home Office.”  She explained, and reached into her bag for the picture.  “I saw you at the hotel.  I’m hoping you can do me a favor, Professor.”

     “Another one?”  He joked.

     “I suspect that this is why we’re both here.”  Claudia set the photograph on the bar between them, and he picked it up.  “We get dozens of rogue animal sightings every year.  You’d be doing me a great favor if you could confirm this is all nonsense.”

    “I can’t dismiss the evidence out of hand.”  He returned, which was a respectable but irritating reply.

     “Surely you’re not giving this whole ‘monster’ story any credibility, Professor?”

     He shook his head in lieu of a shrug.  “Just trying to keep an open mind.”

     “People always say that as though it’s such a good thing.”  Claudia responded.  If working for the government had taught her anything, it was that it was safest for the public for them to think deep inside the box.

     “Well, you see, that depends on how you define ‘monster’.”  Professor Cutter explained.  “A wild panther might look pretty terrifying on a dark night.”  He suggested.

     “Is that what we’re dealing with?”  Please say yes.

     “My best guess.  If it exists at all.  The last sighting was somewhere near the Forest.  Would you care to join the search?”

     She should really decline politely and thank him for his professional opinion, go home and call it an open-and-shut case.  But Professor Cutter was smart and seemed to have a decent sense of humor, and had handled her escape from Slimeball and very unprofessional introduction with a grace she hadn’t expected.  And she’d always prided herself on being more human than the rest of her peers.

     “I suppose I owe it to the taxpayer to do more than sit in my room and suck the minibar dry.”  She accepted his offer, and he laughed.  “Would you excuse me so I can fetch my coat?”

     Five minutes later, she was comfortable in her white-trimmed black coat, a pair of grey gloves tucked into the pockets along with her phone, wallet, and taser, and her bag was safely back in her room.  Professor Cutter had waited for her at the bar, sans drink and no longer gazing into his wallet.  He smiled when he saw her.

     “You didn’t have to wait for me, Professor.”

     “Oh, it’s no bother.”  He assured her.  “And please, call me ‘Nick’.”

     She returned his smile.  “Only if you call me ‘Claudia’.”

     Outside, a silver Toyota Hilux was parked, and two men stood close to it, looking at a laptop set up on the bonnet.  “You know we’re not talking about a wild cat, don’t you?”  The one on the left was saying to the one on the right as Claudia and Nick reached them.

     “This is Claudia Brown from the Home Office.  She’ll be coming with us.”  Nick explained.

     “Knew it, it’s a coverup.”  The one on the left again spoke to the other, seeming to believe Claudia wouldn’t hear him.  The silent one simply observed her somewhere between curiously and critically, a faint smirk on his face as he looked between her and Nick.  Had he seen how they met?  Dear God, it was embarrassing enough that she had thoroughly embarrassed herself in front of Professor Cu- Nick- but for one or both of his colleagues to have also witnessed it….

     “What’s he talking about?”  She asked bemusedly, to Nick or the man on the right- either would be fine.  Anything to put a stop to the humiliating train of thought rampaging through her mind.

     “Connor never met a conspiracy theory he didn’t like.”  Nick replied- cryptic, but at least he’d given a name to one of the faces.  And with that, he made to get into the truck.  Claudia followed, slipping into the seat behind the drivers’ seat.  Connor slid in opposite her and the still-nameless man joined Nick in the front seat.  “This is my laboratory technician, Stephen Hart, and back there with you is Connor Temple.  He’s apparently one of my students and the whole reason Stephen and I are out here.”

    “It’s nice to meet you both.”  Claudia responded politely.

     A short ride later, Nick pulled into a cul-de-sac and parked in an empty spot.  “This is as far as we can go by truck.  We’ll have to leg it from here.”  Stephen announced.

     The four climbed out of the vehicle, and Claudia paused, checking her mobile for messages.  Connor was muttering to himself, fiddling with something in or on his bag.  The professor and his laboratory assistant stood together, a meter or so away from the front of the truck.  “How’d you meet her?”  Stephen queried to Nick lowly. 

     Claudia’s breath seemed to jam in her throat as she waited for Nick’s reply, the reply that would make or break the group’s perception of her and how seriously they should take her.

    The Scotsman was quiet for a moment.  “She approached me.”  Well, that was one way of putting it.  “Er, she showed me the picture from the paper, wanted to know what I thought.  I offered her to come with us as we looked into it.”

     “And that’s it?”  Stephen pressed, stopping Claudia in the middle of a relieved sigh.  “You don’t pick up women at bars, no matter why either of you are there.  That’s more my thing than yours.”  Even as stressed as she was, Claudia could here the jesting undertone of his words.

     “Don’t I know it, ye bloody tart.”  The insult was said rather affectionately, and Claudia assumed there was an inside joke there.  The men chuckled.

     “Really, though,” Stephen said, more seriously now, “are you sure that’s all?  You went in for a drink because this whole bloody ordeal brought up old memories of Helen.  I know this is hard on you, but it’s not like you to handle things in this way.”

     “‘In this way’?”  Nick repeated, his voice hard.  “And what does that mean?”

     Stephen sighed.  “Today’s a nonstop reminder of the disappearance of your wife.  You go into a bar, and come out with a woman.  Now, that’s not like you.  You handle your problems by either ignoring them or being aggressive toward them.  If there really is something out there in the Forest, I won’t be surprised if you try to bloody wrestle with it.”

     “I didn’t invite Claudia to come along with us because I’m trying to replace Helen.”  Nick said after a moment, his voice almost hard.  “I invited her along because she was friendly, and polite, and seemed like more of a human being than every other robot bureaucrat.  She was already here, so I thought ‘why the h£ll not?’ and invited her.  There’s nothing out there that’s dangerous.  We’ll take a look around, confirm that it’s just a wild animal in the wrong place, and we’ll go home.  She goes back to the Home Office and writes a report, we go back to the university, and Connor goes back to his classes.”

     “Alright.”  Stephen conceded.  “But I reserve the right to be an arse if she starts acting like a bureaucrat.”

     Nick chuckled.  “Fair enough.  But I didn’t get the impression that she was like that.”

     “No, neither did I.”  The brunet agreed.

     Connor was apparently satisfied with whatever he had been focusing on, and when he headed for the other men, Claudia took it as her cue to do the same.  She was careful to not show any indication that she’d overheard their conversation.

     They left the cul-de-sac and headed into the Forest.  Claudia, in her terrible shoes that she knew would probably be destroyed by the end of this jaunt, was grateful that the Forest was tidy and clean- if those were the right terms- compared to other wooded areas.  Although a carpet of soggy fallen leaves and pine needles covered the damp earth, there were no overgrown thickets of bushes and plants crowding the walking space, just clear, unobstructed ground.  Despite this, Claudia was all too aware of the damage every step did to her professional shoes, which were already proving to be a poor choice to wear in a forest.  Her toes were freezing.

     Up ahead, Stephen ducked under a low-hanging branch of a very spindly and short tree and consulted his map.  “If there really were some creature around here, wouldn’t the journalists have found it by now?”  Claudia felt obligated to ask.

    “They wouldn’t know what they were looking for.”  Nick replied simply.

     Admittedly, she was rather skeptical.  “But you do?”

     “Mm.”  Nick gestured to his lab assistant.  “I’ve seen Stephen track wounded animals through the rainforest for up to ten days at a time.”  Well, that was certainly an impressive feat.

     “Not to mention wrestle an anaconda and save a whale.”  Connor chimed in excitedly, picking up the pace to walk closer to the man in question.  She made a mental note to look into that later.

     “Maybe there is something here and maybe there isn’t.  Frankly, I doubt it.”  Confessed Nick.

     “Cutter!”  Stephen called almost immediately.  Curious, the others joined him where he was standing still, staring directly at a tree- or rather, what was in it.

     A black cow hung from its branches, looking peculiarly intact.

     “Okay, now I’m getting interested.”  Nick declared.

     Claudia agreed silently.

     “Professor.”  Connor spoke up.  “The compass is going haywire.”  He passed said object to Nick, and Claudia saw the needle rapidly spinning around as it was pulled by both the North Pole and an unknown thing.  Claudia was no scientist, but she knew that whatever was strong enough to drag a compass’ needle away from north was an incredibly powerful source of magnetism.

     “We should keep going.”  Nick decided after a moment.  “Stephen, is there a trail from here?”

     Immediately, the brunet began searching the surrounding forest floor, and after a few moments he crouched down to examine the dirt.  “There’s something here.  It’s shallow, but it looks like people.  Two- a woman and a boy, I’d say, judging by the shape and tread of the soles.  Might be two kids; I’m not sure.  They probably live in those houses.”  He looked over his shoulder with concern on his face.  “There’s no animal native to these parts that can drag a cow up into a tree like that.  If we were in South America, I’d say a leopard or another big cat.  But I have no idea what could’ve done that.”  He stood up.  “If that thing’s still out there, and so are they…” he indicated the footprints, referring to whoever made them.

     The implication wasn’t lost on Claudia.  Anything capable of doing that to a cow would almost certainly make an easy victim of two kids, or a kid and a woman, or whoever’s tracks Stephen had found.

     Nick had realized this also.  His face grim, he nodded.  “Lead on.  We’ll see if we can’t catch up to them.”

     Their pace quickened, the four continued deeper into the Forest.

©

     Afternoon became evening and evening became night, and by the light of his torch Stephen continued to lead them.  Unfortunately, the two sets of footprints diverged, but according to Stephen one of them seemed to be running in the general direction of the cul-de-sac houses, so with any luck, he or she had made it to safety by now.  The other trail continued to wander, as if its maker was lost or unfamiliar with the Forest.

     Years of practiced professionalism kept Claudia’s face neutral and relaxed, devoid of displaying how she really felt.  Her feet, clad in pointed-toe pumps with exposed heels, ached terribly from the uneven terrain.  Her legs had only sheer nylons to protect them, and as such she was absolutely freezing.  She hadn’t eaten since lunch and it was many hours past dinnertime, leaving her ravenous (luckily, she had carefully timed coughs or steps onto twigs to cover the sounds of her grumbling stomach).  Overall, she was hungry, cold, tired, and sore, and those things and their lack of results had amalgamated into enough frustration and emotional exhaustion she couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry or throw herself into bed with her coat and makeup and shoes still on.

     She’d take the shoes off, she decided, but only because they were giving her blisters all over and would be getting donated, sold, or thrown into the rubbish at the first opportunity.

     And then, there was a breakthrough, for lack of a better term.

     A bellowing lowing sound, somewhere between an aggravated cow’s moo and a sci-fi film’s dinosaur sound effect, echoed through the trees.  Up ahead, moonlight penetrating through the canopy of treetops halfway illuminated a hulking form.  Standing close by was a short and slim feminine figure, her pale hair shining under the moon.  The realization that this was probably the woman whose footprints Stephen had found relieved Claudia.

     The girl didn’t seem to notice her fellow humans approaching, and seemed startled by the thing as it bellowed again.  Something- an animal, perhaps- leapt out of her arms, apparently miffing the woman.  She called to it exasperatedly, although Claudia didn’t quite catch what she called it, and bent to look for it.  The giant creature, oddly enough, seemed perturbed by her actions, shuffling backward and lowing repeatedly.

     “Don’t move.”  Nick spoke, startling the young woman.  He approached cautiously, wary of spooking the animal.  Something chirped nearby, not quite like a bird, but Claudia was focused entirely on the massive animal.  It was probably the size of an Asian elephant, taller than any of its observers and solidly built.  But its feet had short but splayed toes, its head was compact, and its neck and tail were thick.  It was like nothing that Claudia had ever seen before, even in pictures or among the urban legends of the world.

     “Is it real?”  The woman breathed.

     Nick shook his head slightly, as confused as the rest of them.  “Some kind of experiment, maybe.  Hybrid, throwback.”  He theorized, although it was weak.  He looked over at the woman.  “Who are you?”

     “Abby Maitland.  I’m a keeper at Wellington Zoo.”  She replied.

     After a moment, Nick moved closer to it, shining his torch over its body.  “It’s a reptile.  Five or six tonnes at least.  Large supertemporal bosses, huge osteoderms on its back.  It must be some kind of anapsid.”

     Claudia had noidea what that was.

     “A tortoise?”  Abby queried in disbelief, slightly clarifying Claudia’s confusion.

     Nick stepped a little too close, apparently, and the creature abruptly bellowed again, startling everyone into backing up several steps.  “Stay in his field of vision!”  Abby warned.  “You’re making him nervous.”  She explained.

     Nick took her at her word and returned to standing with the rest of them, much to Claudia’s relief. 

      “I was right; there was a dinosaur in that warehouse.”  Connor boasted excitedly.  Claudia frowned; dinosaurs seemed like a bit of a stretch, and this creature looked nothing like the blurry image in the newspaper.  The head shape was all wrong, and its… skin? hide?... wasn’t dark enough.

     Connor produced his mobile and snapped off a picture before Claudia could stop him, and the clicking noise and flash of light unsettled the creature, which roared at him.

     “Whatever it is, it’s classified until I figure out what the h£ll to do about it!”  Claudia snapped, snatching the phone out of his hand to delete the photo.  It was pretty grainy and blurry and very dark, but she was taking no chances.  A grainy, blurry, dark photograph had led her and at least three others here.

     The same chirping noise from earlier, louder now, came from somewhere nearby, and Claudia watched Nick crouch down as he and Stephen shone their torches on the source.  It was a green lizard-like creature, but again like nothing Claudia had ever seen.  From what she could make out, there were multicolored markings on its sides, and a fin or sail of sorts on its egg-shaped head, along with fins- please, God, not wings- on its back.

     What the h£ll was going on here?

     “Bloody h£ll.”  Stephen spoke, squatting down beside Nick.  “There’s two of them.”

     “Where did that come from?”  Nick asked, though it was obvious no one had a good answer.

     After a long moment of silence, Abby spoke up.  “Does anyone know which way the cul-de-sac is?  I came out here with a boy that lives there, but we got separated, and I got lost.”

     Nick stood up and nodded.  “Aye, we can get you back there.”  Relief flooded Maitland’s face, and Claudia took a few seconds to glance at Stephen.  His assumption had been correct, despite not having very clear tracks to go off.  A boy and a small woman.  And in the dark, through the leaf-laden ground, their trail had led him to here.  He was clearly an excellent tracker, and suddenly Nick and Connor’s outlandish tales of his talent didn’t seem so far-fetched.

     “Er- what about that?”  Connor interjected, gesticulating at the strange animal still grazing nearby.  “We can’t let it out of our sight.”

     The professor deliberated for a moment.  “Alright, why don’t you and Stephen stay and keep an eye on this thing while Miss Brown and I walk Miss Maitland back to the cul-de-sac to check up on the boy.  I’ll grab us the torches from the truck while I’m there.”

     Stephen did not look enthusiastic at the prospect of spending time alone with Connor, and Claudia was torn between amusement and sympathy.  But she wasn’t so sympathetic as to offer to remain with them- if the boy had made it home safely, there was potentially a very real risk of this… whatever it was… getting out of hand, depending on how old he was and how much his parents believed him.  An easily dismissible photograph in a newspaper could blow up into something much more, drawing tourists, sceptics, the press, and conspiracy theorists to Gloucestershire and create a whole host of problems.

     Claudia’s responsibility was to assess the situation, evaluate the threat level, and contain both the situation and the knowledge of it as much as possible, all while contacting all the right people.

     She set off with Nick and Abby, moving at a brisk walk back toward the houses.  She longed to tread on asphalt pavement again, a flat and relatively smooth surface to balm her blistering feet and sore legs.

     “Who’s the boy you were with?”  Nick asked.

     “Ben Trent.  He or his mother contacted the Zoo about an exotic lizard he’d found and I volunteered to come check it out.  Our reptile section’s getting slimmed down, and I wanted an excuse to be around them.  I know the Forest of Dean pretty well, so my boss had no reason to turn me down.”  She laughed mirthlessly.  “I got more than I bargained for.”

     “Aye, it’s been that kind of day.”  Nick agreed.  “How’d you get separated?”

     Abby sighed- not out of irritation toward the professor, Claudia noted.  “We found this cow hanging out of a tree.  Like something had put it there.  Ben got scared and started running.  He thought maybe it was a leopard, but that’s ridiculous- leopards, in the Forest of Dean.  Anyway, I was carrying Rex and I couldn’t keep up with Ben.”

     About a half-hour of rapid walking later, they arrived at the cul-de-sac, and an upstairs window drew their attention.  The light to the bedroom was on, showing a glimpse of yellowish walls inside.  But there were no windowpanes, and the wall around the window casing was… damaged.  Light filtered between the bricks that made up the structure, and the roof below was inexplicably mussed up.

     “What the h£ll?”  Nick and Claudia breathed in unison, united in their horror and concern.

     Abby broke them from their stunned paralysis, the shorter blonde sprinting toward the corresponding front door, shouting for Ben.  She rapped on the door frantically as Nick followed her.  Claudia, though very worried for the boy’s safety, hung back and forced herself to tune out what she said to the woman who opened the door as Mr. Hodges picked up the phone, having begun to dial his number as soon as Nick left her side.  “Brown?  What on Earth is it at this hour?”

     “I’m sorry to trouble you so late, but I’m afraid it’s urgent.”  Claudia apologized, wincing at his groggy tone.  He’d probably fallen asleep in his office again.  “The rogue animal sighting you sent me to investigate in the Forest of Dean- it’s much worse than we thought.”

     She took a deep breath and launched into an explanation of what she’d seen over the course of the day- the strange lizard, the cow in the tree, the maybe-tortoise, the damage to the Trent house, the compass going mad.  Her speech was shamefully jumbled and frantic and she completely broke etiquette, rambling in normal-people terms and swearing and stammering as she tripped over her explanation.

     “Bloody h£ll, Brown, have you been drinking?  Did you take anything- pills, drinks from strangers?”

     The concern read as condescension to her confused and exhausted mind, and she rankled at it.  “Everything I saw tonight was real and with a clear mind, Hodges.  I haven’t had a sip of anything stronger than coffee today, and I’m not so stupid as to take pills or things from strangers.  I’m not a đдϻи teenager, and you’re not my mother.”  She snapped.  “I know what I saw.”  She mentally cursed herself for not at least sending herself Connor’s poorly-taken picture— it was decent enough, she could’ve sent it to Hodges to verify herself and her story.  “And I’m not the only one who saw them- there were others with me as well.  Professor Nick Cutter, Stephen Hart, Connor Temple, Abby Maitland, and possibly a young boy, Ben Trent.  His parents may also be witnesses, but I haven’t met them yet.”

     “Are you absolutely barmy, Brown?  Making a call like this with no proof?  You’ve got no photographs and you haven’t even spoken to everyone who may or may not have seen all these things.”

     “I am a government official, and a đдϻи good one.”  Claudia responded.  “My word is proof enough.”

     Apparently not.  Hodges spent the next several minutes lecturing Claudia on… everything.  The importance of protocol.  The impossibility of her claims.  The likelihood that she might have been drugged to see those things, and how she should know better than to drink on the job, and to leave her drink unattended.

     At long last, his yawning- Claudia no longer felt guilty for waking him up- had begun to eat at the structure of his sentences, and he quit his lecture.  He had grilled her for details, and she had told him of her observations of the time, the soreness in her feet, the color of everyone’s clothes- everything he had asked for and more until he was finally convinced that she was neither making it up nor hallucinating.  Yet still he didn’t take it seriously enough.  “Fine, Brown, I believe you saw something.”  He finally conceded. “Can’t you just ring the coppers and have them do a sweep of the Forest?  They’re a competent unit.”

     “No, I can’t use the police, this is too sensitive.”  Claudia refuted.

     “Brown.”  His voice was exasperated.  “A giant turtle is hardly a threat.”

     “There are lives at stake here!”  She snapped.  immediately pushing her emotions back under control.  But the image of the cow in the tree and the damage to the Trent house would not leave her mind, and she feared what would happen if a human aggravated the culprit.

     “Let’s imagine for a moment that you’re actually right and there is a monster in the Forest eating people.  That’s very far above your pay grade and your station.”  Hodges told her seriously.

     “Listen,” she sighed, “I don’t need you to tell me how junior I am, okay?  You’re just gonna have to trust me.  Now get somebody down here, fast.”

     “Alright, alright, I’m on it.  But keep in mind that if it’s as bad as you say, this would qualify as an Official Secret.”

     Satisfied enough, Claudia hung up with a quiet huff.  She closed her eyes and took a few moments to calm herself with measured breaths, after which she pocketed her phone, straightened her coat needlessly, and headed for the Trent house.  At last she could finally check on the boy and his parents for herself.

     Claudia found her way upstairs to Ben’s bedroom.  “The simple truth is Ms. Maitland got carried away.  Ben’s pet was nothing more exotic than Draco Volans- it’s a Southeast Asian flying lizard.”  Professor Cutter was telling Mary Trent, who was doing something with the blankets from Ben’s loft bed.

     “There was a monster, though!”  Ben insisted desperately.  “It chased us!  Tell them, Abby!”

     From her place in the doorway, Claudia watched as the zookeeper internally panicked at being placed on the spot and looked toward the professor.  She couldn’t see all of the blonde’s face, but on it she could see the warring emotions.  “I don’t really know what happened, Ben.  We just got frightened, that’s all.”  Abby said, her eyes trained on the professor and shooting him a rather accusing glare.  The Scotsman simply responded with a subtle nod that the Trents almost certainly missed.

     “But I saw the past!  Prehistoric times!  I-I was there!”  Ben all but shouted, surprising everyone in the room (except perhaps Mary, who remained firm in her belief he was making all of this up).

     Nick, specifically, took a particular interest in Ben’s statement, his face shifting from a poorly-veiled sympathy for the boy to genuine and serious intrigue.  “You saw the past?”

     “There was desert, and- and rocks and things.”  Ben answered, confusing Claudia- that certainly didn’t match up with the Forest of Dean.  Could he have been drugged?  If drugs and strange animals were involved, this might be shaping up to be organized crime.

     Words seemed to fail the boy then, and he looked to his mother ask if seeking support.  She clearly gave him none, and appearing on the verge of tears the boy fled the room, darting past Claudia.

     Mary Trent was clearly annoyed.  “I blame the telly.”  She announced after a moment.  That was the dumbest thing Claudia had heard all night.  “Excuse me.”  Mary said, slipping around Claudia to presumably chastise her son.  Claudia felt a wave of sympathy for the boy.

     “I think we should leave.” Claudia told the blondes still in the boy’s bedroom.  They followed her out, informing the mother and son that they were leaving and grateful for their time.

     “I’m going to grab some extra torches from the truck.”  Nick said as Abby shut the door to the house. 

     “I know you feel bad about lying, but if word of this gets out, who knows what the consequences might be.  You’re both going to have to sign the Official Secrets Act.”  Claudia revealed as they reached the university’s truck.

     Nick stopped short and turned around on the spot, prompting both women to also stop.  “Whoa, since when did this become an official secret?”  Nick demanded.

     “About ten minutes after I finally persuaded my boss not to have me sectioned.”  Claudia admitted, still put out.

     “Yeah well right now we have a far more urgent problem.”  Nick spoke, producing the torches from a bag in the back of his truck.  “That creature we saw may be many things, but it’s certainly not a ruthless predator that drags its prey up into trees.”  He continued.

     “No, you can’t be sure of that.”  Claudia dismissed, sincerely hoping that she was misinterpreting his direction.

     “He can.”  Abby cut in, drawing the attention to herself.  “It’s a herbivore, pure veggie.” 

     “You mean there’s another one out there?”  Claudia demanded.  If that was the case… things were even worse than she’d told Hodges. 

     Smiling for some unknown reason (mad genius?), Nick replied, “What did Ben mean about seeing the past?  Now, these animals have to be coming from somewhere.”

     “What are you saying?”  Claudia pressed.  ‘Don’t say it… don’t say it.’

     He chuckled, shaking his head.  “I’m saying that the answer is in that Forest, and maybe Ben found it.”

     Claudia let out a deep sigh.  She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked between the blondes tiredly.  “So what now?”

     Nick smirked even wider.  “We run.”

©

     She really needed to run more.

     And get better shoes.

     The three of them raced through the Forest as fast as their weary legs could carry them, carrying bright torches whose beams bounced dizzyingly with every footfall.  Claudia wondered if her feet were bleeding.

     Up ahead, at last, the strange, hulking creature came into their field of vision. “Stephen!”  Nick shouted, his voice surprisingly loud and strong for how breathlessly he heaved and gasped.  The creature bellowed and started moving.  “Let him go!  It’s scared!  Let’s see where it thinks is safe!”  It was rather brilliant as far as spur-of-the-moment plans went, Claudia had to admit.  Stephen and Connor joined the chase, all five of them following the fleeing beast through the Forest.

     A few short minutes later, something even more inexplicable appeared, and they slowed to a regular walking pace as the creature undeterredly continued toward it.  A moment later, it vanished into the light.

     It hung as though suspended by invisible strings, glowing strangely as if illuminated from within.  Its exterior was formed by what looked like shards of glass, but seemed to emit their own light rather than reflect the apparition’s glow, and the shining pieces turned and rotated with no obvious propulsion or fixtures.

     It was beautiful.  It was inexplicable.  It was a wonder.  It was impossible.

     And as she gazed at it, she didn’t notice how her breath all but froze in her lungs and rolled curling outside her lips, how her legs and feet ached, how her heart hammered in her chest like a moose was trying to kick its way out of her ribcage.  Her mind was lost in the awe and confusion of this strange glittering thing that defied all logic and sense and science.  She did not blink, lest this bewitching oddity prove to be a fata morgana and vanish the moment she took her eyes from it.

     “Where’s it gone?”  Claudia breathed, turning her eyes to the professor.

     His response was a single word that made complete sense and none at all: “Home.”

©

     She didn’t know how long they just stood there in the biting cold of night, enraptured by the light that defied all understanding.  At last, Connor’s absurdly loud yawn startled them from their reveries, and Nick made the unchallenged suggestion for them to return to the Eddington Hotel.

     In accordance with the brief discussion they’d had while walking back to their vehicles in the cul-de-sac parking lot, Claudia booked Nick and Stephen a room as they apparently had shared before, then one for Connor and Abby each.  She ordered a plate of hot food and ate it without really tasting it, only eating to quiet her complaining stomach, and bid the others goodnight.

     Once back in the freeing privacy of her hotel room, the first thing Claudia did was take her shoes off.  Her feet were accustomed to walking in heels higher than that for longer periods of time, but on the level floors of the Home Office and the parking lot outside it.  But today she’d traipsed through the Forest for hours on end, walking and even running.  Her feet weren’t used to that kind of abuse, most especially in heels.

     The next thing she did was uncharacteristic of her, and that was going straight to the minibar she’d mentioned to Nick earlier in the day- God, that felt like a lifetime ago with how her world had been shaken- and pour herself a stiff drink.  Letting out a breath, she downed it in one go and refilled it immediately.  She was more of a wine drinker (stereotypical of women, yes, she knew that), although she did enjoy the occasional cocktail or martini.  Only when she was very stressed or out of options did she turn to the stuff that smelled like nail polish remover; tonight, both applied.

     A few drinks later, she was ready for bed.  Claudia had perfected her nighttime routine in university, acknowledging the need for an orderly and structural schedule to handle the governmental world.  She changed into her pajamas- leggings and a hand-me-down tee from her mother- and hung up her day clothes neatly, braided her hair and brushed her teeth, and checked all the door and window locks before finally tucking herself in.

     During the stressful bustle of university and continuing into her career as a government official, she had come to see sleep as a haven, an escape from reality wherein her dreams, if she was lucky, were far better than being awake.  Sometimes she even welcomed the nightmares.

     Tonight she wanted to dream of a world where everything was normal.

@witchofthemidlands @whatkindofnameisvolta @chocolatesawfish @whispers-of-gallifrey @thegingergal

Series Masterlist

[kindtobechurlish]

You think some woman is smart because you see how she communicates in my responses. I would give you proof I am not wanting, and she only responds with claptrap’s - and in the claptrap there is a key about women that I have to take in because I am not Islamic or white. The key would be the personification of what she isn’t fighting for to the maximum effect, but it would fit in to what I am doing like a sock or accessory. Now, you see, and you personify her as smart. But, in the fact, am I walking naked? I would prove that I am not wanting, and she only responds with jargon that amounts to twittering, chattering (gibberish). An example of proof is her act of moving in widdershins. What she is doing, by agenda, is widdershins. She wants to make the roads to the left, and move in a manner that is unlucky.

The question is asked, why do they drive on the left side in the UK? Traffic congestion in 18th century London led to a law being passed to make all traffic on London Bridge keep to the left in order to reduce collisions.” Now, I would be able to give you an example of widdershins - and if you alone drove on the left side you would be as a woman I knew.. dead. In the picture, driving on the left side on the road would get you killed, someone would wonder if you were drunk, but in the UK you get the message just to live. How do you like getting a message, or seeing the fact in you arriving? I would give you a picture of a message, arriving, and now people are submitting to political policy because of history and pussy. You would have an idée fixe of abusing women, reports are as water off a ducks back, and it speaks by certain people’s disassociation, but let’s ignore that and engage widdershins? Alright. I know liars, who waste my time and idiots who don’t know better than me. Go speak your jargon. Go figure

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//bruised and battered. sakusa kiyoomi//

Request: Soulmate AU where your soulmates scars appears on you and Omi somehow landed with the clumsiest girl in the world as his soulmate👉🏻👈🏻🥺

Warnings: mild swearing

Word Count: 1.3K

Notes:  okayokayokay i changed it up a bit?? So, think more like shared pain until you meet?? Also i’ll add the header later because it’s uhhhhh 6 am? And I should uhhhh sleep?

@nekxrizawa bby, because I won’t post the inbox message until I wake up in god knows how many hours and you said you wanted tagged ;-;

Sakusa must’ve looked like an old man, hobbling around school.  His entire body hurt as if he had tripped down the stairs.  He had been sitting in class, trying to mind his own damn business when the slow ache set in.  His jaw had clenched tight, trying his best to distract himself from the discomfort of the purple bruises that were surely forming all over his body. 

But, he was used to it by now.  His entire life he had been dealing with the constant random pains and bruises.  His body was littered with scars from all sorts of accidents, the most prominent being the one on his knee.  Everyone got hurt, he knew that.  Hell, even he got his own bruises after rigorous hours of practice, but this?  This was just ridiculous.  How the hell did he get stuck with the clumsiest person as a soulmate?  

It was like every other day something was wrong.  One time he was just trying to run laps with the rest of the team and his ankle randomly gave out, the throbbing pain from a new sprain of his soul mate’s ankle having him sitting down to take a quick breather.  There would be times when Sakusa would just be laying in his bed, trying to get some sleep when there was a jolt of pain passing through his nose, making him reach up to try to soothe the aching.  Did you fall or did you drop your phone on your face?  He didn’t know and it didn’t matter.  All he knew was that his nose hurt and now he was annoyed and couldn’t wait to finally figure out who you were so he could scold you for being so reckless with your body.  

But, even if it annoyed the shit out of him, there was part of him that found your complete and utter clumsiness to be almost . . . endearing.  It was so easy to picture himself tutting his tongue at you, calling you a dumbass, a cute pout on your face after stubbing your toe.  He didn’t even know who you were or what you looked like, but just like everyone else, there was a certain excitement within his chest about one day finding his soulmate and finally learning all of the stories behind the scars that you shared.

Sakusa didn’t know the full extent of that dull throbbing pain that had been building inside of his body since class until the end of the day.  He had been stripping his uniform to change into his set of practice clothes, the steady eyes of his teammates stopping him in his actions.  “What happened to your legs?”  Komori asks, tugging his own shirt over his torso.

It was then that Sakusa finally took a good look at himself.  There were deep bruises on his shins as if you had slammed them into something.  He caught himself shaking his head.  So, he was partially right, but instead of falling down the stairs, you fell up the stairs and had likely hit your shins on one of the steps.  But, as if those heavy purple marks weren’t enough, a third bruise was just barely visible under the leg of his shorts.  You were a walking disaster, that was for sure.  

“Soulmate,” was the only response that Sakusa could manage, bending down slowly to tie his sneakers, trying his best to ignore all of the aches and pains that you had caused him.

“Man, you really got it bad, huh?” Komori laughed, punching his cousin on the shoulder lightly.   “I couldn’t imagine getting hurt as much as you do.  Seems like every week you have a new bruise.”

The ace just shrugged, gingerly getting back up to his feet.  It was just his life.  It wasn’t anything new.  The bruises and the scratches and the scars were just a part of him, they were a part of you, a physical representation of a bond that couldn’t be broken.  There would be more scars and more pain as his life continued, but it was worth it to be with his other half.  If he had to endure a couple bruises and some random small injuries to find you, he would do it over and over again.  Bruises eventually go away and even scars can begin to fade, it’s all only temporary, but the love and adoration that he hopes to one day hold for you would be eternal, making everything worth it.  

Maybe it was cheesy.  Maybe this whole soulmate thing didn’t seem like his vibe, but what could he say?  There would be long nights of just staring at the ceiling as his mind raced and his heart pounded and he was flooded with thoughts of his soulmate.  What would they look like?  How would their laugh sound?  Could they sing?  Do they know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-Pop?  Did they eat pineapple on their pizza?  Those important questions always plagued his mind, leaving him tossing and turning for hours on end.  

He had dreamt of meeting you a million times.  Sakusa thought that it might be something as small as recognizing a scar or watching you bump your head and then feeling pain in the same area, you know, like something out of a movie.  Except that wasn’t it.  Honestly, he would’ve missed the opportunity if it hadn’t been for Komori.  The libero had nudged him as they walked to class one morning.  “Hey, they have a bruise on their leg just like you do!  That’s kind of a neat coincidence, don’t you think?”  Komori’s easy smile and warm laugh was lost to Sakusa.  It was like his whole world was moving in slow motion, eyes trained only on the girl walking the halls with a group of friends, blackish-blue bruises painted across her shins, a larger one on her thigh just barely visible beneath the school uniform.   There was no doubting it.  After 17 years, there you were, right there in his own school this entire time.

One of your friends noticed the wide look on his face, tapping your shoulder, and gesturing towards him.  That little smile that spread across his face as you turned to look at him for the first time was unlike anything anyone had ever seen, but he couldn’t help himself.  You were better than anything he had ever imagined.  That absolutely bewildered expression as you stared up at him, your mouth settling in a small, “Oh,” as you got a good look at him.  There was a small scar above his right eyebrow, matching the one that you had gotten after running into a table as a toddler.  A scar in the shape of an ‘L’ on left hand from the time that you cut yourself trying to open a can of peaches.  The more you looked, the more markings you found that matched the ones that covered your own body.  

“So, what’d you do?  Trip up the stairs?”  Sakusa teased, nodding his head towards the bruises on your legs.

“Hey!  You don’t know that!”

He felt the edges of his mouth twitch up into a teasing smirk.  “So, you did trip up the stairs.”  And Sakusa just tutted his tongue at you as he shook his head, a small pout taking over your already cute features, just like he had always imagined.  “Dumbass.”

[stelly38]

Here’s another Patrick Freyne, taking the piss out of Poldark.  Dated June 16, 2018 in the Irish Times.  Gazebo, LOL.  Hunk culling, LOL.

The Meaning of Poldark Striding Topless Out of the Sea

This week my column is an essay that I have titled The Meaning of Poldark Striding Topless Out of the Sea. The new series of Poldark (Sunday, BBC One) starts underwater off the Cornwall coast with Poldark (Aidan Turner) swimming by the camera like a merman in an ad for smellgood lotion (aftershave) or maybe like a particularly muscular sea-lion cub looking for his mother.

"Finally!" says you. "A season of Poldark set under the sea. It was inevitable."

But, no, then we get a long shot of the hunky aristocrat striding purposefully out of the water. He has no shirt on, and his body is glistening with seawater. His dark hair is tousled. His eyes are soulful. The cliffs of Cornwall seem to call to him. "Sexxxy Poooldaaaark," they seem to say, unaware that this is a form of harassment, because they are cliffs from another time. Just out of shot some anachronistic career women are drinking Diet Coke or, possibly, diet laudanum, it being the 18th century. Then someone says aloud, "Poldark? More like Phwoahdark!"

Full disclosure: it was you. You said that. 

Apart from his skin and hair, Poldark is also wearing tan trousers that are probably meticulously researched vintage bathing trunks but that for the purpose of this article I’m going to call “chinos of the past”. He is breathing heavily, but then so are you. His chest goes up and down 10 times as he stands there. You rewind the player to be sure. Yes, it was definitely 10 times (#journalism).

The camera pans up to the Cornwallian sky, and then it pans back down to Poldark, who is now wearing a big flouncy white shirt with his chinos of the past.

“Aw,” you say.

Being temporarily topless on a beach has made Poldark reflective. He thinks about his flame-haired, free-spirited wife, Gazebo (editor’s note: I think you mean “Demelza”), and her recent affair with the poetic young waif Hugh Armitage, who writes poems and is sickly. Unlike Poldark, who likes slow-motion horse-riding along the cliffs, lifting things sweatily and furrowing his brow. (These are listed as “hobbies” on his Tinder profile.)

He's doing the furrowed-brow thing now, as he moodily hallucinates his wife and her lover into existence on the beach. "What is love? A possession to be hoarded or a blessing to give away?" says hallucinated Armitage, which is a perfectly ordinary thing to say in the world of Poldark, even for a hallucination.

Poldark starts buttoning up his shirt and looks sad, and we are sad too, because he is buttoning up his shirt. Then Gazebo (editor’s note: seriously? “Gazebo” isn’t even remotely like “Demelza”) and his two frolicking children arrive on the beach, because their marriage is apparently still intact despite their ongoing extramarital shenanigans. “Papa!” one of his children cries, which is olden days for “Da” or “Male Progenitor” (as you call your father). Poldark still looks sad – I might be projecting here, but I feel like he really hates having to wear a shirt – and then the opening credits roll.

And that's the first minute of this week's Poldark. Other stuff happens after the credits, but all of these scenes feature shirts and should technically be outside the boundaries of this week's discussion.

But let me just run through it all anyway, lest the hordes of Poldark completists send letters of complaint to the editor. There are food shortages and riots in Cornwall, and Poldark's nemesis George Warleggan is now an MP who works in a CGI version of 18th-century London. He is intent on executing rioters, the smug-faced shit. Warleggan hates Poldark because Warleggan is married to Poldark's sometime lover Elizabeth, and Poldark is a manly man of action while Warleggan is a narky babyman of nefarious scheming.

Oh, there’s something else. Warleggan and Elizabeth have a brooding dark-haired three-year-old son who likes cliff-top horse-riding and tin smelting and might as well be named “the Eponymous Toddler, Poldark “Junior” Poldarkson”. For this and many other reasons Warleggan really hates Poldark.

So Warleggan ensures that Poldark’s hunky friend Jago and Poldark’s two hunky brothers-in-law, Samuel and Drake, are caught up in the riotous arrests and are sentenced to be hanged in a probably vindictive but possibly ecologically necessary hunk cull. (I’m not an environmentalist, but there are lots of hunks in ancient Cornwall, and there may be some issues with overbreeding.)

Poldark decides not to tell Gazebo about her brothers’ dire circumstances and leaves her to struggle with her forbidden love for sickly, sweating Armitage, while Poldark rides his horse in slow motion along the cliff top, makes populist man-of-the-people speeches on behalf of his doomed friends (the “gallows-side plea” is this era’s “best man speech”) and performs conspicuous acts of labour while implausibly wearing a shirt. (This is just bad writing, IMO.)

Perhaps, you say, the sea is Europe, Poldark is Britain and the beach is Brexit. Ah now! Poldark is played by an Irishman, so I'd say probably not.

In his charismatic speechifying he derides the globalist merchants who snatch “corn from the mouths of babes” (presumably a reference to himself and his hot chums), and the fake news used to convict the rioters. Ultimately, he convinces the local toff Sir Francis Basset (sadly, not a hound) to spare his brothers-in-law but not Jago. Then he and his wife sit together in grief, wondering about the mysteries of marriage, while external forces plot a political career for the brooding action man.

At programme’s end Poldark’s status is . . . shirted. (Full disclosure: there are only two statuses on the scale I’m using.) So let’s go back to that opening sequence and contemplate, again, Poldark emerging from the waters.

Why is it so compelling? Why have you looped the footage and used it as a screen saver? Why have you printed the image on a card, pasted a cut-out of your own head on top of Poldark’s and typed “Happy Christmas from All the Family” at the top of the card and distributed it to everyone you know even though it’s not Christmas? You think for a moment.

“Perhaps,” you say, “Poldark is ‘man’. The sea is ‘life’ and the beach is ‘death’.”

Maybe. But that seems a bit heavy for BBC One on a Sunday.

“Perhaps,” you say, “this was just a particularly gratuitous attempt to hook a flagging audience with some eye candy on the first beat of a new season?”

Maybe. But Poldark is intriguing enough with its likable, broody costars, life-or-death melodrama and glorious cinematography.

“Perhaps,” you say, “the sea is ‘Europe’, Poldark is ‘Britain’ and the beach is ‘Brexit’.”

Ah now! Poldark is played by an Irishman, so unless this is a comment on the invisibility of the Irish question to the average Brexiteer, I’d say probably not.

“Okay,” you say, “perhaps we are all Poldark and this open-plan office I’m sitting in is the sea?”

That’s more like it. But please keep your shirt on. You’re on a final warning from HR.

link to original:

https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/the-meaning-of-poldark-striding-topless-out-of-the-sea-1.3530577

[teawaffles]

Forbidden Games: Chapter 3

From the end of the 18th century, gentlemen’s clubs had begun to proliferate rapidly in Britain. These were members-only social circles established by men of the gentry class [1] who shared common goals such as hobbies or research. At its peak, the area of London’s East End known as Clubland [2] was home to around 400 such establishments.

Normally, clubs have neither a doorplate nor signage. There was a rumour that one time, when a policeman became suspicious and entered a club, he found an archbishop, the president of a bank, and the prime minister all gathered there. The building that William and Sherlock had arrived at was no different, with a lone man standing at the entrance, and not a single item displayed that indicated what lay within.

Upon descending from the carriage, Sherlock gazed intently at the building, and spoke to William beside him.

“It’s a pretty big building, but this looks like the right address.”

“Indeed, the proof is in the fact that people are going in and out.”

Right at the corner of William’s sight was the figure of a gentleman who looked like he wanted to enter. He gave a slight bow to the doorman, then opened the door and went in.

Sherlock observed the sequence of events.

“They don’t seem too concerned about their surroundings when they enter.”

“True. Perhaps the club itself is not illegal in nature.”

“In other words, there may be people doing something illegal in there.”

The two men exchanged deductions as they drew nearer to the club. As expected, the apparent receptionist spoke up.

“Excuse me. Do you have business here…… Ah? You would be Durham University’s……”

As a nobleman and a young professor of mathematics, it looked like William was fairly well known around these parts.

William shrugged off his coat, doffed his top hat, and greeted the surprised man with a gentle smile.

“Good afternoon, I am William James Moriarty. I heard that this is a club where one may play certain games.”

At that, the man visibly relaxed and responded in a polite manner.

“Indeed it is you, Mr Moriarty, welcome. As you mentioned, this is a place where gentlemen with time to spare may gather, even when it is the middle of the day.”

William smiled at the man’s self-deprecating manner, and made a respectful enquiry.

“My companion and I have heard rumours about this place. However, could it be possible that we would be denied entry without an introduction from an existing member?”

“Not at all, there is no such rule. There is a token receptionist like myself for some reason, but in essence all newcomers are gladly welcome.”

“Including me?” Sherlock cut in, and the man nodded.

“That’s right, we have no qualms about that. I hope you don’t mind me asking your name?”

“I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

Upon hearing that name, the man blinked.

“Could it be, that Sherlock Holmes? I’m astonished that a man like you would also come to such a place……”

Perhaps the mathematics professor and famous detective made for an unusual duo. More surprised than one would expect, a wry smile rose to his face as Sherlock continued.

“Right. I just have a little something to investigate here.”

“An investigation, I see……”

In contrast to his manner with William, the man seemed shaken by the appearance of a detective. William calmly pounced on his suspicious behaviour.

“Could something be the matter?”

“Um, that’s, uh”

The man glanced toward the door as he tried to evade the question. But eventually he seemed to give up, and revealed the situation to them in a hushed voice.

“In a manner of speaking, this is indeed a place where one can enjoy a variety of ‘games’, however…… to liven up the playing field, money does change hands as well.”

“I see.”

From the man’s faltering voice, William could tell what was on his mind. Gentlemen who shed appearances and amused themselves with gambling, contrary to social expectations of dignity — this was not something one would wish to make public.

On top of that, a place where gambling has become the norm could easily become a hotbed of crime. It was likely that the doorman was stationed here to ascertain if new participants were connected with the police or other related parties, hence avoiding any unwanted attention. With Sherlock being a detective, this would also be the reason why he was shaken by Sherlock’s visit.

However, the two of them had ascertained that exchanges of money were taking place here. The question now was to what degree.

“Could it be, that the bets placed here are large enough to draw the attention of the Yard?”

The man waved the question away. “Nothing of the sort. They are really just small sums. One could see them as an entertainment fee.”

“An entertainment fee, I see……”

Sherlock murmured strangely, and watched the man’s movements with nonchalance. By layperson standards, even if it was just for fun, there was likely to be a good amount of money involved where nobles were concerned. But the man’s demeanour didn’t suggest that he was involved in anything illegal.

“Well, you won’t need to worry about that. I’m pursuing a different case here, and besides, I can agree that it’s more fun when money is involved.”

“That’s certainly reassuring to hear……”

For William, who had a close associate who was fond of gambling [3], this was a statement he couldn’t help but smile wryly at.

However, at present, his prediction that there was nothing wrong with the club itself was correct. Hence, they would need to see it in person.

“In any case, it should be fine for us to enter, yes?”

“Y-Yes, please be generous with your wagers……”

“So it’s okay then. Well, let’s get going.”

Sherlock immediately opened the door, with William following behind him.

The interior of the building was a large hall, with simple and subdued decor, and good-quality furnishings lined along the walls.

Wooden tables and chairs were spaced equally, and seated there were groups of gentlemen in formal attire, playing various card or poker games. Gold coins and stacks of bills could be seen scattered across the tables. Although the gentlemen maintained the dignity of their upper station, the occasional groans and cheers revealed their enthusiasm for the games.

The two men stood near the entrance, gazing at the players’ figures.

Looking at William, who was earnestly observing the situation to search for the missing young man, Sherlock made a somewhat envious expression.

“It sure looks fun. Since we came all the way here, I might join a game myself.”

“……Please don’t forget your original goal here,” William reminded him, looking troubled.

Just then, a stout man approached them, holding a glass filled with wine.

“Who might we have here? And on the young side too…… Ah, might you be the mathematics professor William Moriarty…… and your companion, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes?”

The man raised his voice, and a number of people in the vicinity turned to look at the duo. William kept a smile on his face, albeit a little awkwardly.

“Greetings….”

“Nice to meet you.”

Seeing how they had attracted attention so quickly, William spoke to Sherlock in a low voice.

“I would’ve honestly preferred to investigate more discreetly, but it sure is difficult when you’re known by name alone,” he scowled.

“Well, it’s the price of fame.”

After that somewhat sour exchange, William enquired after the man who spoke to them.

“It does seem that people who truly enjoy games are gathered here.”

“Indeed. These games have been brought by the players themselves. In fact, I’ve heard that games involving guns have become popular recently.”

“Guns?”

As the pair frowned at the unexpected word, the man continued, as if to explain himself.

“Please do not misunderstand. Of course, the games do not involve actual guns, but mere toys made to resemble the exact items themselves. One simply loads a bullet, decides the order in which he goes, and then—“

The man made the figure of a gun with his hand, and held it against his temple.

“One would pull the trigger on his own. The person who gets hit by the bullet loses. I believe this is a game that originated from Russia.”

“—Russian roulette, eh.” Sherlock murmured solemnly.

Even though the game was but an imitation, it was difficult to understand why these nobles would use such dangerous items.

However, the man proceeded to ignore the duo’s incredulous expressions, and pressed on with the topic.

“Although this game only became popular here a while ago, the company here got tired of it quite quickly. That’s why I’ve been trying to change various aspects of it on a trial-and-error basis. In fact just recently, based on a rumour I heard going around another social circle, I tried having three people use three different guns—“

“Ah…… It’s been kind of you to tell us all about this, but I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this some other time.”

Sherlock, somewhat disgusted, interrupted the man’s passionate speech and looked around the room.

“I’ve come here to look for someone.”

“I see.” The man seemed to change his mind and reacted distractedly.

“Yeah, it’s about a noble’s son……”

Then, Sherlock told him the missing young man’s name.

At that instant, William noticed that a gentleman in the vicinity had reacted vaguely to the name.

However, this wasn’t the first time it had happened. In truth, when Sherlock had entered the hall, a number of gentlemen had cast wary glances at him.

William memorised their faces as he spoke about the missing noble, casting a glance at Sherlock. The other man swiftly cast a glance back to him. Back then, Sherlock had knowingly used his fame as a detective to smoke out any suspicious characters as he entered the room.

Now all that was left was to determine the move their opponent would make.

The pair silently agreed on their next course of action. But before they had the chance to explore the movements of the people identified, a gentleman approached Sherlock.

“Could you be Mr Holmes?” he enquired.

He looked to be past forty, with a lithe figure that suited a swallow-tail coat, and a personable smile on his face. However, a cunning glint lurked in his narrow eyes.

Sherlock nodded and gave an affirmative grunt. Then the man put a hand to his chest and let out an exaggerated sigh.

“……Ohh, I simply can’t believe I’d be able to meet you in the flesh like this! Or rather, I think I’ve used up all the luck I had for today’s game.”

Saying that, he immediately straightened his posture.

“Apologies for my poor manners, I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Alan. I absolutely love exciting things that can even astonish people from the sidelines, and I’m a devoted reader of your thrilling adventures with Dr Watson.”

“Heh, I’m grateful you’re reading Doyle’s work [4]. I’m sure he would be pleased to hear that.”

“I’m deeply moved to be able to speak to you as a fan. By the way, I don’t mean to be rude, but it does appear to me that you are a little different from what’s been written in his works.”

He’d hit on a sore spot. Sherlock awkwardly scratched his cheek with his index finger.

“Ah—…… That would be due to the author’s focus on entertaining his readers. It seems he has somewhat glorified me. I suppose any differences between my image and myself are only for the worse, eh.”

“Not at all. In fact, from now on, when I read his works I’d love to imagine the real Sherlock Holmes instead.”

“Would you really enjoy that?”

As Sherlock chatted with the man who introduced himself as Alan, William made idle chatter with the man who spoke to them at first. He was carried away talking all about the Russian roulette from back then, and William nodded at the appropriate times as he observed the other gentlemen, who were gazing intently at Sherlock.

The cordiality of the conversation prevented Sherlock from bringing up the matter of the missing noble in a natural way. As such, his next move was fairly predictable.

“Well, I never thought I’d be able to have this much fun speaking with the detective I so admire.”

“If you’re that happy, then I’m happy for you too.”

“Fate’s a strange thing indeed…… By the way, Mr Holmes, would you happen to be interested in games?”

“Hmm? I did say earlier that I’m here on a different case…… but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested. Since we might as well, why don’t you introduce me to an exciting one?”

“I see, I see. You would desire something exciting.”

Immediately, something in Alan’s smile had changed. He covered his mouth with a hand as he whispered to Sherlock.

“It is true that many of the games here provide a change of pace, but my friends and I have grown completely bored with them. Hence we are in fact playing a secret, thrilling game at another location.”

“Hmm. A thrilling game, eh.”

Sherlock put on a conspicuous smile. Alan, reading it as an expression of interest, gestured to William.

“How would your companion like to join us? As long as we do so in secret, so the company here remains unaware.”

“……Sounds like fun,” Sherlock replied.

He called out to William. “Oi, Liam. Have a moment?”

“What’s the matter?”

William turned to Sherlock, having missed their conversation as he was chatting with someone else — or so it appeared.

“Alan here wants to go somewhere else to talk. Care to join us?”

Alan smiled. It was a friendly expression, as if he were the master of a house greeting guests as they entered, but William saw the true nature behind it.

——It was the look of a hunter who had just caught his prey in a net.

William readily understood the situation.

“I see. Allow me to accompany you both, then.”

He apologised to the man he was conversing with, and left the hall with Sherlock.

Footnotes:

[1] The class of people right below the nobility, considered to be of good social position (Wikipedia)

[2] Located in the St. James’s area of Westminster, London (Wikipedia)

[3] i.e. Moran

[4] In case anyone is confused about this, Watson has been writing about Sherlock’s exploits under the pseudonym of Arthur Conan Doyle.

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 10 | " AT LONG LAST PT. 2 "

starring: enhypen ft. daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 2.4k

taglist: @serendipitysung (betareader) @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @gyeraniee @fluffi @stxrryemxlys @jungwon-luv-bot-pt3 @lost-lepord-beanie @hyunsunge @hooniecore @thenoceurgirl @thonkingdeepo

[ PREV. CHAPTER ] | [ M. LIST ] | [ NEXT CHAPTER ]

One of the strangest things about love is that it will make you feel rooted one moment, then wavered by the next; all by the person whom you treated like your resting place — only for them to be tired of you in their next waking day. In Jungwon’s case, he didn’t feel threatened by the marquess’ efforts to acquire his girl. Despite Y/n’s plead to stop the unlabeled thing going on between them, Jungwon refused to feel daunted. So he did what he does best: expressing his sentiments in the form of written words— the language of the unsaid.

The night Y/n ended things between them, Jungwon made a quick stop to their library to write down a few of the many things she did to him on the daily; it contained some of the uncountable things he wanted to say to her if she’d only listened. He poured out his heart, writing to the best of his ability with all the love and warmth she deserved, hoping his adoration would reach her if it wasn’t too late yet.

Crumpling away various parchments and scratching several more, he finally had it neatly tucked in between the pages of their favorite Jane Austen book she threw at him weeks prior. Before leaving the said book upon the large, round table in the center of the room, Jungwon topped it off with a little quote, once again, peeking from the worn-out cover of the antique novel.

“I will go if you need me to go, but bear in mind that I don’t want to leave. I have no other homeland but you. So I will patiently sit in the corner of your heart and wait for our time.”

If it weren’t for Jay’s knowledge about his friend’s almost parting gift, Y/n wouldn’t be rushing down their manor’s library with an eager yet tormented heart the day after. She immediately clasped the book, the repertoire of their precious memories and Jungwon’s poetic affection, the instant she saw it lying on the surface of her late father’s desk.

Y/n pulled out the tiny parchment with Jungwon’s last quote, putting down the book back on the wooden desk. She carefully muttered each word as if it was an ode, constantly bouncing in her mind back and forth.

Her heart found a bit of relief behind his written words, yet she still found it vague that he couldn’t face her and tell her himself. Y/n picked the book again and as she flicked through the pages, a small, handwritten envelope caught her attention. Her heart began to thump.

She gently tore the envelope open only to be welcomed by several folded papers brimming at the edge of the torn covering. Jungwon got her used to the underlined phrases and pieces of quotes, and almost nothing from Jungwon’s heart itself. And now suddenly, all the letters were about her, from the depths of her lover’s affection.

“Be still, my heart.” She whispered under her shaky breath.

My dearest Y/n,

We made quite a mess, don’t you think? Or rather, I did.

When I didn’t react to your efforts of reaching out,

I'm sure you thought I'd gone on or despised you.

I bet it never ever occurred to you that I just couldn’t

bring myself to say "hello" and risk another goodbye.

You wore your best dress that day we departed,

and you were there to watch me leave.

And all the times you let me in just for me to screw things up and leave again.

I’ve been trying to undo what I did to you by making amends.

I’m trying so hard, believe me.

Everything I said in the past and the phrases I underlined in attempts to confess to you,

They were all true.

I cannot stop thinking of you, my thoughts of you never end.

They’re so loud they prevent me from sleeping at night.

I’ve been restlessly rehearsing the words I’d tell you if time didn’t forbid.

But unfortunately, it appears that my time in your heart is up.

Truth be told, we were something, don’t you think?

I cannot shrug away the thought that we were nothing when

I could feel your calm breath against my heaving chest,

It felt like you were meant to reside there, in the warmth of my embrace.

I’m afraid I couldn’t bear myself to write more of these.

They don’t deserve to be kept in any longer.

If you still wish to talk to me and hear me out before giving your hand away,

Meet me in the Queen’s Garden at dusk tomorrow.

Jay has agreed to chaperone you there,

But he must leave us to ourselves when we reach the Catalpa tree.

Until then, I will remain in the state of waiting, for the last time.

— Forever yours, Jungwon

The awaited dusk came upon, and it was a shocker for Y/n that she rejected Sunghoon’s plea to spend the day together over an impulsive meeting with Jungwon. Jay helped lift his sister from the horse, firmly securing his grip on her corseted waist. Her heart was in a weary state; she feared it would be a cycle again of Jungwon acting out his affection and leaving her hanging when their moment’s up. She couldn’t trust him fully anymore, knowing he had recklessly wasted so much borrowed time and promises.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine? I can stay by the gazebo and wait for you.”

“It’s alright, Jay. Didn’t he promise you that he’d send me home? Ride safe, brother!”

Jay walked closer to her and draped his arm around her shoulder, planting a long, soft kiss on the crown of her head. “See you at home, sis.”

Y/n heaved a deep breath before taking baby steps towards the Catalpa tree where Jungwon had been lounging hours prior. With a heavy heart and romantic complications in mind, she stood in front of the lover she forced herself to detest; eyes never leaving his.

But Jungwon, being easily distracted by her tantalizing eyes, quickly averted his gaze to the grass he had been standing on. His confident stance stripped away though he mustered the courage to look at the beautiful pair, as the object of his affection gradually approached him.

“Why didn’t you come and talk to me yourself?”

“Would you have listened?” Y/n ran out of retorts as she was guilty enough, cutting Jungwon’s explanations that night in their garden.

The boy drew closer to her, softly lifting her resting hand to interlock it with his. “Y/n…” only to be shrugged away by the maiden.

“You must have gone crazy, coming here like this. Tell me, are you that desperate to impel your pride-”

“This is not about my pride! I-” Jungwon ran a hand through his hair as he let out a frustrated sigh, realizing what he just did. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It upsets me to know that you still think this is all for my ego, supposing you’ve read the letters I left you.”

“So you’ve been living in denial all these years?”

“I never meant to come between you and him.”

“Yet here we are. Someone’s caught in the middle, and it’s definitely not you, Jung.” The boy stared down at his worn-out boots, million-dollar thoughts running through his mind, yet he couldn’t find the ones he needed to say.

“Do you want me to start it off for you?” Y/n crossed her arms, trying her best to compose a cold approach to Jungwon, although the chap’s been looking unkempt like he hasn’t slept for days in every passing minute of their imminent bickering.

“Haven’t you gotten the letters?”

“I did.”

“Is there anything you want to say about it?” Y/n scoffed at the timid boy who was shattered by the lady’s callousness.

“You asked me to come here, Jungwon! All this time you’ve said nothing but a few words to me. Are you even serious right now?” She half-yelled in frustration.

“I’m trying to prevent myself from saying the wrong things.”

“You’ve barely been able to look me in the eye!”

“For the reason that I cannot bear witness to the misery I’ve caused you!”

Y/n gulped when she saw a tear grazing down Jungwon’s dimpled cheek. It was the first time she’d seen him cry in a long time, the last one being the day he left her for university five years ago.

“It pains me,” he stammered, breaths shaky as tears kept dripping down the grassy lawn. “It pains me to know that I’ve yet again, caused you another heartache. If there was anything I could do to bring back the hands of time, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat. If I could go back to when we were thirteen, on the exact day I left you for London, I would vow to you then and there that I will spend every lifetime with you when I get back.” Jungwon went on and on, eyes now fixated upon her sparkling orbs that reflected the full moon above them.

“But I was a stubborn, scared, idle bloke who’s now deserving of punishment. It’s long overdue, but I still think I deserve this, and I’m sorry. I’m tremendously sorry that it took your beautiful marquess to be caught in the middle of our mess for me to realize that you were my all and more. You are my all and more, Y/n. I couldn’t bear this any longer. My feelings will not be silenced this time, and I must let you hear of how I truly, madly, and deeply love you now more than ever. I’d hate myself for eternity if it came to the conclusion of having to lose the one real thing I’ve ever hoped for in this lifetime. If the mighty heavens don’t forbid us to love again, I swear I’d love you right.”

“Why are you telling me this now? You had all the chances, Jung. Why did it have to be in the most unsuitable moment where Mother and the Duke are preparing for the imminent wedding?!”

“Sometimes you don’t fully know the answer until someone’s breaking badly in front of you. I’m sorry, Y/n. But I’m here now, in all my glory, swallowing my pride, and laying my armor down if you choose to rather love than fight.”

Jungwon approached her. Too close until an inch of distance was left between them. His eyes had been watering with tears the entire time he was rambling his feelings, but he wiped her glistening tears away instead, bearing in mind that he’s making up for lost times. His face was mere inches away from hers, breaths fanning against each other as Y/n sniffs lightly with Jungwon’s nose bumping against hers.

“I love you, Y/n. My longing for you aches like piled-up bricks pushed against my chest, as my love for you burns, heavily and passionately, like a thousand suns set ablaze right before our very eyes. My heart is, and always will be, yours. You’ve imparted me this quote once from a book you found scattered around my room. ‘Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony’ and I had carved it into the depths of my soul, putting myself under the commitment of being worthy of your choice. I grew confident because I know you love me truly more than him.”

Jungwon raised her flimsy hand and kissed it with much intent before placing it around his shoulders and having his hand rest on the small of her back. With his other hand hanging freely to his side, he lifted it up to graze his gentle fingers upon the lady’s soft cheek, carefully taking in her satisfied reaction to his touch as she kept her eyes closed and her lips parted. Jungwon pulled her chin up with his forefinger, his thumb softly pinching it in the aftermath. He brushes his nose against hers, bathing in each other’s warmth and shy touches, bodies electric.

“Marry me.”

Y/n shoots a concerned look at Jungwon, “but what about Lady Choi? I thought you two-”

“No one else could make me the happiest man in this world, Y/n, no one but you.” Jungwon wasted no time and crashed his lips against hers. First, and long-awaited kisses are finally shared under the illuminating beam of the fullest moon of the year. The gent tilts his head to the side, gaining more access to the lady’s lips as Y/n heaves a deep breath, slowly taking in his upper lip within hers.

He pulls away mere seconds after to get some oxygen into his system while taking the opportunity to continue his unrehearsed proposal. “My heart will only rest in yours. Marry me, Y/n, will you?”

The lady buried her face against his chest that was clad in blue, velvety frock coat adorned with gold embroidery upon its hems. She sniffed his immaculate scent in before letting out muffled whispers. “Give me time to reflect on it. Only then will I give you my answer.”

“Time, of course. As much as you need, my love.” Jungwon gave her a quick and final kiss on the lips before freeing her from his embrace. “I must get you home now. Your mother would be frantic if she knew you were frolicking around with me while she worries about your wedding plans with Sunghoon.”

“Don’t say that. He hasn’t proposed to me yet.”

“But when he does, I’m certain your mother won’t pass up the chance.”

Y/n kissed him back. Fleeting, but full of love. “It’s me who’s getting married, Jung, not her.”

“I love you.”

“You’ve said it already.”

“I will say it again if I have to.” Y/n chuckles lightly, feeling relieved now that Jungwon has trampled down the barriers preventing them from transparency.

The gent lifts her up to his white horse before following after. He instantly took hold of her hands and had them wrapped around his small waist. “Hold on tight. We’re past my promised hour so I’m going to have to speed up, okay?” Y/n didn’t say anything, instead, she hugged Jungwon tightly by the waist and snurfled her cheek against his back. It was enough affirmation for him, so he yanked the thick rope, revving his horse on the cobblestones on their way home.

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series’ taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[theanimeview]

My Nitpick Issue with Sherlock in Moriarty the Patriot

By: Peggy Sue Wood | @pswediting​

It may surprise some of you to know that I have degrees in book reading and writing. While earning those degrees I studied one specific time period more than the others--that being British Literature from late-17th/18th century through the early 20th century. This is to say that it is a time period I know a little more about than you might think. And early 1900s is probably my favorite period out of that timeline, particularly England under Victoria’s rule. 

And, perhaps, because of this strange obsession I have with the period, I presently have a small bone to pick over Moriarty the Patriot. 

It’s not the minor inaccuracies of the clothes, nor the adaptation of character designs. It’s not even the adjustment to social tendencies depicted that are more Japanese than British-English of any period thus far either--because those kinds of things happen frequently in adaptations. And it's not Moriarty or his backstory too! Because, again, this is an adaptation, and liberties will be taken to fit the new story (besides, even in the original works by Doyle the man’s backstory was inconsistent). 

My issue is with the character of Sherlock and his supposed “deductions.” Well, maybe more accurately it's with the writing of Sherlock. 

You see, Sherlock is almost always introduced the same way in an adaptation. He makes a judgment about someone (usually about Watson or the Watson stand-in) and then proves it using his observational skills. This introduction is important because it clarifies that the world of the characters is one based on where common sense and science not only work but make sense. His deductions are logical and based on some semblance of rationality. Here is an excerpt from the original novel: 

“I knew you came from Afghanistan. From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that I arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps. There were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, `Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' 

How does this prove we are in a world where common sense and logic works? Well, because he didn’t pull any of these deductions from thin air. He just used his eyes and common knowledge to make a quick judgment. 

In the example above, everything that Sherlock assumes is true and based on reasonable assumptions about the time period and about what he can observe of the person before him. 

The tan of Watson’s skin is something he notes because London is usually dark and wet around this season, so you’re unlikely to get a tan. The way the man walks and stands is also a thing he can observe, and fresh military men walk very differently from the average citizen or gentleman. These two observations, coupled with noticeable injury and limp could lead one to think that maybe he has just come back from the current war (the First Anglo-Afghan War). Of course, maybe he wasn’t injured in the war at all--maybe something else happened; however, you can make a pretty good guess that an abled bodied soldier would not be home and looking for a room in the middle of war-times if something hadn’t happened to him on the battlefield.

My point is that all of Sherlock’s deductions come from observing details, paying attention to the basics of the world (such as the ongoing war or understanding rigor mortis), and using your senses. Sure, there may be a few things the average person doesn’t know that Sherlock does, but that’s because Sherlock has studied different things and to a more serious degree. The level of understanding is different, but not impossible to achieve in one’s own time or effort. And, as another note, Sherlock is not perfectly observant all of the time. There are plenty of examples of him needing to take breaks, of him closing his eyes to block out distractions so he can better focus on what someone is saying, and of him smoking to zone out for a bit so that he can come back to a problem with fresh eyes at a later time. 

It’s absolutely vital to Sherlock’s character, and the original story, that all of the deductions are based on the “possible,” which is why the introduction of Sherlock in Episode 6 of this adaptation immediately irritated me. Here is the scene:

Side note:  I’m sorry it’s shown as a poorly made gif--I literally could not find a copy of the clip with English subtitles on YouTube so I could not include it as a video. If you want to look at it in the episode itself, it starts at about the 13:00 minute mark. EPISODE LINK)

Here is what bothers me so much. Why would a mathematician be checking to see if the staircase on a ship fits the golden ratio? More importantly, why would that in any way matter to Moriarty as a character? Based on what we’ve seen so far of this character, and we’ve had 6 and 1/2 episodes to define him so far, none of Sherlock’s statement makes sense here. 

Like, at all. (And I know that this also happens in the manga--doesn’t make sense there either.)

You know what would make sense though? For the time period and the character development we’ve seen of Moriarty thus far? A pause to consider-- and maybe even compare--staircases on the ship between the main steps for passengers and the steps for commoners or staff. 

Why would that make sense? Oh, thank you so much for asking. Time to get real nerdy here for a minute: 

Class issues were a serious problem in Victorian England (as they are now, though in a different way). These issues were not necessarily the same as depicted in the show but it was still consistently present throughout the society as a whole. (A good, short read on the subject can be found here for those of you interested: Social Life in Victorian England.)

One way that this issue came out was in the very architecture of homes. In Victorian England, nobleman homes and estates were built with main staircases, where the residents and guests walked, and servent staircases, where the staff and other temporary employees walked. The difference in these stairs was huge, as the servant staircases were basically death traps. 

In the late 1800s, a mathematician (and architect) named Peter Nickolson figured out the exact measurements that would generally ensure a comfortable and easy walk upstairs: 

BTW: Here is a great video on the subject and how they were death traps: Staircases in Victorian England

However, Nickolson’s math and designs were not used regularly in the design of houses for years to come. 

By the setting of the story, and given Moriarty’s interest in maths, his understanding of class issues, and beyond--this kind of knowledge would make far more sense than searching for the golden ratio in a man-made set of stairs. 

Moreover, the golden ratio is generally interesting to mathematicians (to my understanding) because it can be seen in nature frequently. It is a pattern found everywhere, from the way that petals grow on flowers, to how seashells form, to freaking hurricane formations! So why on Earth would Moriarty be interested in an architect's choice to use such a ration when planning a staircase? 

He wouldn’t, I believe. Nor would Sherlock generally be able to make that assumption based on his time gazing at the staircase, distance from said staircase, nor angle. 

So what can he deduce, if not that? Well, he may be able to deduce that Moriarty is a nobleman based on his attire. He may also be able to deduce that the man is a student based on age, as in an earlier episode we were told he’s quite young to be teaching in university and appears close in age to his students. Maybe he’s a student of architecture? But, if he’s a nobleman--as we suspect he is based on his attire--then it's unlikely he works a labor-intensive job or one close to it. So, he must be in academia for academic reasons such as mathematics. Physics during that time, as an academic subject, focused more on lighting, heat, electricity, magnetism, and such. And, Sherlock notes that Moriarty is specifically looking at the stairs, not the lights of the ship. 

So, BAM! I’ve deduced Moriarty is a young nobleman who is likely a student of mathematics. Perhaps he’s recently had a lesson on staircases or another algebraic concept that’s caused him to pause with momentary interest. 

It makes a heck of a lot more sense than finding a “golden ratio” in a man-planned and man-made staircase... don’t you think? And, maybe, we can even deduce that rather than a student he’s a professor who has just thought up an interesting lesson--though that would be a BIG jump from the data we’ve been provided here. 

Deductions that come from major leaps in logic make it seem like Sherlock is doing magic... and he is--because it is magical that people find it impressive or believable. It’s not. And I would argue that the original character would find it insulting based on his comments to Watson regarding being compared to other fictional detectives.

Pay in mind, I have this feeling about several adaptations, so my judgment on Moriarty the Patriot isn’t technically exclusive. It just hit me so hard in my first viewing that I felt I needed to share because generally, this issue of deductions becoming magic rather than stemming from logic doesn’t happen in the first two minutes of meeting Sherlock Holmes.

So... yeah. Thanks for coming to my absurd history/lit lesson through Moriarty the Patriot. I appreciate you sticking with me to the end and hope it was enjoyable.

You can watch the series on Funimation.com right now at: https://www.funimation.com/shows/moriarty-the-patriot 

Overall, it’s a pretty good series; although there was a lot more child-murder than I expected...

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Raindrops, snowflakes, sunshine, part 4

Summary: Catelyn meets a northern boy in her algebra class during one of London’s many rainy days. Initially she doesn’t expect much, but this boy brings her a surprising amount of sunlight.

@leialannister and I discussed Scandinavian Starks and I realized I really wanted to write a fic so that’s what I did. Swedes depicted in media makes this Swede happy, and NedCat also makes me happy so why not combine it and publish him for everyone to see?

A sigh escaped her when she finally put the cookies in the oven. That had taken a lot longer than she had expected it to. She glanced at the clock, maybe she would have to message Ned and tell him that she would be a bit late.

“What are you baking?”

Elia came into the kitchen and opened a cupboard to take out a glass.

“Chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter” Catelyn replied.

“Any chance I can get one when they’re finished?”

“Absolutely. I made too many anyway.”

Either she was baking for a country or for one small child, she could never make anything in the right amount. That day she had apparently decided to bake for all of London. But that was good, then she could leave some at home and bring some to Ned. Taking up her phone she quickly wrote him a message about that she would be a bit late. She had planned on starting to bake earlier, but then there had been some obstacles. The obstacles were that she had promised Cersei to paint her nails and do her hair for her date. Which she didn’t regret, Cersei had looked awesome when she was done.

“Can you make too many cookies?” Elia asked.

She opened the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice.

“I can only bring so many to Ned without looking like a crazy person.”

“Who’s Ned?”

Had she never told Elia his actual name? She guessed not. He was known as the Swede in their household, Ashara and Cersei exclusively called him by that name.

“The Swede.”

“Ah, I guess your date went well, then” Elia said, smiling.

“It wasn’t a date, we’re not dating.”

“Whatever you say. Ash told me you wouldn’t talk much about it, so I figured it didn’t go well but if you’re baking for him it can’t have been too bad.”

“It wasn’t bad at all, he’s really nice. I like him.”

“So why not date him?”

Catelyn sat in a chair at the kitchen table while Elia poured her juice.

“Because I’m not interested in him in that way. He’s cute, I can admit that, but no.”

Elia just shrugged and put the juice back into the fridge before leaving the kitchen again. Catelyn wasn’t baking because she was interested in him, she had just been walking around feeling guilty about that she had nothing to give in return for him teaching her to draw. So she had decided that the least she could do was bring him some homemade cookies. It didn’t feel enough, but it was something. She started gathering up all the things she had used so that she could clean them, but just after she had filled the sink with water her phone started buzzing. She cleaned her hands and walked to take her phone, expecting it to be Ned, but instead her uncle’s name was on the screen.

“Hello, Uncle” she said.

She had been calling him twice a day all week to find out what that phone call from Edmure had been about, but he hadn’t answered her. She had almost believed he had got into an accident, but her father had assured her that Uncle Brynden was just fine. He hadn’t known what it was about though, and he hadn't known why Brynden wasn't answering his phone.

“Little Cat, good to hear your voice!”

She put the phone on speaker and picked up the dish brush, beginning to scrub away remains of cookie dough.

“You could have heard my voice much earlier if you had taken my calls” she responded.

“My phone died and I lost it, but my husband found it behind a shelf earlier today so now I could call you” Brynden said.

Catelyn had to keep herself from laughing.

“How did it end up behind a shelf?”

“Believe me, I would also like to know that.”

“Alright. Edmure said you wanted to know if I would be home for Christmas, can I ask why you wanted to know that? You know I always come home for Christmas.”

“I thought of visiting you soon if not, but now when you’re coming home for Christmas I can wait until spring.”

None of her family members had come to visit her in London, she had just gone back home. Which made sense, but she still wanted to show them her life there. She would have insisted he come before Christmas if she had not had an exam coming up. She wouldn’t have much time to spare, and if he was coming to London she actually wanted to be able to see him and do things.

“You’ll have to promise you’ll come this spring. I would love to finally get to show you how I have it here.”

“I promise. Might bring Edmure too, the boy is eager to see London.”

Edmure had never been to London. When she thought of it she didn’t think he had ever been outside of Ireland.

“You should bring Edmure. It’s about time he gets to see something different.”

“A shame it’s London and not a good city.”

She didn’t like Britain, and she hated what they had done to her country. What they had put her people through. But she had nothing against London in particular. It was a okay place to live and she had made great friends there.

“London isn’t bad, he’ll like it.”

“Of course he will, the boy has no taste.”

“He’s a child” Catelyn chuckled.

“He’ll always be like this. You're a lot like your younger self, I can still see much of little Catelyn Tully in you.”

“Well, you still call me Little Cat so I figured that.”

She stopped what she was doing when her Uncle didn’t answer her. She waited a few seconds to see if he would, but her phone was silent.

“Hello?” she called.

Then she heard Brynden’s voice. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, he clearly wasn’t talking to her. Had to be his husband, he probably had to go. She didn’t have time for a long phone call anyway, so that didn't bother her at all.

“The husband insists it’s time for dinner” he informed her. “So this is farewell for now.”

“There’s no need to talk like it’s the 18th century and you’re going on an adventure at sea, just say goodbye like a normal person.”

“Life is a lot more fun if you see it as an adventure. Therefore I’m telling you farewell for now. Until next time, Little Cat.”

A smile appeared on her face.

“Goodbye, Uncle.”

The phone clicked as Brynden ended the call. Catelyn finished the dishes in silence, listening to the music coming from the living room and Ashara and Elia’s laughter. Often she dreamed of getting her own place, but in moments like those she really liked sharing a flat. Despite that it didn’t have a balcony. She took the cookies out of the oven to let them cool before she would put some in a jar for Ned. And as expected the two other women swept in like vultures.

“Don’t touch them, you’ll burn yourselves” Catelyn warned as she turned her back on the cookies to see if she could find a jar.

She was sure if that she had at least one somewhere in the back of a cupboard. Behind all that other crap they never used. She dragged a chair over and stepped up on it to be able to reach the top shelf.

“Ouch, fuck, goddamnit!”

Catelyn didn’t have to turn around to know that Ashara was jumping around, holding her burned hand to her chest. Her first words were followed by a sentence in Arabic that Catelyn strongly suspected just consisted of more swear words. Elia was laughing and a moment later the tap was running.

“Oh my poor darling” Elia chuckled.

“Told you” Catelyn said calmly.

To her triumph she found a jar. It was ugly as sin, the psychedelic flower pattern was enough to give her a headache, but it was what she had and it was a lot better than nothing.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think they were so fucking hot!” Ashara howled.

“I just took them out of the oven, what did you expect?”

“Not this!”

She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the first time it happened and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Every time she baked either Cersei or Ashara burned a hand. No matter how many times she warned them of the heat.

“Leave the kitchen and come back in fifteen minutes when they have cooled down a bit, I promise they’ll still be here.”

“Sounds like something someone who’s planning to take the cookies away would say.”

“Just go.”

Ashara pulled a face at her before leaving the room closely followed by her girlfriend. Finally, inner peace. Half an hour later Catelyn left with half of the cookies. She had a suspicion of that the rest would be gone by the time she was back. If Cersei came home before her they would definitely be gone. But she was happy that liked what she made them. That was all she could contribute when it came to food. She didn’t even bother swearing over that the lift was still broken. She just took the stairs. It had already been dark for two hours when she stepped outside the building. She hated it. Autumn was nice, things were very pretty during autumn, but the cold and the darkness she could do without. Catelyn had been surprised when he asked if she wanted to come over to his place. They had been talking about meeting up again, and Catelyn had assumed maybe they would go for another walk or something like it. But then Ned had said that she could come to him if she wanted to, so that he could honor his promise. She was breaking a lot of safety rules when it came to meeting new people by seeing him in a private area so soon, so she hoped he wasn’t a serial killer. She had given both Cersei and Ashara his address so if she went missing they would know where to start looking. But she was very sure of that she would be fine, he was a good person. She was still nervous when she arrived at his building though, but for a completely different reason. She didn’t know what reason, but she sure was nervous. What was up with her? Why couldn’t she just go over to her friend’s place without feeling like her heart would make it’s way out of her chest. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. All of it was ridiculous. The building’s door required a code to be opened. She didn’t know the code, Ned hadn’t said anything about that. She took up her phone and texted him.

Code?

His answer came just a second later. It made her happy to know he had been waiting for her.

I’ll be down in a minute

Less than a minute later she saw him come down the stairs through the glass panels in the door.

“Hey” he said after having opened the door.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

“No need to apologize. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

They began walking up the stairs.

“The house doesn’t have a lift” Ned said. “Sucks when you have groceries.”

Catelyn couldn’t hold back a smile at that. The house had four floors, how bad could it be? She guessed it was sort of a problem if he lived on the top floor, but that was still less than what she was used to.

“What floor do you live on?”

“The third.”

“Not to belittle your struggles or anything, but I live on the sixth floor and we have a lift, but it never works. That sucks.”

“Wow, I take back everything I said.”

When they reached the third floor there were three doors. One to the left, one to the right, and one right ahead of them. He opened the right one and then gestured for her to enter before him. He held the door open for her as she walked inside and she found herself in a small hall. Only a shoe rack and a coat hanger fit in there. Past that was a small flat, consisting of only one room and door that lead to what Catelyn guessed was a bathroom. Directly to her left was a very clean kitchen, across from it, on her right was a neatly made bed. Ahead of her on the right was a couch and a TV, and across of that was a round table with five chairs around it. On almost every flat surface there was a plant, on the window sills more than one, giving life to the otherwise white and grey room. A lamp above the table was on, but apart from that the place was only dimly lit up by smaller table lamps and fairy lights. All the walls had some sort of art on them, ranging from sketches to full paintings, the only exception was where the bookshelf was. The bookshelf didn’t seem as organized as the rest of the flat, she found no pattern, and books that didn’t fit in it had been placed in piles on top of it. The scent of coffee and something sweeter filled the air. Maybe it came from one or several of the flowers, maybe it was the laundry detergent he used, maybe it was something completely different. She didn’t know, but she liked it. It wasn’t large, but it felt so much like a home. One was immediately hit with the feeling that someone had made that small area their own. She had been in homes where it was clear that the owner only used it as a place to sleep, but so was very much not the case with Ned’s home. And best of all, he had a balcony. She would have killed for a balcony.

“Welcome to my humble home” he said, closing the door behind them.

“I love it” she responded in complete honesty.

“It turned out a lot better than I initially thought, it didn’t look very nice when I moved in.”

“One has to trust the process. And that balcony can’t have made things worse.”

“It faces an alleyway, the view is terrible.”

She didn’t care what the view was, it was the balcony itself that made her happy. Though of course she wanted her future balcony to have a nice view if it wasn’t too much to ask for. She put her bag down, and took off her shoes and her coat. She liked the shoe rack, she would have to raise the question of getting one for her own home with Cersei and Ashara.

“We don’t have to draw if you don’t want to, but I thought I would at least present the option" he said when he went inside before her.

She noticed that there was a bunch of papers and pens on the table. She also noticed that Oden was sleeping underneath it. She hadn’t seen him at first, but she smiled when she did. She didn’t think she had ever smiled at a dog.

“I’m eager to learn every little thing you have to teach me.”

“Amazing, where would you like to start?”

A class where she got to make her own curriculum, how nice.

“You said you’re good at drawing people, right? Can you teach me to draw a face?”

He sat by the table and pulled out the chair on his right.

“That shouldn’t be impossible.”

Catelyn sat next to him and they began. She believed he had said that he wasn’t a very good teacher or something close to that the previous time they had met, but she heavily disagreed. With patience he guided her through everything, redid stuff half a hundred times just so she could see it and understand. After a while the table was covered in drawings of facial features and faces from different angles. It was easy to tell which ones were his and which were hers, but she wanted to believe she was improving. And Ned said she was, he came with much encouragement. But she came to a point where it didn’t feel like it. She had trouble getting lines straight, it looked very shaky.

“I can’t get it straight” she sighed in frustration when she tried for what had to be the tenth time to get a nose right.

Ned studied her drawing and her hand for a moment before answering.

“You need to relax your hand, you’re too tense. It makes you shake.”

“I am relaxing my hand!”

He put his pen down and scooted his chair closer to her. At first she didn’t understand what he was doing but then he put his left hand over hers, gently helping her adjust her hold in order to relax her hand. Maybe she should have been focused on trying to get it right, but she was mostly focused on keeping her breathing steady. He was close to her. He was very close to her. She could smell his cologne. And he was essentially holding her hand. She kept her eyes downwards, tried to do what he wanted her to do, but she was positive her heart was going to stop.

“There you go” he said. “Try now.”

“Okay” she said, hearing that her voice was a higher pitch than usual.

She hoped he didn’t notice. She tried to keep her hand steady despite that she was shaking a lot more than she had been before.

“It looks better now, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Both of them jumped in their chairs when the door opened. In stepped a man who somewhat resembled Ned, they had the same hair color and the same facial features, but he was taller. And very attractive. Catelyn had to stop herself from looking at him too much and instead turned her gaze to the dog he had with him, another German shepherd, who seemingly didn’t have Oden’s calm temper. He pulled on his leash, wanting to come over to where they sat. She hoped he would stay right where he was with that dog, she had a feeling of that she wouldn’t like it as much as she liked Oden. Oden immediately left his spot at their feet and walked to lie down in a corner of the room, clearly wanting nothing to do with the other dog. Catelyn realized that she had instinctively tensed up, so she took a deep breath and forced her shoulders down. It was just a dog. Except for that it wasn’t. It was a scary dog, and she could feel her pulse go up.

“Vad gör du här?” Ned sighed, scooting his chair away from her again.

It made a loud, scraping noise. Not like when he had came closer to her.

”Jag skrev att jag tänkte komma förbi, men du svarade inte” the man said with a shrug.

Catelyn wasn’t sure of what she was going to do, and as usual she didn’t understand a word of Swedish. She assumed he was Ned’s older brother, as they looked alike and both spoke Swedish.

“Det fanns en anledning till det” Ned said, annoyed by whatever it was that his brother had said.

But the brother didn’t seem to hear him, he instead looked at Catelyn and smiled.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again” he said.

She had never seen him before, what was he talking about?

“You must be mistaking me for someone else, we haven’t met” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed.

“I’m not mistaking you for someone else, you don’t forget hair like that. You have nice hair.”

She tried to remember when and where she could have seen him. They didn’t have class together, she would have known if she was in the same class as Ned’s brother. Had she met him at a pub? She never got drunk enough to not remember people she had met. Was he a friend of a friend? That seemed like the most plausible explanation. She would have to ask around about that.

“Thank you, I suppose, but I have to apologize, I don’t remember you.”

It was embarrassing. She didn’t believe that had ever happened to her before, she usually remembered people. Though at least she wasn’t blushing.

“Then I won’t be the one to remind you, let’s start over” he chuckled. “I’m Brandon, the better looking one. I never got your name last time so what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Men för fan, Brandon, bete dig!” Ned said firmly.

“Language, little brother” Brandon said. "And I am behaving."

She assumed Ned had told him to behave with a swearword thrown in somewhere. She didn't know which word it was though.

“He has a point, you’re being a bit of an arse. So please replace sweetheart with Catelyn next time, that’s my name.”

“That’s prettier than sweetheart anyway.”

He didn’t seem to be that sharpest knife in the drawer, it sounded like something out of a book on how to compliment women. But he was good looking, and maybe he was better after one got to know him.

“Thank you” she said once more, twirling her pen between her fingers.

“Vill du ha henne eller kan jag ta henne?” Brandon then said to Ned. “Hon är snygg.”

”Vad är det för fel på dig?” he responded in an exasperated voice. “If you didn’t want something important can you please take your dog and leave?”

“Du behöver inte bli sur” Brandon said, raising his free hand into the air.

“I’m not, but you’re being inappropriate towards my friend and Tor really upsets Oden. So can you leave and come back tomorrow?”

“Varför på engelska?”

“Because Catelyn doesn’t understand Swedish.”

“Du pratar inte med henne.”

“No, but she’s here.”

Catelyn certainly was there. She was also thoroughly confused. She had no idea about what Brandon was saying, and she had no idea about why Ned was talking about her. It almost would have been better if she didn’t understand anything at all instead of only getting bits and pieces.

“Look, I’m free tomorrow, you can come back then. Men nu skulle jag uppskatta om du lämnade oss.”

Brandon studied his brother for a moment, then he grinned.

“Absolutely. Godnatt.”

”Godnatt, Brandon.”

Brandon and his dog, who she assumed was named Tor, left and the door shut behind them. She had to do a lot of assuming as she didn't understand much. Oden stayed right where he was, his gaze fixated on the door like he was expecting Tor to break back in. She understood him.

“He’s most often not like that, I’m sorry” Ned said as he got up from his chair and walked over to sit by Oden on the floor. “I won’t excuse his behavior, but I want you to know that he can be nice.”

Oden immediately placed his head in Ned’s lap, but kept his eyes on the door.

“Mind if I sit with him for a bit?” he asked. “He gets stressed around Tor. They’re from the same litter and Tor partook in the puppy bullying that went one when they were little.”

“Puppies are so small and cute, how are they capable of bullying?” she said.

“Kids are small too, and they still bully each other.”

“I guess. Still hard to wrap your head around it. I mean I get it now, that was a scary dog, but a puppy?”

“Are you afraid of dogs?” he asked, surprised.

How could he be surprised about that? She had believed that she had clearly shown him that she was afraid of dogs.

“They have lots of sharp teeth, they make loud and sudden noises, large ones can easily kill you, it’s not really my thing. Oden is fine though, he’s very polite.”

Ned chuckled.

“More of a cat person, huh?”

Catelyn looked him dead in the eye.

“If you make one single cat pun I will get up and leave” she threatened.

“Based on the look on your face it feels like you have heard them all already.”

“I have heard them all. Multiple times. I doubt anyone can come up with a new one at this point. They aren’t worse than the fact that an ex used ‘Kitty’ as a nickname for me through.”

She had learned to accept KitKat, she would never learn to accept Kitty. She hated it, she was a grown woman and didn’t want to be referred to the same way one referred to a cute kitten. Luckily no one else had used that nickname and she thoroughly hoped it would stay that way.

“I take it you prefer just Catelyn, then?”

“Or Cat. I don’t mind Cat, it’s short and easy to spell.”

People never seemed to spell her name correctly on the first try. There were simply too many ways to spell the way her name was said. People often replaced the C with a K and threw in a couple of i’s for good measure. So sometimes it was easier to just go by Cat.

“I get it, often it’s easier to go by a shortened name.”

She snorted.

“Your name is three letters and super easy to spell, you don’t get to complain.”

Ned laughed at that.

“I always go by Ned, but it’s not actually my name. My name’s Eddard.”

So she had been right, Ned was short for something.

“It’s a nice name.”

“You said that about my dog too, so I don’t know what to believe.”

Had she? She had no memory of what she had said upon learning Oden’s name. It had been weeks since that. But he was probably right.

“You both have nice names, that’s all there is.”

“Thank you.”

She left her pen on the table and stood up.

“Do you want cookies?”

He shrugged.

“Cookies are good, but I unfortunately don’t have any. I would have got some if you had said you wanted it.”

“No worries, Eddard Stark” she said as she went to get her bag from the coat hanger. “I can supply the cookies.”

She pulled out the jar and went back to the table.

“Did you bake?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

He got up from the floor.

“I hope you don’t have any severe allergies because I really don’t want to kill you, and I also hope you like chocolate chip cookies with peanut butter because that’s what I baked.”

“Sounds amazing. Can I make you some tea to go with the cookies?”

“Absolutely.”

Catelyn sat at the table again while Ned walked to the small kitchen.

“You know you didn’t have to bake” he said as he took two mugs out of a cupboard.

“I wanted to give something back to you for inviting me into your home and trying to teach me to draw. And I’m good at baking, so I thought I would bake you something” she explained.

She picked up her pen again, once more put it to the paper and tried to get the shading on the nose right so that it didn’t look so flat. Very softly she moved the tip of the pen, and found that she managed to keep her hand steady while doing so. Maybe he had managed to get something into her head, after all.

“I really appreciate it, thank you” he said and she heard him fill a kettle with water.

“It was the least I could do.”

She stopped for a moment to look at the paper in front of her. That actually looked like a nose. It wasn’t nearly as good as what he had done, but it was the best nose she had ever managed to draw. Maybe her pride was childish, it wasn’t a big accomplishment, but she really hadn’t expected to do so well. She could feel herself smile.

“What kind of tea do you want?”

“Uhm, preferably something fruity, if you have it. I like sweet teas.”

High on the feeling of success she moved onto the eyes of the person on her paper.

“Fruity? That’s not very British of you” he responded.

“I know, it’s a conscious choice. Drives one of my flatmates mad.”

Cersei refused to drink sweet teas. She only drank black tea and Earl Grey. Nothing disgusted Catelyn more than Earl Grey. She was also sure of that Cersei only refused to drink other teas out of spite. She was a very proud Brit when it came to tea.

“Is she British?”

“Yes, a born and bred Londoner. My other flatmate is from Morocco, so the British are outnumbered in my home. She’s very strict on the tea though. We’re working on humbling her, but our attempts so far have been unsuccessful.”

“It’s very hard to humble a Brit, I’ve tried.”

“Do you have any advice for me?”

“No, because I failed in epic proportions. He’s still the same.”

She looked up at him. He stood with his back to her, pouring the hot water into the mugs. She wondered who he was talking about. She would have liked to ask, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it. Whoever it was was probably a lot like Cersei. She loved Cersei, but she sure was a handful at times. Especially when it came to her Earl Grey.

“We have a word for this in Swedish” Ned said.

“You have a word for trying to humble Brits?”

That was unreasonable and way too specific. He laughed.

“That would be ‘försöka göra en brittisk person ödmjukare’, which is a sentence and not a word, but that’s not what I meant. I meant we have a word for sitting down with someone to eat a pastry or something like it and maybe drink something.”

That mad a lot more sense.

“And what’s this word?”

“Fika. Most people do it daily. We have breaks at work for fika.”

"Is that a verb or a noun?"

"Works as both. You can fika, but you can also sit down for a fika."

“That’s brilliant, there should be an English word for that.”

“One of many things I miss from Sweden.”

She turned her gaze downwards again, but found that she didn’t have the same luck with the eyes that she had had with the nose. She tried to do what he had showed her, and she looked at everything he had drawn out for her on a different paper, but she just couldn’t get it to work.

“You’re doing very well.”

Turning her head up she found him standing right behind her, leaning forward slightly to see better. And for some reason she could once more feel her heart racing in her chest. And that time he wasn’t even touching her. What was wrong with her?

“Thank you” she said.

That time she managed to keep her voice normal, so that was always something. Ned put her mug down and sat next to her again. Catelyn opened the jar and offered him a cookie before taking one herself.

“I hope you like them.”

She raised her cookie in a cheers before taking a bite. She couldn’t know what he thought, but she was more than happy with the result. Those were some tasty cookies, if she could say so herself. And based on his reaction he seemed to like them as well.

“These are really good” he said. “Like, really, really good. Screw drawing, can you teach me to do this?”

Catelyn tried to keep herself from smiling as she had her mouth full, but found that she was unable to do so and raised a hand to hide her mouth.

“This isn’t even my best, you should taste my carrot cake. I make a killer carrot cake.”

“I love carrot cake.”

“Me too.”

He paused for a moment before smiling.

“Do you want to hear a word that’s even more brilliant, but that doesn’t exist in English?”

“Definitely, share your Swedish wisdom with me.”

“Lagom. It means just the right amount of something. Not too much and not too little. It doesn’t matter what it is, anything can be lagom.”

Her phone started buzzing and she threw a glance at it. She planned on not answering, whoever it was that demanded her attention could wait, but when she picked it up to put it on silence and saw that it was Cersei she quickly changed her mind. Cersei was out with some guy Catelyn didn’t know, and maybe something had happened or she needed an out. Helping her friend was way more important than not having a small interruption.

“I’m sorry this keeps happening, but my friend’s out and I really don’t want something to happen to her” Catelyn said before taking the phone.

“You don’t need to apologize, make sure your friend is okay.”

“Hey, is everything alright?” Catelyn said after having accepted the call.

“Yeah, it’s alright, thanks for asking. And you, are you alright?”

There was nothing in Cersei’s voice that suggested otherwise and Catelyn was instantly relieved. She was okay.

“I’m good.”

“Great, I was just wondering if you and the Swede would like to come to a Christmas party?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Robert hosts these large Christmas parties every year and he’s in the bathroom at the moment so I thought I’d call you and see if you wanted to come.”

So that was the name of her boyfriend. Robert. Catelyn would have to remember that. And if she went to the Christmas party she would get to meet him too. From nothing to both a name and an opportunity to meet him in person in a matter of just a few seconds, how nice.

“Can we talk more about it when we’re both home?” she said.

There was no need to talk about it right then, both of them had other things to do. And it wasn’t like the party would be anytime soon, there was still awhile until December, they had time to talk about it later.

“Of course, I just didn’t want to forget, you know how I am. But check with the Swede, will you?”

“I’ll check with him” Catelyn promised.

“Good, I’ll se you at home.”

“See you at home.”

Ned was quite obviously pretending not to be curious, but she saw right through it. She had noticed he wasn't very good at pretending.

“My friend’s boyfriend is having a Christmas party and she wondered if we would like to go.”

He didn’t try to hide his surprise though.

“We? As in me, too?”

“She asked for you specifically, so yeah.”

She didn’t know if it was because she wanted to meet Ned or because she didn’t want to make Catelyn feel lonely. Catelyn didn’t feel lonely. She was fine on her own and it didn’t bother her that her flat mates were in relationships.

“Unless I have something else I guess I can go.”

Catelyn smiled. Before starting to speak she realized how much she had been smiling since arriving there. He made her smile a lot, he made her feel good. She liked that about him. She liked him.

“Yay! It’ll be much more fun with you there.”

“I’m not the biggest fan of parties, and I won’t know anyone. But I can try for you.”

Oh God, he was sweet. Really really sweet. Boyfriend material. Husband material. Perhaps even father material. Catelyn wished she had been interested in him. He could try for her.

“I’m not sure I’ll know anyone either. I’ve never even met her boyfriend, and I learned his name just now. So we’ll be in it together.”

“What is his name?”

It made her think of Cersei demanding names every time Catelyn met a new person and teasing her over it. But Ned didn’t know about that, he just asked a polite question.

“Robert.”

A frown appeared on his face and that, and he turned his eyes downwards for a moment.

“Robert? Robert Baratheon?” he asked.

“I don’t know, why?”

“I used to know a Robert who hosted yearly Christmas parties, that’s all. But most likely it’s just a funny coincidence. Many people have Christmas parties, there has to be more than one Robert.”

“London is a large city and Robert is not an uncommon name, the probability of it being the same person is very small.”

She would have been able to figure out the exact probability for it being the same person if she had got a bit of time. But that was unnecessary, it wasn’t hard to understand that it was low.

“You’re the one who knows math, I’ll have to trust you.”

“It doesn’t take much math to figure that out.”

“I’ll just have to trust you in general then.”

She felt like her math skills were more trustworthy than her general knowledge on stuff, but that was unnecessary information to share.

“I hope you’re not going to regret it” she said instead.

“How nice of you.”

Ned sipped his tea and finished his cookie. Then he picked up his pen again, but instead of continuing on the drawing he had started while she did hers he took a blank paper. With an incredible speed he began moving the pen over the paper, and it left Catelyn somewhat confused as it didn't look like anything he had shown her.

“What are you drawing?” she asked curiously, stretching to see better.

He glanced up at her, his gaze focused in a way that made it seem like he was studying her. It didn’t make her wonder what he was doing any less.

“Could you be still, please?” he asked gently. “Or, well, you can move, but it would be good if you remained in the same position for a bit so that I can do a quick sketch.”

Catelyn hadn’t even reflected over how she was sitting until he said it. She had pulled her legs up and was sitting cross legged on the chair, as she always sat at home. In one hand she held her half eaten cookie, and the other was fiddling with her pen. When had she picked the pen up? None of that mattered even a little though. Because he was drawing her. And she was immensely flattered, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around why.

“Why are you drawing me?”

“I just liked the setting, and thought it would make for a good drawing” he responded casually. “Och du är vacker.”

She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she believed she had heard that last word before. And the more she thought of it, the more she grew sure of that he had said it to her before.

“You’ve said this to me before, right?”

He paused for a moment, as if he hadn’t believed she would notice that. But she had noticed. And she wanted to know what the hell it was that he was saying to her.

“Might be that I have.”

“What does it mean?” she asked, putting on her most charming smile in order to convince him to tell her.

“Nothing.”

“Then there’s no reason you can’t tell me. Come on, I thought we liked each other enough for you to translate for me.”

She couldn’t tell if he was blushing or not because of his beard, but something gave her the feeling that he was. She didn’t know exactly what that word meant, but she had somewhat of an idea about what it could be.

“If you’re flirting with me it’s okay to do so in a language we both understand.”

Not even a second after the words had left her mouth she regretted having ever been born. She shoved what remained of her cookie into her mouth before taking her mug and raising it to her lips, drinking the tea despite that it was still too hot for taking more than a little sip. She would rather burn her tongue than look at him after whatever the hell that had been. He was quiet and she wondered what was going through his mind. Did he think she was stupid? Or did he think she was flirting? Was she flirting? No, that hadn’t been flirting. She wasn’t even interested in him, he was just her friend. She liked him as a friend. And still she had heavily implied that he was flirting with her. She didn’t even know if that was what he had said. She knew no Swedish at all. Fuck.

“It means you’re beautiful” he finally said. “‘Vacker’ means ‘beautiful’.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“You probably think I’m a total weirdo right now, and I really don’t blame you, because this was very weird. And I want you to know that I would understand if you wouldn’t want to see me anymore” Ned said, and she had never heard him talk as fast as he did in that moment. “Not that we’re seeing each other in that sense, we’re not dating, och helvete, jag gör bara det här värre för mig själv, I’m so sorry.”

He had that miserable look on his face again. The same one he had had when they spilled coffee over themselves. But all Catelyn could do was laugh. Laugh at how he felt the exact same panic that she had felt just seconds earlier. Laugh at how they were both nervous wrecks pretending to be calm.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked.

“No, I’m not, I just think the whole situation is funny.”

“How nice, I just feel like an idiot.”

“Believe me, so do I.”

“Once again, I’m sorry for ruining everything.”

“You didn’t, Ned” she assured him. “Nothing‘s ruined. At least I don’t think so.”

Did he think so?

“So we’re fine?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re fine.”

He looked at her for a moment before sighing. Then he kept on drawing. And so did she. They didn’t say much more, just sat in silence except for an occasional exchange of words. And even though it had started very awkwardly Catelyn soon found that it was a quite comfortable silence. She could sit with him and be quiet.

“There” he said after a while. “It’s not my best work, the colors are a bit off, and your hands look awful, but it’s okay.”

She looked at his drawing and was left speechless, wondering what his best work was if that was just okay. Because she was looking at a drawing that was very clearly her. Sitting cross legged on a chair with half a cookie in one hand and a pen in the other, smiling. So what if the color of her hair wasn’t exactly right and her fingers looked a bit weird, it didn’t matter. It was still good. It looked good.

“What was that word you called me?” she asked.

He frowned.

“What?”

“Beautiful in Swedish.”

“Uhm, ‘vacker’, why?”

Catelyn wouldn’t have been able to pronounce that correctly if so her life had depended upon it, but she could give it a try. And she would give it a try.

“Because this drawing is vacker.”

Ned smiled at that.

“You think so?”

“Definitely, I love it.”

He slid it over the table to her.

“If that is so you can have it.”

She left not much later with the drawing in her bag, her head so full of things that she two times almost tripped and fell down the stairs because she forgot to watch where she was going. Most of all she thought about Ned. Everything about him, from the way he smiled to how he had thrown in a sentence of Swedish when he was embarrassed. She also thought about how he had called her beautiful. She hadn’t known it before, but Ned believed she was beautiful. That knowledge made her chest flutter. Maybe she was interested in him after all. Just a little bit though, it would most likely pass. 

[fyeahmeninroyalnavy]

#horatio hornblower/archie kennedy modern AU

Rain and Puffy Shirts

Dedicated to and prompted by my dear friend @professorlehnsherr-almashy

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Archibald Theo Kennedy, but my friends and family all call me Archie. I'm 27, a Critical Care flight paramedic for the NHS, and significant other to Horatio Edward Hornblower, also 27. He's an artist, and a very good one I might add. Everyone loves his paintings of tall ships and anything to do with the Napoleanic War.

He does allright for himself, well enough that he works from home. He can also sing and play the guitar, which he does for fun. And also to impress me.

We've been sharing a flat for the past three months but we've known one another for about a year. Most of that year we spent just as friends …

No doubt friends in serious denial.

I'm going to be sharing snippets of our life together, but don't worry, you'll be hearing from Horatio too, even though he’s extremely shy.

And now on to our story.

On a chilly Spring evening in London, Horatio and I attended a costume party given by a close friend, William Bush, or Liam as we call him. His home is just around the bend from our flat which is a good thing as we never drink/drive. Horatio looked incredibly gorgeous in his 18th century Royal Navy uniform. I wore one as well and our costumes were the center of attention that evening.

When Horatio had had enough of the party "he can only bear so much of them" we began our walk home. Rather I walked while he staggered. "I should have kept a closer eye on my boyfriend's alcohol consumption that evening but I was having too much fun playing with Liam's new dog Styles. As a result of my distraction Horatio had more to drink than he could handle, which isn't much at all.

"Come on Ratio, watch your step now."

"Horatio knitted his brows looking puzzled. "I am washing it, Arshie. Ekzacly why am I supposed to wash it?”

"So you don't fall, of course." The last time that happened I ended up playing Paramedic while off duty. You were quite the pathetic mess, as I recall." He smiled ruefully.

Horatio appeared puzzled for a moment before answering. "Ah yes, I merember now.

That really hurt! My nose looked awful and I was humilitated, all covered in blood and dirt. Ima bloody klutz!”

Archie snorted. "And you had only had a pint that evening too."

"Like I shaid, Ima bloody klutz!"

"You're my bloody klutz though." He squeezed his mate's shoulder fondly.

"Arshie, he responded, pulling his mate close and nuzzling his nose into a warm neck. Am I? Truly?"

"You know you are my darling, and while I don't mind if you're a bit unsteady I do mind if you get hurt." he answered.

"M'not going to. You won't let me."

As soon as he spoke Horatio tripped and nearly fell flat onto the pavement.

"Whoa, careful there! I can't have that sweet face spoiled by the footpath! He steadied him in strong arms. Since you definitely went over your limit tonight, I doubt you’ll be very happy come morning, my poor lamb.”

"But I'm reeeally happy rish now, my Arshie Bear, he slurred, an arm draped affectionately over his boyfriend’s shoulder. C'mere, you lil' snugglebunny, and give me a kish!”

He complied readily, never able to resist kissing those soft full lips. Even when completely sloshed, his Horatio's kisses were always like heaven. And Archie loved when Horatio was so open and unguarded, a very different man than most people knew him to be. He was a cheerful, snuggly and affectionate drunk.

He kissed the soft sweet mouth slowly and tenderly, making both of them hum with pleasure. When at last they parted he was rewarded with a happy, goofy smile that warmed his soul.

"I do love you sho very much my dearest,"he sighed.

"And I love you my sweet Horatio. I can express no kinder sign of love than this kind kiss.”

"Don't make me cry, Mr. Kennedy. I have a repu, repustation to uphold."

"Your reputation is safe with me. I'll never reveal what a sentimental fellow you really are, he replied as he brushed curls away from his mate's forehead. Archie glanced up at the gathering clouds anxiously. C'mere. I can smell rain and we need to get home."

Suddenly Horatio felt himself being hoisted over Archie's broad shoulders, his head upside down so that he was looking at the ground. He burst into peals of laughter. "Arsheee, put me down! I can waltz just fine, an I'm much too heavy. Wait a minute. What is thish we have here?"

He jumped suddenly and squeaked. "Ratio, leave my bloody arse alone!" There was another flinch and a squeal, followed by hysterical giggling from the offender.

"Can't. Ish really cute and ish right here where I can pinsh it!"

"You're incorrigible when you're drunk, you know that, right? And damned adorable as well."

"Can't help it if your bum ish so nice and pinshable. Ima pinsh it again!"

"Owww! That hurt! You're truly living up to your nickname tonight Honey Badger. Not caring and all that. And since you won't play nice I'm trying things a different way."

He swiftly shifted positions so that he was carrying his love in his arms, protecting himself from his cheeky offender.

Horatio merely grinned and wrapped both arms around his neck just as a cool rain began falling.

"Arshie, you can't possibly carry me like this!"

"I already am, my darling, long legs and all!"

"Have I ever told you just how much I love being held by you? "He nuzzled Archie's neck and kissed it.

Archie swallowed hard as a deep feeling of warmth and affection for the man he loved took his breath away. He stopped and stood still, just holding Horatio tighter and staring into those soft brown eyes, wet lashes impossibly long. He knew they should get moving soon, but the moment felt to precious to waste.

"And I love holding you." Pressing their foreheads together, he sighed contententedly, then began moving purposefully towards home.

Eventually they made it to their flat, completely drenched but happy.

Archie put Horatio down but kept one arm tucked around his waist for support as he unlocked the door to their flat.

"Let's get you into some dry clothing before you catch a chill."

On queue, Horatio began to shiver and his previously cheerful demeanor changed abruptly. His lips turned down into a pout, his brow furrowing.

"How'd I get sho drunk Arshee? Someone must of put a tot of rum in my Coke! Was it you?"

He snorted. "I would never."

"Will you help me? I can't make things work and there's two of you now. I’m going to regret this later, aren’t I?”

He smiled sympathetically.

"Probably. But I'm going to take very good care of you, so no worries, okay?" He helped Horatio to their bedroom, grabbed some towels from the cupboard and wrapping him in one helped him lie down on the bed. "I'll be right back."

He went into the kitchen for a glass of water and some aspirin, took dry boxers and a tee shirt from a drawer and returned to the bed.

"Here, take these aspirin and drink all the water. Archie lifted Horatio up and helped him drink. There we go. Now, let's get you into some dry clothing." He began tugging at the wet garments.

"Achee, you're taking all my clothes off! Horatio began to giggle. Take yours off too!"

"Another time my darling. You're a bit too inebriated for anything but cuddles I fear.”

"M'not. Please?"he whined.

"Let's just concentrate on getting you dry before you catch cold. I won't have you getting sick under my watch.”

A cross between a growl and a groan was heard but Archie just smiled and concentrated on his task. He was at his best as a caregiver; it was an integral part of his profession after all. But being allowed to care for his partner so intimately was everything to him. It had taken some work to get to this point in their relationship. And now that they were there, he cherished it.

"There we are! I think that's dry enough. Fluffy."

"I'm not Fluffy!" He playfully batted at his mate, smiling impishly.

"No? Perhaps if I brought you a mirror it would change your mind." He ruffled the dark brown ringlets affectionately.

Horatio shivered. "Will you hurry and get changed? I'm cold and I need you to keep warm. My Achee Bear, he mumbled sleepily. Love your cuddles."

"Of course. I'll be back in a flash.

Archie quickly undressed, dried himself, and changed. Horatio was chilled and his teeth were chattering, so his mate was in a hurry to join him. He pulled back the covers, got in bed, and wrapped his strong arms around his shivering partner, pulling him close.

"Is this better?"

Horatio sighed contentedly. "Much." He nuzzled into Archie's neck, murmuring nonsensical phrases.

"My poor Horatio, you're still cold as an ice lolly." He began rubbing his hands up and down his partner's back to generate warmth.

"Mmm, a melting one now. There's nothing in this world I love more than your hugs, my dearest. Or hearing you say my name. He smiled shyly and ducked his head. Well, almost nothing!"

Archie grinned in delight, blue eyes sparkling. He licked his lips and jutted out his chin in a cheeky little smirk. He kissed the tip of Horatio's nose, then pulled his head to lay against his broad shoulder. "Sleep now, darling. I worry that tomorrow will be a long day for you." He stroked the soft curls, relishing the silky texture.

"Mmhm, love you, Bear," he answered sleepily.

"And I love you. I'm here if you need me. Always."

The next morning:

Archie was cheerfully humming while making coffee, tea, and toast. He was still dressed in his boxers and a v neck tee-shirt, his feet bare. His handsome face was clean shaven, his golden hair neatly brushed, and his blue eyes bright and clear. The previous night's party and being caught in a downpour had not affected his mood and constitution in any way.

Horatio could never understand this as he hated mornings with a passion, needing his coffee and toast to begin functioning normally.

But today wasn't even a normal day. Horatio had had way too much to drink last night and along with Archie had gotten caught in a downpour.

His hair had gotten very wet and had been towel dried by Archie. As a result his hair was extremely fluffy and his curls were out of control. He had dark circles under his eyes and the beginning of a cold. Add to that a headache, nausea, and no coffee and you get one very grumpy Horatio Hornblower. He groaned loudly upon hearing his mate in the kitchen.

"Acheee, why didn't you stop me last night?"

Hearing his partner's distress call, he immediately made his way to their bedroom.

"Bad morning, Ratio darling?"

His mate huffed and scowled, his brow furrowing. He blinked his eyes, squinting.

"Looking for these, Honey Badger?" Archie asked cheerfully, handing his glasses to Horatio.

He accepted them grudgingly, placing them on his face as he mumbled "Damn your eyes, Mr. Kennedy."

Archie couldn't help but laugh. "Oh Horatio, what can I do to help, my love?"

The grumpy expression softened a bit. He slowly stood up and groaned.

"Just kill me now and get it over with please, he whined, wrapping his arms around his mate and slumping against him. I feel as if my head might explode."

"I truly hope that won't happen. I'm very fond of that beautiful head myself. Will rubbing it help?"he crooned, massaging the back of his neck gently.

"Mmhm, that's nice Bear" he mumbled into Archie's shoulder.

"Do you think you can manage some toast and coffee? You might feel better with some food in your stomach."

"Ugh, don't want to think of food right now, he groaned dramatically. Might puke!"

"Well, we can't have that. Let's go into the lounge and you can put your head in my lap while I have my tea. Yeah?"

He nodded, allowing himself to be led to the sofa. Archie settled him, carefully covering him with a soft blanket. "There. I'm going for my tea and I'll be back straight away."

"Okay. Don't be too long, Achee" he whined as he removed his glasses, placing them on the coffee table.

"Oh, Horatio. You're so incredibly lovable when you're needy," he whispered to himself as he assembled a tray of toast, tea, marmalade, and butter. He decided to include coffee in case his mate changed his mind and a small beaker of ginger ale to help soothe a queasy stomach.

Setting the tray on a table he sat down and Horatio wasted no time plopping his curly head in his boyfriend's lap.

Archie smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"Bear, will you, ahem, would you mind running your fingers through my hair?"

"You need not even ask, my darling."

As Archie ran the fingers of one hand through Horatio's curls, he took sips of tea and bites of toast with another, occasionally feeding small bites to his boyfriend. He knew he could get him to accept some food this way.

"You're like a baby bird, you know that don't you?"

Horatio blushed, smiling shyly. "C'mon Achee!"

"Don't go all coy on me now, my darling. It's only the two of us here and no one else. We can and should be totally ourselves, agreed?"

He nodded, reaching up to touch Archie's face.

"You make every part of my life all better. In every way imaginable. Even feeling as miserable as I do, I'm just... at peace I suppose you could say." There was a look of pure bliss on his face as he gazed up adoringly at his mate.

"Umm, I. Archie cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that had formed. I... love making you happy, Horatio. Being here when you need me. Comforting you when you're upset or sick. Making you laugh and smile. He paused, grinning. Even dragging your drunk arse home in the rain and putting you to bed. That's all I ever want." Blue eyes stared into brown. Both had grown misty.

Horatio reached up and gently pulled Archie's lips to his, giving him the sweetest of kisses, telling him without words the depth of his feelings. When the kiss ended, he stroked Archie's cheek gently, still looking into his eyes.

"I'm the happiest I've ever been, babe. And I love you. So much." He caressed the lips of his mate slowly, tenderly.

"And I love you, my darling. My sweet, sweet Horatio." He took his hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it reverently.

"Ahem, er, Archie?" A blush began to color his face as he smiled bashfully.

"What? Something you wanted, Ratio" he asked cheekily.

“There is. Let’s go back to bed.”

Archie wasted no time granting his wish!

Later that day

"Please tell me I didn't embarrass myself to the point of never being able to show my face again!"

Archie pursed his lips to keep from smiling as he patted his mouth with his napkin.

"Go on, say something at least! My lunch is sitting in my stomach like a lump of clay. I thought you loved me." Horatio scrubbed his hands across his pale face and groaned.

Archie couldn't help himself any longer and burst out laughing.

"You think you're so clever. Are you having me on about last night and what I did?"

"I wish I was but I'm not! It was, it was so unlike you, I just can't! My sides are hurting." Archie was wiping tears from his flushed face.

Horatio scowled and huffed. "You just wait Mr. Kennedy. Don't think me incapable of getting revenge."

"Listen, Horatio. You really did do everything that I said you did."

Brown eyes stared into blue.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Popping the buttons from your puffy shirt?"

"Mhm."

"And the comment about your Cutlass?"***

"Yes, especially that!" Laughter bubbled up again.

"Noooo! Achee? I don't think I care to know what else I said or did last night. I may actually die from embarrassment!" Horatio rose from his chair and began pacing.

Archie got up from the table and began clearing the dishes from lunch. There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"Are you certain you don't want to know?"

Horatio froze and stopped pacing, rolling his eyes.

"Yes! No. I don't know! Damn't!"

"Everyone loved the pet names you have for me, by the way."

"Which ones?"

"Well, there was Archie Bear, Snugglebunny, and Sweet Cheeks."

"Noooo, why did I ever accept that second drink on an empty stomach? Horatio’s eyes suddenly went wide. What about the other name? The naughty one? What must everyone think of me?”

Archie decided his poor partner had had enough ribbing by the look on his pale face and crossed the room, taking him firmly by the shoulders and leading him to sit down on the couch in the lounge. Then he sat next to him, put an arm around his shoulders and made direct eye contact with him.

"I got the distinct impression that everyone thought you funny, adorable, relaxed, and having fun. And probably in love. It's a good thing Horatio. Everyone is happy for you. And for me. You don't have to worry about a thing, okay? He pulled him into a tight hug. I’m sorry for teasing you.”

"S'okay. Not your fault. I already felt sick, then I started overthinking things. You know how I get." He returned the hug affectionately.

"I do know, but next time I won't tease when you're hungover with a cold coming on."

"It's fine. Slowly a sweet smile replaced the frown. You can't help being the most cheeky man in the Uk if not the entire world. I love you anyway."

Archie beamed with delight and plopped himself on Horatio's lap.

***And I love you. My Honey Badger."

“Wait, did I call you the name? The naughty one?”

“I’ll never tell!”

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Hello there!

Last year, i'm curious about ー "Hmm, what does Kerkyra tradional songs sounds like?" and now, i ended up obssesed about ー not just Kerkyra, but a whole Ionian Islands cultures, especially their music cultures.

I'm trying to searching their musical and musicians history, and i'm trying to searching about Corfiot musicians. I've known a few Corfiot music histories back in the 1900's era through someone Pappoudes account that shares a lot of musical histories of his village (Kato Garouna) and also searching it on other websites. But unfortunately, there's really lack of information out there. . .

Maybe, if you know any websites or links or any other else that shares a history about Corfu's musical stuff (Greek or English language is fine!) ー or maybe if you know (or have some more info) about noteable / popular musicians in Corfu in the past or present, i'd really like you to share it with us here :D

Hello! Okay, I gathered a bunch of stuff!

I had no idea that the Kerkyreans were super powerful musicians! Honestly, they are so passionate about their music, one should not ever mess with them cause they know their shit!!

You can search on Google and Youtube "Κερκυραϊκά Δημοτικά Τραγούδια" or "Παραδοσιακά Τραγούδια Κέρκυρας" if you want to find more!

I found a good article about Kerkyrean music and I will write some stuff here, but feel free to take a look and translate text through Google if needed (it does a surprisingly good job, as you might know, xD). But you can always DM me for translations etc!

In the article, the old good musicians mentioned are Νικόλαος Μάντζαρος, Σπύρος Ξύνδας, Σπύρος Σαμάρας, Αλέξανδρος Γκρεκ.

The article mentions that this style of music existed already back in the 10th century, from the Byzantine era. What is more:

The Corfiot melodies were famous in Venice (in the 18th century) and in Corfu extraterrestrial songs sung in the early 19th century, in Paris and London, by the Speaker of the Senate and Ionian Parliament, Emmanuel Theotokis.

The songs are about rural life and especially at the olive grove, of the exile, of the tabla (around the table after eating), the folk-religious of the big festivals, of the carnival, etc.

Some of the wedding songs and especially the dance songs, as is the case at the local festivals, were accompanied in the past, by primitive musical instruments, the ascomantoura (askavlos, άσκαυλος = ασκός + αυλός) and the tambourloniakara (niakara = oxiavlos, οξύαυλος = οξύς + αυλός). From the 19th century these instruments were gradually replaced by the European ones, violin, and guitar, while in the second half of the 20th century, the accordion was added.

I also found many Kerkyrean songs. The first suggestion is this video from the show "Το Αλάτι Της Γης", an hour-long episode with songs from Kerkyra/Corfu! (This show is really nice and I remember watching it with my grandparents, especially on festive days!) There are mostly songs and some talking. When they sing the title is displayed at the bottom left, after a few seconds.

Κάτω στον Αη-γόρδη / Κάτω στον Άι Γιώργη is at 16:24 on the video, and the Γαστουριώτικος at 27:00.

I found some more performances of the songs that I thought it'd be great to share!

Τον Τρύγο εγεννήθηκα

Ξενιτεμένο μου πουλί

Καλιώρα να'χουν οι ελιές (1)

Καλιώρα να'χουν οι ελιές (2)

Να χαμηλώναν οι ελιές

Good luck on your musical journey and feel free to ask more if you want to delve deeper!

[crossdreamers]

What's the difference between radical feminism and liberal or intersectional feminism? I'm confused ^.^"

What is the difference between liberal, radical and intersectional feminism, and what does this mean for transgender people?

Any attempt at reducing feminism to distinct, neat, types or categories will ultimately fail, as there is much diversity and feminism is in constant development. That being said, here is a very simplified presentation of various types of feminism, as they are often understood in an American and North European context. 

Note that these categories are overlapping, both in space and time.

FIRST WAVE -> Liberal Feminism

There has been a female liberation movement going as far back as the 18th century, but in the Anglo-Saxon context the first wave is considered the one that started in the 19th century with the suffragettes and the women’s right to vote movement.

Suffragettes, London.

Many of the ideas of first wave feminism is found in what these days is  referred to as liberal feminism. The idea is that you may gradually change the system from within, making people see that women are in no way inferior to men, and that they deserve the same rights as men, both as regards property, work, education, political influence and pay.

Liberal feminism does not challenge liberal, capitalist, democracy as such. These feminists want to improve it. They share the individualism of liberal democracy, and fight for women’s right to personal autonomy and freedom. 

In many ways this approach has been a success, as is seen in the increasing participation of women in working life, culture and politics.

The limitation of this kind of feminism is, as I see it, that these feminists tend to think of the social system as a rational system. The point is to make people understand that the current system is unfair and oppressive. When people do understand, they will change their behavior. 

As we have seen with the recent traditionalist backlash, many people – both men and women – do not care so much about facts or rational discussions. They see traditional gender roles as a part of their identity, reality be damned, and feel threatened by anything that may weaken their fragile view of the world.

These days most liberal feminists support the rights of transgender women. However, it should be pointed out that there was a time when  liberal feminists argued that even lesbians should be excluded, as their presence might undermine the legitimacy of the feminist movement. Betty Friedan did not want to allow what she called “the lavender menace” into the US National Organization for Women back in 1969. 

I have no idea what she thought about trans women at the time, but you will sometimes see the same kind of embarrassment among some liberal feminists today as regards the presence of trans women.

SECOND WAVE -> Radical Feminism

The second wave appeared in the 1960s. Radical feminists believe that the system that oppresses women, by them referred to as “The Patriarchy”, is a system created by men to control and exploit women. You cannot achieve victory within this system, they argue, as it permeates everything around us: laws, language, mythologies, art, entertainment. 

The Ladies’ Home Journal sit-in 1970

The system makes it hard to think differently, as the oppression is integrated within social institutions like marriage, the traditional nuclear family, and the health care system, as well as in the words we used (”woman” understood, for instance, as someone who is assigned female on the basis of genitalia). 

In the Patriarchy, being a man is the default. Women are “the Other”. The goal of radical feminism is a society where your genitals no longer define your role and influence in society. 

Radical feminists see pornography and prostitution both as signs of, and tools for, the oppression of women. Some lesbian radical feminists even see heterosexual sex as a tool of oppression. Lesbians have freed themselves from male domination by not having sex with men, they say.

Radical feminists have criticized the liberal feminists for wanting to become like men. The point is not to gain the right to do what men do, they argue, because that leads women to devalue what women do.

Influential radical feminists like Catharine MacKinnon, Andrea Dworkin, John Stoltenberg and Monique Wittig, recognize  trans women as women, which makes sense in a movement who is based in the idea that genitals should not define your worth, your role or your status.  

Radical feminist author Andrea Dworkin viewed surgery as a right for transgender people.

There is another strand of radical feminism, however, known as trans-exclusionary radical feminists (TERF), people who argue that trans women are men in disguise, and that they  perpetuate the ideals of the Patriarchy. The trans women want to take over “womyn’s spaces”, they say. 

In order to prove that trans women are men, the TERFs point to the fact that some trans women are sexually attractive (thus living up to the sexism of the Patriarchy). At the same time they use stories and photos of those that are not living up to the aesthetic standards of the fashion industry to prove that all trans women are men. 

The fact that many cis women try equally hard to please the male gaze is ignored. The diversity of transgender women is ignored. Nor do the TERFs consider that trans women who have been raised as men have been harrassed and bullied for their female identities and feminine expressions throughout their lives. In other words: That they are also victims of the Patriarchy. 

Recently much of the transphobic radical feminism has degenerated into biological determinism, as in “genitals or chromosomes determine whether you are a man or a woman”. Many of these “radical feminists” also deny the existence of gender, as in the cultural definition and expression of gender roles and gender identities. This is the exact opposite of what radical feminism was meant to be. These “gender critical” activists are, as I see it, not true radical feminists.

Among the transphobic radical feminists we find people like Germaine Greer, Janice Raymond,  Sheila Jeffreys, Julie Bindel, and Robert Jensen. They have very little support in the US, but have managed to gain some influence in the UK. The Norwegian organization for radical feminists, Kvinnefronten, welcomes transgender women.

THIRD WAVE -> Intersectional Feminism

The third wave of feminism began in the early 1990s (although you will find its roots back in the 1970s). It embraces individualism and diversity.

Both the first and the second waves of feminism have been dominated by white, cis, middle and upper class women from “Western” countries. Many of them are academics. They are not representative of women in general. 

Because of this they have  been criticised for generalizing about the female life experience on the basis of their own lives, ignoring the unique experiences of – for instance – women of color, women in developing countries and trans, nonbinary and queer women.

Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw.

The term intersectionality was introduced by Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw in 1989, and it was soon adopted by third wave feminists. Intersectionality reflects  postmodern insights into the way the current social and cultural systems creates  hierarchies of oppression. 

This oppression is not only about men oppressing women (or the upper class exploiting the working class). In a world dominated by privileged white, straight, and “masculine” men, everyone who does not live up to their ideals are oppressed, whether their “otherness” is caused by sex, skin color, sexual orientation, homeland, religion or gender identity. 

The third wave has also been strongly be influenced by queer theory and gender theory, which look at  the social and cultural constructions of masculinity and femininity, sexualities and gender.

The third wave is often seen as sex positive. There are “girly”, “lipstick”, feminists who embrace feminine gender expressions and female sexuality and who argue that noone, not even feminists, have the right to to define or control how they should dress, act, or express themselves.

Needless to say you won’t find many transphobes among third wave feminists.

Some have also coined a fourth wave of feminism. It seems to me to be a continuation of third wave, intersectional, feminism, with a strong focus on the use of modern media. Some TERFs have tried to appropriate the term, joining right wing extremists in their attacks against queer gender theory, but do not be fooled by this. They are, at best, to be considered an offshoot of the second wave. They do not represent women. They do not represent feminists. They do not represent radical feminism.

Top illustration: iStock 

See also:

On lesbians,transgender people and feminism.

Transadvocate on transgender feminism.

The rise of anti-trans “radical” feminists, explained

Idol Worship: Julia Serano Talks To Autostraddle About Fixing Feminism

Andrea Dworkin Was a Trans Ally

[sometimesiwritebadly]

The One Where The Doctor Meets You (Ninth Doctor x Reader)

Summary: After saving London from the Autons, the Doctor is surprised when the TARDIS takes control and brings him to meet an old/new friend.

Warnings: None, I think. Unless you don’t like butterflies or butterfly-like creatures.

Notes: it’s the disappearing for months and then coming back with a part two that’s been finished in google docs for weeks, for me. (seriously though, sorry i disappeared for so long. i will post more often, i swear)

Word Count: 2.3k

The One Where You Meet The Doctor

Masterlist

The Doctor closed the doors to the TARDIS, watching with a sad smile as Rose stood on the other side. He’d liked her; despite everything he’s been through, he liked having a friend with him on his adventures again. But Rose had a life, and she’d chosen to stay. That’s fine, she’ll be safer that way. Live a short but happy life with Mickey and her mom. And he’ll continue getting himself into trouble, and doing his best to help people.

The Doctor moved towards the TARDIS console, and began piloting her to a new place. “Where should we go next? 18th century? 39th? How about the 52nd, we haven’t been there in a while…” As he began to pilot the ship, pulling at the controls he knows so well, the TARDIS seemed to disagree. She whirred in disapproval, then seemed to take the wheel herself, despite the Doctor’s movements. “Where are you taking me now?” The Doctor was confused, as he’d never seen the TARDIS act this way, but hey, she usually knows what’s best. So he followed her lead, and flew the TARDIS to where she’d wanted him to go. Eventually, the TARDIS’ wheezing stopped and they landed in the early 21st century, still on Earth. Curious and excited, the Doctor ran to the TARDIS doors and opened them, only to find himself standing on a seemingly normal street in the suburbs. He guessed it was the late 2020s, give or take a few years. Before he could get a better guess of where the TARDIS had taken him, a voice calling his name distracted him.

“Doctor? What’re you doing out here?” He turned to see a girl he’d never met before. She clearly knew him, as she pulled him into a hug, despite his arms being crossed over his body. “Must be early days for you, because I clearly remember telling you that you should park her in my living room.” The girl said as she pulled away from the hug. She ignored the confused look on his face and instead made her way into his TARDIS. 

“What do you mean early days?” He asked. That’s probably not the first question he should’ve asked, but it was the one that intrigued him the most. He entered the TARDIS after her, closing the doors, and watched as she easily began flying her. “And who do you think you are to fly my TARDIS? How do you even know how to do that?” As he finished speaking, the TARDIS landed with an impressive lack of violent shaking. 

The girl lightly laughed in response, before making her way out of the TARDIS into what the Doctor could only assume to be her living room. “Doctor c’mon, you know I can’t tell you how I know how to fly her. Spoilers, remember?” She paused for a moment once she was outside, waiting for the Doctor to follow her out. Once he did, reluctantly, She made her way into her kitchen, and she started grabbing things from various cupboards. “By the way, where’s Rose? I’ve never seen you with this face without her.” 

“Rose? What - Who are you?” The girl finally stopped her actions, from the look of it, she was going to make a pot of tea, and looked up at the Doctor with wide eyes. 

“Are you serious?” She said, just above a whisper. When the Doctor didn’t answer, she took a deep breath and looked away, collecting herself. The Doctor could’ve sworn she mumbled something under her breath as she did so, but when she looked up, a smile had been slapped onto her face. “Uh- sorry. I kinda forgot this would happen eventually. I’m Y/N. We’re, uh, friends. Or we will be one day.” At this point, she’d abandoned the tea all together, and made her way back over to the Doctor. She held a hand out for him to shake. “You see, we’re always meeting in the wrong order. That’s why I know you and you don’t know me.” The Doctor held out his hand as well, allowing her to shake it. He didn’t know what to think; on one hand, it’s amazing, but on the other, he thinks he should run for the hills. Knowing your own future is a dangerous game to play, and he doesn’t want anything to do with it.

“I should probably go then. I wouldn’t want to mess up the future.” He said, turning around and heading back into the TARDIS.

“What? No!” Y/N followed him in, closing the door behind her. “You’re not messing with the future by being with me!” She argued. 

“Of course I am! You’ll end up telling me something about my future, and then it’ll be solidified. Unavoidable. A Fix-”

“I know how the future works, Doc. You’ve explained it to me hundreds of times.”

“See! Now I’ll have to explain it to you over and over, because you just told me that I did.”

“No, you explain it to me over and over because you like being the smartest person in the room.” The Doctor scoffed at her comment. Whoever this girl is to him, she’s not making the best first impression. “Scoff all you want, you know I’m right. That’s why you’re mad at me right now, because for the first time in forever you’re in a room with someone who knows more than you.” She leaned against the console towards him, a smirk on her face. The Doctor would never admit it, but she’s not entirely wrong. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” This only made Y/N laugh. He almost started laughing along with her when the TARDIS suddenly began moving. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Well it’s not like she’s flying herself! You must’ve done something!”

“I flew her perfectly! If anyone did something to cause this, it’s the idiot that stole her but never bothered to read-” The TARDIS suddenly and violently landed, causing Y/N to lose her grip and land on the ground. They both stayed silent for a moment, before Y/N quietly spoke, “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“Nope.”

They looked at eachother, and almost simultaneously, smiles grew on their faces. The pair walked over to the door. The Doctor opened it, peaked his head out, and once he deemed it safe, opened the door wider so that Y/N could walk past.

“Where the hell are we?” You asked, taking in the view. You’d landed on an alien planet, that much was obvious- the multi-colored grass and two moons rising in the distance made it so even an idiot could figure that out- but neither you nor The Doctor had been to a planet like it before.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” The Doctor answered you with a grin slapped on his face. Even though he didn’t know this girl, and all logic said he should stay the hell away, something about her felt right. Especially when you returned his grin with just as much enthusiasm.

“Fantastic. I love a good mystery.” And with that, you picked a direction and began walking, leaving The Doctor, dumbfounded, to follow you. “Come along, Doc, we don’t have all day!” The Doctor only scoffed, but followed the mystery girl anyways.

“So what did you mean by us meeting in the wrong order?” The Doctor questioned, trying to figure you out. “Why don’t I just visit you linearly? After all, I’ve got a time machine.” 

“Oh, you tried. The TARDIS won’t let you. Whenever you visit me, she won’t let you land where you want. She never seems to have a problem getting me home to the right time though.” You explained, marching through the tall rainbow grass. “Except for once, we accidentally landed at; well, spoilers. But it all works out in the end, always does. She probably brought us here for a reason too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sure, sometimes the TARDIS influences my travels a little bit-” You interrupted him with a scoff, which The Doctor happily ignored- “But she doesn’t just fly herself. Not without help from me. Something else must have brought us here.” 

“Oh, so you think a random, seemingly uninhabited planet was able to hijack the TARDIS?” The Doctor would never admit it, but you did have a point. They’d been walking for a while, and so far there were no signs of any civilization. Certainly nothing with the kind of technology to hijack a TARDIS. 

“No, I think you don’t know how to fly her properly and you did something to make her bring us here.” He lied. He’d watched her flying, and even he had to accept that she knew what she was doing. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. 

“Oh, please-” You cut yourself off, distracted by something happening behind The Doctor. When he turned around, his breath was taken away by the sight. As they had been talking, the sun had begun to set and the moons of the unknown planet began to rise higher. Around them, a flurry of insects had begun flying around. They looked like butterflies, only bigger. Their wings had a faint glow to them, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Y/N moved next to him, taking in the sight for herself. Soon enough, The Doctor found himself looking at her rather than the insects. One of them landed on her arm, and she turned to look at The Doctor with a wide grin. Just as The Doctor returned it, however, your grin morphed into a look of pain.

“Jesus Christ!” You swatted the bug off of your arm, where it had left a quickly swelling bite. 

“Back to the TARDIS!” The Doctor yelled, grabbing your hand and dragging you back. Now that you’d brought attention to yourselves, the insect swarm seemed to be flying after you.

“What are the odds of these things being poisonous?” You asked as you ran, the TARDIS coming closer and closer. 

“I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be worried about them being poisonous.” He answered.

“Why not?”

“Cause you didn’t eat one. You should be worried about them being venomous.” He corrected, despite the dire situation.

“Doc!”

~~~

Turns out, those insects, which The Doctor had identified as Derruliflies from the planet Taurillia once you two had made it back to the TARDIS, weren’t any more dangerous than a mosquito. Besides the initially painful bite and the inflammation, you’d be fine. That didn’t stop you from complaining though.

“I can’t believe the TARDIS brought us to that dreadful planet!” You’d been complaining for a half hour now, as The Doctor tried to bring the swelling on your arm down. Despite the fact that the venom wouldn’t harm you much, Your arm ended up extremely swollen, and The Doctor couldn’t very well drop you off on earth without knowing how long the swelling would take to go away or if there would be any other side effects. So now he was doing his best to remove the venom, despite your complaints. “I mean seriously! What was she thinking? You know, I bet she knew those creatures would bite me. I think this is payback for when I was learning how to fly her.”

“What’d you do when you were learning how to fly her?” The Doctor asked, still focused on your now slightly less swollen arm.

“Let’s just say it took me a minute to figure it out.” You said, with a slight grimace. “My teacher was very patient with me, though, so I got there in the end.”

“You’re welcome in advance, then.” The Doctor assumed he’d been the one to teach her in the future, after all, no one else knows how to fly a TARDIS anymore, but your laughter proved that was not the case.

“Please! Riv-um, my teacher had to kick you out because you kept trying to be a backseat driver. You were worse than my dad when he was teaching me to drive a car.” You joked. “And you and I both know you’re hardly qualified to teach someone how to fly a TARDIS, considering you can barely fly her yourself.”

“That’s not true! I’m an excellent driver!”

“You didn’t even pass your exams!” The Doctor only rolled his eyes in response, causing you to laugh even more. 

“Whatever. Your arm is all fixed, by the way. You’re welcome.” He said, dropping your arm from his hands. He’d managed to remove the venom, which had caused the swelling and itching to go away rather rapidly. “You may have some residual itching for a few hours, but you’ll be back to normal in a jiff.”

“Thank you.” You said, genuinely, causing The Doctor to meet your eyes. “Really, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Course I did. I’m a Doctor, and you’re my friend.” He paused, “Or, you will be, I guess.”

“C’mon Doc, you and I both know I’m already your friend.”

~~~

When The Doctor brought you home- you were right, the TARDIS was more than happy to drop you off in the right time- he didn’t really want to say goodbye. He wanted to get to know you more, take you with him.

“You sure you wanna go?” He asked, just before you could open the doors back to your life. Your eyebrows shot up, surprised he had asked. Surely he’d asked you to join him before, right? “I mean, I can drop you off here anytime. Why not stay a while?” You gave him a soft smile, before coming over and doing something unexpected; you kissed his cheek. 

“Time machine.” 

“What?”

You were backing up towards the doors, still with that knowing smile on your face. “Rose. You forgot to tell her that it’s a time machine.” And with that, you turned around, walking out of The TARDIS. Even though he knew he’d see you many more times in the future, The Doctor was still sad to see you go.

~~~

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XI]

Word count: 5,131 

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

Author’s note: My beta reader gave me a few suggestions and it's truly something that's been bugging me, so I decided it would be better to check with you guys, my readers. I'm writing this story purely for fun so I don't mind changing things. I'm not well versed in writing Character x reader stories and I'll admit the whole concept sometimes escapes me (ahem, fully does) and my beta pointed out that it's become an OC x Dracula fic. This chapter in particular touches into something that may upset some people if they're really invested into the reader POV, which is religion. You may not agree with the reader's thoughts regarding christianity, and I don't want to needle anyone's beliefs because this is a reader insert. My question is: would you guys prefer if I gave the reader a name, in which case she becomes a fully realised character? I'll still avoid describing her because then you can picture her however you like. Longwinded question, I know, but I thought it deserved some explanation. On a more positive note, I made two spotify playlists; one is oriented towards alternative songs (mostly) and the other one is purely made up of classical pieces.

Regardless, ENJOYYY

________________________________________________________

The rest of the trip would have been completely silent if it wasn’t for Portishead’s music. 

I barely looked at Dracula as he dropped me off at the Airbnb I had rented. He parted with a promise to meet me at the wedding tomorrow and an indifferent goodbye, although when I made it all the way to the flat’s second floor, his car was still parked at the front door. When I turned around to throw my backpack on the bed and looked out the window again, the black BMW was gone.

Not even the wide array of DVD stacks inside the Airbnb managed to keep my mind off of Dracula.

After settling in and having a shower, I occupied myself with sitting in front of the TV in the living room and analysing the owner’s collection – an impressive one at that – however, when I picked up a copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show I could almost hear Count Dracula laughing as I sang along to Frank N Furter and immediately put the disc back to where it belonged. So I chose something harmless to watch.

As Mulder and Scully bickered about aliens on the television in another episode of The X-Files – really, props to the Airbnb owner for supplying his entire collection to guests – I glanced at my phone for the hundredth time. 

Would Count Dracula be a Scully or a Mulder? Such a silly thing to wonder about, nevertheless I was curious about it. Perhaps if he was here with me, watching TV and making his remarks about what was going on, I would manage to concentrate on the episode playing. 

It had worked out fine last time. Well, for the most part. As long as we didn’t watch anything with sexual undertones such as Interview with the Vampire, I would be fine. For how long, was the question.

I frowned as I rewinded the last 10 minutes on the DVD player. Scully was lying in a hospital bed while Mulder screamed at a doctor when just two minutes ago Mulder had been talking to their boss. Obviously, I had missed more than two minutes, too stuck in my thoughts about the Count.

I glanced at my phone again. 

He’d be gone tomorrow. And I needed to know if he would like Scully or Mulder better.

I took my phone between shaky fingers.

A small part of me, one that was still thinking straight, suggested that maybe I shouldn’t do this on account of that kiss earlier. But nothing of what had happened during that trip mattered anymore, not when I would never see him again. Whatever I did today would have no consequences.

 Are you there?

Count Dracula replied just as Mulder screamed at the doctor, and I still had no idea why.

 Yes.

I typed a message as quickly as I could before I regretted this.

 I can’t sleep. 

I chewed on my lip as I waited for a response but when none came, I started typing another text and then erased it. Inviting him over might develop into less innocent things than simply watching TV. 

I curled my toes. I came this far. I resisted him this long. There was no reason to jump ship at the last second. 

Tomorrow he’d be carted away by the Foundation and while I would very much like to do more than kiss Count Dracula, the idea of giving myself to him and then never feeling his touch again seemed unbearable. 

 Do you want to take a stroll through Gloucester?

I’ll be there in a few minutes.

His reply came so quick that he must have been staring at his phone, waiting for me to send another text.

I rushed to change from pyjamas into jeans, jacket and boots. I had just finished fixing up how I looked when my phone buzzed. Without bothering to read the text, I left the flat, heart beating like a hummingbird’s as I went down the stairs to the building’s front door. 

Count Dracula wore the same leather jacket as earlier, waiting for me just as he had waited hours ago in London.

“Did you walk all the way here?” I asked as soon as I noticed the BMW’s absence.

“I was in the neighbourhood.” He smiled.

“Exploring?”

He smirked but said nothing.

“Eating, then,” I concluded. “Drinking, sorry. I forgot you get stuck in the technicalities.”

“You get used to it,” he said, extending a hand for me. 

I gasped when I placed my hand on his. Someone else’s blood had made his temperature rise from cadaveric cold to match my own but I was too fascinated by how plump his flesh felt to care about an unknown person’s death. 

“You don’t feel like a statue,” I said, squeezing his hand to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.

“You get used to it,” he repeated. “Come. I found a lovely place to break into.”

He pulled me to him so fast that my stomach lurched. I almost lost balance but he wrapped an arm around my shoulders to steady me. 

“May I remind you that I’m human and next time you do this I might throw up in your shoes?” 

My vision was still swimming and I had to lean my body on his until I could see properly. 

“I’ll warn you next time.”

I craned my neck to look up at him, noticing absently that I had my arms around him in a hug. Light coming from a neighbouring house glowed behind his head likening a saint’s halo. Horns would be more suitable, and more alluring. 

“Will I like this place you intend to take me?” 

“More than I will,” he said, securing me in an inescapable hold, one I had no desire to fight. “It’s a cathedral.”

“Gloucester Cathedral?” I loosened my arms around him. “It’s a holy place,” I said and he cocked an eyebrow. “Can you even set foot in there?”

He snorted.

“I can waltz with you in there while reciting biblical verses as long as I don’t look upon the cross.” 

“I’d like to see that. A healthy dose of blasphemy is always fun.”

A slow smile spread on his lips.

“Then you’ll love it.”

To my dismay, he untangled himself from me but still kept an arm around my shoulders in a half embrace. Instead of avoiding him, I circled his waist with my arm, basking on how uncharacteristically warm he felt in comparison to the chilly night. 

Dracula looked at me with furrowed eyebrows, though a grin creeped on his mouth. For the first time, we had exchanged roles – he, doubtful that I was so willing to touch him, and I, sure of what I was doing ever since I struck that deal. 

Pity it wouldn’t last long.

“Lead the way,” I told him. 

  _______________________________________________________

Except for a couple of stray cats and a dog, Count Dracula and I were the only ones wandering through Gloucester’s narrow streets and quaint façades. The moon was hidden but with how bright it glowed, even beneath a swath of cotton clouds, I would guess it was full. 

I relied more on Count Dracula’s eyes than on the unsteady old street lights that seemed to hail from the 18th century, but I didn’t need his vampire eyes to catch a glimpse of a towering Gothic building, concealed behind a row of modern restaurants and stores, all closed now that it was closer to dawn than to dusk, wedged inside small houses stylised in Tudor architecture. 

“Here we are,” said Dracula just as we rounded the corner and faced Gloucester Cathedral.

It was an enormous and monstrous thing yet beautiful all the same in all its complicated detail of spiking roofs and pointed narrow glass that composed huge windows amongst blocks of stone. Sculptures of saints and kings stood watch at the front, arching above the intricately woven entrance. 

“Is there an alarm this time?” I asked as we approached the door. 

“What for? Christians trust their god to keep it safe. There is someone sleeping inside, though. A priest if I had to guess, so we’ll have to be very quiet.”

“There goes my plan,” I said, although I had none. No space for calculated words and carefully measured tone there. All I had left was impulsivity, and saying things without really meaning them provided me with a rush unlike any other. 

“What plan is that?” Dracula questioned, side-eyeing me.

I shrugged.

“What does it matter if I can’t be noisy now?” I snickered. I would have tried being reckless more often if I’d known I would earn so many bewildered looks from Count Dracula. “Open the door.” I bidded, staring at him. “Please?”

Something crossed his gaze, something that made me wish that he would press me against a wall and demand that I tell him about my sordid plan. But he did no such thing.

“Since you asked nicely,” he said, just as he had done earlier during our trip.

Dracula forced the door open with the same ease I would have opened an unlocked door.

My mouth was a little dry but the thrill of doing something forbidden still made my heart thud, despite the fear of being caught. Perhaps I’d been developing a new habit of doing dangerous things such as making deals with vampires, and getting excited at the prospect of desecrating a church with one. I would have to find a substitute to that after he was gone but I couldn’t think of anything that could compare. 

I followed Count Dracula into the cathedral’s nave. 

The massive round pillars surrounding the aisle took away some of the simplicity of the ribbed vaulting, which derived from early Gothic architecture if I remembered my art classes correctly. There weren’t any pews positioned in usual rows as most churches did, and from where I stood I couldn’t spot an altar. The place seemed bare without them but it was still imposing, as most religious things were, I supposed.

The ground's yellowed stone, that one day may have been white, was dappled with a luminescence of blue, red and purple. I whirled around, looking up to find out where that variety of colours came from, and grinned upon finding a stained glass window that extended all the way up to the ceiling. 

“I never liked churches as a child,” I whispered to Dracula, ignoring that he probably knew it. “They creeped me out. I couldn’t understand how some people felt love inside them, when all I felt was judgement. And like I was being watched by saints, angels and Jesus.” I grimaced as I admired the pictures on the glass. Saints looked back at me with their saintly stare. Jesus Christ was pictured at the centre pane. “My parents weren’t very religious but my grandmother was one of those fervent catholics, full of guilt and fear. She used to take me to mass every other Sunday at Westminster Abbey until one time when I started arguing with the priest during his sermon about how illogical the bible is at some points.” I glanced at Dracula and saw him chuckling soundlessly. “I was 13. My grandmother was so humiliated and angry at me that she never took me to mass again.”

“And you were relieved to never have to go back again,” Dracula supplied. “How do you like churches now?”

“I like them as long as I’m just visiting. And I’m not scared of them anymore, not since I won that argument with the priest.” I looked at him. He was making a point of observing the rest of the church instead of gazing at the stained glass as I was. “You were raised christian, too. And if Wikipedia is right, you fought in the name of God.”

“In another life.” He bobbed his head, lacing his hands behind his back as he wandered down the aisle. “Not the foolish, gullible and fearful catholic as Justina was.” Dracula cast a brief glance at me. “My late wife.” He explained but I had already surmised as much. 

Since he had mentioned her without my needing to ask, I felt the urge to goad him with more questions. The urge to see that odd semblance of grief in his face as I had seen weeks ago. The reminder that he was capable of emotion, still. But I left it alone. It was possible he would shut down and assume that distant and impenetrable façade, and then our last date would be over much faster than I was ready for it to be.

“No, you were more the type to rip people to shreds when they didn’t condone your faith.” I lowered my voice mid sentence when my words echoed. 

Following him down the aisle, I noticed that a big apparatus was raised up in a wooden structure ahead of us and it looked like an organ. Had we been alone at the church, I would have climbed up the stairs to knead a few keys just to hear the resounding, spine-chilling noise it would make. 

“Precisely.” Dracula laughed.

“Did you ever do it for fun?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you did.”

He turned around, stopping at the centre of the aisle a few metres away from me. 

“For fun, for boredom, but most of all to instill fear into my enemies’ hearts. Does it still bother you?”

I stopped.

It had when I first found out about it. And although he had just admitted torturing people simply for the fun of it, it didn’t bother me nearly as much as before. I ought to have been disgusted or disapproving, at the very least. It was a little worrying that I didn’t feel any of those things, like I had just discovered a part of me that was capable of terrible cruelty.

“No,” I said. “Not anymore.”

Dracula’s grin was all teeth as if that answer was everything he had been longing to hear. 

“You’re not nervous tonight.” He was still grinning. “You’re usually nervous around me.”

“Usually,” I agreed, smirking. 

Was this how it felt? Not having to worry, not caring about what could happen, not being cautious about every little thing, not minding that he had done horrible deeds and I still wanted his lips on mine?

This foreign feeling swelled inside my chest and my smirk became a grin. 

“Let’s see the rest of the place,” I said, beckoning him with my hand. “There is a door back there and I think I saw something interesting.”

I didn’t wait to see if he would follow and simply turned around, heading to my right where I had seen a long corridor dappled with more colourful light from stained glass. Through an arched portal, I could see the extent of the corridor but it still didn’t prepare me when I crossed the threshold. 

What I thought was only one corridor, was actually two positioned in an L-shape and I stood at the cusp of both. Elaborate lines composed patterns on the vaulted ceiling and walls, fanning into long and curved designs etched in stone and ending in what resembled flowers. Light poured from a collection of stained glass windows and with the way each corridor bent at their ends, I supposed the structure continued until it formed a rectangular. I squinted past a clear glass on a windowpane, and smiled. I could make out shapes of trees and what looked to be a fountain outside. These weren’t corridors but covered walks surrounding a square. Westminster Abbey had something similar.

“Gorgeous,” whispered Dracula.

I turned around to see what he was admiring. His stare was fixed on me, and I had a feeling it had been the same way when he spoke. He moved towards me and the stained glass bathed his face in red. Dracula placed one of my hands on his shoulder and took the other one into his own, extending our joined hands up in a dancing stance.

“I’ll step on your feet,” I warned as he splayed a hand on my back. “I’m not a good dancer.”

“I’ll teach you. Waltzing is easy, and I told you we would waltz.”

In a hushed voice as to not wake whoever slept inside the cathedral, Count Dracula instructed me how, his knees touching mine ever so slightly to point me in the correct direction as I stared down at our feet rasping on the floor, his hands pushing and tugging gently as we swayed to silence. 

After a little while, I felt confident enough not to step on his feet, although I had done it a few times during his lesson, and looked up at his face. We were both a mess of colours and blurry features clouded in darkness as we danced out and into the stained glass light. The air was so chilly that my lungs burned with the effort of dancing, his hand so unrealistically warm on mine as we danced pointlessly – it was surreal, and filled me with an unusual melancholy that I wouldn’t experience something like that again and happiness because I had let myself experience it.

“I dare not ask for love–” Dracula’s words cut through the silence and I drew a sharp intake of breath for what he was about to say. His next words were accompanied by the cadence people used to recite something, which removed some of the impact of what he had first said and I relaxed. 

“ I dare not ask for love – with all

My many sins, both great and small,

I am perhaps of love unworthy!

But if feigned love, if you would

Pretend, you’d easily deceive me,

For happily would I, believe me,

Deceive myself if but I could. ”

I held my breath halfway throughout but continued to dance. The mention of love completely escaped me when he spoke of deceit and I could not help but wonder if he suspected me of it. Did he know I was leading him on and did not care? Or did he know about me and Zoe and this was just a fancy way of telling me so? My heart raced. I hoped he took it not as panic but exhilaration instead.

“Is that in the bible?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“It’s Pushkin. I’ve been reading Russian literature again, old and new and it’s stuck in my head. Pushkin remains a favourite of mine and Anna Akhmatova is a close second from the new generation. Well, old generation, for you.” He chuckled. “The Pushkin stanza sounds better in Russian. Most things sound better in Russian,” he said in an even voice. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he recited the verses in Russian, and although I understood none of it, it did sound better. “This, however, is from the bible. I don’t remember from which book but I remember that I liked it when I was human. I’m translating directly from Latin, though, because that’s how I studied the bible, so I’m taking a few liberties here to make it sound better, and less ridiculously holy. It goes like this:  Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.”

“It could very well be Pushkin,” I offered. 

“It could. Ironically, I prefer these verses more than Pushkin’s.” He laughed lightly and I fully relaxed. He sounded like himself, not at all as if he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. 

I did wonder, though, why he chose those verses out of anything else to declaim. Pushkin was a hopeless romantic through and through from what I had read of him. Of Anna I knew little but what I did know spoke of bitterness, death and failed, tragic love. Why suddenly speak of love? He could’ve quoted something else from the bible. Perhaps something to do with Samson and Delilah, since we had joked about it in the past. Anything else would have made more sense, even the parts that made no sense at all and had driven me to argue with a priest years ago.

Was Count Dracula attempting to tell me something? No. Couldn’t be. He was as forward as one could be. And the idea of him feeling anything remotely close to love seemed a little silly. 

He had loved Justina; more than he thought he was capable of, he’d said. But that had been centuries ago in another life. 

For a moment my determination in being reckless faltered and I felt at loss for what to say. 

Dracula let go of me briefly to spin me around in a move I wasn’t as deftly trained in as he was, causing me to squeal at the velocity and trip over my feet. I thought I would fall but he caught me and started moving again in the waltz pattern he had taught me. Laughter bubbled up to my throat in my hurry to catch up with him and the sound of it was amplified by the long walls. Dracula’s laughter joined mine until it became a song for which we danced.

It doesn’t matter, nothing matters.  I thought as I gazed up at him.  He’ll be gone and whatever I say doesn’t matter anymore. I can entertain even the wildest of things because they’ll never happen. Nothing will happen, for the rest of time.

“I’ve got one for you,” I breathed as we spun in a dizzying pace. “The Devil’s hands directs our every move; the things we loathed become the things we love.” It didn’t come out nearly as expertly as his declamation but I was out of breath, spinning and spinning as he commanded. Like a ballerina in a music box. Dracula simply stared at me, the corners of his lips in their own fight of tugging upwards or downwards. “It’s Baudelaire. Have you read it?” I wasn’t sure if I saw him shake his head. Suddenly, we were dancing so fast that I could barely see my surroundings, much less his face. “I know Baudelaire as you know the bible, only the parts that matter, but I know them from heart. There’s one phrase that I particularly relate to, especially now.” I gulped as if I was looking down a cliff. “What can an eternity –”

Dracula stopped abruptly and I gasped, strands of my hair landing on my face as my head reeled at suddenly being motionless. The world still whirled around and I swayed on my feet as if I had forgotten how to keep myself standing up still, but the Count’s grasp kept me in place. 

Interrupting our dance, I realised not a second later, was for the best. I’d been about to quote something very dangerous, something that could land me with both feet on a grave for all eternity with Count Dracula. And I would’ve said it out of sheer wickedness, just because I was tempted about what could happen if I broke a few rules. 

I looked up at his face, heart teetering on the verge of stopping in fear of what I would find in his expression. But Dracula wasn’t paying attention to me. His eyes were focusing past my head. And then I heard it. Footsteps.

Our laughter must have woken up whoever had been sleeping inside the cathedral.

“What -?” A male voice drifted from behind me, sounding panicked and angry. “You can’t be here at this hour!”

“Shit,” I whispered to Dracula. “What now?”

He gave me a lopsided grin.

“This is your warning,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice now that we had been caught. I had time to frown at his reply before both of Dracula’s arms pulled me into an embrace, my feet swinging beneath me. I emitted a sound of surprise but didn’t struggle. “Hold on and please try not to throw up on my shoes, they’re rather expensive.”

I had one valuable second to wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest before we moved faster than I thought was possible. My insides tossed inside of me, suddenly demanding for a way out of my body’s cage. I kept my eyes closed the entire time, too frightened of opening them. I had never gone on a roller coaster ride but I supposed the feeling was similar. 

Gusts of wind assailed my hair and threatened to steal the breath out of my lungs. I was afraid the feeling would last forever until we finally stopped and I landed on safe ground.

“You can let go now, Y/N.”

“Can you give me a second?” I mumbled, eyes still shut. “I think my soul is still trying to find a way back into my body.”

Dracula’s laughter tickled my ear and I tightened my hold on him. He did, too, his fingers pressing gently on the flesh of my back. Slowly, as if in a limp, my senses caught up with me and my stomach settled on what felt like an appropriate position. 

I opened my eyes tentatively and turned my head to the side. Startled, I realised he had brought me all the way from Gloucester Cathedral to the street where my Airbnb rental was located. And he’d done it in a span of two minutes, if not less. 

I tipped my head to look at him, resting my cheek on the cold of his leather jacket. Dracula’s eyes were closed, sets of black eyelashes casting soft shadows on his face, and he was breathing steadily. Not because he needed to, I presumed, but because he was taking in my scent. My lips tugged up automatically; it was odd perceiving that as something sweet but I did.  

His throat moved, drawing my attention. A most devilish thought occurred to me and before I gave myself too much time to dwell on it, I stretched up and nibbled at the skin of his neck. It lasted no more than five seconds but the sound that came out of Dracula would be seared into my memory forever. Raw, rapturous, and chilling at the same time. Satisfied, I let go of him, but he didn’t let go of me. Too fast for me to react, he took my hands and placed them where they had been, and then trapped me into his embrace again.

I had just blurred some very important lines with what I had just done, and yet part of me only cared about the thrill of it.

“Your scar has faded,” he said, and my heart hammered madly. A hand delved into my hair, grabbing a mass of it to expose my neck. “You didn’t really think you could get away with what you just did, did you?”

“Not really. But if you bite me without my consent, then the deal is off.”

“And I have no intention of breaking my word. Don’t think of this as reprisal. It’s more of a gift, such as you’ve just given me.”

Dracula bent his head slowly towards my bare neck, like he was giving me time to protest. I remained silent. It was imprudent, this need to know what he would do, but I wanted to garner every possibility of my time with him to cherish in my heart, forever. And the uncertainty of it made me all the more excited. I stared up at the sky and then his lips touched my throat where he had bitten me, softly, so very softly. And then again, not softly at all. Riveting pleasure sparked to life as if the scar was still fresh and I choked on my breath. Dull teeth nibbled the skin there and a flash of pulsating warmth coursed down my chest and back, spreading gradually in the same way spilled blood spread on the ground: trying to encompass everything in its wake, tainting it with inevitable appeal and fear of what it meant. I held on to Dracula forcefully, more forcefully than one would judge to be adequate, and he laughed against my skin before giving it a long lick. 

“Careful,” he whispered in my ear. “I may interpret your willingness as consent. And I know you well enough to know you won’t give it to me easily. Will you?”

“No.” The word was automatic and I thanked the part of me that still harboured a sense of self-preservation above my heedless desire for him. However, I still leaned all of my weight on him and made no attempt to put distance between us, as I should’ve. “Not easily at all.”

Dracula, showing way more restraint than I had all night, disentangled my hair from his fingers and stepped back. It took everything in me not to launch myself into his arms again but I let my hands drop to my sides.

“You’re dangerous,” he accused.

“Not as much as you are.”

“A different kind of dangerous.” He licked his lips. Could he taste my skin in his mouth? 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is one.”

I smiled. Being called dangerous filled me with power. Power over him. I was delighted for only a second before wondering if he would think the same thing tomorrow when I stuck a needle with sickly blood in him.

“The cathedral was a good idea,” I said. “Defiling a church has always been in my to-do list, plus I learned how to waltz. So thank you for that.” I sighed. “I should really go to bed now, and so should you. Isn’t the sun almost coming up?”

He nodded. 

“Before you go–” he looked behind me with obvious disdain at the building I was staying at and then back at me “–what were you quoting before the priest came upon us?”

I gulped.

“I don’t remember.”

He narrowed his eyes, shifting closer.

“You’re lying. I thought we had established that you don’t lie to me.”

“You established that.” I stepped back, conjuring a cheeky smile. “I didn’t.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll regret it,” I admitted. “And I prize my sleep. I prefer not to go to bed with a heavy heart.”

He stared at me for a long moment and I waited under his scrutiny, doing my very best to keep it together.

“Tomorrow, then,” he finally said. “Tell me tomorrow.”

But I wouldn’t tell him tomorrow. I would tell him nothing at all. 

“Okay. Goodnight, Dracula.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

As I laid my head on the pillow that night, I realised I still didn’t know if Dracula would like Scully or Mulder better. And would never know.

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