#wall coatings yorkshire

[sleekervae]

New York Romantic .1

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: a young actor moves across the hall from an aspiring ballerina. (college au kinda)

word count: 1562

a/n: i've had this idea knocking around in my brain for a few days and finally got to penning it down -- enjoy!

August 2016

The sun stretched its golden rays across the morning sky in New York City, the last embrace of summer's fading heat lingered in the air. The city bustled under a whispering breeze that carried the promise of change, as tree leaves, once adorned in vibrant green, began their slow transformation into a canvas of crimson and gold. Amidst the streets, a serene anticipation filled the air, capturing the essence of a city transitioning as the summer activities came to a close and the kids were dreading the return to school.

The wheels on Tom's luggage clacked against the cracks and bumps in the concrete sidewalk, bleary and tired eyes scanning between his phone and the address placards on the various condos. He knew he should've taken a cab, but the bus was so much cheaper and Google indicated it was only a five minute walk to his new living quarters anyway.

He finally stopped in front of a brick building, the address placard worn and rusted from the elements but the numbers matched up with that on his itinerary. The other cue that gave it away was the variety of art pieces in windows and hung over bannisters and fire escapes. Tom lugged his bag up the three stone steps and ducked inside.

The lobby was pale, dingy and in dire need of a fresh coat of paint; not to mention the air held hints of mothballs and burnt microwaved popcorn. An older woman was sat behind a desk, reclined in her chair while glazed eyes were focused on her computer screen. Tom approached slowly, hoping his smile could cover the exhaustion hiding in his face.

"Hello,"

The woman's eyes were the last to focus when she turned her head, blinking over her glasses and a warm smile graced her face, "Oh, hello! You must be... erm..." she suddenly grabbed a clipboard and scanned the tiny text, "... Jacob Nielson?" she spoke in the classic Brooklyn accent with exaggerated vowels and nasally undertones.

"No," he shook his head politely, "My name's Tom. Blyth," he replied.

She scanned her list with her pen, gasping aloud when she found his name, "I see, now! Very nice to meet you, my name's Doris -- I'm the super here. You're my renter from London, right?"

"Yeah. Well -- Yorkshire specifically,"

"I didn't do so well in geography, honey. Have mercy," Doris replied as she stood up, heading for the wall of cubbies behind her, "So tell me, which insane asylum are you checking into?"

" -- Excuse me?"

"What school are you attending?" she asked again, her fingers flourishing across the cubbies.

Tom nodded, "I'm starting at Julliard next week. I'm an actor," he replied.

Doris scoffed, "Yeah? You and everybody's dog, honey," she pulled a key from a specific slot and returned to the desk, "But you got a nice face, maybe you'll luck out,"

Tom wasn't sure whether or not he should've taken that as a compliment, so he simply smiled back and accepted the key, "Um, thank you,"

"You're on floor three, room 14. Your roommate should already be moved in, he can give you a tour of the place," she explained, "If you need anything, leaky faucets fixed and whatnot just come down and see me,"

"Thank you, Doris," he took his bag and started for the elevator on the right of the room, but Doris called out to him again.

"Hold on, handsome! Elevator's broke! Hasn't worked since Giuliani was mayor," she pointed to the left, "Stairs are over there,"

Tom huffed under his breath; he was tired and the last thing he wanted was to lug his suitcase up three flights of stairs. Nevertheless, he gave Doris one more polite grin as he started for the staircase.

The sun cast stark patterns across the stairs, the skewed silhouettes of the window panes interrupted by Tom's own shadow as he made his trek up. He hadn't at first registered the thundering of footsteps above him until a group of kids rushed passed him.

"C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" The stairwell was relatively narrow, arms and bodies knocking into Tom until he nearly slipped and his grip loosened on his suitcase. The suitcase went tumbling down the stairs, smacking hard against the opposing wall and the latches burst open. His belongings spilled everywhere.

Tom grumbled to himself, trekking down the stairs again to clean up the mess. One of the kids however hung back, trailing behind her group but she'd witnessed Tom's misfortune. She double backed up the stairs, staring in astonishment at the clothes and knick knacks, then at him.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Tom was crouched over the ground when he looked up, coming face-to-face with the concerned expression of a young brunette. She was lean and petite, dressed down in denim shorts and black tank top. Her converse had two different coloured laces, one red and one yellow. He found that peculiar.

"I'm alright," Tom assured her, "If this is the worst thing that happens to me today, then it's not such a bad day, right?" he tried to laugh it off.

The girl simpered, "Sure," nevertheless she crouched down to help him. One of her friends called out from below.

"Noelle! C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" she shouted.

The girl -- Noelle -- shouted back, "Go ahead, Bianca! I'll catch up with you guys!"

"But the movie starts in an hour! It's take forty five minutes from here, man!"

"It's twenty minutes of previews, anyways!" she turned back to Tom, her cheeks tinting bashfully, "Sorry about that,"

"Don't worry. You should go with your friends, I'll be fine," he replied.

Noelle scoffed, "Can I trust you with a secret?"

"Sure,"

"I hate horror movies,"

Tom smiled, "And lemme' guess: they're going to see a horror movie?"

"Don't Breathe. Some kids break into a blind guy's house and he ends up killing them all and quite frankly -- I can go my whole life without more nightmares," she replied, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"Don't half blame you. I'm not the biggest fan, myself," he said, "Do you live here?"

"Yep. That nutcase shouting at me was my roommate," she replied, "Sorry, I didn't get your name,"

"Tom,"

"Very nice to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances," she chuckled back.

"Don't worry about it -- Noelle," he grinned.

She helped him clean up and pack his things, leading him back upstairs to his room. He assured her he could manage but Noelle insisted, saying it was the least she could do for his trouble.

"Room 14?" she cocked a brow when he told her, the corners of her lips pulling back to bare her clenched teeth.

"Yeah. What's wrong?" Tom asked apprehensively, "I don't have a serial killer for a roommate, right?"

Noelle shook her head, "No, no, you get Sunny. And he's just like his name -- absolute sunshine human being,"

"... I sense there's a 'but' coming," he trailed.

"He's a scholarship violinist, he's brilliant. And he's so brilliant because he practices at all hours of the night," she explained, "... All hours. You might wanna invest in some noise cancelling ear plugs,"

Tom nodded, relieved that at least his new roomie didn't sound like a dickhead, "Thanks for the advice,"

They stopped in front of the door, a worn brass 14 glinting subtly in the light. Tom fished out the key from his pocket, "I guess this is me,"

"Oh, damn," Noelle huffed, glancing at the door across from them, "You get the insane neighbours,"

His eyes flitted between her and the door, "... Whatcha' mean by that?"

Noelle pulled a key from her pocket, "Well, they're dancers for one. So they're always playing music, talking shit, burning their instant noodles because they're half-daft," with that she shoved the key into the lock and twisted, and sure enough the door opened.

Tom glanced at her, sheer amusement crossing over his face. He simpered under his breath, "You're my half-daft dancer neighbour who burns her instant noodles?"

"Unfortunately for you," she confirmed, half smirking.

"And how does one burn their instant noodles?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," she closed and locked the door again, "But I'll let you get settled in. If you need anything at all, you can just pop over,"

"Thank you, Noelle," he smiled, "And thanks again for --" he stopped suddenly when he heard a faint violin melody from the other side of his door. It was a beautiful melody nonetheless, and it had him intrigued, "I suppose that's my roommate?"

Noelle nodded back, "Yep. I promise you, he's a sweetheart," she started walking backwards towards the stairwell, "I'm sorry again about earlier,"

"Don't give it a second thought. Have fun at your movie," he replied.

She giggled sardonically, "Oh trust me, I'll have a blast. I'll see you around, Tom,"

Tom gave her a small wave, watching her until she disappeared around the corner, could hear her shoes squeaking as she trotted down the stairs. He couldn't deny he found her quite a looker, a small part of him giddy with excitement at the prospect of getting to know his new neighbour. The violin melody continued to play on the other side of the door, and taking a deep breath for confidence, he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door...

[cbk1000]

Anyway, remember that one too-long fic I wrote about dumb gay people pissing about in Yorkshire with some cows? Here's another preview for the sequel to it:

The rain had lived up (or rather down) that month to all those expectations which Yorkshiremen have of May, when that blessed country might be either the very embodiment of God’s chosen, or abandoned; and on a day when it was coming down like stair rods, in the local parlance, and like horse piss, in Merlin’s, and a sheep had decided to get into difficulties (not, of course, in barn or shed, but in a sopping field in which he was obliged to kneel with the struggling animal whose progeny were making as much of a cock-up of the birth as the rain was making of his jeans), he decided to broach Arthur’s mood, on the logic that they might as well get all of the nastiness over at once. The three were in accord: weather, birth, temperament, and though he could do nothing for the first, he was sorting out the second, and might as well have a go at the last.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, fishing out a leg from that Shiva-limbed confusion.

“What?” Arthur asked. He was huddled into his jacket, looking exactly as pleasant as the sky.

“You’ve been in A Mood ever since we got back from the wedding, so either let me beat up your dad, or tell me what’s bothering you.”

“So, my options are: let you physically assault a man twice your age, or tell you something that’s frankly none of your business.”

“Oh, please, like Uther’s some frail old man. Pretty sure he could take a pounding as well as his son.”

“Never, ever, ever say anything like that to me again.”

“Different kinds of poundings, obviously. I mean, so far as I know. I was just trying to say the sturdiness is genetic, I’m sure, and there’s no harm in me punching him in the face.”

“Right,” Arthur said, and rolled his eyes, and knelt down to dry each lamb Merlin passed off after he had clipped the umbilical cord and sterilised the naval area. The farmer, seeing all was well in hand, had gone in for tea, and likely was tarrying there to let the youths ride out that grim business in their sturdy young bodies, which, Merlin found, did not feel nearly so young laid out in the mud, with the wind getting in under their collar. He was shivering in his wet knit cap and torn coat, which Arthur had endured quite uncharacteristically admirably, till finally, when Merlin had pulled out the last lamb, and with chattering teeth was completing the business of severing and sterilising the final cord, he said, “For God’s sake” and tossed one of the towels which had been brought out for the lambs over him, and briskly rubbed down his shoulders.

The farmer returned with tea, and the news that one of the ewes who had given birth the day before had completely prolapsed her uterus.

“Well, this one’s at least sorted,” Merlin said tiredly. “Just needed an epidural and a bit of musical legs. Let’s have a look at the other.”

The other was a sweet little lady called Jenni, who was standing with the telltale red mass the size of a tennis ball protruding from her, and bleating uncertainly. They were in a shed at least this time, so he could make a thorough examination in comparable comfort, during which he remarked with relief there were no tears, but merely what looked to him a relatively straightforward prolapse, which could be put back with a bit of patience. He injected a little anaesthetic, then washed the prolapse in warm water which the farmer had brought, and into which he had generously mixed some disinfectant. Then the bladder was emptied, which Merlin explained to Arthur could generally be achieved by simply elevating the prolapsed tissue till the urethra was straightened, and which he saw now to his pleasure was all, indeed, this one would require, instead of puncturing the vaginal wall with a needle, which occasionally such cases necessitated. Next he lubricated the vagina generously, carefully reinserted it, and then stood, with his hand casually in that intimate position, waiting till it was warm to the touch again. The farmer had gone off once more to see to other business, now men of experience were about this one, and so he decided he might as well, whilst dawdling about with the vagina, see why Arthur had been doing his own impression of some wounded genitalia.

“So,” he said, waiting with his hand up the ewe for it to be ready for suturing, “you going to tell me why you’ve been grumpy even for you?”

“I haven’t been.”

“Yes you have. Morgana and I have been complaining about it behind your back all week.”

“It hasn’t been behind my back, you’ve said, to my face, multiple times, ‘Why are you such a sour cunt?’ And that was polite, compared to what Morgana said.”

“Well, why have you? Look, if you’re worried I’ll get into it with your dad after hearing in-depth what an arse he is, don’t worry, I’ll only ring my aunty who’s a witch and ask her to curse him.”

“She’s not a witch.”

“You Englishmen are always shitting on our proud heritage.”

[justrainandcoffee]

That stormy day (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) + (Alfie Solomons & friend!oc)

Masterlist

Summary: Lucy Winters slammed the door and left her house. Her damn father. She cared little and nothing about the storm that is hitting London that afternoon. She's furious. Walking to her friend's house, she saw a man attacking a girl. She didn't know her but she's ready to defend her. It happened that maybe she already knew her, at least her name.

Warnings: Some mentions of physical injuries and blood.

Words: 2k.

This fic was born reading Laur' fic, @emotionalcadaver where I learned that her beautiful oc, Lucy Winters, knows Alfie since they were teens. As you imagined, I screamed 🤭. I had to drag her temporarily to Alfie and Rose universe (or send them to hers...or Both things) so they could share at least one day together as nothing but young people.

It wasn't long ago that she and her family had moved from Yorkshire to London. Her three siblings, plus her parents were now living in the capital of England. Quite a change considering the quiet Yorkshire they had left behind.

What had not changed was the tension within the Winters family, ruled by a strict and closed-minded father who put his religious beliefs, often blinded by the Bible, and his own interests before those of his family. A mother completely submissive to her husband and children who were divided between venerating Mr. Winters or wanting to throw him to the lions. The firstborn, Lucy, believed that the lions were the better alternative.

It was raining like hell when she left the house slamming the door.

She had to get out of there or she was going to kill more than one in the family starting with her father and one of her brothers.

She could hear her brother Teddy calling out to her as she ran, but this time she ignored him. Not now. She needed to be alone.

A clap of thunder echoed in the sky. Lucy had gone out without any coat and now she was paying the consequences of it.

There was a house she knew, a boy, a friend. And there she was going.

Rose had taken her youngest brother to her grandmother's house. The middle one was with a friend and her mother was at work. Now she was coming home carrying a basket of eggs, vegetables and cheese. Some of it was legitimately purchased. Some of it was not. Not for the first time she had stolen food and would do it again even if her mother disapproved. In the girl's eyes, it was unfair that some had too much and some had none. It was the lack of balance in society that had driven her, again, to steal cheese from the Sabinis.

At least when Alfie came home from work she could share it with him. Sometimes she wondered if the feeling of butterflies in her stomach every time she thought of him would pass. She had been with him for three years, and at the moment that hadn't changed.

The rain was now falling torrentially all over London. Her brown hair was plastered to her face and the drops made it impossible to see properly. If she didn't get there soon she was going to catch a cold.

Rose picked up her pace. A couple more blocks and she would get there.

That was until she felt someone grab her arm and pull her back. A young man was pushing her against a wall, while holding her tightly.

It was Gianni Sabini, a cousin of Darby's, older than her. Rose tried to break free but couldn't.

"Rat! Stop stealing from my uncle, you Jewish whore!"

"Let me go!"

"I'd have to cut off your hand, they do that to thieves in other countries! We're too nice here!"

A clap of thunder sounded over their heads.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch!"

Gianni Sabini had a penknife in his hand. "I may not be able to cut your hand with this but I can teach you to think twice before you do it."

The cut on her hand caused the basket that, unbelievably, she was still holding to fall to the floor. But at the same time, something red crossed in front of her eyes and it wasn't her blood.

Rose didn't know where she had come from but a red haired girl, not only had she pulled Gianni out from in front of her, she was on top of the man threatening him with her own penknife.

"Don't touch women! Fucking piece of shit!"

Rose let out a gasp when she saw the girl smacked his head against the pavement. It suprised her, not the violence, but the strength of the girl considering she was probably the same height as she was.

Gianni wasn't dead, but he was clearly unconscious with the rain falling over him.

Used to the violence on the streets in that part of London, the few people walking there barely paid attention to him. Nor to the two girls.

"Are you okay? You're bleeding" the redhead girl, asked.

"Yes. And it hurts, but I don't think it's deep… uhm, thank you."

"No worries. I'm Lucy. Let me help you. Do you live nearby?"

"Almost two blocks, yeah… Thanks Lucy. I'm Rose."

While Lucy picked up the basket, Rose used her chal to bandage her hand. At least until she could use a proper bandage that her mother had in the house.

"Sorry about that," Lucy said. "The bastard was lucky that I didn't shot him. Do you know him?"

"Barely. I know his cousin, we used to go to school together. The Sabinis aren't very kind with anyone. Especially Jewish people. My boyfriend and him, fought more than once. This bastard is angry because I stole some cheese from the shop that his family has…" Rose looked briefly at the girl next to her and she felt a bit embarrassed by her actions. "…hard times," she said.

"Well, Rose, don't worry about it I stole his penknife," Lucy showed her the hand where she was holding the weapon.

Despite that her hand was still bleeding and the storm, Rose laughed.

.

The familiar streets of her house brought her peace. The key was in her pocket.

"Would you like to get in? At least you can get warm and I can prepare some tea, before you continue your way," Rose said. "My mom is working and my brothers aren't here, my boyfriend probably is about to come but he's friendly… well, sometimes. He lives next door."

Still in the rain, Lucy looked at her and then to the next door. "You're not Rose," she said "you're Rosie! You're Alfie's Rosie!"

"You know Alfie?"

Lucy chuckled "of course I know Alfie! And considering the times he talked about you, I already know you… my Rosie," she imitated him, finally accepting her invitation to get in the house.

.

Lucy helped her to bandaging her hand. The wound wasn't bleeding anymore, but still hurt. She also insisted on preparing some tea. And Rose couldn't stop her.

Rose only stood up when she heard knockings on the door. As she imagined, it was Alfie.

The boy entered the house before she could say 'hi' and greeted her with a kiss, pushing her against the wall. He never noticed the other girl grinning, while she was pouring tea in the teacups.

"I fuckin' missed you, luv. We're alone! Can we…? ya know… My day was fuckin' awful. We can cuddle afterwards. It's raining and…"

"We can't, Al. We're not alone," she replied, looking to where Lucy was. Alfie finally paid attention at the house.

"Hullo, Alfie."

"What?" The boy look at her like it was the first time seeing her "what the hell are you doin' 'ere?"

"I am planning how to steal your girlfriend."

Rose let out a chuckle before returning to her chair and the boy rolled his eyes. Alfie sat next to her and Lucy in front of them, "she saved me," Rose explained. "I was coming here when Gianni Sabini attacked me."

"Gianni Sabini, what?!?"

"It's nothing. I'm fine," she showed him her hurt hand. "I may or may not, stole from them again."

"I don't fuckin' care! I'm goin'to kill him! Fuck him! I'm going to kill Darby too, fuckers!! Rosie, I'm sorry, pet" Alfie kissed her hand. Then, he asked Lucy "do ya kill him?"

"Nah. But I almost broke his skull against the pavement."

"Fuck, Luces! You're a little demon aren't, ya? well, it's just a wop."

"Alfie…" this time it was Rose who interrupted. She didn't like when he talked like that about the Italians even if they're were famous for their expression against the jews. Alfie just ignored it, in his mind planning a revenge against the Sabinis. No one touched his girl.

"So, Luces, what're ya doing here?"

Lucy looked at her teacup before answering. On the table the strawberry pie that Alfie had baked the day before was waiting to be eaten.

"My fucking father, of course…"

Neither of the three teens at table could say that their fathers were extraordinary. Quite the contrary.

For Alfie that wasn't new. For the very first moment he had learnt that Mr. Winters was nothing but a piece of shit. Alfie saw her friend stirring the cup.

"…same old story. He thinks he's the only one who's right. We're nothing but a waste of time and money. My mother says nothing. She's not bad person… but she's so afraid of him. At least for a couple of hours I had to ran away. This Sabini just crossed my way at the perfect time because it helped me to channeling my frustrations."

"Good. At least a Sabini was useful for once…" Alfie cut a piece of pie and served it to Lucy "told ya, as soon as you can run away from there because things with people like him never ends well."

"Easier to say than do," she ate a bit of the pie and smiled. Sugar always helped with people's mood. "He remembered me that I'm going to marry only the man he chooses for me. And I know the kind of man that's awaiting for me. A piece of shit like him. Excusing his actions behind the lord's words. Fucking hypocrite."

The young couple said nothing, they just let the other girl talk "…probably I'm going to ran away, yes. Bristol, Liverpool, Birmingham… I don't care."

A new thunder.

"Seems I need to go. Or the night is going to caught me here. But I don't want to."

"If this won't cause any trouble you can stay here for the night," Rose said "My brothers' beds are free tonight. And my mom doesn't care if a friend is here. Better here than the streets. Alfie can sleep in his own bed…"

"No, I can't. I need cuddles," the boy kissed her cheek.

"Al…"

"I'll behave. I promise, we have guests. And how old is she, by the way? Nine? Ten?"

"Fuck you, Alfie Solomons!" Lucy pointed at him with the teaspoon. "You're lucky your girlfriend is here."

.

Mrs. Coldwell greeted the new girl with kindness when she arrived from work and later that night the four of them were eating a dinner prepared by her. They laughed at old anecdotes that Lucy had from Yorkshire. Outside was still raining, but there no one noticed that.

At bedtime, Rose gave Lucy one of her nightgowns. In the morning, Lucy had to return to her house, whether she liked or not and Rose had to go to the infamous Evert's house. But for now, both of them were gossiping at the light of the candles. Giggling like the teens they still were. Alfie supposedly was sleeping in the couch but as soon as Mrs. Coldwell went to sleep, he went to where he really wanted to be: his girlfriend's bed.

At sunrise, when she woke up, Lucy saw them sleeping together and smiled. They were cute. Alfie was still with his clothes on, meaning that they did nothing but sleep all night. But he was holding her tightly against him.

Lucy ask herself if one day she too, will be capable of experiencing that kind of love.

Probably. Life couldn't be just bad things right?

She could see the first rays of sunshine. No more rain. The thought of her father made her angry again but she decided not to think about him for now. She heard sounds in the kitchen, probably Mrs. Coldwell. Lucy put her clothes on again, left the nightgown on the bed and left the couple alone.

Lucy left the house before they had wake up. Watching the people around them and thinking about nothing in particular she barely noticed when she left the old Camden Town behind her. She put her hands in her pockets and smiled when she felt the penknife.

If his father in the future keep being an asshole, then she'd kill him. In her mind, the idea wasn't that crazy. She knew he deserved it. '"And run away"…Alfie was right, she needed to ran away. And for some reason, Birmingham sounded like a good place to start again.

Not now, but one day.

[lasthumaninwales]

Okay so, by way of an explanation of my blog title, which no pne asked for...

In my family, I am very much the one who is into spooky shit. I'm the one who likes horror movies, who reads scary stories, who wants to go on ghost walks and visit haunted places... but for whatever reason, I am not the one who ever sees anything.

However, what does happen is that people tend to see things around me.

When I was 19 I went to Egypt with my grandmother. We took a cruise down the Nile for a week, visited a lot of ruins and temples, as one does. And, about halfway through the week, we were in a visitors' centre for one of said temples, sat in the dark watching a video, and my grandmother had a full on supernatural experience sat right next to me.

Apparently, a woman dressed in traditional ancient Egyptian clothing - headdress, long white dress, the works - appeared at her side, hands held out to her in a 'prayer' position. I was sat on the next chair over, and I saw nothing. My grandmother said she was trying to get to me, to get my attention while this was happening, but despite us being inches apart she couldn't reach me.

The next day she saw a carving on a wall, and told me that it was the woman she saw. The carving was of the goddess Isis.

Everyone joked about it when we got home, talking about how my grandmother must have had too much to drink the night before, but like... we could barely afford to drink water on that trip, she hadn't had a glass of wine since the first night.

In more recent years it's my wife who keeps seeing ghosts. My wife... has come around to more spooky hit since we've been together, but neither really believes in nor in any way likes ghosts and haunted places. And yet...

We went on holiday to Yorkshire, and in York I insisted on going to The Golden Fleece, the most haunted pub in a city that's already haunted as fuck. When I went to the bathroom, I got a text from her saying "Please can we leave soon." My signal was a bit rubbish so I didn't reply, just went back out to the bar to tell her that sure, of course we could leave.

Her: Thanks, sorry, I just got a bit freaked out because I thought I saw something behind the bar. It's okay though, I'm fine now.

Me: Really? What was it?

Her: Oh it's nothing, I just looked up and there was a guy behind the bar, and it was a different guy to the one who served us. I looked away for a second and he was gone. He must have just gone through to the other bar, it's nothing.

Me: Yeah? What did he look like,

Her: I don't know, he was facing away from me, tall, dark hair, wearing a big red coat.

Me: ... Did you not read the descriptions of the ghosts that are supposed to haunt this place? On the plaque outside?

Her: ... No?

Me: A red coat you said? Like, a modern one?

Her: No, like a long wool one, old fashioned...

Me: One of the most famous ghosts in this place is a highwayman called One Eyed Jack. He wears a long red coat.

Her: ... I wish you hadn't told me that.

Then closer to home, we were driving back from the next town over late one night a few weeks ago. It was cold and raining...

Her: I feel bad, I feel like we should have stopped for that girl.

Me: What girl?

Her: The girl stood by the side of the road back there.

Me: I didn't see anyone...

Her: She was stood looking out onto the road, on your side. She had a white coat on, did you not see?

Me:... A white coat?

Her: Yeah...?

Me: You know that bit of the road is meant to be haunted, right?

Her: NO?!

Me: Yeah, some kids coming back from a concert saw a young woman dressed in white at the side of the road back there. She stepped out in front of the car, they thought they'd hit her, felt it happen, but when they stopped there was no one, no body anywhere, not a mark on the car. I told you this story...

Her: I DIDN'T KNOW YOU MEANT HERE!

Me: Shit, babe...

A couple of nights later we were making the same journey.

Her: -sounding reluctant and strained- ... She was there again.

Me: ... the girl?

Her: Same outfit. Standing in the same spot. Identical.

Me: Babe... I was deliberately looking this time, and I didn't see anyone.

Her: ... Shit.

So, yeah.

I don't see ghosts, but I seem to facilitate other people seeing them.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Paidia (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- Ms. Sweetface by her parents

Age- 8 (immortal)

Location- Hearthwood neighborhood, New Olympus

Personality- She's an extremely precocious & playful young girl. Carefree, imaginative, and light hearted, she enjoys being the "spark" in a crowd!

As the goddess of play & amusement, she has the standard abilities of a goddess. Her abilities include being able to shapeshift into any toy, game manipulation (from table top games like board games, card games, dice, RPGs, & modern video games), toy manipulation (paichnídikinesis), doll manipulation (koúklakinesis) (including puppets and marionettes), imagination manipulation, and virtual reality mimicry.

Paidia's the only child to her parents Eudaimonia (goddess of happiness) and Apólafsi (god of enjoyment). The three of them live in a beautiful estate in the Hearthwood neighborhood (in a gated community)- complete with an expansive backyard, outdoor pool, & spacious basement.

Her bedroom gives off the aesthetic of a brightly lit toy store. The walls are painted in bright colors with glow in the dark neon pink star shaped stickers covering the ceiling. Many posters of her favorite movies cover the walls. A huge bouncy water bed is what she chooses to sleep on (after begging her father many times to get it for her). Aside from her regular bedroom, there's the playroom- which is filled with arts & crafts supplies, various toys, a flatscreen television, the latest Talos Core gaming system, and every board game known to man- including petteia. The playroom is the usual hangout spot for Paidia & her friends afterschool.

She's also an avid reader and collector of comic books!

Her and her family own a few yorkshire terrier dogs & rabbits. She has her own pet- a pegasus, a boy named Aero. She's recently dyed his mane dark blue.

Her go-to things to eat for breakfast are usually eggs (sunny side up) with bacon, sausage links, & hash browns. She'll also go for a bowl of chocolate frosted sugar bomb cereal or Earthly Harvest's yogurt coated cereal. She also likes her dad's PB & J pancakes.

Paidia's best friends at school are Hebe (goddess of youth), Prophasis (goddess of excuses), and Caerus (god of opportunity & luck). Other godly students include Aceso (goddess of healing), Physis (goddess of nature), Myrízei (god of smell & gases), Xenia (goddess of hospitality), and Mneme (goddess of remembrance), Calleis (goddess of allurement), Eulabeia (goddess of caution), Melete (goddess of thought & meditation), Ersa (goddess of morning dew), and Aidos (goddess of shame, modesty, humility, & respect).

Because of her domain, she's usually the first deity to have a sneak preview of a toy or game before it's released.

At school, Paidia excels in art and gym.

On PanopTube, she often watches pranks & online challenge videos.

In the pantheon Paidia likes the three blacksmithing cyclopes, Techne (goddess of arts, crafts, & invention), Gelos (god of laughter), Thalia (muse of comedy), & Hephaestus (god of the forge); especially his Ember Kingdom theme park! She also likes Morá (goddess of babies & children) who's often her babysitter and she also has a crush on the messenger god Hermes! Paidia nearly fainted when he autographed the sneakers she was wearing during Hebe's birthday party at the palace. There are talks for Paidia to be potentially mentored by Eupraxia (goddess of well-being & success).

Some of her favorite card games include poker, go fish!, old maid, crazy eights, & blackjack.

Her favorite dessert are the chocolate cupcakes with strawberry buttercream frosting from Hollyhock's Bakery.

One of her favorite gifts she has ever recieved was a birthday present from Prophasis. It was a Diamond Ave. jeweled gumball machine shaped clutch!

Paidia has started "working" by modeling for Youthful Reign, the Queen's clothing brand for children.

She loves when her mom uses the Glory's Crown boabab conditioning custard on her hair. Someday, Paidia wants to know how to lay down her baby hairs on her own.

Her all time favorite meal is from Olympic Chef- the loaded mediterraean fries (fries topped with fried pita chips, tzatziki sauce, feta cheese, shredded lettuce, marinated diced tomatoes, chickpeas, and pepperoncinis) along with fried fish sticks & a small strawberry soda. She also likes her mom's moussaka and her dad's baked mac n' cheese.

In her free time Paidia loves listening to music, watching TV, hanging out with her friends, going to amusement parks, bike riding, painting, drawing, cloud surfing, jump rope, roller skating, laser tag, playing video games, and spending time with her parents- whether it's doing various paper crafts with her mom or going to a basketball game with her dad.

"Playing is the art of being a kid."

[texshire-books]

Sycamore Cottage. coming soon a paranormal romantic crime and mystery story by B.L.Miller

Greg James, fresh from a messy divorce takes a job in Scarborough on the east coast of Yorkshire. To get away from the southwest of England which has been his home since birth thirty-nine years ago; to make a fresh start. He buys Sycamore Cottage, a run down almost derelict residence in a nearby village. On arrival his welcome is somewhat underwhelming; many of his neighbours stand outside staring at him as he parks up. He’s even approached by an old woman who questions his sanity for buying the cottage he’s looking up at. She departs, telling him as she walks away, the place is haunted by a ghost.

Undeterred, he enters, the place is certainly creepy, but he isn’t ready to be put off by such an unlikely tale. Then, as he surveys the dusty remnants of an otherwise functional kitchen, a female voice behind him says – hello! Turning, he faces a younger woman - not only can he hear her, but he can also see her too.

This starts a roller coaster ride as shock after shock makes it feel he was destined to find this place and discover its secrets, in addition an employer who produces the ultimate surprise. A tale of serial murders and transition from the afterlife.

Coming soon - Sycamore Cottage by B.L. Miller.

Find out more information about this and other genre authors at

 An excerpt;

I opened up, I’d had the keys to the property sent to my previous address. I took one final look at the now evening sky which appeared to be clouding over, it looked like rain was heading this way. If it did, I’d soon have an early warning of water leaks if there was a hole in the roof. The door creaked, loudly, I’d have to make the purchase of a can of oil an early purchase, assuming there wasn’t one tucked away in a cupboard. I peered inside, it was cleaner than I expected, and as I entered, I didn’t encounter a forest of cobwebs I’d expected. Maybe the estate agent had found someone after all. The view in front of me was dark and gloomy, I looked to my right and saw a light switch which I tried. A light came on, somehow, I hadn’t expected that. I assumed I’d have to seek reconnection, probably other utility supplies too. A better start than my pessimistic thoughts could hope for. I looked up at a single naked light bulb which was dusty, stained and had cobwebs hanging down. To my left was a dusty table, a religious ornament stood at its centre. Above a coat rack with several coats of make appearance hung. I imagined they had been there a long time and were musty and full of big spiders. Hung over one end was a hat, one I assumed was handy on a rainy day. I’d have a look at that, to see if it still had some use.

Stairs led up on the left, I tried a light switch, and another light came on. At least I shouldn’t fall down the stairs if I was careful. The hallway was stark, no carpet, but instead a mosaic patterned tile floor led off to a room ahead which as I approached appeared unmistakably to be a sizeable kitchen. Certainly, larger than the one I’d left. Walking in I remembered what I’d seen when I briefly viewed it before. Whoever had lived here had invested in a new cooker and the cupboards all around looked quite recently installed. There was a table with four chairs. I had no idea who had lived here before, but I imagined I’d soon be told.

I walked to a sink unit and tried the tap, in fact both taps. Each worked. One was obviously for hot water, so I’d have ti find the source of heat. There was a heating boiler on one outside wall. I saw a radiator at one end and turning I noticed another in the hallway I’d missed as I walked past. Assuming the gas supply worked I’d be warm at least. I stepped towards the cooker and turning on a tap I heard the low hiss is escaping gas with its familiar, pungent smell. Another pleasant surprise. I just needed to go upstairs and see where I could spend the night, hoping I could leave the Z bed on the car, although I now needed to grab a bag of clothiers and a sleeping bag before darkness fell. There was a knock on the front door, it was loud and urgent.

‘Yes?’ I opened the door and an elderly woman holding an unlit torch stood some distance away. I knew Covid social distancing had been all the rage some while back but all that now seemed to be in the dark and distant past.

‘You’re not staying here, are you?’ She asked what seemed an astonishing question.

‘Of course, I am, I’ve just bought it.’ I replied.

‘You’ve bought it?’ She repeated my answer.

‘Yes, I’ve got a job in Scarborough, I plan to live here.’

‘You can’t live here; you must be mad.’ I’d had my mental state questioned several times recently, but those questions had been raised by people I knew, not be complete stranger.

‘Is there something I don’t know?’ I reacted.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ I was getting frustrated by what was beginning to feel like questions from a pub quiz.

‘Know what. I’m new here this place was up for sale. I arrive and half the village stare at me as if I’m some alien.’ I paused and asked the important question.

‘What am I supposed to know?’ I waited patiently to be enlightened.

‘The brutal murder, here, in there!’ She leaned over and pointed into my newly published house. Now that was news to me. I realised the estate agent had probably kept that quiet. It also gave a good reason for the give away price I’d paid for it.

‘Really, when was this?’ I looked up and once again I saw people standing outside their homes, this was beginning to feel rather creepy. I looked back inside now.

‘A year ago, a man is in prison for it.’ I realised there was some research needing doing. I was starting to feel cold as the night air closed in. The woman turned and started walking away. ‘I just came by to warn you. Best you found out sooner rather than later.’ She’d reached the gate, and I was about to renter my hallway when she added one final repost. ‘It’s haunted too.’

I closed the door. I took a deep breath and stared forward at what I’d bought. Strangely, fear didn’t grip me. I’d always had an interest in the occult. Anything weird and unexplained. Obviously, this woman, together with half the street now expected me to come running out screaming with some apparition chasing me out with a white bed sheet over its head! They’d be disappointed. A murder, seriously? Much as I was chomping on the bit to grab my iPad and check out the history of Sycamore Cottage, I decided more practical things needed doing first. I looked upstairs, I had to sleep somewhere, and I did recall a nice double bed. So nice in fact I’d decided not to buy one. Perhaps a new mattress only? I had visions of the one upstairs being soaked in blood when I pulled back the covers, I certainly had no intention of using. First, I walked into the kitchen and finding a kettle with a coating of dust, I blew most of it off and filled it with enough water to make tea. I let the tap run a while, suspecting as yet un replaced lead water pipes supplied the supply. I switched on the kettle and looked for mugs.

This felt surreal. Had it not been for the grime and dust, this place had the feel that someone had just walked out the day before and left it – just as it was when i arrived. I glanced out through the rear door window. It was dark and probably best that way too. The small front garden was overgrown enough, I dreaded to imagine what the far larger rear garden was like. The kettle clicked off. I went to the hallway and grabbed a bag I’d brought in from the car which had a carton of milk and some teabags. I was sure there were teabags somewhere although I wasn’t even going to think about opening the fridge yet, to see what something had once been what the previous owner had poured over their corn flakes.

I’m upstairs now, mug of tea in hand, the main bedroom overlooked the street outside, I imagined I was still being watched, especially now I’d switched on the light. “Fuck e’m” had entered my thinking again! Sure, enough the bed was still there. I pulled back the covers and found just a plain, clean sheet covering what i imagined was an equally unmarked mattress. All this needed was a good wash. I’d find a laundry somewhere surely. I went to a free-standing wardrobe and opened its doors. No bats flew our scratching my face with their tiny claws. Inside were women’s clothing. Pretty dresses and a nice coat in a shade of red some fashion designer would know immediately.

Next was a chest of drawers. I put my mug down and opened the top drawer. Inside was quite a shock. In neat lines were unmistakably women’s underwear. The whole room had a feminine feel about it. I almost felt I was intruding as I picked up a pair. They were brief to the point of nonexistence. Here was a lady of fashion. She certainly dressed to kill. Then having created that last word in my head the sheer magnitude of my current predicament sank in. Someone had died in this house, and it was likely to have been the owner of the garment I held in my hands. I was looking at them intimately, imagining them being worn, being removed too. But by whom? Perhaps she’d never worn them, then again what if she had. She certainly dressed to give an impression. I looked at the thin strings and knew where they went! No panti line for this girl. One other thing too. Not a single bra! She obviously didn’t wear one, probably didn’t need to. A modern girl certainly. I needed to find out more so I carefully, respectfully, replaced the item back in the drawer and after sliding it shut, grasped my mug of now much cooler tea and returned to the kitchen.

I turned on my iPad. Thankfully, I didn’t need WiFi and to my surprise the phone signal was stronger than I assumed it would be. Pleasant surprises had been at a premium so far. One thing for sure, a call into the estate agency I’d used would be high on my list the following day. I Googled, Sycamore Cottage, murder, Wenbury. The screen exploded into instant views of a horrific murder. I went to look it up when I froze. A female voice behind me spoke.

‘You liked my knickers then?’ I spun around and facing me was a beautiful young woman I put in her late twenties. Where the hell had she sprung from. If I felt surprised, it was nothing compared to that shown on her face. ‘You can see me then?’ She asked.

‘Of course I can, why wouldn’t I?’ I replied, amazed she’d even questioned it.

‘You’re not frightened, others have seen me and headed out the door like Usain Bolt!

‘Why?’

‘You still don’t get it, I’m not from the living. I’m dead, I was murdered here. I’m her ghost!’ The penny dropped like a sheet of corrugated iron drop from a great height.

‘Oh fuck - you’re not!’

‘Oh, but I am. Can I come in?’

‘It’s your kitchen, or it was.’ Whatever it was glided past me and perched on the table in front of me.

[yorkiebabies]

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[toprenders]

Top advantages to insulating the outside of your house

House Rendering west yorkshire 25% of energy loss in a house is due to poor wall insulation. One option available that can help improve this is cavity wall insulation which can be injected from the inside or from the outside. Below we look at another solution which is easier to install.

Exterior insulation in west Yorkshire consists of placing an insulating “blanket” on every wall or on those most exposed to the cold and wind. This is done by applying (or fixing with dowels) insulating blocks usually consisting of expanded polystyrene or mineral wool. The insulation is then covered by a facade covering such as, for example, fibre-cement cladding or planks, plaster, etc.

The advantages of external insulation

1. No need to move out during the work

As all the work takes place outdoors, there is no need to move out or live in limited rooms while it is going on. Another important factor: the house is kept clean! No materials, debris or dust inside.

2. The living space remains the same

The thickness of the insulation needs to be 15 to 20 cm to insulate a house properly. By insulating from the outside, this thickness does not reduce the internal living space in your house.

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Exterior insulation acts just like a coat that protects your home. It’s better than insulation from the inside from a thermal point of view because it permits continuous insulation with few or no thermal bridges. Moreover, it protects the façade from bad weather and preserves the thermal inertia of the building, which is generally important for summer comfort. Finally, insulation from the outside guarantees porosity, which enables much better regulation of the humidity in the house.

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[mercurygray]

Blind Dates - Isabel Corbett

I briefly considered trying to go out of my comfort zone for this, but the 1940s are just where my brain is right now. Everyone, meet Isabel Corbett, late of Darrowby and All Creatures Great and Small.

There was nothing like a Yorkshire summer.

Words couldn't say how much she'd missed this, when she was in London - the sound of birds, the sight of mile upon mile of green fields and stone walls, reaching off into distant horizons. The air felt freer here - change felt possible. Not like London, where the buildings trapped you in and there was a schedule for everything that could not be deviated from - a schedule for the bus, for the tram, for the tea-trolley, day in and day out, with never a thought given to stopping for the weather, or a death, or a particularly fine day, where there was only the one season, and that covered by the Court Circular.

Admit it, Iss! You'll miss this, Daphne had said, tripping home that last day after they'd been treated to champagne by the board and applauded out into the real world and the next adventure.

No, Isabel had thought to herself, watching a bus roar narrowly by. I don't much think I will. The people, maybe, she allowed, Daphne heavy on one arm and Roger on the other. The work. But not London.

It had been a relief to get onto that train in Kings Cross and slowly climb out of the city and into the fresh air, to see the sun again - and the sunsets. She'd especially missed sunsets. Night was dropping slow over the dales and outside the windows everything was golden in the early evening light.

"You're far away." Isabel turned away from the car window and glanced at her father, feeling a little foolish that she'd been gaping at the window like a day-trip ticket in a charabanc, but Wilfred Corbett didn't seem to mean anything by it - he was smiling fondly at his daughter in that way that fathers often do when they've been proved right.

"Just happy to be home, is all," Isabel said, clutching her evening bag a little closer to her party dress, turning to focus on the road ahead.

Her father nodded. "I hope you don't mind all this, on your first night back," he offered, making a vague gesture to his white tie and tails. "I know it's rather a lot."

"Well, I couldn't leave you on your own with Mrs. Pumphrey, Dad."

"Oh, I would have managed," he said, a little put-on bluster in his voice. "But it's always nice to have reinforcements." He gave her leg a pat. "And it's awful nice to have you home again, Iss."

See? she wanted to say. Where can I get this in London?

The drive up to Broughton Hall was as familiar to her as the walk to school, and she felt a little flutter in her throat as the gate at the bottom of the drive came into view. She could remember, as a child, how exciting it was to be invited up for the cricket, which brought with it the promise of iced cakes and lemonade, the thought of the tea-tent more exciting than the actual game itself.

But this would be different - she was not a child now, and being on best behavior meant a great deal more than only taking one iced cake instead of three. This had always been someone else's job before - the evenings. She could remember her mother fussing in front of the hall mirror with diamate earrings and green dancing shoes that only came out once or twice a year. She twitched her skirt a little, looking down at her own shoes - silver, to match the beading on the bag. She'd worn this dress a half a dozen times to all sorts of smart parties, in Eaton Square and elsewhere.

So why does it still feel like I'm playing dress-up?

Her father shifted the car into park under the auspices of the Hall’s porte cochere, a black-jacketed footman stepping around to the door to help Isabel out.

"Hallo, Francois, how's things?" Her father asked congenially, smiling at the man waiting graciously by the door.

The butler bowed slightly, no concession made to his informality ."Doctor Corbett, Miss Corbett. If John may take your coats, the other guests are in the drawing room. Madam will be down directly."

"Many thanks."

The hall itself had always been off-limits, during those cricket matches, a distant promise of forbidden adventure, and it was strange, now, as an adult, to roll up to the door and simply walk inside, the carpets deep and springy underfoot. Why was this always so much easier in London?

The answer came back quickly - because no one knew you in London. Walking into this drawing room was walking right back into all those expectations, all those memories of who she'd been - not who she was now. They're expecting that little girl with the hair ribbons and mary janes.

Her father gravitated straight towards the drinks tray, and for a moment, she was alone, unnoticed by the other guests.

"Issie?"

She turned towards her name, surprised there was anyone here to call her that, and recognized a face from long ago. "Helen?"

Helen Alderson looked vivid in slate blue, her hair still very much the same as Isabel remembered as a child, and threatening to escape her crystal clip the same way it seemed to come out of a braid. "Gosh, it's been ages! How are you?" She didn't stop for an answer, and turned to the young man next to her. "James, this is Isabel Corbett – she and I went to school together. Her father is the GP in town. Isabel, this is James Herriot, our new - Mr. Farnon's new assistant."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Corbett." The new vet's voice was soft and Scottish, a different kind of burr than the one she'd known from childhood, and the hand he held out had a firm grip.

"Actually, it's Doctor," Isabel said, finally putting her foot down while trying to remain fair about it. She’d been Miss Corbett-ed too many times today and enough was enough. No sense getting branded a bitch on my first day back – but I worked for those letters and that title’s mine. "I just finished my residency in London."

If Mr. Herriot was surprised by the prospect of a lady doctor, he hid it well - and Helen, bless her, was the soul of excitement. "Congratulations! Oh, that's wonderful. Will you be coming back, do you think? To practice?"

"I'm with dad, for a bit, and I've got letters out to see anyone needs an assistant. Just to...get my feet underneath me."

"It's a hard slog, starting out." Herriot acknowledged. "I answered a whole column of advertisements before I heard anything back. And not everyone needs a vet."

"Will you get Issie a drink, James?" Helen turned to James, the soul of hospitality, and he nodded and went, trying to make a beeline for the drinks table on the far side of the room.

"So is that - serious?" Isabel asked, interested but not wanting to pry. Helen looked in the direction of James' back and smiled, blushing a bit and nodding. "He seems nice."

"He is. A big change from Siegfreid, that's for certain."

Isabel had a vague memory of the village vet from afternoons at the county fair, a sandy-haired gentleman with an abrupt voice. "Is he here this evening? Or...what was his brother?"

"Tristan? No, I don't think so. It's a small party tonight, Mrs. Pumphrey said - only twenty." Helen smiled over the only, and Issie felt suddenly glad the other woman had recognized her. Thank god - someone sane. "Where's James got to?"

"I think he's been intercepted," Isabel said, nodding to where the young vet had been pulled into what looked like a rather pressing conversation on his way to the drinks.

"Gosh, it's not Issie Corbett!"

The voice that spoke was deeper than she remembered, but Isabel didn't have to see the face to be told who this was - how funny, after all this time, that names and faces and voices still fit! Though she couldn't quite remember when Hugh Hulton had gotten so tall. "It's nice to see you too, Hugh."

Hulton Hall's oldest son had done a fair bit of growing, since the last time she'd seen him during a school holiday - the lord of the manor had come naturally to him as a child and, it seemed, it hadn't rubbed off yet. (She remembered being ordered away from the drinks table, during one of those cricket games. 'The yellow cakes are just for us cricketers,' he'd said, imperious in his whites. She'd taken one anyway, when his back was turned, just to spite him.) "I haven't seen you for ages - where's your dad been keeping you?"

But she didn't have time to cut in on what she thought of the word 'keeping' before Helen interjected. "Issie was just saying she's finished her MD."

Hugh's raised eyebrow was just this side of snobbish. "Oh, really? And you've come back here with it?"

"The qualification does come for general practice in England and the dominions," Isabel said, feeling the familiar frostiness come over her again and standing up just a bit straighter, remembering the results lists, the exam results, the late night hours in her rented rooms, the smirks and smiles of every man she'd ever met at a party like this one looking over her dress and all but calling her a liar. I earned those letters and I'll fight anyone who thinks otherwise.

"Well, I doubt very much people around here will go for it," Hugh went on, a slight scoff in his voice that purported to mean well. "A lady doctor? I mean, I'm sure you're qualified, but it's too modern for the Dales."

"I think people like someone local," Helen said, loyally. "You know the country and what goes on here - not everyone does. And it takes some learning. James knows that."

"I do," the vet said, finally coming back with the drinks. "Hugh."

Hugh's look had turned frosty, and the two men exchanged glances like they were facing off for a duel. "Herriot." Well, that's worth asking about later, Isabel thought to herself.

The shimmer of a chime out in the hallway signaled the arrival of their host, and the start of dinner - her father emerged from the far side of the drawing room and offered an elbow. "I didn’t want to interrupt," he said, smiling. “I’m glad you and Helen found something to talk about. And Hugh!"

For my sins, Isabel said silently with a pained smile. And he's exactly like I remember.

I remember when someone said that Matthew Lewis was going to be in All Creatures, my immediate reaction was surprise and delight, because he looks very good in a 1940s suit. In one of his early interviews for the show, he talked about how he didn't want to play Hugh as a villain - and that's sort of the angle I wanted to take here. He usually means well - it just doesn't always end up coming off the way he wants to. I also don't usually write enemies to lovers, so this was a nice challenge to cue up how that would start.

[comfortwriting]

Diamond Flower - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Prompts 25, 28 & 30. 

25: “Do you think she’ll like the ring?” He asked sounding nervous. 

28: You held the letter close to your heart and blushed, giggling like a little girl.

30: Tiptoeing into your room, admiring you dreaming away, he placed your presents at the end of the bed and left. 

About: The reader hates her birthday and Fred wants to change that. 

Warnings: food and eating, death of y/n’s mother during birth.

Sitting down at the dinner table with the rest of your boyfriends family, you looked around the kitchen to see where he and his twin were, Molly muttered under her breath in annoyance and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Where are they! those two would be late to their own bloody wedding!” she huffed, passing you the dish of mashed potatoes. 

“I’m sure they just got carried away, you know what they’re like” you reassured her, putting the mash on your plate “they’ll be home any minute”

Fred and George went to Diagon Alley for the day, they said they had business plans to handle with the shop being so successful but instead, George was helping his twin look for an engagement ring. 

“bit naff proposing on her birthday though, isn’t it?” he asked, looking at different rings. 

Fred shook his head walking over to the next cabinet “she hates her birthday and we already talked about this years ago, it would give her a reason to be happy and to celebrate it.”

George spotted a ring with a sparkling ruby, pointing at it “so that's the only reason why you’re proposing then?” 

Fred rolled his eyes and slapped his brothers arm, looking at the ring and shaking his head, focusing on the other ones.

“is it fuck, you’re starting to sound like Ron, Georgie.”

Fred stopped in his tracks, picking up the perfect ring, the diamond shaped like a flower. “I’m marrying Y/N because I love her, George.”

Fred tapped on the glass and called out to the saleswoman behind the counter “Can I get this ring please?”

Fred turned to face his brother “I just want the most depressing day of the year for her to be one of the happiest, something for her to be happy about, you know?”

The saleswoman took out her wand and unlocked the cabinet, picking up the ring. “the ring size?”

Fred took out his square piece of paper and handed it to her, the lady smiled and tapped the ring with her wand, changing its size. 

All three of them walked back over to the counter, the saleswoman putting it inside a sleek dark blue box. 

“but why is she so against her birthday?” George asked, focusing on the ring box.

Fred focused on the ring box too “because her mother died whilst giving birth to her, Y/N blames herself.”

The saleswoman took the gold from Fred and handed him the ring box, him and George walking out back into the evening cold.

“Do you think she’ll like the ring?” He asked sounding nervous. 

George nodded “she’ll love it, mate.”

Ron took the dish from you, his mouth full of Yorkshire pudding “there’ll be none left by the time they bet back” 

Hermione scowled at him “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Ronald!”

“None of what?” You boyfriend, Fred chimed in, sitting next to you and placing a kiss on your temple. 

George followed behind and sat next to Ginny, flashing his mum an apologetic look, muttering that he would explain later. 

You loved Sunday roast dinners at the burrow, surrounded by the Weasley family, Angelina, Hermione and Harry, all of you one big family - you missed the presence of Bill and Fleur but the new baby meant they had to take advantage of any shut eye they could get. 

Casual talk went across the table, work, work, more work, and you were thankful - at this rate your upcoming birthday would go unnoticed and not mentioned. Unfortunately, a glint of excitement flashed in Molly’s eyes when her focus landed on you. 

“Oh Y/N! How could I forget dear!” she beamed, getting out of her seat, swishing her wand collecting all of the empty plates “your birthday in four days, do you have any plans?” 

Fred and George shared a nervous glance, Fred’s hands now under the table, playing with his fingers. 

Hermione went quiet and flashed you a sympathetic look, she knew how much you hated celebrating your birthday and she felt guilty for not telling Mrs Weasley that you preferred to spend the day alone. 

You shook your head, moving back whilst your plate hovered in the air, flying towards the other pile of plates on the worktop “no” you replied, smiling slightly “just going to stay home and catch up on some reading”

Molly waved her hand and shook her head “that's no way to celebrate your birthday! Ginny and I will bake you something special, won’t we?” 

Molly walked over to her daughter and stood behind her seat, placing her motherly hands on Ginny’s shoulders. Ginny smiled widely and nodded “of course! been wanting to get more practice for ages!” 

You knew if you were to back out now Molly would take it personally, and you didn’t want to hurt her feelings after everything she has done for you since Fred welcomed you into his home five years ago. 

You smiled and looked at Fred, his expression slightly sad with a splash of worry “is that okay with you?” 

Fred nodded and smiled “it’s your special day, darling.” 

You pulled back your quilt and got into bed, pulling the sheets back over your cold legs, Fred leant against the door frame and stared at you for a moment, he walked into the bedroom and got undressed, climbing into bed next to you. 

“I’m sorry love, you know what my mum is like” he murmured through a yawn, spooning you. 

You nodded and dimed the lights “it’s okay Freddie, she doesn’t know”

The two of you were silent for a moment, Fred slowly placing loving kisses on the back of your neck. You remembered the looks he and George were giving each other over dinner, the low muttering and whispers. 

“what were you and George up to?” you asked quietly “you were late to dinner and kept giving each other odd looks.”

Fred didn’t answer, his breath hitched in his throat “uh, we... a trial for one of our new products didn’t go to well” he lied, shuffling slightly.

You knew Fred wasn’t telling the truth, you could always tell when he was lying - but you were too tired to push his buttons and you just wanted the next four days over and done with. 

“okay” you yawned, sinking into the mattress, drowning in Fred’s arms and covers “goodnight Freddie”

“goodnight love”

The morning of your birthday, Fred got up bright and early, the shop hours today were altered so he could be home earlier to support you, but with that he needed to be up and out the house earlier too. 

Fred put on his coat, nearly ready to set off for work, he got out your presents and a special card in a deep blue envelope that matched the colour of the ring box which he hid behind the photo frame of the two of you at the Yule Ball. 

Tiptoeing into your room, admiring you dreaming away, he placed your presents at the end of the bed and left.

Fred couldn’t stop his nerves, between serving customers and stocking the shelves with products he couldn’t help but chew George’s other ear off with his worries. 

“what if Y/N says no?”

George shook his head and rolled his eyes “don’t be a plonker, she isn't going to say no, now get those bloody skiving Snackboxes out!”

Once you were able to roll out of bed, you took a bath and tried to stop the guilt from taking over you, opening your presents you were so touched by the beautiful gifts Fred had got you - feeling very grateful and slightly better than you were expecting. 

As the day went by, like Fred, you felt more and more nervous, your stomach doing flips and your hands shaking like a tree in the wind - you didn’t know how ready you were for a big cake, all the singing, blowing out the candles, and cheering; but you couldn’t back out, not now.

Dragging yourself into your room, you put on your best dress which sparkled different shades of purple in different lights, and you put on your favourite earrings - a present from Freddie for you first year together. 

Hearing a cracking noise, you turned around and gripped your dresser, trying to catch your breath. Fred apparated in front of you with a cheerful expression on his face, he pulled you into a tight embrace.

“you look gorgeous, Y/N.” he kissed your head, pulling away from the embrace. 

Fred was already dressed in his smart suit, he kept turning his head and looking over the the living room. 

“do you hear that?” he asked you, walking out of the bedroom.

You shook your head “no, what is it?” and followed him into the living room.

Fred stood in front of the same picture frame on the wall, staring at the two of you smiling in your best outfits on Christmas Day. 

“you shook see what's behind it, love.”

You looked into Fred’s eyes and knitted your eyebrows together, a rare smirk spreading across your face. “no funny business” you warned him, chuckling slightly. 

Walking over to the picture frame and pulling it out from the wall, the dark blue envelope hiding behind it swiftly fell to the floor, landing on your feet. Bending over and picking it up, your name was written across it in silver. 

You looked at Fred for a moment, he looked back at you with a nervous look on his face. 

“Open it, sweetheart.”

Opening the envelope, you pulled out the letter inside. 

You held the letter close to your heart and blushed, giggling like a little girl.

Fred knew how much you loved his love letters, the two of you used to write back and forth whenever you were apart. 

You pulled the letter away from your heart and started to read:

Dear Y/N,

Words can’t ever explain or describe how much I love you, how much I adore you, what you and your smile does to me and my heart. You are perfect, you are my sunshine on a cloudy day, you’re my liquid luck.

I know this day is never easy for you, but please know it wasn’t and never will be your fault. 

I feel so blessed to have you in my life and I don’t ever want to experience a life without you - I know I’m stupid sometimes with all the pranks and being the hilarious one in the relationship, but you are my everything and you keep me grounded, you make this house feel like a home. 

Please put down the letter and say yes.

- Freddie.

Moving the letter out of your view, your jaw dropped and tears of happiness instantly pricked your eyes and filling them. In front of you, Fred got down on one knee and looked up at you, holding out a beautiful engagement ring, the diamond in the shape of your favourite flower. 

“Miss Y/N Y/L/N, my liquid luck, my everything - will you marry me?”

Putting your hands over your mouth you nodded your head, blinking away the tears “yes! I will Freddie!”

Fred got up, tears in his eyes too and placed the stunning ring on your finger, pulling you into his arms and sharing a long and special kiss. 

Blowing out the candles on your toffee cake, everyone in the burrow cheered, George flashing Fred a huge smile once he saw the ring on your finger. 

Cutting the cake into slices and putting each slice on the duck egg blue plates, you handed Molly her slice of cake, her eyes widening when she spotted the ring. Leaping out of her chair, she pulled you into a tight hug, tears in her eyes matching yours and Fred's. 

“Oh everyone, look!” she gabbed your hand, making you show off the beautiful ring “Fred and Y/N are engaged!” 

Looking into the eyes of your future husband, you smiled and mouthed “best birthday ever”

Taglist: @reeophidian @amourtentiaa @inglourious-imagines

[charlieweasleyxmc]

Christmas

at the

Burrow

She could feel the cold of the stone as she padded across it on bare feet.

“Where are your shoes?” Dora exclaimed as she emerged into the (Y/H) common room.

“What?”

“Charlie,” Dora gawked at her. “He said he was leaving for home an hour ago.”

(Y/N) gaped, sweeping so quickly past the decorations in their dormitory that she sent a floating present spinning in the air across the room. It looked as though some of her roommates that were staying at Hogwarts were already getting their dormitory into the Christmas mood.

She dashed out with her case barely closed and a pair of boots and coat pulled over her pajamas, sprinting for the great hall. She stumbled out into the opening hall a few moments later.

And there, standing with their trucks packed by their sides and their coats on, were five familiar figures with red hair.

The two taller ones, followed by the smaller three, turned towards her.

“(Y/N),” Charlie said smiling, “we were just going to send Fred and George to go get you. The twins grinned, and all of them seemed to catch her disheveled appearance. “You didn’t think we were going to leave without you, did you?”

(Y/N) grinned, feeling very foolish as she felt one of the bottoms of her pajama pants falling out of her snow boot.

“Of course not. This is how I like to travel,” she said with a wink. “Ready to go?”

She leaned down to tuck the corner of her pajama pants back into her boot. Charlie smiled and stepped forward to grab the handle of her trunk with his free hand.

“Just so you know,” he whispered, leaning towards her. “We wouldn’t have left without you.” A smiled grin graced his features and (Y/N) dimly heard Bill requesting them all to come on.

(Y/N) moved past Charlie and they walked to join the others.

“Good to see you, Bill,” (Y/N) smiled up at the familiar twin pair of hazel eyes.

Bill beamed at her; “ready for Christmas at the burrow?”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to answer, catching Charlie’s smile out of the corner of her vision when she was interrupted.

“You better be ready,” Fred said.

“Good luck,” George sang.

“You’re gonna need it,” Fred countered.

Crystalline spheres of ice twinkled past, the light catching off them just right so that they sparkled in (Y/N)’s vision. Traveling by broom wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the middle of December with the first snow falling down. But she was grateful for the tiny muggle heater attached to the broom, shrunken and spelled by Mr. Weasley so that each of the kids would have a warm broom as they flew. She was more than thankful for this as she traveled in her cotton pajama pants and a fingerless pair of gloves. The warm broom beneath her seemed to warm her to her very core.

A shout came from her left and (Y/N) flicked her head around to see one of the twins, Fred or George—she couldn’t tell—picking up speed and racing past the rest of them. He was speeding towards a dark blob in the distance, long vertically, that (Y/N) could not make out through the hazy snow pelting past her face.

Another shout followed the first and the other twin followed behind the first. (Y/N) stayed back with the other three Weasley brothers, Percy on her right, Charlie on her left, and Bill behind them. The building slowly came into view as they came in and eventually, (Y/N) could make out doors and windows when they finally landed in the yard less than a hundred meters away.

Percy hopped off his broom, grabbing it with one hand as he raced after the twins, who had disappeared through the brown wooden door.

(Y/N) lightly slipped off, turning to meet Bill and Charlie as they got off their own brooms and fell into stride beside them. She blinked up as they approached the stone and wooden building, a twisted and lopsided collection of haphazardly stacked pieces that looked as they would have fallen much longer ago than the wood seemed old if not having been held up or put together by some kind of magic.

Bill and Charlie chatted beside her, one of them saying how excited they were for something that their mother was making. They stopped just long enough for Charlie to separate from them to open the plain wooden door.

Bill held out an arm, gesturing for her to enter first.

She did, stepping into the warmth, she hadn’t realized how cold she was from that short walk to the house. Her pants, she realized, were soaked, and the rest of her hadn’t faired much better. But all of it was immediately surrounded by warmth as she took a couple steps into the house, leaving just enough room for Charlie and Bill to enter in behind her. It was a haphazard room, the collection of household items put here and there in no obvious recognition of order. The colors were mostly of warm hues. (Y/N) caught sight of a set of knitting needles clicking away on their own above a cushioned sitting chair and a broom swept past in front of her.

“Where are your brothers?” she heard a woman’s voice call from one of the adjoining rooms, blocked from view.

Excited boys voices chattered and Bill and Charlie moved past her through one of the open doorways. She followed behind them cautiously.

And into a world of heavenly smells.

It was only then that she realized that some of the warmth she had been feeling was from the smells wafting through to the entrance.

Cinnamon. Ginger. Chocolate. Roasted chestnuts. Cranberries. Apples.

They all filled her system and (Y/N) unconsciously lifted her nose up to them as she entered the little kitchen. A woman, her round form partially obstructed by the twins currently hugging her, raised her arms out to the two new arrivals. Charlie, and then Bill, falling into her arms for a quick greeting embrace.

“Dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, one of her hands lingering on Bill’s head, “You’re hair has grown much too long. I need to cut it before tonight.”

Bill shook his head, saying nothing as he moved away, Mrs. Weasley’s vision now unobstructed from what lied beyond them.

“(Y/N)!” Mrs. Weasley beamed, lightly brushing off the twins to step forward and wrap (Y/N) in a similar embrace to her own children. “Oh dear,” she said, her face immediately dropping as she pulled away, “you look absolutely run out. Ron!”

Another ginger head popped through the door.

“Take (Y/N) and her trunk up to Ginny’s room. She needs to change before brunch. All of you do,” Mrs. Weasley said, spying the wet marks that her boys had left on her clothes. She shooed them out the door, causing all of them to hustle towards the stairs, (Y/N) following behind the small ten year old redhead. Charlie waved goodbye to her on one of the landings as Ron led her into a young girl’s room.

The girl in question, her fiery red haired wreathed around her pillow as she lay on her bed, her ankles clicking together in front of her, looked up from the book she had been reading to grin at (Y/N).

“Oh! You’re finally here,” she said jumping up. “Borrow anything you’d like,” she said, sprinting past the boy and (Y/N), out the door and stumbling up the steps outside. Ron gave (Y/N) a shrug before following after the fiery redhead girl.

(Y/N) looked around. A collection of posters lined the walls, mostly quidditch, but she spied a few other posters, including a Weird Sisters poster. The snow drifted outside the glass pane of the window, but the room was completely clothed in warmth, not too much, just enough to be cozy, but not overbearing. It was like a gentle hug in here, with good air flow. (Y/N) grabbed the trunk Ron had left by the door and swung it open, picking out the clothes she wanted to change into.

(Y/N) heard a sound like a griffin moaning as she descended the stairs. The sounds got louder all the way up until she entered the lovely smelling kitchen. Charlie sat in a tall chair, his mother clipping away at his ginger locks, and him making now smaller sounds of protest as they fell to the ground.

Apparently, being unable to get her hands on Bill, Mrs. Weasley had satisfied herself with chopping off Charlie’s shorter set of locks.

(Y/N) put a hand to her mouth, stifling her snort.

“Oh yeah,” Charlie hummed blinking his eyes to her, “laugh it up, find joy in my pain. Please. I don’t mind.”

A snort came out before she could stifle it as she heard Bill laughing beside her before she saw him.

Charlie rolled his eyes at them overdramatically and gave them a good humored pout.

“You gotta hold a stronger line, little brother,” Bill said, “or she’ll walk all over you and shear you every time you come home, leaving you with nothing left.”

“I’ll try that next time,” Charlie said with a good natured sigh as he stared at the ginger strands of hair littering the ground before him.

Holding her next chuckle in behind her hand, (Y/N)’s eyes flicked to the dining room table behind the set of Weasleys, where a small redheaded girl, Ginny presumably, was arguing with Ron about how lazy he was being. The boy in question was sitting in one of the dining room chairs as Ginny was setting the table for brunch.

As if drawn by some sort of spell, (Y/N) felt herself pulled across the kitchen on enchanted feet, stopping only once her tether had landed her at the edge of the rounded table.

There were sausage rolls, their edges just slightly golden brown to indicate their perfectly cooked temperature, still steaming with the warmth coming off of them and the spices beneath. There was pumpkin juice, Yorkshire pudding, and fresh strawberries. How Mrs. Weasley had managed to get fresh strawberries in the middle of winter, (Y/N) had no idea, but the smell coming off of all of it was intoxicating. Indeed, (Y/N) would never tell them, but she did not think even the House Elves could have created this meal. It was not the style of a perfectly professional feast, but a home-cooked meal cooked to a perfection professionals never would be able to reach when not in their own home.

Mrs. Weasley had finished creating her brunch meal and it looked like the delight of (Y/N)’s lifetime.

The cider already felt like it was warming (Y/N) to her core and she hadn’t even drunken any yet.

“Tuck in, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, finishing off her sheering of Charlie’s head from the kitchen area. “We don’t stand on ceremony for morning meals. Too many hungry stomachs and impatient mouths.”

Digging into the meal was like choosing her classes for N.E.W.T. She didn’t know where to go to first. Did she inhale a sausage roll, start with some strawberries, or stick her whole face into the syrup Mrs. Weasley was now bringing over for the Yorkshire pudding.

The others didn’t seem to have any hesitation. With reckless abandon, the Weasley siblings devoured the food before them as though it was something they got every day, and (Y/N) supposed, that between living at the Burrow and the House Elf supplied meals at Hogwarts, it was. It was only after brunch had rolled to an ending, the lot of them stuffed as though they were planning on becoming the Christmas turkey themselves, that (Y/N) felt like she was at home, waddling over to the sofa that Charlie sat on in the sitting room by the back door.

“Don’t get too comfortable boys,” Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen where she was already hard at work preparing the Christmas Eve dinner. (Y/N) glanced back to see a turkey levitating in the air and basting flinging around the room, guided by her wand. “I’ll need you to go pick out a tree and decorate it. Your father and I just simply haven’t had the time. He’s been working extra hours for the ministry.”

Charlie sighed from where he sat on the couch, his hands over his bulging belly.

“Alright, Mom,” Bill called from the sofa across from them. “We’ll head out in a few minutes.”

“And won’t you de-gnome the garden while you’re out there?”

Now it was Bill’s turn to groan.

“Mom! Can I join them?” Ginny called back.

“No, Ginny dear. I need you to decorate the inside of the house while they are de-gnoming and gathering the tree.”

Ginny folded her eyes with a sigh.

They all got there few minutes of rest, (Y/N) getting dangerously close to a nap after the food she had eaten, and the soft, plush couch she was sitting on; she started tilting to the side, sliding ever so slowly towards Charlie’s shoulder beside her, but they were all roused when Mr. Weasley came in, his voice booming.

“I heard you took the heated brooms,” he yelled, “how’d it go?”

“Heated brooms,” Mrs. Weasley said quizzically from the kitchen, “some sort of spell, Arthur?”

“Uh…yeah,” Mr. Weasley blushed as he crossed through the sitting room to the kitchen to greet his wife.

A moment later, he popped his head back out and caught (Y/N)’s eyes, “Oh, and good to see you with us this year, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) blushed as Mr. Weasley popped back out of view.

“Well, I think we better get moving before we all pass out in here,” Bill said, jumping to his feet. “Should we split up the work? Fred, George, Percy, and Ron can go de-gnome the garden while Charlie, (Y/N), and I go pick out a tree?

Ron groaned and Percy looked no more thrilled by the plan than he, but Fred and George were already out the door before anyone could say ‘treacle tart.’

(Y/N) grabbed her jacket, which someone had set on one of the hooks by the door, and pulled on her boots, also by the door. Charlie passed her a knitted wool scarf before they headed outside.

In the hours since they had been at the burrow, the snowflakes in the air and gathered on the ground, leaving a layer of white that they trudged through on their way across the field in front of them, to the small wood at the other end. The trees, lightly layered with snow, were hard to see their shape, but, eventually, Bill used a melting spell on them, the snow turning to water in a matter of seconds on a tree of his choice and sliding off to the ground where it froze back into snow again.

“What about that one?” (Y/N) shuffled away from the large tree the twins were looking at to a slightly crooked tree to their right.

Bill spoke a word, causing the snow to fall off the chosen tree with one sweep of his wand.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“I like it,” Charlie beamed at (Y/N), “let’s take it.”

“Alright,” Bill shrugged, aiming his wand at the tree, “diffindo.”

The trunk split with one clean swipe, the tree tilting and then thumping on the ground, free of its earthly bonds.

Charlie waved his hand to (Y/N), “would you like to do the honors.”

A small smile graced her lips, but she pointed her wand at the tree, sweeping it in an arc and then flicking it, “wingardium leviosa.”

The tree rose up a few feet into the air, hovering horizontally where (Y/N)’s wand guided it. Together, they made their way back to the burrow, their victorious tree collection coming along with them as they crossed back over the fields to the home on the other side.

A few hours later, the tree stood above them in the living room, the collection of ornaments hanging from it teetering softly. Fred and George had “found” an angel for the tree, the likes of which looked suspiciously like a frozen and golden-ed gnome with tied on wings, but (Y/N) didn’t ask any questions, preferring instead to admire the tree.

“Looks great, kids,” Mr. Weasley said, as he left the kitchen to come out into the living room, “but I think it’s missing something, don’t you?”

Percy grinned, and the expression was so unexpected on his face that (Y/N) had no idea what to do with it.

Mr. Weasley smiled as he pointed his wand at the tree, “coruscent lux,” he sang as he waved his wand through the air, the tip of it making great curved arcs as he flicked it before the tree.

And (Y/N) tried not to gawk as tiny sparkling orbs of light started to careen out of the end of his wand, floating to the tree, they settled amongst its branches until every inch seemed to have a glowing orb of light sitting there.

(Y/N) failed her attempt not to gawk and she gaped.

“Well, I suggest you kids go out and get a quidditch game going if you want to. I suspect this will be the only few hours you have free for the rest of the day.”

“I don’t think I want to play.”

“Come on, Perce,” Fred whined at him. “We have even numbers. If you don’t play, someone else will have to sit out.”

Percy sighed, but nodded, smiling slightly.

“That’s settled then,” Charlie said, pointing to the groups of people standing there, a collection of worn brooms in their hands. “Bill is terrible, but Fred and George are good so they’ll be on the same team. Percy we’ll be on my team to even things out, and we’ll take (Y/N) and Ginny. Ron can be on the first team.”

“Get ready, big brother,” Fred said, placing his hands together, “we’ve been training Ron as a keeper during the summers. I bet ten galleons he won’t let any one of your quaffles get past.”

“You can’t bet ten galleons when you don’t have two galleons to rub together,” Bill called back to them from where he had already traveled to halfway across the field they had chosen for the game.

(Y/N) grinned as they all followed him.

Fred and George, who she knew were already beaters on the Gryffindor team despite being only in their second year, were surprisingly adept at being chasers as well, and (Y/N), was actually having a hard time at keeping up with them. Despite being quick on a broom, some of her quidditch skills themselves were somewhat lacking and she found herself grateful that they had Charlie and Ginny on their team, picking up for the slack from herself and Percy.

Ron, it seemed, sometimes was pretty good at blocking a goal, and he managed to block everything she and Percy threw at him, even blocking some of Charlie’s shots. But he never, not once, blocked a shot from Ginny. Still, Ron laughed along with the rest of them when one of Charlie’s shots hit him in the face, giving him a bloody nose.

They took a break then, of course, retiring into the burrow after a couple hours of playing to let Mrs. Weasley repair his broken nose.

When Ron returned to the living room, his long nose back in the shape it was supposed to be in, it was to tell them all that Christmas Eve dinner was ready.

They all filed into the dining room, (Y/N) finding herself, once again, stuffing herself to complete fullness.

She woke slowly, first becoming aware of the gentle sunlight blinking through the window at her and then the warm sheets and blankets surrounding her in a cocoon of warmth. She stayed there for a while, just enjoying the burrito like feeling of safety in the warm bed.

Finally, after long moments of enjoying the cushioning bed, (Y/N) sat up, Ginny’s room smiling down at her.

She had complained about taking the other girl’s room for the time being, but Ginny had insisted and Mrs. Weasley had reminded her that Ginny was easily sharing a bed with Mrs. Weasley while Arthur slept on the couch. (Y/N) felt like it was her that should be sleeping on the sofa, but none of the Weasleys seemed to feel that way.

(Y/N) stretched her arms before scooting off the bed and to her feet, calling accio on her wand so that it flew into her hand. She tucked it into the pocket of her pajama pants before heading out the door and down the rickety stairs on bare feet.

She was not the first to arrive in the main room, the lights of the tree still somehow twinkling at her the day after they were made. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, a pair of ginger heads looked up and she grinned.

“Happy Christmas,” Charlie said, his grin equal to matching hers.

“Happy Christmas,” Bill echoed from where he sat on one of the sofas, with a cup of something hot that steamed.

“Happy Christmas,” (Y/N) couldn’t stop smiling as she made her way over to the sofa Charlie sat on.

“Didn’t realize I was the third one awake,” she said, curling her feet beneath her.

“Fifth,” Bill gestured to the back door. “Fred and George have been up for hours. I sent them outside to wear off some energy playing quidditch.”

“That’s not what they’re doing,” Charlie shifted from where he sat.

“Then what are they doing?” Bill countered.

Charlie shrugged, “all I’m saying is I’ve heard a couple small pops that sound like really tiny explosions.”

Bill looked worriedly at the door and then got to his feet. “I better check on them,” his voice attempting to be casual, but an energy of urgency there.

Charlie turned to (Y/N) as he swept out the door.

“Are you ready for a Weasley Christmas?”

“So ready.”

The chaos began a few minutes later, as first Ginny, then Mrs. Weasley reached the bottom of the stairs. Bill hauled in the twins a few minutes later, right when Percy and Mr. Weasley were coming down the stairs. Something exploded in Fred’s hand and it went shooting off, crashing into the side of Percy’s head. He went down and even after Mr. Weasley helped him up and got him settled on one of the couches, his hair stood sticking up, and (Y/N) could have sworn, was a little bit burnt on one side.

Then there was only Ron, who Fred and George volunteered to go wake up, but after the Percy debacle, Mrs. Weasley was looking at them with a suspicious gaze. In the end, it was Bill who went to collect Ron from his likely deep slumber.

(Y/N) moved to the floor to make room for Bill when he came back, sitting in front of Charlie, just in front of the sparkling tree.

For the first time, she paid attention to the Weasley’s presents, an assortment of strangely shaped packaging, there was a set of string on one that she swore kept moving. On another, the bow hovered less than inch off the present itself, and on yet another present, there was actually green mistletoe growing on it.

(Y/N) tilted away from the gift with the moving string and looked up as Mr. Weasley shot a ball of cider out of his wand.

Charlie caught it in his mouth and they all hurrahed. She could hear Mrs. Weasley sighing from the kitchen, but when she came out a few minutes later, Ginny with the remains of cider that had crashed on her face, she was smiling as she cleaned it up with a wave of her wand.

By that time Bill had hauled Ron down the stairs and they joined the rest of the crowd of Weasleys on the floors and sofas around the room.

Ginny, it seemed, was the resident present deliverer and got up to take presents from the tree and bring them to the recipient.

The first one, from Fred and George, actually exploded in Mr. Weasley’s face, but he was grinning as he reached in and pulled out a spark plug.

“Thank you, boys,” he clapped George on the shoulder from where he could reach him on the floor in front of him. “Best gift this year.”

But Ginny had already handed off two more presents and while Ron was wrestling off the moving string parcel, Mrs. Weasley was listening to the floating bow explaining her present from Percy to her.

Another explosion wracked the house and (Y/N) snapped her head away from Ginny, who was passing Fred a present, to Percy, his face covered in ash.

He didn’t look overly concerned, for Percy, that is, as his mom waved her wand from across the room, wiping it clean so he could reach into the gift box and pull out a tomb, at least a thousand pages wide. He was smiling by the time he thanked Fred and George. Both of which were hanging the bit of growing mistletoe from the wrapped present over the hanging of the back door with the intention of catching their parents under later, (Y/N) guessed by their suspicious expressions.

But (Y/N) was drawn away from their conversation for a moment when Ginny held out a parcel to her.

“…for…me?” her hand was out, but she took the present hesitatingly. Ginny nodded urging her to take it, and she did, drawing her hand back with the present in her grip.

Ginny was already moving back to the tree as (Y/N) ripped the paper slowly aside, revealing a medium sized box, it’s top cut off so that she was already admiring its contents.

She pulled the first object out and it curled up on her hand.

A glowing glass phoenix, its wings folding beneath it as it closed its eyes as if ready to go to sleep right in her palm, but he flicked an eye open just once to glance at her with a glowing stare.

She set him reverently on the floor in front of her and then reached in with another hand, pulling out a sweater that unwrapped itself, unfolding to the floor as she held it up. It had a letter on it, her initial and she set it gently beside the phoenix as she reached in once more and grabbed the last thing out of the box.

A pair of knitted lamb wool socks.

She stretched out of her legs to put them on her bare feet and when she looked up, Mrs. Weasley was watching her.

One of the tears on (Y/N)’s face dropped to the ground.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she said, her voice not at its best.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, “you came to spend Christmas with us, didn’t you?”

Two more of the tears pattered to the ground.

“Happy Christmas, (Y/N),” Mr. Weasley said from where he sat, his spark plug, a package of bertie bott’s every flavor beans, and a new pixie wool hat laid out on his lap.

“Happy Christmas,” she answered, as the rest of the Weasleys continued to dig into their array of assorted gifts.

It turned out ChristmascDay was very similar to Christmas Eve, while many of them spent some alone time for a few hours that day, some using their brand new presents, they all reconvened, even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for a game of quidditch in the afternoon.

Charlie, Percy, Bill, Mr. Weasley, and Ron’s team won, to the surprise of everyone, considering Charlie was about the only decent quidditch player on that team, but Mr. Weasley, it seemed, wasn’t unskilled at maneuvering a broom and Ron was passably good even if Percy and Bill were terrible.

Some of them, due to some nasty falls, hadn’t gotten muddy, so when the game ended, Mrs. Weasley all shooed them inside to wash up. (Y/N) found herself mesmerized by the shower in the bathroom that Ginny, Percy, Bill, and Charlie all shared.

It had no head, instead, when one spoke a word to the wall, it just began raining, warm, fat, tropical raindrops that wiped her clean.

She pattered down the stairs that evening, feeling refreshed, her new pair of socks gracing her feet as it was too warm inside for the sweater. Bill and Mr. Weasley were playing a game of wizard’s chess as those who weren’t helping Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen waited for dinner, (Y/N)’s glass phoenix flitting around them.

When Mrs. Weasley called to them, (Y/N) was the first to come.

And heaven reached her eyes and nose.

Potatoes, that was the first thing she saw, directly followed by yams and all other kinds of side delights. A warm glass of butterbeer was graced next to every plate and to top it all off, a giant beef pot roast in the center of it all.

Her mouth was already watering.

It turned out that after the meal, the family spent their time in the family room together, playing games and listening to Celestina Warbeck on the enchanted radio in the corner. (Y/N) watched her phoenix lazily fly around the room. She almost fell asleep on that comfortable couch a few times and it seemed she wasn’t the only one crossing into the realm of sleep when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had to carefully carry up their two slumbering youngests to their beds.

(Y/N) got up from her couch then, crossing to the back door and pushed it open gently to let the cold air wake her up.

It reached her face almost immediately, a frosty air cooling her and causing her to open her eyes all the way. She could hear footsteps behind her and turned slightly to see Charlie in her peripheral vision.

They watched as the new snowfall fell gracefully to the ground, turning the world around the burrow white.

“Hey, you two,” Fred called from his place on the ground beside George, eating sweets on the floor. “Look up.”

(Y/N) glanced up, expecting a pack of snow to come sliding off from the house and land on her head, but it was just the bit of greenery and white berries, the mistletoe that had been growing on the present and that Fred and George had hung on the door hanging earlier this morning.

“Think there’s a bowtruckle living inside?” Charlie whispered and she laughed, finding that his returning laugh sent a spark of delight through her.

“May I have this kiss, (Y/N) (Y/LN),” he asked, his eyes warm, the eyes of a thunderbird.

“You may,” she whispered.

The Weasley siblings cheered them as their lips met, flecks of snow joining their kiss.

[leicamoments]

Kodak Brownie Flash II

I promised you the results of shooting with the Kodak Brownie...so, being good to my word, here goes!

Background

I bought this camera in a shop in Helmsley, North Yorkshire a few years ago...more as a curio than something I was going to use...and it has sat in my camera display cabinet since then.

Every so often, I would get it out and try and work out how I could use it; ranging from buying 620 film to putting a digital camera inside (maybe using one of the Raspberry Pi computers I have hanging around).

Eventually, I decided to get some 3d printed adapters for 35mm film and try that out.

How Do I?

So having got the 35mm to 620 adapters, it was a question of how do I shoot with the camera.

Instead of putting a few long paragraphs of description, I'll summarise for your sanity: -

I worked out that it took six half turns of the film advance knob to get onto the next frame.

I needed to tape the film leader to the 620 film take-on spool, otherwise it wouldn't wind the film on successfully (most of the time the film leader slipped off the spool).

I needed 100 ISO film to match the sort of film speed this camera was initially intended to shoot with.

The shutter speed is around 1/50th second with a fixed F11-ish aperture.

Recommended shooting time is between an hour after sun-up and an hour before sun-down.

Bright scenes are best.

Issues

Summarising: -

Framing is almost impossible...it is a guessing game!

Winding the 35mm film on is a disconcerting experience. The feedback from the camera is, quite frankly, rubbish.

Knowing when the film is finished is tough...a few times, I thought I had exposed the film to the end of roll but could sort of wind it on more.

I was worried about snapping the film out of the canister when I got near the end of the 36 exposure roll.

You need to open the camera to release the film winding mechanism and rewind the film into the canister. The winder doesn't go 'backwards'.

Sitting on a hot summer's day in the shade on a wall, with your hands under a coat and inside a bag...quite frankly draws attention! It looks weird and gets you looks (I had someone approach me and ask if I was alright!).

You will get fingermarks and light leaks onto the film as you rewind if you don't use a light-proof film bag.

Results

This image is straight out of the camera...apart from scanning and inverting the scan.

So...points to note:

Framing is an issue!

You get around eight panoramic frames to a 36 exposure 35mm film.

The winding of the film introduces movement and the film can become skewed a little, so it is almost impossible to keep the horizon straight!

The light leak on this frame is not from the camera, but from my improvised under-the-coat unloading process.

With this effectively being a fixed exposure 'point and shoot', the image is slightly overexposed - it was a very bright day.

Sharpness for this approximately 65 year-old, fixed focus camera is surprisingly good.

The scan for this frame is around 20,000x6000 pixels. That's a 120 megapixel image.

Colour rendition from the lens is...well...interesting.

Conclusions

Would I shoot with this camera again? The short answer is yes...but taking into account the issues above, I would ensure I tried to mitigate the errors I made.

The downside is framing and I am unsure how that could be improved rather than be just a best guess.

If you have any questions, please get in touch!

[malereader-inserts]

broken crown | ix.

“Limestone pavement,” You responded, letting go of Harry’s hand, “Dad used to take me here, day out to hike about really. It was a way to get out of the house, we lived an hour and so away. We moved away in the Christmas break of the fourth year.”

Word Count:  1,899

< Previous | Next >

Harry held on your hand tightly as you had the locket around your neck.

There was tension between the three of you after Ron had left. Harry had reflected on Ron’s word, a bit of guilt had built in him when Ron felt left out so Harry was clinging on to you - making sure you were well, his affection had increased and you wondered if it made him any less stress.

The three of you walked to an unknown destination, there wasn’t much talking. After a while, the three of you thought you were away from the original location and decided to apparate to Yorkshire.

“Why here?” Harry asked, looking at the stones.

“Limestone pavement,” You responded, letting go of Harry’s hand, “Dad used to take me here, day out to hike about really. It was a way to get out of the house, we lived an hour and so away. We moved away in the Christmas break of the fourth year.”

“I’ll set up the tent,” Hermione speaks as Harry nodded, saying that he would get enchantments up.

The air had become colder, winter had definitely settled in, though you weren’t sure what month you were in or what date it was. Harry looked over to your way, seeing you sat down at one of the rocks, snapping fire on your fingertips - he smiled to himself, remembering in the third year when you were struggling to do so, but now it was natural to you. He watches how the small little flame bounce to each finger.

Harry could tell you were preoccupied, ever since Ron has left, you were just quite, reading Merlin’s notebook and whenever you were on guard for the night sometimes Harry could hear you mumble something and the swish of your wand. He could tell that even now you were just practising your magic, Hermione checks up on you that since you had a lot of free time, the progress had increased immensely and hoped by the Easter break, you’ve grown into the power rather than allow it to control you.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry gathered Hermione’s attention, “Does (Y/n) seem off to you?”

Hermione looks at you, sitting about, flipping open the compass that Dumbledore had given to you. She looked back to Harry, tilting her head noticed the worried look upon Harry’s eyes.

“The locket affected Ron the most, perhaps it affects (Y/n) differently?” Hermione suggested, shrugging her shoulders, “He’s just concern about his dad, remember they didn’t have the best send off. Not to mention, he’s getting annoyed with any mention of Merlin recently.”

Harry had noted that; Harry moved away from Hermione to sit by you. You allowed the wind to extinguished as you looked at him. Silently, Harry takes the locket off you, you had been wearing it for hours. As he holds the locket he looks at you.

“Feeling better?” 

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?” 

“Not right now.”

“Godric’s Hallow...?” You tilted your head, standing in the middle of the tent, lost on what Harry and Hermione were talking about.

“Harry wants to visit, and I think we should also,” Hermione sighs, “It was only a matter of time and I think the sword would be there.”

The two of them looked at you as if they were looking for your seal of approval. Whilst they judge each other’s opinion, your judgement was far for valuable, they think you have a sense of the way to Horcruxes. You sighed and nodded.

“You know, you should stop putting all the final decision on me,” You mumbled, pulling on your coat.

“Well, you’re-”

“Harry,” You cut him short, knowing what his reasoning would be, “I’m not omniscient, I’m not God, I don’t know all, unlike Dumbledore, who I’m convince is more of a God than I am.”

“You might as well be,” Harry says, patting you on the shoulder with a smile, “You and your nonsense wisdom and power.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Hermione! Harry’s bullying me!”

“Boys,” She said sternly before cracking a smile, “Honestly, you two are children!”

The pair of you looked at each other before looking at Hermione, who shakes her head and starts telling you to pack up as the three of your prepare to visit. The three had apparated there, Harry gripping your hand for reassurance.

“I still think we should've used Polyjuice Potion,” Hermione mumbled, clinging on to Harry’s arm.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, refusing with a stern voice, “This is where I was born. I'm not returning as someone else.”

“Fair enough,” You mumbled, shivering.

You really despite the snow and the colder season. Though, having endured winter at Hogwarts, up in Scotland where it regularly snows you just got used to it. The three of you walked down the snowy road, seeing a Church come up to your right, the lights were on.

“Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve,” You mumbled, looking over to the church, “Guys, listen.”

The three of you could hear Christmas carols being sung within the church for the midnight mass.

“Do you think they'd be in there?” Harry asked out of the blue, his eyes trained in the graveyard, “My mum and dad?”

“Yeah, I think they would,” Hermione answers softly,

The three of you enter the graveyard as Harry separates himself to search the headstone. You looked at Hermione who takes one side of the graveyard as you did as well. You looked at all the headstones, nothing striking out to you as you lifted your head. The cold hitting your face as you noticed that Harry had stopped in front of a grave.

You had moved to stand by his side, you kneel as Hermione arrives, the pair watching you pull out your hand and held it in front of the grave. The two watch you wordlessly and wandlessly produce a wreath of flowers for them. You stand up as you softly grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” He spoke

“Merry Christmas,” Hermione and you had spoken in unison.

You really did wonder how this world would turn out to be if one or both had survived Voldemort. Everything would have been different, you would have another uncle and an aunt. Harry would have truly grown up to be your brother or some sort. You would be childhood best friends as if the reality hadn’t conveyed that. 

“Harry, there's someone watching us. By the church,” Hermione says, looking over to the person’s direction. You looked over as well as Harry. “I think I know who that is.”

“I don't like this, Harry,” Hermione expressed her nervousness as you felt a funny feeling with this person.

You tilted your head to the side as you felt Harry let go of your hand. You looked at him in confusion.

“Hermione, she knew Dumbledore. She might have the sword.”

As Harry marches towards the gate, the woman had continued to walk as you and Hermione followed. Harry stop short noticing something, before looking up to see a house, broken beyond repair. You breathed out to see the ruins of the house that started it all.

“This is where they died. This is where he murdered them,” Harry spoke as Hermione came to your side, gripping your arm.

“Harry,” You mumbled as you noticed the woman was back, this time next to you, wordlessly staring at Harry.

Harry looked at you before noticing the woman, “You're Bathilda, aren't you?”

She uttered no words as the three of you follow her into her home. You let out a shaky breath as you looked at Hermione, gripping her hand as she grips your arm. You and her were feeling uneasy about this whole situation. As you enter her house, you looked at the dark room. 

You looked at Hermione, who was calling out to Harry, who followed Bathilda up the stairs, “I don’t feel too great about this, Hermione.”

“Nor do I,” She whispered.

Moving along the house, Hermione ventures out as you stay put, hoping Harry would come down soon. Then, you heard a thud, without thinking you raced upstairs to see a snake and Harry. You tried to grab Harry’s hand but the two of you fall back into the wall, crashing into a baby’s room.

Harry was pressed against the wall with you in between. You were struggling to get your wand out of your boot as Harry threw a book at the head, attempting to get behind you. As Nagini attacks, instead of getting Harry, its teeth latched onto your neck.

“Argh!” 

Harry’s eyes widen as you kicked the snake, it’s long fangs dragging down before detaching. Harry grabs you from under our arms as your left hand flies to your neck, feeling blood dribble out, helping you back out. As Nagini strikes again, Hermione had successfully got upstairs and cast Nagini down. The three of you taking shelter behind the bed in the main room. 

Hermione grabs Harry’s wand, which fell out of his back pocket. The three of you waited to see if the snake was to return. It did. 

Hermione exclaimed, “Confringo!”

As the fire was produced to hit back the snake, Hermione grabs a hold of Harry who was gripping you tightly. Hermione apparated you three to a forest, but by that time you had passed out. Harry, ignoring the scenery, was looking down at you. 

“Harry, set up the tent,” Hermione says softly, “I’ll sort (Y/n) out.”

“He-” Harry hiccuped, not realising he was going to get choked up with his tears because he was worried for you, “he didn’t use magic, he knows he can do magic without a wand so why didn’t he-?”

“I think he was more caught up in protecting you, Harry.”

Hermione throws him her bag as she looks down at you, applying the same potion that she had applied to Ron months ago. Watching how the wound had closed up.

“It’s going to scar but at least he’ll be fine for now.”

Hermione got up and started to make enchantments as Harry found the tent and started to set it up, every so often he would look over to you. He adored Hermione and Ron as his best friends, but you were someone different. You were his first friend, his childhood best friend.

The boy down the road who was deathly sick all the time. The boy with (e/c) eyes and wanted to play pirates with him. 

“He’ll be okay, Harry,” Hermione softly reassures him, finishing with the enchantments.

“You know, Hermione,” Harry hums as he moves to you, helping your unconscious state sit up, “What would happen to us after this? He’s going to do brilliant, magnificent things, what if he doesn’t need me anymore?”

Hermione tilted her head, helping Harry carry you into the tent. Lying you down in one of the beds as she looks at Harry with a soft gaze.

“I have seen how much he needs you, how much you need him. You’re like two sides to the same coin,” Hermione places a delicate hand on his shoulder, “You two are strangely bonded, whether it be duel mates, soul mates or whatever. You two need each other. It’s a fact.”

“But-”

“Harry, give me the locket, I’ll keep guard outside, you stay with him. Make sure he doesn’t get any worst.”

Tagged

@carefulthatsharassment-sir​​ @lanlanlan020202​ @hanniejji​ @dumbssbtch​ @lea-the-foxe​ @stan-joonies​ @littertortilla @purpleshusbandd​

[aion-rsa]

Graves of Fictional Characters You Can (Or Could Once) Visit

https://ift.tt/3EpRwdf

Warning: contains spoilers for The Deathly Hallows, One Piece, Game of Thrones, Torchwood, Breaking Bad, Marvel’s Spider-Man (PS4) and House of Cards.

As messages to the public go, the one taped to the door of the Church of St Mary the Virgin, next door to Whitby Abbey in the UK, is polite but conveys a muffled sense of exasperation: “Please do not ask staff where Dracula’s grave is as there isn’t one. Thank you.” In August, writer Kevin Meagher posted his widely shared photo of the sign on Twitter, from where it was picked up by local and national press. What kind of idiots think Dracula has an actual grave, was the general response. Don’t these people understand what a fictional character is?

Perhaps the Dracula grave-hunters are idiots, or perhaps not. Maybe they just know about the many real-world burial sites of book, film and TV characters to which fans can come and pay their respects…

Dobby the Elf – Harry Potter

Along the beautiful Pembrokeshire coastline in Wales is surfing beach Freshwater West, where the Shell Cottage scenes were filmed for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt 1.That’s the site Harry dug the grave of Dobby the Elf, who was killed after jumping in front of a knife Bellatrix Lestrange intended for Potter. In the film, the grave was marked by a simple stone inscribed with the words “Here lies Dobby, a free elf”. In the decade since that film was released, fan Kaiya Nazer has maintained an unofficial tribute on the site in the form of a stone bearing those very words. It’s been regularly visited, sometimes stolen but always replaced, ever since.

Ebenezer Scrooge – A Christmas Carol

Scenes filmed for Clive Donner’s 1984  A Christmas Carol adaptation in St. Chad’s Church in Shrewsbury left a memento that stands to this day. Fans of the Dickens morality tale will be familiar with the moment in the story in which the miserly Ebenezer Scrooge (played in the Donner film by George C. Scott) is confronted with a vision of his own grave. A headstone inscribed with Scrooge’s name was left behind in the churchyard after filming and is still visible halfway along the path, overlooking the quarry.

Walter White – Breaking Bad

Up until July 2021 when the memorial was removed, Breaking Bad fans could make a pilgrimage to Vernon’s Steakhouse, Albuquerque, New Mexico to say a few words for local boy Walter White. The headstone was originally placed in the city’s Sunset Memorial Park Cemetery following an extravagant mock funeral arranged by fans, but complaints from those with real loved ones buried at the site led to it being moved to a strip mall on the edge of town, and affixed to the wall of a fan-owned steakhouse. The stone featured an extract from Percy Bysshe Shelly’s poem ‘Ozymandias’, the title of Breaking Bad’s penultimate episode.

Robin Hood

The idea of paying tribute to fictional characters with gravestones isn’t a new one; this monument and inscription to folkloric hero Robin Hood date back centuries. The ‘grave’ is in private woodlands in the grounds of Kirklees Priory in Calderdale, West Yorkshire, where it’s told that Robin Hood spent his last days before firing an arrow to mark the place he should be buried. It may be historically spurious, but it’s a local landmark considered real enough to have made its way onto the official Ordnance Survey Map.

Whitebeard and Portgas D. Ace – One Piece

Introduced to Universal Studios Japan in Osaka as part of its annual One Piece Premier Show – a celebration of all things Straw Hat Pirates from the huge manga series that spawned a enormous franchise – were two monumental graves. One featured the iconic white coat of Edward Newgate aka Whitebeard, the Strongest Man in the World, and the other the distinctive hat, goggles and weapon of Ace, adopted brother of Monkey D. Luffy. Unfortunately for fans, the grave tributes were seasonal, but the yearly celebration event remains.

Various – Game of Thrones

In April 2019, Australian channel Foxtel pulled off a magnificent campaign to mark the arrival of Game of Thrones’ final season. For three days, fans could pay their respects to some favourite departed characters by visiting their graves, an expert collaboration by DDB Sydney, Revolver/Will O. Rourke and The Glue Society. The 2000 square metre cemetery was located outside Foxtel’s Maquarie Park in New South Wales, and featured Stark, Baratheon and Tyrell family mausoleums, along with specially personalised graves for Tywin Lannister (embedded with a crossbow arrow) and – sob! – Hodor, whose hands are shown holding the door, and many more.

Read more

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Ianto Jones – Torchwood

It’s fair to say that Torchwood fans struggled to get over the death of Ianto ‘Coffee Boy’ Jones in 2009’s Children of Earth. That grief found expression in multiple ways, from campaigns to bring the character back, to fan fiction, social media tribute accounts, and this: Ianto’s shrine on Mermaid Quay, Cardiff Bay. For years, devotees have visited the site and left their own messages to Jack’s lover, who was taken far too soon.

Frank Underwood – House of Cards

In late 2018, Netflix launched the sixth and final season of political thriller House of Cards with a teaser announcing the death of Kevin Spacey’s character Frank Underwood. Spacey had been written off the show following multiple allegations of sexual assault that came to light between the making of seasons five and six. The streaming network followed up the teasers with a prop gravestone for Underwood located in Oakland Cemetery next to the grave of his father Calvin Underwood in the character’s hometown of Gaffney, South Carolina. Wonder if anybody ‘watered’ Frank’s grave like he did his father’s, eh?

Uncle Ben and Aunt May – Marvel’s Spider-Man

Okay, strictly a virtual rather than real-world location, but it’s a cool Easter Egg all the same. Marvel’s Spider-Man on the PlayStation 4 has a side quest in which you can visit the Harlem cemetery in which Ben and May Parker, uncle and aunt of Peter, are buried. May’s simple headstone is inscribed “When you help someone, you help everyone,” and Ben’s reads “Beloved husband and uncle.” Pay your respects to unlock the ‘With great power…’ trophy. While we’re on the subject of videogame graves, Assassin’s Creed Valhalla similarly has a side mission to discover the final resting place of Ragnar Lothbrok, which leads to some loot.

Adrian Balboa and Paul Pennino – Rocky

Featured as part of tours of Laurel Hill Cemetery in Philadelphia are the headstones of Adrian Balboa and her brother Paulie, as featured in 2006’s Rocky Balboa and revisited in 2015’s Creed. The cemetery was the filming location for Adrian’s interment in the earlier film, and the prop headstones remain and are still available to visit near the front gate.

Real people’s graves mistaken as fictional by fans

Sometimes, grave tourists are so keen to pay tribute to beloved fictional characters that they impinge on the resting places of real people who’ve passed away and appear to fit the bill, including:

The Fraser Clan stone on the site of the bloody Culloden Battlefield is regularly visited by Outlander fans looking to pay tribute. Not everybody’s happy about that.

In Edinburgh’s Greyfriars Kirkyard, Harry Potter fans visit the gravestones JK Rowling used as inspiration for multiple character names, including McGonagall and Tom Riddle. The same apparently goes for a real-life Harry Potter who’s buried in Israel.

There’s a Frederick W. Krueger buried in Memorial Park Cemetery, Alpena County, Michigan who is mistakenly visited by fans of the Nightmare on Elm Street character.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

In Fairview Lawn Cemetery in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Titanic fans come to pay their respects to a J. Dawson who died on the 15th of April 1912, the day the Titanic sank.

The post Graves of Fictional Characters You Can (Or Could Once) Visit appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3GtD0Tq

[undertaker1827]

Can I request an imagine for Undertaker? Reader is his apprentice. (Mortuary not reaper apprentice) and her school is offering her a different funeral home for her career which upsets Undertaker. But reader tells him that she already turned down the offer because she likes London and. "Why would I leave the only man I've ever loved?""

Oh wow I loved writing this one!! Be warned; I went absolutely overboard, it’s probably far more dramatic than you were looking for and we’ve hit the 2000 word mark!! Whoo hoo! Also, there’s angst in the middle, but much fluff either side. Enjoy!

-

It was bright and early in the morning when you arrived at your place of work - well, place of apprenticeship at least. It was not the first choice most people went for, you supposed, when choosing a career, but you had always had your sights set on entering the funeral business. You found there to be something peaceful and somehow satisfying in organising a person’s final celebration. You also had something of a weird sense of humour, which was no doubt the main reason for getting on so well with a certain funeral director. It must have been coincidence that your apprenticeship led you to one particular, peculiar little parlour, or perhaps an unusually kind turn of fate.

You entered the shop without once trying to check for your keys, knowing the door was almost always open. A grin made its way onto your face in preparation for greeting the shop’s owner, your technically-boss whom you had grown incredibly fond over across the span of the past few months. You glanced around the front room, eyes much happier in the darkness compared to the bright sunlight failing to beam through the dusty window on the door. When a characteristic creaking of hinges scratched past your ears, you turned to the coffin propped up against the wall on your immediate left, only to be greeted by a flying bear hug. Something you had learned about the mortician fairly early on in this apprenticeship was his entire lack of comprehensibility with regards to personal space. It was simply not something he payed any mind to. Luckily for you, it was never something you were overly concerned about either.

The breath left your lungs in a graceless huff as you were crushed against Undertaker, who was utterly thrilled at your scheduled appearance. You could practically feel the excitement radiating off him. Laughing, you wrapped your arms around him in return, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

“Good mornin’, m’lady,” he started in a singsong tone, “and what is it I can help you with today?” You chuckled even more at his hilarious antics. It had been like this for a while now, ever since Undertaker had acclimatised to your presence and come to realise how much you both had in common. You were not much different, having been delighted upon realising your similarities and confusion towards people who considered themselves ‘normal’. Anyone out of the ordinary was always a far more interesting character. You treasured the moments you got to spend with the mortician, so much so that you had approached him around a month ago to ask if you could start coming in on weekends as well, even though the apprenticeship only required weekdays. To say he was ecstatic after that request would be the understatement of the century.

“You know, some tea and a biscuit or two really wouldn’t go amiss,” you confessed in a stage whisper, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye as though checking there was no one else to hear your request.

“My dear, I couldn’t agree more. I just finished a fresh batch.” With that, he whisked you away through the door leading to the kitchen. That was something else you loved about being with Undertaker - he very rarely called you by your actual name. It was always ‘my dear’, or ‘my lady’ when he was messing about. He had begun to adopt ‘love’ more recently too. Even thinking about it brought a warmth to your chest, made your heart swell. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were the only one he called by such names. You already spent most of your time at the funeral parlour; the only visitors he seemed to get outside of blurry-eyed customers was a young earl and his butler, although you got the impression that he was not overly fond of you being around at the same time as they were. It occurred to you, not for the first time, that craving physical contact as he did was probably due to loneliness, at least in part. Not that he would ever admit feeling something so sad to you.

-

Undertaker had heard about it before even you did. Your school wanted to move you on to a different funeral home. You would get more experience, travel to different places, meet new people. Ultimately, it would make it easier for you when you started working full time at a funeral home, or eventually when you set up your own. He understood all of that perfectly.

It made no difference.

He thought about you working where they had suggested, a quaint place up in Yorkshire - all pink flowers and seaside communities. Nothing at all like the eccentric, dark place he ran. No mystery, no interesting past - not that he could think of, at least. And most importantly, nowhere near London. Of course, London came with its own set of problems; you were far more likely to get attacked here, mugged or the like, than in the North. But here, he was present to make sure that nothing happened to you. He was more than capable of doing so when you lived in the same city and you spent most of your time with him anyway. This was something that would not be possible if you left. And, frankly, why would you stay? What reason would have? Him? Please. As if you were some fairy tale princess choosing to stay with your prince over your own future. It just wouldn’t happen.

As such, he consigned himself to the fact. He went and baked a collection of biscuits to see you off with - after all, they had said you would have to leave immediately should you so choose, lest someone else take the spot reserved for you only within a time limit. Schedules and reports and formalities that Undertaker would never subject himself to again. You probably liked organisation.

He had not even tried to sleep after some self-righteous receptionist had rudely delivered the news that you would be leaving, with absolute certainty, even though it was not her choice to make. “I have been to your parlour before, to check it was a suitable place for a young apprentice. The rafters were still relatively stable, I suppose, but why on Earth she picked a place like yours to begin with…” Even over the phone, he could hear her frail, blossom adorned façade shudder in disgust. “I am sure I would never know.” He was now doubting himself, certain that whatever he thought you felt towards him, no matter how platonic, was just a figment of his isolated mind. Why would you pick him? Why would you? Why would you.

Therefore, he had obstinately decided to spend the night baking, so at the very least he would have a parting gift for you. You were supposed to have arrived five minutes ago.

-

“Half an hour! That wretched woman has made me half an hour late! Who does she think she is, trying to order me about over something that couldn’t be less to do with her!” She was not so much as in the department who organised the category into which your apprenticeship fell, she was just a general coordinator of venues!

Livid with your treatment, flustered by your late arrival and absolutely wound to the hilt, you made the fifteen minute walk to Undertaker’s in five. The door flew open as you burst through, loudly proclaiming your apologies through the haze of red that women had left on your vision, only to stop abruptly. The door creaked on its hinges, slamming shut with a sense of dreadful finality you didn’t think it was capable of.

“Undertaker?” Your voice came out quiet, confused, as you took in what was going on. He sitting. Sitting down properly, in the ordinary wooden chair behind his heavy oakwood desk. His elbows rested on the tabletop, fingers laced and chin hovering just above them. His hat was discarded on the floor beside him, a single, covered basket atop the desk. He was not smiling.

Now downright concerned, you frowned, dropping your coat unceremoniously across a coffin and quickly striding across the room, coming to a halt in front of the desk and resting your weight on your palms, on the opposite side to him. Your tone had taken on a stern quality now, having been given the distinct impression you would have to push him to gain any information at all.

“Undertaker, what’s wrong?” It couldn’t really have been called a question.

The mortician gestured a vague hand in the direction of the basket.

“They’re for you.” No greeting, no name, no amusement. It was like he had gone into clinical detachment for the sake of dealing with an inconsolable customer for the sake of not starting to cry along with them. Of course you knew what the basket was made up of, you would recognise the smell of those biscuits anywhere. You ignored them. Leaning fully across his desk, you gently grabbed Undertaker’s wrists, refusing to just leave it.

“What’s. Wrong?” He said nothing for a long while, then stood so abruptly that your hands were pulled from his wrists and you fell forwards slightly onto your forearms. When you looked up, the mortician had already shot away from where you were standing, making a fuss about the rows of suspect jars lining his shelves and blabbering on about understanding your choice, and wishing you luck … for the future?

With a sudden gasp of clarity, everything made sense. He thought you had taken up the offer. If he had spoken to the same woman as you had, she probably told him you were leaving. Hell, she had told you the same thing. Now, not only had she angered you, she had upset the most upbeat-in-his-own-way man you had ever met? Oh, no. You were not having that. Whipping around, you stormed to the other side of the room in seconds, grabbing the mortician by his shoulders and forcefully turning him to face you. You had pressed yourself against him in the next breath, one hand between his defined shoulder blades and the other against the curve of his lower back, pulling him ever closer to you. In shock, you supposed, he held his arms aloft above your head, as if he didn’t know what to do. As if you hadn’t done this thousands of times before. Your eyes squeezed shut as every muscle in your body tensed, refusing to let him go.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured with a conviction he had never heard from you before. “Do you hear me? I’m staying. Whether you like it or not.” A short, sharp intake of breath on his part was your only reply. “I like it here. I like London. I like your shop. And most importantly…” You leaned back at this point, only far enough to be able to see his face. You swallowed, suddenly unsure of how he would react to this. It was too late now, you reasoned, you were already committed. The hand you had pressed between his shoulder blades quickly moved to his face, pushing back through his bangs and finally revealing his eyes. It was your turn to breath in sharply; the intensity of his burning chartreuse gaze immediately spearing straight through you was not something you had been expecting. Somehow though, you kept your train of thought.

“Why would I leave the only man I’ve ever loved?”

No sooner were the words out than he had moved. One arm glided around your waist, the other bracing your shoulders and fingertips gently touching over the soft hair at the base of your skull as his pale, soft lips carefully met yours. You had never seen him be so gentle, it hadn’t even occurred to you that he could be. Your chin tilted up immediately to meet his kiss, the hand entwined with his bangs returning to his back. He pulled away slowly, leaving you a panting, flustered mess in his arms. You never once broke eye contact. You could barely make out his words for how focused you were on his voice. Deep, soft, nothing like the jarring lilt he usually spoke with.

“I love you too.”

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Into the Unknown (The Big, Big Bang; Part 1.)

Series summary: Sometimes, you might feel lonely in the entirety of the universe; of all of the stars, planets and constellations... Until it comes. The big bang that turns the world upside down, the reason why all the stars collide and why you, in the first place, are alive.

Part summary: Remus wasn’t as social as you’d maybe assume when you’d got to know him. Yet althrough his personal struggles, for some reason, Dumbledore had chosen him as his new DADA teacher.

A/N: Okay, this is more or less the first, informative, get-into-the-story chapter and there’s not much happening at the moment. I swear, we will pump it up, just give it at least two parts. 

Word count: 2.3 K

Tagging: @notaliteraltoad​

Series playlist: H E R E

Series masterlist: H E R E 

If you'd ever put a piece of parchment, inkwell and a goose quill and asked Remus John Lupin do describe himself with a few sentences, the parchment would be empty for a few minutes before he'd settle on one small word: a loner. He was alone for quite a time, he wasn't too attracted by the idea of a human accompany; after everything that happened with Sirius, James and Peter, he wasn't quite sure if he would be able to connect with a someone new at the time of speaking. The second word he'd most probably used would be ill - then, he would cross the word and write 'seriously ill' instead.

There wasn't a lot of people who knew what Lupin was going through or what kind of illness he was diagnosed with thanks to hiding away at the edge of every thinkable society; his bad state was visible just from looking at him. His skin was dry and almost transparent almost all the time and when his illness was getting the best of him, he even appeared lightly green. His hair was slowly thinning out as he grew older, but it still wasn't as bad as it could be. The only thing that remained the same over the last few decades were his eyes.

The last sentence he would write would most likely say 'down to earth'. It was a rather generous name for not having much money, always looking shabby and, as some wizards or witches would say, second-like hand. Not that Lupin would be proud of what he was looking like, but there weren't many things he could with it - wizards with his sort of 'illness' rarely got a good job proposition if they ever ended up having one.

For everything that was stated above and far more, it was a miracle when he got approached with a job offers from one of the most well-respected, smartest and brilliant wizard of all time, Album Dumbledore himself. The old man found him hidden away in Yorkshire, living in one tumbledown, semi-derelict cottage at the line of poverty itself. Remus felt like he didn't have the right to complain; he was a damn werewolf. And thanks to the small reminder spoiling his whole face, everyone who could order him something to do for a living knew about this aspect of his life way sooner than Remus would've liked them to.

The night Dumbledore had walked into his humble home, he barely got one shirt that held together without patches; most of his clothes was patched up already - all of his trousers and coats surely. At first, he vehemently dismissed Dumbledore's wish for Lupin working at his school as a DADA teacher. What Dumbledore was suggesting was pure madness. Remus always thought he's a calm and tolerable man - yet when Albus told him everything that he was asking of him, Remus almost lost it.

Yes, of course - there were the mad werewolves like Fenrir Greyback who hunt children down just for sport and making sure that more and more people would be carrying this sick curse. Lupin hated these sons of bitches the most. He himself was one of their victims in the end. And Albus Dumbledore, the most brilliant man Lupin had ever met, one of the few that Lupin had real respect for was asking him to be a teacher at the biggest wizarding school in all of England, Ireland and Scotland? No. That was an offer that couldn't be accepted, that was pure madness. He would never willingly get near such a cluster of young people who were full of dreams and had their lives ahead of themselves. What would happen if he would lose control? How many people would get hurt because of one slip? Did Dumbledore realize how many things he was betting by asking Remus such thing?

But to Remus' surprise, Albus smiled dismissively and stood up from his half-broken-down sofa. With a serious face, Dumbledore had told him that now, he had a professor who could brew the perfect Wolfsbane potion every month and according to Albus, this said the professor was a potions master and genius. However, if Lupin wouldn't trust himself as much to spend the night of wolfing out inside the Forbidden Forest, there still was the Shrieking shack, just like Remus used to remember it. As a small topic for consideration, Albus left there a small bag with thirty Galleons laying on the coffee table, so Lupin could at least buy himself the most basic needs - whether he would take the job offer or not, the money was his to use, to keep or to give to someone else.

After that, Albus left the cottage. He knew what he was doing and what Remus is capable of. When Albus was leaving, he was smiling and humming a jolly song; he knew very well that he's leaving Remus with his thoughts alone and he knew very well that this lycanthropic wizard had one of the biggest potentials for teaching Albus had ever encountered.

Everything got sealed on one dark August night. It was mostly the idea of him and Black meeting that made Remus send an express letter to Hogwarts. Sirius Black, the insane wizard that had murdered twelve muggles and his very own best friend, had escaped from Azkaban. Anyone could tell how he had done it, anyone knew where he was and what was he planning to do. Yet Remus had the feeling he should be counting on Sirius visiting him; in the end, Black already murdered one of their small group of friends and helped with murdering the second one... Remus had the feeling that Black might be wanting to finish what had happened in 1981 and for that, he accepted Dumbeldore's proposition. He was to be one of the Hogwarts teachers.

During the rest of the summer and hiding away, Lupin started to study the materials for each year he was to teach; back in his school days, he was one of the greatest students Hogwarts had seen. There was rarely a test in which Lupin got worse than Exceeding Expectations. It was mostly caused by his natural interest in the art of wizardry and by Remus' gratefulness - Dumbeldore let him study like every other normal student and prevented him from hurting anyone else during the full moon. And DADA? Dear Merlin, he always had a deep appreciation for this class. One of his biggest DADA achievements was that he could cast the Patronus Charm without too much of a trouble. Also... The creatures were quite brilliant and before Lupin could comprehend, he was looking forward to sharing his knowledge with all of the young people in Hogwarts.

At the same time, he realized that he will be there. Son of James and Lily Potter. His name was Harry and he had last seen when he was smaller than Lupin's forearms. He was nothing more than a sweet, laughing boy covered in one big blanket. How old was he now? Twelve? Thirteen? Remus couldn't even count it down properly, he just knew that the boy's going to be there once be starts his teaching career.

As to be expected, the safety precautions around Hogwarts got more intense - Nd so did everywhere else. Lupin was especially aware of that once a Dementor harassing a black-hearted boy had woken him up. And to his realization, it was Harry Potter himself who got into trouble. The most logical thing that came to mind was to talk to the staff and to make sure there are no more dementors inside the train.

Yet once he made sure the train was safe, he couldn't bring himself to go back to the coupe and rather stayed in the corridors on a watch, trying to ensure the safety inside the train. His mind, on the other hand, was racing - James' son, his murdered best friend's son, was inside and he looked just like James. Except for the eyes. Those were, without a doubt, Lily's. Lupin didn't expect such a low blow on his very first day. At that moment, he promised himself to be better. He promised himself that he'd teach the kids everything he knew; and he was particularly excellent in this subject, so the kids had.

The first days at school were... Good. Lupin wasn't particularly all over the place because he wasn't quite comfortable with the all-the-time type of company. The other teachers tried to talk to him, to make him feel good about himself and the purpose of his staying inside the school's walls and he didn't avoid the introduction where the whole Great hall had given him short applause.

McGonagall, who was sitting next to him, persisted on Remus calling her "Minerva" and every time he dared to call her Mrs professor, she gave him a furrowed look, correcting him in her straight-to-the-point type of voice. Madame Pomfrey was also fond of seeing him after such a long time in a pretty good shape and Hagrid tried his absolute best to behave; there was still quite a lot of memories inside other's minds that connected him with Sirius and Remus could understand the worried looks and careful words. Needless to say, the whole feast was delicious as it usually was in Hogwarts and after such a long and draining day, he was glad to walk the quiet and dark halls before he took off to his room, located close to the DADA schoolroom to have some proper and certainly refreshing sleep.

First classes after the feast in the Great hall were the worst for Remus. There were new faces to remember, a lot whole more of names and... At first, he was lost when it came to some of the students. The name of Justin Flinch-Fletchey didn't crawl into his brain until the end of the first week; however, there were people of whom he was very aware against his better judgement.

One of them was Harry and his two friends, Hermione and Ronald - no matter what they said or did, they always looked there are about to cause some mischief. This, of course, could be only a feeling inside of Lupin's guts; yet from other professors, he listened to the wild stories about the past two years; all of which had Potter himself in the centre. Another student he was keeping his eyes on was Neville Longbottom, the son of Alice and Frank. The fates of his parents were heartbreaking and growing up with his grandmother, who was a persistent and unpleasant woman at times, had to be hard for such a gentle soul. There were moments when Lupin could see glimpses of his own uncertainty and shyness in Neville's words. At last, there was a girl from Hufflepuff named Rosamunda who caught his eye simply because her mother was one of his former schoolmates.

Kids who caught his attention naturally without having some sorts of a past connection with him were Fred and George Weasley who were friends with Lee Jordan, another Griffindor student - they were quite a loud and jolly party who, when the topic was right, had a lot of questions and were very curious about the subject. On the other hand, when they didn't have one of those days, they could be annoying, to say the least. Another girl, Heather from Ravenclaw, had caught his eye simply because of her unusually deep interest in DADA. There were no students who would give him any sorts of trouble, which was also a win. As Lupin got a hold on his classes step by step, it suddenly didn't seem to be so out worldly that he'd have the potential to be a teacher - and a good one.

Sure, there were concerns expressed by others member of the staff, especially by Snape, that were regarding his lycanthropy. Yet as Dumbledore had sworn to him, everyone was doing their best when it came to that - madame Pomfrey made sure that the Shrieking shack is at the disposal all the time, Snape was brewing the potions even though his mostly anti-Lupin agenda and Dumbledore himself sworn to him that if there would be a situation in which a student was to be harmed, he himself would prevent that.

Everything seemed to be falling in its place.

It was the break between the noon and afternoon classes in which Lupin was to assigned to have a patrol on the small courtyard opposite the Great hall where some students took their lunches so they could spend some time out in the open before the weather gets bad. And the occupation of the courtyard was quite big - some students were just taking a short break and played Exploding snap throughout, the Weasley twins were throwing some kind of small, non-burning fireworks at each other and there were even people who simply chatted the whole period away. Lupin himself was quietly standing in one of the corners, leaning into a wall dressed in one of his shabby sweaters and ate an apple while overseeing the whole situation.

There was a moment where he didn't notice it at all - someone had crashed into a group of three students, taking two of them down onto the ground. It was hard to see what was happening there since there was quite a lot of people in the way. The only thing he could see were people picking off the ground as another person was running off inside the castle. Honestly, he didn't know where to jump first - if he should go to help the students laying on the ground. - "I am so sorry! I will buy you a lollipop or something!" - The woman who jumped at them yelled over her shoulder and disappeared inside the castle. He could only see a grey sweater, long black pants and her hair flow in the wind as she ran for... For an unknown reason.

The only thing he had seen was her back, he could hear her yelling some nonsense at the students and even though, it knocked the apple out of his hand as he looked at her disappearing. There was something. Remus couldn't exactly name it, but there was some energy about her. Yet in the end, he walked to the group to check on them, letting the woman disappear inside.