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zazter-den · 5 months

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i’ll say the same to you! i’m greedy and i’ll hear as much about your pretty catboy self ship (or pretty elezen boy) as you want to share with the f/o questions of your choice. ☺️

Ahh, thank you Bunny! Answering these with my dragongirl Warrior of Light, Ondata. Alongside G'raha Tia. Spoilers Ahead (mostly ARR& ShadowBringers)

nose kisses or forehead kisses? Ondata likes to give Raha forehead kisses, especially when he's worried or has spent too many hours poring over tomes.

neck kisses or thigh kisses? Raha often comes up behind Ondata while she's crafting, typically wrapping his arms around her waist before peppering her neck with kisses.

spooning or one person laying their head on the other’s chest? Overlap question! She, Raha, and Haurchefant all share the same bed so usually the ones on the end cuddle into whoever is in the middle (Usually Haurchefant since he's tall and runs warm)

hugs from behind or hugs from the front? Ondata usually flings herself into tackle hugs from the front, G'raha is a little more worried about disrupting and nuzzles from the back.

“pancake” or “waffle” hand-holding?

Waffle, in every selfship unless mittens are involved. Which sometimes happens on outings in the perpetually frozen Ishgard.

romantic dinners at fancy restaurants or take out dinners on the couch? I mean,,,regardless the man is going to look like a kid at christmas- and from the taste of fish-based Archon Loaf, I can't blame him. I'm dragging him to every restaurant I can find, but I think he falls a little for Haurchefant with that first cup of cocoa like us all

constantly bragging about dating each other or keeping the relationship relatively secretive? Ondata is extremely proud of her loves. Raha never flat out says they're together, but the way he talks about the Warrior of Light, other scholars are like "Oh, so they've been married forever I take it".

playing with each others’ hair or giving each other back massages? Raha is constantly losing pins to keep his hair out of his eyes, until Ondata starts making them herself to give to him. Raha braids Ondata's hair every day as part of their morning ritual, and she gets in a down mood if the routine is messed up.

constantly saying “i love you” or only say “i love you” during really serious/romantic moments? Between ARR and Heavensward, Ondata is hesitant to say 'I love you' to anyone. After the events of the Crystal Tower/ShadowBringers? Ondata says 'I love you' as often as possible. After Endwalker? She is fucking them anywhere that has even a semi shred of privacy.

constantly hanging off of each other or keeping a tame distance in public? Raha is more hesitant to show affection in public, but Ondata is usually pulling his hand through the crowds.

stay at home dates or out on the town dates? Adventures, just as promised.

formal/fancy wedding or casual wedding? Let's be real, Haurchefant/Ondata/G'raha want a small private ceremony- Which Tataru immediately vetoes. She would blackmail so many nobles into giving gifts and favors, look into your heart, you know this to be true. At least she will never complain about the coffers again. Maybe.

(spoiler heavy) love at first sight or slow burn? Both. Raha honestly had Ondata's heart at first infodump about the Crystal Tower and all the crystal based magicks of the Allagan Empire. She was certain they would spend the rest of their lives together, which is why she took him leaving her behind so fucking hard. And when they finally did reunite, originally they both thought they were too late. From day one, Ondata recognized G'raha but knew he had grown to be a completely different person over his time in the tower. It hurt, but she gave him space throughout all of ShadowBringers, not wanting to dredge up the past. G'raha wasn't much better, but how do you tell the love of your life that you watched their entire existence for clues to stop their tragic end? That you loved them still, before you decided to meet a light-bleached death in their stead? No, better to act the uncaring thief than to burden his dear hero with love that stood the test of centuries.

value anniversaries/important relationship dates or nah? any and every major date is a cause for celebration. but there's 3 other dates that are also unofficially observed: the day the crystal tower was sealed, the day that Hades tried to take him, and that day in Ultima Thule. Clearly not a joyous memorial, G'raha never really notices the dates themselves- but he does notice the way that Ondata clings to his back when they wake up hours past sunrise, how she will refuse to let him do anything remotely strenuous, or insists that she treat him to an adventurous date.

There is very little that the Warrior of Light needs- but the Crystal Exarch is at the top of the list, tied only by the Commander of the Silver Fuller.

kids or no kids? Kids. It was kind of an 'Oops' situation after Endwalker. I think defeating [redacted] depression and reuniting would put any previous Heats to shame. I also think that despite being world saving heroes, that they would be scared shitless but genuinely happy and excited. G'raha's eyes are passed down to some, but as a limbal ring, and all of Ondata's kids have at least some of her pearly scales. Given how powerful their parents are, toddler years are a warzone. It's a future Ondata didn't think was possible for herself, and she loves her big family.

Thanks again for letting me rant about my ffxiv char! Ask Game

#I have pages and pages written on my crystal polycule #G'raha Tia's pining is what got Jonathan Bailey his Anthony Bridgerton role- I will fight ne1 on this #zaz ask game #zaz answers #mdni #ffxiv oc #selfship: ondata x raha #zaz selfship

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artemisocs · 2 years

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Lydia Fitzroy → Turning Page [ poster reveal ]

From only six years of age, Lydia Fitzroy had known that she would marry Anthony Bridgerton. Not out of any girlhood fantasy, nor any romantic desire whatsoever, it was simply practical, and Lydia always prided herself on her practicality. Their families were notoriously inseparable, the friendship between Theodore Fitzroy and Edmund Bridgerton only surpassed by that of their wives, and it had only made sense that they would one day unite the two.

Despite being six years his junior, Lydia and Anthony had been in agreement about their eventual marriage since the summer before Anthony left for university. It would be no great romance, but it would be theirs. A companionship, one that promised happiness if not true love, and it could wait. It would wait; until Lydia had made her debut, until Anthony had established himself as Viscount, until they were ready to have and raise children.

But time had a way of changing even the most carefully laid plans, and two years after she was supposed to make her debut — ten years since she had last seen Anthony Bridgerton — Lydia Fitzroy has finally returned to London, and will have to face her childhood plans as a proper adult; will have to face Anthony Bridgerton as a woman grown for the very first time, and no amount of practicality could ever truly prepare her.

(insp / template)

Tag List: want to be added?

#ocappreciation #fyeahbridgertonocs #allaboutocs #bridgerton oc #oc: lydia fitzroy #fic: turning page #anthony bridgerton x oc #*mine #*graphic #*cover

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wenigstenshabeichesversucht · 6 months

Text

Drinks and kisses

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: Four times you drunkenly confessed your love to Lockwood and one time you did it sober.

Warnings: alcohol consumption (OC is not an alcoholic, she just can't tolerate alcohol), English is not my native language

Word Count: 2,6k

For the story I used some of the Drunken Love Confessions from @creativepromptsforwriting, please check out her blog

Living the life of an agent aka child solider was most of the time gruesome. After dusk as the adults hid behind silver fences and thick walls, you and the other kids dared to venture into the dark night to fight against ghosts. Every agent knew another who had died on a mission. Life was pretty depressing if you didn’t take it in your own hands to enjoy it. Therefore, at Lockwood and Co., you celebrated every so little milestone and achievement. While Lockwood, your boss, landlord and crush, and George sometimes drank beer, you only drank alcohol at you little celebrations. To say that you could handle your liquor, was an exaggerated lie.

The first time you told Lockwood, that you liked him more than a friend was at one of this so-called parties. Lockwood and Co. had just finished a big case. That was reason enough to get together and drink.

It was already late that night, the song on the radio floated through the room and Kipps was asleep on the couch. Lucy was nowhere to be seen and George and Holly were in one corner of the living room lively talking about cooking.

However, you only had eyes for Lockwood sitting in his favourite armchair. His hair was shining so nicely, and you really wanted to touch it. Would it feel under your fingers as soft as it looked? That thought should have been warning enough that you were drunk. But drunk-you wasn’t smart and neither discreet with your staring. Everybody who took one second to watch you with Lockwood, would realize that you liked him. Thank God Lockwood was an even bigger idiot than you.

“What are you thinking about, sweets?”, broke Lockwood the silence between you two and normally, caught in your staring, you would have looked away. But normal-you and drunk-you were two totally different persons. Drunk-you was loud and bold, while normal-you shied away.

“About you”, you declared honest, and sober you would have never said something like this. However, drunk you didn’t even blush.

“About me?”, echoed Lockwood confused and reminded you by doing so of a puppy. You loved puppies.

“You’re cute. And a bit blurry. But definitely always so cute.” The words just tumbled out of your mouth. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't have been able to stop them. But drunk-you didn’t know something like regret. Before Lockwood could say anything, you took a page out of Kipps books and just felt asleep.

The next morning you had no memory about what you said. At breakfast Lockwood acted like always except his ears turned a little red when you asked him for the butter. But you were too hungover to pay attention.

The second time happened at Lucy’s birthday party. The birthday girl and you were dancing in the middle of the living room, downing one shot after the other. You intentionally ignored Lockwood, who warned you to slow down. Maybe that was a mistake. Or the five tequila shots were a mistake. Or both were a mistake.

Anyway, one moment you were dancing with Lucy, having the best time of your life and in the next moment you felt awful. Pressing your hand over your mouth you made a beeline for the next bathroom. You barely made it to the toilet before you threw up.

Hurrying footsteps sounded behind you and then someone held your hair back. With a small whimper you puked again.

“Just let it out then you’ll feel better”, he whispered softly while he caressed your back. Sober-you would probably have sunk into the floor in shame. But hanging over the toilet bowl you were too drunk to care.

You didn’t know how long you puked your soul out of your body. Lockwood had taken a seat on the floor behind you and didn’t stop rubbing your back.

“Can you keep a secret?”, you slurred and rested your head against his shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him nodding.

“I have a crush on Lockwood, but you can’t tell him or anybody else.” He laughed, and you could feel the vibration of his chest.

“I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back.”

“But you can’t tell him or anybody else”, you repeated urgent. You couldn’t imagine that Lockwood liked you back, and you didn’t want to make the atmosphere in the house awkward. Therefore, Lockwood was never allowed to know how you felt about him.

“I swear, let’s get you cleaned up and in your bed, sweets.” Fishing a washcloth from the sink, he gently wiped your face. Then he scoped you up in his arms and started carrying to your room.

The third time: Bright giggles echoed across the attic.

“No-no-no it wasn’t like this”, Lucy laughed while taking another sip from the vodka.

You just returned from your case to a waiting Norrie. Norrie was Lucy’s girlfriend and was visiting her in London. As you had stumbled through the front door, Norrie had already handed you a bottle of vodka. Now sitting in the attic, you slowly nursed the alcohol.

“And how did it go in your opinion?”, asked Norrie, who was telling an embarrassing story about the time Lucy and her had still worked in the northern part of Great Britain.

“First it wasn’t so embarrassing how you make it sound.”

“Sure”, you butted in as you and Norrie shared a meaningful glance.

“Don’t join forces against me”, Lucy demanded, not blind to your actions.

“We would never!”, giving her an appeasing kiss, Norrie took the bottle from Lucy.

“Why does it feel like you’re lying to me?” maybe a little bit paranoid, maybe appropriately paranoid, Lucy raised one eyebrow. You meanwhile tried to look as innocent as possible. Of course, you would join forces with your best friend’s girlfriend against said best friend. Where else was the fun?

Seeing through your innocent act, Lucy pointed accusing her finger at you. “As punishment you have to get the snacks from downstairs.”

Rolling your eyes, you stole the bottle out of Norrie’s grip and took a big sip. Leave it to Lucy to find an excuse to not go down all the stairs. But it was OK, as long George and Lockwood were still not home from their case. If George caught you stealing the snacks, he would demand that Lockwood would revoke your biscuits rights. So, there was a big risk associated with getting the snacks. Was it a risk worth taking? Drunk-you said yes.

“I will be right back”, with a wink to the girls, you picked yourself up.

You noticed immediately that you were drunker, than you had thought. Your steps were a little wobbly and the world was turning more than usually. But you lived more than two years in this house. You knew which floorboard creaked and how many steps each of the stairs had. With your eyes closed, you would find your way from the attic down to the kitchen. So being drunk shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

You should be right for most of the way. You already reached the last stairs down to the kitchen without tripping over your own feet, when the front door flew open, and Lockwood and George came clattering in. Normally you weren’t easily startled. You were an agent for gods’ sake. But you were drunk and hadn't expected their loud arrival.

You weren’t sure who was more surprised. You, who lost your footing and tumbled down the stairs, or Lockwood, who was standing at the bottom of said stairs. At least he wasn’t drunk and therefore had quicker reflexes than you. Instead of stepping aside and leaving you to your fate, he caught you. For a moment nobody said something, there was only a shocked silence between you.

“I think I just fell in love with you”, you drunkenly joked.

“No, you fell down the stairs. You should really learn to hold your liquor, sweets”, Lockwood told you stern, without letting go of you. But you saw the creeping blush appear on his face.

“I get her a glass of water”, clearing awkwardly his throat, George rushed to the kitchen.

“You drive me out of my mind, sweets”, whispered Lockwood against your hair, but you were too busy getting lost in his scent. He smelled of lavender and bergamot. Your favourite smell in the whole world.

The fourth time you told Lockwood, that you loved him you were drunk, shocking you know.

You just came home from evening with your old friends from Rothwell and as always, you easily became too drunk.

Usually when someone of the team went out after dark, Lockwood waited for them to come home. This time was no different.

As you drunkenly stumbled out of the night cab, Lockwood was already opening the front door.

“Hi handsome”, you greeted him without shame.

“You’re drunk”, he blandly stated, but his eyes were sparkling like someone stole the stars from the sky and hide them there. He had beautiful eyes. You could spend hours gazing in his eyes.

“Yes”, you admitted before a wide grin took over your face, “and hopelessly in love with you!”

Pushing past him, you stumbled into the hallway. Behind you, you could hear Lockwood taking a surprise inhale. However, you were already busy with your next task, taking off your shoes without falling over.

“Say that again after two coffees at least and I will be yours”, he whispered barely for you to hear.

Then he rushed to you, “Sweets, let me help.”

Getting on his knees he carefully unclasped your shoes. Where his hands touched your bare skin, it felt like you were burning.

“We should get you some water.” That sounded like a really good idea. Allowing Lockwood to take your hand, you let him pull you into the kitchen.

“I hoped you had a great evening”, he carefully led you to your chair before he went to the sink and got you a glass of water.

“It was sooo great, only you were missing!”

“Maybe then I join next time”, Lockwood mused taking a seat in front of you.

“You should, my friends really want to meet the person, who stole me away from Rothwell.”

“And I would steal you again, sweets. A shame that you will not remember this talk tomorrow.”

The one time you told him what you felt while being sober:

It had been a nerve-wracking case. You felt like a wrack when you finally reached Portland Row. Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong, and you were lucky that all four of you were still alive. Stressed you all went separated ways. While Lucy rushed to the attic, you scored the first shower to remove the remains of salt and sweat that stuck to you like a second skin.

When you return to the kitchen after the shower to get a glass of water, you expected to find it deserted. After a case like this the team usually retreated to each of their own room to lick their metaphorical wounds in peace. You were no exception. Therefore, you were even more surprised when you saw the light shining from under the closed kitchen door.

Not bothering to knock you entered the room, to see Lockwood sitting at the kitchen table, in front of him the open first aid kit. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, and you couldn’t help gaping. Slowly blood was seeping out of a large wound, you didn’t know about. Caught, he looked up when you entered.

“That’s not what it’s looked like.”

“So, you didn't hide from us that you were injured?”

Not waiting for his answer, you could lie to yourself, you pressed a compress on his wound to stop the bleeding. As reaction Lockwood just took a sharp inhale and a little part of you were glad, that it hurt.

“We are a team; we can’t help you if you don’t let us”, you started to lecture him. But as Lockwood looked down ashamed your anger vanished into thin air. You couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I will always worry about you”, you paused for a moment, not sure if you should really say what just popped up in your mind. But then you gathered all your courage and did it, “I will always worry about you because I love you.”

Your heart was beating like crazy, while you waited for a response. But now it was out and nothing you could do could undo it. That was somehow liberating.

“I know.”

On the list of the worst reactions after a declaration of love, “I know” was at the top. You didn't know whether to cry or to scream. However, in the end you couldn't do either. You could just stare at him while your mouth dropped open.

“You know?”, you echoed and could feel how something in your chest broke into two parts. He knew that you loved him and never said something. That could only mean one thing, he didn’t feel the same way you did. Shame slowly crept into your face.

“You already told me one, two, or maybe four times”, Lockwood explained to you and if it were up to you, he would have simply remained silent. He didn't have to try to reject you nicely, what he said was already enough for you. Standing up so quickly that your chair flew over, you tried to escape from the kitchen, but grasping your wrist, he stopped you.

“You already told me, that you love me, but there was never a good moment to reveal to you, that I love you too.” In total disbelief you gasped at him. He must be joking. Couldn’t he have told you this sooner instead of sending you on this rollercoaster of emotions?

“You love me too?”, you echoed and slowly started to feel like a parrot.

“Yes, I love you, sweets.”

“Why couldn't you say that right away?” Technically, you should be floating from happiness that he reciprocated your feelings. But you were just angry. Before Lockwood could answer you, you continued, “and when did I tell you that I love you before?” No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't remember it.

“You told me this four times when you were really drunk.”

“And you never thought to talk to me about it the next day?” Flabbergasted you shook your head. You just couldn’t believe it.

“I wasn’t sure if you really meant it and I didn’t want to embarrass you either.”

Up in the hallway, George discreetly listened to the loud voices.

“Didn’t she just tell him that she loves him?”, Lucy asked, also attracted by the noise.

“Yes.”

“But why are they yelling? Shouldn’t they be kissing or something like that?”, confused Lucy wrinkled her nose. Taking his eyes off the closed kitchen door, George looked at her.

“In response to her confession he said, “I know””

“What an idiot!”

“But an idiot in love, it seems.”

Back in the kitchen your chest rose and fell angrily. Still, you couldn’t believe that he had been aware that you liked him, and never acted on it while also being in love with you.

“You are an idiot, Anthony Lockwood.”

The biggest idiot you knew.

“But hopefully your idiot?”

Instead of answering, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, softly at first but with growing intensity. When you separated you felt dizzy.

“Yes, you are my idiot.”

#anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood netflix #fanfic #lockwood x reader

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

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Not a prompt unless you want it to be, but you’re the only one who will appreciate -

George/Reader (or OC) where Reader is a Database Analyst for Fittes. Enemies to lovers.

Reader dedicates her life to making information more accessible/understandable/traceable and George can begrudgingly accept that. They make appointments with each other to argue over the merits of digitization, tagging systems, etc and if these arguments spill over into meal times, maybe they grab a bite and keep arguing, and oh no does everyone think we’re dating??

Anyways <3

a/n: RAHHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH!!!! i know essentially nothing about technology though so i’ve probably butchered that part of this but i hope you enjoy!!! and thank you to @ikeasupremacy you really helped this go from a 2 page long flop that contained literally fuck all to a 5 page decent piece of work pahaha

warnings: mild language, mild angst words: 2.8K taglist: @neewtmas @locklylemybeloved @aayeroace @gotlostinfiction @waitingforthesunrise @mirrorballdickinson @mischiefmanaged71 @magicandmaybe @wellgoslowly @ettadear gn reader

Nice To Meet You - George Karim

“You know that, on the whole, this will make life way easier for you?”

“Since when do you want to make life easy for me?”

Taking an angry bite out of your sandwich, you say, “I’m not doing this specifically for you, twat. This is quite literally the purpose of my job, so it’s for everyone.”

George Karim sits back in his chair, glaring at you through the green reflections on his glasses. “And what exactly is the benefit of digitalising all of it?”

“Going over this again? Right, well, for one, there’s going to be new computers put into the Archives meaning more people can use them. Have I lost you yet? No? All right. For two, being able to search up what you want in a database is way easier than pacing for hours trying to find an old newspaper that someone might be using already. For three, multiple people can read the same file at the same time. You can’t do that with the musty old paper copies.”

There’s a moment of silence and an air of tension thick enough that you could cut it with a knife. The only sounds beyond George’s annoyed huffs of breath are the jingle of the café’s windchimes and chatter from other customers.

If you had your way, you wouldn’t even be sitting here discussing your plan of action with him, but your supervisor told you that you’d best talk about it to other agencies and their members to see what their thoughts are. Of course, the one time you head to Lockwood and Co. with the intention of speaking to them on purpose, hoping and praying you’d at least be speaking to Anthony Lockwood himself; you were sent off with his second and by far the most infuriating boy in all of London, George Karim. And, well, as you already know, he is a tough nut to crack.

“Why are you so stuck up on physical files, anyways?” you ask. “It’s not like we’re going to burn them on a pyre and force you to use a website. They’ll still be there. It just seems much more convenient to click a few buttons and have what you need.”

“They hold a particularly warm place in my heart,” he says with a hint of sarcasm. “But, fine, okay, life will be made easier for everybody with this new system. So why is it only being implemented now? Smaller agencies could’ve done with this years ago while Fittes and Rotwell and all the big companies have had it this whole time.”

Though you hate it, you can only shrug. “The big companies don’t want to have to compete with the smaller ones.”

“You’re saying this, but you’re working for Fittes, the biggest of the big companies.”

You grip your sandwich harder, pretending it’s George’s throat. “Yes, well, better pay than a smaller company. Some of us don’t get offered a bedroom when being accepted into a job. Besides, as much as I don’t like the big companies making a huge profit off of the Problem, I don’t have a choice. They’re the only ones with the resources I need. And, don’t forget, that’s where you used to work, too.”

Surprisingly, George doesn’t have a quip for that. He takes a thoughtful sip of his tea, glancing out of the café window and onto the busy street just beyond. The sunlight hits the lenses of his glasses in such a way that they shine a reflection down onto the table in front of you.

“So, this would be accessible for everyone?” he asks. “Not just the big agencies and their lackeys.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this to make you believe it, but yes. If that wasn’t the case, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

Quite frankly, you’re not surprised about having to repeat things over and over. Every single conversation you’ve ever had with George, no matter how fleeting or filled with irritation, has seemed like he had the personal mission of finding flaws in everything you do. Holding your rapier wrong – you absolutely did not, if anything, he was holding his wrong. Pronouncing a word wrong once. Taking a moment longer than him to spell a ridiculously long word on a report.

Now is no different. It’s as if you can see the cogs turning in his mind, working overtime trying to find an issue with this plan. But there’s nothing, that much you know from you and your team’s extensive planning and the look of mild horror on his face.

You can’t help the proud smile that parts your lips. “Go on, then, Georgie. Thoughts?”

He gives you a scathing look that only fuels the pride burning in your chest. “I think…”

“Yes?”

“I think that…”

“Carry on. I need to hear you say it.”

“Oh, shut up. I think that it’s a good idea.”

“Hmm? What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

You’ve never seen such anger in a person’s eyes. “I think that it’s a good idea. Happy?”

“Very. That’s all I needed to hear.”

George opens his mouth to say something, probably something insulting, but a waitress breezes over. She’s a sweet middle-aged lady with a contagious smile that even has him easing up a bit.

With a twinkle in her warm eyes, she asks, “Is there anything else I can get the lovely couple?”

And that does it. If you weren’t so shocked yourself, the horrified expression on George’s face would’ve cracked you up. It looks as if someone stepped on his puppy and then tried to feed it to him. Then, amongst your own disgust, you realise that the expression is at the thought of dating you, and no matter the animosity the two of you share, you can’t help but be a little offended.

“Oh, uh, we’re not –“ You purse your lips. “Nothing else, thanks.”

She leaves momentarily, and your table lapses into an entirely uncomfortable silence. You can’t look at George. He can’t look at you. There’s a weird pit in your stomach. Nausea. Right? Because… Ew.

“I told you we shouldn’t have continued this conversation during my lunch break,” you grumble.

He hums in agreement, finding particular interest in his swirling tea. “We should probably go.”

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, we’ve covered all bases. Of the plan, I mean. Not anything else. The plan. My job.”

But, even still, you’re both sitting. You’re not moving. Why? Maybe you’re paralysed with disgust. Maybe the mere thought of people thinking that the two of you are dating is debilitating. Maybe, maybe, maybe… You’re considering it?

God, no. That’s horrid to even think about.

“I, um, are you heading back to the Archives, too?” you ask.

George takes a moment to respond, as if lost in a daze. “Oh. Yeah – Uh, yeah, I am.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

As soon as you stand, George is on his feet, enough money slapped on the table for the two of you, and heading over to the exit. And, well, as much as you want to let him head off on his own, here comes that realisation that it’s a little insulting that he is the one trying to escape so quickly.

What a little prick.

You’re out of the door almost as soon as he is, insistent that you will be the one ahead. Yeah, sure, you’re heading to the same place and could try to be amenable, but will you? God, no. You want him to know that you can leave just as easily and are just as horrified by this prospect of a relationship as he is.

Why wouldn’t he want to date you? Beyond the constant arguments you have, you’ve always figured you’re a pretty decent person. Smart, but not arrogantly so. Friendly. Funny. Good company. Caring. What’s not to like? How dare he be disgusted!

But he seems just as determined to reach the Archives first. It’s only a few corners away, but it feels like a miles-long race between the two of you. But if the prize is your dignity, then to hell with the distance – you’d go actual miles to preserve that, especially against George.

It comes to a halt when you’re forced to wait at traffic lights, unable to even slip across the street before they change from red to green merely because of the amount of coincidentally flooding traffic.

For what feels like hours, you have to stand beside him, listening to him breathe and mutter and tut as if this is the biggest inconvenience in the world. Hey, if he didn’t think a relationship with you was such a horrible idea then this wouldn’t be taking place!

No matter that you think the exact same. You’re allowed to feel like that.

Do you feel like that?

The beeping of the pedestrian crossing jerks you from your thoughts, and you’re rushing across the street before you know it. And, oh, curse his long legs! He’s getting ahead of you.

There’s an anger building up in your chest now, one that probably isn’t fully justified. Perhaps it stems from deep-rooted feelings of inadequacy you’ve not had the mind to think about for a little while now. Or even just out of pure spite of George Karim that has been pulsing through your veins for years now. Why has it been there? Because of him. Because of his incessant need to find flaws in your work and you, and his need to huff at anything you say or do. Like your existence is a bother.

Either way, the anger forms words before you can think to dismantle them. “What’s your issue with me?”

George pauses, near the side of the pavement, with the Archives in clear view behind him. He’s frowning over back you, dark eyes narrowed and bouncing with golden sunlight. Why should someone that hates you so be complimented by the sun? It’s entirely unfair, especially when it’s only blinding you.

“What?”

You stop a foot or two in front of him, panting a little from walking so fast. “What exactly is your problem with me? What did I do to you? Because, far as I know, you’ve hated me ever since we first met.”

The words take a minute to process, and it looks as though he’s trying to figure out some hidden meaning behind them. There’s nothing hard about what you’ve asked. Nothing harder than admit you feel ashamed to have even asked it.

“I don’t –“ George’s frown only deepens, taking complete notice of the frustration on your face.

“Forget I asked,” you say. “It doesn’t matter. Stupid question anyways.”

But, when you start to walk away, a hand on your wrist stops you, pulling you back slightly. When you look back, George is there, hand wrapped around your arm and staring at it as if it isn’t his own skin on yours. You expect him to pull away, disgusted at the thought of touching you, but his grip only softens slightly.

“I don’t hate you,” he says.

Scoffing, you say, “Yeah, right, and I’m Penelope Fittes. Let go of me.”

And, to his merit, he does. But your feet aren’t cooperating. They won’t move. Why, why, why won’t they move?

“I’ve never hated you,” he murmurs. His gaze is fixed on yours, something you’ve always noticed he’s steered clear of doing, and you feel frozen under it. “Intimidated, yeah.”

“Intimidated?” You roll your eyes. “George, come on. I was trying to be serious, but you’re just making a joke of it.”

The look in his eyes at that moment is a mix of desperation and exasperation. “I am being serious. Do you know how hard it is to be regarded as the smartest person someone’s met, to rely on the intelligence as your only form of worth to people, and then find someone smarter than you?”

Words try to form in your throat, only to crumble like chalk beneath too-strong fingers.

“And I’m sorry it’s made me lash out at you,” he continues. “I know it’s a horrible thing to do, but it’s like my mouth doesn’t want to cooperate with my brain. Truly, I regret how I’ve treated you. You’ve never deserved it.”

Your throat feels thick, and it’s hard to swallow. “Georgie, don’t lie.”

There’s a flicker of a smile on his lips then. “You know I like it when you call me that?”

“You told me you hated it when I call you Georgie,” you say, but it feels like your voice is dwindling.

“I told you that so you’d call me it more,” he admits. “(name), I really, truly have never hated you. And, again, I am so sorry I’ve treated you the way I have. I admire your intelligence and your insistence of sticking up for yourself. I just wish I had started things differently between us.”

The anger is back, burning a hole in your chest. “You’ve had years to tell me this. Why? Why didn’t you?”

He’s breathing rather heavily. “I was scared. I was trying to figure things out – my feelings, your feelings. But, more than anything, I couldn’t bring myself to change from the person you’d begun to see, because what if you hated the real me more than this one you know so well?” Now, his eyes tear away from yours as he stares up at the sky, looking for guidance from some divine being. “Even when you insulted me, I enjoyed it because it was from you. How lucky was I to even be able to speak to you, never mind hear you come up with all these unique names? There are millions of people who have never heard you speak, who have never had the pleasure of speaking to you or will never have it again, and I didn’t even want to chance becoming one of them.”

With that, the flames roaring inside your chest are extinguished. Instead, now, there’s a strange, unfamiliar feeling in your stomach that inches its way up your body and into your mouth, holding your tongue and stopping your ability to speak.

Despite all the quips, the need to find faults in what you do, he has never meant it. How horrible does that make you, saying all of these things to him because that was how you genuinely felt?

Do they count, seeing as they were formed on the basis of a personality that doesn’t truly exist?

Your fingers hurt from tearing at the skin around your nails. “You really think I’m so bad that I wouldn’t like the real you? Georgie, there is no way I wouldn’t have preferred it.”

He laughs at that, and the sound only bolsters this strange feeling in your stomach. Not quite butterflies, but almost. More melancholic. Could you have had the opportunity to hear that laugh for years now? To cherish it the way a person does a memory? The way an artist does a creation?

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am,” he says, and you swear he inches slightly closer. “About the way I acted. The fact it’s taken me this long to admit this to you. All of it. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

And you don’t. Not really. Not when it’s left a hollow feeling in your chest, left by the realisation that everything you said was unfounded and cruel and based on a person you had no true conception of. Not when this is how it has been for years between you both. Weeks, you could understand. But years?

There’s a part of you, though, that could potentially forgive him, given the chance. George may be quick to criticise or provide information for something, but he has always kept his emotions at arm’s length, that much even you know. So, for him to come and outright tell you all of this takes insane courage.

Even still, you can’t fully comprehend it all.

“Well,” you say, “you paid for my lunch. So that’s a start.”

He smiles then. A flash of white teeth and an insurgence of unfamiliar fondness in your heart.

“We could restart,” he suggests, pushing his glasses up his nose just so.

Despite the hollowness, you nod and manage a small smile. “I’d like that.”

Not even a second later, his hand is hovering in the air just between you both. “George Karim. Nice to meet you.”

It shouldn’t make your smile grow, it really shouldn’t, but it does.

“(name) (last name),” you say, clutching his hand in yours. “Nice to meet you, too.”

And, somehow, that smile of his, one you’re sure you’ll grow more accustomed to, adds a small piece of filling to the hole in your chest.

#george karim x reader #george karim fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #george karim #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic · 4 months

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Good Omens Fic Rec: stalwart sun, wily moon

Anthony J. Crowley is a world-class art thief with a complicated past who, until now, had been pretty content with going through life as part of a prolific black market art trafficking ring. He enjoyed the thrill and danger of the hunt, especially if it meant he got to travel the world, play with state-of-the-art technology, and make enough money to afford anything he could ever want. That is, until a simple logistical hiccup leads him straight into the path of one Aziraphale Fell, former Head Conservator of the British Museum turned antique repair shop owner. Suddenly, there's a space in Crowley's life that only Aziraphale seems to fill, but his clandestine life of crime paired with Aziraphale's industry connections and indomitable penchant for good seems like a relationship doomed to fail. Little do they both know, the strands of friendship, morality, and deception in their shared circles of the London art world are interwoven in even more complex ways than either of them could have expected...

Length: 369,866 words

AO3 Rating: Mature

Best for: Safe in Public, Slow Burn, Human AU

Triggers: Past Abuse, Violence

Read it here, fic by dustnhalos

Note: this is a locked work you must be logged into AO3 to view

*Minor Spoilers* This one was recommended to me by @aq-uatic! I had just posted about Fakes and Forgeries, which is another art thief AU, so they sent this one over for me to read! This story is a powerhouse! Not only does it boast a very engaging plot, but it is also well-researched and well-planned! A true epic.

The length of this story is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I loved the rich details and care put into the descriptions of artworks and settings, making it very easy to immerse myself in the world. I was also grateful that the climax of the story unfolded slowly, without rushing through towards the end. Having details gradually presented made the payoffs even greater. On the other hand, sometimes it became a little too wordy for its own good, crossing a line where it started to feel like a Wikipedia page. Additionally, it wasn't the right time and place for me when I tried reading it in shorter increments during breaks between working and cleaning. I was getting frustrated by the slow plot progression in those 20-30 minute spans. Once I committed to only reading this in larger blocks of time, I had a lot more fun with it! (ironic note to make on an extremely wordy rec post eh?)

I particularly loved the characterizations in this one. I found all of the side characters to be excellently written and, more importantly, welcome. There was never a moment when I felt annoyed by the appearance of a side character. The relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is integral, but their plot line isn't the only one worth reading. Canon characters are conveniently rewritten into their new places, but don't just feel like names attached to OCs. Deep down, they remain the characters we know, just with new backstories. Warlock was a particular favorite of mine. Speaking of OCs, they're great here! I was very intrigued by the new characters, and their histories to our characters. Crowley's backstory was heartbreaking, and I loved the mystery of putting all the pieces together.

One small note I'll make about Aziraphale and Crowley: my favorite detail of their relationship in this story was their passion for fashion. It's refreshing to see Aziraphale described as fashionable rather than merely 'old-fashioned'. He possesses his own sense of style and takes great pride in it, which was very much appreciated. The fact that they can keep up with each other in style, knowledge, and culture, was so enjoyable.

Safe in public, but keep in mind what I said about pacing. Maybe shorter blocks work for you, but for me I really needed those longer sessions with this. It's also written as ace friendly! The mature tag is for violence/themes there is no sexual content here. Oh and this features amazing artwork as well!! I actually recognized many of the pieces included and had no idea they were tied to this story! I really enjoyed this story, and I'm constantly impressed with the stories you guys come up with.

Read it here, fic by dustnhalos

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #stalwart sun wily moon #dustnhalos #extra long #no spice #slow burn #human au #safe in public #criminal au #artist au #one sitting #antique au #ace friendly

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talesofsorrowandofruin · 9 days

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The Great OC Alphabet Caper: (Updated) Glass Edition

(Credit to @sleepyowlwrites for this idea)

For characters introduced in the other books, see these posts: The Unfortunate Moth • Houses Full of Deceit • Mine Eyes Dazzle • There Stands a Spectre • The Tempest and the Night

Updated information about the characters in Silver Glass, in alphabetical order:

Davit

Name: Davit Altounian (Դավիթ Ալթունեան) (real name), David Eames (Anglicised name + his adoptive parents' surname)

Age/Pronouns: 19, he/him

Brief physical description: Average height, black hair, dark brown eyes.

Brief list of defining traits: Has the most traumatic of traumatic backstories. Has done nothing wrong ever. Married to Alec.

Excerpt:

"I'm searching all the male servants' rooms," Yo-han said. He studied Eames' face. "Are you quite well?" Eames drew in a shaky breath. "McCullagh brought in some rabbits to make stew. Seeing him skin them… It reminded me of… I can't stand blood. It makes me feel sick." He certainly looked sick. He crossed the room and practically collapsed into the armchair. "Look anywhere you want," he said. His voice was muffled because he buried his head in his hands. He was trembling. Yo-han looked at him thoughtfully. He looked especially at his arms and hands. Eames was slightly-built, yes. But unlike Lennox he showed no signs of under-eating, so this was probably his natural physique. He was two or three inches taller than Yo-han. Could he have hit Mrs. Lennox with an oar hard enough to break her skull with a single blow? Eames had certainly hated her. It would be hard to find anyone in the household who didn't hate her. But Yo-han found it hard to picture him being strong enough for such a violent murder.

Trivia:

His adopted surname is a reference to John Eames from The Small House at Allington. (There are a lot of Anthony Trollope references in Silver Glass. More on that later…)

His real surname is borrowed from the Altounyan family (who inspired the Swallows and Amazons series). I chose this partly because Glass is set beside a river, and mainly because Wikipedia says Altounian/Altounyan is a common Armenian surname, and I wanted to avoid using a name generator (which might have produced a really unusual surname)

The denouement, where Phil and Co. vote on Davit’s innocence, is inspired by the Sherlock Holmes story The Adventure of Abbey Grange

He doesn't appear in Houses Full of Deceit, but he's mentioned. He probably will appear in Uneasy Money

Dzovig

Name: Dzovig Altounian (Ծովիկ Ալթունեան)

Age/Pronouns: 20, she/her

Brief physical description: Average height, black hair, brown eyes. Has a scar that twists up part of her lip.

Brief list of defining traits: A very important character, but she only appears in the flashback.

Excerpt:

Davit meets Dzovig in a park one morning. They stare at each other. He doesn't recognise her. She has a scar at her mouth, twisting up her lip to reveal some of her teeth. She had no such scar in the orphanage. He can see she doesn't recognise him — at first. Then she makes a noise like a wounded animal. "What's wrong?" he asks in Armenian, slow and stilted from disuse. He hasn't spoken Armenian since 1911. Dzovig stares at him. "Don't you know how much you look like Mother?"

Trivia:

Originally she was supposed to appear in the main story and would have been present during the denouement. This didn’t happen because I couldn’t figure out a way to introduce her ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maybe in the second draft?

Another thing I couldn’t work into the story except for a throwaway line: she mutilates Çelik Bey’s body as revenge for the mutilation of Armenian women. This is inspired by a horrific photograph on Wikipedia’s page about the Adana massacre

She works for an organisation which is loosely inspired by Operation Nemesis

It's never explained how or when she got her scar

A detail that didn't make it into the first draft: she and Davit both grew up speaking Western Armenian, but she moved to Yerevan and switched to Eastern Armenian in the years they were apart. The reason this got cut: I need to do more research on the differences between the dialects

Çelik Bey

Name: Çelik Bey (Turkey didn't have surnames at the time, so this is just his personal name and title)

Age/Pronouns: 26, he/him

Brief physical description: Tall, black hair, brown eyes

Brief list of defining traits: Gwladys’s boyfriend. A politician’s son.

Excerpt:

Çelik Bey stared at Lennox, then at Yo-han. Yo-han had no idea what his own expression was — mainly because he had no idea what to make of the unfolding drama — but Çelik Bey didn't like it. He forced a laugh. "This guy's crazy. He should be locked up in a padded cell. You aren't here because you believe that story he told you?" Yo-han looked at him levelly. "What story?" He let Çelik Bey squirm for a moment before he added, "We share an interest in photography." There was no doubt about it: Çelik Bey looked relieved. "Then you're not here as a detective?" "Is there some reason I should be?" Yo-han asked. The silence that followed was the most awkward one yet.

Trivia:

He was originally supposed to play a bigger role; in the outline he was conspiring with Gwladys to murder Alec. This got cut, but might make it into the second draft

Louis

Name: (The Honourable) Louis Gresham

Age/Pronouns: 21, he/him

Appears in: Silver Glass (flashback and epilogue only), Houses Full of Deceit

Brief physical description: Average height, brown hair, brown eyes

Brief list of defining traits: Unwitting instigator of doom™. Davit’s friend. Briefly had a crush on Alec and a relationship with Leo. Provides helpful information when Yo-han is investigating the Hastings murders.

Excerpt:

The Honourable Louis Gresham was many things. According to his parents he was a hopeless spendthrift, according to his brother he was next door to an imbecile, and according to his boss he was the worst worker the foreign office had ever employed. He was, however, loyal to his friends. And when his old friend David Eames wrote to him to say he and Alexander Lennox were going to Armenia, Louis obligingly pulled a few strings to get their passports approved in record time. Why exactly two otherwise sane people wanted to travel to the middle of nowhere was beyond Louis' comprehension, but he was damned if he didn't help out.

Trivia:

Remember those Anthony Trollope references I mentioned? Most of them are around Louis. His first name is borrowed from Sir Louis Scatcherd and his surname from Frank Gresham (Doctor Thorne), his parents live in Framley Manor (Framley Parsonage), and his and Davit’s teacher is Reverend Grantley (Barchester Towers; I forgot the Trollope character’s surname is spelt Grantly and now I can’t be bothered to correct it)

He also provides a crossover with the works of P. G. Wodehouse: he's a member of the Drones Club, knows Bertie Wooster, and is probably a distant cousin of Lord Emsworth

He pronounces his name Lewis instead of Louie

Might reappear in Uneasy Money

Alec

Name: Alexander Lennox (Lord Kilskeery; technically his full title is The Right Honourable The Viscount Kilskeery, but no one has the patience to say that)

Age: 23, he/him

Brief physical description: Average height, brown hair, blue eyes

Brief list of defining traits: Is having a very bad time. Married to Davit (and Gwladys, unfortunately).

Excerpt:

Two cribs were placed side-by-side against the wall. A low armchair stood beside them. Alexander Lennox sat in it, reading aloud to two small babies. In the minute before he noticed Yo-han's presence, Yo-han observed the three of them closely. The babies, probably twins, were very young. He thought of his half-siblings as babies and decided these ones were less than a year old. They wore identical blue baby-grows. Both had brown hair. One was asleep. The other peered owlishly up at their father. Lennox was still abnormally thin, but he looked as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He did not look like a man whose wife had just been violently murdered. Yo-han looked at him and tried to imagine him swinging an oar at his wife's head. "'Then the magician brewed a powerful potion out of nine sorts of herbs which he had gathered himself all alone by moonlight, and he gave the youth nine spoonfuls of it daily for three days, which made him able to understand the language of birds. "'At parting the magician said…'" Lennox stopped. He looked up at Yo-han. There was no fear or hostility in his eyes. He smiled, the first smile Yo-han had seen from him that didn't have a bitter edge.

Trivia:

He was the first character I created for Silver Glass, and the rest of the story grew up around him

So what was up with his illness? Well, according to the outline Gwladys was poisoning him. I changed my mind half-way through the book, so now it’s ambiguous ¯\(ツ)/¯

He and Gwladys have twin sons. Their names are Walter and Theodore, though this is never mentioned in the book

As of Houses Full of Deceit, he and Davit and the twins are in Armenia

Will reappear in Uneasy Money. Helena the First and Lucy are his cousins

Gwladys

Name: Gwladys Lennox (née Whare) (Lady Kilskeery, not that anyone ever calls her this)

Age/Pronouns: 26, she/her

Brief physical description: Average height, dyed blonde hair, brown eyes

Brief list of defining traits: The Worst. The surprise isn’t that she’s murdered, it’s that it took so long for someone to kill her.

Excerpt:

With one of her fake giggles Mrs. Lennox said, "We both know what I mean. How much will he ask to keep those photos hidden?" Phil did some very quick deductions of her own. Fact: Mr. Seo had seen something incriminating last night. Fact: Mrs. Lennox believed he had taken pictures. Fact: she believed he was going to blackmail her. The situation was so absurd that she couldn't help laughing. Mrs. Lennox misinterpreted her reaction. "He's already given them to Lennox?" She ground her teeth and said a few words that were better-suited to a barroom than a drawing room. "Let me be perfectly honest, dear: my husband is a disgusting… Well. I'm too delicate to say the word. But he is still a viscount, and I'm not going to let him divorce me. If he tries to ruin me I can ruin him. But if he has photos? That's a different story." Phil made a note to ask Mr. Seo if there was any truth in the vague accusation. Lord Kilskeery had struck her as nothing but a very ill man. After five minutes with his wife she thought she knew the cause of his illness. "You're completely wrong," she said. "Mr. Seo has no photographs of you and he isn't a blackmailer. Your husband hired him…" because he thinks you're poisoning him "…to solve a mystery."

Trivia:

Originally she was meant to be a relatively innocent bystander who was killed because she witnessed the murder. Then I began to write, and she turned out to be Rachael 2.0.

Adding the general Case-files taglist: @akindofmagictoo, @sam-glade, @sarahlizziewrites, @oh-no-another-idea, @cljordan-imperium,

@mrbexwrites, @lightgriffinsect (Let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#the great oc alphabet caper #writing #my writing #my WIPs #my characters #WIP: glass #the case files of seo yo han #nerissa rambles

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just-some-guy-joust · 1 month

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Just Some Guy OC Tourney - Side B: Round 1

Rules:

do NOT be mean to anyone or any characters in these polls. you MUST clarify if you are joking/teasing or you will be blocked. if you are someone who entered an oc into this and you are mean to other contestants you will be disqualified

do NOT claim a character doesn't deserve to be here. yes including your own. be nice

if you are posting propaganda you have to tag us, including if your propaganda is in the reblogs. it is difficult to tell when something is or isn't propaganda. anything not tagging us will likely be missed

please don't hesitate to let me know if i messed something up!

have fun, hype each other up <3 thank you

Mendel Warrenpeace | He/him | @bittersweetbonbon

CW: Transformation horror, isekai, lightning strikes

Mendel was just a normal guy, who happened to love Toontown: Corporate Clash *so* much that he played it nearly 24/7, maxing out all of his gags and disguises, even going so far as to become a beta tester for experimental VR haptic suits, just so he could be more immersed in the game. However, he was foolish enough to play the game in VR during the most intense lightning storm seen in his area, got struck by said lightning, and was isekaed into the game itself. Now trapped in the world he used to adore, at level one no less, he would do anything to get back home, up to and including re-beating the game, no matter how strenuous running around and throwing pies at robots is in "real life". Of course, beating the game isn't going to free him from Toontown's inky clutches, but we don't have to tell him that, right? Of course not.

Promos: He has a blog at mendelwarrenpeace.tumblr.com and a WIP toyhouse page at toyhou.se/26655994.mendel-warrenpeace

Darien | He/him | @bittersweetbonbon

Darien is a normal guy in every way possible, except for the fact that his boss, Anthony, has been steadily replacing all of his coworkers with robots. So, in response, Darien started bonding aggressively with the robots, bringing them home-baked goods and motor oil and listening to their problems, until said robots unanimously decided "Yeah, we like this guy, we're keeping him.". When his boss got word of the robots liking Darien more than him, he conspired to turn Darien into a robot, too, and would have succeeded if said robots didn't revolt against Anthony, turning *him* into the robot instead. Now with a legion of incredibly loyal automatons behind him, Darien has become the de-facto owner of the company, a fact that stresses him out to no end, and drives Anthony to the end of his wit with jealousy.

Full images and descriptions under the cut!

Mendel is, quite literally, so just some guy that I refuse to develop what he was like or what his name was pre-isekae, because his past is literally so generic and unimportant. He was NPC-core. He was nothingburger. His only friend is a 17-year-old who physically cannot stop themself from stealing things. Even now his only hobby is playing video games all day. He almost died a few days after being isekaed because he didn't want to leave his house. He's scared to walk around because he thinks the robots will shoot him point-blank just for being near them. I want to grab him and spin him around like that gif of a chimpanzee. He's even a furry.

Darien is 27 years old and feels absolutely nothing but apathy until the robots start bonding with him. He would be a he/they if he stopped to think about it for two seconds. He thinks Anthony is a shithead, which he is, but doesn't think he deserved to be turned into a robot, even if that's what Anthony was planning to do to him. He might even be asexual.

#tournament poll #oc tournament #ocs #some guy joust #mendel warrenpeace #darien

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