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wlntrsldler · 4 months

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crush | sam obisanya

based on crush by tessa violet

description: you started getting origami hearts from a secret admirer. you secretly hoped it was a certain richmond player.

warnings: language-- it's ted lasso, what did ya expect?; kissing! a looootttt of smiling from sam, richmond himbos, sam and jamie bffs

pairing: sam obisanya x f! reader (she/her)

word count: 2.8K

ted lasso requests are open! | main masterlist

It started on a random Tuesday.

You walked into the coaches’ office where your temporary desk was located– Beard nearly begged you to take Trent’s old desk because the office without Ted or Trent just felt too empty– and you saw it sitting on top of your work laptop.

It was a red, origami heart.

You looked around, puzzled, trying to figure out who left it, or at the very least, if everyone else had one on their desks too. You tried to catch someone’s eye, perhaps they’d reveal who left it on your desk, but all the coaches were in the locker room talking strategy with the entire team.

Maybe the coaches did get one and they just put it away before you got here. After all, you got to work an hour after everyone else did. You picked up the heart and turned it over to find something scribbled on the back.

“If I were loved, as I desire to be” - Lord Alfred Tennyson

You furrowed your eyebrows, holding the origami heart gently as you ransacked your small bookshelf beside your desk. Your fingers traced the spines of the books you had laying around, stopping on your copy of Tennyson’s Poetical Works. A bookmark was peeking from the top of the book and you knew exactly what poem it was.

The small smile on your lips threatened to get bigger as you read the poem over and over again. You were sure you read the poem about fifty times before you shut the book. By the time you got yourself situated, and placed the origami heart with the rest of the trinkets on your desk, it was time to join the coaches in the locker room.

As you walked in, your eyes met Sam’s. He offered a small wave which you returned happily. Sam was the first friend you made at Nelson Road. When you were hired by KJPR to manage Richmond’s social media and newsletters, your time was split between the KJPR HQ and the facility. It wasn’t because Keeley needed you at KJPR, but more so because you were too nervous to work at a football club every day.

Turns out, there was no reason to be nervous. About two weeks into your job, you found yourself itching to work onsite at Nelson Road. You loved the community they built there, their camaraderie, and their mutual trust, respect, and love for each other were more than admirable.

And sure, it also helped that Sam Obisanya was here, but that was neither here nor there.

When Keeley and Rebecca first found out about your crush on Sam, which they had to force out of you– in your defense, you knew about Rebecca and Sam’s history and you didn’t want to step on any toes– they lost it. Rebecca, of course, reassured you that it was alright with her, especially since she was with her Dutchman now. The two women would make googly eyes at you whenever they saw you talking to Sam.

“Y/N! Why else would he come into your office so often? He fancies you!”

“He’s just borrowing a book, Keels,” you frowned, “Jan Maas and Bumbercatch do the same thing.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, “But they don’t do it as often.”

You shrugged, “Maybe Sam just reads fast.”

“Hopeless.” The two women said in sync, laughing as you threw a pen in their direction.

Stuck in your little daydream, it was Roy’s booming voice that snapped you out of your thoughts. You blinked a few times, surprised to find Sam’s eyes still on yours. You blushed under his intense stare and decided to be the one to break the connection. You walked out behind Nate, pretending to scribble on your notepad.

“Y/N!” Colin called, running to catch up with you. He threw an arm around you, “How’s my favorite social media and branding manager?”

You eyed him wearily but played along. You’d need a few more seconds to figure out what he wants, “I’m alright. How about you, Hughes?”

“I’m doing fine, as well. Say, did you do something new to your hair? It looks absolutely lovel-”

“Give it up, mate,” Sam chimed in, removing Colin’s arm from around you, “She is not taking down your promo pictures from the grid.”

You feigned a look of hurt, “And here I thought you were just being kind to me!”

Colin let out a long groan, sounding like a toddler throwing a tantrum, “The pictures aren’t flattering, Y/N! I look hideous.”

You shook your head, leaning up to squish Colin’s cheeks together, “Impossible. You’re proper fit. All of you are.”

While your (failed attempt) pep talk didn’t lift Colin’s spirits– he then went to Isaac and complained even more as he was stretching– Sam’s ears perked up at your words. Did you think he was fit? No, no, you couldn’t have. You were just saying it to make a point to Colin, right? You said the whole team was fit, not just him.

You waved goodbye to Sam, smiling at him once again, and he swears he felt his knees buckle from under him. How he managed to make it the rest of the way to the pitch and how he managed to remember how to play football after that was truly beyond him.

“Lord help me,” Sam muttered, leaning down to touch his toes.

“Yeah, lad,” Jamie grimaced next to him, though his tone was teasing. He watched the entire situation unfold. He knew about Sam’s pining and has been on the receiving end of many of Sam’s “Y/N is so lovely. Y/N is so smart. Isn’t she great?” ramblings. “You need some divine intervention because you’re pathetic.”

Sam just shoved Jamie, but he knew he was right. He was a goner.

You figured that the origami heart was a one-time thing, but to your surprise, you found another one on your desk the following day. This time it was blue. Excited to find out what lies behind the paper, you picked it up hurriedly, already smiling ear to ear before you even read it.

“In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.” - Virginia Woolf

“What do you have there?”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” You jumped at the sound of Keeley’s voice. She was leaning against the doorframe, smirking at your caught reaction. You held the heart between your pointer finger and thumb. You walked over to her, “This is the second one I’ve gotten.”

Keeley’s eyes widened as she read the words on the back. She squealed, rushing to you to shake you by your shoulders, “Babe, you’ve got a secret admirer! Oh my gosh, this is so cute!”

Keeley, bless her, was never one to be discreet when it came to all things romantic. Everyone in the locker room turned to look at you and Keeley in the coaches’ office, most with a confused expression on their face. You awkwardly waved before reaching over to pull Keeley into the covered part of the office. Sure, it wasn’t soundproof, but at least they didn’t get to see your embarrassment.

“Hush,” you tutted, taking the heart back from her. You placed it beside the red one, smiling at how it made your desk look more colorful. “I do not have a secret admirer. Whoever is doing this obviously just has an affinity for good literature and wants to share it with me since I’m a reader.”

“Right well I have an affinity for good champagne, but you don’t see me popping bottles with you every chance I get,” Keeley rolled her eyes, sitting on your desk. She picked up the origami heart from yesterday, groaning in disbelief, “Seriously, Y/N! How much more obvious can they get? They literally confessed their love for you in this one!”

“I do not have a secret admirer.”

“Who has a secret admirer?”

You, once again, jumped at the sound of Rebecca’s voice. Her eyebrows were raised as she walked into your office, munching on some cookies. They weren’t better than Ted’s but she’d gotten used to having cookies for breakfast that she had to make do.

“Y/N has a secret admirer, look!” Keeley ran to Rebecca, holding the two origami hearts in her hand. “Look at how cute these are.”

Rebecca studied them closely, a large smirk on her face when she locked eyes with you, “This is Sam.”

You blushed at the mention of his name, “It is not Sam because I don’t have a secret admirer. Now if you excuse me, I have work to do.”

You tried your best to steady yourself as you walked out to the locker room. The coaches had finished their talk and the team was just doing some final things before they headed out to the pitch for training.

Sam walked over to you, head tilted in question. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “Keeley and Rebecca are just being silly.”

He nodded, “Hey, I’m almost finished with the most recent book you loaned me.”

“Are you?” You grinned at him. He mirrored you. “I love that book.”

“I know,” Sam’s eyes drifted briefly to your lips. Oh, what he would give to feel your lips on his, even just for a second. He couldn’t help but keep staring at you as you went on about your favorite parts. Sam could picture the hundreds of outlined quotes you had in the copy he borrowed, different colored sticky notes and highlighters for different things. He noticed that as you spoke you stayed within the confines of the first part of the book. Sam realized later that it was because you didn’t want to risk spoiling anything for him. His heart warmed at the thought.

By the time you finished recounting the book, you were red and out of breath. You placed a hand on Sam’s bicep, not missing the way he tensed under your palm. You could feel the outline of his hard muscles under his kit, which made you suck in a breath. “I’ll see you around, Sam. Come find me when you finish the book and I’ll let you talk my ear off about it. Only fair since I just did it to you.”

He chuckled, watching you disappear into the hallway where Higgins' office was, the opposite way of the pitch where he was headed. His eyes followed your figure until you fully disappeared, which meant that he was not paying attention to where he was going. Right before his body crashed into a pole, Jamie grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him toward the walkway. Sam, who seemed to awaken from his trance, shyly looked at Jamie.

Jamie chuckled quietly at Sam. He whipped Sam playfully with a rolled-up towel. He jogged lightly and called out to him with his Mancunian accent, “Come on, lover boy. We got trainin’ to do.”

After the fifth day of receiving origami hearts, you decided to take it upon yourself to investigate. Without telling anyone of your plans, not even Keeley or Rebecca who were still convinced it was Sam, you arrived at Nelson Road ten minutes after the call time for the team and coaches.

You entered from the back of the facility, knowing that you had closed your blinds before you left work yesterday. If there was someone in your office, they wouldn’t see you coming in. As you approached the coaches’ office, the outline of someone leaning across your desk caught your eye.

Bingo.

Your heart swelled when you realized who it was. You cleared your throat, “Sam?”

Sam turned around quickly, staring at you like a deer in headlights. He rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh hey, Y/N! You’re here early.”

“Yeah, I have a few things to get done today,” you lied, walking over to your desk. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, right, um,” he held out the book you let him borrow from behind him, “Just wanted to return this. I was just gonna leave it on your desk, but since you’re already here, here you go.”

“Oh,” you tried to mask your disappointment as you reached over to grab the book from him. Your fingers grazed his, sending shocks throughout your entire body. You looked down on your desk and found an origami heart on your laptop once more. This time it looked like a different type of paper. It was lightly colored and patterned instead of the usual solid color. You looked at Sam, “Did you see who left this here?”

Sam, who was already halfway out the door, shrugged, reaching up to rub the back of his neck again, “Nope. It was there when I got here.”

Sure, you always denied that the secret admirer was Sam whenever Keeley and Rebecca teased you for it, but you would be a liar if you said you didn’t also secretly hope that it was him. You really liked Sam. Ever since you started working for AFC Richmond, Sam has shown you nothing but kindness. He asks you how you’re doing, and genuinely cares about your response. He pops in every week or so to borrow a book from your personal library. Then, he sits in your office after training when he finishes a book to talk about it with you. That was your favorite part of your job.

The entire day, you felt dejected and defeated. You’re never going to figure out who was leaving you these little hearts. You didn’t join the team on the pitch or leave your office. At the end of the day, you found yourself staring at a blank Word document. A knock on your wall pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up and found Sam, standing in your doorway with two bags of takeaway in his hands.

“Ready to talk Normal People?” Sam asked, walking in to take his usual spot across your desk. “I brought yummy food.”

“Ola’s?”

He nodded, unwrapping the boxes of food to lay out on your desk. “Of course.”

“Yes!” You cheered, reaching for your hand sanitizer. You offered some to Sam, which he gladly accepted. You pumped some into the palm of his hand and watched in concern as he hissed in pain when he rubbed it into his skin. “You okay?”

He shook his hands to air dry them, a grimace still on his features. “Yeah, just forgot that I had paper cuts.”

The admission almost flew over your head. Almost. It wasn’t until Sam muttered the word “Shit,” under his breath did you realize what he said. Sam rarely ever cussed, and when he did, it was because of something big. When you looked at him, he was staring at you with a nervous look on his face.

“Sam…” you trailed off.

Sam, taking your tone as a rejection, balled up his fist and bit his knuckles in anticipation. When you couldn’t find the right words, Sam interjected, “Okay, Y/N, before you get mad, hear me out please.”

You continued to stare at him in disbelief, unable to accept that it was him. He pushed his chair back, giving himself more space as he began his explanation. “Alright, so… Yes, it’s me. I have been leaving these little hearts on your desk. I’m sorry I lied to you this morning, but I panicked! I didn’t know you were coming in early. Also, I promise that I was going to tell you eventually. I was just nervous because I don’t want to ruin what we have now.”

“I like being friends with you,” he started to say, then cringed at his own words, “Okay, let me rephrase that– I enjoy being your friend, but I do want something more. I really like you, Y/N. I have never really been good at expressing my romantic feelings to people so I figured the greats could do it for me so I started making these little origami hearts with my favorite works and quotes on the back. I was getting quite good at it until I switched the paper I was using. Thus, the paper cuts.”

“Sam, I-”

“Also, I just want to add, you are absolutely under no obligation to go out with me or anything like that. Unless, of course, you want to. Then, that would be great! I would love to go out with you.” He looked at you, like truly looked at you, for the first time since he began his little ramble. He groaned, “Christ, you didn’t even ask. Wait– I didn’t even ask you to go out yet.”

“Sam, please,” You laughed, getting up from your chair to stand in front of him. “I was hoping it was you who was leaving these origami hearts.”

“Really?” he asked, breathless. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “You are not disappointed that it was me?”

You backed off a bit as he stood from his seat, walking over to you. You shook your head no, “I was absolutely devastated when you said it wasn’t you who put it on my desk this morning.”

Before you could say anything else, Sam placed his lips on yours. His hands found the side of your face, holding you at an angle that made it easier for your lips to glide against each other. Your hands lay flat against his chest, feeling the rumbling of his heart easily. As you slipped your tongue into his mouth, a deep groan escaped him, which fueled your actions. After a few moments, you pulled away from him but kept him close.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck as you looked up at him. “So what do you think? The paper cuts worth it?”

“Oh, 100%,” Sam easily replied, laughing as he squeezed your hips. He leaned down once again, unable to keep his lips away from yours any longer.

Needless to say, you didn’t get to talk about Normal People, but neither of you cared.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fics #ted lasso oneshot #ted lasso imagines #ted lasso imagine #sam obisanya #sam obisanya x yn #sam obisanya oneshot #sam obisanya imagine #sam obisanya fanfic #sam obisanya x reader #sam obisanya x y/n #frances writes #frances song fics

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uwmspeccoll · 5 months

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Typography Tuesday

This week we present some type and wood-engraved initials from an edition of Alfred Lord Tennyson's Lyric Poems by the Vale Press, printed in London at the Ballantyne Press in an edition of 320 copies in 1900. British artist, illustrator, printer, and book and type designer Charles Ricketts (1866-1931) founded the Vale Press in 1896 and designed three typefaces for the press. The most commonly used typeface was Vale Type, which is used here. Ricketts also used over 100 ornamental initials which he designed and engraved, several of which are shown here. To make the initials, Ricketts would draw the designs in ink, and then would paste a number of designs onto a single sheet. These were then photographed onto a woodblock, engraved by Ricketts, and finally separated when they were electrotyped.

The Art Nouveau-style border design in the first image was designed by Ricketts and engraved in wood by Charles Edward Keats, who began working for Ricketts in 1899. As Ricketts did not own the requisite printing equipment for his enterprise, he established a relationship with the venerable Edinburgh-founded Ballantyne Press, and this edition was printed by Charles John Holmes, who worked for Ballantyne and became the manager for Vale.

This copy of Lyric Poems is another gift from our friend Jerry Buff.

View more posts with work by Charles Ricketts and the Vale Press.

View more Typography Tuesday posts.

#Typography Tuesday #Typetuesday #Vale Type #ornamental initials #Vale Press #Charles Ricketts #Ballantyne Press #Alfred Lord Tennyson #Lyric Poems #Charles Edward Keats #wood engravers #wood engravings #Charles John Holmes #fine press books #fine press printing #Jerry Buff

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earlgreyinpajamas · 11 months

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00q fic recs: protective!bond pt 5

1. Ulysses by girlbookwrm (@girlbookwrm)

“Paperwork for the new head of Q-Branch,” Tanner said.

“Of course.” The words were like glass in his throat. Smoke inhalation was a bitch. His brain felt slow and foggy, like it was full of smoke too. “Who shall I take them to?”

M lifted one white brow. “They’re for you, Quartermaster.”

Bond and Q are drawn together by names, work, and a certain Aston Martin. In which Q is kidnapped once, Bond is poisoned twice, and Eve is a badass on at least three occasions. AKA that time I tripped and wrote 80,000 words of 00Q.

All titles unapologetically stolen from Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

~~~

i have never been this upset in my life ahhh

2. tête-à-tête by Mlle_Heloise

After it appears that an attempt has been made on Q’s life, he finds himself sequestered in a safehouse with Bond. With nothing to do and no end in sight, Q winds up entangled in a tête-à-tête with Bond which proves to be intriguing and revealing.

~~~

never let it be said that bond is not an overprotective mother hen

3. dispatches from the division by thestalwartheart (@thestalwartheart)

Bond and Q's relationship, as seen through the eyes of the other Double-0 agents.

~~~

man was really gonna fight anyone who looked at q the wrong way

#00q fanfiction #00q fic #00Q #00q fanfic #00q fic rec #00q fic recs #protective bond #protective!bond #Protective!James #protective!james bond #protective james bond #protective james #kidnapped Q #kidnapped!Q #bamf moneypenny #bamf!moneypenny

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queer-ragnelle · 2 months

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hello!! i am pretty new to tumblr so still finding my way around, and part of my current project was going to be looking into fandom space to see how some of the word of mouth and online space mimics oral storytelling. i am especially looking at villains in arthuriana and fan interpretations and headcanons for this, so any advice of where to look hereabouts would be really lovely!! ty for your time and hope you have a great day!!

Hi anon! Welcome!

Honestly I'm at a bit of a loss where to even begin. The scope of Arthuriana and what constitutes a "villain" is so vast. There are the obvious Black Knights and usurping nephews, but even those characters have more than their fair share of morally gray/nuanced portrayals depending on where you look. Medieval literature in and of itself was varied even before we get into modern interpretations and the far reaching corners of fandom. I think in regards to this, it might help to narrow your scope to specific "villainous" characters—Morgan le Fay, Sir Mordred, False Guinevere, Sir Meleagant, and the mysterious Knights of Green and Red and Black.

There's also the matter of where you intend to make the cut off. What constitutes "canon" character interpretation? Where does "canon" end and fan extrapolation begin? To my mind, personally, anything after the Middle Ages falls into the "modern" category, which would include Alfred Lord Tennyson's The Idylls of The King on our end of the divide. Speaking for myself, I don't devalue any interpretation based solely on the era of it's inception. If Sir Thomas Malory wrote in Le Morte d'Arthur that Sir Gareth married Lyonesse, then it is so. But when Tennyson claims that, no, Sir Gareth married the Savage Damosel Linet, then he is also correct. Each iteration is it's own self-contained world and anything is possible within that framework. So it is for "villains," as well.

But that said, the beauty of Arthuriana is that each new addition to the literary tradition (and I include films, TV shows, video games, comics, and every other conceivable medium) builds on what came before. I don't necessarily enjoy or recommend them all, but there's definitely a connection from one retelling to the next. In John Boorman's Excalibur (1981), Percival is first revealed as a strange boy wandering the forest who happens upon Lancelot sleeping. Percival is captivated by him. He endears himself to the knight by waking him with the smell of meat he hunted and roasted especially for him. From there, he's brought back to Camelot to begin working under Kay in the kitchens and eventually rises to knighthood. When I first saw this, I was elated. "It's just like in The Adventures of Sir Lancelot!" Go back thirty more years. In The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956-1957), there's a character named Brian, a kitchen boy. After Lancelot helps end the siege that was threatening the castle Brian worked at, he begins following Lancelot around, and one morning, cooks breakfast for the knight. By the end of the episode, Lancelot has all but adopted him, and enrolls him in lessons to begin his squiredom, and eventually, achieve knighthood. Sound familiar?

Could it be that John Boorman, as a child, watched The Adventures of Sir Lancelot, saw what they did with their Brian/Gareth hybrid, and said, "I like that idea, I think I'll use it for Percival." To me, Boorman drawing on that 50s show for his own work is no different than Tennyson building on what Malory had done, who in his own turn wrote from the Post Vulgate.

Now we come to the present day. Bloggers share these stories. We quote the texts. I stream movies and TV shows every weekend in the Arthurian Theater Server. We make connections from one creation to the next. You can see the web of inspirations all interconnecting. Then we branch off into our own new interpretations based on the foundations of these creations that came before. I don't know how popular an opinion this is, but I think that goes beyond "head canon," because there is no canon. Arthuriana is a continuously flowing font made up of tiny beads of details. The stories can only function with the existence of the others. It's not derivative in the same sense as one drawing a little too heavily from their favorite childhood fantasy novel. This tradition dates back hundreds of years. We're just continuing it with the technology of our time.

You want to focus on "villains." But I wonder—Is Morgan le Fay's character beholden to a specific source? How do we determine what that is? If one chooses to write Morgan le Fay sympathetically, or even outright benevolent, is she still a "villain?" Is she still Morgan le Fay? Personally, I think we should respect what came before us, and consider how that impacts the new addition we intend to create. Change Morgan too much and she ceases to be recognizable as Morgan, and I'm here to read about Morgan! I think it's important to maintain the same resonance which has kept us interested for so many centuries. And yet the basis for sweeping changes is all around us. Just as Morgan plotted to kill Arthur and seize his throne, she also rode by his side in the boat to Avalon, where he sleeps still. The range of possibilities is vast beyond imagination. So go wild and get creative, I'm not your mom.

I don't know if that answers your questions or not lol. You're welcome to send me another ask or a private message if you want to talk more.

I also open up this question to my followers for a larger sample size—What do you guys think?

Thanks for the ask and have a great day!

#arthurian legend #arthurian legends #arthuriana #arthurian mythology #arthurian literature #gareth #sir gareth #percival #sir percival #perceval #sir perceval #excalibur #excalibur 1981 #the adventures of sir lancelot #anonymous #ask #my post

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rebelsandtherest · 1 year

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ok so i’m going to preface this ask by saying that the name alfred is given to the first born males on my dads side, so it’s a name near and dear to my heart, that said, there’s an angle i’ve never (or in all likelihood missed) seen between alfred and arthur. and i crave your opinions.

growing up i knew that the name alfred became popular in the victorian period since the english started looking into history and saw king alfred and decided he was pretty great. so i wonder how arthur felt, to see and hear his estranged sons name so often. of course he’s glad that his country’s putting some respect on king alfred, but i can see him calling someone named alfred by their last name to avoid saying it out loud. “alfred, lord tennyson.” “who?” “lord tennyson.” “not a fan.” the man’s conflicted and petty.

or it could be the opposite, it could remind him why he chose the name to begin with. imagine him overhearing a man in a pub proudly boasting about how fast his little alfie is growing, showing off a picture he keeps of the lad. and arthur can’t help but smile to himself and feel a wee bit envious. a few situations like that, and he’s tentatively writing formal letters that go unanswered. a few decades and a great rapprochement later he can finally say alfred out loud without tasting bile.

or he could be so far up his own ass that he doesn’t even notice the trend in names. idk. definitely drunkenly hums ‘what’s it all about (alfie)’ in the 60s.

Ooooh man this is a good question! Thanks for sending in the ask.

This became an immensely long reply with a bad history lesson included (because I'm relying on my ADHD memory and hoping it doesn't scramble itself between my brain and the keyboard), so... sorry about the length.

Anyway.

I think the Victorian revival of "Alfred" as a name would have affected Arthur in a few ways, but within his context, I imagine that those moments would be relative sporadic.

So a few things:

First: The name itself is Anglo Saxon—the original ash (Æ) was replaced with an A to fit contemporary English spelling, and it would have been pronounced a little different obviously, but it is remarkably unchanged for an early medieval name over 1000 years old. So Arthur is probably used to hearing the name at least once in a blue moon, and I doubt anyone was much confused when he gave the name—even if it wasn't in vogue at the time—to his firstborn.

Second: The Victorian age for Arthur was absolutely chock-full of wars, particularly wars overseas. Victoria was called empress for a reason, because she had a penchant for stealing other people's land and sovereignty. So whether Arthur was enthused by the nonstop action or not (I'd wager he was, most of the time), he was incredibly preoccupied and probably didn't have time to mope about his son, so if the name ever made Arthur think about Alfred, it would be a short-lived reverie.

Third: The Victorian era was a historically interesting time for UK-US international relations. Your average USA citizen probably didn't spare much thought for English subjects an ocean away, but, on the whole, white Americans remained enamored with England as the "mother land", were keen on trans-Atlantic commerce, and eager to prove themselves as equals to their allies in Europe. This didn't exactly work.

Even so, Britain and the USA continued to host a bizarre mix of cultural proximity and mutual contempt. Bad blood had gone stale by the beginning of Victoria's reign, but stale blood bred an enduring sense of pettiness, especially on the British side. Though the two nations' diplomatic and economic relationships were strong and well-maintained, events like the USA's rather embarrassing showing at the 1851 Great Exhibition in London were devoured by the British public in a feeding frenzy of schadenfreude that solidified a kind of national desire to dunk on Americans whenever possible.

While Brits still relish dunking on Americans, the early Victorian need to put America down as an economic and cultural peer began to shift, at least in some ways, in the second half of the 19th century. The American Civil War devastated the English economy, particularly of the northern half of the country which depended immensely on American cotton to fuel its textile industry. The entire war, its fallout, and notably the end of slavery in the USA, were all topics that British citizens would have seen daily in their newspapers, a source of interest and immense anxiety. By this point, Britain as a whole had forcibly been made aware of how, like it or not, the state of the USA's government and economy affected their daily life in ways too large to ignore.

Whilst America quite literally murdered itself over the problems it'd decided to ignore for a century, Britain and Europe were all deep in the industrial revolution—hell, it started in England, hence the textile mills. England and the young German Confederation were both heavy hitters in the game, and improvements to seafaring technology as well as Britain's relentless expansion across the globe was continuously bringing in new wares from all around the world for European industrialists to copy and mass produce. European trade and industrial competition was booming.

Meanwhile, America remained intensely focused on itself, and understandably so. With the absolute disaster of Reconstruction, westward expansion, industrial revolution, and lest we forget, a bloody parade of genocides and land wars, the USA had plenty to be worried about within its own (expanding) borders. It was not isolationist in the true sense, but was not exactly competing for European attention at the same levels at it had earlier in the century.

However, when the USA eventually gathered itself to take more of an international presence, it would do so in a way that would take the entire world by storm. The sheer speed, size, and production volume of American industries began to challenge their European competitors. If you were white and well-connected or just immensely lucky, this was the age when the American Dream was born. The US military had undergone immense expansion since the Civil War, and they went from having a young navy only just big enough to form a blockade to having a navy large enough to send a top-of-the-line fleet around the world with literally no other purpose but to flex in front of their allies (and enemies) not even 50 years later.

.....This has been a very long winded way to explain that, while the Victorian Era was the heyday of Arthur's imperialist dreams and victories, it was also the very nascent stages of Alfred coming into his own and more or less forcing himself back into dear old dad's life. Coming hot on the heels of Victoria, The American Gilded Age, the Progressive Era, and the Great Rapprochement were all just around the corner. These shifts of history—to say nothing of the quickly-approaching storm clouds of World War—would bring father and son back together and force them to mend their relationship, at least as much as they could.

I think, in the early Victorian age, when 'Alfred' came into vogue after so many centuries, a part of Arthur would hear it with a sinking feeling in his gut, because he was certainly old enough to have seen the future on the horizon. Maybe it wasn't clear, or concrete, maybe he couldn't put it into words. But he would know, in some instinctual sense, that Alfred's star was rising in more ways than one, and that he'd would need to brace himself and his empire for whatever came next. So sometimes, when he heard the name, some indistinct prophecies would flash before his mind's eye, filling him with ominous dread that he couldn't have named.

Sometimes, if he'd been drinking or just in a sentimental mood, he would hear the name and reminisce on both the King Ælfred, and the golden son who bore his name. He would wax poetic about his firstborn and all that he'd accomplished in his life—daring even, perhaps for the first time in his life, to praise Alfred's tenacity, conviction, and strength during his fight for independence. He would of course be mortified by the drunken memory the next day.

Sometimes, it takes him off guard and he turns his head, fully expecting Alfred himself—a toddler, a child, a teenager, a young man—to step through the door and greet him. It lasts only moments, and the empty feeling that follows usually sends Arthur directly into some mentally or physically taxing task, to avoid uncomfortable emotions.

But I think more than anything, the re-emergence of the name would make Arthur feel old. So very, very old, when he continuously, despite repeated embarrassments, pronounces the name in the way he learned as a boy, with the long-i ash sound that his people forgot to pronounce somewhere along the last century or ten. The very same pronunciation mistake he couldn't seem to stop making all those years ago, when Alfred was small, still learning English and fully convinced a boy could have two versions of a name.

The same pronunciation that, even today, would make Alfred's head twitch up, looking for his father.

#long post #sorry for the long read if you made it to the end you have my gratitude #hws england #hws america #bad history lesson rofl sorry #please someone correct my history if you need to

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tdciago · 5 months

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Fargo: This Useless Hand!

This post will contain some spoilers for events beyond episode 5.3.

Apparently episode 5.9 of Fargo will be titled The Useless Hand. I puzzled over the meaning of this, but have found a possible source. It's the poem Tiresias by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Part of it goes: "This useless hand! I felt one warm tear fall upon it. Gone! He will achieve his greatness. But for me, I would that I were gather’d to my rest, And mingled with the famous kings of old On whom about their ocean-islets flash The faces of the Gods—the wise man’s word..."

Tiresias was a blind seer from Greek mythology. He played a part in several stories, including that of Oedipus. He also famously lived as both a man and a woman. He was given the gift of prophecy as compensation for his loss of sight, often serving as the source of uncomfortable truths for Greek heroes. Sam Spruell calls Ole Munch a truth-sayer, noting that "Fargo has a history of truth-sayers that sit slightly outside of the story, that become kind of woven into the story..." He also says that Munch is “the kind of truth-sayer who reminds characters who are the spine of the story, what the world really is and how it really works and if they are suffering delusions and what their behavior means.” https://www.tvinsider.com/1112309/fargo-season-5-ole-munch-explained-sam-spruell/ I suspect that Munch is a Tiresias figure in season 5. We have seen the subject of gender non-conformity play out in several ways. Scotty Lyon, for example, is a girl who displays many stereotypically male personality traits. We also know from previews that Munch and Dot will begin to mimic each other's appearance, with Dot donning a long coat like Munch's, and Munch wearing not only a kilt, but also a plaid coat with a fur collar, much like the one that Dot has worn in the first three episodes. There will also be an IRS agent investigating Lorraine, whose name is Chip Boygan, which sounds like Sheboygan, a city in Wisconsin that has an interesting urban legend about its name. The story goes that a Native American chief had many sons, and wanted a daughter. When his wife delivered the newest child, the chief was informed, "She boy again." There will also be a male character with the unusual first name of Vivian this season. And it's definitely worth noting, given all of the Wizard of Oz references, that the character of Princess Ozma was kidnapped as a baby and transformed into a boy named Tip by a witch named Mombi. Eventually, Glinda discovered Ozma's whereabouts and forced Mombi to turn her back into a girl. During Ozma's life as a boy, she created the character of Jack Pumpkinhead, who was the inspiration for Jack Skellington. We know from interviews that Noah Hawley sees Gator Tillman as a Jack Skellington figure. And Jack Pumpkinhead considered Ozma his mother. Put these stories side-by-side and you get a potentially very interesting picture of the relationship between Nadine/Dot and her stepson, Gator. We know that Gator will, at some point, be blindfolded and that Oedipus blinded himself after discovering the truth about himself. Will Ole Munch be Tiresias to Gator's Oedipus? It was also said that Tiresias lived either seven or nine generations, which may explain the fact that Munch is over 500 years old. I highly recommend reading the Wikipedia page about Tiresias and all of the events of his fascinating l̶i̶f̶e̶ lives. It even involves snakes, and Gator has been compared to the snake in the Garden. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiresias Here is Tennyson's full poem: https://www.telelib.com/authors/T/TennysonAlfred/verse/tiresias/tiresias.html

#fargo #fargo fx #fargo season 5 #the wizard of oz #Gator Tillman #Ole Munch #Tiresias #fargo spoilers

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jo-harrington · 10 months

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HEY. GIVE ME THE TENTACLES WITH THE KNIGHT.

❤️❤️��️

Meg, my love...it's gonna start off soft but...let's just get weird with it. (Their whole relationship is a weird one anyway. Why not.)

Warnings/Themes: Smut, Dry Humping, P in V sex, metaphorical monsterfucking (just...have a really open imagination about this), soulmates(? but we already knew that...), the Knight reads a poem to Eddie.

Quoting "The Kraken" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Find other Hymns of Heaven here.

And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

October 1984

Below the thunders of the upper deep, Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,

It was another lazy Sunday with no work or homework or any other obligations.

You had worked on Saturday morning, then got lunch with one of your coworkers from Bradley's. Eddie had spent a majority of his day at the library to find books to reference so he could finish up his plans for his Halloween One Shot for Hellfire, and then he dragged you to some party that he was asked to deal.

It wasn't your crowd; wasn't his either--the rich pretty kids that lived on the right side of the tracks--but the beer was free, and he'd sold enough to squirrel a bunch of cash away around the trailer, fill his wallet, and treat you to McDonalds for breakfast.

"Only the crispiest of hash browns for my angel," he said as he slipped back into his room after making the food run and presented you with the bag. You rolled your eyes and gave him a reluctant thank you kiss; he knew you hated that nickname.

And now you were lazing in bed, surrounded by books and each other. Your own little world. The stereo was on, softly playing some mix that you surprised him with. A perfect blend of your tastes and his.

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep The Kraken sleepeth:

"Hey this is a cool one." Your voice broke through the tranquil atmosphere and you shifted closer to him.

Eddie abandoned his note taking so he could look at what you had found. He vaguely recalled grabbing the book because the faded green cover had been embossed with tentacles. He didn't even know what was in it, it just looked interesting.

"The Kraken." You grinned and began reading, even though Eddie was close enough to see the poem himself.

Eddie chose to watch you instead.

The poem was short, so he didn't get to watch for very long, but he let his sight feed his hungry heart. And oh, how hungry it was.

He knew he would never get his fill of you.

This was where Eddie wanted to be forever.

He could try to imagine some kind of future with you but the details didn't matter. Whether it was a mansion after Corroded Coffin hit it big, or another trailer here in Hawkins if he dropped out of school and got a job at Thacker Tires. Or any and all variations in between.

All that mattered to him was that when you got to the heart of your lives, the very depths of your beings, when you took a peek into the 4 walls that constituted a home...there was just the two of you.

He wanted to be with you, alongside you, harmonious. Inside of you. Buried deep in your heart and in your mind where you could never get him out, even if you tried.

He knew the lightness in you filled and brightened all the dark parts of him and he could only hope that he did the same for you.

He would give everything.

faintest sunlights flee About his shadowy sides; above him swell Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;

You finished your recitation and went about on a tangent about divine and infernal beings, as you often did when you were inspired.

Tiamat and primordial chaos. Leviathan and the consumption of the damned.

Something stirred deep within him. A need. He would have made a joke about tentacles being a turn on, but when you looked at him expectantly, he didn't hesitate to kiss you.

Eddie looked forward to this. You both did, obviously. You basked in the emotional connection almost immediately after you met, but the physical aspect of your relationship was a journey you embarked on together after your first real date. Neither of you were inexperienced, but everything took a deeper meaning when you explored.

It was a euphoric experience the first time you kissed, touched, explored, fucked.

This was no different.

Your mouths were greedy things; they always were. Eddie preferred to bite while you liked to lick and lave. And while he was the one to initiate this little dalliance, he was happy to let you take control, to take what you wanted.

In the end he still got what he wanted too.

To be consumed by you. And to consume you in return.

And far away into the sickly light, From many a wondrous grot and secret cell Unnumbered and enormous polypi Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.

You nudged him onto his back and he winced at the dig of his notebook beneath his shoulder blade. You sensed the hitch of his breath as discomfort turned into pain, and further still into pleasure as you pushed your body into his, pushed him further into the bed, and let the promised heat of you engulf him. Your fingers slithered through his hair, nails raking against his sensitive scalp, and gave him something to focus on as your tongue pillaged his mouth, traced the grooves of his teeth, mated with his tongue.

He could feel you deep in his very being, licking into his ventricles...searching...searching...

Eddie moaned into your mouth, a sinful sound that even made himself a little more aroused, and your body reacted in kind. Your fingers dug, drilled through his skull and implanted themselves into his brain, depositing impure thoughts and demanding precious affection. Something he so willingly gave.

You could have him, possess him, protect him, and cherish him. Destroy him if you really wanted to, he didn't quite care.

You rolled your hips, clothed core seeking the delicious friction so you could be reborn anew. He angled his own his up, bucked into you. His release would come but he would give into the demand for the rich, ripe fury of yours first.

When you found it, you refused to retreat. Fell against him. Carved the place in his chest where you could live forever. Cradled in the hollow of his body, tangled in his veins, curled around his heart.

His hands gripped you, soothed you. Offered you respite from the savagery of this ritual. And when you were ready, pushed you back.

You patiently peeled one another's layers away. Clothes and skin and sinew. You shed your mortal forms until you were raw and visceral and vulnerable.

There hath he lain for ages, and will lie Battening upon huge sea worms in his sleep, Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;

It was Eddie’s turn now. He liked to believe that he was not as demanding as you, needy little thing that you were. But he had an insatiable hunger of his own.

And much like the leviathan, he would consume what was in his path.

He laid you back and his teeth nipped. He sucked and slurped at what slickness you had to offer, then it was his turn for his tongue to breech you. To search and find the truest path that would belay his ultimate prize.

It didn't take long, and he didn't need to be as thorough as you were, unfortunately. But as your soft little whines became desperate and ear-splitting, he knew you were prepared.

Eddie offered sweet kisses to every inch of you as he ascended, to the fluttering, wanting softness of your core, to your hundred searching limbs that begged him closer, to your bared throat that pulsed with your life-force. Your cheeks, your eyelids, and finally your lips, still open and panting but eager to accept all he had to offer.

Then once by man and angels to be seen, In roaring he shall rise

Eddie sunk deep into you. The rigid, veiny thickness of his cock dragged deliciously into your channel and when he finally found his prize, as he went as deep as he could go, he reared his head and released a gnarled, baritone wail.

It shook the walls and penetrated into the very core of the earth itself. Every God and Devil would know that the two of you had found each other, had found your way home. It was destined; it was foretold. And every power that be knew that if they dared to pull you apart, armageddon would soon follow.

When the tremors finally stopped and you had all senses about you, Eddie's hips drillled and pistoned, down and deeper, to memorize the welcoming softness of you. Every cavern, every chamber, every crevice, until he could practically taste your light.

And he transcended with violent delight.

He gave everything he could, emptied his being of himself so he could accept all of you. Every spurt a plea and a promise all at once. And he didn't need to curl himself around your heart, even if he desired it, because you reached into your chest and handed it to him. It was bloody and raw and dripping around your talons.

As you forced it to take the vacant space that he just revealed to you, he collapsed upon you, panting.

You held him, whispered sweet things into his ear.

"I need you. I see you. I want you. I love you, Eddie Munson."

and on the surface die.

#eddie munson smut #hymns of heaven #aasb #as above so below #Eddie munson x reader

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laddersofsweetmisery · 7 months

Text

My former English professor is retiring and gave away a bunch of the books in her office. She's a gem. I giddily returned to campus just to sort through her collection. Super excited about the ones I brought home with me. I thought someone else might appreciate some of the books I found.

I've already began poring over the poetry collections, but what should I read first? Are there any that you guys have read that you highly recommend?

Books included in Photo 1:

● Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen (Alta Edition includin Persuasion)

● Robert Burns by David Daiches

● Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy

● Leigh Hunt's What is Poetry? by Albert S. Cook

● Love Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister by Aphra Behn

● Virginia Woolf: A Biography by Quentin Bell

● Holy Madness: Romantics, Patriots, and Revolutionaries 1776-1871 by Adam Zamoyski

● Earnest Victorians by Robert A. Rosenbaum

● Lord Byron: Selected Letters and Journals by Lord Byron, Leslie A. Marchand (Editor)

Books Included in Photo 2:

● Orlando by Virginia Woolf

● Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

● The Portable Irish Reader, (The Viking portable library) by Diarmuid Russell

● The Last Days of Pompeii by Edward Bulwer-Lytton

● Becoming a Heroine by Rachel M. Brownstein

● To the Lighthouse Virginia Woolf

● East Lynne by Ellen Wood, writing as Mrs Henry Wood

● Poetry and Prose of Alexander Pope edited by Aubrey Williams

● In Memoriam; An Authoritative Text, Backgrounds and Sources, Criticism (Norton Critical Editions) by Alfred Tennyson

● Daughters and Fathers by Lynda E. Boose, Betty S. Flowers

Books Included in Photo 3:

● Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy

● A Sentimental Journey by Laurence Sterne

● Goblin Market and Other Poems by Christina Rossetti (Dover Thrift Editions)

● Sound the Deep Waters: Women's Romantic Poetry in the Victorian Age includes works by Christina Rossetti, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, George Eliot, Alice Meynell, and Edith Nesbit

● The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler

● The Monsters: Mary Shelley and the Curse of Frankenstein by Thomas Hoobler and Dorothy Hoobler

● Wordsworth and the Poetry of Human Suffering by James H. Averill

● Victorian Ghost Stories: By Eminent Women Writers (Part of the The Virago Book Series) edited by Richard Dalby

● The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

● Victorian Poetry and Poetics by Walter E. Houghton G. Robert

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randomkposts · 2 months

Text

Happy birthday Desmond. This is a little late, but I'm sure its still march 13 somewhere in the world. Anyways, I usually post a story for his birthday, and while there is one on fanfiction, I decided the tumblr one would be a little diffrent.

I'm using an old oc. Or the varient she could have been had she been born a guy and also never become a time travler. Red Jordan-Ryan. You can learn more about this character and the verse by checking out rk-ocs. For this story, that OC is Jasper Jordan-Ryan. They share a knack for meeting intresting people, and getting into situations and secrets they probably would be better off without. And determination.

This is a variontion of the future Clay saw for Desmond where he stayed at the Farm. So I decided, he teaches the kids as the assassin teacher.

Several things happen diffrently due to this deviation, and the Isu are trying to hijack the plot back onto the railroad by hijacking.

---

Not be at all

Not be at all, may have a sister story of sorts, called not be Nobel someday, from a quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson. If I ever write it, I mean.

---

In a world where Desmond did stay on the farm.

Des 1987- 25

Clay 1982- 30

—

Sometimes Desmond looks at the road leading out of the farm, and wonders what would have happened if he followed it.

Sometimes, when he was younger , he had dreamed of running away. He imagined what he would see beyond the farm, that he could be someone who didn't live in a conspiracy cult.

Maybe he would be president.

Nah, that was silly. He'd probably be a waiter or something, but at least he would be seeing the world.

It wasn't like training was all that bad. Sure he wasn't amazing at it, though he had learned faster then most of the kids when he was younger. Maybe he could teach novices when he was older.

Mom might like that. It would allow her to go on more missions. He would have really missed mom, out there in the world. And really, leaving her alone with Dad was just mean.

So sure, sometimes he dreamed of running away, but he was here to stay, and it wasn't a bad life.

---

It's strange sometimes, training the older ones, but with Clay it's different somehow. Clay has a very biting wit, and when it's not being used on him, the results are absolutely hilarious.

Clay is not going to be an assassinating type of assassin. He will probably end up working on the Animus, everyone seems to be interested in. Maybe he will be partners with the apparently expert Rebecca. Desmond has never met her, but apparently she is making good progress in creating one.

He doesn't really know though, because he is trying to stay well away from the internal politics.

Training people is fun. He gets to meet new people, and hear stories from all over. Some days it's almost as good as the thought of seeing new places.

And then there's this terrifying child, who appeared out of nowhere that one time.

"How the hell did you get in here!" Desmond had asked the blond child, who had just shown up one day, dressed as a novice, that he had never seen before in his life.

"I rode in the car."

"How old are you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Fifteen." The kid had said, glaring.

Desmond stared at the kid suspiciously.

"Fine, I am fourteen."

"I'll talk to you after the class."

Even if his parents' paranoia was right, and this was part of some convoluted Templar infiltration plot, a single Parkour lesson would probably not make a difference. He hoped. God, he should have searched them, first, what if the kid had a bomb or something!

Thankfully, everything went fine. After the class, Desmond had pulled the kid aside, and walked into an empty room. He started with the question that had been bugging him the most.

"Are you a boy or a girl, or what kid?"

The kid got really offended, and went red. "My name is Jasper, and I am a boy! How the hell did you not notice that!" An accent tinged his words, and his voice broke a little.

Desmond laughed.

"Aww kiddo, it's just kind of ambiguous. "

Jasper growled, sounding alarmingly like a dog about to attack.

"Don't call me kiddo." He declared , glaring at Desmond.

Desmond began to laugh again, which seemed to infuriate the kid, and he growled again, which made Desmond laugh harder.

Finally , Desmond was able to contain his laughter, and get down to the important questions.

"Where did you come from, and why are you here?"

"I came from Bo-.... I'm from Quebec. I'm here because I followed the man."

"What man?"

"The man who killed R-" then he stopped again. "Who killed my godfather! "

"How did you follow him?"

"That's a secret. I'm just good at finding people. No one wants me to be It ,in hide and seek!"

"Can I have his name, at least?"

"His name was a lie!" Jasper spat.

"You are a strange kid."

"I came here to either learn to either hire someone to kill him, or learn to do it myself. Then I might pay that robber who nearly killed me as a child a visit. "

"You are a terrifying child." Desmond informed him.

"My godfather was just killed. I want revenge."

"So you tracked his killer here?"

"Yes." The kid told him. "And given you are an assassin , I brought money to hire you to kill him."

"I don't kill fellow Assassins ,Kid."

Jasper did his dog growl again, and shouted "osti d'éparis de marde!" before running off.

He could not find him afterwards, no matter where he looked.

Later Desmond found out Thomas had been killed by a throwing knife.

He spent years afterwards, wondering if he was responsible for it, if it could have been prevented by pulling him out of that parkour class earlier.

"How the hell did I fail to find him?" He kept wondering.

That kid was damned terrifying.

He kept an eye out for him out of Paranoia, but 2011's February kicked off with Clay being kidnaped by Abstergo.

His father kept saying they had an in, that someone would get him out when it was time. It was a frequent argument they had, whenever Desmond and his father were alone.

Then in August, they got the news that Clay had gone crazy from the bleeding effect and killed himself.

Desmond went back home to mourn and be with his students.

A month later, his mother was kidnaped.

Desmond was determined not to leave another person in the hands of the Templars, particularly not one he loved. Screw whatever Fathers plans were!

His students were perfectly happy to help plan a rescue mission.

Besides, he'd always wanted to go to Italy.

---

The rescue mission hits an unexpected obstacle.

"SHE'S IN A COMA! "

Desmond screams at Lucy Stillman, his mothers... Keeper? Kidnapper? Guard? No, really, why the hell is she here.

"She tried to escape. She almost succeeded. It turns out Vidic really wasn't kidding. Lucy tells him distractedly ,looking upset and dazed. "The animus may be able to help her, At least that's what Clay and William thought."

"Clays dead!" Desmond cried out, rubbing the tears off his face with his sweater. "Clays Dead, and my mother is in a coma, and it's all your fault. "

His face dryish, he signals Amalia and Rob that the cost is cleared. Amalia guards the door, weapon ready, while Rob picks up his mother, and Desmond watches Lucy.

Lucy hums.

"You will need this, just give me a moment.

Desmond looks at Amalia, who shrugs, and holds her gun on Lucy, ready to shoot if she does something fishy.

Lucy comes back with a disk.

"It's the memory core Data. Get in contact with Rebeca, and give this to her. Maybe it will help your mother."

She turns to leave, but hesitates. "I'm sorry Desmond." She says, before walking out of the room.

Desmond feels like he is about to break, but tells his students, "lets go", ordering David to look up Rebecca.

There are some injuries fighting their way out of Abstergo, but thankfully , no one is killed. Desmond is the worst. While his students are using the first aid kit , David drives them to a safe clinic.

While Desmond is being treated, a man named Shawn arrives, saying that Lucy called, and that he was here to bring his mother to Rebecca.

Desmond insisted on coming. So did Amalia. He told Rob and David to stay on standby, until he was safer.

Shawn grumbled under his breath, but sat and waited in the uncomfortable waiting room chair.

When they were finally done with him, Shawn helped carry his mother into his car, and drove them away.

-----

Rebecca and Shawn were good friends to each other, and alternated between being annoyingly kind and sympathetic to him, which drove him a little nuts.

They were trying to help, and were getting information from his Mother's genetic memories, and keeping her alive, and stimulated in hopes she would wake up, but Desmond hated sympathy, and the sad kindness was almost worse.

Sometimes his Father visited , and when he wasn't looking down at Mother, he was arguing with Desmond.

It wasn't like it was new, Desmond and his father had always had something of a strained relationship, but... Mom would have hated this.

At least Amalia still treated him normally, and dragged him out to spar when he looked close to snapping. Otherwise he might have lost it.

Eventually he just had his students come to Italy to train, partly to get some normal conversation. It wasn't that strange, Shawn still kept up with his work, and his father did too.

The next month went by in a strange limbo , and out of nowhere in the middle of November, that terrifying blond kid showed up at the gas station, growling at him.

"What the Hell are you doing here!" Desmond cried out, alarmed.

He was more confused than anything. And a bit suspicious. Perhaps dads Ideas about super convoluted Templar plots had more merit than he thought. He moved his arm, and poised for a hidden blade strike.

"I'm here to invite you to my birthday party." Jasper started sarcastically, tone dry as ice. He stopped at Desmond's glare. "Fine. I'm here to tell you to stop sending me bizarre and terrifying spam. "

What

"I don't even know your last name, let alone anything about you, beyond that you possibly committed premeditated murder at age 14. If I knew anything about you, I would have given it to the police, not sent you 'Bizarre and terrifying spam.'How did you even find me?!"

Jasper seemed unfazed by that.

"A friend owed me a favor, and agreed to help me track down my spammer. All the evidence leads to you. So I came here to talk to you. "

There was a moment of silence, before he added.

"Also, I haven't murdered anyone. My aunt caught up to me, and told me that revenge was up to my Godmother. So we waited in the car, and left when my Godmother came back. "

"You were still willing to go far enough for revenge murder, to track him into a different country, from Quebec! How long were you following him!"

"This coming from the guy who trains Assassins. "

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You are a terrifying child. "

Jasper Growled, possibly at Desmond calling him a child, then his eyes began glowing white, and he began to shake.

"Nonononononoooooo!" Jasper cried, and fell over

"What the hell is happening!" Desmond shouted, grabbing at Jasper, before his head hit the concrete.

Suddenly Cortana appears. Well, not really, but there was something distinctly unreal about her. She looked almost transparent, and hard to make out, and suddenly all these images were shooting through his head. It was like walking into the last half an hour of a movie, and everything was completely out of context. He strained to hear anything he felt she was saying, but his ears were ringing, and felt like they were bleeding.

When he regained control of his senses, he realized they were in a plane, that Jasper was sitting in the pilot's seat, frozen in terror."

" Did you just kidnap me!" He demanded ,outraged.

"The voice in my head kept telling me the world would end, and that part of preventing it involved kidnapping you to go dig up something in a graveyard for her. "

"I'm already teaching my students in Italy to be with my mother while she is in a coma! I don't have time to go around desecrating graves with my kidnapper!" He shouted, not bothering to wipe away the tears.

Jasper turned to look at Desmond with a dead look on his face. "I don't know how to fly Jets." He said, calmly.

"What." Desmond said flatly, feeling a chill go down his back.

"I am not flying this jet." He turned back to face the window, and it occurred to Desmond that they were both screwed.

He walked over to Jasper and hugged him. Jasper stiffened, and awkwardly patted his back when he began to cry.

They sat there in their own world, until the Jet began to shake.

"I'd say it was nice knowing you, but I would be lying, because all of our encounters have been really bizarre."

He told Jasper, positive they were about to die. As last words went, they weren't too bad.

"Same to you, assassin teacher."

They huddled together on the floor together, as the shaking increased.

He didn't know how long they were down there, before the shaking finally stopped.

There was silence for a moment, before Desmond asked what they were both thinking.

"Are we somehow alive?"

"If this is dead, then I'm going to file a complaint."

"That seems so underwhelming."

"Yah" he mumbled, going to open the door. Then his eyes lit up again, and he began to shake.

"DESMOND MILES! " Jasper shouted in a strange voice. "FOLLOW!"

Desmond followed the possessed Jasper, without a word. Frankly, some things are bonding experiences ,and huddling together on the floor of a possessed jet, waiting for the end, was probably one of them.

Finally, the possessed Jasper reached the spot he needed, commanded them to dig.

Jasper fell to the ground twitching and stuttering. Much as Desmond wanted to help, he decided to dig, lest the ghost/Cortona thing come back to possess the poor kid again.

When Jasper finally seemed to come to, Desmond still hadn't found whatever the hell they were supposed to be looking for. Jasper suggested they widen the hole.

He got a rock, and began scraping the sides .

"I really wish we had a shovel." Desmond told Jasper.

"It can't be Too too deep. Right... There's probably a coffin under here."

"Lets hope."

---

As it turns out, digging holes on Connor Davenport's grave, in an old abandoned graveyard, leaves a lot of time for talking. Or awkward silence.

Desmond breaks it with a question.

"So, how did you get to the farm, all those years ago?"

Jasper turns to with a confused look, and mouths 'farm?'

"I don't know why it's called that. "

"Well, as I told you, I followed him.

I'm good at finding people."

"You tracked him down, and followed him onto the plane?"

"Yes"

"How did you avoid being seen?"

"I don't like to question it ,really. Takes all the fun out of it."

"Weren't your parents worried?"

"Why would my parents be worried?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Well my family probably is worried , but they've grown a tad resigned to my... Adventures I guess. My parents are probably working, and Mom probably hasn't even noticed yet. "

"Nothing about your Dad."

"He works on a submarine."

"And your mom."

"I don't know. Usually when she's home, she is busy. "

"I see. It reminds me a bit of my dad. We've had a strained relationship for, well, a long time now."

"And your mom?"

"I have a good relationship with my mom. But, she's been in a coma inside the animus for a while now, and I don't know if she's going to wake up. "

"I'm sorry about that. You must miss her."

"Yes."

Desmond didn't feel like talking anymore. Jasper didn't either, and it was kind of nice.

----

They knew they had definitely found whatever it was they were looking for, when Jasper picked up a decent sized clump of dirt to break apart , and his eyes went white.

"IF YOU MOVE FAST AND GET THE APPLE, YOU MAY YET RESCUE YOUR FATHER WITH NO LOSSES OF LIFE." He shouted in the strange voice.

Then his eyes stopped glowing, and he collapsed.

"Jazz." Desmond tried shaking him "Jasper."

Honestly, he wasn't surprised at the collapse. They had been digging holes for hours, and who knew when the last time the kid had eaten was.

Desmond broke the clump, to find some sort of jewelry , and put it in his pocket.

He picked up Jasper, or tried to. For all he called him kid, Jasper was pretty tall, and well muscled. God this was going to be awkward.

He considered trying to fly the jet, but really did not want to be flying in a possessed vehicle ever again.

"God I hope you wake up soon." He pleaded to Jasper, before picking a direction, and walking .

----

Jasper did eventually wake up. He groggily told Desmond that whatever was possessing him, wanted Desmond to sacrifice himself to the sun gods to save the world and free her.

"What?"

" I think that translation works. It gets kind of hard to remember. Also the world is ending on my birthday."

"Happy birthday. "

"It's not tell December. December 21."

"Mine is on March 13."

"I'll be sure to buy you a present now, for when the world ends."

"Make it a survival kit. "

"And what are you getting me for mine."

"Is sacrificing myself to the sun gods to save the world not enough?"

"I would rather you come to my 16th birthday."

"Are we friends?"

"I think so. We've already had an adventure, why not plan for more."

"Let's not have one like this again. "

"Or at least remember to bring food."

"We could try to catch something. I know how to clean fish at least. "

"That's not the same thing."

"It's something."

"Do we have any tools? Or will we have to throw rocks?"

"I have my hidden blade. And a few throwing knives."

"Can you hit anything with those?"

"Yes"

"I bet I can do better. Give me some."

"Arrogant"

"My cousin is a professional javelin thrower. We throw other things for the challenge too."

"Let's see you throw one then."

Desmond had to admit, he wasn't bad. But he was a teacher, and could think of many ways to improve Jasper's technique.

They were doing well in their track through the woods. Jasper's aim was improving, they had water and fish, and he was getting better at cleaning small animals with his hidden blade.

They were probably hopelessly lost, but it was better for morale If they focused on the positives. Like that their trap had caught a bunny.

Jasper was looking up at the sky, with a frown on his face.

"Tabarnak "

"What is it?" Desmond asked, but as he joined Jasper in looking at the sky , it was obvious. Early snow.

He looked at Jasper's black sweater, and down at his white one. Good for heavy weather, but not meant to be worn in snow. These sweaters would retain the water they soaked up, until they dried out.

"We're fucked" he announced to Jasper, who nodded.

---

"Would layers work?" He asked Jasper, who looked up confused.

"What layers?"

"Like if I gave you my sweater, would it keep yours dryish?"

Jasper frowned.

"Perhaps it might work for a little while, but Long term, everything would eventually soak through, I think. Besides, you would lose body heat when you gave it up, and it would feel colder when you put it back on. It would probably be smarter to keep the heat, and put up with the wetness."

"Got any ideas."

Jasper blushed hard.

"Sharing. But let's keep that as a last resort."

"Yah, I'm not into teenagers."

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Desmond laughed, as Jasper's face got redder and redder, the longer he laughed.

In reality, it wasn't too much of a stretch to go from huddling in fear on a jet, thinking they were going to die, to huddling together for warmth in the snow.

Eventually, salvation of sorts shows up when Jasper's eyes glow, and he grabs his hand and begins leading him by the arm. Desmond's not sure how long they walked, long into the night, and the grey sky doesn't seem to get much lighter. His feet have gone numb, and he's walking on autopilot when Jasper drops, and Desmond looks up to see a gas station.

He doesn't have any cash on him, but thankfully he has his bank card and credit card.

He walks in, dragging Jasper behind him.

"I will pay you , if you give us a ride to the airport."

The lady at cash is staring at them bemused.

Oh right. They probably stink because the water got too cold to bathe in. And they hadn't had a change of clothes in ages. He's gotten nose blind to the smell, though he could tell it really bugged Jasper, though he never whines about it.

And they looked pretty gross.

How long had they been missing, anyways?

"Um, what day is it?"

"It's December the fifth."

"Oh. That was longer than we thought. " A lot longer than he thought.

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she looks on the verge of asking.

"Trust me. You really don't want to know how our day went. It was absolutely awful, and we were hopelessly lost. "

"I see a lot of strange things here. Don't worry about it."

"I want to drink some Gatorade, and anything hot you have here. Then I'm going to go wash up in the bathroom."

"Tell you what, stay the night, take a shower, and I'll drive you to the airport in the morning."

"Thank you! No, really, thank you!"

Desmond could hug her. Well metaphorically. She probably wouldn't take one right now.

"No problem. Your friend there is... just sleeping, right.

"Yah, he's just pretty exhausted."

Hopefully.

----

Jasper woke up in the car, disoriented and speaking French. And although Desmond had picked up something from living with him for a few weeks in the middle of nowhere, he was speaking too fast for that to matter.

"Calm down Jasper. This nice girl named Marcy, is going to put us up for the night, and give us a lift."

"Whaa-"

"Just think. Hot showers!"

"That sounds so nice right now."

"Doesn't it?"

"Mmm" Jasper agreed, then dozed off again.

The shower was heaven. So was the Meat pie she cooked for them, and fruit salad the next day.

Their clothes had been washed, they were clean, and fed, and even caffeinated. Desmond felt better than he had in a long time.

Desmond left her $300 for her generosity.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and slipped a paper into his pocket.

He wondered if in another life, he might have just stayed there. Kept Jasper, and Lived at Marcy's house, and settled into something domestic.

It was a nice thought. But he had other people in his life who needed him now. Students, and friends, and a possibly kidnapped Father to rescue. He was an assassin, and he was happy with that.

Jasper dosed on his shoulder on the plane, a far cry from the beginning where he had stiffened at Desmond so much as tapping him.

Desmond watched the clouds for a bit, and appreciated that this one had a living pilot, before joining his friend in sleep.

Amalia was keeping watch when they got back.

"Where did you go!" She demanded, sounding furious.

"Did you know we thought you had been kidnapped!"

"Well, you're not wrong. Only it wasn't by Templars, so much as... Well a ghost, I guess. Umm... It was way weirder than that actually. It wanted me to retrieve this." He held up the necklace, as If that would explain everything .

"Kidnapped by a ghost. Do you have any Idea how ridiculous that sounds! And who is that?" She pointed to Jasper.

"That's Jasper. Who is apparently able to be possessed by ghosts. He came here to find out why I was sending him... What was it you called it..."

"Bizarre and terrifying spam."

"Yah. Which made no sense, as I haven't been on my email in forever.

Next thing I know his eyes glowed, and we woke up on a jet, that no one was flying. We presume it was the Alien ghost lady, and thought we were going to die when it landed."

"I'm still not totally sure this isn't just your bizarre way of taking a vacation."

"Would I really do that?" Desmond asked, a bit hurt. "Also, If that was a vacation, then I never want another one for as long as I live. "

Amalia laughed at that.

"How is mom?" he asked, carefully.

Amalia got a weird look on her face.

"Well she is awake... But she isn't herself."

"Brain damage ?"

"Perhaps. But it seems that the personality of Altair is the one in charge. She only speaks Arabic now , to start with. So... Nope, nothing I could say would be funny or helpful in this context... I'm sorry Desmond."

'Mom' was incessantly interested now in finding the apple of Eden.

Which wasn't a bad thing, as it would apparently be needed to save his father sometime down the road... According to the ghost possessing Jasper, who also insisted things like the world was ending soon.

Even with all that going on, Desmond still trained his students, and even added Jasper to the group. Jasper seemed pretty confused about this, and still occasionally gave him 'why the hell are you doing this' looks, but for the most part, had gotten with the program.

Bizarrely enough ‘'Mom' had found an Apple of Eden in Italy , and had gone on a one woman rampage to free Father, despite the ransom call not even coming yet, and nobody even telling her he was missing or where he had last been seen.

"We have a theory for how we might put your mom back in the pilot seat."

Amalia told him one day.

"Really?"

"Well, the Animus explores genetic memories, right?"

"Yah..."

"So, it could be possible to let her explore her own memories?"

"That's... Not a bad theory. You would still have to get her back in the chair."

Apparently they took that as a challenge. Mom was back in the chair.

Around the 18th , Jasper stormed in, eyes glowing again.

"MILES! EXPLAIN"

"I want my mother back."

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN AMERICA!"

"I am right where I am supposed to be."

Whatever was possessing Jasper, threw its hands up, and turned to his father.

"PERHAPS YOU WILL BE MORE COMPLIANT" it told him, before touching him, and causing him to twitch and spasm.

If that thing thought Desmond's father was more cooperative then him, it had another thing coming.

They left the cave, and Desmond realized he still had the jewelry they had gone grave digging for.

"I thought you were kidding." Amalia confessed, staring at him. "That was way creepier than you let on."

"I think we will need to catch up with them." He told her, holding up the necklace.

Finding a place you have never been to within four days was not a realistic task.

They were together in America when it started.

"Oh. Oh my god!" She cried out looking at the sky."

"Happy birthday Jasper." Desmond called out, before they left to find shelter.

---

They survived. A lot of former cities were dead silent now, but they were alive.

"What do we do?" Amalia asked, a dead look in her eye, as she looked at the remains of a car.

"We find survivors." Desmond began, feeling determined. "It doesn't matter whether they are Assassins, Civilians, or Templars now, what matters is that we are survivors."

Amalia looked at him. It was different then the looks she normally gave him as a teacher. This was the look of a follower to a leader. Loyalty and trust, and would die for you.

"Yes. We will."

Together they began their search.

---

For another AU check my other account Rk-ocs, for the fic "Burn like the sun"

#desmond miles #red jordan-ryan #jasper jordan-ryan #old writing #my writing #random k #assassins creed #original characters #clay kaczmarek #original assassin characters #isu

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