“You’re saying that you skived off of work because you want to see some man who writes your favorite comic book series?”
“Mr. Unwin is a graphic novelist,” Harry says firmly, shifting in order to get a better picture of the length of the line. “The snobbery towards visual works of art is—”
“Yes, yes, we all know about your infatuation for one of Britain’s youngest authors,” Merlin sighs into the phone. “Unfortunately, we can’t officially give you a weekend off to jaunt over to a con and have him sign one of your dilapidated copies of West Borough Wall-Banger.”
“That is the name of the first volume, not the whole series,” Harry retorts, stepping forward a few centimeters. “And I’ve already planned ahead. I called in this morning. It’s terrible to have the flu this time of year.”
“Oh, it seems that I’m reaching the beginning of the line,” Harry says, then hangs up.
If he peeks behind an eager young woman with sunglasses and a hood, he can see some sort of jacket crowded with gold plaques, with a white cap pulled over his face. Trying not to fidget, Harry watches him sign the inside front cover—The Spy Who Shagged Me, a bonus novella that Harry’s kept carefully in his bookcase and wrapped in the plastic covering—and speaking to her, voice unheard over the constant chatter of the convention around them. The young woman’s grinning, hand just shy of resting on his arm, and Harry can hear Unwin saying, “It was honor to meet you, m’lady.”
“My knight,” she says, laughing, with an accent that Harry cannot quite place. “Would you name a character after me?”
“Perhaps there will be a dashing rescue of a princess,” he replies, and when she leans over, blonde hair falling over her face, Harry can hear her murmur, then Unwin’s startled, choked laugh.
“All right, ma’am, that’s enough,” one of the men standing near the end of the table says, and the young woman goes cheerfully enough, swaying her hips. “Next!”
Roosevelt Island is a narrow island in New York City’s East River. It lies between Manhattan Island to its west and the borough of Queens on Long Island to its east, and is part of the borough of Manhattan. Running from the equivalent of East 46th to 85th Streets on Manhattan Island, it is about 2 miles (3.2 km) long, with a maximum width of 800 feet (240 m), and a total area of 147 acres (0.59 km2).
Roosevelt Island was a center of refuge and care for 100 years, with hospitals and asylums.
But the island had yet another career. For a century, it housed a grim penitentiary, where inmates passed their sentences along the banks of the East River, within tempting sight of freedom on the nearby shores.
The penitentiary, a long gray arcaded structure, was completed in 1832 on what was then Blackwell’s Island. Castlelike crenelations running along the roofline and a chubby turreted tower of a “feudal character” lent a “certain rudeness” to the work, according to Appleton’s Dictionary of New York of 1886.
was where it was to begin, according to her brief. The Lucas family
were the most powerful in the West borough of London. The matriarch,
who the resistance nicknamed ‘Granny’, was one of the highest ranking
officials in Nazi occupied England. It was Zelena’s job to glean as
much information from her as possible to help her cause. The
resistance gave her her own nickname – she wasn’t called the
'Wicked Witch’ for being a goody-two-shoes with what she did. Zelena
would stoop to any means to get what she wanted.
was the only way out of this hell after all.
dressed the part of an S.S. Officer’s wife. She was nameless, a Jane
Doe, this dinner was to be teaming and she was to infiltrate
undetected. If anyone was to ask her husband was in the mother land
serving the fuhrer. There were no specifics, no getting personal –
she could do this.
arrived fashionably late, late enough that there was already quite
the crowd and thus she could easily blend in. She slipped inside the
building with ease. The size of the hall this function was at was a
little overwhelming, but the bigger the better.
sat atop the head table like a sentinel, nothing would be missed,
nothing or no one – except Zelena.
weaved her way through the crowd, people were mingling, getting to
know one another before 'business’ proceeded. She was just another
face right now, and that was how she intended to stay.
Hello, my lovelies ^-^ I wrote this ficlet a couple of weeks ago after some comment I read on my bb ter0rr’s blog about Adam, Nigel and a possible daddykink scenario. Please note I am not back on the writing saddle yet, so it will take me some time to write the next part- but I felt like publishing this first chapter for you all ♥
I tried to be as respectful as I could to Adam’s characterization as a young man with Asperger’s, and if I succeeded it was because of the invaluable help I got from brassknuckled, who sent me a quick and insightful beta which made the story so much better <3
I hope you enjoy it! :D
TW for this chapter: Violence, explicit language, slurs.
Troja Palace is a Baroque palace located in Troja, Prague’s north-west borough (Czech Republic). It was built for the Counts of Sternberg from 1679 to 1691. The palace is owned by the city of Prague and hosts the 19th century Czech art collections of the City Gallery.
The palace’s design has been influenced by French and Italian architecture and is mostly the work of French architect Jean Baptiste Mathey. The latter also built the palais Buquoy in Prague, currently the French embassy.
So I just watched a 14 minute "documentary" on the wetborough baptist church....
And all I can think is “If there is a heaven, and only these people are going to be there…..I would rather rot in hell with all the "fags” and Australians and “wretched beings” because those people at least love themselves and are accepting of other people.
All in all, I kind hope heaven and hell do exist, just so I can laugh when that old bitch finally dies and goes to hell…
Fuck, wouldn’t it be amazing if God was real, and turned out to be a really flamboyant gay man! Like if these acts by the west borough church were SO heinous that he actually came out of the sky and slapped him across the face and said “NO! That’s a BAD christian. …. RUDE!” and then floated back up to wherever.