#maybe nowhere

Wow we’ve made it to 400!!! Thanks for enjoying the funky little guys!

The Dwights seem to have been transported to some sort of beach island resort where they have to work and serve killers? There also seems to be this random person romancing said killers? Very strange.... Well, best to keep their heads low and do their jobs so the killers don’t come after them instead. At least they get some breaks to enjoy the beach too.

Thanksgiving meet-cute. (alt-universe)

Thanksgiving is always a time she dreads.  The holiday arrives each year during her favorite season.  The smell of leaves falling from the trees still lingering in the air, and the opportunity to wear all her cozy socks, sweaters, and so on still don’t make up for the day she abhors.

“Regina, Regina!  Are you listening?” Cora’s shrill voice through the phone forces her focus.

“Yes, Mother.  I am listening.  I just don’t understand why I can’t bring a store bought pumpkin pie.”  Regina questions, her fingers anxiously tapping against the wood of her dining table.

“Darling,” her mother says with condescension, “I know you are busy with Henry and work, but there is no reason to underestimate yourself.  You can make a wonderful pie.  I’ll send you my recipe.”

That seems to be the end of the conversation as her mother begins rambling on about how her father has yet to pick up the turkey, and there are so many preparations before Thursday.

Regina sighs, half listening to her mother’s complaints.  She’s been more than busy with Henry and work.  She’s been on call all weekend for the veterinary clinic where she works, and has had to drive Henry to and from soccer practice or games four times since Friday.  She is exhausted, drained of any remaining energy by her mother’s insistence that she bake the pie she brings to their annual Thanksgiving gathering.  

It isn’t that she doesn’t enjoy baking.  She loves putting together warm apple crisp or gingerbread cookies this time of year, but she still has two more days of call, and if the next two days are anything like this past weekend she doubts she’ll survive it.

“Mom?” Henry questions, his lanky body leaning across the kitchen island.  Regina can’t help but wonder when he got that big.

She hums a reply, glancing at him, silently asking what he needs while her mother continues chattering away over the phone.

“Is that Grandma?” he questions.  Regina gives a slight, tired nod before Henry eases back from the counter and walks in her direction.

“Here.” He says, reaching his fingers to her phone, and then he takes it, puts it to his own ear and greets his grandmother politely.  He takes over then, listening to his grandmother’s constant blather, and Regina is grateful, proud, and so very tired.

She rises from the table, passes him, but not without leaving a kiss on the top of his head, and heads to her bathroom.  Several minutes pass quickly as she prepares herself for bed, pulling on her coziest fleece pajamas, and then she lifts up her covers, and lets the quiet and darkness calm her as she drifts to sleep.

Monday morning doesn’t bring renewed energy.  Regina finds herself called to the vet clinic at 4:00 AM by an owner of a large dog who wouldn’t get up to go outside this morning.  Teddy, the great dane, was lethargic, and slightly bloated.  Instead of sleeping away the early hours of the morning, Regina spends those hours running labs and developing x-ray film.  The next few days don’t improve, but luckily, as Wednesday morning rolls around, she finally gets a break.

She wants to spend the day doing absolutely nothing.  She wants to stay in her pajamas, curl up on the couch, and watch “Home Alone” with Henry.  She desperately needs a day of nothing, no to do’s, no obligations, but that isn’t today.  Today she has to bake a pumpkin pie.  Not just a pumpkin pie, but her mother’s recipe.

She stretches, taking a sip of coffee, before scrolling through the ingredients and steps her mother had sent.  This would take hours!  She is supposed to make the pumpkin puree and cool it before even starting on the crust.  She sighs, sets her phone down on the counter and takes another deep sip of hot coffee.  The warm brown liquid eases her stress, the smell lightening her mood when Henry walks into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mom.”  Henry states while opening a cabinet and grabbing out a box of cereal. “I’ll help you make Grandma’s pie later if you want.”

“Thanks.” Regina smiles.  Having Henry help will make her task almost enjoyable. “I’ll take you up on that.  First I have to go buy a very long list of ingredients. Care to run to the grocery store with me?”

“Ummm, Mom.” Henry mumbles, mouth full of cereal, before he gestures to his clothes.  It’s ten in the morning, but he’s still in his pajamas, hair shuffled, and sleep still crusting his eyes.  “I don’t really think I’m presentable.”

Regina laughs, nods, and heads to the door.  “I’ll be home in an hour.  Call if you need me. Love you.”

“Love you.” Henry mumbles past another bite of cereal, and Regina stops herself before scolding him for poor manners.  That’s something her mother would have done, something her mother does, constantly.  She shakes her head, knowing Henry usually doesn’t talk with his mouth full.  With a grin she walks out the door.

It’s on her second stop at a grocery store that she realizes there are no pie pumpkins to be found.  She nearly grabs a bakery pumpkin pie before pulling her hand back and biting her lower lip.  No, she can’t do that.  Unless she wants to spend the entirety of Thanksgiving dinner listening to her mother’s great dissatisfaction she cannot do that.  She grabs it anyway, along with all the other ingredients she needs to bake a pie, and a can of pumpkin puree.  Just in case.

A grocery clerk kindly informs her that there is a farmer who sells fresh produce every Wednesday just a mile from the store.  She might just be lucky enough to find some pumpkins there.

Before she even pulls into the parking lot up the road, she spots the bright orange of pumpkins.  They look small, just about right, and she finds herself parking and walking up to the tailgate of the blue pick up truck with a wide smile tugging at her lips.

“Hi, I’m Robin. Can I help you?” an accented voice asks, and Regina turns coming eye to eye with gorgeous blue depths.

Regina continues smiling, taking in the attractive face in front of her.  “Yes,” she turns back to the truck, “how much are the pumpkins?”

“Pie pumpkins are two for $5.” The man moves in front of her, lifting one for her to see more closely.  “Making a pie?”

She scoffs before taking the pumpkin in her hands and turning it over, “I’m being coerced into making a pie.”

“Ah,” he grins, and that’s when she notices the dimples etching into his cheeks, “well, these will do the job, coercion or not.”

“I’ll take two.” She states, handing him the pumpkin, before shifting to dip into her purse.

She hands him a five dollar bill while simultaneously accepting a hefty paper bag.  His fingers brush hers, and she nearly jumps.  She can’t believe how easily affected she seems to be by a handsome man.  It’s embarrassing, and she feels her cheeks flush.

He clears his throat before speaking, “My card is in the bag.  I guarantee fresh produce so if you have any problems feel free to reach out.”

i was thinking about 4th year but probably not the same city if we're talking erasmus, i mean i could go to york i think. or other coutry, like sth scandinavian or iceland

Tyrion to Dany, 6x10: It’s yours. Now and always.

Jaime to Brienne, 6x08: It’s yours. It will always be yours.

There are certain hard rules, certain immutable laws in life: Cats will always demand to sit on your lap at the most awkward time. Some books and films are genius works of art that make the world a better place for existing, yet you're glad you never have to read or watch them ever again. 

Random kitchen equipment will appear in your house without going through the intermediate step of being bought, yet you can never find a whisk when you most need one. 

You will never have enough socks. Milk will disappear faster than you're drinking it.  

At night, you can't look out of your kitchen or bathroom window for fear of something looking back at you.

You can't dangle a foot over the edge of your bed and leave it like that. Don't believe me? Try it. 

Tonight, when you go to bed, stick your foot out just over the edge of the bed. Leave it covered if you like (cold feet are not conducive to sleep) and try to go to sleep. You won't be able to. Your foot will feel more and more exposed the longer you leave it dangling like that. You will start to feel like something is watching it intently. There's something there and it's going to grab your foot and you need to pull it up and onto the safety of the bed right now! This is not a silly holdover from childhood, where monsters would eat you if you weren't completely cocooned in your blanket by the time your parents switched the light off. This is not a sign of some weird foot-related phobia, either. Rather, it is a learned response. You see, something does live under your bed. And it comes out after dark. Imagine, if you will, a weasel. Or a ferret. Even a stoat. A small-ish creature of the mustelid persuasion. Something with that curiously boneless and sinuous way of moving. A sense of motion stilled.

Imagine large eyes (for seeing in the dark) and large whiskers (essential in the under-the-bed dark). Imagine small, dexterous hands not unlike an otter’s.

These are the carpet sharks. Every house has a population of them and before the rise of electricity and nightlights, they kept the monsters in the dark under control. Small but fierce, a normal clutch would mob any creature foolish enough to show its face or even look like it was contemplating crawling out from wherever it was lurking. These days, of course, houses are too easily lit and the human world in general has become too light for big monsters. They have been pushed to the edges of the world where they sulk and mutter darkly about how one day the lights will go out and then we'll see who's really in charge here, won't we? Why, when granther was alive and so on and so forth. Still, the carpet sharks have remained and thrived in the absence of the Big Ones. Fewer carpet sharks lost to predation or battle and the abundance of dust bunnies and other, smaller, house monsters means (just in case you were wondering where your socks go) has led to a dramatic increase in population.

They are now so numerous that they're starting to come out during the day as well. You know those odd noises that you sometimes hear when the house is quiet? That’s a particularly enthusiastic carpet shark after a house monster or dust bunny. Your cat staring fixedly at absolutely nothing? She spotted a juvenile carpet shark which has long since camouflaged itself and scampered off. It's probably on top of a bookcase chuckling to itself.

Now, having a healthy population of carpet sharks in your house is generally speaking a good thing. They keep the population of sock-hunters down and patrol bedrooms at night, scaring off unwanted ghosts, stray nightmares and guarding against the return of the Big Ones. Unfortunately, carpet sharks have one weakness: human feet. 

If you leave yours dangling over the edge of the bed, it will distract them terribly from their self-imposed duties. They all gather together and stare, mesmerised, hungry, needing until, eventually, one brave soul comes up and noses at your toes to determine edibility. If the foot doesn't move, it continues to nose around and eventually grabs hold of a toe... 

This is usually the point where you startle awake and then blame either the cat or the other half and thus far, you've always woken up in time to prevent worse.