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tmntkiseki · 9 months ago

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Batman vs Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles liveblog reaction

Just a little over a minute into the movie and Barbara Gordon stops some shuriken with nothing more than a filing folder. Awesome.

Not going to lie, when I first saw a clip from this movie on Youtube, I had no idea that Batman was being played by Troy Baker and not the late Kevin Conroy. I'm looking forward to how he plays The Joker in this movie.

These heavily stylized intro credits, man. Absolutely in love. The music also fucking slaps.

Is it bad that I genuinely like Leonardo carrying his katana on his belt rather than his back like in most iterations? I know it makes him look more samurai than ninja, but it looks so badass.

I love that the Penguin is only mildly perturbed at discovering he's being attacked by mutant turtles.

"It's always the time for accuracy, Leo." If I don't see that line pop up in another TMNT iteration, I'm rioting.

I had to avoid hooting and hollering when some blood finally showed up. LET MY ANIMATED TMNT BOYS BE BLOODY!

"It's a sword-brella too? I think I love this little guy!" MIKEY

SHREDDER JUST KILLED ONE OF HIS OWN GUYS <- Less shocked that it happened and more shocked that it happened explicitly on-screen

I love that the Turtles' battle with Penguin was full of goofy wise quips whereas Batman's battle with the Foot + Shredder is 100% serious with very little dialogue to speak of

Mikey is gonna spend this movie fanboying over all the stuff in Gotham, isn't he?

RAPHAEL LITERALLY JUST KICKED PENGUIN'S HENCHMEN OFF THE ROOF SFJGKDJFKFH

Raphael throws the first punch; gets his ass kicked by Batman

"I think we should see other people." "But I don't like other people." Awkward lesbian breakup is interrupted by random turtle being thrown into the pizza parlor by Batman.

"Ninja... turtles?" That's TEENAGE MUTANT Ninja Turtles to you, Bruce Wayne!

Ah, so this is one of the iterations where Baxter Stockman was turned into a mutant fly? He's also surprisingly polite. (I'm used to him being more self-centered and egotistical.)

"So he wears a Dracula costume and punches clowns. Who cares?! Dirtbag stole my sai!" "Dracula costume? What kind of Dracula movies are you watching?" SJGKDFJGKFDHJKGH

I am loving how Leonardo and Raphael were characterized for this movie. I'm kinda wishy-washy towards Donatello and Michelangelo.

The shots where the turtles are silhouettes with the only colored parts being the masks * chef kiss *

Mikey is 100% fully aware that he is touching things that are not supposed to be touched.

"What are you, five?" Says Donatello before having his bo stolen by Robin. "Hey, little guy. We didn't come here to fight," says Leonardo before Robin beats his kneecaps.

I keep forgetting that most iterations have the turtles capable of partially or completely retracting inside their shells. (The 2003 series is one of the few iterations where they can't, although they might have if Peter Laird got his way.)

"So, are we not going to beat up these green losers?" "It's not looking like it, no." Robin is literally a mini Raph.

Ra's al Ghul: * decapitates a security guard * Me: * proceeds to check the movie rating online * I'm sorry, it's only rated PG-13?!

God damn, this movie is literally what TMNT 2003 could have been if it didn't have to SOMEWHAT restrain itself so it could air on the 4Kids block.

Harley Quinn literally beckoned Shredder over to her cell just to check her makeup in his mask.

"I offer to cook a gourmet meal and they want pizza. Teenagers." To be fair, I'm one of the cheapest dates around. You could take me to Wendy's and I'd be happy.

"An immortal Shredder? That would... suck." Is someone gonna tell him?

"Calling me 'dude' is not helping your case, Master Michelangelo." It's worth noting that Alfred said his name how it's actually pronounced in Italian. Nice touch.

Donnie soothing Mikey by putting a slice of pizza in his mouth while patting his head. Weird, but oddly wholesome.

Okay, how the ever living FUCK is Troy Baker not only able to channel Kevin Conroy's performance as the Batman, but Mark Hamill's as the Joker?

Fucking Commissioner Gordon's reaction to the turtles just breathes "this might as well just happen at this point."

Harley Quinn being offended at Joker referring to her as "Nurse" instead of "Doctor," oh my god.

Even Batgirl and Robin are aware of how much of a downer Batman is.

Oh god, this bit where Scarecrow's fear gas makes Leonardo hallucinate his brothers being devoured by crows is absolutely brutal.

Is it bad that I think Donnie and Batgirl actually have quite a bit of chemistry?

Welp, Poison Ivy learned the hard way that being mutated into a giant Venus Fly Trap does not have its perks.

Mikey's reaction to Joker and Harley kissing with tongues was basically my reaction.

Okay, the reveal that combining the Joker Venom with the TCRI Ooze not only transforms you, but drives you mad is highkey disturbing. And Joker just injected Batman with it. Oh fucking shitnuggets.

Did Batman just kill Mr. Freeze?

Batgirl just proved that you CAN give your superheroes capes as long as they're detachable.

"You saved him... Thank you." * MIKEY GIVES ROBIN THE BIGGEST BEAR HUG * "Please stop!"

Mikey freaking out over Batman being Bruce Wayne, and Raph facepalming... god, I love these brothers.

Damn, Raph being the one to give Batman the talk about what a family is and how it works...

How is it that Robin and I had the same reaction to the Turtle Wagon in this movie. "Lame... OH FUCK, IT'S ACTUALLY AWESOME."

Did Donnie just take out the crane using manhole covers painted with pizza designs?

Donnie and Batgirl continue to bicker over calling the antidote "anti-ooze" or "retro-mutagen"

"Michelangelo, press some buttons." "I've always wanted to hit every button." Bruce, you need to be nicer to your child.

I'm 100% Ra's al Ghul took off his shirt just to show how muscular he is to Leo and Don.

"You... are a terrible disappointment." I feel like that's something Shredder wanted to say to Stockman for a while.

RA'S AL GHUL JUST BROKE DONNIE'S ARM, THE FUCKER

God, this movie's climax is just the definition of TENSE

"Foolish child. I'm hundreds of years old, and have trained with the greatest teachers in history. How could you possibly--" IS KICKED IN THE BALLS. "Oh yeah? Well, I'm 16, and I learned this from a rat."

We literally have Mikey to thank for Gotham not becoming infested with feral mutants. He and Donnie are also saved from falling to their deaths by a combination of their turtle physiology and sheer dumb luck.

So, uh, is Shredder going to become crazy like The Joker now?

Movie ends with a pizza party in the Batcave just before the turtles head back to New York. Friggin wholesome.

These ending credits are so awesome

Why did I have to fucking right about Shredder becoming a second Joker? AND WHERE IS THE SEQUEL?

#star's turtle talk #turtle liveblogging #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #batman vs teenage mutant ninja turtles #batman vs tmnt

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writer-of-many-ships · 2 months ago

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Welcome aboard the doomreed ship!!! I just read your fics and I LOVE them so much!!!!

Anyway, you can totally ignore the rest of this ask, I hope I’m not infordumping or annoying or anything but since I also got into this ship through movieverse, I thought I might introduce you to these little headcanons of mine (which again you can totally ignore them)

In King Arthur movie (2004), Ioan Gruffudd (the actor who plays Reed Richards) wears armor and it looks like Reed wearing Victor’s armor

Julian McMahon (the actor who plays Doom) starred in Charmed series where his character is a “devil evil” who had to trick his enemy into falling in love with him so that he could kill her. But it didn’t go as planned because he ended up actually falling in love with her. It’s not as simple as them living happily ever after together though because their history (their families are enemies and have been battling against each other for idk now long, maybe decades or centuries, it’s been a while since I watched the show) forbade them from being together and he still needed to kill her. He wanted to abandon his life’s purpose to be with her, but he’s coming to realize that if he truly loved her he needed to let her go and that she “deserved someone better”. It’s a tragic love story full of betrayal and pain where they both love each other but can’t be together. The point of me rambling about this? DOOMREED CHARMED AU WHERE VICTOR TRICKED REED INTO FALLING IN LOVR WITH HIM SO HE COULD KILL HIM WHEN REED’S GUARD WAS DOWN. BUT OH NO HE ACTUALLY FELL IN LOVE WITH REED???? AAAAAAAAAAA

Another, Julian McMahon as Doctor Christian Troy in Nip/Tuck series? Chefs kiss. I just think he’s extremely hot as a “sexy and naughty playboy doctor” (yes, this is literally how his character in Nip/Tuck is, sexy and naughty doctor)

Oh and did I mention Ioan Gruffudd as Doctor Henry Morgan in Forever series and Ioan as Doctor Daniel Harrow in Harrow series? Both characters are literally so Reed coded it’s insane and it’s so amazing. Henry Morgan is a medical examiner and Daniel Harrow is a pathologist so they both solve crimes through dead bodies. But like… they’re both literally so Reed Richards coded, character and personality-vise and everything. Henry is like a younger version of Reed (the one we saw in the movies) while Daniel Harrow is like a more-adult version of Reed, the funny thing is that Ioan as Daniel Harrow looks so much like how Reed looks in the comics. But like it’s not just their appearances, their characters (Henry, Harrow and Reed) have SO MANY THINGS in common in terms of personality.

A bonus is that Henry Morgan’s enemy, Adam, and Henry’s relationship with Adam also reminds me so much of DoomReed.

And that’s it for my rambling lol I hope I wasn’t being annoying. Again, love your fics and welcome aboard the ship!!!!

This was an amazing thing to wake up to!! Thank you for sharing and I didn't mind the rambling at all, I loved reading this 🥹 also glad you like the fics! I have more planned 💕

#doomreed #this was so sweet

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itsyourbizme · 9 months ago

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#growth strategies #leadership #business

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joekellyotcglobalholdings · 10 months ago

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How This Chef Navigated a $80000 Turnaround for His Business

How This Chef Navigated a $80,000 Turnaround for His Business https://www.entrepreneur.com/leadership/how-this-chef-navigated-a-80000-turnaround-for-his/468571 Troy Guard of TAG Restaurant Group discusses transforming from chef to owner, asking for what you want, and the power of storytelling. via Entrepreneur: Latest Articles https://www.entrepreneur.com/latest January 23, 2024 at 07:00AM

#Entrepreneur: Latest Articles

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bjbcos · 2 years ago

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tododeku-or-bust · 3 years ago

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Troy, Summarized

All right, if you didn't go through all my #IcewatchesTroy posts, you can do that to get my live takes, but here's fine too.

First of all, I'm feeling like an EXCELLENT writer right now, watching this damn movie. I've been complimented on my characterization and im always bashful but now i know it's true. If i had to show people an example of how a movie plot is no good without solid character relationships and motivation, i would show them Troy.

Excellent cast. Exciting war visuals and cinematography. Enjoyable fight scenes. A classic plot.

👏🏾TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD RELATIONSHIP BUILDING. 👏🏾

The Iliad is a story practically based in how these characters interact, how their feelings about/respect for each other and their roles influence their questionable decisions, and the consequences of those decisions on themselves and the people around them. Paris & Helen. Agamemnon & Achilles. Achilles & Patroclus. Achilles & Hector. To not focus on the depth of those relationships, or to portray them poorly really undercuts much of the classic story.

Even if i don't care for the whole Achilles and Briseis romance line, if they just spent a little more of this 3 hour movie developing their relationship, i might go for it. I might understand why he somehow survives in the storyline to go back and save her, and it would hit. But... I don't see it. (Lmao and i guess that's fair bc just like in the story....shes a bedwarmer 🤣)

They want me to believe that Achilles is death-defyingly furious about Patroclus' death enough to desecrate Hector's corpse but.... i have not experienced enough time with his character Nor witnessed them have any depth of interaction that warrants this. I don't care that Patroclus is dead, only that it pushes the narrative, and that's wild asf bc his death is PIVOTAL in the story.

(Patroclus, baby, the slander directed toward you that is this movie is heartbreaking and you deserved SO, SO much better 😭 my fury deserves its own post on that, which I HAVE, somewhere.)

Again, this movie might as well be called "Hector of Troy" bc he is really the only person i care about, and who the movie spends time genuinely making sympathetic. I do not care one single wit about Paris or Helen. Really, it makes Paris and Helen just seem stupid asf, fr (and it might not have been so bad if they left in Aphrodite to show their illogical love but they didn't, so...)

This movie is pure tell and not show. It's weird, bc it's almost like you need understanding of The Iliad to get it, and yet with that foresight you just get frustrated.

That being said, I had a fun time! Like, the good bits of this movie are fantastic! I really enjoyed the action scenes; the fight with Achilles and Hector? Chef's 💋 So much fun. The acting? Really good! These actors deserved a better movie, truly!

(I'd watch again purely just to pause and see the outline of Brad's body in that scene. Sorry not sorry. Shit was tightly curvaceous. 🔥👌🏾👀)

P.S.: Everybody has the worst security in this movie 🤣 why is Helen not posted with the strongest guards as a whole Queen/Princess? She just be walking around, getting in the damn way, like girl! 🤣

Anyway 6.5/10, final result.

#IcewatchesTroy #troy #the iliad #achilles #hector of troy #greek mythology

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fussyalma · 2 years ago

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𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘪𝘹 · 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 2

𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗿.

It took on a new meaning with her.

It meant being a good girl for her. It meant submitting myself to her whims and desires. Inside and out of the sheets.

She was building a slow burning, steady, and sturdy devotion. A devotion that would be tested. A devotion that would see loyalty beyond reason.

All in the name of earning the praise to be good enough. To be sufficient. All in the name of good behavior.

It would be that very devotion that would change me. Encourage me into who I am today. It was her that drew out the darkness she could see coiled within me. Coaxed into the forefront of my person with each whispered praise and tender kiss.

Some might mistakenly say that Kamille made me who I am today.

But that’s not entirely true.

She simply angled the light into my shadowed corners so that I could see myself for who I truly am. She brought forth the truth of my desires and inhibitions.

She revealed who I always was, deep inside.

She was everything I had ever wanted and for a year inside those walls, I worshipped her. I did anything and everything that she asked of me. I began helping her with 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. Moving contraband and paying off guards.

𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗿.

The concept was out the window now. My loyalty to Kamille was unmatched. Proven with risk after escalated risk… until one day.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭…”

“Oh god. What have I done?”

Blood covered my hands… dripping onto the concrete floor…

ᴅɪɴɢ ᴅɪɴɢ ᴅɪɴɢ ᴅɪɴɢ

My Apple Watch vibrates and a pinging sound wakes me from the nightmare. The memory. The reminiscent image a crimson soaked blade clattering to my feet fades behind my eyelids as I sit up in bed.

I had forgotten to take the band off while I slept and a notification had sounded, warning me of a spiked increase in my heartrate. I can feel it now, thundering behind the cell bars of my ribcage as Petra and Archie glance up from Troy’s side of the bed. Both of the pups snuggled together and after a minute of me resting back against the headboard to catch my breath, they lay their heads down to go back to sleep.

My swiping away of the notification on the little screen tells me that it’s 3am. It would be noon in Greece. Troy would be in the middle of lunch meetings or coffee with someone.

The thought of him, his broad hand wrapped around a flimsy paper cup, brow furrowed in concentration while he hooked a finger into the noose of his tie, makes me ache.

Rubbing my palms over my face, realizing suddenly just how dry my mouth is, I swing my legs out of bed and pad barefoot into the wide penthouse kitchen. The lights of the city shine in through the large windows and reflect off of the stainless steel appliances.

After filling a glass of water from the port in the fridge, I sip generously, the ice cold liquid soothing a parched throat, raspy from the heavy breathing that accompanies nightmares. I can still see my hands, dripping in blood and I’m unsure if I’m drawing the image from my memory or my dream.

Suddenly, I freeze.

I’m not alone.

Slow, steady footsteps are making their way towards the kitchen.

I move silently but swiftly, setting my half full glass down and grabbing a chef’s knife from the knife block on the counter. Turning around, I clutch the knife at my side, holding my breath as the footsteps grow closer.

Thud… thud… thud… thud…

She’s here. She’s found me.

She’s in the penthouse.

Thud.. thud… thud… thud…

The footsteps round the corner, the perpetrator entering the kitchen …

But it’s just Archie.

He gazes up at me with tired eyes, pausing only briefly before thump thump thumping over to get some water himself from the shared bowl on the floor nearby.

Oh god.

What is wrong with me.

The knife is replaced into the block with a trembling hand as I try not to laugh, humiliated at my own foolishness.

So tense. Terrified.

I need to get out of here.

She hasn’t tried to contact me since I took up residence here. The security is insane. But I know it’s only a matter of time before she finds a way.

I can’t stay here. Alone, and paranoid.

Before he had left, Troy and I had talked about me going to Greece with him. He was concerned about the stalking, he could see the fear in me, but I couldn’t just leave work with no notice. I was due to fly over in two weeks to meet him at the tail end of his business trip.

But I can’t stay here any longer. Alone and paranoid. So, I’ll go now. Surprise him. Work has had a two week notice of my vacation, they’ll manage.

Troy will be busy for the rest of the month, no doubt, but that’s fine. I can explore the country alone during the day and we can explore together at night.

But most importantly. I’ll be with him. Near him.

The one place I’ve felt the most safe in my entire life… beneath the weight of his arm.

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bougredane · 4 years ago

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Junot and Marmont attempt to stage a jailbreak.

Napoleon runs into trouble post-Thermidor. Some handle it better than others. From the new Junot bio by Sylvain Dubief : JUNOT, Premier aide de camp de Napoléon (1771-1813). French and my translation under the cut.

Funeste jour que ce 27 juillet 1794 : il s’agit du 9 thermidor an II. Maximilien « le sanglant » est enfin déclaré hors-la-loi, et Augustin, protestant la culpabilité de son frère, demande à partager sa peine ; ce qui lui est immédiatement accordé … Ils meurent ensemble le lendemain sur l’échafaud.

D’un seul coup, comme par magie, ce qui encore quelques jours auparavant paraissait impossible … redevient possible ! Les arrogants et implacables jacobins se terrent, n’osant plus sortir, courbant la tête, essayant vainement de faire oublier leurs méfaits, tandis que les nouveaux représentants du Peuple les traquent et recherchent tous ceux qui ont pu les aider à faire couler le sang des vrais patriotes.

Bonaparte comprend, dès qu’il apprend la nouvelle, que son sort va se jouer dans les jours à venir : il faut rester calme, comme le doit rester un innocent, un homme qui n’a rien à se reprocher, et, même plus, un homme qui a déjà rendu de grands services à la Nation.

Les commissaires Albitte, Salicetti, et Laporte déclarent, au nom du Peuple français, que le général Bonaparte a totalement perdu leur confiance par la conduite la plus suspecte et, surtout, par le voyage qu’il vient d’effectuer récemment à Gênes … ils décrètent donc ce qui suit :

« Le général Buonaparte, commandant en chef de l’artillerie de l’armée d’Italie, est provisoirement suspendu de ses fonctions. Il sera par les soins et sous la responsabilité du général en chef de ladite armée, mis en arrestation et traduit au comité de salut public, à Paris, sous bonne et sûre escorte. Les scellés seront apposés sur tous les papiers et effets … »

Le général doit garder les arrêts de rigueur dans la maison où il loue une chambre, la villa du comte Laurenti, sous la garde de trois gendarmes.

Quant à Junot, à l’inverse de son général, il ne décolère pas et court en tous sens. Bonaparte devant un tribunal ? Condamné ? Guillotiné ? Marmont acquiesce à cette révolte : ils doivent, ensemble, trouver un moyen de le sauver. Ils élaborent rapidement un scénario d’évasion, digne de ces deux jeunes militaires fougueux : il suffit de tuer les gendarmes et de s’enfuir ensuite en Italie.

La vieille masure de Château-Sallé résonne des sanglots de la famille Bonaparte. Lorsque’Andoche y arrive, la pauvre mère du prisonnier, Letizia, est dans tous ses états. Il essaye de la réconforter, lui exposant son point de vue, et, l’assurant que s’il faut en arriver aux pires extrémités, il met à exécution son plan d’évasion. Elle n’a qu’à lui faire un signe de la tête pour acquiescer.

Letizia hésite. Elle connaît bien son Napoléon ; il vaut mieux le consulter avant, plutôt que d’entreprendre une action qui pourrait contrecarrer ses propres desseins. Sage décision.

Dès le lendemain, l’aide de camp fait passer discrètement à son général son audacieux projet et reçoit en retour ce billet :

« Je reconnais bien ton amitié, mon cher Junot, dans la proposition que tu me fais ; depuis longtemps tu connais aussi celle que je t’ai vouée, et j’espère que tu y comptes. Les hommes peuvent être injustes envers moi, mon cher Junot, mais il suffit d’être innocent : ma conscience est le tribunal où j’évoque ma conduite. Cette conscience est calme, quand je l’interroge ; ne fais donc rien, tu me compromettrais.

Adieu, mon cher Junot, salut et amitié. »

Bonaparte a raison et, après avoir dicté à Junot lui-même, le 25 thermidor an II (12 août 1794), un courrier adressé aux représentants du peuple, si clair et convaincant, qu’il est lavé de tout soupçon et remis en liberté dès le 20 août. Tout rentre dans l’ordre.

-----

A dreadful day, that July 27, 1794: it’s 9 Thermidor, Year II. Maximilian "The Bloody" is finally declared an outlaw, and Augustin, protesting the guilt of his brother, asks to share his sentence; a request which is granted him immediately ... They die together the next day on the scaffold.

Suddenly, as if by magic, what - even a few days before - seemed impossible ... becomes possible again! The arrogant and implacable Jacobins are holed up, not daring to go out, bowing their heads, vainly attempting to make the public forget their misdeeds, while the new representatives of the People hunt them down, seeking out all those who may have aided in the blood-shedding of the true patriots.

Bonaparte understands, as soon as he hears the news, that his fate will play out in the days to come: one must remain calm, as an innocent person should remain, a man who has nothing to be ashamed of, and - even more - a man who has already rendered great service to the Nation.

Commissioners Albitte, Salicetti, and Laporte declare, on behalf of the French people, that General Bonaparte has lost their confidence completely, by the most suspicious conduct and, above all, by the trip he has recently made to Genoa ... they therefore decree the following:

“General Buonaparte, Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Italy's artillery, is provisionally suspended from his duties. He will be placed under the surveillance and responsibility of the General-in-Chief of said army, arrested and brought before the Committee of Public Safety in Paris, under good and sure escort. Seals will be affixed to all papers and effects… ”

The general must concede to his strict confinement within the bounds of the house where he rents a room, the villa of Count Laurenti, under the guard of three gendarmes.

As for Junot, unlike his general, he is far from calm and flies in all directions. Bonaparte in court? Condemned? Guillotined? Marmont humors this agitation: they must, together, find a way to save him. They quickly develop an escape scenario worthy of two fiery young soldiers: they’ll simply kill the gendarmes and then flee to Italy.

The miserable old house of Château-Sallé echoes the sobs of the Bonaparte family. When Andoche arrives there, the prisoner's poor mother, Letizia, is a mess. He tries to comfort her, presenting his view of the matter, and assuring her that, if it comes down to it, he’ll carry out his escape plan. All she has to do is nod her head to agree.

Letizia hesitates. She knows her Napoleon well; it’s better to consult him beforehand, rather than make a move that might thwart his designs. Wise decision.

The next day, the aide-de-camp discreetly passes on this daring project to his general and receives this note in return:

“I recognize your friendship, my dear Junot, in the offer you are making me; You know well enough my own attachment, which I have long devoted to you, and I hope you count upon it. Men can be unjust to me, my dear Junot, but it is enough to be innocent: my conscience is the tribunal where I speak of my conduct. This conscience is calm when I question it; do nothing - you would compromise me.

Farewell, my dear Junot, be assured of my friendship, and all my best."

Bonaparte is right and, after having dictated to Junot himself, on 25 Thermidor, Year II (12 August, 1794) a letter - so clear and convincing - addressed to the representatives of the people, he is cleared of all suspicion and released on August 20. Everything is in order once again.

....

Many thanks to @joachimnapoleon for mentioning the book ! It’s been enjoyable so far, well-written and engaging, and more exact than the other two Junot bios.

(Even if he does cite that one super wild novel-thing from the Mercure de France ...)

#junot #napoleon #marmont's along for the ride #the ride of killing three men and running away to italy

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shewhowillnotbenamed1 · 4 years ago

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@cayeeast 🥰 You are never too late, my inbox is always open. :) I hope Damirae?! I have to preface this: I apologize in advance. I don’t really do fics like these—this is the first. But I want to grow, be a better writer, and try new things. I have never written anything like this before, so honestly, THANK YOU.

Prompts

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"More sauvignon blanc, Miss?"

A bottle of wine was withdrawn from the metal ice bucket, lifted by their waiter's practiced hands. Beads of ice cold perspiration were congealing, beginning to travel downward as Raven swallowed another gulp of air. Though it was slight, her grasp began to shake around her cutlery. She had done her very best not to look at the bottle during the duration of the meal.

Now it was practically in her face, sweating.

Her breath hitched in her throat, as she watched the condensation continuing a steady drip.

It was quite possibly mocking her.

The moment seemed to stretch on before veering into uncomfortable, until both gentlemen glanced down at her untouched white.

"Malbec, sir?"

"Please."

The waiter gently replaced the white before disturbing the red. He swept around the table to refill another glass for Damian, who murmured a polite thanks.

Damian fingered the long, thin stemmed wine glass and turned it towards himself in circles. Several rotations were completed to air out the liquor. He guided the blackened magenta beverage to his lips and sipped thoughtfully.

"Raven."

Though Raven didn't immediately glance up, she was focusing on her meal rather intently. She shuffled slices of swordfish steak and capers to make them chase her chanterelle mushrooms and root vegetables around the triangular shaped plate in different patterns.

Of course, the half-demon was sure to select the appropriately suited silverware as she did so. Her efforts were starting to slow, however, as the lemon cream sauce became nearly nauseating when paired with seafood vapors.

Did fish always smell quite so pungent?

"Is there something wrong with the food?" She refocused on the handsome face of her dining companion, flickering in and out of the candelabra light.

"No, it's wonderful," Raven insisted. "Really, wonderful—great... presentation." His emerald eyes parsed the perfectly placed parsley and the latticework of sauce that was now a soupy mess saturating a plate of parsnips and fish.

"Oh, well it must have been." Damian exhaled sharply out of the corner of his mouth. "But, I'll always say nothing is too beautiful to eat..." He drawled.

"I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought..." she mumbled, flushing a little more than delicately.

"I hope our waiter doesn't insinuate to the kitchen that the meal fell short of perfection tonight. If the chef doesn't already know..." He scanned the perimeter of the dining room, as if expecting to be ambushed by the staff or a number of dining guests.

"I'm willing to bet if it wasn't so busy, he'd be out here himself, demanding to know what's wrong with the food." He cut his steak as he reminisced. "Remember what happened the time you asked for salt...?"

"It could just be me." Subtly, she slid her plate nearer to the center of the table. "Even though, I'll never be fully assured that fish is the best idea on a Monday... Are you sure it's fresh?"

"Is it fresh?"

A part of her was teasing, but Damian physically recoiled an inch. To insinuate that he would frequent an establishment that would serve his fiancée day old fish? His face was drawn with his jaw so set, it was as though he had been slapped—or someone in the vicinity had insulted his mother.

"I called ahead. That swordfish was caught earlier today. They're in season, sustainably sourced, and delivered directly to the restaurant—"

And with a menu that read: price available upon request, where other establishments printed dollar amounts, they all but prepared it table-side.

"But... you didn't follow them to the docks?" She asked in a deadpan. "You didn't call the fishmonger either? And I'm guessing, you didn't stand in the kitchen and observe the process?" Raven folded her arms. "Well, I don't understand how someone who takes shortcuts manages to run a billion-dollar corporation."

Raven wasn't at all new to this and she wasn't sure she would ever fully get used to it.

But sarcasm always helped.

"I was under the impression it was your favorite... You enjoyed it so much when we were here months ago." Damian's eyes darkened and then shone, like a man accepting a challenge. "Have your tastes changed already?"

"It's just... It's a little strong—the smell." Raven cleared her throat with her cheeks draining of their remaining color. "It's much stronger than I remember."

"Tell me... Is it work?" He surveyed the tail-coated waiter standing at the ready and lowered his voice accordingly. "Is it...something else?"

This was meant to speak of their nightly activities, the ones that involved aliases, capes, and crime.

Well, the other ones that involved aliases, capes, and crime—no safe words.

Inwardly, Raven groaned, because once again she was reminded of how much harder this could become.

By Azar's blood.

"It's not...that either. My stomach really is too unsettled for fish today." She took the napkin from her lap to wipe her mouth. "Normally it wouldn't be, but maybe... I'm a little unsettled, too."

"Tch... Well, I knew there had to be something." A half frown stole across Damian's full lips. "It's me, Raven... And this is us. We don't hide things from each other. Not anymore."

"I know." She heard her voice wavering. "I know that..."

"If there's anything at all, you'll tell me." He reached across the table to brush her hand. "If you're unhappy, tell me. I'll do whatever I can..." he whispered, lifting his eyebrows to punctuate his next words. "And I mean... anything."

Now Raven couldn't contain a crude snort. "I know, Damian."

"We can stop by a jewelry store - that engagement ring looks awfully lonely by itself." She sucked her teeth in a manner that was less than refined.

"Shoe store then... You can never have too many pairs of those very similar—" Haughtily, Raven blew air up through the side of her mouth to ruffle through her hair. "—but different, black pairs of boots..."

"We can take a trip..." His voice grew lower still. "...have a threesome." But, that one might have been a question rather than a suggestion. And as he pondered his words, his fork went sailing straight through the remainder of his steak without the aid of the knife. "Well...maybe not that last one."

"You're incredible...suggesting a ménage à trois at a French restaurant? Coquin." The half demon shook her napkin at him. "I'd laugh if this fish wasn't making my eyes water."

"Well, I'd do anything for you..." he replied evenly. "If it would make you happy, I'd even consider thinking about that last." And Raven shot her lavender eyes straight up towards the domed ceiling. They both knew the truth. "Maybe someday in the far, far future..."

As if he would ever share her.

That was exactly right, wasn't it? As if he would ever share her, or their lives with anyone?

Why would he?

They lived on the top floor of an elegant building in Gotham with a vintage lift whose golden grills led straight out into their penthouse apartment. But, it could be argued that the building wouldn't have been complete without their elderly doorman, Tom.

On the daily, he hailed cabs for Raven. Semi-weekly, he handed Damian hangers of dry-cleaning that refilled their twin walk-in closets of the numerous suits, trousers, and shirts and monochromatic dresses, blouses, and skirts.

Each morning, he bade Raven good morning as she went off to work and each night he held the door as he bade Damian good evening, a spectator in the lover's lockstep.

Weekly, Damian and Raven maintained long-standing lunch dates clustered in his corner office at Wayne Technologies. Monthly, the couple attended Sunday brunch with the extended clan of brothers, sisters, partners, kids, and pets all assembled together at the Manor.

Yes, there were others in their lives.

Even though Damian would argue they existed more or less on the fringes of a tapestry, while he kept her framed at the center.

Still, he seemed to love everything exactly as it was and he was in no hurry to change it. Especially when every night ended with them tangled together in their king-sized bed.

Two.

Plus one dog.

Titus was the only exception. Unless things changed in the far, far future.

"Do you mind if we cut dinner short?" Raven suddenly suggested. It must have been abrupt because Damian seemed caught off guard. "I think I want to go home early, curl up next to you, and finish those final pages of my book."

"Alright." He signaled for the check. "I'd like that... We'll get you home and I want your final thoughts on the ending. They better be scathing." The waiter reappeared instantly and it was like he'd never left. And even though his eyes remained lowered to the ground, she knew he had to be appraising her.

Raven mumbled something about the ladies room. She considered splashing her face with water and giving herself a pep talk. But to what end? The evening had already gone array. Something unexpected had cropped up.

Unexpected.

How was she supposed to tell him this?

Damian was a planner and for the most part, so was she. They didn't do unexpected.

"Actually, I'm going to grab my coat."

She excused herself and placed her napkin next to the untouched glass of wine. Her feet were pinched tighter in the heels with every step towards the exit. Raven followed the partition around the perimeter of the dining room, arriving at the stairs to the entrance hall.

As she waited in the queue for her coat, her eyes wandered past the sweeping architecture and up the wrap around staircase, where Damian was probably talking to the head chef and the owner. Just as he predicted.

She handed over her ticket, her heart leaping towards her chest as the end of the evening dawned on her. And as Raven grabbed the coat, she wanted to whirl around in her uncomfortable heels and march back up those stairs. Uncaring of her rudeness, she'd steal Damian away, tug him towards the hallway with the row of chandeliers and kiss him.

And tell him absolutely everything.

She would tell him why La Chandelle wasn't at all appealing tonight. She would tell him why she'd suggested going out to dinner in the first place. She would tell him why things had changed so suddenly.

And why everything could.

Instead, she slunk away. Out of the restaurant. Onward. The best she could do now was hope: hope they could get home, hope she could get out of these heels as soon as she could. And then, Raven would figure out how to tell him tomorrow.

--------------------------

"Raven?"

Damian was racing down the stone front steps of the restaurant to meet her at the curb.

"There you are." He was hurriedly slipping a pea coat over his suit jacket and he sounded nearly breathless. "Where did you go?"

"The coat check. Did you get the car?" Her voice sounded small and defeated. "I really, really want to get home..."

"I can see that," He deadpanned. "But that's not what I meant and we both know that." His brown-black brows began to knit together. "You were somewhere else for most of the evening. I know when you slip into your mind fortress and this is different from that. So where did you go, Raven?"

She swallowed and held out her hand for him to take. They walked a few steps in silence, turning towards a side street. The sound of laughter, music, and chatter faded away and for the first time all evening, she felt like she could finally think. Raven exhaled, deciding this was far enough.

"Damian, when I asked about dinner," she began. "I wasn't expecting this... I figured we were going somewhere with a little less wine and a little less fish—less wine cooked into fish..."

He blinked, processing slowly with his hands in his pockets, his head pointed down towards the cobblestone street, coated in a mixture of oil and water. It had to have rained recently. "Well, it's not too late, we can go somewhere else—nothing French, I promise."

He licked his lips before he continued, probably sensing her apprehension. "We can go to that noodle place and ask for two pots of oolong tea instead of the usual one... Or we can just grab tea?" He offered. "But if you're too tired, we can always make it at home. I'll make yours with the biggest, widest mug and saucer we have."

"So you're just...not going to give up on tonight, are you?" Raven murmured, her lavender hair moving as she shook her head from side to side, as if wondering who this man was.

"No, I don't think I will." A smirk started up on his face. "That's the thing about having a fiancée. You can't get rid of me that easily." He tapped her cheek good-naturedly and ghosted over her forehead with his lips. "I'm always going to be here."

"Didn't we...just get engaged?"

"Is that what this is about...?" Her husband-to-be searched every single inch and orifice on her face. "We can slow things down or postpone the wedding for a few months. The last thing I want you is for you to be stressed about this."

"What I mean is..." She ran a hand across her damp forehead. "Gods, I had this whole speech planned—how I was going to tell you..." Raven's unease fell away when she felt warmth radiating in waves, like he was lending her strength.

"Anything," he whispered. "You can tell me anything." He placed his arms on her shoulders.

Raven took a deep breath, her eyes locked on his, and—

"I'm pregnant."

The words froze suspended before them in midair. Damian continued to stare at her, but without blinking. Then, Raven nodded. And then Damian started to nod too.

She couldn't believe she said it aloud; she couldn't believe that it even happened. "I know it should be impossible... And not just that it's too soon."

"You're..." Damian breathed. "You're pregnant."

And he was taking her hands with his own to squeeze them tight. He started to smile—not just smile, he was beaming in a way Raven had only seen once before: when she said yes. This was more than elation, he was in absolute awe of her. He lifted her from the rain-soaked street in a generous hug to sweep her right off her feet.

Damian was holding her, lifting her. Supporting her from below. He was staring up, as his breath streamed sweet steam swirling against the seam of her lips. From somewhere inside blooming outward, was a warmth that no amount of healing or surge of power or strike of hellfire could ever compare.

And he too was giving himself over to this sensation.

With fingers gliding through his hair, eyes welling emotion, she nodded again. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, and drew closer to connect. Deeply, gently, then sweetly, they kissed into the night.

--------------------------

Damian feathered his lips over hers, placing her gingerly onto her feet. And he was grinning madly at her. Then, his grin slid down a little. And then a lot.

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something. He started to talk and stopped. Started and stopped.

"The wine—"

"The fish—"

He ran a hand down his face while he replayed the events of tonight. "I'm such a goddamned idiot. I'm so sorry, Raven."

"It was a nice meal. I had a great time. So, I couldn't eat anything or drink anything—so what?" Raven chuckled. Whatever cruel sense of irony there was in the world, it was a wonderful night. "You know, it's actually hilarious in hindsight, and now we have a funny story to tell our friends... A-and our—our—"

She was enveloped by the warmest, safest embrace Damian could manage as he was trembling. He rocked her and held her tight, inhaling deeper and exhaling harder until they both relaxed. "I am sorry. I should have sensed something more was going on."

"Well, neither of us thought this was even possible. Up until three days ago, I didn't know it was," Raven blurted. And it felt so good to blurt around him again. "We live together. I could have said it at breakfast. Or at the movies on Sunday... When we were in the shower together, last night. I'm the idiot. "

"The shower..." he repeated. "So that's why you were a little touchy about your body." She groaned loudly—this was not happening. "Raven, you've got absolutely nothing to worry about," Damian insisted. "And besides, you're not even showing yet."

"That's what you think," she grumbled.

His lips curled up. "Habibti." Raven raised an eyebrow. She knew as well as he did, that he had better choose that next sentence very carefully. "Habibti... you've always had an aura glowing about you, only now it's just going to grow brighter."

"Pfft," Raven muttered. "Right. As I grow bigger and rounder."

"You know what, yes," he scoffed. "You will get bigger and I don't care. For that matter, neither should you." Gingerly tilted her chin towards him. The way he was gazing at her, with unconditional love, understanding. "You'll be just as beautiful—equally exquisite."

Who could ever doubt Damian?

"And you'll be even more sensitive in all the right places." His low voice was filled with the darkest promises of sin. "I can hardly wait."

"You're dangerous," Raven murmured, knowing she was turning pink.

"Dangerous?" His nose traced the curve of her neck, as the skin shivered.

"As if you didn't know," she said flatly. "It's probably how you managed to conceive with a half-demon in the first place."

She felt him chuckle into her skin, then it morphed into something like a groan. "So, I botched dinner... And sex in the shower... I should have drawn you a nice, hot soak in the tub... Gone down on you for an hour at least...gone a few blocks past the park to grab some slices of 99 cent pizza..."

"How did you know about the pizza?" Raven's eyes widened on her flushed face. "Did Tom tell you?" Whenever Raven said she was going to 'feed the pigeons in the park', what it really meant was she was going to cut through the park to grab a slice of the cheapest pizza she could get her hands on.

So much for the code.

"You actually thought that was a secret?" And when Damian rolled his eyes, he looked less worried and more like his usual surly self. "Please. I've seen the napkins and the pathetic excuses for paper plates... Really, I should have known something was up, there were a few more than usual."

Through the ovens of pizza and pregnancy, he knew and he loved her.

And Raven threw herself forward and held him tightly to her. "You're sort of perfect, you know that?" she mumbled into the hard chest, smelling the usual amber and spiced apricot. She lifted her head and he brushed an errant strand of lavender from her eyes. "I don't want to cut tonight short. Actually... I kind of want frozen yogurt."

"Fro-yo it is."

And as they walked, he bent his head towards her. He touched her face and murmured, "I...can't believe you're carrying my child..."

Damian began to kiss her so avidly, so impatiently, they had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. She was moaning and pulling pomegranate and malbec from his lips until they were both breathless.

Damian gave her a final peck and they walked back to the restaurant. It was all such a daze, Raven barely remembered him asking the valet to bring their car around. She made a motion towards the door and she noticed he'd already held the passenger side ajar for her.

"I can still do that myself."

"Hmm..." He stared off into the distance with a vague smile, as though contemplating their future. "You're going to fight me at every turn aren't you?"

"No," Raven said quickly. His eyes flickered faintly with amusement. "Not frozen yogurt—I want ice cream. Real, honest-to-goodness, ice cream made with cream, and all the toppings. Whipped cream, hot fudge..."

--------------------------

"Birdie's Diner?"

"Ignore the name, it's a good restaurant. I used to come here all the time, even before we were—" Raven was trying to pull his fingers aside to see his flushed face lit by the bright neon sign. "All diners serve eggs, alright? I'm sure that's all it means."

"And that's the only thing that drew you here?"

He hung his head in defeat before holding the door. "After you."

There were low lamps hanging over the booths and classic rock stringing out of a jukebox in the corner. Raven hadn't been to a diner like this one in well, ever. The hostess handed over two laminated menus and told them to seat themselves. So Raven sat in a red vinyl booth in the back corner, and very discreetly, slipped off her heels.

Instantly, it felt much homier than La Chandelle.

"Raven, we're getting you the best OB in Gotham—that's non-negotiable," Damian was saying. One coffee down and he picked up exactly where he'd left off in the car, driving and planning particulars. "Or Kori can recommend us hers - they're probably accustomed to working with unique cases."

Demonic blood or not, Raven sincerely doubted there was any OB-GYN in the city that wouldn't pass off a patient or two on a colleague, to quite literally, bag a Wayne baby.

The caffeine had fully set in because he was drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the table while he spoke. "It'll cost us another Sunday morning, because you know Kori will want to do an extended brunch when we tell her and Dick the news."

And the second they told her, Raven would promptly conjure up an extra-strength, soundproof barrier around her cellphone to contain the joyous shrieks. And she'd probably have to buy a new phone.

"But it'll be worth it... You know what, it's not too late, I can probably call Dick right now." His left hand darted towards his pocket.

"No. No, you won't." She placed her hand over his. "We'll do it in the morning. Tonight, you're going to sit here with me and eat ice cream, okay?" Then, her ears perked up in a way that Titus would have been proud of. Hearing the sound of a whipped cream dispenser, behind the diner counter, she was almost gleeful. Her ice cream was in transit and was arriving on a round, plastic serving tray.

"Here ya go, sweethearts." A waffle-printed glass dish and two spoons were deposited onto the smooth, scrubbed surface between them. "Enjoy."

"Thank you." She smiled back at the kindly woman in the light blue waitress uniform, with a name tag that read Shirley.

Cookies and cream on a bed of bananas, crushed oreos. Whipped cream and hot fudge. Even one of those radioactive-red cherries on top. And it was absolutely wonderful. She passed Damian one of the long, thin-handled spoons, which they both knew was ill-suited for ice cream. According to Alfred, it was technically for iced tea, but appropriate cutlery was far from her mind. She tapped her spoon to his.

Cheers.

Raven dug in and moaned. In a word it was: heavenly, and far better than she could remember of ice cream. Six more bites and she could just imagine the tip of her spoon about to hit the bottom of her half. That cherry was hers.

"Hey Damian," she nudged his spoon with her own. "Now you're not eating."

"I was thinking..."

"You can think later... You've done more than enough." They would deal with the rest tomorrow. For now, she chose to think of this as a little celebration of the news—just between them.

"Come on, don't let me eat this alone... Sympathy weight starts tonight." She swallowed another spoonful while he glowered at her. And Raven knew full well he'd already had an entire steak earlier. "Don't worry about abs, your aura will just glow brighter."

"Tch—I wonder what genius said that..."

Raven snorted, but didn't argue. In fact, she was absolutely fine with riding Damian's abs—and hard body—straight into the next two trimesters.

"But I have to agree about one thing." Damian drew up his thumb, using it to wipe a smudge of whipped cream from her upper lip. "There is something about real cream..." He held her gaze as he licked his finger slowly.

The blood in Raven's core was warming, the temperature forming liquid fuel for an ache of a different kind. Officially, they had been together for over a year. And this man was now her fiancée. How did he always manage to turn her into some sort of sticky mess?

It had to be unnatural because it was utterly unfair.

Not so subtly, Raven tilted her head at the space next to her. And Damian joined her on the other side of the booth. The diner and the ice cream were so much better with his thigh lined against hers.

"Raven, can I...?" He hesitated, waiting for her approval. He held his hand up to her stomach.

"Of course you can."

Softly, he stroked the skin over her shirt, where the tiny swell would eventually grow. "Raven," he whispered at last, and she opened her eyes. "I want us to take that trip."

"A trip?" Her eyes were so wide only a sliver of purple remained. "A moment ago, you were talking about baby-proofing the apartment." He seemed unfazed. "Nannies? Au pairs? Daycare? What happened to buying every pregnancy and parenting guide our devices will permit? We can't take a trip, wouldn't that be an irresponsible start?"

"We can make time for something important like this," he insisted. "It could be good for you. And for us."

"Why in the name of Azar and all her disciples would this be a good idea?"

"Hear me out... A mother and father-to-be take a trip before the baby actually comes—a baby-moon. That's what they're called," Damian murmured. "I propose we take one, before our lives, and bodies change." He spooned a dollop of whipped cream and slid it between his lips. "What do you think?

"Oh..."

"We don't have to..." He said quickly and dropped the spoon in the dish.

"I think...it could be an interesting idea."

"If you think it's not for us," Damian reached for her and stroked her hair calmly. "I understand."

"No—Damian—we should do this." She searched his eyes. "I want to do this with you."

"Yes." Damian kissed the top of her head. "Just you and me, Raven. We can go anywhere you want."

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zombiesama · 4 years ago

Text

OK people are interested in the nanbaka magi AU so Buckle Up

First off, Jyugo is a dungeon capturer. He only managed to capture the dungeon because the other cell 13 boys carried him through. Why the Djinn chose him, no one knows, but they did.. His metal vessel is one of his shackles & his Djinn equip is the sword hands. He has no goddamn control of his magoi, someone please help him.

Cell 13 is his household!

Nico and Rock are both Fanalis bc they're Big Strong. They're not related, they probably escaped captivity together and became bros. Nico's household vessel is his ball and chain, which he can use as a weapon. Rock's is his hair-jewelry-things which boosts his strength and defense.

Nico has an interest in magic and wishes he was a magician. He is annoyingly obsessive and will bother every magician he comes across (mood).

Uno's household vessel is his necklace. I haven't decided how it functions yet, probably boosts agility or something.

Tsukumo tried to join their group but they all decided he was annoying and kicked him out. They still consider him a friend, they just couldn't put up with him on a daily basis.

Obviously Elf is part of al-tharmen. He's probably a magician.

Man with the scar on his neck is Definetly part of al-tharmen and a magician.

Upa is a magician, Qi is just vibing, and Liang is Samon's household. All work for Samon, whose metal vessel is his staff. Qi is a waste of space.

Inori is also part of Samon's household. Haven't thought about anything about his household vessel.

Honey and Trois are Kiji's household. Honey's spikey hair bullshit has something to do with his household vessel, which is probably a brooch or something. Trois' glasses are his metal vessel. Idk how it functions.

Kiji's metal vessel is Kiji's weapon. I can't think of what it's called right now. Either that or a hand mirror.

Musashi is a dungeon capturer, obviously, and his flames are a Djinn equip. His metal vessel is probably his nipple piercing a weapon of some kind. He's always had a massive amount of magoi.

Kenshirou and Hitoshi are surprisingly Musashi's household. It just kinda Happened. Hajime is pissed about it.

Kenshirou's whip is his household vessel and Hitoshi's is probably something like a garter belt Ngl. His boosts his strength.

Kenshirou has a bunch of dogs. They are skilled guard dogs, but mostly he just babies them.

Hitoshi and Hajime are probably also Fanalis, but also I hate Hajime so I refuse to make him anything cool so that's not happening.

Seitarou is a magician. Yamato is just vibing.

Everyone Expects Hajime to be a dungeon capturer, but no, he's just like that. Seitarou and Yamato work under him. Tsukumo probably hangs around Yamato and isn't considered an official part of their group. He's just kinda there.

Momoko, however, Is a dungeon capturer. The rest of the guards are her household & all the guards work under her. She's probably the ruler of a small country.

There was some lineage mishaps and no one can figure out if Momoko or Shin should have the throne. Rather than duke it out or anything they just rule together.

Shin is a dungeon capturer, his boots (prosthetics?) Are his metal vessel. His guards are his household.

Enki is a dungeon capturer. Ruka is his household. Ruka's fan is Ruka's household vessel.

Mao wants to be a dungeon capturer like Samon, but they either haven't been able to enter a dungeon or have only done so with other people who the Djinn picked over them.

Shiro is from the kouga clan. He probably left and got a job at a restaurant. Rock adores his cooking and begs to go there any time they're even in the same country as the restaurant.

Okina and Kazari are magicians. Instead of being a robot Kaguya is their adopted fanalis daughter. Okina and Kazari hate eachother still, but put up with eachother purely for Kaguya.

Nico is still chronically ill ofc so he needs to see a doctor/healer regularly. Okina is his preferred physician. Okina has begrudgingly become attatched to the little fanalis and worries about him when he's not around.

Kuu is Hajime's pet but he refuses to admit it. He lies and says Kuu is just a stray that hangs around.

Haku is Shiro's pet, which he still hides from the chef.

Ok that's all I can think of for now thanks bye

#rice rambles #nanbaka #magi #long post #long post /#gotta combine current obsessions ya know #also disclaimer i haven't finished magi and haven't read SNB + I am dumb so my info on vessels and shit is probably incorrect #but its fine we're vibing

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sincerelyreidburke · 5 years ago

Note

Don't know why but all of the sudden I'm starting to wonder, what exactly was going through Quinn's mind after Nando left the Halloween party?

Something like this!

(Thank you for the ask!!!!!🤍🤍🤍)

Quinn has been waiting all night.

What for, he isn’t sure. The catch, maybe. For the other shoe to drop. He thought, beyond a doubt, that making the active decision to attend a frat party would mean bad news for him. That something would go wrong, something had to. Nevermind that it’s his first real college party in the first place— it’s also the ice hockey team.

And it’s not that he has anything against hockey. It’s popular back home, and he knows Samwell won some kind of a big game last year. It’s just that Quinn Cooper and sports do not usually mix. He tends to stay far away from that kind of action. The closest he’s gotten to a sport would probably be playing Troy in that one community production of High School Musical the summer before eleventh grade.

The point is, he really counted on something going wrong tonight.

And you could ask, hm, why would a person get himself into a situation out of which he was only expecting something to go wrong? The truth is… Quinn just wanted to branch out a bit, push his comfort zone. He likes Denice, thinks she’s sweet, and he’s grateful she invited everybody to the party.

Also, he made his costume. He didn’t really get a chance to wear it for much longer than the hour-long drama club general membership meeting (Halloween edition) on Thursday night. And if he didn’t go out tonight, he would’ve just spent it holed up in his room looking for bootlegs online.

Thus: frat party. The Samwell Hockey Haus. The… cutest boy he’s ever seen.

He didn’t plan on this, didn’t factor boys into his agenda for the evening. He thought he would be spending time with Denice, and, yes, okay, probably meeting some hockey players, but not… this. Not sitting on the porch with one until long past midnight, losing track of time in the conversation. Not this lightness in his chest he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

He’s not going to read too far into this, because he doesn’t get his hopes up. Even though this guy made a sexuality-disclosing comment no less than ten minutes into their conversation tonight. And even though he let down his own guard enough to do the same himself— much later, but he still did it.

He’s met other gay guys. He does theatre, for the love of God. He’s just… never really met someone quite like Sebastián. Never hit it off so easily with a guy, never completely lost track of time talking to him like that.

But he isn’t going to get his hopes up. He can’t.

He pushes his way back into the living-room of the house after Sebastián’s friend in the chef costume takes him away for the night. He wonders, dimly, if he’ll ever see him again, but then again, if he can find him through Denice, would it really be that difficult?

Besides, who knows if Sebastián would even want to see him again. He kept him all night, while his hockey friends partied inside. Something in him knows that if he hadn’t showed up to this party, Sebastián’s night would have likely gone very differently. It would’ve… been more fun, probably. He feels a little guilty for it.

There’s still something of a disaster scene going on inside the actual frat house, overseen by the DJ in the robot mask, who, by the way, seems to run on a never-ending supply of energy. Quinn stands to the side of the front door and goes straight for the volume in his ears, turning it down to a level that allows him to be able to hear himself think again without the constant intrusion of bass. He can still feel the floor vibrate with the sound. Apparently, the DJ has no concept of volume control.

Now to find Denice. He’ll thank her, and then he’ll go back to his room and sleep. A respectable amount.

And maybe, the next time he sees her, he’ll ask about Sebastián. Maybe. He’s not sure he wants to let himself do that. There would be no use setting himself up for rejection, if it turns out he isn’t interested.

But tonight… what a lovely night. It can’t have been a fluke.

He wants to listen to Grease. It was playing earlier anyway.

Cautiously, he steps into the general crowd. Denice’s skirt was bright-pink, and he thinks that would make her easy to spot, but he isn’t having any luck scanning the room for her. Tony isn’t anywhere to be seen, either. He tries to avoid sweaty bodies and/or being trampled by tall people as he searches for a familiar face, but there’s nothing. It’s a wall of unfamiliarity. He hasn’t seen any of these people before.

Maybe this is where the other shoe drops. He gets lost and disoriented, a useless drama club freshman, in a hockey party crowd.

He should have just gone back to Wilson with Sebastián and his friend.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He must look lost, which is horribly embarrassing, but evident given the look on the person’s face who has just said this to him. It’s a tall guy, probably just as tall as Sebastián was, and he’s standing against the wall next to another, equally tall guy. They must be hockey players. “You look slightly stressed,” the guy adds.

Quinn really doesn’t want to be laughed at or made fun of. He puts up his guard. “I’m alright,” he replies, squaring his shoulders like they aren’t what feels like a foot taller than him. “Have you seen Denice?”

“Oh, Ford?” The guy who spoke smiles a little, then shakes his head. He has brown skin and green eyes, with a backwards red ball cap over his curly hair, and he’s very handsome. Also, he’s holding the other guy’s hand, and he’s tucked it into his back pocket. There’s a stuffed animal of some kind in another of his pockets. A lobster or a crab, maybe? “She went to bed, I think.”

“She was chaperoning her tipsy boyfriend,” adds the other guy, who is possibly the most ginger person Quinn has ever seen in his life. “He… can be a lot when he’s drunk.”

The first guy laughs knowingly. “But we can pass a message along to her,” he says, “if you need. Yoo— wait!” Something like realization dawns on his face. He seems a little tipsy, too, but definitely not completely drunk. “Are you her drama freshman?”

Oh, gee. Does Quinn have a reputation among the hockey team already? “I am,” he replies, standing his ground. The good news is that neither of the guys seem to have any interest in making fun of them. “I just wanted to thank her for inviting me.”

“Ohh. That’s cool, man.” The red hat guy pauses. “Sorry she left. I’ll chirp her tomorrow, if you want.”

Quinn has no idea what this means. He brushes off the lapel of his jacket. “I suppose I can just text her.”

“Do you need anything?” asks the ginger. His ears are huge. “There’s water in the kitchen.”

“Oh, I’m quite alright.” Quinn pauses. He should just get out of here. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable, exactly, especially not knowing these two hockey players are holding hands in plain sight— but he’d feel much more comfortable back in his bed. “But thank you,” he adds. “I think I’d best get back to my room.”

“Do you need a walking buddy?” asks red hat guy.

“Oh, goodness, no.” Quinn smooths his hair. “But thank you. I do appreciate it.”

“Of course, bro,” he replies. “Stay safe out there. Have a good night.”

“Thank you; I will.” He nods over his shoulder at the both of them, then signs goodbye. “You as well.”

The crowd takes just as much effort to push back through, and when he finally emerges back out onto the porch, he dusts himself off and takes a deep breath. That was a far too sweaty and crowded experience for his liking. It was much nicer being out here, on the porch with Sebastián, having a conversation.

He shakes himself out a little on his way down the front steps. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about a boy he just met tonight, especially one he’s not sure he’ll ever get the chance to see again.

Should he ask Denice? Maybe he should just ask Denice.

But— not tonight, he decides, as he walks away from the frat house and back towards the street. In the morning, he’ll decide if he wants to ask Denice about him.

Tonight, he’ll go back to his room. He’ll get changed and put his costume away. He’ll possibly listen to Grease. He’ll indulge himself in this daydream just a little longer, because he still can’t shake that lighthearted feeling.

But after that, he’ll go to bed. And in the morning, he’ll text Denice to thank her.

And after that… well, he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

#oc taddies #crickets #poindextears writes #just a little bit of nurseydex #omgcp fic #omgcp ocs #mini quinny

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gena19830620-blog · 5 years ago

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1 price tag sells at Birmingham auction

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claudehenrion · 6 years ago

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L'Etat, c'est lui...

Que ne nous avait-il pas promis ! La jeunesse triomphante allait chasser les vieux ramollis, le progressisme le plus ''bobo'' allait nous détacher des miasmes, des conservateurs puants et des vieilles habitudes (qualifiées de populistes quand on ne sait pas quoi en dire). Le remplacement de trognes trop vues par des visages nouveaux (et beaux, bien sûr!) allait libérer la France de ses traditions et de son histoire, ridiculisée en ''crime contre l'Humanité'' (tout de même... il faut oser !)... Nous allions connaître la félicité, grâce au recadrage des vieux (enfin cantonnés à leur rôle de payeurs d'impôts confiscatoires)... et grâce à un alignement sur cette Europe dénaturée, absurde, perdue, dont plus un seul européen ne veut ! Demain, on allait raser gratis, dans une République ‘’exemplaire’’... On a vu... On voit...

Comme on pouvait le redouter, un piège aussi bien tendu a marché... et les pauvres électeurs français, matraqués comme jamais par des tsunamis de fake news ont découvert, les pauvres, que le lieu commun ''j'ai confiance dans la justice de mon pays'' n'était qu'un énorme bobard cathophobe et ''fillonicide'' : au milieu des mensonges colportés par toute une ''intelligentzia'' inintelligente et des relais journalistiques tous pourris car tous à gauche (à une exception près : Valeurs Actuelles, valeur sûre !), la victoire est revenue au candidat des médias, du fric et des magistrats sans pudeur... contre celui du cœur, de la raison, et de la France.

Dès le lendemain, l'erreur est devenue palpable, mais les français sont si légitimistes que personne n'a osé le dire... à l'exception de quelques blogueurs qui persistaient à annoncer une issue néfaste. Les fameuses ''nouvelles têtes'' étaient soit des gloires flétries du socialisme (des Ferrand, Collomb, Castaner, Jospin... pour ne citer que les pires), soit des ultimes survivants des conneries de mai 68 (des Schiappa, Hulot ou de Rugy), soit des ectoplasmes issus de cette ''droite à gauche'', tels le sinistre (et nul) Edouard Philippe ou le nul (et sinistre) Darmanin. Dans la chasse aux prébendes et aux avantages, on a bien vu se pointer quelques têtes nouvelles, avec une araignée soit au veston soit au plafond... Il aurait mieux valu qu'ils restent dans l'anonymat qui était leur avenir logique : à l'exception de mon ami Jean-Michel Blanquer, qui a rendu l'espoir à notre jeunesse en annihilant heureusement ses trois prédécesseurs mortifères, et tous ont fait long feu. Sauf l'infréquentable Benalla dont la seule présence est une faute de goût et de dégoût.

Comme sœur Anne, nous n'avons rien vu venir. Les godillots du Palais Bourbon ont beau se plaindre de travailler, les seules lois qui ont changé quelque chose à nos vies ne sont que celles qui, d'inspiration socialiste, ont appauvri la majorité de nos concitoyens au profit de ces appels d'air soi-disant humanitaires qui ne sont que criminels... C'est d'ailleurs cette semaine que les français ont enfin commencé à gagner de l'argent pour eux : depuis le premier janvier, 100 % de nos efforts n'ont servi qu'à payer des folies mortifères... Et le cauchemar continue, sans espoir.

Et pendant ce temps, le Président de la République se vautre dans un manque absolu de jugeote en s'éprenant d'un individu tel que ce faux ''body-guard'', ce qui est très grave à ce niveau : quand on est tout en haut, on n'a pas le droit de se laisser avoir par un type sans envergure, sans savoir faire, sans le moindre début de qualification pour les responsabilités qu'on lui a abandonnées (mais pourvu d'une audace et d'une prétention sans limites, comme il l'a démontré vendredi dernier au ''20 heures'' : à ce degré, c'est de l'inconscience ou de la bêtise -ou les deux !). Ce sale type odieux avait, auprès de notre Président, un rôle bien plus intime qu'un garde du corps, et bien plus important qu'un ''chargé de la logistique et des bagages'', comme voudrait le faire croire l'incroyable (dans tous les sens du mot !) Castaner, le bluffeur en chef de La République en marche : les français ont le droit de savoir pourquoi un type vraiment pas fréquentable (que même le pitoyable Arnault Montebourg avait dû foutre à la porte pour faute grave) avait séduit notre Président et lui seul, au point d'être toujours dans son sillage, tout près, presque tout contre ! La farce des commissions parlementaires ajoute le foutage de gueules à l’indécence : le seul vrai sujet, c’est : ‘’Benalla, pourquoi, comment ?’‘, et non un ‘’spoil system’’ : l’appareil d’Etat émasculé pour un Benalla ! Quelle honte !

Mais le problème n'est pas là où l’Élysée essaye de le contenir : c'est Macron qui, dans un pays qui est au 23e rang des pays les plus corrompus (mais dont le chef veut donner des leçons de morale au monde entier et n’en recevoir de personne), a fabriqué un vrai drame qui est le reflet des énormités qui marquent ce quinquennat, comme le précédent. En disant "le responsable c'est moi", Macron fait d'une petite frappe l'anti-héros douteux d'une affaire d'Etat qui n'avait pas lieu d'être. Et en affirmant, bravache, puéril et hâbleur, qu'il est ''fier de l'avoir embauché'' et qu'il approuve ''la faiblesse des sanctions prises'', il dépasse tout ce qui est acceptable.

Qu'il le veuille ou non, les français sont obligés de se poser des questions, ne serait-ce que sur les prises de positions insoutenables sur le fond que leur Président prend sans cesse sur tout ce qui touche à l'islam. Sur ce sujet délicat entre tous, jusqu'où allait l'influence réelle de cet individu dont le pouvoir est une insulte à la France et aux français ? Devant la véhémence avec laquelle le Président le remercie de sa nullité envahissante à ses côtés, on est en droit de se demander si son influence néfaste n'a pas pu aller bien au delà des inutilités auxquelles le Pouvoir se donne un mal fou pour faire croire qu'elle se cantonnait ?

Pourtant, à un moment où la politique menée par Donald Trump réussit à peu près dans tous les domaines (nous l'avions prédit longtemps avant son élection) et où la France se débat entre un chômage en hausse et une croissance en berne... (comme prévu), il est temps que Macron devienne adulte, change tout son entourage et ses conseillers, et fasse enfin les 3 ou 4 choses simples que tout le monde attend : changer de doctrine, baisser violemment les impôts (sans astuces ni camouflage), s'attaquer franchement à la dépense dite ''publique'' (encore un mot mensonger qui fait un mal inouï), oublier toutes les bêtises qu'il dit sur ''son'' Europe et sur l'immigration, nos deux drames majeurs... et sa vison (nulle et dangereuse !) de l'islam et les sujets dits ''sociétaux''... Même sans espoir, on peut rêver...

H-Cl.

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