#French quarantine

[thatsuncleharrytoyouyoungman]

aklfdja;klsjd je blague mais watching and remembering all those collective like songs n stuff 'known' persons did during the lockdown got me thinking myb we need another pandemic lmaoooo

[werewolfetone]

Hey um sorry but your boyfriend was caught trying to flee revolutionary France with his family despite the war + despite being the king and well I have some bad news

[icetwinkluck]

he’s so babygirl coded. i could fix him but i don’t want to.

[passionpluto]

guess who has two thumbs, turns 29 today, and has to work a saturday shift in nine hours?

(at least all i had to say to get out of rando acquaintances' eurovision parties this year was "i work retail and i'm pushing 30")

[cllightning81]

Family Friend [PG10]

Summary : You and Pierre had been dating for a while but the last thing you expected was to see a picture of you kissing on social media. Except that's not how your brother's found out it was him.

Pairing : Pierre Gasly x Leclerc!Reader

Warnings: Google Translate French

When you woke up that morning, the last thing you expected to see was a billion text messages from only three people. Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo. Reading through the texts, they were all variations of

You looked down with Pierre’s arm tightly wrapped around your waist. You opened the Twitter well now X app to see millions of pictures of yourself kissing a guy -Pierre- explaining all the texts from your brothers. Your face dropped as you shook Pierre awake 

‘When were you going to tell us?’

‘Who is that?’

‘What the hell Y/N’ 

“Amour? Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” (Love? What’s wrong?) He asked, voice deep and full of sleep

“We’ve been caught. There’s pictures of us kissing. My brother’s have already seen it” You panicked as he pulled you closer now more awake. 

“Chérie. Take a deep breath.” (Darling) You copied his breathing. Your head placed against his chest, his heartbeat against your ear resting right above his heart, relaxing you more. 

“I guess. I miss your blonde hair” You changed the subject as you always did when you panicked. 

“Now let’s see this picture?” He muttered, taking your phone and looking at it

“Okay. So it’s just a picture of you kissing someone. It’s also a very old picture Chérie” He rubbed your arm gently with his hand

“You’re changing the subject. This could be anyone in this picture, so let’s continue with our plans of a day on the boat. There’s gonna be other people there, so let’s get ready for that” You nodded, kissing his jaw. 

An hour later, you were following Pierre onto Charles’ boat after not answering any of your brother’s texts. Lando thankfully followed behind you so it didn’t look too suspicious. Not that he knew that you were using him to hide your panic. 

“Look who finally showed up” Charles rolled his eyes, and you dropped your head 

“It’s an old picture. I promise. I was like nineteen in those pictures. Like four years ago” you sighed, sitting down next to Pierre. It's more like you had been hiding your relationship for four years. It was perfect. You got to quarantine together and just pretend it was because Pierre’s house offer had fallen through. Well, it had, but he definitely could have got another. 

“Qu'est ce qui ne vas pas chez toi?” (What is wrong with you?) Arthur asked Charles, pushing him aside and wrapping his arms around you from behind. Being just a year younger than Arthur, you had always been close. He was more interested in who it was to annoy you about it than Charles, who wanted to kill whoever it was. Lorenzo just wanted to be nosey and know all the details. A little longer, you were talking about stories of your childhood with the Leclerc brothers. Pierre had left to go to the bathroom and then get the next round of drinks. 

“Y/N started a fight once, and it got a little too violent” Arthur laughed, and you shook your head 

“I did not start the fight. I joined in on the fight and got violently attacked” you replied, rolling his eyes 

“Violently attacked?” Lando asked, and you nodded

“Enzo pushed Cha. Who fell into me, and I went through the glass table. Maman was not happy. I broke her glass table but was even less amused when she realised I was bleeding” You looked at Arthur, who was sitting on the other side of you. 

“It’s a nice scar now. One for the history books” Arthur laughed 

“What scar?” Pierre asked, handing you a glass of wine as he took his seat back next to you, his hand instinctively going to your thigh, which was hidden by the table you were sitting at. 

“The one from going through the table when the boys were fighting”  

“The one on your right ribs?” He asked, and you nodded. He paused only now, just realising what had left his mouth. Shit. 

“Que viens-tu de dire?” (What did you just say?) Charles asked, standing up and rounding the side of the table

“I didn’t” He shrugged, and you rolled your eyes 

“It’s not exactly hidden, is it?” You asked with a shrug

“I’m sure Lando even knew it was there” you added, and Lando shook his head 

“Of course you didn’t” This really wasn’t how you wanted your relationship to come out. Your leg bouncing under the table. Arthur took your hand, giving it a squeeze, knowing exactly how this was about to go. Arthur had definitely pieced it together today, and he didn’t care. 

“C'est bon. Il s'en remettra” He whispered in your ear as Charles continued to go off on Pierre for getting with his little sister. You stood up, pushing Charles back 

“Shut up! Charles. You’re not my keeper. No wonder I spent the last twenty-three years hiding all of my relationships. Including this one. Pierre looks after me, Charles. More than you ever had during your travelling. It’s all I’m the best with you. Arthur’s never been good enough, I’ve never been good enough. So stop it, will you?” You shook your head walking inside the boat, Pierre, following behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist as your hands rested against the counter. Your head fell back onto his chest as you tried to hold back your tears. His head resting on your shoulder. 

“Amour. Je t'aime et je t'aimerais toujours” (Love. I love you and always will) He kissed your neck softly as his thumbs gently rubbed against your hips. 

[hylianengineer]

*screams into the void*

[fightagorillaonceeachweek]

@fishie-fellow

thanks @violent138 :)

(said batglasses because they're SO cool and I love having them)

Tags: @fishie-fellow @fightagorillaonceeachweek @iknowthislooksbad

[sillysiluriforme]

That one post, about how everyone has an akuma mark- that wouldn't be the case, and if anything that makes it worse. An akuma (or two) a day for several years is 1,000 people, maybe 2,000. Paris has a population of 10 million. So not that many people. But consider the suffering. Being a non-akuma'd person knowing your life is forever changed, possibly in quarantine forever, all because a small handful of people couldn't keep calm. (we know it's not their fault, but blame must land somewhere and hawkmoth is distant and unseen...). To watch as your future, or your children's future crumbles, because no one in or out means limited opportunities. There'd be riots (and more akuma possibilities). But to be one of the targeted? To have the suspicion (because akumas do strike twice, thrice, or more...) and the blame (if you'd just stay calm, if you just said no...). To lose an entire day of your life, watching as everyone you loved looks fearfully or angrily towards you (what did you do? what did you say?), to lose your job (what if it happens again? or was it because of your job?). To watch everything get worse, because of course: Any disruption to Paris would be Catastrophic. The paris region produces a GDP of 1 TRILLION dollars. 1/3rd of France's GDP. A day's disruption could cost billions of dollars. Even if property gets repaired, time still moves forward- a day not worked is a day where things dont get done. Things like road maintenance, court dates, repairs to water pipes, electrical generation, surgeries, and so on. Critical workers would need to get a suicidal level apathy towards akumas, because if they stopped work everytime one appeared then lives would be lost to power shortages, lack of medical care, and water. All the traffic supplying goods every day- even if they don't get inspected going in or out, any changes to that would raise prices in a heartbeat. Refrigeration becomes unreliable, as powerlines could be cut whenever. Education goes rock bottom, as who can focus when something's happening every day? Desperation rises, as there's nowhere to go, goods are more expensive or unavailable, jobs are in short supply because so many places go out of business, or outright leave.

God, forget the holders, forget the akumas, forget the reality warping little-g gods, the sheer decay of Paris would be enough to make this AU nightmarish. If Paris remains under akuma quarantine for long enough, the effects would become exponential. As businesses leave, the money disappears. Goods become critical, as a city that big needs an entire nation to feed it (but without the money, who would bother selling to Paris?). Infrastructure becomes abandoned, as cost cutting and triage prioritizes only critical locations. The government moves elsewhere (how could they function otherwise?) taking jobs, money, and focus away from the city. Homelessness, joblessness, poverty become the norm, as with inconsistent power and deliveries, how can businesses operate? Hawkmoth is murdering the city of love, over his own doomed love.

Paris becomes a colossal burden on the french economy, a nightmarish battleground and a looming threat to the world. The country is left with a hellish choice: Let the city sink on it's own, or be dragged down with it?

[YOU FUCKING GET IT ANON. YOU EXACTLY GET IT.]

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part One

What you can offer Jackson is your healing hands.

2.6k words

Series Masterlist | Part Two Warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, we stan one (1) apocalypse grump, no use of y/n, I haven't written fanfic in a while but I'm hoping this will get me back into writing regularly, I have no idea how many parts this will be

Minors DNI

If you were to try and tally up all your losses you wouldn’t, initially, struggle. Your beloved dad, on outbreak day, and then months later your sister to a pack of raiders capable of slipping silently past a rotting barn wall. Those were clearly devastating, actual moments that bifurcate the before times and the after. Your liberty in the QZ, your hope for a sane and assured new government, your smuggling partner trapped under the barbed wire fence as a FEDRA soldier narrowed in on you both, her struggling hands going limp in the dirt, her eyes no longer following your movements as you scrabbed to free her, the look of resignation on her face, the way she mouthed for you to ‘go’. Those losses somehow both enormous and incalculable.

It was the smaller losses that caught you up. Newsprint smeared on your fingertips. Breaking in a new pair of stiff leather shoes. The uneven leg of your massage table, which caused it to wobble when someone clambered onto it, meaning that you had to warn your clients ahead of time while it wobbled, it was stable, and that you could relate. You knew it was a bad look, that the table alone didn’t inspire confidence in your clientele, and you missed it more than you had any fucking right to when the world, for all intents and purposes, imploded.

You made do in Jackson. Your travelling party of three had heard of a mythical commune of warm sheep and cold beer and you wanted, more than anything, to believe in it.  In the before times your mother had sung a song about Jackson with your father, peeling potatoes at the sink, and you had hummed it under your breath the three-and-a-half-month trek. ‘Honey, I’m going to Jackson.’ ‘See if I care.’

As you approached the gates the three of you had already come up with a plan to pitch for entry. Ray was going to pretend he was injured, and Marla was going to carry him, limping but stoic, over the threshold. The night he refused to take first watch you had promised to break his ankle for real to make it really convincing, and he had laughed because he knew you didn’t have it in you, and you had joined in, because it was true. Marla was toying with the idea of being pregnant, and you were going to just be mute. Either by birth or by trauma, you hadn’t decided. But the plan was to be as pitiful as possible, as non-threatening and as desperate, such that not only would you not be shot on sight but that you would be taken in, warmed to, eventually forgiven your trespass. On the side of a mountain, with everything you had ever owned strapped to your back and the losses tallying behind you, it had seemed like the best strategy.

It had failed almost immediately. Marla may have been able to pull off the pregnancy thing if it was early, but Ray kept forgetting which ankle he had supposedly hurt, and when you tripped on a rock coming through the gate you swore at the top of your lungs. It turned out it didn’t matter. Throughout quarantine you had been able to meet Maria, then Tommy, and you had been advised that you were to pitch your worthiness to stay at the next town council. You had two days to determine what you could offer Jackson. You had looked down at your two hands.

__

Marla was a good shot, and was put on patrol. Ray spoke French and was good with codes, and he pitched helping out with reconnaissance. He even pronounced it the proper French way at the council meeting, and you saw Tommy arch a jet-black brow in Maria’s direction, who rolled her eyes. Standing on shaky knees before a panel of non-infected non-raiders who nevertheless held your life in their hands, you showed them your palms.

‘Pain relief,’ you said, and you smiled in what you hoped was a warm way. ‘I can heal, with these.’

‘You trying to tell us you’re some kind of witch doctor?’ the man on the end asked, and you wondered what it would be like to lean over and pluck each hair out of his nostrils, until his eyes were streaming.

‘No,’ you said, and you felt your cheeks redden. ‘Massage, mostly remedial but also deep tissue. I can help with bad backs, with sore legs and arms, bad necks. All that patrolling, all that watching the horizon, must be murder on the body.’ You scanned their faces, Nostril Man not convinced but Maria smiling warmly at you. You swallowed, trying to wet your throat to prevent it from just outright closing over. ‘Surely you want your men and women, the people out there protecting Jackson, to be strong?’

__

The house you were allocated was four over from Marla, and Ray was placed three streets back towards the gate. You had idly wondered if you had been split up to try and avoid trouble, but actually you enjoyed the solitude for the first time since the apocalypse. Having had to travel in packs, having been crammed in four or six to a one-bedroom apartment in the QZ, having listened to Ray retell his story of crossing the Canadian border every might for at least a year and a half, you relished the way that you could once again hear the ringing in your ears. When you rolled your shoulders, you heard the spinal fluid pool and bubble at the base of your skull.

The benefit of having the place to yourself was that the second bedroom easily converted to your treatment room. Tommy and a couple of the other men from town had brought in a spare dining table, and you found that with enough blankets and towels piled on top of it you could make a decently comfortable surface to lie on. Ray had offered to cut a hole in the middle like a real massage table, but you had seen him try to chop wood one night with a blunt axe, a night when you thought without a fire you would freeze to death, but it would still be better than listening to him whine about having nearly chopped off his toes for the rest of time. Instead, you created a ring of towels just back from the edge, a position that meant people could still breathe as they lay face down, and you practiced how you would apologise to them for the inconvenience of it, what joke you could make to try and win back their confidence, marvelled at the fact that even at the end of the world you were still trying to cover for your inadequacies.  

Maria was your first client, and as soon as you were convinced you could accommodate her growing stomach comfortably as she lay on her side, you welcomed her in.

‘It’s just my hips, my lower back,’ she said, as you poured shampoo on your hands to stand in for massage oil.

‘This might be cold, I’m sorry,’ you said, not adding that it could also be sudsy, and wilted a little inside as Maria flinched when you touched her. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, as she exhaled.

‘Can you feel where it is?’ she asked, and you hummed.

‘The pain?’

‘You said you could heal.’ You smiled, pressing down on a knot hitched to Maria’s hip flexor. She sighed, and you watched as the tension disappeared from her shoulders, her body slumping forward slightly such that you had to grab her knee and roll her back.

‘You tell me,’ you said, and she huffed at you.

‘Those men, the council, you have no idea how little they would understand why we needed you,’ she said.

‘Wait ‘til I’ve finished putting my elbow in your butt cheek, then tell me that again,’ you said.

‘Wait, what?’ Maria startled, but you were already on her, promising that the pain would fade as the tension released, ignoring the stream of obscenities, having heard far worse in your time. The before times.

__

Maria spread the word and soon you were busy, with a regular list of clients that heavily favoured the women of Jackson until they were able to convince the men that they, too, had musculoskeletal systems. Maria was a regular right up until she got too big to haul herself onto the table, and then she would just sit in your kitchen and make you tea, explaining the history of the place until you started to feel properly at home there.

One afternoon she sat with her head resting in her hand, as you held her foot in your lap, gently massaging over her sock.

‘You don’t come out much,’ she said. ‘I see you in the mess hall for breakfast, then you’re gone.’

‘I have clients early these days, sometimes a full patrol before they go out.’

‘What about the off days? The days that we don’t patrol?’

‘Washing. I go through a lot of towels.’

‘You need help with those?’

‘No, I like doing it. Warm water is such a dream, I still can’t believe it when I fill up the bucket.’

‘After work I never see you at the bison.’

You pinched her toe a little hard and she hissed, and you felt the heat on your cheeks.

‘I am grateful for my place here,’ you said, and you looked up into her eyes then, your hands still but cradling her foot to your chest. ‘That you advocated for me, that you helped me set myself up. I know that Tommy wouldn’t have if you hadn’t asked him.’

She smiled, glancing down at the tea in her cup.

‘It’s hard to be back amongst so many people, and to not be…’ you trailed off. Marla came around some nights, but it had been at least a week since you’d seen Ray. You had thought they were your safe people, but in a big house behind a secure wall, you wondered how much that was true.

‘To not be waiting for them to shoot you, to stab you?’ Maria finished, and you sighed.

‘Or to not get stabbed or shot themselves.’

‘You lost people?’ Maria asked, and then blinked, slowly. ‘That was a stupid question. Of course you did.’

The pattern of the tiles on the kitchen floor was two left and two right, you noticed, except for where the bench had been installed. There the pattern was interrupted, as if someone had miscounted, and there was a row of three along the perimeter.

‘Who did you lose?’ Maria asked you, and you gently lowered her foot to the ground.

‘All of them, just like all of us,’ you said, and you held out your harms such that Maria could pull herself up, and she sighed but used them to get to her feet, and you were grateful even in this moment to have helped someone.

__

You happened to be on your porch when you heard the commotion, a bunch of people running down the street towards the front gate. You thought for a moment of an invasion, that raiders had breached the wall, and wondered what, if anything, you would need to carry with you, what you could fit in a bag, looked despairingly at the snow on the mountain tops wondering how you could possibly carry enough blankets to ward off inevitable death. You braced yourself for screams, for gun shots, was genuinely confused when you heard none. Curious now, and less planning your immediate escape, you stepped down to your front gate, leaning over to see what the fuss was. A group of people were moving as one down the main street, and you stepped out onto the pavement to get a better look. You could see Tommy, his black hair sliced back to his shoulders making him stand out even in a crowd of other men. He was walking beside another man, the crowd parting to let them through, and with Tommy’s arm wrapped around his shoulder it meant that the other man had to stoop forward slightly, such that you could only see the top of his head. He had streaks of grey through his hair, his legs straight and strong underneath him. Tommy was gripping the front of the man’s shirt and talking into his ear. Behind them a younger girl, couldn’t be more than 15, trailed with her eyes set on the ground in front of her.

You watched as Maria came out of the sheriff’s office and stood on the pavement in front of them. She smiled when Tommy turned to her, letting go of the other man to wrap her in a bracing hug. You watched as the other man straightened, caught a glimpse for the first time of the patchy beard across his cheeks, of the roman line of his nose, of the flinty look in his eyes. He turned to the young girl, clapped her once or twice on the back, nodding in Maria’s direction. You saw that they nodded to each other, that this wasn’t as simple of a homecoming, that the girl carried pain deeper than any two hands could reach.

You had to wait three days for Maria to visit again before you could ask her about them, and when you did you felt her energy shift. Big as she was it was difficult for her to fidget, but you sensed that she would shuffle in your kitchen chair if she could.

‘Joel is Tommy’s brother,’ she told you, and when you thought about the shape of his jaw you realised you could see a sort of resemblance. This man had seemed to stoic, so closed off, compared to the brightness of the smile Tommy had been throwing at him. It had meant that you initially hadn’t seen it.

‘And the girl?’ you asked, and watched as Maria started fiddling with the hem of her shirt, stretched as it was over the heft of her belly.

‘A kind of daughter, I guess. Adopted, as much as anyone can be right now.’ Maria avoided your eyes and you lowered them, hoping that it would encourage her to continue. ‘They were here, before, for a brief time. A few months. Joel was… he and Ellie were heading down to Salt Lake, we weren’t sure if they were going to make it back, and Tommy…’ she stopped herself, gathered her thoughts, and you heard your own pulse in your neck as you waited.

‘Tommy had started to think that he’d lost him, lost them both. He’d started to think it was his fault, maybe, that he should have gone with them.’

‘But you’re…’ and you stopped, gesturing to her very pregnant frame.

‘I know, and he knew that he couldn’t have, but it didn’t feel like it when he thought his brother was gone.’

You didn’t need your hands to feel the tension coming off her, and you stood then, and reached out to her shoulder, picking up the tendon and easing it down. You remembered back in school when your teacher had shown you the diagram of the fascia, taught and spidery over the pink and red of the muscle. She rolled her neck, her head slumping towards you, and you offered her your torso as a pillow.

‘It doesn’t feel like a warm return,’ you said, eventually, and Maria sighed, reaching up to still your hand.

‘He’s a dangerous man,’ she said, after a while. ‘He’s done things, Tommy did them too but that’s his big brother, you know?’

You thought back to the way Tommy had gripped Joel’s shirt, the way he had been talking animatedly into his brother’s ear, the curl of Joel in on himself in response to it, the instinct to close down in the face of his brother’s overwhelming love.

‘We’ve all done things,’ you said, after a while.

‘It’s different,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, it just is.’

‘What about the girl?’ you asked, and she softened then, under your touch.

‘She’ll defend Joel to the ends of the Earth,’ she said.

‘You don’t trust her judgement?’ you asked.

‘I don’t trust that Joel isn’t keeping her in the dark,’ she muttered, and it was quiet enough that you had to lean over to hear, and when the words unfurled around you you pulled back from them, the concern and the weight and the finality of them, the heaviness of them in your ears.

[toasttt11]

playoff bubble

July 28, 2020

Hayden had been quarantining for the past week alone in her hotel room in Vancouver. She would play her first playoff game in two days and today she was allowed to meet with her team for an off the ice practice and then an on the ice practice.

It was pretty boring being alone for a week but she spent plenty of her time facetiming all of her friends and family especially Quinn as he is quarantining too.

She threw on a pair of athletic shorts, a hoodie that she stole from Quinn and a pair of orange converse and decided her messy french braid was enough.

She grabbed her phone and headed out of her hotel room and down to the conference room she was gonna meet her team for the first time in months.

She walked into the conference room and smiled softly seeing Connor and Leon. She knew they were allowed to be close to each other today as they are all quarantined in the same bubble so she walked right over to Leon and Connor.

Leon and Connor looked over hearing someone walking to them and they both paused seeing Hayden. She was tanner and was glowing, she looked happy and healthy but also her eyes, they were bright and blue not dim and barely blue.

Hayden flashed a smile at the two and Leon and Connor both released a sigh of relief seeing her truly happy, Connor pulled Hayden into a tight hug closing his eyes as he has not seen so much life in her eyes since he saw pictures of her when she was younger.

Of course Hayden talked to Lauren, Connor, Leon and Celeste through out the time she was back home in Michigan and they knew she was doing better as she laughed more on the phone calls but to see her in person and to see how happy she looks it was amazing.

Connor and Leon both knew Celeste and Lauren will be so happy to hear how happy Hayden is and they both know how much they miss her like crazy.

“Hey rookie.” Connor fondly smiled as they pulled away and he clasped his hand on her shoulder like he always does.

“Technically am i still a rookie?” Hayden cheekily asked being completely herself for the first time since she met than and the two couldn’t help but adore her even more.

“You’ll always be our rookie Mäuschen.” Leon told her with a soft smile, a smile not many can get from him.

Hayden fondly rolled her eyes but smiled as she had missed both of them, she stepped closer to Leon and looked at him slightly hesitant as she has never hugged him off the ice before.

Leon smiled gently and pulled her into a firm but gentle hug and Hayden easily hugged him back.

Connor smiled softly remembering how Leon grumbled when he found out Connor got a hug from Hayden before he could.

Hayden pulled back from the hug and started talking with Connor and Leon.

Kailer Yamamoto and Ryan Nugent-Hopkins walked over and Ryan gently ruffled Hayden’s hair as he walked up behind her, “Hey Blake.” Ryan flashed a smile at his younger teammate.

Kailer and Ryan both knew Hayden wasn’t in a good place when she came to Edmonton and was very closed off so they kindly backed off from her but still was always kind to her.

“Hi Nuge, Hi Yamo.” Hayden kindly greeted her teammates smiling at them. She knew it was weird for her teammates to have a girl on their team for the first time and someone who is a lot younger than any one else and she wasn’t the most open to anyone when she arrived so she was grateful they treated her so kindly despite all of that.

Kailer and Ryan shared a surprised look at how easily Hayden smiled at them and both of them noticed how happy she looked in general, They were glad that Hayden seemed to have done well over the quarantine and it seemed like they are going to get know Hayden better now.

August 1, 2020

Hayden finished tying her orange high top converses as she finished getting ready for her first game. She was wearing a pair of black dress pants and a simple white and back stripped sweater.

Hayden paused as her phone rung and she looked down at the screen seeing Lauren facetiming her, “Hi Laur.” Hayden greeted as she set her phone up on the desk in the hotel room as she brushed out her hair.

“Hayden darling!” Lauren beamed as she spoke to Hayden, “I have a surprise for you!” Lauren told her a bit sad she couldn’t be there in person for the playoffs for Connor and Hayden but especially for Hayden’s first playoffs.

Hayden hummed looking curious as Lauren stood up and showed Hayden the jacket she was wearing. It was the WAG jackets the team got this year but on Lauren’s arm there was a patch with Hayden’s name and number.

“You-“ Hayden spluttered out completely speechless. Her eyes filled with tears and for once they weren’t sad tears but happy tears.

Lauren became alarmed when she noticed the gears, “I’m sorry did i overstep, i can take it off.” Lauren quickly spoke.

“Lauren.” Hayden spoke up shaking her head to stop Lauren from apologizing anymore, “Thank you.” Hayden told her extremely sincerely.

Lauren’s eyes widen in shock and she still looked worried she overstepped.

“It’s been a long time since anyone had worn my name.” Hayden softly told Lauren. Ellen and Jim haven’t worn a jersey in a few years as they have only been at games where she has played against one of the boys and they don’t want to pick favorites. Quinn, Luke and Jack don’t ever really wear her jersey like she doesn’t wear theirs. The last time someone wore her name were her parents.

“Thank you so much.” Hayden smiled tearfully, the patch meant more to Hayden than she could ever express.

Lauren’s face softened realizing she didn’t over steppe and Hayden just looked happy, “Of course. Anytime.” Lauren firmly reassured and she knew she was always going to wear Hayden’s name and number on her WAG jackets now and knew Celeste definitely would too.

Hayden thanked Lauren again before they did their goodbyes and Hayden put her headphones in and called her brothers.

Jack, Luke, Quinn and Hayden had all made a new rule that before any one of their games they had to FaceTime their group chat so they could talk to each other more.

Hayden smiled as Jack answered and Luke was sitting next to him and Luke was wearing her Oilers hoodie and Jack was in her old US Hockey shirt. Quinn joined the call from his hotel room wearing an Oiler’s hat for Hayden.

Hayden beamed at her brothers as they all were wearing something for her and smiled contently as she talked to all of them as she walked to the bus.

Hayden was going to play her first playoff game and she felt happy for that and didn’t feel sad because her parents would miss it.

[polysprachig]

Hello friend! I just came across your post about filling in old spaces in your polyglot journal via the bullet journal tag… could you say more about how you use your polyglot journal in general and what its intended purpose(s) is/are?

Thank you for the question, @northfaceho! ***(Read orange text for a short summarised version)

The purpose of my polyglot journal is to capture my process of learning languages, both for myself and to share with other people. It was prompted by a secret learning project I did in 2019 to make my other native language skills go from passive to active (and the subsequent desire to subtly strengthen my skills across my main 5 languages). This happened to coincide with my dissatisfaction with the general ‘Polyglot learns X# of Languages - Here’s How + Tips and Tricks’ kind of content you could—and can—find online. And the rich stock at the base of all my griping generally boiled down to one thing:

Fucking notecards.

No shade to anyone in specific—it was more a general trend I felt I noticed at the time—but the idea that someone who has acquired or is learning a football club worth of languages and who, moreover, is able to demonstrate their use of said languages across the 4 skills to various degrees of range and accuracy at their current stage of learning does so by *secret tip: using notecards* struck me as extremely… imprecise and decidedly non-tip-worthy. It’s not that I think these people were lying about using notecards to learn—not at all! The description was just focused on what I learn with not how I learn imho, and it begged the question: Well, what do you do with the notecards?

Because at the time, I only really used notecards in Old English, but not as flashcards for memorisation or playing vocabulary matching games, which I assume was used as shorthand in the content I kept seeing. No, once a year, I would take out some fresh notecards and write Beowulf verbatim from memory for the section I have memorised, then compare it to the orthography in the Howell D. Chickering dual-language translation. (I do something similar with Chaucer, but notecards are too small so I use a yellow legal pad instead. Still, the concept is the same.) And later, when I started learning Italian, I would prepare a notecard to keep on my desk during lessons which listed out the most common errors I knew I was going to make in that day’s class, based on my teacher’s recent feedback (usually incorrect pronunciation/word stress, Greek or French influence which isn’t correct, accidental uses of Latin, etc.).

And so I repurposed what I had hoped would be a travel journal into a polyglot journal and kicked it off with this statement of my intentions forgive the register:

This year, 2024, one of my main goals was to read the rest through, comment on my methods, mistakes, mindset, etc. etc., and fill in the gaps with scraps of loose studies and feedback from my teachers. Oh yeah, and start typing it all up to save my future self some time.

I’ll be posting a lot more from my polyglot journal in 2025, now that I’ve figured out how much time I can commit to it based on my schedule and the writing routine I’ve been testing out these last months. I want to make sharing it an adventure reflective of its many side quests and the actual time and input required to learn.

In essence, the journal reflects the planning, check-ins, learning notes, and process of my quarantine levelling up project and literary/poetic translation portfolio part 1, which are free to read here if anyone is interested:

The Merlin Project (Irish-English)—running with the question all my students asked in the pandemic, i.e. Can I learn a language from just watching TV? by writing borderline Merlin fanfiction

The tragic portion of my translation portfolio (English-German-French-Italian)—literary translations into English from Poliziano, Goethe, Voltaire and Kaiserin Elisabeth (Sisi); translations into German of Lord Byron, Mary Shelley and Percy Bysshe Shelley

The journal is not without silly and serious one-off language escapades as well, which I occasionally ventured out into when taking a break from the more major projects.

Thanks for reading if you’ve made it to the end!

[windermeresimblr]

Alasdair's Adventures In Jefferson, Part 1

Dear Everyone…

We have arrived in Jefferson safely, and you would not believe how blisteringly hot and humid it is. The hotel we are staying at is an original from the French and Spanish period, and I think Uncle Jon would die over the state of preservation. And then Uncle Richard would die over the bougainvillea, which have made some of the upper galleries a bit rickety. (Don't worry, ours is perfectly safe, though I'm not about to dance a jig on it.)

With the exception of mod cons for the plumbing and some hurricane-proofing, according to the brochure at the desk, it is close to the original. This includes some odd markings on the floor, which I have decided not to ask about in case there's some distressing story behind it.

The little building next door is supposed to have been a voudou priestess' home, if you can believe that!

Wee Lassie, for her part, is very excited about the balcony, and enjoyed staring at the passerby through it while we relaxed yesterday evening, and today while I had breakfast (hot chocolate and orange marmalade that the proprietor's sister makes, which is astonishingly good; if the jars wouldn't break on the trip back, I would bring some).

It's as if Lassie's at the zoo.

I have been told there are ghosts, but neither Wee Lassie nor myself have seen them. The brochure lists several, whose stories are all quite tragic, especially Marie-Josephe, the poor wee girl who died when the entire town was under quarantine for breakbone fever in the nineteenth century.

(Yes, Aunt Alice, I am taking my medication, and Wee Lassie hasn't been on alert at all.)

I have also been told that the nearby town of Owl Creek is a haven for witches and "rougarous" and other fantastic beings. I am sure this is all made up for tourists, because the town is not that old, but I think I shall steer clear as much as possible.

Yours, Alasdair and Wee Lassie

P.S. Tomorrow we are going on a visit to an alligator farm!

Credits And Explanatory Notes

I believe that while Alasdair certainly experiences time-travel, in a modern AU like this one, he may be more likely to have been diagnosed with a form of temporal lobe epilepsy. Hence the references to medication. Wee Lassie is both a cherished, spoiled companion and an ad-hoc seizure dog.

The "hotel" is by @murfeelee, and I added Rejal's bougainvillea myself. Owl Creek belongs to @moocha-muses, and the McCarric clan belongs to @danjaley. They are visiting the lovely town of Jefferson, by frankensonnet, which I think could also be used as an analogue of St. Augustine if I had enough time to make it so.

Almost all of the poses are by Danjaley, with the exception of some dog poses by pixelpfote and orangemittens. Alasdair's sleeping pose is by simpuritysims, edited by Danjaley.

Alasdair's casual wear is by @nectar-cellar, shokoninio, and peacemaker-ic, in @simlicious' and ktar's patterns. Marie-Josephe is wearing @procrasimnation's twisted Newsea Guajira, and her EA dress is also in simlicious patterns. Wee Lassie is simply too hot for clothes today. It's so hard to wear a fur coat all day long.

[clarawinnie]

just wanted to say i found you through the shooting star animation, and pardon my french, but holy fuck that’s so impressive! my mom owns a needlepoint store, so i’ve stitched a bit and been exposed to it throughout my life, but i’ve never seen an actual animation using it! keep up the incredible work!!! i’m excited to see what you do next!

Thank you so much! The shooting star is my second needlepoint animation. The first was this dragon animation I made during quarantine. IDK when I'll do another animation project but they are extremely rewarding! I'll probably work on some smaller projects in the mean time ★

[miffy-junot]

Top 3 Junot anecdotes not related to Napoleon?

Only 3??!!! okay ill try my best

When Laure had pregnancy cravings for pineapple and Junot personally went to Josephine Bonaparte's greenhouse to acquire a pineapple of suitable quality (1.5 - another slightly related anecdote is when Junot's mistress got pregnant and he, not even knowing whether he was the father of the child, rented a house in the countryside for her and the baby)

One time when Junot was at the theatre in 1796 he got into a little argument with another man, who promptly got out a pistol and tried to murder Junot. Idk why I find it so funny but it is

On the Egyptian campaign, when plague was starting to spread, Junot's friend Hamelin was detained because of the quarantine (he didn't have plague or anything, the French army was just limiting the amount of people who could leave), but as soon as he saw this Junot rushed over and embraced Hamelin and rescued him from the quarantine officials

4. not officially part of the list because it's a sad anecdote, but when Junot continued giving orders to his soldiers even after being shot in the face

5. not an anecdote, but Junot's letters to his children are so sweet I could cry

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

Spanish radio chatting about #Picassogate.

Summary: The French are a lot better at hiding high-profile adultery, and the Danes have a lot to learn. The pics were sold for 25-30,000 euros. Genoveva’s flat has two bedrooms and her ex-husband may be paying for it. Danish press is pretty passive, at least by Spanish standards, but some have wondered if Fred wanted the photos to come out. Genoveva knows the press very well. The photographers didn’t see Fred arrive with his suitcase, so he may have been in the apartment for several days.

Fred was caught kissing a brunette once and he apparently had a bridge opened (it had been closed due to weather) so he could visit a girlfriend (I hadn’t heard that one) after his children’s christening. Fred may still be seeing his old underwear model girlfriend. The Danish are very tolerant of adultery (not sure about that).

Much discussion of Juan Carlos and Corinna. Corinna slept with Putin???? Genoveva is friends with Carolina Herrera.

Amalia spends a lot of time in Spain because security in the Netherlands is difficult. Many European royals like vacationing in Spain because of the security. News to me, honestly. I guess that explains all the vacay pic in Ibiza and Mallorca.

Much discussion of the suitcase. Did his security bring him his suitcase? Did he keep clothes in Genoveva’s flat?

Genoveva studied philosophy. She leaked her soup kitchen work to Hola!, just like Meghan. Lol, this is hilarious. After her divorce she still worked for the Duchess of Alba Foundation and she spent the quarantine in one of the Alba palaces.

She was going to sue if the pics weren’t unpublished and the magazine didn’t apologize in 24 hrs, but she hadn’t done so.

Not sure how accurate any of this is, but it’s a fun listen.

[saeran-exe]

★彡( 𝟙9.𝟘𝟞.𝟚𝟜 )彡★

Today is officially the first day of winter break and I'm just so glad the first semester is finally over!! It's been a tough one and I've been through a lot lol but, as much as college and studying had become a safe space, where I didn't have to (or couldn't) deal with personal problems, there's only so much it can do for me before becoming a bit tiresome 😂

Anyway, I'm really excited to finally see my friends (in a a few days, because my dumb ass got sick and I've got to stay in quarantine so I don't infect anyone) and pursue my hobbies without feeling guilty for not studying as much or at all sometimes!

Still, it was quite a nice day at home:

☆ I got to go back to reading The Brothers Karamazov

☆ Had my French class

☆ Ate nutritious meals

☆ Kept eye contact with the neighbour's cat for a few minutes (The cat won)

☆ Did my curly hair routine (I've had my natural curly hair for about 7 or 8 years now, but never had a curly hair routine and I'm loving it???)

And... probably the most productive part of my day lol

☆ Planned my holidays:

The cat stickers look so cute... I can't 😭🤏