#GOD BLESS FRENCH MEN

[sixteenyearoldmeblog]

YOU HAVEN'T SEEN MY MAN YOU HAVEN'T SEEN MY MANNNNN

[leahthedreamer]

Excited for euros, it always manages to produce random and unexpected podiums

[averyroundbird]

I just wanna say that I sincerely love the fact that Emesis Blue, a feature length horror movie meditating on the nature of death and reanimation, has brought in a lot of folks to the tf2 fandom.

a game which has cockcroach'd its way into the year of our lord 2024 through its sheer volume of shit posting. it is a game that when you peel back the walls, you discover it is insulated with memes over sixteen years old.

the beauty of people arriving from a piece of fan media that induces cold sweats that owes its origins to this shit

[koheletgirl]

i was feeling numb yesterday as i often do these days but today im happy to report i am devastated about barricade day 2

[zepskies]

Every Second Counts - Part 1

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the first one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: Finally, here we are at Part 1! Remember that A Line and a Half functions as our prologue here.

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some mature thoughts. Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, drug use, mentions of drug addiction and alcoholism, skeevy men, and a tinge of spice.~

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: "Permission Granted"

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still at the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

After brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she went to you and set her hands on your shoulders.

“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.” 

Your face began to heat up in a blush. You crossed your arms.

“All right, no one said there was going to be any of that,” you replied. “It’s just a date. Barely a date, mind you.”

“A-huh,” Dory said with a sneaking smile. “Out of curiosity, what was it about him that hooked you? You’ve been dodging Chris’s valiant attempts for like a month now.”

Chris was a French and Spanish professor. His office was on the same floor as yours, so you two occasionally crossed paths whenever you ventured into the teacher’s lounge.

He usually caught you in the morning while you were grabbing your free coffee fix at the Keurig. He’d chat you up about his classes and his dog and his new boat, and all the while you’d struggle to get a word in edgewise. Despite that, he was good-looking and pleasant, for the most part. It was just…

“I don’t know. He’s not my type, I guess,” you shrugged. You kind of liked conversations where both people got to speak.

“And Russell is?” Dory said, in a teasing tone. You chewed the inside of your lip, fighting a smile.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Kind of want to find out though.”

“Okay, well, let me know what you find,” Dory said, more wryly. You caught a bit of melancholy when her gaze drifted off. Your brows furrowed in concern as you drew closer, setting a hand on her arm.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She was hesitant, but she eventually answered you with a confession.

“You know, it’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen him,” she said. “We’ve had entire lives already. I see him now, and there’s some of the Russell I knew when we were kids, but…there’s just a lot I don’t know about him, who he’s become.”

You could understand that. You squeezed her arm in sympathy.

“Well, he really seems to want to know you now,” you said. You remembered all the questions he asked you when he helped you carry your files back to your office after lunch today—most of them about Dory, about her career, your friendship, and ultimately, if she was happy.

“What happened to you guys?” you asked. “Why are you all so distant? Colter included.”

Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”

You dimmed at that. You knew their mother still lived in the cabin they grew up in, but Dory had never quite been able to tell you what happened to their dad. You’d never pushed the subject. You knew better than anyone what kind of pain that was. 

“I just wish we’d been able to stay with each other. Me and my brothers, at least,” Dory said. But she adopted a smile for you, before she returned to her desk.

“Okay. Go on your non-date at your favorite bar with Russell. I’ll be here, grading papers until Judgment Day,” she said, with a small laugh that felt like a coverup for thoughts she no longer wanted to think about.

You let her do it. You grabbed your purse and work bag off the spare chair in front of her desk.

“So you’re sure,” you wanted to confirm. “One last chance for me to tell him I came down with food poisoning.”

Dory collected her stack of midterm papers and gave you a cheeky look that said, class dismissed. Then she clicked her red pen and pointedly looked down at the first batch of papers to read through.

You smiled. Okay, you thought, giving her a little wave goodbye when you turned to leave. You had just a couple of hours to drive home and get ready to meet Russell.

“Goodnight,” you called.

“Goodniiight,” Dory replied.

You heard the smirk in her voice without even having to look back.

After fighting through rush hour traffic, you were exhausted when you got home from work. Your tentative excitement and nerves about tonight gave you some new energy though, even if you thought those nerves were silly to have.

Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.

The Ring Camera beside the door chimed when you entered the house, signaling your arrival. You had to wrinkle your nose at the dank-ass smell that greeted you.

Frowning in annoyance, you dropped your stuff on the kitchen table for now and shucked off your heels. You made a beeline down the hall, to the bedroom that lied across from yours. You pushed it open without knocking. There you caught your older brother, Charlie, snoozing in his bed with the covers half pooling on the floor.

His room was a mess, as usual. Your gaze locked on the evidence of half a blunt on his nightstand and two smoked roaches beside it. You were glad it wasn’t remnants of white lines of powder, like times before, but there was also a large bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty, and hanging loosely from his hand.

He managed to raise his head a bit when you came in.

“Hey,” he said, blinking bleary eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to sit up.

You shook your head and picked around piles of dirty clothes and a couple of used paper plates on the floor. You swiftly grabbed the bottle from his hand and slammed it on the nightstand.

“You promised me, Charlie,” you snapped. “You promised me for the hundredth time that you’d quit all this shit. Where even were you last night? You weren’t home when I left for work this morning.”

He sighed, frowning at how loud you were, and sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the side and held his swimming head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair. It was nearly black, like Dad’s had been, but he’d inherited Mom’s lighter eyes.

“I got invited to a party,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know. This is the last time.”

You expelled a frustrated breath and shook your head.

“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it,” he said. He shut his eyes tight, probably trying to fend off a headache. 

Good, you thought. Let that be a reminder of how bad he’d screwed up again. 

“And while we’re at it, what about your half of the bills? You’re a week late,” you said, testily crossing your arms.

“Yeah, I’m a little behind,” he said. Once again, he cleared his throat past a wad of phlegm. He was still a bit crossfaded too, you could tell. “You know they cut my hours to part-time at the museum. I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking into getting another job—”

“I already paid the phone bill. And the internet, the water bill, the electricity,” you said. “The house may be paid off, but the least you can do is pay your half of living here.”

The longer you stared at him, seeing the guilt hidden behind drunken eyes, you realized he wasn’t just late on his half of the bills.

“How much?” you asked.

He frowned up at you. “What?”

“How much do you owe?” you said. Your voice was as cutting as your gaze. Charlie lowered his.  

“It’s okay, don’t worry—”

“How much,” you pressed.

He looked up at you again, this time with pursed lips. After a beat, he sighed and gave in.

“About two grand,” he admitted.

You raised your eyes heavenward, muttering a curse. Your hands went to your temples as you had to pace the room. You were angry and exasperated in equal measure.

“Who the fuck do you owe two grand?!” you asked.

Charlie shook his head. “It’s better that I don’t tell you that.”

You paused. As you looked down at him, your anger dissolved into sadness, like it always did.

“If Mom and Dad could see you now, they wouldn’t recognize you,” you said.

Charlie fought not to react to that, his brows furrowing. Instead, he just looked down, unable to answer you.

“Charlie, you need help. I can’t keep doing this with you,” you said. Your shaky breath gave way to the burn of tears.  

His red-rimmed eyes became glassy as well.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

He was always sorry. And you always had to be the one to nurse him back to health, pick up the pieces, pay the bills. You were exhausted. The bone-deep kind of tired that felt like gravity wasn't so much keeping you down, but pushing you.

“I’m going to ask for two things: do what you need to do to get paid, and clean up your shit. If you can’t accomplish that, then I’m taking you to rehab,” you said.

“You know I’ve tried that,” Charlie said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Didn’t really work for me.”

“You left the program after two weeks!” you retorted.

“I did it on my own! I’ve been clean for months,” he argued.

“And what happened? You go to one party and all your good sense, all your training, mentally and physically—that all goes out the window?” you said. You had half a mind not to believe him.

“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”

Your mouth fell open incredulously.  

“I’m on your back?” you said. “Okay. I’ll get off. Do whatever the hell you want, Charlie. I’m done.”

You left his room in an angry huff. You headed over to your room so you could take a shower and start getting ready to meet Russell at Howley’s. 

By the time you got to your bedroom, you heard the front door slam closed.

The truth was, you were no longer in a mood to have fun when you pulled up to Howley’s, but you needed to escape your house. Also, you weren’t someone who canceled on people last-minute, especially not on Dory’s own brother.

You found Russell waiting for you at the bar. He waved to you with a fifth of whiskey in hand and an easy grin. He’d saved you a seat beside him.

You found yourself smiling. Your mood began to lighten as you went over to him. He looked more or less the same, but this time the jacket and jeans combo was navy blue and dark wash, respectively. His hair was swept back, lightly gelled. You smelled the familiar, rich woodiness of his cologne when you drew near, along with a hint of spicy soap.

“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.

“Hey, yourself,” you replied, and thanked him for the assist onto the tall stool. You’d opted for jeans and a blouse, paired with your favorite leather boots. It was less dressy than he’d seen you before, but that was “work mode.” This was a more casual affair, even if you’d spent at least twenty extra minutes on your makeup.

You were glad he picked a spot at the end of the bar though. It put some distance from the group of guys getting rowdy as they cheered at the football game playing on the TV.

“How was the rest of your day, Professor?” he asked. “And what’re you wanting to drink?”

You let out a long sigh and turned toward him, resting your elbow on the counter.

“Awesome. I’m going to need two shots of tequila and an order of something fried, and preferably covered with cheese, please,” you replied.

Russell’s grin deepened. “Okay, I’m thinking ‘awesome’ is code for something. But we can get started on that order of Forget Today’s Unfortunate Events.”

He flagged down the bartender with a raise of his hand, but he shot you a glance.

“Though I’m hoping it’s not all of today that you wanna forget,” he said.

Your lips threatened another smile, as the memory of your hand being swept up into his, and soft lips meeting the back of your hand filtered through your mind.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible,” you said.

After about ten minutes of playfully debating the appetizer menu (you swore by the pretzel and beer cheese, but Russell had his eye on those spicy wings), he finally settled on ordering both.

“When in doubt, don’t go without,” he’d remarked.

You swept a pretty coil of hair over your shoulder and downed your tequila shots with a lime wedge. Meanwhile, Russell tried not to linger his eyes on the way your tongue swept over your finger to catch a drop of lime juice. Your nails were manicured, and the shade of the polish matched your lipstick.

Russell didn’t pretend to know the art and science of a woman’s wardrobe, but everything about you was thought out, it seemed, falling in line with what he’d expect from a (sexy as all hell) college professor. You’d also told him at lunch today that as of last year, you now had two doctorates: History and Ancient Studies.

Even with all that under your belt, you also seemed refreshingly down-to-earth, a lot like Dory in that sense. He could see why you two were friends.

“So, are you from here, or are you a transplant, like my sister?” he asked.

Dory hadn’t come to live in Wyoming until their aunt and uncle took her in, when she was about eight years old. Before last month, Russell hadn’t seen her since. It hurt his heart to think about, but he tried to focus on you.

You now seemed to be staring a bit listlessly at the glass of whiskey in his hands. He laid a hand on your arm and called your name.

“Hmm?” Your brows rose as you blinked to attention. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, I’ve lived here pretty much forever.”

“You okay?” Russell asked. “Tequila hit ya a little hard?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry…”

You raised your hands up to your temples. You debated whether you wanted to open up about this, but…considering who Russell was, you thought he might just understand.

“Dory told me you’ve been trying to reconnect with your brother, right? Colter?” you said.

Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.

“Well, you could say I’ve got a brother issue of my own,” you said, laughing humorlessly. “You don’t have to talk about yours, but maybe you’ll understand… My brother is a veteran too. He was a Captain, air force pilot. He fought in Afghanistan, mainly.”

Russell processed that with a nod. “Yeah, I was there too. Special Ops.”

“Wow, okay. Then you know what it was like for him, coming back home,” you said. Your gaze fell to your empty shot glasses. “It was hard, after…”

“After?” he prompted.

You sighed. “Near the end, he lost half his unit in a raid, off of some flawed intel.”

Russell’s brows knitted together. Hmm. Grief, survivor’s guilt, feeling like you don’t belong.

He was starting to get a clearer picture of who your brother was. It struck at familiar chords inside himself that he wasn’t so comfortable with. He shifted in his seat, fingers flexing over his glass on the counter.

You didn’t notice, but you did push the shot glasses away from you.

“I helped him the best I could,” you said. “I got him a job at the museum I interned at when I was in undergrad. He’s there as a security guard, but it’s not really enough, you know? It’s like, nothing satisfies him. I just…I don’t think I know how to help him anymore.”

You couldn’t help it. Emotion bubbled in your throat, making it close up on you as tears stung in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbled, and you tried to turn your face away. Embarrassment coiled up in your chest and made your face hot.

You felt a hand cover yours on your thigh, squeezing warmly. You looked up and met Russell’s gaze, both sympathetic and understanding.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, trying to calm your shuddering breath. “This isn’t exactly first date material. I can’t believe I unloaded on you like that.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Believe me, I get what your brother’s going through.”

He pushed the plate with the last piece of soft-baked pretzel over to you.

“You finish that if you want, then you go ahead and pick something else off the menu. I won’t even argue with you this time,” he promised with a grin.

It got you to laugh, at least, and he gave you a napkin for your tears.

God, get it together, you told yourself. You’re a damn mess.

“Thanks,” you said. You managed to smile as you blotted at one corner of your eye. You hoped you hadn’t just irreversibly smudged your mascara.

Russell surprised you by brushing his thumb against your other cheek, wiping a stray tear away. Your face began to warm with a blush.

“Again, I’m sorry for dumping on you. We had a fight right when I got home,” you admitted.

“What’s his name?” Russell asked.

“Charlie.”

“Older or younger than you?”

“Four years older,” you replied. “He enlisted a few years after he graduated high school.”

Russell flickered at a smile. Enlisted, huh?

Yet another thing he and Charlie had in common, except Russell hadn’t made it through high school in the classic sense.

“What do you think?” you asked.

“I think your brother sounds lost right now. I’ve known a lotta guys like him, unfortunately,” Russell admitted. “Walking back into civilian life, it ain’t easy. That I know my damn self. Just like I know a thing or two about being an older brother. He’s probably doing his best to keep it off your shoulders.”

You shook your head at that. Trying, maybe.

You weren’t even sure of that anymore. Still, it made you all the more curious about Russell and his family.

“I know I said I wouldn’t ask this, and you don’t have to answer. But did you and Colter have a falling out or something?” you asked.

Russell expelled a deep breath and took a sip from his glass. How was he supposed to navigate this minefield with you?

“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.”

He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”

He shook his head and drained the rest of his glass. 

“Well, my brother’s got an idea about me that isn’t true,” he said.

Your head tilted in curiosity. “Which is?”

His lips briefly raised in a wan smile. 

“We don’t gotta get into that one tonight. But uh, the truth is, I’ve tried reaching out to him several times now. He just doesn’t wanna hear from me,” said Russell.

You considered him for a moment. You laid a hand on his arm, covered by his jacket. 

“Don’t give up,” you said, with a sigh of your own. “Despite some things I said to him today, I know I can’t. My brother’s the only real family I have.”

Russell grew curious then. “What about your parents?”

You gave a weak smile.

“They passed away when we were young, but…we don’t have to get into that one tonight,” you said, borrowing his words. 

His expression fell. “Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” you accepted, twisting the napkin around your fingers.

An awkward lull of silence fell between you, until Russell nodded and blew out a breath.

“Well. Heavy, huh?”

You chuckled and rested your head against your hand.

“I know. Again, my fault,” you replied. 

“It’s okay, swee—. Mmm,” he cut himself off, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Were you about to sweetheart me?” you asked playfully, nudging his hand. “You know how I feel about that.”

“No, ma’am. Not at all,” Russell shook his head. His smile gave him away though. You laughed and grabbed his arm.

“Come on,” you said.

He allowed you to lead him out of his seat. He already had a tab open, so he’d settle up with the bar later. “Where we going?”

“You’re gonna lose to me at pool,” you said with a smirk.

Russell laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist instead.

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna give you a run for your money, though,” he promised.

And he was true to his word.

Russell Shaw turned out to be a more than worthy opponent. You studied the board as you changed the angle on your cue stick no less than five times.

“You gonna make a move, or we going to be here all night?” he said.

He was smiling as he leaned against his own cue on the other side of the board. His clever moves had left you in a difficult position to get your three remaining solid-colored balls into the pocket.

“You hush. I’m thinking,” you said, fighting your own smile.

“Careful, you’ve got steam coming out of your ears,” he teased.

You shot him a narrowed look for that. But then you smiled, as the answer came to you. You walked around to his side of the board and nudged him with your hip.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Russell made way for you, but his eyes followed the way you bent over to line up your shot. Namely the curve of your ass in those tight jeans. He could see you knew exactly what you were doing, in more ways than one.

You shot your shot. The solid green ball leapt over his white-striped blue one and managed to sink into the pocket. You straightened up and gave him a triumphant little smirk.

He tried to temper his smile (and ignore the way his cock twitched).

“All right, go on, do your little victory lap," he said. "But remember, I let you go first.”

“Like that matters,” you quipped back.

You went back to the other side of the board to line up your next shot. Russell noticed a pair of drunk men ambling your way from the bar, but before he could make a subtle move to put himself in between, one of the men’s gazes slid down your form and gave into the base urge to let out a low whistle.

And he slapped you right on the ass.

You gasped, grabbing hold of the pool table. Then your shock melted into ire.

Russell was already heading toward you with an angry frown of his own, but even he had to stop short, when he watched you throw a punch that cracked the drunken man across the bridge of his nose.

Good form, Russell thought, when the guy reared back with a howl. His nose dripped blood when his hands came away from his face.

His buddy started to raise his hackles, but that was when Russell stepped to your side. He angled himself toward you and loosely gripped his pool cue by his hip, like it was an extension of his arm. He was fully prepared to use it like one.

“Fucking bitch!” said the one who was still dabbing his nose in vain. He glared at you, his eyes watering involuntarily, while his friend tried to keep him upright. You rolled your eyes.

"You're the one who's crying, bitch," you returned. Russell held in a snort. He cleared his throat and looked on at the pair of idiots.

“I’d have a little sit down if I were you,” Russell told them, with a smirk. “Let that be a lesson to ya. And if it don’t stick? Well. Whatever you start, I can damn well finish.”

His steely gaze reinforced the promise of his words. The other men were still angry, but even drunks had some sense of self-preservation. They ambled toward the back of the bar to find another pool table.

Russell focused his attention back on you, finding you looking down at your hand, rotating your wrist and flexing your fingers.

“Well, look at you, slugger,” he said. You met his smile with one of amusement.

“That’s just what I needed tonight. A broken hand,” you quipped.

“Aw, it doesn’t look as bad as all that. But can I see?” he asked. You allowed him to take your smaller hand in his. Your knuckles were red and tender to the touch when he gently pressed. You hissed in pain.

Damn, she really gave it to him, Russell thought.

“Sorry,” he said, but your hand felt fine, at least. More than fine. His gaze flicked up to yours as his amused grin deepened. “Good hit though.��

If he liked you before, he might’ve fallen half in love with you right there.

You laughed through the pain. “Yeah, my brother did teach me something. Shit.”

Russell led you back to the bar after you grabbed your purse. There he called to the bartender for some ice. The guy nodded; he’d seen the entire exchange and was sympathetic.

You knew this sort of thing was just par for the course at this kind of bar, but they had the best drinks. Charlie had to carry you out of here on your twenty-first birthday, drunk off your ass. Not to mention, he’d punched out two handsy dicks that night.

You recounted the story to Russell over a couple more drinks. Your conversation was lighter then, filled with laughter and a warm, companiable feeling. He was still rather evasive about his job, but you supposed he had to be, since it was government contract work.

Private security, mainly. Or so he'd said. This man made you infinitely curious, and a bit apprehensive, if you were honest.

And yet, at some point while you two shared and laughed and split a hot sandwich with another round of beers, you realized it.

I like this, you thought. And I like him.

However, the night had to come to an end sometime. Your third involuntary yawn told Russell it was time to call it.

"I'm okay," you tried.

"Nah, you've gotta work tomorrow," he said. He signaled to the bartender. "Let me go ahead and close out my tab."

“Oh, I can pay for half,” you said, reaching for your purse now hanging from your hip.

“You kidding me? Put that away,” he said, guiding your hand with your wallet aside.

Smiling, you accepted his generosity with a small thank you. Then, you let him take up your sore hand again, just to carefully press the half-melted bag of ice over it.

“Feelin’ better?” he asked.

Your smile became softer. “Yeah.”

You had no doubt that this man, tall as he was, with his broad shoulders and the controlled way he carried himself, could’ve laid both of those drunken assholes onto their asses. His intimidating gaze had promised as much.

But his hands were gentle for you.

“I was about to win that game, no contest!” you said, laughing as you and Russell headed out of the bar and into the parking lot.

“Hey, hey, I still had time to win it back,” he argued. “I only had three more balls to go. I could’ve sunk that with my eyes closed.”

“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”

Russell snorted. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“Hey, you laughed!” you said, pointing at him.

He shook his head, despite his amusement. He slowed to a stop in front of his car.

“Where’d you park, huh?” he asked.

“Over there,” you said, pointing several parking spaces down. Your eyes were drawn to his car, however. “Wow. This is your car?”

Russell grinned and patted the top of his black Chevy.

“Aw, yeah. That’s my baby,” he said. “She’s a Chevelle, 1967.”

You didn’t know much about cars, but you could see this was a classic beauty. You passed a hand over its sleek paint job without touching, so you didn't get any fingerprints on it. Though you quirked a smile over your shoulder at him.

“She?” you intoned.

“That’s right. She,” he confirmed.

You smirked and crossed your arms. You paused in front of the passenger door, and when Russell drew in closer, you had to crane your neck up to meet his warm gaze.

“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

You tilted your head, your own eyes dancing.

“I’m sure you’re brave enough to find out,” you said.

Russell decided he’d take that bet.

He leaned in slowly. He made a show of hesitating, raising a brow, as if waiting for a blow. You were tempted to laugh.

But then he let loose a true smile, and he bowed his head to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fell shut, and your hands moved to flatten against his chest. A firm fucking wall. Jesus.

He circled his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer. Your fingers wound up in his hair, while he tilted his head to kiss you again. You met him with the same fervor with each new kiss, and the feel of your body, soft and pliant under his hands, each little sweet sound that you made, it all drove him to delve in deeper.

You moaned into his mouth at the first warm swipe of his tongue against yours. He tasted like the burn of good whiskey.

You pressed yourself flush against him on instinct. He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car. His hand tangled into your hair, gripping, then easing through the soft strands.

Russell veered away from your soft mouth after a while, just to burn a line of warm, wet kisses along your jaw, and down your neck with the added rasp of his beard.

His lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He kissed and sucked at your skin, even grazing with his teeth. You gasped softly in his ear, shuddering against him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his strong back out of a need to feel him.

His hands were heavy along the curve of your waist then, squeezing your hips. It all felt incredibly right. And by right, you meant body tingling, warmth churning in your lower belly, and wetness growing between your legs, for sure dampening your panties.

You tugged him back by his hair, so you could reach him for another steamy kiss.

“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.

You paused against his lips, parting from him softly.

“Or not," he added. "Just thought I’d mention.” 

You giggled, catching your breath, and then smoothing your hands down his chest. The faint throb of your core was telling you one thing, but the warning signals of your more cautious mind were telling you another. You thought for a moment…but then you sighed. 

“How long are you really in town?” you asked.

His wet lips tugged to one corner, ruefully. “A few more days, probably.”

“Right,” you said with a frown. “Russell, I like you. I actually, I really do. If you were sticking around for a while, it’d be one thing. But you’re my best friend’s brother, and I—”

“No, I get it. I can’t predict when I’m gonna be able to swing back into town, and you’ve gotta live your life,” he said, but not without care. He curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. 

Your heart tugged, almost painfully.

“You’re a good guy, Russell Shaw,” you breathed. “Why can’t you be a good guy who’s staying?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Then he cringed, knowing how you felt about sweethearting men. “Ah, sorry—” 

You smiled and covered his mouth with your fingers. 

“It’s okay. You have permission to sweetheart me.” 

After blinking his surprise away, his face eased into a grin.

“Then I’ll wear that badge with honor,” he said. 

Your shoulders shook with laughter when you let your forehead fall against his chest.

Russell remained what he had been throughout the entire night: a gentleman, who accompanied you over to your car.

After another stolen kiss or two in front of your sedan, you parted ways from him with a bit of a heavy heart. You wondered if you made the right decision, or if you should’ve just gone for it for once, instead of second-guessing yourself like usual.

You did know this. The rumble of his Chevelle driving down the opposite road would be imprinted on your memory.

When you returned home, you realized that the house was empty, and in complete darkness.

Charlie still wasn’t home.

Worried, you flicked on the lights and began to text his cell, only to find a note for you on the kitchen counter.

And it worried you even more.

I’m sorry. I’m going to make it right. 

— C.

AN: 😬 Well then! lol We're diving straight into the drama and feels on this one. What did you think of her "barely a date" with Russell? 😂

And where do you think we're going next with Charlie?

Next Time:

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[astrobiscuits]

Unknown asteroids #1

🦭Adorno (21029) – of Spanish origin; means to decorate/embellish; (for females only) if Sun, Mars, Saturn or the Descendant are badly aspected by this asteroid in the natal chart, it can indicate being “objectified” by men; if one of the mentioned planets/angle are positively aspected by this asteroid, it can indicate fighting for women's rights when it comes to the objectification of women

🦭Advincula (23017) – of Latin origin; denotes someone advanced in a certain skill/job/life experiences OR someone who can advance a certain field

🦭Aenna (1155) – of Hebrew origin; means favor/grace, God has favored me; denotes someone getting blessed by a higher force

🦭Aemilia (159) – of Latin origin; means industrious; denotes a workaholic and/or someone who works in engineering; a second meaning: to strive/excel

🦭Aeschylus (2876) – father of Greek tragedy drama; denotes a strong affinity for drama works (either in reading or writing them); if it aspects Uranus, it can bring popularity due to scandals/dramatic past

🦭Bengt (1846) – of Latin origin, but frequently used in Sweden; means blessed

🦭Cappi (49777) – of Italian origin; means lucky

🦭Elpis (59) – of Greek origin; means "the spirit of hope"; like the star card in tarot, this asteroid shows us where we are most hopeful

🦭Gorky (2768) – of English origin; means awkward/strange

🦭Khandrika (12068) – of Indian origin; means small village/small place

🦭Khalat (468725) – of Indian origin; means robe; denotes someone with high social status, someone who dresses expensive

🦭Libby (5672) – of British origin; means God’s promise; if relevant in synastry, it can indicate fated connections, someone given to us from the above

🦭Odeh (34786) – of Arabic origin; denotes someone (or something) coming back into your life, similar to Aesculapia (1027)

🦭Oenomaos (164555) – from Greek mythology (corresponds to King Oenomaus of Pisa); shows love for consuming wine; if prominent in the natal chart, it can point to an alcoholic

🦭Oenone (215) – from Greek mythology; a nymph abandoned by her lover, Paris, who choose Helen of Troy over her; prominent in people who have been cheated on/left by lovers

🦭Okugi (5174) – of Japanese origin; means the heart or depth of something, secrets, mysteries, esoterica

🦭Okuni (7769) – of Japanese origin; means homeland or native country

🦭Olathe (18984) – its meaning comes from the Shawnee language; means lovely/beautiful

🦭Paeonia (1061) – of Latin origin; denotes the latin term for peony (symbols of peony: love, honor, romance, beauty)

🦭Palach (1834) – of Russian origin; means executioner, hangman, butcher, torturer

🦭Piedade (11912) – of Portugese origin; means pity, mercy, kindness towards an enemy

🦭Pierre (1392) – of French origin; means stone, rock

🦭Quigley (18699) – of Irish origin; means “from the mother’s side”; denotes someone very similar to their own mother or her family, heavily attached to the mother figure or someone who has grown up without a father; a second meaning: “unruly hair”; denotes someone with crazy hair

🦭Quinn (107561) – of Irish origin; means wise, intelligent

🦭Quito (10793) – of Spanish origin; means “center of the world”; denotes someone popular and/or famous

🦭Seiwa (16700) – of Japanese origin; means saint; denotes a person of superior knowledge and virtue; a second meaning: peace, calm

🦭Vangelis (6354) – of Greek origin; means good news

🦭Vate (12312) – of English origin, but borrowed from Latin; means prophet, fortune teller, inspired writer; prominent in witches and tarot readers

🦭Vedrana (176014) – of Croatian and Serbian origin; denotes someone who is lighthearted, joyful, cheerful

🦭Xenia (625) – of Greek origin; denotes a great host, someone hospitable and welcoming with guests and strangers in need

(21029, 23017, 1155, 159, 2876, 1846, 49777, 59, 2768, 12068, 468725, 5672, 34786, 164555, 215, 5174, 7769, 18984, 1061, 1834, 11912, 1392, 18699, 107561, 10793, 16700, 6354, 12312, 176014, 625)

[snowseasonmademe]

i’m so glad i found the french federation of fine men (fff). it still baffles me that they’re all bad as hell. god bless them😌.

[fushiguwu]

who is he? getou suguru

CHAPTER 1 from the Summer Fever's serie!

ft. dilf!getou and gojo’s stepdaughter!reader

warnings: use of alcohol, making out, slight smut, reader's drunk but conscious, age gap, breath play, soft dom!getou, use of the names princess, lady, pretty girl.

words: 1.9k

MINORS DNI!

A couple years ago, your mom got married again. A nice, handsome and funny man. She really loved him, and he seemed to be a nice guy; not too young nor old, at his late thirties, a highschool teacher, Gojo looked way younger than he actually was — physically and mentally. They met on a dating app and a few months later got married. You thought that, maybe, people their age are afraid to never find someone again, and just get married as soon as they get into a relationship. Their wedding party was beautiful, for as long as you can remember: lots of friends and family members, some people you’ve never seen in your life, some people you wish you’d never seen in your life, but beautiful. Your mom looked happy, Gojo looked happy, so that’s all that matters. Some days after that, you’ve left the country to go to a fancy French university, thanks to your exchange scholarship — and your mom’s money. That was good to her too, she deserved to live a nice married life, you thought. 

You’ve lost some holidays, but sometimes, like this one, you could finally get home, after two years. God bless summer breaks. You spent the most time sleeping, the uber driving home too. You missed your mom and her dog — not Gojo, an actual dog. But, yeah, a little bit of him too. It was good to be home, to breathe the motherland’s air and to relax by the huge pool in your childhood’s backyard. 

While taking your sunbath, Gojo had told you that tonight a few friends would come by, and you didn’t have to feel uncomfortable, they were just going to drink some wine and talk about sports; apparently, that’s something that happens monthly, and for your lucky, it had to be at the day you got home and wished for some peace of mind. 

So, for the time you got off the pool and they came, by six in the afternoon,you didn’t leave your room. Not until an angel sends you a message: 

 “Hey, I’ve heard u in town, wanna hang out?”

So you text your angel —Nobara, back, saying you’d be there in an hour. You and Nobara have known each other since high school, even with the loss of most of your friends due to distance, you two kept in contact as much as you could. You’ve forgotten to talk about your arrival, what a bad friend. Lucky for you, your mom absolutely loves Kugisaki and probably texted her about your comeback one week before. 

After getting ready, you go downstairs to call an uber. Gojo’s friends were all over the living room, laughing and drinking. Just some old men doing old men stuff. You pass through them as unnoticed as you could possibly be. Until Gojo saw you and screamed out your name, just when you approached the exit.  He then goes to you, with the open smile he always keeps on face, “Hey, guys, this is my stepdaughter, she came from France today!” you couldn’t be more ashamed. You say a shy “hi” and they were all smiling at you like you were a baby or something.

“Gojo, she’s at the age of Getou’s girls, they could’ve been friends! So sad, Getou ain’t here today.” a man with blonde hair says so, and you give him a little smile. 

“Yeah, yeah of course! We should talk about it with him, right? Isn’t their birthday soon?” Gojo says, electric with the possibility of you being friends with his friend’s daughters. 

“Hum, yeah, it would be nice, I guess”, you slowly get away from Gojo, “but, hum, I really gotta go now. Thanks, Satoru! Nice to meet you guys!” and like a flash you disappear out the door, leaving your stepdad with a huge question mark above his head. “These young girls… Always in a hurry…” Gojo says, more to himself than to the other men in the room.

When you got to the bar, Nobara was already there, waiting for you. “Why did you take so long?” She looked upset. You try to tell her about Satoru’s drunkenness, the men in your house, the shame you’ve got yourself into, but she’s bringing you inside, and the music was so loud you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. She, then, waves to someone, and lets go of your hand. How she found someone through that crowd, you would never know. “Wait here for a minute, imma get us some free drinks, ‘kay? Stay here!” and just like that she disappeared through the sea of people, leaving you by yourself. You literally just arrived and Nobara’s already gone, goddamnit. 

So you waited for her for what seemed like hours —ten minutes, but every minute you kept asking if that’s what you came for: to stay still in the middle of the dance floor, like a souvenir. If you knew it’d be like this, would've stayed at home with those drunk dudes watching football. After a couple more minutes, you give up on your friend and head up to the bar. 

You ask the bartender for a beer, but it just didn't feel enough. and then another one, which you found tastier than the last. And another one, the beer started tasting funny. And when you were about to ask for more, a little bit dizzy, you felt a huge silhouette approaching you. 

“I’d like to pay for your drink, if you don’t mind” you hear a low male voice say, just behind your body as he puts his wallet on the counter, in front of your bottle. You look up at him through your shoulders, his face a few inches from yours, his smell-like-expensive wood perfume flooding your thoughts and even by the lowlights you could say he looks way too good — or maybe you were just drunk and under the effect of his cologne.

“Shouldn’t you ask me if I’d like a drink first? How inelegant.” You were clearly affected by the alcohol, and he could tell. He, then, smirks down at you with his whole teeths.

“Well, it seems that you enjoy a drink way more than pretty ladies like you usually do” and you flushed, as for him to think you’re pretty, and for seeing that you are a bit drunk. But you wouldn't give in so easily like that. You frowned and pouted up at him.

“And what do you know about me, huh? What if I am no lady?” you sit now facing him from down, with a weird feeling on your stomach, you didn't know if wanted to throw up or if he was just making you nervous. He gets closer, turning your swivel bar chair around for him, opening your legs a little so his body could be in the middle. Go up your body with his hands gently and slowly from your side thighs till your waist. The weird feeling now manifests through all your body, like a hundred butterflies were inside you, trying to come out. It just grows stronger as his face approaches your ear, you couldn't move a single finger under his spell.

“Yes, I don’t know anything about you, princess. Please, forgive my anti-chivalry”. his hands tightened but it still felt so dearing you could melt by it only. He held your chin, looking deep into your dizzy eyes. You looked so helpless, so given in his arms, even with all those people around, you could only see him and him only. “But, if you ain’t no lady, it leaves only the pretty, then”. You bite your lip, unknowing what to say to him after that. Anyone else saying that and you would have absolutely cringed, but from his mouth it just sounded so right. Everything he said sounded so intrinsically right that you felt like agreeing blindly even if he called you for a bank robbery. You felt a bit more dizzy every time he’d speak with his such charming deep voice close to your neck.

“Would you like to know, then?” A few seconds passed by for your courage to appear, and you couldn’t help noticing his lips forming a nasty smile. His eyes travel yours, going from one to another, not sure if he should do the next move. You looked so helpless under him, he thought. Your eyes wander through his lips, and eyes, and nose, and every single detail you could get within the low beam — close to none. Without a word being said therefore, like the permission was implicit, he puts his fingers on your chin and kisses you, sweetly, slowly, just like you deeply craved for. And, just like that, all those butterflies disappeared. You enlace your hands on his neck—feeling his silky long hair made you gasp into his mouth. It all seemed so right, just like a fever dream your drunk and feverish head was making up to you.

His tongue touches yours in a sinful yet heavenly dance, leaving the sweetness behind gradually. You feel his hands getting down from your chin to your throat, squeezing it softly, almost like testing your bondages. The fire within your mouth runs down your body as his hands tighten around your neck. You moan lowly as he does so, and it just makes him squeeze more. You could feel him smiling through the kiss. All you thought of was him. Him… Him… But, who was him? 

“Wait, wait!” you suddenly break the kiss, breathing heavily “I-I don’t even know your name yet!” He laughs at your nervousness, how adorable you are. 

“I’m Suguru”. Suguru. Such a pretty name, you think. And then you say your name to him, taking on some breath still. He runs his hand through his long raven hair, and just so you feel that his touch has left your body. “So, princess, can I take y-“

He couldn’t even finish his sentence as you jumped off your seat. Nobara screams your name from behind him, absolutely mad —as if you weren’t the one who should be pissed off with her. “Where have you been? Didn’t I ask u to stay there? I’ve been looking for you the whole night!” Her face was red. You wanted to say a lot of things to her, but at the same time you were still processing her sudden appearance and the thought of someone else in your mind absolutely clouded by Suguru’s face—not even remembering you came with her after all that happened in this silly little bar chair. After a few seconds Nobara realized what was happening, swallowed dry and cleaned her throat. She kept looking up at Suguru as talked to you, kind of mesmerized, perhaps. He, on the other hand, seemed very much confused.: “hum, anyways… I think we should get going, though. Things didn’t go as planned and there’s a mad vip security’s man coming after me. I got an uber for us, explain it later”.

You couldn’t protest nor say anything as Kugisaki took your arms and got you up. “Calm down, Nobara, I was…!” Was what? She couldn’t hear you. And if she did, wouldn’t care now. You seek Suguru, looking like a puppy as gets carried to the veterinary. You try to take his hand and he goes after you for a few seconds, but the crowd makes it hard to follow. 

“See ya, pretty girl”. You could read his lips say, and felt his body getting far from yours so fast. You tried to slow Nobara down, but when you look back at him again, he was already gone, like he never really existed and it was all just in your delusional head.

[thebusylilbee]

I went to watch The count of Monte Cristo (2024) last night and it was SOOO GOOOD oh my god it's so exciting to have a good big french movie like that again !!! it's been 84 years, I've been waiting !!! what a comeback !!! it looked gorgeous, it was well acted, it had lots of beautiful dark haired men and women (some blond people were there too I guess) and it was a very satisfying revenge story <3

it also really made me want to read Alexandre Dumas' entire bibliography, which I should have done already but better late than never !! also reminder that this gigantic name in french culture happens to be half black so his existence pisses off all the french racists, god bless :^)

btw keeping it vague to avoid spoilers but : at some point there's talks of a lavender wedding to protect a sapphic romance !! instantly made me love the movie more, can't believe they acknowledged wlw in a story like that !!

[sixteenyearoldmeblog]

Definitely watching Mixte for the plot

[astralartefact]

NieR Reincarnation Book Spoilers: The New Stuff I care about No not the lore stuff who cares about the lore i care about the lore there's one thing in there that really tickles me but that's not what this is about

I didn't expect them since I haven't seen a single person talk about them but the S2+ RoD stories are in the book.

I probably will make another post about some of them when I actually finished them, but here is my google lens powered synopsis of their premise based on each of their first chapters. btw as a professional lazy person we live in an age where you don't have to speak a language to be able to kind of get it, isn't that magical

which means I WIN!!!!

They don't have pictures, but I take what I can get.

Saryu - The Blessing

Hundreds of years after the events of her story Saryu is reanimated by a wizard to help him create magic wedding rings.

(staring at the camera going yes. who ever wrote this gets it.)

Priyet - End of Everything

After telling Saryu her feelings, asking her to be partners and being rejected*, Priyet decides to pursue Black Magic to become a boy, believing that that will definitely help her chances.*Saryu says something along the lines of "It's okay if you get lost" to her which seems japanese for sure, no clue what that means

Marie - new song

After losing her eye/heart to Yurie, Marie watches her country's destruction by enemy forces. In an imitation of what her old self would have done she tries to help a young girl survive in the ruins of a hospital.

Yurie - new order

After stealing Marie's eye Yurie shuts herself off into the digital world but is eventually forced into the real world by a resistance that views her as God.

Yudil - "Thousand Men"

Washed up on the shore, barely remembering anything that happened, Yudil ends up in a recently abandoned city whose inhabitants were likely turned into animals.

(he also has a fifth chapter which i read because huh? and it's about how as an older woman, sarafa tells the stories yudil told her to children on the street)

(btw the lore timeline says that Yudil and Sarafa happen 30 years after DoD3 in the at that point in history combined Country of Sea and Sands - which means they're canonically french) (well okay upside down french but you get it)

Sarafa - "One Woman"

"The story of a stupid woman who thinks she can outrun her status as princess." Surviving her suicide attempt Sarafa wakes up in the home of a poor woman. Hearing that the kingdom has declared her deceased she is overcome by joy for her newfound freedom.

Hina - "Solar Eclipse Bond"

Parallel Universe Hina jumps out of a plane and will definitely meet her evil brother later on, 100%

Yuzuki - "Comet's Promise" (/wish upon a star)

On a summer vacation young Hina and Yuzuki get lost in a cave and after failing to make a wish upon a star they make plans to watch a meteor shower four years later.

note: the cursive titles are already english, the other ones are japanese

10H - With Love and Prayers

Back on earth, 10H serves as the healer of a group patrolling a peaceful part of the ruined city.

btw there's also more evidence that the game was definitely cut down without forewarning and that 10H was going to be around longer, for example, the concept art for the birdhouse has 10H in it, stuff like that.

edit: I'm putting the 'full' stories in the comments as I'm reading them (sobbing in Saryu)

[theoutcastrogue]

Ballade of the Hanged Men

According to legend, François Villon wrote his iconic Ballade des pendus ("Ballad of the Hanged", c.1489) in prison, waiting for his own execution. Not true. Fittingly for a rogue, Villon disappeared from Paris and from history, and his ultimate fate will forever remain unknown.

This 2013 translation by David Georgi does not retain the poem's rhyme, but I think it perfectly captures the mood. Original Middle French after the cut, for modern French spelling and a literal English translation see wikipedia.

Brothers, humans, who live on after us, don’t harden your hearts and turn away, for if you take pity on wretches like us, the sooner will God have mercy on you. You see us strung up here, five, six in a row; as for our flesh, which we nourished too well, it has fallen away, devoured or rotted, and we, the bones, will soon be ash and dust. Let no one mock at our pitiful state, but pray to God that he absolve us all.

If we dare to call you brother, do not disdain us, though the law saw fit to kill us in the name of justice; for you know not all are blessed alike with sense and reason. Therefore go with quiet heart and intercede for us with the Son of the Virgin Mary; ask that his grace toward us may not run dry and let him save us from the firestorms of hell. We are dead; let no one harm us further, but pray to God that he absolve us all.

The rain has soaked us through and washed us clean and the sun has dried and blackened us. Magpies and crows have cored out our eyes, trimmed our beards and plucked our eyebrows. We never get a moment to rest: this way and that as the wind shifts direction, it swings us at its whim continually, more needled by birds than a darning thimble. No, ours is a club you should not rush to join, but pray to God that he absolve us all.

Jesus, our Prince, who reigns over us all, let hell have no hold over us sinners, let us owe it no debt or allegiance. Fellow men, don’t laugh at our fate, but pray to God that he absolve us all.

Ballade des pendus

Freres humains qui aprés nous vivez, N’ayez les cueurs contre nous endurciz, Car se pitié de nous povres avez, Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis. Vous nous voiez cy atachés, cinq, six; Quant de la chair, que trop avons nourrie, Elle est pieça, devoree et pourrie, Et nous, les os, devenons scendre et pouldre. De nostre mal personne ne s’en rie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Se vous clamons freres, pas n’en devez Avoir desdain, quoy que fusmes occis Par justice; toutesfoiz vous savez Que tous hommes n’ont pas bon sens rassis. Intercedez doncques de cueur assis, Envers le filz de la Vierge Marie, Que sa grace pour nous ne soit tarie, Nous preservant de l’infernale fouldre. Nous sommes mors, ame ne nous harie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

La pluye nous a debuez et lavez Et le souleil decechez et noirciz. Pies, corbeaux nous ont les yeulx cavez Et araché la barbe et les sourcilz. Jamais nul temps nous ne sommez assis: Puis ça, puis la, comme le vent varie, A son plaisir sans cesse nous charie, Plus becquetés d’oiseaux que dez a couldre. Ne soiez donc de nostre confrairie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Prince Jhesus, qui sur tous a maistrie Garde qu’enfer de nous n’ait seigneurie; A luy n’ayons que faire ne que souldre! Hommes, ycy n’a point de mocquerie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

@tuulikki

[howtotrainabraincell]

Nightmares

If any of the assassin's understand nightmares, it's these men:

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

Ever since he was 17, he's been plagued by nightmares of his brothers and father's murders. He's always right there and so close...but he never reaches them on time.

When he met her the nightmares began to gradually go away and eventually, they ceased. The last one he ever had seemed to give his mind the closure that he needed.

Ezio had realized that he was in another nightmare and instead of trying to stop what he knew was unstoppable, he closed his eyes and tried to think of his family as they were. Something his love had recommended to calm him. It worked.

He saw his father speaking happily with Frederico and his mother, Maria. He saw Petruccio laughing with Claudia as they fed a few ducks bits of lettuce. He saw Mario grinning at him, congratulating him on his work in training.

It brought him peace to see his family as they once were. As they should have been. If life had been fair. And then he woke up. It was morning and he could see the sun streaming in through the window of his shared bedroom with the one he loves most.

Yet when he turns to greet her, to thank her for her help because it worked...she's not there in their bed. He sits up in alarm searching for her but doesn't have to look far. She's sitting before the fire in her nightgown, slouching in exhaustion.

If she’s scared enough, he’ll play the few chords he learned on the lute for her - although he'll likely become the shyest she'll ever witness him become.

If she wants, he's always willing to 'distract' her in another way if she asks for him too. But his voice is what calms her the most and he tries his best with what he knows comforts her. Ezio will tell her about missions, funny things that the new novices did, the most recent squabbles between La Volpe and Machiavelli.

She laughs when she hears Ezio regal the tale of how La Volpe scared Machiavelli so badly it sent him flailing backwards into a haystack.

Sometimes they talk until the sun rises, a few times they've both distracted each other with a passionate encounter that lasts the entire night, and other times they lay there together whispering softly.

Ezio teaching her Italian to distract her has become commonplace and it warms his heart to hear her speak his native tongue, even if she is plagued by other things. He will take care of her the same way she has always taken care of him.

How could he not after all the blessings she's bestowed upon him? It is the least he can do for her and as long as she wants him to, he will.

Sempre e per sempre.

Arno Victor Dorian

What doesn't this man have nightmares about? His father, his adopted father, his mentor betraying him, the awful things he's seen throughout the revolution (and at this point it's still not over yet), losing the woman he loved after being abandoned by her twice, it never ends for him.

Sade and his God-awful jokes and sorry excuses of literary prose. But recently a new one has come to him...losing her. He wakes up and his heart hurts from the loss of her in his dream state. His throat hurts from how he screamed in his worst fear come true.

Only to find her sleeping peacefully next to him. Beautiful, safe, and completely unaware of the horrible things he had seen happen to her in his nightmares. From death to Napoleon trying to take her (damn that man for his affections toward HIS woman the connard...)

Not wishing to wake her the French assassin will often leave their shared bed, kissing her forehead gently, and trekking to the kitchen to see if something warm will do the trick.

She always knows when Arno leaves the bed. His presence disappearing wakes her up without fail every time. When she follows him, she finds her sweet snarky assassin in the garden with a cup of cocoa. Padding loudly enough for him to hear she approaches him from behind and wraps the blanket she brought for him around him snugly, kissing his head sweetly.

Every time. Without fail. For as many years as he was plagued with night terrors.

It is unexpected and heartbreaking for Arno to see his love fall apart after the Revolution. For almost their entire lives, she has kept him together without judgement and nothing but patience and love towards him. He's only too happy to return the favor now that she needs him.

He holds her the same way she held him for all those years, murmuring lovingly in French in both things she understands and things she's yet to learn. He tells her about spats with the French council, yet another mistress of de Sade whooping his ass with jewel encrusted slippers, Leon's excellent progress in swordplay (he'll be better than Arno if he doesn't watch out...).

Many stories are funny for her sake to keep things lighthearted and to distract her mind from darker things. It's for Arno too he'll admit. He loves the sound of her laugh and always has.

Reading to her is also something he enjoys. They both love to read and the way she relaxes into his chest to try and focus on the story makes him feel warm inside. They can read for hours or moments before becoming lost in one another, either embracing one another tightly grateful to have survived the Revolution, or Arno will show her just how much he appreciates her...

Either way the nightmares will always be defeated by Monsieur Dorian because he loves her enough to never do anything less.

Ratonhnhake:ton/Connor Kenway

He understands nightmares. He has them too and it took him a long time to be able to calm himself down from them and realize that they were his internal fears manifesting into nightmares. Or sometimes even nothing at all.

He'll tell her stories about his childhood - happier times and even stories of his tribe. Avoiding more tender topics she may even make a lighthearted jab at his father - something to the effect of his tricorn hat being pretentious - which makes the man laugh deeply underneath her.

Ratonhnhake:ton loves how she always knows what to say to make him smile or laugh. He just hopes he can do the same for her for the rest of their lives.

Sometimes they talk about their plans for the next day and what they'll do around the Homestead. She might plan to go foraging and visit Prudence and little Hunter, who is just learning to take his first steps. They both plan take a trip to visit Myriam and Norris after the arrival of their little one, a baby girl named Amara.

He'll mention the plans he has to secure game for their next meal, and she'll bring up where she saw a herd of deer grazing, ask if he has enough arrows and if he needs his dagger sharpened for skinning. The man smiles down at her grateful for her help and thoughtfulness towards him.

The excitement he feels when he hears her plans to bake again. He loves her baking and is sure to let her know anytime she creates something no matter how small or simple. Mulling over the ingredients she'll use and if she should do regular sugar or chocolate chip cookies, she can feel her cheeks warm at the way the assassin looks at her.

Warm and tender. Like she is the only thing tethering him to peace life and loving comfort.

She begins to feel better thinking about how happy her husband will look to come home to fresh baked chocolate chip cookies.

They'll lay there with him speaking softly to her until he realizes that she's drifted back to sleep against his chest. Connor will smile brushing her hair back from her face gently, as he admires the love of his life, before whispering to the peaceful room: "Konnoronhkwa."

[novy2sirius]

WORD MAGIC

“the real secret of magic is that the world is made of words and that if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish.” ~ terence mckenna

— words have power. “elites” know this so they take advantage of it. some of these aren’t bad though. some say stuff like this is farfetched and i used to think it was until i saw just how many words have secret meanings behind them. the words we say affect our reality. the reason they make things this obvious and put it in front of our faces is because they believe it heals their karma by “telling us” even though they’re not technically actually telling us directly they’re still telling us. according to the rules of karma if we don’t acknowledge what they’re telling us to our faces that is our problem

spelling -> (spell)ing - casting a spell

matrix -> my tricks

universe -> uni (one) verse - one song, one truth

planet -> plan ET/plan net

internet -> enter net

spiritual -> spirit ritual

spirit -> spear it - the fifth wound of jesus

emotion -> i’m ocean - we’re made of 70% water and water is the element representing emotions

bless -> be less

bless you -> be less you

good morning -> mourning = having deep sorrow

revenge -> r(even)ge

mental illness -> (men)tal illness

television -> tell a vision

broadcast -> (casting) a spell

pray -> prey

jesus -> he’s us - and je sus = i know, in french

amen -> (amun) ra - the word is derived from an ancient egyptian god

earth -> heart - rearranged

human -> hue man - hue = attribute of color (color is light) - light manifested into physical form

alcohol -> sounds like the arabic word “al-ghoul” which translates to “body eating spirit” or “beast” in english - refer here for more

sacred -> rearranges to scared - this is on purpose to keep you scared of sacred things such as astrology, numerology, rituals, etc

ritual -> right to all

demon -> the mon-ster

devil -> de/the evil

blame -> be lame

parents -> a pair who rents

write -> rite - a rite is a ceremony or ritual

page -> paging someone = summoning them

beauty -> be you ty

abracadabra -> in hebrew means “i will create as i speak”

wizard -> wise ard

[commonguttersnipe]

Keeping Up With The Britons (King Arthur x Queen Guinevere)

Summary: After returning from his most holy (and fruitless) quest, King Arthur has to face the wrath of his fair wife, Queen Guinevere.

923 AD England.

The ivy-covered court of Camelot had seen its fair share of absurdity: knights bickering over the proper velocity of unladen swallows (African or European was the question), garderobe fashion shows, and guards defecating over the battlements, but nothing could compare to the English ruler’s hunt for the holy grail.

Arthur, King of the Britons, sat on his throne, visibly deflating as his queen paced furiously in front of him, her green robe swishing like an angry sea of broccoli.

“Let me see if I understand this properly,” Guinevere began, her tone so sharp it could’ve been used as a sword. “You—my husband—have spent the last TWENTY YEARS…”

“Nineteen,” Arthur interjected timidly.

She stopped dead in her tracks, spinning to glare at him. “Do NOT quibble with me about numbers right now, Arthur. If anything, that makes it WORSE.”

He sank lower in his throne. “Well, alright...”

“TWENTY YEARS,” she continued, throwing up her hands for emphasis, “you and the boys, trampling around the countryside-”

“I wouldn’t call it trampling, exactly…”

“-only to come home empty-handed? No Grail. No glory. No divine blessing to justify your ridiculous obsession. Just you, half our men dead or arrested, and a police report!”

Arthur winced. “To be fair, Lancelot is on probation-”

“DON’T YOU DARE DEFEND LANCELOT TO ME!” she roared, slamming her hands on the arms of his throne. “He’s the reason that this whole bloody castle smells like an unholy combination of horse sweat and French perfume!”

Arthur shrank further. “It does linger, doesn’t it? Wait, perfume-”

Ignoring him, Guinevere straightened her posture while pushing her golden hair to the back. “Arthur,” Guinevere said, pinching the bridge of her nose and pacing again, “I need you to answer me one question. Just one.”

Arthur straightened slightly, as if trying to muster some shred of dignity. “Of course, my sweetling. Anything.”

She turned to him, eyes blazing. “What in God’s green earth made you think the Grail was ANYWHERE NEAR ENGLAND?!”

Arthur blinked. “Well, uh…you see…there were these, er, clues…”

“Clues?” Guinevere arched a brow so high it could’ve taken flight.

Arthur nodded solemnly and whined, “God told me.”

“God?!” she sputtered. “Oh, well, clearly that makes it all credible! God just screams reliability, doesn’t He? He never has an ulterior motive at all!”

Arthur frowned. “You’re being blasphemous.”

“Well, I think he’s an idiot.”

“Now, now, there’s no need for that-”

“There is every need for it, Arthur!” Guinevere snapped. “You’ve spent half your life chasing a magical cup based on God’s prattling and some bloke with fireworks!”

“First of all, Tim was NOT just a bloke-”

“Oh, forgive me, Arthur! I wouldn’t want to misrepresent Tim the Enchanter Extraordinaire!”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. “Look, Guinevere, I know it seems foolish in hindsight-”

“Oh, does it? Does it really? Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t just seem foolish, it seems downright criminally stupid!”

Guinevere planted herself firmly in front of Arthur, arms crossed, the belt of her green robe hanging loose, hinting at far more than court decorum would normally allow. She wasn't unaware of it either. She was mad—and when Guinevere was mad, even her robe staged a rebellion.

“Arthur,” she started, her voice sharp enough to cut through a stone wall, “do you have any idea what I’ve had to deal with? While you’ve been off chasing a cup that probably doesn’t exist, your knights have been engaging in…extracurricular activities that would make a monastery spontaneously combust.”

Arthur, sitting slumped in his throne, tried to meet her gaze but failed miserably. “I can explain…”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” she cut him off. “Let’s start with Sir Galahad. How long has he been at Castle Anthrax now? A month? Two?”

Arthur winced. “Well, time gets tricky when you’re questing, dear-”

“Don’t you dare,” Guinevere snapped. “He’s been there so long the maidens are no longer maidens, Arthur. They’ve written to thank you for sending him their way! ‘Dearest King Arthur, we would like to express our deepest gratitude for the most thorough… attentions Sir Galahad has been providing. His stamina is unparalleled. Truly, he’s given up to his title as the Chaste.’”

Arthur turned red, sputtering. “I thought he’d resist temptation!”

“Resist? Arthur, he’s been doing so much penance he’s run out of rosary beads to count!” Guinevere leaned in, her tone low and mocking. “Do you know what they call him now? Saint Galahad of the ‘Multiple Rounds Table’.”

Arthur groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’ll send a messenger.”

“Oh, don’t bother. He’s too busy receiving and giving oral sex!”

Arthur yanked his crown off and clutched it like a lifeline. “Galahad’s just…overwhelmed. He’s always been the sensitive type.”

Guinevere barked out a laugh. “Sensitive? That man’s got maidens on a rotation! One for breakfast, one for lunch, and, oh yes, two for dinner.” She straightened and jabbed a finger in Arthur’s chest. “And don’t think you’re getting off easy with Sir Robin.”

Arthur flinched as though physically struck. “What about Robin? He’s…a poet now!”

“A poet?!” Guinevere threw her arms up in disbelief. “Arthur, he’s written twelve verses about running away! ‘The Ballad of My Brave Retreat,’ they’re calling it. The French have adopted it as their national anthem!”

“Well, it’s a catchy tune-”

“It’s embarrassing,” she snapped, pacing now, her robe falling further open with every stride. “He’s hosting a bardic retreat! Charging aspiring cowards three pence a head to teach them the art of ‘strategic withdrawal!’ And don’t get me started on what he’s calling the ‘Retreat and Rear’ technique!”

Arthur squirmed. “It’s, uh…good for morale?”

“Morale?! His last performance involved interpretive dance where he mimed hiding under a bed!”

Arthur stared at the floor, trying to find a crack big enough to crawl into. Guinevere wasn’t finished.

“And Lancelot,” she hissed.

Arthur’s head shot up. “Oh, no. Not Lance.”

“Oh, yes. Your noblest knight, your fearless champion, your ‘bringer of swift justice’—he’s been shacked up with Prince Herbert of Swampcastle!”

“He’s a hostage!” Arthur protested weakly.

“Hostage?” Guinevere echoed with mockery. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because Herbert’s been sending love letters signed ‘Your little songbird.’ And don’t think I didn’t notice Lancelot’s new wardrobe. ‘Velvet doublets and embroidered tights!’” She threw her arms out theatrically. “He’s a homosexual!”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to form a coherent response.

“Oh, and guess what?” Guinevere leaned down, her lips close to his ear, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Lancelot’s apparently been teaching Herbert the fine art of swordplay. Only, I don’t think it’s the kind you learn in a jousting tournament.”

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but Guinevere wasn’t done.

“And let’s not forget the time you spent arguing with Frenchmen-”

“They were very rude!”

“-and being nearly killed by a bloody rabbit!”

“It was a vicious rabbit, Guinevere. You weren’t there.”

“Oh, I wasn’t there? No, Arthur, I wasn’t there because I was too busy ruling the kingdom! Someone had to make sure the castle was protected due to the king off chasing imaginary chalices!”

Arthur stood abruptly, his armour jangling. “It wasn’t just about the Grail, Guinevere!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the hall.

“Oh, really?” she shot back. “Then what was it about? Enlighten me, oh wise King of the Britons!”

Arthur took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging. “It was about proving I was worthy,” he said quietly.

Guinevere blinked. “Worthy of what?”

“Of…everything,” Arthur admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “The sword. The crown. You.”

Guinevere froze. For the first time that evening, she was silent.

Arthur glanced at her, his watery blue eyes filled with guilt and something else—something softer. “Do you know what it’s like, Guinevere? To feel like you’re just some bloke who got lucky pulling a sword out of a rock? To wonder if you’re just a fraud and everyone’s too polite to say it?”

Guinevere stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, to Arthur’s utter shock, she burst out laughing.

“W-what’s so funny?” he stammered, genuinely baffled.

“You,” she said, clutching her sides. “Arthur, you daft old fool. Do you honestly think anyone cares about that bloody sword? Or the Grail?”

Arthur frowned. “They don’t?”

“Of course not!” she said, still laughing. “Do you think the peasants sit around saying, ‘Oh, I wonder if King Arthur is worthy today?’ No, they’re too busy worrying about whether the turnips will grow or if the feudal system has changed at all!”

Arthur scratched his head. “I suppose that’s…comforting?”

Guinevere stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek. “Arthur, you’re not perfect. God knows you’ve made your share of mistakes-”

He winced. “Like the rabbit?”

“Like the rabbit,” she confirmed with a smirk. “But you’ve got a good heart. And you don’t need a magical cup to prove it.”

Arthur looked at her, his expression softening. “Do you really mean that?”

Guinevere rolled her eyes. “Of course I do, you idiot. Now sit down before you fall over. You look like you haven’t slept in a decade.”

Arthur chuckled, sinking back into his throne. “You’re not wrong.”

Guinevere sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “For the record,” she said, her voice teasing, “if you ever try to chase the Grail again, I will personally pack your things and send you to live with that French Taunter”

Arthur laughed, wrapping an arm around her. “Fair enough.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Guinevere spoke again.

“Though,” she said thoughtfully, “if the Grail is real, it’s probably in Jerusalem.”

Arthur groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Not helping, Guinevere.”

“Not trying to,” she replied with a grin.

[tehamelie]

Various fine opinions on the meaning of life contained in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life:

*Unionize your workplace, alternatively turn it into a pirate ship and take to the high seas. It'll piss off management either way.

*Question everything.

*Look at what you think you know from a different perspective.

*The pursuit of profit at all costs can and will ruin the meaning of any work and also make you worse at it.

*Gender roles are not necessarily assigned at birth.

*The Catholic church is not well.

"God has blessed us so much I can't afford to feed you all any longer."

*Just because you're allowed doesn't mean you should.

*You should not, and will not, die to "keep China British."

*God has many ways to cook you to death, if He wants to.

*Straight sex is so damn boring.

*Don't just stampede towards the clitoris, Watson.

*Sport, like sex, only works between equal parties. Any other way and you invite horror and depravity. (That kid is definitely dead and the upperclassmen are just stomping on him anyway.)

*Actually, getting murdered playing rugby against adults two or three times your size is an excellent way to prepare you for fighting in a war.

*Even a good captain will be hated by their subordinates. This is the burden of command.

"We'll always need an army, and may God strike me down were it to be otherwise." *is immediately struck down by literal the hand of God*

*A fighting force is better served by a single soldier who actually wants to be there than twenty men who doesn't.

*There's a fine line between keeping one's cool in a heated situation and acting like you're on a bloody different planet when people are dying in front of you.

There are less than 4500 wild tigers left in the world. The "A tiger? In Africa?!" bit is less of a joke every year.

*In less than surprising news, killing people is bad for you. (It turns out, for psychologically healthy people, doing violence really hurts you as much as the victim.)

*Where is that fish?

*Theme restaurants could do with a bit of randomly mixed themes.

*Don't be afraid to ask the most idiotic questions about things you don't understand. That's how we learn.

*Oh ho it's the meaning of liver donation I get it now.

*The Galaxy Song is fun and all but don't give in to misanthropy.

*Matter is energy, the human soul grows with care and attention, and people aren't wearing enough hats.

*Actually, the movie makes a staggering point here and buries it with distracting nonsense jokes, while also making the point that we get sidetracked from self-actualization by distracting nonsense jokes. It's a point sandwich with joke filling.

Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis? Shout out to happy penis havers, though I'm not one myself.

*M Creosote shows us that single-minded devotion to one's mission in life (eating an entire upscale French restaurant in one sitting, for example) will leave you unhappy and alone.

*Dunk antisemites in buckets of vomit.

*Gaston, the middle aged waiter, delivers a coherent personal philosophy as he walks us to the cottage where he was born. The significance of this cannot be overestimated. He decided to be a waiter, you see. Because he believes in something. It's a simple belief of giving, of loving people and bringing them joy. But be believes it with all his heart and he'll fight for the right to live the life he chose.

*If you have to die, but can choose the manner of your execution, try being hounded to death by naked women.

*See the world in a grain of sand, or a maple leaf as it were.

*Terry Pratchett was a great man and a great writer, but he's wrong about one thing: Death is relative. No, no, you can't argue away Death or shoot him, but he is subject to the laws of relativity. Consider the stars in the sky; at least one star that's visible to the naked eye I hear may be dead right now - it's 500 light years away and they think it may go supernova at any point within 500 years from now. But here, locally, the star still lives; there's no possible reality where it's gone until the light of its explosion reaches us.

*Heaven is a fantastically cheesy musical theater performance with angel santa claus strippers and a lead singer you just want to punch. Clearly we need to build something better here on Earth.

*Be nice, read books, take a walk sometimes, and try to live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations. Obviously.

*[The producers] hope that other fish will follow [the example of the movie] so that, in future, fish all over the world will live together in harmony and understanding, and put aside their petty differences, stop hunting and eating each other and live for a brighter, better future for all fish and those who love them. Yes, clearly this is about fish.