#Middle of the world monument

[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni - the 141 find a cozy place to stay during an op (that's definitely all that happens). implied fat!reader

(dubcon, poly, gangbang, anal, price is in charge of everyone<3)

So blizzards can happen in the blink of an eye on high, isolated mountains, right?

And the 141 have done missions in rural places, snowy places, mountainous places, right?

And there are tons of tiny little isolated towns, all over the world, built around these mountains for one reason or another - coal mining, logging, etc.

Now imagine the 141 on a mission, somewhere cold, somewhere isolated, a place that feels like the edge of the world. Desolate.

Now imagine the 141 seeing, in the near distance, a winking pale orange light. It's a good enough place as any to approach - it isn't safe to be caught in this blizzard, anyhow. Even with their gear, the safehouse is still an hour away and the snowfall seems historic...

Now imagine you're sitting in your family home, all alone, going a little crazy with cabin fever. Your woodstove is burning hot, but you're still cuddled up in knits and a thermal underneath. You're making stew for dinner with root vegetables from the basement cellar, it's bubbling and softening for you while you crochet, trying to keep your mind off the monumental shoveling task you'll have to deal with tomorrow

Until there's a knock on the door.

"Hello ma'am, I'm just wondering if me and my friends here could rest until it's safe to continue our hike?" (I love the way gaz says ma'am)

Hike? Nobody hikes up here - you've only ever seen a couple tourists in your life, thrill seeking ice climbers who came and went.

And they certainly weren't dressed in snow camo, hiding guns behind their backs.

But you were raised right, and the man at the door has kind eyes - he's handsome, too, but you'd never say it out loud. Gaz pushes the door further in when you tentatively open it, and in comes barreling three more massive men, their boots stomping and leaving a mess.

Soap smells the stew on the stove and beelines for it, lifting his helmet to inhale deeply.

Ghost sweeps the room like it might be hiding an enemy somewhere- even though it's one room total, the stove in the middle, separating the kitchen and your bed.

Price approaches you all apologetic, apologizing for "these ruffians", holding his camo helmet to his gut like it's formalwear. "Apologies, sweetheart, we weren't expecting the weather to turn on us."

You aren't quite sure how you end up sitting on prices lap, naked except for your socks, while he squeezes your stomach and grunts in your ear not to be shy when putting your weight on him. His other hand is cupped over your pussy, murming thank yous for feeding his men.

They're eating your stew, stripped out of gear, cocks tented in their white cargos.

"We're a gaggle of lucky boys, eh?" Soap says. "Nice, cozy, soft girl. Warm cabin. A man could get used to this."

You wind up pressed down on your mattress, hands held behind you by one man while another fucks you hard, spurred on by price behind them. At first, it's johnny, whining high in his throat while price guides his hips and gaz holds your arms by your head. "Need to thank her proper, boy." The obvious authority in prices voice makes your pussy clench around him, and he shakes over you, trying hard not to come too early.

Gaz reaches down from where he's holding your arms, pinching your clit until you buck against Johnny and squirt around him.

Then it's gaz, who lifts your legs and squeezes your big thighs, locking eyes with ghost. He's steady, only breaking composure when Simon praises him. "Thats a lad. Good, just like that, Kyle." He's the first to ever make you come from penetration alone, hips moving in a way that makes your abdomen tighten and tighten and tighten until you reach the longest orgasm of your life, nearly crying with how intense it feels.

Price ends up flipping you over - nudging you up on your hands and knees, the bed creaking with the combined weight of he and his lieutenant taking their places in front and behind you.

Simon slips his cock in your mouth, staring down at you through the balaclava. You can barely make out a thick scar, one that looks like it might go through his whole face. You lose focus when price pushes his fingers in your ass, though, and you squeal.

There's no where to run except further down simons cock, though, where you gag, spit running all down your chest onto the bed.

"Shh, sh," Price rubs your flank like you're a spooked animal. He squeezes the ample flesh of your asscheek appreciatively. "Jus wanna give your poor pussy a break, aye? I reckon she's tired,"

He pushes into you impatiently and it burns a little, but he soothes it with a palm over your soft, sore cunt. Rubs a thumb over your clit slowly, jostling you back and forth over simons cock.

You come once more before the night is over, tears finally running down your cheeks, mixing with your saliva, with simons come. It's a painful orgasm, wrenched from you - but that makes it all the sweeter.

They wipe you down and spoon feed you more stew, after, to recover your energy :') price has the boys tidy their boot tracks and put away leftovers while he and Simon hold you from both sides. They can barely fit with you on your bed, but tucked in like this - on top of your furs, naked as the day you were born, praised for your soft body and "What a good girl you are, babydoll."

Sigh

I'm sure this idea has probably been written but I was listening to this and couldn't stop imagining it lmfao

[mapofthemazeinthemirror]

When you’re sick

Warnings: none, one Monsters Inc. reference I hope won't confuse people

Please let me know which is your favourite!

☆ gender neutral reader

Soobin

You'd tried everything, from warm baths to drinking god-awful concoctions people swore by on the internet. But you were still sick. You'd been holed up in your bedroom for almost a week, leaving poor Soobin to have to sleep on the couch. You missed him, but you couldn't let him catch what you had. The only contact you'd had with him all week was through texting, and the meals he'd leave outside the bedroom door for you.

Of course, you'd been apart longer than this before; being in a successful group, Soobin often went on tour for months at a time. But this almost seemed harder, maybe because you felt miserable physically and just wanted to be held and loved on.

"I just wanted to see you," came his muffled voice, a hint whiny. "I won't come any further than this, I promise."

Sighing, you retreated from hiding. You hadn't seen him with your own eyes for what felt like longer than it actually was. There was no helping how good it felt to look at him now. "I miss you."

His lopsided smile gave you a rush of warmth. "Please get better before I go crazy."

You felt guilty. "I'm sorry. You can go and stay at Taehyun's if you-"

Soobin's mouth quirked, his brow creased. "It's not that. I just want to see you, touch you, have a real conversation. I want to hold you until we fall asleep." You felt the longing for him increase. "You always take care of me when I'm sick, even if you might catch it. Please, let me do the same for you."

His eyes held a helpless look that tugged at your heart as much as his words did. You felt your resolve crack, and it must have shown in your face, Soobin crossing the threshold and shuffling towards the bed. Relief flooded through you as he crawled up next to you and tucked you into his arms. His warmth was everything you'd needed for the past week, and he sighed as you buried your face against his neck. You swear you started melting when you felt his fingers in your hair. This was home.

Yeonjun

You weren't sure how long you'd felt like this. Time seems a blur when most of it is spent in bed, falling in and out of sleep and dreams. It took a monumental effort just to roll from one side to the other, so you couldn't remember the last time you'd eaten or showered. One small mercy was the fact that your ears were blocked, muffling the noise of the world outside the window; birds and neighbours dogs and traffic sounds couldn't disturb your sporadic naps.

Suddenly there was soft skin against your cheek, a warm palm and fingertips that you leaned into without question, and a deep sound somewhere close by. It took a few minutes for your mind to kick in and realise that these things were real and not a dream. Opening your eyes to the dim room, you found a face smiling down at you; your Yeonjun. But something was strange about this. Hadn't you been alone? Wasn't there a reason you were in the middle of the big bed, his pillow trapped between your arms?

"Junie?" You whinced as your voice seemed to reverberate through your head, your throat burning as the word tore through it.

"Hey, baby," he replied softly. You felt his fingers swipe the hair off your forehead before his nose was touching your own.

With what little strength you had, you tried to sink further into the mattress to put space between the two of you. "Jun, I'm- I'm sick."

"It's okay." You felt his arm slither under your back and peel you off the bed, pulling you into him. "I'm here."

You sniffled, swallowing against the dryness of your mouth that comes with not being able to breathe through your nose for so long. "Why?"

"'Why?'" He laughed. "Because the tour ended and I came home to you. Aren't you happy to see me?"

You nodded weakly against his chest. "Junie... I'm sick," you said again, half warning and half complaint.

His hand began to rub your back soothingly, and it felt so good to be in his arms again that you sighed heavily, raspily. "I know, babe, I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't..." Words were too hard. Instead, you brought your hand to his chest and tried to push him, rather feebly, away.

A large hand wrapped around your wrist, softly pulling your arm up over his shoulder. "I don't care. I missed you."

Not having it in yourself to argue, you surrendered, letting your body totally relax into his. You had pictured him coming home after tour very differently than this. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to talk about his trip, but you couldn't fight your body. You heard the rumble of his voice again. "What?"

"I'll make you some chicken soup," he repeated. But as he tried to turn to leave the bed you grabbed a handful of his shirt. You heard him chuckle, and his arms were back around you again. "Maybe later, then."

Beomgyu

One minute you were studying, the next you were being woken by your phone blasting the most annoying ringtone Beomgyu had set for himself. You scrambled to snatch the phone off the desk where you had evidently fallen asleep. "Gyu? What time is it?"

"Half past the time you were supposed to meet me at the cinema."

Your heart sank. How long had you been asleep? "Oh no. I'm so sorry, I fell asleep."

"Why do you sound like you're talking into a tin can?"

Now that you were more awake, you noticed the feeling in your throat, the pounding of your head. Sure, falling asleep with your head on a desk wasn't the best, but you'd never known it to make your head feel like this. Come to think of it, you couldn't breathe through your nose very well either. You thought back and vaguely remembered your roommate having had a cough before she left for the weekend. There was a knock at the door.

"Hang on," you said into the phone, crossing the small space to open the door and-

"You look terrible," Beomgyu said, to your face and in your ear before hanging up. His cheeks were flushed, telling you he'd walked all the way here, in the cold, probably to check on you.

"Wow, thanks," you deadpanned as you let him in. "When's the next showing? Maybe we can make that one."

Your boyfriend pulled his hood down and looked at you for a moment before pressing his palm to your forehead. Trying not to flinch at the coldness of his hand, you looked up at him, his eyes still studying you.

"You're hot," he told you.

You scoffed, but it came out as more of a cough. "That's not what you were saying a minute ago."

Without another word, Beomgyu's hands were on your shoulders, turning you around and steering you through the small dorm room and sitting you down on your bed. Then he disappeared into the bathroom, coming back with a towel that he pressed against your head.

"I'm fine," you sighed. "Let's go see the movie."

Beomgyu tisked, gesturing for you to hold the towel before dipping to his knees to pull off your slippers. "The only movie you're seeing tonight is the DVD I got you for Christmas." Standing up again, he shooed you up the bed and pulled the covers over you.

"But we've seen that a hundred times," you whined. You'd been looking forward to a night out with your boyfriend; the movie, popcorn, leaving the confines of your dorm room after so many days and nights of studying.

"But you love it," he retorted, mocking your whiny tone. He handed you the remote for the tiny TV at the foot of your bed. "I'm guessing you haven't had dinner?" You shook your head. "Got any cup ramen?" You nodded.

You opened your mouth again to complain, but the words never came as Beomgyu kissed you on the top of the head and walked over to boil the kettle. Instead you let yourself sink into the comfort of your bed, only now noticing how exhausted you actually were. So you weren't going to get your date, but how could you complain when you had a boyfriend like this?

Taehyun

You were up before Taehyun this morning - an unusual occurrence. You'd woken up with a funny feeling in your throat and quickly but quietly escaped his room to cough without waking him. Then you'd tiptoed to the kitchen to boil water, eyes meeting with Yeonjun's who was sitting at the table eating cereal. His smirk said it all.

You were sat on the couch when Taehyun emerged from his room, tired eyes searching for you. By now, Soobin and Beomgyu were also sitting at the table eating. Taehyun plodded over to you. "Morning."

"Don't get contaminated," Yeonjun called, looking up from his phone. You narrowed your eyes at him.

Soobin, who looked like he could've still been half asleep, whipped his head up in confusion, chewing his toast with a new expression.

Taehyun's eyes swept from his friend to you, scanning your face for signs of anything amiss. "Are you not feeling well?"

"M'fine," you croaked, arms wrapped around yourself inside your hoodie as you tried to hold off a shiver.

"Tried to cough up a whole cat this morning," Yeonjun snitched. Soobin looked between Yeonjun and Beomgyu, still puzzled, his messy bed hair comedically flapping side to side.

You rolled your eyes, looking up at Taehyun with a small pout. "I just have a cough. It's probably the change in the weather."

"Or bronchitis."

Taehyun ignored the oldest boy's comment as he crouched down in front of you. "Do you want me to go to the pharmacy?"

"Really," you persisted. "I'm fine. I feel okay, just an itchy throat." As if on cue, you started to cough again, burying your face into the crook of your arm, then quickly tried to recover yourself. "I don't want you to worry."

"Sounds like a duck," Beomgyu said with a tone that gave away his amusement.

Taehyun sighed and rubbed up and down your arms comfortingly. "I just want to help you feel better, so anything you need, you just tell me, okay?"

You nodded. He stood up and went to the kitchen to start breakfast, giving you a kiss on the cheek first. Suddenly there was a commotion, as Beomgyu grabbed his breakfast bowl and ran from the kitchen yelling, "twenty-three nineteen!"

Huening Kai

The first thing that you noticed was a dull ache in your head. You'd taken some pain relief, thinking it was just a normal headache, and pushed on to get ready for your dinner plans. Kai's parents were always so happy to have you for dinner, and to see him catching up with them and his sisters made you happy, too.

You started to feel a little weak halfway through your meal, participating in conversation less and less, and after dinner you'd slipped away to a quiet room for what was supposed to be a few minutes. Your body felt heavy, more exhausted than what would be expected, and as you sat on an armchair in the dimly lit room, you became aware of the dull ache in your muscles. Eyes closing, the sound of distant chatter and laughter from the dining room lulled you quickly into unexpected sleep.

Kai had thought you were gone for the bathroom, and after ten minutes of your absence, his eyes flicking to the door every so often in anticipation of your reappearance, he thought he should check on you - maybe something you'd eaten wasn't agreeing with you. When he'd knocked on the bathroom door and there was no reply, he'd let himself in only to find it empty. He checked the kitchen, then the garden, then walked back to the dining room to see if you'd returned there while he'd been away. His mother joined him as he went to check the living room.

The two of them found you dozing and lowered their voices to a whisper, Mrs. Huening commenting that you hadn't seemed yourself earlier. Kai gently touched the back of his hand to your forehead and found it clammy. This, along with the headache you'd mentioned before the drive up and how quiet you'd been, probably meant you'd come down with something, and he decided to take you home.

That's how you woke up in Kai's arms, in the cold night air, on the way to the car. "There you are," he said when he noticed you awake. "Have a nice nap?"

You noticed a sore throat was beginning as you spoke, glancing around the street. "We're leaving?"

His soft brown eyes met yours as he continued to walk. His arms kept you steady against his chest, so you barely felt like you were on the move. "You're exhausted. You fell asleep."

You hated that you were the reason Kai's family time was being cut short and that you hadn't said goodbye to anyone. "I'm fine, Hyuka. Let's go back. Please?"

He came to a stop as he reached the car, looking down into your eyes again with a soft smile. "You need rest. We'll go home, I'll run a bath, and then we'll get into bed." Seeing you open your mouth to argue, he added, "Let me take care of you."

You couldn't argue with that.

written by mapofthemazeinthemirror - do not repost my work in any form

[kitcat22]

In a world in which Fox died saving the republic from Palpatine, the newly reformed government, maybe out of gratitude maybe out of a publicity stunt, decide Fox should have his own monument.

The corrie guard commanders are initially opposed to this ‘cause they know fox would despise the idea, and they don’t want to remember fox as some martyr, he was a person with thoughts and feelings not a symbol.

After a while though, the want for Fox to be remembered for what he did wins over. They are also promised a large amount of creative influence, unfortunately they have to agree to share this with Fox’s batchmates.

There is, understandably, a lot of friction and arguments during the design process. The Corrie Commanders despise Fox’s batchmates for what they perceive as Fox’s abandonment, they dont think the others have any claim on Fox. The command batch on the other hand are immensely guilt ridden and are torn between doubting their right to be involved and hating the idea that they don’t have a right.

They do come together eventually, after a lot of blood and tears. They may never fully like each other but Little Gods did they love Fox. They really cant help but see little fragments of their lost brother in each other and together they really do manage to capture Fox’s essence and create something even he would struggle to hate.

The monument they settle on is a slightly larger than life statue of Fox, showing him with a rather feral look in his eye and a grin as he flips the middle finger, which they position to face the senate building.

It sends the senators into fits but the Clones adore it and many bring their kids to see it over the years.

[johnbrand]

Zamzam's Blessing

With @next-pharaoh

Thomas could not believe he had made it. After toiling through what seemed to be all of Saudi Arabia, he had finally found himself in front of the Zamzam Well. According to the Islamic narratives, the well was a miraculously generated source of water which had opened up thousands of years ago for the son of Ibrahim, Ismaʿil. The legends and lore went on and on, and Thomas could see why. What stood before him was incredible.

Stepping a bit closer to the fount, Thomas could only imagine how silly he must have looked. Some scrawny white tourist, already sunburned after two days barely spent in the desert. Atheist nonetheless; he was certainly not the well’s typical affair. But he had had a passion for worldly monuments ever since he was little, including religiously-affiliated ones. When he had decided to take this journey, he had known it would be difficult, but now Thomas could finally find it worth it.

Smiling, Thomas peered a little farther forward, not noticing his foot catch on the edge of the gate protecting the holy well. With a small yelp, he felt himself lose his footing and tumble directly into the hole. Thomas immediately descended into the hole, each second flying by before splashing into the water. 

Thomas took a quick gulp of air as his panic began to rise. Questions began flying around as if they were bouncing off the well’s walls. How could he have been so careless? Was he going to be able to survive this? Did someone see him fall? Would he be deported? And last but not least: why was he not drowning?

With an awkward blink, Thomas considered that last question again. Timidly, he just barely opened his mouth to relieve some pressure. He was not prepared for his breath to be restored. Hesitantly accepting this realization, Thomas tested a bit more, until eventually he realized he could breathe while underneath the well’s water. It was strange, unsettling, and frankly exhilarating to the non-believer. It was as if he was trapped in a womb.

And like a womb, the water was getting warmer. The panic began to resettle as Thomas realized just how quickly the pool was heating up. The hot water was cooking him, streaming through every hole and crevice it could into his body. Thanks to the smallest amount of light from above, Thomas was able to witness his miraculous transformation.

It started first with Thomas’s skin. The low boil of the water burned him, but instead of leaving reddish scars, it darkened his exterior. Thomas’s skin crisped into a warmer brown, his hair darkened to a rich black, and his facial features subtly shifted to reflect a new masculine, Middle Eastern heritage. As his nose grew wider and eyes inhabited a deep, rich brown, Thomas could not help but emit heartfelt moan underneath the water’s surface.

The masculinization came next, for the well gifted Thomas with the prime body to carry out its will. Broadened shoulders now led to massive arms meant to carry the Qur'an's wisdom. A sturdy chest then traveled down to impenetrable legs to carry the new man across the world to aid in reversion. Larger feet to stomp out the dissension, a virile pouch to spread the Arabian seed. Thomas’s body was built to be an unstoppable Islamic machine.

And finally, his mind would become one with his new mission. In ecstasy, Thomas cried out as his past was rewritten for a new destiny. His old beliefs and ideals dissolved, replaced by a new understanding and acceptance. The atheist wonder that had once fueled his rhetoric was rewritten by Islamic empathy and peace. The passion Thomas once derived from multiculturalism was extinguished, replaced with an appreciation for full reversion.

As his transformation settled in, the well’s water level began to rise. Thomas’s metaphorical womb was ready to give birth to its newest disciple. The warm embrace rushed around him as he was pushed up and up, his magnificent body adapting to the masterful current. As his final change was instituted, the water exalted its creation to the top, leaving the Arab man dry beside the well.

“Ah, I thought I heard the well’s waters again,” a gravelly voice chuckled. “It had been a while since anyone was blessed.”

From the other side of the well stood an old janitor. The rest of the exhibit was empty, suggesting that the historic site had been closed for a while now. The janitor came around the fount and helped the sturdy Arab man up, leading him to a small room off to the side of the exhibit.

“What’s your name, brother?” the janitor asked.

“Tariq,” the Islamic disciple answered with the utmost clarity. “What just happened?"

“The well blessed you” the janitor replied, now searching through a drawer. "I thought it was fairly obvious."

Looking upon himself, Tariq was surprised to have not noticed earlier that he was bare besides a pair of underwear. By its branding, he knew the janitor's words were true.

“You can have these.” The janitor tossed a pearly white thobe to Tariq. “Now go out, you know your mission.”

[writetheidea]

A Promise to Hold

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. This time, it involves Max. I hope you find it enjoyable. I think my brain just wanted a reason to scream at Jos. As always, I have anonymous ask available for those who would like to express their opinion anonymously.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x named!female character

Plot: Max has bought a promise ring, Jos disapproves.

Tag: hurt/comfort, fluff, happy ending.

Word count: 2326

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

The girlfriend has a name as I wasn’t able to write this without a name, I apologize, I made it a shorter name so it can be skimmed over. There is no physical description of them.

Max stood in the middle of his bedroom, a small velvet box resting in his hands, each moment stretching longer than the last. He had thought about this for weeks, imagining how he would present it, how he would capture the significance of his feelings for Ali. It wasn’t a proposal—not yet—but it felt just as monumental to him. The promise ring inside the box symbolized his commitment, a tangible representation of the life he envisioned with her—a life so different from the one he had always imagined.

With Ali, everything was grounded. Their relationship wasn’t filled with the glitz and glamour he had always known. She wasn’t a celebrity, she didn’t come from a rich family, but that was exactly what drew him to her. After years of navigating a world where every action was scrutinized and dissected, Ali had become his sanctuary. She didn’t care about red carpets or flashing cameras; she was content simply being with him. With her, he didn’t have to wear a mask. He could just be Max.

His previous relationship with Kelly had felt suffocating, a constant performance where he was expected to adhere to an image that didn’t entirely fit him. He had nothing but respect for Kelly, but their love had been overshadowed by the public’s insatiable curiosity. Every outing, every shared moment, had been fodder for gossip. In contrast, with Ali, he could breathe freely. She welcomed him into her world with open arms, a space where he could unwind after the pressures of racing and the relentless pursuit of victory.

Yet, even amidst this serene backdrop, there were shadows looming. His father, Jos, had never been shy about his opinions, especially regarding Ali. To Jos, she was too “ordinary,” too far removed from the high-octane world Max thrived in. Jos had painted a picture of success intertwined with fame and fortune, and to him, Ali didn’t fit the mold of a champion’s partner. Max knew this, but he also knew that his father didn’t truly see Ali—didn’t understand her fierce support and unwavering belief in him. She had taken the time to learn about his world, to understand the highs and lows that came with being a Formula 1 driver, yet she still chose to stand by him quietly, away from the spotlight.

“Max?” Ali’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Startled, he tucked the velvet box back into its hidden corner and stepped out of the bedroom. The sight of her curled up on the couch, a book resting in her lap, filled him with warmth. Yet there was a flicker of concern in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“You okay? You’ve been in there for a while,” she asked, her voice soft yet probing.

“Yeah,” he replied, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

Ali tilted her head slightly, studying him as if she could read the unspoken thoughts swirling in his mind. “You sure?”

Max took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of the impending conversation he knew would come. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... stuff with my dad.”

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t push him further. She understood the complexities of his relationship with Jos, the tension that always seemed to hang in the air whenever they were together. Instead, she reached for his hand, pulling him closer, grounding him in the moment.

“Come here,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. 

In her embrace, everything felt right again. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the comforting scent of her hair. It was a brief relief from the storm brewing in the back of his mind.

---

A few days later, the tension in Max’s body was palpable as he sat across from Jos at the dinner table. This was meant to be a simple catch-up before the next race, but Max could feel the storm brewing, could sense the conversation shifting toward the topic he dreaded.

Jos had entered the evening in a mood that sent a chill down Max’s spine. The sharp comments started flying before the first course was even served, his father’s disapproval evident in every critique of Max’s recent races and lifestyle choices. As the night wore on, it became clear that it was only a matter of time before Ali would be the target of Jos' barbs.

“So, I hear you’re planning on giving Ali a ring,” Jos remarked casually, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Max.

Max froze, his hand halfway to his glass of water. He hadn’t shared his plans with his father and hadn’t wanted to. “Who told you that?” he managed to ask, though dread curled in his stomach.

“Does it matter? I hear things,” Jos shrugged, a dismissive wave of his hand. “I thought you’d have learned by now that nothing stays secret for long in our world.”

“Yeah, I am. It’s a promise ring,” Max said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “Not an engagement ring. Just something to show her I’m committed.”

Jos scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a condescending smirk. “Committed? You’ve only been with her for what? Two years?”

“Two years is enough time. I love her.” 

The words slipped from his mouth more boldly than he had anticipated. 

Jos' expression darkened, the gleam of disapproval in his eyes intensifying. “Love. Right. And what exactly is that love doing for you, Max? Is it making you faster on the track? Helping you win championships?”

Max felt his jaw clench, a familiar frustration rising within him. “This isn’t about racing. This is about my life.”

Jos’ smirk deepened, a condescending note taking over his voice. “Everything is about racing. You know that. You didn’t get to where you are by playing house with some girl. You got there because you’re focused. You don’t let distractions get in the way.”

Max felt the familiar ache of his father’s words dig deep. He had heard this narrative before, the relentless pressure to be perfect, to never let his guard down. But now, with Ali by his side, it felt even more suffocating.

“She’s not a distraction,” Max said, his voice a low growl, filled with quiet determination. “She’s the one who makes everything bearable. When I’m with her, I can actually breathe.”

Jos’ eyes narrowed, a challenge lurking within them. “And what happens when you start losing races? When you begin to slip because you’re too comfortable? Do you think Schumacher got where he was by worrying about some girl? No, he stayed focused. You think anyone cares about your love life if you start losing?”

Max’s heart pounded. He had always known that Jos' priorities lay elsewhere, but hearing it so plainly stung more than he could articulate.

“I’m not going to start losing,” he muttered, fighting back the anger threatening to spill over.

“Not yet. But give it time. This girl, Ali—she’s too soft. She doesn’t belong in your world. She’s going to make you weak. You need someone who can keep up with the demands of this life, someone who understands what it takes to be a champion.”

Before Max could find the words to respond, Jos pressed further. “You think I don’t know what I’m talking about? I’ve been through it, Max. I’ve seen careers go down the drain because of things like this.”

The familiar pang of disappointment settled in Max’s chest, his father’s harsh words becoming a dull throb in his mind. It wasn’t just his words; it was the feeling that no matter how much he accomplished, it would never be enough for Jos.

“I’m not like that,” Max said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m not going to fall apart because I’m happy. Ali doesn’t take away from my focus—she helps me stay grounded.”

Jos shook his head, his expression hardening. “Grounded? That’s the problem, Max. You don’t need to be grounded. You need to be relentless. You need to be hungry. That’s what makes a champion, not... this.”

Max stared at the table, the words catching in his throat. He wanted to defend himself, to shout that Jos was wrong, but all he could feel was the weight of disappointment—disappointment in himself for not living up to his father’s impossible standards. The bitterness in Jos’ voice cut deep, a reminder of everything he had endured to earn his place in the world. But this time, it wasn’t just about him. It was about Ali.

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

Both men turned to see Ali standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, fury etched across her face. Max’s stomach dropped as he realized she had heard everything.

“Ali,” Max started, but she cut him off, eyes blazing as they locked onto Jos.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” she demanded. “Max isn’t weak. Matter of fact, he’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. And if you think I’m some kind of distraction, you clearly don’t know your own son.”

Jos blinked, clearly taken aback by her boldness. But he quickly regained his composure, his expression hardening. “I know exactly who my son is,” he said coldly. “And I know what it takes to be a champion.”

“Do you?” Ali shot back, her voice unwavering. “Because from where I’m standing, Max is the one with championship wins. All you’re doing is tearing him down. You’re acting like Max can’t be successful and happy at the same time, like he has to choose between his career and his personal life. That’s not fair, and it’s not true.”

Max sat frozen, heart swelling as he watched Ali defend him, her passion igniting a fire within him he hadn’t known he needed. She wasn’t just angry; she was furious, and it was exhilarating to witness.

“Ali, it’s fine,” Max muttered, wanting to ease the tension, but she shook her head, her expression resolute.

“No, it’s not fine,” she insisted, her eyes locked onto Jos. “Your father has no right to say these things about you. Max, you’re incredible at what you do. You don’t need to sacrifice your happiness to prove that.”

Max felt a rush of gratitude as her words washed over him, soothing the ache left by Jos' criticisms. Ali turned back to him, a flicker of vulnerability shining through the fire. “And I’ll never let you think you have to choose between me and your dreams.”

With that, she took a step closer, her hand reaching out to grasp his firmly. The warmth of her touch radiated through him, grounding him amid the chaos.

Jos stared at them, eyes narrowing, disbelief etched across his features. “You think this is the way to handle things? This isn’t how champions are made, Ali.”

“I’m not trying to make him a champion,” she replied, voice steady. “I’m trying to help him be happy. If that means standing up to you, then so be it. He deserves more than this. You are welcome to the door. I would appreciate it if you had left by the time we return.”

With that, she turned away from the table, pulling Max with her, leaving Jos speechless in their wake. As they walked toward the door, the tension of the night lingered behind them, but Max felt lighter, empowered by Ali’s strength.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly as they stepped outside, the night air cool against their skin.

Max took a deep breath, the weight of his father’s words still clinging to him, but there was also a newfound clarity. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

Ali turned to him, a small smile breaking through the tension. “You don’t have to thank me. Just promise me you won’t let him get to you. You know your worth, Max.”

He nodded, feeling the velvet box pressing against his palm, a promise waiting to be made. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I love you.”

Ali’s eyes softened. “I love you too.”

---

The following evening, Max found himself sitting with Ali on the couch again, the tension of the previous night still lingering but fading slowly as they spent time together. He was ready to take the leap, ready to present her with the promise ring.

“Hey,” he began, his heart racing as he reached for the hidden box. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us and where we’re headed.”

Ali looked at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What’s on your mind?”

He opened the box, revealing the simple yet elegant ring nestled inside. “I want you to have this. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s a promise—a promise that I’m committed to you, that I see a future with you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the ring, her expression shifting from surprise to pure joy. “Max...”

“I know my dad doesn’t see it, but you’re everything to me. You’ve shown me that happiness doesn’t mean weakness; it means strength. You make me want to be better, to fight for what matters.”

Ali’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she reached for the ring, taking it gently from the box. “This is beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He took her hand, slipping the ring onto her finger. “You deserve this and so much more. I don’t want to hide you, to hide us. You’re a part of my life now, and I want everyone to know that.”

With her free hand, she cupped his face, her expression softening. “I promise to stand by you, no matter what. You’ve shown me what love really means, Max.”

They embraced, the warmth of their connection wrapping around them like a cocoon. In that moment, everything felt right, the promise of their future unfurling before them like a bright horizon.

They sat there together in the quiet of their apartment, the weight of his world slowly fading away as they held onto each other.

[iwannakisskissyoureyesagain]

more percy jackson headcanons, as a treat:

- will’s bi awakening was one of three things: harry styles in one direction (and he had an ipod with almost exclusively taylor swift and 1d songs downloaded on it, this totally isn’t me projecting), the baseball scene from twilight, or rodrick in diary of a wimpy kid (my boy has a type)

- inspired by the one at my school, the aphrodite cabin has a gender-affirming closet where campers can donate their clothes and trans campers can get new clothes for free

- will convinced chiron to give nico two hours of exemption from camp activities. the goal was for him to take a nap, but nico usually ends up tailing will around the infirmary or playing with/sorting his mythomagic cards on the floor of his cabin. will has long since given up trying to get nico to cooperate

- dionysus always knows which campers are queer, sometimes years before they come out. he was literally counting down the days until nico told him that he asked will to be his boyfriend

- percy has a list of every fact that annabeth has ever told him about architecture or historical monuments because he wants to memorize them all

- percy and thalia go thrifting together sometimes

- despite living in the lotus hotel and casino for like 70 years and being a huge mythomagic nerd, nico is notoriously terrible at card games no matter how many times dionysus tries to teach him. the only reason dionysus still plays with him is because he knows he’ll win, and chiron is unfortunately getting better at pinochle

- he’s scary good at most video and arcade games though. percy tried playing mario kart with him when he was home for christmas break. nico’s no longer allowed to play any video games at the jackson-blofis household for the sake of percy’s ego

- percy raised his dorm room bed and immediately had to lower it the next day because he fell out of it in the middle of the night. he’s never told annabeth because he’s too embarrassed

- the hunters of artemis have an entire horde of stray dogs that follow them around because reyna keeps adopting them

- bianca had a spice girls cd and an abba cd and would play them until they were too scratched up to keep playing. nico hated it. they’re still not really his taste in music, but he listens to them every now and then when he really misses her

- percy is neither an early bird nor a night owl. when he doesn’t have school or camp he doesn’t get up until ten, and he’s literally never seen the ball drop on new year’s eve

- the jackson-blofis family are the only mortals—besides rachel of course—allowed at camp. sally and paul always leave estelle with a babysitter (tyson) when the visit though, because they want to protect her from the mythological world as much as possible

- percy can’t carry a tune to save his life, but he’s started teaching himself guitar, and practices in the apollo cabin

- annabeth’s favorite snack is annie’s cheddar bunnies and she has a soft spot for country music

- piper and leo have matching friendship bracelets. they also have three-way ones with percy because he half-jokingly said he felt left out

- will smokes weed with drew on his (very rare) breaks from the infirmary because it helps his anxiety. they get it from the dionysus cabin and like to do it on the big house porch, but only when will’s sure nico isn’t over there because he doesn’t like the smell

- ganymede sneaks out in the middle of the night to visit percy while he’s at college, but when sally answers the door of their apartment instead, she invites him inside and the two of them talk over blue chocolate chip cookies until the sun rises and he has to return to olympus before zeus finds him missing. turns out the two of them (sadly) have a lot in common

pt. 1

[vestaignis]

Коломарес – самый фантастический замок Испании.

Испанский замок Коломарес – недавняя постройка, которую возвели в честь пятисотлетия со дня открытия Америки. Причем, строительство, начавшееся в 1987 году, возглавил доктор медицины Эстебан Мартин, который, как это ни странно, не обладал специальным образованием. Вместе с несколькими помощниками, которым ранее приходилось заниматься только кирпичной кладкой, он соорудил замок за 7 лет и в ходе работы освоил все премудрости строительства, это уникальное сооружение, позволяет проследить путь знаменитого мореплавателя через Атлантический океан. Автор проэкта и его помощники запечатлели в камне «Санта Марию», «Пинту» и «Нинью» – три корабля, которые приняли участие в плавании Колумба. Результатом столь кропотливого труда стал большой ажурный замок, площадь которого составляет не менее 1,5 тыс. кв. м. На сегодняшний день он является наибольшим памятником Колумбу не только в Испании, но и во всем мире. Любопытно, что при создании замка кроме кирпича были использованы мрамор, камень, стекло и даже древесина, из которой выполнили ряд элементов декора.

Это строение стало великим шедевром архитектуры, в смешанном стиле: византийском, римском, готическом и мавританском. И под��бное смешение не простое совпадение, оно символично, потому что рассказывает об этапах развития страны и о многообразии культур, некогда населявших ее народов. Доктор Эстебан Мартин гармонично объединил в своем грандиозном сооружении элементы трех основных культур Испании времен Средневековья: христианства, иудаизма и ислама. Красота этой изумительной достопримечательности испанского курорта на Средиземном море в городе Бенальмадена, привлекает на отдых множество путешественников из разных стран мира.

Кроме того, архитектор символически отобразил и другие события испанской истории. Например, «Фонтан влюбленных» посвящен королевской чете – Фердинанду Арагонскому и Изабелле Кастильской. Эти монархи после долгих раздумий одобрили планы Колумба по снаряжению морской экспедиции.Еще одной составляющей Кастильо де Коломарес в Испании является часовня Santa Isabel de Hungria in Colomares, сооруженная в честь Св. Елизаветы Венгерской и числящаяся в Книге рекордов Гиннесса как наименьшая в мире церковь. Площадь этой капеллы составляет не более 2 кв. м, поэтому во время мессы в ней помещается только священник.

Colomares is the most fantastic castle in Spain.

The Spanish castle of Colomares is a recent construction, which was erected in honor of the 500th anniversary of the discovery of America. Moreover, the construction, which began in 1987, was headed by the doctor of medicine Esteban Martin, who, oddly enough, did not have a special education. Together with several assistants, who had previously only had to deal with bricklaying, he built the castle in 7 years and during the work mastered all the intricacies of construction, this unique structure allows you to follow the path of the famous navigator across the Atlantic Ocean. The author of the project and his assistants captured in stone "Santa Maria", "Pinta" and "Nina" - three ships that took part in Columbus's voyage. The result of such painstaking work was a large openwork castle, the area of ​​​​which is at least 1.5 thousand square meters. m. Today it is the largest monument to Columbus not only in Spain, but also in the whole world. It is curious that in addition to brick, marble, stone, glass and even wood were used to create the castle, from which a number of decorative elements were made.

This building has become a great masterpiece of architecture, in a mixed style: Byzantine, Roman, Gothic and Moorish. And such a mixture is not a simple coincidence, it is symbolic, because it tells about the stages of the country's development and the diversity of cultures that once inhabited its peoples. Doctor Esteban Martin harmoniously combined elements of the three main cultures of Spain during the Middle Ages in his grandiose structure: Christianity, Judaism and Islam. The beauty of this amazing landmark of the Spanish resort on the Mediterranean Sea in the city of Benalmadena attracts many travelers from different countries of the world to rest.

In addition, the architect symbolically displayed other events in Spanish history. For example, the "Fountain of Lovers" is dedicated to the royal couple - Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile. After much deliberation, these monarchs approved Columbus's plans to equip a sea expedition. Another component of the Castillo de Colomares in Spain is the chapel of Santa Isabel de Hungria in Colomares, built in honor of St. Elizabeth of Hungary and listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the smallest church in the world. The area of ​​this chapel is no more than 2 square meters, so only the priest fits in it during mass.

Source: //kidpassage.com/activity/ispaniya/kosta-del-sol/zamok-kolomares?,/alandalus.ru/andalucia/provincia-malaga/benalmadena / castillo-monumento-colomares/,://balttur.spb.ru/countries/spain/ zamok-kolomares.html,/kuku.travel/country/ispaniya /dostoprimechatelnosti-ispaniya/kolomares-samyj-fantasticheskij-zamok-ispanii/,/portal.azertag.az/ru/node/20093, //www.tripadvisor . ru/Attraction_Review-g562812-d669392-Reviews-Castillo _ Monumento_Colomares-Benalmadena_Costa_del_ Sol_ Province_ of_ Malaga_Andaluci.html.

[ohcaptains]

what if this is real?

pairing. ellie williams x female! reader

an. i'm gonna pretend that this isn't my first fic in six months and just move on...anyway. um. hi? i hope you enjoy -- not my usual filth. love u.

synopsis. it's the end of the world, but there's still parties to attend. or, the first kiss in yours and ellie's situationship.

warnings. kissing -- suggestive language and swearing. probably the most tame i've written in a hot min!

You’re standing in front of Ellie’s door, thinking, fuck this.

It would be easy to turn around and pretend that you’ve forgotten all about the party. You could pretend that you’d slept through the whole thing. Ignore the – eventual – banging on your door, and the husk of Ellie’s voice penetrating the wood, asking, Babe, you sleeping?

Your cold fingers reach down and tug at your rising skirt, and you think -- for the third time this night -- that you shouldn’t have worn this God damned outfit.

The alcohol you’d downed before trudging over here quiets that voice a little, but you’re always nervous around Ellie.

If you told her that, she’d scoff and laugh you off. It was true, though. She made you go all doe-eyed and dumb.

The thought of her complimenting you made you wear this silly outfit, and It was winter, for fucks sake.

You knock on her door, déjà vu washing over you. How many times have you stood, nervous, at Ellie’s door? You chew on your bottom lip, playing with the hem of your skirt still.

“Coming!” Ellie’s familiar cadence immediately hollers.

She fumbles around with something, and when she opens the door, she’s tugging a simple tank top over her muscular belly.

You briefly glance at her middle, eyes finding the faint lines of her abs.  

“Well don’t you look nice,” she teases.

When you eventually drag your eyes to her eyes, she’s giving you a once-over, a teasing beam on her pretty, freckled face.

As if to get a better look at your outfit, she pushes her loose auburn hair behind her ears.

Music floods through the open door – some shitty indie band she had a thing for – but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears from her previous compliment.

It wasn’t all that great– she’d said you had looked nice – but that, plus the interest in her green eyes as she examines you, has your belly swirling.

Ellie steps back to get a better look. She licks the corner of her mouth and nods to you. “Twirl for me.”

Your eyes automatically roll, but you listen anyway -- hands out at your waist, you do a little slow twirl. Ellie whistles low.

When you face her again, she’s leaning against the door frame, muscular arms crossed over her chest and grinning cockily. “Oh yeah, putting on a show for me.” “Shut up – are you coming?” you ask, ignoring the heat that finds you and jabbing a thumb behind you.

Ellie drags her eyes away from the cut of your skirt, glancing into the distance. She nods as if she’s just remembered. As she nods, small bits of hair flutter onto her broad shoulders.

Her white tank is damp, too, with small patches of water staining the fabric.  

“Oh yeah, I just got distracted. My hair was touching my shoulders weird, so I’m trying to cut it but I think I’ve fucked up the back.”

Trust Ellie to get that distracted and take up such a monumental task before a party. You motion for her to turn.

“Twirl for me.”

Begrudgingly, she does, managing to roll her eyes.

“Oh my god,” you suddenly gasp, hands flying to your mouth, “what have you done?”

Ellie spins, grabbing the back of her head in a panic.

“What?” she asks, green eyes wide. Just as quick as you put the act on, you drop it with a shrug. “It’s fine, just slightly uneven.”  

“You’re an asshole, get in here.”

She grabs your hand and yanks you in, closing the door behind you. The speed makes you dizzy, so you grab a hold of her shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

“Whoa – gimmie a minute,” you whisper, trying to blink the world back into the frame.

Ellie immediately bends to look at you, confused.

There’s a beat where she’s concerned, and she gives you another once over, trying to see if there’s anything physically wrong. “The fuck is wrong with you?” she asks, nervous laughter bubbling out of her lips. “I’m –” you start to admit, blinking the fuzz away. Ellie watches you put your forefinger and thumb together, squinting, explaining that you’re, “– slightly drunk,” and she frowns, her face hard, waiting for you to explain further. “I’m wearing a skirt,” you simply state, and her frown deepens, mouth quirking to the side. She glances down, eyeing the short fabric.

“I noticed,” she bleats. “And I needed a little liquid courage…” you let out an exasperated sigh, shaking your head at yourself. “Neil’s homemade wine is no joke.” “Okay, sit down,” Ellie orders.

She begins to walk towards you, using her body to edge you closer to her bed, and you frown, asking, “What?” but still, you move with her. You try and explain that “I’m fine,” but Ellie just shakes her head, “Sit down, before you fall down.”

She can’t be serious. She’s seen me drunk before…worse than this. “El- “you begin, and her face tenses, no more fun Ellie. Her hard tone is unwavering as she asks, “Do I have to pick you up and sit you down myself?”

Your eyes widen, and there’s a beat of silence where your body reacts to her words.

Holy shit, you think, cheeks going hot. You have to laugh to hide it – have you push your thighs together.

The fuck was that?

“Ooo, okay,” you scoff, hands up, brows wiggling, and you let Ellie finish walking you to her unmade bed. You bounce onto the mattress, hands in your lap obediently.

The desire to explain hits you again, and you push at the mattress, saying, “Ellie, seriously, I’m fine.”

It’s a lie – every time you twist your head, the world turns – and the sudden concern from her is slightly overwhelming, if not embarrassing.

Still, she ignores your comment and walks to the sink, pouring you a glass of water, and then she grabs something from a wooden box. She thrusts both into your hands. “A bran muffin?” you question, staring at the lopsided baked good. Ellie pushes the glass to your face, and you glance up at her over the rim.

Her jaw is tense with unease, and her shoulders are rolled back, heavy with responsibility.

When you don’t move, she leans down, and her face is blurry, hand blurry, as you see the side of it before she taps your cheek softly.   “Drink and eat – I’m gonna finish my hair.”

Then she turns to the bathroom, and you watch her muscular back disappear.

90’s indie pours into her little apartment, and you sit, dumbfounded at what has just happened.

You diligently sip at the water.

Ellie is always a little hot-headed, and yeah, when you mucked about on runs, she’d snap into leader mode, but the alcohol, threaded with the warmth of her apartment, your nerves, and the bare skin of her neck and arms – the slither of skin between her belt and hem of her top – have you befuddled.

She’d slipped into protective mode so quickly.

Was a little mean about it too.

You lay back on her bed, pulling the hem of your skirt down to try and cover your bare thighs, and frown at her ceiling, munching on the muffin.

Come to think of it, Ellie had been odd these last couple of weeks.

Your usual flirtatious banter has been edged with something else, and she was glancing at you more often – ushering you in front of her on runs, so she could watch your back. Pulling you behind her all the same.

Do I have to pick you up and sit you down myself?

You sip at the water and nibble on the muffin. Mindlessly rub circles into your lower thigh, thinking about the way she crooked her scarred brow and the hardness of her features.

Challenge me, I dare you.

Ellie always took a lot on, and she has been stressed more than usual recently, but she didn’t have to be a dick about it.

You push your bottom lip out, thinking at the ceiling. You think about her though, and something sickly sweet still swirls in your belly.

It makes your cheeks heat, and you blink away the sudden fever, clenching your eyes closed.

You manage to finish the water and the muffin, but your belly still feels funny. Hands are clammy, skin prickly.

Maybe you’re drunker than you thought.

You decide to get more water.

As you get to her kitchenette, she glances at you from the bathroom beside it.

“You okay?” she asks, and you turn to her. She’s mid-chop, the scissors loosely sitting in her grip. She’s also taken her top off. Now donning only her bra and jeans, the swirl in your belly doubles.

The sight is not uncommon for you, but you find it hard to be angry at her when she’s half-naked.

There’s a light dusting of loose auburn hair on her shoulders, and she drops the scissors, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair.

You glance down at her chest, seeing the faint muscles flex as she stretches. Her jeans hang low around her hips, and it’s only then that you notice they’re unbuttoned.

How hadn’t you noticed that before?

“Babe?” “Hm?” you hum, snapping back to her. She’s wearing a bold smile. Your throat constricts. “I asked if you were okay.” “Oh –” you start, quickly turning to the sink. You pour more water, shaking your head. You remember where you are. Remember what’s happening.

“No,” you start, crossing your arms under your chest, “you were mean.” Ellie pauses. When you turn back to her, there’s an amused smile on her face, “Mean?” she asks, “Yeah – “you firmly jut, sipping your water. “I’m not a child Ellie.” Ellie mimics your stroppy face and puts her arms under her chest, too.

You risk a glance at her chest and see that her nipples are hard, peaking through the soft fabric of her bra.

Fuck. You snap back to her face.

“What do you mean?” she questions, cocking her head to the side. She begins to sway towards you, and you don’t move as she comes to rest in front of you – your back to the kitchen counter. There’s a second where your brain short-circuits. You forget that you’re meant to be mad at her. Her long fingers reach up, and you glance at her hand, breath caught in your throat. She smooths your hair behind your ear, inches away, “You’re my wittle baby.”

“You’re annoying,” you quickly groan, trying to suppress your smile as you turn to put the glass in the sink.

Ellie groans, “Ughhhh, I know I know, I’m awful—” and reaches around to take the empty glass from you and put it in the sink.

You stare at it. You could have done that. You were about to do that.

 She takes your hand, turning you to face her again.

“Come help me with the back.”

Your intertwined hands rest between you, pushing against your bare thigh.

Ignoring it seems like the wisest path. “Why should I?” you quirk, a faux frown on your face.

She’d put your glass in the sink. She’d taken the glass out of your hand and put it in the sink for you. Ellie pouts, pushing her bottom lip out, and she leans her full body weight on you, hips flush against yours, suddenly so close as she whispers, “You don’t want me to look pretty?”

Your belly flips. The smell of her, citrusy and damp, floods your nostrils, and you try to blink away the sudden dizziness that threatens to wash over you.

It’s then that you realise you’re not all that drunk anymore.

It’s just Ellie.

Your eyes flick down to her lips.

You trace the pink of them, focusing on the little cut she’s got there from chewing nervously. The air is suddenly thicker – all-consuming, and on your belly, you feel the brush of the button on Ellie’s jeans.

Warmth blooms, confusing and sudden.

Ellie’s silent. Looking up at her, you find that she’s studying you, too. Lavish green bathes you and you feel her unlock her hand from yours, pushing them onto the countertop on either side of your hips. The movement forces her closer, and you instinctually lean back, gasping as she follows you, forehead against yours.

You grab the back of her neck to stabilise yourself.

Her hands have moved to hold your hips.

There’s a fleeting second where you think she’s going to kiss you, but she instead brushes her nose against yours, and your mouth opens, a small hush of breath escaping.

Whatever this is, it’s never happened before. This is uncharted territory.

Your fingers stuff into her loose auburn strands, and you look down at where your body connects, seeing the tops of her breasts in the fabric bra. Her hardened nipples push at the cotton.

You drag your lips together, inhaling a shaky breath.

Looking back to Ellie, she’s watching you watch her. A small, crooked smile has absorbed her lips, and her cheeks are flushed pink, warm under your curious gaze.

She looks at your mouth, pushes her forehead against yours again, and inhales deeply, exhaling as she whispers, “Really wanna kiss you.”

Your heart picks up speed, the beat of it making your skin prickle -- your fingers numb.

A nervous panic finds you, and words fail as Ellie lazily gazes at your lips.

Your fingers move in her hair, cradling the back of her head, and, “Kiss me, then,” you whisper.

You barely see Ellie’s fleeting smile before she’s moving to press her lips to yours.

Her touch is tentative. Nervous, as she thumbs your hips, soft lips brushing against yours. Your eyes flutter closed, leaning into her mouth, and Ellie hums, the sound of it echoing through your body.

She pulls away for a second – maybe to centre herself - but you come back, excitedly brushing your tongue over her lips before kissing her, swallowing the surprised groan she emits.

Her hands tighten on your hips, while yours come to clutch the back of her head again. She tastes warm and new, the feeling unfamiliar, but you quickly become accustomed to it as she tongues her way into your mouth, body pressing tight against yours.

Heat consumes, warm and sudden.

For a fleeting second, you think, I’m kissing my best friend, but the thought is pushed away as Ellie’s hands greedily push behind you, flattening against your ass.

A gasp flutters out of your mouth, followed by an immediate swirl in your belly.

You move your hand, massaging the muscular side of her stomach. The kiss picks up as your hands move, your thumb running over the band of her bra.

Ellie whispers your name, desperate and breathy, and suddenly, it’s all too real -- you pull away.

Your eyes flutter open, and you swallow a gasp.

“We’re going to be late,” you rush, hand flattening on her stomach. Ellie takes a minute to collect herself. You can’t look at her as she watches you, emotions a whirlwind.

Eventually, her breathing settles. “Shit, yeah. The party,” she whispers, and she pulls back, hands leaving your body, the heat dispersing. She itches the back of her neck, nervously looking around. “Er – fuck. Lemme put a shirt on,” and as she looks for one, you lean against the counter, head hung back as you silently curse at the ceiling.

The walk to the party is silent.

Ellie – bless her heart – keeps a tight grip on your hand, thinking you’re still tipsy, but the alcohol has faded from your veins, replaced by a thicker, more visceral intoxication.

The touch of her is maddening.

You try and keep up, but your brain is foggy, and you’ve suddenly forgotten the way to the Tipsy Bison.

Ellie’s hand in yours is like a homing beacon.

Really wanna kiss you.

That’s what she’d said, right? The tenor of her voice consumes your mind, followed by the taste of her, and the slow-building desperation as she pulled you against her.

You hear the reverberating sound of her quick breathing as the bar comes into view, bright lights pouring out of its windows.

When Ellie pushes the door open, she drops your hand.

“Look who decided to finally show up!” Jesse hollers when he sees you. A hot acid shoots through your chest.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you mumble, pulling away. Ellie glances at you, eyes sombre, and you think she’s about to say something, but no words make it out. “What’d I miss?” you hear Jesse ask. You clench your hand together. Really wanna kiss you.

Of course, Joel is behind the bar. His smile is welcoming and warm as he takes you in.

“Fashionably late?” he quirks as you lean against the wood.

“Er, yeah. Something like that,” you mumble, then motion behind you.

“Your girl always has the best timing.” Joel squints. He flicks his curious gaze between you and Ellie, noting the way she’s watching you, and his mouth twists, teasing. “I think you mean your girl.”

“What?” you snap, head craning to Joel. His smile widens. Panic blooms again. “She say something?” you rattle, not bothering to hide the eagerness in your tone, and Joel shakes his head, pouring you a drink. He pours two, and slides them to you, “Not a word.”

The night passes in a blur. You spend most of it with Claire from the Kitchen, ignoring the burn at the back of your neck from Ellie’s eyes.

It doesn’t matter where you scamper off too – her gaze always finds you, searing a hole in your spine.

At one point, Claire cuts you off mid-sentence, “Sorry, Ellie’s looking at me weird.” “What?” you ask, turning immediately. You find the green-eyed girl staring, and when you glance at her, she quickly snaps away, almost flinching. With a sigh, you turn back to Claire.

“It’s not you – it’s me. It’s—” you shake your head, “—a long story.” “Well, maybe you can explain later because she’s coming our way.” You twist, and sure enough, Ellie is pushing through the crowd, half-full drink in hand. When she looks at you, she takes a sip, as if she needs the liquid courage.

Quickly, she’s inches away, and you smell the musky citrusy warmth of her. Take in her frame from your seat in the booth. Really wanna kiss you.

Her eyes find you, and they’re glazed from what looks like whiskey in her tumbler.  “Um. Can we talk? Please,” then, “Hi Claire.”

Claire waves. There’s a beat of silence where you just look at Ellie – your friend, Ellie, who you just kissed – and you find that you’re rooted to the spot.

You don’t want to talk about it.

Don’t want to talk about how dizzy she made you feel, how you’d begged for more, reaching for the warmth of her lips as you dragged your hands over her narrow body.

Kiss me then.

When you don’t move, Ellie’s features freeze, and there’s fear there – please. Please talk to me.

You begin to slide out. Put on a front for Claire who is looking between the pair of you, perplexed. “Yeah, sure Els. Sorry, Claire, I’ll find you, okay?” Ellie holds a hand out for you to hold, but she pulls it back, scornful of the instinct. Shame, as you were about to grab it.  

When you get out of the Tipsy Bison, you realise that the temperature has dropped rapidly.

You’re about to comment on the weather, but Ellie is turning, suddenly, stopping near the notice board and holding her hands up.

“I’m sorry,” she spits, the apology loud in the chilly air.

There’s no one around. They’re all either in bed or at the party, and the empty streets of Jackson make her apology more real, almost – just the two of you.

Music bleeds through the wood, swirling between the pair of you.

She clasps her long fingers together and starts tugging at them, wringing them out like a wet towel.

“I’m – fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry for kissing you it was…” she shakes her head, not able to find the word. Her lip wobbles and you remember that Ellie’s an emotional, needy drunk. “…I’m sorry,” she whispers again, words cracking. She looks at her Converse, ashamed. You take her red hands. Smooth your fingers over the marks she’d rubbed into them, silently begging for her to look at you.

Ellie had never kissed you before. But thinking about it, there’s not an ounce of regret floating in your body.

Confusion, sure but confused because you want it to happen again.

You bend to look at her, saying, with every fibre of your being that “It’s okay.” She’s quick to brush you off. Still looking at the floor, she states, “You were drunk.” “I wasn’t that drunk, Ellie. You’d plied me with food, and I had two glasses of water.” She shrugs, “Still.”

Taking a tentative step closer, you tug her hands, holding them close to your belly. Ellie runs hot and holding her has taken the edge off the chill.

Kiss me then. “I asked you to kiss me, Els.”

And I’d ask you to kiss me again if you weren’t so sad. Did kissing me make you sad, Ellie?

She slowly raises her head. There she is.

You husk, “I’m sorry if I made this confusing.” “No – I. I shouldn’t have,” she flexes her fingers around yours, “said what I said. I didn’t mean it.” Your face falls. Quickly, you try and pull the mask back up, but you squeak, “You didn’t mean it?” Ellies pales.

“Fuck—” she pulls her hands away, turning her back to you.

“I always say the wrong shit.”

Without her touch, the Jackson cold consumes you. A blue wave crashes into you. Lonely.

You’re lonely, standing on the porch of the Tipsy Bison, watching her back move as she rubs the base of her palms into her eyes.

She spits a curse. The air swirls under your skirt, and you suddenly feel a sickly feeling in your belly.

Your voice is a shell of itself when you whisper, “Ellie. We can just forget it happened if that’s what you want.” You get no response.

Had you made it all up? Had you read it wrong? Had Ellie even said what you thought she had?

“Please say something,” you breathe, picking at your nails.

You lick your lips and taste the ghost of her, hot and desperate in her apartment.

The musky taste of her will haunt you. Will consume your dreams, you’re sure of it, and you’ll wake, startling back into Jackson with that Blue Wave knocking into you once again.

Her back flexes. Silence ticks. Music bleeds, tinny – not real. Might as well not be.

The echo of the kiss fizzes at the back of your teeth like the hard-boiled sweet Ellie had slipped you during a drill one morning.

It’s lemon, she whispered, just don’t choke on it when we run.

You turn, ready to run back to your apartment and hide under your duvet.

Rid yourself of this shame that has suddenly consumed you, the Blue Wave that runs cold, but warm Ellie takes your hand, pulling it to her.

A gasp lodges in your throat, and Ellie’s speaking, spewing the truth at you with wild, green eyes.

“I did want to kiss you, fuck. I did. I did, I did---I do!” she brandishes the words like a weapon, planting it into Jackson, the first man on the moon.

 “and I—probably should have waited for a better moment. But you were just—” she huffs, shaking her head at herself, holding your hand like it’s hers and she’s not really holding it, just, feeling it there, the constant feel and not feel of your limb, warm and fuzzy from under the skin.

You watch her swallow down a thousand eventualities, a thousand ways to phrase her thoughts.

Finally, “I do want to kiss you,” she concludes. After a beat, she flashes you a small Ellie smile, and Jackson isn’t cold anymore. It’s summer. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding. “Okay,” she copies. “Cool.” “Yeah,” another Ellie smile, “Cool.” “You wanna go back inside? I’m freezing.” “Yeah,” she nods, holding her/your hand, “Cool.”

[whencyclopedia]

20 Images of Petra

This gallery showcases 20 photos of Petra (Jordan), the former capital of the Nabataean kingdom, which thrived as a trading centre from the 4th century BCE to the 3rd century CE.

Petra is an ancient city carved into a canyon by the Nabataeans, a tribe from Western Arabia skilled in trade and engineering. The ruins of Petra cover an area of 264 square kilometres and include sacred sculptures, monuments, and around 800 tombs, the most famous of which is known as the Treasury. The Treasury is believed to have been the mausoleum of Nabataean King Aretas III and dates back to the 1st century CE.

In 106 CE, the city of Petra was at its peak when the Roman emperor Trajan (r. 98-117 CE) annexed the Kingdom of Nabataea and transformed it into a Roman province named Arabia Petraea. The Romans adopted their city planning, and many new structures were built, including the Roman Soldier Tomb, the Sextius Florentinus Tomb, and the colonnaded street. Petra remained prosperous for over 250 years until the middle of the 4th century CE when an earthquake destroyed many of the city's buildings.

Petra remained hidden for centuries until its rediscovery in 1812. Today, it is Jordan's most renowned tourist attraction and continues to fascinate and inspire visitors from all over the world. It is known as the "Rose City" because of the colour of its stones, and it was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985. Its worldwide recognition was further amplified when it was declared one of the New Seven Wonders of the World in 2007.

Continue reading...

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Epilogue - Peace Ever After

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: None… the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. Also, our pair have some news for the world.

Word Count: 0.7k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl . Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the neat little bow I wanted to wrap this fic up with. I hope you have enjoyed this story; it's been a pleasure to write. Thank you for reading, and many thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Wiltshire, UK, 8th May 1945

Benedict’s arm is curled securely around your back as you dance together, Vera Lynn warbling from the wireless in the corner of your living room.

There'll be bluebirds over, The white cliffs of Dover, Tomorrow, just you wait and see…

His breath is warm on your hairline as you sway gently. A spontaneous, uplifting and tender moment to celebrate the end of the war. A lightness in your heart that this dreadful era is finally over and the overwhelming gratitude that all your loved ones have survived. This dance is also a peaceful, romantic interlude from the whirlwind your lives have become in the last few weeks. 

There'll be love and laughter, And peace ever after, Tomorrow…

The shrill ring of the telephone echoing from the hallway of your cottage interrupts your reverie.

“Ignore it,” Benedict whispers in your ear.

“But we just had it installed! It’s only our third call. How exciting!” You lean back and shoot him your best pleading face, and he sighs and, with an affectionate eye roll, gestures for you to go answer it.

You rush over and pick up the heavy bakelite receiver, a crackle on the line that is an operator.

“Overseas call for the Bridgertons from Madam DuLac,” the operator announces primly.

“Oh wonderful, yes, please put her through!” you enthuse.

“Salut y/n!” comes that familiar voice from the past after a short delay.

“Solene! It’s so wonderful to hear from you! How are you? How’s Paris?”

Benedict walks over at the mention of her name, hovering nearby to partially eavesdrop.

“I am wonderful. Paris is finally free and as beautiful as ever. On this monumental day, I wanted to check on the lovebirds who didn’t invite me to their wedding,” she jibes good-naturedly.

You can’t help but giggle. “We are very well, and yet again, sorry.” 

“Tu connais, there is one way you can remedy this,” she singsongs.

“Name it.”

“Your daughter shall be Solene oui? At least a middle name.”

You laugh heartily, then shoot Benedict a sultry look that makes his brow crease, intrigued.

“Why don’t you nag my husband about that?” you challenge lightly as he draws nearer.

He crowds into your back and takes the receiver from your hand, tilting it between you so you can both hear.

“What is my darling wife roping me into now?” he inquires dryly.

“Giving her a daughter that must be named Solene…” your ex-landlady chimes cheekily.

“Is she now?” his voice drops to a throatier register that immediately has you flustered. “And what is wrong with the son I just gave her?” he queries casually as he raises a flirtatious eyebrow at you.

“Vous avez un bebe?!?” Solene gasps. “Felicitations!!” 

“Oui!” You grin happily as Benedict's lips ghost over your temple lovingly. “We were about to send out telegrams with the news. Louis Jerome Bridgerton,” you pronounce proudly. “He is three weeks old, and he is our whole world…” your sigh so contented as you lean into your husband's attention.

“You named him after my brother-in-law?” Solene protests with mock indignance. “Then I definitely get the middle name for the girl!” 

“It was after the man who married us,” Benedict points out laconically before conceding, “who, yes, coincidentally is also your brother in law…” 

“And I shall expect a visit when petit Louis is a little older to see the wonders of Paris,” she hints unsubtly.

“Of course! His first trip will be to the Louvre,” your husband pronounces. “It was the very first place his parents went on a date, after all,” he adds, shooting you that trademark lopsided grin.

You elbow him mildly. “That was not a date!”

“It was for me, mon amour….” he side-eyes you heatedly. It makes you want to drag him upstairs and start on those daughter plans immediately.

“I should go and make my next call… to your sister and Phillip indeed; I just wanted to wish you a very happy Victory Day!” Solene interrupts your amorous moment.

“Et toi aussi,” you both answer in unison.

“Vive la France! Vive L’Angleterre! We won mes amis! Le monde est libre!”

You and Benedict’s eyes meet, a poignant moment, as the call disconnects.

“The world is free indeed,” he echoes softly, putting down the phone and sweeping you into his arms for a stirring kiss.

FIN

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[fatcatlittlebox]

I love this shot so much. It looks like a painting and it captures the spirit of Halbrand and Galadriel. Two figures seemingly floating in peaceful silence. But the poetry is in the contradiction. They aren’t without burden. They are not truly free. Galadriel is weighted down, plunging toward darkness. Sauron is fighting against the current, torn the opposite way and grasping the tether that connects them. Yet, he is calm, centered, focused on her and she, the Lady of Light, embodies serenity. They are the eye of the tempest. Light and dark are in chaos. The muted sound of thunder rumbles like a distant battlefield. Like a looming threat. It feels like you’re witnessing alchemy. Something monumental is occurring. The Valar are watching but what are they witnessing? The way this scene is constructed, it feels as if their binding is an upheaval, an anomaly bordering on beautiful abomination. Their alliance should and cannot be. Nine times out of ten, in another time or another reality, Galadriel would not have leapt from that ship. Nine times out of ten, Sauron would have let this elf drown. But they didn’t. Against all odds, their histories and instincts, they defied those paths and the Valar themselves. Then the world around them shuddered. Because what would that mean to Middle Earth should these two join as one? Her awe-inspiring light and his devastating power? Whether a scourge or salvation, together they would be an indomitable force on earth. What destruction or what beauty could be wrought?

Galadriel later says their meeting was not by chance or fate. Something or someone greater had designed for two enemies to collide and instead of conquest, they chose something else. For a brief moment, they chose each other. And I love that this shot beautifully encapsulates that. Just the singular event that it was. How the storm raged as if the Valar roared in dissent. Meanwhile, you see these two beings drift slowly towards each other, grasping the other like souls intertwining in the unseen world.

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

You weren’t used to this relationship thing. Intimacy was a foreign concept you had no clue how to grasp. It was easier to bury your nose in your work rather than face your entirely non-existent love life.

So, when Captain John Price expressed his interest, it knocked the breath out of your lungs and left you gasping.

You’re going to ruin everything, a little voice whispered in the back of your head.

After dinner and a walk in the park, Price wrapped his hand around yours as if it was the simplest act in the world. As if it wasn’t monumental to you—the warm pressure of his strong fingers and the hyper awareness that hummed through you like the buzz of a live wire because so much of his bare skin was touching yours.

“Everything all right, love?” Price asked, his voice low, a little rough around the edges. He sounded so perfect that your heart did a little flutter-kick.

How do I breathe again?

Somehow, you swallowed around the lump in your throat and you nodded, even though your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

You’d warned him already about your inexperience.

I don’t know how to do this, John.

The doubts that weighed you down, made you shaky and uncertain of your footing, none of it even fazed him. He looked at you with a steadiness that somehow made it seem like everything would be okay.

As you fumbled your way through this…relationship—a word that still wasn’t sinking in—you huddled at the other end of the couch during movie night. Your knees clutched to your chest like a shield. Price sat opposite you, one arm braced along the back of the couch, knees splayed wide, his posture relaxed.

You glanced at him, with his face awash in the glow of the television screen. And you wanted to get closer. You wanted to tuck your face into that inviting little special space between his neck and shoulder—just right there—and breathe in that smoky cigar scent.

But the wanting of it was too big, and you clutched your hands together instead.

After a minute or two dragged by, your gaze slid in Price’s direction again. And somehow, you were moving before you realized what you were doing, before you could talk yourself out of it. Sliding across the expanse of the couch that separated you. Tucking yourself into his side and slowly, hesitantly, hooking your arm around his middle.

You barely dared to breathe in case the whole thing shattered in your hands. His heartbeat thrummed a steady rhythm against your cheek. This was…this was so much more than simply holding his hand with his naked palm pressed against yours. You could feel everything now—torso, chest, ribs, muscled thighs, biceps.

You froze, rigid as a board. It was amazing and it was overwhelming and you wondered…am I doing this all wrong?

Then Price cupped the back of your head in his large palm.

You glanced up at him.

“Been waitin’ ages for you to do that, love,” he murmured softly, brushing his knuckles against your cheek.

And you buried your smiling face into the crook of his neck.

[cevansbrat0007]

An Afternoon with Minerva

Summary: Ari finds himself finally ready to admit the truth about his feelings for you...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Slight Angst, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Cancer, Dead Mothers, Brief Mentions of War, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Somewhere Four Hours Outside of Bell’s Creek, Texas

“Shit!” Ari hisses when he almost slips in the middle of trudging up the muddy hillside. It had been raining pretty much non-stop since he’d made it out of Dallas and it hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down. 

But that hadn’t been enough to stop Ari Levinson – not today anyway. Today he was a man on a mission. And that mission involved a meeting with a very special woman. The very first love of his life, and he’d almost missed it. 

What kind of son forgot about his own Mama’s birthday? Not him. Otherwise he would’ve never heard the end of it from Evelyn and Marcia. 

He knew without having to call them that his sisters had already been by with their families earlier in the day. And the last thing he needed was them throwing a fit over his absence, no matter how justifiable it might’ve been. 

The Bounty Hunter nearly stumbles again as he weaves his way through the numerous memorials and monuments. He tries to move carefully, doing his best not to disturb the tributes dedicated to others’ loved ones who’d all gone too soon, regardless of how much time they’d spent on this earth.

And his sweet Mama was no exception. She’d left him just shy of his 21st birthday. He’d been by her side, holding her hand as she took her last breaths. Which seemed only fitting since she’d been there holding him on the day he’d taken his first. 

Cancer had done his Mama dirty. But while it had robbed her almost everything – her hair, her ability to walk, and ultimately her life – her fighting spirit had remained. Minerva “Minnie” Levinson had gone out swinging, leaving him behind to see after his two younger siblings. 

A sixteen-year-old Evie had been so angry back then. So small, but so unbelievably pissed at the world. Meanwhile, sweet baby Marcie had clung to him so tight he’d damn near had a fight on his hands whenever he wanted to take a piss by himself for longer than two minutes. That ten-year-old might as well have been his second shadow. 

He’d honestly had no idea just how much he missed her following behind him until he’d been deployed overseas during his first tour. But they'd needed the money and the benefits. And he’d needed an enemy – someone or something that could help him channel all of the rage and anger and hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface. 

So he’d left them behind to help fight another man’s war. But not before entrusting his sisters’ care to his friend, Vicky Gunther. And at the time, the fact that she’d also been his highschool sweetheart had felt like an added bonus.

It hadn’t necessarily mattered that his mother had never been too crazy about the woman. But what had mattered was that the girls had someone he knew to look after them while he was out risking his life.

Ari’s grip tightens on the flowers in his hand as he finally finds himself nearing his Mama’s grave. Evie and Marcie had picked it out, all he’d done was sign off on the check. They’d assured him that it was exactly what she would’ve wanted, right down to the quote etched into the granite, which read: “Always keep them guessing.”

That had been Minnie Levinson’s favorite phrase whenever they pulled up in a new town. When you’d grown up being on the run, staying one step ahead of your opponent was an absolute must. Especially when that opponent happened to be your own damned father. Growing up the son of Rex Levinson meant always having to look over your shoulder.

Because you never knew where he might be lurking. He could be states away or, more likely, right around the goddamned corner. Waiting to strike when his poor, terror-stricken family least expected it.

So they’d had to learn to always expect it. Even now, the only reason Ari felt any peace was because his Daddy was currently enjoying an all-inclusive, taxpayer funded 15 year stay at the James Crabtree Correctional Center in Helena, Oklahoma.

Thankfully, Rex still had a few years left on his tab before society deemed his debt to them finally repaid in full. Once he was released, he’d deal with it then. But right now…

Now it was time to see about his Mama. And this chat that they were about to have was long overdue. 

A smile finds its way to Ari’s lips once he’s finally standing in front of his mother’s memorial. He pauses briefly before crouching down to place the bouquet he’d brought with him next to the offerings left behind by other members of his family. Although he wasn’t surprised, he was happy to see that they’d all brought daylillies, which had been her favorite.

“Hey. Happy birthday, Mama.” Ari whispers, allowing his fingers to brush along the cool granite. “I made it. Just like I told you I would.” His eyes flutter closed as a light breeze blows by, gently ruffling his chestnut locks. 

It was a sign from Minerva herself, letting him know that she was there with him too. Just like she said she would be. And his Mama had never been one to lie to him. Not even in death. 

“I see the girls have already been here. I’m surprised they haven’t blown up my phone.” He stands then, grimacing when his left knee cracks as a result of the movement. It seemed like that old injury only bothered him when it rained. Shit sucked. 

“I’m sure Evie brought by baby Micah for his first visit. He’s cute ain’t he? Little chubby-cheeked shit machine.” Ari chuckles at that, scrubbing a big hand over his heart. “And I’m not being rude. First time we met he had a blowout in his diaper that was so bad we both needed a shower.” 

He laughs harder at the memory of him desperately trying to hand off his incredibly messy nephew to first his own Mama, and then his sister. They’d swerved him so fast, claiming that it was about damned time he learned how to change a diaper. 

He’d been mighty pissed at the time. But even so, he and baby Micah had stomped off to the bathroom, determined to handle the stinky situation like a couple of real men. And when they’d emerged from said bathroom forty-five minutes later, they’d been the ones to have the last laugh.

Okay, not really. Micah’s mother, Evie, had been too busy napping on the couch to notice much of anything, her body buried beneath a sea of half folded laundry. And Marcia was playing Go Fish with their four-year-old niece Isobel. But Ari hadn’t allowed the lack of fanfare to take the wind out of their sails.

He’d just grabbed a bottle of milk from the fridge and retreated to his sister’s bedroom, intending to teach the kid about the importance of football until they’d both dozed off. And he still had the picture Evelyn had taken of them both that afternoon, fast asleep in the bed. The baby rocking a Dallas Cowboys onesie, and him wearing her lavender bathrobe.  

“They were just jealous, Mama. There I was being a good uncle, bonding with my nephew, and they were playing paparazzi.” That breeze kicks up again, the smell of wet earth filling the air. 

“But I’m sure you already know that. You were there. You saw everything. Those two were picking on me like they always do.” Ari pouts then, jamming his hands into his pockets. “There’s just something not right about those girls. Everytime I’m around ‘em, they pinch and poke and prod. Always asking if I’m seeing someone.” 

“It’s annoying is what it is. Makes me feel like a damn pincushion or somethin’.” The Bounty Hunter grumbles, nudging a tiny weed with his foot. “How am I supposed to tell ‘em anything if I haven’t run it by you first? Especially when it’s…when it’s…” He trails off as he searches for the right word. 

“Real.” He sucks in a breath as his head dips to his chest. “It’s real and it’s right and it’s new. It’s all those things, Mama. And I don’t know what to do with any of it because it’s like I spend half the damn time fightin’ with myself and the other is spent fightin’ her wanting to fly away on me.” 

One hand leaves his pocket to rest on the back of his neck. “And I know what you’re probably thinking, Mama. But that ain’t the issue. This woman, my little Bird…she ain’t Vicky.” He rocks back on his heels, careful not to slip in the rain soaked grass. 

“And I know you didn’t much care for Vicky. I already told you that I made a mistake with that one. I thought I was doing a good thing leaving the girls with her…” A harsh sigh leaves him as a fresh wave of bitterness rises in his throat. But he swallows it down, refusing to let it choke him. 

Because there was more to be said about the woman in his life today. His woman. His sweet Bird.

“Bird is everything I thought Vicky was. But it’s more than that. She’s the best part about that godforsaken Bell’s Creek. And something tells me that she’s wading knee deep into a pile of shit with this fuck, Martin, and these assholes, the Prescotts. It’s all one big mess that I normally would be chompin' at the to get rid of…”

Ari’s head drops again as he prays for another gust of wind, wanting another sign from his Mama to let him know that she was still listening. He doesn’t speak again until he feels it on his skin. This time it’s a loving caress, a gentle reminder that he’s not alone. 

How could he be when he had Minnie Levinson by his side?

“I haven’t had a single nightmare since I met her. I’m not saying I’m fixed or anything…” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “But maybe I’m not quite as broken as I thought I was. At least she sure doesn't seem to think so. She just tells me I am an ass.”

The sound of squirrels playing in a nearby tree is enough to distract him, albeit briefly. Once they settle down he quietly forges on.

“Ma, I swear this girl is really something special.” Ari whistles, running a hand over his beard. “Sweet, funny, absolutely gorgeous – and did I tell you she runs a bookstore? Can’t go and leave that part out now can I?” 

By now the rain has stopped, with the sun finally beginning to emerge from behind the clouds. He welcomes the warmth it brings. His Mama deserved to enjoy a little sunshine on her special day. 

“She – we fight like cats and dogs sometimes - my Bird and I. But that’s not really my fault. I mean I consider myself to be plenty damn agreeable with most things. But my woman…let’s just say I’ve met mules less stubborn than she is. But even so, it’s…it’s like I can’t get enough of her.”

Ari blows out a comforting breath before closing his eyes, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose. “She’s…she’s making me wanna stay. Got me wantin’ to plant roots and build her a house, complete with the white picket fence.”

“I’ve been lost since the moment I laid eyes on her, Mama. And nothing feels right unless I’m with her. When she’s not around it’s like I can’t think – I’m off balance and…” He swallows thickly. “Like even now, I’m here with you and there’s a part of me that is just itchin’ to get back in my truck and haul ass all the way back to Bell's Creek. I mean, I suppose I could’ve brought her with me.” He cocks his head to the side as the thought strikes him. “She would’ve come, but I couldn’t...”

Ari goes back to awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I couldn’t bring her here because I needed to talk to you about her first. Introduce her properly so that I could tell you myself that I…” He swallows again, fighting the lump in his throat. 

“I love her, Mama.” 

There. He’d gone and said it. Not in his head. But out loud to the air. To the world. To his Mama.

“And that sweet little spitfire makes me work for it every day. I’m telling you right now that she needs a damn keeper. And I need her to keep me…balanced.” 

A grin spreads across his features as he feels the weight he’s been carrying suddenly lift from his shoulders. “I’m gonna introduce her to the girls, okay Ma? I know they’ll love her like I do. But can you do me a favor and tell ‘em to be nice? You know they never do anything I say.”

Ari bends down to let his fingers graze over his mother’s headstone one last time. “And when the time is right, I’ll bring her here to meet you too.” He murmurs, wishing for a moment that they were actually speaking face to face instead of like this. But unfortunately, that couldn't be helped. 

“Until then you rest easy, alright? Because me and the girls are doin’ just fine.” He takes a tentative step backwards. “I love you, Minnie Levinson. And I’ll be back to see you real soon.” Ari turns on his heel, preparing to navigate his way back to his truck. 

Halfway through the maze he pulls out his phone, thumbing through his contacts until he lights upon your name. He taps the entry before holding the device to his ear. The sound of your voice on the other line is enough to ease the subtle ache in his chest. At least for now. But he also knew from experience that it wouldn’t go away until he had you in his arms again. 

Just four measly, lonely hours until Ari Levinson felt whole again. 

END

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Château du Haut-Kœnigsbourg

Château du Haut-Kœnigsbourg Le Château du Haut-Kœnigsbourg est un château fort alsacien du XIIe siècle, profondément remanié au XVe siècle et restauré avant la Première Guerre mondiale sous le règne de Guillaume II. Situé sur le ban de la commune française d’Orschwiller, dans la circonscription administrative du Bas-Rhin et sur le territoire de la collectivité européenne d’Alsace, il se dresse à 757 mètres d’altitude au cœur du massif vosgien.

Histoire La plus ancienne mention connue du château date de 1147, lorsque les Hohenstaufen en sont les premiers propriétaires. Ils tentent de faire de l’Alsace la base de leur puissance pour s’assurer le contrôle du Saint-Empire romain germanique. Après les Hohenstaufen, les ducs de Lorraine et l’Evêché de Strasbourg, puis les Habsbourg, ont intégré le château à leurs possessions. Il conserve alors toute son importance stratégique et marque la borne occidentale du Saint-Empire romain germanique, exposé aux appétits des ducs de Lorraine et des rois de France.

Restauration et visite Le château a été restauré au début du 20e siècle pour célébrer la grandeur de Guillaume II, empereur allemand. Aujourd’hui, il est un monument vivant, proposant tout au long de l’année une programmation culturelle riche et diversifiée. Les visiteurs peuvent découvrir les salles du château, les cours intérieures, la plate-forme d’artillerie ou Grand Bastion, qui offre un panorama unique sur la plaine d’Alsace, les Vosges, la Forêt-Noire et, par temps clair, les Alpes.

Activités et événements Le château propose des visites guidées, des contes, des ateliers participatifs, des sorties nature, des campements médiévaux, des expositions et d’autres événements. Il est également possible de franchir la haute porte du château et de plonger dans l’univers du Moyen Âge.

Haut-Kœnigsbourg Castle

Haut-Kœnigsbourg Castle is a 12th-century Alsatian fortified castle, extensively remodeled in the 15th century and restored before the First World War under the reign of William II. Located in the French commune of Orschwiller, in the administrative district of Bas-Rhin and on the territory of the European community of Alsace, it stands at an altitude of 757 metres in the heart of the Vosges mountains.

History The oldest known mention of the castle dates from 1147, when the Hohenstaufen were its first owners. They attempted to make Alsace the base of their power to ensure control of the Holy Roman Empire. After the Hohenstaufen, the Dukes of Lorraine and the Bishopric of Strasbourg, then the Habsburgs, incorporated the castle into their possessions. It then retained all its strategic importance and marked the western boundary of the Holy Roman Empire, exposed to the appetites of the Dukes of Lorraine and the Kings of France.

Restoration and visit The castle was restored at the beginning of the 20th century to celebrate the greatness of William II, German Emperor. Today, it is a living monument, offering a rich and diverse cultural program throughout the year. Visitors can discover the rooms of the castle, the interior courtyards, the artillery platform or Grand Bastion, which offers a unique panorama of the Alsace plain, the Vosges, the Black Forest and, on a clear day, the Alps.

Activities and events The castle offers guided tours, storytelling, participatory workshops, nature outings, medieval camps, exhibitions and other events. It is also possible to cross the high gate of the castle and immerse yourself in the world of the Middle Ages.

[girlactionfigure]

🧵 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐦.

Thread: Before we dive in, let’s address a critical issue: There are some people around the world who perceive Jerusalem as an Arab area, including the ICJ, with some even advocating for it to be handed over to the Palestinians as the capital of their prospective terror state. This view overlooks the profound and unbroken Jewish connection to Jerusalem. Let’s review how Jerusalem is intrinsically Jewish and how its history has been hijacked and rewritten.

1/ 🌟 Jerusalem: The Eternal Capital of the Jewish People 🌟

Jerusalem has been the heart and soul of the Jewish people for over 3,500 years. Despite countless challenges and adversities, the Jewish presence in Jerusalem has remained unbroken, underscoring a deep-rooted and unwavering connection to this sacred city. From the days of Joshua and King David to the modern era, Jerusalem has been a constant in Jewish life, culture, and religion, symbolizing the enduring spirit and resilience of the Jewish people.

2/ 🕰️ Ancient Beginnings 🕰️

The history of Jews in Jerusalem dates back to ancient times, even before King David. Joshua, the biblical leader who succeeded Moses, conquered the land of Israel, including Jerusalem, around the 13th century BCE. This marked the beginning of a significant Jewish presence in the city. Later, King David established Jerusalem as the capital of the Jewish nation around 1000 BCE. This monumental decision solidified Jerusalem’s status as not just a political center but also a spiritual and cultural heart for Jews. His son, King Solomon, built the First Temple, making Jerusalem the focal point of Jewish worship and pilgrimage. The Temple served as the epicenter of Jewish religious life, drawing Jews from all corners of the land to partake in rituals and festivals, thus embedding Jerusalem deeply in Jewish identity.

3/ 📜 Exile and Return 📜

Even after the destruction of the First Temple by the Babylonians in 586 BCE, the Jewish connection to Jerusalem did not wane. Jews returned to rebuild and renew their bond with the city, demonstrating their resilience and unyielding faith. The completion of the Second Temple in 516 BCE was a significant event, symbolizing a new era of Jewish religious and communal life. Despite subsequent invasions and occupations, the Jewish people continuously sought to restore and maintain their presence in Jerusalem, highlighting their enduring attachment to the city.

4/ 🏛️ Roman Destruction and Diaspora 🏛️

The Roman destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE marked a profound moment of loss for the Jewish people, yet their connection to Jerusalem endured. Even as Jews were scattered across the globe in the ensuing diaspora, Jerusalem remained at the core of Jewish religious life and longing. Daily prayers, rituals, and cultural practices consistently oriented towards Jerusalem, preserving its significance in Jewish consciousness. Throughout centuries of dispersion, Jews always yearned for their return to Jerusalem, keeping the city’s memory alive in their hearts and minds.

5/ 🌍 Medieval and Ottoman Eras🌍

Throughout the Middle Ages and the Ottoman rule, Jewish communities in Jerusalem faced periods of hardship and revival. Despite various conquerors and shifting political landscapes, Jews never abandoned their spiritual and historical ties to the city. During the Ottoman era, from 1517 to 1917, Jewish life in Jerusalem experienced significant changes. The Ottomans, recognizing the historical Jewish connection to the land, allowed Jewish refugees from Spain and other regions to settle in the city. This period saw a revival of Jewish communal life, with the establishment of new synagogues, schools, and community institutions, further cementing the continuous Jewish presence in Jerusalem.

6/ ✡️ The Jewish Quarter ✡️

The Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem has been a vibrant center of Jewish life for centuries, a microcosm of the broader Jewish experience in the city. Its synagogues, schools, and homes are living monuments to the continuous Jewish presence and the community’s resilience in the face of adversity. Over the centuries, despite periods of destruction and renewal, the Jewish Quarter has remained a focal point of Jewish cultural and religious life, embodying the steadfast connection of Jews to their ancient capital.

7/ 🚫 Temple Mount Restrictions 🚫

Today, Jews face restrictions on visiting the Temple Mount, the holiest site in Judaism. Control by Muslim authorities has prevented Jews from freely accessing the area, highlighting ongoing tensions and challenges. The Temple Mount, where the First and Second Temples once stood, remains a profoundly significant site for Jews. However, the complex political and religious dynamics have resulted in limitations on Jewish worship and presence, reflecting broader issues of religious freedom and historical rights.

8/ 🕌 Historical Hijacking 🕌

The Temple Mount, where the First and Second Temples once stood, has been at the center of a significant historical hijacking. Today, many around the world view it primarily as a Muslim site, overshadowing its profound Jewish significance. Despite its deep roots in Jewish history, the site has been rebranded, with many now referring to it exclusively by its Islamic name, Al-Haram Al-Sharif. The reality is that Jerusalem holds a marginal place in Islamic tradition compared to its central role in Judaism. The Quran does not mention Jerusalem, and its association with Islam primarily stems from later historical developments. This rebranding diminishes the Jewish connection to the Temple Mount, a place where Jews have prayed and yearned for thousands of years. The ongoing restrictions on Jewish access and worship at this sacred site underscore the broader struggle for recognition of Jerusalem’s true historical and religious narrative.

9/ 📜 Jewish Presence Through the Ages 📜

Over the last 1,800 years, Jews have consistently lived in Jerusalem and throughout Israel, even under various foreign rulers. For example, in the 9th century, Jewish scholar Saadia Gaon wrote extensively about Jewish life in Jerusalem. In the 11th century, Spanish-Jewish traveler Benjamin of Tudela documented thriving Jewish communities in the city. By the 16th century, under Ottoman rule, Jerusalem saw a revival of Jewish life with the arrival of Jewish refugees from Spain. The 19th century witnessed the establishment of new Jewish neighborhoods outside the Old City walls, symbolizing the growth and resilience of the Jewish population. These examples illustrate that, despite hardships and displacements, Jews have maintained a continuous presence in Jerusalem, contributing to its cultural and religious landscape.

10/ 🕊️ Jerusalem Today 🕊️

Today, Jerusalem stands as a thriving city, embodying the spirit and resilience of the Jewish people. Despite ongoing challenges and political complexities, the eternal bond between Jews and Jerusalem remains unbreakable, reflecting millennia of history, faith, and determination. Jerusalem continues to be a center of Jewish religious, cultural, and political life, symbolizing the unyielding connection of the Jewish people to their ancient capital. The city’s vibrant life and continuous development are testaments to the enduring spirit of the Jewish community and their unwavering commitment to Jerusalem.

📖 Conclusion 📖

Jerusalem is not just a city; it is the heart of Jewish identity and heritage. For 3,500 years, Jews have lived, prayed, and thrived in Jerusalem. Despite numerous challenges and adversities, their connection remains steadfast, a testament to the enduring spirit of the Jewish people. The history of Jerusalem is a story of resilience, faith, and an unbreakable bond that has withstood the test of time. Today, as we honor this profound connection, we also look towards a future where Jerusalem continues to be a symbol of hope, unity, and peace for all who hold it dear.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐦.