#and meetings with government officials for my government papers

[springrls]

Being disabled is soooo stupid oh my goddddd ur telling me my body just ??? Won't do things ???? For no good reason!

[nightpool]

If you are an auditor, and you call up the chief financial officer of the company you are auditing and ask “hey when is a convenient time for me to come to your office to review the books,” and he replies “no, no office, parking lot,” and you say “okay I’ll drive to your office and you’ll come down—” and he says “oh no, not our parking lot, a different parking lot,” and you meet him in a parking lot 40 miles from his office, and he hands you printouts of the financial statements and drives away, how should you begin your audit? Which of the financial statements is most likely to contain red flags or discrepancies to be addressed? I feel like the answer is “the parking lot”? If I were auditing those financial statements, most of my questions would not be about technical accounting matters but “why are we meeting in a parking lot again?”

Here is a story about the CFO of the Detroit Riverfront Conservancy, William Smith, who was arrested last week for allegedly stealing $40 million from the nonprofit:

"Mr. Smith’s grip on the nonprofit’s finances was so tight that even the nonprofit’s accountant, charged with tracking spending, could not log into one of the group’s bank accounts. Only Mr. Smith had the password. He gave her the bank statements on paper and met her only four times a year, in the parking lot of a Honey Baked Ham store 40 miles from the office. […]

"Brian Mittendorf, a professor who studies nonprofit accounting at Ohio State University, said that the conservancy’s official documents show that it took steps to safeguard its finances — including oversight from its board of directors and annual audits.

"‘All these things sound as if it’s an organization with a pretty robust review in place. On the other hand, only one person can access the money, and provides paper copies in a Honey Baked Ham parking lot?’ Mr. Mittendorf said. ‘Those sound like the opposite of a robust governance mechanism.’"

As it happens, Smith allegedly altered the bank statements by “[removing] the payments to himself and [replacing] them with fake payments to other vendors.” I still don’t fully understand the parking lot, though? Like you can meet the accountant in your office to hand over the doctored paper financial statements; just unplug your computer first. I just feel like meeting in the parking lot sends a pretty strong message of “I AM DOING CRIME” that you might want to avoid, if you are doing crime.

[hp-hcs]

violent stalker mattheo riddle.... each guy and girl readers ever spoken to? damn wdym they showed up beaten up the next day and they dont even know who did it ????

i feel like he'd also get violent with reader and ykw .... im so insane id let him beat me bloody .

"i'm doing this because you're not listening to me, sweetheart. how else am i supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn't do?"

hey uh, future requesters: giving me a line of dialogue or smth to build around means i’ll finish your request WAY faster. tysm anon 😭

requests open

prometheus — yandere! insane! stalker! mattheo riddle x gn! reader

wow! there’s a fuck ton of really fucking dark violence, murder, torture, manipulation, abduction, and horrific domestic abuse in this! please be careful if you choose to read this!

1.5k words!

i jokingly took a sociopathy test with a couple of friends earlier today and i scored like really high so uh dunno how to feel about that

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Am I…am I in trouble or something, Professor…?”

Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned and she looked at you over the rim of her glasses. She folded her hands together neatly where they rested on her desk before speaking. “Not for now, no. Relax a bit, dear. The law states that you’re innocent until proven guilty.”

“That’s not- that doesn’t really make me less nervous.”

The professor opened her mouth to speak again when a chime alerted her to an incoming floo call.

With a wave of her wand, the flames flared green and a genial-looking man stepped out of the fireplace. He brushed soot off of his robes and grinned brightly as soon as he caught sight of the professor.

“Minerva! Lovely to see you again. I’m afraid Quincy isn’t going to make it. Corbett is sick, poor thing, so he’s staying home with him today,” the man gushed, evidently quite close with the professor.

“Oh, send them both my well wishes, Hez, dear. Anyway, this is the student you asked to see, Y/n L/n,” she motioned towards you.

The man gave you a cheery grin—far too cheerful for this early in the morning—and held out his hand for you to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Mx. L/n. I’m Auror Hezekiah Ackerly. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?”

You dubiously shook his outstretched hand, a bit put off by his bright grin that never seemed to dim. “Sure.”

“Wonderful!” the Auror pulled the second office guest chair closer and sat down across from you. “Let’s get the easy questions out of the way. Do you have many friends? Or maybe a small, close-knit group of people you regularly hang out with?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck kind of question was this?

“Uh, I guess a close-knit group?”

Auror Ackerly summoned a notebook and quill, writing quickly. “Who belongs to this group?”

Seriously, this felt more like being at a psychiatrist’s office than being questioned by a government official.

“Er, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger? And sometimes Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood?”

Seriously, what was going on?

“And do you have any…romantic relationships? Any troubles or issues there?”

Your eyes narrow. “What’re you playing at?”

“Cormac McLaggen was found dead in the Forbidden Forest this morning,” Professor McGonagall cut to the chase, interrupting Auror Ackerly. “You were the last known person to have spoken to him, and several of your peers attest that they heard an argument break out between the two of you last night after dinner.”

Your eyebrows shot up and your jaw dropped. “Dead? Wh- how?”

“That’s what we at the Ministry would like to know,” Auror Ackerly interjected smoothly. “You’re not in trouble, Mx. L/n, but I am here to escort you to the Ministry for questioning.”

Your jaw dropped.

They thought you did this?

~~~

You sat at a table, alone in some room deep inside the Ministry building.

You huffed, folding yet another paper crane from the stack of sticky notes Ackerly had oh-so-thoughtfully left for you after your interrogation.

You set the finished bird on the table, the small pile of origami cranes you’ve made while waiting slowly getting larger.

Peeling off another sticky note, you started folding another when a nice-looking man in well-pressed robes entered the barren room and stopped in front of your table. He looked down at you with mild bafflement.

“L/n, I presume?”

“That’d be me,” you mumbled, adding your newest crane to the pile.

The man smiled gently before waving a hand over your paper birds and enchanting them to fly.

You tried to hide your awe as you look up at the cranes that floated and soared around the room.

The man smiled at your reaction. “It’s quite nice to finally meet you, Mx. L/n. You’ve been the topic of many a discussion today.”

“I’d imagine so, yes,” you said dryly. “Not many teenagers accused of murder coming through the department, huh?”

He grinned. “Not really, no.”

The man pulled out the other chair at the table, sitting down across from you and rifling through the thick manila folder he held.

“Are you here to interrogate me some more?” You asked suspiciously. “Ask Ackerly, man. I already told him everything I know.”

He laughed. “No, I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m your lawyer, Mx. L/n.”

You blink. “I don’t have a lawyer. My family can’t afford that.”

“You always have the right to an attorney, Mx. L/n,” he said kindly as he held out his hand to you. “Octavian Foxglove, Esquire.”

“Y/n L/n, but you already knew that,” you greet, shaking his hand.

He smiled again.

He was a very smiley man.

He laid out the manila folder and turned it around on the table so that you would be able to see it.

The first paper on top was a copy of your school records, with a bright red PRIMARY SUSPECT stamped over the top of your picture.

You grimaced.

Your lawyer nodded sympathetically. “There’s a photo underneath that page, by the way. Supposedly the last photo we have of McLaggen still alive and, uh…it’s not looking great for you, in all honesty.”

You moved your school records page aside, finding a standard moving photograph paperclipped to the inside of the file.

It showed, quite clearly, you speaking with Cormac McLaggen in a hallway. Picture-Cormac angrily threw his arms up in the air and silently yelled at picture-you, while your body language in the photo loudly screamed ‘furious & upset’.

He was right. It wasn’t a great look.

“And there’s only one thing I need you to- oh, where is it?” He dug through the inside pockets of his robes, procuring a pen. “Aha! The next page has a simple contract. I just need a signature stating that you either accept me as your public defender, or would like to request someone else from the Ministry to handle your case.”

You nod, flipping the page to the contract he indicated. Mr. Foxglove smiled again and held the pen out to you.

As soon as your fingers made contact with the pen, you vanished.

~~~

You stumbled blindly, almost falling to the floor before a hand caught your elbow and steadied you.

“Easy, careful.”

You whirled around, surprised to see a different man in Mr. Foxglove’s clothes. He held his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

“Woah- slow down, kid. You’re fine.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m- was your lawyer,” he shrugged and smiled. “Augustus Rookwood, at your service.”

It dawned on you. “It was a portkey,” you breathed. “The pen. It was a portkey, wasn’t it?”

“Clever kid,” he sounded impressed. “Now c’mon. The boss wants to see you.”

You followed the man without complaint; half out of curiosity, half out of the knowledge that Augustus Rookwood was an Azkaban escapee charged with at least forty counts of first degree murder.

Pretty simple choice.

It looked like you were in a wealthy aristocrat’s house. Er, mansion, more accurately. The hallway you were walking down was old and stuffy and dusty, and the overall aura of Dark magic that permeated the very air of the house sent shivers down your spine.

Rookwood led you down a flight of rickety stairs to the first floor, and then down a narrow hallway and into a study, where he left you without another word.

The study itself was old. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust except for the pristine and polished bureau right in the center.

(Obviously, ‘the boss’ was sitting at this desk.)

((Villains tend to be predictable like that.))

However, you were surprised to see that ‘the boss’ was-

“Riddle?”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, a wide grin spreading across his face as he hurriedly got up from his desk.

“Y/n, darling, hello!” He gushed, practically skipping over towards you before pulling you into a very uncomfortable hug. “Sweetheart- oh, I’m so glad you’ve made it here safely! Rookwood really is my only competent assistant; I must be sure to give him a raise.”

You froze up at the unexpected hug, your arms remaining stiffly by your sides. He let go after a moment, but remained just a bit too close for comfort.

“Hopefully the Ministry didn’t give you too hard of a time,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a guilty grin. “I promise Ackerly’s a good man. When he’s, y’know, in control of his own body.”

Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “What?”

“Just a little Imperius, darling, no worries. Did you like your gift?”

You blinked, thrown off by his rapid changes in subjects. “Uh- gift?”

He smiled proudly. “McLaggen? He won’t bother you anymore, see?”

All the color drained from your face.

“You killed Cormac?”

He nods, grinning. “Uh-huh. I heard what McLaggen said to you last night in the hall, and I don’t like when other people look at what’s mine.”

“Yours?” You repeat, your lip curling in disgust. “You’d better not be referring to me.”

Mattheo paused, looking at you in confusion. “What else would I be talking about?”

You scoff in shock, shaking your head. “Yeah, nope, I’m out.”

You turned around without further preamble, marching out of the room and towards the front door that you’d passed earlier. Mattheo laughed and followed you out of the study at a leisurely pace, seemingly unworried.

“Where are you going to go, darling? As far as the general public is concerned, you’re on the run after brutally murdering a classmate. You’re Wanted with a capital W, sweetheart.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you snarled, storming towards the front door.

“Y/n…” He warned, drawing his wand and pointing it at you. “Get back here. Now.”

“Fuck off.” You spat over your shoulder, not sparing him another glance.

That was clearly not the thing to say. As if in slow motion, you heard a dreaded word fall from his lips.

“Crucio!”

You were struck with pain that was so overwhelming, so blinding, so agonizing, that you were sure you were going to die.

You were only half aware that you’d fallen to the floor at some point as wave after wave of unbearable pain crashed over you. You could feel your bones creaking and grinding together, your skin splitting apart only to knit itself back together just to be torn apart again, like you were some fucked up wixen version of fucking Prometheus.

You were only vaguely aware that you were speaking, pleading. Pleading not for the Unforgivable to be lifted, but for him to just end it, end you, entirely.

“K-kill me! Kill m-me…please!” You begged, blood trailing down from the corner of your mouth and smeared across your chin. You must’ve bit your tongue hard for it to bleed like that, and the sting from that wound while you speak is just too overwhelming when combined with the pain from the Cruciatus Curse.

Then all at once, it stops.

You gasp for air, your entire body trembling and numb as you lay sprawled across the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

Mattheo kneeled down by your side and cupped your face in his hands with a kind of tender gentleness that felt deeply wrong coming from him.

“See, I’m doing this because you’re not listening to me, sweetheart. How else am I supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn’t do?” He cooed softly, gently wiping the blood from your chin with the sleeve of his shirt.

You flinched back at his touch. Your body—still wracked with uncontrollable quivers and trembles—tried in vain to crawl away from him.

“Oh no, honey- hey, honey- I promise it’s all over, okay? You were so so good for me. But you see now that you’ve got to stay with me, right?”

Your jaw quivered and your still-stinging tongue felt thick in your mouth, yet you managed to spit vicious hatred towards him.

“G-go to hell.”

A flurry of emotions crossed his face: surprise, anger, guilt, and disappointment; all of which were topped by the underlying aura of pure sadistic glee that exuded from him.

“Oh? Do you need another lesson or two before you learn?” He sighed and shook his head patronizingly. “Very well then, darling. Crucio!”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

taglist! @gayaristocrat @slytherinboysappreciation @lemonaderiddle @h-------n @yournogoodalone @knave-hearts @schaebickel @lexacantsleep @big-brother-problems @darkcharmx @cyberbl4de @amandajonhsson @megannxn @catz-80 @ghostiesen @fruityfrog505 @coysa @fruitypebblesstuff @mildlyuninformative @glittervame @cayaevans1 @lizeylavender @cloudydaysinmydreams @ironickarkatlover @ahead-fullofdreams @tachyon-girl @jaythes1mp @lovelyfandomqueen @ashisgreedy @mothermah3m @siuspider @ineedtogetalife11 @cherry-berry-ollie @cherriosxfish @a-hopeless-romantics-blog @fallingblackveils @ldrsog @linde0s @ghost-tyr @booksouflette @h0treader @maraudersforlife2005 @ahano @miah-macaroni @whatislifes-stuff @iara-ximena17 @goth-blackcat @dutifullyfuturisticwizard @docackerman @mizu-mc @tiacordelia02 @mingyuethesimp @luvlli @dracoshusband @verychaoticgay @thathogwartsjedi @lisbethpisbeth @remusily @daliah-xxo @rainy-darling @corinneeagles @sle1epy @averys-place @shibble @i-love-sirius-black7 @azu-202029 @artemismckinnon @lostboychimera @yukimaniac @annegrey

[reallygroovyninja]

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS - Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

“So you’re really telling me you’re dating Lexa now?” Raven asked, her tone dripping with disbelief.

“Yes, Raven, for the last time, we're together,” Clarke insisted, her hands gesturing emphatically.

Raven laughed, a loud, incredulous sound that bounced off the walls. “Okay, Clarke, sure. And I'm the Queen of England. Seriously, have you even kissed her?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Yes, we’ve kissed. A lot, actually.”

“Uh-huh, and I’m hacking into government websites on the weekends,” Raven quipped, her smirk wide as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Clarke’s frustration was palpable, her voice rising slightly. “We've even slept together, Raven.”

Raven’s eyebrows shot up, her expression unchanging. “Sleeping with someone doesn’t make you a couple, Clarke. Hell, by that logic, half the college would be in serious relationships.”

Clarke sighed, her gaze flickering to the ceiling as if seeking patience. Raven leaned back against the cushions, her face the picture of exaggerated skepticism.

“Look, until I see you two picking out curtains or planning a wedding, I’m gonna reserve my right to remain skeptical. Hell, I'll believe it when you two get joint bank accounts. That’s real commitment.”

“I don’t need a joint bank account to prove I’m in a relationship," Clarke protested, though a small smile broke through, unable to resist Raven's humor.

Raven nodded, her voice taking on a mock-serious tone. “Oh, my sweet, naive Clarke. In the world of Raven Reyes, it’s not official until it’s Instagram official or you’re screaming at each other about whose turn it is to do the dishes or who didn't replace the toilet paper roll. That's the real deal.”

Clarke threw a cushion at Raven playfully. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re delusional if you think I’m buying this whole ‘Lexa and Clarke’ fairytale without some solid evidence,” Raven retorted, catching the cushion and hugging it to her chest.

“Maybe I’ll just invite her over for dinner,” Clarke suggested, an idea sparking in her eyes.

“Oh, bringing the alleged girlfriend home to meet the skeptic? Now that’s a plot twist.” Raven chuckled. “Make sure she knows how to dodge a grilling, because I’m not holding back, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded, a determined gleam in her eye. “Challenge accepted. You’ll see, Raven. It’s real.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Raven replied with a laugh, settling more comfortably into the couch as Clarke began planning her proof.

[jangmi-latte]

☾︎ 1:58 𝐏𝐌 ☽︎ 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎..

𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚜 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚊

warnings: very self-indulgent and a filler while i write this really long fic

FEMALE!reader with FEMALE!anatomy, slightly heavy nsfw, fingering, dom-sub relationship, setting is in briar valley, deep terminologies, mentions of marriage, hehe, uh...a lot more ehe enjoy!

1.7K words

𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘

the following below are terms that may be too deep for some readers to understand:

Cabinet - the senior decision-making body of a monarch’s government

Chemise -  a woman's loose-fitting undergarment or nightdress, typically of silk or satin with a lace trim

Lady of the Bedchamber - a lady holding the official position of personal attendant to the monarch

"If it would require His Royal Highness’ audience on Tuesday, then I’m sure the people would be delighted...”

“…and he advised that there was no easy way around the governing rules of the Royal Counsel–…”

“Furthermore…. members of Cabinet…. opposed…made it clear….”

“……. government…. subversion…. teachings….”

All their words started to grow muffled as they rung through his head. His leg over the other, arms resting stiffly on the armrest as one arm remained positioned for him to keep his forehead leaning on his fingers. His eyebrows furrowed together as he stared off into a distance.

It was so strong; he wondered if anyone else could smell it. Not that it entirely bothered them anymore considering that he and she are already mated. Yet, that doesn’t sit well with the fact he is sitting with alphas capable of anything knowing that you are probably, or definitely, vulnerable at the moment. He wished and hoped this meeting would be over with. Peace in Night Raven College is something he ought to miss.

He only hoped that at least one of his retainers or Lilia was looking after you at the moment.

“Your Highness?”

Without shifting his position, his eyes immediately glanced over at the Prime Minister to his right. An alpha as well; it did not bother him considering how fierce Malleus’ gaze was at the moment. “The Parliament wishes to hear your direct opinions towards the deprivation of the duke’s rights, privileges, and incomes?”

“Must I have an immediate response considering that you have already discussed this with Her Majesty?” he responded leaning forward and resting his elbow, from the armrest and towards the table. He glanced down at the sheet of paper laid in front of him. That is, if he could still decipher what exactly he’s looking at still, considering that his vision was starting to haze.

“You have stated that Her Majesty would give ample time for the duke to renounce his decision towards Cabinet and so what may, let it be,” he sighed and squeezed his eyes momentarily as he sat back again. The Prime Minister gave a steady breath and looked towards the other men in the room.

“Then I suppose–“ came the Prime Minister before Malleus finally stood up, eyes snapping towards his figure in question.

“I’d say the discussion is over. I have other matters to attend to. Adjourn this session unless you wish to discuss it more with my secretary then be my guest.”

The servants, as swift as they can be, made way for the prince as they cleaned up the place he sat on. The Prime Minister and the rest of the governing men stood up and bowed in respect – although it came unseen as he already left. No one dared question what happened neither spoke about the sudden pheromones that scattered around the room.

And might one say, when the doors of the study hall opened, something sickeningly sweet welcomed the other alphas and they all knew the answer.

Her Royal Highness is in heat.

A matter they shan’t discuss behind the back nor in front of her husband.

“How is she doing?” Malleus asked the Lady of the Bedchamber who tried to match his fast strides towards your room.

“Mr. Vanrouge is doing the best he can to minimize her scent, Your Highness,” she said, walking a few ways ahead of Malleus. “While you requested– ordered rather –that she mustn’t take any suppressants anymore. She has been heavily persistent.”

“And did you give her some?” Dark was his voice as he narrowed his eyes at the fae. However, come what may with her serving the prince and his grandmother for centuries, this does not fear her anymore.

“No, never will, Your Highness.”

The closer they got to your quarters, the louder they could hear the muffled argument between you and, what they believe to be, Lilia. Malleus could smell it stronger now; sweet and addicting, a scent that nearly rivals that of Maraschino cherries. Even the footmen by your door are gone, seems like your attendant did her job perfectly. The Lady of the Bedchamber exhaled before nodding at the prince. Opening the double doors, he promptly went inside and the lady slammed it shut behind him.

He tried to compose himself as the whiff of your scent hit him – forthwith affecting him in the most cunning addiction ever. He could nearly taste it.

There you are, in your chemise, standing with arms outstretched to steady you as you leaned on the desk. Slightly bent over and heaving as if you just came from a war.

“Took you a while,” Lilia sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, in his other hand held the bottle of heat suppressants.

“We wouldn’t…” you swallowed, “we wouldn’t even be doing this if you just gave me those pills!” you screamed, nearly a roar, as you looked over your shoulder and glared at the former general. The latter ignored you and walked over to the door waving at Malleus as he peeked inside one last time.

“I will alert your secretary and the queen about this. Don’t worry,” he grinned and closed the door.

Now it was just you and your alpha.

“Why are you so stubborn?” he questioned, voice steady as you hear his dress shoes click against the marble floor until you feel his presence behind you. You’re heavily annoyed that his scent could easily relieve yet weaken you whilst you felt your elbows shake. His hand went towards your chin and he tilted your head back until your whole body followed and pressed yourself against his chest.

You inhaled deeply; marveling in his mahogany-like scent. Whether he was purposely releasing pheromones or not, you didn’t care. At least, that’s what your mind told you and not the slick that keeps on dripping down your cunt.

You didn’t respond – instead you turned around and shoved your face to the crook of his neck, near his scent gland, and gripped his coat.

“I asked you a question,” he said, sterner.

“You have a meeting…” you exhaled shakily, subconsciously rubbing your thighs together the more you inhaled his scent.

Malleus, still as composed as ever, sighed and easily lifted you up before gently laying you on the bed. This wasn’t new to either of you – decades of being a married couple – it wasn’t as if you’d be ashamed of each other’s bodies like it was your honeymoon.

“Legs.”

You gritted your teeth, back arching as your scalp dug on the sheets. You are barely aware of your senses, just having the need, the lust, to just touch yourself and yet here you are. Drowning in the scent of your husband both on the sheets of your shared bed and on his person whilst you gripped on the duvet. Your heels pawed on the mattress; your legs remained narrowly open before Malleus placed his hands on your knees.

He spread you out, pushing your knees to your chest and easily ripping your panties off your hips. Leaving your heels to lay on his shoulders. Fuck, your pheromones are so strong. He was a hair’s breadth away from losing control as he spread your outer labia apart.

“Please…” you nearly sobbed, whimpering through gritted teeth.

Leaning over you, he pushed two fingers inside your cunt. It slipped in effortlessly and, doubtlessly, swallowed his fingers deeply. You choked on a moan; an arm going over your eyes as your hips grinded against the heel of his palm. He was trying to go slowly albeit his fingers slammed in and out your vagina with the squelch of your slick and skin against skin slapping on each other.

His cock was painfully hard against his trousers; yet he paid no mind as he pushed another finger inside. Stretching you out as his other hand pushed the arm that was over your eyes and pinned it to the side of your head.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

“Mal…” you cried, eyes foggy as you opened them halfway and bit on your lower lip to suppress your noise. It was heavenly, it was making you feel faint with your lips parted to let out soft and quick pants. You didn’t even last a second when you made eye contact with his face, with him looking down at your pussy as he continued to abuse your hole with his fingers.

“Did you touch yourself before throwing a tantrum?”

“No..!” you gasped, feeling him arch his fingers and hitting your g-spot. “Fuck...!” you reflexively clawed on his other arm (the one pinning your one arm down) with your free hand.

“Mal- more…fuck!” You could feel tears dripping down the sides of your face as he pushed and pressed his fingers deeper and faster. The wet sounds growing louder and louder as it grew harder for you to keep quiet.

Tighter and tighter.

You grew more sensitive.

Your clit hardened and your hips began to squirm.

And yet…

“Don’t lie to me, y/n.”

Your alpha pulled his fingers out of your vagina. It was dripping of foggy white liquid and as he stretched his fingers apart, transparent slick connected each finger to the other and he hummed in amusement yet his lips held no smile.

“Why–!” you shivered, bordering another tantrum before he grabbed your other wrist and pinned both your hands on your stomach. Letting your legs drop to the bed as he towered over you.

“Truthfully, do you think I believe you?” he arched an eyebrow, his three fingers rubbing your hardened and sensitive clit that made you hiss and push your face sideways on the bed.

“Y-You…” you panted, “It wasn’t easy! You didn’t…want me to…fuck more...more!” you begged, submissively. Hips quivering and legs kicking on nothing the more he pressed and stroke your bud.

Malleus hummed; entertained and, admittedly, feeling sadistic seeing as he could only be the one to bring you the release you wanted. Those panties were a clean new pair – with your wet pussy, he doubted you couldn’t have drenched those. Stop lying, y/n.

“I must say…” he snickered and pulled your hips towards the sides of the bed, making you arch your neck and look at him in surprise and curiosity; maybe even a little worried.

“I like hearing you beg, Your Highness.”

© 𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢-𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞. DO NOT REPLICATE, DUPLICATE, OR TRANSLATE. All Rights Reserved

[wing-ed-thing]

Man in Uniform (Erwin x Reader)

Synopsis: After a cut in the budget, your signature is the only thing that stands in the way of the Scout’s funds. Erwin is a selfish bastard, and unfortunately for you, you’re a sucker for a man in uniform.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Noble!Reader, Fluff, Flirting, Alcohol, 100% self-indulgent 

Notes: This played in my head like a vintage black-and-white movie. I hope it does for you too! I’ve had this sitting in the drafts for about 2 weeks aaaaa

You were a vision coming down those steps. 

The way the people in the room stopped to stare truly felt like a fairy tale. Erwin was no different. He sipped his champagne by the cocktail table that the Scout leadership wordlessly claimed, watching as the subtle train of your gown slinked down the marble stairs with each step of your high heel shoes. Erwin himself could have easily been mistaken for a prince in the Scout’s formal attire, but he seemed to be the last person holding your attention. You bashfully looked off to the side, an attempt to ignore that the entire ballroom seemed to stop for you. 

“A little extra for a charity event, don’t you think?” Levi muttered, staring down at the cup of tea he bullied from the kitchen. Tea and coffee were supposed to be served after dessert, but he found his ways to be persuasive.

“Nobility will do as nobility does.” Erwin took another sip of his drink, eyes glued on you as you were swiftly swarmed by politicians, businessmen, and other nobles. He felt a harsh tug on the back of his dress uniform. 

“You’re not actually going to do it, are you?” Levi pulled at the collar of his shirt. The Scout’s dress uniform— which consisted of a decorated dark olive green blazer and slacks with a complimentary collared shirt and tie— served to be far tighter than the functional field uniform designed for movement. 

“Doesn’t hurt to try.” He adjusted a few pins on his jacket and ran a thumb underneath the thick belt around his waist. He corrected the orientation of the wide collar. “How does my tie look?” Levi gave it a once over before coming around the small table to adjust it. He pulled it extra tight with a scowl.

“You think she’s going to hand you a fat stack of cash because she thinks you’re pretty? Stupidest idea if I've ever heard one. She has the power to take away what little funds we’ve got if she doesn’t get you suspended for harassment first.”

Erwin shrugged.

“Stranger things have happened.” He played with his cufflinks, his attention fully on you. A trio of women Erwin recognized from past events greeted you enthusiastically. “According to my sources, I have a pretty fair shot.” Levi rolled his eyes along with a few choice words.

“At least wait until she’s done the rounds.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Erwin heeded Levi’s advice, sipping his drink as you made your way around the ballroom. A diplomat had one of your hands in both of his as he shook you violently, which Erwin took as a cue to set down his empty glass. He made his approach. 

He knew you well on paper. A descendent of a noble and respected family, you were the darling of Sina. With your pedigree, you held quite a powerful place in government. The two of you had brief exchanges during your fair share of meetings, important government decisions, and of course, charity events.

He maneuvered through the small group around you, addressing you by name. Your audience parted as Erwin strolled up to you, looking as neat and militant as ever. Inwardly, he chuckled to himself at your dreadful expression. He could see the semblance of it in your otherwise pleasant demeanor. Surely, he looked like yet another official vying for your attention, and you weren’t wrong. 

You offered your hand cordially, and Erwin bowed at the waist to brush his lips against your knuckles. 

“It is a pleasure seeing you.” He rose, your slender fingers still in his. “If I may, you look absolutely radiant tonight.” Your laugh sounded like a sigh as you bobbed your head lightly and withdrew your hand.

“Commander Smith, aren’t you as charming as ever?” Erwin shook his head and touched the front of his uniform. 

“Please, call me Erwin. Smith was my father,” he nodded with a polite smile. Levi rolled his eyes somewhere in the background. Erwin made a show of looking at your company, who tried to keep friendly faces. He focused his attention back on you. “Would you allow me to steal you away?” 

You opened your mouth to deny him but met his bright blue irises as the words died on your lips. They flickered to his right, left, and back at you for the briefest of seconds. You gauged the faces surrounding you as the corners of your lips tugged upward into a gentle smile.

“Certainly.” You giggled nervously, quickly slipping your hand around the crux of his elbow as you allowed him to escort you away. You glanced at a set of open doors, giving Erwin’s sleeve a light tug. “Would you mind if we head toward the balcony? The view of Sina is simply wonderful from up here.” Erwin offered you a slow nod as he gestured.

“Lead the way.” 

You crossed the ballroom, attempting not to appear too hasty as you offered gracious smiles to the important people who made sure to catch your eye. A waiter passed, and you stopped briefly to take two champagne flutes between your knuckles. Erwin raised his thick brows in amusement at the sight but said nothing.

You handed him one quietly as soon as you stepped onto the balcony. Lit by a few lamps, the outdoor area was dark enough and in a position to seclude the two of you without the appearance of hiding away intentionally. The whole of it wrapped around the building. Blooming bushes lined the railing down to a set of stairs to the gardens on your right. You released his arm, moving forward to take in the scenery. People continued to bustle inside. You took a breath. 

“Did I look like I needed rescuing that badly?” you let out another laugh-like sigh. He wondered if you could breathe in that dress. You approached the decorated railing, taking a sip of your drink. The weather was warm tonight.

“Someone once told me that the way Stevens shakes hands looks like he’s trying to make himself a cocktail.” Erwin leaned back against the railing; one arm crossed over his chest. He held his glass in his opposite hand, twirling the stem between his fingers.

“Oh no!” you laughed, cupping your face with a hand as you let your neat demeanor drop for a moment. “Think he should have become a bartender? He’s got a mean shake.” Erwin didn’t answer your rhetorical question as he studied you, taking in everything from your hair to the intricate pattern that graced the bodice of your gown. 

“I’m glad we have the opportunity to chat. I imagined it would be impossible to get a moment alone with you.” You hummed to yourself.

“Something tells me that you don’t just want to shoot the breeze, as they say?” You studied him out of your peripheral. You knew this game well. Like every other person in the ballroom, Erwin wanted to bend your ear to something or another.

“Can I not enjoy the company of a beautiful woman?” He placed one of his elbows back against the carved stone. You stared at the various pins and metals he wore across his chest. The side of your face found your palm as you leaned forward. You enjoyed the whole ensemble if you were honest with yourself. “One’s deprived of such pleasures on the battlefield, you know.” You resisted the urge to scoff.

“You sure are laying it on thick, hm, Commander?” you muttered into the rim of your glass. You took a half step away, more straying in the space than trying to escape.

“Erwin, please,” he corrected gently, gesturing with his glass. “Unless the title pleases you.” Your glance away was all the confirmation he needed. Your shoulders dropped as you huffed. 

“Surely you know—” You frowned. —“You shouldn’t expect to get funding from an attempt to charm me. It won’t work, so please, let’s just enjoy the night.” You trusted that out of all the people who would bother you about work, Erwin was one you could be the most straightforward with. Based on your limited interactions, it was an educated gamble. 

“You think I’m trying to pull a ploy?” He cocked a brow, staring into his drink. You crossed your arms with a single nod of your head. You looked awfully sure of yourself.

“I wouldn’t put it past you, yes.” 

“I’m hurt you would see me in such a light.” Erwin feigned offense which you ignored. You cocked your head to the side haughtily, staring back into the ballroom. Golden light shone onto the balcony from the rich chandeliers on the intricately crafted ceiling.

“On the contrary, I expect nothing different from the Commander of the Scouts.”

“And yet you’ve allowed me an audience with you.” Erwin pushed off from where he leaned, circling you slowly. He stopped in front of you. The glow from the chandeliers inside outlined him in a warm gleam. “Alone. Away from everyone else.” You almost frowned at the suggestion but forced yourself to maintain your cordial demeanor. You tightened your posture.

“Too much hollow chatter for me,” was your excuse. “At least with your presence, many others who seek things from me will surely leave me alone.” You nodded to yourself, convinced of your justification.

“You find me intimidating?” Erwin clasped his hands behind his back, surely a purposeful display. You tried your best to appear unimpressed. He cocked his head to the side. 

“Some are under the impression that the Scouts are audacious. That with humanity’s strength comes… conceited self-assurance.” You shrugged daintily. You took a long sip of your drink, letting the tiny bubbles pop down your throat. “Perhaps you intimidate someone else. Not me.”

“Audacity and strength,” he cherry-picked in consideration, clearly entertained. His peering eyes searched your face for a response. “Do you not think so?” His real question crept within the subtext.

“I keep my politics close to my chest.” 

“Less politics and more of an opinion.” His retort was quick and held a hint of harshness. You couldn’t help the acute look of surprise as you warily narrowed your eyes at him. He could practically see you choose your words. 

“You certainly are brazen, Commander Erwin.” Your heels clicked against the tile below. His gaze followed you as you drifted. “I never knew the Scouts were so guarded of their reputation.”

“Ah, so the title does please you.” He lit up in amusement as bashfulness burned under your skin. “I’ll have you know that the reputation of the Scouts is a reflection of her leadership.” You locked eyes, and you didn’t miss a beat. 

“So it is ego, hm?”

Inside, the hired collection of instrumentalists played a romantic song. Famous in Sina, you recognized it right away. It almost made you wish you were back inside, but another stray consideration of the people you would have to talk to made you refrain from such thoughts. By the time you snapped from your distraction, Erwin had already put his glass down on the stone railing as he outstretched his hand to you. 

“May I?” The music swelled in the background. 

You gave him an almost exasperated look, but not wanting to waste a good song, you placed your drink beside his and took his hand.

Erwin Smith was much more proficient in dance than you had anticipated. You draped one arm over his shoulder, and with your other hand in his, Erwin led your dance around the balcony in perfect time with the music. The slow and intricate waltz was another signature of the innermost wall. You learned it as a child, as did all children of Sina— poor and rich. You wondered where Erwin learned it.

Clearly, he was trying to pander to you.

“I thought I made myself perfectly clear that your charm will not get your branch the funding you desire,” you said quietly, careful not to miss a step in the dance. You looked up at Erwin, who didn’t appear to be listening. You continued more forcefully. “Everyone’s budget was slashed, not just the Scouts. Things have been very tight. It wouldn’t be fair—”

“Believe me; I’m not trying to seduce you in any sense of the word.” Erwin manipulated you into a twirl, catching you and pulling you into his chest as you tripped on your heels. “Although, it’s reassuring to hear that you think I’m charming.”

“Don’t you go around throwing out words like that. Someone will overhear and get the wrong idea.” You composed yourself quickly, retreating from Erwin’s embrace a slight distance as you continued your movement to the music.

“There’s no one around to hear anything, my dear.” You scowled disapprovingly, your footwork not faltering for a moment. 

“Being slapped around by Titans has surely made a few screws rattle loose in that brain of yours,” you jeered. The vibrations of Erwin’s laugh reverberated from his chest through yours. He stared down at you, brows slightly raised.

“Do Titans terrify you?” “Of course,” you puffed in annoyance. “You likely have reason to fear them more than I do.” Amusement and self-assuredness radiated from Erwin in waves. 

“Have you ever seen one?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” 

Erwin’s slight grin melted slowly from his face. You watched it intently, wondering what he was thinking about at the mere mention of Titans. You softened in his grip. Your words were true; Erwin likely had more reason to fear the giants that roamed outside the walls. He had seen them. Fought them. The moment of acute vulnerability passed quicker than a shadow. 

“I’m curious to know what you’ve heard.” His voice sounded low and gentle. “From a political figure such as yourself who grew up in Sina.” You paused, not quite understanding the goal of his question. The music changed inside, and wordlessly, so did your dance.

“That there are giants outside. Man-eating ones.” Naivety coated your words. Your body moved in tandem with Erwin’s. He held you in his striking irises, listening. You smoothed your hands over the firm, thick material of his blazer. “I heard they grow up to ten meters tall.”

“Some are fifteen.”

“Really?” One of your legs rose gracefully off the ground as Erwin dipped you low. You caught sight of the garden through the gaps in the balcony’s siding. “How horrifying.”

“I’ve seen dozens,” Erwin said, no louder than a whisper. You assumed an upward position as you continued the waltz. The side of his lips brushed up against the side of your temple. You held onto the low timber of his voice. “Ridden into the field just to see young soldiers eaten alive.”

“Does that weigh on you?”

“It does.” You felt him nod against you. A few strands of your hair came out of its updo, not that you minded. “You need not worry about such things.” You frowned as you were spun. Erwin’s hard chest met your back. Your hands were still in his, one pinned to your waist while the other floated in the air adjacent to your shoulder. 

“Because I am from Sina?” You bowed your head the slightest bit as you felt his warm breath on the shell of your ear. The dimness of the balcony only made the traditional dance feel more intimate. More intimate than it should have been between two government officials. “You think I don’t have to worry? I have lives in my hands just as you.” 

“Of course not; you misunderstand me.”

Erwin twirled you slowly and gracefully back around. You held him at arm’s length, connected only by intertwining fingers. He tsked, shaking his head as he pulled you back.

 “It’s my job to worry about the Titans. Put your trust in me. I assure you—” Your palm rested on the layered fabric at the back of Erwin’s neck. His lips brushed the skin of your cheek as his voice dropped low. “I’ll protect you from the monsters.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as you came to a complete stop. Your voice stalled in your throat as words dissolved on your tongue. 

You pulled away from Erwin completely, taking a few steps back. You clutched parts of your skirt in your clammy palms as reality— the reason Erwin had sought your time in the first place— quickly set in. He stood, hands again behind his back, as he awaited your response. You coiled your arms over your chest.

“You’re full of shit—”

“Quite the mouth on you, my lady.” His forehead wrinkled in amusement. “Is this how nobility is brought up?” Erwin closed the gap between you in just two broad steps. You bumped into the stone railing, knocking at least one of your champagne flutes into the flowers as he did little more than cage you in.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes widened.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You nearly gasped, a nervous shiver freezing you where you stood. The warm lantern light sparkled off your eyes. “Commander… Erwin…?” He corralled a few pieces of hair behind your ear, tracing your jaw until his fingers reached your chin.

“Rest assured; I am more than capable of keeping a foul-mouthed princess like yourself safe. Do you not think so?” You remained completely still, and as he moved his head forward. He tilted your chin up, and your lashes fluttered closed. 

But the kiss you anticipated never came. 

You opened your eyes to see Erwin looking about the same as he did all night: thick brows raised and the corners of his lips curving into a subtle, almost boyish smile. His touch left your face as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, my lady?”

You gasped in horror, the shock quickly melting into outraged embarrassment. You sputtered, and when your words wouldn’t come out, you shoved his chest hard. 

“Erwin!” He stumbled back as you stormed away. “You despicable man!” He called after you as you hurried down the garden steps, completely mortified with yourself. The laugh in his voice made you just about boil. Erwin caught your wrist on the first landing. You spun around in rage.

“I apologize for my forwardness. It was all in jest.”

“If this is your strategy for winning over a lady, I weep for the future of the Scouting Regiment.” You delivered a swift slap across Erwin’s face. Caught off guard at the force, Erwin released you and staggered back. You covered your mouth, the weight of what you had just done crashing down on you all at once. 

A few strands of his bangs fell into his face. He tenderly poked at the skin of his cheek as he flexed his jaw; a certain amount of awe was written on his irises. Much to your surprise, his disposition was completely void of defensiveness or anger. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that Erwin looked pretty damn impressed. 

He let out a single satisfied snort and a resigned sigh. His fingers raked through his undercut as he seemed to ponder to himself.

“I apologize for offending you. That was very unprofessional of me. I hope we’re even now.” He offered you a contrite look. “I do not wish you to feel further discomfort, so I will take my leave.” Erwin gave a slight bow of his head before turning to walk back up the stairs. “It was a pleasure having a conversation with you.” 

You watched him as he went, emotions swirling around inside of you. You took a step forward; an arm outstretched in front of you. You recoiled somewhat, unsure of yourself. 

A moment passed. Other guests seemed to have also stumbled upon the balcony’s availability. Their meandering shadows moved in front of Erwin, just about where the two of you had been. You froze at the sight of what looked to be Stevens’ silhouette cast by the lamplight on the side of the building. 

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to recall your diplomatic appearance.

“Uh… Commander Erwin…!” you called. He stopped mid-stride with one boot settled on the elevated step above and the other on the stair below. Erwin looked over his shoulder, standing sideways on the steps. 

“Yes?”

You cleared your throat again, smoothing out the front of your dress. 

“I would not be opposed to a walk in the garden.” Erwin glanced out into the extensive gardens, then back to you with a few bobs of his head.

“Ah, yes. That sounds like a wonderful way to spend the night. I do wish you a wonderful stroll.” He took a few more steps back up toward the balcony. You scurried up a few yourself, clutching your skirt as you called after him again. 

“E-... Erwin…?” He stopped again. You glanced off to the side. You played with the lace in your hands. “I more meant that I wouldn’t mind if you accompanied me.” Erwin adjusted his collar with a shrug. You resisted a glare. You knew very well what he wanted you to say.

“I couldn’t possibly intrude. After my distasteful joke, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Get over here and escort me through the gardens, and I’ll revisit your stupid little funding proposal!” you huffed. Erwin snickered at the little stomp of your foot. You witnessed another satisfied raise of his eyebrows. You had a mind to pay more attention to those than his actual words.

“Very well, if I am being commanded to do so. Who am I to refuse?” He descended quickly, and you took him by the arm as you entered the gardens. Other guests seemed to follow your lead as they chatted casually with each other. To anyone else, it would appear that you and Erwin came out with the crowd rather than hiding away.

“Look at them.” You stared up at the balcony full of people with a scowl. You faced him with a pout. “Vultures, the lot of them. You may be insufferable, but at least I can stand you.” Erwin didn’t protest as you tugged him along.

“So much for your closely-held politics.”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: What’s reader’s title? God if I know. I see Erwin very capable of walking the line of guilt and manipulation to get what he wants. Don’t they say the best lies have truth in them? He’s so dynamic and I feel like he’s a master code-switcher

[scotianostra]

On 1 st July 1999, the Scottish Parliament was officially opened by The Queen 

“The Scottish Parliament which adjourned on the 25th of March in the year 1707 is hereby reconvened”.

The words of Winnie Ewing at the reconvening of The Scottish Parliament on May 12th 1999.

The prominent Scottish nationalist and former MP, MEP and MSP who was nicknamed Madame Ecosse by opponents in Brussels and adopted the moniker with pride, presided over the first session of the Scottish Parliament. A referendum was held on 11 September 1997 to ask the Scottish people whether they wanted a Scottish Parliament and whether it should have tax-varying powers. A clear majority of voters voted Yes to both questions. Question 1: I agree that there should be a Scottish Parliament (result: 1,775,045 or 74.3%) or I do not agree that there should be a Scottish Parliament (result: 614,400 or 25.7%) Electorate 3,973,673 Turnout 60.1% Spoilt Ballot Papers 11,986 Question 2: I agree that a Scottish Parliament should have tax-varying powers (result: 1,512,889 or 63.5%) or I do not agree that a Scottish Parliament should have tax-varying powers (result: 870,263 or 36.5%) Electorate 3,973,673 Turnout 60.0% Spoilt Ballot Papers 19,013 This result gave the UK government a mandate to introduce a bill that would allow for the creation of a Scottish Parliament. The first elections to the Scottish Parliament were held on 6 May 1999. The first meeting of the Parliament took place on 12 May 1999 with Sir David Steel elected as the first Presiding Officer, but  as the oldest member, “Mother of the House Winnie Ewing was invited to open the first session of the first Scottish Parliament since 1707.

I never seen my gran as a political person, but she had a picture of Winnie Ewing on her wall. Winnie passed away on June 21st last year, she was 93.

[safflowerseason]

old dan x amy fanfiction

I'm trying to flex my rusty fanfiction writing muscles, and going through old files I found this old Dan x Amy story that I never finished. It was a fill-in-the-gaps fic set between S2 and S3 and the tentative summary was : "The two months between seasons two and three, or, the story of how Amy and Dan went to Mike’s wedding together." I always thought this was a kind of interesting period in the relationship...by the end of S2 Dan and Amy have clearly settled into their banter-y "work spouses" relationship and they start S3 literally attending a wedding together. But at the same time, they are also in open competition for the role of campaign manager...I was always intrigued by in the dynamics of that transition. Anyway, I never finished it--it got very long and unwieldy, surprise surprise--but if there are any old Dan/Amy fic readers still out there I thought I'd post the first few pages here. There's quite a bit of general ensemble banter as well, related to Mike's wedding. Enjoy!

The morning after they learn that POTUS (officially, cross his precious heart, no turning back now) will not be running for a second term, Dan comes into the office with a giant stack of paper and starts piling it ostentatiously all around his desk. 

“What is this? Some sort of political mating ritual? Are you building a nest egg?”

“Well now you wouldn’t know enough to say, would you, Amy?”

Unfortunately, Amy doesn’t have a good response immediately—she was up until 2am brainstorming campaign strategies, and she knows Dan was up until at least 1:45 because they were texting ideas back and forth until then—so she just returns to her coffee and Post headlines and ignores him while he bustles around trying to make as much noise as possible. 

Selina comes in late, trilling with brittle laughter and smiling manically—Gary trails her, looking mildly repulsed and mutters “Andrew” in Amy and Dan’s general direction. Amy grimaces and adds “figure out a way to get rid of Andrew permanently” to her list of things to do before the campaign starts. She wonders if it would be considered a misuse of government forces to have Special Ops just take him out.

Andrew notwithstanding, the mood in the office is better than it has been all year. Mike whistles when he gets back from the press gaggle and Dan doesn’t immediately tell him to shut up. People actually use the world “please.” Amy’s fully cognizant something is going to blow it all up soon, but for now, she’ll let them enjoy the first morning in a long time where they don’t have to feel bad about the trajectory of their careers. 

At the morning strategy meeting, they talk about the best way to move forward until POTUS announces he won’t be running, discuss events to add to or remove from the public schedule in light of the upcoming campaign, and at the end of the meeting Dan brandishes his giant stack of paper and announces: “Ma’am, it’s time for you to publish your book.”

“Oooh!” Gary exclaims. “A book! Can I be in it?”

“You’re definitely not in it, Gary.”

“Yeah, Gary, what would you be doing in my book?” Selina demands, and Gary slinks back into the corner. “Dan, is it really the right time for this kind of political kabuki?”

“We need to lay the foundation for your presidential run in a non-threatening manner by reintroducing you to the public in a way that subtly separates you from POTUS. A book tour is the best way to do that, and unfortunately, ma’am, we need a book for a book tour.” 

Amy regards him suspiciously: he’s doing that thing where he appears to sincerely care about his job. This is always cause for deep concern. 

“Ma’am, do I have to write a whole book now?” Mike asks, looking forlorn. Dan glares and unceremoniously dumps the stack of paper in his lap. Mike grunts. “What the fuck do you think this is, Mike? Your obituary?”

“Wait, you’ve already written it?” Amy exclaims, completely non-plussed. “Since yesterday?”

“Please Amy.” says Dan, looking superior.

“Well Dan, I’ve got to hand it to you…it looks like I won’t have to write a single word myself, which is, obviously, the ideal.” Selina’s already flipping through the chapters, looking interested in spite of herself (then again, it is a book about her). 

“It’s basically written, ma’am, we’ll just need to do a few informational sessions about your political career and personal life, to add in some expository information.”

“That sounds excruciating.” Selina sighs. “But if you think it’s absolutely necessary…”

“I promise you that I will make the experience as pleasant as possible.” Dan smiles the smile he gives rich political widows and young women with babies. Amy gets a very bad feeling in her stomach. 

“This is a trap but I can’t figure out how.” she mutters to Mike, and he just nods bleakly.

~*~

Everyone’s about to disperse when Mike calls out casually “Oh yeah, if everyone could finalize their RSVPs to the wedding by Tuesday, that’d be great.” 

The silence he is met with is deafening. 

“…what wedding?” Amy finally ventures.

Mike looks at her. “My wedding.”

“To who?”

“Whom.” Gary corrects, and then flinches as Dan glares at him. 

“My fiancée.” When they all look blank, Mike says, in a more annoyed tone of voice “You guys, we got engaged three months ago! We sent the invitations right after!”

“Mike, I have matters of global significance to attend to that are infinitely more important than your personal life. Infinitely more important.” 

“And who checks their mailbox in the twenty first century?” Dan muses. 

“Hey, I do!” Gary pipes up. “I knew you were getting married, Mike.”

“Sue!” Amy yells out. “When’s Mike’s wedding?”

“June 17th.” Sue reports promptly from her desk. “It’s tentatively on the veep’s schedule.”

“Jesus Christ,” exclaims Selina. “You scheduled your dumbass wedding right as prep for the primaries take off. Really, Mike?”

“Yeah, Mike.” Dan echoes sycophantically.

“It’s not like we knew you were going to run, ma’am.”

“Okay.” Amy clears her throat. Everyone falls silent. “Congratulations. Who is the…who is the woman?”

“Wendy Collins. She’s a fashion reporter for the Post.”

“A journalist?!” Selina explodes. The morning goes downhill from there.

~*~

Amy sends an intern home to sort through three months of unopened mail and retrieve Mike’s wedding invitation. The intern comes back with a lavender invitation printed with navy sail boats. 

“I can’t tell if you’re having a boy or getting married.” Dan snarks. 

“Oh my god, Mike, don’t you fucking dare have a kid.” God, a kid, can you fucking imagine, Amy would sooner slit her wrists. “I’m not getting stuck with just Dan on the campaign trail, he was the worst press secretary since whoever’s job it was to manage Hoover’s image.” Dan gives her the finger behind Selina’s back.

“I suppose it wouldn’t play well with the public if I didn’t attend my own press secretary’s wedding.” Selina sounds like she would rather do literally anything else. 

“Cheer up, ma’am. It’s entirely possible there could be a nuclear stand-off or a global health crisis that will require your attention.” Sue replies stoically.

“God, here’s hoping.” Selina stalks back into her office.

“I don’t know why you’re all so cranky, I love weddings. Sue, put it in big, bold letters so we make sure to schedule around the day.” 

“I think I can do my job without your input, Gary. ” 

“Gary!” Selina shouts from her desk. “I need some caffeine before my meeting with the Speaker, and if I could get it, you know, before I die…”

“Coming, ma’am.” 

~*~

“So when did you actually write this?” Amy asks Dan, later that afternoon. He’s commandeered the white board and is writing words like inspiration and reflection all over it in big letters. “Seriously. Even you cannot bullshit this fast.” 

“Oh, Amy.” Dan smirks. “Sweet, innocent Amy. You think this book is original? I’ve got ten different versions of it. You just change the background information depending on the politician, and boom—instant book.”

“So you’re just mindlessly reproducing soft bullshit narratives that appeal to the lowest common denominator of the American electorate.”

“Yep.” replies Dan, gleefully. “And it’s going to get her elected.”

~*~

A week after they learn about Mike’s wedding, Gary mopes into the office looking like a drowned possum. Selina’s in an endless meeting with the HUD secretary, and he spends the entire morning sighing dramatically over his desk until Sue finally snaps and asks him what’s wrong. 

“Dana and I had another fight….” he lowers his voice, “…about Selina.” 

“Dana who?” asks Dan. 

“I really feel like we all need to get better at remembering information about each other’s personal lives.” Mike complains. 

“We absolutely do not.” Amy contradicts. 

“It’s all right for you, everyone knows you’re dating Ed because he already works for Selina.”

“Yes, and I really regret that fact.” Also she’s not entirely sure they’re still dating, but she’s sure as hell not going to mention that in front of Dan. 

(It has become a-moment-to-which-they-do-not-ever-refer, when Dan had asked her to “grab a bite” after Catherine’s party, whatever that had meant and she couldn’t, because she had a date with Ed, and then Dan got inexplicably wasted with Jonah at Catherine’s make-up birthday dinner and they bonded over acting like jealous Neanderthals. But then the next day Dan called Jonah a malformed super-alien who emerged from leftover godzilla jizz, didn’t mention Ed, and everything went back to normal.)

“So what happened with you and Dan?” Ed asked, the next time they went out. “Did you, like, break his heart or something?”

“He…really hates Boston.” Amy mumbled into her whiskey, and then wondered what the fuck she was doing making excuses for Dan Egan. 

So anyway, they don’t talk about it.)

“Can we focus on me, please?” Gary’s demanding loudly. “Dana’s so mad that I’m still working here. She won’t even let me touch the cheese anymore.”

“So quit.” Dan suggests, sweetly.

“Dan,” Amy says warningly. Selina would have a fucking meltdown.

“Nice try, Dan.” Gary spits. “Selina already told me I can’t.” 

“So break up with Dana. She stole Selina’s lipstick and leaked your precious code to the press. She’s obviously trying to destroy your career.” 

“You have to be a man about it, Gary.” Sue tells him. “I know it’s an unfamiliar concept.”  

Gary agonizes all day. Mike ends up taking him out for a drink after Selina’s left for the evening. They come up back absolutely shit-faced around nine in the evening with the news that Gary is now officially Mike’s unofficial wedding planner. 

“How much did you have to drink?” Amy asks, disgusted. 

“Two margaritas.” Gary giggles. “And we decided on yellow as an accent color for the wedding.” 

“Wow.” says Dan. “I didn’t even know it was possible for you to be even less than a man than I thought.”

“Dan, how is Gary’s bag any different than what you carry around?” Mike slurs.

“Uh, mine isn’t filled with lipstick and tampons, for starters, Mike.” 

“No, just hair gel and skincare products.” Amy deadpans, and is rewarded when Dan gives her a dirty look over Gary’s head.

“You guys, this is extremely unprofessional behavior.” Jonah announces sanctimoniously, from where he’s lurking in the corner. “POTUS would not be pleased if he knew this is how the veep manages her office.”

“Jonah, you literally announce it when a female press aide gives you her business card to give to Kent.”

“They give me more than their business cards and you know it, Dan.”

In the end she and Dan have to put Gary to bed on the couch and pour Mike into a cab, and it doesn’t even make the top thirty list of humiliating things Amy’s done in the course of her tenure as VP chief of staff. 

“Why do I feel like Selina’s entire campaign is going to be us babysitting these idiots?” Dan mutters as they watch the cab disappear into traffic.

“Feel free to jump ship at any time, I won’t stop you.” 

Dan bares his teeth at her, that fake-innocent smile that’s definitely going to land him in prison one day. “Sorry, Ames, you’re not going to the moon without me.” 

“Pity that.”

 ~*~

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Dan is an obnoxious dickhead about Selina’s book. 

Due to the need to get the manuscript to print as quickly as possible, he demands an hour of one-on-one time with Selina every morning so he can mine anecdotes about her personal life and political career. Selina overrules both Amy and Sue and actually gives it to him. Something about how Andrew thinks the book is a good idea too. Fucking Andrew.

Well, that’s perfectly fine. Amy has plenty to do to prepare for the upcoming campaign, and it’s all much more important than Selina’s book. It absolutely does not matter that Dan always emerges from these private sessions looking even more smug than he usually does (if such a thing were possible). As though he knows all kinds of new secrets about Selina. Which he doesn’t. Amy already knows everything that needs to be known, and Gary knows what nobody needs to know.

Mike’s too preoccupied with his upcoming wedding to really make a pretense of caring about the book—or about work in general, so Dan’s writing and handling more of Mike’s duties (whatever they are, if he’s ever handled them, which is debatable). Theoretically, as chief of staff Amy should step in and make some noise about equitable handling of the VP’s communication strategy blah blah blah. But she figures Mike’s in love and Dan, as much as it pains her to admit it, has never shied away from more work.

*

Summer sets in over D.C., and the days get long and humid. The interns dig out the floor fans from storage, and Gary starts keeping scented silk handkerchiefs for Selina to dab on her neck and forehead whenever they have to cross the street. Dan bans Mike from coming anywhere his desk or personal items—“in case you contaminate anything with your flop sweat”—and Amy starts getting multiple invitations for Brookheimer summer family reunions that she, mercifully, has no time to attend. 

The House dithers over a pharmaceutical bill that’s dead on arrival in the Senate. Ben and Kent pop in from time to time with presidential updates. POTUS is reportedly planning a bunch of foreign policy spectacles in order to show off how relevant he is: state dinners, a tour of some East African refugee camps, a summit with Japan and South Korea…

“That’s just fine.” Selina tells Ben, her eyes glinting opportunistically. “Tell him he can spend the entire summer on his impotency tour. I’ve got everything under control here, in the actual United States of America.”  

“Yeah yeah yeah.” Ben replies, his mouth twisting into a smirk in spite of himself. “Try and contain your glee, ma’am.” 

They go to Baltimore to talk about violence in schools, then to Pennsylvania to talk to some steel workers. On the way back, Gary makes Mike a pros and cons chart about different kinds of wedding cake. 

Andrew lurks, popping up occasionally to take Selina to dinner or try and convince Sue to put some sketchy fundraiser on the schedule. She, Dan, and Sue develop a strategy to get him out of the office. Whenever he lingers, Amy gets a convenient call from the director of the Office of Investigations over at Treasury, and Andrew disappears within three seconds flat. It’s remarkably effective.

In between his information sessions with Selina, downplaying the inevitability of Selina’s campaign to the press, meetings with Amy on the Hill to try and derail a trade war with Mexico, and thinking of even more creative nicknames for Jonah, Dan writes the book.

~*~

It is, as Amy suspected, saccharine garbage. 

“Dan, you know this…this is fucking terrible, right?”

She’s perched on the arm of the loveseat; Dan’s sprawled over it, taking up a truly excessive amount of space with his long legs and arms. There are balls of paper scattered all around. Writing, based on the way Dan goes about it, looks a lot like dramatically crumpling up pieces of paper and lounging around on various pieces of furniture like he’s Jack fucking Kerouac.

“I mean, thank God you’ve already negotiated the publishing deal, because this is some serious—“

Dan throws a ball of paper at her. “You want your own book, get in line, Brookheimer.”

“Written by you? Pass.”

“Someone had to write it, Amy.”

“Like there aren’t fifty ghostwriters in this town more qualified than you.”

“I dare you to find even one.”

“Guys,” Sue intervenes, without even looking up from her computer. “Take it outside, please.” 

[sol-consort]

I am so very glad we have the same opinion on my sweet Adrien! You can't imagine the fucking drought I have been living in when it comes to that hot dilf. I want him tofuck me so often i develop an immunity to the allergic reactions turian fluids can cause. I want him to take me with him as a "human societal advisor" or whatever title he came up with to have an excuse to have me follow him everywhere. I want him to genuinely be enamoured with me. Ugh. I crave this man on a carnal level. -blue anon

Micro-dosing the local primarch turian dilf on human bacteria by having daily make out sessions and convicnising him it's actually for the war you see because Cerberus is on our tail and they might weaponise human bites.

That's how you got one of the most respected turian generals to sit you on his lap each day, claws holding you still by the waist as your soft lips met his hard shell like mouth.

At first, he was hesitant, continuously asking you if you're sure this was going to work. And you'd pat your eyelashes all innocently like any human does to turn the scale in their favour when convincing a turian to let them get their way, so easily they fall to the bait.

The more days went on, the more confident he grew. He even started being the one to seek you out daily on the ship and politely allude for the need to meet in your quarters to discuss the anti-Cerberus strategy. On papers it all seems official and very professional.

But creaks of the bed in the captain's loft says otherwise. Adrien wanting to up his dosage since a simple kiss or ten just can't cut it anymore you see. His body is definitely accumulated to the human mouth bacteria by now so how about he...tries tasting something closer to the source? Spread your legs, he promises to watch the talons.

Oh spirits, you know these people that try building up their pain resistance by inflicting small amounts onto themselves daily but only end up developing a masochism kink instead? Sir Victus here is slowly getting addicated to your taste, the way his whole body shivers the more of your essence he swallows down, the way you're so..fleshy in comparison to him yet somehow deadlier by nature.

He could just eat you up! How can someone like you have a stronger immune system than him? How can the fragile looking humans, even at their strongest, bring a turian to their knees by a simple kiss or exhange of saliva.

He's definitely keeping you around. Ah you see well...since his new position is important, he needs to make sure he prevents any poisoning attempts, including accidental ones from other humans.

And you're already doing a wonderful job, what a great distraction you can be at times, why not come back with him to palavan?

Be his human socialist advisor or an embassy representative or whatever fancy title you want, he never cared for politics. What he cares for is still getting his daily dose of a cute human to squeeze on his lap, of feeling your warmth engulfing his cock while his tongue is down your throat.

He's becoming more immune, he even drank a human soda the other day and didn't pass out until 10 minutes later! That is record time for any turian. So this arrangement must be kept, it's for the betterment of the turian government after all.

[asstrongasyouthink]

i talk all the time about how ny is native land not just, like, morally. but also ~under us law~ and this article lays out how this happened pretty well

Why a Native American Nation Is Challenging the U.S. Over a 1794 Treaty

The Onondaga have asked an international commission to find that the United States violated a treaty guaranteeing the nation 2.5 million acres of land.

https://archive.is/lukfn

(it's a nyt article i got around the paywall for you)

some quotes:

"The federal government entered into three treaties that affirmed the confederacy’s sovereignty and ownership over much of the northern part of New York State. Critically, those treaties guaranteed that no one but the federal government would have the authority to deal with the Haudenosaunee. But as early as 1788, New York State had started to chip away at the Haudenosaunee land and sovereignty. Over the next 34 years, the state would come to control nearly all of the Onondaga land — as well as most of that owned by the other Haudenosaunee nations — because of a series of transactions that the Onondaga say were illegal. “The [New] York people have got almost all of our Country and for a very trifle,” Onondaga chiefs told federal officials in 1794, according to the papers of U.S. Indian Commissioner Timothy Pickering. For the next two centuries, the Onondaga continued to fruitlessly press their case in numerous face-to-face meetings with presidents, members of Congress and governors of New York. Legal options were limited: In New York, for example, Native people were not considered to have standing to sue on their own behalf until 1987."

and

"The United States has not contested the Onondaga's account [...] rejected the Onondaga’s claims as too old and most remedies too disruptive to the region’s current inhabitants."

and

"The Onondaga insist they are not looking to displace anyone."

like obviously it's not a surprise that colonial govt officials are being disingenuous but to say the remedy is "too disruptive" while you have no idea how the Haudenosaunee would manage legal ownership/increased ability to steward the land in a meaningful way it just. it. oh it fucking grinds my gears

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: This land is my land

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)   Conflict: Fenix Alliance/Human War. Alias: War of Broken Suns Summary: Border disputes between the Terran Republic and Fenix Alliance escalated into all-out war during the year of 3056.

Initial gains made by the Fenix Alliance were swift and projections of a total Terran collapse were predicted within sixteen months. However,  what the Alliance had not expected was with the speed in which humanity could shift industry to a total war footing.

By the mark of the second year the Terran Republic had halted the steady advance of the Fenix Alliance and began launching a series of counter attack all along the front line. Having stretched their supplies lines to maintain their earlier gains the Alliance quickly found their forces too widely spread out and easily picked off one engagement at a time. Following the disastrous battle of the Seven Stars, the Fenix Alliance military teetered on total collapse after the loss of the majority of their senior leadership. To add further strain to the war effort the outlining colonies of the alliance had all fallen under Terran control and human fleets were poised to enter the core worlds of the alliance.

Faced with imminent invasion of prime manufacturing worlds and the most heavily populated planets in the entire alliance, the remaining government officials reached out to Terran leaders and offered their surrender.

It was hoped that with this act the war would see an end to the suffering of their people; how little they knew of humanity’s vengeance. ------------------------------------

“These terms are outrageous!”

Tarsu threw the stack of documents back across the table in disgust. The shower of paper forms landing in front of the seemingly uninterested human delegation as Tarsu’s fury vented.

“Why would you ever believe we would agree to these terms?!”

The meeting had started not more than five minutes ago when the human delegation entered the room and quietly handed Tarsu and his fellow delegates of the alliance a series of forms dictating their terms for peace.

If Tarsu’s outburst had shaken them at all they were skilled at hiding it for he saw upon each of their faces a cold stare of indifference. Worse, they saw him as nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum; which only sought to enflame his anger further.

“Please calm yourself,” Tarsu’s fellow delegate Marox said as he placed a calming hand on his shoulder, “this is no time for raised voices.”

“But-“ Tarsu began before he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten. No further words were needed between the two of them and so Tarsu sat back down while Marox addressed the humans.

“I apologize for my friend’s behavior,” he began sweetly, “these last few months has been most trying for all of us.”

The lead human negotiator, Lin Zhao if Tarsu remembered the alien’s introduction, nodded quietly.

“Of course; the savagery of war often brings out the worst of any people.” Lin remarked softly. He looked past Marox at Tarsu and the pair locked eyes for a moment. A moment that was all Tarsu needed to know that this human was lying through his teeth with every word.

“Which is all the more reason we should conclude such…uncivilized actions with the agreements put forward today so we may work together to build upon a brighter future between our two peoples.”

Taru opened his mouth to mock this human but Marox spoke first.

“As do we, but you must admit these opening terms are rather confusing.”

Marox picked up his own copy of the planned peace treaty and turned to the third page.

“Specifically,” he began as he pointed to a certain section of the document, “I believe there was some form of translator error as it says you wish us to hand over four colony systems to you.”

Lin said nothing as he opened his copy of the agreement and turned to the page Marox had mentioned. He read it quietly before closing it and looking back up at Marox.

“There was no translation error, the peace treaty is contingent on the handover of these territories as well as any preexisting or future claims to them to the Terran Republic until the end of time.”

Marox’s mouth hung open in disbelief as Lin scanned the delegates opposite him.

“If there are any further discrepancies you wish to speak of please feel free to mention them now and I can clarify any misund-“

“Shut it!” Tarsu shouted as he was once more on his feet.

“What thinks you can steal our lands and claim them as your own?” he demanded.

Lin shrugged dismissively. “We conquered them four months ago for starters.”

Tarsu and Marox were left speechless by the brazenness of this human but Lin continued.

“We also require you to remove all military installations along the border with these territories which will be transformed into a Demilitarized Zone where no military force of either of our respective peoples will enter.”

As if sensing some further outburst to come Lin opened his hands in a giving gesture. “Those systems will of course still reside under your authority and can be administrated however you wish so long as no military forces are present in the DMZ.”

“Oh can they?” Tarsu retorted angrily, “How very benevolent of you to allow us to govern our own territories.”

“If that is unacceptable we can retain those systems as well.” Lin said as he cocked his head to the side and stared Tarsu down.

There was no emotion behind those eyes now. No anger, no empathy, no compassion; only a cold calculating logic that left the Alliance delegates uneasy.

“Tarsu!” Marox whispered harshly under his breath, “Sit. Down. Now.”

Before Tarsu had even taken his seat again Marox shaking his head at Lin. “Your original offer is much more preferable.” He began, shooting Tarsu the quickest of glances for silence as he was about to retort once more. “I think we should resume the main discussion again so we forgo any further confusion as we discuss.”

“I am afraid there is already a grave misunderstanding between us.”

Lin’s words surprised the alliance delegation as now the human stood up and slowly slid their copy of the peace treaty back towards Tarsu.

“You are operating under the presumption that this is a negotiation where we barter back and forth, trade saber thrusts and parries, and eventually walk away with each of us feeling like we have accomplished something.”

“This is not the current situation you find yourself in.” Lin tapped the document pointedly as if to emphasize his words.

“This is not a negotiation, this is a dictation; you will agree to these terms or the war will continue.”

Silence greeted the conference room as neither party spoke. Each of the alliance delegates eyed themselves in nervous fear and realization. Tarsu imagined that some of them had expected humanity to be just as equally tired of war when these talks began and that the terms would not be as harsh, but Tarsu had known all along that when humanity had the upper hand they would use it to the full extent. It was Marox to break the silence after what felt like an eternity.

“Surely you must understand,” his voice spoke pleadingly, “that these terms are far from equal.”

To Tarsu’s surprise Lin nodded in agreement. “That is true,” he said calmly, “but we just do not care for your perspective.”

Marox slumped back into his chair defeated; his arms slumping as if the weight of the universe itself suddenly came crashing down on him.

Tarsu did not waiver however and asked Lin “And what is to become of our people in those systems you would snatch away from us like cravens in the night?”

Lin reclined back into his chair and clasped his fingers together. “They will of course be given the option to return to your sovereign territories and remain citizens of the Fenix Alliance; but after thirty days any who remain will become citizens of the Terran Republic and will fall under the laws and mandates of our governing bodies.”

“You are not content to steal our lands, so you must steal our citizens as well!?” one of the alliance delegates spoke up next to Tarsu.

Lin looked at the alien as if they were nothing more than an annoying insect buzzing around his head.

“They have thirty days to leave, in which time we will provide transportation for them to ease the burden of their relocation.”

Before any of the other alliance delegates could speak, Lin stood up along with the rest of the human delegation in tow. “There is nothing more to discuss for this treaty.” Lin said calmly as he pulled out a strange circular device from inside his clothing and looked down at it. “You have until this time tomorrow to discuss it with your leaders at which time we will demand an answer.”

With this the human delegation began filing out of the room to the shocked expressions of the Fenix Alliance delegation. Lin was last to reach the door but stopped inside the doorframe and turned back to the group.

“I would like to remind you, that should you reject these conditions the war will resume; and the next time we sit down to talk of peace our terms will be..” he paused while fixing a cold gaze on Tarsu, “more substantial, with what we demand for peace.”

With that ominous warning the human left the room and brought a final curtain to a needless war.

[oldhagtournament]

Fresh from the Preliminaries to join Round 1...

Propaganda under the cut

Big Mom

She is one of the four pirate Emperors of the Sea. She has 86 kids who are her crew and officers. Her Devil Fruit allows her to bring objects to life called "Homies", and her main Homies are a stormcloud named Zeus, a fireball named Prometheus, and a hat that can transform into a sword called Napoleon. She is my favorite One Piece villain, she's so powerful, cool, evil, manipulative, clever, silly, and terrifying. She's also 28 feet tall.

1) was at the top of the Pirate food chain at 80. Reigned for a wild 4 decades 2) her intensity, ambition, and mercenary nature remained brightly blazing in her old age 3) batshit parenting ethic. Off the rails territorial policy

Dr. Kureha

She's old. She's a hag. She keeps trying to tell people the secret of her "youth". She's also a doctor who scams people. She heals them but she makes them pay way to much. She has a sort of adopted son that is a reeinder. He's a most wanted pirate and she owbs and wears a crop top with his face and bounty on it. She wears this at an official government meeting. She gives no fucks.

She's old enough to remember the treatment for diseases that were thought wiped out 100 years ago She can tell if your bones are infected with bacteria just by lightly pressing on your leg, and she can cure broken backs in only a week or so. She can also kick through brick walls if her patients run away. She mentored/raised Chopper, one of the greatest doctors in the world.

Old lady who dresses like she's heading to a rave and throws knives at people. She's wonderful.

she's a radical old lady who can and will kick your ass. she's a mean old doctor who will demand all the toilet paper and plum wine in your house as payment for treating you. she has a belly button ring & wears clothes that show it off despite the fact that the country she lives in is a perma-winter island

she's a radical old lady who can and will kick your ass. she's a mean old doctor who will demand all the toilet paper and plum wine in your house as payment for treating you. she has a belly button ring & wears clothes that show it off despite the fact that the country she lives in is a perma-winter island.

Pretty much like if you took a magical hag only instead of cursing people and abducting children, she was a trained medical professional.

Punk granny

[jaynehat]

Working the polls in the USA

This November will mark my second election as a volunteer poll worker. I highly recommend the experience, especially if you're wanting to do something that directly helps democracy to function.

When you go to vote, your polling location may have an interest sheet asking if you want to volunteer to work at the polls. Just marking that you're interested doesn't commit you to anything, it just means you'll get an e-mail at some point asking if you're still up for volunteering.

In my case, my local poll judge contacted me later and I indicated I was still interested. After providing several options, we set up a training time that worked for me. Everybody - new or returning - has to be trained, because it is very, very important that we all be in compliance with the current laws.

I live in a mid-sized city, and training was in a government center downtown, in a big meeting room with a wide variety of citizens who didn't seem to have anything in common except for a desire to help out. Training took a couple of hours, and consisted of election officials presenting information at the front of the room, as well as via Powerpoint and printed materials. It included details like what to do if someone with a disability needs to vote from their car, which forms of picture ID are valid (this was a new requirement for my state this spring), and what to do if you're not sure about something.

There were options for half day and full day volunteers on voting day. I picked full day because the poll judge basically begged me to, since they had a shortage of full day workers. We would have been fine, it turns out, but it was kind of cool seeing the whole day through. Independently of each other, most of the poll workers brought in snacks for everybody to have. It was much appreciated. One guy even brought in red white and blue bunting and decorated the place.

I already had confidence in the integrity of the polls, but after having volunteered once, I have even more confidence. Everybody really is there just to make sure things go smoothly, and the number of people, including me, checking over every single tiny tick mark and scrap of paper was mind-blowing. After the polls closed, we went back and checked every single voter slip (these slips do not show who someone voted for, we NEVER have access to that info) against the voter registration book to be sure that all the names matched up exactly as they were supposed to. When all the checks were completed, we could have total confidence that the paper records of physical votes cast were in accordance with the digital votes cast at the machines.

Most of the poll workers had done this many times before and were up on how things worked, which helped my nervousness greatly. Also, while I am using the term "volunteer," you actually do get a small paycheck for doing this.

I am Gen X in my 50's, and I was the youngest volunteer there. I can see how this would be a great volunteer opportunity for a retiree, but I couldn't help thinking that maybe we could add a little youth to the mix as well. You could also choose to help out at an early voting place, if you want something that wouldn't be so crowded.

In conclusion: if you're looking for something to do to help out American democracy, volunteering at your polling place could be right for you.

[firaloveatea]

About the Marine AU

The title is clearly a placeholder until I think of a cool name.

I totally fuck with the timeline for fun but put it back on track about Sky Island / Water 7

There is no Going Merry to fight over fue to them being Marines they have a standarded issued boat that needs repairs. So that is semi changes some of the events.

They still got the gold from Sky Island, and it still gets stolen.

Franky still builds the Sunny, it is just considered Luffy's personal ship and where he has Neon and Franky live because after Enie's Lobby Luffy's fragile trust in the world government is cracking and he wants to prevent anyone from just taking Neon from him again.Sunny.

Also this Sunny has a private Captain's cabin. Franky knew the young couple would need it.

I am trying to avoid too much angst because this is supposed to be a "they get all of the happiness" sort of fic.

*spoilers for future parts not written but in my head*

Yes, there is pregnancy. Neon don't connect the dots well, and goes through Thrillers Bark and the mess of Sabaody while pregnant.

Kuma send her to the RA, where she is confirmed pregnant finally. Her ass still demands to be taken to Marineford to get to Luffy.

Marineford... they get married in the middle of the battlefield. There are drastic changes in Marineford that I am saving.

Neon goes back to the RA when Luffy leaves the Marines, wearing his famous straw hat and becomes a pirate officially. The rest of the crew being loyal as they are, agree.

Rayleigh appears and offers to help train Luffy to be ready for the New World still. So, it still follows the whole disappearance of Luffy and his friends.

*during the time skip*

Neon gets a sort of princess/queen treatment for being Dragon's daughter-in-law and pregnant. She tries to get some training but they tell her no.

So Neon uses a lot of her free time studying and learning what she can.

Robin eventually is saved and meets Neon. Excited to see and hear the news.

*around December*

Neon goes into labor, where a blonde man joins her for her delivery as her support. After baby is born Neon reveals her and Luffy promised if they had a boy they'd name him Sabo.

The blonde man reveals himself to be that Sabo, but it is too late. The papers are filled out. The baby is now also Sabo, which the RA lovingly refers to as Bobo or Baby Sabo.

Robin is Aunt of the year.

Sabo and Dragon fight to hold Bobo all the time when they're not busy.

Once recovered, Neon does get to train.

Neon also has collected every picture of Luffy from the newspaper the RA had archived and is always showing her son pictures of his dad.

*Sabaody Reunion*

Robin and Neon arrive to find Franky tinkering with the Sunny

Franky is surprised to see a toddler but immediately sets out to plan on baby proofing the sunny.

Everyone else arrives and gushes over Sabo.

Luffy arrives, floored that he has a son, but immediately puts on his dad pants and apologizes to Neon for not being there for her and Sabo.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

"Professor Neil Ferguson, the architect of Britain’s lockdown, today denied ever calling for the first national stay-at-home order – in the latest instance of lockdown backpedalling."

Professor Lockdown Denies Ever Calling For Lockdown

BY TYLER DURDEN

MONDAY, NOV 06, 2023 - 03:30 AM

Authored by Will Jones via The Brownstone Institute,

In one of the more bizarre moments at the Covid Inquiry so far, Professor Neil Ferguson, the architect of Britain’s lockdown, today denied ever calling for the first national stay-at-home order – in the latest instance of lockdown backpedalling. 

The Mail  has more.

Professor Neil Ferguson’s terrifying March 2020 models warned that 500,000 Brits would die unless tougher action was taken to curb the virus’s spread.

It spooked Boris Johnson into adopting draconian restrictions that saw the country told they “must stay at home.” Vaccines — considered the only safe route out of the pandemic — were still months away from being deployed.

But Professor Ferguson, who quit his role as a SAGE adviser two months after being caught breaking social distancing rules to meet his married lover, today insisted he didn’t tell officials to plunge the country into a lockdown.

He told the UK COVID-19 Inquiry that the situation was “a lot more complex.”

The inquiry is in its second module, which is examining core UK decision-making and political governance.

Hugo Keith KC asked: “Do you feel that you did confine yourself to the provision of scientific advice, or did you become, despite your best endeavours, irrevocably involved in determination of policy?”

Imperial College London’s Professor Ferguson, nicknamed ‘Professor Lockdown’ for his infamous modelling, said it was a “difficult question to answer.”

He said: “I know I’m associated very much with a particular policy.

“But as you’ll be aware from the evidence I’ve given in my statement and statements of evidence, the reality was a lot more complex. 

“I don’t think I stepped over that line to say ‘we need to do this now.’

“What I tried to do was at times, which was stepping outside the scientific advisory role, to try and focus people’s minds on what was going to happen and the consequences of current trends.”

The epidemiologist drew heavy flak for his team’s modelling on the Covid pandemic. 

Their work suggested 500,000 Brits would die if nothing was done to stop the spread of the virus and there would be 250,000 deaths if two-thirds caught Covid.

Worth reading in full.

Ross Clark in the Spectator says that perhaps the most remarkable revelation from Professor Ferguson’s inquiry evidence is that “he spoke to and emailed Ben Warner at No. 10 on March 13th, three days before the Imperial paper [Report 9] was published.”

Warner was a data scientist brought into Downing Street by Dominic Cummings and whom Cummings later credited for inducing pandemic alarm in No. 10, so Ferguson contacting him directly beforehand is significant. 

However, Clark notes that in his email to Warner,

“Ferguson then stopped short of damning the Government’s policy of mitigation rather than suppression. In fact, if the Government decided to continue with mitigation, he wrote, ‘there is a rational basis to that decision which I would say the science supports.’ However, he added, the Government should make it clear how many people were likely to die.

“Intriguingly, Ferguson then went on to write: ‘This event is in the natural disaster category and the cure (e.g. massive social distancing, shutdowns) could be worse than the disease.’ In other words, he had at least considered the possibility that lockdowns could cause more damage than they were worth – but neither he nor anyone else seems to have tried to model this.”"

[throwaway-yandere]

Dearest Penpal,

How are you enjoying the festivities? I myself couldn't attend due to personal matters I have to resolve in my home nation. I terribly miss the scent of inazuman blossoms and their cuisine.

I wish I had more interesting things to say, I hope you don't find this letter a little lackluster than the previous one as I've already told you almost my entire life! How funny.

Liyue is peaceful yet bustling with activity as always. I find myself daydreaming about quitting my job and traveling like I hear a lot of travelers do. Perhaps I'll entertain the thought more if the heavens decide I'm worthy of a vision.

Looking forward to your response,

from Starlight.

a/n: sorry life is a mess, i hilariously got sick (still am, my head hURTS) and everything is a mess. from school, to genshin pulls (calamity!mika.), to my pentab not working, to idek anymore lololol anyways, incredibly sorry for the delay in letters! none of you deserve to be left hanging like that T_T. i'll just blame thoma in the lore-

From this yandere genshin secret pen pal event

✥ YOU GOT A LETTER FROM YOUR SECRET PEN PAL!!!

"Are y-you sure you didn't make this letter up?" Beidou asked, clutching the paper you handed out to her. The normally confident captain looked pale as her eyes trailed to read the passages repeatedly. You can only nod in sheer reluctance and stand like a good child waiting for a scolding.

"Yes, which is why I wanted to meet the Inazuman man you have boarding your ship..."

Beidou waved the letter in the air.

"KAZUHA! YOU MIGHT WANNA READ THIS, KID!!!"

Kazuha leaped down, landing with his anemo vision as support. Familiar maple leaves surrounded his fall— leaves you had seen attached to Widower Momiji's letters. You strike him as the man you were looking for, and knowing how Widower Momiji did not lack friends from well-raised circles, this "Kazuha" must be a fine gentleman as well.

"What's wrong, Beidou?"

She shoved the letter against his chest.

"Does this handwriting look familiar to you?"

Kazuha didn't even see the letter before he jolted and stilled.

"There's a familiar scent mixed in these pen strokes, a scent that should no longer exist..."

The man whom you assumed to be a wandering samurai unfolded the parchment, vaguely skimming through the contents. Despite how almost slapdash he read the letter, he craved the tenderness of your pen pal's handwriting. Some loops he traces with his thumb, while some he was too afraid to smudge. 

"It's been years since I last exchanged epistles with him," Kazuha spoke with no rancor or jealousy whatsoever. "

You could only blink. It appears you'd be dealing with constant flowery honesty should you also befriend him, but you don't seem to mind it. 

"So, do you think it's him?"

"There is no doubt about it," Kazuha answered his captain. "But that doesn't mean his way of communication isn't limited. If anything, this might just be Lady Guuji's way of rewarding him for his past heroics."

You grabbed the letter the samurai reluctantly returned, "huh? Forgive me for asking, but is my secret pen pal some sort of criminal or a government official? Because based on how you talk about him, he comes off as someone significant."

Beidou smiled awkwardly.

"The truth is, your pen pal is dea—"

"Is an honest man," Kazuha butted in. "Don't worry, I can vouch for him. He's the most resilient and bravest man I've met and I'm lucky to have had the privilege to call him my friend."

"Then why do I feel like you're hiding a crucial detail from me?"

Kazuha chuckled.

"Because he's your secret pen pal, and based on his current situation, he must be incredibly lonely and you're the only one he can talk to."

... A fair point. It wouldn't be right if you knew his identity while he doesn't have a sliver of an idea who you are in return.

"Don't worry about it, kid. Say, why don't ya share a drink with us? My treat, of course," Beidou proudly bumped her fist against her chest. "Oh, and by the way, this kid here is Kazuha. Kazuha, this is (Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you."

"You as well."

"Now that we've had our introductions, would I be able to partake in some sake, captain?" Kazuha teased, but his tone doesn't quite match his somber expression.

Beidou sighed.

"Just this once, I'll forget about your height and let you drink. You deserve it after reading that letter."

"Thank you, Beidou."

Kazuha turned to look at you, a gentle smile resting on his face.

"And Mx. (Y/n)? When you write a letter back, tell him that Kaedehara Kazuha received his greetings."