#at the october banquet.

[hanzajesthanza]

truly though, i am comforted by the idea of regis being autistic because… consider. he’s been alive for hundreds of years and has been through so much turmoil and has had to commit to self-improvement and self-control and all of these ideals and principles. and in the same process of that, he had to examine himself—take a good look in the mirror, as the saying goes… though it may not be quite accurate in this case—why he faced these insurmountable issues in the first place which instigated and excerbated his vices in the first place. “treat the cause, not the symptoms.”

and the cause was that he didn’t like himself. he only drank to escape… from himself. so he could be a different self, one that others accepted, but one who very quickly became a terrible person—because that version of himself had none of his ever-so-dislikable and aggravating and unrelatable traits: his know-it-all-isms, his philosophizing, his overthinking. his lack of understanding the social cues he was surrounded by. everything that would “spoil the party.” the libation was the symptom of insecurity and disbelief that anyone could truly accept him for the way he is, unaltered, sober.

and even with all of this time, possibly the span of an entire human life, spent working on himself, spent trying to understand others—he learned two things.

firstly—after all this time—he cannot change himself. he has to live with, and possibly embrace, the parts of himself that long ago made him impossible to gain social approval. even if now, he is living a solitary and even somewhat isolated life.

(note: yes, he only spends three months out of the year nearby fen carn, and the rest of the year he lives in dilingen, in a city—while i don’t doubt that he was an important pillar of the community, with his altruistic tendencies, he also never mentions having any close friends in dillingen. he decided in one night to join geralt’s quest. he didn’t worry that anyone from dillingen would miss him…)

secondly—even after all this time spent trying to have a better relationship with and to fit in with society (and even though he’s become, if i may say with modesty, very good at it, exceptionally good at it), it’s still a very intentional factor of his life, something that takes a carefully prepared set of behavior and mental work. it’s still “mimicking.” again, the span of an entire human lifetime put into understanding people and society and he still doesn’t. there’s still much he does not understand, does not agree with, and even ridicules. he has integrated into the society, but he does not innately understand it. he only understands it through his uniquely analytical perspective, the perspective of an outsider trying to understand.

[moonstonemoonlight]

Day 15: Feast

[roomselfcontain2]

Single room for rent near me visit website brand new virgin pop standard room self with stable power available now at adageorge by iwofe road in port Harcourt city rivers state Nigeria

[reasonsforhope]

Legit though, we should start turning ecosystem restoration and work to make our world more tolerant to the effects of climate change into annual holidays and festivals

Like how just about every culture used to have festivals to celebrate the beginning of the harvest or its end, or the beginning of planting, or how whole communities used to host barn raisings and quilting bees - everyone coming together at once to turn the work of months or years into the work of a few days

Humble suggestions for festival types:

Goat festival

Besides controlled burns (which you can't do if there's too much dead brush), the fastest, most effective, and most cost-efficient way to clear brush before fire season - esp really heavy dead brush - is to just. Put a bunch of goats on your land for a few days!

Remember that Shark Tank competitor who wanted to start a goat rental company, and everyone was like wtf? There was even a whole John Oliver bit making fun of the idea? Well THAT JUST PROVES THEY'RE FROM NICE WET PLACES, because goat rental companies are totally a thing, and they're great.

So like. Why don't we have a weekend where everyone with goats just takes those goats to the nearest land that needs a ton of clearing? Public officials could put up maps of where on public lands grazing is needed, and where it definitely shouldn't happen. Farmers and people/groups with a lot of acres that need clearing can post Goat Requests.

Little kids can make goat-themed crafts and give the goats lots of pets or treats at the end of the day for doing such a good job. Volunteers can help wrangle things so goats don't get where they're not supposed to (and everyone fences off land nowadays anyway, mostly). And the goats, of course, would be in fucking banquet paradise.

Planting Festival and Harvest Festival

Why mess with success??? Bring these back where they've disappeared!!! Time to swarm the community gardens and help everyone near you with a farm make sure that all of their seeds are sown and none of the food goes to waste in the fields, decaying and unpicked.

And then set up distribution parts of the festival so all the extra food gets where it needs to be! Boxes of free lemons in front of your house because you have 80 goddamned lemons are great, but you know what else would be great? An organized effort to take that shit to food pantries (which SUPER rarely get fresh produce, because they can't hold anything perishable for long at all) and community/farmer's markets

Rain Capture Festival

The "water year" - how we track annual rainfall and precipitation - is offset from the regular calendar year because, like, that's just when water cycles through the ecosystems (e.g. meltwater). At least in the US, the water year is October 1st through September 30th of the next year, because October 1st is around when all the snowmelt from last year is gone, and a new cycle is starting as rain begins to fall again in earnest.

So why don't we all have a big barn raising equivalent every September to build rain capture infrastructure?

Team up with some neighbors to turn one of those little grass strips on the sidewalk into a rain-garden with fall-planting plants. Go down to your local church and help them install some gutters and rain barrels. Help deculvert rivers so they run through the dirt again, and make sure all the storm drains in your neighborhood are nice and clear.

Even better, all of this - ESPECIALLY the rain gardens - will also help a ton with flood control!

I'm so serious about how cool this could be, yall.

And people who can't or don't want to do physical stuff for any of these festivals could volunteer to watch children or cook food for the festival or whatever else might need to be done!

Parties afterward to celebrate all the good work done! Community building and direct local improvements to help protect ourselves from climate change!

The possibilities are literally endless, so not to sound like an influencer or some shit, but please DO comment or reply or put it in the notes if you have thoughts, esp on other things we could hold festivals like this for.

Canning festivals. "Dig your elderly neighbors out of the snow" festivals. Endangered species nesting count festival. Plant fruit trees on public land and parks festival. All of the things that I don't know anywhere near enough to think of. Especially in more niche or extreme ecosystems, there are so many possibilities that could do a lot of good

[conundrumoftime]

My Haladriel fics

I haven't grouped all these together before, so here's a collection of all the complete Haladriel fics I've written so far since October '22. Cannot believe it's been almost two years!

(Some of these fics also feature Celeborn/Galadriel, Celeborn/Sauron or all of them together, because I like a) Celeborn b) multishipping and c) mess. I'll make it clear here which stories those are, so if Celeborn is not your guy or if multishipping confuses or distresses you then that's! fine! just please don't read those ones and then be weird to me about it in the comments.)

Multi-chapter fics

Shadow-Bride (E, 265k words): This is my long long longfic, started in December of '22 and now complete after 43 chapters. Canon-divergence from the middle of s1.

Banquets have burned for you (M, 24k words): Written for eastwynds for the spring '23 Haladriel fic exchange, where the prompt was "one thing happens differently on Númenor, and everything changes." Went heavy on the Greek tragedy influence for this one because it felt fitting for Númenor.

A man is a god in ruins (E, 21k words): At the time this was the longest story I'd ever written and the first multi-chapter story I'd finished since the LiveJournal days. How things change! Canon-divergence from the very end of s1; what if Halbrand decided to leave Eregion before Galadriel got suspicious?

All the kinds of alive you can be (E, 13k words, also Celeborn/Galadriel, also Celeborn/Sauron/Galadriel): so loads of us have written "what if Sauron shapechanged into Celeborn to seduce Galadriel"; this is "what if Sauron shapechanged into Galadriel to seduce Celeborn, because he's furious with her and obsessed with her and sort of wants to be her all at the same time"?

So Wide a Sea (E, 6k words, also Galadriel/Celeborn): After Sauron's final defeat in the War of the Ring Galadriel remembers a long-ago day on Númenor.

One-shot fics

Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed (T, 6000 words): the first Haladriel fic I ever wrote, of five scenarios of Galadriel learning his name. 'Shadow-Bride' is a continuation of one of these five; 'A man is a god in ruins' is the '...and one time it didn't.'

Tar-Mairon of the Shire (G, 3000 words): entire fix-it fluff, probably more '&' than '/', Hobbits make everything better including Dark Lords.

Tempered (M, 3600 words): written for @thecoziestbean for the spring '24 Haladriel fic exchange.

And white winter, on its knees (M, 1800 words): written for the Haladriel Winter Solstice '23, a what-if Galadriel said yes to Sauron's offer story.

Weakened like Achilles, with you always at my heels (M, 4000 words): written for Haladriel Week '24. A little moment after the Tirharad battle and before the volcano.

I have loved flowers that fade (M, 1700 words): they deserved to have at least one nice time in Eregion before she found out who he was!

Weighed Against Our Future (T, 1800 words): A delirious (or is he?) Halbrand on the road to Eregion.

Shine (T, 3300 words) and its sequel Lady of the Seas (E, 3700 words): Halbrand makes Galadriel's armour on Númenor.

Silver Queen (M, 3600 words): my first 'what if Celebrían was Sauron's daughter?' story, sort of a Haladriel fic and sort of a fix-it for Celebrían.

Civil Twilight (M, 10k words, also Celeborn/Galadriel): for Haladriel Week '23. A 'what if Celebrían was Sauron's daughter?' and 'what if Galadriel finds her missing husband?' story combined.

The turn of the tide (T, 1700 words): For Haladriel Week '23. In the Fourth Age after travelling back to Valinor, Galadriel still feels called to the sea.

Though I sang in my chains like the sea (T, 3000 words): For Haladriel Week '23. They were on that ep2 raft for a while; so this is a gapfiller of them getting to know each other better. Or not.

Blood Sugar (M, 7000 words): the only time I've ever done a modern AU, and even then it doesn't really count because he's still literal Sauron in it. Anyway: Glasgow, professional disillusionment, and difficult relationships with your history.

Ficlets under 1000 words

You built a nest inside my soul, you rest your head on leaves of gold (M, 800 words); Numenor alleyway smut.

How shall summer's honey breath hold out (M, 600 words): and why shouldn't Galadriel get to command an army and have a nice time with the enemy general while heavily pregnant.

Gilded (G, 550 words): another 'what if she said yes on the raft' fic

Not for all my little words (T, 775 words) s1 ep8, Elrond-POV on Galadriel and her weird new friend in Eregion.

Miscellaneous fics:

Half-Maia Celebrían short fics: Suo Gân (G, 1000 words), Arda Sahta (G, 1100 words), As Little Might Be Thought (T, 2600 words). All these are Galadriel/Celeborn (and the last one is also Celebrían/Elrond) and Sauron isn't really in them, but they're all about the impact of that being his child.

To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark (T, 1700 words) - another 'what if Sauron impersonates Galadriel?' fic, this time featuring baby half-Maia Amroth.

Silmarillion rather than TROP: As certain dark things are loved (M, 8000 words, also Galadriel/Celeborn, also Galadriel/Celeborn/Sauron), for @softlighter for the Sufficiently Advanced '24 exchange. Annatar in 2nd Age Ost-in-Edhil.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What’s your prediction for the second slice of the shit sandwich?

Something involving the Waleses or Edinburghs. I lean towards it being the Waleses, since the Edinburghs were the second slice last time (the 2023 shit sandwhich, which confirmed Archie and Lili were using Prince/Princess titles) but since they're keeping lower profiles, it may be the Edinburghs again.

I think it may be one of these:

A new royal patronage for Kate from The King, probably something sentimental to Charles or one that used to be Her Late Majesty's. I'm on the fence about it being cancer-related...I feel like it could go artsy.

A declaration from Charles about William and Kate having authority to issue royal warrants. The right for the Prince of Wales to issue royal warrants isn't automatic. He has to be given permission by the monarch. It's assumed that William and Kate will someday be granted this ability, but Charles hasn't announced it yet. I do feel like maybe Charles would grant Anne that authority too, in recognition of her work as The Princess Royal (and that would actually be pretty big news).

Announcement of a state visit to UK in November and at the banquet, Kate, Anne, and Sophie have Charles's family order. The BRF traditionally receives a state visit in October or November each year. Since Charles is traveling in October, if there's a state visit in the autumn, it will probably be November. (November state visits are typically announced towards the end of September.)

A state thing happening while Charles is down under that requires the Counsellors of State, which William and Edward would do together because it can't be avoided or delayed till Charles returns. (If Counsellors of State are called while the monarch is away, they need two Counsellors to attend the matter.)

And it's very tinhatty (like 3%), but something involving a Sussex loss - maybe their titles get taken, maybe something with the bullying/staff reports, the lawsuits collapse, or some other kind of exposure that cancels them in a way we haven't seen yet. I don't usually give tarot and astrology a lot of weight, but when different readers in different circles on different platforms are seeing the same thing, I do consider that something to pay attention and right now, a lot of people are saying October/November looks very problematic for the Sussexes.

[runnning-outof-time]

More Than Charm | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - part two of Actions Speak Louder … inspired by a comment from @holacia3

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy’s got a lot of making up to do, both to (Y/N) and her parents. To anyone else, this would be a challenging feat….but Tommy Shelby isn’t anyone else.

Warnings: drinking, language

Word Count: 2493

A/N: I’m sorry it took so long for this second part to be written. If you’re still interested enough to see what happens next, thanks so much for sticking around. I’m not 100% sure it came out how I wanted it to, but I’m happy with it nonetheless. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: oh and what a better time to post this than on the day they got married? - thank you to @eatdirt420 for suggesting I pick a day in between the two seasons that won…I hope this day is considered to be that!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

- December 12th, 1920 -

If you told (Y/N) that this day would finally come around, she probably would have laughed in your face.

Tommy proposed to her in October of 1913. They were planning to have their wedding in August of the next year. But no one had anticipated the fact that Tommy and his brothers would have been shipped out to fight a war in France just one month prior.

The wedding had to be postponed due to the conflict, and it stayed postponed for seven long years - both due to the war continuing longer than anyone could have imagined, and also because of the ‘mess’ that Tommy and the family business got themselves into just shortly after they returned from the Western Front in 1919.

(Y/N) thought it’d be better to wait, to allow their wedding to have the spotlight that she felt it deserved. But she’d by lying if she said that the prospect of her walking down the aisle got bleaker with every year that passed.

But today it finally happened. She finally walked down the aisle, took her fiancé’s hands, and vowed herself to him for the rest of her life. He, in return, vowed the same for her, and she and Tommy then walked back down the aisle as husband and wife.

Now it was time for the reception.

Tommy and (Y/N) decided to take a moment to themselves before going out and greeting all of the people who joined them on their special day.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her as he shut the door behind them, making sure they were alone in one of the rooms just of off the large banquet hall. He noticed that something had been eating at his wife since the ceremony was finished.

“Nothing,” she quickly responded, noticing instantly after she’d answered him that her haste had given her true feelings away.

“You’re picking at your nails, love,” he nodded at her hands, catching her in the act, “something’s bothering you. What is it?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “My parents, Tommy,” she answered, her response only scratching the surface of what she wanted to say.

“What about ‘em?” he asked with furrowed brows.

“I’m worried what they’re thinking…how they’re taking this,” she divulged.

“Fuck what they’re thinking,” he was quick to brush it off, and he promptly earned a glare from his wife in response.

“Seriously? You can’t just say that,” she said, looking at him with wide eyes. Tommy stayed silent. (Y/N) turned from him with a huff, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes in hopes to alleviate some of the stress and worry she was feeling. “You can be so crass sometimes, Thomas,” she sighed, shaking her head as she looked at the ground.

“I’ve got this covered, love,” he responded, moving to stand behind her.

“I’ve heard that before,” she remarked, snorting after she spoke.

“I’ve got it covered,” he assured her, wrapping his arms around her midriff so he could pull her flush against him.

“Please don’t mess this up,” she whispered as she placed her hands atop his forearms.

“I won’t,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips to her neck.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but lean into his touch, her eyes slowly closing as she got lost in the feeling of his lips pressed to her skin. “We’ve gotta get out there, Tommy,” she finally spoke after a few moments had passed.

“They’ll be fine for a few more minutes,” he disregarded her statement, continuing his ministrations.

“Tommy,” the repeating of his name came as a breath this time.

“Just wanna spend some time with me wife,” he mumbled before spinning her around so that he could kiss her lips.

The reception was in full swing now. Tommy and (Y/N) had been playing host, going around to all of the guests and thanking them for being part of their big day. (Y/N) was so happy to see Tommy back to acting like his old self. Usually his smiles and lighthearted behavior were reserved for her eyes only but today, while in front of family and friends, his guard had been completely lowered.

Her parents hadn’t yet made a scene, which (Y/N) was thankful for because they very well could have if they wanted to. They stood off to the side and watched with smiles as their daughter celebrated her wedding day. (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or worried that Tommy hadn’t gone over to them yet.

“Don’t look now, (Y/N),” (Y/N)’s sister, Josephine, started while looking over the younger woman’s shoulder, “but Tommy’s on his way over to mum.”

(Y/N) looked as soon as her sister finished speaking. Sure enough, Tommy was now talking to her mother. She held her breath as she watched the two conversate.

“What is he going to do?” she wondered aloud, frozen as she silently hoped that this wouldn’t be the time where the train got derailed.

The two talked for a moment longer before Tommy offered his hand to her. Time seemed to go slow as (Y/N) watched a smile form on her mother’s face before she accepted Tommy’s hand and allowed him to lead her to to the dance floor.

“He got her to dance,” Josephine pointed out, grabbing hold of her sister’s arm as a look of shock formed on her face, “no one gets mum to dance.”

“And it looks like she’s enjoying it,” (Y/N) remarked, feeling an immense relief wash over her as she caught the wide smile that was present on her mother’s face.

“Leave it up to Tommy Shelby, right?” Josephine grinned as she looked over at her sister.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but blush. She tried to play it off, but the fact that Josie’s grin grew made it obvious that she had caught her initial reaction. “Yeah,” she conceded with a slight nod before adding, “but mum’s the easier of the two to convince. I’m interested to see what he’s got planned for dad.”

The evening had gone as swimmingly as it could have. There were many laughs and smiles, and the love could practically be felt in the room.

The dance seemed to do the trick: (Y/N)’s mother had decided to put her feelings of hesitance in the past and accepted Tommy as her son-in-law. Her only qualm now was that the two hadn’t gotten married sooner.

Much like (Y/N) predicted though, her father was going to be a harder person to sway. He stayed at the table for most of the evening, watching the event happen around him. She tried to get him involved a few times, but to no avail. The only time he stepped away from his seat was for the father-daughter dance.

“Is your father still here?” Tommy asked (Y/N) as the evening was drawing to a close.

“Let me see…” she trailed off, peering around his shoulder to find the table her parents had been sitting at, “he is,” she affirmed when she found him in the same seat he’d been occupying all evening. “Why do you ask?” she couldn’t help but question the reasoning behind his concern.

“I’ve not gotten to talk to him yet,” he answered.

“He’s not going to be as easy to sway as my mother was,” (Y/N) warned.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try, eh?” he cracked a grin. (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile at his determination.

“Please don’t make things worse,” she said before he could leave her side.

“I won’t,” he assured her, leaning in and pressing his lips to her forehead before he turned and walked away from her.

“(Y/N)!” she then heard from behind her. She turned to find Ada approaching her with Freddie in tow. There went the plan of watching Tommy try to smooth-talk her father. “I’ve been looking for you,” the Shelby woman stated as she pulled her new sister-in-law into a hug.

“You’ve found me,” (Y/N) smiled once the two ladies pulled away. She made sure to also acknowledge Freddie, who sent a smile back.

“I wanted to let you know that we’re leaving. It’s getting late and we don’t want to keep Karl’s sitter for too long,” Ada informed her.

“Oh that’s fine. Thank you both for coming,” (Y/N) smiled.

“It was absolutely lovely! We’re thrilled to have you as part of the family now,” Ada said with a smile before asking, “would you happen to know where my brother has run off to?”

“He trying to have a word with my father,” (Y/N) answered, watching as Ada’s eyes widened slightly.

“Best of luck with that,” she stated, “but knowing Tommy, he’ll be able to settle the score.”

“I can hope,” (Y/N) smiled softly, hoping it hid her true emotions. “Thanks again for coming tonight.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Ada smiled before pulling the other woman into one last hug.

By the time the Thornes had left her side, (Y/N) turned again to find Tommy sitting at the same table as her father. They were talking, and by the looks of it, her father seemed to actually be interested in the conversation. (Y/N) felt a smile creep onto her lips as they both lifted their glasses in unison for a drink.

“Whiskey…it sure does help men forget their differences,” the voice of her mother came from beside her, making (Y/N) jump at the sudden company.

“Mum,” she couldn’t help but gasp, her reaction making the other woman laugh. She shook her head and let out a sigh, her smile returning as her mother pulled her into her side. “Tommy really brought whiskey over for him?” she asked.

“He did,” her mum answered with a nod, “was really polite in asking if he could talk with him privately.”

“I can only imagine what they’re talking about,” (Y/N) stated, silently hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t ruin their chances at married life before it even began.

“Oh horses and betting, I’m sure,” her mother threw out a few ideas. “So long as he doesn’t coax him down to Watery Lane, we’ll be grand,” she then added in a nonchalant manner.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened as they found her mother’s. She’d never explicitly told her about the business that Tommy and his family ran. Right now she felt like a child who’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. That was why the smile that formed on her mother’s face made confusion wash over her. Why is she smiling? she couldn’t help but think to herself.

“The Shelby name is spoken all around Small Heath, darling. It’s hard not to know about the business they’re involved in,” her mother explained her reaction, making her daughter immediately go into panic mode.

“You’re not upset about that, are you?” (Y/N) asked in a weary tone.

“I’m not,” the older woman started, shaking her head softly, “you’ve been with him for a long time now, and he’s not once shown that he wants to be anywhere other than by your side. He’s a good man to you, (Y/N), anyone can see that. I’m happy that he’s the one you married because I know that you’ll be safe with him.”

“I’m so happy to hear that you think that, mum,” (Y/N) said with a wide smile. She couldn’t help but wrap her arms around the older woman and hug her tightly. All of the worries she was harboring had now vanished.

“You’re going to have a lovely life with him,” her mother whispered as she held her daughter tighter.

“I’m not sure what you did, but you made them love you, Tommy,” (Y/N) said as she worked on making sure all of her jewelry was removed.

“You should have trusted me,” he responded, standing from the bed after he’d taken his shoes off. He then moved over to where she was standing so that he could wrap his arms around her waist from behind.

“I should have,” (Y/N) mumbled as she tried to fight the smile that was threatening to form on her face.

“What was that?” Tommy asked as he lifted his chin from her shoulder so that he could look her in the eyes through the mirror. His eyes were wide now and there was a grin teetering on his lips also. He definitely caught what she said…he just wanted to hear it again.

“Oh nothing…” (Y/N) trailed off, playing coy as she bit on her bottom lip.

“Did you just say that I was right?” he tried to coax the answer out of her.

“I said nothing,” (Y/N) held steadfast, although her grin was peeking through despite her attempts to keep it hidden.

“Fine…I’ll just have to use another means of getting it out of you,” Tommy decided, not giving her a moment to process what he said before he was dragging her backwards and - gently - pushing her onto the bed. “What was it you said, love?” he questioned between the kisses he was peppering all over her face, his hands finding the sensitive spots on her sides.

“Tommy!” she shrieked, trying so hard to catch her breath through her giggles. Despite her attempts to either stop his hands or take hold of his face, Tommy continued his barrage of kisses and tickles. “I should have trusted you!”

“What was that?” he stopped all at once, holding himself above her as their eyes met.

“I should have trusted you,” (Y/N) repeated herself once she caught her breath. She took hold of his cheeks with both of her hands and searched his eyes for a moment before adding, “I must’ve forgotten how much of a charmer you are.” She couldn’t help but smile as she watched a grin crack through his composure. If only she could have photographed this moment or found a way to freeze time.

“I managed to keep you for all these years somehow, didn’t I?” he countered, his grin growing, “that wasn’t because of luck alone.”

“I think it was more than your charm that made me stay, Tommy,” she admitted, her smile widening.

“Oh yeah?” his question sounded like he was challenging her.

“Yeah,” her quick response told him what she was up for the challenge.

“Wanna tell me all of those other reasons?” he asked then, one of his eyebrows raising as he spoke.

“Gladly,” (Y/N)’s smile grew more, if that was even possible. Her eyes then flitted down to his lips before returning to his again. “I think I’ll start with your kisses,” she stated, leaving him with no time to respond before she pulled his lips down to match hers in a passionate kiss.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @areyenotfondofmelobster @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[the-jewel-catalogue]

The Delhi Durbar Tiara

This tiara was made for Queen Mary to wear to the Delhi Durbar on 12 December 1911, a ceremonial gathering which marked King George V’s succession as King Emperor of India.  The tiara was originally surmounted by 10 large emeralds to match the suite of diamond and emerald jewellery which Queen Mary had made to wear at the Delhi Dubar.

In later years the 10 emeralds were removed, and Queen Mary continued alterations of the tiara, each time commissioning Garrard to allow the tiara to have jewel swapping capabilities.

The tiara was even sometimes worn with the Cullinan III and IV diamonds – 94 carats and 63 carats respectively.

The Delhi Durbar tiara was given on permanent loan to Queen Elizabeth, later the Queen Mother, who wore it on the family’s tour of South Africa in 1947.

Upon her passing, the tiara was inherited by Queen Elizabeth II and today is one of the largest tiaras in the royal collection.

In 2005, the tiara was loaned to her daughter-in-law the Duchess of Cornwall, who wore it in October of that year at her first official State Banquet at Buckingham Palace as a member of the Royal Family.

[hanzajesthanza]

i think it would be really funny if regis had a kind of fucked-up haircut

“he could save everyone except himself” but like with regard to the barbery, and not the surgery. kind of like when chefs don’t cook very well for themselves. or when fashion designers wear sweatpants all day.

but moreover. i think the aesthetic effects of a bad haircut would help to dampen his natural lugosian allure and good looks. to reduce any potential suspicions

[ancientcharm]

Nero: The end of the Julio-Claudian dynasty (Part I)

He was born on December 15, 37. His birth name was Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus; When he was adopted by his great-uncle, the Emperor Claudius, his name changed to Nero Claudius Caesar.

Nero was born in the first year of his maternal uncle's reign. His mother, Agrippina, was in her prime, but a year and a half later, accused of treason she was banished. The little boy was left in the care of his paternal aunt Domitia. In the year 40, his father died.

In January 41, his uncle emperor Gaius ('Calígula) was assassinated. His great-uncle Claudius ascended the throne and brought Agrippina back. In 49, when he was 11 years old, his mother married her own uncle Claudius and becoming empress. He was adopted by emperor, and Agrippina appointed as his tutor the famous Hispanic philosopher, orator and politician Seneca.

At the age of 15 he was forced to marry 13-year-old Octavia, daughter of Claudius and Messalina.

Marble portrait of young Nero, c. 50. Photo by Egisto Sani. Empress Agrippina and young emperor Nero. Photo by Carlos Delgado.

On October 13, 54, 16-year-old Nero became the youngest ruler in Roman history up to that time. Octavia, 14, became the new empress consort. And 25 years after Livia's death, Rome once again has an Empress Mother. The sculpture shows Agrippina crowning him, a clear message that he owes her the throne. This sculpture had hundreds of copies placed throughout the empire.

Something unprecedented happened in Roman coins. Agrippina appears alongside her son on the same side of the coin, as if she were co-ruler, and she was indeed. Those coins, minted at the obvious request of Agrippina, circulated until the year 57. In 58 her image was seen next to Nero with him in front. From the year 59, only the image of Nero would remain.

Four months of reign : The first murder?

According to Tacitus, Nero removed Agrippina's favorite freedman from his position as Secretary of the Treasury. Agrippina, feeling outraged, threatened to replace him with Britannicus: "Since Britannicus was the biological son of Emperor Claudius, he was therefore the true heir and would soon come of age (14 years) to rule."

According Suetonius :

"Nero sent for the poisoner Locusta and he forced her to mix as swift and instant a potion as she knew how in his own room before his very eyes. He tried it on a goat but the animal lingered for five hours. Had the mixture steeped again and threw some on a pig.; The beast instantly fell dead. Pleased, Nero ordered that the poison be taken to the dining-room and given to Britannicus. The boy dropped dead ins at the very first taste, and Nero lied; He said that Britannicus was sick and always fell suddenly. The next day had him hastily and unceremoniously buried in a pouring rain. Nero rewarded Locusta for her eminent services, with large estates in the country."

According all sources: One day before his 14th birthday, on February 11, 55, Britannicus was at a banquet attended by his sister Octavia, Agrippina, Nero, and several important people, and suddenly fell death.

About this matter I must say that those writers contradict themselves since also assure that in the first three years of his reign, Nero lived in acceptable leisure in the palace and obeyed his mother. While Seneca, the prefect Sextus Afranius Burrus and Agrippina were the ones who ruled.

What is the true story? Nero was a young puppet emperor who lived relaxed and obedient to his mother during his first three years, or after four months of reign he was already making decisions and defying his mother? Not to mention the lack of credibility of the story about Nero and Locusta doing experiments with animals and poisons.

It's possible that the boy suffered from epilepsy. And it's possible that so that readers would not doubt that it was a murder, the writers related the death of Britannicus to the conflict between the emperor and his mother; A conflict that actually began three years later according to these same writers, and the coins confirm it.

On the other hand, experts assure that there is no poison ingested orally that instantly kills the victim as Suetonius describes.

The start of the trouble

Portrait of Poppaea Sabina painted by an artist of the Fontainebleau School in 1570. Museum of Art and History, Geneva.

Early year 58. Nero at the age of 20 fell in love with Poppaea Sabina, wife of his friend Marcus Salvius Otho. They began an openly adulterous relationship and rumors of the scandal spread through the city. Agrippina was furious and took Octavia's side, surely not out of affection for her daughter-in-law but because such marriage was a matter of politics and authority. It was at this time that Nero began to become independent from his mother, as well as from Seneca and Burrus, and it was probably in that year that he dismissed Agrippina's favorite freedman. Nero forced Otho to divorce Poppaea and appointed him governor of Lusitania. At that time this was a "dissembled exile" since Lusitania was the poorest and most boring province in the empire.

The fall and death of Agrippina.

'The Shipwreck of Agrippina' by Gustav Wertheimer. XIX Century

Early 59. Agrippina was forced to retire to live in her villa in Misenum.

Historians claim that one day she and her friend Acerronia set sail with the helmsman Gallus in the Bay of Naples, and on the ship Nero had hidden men who were trying to kill her. They were on deck, under a canopy that had been secretly loaded with lead. At a given signal, the top fell, killing the helmsman and the ship began to sink. Agrippina swam quickly to shore when a man appeared in a boat shouting Agrippina's name; She remained silent but Acerronia shouted: "Here, I am!". The man, hitting her with the oar, killed her, believing she was Agrippina.

Tacitus wrote about it: "Nothing allowed of accidents as the sea." So, it really could have been an accident in which the helmsman and that lady drowned but not Agrippina who swam quickly or could be rescued. If it was an attack, a top-secret plan by Nero, how do they know the details with such precision? Is it possible that the writer, upon hearing the story of Agrippina's accident, created the story of an intricate attack?.

Time later, some guards arrived at the villa of Agrippina with the order to execute her on charges of conspiracy. According to Suetonius: "Agrippina showed them her bare belly and said one of them to stick his sword where her murderer had been conceived."

"After trying to kill his mother three times with poison and discovering that she had become immune thanks to antidotes, he manipulated the ceiling of her bedroom, devising a mechanical device to loosen the panels and let them fall on her while she slept. Agrippina discovered the plan, so Nero devised a folding boat to simulate a shipwreck." -Suetonius

Suetonius writes that Nero sent three men to kill her after learning of the failed attack in the bay. They also claim that this matricide was at the request of Poppaea, who according to them "she was a lady who had everything except decency".

The truth is that on March 23, 59, Agrippina the Younger died at the age of 43 in Misenum, after having lived an intense life of glorious and tragic moments. She died in the same city where, 22 years earlier her hated great-uncle Emperor Tiberius, had died.

'Nero before the corpse of his mother, Agrippina the Younger ' by Arturo Montero y Calvo, 1887

Sources also claim that Agrippina's corpse was brought before Nero and he only said that his mother looked beautiful even in death.

Regarding this matter, I see three possibilities:

1: Nero fed up with the dominant behavior of her mother or at the simple request of Poppaea, decided to kill her even though she was already far from Rome and therefore could no longer bother them.

2: Agrippina, seeing herself deposed and stripped of her privileged position, simply decided to take her own life in her villa.

3: Furious with her son and for having lost what she had, she was plotting from Misenum, and Nero found out this ordered her execution or banishment. Knowing that she would soon be executed or banished, Agrippina decided it was better to committed suicide. This was a very common attitude in the ancient world.

Except for her sister Drusilla, all her siblings had died at the hands of others. Knowing the mentality of the ancient Romans, undoubtedly Agrippina decided not to suffer the same death as her siblings (if option 3 was what really happened).

But if Agrippina was really murdered, I think she was taken by surprise; While she was sleeping or unsuspecting with her back to the murderer. Resigned and theatrical attitude before the executioners, such as that described by Suetonius, is very un-Roman and very unlikely in the proud Agrippina the Younger.

Surely Suetonius wanted to belittle her, which is not surprising since in addition to the alleged incest with her brother "Caligula", Suetonius also claims that she tried to seduce her own son; then she couldn't die like a noble Roman lady. Furthermore, it became clear to me that Suetonius's style is inherently dramatic and sensational.

Also according to Suetonius from that time until his death the emperor was tormented by the ghost of his mother, and sought a magician to expel the ghost from the palace since Nero claimed that Agrippina was everywhere, especially at night. This could be true, or simply a Suetonius-style reaffirming account of Nero's guilt.

'The Remorse of the Emperor Nero after the Murder of his Mother' by John William Waterhouse, 1878

Part II

[adore-laur]

DADRRY: PART THREE

— part one | part two

October — Flashback

The leaves from the oak and cottonwood trees are changing color at last. Their shades of varietal greens bleed into marigold and maroon ones to commence autumn in California. The weather is more than adequate when it nears the end of the year, with days never below seventy degrees. Brisk winds blow by the ocean, and migrating clusters of monarch butterflies flood orange milkweed with their stained-glass wings, looking similar to the plants they flutter around.

Driving alongside the premature sunset, you press on the brakes and pull into the crowded parking lot of the restaurant. Harry has been setting up and bartending for a wedding's cocktail hour, which he seldom does under his title as head chef. He mentioned before he left that he wanted to talk to you about something important after his shift, so he reserved a table in the dining area where both of you could eat dinner and discuss it. Luckily, he doesn't have to work his way into the early morning since someone will replace him once the reception officially starts.

It's Harry's last shift before he's home for an extended period of time. He managed to save all of his annual vacation days and is free from work for the last month of your pregnancy, as well as the twelve weeks of paternity leave he's allowed once the baby is born. That means four months to adjust to a new reality.

It's difficult to imagine how much convincing it took and the scheduling difficulties he had to come across to get everything sorted out. You're worried the restaurant will crumble without his supervision, but you shouldn't judge his expertise on the matter. He knows what he's doing.

You stroll through the front doors while smoothing the chiffon fabric of your dress that flows over your bump. You have been frequently wearing Harry's shirts ever since your stomach has gotten too large to wear your own, but you wanted to look nice for yourself tonight. It has been grueling trying to accept your changing body, which is why you strive to do little things to take care of your mental state. And even though you've been more concerned about your physical state lately, if something as simple as putting on a pretty dress will boost your confidence, you'll take advantage of the opportunity.

Carefully weaving through the decorated tables, you peer at the bar area built against the farthest wall. Harry's familiar back profile is turned to you as he washes cocktail glasses. His defined muscles shift under the tight, black button-up he wears, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing the tattoos on his forearms. He's also sporting fitted slacks with matching attached suspenders. He's been growing out his hair within the last couple of months, the curls now flourishing past his ears. He always keeps them pushed back with a bandana or headband so they don't fall in his face while he works.

You don't want to be a nuisance and steal a seat from any guests, so you stand off to the side and wait for him to finish his cleaning duties. His bulky rings clink against champagne glasses as he dries them and puts them under the counter. You can hear him faintly whistling along to the music coming from the nearby banquet hall.

Once Harry finishes wiping his station clean, you watch him sneakily take out his phone and start typing something. You assume he's texting you to let you know he's done. He then washes his hands while another bartender walks behind the counter to clock in—they must be the one replacing him. You're not too knowledgeable about who all tends the bar since Harry is usually in the back running the kitchen, but it's intriguing to see him in a different environment nonetheless.

He gives the employee a friendly squeeze on their shoulder before clocking out and heading in your direction. He nearly brushes past you while taking his phone out again, completely oblivious to your presence, and you laugh before stopping him with a hand on his chest. It makes him stumble back with a confused pout, but he soon smiles in surprise when he recognizes you.

"How'd you get in?" he asks breathlessly, kissing your cheek.

"I told the security guards at the gate that my husband works here, and I'm picking him up. If they said no, I was going to tell them my water broke."

He smirks proudly. "Clever. How are you feeling? Baby's good?" He holds your upper arms, and his eyes scan your body as if you've changed drastically since you saw him only six hours ago.

"All good. Just a sore back like usual." You toy with one of his suspender straps. "What about you? It's your last shift for a while."

Exhaling happily, Harry clasps your hand in his and says, "I feel fantastic. Let's go eat, yeah? I'm starving."

He guides you through an open doorway leading to the restaurant's dining area, where the reserved table is. In the back of the room, you spot a candlelit booth with plates, silverware, and two glasses filled with ice water. The water doesn't go unnoticed by you, considering he set a goal for himself to stop drinking alcohol along with you.

A vase of beautiful red roses on the windowsill catches your eye as you sit down. Harry slides into the seat across from you. Only a few other booths are occupied; otherwise, the room is serenely quiet, with the occasional clink of metal and a sprinkle of light chatter.

"You look angelic, by the way," Harry says before taking a delicate sip of his water.

"Thank you," you whisper, nudging his foot with yours under the table. "I like your suspenders. They remind me of when you used to be a rookie assistant chef that I'd come to visit. You would wear them under your chef coat with a fancy little neckerchief. I thought you looked so adorable."

"Now I'm old and weathered," he says wryly.

"Well, you're turning thirty soon. Plus, you'll be a dad in a month. Isn't that when someone officially becomes a DILF?" You're not sure why you casually mentioned the acronym over a romantic dinner, but it's too late to retreat now.

Harry's eyes gleam, and he fails miserably at hiding a smile under his scrunched nose. "Pardon? What are you trying to insinuate, darling?"

"Nothing! Never mind,” you backtrack, embarrassed that you ever spoke. "I was only trying to bring up a nice memory—reminiscing, if you will. Forget I said anything."

"I'm definitely not forgetting that. The ugly neckerchief, however..." He laughs at himself. "God, that feels like forever ago. Time flies."

"I thought it was kind of attractive," you mumble around the rim of your glass.

He raises his eyebrows as a warning not to start something you don't want to finish, then clears his throat and sets his forearms on the table. "Speaking of work, that's what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I want you to keep an open mind, okay?"

Your lips downturn in curiosity. Just as you're about to reply, a waiter arrives at the table with a tray of steaming dishes and places them in the center. You had texted Harry what you wanted from the menu after he left this morning, and since he's the boss, everything is free, cooked to perfection, and served promptly.

"Thank you," Harry says politely before focusing back on you. The waiter leaves, and you begin picking at your food to distract yourself from your increasing heart rate.

"Um, did you say work? Did you get a promotion? Is that even a possibility for a head chef?"

You can physically see the color drain from his face. "So," he says nervously, ignoring your questions, "the baby's coming soon, yes? Obviously."

"Right..." you reply with a suspicious tone.

Shifting in his seat, he runs a hand through his tousled hair. "Listen, the restaurant during the fall and winter isn't as busy as the summertime. You know that. And because of that, I want to be home with you and the baby as much as possible. And I will with paternity leave, but once I go back to work my hours will pick up again, and it'll be—"

"Harry, just tell me," you interrupt gently. He has a bad habit of running circles around topics.

He blows out a short breath. "I'm demoting myself. It's in the works that I'll be the sous chef when I return, so that means fewer hours and more time at home."

You're glad you haven't taken a sip of water yet because you almost choke at the admission that left his mouth. Demotion? He has never mentioned that word to you before.

"Can I ask why in the world you would do that?" you ask sharply. You don't mean to sound snippy, but pregnancy hormones, on top of Harry's revelation, cause a pit of unwarranted annoyance to simmer in your gut.

"Love, let me explain." He reaches forward to grasp your hand across the table and squeeze it. "This is my choice. It's final, all right? I'm not going to be working ten hours a day, six days a week, while you're at home with our baby. That's ridiculous."

"Harry, what about—"

"Stop while you're ahead, because you're going to overthink it," he replies calmly. "If you're worried about money, don't be. It's only a slight decrease in my wage. Everything will be fine."

Your annoyance wins as you slide your free hand down your face. "You realize that we'll need more money when the baby comes. It's common sense. Why would you think cutting your hours is smart?"

Harry scoffs like what you're saying is absolute insanity. He leans in closer so the impending argument doesn't disrupt anyone's dinner, his voice hushed yet stern when he retaliates, "Would you rather me come home every day absolutely knackered and then spend a maximum of four hours with our child before I have to get up to do it all over again? Hmm?"

You shake your head in irritation and stubbornly remove your hand from his. "It's called adapting. It may be tough at first, but it becomes second nature. We just have to wait until the baby gets here to figure out a schedule that works."

Harry falls back against the booth and throws his hands up in frustration. They slap against his thighs before he says, "Do you realize how stupid you sound right now? You're talking about money and scheduling like we're fuckin'—"

"I'm leaving." When you stand, Harry's mouth instantly clamps shut. You don't care that you barely ate your food—you can't listen to him anymore. You're awfully close to lashing out.

Heading the way you came from, you hear Harry's footsteps behind you. Once you're in the parking lot, you groan when you remember that he has to ride home with you since you dropped him off earlier. While you struggle to unlock the car, you see Harry in your peripheral, striding to stop you from going any further.

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry." His shoulders sulk, and he looks genuinely distraught. "Can we just talk this through when we get home, please?"

Your eyes dance over his defeated expression. You don't have the choice to say no since you live together, plus you promised years ago never to go to bed angry. So, you nod your head, and he gives you a timorous smile before withdrawing to the passenger seat.

As you drive, you give Harry the harrowing silent treatment. He deserves it, especially since he's looking out the window and pouting like a child with his arms crossed. The only sound in the confined space is the air conditioner running and cars zooming past on the highway. Your stomach grumbles, and you feel terrible about leaving two plates of food at the restaurant untouched.

After several minutes of dreadful silence, Harry finally breaks the tension when you park in the garage. He grabs a white envelope tucked in the console and asks, "What's this?"

Oh. You forgot about that.

"Nothing," you mutter, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Harry rolls his eyes and flings the envelope onto the dashboard, then reaches over to take the key out of the ignition to unlock the front door. Seconds pass before you hear a slam and an echo from him shutting the door harder than necessary. It causes you to swallow down more vexation. There have been tiny arguments more often since you got pregnant, and you blame your hormones every time for getting irritated so easily. Harry usually isn't the reason for those heightened emotions, but there are situations when he can be so stubborn that you just want to shake him out of it.

Eventually, you get out of the car with the envelope in hand and head down to the beach for some time alone. It'll be nice to sit by the water and cool down, figuratively and literally. You have an inclination that if you try to hash it out with Harry right now, it will only result in more regretful words.

You reach the private stretch of sand, holding your bump protectively as you descend the wooden steps. It's chilly by the oceanside this time of year, so you grab a towel that was left on the railing from previous evenings and drape it over your shoulders in case you get cold. The October sun has fully set, with orange and pink streaks expanding across the skyline.

You sit down and reflect on the unfortunate escalation of your conversation with Harry. You love him and could never feel an ounce of hatred toward him. He has never given you a reason to doubt anything, but to put his career on the back burner without mentioning it to you is hurtful. You almost feel guilty knowing he made the choice because of you and the baby. You sometimes shy away from being the main priority because you don't want to feel like a burden. In retrospect, it's incredibly thoughtful that he wants to work less to spend quality time with the baby when they arrive. On the other hand, you can't help but worry that you won't be financially secure because of it.

"Hungry?"

Your head shifts to find Harry walking toward you with a spoon and a strange-looking fruit in his hand. It's impossible not to smile when you note the outfit he changed into—banana yellow trousers and an argyle knit sweater. All of his rings are off except for his wedding band.

He's the love of your life and has nothing but pure intentions, so how could you not trust his decision?

"What is that?" you ask, pointing to the half-cut fruit as Harry plops down next to you.

"A papaya," he replies with a shrug. "A blog said that at thirty-two weeks, a baby is as big as one of these bad boys. So, naturally, I bought one."

You have to turn your face so he doesn't see your smile. You're not giving him the benefit of seeing you crack at his endearing ways just yet. "You're an unusual man, Harry Styles. Do you plan on buying more fruit for the last four weeks?"

"I already put pineapple on the grocery list," he says unconcernedly as he scoops out a chunk of the fleshy fruit. "Anyway, I didn't come out here to discuss fruit." His tongue sticks out as he takes a bite, the spoon leaving his mouth with a pop before he points it at you. "Still mad at me?"

You internally sigh, knowing it's useless to continue acting like he's in the wrong. "I can't stay mad at you. And I don't know why I got so worked up. I was just being overdramatic."

Harry hums in thought as he swallows another bite. "Expressing how you feel isn't overdramatic. Don't apologize for having those feelings, especially toward me. Yell at me if I'm being a dick; kiss me if I'm being a dreamboat. It’s simple, baby." He finishes his little speech by shoving another spoonful of papaya into his mouth, chewing introspectively while staring at the waves.

"Was it Socrates who said that?"

He plucks your bottom lip with the spoon and murmurs, "You're feisty today."

"Back to the topic," you say before he can proceed. He knows it riles you up when he calls you that. "Money shouldn't have been what my mind first went to. It's still a concern, but ultimately, making time for our family is the most important thing. I apologize for freaking out."

"You're forgiven." He scoots closer and holds a spoonful to your mouth. You accept the sweet flavor as he adds, "And I'm so sorry for calling you stupid. Please know that is the furthest thing from the truth."

"We all say things we don't mean sometimes. It takes basic empathy to understand that part of life," you reply. There's no use in acting like you haven't done the same thing in the past.

Harry slings an arm around your shoulders, bringing you in for a warm side hug. "What you said is true, by the way. We have time to figure things out and adapt. Let's enjoy the last month we have to ourselves.”

You nod in agreement and say, "I also want to thank you for being so thoughtful and putting our family first. I trust you with this new chapter in our lives. I don't doubt you at all."

"Don't worry about it," he says with a kiss to your temple. "I'm proud of you for dealing with every mental and physical change these past eight months. And I will always be here for you through the good and bad moments. In sickness and in health, remember?"

You smile fondly and take the white envelope out from under your leg. "Are you in the mood for a good moment with me?" Harry looks confused, but he nods anyway. "When you saw this in the car, it's not nothing like I said it was. It's from when I went to my prenatal appointment a few days ago. I know we decided to find out the gender a month before my due date, so I have the results. I haven't looked at them yet."

Harry's eyes widen, and his mouth parts as he sets the papaya down. "I am not prepared for this. Wait, hold on. Let me breathe for a second." His head tilts up toward the sky as he takes dramatic, calming breaths.

You laugh and set the envelope on his thigh. "Do the honors, Styles. Let's see if your prediction is right."

He picks it up and carefully opens the seal. Unfolding the paper filled with medical information, he quickly skims the tiny lettering to look for the answer he's been waiting for.

"Holy shit," he says, his voice cracking as his hand covers his mouth.

"I'm guessing you're right?" you ask, your eyes watering.

"Girl. We're having a girl. Jesus, I'm going to cry." He wipes away his tears. "Why am I crying? I was confident it was a girl."

"Because it makes it more real," you say, leaning over to kiss his damp, rosy cheeks. "Now we know for sure."

"Come here, honey. Let me take a look at her."

You sit on your knees between his spread legs. Harry sets the envelope down and lifts your dress, revealing your bump that puts quite some distance between you and him. His hands splay across the taut skin as he leans down to kiss right above your belly button. He gazes up at you under his wet lashes and smiles against your stomach, his dimples carved deep with happiness.

"I love you," he whispers with a sniffle. "I love both of you so much. With my entire soul."

In a simple moment, everything falls into place.

——

July - Present Day

Everything is falling apart.

Well, not really, but you sure feel that way as you bend over the toilet at seven in the morning and empty your queasy stomach once again.

It's the first Sunday in July, marking ten weeks of your second pregnancy. When you woke up with a wave of morning sickness a couple of hours ago, you noticed something peculiar. As you were rubbing circles on your abdomen to ease the nausea, it appeared that your stomach had seemingly popped overnight. The curve was more prominent and firm, a small bump you must have mistaken for bloating. The bump is pretty much nonexistent in a loose shirt or hoodie, but anything tight will hug it and be a constant reminder of baby number two growing in there.

Dizzily standing, you move toward the sink to brush your teeth for the umpteenth time, then gurgle some spearmint mouthwash to diminish the rancid taste in your mouth. Pots and pans can be heard clanging downstairs as you wipe your lips, and the occasional giggle from your daughter mixes with Harry's theatrical voice, which he puts on whenever she watches him cook.

The smell of sizzling bacon doesn't help the swirling feeling in your stomach as you head downstairs to the kitchen. Their lighthearted commotion grows louder, and you stop to stand in the doorway to soak in your favorite part of Sunday mornings. Harry is in front of the countertop, and your daughter stands on her tiptoes on a step stool next to him, the two of them watching pancakes turn golden brown on the griddle.

He's in full dad mode with tired eyes and an outfit that screams: I have a toddler and pregnant wife at home. In other words, a black button-up with pink flamingos and grey pleated trousers. They don't match whatsoever, but you know he doesn't care.

He voyages around the kitchen, pouring orange juice, dropping chocolate chips into the batter, and ensuring your daughter's little hands don't touch anything hot. Your hand subconsciously holds your bump as you think about how you'll get to see him interact with a newborn again—cradling them, teaching them to walk, and pretending to eat their hands and feet. He still does that with your daughter, but it breaks your heart knowing she'll grow out of it one day.

"Good morning," Harry acknowledges with his back turned, halting your daydreaming. How does he always sense your presence?

When you don't say anything, he turns to glance at you while setting a heart-shaped pancake on a plate. Your smile grows wider as you curl your pointer finger to beckon him closer. He gives you a confused look before unplugging the griddle and instructing your daughter not to touch anything on the counter. She'll be too distracted by the cartoon playing on the television to even notice that the both of you will be gone for a moment.

Sauntering toward you, Harry sticks his thumb in his mouth to lick the excess batter off. "What's up, baby?"

"I have a surprise to show you," you whisper, accepting his kisses.

"Yeah? S'it my half-birthday or something?" he asks, his voice still gravelly and slurred from sleep.

"No, this isn't about you," you tease with a pinch to his side. "Come with me."

You grab his hand and lead him to the bathroom just down the hall. Turning the lights on, you stand in front of the mirror and say, "I'm ten weeks today. I woke up with a little morning sickness, but look!" You lift your shirt and turn to the side to get a better angle of your stomach. "It was just pudge before, but it's an actual bump now."

Harry stands behind you and rubs his hands over the swell. "No fuckin' way. You... this happened overnight. I was spooning you this morning! How did I not notice?"

"I don't know. I didn't notice either, and it's my own body." You shake your head disbelievingly and place your hands over his. "I read that women's second pregnancy will have them showing earlier. I guess that's why I popped so soon. Last time, I didn't show until fourteen weeks or something like that."

He hums lowly, pulling you further back against his chest. "I've missed seeing you like this. It makes you glow more than usual." His mouth is by your ear when he quietly murmurs, "Makes me hard."

"You're so naughty in the mornings," you say, removing yourself from his grasp and pulling down your shirt. "C'mon, let's eat breakfast."

Harry whines in protest, gently grabbing your face and turning it toward him so he can nip your jawbone and then lock your lips together. After your stolen moment alone, the both of you head back to the kitchen to enjoy another blissful Sunday morning.

——

Takeout pizza is on the menu tonight. The trunk of the Volvo is open, with blankets and pillows strewn about to create a fort-like space for the three of you to sit in. Harry had driven the vehicle down to the beach so you could watch the sunset and feel the breeze from the ocean.

You get comfortable in the trunk and set the paper plates and napkins down. Harry and your daughter are in the beach grass, picking the wildflowers that blossom there. Her hand grips bunched stems while her other holds her dad's as they wander. Her precious, fruit-patterned dress flows in the wind.

Moments later, they come strolling toward the car with soft smiles. Your daughter clambers into the trunk with your help and hands you a makeshift bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers.

"Thank you, sweetheart," you say with a kiss to her windswept hair.

Harry places his hands on either side of your thighs and leans in for some of your affection. You peck his lips; they're pink from the strawberry Kool-Aid he made earlier. Before he retreats, he glimpses at your baby bump. He exhales and looks at you with a crooked smile, his thumb stroking the underside of your baby bump.

"Kumquat," he says with a click of his tongue.

You laugh, albeit not understanding. "Come again?"

"A baby at ten weeks is the size of a kumquat," he explains, like it's a well-known fact.

"Interesting," you say. "Well, the kumquat is hungry, so get up here and cut the pizza."

Your daughter is oblivious to the conversation as Harry scoots next to you and begins rolling the pizza cutter. His forearm flexes, and the veins bulge when he does it. "Small bites, little lady," he tells her as he puts a slice on her plate.

Reaching behind you, you grab a bottle of sparkly pink nail polish you brought out. "She told me when you were picking up the pizza that she wanted you to paint her nails."

Harry nods and pats his lap. She excitedly sits between his legs and waits patiently. After taking the bottle of polish from you, he shakes it when his ringtone suddenly goes off. He juts his lips out as he reaches into his pocket to check the number.

"Hello?" he answers, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder. He opens the cap and begins painting her nails.

You observe his facial expressions. He has a serious look and frequently nods as he listens to whoever's on the other end of the line. You pluck a green pepper off the pizza and hold it up to him. He opens his mouth and takes it, scrunching his nose as a thank you.

"I'm good for tomorrow? Are you sure?" he asks through his chewing. You hear an unfamiliar muffled voice before he says, "Awesome, thank you. Call me if anything changes. Okay, bye." He sets down the nail polish and hangs up before resuming painting her pinky finger.

"Who was that?" you ask while tucking a wildflower stem behind his ear.

"My boss," he says, licking his thumb and wiping a smudge he made. I don't have to go in tomorrow since there are barely any reservations."

"No sparkles," your daughter blurts before you can reply. Harry freezes and eyes you perplexedly.

"What?" you ask. She points to one painted nail and purses her lips. You gently take her hand and observe it closely—no sparkles are showing up. The polish must have gone bad. "I'm sorry, baby. It must be icky polish. We can take it off and get another one."

It's almost scary how quickly the waterworks start. You exhale as you take the plate from her so she doesn't throw a fit and make a mess everywhere. She's crying and staring at Harry like he's the cause of no sparkles. Well, maybe he didn't shake the bottle enough, but you keep your mouth shut so you don't make matters worse.

Harry grabs her waist and props her in front of him. "We're not gonna start this. Mumma said we can get some more, all right? Behave, or I'm not painting your nails."

You could have predicted what happens next from experience. Her harmless fists hit his chest in frustration as she sobs. Undried polish smears all over his shirt. Harry has always been good at controlling these minor mishaps, so he inhales deeply before lifting her writhing body.

"Early bedtime it is, then," he mutters while walking toward the house.

You begin cleaning up the short-lived dinner. It isn't anything new you've had to deal with, but it exhausts you, especially when she has a tantrum during family time. You take the pizza box out of the trunk, then close it and decide to clean everything else tomorrow. You drive the car to the garage and lock up everything before stepping inside.

After putting the pizza in the fridge, you slowly go to your daughter's bedroom, listening for any crying or screaming. A sigh of relief leaves you when only subsiding whimpers indicate she's done for the night.

Your heart softens at the sight you walk in on. Harry sits against her headboard, his feet hanging past the edge of her tiny bed, as he cradles his baby girl. He soothingly rocks her side to side, his eyes closed, as he rubs circles on her back. Her heavy eyes are barely open, and her tear-stained cheeks are smushed against Harry's chest. She's in her pajamas now.

You kneel next to her bed, and she extends her arm, reaching for you. Harry jolts awake, sharply inhaling and opening his eyes. His grip loosens when he notices that she wants you. You stand and take her in your arms, her legs hugging your waist. You then sit by Harry's thighs and quietly laugh when you see the residue of nail polish staining his shirt.

Harry lazily grins and clasps his hands behind his head. "It's not funny. I bought this shirt because of her, and this is what I got in return. She's a proper menace."

You squeeze his ankle in good nature before replying, "I wonder where she gets it from."

He gasps in faux offense and grabs your daughter's hand, shaking it playfully. "Mumma's being mean, don't you think?"

She sleepily shakes her head. You raise your eyebrows smugly before smattering her cheeks with kisses until she smiles and tiredly whines into your neck.

Harry yawns before catching your gaze and jerking his head toward your stomach. "Should we tell her?" he mouths.

Your heart rate quickens. You're not too worried that she'll get upset, considering she has asked on a few occasions—as best she could with her limited vocabulary—if she could have a sibling. You think it's time to tell her the news now that you're showing.

As you nod eagerly, Harry swings his legs over the mattress and crouches between your knees. You shift your daughter so she's settled sideways on your lap, then nod again to let him initiate the conversation.

"We have something to tell you, sweetheart," he says, a fond gentleness in his tone reserved only for her. Her head turns away from the safety of your neck. "You know how you've been asking about a baby brother or sister?" She nods languidly, prompting him to ask, "And do you see her belly?"

You situate her next to you so you can lift the stretchy material of your tank top. Harry says, "There's a baby in her belly." He guides her hand to your bump. "Your brother or sister is growing in there."

Her expression is unreadable at first, but then she gazes at you with curious eyes. "Baby," she utters drowsily. She's about one second away from slipping into a deep sleep.

"I don't think she'll remember in the morning," Harry says with a laugh.

You smile dotingly and stand before tucking her into bed. You kiss her forehead and watch her doze off as Harry tells her goodnight, whispering his boundless love for her and sealing his truthful words with a feather-light kiss to both of her cheeks.

Shutting off her bedside lamp, you leave the room with Harry hot on your heels. You're in the process of pulling your tank top down on the way to your bedroom, but before you can reach the door, Harry grabs your hips, stopping you in the dark hallway.

"You can't look this good and go straight to bed," he says lowly, his breath warm and intimate.

"Mom needs her sleep before work tomorrow," you reply with a smirk, keeping to yourself that you wouldn't mind staying up a bit longer if he continues praising you like this.

"Please, baby," he murmurs, his hands drifting dangerously lower. "Just a quick one, yeah? I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

Don't give in, you think to yourself. Make him work for it. 

"Anything?" you ask sensually as his fingers begin to brush along your inner thighs, causing your knees to weaken temporarily.

Harry licks his lips, his tongue poking your neck with the faintest touch. "Don't act like I wouldn't let you ruin me, darling."

You clench your thighs around his hand, and he hoarsely groans against your skin. "But I'm so tired, Harry. It won't last very long if I want to do what I want with you."

"Like I give a shit." He cups your core with his palm, his impatient fingers stroking over the fabric of your silk pajama shorts. "You could give me the sloppiest blowjob ever, and I'd still worship the ground you walk on."

You bite your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to moan. "Will you run me a bath afterward?"

"We can just fuck in the bath instead, if that's what you fancy."

You ponder for a brief second. "It would be an easy cleanup. We'd have to do it in the downstairs bathroom, though, and you'd have to be quiet. Think you can handle that?"

"Dunno. Do you plan on making me scream?"

"I could put those suspenders you wore today in your mouth to shut you up."

He exhales a sexy sound, one that reveals you caught him off guard. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You hum and grab his hand, raising it to your mouth to nip at the calloused pad of his thumb before walking down the stairs to the bathroom just around the corner. The porcelain tub awaits, and you turn the knob and plug the drain, water gushing out. The bay window it sits in front of exhibits an endless ocean and horizon view. The sky is fading into starlit blues and purples.

Once the water is high enough and sufficiently warm, you shut the faucet off and begin removing your clothes. Harry enters the bathroom a few moments later and quietly closes the door behind him, flicking the lock. He unbuttons his shirt painstakingly slowly while facing the mirror, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

While he undresses, you step into the tub and watch him. He's taking his trousers off now, his exposed back muscles flexing along with his biceps as he shimmies the garment down his legs. His body is truly something from an empyrean vision. Every indent and definition on his skin magnetizes your eyes.

He's entirely stripped when you break away from your reverie, his legs gracefully stepping over the tub's ledge to settle behind you. A muted moan escapes him when his cock rubs against your lower back.

"Already making noise? I haven't even started yet," you tease, leaning into him.

"Can you blame me? I've got my wife"—his fingers glide against your pulsing entrance—"dripping for me already. Absolutely soaked."

"Then do something about it."

Harry palms your clit, and you instinctively bend your knees. "I thought you wanted to be in control tonight."

"Will you be good? You have a reputation for getting antsy and taking over."

His hands travel upwards and squeeze your sensitive breasts. "Yeah? Does that bother you?"

"You know I like it when you're submissive. Especially when you whine for me and try to touch me when you know you can't."

"Go on, then. Take care of your husband."

You turn around and straddle his thigh, your name inked permanently above his kneecap that's visible through the water. "I'm going to take care of myself first."

"Ride it. You're the only one who's allowed to." His hands try to latch onto your waist, but you slap them away.

"Touch yourself while I ride you."

Harry's tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he exhales heavily. He grips his cock, squeezing and twisting to relieve himself from the throbbing ache. You begin grinding on his leg to relieve your pressure and stifle your moans in his neck, your core slick with arousal as his thigh muscle flexes with each motion. He starts pumping, one arm resting on the edge of the tub. Your hands place themselves on the side of his neck, and your thumbs apply light pressure there, causing him to release a choked moan.

You shush him. "You have to be quiet. What do you need? Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you since you're being so good."

"You," he whispers with a pained look etched on his face. "I need you around my cock. Need you to press against me. Please, please, please."

His voice dies with each plea, and you cradle his limp head as he fully submits to you. Whenever he begs, you entirely unravel. Your dominant wall crumbles with his whines, and his deep voice always goes a pitch higher to show his desperation for you. His pink lips form solicitous praises and carnal noises of desire. You want to kiss them until they become swollen and numb.

"I know," you say, kissing the scrunch between his furrowed eyebrows. "Fill me up. I'm ready."

Shakily lifting on his thigh, you get Harry to sit up more in the tub so he can line his cock up with your entrance. When you slowly sink, he stretches your walls and hits you deep, leaving a breathy moan in your mouth. Your fingers scratch his soft stomach, and your body leans into him as you begin to ride him. Your hand reaches down to squeeze one of his balls, making him let out a guttural moan before you stop him by covering his mouth. His muffled whimpers encourage you to go faster, your stomach pressing into his abdomen with each thrust.

"D-don't want to," Harry stutters through ragged breaths. "Let me come on your stomach. Please. You're so beautiful like this."

Who are you to say no to such a filthy request?

"Are you close?" The question lingers, and Harry seems to be spaced out from pleasure because he doesn't answer. You can feel him throb inside you as he jerks his hips up at a different angle. His glistening chest is heaving, and his eyes are pinched shut.

"Harry." You cradle his cheeks to bring him back to earth. "Are you there?"

He hears you this time, nodding fervently until, little by little, he slips himself out of you to stand up in the water. You get up with him and sit on the edge of the tub so he towers over you, and he holds his cock and looks up at the ceiling as he comes on your stomach and chest. You hold his free hand to balance him, his legs trembling and his lips pulled inward to stop any moans from escaping.

His warm release drips down on you, and once he finishes, he falls to his knees in the water, some of it splashing over the tub and onto the floor. His hands grip your ankles to put them over his shoulders, leaving kisses on your legs. You spread them more so he can finish you off. You could quickly come in two seconds if he puts his mouth on you.

"Fingers or mouth?" he asks, hair falling over his eyes.

"Mouth. Can I come on you, too?"

He whines against your inner thigh. "Yeah?"

You whimper and nod. Harry immediately latches his mouth to suck on your clit. There's already pressure building in your lower stomach. He moves down to lick inside of you, his nose nudging your clit as his large, veined hands splay almost protectively on your bump.

"Feels so good," you say, placing your hands on the tub's edge to steady yourself. "I feel it. Please don't stop."

He licks a long stripe, not holding back by fucking his tongue inside so deep that it makes you ache. Your legs tighten around him as you clench multiple times until you can sense your burning climax approaching.

"Harry. Please, I need—" You can't finish your sentence because Harry stands up abruptly and hooks his hand under your knees to lift you, carefully stepping out of the tub and sitting you on the rug. It's messy, and it's uncoordinated. However, he's never one to give you a stagnant sex life.

He cradles you as your body shakes, then lays down on his back so you can fulfill your request. You straddle his torso, your clenching core settling on his abdomen that's deliciously slick in the low lighting of the bathroom. His thumb presses onto your clit, a move that always allows your orgasm to boil over.

Your neck tilts back, and you orgasm. Harry's hands are everywhere—kneading your ass, rubbing up and down your thighs, and groping your breasts. You're grinding on his stomach as you ride out the last of your release, your hands on his sternum. His skin is sticky with your arousal, and you eventually collapse on your back next to him in exhaustion.

"C'mere, love," Harry rasps, his arm extended. You're too far away."

You breathe tiredly, your hands resting on your bump. "I can't. My legs feel like jelly."

Harry snorts and sits up with a groan. He quickly unplugs the drain and crawls over to hover above you, leaving a wet kiss on your stomach. His hand blindly finds a towel around and begins wiping you down.

"This is the lamest aftercare ever," you say, laughing. The dry towel doesn't feel nice on your sweaty skin, and Harry's movements are lazy from the physical exertion.

"That's enough out of you," he slurs through his exhaustion, gently wiping your stomach.

"Should I take off work tomorrow?" you wonder aloud. "I want to sleep in."

"Yes," he whispers, grabbing your hands to sit you up. His eyes take in every bit of you. "Look at you. You're going to be the death of me."

Every nerve of yours seems to tingle at his words. "Hey, remember when I was pregnant last time, and you nearly broke my back during sex?"

Harry cackles way too loud, and you hush him as his hands slap over his mouth. "I was so scared when that happened. But I could only take you from behind because you were ready to pop, so it's not entirely my fault."

"Excuse me? How is that not your fault?" You yank the towel from him and begin cleaning him. "I'm surprised you didn't make my water break with how hard you were going."

"Jesus, you've got a dirty mind. Save it for later, would you?"

A comfortable silence ensues while you both get up, wrap towels around your bodies, and then head to the bedroom. You pick out one of Harry's shirts and a pair of underwear to wear as he slides into some black boxers. While you ruffle your slightly damp hair, he sneakily picks you up and lightly tosses you on the bed, making you squeal in surprise.

"Gonna take off work tomorrow?" he asks, kissing down your throat.

"Yeah. I'll lie and say my morning sickness is bad."

His kisses move to your cheeks. "And what if it actually is?"

"Then my husband will wait on me hand and foot," you say with a grin. "Feed me soup in bed. Massage me. Kiss me better."

Harry tucks your hair behind your ear. "You know I'd do that anyway, right? Just say the word, and I'll do anything for you."

You stare at his kind eyes and inviting lips. His shadow of a dimple even when he's not smiling. His perfect nose that resembles your daughter's. His cheeks that were meant to be pinched fondly. His bunny teeth that made you fall in love from day one. The love of your lifetime, with a soul that shelters a heart overflowing with endless love.

"I love you."

A whispered reciprocation is spoken, and it's all you need in this world.

——

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 40

PREV

The Winter Banquet.

Where the Spring Championship announcements happen for Collegiate Exy. A formal event meant to allow the ERC to showcase how their stars weren’t just brutes on the court. Look at how beautiful and handsome they all were. Look at how they danced together. Look at the smiles and laughter and-

Wait.

No.

Put that down.

Who had the great idea to put the Jackals next to the Terrapins? Things have been tense between the teams since the Captain of the Terrapins stole the Captain of the Jackal’s date during the Fall Banquet!

I thought we all agreed that there would never be any more steak knives! What was the point of paying for all the pre-cut tenderloins if we’re just going to give them steak knives?! 

Really gotta find an intern to pin this fiasco on.

Oh great the Foxes are leaving! Did we even get a picture of Kevin Day in his suit? Fuck it’s going to be a two intern firing kind of day isn’t it.

Someone get an eye on the Ravens before they try and grab some hapless idiot and sacrifice him to revive Riko Moriyama. If there’s even one more damn tabloid with a blurry photo of ‘Riko Moriyama’ to prove that his death was faked then heads will roll.

Honestly, the biopic that some Edgar Allan Film student is making about him seems pretty interesting. The ERC just wishes people would stop taking pics of the ‘lead actor’ and sending it to tabloids as proof that the King hadn’t died.

Fuck, the Foxes left before we got any decent pictures.

Well just great.

You’d think that after all these years of the Foxes leaving early they’d have learned that getting pictures as they arrive is the most important thing. 

Oh thank god it looks like the Trojans are starting to mediate the fight. You can always count on good ol’ Jeremy.

Fuck.

A Raven got too close to Jean Moreau and now Jeremy Knox has punched a Backliner. Great. The Trojans have formed ranks around Moreau but the kid’s just too damn tall. Someone has hit him in the head with an especially saucy meatball, he’s not injured, just confused. The Trojans are acting like it’s a gunshot he just took to the head.

The refreshment table just seemed to collapse in on itself and god wasn’t that just an allegory for this entire damn evening.

Anita Flores sighs as she watches yet another banquet go down in a riot. Honestly, she doesn’t know why they think these will end up differently. She finds herself often missing when she used to coordinate banquets for football teams.

She sighs and thinks about her least favorite interns.

Alex had been getting a bit too cocky lately. He’d make a good sacrifice.

***

(Three hours earlier)

The Palmetto State Foxes were on their way to the Winter Banquet. From what FF understood it was categorically always a 90% chance of a shitshow. Honestly FF was surprised that the percentage was that low.

There was a general tenseness in the air surrounding it that went beyond the Banquet’s propensity to become a fight. 

This year the Winter Banquet was going to be held up at the Binghamton Bearcat’s stadium. The nation knew the story from the news and FF knew the story from both that and from the Foxes themselves who were there at the time in bits and pieces.

Captain Neil had been kidnapped from this stadium and then he’d been tortured. FF hadn’t even been on the team when it had happened and he was anxious about Captain Neil going anywhere near the stadium.

“He was just…he was just gone.” Matt had said, “Neil was gone and Kevin said that he was probably dead when Andrew got back with his phone.” He continued as the two of them sat up late in the living room of the dorm one night back in early October.

“I thought Andrew was going to kill me y’know.” Kevin had said bottle in hand as FF tried to help him up the stairs because apparently he would 100% guarantee vomit if he was in the nausea box. “I thought that maybe I deserved it, since I didn’t help Neil. I just let him walk to his death.” He said and despite assurances that he wouldn’t puke FF’s shoes did not make it through that journey unscathed.

“We called…we called everywhere.” Nicky had stared up at the ceiling of his hospital room, “Andrew was adamant that he was still alive even though Kevin kept saying he was dead and that dead was the nicest thing he could hope for. I thought that was a terrible thing to say.” Nicky curled up closer to him.

“I told you, Andrew dragged me like I was nothing to get to Neil. I don’t think he even noticed the guns.” Wymack said to Abby as the two sat on the back porch during Aras’ going away party. “His eyes were on Neil.” he gestures towards where Andrew was watching Captain Neil wrestle with Matt.

“He looked like shit.” Aaron had said unable to stomach a diagram of different degrees of burn in his medical book. “At least he was alive.” He adds.

“A hero.” Andrew’s voice had been what could be considered teasing from Andrew, “Someone who looks like her.” he had said touching Captain Neil’s burn scars as they drove away from the stadium after coming back to pick FF up.

Captain Neil had come to him the day before they were set to drive out, “Take me somewhere no one will find me for an hour.” FF hadn’t quite understood what Captain Neil meant, he never hid anywhere. People just failed to realize where he was.

“Ok.” he says instead of trying to explain because being unnoticed means no one hid codes from him.

The roof of the Library wasn’t that much different from the roof of the Tower, only that it was taller and bigger. Captain Neil had shut his phone off after texting something, likely to Andrew, and then put it into his pocket.

FF settled on the roof, sat with his back against a heating vent to stay warm. Captain Neil settled next to him and they sat in silence. It felt like back at the start of this where Captain Neil and Andrew would come find him and just sit in silence. 

It was nice. He had missed-

“They act like the stadium is the thing that kidnapped me.” Captain Neil says.

Oh okay, quiet time is over apparently.

FF doesn’t say anything, figuring that nothing he could say right now would be the right thing and maybe Captain Neil just needs to talk through some stuff.

“That stadium is where I thought I’d have my last good memory.” Captain Neil explains, “I’m not scared of it and yet Andrew’s acting like I’ll die if I’m left alone for more than 2 seconds while we’re there. Every time we go there they all act like the most important thing in the world is that I get on that bus at the end of the night.” Captain Neil explains.

FF does remember how Andrew had grabbed Captain Neil after their October game up in Binghamton. How Captain Neil had complained bitterly but had gone after looking at Andrew.

“He’s dead!” Captain Neil exclaimed and FF couldn’t help but look over at the entrance and hoped no one heard them. “He’s dead! I watched him get shot! He can’t kidnap me again!” Captain Neil continued to yell and FF couldn’t help but worry that they’d be heard below, or worse bother a student trying to study below.

FF reached out and touched Captain Neil’s arm and bright blue eyes turned to him, “We’re on a library. Don’t yell.” FF said and Captain Neil looked at him incredulously.

Then he laughed. He laughed and laughed and FF was worried that he’d gone and broken his Captain.

He suddenly felt bad about his own bout of hysterical laughter a while back.

“Thanks Smith.” Captain Neil had said with a smile.

They had sat up there until it was dark and Andrew had started calling FF’s phone and Captain Neil took the call to say he was coming back.

Now they’re on the bus, dressed nicely, and on their way up to Binghamton’s stadium. Captain Neil and Andrew are hidden in the far back of the bus with Andrew looking far more like a watchdog than anything else the closer they got to their destination.

Captain Neil had seemed largely resigned to this treatment at this point. Eventually they were at the stadium and shown to their seats. They were sat across from the Trojans and it seemed like the rest of the team was quite pleased with that.

“Smith!” Captain Jeremy Knox is smiling at him, “Nice to see you again bud, nice name change too.” he says.

“It’s nice to see you too, Captain Jeremy.” FF says and doesn’t notice how Captain Neil’s head whips around to look at him.

“You two know each other?” Nicky asks looking between the two of them with excitement.

“Of course! We offered Smith a spot at the USC Trojans.” Captain Jeremy says and FF feels his stomach cramp at the memory.

That had been terrifying.

Coach Rheman and Captain Jeremy wanted to sit down to make their offer with his parents. He was still 17 and unable to sign anything legal without their permission. He’d tried to decline and move past them and Captain Jeremy had put the final nail in the coffin at the time for any thought that he could go to college on the power of his apparent Exy capabilities.

“I saw in your file that you have brothers! USC always gives a second look at student applicants who already have siblings in the university. You could go to school with your brothers!” he had smiled brightly like he wasn’t issuing FF one of the most terrifying threats he’d ever heard in his entire life.

He had given the firmest ‘No thank you, I’m not interested in playing Exy in college.’ he could and was running to his Grandma’s to breath into a bag for twenty minutes.

“I see you changed your mind about playing Exy in college.” Captain Jeremy said with the same smile that still feels like a threat.

“Coach Wymack and Captain Dan were convincing.” he says and looks to see if there’s any way he can move further away from Captain Jeremy’s attention.

“Can I ask what convinced you to be a Fox?” Captain Jeremy asks, “I’m always trying to see what support we should be offering. I found out last year that we missed out on Andrew because we didn’t offer spots to Aaron or Nicky. I thought since you had brothers that’d be the thing that got you.” Captain Jeremy leans across the table but stops when he notices the Foxes all tense. “Whoa, what’s up?” he asks.

Jean Moreau sighs from next to Captain Jeremy, “Not everyone wants to go to college with their family, Jeremy.” Jean says, “Did it not cross your mind that he changed his entire name?” he asks with a raised brow.

Jeremy blinks, “Oh,” he looks at FF, “I guess that wasn’t the right thing to offer.” he says leaning back in his chair.

“I guess I should thank you for offering that?” Nicky says wryly before turning to look at FF, “You look better in orange anyways.” he says.

“Thank you Nicky.” FF returns loyally.

The banquet gets started shortly afterwards. Food is served. The bar is opened. People are talking. FF finds himself relaxing the longer the conversations around him go on. Matt is talking with a backliner on the Trojan line named Todd in good cheer. Captain Neil, Kevin, and Jean are all talking about the latest updates with Ichirou in French with the occasional gesture towards FF. Jean Moreau looks at him with a raised eyebrow but gives him a single nod when Captain Neil explains what happened.

Jeremy is chatting with Jack and even Jack was finding it hard to maintain his usual level of rudeness in the face of such unbridled positive energy. Nicky was talking with Katelyn and Alvarez. Aaron was chatting with a fellow med student college athlete who was an offensive dealer. 

It was shaping up to be a good night.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[theologiedansleboudoir]

The Banquet of Chestnuts

"On the evening of the last day of October, 1501, Cesare Borgia arranged a banquet in his chambers in the Vatican with 'fifty honest prostitutes,' called courtesans, who danced after dinner with the attendants and others who were present, at first in their garments, then naked. After dinner the candelabra with the burning candles were taken from the tables and placed on the floor, and chestnuts were strewn around, which the naked courtesans picked up, creeping on hands and knees between the chandeliers, while the Pope, Cesare, and his sister Lucretia looked on. Finally, prizes were announced for those who could perform the act most often with the courtesans, such as tunics of silk, shoes, barrets, and other things."

―Johann Burchard, Diary

[together-we-got-it]

The former ptt in Stockton ca still has its ptt walls despite being abandoned

Stockton ca opened in October 1979 with a portrait stage as the 6th cec to ever open. There is only one known video of the location, filmed in 1987. In 1993 Stockton had a incident where the employee in the chuck walkaround suit was thrown over the salad bar because he was being rude to guests.

The location closed in December 1998 after 19 years in operation with a 2 stage, most likely due to parking issues. The abandoned location was temporarily used as a banquet during an unknown year. The abandoned location still has its red cec doors it had when it closed. The address is Stockton CA 4555 N Pershing Ave

[barracuda-shark-games]

Progress Update 9/26/24

I've spent much of the last week coding in toggles for tone and skill indicators after getting some feedback that this is a desirable feature for players who want to be clear on which stat their choices will impact.

Unfortunately, this has caused a little bit of a delay in chapter 1 writing; however, I will be publishing as much of chapter 1 as I can by the end of October.

On a brighter note, this has also made me revisit some other things in the prologue. I've fleshed out some of the scenes, including confrontations during the banquet, and added some content for Sadie and Ailbe. Previously, players would experience more Sadie content if they specifically chose the sword-inflicted scar as their unique trait. Now, I've added more Sadie content so that all players can experience some more meaningful Sadie interactions. :)

I have also decided against including skill checks in the prologue. There were some confrontations with the duke you could only get with high enough charming or intimidating stats; those options will no longer be locked.

Originally I was going to hold off on releasing the updated prologue until chapter 1 was posted, but I'm excited to get it out there so I will probably be posting the update in the next week or so. Stay tuned!

-Janus

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #7: In Pie We Crust

Prompt: morsel || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

A/N: This is one time I'm not sorry for a pun. This is your only warning about what's coming, have a snack ready. YOU ARE WELCOME.

---

Rereha was a grown woman, halfway through her thirties, had helped save the world multiple times over, but absolutely nothing reverted her to being a twelve-year old sproglet like Angharad Greywolfe’s baking.

The kitchen in the Greywolfe ancestral seat wasn’t as familiar to her as the one in Isolde Greywolfe’s ostentatious manor was; the furniture was different, the shelves of different placement and style and material. But the layout was, almost to the ilm, the same, with a great table as the centerpiece. Aunt Angharad’s influence, certainly, as even with a score of servants manning the household, the Greywolfe matriarch preferred to make the kitchen her domain, to her good-sister’s continued bafflement.

Considering how large and heavy the table was, how darkened and worn the surface, Rere suspected that whatever Garlean household had squatted here during the occupation had decided trying to move the thing was more trouble than it was worth.

The chairs, though, were new, more like stools to accommodate the height of the work table, and Rereha perched on a lalafell-appropriate one, hands flat on the tabletop as she watched Aunt Angharad flit about her kitchen like a hunting hawk. Next to her, Lyse did similar.

“I think the last time I had a proper fruit pie,” Lyse said, her voice dripping with wistful lust, “was just before that damned banquet.”

Aunt Angharad nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to pivot and stare at Lyse, just as Rere whipped her head around with a horrified squawk. “Lyse.”

Lyse nodded. “S’true. The Resistance cell that Papalymo and I stayed with when we snuck across the Wall had a good supply line, but any fresh fruit they got was dried for better storage, and wheat was for bread and hard tack—”

Rere and Lyse both went rap-rap with their knuckles against the wood, and shared a conspiratorial giggle.

“—and whatever pies were made were meat ones,” Lyse finished. “Pretty tasty, though! I’d forgotten how much I loved gazelle meat. But then we were scrambling back home, and the whole thing with the Griffin…” She paused again, breathing deep, and Rere leaned over to hug her as Aunt Angharad pushed a mug of spiced tea towards her. Lyse returned the hug, then sat up to reach for the mug and sip from it. “Thanks. So, the huge disaster Ilberd made, and then we were running around Gyr Abania and Othard and then I was suddenly given a leadership position and staying in Ala Mhigo, and here we are! I mean, sure, I’ve attended a few formal functions in Eorzea, but those only have the cute little cakes and cookies for dessert. And I’m a good little Gyr Abanian girl, I can and will fight Synnove for the last piece of kunifeh, but pie.”

“Mother Miounne’s blueberry pie,” Rere said dreamily.

Lyse moaned and thunked her head against the table. “With peach ice cream from the Bismarck! Oooohhhh, the way it melts right into the blueberry and makes this cold-and-hot sticky yummy fruit mess on the plate and in your mouth…”

Rere could taste the memory on her tongue as vivid as if she had just shoveled blueberries and ice cream into her mouth, and groaned rapturously.

“Well,” Aunt Angharad laughed setting down a pie tin, “it’s not blueberry, but something tells me that won’t disappoint you girls.”

Rereha and Lyse leaned forward, oohing and aahing in excited delight.

The top crust was perfectly golden brown and no doubt delicious, strips of dough layered into a lattice work as tightly-woven as any picnic basket and encrusted with a cinnamon-sugar mix before being baked. The edges had been neatly crimped, then pressed down with a fork so that the tines made pretty little impressions. A few strategic openings in the lattice allowed steam to escape, curling and dancing upwards and bringing with it the familiar scent of rich cinnamon and ginger and nutmeg and most importantly, cooked, tart apple.

Rereha and Lyse both took deep, appreciative lungfuls, holding the deliciousness in their noses before letting out sighs of pure happiness.

Aunt Angharad chuckled, and made the first cut. The pastry cracked satisfyingly and a shiver went down Rereha’s spine. Aw, yeah, she thought, reaching up to wipe away the drool from her mouth, Angharad Greywolfe’s own pie dough.

“Pie! Pie! Pie! Pie!” Lyse was chanting quietly, staring with huge eyes. Rereha started thumping her hands against the table in accompaniment.

One slice, two slices. With the deft expertise of the experience home cook, Aunt Angharad plated each one without losing any of the filing. Beautiful, spice-covered slices of apple glistened in the kitchen light, before it began to gently ooze out of shape and onto each plate.

Lyse’s stomach made a gurgling noise. Rereha’s followed.

Aunt Angharad’s expressions could properly be called “deeply smug.” She set a fork on each plate, and then gently slid them so they sat perfectly in front of them.

“Do enjoy, girls,” she said, sing-song, with the assurance that would do nothing less.

Rereha picked up her fork. So did Lyse. They clacked forks together, then used them to cut off a large piece of apple pie, and shove said pieces into their own mouths. And moaned.

The crust, as always, was perfectly flaky and soft and good in its own right, made with a combination of sweet cream butter and lard to create the lovely little layers. The crunch beneath Rereha’s teeth was oh-so-satisfying, especially against the soft apple slices.

The sugar-spice blend was cinnamon-dominant, as it should be, the other spices mixed with it added sparingly to enhance rather than overwhelm. Just a hint of the nutmeg, the warmth of ginger, and ooooh, yes, there was the star anise. Rereha continued to chew slowly, savoring each and every bit of this truly divine experience. Along with the sugar that Aunt Angharad had tossed the apples in, it was almost candy-like with how the sugar had caramelized as it cooked. Not quite enough to be a chewy treat in and of itself, of course, but more like a sauce, thick and rich and sweeeeeeeet. So, so, so good. And then the wonderful tartness of the apple, bright enough to cut through the sweet and ensure that the fruit was all that was left on the tongue in delicious memory as Rereha swallowed.

Rereha closed her eyes and sighed. “I love you so much, Auntie,” she said, opening her eyes to claim another bite. Beside her, Lyse was still making frankly obscene noises, cheeks bulging as she continued to chew her first huge bite.

Angharad’s laugh echoed from the other end of the kitchen, and she poked her head in from the cold room. A devious smile was on her lips. “Want some vanilla ice cream for that?”

Lyse nearly choked as she joined Rere’s shriek of, “YES!”