#duly signed

[mariasont]

Date Night - A.H

a/n: i have been so obsessed with the nanny recently so this is kind of based off that

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

summary: you get home from the world's worst date

warnings: none i think, IDK IM SO BAD AT THESE

wc: 0.9k

To put it quite frankly your date sucked. He was disrespectful to the waiter, made really unsettling noises while eating, talked incessantly about his ex, and worst of all, he didn't let you get a word in edge wise (a major issue because you really like to talk).

Saying you were disappointed would barely scratch the surface. The rarity of your dates, thanks to your demanding role as a live-in nanny for Viriginia's most occupied FBI agent, made your free time all too precious. Mr. Hotchner was home this weekend, which granted you some time off, well-deserved you might add, but you had wasted it on some sad excuse of a man who made you believe that chivalry really was dead.

You had a clear mission when you entered the house: to drown the evening's disappointment in a generous pour of red, slip into your comfiest pajamas, and indulge in trashy reality TV, which, by comparison, casted your night in a much more flattering light. You were beginning to accept that maybe, you were meant to be alone, only because men sucked.

You all but threw your jacket into the closet, kicking off the pumps that had spent the night punishing your heels, and bent to rub the throbbing pain, releasing a sigh steeped in disappointment.

"You're home early."

Your heart leapt to your throat, hand flying to your chest on reflex as you whirled around to face the sight of Mr. Hotchner lounging in the armchair, a whiskey glass cradled in his hand. The light from the lamp beside him served to accentuate the shadows beneath his eyes, no doubt caused by his job. So, what he was doing up was beyond you.

"Geez, Mr. Hotchner, are you trying to give me a heart attack here?"

A mock frown creased your face, and you sauntered over to his chair. You settled on the armrest beside him and smoothly relieved him of the glass, taking a small, savoring sip. Annoying him was one of your favorite pastimes, one that was all too rare with his usual absence.

"So, what's the occasion? Waiting up for me?"

He wasn't amused, clearly, his face unchanging. With a deliberate motion, he took the glass back, taking another casual drink, and despite his stern look he didn't move away from you. His eyes shot you a sharp glance, withholding any spoken response.

With a light tap on his shoulder, you hopped down from the arm of the chair.

"It's okay, you don't have to say it. I can read you like a book," you tossed him a wink, your dress flirting with the edge of modesty at the quick action. His eyes briefly betrayed him, moving towards the expanse of flesh now on display. "Ahem, Mr. Hotchner, my face is a little higher."

You gently nudged his chin upward with your finger, guiding his attention to your eyes. You loved his eyes, a cocoa brown color that reminded you of rich, velvety chocolate truffles, a comparison you were pretty sure had slipped out when he interviewed you.

"Careful," he cautioned in a low murmur, easing himself from the chair and setting his glass aside. "As your employer, it's reasonable for me to be concerned about your well-being, you are the woman who raises my child."

"Oh, absolutely, sir. Your concern is most reasonable and duly noted," you replied with an exaggerated formality, lightly tapping his cheek before neatly tucking your hands behind your back.

He traced his brow with his fingertips, as if to smooth away the beginnings of a headache, undoubtedly brought on by you. A sigh of exhaustion followed. "I trust I don't need to remind you of who signs your paycheck."

With a beaming smile, you sing out, hands moving to rest on your hips. "Totally clear on that, sir!" You turn and head up the stairs, your mumble just loud enough for him to catch, "A little raise wouldn't hurt though, just saying!"

He's close behind as he warns in a low voice, "Don't push your luck."

You stop so suddenly he almost stumbles into you and you feel his hands steady you on your hips, dangerously close to the curve of your ass as you glance back at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare, sir."

A slight shake of his head and those perceptive eyes convey all he doesn't say as his hands fall away, the space they leave behind feeling oddly empty. 

"So, the date didn't go well?" he asks as you reach the top of the stairs.

"No, I didn't say that. It was wonderful, perfect actually." You'd always been a terrible liar, and naive for thinking he'd fall for it. "He might just be the man of my dreams."

He gives you a look that tells you he sees right through your bullshit. "Let me guess, he probably ordered for you without asking, talked over you, and didn't even bother to walk you to your door."

"Uh, no, that's not--," you start, voice squeaking slightly. His unimpressed look makes you fold--something you found yourself doing way too often around him. "Okay, fine. But really, using those weird FBI skills on me? That's playing dirty, Mr. Hotchner."

"No 'weird FBI skills' required," he replies, the slightest smirk gracing his stupidly handsome face. "Your taste in men is just... consistently interesting."

"Interesting is better than non-existent, which I believe is the current state of your dating life, Mister."

He moves closer, the narrowing space nudging you against the wall. "Well, considering my days are filled with work, parenting, and apparently, babysitting you, dating isn't exactly a priority."

He was kind of hot when he was mad. His eyes narrowed at you. Okay, not kind of, definitely hot when mad.

"Oh, Mr. Hotchner, it sounds like you need a night off from all that babysitting," you purr, placing your hands on his shoulders as you grace him with a smile. "Why don't we discuss your options over dinner? My treat?"

A sigh of exasperation escapes him, a telltale sign that he's done with the conversation, which actually is how a lot of your discussions end. He steps back and opens the door to your room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mr. Hotchner, see you in the morning," you say, your hand pausing on his arm just a beat too long. "Sweet dreams--though I'm sure I'll be in them."

taglist: @hotchhner

[mondaymelon]

hi :)) can i make a request about zhongli who has a s/o who is very self conscious and has low self esteem?? like they’re just constantly hating on themselves and have nothing good to say about themselves making poor zhongli worried :((

₊˚ෆ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃… | zhongli, xiao, childe x gn!reader

[ "archons forbid you in having these thoughts once more. love, you are perfect, and please don't let anyone sway that." ]

— "archons, why did i just do that? ...fuck, i'm such an idiot..."

ZHONGLI interrupted the occasional stroke of his ink-stained brush upon silk canvas, his gilded eyes glancing up and searching your face until they met yours.

"Love, why are you..." His voice trailed off as his gaze filled with warm concern, his expression softening as his brows furrowed, as if he couldn't even begin to fathom why'd you think such a thing. He set down the brush in its hold, before moving to stand. You were sat on the couch across from his desk, where you could remain in his line of sight as he did his duties, and now you were curled up on its cushions, looking at him with the corners of your mouth slightly drawn down into a pout.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He sat down next to you, unsure of how close he should get, and so hovered an arm's length away from your form. You quietly shook your head in a frustrated manner, and he made a short hum of acknowledgement. "Love, come here. Let's take a break together, you and me, alright?"

When he had received your approval, he gently held you in his arms, stroking a gloved hand in your hair soothingly. He was warm, his tall figure engulfing you, and you melted at his touch. "...Zhongli, why do you love someone like me?"

You felt his fingers' delicate touch abruptly still to a halt at your words. Silence encompassed the room, and Zhongli shifted in his seat, drawing closer and finally moving his hand to your face, grabbing at your chin and tilting it upwards so you had no choice but to stare into his glittering eyes. The traces of a smile lingered on his lips. "It'd be impossible not to."

How come your vision had grown so cloudy? "I'm bad. At everything. I can't do anything right."

"Just who told you that? Love, your character is beautiful. You're diligent, hard-working, talented, with a golden heart... it makes me wonder how I even was able to join hands with you in the first place." His corners of his mouth were truly curved upwards now, and he met your gaze with a close eyed smile, his dark-lashed lids fluttering. "Archons forbid... please don't tell that to yourself again, alright?"

Hot tears begun to spill from your eyes at his words. No, that couldn't be true. How... how come it was possible for someone like to trust you to this extent?

Ah, I know why. The thought came to you as he kissed the tears from your sorrow-laden lashes. "I love you."

His cheeks warmed just the slightest, his gaze of melted gold soft as a smile graced his lips once more.

"Yes, I love you too." ₊˚ෆ

— "agh, messed up again... archons, how come i can't do anything right??"

XIAO's head snapped up as soon as the words were uttered into the midnight air, immediately emerging from the shadows by your side as you stared over the edge of Wangshu Inn's balcony, tightly gripping the wooden railings.

"What... What did you just say?" You flinched at his sudden presence, something you had still yet to grow accustomed to. The adeptus had a habit of listening in on your rambles with yourself, and appeared whenever he deemed fit. However, your words now seemed to have angered him, as eyes were narrowed in displeasure, his cat-like diamond pupils forming mere slits.

"Is there... something wrong?" You tilted your head in confusion, watching a flit of emotions cross Xiao's face in a mere split-second.

"Yes. Three steps away." His voice made it clear that it was no mere request. Complying to his order, you duly backtracked the said amount, empty hands raised in front of you as a sign of surrender. "Don't get too close to the railing. It's dangerous."

You almost laughed. "Ah, but won't you save me if I happen to fall?"

"That's granted." Xiao scoffed, nodding a little too quickly after your question, but caught himself. It seemed that he had, in fact, learned a thing or two about mortal speech from you. "No, don't change the topic now. What you said earlier... do you really believe that?"

"...Well, it's true, isn't it?" You faced the scenery in front of you, the blue, slightly cloud dusted skies, the grooves of the land and the jagged mountains poking up out of harsh stone... it was an easier sight than looking into the adeptus' eyes at the moment. His eyes were acute, perceptive, honed sharply after years of service. Oh, that was the truth, wasn't it? You were afraid that he'd see too much in your gaze, and that he'd know how much of a pathetic failure you were, with nothing but mistake after mistake following your every movement-

"Hey." There was a light touch on your wrist - Xiao's gloved fingers, wrapping around it gently. "Just what are you thinking about? You look... upset, and I don't like it." There it was. His clear eyes, staring into yours with concern. "You... You said you couldn't do anything right, but that's not true at all, love."

Love.

Xiao had never been one to display much affection, yet he had readily agreed to use such a name for his one and only. His voice was quiet, gentle, nothing like how you had first imagined it in the days after the two of you's first encounter.

"Thank you, Xiao." You finally turned to him, face breaking into a smile, and you saw his tense figure visibly relax at your contentment.

"...What for?"

"For being here. Everything." In the dim moonlight, you just might've glimpsed the whisper of a smile on the adeptus' lips, a secret one, a small one, just for you.

"There's no need to thank me. It was the least I could do." ₊˚ෆ

— "seriously?? this is the eighth damn... i knew i it, i'm absolute shit at everything i do... "

CHILDE's eyes widened as he spun to look at you, his mouth forming a round 'o' as he spotted the countless ink splatters on the paper, on your table, on your fingers, staining your clothes - everything.

...And upon seeing the chaos, clutched his sides and burst into several bouts of laughter that stretched on for minutes. When he was done with his ridicule, he placed his hands on his hips dramatically, a playful smile still decorating his joyful expression. "Aha- Love, just what...?" His voice trailed off, surely there was no need to finish his sentence? There could only be one possible thing he was referring to, and it was the absolute mess you had created, and a mess that you now sat in the center of, blinking awkwardly with a wobbly half-smile on your lips.

"Uhm... I tried to... Ugh, nevermind..." You crumpled up the canvas sheet filled with incoherent scribbles and threw it into some archon-forsaken corner, where you prayed it would never cross your line of sight again. Under your breath, you mumbled out several curse words, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Shit, this is why no one should place any faith in me, good for nothing..."

The smile on his face dropped. Curse him, and his stupidly acute hearing. Instantly, he was a mere two inches away from you, deep ocean eyes boring into yours in an almost uncanny manner. "...Hey, just now, care to repeat that?"

"...Good for nothing...?" You flinched, unsure of where the sudden wave of bloodlust that was currently flooding your senses had come from - until you glanced up at Childe, who stood over you, his eyes closed in a happy smile but the expression on his face anything but happy.

"Who told you that?" His voice was venomous, it felt like you were being poisoned just listening to it. A dark shadow cast over his eyes, as if this were some dramatic soap opera.

"Did someone have to?" You sighed, waving your hand in the air in a dismissive way. "It's true, though. I seriously can't get anything right, and I haven't even gotten started on what I don't like about myself-"

"Stop." Childe held a finger over your mouth, pressing it to your lips and effectively bringing your words to a halt. "Stop, stop stop, it's all wrong, love!" He looked like a kicked puppy, his eyes downcast and a pout on his lips, and you could practically imagine the ginger folded ears and tail that might've been. "Seriously, how do you even think up of these kinds of things?? They're not true at all!"

Why was he so adamant on this? "But... it is?"

"That's it." Childe waltzed over to where you sat on the ground, before grabbing you from the middle and hoisting you over his shoulder, giving a little huff when you wriggled to try and break free from his grasp. "We're going on a one-week vacation. To Mondstadt. Inazuma. Sumeru. Fontaine. Shneznaya, for all I care. Just not here."

"Do... Do I have a say in this?" You frowned slightly from your position, you arms dangling over your head as you fought your hardest not to laugh.

"No."

"What's even wrong with here, why..."

"Shush. Let me take care of you, won't you?" ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) apapapappow second request done!! im not doing all that bad hehehe... wish me luck on my ap class midterm!! i should be studying rn but uhm uhm yes genshin men are first priority >>>

-> teehee what if yall left a message on my christmas tree 😶😶😶

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

''closed for cleaning on mondays'' comes from a sign, right? where it had been like written in English first and then a translation request sent to some office for the Welsh part and the autoreply came back saying the closed for cleaning bit but it's in Welsh so the people sending the request think it's the text they wanted translated, so then the road sign reads like:

''[Closed for cleaning on Mondays, but in Welsh] // Llanfainpwllgwyngyll Regional Airport 5 km"

i thought I remembered some kind of story like that......

...this is a highly surreal ask to receive and I lowkey cannot work out if you Know and are baiting me or if the stars have just aligned weirdly that I am being asked this.

Okay so no, "Closed for cleaning on Mondays" is just an isolated joke by itself, thrown out because it's funny to think of a country being closed for cleaning. HOWEVER. I do know exactly what you're vaguely remembering (or possibly fully remembering and gleefully pretending otherwise *sus*).

A new road was built near a supermarket in Swansea into a residential area in 2008, so they needed a road sign to tell delivery lorries not to enter the road. Someone in the roads section of Swansea Council duly sent the sign text ("No entry for heavy goods vehicles. Residential site only") to be translated to their internal translation department.

What they got back was an email that said:

Nid wyf yn y swyddfa ar hyn o bryd. Anfonwch unrhyw iaith i'w gyfieithu i EMAIL ADDRESS os gwelwch yn dda.

I am not in the office at the moment. Please send any work to be translated to EMAIL ADDRESS.

At which point, the galaxy-brained individual who received that response went "Ah, excellent, my translation - WAIT. Something is Wrong with this translation."

And he looked at it, and examined it, and pondered it, and then went: "Hang on. My text didn't have an email address in it."

And he looked at it again, and examined it again, and pondered it again, and then went: "Hang on. I remember from school that 'Os gwelwch yn dda" means 'please'. My text didn't have the word please in it."

And he looked at it a final time, and examined it a final time, and pondered it a final time, and then went: "I have solved the mystery here. The translator is Wrong. I just need to remove that email address and 'please' and then it'll say what I want."

And thus this happened:

And that got picked up by Welsh media, and then UK media, and then international media, and even the New York Times or some shit reported it, and then MASSIVE FUCKING SCRUTINY descended upon, not the roads department of Swansea council who were actually responsible, but the translation department of Swansea Council, because this was considered Proof that we shouldn't have to put Welsh on road signs and we should all just let Welsh die.

And THAT meant the translators working for Swansea Council suddenly had to go through their out-of-office emails to prove that they're nice and clear and easy to understand and this wasn't their fault.

And one of those poor hapless translators, whose out-of-office email was suddenly being scrutinised by the New York Times as potential evidence that his job shouldn't exist and his language should be wiped out...

WAS MY HUSBAND.

DID YOU KNOW, TUMBLR USER GIRLWARLOCK

DID YOU KNOW THAT THIS IS PERSONAL

ARE YOU TOYING WITH ME

WHAT SORT OF POWER PLAY I'M

[koschgay]

okay. 73 Yards: Explained- An Attempt, by Me

important presuppositions for this theory:

-Ruby is an eldritch being (probably part of the Pantheon or a different, older thing) with the power to control stories. she has no idea about this, but she is.

-snowing is a sign of her eldritch powers at work

-the Doctor broke the universe in Wild Blue Yonder and let magic in (this is basically canon at this point tbh)

the theory:

-the Doctor stepped in and broke a fairy ring and was duly punished in the traditional fairy manner, by being whisked away to the fairy realm and made to dance for their entertainment

-Ruby opened a scroll, got mildly weirded out, and then noticed that the Doctor was missing and got really weirded out

-this caused her powers to trigger (it starts snowing around this point in the episode), and in her panic over losing the Doctor, she spins herself a story that she has very little control over

-The Woman is a manifestation of her fear of abandonment. everyone she gets close to leaves her without explanation; her birth mother did it, and now, in her panicked mind, the Doctor has just done it as well. The Woman is entirely a creation of Ruby’s powers, she has absolutely nothing to do with the pre-existing circle and any fairies it may or may not contain

-Roger ap Gwilliam is just a shitty guy. maybe he called himself Mad Jack on TV thanks to Ruby’s story powers, but he isn’t any kind of fae creature or magical entity that has been unleashed upon the workd

-Ruby fixates on stopping him as the solution to her problems, and so she does stop him, because her eldritch story powers dictate that She Has To Win In The End

-however, the Doctor was vanished away by a force completely separate to her story powers, so her ‘getting rid of Mad Jack’ does nothing to bring him back or appease The Woman. Ruby is still Abandoned By Him, in her mind, so The Woman, her Woman, stays with her

-she lives her entire life not knowing what to do, because her story and the Doctor’s problem are entirely separate

-when she dies, because she’s a being with powers incredibly fundamental to reality, the universe goes ‘hang on, this is wrong, she’s not supposed to be able to die, I need my story function’. and so it reboots her, and Ruby’s powers allow her to warn her young self about the fairy ring BEFORE the Doctor steps in it and BEFORE she reads the scroll

-all this time, she hasn’t known how to end her story. she’s been incapable of it, because she hasn’t had the key missing plot point: that the Doctor disappearing was completely unrelated to her own misadventures

-and at the end of the day, what’s the classic way of ending a story when you don’t know how to finish it off? ‘it was all a dream’, or in this case, ‘it was all an alternate timeline’

the end. thank u for listening <3

[after-witch]

Peaches [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Peaches [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You smell like Peaches. Mahito thinks about it.

Word Count: 860

notes: yandere, discussions of dead bodies in a bit of detail, threats of harm, just a lil mahito something something in honor of tomorrow <3

You smell like peaches. 

He knows this now. But he didn’t always know what the scent that clung to your skin was actually called. It was knowledge duly gained by following his nose one day, having caught a scent on the wind that reminded him of you, although he knew it wasn’t actually you. 

Because the real you--the soul surrounded by flesh and blood--were currently holed up in the office building where you worked, stupid thing that you were, wasting your hours and energy on something entirely useless. 

But that windy breeze smelled like you, and that’s why he followed it on two feet, humming, until he wandered into some kind of open air market where baskets were bursting with all sorts of fruits and vegetables. He smelled them all, licking a few, taking bites when he felt like it, until he found the right one. 

It had yellowish-orange flesh, and it was soft, fuzzy. He took a bite and the juice ran down his chin, but the smell was stronger and that was particularly nice. The sign in front of the basket read: Peaches.

Ah, then.

A peach. 

That’s what you smelled like. 

Your scent was a bit different, though, if he got technical about it. You didn’t smell exactly like this real peach, all fresh fuzz and sticky bright juice. The way you smell is more… rich, low, consistent. Overripe. A peach amplified and concentrated.

Artificial.

That was how humans described such notions, wasn’t it? It must be perfume, or shampoo, or something else that humans rub on themselves to smell different. 

You, evidently, wanted to smell like peaches.

He couldn’t blame you. It was a nice smell, without considering personal taste. Pleasant and fresh. He supposed a lot of humans liked to smell that way. He didn’t mind dampness or decay, the low sweet rot of it was quite pleasant to him. Humans, on the other hand, tried to cover up any stench they could. Sprays for their bathroom, sprays for their skin, sprays for their hair, hastily emptying corpses of everything that made them bloat deliciously and spew out secretions and replacing it with sterile chemicals. 

Not that you were trying to cover up any such odor, corpse-like or not. He’s watched you in the bathroom on most mornings, scrubbing every bit of the human body that liked to produce a smell if left untouched. Your armpits, your back, that awfully special area between your legs. So that there was no trace of your natural scent about you by the time you were done, no chance that someone might walk by you and turn up their nose.

No matter what you smell like, though, your soul remains the same.

Souls have no particular smell, unless they are corrupt enough. Humans are truly pathetic for not knowing this fact. A corrupt soul is a bit like a dead body, he supposes, if he had to compare their scent to something else. Thrumming with rot, like decaying flesh moving with maggots. 

Your soul is not so corrupt. He would’ve gotten a whiff of it, if it was. Oh, but make no mistake: it’s not pure either. He’s seen the way it wavers, the darkened shimmers when you’re standing at a traffic light (sometimes he thinks about shoving someone into traffic, to see what will happen, what you’ll do) or when your boss is berating you for some nonsensical human failures (what might you do, if he snapped your boss’s neck here and now, in front of you?)--the curses that slither their way out of you are dark and low, stodgy little things borne out of feelings you try to stamp down.

That was the beautiful thing about curses. They were humanity, untethered. Just one reason why they were superior. 

That doesn’t mean he can’t want to play with humans, though. He’s never had a toy he wanted to keep around for so long, but there’s something about you. Something that keeps him just far enough away to avoid detection, on the off chance that you could see him. Sometimes he wonders, with the way your eyes dart around on the street, with the way you pause over something he’s moved in your apartment. Do you spot him in a crowd, and see that he’s different? Can you feel his presence, when he’s on the other side of the door, listening to you sing off-key while you shower?

Your soul shimmers then, too. 

He longs to touch it, to root around and see exactly what makes you angry, what makes you hate, what spots of mold might be hiding underneath that peach perfume. 

How long would you smell like peaches, if he dragged you to the damp tunnel where he lives? Would it linger on your skin like a memory? Or would it fade and fade and fade until there was nothing left but the sour, damp water of his sewer? 

Maybe he’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sprawl out on your couch when you come home, and find out if you can see him. 

After all, he can do whatever he wants. That’s what life is all about, isn’t it?

[ominouspuff]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: In a new post, show your latest line (artwork or written), and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like)!

Tagged by @rooksunday (well you know what this one is going to be)

This time you caught me writing a fic snippet for the RepGA AU to feel out characterization. I’m sharing the whole snippet though for fun, not just one line.

———————————

“Everything is normal.

It is grating against his skin and lighting up his veins in red-hot acid. He is choked by it, throat clotted and breath thin. Betrayal stings in his chest — directionless and worthless and misguided, because he cannot truly fault his shaking legs when he doesn’t know what’s wrong with them.

It is weakness, and it is getting worse.

“Yes, Senator,” He manages, and is grimly relieved that the man does not look askance at Fox — does not seem to notice the tremor in his voice at all. The words come mechanically, his inflection seven levels from perfection, which is six too many to forgive.

“Make sure they are your best,” The Senator is saying, not unkindly but blindly, focus tighter than a pinprick, for which Fox is grateful. “We cannot tolerate abuse on the delegation, not even a whisper of it. I have tried to reason with them, but the students are young and their professors passionate — they are so set on fighting to be heard, with an unfortunate emphasis on the physicality of that action…”

Fox nods. “Well,” He says, as if perturbed and accepting all at once — but can afford no more. He might be sick if he opens his mouth too far.

“Well, indeed.” The man nods, wrinkles scrunching, eyes fogged by inward thought. He sucks his sharp teeth. “Well. I must regroup with Senator Organa I fear, I expect your units will be timely?”

“Yes.” Fox confirms and denies all at once — because his ‘units’ are always timely, even when they’re bleeding, and having those expectations is no business of the Senator’s. It is a Guard matter.

There are many Guard matters. One of them is Thorn, lost in the seventh level as of fifteen minutes before Fox inclined his helmet to a Senator, answering the summon. Thorn, with his two faithful CTs and orders from a sectorial mayor. Thorn, who looked at Fox before he left and did not point out his shaking fingers, only nodded with sharp eyes and a tight mouth and trust bleeding out of him in streams.

“It’s normal, Fox. Don’t stress it.”

The Senator leaves, satisfied and indulging his perturbation over the youth, as is typical of the man lately. Fox stiffly reverses his direction, marching to the nearest service stairwell. He wrenches it open, but does not let the door bang. It takes excruciating effort to close it still more gently behind him, to step without staggering or tightening his aching fists.

He runs, already flipping on his comm. Voices answer, their pitch perfect, their diction flawless, their sound near identical, and Fox’s pride is a balm against the cold that perpetually tightens his chest and throws his stride off beat.

He uses numbers, not their names — never their names, on the comm. Directives come quick, but not smooth. There is a breath of hesitation that betrays how far he has fallen, that they notice even here, before all chorus affirmatives and sign off. A ping comes from Thire, inquisitive and absurd. Fox pings back once, raising the urgency, and Thire duly does not repeat himself.

They cannot afford to discuss that Fox can barely breathe — and Thire would do worse, asking why.

By the time he reaches his office, he is in agony. Thire is waiting there, according to his orders. He knows better than to speak — not here, not now — but his eyes are glittering wetly with concern and uncertainty, and Fox is a shriveled, rotting thing that cannot open his ironbound teeth in the face of it. They strip to blacks, swapping armor with the seamless efficiency of frequent practice. Once Fox has put on every piece of Thire’s armor, he puts on the rest — Thire’s loose hands, Thire’s tilting head, Thire’s light steps. It takes too long. It comes like bits of flesh slotted into gaping holes, alien and painful.

Thire is already standing like a rigid statue by the time Fox has finished, head tilted down slightly, every inch of him looking like Fox’s mirror does.

“8 hours. Meet me back here.” Fox repeats from their talk over comms., shoulders sliding back, and Thire nods solemnly.

Fox leaves the office, stride ever so slightly trembling with the new bounce in his step. He heads for the elevators, the exits, the city outside, the underground that leads down and down and down. His pistol sits heavy on his belt, and Fox’s loose fingers twitch with something feverish that’s settled in his very bones.

Everything is normal, and Fox refuses to let it kill him.”

—————————

Tagging: Reverse-uno, @rooksunday , and anyone else who wants to! (@frostbitebakery and @chiliger , I simply must.)

[empiredesimparte]

Act of Consent to the Marriage of HIH Madame Hortense with HRH Prince Oliver of Scotland

👉🏻 Follow Hortense's wedding on the blog @officalroyalsofpierreland

Le palais des Tuileries, on the occasion of the marriage of Her Imperial Highness, Madame Hortense, reveals the Act of Consent ordered by His Imperial Majesty Emperor Napoleon V:

NAPOLEON, by the Grace of God and the National Will, Emperor of the French, grant our consent to the marriage of our beloved sister, Madame Hortense Rose, with HRH Prince Oliver of Scotland. In accordance with the traditions and dignity of our Imperial House, we have considered the virtues, honor, and qualities of HRH Prince Oliver. Recognizing in him a worthy and honorable ally, capable of ensuring the happiness and well-being of our dear sister, we express our full approval and support for this union. By this document, we decree that this act of consent be drawn up and signed, in compliance with the laws and customs of the French Empire, and that it be duly recorded and preserved in the imperial archives. In witness whereof, we have signed this document and affixed our imperial seal.

HIM Empress Charlotte witnessed the Act. TIM signed the Act. This document seals the union between Madame Hortense and Prince Oliver, symbolizing the enduring alliance and friendship between our respective nations. May this union be blessed and prosperous.

[lovelytsunoda]

yule shoot your eye out // lance stroll

summary: it was supposed to be a relaxing getaway. instead, a snowstorm traps y/n ocon and lance stroll inside the mount tremblant cabin they had rented, and strands esteban and his girlfriend at the airport. so until the snow melts, she's trapped with her brother's best friend, and forced to reckon with her feelings.

pairing: lance stroll x female ocon! reader ( forced proximity, brother's best friend )

warnings: sexual tension, smut scene that really does nothing for the plot but i wanted to put it in there anyways, super brief mention of masturbation (one sentence), drinking, discussion of kinks (or lack thereof because y/n is like me and needs to constantly know she's loved and desires closeness and intimacy-), mentions of poor mental health, half-assed love confessions where they somehow both know exactly what the other was going to say, esteban walks in on lance and y/n making out on the couch. i use too many romance tropes.

mount tremblant, quebec.

y/n ocon had never seen snow this bad. and she considered herself a country girl through and through. or at least, as close to the countryside as one could get in normandy. she drove at a cautious pace, a sharp detour from the way that she normally drove, in an attempt to keep control over the rented toyota.

"lance, i can't even see three feet ahead of me." she huffed, phone resting in the cupholder at the highest volume. lance stroll, her brother's best friend of over a decade was on the other end of the line, chuckling to himself as he tried to calm the girl down.

"calm down, y/n. you should be almost there, if the find my friends app is working the way that it should."

"that doesn't instill me with a lot of confidence, sir lancelot." she rolled her eyes, taking a turn far too cautiously for it to have been safe if there were any other cars on the road.

it's not her fault she's never experienced a proper canadian winter.

"just take one more right turn, you're almost there. do you not see the road signs?"

"i can't see through the fucking snow! i don't understand why we decided to come up here instead of going down to dallas with mick."

"you're the one who wanted a proper winter getaway."

"i meant the swiss alps!"

lance laughed down the phone before redirecting the conversation. "okay, i can see your headlights, you're at the bottom of the driveway. give me like, ten minutes and i'll meet you in front of the cabin. why are you using your windshield wipers to fend off the snowflakes?"

the aston martin driver did nothing to hide the laughter in his voice.

"fuck off, stroll."

lance tried to stop laughing, but y/n could still hear the joking tone in his voice. "just park near the top of the driveway, i'll come out and help you with your stuff."

"you're an angel, lance. and when i say 'angel' i mean the fucker from buffy the vampire slayer."

"duly noted." the canadian laughs, tugging on his parka before stepping out of the cabin and making his way down the steps. "where's your brother?"

"we weren't on the same flight. no, dear old estie decided not to come and visit if we were all going up to the cabin together." she rolled her eyes as she hung up the phone, watching as lance braved the snow, stumbling towards the rental car.

y/n had been studying at the university of manchester for the last two years and was almost done her program. staying in continental europe had allowed her to stay close to her family, and kept her close to racing, which had always been her passion. she was studying mechanical engineering, with a student placement at carlin. of course, her ultimate goal was to be the first female race engineer in formula one, and being able to get in at alpine wouldn't hurt.

esteban and elena would be flying out of paris, but their flight was supposed to leave an hour ago and she hadn't heard anything. no confirmation that esteban had boarded the plane, no word on any delays.

she tried not to think about it as she stepped out of the car, the hood on her puffy white jacket pulled up against the harsh wind. "let me give you a hand."

lance shook his head. "you've been driving for hours, and your flight was what, six hours long? no, i am carrying your bags."

"at least let me take the suitcase, it's heavy." she insisted, although there was a fuzzy feeling in her stomach at the stroll boy's enthusiasm to help her out.

lance had always been a sweetheart, and she'd be lying if she said that in the last three years, she hadn't felt warm and fuzzy around the aston martin driver. he always went out of his way to make her feel comfortable and included, make her laugh when she felt down. when she had been having a hard time at university, lance had come up to visit her when esteban couldn't, or when she didn't want to worry her parents.

she'd be lying if she said that picturing lance stroll in her bed was the only thing that got her off when her hand was between her thighs. that the reason she was probably still single was because she never made it past a second or third date because she kept comparing every single suitor to her brother's best friend.

"absolutely not." lance insisted. "but you can take the backpack."

"all the backpack has in it is books, a travel pillow and a fucking water bottle. come on, i feel bad." y/n insisted, making grabby hands towards her hard-scheel suitcase, backpack slung over one shoulder. "lance."

"y/n. stop arguing with me, it's cold out here. let me help you."

"fine." the ocon girl caved, locking the car and trudging her way up to the front steps of the rented vrbo cabin.

the two stumbled inside, dropping bags in the foyer and stripping out of snow-covered winter coats.

lance would be lying if he said that his line of sight wasn't immediately drawn to the tight holly-green sweater that y/n was wearing, and the way it made her curves look perfect in the warm led lights.

"i haven't heard anything from esteban since i left manchester. has he called you at all?"

"i'm sure you're overthinking, y/n." lance tried to placate the girl in front of him. "he'd call if anything was wrong. i haven't heard from chloe and scotty either."

y/n laughed, slumping down on the faux leather couch. the cabin was cozy: all cedar wood and plaid accents, shockingly Canadian in the sense of décor. fairy lights hung from exposed timbers and she tried to allow herself to relax, tucking her feet underneath a thick plaid blanket.

"i guess that's typical younger sibling bullshit, isn't it?"

lance laughed, taking a seat on the couch next to the young woman. it was all he could do to keep a respectful distance, knowing that if he was any closer, he'd probably do something stupid.

like kiss her.

"i'm sure our siblings are fine." lance reassured, thinking about his own sister and her fiancée.

"hold that thought." y/n said, sitting up straighter as her phone began to ring, esteban's name flashing across the screen. "estie? where are you?"

"we're still in paris. our flight just got cancelled because of the storm. the airline moved us to a flight two days from now, so we're going to stay down the road from the airport." esteban sounded exhausted, his voice far off as it flooded through the small speakers at the base of her iphone. "they said they'd call if anything changed. did you land okay?"

"the flight was rocky, but i made it in one piece. lance and i are at the cabin now. there's still nothing from chloe and scotty."

"putain. listen, as long as you're with lance, you're safe from the storm. just hang tight and i'll call when i have more news."

"okay. estie? stay safe. i love you."

"love you too." the phone began to crackle, her brother's next words getting lost somewhere between phone lines.

"esteban? esteban?" the three beeps from her phone indicated that the lines had gone down, the simple 'no service' icon appearing in the top right hand corner.

y/n groaned, leaning further back against the couch, knees drawn into her chest as she dropped her phone on the cushions. "the lines are down."

she knew what this all meant. she was stuck in a log cabin with lance stroll and every fond feeling that she had ever harboured for the aston martin driver. she'd either lose her mind or do something freakishly stupid.

"is esteban all right?" lance asked quietly, gingerly moving closer on the couch. y/n took that as a cue, falling straight into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. breathing in his cologne.

she'd always loved that fucking cologne.

she sighed, closing her eyes. "his flight got cancelled. they're trying to get him on a flight in a few days, but he's not exactly hopeful. it's a miracle that i got here alive, if i'm being frank."

"it's not all bad. we may not have cell signal, but we do have heating, and there's a fridge full of food and wine. a dvd player and a stack of christmas movies."

"alcohol sounds great right about now." y/n agreed, pulling the blanket further over her body.

"red wine or white?" lance asked, getting to his feet and crossing over to the kitchen. "i've also got my mom's sugar cookies."

"red, please. and bring the cookies. tell claire-anne i think she's a bloody legend."

the canadian laughed, popping the cork as he switched on the small radio on the counter, oldies christmas music flooding the open concept main floor, elvis crooning about how he'd have a blue christmas without the one he loved.

me fucking too, mr. presley.

"don't worry, she already knows." lance beamed, coming back to the living room with two wine glasses and a tin of cookies shaped like christmas trees. "have you been doing all right lately? i never felt right about heading back home after that one weekend."

the french girl knew what weekend lance was talking about. she had been in a bad place that entire week, and esteban was worried about her. he was too busy with sponsorship events and couldn't catch a flight out of france soon enough, so he had called lance. the strolls had been at silverstone that week running simulator time at the aston martin factory. lance had driven the four hours from towcester to manchester, and had stayed with her all weekend. as soon as lance came inside the apartment, she had broken down crying in lance's arms. all she had been able to say at the time had been 'i want my mom', repeating it in both english and french while lance held her, whispering that everything would be okay.

"they've been getting better. the semester ended and think the break has done wonders for me. winter semester starts up in january, and my schedule is a little lighter. i'll be working with carlin again, so once the season starts, hopefully i'll be able to get out a little bit more. i'm supposed to be back at the factory three times a week after christmas." y/n started, taking a sip of her wine, still curled up in a blanket. "i'm thinking about getting a rabbit or something. just so i'm not alone in the apartment all the time."

lance nodded along. "that might be nice. how many years do you have left?"

"two years. stephanie carlin is actually really excited about signing me on full time. just as a junior engineer, not a race engineer, but one day i'll get there."

"i have full faith. you'll be coming for brad's job in no time."

y/n laughed, the sound bordering on a snort. "what, so you can tell me that you know the car is already on fire, or that i don't know that the 'pit confirm' and 'ok' buttons are the same thing?"

"you love listening to me and brad and you know it. you think it's charming."

she raised her eyebrows, taking another sip of her wine. "charming isn't exactly the word that i would use."

the duo didn't realize how fast time would fly. conversation flowed comfortably, the wine bottle already halfway empty, the tin of cookies now reduced to a few small crumbs at the bottom of the metal container. they were now sharing a blanket, their legs resting on top of each other.

"this is going to sound completely absurd, but i need to know." lance laughed.

"it's twenty questions. nothing is too absurd." y/n laughed back. "hit me with your best shot, pat benatar."

lance cocked an eyebrow "are you wine drunk?"

"maybe." she giggled, taking another sip. "was that your absurd question?"

"no, not at all. this is: what are you into? like, in bed? because i walked in on your brother and elena once right before a press conference, and i cannot unsee that shit.”

“try hearing him through the walls. our house was small as hell, lance. imagine hearing your older brother have an orgasm. it’s traumatizing.”

“come on, you have to be into something. stop avoiding the question.”

“lance stroll, you don’t ask a woman about her kinks before a first date!”

“what are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything!” she managed to say through laughter. “really, I’m not. I don’t have any kinks.”

lance raised an eyebrow. “everybody has at least one, come on now.”

“really, I don’t. my roommate in freshman year made me take an online bdsm test, and it came back a hundred percent vanilla.”

“a kink is anything that turns you on during sex, y/n. there has to be something.”

y/n rolled her eyes, staring at her almost empty wineglass. “there is not enough red wine in the world for this conversation.” she reached towards the coffee table, pouring the last dregs of the deep red liquid into her glass.

lance looked at her intently. “now I’m curious. what secrets is little miss perfect hiding?”

“I suppose if I had to pick something, because you seem so desperate to embarrass me today,” she rolled her eyes dramatically. “I would say that my kink is romance. some girls want to give up control and have someone tell them what to do during sex, or be tied up and shit, and that's perfectly fine, for them, but I just want to be loved and cared for. I want grand gestures and rose petals and hand holding. I want to be called sweetheart, and darling, and pretty girl.”

lance raised his eyebrow again. god, he shouldn’t look that good when he looks at me like that, she thinks to herself. “that’s it? that’s what you’re so ashamed of?”

“grand romantic notions get you nowhere in the real world. I know that men are going to get bored with me real quick that way.”

“I wouldn’t.”

her heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second, her breath caught in her throat. it’s the alcohol talking, she tried to tell herself. there’s no way he just said what he said.

“I’d call you ‘pretty girl’ all night long, fuck you as tenderly and lovingly as you wanted, and I’d hold your hand the entire time, as long as you wanted me to.”

she couldn’t form a proper response. her mouth had gone dry. she stared at the beautiful man across from her, blinking rapidly as she tried to comprehend what was happening.

“uhm, y/n? hello…earth to y/n?” lance said, confusion in his voice as he looked at her. “are you okay? I think your brain kind short circuited there-“

she cut him off by planting her lips on his, practically jumping into his lap. the driver gasped in surprise before gripping her hips and holding her close. her hands flew up to cradle lances face, moaning into his mouth at the rush of sensations, the buzz that she felt throughout every nerve ending in her body.

she was kissing lance stroll.

“that’s my pretty girl.” he mumbled between kisses, pulling the blankets around their bodies.

at the sound of the pet name spilling from the canadians lips, the lips she had dreamt would someday be spilling that same praise for her in a much more intimate context, she thought she would crumble under his touch, moaning faintly as she tried to press herself up against him. she was sitting on his lap now, legs hanging off the side of the couch and lips against his, her fingertips dragging through his hair as he gripped her thigh tightly.

“lance…” she breathed heavily, the french accent in her voice wavering as the driver began to press sloppy, open mouthed kisses to her neck. “lance, baby, please don’t stop.”

lance grinned against her skin. he wanted this as much as she did, if not more. “anything for my pretty girl.”

the driver leaned back on the couch, pulling y/n's body flush against his, sliding his warm hands up the back of her sweater. she shivered under his touch, only spurring him on more.

until the lights went out with a high pitched beeping sound, the entire cabin plunged into darkness as the battery-operated radio continued to eerily play 'baby it's cold outside' as y/n jumped, tripping over lance's legs as she slid off the couch.

"jesus christ" she groaned, leaning back against the couch, the floor a piercing cold through her jeans. "what happened to the lights? even the fucking string lights are out."

"shit. the storm must have taken the power lines out." lance groaned, pulling the blanket over his lap to hide the growing tent in his jeans. "so now we have no cell phone signal, and no power."

"fucking hell." she mumbled, getting to her feet. "and no power also means no heat. esteban and elena are going to find our frozen corpses huddled for warmth in front of the fireplace."

"you're so overdramatic." lance laughed, getting up from the couch and reaching out to stop y/n from picking up the empty wine glasses. "sit down, y/n. let me handle this, pretty girl."

he said it with a grin and a wink, an overall sense of cheekiness that sent shivers down y/n's spine. she was still struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

she had made out with lance stroll, and she was about ninety eight percent certain that he enjoyed it, if the tent in his jeans was anything to go off of.

"do you have any candles or anything?"

three hours later.

the power still hadn't come back on. neither had the heat, and the fireplace couldn't warm an entire cabin. a cabin intended for six that was currently only occupied by two. a bath and body works candle that smelled scarily like a christmas tree sat on the dresser, dimly lighting up a small circle against the wall that allowed her to see just enough to pull on her plaid victoria's secret pajamas. but the flannel fabric wasn't nearly warm enough for a cabin that was rapidly losing heat.

a shiver wracked her body, goosebumps sprouting all along the hairs on her arms as she reached for the plush blanket at the foot of the bed, draping it around her body before blowing the candle out and edging the door open.

she crossed the hallway, her hands shaking from the temperature drop as she knocked on the door. she could feel heat from inside the room, indicating that lance had somehow managed to get the old woodstove in the corner working.

she hadn't bothered to try with the one in her room.

"lancelot?" she said quietly, playing into the nickname she had always used for him. "can i come in?"

the door creaked open. a loud sound against the rusted hinges. nothing wd-40 couldn't fix. "is everything okay, y/n?" lance asked, a confused and concerned look on his face.

"i'm fucking freezing. and you managed to get a woodstove to work." she shrugged, laughing softly as she gestured at the blanket she was wrapped in.

lance opened the door wider. "come on in. i've got piles of blankets, and probably some body heat."

"how reassuring." she said sarcastically, crossing the threshold into lance's room. crossing a line that could never be uncrossed as she dropped the blanket, tucking herself into the left-hand side of the bed. lance followed shortly after, draping himself over her, his arms securely around her stomach as they spooned.

"lance?" she said softly, as they lay there in the quiet and the dark. "i'm in love with you."

lance inhaled, and she could feel his entire body shudder behind her as he leaned in the whisper in her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "i've been in love with you almost since i first saw you. when my dad was first thinking about buying force india and we walked in the garage and you were there arguing with otmar in that cute little top with the bell sleeves, insisting that you knew more than the team fucking principal." he laughed, his chest rumbling against her back. "you were such a little firecracker, you know."

"and i was on a gap year as well. i took time off to help my dad with the garage. god, i thought i knew so much. i wasn't even in university yet."

"otmar followed your strategy calls that race, you know. he was unsure at first, but he got on the phone with vijay and vijay told him to go for it."

"i know. otmar told esteban afterwards, told him to give me a fucking pandora gift card."

lance laughed, trying to hide a yawn. "sounds about right. get some rest, pretty girl. see you in the morning."

eight hours later.

the room was still dark when y/n ocon woke up. she could still hear the howl of the wind outside, but the room still felt cold, the piles and piles of blankets still pulled over her shoulders. she rolled over, eyes still closed as she nuzzled into lance's chest. the aston driver groaned, one of his hands slipping down her back to cup her ass gently.

"mornin' beautiful." his voice was husky and seductive as he leaned in to kiss her.

"good morning, handsome." she said softly, her face breaking into a smile as she kissed him.

their lips moved in tandem, the air punctuated with soft giggles and wide smiles as she threw her leg over lance's thigh, trying to pull him as close as she could as he playfully smacked her ass, rolling the pair over so that he was on top.

her hands slipped up the back of his heather grey t-shirt, sliding the fabric over his head while the canadian trailed kisses down her neck, the stubble on his chin grazing the delicate skin. she moaned underneath him before he pulled away briefly to get the shirt the rest of the way off his body, casting it aside before kissing her again. her arms came up to loop around his neck, his fingers dancing across her stomach as he slowly undid the buttons on her pajama top.

"lance," she breathed. "is that. . . "

"my hard cock against your thigh?" lance winked with a sly grin. "you bet. see how turned on you make me, pretty girl? if you had said something sooner, we could have been doing this for years now. maybe i'd have even managed to put a ring on your finger."

"i guess we'd better make up for lost time, then." she grinned, helping lance take off the remainder of her flannel shirt before urging lance's head towards her rapidly hardening nipples.

"you're so beautiful, darling." he crooned, kissing and caressing as much of y/n's body as she could, her fingernails lightly digging into his upper back as he swirled his tongue over her breast.

they easily could have wasted the morning away like that. in lance's arms, y/n felt safe and secure. she felt loved, and it all felt right. something that her mother said to her when she was eighteen stuck out in her mind: when you know, you'll know.

and as she and lance shed their flannel pajama pants, his arms around her, his hands in hers as he began to thrust into her, she knew.

but she had a feeling that she had known for a lot longer than that.

"that's it, pretty girl." lance groaned, thrusting deeper and drawing a loud moan from the girl underneath him. "tell me how good i make you feel, hey? i want to know that you feel just as good as i do right now."

"yes, god, yes." she whined, eyelids fluttering shut as she watched lance bring her knuckles up to his mouth, pressing kisses to each knuckle before trailing the kisses down her arm until he reached her neck, the pace of his hips never faltering. “oh, lance, you feel incredible, love.”

"yeah? yeah, you look so pretty like this, beautiful. my pretty girl."

"oh, god! i think i-"

"are you going to come for me, pretty girl? i've got you, baby, you're safe, let go for me. milk this cock."

"oh, lance!"

as they were laying together, a tangled mass of limbs and hair, fingers still pressed to skin, sweaty bodies pressed up against one another, the power came back on, dim lights filling the bedroom as lance kissed her gently.

"i love you, y/n."

she smiled. "je t'aime aussi, lance."

four hours later.

they'd wasted the day away in the shower (having more incredible sex while they were at it), cooking together and watching christmas movies on the vhs player in the cabin's living room ("who even uses vhs tapes any more!" "people who live in cottages, babe!")

as the end credits to 'deck the halls' played on the big screen, lance and y/n softly made out in the dim light of the string lights hanging from the ceiling, curtains still pulled shut.

neither of them heard the door creak open, but they all heard esteban ocon's disgusted shout.

"what the fuck!"

"esteban, i can explain." y/n tried to reason with her brother, aware that lance's hands were in a very compromising position on her body

the alpine driver stood in the middle of the living room, snowflakes melting on his parka as he blinked, trying to make sense of why his sister and his best friend were heavily making out on the sofa.

"are those hickeys on your neck? y/n ocon-khelfane!"

"lance!" she hissed, looking over at the boy. "really? how old are you, seventeen?"

"you didn't notice when you got out of the shower?" the driver asked, trying to avoid making eye contact with esteban. "i thought you said his flight was delayed two days!"

elena shrugged. she had been standing behind her boyfriend, making the conscious choice not to get involved. "we got an earlier flight last minute. we did try to call."

"phone lines are down." y/n said apologetically. "power was out all last night, too."

"and i bet lance kept you warm, didn't he?" esteban glared at lance, ready to destroy their friendship to protect his baby sister's honor. "you have until the count or three, strulovich."

lance's eyes widened. "count fo three for what?"

"one."

"lance, run."

"he's my best friend, he's not going to hurt me. estie, come on!" lance laughed nervously. "let's talk this out."

"two."

"i think she's right." elena piped up. "you can talk it out later."

"three."

lance was off the couch in a flash. "okay, running now!"

they did, in fact, talk it out later.

but not before they wrestled each other and esteban made lance swear not to break y/n's heart.

Tags: @magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @daydreamingleclerc @flannel-cures @sidcrosbyspuck

[notroosterbradshaw]

I have a thought that’s been playing in my head for the past few days. Maybe rooster finds out he’s gonna be a dad w/ reader and on the outside he’s thrilled but on the inside he’s terrified. He doesn’t sleep since finding out and one morning before the sun even rises he hears footsteps come out onto the covered deck behind him, and reader is wrapped up in a little blanket, but it’s raining and cold so of course he’s like, “go inside, you’ll catch a cold, you’re pregnant are you crazy?” And of course the reader knows he’s got something going on so while it’s like early morning raining they sit on the porch and talk about it and rooster feels so much more confident about being a good dad. I just have feels about that and idk if I explained my thots well? 🥹 if you’d be interested in elaborating on this I would love that? 💕

Here’s a wee drabble, nonny x

“Ew, rain,” you mutter, coming to sit with Rooster as he sat on the porch swing. Not what you signed up for when you made your way across the country to live your life with Bradley in San Diego. “Looks like it’s settling in,” you took his hand and tenderly kissed his knuckles.

“Looks like,” he agreed quietly. God, you hated when he internalised like this. He wasn’t great with his emotions at the best of times, but when he took his space, you knew he wasn’t processing your news.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” you said softly.

“Anything,” he admitted, not meeting your eyes.

“I know it’s scaring at you," you said softly. He noticed your free hand gently rubbing the non-existant bump of where his baby was starting to grow within you.

"No, baby," he lied. He blatantly lied to you, and sadly for him, you were so schooled in the wiles of Bradley Bradshaw and he was so transparent at times. "I’m okay."

"You're internalising, sweetheart. I know you."

He sighed. "Baby," he tried, turning to face you. He watched you shiver as the light drizzle started to cover you. "Baby... come here," he wrapped you protectively in his strong arms.

"Do you not... want the baby?" you asked, the fear in your voice that something you were sure you were both ready for (you'd had the birth control discussion, and he was very excited about that part, you'd had the baby discussion, he was just as excited about that too. Sure, it happened fast... but there was a lot of practice and wasn't that a good thing?).

"Oh, baby. Yes, I do, so so much," he said, his heart falling that you were upset now too. "I am so happy that we're having this baby," he desperately tried to reassure you. He turned you to face him and held your face, the tears threatening to fall from your beautiful eyes - the eyes he hoped your beautiful baby may share too. "I can't believe you're going to make me a father. That is the most amazing thing you could ever do for me. This is the biggest thing we will ever do together.”

"Then why are you being so... quiet? Reclusive?"

"I'm scared," he said simply, the shrug that joined his statement so limp. He couldn't meet your eyes and stared hard at the rain before you. You could see his disappointment oozing off himself and your heart ached. "I am so scared I'm going to be such a bad father. Goose wasn't around... and then I lost him. I hardly remember him anymore. I don't know what a father is supposed to do, act..."

"Oh, Bradley," your tears finally fell. "You are going to be the most wonderful father. I understand why you might be scared. Trust me, I am terrified too. We can be duly terrified together."

His face softened. "What? How could you possibly be scared?"

"Well, we're about to have this baby together and it's not like your job isn't a massive risk. I'm really scared to do it on my own and you're away so often - but there is no doubt in my mind, Bradley Bradshaw, that we are going to be amazing parents. Gimme your hand," you gently linked fingers and placed his big, strong hand under the tee you wore. "That's our baby. And it's going to be a massive learning curve. But I know one thing is for sure. You are going to be a magnificent father, Bradley."

"You think?" he said finally, his hand carefully rubbing against your soft skin. He lowered his face and rested his forehead in the crease of your shoulder, he breathed you in, letting your sweet scent surround him and centre him. “Believe me, I’m so excited, baby. I’m just so scared.”

“Trust your intuition, sweetheart. You do it every day.”

He reached up to kiss you. “I know I will be a great dad…” he said, hopeful.

"You will be a beautiful father. Just have a little faith in yourself. You’ve got time to get your head around this.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you, baby.”

You moved and caressed his face, your thumb tracing the edge of his moustache, and he reached to try and catch you with his lips. “You could never ever disappoint me, Bradley Bradshaw.”

Send me your Rooster thots.

[brucesterling]

Gray-Hawk and his last crooked gambit

The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain Volume 1 : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

Volume 1 spanish history translation of 10th century book

INTERNET ARCHIVE

*If you were a bandit in Al-Andalus, the medieval Islamic Spanish territories, then your worst enemies were the heavily-armed Christians, the "followers of the crucified."

*But that wouldn't stop you from diligently robbing your own people, and getting publicly crucified yourself, that was just a minor occupational hazard. It wouldn't even slow you down in your scams and robberies.

*******

"A very entertaining anecdote is told of a famous highwayman, called Al-bdsiyu-l-ash'ab (the Grey-hawk), who lived in the time of Al-Mu'atamed, King of Seville. He was renowned for his dexterity and courage, and soon became the scourge of the country; for at the head of a small band of chosen followers he began to scour the fields, surprising the inhabitants in their farms and villages, and depriving them of their valuables.

"Long did he baffle the search of justice, and escape from every troop sent for his apprehension; but, at last, he fell one day into the hands of the king's officers, and the event being reported to Al-Mu'atamed, he was sentenced to be crucified by the side of a much-frequented path, in the midst of the very district which had been the principal theatre of his depredations.

"The sentence having been duly carried into execution, the poor man was hanging miserably stretched on the cross, when, behold ! his wife and daughters came up, and began to sob and wail around him, exclaiming, in the midst of their tears, 'Our doom is signed, and our deaths are certain; who shall provide for us when thou art no more?'

"They were thus lamenting over their misfortune when a peasant happened to pass by, riding on a mule, and having before him something like a large bundle of clothes or goods.

"'Friend,"'said the robber on the cross to the passenger, 'take pity on me, and, since thou seest me in this condition, grant me a last favour, which will prove beneficial to thee too.'

"'And what is it, pray?' said the peasant.

"'Go to yonder well,' replied the robber, 'and thou shalt find at the bottom one hundred dinars in a purse, which, as I was closely pursued by the constables, I threw therein; if thou succeed in getting them out, half shall be thy reward; the remaining half thou must give to my wife and daughters here, that they may support themselves for a while after my death. Go, hasten to the spot, and do not be afraid; my wife will assist thee in thy descent by holding a rope, and my daughters will take care of thy mule.'

"The peasant consented, upon the offered conditions, and bent his steps towards the well; there he tied a rope round his waist, and, assisted by the woman, began to let himself down, but no sooner had he reached the bottom than the robber's wife cut the rope, and the poor wretch was left in the water struggling and screaming, while his deceiver, as may easily be imagined, hastened to the spot where his mule was, seized on whatever property he carried, and quickly disappeared with her daughters.

"The poor man, in the meanwhile, finding the depth of the well, and that he had not the means of getting out, began to cry out as loud as he could, in hopes of calling the attention of some passenger; and the hollow of the wel rang with his cries of 'help! help!'

"It was summer time, and the weather very hot, so that many travellers approached the wel to draw water for themselves and their beasts; but the moment one of them came near to it, and heard the voice of the poor peasant inside, he ran away from it in great fright and consternation, not knowing what caused the pitiful lamentations and wailings that issued from the water.

"For many a long hour did the unhappy man remain in this miserable plight, until some of the passengers having acquainted each other with the circumstance, they came to the resolution of returning to the spot, and ascertaining the cause of the strange noises they had heard. Hastening back to the well, they soon discovered the peasant lying at the bottom of it, who, by means of a rope thrown him, was speedily extricated from the dangerous situation in which he lay.

"Being asked how he had come by his misfortune, he told them that he had been deceived, and pointing to the highwayman on the cross.

"'Yonder knave,' said he, 'was the cause of it, in order to give his wife and daughters an opportunity tom plunder me.'

"However, the adventure soon became known in Seville, whither the peasant directed his course, and being reported to Al-Mu'atamed, he was surprised to hear of the robber's cunning and impudence; and wishing to see him, and interrogate him on the subject, he commanded that Grey-hawk should be made to appear in his presence.

"Agreeably to his orders, the robber was let down from the cross, and brought before the King, who addressed him thus: 'Tell me, O Grey-hawk ! how couldst thou be guilty of such a crime as that now imputed to thee, and that too, being, as it were, under the clutch of death?'

"'O King!' replied the robber, 'if thou knewest how strongly nature impels me to the perpetration of such acts, and how great is the pleasure I enjoy while I commit them, I have no doubt but that thou wouldst relinquish the royal power, and embrace my profession.'

"Al-Mu'atamed could not help smiling when he heard this; he then said, after some time, 'O Grey-hawk I were I to set thee at liberty, and treat thee kindly, were I to act generously towards thee, and allow thee a pension for thy maintenance and that of thy family, tell me, wouldst thou repent of thy misdeeds, and forsake thy criminal practices?'

"'If repentance,' said Grey-hawk, 'is to be my only way to salvation, I do not hesitate to accept life under such conditions.'

"Upon which, Al-Mu'atamed, having previously made him swear to keep his engagement, liberated him, and gave him the command of a resolute band for the prosecution and detection of thieves in a particular quarter of the city."

****

*So not only do you survive being publicly crucified, the experience makes you turn intio a cop.

[an-abyss-of-stars]

𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓 Ch. 2

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Rhaena discovers what her husband flew off to do in lieu of laying abed with her...

.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 | Ao3

—

With careful fingers, Rhaena plucked the small parchment scroll from the page and thanked the younger boy. Closing the door behind her, she broke the seal...pale orange wax, it looked to belong to a minor house, one she scarcely recognized. The symbol of a small sun perched in the top left corner of the wax seal, a triangular etched beam beneath it. 

A small noble House, but which one? 

Tentatively, she cracked the seal. Allowed her eyes to begin scanning the crooked ink script, it seemed to have been written in a rush as opposed to poor penmanship. Yet as she read on…her eyes slowly widened with horror. 

{Your royal Highness, Queen Consort, Rhaena Targaryen.

It is our expressed hope to inform you...}

She skimmed past the pleasantries. 

{...Vhagar was seen soaring above the valley. Following the river Red Fork,

her flames were seen to have left unimaginable devastation to the small village of Oxcross,

just over the plains...}

For fucksake, by the will of the Gods...not this again! 

He’s burned yet another village!

“Aemond, you blasted,” Rhaena had to catch her tongue, muttering to herself as she read on. 

Fucking, Gods- 

"NO, DAEMIE!! You do not eat a dragon! Dragons are not eaten by people. They chomp animals and fly! And breathe FIRE!! See! You're doing it wrong!" Aemon's squeals trailed off across the room as Rhaena still worked to digest the words written. Her eyes flickered up from the scroll only to ensure that her son's were still behaving. 

At two and twenty, she'd mastered the act of multitasking motherhood and her Queenly duties. 

She could see Elaya had plopped the young babe down upon the carpet with Aemon, allowing Daemion to crawl over towards the polished wood carved dragon figurines. Where he was currently attempting to gum and suckle upon one of Aemon's favourites. A little figurine of the great Black Dread himself, Balerion. Rhaena could see from the corner of her eyes that Aemon was prone to the fits of rage. Ever a particular little boy at times, surely an inherited trait, he was growing upset with the way his babe of a brother was interacting with his game. 

Yet even still, all things considered, her children were safe, well cared for and soon enough they could be sent to their nursery. The time was quickly approaching for their much needed afternoon rest. It was something that they often did together after Aemon's lessons, for as much as his brother bothered him at times, he still so loved to nap with his baby brother by his side.

That, however was a thought for later, as Rhaena's pale lilac eyes couldn't help but scan over the missive once more:

{...Though a rebellion was duly squashed in the area two weeks prior, many here wonder what could have earned the King's wrath.

The devastation is immense. We beg of you, our Queen. The people are desperate, we need your interference.}

Signed Lord Rallor Lefford of the Golden Tooth. 

A small inconsequential noble House to be sure, but a noble House nonetheless. It was not squarely their land that was burned, but as far as Rhaena knew the lay of that particular region of land. They would be the closest noble House to benefit from the taxes of the villagers there. 

Well done, Aemond. 

Fucking—class work there.

With a quick glance upon the unfurled maps left upon their rounded table, Rhaena could follow the river Red Fork and see exactly where her husband had gone. The village of Oxcross itself probably held nothing more than farmers and livestock dealers. But it was close enough to the city of Lannisport, perhaps a few days' ride away…which then made it rather close to Casterly Rock. 

The Lannisters may have words for this destruction. 

Then again, perhaps it was the Lannister’s own fault they’d allowed a revolt to brew right beneath their noses just a few weeks prior. In truth, Rhaena could care less about the traitorous House. They’d only sided with Aegon and the Greens to begin with, solely because Aegon was a man. And with that, they thought there was a promising future for one of their daughters to replace Helaena as Queen after she’d passed. And once that conclusion was forgone, they’d hoped to marry one of their own to Aemond as well…before he’d chosen Rhaena for himself.

They were forever reaching wretchedly above their station…

But that did not matter, her own personal feelings for House Lannister did not matter. What did matter was the realm was still working to pull itself back together after the devastation caused from the Dance of the Dragons . A rather glorious name for a war that only caused loss and pain...wasted spilt blood. And yet, here her husband was fanning the flames with unnecessary acts of force and violence. 

And sure, Rhaena knew husband to be a fickle man, he could be ever so petty. Ever so cruel and unfeeling at times. The lives of those who were stationed beneath them barely interested him at all, especially the lives of the smallfolk at times. For, while Aemond had surely feigned interest in them during the war and in the aftermath of it. It was still a falsehood, time had waned and his true nature had been made evident. 

If the mood struck him...he'd spill as much blood as needed to satiate the urge. 

‘Ondoso se Jaes’ by the Gods , Rhaena sighed heavily to herself, all she could do was pray and hope that neither of her sons would ever grow to be the same. As unfeeling of lesser folks, as eager to douse themselves in the blood of their victims…volatile as their sire. 

Although, as she made her way towards the chaise by the fire she couldn't ignore the intensifying agitation coursing through her eldest son at that very moment. He'd crawled over to Daemion only to shove him rather unnecessarily as he snatched the Balerion figurine directly out of the babe's hand. Clearly fed up with his favoured figure being used as a teething toy. Only the moment he had done it, her chubby little babe took a moment to observe his empty hand before bursting into tears. Screaming bloody murder as his little face turned red, a flood of tears tumbling down his pudgy cheeks. 

Lovely.

Just lovely.

Everything just kept piling on.

"Aemon," Rhaena had groaned her son's name as she moved towards them, displaying her maternal instincts as she placed the missive down upon the mantle before reaching down. Cradling her youngest to her chest, securing his cheek against her bosom as she rocked him gently, hoping to calm his emotions with the warmth of her embrace. Although, the small weight of her babe pressing against her chest, only helped to remind her of the sore pressure. She was sure her breasts were growing dangerously full yet again, within the hour she would leak through her gown. Though that was an issue to handle later on, for now, she pressed warm kisses to the youngest son’s forehead. Swaying him as she eyed her eldest, "you cannot strike your brother when he annoys you so, we've been over this. You must be far more gentle with him, he's still only a babe, you could really harm him." 

A sound amount of chastising as far as Rhaena was concerned, though it would seem her three-year-old took her words quite personally. He'd started to pout, his brows furrowing as he peered up towards his mother. Nibbling upon his lower lip in a near mirror image to the way Rhaena often nibbled on her own. 

She supposed.. .he'd inherited more from her than she gave him credit for. 

"B-but...but mama," Aemon had started breathing rapidly, his small chest heaving as he tried to find his words. Glancing over at Elaya, his beloved wet-nurse, she only bestowed upon him a kind encouraging smile. She had no authority over Rhaena, her sovereign, and the young woman had no wish to interject. As was her right, it was not her concern. 

But Aemon, he wanted someone on his side. 

Rhaena knew that look, she'd seen it often enough ever since Daemion had entered the world. Aemon adored the idea of having a sibling, he just disliked sharing the things he cherished the most. And that came in droves, whether it was his favourite toys…or even his parents at times. 

"Mama, he... it's not fair," he finally huffed, crossing his arms. 

Sweet thing, he'd given up so soon. 

Now, she did wish to hear his side of things, even though she was certain she already knew it. If Aemond had been present, he would have brushed past the pouting of their eldest son and zeroed in on the aftermath of it. The aggression he'd shown. He wouldn't have disciplined their child for it, per se, but his lecture would have hinged on the act and not the source of the matter. 

Rhaena, however, wanted her child to feel heard. As Daemion calmed and settled himself against her chest, softly cooing as he suckled his thumb. She kissed the crown of his head, his soft curly pale hair brushed her lips as she shifted her hold of him. Freeing one of her hands so that she could summon Aemon to her, "come here, sweet one," her voice shimmered softly. 

Proving to her son that he was not in any real trouble, she just wanted him close. And that was all it took really, Aemon's pale eyes stared up at her for only a moment before he began to carefully push himself up to his feet. His little legs only stumbling once before he hugged himself directly against Rhaena's leg. Pressing his cheek against her thigh as she placed a hand upon his head, holding his other cheek as she sighed, "come, let's walk to the nursery and you can tell me your side of things on the way, hmm?" 

It was such a powerful thing, to feel his little chest rise and lower with the heaviest little sigh he could muster. To feel Daemion’s steadied little lungs work against her. To think she'd created these little boys, she'd helped to bring them into the world and now here they were existing within it. 

Aemon nodded against her, looking up at her again with his lips twisting towards another pout, "okay...but he was doing it wrong. I didn’t mean to hit him…I didn't want him to...he was slobbering on my toys, mama. My Bawerian!" his pale indigo eyes had turned glassy and tearful. His cheeks flushing red, the tip of his nose burned the same colour as he sniffled. 

Although...'slobbering', that was impressive in itself. 

That was a new word for him to use in regular conversation. Even more so when considering he felt quite emotional at the moment. 

It was hard sometimes, being a mother, the fact that Rhaena found herself feeling genuinely proud that her babe's vocabulary was growing quite naturally. But to also have the wherewithal to know that it was not something he'd care to have acknowledged at this moment. So she found herself actively biting back a grin, ruffling her son's hair instead as she nodded. Fixing her expression to offer something far more sympathetic, "and that's quite understandable, darling. It really is, and I'm sure if Daemion was a bit older and understood that, he wouldn't have put your figurine in his mouth."

It seemed her words did not offer much in the way of comfort as Aemon's pout only set further. His little hands still clutching onto her velvety silk skirts, his adorable little disgruntled expression clearly demanded something be done for his inconvenience. Because as it were, his frown was turning into a full blown fret. 

Unfortunately, Rhaena did not have the time to placate him so. Smoothly as she could manage, she rubbed soothing circles upon his back as she guided him out into the hall with her. With Elaya treading along behind them, the two stationed guards followed them as they made their way to the nursery. 

"Ziry iksos mirre paktot, byka ñuha mēre," it's alright, my little one , Rhaena hummed down towards Aemon as they made their way into the brightly lit bloom coloured nursery, "I'll sing one of your favourite lullabies, hmm? How about that?" 

At that, Aemon beamed up her, wiping his eyes with an adorable smile, "the one about the dragon Prince and the water maiden!" 

"Yes, dear," she giggled back, letting Aemon run to his bed. He'd climbed up eagerly, letting Elaya undo the laces of his shoes so that he could climb in under his fur blanket. As he settled in, Rhaena placed Daemion down beside him. Let the boys lie close as she settled soft hands on their cheeks, tucking them in. Aemon's pale eyes blinked up innocently, as he instinctually nudged closer to his baby brother, “mama, when is papa coming back?” 

“I-” just as she had opened her mouth...Vhagar could be heard roaring in the distance. 

There he was, Aemond would be back soon. 

And truth be told, now that the initial shock of his exploits had finally subsided. 

All that was left was a deep sense of vexation for the man she called 'husband' .  

She was all too ready to face him now. 

“He should be home shortly, little one,” Rhaena caressed her son's chubby cheek, “you'll see him later. Now, settle in.”

—

Notes: LMAO at this point, I think Rhaena actually wants to throttle Aemond. Burning villages down for a lack of kewchie and tiddy milk is WILD fr. Chapter three is where is we will be switching over to Aemond's POV! And Ch.4 is most likely when the actual smut will begin! Although Aemond's a needy guy, the horny thoughts will still be there in ch.3.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

The Art of Etiquette Part 5 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Jungkook accuses you of being taken and starts to shut you out. Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook, slow burn Word Count: 1.3k a/n: a bit of a shorter chapter since I'm stuck on how I want to continue it but I hope you guys like it anyways 💜

"You're late" I hear Jungkook say as I rush into the room we use for our more etiquette based classes. 

"I'm sorry Jungkook the-" I start to explain but remember that he's told me that 'excuses will get you no where' as he so graciously put it. "I'm sorry" I settle on and set my stuff down before walking up to where he has his back turned to me while he's thumbing through a book. 

"Was your boyfriend one of the reasons you failed to arrive on time?" he asks snapping the book shut, startling me with the harsh movement. 

"Boyfriend?" I question, completely lost before remembering the events of last night. "Oh I do-" "Whether or not you have a boyfriend is none of my concern just make sure this fellow doesn't interfere with the work that is being done here" I shut my mouth and listen as he spouts off nonsense since he doesn't give me a chance to get in a word edgewise before I try again. 

"Understood but Jungkook h-" "On second thought maybe we should keep things on a more professional level. I think we might've gotten a bit too comfortable with each other" he interrupts again, giving me a pointed look. "Meaning?" I question not really sure what he's getting at because the only time he had shown any sign of being comfortable with me was just recently and from my perspective no real lines were crossed. 

"Meaning I would like for you to continue to address me as Mr. Jeon. Understood?" he questions, looming over me no doubt trying to use intimidation to try to put that wall up between us again. 

"Understood" I respond in a small voice but loud enough to avoid further scoldings. 

When he turns to walk aways I grab his hand, leaving him stopping in his tracks, this being one of the few times I've initiated physical contact, catching him off guard. "He's not my boyfriend" I say hoping that will keep him from trying to shut me out so harshly, "and he wasn't the reason I was late. My class ran over and there was a car accident that I had to go around" I say looking down at where our hands are connected and smiling at the fact that he hasn't tried to shrug me off yet. 

"If it makes you feel any better" I say looking up and just noticing the fact that he's been looking at me, making me feel a bit nervous, "He's definitely more into you than he is in me" I say and see his face scrunch a bit in confusion. 

"He's gay Mr. Jeon" I finish putting it plainly and I see a small smile crack his icy façade. "Duly noted" he chuckles dryly. 

"Can we please go back to being a bit more civil with each other? I felt that things were a lot better after having warmed up to each other" I ask, smiling up at him to which I swear I could almost see a light dusting of pink cover his cheeks. Before I can take another second to study it more he's already turned his head and cleared his throat almost confirming my suspicions. 

"I suppose that could be arranged" he says refusing to look at me. "Can I call you Jungkook?" I ask trying to angle my face a bit to catch his glance. 

"If you so desire" he mumbles still refusing to meet my gaze. "How about Jungkookie?" I tease and watch him whip his head around towards me, "Absolutely not!" he says, putting his foot down so to say. "Duly noted" I laugh while enjoying his flustered state. 

"So should we get started?" I ask, trying to move past this and show him a little mercy. "Get started with what?" he questions, clearly very very caught off guard from my slight advances. 

"With my lessons" I say, trying hard to hide my amusement.

"Oh! Yes! You're right, my apologies. Where were we?" he asks, going through his notes that he's been taking to keep track of my progress in the ridiculous course schedule he has laid out for me. 

"You were scolding me for being late" I say walking over to my things and putting on my heels that I haven't changed into since I had been pressed for time. 

"Right, well like you had explained earlier it wasn't your..." he says trailing off and watching as I struggle to get the clasp fastened around my ankle, this being the first time I've worn these shoes that seemed to match my outfit a bit better that my usual ones. "Wasn't my what?" I question, lifting my head, and catch him checking me out. "What?" he asks, breaking out of the trance he had been in for mere seconds. "Never mind" I chuckle and go back to trying to fasten them but for the life of me I can't get them to close. 

"Allow me" he says getting down on one knee and fastening the clasp gently before reaching for my other leg to take off my regular shoes I wore to school today and replacing it with the heel, his hands roaming up and down my calf and ankle to accomplish his goal. 

"Does that feel alright?" he asks and I don't even realize how far I had leaned down to observe his ministrations before he straightens up and is close enough that he bumps his nose against mine. 

"I-" I start but my voice gets caught in my throat, my mind going blank from being this close to him. He leans back a bit only to give himself a chance to look down at my lips which I have been nervously chewing on ever since he knelt down in front of me. 

Bringing his hand up and resting it against my cheek he brushes his thumb ever so slightly on the corner of my lips before dragging it along the bottom of my lip and presses down slightly as a silent plea to release it and I comply. 

He runs his thumb along the bitten and reddened lip before almost placing it on the tip of my tongue. 

"Words" he says in a husky voice, bringing my focus back on him and not only his touch. My eyes glance back up at him with a glossy dazed look in them, cheeks no doubt a bright pink color as I had been so lost in the feeling that I didn't remember the question. 

"Huh?" is all I manage to get out, not wanting to be broken out of this moment just yet. "I asked you to use your words. Do they feel alright?" he asks again slowly, his warm breath fanning my lips with a slight sent of spearmint while his fingers toy with the clasp on my ankle, no doubt as a way to remind me as to what he was asking me. 

"Yes" let out, almost inaudibly. "Yes what? he asks, leaning in closer and switching to running his nose just barely along the side of my neck, sending butterflies through my stomach and causes me to take too long to respond. "Yes what?" he asks again, nudging his nose against the base of my neck. "Yes they feel fine" I choke out and just barely feel how he's almost smiling against my skin. 

"Good" he says, leaning in again to nudge his nose against my sensitive skin before standing back up and finally giving me space to breathe. "Hurry up so we can get started" he says giving me an almost smug smile, delighted at my reactions. 

Once he turns his back on me I realize just what he's done.

 He's settling the score. 

I take a deep breath and clear my throat before standing up and walking towards him to begin our lesson. If he wants to play around with me like this then I'm not backing down anymore. If he wants to level the playing field that's fine but I plan on coming out on top.

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[talonabraxas]

The Tarot Card Deck Created by Salvador Dalí

The Wizard (Arcanum I), Salvador Dalí, has transformed with his exceptional art and his marvelous talent the 78 golden plates of ‘The fabulous book of Thot’ into as many artistic marvels, each one of them duly signed by the hand of this unmatchable, internally famous painter … such an extraordinary artistic creation does not detract, in any way, from the Tarot’s close symbolism. On the contrary, it enhances with its captivating beauty, the Tarot’s esoteric and plastic meaning.

[todaysdocument]

Application of Wong Bong Siao to Enter the United States as a Native-born Citizen, with Attached Photograph

Record Group 85: Records of the Immigration and Naturalization ServiceSeries: Chinese General Correspondence

Exhibit 6.

Custom House, District of Vermont,

Deputy Collector's Office,

Port of Richford

August 28 1899

On this 28th day of August 1899 personally appeared before me,

a Notary Public in and for the County of Franklin, Wong Bong Siao

who being duly sworn according to law makes the following declaration in order

to obtain admission to the United States as a native born citizen thereof, viz:

My name is Wong Bong Siao, I am also known by the

name of no other name. I was born in San Francisco

State of California in 1874, and am 25 years

old. I returned to China with my mother and father when I was

8 years old.

My father's name is Wong Ming Kwong. He resides at

China and is by occupation a . I last saw my father in 1899 at

in China--in May last.

My mother's name is Yee and she lives in

Hoy Ping China. I have one brothers, and no

sisters. Their names and ages are: Wong Ng Chung Age 35 yrs.

resided at Chelsea Mass.

I received a letter from my father

I saw my father's photograph in

I had my photograph taken in China & sent to my brother this summer.

I last saw my brother 17 years ago. I have not seen his photograph. I don't think I

could recognize him.

I received letters from my brother while in Montreal--containing $5.00.

I left the letters in Montreal. I have only thirty cents now.

The money to pay my expenses in coming to the United States was sent me

by my brother. It was sent by him to Quing ____.

The amount received was $150.00 and they gave me a ticket

to Montreal.

I desire admission to the United States to proceed to Boston Ma.

for the purpose of joining my brother

a laundryman on Second Street Chelsea but have

not any ticket and thirty cents in U.S. coins.

(Signed)

L.C. Leavens Witness. Wong Bong Siao [his mark]

Jnoth Mason Witness.

Sworn to and subscribed before me this 28 day of August 1899

and I hereby certify that the contents of the above declaration, etc., were fully

made known and explained to Wong Bong Siao and the witnesses

before signing.

[seal] L.C. Leavens Notary Public. [complete document and transcription at link]

[archivistofnerddom]

The Bad Batch + Going to Book Festivals

Inspired by the fact that the National Book Festival is happening next week

Hunter

He gets dragged around to the different informational pavilions, tables, and displays by Omega. She’s just so darn eager to see everything, so he doesn’t mind.

Hunter also likes going to author and panel talks when he’s getting overwhelmed or overstimulated. He parks it in a quiet, out-of-the-way corner and just listen. It’s a good way for his brain to cool off when the external stimulation becomes too much. (Tech gave him a specialized map with the best “quiet areas” highlighted.)

He also picks certain talks that he wants to go to because they interest him. Hunter is a big fan of thrillers and historical fiction, so he likes hearing those authors talk. (Crosshair goes to one or two with him.)

When Omega is distracted, he’ll also get a few books signed for her as a surprise. (He gets recommendations from the rest of the Batch. He’ll also save one or two to give to her as Christmas presents.)

Wrecker bullies him into wearing a punny t-shirt, but it really doesn’t take much to convince him. Hunter even mandates that they all join him in wearing such shirts (so that they stay on-brand as a family).

Crosshair

Yeah, he stakes out a table for them early in the day, and he does everything in his power to keep it. They need a home base to dump their stuff throughout the day, especially their collective massive book haul. (Everyone contributed to it, but Tech and Omega are the worst culprits .) Crosshair is more than happy to hang there and read, if it means they keep this table. That being said, Echo and Hunter do take shifts, so that Crosshair can go to talks when he wants.

Crosshair knows which authors sign when, so he’ll scope out when they should be getting into which line and when. He’s got it down to a science. (Tech is duly impressed.)

He doesn’t necessarily stick to one genre of books when he raids the book sale pavilion, but he does skew mainly towards fiction.

The only books he personally wants to get signed are a few books of poetry and a nature book. (He likes the details involved.)

Omega bought him several adorable and brightly colored bookmarks. Crosshair used them with such pride, even if they seem out of character for him.

Tech

Tech is absolutely in nerd heaven at a book festival. His favorite books, tables, pavilions, and talks are those that have to do with science, technology, history, and different cultures.

He takes Omega to the pavilions that talk about information technology, historical preservation, and library management. They both enjoy learning what goes into keeping information safe and protected for future generations.

Tech also has the map of the entire book festival memorized. He also seems to know where everyone is at any given time, so he’ll randomly text people about where they need to go to get to the next talk they wanted to attend. (Crosshair and Echo suspect tracking devices.)

He and Wrecker require supervision when they go to any hands-on science demonstrations. They get carried away sometimes.

Tech also walks away with a large collection of cool notebooks and pens. (He’s going to give some to Omega for Christmas, but he wants a few for himself too.)

Wrecker

You know who will be carrying most of the Batch’s giant book haul out of there? Yeah, Wrecker. He doesn’t mind though, because he’s really happy that they had a good time and got great souvenirs from the day.

Wrecker absolutely enjoys the graphic novels. He will fanboy out over the art styles and the stories. He’s a big fan of the visual medium. (Wrecker is why they bring so many posters from the festival as well.)

He’s makes sure that everyone remembers to eat and drink throughout the day too. Wrecker also makes a point of bringing food over to Crosshair at their claimed table and just hangs out with him while he eats. (He uses the excuse that he wants to get off his feet for a little bit, but it’s largely because he wants to keep Crosshair company.)

Wrecker has a second sale pavilion haul that is largely made up of fun socks, shirts, mugs, and other fun assorted literary themed items. Some are for him. Some will be Christmas presents for the family. Most will be given to kids back home who couldn’t make it in to the book festival.

He’s responsible for rounding up the rest of the family at the end of the day. Because of that, he’ll just track down Tech first and use his locator system to find Hunter, Omega, and Echo. (Crosshair is easy. He’s napping at their table.)

Echo

He absolutely loves the various library tables that explain the different resources they provide. Echo enjoys learning about how they make books accessible to different populations with different types of needs.

Whenever he needs a physical break, he’ll either dip into the back corner of an author talk or go quietly hang out with Crosshair and read.

Echo also enjoys books about history, though he also likes perusing literary analysis and some fiction. It all depends on what he’s feeling that particular day. Sometimes, he’ll grab a spooky, creepy, or morbid book just for funsies.

He doesn’t mind hanging out in lines to get books signed. Echo can keep Omega entertained when they’re in a line for a particularly popular author. The amount of silly games they come up with to pass the time entertains those around them to no end.

Echo can and will exploit the fact that he has prosthetic legs to get good seats for all the talks Omega wants to attend. He’s just so nice about it that most people don’t realize he’s doing what he’s doing for a completely self-serving reason.

Omega

She makes a point to get as many authors to sign the festival poster as she can. Omega wants to frame it afterwards and hang it up as a cool memento once they’re back home. The whole Batch team up to make this happen.

Omega also makes sure to get a family photo while they’re all together and wearing the punny shirts Wrecker (and Hunter) mandated they wear.

She is adamant about getting more than one copy of each book she likes. When asked why (because that starts to get expensive real quick), Omega says it’s because she wants to share the books with people at home. (They maintain a Little Free Library, so she likes adding new books whenever she can.)

Omega gets super excited to talk to people in whatever line she’s in for book signings. She likes to hear about what they think about the books and the various talks.

More often than not, she wears herself out throughout the day, mostly due to sheer excitement. Omega will fall asleep on the nearest shoulder when they’re on their way home. (All of her brothers thinks that’s absolutely endearing. They consider that a sign that it was a good day.)

+ Batcher

Batcher is the best dog, though she stays at home while they’re at the festival. She does, however, get a massively oversized Clifford the Big Red Dog t-shirt and a new dog toy that Omega found at the sales table.

Bonus - Rex

Echo sends him a borderline inappropriate punny shirt and a book whose subject is weirdly specific to something that happened during their time serving in the military together. Rex doesn’t know what to make of that, but he reads the book anyway.

[pinkcarnatixns]

ellie williams | the first time, the second time (p.2)

synopsis you return the favor, taking care of ellie after she gets injured [2.1K] contents rockstar!ellie, tour manager!reader, mentions of blood & injury, hurt/comfort?, reader is angry part one

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ part two ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You felt more emotional than ever, watching her from the sidelines as usual.

She was singing one of your favorites, off one of her earlier albums. You remember helping her brainstorm years ago, when you were closer and things were less... complicated.

The memory paired with the longing lyrics made tears blur your vision. Staring at her back, you felt farther from her than ever- unease and frustration building into an angry feeling in your stomach.

You held your breath as her head turned towards you for a moment, nearly tripping over her own lyrics. Her face was flushed from the exertion and excitement of being on stage, sweat sticking some of her hair to her forehead. You were reminded of how, through every disagreement over tour direction, you could never hope to stay angry when she looked upon you with such fondness.

Snapping out of your reverie at her confused expression, you felt a hand tap you on the shoulder- startling you out of your skin. Holding your chest with a sour expression on your face, you turned to the moment-ruiner (as you had already decided to deem him).

You were first met with the man's broad chest at your eye level, recognizing the logo of the venue's security staff sewed onto his left breast pocket. You were unhappy at the fact that you had to rake your eyes upwards to meet his gaze- mirroring your expression of discontent.

"Do you need my help with something?" You stated unkindly.

With your job, you had gotten very used to not being respected by men who can't handle taking orders from a woman. The man standing before you was clearly one of these cases, as you'd gotten pretty adept at identifying them throughout the course of your career. You guessed that your tone of voice hadn't made him any happier, his discontent turning to anger.

"Listen honey, I'm just looking for my station. Do you know where that might be princess?" He stated sarcastically, treating you like a dumb child.

You scowled, prepared to completely discard any professionalism in order to take this man down a peg. Raising your hand to point at him accusingly, someone else from security came running up to you, completely frenzied.

"I'm so, so, sorry someone must have directed him to the wrong person!" The young woman hurriedly said, her face scrunching up- bracing for the impact of your anger.

You looked between the two of them, letting out a sigh of frustration and dropping your hand. Not wanting to direct your frustration to the girl, you simply stated that 'mistakes happen' and waved them off, your ears still simmering from leftover anger.

As she hurriedly ushered him away from him, you heard a faraway, "well someone's got a stick up her ass." You tried to brush it off as you turned back to the stage, but couldn't help the tension in your jaw and balling of your fists.

You slowly forgot about the incident as you fell back into the habit of monitoring the rest of the show, making sure to stay alert for any technical issues. You duly noted the man as he made his way in front of the stage facing the barricade, trying to keep a scowl off your face.

Instead, your heart warmed at the crowd. They were especially great at this stop- singing and dancing their hearts out. Apparently, Ellie was thinking the exact same thing, choosing to descend the stairs to the barricade for the final song- nearly skipping in her excitement.

Your heart warmed impossibly more at the sight of her signing albums and taking pictures with all the crying fans at barricade. As the band started the outro of the song, she motioned the security guard from earlier over. You smirked as she practically used him as a jungle gym when he proved useless to boost her up into the crowd.

You were infinitely pleased at how gentle the crowd treated her as she surfed her way back to the front- only now armed with a couple lesbian flags and bouquets. She had made her way back to where she started, forcing the same man to help her back over.

You smiled, moveing from your spot and starting towards removing her mic stand on stage when you stopped in your tracks. He fucking dropped her.

Blood rushed through your ears as you spotted red in the chaos. Everything else fell into the background as your adrenaline pushed you to sprint towards the end of the stage- completely disregarding the stairs as you jumped to the floor. You barely registered the sting in your ankles as you pushed all other staff to the side with a strength you didn't know you possessed.

Your eyes were now stinging too as you took in the sight of her sprawled on the floor. One side of her long shorts was bunched up around the wound, giving you a clear view of the blood surging out of her thigh. She looked as if the pain didn't even faze her, instead glaring daggers at the perpetrator.

Not even registering your own voice, you barked at everyone to back off- a volume you didn't know yourself capable of. You dropped to your knees in the dirt beside her, her angry gaze turning embarrassed when laid on you. You heard her mumble something to you, but it fell on deaf ears as you openly stared at the wound... it looked deep to your untrained eye.

Panicking at the amount of blood covering her thigh, hands, and the ground under it, you didn't even think about your next actions and ripped your shirt off.

The cold night breeze ghosted your heated skin as you wrapped the plain black fabric around the wound, accidentally pulling the sleeves into too tight of a knot in your fervor. You cringed and turned to look at her face for any pain, apology on the tip of your tongue.

When you expected to meet her gaze, you instead found her even more wide-eyed than she had been when the barricade quite literally sliced her skin- and staring right at your chest. You almost laughed at the circumstance, the excitement turning it into a wet sob when it left your mouth. You silently thanked whatever god was out there for your choice of a plain black bra earlier that day.

Moving to her side and sliding an arm under hers, you helped bring her to feet- careful not to jostle her hurt leg. You sighed in relief as the crowd parted and revealed a paramedics who took her from your side and more successfully hauled her off to backstage.

You followed behind them like a lost puppy, resisting the urge to ask them to be gentle with her. They sat her down in a white plastic chair and crouched over the wound, Ellie grunting at the effort. Staring at the scene from a couple feet away, you rushed to Ellie's side at her first moan of pain.

She grabbed your hand and held it bruisingly, you not even feeling it compared to the hurt in your heart at her pain. She peered up at you, her forehead even sweatier than earlier, attempting a chuckle at the sight of fat tears rolling down your face. Even now, she was trying to cheer you up as she was bleeding out- it made even more hot tears cascade down your cheeks.

You nearly blocked out the whole process of the paramedics cleaning and dressing the wound, the sounds that Ellie was trying to subdue nearly making you cry again. With her leg wrapped in fresh gauze, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of your hand as the medics took their kit and left the room.

She once again looked up at you, eyes softening at your far-away expression.

"Hey...honey?" She stated softly, like she would startle you. At your lack of response, she reached over to your other hand and gently pulled you to be stood right in front of her. You kept your gaze locked on the stark white of the gauze against her skin- not being able to get the image of her wound out of your head.

She starts again, "...did'ya hear them? Said it looked a lot worse than it was. I'm pretty tough yanno."

Slowly, your hands calmed their trembling in the warmth of her grasp and you shuddered out a breath, raking your eyes up her form back to her face. Her expression turned your insides back into jelly, and you became too aware of your state of undress- having to focus on something other than the adoration in her eyes.

You blushed and looked to the side, only to catch a glimpse of something that had you gripping her hands- only in anger. That smug fuck was standing in the doorway of the room they had brought Ellie to.

You saw red as you ripped your hands from Ellie's, adrenaline taking you far enough to grab his collar and slam him against the wall adjacent to the door. Despite your difference in height, the man looked almost scared as you spewed every insult you could think of his way.

You failed to notice the crowd around him, likely the ones who brought him there to apologize, who were now attempting to separate him from your rage. He was lucky for the arms from behind you as a punch narrowly escaped his face- you fighting against the grip holding you back. He was rushed away as you made another attempt to surge towards him, now with two people holding you back.

As he got farther from your sight, your insults and rage only increased in volume as you stopped fighting against the arms holding you. You breathed through the rest of your rage, chest puffing up and down slowly at the remnants of anger.

A gentle hand rested on your shoulder, and you turned around slowly to face Ellie's worried eyes. She was wobbling slightly, favoring her one leg over the other. You panicked at the sight of her exertion, and inserted yourself as a makeshift crutch for her, leading her back to her chair. She closed the door, blocking out the crowd your outburst had formed and you helped her down like she was made of glass.

You avoided her stare for the millionth time, moving down to your knees to assess the bandage on her leg. Your hand smoothed over the scratchy surface, then stilled.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," she chuckled.

You felt mortified, hiding your face in your hands and mumbling out a "sorry."

There was a moment of silence before you heard chuckling from her. Shocked, you shot your head back up.

She looked like she was trying really hard not to completely laugh in your face, her shoulders shaking from the weight of her amusement. You couldn't help but let out a pfft and devolved into giggles yourself, the absurdity of the situation catching up to you.

You ended up locked in each other's gazes as your giggles died down, smiling softly at one another.

"Y'know, it was kinda hot. You going all alpha for little 'ol me," she jested.

"Shut up!" You guffawed, and pinched her leg as retaliation.

"I'm serious!" A million-watt smirk replacing her soft smile, "I thought you were gonna rip him apart!"

You turned contemplative for a moment before hardening your expression, "I should've!"

She pulled your arms up, making your hands bracket her thighs on the chair. Your knees hurt at the position, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care once you felt the warmth of her breath on your face.

Her voice turned into a whisper, "You must like me a whole bunch to do something like that, huh?"

You couldn't find it in yourself to be bashful at the accusation, not with how elated she looked- like it was a secret between you two.

"I really must be, to defend you after you mortally wounded me earlier, hm?" You whispered back, your lips turning up in a smirk mirroring hers.

Her gaze drifted back up to your forehead, one of her hands ghosting over it before landing at the side of your face. Her other hand joined it, thumbs softly stroking your cheeks as she fully cradled your head.

"My hero," she breathed, before leaning down and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You leaned up, squeezing the side of her leg a bit. She gasped at the slight pain, and you separated- both your chests heaving. At your similar state of breathlessness, you both fell victim to another set of giggles before diving back in.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thanks for reading as always!! i hope you enjoyed the second part and i really appreciate all the love on the first ♡

requests are open x