#england should be bald actually

[fartshitter9000]

yo yo yo mista kirkland

[aventurinele]

MMOexp： FC 24 tends to accede with the accepted angle

We aboutface to FIFA 24 Coins the best reliable antecedent of football admonition there is, FC 24, to accommodate us with some perspective. We best Morocco and Portugal starting lineups from their annular of 16 wins and acclimated their FUT Angel Cup Amateur items only, for the annual of a fair comparison.

FC 24 tends to accede with the accepted angle that Morocco should bend no adventitious adjoin Portugal. Portugal has an affection for assuming their beyond acquaintance how things are done, and they admission the complete storm activity for them to do absolutely that on Saturday.

Unsurprisingly, it's the aegis that shut bottomward Spain for 12 anniversary added three penalties that is rated the accomplished ingame. Yassine Bounou and Achraf Hakimi will admission to do their affair at the aback already afresh if their nation is to progress.

That's easier said than done. Three of the best playmakers in the angel are arena calm in the Portugal midfield. Bernardo Silva, Bruno Fernandes, and Joo Flix are about affirmed to actualize chances, which Gon?alo Ramos accepted added than able of finishing off adjoin Switzerland.

FC 24 acutely indicates that Portugal is advantaged for a reason. They admission no anemic spots and are decidedly able in attack, which is bald to breach a aggregation like Morocco that excels in FC Coins for sale defending. What do Aggregation USA and England players attending like in FC 24？

[unbounded-cardinality]

This St Pat's Day, you might think about the fragility of civilization.

The book sat on my mom's shelf for about 25 years. Civilization? Who cared. The Irish? Certainly not I. It was a thin book. When I once actually perused the first few pages, they merely reenforced my initial impression: this was some kind of historical note with a bit too much religion and decisively too little drama.

For whatever reason, about 10-12 years ago, I gave the book a second chance. What started out as mildly boring grew into an interesting story of western Europe and how, by way of religion -- in this case, Catholic monasteries -- humanity was able to salvage and even restore a great repository of ancient texts.

But in so many ways, the story was implausible. The much more likely happening would have been that we should have lost all the rich stories and writings of ancient Greece and Rome.

We didn't. St. Patrick -- possibly an orphan, likely a penniless boy -- was shuttled off to the Continent -- far away from what probably was an extremely hostile context in England. Somewhere along the way he went through some kind of religious metamorphosis, and then took it upon himself to erect monasteries across western Europe. These became store houses of ancient texts, which monks preserved through transcription. The monasteries themselves evolved into the modern university, and voila! -- humanity's aspirations for civilized discourse grew by leaps and bounds.

Civilization is under fire now

The forces of nihilism are at work. If truth is the first casualty of war, then civilization is a close second. As I write, Vladimir Putin is being re-elected in Russia in what can only fairly be called a farcical semblance of democratic choice; the leading opposition leader Alex Navalny -- died a few weeks ago in an arctic penal colony, and the only other candidate with anti-war sentiments was marginalized and then banished from the election altogether.

Here is just one photo (courtesy of The New Yorker) of Putin's war on Ukraine, now two years old:

A 2nd Trump presidency would further unravel civilization

In America, the leading G.O.P. candidate is once again President Donald Trump. We need not elaborate on his shortcomings here, but it should be obvious his leadership would further unravel civilization. It may be easy to dismiss such an assertion as rhetoric or electoral banter. But let's take a look at just a few elements in what a 2nd Trump administration would likely imply:

No doubt, President Trump would pander to Vladimir Putin. As I write, the Russian military is engaged in exercises with Iranian and Chinese militaries. Surely the American president would not pander to Mr. Putin under such circumstances. That unfortunately does not appear to be the case with Mr. Trump.

President Trump would embrace lies as he did in his first term. Worse, during a 2nd term, the cabinet and advisors around him would likely be less able and less inclined to thwart his prevarications. It's hard to know what that might mean. But the COVID-19 pandemic is a darn good reference point -- Trump simply did not care about the science and what the facts had to say. He in fact called COVID-19 a "Democratic hoax". Let's be clear: for the millions who died and for the millions who endure longstanding side-effects, COVID-19 did not feel like a Democratic hoax.

President Trump supported the bald-faced attack on The Capitol in the final days of his presidency. If he was comfortable with an attack on The Capitol, is it far-fetched to think he would be comfortable with an attack on the Supreme Court of the United States, or the FBI, or the IRS, or the U.S. Military itself? I would assert that he would in fact attack all of those and, indeed, all American institutions that are not disposed to his current whims.

I conclude with a familiar picture of the riot on The Capitol. This is what it means to see civilization die out. It's worth noting that President Trump sat idly by for hours as these riots transpired.

March 15, 2024

[dwestfieldblog]

A PARTISAN APART

March...or die. Out of bed, scrambled eggs with crushed oat biscuits and cottage cheese, milk with chia seeds and a green tea. Thirty mins of basic exercise, then up to the shops for supplies… see newspapers with headlines such as ‘NATO warns of war with Russia in the next 20 years’. A cold war, leading to a nuclear winter? Depends on how long Vladimir the Bald lives. The way things are at the moment, WW3 could start in the next 20 months, but should he accidently fall from a window, poisoned for good measure or have his plane explode, peace in our time might be possible. Ha. As long as the Orange Reptile doesn’t win.

Diabetes type 2…so onto rabbit food and 10,000 steps a day regardless of weather. Walking is free and obviously I won’t be going anywhere near a gym. After my mother passed this time last year, I took refuge in the comfort of nightly alcohol, watching films and reading. Kept myself almost sane by staying busy gardening, emptying the house and taking stuff to charity shops. Some non-cathartic writing. No chocolate or pizza for 6 weeks and I am ready to kill the entire world. Let’s see if I can finish this without a stroke or heart attack.

Your country still needs you as cannon fodder…there is talk here (England) of reinstating conscription… (Good luck trying to get the teens away from Tik Tok addiction). Or else National Service…Instructing the ‘lazy and feral youth of today’ skills in weapons training and survival would be a fine idea. A sense of purpose and value, get their teamwork and hunter instincts honed in order to die for posh donkeys.…The Tories have been laying waste to our armed forces for a very long time (financially committed to the scrap metal Trident missiles, which will be deeply outdated by the time of service). So, a little late to build up an army, unless we do actually have twenty years. I don’t.

(A week after writing that, the UK test fired a Trident which crash landed close to the submarine from where it came.) Russia and China can seemingly disrupt our infrastructure with ease, so not sure what use there is for actual soldiers unless we hurry the SAS training programmes along. Perhaps they will be mostly needed to control the frightened population under martial law. I would certainly fight and die for those for whom I care, but not for a leader like the despicable Boris Johnson. I would be a partisan apart. Probably survive a week.

Speaking of that blathering blond dog egg, I see that not only does he fully endorse Trump but has written that his return to the presidency would be ‘a big win for the world’ and indeed just ‘what the world needs’. Imagine just how far up yourself you need to be to think this bollocks and say it in public. An avaricious sycophant pound shop version of the orange reptile, both believing that anal vanity and bluster are enough to enforce their mutant rape upon the world. Compare this with the cold and careful step by step planning of Russia and China over the last few decades, now at stage 4 of a five-stage cancer. Since Merkl left, there seems to be nobody in Europe with any balls. ‘I would encourage them (the Russians) to do whatever the hell they want’. Said Trump about NATO countries recently. Imagine the line I want to write now.

A plethora of important global elections take place this year, which will most likely immediately determine the course of hundreds of millions of lives…and millions of dupes will believe deepfakes and misinformation. Rubes, hungry for the next conspiracy to explain why things are becoming ever more distorted and insane, blaming it on the wrong groups and sources, ever more scared and angrier. A UK conspiracy theory newspaper ‘The Light’ plays host to (among other similar types) Alpha Men Assemble (a Nazi band of incels) and the usual racists ranting about nanobots in vaccines and how doctors should be executed. Yes really. Morons funded also as usual, behind the scenes by the Kremlin to push disinformation to undermine the country they claim to love. Wide eyed in idiot faith or ranting with wild righteousness… ‘How could they?’ ‘Why are they…?’ Why ask? Not much is confusing about greed and desire for power.

‘Community notes’ on twitter…the very artificially intelligent Sunak praised the almost virtually real Elon Musk for the idea that tweets could be commented on as ‘the wisdom of the crowds’. ARF. Now both men are unhappy at the factual corrections various denizens of X are making on their posts. Aww, diddums. The exciting journey of ‘transforming the global town square’ (uuuf) continues apace with visons of honest and accurate information for the masses. ‘See dissimilar posts’, ha ha. Musk said last month that his Neuralink company has implanted one of its wireless brain chips in a human. A human. This will be great news for those who are paralysed due to various conditions, to help them move again, but he has posted that the first product will be called…Telepathy. Control your devices, just by thinking. No military uses there eh?

Popular Cons…The smug and condescending Prime Minister Rishi being verbally attacked by (shorter shelf life than a lettuce) former PM Liz (say it again, 44, count them, FORTY-FOUR days in office) Truss must be like having your leg humped by a chihuahua, slightly adorable but pathetic and irritating. She sanctimoniously nagged him for not dealing with ‘left-wing extremists’… of which there are obviously hundreds of thousands in this verdant and septic isle. Seen any rabid Marxist-Leninists recently, outside of revolutionary student common rooms in university? (Reminds me of the Communist Reform Action Party, started by a friend as a joke in high school…he is now a bald lawyer apparently.) Liz Truss is a member of the Popular Conservatism movement. That’s right, literally. Popular. Featuring an utterly reprehensible bunch including Rees Mogg. Pop Con. Indeed. A group for whom fascism isn’t right wing enough. The absolute sewerage of the conservative party.

She recently attended a CPAC (Conservative Political Action Conference) gathering in America (featuring bullfrog Orban’s folk and Nigel Farage) with the ever-lovely legal Steve Bannon, where he praised convicted criminal racist Stephen Yaxley Lennon, sorry, geezer Tommy Robinson as a ‘hero’ and she refused to condemn the remark. Liz gave a speech saying she wasn’t to blame for the THIRTY BILLION pounds she cost Britain in her darling mini budget. No, her downfall was caused by, (drum roll and fanfare please) …the Deep State. Desperate to stay in the limelight as Trump’s English booty. Also present at the blathering of the clans was The Happiness Realisation Party, the political wing of the Happy Science cult…They agree with Putin’s invasion of the Ukraine and identify as (guess what) …radical right. They believe their leader to be the incarnation of a supreme being from Venus. Verrry sane.

These types, along with Trump, Orban, Wilders etc, say they are part of the (don’t laugh) ‘anti-establishment’ rise against the shabby parties and leaders in democracies in the name of free speech…as long as it is speech with which they agree. The idiots are always the loudest on all sides, unfortunately this means they get heard more…and the ‘wisdom of the crowds’ convinces ever greedier, shallower and insane politicians that their hour has come at last. Democracies have vomited up these dregs as ‘straight talking’ maverick characters to appeal to the disenfranchised. IE, right wing white males and Karens. Give them five years in power and they will become just another establishment, but this time with their masses convinced, that in spite of worsening economic and social situations, that they are at last being spoken for by genuine representatives.

Say it again… the countries in the West are being brought down by the very nationalists who consider themselves to be ‘patriotic’, too emotionally invested to see how they are being manipulated by the East. This is being done via troll farm propaganda, encouraging crises of refugees, financing Brexit and the idea of ‘independence’ only to weaken and split unions, be it gender, the UK, Europe or NATO. Our worst attributes are being amplified and extended by enemies in order to hollow us out from the inside and by our populists in order to gain power for themselves. Hexagram 23 for the West.

Brexit has had almost no tangible benefits whatsoever for Britain, the deals made with other countries are risible (0.08 percent increase) and years on, still nothing firm in place with America or India etc. Immigration from non-European countries has vastly increased, the brain drain continues and fewer of our former allies come to study or work. The Tories have been in power for 14 years, ergo, it really is all their fault. Brexit, the endless failure of trade agreements, rising taxes, the vanishing public services, disintegration of the NHS, the deadly reaction to covid, a desire to leave the European Court of Human Rights in order to legalise the illegality of deporting immigrants to Rwanda (where their government beats to death its human rights defenders) …they are to blame. Not the homeless, the moronic woke nor the hidden rabid socialists, but the right wing, wilfully misinterpreting what democracy means.

At what point will it be truly understood that if you educate the massed populace of your country to be less than intelligent, that asking them serious questions about vital matters on which to vote will never end up with sane answers, but responses based on emotion, not understanding facts. Brexit has served only the same types that always thrive, chancers, fixers and scum. Education begins at home; however, parents are too exhausted from just trying to survive, poor diet and endless shocks from the news. Most Western copycat kids are on (anti)social media, addicted to poison, monkey see and monkey do.

Lifeless in Gaza…the death toll so far, 30,000 Palestinians dead and over 1,500 Israelis. Benny needs replacing, no dummies, that isn’t antisemitic. Pay close attention to Transnistria, Putin’s gateway back into the next occupied country.

Rational paranoia, but I keep having a feeling that the West as it is, will fall and the East who have been getting away with mass murder will control the world. The rich will just do business with each other and use all others as slaves…i.e. just like now, but far worse. When the Dreamer becomes a realist, they have temporarily lost the ability to sidestep across and reconnect. They have forgotten that daily practice is literally vital. It is very easy to be distracted by ‘normal’ life, but then daily existence becomes only that. I now seem to be undoing my self-programming and losing the discipline due to typical reactions to circumstances. Temporarily forgot what I learned and knew, which was…

… ‘it depends on which channel is tuned in…it depends on what we choose to watch!’ ‘An infinite number of channels but no set can play more than one channel at a time, so each one’s convinced it’s the only channel there is!’

‘Have you ever felt so at one with the world, with the universe, with everything that is, that you were overcome with love?’ ‘That is reality, that is the truth’

Focus up.

[christmasintheloonybin]

ops on new york? also you should take those preventitive balding pills idk if they actually work i know many take them idk just sying

thought this said ops like opponents like from rap. did not understand the question lol.

new york city? i come off as a hater often but if i could afford to live there i would, and if i am in a situation in the future where i could live there i would. it's a shithole but in an uninteresting way, this was my main disappointment, i've talked about going there to see swans in... 2017? and being so bummed because it smells like shit it's disgusting but in a really safe sterile way. I have been there twice in my life. but i mean, there's still shit going on, there's a lot of stuff there. still anything you could want in the world you could find in nyc. anything from anywhere will come to nyc. there's museums and galleries and shit. if i could live there i would.

i am a new england nationalist so new york state is irrelevant to me. as similar as it is to new england it's just not the same. it's nice but less beautiful.

in regards to balding, it was, after all, only a dream. i used to tweak out about it when i was in high school but i am 24 so i figure if i am going to go bald in my youth it would have started already. i've been finding gray hairs lately, a lot, so this may be connected, aging. i'm not really too worried about it. i think a receding hairline could suit me. there's nothing more freakish to me than these middle aged man boys with perfect skin perfect hairline. shaved face. it's disgusting. i'm fine with aging. i looked up the dream interpretation and it said i may feel as if i have a lack of control in my life currently and this is true. i've been thinking about this stuff a lot and having a more positive relationship with the idea of time and death. and so in putting responsibility on myself to not just fuck around and let life pass me by i am extremely stressed and getting fucking gray hairs and having nightmares lol.

[calpalsworld]

I’ve seen a lot of misinformation spread around with people calling Minions by the wrong name. I think its about time someone from the Minions community speaks up and gives a simple comprehensive guide to minion characters. Contrary to popular belief, it is not always easy to identify every single minions! Some minions share the same appearance, or the same name. For example there are two Jerrys and two Carls! But it is truly unacceptable to misidentify the most recognizable minon characters, as they are unique individuals with interesting personalities!

-------------MINIONS ROLECALL------------------------------------------

THE TRIO

The most important minion characters are the trio of Kevin, Bob, and Stuart! If you cant identify these three you really should check yourself! 

KEVIN

Kevin is identifiable for his height, tall hair, and leadership! He is one of the most determined and heroic minions. He is arguably the main character of Minions, and he lead the quest to find a new evil master after the minions century-long unemployment (in M1).

BOB

Bob is identifiable for being tiny and bald, and the sweetest minion of them all! He also has heterochromia. He is a product of the quirky cute craze in the early 2010s, but is honestly written pretty endearingly in recent movies. He had a corruption arc where he became the king of England (in M1). His teddy bear is named Tim, not to be confused with the minion Tim, who I mention later.

STUART 

Stuart is identifiable for having one eye and combed hair.... Oh dear, how do I say this. He is an arrogant.... floozy..... And he frequently shows his minion butt on screen. He also has a bit of an artistic side and can play any type of guitar. Notably, he, along with Dave, are the only two minions to never have been turned into a purple “Evil Minion” (in DM2).

OTHER MAJOR CHARACTERS DAVE

Dave doesn’t stand out very much visually and personality-wise, he is your standard minion, but he is very iconic! He has two eyes, is an average pill-shape, and has combed hair. Along with Stuart, he was never turned into a purple minion. He is also one of the only minions to never quit their job, along with one of the Jerrys (in DM3). He is also a little bit of a floozy like Stuart. 

MEL

Mel is identifiable for his one eye and friar-type-hair. As the current head of the Minions, he is the one who rallies the minions to speak up with their grievances (in DM3), which inevitably causes them to rebel and temporarily quit their jobs. Despite this, he sees Gru as a father-figure and loves him very much. He is a very complex character and one of my favorite minions.

OTTO

Otto is EXTREMELY identifiable (if you misidentify him I honestly dont know whats wrong with you). He has a very wide and tall shape, has a tiny sprout of upright hair, and has braces. He also has an extremely-fast-paced speech pattern. Sadly the narrative is rather mean spirited towards him, as all the other minions and Gru are easily annoyed at his presence. Despite being an air-head and making mistakes for the sake of plot, he tries his best to right his wrongs and deserves better! 

OTHER NOTABLE CHARACTERS JERRY AND JERRY

YES they are different characters. YES they both have the same name. It happens in real life too, deal with it. Jerry (left) likes to play golf. Jerry (right) is one of the only minions to not temporarily quit their job, along with Dave. Just wanted to clarify this.

TIM

Tim looks the same as Kevin, but they are NOT the same character. Tim commonly dresses up as a Father when he goes on undercover missions (he does it in DM1 and DM2.) He is also one of the minions who appears in the iconic credits sequence of DM1, along with Carl and John.

TOM

For those wondering who the Maid minion is, his name is Tom. Some media accidentally mislabeled him as Phil, but Phil is actually the one who dresses up like an infant and gets inflated (in DM1). DONT BE LIKE THESE FOOLS. DONT CONFUSE THE BABY MINION FOR THE MAID MINION.

(image of Phil moments before the incident) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- There are many more minion characters! But these were the ones I felt like are most iconic and important to the plot! Please learn your facts and stop incorrectly identifying minions! Thank you!

[larrikin-is-a-himbo]

My friend watches Merlin: Part II

How many fucking things are under this castle The water supply, catacombs, dragon cave, the dungeons, and now mystery death cave

Killing magic stuff seemingly runs in the family Great-something grandpa ordered to kill a wizard just because he was powerful

“This isn’t more than just a story” ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME.

This motherfucker just straight up ready to replace Merlin after all the things he’s done for him Or at least seemingly so far

Arthur better get the fucking Zuko treatment in the end or I’m suing

AH FUCK I hate gargoyles Unless they’re designed specifically for monsterfuckers

Mmmmm I know it’s in the mythology but I’m not sure I like the Gwen X Arthur ship

Back to the fucking dragon I suppose

Oh the fucking king is going to be even more insufferable this season isn’t he God bless Merlin’s patience

Oh we playin’ switcheroo

Also I saw the name Odin on the wikipage about Nimue and I was expecting the actual god, not just some random king I’m low-key disappointed yet again

Merlin just absolutely spilled his feelings and he’s 100% correct No wonder he’s tired He’s been doing everything in this fucking kingdom

For a bounty hunter this guy is surprisingly charismatic

GO TELL HIM GIRL TEAR HIM TO SHREDS

Gwen single handedly carrying the friend group

Girl you think letting the guy who never touched a spatula cook the dinner is a good idea

See, told you Merlin has to do everything. Again.

Morgana is doing magic unknowingly And she’s scared And Merlin is like “let’s ask the druids” You know, the people who the king tries to murder for no reason Surely that’s a wonderful idea

WHY ARE THERE SCORPIONS IN ENGLAND

See I told you They’re on a hunt for the druids

This is bad this is bad this is bad

DEADER LIKE DRUID GUY SEE I FUCKING TOLD YOU

Damn Mordred is really something isn’t he According to the myth he’s like evil or something from what I remember And I 100% see why he would turn that way after all this bullshit

LMAO Arthur was like “Stop hitting on her, she’s out of your range”

Really when Gaius dies (which I fucking hope he’s not going to but he probably will) my heart will shatter

Nooo they got best girl

“She’s more than just a friend for us” I’m sorry but I can’t unsee the queer in this

Noooo I hate these things I’m usually fine with naked mole rats But these are so bad

Woooh boy they kissed I low-key like this pairing more honestly Just on vibes

This motherfucker is going to die in the most glorious way By a naked rat

You know how this series should have ended Poly relationship Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot, Arthur and Merlin

A troll is about to catfish the king I’m only like, 50% seeing the problem here Cause for all I care the king could just marry one of those rats from the last episode

Nu uh, you ain’t talking to my boy Gaius like that

Eeeewwww

Seriously? THIS is the first double episode? The fucking troll? I’m about to throw up from this fucking Troll

NGL Arthur is finally growing on me He’s having his moments

The king is bad as he is originally, but now under the curse he’s even worse

This bitch needs to die as soon as possible Cause I can’t take the king being like this one more episode I’m done with his bullshit on regular mode

NA AH YOU FUCKER YOU WON’T LET THE GANG’S HARD EARNED WORK ON ARTHUR TO GO TO WASTE

LISTEN IM A MONSTERFUCKER BUT I DRAW THE LINES

FINALLY

We’re done I never want to think about these episodes again Ever In my life

Awkward almost hug is awkward But I guess it’s a start

These two episodes Were probably my least favorites from the series so far

MERLIN YOU ARE A FUCKING IDIOT YOU HAVE BEEN ALMOST KILLED WAY TOO MANY TIMES WHEN YOU *HAD* TO USE MAGIC, AND WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO, YOU JUST DO IT FOR FUNSIES LIKE “OH I’M SURE THIS WILL BE FINE”

Oh goodie, one anti magic freak wasn’t fucking enough

DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE HURT GAIUS YOU HALF BALD MOTHERFUCKER OR I SWEAR TO ALL THE GODS

Morgana honey, you’re not helping

OHH THIS FUCKER

Yet again, Gwen is the MVP

Hah, get fucked

LEAVE MORGANA ALONE

YEAH, GET FUCKED

“Yeah I sentenced you to death despise everything you’ve done to me over the years, but I’ll pay for everything my people trashed in your house. We good, right?”

TELL HIM GAIUS MY MAN

I feel like magic ladies in shadowy places is going to be a recurring theme in this show Also stalking the royal family

Dang girl I always love a women who has “I can kick your ass” energy

Why do I feel like the king is lying about not knowing this woman

What’s with all the people and their names starting with “Mor” Morgana, Mordred, Morgause

Mmmm She’s weird I don’t know if I like her vibes or not

I’m gonna give the misogyny a pass because this is like, around or older than the middle ages

Yeah the king definitely knows her

LMAO Why did he think letting MERLIN hold the rope was a good idea He’s a fucking twig

Bonding over dead parents, how nice

Ooooo family drama Half sisters

Arthur is growing on me

Dude I’m gonna cry

Mmmmm girl you’re a little sus

I would be ABSOLUTELY GLAD if he killed his father right then and there MERLIN W H Y I really fucking hope he knows he’s cutting the branch under himself everytime he says something bad about the magic, cause I can feel it all my 206 bones there will be a liar reveal episode or 2 where he tells Arthur about him being a wizard and it will be nasty

Yep, yep, fucking here we go again Merlin gets 2 black dots for this action, 1 for making the magic look bad and 1 for letting the king live

That’s exactly what I’m saying Gaius

Merlin you’re also a better person than me

Freya is so pretty

Aww, Merlin is trying to pick up a girl

Merlin trying to convince Arthur that he’s getting fat is true comedy Like how does he expect this won’t bite him in the ass later

Oof, there’s something wrong with this girl and it’s out of her control. It just reeks that energy

Oh shit I’m gonna cry by the end won’t I

✨kiss✨

Merlin you can’t just raid Morgana’s closet

LMAO Gwen

Arthur doesn’t even want to ask questions anymore At least he doesn’t judge 🤷‍♂️

KC I WENT THROUGH TOO MANY OF THESE SITUATIONS BEFORE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO KC IT’S SO CUTE I WENT THROUGH SO MANY EMOTIONS IN SO LITTLE TIME

Poor Arthur They keep fucking with him by making him fall in love with random women

Oh she’s a bitch

Ah shit, Mr. Magic Man

Oh my god This is going to end very bad

Gee, Merlin, it’s not like we had this exact fucking scenario last season KC THIS IDIOT IS CLIMBING A WALL

Woah there, that’s not consent Nevermind

Poor Gwen, she’s the real victim here

Damn, Arthur is getting his ass kicked Of course the answer is love What else would it be

Gwen saves the day

Oh shit Mordred is with bandits Oh i dont like where this is going Mordred is so cute tho And I love Morgana

Merlin what the fuck He straight up set up Mordred to be killed I wouldn’t forgive him either honestly

Ah shit, future vision spoilers

Honestly I’m still pro magic people in almost every way I’m also on the same side with Morgana Morgana is on thin fucking ice honestly But I get it I would do the same

Uther is just cutting the branch under himself day by day He got almost killed by his biological kid and got disowned by his adopted kid now officially after 2 times she tried to coup against him Honestly at this point if he doesn’t realise he’s doing something wrong then there’s no hope for him at all

Magic lady bringing back the dead: check

Couple of girlbosses having a chat in the middle of the woods Oh she’s back at her room, convenient

Oh no Plagues?

Baby’s first battle scar

Oh shit, we Sleeping Beauty now?

Mmmmmm girl, that’s sketchy

Props to Gaius’ actor for keeping that face

Holy shit even the fucking dragon’s asleep Nevermind

Oh my god KC I’m so worried Whaaa Holy shit he’s about to Socrates Morgana NOOOOOOO NOOOOOOOOOOO

As much as I hate this dragon If I were in his place I would burn this place to the ground too

I hate how much I sympathize with the villains in this series Well “villains” There are no sides in this series

Oh my god Off to find daddy Well damn, daddy’s not half bad honestly

He is 101% correct

Such a nice moment I honestly teared up a little Yep, that’s what I expected It was too good to be true

They grow so much since the beginning Oh Merlin, you’re so humble You deserve the world Yeah close that window And never open it again Holy shit this was a good episode And a long one

[sloggervlogger]

Hairless Chimp Funny End Skip Through The Grass Jambo the hairless chimpanzee from Twycross Zoo sitting at the far end of the Chimpanzee Eden. A quick zoom out, as many think they only have a small space when it's actually quite a large outdoor area. Jambo seems to be looking for something, climbing up to the shelter. He climbs back down again. He's got the little skips that he does. He does it when the grass is wet or soggy and at the end when it is getting really boggy his skips are even more pronounced and quite funny to watch if you can see past his private parts. I know it's quite difficult with Jambo, as they not exactly small lol, but hey that's Jambo for you and he isn't bothered, so why should we. #SloggerVlogger #hairlessChimp #HairlessChimpanzee Jambo was born at the Twycross Zoo in England. He has alopecia, a form of hair loss he had since his youth. He was born on the 9th of June 1982. His daughter Genet, a brown chimp with a bald back and his mother Coco (1965) are in the same habitat. Jambo's siblings from his father's side are William who was born on the 30th June 1982, Holly was born on the 27th of December 1982 and Jomar was born on the 28th of December 1990 all are in the same habit as Jambo. Jambo's first son Peter is in the next door enclosure. Jambo started to lose his ear in November 2018, which the staff believes happened accidentally, it got ripped by his mum in a group fight. Twycross zoo tried to glue it back on with skin glue, but unfortunately, as time went past he picked on it that much that he lost all of it. In 2018 The chimpanzees got their new "Chimpanzee Eden" habitat. A 1,160sqm area with two seven-meter-high indoor spaces which are linked to a large outdoor area complete with huge climbing frames and huts. Jambo T-shirts, stickers, Hoody's and much more now available at my Redbubble merch store: https://ift.tt/q6rntG8 #ad @redbubble T-shirts, stickers, prints, homeware and much more. Don't forget to subscribe and hit that notification bell for more! New videos at least 3 times a week. Thank you for visiting. For 15% off, visit my website for an up to date voucher code: https://ift.tt/y5ghTWu A small collection of T-shirts and Hoody's is also available at Amazon via my website: https://ift.tt/9aY6UQ7 SloggerVlogger

[flashbackharry]

Quarantine

Prompt 51 and 52:

51. “Are you still awake…?”

52. “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

Thank you @woopboopboop for requesting, I’m sorry its so late :(

You can request a prompt from this list:

Masterlist:

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you didn’t take quarantine as seriously in the beginning as you should have. You begged Harry to take you to museums and the beach and he obliged of course, only wanting to make you happy. It wasn't until the death tolls started climbing day by day, and in England where you were currently staying with Harry and his family, it was even worse. Now you turned somewhat into a hypochondriac, making Harry wash his hands after he’d come back from a run, to which Harry responded,

“I didn’t touch anything love.” Still, he washed his hands after seeing you start to bite your lower lip in anxiety.

Staying with Anne, Gemma, and her fiance in Harry's childhood home was nice. It was in a secluded area surrounded by trees but not so far making a walk to the nearest cafe only about 20 minutes. Not that that mattered, everything was closed up due to concerns surrounding the virus.

You tried giving yourself somewhat of a routine. You tried not sleeping past 8am, although when you woke up, Harry was just coming back from his run. He suggested you run with him in the mornings to which you smiled and simply said,

“I don’t run”.

You did however take up cooking and cooked breakfast for everyone most mornings, usually before Anne beat you to it. This particular morning when Harry came back from his run, his headphones hanging from his neck, his shirt was lightly covered in sweat, his hair a roused mess atop his head. He walked over to where you were cutting up onions and bell peppers at the kitchen counter for the scrambled eggs you were making. He kissed your temple and asked

“So, what's on the agenda for today?”

“Mhmm, maybe some poetry at two? Gardening at 5, maybe a stroll around the neighborhood at dusk?” You said teasingly although all sounded very appeasing.

Harry leaned against the counter and chuckled, eating some of the fruit you had cut up earlier.

“Sounds lovely, did you just come up with that yourself?” He asked, getting up from against the counter and hugging you from behind, peppering kisses to your neck as you giggled.

“Very cute guys, but please, I just woke up.” Gemma said from the doorway, walking over and taking a seat on a stool where the island was.

“Oh shush, you and Michal were very PDA-ey when you first got together.”Harry retaliated.

“Yes we were, then we had the sense to stop.”Gemma said, blowing a kiss over to you and winking.

“Yeah well, I will never hide my love for this one.” Harry said, kissing your shoulder. You pushed him away, your cheeks reddening a little.

“I love you, but please go shower bub.” You said pinching his cheek.

Harry removed his hand from your lower back and with a little protesting, he walked out of the kitchen, not of course without ruffling Gemma's hair on his way out.

Michal came down shortly after Harry disappeared and took a seat next to Gemma.

“Morning sleepy head.” She said as he planted a kiss to her head.

You loved watching them interact, as much as she teased you and Harry, she was the same as you guys. Unabashedly in love with their significant other.

“Something smells good.” Michal said smiling over to you.

“Breakfast is served.” You said, handing them their plates of scrambled eggs with a side of toast.

“Where would we be without you?” Gemma asked with such conviction you couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Then she smiled and you returned it.

“Not as good as your mums but at least it's edible right?” You said right when Anne walked in, and you started blushing again.

“None of that darling, there was a period they hated my cooking if you can believe it.” She said giving you a kiss on the cheek before also sitting down. You smiled again. Pouring her a cup of coffee. You couldn’t help being nervous around your boyfriend's mom, even after all these years, but just like Harry, she always proved you had nothing to be nervous about.

“Yeah cause you started experimenting with that vegan shit mum.” Gemma said and Anne laughed out loud.

“Language Gem.” Was all she said, before sneaking you a wink.

Harry came down moments later, sporting his attire for the day, his hair damp from the water. He actually did dress up everyday, unlike you who sported a new one of his jumpers every few days or so.

“It makes a difference, really.” He told you one day while he was getting dressed, he glanced at you on the bed through the mirror he was facing.

“You just wanna show everyone your impeccable taste in fashion.” You said, teasing him. You watched as he laughed and poked his tongue out at you.

“Morning mum.” He said, walking over to Anne wrapping his arms around her while she sat holding her cup of hot coffee.

Harry walked over to you and sat on your lap while he grabbed some of your food from your plate. Smiling with his mouth full.

“Going grocery shopping today, any last requests?” Anne said. You peered over from Harry's lanky torso, towards Anne.

“Some more greek yoghurt please, someone keeps eating it despite saying how gross it is everytime.” You said, pinching Harry's side lightly.

“Ow!” Harry yelped.

“Can Michal and I just go with you mum? I never know what I want until I’m actually there.” She said, getting up from her seat and grabbing her and Michals plate and bringing it over to the sink.

“Yeah sure, I’m leaving in about 10 so hurry up.” She said, also getting up and walking out of the kitchen.

Gemma walked over to you and lifted your chin with one of her hands,

“Thanks for breakfast darling.” before walking out with Michal.

“I think that means we have the house to ourselves for about an hour.” Harry said, getting up from your lap. You let out a breath of air you didn't know you were holding in.

You took the remaining plates off the island and brought them over to the sink. Harry rinsed them after you went over them with a soapy sponge.

“Can I give you a haircut?” You asked.

“Absolutely not.” Harry said almost instantly.

“Why not?” You whined, frowning a bit.

“Because I dont wanna have to go bald trying to cover up the inevitable mistake you're going to make, besides, I think I might grow it out again, God knows how long we're gonna be stuck here for.” Harry said.

“Rude.” You responded, taking your hands out of the soapy water and instead running them through his unruly curls. Harry yelped again and splashed warm water from the sink at you. The fight ended with both of you slightly soaked and giggling.

When the rest of them got back from the grocery store, you helped put away all the groceries and the rest of your day was spent doing relatively nothing. You sat in the living room and watched way too many episodes of Seinfeld, you and Harry tried cooking some new recipe from a cookbook you had laying around and when that didn't end up going very well, you had to order a pizza. Harry had a few meetings later in the night over facetime so he was upstairs in the study doing that.

It was around 1am when you started feeling tired, so you headed into the bathroom and started getting ready for bed. The hot water felt nice against your skin.

When you finally got out of the bathroom and walked into the bedroom, everyone else's doors were closed, no doubt already asleep by now. You hadn't noticed how long you were in the shower until you glanced at the clock. It was nearly 2:30.

Yet Harry was nowhere to be found. You figured he was still on facetime with Jeff so you decided to go to sleep anyway.

***

It was nearly 4 when you felt a finger poking your side.

“Are you still awake?” Harry's deep voice filled your ears.

You opened your eyes and looked at his head looming over you above the covers. You closed your eyes again hoping he’d get the hint that you wanted to go back to sleep.

“I'm not gonna stop poking you until you give me attention.” He said, laying his head on the pillow and staring at the ceiling. You sighed and faced him.

“Whats up Harry?” You said, grabbing his hand under the covers.

“I can’t sleep.” He said, meeting your eyes.

“Wanna have sex?” You said smiling, half joking half not.

Harry chuckled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he spoke again,

“Wanna come watch the sunrise with me?” He said, lifting his hand to move a piece of hair from your face. You glanced at the clock, you did have about an hour and a half until the sun would be up again.

You smiled at him and nodded your head.

You both got ready quietly. You put one of his jumpers on again and a pair of joggers before heading downstairs to find your slippers. Harry met you at the bottom of the stairs, he already had his shoes on. Once you found your slippers Harry opened the front door quietly, locking it behind you. He took your hand in his as you both walked down the driveway.

The ground was damp as it had rained a little earlier yesterday afternoon. A thin layer of dew covered the grass and you instantly regretted wearing slippers because you knew they were going to be soaked. It was eerily quiet and peaceful, that period of time in the morning where you could hear the birds beginning to chirp but if you listened hard enough, you could hear a few lingering crickets.

You walked the quiet rural streets, the houses here were far apart from each other, seeing nothing but rolling green hills for what felt like forever before seeing another house.  You found a bench after walking for 30 minutes or so. Harry sat down, pulling you into his lap. You rested your head against his. The sun barely peeking over the horizon.

“How was your call with Jeff and the others?”

Harry sighed, wrapping his arms tighter around your torso.

“It was okay. He asked if I wanted to fly back to L.A before this stuff gets worse, quarantine there.”

You tired not feeling a little sad before asking,

“And are you?”

“Politely told him no. It's not often I get an opportunity to spend long periods of time doing nothing with my family and you. Told him if he really needed me in person I’d come but if I can do my job here, at home, that I would appreciate that.” Harry finished.

You didn't say anything back right away, instead started peppering kisses into his neck, you whispered “I love you” into his ear and Harry's lips met yours. He kissed you slowly, the sun now illuminating the entire sky. He whispered “I love you more” into your mouth.

You stayed sat on the bench well after the sun had already risen. Not saying anything, playing with the many rings on his fingers. Harry pulled you up off his lap and took your hands guiding you back to the house.

Once your feet hit the ground you whispered a little “Oh.”, wincing a little.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked, worry lacing his features.

“My slippers are wet and it feels like when you have socks on and step in something wet.”

Harrys turned his nose up, cringing. He took your hand and lifted you up until your feet touched the bench and you stood there, towering over him. He turned around and hoisted you on his back. You smiled as he carried you back to his mum's house.

“And they say chivalry is dead” You said jokingly and Harry breathed a laugh.

[zayamoone-old]

TF2 Mage AU

A Team Fortress 2 AU where magic exists and I change the storyline.

Hi! I don’t post here often, so I thought I’d change that by posting something that’s been occupying my thoughts for a while: a TF2 mage AU! When I discovered that a mage AU didn’t exist (at least, not any that I could find), I just had to take it upon myself to make one of my own. So, here are all of the ideas I currently have for the AU! Note that (eventually) this will become a written story. How long that will take, I have no clue. I still need a plot (if you have any plot ideas please please let me know; I’m desperate).

Basic Premise/World Info

The premise of the AU is, obviously, that mages exist. When people reach a certain age, they are allowed to start learning a single type of magic. There are many different magic types, ranging from elemental magic to dark magic. When a mage reaches a certain skill level, they are given a Familiar. They do not get to pick their Familiar- their Familiar picks them. They then keep their Familiar as a pet. The Familiar’s state of health, life span, and mood are synced with their owners (so for example, when their owner is sick the Familiar is sick, when the owner is sad the Familiar is sad, when the owner dies the Familiar dies, etc.). There are some people who choose not to take up a type of magic. These people are creatively referred to as Nomages, and in some cultures are looked down upon (though the same could be said about Mages).

Some things to clear up about the altered side of the AU are 1) The BLU team does not exist; I never saw a need for the two teams, and having them both just leads to basic and generally overused plot lines, 2) Australium doesn’t exist!! No immortality crap, 3) Gray Mann is the younger brother of Redmond and Blutarch (Red and Blu are still twins) and does not have a ridiculous story of him being able to talk since birth and being raised by eagles and whatnot, and 4) Saxton Hale is not very important to the plot. In fact, he’s actually dead in this AU. I wasn’t going to include him at all because I don’t like him and I couldn’t figure out how to fit him in, but a friend of mine actually had a cool idea for him being dead that I’ll elaborate on later.

Anyways, with all that out of the way, it’s time to introduce the characters!

Characters (headcanons and other details will be saved for asks)

Offense Classes (Elemental Mages)

Scout

Name: Jeremy Andrews

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Boston, Massachusetts, USA

Age: 27

Magic Type: Wind

Uses his magic to move faster, jump higher, and knock back enemies. I’d imagine he’d also use it to propel himself past or over enemies to land in front of or on top of them.

Decided to learn wind magic for basically the canon reason: he wanted to get the upper hand in fights, and also wanted to manage to beat his brothers to fights. So, instead of Speed magic, he decided to take up Wind magic since not only did it make him faster, but it is a great tool for fighting.

Soldier

Name: Jane Doe

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual, he really has no preference

POB: Minneapolis, Missouri, USA

Age: 50

Magic Type: Earth

Uses his magic to reach high places and throw literal boulders at people; basically a replacement for his RPG.

Took up earth magic to thereotically assist him in WWII (because if he’s a mage, they’d have to accept him, right?). He also found being able to throw destructive boulders to be incredibly helpful in any fight.

Pyro

Name: ???

Gender: Nobody knows, everybody just refers to them as a they or an it.

Sexuality: Aromantic asexual

POB: ???

Age: ???

Magic Type: Fire

Fire.

Idk what to tell you man they just really like fire.

Doesn’t have the optical mask; they see everything as it really is, but their behavior towards fire and death and destruction remains the same. They still like unicorns and rainbows.

Defense Classes (Trait Mages)

Engineer

Name: Dell Conagher

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Mostly straight, but he leans both ways. Ultimately, he doesn’t care much about relationships.

POB: Bee Cave, Texas, USA

Age: 43

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

Doesn’t see a need to learn magic, he already has enough skill in the engineering field.

Was mainly hired because his family worked for the Admin’s family for decades. And also because, y’know, he’s one of the smartest people on the planet.

Heavy

Name: Mikhail 'Misha' Morozov

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

POB: Dzhugdzhur Mountains, Khabarovsk Krai, USSR

Age: 57

Magic Type: Strength

Uses his magic to make himself inhumanly strong whenever he so chooses. This means he can switch from oh so gentle to strong enough to crush bone in seconds.

Took up Strength magic after he escaped the gulag to better protect his family, should the need arise.

Demoman

Name: Tavish DeGroot

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Ullapool, Scotland

Age: 49

Magic Type: Leaping

His magic basically just lets him jump really high (higher than Scout can go with his magic). This lets him shoot/throw grenades/bombs from more effective and destructive distances.

Mostly took up Leaping magic just to get his mom off his back about him learning magic. His father was a Leaping Mage, so Demo simply followed in his footsteps.

Support Classes (Arcane Mages)

Medic

Name: Dr. Ludwig Humboldt

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

POB: Stuttgart, Germany

Age: 45

Magic Type: Necromancy

Familiar: Archimedes - Dove

Uses his magic to revive people, heal people, and communicate with the dead.

Took up the controversial art of necromancy to aid in his job. This eventually cost him his medical license.

Ngl I'm super excited to write Necromancer Medic I'm really happy with this concept help

Sniper

Name: Mick Mundy

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Whyalla, Australia

Age: 28

Magic Type: Shadow

Familiar: Hunter - Australian Shepard

Uses his magic to teleport into and transform into shadows. This is helpful for sneaking in between watchtowers and passing people unseen.

Began learning Shadow magic before he was even a sniper. He has always been an introvert and wanted to be able to get through crowds unseen and hide from people without being found.

Despite his young age, he already has a Familiar. He's just that much of a professional.

Is actually from Australia and the Mundys are his birth parents.

Spy

Name: Eugène Baudelaire

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Bordeaux, France

Age: 46

Magic Type: Mind

Familiar: Jacques - Birman

Uses his magic to read minds, bend wills, and use telepathy. These abilities all have some limits, but they are incredibly useful nonetheless.

Always enjoyed being sneaky and deceitful as a child, and as he got older he started learning Mind magic. This combined with his cunning nature and Dell's cloaking technology makes him one of the most stealthy and dangerous men in existence.

Although he denies it, he loves Jacques more than anything or anybody else. He'll often let the cat curl up on his lap while he's reading a magazine in his smoking room.

Other Characters

The Administrator

Name: Helen Callaway

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Aromantic asexual. People are horrid.

POB: Bristol, UK

Age: 56

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

Runs Team Fortress and uses them for her own needs.

A family friend of the Manns who took over TF after all the Mann brothers were m y s t e r i o u s l y murdered.

Miss Pauling

Name: Allison Pauling

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Closeted lesbian

POB: Like. America or something. (Madison, Wisconsin for now idk)

Age: 31

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

A close friend and long-time assitant to the Admin. Eagerly helps her run TF.

Redmond Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: England or somewhere, idfk. The Manns are British or something right?

Age: 89

Magic Type: Fire

Before his and Blutarch's death, he ran the RED team. After his death, the remains of his team consisted of only Pyro, Engie, Demo, and Spy.

Never used his magic. They only reason he learned Fire magic was to try to get the upper hand on his twin.

Blutarch Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Ditto

Age: 89

Magic Type: Ice

Ran the BLU team before he died and the two teams were merged. After his death, his team consisted of only Scout, Soldier, Heavy, Medic, and Sniper. Since he had more people on his team at the end, he counts this as a win for him.

Also never used his magic. Learned Ice magic also to try to get the upper hand as his brother. Their magic types basically cancelled each other out, so this was not helpful in the slightest.

Gray Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight, but couldn't care less

POB: Ditto

Age: 84

Magic Type: Shadow

Familiar: Delta - Bald Eagle

After he murdered his older brothers, he took over TF Industries and merged RED and BLU to create Team Fortress.

Took up Shadow magic in preparation for the day he would get what he wanted. It also comes in handy for literally anything illegal.

Saxton Hale

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: A U S T R A L I A .

Age: 37

Magic Type: Strength

Ran TF Industries in its early days alongside the Mann twins before he died.

Learned Strength magic to better wrestle animals. That's it.

Idolized by literally only Soldier. Everybody else is like "Yeah no that guy was an idiot."

Wow. That was a lot to write, and I did it all in one sitting. It is late. I am losing the ability to comprehend any thoughts.

So anyways, I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts on this!! It's a heavy WIP, so I'd appreciate feedback and suggestions ;) Also, please feel free to submit asks about the AU!! It'd help a lot with its development! Also, plot ideas would be MUCH appreciated. Literally the only thing that ever prevents me from writing is my inability to come up with a plot. So if you have literally ANY ideas, please do submit them via an ask! I'd love to hear them, no matter how stupid you think they may be!

That's all for now! I'll post writing and art for the AU whenever I get around to that. Stay tuned, and please do send me your thoughts! I'll see you all later ✨

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 684

2,874 - Words

Gif is NOT mine. (Found on Pinterest.)

If this gif is yours please let me know, so I can give you credit.

Gif credit goes to - Unknown.

Year posted - 2020

Warnings - Smut, Swearing, mentions of rape, blood, and abuse.

Notes - This one kinda got outta hand, but I hope you enjoy it none the less.

----

Huddled in the far corner (Y/n) pulled her knees into her chest, cuddling into herself. Her eyes quickly scanning the room, her beautiful orbs snapping to the door, as the guards dragged in the newest patient. He was limp in there arms, pumped full of drugs to keep him calm, and obedient. Watching him closely as they tossed him down into a chair carelessly. And she watched as the guards stalked back out of the room, flinching when John White entered the room. (Y/n) pulled her knees into her chest further, and watched as he roamed the room, even biting her lip when he stopped at the new guys side. However when the new guy, despite all the drugs pumping through his veins, spat him Johns face (Y/n) couldn’t help but smile. And when John walked away from the drugged up man (Y/n) quickly scurried across the room to the mans side. When she reached him she hunkered down and pushed her way to settle between his legs, resting her hands on his knees. Looking up at him with a fearful look, as he slowly turned his head to look at her, drool dribbling down his chin. “He frightens me, that man.” She nodded her head in John direction. “John White he’s foul, crazier than anyone else here.” She murmured tearing her eyes away from John to look up at the man before her. “He tried touching me once.” Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout, and her eyes glossed over. “I screamed until my lungs ached, and when that didn’t work I broke a glass over his head.” (Y/n) grasped his pants between her fingers tighter. “I avoid him at all coasts now, and when I cant avoid him, I cause trouble...” Her eyes scanned the room, while the man before her watched her face closely. “Get myself locked up in solitary for a few days.” She murmured before licking her lips quickly. “My names (Y/n).” She added while looking up into his eyes, before attempting to move away from him. But she stilled when he grunted at her, spitting a little as he attempted to lean towards her. “Careful.” She gasped softly while catching him in her arms, gently pushing him back into his seat so he wouldn’t fall. “Do you want me to stay?” She tilted her head a little while kneeling down to draw less attention to herself, nodding her head in agreement when he slowly opened his legs, allowing her to sit between them again. “If you behave they won’t sedate you like this, then you could tell me your name.” She offered a small smile, but it washed away in an instant as she scanned the room again.

----

The following day (Y/n) entered the rec room, and as usual made her way for the farthest corner in the room. Where she sat on the floor and curled into herself as always. Except this time someone approached her, and before she could see their face she began screaming. “No no no calm down love its just me.” The man cooed as he knelt down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t recognized the voice so she calmed knowing it wasn’t John White, and she was surprised to find it was the drugged man from yesterday, except this time he wasn’t all drugged up. “See you’re okay love.” He hummed comfortingly at her, pleased with himself that he had calmed her down. “Your.” She wet her lips before scanning the room, finding one of the bigger guards already starring at her. Making her whimper as she quickly looked away, hiding her head between her knees. “What’s wrong hm?” He asked before turning to see what had frightened her, growling under his breath at the sight of the guard. “Has he hurt you (Y/n)?” He asked as he turned back to her, biting his lip to quell his anger when she nodded her head yes. “What has he done to you love?” He whispered softly, not wanting to frighten her. “He...” She raised her head from her knees, looking to the bald man with teary eyes. “He touches me, and beats me if I try fighting back.” Her lip quivered as she spoke, her words making his blood boil with anger. “You stay here love, I’ll be right back.” He grasped her shaking hands in his steady ones, softly kissing her knuckles before standing to leave. (Y/n) watched as he approached the guard, gasping in shock when he began beating the ever living hell out of the guard. Whimpering softly under her breath as the other guards tore him away from the guard, beating him just as he had the guard. A stray tear falling from her eye just as she locked eyes with the man, sniffling softly when he smiled at her reassuringly.

----

It was several days before (Y/n) seen the man again in the rec room, and when she spotted him, he sat in her corner huddled up like she normally was. She didn’t know if he was making fun of her, or simply mimicking her actions innocently. When she reached him she hunkered herself into the corner of the room itself, a small space he seemingly left open just for her. And as she pulled her knees up to her chest he turned his entire body to her with a smile. “My names Michael Peterson, but you love can call me Micky.” His smile widened showing off his teeth, making (Y/n) giggle softly. “Thank you Micky, for attacking Brendan the other day.” Her voice was soft, but Michael heard her loud and clear. “And I’ll do it again if he ever touches you again, or anyone for that matter.” He scooted towards her a little closer, making her smile softly. “So tell me love, why are you in here?” Michael tilted his head a little, watching her intensely. “My dad... He was similar to Brendan, he didn’t actually rape me, but he would touch me over my clothes when he was drunk.” She scanned the room with her eyes before looking back to Michael, whos blood was boiling again. “He beat me bloody most nights, its where I got all my scars from.” She bit her bottom lip holding back her tears as she looked to the floor. “And one day I snapped, and I bashed his head in with a cricket bat.” The tears slowly began falling, making Michaels heart wrench in his chest. “They locked me up here, I’ve been here for six years now.” She sniffled softly, before Michael tilted her head back up, lightly brushing his thumb over the scar that ran from her nose, and down just passed her chin, marking the left side of her mouth forever. “You did nothing wrong love, those cunts should have given you a metal for protecting yourself.” Michael murmured while rubbing her jaw delicately with his knuckles. “Why are you here Micky?” (Y/n) asked as she wiped away her tears. “I robbed a post office, and got myself sent to prison. And I got into fight after fight, got transferred all over England, and I ended up here.” (Y/n) chuckled softly at his words. “What?” He grinned at her with curiosity in his eyes. “Seems like an afoul lot of trouble for just robbin a post office.” She chuckled again, biting her lip softly when Michael began chuckling himself. “Yeah... But everything happens for a reason doesn't it.” He mused while grasping her hand softly, toying with her fingers. “I believe so.” (Y/n) murmured so quietly that Michael almost didn’t hear her.

----

A year had gone by now (Y/n) and Michael, have been inseparable. And for this year together (Y/n) has been left alone by both guards, and patients. With Michael at her side, and after he beat Brendan, no one was dumb enough to mess with her. And with (Y/n) by his side, Michael was on his best behavior, worrying more about her wellbeing than starting trouble. “Micky come here.” (Y/n) whispered as she poked her head out of the bathroom, waving for Michael to join her. “What is it?” He asked as he slipped passed the door, his eyes twinkling when he noticed (Y/n) lock the door behind him. “I want to show you something.” She whispered before slipping out of her asylum issued gown, allowing it to pool at her feet. Michael inhaled deeply at the sight of her bare breasts, exhaling shakily as she approached him. His eyes slowly scanned over the scars speckling her belly and legs, before looking back into her eyes. He exhaled audibly through his nose, his anger spiking when she turned to reveal the deep scars littering her back. “I’ve never willingly shown anyone these.” She murmured quietly, gasping when his cold fingers began tracing the nasty scars. “My dad you’d to beat me with the dogs leash, it was a thin chain leash, it cut through my skin like a hot knife through butter.” She shivered at the feeling of Michaels hot breath fanning her back, as he huffed through his nose, trying to contain his anger. “I always wanted to get married some day, and have kids. But what man would ever marry me, and bless me with his children?” She frowned while wrapping her arms around her belly, her words unknowingly striking a cord in Michael. “Don’t say that.” He growled before turning her to face him. “Don’t ever say that.” He repeated as he cornered her against the nearest wall. “Micky.” She whispered feeling a little fearful, due to her past. “I’ll marry you the second we get out of here, and I’ll fill your belly with as many kids as you desire my dove.” He husked against her cheek, while his hands grasped her hips. “Just say the word, and I’m yours.” He murmured before lightly pecking the side of her mouth. “Micky.” (Y/n) moaned softly while pressing her body firmly against his. “Yeah dove?” He brushed his nose against hers affectionately. “I want to be yours.” She whispered leaning forward so their lips would lightly brush against each other. Michael waisted no time in closing the gap between them, and sealing their lips in a passionate and needy kiss.

“Micky.” (Y/n) moaned into his mouth, allowing his tongue to dominate her mouth. “(Y/n).” He growled before pulling away from the kiss, attacking her neck with hot open mouth kisses, smearing his saliva across her pale skin. Grunting and biting her neck softly when she grinded into his bulge. “Can I?” He husked into her ear, as he gently pulled her legs apart. “Please.” (Y/n) whined while grasping his shoulders tightly. With her permission Michael knelt down, now sitting face to face with her dampened pussy, he licked his lips before looking up at her face. “Please Micky.” She pouted down at him, giving him further encouragement. Delicately he picked up her right leg, and slung it over his shoulder. One hand grasping her left thigh, and his other cradling her ass in the palm of his hand. Teasingly he brushed the very tip of his nose up her clit, smirking when she mewled down at him. “Please don’t tease.” She whined while pulling him in closer with her leg slung down his back. Gasping in delight when he dove right in, and began eating her out, like she was his last meal. “Oh god Micky!” She panted while grasping the back of his head with both hands, pulling him in even further. Her eyes rolled back as he growled against her clit, before suckling on it harshly. “I’m... I’m.” She huffed between breaths, her mind to foggy to finish her sentence. Spurring Michael on further as he picked up the pace, now grasping her ass with both hands, burring himself between her legs as far as he could. “Yes!” (Y/n) cried out as her back began to arch off the wall, her legs trembling as she came, biting her lip to hold back her cries of pleasure, so the guards wouldn’t interrupt their fun. Michael slowly stood to his feet, keeping a firm hold on her hips so she wouldn’t fall. 

“Ready for the real fun my sweet?” He hummed while licking his lips, greedily collecting her juices from his lips, and mustache. “Give me more.” (Y/n) purred before pulling him into a needy kiss, their hands both going straight for his trousers. Making them both chuckle into each others mouths, Michael mad quick work of slipping out of his pants, then braking away from the kiss to remove his shirt. Crashing his mouth against hers so hard the back of her head hit the wall with a hard thud. “Sorry love.” He murmured while cradling the back of her head with his right hand, gently soothing the pain away. “Fuck me already.” (Y/n) giggled against his chin, pulling away from the kiss just a little. “On it.” He grinned before hoisting her up and wrapping her legs around his waist, while she wrapped her arms around his thick neck. Lining himself up with her entrance, Michael slowly allowed her body to sink down onto him, grunting in pleasure as he entered her warmth inch by inch. “Ah fuck.” (Y/n) moaned out as he bottomed out inside of her, locking her ankles over each other, and locking him against her. “Tight.” Michael growled, trying his damndest to hold back, to allow her to adjust to his size. “Micky.” (Y/n) moaned while thrusting her hips into his, begging for him to move. “Brace yourself love.” Michael grunted before he tightened his grasp on her, thrusting into her nice and hard once, before he began pounding into her. Growling when she bit down on his shoulder to muffle her voice from anyone that might overhear. 

----

It’s been four months now of (Y/n) being on her own, all because Michael had been released for good behavior, and being deemed sane. And for four months Michael has been busting his ass to get things together, and get (Y/n) released. He called her everyday, and made sure she was still okay. Surprisingly even with Michaels absence, (Y/n) was still left alone. And today was finally the day of her release, and Michael waited outside for her with bated breath. Alongside his mother and father, whom were eager to meet the girl Michael has been babbling about for the passed months. What Michael wasn’t expecting however was to watch you come walking out, with a swollen belly. “(Y/n).” He whispered under his breath before rushing towards the pregnant girl, who offered him a lopsided grin as he approached. “You’re pregnant.” Was the first words out of Michaels mouth when he reached her, kneeling down quickly to eye her belly closely. “I wanted to surprise you.” (Y/n) stroked the back of his head lovingly, giggling softly when he kissed her belly softly a few times. “Color me surprised love.” Michael hummed as he rose to his feet, pulling her into a hungry yet sweet kiss before she had a chance to say anything. “Oh I’ve missed you.” He whispered against her lips when he pulled away, resting his hands against her belly. “I’ve missed you too Micky.” (Y/n) cooed before pecking his lips once quickly. “I’m going by the name Charlie Bronson now.” He informed her as he wrapped his arm around her waist. “But you can still call me Micky.” He winked at her before kissing her temple. “I was gonna anyways.” She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his hips, having dropped her bag when Charlie approached her. “I’ll get that for you.” Charlies father offered as he picked up (Y/n)’s bag. “Oh thank you.” She smiled kindly at the older man. “(Y/n) this is my father and this is my mother, mum dad this is (Y/n).” Charlie introduced the three while resting his hand on (Y/n)’s baby bump. “It’s so good to finally meet you my dear.”  Charlies mum smiled brightly at (Y/n) before pulling the girl into a welcoming hug.

----

Later that night Charlie stilled at the task at hand, making (Y/n) whimper softly. “Marry me (Y/n).” His head popped up from between her thighs, peering over her belly he wanted to look her in the eyes. “Micky.” (Y/n) cooed while lightly stroking his cheek with her fingers. “I only want you, forever and always. Of course I’ll marry you.” She smiled before giggling when he quickly crawled up her to kiss her passionately. “But I wasn’t finished.” She whined before softly biting his bottom lip. “Right.” He grinned before going back to work, eating her like a starved man would apple pie.

----

Over the course of the next five years Charlie married (Y/n), and now has three kids with her, their first being their twin boys, then their little girl, whos three years younger than her brothers. Charlie also has made a career for himself, being a professional fighter, England's most ruthless fighter. a title he is very proud of. While (Y/n) is the very attentive, stay at home wife and mother, and she’s happier than she could have ever dreamed.

[spinnin-burnice]

Watch Dogs: Legion x AmRev

@burgoyned Pumped this one out in 2 hours @.@ Probably could make some changes but do let me know your thoughts and feedback ^^

Chapter 7: Proud to be Resisting

Hanger stretched and sorted through the shots glass the next day. It was a gray, rainy day in London. Inside The Earl’s Fortune patrons said around smoking, drinking, and chattered about the recent law passed by Lord Germain all citizens will now require a heavy inspection when traveling in and out of London as well as getting fingerprinted. The TV hanging on the wall over the fireplace showed Lord Germain speaking at a press conference stating his proposal on “increase safety measures for the people of London.” Hanger chuckled to himself. Man couldn’t even protect himself over a wet floor. Just last week, news broke out the Minister of Safety and Security (a position granted by Germain himself TO himself) slipped on a wet puddle outside Westminster and broke his left leg.

That was quite sensational. It was the best news Hanger heard all day that day. The door to the Safehouse opened and André emerged with the crew in tow. “Morning, y’all! Where is everyone heading off?” he asked. “Just heading off to the Royal Navy yard to check some stuff out,” André replied. “Is that so? You should also head over to the fighting grounds. Some Clan Kelley gangster managed to beat his way in the Underground fight clubs to the top and is now challenging the leader of the ‘Royal Navy Horsemen.’” The crew looked at each other with surprise. “’ The Royal Navy Horsemen’? The most badass group of fighters across London? Holy hell yes, I’m buying tickets NOW!” Burgoyne pulled out his phone and began processing. Clinton looked over his shoulder while André’s eyes glimmered. “The best MMA fighters England has to offer. What time is the event?” “It’s at 4:30 PM. We got the whole morning to kill and sometime in the afternoon. And I also bought tickets for everyone. Last four remaining.” Burgoyne said as he held up his phone.

“Do you think what we’re wearing is ok? Or is there some dress code we need to abide by?” the hacker asked Hanger. “Not that know of. Besides, who on Earth would enforce a ‘dress code’ in a fight club?” “There is one in Garden City that enforced a dress code.” André looked down at his outfit nervously. He was wearing a black DedSec tank top with brown cargo jeans and low-cut black boots. Everyone else wore similar style outfits; Howe was wearing a black jacket with a white buttoned-down shirt, black jeans, and leather shoes. Clinton wore a black shirt inside his DedSec jacket, blue jeans, and brown boots. Burgoyne wore a futuristic jacket, low cut dark blue tank top with DedSec’s logo on it, black leather jeans, and black combat boots. Normally everyone would be wearing DedSec’s “uniform” (something André ensembled so it would be formal which consists of a black DedSec jacket, white T-shirt, blue jeans, and various colored combat boots) but everyone has now moved on to something casual. We would feel out of place in a fight club.

Hanger shrugged. “So far have not heard of this one, so y’all are fine. Nice to see something casual for a change.” It was then Bagley pinged everyone’s earpiece. “Good morning everyone. I’ve received some intel that there is data sitting inside the National Maritime Museum. A good chance to expose Albion and Clan Kelley for the while. It shouldn’t take too long with four people managing it. I’m sending out the location and the route to avoid trouble. Also, there is a big fight this afternoon I’m sure none of you would want to miss out.” “Don’t worry Bagley I got the tickets we’ll be sure to record every detail and send it to you,” Burgoyne replied. “Fantastic! Hopefully, something bloody happens. Overheard their leader is a bit of a Grim Reaper. Kicked the head off some chap’s shoulder once. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”

Everyone looked at each other with shock on their face. “Will do Bagley thanks,” André said, clicking his earpiece.

Putting his phone away, Burgoyne clapped his hands. “We’re heading out now or what?” “We can wait for a bit. It’s pouring outside,” Howe murmured. Who would be this vicious in a fight club? Clinton sat down at the bar. “I don’t think this data exposure would take too long. But something tells me we might be taking too long turning public opinion in our favor.” Bagley pinged in. “It’s not too late. Lord Germain is turning away more and more of his supporters by the minute. Sure, some cling faith to the government but it won’t be for long.” “Once we recruited enough people I think we can turn our attention to liberating the boroughs. I’m sure everyone is itching for a change,” André said. “Of course. DedSec may be tainted, but that doesn’t stop us from making a noise,” chuckled Bagley.

As they chattered, the rain outside began to subside and the sun began shining through the clouds. Burgoyne got up from the leather couch near the fireplace and patted both André and Clinton on the shoulder. “Well, we off now?” Clinton checked the time. “It’s 10:30. We can leave around noon. It’s just a 20-minute walking distance.” “Fair enough. What now?” “There is two options: use the fighting ground to mess around OR go and get data. Either way, we’ll be waiting,” Burgoyne stated. André hopped off the bar stool. “Heading out! Bye!” Hanger waived as the rest of the crew followed. Making their way through the busy London streets, the crew reached the outside of the museum. Bagley pinged. “You’re right in the proximity of the data.” Slipping on their masks, the crew slid into a large bush next to the massive square building. André pulled out his phone and began hacking the cameras inside. He eventually found the room containing the stored data, which was inside a laptop. Bagley said, “There it is! Quickly now!” André tapped the phone and data immediately began downloading. A few seconds later, the data finished transferring and Bagley spoke. “Alright. I have received all the information from that laptop. It might take me some time to process this as there is a lot of junk files added. Once I’ve completed sorting it out I’ll let you know the next step.” “Sounds good.” Howe replied, tapping on his earpiece.

“Great. Now that’s out of the way, what now?” Burgoyne asked as the crew got up and walked away from their hiding place, mask off. “Head to the courtyard and challenge each other?” Clinton proposed. They proceeded to the Navy’s fight club. It was an outdoor arena, located behind the headquarters; spotlights and speakers hung from the metal columns on top of the ring while the arena itself was structured in the style of the Colosseum in Rome. Leaning over the rails, André smiled ecstatically. “I’ve always wanted to come here and watch the fight.” “We could sit here and wait, or we can walk around and see what else is there,” Burgoyne suggested. Howe looked around. A few people loitered outside, and a security guard stood by the main gate. André turned to his friends. “I wonder why they would set up an arena here and not in Portsmouth.” “It’s too far from London. And besides, His Majesty wanted to see them in action near his home, so they decide to put it here. I personally like it,” Burgoyne gushed as he took pictures of their surroundings.

They spend the rest of the time practicing in a large open area near the arena until crowds started to gather. A midday sun still shone in the blue sky, creating a gentle ambience. The crew headed their way into the queue as the line grew longer and longer. Clinton looked around. “Never thought an event like this could draw so many people.” “Are you kidding me there is a Clan Kelley gang member fighting in these clubs and made his way to the top of course people would want to watch that,” Burgoyne snorted matter-of-factly. One person in behind him spoke up. “We’re also here to watch that fucker get his head kicked off. Fuck Clan Kelley!” he shouted. Many people cheered in agreement. André turned to Howe with a smile and a nod. The line eventually picked up as the crowd stood their place in the arena. Burgoyne showed his ticket to the security guard who directed them into a first spot.

Making their way down the standing crowd, André spotted a familiar face standing up front. He was leaning over the railings before turning behind him. It was Sir Thomas Gage. As soon as he saw the men approach him, he smiled at them. Burgoyne promptly stood next to him. “Fancy seeing someone like you here, hmm Tommy?” he joked to his friend. Gage laughed. “Indeed. You guys also here for the big event?” “Yeah. Who would’ve thought some crazy gang member actually fight in these things?” André said incredulously. The clock ticked 4:30. Immediately, an announcer with a thick Liverpool accent spoke up. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! WELCOME TO THE ROYAL NAVY ACADEMY ARENA!! WE HAVE AN EXCITING EVENT AS CLAN KELLEY CHALLENGES THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE!!” Boos and jeers arose at the name of ‘Clan Kelley’. Gage shook his head. “Who let those fuckers roam the streets?” “Uh, Germain? Who else?” Burgoyne sarcastically answered.

The door to the arena opened. A tall, bulky man stepped out. His bald head glistened under the now turned-on spotlights. He was wearing a tight black T-Shirt with Clan Kelley’s logo on it, showing off his muscles, large black pants, and large combat boots. He raised his fist as the crowd booed, hissed, and jeered. The Kelley gangster banged his fist on his chest as heavy metal banged on the speakers. The DedSec crew looked at each other while André rolled his eyes. After a few seconds, DeFaLT’s music blasted into the speakers, and the crowd went wild. André grabbed onto Clinton’s arm. “HOLY HELL YES!” he shouted. Four men walked out, wearing outfits (sponsored by Cyberdog). All had their glistening black vest hoods on with different colored bandanas covering their faces. Their leader is a tall figure with a narrow cut, wearing grey cargo pants and black buckled boots that have metal spikes covering the front and back. His black bandana glowed, showing the bottom half of a skull in neon white.

He gestured for his other teammates to step back. The Clan Kelley man cracked his knuckles, leering his teeth at his opponent. “Guess your day is up eh, lad?” he cackled. The man said nothing. The announcer yelled, “ARE WE READY?!!” The crowd cheered. Immediately, the Kelley man took the first swing. The “White” Horseman stepped back swiftly before jabbing at the Kelley’s neck. This stunned the gangster who stumbled down to the ground. Gage and Burgoyne cheered on while the others stood in disbelief. The “White” Horseman motioned for his teammates to pick the stunned man up. Everyone waited with bated breath. The Horseman gave sharp but swift kick to the upper jaw; metal spikes tore into the muscles and the man’s head came clean off. The sound became deafening as people screamed.

The announcer yelled, “THERE YOU HAVE IT FOLKS THE ROYAL NAVY HORSEMEN!!”

“That’s it? Wow.” Burgoyne said. The announcer continued. “THAT WAS A QUICK FIGHT! HOW ABOUT WE SPICE IT UP AND INVITE YOU, THE AUDIENCE, TO CHALLENGE YOURSELF AND SEE HOW GOOD OF A FIGHTER YOU ARE? WHICH ONE OF YOU LUCKY SOULS IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO JUMP INTO THE LION’S DEN?!?” Everyone looked at each other; some prodded their friends. After some time, Howe took off his bag and hissed “I’m going in.” He leaped over the rails and landed on the dirt ground. The crowd cheered hysterically. André turned to the others, whose face were no more than fear and pure shock. Howe walked towards the leader and pointed at him. “One on one. Me and you only.” The three other Horsemen looked at each other then turned towards their leader. He gestured them to leave the arena. The three turned to leave, giving the arena to only William and his opponent.

[a-deadly-serenade]

Alchemy Between You & Me: Chapter 1: Arsenic [Guy of Gisborne/Reader]

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362053/chapters/66860944

“Come now, we don’t want to be late!”

Your mother ushered you forward with a firm push on the back and you glared at her in response.

“I doubt we’ll be sorely missed if we’re a few minutes late, mother,” you replied sharply and sat down on the opposite side of the coach, away from your parents.

“You don’t know this sheriff,” she huffed. “He is a very punctual man, does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Well, I find it hard to believe that he’ll be eagerly awaiting my esteemed arrival,” you grumbled and focused your attention outside to peruse the scenery that slowly trickled by as the carriage made its way through the forest.

“Actually, you’ll find that several acquaintances on the council are quite interested in meeting you,” your father said.

“Really?” you replied, one of your eyebrows raised skeptically. “And why’s that?”

“Do you think we’ve gone this whole time without mentioning you?” your mother gawked.

“So you aren’t ashamed of your unmarried daughter who is currently pursuing academics instead of a husband?”

“Of… of course not,” she replied and cleared her throat as her eyes darted away from your annoyed stare.

“They’ve been most fascinated in this talk of you performing alchemy,” your father added with a hearty chuckle. “It’s becoming quite the trend for some within the ranks to try their hand at turning cheap metals into gold.”

“Father, I’ve already told you that no alchemist has ever accomplished such a thing,” you replied. “Think of it as an auspicious rumor and nothing more.”

“Nonsense! I’m sure they just haven’t discovered it yet!” he gave you a big grin and took hold of your shoulder to give it an endearing squeeze. “I bet you could though!”

You gave an awkward chuckle. “Right…”

The remainder of the ride was filled with menial chit-chat on the part of your parents as they tried to play catch up on the finer details of what you did during your time abroad. You were frankly relieved when the carriage was pulled to a stop and the coachman announced that you had arrived.

Stepping out of the carriage you are greeted by an enormous castle, its stone walls stretching high into the sky, locking you in. The plaza was filled with a dozen other horses and carriages and a few guards stationed nearby came over to greet you and your family.

“Welcome to Nottingham,” one said and the two bowed before you. “I trust you’re here for the sheriff’s private dinner party?”

“Yes,” your mother replied. “We aren’t late are we?”

“Not at all!” the other guard said. “If you would follow us, we shall escort you to the great hall.”

“Wonderful!” she grinned and took a tight hold of your arm. “Now, I shouldn’t have to remind you to be on your best behavior, yes?”

“Of course,” you replied curtly and flinched when she squeezed tighter for one second more before relinquishing her grip and following your father’s lead up the stairs.

With a heavy sigh, you followed after them. Heading down several hallways and a set of stairs, the two guards offered your family one last curtsy before they pushed open the large wooden doors and announced your arrival.

Down below, several rows of tables had been set up and they were filled with an assortment of foods. There were rich cuts of venison and pork, wheels of cheeses and baskets of fresh bread. Bowls of fresh fruit and platters of baked goods also intermingled amongst all of the savory options, and several servant boys and girls weaved through the crowd, each holding a pitcher filled with aged wine.

As you neared the bottom of the stairs, you heard someone exclaim,

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite nobles with their notable daughter,”

Your father chuckled and he and your mother both bowed before a short, balding man with a greying beard wearing luxurious black robes.

You quickly followed suit and you heard the man laugh to himself.

“Come, we are all friends here, let us dispense with such formalities,” he said and came closer to you. “Is this your little scholar? Hmm?” he asked and gestured to you.

“Yes, my lord,” your mother replied. “She has only just returned from Bologna.”

“Bologna?” he echoed. “Why I’ve heard they’re only second to Paris in terms of their education. But,” he tutted and a mischievous grin spread across his face. “I thought students were granted the status of a cleric by canon, yet here you stand, an educated woman.”

“Oh, well,” she laughed nervously. “She… she was only taught the basics by a friend of ours, a local professor at the university, nothing having to do with the seven liberal arts,” she feigned stupidly.

“Shame,” he quipped. “It’d be nice to discuss the semantics of moral philosophy with someone. I thought you claimed she was trained in alchemy?”

“Did you tell everyone in England that I was a training alchemist?” you snapped.

The man before you laughed. “Spirited! My last alchemist was a meek disappointment, I like it when they have a bit of fire in them.”

You grimaced and scoffed internally. This man was making you severely uncomfortable.

“Oh, but where are my manners?” he said dramatically and suddenly took a hold of your hand. “I am Vasey, lord of this castle and the town of Nottingham. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the lovely young lady that has managed to capture my interest.”

You felt your skin crawl and it took all the power within you to manage to flash him a shaky, crooked smile. “So,” you said softly and swallowed a lump in your throat. “You must be the sheriff.”

He grinned in response, the sight of a glittering jewel on his left incisor catching your attention.

“At your service. I’d love to have a chat with you later, my dear, but I won’t keep you from the festivities. Come,” he finally turned away from you to flourish at the literal feast decked out on the tables. “Eat, drink. Take this as a humble offering of friendship.”

“‘Humble’? You are much too gracious, my lord,” your father replied and the sheriff snickered at his praise.

“Yes, yes. Tell me, my friend, how have things been?” the sheriff wrapped an arm around your father’s shoulders and led him away from you and your mother as they started to discuss something in private.

“Well, that went better than expected,” your mother muttered and grabbed your arm again as she took you to a nearby table with a few empty seats.

A plate of food was all but shoved into your face and although you weren’t particularly hungry, you had an inkling that you should stomach something, lest appear ungrateful.

You picked at some roasted vegetables, but were grateful for the variety of cheeses available, and paired with the never-ending wine, you were able to find yourself somewhat satiated.

Taking a few more sips from your goblet, you felt your nerves begin to dissipate and you sighed as you leaned back into your chair.

Your mother was making meaningless conversation with a few other noblewomen beside her and your father, who had long since returned from his escapades with the sheriff, stood nearby, surrounded by a group of men who were all laughing and uproariously shouting about lord knows what.

Frankly, you did not wish to be pulled into either realm of their faux-pas spectacles so you quickly excused yourself and went over to admire one of the centerpieces. Yes, you were that bored and that stubborn.

How much longer do we have to stay here and play nice? you thought. The idea of having to speak with the sheriff again made your stomach tie into knots and you sincerely hoped that he’d get so wrapped up in everyone else vying for his attention that he’d forget about you.

You let your fingers trail across the beautiful bird feather that stuck out of the bouquet of flowers and heaved a heavy sigh.

The more you dwelled on it, the clearer it became that the only reason your parents had ushered you home as quickly as they did, was solely due to your most recent academic undertaking. During your time in Bologna, they hardly sent any correspondence back on updates about your other studies, such as literature or astronomy or even philosophy. However, as soon as you picked up a skill that could be monetized? Their tune switched almost instantly.

Although you had always had a tumultuous relationship with your parents, it saddened you that they viewed this skill of yours as nothing more than an opportunity to further their status. You were an alchemist, someone dedicated to discovering the mysteries of the universe… not a modern-day Midas that could turn piss-poor metals into gold.

Even tonight seemed to be a ploy of some sort. Had they only brought you along because the sheriff was so interested in you? What did they hope to accomplish?

You frowned and folded your arms across your chest. Something didn’t feel right, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it…

“Excuse me?”

You paid no mind to whoever had just spoken, lost in your own thoughts as you attempted to deduce your parent's plan.

“Excuse me? My lady?”

Ugh, you inwardly groaned when you realized they were talking to you. I suppose I can endure one conversation… you thought and hoped it would at least pass the time by.

Turning around you feel your heart skip a beat when you find a man standing before you, a rather handsome man, you might add.

He was tall, fair-skinned with short black hair that framed his sharp face. His bright blue eyes seemed to shine in the candlelight and he gave you a smile that made butterflies dance in your stomach.

“I apologize,” he said and his deep baritone made you gasp quietly in delight. “I did not disturb you, did I?”

“Oh no,” you quickly replied with a shake of your head. “No, I was… simply lost in my own thoughts for a moment. I should be the one apologizing. It was you who called out to me a moment ago, was it not?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I merely wanted to introduce myself,” he explained. “I am Sir Guy of Gisborne, the sheriff’s master at arms.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Guy,” you replied and flashed him a charming smile as you introduced yourself.

“What a lovely name,” he said and you felt heat rise into your cheeks at his compliment. “I thought it appropriate we meet as I wished to see for myself just who this infamous alchemist the sheriff kept heralding was.”

“Oh,” you replied and tried to mask your disappointment. So he was only interested in getting into your favors to please the sheriff… you supposed you should have anticipated this happening.

“I am curious to know what drew you to the field,” he said. “I heard you studied in Bologna. Do they offer alchemy as a class?”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you could not help the laughter that erupted from you. “What? A class? No,” you chuckled. “No, most schools are run and sourced by the church and I can’t exactly say that the church is the biggest fans of us alchemists.”

“Really?” he mused. “And why is that?”

“We seek to understand the meaning of our place in this world,” you explained. “One of the duties of an alchemist is to answer the great questions of mankind and I suppose trying to scientifically discover the meaning of life goes against the morals of the church.”

“Do your discoveries stray from God, my lady?” he asked you with a smirk.

“I doubt blasphemy is an appropriate conversation to hold over dinner, Sir Guy,” you replied just as playfully and bit your lip as he laughed.

“Just as well,” he said. “I’m simply surprised. You are so young, I never would have imagined a lovely woman such as yourself would find interest in the sciences.”

“Believe me,” you replied. “Transmutation and metallurgy are far more fascinating than playing the role of the dutiful daughter.”

“You’ve quite the sharp tongue,” he commented and you felt your face turn hot. “Are the churches in Europe far more progressive?”

“Only if they’re paid enough to be,” you replied in a whisper and giggled at the devilish smirk that spread across his lips.

This night was turning out to be more fun after all! It was a first for you to hold a conversation with a man that wasn’t immediately off-put by your wits. Not only that, he could hold his own and was not offended by your rather dicey sense of humor. Where had men like Guy been hiding out for all these years?

“Ah, Gisborne!”

The sound of the sheriff’s voice instantly soured your mood and you frowned. Well, tonight had been turning around…

Vasey paled in comparison to Guy’s stature however, in spite of this, Guy’s previous confident demeanor seemed to shrink under the sheriff’s intense gaze.

“I see you’ve found the belle of the ball,” he snickered and you laughed awkwardly in response. “I’m not surprised you came sniffing around here.”

“Sir Guy was merely introducing himself, my lord,” you replied. “He’s been engaging company,” you offered Guy a shy smile at his surprised expression.

“Gisborne? Engaging?” the sheriff chortled. “Well, that’s a first. Unless, of course, he jumped straight into discussing his own experiment.”

“Experiment?” you asked with a raise of your eyebrows. “You conduct experiments, Sir Guy?”

“Only one,” he replied and awkwardly shifted where he stood. “But, that was some time ago.”

“Yes, and it did not end all too well either,” the sheriff scowled. “Tell me, my dear, have you heard of black powder?”

“I can do you one better,” you said matter-of-factly. “I know how to make black powder.”

The sheriff’s eyes widened in shock and he gasped in delight. “You do?” he said softly and then grabbed your hands, holding them reverently as if silently blessing you. “Remarkable, absolutely remarkable.”

“Is… that what your experiment was?” you wondered, hoping that your question would get the sheriff away from you as soon as possible.

It seemed to work and he relinquished his grip to take a step back and nod his head. “Yes. Gisborne here had been in charge of commissioning someone but, unfortunately, he,” the sheriff dragged his finger across his neck and then shrugged his shoulders. “Took his secrets to the grave.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call the formula for black powder a secret,” you replied with a coy smile. “It’s been known by the Cathay Empire since at least the ninth century.”

“So you’re telling me, that if given the right ingredients, you would be able to cook me up a batch of black powder?” the sheriff asked.

“Of course, it’s a simple combination of charcoal and sulfur and—“

Vasey instantly hushed you on any further talk about this formula but assured you that your enthusiasm was very much appreciated.

“This is good,” he grinned. “This is very good. I should have known you’d be the perfect fit ever since your parents first mentioned you.”

You are clearly confused by his words, your face scrunched up together as you gazed upon him skeptically. “‘Perfect fit’? What are you talking about?”

“Oh,” he hummed. “Did mommy and daddy not tell you? That does add a bit of suspense to it then, hmm?” he laughed. “You, my dear, are to be my alchemist.”

“What?” you blurted out and started to laugh at the utter absurdity of the idea. However, any previous ideas of the sheriff lightheartedly joking evaporated into a puff of smoke when you took one long look at him.

Oh. He was serious.

“What do you mean I’m to be your alchemist?” you said carefully, your eyes narrowed only slightly.

“Do you think I just let anyone come to these private dinners of mine? A clue?” he shook his head. “No. I wanted to see for myself if you were as noteworthy as your parents heralded you to be and thankfully for you,” he took an imposing step forward and poked you in the chest with one of his stubby fingers. “You’ve passed.”

“My… my parents agreed to this?” you muttered and dread pooled into the pit of your stomach as your eyes whirled around in search of them.

They were nowhere to be found! Had… had they simply brought you here to be assessed by the sheriff? You weren’t something that could be passed around from one person to the next! You weren’t cattle!

“Where are they?” you seethed and the sheriff seemed to take an uncomfortable amount of glee in your anger.

“Their business is complete, my dear. My best guess is that they’re off to head back home.”

He made no effort to stop you as you shoved past him and raced up the stairs to make it to the courtyard.

Your heavy breaths fogged up in the chilled night air and the white light of the moon caused an eerie glow to fall on the shadows of the nearby coaches. You could hear a pair of voices whispering in a hushed tone as you neared your family’s personal carriage, anger coursing through your veins when you rounded the corner and came face-to-face with your parents.

“What have you done?” you snarled, catching them both by surprise.

“Darling!” your mother exclaimed and gave you a nervous smile. “What… what are you doing here? Surely you do not wish to miss the last half of the supper?”

“Save the act, mother,” you replied bitterly. “He already told me.”

“Told you what?”

The fact that she still tried to play innocent made your blood boil and you exclaimed, “He told me that I am to be his personal alchemist!” your feet stomped across the hard stone and you pointed an accusatory finger at the pair of them. “I am not some commodity to be passed around! First Bologna, now this? If you wanted me gone, at least spare me the theatrics and tell me outright.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” your father interjected. “You know we only want what is best for you!”

“That’s rich,” you replied sardonically.

“Watch your tongue, missy,” your mother snapped.

“No,” you quipped. “Do not lie and say that this decision was made with my best interests in mind when you and I both know that this is yet another cog in playing your roles as the sheriff’s loyal lapdogs—"

Smack!

The sound of a palm striking across bare skin rings out into the deathly quiet pavilion.

Your eyes are wide with shock and you feel tears start to well up and cloud your vision as you place a hand on your bruised cheek.

Your father huffed as he lowered his hand and gave you a menacing glare. “Now, I tolerated this attitude of yours when you returned from Bologna, believing you were scorned having been taken away from your studies prematurely. But this willfulness stops now. You are going to work for Vasey and that’s final,” he turned away to begin hauling himself into the carriage.

“Perhaps he will be the one to finally beat this resilience out of you.”

Your mother said nothing but her cold, piercing stare revealed all that you needed to know as she followed after your father.

When the carriage pulled out of the castle portcullis and receded from your view down the winding road of Nottingham, you released an arduous sigh.

You were silent as you ran in the direction of a nearby wall, hidden in the shadows and away from prying eyes. You rested your forehead against the stone, its natural chill cooling your heated skin. It was only then, did you allow the tears to fall.

You gasped as a torrent of tears streamed down your face and you weakly slammed your fist against the stone wall.

They had abandoned you… again.

You slowly crumbled into a heap on the floor, tucking your knees into your chest as you wiped away your tears with your sleeve. Were you the one to blame here? You always prided yourself on your sense of independence and headstrong attitudes, but could this have been your very undoing?

Bologna, you thought, despite giving your parents this newfound opportunity to brag about having an alchemist in the family, had not been nearly as successful in stomping out your spirit as initially hoped. Was Nottingham supposed to take its place then?

While you had been in Italy, for a brief moment, you almost felt in control of your life. The opportunity to both grow academically and spiritually had been life-changing. Your mind has been opened to the endless possibilities and questions that encompassed the human spirit and it was with this newfound knowledge that you were able to finally act independently.

Your whole life up until that point had been dictated by your parents, from what you wore, to what you ate, to even the company you kept. It took being sent thousands of miles away from home to make you truly feel alive.

However, you should have known that this feeling of boundless freedom was never meant to last. Sooner or later they would have you crawling back to England, willingly or not, and once again, it was impossible to not feel both incredibly powerless and incredibly frustrated.

You’d had your first taste at real purpose, one that you pursued wholeheartedly, and now that had been stolen from you as well.

No matter how hard you vied for change, the end result was always the same and an overwhelming sadness encompasses you at this realization, one that settles into the very marrow of your bones.

You took a gander up at the night sky, the stars twinkling brightly alongside the white light of the moon. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took a deep breath, your shoulders sagging from exhaustion as the reality of the situation caught up with you.

This… was your home now, this was your life now. You supposed it could be worse but you doubted that the sting left behind from this sense of betrayal would ever leave your bruised heart.

The sound of metal spurs clicking against the stone caught your attention and you're rooted to the spot as a figure emerged from the shadows and towered above you.

“Are you alright?”

Your eyes widened in surprise when Sir Guy appeared in the moonlight, his face creased with worry as he kneeled down before you.

Turning your head away from him, you cough into the crook of your arm and wave off his concern.

“Yes, I’m… I’m alright,” you said softly, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. “I just needed some time alone.”

He’s quiet and you hear the leather of his pants squeak as he adjusts his footing. “Do you wish to be alone?” he wondered. “The sheriff was worried when you did not return, so he sent me after you. I can tell him that you already went off to bed if you’d like.”

Your lips upturned into a smile and although your eyes were surely red and your cheeks surely puffy, you turned to face him to express your gratitude.

“That’s very kind of you, Sir Guy. I do not think I would be able to face the sheriff in the near future.”

“I’m assuming you spoke to your parents?”

You sighed and titled your head up to look back up at the dozens of stars that dotted the night sky. “Was it that obvious?” you replied dryly. “I was left with no say in the matter. It appears as though this had been their plan all along,”

“I hope you understand that you will not be treated as a prisoner here,” he said and you scoffed in response.

“Then why does it feel like it?”

You nearly jump out of your skin when Guy places a tentative hand on your shoulder and you look at him, absolutely bewildered.

“I apologize… if this isn’t exactly the life you envisioned. However, I assure you that life here in the castle isn’t completely unbearable.”

“Oh?” you said and felt yourself relax when you picked up the sudden playfulness in his tone.

“Once in a while, you’ll meet someone that turns this place around,” he said with a knowing smile and you laughed.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “I doubt even your charming company could help me warm up to this place.”

“It’s not all bad,” he said and you would be remiss to say that you weren’t disappointed when he removed his hand from your shoulder.

“Since Nottingham is at the center of this shire, all of the villages are in relatively close proximity. It’s a nice escape to visit every once in a while.”

“Would the sheriff even allow me to go anywhere?” you asked cynically. “Seems to me the only reason I’m here is to be his alchemist.”

“I am not sure what your parents told you, but you are a guest here in the castle,” Guy replied earnestly. “I know the sheriff may seem rather… eccentric, but you are now a valued member of his team. Think of being his alchemist as your job. Even the farmers that toil in the fields all day have time to rest, recuperate, maybe visit the market,”

You finally brought your eyes to meet his and felt your heart skip a beat at the smile on his face.

“I’m sure this must be incredibly jarring, being brought home from Bologna only to be thrust here of all places,” he said sympathetically. “In time, however, I am sure you will learn to see this place as a second home.”

His kind words helped dull the sting you had previously been feeling, nevertheless it was hard to remain optimistic in such a situation. For now, you supposed you could get by with exuding a facade of collective composure, at least long enough till you decided how you truly felt about this place.

You reached over and gave Guy’s arm a reassuring squeeze, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Thank you, Sir Guy,” you said. “I… I will try.”

He smiled and got up from the floor and offered you his gloved hand. You took it and in one strong pull, he hoisted you up.

“If you’d like,” he said. “I could show you to your room.”

“That would be lovely,” you replied with a smile. “Thank you.”

You shyly wrapped your arms around the one he politely extended to lead and the two of you silently began to walk through the halls of Nottingham castle.

It was much bigger than you initially anticipated and if it weren’t for Guy, you surely would have gotten lost. You started to worry about the following morning and sincerely hoped that the sheriff would send someone down to fetch you lest you wander off into an unsavory part of the castle.

The halls were sparsely decorated with various weapons and tapestries but nothing too extravagant, which you found a little odd considering the sheriff’s rather audacious wardrobe choice.

Walking up a set of stairs, Guy leads you down a hallway before slowly coming to a stop before a large wooden door.

“This is where you shall be staying,” he said and pulled it open for you.

It was fairly large and furnished with a bed, desk, armoire, and even a fireplace. It did not exactly feel very homey but, for now, it would do.

“Feel free to request anything that you may need with any of the guards stationed around,” Guy said. “They’ll fetch anything so long as they can find it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied and dragged your hand across the blanket that lay on top of the bed. It was surprisingly very soft.

“And, if you’d like, I could give you a tour of the castle tomorrow, to help you familiarize yourself with its layout. I know how confusing it looks to first-time visitors.”

“That would be very helpful,” you said and turned back to face him. “Thank you, Sir Guy—for everything. It’s reassuring to know that I have at least one friend here.”

His eyes lit up and he gifted you another stunning smile before he bowed his head. “Of course, milady. I will be here at your beck and call, all you need to do is ask.”

You giggled and curtsied as you said, “You are too kind to me. I will see you tomorrow, then?”

He nodded his head. “Of course. Till then, I wish you a pleasant rest of your evening, milady,” he said and departed with one last glance, closing your door with a quiet click.

[notbecauseofvictories]

Adam Young, to his horror and occasional bleak amusement, had turned out to be extremely good at politics.

When he spoke at public meetings, people came up to him afterwards to shake his hand; when he sent out press releases, people not only read them, but wrote letters to various editors with his name bracketed by phrases like ‘integrity’ and ‘bright future in the party.’ He was single-handedly skewing voter turnout for South East England. Labour had done some assessment polling for a run at MP, and Adam had reduced the poor analyst to tears when he told her he wasn’t interested in being anything more than Councillor, sorry. He’d had to sit there for twenty minutes, awkwardly patting her shoulder as she blew her nose on her spreadsheets and sobbed about response rates.

“It’s your hair,” Brian decided. “Makes you look like an RAF pilot in one of those old movies. People look at someone with hair like that and think, ‘Gosh, I bet he knows what he’s doing.’”

After a period of vague muddling, Brian had somehow found his way to medicine and shocked everyone who knew him by doing rather well at it. He was onto his Foundation training now, though Adam suspected that a steady diet of black coffees and biscuits swiped from the blood donor centre had driven him insane.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, though!” Adam said. “Or at least, only very rarely.”

“Well, of course we know that,” Pepper said with an indulgent smile. Pepper had gone into safeguarding, and while it had not made her insane, it had made her slightly insufferable.

“Maybe you could shave it all off,” Brian said. He was squinting at Adam’s head as though proposing a particularly risky cranial surgery. “Nobody’s bald in films.”

“Bruce Willis is bald,” Pepper said. “And Sean Connery.”

Brian rolled his eyes and sighed. “All right, fine, John McClane and James Bond are bald. But Adam’s not exactly an action hero, is he? If you’re going to bald, you have to carry a gun. Adam, do you honestly want to carry a gun?”

“I really don’t think it’s my hair,” Adam said morosely.*

Pepper would later claim that she had written Wensleydale to see if had an opinion on Adam’s hair, and received a very rambling response in which Wensleydale traced the etymological origins of ‘hair’ and opined at length about the cultural meaning of braids, without ever weighing in on the matter. However, while this definitely sounded like Wensleydale, who was holed up doing research in some archive in Seville, Adam strongly suspected it had actually been a love letter to Pepper. Mostly because she refused to show it to him, and went blushing and defensive whenever he asked.

(In the old days, there might have been a well-meaning scrap about it. But Pepper had expanded upon her general knowledge of violence with krav maga training and jujitsu classes and probably other arcane martial arts; none of the Them would try anything against her now, honestly.)

Despite Adam’s hair and the wild civic adoration it apparently inspired, Adam did not particularly enjoy politics. He had, after all, been offered all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; once you’d decided against that, being MP of Milton Keynes South lost some its attraction. He probably would have given up the whole thing and gone deep-sea diving, if it weren’t for two things:

First, that the boy who had loved Lower Tadfield into a gold-green summer afternoon in the English countryside had never really gone, just grown up; and second, that Adam Young had once been sentenced to a whole summer assisting Mr. R.P. Tyler, Chairman of the Lower Tadfield’s Residents’ Association, and had accidentally fallen in love.

...not, it should be said, with Mr. Tyler.**

Still, Adam Young had spent a whole summer filing camping permits, examining rummage sale forms, deciding whether to approve Ms. Shaddlebrook’s application to build a shed down by her garden, and referencing and re-reading bylaws. He had, as a consequence and quite inexplicably, fallen in love with the complicated, esoteric game of it all. It wasn’t as though the rules were secret or sacred. You didn’t have to always follow them. But if you wanted to play (if you wanted to win) you had to care, very much, about knowing them. To shape the world the way you wanted meant knowing how it was; you couldn’t break, bend or snap what you didn’t understand. And by the end of that dry, hot, sixteen-year-old summer, even Mr. Tyler had seemed somewhat grudgingly impressed. There weren’t many teenage boys who could quote section, chapter and verse, when questioned about why their loitering outside the corner store was actually an expression of freedom of assembly under the Human Rights Act and by incorporation, the Lower Tadfield Charter. So there.

When he passed, Mr. Tyler had left Adam his annotated copy of the Residents’ Association bylaws, with an inscription: To Mr. Young, a Fiend ‘til the end.

Adam had been deeply touched.

Anyhow, what it meant was: that all these years later, MK Councillor Young was good at administration. He liked spreadsheets, comparative studies, charts, references, citations, and ultimately was very good at what he did. He hosted meetings for the community to talk about new parish initiatives, where there was always coffee and doughnuts since otherwise people wouldn’t show up. He found the dull, dry grind of it all very soothing, since it was hard to imagine anyone getting particularly excited about an Antichrist who enjoyed maintaining the highways register.*** It was better, that way.

Unfortunately, it also meant that by the time the news reached him, it was very likely too late. After all, who would have thought that some minor local councilor, notable for being young-ish, left-ish, generally fine if nothing more exciting, would care about the End of Days?

* It was probably being the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. That sort of thing generally came with the charisma built in.

** He would be horrified by the mere implication.

*** Not that roadworks were necessarily good—Adam knew what Crowley had got up to with the M25. But when people did bad things with transit construction, it generally fell into the category of ordinary, mundane evil that any human could do if they put their mind to it. Adam found this immensely comforting.

[katehillromancewritingandmore]

Physical Therapy (From Country Whispers)

Isabel is willing to relieve more than Jim's back pain, but her price isn't what he expects.

*Physical Therapy is from the Country Whispers short story and poetry collection.

Physical Therapy

If you've been a city dweller all your life, living in the country will probably surprise you. Even if you’ve vacationed there, it's not the same as day-to-day living.

For Jim the real difference between the two set in when he hurt his back in a car accident.

The injury wasn’t life threatening, but painful enough to make his job difficult. Sure, he sat behind a desk—selling insurance wasn’t exactly hard labor—but being positioned at a computer keyboard for hours aggravated the injury enough to warrant physical therapy.

He’d been to therapy before, but in the city it had been in a hospital or a modern medical building. Here in rural New England, the nearest PT facility was a thirty-minute drive to a refinished colonial home. The first floor contained the office and therapy rooms. A wooden staircase led to a second floor blocked by a door that always remained closed during Jim’s appointments. No sound came from the second floor, so Jim guessed it was used for storage.

His therapist, Isabel, was an attractive woman in her mid-forties. She had a pleasant Brazilian accent, and during sessions she kept him entertained with stories about her family. Her sister—a botanist—still lived in South America. She had developed the massage oil Isabel used on her patients from a rare species of plant she’d studied for most of her life. Not only did the oil smell fantastic, but it actually lessened Jim’s back pain, acting like an anesthetic for several hours after his therapeutic massage.

“Too bad you can’t sell this stuff,” Jim said one evening during his session. Isabel’s strong hands kneaded his lower back

while the scent of massage oil lingered on the air. “It feels great.”

“It’s very difficult to make,” she said. “And one has to be careful not to use too much. A slight numbing effect is one thing, but you’ve heard the phrase ‘too much of a good thing,’ have you not?”

Jim gave a low grunt of pleasure, closed his eyes and enjoyed the massage.

Finally, Isabel’s hands left him and she said, “Time is up.”

“Too bad.” He smiled and stretched, the pain almost gone.

Isabel chuckled. “You’d better get home to your family.”

“I don’t have a family, so believe me I’m in no rush. It’s just another night of reality TV, beer, and takeout.”

“You should go out for that beer, Jim. It’s not good to always be alone.”

“I’m that kind of guy. A lone wolf.” He grinned. “Unless you feel like going for a drink? No. Forget I said that. You wouldn’t want—”

“I would very much like to have a drink with you.”

This surprised him, and he raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Just let me close up. You’re my last patient today. Stay here and relax. I’ll be down soon.”

Jim sat on the table, his heart thumping and his groin aching in a way he hadn’t felt in too long.

He watched Isabel saunter off, her sexy ass swaying. She walked out of the therapy room and disappeared up a stairway that was visible through the open door.

After a moment, he lay back on the table and closed his eyes.

He must have dozed for a short time because the next thing he knew Isabel was gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes and smiled.

“Wow. You look amazing.”

Her long hair, usually worn in a bun, hung loose and wavy down her back. The tight red dress and spike-heeled sandals were a huge improvement over the scrubs and sneakers she wore during therapy sessions. Isabel wasn’t young, but she was as sexy as hell. Of course Jim wasn’t young either, and most women probably wouldn’t apply the word “sexy” to a balding insurance salesman with a few extra pounds around the middle.

Maybe he should have questioned Isabel agreeing to go out with him, but all he could think about was his good luck.

“Let’s go, Jim,” she said in her husky voice with its flavorful accent.

“My car or yours?”

“Yours. A friend gave me a ride to work today.”

They drove twenty minutes or so to the nearest pub where they shared an intimate table. Isabel had a healthy appetite, and Jim liked that. Nothing sucked more than taking a woman out to eat and having her order a dry salad.

After the meal, they nursed a couple of drinks, and then they left. He held open his car door for her and said, “I don’t even know where to drop you off. Where do you live?”

“Take me back to the therapy building.”

“You live there?”

“It’s a surprise. Do you like surprises, Jim?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

Isabel smiled, her teeth glistening against her full lips. “Exactly so.”

Back at the therapy house, they walked to the room near the stairs. She switched on the light, grasped Jim’s hands, and tugged him toward the massage table.

“I know this is unprofessional of me, but I’ve been wanting to do this ever since you first came here,” Isabel said breathlessly, her lips inches from his. “Lie on the table.”

Damn, Jim thought, this is better than winning the fuckin’ lottery.

Groaning a bit, he lay down. The effects of the therapy had worn off and his back hurt again, but it would take some truly fierce pain to keep him from being with Isabel tonight.

Her brow furrowed in sympathy. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s not bad.”

“I have just the thing. Be right back.” She removed her sandals and hurried upstairs.

Jim waited, his cock already semi erect and his entire body on fire. He loosened the top buttons of his shirt and stared at the ceiling.

A moment later Isabel returned with the massage oil.

“Take off your clothes and turn over,” she said.

He did as she ordered, fumbling with his belt.

“Want help?” she purred and stepped between his legs. She opened the belt and button, and then she unzipped his fly.

He kicked off his trousers and reached for her. He tried to kiss her mouth, but she turned her head and he nuzzled her neck instead.

“Lie down, Jim. The oil will help.”

“I bet it will.” He stretched out on his stomach.

She poured a lot of oil onto his back, and he shivered.

“Cold?” she whispered. “It’ll warm up soon.”

She was right. Her smooth hands caressed him from neck to calves. The oil alleviated any lingering back pain. She used it more freely than ever before, and soon his entire body numbed.

“Hey, Isabel, aren’t you using an awful lot? I can’t feel—” She rubbed her fingertips over his lips and they numbed as well.

“It’s all right. Relax. You won’t feel any pain.” She smiled.

Jim panicked, his heart pounding. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Even his throat and tongue felt numb. His cry of horror sounded like nothing more than a faint, stifled groan.

Then green leaves fluttered over his eyes. More leaves covered the table—leaves of green and red. Blood dripped onto the smooth massage table.

Jim’s strength faded along with his life.

* * *

Isabel placed Jim’s clothes in his car and left it parked in the driveway outside the therapy house.

Her plant—a gift from her sister—had destroyed the rest of the evidence. It ate through bones as well as flesh.

It didn't take long for her to clean the therapy room. By morning it was ready for Isabel’s early clients.

No doubt the authorities would search the house after she called them to let them know about Jim’s abandoned car. They would never suspect the beautiful and innocent-looking plant had eaten a man.

The plant was her sister��s creation—the result of a lifetime of work and study.

Isabel was proud of her sister and always ready to help her experiments in any way she could.

End

Country Whispers on Amazon

[dwellordream]

…Bartholomew Anglicus explained that, because the sun was at its apex during Summer, it shone directly on the people’s heads, causing an excess of yellow bile, the dry and hot humour often associated with bursts of anger. Summer heats the body, dries it through perspiration and weakens it, added Bartholomew, causing fevers and other “hot and dry diseases”. Medical treatises included pharmacological recipes designed to appease and reduce sunburns. A tenth-century Anglo-Saxon medical compilation known as Bald’s Leechbook advised to “boil in butter tender ivy twigs [and] smear therewith.” Emollients were commonly used to cure burns, as they are still today.

Women from the elite sought to keep their skin as fair and as white as possible. Skin colour was a marker of socio-economic standing — tanned skin was associated with the peasantry and signalled one’s humble background. Medical treatises, especially the ones concerned with women’s cosmetics, featured recipes to protect the skin from the sun. The eleventh-century De Ornatu Mulierum, attributed to Trotula of Salerno, included a camphor-based balm protecting the skin from the sun. These are the ancestors of modern sunscreen. We do not recommend doing this at home!

To avoid sunburns, medieval physicians recommended wearing wide-brimmed hats and using parasols, when possible. Illuminations of peasants hard at work in the summer heat show them wearing hats, shirtless or with light pieces of clothing, such as on the August page of the Très riches heures du Duc de Berry. This illumination also features a swimming scene. On the bank of the river, one man is naked, drying himself in the sun. His companions are swimming, fully immersed in the water. These men may have been farmers, cleaning themselves and getting some fun cool down after a long day of work.

Medieval people indeed enjoyed getting in the water when temperatures rose. But swimming was not a skill many honed. An ordinance issued in the city of Paris, France, in the late fourteenth century, highlights the dangers of swimming in the Seine river:

Because in these hot days many people have had enjoyment and desire to go bathe in the Seine river, many great inconveniences have unfolded, because many of these people have drowned in the river, which is a very pitiful thing. To reform the foolish minds of young people and other people who go bathe in the river, we forbid that anyone bathes naked in the river, otherwise they’ll be put in jail.

This ordinance is a lovely and fun reminder that medieval people too delighted in swimming in cool streams – or even in highly polluted urban rivers – as we still do today.

Jean de Brie, the fourteenth-century “good shepherd” you might be familiar with if you read this column, recommended that, from June onwards, shepherds should rise early, when temperatures are still cool, to bring the animals to pastures. There, he should make sure they’d find sufficient shade. In July, the shepherds would move the flock to higher elevations and ensure they don’t suffer from overheating. In August, he recommended the sheep stay in their stables in regions where grain had not yet been harvested or else they might devour the wheat! In September, the flock could be released in the harvested fields for them to feed on the hay.

Summer, indeed, was the time of harvests. Harvests usually started in June, when peasants reaped the grasslands to get hay and fodder for their flocks of sheep, their horses and their cattle. In July, they turned to wheat fields. Wheat harvests are heavily featured on the illuminated calendars of late medieval books of prayers. Bathed in a golden light mirroring the colour of ripe wheat, illuminations show peasants hard at work, reaping the ears of grain. Some are shirtless due to the heat, some are drinking from a flask. Staple representations of such harvest scenes can be found in Isabelle of Castille’s Book of Hours, from the fifteenth century.

But the actual period of harvest varied depending on the latitude at which farmers lived. Southern peasants from the Mediterranean basin harvested earlier than northern peasants from, say, England or Germany. The former Mediterranean farmers started reaping in July, while the latter often began their harvests in August. The precise dates of harvests also varied annually, to adjust to weather and the growth of cereals. Calendars rarely reflected these geographical variances, although some occasionally did.

Harvests mobilized flocks of workers who came to the larger estates seeking temporary employment. Most were paid in cash or in nature (often in wheat sheaves). Some were providing “free” labour through the corvées they owned to their lord. Harvests were done by hand or using a scythe or a sickle. Tools were sometimes provided by the lord, or peasants had to come with their own to find employment. Besides reaping, workers made the sheaves, secured with a rope or a strand of rye. The workers usually received wine for the day, because, you know, what could go wrong when doing hard physical work, drunk, in the summer’s heat?

Having reaped the fields, workers had other tasks at hand. They moved the sheaves to storage areas. Then, they threshed the ears of cereals to loosen the grains from the straw. In some regions, such as in Normandy, peasants went back to the fields to reap the straw if it had not already been cut. Straws served to make thatched roofs, mattresses, bedding for horses and cattle – which could feed on it, although hay was (and is) more nutritious for animals. Once the fields were cleared out, the poor could exercise their right of “gleaning”, or harvesting the grains that had fallen on the ground.

Summer was indeed the season of harvests. The harvesters’ days started at dawn before the sun heated too much. Work, agrarian especially, had to be adapted to the hot and dry temperatures to prevent sunstrokes.

But summer was also synonymous with plagues, droughts and fires. The plague waves of the second pandemic that started with the Black Death usually struck in Summer (with exceptions, of course). From the mid-fourteenth to the seventeenth century, across Europe plague mortality peaked between June and September. This mortality trend had not escaped medieval people. Scientists and physicians alike concurred that air, during Summer, was “corrupted and infected,” potentially carrying the “miasma” that was thought to cause plague outbreaks.

Summer’s heat and dryness were fire hazards, both in the wilderness and in cities and towns, as they are still today. During the year 1048, the Chronicle of John of Worcester reports that: “fire in the air, commonly called wildfire, burnt many townships and cornfields in Derbyshire and several other regions.” Summer droughts exacerbated the risks of fires. At the height of summer heat, a royal ordinance provided, the dwellers of Paris had to keep a pot of water next to their door in case of a fire emergency.

Forest fires were a recurring issue for the community of Tortosa, northeastern Spain. Between 1370 and 1462, the city’s officials recorded in their books of accounts the expenses entailed by their efforts of extinguishing these fires. Two-thirds of these fires (67.4%) occurred between July and September, at the height of the dry and hot season. The causes of the fires are only known in 20% of the cases. Every time, the fire had started because of careless people, often shepherds. In Tortosa, making a fire in the forest in the summertime was strictly forbidden.

- Lucie Laumonier, “Summer in the Middle Ages.”