#governor dodge

[bibliophilicwitch]

Stephen Falls in Governor Dodge State Park, Wisconsin

[all-hail-the-kazoo]

Governor Dodge State Park, Wisconsin, USA

[mdtsstuff]

[wisconsinphotoslol]

[wilwheaton]

There are Republicans, including the mayor of Springfield and the governor of Ohio, who have condemned Trump and Vance’s toxic lies. But they are isolated voices. The rest of the party’s elected officials are either boosting Trump and Vance in this campaign of hate, or retreating to the old dodge that they’d rather just focus on the issues. Nikki Haley — a daughter of immigrants who understands perfectly well who Trump is — said a week ago in response to criticism that she had abandoned her principles by supporting Trump, “We can either vote based on style or we can vote on substance. I’m voting based on substance.” But Trump’s racism and hatefulness is not just his “style.” It is the essence of the man and his movement, the substance of which they are made. So please, don’t tell us you’re working to get Trump elected because of his “policies.” Tax cuts, deregulation, the occasional attempt to take health coverage away from millions — these are incidental. They are not the core of what Trump is. If you stand with Trump, you own all that is worst about him. His moral stench is upon you, and always will be. If you say “I was only in it for the tax cuts!” well, you were still in it. You made a choice.

They Must Not Be Forgiven - by Paul Waldman

[tenshindon]

Yo when you were like Ryo Aoki is a spoiled 42 year old brat who’s the governor I was like.. that’s where trunks is heading. Or at least GT Trunks super hero trunks is a different story.

i hope from the bottom of my heart trunks is never anything like ryo aoki jesus fucking christ and im really happy to say they arent alike in the slightest

[karasexplores]

My Favorite Travels of 2022

Okay, man, is 2022 over already? I recall, and it’s a pretty distinct memory, as I was saying, one of my history teachers once told me that time moves quicker as we age. And, as I think more about it, that fact was hinted to me many times. Those hints came via cliche lines, ones relatives would say with broad smiles on their faces… “Wow, did you grow up fast.” “Jeesh, Chris, you’re twelve…

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 4 EPISODE 03 || THE FALSE BRIDE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

We climbed a granite ledge, thick with moss and lichen, wet with the omnipresent flow of water, then followed the path of a descending freshet, brushing aside long grass that pulled at our legs, dodging the drooping branches of mountain laurel and the thick-leaved rhododendrons. Wonders sprang up by my feet, small orchids and brilliant fungi, trembling and shiny as jellies, shimmering red and black on fallen tree trunks. Dragonflies hung over the water, jewels immobile in the air, vanishing in mist. I felt dazed with abundance, ravished by beauty. Jamie’s face bore the dream-stunned look of a man who knows himself sleeping, but does not wish to wake. Paradoxically, the better I felt, the worse I felt, too; desperately happy—and desperately afraid. This was his place, and surely he felt it as well as I. In early afternoon we stopped to rest and drink from a small spring at the edge of a natural clearing. The ground beneath the maple trees was covered with a thick carpet of dark green leaves, among which I caught a sudden telltale flash of red. “Wild strawberries!” I said with delight. The berries were dark red and tiny, about the size of my thumb joint. By the standards of modern horticulture, they would have been too tart, nearly bitter, but eaten with a meal consisting of half-cooked cold bear meat and rock-hard corn dodgers, they were delicious—fresh explosions of flavor in my mouth; pinpricks of sweetness on my tongue. I gathered handfuls in my cloak, not caring for stains—what was a little strawberry juice among the stains of pine pitch, soot, leaf smudges and simple dirt? By the time I had finished, my fingers were sticky and pungent with juice, my stomach was comfortably full, and the inside of my mouth felt as though it had been sandpapered, from the tartly acid taste of the berries. Still, I couldn’t resist reaching for just one more. Jamie leaned his back against a sycamore, eyelids half lowered against the dazzle of afternoon sun. The little clearing held light like a cup, still and limpid.

“What d’ye think of this place, Sassenach?” he asked. “I think it’s beautiful. Don’t you?”

He nodded, looking down between the trees, where a gentle slope full of wild hay and timothy fell away and rose again in a line of willows that fringed the distant river. “I am thinking,” Jamie said, a little awkwardly. “There is the spring here in the wood. That meadow below—” He waved a hand toward the scrim of alders that screened the ridge from the grassy slope. “It would do for a few beasts at first, and then the land nearer the river might be cleared and put in crops. The rise of the land here is good for drainage. And here, see …” Caught by visions, he rose to his feet, pointing. I looked carefully; to me, the place seemed little different from any of the steep wooded slopes and grassy coves through which we had wandered for the last couple of days. But to Jamie, with his farmer’s eye, houses and stock pens and fields sprang up like fairy mushrooms in the shadows of the trees. Happiness was sticking out all over him, like porcupine quills. My heart felt like lead in my chest. “You’re thinking we might settle here, then? Take the Governor’s offer?” He looked at me, stopping abruptly in his speculations. “We might,” he said. “If—” He broke off and looked sideways at me. Sun-reddened as he was, I couldn’t tell whether he was flushed with sun or shyness.

“D’ye believe in signs at all, Sassenach?”

“What sorts of signs?” I asked guardedly. In answer, he bent, plucked a sprig from the ground, and dropped it into my hand—the dark green leaves like small round Chinese fans, a pure white flower on a slender stem, and on another a half-ripe berry, its shoulders pale with shade, blushing crimson at the tip.

“This. It’s ours, d’ye see?” he said. “Ours?” “The Frasers’, I mean,” he explained. One large, blunt finger gently prodded the berry. “Strawberries ha’ always been the emblem of the clan—it’s what the name meant, to start with, when a Monsieur Fréselière came across from France wi’ King William that was—and took hold of land in the Scottish mountains for his trouble.”

King William that was. William the Conqueror, that was. Perhaps not the oldest of the Highland clans, the Frasers had still a distinguished heritage. “Warriors from the start, were you?” “And farmers, too.” The doubt in his eyes was fading into a smile. I didn’t say what I was thinking, but I knew well enough that the thought must lie in his mind as well. There was no more of clan Fraser save scattered fragments, those who had survived by flight, by stratagem or luck. The clans had been smashed at Culloden, their chieftains slaughtered in battle or murdered by law. Yet here he stood, tall and straight in his plaid, the dark steel of a Highland dirk by his side. Warrior and farmer both. And if the soil beneath his feet was not that of Scotland, it was free air that he breathed—and a mountain wind that stirred his hair, lifting copper strands to the summer sun. I smiled up at him, fighting back my growing dismay.

“Fréselière, eh? Mr. Strawberry?

He grew them, did he, or was he only fond of eating them?” “Either or both,” he said dryly, “or it was maybe only that he was redheided, aye?” I laughed, and he hunkered down beside me, unpinning his plaid.

“It’s a rare plant,” he said, touching the sprig in my open hand. “Flowers, fruit and leaves all together at the one time. The white flowers are for honor, and red fruit for courage—and the green leaves are for constancy.”

My throat felt tight as I looked at him. “They got that one right,” I said. He caught my hand in his own, squeezing my fingers around the tiny stem.

“And the fruit is the shape of a heart,” he said softly, and bent to kiss me.

The tears were near the surface; at least I had a good excuse for the one that oozed free. He dabbed it away, then stood up and pulled his belt loose, letting the plaid fall in folds around his feet. Then he stripped off shirt and breeks and smiled down at me, naked. “There’s no one here,” he said. “No one but us.” I would have said this seemed no reason, but I felt what it was he meant. We had been for days surrounded by vastness and threat, the wilderness no farther away than the pale circle of our fire. Yet here, we were alone together, part and parcel of the place, with no need in broad daylight to hold the wilderness at bay. “In the old days, men would do this, to give fertility to the fields,” he said, giving me a hand to rise. “I don’t see any fields.” And wasn’t sure whether to hope I never would. Nonetheless, I skimmed off my buckskin shirt, and pulled loose the knot of my makeshift brassiere. He eyed me with appreciation. “Well, no doubt I shall have to cut down a few trees first, but that can wait, aye?”

We made a bed of plaid and cloaks, and lay down upon it naked, skin to skin among the yellow grasses and the scent of balsam and wild strawberries. We touched each other for what might have been a very long time or no time at all, together in the garden of earthly delight. I forced away the thoughts that had plagued me up the mountain, determined only to share his joy for as long as it lasted. I grasped him tight and he breathed in deep and pressed himself hard into my hand. “And what would Eden be without a serpent?” I murmured, fingers stroking. His eyes creased into blue triangles, so close I could see the black of his pupils. “And will ye eat wi’ me, then, mo chridhe? Of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil?” I put out the tip of my tongue and drew it along his lower lip in answer. He shivered under my fingers, though the air was warm and sweet. “Je suis prest,” I said. “Monsieur Fréselière.” His head bent and his mouth fastened on my nipple, swollen as one of the tiny ripe berries. “Madame Fréselière,” he whispered back. “Je suis à votre service.” And then we shared the fruit and flowers, and the green leaves covering all.

16 THE FIRST LAW OF THERMODYNAMICS

[qqueenofhades]

I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable answering this, but my mind is spiraling out of control and you’re the only person I know with the level of knowledge to where I can feel comfortable asking this without getting some form of “bla bla we live in a safe state don’t worry.”

I’m sincerely wondering if I need to be making plans to leave the country in the event of November bringing the most horrible of outcomes despite our best efforts (and yes I’m planning to vote blue in everything I can); as a AFAB in CA?

I know about project 2025. I’m terrified. Forgive my pop culture reference, but I feel like a version of Princess Zelda staring down a barrel of possible doom while everyone around me is like “nah that future you literally had a nightmare about where they made it illegal for a woman to have a bank account without a guy co-signing it and took the money from everyone who didn’t comply by a certain date isn’t even a possibility!”

I’m just confused about my life and am trying to take it day by day, and exercising every right while I still have it to prevent this outcome, but it feels weird making plans and retirement accounts and just general Setting Up Adult Life And Future Things™️……while wondering if I even have a future in this place at all and I’m just making it harder to escape if need be.

I’m sorry I’m rambling, and I guess I don’t know what I’m asking since no one has a crystal ball.

But I guess, it’s stuff like how much can the feds effect state’s policies? Is it possible for them to immediately block international travel for all women practically upon inauguration? How much time would I even have to gtfo if the worst begins?

Bc honestly this whole thing feels like the lead in to a very nasty chapter of a history book, and even though I have hope we’ll have another blue tsunami, it can be hard to try and figure things out when it feels like there’s barely any historical precedent for any of it.

Welp. Okay. First of all, I am giving you a comforting hug, I am walking with you to your favorite coffee shop, I am paying for your favorite beverage and also a baked goodie of your choice, and we are sitting down in a corner where we can talk honestly. So that's where I want you to imagine us having this conversation.

To start with, yes, I completely understand this feeling of utter, paralyzing doom, where I am trying to go about my daily life and make plans for my career and carry out daily tasks and Be Responsible while there's still just this total void beyond the end of the year, the utter impossibility of knowing if we will have dodged an absolutely massive bullet and finally be safe (since if Trump loses again he is 100% going to jail in the next four years) or, well. You know. That is a very hard way to live, when you're wondering if anything is going to matter and you can't see beyond that black cloud of fear on the horizon. It sucks you down and tells you that nothing is worth doing now in case it just gets so much worse. I am not going to tell you not to feel that. We all do. We are all scared. That in and of itself is a perfectly normal way to feel.

However, there are things you can do both now and if (I repeat, if) God absolutely forbid, the worst was to happen (again). First of all, we have already lived through a Trump presidency once. It was terrible and scary and awful and demoralizing as fuck, but we can do it again if we absolutely Goddamn fucking have to (once, again, God forbid). Second, you are currently about as safe as you could be in California. Newsom has proven himself to be smart, tough, able to run rings around Republicans, and unwilling to comply with their stupid performative-cruelty directives. He's not a saint or a magician, but you don't need that; you need a shrewd politician able to fight back, and he has proven himself willing and capable of doing that. So as long as he is governor, you're going to be more safe than not, and I'd also like to ask all the shrieking Online Leftists if, should the shit go down, they would rather live in a state with a Democratic governor who will fight Trump 2.0 every step of the way, or a Republican governor who will just roll over and obey. (But that would destroy their BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME talking point, so you know.)

Next of all, even if the Republicans are doing their best impression, America in 2024 isn't Germany in 1934. There are different tools, different ways to fight back, and different awarenesses/social media/visibility factors. I also need everyone to remember that just as Biden can't just sign an executive order and fix everything everywhere, Trump can't just sign an executive order and fuck everything everywhere, just like that with no more discussion ever. He tried that last time, it generally didn't work, and trust me, at least this time nobody is sleeping on the danger he poses. His candidacy in 2016 was dismissed as a long-shot joke that nobody took seriously until it was too late, and for better or worse, people aren't doing that this time. He will be sued instantly, incredibly, and repeatedly with everything his band of wannabe fascists try, and since we have had four years of Biden fixing the courts from where Trump trashed them, that does mean something. There is no scenario where even if he does issue some outrageous order against women, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, etc (which to be clear, I'm sure he would try) it would just be carried out completely, immediately, and with no feasible way to stop it. Evil is evil, but it is also stupid, clueless, determined to hurt people just for the hell of it without any regard for what is possible or which will be allowed, and there's a lot more grey area in there than just "Trump says something terrible and it's instantly done, the end."

Once again, I'm not going to say that the worst-case scenario is not possible, but I don't think it's likely, and even if that does happen, there are ways for us to survive and fight back (again). Nobody wants it and it should not have to be asked of us due to the utter collapse of the social, civic, political, and intellectual fabric of this country thanks to the TrumpCult, but once again... these people are so loud and dangerous and cruel and stupid because they are in the minority. Etc. etc. polls are garbage, but we did just have an interesting piece of empirical data from the Iowa caucuses. Trump -- in one of the whitest, most rural, most conservative, most religious, most Trump-loving states in the country -- struggled to break 50%. Almost half of a rabid Republican fully-Trumpized electorate, among the diehards sufficiently motivated to get out and caucus in extreme freezing weather, voted for someone else (Haley and DeSantis took about 20% apiece). Now, no, we don't know how that will translate to the general election, and if registered Republicans will flock back to the nominee even if it's Trump, but as almost half of Haley voters said they would vote for Biden if it was a Biden-Trump matchup in the general, there is some sense that Trump is an aberration to their otherwise ironclad party loyalty. Now, Republicans are the fucking worst and nobody should be relying on them to save us; we still need to get out and vote for Democrats with all our might. But Trump is no longer barn-burningly popular even in core Trump heartland, and it'll be interesting to see how things go in future primaries.

My point is: I know the feeling that evil is awful and unstoppable and all-powerful, and will crush our lives and our futures no matter what we do to resist it. I really, really do. But Trump is a terrible candidate, he's running literally only to keep himself out of a long, long prison sentence, and if he had crushed the Iowa caucuses regardless, we might be having a different conversation. However, we need to remember that it is possible, again (God forbid) in the worst scenario, to resist, to live, and to win. Everyone who is motivated to work for a better world will still be here. Everyone who can help you and all of us will still be here. And there are more of us than there are of them. Yes, I do understand the feeling that we need to have contingency plans in place, I do absolutely know that it could get very bad, and all that (as you say, nobody has a crystal ball). But for now, I want you to take a deep breath, try to take this day by day, and remember that this is not a crushing and inevitable future that will sweep over you and destroy you without you (or any other person of good will) having a say in the matter. You still have agency, you still have the ability to protect yourself, and you still have others who will protect you in turn. You're not alone. The bad guys want you to think that, because when you're isolated and terrorized, you're easier to pick off and/or recruit into their cult. But you're not.

In conclusion: "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

[deep-sea-scholar]

Okay I need to rant about Glass Onion for several paragraphs

WARNING: SPOILERS!

Glass onion is phenomenal, and I personally enjoyed its themes more than the first Knives Out movie.

Now don’t get me wrong, Knives Out is arguably the better film, but its strengths lie in the complexity and brilliant execution of its core mystery.  It’s a fantastic self-contained story about a shitty rich family and the people they directly affect.  The members of the family range across the political spectrum and all express different ideologies, but the moment a migrant working-class woman has a legitimized shot at their inheritance they band together to prevent her from improving her life.  It's interesting commentary on how wealthy people can talk a big game about helping others and being good people, but ultimately fall morally short when such actions threaten what they feel they “rightfully deserve.” But that's arguably the limitation of the film as its focus is entirely on the interpersonal conflict between the Thrombey family and Marta.

Glass onion isn’t limited by that.

The entire thematic core of Glass Onion concerns the damage that the rich and powerful can do to the world if they aren’t supervised, criticized, or limited. 

Aside from our lovely detective Benoit Blanc, the murdered Andi Brand, and her twin sister Helen, all of the characters are shitty people that are damaging the world in a uniquely horrible way as a direct consequence of the unchecked power and wealth they wield.

To start we have Governor Claire Dubella.  Her success in her political career has relied almost entirely on monetary support and influence from the films big bad and Elon Musk/Jeff Bezos analogue Miles Bron. Her platform has good objectives, and she’s passionate about hard topics like climate change, but her ability to act is entirely limited by the influence Miles has on her.  If Miles wants her to do something, she feels like she has no choice but to, which results in her greenlighting an experimental powerplant that Miles wants built to advocate for his new fuel source.  It’s untested technology, it’s volatile and dangerous as fuck, and Claire feels like she has no choice but to go along with it because if she doesn’t Miles will withdraw support from her career, or worse, support her opponents.  She likens it to selling her soul, and it really is.  She willingly undermined the health of her constituents for the sake of saving her career, and the shitty part is that Miles only controls her because she lets him.  She could deny the power plant, or leave Miles, at any time, but she doesn’t because she perceives the personal risk as to great.  She is a politician that won’t stand up for the people she represents, and no one calls her out on it.

Next, we have Duke Cody, the Alpha male men’s rights streamer who is just like, the absolute worst person in this film.  His views and opinions are incredibly toxic, his actions and beliefs directly hurt the people he influences through the hurtful products he promotes, and thanks to Mile's wealth and influence both he and his terrible, terrible, terrible opinions have official backing and some form of legitimacy.  He’s almost the direct inverse of Claire, being someone who really shouldn’t have support, but is getting it anyway because he’s Mile’s friend.  And because Miles doesn’t care and is giving Duke support and helping him dodge legal trouble, he enables Dukes terrible opinions and lets them influence and hurt people.  

Then we have Birdie, my personal favorite of the disruptors.  She is a fashion designer, media star, and breathtakingly, beautifully, stupid. She’s not actively malicious like some of the other characters, but she is just so fundamentally incapable of thinking things through. When paired with her wealth and influence, this results in horrifying real-world consequences.  She has her iconic fashion line of sweatpants made at the most infamous sweatshop in Bangladesh not because she doesn’t care, but because she thought a sweatshop is just a shop where you make sweatpants.  She’s just very stupid, but at the very least has the decency to be aware of it.  She even decides to own up to her Bangladesh mistake of her own volition, independent of the plot.  The problem is that no one corrected for her, or guided her, or worked to influence her decisions.  Miles just cared about what her brands could do for him and was perfectly willing to throw her under the bus to preserve his image.

Last of the four Disruptors is Lionel Toussaint.  Not much to say about him actually, he’s fairly straightforward.  He works directly under Miles as a scientist and is a parallel for the people that want to have confidence in tech ‘pioneers’ like Elon Musk.  After all they’ve been successful, and things have worked out in the past, surely, we can give them leeway with new technology development.  But there’s a reason why technology is prototyped and tested, and that’s because things always go wrong, and you need to take time and care to figure out how to ensure new technology is safe.

Which leads us to this asshole.

Miles goddamn Mona Lisa Burning Bron.

The absolute, motherfucking, shithead moron directly responsible for everything bad that happens in this film.

I lied about Duke Cody because this absolute buffoon is the actually the worst person in this film.

He manipulates politicians into endangering their constituents for his own gain, he enables the absolute worst and most toxic people by giving them legitimate platforms, he promotes influencers without caring for what their unchecked actions result in, and he deludes the people that work for him and want to believe in him with self-assured delusion.  This man is arrogant, an indiscribable moron (worse than Birdie because at least she acknowledges her failings), dangerously delusional, obsessed with control, and most damning of all, unchecked.

Miles Bron is a direct look at how too much unchecked power, wealth, and influence results in unmitigated disasters.  He doesn’t care about helping people, because he doesn’t take the time to make sure untested technology is safe for the public, handwaving legitimate concerns with denial and false assurance.  He doesn’t care about his friends, because he murders two of them the instant, they become a threat to his control.  He’s not smart, because all of his genius is the result of other people, he’s just skilled at advertising it as his own to get the credit.  All he cares about is doing what he wants and being in control, because his opinion and self-worth and legacy is more precious to him than any other thing in the world.  The man is a lie so absolute, so convoluted, and so stupidly straightforward that the slightest piece of truth will bring the facade of his existence crumbling down.  And it’s hard to acknowledge something like that in the real world because someone that successful being that malicious and dumb sounds incredibly stupid.  It’s an easy lie to buy because it’s more believable than how stupid the truth is.

Anyway, ultimately my conclusion is that we see a strikingly accurate portrayal of Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk in this film, and it was very cathartic seeing their hopes, ambitions, and house burn down around them.  Because billionaires like them are shithead morons that lie to and manipulate everyone, and their arrogant and harmful self-delusions compound through the people they manage to influence.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[melancholicstation]

god & monsters — bobby f. kennedy

taglist: @jackiesgirl @callmeaftersupper @astro-vibes-bro @lamperry4ever @darcyspirits @absurdlyvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @fortheloveofjos @superzealouscollectordetective @remotewatch @bleatngheart @obsessedwithjohnjr @starsprangledgirl @hisamericanmuse @kimcrystal123

summary: On an October eventide, you are invited to an ordinary Halloween eve soirée. You contract a horrible affliction, a yearning of the heart to end all those before it. All because of your serendipitous meeting with a certain camel haired mortal named Robert “bobby” Kennedy in the grass. For the only the birds and the bees bore witness to what lecherous things you both did with each other on the mead….

tags: 18+ but warning will be given ahead, tiny bit of blasphème sorryyy, rough s*x, fucking in the grasslands, cheating, explicit language, bee sting as repentance, infidelity, you are married but bobby is not.

words: 4,142

my linking should not serve as how you have to imagine this story/world if you do not wish to, these are simply just where I draw personal inspiration.

October 30th 1966

The solitary confines of the seventeen-century estate, all its Provençal grace stood tall unbothered by the many people going in and out of the homestead. Like a glamour queen it seemed entirely unfazed by the many important people within its walls: senators, governors, princesses of niche European constitutional monarchies just to name a few. Now you may be thinking what do all these people have in common? well each got the most coveted invitation to a halloween party hosted by America's very own royal family, or at least that's what The Life Magazine said in their glossy spreads, more specifically the forgotten american prince: Robert F. Kennedy.

And that's exactly how you got here as well. A short week ago you received that same invitation and shared it with your husband: Charles. Charles your husband has been, for years now, vehemently set on a career in politics. Though the farthest had gotten in terms of that had been holding a temporary assistant position at a republican running for state senate. But, turns out grab-handing and meandering around your fair-share of important people eventually you see the benefits. This invite, in Charles head was looking like a decadent, chocolate-covered benefit.

You cringe inside at the thought of chocolate, you've seemed to have a direct affliction to chocolate after a particular 1964 family Christmas in which your husband had had the marvellous idea of bringing his mistress, Kamila, over for Christmas Eve desert. Not like a total unmannered slob, as you would've much preferred, Kamila brought a milk chocolate and toasted hazelnuts bar engraved with a sentence "wishing wealth and prosperity". How gouge. Since then the mere thought of chocolate, or toasted hazelnuts for that matter has utterly repulsed you.

To you this invite was another hellish routine of domestic purgatory. In which you'd smile while dodging questions on why you and Charles hadn't started a family yet with a persistent yearning gnawing, clawing, burrowing in your chest.

"in the land of gods and monsters...

Now parties like the one stamped on the worn card stock weren't all bad. Once you'd met a particularly enticing couple looking to shake up their sex lives with a third. Quite a modern idea you'd thought for the sixties but hey it was eleven pm and the champagne was flowing, and more importantly free.

For the past few days you've been passively doing once, twice-overs on your closet trying to drum up what costume you could make out of the items you already had. High society halloweens were strange in a way. On one hand you would be looked down upon for not dressing up: with people assuming you think yourself to good for such things, on the other if you dressed up in a way unbeffiting of the status you'd be quietly heckled from across the ballroom. You inspected the address on the card more closely, surely there's no ballroom in—you squint your eyes—Château d'Estoublon. Okay, maybe it did have a ballroom if anything was to be indicated from the name. Château d'Estoublon was the creme da le creme of prime-time property in Massachusetts so you were passively excited to gawk at the beautiful exterior.

You decided on recreating Empress Elisabeth of Austria's, or as she'd began to be commonly called 'Empress Sissi', court wedding gown when she married Emperor Franz Joseph. In your eyes it fit the bill, the costume was still playful in its callback to a glamorous Hungarian empress but not so out there that you would look out of place in a billowing cream gown. No doubt many would overshadow you with their elaborate gowns but you didn't mind going understated for the night, you never really felt comfortable 'peak-cocking' like the rest of high society woman did. Though sometimes you wish you did.

,i was an angel looking to get fucked hard...

As you placed the delicate undergarments over your body: a white chiffon one piece - with knickers, linked by satin ribbons and floating chiffon back panels, a gift from a quite eager French man in the fifties. You used to be so encumbered by sexual need and carnal desire, catching the eyes of many: you missed that feeling and you desperately wanted it back. Cutting through the bullshit and to be quite frank you hadn't been truly screwed in about 7 years. Initially the desires of you and Charles had been unendingly compatible, but that compatibility had wavered after marriage and deteriorated like a good piece of cashmere out in the hay bales. Now up until 1964 Christmas you were under the impression that Charles was going through a dry spell and that you would come together soon enough. What you didn't realise was that in fact your husband was not going through a dry spell, no, no quite the opposite. It seemed he was drowning in the orgasmic sap of any woman he could find on his office floor.

If someone had asked you questions on the topic of infidently 10 years ago you might've said some sanctimonious crap on its moral qualms. But now after being routinely cheated on, you finally started to play his game, not often, but play his game all the same when you did.

,like a groupie incognito, posing as a real singer...

Looking at yourself in the baroque gold mirror, an audacious housewarming gift from Charles older brother, you surveyed yourself from the top. Your skin was perfection: slightly unnervingly pore less like those haunted 18th century dolls, your under eyes amazingly betrayed no defining clue that you barely get fours hours of sleep a day. Moving to your décolletage: it was well nourished after a sebum upper body mask wrap last week, beautifully reflecting the breastplate Galliano necklace. Speaking of spa's, funnily enough as a last-ditch effort you had booked a couple spa appointment for you and Charles. Unsurprisingly he didn't show but as fate would have it, another young woman of the name Catherine had done the same with her husband and he hadn't shown either. Incidentally you both wanted to make the most of it and decided to step in for each others husband's. By the strange hand of luck, Kit and her husband had to been invited to the Kennedy Halloween party. Hey, at least you'd have an ally. Moving down your body you'd picked an ivory, red, and gold embellished haute Dior gown as the base of your dress, and billowed it out using a tiered satin padded chemise to mimic Sissi's grand wedding gown. Matched with simple white pumps passed down from your mother.

Despite your pitiful nagging for him to dress as Franz Joseph I so you'd match, Charles decided not to and instead dressed in the polite yet deeply boring combination of a: twill bow tie, vest, backstrap trousers and wool tipping jacket. With a swift look up to you, nothing but a polite smile and a hand on the small of your back, you were both out of the door and into the car.

The first hour of the party proved to be exactly how you expected... pretty boring, vainly you caught the sight of your reflection in the many mirror of the chateau just to keep yourself occupied. You applied a thin, balmy layer of pink blush via a colour stick and applied a hint of lilac hue across the span of your fluttering eyelids, combing your brows back into submission with a pencil. Counting the creeping in wrinkles and frown lines, despite you only being 31, maybe it was all in your head. You looked down at your costume, how sadly fitting. You'd chosen this costume based on a book you'd read on the empresses life during her marriage to Joseph, you'd read her undying battle with an obsession with beauty. And in that way you related to her, in a dying marriage you grapple with anything to have control over. As said as it was you looked forward to the beauty regimes you scheduled and the sacred-rituals you performed on your hair, because it was something entirely your own.

,Life imitates art...

Just as you were about to entire a self pitying comparison between you: an upper-class sixties socialite and the empress of Austria, you see a saving grace in the form of a face. Catherine, finally you thought, what was taking her so long?

Catherine, a woman of striking features and long black-hole like dark hair, "Hey Stranger" she says while brushing an unruly curl from the perimeter of my face with a motherlike tenderness. Speaking of mothers, Catherine brought her 9 month old baby along to the halloween festivities, whom I already known was coming as she'd been complaining to me about how hard it was to find a babysitter to stay after 6pm!

After fussing over Catherine's beautiful velvet tea-length gown and her impossibly adorable babe with wiggling feet and grabby, powdered limbs who had throughly enjoyed your 5 minute game of hide and seek with your manicured fingers in Chanel's shade phénix. Surely enough the guests, including you and Catherine, were all herded like a cattle of sheep into the expansive dining room, suffocated by eighteenth-century French tapestries covering each wall.

First, pisanelli served over friselle crisp bread. Then, a cabbage soup and chou farci. Canned fish and tomato for a side. For desert, pavlova with strawberries, créme anglais and fig-leaf whipped cream. As you took in the delicious aromas, checking in Catherine's baby only to see the bottom of her face beaming with a smile and absolutely covered in the fig-leaf whipped cream.

I don't really wanna know what's good for me...

What was odd however, was not the delicious food, but the absence of the host of the halloween party, Robert F. Kennedy. You had seen some of this family members around, seen Teddy and even the mysterious Jacqueline Kennedy.

Though maybe he was a recluse, hosting parties to keep up the Kennedy name. You didn't pay much mind to it and continued to eat your food.

Hours later, moonlight had descended over the chateau and you, Catherine and her babe had moved under an outside pergola. It was due for the babes feed and Catherine, justifiably, felt uncomfortable revealing herself to a bunch of snobby strangers so the outside it was. In camaraderie you had chosen to forgo the alcoholic beverages on offer and instead bode for a glass of non-alcoholic punch. But looking back down at the punch, after a long chat with your friend, the cup had been drained.

"I'm gonna go over and fill me up another one of these, do you too want anything while I'm up?" gesturing to the smiling mother and babe.

Catherine politely declines and fakes her babe waving to me as I depart the table by waving the sweetlings tiny arms back and fro, to which you childishly giggle in return.

As you traipse through the beautiful grasslands of the estate you come across a large set of oak tables, reminiscent of old-school desks. But instead of notebooks and pens, the tables were now used to display freshly baked breads with individual ribbons on them. A parting gift for the evening no doubt.

God's dead, I said, "Baby, that's alright with me"...

Rounding a stone arch you see a man shrowed in the most beautiful darkness. A kind of darkness that makes you swear of light and go nocturnal simply to marvel at his beauty. His beauty rivalled that of the Gods. His beauty shall live forevermore. His movements are strange until you realise the purpose behind his actions. His large hands peeling open a tuna can, and patiently beckoning a black cat his way. A cat that seemed to be very familiar with the figure as it immediately came and sat at the feet of the man: sapping up the canned tuna.

Though the man has his back to you, you faintly recognised the puffs of smoke coming from his delicate fingertips, could be a hand model this guy! you joke with yourself to starve off the reflex to call out to the mysterious figure. You stare for a creepy amount of time, fitting for the date you guess.

"Sissi right? Empress of Austria" the man calls out in the dark, now his body has turned to your direct attention. And to your surprise it's not just another Harvard graduate with a good back profile, it's the host of the evening: Robert fucking Kennedy.

You stammer out a "Yes-yes, well I've gotta make use of these dresses somehow." An awkward silence grows, as Bobby looks to the moon-cast sky as if he's pondering what to say next

"Sorry I'm very, very rude to not have introduced myself--I'm Robert Kennedy"

"Oh I know who you are"

"You do?"

"Yes sir, quite intimately if reading the New York Times is any metric of intimacy" you halfheartedly chuckle.

"Funny girl. Now funny girl can I get your name perhaps?"

"Y/n"

When you talk, it's like a movie...

"Ravishing" he says in a tone that you can only comprehend as a little teasing but yet kind.

Moments pass as you chit chat about the nights festivities, with him asking you how you felt about the 3-course meal provided, and ask about why Kennedy as a devout catholic decides to throw a halloween party. You politely compliment his choices--

"Oh I didn't choose them. It's all my secretary she's the real brains of this party anyway--she should be here somewhere" bobby states as he looks towards the periphery of the garden.

"Well she has lovely taste, speaking do you know where I could find a bottle of coke? Y'know I saw them about in one those iced buckets but it's location has completely passed me by."

And you're making me crazy...

"I know exactly what your talking about follow me Mon bébé"

The French term of endearment makes your heart flutter, but you simply assume that for these Kennedy men endearment is given out dime a dozen.

You follow him like an obedient cattle dog, catching the stare of bobby as he turns his head to look at you every few moments to make sure you're still there. Some would find that creepy, that you're sure of, but to you it seemed be an unconscious thing for Robert--seemingly not believing in himself to make someone stay.

On the walk you began to become curious on how Robert got your costume so lightening quick "You read up about Emperors and Empresses of Austria or what? How'd you get it so fast"

'Cause life imitates art...

Robert chuckles, looking down slightly "No--Nah, I-I did some reading on them during the Vienna summit. Y'know cause jack wouldn't let me into the meeting, he thought I'd embarrass him or something, so I just had to wait outside. And I don't really like waiting all that much so I went down to the local bookstore and rented a few, took them back in the morning."

You nod and feel slightly taken aback at the mention of his brother, he discussed his brother with nearly no one. No one in the press at least. The last time you could remember bobby talking about his brother directly was that Democratic National Convention in 1964, looking like a wounded deer.

You aren't able to sit in that stupor for too long because you've come to arrive at the coke's, all the bottles laid beautifully in a bucket of decadent, some would say over the top amounts of crushed ice.

While Robert grabs the drinks, you fumble inside the pockets of your dress to find your compact, opening it to inspect the state of affairs on your face.

Robert grabs two: one for you and one for him, you don't miss that he grabs yours before ever thinking of himself.

If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?...

"Shoot!" you say under you're breath: you'd just realised in that moment that you would one hundred percent smudge your lipstick if you drank that coke, and then you'd have to continue the party looking like an absolute idiot because you'd forgotten to pack the lipstick in your clutch.

"What's the matter?" Robert says with a father figure-like concern, despite not having any children: at least to your knowledge.

"Oh it's nothing really I just realised I can't drink this 'cause of my lipstick"

"O-oh okay" Robert stumbles out as he looks up at the sky again, seemingly deep in thought. He does that a lot you think.

Bobby bumbles out "Well if it wouldn't make you to-to uncomfortable. I could Y'know feed you the drink so you don't mess up your lipstick--if you want of course"

You tell me, "Life isn't that hard"...

Taken aback slightly, due to the intimacy of the offer, you freeze for a few seconds but ultimately agree to his proposition. You trust him, a man you've just met today and formally only seen on the news stands, for some bovine reason.

Before you knew it he delicately placed curling, like a willow tree in the string, finger and cupped your chin: pouring the kola nut coloured drink down your oesophagus. Despite the strangeness of the position you two were in it felt right. It felt like what you'd imagined married life to be: the person you love more than anything filling you, and you filling them in return, both metaphorically and literally.

18+ AFTER THIS POINT

There was a certain erotic substance of being feed you'd learned in these past moments. I felt thirsty for him, for his hands, for this chest barely concealed by the Japanese cotton sweater he donned, for his musk that was like if tuberose had been carried on by the sea breeze, for anything and everything you'd be so lucky to receive from him.

I had someone who was hungry for me. I could see it in his eyes, robin's egg blue coloured eyes, as he feed me the coke.

And I was equally, if not more, much more hungry for him. Starved.

He paused the flow of the drink, in order to stop me from completely choking: at least one of us had kept our whits about us.

The hand on your chin never leaves, it lingers and lingers and lingers. My god you are such a fool for a man you've didn't know 12 hours ago.

He catches your eye, looking ever so pensive.

"Do you wanna go messin' around with me, cause I can take you back it's no pressure. I assure you there's no need to give the host any favours" he says in a timid tone expecting, almost wanting to be proven right: that'd you leave. That you'd desert.

"I think we should fuck. Do you think we should fuck?" you say in an incredulous tone, you'd never assumed this kind of attitude but his being had brought it out in you. This carnal, caged animal, woman scorned desire bubbling inside you like a pot of Turkish tea over the stove.

"Yes-yes well I think it's a great idea to fuck actually. It seems like a very good idea in my opinion. Y'know as a U.S senator." his slight arrogance, drunk with power disposition could've scared you. But it really didn't at all, in fact it enticed you to him even more.

All of a sudden, he grabs the skin of your neck and kisses you almost punishably: trying to communicate where have you been hiding for all these years? why didn't we find each other sooner? why have you left me alone?

Messy top lip kisses turn into feverish French and soon you're traipsing further into the countryside of the chateau. He seems to know his way around here: you don't even want to think of the rendezvous he probably has had here.

He leads you to a short alcove in the forrest with tree stumps and a billowing willow tree shielding it from the cruelness of the outside world. A cocoon of sorts.

"Is that a bee's nest"

"No, it used to be but it's been barren after they migrated in the summer. Relax, no one with be able to see not even the bee's. Promise."

You get situated on the ground when Robert drops a bombshell question out of complete left field

"You married?"

"No, are you?"

"No--well not in the real sense, not how marriage is supposed to" Hey maybe that was a bend of the truth but it wasn't a lie, I mean really was it?

From that assurance he immediately pounces on you like a Burmese tiger. His wandering, yearning hands scour your body looking for something you're not quite sure of yourself.

He seemed to like to assume a more dominant position so you let him have his way with you, for so long you had had to hard-shelled around men. But with Robert he had this aroma that just made you want to show your soft underbelly to him, wanted him to care for it like he cared for you.

He manoeuvred both himself and you to be on your sides, your back to his chest. And slowly dipped it in. At first it was only the start, almost knocking at your door: begging to be let in, to get at whatever was inside. And so you welcomed him in the only way you knew how. He wasn't aborally big but he fit like those perfect pair of white tennis shoes that have been worn out just the right amount. His being felt like a return.

"Fuck yeah, give it to me you braves mädchen (good girl in German)"

"I'm giving it. Want to give everything to you, take it from me. Robert, take it all from me now."

His hips moved at a pace that showed a man who aimed to please. A man who aimed to please you, beyond the confines your physical existence.

"This is heaven. This is what they meant" I finally got what made people so devout. They found something to believe in, and in that moment I had to. In that fallen angel taking the form of Robert Kennedy.

Just before his climax, Robert switched positions hoisting your body to now be facing him. A sweetness to the fact that he wanted to share this moment with you, to make sure you didn't feel alone. As he climaxed he reached pitifully at you, pawing but with the determination that he wasn't done until you had gone over that wonderful edge as well.

Soon came your time, and went it came it was the epitome of that beautiful fall from grace. In your bliss you hadn't noticed that Bobby did not share the look he donned just a minute ago. He looked quite concerned, gazing upon the valley of your breasts.

God he's such a man, you thought. But once you looked down you saw a pretty nasty wasp bite right between your two breasts. You weren't all too bothered as you'd experienced stings before: Bobby however looked abjectly terrified. Fumbling through the pockets of the little clothes he kept on to see if he could aid the pain of the sting.

"Bobby It's just a wasp sting. Don't mind it"

"Well I should mind it, You're hurt. Plus now i'm gonna have to explain to the John Jr's night nurse why in the hell I need bee sting supplies at 12pm"

"It's fine, it'll pass" your face betrays that it's not quite fine in the moment. As your post-orgasmic bliss fades and the pain pentrates you.

"No-no, that just won't do. Tell you what we're going to do: we're going to go hop in my car and drive to the clinic and see what they say. It looks pretty nasty honig." (honey in German)

"There's that German again when did you learn that?"

"About five or six, truth be told I stole the language books from Eunice room. She never used them anyway."

Bobbys moves to gather his things and looks at you expectantly.

"Y'know it's kind of funny. Those bee's haven't been seen for months around the likes of here."

"Maybe they wanted to punish me"

"Now what would a girl like you ever do that needs punishing, huh?"

"Nothing" you say innocently. Bending the truth be damned.

"Damn straight." Bobby says with a killer smirk, responding to your held up hands by hoist up and over his shoulder. Crassly patting the flesh of your bum.

"Hey shouldn't the host stay till the end of the party?"

"Nuh-uh. Not tonight they shouldn't." bobby says still carrying you upside down.

The blood rushes to your head. You've never felt so alive in your life.

It's innocence lost Innocence lost

the end.

[blablablabla-ur-mom]

Every day that we get closer to tgr being released, I become.e just a little more unhinged. So here is my theory for Jeremy's backstory and elodie maybe being alive.

(This has no real chance of being canon but hey we got tsc through being delusional. )

So we know Jeremy has an older brother (gonna call him Joe for convenience cuz I forgot his name) that he avoids like the plague, and Stuart said elodie was bought by an arms dealer.

Young teen Joe joined a gang in secret and quickly started working his way up the ranks. Now one of the gangsters had a friend on the other side of the world, that happened to sell guns. This friend is the arms dealer that bought elodie.

A little while before the banquet, the arms dealer visits his friend. Joe tracks him down and tries to buy a weapon

The dealer refuses because reasons and instead Joe waits for him to meet up with his friend and steals a gun.

Joe does who knows what with the gun, and soon realizes that he just fucked with an arms dealer. So he tries to pin it on his little brother Jeremy.

Jeremy, who is at the banquet, is completely oblivios to his older brother sneaking in and planting an unregistered firearm into his bag. He is completly unaware when event security walks up and tells him he has to leave. Then he's at the station, shaking his head because he doesn't know how a gun got into his bag he doesn't now how any of this happened! But the police don't believe him and in the end his parents have to do a lot of shit to cover this up. The dealer knows better than to go after him because he is a governors son. And Jeremy never again trusts cop because how the fuck did they not see the guilty look on his brothers face.

I made a previous post about elodie being alive and one of the responses said she may have been bought to be used as target practice. I hate this idea but I'm running with it.

Flash forward a few years and elodie is 14/15. She is malnourished, covered in scars from bullets she could not dodge, and is barely there. But she is a Moreau, and she will endure. She will endure until her captors either kill her, or she finds a way out and back to her family. Not her parents, but the brother that was taken from her, he is her only family, the only thing that has kept her going these long years.

one day, she hears gunshots, not unusual but the amount of shots is. And there men grabbing her and taking her somewhere, and she's kicking and screaming because she thinks this is the end. Then they put something over her mouth and everything goes dark.

She wakes up in a hospital room with two strange men sitting across from her. They're speaking a language she doesn't understand and have to bring in a translator. They ask for her name but takes a few moments for the translator to understand her because of how hoarse her voice is. "My name is Elodie Moreau"

She finds out her brother sold out their family, that the fbi have been investigating her family and the contact her mother sold her too. She finds out Jean is alive.

Jean and Jeremy are at home when they get a knock at the door. It's an agent and he saying Jean has to come with him. Instead of taking Jean to the building where they took his confesion, they take him to a hospital. He's confused for all of a second when he steps into the room. Then he sees her. The sister he thought he'd lost is sitting there. To anyone else she would have been unrecognizable, but he knows. He kniws because he's dreamt if seeing those very same gray eyes again for years. She may be covered in wretched scars that make him want to throttle his parents, but she's there.

[reasonsforhope]

"A trio of health care bills enshrining access in Colorado to abortion and gender-affirming procedures and medications became law Friday [April 14th] as the Democrat-led state tries to make itself a safe haven for its neighbors, whose Republican leaders are restricting care.

The main goal of the legislation signed by Democratic Gov. Jared Polis is to ensure people in surrounding states and beyond can go to Colorado to have an abortion, begin puberty blockers or receive gender-affirming surgery without fear of prosecution. Bordering states of Wyoming and Oklahoma have passed abortion bans, and Utah has severely restricted transgender care for minors...

The governor’s office was packed with lawmakers, advocates and health care providers, many of them women, for a ceremony with a celebratory feel that resembled a rally at times with loud applause and call-and-response chants.

“We see you and in Colorado, we’ve got your back,” Democratic state Sen. Julie Gonzales said during the ceremony.

With the new laws, Colorado joins Illinois as a progressive peninsula offering reproductive rights to residents of conservative states on three sides. Illinois abortion clinics now serve people living in a 1,800-mile (2,900-kilometer) stretch of 11 Southern states that have largely banned abortion...

Colorado’s southern neighbor, New Mexico, is also controlled by Democrats and signed a similar abortion protection bill earlier this year. It legally shields those who seek abortions or gender-affirming care, and those who provide the treatments, from interstate investigations...

Polis added the first layer of abortion protection a year ago, signing an executive order that bars state agencies from cooperating with out-of-state investigations regarding reproductive healthcare. One of the bills he signed Friday codifies that order into law. Like the New Mexico law, it blocks court summons, subpoenas and search warrants from states that decide to prosecute someone for having an abortion.

Colorado’s abortion law extends the protections to transgender patients dodging restrictions in their own states. Gender-affirming health care has been available for decades, but some states have recently barred minors from accessing it, even with parental consent. Hospitals in some of those states say gender-affirming surgeries are rarely recommended for minors anyway. Puberty blockers are more common.

Also on Friday, Polis signed a measure that outlaws “deceptive practices” by anti-abortion centers, which are known to market themselves as abortion clinics but don’t actually offer the procedure. Instead, they attempt to convince patients to not terminate their pregnancies. The bill also prohibits sites from offering what’s called an abortion pill reversal — and unproven practice to reverse a medical abortion...

A third bill signed Friday requires large employers to offer coverage for the total cost of an abortion, with an exception for those who object on religious grounds. It exempts public employees because Colorado’s constitution forbids the use of public funds for abortions."

-via AP News, 4/14/23

[the-fiction-witch]

You... You can't just Kidnap a Girl FAGIN! P1

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader (Lady)

Rating Cute

Requested:

Hey, I absolutely love your writing and I have an idea so basically y/n is the governor's daughter and belle's sister and she knows of jack and he's kinda admired her for a while and fagin knows it, but jack is in debt still so fagin kidnaps her or something to get jack the money and yeah that's it and maybe some ~smut~ . anyways I absolutely adore this fic so far and you don't have to do it but I just thought it was a cool idea 

I finished up with the rounds cleaning off my hands as I headed through the ward, my bottom lip between my teeth as Fagin followed me around while I was trying to work. He was panicking and frankly so was I, we had three days to get the rest of Darius' money... and currently we had about four pounds of the twenty-six required. 

"I told you no." I snapped down his stupid idea, 

"I don't know why you keep ignoring me dodge I have the best ideas..."

"You have terrible ideas, Fagin," I warn, 

"Why don't we... sell fake prescriptions?"

"No. I am not letting you get me in trouble."

"Why not... sell the damn mangy hospital cat." He said, "Five bob for the meat two for the skin, and we'll be on our way."

"Hosptial-" I began as I looked around spotting the little black cat on the floor nibbling at some removed fingers, the usual black fur, blue eyes and purple collar, "That is not a mangy street cat." I told him as I carefully went over and picked the cat up she very happily nuzzled into my arms for a cuddle starting to purr, "This is Lady Nightingale, Lady Y/n Fox's cat. This cat outranks the both of us." I warned him as I took the cat to the front office to keep it out of trouble, 

"she won't miss it-"

"Fagin." I stopped him, "I cannot. Cannot. be more clear about this. You touch that cat. it is both of our arses. That is the governor's daughter's cat and if so much as a hair on its perfectly brushed head is hurt I will ship you back to London myself," I told him,

"...When did you ever gain such an affection for cats?"

"I don't have an affection for cats. However, this one is a prized possession of someone very powerful and influential so it is in the best interests of our remaining alive if we do not hurt the cat." I told him as I gave the cat a pet and a check over as she tended to get into mischief on her way here, 

"Powerful and influential... with... money?" he encouraged, 

"Fagin..."

"If we happen to let the governor know his sweet girl's cat has gone... missing then surely a reward could be in order." 

"Fagin. We are on no condition kidnapping the governor's daughter's cat and holding it for ransom,"

"But think of the green dodge?"

"No. It is not happening. Not at all. No way. Absolutely not. I want you to swear to me."

"...Fine... I Swear I will not Kidnap the cat and hold it for ransom."

"Or hurt the cat."

"...Or hurt the cat."

"Alright then," I nodded just as I saw the door open, to a familiar sight.

Lady Y/n Fox wandered in, wearing her sweet little black leather boots, stockings, her beautiful lilac purple dress with a lobster tail bustle below it, and her sweet hair pinned up with her little dragonfly hairpin. She rushed in with a look of fear across her face as she often did but she relaxed a little when she saw me and Lady Nightingale, 

"Afternoon Y/n," I smiled, doing my best not to blush as I continued to pet her cat, 

"Good Afternoon Jack," she smiled, "I'm so sorry..." she said as she came to pet Lady Nightingale,

"It's alright I know she likes to come and keep us company,"

"Umm she likes to come to find you," she laughs, "Every time I open the window nowadays she bolts out to come to find you," 

"Yeah I guess so, but still I'm happy she'd be here with me so you know where she is." 

"I suppose so, and I get to come down and see you," 

"Yeah, I do get to see you, both of you." I smiled, "Well it was lovely to see you, Lady Nightingale, of course you are welcome to surgery as always as our best hospital patron, but now it is time to end the honour of your visit and head home with Lady Y/n," I laughed, 

"Yes and It was delightful for a visit with you two doctor Dawkins,  I know Lady Nightingale enjoyed it. and I'm sure she'll be back." She laughed as she picked the cat up in her arms, "Thank you for taking care of her Jack,"

"It's no problem really,"

"Thank you, I'm sure I'll see you around Doctor Dawkins," she smiled,

"I look forward to it Milady," I smiled giving her hand a kiss before she headed out with cat in hand, 

"Interesting... how you're on first name terms with the goveners daughter." Fagin smirked, "A lady no less..."

"Fagin. Do not. Hurt. Cat."

"I swear on Milife Dodge I won't hurt that cat."

"Alright then..." I nodded, "I need to get back to work," I sighed heading back to the ward, 

[sleepyfan-blog]

Rotten Hope (1)

Author’s note: Part one of the Typhus x Reader fics. I blame you all for the botflies that have spawned because of this.  Next

Tagged: @ms--lobotomy @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: fictional illness, quarantine, bodily fluids, body horror, vomiting, please ask me to tag anything that makes you uncomfortable that I missed

Summary: Illness ravages the sector you’ve been quarantined in. Desperate for help as supplies dwindle, you psychically reach out to a nearby Astartes Librarian, who promises to bring aid.

word count: 2, 677 words

In your centuries of life, you’d seen many things. Glorious heights and dizzying lows…  But this creeping, miserable sickness that weakened the bodies and minds of the non-perpetual humans around you was a whole new kind of awful that you’d have been happy to have never seen ever. You’d established yourself on this world as a mid-level rogue trader before the quarantine had gone in place. You were wealthy, yes, but not Very Well Known, as your perpetual nature might attract the attention of the Inquisition, and you’d spent long enough dodging their knives and gang-pressing into their service last century, thank you very much. 

You’d funded the research project into trying to combat and cure the horrible illness that started as excessive lethargy and the inability to focus on any one task for more then a handful of minutes. After a week or two of low energy, the person afflicted with this disease would suddenly get a strong burst of energy and the desire to go out and interact with as many people as possible, alongside a minor cough and the occasional but regular sneeze. After a week of increased energy, a terrible fever would strike, alongside a bright red rash that appeared across an afflicted person’s back, neck and shoulders.

The rash was incredibly itchy and, if scratched, oozed puss that was highly contaminated and spread the illness just as quickly as sneezing or coughing directly on another person did. It took another week for the rash to spread fully across an afflicted person’s body, with pustules appearing wherever a person scratched that often burst painfully, before regrowing. Within a month over half of the total population of the world you’d been visiting had caught the illness and were suffering through one of the first three stages of the illness. That was when the planetary governor instated the quarantine, even as the rash spread across her cheeks and faces, enforced by the arbites and the astra militarum in hazmat gear.

The governor had also sent out a shelter in place order, with rations being delivered to the shelters of the living at regular intervals, to further discourage anyone from breaking the stay in place order. Those who did not have permanent housing of their own were put up in hotel rooms for no cost. The medical and medical research staff on world who had not fallen to the illness were working frantically to come up with either a cure or at least a treatment that would delay the onset of further symptoms…

Especially as after the pustules on an afflicted person’s body had burst and reformed over half of their skin, they had to be put in full-body restraints, as otherwise the altered mental state that the sickness-afflicted person went into was both violent and difficult to stop with anything less than using lasgun rounds to each of their joints and melta-flames to prevent the gushing spurts of puss that sprayed from those wounds from covering everything in a ten foot radius in grey, highly infectious bodily fluids that stunk so badly of rot and death that made anyone improperly attired vomit. While in this violent state, if the infected person or people weren’t properly restrained, they tried to infect as many people as they could by forcibly trying to smear the puss into the eyes, mouth, or nose of any uninfected they could reach.

You’d used your contacts made as a Rogue Trader to desperately call for aid in combatting this illness… There was also the fact that, should things continue as they were, within about six months, all of the emergency stores of rations would be depleted, as the ill still needed to be fed, no matter how violent they became. Not that the sick seemed to be able to die of the infection itself - the only fatalities that had happened were due to the arbites having to kill the infected who broke free of their restraints and tried to infect the healthy.

You… You weren’t sure the fact that the sick weren’t able to die of the illness that ravaged their bodies and minds was a good thing, especially as both medical supplies and rations began to run low. You’d contacted your friends and allies you’d made as a rogue trader and found out that the fucking Inquisition had declared the entire system a no-go zone. Oh, the callous bastards were watching as the healthy of this and the other five living worlds scrambled and tried to keep themselves from succumbing to the illness they were trying to research a cure or at least treatments to ease the worst of the symptoms… But they refused to send so much as an unmanned ship of medical or standard rations, much less anything that would truly help the situation.

Bastards!

You did have ways of sending encoded messages to others that the Inquisitors who were heartlessly watching the people of this system suffer and break under the onslaught of this illness couldn’t intercept and stop. While you were still wary of the genetically altered creations of Neoth’s, you were keenly aware that many of the Adeptus Astartes who roamed the stars did try to protect humanity to the best of their abilities and many of them despised the Inquisition and would come to help in order to spite whichever Ordo of the inquisition was withholding aid to this system… Doing so, however, required that you use some of the psychic gifts that you used as sparingly as possible, in order to avoid detection as the powerful psyker you were.

Dodging curious Astartes Librarians was a small price to pay for aid for the mortals suffering in utter agony all around you… Which was why you settled down into a meditative pose, sitting comfortably on your ship, the murmurs of your frightened crew and anxieties a background hum that you needed to ignore in order to reach out psychically. You had been on semi-friendly terms with Neoth before he’d been interred onto the Golden Throne and did your best to guide humanity towards a better future in whatever ways you could… You also had the verifiable command codes that would prove you were a high ranking - if secret - member of the Imperial Hierarchy when you came into contact with an Astartes Librarian. 

You began your psychic search for an astartes librarian with caution - aware that the Inquisition had their own psykers and you had no desire to reveal yourself to them if at all possible. Time passed as you searched for the particular blend of determination, training and psycho-indoctrination that marked an Astartes Librarian, your mind wandering further and further from your body. 

You could not say how long it took you to find him, but he was a powerful psyker, and held the strict discipline of an Astartes. You lightly tapped on his walls - a silent request to speak, making sure that your pressure against his mind was just enough to be felt, while just as clearly also not being an attack of some kind. 

Less than a second passed before his mind focused on you. You could feel the way his mental presence shifted and stretched, grabbing a rough hold on your consciousness, turning you this way and that, buzzing with confusion and curiosity - and a little bit of indignance that a stranger would dare touch his mind in such a way.  {WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU REACHING OUT TO ME?} He eventually sent coherently.

You explain who you are, giving the psychic imperial codes that would prove who you were as well, before explaining {The inquisition refuses to allow any aid to come to the system I am in. A terrible illness has infected over ninety percent of the populations of the system I am in. The remaining healthy people are doing their best to try and find a cure or at least treatments for this disease. I am immune, but that’s because I am a perpetual. The immunity I enjoy is not something I can share with others.}

The Astartes Librarian’s mind surged back and forth, thoughts and emotions swirling together in a chaotic hurricane that you could only catch bits and pieces of, though you were trying not to peer too deeply into his mind - it was rude to do that without permission after all - and tried not to get overwhelmed by the intensity of his presence. {And so you sought me out because?}

{Most Astartes and the Inquisition do not get along for… Many reasons. I sought to call for help from an astartes whose mind I could communicate with. Please… the mortals are suffering terribly, though the illness does not seem to let them die…} You plead, offering up the memories you have of the terrible illness ravaging through the near half-dozen worlds.

The screams of the deeply afflicted as they throw themselves bodily at the healthy. Teeth and puss smearing against glass and plastic face plates. The awful coughing and sneezing. The low medical supplies and even fewer rations and food that was edible. The fact that the disease had mutated and afflicted the livestock and domestic animals, causing further vectors of infection and misery. 

{You are a perpetual Rogue Trader, mm? Caught between this illness and the Inquisition, unable to help, unable to flee. Very well. You’re in luck. I am in command of many brothers, and our… Specialty allows us a unique perspective into the nature of illness. We can bring all the aid these mortals needs. But in exchange, you will come with me, without fuss, without fighting. I have never met a perpetual before, except for the Emperor Himself, and I am… Curious.} Teh Atartes rumbles, his mind still wrapped tight around yours. 

You sense he has a number of motives he is hiding from you… But you’re also quite certain that he believes that he is telling the truth when he says that he can help the mortals suffering and agonizing in rotting, miserable stasis all around you. {Yes, I promise to go with you and your brothers without fuss after the people here are healed and well taken care of.}

The pleased rumble he makes and the way his mind caresses yours before letting you go back to your own mind makes you shiver and warmth suffuse through you {I look forward to our meeting, perpetual. You will know when I arrive with my brothers. If my younger brothers give you trouble, tell them that Typhus asked you, little Isha, to come to him.}

You’re not sure why his name - and the name Isha - bother you.  Warning bells ring faintly in the back of your mind, but you can’t quite place why. That and the desperation to get actual help fuels your relief {I understand. About when do you anticipate on arriving?}

{Again, you’re in luck, lovely flower. I and my brothers should arrive within the next month. Two on the outside, if the Inquisitors at the edges of the system you are in actually prove troublesome.} The astartes promises. Something buzzes beneath the surface of his mind, but you do not press, grateful beyond words for his aid. His mind squeezes around your tightly. His rifling through your memories is a little rough, and catches you off, as he gets from you where you are in the galaxy. {Yes, I will be there soon. The mortals’ torments will soon be at an end. You should return to your body, I can sense your exhaustion.}

You grumble a little to yourself, but he’s not wrong. This kind of extended mental contact with another person over such long distances in space is wearing on you. You withdraw from his mind and tumble back into your own body before exhaustion drags you into sleep.

“My lady! My lady, Lord Angels have arrived, and have been distributing food and medical aid to the sick and injured. They… Their armor is rather terrifying, I’ll admit, but their aid has been nothing but true and good. Their first captain has asked to speak with you, as soon as you are able.” Your second in command called out, between knocking rapidly on the door to your personal quarters, waking you out of the troubled dream that had been tormenting you.

Gilded flames had lapped at your feet, threatening to consume your body as creeping green rot choked your lungs and turned the mortals you’d been working alongside to agonized piles of mush and misery. You mentally shook yourself as you respond “I’ll be out to meet him as soon as I get dressed properly! Tell him I’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

You’re already stumbling out of bed and over to your extensive clothes’ closet. Considering the direness of the situation, you hope that the lord angel would forgive the fact that you’re going to be wearing simple clothes beneath the hazmat suit that while you do not need, you wear anyways when going outside, so as to not bring the disease back and potentially infect the mortal crew around you. You pick out a simple shirt and pants combo, along with sensible lslhoes that will fit inside the boots of the hazmat suit, not bothering with any make-up or jewelry, dressed well enough in under five minutes.

It takes three minutes for your to sprint your way through the ship, everyone else clearing way for you to get to the cargo hold, slugging back a small shot of recaff and breakfast rations handed to you by your SIC just before you get suited up into the hazmat suit (Which takes most of the remaining time you told the first captain you’d need to be ready to see him). Just as you step out of your ship, you ask your loyal and stalwart second in command “Which chapter are they from?” Depending on which chapter they were from, you could have a guess as to what the first captain might want of you.

“They say that they are part of the Death Guard legion, ma’am.” Your second in command revealed, oblivious to the bone-deep panic and horror washing through you. “I don’t recognize their markings or heraldry, but they’ve been an enormous boon so far.”

No! No no no… “Have any of you taken anything that he Death Guard has offered you? No matter how small?” You ask, terror and failure acrid tastes in your mouth. How had you not noticed the taint of chaos in his mind at the time? 

“Not yet, as our stores have been fine. Is something wrong, ma’am?” He asks, a worried frown appearing on his face. He can see the fear in your face.

Damn, need to work on your mask, which you quickly put on, radiating confidence “OH… I just… don’t accept anything they give you,  if possible. As soon as I start talking to the first captain, take off and activate the warp drive and get as far away from this system as possible. I can… I can guess what they want with me, and as of now, I am resigning my duties as a Rogue Trader. Everything I own, all of my titles, rights and responsibilities I bequeath to you. FLy far, and fly well.”

“W.. What? My lady? I won’t just leave you-” He splutters. 

You shake your head angrily and hiss “I was the one who contacted them, believing them to be angels! But they are not! They are demons! They feed on  illness and misery, delighting in strive and causing Chaos wherever they go. I have gotten their foul attention and cannot escape, but you and our crew have a chance to escape. Please, take it. I will endure.” 

“I… As you command, my lady. I’ll begin preparations to leave now.” Your former second in command acknowledges, bowing his head forward, trembling a little in the fear that you can’t allow yourself to feel as you leave your ship, walking toward your grim fate with your head held high, despite your trembling hands.

[gluten-free-lap-dances]

Stephen’s Falls // Governor Dodge State Park, WI 07.2023