#never fuck with olivier

[scribefindegil]

I mean this in the ace-est possible way but Dimple-in-Reigen's-body is really hot. sorry.

[addictivewhispering]

giroud's reaction to being asked about that photo(tm) again 😭

[ladyimaginarium]

[tristancaine]

every time I remember how the atlas trilogy ended I get so angry all over again lmao

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Can You Stay?

Olivia Benson x fem!reader

Warnings: sexual assault/rape (not graphic or anything, this takes place after the fact), trauma, hospitals, rape kit, established relationship, hurt/comfort, some explicit language, brief mentions of self-harm

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: You're assaulted by a man the SVU just can't seem to convict. Olivia is used to victims, she's used to the aftermath of a rape. She's not used to walking through it with someone she loves as much as you.

“Let me see her!” Olivia yelled, shoving Fin so hard he slammed into a wall.

“Liv, you can’t be here as a cop,” Elliot argued, holding her back.

Olivia ran her hands through her hair, angry beyond reason and worried out of her mind. “I’m not, Elliot! I’m here because my girlfriend got raped. Now get the fuck out of my way so I can take care of her!”

Elliot lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, just… you gotta let us do our job, okay?”

Olivia shoved past him and into your apartment, desperate to find you, to see you, to hold you and protect you. When she found you, shaking and huddled in a corner of your bedroom, it shattered her, but she didn’t feel sad, not yet. That would come soon, she knew. What she felt now was blinding, white hot anger at the man who’d done this to you.

You were so traumatized you didn’t even seem to notice her. Your eyes were glazed over, and you rocked back and forth, your head banging lightly into the wall each time. Munch sat on a corner of your bed, and Olivia looked at him, silently asking if you’d said anything yet. John shook his head. So it had just been the 9-1-1 call so far then.

Olivia lowered herself onto the floor next to you, careful not to touch you, to frighten you. Your hair was dripping wet, and the water had blotched your t-shirt. Her stomach sank. It was him again–Cleary–she just knew it.

“Sweetheart,” she started, her voice soft, looking into your blurry eyes. “It’s just me.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, but your eyes filled with tears, and you started banging your head against the wall with more force.

Olivia placed her hand between your head and the wall to soften the blows. You wanted to hurt yourself. You wanted to hurt so much that you forgot what had come before. But you couldn’t bear to hurt Olivia. You put your head in your hands instead and when you finally spoke, your voice was small and hoarse.

“I can’t stop shaking.”

“It’s okay,” she soothed, still not touching you. She’d let you initiate touch if you wanted to. “That’s normal. You’re in shock, okay, baby? It’ll pass.”

“He came in my window, Liv,” you stuttered, unable to breathe deeply enough, your fingers tingling with the lack of oxygen. “He came in my window. I thought it was locked. It– it sh– should have– been l–locked.”

You scrunched your eyes shut and shrunk into Olivia, her arms wrapping firmly and protectively around you as you buried your face in her neck and gasped for breath. She rubbed your back, resting her chin on the top of your head.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Just breathe, baby, breathe.”

Elliot entered the room and sat on the bed with John. Olivia met his eyes, and she saw that he hated to do this. They were always aware of the ways in which an investigation might come off as insensitive to the victim. In fact, they did everything they could to be kind and empathetic and caring. But it had never been clearer than it was now that questions and probing, while necessary, would likely only make your horrific night worse. 

You coughed, trying to desperately get enough air, the room swirling around you. You tried, you tried so hard to fight the darkening edges of your consciousness, but you couldn’t breathe. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was grabbing onto Olivia’s jacket.

“Shit,” Olivia muttered, as your body fell limp against her. “El–”

“On it,” he said, pulling out his radio and walking to the living room. “Yeah, we need a bus at Mott and Spring. Unconscious female. Rape victim, panic attack.”

Olivia laid you gently on the ground, brushing your hair out of your face and placing her fingers on your neck to ensure you had a pulse. It was hard to pass out from a panic attack–which showed just how scared you were. She sighed and watched you, holding back tears, as she brushed her thumbs back and forth across your wrist. She wanted to feel your heartbeat. Just to be safe.

“You okay?” John asked her.

Olivia shook her head, biting her lip. “No.” She smiled wryly, her eyes wet. “But I am dangerously close to committing a felony.”

“We’ll get him, Liv,” John assured her.

“We haven’t yet.”

“We will.”

When you jerked awake, gasping, your heart still racing, Olivia squeezed your hands and bent down close to you. “Hey,” she soothed. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. I’m right here. Just keep breathing.”

She lifted your head onto her lap and you curled into yourself, your hand gripping tightly to hers. When the paramedics came, you shrank away from them and into Olivia, who might very well have assaulted an EMT to keep anyone from touching you and further traumatizing you.

“Can you walk?” she asked, and you nodded. “I got her,” she said forcefully to the paramedic who reached out for your arm.

Olivia walked you out of the room, out of your apartment, down the elevator, and into the back of the ambulance. She never once let you go, never once removed her arm from around your shoulder, glaring bullets at anyone who even came close to you.

Rape kits were always hard, no matter who the victim was, but it was excruciatingly hard now that it was you. Olivia almost couldn’t look at you as you talked the doctor at the ER through your assault. She wanted to cry, she wanted to shoot something, she wanted to hold you and never let you go. She would do anything, anything, to go back in time and have you stay at her place instead. Or, even better, to have been at yours so she could have shot the son of a bitch in self-defense. She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive herself for not being there.

You cried when they swabbed you, your body tensing in panic, hand squeezing Olivia’s so hard that little half moons formed on her skin under your nails. Olivia looked at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry. She felt like her heart was being fed through a shredder. It hurt more than anything, hurt so bad she was nearly bent over with it, to watch you cry. To watch your body flinch away from touch and comfort. To watch you poked and prodded and examined under the harsh fluorescent lights, the smell of alcohol sterilizer permeating everything, when you had already been through so much.

When they finally discharged you, Olivia pulled your softest, most oversized t-shirt and sweatpants out of her bag. She’d brought them from your apartment, knowing that they’d take your clothes for evidence. She dressed you gently, carefully, your eyes bloodshot, face streaked and puffy from tears.

She had Elliot drive you both to her apartment in a squad car, knowing you wouldn’t want to see anyone else, that you wouldn't be able to stomach a cab or the subway.

In the apartment, you sat on the edge of her bed, face blank, terrified to go to sleep. You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t speak. It was as if, after telling what had happened, your voice had switched off.

Olivia brushed your hair out of your face, bending down to look into your eyes.

“Do you think you can try to sleep, sweetheart?”

You nodded, exhaustion hitting you hard as the hours of adrenaline started to wear off. You crawled into bed, and Olivia pulled the covers over you. You struggled to keep your eyelids open, and Olivia gently kissed your forehead.

“Go to sleep, baby,” she whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

You grabbed her hand as she stood to leave, turning off the light.

“Can you stay?” you whimpered, tears welling up again, no matter how hard you tried to fight them.

Olivia wordlessly lifted the covers and pulled your body into hers, and you breathed easy for the first time in hours. Her arms were strong around you, her heartbeat sure and steady, hands soft as they ran through your hair. And you knew, you knew, that she would keep you safe.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

Something that's really nice for me about Heretic (the 1:1 ttrpg I run for my wife) is that when I need a break from DMing, we just swap places for a few sessions. She nominates one or two members of Bastian's party to be the protagonists, I clear some space in the world for her where I didn't have any plans so she can make up whatever she wants, and she creates an adventure so I can play.

Right now she's running 3 sessions for Olivie, followed by 3 sessions for Volo, which is great, I love Olivie and Volo and they both totally deserve a turn in the sun.

But Olivie has a 10-die Seduction roll, with a brilliance die (which means she's way more likely to crit). She's the king's mistress. She's the hottest bitch in France. She was given a vision by a great sage warning her that her pussy was too powerful and there might be repercussions beyond her understanding for popping it that hard. She's cruising around Paris poking into dark cults with the ironclad certainty that no one is going to try to kill her for asking too many questions, because then they'd never get the chance to fuck her. And so far she's right.

Volo is the most admired and accomplished young knight in France, and he is chaste. His body and purity and virtue belong to his lord, thank you.

Idk I'm just looking forward to Olivie whipping the city up into a horny frenzy only for Volo to take over and be like "That's quite enough of that"

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

FIRST ROUND: 27th Tilt

Cesare Borgia, The Borgias (2011-2013) VS. Prince Hamlet, Hamlet (1948)

Propaganda

Cesare Borgia, The Borgias (2011-2013) Portrayed by: Francois Arnaud Defeated Opponents: - Ancelyn ap Gwalchmai [Marcus Gilbert], Doctor Who: “Battlefield” (1989)

“How do I even begin to explain Cesare Borgia? - Cesare Borgia is flawless. - He has one duchy and two cardinalates. - I hear his hair is insured for 10,000 ducates. - I hear he does Church speeches… in Spain. - His favorite painter is Pinturicchio - One time, he met Caterina Sforza in Forlì. And she told him he was pretty. - One time, he threatened to kill me… it was awesome! This man.... this man, this man. He is the complete package: a perfect case of competent kink, a ruthless bastard (ie sexy) AND he's so irredeemably fucked up you also get the "I could fix him" complex. This is the man who could had it all and yet he wasn't enough (again, sexy).

Prince Hamlet, Hamlet (1948) Portrayed by: Laurence Olivier Defeated Opponents: - Björn Ironside [Alexander Ludwig], Vikings (2013)

“1) That slutty thing he does with his leg in the character-intro shot. I see those calf muscles in those customary suits of solemn black. Unf. 2) The EYES. Haunted. Enormous. Intense. 3) The way his hand hovers millimeters above Jean Simmons' hair in the "Get thee to a nunnery!" scene. Not over it, never over it. 4) Vulnerability is hot, especially when it's transgressive/unexpected, and this Hamlet has that in spades. 5) "Lady, may I lie in your lap?" The sincerity of desire under the veneer of everything else just undoes me.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Cesare Borgia:

(Excerpted from above propaganda) "He's serving cunt at ALL times. In Cardinal clothes? Serving cunt. In "civil" clothes? Serving cunt. In armor? Serving cunt. He had one of the most competent thinkers and do I say philosopher of his time (Machiavelli) *fawning* over him. Was he a tyrant? Possibly, but it's one we LOVE. The man [Machiavelli] literally BASED A BOOK on him.... (Cont. under the cut)

"He has a personal assassin of ...unmatched abilities and YET he's even better than the man himself!!! He tries to kill his own would be killer in like the pilot episode and the man was ready to swear absolute fealty to him. As would I, to be honest. As would anyone and everyone. SO much cunt is Cesare Borgia serving at all times!!!

"We love him and loathe him and love to loathe him. His father loves and hates him bc they're too similar. His brother wishes he were him (he's not) His sister doesn't see anyone else. Lucrezia... yes: the incest is fucked up. Also that's why we love it- it's so unhinged, as anything Borgia should be!!! Their relationship... perfect. She's the only one that can possibly understand him, she's the only one he truly loves. She loves him and always has - only a Borgia can truly love a Borgia amirite?

This is a man who is clearly Not Okay and you want so much for him to Be Okay but at the same time not, because it's so much more entertaining when he's not and also we love a hopeless case. I rest my case only bc I lose any trace of coherence when talking about him so I dont know what more to add.”

For Hamlet:

[torchlitinthedesert]

Kenneth Tynan and the Beatles

Shout out to @mmgth for noticing Beatle mentions in the letters of Kenneth Tynan - including working with John Lennon, Paul's 1960s reputation, and glimpses of the breakup. (Alas, no George or Ringo.)

Tynan was a drama critic and later worked with Laurence Olivier at Britain's National Theatre. Philip Norman calls him "the most rigorous cultural commentator of his age": he championed working class plays in the 1950s, supported progressive art (and was widely believed to be the first person to say "fuck" on British television). So he's an interesting perspective: well connected, arty, eager for cultural change, but from an older generation, and outside the immediate rock/pop world.

The first mention is 1966, when Tynan is already working at the National Theatre.

28 September 1966

Dear Mr McCartney,

Playing 'Eleanor Rigby' last night for about the 500th time, I decided to write and tell you how terribly sad I was to hear that you had decided not to do As You Like It for us. There are four or five tracks on 'Revolver' that are as memorable as any English songs of this century - and the maddening thing is that they are all in exactly the right mood for As You like It. Apart from 'E. Rigby' I am thinking particularly of 'For No One' and 'Here, There and Everywhere'. (Incidentally, 'Tomorrow Never Knows' is the best musical evocation of L.S.D. I have ever heard).

To come to the point: won't you reconsider? John Dexter [theatre director] doesn't know I'm writing this - it's pure impulse on the part of a fan. We don't need you as a gimmick because we don't need publicity: we need you simply because you are the best composer of that kind of song in England. If Purcell were alive, we would probably ask him, but it would be a close thing. Anyway, forgive me for being a pest, but do please think it over."

Paul replied that he couldn't do the music because, hilariously, "I don't really like words by Shakespeare" - he sat waiting for a "clear light" but nothing happened. He ended, "Maybe I could write the National Theatre Stomp sometime! Or the ballad of Larry O."

It's interesting that Tynan approaches Paul individually - because they had theatre connections in common? Or did Tynan assume that John wrote the words and Paul the music, so Paul's the guy to ask for settings of Shakespeare lyrics? (Though he does correctly identify Paul songs in his letter, plus the musical setting of Tomorrow Never Knows, so he might just be asking because he's a Paul girl. He also wants Paul to know that he's cool and hip and has done acid.)

Tynan definitely is a Paul girl. On 7 November that year, he pitched possible articles (I think for Playboy). He offers articles on the War Crimes Tribunal (set up by Bertrand Russell on the US in Vietnam), an interview with Marlene Dietrich, or:

"Interview with Paul McCartney - to me, by far the most interesting of the Beatles, and certainly the musical genius of the group."

It's a reminder of how drastically Paul's reputation changed, between cultural commentators of the 1960s and post-breakup.

Tynan didn't get his Paul interview, but he worked twice with John.

On 5 February 1968, he's sorting out practical details for the National Theatre's company manager about about the stage adapation of John's book In His Own Write (which had already had a preview performance in 1967). It's a very Beatle-y affair:

Victor Spinetti and John Lennon will need the services of George Martin, the Beatles A & R man to prepare a sound tape to accompany the Lennon play. Martin did this tape as a favour for the Sunday night production, but something more elaborate will be required when the show enters the rep, and I feel he should be approached on a professional basis as Sound Consultant, or some similar title. I have written to him to find out if he is ready to help and will let you know as soon as he replies.

...John Lennon says that as far as his own contract is concerned, we should deal directly with him at NEMS rather than his publisher.

So John prefers to work within the Beatle structure: George Martin, Victor Spinetti, plus NEMS, rather than pursuing closer ties with his book publisher.

On 16 April 1968, Tynan writes to John about his ideas for a wanking sketch.

Dear John L,

Welcome back. You know that idea of yours for my erotic revue - the masturbation contest? Could you possibly be bothered to jot it down on paper? I am trying to get the whole script in written form as soon as possible.

John's reply is very John:

"you know the idea, four fellows wanking - giving each other images - descriptions - it should be ad-libbed anyway - they should even really wank which would be great..."

Oh John.

Tynan still wanted to interview Paul - and was noticing changes in Beatle dynamics. On 3 September 1968, Tynan pitched another feature on Paul, this time for the New Yorker:

In addition to pieces on theatre, I'd love to try my hand at a profile (I remember long ago we vaguely discussed Paul McCartney though John Lennon is rather more accessible)...

Accessible because Tynan had already worked with him, or because John was already flexing his PR muscles? The New Yorker was interested, because Tynan follows up on 14 October 1968:

4. A few days in the life of Paul McCartney (which we agreed should come at the end of the series of articles, because of the current overexposure of the Beatles.)

Why does he see the Beatles as "overexposed" in autumn 1968, when he hadn't in 1966? Was it the Apple launch? The JohnandYoko press campaign? The cumulative impact of a lot of Beatle news?

Tynan was still trying on 17 September 1969:

...I'd like to go on to either Mr Pinter [playwright Harold Pinter] or Paul McCartney... I incline towards McCartney who has isolated himself more and more in the past from the other Beatles and indeed from the public: he seems to have reached an impasse that might be worth exploring. On the other hand Pinter is a much closer friend and would be more accessible to intimate scrutiny."

I'm fascinated by this - that Paul's isolation was visible to those outside the Beatles circle (the letter is dated three days before the meeting of 20 September 1969, where John said he wanted a divorce).

But Tynan was right about Paul being inaccessible. On 5 January 1970:

I'm saddened to have to tell you that Paul McCartney doesn't want to be written about at the moment - at least, not by me. I gather that for some time now the Beatles have been moving more and more in separate directions. Paul went to a recording session for a new single last Sunday which was apparently the first Beatles activity in which he'd engaged for nearly nine months. He doesn't know quite where his future lies, and above all he doesn't want to be under observation while he decides.

So while Paul "doesn't want to be under observation", he's surprisingly open about the breakup - less blunt than "the Beatle thing is over", which he told Life in November 1969, but still frank.

Trying to persuade Paul to open up to "intimate scrutiny" in 1969 does suggest another reason why 1970s interviewers adored John. Tynan works for an older, more established press, but he's offering the kind of profile John would make his own - discussing his inner life and personal/artistic conflicts with cultural commentator who respects him as an artist. And Paul can't run away fast enough. As a journalist, you'd absolutely go for the guy who makes himself accessible and is eager to bare his soul, over Mr Doesn't Want To Be Written About At The Moment.

[tinyidle]

Vacay!teez and their Boyfriend Behavior

WARNING: suggestive fluff and smut (paragraph format), vague-yet-detailed nsfw descriptions, based on irl chuseok locations, fem reader, all fiction ofcofc

𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 "𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚋" 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

he's such a romantic, he's even confirmed it. he'll be around you-- just breathing sometimes, not even doing anything too special-- and you'd fall in love with him like you did the moment you laid your eyes on him. he told you this first, actually, and that alone made you fall even harder for him. so when you both took a trip around jinju for chuseok, seeing the sites and all, you wondered which site was the best to see. there was a noteslip tunnel, an underwater aquarium, a beautiful tunnel, and even more; yet all you could see at the end was how amazing your boyfriend looked. he, being the sweetheart he is, made you feel 10x more precious. when a girl looked over to see your boyfriend's handsome face, he'd hold onto your waist and leaned unto you, making the girl effectively turn away. the same goes for guys, but for guys he got even more protective, as if you were fragile glass that could shatter the moment eyes that weren't his landed on him or you. when the night would end, he'd make the sweetest of love to you, giving praise after praise after praise. all this while you blushed and did your best not to doubt yourself aloud, or else you know you'd be fucked into thinking highly of yourself (which was often).

𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

having been invited to paris fashion week earlier in the year, your boyfriend couldn't turn down olivier's two other invitations for the ss24 collection for women and men. balmain has been an inspiring brand for him, and he couldn't wait to show you the fitting that staff had aligned for him to try. with each piece he wore, you became more and more enamored with the way your boyfriend looked as he posed in front of the full-length parisian mirror in the traditionally-vintage styled hotel room. afterwards, when all staff were out the door and the eiffel tower was lit outside, you and he cuddled into the king size bed, excited for the days to come. balmain red carpet and presentation came and went, and you applauded and congratulated your balmain prince each time with a public hug and semi-public kiss on the cheek. in private, however, in order to truly reward him without further tiring out the male, you would give him three options: (1) give him a blowjob, (2) cockwarm him, or (3) ride him. he'd ask for all three, and you'd happily give it to him in the proper succession (1, 3, and 2). he came with a smile on his face every. single. time.

𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚘 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

tokyo never had better weather than now, and he knew that. he planned a solo trip, he really did; he just didn't expect you to show up. when you found out your boyfriend was in the same area you were to visit distant family, you just had to meet him and show him the sites. he was estatic that you were able to show him around farther than what his manager knew, and whenever you both had free time, you'd recommend this place and that station to the next place while showing him around. he took tons of pictures-- alot with you-- and kept the really aesthetic ones for instagram. in days when he wanted to slow down and enjoy more without worrying about picture-taking and souvenir-collecting, you and he would simply hold hands and walk around in the park exclusively for private couples. he joked about getting a love motel, to which you turned red in the face and smacked his shoulder, but you both knew that when you'd get to his hotel you'd be doing a lot more than just "love". positions upon positions, riding, doggy, legs up and folded, side-by-side, sitting up in a lotus position, until you both were drenched with sweat and cum.

𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

your boyfriend loves going places, even around his local street. so for him to be able to go to london for chuseok was an opportunity that he wouldn't miss. because you also wanted to go and had the opportunity, you begged to tag along with him, to which he obviously agreed. you guys went everywhere together: the park had moments filled with you two holding hands and enjoying the grass, feeling the vibe of the local cafes, walking the academia-esque streets, and geeking out at the harry potter museum. he may have bought way too many wands for his own good, but hey, they were for the memories and gifts. there were times when your boyfriend would be sneaky and tease you semi-publicly. for some reason he knew how to get you frustrated without anyone around. you'd warn him that you'd get him at the hotel, and he'd respond by cheekily sticking his tongue out. once at the comfort of a huge bed, you'd get your revenge pretty quickly. even though you got a good few orgasms from him, and in reality he should be tired, the male still had enough stamina to please you before calling it quits for the night.

𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 "𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕" 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

it wasn't that he wanted to be completely lazy, but jeju was the city of relaxation. he needed it, and he needed you; put two and two together, and what do you get? you both have chuseok in the beautiful island area. he rented a beach hut, and the days were meant to be consisted of staring at the large sand stones and taking hikes here and there. you both spent time having from deep and meaningful conversations ('what's the point of living to pay taxes when taxes are made to help me live?') to very shallow and somewhat silly chats ('why can't money be printed at home?'). so many questions, so little answers. the area your boyfriend rented was devoid of any people, which made indecent acts very frequent amongst you two. exhibition would be the word, except that, with no human life outside, it'd mainly be considered semi-public sex. he ate you out on the swings, making himself dizzy, but making it memorable for the both of you. and skinny dipping was also a thing, even though it was mainly for harmless solo aquatic streaking and not to be frisky.

[write-ur-wrongs]

Hurt So Good

Request: Reader is a healer and lives in Novigrad. When Geralt is hurt, he always visits her. I found these prompts: "Yes, I have feelings for you.”,"It could be worse. ", "I... sometimes, I guess I kinda wish you could see yourself through my eyes."

word count: 1656

___________________________

“He’s back,” Olivier said, holding the door to your room open with one hand, a drink-filled tray balancing effortlessly in the other, “and he looks rough.”

“What?” you asked, reluctantly pulling your attention away from your work. Your last patient of the day had just left your makeshift office and you were anxious to get the blood-soaked bedding cleared before stains could settle in. Sighing, you tossed the soiled sheets back into your wash bucket and turned to face Olivier, straining to hear your friend over the sounds of the bustling Kingfisher inn behind him.

“Your witcher’s here,” he repeated, “and he’s bleeding all over the fucking place.”

“Geralt,” you breathed, brushing your hands on your skirt and rushing to stand. You kicked the wash bucket under the table and threw the last of your clean linens on the bed, cursing the way your hands shook as you tried to prepare yourself before seeing him again. “Send him in, yeah?”

Olivier wordlessly waved the witcher in before pushing himself back into the clamour of the inn.

“And he’s not my witcher!” you hissed after him, his words registered a beat too late. You’d have to remember to correct him tomorrow, or later tonight. It would depend on how long Geralt stayed this time, and though you’d never admit it, you hoped it would be the former.

You didn’t have a lot more time to fret over it though, as Geralt came ambling into your room, fresh blood dripping readily onto the floorboards.

“Holy fuck?!” you swore, eyes wide.

“Y/N –” he tried, grimacing painfully as you practically lunged at him, your hands grabbing at his free arm while the other gripped his stomach.

“That looks fresh, when did this happen? Sit down, lay down –” you cut him off, guiding him rather forcefully to the bed so you could get a better look at the wounds.

“I’m fine, really. It’s just –”

“Who did this? Did this just happen? Outside?”

“Erm, yes, n-no, I –”

“Gods, Geralt.” You cut him off again, growing impatient with him and the small smile that had been pulling crookedly at his mouth since you laid a hand on him. The impossible man had the nerve to try to get up every time your eyes left his to examen his abdomen, where more blood pooled with every move. “Will you stop trying to get up?”

“Will you let me get a word in?” he asked, the gentle lilt of his voice pulling you back to him despite your growing worry.

You let out an exasperated whine, pushing him back down on the bed before pulling away with a slight wave of a hand, gesturing for him to elaborate.

Taking a moment to re-adjust himself on the bed, Geralt cleared his throat a little before starting. “It was a rotfiend.”

You gasped, another interruption on the tip of your tongue but you bit it back when he laid a steady albeit slightly clammy hand on your arm. How much blood had he lost?

“It could be worse…”

“Than this?” you tsked, shaking your head. “Geralt please, you’re strong but not invincible.”

“It’s just a scratch, the beast barely managed a swipe as I dealt the final blow.”

“Pretty big swipe,” you muttered.

“It was big,” he admitted. “Must have been feeding in those crypts outside Velen for months before anyone noticed it.”

“Velen…?” you questioned, the fresh gleam of his wounds contradicting the days journey he’d had to have undertaken to make it to you in Novigrad. “How –”

“I took a portal,” he cut in at once, anticipating you.

“A portal,” you deadpanned, not a question but an incredulous statement. “So, you had a sorcerer with you, one clearly willing to assist you or at least pay you a favour, and rather than have them deal with this, you put yourself in a worse situation by portalling here. To me?”

Geralt only looked at you in response, his strong features betraying a softness you told yourself must have been from his weakened state. It had nothing to do with you.  

Holding each other’s gaze for a few beats, you finally resigned and got to work on his wounds, starting with gently cleaning them out before tending to the sutures. As you worked, your eyes kept catching on the ragged lines of scar-tissue that covered Geralt’s abdomen. The worse among them was a thick ribbon running up his ribcage before disappearing under his shirt. You felt a familiar shame burn at the pit of your stomach as you let your fingers gently ghost over these reminders of previous wounds you’d tended to. They were easy to spot, glaring against his other, smoother scars left behind by sorcerers’ healing.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice small, “why me?”

“I wanted to see you,” he stated plainly, craning his neck a little to get you to meet his eyes. When you refused, he reached for your hand and gave it a small squeeze. “I always want to see you.”

At this, you scoffed and shook your head.

“Do you not want to see me?” he asked, pulling his hand away from your arm.

“Of course, I do,” you breathed, but your voice was strained as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Damn it, Geralt!” You throw the blotting cloth down on the bed and push up to stand. “What do you want me to say? That I wait night and day for you to come crawling through my door beat to a pulp? That, that I love seeing you here? That I curse you when you leave and pray for your swift return? Well, I don’t, Geralt.” You were pacing now, arms waving emphatically as feelings you’d worked so hard to repress came rushing out of you. “I – fine, yes, I have feelings for you, Geralt, okay?” you finally admitted, your arms landing by your side with a slap. “Difficult, complicated feelings. You’re covered in these painful reminders of -”

“-of when I got to see you,”

“Of you being hurt and me not being able to heal you properly.”

“You heal me perfectly, Y/N. Not as quickly as a sorcerer, sure, but more thoroughly than they ever could.”

“Your scars tell another story though, don’t they?”

“Y/N…” he breathed, reaching a steady hand out for you to hold.

You looked from his hand, calloused and bruised, to his striking cat-like eyes that always knocked the breath out of you and sighed, shaking your head. “I guess I just don’t see what you see in me.”

His hand didn’t move as he spoke. “I... sometimes, I just I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. See the strong, gentle, loving person I see."

“Wow,” you laugh humourlessly, cocking your head at him, “exactly how much blood have you lost?”

His hand dropped as something akin to hurt flashed across his features momentarily, regret hitting you like cold water. Geralt threw his head back against the pillow and pinched the bridge of his nose before muttering, “I’m going to fucking kill Jaskier…”  

“Now I know you’re not trying to put that line on the great bard,” you teased, trying to soften the blow to no avail. You studied his profile carefully, taking in the way the muscles of his jaw flexed tightly, how his fingers pressed punishingly into his closed eyes and sighed. You still had to apply healing serum to the stitches and then dress it and it had always been easier to talk to him if you kept busy, so you got to work before asking him the question that had been nagging you since came back to you the first time.

“If what you’re saying is true…” you faltered slightly, feeling his eyes on you the moment your hands touched him, “t-then why do you only come see me when you’re hurt?”

It took Geralt only seconds to answer you, but with your breath held and your pulse pounding in your ears, you could have sworn he’d made you wait hours.

“I thought I needed an excuse.”

“An excuse? So, you just waited until you were at deaths door before seeking me out? How – “but you stopped yourself from going down the myriad of questions – how did he know he’d have time to get to you? That’d you’d have the materials and ingredients to heal him? – when you saw the guilty look on his face and the realization hit you.

“Oh, my fucking god,” you squawked, smacking his arm lightly, “you took these hits intentionally? Knowing I could take care of them? That’s… that’s –” Sweet? Romantic? “Fucked up!” you finished, applying the dressing with far more pressure than necessary.

“I know, I know,” he wheezed, trying to tough out the pain, “Jaskier said the same thing.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” you couldn’t help it. You were laughing. This big, dumb, gruff oaf of a man, specially engineered to be cunning and strategic and with enough years on him to provide the wisdom to know better, had been letting himself get hurt to see you. He was laughing too now, the warm sound rolling over you and this time, you let it fill you with fondness.

“You’re all set to go, Geralt,” you said, dumping the linens into the bucket you’d abandoned when he came in and helped him get up off the cot, smoothing his shirt back down. “Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You promise?” he asked, looking down at you with soft, open eyes, a dimple creasing into his cheek as his crooked smile pulled against his lips. You couldn’t help it, you reached up and cupped his face with a hand, gently sweeping your thumb over the spot.

“Keep yourself in one piece going forward and I promise you, my door is always open.”

[deleteddewewted]

Lion Headcanons

A/n: More personal headcanons of mine about this character

MDNI

W: NSFW below cut (Im not gonna lie, I keep forgetting that Lion is 31), minor mentions of religion, Slight D/S, Biting, Marking

Lion, for all that he is, is not a great sleeper. He's either deep in sleep or he's ready to wake up at the slightest change in the air. He will be complaining about getting up either way.

Be it that he was not ready for fatherhood and feared it, he deeply regrets missing out on it. He knows that his ex gave him a chance to be part of his sons life but even then he knows that he missed out on a lot of core moments.

He has a good relationship with his son's stepdad. He did feel hurt at first that his son called another man "dad" but he understood that he was the one who didn't want to stay so he's grateful that his son had a male role model and a father figure to look after him.

His ex never asked for money for their son but he willingly gave her money to support their child once he was financially able to. He got clean and got his life together and immediately began to send money so his ex and his son could be well of. When she told him not to worry about her, he responded that be it that their relationship ended, she was still the mother of his child and it was fair to look out for her as a form of apology and thank you for everything she has done for their son.

His family is still a sensitive subject to him. He doesn't speak to them often, opting to keep a low contact with them as they're too demanding and disapproving of his lifestyle. No matter how much he explains why he does the work he does they always sneer at him telling him he was damming himself to hell.

A very pleasant conversationalist. He likes hearing what people have to say and he likes the fact that he can get people to chat about the things that interest them.

Likes to listen to his music alone or with others. If you ever suggest listening to music together he would be thrilled and even sit closer to you as a silent thank you for wanting to spend time listening to his interests.

Remorseful that his relationship with Doc is not what it could have been. He understands that the older man has his beliefs and reservations about him and his decision making but he also doesn't believe he was in the wrong all those years ago.

Tries to call his son as much as possible.

He doesn't dislike it when he gets called Olivier but he does feel like some of the older operators use it as a way to diminish his accomplishments. He's not the youngest member but he does feel like they treat him differently due to his age.

On the other hand, he very much likes it when you call him Olivier. He thinks it's endearing. Like the way it sounds in your mouth.

Very much a passionate lover. Likes to bite and mark you almost like he's claiming you.

He likes hearing your voice. That thing about liking you saying his name also transfers to when he's fucking you. Likes the way you pant and moan out for him. It makes him more motivated.

A biter. He's called Lion for a reason. Likes to taste your skin and leave his mark behind.

Would like it a lot if you ever offer to take control. He's happy to be your submissive if you're willing. Very much into experimenting.

[justrainandcoffee]

Rose-volution (Rose Coldwell)

Summary: We all need a mentor and Rose is about to meet hers. Leon Olivier is a Frenchman, whose grandfather was part of the June Rebellion in 1832 in Paris and he is following his steps. Several strikes are happening in London at the same time and their paths are about to cross. ||

Warnings: The events mentioned here were real. The characters are not. || If I'm not tagging this as Alfie x oc is because, he has nothing to do with this story. It'd be very disrespectful for Rose put his name but not hers when this isn't an Alfie fic.

Words: 2.5 K

Alfie x Rose masterlist

1903.

"That one."

A tall man said to black one, pointing at Rose who was behind her sewing machine in the factory where she worked.

"Are you sure?" the black man asked.

"As sure as the sky is blue."

The black man was French and his name was Leon Olivier. He worked in another factory but the owner was the same the one where Rose was. Leon Olivier was in charge of repairing old machines. It was usual to see him covered in oil and grease, his blue overall had black spots and his dark skin was always sweaty. Yet, now he was wearing a suit, hat and smelled good.

"How old is she? Paul, when you mentioned her I imagine I don't know- a woman? That one is just a girl."

"Yes" said Paul, the tall man. "It's just a girl. She's fifteen. And yet…"

Paul couldn't help but smile seeing the expression in his friend's face.

Leon studied her from the distance. That factory was paralyzed for two weeks the last month after five workers were fired and were rumours for harassment. After those weeks, they were rehired, the strike ended and the name Coldwell started to resonate through other factories all at the same time. She didn't seem to be a menace, the girl was skinny and short and probably could pass unnoticed in the multitude. A supervisor was walking through the tables examining the clothes the women -and girls- were sewing and Rose raised her eyes from the table to watch at the one in charge but he didn't look at her. And Leon Olivier saw in her brown eyes a fire he knew so well and smiled.

The next days, he followed her. If he was going to do business with a girl, then he needed to know who she really was. Leon learnt that Rose was a Jewish girl living in Camden Town with her family and that existed a boy, young as she was, who was always with her.

It was a rainy and foggy morning when he showed his face for the first time.

"I'm looking for problems and people say you attract them."

That day started bad for her. Her mother was feverish, her brother Samuel who was barely 11 had to stay to take care of her and little Louis, 4 years old, didn't want his sister to leave but she had to because she had to work. So when she left the house, Louis was crying, Samuel trying to calm him and her mother trying to sleep despite the chaos. The last thing she needed that day was a creep man after her.

"Fuck off!"

"That's the answer I was expecting. Don't fear, darling, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk." Rose rolled her eyes while she kept walking "Miss Coldwell. Please, stop. It's about the strikes."

"How do you know my name? Are you one of them? The fuckers? Double fuck off."

"Christ forbid it."

"I know no Christ. I'm Jew. Who are you?"

Rose finally stopped walking at look at him. The black man was still young, probably in his early 30s, and wore beard. He had mischievous eyes but his smile was gentle.

"Leon Olivier is my name. I work in the steel factory, under Mr. Thompson orders."

She frowned "the same Olivier I think you are? The Frenchman?"

"Oui."

"And why do you want to talk to me? I have nothing to offer you."

"Darling, that's what you think."

"If you want money to finance whatever it is, you're talking to the wrong person."

"I don't- I would never ask that."

"Then?"

"It's long to explain. When do you have your first break?"

"At lunch. Midday."

"Can we talk there?"

"Will this cause me some kind of trouble?"

"Yes," he said and his smile made her chuckle.

"See you at midday, Mr. Olivier."

"Au revoir, mademoiselle Coldwell."

She wasn't expecting that. Leon Olivier was quite a name and one that bosses learn to respect. He was part of an union that was created in 1889 when the dockworkers started a strike that lasted over a month. They followed the steps of a group of over 1400 women that a year before, 1888 -the year that Rose was born-, went on strike to demand better work conditions and higher salaries in a match factory. These women formed the largest union in whole Britain and that inspired others to do the same. Including the one where Leon was now.

Last month an incident lit up something inside Rose she didn't know she had. She found a woman named Renata behind the factory hugging herself and crying. Her dress was ripped off and Rose didn't need to ask what happened.

"It was his nephew, wasn't he?" she asked.

Charles Thompson was a prick, around 30 years old who was there just because his uncle was the owner. Charles caused a bad impression in the women working there from the very first moment but they remained quiet because that was the order.

"You need to tell Mr. Thompson what happened."

"No! They can fire me. I need the money… please."

"It'll happen again, Renata. You need to speak."

"I can't… I can't."

"But I can."

"No. Don't."

Rose wasn't sure but respecting her wishes she said nothing. But she was right because it happened again. This time it was a woman called Sally. But different from Renata, Sally spoke and they fired her. Same as other four women who tried to talk.

To say the truth Rose didn't even think about it, impulsively, she just did it. Thennext day, standing on a ladder in front of the main door she encouraged the other workers to not enter the factory. Those inside went outside.

"We are on strike until that fucker of Charles Thompson leaves this place and until our sisters are rehired again!! How many more days are we going to tolerate his presence here?! They can't fired us all! We are on strike! We are on strike!!"

"We are on strike!" yelled another one.

And the rest joined the chorus.

Mr. Thompson called her when he realised that indeed his workers weren't going to return until he accepted their conditions.

Rose had an encounter with him few months earlier when she was barely starting to work there and had an accident that was not pleasant at all and he treated her like a retarded girl. The same Mr. Thompson had a very different attitude now. She promised her that he nephew was going to leave and promised to bring the fired women back if they stop the strike.

"We want a raise in our salaries. And longer breaks."

"Miss Coldwell, you're a girl, you don't know how things work…"

"Another week seems good to you?" She could have like to see Alfie there. Her boyfriend could be proud of her.

Mr. Thompson offered her his hand. "You'll get your raise and longer breaks. Just stop this."

"You also promise to bring a man as supervisor and not a dick as your nephew?"

"Yes."

"We have a deal then, Mr. Thompson."

But never in her life, Rose thought that she was going to meet Leon Olivier because of that. She was just doing what she thought it was correct, it felt incredibly good, but she didn't think a lot about the meaning behind it.

The Frenchman was waiting for her when she stepped out to rest during her lunch. The sun was shining now, contrary to the rainy morning when she met him.

"Do you mind if I eat? I'm starving."

"Please, go ahead," he answered.  Leon looked at her and felt the urge to took that girl under his care. Eating her sandwich next to him she seemed younger than she was.

"Looks delicious," he commented.

"It is. My boyfriend prepared it. He's a baker, my Alfie."

He smiled again, "a boy who knows how to baked is destined to be a good cook when he grows up."

"Alfie is already a good cook. Better than me, at least," Rose said "but you don't want to talk about Alfie, do you?"

"No. I want to talk about Rose Coldwell, little one. Do you know what you did, Rose?"

"I did what I thought it was correct, Mr. Olivier."

"Yes. That's the first step. You have more balls than most of the men I know, darling."

"How many men do you know?"

The man laughed so hard that some people around them turned around to see him "Enough to know what I'm saying."

"Why do you want my help? To do what? I was lucky that Thompson accepted the conditions, it's not like I-..."

"Lucky?" he interrupted "Girl, you don't know what are you saying. You are Jew, I'm black. Life isn't a fair world for people like us and let alone lucky. Luck if for those in the top of the pyramid. Thompson and those like him, for example. Not us."

"You have voice because you're a man, at least. I'm a woman with basic rights. I can't even vote."

"Not with that attitude, Rose."

The girl looked at him and a curiosity she didn't feel before, invaded her mind "votes for women here?"

"You want to vote? Then fight for it. Kill the King, kick the Parliament. Fight for it, Rose Coldwell."

She snorted, "it's not that easy."

"I didn't say that. Probably it will take years. Maybe decades, but you will never know if you stay still." Leon looked at her "my grandfather fought in the June Rebellion in Paris. His friends were killed and several others he never knew, too. But he didn't and he gave me the weapons to fight for what I believe it's necessary for me and those without voice."

"I like the idea of helping those who can't. I always liked that, maybe that's the reason I did that. My mother doesn't understand, yet, but… I like that."

"I know." Leon put a hand on her shoulder "Come with me the next meeting. We need new blood and we need women. Bring your boyfriend if he wants."

"I doubt he likes that," she chuckled "but he's really supportive. Where's the meeting?"

The man smiled "The Irish pub at the end of the street. This Friday at 5."

"Ok. I will be there."

"Good to hear that, little girl. See you."

The meeting it was better than she expected. In fact, it was good. The ideas the men and few women there were very similar to hers and that was something she never experienced before. Not even with Alfie who wasn't interested in politics at all not her mother who insisted that it wasn't place for women. Rose wasn't so sure of it. The new century was already a fact and in that 1903 she felt that she was capable of doing everything. The months that followed she became the main voice in the factory and also won her place in the Irish pub, under Leon's protection. Her first runnings from the police started those days, too.

"I found a new job," she said to Leon a year later. "It's better pay. I know what are you going to say, these people need me. That it's not fair. But I'm leaving in charge a good woman. She's great. But I need to think about my family and we need more money."

"Where are you going, little Rose?"

"A rich family. Rich as fuck, owners of mines according to what I heard. The Everts."

"You found the most anti-communist people you could find, eh Rose?"

"I will fuck them all if I can. Don't worry."

"I know that. Family always comes first, little Rose. I wish you good luck."

"Do you think I'm going to see you again?"

"You know where to find me. If you boyfriend let's you."

"He will."

"Fine. Don't let anyone extinguish the fire inside you."

"Never."

"My little revolutionary. I'm going to miss you and your… Rose-volution."

The man hugged her against his chest and both remained there for several minutes.

.

1926.  East London.

"There's a woman looking for you, Leon," said a young man opening his office's door.

"That's new. Who?"

"I don't know her and she didn't introduce herself, she said she wanted to surprised you and old friend, she added."

Leon frowned but allowed the visit. The pen he had in his hand fall over his pile of papers on his desk, when he saw her.

"Oh my god" Leon smiled and his white teeth stand out in his black face. "Fuck me. You took your time to visit an old friend eh? Come here, little one! You're already a woman now!"

"Don't remind me my age, Leon" Rose said also smiling and walking towards him to embrace him "I missed you. You don't know how much."

They spent the next minutes talking. Leon knew about Evert and even when she didn't say everything, he guessed the rest. But he also knew about all the good that came after including the school she founded and her marriage to Alfie. The same boy she was dating when he knew her and that made him happy.

"And what are you doing here?"

"I have a proposal for you."

"…about?"

"About you and I like in the old days. Fighting for our rights but in a new level. There's a free seat waiting for you."

"Waiting for me, where?"

"You taught me to fight for my dreams. I became a suffragette, I could fucking vote for the first time eight years ago and I owe that. Now, I'm here to offer something I know you deserve because you're better than those fuckers. A seat waiting for you in the Parliament."

"You kidding me."

"Do you think I looked for you after 20 years just to make a joke? I'm on it and very close to get it but I need someone there with me who I can trust completely. You're perfect. How does it sound to you: Leon Olivier, MP?"

Leon Olivier smiled "you are a box full of surprises, Rose Coldwell."

"Solomons."

"My bad. You're box full of surprises, Rose Solomons. Are you offering me a seat in the fucking Parliament?"

She just nodded, looking at him with expectation and anxiety. Leon stood up and looked through the window of his little office. The young girl he knew once wasn't there anymore but it transformed herself in a woman with the same ideas but that now had the power to make the fight possible.

And for a second, he saw in her smile that girl in 1903 in front of the factory leading a strike, eating that sandwich prepared by her boyfriend -now husband- and looking at curiosity as he talked about past revolutions before she was born. And nodded.

"I say yes."

[preceriisblog]

THE ATLAS COMPLEX SPOILERS ‼️‼️

Seriously don’t read if you don’t want spoilers.

Okay so I think I’ve scrolled through all of tumblr. All thru Goodreads. Read all the terrible reviews and rants and still nothing has quelled my anger. I feel so rageful. Nothing has ever pissed me off more than this ending

How could Olivie Blake set up something as amazing as academic rivals to lovers, binary stars, meant to be soulmates in every universe AND FUCK IT UP? ARE YOU SERIOUS? HOW COULD YOU TEASE ME WITH THAT AND NOT. GIVE IT TO ME.

And the same with Novacaine??! At the very very very very least you could have at least had Tristan be the one who kills Callum.

and of course. OF COURSE. MY TWO FAVORITE CHARACTERS IN THE ENTIRE SERIES ARE THE ONE WHO DIE. are you kidding me? H O W DOES THIS CONSTANTLY HAPPEN TO ME?? AM I CURSED?

ALSO HOW ARE THERE NO FIX-IT FANFICS YET?? i’ve only seen like one new nicolibby fanfic on ao3 and like two new novacaine ones but that’s not enough to fulfill me??! what happened? did y’all rage quit (cannot blame a single soul??)

so yeah. I feel incredibly betrayed and I need to scream and cry and dig a hole and give Nico and Callum fucking Nova a hug in the afterlife because GODDAMNIT NO ONE DESERVED THEM

One last note: I have always been a Nicolibby shipper, but I would have been happy with a throuple or if Nicolibby had at least kissed once. But you couldn’t even give me that Olivie Blake??

I am shattered. I will never trust again. Use this post to rant about anything you hated about the book in the comments please. I am 100% a hater right now and I have no shame because that ending was downright malicious and fucked.

[finchfvkingcortes]

my favourite moments from uksies (april 5th)

-race fiddling with the printing press and being told off by bill

-he then slinked over to spot like a kicked puppy and she patted him on the back

-hannah humming to herself as she walks to let jack into the office

-finch desperately trying to get davey to shake his (spit covered) hand and throwing up his hands in frustration when he won’t

-tommy boy offering finch his cross and finch kissing it

-crutchie muttering “for fuck sake” under his breath when les runs back to davey before their exit after the world will know after trying to get les to go with him

-katherine saying “the guy who paints places he’s never seen is calling us crazy” to davey instead of jack

-finch walking away with his papes balanced on his head during the finale

-finch holding onto crutchies hand for the longest time after he helps him up when morris pushes him

-on “you have laid claim to our world” roosevelt points at the newsies. henry points at himself, says “me?” and looks very pleased

-when jack introduces roosevelt mike quickly fixes his hair and turns to adjust jojos waistcoat

-jack tells davey “I told you” after shaking roosevelts hand (when he makes the carriage ride joke)

-the way romeo is enamoured with the bowery beauties

-at the end of king of new york when the lights are lowering finch is less then a foot from the ground and still spinning scarily fast

-he is the only one still going so fast which makes it hilarious to watch

-jack and davey leaning against pulizters desk and jack leaning his head against daveys on “no bodies like us”

-albert definitely doesn’t pay

-finch begging jack to not go for morris after he pushes Crutchie and getting v annoyed when he does

-the way finch is seconds away from a panic attack 90% of the time

-“🎶he 🎶 got 🎶 elected🎶”

-hannah telling bunsen to hurry up when they exit after pulizter asks to talk to jack alone

-matthew slipping as he comes off the ramp after letter from the refuge and you could hear him and whoever was helping him off (I think it was george) giggling

-romeo having to hold finch back from running to help crutchie when he calls to him for help

-albert holding up his hands like he’s been accused of a crime on “just give me a water”

-jack showing katherine his bag with “the world” printed on it on “I work for the world!”

-splasher lying stretched out on his stomach on the ramp and just generally being adorable

-crutchie blessing himself and praying under his breath during jacks speech to the scabs

-he then whispers thank you when the scabs join them

-jack not fighting when he’s led off by the delanceys

-mack having to hold spot back to stop her going at jack during the rally

-lindsay putting the olivier award on the stage after the bows instead of a pape

-the delanceys are so Sexy™️ I won’t apologise for it

-the way finch says “…gets me a little jittery”

-jack purposefully choosing to single finch out when the boys are hiding on “whose got brooklyn?” finch is not in his line of sight (he’s behind him) and he deliberately whirls around to ask him (rather then just happening to see him)

-buttons and mush putting their bags on their heads to hide on “whose for brooklyn”

-also them nodding very animatedly with the bags still on when finch is talking

-daveys “why don’t you come home with us- fordinnerImean” in one hurried breath

-watching jacks face when pulizter threatens crutchie, davey and les with the refuge is heartbreaking

-davey standing behind les with his arms around him and his chin on his head

-jack standing barely visible in the scaffolding reading the letter during letter from the refuge

-finch ruffling mikes hair after the world will know

-just albert and how unhinged™️ he is

[applejuicefruit]

I really love your writings so I was thinking, can I request something similar for the ones you wrote where Olivier was reader’s neighbour and was protective over her but this time she’s dating Kylian but no one knows and she is still Olivier neighbour and one day her father stabs her or hurt her and she’s rushed to the hospital so that’s when Kylian and Olivier find out that you all know each other please? Like they really care for you💓 thank you so much

this request was 😩😩😩❤️❤️❤️

kylian mbappe x reader / olivier giroud x reader (platonic)

tw: domestic violence, domestic abuse, blood, a lot of blood, olivier being the father i need in my life

She’s safe with me

Your life had never been easy.

Growing up with just your father after your mother passed away it was something you definitely never expected during your childhood. But here you were, just nineteen, living with your father while you were at your first year of college. You loved it there, studying art and photography, meeting new people every day, having your boyfriend secretly bringing you food and flowers everytime you had a break. Just your friends knew that you and Kylian were dating as you both wanted to keep your relationship private, you always hated the spotlight and Kylian wanted to keep you save from the media as he knew how invasive they could get.

So that’s how you kept it.

Kylian knew that everything about you.

Well, almost everything.

He didn’t know about the fucked up family you lived in. He only knew you didn’t have a good relationship with your father and that’s it. He had no idea of how your father laid his hands on you or how he spoke to you or treated you.

You knew he would be absolutely heartbroken or even mad at you for keeping something like that to him so you chose to not talk about it.

The only person who knew about this situation was your neighbour Olivier. He heard screaming and shouting almost every night, he heard you crying and begging for help and his heart ached everything single moment because he knew he couldn’t do much about it. He confronted you about it but you gently told him that this was about just you and your father so he dropped it, but, of course, he couldn’t help getting worried everytime he heard some strange noises coming from your apartment.

You knew Oli and your boyfriend were teammates but he promised you to not talk about it with anyone, that including Kylian too. Also because he had no idea you and Kylian were dating and you wanted to keep it that way and second of all because it wasn’t his business, as much as he cared for you he knew he couldn’t do much about it and he had to accept it.

One night things escalated pretty quickly.

You were home doing your homework, as you had a test the upcoming week and you wanted to be fully prepared when your father came home pretty mad because things went bad at work.

“Y/n” he called you from the living room with that scary tone and you knew he wasn’t bringing anything good so you simply ignored him.

“Y/n…” he called you again.

“What?” you shouted from the other side of the home.

“I remember telling you to buy me the beers” he said slamming down his hands on the table.

Yup. That’s what he told you that morning. Instead of knowing better that you had classes all morning he asked you to buy him some beers. Of course you didn’t. Your dad wasn’t alcoholic but you knew how scary he was when he got mad and a beer would simply made everything worse.

“I forgot…” you shouted.

You heard his footsteps coming closer and closer to your bedroom and in just a second he opened your door.

“You forgot?” he sarcastically asked.

“Yes dad I forgot…I’m studying for next week…” you tried not to teasing him a lot but you wanted him to hear you.

“I don’t care for what you’re fucking studying! I asked you to do one thing and you didn’t! You’re a disappointment y/n…I thought I raised you better” he smirked at you trying to provoke you but after years and years of replying back you knew it was useless so you didn’t say anything back.

Wrong thing to do. He was so mad that you didn’t say anything back that he threw you one of his leather shoes on your head.

“Dad! What the fuck!” you screamed back getting up from your bed. You knew it was a lost fight but you couldn’t handle the blaming and the hating once again.

“Don’t ever raise your voice to me!” he screamed at you coming to face you. You tried to show no fear but you were trembling.

“Well next time don’t throw your fucking shoes at me!” before you could scream back you fell to the ground as your father pushed you on the floor. His body overpowering you while he grabbed you but your neck almost suppressing your breath.

“Dad…” you breathed out as he left the hold on your neck.

The moment he stood up you ran towards your front door - all you wanted to do was escape that nightmare you were living.

But he was faster and stronger and while you tried to reach the door he reached you first grabbing you buy the hood of your jacket and he threw you once again on the floor, this time hurting you more and more because while falling you sprained your ankle.

“Fuck…” you hissed in pain.

“You are so dead!” he screamed at you while he threw a vase on the floor, letting all of his anger out “thinking you could escape uh? Thinking you could run to your perfect little boyfriend? So fucking pathetic!” he kept screaming. A few glasses hit your face leaving some scratches and blood.

What you and your father didn’t know is that the noise of the vase breaking alerted Olivier who was hearing every single scream you and your father were making.

“Sometimes I wished you were dead!” he shouted back at you and his words hurt you more than his punches. While you were still on the floor, shaking and crying, praying for everything to be over, your father grabbed you by the hair and made your head hit the floor so hard you almost passed out.

“I don’t want to see you ever again…” he said laughing before storming out of the door.

As he left you there all alone while your ankle was hurting and your head was bleeding.

“That’s how I’m gonna die” you thought.

Olivier still heard everything, how your father spoke to you and how you were crying. His heart was hurting, he always cared for you, sometimes he would invite you over for dinner or he would invite you as some of his games. He saw you like the daughter he never had and what hurt him the most is that he couldn’t do anything to help you. He offered you to stay at his place more than once, knowing how afraid you were living with your dad. He offered you his guest bedroom more than once when things got worse. He almost called the police twice but you begged him to not doing it. You begged him because even if it was your father hurting you it was the only family you had left after your mom passed. Olivier tried to persuade you of living with him, or accepting his help, but you didn’t want to feel like a burden for him so most of the times you refused.

This time Olivier couldn’t stand back. He heard your dad saying he wished you were dead and he couldn’t handle all the hate you were receiving so when he heard your father leaving the apartment he made sure to check on you.

“Y/n…it’s me Olivier” he gently knocked on the door. But no response.

“Y/n, can you open the door please?” he asked you in a soft voice. But still no response.

He got a bit worried as you weren’t replying but he knew you were there in the apartment.

“Y/n…I’m coming in” he said before opening the door.

What he didn’t expect to see was you laying half unconscious on the ground while your head was bleeding and your were softly crying.

“Oh my…y/n can you hear me?” he asked gently kneeling next to you. You couldn’t even reply back so you simply shook your head.

“I’m calling an ambulance okay? Hold on please…” he said while picking up the phone and dialling the emergency number.

Help came in just a few minutes and he rode with you to the hospital never leaving your side.

He was worried sick.

He got your phone with you in case someone tried to contact you or something. That’s how, once you were hospitalised, the doctors looked into your phone searching for your emergency list in case something happened to you.

Of course Kylian was the first on your list. And the one the doctors called.

When Kylian heard the doctor saying you were in the hospital and that he was the first number on your emergency list his heart dropped.

Why were you there?

So he stopped everything he was doing and rushed through the streets of Paris trying to make it to you as fast as possible.

Once there he asked for your room number at the reception and once the nurse gave it to him he ran through the long and almost too creepy hospital corridors.

“Olivier?” he asked his teammate when he saw him sitting in the waiting area.

“Kylian…what are you doing here?” he asked a bit confused.

“My girlfriend was brought here like thirty minutes ago…I was her emergency number…the doctors on the phone wouldn’t even wanted to tell me what was going on….” he said.

“Wait…what is your girlfriend name?” Olivier asked as he got his suspicion.

“Y/n…why?” Kylian asked.

“Y/n L/n…” Olivier whispered.

“Yes, how do you know her?” Kylian was beyond confused.

“I brought her here…she’s my neighbour…her dad almost beat her to death Kylian” he confessed as he watched Kylian eyes widening. His heart almost stopped.

“His father did what?” he screamed.

“She has been in this situation for a while…” Olivier confessed as he watched Kylian pacing back and forth.

“What…what are you talking about?” he asked.

“She didn’t want anyone to know…but her father laid his hands on her so many times I’ve lost count…I’ve helped her as I could and honestly I wished I could have done much more, she wouldn’t be in this position…” Olivier said.

“I had no idea” Kylian’s heart broke for you.

“No one knew Kylian…” he stood up gently patting Kylian’s shoulder.

A few hours later the doctor said you were fine and only had a concussion, but overall you were awake and doing good.

Kylian - of course - was the first one to see you.

“Hey baby…” he said sitting next to you on the hospital bed.

“Hi Kyky” you said in a soft voice.

“You scared me so much…” he confessed and you started crying a bit.

“I didn’t want you to worry Kylian…” you said as he hugged you.

“I will always worry for you baby…you’re the love of my life and seeing you like this make me suffer…why didn’t you tell me baby?” he asked you softly.

“I…I don’t know honestly…I’ve felt ashamed…my family was only just a bad and big mistake and I didn’t want you too see me as a mistake too…I just hoped it never got this far…” you cried into his shoulder.

“It’s okay baby…you’re so strong mon amour, I love you so much” he said while stroking your hair.

Olivier came next in your room and talked to you. He said how he wanted you to live with him and he absolutely hated the idea of you going back to your old home.

Olivier took care of you almost like a father and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“Oli can I talk to you for a minute?” Kylian asked him as they both exited your room to let you rest.

“I know you care for her…thank you so much for what you’ve been doing for her…for letting her stay. I asked her to stay but I feel like it’s too early and after she’s going through I don’t want to pressure her…but I see how you care for her, thank you” Kylian confessed to Olivier.

“I do really care for her Kylian, she’s like the daughter I’ve never had…seeing her in so much pain hurts me too…I’m doing everything in my power to help her” Olivier said back.

“I know…I just want you to know that she’s safe with me, she will always be safe with me” Kylian said.

“She better be or you’re dead Kyky de Bondy” Olivier joked as the boys got back into your room just to see you fast asleep.

Yes, your life sucked but you got a bit lucky in having not one, but two guardian angels looking over you.

[hubristicassholefight]

Swordswoman Showdown Round 2 Part 1

Malenia (Elden Ring) vs Olivier Mira Armstrong (Fullmetal Alchemist)

(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")

Propaganda below cut

Malenia

She is arguably the hardest boss in any Fromsoft game.; She is the favorited boss of Animal from the Muppets.

"Arguably" the hardest boss in any fromsoft game? You don't even know. She is OBJECTIVELY the hardest boss in any fromsoft game. On march 1st 2023, a bit more than a full year since the game's release, From Software released the stats on the amount of attempts each boss took for the players collectively. As of march 1st 2023 Malenia has killed the players 329.000.000 times. That's 10 Tarnished every second. That's almost the entire population of the United States. Malenia is also an optional boss in a secluded area hidden away from everyone. According to PlayStation trophy statistics, only 37.9% of people who ever bought the game managed to even REACH Malenia in the first place. Which means among those 329.000.000 people she has obliterated were only the most dedicated of Fromsoft fans. Only 33.3% of people even managed to beat her. That number also includes everyone who beat her with summons, which makes her significantly easier. This means out of all people who bought the game on PlayStation 4 or 5 and reached Malenia which is about 3 million people, 377.000 just fucking dropped her, they didn't even do it with summons. Difficulty aside. Malenia is also extremely pretty and has the softest lips, her Goddess form looks like a painting. She fights with elegance and style unrivalled by any boss in the game, dancing through the battlefield with deadly, fluid motions. Malenia is also 256cm or 8'4" tall. Huge woman.

post let me solo her

#malenia is 8'4“ flat chested and broad shouldered#she kills you with incredible grace and poise#trans icon#id let her Waterfowl Dance on me and Infect Me with her Scarlet Rot...

#malenia is so dedicated to the sword it mends her failing body. she lives by fighting#her strongest attack is a technique that halts the progress of her terminal illness#i can never stop thinking about that. by all means she couldve rotted into a mile of mush before the game started#but she persists!! she persists!!!

Olivier Mira Armstrong

Her sword is a family heirloom and she can hold up against or defeat very formidable opponents; She is so unbelievably cool

Extremely cool and intimidating military general with a signature heirloom sword.

She has a really fancy family heirloom sword. Stabs a man and throws him into liquid cement to suffocate alive after he tries to get her to abandon her men to be part of a nation-wide conspiracy, challenges a subordinate to a duel of life and death (with the sword), nervous tic is tapping on the hilt of the sword. She demanded that her father retire and make her the head of the family instead of her brother, and then fought against said brother (including with the sword)(won the fight), among other things stabbed a homunculus into the head; I loved this character because her personality was so refreshing. Really blunt and rational, but will show her love for her subordinates and family through actions rather than words. When the main characters first ask her for help, her motivations are entirely selfish (gaining knowledge to use for power). It is established several times that she really is scary, and isn't afraid to immediatly fight someone on the spot to prove a point. Literally pulls a "I'm getting so old, I'm afraid a women like me will never find a husband," to manipulate a superior. All in all, she could stab me and it would be the greatest accomplishment I had made in my life so far.

Her sword has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations. She is an expert in sword fighting and military strategy. She always holding it when commanding her troops.

She wields a saber passed down as a family heirloom; while she also sometimes uses guns and tanks, this is her primary weapon, which she used to kill the super-strong Homunculus Sloth the Indolent several times (she did, however, need help from others to kill him permanently, due to Sloth's ability to regenerate from death); As a Major General, Olivier is the highest-ranking woman in her country's military; she is also the moral highest-ranked military officer in her country, as she joins in a rebellion once she has confirmation as to how corrupt the military leaders are.