#reign door policy

[the-badger-mole]

What is your NUMBER ONE headcannon for each person in the Gaang (Katara, Zuko, Aang, Toph, Sokka, Suki [and Appa and Momo if you feel so inclined])

Katara: After the war, she goes back to the NWT to train with Yugoda and becomes a master healer as well as a master of the NWT fighting style. From there, she goes back to the Foggy Swamp Tribe and masters their bending style, too. With the help of Sokka, Zuko, and (in some headcanons) Hama, she also rediscovers SWT waterbending and not only masters it, but teaches it to the new benders in the SWT. By the time she leaves the SWT, there has been a school established where all bending styles are available for study. She's one of the few who actually has mastered them all, though.

Sokka: He is eager to return home after the war. He throws himself into infrastructure and policy revamps, and he almost singlehandedly staves off the soft colonization attempts of the NWT. Under his efforts, the SWT rebuilds and reestablishes parts of its culture that had been lost during the war. With the discovery of oil on SWT land, he is also instrumental in establishing eco minded extraction techniques, and in trade ties with the rest of the world (although he is very much helped by his sister's deep ties with the Fire Lord). It's a surprise to no one when he's chosen to lead the SWT after Hakoda retires.

Toph: She does not become a cop. Instead, she goes back home and takes over the Earth Rumble, taking it from an underground even to a world wide phenomenon. She eventually allows benders of other elements to join, and the Earth Rumble becomes pro bending. She does also establish a metal bending school. In the end, she is wealthier than her parents, but because she couldn't really care less about money, she keeps enough to live at the standard she wants, and gives the rest away to causes that interest her...like the guy who wanted to set the record for the biggest bao bun ever, and needed funding for an oven big enough to cook it. She also establishes a halfway house for runaway teens.

Zuko: During his tenure as Fire Lord, he establishes a robust social services program that includes subsidized healthcare, education, and housing for the lowest income families. Under his reign, the Fire Nation becomes home to some of the earliest pioneers of mental health. At his wife's advice, he also makes paid maternity leave standard across the nation, and includes several programs to help single parents stay afloat. Taking inspiration from the SWT, Zuko makes some changes to how his advisory staff is selected. Instead of choosing from among the nobility, Zuko has the different provinces elect a representative to speak on their behalf. A lot of the nobles hate this, blaming his wife's influence, but the people adore their monarchs and despite their best efforts, there's little the nobles can do except start campaigning in their home provinces. It's not a perfect system, but it does open the door for the Fire Nation to end the monarchy within a couple of generations.

Suki: She continues to lead the Kyoshi Warriors for a few years after the war. She also helps train troops around the world as they pivot from active war service to more local work. She helps establish something like the coast guards for several different countries. Eventually she retires from that to help her husband run the SWT. She and Sokka make a wonderful team as he handles the domestic policies and she handles foreign affairs. She often jokes with her sister in law, Fire Lady Katara that they ended up with the same job.

Aang: I'll go with my most optimistic headcanon for him. He's an okay Avatar. Not great. Not the worst. After the war, he tries to take part in rebuilding efforts around the world, but he finds his help isn't needed much. He turns his attention back to salvaging what's left of the Air Nomad legacy, and discovers that there are actually airbenders still around. A few of them are even interested in learning to live like the Air Nomads. Many of them aren't, though, and after learning how to actually use their powers, they go off and do their own thing. To Aang's shock and dismay, eating meat has no effect on the strength of their bending, He does learn to deal with it and enjoy his time with the air benders who embrace the Air Nomad culture. He does go on to have kids, and he still favors the benders over the nonbenders. Ultimately, his legacy as Avatar boils down to taking Ozai's bending, and that's it.

[m1male2]

The Julia Curia, Rome Forum.

The Curia Julia was the place where the Senate met.In Rome, the first Curia was the one built by Tullius Hostilius during his reign in the 6th century BC. C., but a fire in the year 52 B.C. He destroyed it and had to rebuild it, with Julius Caesar being in charge of doing so. It was started in 44 BC, the same year as his assassination, so he could not see it finished. His nephew/grandson and successor, Augustus, would take care of it, and it was finished in 29 BC.

Inside there is a rectangular room divided into three sectors where the three hundred seats of senators were located, whose function was to ratify laws, give advice to magistrates and direct foreign policy, finances and religion. The current bronze doors of the building are a copy since the originals were moved to San Juan de Letrán in the 17th century. 

Video ©️Altair4 Multimedia

[reality-detective]

Wake Up! Everything You Believe Is a Carefully Crafted Lie by a Hidden Elite That Owns Your Governments, Banks, and Minds!

The world is under the control of a hidden, powerful elite that has manipulated humanity for thousands of years. Governments, banks, corporations, and even religions are all part of a massive, interconnected system designed to keep the masses in line. You are living in a controlled simulation where every move is calculated, every narrative crafted, and every dissent crushed.

Ancient Rome never fell; it just changed its face. The Vatican is the continuation of the Roman Empire, pulling the strings of global power from the shadows. The Pope is not a religious leader but the CEO of the world’s largest covert operation. Global leaders bow to Rome; every major decision made in Europe, America, and beyond has its roots in this ancient power structure. The so-called “democracies” are just fronts, and the real rulers operate far from the public eye.

The financial system is a tool of enslavement, but its grip is weakening. Central banks, the Federal Reserve, the World Bank, and the IMF have long kept nations in debt and citizens in economic chains. However, their reign is about to end. The Global Economic Security and Reformation Act (GESARA) is poised to trigger the biggest wealth transfer in history, redistributing stolen wealth back to the people.

This is a total overhaul designed to dismantle the corrupt systems that have enslaved humanity for centuries. Trillions of dollars hoarded by the elite will be seized and returned to the people, restoring economic power where it belongs.

This act will expose the financial fraud perpetuated by these institutions, wiping out debts and releasing new technologies that have been suppressed to keep the populace in poverty. The days of the financial overlords are numbered, and GESARA is the catalyst that will break their chains for good, restoring wealth and freedom to the masses.

Education and media are the propaganda arms of this hidden empire. From kindergarten to university, you are fed lies designed to shape your worldview to fit the agenda of the elite. Critical thinking is discouraged because an informed population is a threat. The news you watch, the books you read, and the information you consume are all curated to keep you ignorant, divided, and powerless.

Governments are puppets. Elections are rigged shows to give you the illusion of choice. Presidents, prime ministers, and kings answer to the same hidden masters. Policies, wars, economic collapses—they’re all orchestrated from behind closed doors by a small group of individuals who have no allegiance to any nation but only to their own interests. They decide who wins, who loses, and how the game is played.

Laws are tools of oppression, not justice. The legal system is designed to protect the elite and keep you in line. Roman law still influences modern legal codes, and its principles are used to maintain control over the masses. The courtrooms are theaters where the outcome is predetermined, and the real power lies in the unseen hands that pull the strings.

Corporations are not independent entities—they are branches of the same control network. They push products, policies, and narratives that serve their masters’ agenda. From the food you eat to the technology you use, everything is designed to monitor, influence, and control you. You are not a customer; you are a data point, a resource to be exploited.

The world is not what it seems. Every institution you trust, every leader you admire, every belief you hold has been carefully constructed to keep you obedient and blind to the truth. You are not free; you are a pawn in a game that was rigged long before you were born.

The only way out is to see the truth: that the world is run by a small, powerful group that considers itself above the rest of humanity. They are the masters, and we are the slaves. This is the reality they don’t want you to see. Wake up, or remain a willing participant in your own enslavement.

Escape the Matrix 🤔

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Suicidal Ideation

Requested: I know it’s a sensitive topic but may I please (and I do understand if you don’t) request a boys headcannon for them having you, their best friend m, struggle with suicidal thoughts?- anon

A/N: I don't mind at all my love! If anyone is struggling, my inbox is always open. I know firsthand how scary and stressful and draining it can be and I'm always around to talk. I hope you're doing okay my love! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher probably isn't that much of a comfort. He tries, he really tries, but the words don't come out right and the tone is all off and you end up comforting him ("I get what you're trying to say, Butcher", etc.) Though he's not good with words, he is good with actions. When you need someone to talk to, regardless of the time of day or what's going on, he drops everything for you, to listen and be there and let you know you always have someone. I think Butcher is familiar with these feelings. He's never wanted to act on them, but they're definitely there, especially in the years right after Becca disappears. You know, no matter what, your best friend is always there for you. Even when he's turned his back on the group, when he goes on his own and betrays everyone, he makes sure you know you're not alone.

Hughie is pretty shocked that you're talking about this kind of thing, that you're feeling this way. He never would have thought this was going on when you seemed so put together, so happy, so content. The life you two have is scary and draining and gory. Of course it would have its effects, but never would have imagined this. You end up breaking down in front of him, apologizing profusely. He's not sure what to do or say so he just holds you, hugs you, letting you cry it out. After this he makes sure he asks you how you're doing, wanting you to be honest. The idea of his best friend hiding this kind of thing from crushes him. He never wants you to suffer alone. Hughie's definitely had similar thoughts, especially after Robin and his dad pass away, but he's never wanted to act on them or anything. Still, he knows how scary it can be and he makes it clear to you he has an open door policy: if you feel like you shouldn't be alone, regardless of the reason or time, all you have to do is show up at his apartment. No questions asked.

Annie feels awful that she didn't figure it out sooner. Being part of The Seven both changed you. You left not long after she did, but you'd been with the group years before she joined. That kind of abuse for that long changes a person drastically. You began believing what Homelander said about you, you began believing that you deserved what had been done to you. Annie should have asked or said something, but you hid it so well. You smiled so easily, no one would have ever guessed. It isn't until after you've faced off with Homelander that she finds you crying. She assumed you were just tired from the fight, tired of fighting, but when you open up to her about what's really going on, it all makes sense. Years you spent under his reign, under his control, dealing with unwanted advances and words and hurt. She makes sure you know that she understand, that you can always come to her when you're having these thoughts.

M.M. knows you've been struggling for a while. You've become reckless, impulsive, careless. You throw yourself into fights without any regard for your safety or life. You weren't always like this, and it took him longer than he'd like to admit to figure it out, but when he does, it all starts making sense. He doesn't want to make a big deal or show about it, so he waits until you're alone to talk to you. You're not just putting your life in danger, you're drinking and smoking and asking Frenchie for whatever drugs you can get your hands on. He knows you're hurting. He knows you're bottling it up. But you don't have to. You shut him out, becoming defensive when finally talks to you. You call him crazy. It isn't until you're at your breaking point do you come to him and finally admit what's been going on. Marvin makes sure you know that you can always call or text or come to him, no matter what, and he will be there for you when things get scary. He also asks you to stop the self-destructive behavior and you do.

Frenchie is no stranger to these thoughts and feelings. After everything he's done, he's given these thoughts more of his time than he'd like to admit. Still, he never thought you were affected by them. You're talking to him one on one after he comes back from turning himself in when you admit you needed him. Your best friend. You admit that you haven't been feeling like yourself, that you want to do things to yourself and you're not sure how to make it stop. Immediately he's full of guilt and shame. He was so wrapped up in his own issues he never even thought something could be wrong with you, let alone something actually being wrong. He promises he will always be there for you, that you can talk to him about it no matter what. You don't want to bother him, but he makes it clear you could never be a bother or a burden. You mean everything to him. You deserve to feel happy and safe.

Kimiko knows you've been struggling. You're not acting like yourself. You're quieter, less optimistic, less willing to make a joke when times get tough or try to lift up the group when they need it. She doesn't want to make a big deal about it, so she waits until it's just the two of you before she asks what's really going on. Tired of lying, you admit that you've been having some really scary thoughts. She doesn't sign anything, she just waits until you've said everything you needed to before she comments. Kimiko understands those feelings. She had them a lot as a kid. That there was no point to anything, to living. She makes a deal with you in which you come to her whenever you're feeling like this to talk it out and, if things get worse, more overwhelming, you come up with a plan to get professional help. She knows she can only do so much, she knows her limitations, and she understands how dangerous these feelings can be.

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Just hit me that Episode 1, a big seed of insecurity is planted in Powder when she overhears Mylo and Vi arguing about her, but she leaves before Vi stands up for her, and then in Episode 9 she overhears Silco musing about how he has his dream in his hands and all he needs to do is give up Jinx. It cuts away before we see anything happen next but it can be surmised that she knocked him out before he was made aware of her presence.

At her most tenuous and uncertain of who she was—awkward Powder, frenetic Jinx— Fate decided to have her stumble upon important conversations had by those she loved about her worth and value as a person, and understandably she fled before she could hear the final verdict.

In Episode 1, she ran from the door with the impression that her sister thought she would never be strong enough, never be good enough, and any conversation to the contrary were just lies that family tells you to make you feel better. In Episode 9, she knocked out Silco before he could monologue his decision (lol) because she has been this man’s shadow for 6 years. She knows that he values utility, ruthlessness, and his dream of a free Zaun at all costs. No matter how fond he was of her, how gentle or patient or allowing, it all culminated into her being the powerhouse that would land him Zaun, and now he has it, so what good is she now? By all metrics that she herself has witnessed of him, all signs point toward him favoring giving her up.

It’s a mixture of Jinx’s own insecure attachment and Silco’s almost pathological refusal to not define their relationship as her being an exception to his personal policy of cutthroat zig-zagged loyalty that led to Jinx jumping to very logical conclusion that he would give her up to Piltover. Because he delayed having that very important internal conversation with himself about how important she was to him, he had to have that debate right at the finish line instead of, I don’t know, at Singed’s operating table when he was in danger of losing her?? Life comes at you fast and you don’t have time to sort out your feelings, I suppose. The show is very much a whirlwind of everything happening at once, but moving on…

But it also makes sense, because Silco’s love for Jinx is hinted at having snuck up on him without him fully noticing. He thought he was in control of his fondness for her. He must have thought it was an understandable and unavoidable side effect to raising a protegè that you genuinely respect for her cleverness and usefulness. But he grew to genuinely love her in his unfulfilling, disparate way. It filled some holes, and left others bare. The question of unconditional support and love was broken with Vi, and Silco by his nature, his behavior, his endeavors ensured that Jinx grew up in an environment where social darwinism reigned supreme and that faltering or failing rendered you lesser in Silco’s eyes. Silco never outright said it to her. We never see him denigrate or threaten her, but kids don’t need to be told anything to get the general feel of “how things are”. The general air around Silco was one that encouraged her penchant for gadgets and engineering, but left her suspended in a limbo where she felt compelled to be strong, be the best, be perfect, otherwise he would look elsewhere. He would drop her, because the strong eat the weak and he only values her because she is uniquely strong. A gem in his collection, almost. It’s a girl whose abandonment issues have her seesawing back and forth between cavalier “I don’t caaaaare, I’m irreplaceable and you know it” and “Please don’t drop me, I’m strong, I’m good, I can do this, I can, I can, I swear I can” which, in Episode 9 culminated in her Shimmer psychosis as “How dare you. After everything I’ve done, after everything you’ve lectured me about Topside, you want to give me to them? Who do you think you are? I made you. I’m this broken fizzing-wire thing whose sister gave me up for a Topsider, I killed my childhood best friend with a bomb, and now you want to throw me away for your shiny dream city? You think you can throw me away like trash, don’t you dare look away, don’t you DARE THROW ME AWAY”

Like GIRL. I usually hate the “left before they heard the context of someone’s seemingly damning conversation” but it works here because it aggravated therapy-needed Powder/Jinx’s insecurities.

[enam3l]

dirty thirty (@funsonmunson-again's mafia eddie x reader)

funsonmunson-again's birthday week writing challenge / prompt #24: saving the best for last haha, but birthday spankings with any of the eddies!

happy birthday evie!! thank you for reviving the timeline with your amazing fics. it's eddie's birthday too and he's in trouble...

CW: very much 18+, pure smut, bdsm, use of guns, truly the most depraved thing i've ever written.

 For his 30th birthday, Eddie Munson has nearly just taken a shot to the head... but in your defence, he really fucking deserved it. 

Slowly - albeit on wobbly feet - Eddie, Gareth, Jeff and Freak turn around to face you, eyes still wide from seeing the bullet fly past their boss's shoulder. They're stood in a line like naughty school boys in your garden, caught doing something they shouldn't be. Which is exactly what's happened.

You stand in front of the glass doors that lead onto the patio, curtains billowing and light glowing behind you. Flanked by four growling dogs. The light from the house reveals the curves of your body under the sheer babydoll lingerie you're wearing. But no one is looking at the small number, they're cowering at the pistol in your hands and the infuriated look on your face. 

'Get inside, now,' you snarl, the dogs' snapping in agreement with you. 

At the stroke of midnight, by some miracle of god, the unimaginable happened and Eddie Munson reached thirty years of age. Each year of his life since he hit ten, felt like a bonus. He was sure he'd never see twenty and absolutely certain he'd never meet thirty but here he was. He'd been surprised you let him go out with the guys that night but you insisted. 

'Let loose with the boys, then I can have you all to myself in the day,' you'd smirked, clearly hiding something. 

The four men left the house at 8pm, promising to be back by 2am at the latest. Yet, by the fourth shot of tequila, that promise was long forgotten as well as Eddie's suspicions that you'd been planning something. 

Which you had. Throughout your four years together, it had been near impossible to surprise Eddie. Firstly, his line of business meant he liked to know everything that was going on. Surprises equalled the opportunity for danger. Secondly, you shared your finances - although, in all honesty, his finances, but he enforced a what's mine is yours policy. So, it was hard to splash on something for him, without him noticing when the bills came or his accountant alerting him. But for his thirtieth, you devised enough was enough. 

After hearing him murmur to himself so many times about his disbelief he had survived this long. Not only had he survived, but now, with you by his side, he was living. Your man deserved for once to be surprised and spoilt. To reign in a new decade of life together in the best way possible. 

Therefore, for the past year you had been plotting. With the help of Eddie's accountant and the boys, you'd secretly been putting money aside. Slicing off a chunk of any 'shopping trip' money, he gave you, and putting into a secret account. The accountants making investments on your behalf throughout the year that also went into the account. 

Now, you had a hefty chunk of cash that was being spent on the most devastatingly romantic holiday to France that money can buy. A long glamorous weekend in Paris, followed by a week hiding away together on a private beach in Monaco. The flight was booked for Eddie's birthday, that's why you'd let the boys take him out - so you could pack without getting rumbled. But nothing is ever so simple with a Munson. 

At 1am, with still no Eddie, you'd become impatient. 

By 2am, you were irritated. 

By 3am, you were furious. 

By 4am, you were terrified that something awful had happened. 

At 4:15am you thought those fears were confirmed as you heard gunfire from the gardens.

Not even thinking how you were dressed in an entirely unsuitable birthday present for Eddie, your instincts kicked in. Taking the pistol out the bedside table and with your precious pups quick on your heels, you ran down the stairs. Brain screaming with all the awful possibilities of what could've happened. No matter how long you've been together, the fear over Eddie's job never truly leaves. You burst through the patio doors and fire a warning shot... and then you see the culprits. 

Eddie and the boys, lined up, their own pistols in hand. Before them were (once) law ornaments which they had clearly lined up and started target practice on. Now they were looking at you, the tiny remaining sober part of their brains were doing some explaining. Maybe coming home late and doing target practice whilst you were oblivious and gone alone, wasn't a great idea. 

With big blinking eyes, like Bambi in front of headlights, Eddie begins to stumble on his words.

'K-k-kitten, hi... I'm s-sorr-'

'Shut the fuck up,' you snapped harshly. The rest of the guys immediately looked down at the ground. 

'Edward, get inside NOW. The rest of you, leave.' 

Immediately, the four grown men begin to wobble and scramble. The three that weren't your fiancée, babbling, 

'We're so sorry Y/N... we didn't mean to... we lost track of...'

'I don't care. Go, before you're limping as well as swaying and this time it'll be because I've shot you in the fucking leg.' 

In a flash, they were gone. You glowered at your now shattered flamingos in the distance before turning to look at Eddie. He was tripping over the entrance to the house when you finally looked him in the eye. 

'Baby... I really sorry,' he whispered. 

'I don't think you are,' you said coolly, 'go to the bedroom. Now.'

Eddie didn't hesitate, he quickened his stumbling pace. As you locked the doors, you could see him gripping onto Lucifer for stability. Then using Zeus as well once he attempted the stairs. You could hear him unsubtly whispering to them as he climbed the marble steps. 

'I've never seen your Mom this mad before.'

It's true, he hadn't and he was petrified. More terrified than he had ever been in a sticky situation during work, he had far more to lose with you. Good job Munson, he grumbles to himself, not even five hours into 30 and you've fucking blown it. 

When you finally come up to the bedroom, Eddie is sat on the edge of the bed, throbbing head in his hands. Now he's not stumbling around, he can finally look at you. The pretty sheer dress you're wearing in his favourite colours, pretty bows and ruffles and microscopic matching panties. Your hair is swept up how he likes as well. Everything you've done, as ever, is for him. He feels awful and not because he's drank the best part of a bottle of tequila and a whiskey more expensive than several of his rings. 

'You look really beautiful, kitten,' he whispers, big eyes now wet. 

But your eyes are still filled with anger. 

'How could you, Eddie!' You shout, 'you scared the shit out of me!'

'I'm sorry, I-' he croaks. 

'No!' You snap, taking a kitten heel off and launching it across the room. 'No excuses. I've not finished! Can you imagine if I had done that? Disappeared longer than I said and without contact? Then you heard random shooting outside?'

Eddie's blood ran cold at the thought and knuckles white as he gripped the sheets beneath him. If he was in your shoes, a search party would be out and he'd be sick with worry. 

'That's what I thought,' you mutter as you see the look on his face. 'You wouldn't let me ever leave without an escort again.' 

It's true, he'd never let you leave his side. 

'I thought you were...' your facade and your voice finally cracks, 'I've never been so scared in my life!' 

Irritated that your mask has slipped, you stomp forward to Eddie. With all the anger in your body, you shove your lean fiancée, causing him to fall backwards on the bed. Eddie stays lying there, not wanting to look up and catch you sniffling. He doesn't want to make it worse. His heart cracks hearing what he's done to you, especially on what is supposed to be a happy day. Especially when you'd clearly planned something for his return. 

He clears his throat, wanting to ensure he gets his words out perfectly. 

'Kitten, I know. You never would've done this to me. I'm so sorry. What can I do? How do I fix it?'

There's only silence for a little while but he keeps his eyes trained to the white ceiling. Then, he feels your hand hovering on his knee. 

'Turn over,' you say firmly but quietly. 

Eddie lets out a confused mumble but does as he's told. Right now, if you told him to eat his own shoes, he would. Then, he feels you take an ankle, lifting it so you can begin to take off his boot. Once it's off, he kicks off the other himself. He gulps then, truly unwitting over your plans. Your hands now tug at the waist of his slacks, nails scratching at his back. In attempt to aid you, he raises his hips and undoes his belt and buttons, allowing you to slide them off. 

He hears the sound of his eyelashes flutter against the duvet as he blinks, anxiously. Are you just getting him ready for bed? He would like to just go to sleep in your arms right now. Whisper he's sorry and he loves you until you both fall asleep. But that's not what is going to happen. 

No, that's definitely not going to happen, Eddie realises suddenly. As before he can even process, you've quickly tugged down his underwear, and have cracked down your palm against his ass cheek. Eddie gasps. 

'You're going to feel how angry I am, Eddie,' you say so calmly that a trail of goosebumps prickle down his spine. 

'I'm going to do to you, what you would've done to me in this situation... and you're going to take it.' 

Crack. You hit his cheek again. 

'Do you understand?'

'Yes, kitten,' he barely whispers. He's scared, confused and aroused. Never, ever, have you done this to him before but he doesn't dare protest. 

'Good,' your palm soothes over the attacked cheek. It's barely blushing, your own hand nothing in comparison to Eddie's own sprawling ones. He widens his legs so you can stand further between them. He knows right now, he just needs to let you do what you need to do.  

Crack. Crack. Eddie gasps. Crack. The fear, surprise and arousal mixed together is intoxicating. His heart is in his throat and his palms are sweating. Each smack, full of raw emotion, sends a zap through his body. 

'That's five, Eddie... I'm going to do thirty.' 

Eddie's eyes widen. 

'If you're going to act like this, at your age now, then I'm going to give you a present deserving of it. So, twenty five to go.' 

He's not sure he can last that long in silence, without crying out your name or moaning or worse, popping a boner whilst you're angry. Then, he feels a dip on the bed alongside him. For the first time since you shoved him, he dares to steal a glance at you. Your eyes are dark and looking back at him. 

'You should probably sit across my knee. It'll make this easier for everyone,' your voice is unwavering. This new stern side to you is equal parts unnerving and sexy. 

Eddie scrambles to his feet quickly and stands before you. You look him up and down, infuriatingly, he looks so good. You'd thought that when he left the house and you couldn't wait to throw yourself at him upon his return. But he ruined it. Now he's just there, a sheepish look on his face, shirt still on but his cock out. You had planned to ride it until you both collapsed, but now plans have been spoilt. 

'Take your shirt off and get over my knee,' you sigh. Your voice sounds so uninterested, it makes Eddie's heart pang. He wants to get on his hands and knees and beg for your attention and forgiveness. Desperate to smother you in kisses. 

However, he does as he's told. A shiver rippling through him as he rids himself of the shirt. Anxiously, he walks to the side of you and clambers onto the bed and then spreads himself over your lap. He wiggles, following your guidance to get his lap perfectly across your thighs. 

'Baby, is this right? Do you need to me to move more?' Eddie asks, desperate to please you. 

'S'fine,' you say casually. 

But there's nothing casual about the gasp that escapes him as your fingers trail down his back. Small circles drawn into the dimples above his ass. Then one hand trails down to the top of his thigh and rests, whilst another stays on his asscheek. There's nothing for a moment and Eddie feels his heart racing and the anticipation. Until, he feels your soft lips place a peck on the one cheek you'd struck. It gives him butterflies knowing you still want to give him gentle loves. 

'That's nice... thank you, baby,' his voice sounds smaller than ever before. 

'S'okay, Eds. I'm gonna go again now, okay?' 

He nods. Your hand smooths over the untouched cheek, stealing a squeeze. 

'This one needs to catch up, hmm?' You coo. Oh god, he thinks, you're playing with him now. Like a cat with a mouse. 

Five sharp, consecutive slaps, crack down against the porcelain skin. Each jolting Eddie and causing him to gasp. You squint, wondering if part of him actually enjoys this. So you test the theory. 

'Nineteen,' you say. 

Then, the hand smacks down, harder than ever before. Hard enough that he knows there's a mark. 

'Eighteen!'

This one even harder, your hand clearly coming down from quite a distance. The jolt from the force causes his cock to flop between the gap of your thighs. 

'Seventeen! Sixteen!' 

Smack. Smack. Both as hard as the last. There's no denying it hurts, but it's also good. Eddie feels good that you're punishing him for scaring you. It satisfies the shame he feels and his body knows it because his cock springs to life. Rock hard now between your soft thighs. 

'You're fucking hard?' You scoff, turning the cheeks on his face, not just his ass, bright red. 'Do you not understand that I'm angry? This isn't for your pleasure! Fifteen!' 

'Oh fuck,' Eddie cries. Fifteen was the hardest yet and it pushed his body down, causing your thighs to tug at his cock. 

'You're sick, Eddie. Getting off on this...' you rake your nails down his back now, causing more moans from him. 

'Do you like it? Facing the consequences of your actions for once, baby?' You snarl. Your hands have now reached the base of his neck and tug at some hair there. 

'Yes, yes,' he wines. He can't stop himself, he thrusts into your thighs some more. Fucking himself between your plush skin. You're genuinely shocked. 

'Oh my god... you really are getting off on this, hmm? Engaged and I'm still learning new things about you. My dirty boy, hmm. Ready for more?' 

Panting from thrusting at your thighs, Eddie nods. 

'Okay, you asked for it...' 

Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Each one is quick, sharp and alternates between each cheek. Eddie snaps his hips, jerking his throbbing cock off in time with your hits. Your own panties are soaked at seeing your big, scary, mafia boss, so desperate and pathetic. 

Eddie whelps something you don't make out. You pinch the skin of his hip and ask him to repeat. 

'The belt, the belt,' he cries, 'god, please use the fucking belt!'

Your face scrunches up, wondering if he really just said what you think. But before you can process, you feel him shift. His arm stretches out down to the floor. Your questions are answered when he thrusts the belt he had holding his slacks up, behind his back and into your hands. 

Oh, you gasp internally, he really fucking wants this bad. 

Tauntingly, you brush the smooth leather across his skin. 

'You feel that bad, huh? Understand just how angry I am, Edward?' 

'Yes, kitten, please...' he cries, 'please show me.'  

At first you hesitate, not wanting to do some serious damage. Folding the belt in half, you bring down the looped end against his bright pink cheek. Nine. The sound is heavier than any your palm could make but you know the sensation is even harsher. 

Eddie groans in frustration and shakes his head. He wants it worse. 

You tighten your grip and bring it down harder. Eight. Instantly there's lines imprinted on his skin from the edges of the belt. But it's clear that's what he wanted, as his hips thrust ferociously and you feel precum trickling down your calf. 

Seven. 

Six. 

Five. 

Eddie is crying your name, fists white knuckling the bed linen. His skin has transformed from magenta to blooms of purple. 

'Just five more and then it's the big 3-0, okay?'

He's barely paying attention, so lost in the high, continuously fucking himself in your thighs. You take the belt to the other cheek now. 

Four. A warning spank. You lean down and press a kiss each cheek. This is it. 

'Say' 

Three. 

'You're'

Two.

'Fucking'

One. 

'Sorry!'

Eddie's cock spurts his load all down your legs as he cries. 

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry kitten, I'm so fucking sorry!' 

His body trembles on you at the aftershock of such intense touch. Another load of cum squirts out. He sobs real tears, you can tell, into the sheets. 

'Kitten. I'm sorry, m'sorry, love you s'much,' he whimpers. 

You let both your hands soothingly rub his back and thighs and you lean down to presses kisses to his ass. Perfect porcelain now splattered in purples and pinks. 

'I know, Eds. It's why it upset me so much. You're never reckless like that... I wanted you home. Was supposed to be perfect when you got home...'

Eddie can hear that the anger is gone and now there's just a soft sadness in your voice. Ignoring the ache in his backside, he crawls off you, sliding onto the floor. Slotting himself between your thighs as he rests on his knees. Capturing your hands, he kisses them. 

'Let me make it up to you, sweetheart,' he pleads. Big brown eyes, red from tears and begging. Letting go of your hands, Eddie takes your knees and pushes them further apart. He reveals his cum still dripping from you thighs. Leaning in, eyes still looks at you, he kitten licks his own spend up. 

'You shouldn't have let me cum,' he mumbled against the velvety skin at the apex of your thighs. 

'Should've forced me to make you cum, over and over and over... so that's what I'm gonna do.'  

You just nod and let Eddie take over. He tugs your soaked panties off. 

'These were so cute, kitten. I didn't deserve them,' he sucks at the wet crotch, 'daddy was so bad but now daddy will make it up to you. I promise.'  

With that, Eddie dives into your folds. Lapping up the wetness that's been gathering like he had his own cum. That alone makes you sigh, so much of the tension leaving your body. Bringing your thighs over his shoulder, he buried his face further to access to your clit. Latching onto it the moment he finds it. Sucking until you squirm. 

'That's it,' he sighs, his voice happy now, 'going to make my girl feel better.' He punctuates each word with a soft kiss to your bud. 

It's all parts feral and tender and causes your tense body to flop back onto the bed. Eddie is shortly quick to chase you. With your thighs round his neck, he guides you to lie back against the pillows so he can completely lie down and lose himself in your cunt. 

Now his body is fully relaxed, he makes out with your pussy. Going from sucking your clit to lapping at your hole. 

'That's so good, Eds,' you coo, hand twisting curls round your fingers. Now, Eddie knows he's on his way to forgiveness. 

Forcing your legs a little further, he goes in for the kill. Using the move he knows always makes you crumble. He sucks both his thumbs, letting one come up to toy with your clit and the other drops to press against your tight asshole. 

The concentration alone sobers Eddie up. He hears you gasp and cry his name as the thumbs circle each pleasure point. Then he lets his tongue fuck into your hole unrelentingly. Faster. Faster. Your thighs are squirming but Eddie won't stop until you get the release you deserve. The wiggling results into his thumb popping into your asshole causing your hips to jerk and your hand to rip at his hair. 

'Jesus fuck, Eddie,' you sob, tears erupting at the overwhelming sensation.  

Eddie plunges his tongue as far as he can, along with his thumb in your ass and then tears aren't the only thing erupting. Your little cunt spasms, squirt soaking his tongue and face. Your whole body left trembling as you gasp. Eddie doesn't let on that it causes him to cum against the bedsheets where he'd be gently rubbing himself against. 

Wiping his face and licking his fingers clean, Eddie smiles at your fucked out frame. 

'That is the best birthday present you can ever get me, kitten.' 

Leaving you to catch your breath, he gets up and waddles over to the light switch. His sore cheeks definitely limiting his movements more than the alcohol ever did. The bedside lamp keeps the room in a soft glow as he turns the main light off. 

Slowly, he climbs under the covers and into bed next to you. 

'Is it... is it okay if I hold you now, Y/N?' Eddie's voice is soft but nerve filled. You turn and look at him, chocolate eyes full of worry still. Nodding, you shuffle under the duvet and into his waiting arms. Lying in a way that you can both look at each other. 

'I love you and I'm sorry. I can't imagine how scared you must've been. We got carried away,' he sighs, stroking fallen strands out of your face. Leaning forward, you press a soft kiss to his chewed lips. He melts into you instantly, soul settling to be fully reunited with yours. 

'Just... don't do something like that again or I won't let you make it to thirty,' you smile against his lips.  

Eddie pulls back and looks at you, wide eyed in shock. 'You see us being 60 together?' 

His response makes your brow furrow. 

'Yes? Obviously, you silly boy? Eds... I'm marrying you in just a couple of months.' You laugh, pressing another few kisses to his lips. When you look back, his cheeks are flushed like his backside. 

'Doesn't seem real still. Don't know how I made it this long, but you wanting to marry me? S'the most unbelievable part...' 

You shake your head. 

'Best get believing. You're about to experience a week long love fest...'

Eddie cocks his head in confusion and you lean up to peck his cute round nose. 

'I think we'll have to bring your ruined ass a cushion though for the journey... filthy boy,' you chuckle causing Eddie to groan and bite his lip. 

But your words must finally hit him. Releasing you from his hold, he now waves his arms maddeningly in confusion. 

'What the hell, what's going on, woman!'

You chuckle to yourself, knowing you're finally about to pull off a surprise on him. Even at 30, the love of your life, Eddie Munson, still doesn't know how spectacular he is. But it's okay, you've got the rest of your lives to show him. 

did you enjoy that? i bet you did, you sick fucks x

[danikamariewrites]

Hello there saw you wanted some requests for Gavriel so here it is, could you right something with a reader who loves horse back riding and often goes alone to explore the woods for fun or just to decompress after a long week, but on one of these rides reader gets ambushed and when they dont come home Gavriel knows somthing is wrong and eventually finds them( if you could also add the Cadre helping Gavriel find reader).

Hope this request finds you in good health happy writing!

Light in the Dark

Gavriel x reader

A/n: I added Aedion as part of the Cadre lol. I love the relationship between Gav and Fenrys and imagine that he and Aedion would be like brothers so I threw that in there too. Thank you for the request anon!

Warnings: angst, fluff, and unedited lol

You love going horseback riding through Oakwald Forest. The fresh air helps you think and calm your anxieties from the day. Sometimes Gavriel would go with you as a silent companion. Sometimes he’d walk beside you in his lion form. He could feel when you were stressed through the bond and reminds you to go on rides.

He always encouraged you to take breaks, saying you wouldn’t get good work done if you couldn’t focus. And as always, he was right. Throwing your pen down on your desk you stand and stretch. You had been working for too long and policies have started blending together.

You tug on the bond to get Gavriel’s attention, sending a message to tell him you were going for a ride. He flooded the bond with love. You could distantly hear him say, “Be careful, my heart. I’ll see you soon.”

Approaching your horse’s stall you heard Clara huff, scrapping her hoof against the hay that lines her stall. Peeking over the door you smile at her. “Hi girl, I brought you a treat.” You hold out an apple in the palm of your hand that Clara chomps down on immediately.

While she’s busy with her snack you start to brush Clara’s golden mane. She’s so beautiful, you could just stay here and brush her silky hair. The stable boys always insist on prepping her for rides but you like doing it yourself. It makes you feel like you did something productive.

Clara was a gift from Gavriel when you first started working in Aelin’s court. She’s well taken care of in the stables at the castle. And you love that you get to visit her whenever you want.

Strapping the saddle on her back you lead Clara out of the barn to the courtyard. Mounting her you lightly dig your heels into her sides to get her moving. Starting off at a walk you head off for Oakwald.

An hour into your ride you pull on Clara’s reigns bringing her to a stop. You look around confused. You should be at the lake by now. Where are you? Clara knows where she’s going, so why were you lost? You slip off the saddle to look around for landmarks that might tell you where you are.

A groan that sounded like a tree breaking echoed through the small space. You covered your ears waiting for it to be over. Darkness rolled in above the tree and the wind howled. Clara tensed, throwing her head back letting out a neigh that was practically a scream. She turned on her hind legs and started booking it out of the forest.

“Clara! No! Come back!” You start running after her until an invisible force hits you square in the chest knocking you to the ground. Gasping for breath you sit up on your knees. You whip your head around wildly looking for the source of your attacker.

A misty dark mass takes shape in front of you. It’s only discernible feature two white glowing eyes. Your eyes go wide, watching the darkness swirl in and out. You feel frozen. The darkness moves forming an arm, extending it toward you. Fingers separate and close around your throat. A chill runs through your body before your vision blurs and you fall into a deep sleep.

——

As Gavriel’s meeting with Rowan and his advisors, he pulls on the bond. It’s quite on your end. He tugs harder and floods the bond with concern and love. No response again. Worry takes over his features as he leans back in his chair, Gavriel’s knuckles turn white from how hard he’s clenching his knuckles.

He jumps a little at the feeling of Rowan’s hand on his shoulder. “What is it?” His tone hushed as the rest of the Cadre file in. “It’s y/n. She’s there but…I can’t feel her.” Rowan bites his lip in thought, a small frown forming.

Lorcan sits on Gavriel’s other side. “I have a bad feeling. Y/n never does this.”

“Do you want to ask if anyone in the stables has seen her?” “Please, thank you Fenrys.” The white wolf nods, leaving the room at a hurried pace. He’s like a son to Gavriel, meaning that he’s very protective of you. Aedion and Fenrys were the first two people Gavriel introduced you too. He knew both would go to the ends of the earth to protect you. You were growing to be a mother-figure for both of them so gods forbid any harm come to you.

While waiting for Fenrys to return Rowan and Lorcan talk him through where you could possibly be. He lists them all, talking through the steps you take and what you like to do.

Taking a break, Gavriel looks out the window and notices the late afternoon sun. It’ll be dark in a few hours. He wouldn’t be able to do anything if you weren’t home for dinner. He’s considering going out in his lion form to search for you when Fenrys comes barging back into the meeting room.

The young pups face is wild with rage and worry. “No one has seen her. And Clara isn’t in her stall.” He growls out. The three males turn to Gavriel, waiting for orders. Aedion comes flying into the room seconds later, slightly panting, his chest moving quickly. He could smell the fear and anger rolling of Fenrys as he ran through the castle.

“What’s going on? I saw Fenrys running and knew something was wrong.” “Y/n is missing. We don’t know where she is and no one has seen her.” Aedion’s eyes meet his father’s. Worry simmering in those Ashryver blue-greens. He stands straight, his hands clasped behind his back. “What do you want us to do dad?”

“Follow me.” He said storming out of the room and down to the stables. The Cadre followed, ready to follow his command.

The plan is to split up to search different sections of Oakwald that you like to explore. Lorcan and Aedion mounted their horses and headed east. Rowan transformed into a hawk to look overhead and covering as much ground as possible. Fenrys transformed into a wolf and headed west while Gavriel headed north to the lake.

He didn’t transform yet, he was just focused on getting as far as he could to find you. Gavriel squinted as he approached a clearing. A wall of darkness between trees separated a section from the rest of the forest. He heard rustling from all sides and drew his sword.

Rowan landed first, then Lorcan and Aedion emerged, and then Fenrys holding the reins of your horse. “Clara?” He whispered, reaching out to stroke her snout. “I found her wandering then she noticed me and pulled me back here.”

“My shadows found the wall a half mile that way. I sent them in to try and find her.” Gavriel felt the blood leave his face. His eyes went wide as he turned back to the swirling mass. Reaching out a reluctant hand, Gavriel touched the darkness. He expected resistance but his hand fell through. Stumbling a little he righted himself, taking a deep breath he formulated a new plan.

The bond was glowing making his protective fae instincts kick in. His mate was in danger and he had to go in there.

“Gavriel,” Rowan says cautiously. Before they could talk Gavriel out of his new plan he leapt into the darkness. Without thinking Fenrys and Aedion followed, leaving Rowan and Lorcan to keep watch.

Fenrys and Aedion flank Gavriel, drawing their own swords. “We stick together.” Gavriel says as he steps further into the woods. It feels like hours before there’s any sign of you. Gavriel sniffs the air picking up your scent.

He starts running until he’s skidding to a stop. Dropping to his knees Gavriel pulls you into his arms from your spot in the brush. He presses his ear to your chest to make sure your heart is still beating. The bond humming with joy at the fact you were reunited. Gavriel’s only focus now is to get you back to the castle.

——

When you came to your head was pounding, your vision swimming in and out. You let out a groan and you hear Gavriel scramble to sit on the edge of the bed. “My heart, are you alright? Can I get you anything?” “Water,” you croak out. He moves to grab the glass of water from the bedside table.

Helping you up Gavriel holds the glass to your lips. You gulp the water down like you’d never have any again. Letting the glass go you slump into Gavriel’s side.

“What happened?” Gavriel lays you back down, fluffing your pillows. “We aren’t exactly sure. Lorcan and Rowan found that phantom-thing and chased it down. They lost it but the guards are on the look out for it and Aelin has the little folk keeping their eyes out too. The healers checked you out and your ok, just cold for a while which scared me.”

You gave him a small smile, bringing your hand to cup his face. “I’m sorry I scared you.” “Hey, you don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.” “But you did find me. And brought me home, like you always do.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, “Yeah, and I will for the rest of our lives.” You pull him closer to you for a kiss. You break apart at a soft knock on the door. Gavriel sighs, tilting his head back in annoyance. You giggle at him. “Fenrys and Aedion want to see you. They’ve been worried about you and want to see you.” You let out a small aww.

When you and Gavriel first started dating you jokingly called and treated Aedion and Fenrys sons. You are older than both of them so they viewed you as a mother figure, always coming to you for advice over Gavriel and hanging out with you when he was out on missions.

When you accepted the mating bond you asked Aedion if he would be ok with you officially adopting him, even though he’s an adult, you just wanted him to know that he was part of your family. Since the bond the two boys have been very protective of you.

“Let my boys in.” You sit up as Gavriel begrudgingly opens the door. You heard him give them a stern warning before they entered quieter than usual. “Hi y/n.” “Hi boys. Come, sit with me.” You pat the bed and they happily jump up.

Gavriel slides in next to you, a gentle arm, wrapping around your shoulder. You love moments like these where your family is together and safe. You squeeze Gavriel’s hand as a thank you. For bringing you home and always looking out for you.

[carby]

As someone who is in a position where I need to be friendly and open I really need to reign in my death stares when people blast the break room door off its hinges and scream and shout as they walk in. The mountain-leveling glare that takes me over when someone tries to talk to me on break when my headphones are in and I'm clearly tuning out the world just isn't conducive of an open-door policy 😕

Or maybe people just shouldn't be fucking feral goblins in public spaces IDKKKKKKK

[happilybredbellies]

“Thanks for choosing me mister,” Heather said, smiling up at the man as she opened her jacket to give him a good look at her bikini-clad curves. “I promise you won’t regret it! I’m allllll yours till morning, so just tell me what you’d like to do to this curvy little body of mine first!”

Inside, Heather was trying her very best not to vomit. As a cop, pretending to be a ditzy high-class escort for this snobby businessman was just about the most humiliating thing she’d ever done, but there was no way around it. This man was supposed to have ties to the local cartel, the same cartel that her partner had been looking into when she disappeared close to a year ago. The brass might've written the woman off as dead, but Heather wasn’t about to give up on her friend so easily. While it pained her to resort to playing the part of a prostitute, it was the only way she knew of to get at the files he kept in his penthouse safe.

So Heather swallowed her pride, making sure to keep the vapid smile plastered across her face as she stripped off her clothes and spread her legs wide. This man was nearly twice her age. It shouldn't take long to tire him out, and once he'd blown his load and fallen asleep Heather would have free reign to start snooping around.

“C’mon big guy,” she teased, steeling herself internally, “take me for a spin and show me what you got!”

2 Years Later

Heather groaned, rubbing a hand over her bloated dome of a belly as she plopped down on one of the communal beds she shared with the other cows. Her twins were overdue and had been kicking practically non-stop all week, but that wasn't a valid reason for taking time off work. If anything, the constant stimulation her children provided only served to make Heather more productive, as the dark stains currently forming on her shirt could well attest. The door to their living quarter swung open barely a second after she sat down, revealing one of the cartel’s goons.

“Mornin’ ladies,” he called, gesturing back out the door. “Better get moving. The Boss wants you girls in your pens and pumping as soon as possible today. Word is he’s just snagged another cow for the herd and is looking to give her ‘the tour’.”

Heather stood, grunting with the effort of heaving her gravid figure up off the bed. She made no complaints as she waddled out the door along with a dozen other women, all former cops, all now in varying stages of pregnancy. The businessman Heather’d been looking into two years ago had turned out to be the hidden leader of the cartel, and he had a…unique way of handling any women who got too close to that truth. The memory of Heather’s own ‘tour’ was seared into her mind. She could still remember the terror that’d gripped her heart as the Boss walked her down the rows of pens, letting her see the heavily pregnant women inside squealing in pleasure as industrial grade milking machines pumped streams of sticky white liquid from their swollen tits. But that hadn't been what broke her. Rather, it'd been the sight of her old partner, the very person she’d been trying to save, staring out at Heather with unfocused eyes as she climaxed from labour pains, the head of her child already poking out from between a pair of thick, motherly thighs, that ended up shattering Heather’s fragile hopes for rescue. Well, that and all the aphrodisiacs, fertility boosters, and growth hormones laced into every meal she was given.

Thanks to that cocktail of drugs, Heather’s breasts soon expanded into a pair of proper udders, and it wasn't before she found herself hooked up to a milking machine of her very own. Despite her initial reluctance, Heather ended up settling quite nicely into life as the cartel’s newest dairy cow, enjoying days spent mewling in pure delight as each spurt of milk sent pulses of pleasure shooting up her throbbing nipples. The breastmilk of captive policewomen was apparently quite the hot commodity within the criminal underground, and the Boss’ ‘open pen policy’ when it came to fucking them had made him quite popular, both among the guards and their increasingly needy livestock.

Today, as the men fastened cups around her dark, swollen teats, Heather simply leaned back against the stall and let out a happy sigh, already feeling the pressure in her milf-stuffed tits beginning to ease as she reached around her giant belly to finger her dripping snatch. She didn’t even notice the Boss entering the pens until he was right on top of her, but the slim young woman at his side looking strangely familiar. It took a moment to place the girl, but then it clicked. She’d been one of the station’s newest recruits, fresh out of the academy and always pestering Heather for advice during her last few months on the force. 

Now, judging by the horrified look the girl wore as she stared down at the fertile cow her old mentor had become, it seemed as though the girl was starting to regret her decision to follow in Heather’s footsteps. Heather simply smiled up at the slender girl, trying to communicate to her the wondrous future that awaited her once she’d plumped up a bit and finally had a baby or two rounding out that flat tummy of hers. But the smile twisted abruptly, becoming a grimace as there was a sudden pressure between Heather's legs, accompanied by the sound of something splattering onto ground beneath her. Her water had broken.

“Understand? This is what happens to women who stick their noses where they don’t belong.” Boss said, forcing his newest pet to watch as Heather began pulling herself into a squatting position. “That’ll be you in a few months, just another fat breeding cow for my herd, happy to spend the rest of your pumping out milk and babies for the cartel. Don’t worry, the drugs will make sure you end up loving every second of it, even during childbirth.” He turned to Heather. “Isn’t that right, cow?”

The first contraction slammed into her as if waiting on his cue, the pain converted into a wave of indescribable pleasure that washed over her entire body. Heather came immediately, squirting all over the floor as the former policeman let out a long, throaty “Moooooooooooo!”, already feeling the first of her babies starting to slide out of her womb and into her birth canal.

The younger girl tried to recoil in disgust but the Boss just laughed, holding her in place by her hair. She'd soon learn to obey, just like Heather had before her. Like it or not, she was a cow now, a member of the herd, and cows like them belonged on a farm.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Morgana AU Pt 5

After what seems an interminable time, Gaius withdraws, leaving Gwen alone by the bedside. "I have done all I can," he says softly, "for now."

Kara barely looks up from her seat beside Morgana's cot, but Gwen utters a soft thank you.

"I shall go and update the king," the man continues. "I'll see to it that you are not disturbed."

In the quiet that follow his departure, Kara takes up a clean cloth and dips it into a bowl of water, and begins to clean Morgana's wrists. They are raw and weeping-- she must have been in the stocks from the moment they were separated, Kara realizes. Gwen does the same for the reddened band of skin at Morgana's neck, where it too had been rubbed raw by the stocks.

"What's going to happen now?" Kara murmurs quietly.

That Morgana will survive is an assumption they share, for Gwen's response cuts straight to the heart of the matter.

"I don't know," she says. "I don't deny she doesn't deserve punishment for her crimes, but... hasn't she been punished enough?"

Kara's gaze drifts back to the wrist in her hands, where new injury overlaps the old scars of iron manacles. She exhales, reminded of Lena, who had committed wrongs yet paid for them and more a hundred times over.

"I suppose that's not for us to decide," Kara observes quietly. "Is Arthur...?"

"He's not a cruel man," Gwen confirms, before her features grow solemn. "Or, at least he wasn't. That he would welcome a man like Sarrum into his castle... perhaps things have changed more than I thought."

Setting aside her damo cloth, Kara simply takes a moment to hold Morgana's hand in hers.

She could not say what may happen next, that much is certain. All she can promise is that, whatever happens-- Morgana will not face it alone.

---

They are allowed to keep vigil throughout the night without interruption, but early the following morning a knock sounds at the door. On the other side is Arthur, with dark circles under his eyes and looking far more haggard than a king ought to be.

"May I sit with her?" he asks.

Kara leaves the answer to Gwen, who steps aside to give him entrance. Beyond the door Kara catches a glimpse of Merlin, looking worried but making no move to trail inside behind his master.

"Thank you," Arthur says softly when Gwen closes the door firmly behind him. "I know I shouldn't-- I should... but I--"

"She's your sister," Gwen echoes his own words back at him. "And your friend."

"Or she was," Arthur observes. Gwen nods him towards the stool she'd vacated, and Arthur takes his seat. His hand twitches towards Morgana's as she yet sleeps, but ultimately is gripped by the other. "I never wished for that to change, and yet..."

"We've all made our choices."

Arthur blinks up at her, but says nothing. The history between them, between all three of them, hangs heavy and unspoken in the air. Kara remains quiet.

"What of the other prisoners--?"

"Freed," Arthur says quickly.

"And Sarrum?" Gwen presses, barely containing the poison in her voice.

Arthur pauses at that.

"Contained, for now." He swallows thickly. "He has related the manner of his... history, with Morgana."

"And you allow him to live?" Kara speaks up for the first time, anger sharpening her words. Arthur looks at her in surprise. "The man is a monster--"

"With a sizeable force outside my walls," Arthur points out. "I must tread carefully."

"He thought you would welcome a handful of druids for your pyres, Arthur," Gwen murmurs. "Why?"

Arthur shakes his head. "There have been no executions during my reign--"

"And yet he brought us to you in shackles!"

"He is used to treating with my father!" Arthur snaps, bristling before calming once more. "I cannot control how others perceive me--"

"You can. You can if your policies no longer target vulnerable people just trying to live their lives. They weren't harming anyone--"

"I know. I know. But if policy changes before the people are ready--"

"Your people are dying! Not by magic, but by the cruelty of your would-be allies," Gwen points out. "You are the king-- you set the example, or others will set it for you."

Instead of responding with the indignation Kara expects, Arthur seems to deflate a little. He exhales, turning his gaze back towards Morgana.

"I know."

[riversofmars]

New fanfiction time! Yes, self-indulgent fanfiction should come with self-indulgent fanart!!! Inspired by Netflix's "Bodyguard", yet another AU for Liv and Helen to fall in love in. Sue me. They deserve it.

Summary: Following a successful stint in the Home Office, Dr. Helen Sinclair sets out to compete in the upcoming General Election. Things are far from straightforward, as numerous death threats are made against her and she is given personal protection despite her objections. While protection officer Liv Chenka turns out to be far from the burly guard type she had dreaded, her life is about to become very complicated indeed - and not just because someone is trying to kill her. Rating: Will go as high as Explicit but starts off General

Chapter 1

Liv Chenka smoothed her dark blazer down and tucked her brunette hair back as she adjusted the wire in her ear. It wasn’t so much a nervous habit as it was to make a good first impression, and be able to do her job to the best of her abilities. Anything less wasn’t an option. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, allowing her eyes to scan the office she was in. She had been in the Palace of Westminster plenty of times on protective detail but never in the staff offices of the Members of Parliament, and certainly not having been asked there. She did her best to ignore the curious looks the staffers were shooting her as they walked past. The hustle and bustle was constant; this was certainly a busy time for all of them.

“Why now?” an exasperated, female voice sounded from behind the heavy office door she was waiting in front of. It didn’t bode well, but Liv tried her best to reign in her own apprehension. Remaining professional was of paramount importance in her line of work. “Security is already stifling!”

“Ma’am,” a male voice responded, that she knew to belong to the Chief of Staff of the office she found herself in. “This is a credible threat we’re dealing with.” He struck a reasonable tone. Getting MPs to agree to anything was a balancing act that Liv didn’t envy him for. She could only imagine this challenge increased with how important those MPs thought themselves, and ought to put people who were running for Prime Minister on the very top of that list. It only furthered her own misgivings with the job in question, but it wasn’t as though she had a choice. Orders were to be obeyed, as had been drilled into her all her career. Her own opinions were of no consequence. “You will be more visible publicly and with the intelligence MI5 has gathered… Please. It is necessary.”

“Do I not get a say in this matter?” Helen Sinclair - The Rt Hon. Dr. Helen Sinclair MP - Liv reminded herself, as she didn’t want to be caught out on the details - appeared a stubborn, opinionated woman. “I thought things would get easier when I resigned from the Home Office!”

“Please, Ma’am, I must-” The Chief of Staff didn’t appear a match for her, and the brunette idly wondered if the politician surrounded herself with weak men on purpose to feel more powerful.

“I will look weak if I have some burly guard type dogging my every move!” she snapped, and Liv hoped they were more considerate of the volume when discussing sensitive policy matters.

“Which is something I have requested the Met be conscious of when selecting the officer in question and they were,” the Chief of Staff sought to appease her. Liv certainly did not fit that stereotype, though she hoped she had been selected for something other than her appearance. Perhaps for her outstanding service record and the fact that no-one had come to serious harm on her watch… Surely that counted for more than being a woman of slim stature in her line of work.

“You’re not going to let me say ‘no’, are you?” Dr. Sinclair sighed, and Liv imagined her crossing her arms in front of her chest, staring him down with an icy glare as she had seen her employ in Parliament. The former Home Secretary was a popular politician, who was very visible and often engaged in debate. She was quite obviously very intelligent too, but the security officer didn’t think those were measures that made a good person. Plenty of her policy decisions had been divisive, particularly with the police and military forces…

“No,” the Chief of Staff stood his ground. It was a done thing anyway, it wasn’t as though the Met would simply shrug and ask Liv to come back even if the politician refused. Orders came from higher up than that. “This is for your own safety. You have clearly made some enemies during your term in office, and they’re all coming out of the woodwork now that you’ve announced your run.”

There was a pause and then a huff of reluctant agreement:

“Fine. Whatever. Show him in…”

“’Her’, Ma’am, and you do realise your walls are very thin?” Liv wanted to say but she knew better than that. She took a deep breath and waited patiently until the door was opened and she was asked inside.

The office wasn’t as big as Liv had expected, and not nearly as organised either. Folders of paperwork were stacked high on the desk, the walls lined with bookshelves filled to capacity. Dr. Helen Sinclair stood amongst it all, leaning onto her desk and peering at her over a pair of reading glasses.

“Allow me to introduce Sergeant Liv Chenka, formerly of the Royal Air Force, now part of the Royalty and Specialist Protection Branch of London's Metropolitan Police Service,” the Chief of Staff introduced her with some fanfare. Liv imagined he was still trying to sell the idea to his superior. “She will be serving as your principal protection officer.”

Surprise flashed across the politician's pale complexion at the sight of her - but only for a moment. If one was to be successful in British politics, an ability to mask one's emotions was surely of utmost importance.

“Got tired of flying, Sergeant?” she asked impassively, but extended her hand to her. It was a start.

“Change of pace, Ma’am,” Liv answered quickly and grasped her hand in a firm handshake.

“I see,” she nodded, her tone completely neutral. “You’ll likely have that. Can’t imagine following me around is going to quite compare to the thrill. But apparently it is deemed necessary, so…” she shot a glare at her Chief of Staff. “I’m sure you have better things to do than wait here?” she prompted pointedly.

“Yes. I’ll leave you to it,” he nodded, a hue of pink shooting to his cheeks at the obvious dressing down. “Sergeant Chenka will fill you in on any operational details-”

“Yes. Thank you,” Dr. Sinclair pressed her lips to a thin line, and he took his cue to depart quietly, but swiftly. Liv waited patiently until the door closed behind him, more conscious of the risk of being overheard than they appeared to have been.

“So, Ma’am, I-” she started, but the politician cut her off as she dropped back into her chair.

“You really don’t need to go through the trouble, I know how this works,” she told her, pulling a folder in front of her and adjusting her glasses. “You will follow me wherever I go, making sure I don’t get killed. I’ve had personal protection before.”

“I see…” Liv wasn’t keen to start an argument. She would have to work her way around the other woman’s particularities. That, too, was part of the job. She observed her for a moment, intending to start fresh and compile her knowledge of her, ignoring her media-built prejudice.

Dr. Helen Sinclair, Member of Parliament for Tooting, was a middle-aged woman of considerable education. A linguist by degree prior to getting involved in politics, she’d built a career on top of a middle-of-the-road agenda, employing her looks and eloquence to great effect. Looking at her now, she certainly didn’t disappoint in person. She dressed well, even on a day where she wasn’t due in Parliament, in a slim, navy business dress. A grey blazer hung off the back of her chair and a half-drunk cup of tea stood on the desk amongst her paperwork. Her long blonde hair was tied into a somewhat more messy bun than she’d usually be seen with, and Liv ventured a guess that she was absent-mindedly fiddling with her hair as she worked, pulling apart her hair-do in the process.

“You’re welcome to wait outside, I’ll be a while yet,” the blonde stated without looking up, clearly having felt her eyes on her, and Liv took the opportunity to speak up.

“With your permission, Ma’am, I would like to have a look around the office, check the line of sight from the window and-” She tried her best to sound accommodating. A lot of what she did was based around trust and a good rapport with the person she was charged to protect. “Well, normally, I would want to stay with you. There already is security around the building and that wasn’t deemed enough… I’m charged with protecting you personally.” She had noticed the two security officers outside the office on the main corridor, and wasn’t keen to simply be a glorified guard at the door. She was trained for more than that, and it wouldn’t be enough if someone decided to line up a sniper through the office window.

“Is that strictly necessary?” Dr. Sinclair looked up and fixed her with a piercing stare. “I have work to do.” Her tone was measured but her eyes betrayed her annoyance.

“You won’t even know I’m here,” the security officer assured her, and simply received a huff in response.

“I doubt that very much.”

“Please, Ma’am… I just want to do my job,” she tried again, appealing to what she knew was an appreciation of the work ethic the other woman had. One thing she couldn’t fault her for, going from the briefings and personal observation of her, was her dedication to her work.

“Fine. Whatever. Just… don’t be in my way,” the MP decided, and returned her attention to the folder in front of her.

“I won’t be,” Liv promised, and set about examining the office as unobtrusively and professionally as she could. She got the sense she had her work cut out for her with this assignment, but it was certainly an important one if she was to protect the woman that would likely become their next Prime Minister. Whether she believed her to be deserving of the honour or even the right person for the job was a different matter, and utterly irrelevant.

---

Liv took up position by the window of the office on the second floor of the Palace of Westminster. It had a clear line of sight from the street, and was therefore her greatest concern if the threat didn’t stem from the politicians own rank and file. That was always an option too. Political opponents, unhappy staffers… though MI5 believed the threat to stem from further afield. A member of the public, perhaps part of an underground organisation or a member of a disenfranchised portion of society, someone who didn’t agree with the policies Dr. Sinclair stood for or the decisions she had made while in the Home Office… Liv had attended a short briefing on the subject that morning before taking up her assignment, and the sad truth was that the intelligence services were simply not sure, and had little to go on. And that was why she was there.

The security officer mulled over the intricacies of her assignment as she watched the politician work. She had hardly looked up from her paperwork in the past hour, diligently going through letters from constituents that Liv would have rather opened herself just to be on the safe side, but she didn’t want to step on the other woman’s toes. Knowing that mail was scanned before being handed to the Members of Parliament, she had decided to trust the process. It didn’t stop her from following her progress with keen eyes, looking out for anything suspicious. Every now and then, there was a security update in her ear from protection command, informing of unusual activities around the building, foreign guests and dignitaries coming and going, and the movements of cabinet members, but nothing that concerned her directly. All in all, it was an uneventful start to her new posting.

A knock on the door interrupted the quiet and Dr. Sinclair startled. Not because she was jumpy, Liv figured, but because she had been so engrossed in her work.

“Come in,” she called, after brushing her hair behind her ears and whipping her reading glasses off.

“Dr. Sinclair?” A young woman stuck her head in, and the security officer searched her brain for information concerning her. Since being told about the assignment the previous Friday, she had taken the weekend to prepare, and among other things had gone through information on the politician’s staff. The visitor in question was Dr. Sinclair’s PA. “Would now be a good time to discuss the itinerary for the week?” she asked, cradling a file to her chest.

“Sure,” the politician nodded, extending her hand towards her, and the young woman rushed to pass over the folder. She seemed eager to please, and the MP rewarded her with a smile. “Feel free to get yourself a coffee, Sergeant,” she continued as she opened the file, and Liv was surprised to be spoken to. She had gotten the impression that the other woman had almost forgotten she was there. That had been the point anyway. Apart from that, however, the security officer objected to her instruction. She had no intention of leaving her side.

“It would be good for me to know the itinerary as well, Ma’am,” she retorted respectfully. “I’ll need to request that information anyway.” She could hardly do her job without knowing where they were going to be going. She would have liked to have her schedule on the weekend along with all the other relevant information, but had been told things were still in flux. While she hadn’t been happy about it, her superiors had told her that was something she would have to get used to. Life on the campaign trail was like that. There wouldn’t be many days like today where they remained in London for sedate work.

“Of course…” Dr. Sinclair huffed and from the angle, the security officer couldn’t tell whether she was rolling her eyes to boot - it felt like it. The PA shot Liv a questioning look, obviously not yet used to her presence. That would soon change, she hoped, and remained impassive, allowing the other women to continue.

“We’ll be focusing on the Midlands this week,” the girl started. “Stops in Warwick, Stafford, Nottingham, Birmingham, Coventry, Milton Keynes, Bedford, Northampton and Leicester,” she explained and Dr. Sinclair nodded along, running long, elegant fingers down the schedule.

“That seems like a lot of stops for one week,” Liv observed. She hadn’t meant to jump in, but that was a red flag in her book when it came to security. The more places they went, the more opportunities for someone to try something. The PA’s eyes shot back to her.

“We have a lot of time to make up for,” she told her, and Liv noted the slight shakiness in her voice, as though she was unsettled by her interruption. “While the party was going through the selection process after the PM announced he wouldn’t be standing for re-election, the opposition has been campaigning and-”

“You don’t have to justify yourself,” Dr. Sinclair interrupted sharply. “This looks fine. What’s important is that I can be here for the debate and vote on Wednesday.” She searched the page for that particular piece of information and tapped perfectly manicured nails onto the itinerary point.

“Yes. We have blocked Wednesday for that. We have worked out the schedule to reduce travelling times-” The PA’s eyes flashed up to Liv once more and the brunette made sure to set her expression into something impassive, fearing she had given away how much these plans displeased her.

“I will need this schedule,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“And you will have it, Sergeant,” Dr. Sinclair interrupted and this time, she turned around, scowling at her, visibly annoyed. “Now please, can you keep out of this? I seem to remember you said I wouldn’t even know you were here?” That was a strike against her, Liv realised. She was still finding her feet with this assignment and she was off to a poor start.

“Sorry, Ma’am…” the security officer lowered her eyes respectfully, which seemed to appease the politician for the time being. She returned her attention to her staffer.

“Right, so. Warwick - talk at the university, I take it?” she prompted, and her PA nodded quickly, jumping back to attention.

“Yes, indeed,” she nodded eagerly. “Stafford, then-”

Liv observed the exchange with mild interest, taking note of the stops they would be making. She was glad that travel arrangements and security at those events would not be her concern. While it meant working with numerous security details every day and liaising with them, when it came down to it her only focus would be the MP herself. And so she set out to study her mannerisms, resolving to learn everything she could so she could best protect her - regardless of any sort of contempt she treated her with in return.

---

By the end of the working day, there had been several of those instances of contempt. Dr. Sinclair was not, in fact, used to having personal protection, as much as she insisted to the contrary, and Liv was finding it difficult to navigate as she had refused any further attempt of them laying down ground rules.

“I can open doors for myself,” the politician hissed, as by the end of the day a considerable amount of tension had built up between them. Liv, for her part, had decided that the best way forward for the time being would be to struggle through and set hard borders where she could. Her attempts at building up rapport with the other woman had derailed at midday when they had disagreed about her lunch plans, and since then she had put off any attempt to do so until tomorrow. For the time being, all she wanted to do was get her home safe and sound.

“Not when they’re into a public space, no,” the security officer answered decisively and pushed through the door, walking ahead of her through the halls of Westminster Palace.

“No?” the blonde snapped behind her disbelievingly. “Did you just tell me ‘no’?” Liv ignored her, her eyes shooting up and down the road as she stepped out of the building. Dr. Sinclair walked straight into her outstretched arm, intended to keep her back until she had made sure there were no dangers awaiting them. At her insistence, they had walked out of a back entrance.

“Please get in the car, Ma’am,” the brunette instructed, walking her to the blacked out car that was waiting for them at the side of the building. Liv was pleased to find that at least these aspects of Parliamentary security were well rehearsed. She opened the car door for her.

Dr. Sinclair’s cheeks were flushed with annoyance by the time the protection officer joined her in the car, sitting across from her in the small limousine. Liv paid her no heed, not until she had reported to protection command that they had left the building and were headed to the MPs residence, gesturing for the driver to go.

“I hope you don’t expect to come into my house too!” the politician snapped when Liv pulled the wire out of her ear.

”I will be accompanying you home where I will hand off to the night duty office until tomorrow morning,” she answered dutifully.

The blonde huffed, exasperated, and swiped her phone open, hiding behind the task of checking her messages. Liv could see right through it, she was trained to, but she didn’t comment. She allowed her the comfort of it, hoping it would make her feel a little better, as she seemed entirely unhappy with the arrangement by this point. She cast her eyes out of the window, watching the lights of London fly by in a blur. She was still watchful, it was the nature of her job, but in a heavily armoured, unmarked car, she felt as safe as one could under the circumstances. She undid the blazer that strained across her chest from sitting down, and noticed the way Dr. Sinclair’s blinked up from her phone for a moment, likely catching sight of her gun holster. She looked back down so quickly that Liv couldn’t be sure it had really happened.

“I’m told you leave the house at 7am?” she asked into the heavy silence.

“Sometimes as early as 6am,” the MP answered coolly without looking up.

“I’ll be there at 5.30am,” Liv decided. It would be a short night. It was gone 8pm already, and likely to be another hour until she was home, but she would have to suck it up for the time being. Overtime was expected and calculated for. She merely received a huff of acknowledgement for her troubles. “I’m sorry my presence is an inconvenience for you,” she said, hoping to clear the air a little before the end of the day. “But there have been threats made against your life.”

“When aren’t there? That's what it’s like being in politics,” the blonde countered curtly, tapping her fingers onto her phone quickly, likely answering a message. As much as Liv loathed not to be afforded her whole attention, she decided to argue the point regardless - or perhaps because of it.

“These are credible threats,” she insisted calmly. “And once the threat is neutralised, you will be rid of me.” It was a promise she hoped she could keep. She was determined to reserve judgement, but on first impression, she wasn’t sure she wanted this assignment to last for any length of time.

Dr. Sinclair didn’t respond, and silence fell, just as heavy as before.

Liv resolved to make a mental list of what she would have to pack. Thursday to Friday would involve staying over in Birmingham, and she didn’t want to be caught out with her preparations. The job allowed for little down time to get those things in order.

“Have you been doing this long?” The MP’s voice unexpectedly brought her musings to a halt. The brunette looked up to find her still on her phone, but took the question as the olive branch she hoped it was intended as.

“A while,” she retorted vaguely, as she wasn’t sure how much the other woman actually cared for her answer.

“Saved many people?” the politician continued, swiping her thumb across the phone screen with a flash of annoyance that Liv hoped was directed at whatever she had just flicked away, rather than her.

“I wouldn’t have been selected for this assignment if I wasn’t good at my job,” she gave back seriously, hoping this was a chance to put her at ease. “You’ll likely be our next Prime Minister.”

“And still I feel utterly powerless…” Dr. Sinclair mumbled, and pushed her phone back into her briefcase as they were pulling up in front of her home.

“Allow me.” Liv took the initiative and opened the door for her, scanning up and down the road out of habit, even though there was an officer already stationed in front of the townhouse in question. It was a nice area and a big house, and the protection officer wondered how much the MP was worth, disregarding her set Parliamentary salary. Like most politicians, she’d likely been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, she had gotten her degree at Cambridge after all - another nugget of information she recalled from her briefing notes. She did her best not to hold it against her as she walked her to the front door.

“Goodnight, Sergeant,” Dr. Sinclair tried for a conciliatory tone and Liv forced herself to a small smile.

“Goodnight, Ma’am.”

---

Liv slammed the door of her flat shut and kicked her shoes off. Her feet ached. She much preferred trainers or boots, but a Parliamentary posting required a certain dress code and she could only hope she’d walk the dress shoes in eventually. As she walked further into the studio flat, she caught a glimpse of the time on the oven. Even though she had taken a taxi, it had taken even longer than anticipated to get home.

Releasing a huff of annoyance, she shrugged her blazer off and went to hang it up, as she didn’t fancy having to get the iron out again in the morning. Some routines were well practised, like storing her service weapon away in a gun safe, likely the most valuable piece of furniture in the place. When she had been with the RAF, she had moved around a lot and once she’d needed a place to stay, well… she hadn’t been picky. Her sister always made a big song and dance about her surely being able to afford better, but the protection officer didn’t see the point when her work was so demanding and she merely needed a place to sleep.

“Right, travel Thursday…” she muttered to herself as she went searching for her suitcase in the bottom of the wardrobe, multitasking with laying out her clothes for the next day. Preparation was everything, and she hoped she could indeed be better prepared for tomorrow. Unnervingly, she found she hadn’t quite got the measure of Dr. Sinclair yet. She could only hope she would do so soon, a lot of her ability to do her job would depend on it.

[castlesrp]

The Anderson Family

Dionysus : Vineyard Distillery Dynasty

The legacy of the Anderson family begins on the West Coast, beginning three generations ago with a dream of a vineyard that ended up scaling to a global enterprise that left the Anderson Distilleries as one of the leading wine and alcohol distilleries in North America. First Anderson (83) has since retired as president, handing over the reigns to his eldest and enjoying his golden years with his wife First Anderson (84). First Anderson (58) has taken over the family mantle, taking a very hands-on approach to try and prove himself, all the while grappling with the difficulty of spending his time split between California and New York City. First Anderson (58) has kept herself busy and avoided empty nest syndrome as their six children have moved out, volunteering her time as the President of the New York City Junior League.

First Holloway (55) has always been a bit of a wildfire radical in the family, which was why her father made her the Head of Brand Development and Innovation before his retirement. In this new role, she has worked to elevate the brand of Anderson Distilleries to new heights, including branching out into the new territory of legalized marijuana and partnering with First Holloway (54)’s chain of dispensary stores that have opened since legalization and the aid of First Lancaster (59) as legal counsel; this was met with distrust on both sides, as the Lancaster and Anderson families have had generations of rivalry with one another. They have four children, three of which are adopted, and have always kept an open door policy for their kids and any of their kid’s friends - if they’re going to drink, she’d rather they do it in the house.

A bit more gruff and pulled together than the rest of his siblings, First Anderson (52) has also branched the Anderson name into another venture as the owner and operator of Anderson Brewery in SoHo, happily married to First Anderson (52) with two children of their own. First Gallagher (50) may be the youngest, but she’s quite successful in her own right as the Director of International Expansion for Anderson Distilleries. Very business-focused and ambitious, she and First Gallagher (50) have their perfect nuclear family with one son and one daughter - painting the picture of the idyllic American Dream. Whether or not that's truly the case behind closed doors is another story.

First Anderson: 83 Years Old, Retired President of Anderson Distilleries, Steve Martin, Available + First Anderson: 84 Year Old, Open Occupation, Diane Keaton, Available

First Anderson: 58 Years Old, President of Anderson Distilleries, Ewan McGregor, Available + First Anderson: 58 Years Old, Junior League President, Gillian Anderson, Available ----- First Anderson: 31 Years Old, Open Occupation, Austin Butler, Available ----- First Anderson: 29 Years Old, Open Occupation, Tom Blyth, Available ----- First Anderson: 27 Years Old, Open Occupation, Harry Styles, Available ----- First Anderson: 23 Years Old, Open Occupation, Anya Taylor Joy, Available ----- First Anderson: 21 Years Old, Open Occupation, Kit Connor 1, Available * ----- First Anderson: 21 Years Old, Open Occupation, Kit Connor 2, Available * * Note: Anderson (21) and Anderson (21) are identical twins.

First Holloway: 55 Years Old, Head of Brand Development and Innovation of Anderson Distilleries, Kathryn Hahn, Available + First Holloway: 54 Years Old, Dispensary CEO, Jason Sudeikis, Available ----- First Holloway: 30 Years Old, Open Occupation, Simu Liu, Available * ----- First Holloway: 27 Years Old, Open Occupation, Tom Holland, Available ----- First Holloway: 25 Years Old, Open Occupation, Lana Condor, Available * ----- First Holloway: 24 Years Old, Open Occupation, Hailee Steinfeld, Available * * Note: Holloway (30), Holloway (25), and Holloway (24) are adopted

First Anderson: 52 Years Old, Owner and Head Brewer of Anderson Brewery, David Harbour, Available + First Anderson: 52 Years Old, Open Occupation, Christina Hendricks, Available ----- First Anderson: 26 Years Old, Open Occupation, Wolfgang Novogratz, Available ----- First Anderson: 21 Years Old, Open Occupation, Sadie Sink, Available

First Gallagher: 50 Years Old, Director of International Expansion of Anderson Brewery, Rosamund Pike, Available + First Gallagher: 50 Years Old, Open Occupation, John Krasinski, Available ----- First Gallagher: 28 Years Old, Open Occupation, Thomas Doherty, Available ----- First Gallagher: 26 Years Old, Open Occupation, Lili Reinhart, Available

[jackoshadows]

There is a strain of thought in the Asoiaf fandom that because Jon and Arya love each other as brother and sister, that it’s impossible for these cousins to fall in romantic love when they are older.

There is plenty of classic romance out there between close friends, cousins and step siblings who grow up together as children and where a platonic attachment turns romantic later on. As anyone who has read Austen could tell you, it’s a rather bizarre supposition that it’s impossible for the platonic love and strong emotional bonds between two characters ever turning romantic.

Mansfield Park has first cousins falling in love despite Edmund and Fanny growing up together and being good friends. In Emma, the protagonists have a 16 year age difference and Emma grows up treating Mr. Knightley as family (She calls him ‘brother’) and we see that slowly change over the course of the novel.

There’s Austen’s satirical short story Frederic and Elfrida, where these characters who end up marrying each other are thus described:

The Uncle of Elfrida was the Father of Frederic; in other words, they were first cousins by the Father's side. Being both born in one day & both brought up at one school, it was not wonderful that they should look on each other with something more than bare politeness.  They loved with mutual sincerity, but were both determined not to transgress the rules of Propriety by owning their attachment, either to the object beloved, or to any one else.

Others have mentioned the parallels between Jon/Arya and Heathcliff and Catherine from Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. Earnshaw being fond of Heathcliff and bringing him up with his children. Heathcliff and Catherine being fond of each other, their passionate love and ultimately their tragic end.

Friends to lovers is a popular trope for a reason, where platonic love gradually turns to romance and sexual attraction.

Arya will be more forgiving ... until she realizes, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night's Watch, sworn to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Arya throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon's true parentage is finally revealed in the last book.  - Original Outline, GRRM, 1993

More importantly, ASoIaF is set in a world where some of what GRRM considers to be ‘great love stories’ happens between two close siblings. This is a fantasy, made up world by the author and applying real world norms and science to this fictional world makes no sense.

Some examples of note. There’s Alysanne and Jaehaerys who grew up very close siblings, were in love with each other, married each other and described as such by GRRM:

There’s the tragic love story of Prince Aemon the Dragon Knight and Naerys Targaryen, again, close siblings growing up.

Aemon was inseparable from his sister Naerys when they were young. Stories speak of Aemon's doomed love for his sister. Aemon and Naerys supposedly loved each other.According to the singers, both Aemon and Naerys cried the day Naerys married Aegon

There’s Alyssa and Baelon Targaryen.

“Alyssa is for Baelon,” she declared. “She has been following him around since she could walk. They are as close as you and I were at their age.” (The Long Reign - Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny, and Pain, Fire and Blood)

In ASoIaF itself, we have the Lannister twins Jaime and Cersei who grew up together and who are sexually attracted towards each other. It’s telling that GRRM textually writes Jon and Arya as clear foils to Jaime and Cersei.

Qyburn’s words were terse and to the point, Cersei’s fevered and fervent. Come at once, she said. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

Vyman was hovering by the door, waiting, and Jaime sensed that Peck was watching too. “Does my lord wish to answer?” the maester asked, after a long silence.

A snowflake landed on the letter. As it melted, the ink began to blur. Jaime rolled the parchment up again, as tight as one hand would allow, and handed it to Peck. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.” - Jaime, AFfC

Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. The Night’s Watch takes no part. He closed his fist and opened it again. What you propose is nothing less than treason. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

“I think we had best change the plan,” Jon Snow said. - Jon, ADwD

Essentially, the incestual attraction and love that happens in the world of asoiaf is between close siblings who grow up together. That’s the trend in this world.  Arguing this or that incest makes more sense because the characters are not close or have never met might sound logical when we apply real world scientific norms to this fictional setting or might even help make the relationship more palatable for some readers put off by incest. However, in GRRM’s fictional world it’s the close siblings who fall in romantic love and end up marrying each other.

If we apply the trends and patterns of incestual romance (happy or sad, good or bad) in the world of ASoIaF, then there’s simply more chance of Jon and Arya happening than any other incestual pairing for Jon Snow. And the original outline is enough proof of this. Jon and Arya falling in love was where GRRM was headed and where he still could be headed considering the current books are still hitting some of the same story beats and plot points mentioned in the original outline.

[mariacallous]

No superlative was spared when construction of the British Embassy to the United States was completed in 1930. It was a “home fit for a king,” as the Washington Post put it, designed to echo the intimidating elegance of an English country manor.

If the original embassy, which now serves as the ambassador’s residence, captures the sort of high-glamor diplomacy that Netflix would approve of, then the chancellery building next door—all concrete colonnades and flimsy windows—evokes a British state school from the 1960s.

As I wait in the lobby for my escort to meet with Ambassador Karen Pierce, two young British soldiers in uniform mill around the room. “I thought it would be more glamorous,” I hear one of them say to the other. Then I’m whisked through a corridor to the ambassador’s office, lined with portraits of her predecessors dating back to the late 18th century. All of them are men.

In the high stakes world of diplomacy, a Washington posting is the equivalent of competing in the Olympic Games: reserved for only the most limber of envoys. The British ambassador to the United States is the equivalent rank to a four-star general, the only one of its kind in the British foreign service. Since taking up the position in early 2020 during the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic, Pierce has served as a steady hand in Washington amid a churn of prime ministers, the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and the death of the U.K’s longest-reigning monarch, Queen Elizabeth II.

The ambassador’s airy study is dotted with artifacts gathered during Pierce’s 41 years with the foreign office. A vast collection of fridge magnets, more than 20 years in the making, stretches several feet up the wall. “The tackier the better,” she says.

A self-professed “total girl” with a passion for military hardware, Pierce has perched a model of a fighter jet and a limited edition British Barbie in a trench coat behind her desk.

Affable and fiercely intelligent, Pierce is at ease around journalists. (A briefing book diligently prepared by her staff goes untouched during our conversation.) We met in October, shortly after Hamas’s rampage in southern Israel, which shattered assumptions about the Middle East and plunged the region into war once again.

After a disorienting few years marked by the pandemic and the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, it’s difficult to discern whether the world is indeed becoming a more volatile place, as it often seems—or whether the ubiquity of smartphones and social media has amplified the sense of urgency. If anyone would know the answer, it’s Pierce.

“I do think there’s something different about this first quarter of the 21st century because of the nature of the problems,” Pierce says. The “big global problems,” as she puts it—climate change, migration, and global public health—were always going to be there. But they have been exacerbated, she says, by wars and the pandemic, while the international community’s response is increasingly complicated by the rapid pace of technological change. Not to mention Russia’s and China’s hopes of flipping the global chessboard in its entirety. “When you put all that together, that’s a lot to wade through,” she concedes.

Still, moments of upheaval such as this one are what define a career in diplomacy. “They’re kind of what you join the foreign service to be involved in, which sounds a bit gruesome,” Pierce says. “I wanted to have a part, however small, in the management of international affairs.”

Pierce has had a hand in shaping the United Kingdom’s response to some of the biggest foreign-policy crises of recent decades, from negotiating peace terms in the Balkans, to the reconstruction of Afghanistan’s economy, to helping marshal a trans-Atlantic response to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

Statecraft involves delicate finesse. It also requires stamina, which must be why Pierce often speaks about diplomacy in sporting terms; it is, she says, a “contact sport.”

Pierce arrived in New York City as the British ambassador to the United Nations in 2018, shortly after Russian security agents poisoned a former spy, Sergei Skripal, on British soil. It fell to Pierce to confront the Russians at the Security Council, where she developed a reputation for her gladiatorial sparring matches with her Russian counterpart, Vasily Nebenzya.

In a particularly memorable exchange, Nebenzya likened the accusations leveled against Moscow to the trial scene in the book Alice in Wonderland, during which the Queen of Hearts demands that the sentence be handed down before the verdict. Pierce fired back with her own quote from the Lewis Carroll novel: “There is another very good quote from Alice in Wonderland, which is ‘sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast,’ so I think that’s the quote that suits my Russian colleague best.”

“All the adrenaline comes, and I don’t like being beaten,” she says briskly of these high stakes interactions. “I don’t do sports, but this is the equivalent of running.”

Pierce has negotiated with Russian diplomats for decades, dating back to the waning days of the Cold War. Before the invasion of Ukraine, Western diplomats often remarked on the professionalism of the Russian diplomatic corps, describing its members as well-briefed and staunch defenders of their national interests who value a worthy opponent.

“They respect enemies—adversaries—who are tough and stand up to them,” Pierce says.

Despite their acerbic exchanges at the Security Council, Pierce and the Russian ambassador to the United Nations were able to maintain a working relationship on areas of mutual interest, such as the Iran nuclear deal, which former U.S. President Donald Trump withdrew from in 2018. That all changed following the full-scale invasion of Ukraine last year.

“Now the Russians have just decided to double down on being difficult and disruptive, and you can get less and less done,” Pierce says.

Pierce was the first woman to take up the United Kingdom’s seat at the U.N. Security Council, and is likely the first person to do so wearing a feather boa. In hard-nosed diplomacy at the U.N., some countries have been known to use misogyny as a negotiating tactic to try to disorient women diplomats, including by talking over them, dismissing them, or ignoring them altogether.

“A favorite one is not to use women’s [diplomatic] titles,” Pierce says. “But because I like to win, it doesn’t have the effect on me that they want it to have. It has the opposite effect.”

Growing up in Preston, a small city in northwest England, Pierce credits a photograph in the Sunday Times magazine—which showed the U.S. consul to Nice, Eleanor Hicks, stepping aboard an aircraft carrier in southern France—as her inspiration to join the foreign office. It seems to have been as much the aircraft carrier as it was the glamor of the scene that caught the eye of a young Pierce. “I’ve always liked military hardware,” she says.

In her many decades with the foreign office, Pierce has seen the fallout of some of the most unspeakable atrocities, including the massacre of 8,000 Muslim men and boys in Srebrenica during the Bosnian War and Myanmar’s violent purge of hundreds of thousands of Rohingya Muslims.

In spite of it all, she has long described herself as an optimist. “I think if you’re not an optimist, then what are you going to get up and do the next day? You have to believe a way through could be found,” she says. “For me, it’s tied up with problem-solving.”

Even in situations where predictions are dire, Pierce says, “we can do something about it, even if it’s only a small thing. And that might change the dynamic, and then that gives you something to build on.”

[call-sign-foxtrot]

A Neo-liberalistic Nihilistic Manifesto

Economic Policy meets Existential Despair

In this grim guide, we'll delve into the depths of neoliberalistic nihilism and explore the realities of navigating the market-driven hellscape. In this journey through the corners of capitalism, where the only certainty is uncertainty, and the only currency is cold, hard cash. History? A meaningless series of market fluctuations. Morality? A subjective construct hindering your consumption choices. Truth? Fungible and for sale to the highest bidder.

Step 1: Embrace the Market Abyss

In this wild west of capitalism, the invisible hand of the market reigns supreme, guiding through the chaos of supply and demand like a blindfolded stumbling through a minefield. Forget about regulations or ethical dilemmas – profit is the only compass you need. The market will definitely reward your...gestures vaguely...audacity with untold riches (or bankruptcy, but hey, it's all meaningless anyway). But in this world, failure is but a temporary setback, a stepping stone on the path to greater success. After all, what does it matter if we lose it all, if the game is all that matters?

Step 2: Find Meaning in Materialism

In this world devoid of inherent meaning, material possessions become our gods. So go ahead, splurge on that designer handbag or the latest iPhone – they're the closest thing to existential fulfilment money can buy. With each purchase, we are not only filling the void within, but also contributing to the great capitalist machine that powers our world. And in doing so, we are becoming the ultimate consumers, the apex predators of the consumerist jungle. Just ignore the sense of emptiness that creeps in when you realize that no amount of consumerism can fill the void within. So why not treat yourself to that dopamine rush you get from scoring those limited-edition drops? It's basically the same feeling as finding true happiness, only slightly less sustainable and much more expensive.

Step 3: Exploit, Exploit, Exploit

In the pursuit of profit, nothing is off-limits. Exploit cheap labor in developing countries? Check. Dodge taxes like a like a ship vanishing into fog? Double check. Destroy the environment faster than you can say "climate change is real"? Triple check. In the grand scheme of things, morals are just roadblocks on the way to wealth. "This all sounds so...unethical." And you're right. It is. But in the world of business, morals are just a luxury that only the weak can afford. So, if you want to make it to the top, you'd better be prepared to leave your conscience at the door. Who needs a clear conscience when you have a yacht? Or a private jet? Or a mansion on a hill?

Step 4: Rinse and Repeat

Congratulations, you're now a card-carrying member of the neoliberalistic nihilist club! But remember, the journey is never truly over. As you navigate the waters of late-stage capitalism, always keep one eye on the bottom line and the other on the abyss. Who knows, maybe one day you'll achieve true enlightenment – or at least a slightly bigger offshore bank account. Perhaps we will find the freedom we so desperately crave – or perhaps, more likely, we will find nothing at all.

Step 5: Await the End

Now all that remains is to await the inevitable collapse – the final unraveling of civilization as we know it. Embrace the pain, the anguish, the existential despair – for in the depths of suffering lies the only semblance of truth we will ever know. Let it wash over you like a tidal wave, drowning out the hollow echoes of consumerism and capitalist excess. For in the end, it is our suffering that defines us – not our fleeting moments of happiness or success.

Disclaimer: This is Satire. Repeat: "There is only the market, and the market is good..." (except when it isn't, but hey, that's the thrill of the gamble, right?).

[tinyreviews]

Tiny Curiosity: Alien vs Foreign

Alien and foreign may somewhat mean the same thing these days, but they have different and interesting etymological roots.

(I find it their related words especially interesting! Suddenly, things click and word associations I never had before start to form in my brain. Very cool.

Yeah! Etymology!)

Alien

Origin:

From PIE root *al- meaning "beyond"

From Latin "alienus" from "alius" meaning "another, other, different"

In 1300s, from Old French, "alien" meaning "strange, foreign"

Evolution of Meaning:

In 1400s, developed into "residing in a country not of one's birth"

By 1670s, gained the sense of "wholly different in nature"

By 1920, took on the meaning "not of this Earth" by 

Related Words: 

Alias, alibi, allegory, allergy, alter, altercation, alternate, altruism, eldritch, else, other, parallax, parallel, ulterior, ultimate, ultra

Foreign

Origin:

PIE *dhwor-ans-, suffixed form of root *dhwer- "door, doorway"

Medieval Latin "foraneus" meaning "on the outside, exterior," from Latin "foris" meaning "outside"

In 1300s, Old French "forain" meaning "strange, foreign; outer, external, outdoor; remote, out-of-the-way"

Evolution of Meaning:

In 1300s, referred to places "outside the boundaries of a country" and persons "born in another country"

Altered spelling in the 17th century, possibly influenced by "reign" and "sovereign"

Late 14th-century sense of "alien to one's nature, not connected with, extraneous"

1610s, meaning "pertaining to another country" (as in foreign policy)

Related Words: 

Door, forest, forfeit, foreclose, forensic, forum, thyroid

This is part of my Tiny Curiosity series. I publish worldbuilding tidbits, trivia, etymology to this blog.