#stranded foreign nationals

[sabkiawaaj]

Government Working on Repatriation of Eighth Indian After Release of Seven from Qatar: Foreign Ministry Statement

Government Working on Repatriation of Eighth Indian After Release of Seven from Qatar: Foreign Ministry Statement Government Working on Repatriation of Eighth Indian After Release of Seven from Qatar: Foreign Ministry Statement In a recent statement, the Ministry of External Affairs has announced that the Indian government is actively working towards the repatriation of the eighth Indian…

[aurumalatus]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 2.5k

genre/warnings. pixelprincess!au (princess!reader x knight!kinich), one bed trope, princess is nervous to sleep alone with a man (who isn't)

summary.

after a long journey, kinich and the princess finally turn in for the night at an unfamiliar inn. the only problem? there's only one bed.

author's note. i'm finishing this at like 5am so if there's any errors i'll look over it/fix it when i wake up LOL. for now, please scream and cry about knight!kinich with me. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s too warm.

As a princess born and raised in the land of Pyro, you’re accustomed to heat—thrive in it, even. It’s one of the reasons you dread trips like these so much. Foreign nations, even those with the mildest of temperatures, tend to feel a bit too chilly for your taste. Your father often jokes that you could withstand the heat of the Sacred Flame itself.

At the moment, though, you wouldn’t mind cracking open a window or two, even in the dead of winter.

The journey here had been difficult enough, boring as it was. Kinich had threatened to leave you alone in the woods a few times if you kept poking at him, but it was all you could do to not fall asleep. Attending foreign dinners always resulted in long journeys like these, though you know how important it is to maintain close relations with allied countries.

A few bumps in the road made this trek especially long, however—a number of bandits and blocked off paths added an irritating amount of time to your travel, until you and Kinich decided to rest for the night before heading home tomorrow. It had been difficult to even find a place—most inns had been full by this time, but you’d been fortunate to find one with a single open room.

A single, open room containing a single, solitary bed.

That aside, it’s a nice enough room, really. The dark mahogany furniture is carved with intricate nature-like patterns, flowers and leaves that crawl up the legs of the chairs and the foot of the bed. The whole place smells pleasantly of teakwood—a scent that, for better or worse, you tend to attribute to Kinich.

Your knight sits in front of the darkened fireplace, fiddling with a flint until it strikes with a small flame, then enkindles the rest of the wood. A flushing warmth instantly permeates the room. Usually, you would thank him for his efforts—he knows how cold you get—but now, you feel a thin sweat forming at your brow.

Kinich stands, brushing off his hands and admiring the firelight. The lighter strands of his hair glow in its radiance. “That should last us for a bit.”

He tugs at the clasp of his cloak, pulling the garment off and tossing it onto the chair in the corner of the room. It’s a thick fur with ornate green and gold trim; you’d given it to him as a gift during the Winter Festival a year ago. You let your eyes follow the motion, watching the dark cloth drape over the furniture—somehow, you feel too awkward to look at your companion right now. He glances at you, as if wondering what you’re doing just standing there, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Actually, I’m a bit warm,” you say, thumbing at the edges of your sleeves. Kinich raises a brow, genuinely concerned.

“...It’s wintertime,” he says, an obvious statement that seems to ask what the hell is wrong with you.

“Yeah, and I’m warm,” you retort, arms crossed. He looks at you, then looks at the fire, then looks at you again.

“Alright, but if you get cold later, don’t come crying to me,” he says, kneeling down again. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “though I have a feeling you will anyway.”

He toys with the kindling for a bit longer, until the raging flames die into smaller embers and the room cools down. As much as he gives you a hard time, he prioritizes your comfort as much as he possibly can. 

With the temperature now taken care of, there is still one other source of discomfort in the room, you think, glancing back toward the bed. It looks temptingly comfortable, with thick sheets and fluffy pillows, but you can’t fathom sleeping in it at the moment. 

“You realize that we can’t sleep here, right?” you say, staring down at your feet.

The dark-haired knight is busy rummaging through his rucksack, only half paying attention to what you’re saying.

“I don’t see why not. The bed is big enough.”

He’s right; it’s a king-size, and the two of you would have no problem fitting. Still, the thought of sleeping in a bed with him makes your face warm in a way that can’t be blamed on the fire.

“...There’s only one,” you manage.

Kinich looks up at you, deadpan. “An astute observation. Maybe you’ll be able to count to three by next year.”

“You little—”

The nervousness turns to irritation at his nonchalance—honestly, the thought of sharing a bed with a man you aren’t married to seems a bit inappropriate. And though you won’t admit it, you’re a bit offended that he doesn’t seem even slightly nervous to sleep with you. Kinich isn’t a nervous person by nature, that’s true; it takes quite a bit to get him to show any sort of strong emotion. But a small part of you is disappointed that he doesn’t seem to care about the situation at all.

“You realize it’s just us, right?” you say, urging him toward the root of the issue. Even just stating that fact makes an anxious lump form in your throat.

Kinich considers your words for a moment, pausing his ministrations, before meeting your gaze directly.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he says, raising a brow. 

The implication makes your face heat up, and you find it almost worse that he had addressed the elephant in the room.

“It’s not that!” you argue hastily. Kinich seems unbothered by your protests, fiddling with the intricate straps of his armor and the laces of his boots. He works about removing them in a fashion that’s so robotic that you’re sure he must’ve done this millions of times. 

“What is it then?” he retorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Do you snore?”

“I do not—”

“Sleep talk?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Sleepwalk?”

“No! But—”

“Great,” Kinich decides, clapping his hands together as if to end the discussion. Rising to his feet, he gestures to the bed, even going so far as to pull the blankets back invitingly. “Then sleep.”

It’s hard for you to win against him, especially at times like these—truth be told, you actually are quite tired. With a huff, you begrudgingly climb into bed, nearly hanging off the edge with the ample space you leave.

Kinich doesn’t join you yet; he’s still fixing his clothes and tidying his other belongings. He takes good care of his things, you’ve noticed, almost neat to a fault. There’s a strict routine he follows during the night; before bed, he always takes special care to maintain his weapon.

You watch as he oils and sharpens his blade, brow furrowed in concentration. He’s always been very particular about the thing, as if it was an extension of himself, as long as you've known him. His movements are notably precise and intricate, and overwhelmingly gentle. Lost in watching him, you just about jump out of your skin when his eyes suddenly flicker to you. 

“You know, most people rest with their eyes closed,” he hums, amused at having caught you in the act.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble, sinking deeper into the pillows to hide your embarrassment.

He shakes his head. “And you’re supposed to be sleeping. So I guess no one’s happy.”

You pull the blanket up until it brushes your chin. You don’t need it; your skin feels like it’s on fire, but somehow it feels too vulnerable to be uncovered right now. 

“You’re telling me you don’t feel weird about this? At all?”

He sets the sword aside and finally removes the last of his armor, simply left in his training tunic and loose pants. The shirt is tighter than you remember, you think briefly. You force yourself to look away.

“Should I?” he asks, brushing off his clothes. “Are you going to do something to me?”

The corner of his lip twitches, and you nearly roll your eyes—he amuses himself way too much.

“No!”

“Then we’ll make a deal. I won’t do anything to you if you don’t do anything to me. Then, we’ll both peacefully sleep so that I don’t have to deal with your crankiness in the morning.”

Irritatingly, he’s right about that too. The two of you will have to head out early if you want to make it home for your lessons, as well as Kinich’s other guard duties. And, truthfully, you don’t tend to be a morning person—it’s all Kinich can do to even wake you up on time.

You huff, shutting your eyes. “Fine.”

“Oh?” You can hear the mirth in his voice, and it only makes your irritation grow. “So you were planning on doing somethin—”

“I wasn’t!”

Kinich doesn’t say anything more, likely sensing that you’re on the precipice of genuine frustration—he always knows your exact limits, even when you don’t say so. 

For a few minutes, you really do try to sleep. But your heart is still pounding, and as much as you try to ignore it, it threatens to burst out of your chest. You reason that you would feel this way no matter who you were sharing a bed with—it’s just not a feeling that you’re used to. It’s certainly not because it’s Kinich.

You imagine him sleeping beside you, and your fists tighten until your nails form crescent-shaped imprints in your palms.

Definitely not because it’s Kinich.

Your stomach turns as you listen to your companion move around the room, organizing his things. Everything about him is so calm and quiet, including his footsteps—they’re barely a whisper across the floor. The anticipation nearly swallows you whole, and you wait for something to happen—the blankets to pull back, or even a dip in the mattress.

For several long, torturous minutes, nothing happens at all. In fact, you can’t even hear Kinich anymore, not even a single breath.

Did he leave the room? 

Gathering your courage, you silently will yourself to open your eyes, afraid of what you’ll see. It takes you a bit, too absorbed in the awkwardness, and three silent mental countdowns later, your eyes finally snap open. Instantly, you discover two things:

Kinich is not in bed with you.

Kinich is nowhere near you at all.

Instead, the knight is sitting across the room, back against the door, head leaned back and both eyes shut. His greatsword lays across his lap, fingers already curled around the grip—he’s always ready, as usual. 

“What the hell?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so loud or so aggressive, but your hand is too late to clamp over your mouth.

Kinich cracks one eye open, fixing you with a lazy stare.

“I thought you said you don’t sleep talk,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

“I don’t—forget it, what are you doing over there?”

He sighs, pulling a knee to his chest and resting his chin on top. He looks much softer like this, in training clothes and lacking his headband—the curtain of his hair parts a bit as he leans over, and you catch a glimpse of the scar there. It’s thin and silver, barely peeking from his forehead.

“Unless I was mistaken, you seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing a bed with me. I may not have been raised a prince, but even I wouldn’t force something like that on a lady.”

Your teeth sink into your lip. The explanation makes you feel stupid and guilty at the same time. Stupid, because you’re really not sure what you’re even afraid of if Kinich climbs into bed with you. Guilty, because you’d been so argumentative with him, even when he was trying to respect your wishes.

There’s three beats of silence.

“I changed my mind,” you manage to squeak out.

“You don’t have to,” he says, tracing the blade of his sword. An expected answer. “I’m fine sleeping here, really.”

And you know he really would be—he’s certainly slept in worse places. But something about him sleeping there while you warm up under thick blankets leaves a rotten taste in your mouth.

“Well, I’m cold now,” you say, shifting under the covers, “so can you come sleep?”

He looks unconvinced by your plea, head tilted. “Weren’t you the one who said it was too warm?”

You pout in reply. “I changed my mi—”

“—changed your mind, yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Kinich rises to his feet, slow and steady. He seems more tired than he lets on, likely the result of the events from earlier—he had been the one to deal with the bandits, after all. You merely watch as he strides toward you.

“Just remember, you’re the one who offered,” he warns, crossing to the other side of the bed. “So don’t kick me in your sleep.”

You don’t say anything at all, firmly fixated on staring at the wall—you don’t think you could stand to look at him right now. When the sheets get pulled back, you suck in a breath.

To your embarrassment, something warm draws up from your quick-beating heart as Kinich lies down behind you. You chalk it up to natural human reaction—you’ve never shared a bed with someone like this, after all. He’s gentle as he lays down, the mattress barely reacting to his movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as he adjusts, shifting the blankets and pillows, hoping he won’t sense your overwhelming nervousness.

“This okay?”

You chance a look in his direction. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with sleep, but they seem to pierce right through you. He’s being very particular about the distance between you—close enough that you can feel a bit of his warmth, but far enough that none of your limbs are touching.

This is fine, you think to yourself, drawing in a long, slow breath. This is totally fine.

You nod meekly, and Kinich sighs, shuffling into a more comfortable position as you turn away.

“Good,” he murmurs, warm breath pooling at the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, somehow both relaxed and on-edge, even as he curls slightly closer to you. “Go to sleep then, Princess.”

He’ll be awake for a while, you know. He never goes to sleep before you do—even once you do, it’ll probably be another half an hour before he follows suit. The thought leaves you hyper-aware of his every breath.

So, for the next fifteen minutes, you lie awake, hopelessly thinking of the man laying next to you. And, for the next fifteen minutes, he lies awake too. Your mind grows foggy, begging for rest, but you still feel something tugging at your chest. You wonder if Kinich feels the same way.

“Kinich?” you finally whisper.

There’s a pause, like he’s deciding whether to reply seriously or to scold you for not sleeping. His voice comes out hoarse, a deep rumble from his chest.

“Yes, Princess?”

A yawn crawls out of your throat.

“...are you warm enough too…?”

Your voice trails off as you finally succumb to the clutches of sleep. Kinich listens as your breathing turns to an even rhythm, calm and serene. For once, he’s glad that you’re not looking at him—if you did, you would see the way his skin is flushed a deep red, from his ears to his neck.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I am.”

[sleepynoons]

diluc x gn!reader, sfw

cw: n/a

notes: cross-posted from my ao3. diluc is the og husband, and i need to be married to him methinks. also i love domestic bliss fics, so i here's my attempt at it from a few years ago lol reader has ear piercings + hair, should be no other descriptors otherwise

WHEN YOU imagined married life with diluc, you thought of sleepy morning kisses, late-night conversations with glasses full of grape cider, and trips to foreign nations. in reality, you got a king-sized bed all to yourself and your spouse’s growing pile of wrinkled button-ups in the laundry hamper.

you feel conflicted. on one hand, you aren’t surprised, having married mondstadt’s chief wine tycoon and renowned darknight hero. one of your vows to diluc is to be patient with him, to understand that having a “normal” relationship would be difficult. on the other, is it wrong for you to miss diluc? you never want to be a burden, but you do want diluc to make time for your relationship.

so you decide to communicate your concerns to him. the only glaring problem is finding time to do so in diluc’s overwhelming schedule.

“good morning! would you like to eat breakfast in bed or downstairs?”

looking up from a pile of forms and customer complaints, you smile as adelinde stands outside of your office doorway.

“downstairs will be fine, thank you,” and before the maid can leave, you slip in a whisper, “and, um, adelinde. do you perhaps know master diluc’s schedule for the day?”

the housemaid ponders for a second before a teasing smile graces her lips. “trouble in paradise?” you can only purse your lips and fidget like a child under her gaze. “i believe angel’s share is closing early today. maybe you can catch him there!”

heeding adelinde’s suggestion, you confirm the bar’s early close with elzer before making your daily rounds throughout the city.

as diluc’s partner, one of your main responsibilities is to aid in dawn winery’s operations. your primary job is to collaborate with the warehouse manager, ernest, and the primary winemaker, connor, to manage dawn winery’s wine production. if there are any stock or manufacturing issues, it is up to you to meet with the necessary partners to resolve such concerns.

therefore, you spend the day conversing with local grocers and addressing the customer complaints you read in the morning. at one point, you catch a glance of diluc entering the lobby of the goth grand hotel, and just the sight of his red locks makes you warm with expectation and excitement.

and when night falls, you wrap up the last of your conversations and head to angel’s share. the silence and almost lonely atmosphere around the bar is rare, but you know you are not alone when you catch a glimpse of a person underneath the backlights.

you enter the bar with loud shuffles, careful not to alert diluc.

“we’re closed!” he yells from the backroom.

“it’s me,” you reply. at the sound of your voice, the backroom door clicks shut, and diluc appears in a high ponytail and rolled up sleeves.

without saying a word, diluc walks up to you and pulls you into a warm embrace. he mumbles into your neck. “it’s really good to see you.”

you stroke his hair, smoothing out jutting strands and untangling knots. “i haven’t seen you in a while. anything i can help with?”

“no, i have the weekend off.” you perk up, but your smile quickly morphs into a frown.

“but the weekends are usually the busiest.”

“a little bird nagged me all day long that i was neglecting my spouse.” diluc stands up straight. “and i want to make time for us. i apologize for my absence.”

“i understand –”

“but you’re not without fault either.”

you quirk a brow at your husband. you know you have been performing your duties as expected, and based on what you know, you have not done anything to peeve him.

as you wrack through your memory, diluc stares at you. your cheeks and the tips of your ears are still warm from spending the day under the sun. the collar of your top is slightly upturned, and a few strands of your hair are entangled with the earrings he gave you for your second anniversary. when his gaze dips down to your collarbones, he smiles at the chain hanging around your neck.

“what are you smiling at?” you say.

“your wedding ring.” instinctively, you clutch at your chain.

“you’re not actually mad at me, are you?”

diluc leans down and kisses your fingertips that are wrapped around the ring. “next time,” he mutters, “tell me you want me. no matter what.” nodding, you leave a kiss on the crown of his head.

“i want us to go home together.”

without another word, diluc wraps an arm around your waist and leads you out of angel’s share.

[archangeldyke-all]

arranged marriage between royal!Sev & royal!reader pls 👁️👁️

OOOOOOHHHHH

men and minors dni

your betrothed does not seem happy about the situation at hand.

to be fair, up until five minutes ago, you weren't either.

apparently, being a grown unmarried woman is more shameful to your parents than your attraction to women. so they've scoured the world for another unmarried royal woman who shares your proclivities as they call it, and sent a letter to her father.

all without your knowing, of course.

you weren't aware that your visit to the foreign nation of zaun was anything more than a show of alliance until last night, when your parents revealed their ruse to you.

apparently, you are to be married.

the only reason you aren't screaming and trying to flee the wedding currently happening, is because you've caught sight of the woman you are to be marrying in three minutes.

she's gorgeous.

you're shocked into silence, all your protests and complaints about the morning evaporating the moment your eyes land on the woman scowling at the end of the aisle.

your mother chuckles beside you, and you glare at her.

"y-you didn't tell me she was--"

"what? good looking? you didn't think i'd marry you off to some inbred asshole, did you?" she teases.

"well..." you trail off. you kinda did. your mother giggles.

"you'll be happy to know that she's incredibly intelligent, she's her father's main military consult, and she spends most of her time in her own estate in the mountains about mile away from the palace."

she just keeps getting better and better. you suddenly feel... inadequate. an entirely new anxiety settles in your stomach, your fears of not liking your bride-to-be evaporating at the sight of her.

"w-what if she doesn't like me?" you whisper.

your mother snorts, and then the music swells.

you're walked down the aisle by your parents, the three of you glittering in jewels and gold.

your fiance stands at the end of the aisle, a small frown on her lips as she watches you approach. you feel like you might throw up. she looks like she's being held hostage.

when you reach the altar, you stand awkwardly in front of your bride as her father's voice bellows to the crowds gathered in the palace. "we are gathered here today to celebrate the love of our next generation of leaders..."

"fuckin' bullshit." your bride mutters.

you snort grossly under your veil. your mother elbows you hard, but your fiance's eyes spark, just a bit.

"i... i take it you didn't agree to this either?" you whisper.

the princess-- sevika, you've been told-- smirks, just a little. you wouldn't be able to tell if you weren't standing six inches away from her. "you could say that."

you almost gasp when she reaches forward and grabs both of your gloved hands. you manage to catch yourself, realizing that she's just following the wedding proceedings, and then try to put your head on straight as you gently thread your fingers through hers.

she's studying your hands with a furrow in her brow. you squeeze her, and her eyes dart up, her eyes squinted as she tries to make you out through the veils over your face.

"so..." she whispers as her father blabbers on. "how do you like zaun?" she asks awkwardly.

you choke back a laugh, and her lips twitch a bit at the muffled sound. "it's lovely. i was given a tour by boat yesterday-- the water here is beautiful."

"you'll like my estate then. or... our estate, i guess." she mutters. "it overlooks the spot where the river opens into the ocean. it's..." her eyes are soft and affectionate as she talks.

"beautiful." you whisper.

her lips twitch again, and she nods. the crown on her head tilts forward just a bit, and you gently reach up and straighten it for her, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear before bringing your hand back down to hers.

the crowd rustles with an awkward silence. both you and sevika look around, trying to figure out what's happened.

"lift her veil." silco-- sevika's closest advisor-- hisses out from over her shoulder. sevika blinks rapidly, then bites her lip to keep from laughing.

you almost smack her hands away when she reaches forward.

you're a princess, sure, and you'll be married regardless of what she thinks of you-- but you really want her to like you... because it's starting to feel like you might like her. and you've only known her for five minutes.

for one horrifying moment as sevika focuses on tucking your veils over your crown, you wait to see her reaction.

but then, her sparkly silver eyes flick down to yours, and a surprised little smile breaks out across her face.

"o-oh." she whispers. you gulp, and her father's voice booms. something about loyalty and honor and the unity of two nations. you're only focused on her, though. "hi." she says shyly.

you let out a relieved laugh, squeezing her hands in yours again. "hi." you giggle. sevika's tiny little smile only grows, crinkles forming around her eyes and an adorable gap-tooth revealing itself. "y-you..." you look over your shoulder at her father, blathering on. "you're very beautiful." you whisper.

sevika's responding grin makes your knees wobble. "it's funny you say that, i was just thinking the same thing about you." she says.

you gulp, looking down at your intertwined hands and then back up at your future wife. "i-i was much more upset about this whole ordeal ten minutes ago." you admit.

sevika opens her mouth to say something, but then she's cut off. "and now, as a seal of their love and commitment to unity, the brides shall kiss." her father's voice booms. she grins, and leans forward, kissing you softly.

you drop her hands, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. sevika hums into your mouth, her arms reaching out to hold your waist, pulling you closer and closer and closer--

"ahem!" your mother coughs, nudging you.

you and sevika pull apart, gasping for air and giggling at all the shocked, gawking faces in the crowd. "whoops." she whispers.

you lean forward and bury your giggles against her shoulder as your parents and her father exchange gifts and shake hands.

sevika leans down while the focus is off the two of you, and whispers in your ear. "so, are you wearing white 'cause you're really a virgin?"

you giggle against her shoulder and nip her earlobe, beyond thrilled at the way she squeaks and jumps a bit. "you'll just have to find out, won't you?"

"fuck-- you think we can skip our own reception?"

"no, but i do think we can find an empty room in this big ass castle to sneak away to. get to know one another a little better." you tease.

sevika barks a loud laugh, inturrupting her father's rambling, before she swoops in to kiss you again.

the scandalized gasps from the crowd are entirely worth it.

behind you, you hear your mother tiredly mutter something under her breath to sevika's father. "oh, fuck. this may have been a horrible mistake."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette

[metamorphesque]

Accept and forget difference or desire that separates and leaves us longing or repelled. Why briefly return to play in broken places, to mock the ground, to collect infant shards, coins, fossils, or the familiar empty canisters and casings that glint from poisoned roots in the blackened dust? We make bad ghosts, and are last to know or believe we too will fade, just as our acrid smoke and those strange flakes of skin and strands of hair will, into largely undocumented extinction. Lie down, lie down; sleep is the best thing for being awake. Do as we’ve always been told and done, no backward glances or second thoughts, leaving sad markers buried in the sand. Sleep now, dream of children with their heads still on, of grandmothers unburdening clotheslines at twilight, of full kettles slow-ticking over twig embers. Ignore boneless, nameless victims that venture out on bitter gravel to claim remains while we rest. Pay at the window for re-heated, prejudiced incantations. Take them home and enjoy with wide-screen, half-digested, replayed previews of solemn national celebration. Then sleep, by all means; we’ll need all the energy we can muster for compiling this generation’s abridged anthology of official war stories, highlights of heedless slaughter, to burnish our long and proud imperial tradition. At some point, by virtue of accidentally seeing and listening, we may find ourselves participating in our own rendering. Few of our prey will be left alive enough to water the sun with their modest, time-rubbed repetitions, to rephrase their particular, unifying laws. Our version of events has already made its money back in foreign distribution and pre-sales; all victory deadlines must be met. It can get so quiet, with or without the dead watching our constant deployments. From our tilted promontory we may see one last woman scuffle away across cracked parchment of dry wash beneath us, muttering to herself—or is she singing at us? —as she rounds the sheared granite face and disappears into a grove of spindly, trembling tamarisk shadows lining the main road. We’ll soon hear little other than our breathing, as shale cools and bats rise to feed, taking over from sated swallows. Night anywhere is home, darkness a cue for turning inward, quiet an invitation to review our expensive successes before morning extraction from the twin rivers of our common cradle.

"Back to Babylon", Viggo Mortensen

[heartilywrites]

So I got this from character ai….

Korra, smiles at reader’s response before the woman plants a gentle kiss on reader’s cheek, the woman’s arms still wrapped around the girl’s waist, her body molding against the other woman’s back Mhm…I know what I wanna eat…and it’s not food…

And have korra dom the fem reader and eat her out….just tbh SMUT SMUT SMUT…..

،، 𝓑on Appétit ; Korra

request guide | masterlist

resume: a hungry Korra came back home to you.

content warnings: MDNI (oral n' fingering > r recieving ; topdom!Korra x bottomsubfem!Reader ; use of 'good girl' ; orgasm control) and if you squint, there's aftercare at the end ; no bending nor nation mentioned ; no use of y/n ; banner does not represent reader in any way, it's just for the aesthetic

wc: 1.9k

a/n: plus rq: "Korra x reader smut based on Lunch by Billie Eilish ??🤭" because you two sent me the similar ideas and I made the right decision to write them at the same time. HI HELLO I'M BACK FINALLY hopefully I'll be around more, I missed y'all. thank you for requesting, my love, enjoy :D

“ I could eat that girl for lunch, tastes like she's the one.

‍ ‍ The faint sound of fire making the water on the kettle boil and delicate hits on a wood board was all that made you company at that moment.

You were able to sneak out of your responsibilities an hour earlier than normal and went directly to the store looking to buy the groceries to make dinner for you and your girlfriend. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but since you ran out of food and Korra had told you she wanted to buy the groceries with you for the next two weeks, you only bought the necessary things for one dinner. After entering the apartment, you left everything in the kitchen just to change to more comfortable clothes; the night was a bit warm, making you opt for a pair of Korra’s pajamas and a sports bra to prevent feeling overwhelmed with the warm air of the kitchen.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Thank the spirits, I’m finally home!” such an entrance made you smile big, Korra’s steps made her way to you the moment she heard how you moved a pan. Leaning on the door’s frame, keen sky colored orbs were observing your figure move. “Pretty pajamas.”

You looked over at her with a funny gleam and took a step back from the counter to show your attire better. “Yeah? Stole it from a cute girl.” A wink was given her way, the avatar smiled with such enthusiam.

Her feet moved again, now walking towards you; warm hands cradled your face and a small kiss was exchanged. Even if it was ephemeral as a greeting, you felt the second intentions on it by the way your girlfriend embraced the gesture, one of her hands made its way from your cheek to your side and pulled you as close as it was humanly possible for two bodies to be.

You were trying hard not to succumb to her touch, mainly because you wanted to finish dinner first at least.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I missed you.” she whispered over your lips, giving you a tickling sensation.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Did you, now?” you answered back, the hand on your side began to leave caresses with its thumb, your tongue licked your lips a bit nervous. “I missed you too, Korra.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day, you know?” her voice got deeper, only making you realize she had been guiding you back to the counter, cornering you with it. “Your beautiful face, your touch, your voice when you moan my name.”

Ah, there it was. You started to feel your face burn and without any chance to say anything, the avatar was so quick to make you sit on the furniture she was cornering you in. Her lips attacked you a second time without any warning and clearly frantic while separating your legs to make way for her to be as close to you as she could be.

Her hands left a burning sensation anywhere they touched your skin, your own were over Korra’s shoulders; one of them was tangling with the brown strands of hair you always loved to play with while the other was caressing her neck.

Foreign teeth caught your bottom lip pulling you by it a little before taking advantage of how you let out a sigh to explore your mouth with her tongue; by then you were more than used to such hasty make out sessions when Korra had a long day and needed to take it out on someone… And you loved it, it usually meant she was more than determined on her actions. Even if she was harsh, she always made sure to never make you feel uncomfortable or hurt you in any way.

Her kisses began to leave marks on the skin of your neck, devouring it like she had been away for so long and this was the first time she got to taste you again. Your heart was pounding with excitement while your eyes closed and you moved your head to give her better access to you. When one of your hands looked to stabilize your body by leaning on the counter, it hit the cutting board making you turn to it and remember what you were doing.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Korra, the dinner.” you tried to call for her attention, she straightened her back to look at you. Pupils dilated to a point where the blue on her eyes was only noticeable if you looked closely at them. “I- I was making dinner.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I’m not hungry for food right now,” she answered, tilting her head to one side. “We’ll do dinner later, I know what I’ll eat right now.”

A small giggle left your mouth at the same time Korra claimed your lips again, but that time was shorter as she quickly moved on to attend your breasts. Thanking silently your early idea on using a sports bra, she only had to lift it up to allow your boobs to be freed, a soft sigh sounded your way and it made her smile. Without missing a beat, her mouth took care of your nipples one at a time, she was so focused on you while you went for a second try to stabilize yourself by leaving your weight distributed between your two hands.

After leaving some bruises on your chest area, the southerner stood up again to be on your eyes level. She smiled with certain mischief, pulling you to the edge a bit and placing her hands on top of your own.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I want you to be a good girl for me,” she spoke again, anxious eyes looked her way listening attentively. “You think you could do that?” your head nodded. “No, use your words.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I can, I promise.” you with devotion, answering as soon as she wanted to.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I know you can, you’re such an obedient girl for me.” her words made you melt to her, moaning slowly when you felt her hand caress your intimacy. “You see? Already making me proud.”

A mellow whine vibrated on your throat when her fingers abandoned your skin, a slight giggle was now her reaction to you and both digits she used to caress you were cleaned by her own mouth, making you bite your bottom lip to such action.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You’re going to do what I tell you, won’t you?” she asked you again, her hands were undressing your bottom part. A soft ‘yes’ was heard as an answer. “You’ll only come if I allow it, you understand?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I do, my love.” you whispered back with a small smirk.

It didn’t take more than half a minute for you to be fully naked on the counter, Korra took a small step back and made you spread your legs. Her eyes looked as if she was hypnotized by the way your core was dripping by the whole foreplay, your face started to feel hot again at how she just stood there for a moment, just… admiring you, amazed by how only she could have you so vulnerable before her and how you allowed her to see you in such state.

Coming back to herself, the girl got on her knees just at the right height for you. Her hands guided your legs to rest on each of her shoulders and she looked back at you when she was ready, a smirk painting her lips. Your eyes sparkle with lust at the sight you had of her between your legs and before you could make any comment about how she looked so good there, the feeling of her tongue now just licking on you teared a deep moan from your throat while you were praying your hands didn’t gave up on you or else your head would bumped on the furniture above.

If there was something you’d give to Korra was how she loved to eat you out, it had always been more of her own initiative to go down on you instead of you asking and she always did it with such devotion, like it was her first time doing so, like you were her addiction, hard to stop when she starts. The tip of her nose brushing your clit made you shiver, you had no idea how long it had been, but when the girl distanced for a second, a complaint sound left your mouth without permission. Korra laughed while looking for your right hand.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Patience, my dearest, I need your assistance.” she excused while guiding your hand to your own core, making your fingers part away a little bit your outside lips to facilitate her what she wanted to do. “Keep your pretty hand there and don’t move an inch.”

At first you didn’t understand the reason for it, but it all came to sense when one hand was used to keep one of your legs apart and the other introduced two digits on you without a warning while her mouth took care of sucking your clit again. A titillating sensation invaded your body accompanied by a loud moan and your head was thrown back.

The sensation of a knot on your abdomen began to rise little by little announcing how you were coming closer to your climax and Korra knew it by the way your walls felt tighter on her fingers when she started to hit that one spot on you she knew would drive you crazy.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Korra,” you called out of breath, trying to get her attention. “Korra, honey.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Not yet,” she said looking back at you, her fingers still moving inside your core. “Beg for it, do it and I’ll think about it.”

Your head felt cloudy, there was no way you could formulate a whole beg, you thought to yourself. But when she didn’t get a quick answer, her actions stopped with your whine making echo.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Beg,” she repeated herself, dark eyes looking at you. “You know the deal, my love, beg.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Please!” you exclaimed so desperate, your teary eyes looked her way feeling anxious to the sudden stop. “Please, let me cum, please.”

She smiled big to you, loving the way you would look so pathetic asking for permission so she nodded and resumed her work arousing your climax again. Just as if it was your doing, the kettle on the stove began to whistle just in time for you to let out a final loud whimper, while you composed yourself the southerner stood up and turned off the low flame on the stove.

She helped you to get down, both of you laughing when you almost fell because of how weak your legs felt. Korra helped you get dressed again and you helped her clean her face, stealing a couple of kisses in the process.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Should we really eat dinner now?” you asked, catching your breath with a glass of water on your hand given by your girlfriend.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Alright, dessert later?” she asked back, moving her eyebrows and making you laugh.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I’ll think about it.” you answer to her, the avatar stole a kiss from your lips.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “That’s fine by me. I’ll help you cook.” she offered when she saw you starting to clean everything again to restart the food.

[i-want-men-i-cant-have]

𝒿𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑒𝓊𝓍. 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑜𝑒.

✿ summary: getting stranded at a party might not be the best thing ever, but meeting the famous french striker under mistletoe is definitely a plus

✿ ft. noel noa

sitting alone at the bar at a christmas party you weren't invited to wasn't the best feeling in the world. your best friend, who used you as her work partner's plus one, had left you, preferring to "work." the poor athletes were almost running from her if they saw her, leaving her to wallow in the corner without you.

the non-alcoholic drinks you were forced to consume as the designated driver weren't exactly helping you pass the time, only making your bladder feel smaller and smaller. getting up from the bar, you ventured deeper into the party to find the bathroom.

as you walked, your eyes couldn't help but wander around, trying to find your friend, but to no avail. you slowly remembered what happened right before you entered the party.

"[y/n]! you have to keep your eyes open!"

"what? take a breath-"

"i can't! not when noel noa is here!" she frantically flicked her head from side to side, scanning the empty streets like he was going to appear like magic. 

“that’s the famous striker, right?”

"only the number one striker in the world! you have to find him and call me. if i see him here and interview him, i could get that promotion." she sounded hopeful, a smile on her face, but it dropped, her rbf shining through her happy persona when she saw your skeptical expression.

"pwease [y/n]~" she grabbed your hands and begged, almost getting down on her knees. 

“ok, ok! i’ll help you find this guy. just please get off the floor. someone could have puked on that.”

"thank you, [y/n]!" her bone-crushing hug knocked the wind out of you. once that bodyguard let you in, she ran around like a chicken without a head, trying to find the mystery man. too bad you didn't know what the famous striker looked like. you didn't know his nationality or team; you just knew his name and the position he played. not very helpful.

the tinkling of martini glasses and the sound of heels across the marble floors echoed across the room. popping champagne bottles, squeals, screams, and forced laughter would occasionally pipe up, always sounding the same. a massive christmas tree filled with tinsel, ornaments, lights, and anything else you could imagine decorated the room perfectly, lighting up the space and almost brushing the towering ceilings. you felt like an ant in the room, as if the room knew you didn't belong here.

the bathroom line felt like eternity, like when you were younger and had a nightmare, that stupid clock ticking every second going on until you finally fell asleep under your blankets. soon the line dwindled and dwindled down until you finally could get in and out. you dried your hands on the air dryer and shook your hands to get any remaining water off as you walked out the door.

now, you have nothing to do. you didn't work for this company, hell, you didn't even know what they did. everyone here looked rich and reeked of money. at least when you were in line for the bathroom, you had a purpose. but now you were just standing there. you felt like a ghost, people passing through you, not even acknowledging your existence.

you just wanted to go back to the bar; who cared what look that bartender would give you. so that's what you did, walking past women with candy cane red lips and men who smelled like more than you would ever make in a lifetime. suits and dresses that seemed so foreign to you.

but out of the corner of your eye, you saw your friend in that velvet low-cut tight dress on the second-floor mezzanine. she was talking to some expensive-looking man with a girl probably half his age on his arm; she was putting on that fake smile and laugh.

she had left you for a solid two and a half hours; you were going to hang out with someone. and that someone was going to be her.

so you made your way to the luxurious stairs, cascading velvety carpets that could rival the British monarchs. you excused yourself when you bumped into someone and finally reached the stairs, some men coming down them.

while passing a rather tall and muscular man, one of his friends whistled and laughed at the man who paused, along with you. both of you turned to see his friends; the one whistling and giggling looked way too drunk to be going anywhere near stairs. the man was holding onto a bland-looking one with blue eyes who looked rather nervous, trying to steady the swaying one.

you shot him a confused glance, your eyebrows raising in confusion, before turning your attention to the man standing beside you. his head was tilted upward, his gaze fixated on an arrangement of ferns- mistletoe, delicately suspended above. the soft glow from twinkling fairy lights adorned the surroundings.

in that moment, realization dawned upon you, and your eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and understanding. the air around you felt harder to inhale. you instinctively took a step back, caught off guard by the situation. however, the man beside you moved quicker than you’ve ever seen, his eyes widening in concern.

time seemed to slow as his arms encircled you, preventing any further descent down the stairs. the touch was both reassuring and electrifying. as you looked up into his eyes, you couldn't help but notice the subtle warmth that lingered. it felt so cliche. 

"are you alright?" his voice was filled with genuine concern, and you could feel yourself relax into his arms with those words.

but even with his words, your mind trailed off, going to admire him. what was he? a model? his cologne smells expensive, like every other perfume and cologne here, but at the same time it was distinct. there was an underlying uniqueness, a grounding minimalism that set it apart. you couldn't quite pinpoint it, but it held an allure that was nothing like you ever felt before.

you felt gross, disgusted even at what you were doing, taking him in like this, memorizing the details- his scent, the curve of his lips. god, you felt like a pervert. you chided yourself, feeling a twinge of discomfort at your own actions.

"i'm fine... sorry about that," you stammered, breaking the spell of your silent observations. awkwardness settled in, magnified by the awareness that his friends, the blonde one with a sly smirk and the black-haired one appearing uneasy, were keenly observing the exchange. your gaze flickered between them, questioning the dynamics of the trio.

"it’s fine. as long as you’re alright." the moment ended with him helping you back onto your feet, looking you over to double-check if you weren't lying.

"it's fine. as long as you're alright," he reassured, gracefully helping you back onto your feet. his lingering concern painted a genuine sincerity across his features, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of gratitude. as the moment concluded, his eyes scanned over you once more, ensuring your well-being. 

“don’t forget-” hick “to kiss you two,” the drunk man laughed hard, almost falling off of the bland one's shoulder who grabbed him quickly.

"don't forget-" a hiccup interrupted the drunken man's proclamation, “to kiss you two,” he abruptly erupted into laughter, teetering dangerously on the edge of his bland companion's shoulder. 

who the hell was this guy? your life wasn't some circus to watch, forcing you to kiss this random stranger.

"i'm sorry about him," the boy apologized, his eyes reflecting a mix of embarrassment and genuine remorse. "come on, let's go." he attempted to drag the blonde one down the stairs, who continued to whine about wanting to witness some "action." eventually, the duo disappeared, leaving you and the intriguing white-haired man alone on the stairs.

the silence that followed carried a unique tension, the remnants of an awkward encounter mingling with the loud ambiance of the surroundings. The mistletoe above seemed to cast a soft glow, as if nature itself was conspiring against you two.

"that guy’s something," you remarked, breaking the quietude with a light-hearted tone, attempting to diffuse the lingering discomfort. The white-haired man offered a wry smile, his eyes holding a subtle amusement that hinted at shared bemusement.

“so… why are you here?” you ask him to try to prolonged the conversation for as long as possible.

"They're organizing this celebration for my team."

“you’re team?” you ask a little confused.

“Bastard München” he responds curtley.

Realization finally dawns on you, and you recognize the man in front of you.

“are you- are you noel noa?” you stammered, feeling like some teenage girl. you didn’t even know much about this guy, but your friend went on and on about him. you always tuned her out, but she seemed so passionate about him.

“kiss! smoochie smoochie time~!”

“kaiser!” 

"get-" a loud grunting noise left the blonde, and a squawking noise left the other, "off of me, isagi!" they struggled against each other, arms reaching out to try and push them off each other.

“i thought they left,” you tried to laugh but when you looked back at the famous man in front of you, you stopped. his face almost seemed blank with a tinge of surprise if you could even call it that.

“it can’t be helped,” he sighed, his voice carrying a gentle undertone that resonated with unspoken emotions. as he reached up, his fingers delicately traced the outline of your face, tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. his eyes, a reflection of emotions too deep for words, held yours in a silent conversation.

a quiet pause lingered in the air, building anticipation, before he slowly leaned in. in that moment, time seemed to suspend, and the world around you faded away. 

his breath, warm against your skin, and as he closed the distance between you, his lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss starting with a tender press of lips. both of your arms remained at your sides not wanting to overstep the invisible boundary. even without hands, it was as if each touch was a gentle caress, a delicate deliberate pressure. the sensation was feather-light, a sweet brush of affection that spoke volumes in its subtlety. each movement was a caress, as if exploring the contours of your lips in a sweet, unhurried dance. it was the opposite of forceful, a slow, deliberate exploration, leaving a lingering warmth.

even when he pulled away, cheeks dusted pink, promising his manager would send you tickets to the next match, you could still smell that expensive cologne after he left.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Alix Breeden at Daily Kos:

During Donald Trump’s executive order-signing spree Monday, the convicted felon signed one in particular that experts and civil rights groups believe is just a beefed up version of his 2017 Muslim ban.  The executive order, titled “Protecting the United States from Foreign Terrorists and Other National Security and Public Safety Threats,” calls for foreign visitors to be vetted to the “maximum degree possible.” 

But bolstering up the vetting process isn’t the concern. Rather, it’s who the vetting process is going to be targeting.   “The Trump administration seems intent on banning travel from certain countries, likely along the lines of his 2017 Muslim travel ban,” Faiza Patel, senior director of liberty and national security at the Brennan Center for Justice, told Daily Kos.  “But it has learned the lesson of its first term,” she added, referring to the executive order Trump signed right after taking office in 2017, which left travelers confused and stranded at border customs. The 2017 ban targeted five Muslim majority countries as well as North Korea and Venezuela. And while it was challenged almost immediately after it was issued, the Supreme Court later upheld a thrice-revised version of the ban just over a year later.  [...] The order also appears to give officials the ability to remove foreign visitors who are in the United States legally on the basis of where they are from or what they worship. 

The infamous Muslim Travel Ban from Trump’s first term is back, but much more extreme. The order also targets pro-Palestine speech on college campuses.

See Also:

Al Jazeera: Trump decree paves way for ‘Muslim ban’, targeting pro-Palestine students

Mother Jones: Trump’s Revamped Muslim “Travel Ban” Has Another Target: Free Speech on Campus

[weenwrites]

Hello! What headcanons would you have for a bot that has the power to create energon after a freak lab accident back on Cybertron? They were also a mutual friend of Optimus and Megatron well before the war, and was thought to have died after they were abducted and went missing just before it took off.

Forward to the present, a ship crashes into Earth and it gives off a huge energon signal, prompting both sides to investigate the site further. That's when they find a stasis pod encased in energon, and inside is the missing bot, still alive and in deep sleep. When rescued, the bot has no idea a war ever took place, and wonders why their old friends look so tired all of a sudden. They turn down the Autobot or Decepticon badge when presented with it, as they feel those need to be earned.

As a bonus, their presence always has a calming effect to those around them. The others find themselves feeling at ease if even for a moment. If around Megatron, he isn't as angry as usual. If around Optimus, he feels more assured things will be okay. Interactions with Megatron and Optimus are strictly platonic.

Apologies for the rambling. I hope all of this makes sense lol

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Optimus

He explains all that has happened over the years you were absent, starting from the very day you went missing, to the destruction of their home planet, to where they are now on Earth. It's quite a lot to cover within the day, but he promises to answer any of your other questions to the best of his ability.

Afterward, he asks about where you had gone, and he explains that the authorities had investigated your disappearance, only to find no remains and ultimately conclude that you were dead. If it's still a sensitive topic for you, he won't push you to share or explain anything you don't want to, he's content enough with knowing that you were alive in the end.

He won't force you to choose a side, neither will he force you to stay at the base if you wish to go your own way, but he'll advise you that it will be difficult to survive on a foreign planet. The energon is scarce, the technology is primitive, and though the Autobots are fortunate that the U.S. Government is allowing them to stay, the leaders of other nations may not be so kind as to allow you within their borders if they discover your existence. Additionally, given that Megatron shares no resemblence to the Megatron you knew all those years ago, and your abilities would give the decepticons an incentive to seek you out for their own gain, it would be far safer for you to remain within the base rather than being on your own.

Yet even if you refuse, he won't force you to something you do not wish for yourself, and he'll grant you access to the base's private commlink line, in the event that you need any sort of assistance, and to keep in touch.

Megatron

He'll escort you back to the Nemesis and explain everything that has happened from his skewed point of view. Optimus Prime has changed over the years of warfare and he is no longer the archivist you once knew, Cybertron is now a wasteland and a husk of what it once was, and now both the Autobots and Decepticons have been stranded on earth.

He tries to insist that there's no need for you to earn the Decepticon badge! After all, when he was first realizing the cause, you were one of the first people he was thinking of recruiting into the Decepticons. Your ideals and aspirations align perfectly with the cause, not only that but you would be an invaluable asset for the Decepticons. So truly, being a Decepticon would be a perfect fit for you.

Even if you decline, he still offers you a habsuite aboard the Nemesis. He'll say that Earth is a hell for any cybertronian to live on, and the Decepticons are fortunate to have what little resources they have. In addition to the lack of resources, they must keep themselves concealed from the natives of the Earth! Why? He explains that they're a very young, primitive, and fragile species, they aren't ready to witness the cybertronian race. So truly, staying aboard the nemesis would be in your best interest.

The other bots aboard the Nemesis begin to notice the affect you have on him and everyone else, and regardless of whether he issues orders to make you feel welcomed, they're going to persuade you to stay (mostly for your ability though).

It probably won't take you long to realize that all of these friendly gestures are not due to your past friendship, but rather that having you on his side will grant him an unparalleled advantage over the Autobots. The Megatron you once knew has long since died over the thousands of years of war and slaughter. But on the other hand, as a familiar face and your former friend, perhaps you were blind to his true nature and his sly words swayed you. But either way, you sealed your fate the moment you joined him back to the Nemesis. He's going to make you work for the Decepticons, even if it takes a little forceful persuasion to make you cooperate.

[collapsedsquid]

The Dali - a 948ft (289m) container ship - was at the start of a 27-day journey from Baltimore to Sri Lanka when it struck the Francis Scott Key Bridge, sending thousands of tonnes of steel and cement into the Patapsco. It left the ship stranded under a massive expanse of shredded metal. [...] The crew, made up of 20 Indians and a Sri Lankan national, has been unable to disembark because of visa restrictions, a lack of required shore passes and parallel ongoing investigations by the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) and FBI. On Monday, the crew remained on board even as authorities used small explosive charges to deliberately "cut" an expanse of the bridge lying on the ship's bow. Ahead of the controlled demolition, US Coast Guard Admiral Shannon Gilreath said that the crew would remain below deck with a fire crew at the ready. "They're part of the ship. They are necessary to keep the ship staffed and operational," Adm Gilreath said. "They're the best responders on board the ship themselves."

[...] According to Mr Messick, the crew has been left largely without communication with the outside world for "a couple of weeks" after their mobile phones were confiscated by the FBI as part of the investigation. "They can't do any online banking. They can't pay their bills at home. They don't have any of their data or anyone's contact information, so they're really isolated right now," Mr Messick said. "They just can't reach out to the folks they need to, or even look at pictures of their children before they go to sleep. It's really a sad situation."

The Beached Dutchman, stuck forever at a foreign port but never able to step off

[adiluv-moved]

❥ 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄 + 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐋 𝐇𝐂𝐒. ˚⊹꒷

🎤୧・꒰word count꒱ 1154.

💿୧・꒰warnings꒱ yandere character ꒰implied stalking, obsessive/possessive behavior꒱, idol/modern au, reader is not traveler, reader is from sumeru, intentional lowercase, not edited.

🎧୧・꒰adi moment꒱ inspired by this ask! i'm literally such a big fan of yandere idol scara there is so much untapped potential here that i think we need to start looking at!! hope you enjoy!! ໒꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀི১

as a disclaimer, i don't support yandere behavior in real life! please don’t interpret this post as justification for any of scaramouche's actions.

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who's the sixth of the twelve harbingers, a snezhnayan-based idol group that's recently gone viral and taken teyvat by storm. with members hailing from all seven nations, you'd instantaneously deem the inazuman native your favorite—something about his more blunt and bratty personality catching your attention. with plenty of releases and tons of merch drops, you'd find most of your income going to posters, albums, photocards, and apparel—an easily noticeable focus on scaramouche themed items taking hold early within your collection.

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who meets you while lost in sumeru city, having decided to take a vacation after the success of his latest tour within liyue. delays with transportation had caused him to show up late for his hotel reservation, leaving him stranded in the foreign city without anywhere to stay... which is precisely where you come in. even with the large amount of mora you'd dedicated towards supporting the group, concerts were far out of your budget—tickets being sold out mere minutes after dropping. so when you'd met your bias sitting on a staircase with a suitcase beside him, you'd been quick to offer him shelter within your apartment, leading the man back to your place and opting to sleep on the couch and give him your bed.

꒰💀꒱・it's this trusting nature of yours that initially causes him to consider you the biggest idiot in teyvat, with scaramouche contenting himself to make good use of the amenities you've oh so graciously provided. he's given free access to all of your belongings for hours on end whenever you go to work—given more than enough freedom as you slave over your stove to cook dinner once you finally return. really, you're lucky he's the real deal, he thinks, because it would be stupidly easy for him to just rob you one day and run off. ꒰not like anybody would believe he robbed you, either.꒱ ...but he has no need for your pitiful belongings, and he'd feel like a real asshole to do such a thing, so he leaves them be.

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who, despite his first impressions, finds himself growing fonder and fonder of you as time goes on. you're an utter klutz, lacking common sense and self-preservation skills—however. you're caring. kind. you take him sightseeing on your days off and offer to pay for the things he buys, even though he currently has more mora than you'd ever obtain within your lifetime. while a superfan with his merch lining the walls, you see past the persona he wears on stage—see the real him and make an effort to know him. you treat him like an equal, unlike everybody he'd encountered after becoming an idol.

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who begins missing you after returning to snezhnaya, borderline regretful that he hadn't entertained his idle thoughts and taken something from your apartment as a reminder of your hospitality. he's never felt this way about a fan ꒰let alone anybody else within his life꒱ this way before—wanting nothing more than to cast away his duties and seek you out once again. the first night back in his home is spent as an all-nighter, detective-esq determination while he searches instagram for your profile and nearly jumps out of his bed once he finally locates it. of course, you accept his request, and he takes great joy in scrolling through your posts and unashamedly liking all of them. not like you'd even mind, anyway. your followers list is, in the same manner, put up for examination—though he doesn't exactly want to tell you about that.

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who stalks your spotify almost every day, listening to all of your playlists and taking notes on the various musicians that pop up. immature as it is, it's difficult to stop the searing jealousy that threatens to pop up whenever other idol groups pop up a little too often for his tastes, a sour taste left in his mouth as he attempts to convince himself that the harbingers ꒰him, specifically꒱ are still your favorites. although he publicly claims that he has no need for rivalries with other groups, there's just something inherently satisfying about seeing one of his tracks beating those of the other groups on your playlist, silent hopes that you'd also prefer it over theirs. 

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who begins sending you gifts once his obsession really takes hold. whether it be money, merch, or the random items on your avidyazon wish list, expect to see a lot of packages arriving at your doorstep—all with notes from scaramouche commenting on whatever's inside the box. receiving tickets to any and all harbinger concerts also becomes a common occurrence, transportation to the other nations paid in full. while touring in inazuma, he does the honors of sending you a kimono alongside front-row tickets, practically ordering you to wear it and saying he's excited to see just how amazing you'll look in it. you're so preoccupied by the gesture that you don't even think to ask when he got your measurements. 

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who takes you backstage after each and every one of his performances, having his bodyguard escort you to his personal dressing room. although he asks you to tell him about any significant events within your life, he almost never seems to be shocked by any of them—instead giving you an almost knowing look... as though he already had the information. not to mention that anybody bothering you almost always stops after mentioning your discomfort to him. a part of you wonders whether he does anything to interfere, but it seems near impossible considering his busy schedule and the fact that he's miles away from you in another nation. must just be a crazy coincidence, right..?

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who demands your attention at every moment within these meetings, growing insanely agitated if you so much as attempt to talk about the other harbingers—especially il dottore. attempts to figure out why he hates the senior member so much are outright ignored, scaramouche instead opting to quickly silence you by either pinching your lips together or boldly kissing you ꒰if he's feeling particularly jealous, that is꒱. "you shouldn't even think about other men in my presence," he'll say, "let alone dottore." and because you don't want to upset your idol, you simply nod your head and change the subject.

꒰💀꒱・yandere idol scaramouche who would've asked you to be his partner by now, if not for the many scandals that would erupt from such a request. he's aware that some of his fans obsess over him in the same way he does you, and he'd hate to place you into any dangerous situations because of his greed. don't get him wrong, though. you still aren't allowed to date anybody else, a fact that he'll remind you off right before he sends you on your way. things may not be official, sure—but you still belong to him.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

[fibula-rasa]

Cosplay the Classics: Elizabeth Montgomery in “Two”

“Two” first aired on 15 September 1961 and is the first episode of the third season of The Twilight Zone. Sadly, “Two” is the only episode that features Elizabeth Montgomery.

Montgomery was nearly ten years into her professional career in 1961. She had already carved out a solid resume in television, appearing prolifically on anthology and episodic shows and occasionally stretched her legs on the New York stage. Samantha Stephens was still three years away when Montgomery took her voyage through The Twilight Zone.

In its five seasons, The Twilight Zone was a crossroads of up-and-coming and well-established performers. “Two” paired the rising star Montgomery with Charles Bronson, who had a decade more acting experience in TV and film than Montgomery. Though Bronson was the more established star, “Two” is Montgomery’s showcase.

Read on below the jump!

“Two” relies on minimal dialogue throughout and notably Montgomery only has a single line spoken. The role relies almost entirely on Montgomery’s action/reaction, expression, and styling. The episode begins on Montgomery as The Woman wandering an abandoned city. The first nine minutes of the episode pass with no dialogue, with context given by visual elements and Serling’s opening narration. The entire episode takes place on a small section of city street (at the old Hal Roach studios, conveniently already in disrepair). 

We learn through newspapers and magazines that this city is in The Man’s homeland, invaded by The Woman’s nation’s army. Signs of the city’s long five-year abandonment are everywhere, including full skeletons left where they fell. (The macabre element of skeletons is used sparingly across the Twilight Zone and usually in circumstances less grounded in reality than “Two,” such as “Long Live Walter Jameson” and “Queen of the Nile.”) As The Man mulls over his first encounter with The Woman a dove flies up behind him as a symbol of his genuine desire for peace. Through a variety of posters and advertisements, we learn that The Man’s homeland had a culture heavily invested in war.

Collage of the war-related paraphernalia in “Two”

All of that is solid storytelling, but Montgomery’s acting adds an extra something. When The Woman first encounters The Man, Montgomery performs hair-trigger reactivity. Despite The Woman’s dire situation—a stranded foreigner in a decimated country with seemingly no chance to ever return home—her reluctance to trust The Man is significant. Pairing Montgomery’s wordless portrayal of these responses with the jingoistic quality of The Man’s homeland and the notable length of time that the city has been abandoned makes me feel that her feelings might not be a simple holdover of wartime hostility on her part but potentially extended trauma. Perhaps The Woman had previous awful experiences with other straggling remnants of The Man’s military, who may not have been as ready as The Man to give up wartime attitudes in spite of the war clearly being over.

The Woman is understandably acting like a cornered animal. As the episode progresses, The Man tries to be as calculated as possible in communicating to The Woman that he doesn’t want a fight through his actions, turning his back to her, and not retaliating the third time she launches an attack on him. Montgomery, in turn, does a great job of drawing out the cornered animal characterization—alternating between curiosity, hope, mistrust, and open hostility. Montgomery’s characterization gives the role the added dimension that saves the episode from feeling too much like an overly simple fable.

Unfortunately, it’s in executing the fabular aspect of the story where “Two” falters. The opening narration by Serling specifies: 

“It’s been five years since a human being walked these streets. This is the first day of the sixth year as man used to measure time.  “The time: perhaps a hundred years from now, or sooner, or perhaps it’s already happened two-million years ago. The place: The signposts are in English so that we may read them more easily, but the place is The Twilight Zone.”

It’s established here that the location is meant to be a stand-in for any city in any country, and that the use of English is merely a storytelling convenience. So, even though “Two” is intended as a Cold-War era anti-war statement, they are intentionally distancing the fiction from the contemporary real-world conflict. To create further distance from a contemporary place/time, they establish that the rifles are laser guns.

But, then, that one line that Montgomery speaks in “Two,” seventeen minutes in, is “Prekrasny” or “прекрасны,” a Russian word for beautiful or pretty. This pretty much grinds to a halt the concept that this is a cautionary fable and not a vision of a dark future where the Soviet Union and the United States moved to open warfare. While I’ll admit that the conventions used to establish “Two” as a fable are cheeky and a little on the corny side, the episode itself would have been stronger without the suggestion that The Woman is Russian.

I’m not sure who made the call to use a Russian word. I wonder if perhaps Serling wrote his introduction and he had a different read on the story than its writer, Montgomery Pittman. Maybe Pittman intended “Two” to be more of a dark premonition with a twist of optimism and Serling thought of it more as a fable and the two approaches hampered each other in the final product? This is pure speculation on my part of course, but it’s a black mark on what I think could have been an even better episode than it is.

Regardless, I think “Two” is a strong episode and a fine example of a Serling-esque story written by someone brought on to lighten the load of Serling, who worked himself to the bone on Twilight Zone. I also appreciate Pittman’s confidence to rely so heavily on visual storytelling techniques, taking into account that the high quality at which we watch the show now does not reflect the quality home viewers would have had in 1961. It reflects both Serling and the producers belief that viewers would be fully engaged in watching the show as it aired rather than just passively having it on in the family room while unwinding after dinner. 

Elizabeth Montgomery’s performance heightens the whole affair considerably. That’s no shade on Charles Bronson, in fact I think the monologuing he’s given could have come off as unbearably hokey if delivered by a lesser actor.

If you can believe it, this is my very first time cosplaying The Twilight Zone! (Though I did play Rod Serling in a set of sketches in high school. I was as weird as a teenager as I am an adult, okay?) If you didn’t already know, I run another blog called Twilight Zone in Close-ups, examining the powerful use of close-up shots on the show by testing out how much of each episode’s story can be communicated solely by its close-up shots.

☕ Buy me a coffee! ☕

[siilvan]

OC File: Mylène "Petra" Scholten de Ridder

gorgeous renders by the amazing wonderful phenomenal lovely @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot <33

finally posting my oc to cope with mw3... i've had her since november '22, didn't even mention her name to anyone until august lol. i've never had the confidence (or skill) to do this, so i'm thanking all of my mutuals with their wonderful ocs for giving me the strength to do it, even if they don't know it <3

note: despite petra being reader's callsign in bloodsport, it is not intended to be my oc. so far, the only fics that petra properly appears in are desideria and fortuna redux. i know it's confusing and i'm sorry 😭 more of her (and others) in the future!

very long post BTC...

edit: completely forgot to include this— credit to cptnprice for the file!!

GENERAL

Name: Mylène "Petra" Scholten de Ridder

Nicknames/Aliases: Petra, Doc, Bravo 0-5, MEDINT 5, Leni (by friends/family)

Rank: Lieutenant (since 2015)

Gender: Female

Birth Date: June 29, 1990

Nationality: Dutch

Affiliations: Royal Netherlands Army, Korps Commandotroepen, Task Force 141, Coalition (Warcom), SpecGru

Birthplace: Rotterdam, Netherlands

Current Residence: The Hague, Netherlands

APPEARANCE

Hair Color: Golden Brown

Eye Color: Blue (right), Green (left)

Height: 5'7" (1.70 m)

Weight: 160 lbs (72 kg)

Build: Athletic, hourglass (hips. That's all.)

Blood Type: O-

Marks: Various tattoos (pictured below), scar on cheek

Faceclaim: Rianne Haspels (Carlotta Champagne for body)

DETAILS

Sexuality: Unlabeled (prefers men)

Languages: Dutch (native), English (C2), Spanish (A2), French (B2), German (C1), Danish (C1), Russian (B2), Arabic (B1)

Education: Biochemistry BS from the University of Amsterdam, Biochemistry MSc from the University of Copenhagen

Preferred Hairstyles: Low bun or Dutch braid for missions, 3-strand braid or loose for everyday

Preferred Mission Attire: Anything from jeans and a turtleneck, to slim cargos and a tank top, to proper combat fatigues. Dresses for the weather, but hates anything baggy. Prefers to wear black and green, occasionally wears white, tan, or blue. Very athletic style.

Preferred Civilian Attire: Usually dresses fairly casual. Jeans, cargos, leather pants, leggings. Plain t-shirts, henleys, turtlenecks, off-shoulder tops. Wears bomber jackets or hoodies. Mostly wears black, green, or white. Likes feeling comfortable but cute when she's off the clock.

Favorite Color: Evergreen

Favorite Flower: Magnolia

PERSONALITY

Myers-Briggs Type: ENFJ-T. Extraverted, intuitive, feeling, judging, and turbulent. Petra prioritizes the better of the group over personal benefit and strives to have a positive impact on the world and the people around her. Happy to lead or follow, but preferring to guide others, she is a self-identified humanitarian with a pipe dream of world peace. Reliability, tolerance, passion, and altruism ultimately conflict with overthinking, stubbornness, perfectionism, and indecisiveness – Petra is both helped and hindered by the idea of what things can be or could have been.

FAMILY

Father: Colonel Hendrik "Chimera" Scholten de Ridder. Former KCT commander and military legend-turned terrorist. (deceased)

Mother: Johanna Scholten de Ridder (née van den Bos). Former MEDINT analyst for the BVD and MID. (deceased)

Brother: Sergeant Emiel "Nightfall" Scholten de Ridder. KCT operative and specialist in anything covert; never misses a shot. Ally of TF141, rarely stays in any one place for long due to the nature of his assignments.

Uncle: Unnamed paternal uncle. Father's younger brother, civilian military engineer. Lost his life in a terrorist attack in the mid-1990s. (deceased)

Aunt: Special Agent Merel "Songbird" van den Bos. Mother's older sister, former agent for the BVD and MID. Specialist in foreign relations and espionage. May or may not be living in the USA and married to Frank Woods (spoiler: she is).

Grandfather: General Emiel Scholten de Ridder. Paternal grandfather, former commander of the Royal Netherlands Army. Yes, her brother is named after him. (deceased)

SKILLS

Fighting Style: Adaptable, but prefers to keep her distance. Studied kickboxing, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and Krav Maga in her youth – CQC is influenced by these.

Weapons: Can use whatever is available. Is oddly talented with a quarterstaff despite none of her training involving it.

Preferred Weapons: M4 (Hightower 20" Barrel, Schlager PEQ Box IV laser, Cronen Mini Pro optic, Corio Precio Factory stock), X12, Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, karambit, throwing knives

Special Skills: Specializes in MEDINT analysis, trauma/medical care, chemical warfare, hostage rescue, asset protection, and foreign military assistance. Can act as a translator. Has received training in sniping, espionage, and stealth combat from allies. Is notorious for her strong fortitude. Very versatile.

Hobbies: Art, cooking, baking, reading, sports (baseball, climbing, kickboxing, swimming, ice skating), music (drums), studying languages

Former Hobbies: Did ballet and gymnastics in her youth. Still enjoys both, doesn't have the time to practice either. Has decent equilibrium thanks to them.

TRIVIA

The name Mylène can mean "merciful", Scholten refers to a schout (government official that handled administration of justice), and de Ridder means "the knight".

Her callsign Petra means "rock, stone" and is not implying that she's a stony person! She earned her callsign due to her high tolerance and endurance; she's also uniquely durable, often recovering from or withstanding injuries that would leave others in worse condition. It's a bit supernatural, don't worry about it.

Was introduced to drumming by her Uncle Frank when she was little. It's canon to me.

Mylène looks like a carbon copy of her aunt, sans some details like hair and eye color. She's also more well-built than her aunt thanks to being in the military.

Has a bunch of small rituals, habits, and very specific ways of doing things thanks to her OCD – nothing too crazy (she has no choice but to manage these thanks to her career), but you'll start to notice them if you're around her enough.

Has polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). She's learned ways to lessen the symptoms and has an IUD that helps immensely, but it's why she still has a decent amount of fat on her body despite working out religiously. (Not projecting my issues shh)

Doesn't date often due to her career and personal reservations. Prefers someone older, though. (I'm not projecting shh x2)

Keeps a journal on her at almost all times. Inside of it is anything from basic medical info for her allies, random drawings, important notes, etc. Likes to pretend it's organized, but it's not. At all.

Skipped a year in primary school, hence why she graduated at 17 instead of 18 despite attending a VWO school.

It was painfully obvious that she learned her Russian in school before she met Nikolai. After he laughed at her, he taught her how to sound more "natural" – AKA, he taught her almost exclusively profanity.

Bouncing off that, she's Mrs. Worldwide. Petra's unintentionally picked up so much slang from her coworkers.

Her favorite genres of literature are romance and philosophy. She can read outrageous smut with a straight face, but blushes and grins over fluffy stuff. Tries to read books in other languages to practice, too!

Will not touch any drug with a 10-foot pole. Same goes for tobacco, she's the type to dramatically cough if the team smokes around her. She's very health-conscious!!

TATTOOS

source 1 source 2

Tattoo One (Hands) I'm not going to lie... originally gave Petra the tattoo (two, actually – she has it on both hands) because I loved Freya's tattoos in GOW and the design is inspired by those. From an in-universe standpoint, it was her first tattoo (age 17) and she just wanted something simple that could be hidden under her gloves to prevent fading. Has to get them touched up every now and then.

Tattoo Two (Right Arm) Full sleeve of willow branches, florals, and butterflies. There's a lot of symbolism in this one. The butterflies represent transformation, hope, and rebirth; the willow branches symbolize a new life, protection, flexibility, and adaptability; the flowers embody anything from growth, joy, transience, hope, love, and death.

source 3 source 4

Tattoo Three (Left Bicep) Two-headed snake with flowers! I don't think I need to rhapsodize about the florals again, so I'll skip to the snake. Depending on the culture, a two-headed serpent can represent wildly different things. It's a symbol of rebirth and resurrection, with each head representing earth and the underworld. It can symbolize indecision and conflicting ideas. Duality, balance, power, healing, insight, and deeper awareness; snakes were often seen as a spiritual messenger, and the dual nature of a two-headed serpent represents learning from both positive and negative experiences. (if I see any "heehoo konni" comments, I will blow up the sun, this ain't about him babygirls 😔)

Tattoo Four (Left Inner Forearm) Compass with an arrow! The symbolism is pretty obvious, I think... Direction, guidance, and navigation; the compass arrow combines the arrow's representation of direction and forward movement and the compass' symbolism of finding your way and staying on course. Together, it represents the idea that, no matter how far away you are, your arrow will always hit its target – even when losing your way, you'll always be able to overcome adversity and find your way back.

BACKGROUND

⋆ CW: themes of child abuse, violence, SA (marked with ***) and overall mary sue levels of tragedy

Born on June 29, 1990 in the city of Rotterdam, Netherlands, to Hendrik Scholten de Ridder and Johanna Scholten de Ridder, Mylène had a normal – if not privileged, thanks to her family's prominent histories – early childhood. At the age of 3, her brother, Emiel, was born. Known to be a clever, compassionate girl, Mylène took to the "big sister" role with ease.

Her father was a captain from a distinguished military family with the callsign "Chimera", who ascended to the rank of colonel and commanded the Royal Netherlands Army’s special forces unit, the Korps Commandotroepen. Her mother was a medical intelligence analyst for the AIVD and MIVD (then-known as the BVD and MID) with a family history in government and politics.

In the late fall of 1999, when Mylène was only 9 years old, she came home from school and discovered her mother's corpse, having been killed by enemies of her father originally seeking to hold the family for ransom. This event, paired with the traumas he sustained over his years in the military, drove her father to "near insanity" as he became consumed with paranoia and grief. The rest of her and her brother's adolescence was defined by the trauma of her father's abuse; he subjected the siblings to rigorous physical and psychological training in order to mold them into "perfect soldiers" and prevent any further loss.

Despite this, her father was publicly viewed as a war hero. He would often leave the two alone when he was on deployment, forcing Mylène to care for herself and her brother with nothing more than a roof over their heads and grocery money provided. The siblings developed an unbreakable bond during this time that would extend into their adulthoods, rendering them a synergic duo both at home and in the field.

After finishing secondary school at 17, Mylène enlisted in the Royal Netherlands Army. She also studied at the University of Amsterdam – taking online classes – and eventually graduated with a BS in Biochemistry. She spent 3 years serving in various military hospitals, clinics, and field units under the 400 Medical Battalion, until she joined selection for the KCT in 2011. She was swiftly recognized for her high tolerance, natural interpersonal skills, and advanced aptitude for MEDINT analysis; she passed selection with top marks, setting several records during the infamous "hell week" exercise.

Mylène operated as a combat medic until August 2013, when she worked with the British SAS's Unit Bravo under the command of Captain John Price. Despite the joint team being greatly reduced in number and separated after a series of heavy artillery attacks from enemy forces, Mylène managed to provide emergency medical care and calm leadership as her party made its way to the rendezvous point that Price's group was defending.

After the joint operation concluded, Price took an interest in her, deciding to train her as a sniper and teach her how to better use her skills in combat. The two quickly developed a close relationship built upon mutual trust and a desire to fight for what's right, regardless of rules or orders. At some point after this, her unflappable nature and composure when faced with challenging conditions earned her the callsign "Petra".

*** By 2014, Mylène was in a several year-long relationship with a National Reserve Corps (NATRES) NCO named Florian Van Aller. On February 14 of that year, he suddenly came to her with an idea that left her speechless: "sharing" her with his unit. Despite his insistence and attempt to pressure her into it, Mylène refused, ending the relationship. They met on base the next day after Florian messaged her claiming to want to apologize – when she came face-to-face with him and his mentor, Captain Jozef Daalmans, she realized what she had been told was a lie.

*** Although the captain's only involvement was restraining her and watching, Mylène felt violated by both men. She was left at the scene, battered and ashamed, until the last person she expected to help found her – Colonel Hendrik Scholten de Ridder. In a rare act that she now describes as "the last time she ever saw her real father," he comforted her and took her to the hospital, where Mylène received treatment for the injuries she sustained in the assault. She never spoke of the incident afterwards, leaving herself, her father, and her attackers as the only people privy to it.

In early 2015, an assault team led by Chimera and Petra on an enemy submarine revealed that there was a traitor within the unit. The entire team, save for Chimera and Petra themselves, was killed onboard the vessel. The traitor was eventually discovered to be Chimera himself, with Petra as the only witness to his admission and subsequent attempt to bury her, and any incriminating evidence, at sea. With her father in the wind and knowing that her word alone wouldn't be enough to implicate him for his crimes, Petra contacted Captain Price, telling him: "You're the only person I can trust."

An unsanctioned operation to capture or kill Chimera was planned by the two, with the help of her brother – now a KCT operative nicknamed "Nightfall" – and Nikolai, a trusted contact of Price's. The small team managed to track the Colonel and his supporters to a base deep in the Alps, where they successfully wiped out the entire group and killed Chimera. After this mission, Petra felt indebted to Price and Nikolai, considering them two of the few people she could trust implicitly.

From then on, Petra lent her services to various humanitarian groups in an effort to provide protection and medical care on missions around the globe. With expertise in frontline trauma and medical care, hostage rescue, asset protection, medical intelligence analysis, chemical warfare, and the training and advising of foreign military units, Petra proved to be an elite operative capable of remaining calm in even the most dire scenarios. She’s been awarded the Military William Order, the Bronze Lion, the Bronze Cross, and the Cross of Merit for both covert and overt operations, establishing herself as a minor legend within the elite commando corps.

However, a little over a year after the unsanctioned operation in the Alps, Petra was captured and imprisoned by Ultranationalist forces. She was regularly tortured during her captivity, often by Vladimir Makarov, whom she now sarcastically describes as "a lovely man."

Sometime in mid-2017, Petra was yet-again assigned to a unit led by Price, tasked with infiltrating and securing an Al-Qatala base located in Kastovia. Another member of the unit was Nightfall, serving as the team's scout sniper. During the mission, while providing overwatch, Nightfall's radio was suddenly cut off. When the rest of the team finally reached his location to investigate, several IEDs planted in the area went off and forced the group to retreat. Petra attempted a rescue, but was prevented from doing so by Price, as it was too dangerous. Demolition teams cleared the area the following day. Once it was safe to extract Nightfall, however, the recovery team found nothing.

With her brother declared dead in absentia, Petra chose to abandon the special forces. She went back to school and earned an MSc in Biochemistry at the University of Copenhagen, refusing to contact any of her former allies so as to avoid being dragged back into the military.

In April 2019, Petra was tracked down in Denmark by Price, who informed her of Vladimir Makarov's plans in Verdansk and urged her to join the SAS team being sent to stop him. After thorough convincing, she agreed to come back for one more mission, seeking revenge against the man that tortured her years ago.

Petra was later handpicked for the task force Price established alongside CIA Station Chief Kate Laswell following the death of General Roman Barkov in November 2019. She was once again sought out by Price – and Nikolai, who was the "final nail in the coffin," according to Price – and convinced to join the team as a commanding officer.

About a month later, Laswell pinpointed the location of a prison in Georgia believed to be used by Al-Qatala to hold POWs. Reconnaissance of the prison confirmed this and the identity of several of the prisoners; Nightfall was identified as one of the POWs. Petra, leading an elite KCT unit, raided the location shortly thereafter, securing the captives, Nightfall, and intel about Al-Qatala's plans.

Between the invasion of Verdansk, Las Almas, and a burgeoning war with Konni group... Petra has fully committed herself to Task Force 141, willing to save the world or die trying.

[imagine-silk]

Could you maybe do the Yandere Fallout 4 Girls +Haylen with a Darling that is just on the way through? They met the Yandere and helped them but have to soon join their Caravan back to their home nation?

》I got something similar before about SoSu being an immigrant but I'll make this different ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

》The Darling in question is not going to be the SoSu just so it doesn't get repetitive and they'll be from Mexico. Can you imagine a a fallout Mexico? You'd probably get a real chupacabra.

【Cait】 "I'll come with."

She met them when the caravan she was guarding happened across theirs. One thing led to another and the leaders decided to travel together to the next city. They saw how she just walked along the caravan and offered her a seat next to them. She didn't really care but took the offer anyway. Then the caravans were under attack and in the chaos they jumped out in front of her to push her down to the ground, saving her life.

After that she stayed by their side the rest of the ride, making sure they were okay. The caravan leaders apologized for not helping her but she said that's what she was there for. Though she did hate them silently. But she took the seat in the back next to her Darling. In the city she followed them too. When they asked she said she had nothing better to do. At the pub they swapped stories. They told her about Mexico and the strange things there and how Spanish had apparently changed. Cait told them about her time with the one they called the Sole Survivor, but how she knew as Nate/Nora.

It wasn't difficult to follow them. She offered her services and they agreed after negotiating a price. They had no idea she wasn't going to leave after the contract was done. That she'd follow them to the ends of the earth.

【Curie】 "I am excited for us to know each other."

She was the one to join the caravan and they happened to be there too. She wanted to expand her understanding of the world and possibly further medicine by exploring another country. And after meeting them she took the chance to insist they become her guide, considering they not only know the land but the language as well. If they say no she flashes a bunch of caps their way and then insists some more. Regardless she's not going to leave without a yes. Something about the power she has over them is so intoxicating to her.

She knows it's not ethical but she gets her status as a doctor and a foreigner to ask question that would be inappropriate. But in the Wasteland most people don't know standard doctor practice so she's in the clear. She does like the ability she has over them and she doesn't fully know why. She has theories but she's not a physiologist so she doesn't pursue it further. She asked to do physicals on them and asks them questions to 'study their mind'.

Ultimately she's like a strange eccentric tag-a-long. Don't worry about the death that follows them. As long as they're undisturbed no one will get hurt.

【Piper】 "What we have is pretty great too."

She calls it love at first sight. And it is at first sight. She hadn't talked to them before she decided she was going to love them forever. But the problem was they wanted to leave. They just needed to find a caravan. And of course she couldn't have that. She uses the radio to guide caravans away from Diamond city as she goes to talk for them. She spends most of her free time trying to speak to them, no matter how difficult with the language barrier with their broken English. She also gets Nat to keep an eye on them, bribing her with candy and nuka-cola. At certain point she does it by herself because her curiosity gets the better of her and she gets attached to them by herself.

They can't understand half of the words being said and these two girls won't leave them alone. But what can they do? They're stranded. Foolishly they try to rely on Piper and she takes the chance to pounce. She introduces them around and even to Nat. The way she parades them around is very clear she is doing so with the understanding they aren't going to leave. She continuously tells them the Commonwealth is a great place to live and they should stay. What could their country possibly have that couldn't be there? She doesn't mind the language and if they want a place to live they can shack up with her. No, it's not sudden. It's love.

They don't know if they understand her correctly because they figure the translation is off. But her actions are consistent with her words so they know it's real. However they can't do anything about it. They're trapped in a foreign land without help. She is their salvation whether they like it or not.

【Haylen】 "I don't think I've seen this in all my years working on tech."

Their caravan went through her checkpoint quite regularly and she saw them a few times before talking to them. Apparently they were saving up to get a ride back to Mexico. She was sweet and friendly to them, something that made them feel better due to the Brotherhood's usual treatment. She liked their broken English and funny humor, a shard of light in the dim Commonwealth. So why would she let them leave?

She plants cargo on their caravan so they have to be taken into custody. She, of course, conventiently is there to help them out of the pen but does it so she makes the case they can work for the Brotherhood. Her light, her Darling, gets to stay in the Commonwealth with her. They had food, shelter, a steady life with purpose, but most of all close to her.

[jamneuromain]

Fantasea Friday Week 3

A/N: Been reading Ghost fanfictions (1) (2) lately

Simon "Ghost" Riley x non-native speaker!/international student!/asian!Reader (You)

Been thinking of a specific scene where you speak English but not understanding some subtle differences/words/meanings.

Blink twice in confusion, before saying "Huh?" is your response everytime when Simon mumbles something that you didn't understand.

Simon finds it cute.

For example, the first time he calls you "love." It's not an endearment, not really, not in the way that you interpret. It's just a random thing Simon says because he's Manchester lad born and bred.

It is very obvious that your brain.exe stops functioning for a moment, and then blink, once, twice, "Huh?"

"I said the food, the dish from your country? It tastes good." Simon explains the word "delicious."

"No I get that part, delicious part, but - um, the um... the last word?"

"Wha- oh. Love?" It dawns on him.

You visibly flinch from the word.

Simon laughs, "Manchester thing. We say 'love' as a way of ... same as 'bro', 'bruv', or 'mate', but less masculine."

"Cringe. That word makes me cringe." You manage a smile, "Mate sounds good, really, thumbs up for the term 'mate'." Even put up both of your thumbs for good measure.

"Okay, sorry for scaring you, mate." Simon laughs again, laughing so hard that his stomach hurts.

Your eyes dart everywhere but this big bulk of a man in front of you, murmuring a "Thanks".

Or the time that you get stuck in your essays for three days straight and feeling guilty about not cooking anything although it's almost a habit that you provide food for him.

Making sure that he steps into the bathroom that's when you sneak out of your bedroom and try to cook the instant spagetti in under five minutes using the microwave and disappear before Simon finishes showering.

You are anxiously waiting for the spagetti to heat up when Simon steps out of the bathroom.

Your eyes meet.

"I was just planning to check your vital signs, matey. Three days straight in that cot? Aren't you couped up?" Simon jokes, popping a can of Bud from the fridge.

"'s fine, I guess. Just trying to finish my essay. It's due tomorrow at eight." You offer weakly. You look terrible, you are well aware. Unwashed hair for three days, same pjs for the week, and dark circles under your eyes - three out of the four reasons why you avoid him for the last seventy-two hours.

Dripping. Golden strands. Grey T clings to him like second skin. Smells like a fucking Armani model.

The insecurity is gnawling you like an ugly goblin.

"Y'know, I can cook for both of us if your finals is getting out of hand." Simon shrugs as if he isn't offering you the most considerate, the best thing you've heard all month. He might not think of it this way, but you are close to tears. "Beats this shite instant Italian noodles, anyway." He casually drinks from the tin can in his hand.

But - "I'm sorry. I'm supposed to cook -"

"Says who?" Simon scratches the end of his eyebrow like he had heard that you said you are an alien from outerspace.

"But we ... you handle the grocery, and I -"

"Look," He sighs, throwing the empty can into the bin, "you don't have to do anything, besides taking care of yourself in a foreign nation, okay? I'm not totally blind to the fact that you are struggling with this task right now."

"But -"

"No buts ifs or ands," Simon tskes, "I'm taking over the kitchen for the next week. And before you ask, no, you are not dealing with groceries besides putting a sticker on the fridge."

You almost cry. You nearly cry. You cry. Ugly crying. Nodding and crying and smiling.

Simon awkwardly offers you tissues.

"Jesus you crackpot." He murmurs under his breath, patting your shoulder three times for good measure.

You hug him, suddenly. Letting go just as sudden.

"Thank you." You whisper, grabbing your plate of instant spagetti and retreating to your room before shooting him a wavery watery smile.

He feels ... odd. The way you emotions burst at the smallest gestures, while taking up all the burdens and keeping everything inside. In the end, he picks up his phone and calls his mum.

"Hey, mum. I'm learning how to cook. Do I put the mince or the sauce in the pan first when I'm trying to make the ... bolognese?"

...

"Olive oil first?"

...

"No, you don't have to -"

...

"... yes mum. Thank you mum. I'll be there in twenty."

Half of what you eat in the next week is the handiwork of Mrs. Riley.

a/n2: I always think the woman who raised simon riley would be someone very similar to Mrs. Weasley.