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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

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Touch: Spring (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rated: G, fluff and romance Word Count: 2.4k

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Summary: A social season in London with an unexpected ending.

Another social season in London. Another parade of dress fittings and balls and concerts, with your mother trying to foist you off onto the nearest baron or marquis, anyone who is still willing to talk to a lady in her fourth season. It would be unbearable without the company of the Bridgertons. Eloise and Benedict Bridgerton, to be precise. You and Eloise resumed your old habits of walking together, visiting bookstores and cafes, and seeking each other out when the ton were all out on a promenade. Benedict would join in on occasion, chaperoning you both away from your mamas and your maids so that the three of you could poke fun at the latest terrible fashions, or commiserate about your lack of control over which engagements you were being dragged to.

The three of you weathered the season tucked away in corners of ballrooms, downing more champagne than would be appropriate and snickering behind your gloves. Benedict would sneak you both snacks as you sat in the back rows at cacophonous musicales, and would tug you tightly in the opposite direction whenever either of you were approached for a dance by a dubious gentleman.

He quickly became your close friend, this cheeky, clever, rebellious man, so much like his sister of whom you were so fond. Occasionally, memories of the snowstorm at Aubrey Hall would flash through your mind and you would find your breath hitching in your throat when you looked at him, but you always scolded yourself. You were reading too much into that moment. Your fanciful mind was running away with you. He was just friendly, as was evident in his interactions with everyone, and there was nothing else to it.

When the city gallery opened a new exhibit, the entire ton turned out to crowd in around the latest paintings. You saw Eloise from afar as she wandered with Penelope Featherington. Desperate to get away from your mothers who saw the occasion as the perfect matchmaking affair, you and Benedict found each other, and he steered you around the halls, his face lit with excitement at all there was to study. You each found your favorite pieces and mercilessly criticized each other’s choice, laughing the whole time. He gravitated toward the most explosive landscapes, pointing out the use of light and the contrast of color.

Your eyes lingered on his fingers as he pointed to the details, slender compasses drawing you deeper into the dreams of the artists. His ruffled shirt cuffs added to the drama as he swept his arm wide, exalting the pieces that made his eyes glimmer with inspiration. He was so full of passion, so insightful and educated. He challenged you to see new perspectives, and looked at you reverently when you pointed out your own. At the close of the event, he walked you to your family’s carriage and helped you step up inside. Again, your throat tightened as he grasped your hand and your fingers curled around his. Then you sat rather speechless as he grinned at you crookedly through the window before your carriage lurched forward and rolled away. Your mother looked at you from the opposite bench, face perplexed.

The next night is the Cowper Ball, as uptight and dismal an affair as its hosts. You are well prepared to spend the evening next to the punchbowl, and are flattered to find yourself in the company of the other Bridgerton brothers, Anthony and Colin. They look as miserable as you feel, but being men, they are privileged enough to be able to show it openly, whereas society dictates that you plaster on a pleasant smile or else be deemed difficult or strange.

You and Colin are on a solid streak of jokes about braided hairstyles - looking like fishing baskets and being so tight as to stretch one’s brain - with Anthony trying to suppress his snorts of laughter behind you, when out of nowhere, Benedict approaches.

“Ah, brother…” Colin starts, but Benedict cuts him off, not even looking in his direction.

“Miss y/l/n, might I have this next dance?”

Anthony goes rigid. Colin’s mouth falls open. You shake your head in surprise, nearly spilling the glass of punch you hold. “Benedict? You hate dancing.”

“Yes, well, there is little else to do, isn’t there?” There is something nervous in his eyes though he is keeping his voice smooth. “I know you’ve kept your dance card deliberately empty so, come on now.” He extends his bent arm for you to take. “Humor me.” The lopsided smile returns.

Flabbergasted, you hand your glass back to Colin and take Benedict’s arm. Looking back as he guides you to the dance floor, both of his brothers shrug at you, as surprised as you are at this unusual turn of events. Somehow, through charm and diversion, Benedict has managed never to dance at a single ball this season. He is so good at drawing one into a story, and so adept at cracking a joke and slipping away with a smile, he spends every ball hovering on the perimeter, keeping an eye on others and rescuing his sisters (and you) when the need arises. He told you that he didn’t enjoy dancing, and that he wasn’t very good at it, but as the musicians start to play, he is sweeping around you with ease, clearly familiar with each step.

You don’t know what to say. There is an intensity burning in his eyes that you have never seen before. He’s not being cheeky, he is genuinely focused on dancing with you. You pivot and step around one another, edged in by all the other dancing couples. The song is low and yearning, something romantic. You rest your arms atop Benedict’s and look up at him as you mirror one another’s steps. His jaw is set at such a serious angle. His eyes are searching. Then you pull back and he twirls you under his arm, your gloved hand pressing up against his bare one. Those large hands, encircling yours once again, then moving to your waist, your back, your shoulder, as you glide through the steps of the dance. He has never touched you so much, so closely. You can feel the heat of his palm through your gloves and your dress, searing imprints that linger on your skin.

You keep reminding yourself - he is just your friend. This is just a dance. But it is so out of character for him to be doing this at all, and to be looking at you that way. As confused as it makes you, you can’t look away, and you spend the dance locked in one another’s hold and one another’s gaze, as if there were no one else in the ballroom. When the dance is over, his hand lingers on the small of your back, his fingers pressing in more tightly than they should. You catch his eyes, grey-green beacons shining out under dark lashes, and you swallow audibly. Then he seems to remember himself, steps back, bows curtly to you and walks briskly out of the room without another word.

Anthony and Colin were watching the entire time, eyes as round with shock as yours, and Colin darts off after his brother. Anthony, seeing you stunned and abandoned in the middle of the dance floor, comes to your side, takes your arm and reassures you that his brother must be in one of his ‘bohemian moods’ or ‘taking tea’ though you’re not quite sure what that means. He keeps you occupied by dancing with you, and then walking with you to find Eloise, but Benedict and Colin never return.

You decide not to divulge anything to Eloise because you would only look foolish. Why should you care that her brother danced with you and then left? You are all just friends and Benedict clearly has things on his mind. You start to convince yourself that you must have upset him in some way. Maybe for ridiculing his favorite painting at the gallery? You had thought it was all in good fun. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. It is all very confusing and you spend the night in a cloud of frustration and doubt.

Two nights later is the Smythe-Smith musicale, hosted at Bridgerton House. It is the last event you will attend for the season, and you don’t even want to go. You don’t want to risk seeing Benedict and dealing with whatever confounding mood he is in, that you have now convinced yourself is entirely your fault. But your parents have insisted, and it is your last opportunity to see Eloise before you both depart for your country homes for another half year, and so you find yourself stuffed in the Bridgerton’s main hall, trying to disappear behind columns or melt into the curtains. You tell your mother you need to powder your nose and manage to sneak out a side door and into the back garden, welcoming the cool night air.

You don’t want to return inside, and wander over to the massive oak tree. You settle down onto one of the two swings hanging there, wrap your hands around the ropes and close your eyes, enjoying the quiet. It only lasts a moment, before a voice softly calls out your name.

Your eyes fly open to see Benedict, looming out of the shadows of the house, walking slowly toward you. He has that same burning, intense look on his face. So different from the easy mirth he normally shows. He is dressed smartly, navy coat and a patterned waistcoat, with a tie of dark blue silk.

“Benedict!” Your heart is pounding, surprised by his sudden appearance and also desperately nervous about what to say. So you state the obvious. “We shouldn’t be alone out here.”

That’s the last thing you would need. To be caught alone with a man and rain scandal down upon you both, when he is already upset with you.

He steps closer, only a few yards away now. His voice is low. “That shouldn’t be a worry for much longer.”

Oh god, his tone is threatening something. Something serious. “Why?” You stutter. “Are you going to cast me out?”

This stops him in his tracks and he scrunches up his face. “What?”

Now you feel annoyed. Does he not remember how he last treated you? Can he not just be forthright with his feelings? Emboldened, you confront him, but keep your place in the swing.

“Are you cross with me?” You ask clearly.

His mouth drops open but he stays silent. You continue.

“I’ve clearly upset you. The Cowper ball? You would barely speak to me, then you ran off.”

Something lights across his face. Realization, understanding. Then his features harden again, but there is a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He starts to stalk toward you again.

“Yes, you have upset me.”

He is standing over you now, looking down with glimmering eyes, their light color piercing through the dark night. It feels like all of your bones have just turned to liquid. You’re finding it hard to breathe under his stare. He is so tall, so imposing, he is everything you can see. You want to rail at him, you want to make him explain himself and his rude behavior, but the strength is leeched from your muscles and your voice.

“How?” You waver.

“You’ve stolen from me.” His voice is dark velvet. Pointed, but not angry.

Your mind reels. Your voice comes out just barely above a whisper. “Stolen what?”

Then he reaches out and wraps his cool, long fingers around your left hand holding the rope, and gently pries until you let go. He guides it toward himself as he sinks down on one knee. Your head starts to spin. You have completely lost control of your breath. You can’t look away from his eyes as he slips your hand under the top of his waistcoat and holds it there. Through his thin linen shirt you can feel his heart pounding against your fingertips, matching the speed and intensity of your own. A smile finally breaks across his face and lights his eyes, the cheerful Benedict you have come to know.

Oh god…oh god…he means… He is glowing looking at you, your eyes now at level height as he perches on one knee. One knee…

You feel a bit dizzy, overwhelmed with what is happening. You couldn’t possibly be this lucky. He couldn’t possibly… But he is grinning so broadly, leaving you with little doubt. There are fireworks whistling through your ears and your stomach is doing backflips. What a cheeky devil to intimidate you up to the last moment.

Breathless, you still manage to quip back at him. “How can I have stolen it if it is still in your chest?”

Then he rubs his thumb across the back of your hand, pressing it harder against him, and he brings his other hand up to cup your face, gently trailing that thumb to trace your bottom lip. His eyes grow soft, soulful.

“It doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

And then he confesses his love for you, his admiration, his adoration. You make him feel like no other woman has. You excite him, challenge him, comfort him in a way he didn’t know was possible. You are his friend and his muse and his love, and he wants you as his wife. You bare your soul to him as well, telling him about the flame he sparked that day of the snowstorm, and how you have fought to keep it hidden all this time. That you had disdained the marriage mart because you assumed you would never find a husband that actually filled you with passion, but that he was the only one who had, the only one you believed ever could.

You laugh and sigh and cling to each other, divulging all of your feelings, all of your truths. Then his large hands gently cup your face and he guides you into a deep kiss, the warmth spreading all the way from your lips to your toes.

You leave the season in quite the most unexpected state. Not disgruntled and lonely, but blissful and betrothed, and to Benedict Bridgerton no less.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #female reader #regency #regency era #regency romance #fluff

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thebrightestlodge · 10 months

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Now I’m curious about your version of Ludwig 👀 is he friends with any of the Old Hunters/founders like Maria, Laurence, and Gehrman?

I have so many opinions on him so I implore you to bear with me

Visually I gave him the scar because I like scars, and a sort of horse face jsut because it's the only rationalization for why one church dude became a horse, he jsut looked like one. Forgotten Madman theory still applies for me (in inspo at least). I imagine he had some acquaintanceship with Gehrman because ...y'know ...Hunters. Maybe Maria by default because she's THE student of the First Hunter? I think he really is jsut vibing with church stuff though. I also think he had more tomb prospector stuff going than credited (since I have a LOT of honestly jsut me opinion lore on the Hunters/Tomb prospecting).

Character-wise! I imagine him a lot as a figurehead, sort of the turning point from the Hunters being grungy and scary monsters who hunt monsters. The Healing Church Hunters made the title respectable, and Ludwig led the Church Hunters. He's the dude people looked to as a hero. Much like Laurence, I don't think anything was malicious at first with him. The sword was his sort of way to fight and become someone worthy of wielding it, hearing it whisper and guide him to whatever monstrous jugular it needed to sever. Beast corruption takes them all though, and he went mad like the rest and the sword became feared. Both are trapped in the nightmare and slowly twist and mutate from the once grand hero. The sword still knew him though ...still remembered him as its wielder. And because of this, for one brief moment in that jail full of corpses, Ludwig remembered himself too.

Putting this under readmore

Him becoming a horse monster is so funny to me. Like most of the church beasts are more ...werewolf-y, higher tier ones get antlers. Ludwig is a horse though? We get like TWO instances of horses that I can recall (dead horses in the streets and then the Cainhurst ponies). NO horse connections anywhere else. He doesn't like ...have a lot of influence in the plot ...especially compared to Laurence or Gehrman, so WHO OR WHAT did he piss off to become a horse. WHO'S eldritch punchbowl did he piss in to warrant this?

(excusing the fact Laurence very much was/feels last minute. Dude created almost ALL the problems but jsut is an optional reskin? Tragedy, especially with that incredible fight theme)

#asks #Bloodborne #my doodles #ludwig the holy blade

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aphroditestummyrolls · 4 months

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I couldn’t choose so have 2, 16 and 32

HELLO! Such interesting choices you have here 👀 it’s definitely a step back into a type of writing I haven’t done for wesper before. It was a lot of fun, and definitely a muscle I’ll be flexing more often in the future (not taking your niche, though, promise! 😂 Colm Fahey Enjoyer is still very much my niche, but this? This was fun!)

I meant to get this posted last night, but then decided I hated what I’d written and that I wanted to do an edit with fresh eyes. So I waited till this morning. I like it a lot more now, and hope you like it too ☺️

Enjoy these ~2k words of semi-public frotting! I even put it in the engagement series for you!

His breath unfurled into the icy air, frosty and silver in the moonlight.

In the parlour behind him, he could hear the muted din of the party— champagne bottles popped, fine crystal glasses clinked; the hearths were crackling and warm, almost too warm for Wylan’s wine-flushed cheeks; the room was dazzlingly arrayed with decorations, polished to a shine. And their guests! Each gown was more intricate than the last, each suit tailored and pressed like paper doll penguins.

All was well. But Wylan was quite certain he hadn’t taken a deep breath since dinner.

More like for a few weeks, he groused, since preparations began.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy it— Inej and her crew had come in for the festivities, even picking up Colm from Noyvi Zem on their way. The house was full, the nights were long and full of company, and Wylan was still pinching himself. How he’d gotten so lucky, he’d never understand. For most of his life, he couldn’t imagine having a party like this— an engagement party, no less— being thrown for him. To have such a family of people to celebrate this with them.

But, it… it was all so formal. There was so much to be done, and so much pious posturing that needed to be observed for The Church of Barter to marry them— they had to at least make a public show of following the courtship rules of an engaged geldstraat couple.

All that to say that, between the chaos of hosting his friends, and the ever-watchful eyes of the council, Wylan felt like he had scarcely seen Jes in weeks.

Even while sleeping in the same bed with him, Wylan caught himself missing Jesper. He missed him tonight, while sitting across the table from him. When had he last been held by him? When had they last been alone together?

The cold winter’s night cut through his elegant suit jacket like it was nothing, and the young merchling leaned in gladly. It reinvigorated him, like fresh blood was pumping through his veins again. He blinked out at the gardens from the edge of the terrace.

The moon was waxing, nearly full as it cast the night in a wash of silvery blue. Stars twinkled in the velvet sky. He set his hands on the cold stone of the terrace railing, and let the prickling sensation of overstimulation fade.

It took less than a couple minutes for him to go from exhilarated by the chill to fighting the first shivers, but he resisted. He didn’t want to go just yet.

He didn’t hear the muted open and shut of the fogged up parlour door, or the call of his name until there were footsteps trotting up beside him. Jesper was grinning, loose-limbed with wine and happiness, slipping a hand around his waist as he came to stand beside him— if Veld or Boer saw them so close, they’d be scolded like horny teenagers.

Wylan pressed closer.

“Skipping out on your own party? Bad form, merchling.”

“Our party. I’m not marrying myself.”

“If it was our party, you’d be helping me fend off the miserable old prunes you call councilmen— Gekkehuis just tried to corner me by the punchbowl. I nearly drowned myself in it just to make a quick escape.”

Wylan couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his chest. There was something quippy and bright on the tip of his tongue, but he never got the chance to say it. He looked up and over to see his betrothed, and saw him bathed in moonlight. His curls were moisturised and styled, falling over his forehead with the shine of a silver blue halo. There was a smudge of kohl lining his luminous eyes, and the winter air had already bitten a little colour into his cheeks.

Jes blinked down at him with the twinkle of a laugh still in his eyes, but it faded quickly to something more subdued. “It’s bitter out here, Wy— you’ll be turning blue soon. Let’s get you back inside, warm you up—“

But Wylan couldn’t make his feet move. Maybe it was the spell of the moonlight, and the way it hugged along Jesper’s lanky, lovely frame. Or maybe it was the curl of desperation he felt to finally be alone with his betrothed after all night under so many watchful eyes. His body was so warm and alive pressed along his, and even just the one step he’d taken away from him was too much.

He wanted to be with Jesper. Just Jesper. He didn’t want to go inside and go back to keeping up the tender distance of a proper, not-yet-married couple. So, he caught Jes by the wrist before he could make a move to the door, and reeled him back in until they couldn’t get closer. The lapels of his fine suit jacket— a stunning green fabric Colm had brought in from Noyvi Zem just for the occasion— slipped softly under Wylan’s fingers. Underneath, his heart beat steadily. The warmth of his chest suffused into Wylan’s palms, and he was greedy for it.

Whatever expression was on his face, Jes took one look at him and he knew.

“Don’t want to go back yet.” He said anyway.

It earned him a rakish smile that kindled low in his belly. Wylan wanted the heat in his eyes, he wanted the heat of his lover.

“No?”

He shook his head, giggling a little deliriously as Jesper crowded him up against the stone terrace railing. “Can’t go back to all that… just yet. Warm me up.”

Jesper knew what he meant.

He brushed the tip of his nose to Wylan’s. “And what about Ghezen’s rules of propriety for unwed couples?”

“Some rules are meant to be broken.” It wasn’t as if they weren’t breaking them in their private life every day, but it sent a thrill along his spine just the same. “No one on the council will be looking for us out here tonight— not for a while, at least. Too cold for them.”

“We have a minute or two.” Jesper nodded conspiratorially. His hands were wandering, squeezing at Wylan’s hips and brushing along his thighs. It was like he couldn’t help himself— and Wylan wouldn’t dare stop him. “Missed you, merchling.”

Oh Ghezen, it was such a drug to have a moment to themselves. He tilted himself up, leaning back in those strong arms, waiting for a kiss that hovered just out of reach.

“Show me how much.” He whispered back.

The first brush of those perfect lips was barely more than warm breath on his cheek. It made Wylan shiver. The second kiss was that little bit more solid, pressed to the corner of his smiling mouth. When the touch made him sigh, Wylan’s exhale once again curled out in a frosty plume.

Jes had slipped his hands under Wylan’s open suit jacket, pulling him flush by his hips. He was so warm.

“Saints, you’re so cold, Love— the elements are against us.” Jesper chuckled, his hands roving across his back, sneaking up between his shoulder blades while the other stroked along the dip of his spine. Saints.

Wylan looked up at his betrothed playfully from under his lashes. “Never knew you to back down from a challenge.”

And then, Jesper wasn’t just kissing him, he was plundering him. He freed a hand to sink it into the curls at the back of his head. His palm was so warm, his body hot and insistent against his own. He scrambled for just a moment before getting his cold, clumsy hands wrapped around his lover’s shoulders, refusing to let him go further than a breath away from his lips while Jesper said challenge accepted.

Time seemed to go syrupy slow in their little bubble of the world— the moon, the frost, the cold stone at Wylan’s back and the hot, hot body wrapped up around him. He felt utterly enveloped by his lover. The kisses were deep and drugging, his hands were roughly squeezing, trying to get Wylan impossibly closer and closer. He was no longer shivering with cold, but he was trembling with want.

Heat throbbed through Wylan, the rush of it making his knees buckle. Jesper’s thigh pressed in, slotted with Wylan’s own— there were sparks flying behind his blissfully closed eyes, his hands fisting in that beautiful green suit. There was a deep blush blooming in his cheeks. He could feel it rushing down his neck as those lips pressed searing, openmouthed kisses down the column of his throat. His ass was half leaned against the stone behind him, and half hiked up into Jesper’s hand. A choked off gasp split the night, and Wylan let Jesper kiss it out of his mouth.

There was a familiar curl of desperate heat, coiling and unspooling itself in the cradle of Wylan’s hips. As the want mounted higher and higher inside him, he couldn’t help but rock into Jesper like a tide, and Jes only urged him on with his own rolling hips. The hot, hard length of him was pressing insistently against his own, the friction of their clothes feeling maddeningly good and nowhere near enough, not enough—

Somewhere in the back of his addled mind, he knew they needed to stop soon. Wylan needed to straighten out the wrinkles in his suit and try to fix the mess Jesper was certainly making of his hair. They were the guests of honour— they couldn’t disappear from their own party indefinitely just to make out like horny teenagers and give themselves hypothermia.

That was until his betrothed fisted that hand in his curls, sending a satisfying sting zinging down his spine. With his throat bared to the cold night, Jesper licked a hot stripe to his jaw, and bit.

The sound Wylan let out was a long, keening thing, firecrackers popping behind his eyes and blunt fingernails scrabbling along Jesper’s back. In that moment, he would swear he’d never felt so greedy. He needed more, he needed everything—

As if on cue, a throat cleared roughly behind them.

“At your own party? You’re lucky the windows have drapes.”

Wylan nearly toppled backwards into the garden, biting back the shocked yelp as reality came slamming back into them. Jesper jumped back a full step, all the body heat between them going cold and empty again. The terrace was still frosty blue, and the hubbub of the party continued in the amber light of the parlour, a constant murmur behind the curtains and foggy windows.

Kaz looked bored.

At least it was just Kaz. Wylan gingerly set his feet back on solid ground, slipping down from the stone railing. Jes seemed to be thinking the same thing, deflating his shoulders with a relieved sigh. He hooked his arm around Wylan’s waist and grinned at their friend like the cat that got the cream.

“Wylan was cold.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was.” Kaz rolled his eyes. “What if someone had seen you? Are you trying to kill Gekkehuis? Because there are easier ways to do it.”

“Not more fun ways, though.” Wylan chimed in. His voice was so wrecked, he hardly even recognised himself, breathless and raspy.

The huff of Jesper’s laugh made a frosty cloud unfurl from his lips. Wylan missed him again— the heat, the easy way he touched him, the closeness.

Their friend didn’t seem pleased about it, but he at least conceded to their point. “Just get inside before somebody else sees you. And fix your hair— you look like you’ve been mauled, Wylan.”

He could swear that his blush didn’t fade for the rest of the night.

#six of crows #wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #the engagement series

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pumpkin-bread · 6 months

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Non-Tipsy Lair review for Pudgykookaburra!

Let's start with Marigold here! A beautiful gen one who really is perfectly tied together with her runes. They add wonderful highlights to the accent, making her overall look like a dark, glittering pond.

It's rare to see Malevolent Spirit out in the wild nowadays! Xidachane wears it perfectly, tied in with his eyes, clawtips, beads, and herb satchel. A very simple-looking, but well thought out outfit.

Took a sec to be emotional over Cedar. Aah god

GOD I LOVE HAYFEVER. No explanation needed, like, just LOOK AT HER. She's going to whip you up into an aromatic intoxicating dust devil of pollen. You're not making it out

Diomia's colours make her look like a very, very old penny. I really like that, and I like the tones you played up with her whole outfit. What a lovely birthday dragon!

I love Lemon Ice Bias Tape and I still think you made a great decision when you aether'd him up. His accent is just too pretty. Wonderful fella.

I love Terracotta Punchbowl so much too but I try not to pick dragons you bought from meee. You did such great work with her tho

Another rare and sublime UM. Ianthe looks wonderful, and the apparel you added goes so well. Especially the claws and candles.

It's hard to guess that a mix of such bright colours could produce something so dark and sludgy-feeling. A+ work on him. The dusky rose fabric really ties in well, as well.

I love browsing through your lairrr. I saw so many of my lore kids as I went and it always makes me smile.

#flight rising #fr #trachynhawb #fr lair review #lair review

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leslie-lyman · 2 years

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Punchbowls & Pincushions (Congressman Marcus Pike x f!reader)

summary: The duly elected representative from Texas’s 27th congressional district has a meeting, takes a walk, and meets a woman.

pairing: Congressman Marcus Pike x f!reader

rating: general audiences for this installment, though this series will be explicit and my blog and its content are only for those 18 and up

warnings: none

word count: 2.7k

a/n: Y’all, I’m excited for this one. This is the first installment of what I hope will be a more relaxed fit-ish series I’ve been thinking about for a long time: an AU in which Marcus Pike decides to turn in his badge and his gun and try a different kind of public service. I’ve just been waiting for the right excuse to finally get this first bit down on paper, so thank you as always to the lovely folks at @writer-wednesday for the photo prompt! Big thank yous also to @ezrasbirdie, @whataperfectwasteoftime, @magpie-to-the-morning, and @the-ginger-hedge-witch for letting me ramble at them about this idea for far too long, and to Birdie for looking this over for me!! ❤️

punchbowl: the Secret Service’s code name for the United States Capitol Building.

pincushion: the Secret Service’s code name for the Rayburn House Office Building, one of three main buildings where members of the House of Representatives and their staffs’ offices are actually located.

Main Masterlist. | Series Masterlist. | Taglist.

———

It’s not going to happen.

The words play on a loop in Marcus’s head as he tries to calmly traverse the halls of the Capitol.

Leonard, I campaigned on this.

I know, Marcus, I’m sorry.

Look, if this is about HR 86 -

It’s a matter of cost, Marcus.

Bullshit. The whole package is $57 billion. You’re telling me $100 million to expand drug treatment courts is the straw that breaks the CBO’s back?

It’s a miracle we got all the things in that we did. It’s gonna be hell trying to get this through the Senate as it is.

And what am I supposed to tell my constituents in the meantime?

To get used to disappointment. Or just blame the Senate. I always do.

Leonard -

It’s not going to happen, Marcus. Next time.

Marcus had scowled, recognizing that continuing to argue with the Chairman of the Appropriations Committee was going to get him nowhere.

It’s not going to happen.

He should go back to his office. His chief of staff, Linda, is expecting him. They’re supposed to go over a few things he has coming up this month, make some decisions on what events he’s been invited to that he’d actually like to attend, discuss strategy for the rollout of an education bill he’s introducing soon…

But the thought of heading back to the tiny three-room suite of office space each Congressperson is allotted, one whole room of which is designated just for him with its deep blue walls and heavy drapes and uncomfortable leather furniture, makes claustrophobia start to claw its way up his throat. There’s no air in this place, there’s no room to breathe. Between the windowless House chamber, old stone office buildings, and underground tunnels connecting everything, he can go hours without seeing the sky.

Three months he’s been in this job. Three months since he put his hand on a Bible and swore an oath to defend the Constitution from all enemies foreign and domestic, and swore an oath to himself that he would do right by the people of San Antonio who had placed their trust in him to represent them in Washington.

He’s not sure how successful he’s been so far. When he was an FBI agent, his life was governed by rules, by procedure, by the book. His working life had structure, it had guardrails. It had clear objectives: track down the art, arrest the bad guys, solve the case.

Congress, too, is governed by rules. The orderly structure by which bills move through the House, the procedures dictating how hearings are run, the ethics laws spelling out what he can and cannot do in his capacity as an elected official.

But there are so many unspoken rules, too. Ones that offer guidance on how to get your issues noticed and your priorities heard. How to strike deals, even how to just get into the room where the deals are struck or a seat at the table where the horse-trading happens. How to, as the famous book title says, win friends and influence people. There are ways to get things done, but Marcus can’t seem to get a handle on any of it.

You’ll learn soon enough, one of Marcus’s septuagenarian colleagues had told him during his first week on the Hill. Keep your head down, don’t make waves, kiss all the leadership ass you can. Freshmen Members always think they’re hot shit, but here? You’re just one of 435. All of us won our elections same as you, except most of us have been doing it a lot longer. You’re at the back of the line in this place, kid. Try not to get crushed. Good luck.

The man hadn’t been purposefully cruel, it’d been phrased as genuine advice.

Marcus texts Linda that he’s taking a detour.

He exits the Capitol on its west side, dodging both reporters and tourists and escaping unnoticed. At first he thinks he’ll just walk the Mall, just keep going until he hits the Washington Monument, or even the Lincoln Memorial, however long it takes him to regain some sense of calm, his dress shoes be damned. But as he crosses the street, the lush entry to the U.S. Botanic Gardens on the corner beckons him.

He wanders onto the grounds, past the main greenhouse and into the outdoor gardens. Flowering plants are just barely starting to bloom, and it’s early enough in the month that the spring break tourist crowds have yet to fully descend on the city. A few families linger here and there, but the further away Marcus walks from the greenhouse the fewer people there are. He spots a bench set away from the main path, nearly up against the stone wall that encircles the garden, and sits. The sound of a small stream trickling along nearby is nearly drowned out by the white noise of cars passing by on Independence Avenue just on the other side of the wall, but he tunes it all out.

It’s a pretty, peaceful space. Not as iconic or picturesque, perhaps, as the famous cherry blossoms down by the Tidal Basin, but he's grateful for the corresponding lack of people.

He can still see the dome of the Capitol above the trees, the sun glinting off the painted cast iron and threatening to blind him, the sight of it apparently inescapable even in the midst of this urban oasis. Marcus drops his head into his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes and trying to block it out - the meeting, his schedule, his frustration, his uncertainty, the damn outline of the damn building looming over all of it, all the time...

"Rough morning, Congressman?"

The sound of a voice quite close by makes Marcus sit up straight in surprise. His head whips to the left, in the opposite direction from the Capitol, to find its owner, a new source of aggravation making him want to grind his teeth.

Can he not get a moment to himself, even here...

"Sorry!" The voice says again. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Then he notices: there's another bench to his left, slightly behind him and half-hidden by the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree. And on it sits a woman.

Marcus's irritation starts to melt away as quickly as it came. She's dressed casually, in jeans and a cream-colored moto jacket, her ankles crossed and tucked under the bench. As far as Marcus can tell, she's there alone, and is perhaps a few years younger than he is. And there's something in the way she's looking at him, bright eyes framed by long lashes, the corner of her mouth pulled upward in an apologetic half-smile...

She's beautiful.

And for a moment, he just…stares at her.

“It’s okay,” he finally says after several beats too long, his brain and his mouth trying to play catch-up. “It’s fine. You’re fine.” He winces, hoping she doesn’t take that the wrong way. But her smile widens, just a little.

“It has been a bit of a rough morning,” Marcus admits. “I’ve been having a lot of those lately, to be honest.”

“No rest for the elected, huh?” It’s a gentle teasing, which is a welcome respite from the disappointed - or even downright hostile - tone many people use when they find out he’s in Congress.

Although that begs the question…

“How’d you know I was - ”

She taps her jacket collar, jutting her chin in the direction of his own lapel. He looks down automatically, already knowing what he’ll see - the gold-and-silver pin a little larger than a quarter, stamped with the Congressional seal and pinned to his suit coat. His Member pin, a little metal disc that served to identify him as a Congressman, in lieu of an ID badge.

Heat creeps into his face.

“I keep forgetting I’m wearing it,” he mutters, abashed. The woman shrugs.

“A lot of Members refuse to take it off. Everywhere they go in this town, they want everyone to know how important they are.”

Marcus visibly shudders.

“I should tell my chief of staff that if I ever become that kind of person, she should slap me before telling me to retire.”

The woman laughs, a small, tinkling burst of sound, like someone rapidly opened a music box and allowed only a few notes to escape before shutting it again. She lifts a hand to smooth it over her hair, and that’s when Marcus notices she has a camera in her lap. A very nice, very expensive-looking camera.

She must see him notice it, just as she must see the way tension creeps unbidden into his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, because she turns the lens to the side, away from him.

“I’m not press,” she reassures him. “I’m just here to see what’s in bloom.”

The strain in his muscles eases, just a bit.

“Do you wanna talk about it? Your rough morning?”

He shouldn’t. She may not be a reporter, but she could easily pass on anything he says to one. She knows he’s a Member, and even if she doesn’t recognize exactly who he is, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out. He’s, on average, three decades younger than most of his colleagues, and the combination of what his campaign manager called progressive charisma and movie star good looks had gotten him a level of national attention while he’d been running that he’d neither wanted nor felt he deserved. To this day, he’s still not sure how he let his team talk him into saying yes to the Vanity Fair cover…

He has no reason to trust this woman. Nothing but a feeling in his gut. And Marcus refuses to be made so cynical by this town already that he spurns a kind offer from a pretty stranger.

“Off the record?” He asks, just to try and cover his bases.

She chuckles again.

“I told you I’m not press. But if it’ll make you feel better, yes.”

He takes a breath, turning on the bench to face her more fully, and launches into an abbreviated version of today’s events.

“It’s like I’ve been thrown into the deep end of a pool,” he says at the end, “and I haven’t been able to get my head back above water yet.”

The woman nods in sympathy, having listened attentively to his sorry tale.

“Can I ask you a question?” She asks, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Why did you decide to run for Congress?”

How does he begin to answer that question? He used to have a precise, snappy, inspiring response, one edited down and workshopped and focus group tested to use at every campaign stop:

San Antonio is where I was born and raised. It has always been home to me. I love this place and its people, and I was taught that when you love someone, you fight for them. You care for them. You give back to them. And when it is clear that they are not being served by those in power, when it is clear that their leadership is failing them, you say something. You do something. And that is why I am running…

But that feels disingenuous here. This woman isn’t asking Marcus, the candidate. She’s asking Marcus, the person.

“I wanted to help people,” he says simply. “When I see an injustice, I can’t ignore it. Crime, poverty, inequality, violence. And the man who held this job before me wasn’t doing nearly enough to fix it.”

She’s quiet for a moment, absorbing his words.

“Too many people forget that being an elected official is supposed to mean being a public servant,” she tells him. “It sounds like you’re here for the right reasons. Keep remembering why you wanted to come here in the first place.”

Marcus smiles wryly at her.

“You work on the Hill?”

Her face immediately scrunches up in disgust, a sound a cross between a scoff and a gag escaping her lips before she clamps a hand over her mouth, clearly worried that she’s insulted him.

But Marcus throws his head back and laughs at her unfiltered reaction. It might be the first time he’s laughed all week.

“That’s a ‘no’, I take it?”

She shakes her head, grinning.

“No. I mean, it’s not that I don’t respect the work, it’s just…the environment leaves a lot to be desired.”

Marcus can’t fault her there.

“Do you come to the gardens a lot?” He asks, gesturing vaguely at the flora around them.

“Not as much as I’d like,” she admits. “This is my first day off in forever, and I’m more used to shooting people; this lets me stretch my creative muscles in a different way. And it’s so beautiful here.”

Marcus hums in agreement.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here before,” he realizes. “Even during the times I was based in DC with the bureau, I never made it down here.”

“Well now that you have, what do you think of it?”

“It’s definitely exceeding my expectations,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the way her breath hitches, just the tiniest bit.

Marcus clears his throat and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“You know, there’s a couple dozen cherry blossom trees out around the east side of the Rayburn building. I read that they’re expected to hit peak bloom this week, if you’re looking for new plant subjects to photograph without fighting the hordes at the Tidal Basin.”

She fiddles with the camera in her lap before looking up at him through her lashes.

“I wanted to, last year. Missed peak bloom by a couple of days. But maybe I should try again.”

Marcus opens his mouth to agree when the tinny vibration of his phone in his pocket breaks the moment. He makes an apologetic face at her before fishing it out and tries not to grimace at the name on the caller ID.

“I - it’s my chief, give me one second?” He pleads with her. He turns his body slightly away from her and answers the call.

“Linda?”

“Marcus. They’re about to call votes. Please tell me you haven’t gone AWOL such that you can’t make it back to the chamber in the next five minutes.”

His gaze drifts upward to where he can see the Capitol beyond the trees. He’s known Linda since he was six years old, and while there’s no one in DC he trusts more, he can’t bring himself to admit to her where he is, or why he blew off their scheduled time to chat without explanation.

“I just…needed some air,” he says lamely. “I won’t miss the vote window.”

He can hear her suppress a sigh.

“Can we at least go over the education bill stuff while you’re en route?”

“Hang on.” He swivels back to look at the woman on the bench, wanting more than anything to stay here, to keep talking with her, to keep feeling lighter than he has in a long while.

But she’s gone.

Marcus shoots to his feet, looking around to see if he can spot her. But aside from a young family nearby watching some ducks bathing in the stream, he’s suddenly alone.

In his past life, Marcus would have gone after her. There’s only so far she could have gotten; there’s an entrance at the garden's westernmost edge near the benches, she’s probably just on the other side, standing on the corner and waiting for the light to change. Marcus could follow her, find her, ask her for her name, for her number, if he could see her again, talk to her again, find out if she feels the connection he’s feeling -

He almost does it.

But then Linda’s voice is coming through his phone’s speaker, pulling him back to reality. He has to go vote. He has a job to do. A schedule to keep. And when has running after a woman ever gotten him anything but eventual heartbreak?

He puts the phone back up to his ear, the gravel path crunching under his feet as he walks back in the direction of the Capitol.

“I’m here, Linda. Talk to me about the bill.”

��Are you heading back to the chamber?”

He is, and he tells her as much. And if a part of him feels like he’s heading in the wrong direction, he keeps it to himself.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Marcus Pike #marcus pike fanfic #the mentalist fanfic

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 10 months

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A freshman Republican lawmaker received bipartisan condemnation after he allegedly yelled at a group of high- school-age Senate pages for “defiling” the Capitol on Wednesday. New details shared with NBC News paint an even more disturbing picture of what took place that night.

Rep. Derrick Van Orden, R-Wis., told the teenagers to “get the fuck out” of the rotunda, according to one source who witnessed the interaction and spoke on condition of anonymity. The source described Van Orden's demeanor as “physically aggressive” toward the pages.

The lawmaker was “screaming inches from the pages’ faces” and “shooed” at them with his hands several times, said the source, who described previously unreported details of Van Orden’s behavior.

The summer pages are part of a prestigious Senate tradition that dates back to 1829, and were enjoying their last week on the job. After completing a long shift, a group of them decided to take advantage of a typically empty rotunda at that time of night to take in the Capitol sights.

Van Orden approached the group. He had been hosting a beer and cheese event with constituents as he often does, a spokesperson said, and a photo posted to Twitter by a reporter for Punchbowl News showed empty alcohol bottles and trash in his office.

The pages were lying on the rotunda floor and taking photos of the exquisite dome 470 feet above them, a Senate page tradition, according to former pages, when Van Orden, who was leading a large tour group, approached them.

He called the pages “jackasses” and “pieces of shit,” according to a transcript written issued by a page minutes after the incident and first reported by The Hill.

“Wake the fuck up you little shits. What the fuck are you all doing? Get the fuck out of here. You are defiling the place,” the former Navy Seal shouted at the group.

The source told NBC News that Van Orden, 53, also said, “I don’t give a fuck who you are. I’m a congressman. My name is Derrick Van Orden, and I represent the 3rd District of Wisconsin,” and he called the group “pieces of shit” multiple times.

The pages, who were 16 and 17 years old, were “visibly shaken,” according to the source.

Reached for comment regarding the source's allegations, Van Orden's office shared a statement that it gave to some reporters previously but did not dispute the account.

“The Capitol Rotunda served as a field hospital where countless Union soldiers died fighting to free men in the Civil War. I have long said our nation’s Capitol is a symbol of the sacrifice our servicemen and women have made for this country and should never be treated like a frat house common room. Threatening a congressman with bad press to excuse poor behavior is a reminder of everything that’s wrong with Washington," the statement read.

The U.S. Senate Page Program offers high school students from all 50 states the opportunity to work on the Senate floor, assisting lawmakers and staff with administrative tasks.

“They come here bright-eyed, ready to learn about America … and serve the Senate, which they do,” Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer, D-N.Y., said at a news conference Thursday evening. “They’re really invaluable to us.”

Several other senators, including Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, R-Ky., expressed their support for the pages and condemned Van Orden’s behavior. Sen. Thom Tillis, R-N.C., called on Van Orden to apologize in a tweet Saturday.

“This is inexcusable and embarrassing behavior for a member of Congress or any adult for that matter. The Congressman should do the right thing and apologize,” said Tillis, who regularly sponsors pages from North Carolina.

House Speaker Kevin McCarthy, R-Calif., defended Van Orden, telling reporters on Friday that it wasn’t “the norm” of the congressman. “I guess the interns have some ritual of laying down or something like that. I think it’s a misunderstanding of all sides,” said McCarthy, adding that he had spoken to Schumer about the incident and plans to speak to Van Orden as well.

Other lawmakers have poked fun at Van Orden.

Rep. Chip Roy, R-Texas, himself a former member of the Senate, tweeted a photo from the floor of the rotunda, writing: “TGIF after a rough week, Senate Pages? I got a great photo, how about you?”

#us politics #news #nbc news #2023 #republicans #conservatives #us senate #Rep. Derrick Van Orden #us house of representatives #Punchbowl News #capitol rotunda #Wisconsin #U.S. Senate Page Program #sen. thom tillis #rep. kevin mccarthy #rep. chip roy

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mutant-distraction · 1 year

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TORC WATERFALL KILLARNEY

Torc Waterfall (from Irish: Easach Toirc, meaning “cascade of the wild boar”) is a 20 metres (66 ft) high, 110 metres (360 ft) long cascade waterfall formed by the Owengarriff River as it drains from the Devil’s Punchbowl corrie lake at Mangerton Mountain. The waterfall, which lies at the base of Torc Mountain, in the Killarney National Park, is 4.3 miles (7 kilometres) from Killarney in Kerry, Ireland.

The waterfall is a popular site on the Ring of Kerry and the Kerry Way tours. The word Torc is from the Irish translation of a “wild boar”, and the area is associated with legends involving wild boars. One legend is of a man who was cursed by the Devil to spend each night transformed into a wild boar, but when his secret was revealed by a local farmer, he burst into flames and disappeared into the nearby Devils Punchbowl on Mangerton Mountain from which the Owengarriff River emerged to hide the entrance to his cave beneath the Torc Waterfall.

There is also the story of how the legendary Irish warrior, Fionn MacCumhaill, killed a magical boar on Torc mountain with his golden spear. The 20 meters high waterfall is formed by the Owengarriff River as it drains from the Devil’s Punchbowl lough, a deep cirque high above in Mangerton Mountain.[8] Torc Waterfall sits on a geological fault called the Muckross to Millstreet Fault Line. Torc Mountain consists of 400 million-year-old Devonian Old Red Sandstone, but the base around Muckross Lake is circa 100 million years younger and consists of Carboniferous Limestone.

At some stage, after the limestone was deposited, a period of tectonic-plate collision occurred and the land under Torc was lifted up 3,000 metres, re-exposing the underlying older sandstone. Torc Waterfall is 4.3 miles (7 kilometres) from Killarney, and 1.6 miles (2.5 kilometres) from the gates of Muckross House, in the Killarney National Park.

Thanks to @majestic_dublin for the great 📸

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Top 10 Places to Visit in Ireland https://lovetovisitireland.com/top-10-places-to-visit-in-ireland-2/

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twittercomfrnklin2001-blog · 9 months

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The Masque of the Red Death

Roger Corman’s early films often achieved a kind of dime-store surrealism, mainly because his low budgets required him to recycle shots from other films and even within the same film (see the chase scene in his neglected NOT OF THIS EARTH from 1957). With the larger budgets accorded his Poe adaptations, he started moving in the direction of genuine surrealism, which reached its apotheosis in THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH (1964, Criterion through month’s end). Shooting in England gave him access to British film subsidies, which increased his budget, and sets from the recently completed BECKETT (1964), redressed by Daniel Haller to make this one of the most sumptuous of Corman’s films. The screenplay by Charles Beaumont and R. Wright Campbell pads Poe’s slender story by making Prince Prospero (Vincent Price) a satanist with a jealous mistress (Hazel Court) and a yen to corrupt innocent peasant girl Jane Asher. The film also has a subplot based on Poe’s “Hop-Frog,” with court jester Skip Martin (a really marvelous actor) seeking revenge when courtier Patrick Magee mistreats Martin’s girlfriend. There are flaws. Asher’s innocence is nowhere near as charismatic as Price’s corruption, and the then 17-year-old actress doesn’t know what to make of pious lines that thud in the midst of Price and Court’s more acerbic dialog. She’s the Christian turd in their Satanic punchbowl. And the costumer should have paid attention to the number of times Price forbids his guests to wear red to the big masquerade at the end. It doesn’t make a lot of sense for him to be upset at the mysterious figure wearing red (John Westbrook, though it’s rumored his lines were dubbed by Christopher Lee) when you can see three or four partyers around him in the same color. But Price wisely underplays his lines (because Magee is doing enough acting for two, even though he presumably only got one paycheck), and it’s worth the price of admission just to hear the way he says “Christian.” There are two eerie dream scenes, and the climactic masque, with dancers in slow motion surrounding Price, is a surrealistic delight. Some may complain that the ending cribs too obviously from Ingmar Bergman, but I find the image of the Red Death playing cards with a little girl more of an homage. Corman’s film may not be as iconic as the Bergman, but it sure is entertaining.

#horror films #roger corman #vincent price #edgar allan poe #hazel court #jane asher #patrick magee #ingmar bergman

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nskenvs3000w23 · 1 year

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Week 1:- Launching into Nature Interpretation

Ever since I was a little girl, born in the heart of downtown Toronto, I always thought of myself as a city girl. I dreamed of attending university, working, and starting a family in a vibrant yet congested city like the one I grew up in. As you can imagine, it’s hard to appreciate nature in a big busy city. Rather than experiencing lush green forests that go on for acres, wildlife happily coexisting with humans and the smell of crisp morning air, I saw a concrete jungle, with its streets lit up at all times of the day, and lots of pigeons. Even though my family and I later moved into a quiet suburban area, my heart was attached to the beautiful metropolitan city I was born in.

My dreams of a life in a big city took a turn when I opted to attend the University of Guelph. After visiting the campus with my parents during a campus tour event, I fell in love with the serene atmosphere of Guelph. Only once I began attending university here in Guelph, almost 4 years ago, did I actually come to know the true beauty of nature.

Today as a 21-year-old living in Mississauga and going to school in Guelph, I enjoy going on nature walks in my neighbourhood and especially around campus and in the arboretum. One of my favourite spots on campus this past year has been Johnston Green. I’m just waiting for the weather to warm up so I can spend more time out there again. It’s my favourite spot to get work done hangout with friends on campus and get some fresh air in between classes. I especially loved sitting on the wooden benches on the field in the fall time when all the leaves were such beautiful colours.

Johnston Green, Guelph. Taken October 12th, 2022.

Ever since my boyfriend and I started dating, almost 2 years ago, we’ve gone on lots of hikes, as hiking is one of his favourite activities to do. Together we have visited many gorgeous conservation areas such as Mount Nemo, Rattlesnake Point, Elora Quarry, Devil’s Punchbowl and Rockwood. Before him I had never been hiking before and honestly never even considered going on a hike, so I’m very grateful that he has shown me such a beautiful aspect of nature.

Though I love nature and animals, I don’t feel as though I have a specific sense of place in nature. As described in the textbook, Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage for a Better World, a “sense of place” is one’s emotional connection to a specific place or environment. I do feel however, a sense of place in the streets of downtown Toronto. I have so many fond memories going to the Roger’s Centre for Disney on Ice shows, running through Union Station to catch the bus, eating Jamaican patties from the convenience store, hopping from streetcar to streetcar, shopping at the Eaton Centre and so much more. No matter where in the world I go, I think I will always have a sense of place in Toronto. I think I will always be a city girl at heart.

Front Street, Toronto. Taken January 3rd, 2023.

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taliadoesrpgs · 2 years

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all of the cool kids are doing Disco Elysium skill-sets so I’m making one for Deedee and got @quantumvaudeville to illustrate it

she’s a Valor character originally so it’s going to be 5 sets of 5 skills across Vigor, Agility, Spirit, Mind and Resolve anyway I call it No Truce With The Furries. enjoy.

Pain Threshold: You can take it! They’ll have to hurt you more!

Great for: Adventurers; Martial Artists; Clerics of cruel Gods; Masochists.

Pain Threshold is your capacity to endure, even enjoy, pain; your ability to push past the limits of your body when you need to push on. At high levels, you can laugh past almost any amount of pain and turn it to an endorphin high - which can be a problem if it’s the kind of thing you seek out. With a low Pain Threshold, though, you won’t be able to fight alongside your party, and the adventuring life will be almost unbearable.

Half-Light: Listen for bumps in the night, and bump back.

Great for: Whoever is on guard duty; Scouts; Sylphanites; Paranoids

Half-Light is your ability to choose Fight or Flight over frozen terror, your attunement to danger and to the things that lurk between dusk and dawn on Mundus. It’s your mousehunting ears, your ability to make your problems have problems with you. With high Half-Light, no monstrous growl will go unanswered and you won’t hesitate in the face of a threat... real or imagined. But with low Half-Light, when it is dark out and no one is around to help, you are likely to walk right into the slavering jaws of some grue or another.

Endocrine Promenade: Take back the fantasies you were denied. Love and be loved.

Great for: Courtesans, Queers, Inquisitives, Bicycles

Endocrine Promenade is your id, long repressed, finally off the leash; the beast within unchained; an estrogen-soaked second puberty ready to make up for losing the first one to excessive testosterone. Promgirl is back at high school homecoming, ready to dance and damn the consequences; it knows how to flirt and all the punchbowl gossip. With high Endocrine Promenade, you’ll have a finger on the pulse of every scandal and romance in the village - but you’ll also throw yourself into the deep end of the gossip pool, becoming the good time had by everyone but those who’d resent you for it. Without Promgirl, though, you’ll be too innocent to understand love and vice on Mundus, and you will miss clear signs of relationships vital to completing your quests.

Physical Instrument: Flex powerful muscles. Enjoy healthy organs.

Great for: Warriors, Punchwizards, Laborers, Muscleheads

Sifu Physical Instrument is here to pump you up, to put muscles on your muscles and take cholesterol from out of your veins. She’s your ability to precisely control each tendon of your body to effects both artistic and forceful; a dance of the body electric. With high Physical Instrument, you’ll bend bars, lift gates, bounce around like you’ve got wires on your girdle - and waste no chance to flex your muscles, even when it would be the height of arrogance. Without Sifu Physinst for a tutor, though, you’ll have all the martial and athletic prowess of the 44 year old, heavyset otaku wearing a VR helmet that you were before you came to Mundus.

Neutral Game: Heaven or hell, let’s rock. Round one, fight!

Great for: Adventurers, Monster-Slayers, Mercenaries, Violent Bastards

Picture yourself a good two meters from an opponent. Maybe they have a knife, maybe they’re unarmed. You’re counting down the seconds before they make the first move, or you do. Welcome to the neutral game. Here, in the vital fractions of a second before you can close or open range, is where you can take and hold the advantage in combat and put your opponent on a defensive that they can’t break out of; it doesn’t matter how much meter they can burn on magic bullshit if they’re too busy blocking your strikes to strike back. With high Neutral Game, your foes will never get the chance to use their cheating bullshit - and you may well forget you have it, too, as you try to clown on foes without burning Tension. But without a decent Neutral Game, against a halfway decent opponent, you’ll be backed into a corner and spitting teeth.

#isekai/online #endocrine promenade is frankly the best one of these I'm not topping that #deedee yeowoo #Disco Elysium #valor: the heroic roleplay system

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thechanelmuse · 2 years

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So there’s these Jews...

in my family tree. Chile...

This is one of the wildest shits I’ve come across.

In the midst of chattel enslaved people classified as negroes or mulattoes building the United States from scratch and generating the country’s longstanding economy through forced free labor, Simon (an Ashkenazi Jew)

and Philipena (a Sephardic Jew)

scurried their asses to the "Golden Land of America” for opportunities, to escape persecution and whatever other shit was going on in Europe. That same ol’ raggedy ass, worn out line still used today. Anyway. They made their way to Ellis Island before it closed down, settled in New Jersey for a hot moment before moving to South Carolina because Philipena peeped Simon getting involved with Russian anarchists. His comfort zone.

Now why SC? There were Jews there like in other southern states, but high in number for Sephardic Jews like Philipena (my guess since she picked it). Simon opened a business called Simon Brown’s Sons, making shoes and boots; helped to establish a Sabbath school in Augusta, Georgia that he would send his kids too; owned $7,600 in real estate (about $160,000 in 2022 dollars); and was a “farmer” aka he owned enslaved negroes and mulattoes who labored the land that would eventually amass to 5,000 acres after enslavement. Did I mention he enlisted in the Confederate Army but was later captured by the Union after stomping with Robert E. Lee?

Don’t take this as the Union being the “good guys.” Their hands been dirty and bloody too. After all they’re the ones who created the Devil’s Punchbowl concentration camp in Mississippi to starve and curb the population of over 20,000 negro and mulatto women and children who were then classified under the federal status, U.S. Freedmen, which the descendants (Black Americans) are still under today. Oh wait. Rewind. Did I mention that Phillipena shielded their house from being torched by Union soldiers during the Civil War by waving a masonic flag from the porch? Yes, bitch. Them people. The commanding officer spotted the sign and rerouted.

Simon’s ass is in three books, including The Jewish Confederates by Robert N. Rosen, Dark Hours: South Carolina Soldiers, Sailors, and Citizens Held in Captivity during the War of Southern Independence, 1861-1865 by Randolph W. Kirkland, Jr and a Virginia Encyclopedia about his capture at The Battle of the Weldon Railroad.

Him and them sons of his were featured in a number of newspapers (I’ve counted 20 so far) after some shit popped off. It’s featured in the book, Carnival of Blood - Dueling, Lynching and Murder in SC 1880 -1920 by John Hammond Moore.

So what happened?

John Gribben, an Irish immigrant in his 40s who was the town marshal, wasn’t fond of Jews. He would post letters about his feelings and pry open and search through Simon’s deliveries. Looking for what? Liquor. On Aug 28, 1894, John pried into the clothes package of Simon’s 22-year-old son, Solomon. Simon pulled up on John, accusing him of persecution before they got to loudly arguing. Simon’s three sons rolled up leading John to tell them he would beat all their asses.

Twenty-year-old Isadore stepped up beating John’s ass “against the wall of Geo. A Still’s store,” per one of the news articles. How would John get out of this one? Pistols were drawn and them crackas had a whole shootout like they were in a western. John caught one to the left shoulder and another near the heart, entering the left lung. Mothafucka staggered and died in the store he got his ass beat on the wall of. Solomon caught a head shot, one in the chest and one directly to the heart. Signed sealed and delivered to their makers. Au revoir.

That trial was a damn riot. Not a literal riot just wild. Simon’s son, Herman, was on trial for being the one whose gun delivered the kill shots to John with Simon and Isadore listed as the accessaries. A news article about the trial delves into and I quote “the influential Brown family” history. So you know how that trial went. Acquitted. That wouldn’t be their last case like this one involving the damn South Carolina Supreme Court. I don’t even have the energy to read it. More shenanigans.

Did I mention that that side of family tree ends up dipping into the Rothschild tree? Them people. I just…

So how does my 3rd grandmother end up in the picture after emancipation bringing forth a child by one of them sons? It wasn’t by choice. You catch my drift...

#every time somebody brings up jews my mind goes directly to this 🙃

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mattydemise · 2 years

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Some old woman told me off for playing Van Halen at the bar today. Has Van Halen been cancelled by the elderly population of Australia something? Maybe turn the hearing aids down a little if you’ve got a problem with the music. For every turd in the punchbowl there’s always two dozen people praising the music I play though.

#mattobsidian #van halen #music #personal #thoughts

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alicehealer2 · 2 years

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Microtransaction Hell

Prologue: My death is way too cliche

Damn. Ran out of data.

Whose idea was it to make single player games online only? Luckily, I managed to do all my dailies. Now I’m stuck in an empty bus with nothing but my thoughts.

Terrifying.

When I was in school, I was always told I had my head in the clouds. Unfortunately, metaphors were never my strong suit back then, so I just smiled and nodded. That strategy stopped working when I was 14. Surprised it took them that long to figure out I had no idea what they were talking about. It took a teacher that didn’t have English as a first language to recognize that look in my eye.

I’m half tempted to just buy more data now, so I don’t have to remember such embarrassing memories.

I absorb myself back in my phone looking for apps I haven’t touched in probably years and find an old idle game. The genre gets bashed on a lot for being a literal waiting game but what they tend to miss the point of the games. Beat boss A to unlock mechanic 8 to use a soft reset that carries buffs over in order to beat boss B repeat until there’s more mechanics than hours in the day.

A logo for “Lord of Hell Studios” pops up, which I don’t need internet to know this is probably the companies only game.

[Achievement Unlocked!] [Dedication: Stick to a single incarnation for 20 years] [New Ascension unlocked! Hard Reset]

Oof, I really need to uninstall apps I don’t use. Oh well, it benefits me this time.

I basically ignore the 10 different pop ups telling me I got a lot of resources that won’t matter next reset, so I press the new Hard Reset button.

A loud honking noise pulls me away from my phone, why is this bus empty? Where’s the driver? What was that-

“In this week’s headlines, the ‘Ghost Crash’ of 2027, a bus and a truck have crashed in the L9 Intersection. Neither vehicles seemed to have a driver and the cameras were reportedly damaged. The bus had only one unidentified passenger. Police suspect foul play and the company owning the vehicles has yet to be revealed. More at seven.”

Chapter One: One-Hundred and One Percent

Darkness.

The void.

An endless abyss.

And a single floating loading bar of pure white.

Despite the lack of computer screen the bar still seems pixelated, as if any extra detail to clue me into this cosmic joke would be wasted.

0.5% complete.

It’s felt like hours, I still don’t know what’s going on. I can’t be dead because I’m thinking, but I can’t feel myself moving. I’ve tried, but when the only anchor to this being a physical space is a white loading bar that stays perfectly centered to your vision, it’s kind of hard to tell if I am moving at all.

I can’t feel anything.

Except fear.

It’s been…

Well time has passed.

Specifically, the loading bar has too.

99.5% complete.

It doesn’t feel like it’s moving.

And it only updates every .5%.

100% Complete.

…

Is that it?

I feel like I should feel something. Anger, Betrayal, Disgust.

But I’ve used a computer before.

100% is never 100%.

I something sucking me downwards. Or at least I think it’s downwards. Floating in a dark abyss tends to mess with your sense of direction.

But I’m gonna bet on that way being down.

And down means out, and away from this loading screen.

So, I will let myself fall.

And fall.

I might not have thought this through.

I wake up in a field.

Not a grassy field or a football field or a field of wheat. No, I fell in a pumpkin patch. I feel sticky. And I do mean fell. Whatever that falling feeling obviously had something to do with whatever punchbowl I drank from to end up here. I feel bad for ruining the crops, so I better go apologize. My clothes are covered in dirt and pumpkin goo so I’m gonna have my best puppy dog eyes to use their shower. Not that I like using a stranger’s shower but they’re a farmer, so they’re probably ripped as hell.

Man, I’ve been walking for a while. This is a damn big pumpkin patch. There’s gotta be at least a thousand of these. I don’t know much about crops but aren’t you supposed to rotate them or something? How do you rotate a plant? How did I get here? Could I survive on pumpkin alone or will I need to Barbeque Ursa this? Why hasn’t he done a survival guide on the infinite pumpkin patch? Mysteries upon mysteries.

It’s nearing sundown and I finally manage to see a small wooden cottage on the horizon. How they house enough people to harvest everything is beyond me. Maybe this is just an outpost and people get lost often.

*30 minutes later*

-and that’s why I’ve always hated the ugly duckling. What a dumb bird.

Anyway, I’ve arrived at the cottage and there’s not a soul in site. So, I knock on the door. Then I yell out for anyone awake. Knock on every window and maybe accidentally impersonated the police, FBI and girl scouts. Luckily, I decided no one was home. Those girl scouts are terrifying when they see competition. So, I test the front door.

Then I test it again.

A bit harder this time.

“Oh no, this building is so old and run down that the door fell apart as soon as a random rock hit it.”

No answer.

I start looking around the house to try and figure out where I am. There’s an old bed, a fireplace, and a desk with a journal on it. Obviously since I respect their priv-

Dear journal. My status stopped showing up today. I was sad to see it but knew it must be fate calling me. My time on this world is almost up. I wished for nothing more than my humble pumpkin patch to bring me something, but alas it did not. The path of the pumpkin is a path of ruin and my life is the country it lay waste to.

“Humble?” I murmur mostly to myself.

“And what the hell’s a status?”

Name: Quinn Burgundy

Age: 29

Job: Homeless

Income: 1 MP per day

Current MP: 0/20

I’m not unemployed? I have a job stupid pumpkin dream! This is a dream, right? Unless…

Oh no!

No this can’t be happening!

I LOST MY JOB!

No, I worked so hard to get it!

#Writing #no beta we die like men #writing practice #writeblr

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betterrehabaus · 2 years

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youtube

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Street Address: 2 Hartzell Pl

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YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uzewz9oMOe4&t

Business Description: We are a leading occupational therapy provider in Bankstown southwest Sydney redefining what is possible in the Allied Health space. We deliver multidisciplinary rehabilitation services in our clinic in Bankstown.

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Independence and mobility are key aspects of good health, and Better Rehab Bankstown Physiotherapists help adults and children get the most out of life through a range of tailored and proven treatments and therapies. They can offer support in improving mobility, balance, movement, posture, strength and coordination, and in the management of chronic conditions.

Google My Business CID URL: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=6914051519187754465

Business Hours: Sunday Closed Monday 8.30AM - 17.00PM Tuesday 8.30AM - 17.00PM Wednesday 8.30AM - 17.00PM Thursday 8.30AM - 17.00PM Friday 8.30AM - 17.00PM Saturday Closed

Payment Methods: Cash Visa Master Amex NDIS

Services: Occupational Therapy, Speech Pathology, Physiotherapy, Exercise Physiology and Positive Behaviour Support

Discounts: NDIS

Keywords: Occupational therapy, Occupational therapist, Paediatric Occupational Therapy, Speech Pathology, Physiotherapist

Business/Company Establishment Date: 01/02/2019

Business Slogan: Better for You

Number of Employees: 500+

Yearly Revenue: 10M

Owner Name and Email: Chaminda, [email protected]

Location:

Service Areas:

#Youtube

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