Maidens with Swords - 1540′s
On AMC Armand's timeline
If Armand is 514 years old in 2022 that means that in AMC's 'Interview with the Vampire' Armand was born in 1508 and was probably turned when he was 26, in the year 1534. This is contrary to canon, where he was born in 1482 and was turned when he was 17, at the start of 1499.
(Quote from 'The Vampire Armand')
Or, it could be that he is 514 years IN the Blood and he was actually born in 1482 as in canon and was turned at 26 instead of 17, still making his turning year 1508 and making him 514-years-old IN the Blood.
But that would be conflicting (with the canon's timeline) with the mention that Marius is a contemporary of Tintoretto, because Tintoretto was born in 1518 in Venice and his earlier paintings were in the early part of the 1540's.
So maybe, just maybe, Armand spent more than a year with Marius after being turned (as he did in canon before being abducted), and Marius had more time to paint while Tintoretto was active, making him a “contemporary”.
And if we’re talking style-in-painting contemporary, that would give us even more space in the timeline, since Tintoretto’s style had a gradual change over his life and Marius’s painting seems to be replicating Tintoretto’s mid to late style, somewhat reminiscent of “The Brazen Serpent”, painted in 1575.
So even if Armand was turned in the 1530’s, that would still make his time with Marius at least 40 years. And if he was turned according to the canon’s timeline, in 1508, his time with Marius would be even longer. This would be more in line with the first draft of 'Interview with the Vampire', which seems to be an inspiration for AMC's portrayal of Armand.
Guess we'll have to wait and see what the writers are planning to do with Armand's past and his relationship with Marius.
Summary: The Underground has only ever had one Queen. Undyne doesn't want to be Her. (Alphyne, Exiled Queen / Empress Undyne ending.)
Word Count: 1540
Other part of the secret santa for @carlyraejepsans! since the first one was so short.
The Ruins doors grind shut. Stone against stone, rumbling like the growl slowly dying in the back of Undyne’s throat. She slides down the doors’ cold, slick surface, sinking into the snow at her feet.
She shivers. It’s done.
The Queen is gone.
“Captain—er, Queen Undyne…?” Dogaressa starts.
She and Dogamy are leading the squadron, though Undyne hadn’t needed the backup. Queen Toriel had gone without resistance.
"Don't call me—" Undyne bites her tongue.
What did she expect? She overthrew the Queen. She is the Queen, now, in their eyes.
Her stomach feels worse than the times she’s ridden conveyor belts. Normally she wouldn’t mind hurling, but it doesn’t sound fun anymore. Not without anyone to gag at how gross she is.
"Fan out. Check the wall for structural weaknesses," she rasps.
She doesn't expect them to find anything, but it'll give her troops something to do while she…
While she sits here, the cold biting into her toes. Turning the fire in her soul numb.
Asgore, what do I do…?
What would he do?
…Not kick out his ex, probably. But she had to. She couldn't, wouldn't sit there and watch the Queen unravel everything Asgore had worked for.
(She wouldn't watch the Queen deny what had happened to Papyrus. She wouldn't watch Sans play innocent.)
She shivers, even with Papyrus's scarf as tight as a noose around her neck.
She couldn't protect him. She couldn't protect Asgore. What makes her think she can protect the whole Underground?
Her head snaps up. She’s really losing her touch if Alphys found a way to sneak up on her. She’s bundled up in layers of knitted sweaters under her lab coat, and a bright pair of pink boots. …Alphys owns boots?
“How did you get here?” Undyne croaks out, wiping the back of her arm across her eyes.
“Mettaton.” Alphys shuffles closer. The Dog Squad packed down the snow, at least, so she doesn’t have to lift the bulky-looking boots too far. “He wants to g-get an interview with the Guard, s-so he was already coming this way… I t-told him not to bother you, but—”
“But he’s Mettaton.” Undyne nods. Trying to stop him from doing something is like… well, like trying to stop an indestructible robot.
At least he’s not here right now, and Alphys is.
Undyne’s shoulders tremble beneath her armor. She can’t even keep up a strong front for Alphys. Not that Alphys needs her to—she’s strong enough on her own—but Undyne…
It’s stupid, but she just wants the only friend she has left to think she’s cool.
“I… didn’t just come because of Mettaton. I was worried...” Alphys crouches down beside her. It can’t be comfortable—Alphys hates the cold even more than Undyne does. “N-not about you! I knew you would be fine! But, uh, you know… Ugh, I sound s-so stupid right now…”
Alphys covers her face. Undyne gently takes one of her hands, pulling it away.
“You’re gonna smudge your glasses,” Undyne says. Hopefully the scarf covers her blush. “And, uh. It’s not stupid.”
It’s adorable, how much she trusts Undyne. She’s adorable.
Alphys’s breath puffs out in warm clouds. It fogs her glasses, despite Undyne’s previous attempt at protecting them.
(She can’t even protect a couple of lenses.)
“Um. R-right.” Alphys swallows. Her throat bobs beneath her thick turtlenecks. “I guess it doesn’t matter, now. It’s all over.”
Alphys’s gaze flickers to the doors behind them.
“Yeah. Over,” Undyne lies.
It’s just beginning. Getting rid of the Queen was easy, compared to the mountain of responsibility she feels weighing on her now.
Laws. Regulations. Everything she spent her childhood fighting against. Deep down, has she ever stopped being that punk kid, pushing boxes for community service? Even the structure of the Guard is just something Asgore invented to keep her occupied. She knows this, because the Queen’s first order of business had been to disband it.
“He… he went with her, didn’t he?” Alphys asks weakly.
It takes a moment for Undyne to catch up to her train of thought, but when she does, she snorts. If the sound comes out a little too wet, it’s just her nose running from the cold.
“Sans? What do you think?” Undyne grumbles. “He’s been wrapped around her finger since she crawled out of her hole.”
“Since b-before that, actually…”
Alphys blushes, for some reason.
“Ehehe. You know how I set up cameras, um, to watch for humans…?”
There’s one in the bush to their left, Alphys explains. Apparently she’s watched Sans and Toriel flirt through this door for months.
No wonder Sans was always such a useless sentry. He’s been a traitor from the very beginning. The thought should make her rage boil, but the numbness keeps its icy grip on her soul.
“I was going to, r-recalibrate this camera, in case either of them… escape…? I thought it might help you relax,” Alphys mumbles.
“That’d be great,” Undyne replies quietly. “Thanks, Alphys.”
Sans and the Queen are the least of her worries, honestly—neither of them have the guts to put up a fight—but it’s reassuring to know that Alphys has her back. That she’s not as alone as she feels.
“O-of course! If there’s anything else I can do… you pr-probably have everything figured out, but…” Alphys trails off, claws clicking together.
She’s done plenty already. Just being here, on this side of those stone doors, is enough.
(But. If there’s anyone strong enough, smart enough, to help Undyne—it’s her.)
“I don’t want to be Queen,” Undyne blurts—then immediately flinches, looking left and right.
The dogs are nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t mean they can’t hear her. Hopefully the drifting snow muffles her cowardly admission.
“Why… why not?” Alphys asks, her head tilting. “You t-trained under Asgore. If anyone knows how to lead, it’s you. R-right?”
Undyne can guess what Alphys is thinking: she just kicked out the only other monster who might know what she’s doing. Why do that, if Undyne wasn’t ready to pick up the pieces?
The truth is, the people were going to revolt, whether Undyne helped them or not. Unrest from Papyrus’s murder had spread from Snowdin all the way to Hotland. Not to mention how everyone felt about Asgore and the missing human souls.
Undyne had been so busy trying to keep everyone plotting the revolution safe, she hadn’t thought about what would come after. But she’s thinking about it now. And all she knows is this:
“There’s only been one Queen before,” Undyne mutters, “and I don’t want to be her.”
“You’re… worried about being like Toriel?” Alphys asks.
Then she laughs. It sounds a little hysterical, which makes sense. The concept of Undyne looking like the Queen, acting like the Queen, is insane.
“S-sorry!!” Alphys’s face goes red as she tries to muffle her snickers. “I just… I can see it?”
“N-not in a bad way!! You’re just both, very… committed? To your principles! It’s really h-ho—admirable!!!”
Undyne blinks. The words get her all twisted up inside, compliment-and-insult all at once. …Well, really it’s just a compliment, but being compared to her…
“I can’t be her,” Undyne finally admits.
As much as she can’t stand the Queen, there’s no denying that Toriel is everything a Queen’s supposed to be. Elegant. Warm. Composed. What if the people realize she was the better choice after all?
What if they rise up against Undyne just as quickly?
“I… don’t think anyone wants you to be?” Alphys frowns. “Not the way… it sounds like you’re thinking.”
“You just said you found her admirable,” Undyne mutters.
“I also said—I admire you!” Alphys bursts. Her claws grip the edges of her long sleeves. “You’re so…”
Alphys gestures to all of her. Undyne’s not sure what to make of that.
“You’re you, Undyne. Nobody knew Queen Toriel, well, except Sans… and Gerson, I guess… b-but, everyone knows how much you c-care about them! You’re my—our hero!! I don’t th-think there's anyone in the Underground who could do a better job than you.”
Her breaths are heavy. They fog up her glasses again, obscuring her eyes right when Undyne wants to see them most.
Maybe it’s for the best. At least Alphys can’t see how deeply Undyne’s blushing.
“You really think so, huh…?”
“I—I know so! You’re going to be a great Queen!! Just like Empress Jupiter when she had to lead the Planet Brigade in Moon Sailors episode twenty-seven!!!”
A spark of fire reignites in Undyne’s chest. She still has lingering doubts, but Alphys has given her an idea that settles her churning stomach.
“You’re a genius, Alphys! I’ll be Empress Undyne!” Undyne grins, hugging her tight. “Then I won’t have to feel like hurling every time someone calls me Queen. It’s the perfect plan!! Fufufufufu!!!”
“That’s… not what I…?” Alphys starts, before shaking her head and hugging Undyne back. “I mean, yeah!! Empress Undyne sounds se—um, s-super cool!! Ehehe!”
It takes all her restraint not to suplex Alphys out of affection. Maybe some other time, when they’re not surrounded by freezing snow.
For now, Undyne holds her tight, feeling perfectly warm.
「into your arms」 ・noctua
➖ diluc ragnvindr x reader
genre: fluff, very much suggestive towards the end (so read at your own risk)
summary: out on a date, you and diluc get drenched and, in trying to find a shelter because of it, you get more than what you bargained for.
tag(s): established relationship (but it's kind of new), cuddling, kissing and rain (yes, cliche, i know), diluc's arms, soft diluc
warning(s): a bit of a cliche and kinda suggestive, getting cockblocked (/gender neutral :P) once, lots of kissing, also diluc's arms (yes that is a warning)
word count: 1540
contrary to all the extravagant gestures expected of the uncrowned king of mondstadt towards his significant other, dating diluc was rather simple (much much simpler than getting together with him).
simple, however, did not mean effortless. with both of your schedules keeping you busy for more days in the week than not, the effort put in to make the date special increased along with the time gap between each.
it made the time spent with each other all the more special for the both of you.
today, finally having a few days off due to the renovation your restaurant was going through, you decided to surprise diluc at the winery with a home cooked meal for two placed in the basket you carried.
you felt a smile spread across your face as the figure of your boyfriend came into view near the grapevines, discussing something with elzer.
'master diluc,' you spoke up after the older of the two left, moving closer to him while deciding to shift the weight of the basket to one hand.
a warm feeling spread across you when a small smile adorned his face as soon as he spotted you (albeit, he was a bit confused at first).
'hey,' he said your name softly, forwarding his palm towards you after taking a few strides to reach you. 'what brings you here today?'
pushing your own palm into his, you replied, 'just wanted to spend some time with you.'
his smile grew a bit, sending butterflies spiraling in your stomach even after four months.
nodding at the basket in your hand, he asked, 'want to eat outside?'
pulling your lower lip in with your teeth, you nodded slowly, 'if you're free?'
'i am,' he said, brushing your knuckles with his gloved thumb before intertwining your hands, while his other grabbed the basket from you. 'i know a good spot, if you're willing to walk a bit that is?'
'how was the food?' strolling down a path between the trees, you asked, equal bits excited and nervous. it was a new recipe you had been trying to develop.
'the meat was a bit mushy, other than that, i quite liked it,' diluc replied, his hand finding yours and you decided to slide your fingers between his own.
you nodded to yourself, mentally noting it to make changes to the dish later, when he continued;
'what happened to the dessert you were working on a few weeks ago?'
you soured at that. 'it was just a disaster. i even tried caramelizing the pineapple's before putting it on, but the base still turned soggy, didn't matter though, it ruined the overall sweet ratio.'
'a pity, it tasted really nice,' diluc said with a bit of amusement in his tone.
you just sighed sadly.
the chuckle that left diluc made you turn to face him. his free hand came up to cup your cheek, his hand smoothing over your cheek and his eyes looking into yours with something akin to adoration.
'can i kiss you?'
your palm rising up to cup his that was on your cheek, you nodded, gasping a bit when he leaned closer.
a pair of soft lips pressed against your cheek, your eyes closed on their accord as he moved to do the same with the other one. your heartbeat got louder as his gloved thumb caressed your lips gently before leaning in.
the soft press of lips you had expected against your own never came, instead your eyes snapped open at the feeling of water drops falling on your face.
hearing diluc curse under his breath, you really didn't have any time to react before he pulled you along with him and started sprinting.
after a few minutes of constant running and getting drenched to the bone, you both finally came across a cave which diluc pulled you into.
gasping hard, you leaned against the wall of the cave to catch some breath, noticing diluc do the same while leaning his body weight onto his thighs.
'you should remove your coat, it looks really uncomfortable for you to wear it,' finally getting enough air, you noticed his coat completely dreached, looking heavier than the claymore he fought with.
a small blush adorned his cheeks as he nodded, slowly taking it off.
and man, saying that you weren't prepared for it would be an understatement.
you always thought that diluc wore a full sleeved dress shirt under his coat (not that you actively thought about it). but getting to know that he actually wore a half sleeved one that made his biceps pop out, making his arms look so inviting to cuddle into, had you taking a sharp intake of breath.
a few very questionable thoughts had passed your mind even.
'i'm gonna try to see if i can light the wood up,' diluc, completely unaware to the dilemma you were currently facing, sat down on his knees to try and light the campfire that was left behind.
the cold finally got to you as you hugged your body closer to yourself, both your palms rubbing their opposite shoulder blades to try and gain some warmth.
a sigh escaped diluc before he got up and walked upto you. 'the wood got drenched, its impossible to light up.'
you could feel the frustration filling you up, but you only nodded at him and sighed, trying to rub your shoulders harder to create a bit more heat.
diluc just shook his head and pulled you down with him, first settling himself by leaning against the wall before steadying you on his lap. despite the cold, you felt your cheeks light up on fire at the proximity.
'just relax,' he said, despite his own heartbeat raising more than what is considered normal. such a hypocrite.
the desperation of needing warmth finally let you relax yourself against the redhead, who immediately pulled you as close as he could, keeping his palm on your stomach and using his vision to radiate some heat into your body.
diluc's arms still not out of your mind, you involuntarily let out a small whimper as soon as a bit of heat passed through your pretty much cold body, making the arms around you as still as metal.
a few minutes had passed before the grip had loosened. your boyfriend moved a bit to adjust you both into a comfortable position.
embarrassed at the sound you had made, you immediately pressed your head into his chest. you heard an audible gulp before his palm moved up from your back to grab your chin and pull your face up towards him.
leaning closer, he whispered, voice as soft as it was deep, 'i'm going to kiss you.'
as a response, you shut your eyes and nodded a bit when he didn't seem to make a move.
his own eyes closed, he moved closer and, a lots of pants later, pressed his lips to yours.
the kiss had some urgency to it, completely different, at the same time very familiar to the kisses pressed up against your cheeks sometime ago.
breaking the kiss, however, wasn't the end of it, as diluc moved you to settle better on his lap. a dangerous position to be in, in your opinion.
'warm yet?' he moved his head up to kiss your forehead, sending a tingle up your whole body because of it. you were in no position to process the question, let alone reply.
he called your name before repeating the question once more. you shook your head, fingers gripping his shirt.
'is that so,' was all he said before he captured your lips once again with his own, the kiss somehow more desperate than before.
for the next few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of rain pattering onto the ground, which also was reduced to white noise in your ears as the only noise it picked up was both of your pants.
your brain could only register the warmth of the arms around you and the tongue that was trying to gain access to your own, which made you regret your actions as soon as you opened your mouth.
a shiver ran down your spine and just as soon as you thought it couldn't possibly get worse, his tongue did something absolutely criminal which grabbed the last sane thought in your head and threw it out.
you broke the kiss gasping hard, very much in need for some air.
diluc, also gasping for some air himself, rested his forehead against yours, hand coming to caress your cheek.
just as you got enough air for you to survive, your boyfriend moved back a bit to press his mouth onto your again.
the grip of your fingers on his shirt tightened along with the increased intensity of each kiss. his mouth never left yours for more than a few seconds, giving you a few seconds to breath in some air before capturing it once more, each time with a bit more vigor than the one before even as the panting grew longer, further turning your mind into puddle by the second.
(finally) breaking from your lips, diluc immediately latched on to the skin on the side of your neck, slowly trailing kisses down it.
'are you warm now, love?' his lips mumbled into your neck, making goosebumps erupt all over your body.
you could only nod.
'stay at the winery tonight?' he said, as he found a particularly sensitive part of your neck and harshly sucked on it, arms tightening around you as he did so.
another whimper left you.
everything you lose (a step you take)
bradley “rooster” bradshaw/jake “hangman” seresin | 1540 words | read on ao3
There’s a moment wherein Warlock walks in and says Maverick’s name and Bradley’s life hasn’t been changed yet.
And then, in a matter of seconds, Warlock delivers the harsh, unflinching truth. “He’s gone.” His voice is deep and gravelly with an emotion too great to bear, and Bradley almost asks who. Almost.
“What?” Maverick speaks like he’s been punched in the gut. Bradley blinks, looking between them with confusion. “What? W-when did he—”
“Sarah just called.” Warlock steps forward and extends a hand out, gripping Maverick’s shoulder tightly. “I am so, so sorry.”
Bradley feels like he’s outside of his body when Maverick nods, heaving a shaky breath like he’s screwing his head back on straight. “Kid—” Maverick cuts himself off, swallowing, and the devastation on his face feels like looking directly into the sun. “Rooster, I’m s—”
“What are you talking about?” The words come out mangled and hoarse, and Maverick shuts his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Iceman,” Warlock says, finally letting go of Maverick’s shoulder. He looks to Bradley with a steely determination in his eye, and Bradley feels terrified of him for the first time. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss, as well.”
Everything is still as Warlock leaves the room; when the door closes, though, it’s like it breaks whatever stalemate they were in. Bradley understands the words individually, hears them, comprehends them as a sentence, but something’s not clicking. “My loss?” he questions aloud, and he hears Maverick sniffle.
“I’m sorry,” Maverick says, and his voice cracks at the end as he turns away, hiding his face in his hands, and Bradley feels like he’s suffocating and suddenly he can smell antiseptic and bleach and latex, and Maverick’s telling him off for skipping out on school when Gabriela, his mom’s favorite nurse, had to come into the hallway.
“She’s gone,” Gabriela said, so morosely Bradley would have thought she was talking about her own mother. “Oh, Bradley, Pete, I’m so sorry.”
“What?” Bradley demanded, and Gabriela’s eyes filled with tears. “We— We just walked out. Like, barely left.”
“I know.” Gabriela wiped at her eyes. Maverick stepped forward and gripped his hand. “It—”
Bradley pushed past her and stared at his mother’s lifeless body, eyes gathering tears in the corners. “Oh, kid,” Maverick said, turning him away from the bed, but Bradley couldn’t stop looking. She was never quiet. She was calming, sure, but never quiet. Not like this.
“She’s not moving,” he breathed out, stumbling back into Maverick.
“I’m sorry.” Maverick tucked Bradley’s head into his shoulder like Bradley was 7 and not 17, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Jesus fucking Christ . “I’m so sorry.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” he asks, and he can’t even feel any shame for cursing in front of Maverick.
“You’ve got me,” Maverick murmured, pressing another kiss to the same spot. “I’m right here.”
I’m right here.
“Hey,” Maverick says now, tears running down his cheeks. He seems more clear and lucid, though, which is good, because Bradley isn’t. He’s stuck in between 17 and 32 and his mother’s been dead for 15 years and Mav’s been dead to him for almost just as long, and Iceman too, except— “Hey, Bradley.”
“What happened to him?” Bradley doesn’t even sound like himself; he feels crazed as he stares up into Maverick’s eyes, red and glassy. Maverick sniffles and glances away, but Bradley grabs his wrist and commands attention. “Mav.”
“He was sick.” Maverick swallows, crouching in front of him. He hasn’t aged much, Bradley thinks, except he could reach out and touch laugh lines that weren’t there the last time they spoke, forehead creases that only seem to have deepened. He’s getting older, Bradley thinks, with a suspicious lump in his throat. “Cancer.”
Bradley almost chokes on it. “What?”
“He was—” Maverick glances away. “He was fine the first time. I only just—”
“The first time?” Bradley’s going to pass out. “What the hell do you mean the first time?”
“I left you a voicemail,” Maverick says.
“I blocked you,” Bradley snaps back, and Maverick flinches.
Bradley exhales shakily, taking in another uneven breath and Maverick places his hands on Bradley’s knees. I know this isn’t easy, he said once, when Bradley was 14 and gearing up to watch his mother die slowly. But I’m right here. Bradley believed him then, when he was almost 20 years younger and immature and unscathed minus a dead father he barely remembered.
And even though Maverick’s betrayed his trust once before, his earnesty and pure, unflinching sadness make him believable again. “I’m really, really sorry,” Maverick says, and Bradley wants to say he’s sorry too, sorry for everything, sorry for Ice, sorry for shutting him and Ice out and sorry for Ice dying and sorry for saying everything he just said to Maverick, because—
No kids, no one to mourn you. Bradley shuts his eyes. He keeps fighting with Maverick, and everyone he loves keeps dying. It feels like it can’t possibly be sustainable.
He doesn’t speak, trying to hold all the emotions in without them bubbling over, because if they do he’ll break completely and tell Maverick he’s sorry and he’ll do anything to get him back and half of him wants that more than anything in the world. And then the other half, the half of him that was raised by Maverick, wants to tell him to fuck right off.
Maverick squeezes Bradley’s knees and turns to leave, and Bradley clears his throat. “Me too,” he says, and Maverick’s breath hitches. “I’m sorry.” A pause. “About Ice.”
And in that moment Maverick looks as young as he was when Bradley first remembers him, which is always, and he looks older than Bradley ever remembers him being, and Bradley realizes for the first time that Pete Mitchell isn’t immortal. Pete Mitchell could die tonight. Pete Mitchell could be shot out of the sky, or get into a motorcycle accident, or be randomly mugged, or just die of a broken fucking heart.
“I know you are.” Maverick gives him a small, watery smile. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Bradley doesn’t like this; something in his gut is tugging at him, and when he looks back up Maverick is gone. Bradley runs, shouting after him down the hallway. Maverick turns, and Bradley aches with missing him. “Are you—” Bradley clears his throat, but he’s still trying not to cry. “Are you going to be okay?”
Maverick shrugs. “I have to be,” he says. “I need to make sure you’re all—”
“No, fuck, Mav, not that.” Bradley shakes his head. “I mean—shit, I don’t know, I’ve never—” He falters on the words, and he knows Maverick hears them by the way his face crumples. “Mav, please, I—”
“I’ll go see Penny,” Maverick says, and Bradley wants to shake him, tell him to say something. “Rooster, go home.”
“Tell me you’ll be fine,” Bradley pleads. “And I will.”
Bradley watches Maverick begin to roll his eyes, and then he stops, walking toward Bradley but stopping just short of being able to reach. “Bradley,” Maverick says gently, and Bradley shuts his eyes. “I’ll be okay. Will you?”
“I—” Shaking his head, then nodding, Bradley lets out a long breath. “Yeah. But you have to promise me—”
“I promise.” Maverick does roll his eyes then, and if Bradley tries hard enough, he could be 15 and his mother and Ice could be making mischief just down the hallway. If he squeezes his eyes shut, the peels of their laughter could echo off the high ceilings. If he believes it, it’ll be true. “I’m right here. You’ll be okay.”
Bradley opens his eyes then, and Maverick nods, walking away. It doesn’t feel right to let him. Bradley just wants to hold onto the moments that will keep him a kid—wants to hold onto his mother’s waist, wants to hold on to his first kiss, wants to hold onto Jake, wants to keep Maverick right there, next to him, so that he can’t go and do something stupid like die before Bradley gets the chance to—
Bradley sags against the wall, letting it hold him up, when footsteps creep toward him. Bradley would know them anywhere.
“Hey,” Jake says, eyeing him critically. Bradley has never wanted to punch someone or hold them more.
“Hey,” he says back.
Jake extends a hand to him, wiggling his fingers in Bradley’s face with a stupidly soft grin. “Let’s go sneak some food into Phoenix and Bob, yeah? You and I both know that hospital food sucks.”
Bradley almost chokes on the gratitude, almost blurts out an I love you, almost almost almost—instead, he accepts Jake’s hand and squeezes once before letting go. “That’s a good idea,” Bradley murmurs. “Wish I’d thought of that.”
“Yeah, well.” Jake waves him off, snagging Bradley’s keys from his pocket, giving him a shit-eating grin before he walks away. “We can’t all be perfect, Bradshaw!” he calls back, and Bradley feels some sort of calm wash over him.
You’ll be okay. Bradley takes a deep breath and vows to believe in Pete Mitchell for another day.
06.01.2022 (reverse diet dzień 82)
1540 kcal (do zjedzenia 1700 kcal). Waga: 65.20kg 🖤 ↓ (- 1.00 kg)
Zważyłam się i jest równo kilogram w dół. Zostaje na 1700kcal w ramach bezpieczeństwa. Czyli świątecznej nadwyżki się pozbyłam. Hura.
Wstaliśmy dziś tak późno i wszystkie posiłki się poprzesówały. Jeszcze tak wrócę do tematu tej roboty na budowie. W ogóle nie byłam głodna. Prawie zapomniałam o śniadaniu. Te kanapki z chlebem litewskim i jajkiem dojadalam w samochodzie.
Nie dziwię się, że mój S. jest taki szczupły. On zjada ten swój jeden obiad i to wszystko a później jeszcze drugi obiad jak wraca albo i nie. Do tego idą chipsiki i paluszki. Jak mu wyjdzie że 2500 kcal dziennie to jest święto. A później mamy fałszywe przeświadczenie, że ktoś jest szczupły, a my go widzimy jak "ciągle" żre chipsy.
Dziś leniwy dzień w domu. Przeniosłam się z łózka na kanapę i tak zostałam. Dlatego dziś tak mało kalorii. Po prostu nie ruszałam się cały dzień, więc nie było potrzeby aż takiego dobijania do limitu. Mogę powiedzieć, że dotrzymałam słowa i dziś zaliczyłam słodkie nieróbstwo. Nie pamiętam kiedy tak ostatnio bez wyrzutów sumienia zrobiłam...
Please share some sources about Mary that you’ve found the most informative?? I really wanna do a deep dive!!
Mary's Privy Purse expenses c.1530's/1540's
Original Letters Illustrative of English History series
Letters of royal and illustrious ladies of Great Britain, from the commencement of the twelfth century to the close of the reign of Queen Mary series
The Chronicle of Queen Jane and of Two Years of Queen Mary
The Life of Jane Dormer, Duchess of Feria
BRITISH HISTORY ONLINE
Acts of the Privy Council
Letters and Papers: Henry VIII
Calander of State Papers: Domestic Edward VI, Mary I and Elizabeth I (need a subscription to access these)
Calander of State Papers: Spain
Calander of State Papers: Venice
The Diary of Henry Machyn
BRITISH LIBRARY DIGITISED MANUSCRIPTS
Original correspondence of the kings and queens of England and others vol 1
Original correspondence of the kings and queens of England and others vol 2
BRITISH LIBRARY ARCHIVE MANUSCRIPTS
Can see general descriptions of various contemporary records. While most are unavailable unless you book an appointment to go in person, some will show at the bottom of the entries where they've been printed/published for you to try and track them down!
If you find a cool JSTOR article you can't access because you don't have an account you can use a website called sci-hub to convert and download them ;) I've found so many journal articles etc this way that talk of sources non-historians can't access!
Calendar of Patent Rolls, Philip and Mary
From Heads of Households to Heads of State: The Preaccession households of Mary and Elizabeth Tudor
The History of New Bordeaux
Situated just a few miles north of New Orleans, Louisiana, “Bourbon City” is home to a unique blend of cultures, night life, history, and music, as well as being one of the busiest ports in the Gulf of Mexico, alongside its sister city. Founded by the French, ruled by Spanish forces for roughly 40 years then purchased as part of 1803’s Louisiana Purchase, New Bordeaux hosts a unique blend of Creole and Latin American cultures and vibrant (though tumultuous) history. The city has always been trapped in a power struggle between countless groups, but despite issues both social (poverty, crime rates, racial strife) and natural (slowly sinking land, hurricanes, floods), New Bordeaux persists as a testament to human will.
France & Sister City
The first residents of what would become New Bordeaux were Native American nations— Chitimacha, Coushatta, Tunica-Biloxi, amongst many other nations— though following the French exploration during the 1600-1700s (not including De Soto of the 1540s), most indigenous nations had been pushed away from the mouth of the Mississippi River. It was Bienville of France who established the first main settler colonies in the late 1710s, alongside New Bordeaux (which was just considered an outer territory of Nouvelle-Orléans). The city was officially established in 1718, though the original name has been lost to time as different areas called the city different names. Many historians have coined this as the “Proto-Bordeaux” period.
During this time, numerous groups lived in the territory, including: French settlers, formerly enslaved people (typically from the English colonies though not always) as well as free Black people, a few Latin American groups (primarily what is now known as the Dominican Republic and Cuba— note that the surge in this population would occur mostly during the Spanish Trials), and a few natives who had not been successfully pushed out of the region.
Spanish Trials to Louisiana Purchase
While New Orleans fell to Spanish power in 1763, Proto-Bordeaux navigated Spanish influence by avoiding interaction beyond trade. Though they did eventually “fall” into Spanish rule, it took two years for a semi-peaceful transition of power to occur. Under Spanish rule (though not nearly as strong as Spain’s grip on NOLA), Proto-Bordeaux now legally had a class of free People of Color (whereas beforehand it was a disputed but mostly accepted rule) and traded heavily with Cuba, Mexico, and other Latin American countries. The strong Catholic influence showed through the city’s architecture and art despite the Spanish not being extremely active in the city.
In 1796, Proto-Bordeaux faced the “Spanish Trials”, which was an attempt by the Spanish ruling class to unite the areas in hopes of economic gains and control. Countless people were put on trial as “insurrectionists” for disagreeing or speaking out against unification— the records however seem to indicate that most of these people who were put on trial were in fact not speaking out against unification but rather the injustices they faced from other groups in the city. The city would eventually tear itself apart in 1798 before a tentative reunification under brief French rule, thus ending the “Proto-Bordeaux” period.
In 1803, Louisianan territory reverted back to French rule but was sold quickly after by Napoleon in order to gain money to fund his war(s) in Europe. New Bordeaux became a wealthy port city for the United States.
Alongside its sister city, New Bordeaux’s ports sailed raw materials and products to the Caribbean, South America, and Europe. Thousands of enslaved people were sold in its markets, but its free Black community thrived. Until the 1830s, the majority of its residents still spoke French or a local dialect that combined Spanish, French, and Native American languages. New Bordeaux notably had (and still has) a slightly different accent from New Orleans.
During the War of 1812, there was a small battle against British forces, and despite the smaller numbers, New Bordeaux’s citizens won and were able to push the British a bit more south.
Crime organizations from each neighborhood/area began to show up around this time, though it was sporadic— between pirates, smugglers, ethnic crime groups, and other groups, no one held much influence over the underbelly of the city. It was also during this time of crime that a very early form of what would come to be known as the Southern Union and Dixie Mob, respectively, would kidnap freed Black people and sell them to the highest bidder, usually the French or Spanish ruling classes on the ritzier ends of the city. It would be Reconstruction before either gained any significant power.
During Civil War
The Civil War was the largest turning point for NB, alongside New Orleans. Unlike NOLA, the residents were split between Confederate support and Union support, which led to the city more or less destroying itself (again) until a few families— the Harless family and Duvall family most notably— united the city under the Confederate flag. Even when NOLA fell to Union control, the Confederate force of NB attempted to fight back Union troops to no avail.
The Battle of New Bordeaux in August of 1862 (just a few months after New Orleans fell in April) lasted 3 days and ended when General Duvall was killed on field and most of the Confederate troops either fled or surrendered to the Union. The Union’s control of the city marked the second destruction and the end to the first era of New Bordeaux.
Reconstruction was a turbulent time, especially for New Bordeaux, as the city had entered a new age of tense unification that no one seemed to have wanted. Sharecropping on old plantations in Frisco Fields area was not uncommon, though most free Black people were regulated to poverty with no conceivable way out, even with the aid of the US military. It didn’t take long for former Confederates to fight against every freedom given to the (already freed, for the large part) Black people of NB, to the point that Reconstruction was considered and early failure there. NOLA remained a powerful port, as NB’s older plantations started to fade away into the age of antiquity. However, their port remained mostly intact, and trade became a crutch as the city attempted to heal its internal wounds.
During Reconstruction, Confederate sympathizers and countless KKK-satellite organizations such as Dixie Mob and (more importantly) the Southern Union would seep into the city’s very fabric, alongside the numerous People of Color who already resided there. The United States government continually had a military presence stationed by the ports just in case the city attempted to destroy itself again despite the general failure of Reconstruction. (This would later contribute to the CIA presence in the city, but that would not be until the 40s with the OSS then later the CIA in the 50s.)
During this time, a few cults— most notably the Ensanglante— began to pop up as Confederate sympathizers looked for any and all excuses for their losses during the war. The notion of “the Filth” was in part inspired from Mormon doctrine, and much like Mormonism, focused on white American Imperialism and superiority over everything on Earth. The movements remained an upper-class cult, with the lower classes being “implemented” in the early part of the 20th century.
Early 20th Century
New Bordeaux, once again, began to rebuild its city. In the 1880s, Haitian and Italian immigrants appeared in droves, and by 1910, they were a part of the fabric of the city. Dominican and Cuban influences were already present but it began to show more in the city’s budding night life.
Compared to NOLA’s jazz, NB had more emphasis on dancing and blending together stringed instruments with the brass typical with jazz. Cello, violin, piano, trumpet, trombone, and drums were staples of New Bordeaux jazz, alongside Latin American-influenced dancing (mostly Dominican and Cuban). The Harlem Renaissance of New York influenced art and poetry from the Black community of NB and reinvigorated hope for freedom like what was seen during French-Spanish rule. Drinking also became a staple, and due to the pre-existing smuggling rings from pre-Reconstruction, 1920s’ Prohibition meant barely anything to the citizens. Numerous gangs also rose to prominence in the 20s, including the Italian-American mafia.
The Rule of Sal Marcano
Starting in the late 1800s, smaller crime organizations in different regions of the city had begun to crop up, though it would be until the late-1930s before many (beyond the Italian-American mafia) were able to seize any sizeable power. In the 20s, bootlegging using the underground tunnels was mostly blended between gangs (before Burke showing up), and areas like Delray Hollow (eventually being taken over by Samuel Robinson) and Barclay Mills (Enzo Conti’s area) each had its own crime situation. That all ended after Sal Marcano and his brothers forcibly took over NB’s crime underbelly.
Following the brutal murder of Giuseppe Carrillo (which is known as All Saints’ Day Massacre) under the guise of revenge— Sal had set his father up to be killed over gambling debts then accuse Carrillo of being merciless— the Marcano Family was established and took over all of the city’s rackets. It would be the late 1930s when Sal gained power in Cuba through casinos and ports, which brought in enough money to take the partially-crumbling city into a potential tourist attraction.
Sal was both a blessing and a curse to the city, bringing in more revenue than ever seen before from ports, colleges (which would now be considered STEM-centered), alcohol, weapon smuggling, underground gambling, and more. But, it seemed only to make the rich man richer and the poor man poorer.
Beyond the rule of Marcano, bluegrass and very early rock began (or, began to surge in popularity) in areas such as Delray Hollow, which produced 3 blues legends of the 1930s*.
The 40s saw a large surge in nationalism in the city, as well as campaigns like Double-V that contributed to a large population of Black people from NB enlisting. Records show that roughly 15% of Black men from the city (who weren’t drafted) enlisted in the war. However, despite their best efforts, the racism back home only got worse thanks to people like Remy Duvall and the Southern Union. It wasn’t all bad however— Delray Hollow began to have more business, and a few social programs were established to help returning veterans gain some amount of education following their time in World War II.
Crime wise, Sal controlled most of the crime scene in the late 40s or otherwise coerced (or intimidated) their leaders into joining him— which is how Enzo Conti rose through the ranks, and Samuel “Sammy” Robinson (who was already head of the Black Mob) gained more influence. It was in the 1950s that the Haitian gang began to form and cause troubles for the Black Mob, following a large influx of immigrants due to political strife and violence back home.
In the 1950s, the town flourished. The night life and local attractions brought in thousands of tourists every year, due in part to the marketing from Lou Marcano, and the Marcano Family had a successful grip on both the police force and crime scene. But no amount of tourism or revenue could save a city so divided.
Following Executive Order 9981 in 1948, then Brown V Board of Education in 1954, protests struck all across the city. The ones that advocated for the instating of these policies turned violent when the police force and firefighters would release tear gas or hose down protesters, leading to countless deaths and widespread fear. Sal Marcano was never officially proven to have ties to these, though it is highly speculated that he played some part in all of this. This would start a trend of protests, violence, then fearful silence that would persist for years. Yet, the people pressed on, painting murals and expressing grievances through art when possible. Music became one of the biggest escapes for People of Color in NB, and rock had a distinct sound in the city. Acoustic guitar mixed with electric, stringed instruments, piano, organ, drums— it would build upon the foundation from the jazz scene, with its own twist of melancholy and anger (which was and is justified).
In the 60s the city trucked on, plagued with even more violence and hatred than ever before, but the starry-eyed hope for change persisted. The Korean War slipped by without much of a mention in the late 50s and no one exactly wanted a fresh war with French-Indochina— the only issue was that this new fangled “Vietnam” was falling to the commies, and god forbid that occur. Compared to World War II, Vietnam saw very few non-draftees from New Bordeaux, and the city’s poorer population tended to side with anti-war sentiment. In a way, social movements from way back in the late 1880s (as mass-industrialization occurred) contributed to the surprisingly strong socialist presence in the city. Alongside this came a vocal Black Power/Black nationalism scene, primarily seen through radio shows like “The Hollow Speaks” and the Black Panther branch that was eventually burnt in 1969.
The Black Mob, led officially by Sammy Robinson, had an iron grip on Delray Hollow despite the tension between them and the Haitians. The area continued to see large art movements, thanks in part to Sammy’s wife Perla, who funded many of the community plays, band nights, and even occasional local school events. Following her passing, a charity theatre was built.
By 1966, Sal Marcano had begun plans on “going legit” by legalizing gambling and creating a casino— it wasn’t suspected or a concern to anyone outside of his payroll, and even then, the move seemed to be purely due to nepotism. He wanted his son, Giorgi, to take over a semi-legitimate business and live comfortably (unlike he did in his early life). This would all backfire in the end.
A City Ablaze
The summer and fall of 1968 were arguably the largest to-date catalyst for the city’s continued turmoil. Many of the details remain vague or under lock and key by the Federal Bureau￼ of Investigation— that being said, many of the files were declassified in 2017 following the (in)famous documentary in 2016 (in-universe, of course).
Following the heist of a federal reserve during the height of New Bordeaux’s liveliest celebration, Mardi Gras, Sammy Robinson’s bar was set on fire with him, his son Ellis, and Daniel “Danny” Burke (son of the bootlegger and notorious drunkard Thomas Burke) being killed preemptively by either being stabbed or shot by Sal and Giorgi Marcano and another man. Sammy’s adoptive son, Lincoln Clay (an army vet and distinguished service cross receiver), had survived being shot in the head and left to burn after being dragged out by a local priest. After a few months of in-and-out consciousness, Lincoln Clay began his violent streak that would tear the city limb from limb.
Starting in early March, the Federal Bureau of Investigation came down to the city to investigate the strange burning of Sammy’s Bar as well as the Marcano Family. The investigation was headed by Jonathan Maguire and faced numerous setbacks from the start— the residents didn’t talk to outsiders (especially not “feds”, since CIA agents and military personnel were already prevalent in the city), evidence was hard to come by, and even most of their surveillance equipment and files were stolen. Despite this, Maguire and his team continued their investigations.
On the other side of ‘justice’, Lincoln Clay, alongside his former CIA handler John Donovan and a cohort of other crime leaders from different areas of the city, proceeded to brutally massacre the entire Marcano Family and any associates that didn’t immediately side with Clay. Interestingly enough, it was Lincoln who did most of the work himself which wasn’t— and isn’t— seen much in gang activity. What is also of note is the sheer publicity and violence of many of the kills (hanging from a ferris wheel in an abandoned amusement park, thrown from the penthouse of the Royal Hotel, hung on a cross and burned alive, gutted alive and hung on a statue, etc.), which became solidified in the city’s history long before the blood dried up.
By October of 1968, hundreds of people— including Sal Marcano and his son— were left dead in warehouses, streets, and pavements. The FBI struggled with keeping track with everything, so much so that Lincoln Clay was able to slip away to god knows where. The city, for the 3rd time in its history, was left in shambles.
The Song Continues
The New Bordeaux Gang War (1969-1973)* temporarily shut down the city’s ports as federal agents and state guard troops attempted to calm the city down, but to little avail. Whatever remnants of the pre-Clay crime scene continually fought for power, money, land, or anything they could get their hands on. By 1973, Thomas Burke of the Irish mob and “Cassandra” of the Haitian gang were both dead, and with Vito Scaletta having fled in 1972, the city was left to smaller regional gangs and the upper-class, plus outside forces. New Bordeaux went back to its Reconstruction state both economically and (partially) socially.
Enter the late-1970s oil crisis; unemployment rose to roughly 30%, crimes spiked by 120% (though most were robbery-related and not murder), and general welfare decreased further than ever before. Then-governor Edwin W. Edwards (1972-1980) signed numerous bills to help build up the economy and specifically aid Louisiana’s port cities with infrastructure, social programs, and economic stability. President Carter (1977-1981) also sent a permanent FBI presence to help with smoother elections and general peacekeeping (in hopes of avoiding too much underground influence in politics as seen with the Marcanos). With this, NB saw new development that aided in restoring the city to at least some extent. Note that some historians state that it was the city itself that mostly did the work, with occasional state and federal help, but there is not enough evidence to suggest that.
The 1980s and 90s continued to evolve the city’s night life, political reforms, and economic development through policies and culture shifts. For the first time since pre-Louisiana purchase, racial tensions also radically decreased, though lynching still remained a hot-button issue. Tourism also began to slowly come back as the city stabilized. It never reached the same peak as it did under Lou Marcano, but the revenue brought in was enough to aid in some social programs and better school supplies for the district. New Bordeaux’s higher education system continued to lean towards STEM schooling though the arts still flourished in Delray Hollow and its historically Black college*, and further national funding helped repair some of the older schools (higher education or otherwise).
New Bordeaux still retains its status as a vibrant night-life city, despite the consistent strife brewing in its residents. Hurricane Katrina flooded roughly 60% of the city— compared to NOLA’s 80% flooding— and killed over 700 residents in the city alone (the official death count was counted at around 2,000 nationally)^. The crime scene is still divided, with drug and human trafficking being the main crimes committed by various gangs. The moniker of “Bourbon City” never died, it simply revealed itself to have a double meaning: the city that will always go up in flames.
Note from wiki: “New Bordeaux is a city on the Gulf Coast of the United States that serves as the setting for Mafia III. It is known for its round-the-clock nightlife, vibrant live-music scene, and spicy, singular cuisine. With ten districts featuring a mixture of ethnicities, the city is a true melting pot of French, Irish, Italian, Haitian, Cuban, African, and American cultures.” All I did was add Dominican as well because Lincoln’s actor, Alex Hernandez, is Dominican and I wanted to pay homage to that. Also because why the fuck not.
NB was a military city in some regards as the US government wanted to use it for ports to spy on other countries (mostly Latin American), hence the CIA presence in the 50s. This also meant that some criminals in NB jails were suckered into joining Project MK-ULTRA, though news about it never leaked outside of the city. The CIA didn’t (officially) stop operations there until the mid-2010s after countless protests from over the years finally caught up.
Deathgrass (rock and “metal” ish influenced bluegrass) has heavy roots in NB. NB is known for its use of the electric guitar and bass alongside drums, acoustic guitar, piano, a variety of stringed instruments like the violin, and poignant lyrics (if there are any) to create an unique city-sound. Music is one of the prides of the city!
*: I do not know much on music history, so if you have commentary, please add it! Or hell, even name ideas or something.
*: I’ll write up a whole other post on this, my thoughts are too scattered to share here yet. I’m open to questions though!
*: Still need to name this and come up with a small backstory. In short, it was established in the 1880s but really only became operational in the 1920s and 30s, and remains open to this day. The 1986 Centennial was definitely fascinating! (I’m just too lazy to elaborate on that.)
^: more people died in this version of Katrina. The real death count was roughly 1,500, based on what I could find.
sleepover submission: you already know my ass is soft for bunny and mobius - and i’m curious to know what their first time was like 🥺👉🏻👈🏻
for those who don't know, bunny is the reader in my fic 'loop' so give it a read if you want the context, but since this is a prequel it isn't actually required lmao
warnings for smut (obv, with daddy kink and thigh riding) and alcohol consumption, other than that just wholesome awkwardness
Honestly, from the start you knew going out for happy hour after work was sort of a bad idea, because you knew you were agreeing to go for all the wrong reasons. The most wrong reason? Easily your crush on your boss, Mobius.
And you weren't even being subtle about it, either: not after you'd gotten a few drinks in you at least. You kept glancing at him from across the bar, just waiting for him to come talk to you but also hoping that he wouldn't because you knew if he did, you would make a fool of yourself.
"Hey," he finally greeted as he joined you, looking down at you with a little smile as you shyly stared at your drink.
"Hey," you returned.
"I have to admit, I came here with a question for you," he began. "Whaddaya keep lookin' at me for?"
You felt your cheeks warm slightly. "Oh, that? I just like your tie, I wonder where you got it."
"It's standard issue," he nodded. "You have one too."
"Right," you remembered.
"But I like that you wear the dresses instead," he smiled, reaching down to rub the hem of your sleeve for a moment, his fingers brushing against your arm. Your heart was already racing just from this. Was he flirting? You couldn't tell, but you licked your lips slightly and looked up at him again. "You could pull off the shirt and tie, if you wanted."
"Could I pull them off of you?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, and you loved the way he coughed a little and glanced away, his own cheeks getting a bit pink.
"Uh, yeah, that too," he decided as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen, if we left now, and we shared a cab home, would you wanna-- and this is just a hypothetical-- stop by my place?"
So, with an innocuous excuse to your fellow coworkers, you and Mobius took a car to his apartment; it was really nice, actually, not just because it was more expensive than yours but because it was also expertly decorated (if a bit minimalist).
"Cool records," you noticed as he went to get you both some more drinks.
"Thanks," he hummed, and you walked over to the shelf as your heels clicked on his tile floor.
"Do you have a favorite era?" you asked as you started to thumb through the albums, noticing lots of bands you recognized and even more that you didn't.
"Mm, tie between 1540 and 1970," he decided.
"I always thought the 1540s were underrated musically," you joked.
"Put something on, if you want," he offered. "Maybe not the 1540s stuff, though... not exactly the mood I'm going for."
"Maybe it's the mood I'm going for!" you protested, making him laugh as he sat on the couch behind you, setting two whiskey glasses on the glass table in front of him. But you ultimately decided against it, finding a Fleetwood Mac album and letting that play softly instead, seeing him nod as you walked slowly to join him on the couch.
"Nice choice," he praised, but he blinked quickly when instead of sitting beside him, you straddled his legs and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Oh," he sighed.
"Is this okay?" you asked softly.
"Yeah, more than okay," he nodded, reaching out carefully to rest his hands on your legs as if he was worried it might offend you; but the warmth of his hands on your bare skin just made you sigh in relief.
It was you that leaned in first to kiss him, but he deepened it right away, reaching up with one hand at the back of your neck as he sat up and sighed slightly against your lips. Fuck, he was a good kisser; you'd already had a bit of a thing for his lips because that damn moustache was always there drawing attention to them, and they felt better than you even imagined.
So, you really couldn't help yourself when you started to rock your hips slightly, rubbing yourself against his khakis; with your dress on, it meant only your panties protected your pussy as it started to get so much wetter than it had any right to be.
"Look at you," he cooed, smiling playfully and pulling back from the kiss to glance down at your hips as they moved. "Rubbing yourself on me like a needy little bunny."
You started to slow down, but he grabbed your hips and guided you to continue.
"No no, don't stop, it's cute," he grinned. "It suits you actually: bunny. Can I call you that?"
"Only if I can call you something," you bargained.
"My friends call me Mo--"
"Daddy," you finished instead, making his expression barely move and yet change completely. You smiled as soon as you saw the look in his eyes; Daddy's home.
He kissed you again, rough and fierce and deliciously dominating, continuing to guide you to grind on his thigh. You just went along with it, running your fingers through his hair and moaning every time your clit got stimulation, but it still wasn't enough. You hastily reached down to work his belt, and he gasped a bit as he pulled back from the kiss.
"Are we... really gonna do this?" he breathed.
"If you want to," you answered softly.
"Fuck, are you kidding? I've wanted this for ages," he laughed a little. "I just-- I wasn't sure if we should."
"Oh, we shouldn't," you agreed, "but we're going to."
"Yeah," he nodded slightly, watching enraptured as you reached into his pants. "Yeah, we are, aren't we?"
This time it was you that nodded, kissing him again as you wrapped your hand around his hard cock and pulled it out.
He seemed a bit confused when you got up and stepped back, but he smiled as you reached under your dress to shimmy out of your panties, kicking them away and starting to get back on top of him, but he stopped you: "No, take the dress off, too-- I wanna see all of you," he instructed, not especially demanding but just as dominating as he watched you with a small smirk and his hand lazily stroking his cock.
You stripped for him, realizing that he would still be fully dressed while you were naked which was something you hadn't even known would turn you on. It certainly hadn't before, but right now it made your thighs clench together instinctively.
When you straddled him again, he looked up at you with the most fascinating (and fascinated) look in his face; you guided his cock to your entrance and slowly sank down, moaning loudly at the stretch.
"Fuck," he whispered, tightening his grip on your hips as you took him all the way inside you. "You okay?"
"Yeah," you answered, though the hoarseness of your voice made it unconvincing. "It's been a while..."
"Can't imagine why," he smiled slightly, "you're such a pretty girl, everybody must want you..."
"Yeah, maybe they do, but I've only got eyes for this one guy," you explained, gripping his shoulders to balance yourself and waiting for the sting to fade so you could move. "Problem is, he's my boss."
"I bet he wants you too," Mobius nodded. "I bet he thinks about you every night, dreams about having you all to himself."
"Then he should've told me," you smiled, finally moving on top of him as his head fell back against the top of the couch.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he hissed, and you reached up to loosen his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt, reaching inside to rub his chest and collarbone under the fabric. "You... you were talking about me, right?"
"Yes," you laughed. But when you said it again, it was in an entirely different way: "yes..."
You gasped when he grabbed your waist and flipped you onto your back, pinning you to the couch and beginning to thrust quickly into you.
"Fuck!" you yelped, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him down by his tie for a sloppy and hungry kiss.
Of course, it wasn't too much later that you came, but what was really surprising was the second time that you came. And before it had even really hit you, the third made you think you might pass out before he was done with you...
"Daddy," you whimpered, eyes rolling back in your head.
"C'mon bunny, you can give me one more, right? You just look so pretty when you come on my cock," he encouraged.
"Oh fuck," you sobbed, "daddy, daddy, daddy..."
"Just let go, baby," he breathed through his teeth, "fuck, I'm close, too. Can I come inside you?"
"Please," you begged, arching your back as the first wave of a third orgasm washed over you, "oh fuck, daddy, I'm coming!"
"I know, bunny, me too," he groaned, "fuck!"
He stopped moving suddenly, your walls clenching around him still as you felt him fill you, your chest heaving with each panting breath that didn't seem to do much to actually let you catch it.
He collapsed beside you, the couch just barely big enough to fit you both as you laid there together, basking in the afterglow of what you'd just done.
"So, your friends call you Mo?" you asked, staring up at the ceiling.
"I was gonna say Moby, you interrupted me," he chuckled.
"I like Mo better," you decided.
"Yeah, me too," he nodded.
I posted 301 times in 2021
152 posts created (50%)
149 posts reblogged (50%)
For every post I created, I reblogged 1.0 posts.
I added 744 tags in 2021
#undertale - 145 posts
#reblog - 144 posts
#papyrus - 137 posts
#letpapyrussayfuck - 57 posts
#swearing - 56 posts
#sans - 45 posts
#answears - 45 posts
#insanelyadd - 41 posts
#skelechara - 39 posts
#silly - 35 posts
Longest Tag: 113 characters
#i just sit in my head thinking on a loop and breaking stories down into their base nutrients with my brain acids
My Top Posts in 2021
Wild as it is to imagine, I do go through my notes a few times a day and I always block any bots I see. Little bonus tip for those that may be knew to tumblr, if your blog looks like this then anyone paying attention to their notes for this reason will block you, so try to customize it, even if you make everything black and title your blog "just lurking".
Full post: 1346 notes • Posted 2021-11-03 19:51:15 GMT
explain the entire papyrus iceberg please i know like 2 things on it
Papyrus' suit is a costume party outfit:
Papyrus' Battle Body is a costume made for a party he attended a few weeks before the game takes place, this is mentioned by Sans at the electric maze I believe.
Papyrus can't kill you:
Zarla made a post where they managed to screen record a fight with Papyrus where they were knocked down to 1HP and before they could heal they were hit with another bone and Papyrus immediately stopped the fight. In the GIF the bone makes contact and the soul flashes like it has been hit but NO HEALTH IS LOST. Papyrus is so against killing the human he can make attacks that do 0 damage.
Papyrus is the younger brother:
The official Japanese Localization of UT, for which Toby gave extensive notes for pretty much every line of dialog, has Papyrus refer to Sans as Nii-Chan. I would throw a screenshot as evidence but I cannot read any Japanese at all so I could accidentally put the wrong screencap, and unless you read it, it wouldn't really be helpful. If you do read it, get UT and change the language to Japanese. Another interesting thing is how Papyrus' speech is written in the traditional fashion which I don't think anyone else does.
Obsession with Spikes and Fire:
Full post: 1540 notes • Posted 2021-05-21 06:33:19 GMT
Came up with an idea last night that all Papyrus fans should come together and draw picture(s) of Papyrus saying fuck or swearing and post it on the same day so the people who constantly leave comments about how "Sans is gonna be so mad when he finds out someone corrupted his brother" 🙄 will be killed by the sheer force of it all instantly.
So anyways I declare that June 16th is Let Papyrus Say Fuck Day, all you gotta do is draw Papyrus swearing, or if you want, doing other things that the fandom at large would lose their minds over. Like Papyrus gambling or committing arson. It doesn't have to be high art, it can be a shitposty little doodle. Post it on the 16th and tag it with #LetPapyrusSayFuck as well as Undertale and Papyurs so everyone else can find them. Reblog this post or send it to your Papyrus loving friends, the more participants the better.
Edit: Please also add the tag 'swearing' so those upset by profanity can filter it, as it is one of the most standard tags for doing so. :>
3464 notes • Posted 2021-06-07 16:38:19 GMT
OH MY GOD UNDERTALE IS TRENDING BECAUSE OF LET PAPYRUS SAY FUCK DAY HELL YEAH LET’S FUCKING GO
Edit: it's still trending the next day so I'm immortalizing it with the related tag
5096 notes • Posted 2021-06-16 18:03:10 GMT
Oh you all know exactly what this post is.
Full post: 41911 notes • Posted 2021-09-15 09:04:14 GMT
Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →
Majolica (maiolica) ware
In different periods of time and in different countries the word majolica has been used for two distinct types of pottery.
Firstly, from mid-15th century onwards there was maiolica, a type of pottery reaching Italy from Spain, Majorca and beyond. This was made by a tin-glaze process (dip, dry, paint, fire), resulting in an opaque white glazed surface decorated with brush-painting in metal oxide enamel colour(s).
During the 17th century, the English added the letter j to their alphabet.Maiolica was commonly anglicized to majolica thereafter.
Secondly, there is the Victorian mid to late 19th century type of pottery also known as majolica made by a more simple process (paint, fire) whereby coloured lead silicate glazes were applied direct to an unfired clay mould, typically relief-moulded, resulting in brightly coloured, hard-wearing, inexpensive wares both useful and decorative, typically in naturalistic style. This type of majolica was introduced to the public at the 1851 Great Exhibition in London, later widely copied and mass-produced. Minton & Co., who developed the coloured lead glazes product, also developed and exhibited at the 1851 Exhibition a tin-glazed product in imitation of Italian maiolica which they called also majolica.
-- Majolica on Wikipedia
Coloured lead glazes majolica, flowers moulded in high relief. Shape first shown at the 1851 Exhibition by Minton & Co., Exhibit Number 60.
Maiolica /maɪˈɒlɪkə/ is tin-glazed pottery decorated in colours on a white background. Italian maiolica dating from the Renaissance period is the most renowned. When depicting historical and mythical scenes, these works were known as istoriato wares ("painted with stories"). By the late 15th century, multiple locations, mainly in northern and central Italy, were producing sophisticated pieces for a luxury market in Italy and beyond. In France maiolica developed as faience, in the Netherlands and England as delftware, and in Spain as talavera. [...] In the 15th century, the term maiolica referred solely to lustreware, including both Italian-made and Spanish imports, and tin-glaze wares were known as bianchi (white ware). By 1875 the term was in use describing ceramics made in Italy, lustred or not, of tin-glazed earthenware. With the Spanish conquest of Mexico, tin-glazed maiolica wares came to be produced in the Valley of Mexico as early as 1540, at first in imitation of tin-glazed pottery imported from Seville. Mexican maiolica is known famously as 'Talavera'.
"By a convenient extension and limitation the name may be applied to all tin-glazed ware, of whatever nationality, made in the Italian tradition ... the name faïence (or the synonymous English 'delftware') being reserved for the later wares of the 17th Century onwards, either in original styles (as in the case of the French) or, more frequently, in the Dutch-Chinese (Delft) tradition." The term "maiolica" is sometimes applied to modern tin-glazed ware made by studio potters.
-- Maiolica on Wikipedia
Hispano-Moresque maiolica, c. 1450, tin-glazed with lustre decoration, Moorish Spain.
"Earthenware, tin-glaze (Majolica), early 15th century, Italy." Metropolitan Museum NY.
Tin-glazed majolique armoriée, France, late 16th century. Italian Renaissance Grotesque style.
The earlier style of ceramic referred to here as “maiolica ware” according to this distinction is still commonly Anglicized as “majolica” - in English usage they are simply both grouped under the same heading much of the time, although the “maiolica” spelling occasionally occurs. (Observe the previous post, in which Martha Stewart is mostly talking about the molded English-style Majolica, but the header image depicts maiolica ware - probably modern traditional style Italian.) However, I use the terms non-interchangeably on this blog for ease of search and tagging.
oh my god. Cass Sunstein and Adrian Vermeule are as close as they are because Vermeule’s “common good constitutionalism” is just the “civic republicanism” Sunstein endorsed back in the 1980s and 1990s
see, e.g., Cass R. Sunstein, Interest Groups in American Public Law, 38 Stan. L. Rev. 29, 31 (1985):
To the republicans, the prerequisite of sound government was the willingness of citizens to subordinate their private
interests to the general good. Politics consisted of self-rule by
the people; but it was not a scheme in which people impressed
their private preferences on the government. It was instead a system in which the selection of preferences was the object of the
Sunstein notes that pluralists “treat the republican notion of a separate common good as incoherent, potentially totalitarian, or
both,” id. at 32, and that “the subordination of private interests to the public good carries a risk of
tyranny and even mysticism,” Beyond the Republican Revival, 97 Yale L.J. 1539, 1540 (1988), but Sunstein assures us that the “common good” is actually good and democratic and the risks are manageable with enlightened institutional design
Sunstein’s “republicanism” also entailed a rejection of natural rights except as a means to republican ends. see Martin S. Flaherty, History “Lite” in Modem American Constitutionalism, 95 Colum. L. Rev. 523, 573 n. 247, 573–74 (1995) (citations partially omitted):
Sunstein is well-known for his attack on the idea of natural or “pre-political” rights as a matter of theory. By contrast, his discussion of
natural rights as a matter of history is all but non-existent. The most he has to say in either
The Partial Constitution or “Beyond the Republican Revival” is: “Many of the original constitutional rights provide spheres of private autonomy to be insulated from government interference; such rights can be justified in republican fashion, but some of them are more easily understood as an outgrowth of Lockean ideas. Other rights can be read as straightforwardly republican in inspiration.” Sunstein, Beyond the Republican Revival, at 1562.
as often as not, Sunstein’s account of American constitutionalism would exclude natural rights entirely. see id. at 573–74 (footnotes omitted):
Showing laudable candor, Sunstein acknowledges that his historical account simply will not
deal with contemporaneous beliefs in ideas such as “aristocratic rule . . . agrarian populism . . . interest-group warfare . . . radical centralization of
politics in the national government . . . racial and sexual hierarchy . . .
Calvinism . . . [and] natural rights,” to name a few. Giving an adequate sense of the Founders' constitutional world may be possible without reference to a number of these concepts. But it is not possible without those that are central to that world. Of those he mentions, the Founding
commitment to natural rights—and more generally, rights conceived
as distinct from or even in tension with deliberative democracy—would make any shortlist of essentials. Caveats, however laudable, simply cannot
salvage a historical account so highly selective that it omits critical pieces
of the structure it needs to rebuild.
a “common good” distinct from the sum of individual private goods? a state that subordinates and molds private interests to further the “common good”? a rejection of natural rights? an indifference to the “risk of tyranny”?
that’s Veremeulianism, babe
Commodore drive stack, featuring a VIC-1540, dual 1541's, and a 1571
Au Lait Underwater
Au Lait Underwater
In a downtown café, there's a server who never gets Rin's orders right. He's irritating, but... [HaruRin/RinHaru]
Words: 1540, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Matsuoka Rin, Nanase Haruka
Relationships: Matsuoka Rin/Nanase Haruka, Matsuoka Rin & Nanase Haruka
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Future Fish, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee, Bickering, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Falling In Love, Wordcount: Under 10.000, Flirting, Aged-Up Character(s), Tsunderes, No Smut, Light-Hearted
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39167295