#Francis Carlisle

[sweet-vanilla-sims]

Year 1688

TW/CW: Child Death

In Tartosa, the year the Morosini family had lived in their new home had made them finally feel established in the islands as permanent residents though the thought of finding a proper wife so that his girls could have a mother was starting to cross Giovanni Cesare's mind though he was content with his relationship with Nesta so the thought was just that.

In Tartosa, Benetta was coming to terms with the fact that she was likely expecting again which scared her as she couldn't help but remember that she had lost her first pregnancy. So while she hoped for good news the worry clawed at her stomach which did not help the sickness that came from carrying a child.

But as the year continued on, Benetta was not the only one with child as Nesta learned that she was as well but while she still had no clue of Francis's paternity this one she knew was Giovanni Cesare's child though when she informed her husband of the new addition she didn't let him know that he was not the child's father and simply let him continue to assume that he was.

Young Francis grew into a boy with a rather rambunctious streak as he followed after his mother and sister eagerly.

On September 3rd, despite her fears of another loss, Benetta delivered her son Angelo safely and the boy was healthy.

Young Victor Dupont also grew into a happy boy with his aunt and sister lavishing their attentions on the youngest member of their home.

In October on the 13th, Chanel delivered a newborn daughter they called Vendramina.

November came and Nesta was once again faced with labor pains as she anticipated the arrival of her fourth child.

By midday on the 23rd of November, Nesta had delivered a second son she named Cesare after his father which her husband didn't think much of since Giovanni Cesare had been going by Giovanni for the past few years since he had arrived on the islands so it was more of an inside secret that the boy was named after his true father.

In Tartosa, the young Angelo grew into his features more and at least in his infancy to his mother's secret delight, took more after her.

Though tragedy was around the corner as Francis's adventurous nature led to the boy falling down a ledge near the cliffs the Carlisle home was nestled in and on December 15, the announcement came into town of the child's passing. With that news, the Morosini family returned from the funeral deciding to try and give the grieving family time to themselves since they decided not to take visitors for at least the rest of the year. Elisabetta kind of understood, at least enough to not push it, but Paola needed more answers as to why she wasn't going to be playing with her friend Kathy for a while.

[wexhappyxfew]

stray bullets

(a/n): it's been a long time coming, but.....i am beyond excited to share this piece. focused on some early days with kennedy x bucky, i wanted to dig into kennedy and her character (and her fun internal monologue) and introduce exactly how she's connected with bucky - because let's be honest, even she doesn't know how it happened. please enjoy!! :D (also...it's a bit of a long one - i was having some fun haha!)

The silence around the interrogation table was enough to mess with any person's head; whether they were the command pilot, like Lieutenant Bradshaw, or a tail gunner, like Marianne Salinger, they all seemed to sit in reserved quietness as they festered in the happenings of just an hour ago.

Sweat trickled down the sides of her face as she leaned against the wooden table, picking at pieces that were peeling up, trying to keep her eyes away from the maps sprawled out, and that big leather-jacket notebook where Bessie kept all her notes, coordinates and documentation for what planes had gone down - when and where. The other tables were much more lively - louder, chatty, a bit of yelling even. The Silver Bullets table was quiet, and they were all sure it had to do with the notable lack of their flight engineer, who was currently at the Med-Bay, bloodied and unconscious.

Margie Harlowe was on all of their minds it seemed.

And the thought of having to recount the events leading up to that point, made Kennedy want to vomit. The hit had come just as they were on the 90 degree turn to get the bombs ready to drop. Achterberg had taken control of the plane, with Bradshaw and Montez working to guide the B-17 swiftly to the side, as the onslaught of flak and bullets sprayed from the German fighters swinging around above them.

Kennedy remembered the yelp and anguished cry of pain that had come from her headset, the blood-curdling scream for help that had Kennedy forgetting about her .50 cal and racing towards where the top turret was. She couldn't get that look on Margie's face out of her mind; sobbing, horrified, the blood covering half her face, Stagliano trying to calm Margie down the best she could, while waving off the sad excuse of help that Kennedy had been. Freezing up like that, what was she thinking?

"Sergeant Farley." Kennedy's head snapped up - she didn't realize she'd blanked out, staring at the dried blood on her hands, shoved up underneath her fingernails, and had her name being called all at once. She met the eyes of the interrogator and swallowed.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw said you were there when you got Sergeant Harlowe out of the top turret." the interrogator started, "Can you recount that for me?" Kennedy stared at him, suddenly feeling the eyes of everyone at the table and some of the surrounding upper brass, on her.

Colonel Harding had stood in the background, hand nervously resting on his upper lip, eyes masked in worry as the group had come in - it seemed whenever something happened to Silver Bullets, he was always at interrogation, especially their table. Making sure wrongs were righted and that whatever was going on, was fixed. He looked out for them.

"I was, sir," Kennedy managed out, shifting a bit, as more sweat dripped down her face, briefly catching the worried look from Judy just a few people down. Her eyes caught on Vivian's gaze opposite her own. She then found Francis watching her, and tried to avoid her emotions that she felt as she noted the ones in their co-pilot's own. The only thing keeping her steady was Lieutenant Bradshaw's presence beside her.

In some innate way, having Lieutenant Bradshaw there kept her from losing it.

"It was quick," Kennedy said, "I figured flak or….something from one of the fighters. German fighters. Bullet spray." Kennedy saw Paulina nod her on encouragingly.

"Sergeant Ratcliff was manning her post….so, I went to Sergeant Harlowe," Kennedy said, her eyes filling with tears, her voice breaking, "I got her out of there. As quick as I could. I…I laid her down. There was blood…..everywhere…." Kennedy trailed off. She was staring at her hands again, covered in blood. Margie's blood.

"I was able to stop the bleeding from both the side of her face and her shoulder. Took what bandage was there and wrapped her shoulder. Set it in a splint." Paulina said quickly, her words firm and much more logically-backed and confident than Kennedy's would ever be, "I ensured that there weren't blocked airways and she could breathe. It was a joint effort, Sergeant Farley and I, to ensure her safety." Kennedy looked to Paulina and gave her a slow nod of thanks, to which Paulina nodded back. Because that's what they did for each other; having each other's backs like this.

"Alright," the interrogator said, making a few extra notes before clearing his throat and looking towards Lieutenant Bradshaw, who was sat there stoic and quiet, "we lost Browning and Alder. How many chutes….?"

Kennedy watched in a reeling bit of slow motion as Judy sat there and recounted the number of chutes she had seen, Marianne and Francis chiming in with their own recounts and visuals. How many more chutes would they have to count, planes going down all around, before this would be over? Before this nightmare would end?

Kennedy looked to the empty chair where Margie would've sat and felt her heart sag and her throat tighten with emotion she had been forcing herself not to feel. It was eerily similar to when Captain Faulkner had taken the hit. When she had died. They still had sat around this stupid interrogation table, having to talk about that mission, about what had happened, with Captain Faulkner's chair left open, her presence highly gone. They all remembered that. It hurt.

Whether it was the fact she was sat at that table, or was used to a constant presence of eyes, she glanced upwards and found, from the middle opening space where some of the brass would linger in times like this, Major Egan watching her, his hands placed on his hips, and his eyes seeking out her own.

Kennedy had never been wrapped up in any sort of long-winded conversation with Major Egan - their differences in rank and formalities were already a larger factor than needed when it came to talking to him and she didn't want to incite any sort of inappropriate ideas past that. They'd debated about baseball a few times - her, a raging Red Sox fan, him a stupid Yankees fan - and they'd even had a few conversations that were outside that realm. But it was never anything much more than that. And she intended to keep it that way. Yet, something in his gaze made her not want to look away from his face, from his eyes, from his presence stood there in the center of the room.

"Sergeant Farley?" She snapped her head away from his eyes and back to the table - many of which of the Silver Bullets girls were currently watching Kennedy with sorrowful and worried expressions, while Lieutenant Bradshaw eyed her curiously.

"Sorry?"

"The number of chutes from Browning. That you saw?" the interrogator asked. Kennedy righted herself and straightened her back.

"Right."

When they were dismissed, after Kennedy had been sat, blanked out for a greater portion of her time there in the seat, Lieutenant Bradshaw had caught her before she could run away, pulling her to the side, with a warm hand on her shoulder and a soft look in her eyes.

"You should go visit her," Annie said quietly, "I can tell by the look in your eye that you won't change out of these clothes or eat until you do." Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw did know her rather well in that sense.

"Yes, ma'am, I will," Kennedy said firmly, reaching up to wipe at the beads of sweat still trickling down her face - whether from the stress still circulating her body or the idea of Margie there on a cot, unconscious, she wasn't sure, "you do the same." Annie watched her with a smile before reaching up to squeeze her shoulder.

"I will, Farley," she said, before patting her shoulder, "and wash up. A few of the girls were planning on heading to the flying club tonight. Destress and all." Kennedy smiled softly and nodded.

"Will do." she said and Annie smiled before turning and heading off - leave it to Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw to instill what comfort they all needed after something like that. Birdie used to do much of the same - Annie even had the same look in her eye as Birdie usually did after a mission. Kennedy smiled slightly.

"Sergeant Farley." The achingly familiar voice struck her system and she turned to her left to find Major Egan walking towards her, as she watched him approach with that slow, even and swaggering gait, his crusher cap a bit lopsided on his head, sweat dropping down the sides of his face, as he wore that stupid, beige sheepskin jacket that she had offhandedly made fun of him for that one time (and proceeded to rub in her face ever since).

"Sir." she said, saluting him quickly as he came to a stop in front of her and shook his head, reaching up to bring her arm down from the position she'd taken up.

"Nah, nah, don't worry about that bullshit," he said and she raised her brows, "Harlowe. Sergeant Harlowe - is she good? Is she alright?" Kennedy stared at him, her heart pulsating inside her chest in a way that made her unable to get her breathing entirely under control. She watched him, tilting her head to the side and then managed to find her footing.

"Not entirely, but she's alive," she said firmly, with a nod, "flak hit up top. Or….stray bullets. Either way, she was hit and knocked out. But she's fine now." Kennedy watched him as she spoke, his eyes refusing to leave her own as he stared down at her, his larger-than-life presence soaking up every part of the view in front of her, the worry in his eyes, covered with that joking nature a slight surprise and the deep breaths he was taking enough to make her fail at controlling her own.

"And yourself?" he asked her, the corner of his lips poking upwards, a smile fighting to be on his face.

"Me? Sir, I, uh, I'm fine," she said quickly, sputtering a bit like a small child, "I'm fine seriously-"

"Good, good," he said quickly - they were pretty quick with whatever they seemed to be talking about here, "just…..when the planes came back and Harding said something about Silver Bullets taking a hit, I thought…..thought the whole goddamn plane had gone down from the way he was fucking talking so." She stared at him. He stopped talking and then stared at her, before running a hand over his face and nodding to her. She stared back at him, unsure of what to say.

For probably the first time in a long time, looking at him, she did not know what to say. This panicked approach to this sudden stillness and quiet. There were voices all around them, nurses bustling about with medics and doctors, and pilots with their crews meandering away from interrogation like limp horses, dragging gear that was nothing but a pile of garbage behind them. And the smells - like gasoline, smoke and death wafted through the air, enough to make a person want to vomit. She needed to go see Margie, and she was beyond sure that Major Egan had somewhere better to be as well. Kennedy wanted to move her feet, but she couldn't. No part of her was moving or even ready to move. Major Egan was stock-still in front of her as well.

"Is there….something else, uh, sir?" Kennedy didn't know what to do with Major Egan sometimes - call him sir, but he told her not to bother? Call him sir because he was the one who held rank? Major Egan continued to watch her and then ran a hand down his slightly sweaty face and shook his head.

"No." he said quickly, firmly, "You should get a check on Sergeant Harlowe. Make sure she's alright when she wakes up." If she wakes up, Kennedy thought, but that sour idea in her mind disappeared as Major Egan nodded to her. She stared at him for a moment longer, before she slowly nodded to him, turning away from him. She took a few steps before she could hear his footsteps and feel the placement of his hand wrapped around her elbow.

"Farley," he said, his voice quieter, as she stopped her paces and turned, her eyes searching his own as she looked at him, "seriously, you alright?" She stared at him, slightly surprised at the way his voice had grown softer, his eyes less vibrant than normal.

"Yes," she told him, but as he tilted his head towards her, she felt her heart race a bit faster than normal and couldn't help but take a shaky step back from him, "it was just a lot today that's all. But it's a lot every day. Nothing new. Can't complain." Major Egan watched her, like he was trying to diagnose whatever the fuck was currently wrong with her, acting like she didn't just watch their flight engineer and closest companion almost die.

"You like the jacket?" he asked her quietly, and it didn't take long for what stress she had in her mind and heart to roll back into that violent ocean crawl of waves and a small laugh to leave her lips.

"Is that why you came waltzing over here?" she asked him, her voice low, as she crossed her arms, "Because if that's all this was about, I'm just going to head to the Med-Bay now." Major Egan let out a dry chuckle and looked to her.

"And if I told you it was?"

"I would happily discard that jacket for you, even start a bonfire." she said, "We could get real fancy." She stared at him. "It looks ridiculous."

"You sure about that?" he said, popping up the collar, which made her roll her eyes, "I think it fits me pretty well."

"I would beg to differ," she said, "seriously, an A-2 would do you one better."

"You going sweet on me, Farley?"

"Since when did that idea get into your head?"

"You like me in my A-2, admit it."

"It would look better than that shitty thing."

"C'mon, Farley, don't leave me hangin' now." She raised a brow at him as she crossed her arms across her chest and smirked his way.

"Goodbye, John." she said, with a grin, turning away, only to have him placing his hand on her shoulder and turning her back around. She looked up at him.

"For someone so hellbent on making his rounds, you sure seem to like hanging around me." she said quietly, with a small smile, watching as his eyes seemed to twinkle in the hazy afternoon sunlight.

"Consider it a compliment." he offered her.

"A compliment?" she said with a small smile, "Didn't know you handed those out. And for free?"

"Farley…." he said with a slight groan in his voice that made her laugh as she reached forward and nudged his shoulder.

"It's okay to admit that, Margie says I'm a grand friend to have anyway," she said, watching his gaze soften at her, "it means a lot, truly."

"Friend's a word." he said with a shrug, his face tensing up slightly as she stared at him.

"Yeah." she said, with a nod, "And so is goodbye." He stared at her and she smiled up at him.

"I'm only kidding," she said, before her face fell a bit, "seriously, you okay? You weren't even on the mission and you look seriously fucked up." Kennedy had hoped that keeping up with this banter, this light-hearted, dare she call it flirting, maybe would lift his worrisome and lonely spirits, but he seemed drawn into himself and concave again and she wasn't sure what more to say.

Hey, even going as far to compliment his physique's correlation to an A-2 was pretty nice of her!

And something she wasn't actually lying about - not like she had spent too long staring at his broad shoulders over breakfast the other day (but no one except her knew).

"Didn't know you handed out compliments with a side of self-degradation, now huh?" he said and she let out a scoff and crossed her arms to look at him again.

"Seriously, John, what's wrong?"

"You can call me, Bucky, remember?"

"John."

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing, just…." he looked around, that lazy smile on his face, and looked back at her, hands rested on those hips of his again and looked to her, "does anything have to be wrong when I come to talk to you?"

"Usually there is something wrong."

"Kennedy-"

"Alright, look," she said, "if you don't budge, I'm gonna head to the Med-Bay, check in on Margie." She was playing her emotions really well, so well she had almost forgotten the mission altogether.

"So, you gonna tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to decode it from you myself? Beg on my hands and knees? Don't make me look that pathetic." Major Egan watched her with a slight smirk and she shoved his shoulder again.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like whattt?" he said as she rolled her eyes with a laugh, "Oh, c'mon, Kennedy, I'm supposed to hear that Silver Bullets took a hit and not think about you?"

Kennedy's smile dropped and it seemed the realization hit Major Egan at the same time and for a moment, they were just standing there, staring at each other like deer in headlights. She couldn't look away from his eyes, because for the first time there was something more than besides his usually flirty, joking self. Hell, that was just how he normally was - no stake in the ground with a soul, moving with the wind, taking him where the Lord put him, all that bullshit. For a second, she almost thought she wasn't hearing him straight and was going to leave it at that. But no, he'd said that and she was sure her face matched the color of her dirtied ginger hair and her strawberry-blonde ends.

"Egan!" The two turned from each other, in what had been a…rather intense stare down and found Crank coming towards him, "Harding needs us!"

"Give me a fucking second, Crank! I'm talking here!" Major Egan yelled back before turning to her and gulping, before parting his lips as if to speak. She stared at him still, unable to find the words that would amount to much of anything.

"Don't give me lip, Bucky - look, we gotta go!" Major Egan turned.

"Just a minute, Crank, seriously." Major Egan called out before turning to her still stood there.

"You really should go." she finally said, her voice somewhat hoarse as she did so, like she couldn't get the words out right, "Colonel Harding-"

"I don't care what Harding thinks right now," he said firmly looking at her, "look, Farley, I-"

"It's fine." she said quickly, plastering on a smile quickly and a nod, "I'm fine." Major Egan looked far from convinced in that moment. Because she wasn't convinced herself.

He had heard Silver Bullets took a hit and suspected immediately it was her?

That's why he had looked at her like that?

In interrogation?

She wasn't much to him, so she thought, at least - what…the few conversations they'd share? She'd practically egged him on into conversations about baseball where it was less of a discussion and more of a debate. If anything, he should've heard Silver Bullets and suspected about Annie or Francis.

"Go on," she said, shoving down her feelings and emotions, offering a small smile, "Colonel Harding sounds like he really needs to talk to you. Plus, if you must continue to talk about your stupid sheepskin, I'll be at the flying club later. Maybe I'll even beat you in darts. Again." Major Egan stared at her, for the first time, a little wordless and nodded.

"Kennedy, I-"

"It's fine." she said, convincing herself the very same - if she acted like she didn't hear it from his lips, then it never happened. He never said those words, never looked at her like that, never even bothered to tell her he was worried about her after hearing about Silver Bullets getting hit. If she ignored it, it wasn't what had happened.

And it was better that way.

"Bucky-"

"A second, Crank, please!" Major Egan yelled over his shoulder again, before looking at her and sighing, jabbing a thumb behind him.

"I gotta…." he started, his words fading as he managed a weak smile at her.

"Yeah, yeah," she said quickly, with a nod, and a forced smile.

"Let me know how Harlowe is…?"

"I will." she said as he began to backpedal backwards, his eyes holding hers still. Then, she watched Crank come up to Major Egan's shoulder and spin him around before pointing and frantically talking. Then they were walking away and disappeared. Kennedy stood there like the wind had just been taken out of her sail. Why'd she act like that?

"Hey! Kenny!" Kennedy turned and found Judy coming up to her, with Bessie and Carrie behind her, splitting a few cookies in their hands, "Here you are. We thought we couldn't find you." Kennedy stared at Judy, who came up beside her, with bright eyes, before looking to Bessie and Carrie, who shared a look before looking at Kennedy.

"You alright, Farley?" Bessie asked her, glancing in the general direction of where Major Egan had wandered off to, "What'd Bucky want?" Kennedy snapped into her usual collected self (which took far more effort today than usual) and ran a hand over her hair, cringing at bit at the smell of oil and grease that followed - which undoubtedly Major Egan had smelled - and sighed.

"Heard about Margie." she said firmly, cooly, kind of quick at that, like she couldn't get the words out fast enough to cover her ass, "He knows we're close and wanted to check in. Make sure things were okay."

"Always sticking his nose into all our bullshit," Carrie muttered, crunching off a piece of the sugar cookie and shaking her head, "you know I heard the other day he was trying to ask Bradshaw for a tour of Silver Bullets. Next thing you know, I'm tearing into him, telling him he touches my area, my shit, it's over for him-"

"He just wanted to make sure she was okay, Bergie," Kennedy said with a shrug, "guess it just gets old, hearing about losing people. Over and over."

"Especially someone from Silver Bullets." Judy finished for her, "Bucky's always been sweet as peaches to me, anyway. It's mighty kind of him to come and check up on you. Knowing how close you two are. He's got an awful soft-spot for Silver Bullets."

"Some soft spot." Carrie said with a slight chuckle and smirk, glancing at Kennedy, who rolled her eyes, ignoring the looks, and glanced back to the direction of where Major Egan had gone.

"Let's go to the Med-Bay," Judy said, "I'm sure Margie would want to see us when she wakes."

"What this face?" Carrie said, "We all look like sorry excuses for circus clowns."

"At least a little flak never scared off that charisma, Bergie." Bessie said as she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the whole group burst into chuckles as they headed towards the Med-Bay, sharing cookies and smiles.

But all that was on her mind, until the hit the Med-Bay doors was that Major Egan had thought of her, when Silver Bullets was said to have gotten a nasty hit.

Her.

[koinomegaluvr]

wip stuff of carlisle + insane carlisle x francis faggotry 🫰🏼🫰🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

[madlovenovelist]

Book Review – ‘My Contrary Mary’ (#1 Mary) by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, and Jodi Meadows

Political intrigue of the royal court… with a heavy dose of magic and hilarity. Genre: YA, Fantasy, Historical, LGBT No. of pages: 512 Welcome to Renaissance France, a place of poison and plots, of beauties and beasts, of mice and . . . queens?⠀ Mary is the queen of Scotland and the jewel of the French court. Except when she’s a mouse. Yes, reader, Mary is an Eðian (shapeshifter) in a kingdom…

[nakeddeparture]

Margaret Reifer next Chief Justice? Haynes out? Greaves wants it real bad - Mia Mottley - Barbados.

https://youtu.be/e_P3Bbn6byY

Many think there’s no difference between Margaret and Patterson. Which leaves Carlisle. But, Carlisle is/was a wig-wearing colonial subject. Who do you trust? Naked!!

Like/share/comment/subscribe on YouTube (it costs you nothing). Press the notification bell 🔔. NEW WhatsApp #2527225512

[scotianostra]

On 16th May 1568, a small fishing boat carrying Mary Queen of Scots set sail from Scotland for English shores, she would spend the rest of her life in various locations, never to set foot in Scotland again.

Days after the defeat at Langside Mary Stuart decided her only option was to fee south. Her supporters begged her to stay in Scotland or head for Catholic France. But she was convinced that Elizabeth – her cousin, and like her an anointed monarch – would help her raise an army to return to Scotland in triumph. Before leaving Scotland she wrote to Elizabeth requesting a meeting and sending a diamond ring as a token of her friendship. Without waiting for a reply, she and 16 supporters made the four-hour crossing of the Solway Firth (the strait that forms part of the border between England and Scotland).

Mary had watched her army soundly beaten by an army led by her half brother, James Stewart, 1st Earl of Moray, she would flee the scene and later write, to a relative in France;

“I have endured injuries, calumnies, imprisonment, famine, cold, heat, flight not knowing wither, ninety two miles across the country without stopping or alighting, and then I have had to sleep upon the ground and drink sour milk, and eat oatmeal without bread, and have been three nights like the owls.”

Such a fall from grace for our beautiful Queen, Mary at the time was only 25.

On 18th May, local officials took her into protective custody at Carlisle Castle. Mary spent just eight weeks at Carlisle Castle, from 18 May to 13 July 1568, with Sir Francis Knollys as her custodian. Although Mary was permitted to take walks outside the castle walls with her ladies, and walk the stretch of castle walls that later became known as ‘the lady’s walk’, the other limitations placed upon her movements (such as the fact that she couldn’t travel elsewhere or receive guests without the permission of Elizabeth I) were a foreshadowing of the long years of imprisonment to come.

Mary was kept in Queen Mary’s Tower, which was largely demolished in 1834 due to its unsafe condition and is now a ruin. As the original Norman entrance this was one of the oldest parts of the castle. Mary arrived after a four-hour crossing of the Solway Firth with her retinue, and she expected that her stay at the castle would be a short one – believing she was simply awaiting the help of her cousin Elizabeth I who would help her to regain the throne. Sadly for Mary, this ill-advised plan was to lead to her being imprisoned for the rest of her life.

Although Mary wrote to a supporter soon after her arrival that she had been ‘right well received and honourably accompanied and treated’ whether or not she realised it at this point, she was a prisoner, and was being kept under armed guard. Sir Francis Knollys was sent north from London by Elizabeth I to be Mary’s keeper and although he described her as ‘pleasant’ he was under pressure not to allow his royal prisoner to escape.

For the next nineteen years our unfortunate Queen was lodged in various castles and mansions around England.

The pics show her departing and the arrival on either side of the Solway Firth.

[itsss4t4n]

Who I write for /Rules

Masterlist

I'm new-ish to writing (i used to write fanfiction when i was like 13. i'm 18 now soo..) but I really wanna do it again.

So this is a list of characters/fandoms I write for as well as some rules for asks. Some things may be missing from this list so if you dont see something on this list, feel free to ask. :))

I will add a prompt list to this blog soon but again feel free to request other scenarious. Do add as much detail as you want to a request and please ALWAYS have at least some sort of prompt, as i'm really not good with coming up with storys on my own yet.

I WILL NOT DO SMUT SO DONT REQUEST IT! I might however do spicy stuff (Nothing more than making out tho).

My writing will be for all ages but please still be careful if the fic-warnings include sensitive topics and i might repost some 18+ things so be careful when navigating my blog.

Please be nice and have manners when requesting.

If you have any questions at all if i write for something, or if a topic you want me to write about is okay or not, please reach out through my asks or my inbox.

Also please include what gender/pronouns you want the reader to have (i write for all genders):)))

I write both romantic and platonic for all my characters. Although Teen!readers will always be platonic if the character is an adult.

I also write poly relationships. AUs are also totally on the table (big Fan of celebrity AUs).

Some things I will not write include: Pregnancy, toxic/yandere, student x teacher.

(Also english isnt my first language, and even know in my opinion i speak it really well, if they are any mistakes, thats why.)

Sally face

-Sal Fisher

-Travis Phelps (male or gn readers)

-Larry Johnson

-Ashley Campbell

Harry Potter

-Fred Weasley

-george Weasley

-lee jordan

-Charly weasley

-Bill weasley

-cedric diggory

-Fleur delacour

-olliver wood

-sirius black

-remus lupin

Marauders

-James potter

-sirius black

-remus lupin

-regulus black

-Evan rosier

-Barty crouch jr

-pandora lestrange

-lilly evans

-marlene mckinnon

Hogwarts Legacy

-Sebastian Sallow

-Ominus Gaunt

-Gareth Weasley

-Poppy Sweetings

-Imelda Reyes

Die drei fragezeichen / the three investigators

-Bob Andrews

-Peter Shaw

-Justus Jonas

-Skinny Norris

Twilight

-Jasper Hale

-Emmet Cullen

-carlisle cullen

-esme cullen

-rosalie hale

-alice cullen

-sam uley

-Paul lahote

-charlie swan

-Leah clearwater

pjo

-Percy jackson

-Anabeth chase

-luke castellan

-clarrisse larue

-selena beauregard

-charles beckendorf

-ethan nakamura

-nico di anglo (no romantic fem readers)

-rachel elizabeth dare

-will solace (no romantic fem reader)

-travis stoll

-connor stoll

-hazel levesque (no romantic)

-jason grace

-leo valdez

-piper mclean

Magnus chase

-Magnus chase

-samirah al abbas ( no romantic)

-alex fierro

-blitzen

-hearthstone

-malory keen

-tj (thomas jefferson jr)

Kane chronicles (havent read it in a while so might be ooc)

-Carter kane

-sadie kane

-anubis

-walt stone

Bridgerton

-Benedict

-Anthony

-Eloise

-Daphne

MCU (Avengers)

-bucky Barnes

-steve rogers

-tony stark

-sam wilson

-natasha romanoff

-yelena belova

-Peter Parker (tom holland and andrew garfield)

-MJ

-Wanda maximof

-Piedro maximof

-Clint barton

-scott lang

-stephen strange

-kate bishop

MCU ( Guardians of the galaxy)

-peter quill

-gamora

Moonknight

-steven grant

-mark spector

-layla el-faouly

Daredevil (Season 1)

-matt murdock

-Foggy nelson

-Karen page

-James wesley

X-men universe

-Deadpool

-Weasly

-francis

-Xavier

-negasonic

-mystic

-Angel

-kurt

Venom

-Eddie Brock

DC

-Harley Quinn

-Jason Todd

-Dick Grayson (any version, young justice, robin, nightwing,etc.)

-wally west

-Artemis

-roy harper (young justice)

Disney Descendants

-Mal

-Evie

-Carlos devil

-Jay

-Benjamin beast

-Chad charming

-Audrey rose

-jane

-lonnie

-Uma

-Harry hook

-Gil

Rise of red

-james hook

-hades

-bridget

-ella

-cloe

-red

-morgie

Kingsmen

-Eggsy

Tiny Pretty things (Netflix)

-Bette Whitlaw

-oren lennox

-shane madej (no romantic fem readers)

-June park

Jennifers Body

-Jennifer Check

-Colin gray

Ever after high

-all characters

Redacted Audios (no x reader, just ships)

-literally all characters

[notasapleasure]

Wip ask meme - @stripedroseandsketchpads also asked about the 'Au of an au' file, where in the Lymond band AU instead of not seeing Francis for years and years after the battle of the bands (i.e. Solway), Jerott goes to stay at the Edinburgh townhouse for a few days on his way back to Glasgow.

I was determined that I would write some J/F without Jerott overthinking things and preventing it being finished, so it rushes through quite breathlessly, but my excuse is trying to capture the reckless enthusiasm of youth?

Re-reading what I have I think it stalled because I was so furiously dumbstruck that Let's Dance by Bowie wasn't released until 1983 so couldn't be the sountrack to the scene I was writing. I never recovered my momentum *shrug*

Jerott/Francis fluffy smut (broken off before it gets very smutty though):

It was the first time in many, many years that Francis Crawford could say he'd brought a friend home. Gavin was away with work, Richard had a seat free in the car, and at the last minute, Jerott Blyth had agreed that maybe his dad could manage another day or two on his own with the hospital-assigned carer.

Jerott had, in fact, found that when earnest, cornflower blue eyes entreated him and a soft but firm grip squeezed his arm, accompanied by a smile that just needed his agreement in order to bloom, he was incapable of denying the boy who had just beaten him in the battle of the bands. He'd not been to many sleepovers himself, after all - precious few of the families of his school friends would have accepted him inside their homes with his dark skin and accented voice.

Sybilla, however, took it all in stride and exchanged merry pleasantries with him in French that was as accomplished, as refined as her son's. She showed them to the shed at the bottom of the garden and brought air mattresses and sleeping bags down from the loft. "Richard used to have sleepovers here all the time while Francis was away at school," she told them. "It's chilly at this time of year and you can always come in and use Francis' room, but this is where the music collection is..."

Francis smiled patiently, blithely, as his mother performed the hostess' duties: she would offer to bring drinks and snacks once - and when he said they could manage she would not push the offer a second time. She would make it clear that they were welcome to come inside for supper - Richard was to be dispatched to collect fish and chips - but they were under no obligation to sit at a table and could bring it back to the shed if they preferred. When Jerott offered money for his portion, she touched her hand to her chest, squeezed his shoulder, and beamed at Francis. "Mon cher. Absolutely not! You are our guest. Francis will not let you want for anything."

Then she paused before leaving them, pinning Francis with one token look of maternal assertiveness: "Ellie has school tomorrow, so if you do come inside, no punk after nine, ok?"

Francis shrugged. "Ok. She can come and hang out when she gets back though, right?"

"If she wants," Sybilla surveyed them both. "No beer for your little sister on a school night either, though!" she wagged a finger.

Francis' expression merely turned angelic. "I wouldn't dream of it, ma."

They were both itching for her to leave, and once she was gone, Francis turned to the record player and lifted the lid. Jerott practically did a knee slide across the carpet to get close to the library of vinyl, and the process of comparing notes and tastes began again in earnest, now with all the accompanying evidence either of them could want, and hadn't had to hand during the weeks staying in the hostel in Carlisle.

By the time Eloise joined them after school, the shed was adorned with stacks of albums left like stepping stones across the floor, half-empty mugs of cold tea that had accumulated on Sybilla's writing desk, and strata of crumpled biscuit packets and crumbs in the one tiny bin. Francis was pacing and gesturing wildly with a wooden guiro and his new friend sat on a beanbag, gazing up at him like he was listening to a pre-eminent philosopher, a guitar in his lap, his fingers loosely, idly following along with the melody on the record. When they spoke it was almost invariably in French, expressed at a million miles an hour, and Ellie, curious as she was about this boy who seemed as enraptured by Francis as she often felt herself, couldn't find any purchase on the conversation and soon retreated to the house.

Later, Francis dashed in to collect two portions of fish and chips when Richard called him from the other end of the dark garden, but it was his mother who arrested him in the parlour before he could help himself to a pair of ales to go with it and retreat back to the shed.

"All right, ma? Did you want us to come in, instead?"

"No, son," Sybilla reassured him, but her smile had a didactic, caring quality that made Francis pause instead of just brushing past her. "Go back out to your friend. I just wanted to..." her mouth opened and shut once or twice, and a little frown scored her brows.

Francis had so rarely seen her speechless that he put the bottles down. "Mum?"

She let out a laugh he might almost have said was nervous, and then rubbed his arm with a hand. "I just wanted you to know that I've asked Ellie to give you boys space. No one will disturb you in the shed. But, Francis sweetheart, you do know how to be responsible, don't you?"

He blinked, bemused by her serious tone. "Ellie can come and hang out, it's fine, really."

Sybilla smiled at this. "Oh. I don't think she felt very welcome, dear. A bit of a third wheel."

"What?!" Francis knew he was blushing. And, oh god, because it was his mother looking at him like that, speaking with such gentle tact and understanding, it made him blush even harder.

"It's fine, love," Sybilla insisted. "It's nothing new, at least to me, and I am merely happy if you are happy. But do be careful, won't you? Your...your brother probably has some, ah..." that wordly, hippy, Gallic youth she'd had fumbled the words and faltered as it came into contact with the reality of speaking about such things to her teenage son.

Francis was now certain he had turned the colour of King Crimson's first album cover. "No, Mum, it's not. I'm. Jerott's not. We're just listening to music."

"Yes, love," Sybilla nodded, like he'd said the exact opposite. She squeezed his arm again. "But do be careful, anyway."

She handed him the beers back, and Francis left the room with a robotic, astonished walk. His mind was still ploughing ceaseless furrows in the fertile ground of musical conversation, and he made himself shake off his mother's strange, unexpected interruption to the pleasant day he'd been spending. There was no point thinking about Sybilla's wild imagination - sometimes, he mused, she forgot she was in an Edinburgh townhouse and not on some flashy yacht with pin-ups and icons of the screen. And besides - so what if Jerott's company was pleasant not just for his conversation and his musical skill, but because his mouth hung open in an amazed pout when he listened to Francis speak, his eyes wide and thirsty to hear all Francis had to say; because of the way he smiled when he played and when he sang in an unrefined but strong voice, his French and Scottish accents mingling in a way he didn't know how to hide, so they added a cadence and a rhythm to his words that made Francis' ambitions, his hunger feel insatiable. So what? It was all academic - Francis could admire him all he wanted, but he had no expectation of Jerott returning his interest. He just wanted to make the most of every moment spent together while he could.

He grabbed two wrapped portions of fish and chips from the sparsely set dining table, muttered a hasty 'thanks' in Richard's direction, and then slipped back outside again, his escape as sleek and smooth as that of an alley-cat making off with the butcher's scraps.

The shed was a glowing haven at the foot of the garden and Francis' strides lengthened to a loping run as they so often had done when he needed to flee the house and find his own peace. Frost crunched beneath his shoes and his breath misted, and the cold night had swept his blushes away by the time he shouldered his way back through the door - his cheeks were fresh with new colour, he grinned from the simple pleasure of the short run, and then he laughed in delight at the album Jerott had chosen in his absence.

They sat down on the two beanbags, knee to knee, and fell upon the fish and chips with impatience.

Jerott teased that his didn't have enough vinegar on and stabbed at the chips in Francis' wrapping with a mischievous laugh. They sampled each other's beers, the necks of the two bottles warm and salty from the food.

Francis knew he could have spent all night the way they'd spent the afternoon, and Jerott seemed eager to pick up the guitar again. They opened the little cooler of beer kept out there and, arrogant with the suspicion that they were the only two teenagers in Edinburgh who really appreciated Django Reinhardt, showed each other the ways they had found of imitating his unique style.

Francis had no idea what time it was when he was bending to turn the LP and Jerott was indulging in some wild finger-picking, but as Jerott gazed mildly at the records and newspaper cuttings adorning the walls, he asked Francis a question that made him drop the needle with a scratch on the edge of the record.

"Did you have a girlfriend in Paris?"

He preferred to avoid the topic. He'd been glad it had never come up in Carlisle. Jerott was confident speaking often and with pride of his various girlfriends, but Francis felt his own affairs would be cheapened by the discussion. He accorded them the respect of not inviting others into their details.

"Nothing serious," he said after a careful pause. The music started up again and Jerott frowned for a moment and adjusted his fingering to meet it. He was still looking at the walls in an aimless, guileless sort of way.

"Huh," he grunted in acknowledgement. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

If it seemed a strange response to Francis, who had said so little. Perhaps Jerott wasn't looking for information so much as an excuse to say something else that was already on his mind.

"I never really felt like they were friends, friends, y'know? Didn't have that much to talk about."

"Mmm," Francis responded noncommittally, his own experiences having differed somewhat.

Jerott tossed his head to throw his black hair away from his face, a gesture that never failed to make Francis feel like there was a boot pressing on his solar plexus. Then, to add insult to injury, he flashed a wicked grin and ran a few bars of wild, joyous experimentation out on the guitar.

"It's a pity," Jerott said afterwards, one brow raised.

How could you define the invitation expressed in someone's eyes, in their stance? How could you be certain of what it was that shifted in the atmosphere of a room when one person made a come-on to another? Or was it all in Francis' mind, in his own delusional longing? He sat there and stared at Jerott's laughing challenge, at his raised chin with its slight dimple, his frank, uncomplicated gaze.

There was, he supposed, only one way to find out. Francis stood and approached Jerott and the guitar. "Show me what you did there again?"

"Hmm?" Jerott feigned uncertainty, but trilled off another virtuoso piece of improvisation.

Francis watched his fingers thirstily. He looked up. Jerott was looking back at him, maybe like he wanted to laugh, or to flee, but he stood his ground and attempted another series of notes that faltered partway through, cut off by his nervous chuckle.

Slowly, Francis stepped around the neck of the guitar, standing just behind Jerott's shoulder. He lifted his left hand to the frets, nudging Jerott's aside, and murmured instructions on how he would manage the shift in position if he were playing.

Jerott let him do all this, and Francis felt him hold his breath. Gently, catching up to Francis' timing, he let his fingers run over the strings to play the notes Francis held against the neck of the instrument.

Jerott glanced at him and then let out a breath all of a sudden.

"Just girlfriends?"

Standing behind him, Francis closed his eyes briefly, absorbing the excitement in Jerott's voice. He moved a little nearer, so his chest was close to touching Jerott's shoulder. "Not...exactly. Though...I can't claim much beyond...curiosity," he admitted quietly. He turned his face slightly away from Jerott's, like he was focussing on his left hand on the neck of the guitar, like he didn't want the other man to worry he was forcing anything.

But god, he felt Jerott's eyes on him, and the feeling warmed him to his core.

Jerott said nothing, but his left hand, redundant, replaced on the neck of the guitar by Francis' hand, lifted instead to Francis' face and turned it, hesitantly, with such gentleness that Francis closed his eyes again, back towards his own.

Warm fingers trailed along his cheek, his jaw, waiting for permission of a sort. Francis' eyes fluttered open. He took in Jerott's open mouth, his heavy eyelids, the way his gaze rested on Francis' own mouth. These were universal signals, weren't they?

It wasn't clear who moved first - they had both committed. Jerott's lips were warm, softer than Francis had expected, and the first touch of them sent a trill of excitement through his body.

His hand remained gentle as their mouths met, questing, steady and still uncertain, but each of Jerott's breaths that Francis felt against his skin, each movement of Jerott's lips against his, seemed like a fist reaching into his guts and clenching tightly. He gasped and couldn't be embarrassed by the longing in it - instead he deliberately let himself make another sound, deep in his throat, not quite explicit enough to be a moan, but something encouraging.

It worked - Jerott's hand cupped his cheek more securely, and he echoed Francis' sound. The feeling of said echo in his mouth made Francis want to collapse at the knees, so he let his lost, flailing right hand reach for Jerott's back and smooth its way over the warm body beneath the thin t-shirt.

Jerott drew his face closer and deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing into Francis' mouth, confident and experienced where the rest of him stood frozen, like he was still guessing what to do. He tasted of the lager they'd been drinking and the cigarettes he usually smoked, a new combination of flavours Francis has never encountered.

As he tried to twist into the kiss, despite the guitar, Jerott's enthusiasm showed more: Francis felt it in his tongue, in his lips, in the hold on his cheek. Jerott liked to kiss and he was good at it - and he liked to show he was good at it.

Rather than let out the whimper he wanted to, Francis tightened his hold on Jerott's body, leaning his own face into the kiss, pushing back with his tongue, meeting Jerott's enthusiasm and skill with his own, just like when they played together.

With an abrupt need, Jerott released him so that he could pull the guitar strap up over his head and lay the instrument aside. He was breathing hard, his mouth red and wet from the touch of Francis' lips. There was no self-doubt in his eyes when he stepped back towards Francis, only an ambition that corresponded to the one Francis had been nurturing for weeks in Carlisle.

He couldn't wait to be back in Francis' arms, and Francis welcomed his body, his hands finding their way around Jerott's flanks to the small of his back, to the groove of his spine.

Jerott clasped his jaw, his fingers reaching round to rub the short hairs at the nape of Francis' neck.

They were around the same height and both tried to be the one to lean down into the kiss, which turned it into something of a call and response: Jerott folded Francis against him for a handful of breaths and then Francis pushed back and responded with his own pressure, coming onto the balls of his feet, letting his chest lean into Jerott's chest. Francis's skin felt raw from Jerott's stubble - it grew thicker and rougher than his yet did - but he pursued the feeling again and again.

To the soundtrack of decades old jazz their hands, wondering, sought to explore as their mouths did. Francis' fingers crept up Jerott's back, comparing the feel of him with all the glances he had stolen at the curve just above Jerott's waistband, where his form was accentuated when he played guitar, leaning his hips into the instrument the way he was leaning them against Francis now.

For his part, Jerott cradled Francis' jaw in his palms, angled him how he wanted him for his kisses, then tilted Francis' head back and laid a trail of exquisite touches with his mouth and - Francis gasped again - gentle tugs at Francis' skin with his teeth, down the line of his neck and then back up again. He nuzzled his face into the hair behind Francis' ear and kissed him there, he dragged his teeth down the outer edge of the ear and caught the lobe with his tongue before sucking it.

The sound Francis let out was not one he immediately recognised as coming from his own body. He tightened his hold on Jerott lest his composure fail him, and pressed back against Jerott's hips with his own. Whatever usually kept him firm against gravity seemed to have deserted him - his knees trembled and his legs prickled like he'd walked into the middle of a nettle patch.

At a time like this, what else could he resort to but poetry?

"…un serment fair d'un peu plus pres, une promesse plus précise, un aveu qui veut se confirmer, un point rose…"*

"Vraiment?" Jerott's breathy laugh against Francis' neck sent another thrill through him. "Poésie?"

"Naturellement," Francis groaned.

It made Jerott pause and move away to look at him. One hand held Francis' cheek, kept him turned to Jerott's expression, which was steadier than Francis felt, thoughtful and almost a little sad. "Is it though? Natural?"

Francis was silent, struggling to get a grasp on his meaning, but then he raised one hand from Jerott's back to his face and swept smooth black strands of hair away from his brow. "Doesn't it feel that way?"

Jerott wore a small frown, but he didn't try to pull away. In fact, as Francis' hand settled at his neck, he let his own touch move lower, down Francis' chest, sweeping round his ribcage, pulling him near, though Francis didn't think they could get much closer. Touch felt muffled through the layers of their jeans, but even so he knew he wasn't the only one who was getting hard after all this contact.

"Not to me, not at first," Jerott said, and though Francis' heart thumped and struggled, panicked by this admission, Jerott didn't release him. "I was never...curious before. But it's like you've...you've put a spell on me," he laughed at himself. "That sounds dumb, right? But I want it. I want this. I want to be - bewitched."

He kissed Francis again, and Francis' mind seemed to swill and swirl at all these revelations. He'd been right and he'd been wrong, and not only about Jerott's interests.

Between kisses, Francis managed a dazed grin. "And you said you didn't understand poetry and lyrics...but I've 'bewitched' you? What am I, La Belle Dame Sans Merci?"

"I don't know what you are," Jerott ignored the reference and made a sound of pleasure as he kissed Francis. Simultaneous to the touch of his mouth, he squeezed their bodies together and flexed his hips up against Francis' hips. "But you do something to me..."

Francis moaned at the way Jerott's body had pulsed against him, and he felt the tightening of his jeans, their constraint on him, more acutely. Given half the chance, there was a lot that Francis wanted to do to him, not least after a statement like that. He pressed back against Jerott's body and kissed him deep and slow, holding the back of Jerott's head with one hand.

Theorising that what people offered was often a sign of what they'd like doing to themselves, he kissed his way across Jerott's cheek to his ear and sucked toothily on the lobe. From the sound Jerott made, he'd guessed correctly.

Jerott then laughed at himself - the room was silent, the B-side had finished - and leaned his cheek against Francis'. "Fucking hell..." he gasped. He sounded astonished, but cheerful.

Nevertheless, to Francis' momentary regret, his next move was to step away, looking bashfully down at the carpet. His cheeks were flushed - so was the skin at his throat, where it disappeared below the collar of his t-shirt. He licked his lips and chuckled again, then bent to pick up an album from the floor.

He flashed a grin at Francis and dove to replace Django Reinhardt with a Bowie album. He looked up from where he knelt, his smile wild and inviting, and he mimed the guitar part as Francis stalked towards him, echoing his gestures, putting on an exaggerated show of copying Bowie's singing style.

---

*[An oath that is closer, a promise more precise, a confession that wants to be confirmed, a pink dot… - Rostand, un baiser, from Cyrano]

And the soundtrack that should have been:

If you say run, I'll run with you And if you say hide, we'll hide Because my love for you would break my heart in two If you should fall, into my arms and tremble like a flower

[fallsekings]

Mobile Muse List

I'll add links at some point but this is my list for now.

Alan Wake

Alan Wake

John Dies at the End

Albert Marconi

Solo Leveling

Baek Yoon-ho

Star Wars

Ben Solo

Count Dooku

Tobias Beckett

TopGun

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Richard "Jester" Heatherly

Marvel

Cletus Kasady (movie and original comic mix)

Otto Octavius (movies and comic mix)

Tony Stark (MCU)

Twilight

Carlisle Cullen

Hunger Games

President Coriolanus Snow

Haymitch Abernathy

History fandoms

Edmund Hewlett (Turn: Washington Spies)

Francis Crozier (The Terror)

V: The Original Series

Ham Tyler

Detroit: Become Human

Hank Anderson

Sleepy Hollow

Jeremy Crane aka Henry Parrish

Game of Thrones

Jorah Mormont

Tyrion Lannister

Viserys I Targaryen

Wizarding World

Percival Graves

Remus Lupin

Zombie Apocalyse fandoms

Philip Blake aka the Governor (The Walking Dead)

Tallahassee (Zombieland)

Westworld

William Grace

[bcrncoldx]

𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑

i'll be dropping most pre-event threads and transitioning event threads. as always, please say who you'd like the starter from/for :)

bill weasley (3/5) — nora darhk, rubeus hagrid, fabian prewett carlisle cullen (4/5) — hilda teufel, jack shepherd, kate denali, garrett dale cooper (2/5) — evie o'neill, fliss mckinnon dís durin (2/5) — jem carstairs, silco drusilla keeble (3/5) — li lonnie, son yeonseo, garrett eloise bridgerton (2/5) — noah foster cora hale james norrington (1/5) — francis barton, lorelai gilmore owen sharma (3/5) — rintabo okabe, major lilywhite, will graham rupert giles (1/5) — naomi pierce sherlock holmes (2/5) — irene adler, twelve

[sweet-vanilla-sims]

Year 1687

TW/CW: Child Death

In Tartosa, Giuliano celebrated his 35th birthday though his age showed more from years in the sun and the losses he faced.

As the year began, Giovanni Cesare and his daughters were given a plot of land. The land used to belong to a local family but after a storm came by and flooded some of the buildings and the previous owner passed, it was put for auction and now for Giovanni Cesare's service it was his land.

The girls adjusted quickly while Giovanni Cesare set about planting though he was never all that invested in crops like his family back in Tartosa were, he figured he could do the work for a few years until his girls were big enough that he could work back on the docks that he adored so much.

Orelia's daughter, Orsetta became a teenager and during Giovanni Cesare's frequent meetings with his sister learned that his niece was spending time with a local boy on the islands which made Orelia have mixed feelings about her daughter growing up and Juliette was annoyed having to play chaperone more often.

In Tartosa, Katherine's son Luca celebrated his sixth birthday looking more like his mother each day.

Despite the loss of her older son the previous summer, on March 18th, Luisa delivered her second son who was very clearly a lot stronger and named the boy Victor.

At the Carlisle home, Francis grew into a delightful young boy who took after his mother in that he was going to grow into his merfolk features in time much to his mother's pleasure.

Between the farming and his illicit visits to the Carlisle home, Giovanni Cesare enjoyed spending some of his time fishing when he could.

But unfortunately the joy wasn't to last as Nesta arrived in early June in tears as her young daughter Susana had passed away on the the 30th of May.

Orelia's younger daughter celebrated her sixth birthday a few short months after her older sister's thirteenth.

While the Carlisle home reeled from their loss the Dupont family was happy to see their daughter Marie grow into a sweet little girl while their son Victor grew into a stronger child.

The year came to a close as back in Tartosa, Giovanni Cesare's namesake grew out of his infancy as his parent's sighed in relief watching their son grow stronger.

(The lot that Giovanni Cesare is living on was also made by @greatbritishsimchallenge)

[wexhappyxfew]

WOMEN OF SILVER BULLETS

the OCs of B-17, Silver Bullets (featured in MOTA-verse writings) and various masters of the air adjacent writings

all these OCs will be featured in various one-shots and prompts in the coming months. can be found under tags with all their names or #mota writings or #silver bullets. please enjoy!

ANNIE BRADSHAW

-> replacement 1st lieutenant and pilot for Silver Bullets, fresh in from Fort Des Moines, trying to patch up the holes in a crew suffering from the loss of their beloved captain birdie faulkner. hailing from mankato, minnesota, she is a wonderfully receptive listener and stoic presence - but don't go overstepping it with her crew. makes it her very mission that the women of Silver Bullets and captain birdie faulkner are remembered. can play a tune on a trumpet (if warranted).

FRANCIS MONTEZ

-> copilot of Silver Bullets grieving a loss she is taking harder than she thought, wrapped in sorrow and guilt that she tries her best to hide. a good-hearted californian, she wrangles with this new era of her life with the help of replacement pilot, annie bradshaw, and steps up in more ways than one. carries a cigarette pack around like it's strapped to her very being. will give you a nickname that she'll call you any chance she gets.

BESSIE CARLISLE

-> navigator for Silver Bullets, with the brightest smile the sun's ever seen from the skies (says her boyfriend). hailed all the way from queens, new york with the intention to get her hands working on the mechanic floor of a factory and got a gig flying planes instead. got placed in navigation one day and ever since then, has made it her duty to make sure every mission goes right down to the degree.

CARRIE ACHTERBERG

-> german-american bombardier on Silver Bullets making sure the enemy pays in any way they can for the costly damage of a horrid war (enter: norden bombsight). grew up in brooklyn, new york, had some run-ins with bessie carlisle and the two became thick as thieves when working on planes. blowing the enemy to shreds seemed to be the cherry on top.

MARJORIE ‘MARGIE’ HARLOWE

-> flight engineer on Silver Bullets who grew up in a large family with at least four dogs all named after flowers, on the shores of lake michigan, wanting to go to school for physics ever since she felt herself get the knack for mathematics. only up until then, did she find herself on a plane with her cousin (who nearly crashed it) that she then got herself in line for flying in B-17s and looking to the skies above (and calculating vectors from the ground).

PAULINA STAGLIANO

-> italian-american radio operator for Silver Bullets, who came in from philadelphia, pennsylvania with radio operator experience in the WAC before getting the call for a job with captain birdie faulkner, and finding herself up in B-17s on the regular. she's passionate, a loyal friend and if you talk bad about the phillies -it's on sight (usually has sports arguments with kennedy farley - they keep bickering to a minimum).

VIVIAN RATCLIFF

-> hailing from fort collins, colorado, viv ratcliff comes with a wealth of knowledge and experience as a gunner on Silver Bullets, with a father who was in the army and her boyfriend in the navy. 'calm, cool, collected' are the best words to take her in as, usually found collecting flowers after missions for the boys who didn't get a chance to make it home. keeps a tally of german fighters that go down on the wooden pole beside her cot.

KENNEDY FARLEY

-> irish-american gunner on Silver Bullets, opposite viv ratcliff, coming in from boston, massachusetts, raging red sox fan with a family of brothers going on to military or sports (much of the same). close friends with margie harlowe because she 'softens her up a bit', and always willing to stick around for a drinking game or two. passionate friend (margie told you so).

JUDY RYBINSKI

-> polish-american farm girl and turret ball gunner for Silver Bullets from hot springs, north carolina, growing up near the french broad creek, summers spent on the river, catching fish and milking goats for her families business. went hunting with dad a few times, and grew up with her older brothers going off to the military or college and wanted a hand at it all. captain faulkner was her opening (and the person she needs most now).

MARIANNE SALINGER

-> french-american aspiring painter from rochester, new york, now a tail gunner for Silver Bullets. thought she was signing up to paint planes, but ended up finding a knack for guns on turrets and credits captain faulkner for her 'in' on flying. has a pet cat that roams the base as he wishes (he's named frank, after her one true love, frank sinatra), usually getting into trouble by pissing off a husky named meatball.

[agaypanic]

REQUESTS ARE NOW CLOSED!! ty to everyone who requested, i think this is the biggest batch i've ever gotten omg

besides the one request that i posted a few hours ago, i have 50 requests! full transparency, i did end up deleting a couple that i received (pls dont ask why or give me shit for it like some people have done in the past/recently, i had my reasons for it) or combining similar requests, so the number of requests i just received was probably 70 or more

i think with my request announcements ill tell you guys what i received:

Malcolm in the Middle: 16 total

Malcolm Wilkerson: 4

Reese Wilkerson: 8

Francis Wilkerson: 3

Cynthia Sanders: 1

My Babysitter's A Vampire: 17 total

Benny Weir: 11

Rory Keaner: 4

Ethan Morgan: 3

Erica Jones: 1

I Am Not Okay With This: 1 total

Stanley Barber: 1

Dina: 1

That 70s Show: 2 total

Steven Hyde: 1

Michael Kelso: 1

Derry Girls: 1 total

James Maguire: 1

Lab Rats: 2 total

Chase Davenport: 2

Twilight: 2 total

Carlisle Cullen: 1

Emmett Cullen: 1

Diary of a Wimpy Kid: 3 total

Rodrick Heffley: 3

Ghostbusters: 2 total

Egon Spengler: 2

The End of the F***ing World: 2 total

James: 1

Alyssa: 1

if the numbers don't add up, it's bc some requests include more than one character so it counts for the characters, but only once for the request total

again, thank you to everyone who requested. if you've been a fan of me for my ianowt, mitm, or mbav work, i hope that you will find other writers once im finished with everything that i have. but it'll def be a while before i get finished with everything lol

[the-paintrist]

William Dobson - Group portrait of Prince Rupert, Colonel William Legge, and Colonel John Russell - ca. 1645

Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, UK

William Dobson (4 March 1611 (baptised); 28 October 1646 (buried)) was a portraitist and one of the first significant English painters, praised by his contemporary John Aubrey as “the most excellent painter that England has yet bred”. He died relatively young and his final years were disrupted by the English Civil War.

Prince Rupert of the Rhine, Duke of Cumberland, KG, PC, FRS (17 December 1619 (O.S.) / 27 December (N.S.) – 29 November 1682 (O.S.) 9 December 1682 (N.S)) was an English army officer, admiral, scientist, and colonial governor. He first came to prominence as a Royalist cavalry commander during the English Civil War. Rupert was the third son of the German Prince Frederick V of the Palatinate and Elizabeth, eldest daughter of King James VI and I of Scotland and England.

Prince Rupert had a varied career. He was a soldier as a child, fighting alongside Dutch forces against Habsburg Spain during the Eighty Years' War (1568–1648), and against the Holy Roman Emperor in Germany during the Thirty Years' War (1618–1648). Aged 23, he was appointed commander of the Royalist cavalry during the English Civil War, becoming the archetypal "Cavalier" of the war and ultimately the senior Royalist general. He surrendered after the fall of Bristol and was banished from England. He served under King Louis XIV of France against Spain, and then as a Royalist privateer in the Caribbean Sea. Following the Restoration, Rupert returned to England, becoming a senior English naval commander during the Second Anglo-Dutch War and Third Anglo-Dutch War, and serving as the first governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. He died in England in 1682, aged 62.

Rupert is considered to have been a quick-thinking and energetic cavalry general, but ultimately undermined by his youthful impatience in dealing with his peers during the Civil War. In the Interregnum, Rupert continued the conflict against Parliament by sea from the Mediterranean to the Caribbean, showing considerable persistence in the face of adversity. As the head of the Royal Navy in his later years, he showed greater maturity and made impressive and long-lasting contributions to the Royal Navy's doctrine and development. As a colonial governor, Rupert shaped the political geography of modern Canada: Rupert's Land was named in his honour, and he was a founder of the Hudson's Bay Company. Rupert's varied and numerous scientific and administrative interests, combined with his considerable artistic skills, made him one of the more colourful public figures in England of the Restoration period.

William Legge (1608 – 13 October 1670) was an English royalist army officer, a close associate of Prince Rupert of the Rhine.

John Russell (1620-1687) was an English soldier and politician who sat in the House of Commons from 1641 to 1644. He fought in the Royalist army in the English Civil War.

Russell was the third son of Francis Russell, fourth Earl of Bedford, known as the "wise earl", and his wife Catherine Brydges, daughter of Giles Brydges, 3rd Baron Chandos. He was a wealthy man with estates at Shingay, Cambridgeshire.

In 1641, Russell was elected Member of Parliament for Tavistock in the Long Parliament after his brother William Lord Russell inherited the peerage. Russell served in the King's army and was a member of the Sealed Knot. The family had divided loyalties in the Civil War. His father had been a champion of the parliamentary cause and his brother changed sides twice. He had many aristocratic equally vacillating connections among his brothers-in-law: the Parliamentarians, Lord Brooke and Lord Grey of Wark, the turncoat Earl of Carlisle and the Royalists Lord Bristol and Lord Newport of High Ercall. Russell commanded Prince Rupert's blue coated regiment of foot, and was disabled from sitting in parliament in 1644. He was prominent at the storming of Leicester in May 1645, was wounded at Naseby and was in the Oxford garrison before its surrender.

After the Restoration Russell was commissioned colonel and captain of John Russell's Regiment of Guards which became incorporated into the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards, or later the Grenadier Guards. He commanded the regiment until 1681. He enjoyed dress, dance, and music although his taste belonged to the fashion of an earlier generation.

[corallapis]

Henry ‘Chips’ Channon: The Diaries (Vol. 1), 1918-38, entry for 15th June 1923

— Thursday 14th June Dined with Lady Cunard for her fancy-dress ball. I wore my comte de Flahaut¹ costume and looked really exquisite with a curled reddish wig .... Biddy Carlisle was an 1820 Lady Carlisle; Jack Carmarthen² was a hurdy-gurdy, Gage looked impressive in a Raeburn costume rather like one of an ancestor in the portrait gallery; Blandford was a very tall, juvenile Louis XIV, Lady Cunard was ‘Rule Britannia’, Mrs Reggie [Daisy] Fellowes was very provocative as a street urchin. Nancy Cunard is having an affair with a Persian prince and dear loyal Maud explains it saying ... ‘He is a direct descendant of the sun.’

—

1. A French general in the Napoleonic wars.

2. John Francis Godolphin Osborne (1901-63), by courtesy Marquess of Carmarthen, succeeded his father as 11th Duke of Leeds in 1927, and squandered almost all the family’s wealth.

[nakeddeparture]

Darren Shellon Francis Niles, 29, paid $2,500 to Carlisle Greaves for killing Clyde Small - Barbados

https://youtu.be/AaddZzwnu2E

It’s so easy to get away with murder in Barbados. You can simply and easily say ‘you were speeding’. Have your say. Naked!!

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