ahbonjour

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from my skin to my bones - ahbonjour - The Adventure Zone (Podcast) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Magnus Burnsides & Merle Highchurch & Taako, Angus McDonald & Taako

Summary:
The boychik freaks Taako out in a way that few do, unsettling him off of his carefully constructed personality and turning him into a, gods he hates to say it, detective. Why does Angus trot? Why does he call Taako ‘sir’?

Why does Angus care about them?

ahbonjour  asked:

A robot is unsure how to comfort their human so they sit beside them and hum soothing classical music and run their hands over their human's back to the rhythm, afraid to rub too hard for fear they don't know their strength but still wanting to offer the comfort of touch.

BONJOUR'S 103 FOLLOWER COOKIES AND PUPPIES GIVEAWAY!!

WHOOOAAAA

Look at all you crazy people. Hi!

I’m going to give one of you thREE GALLONS OF COOKIES!!!

YOU HEARD RIGHT

SEE THAT?!

That’s a 3-gallon popcorn tin.

I’M GONNA FILL THAT SUCKER UP WITH COOKIES AND SEND IT TO ONE OF YOU!

It will contain at least five different kinds of cookies, and probably around a dozen of each.

What will you do with 60 cookies? Take ‘em to work. Take 'em to school. Give 'em to your family. Eat them all yourself! I’ll seal 'em all up, so they should stay good for a bit.

RULES:

  • Both likes and reblogs count, and you can reblog as many times as you want.
  • You have to be following me to win! After all, it is a followers giveaway. :3
  • I will ship anywhere in the US! I’m afraid other followers are outta luck, I can’t ship food over borders.
  • Winner will be chosen on March 7, at 6:00 PM CST.

That’s it! Good luck!

Movie House Hogwarts AU

Oh man oh man I’m really excited to write this Hogwarts AU but I still have a few questions so if you guys don’t mind answering them?

•What’s everyone’s best/worst subject?
•What subjects would everyone pick for third year, and drop during sixth year?
•Is Fox in the same year as everyone else? If not, how many years above them is he?
•What Houses would Bunny and 31 be in? (I can’t remember 31’s human name, sorry) Would they be in the same years as everyone else? If not, how many years above/below them are they?
•Who’s best at Apparation?
•Who plays Quidditch?
•Who becomes prefects?
•Is this too many questions?

Sorry for so many questions but oh gods I don’t wanna mess anyone up

ahbonjour  asked:

Hi, I really really really don't want to be annoying or an asshole or anything, I truly adore this blog, but would you please tag the yos mon? You didn't tag the last one and yos mon really really freaks me out. You're super awesome, you run my favorite Yes Man blog.

OH NO! I will remember to do that from now on! Sorry the last one slipped past me! 

Every Yes Man with an OVERLY freaky face will be tagged from now on as Yos Mon! 

My apologies for it happening, and you are not annoying or anything! I like hearing if I need to tag something for someone. I don’t want to spook anyone or offend anyone on accident! 

Thank you for pointing this out! And I am going to go tag him accordingly! 

ahbonjour  asked:

Fucking FNS was goddamn incredible. Normally I'm not a huge Flay or Guarnaschelli fan but hot damn

ALEX GUARNASCHELLI IS THE CUTEST PERSON ON THE PLANET

i loved her on this episode so much oh my GOD and even bobby getting jealous because she and giada were like ‘i would watch (football guy) regardless of what he’s cooking’ so cute so cute this episode was just genuinely good

Hey Soul Sister: Prologue

You wouldn’t have been able to tell she was there if you weren’t looking for her. The filthy trench coat she wore completely enveloped her tiny body, camouflaging her against the blackened bricks of the buildings she sat against. The rain had darkened her wildly frizzing hair, relentlessly pouring down on her as she sat in a pathetic little huddle on the street corner. All around her, people rushed past, eager to get out from the downpour despite their warm coats and umbrellas. She struggled to her torn and bloodied feet, leaning heavily against the wall as her coat dragged along behind her. She’d been walking for days. She hadn’t eaten or slept in as long, and she just wanted to curl up and die.

But little girls wandering by themselves in the rain have a tendency to attract trouble, and of course this time was no different.

A foot shot out of nowhere, stepping on the edge of her coat and making her fall onto her face. “Get up,” a harsh voice snapped at her. A foot slammed into her ribs, making her cry out. “Get up, you pathetic lump!”

Tears welled in her browning eyes but she did as ordered, rolling onto her knees and gingerly rising to her feet, holding her ribs where she’d been kicked. She glanced at her attacker and breathed in sharply: A group of maybe ten or eleven boys and girls stared at her. They each carried some sort of weapon-knives seemed to be the favorite-and they all looked mean, like half-starved wolves waiting to attack. Their clothes were little more than patches and shreds, and their skin stretched, sallow, over sharply protruding bones. The boy standing closest to her leaned his weight into one hip, leering at her. She pressed herself as far away from him as possible, trembling. “What’s the matter, brat? Cat-beast got yer tongue?”

She found her voice. “N-no.”                                                              

“What are you doing here?” the harsh bark came from a boy smaller than her, gripping a rock with an utterly feral gleam in his eye.

“Um.” Her voice wasn’t very strong. “Napping?”

“Um. Napping?” a girl at the edge of the group shrieked mockingly. “You’re pathetic!”

“You’re not from here, are ya, kid?” the first boy snarled, raising an eyebrow.

She shook her head frantically. “No.”

“Listen to her! She’s talkin’ like a lap dog!” another boy yelled, brandishing a knife. She put bloodied fingers to her lips at that comment. She’d never been more aware of her accent than now.

“Well,” the first boy seemed to be in charge or the group. “I’ll give you a tip, kid: This is our street corner.”

“Sorry,” she said quickly, pulling her coat towards her body. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I’ll just—get out of your hair, then.”

“Oh, no.” The boy laughed, reaching out easily and snatching her by her bushy curls. She cried out as he yanked her down to the cobblestone street. Where had all the adults gone? Why wouldn’t anyone help her? “We don’t give freebies. Pay up.”

“I—I don’t have anything,” she whispered, rubbing dirty hands under her eyes.

The boy rolled his eyes. “Not that kind of paying, you little rat.” He stuck his knife into his belt, curling his fingers into a fist. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the impact—

“Yo.”

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the familiar accent. People had talked like that where she grew up. She talked like that.

“Jaimey.” The boy who held her sounded almost frightened. “What do you want?”

The new boy wasn’t much to look at—brown eyes, brown hair, torn clothes, two knives stuck in his belt. He looked like the best thing in the world to her. If he could distract them long enough, maybe she could get away.

His eyes met hers, then flicked up and down her body. “Why’re you beating up my kid?”

“She’s yours?!” a collective shout rang through the group. She didn’t understand what was going on. She’d never even seen this boy before. How was she ‘his’?

“She’s a little scrawny for yer tastes, ain’t she, Jaimey?” one of the girls purred, inching closer to him. “Whaddya want with a pipsqueak like her? Hardly seems worth the trouble.”

He brushed her off, annoyed. “Pipsqueaks make the best assassins,” he said nonchalantly, scuffing his toes into the cobblestone. He wore shoes—good sturdy brown leather. She felt her eyes widen and her jaw drop. She hastily shut it again, fervently hoping no one had been watching her.

“Give her a break,” Jaimey ordered calmly, stepping forward. The crowd scattered with every step he took. “You can beat her up next time she strays off. Come on,” he said suddenly, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her roughly towards him. “What’d I tell you about running off? You’ll get your arm cut off one day, I swear. I’ve had enough sticking my neck out for you. I ain’t gonna play favorites, I got near a dozen other kids to watch out for without having to babysit your scrawny—hey.” He swung her around to face him. He’d shepherded her off to a dark alley, out of the gang’s sight. He continued in a low voice. “You okay, kid?”

She stared at him, eyes wide, then swung her fist at his face. She managed to get him across the cheek, making him stumble from the unexpectedness of it. She suddenly jumped into a whirlwind of flailing limbs, punching and clawing and kicking at him. He snatched her wrists and shoved her against the wall. His cheek was bleeding where she’d first hit him. “You done?” he panted, watching her cautiously.

She stuck her tongue out at him, trying to kick him. She’d had enough people trying to kill her for one day, thank you very much!

“I’m not gonna hurt you, dummy,” he said bluntly, letting her drop to the ground rather ungracefully. By the time she got to her feet and turned around, he was rummaging through the trash bin next to them. “That was a pack of lies I told those kids, anyway. I don’t have a gang and I don’t want one. Hungry?” he asked, holding up half a roll. She crept towards him cautiously, then snatched it out of his hand, darting back to the wall of the alleyway. “I don’t do well in a group environment,” he continued, biting off a chunk of roll for himself. He kicked over the trash bin and dumped out the contents. “Everyone’s always telling you what to do and what to say, and you have to rely on other people. It sucks. I’m better on my own.”

She stared at her roll. “Being alone sucks, too.” She said softly.

He glanced up at her. “Ah, so she can speak! I would say it’s a pleasure, but you hit me.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, taking another bite of the dry bread. It was so hard to chew it slowly, but she remembered the awful stomachache she’d gotten the last time she’d eaten.

“What’re you apologizing for?” the boy plopped down next to her, balancing his half of the roll on one knee and resting a dirty old shirt on the other. “It was a great hit. You’re pretty strong. How old are you, anyway?”

“Seven or something,” she said softly, taking another bite. “I dunno, I kind of lost track of the months.”

He studied her for a while. “Where’re you from?”

“Old London,” she replied. “I think. It’s all kind of blurry.”

He frowned. “Do you have amnesia or something?”

She stared. “What’s amnesia?”

“You know, when you can’t remember anything about yourself.”

She stared down at the crumbs in her palm, wetting a fingertip and picking them up. “I guess so.”

“Do you even remember your name?”

She didn’t want to meet his gaze, instead choosing to close her eyes and attempt to recall the memory. A warm voice called out to her; a small, delicate hand reached for hers. What was the voice saying? It made her head hurt, but if she could just make out the words— “I think it’s Alexa.”

“I’m Jaimey.” He began ripping the shirt into long strips. “Jaimey Darmond, that is.”

She frowned at him. “What good are last names in a world like this?”

He laughed. “And here I thought you were seven! You sound like a grown-up.” He was quiet a minute. “Did they hurt you, Alexa?”

She shrugged. “They kicked me, and that kind of hurts.”

“Jacket off.” She obeyed, pulling the dirty trench coat off her shoulders. He pulled the edge of her shirt up, hissing at the sharply protruding ribs and the dark bruise that covered them. “No cuts, at least.” He put a hand on the bruise. Alexa yelped, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Jaimey looked at her in amusement. “I don’t think they’re broken, either, but there’s obviously bad bruising. Sorry the bandages are dirty,” he added, beginning to wind them around her bruise. “But they’re the only thing I could find.”

“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “Thanks.”

His hands were strong and steady against her ribs. She wondered how many times he’d dressed his own wounds, how many times he’d shared rolls with street brats before kicking them out. “I’m going to become a Beast Hunter.” He said suddenly, not looking at her. “That’s why last names are so important. You need a full name to become a Hunter.”

She was shocked into laughing. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, tying a neat knot in the bandages. “I saved your scrawny butt, after all. And you hardly seem worth it.”

“Hey!”

“Tell you what.” He finally met her gaze, brown on darkening green, and she felt a shiver go up her spine. “Most Hunters need partners. People they’ve known for a while. People they work well with. People they trust. I’m not saying I trust you, but you’ve got a good arm. And we can train you to keep out of trouble, or at least be able to take care of yourself when you do run into more jerks.”

She suddenly felt breathless. “So you’re not gonna kick me out?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Nah.”

She pulled her shirt back down over her ribs, considering it. She’d heard stories about Beast Hunters on the streets. She couldn’t quite imagine the scrawny little boy sitting next to her as a Beast Hunter. Then again, she couldn’t quite picture herself as a Beast Hunter, either, and didn’t she just love proving herself wrong?

“Do you have any more bandages for my feet?” she asked suddenly, pushing her thick hair behind her ears. “If I’m gonna be running around with you, I’ve got to heal up a bit.”

Jaimey’s grin as he passed her the dirty rags confirmed her choice.

oh bonjour btw

I got the cookies in the mail today

and they look really good~

I can’t eat them right now tho cus its nighttime and im not allowed to eat anything at night

but thank you so much for them!

Ode To A Nightingale

This is my best attempt at capturing a big moment in my life.

We weren’t dating at the time, just good friends. The first time the ladyfriend stayed over in my bed, when we were going to sleep, she began talking about a poem she was enjoying very much at the time, Ode To A Nightingale. I remembered it, but not very well; I was simply pleased she was pleased with something.

She asked if I’d like to hear it. I remained silent. I don’t know why. I just did.

She waited a moment, then began, reciting the entire thing in a voice clouded with imminent sleep. It was amazing. I didn’t look at her, couldn’t look at her, only listened to her voice wash over us, felt her hand on my shirt and her soft, warm breath on my neck. Listened to her recite a poem.

And I realized I’d fallen in love with her.