madam mercy

Simone Veil13.07.1927 - 30.06.2017

Simone Veil was a Holocaust Survivor, lawyer, politician and reproductive rights activist who secured rights to contraceptives and abortions for French women in 1975.
Her other achievements include being at the head of the Ministry of Health under Valéry Giscard d’Estaing and François Mitterrand, a member of the Académie Française, and receiving the Légion d’Honneur in 2012.

She died this morning, 30th of June 2017, and I simply wanted to express my condolences and gratitude for what this incredible person has done for my country and the women who live here.

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Source:yazzdonut.tumblr.com uploaded with permission 

Chapter 1(part 1):New Places, New Faces

 Amelie’s POV 

 I got woken up around 6:30 am, by the blonde from yesterday.“Good Morning! I brought you your  schedule, and some clothes you can borrow!"She says happily. I nod groggily. She helpsz me out of bed and shoves me the clothes."I can only hope we’re the same bra size."She smiles. I walk into the small bathroom in the medbay. I shut the door and lock it. I dress in the clothes she gave me. She gave me a short high waist black skirt, a tight purple t-shirt, a clean pair of deep blue, underwear, a matching bra to top it off, and a pair of black flats. All surprisingly fit comfortably. My hair is down, so I’ll have to ask her for a hair tie. Overall I look pretty good, even if I look like a blueberry.  I walk out to see her talking with a guy. He has dark chocolate skin, and curly hair. He wears a black hoodie, black jeans, and black converse."May I have a hair tie?"I requested."Of course!"She chuckled. She pulled one off her wrist and handed it to me."Thanks…uhm"I mumbled the last part not knowing what her name is."Oh my, I never told you my name! I’m Angela!"Angela quipped out. I nod in acknowledgement to her statement. I look over at the guy that was in the room."Oh yeah, that’s Gabri-"She was cut off by the guy."I can introduce my self. I’m Gabriel Reyes, and I’ll be one of your guides here."He let out what I believe to be a growl at the last part."Oh okay. I’m Amelie Lacoix."I introduce myself. I held out my hand for him to shake and he takes it giving it light shake. Then someone bursts through the door."Sorry I’m late, I had to fix my hair."The guy grins. He wore a grey shirt, blue jeans, and the most revolting lime Nike sneakers. His accent was French, and I wonder how one of my own be a thing like that."Uh…Bonjour, I’m Amelie…"I introduce myself, sticking my hand out for him to shake."Ahhh, Bonjour je'ampelle Gerard."he introduces himself in French and takes my hand lightly in his own, planting a kiss on it. I make a face of disgust and pull my hand away rather quickly."Vas te faire encule , la con dégoûtant."I spit out venom at him. That was the 1st most disgusting thing that’s ever happened to me, what a creep."Oh, mon cher. Vous me aimez assez tôt."He chided, those words sent the unpleasant kind of shivers down my spine. The tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife."Oooooookay then. I have to head out, you two play nice. I don’t want to hear about Amelie being harassed during a fight."Angela chirps uncomfortably and struts out. 

 ////|-|\\ 

The two boys and I are walking silently to homeroom, I feel eyes on me everywhere I go. Gabriel leads me up to the teacher, who is the monkey from before."Oh, Mr. Reyes. How can I help you?"The monkey asks."Hey Mr. Winston. The new chica, is here and we need to know where she sits."Gabriel explains."She sits next Jamison."Mr. Winston replies."Aw, guess we won’t be sitting together mon amour."Gerard winks. I just roll my eyes."Luckily you’ll be sitting at my table."Gabriel added. I nod and follow Gabriel to a table in the back. Two boys are sitting there already. One lanky looking one with spiky blonde hair and punky type outfit on, and across from him is fluffy boy with white hair in an undercut that’s pulled back in a ponytail in a sweater with a pig on it. Gabriel sits down next to fluffy, and I sit down next to spiky."Good'ay mate! I’m Jamison Fawkes, but you can just call me Jamie. The big guy right there is my boyfriend Mako Rutledge!"Spiky or Jamie boasts in an introduction."I’m Amelie."I mutter."Pleased to meet ya! So Amelie, who ya gonna sit with at lunch? Gabi, Mako, and I have this great place outside we hang out at during lunch, you should sit with us, cause you seem cool! So who’s your host? Is it Gabi? Has he shown you your dorm? Have you gotten a dormie-"Jamison’s rambling ended when Gabriel told him to shut up."I think I’ll take you up on that offer of sitting with you at lunch."I mused, this Jamison is pretty entertaining."Or. You can sit with me!"A voice butted in next to me. I internally groan, I see everyone at our table’s moods go down."What do you Retard?"I snarled."The names Gerard, mon amour~! And what I want is you! Why hang out with the imbeciles when you can hang out with moi?"He was determined set me off."I think she got your name right the first time."Mako butted in quietly."What did you say fatty?"Gerard teases. I furrow my brows. This man has a complete lack of human respect. I looked at Mako who was looking down at his thumbs. Jamie looked like he was about to explode. Before Jamie could say something, I took this opportunity."If I have lunch with you, will you leave them alone?"I even cringed at my offer, but I can’t stand bullies. Gerard had slimy little smirk that made me want to punch him so hard in the dick."Oui I’ll leave them alone. See you later,mon amour!” He sang as he walked away.“You didn’t just…"Gabriel looked at me wide eyed."I can’t stand people who act like that, but if he’s bullying people I’ll stop it at any cost."I stated."Sheila, your putting yourself through hell for Mako…CONSIDER US BEST FRIENDS!"Jamie yelled hugging me. I let out a small giggle. 

 ////|-|\\  

I’ve done my first 4 periods and now it’s lunch. I’m following Retard to the lunchroom. I get in line and get my food. I get a salad with bleu cheese dressing, apple slices, and chocolate milk. When I get to the cashier, I pull out my schedule to be scanned, but Retard beats me to it and pays for it."I could’ve bought it myself."I huff."I don’t get a merci?"He asks as I follow him to a table in the middle of the room. He sits down and unfortunately I sit next to him. I look around the table and see the rest of them are boys."Wow Gee, I didn’t know you liked blueberries that much!"One laughs. The others start to snicker."Hey now, she’s my girlfriend. So don’t be mean."He chuckled. My eyebrows crease, and my eye starts to twitch."G-Girlfriend?"I seethe. He places his dirty paw on my thigh and leans over and whispers in my ear."We wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to your friends, right? Oh what a tragedy it would be if their new friend betrayed them."Gerard hisses. I nod, and start picking at my food. Glad I didn’t pay for it myself."Yeah, her skin is from a rare condition. It’s pretty boring."Gerard discussed. Him and his friends were chatting away while I was quiet and played with my food."Isn’t that right babe?"Gerard asks."Hm?"I hum in confusion. He sighed, and smack my arm quite hard, if I didn’t know better his dead body would have been on the table in 3 seconds."We asked you a question, dumbass. What’s your talent?"Gerard scoffed."I’m skilled in ballet, and combat…"I mumbled."So that means your flexible?"One of them catcalls."Why don’t you come over here and see?"I grin. He walks over and I stand up in front of him I grab my chocolate milk and pour it on his head.  He grabs my salad and dumps dressing and all on top of me, soon enough the entire tables in a food fight.

 Anyways, this leads other tables to join, I pick up a sandwich and throw it at the cheerleader who just threw a bowl of spaghetti at me when it hits someone who recognize to be the vice-principal. The room turns deathly silent as some turkey from the sandwich slides off her face."Who threw it."She asked. As someone who owns up to everything, I’ll have to own up to this one."Me."I admit in a solemn tone. She stomps over to me and grabs my arm and drags me out to the hallway."I want a story now. Tell me the truth and your punishment wont get worse."She ordered, I nod."I was sitting with Gerard and they asked me what my talents were, and I told them ballet and combat. One of them proceeded to catcall me and as out of anger I poured chocolate milk on his head and accidentally started a food fight."I described the whole scene."You are off the hook. Go to your dorm and clean up."She decides after a minute."Merci-beaucoup madame, but why?"I inquired."Boys will act like dogs, if they do not learn their lesson they will never learn at all."She concludes our chat. I head to my dorm, I was shown my dorm before school. My roommate is a brit named Lena. Angela had some clothing she bought online brought to my room, so I wouldn’t go naked for the time between now and when I go shopping.

 ////|-|\\ 

 I’ve been hanging in my dorm with Lena, after going to my last to classes. She grabs her guitar and walks out saying she’s gonna go play in the courtyard and get some fresh air. I nod, and return to my book that I need to catch up on for English. 

 A/N:Sorry everything is so run on. I just had a blast of inspiration today and sat myself down and wrote for about an hour or two. I’ll try and post chapters often. My motto is "Don’t release a chapter until you’ve started the next, or else you’ll lose interest, ideas, and time and you’ll get hella lazy.” So I hope you all are liking the story! Cause I love writing this! Thanks for the love!

Wattpad:harucantread

Ao3:Overlovewatch

prologue:http://skittlehaireddino.tumblr.com/post/147805118560/overwatch-academy-prologue

Chapter 1(part 2):http://skittlehaireddino.tumblr.com/post/149346834500/overwatch-academy-new-places-new-faces-part-2

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.

A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 40791/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7

Read on: Ao3

Emma wonders how thin the floor below her is. She also wonders if the person who lives below her can tell that she’s been pacing for the last hour. It’s always been her nervous vice- when starting a new family, before English exams, waiting for grad school acceptance letters- she’s always taken to walking in circles. And despite what Killian told her the day before, despite the millions of assurances she’s told herself- it’s not stopping her from walking in circles around her apartment’s floor.

When her phone rings, she flinches before pulling it out of her bag. The phone was an early investment, a Misthaven Sim card so that she’d be able to get calls while here. Now, she extracts her phone from her purse on the counter.

She’d spent hours before worrying over what to wear. What does one wear to meet a queen? She finally settled on a navy knee-length skirt that tied at the waist, a striped blue and white button up, and fake pearl earrings. A little make up, a professional pony tail, and a suitable brown leather tote finished her look.

“Hello?” She says into the phone.

Keep reading

Week One (Maxwell x MC)

So, blame this on @gayforgayle, who put the idea of an AU single dad!Maxwell into my head this afternoon.  I’ve got plans for six parts, if people are interested.  This is not my best, original writing, but it’s slow-burn, Hallmark Channel fluff piece that makes me stupidly happy to write and think about.  

Summary: When Marianne gets a job as a substitute teacher at Cordonia’s premiere private school, she gets a lot more than she bargained for.

Rating: PG?  Nothing scandalous here.

Word Count: 2876… sorry, y’all.  I can’t be brief when I write this guy.

               Marianne Crawford hurried down the austere hallway, her heels clattering on the wood floors as she followed the stone-faced headmistress.  She’d always heard that the staff at the Cordonia International Academy were a tough group, but nothing had quite prepared her for the quiet, serious environment.  There was no noise coming from the classrooms; no laughter, no questions, no learning. As she peered into the few classroom doors, she saw teachers either standing at the blackboard or sitting at their desks, lecturing to their group of students.

               She cringed, wondering if she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

               As if sensing her discomfort, Madame Lykel cleared her throat and spoke, her thickly accented voice echoing in the hallway.  “Thank you for agreeing to come in on such short notice, Miss Crawford.”

               “It’s my pleasure,” Marianne said, following her up a winding staircase. “I’m glad to have an opportunity to get back into the classroom.”

               She hadn’t realized how true the words were until she said them out loud. From the day she’d graduated, teaching had been her life.  But after three years of pointless meetings, overzealous principals, and increasingly impossible requirements, she’d begun to wonder if following her passion was worth it.  Determined to enjoy her summer off, she’d bought a ticket to Europe while she decided what to do with her life.  But something had changed when she’d arrived in Cordonia.  For the first time in months, she felt at home, enchanted by the people and the lifestyle.  With her heart in her hand and a half bottle of wine fortifying her, she’d called and quit her job in New York City, deciding to stay in the country for as long as possible.

               Still, she’d needed a job.  She was willing to go back to waitressing, but she’d applied for a substitute teacher positions open at international school instead, hoping for the best.  Less than twenty-four hours later, she’d received the call.  They needed her for six weeks to teach first grade while a teacher went on an unexpected vacation.

               “You should know,” Madame Lykel said as they walked down another hall.  “Our school has an impeccable reputation.  The King attended here when he was a child, as did his older brother.  Many members of the court have their children enrolled here.  Nothing can besmirch out reputation.”

               “I understand.”

               “The teacher you are subbing for is one of our finest teachers.  She’s been with the program for over twenty years. Many of the students in her class are children of her former pupils.  She runs a tight ship, so I doubt you’ll have any difficulty following her program so long as you’re willing to toe the same line.”

               “Whatever you need, ma’am,” she said as they rounded a corner.

               Madame Lykel cleared her throat.  “You should know that you won’t be alone.  Every Wednesday, a parent volunteers to come… assist… in class.”

               “Oh, that’s nice!”

               The headmistress said nothing, but kept walking.  “We are very engaged with our parents and work very closely with them to ensure that their children achieve the high expectations set for them. Our school motto, ‘Decorum, Dignity, and Dedication,’ guides everything we— merciful heavens!”

               Madame shrieked, her hands flying to her cheeks as they stopped in front of a classroom.  Worried, Marianne looked thought the window into the classroom.  Twenty first graders stood in a mob around a tall man dressed in gray pants and a black button down shirt.  The man pulled at a frighteningly comedic horse mask stuck on his head, obviously losing the battle.  The children screamed and laughed, dancing around him and poking him with rulers as they shouted “giddy-up!”  

               Madame Lykel threw open the door, her voice like thunder as she placed her hands onto her hips.  “Stop this at once!”

               All the children stopped immediately, turning towards the door with ashamed, worried expressions on their faces as they dropped their rulers. Even the man in the horse mask stopped, hands still gripping the mask as he looked up, facing the blackboard.

               Madame cleared her throat.  “I am over here.”

               The man swiveled around, almost falling over.  Somewhere in the group, a child snickered.

               Clamping her mouth shut to stop from laughing, Marianne suddenly noticed one student sitting at her desk, drawing a picture instead of playing with the others.  She didn’t seem to notice or care that Madame had walked in.

               Apparently satisfied, Madame cleared her throat.  “Students, this is Miss Crawford.  She’s going to be substituting for your teacher while she’s recovering.”

               “I thought she was on vacation?” Marianne asked, frowning.

               “Recess time!” the headmistress announced.  “Line up.”

               Without a word, the students assembled into a perfect line, including the small girl sitting at the desk.  Marianne couldn’t help but notice her hair as the girl walked by and smiled to herself.  The braid down her back was haphazard and dangerously close to coming undone. Whoever had done her hair that morning had tried hard, but obviously had no idea what they were doing.  But when she stopped next to Marianne, she looked up and flashed a smile, revealing a large gap where her two front teeth should be.

               “I’ll leave you to… this,” Madame Lykel said as she clapped her hands twice.  The students followed her out the door and Marianne watched as it swung shut behind them. It was silent for a moment, then she heard the accented voice.

               “Is she gone?” the man asked.

               Marianne turned, smiling.  “Yes.”

               “Thank God for that.  A little help, please?”

               She went over, grabbing onto the snout and ears of the ridiculous rubber mask. She pulled upward and forward until suddenly it slipped off into her hands.  

               Finally free, the man in front of her shook his head and ran a hand through his brown hair.  When he looked up at her and smiled, her heart skipped a beat.  His eyes were a stormy gray, but they were warm and friendly, which set her at ease.  He wasn’t much older than her, or at least, he didn’t look like it.  There was a boyish charm in his smile, but there was a wisdom and worldliness that made him seem older.

               “I’m Maxwell Beaumont,” he smiled at her.  “I’m your parent volunteer.”

               “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice a little higher than usual.  “Marianne Crawford.”

               “And this is Drake,” he said, taking the horse mask from her with a smile as he held it up and put his hand inside so it looked as if it were starting at her.

               She laughed, but it sounded so stupidly girlish and cliché that she caught herself and cleared her throat.  “Do you always bring Drake to class?”

               “Not usually, but I was told they were going to a petting zoo this afternoon so I thought I’d get into the spirit of things.”

               “Petting zoo?” she asked, looking down at her outfit.  There was no denying that her pencil skirt, nylons, and low heels were definitely not animal friendly.  “I had no idea.”

               “Don’t worry, you look amazing,” he said with a wave of his hand.

               She looked up at him as his eyes widened.  “I mean, you’ll be fine.  It’s just donkeys, and goats, and… I’m sorry… you were saying something?”

               She knew she hadn’t, but she took the out anyway.  “So, petting zoo today it is.  What about tomorrow?  Do you know where she kept lesson plans, anything like that?”

               “She hasn’t let me touch much since I accidentally singed off her eyebrows,” Maxwell said, running a hand through his brown hair as he gestured toward the desk.  “But I think I saw her writing down in some notebook over there.”

               “You… burned off her eyebrows?”

               “Accidentally singed,” he said, walking over to a table and putting down the mask.  “That’s an important distinction, according to my lawyer.”

               Marianne’s eyes widened but she said nothing as she turned and walked over to the desk and pulled open a drawer.  There were several leather-bound notebooks in the drawer, so she grabbed them all and slipped them into her messenger bag.  “Thanks.  I’ll look over them tonight and see what I need to get ready for tomorrow.”

               “Great!  You want to go out to recess?”

               “Do we do that?” she asked.

               “Only if you want to have fun,” he said with a grin.  “Come on, I’ll show you the ropes.”

               She put the bag down and followed him down the stairs.  He whistled as they made their way outside to a lush lawn filled with thick grass and several play sets.  He turned to say something to her, but before he could even get a word out, he was swarmed by children.  Boys and girls from ages five to ten clung to his leg and jumped onto his back, shouting.

               “Help me slay the dragon!”

               “…promised you’d teach me how to build a crossbow!”

               “I found a slug!”

               One of the stronger children pulled at his hair as they climbed up onto his shoulders.  Looking up at Marianne, he winced.

“Help me!” he mouthed.

               She shook her head and covered her mouth to stop from laughing out loud. He rolled his eyes and suddenly took off running, two children on his back as another group ran after him, screaming and shouting.    

               She was still chuckling at the scene when another teacher walked up to her. “You must be the first grade substitute.”

“I’m Marianne,” she said, extending her hand.

When the stone-faced women didn’t reach to take it, she withdrew it and folded her arms around her middle.  “Nice to meet you, too.”

“I see Lord Beaumont as your parent helper.”

               “Lord Beaumont?” she asked, her eyebrows shooting up.

               “Just don’t get any ideas,” the woman said with a dramatic sigh.  “Our school has zero tolerance for any untoward relationships with parents.”

               Marianne was stunned.  “I… I haven’t… I mean I just met him.”

               “Sometimes, that’s all it takes,” the woman said, turning to look at the fence as several large trailers pulled up.

The trucks honked and all the children began to shriek in delight.  They ran to the fence, faces pressed against the chain link as the men climbed out of the cabs and began to unload the animals from the trailers.  Once the animals were finally set up in their enclosures and pens, teachers began to select students ten at a time to go pet and visit the animals, handing out food pellets before and hand sanitizer afterward as the students were ushered back into the playground.

Marianne shaded her eyes with her hands, scouring the playground.  Most of the parents and teachers were standing under the shade of a tree, chatting quietly with one another as they stayed as far away from the animals as was possible.  

               “What’s her name?” she heard a familiar voice call out.

               She turned towards the animal pens.  Maxwell was already on his knees in the sawdust, a chicken on his shoulder and a baby goat in his arms as he fed it from a bottle.  She giggled quietly to herself as the chicken began to peck at his hair and all the children waiting in line laughed.  She walked over, counting students as she stepped through the gate to help control the line.

               She had her back to the animals and was squeezing hand-sanitizer into germy hands when she heard the shout behind her.

               “Look out!”

               Two arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to the left.  At the same time, the llama in the enclosure kicked its back legs out, slamming them into the fence where she’d been standing. Gasping, she looked over her shoulder. Maxwell was holding onto her, his arms wrapped her middle and his hands cradling both of her sides.  He stared down at her, a slow smile crossing his face.

               All of the children in line clapped, cheering.

               She blushed as he slowly let her go and she stood, brushing hair out of her face.  “Thanks.”

               “Got to be careful,” he grinned, looking away from her as he scratched the back of his head.  “Everyone knows llamas are the world’s most dangerous animal.”

               She moved to the other side of the fence, keeping one eye on the children and the other on the man who was kneeling in the sawdust, encouraging even the shyest children to pet the animals.  She bit her lower lip and forced herself to look away from his smile and the sharp angle of his jawline.

               When the visit was over, she walked the students back into the classroom and helped students pack and collect their backpacks.  Maxwell helped as well, dismissing all the students until only he and the little girl with the terrible braid remained.  Marianne watched as he held out her backpack for her with a smile.

               “My lady.”

               She grinned, slipping her arms through the pink shoulder straps.  

               Marianne smiled, suddenly understanding.  With her brown hair and gray eyes, the little girl looked like her dad. They even had the same sparkle in their eyes, even though she could see a hint of something else lurking in their grey depths.  

               Before she knew it, her eyes were drifting towards Maxwell’s left hand, realizing there was no wedding ring on his fourth finger.

               Stop that.

               She cleared her throat and waved as they walked past her towards the door.  “Have a good afternoon.”

               He smiled at her.  “You too, Miss Crawford.”

               She sighed, looking over the classroom.  She spotted the drawing on the desk and ran over, grabbing it as she ran to the door.  “She forgot her—“

               It was too late.  They were gone.

               Curious, she looked down, her fingers going a little cold.  The little girl had drawn both herself and her father holding hands while she wore a pink dress and her father wore the same grey pants and black shirt he’d worn in class.  But instead of smiling, they were both frowning.  She’d even drawn little blue tear dots on her father’s face, making a little puddle under his feet.

               Something in her chest began to ache.

               Marianne put the picture into her bag and left, making sure to wave goodbye to the stone-faced secretary out front.  She stopped by a small pizzeria on her way home, grabbing dinner before she got to her apartment and climbed the four flights of stairs to her attic apartment.    

               She opened a bottle of wine and began to flip through the notebooks, eating dinner as she looked for lesson plans.    

               She flipped open the largest one, realizing it was a daily journal that went back to the beginning of the school year.  A paragraph or more was written under every day in an elegant, flowing script that was sometimes indecipherable.  Marianne narrowed her eyes, then widened them as she started to read the entries.  They were all comments about students, most of them critical, and some of them exceptionally cruel.

               …not intelligent at all.  Thankfully, his family has money and he will never need to contribute to anything.

               She is wildly intelligent, but takes after her mother and looks like a hippopotamus rather than a Duchess….

               Marianne frowned, flipping back to the very beginning of the year. Immediately, she noticed that the entries for Wednesdays were twice, if not three times, as long as the others.

               My worst fears are realized. That child and her father have been assigned to my room after I specifically asked them not to be.  The headmistress must be trying to get me to quit. But I don’t back down that easily.

               Marianne flipped to the next week.

               … Adriana Beaumont will still not speak in class.  She’s intelligent, all test scores point to that.  Perhaps she refuses to talk because her father never stops talking?

               She flipped though the notebook, realizing with horror that every Wednesday was filled with the same negative, hateful rhetoric.

               …brought another live animal to class.  It disrupted everything!  

               … wouldn’t be allowed in to this school if weren’t for his friendship with the King.  I wish some scandal would cause his ouster and we could remove them from the school….

               Adriana continues to be quiet in class.  At this point, I believe it is defiance instead of a physical problem.  Beginning tomorrow, she will be disciplined accordingly…

               I’ve never seen a more unfit father.  He has no idea what he is doing.  

               Marianne closed the notebook and flung it over onto the other end of the couch with a grimace.  The food and wine in her stomach churned uncomfortably and she went to the window, opening it to let in some of the cool, autumn air.  She closed her eyes as the smell of the sea washed over her, trying to clear her mind and relax.  But nothing, not even the faint sounds of music from the floor below her or the gulls singing to one another could remove the image of the little girl with her gap-toothed grin and haphazard brain or her father and his gray eyes from her mind.

               She sighed, covering her face with her hands.  

               She’d come to Europe hoping to escape her problems… so how had new ones had found her so quickly?

The First Time They Meet The SS

Cait: Cait was in the cage for the fifth time that night, fighting with yet another pathetic raider. She didn’t know why they even tried to compete with her, she won every single bloody time. She was about to land a right hook on the raiders jaw when gunfire broke out, she wanted to join in but she didn’t, she stayed to the side with Tommy. Then there they were, standing gun in arm, fully equipped with armour, yet still wearing a vault suit. Cait couldn’t help but scoff, who they hell did they think they were coming in here like that? She trailed her eyes down their body letting out another scoff, she could take them down any day.  

Curie: She’d been stuck in the sealed off ruins of Vault 88 for years, too many years, Vault Tec really didn’t think any of this through. Then one day, they strolled in and Curie had the answer Sole had been looking for. Curie was relieved when she was finally allowed to exit her station, her work finished 83 years ago.

“Merci, Madam/Monsieur,” Curie handed over the mole rat cure, very thankful that Sole walked in. Curie loved that they saved the child instead using it for their own benefit. She could learn a lot from them, a lot indeed.

Danse: Rhys was down there being no way he could continue the fight against the persistent feral ghouls attacking the station. Haylen stood in the back lines, covering Rhys, there’s no way she was letting him get hit again. Then there was Danse on the front line, covering his team as a Paladin should do. He knew they didn’t stand much of a chance, their supplies were running extremely low and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold off the hordes of attackers. Then a mysterious figure began taking them down from the side lines, providing the much-needed cover.

“Thank you, Civilian,” Danse nodded his head in appreciation towards them.

“Would have done it for anyone,” they replied with a smile. Danse squinted at them, trying to figure them out, they were good in combat and seemed to like danger. The Brotherhood could definitely use someone like them.

Deacon: The vault dweller hadn’t noticed him, watching them from a distance. He was always there, hiding in plain sight, unbeknownst to Sole. That’s when he walked into the tunnels of the Old North Church, to find them standing on the other end of some very big guns.

“What gives with my invitation?,” he joked, “Oh, I see you’ve met the courser killer,” walking past his team and leaning against the wall. He studied the vault dweller as they answered Desdemona’s questions. And he wondered to himself if they’d noticed him, would they notice him now? Then they looked over at him, smiling lightly as Deacon praised them to Des. He didn’t get that a lot, people appreciating his spy work, though they didn’t know it was spy work. He couldn’t wait to work with them some more, I mean they are a fucking badass.

Hancock: He watched over his shoulder as a bewildered Sole pushed through the gates to his little town. He looked them up and down, taking in their appearance, something Hancock did with everyone who walked through his gate. He listened as Finn got his ass handed to him, in which he chuckled to himself, finally getting what he deserved in his opinion.

“Woah, woah,” Hancock stepped in, plunging his knife into Finn’s gut as he refused to back down, he messes with the boss, he gets put in the ground. He looked back over at the newcomer, noticing the gleam in their eye and the smile playing on their lips. Trouble. He could feel it and he definitely wanted to be part of that.

Nick: “Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario…” Nick wittily remarked as the door sprang open and his rescuer walked in. He had to be thankful, he’d been trapped in this hell hole for the past two weeks. He couldn’t wrap his head around why someone would go out of their way to save an ‘old private eye,’ as he would call himself. But as they explained themselves he understood completely, he’d be more than happy to help them out, seeing as they saved him and all. Oh, and he must promote Ellie, he made a mental note to himself.

MacCready: MacCready ignored the person who’d walked into the room at a rather inconvenient time. Winlock and Barnes had finally found the merc, hiding out in The Third Rail, it was about damn time, he thought to himself. He thought they were supposed to be good at finding people, but the Gunners were getting sloppy. That was a good thing for him though, because he was fucking good at his job.

“Looking for a hired gun?” he asked, he’d been out of business for a while and he really needed the caps. Maybe they were the person to finally hire him.

“How do I know I can trust you?” they remarked and it drew a smile to MacCready’s lips.

“I could say the same to you,” Sole smiled and nodded.

“How much do you charge?”

Piper: Damn that Danny and damn Mayor McDonough, for locking her outside of her own goddamn home. That article was the best ones she’d ever written and she knew Mayor McDonough wouldn’t approve but you can’t stop the freedom of the press. Piper noticed the stranger from the corner of her eye, walking up to the closed door of Diamond City. They were her ticket back into the city all they needed was a quick plan.

“Psst… Yeah you…” Piper called them over causing the stranger to look around before realising she was talking to them, “You want in to Diamond City? Play along…”

Piper overenthusiastically played on Danny’s conscience, bring Myrna into the conversation and well the doors were opened. Piper nudged the strangers arm as they both through the doorway and she listened with sad eyes as the stranger asked for the help of the Mayor only to be turned down. She was going to be the one to help them, she had to be, the Institute was going down for this one.  

Preston: Preston wiped the sweat off his brow as he narrowly missed bullet after bullet that was being fired at him. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up, every time he went to reload, he noticed another raider join the pack of ravenous bastards. It was then he noticed them dropping down like flies, to his luck, someone had come by in the nick of time. Maybe they could finally be the person they needed to help them.

“Please! Grab that laser musket and help us!” he called out and the person nodded, running towards the corpse holding the musket in his arms. Preston waited patiently, listening to the sounds of people dying, bullets wreaking havoc in the museum.

He let out a sigh of relief when they walked through the door, all the raiders had been killed and here was their saviour, in a vault suit. What. He watched as they spoke with Sturges, eager to help out the group, what was left of the Minutemen. They are what was needed to fight for the Minutemen, this person could save the Commonwealth, and Preston was goddamn happy that they stumbled into Concord in their time of need.

fearless-flower  asked:

I enjoy playing Mercy but she sure isn't a compelling character. She has some lore that's not explicitly in the game which could make her interesting (her parents dying during the Omnic Crisis when she was very young and how that drove her to become a doctor and join Overwatch at 17) but nah let's just hint at some romance. Doctor/patient relationships certainly have no baggage attached to them right Blizzard :/ that concept art is really cool yet it kinda just fuels my salt sorry

I agree with this 100%

Like many other characters that have been reduced to “that one thing” in their lore because they have so little of it and have yet to be expanded upon, I find Mercy’s to be the most disappointing and boring. She’s got a great lore bite imo! But instead of the lore bite being her thing, she’s been reduced to the cliche angelic doctor and hinted at being a romantic interest as the most… generic looking character. It’s boring, it’s so unbelievably boring to me.

Would the early concept art have changed this? I don’t know. At the very least we would’ve had a non-generic white angelic figure, which would’ve been cool as fuck.

Even the concept art of female Mercy wearing scrubs and tactical gear, you know…. like the combat medic she is? That would’ve been neat too. But we needed sexy aesthetic women with no personality so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ whatever.

regardless of any of these choices still a hard no on ge///ncy though, doctor/patient ships are a big no go for me

*sees some petplay shit*

Normal person: idk if they’re not hurting anyone I guess it’s okay

Me: you will beg for the tender mercies of Madame La Guillotine

mercuryblake  asked:

💔 >DD

[ @mercuryblake ]

41. My muse shows up on your muse’s doorstep after several months of being missing, with no memory of the past few years.

Erik could not say what brought him to this doorstep. Perhaps it was some kind of instinct, luring him as if a heavenly melody deep down in the masked man’s head, too beautiful and pure to even be heard. Something… Something like…. he could not say. He did not know. The opera ghost had been wandering from shadow to shadow for it seemed a thousand days and a thousand nights, yet in reality it had only been a few Months. What happened? He could not tell. There was a gap in Erik’s mind, empty as the void. 

What if… what if he can fill that gap here?.. No. He can not have much hope. 

Erik raised his hand to knock on the door, but lowered it, delaying. It took a while for him to finally force his muscles to move again, this time succeeding to complete that simplest of tasks. Now all he could do was wait, for salvation or for doom. 

Tokyo Ghoul Parents

The parents in Tokyo Ghoul tend to follow a pattern, as I realised in a conversation with itsover8999plus1. Generally, in Tokyo Ghoul, mothers (and mother figures) are depicted as either unloving or dead, whereas fathers (and father figures) are usually present (at least for enough time for their children to remember them) and loving. Of course there are exceptions (eg. the Fueguchi family) but after a few examples you should get the idea. Let’s start with mothers and mother figures.

MOTHERS

Kaneki’s Mother
Once thought to be a mother who was so kind and giving she died of overwork, she is revealed to have been abusive toward Kaneki, causing him to repress his memories in order to come to terms with the mixed feelings he had for her. After her death, Kaneki was forced to live with his aunt and through this she indirectly gave him away to another unloving home.

Hikari Kirishima
Died shortly after her two children, Touka and Ayato, were born.

Saiko’s Mother
Saiko’s mother ran off with her children from her husband to her lover, and as they struggled financially after opening a bar, she sent her children to the CCG Academy due to the cheap tuition.  After taking the Quinx Aptitude test and being determined the best candidate, Saiko was forced to become a Quinx against her will by her mother in return for financial compensation. In short, her mother cheated on her husband, forced Saiko to have life-changing surgery she didn’t want and took the money offered in return; very selfish.

Tsukiyama’s Mother
Died when Tsukiyama was very young.

MOTHER FIGURES (AND THOSE RELATED TO THE TITLE)

Kaneki’s Aunt
Not only did she hate her younger sister, but she also demanded her money. This eventually caused Kaneki’s mother to die from overwork and Kaneki was sent to live with her. She was kind to him and even praised him at first. As time went on, though, she began to hate him, compared him to her son, gave him less food before finally leaving him out of meals entirely and once she threw out all of his books (which Hide managed to get back for Kaneki  bless that boy). Kaneki found, upon living with his aunt, that his cousin and her lived in a comfortable two-story home and had even bought new appliances with the money Kaneki’s mother gave to them. It’s no wonder that after graduating from high school Kaneki moved out of her house and into his own apartment.

Rize Kamishiro
Kaneki and Rize are parallels of the mother and son in The Black Goat’s Egg, written by Takatsuki Sen. In the book, the mother is a serial killer, and at first the son is “disgusted by his mother’s depravity” but then “begins to realise that the same cruel impulses are budding in himself”. Rize tried to kill and eat Kaneki, before the steel beams fell on her and Kaneki received a life-saving organ transplant from her that turned him into a half ghoul and started his downfall.

Eto
Although she is in no way maternal, in chapter 56 she screams out to Kaneki, saying “I will make you my child”, yet at that very moment she’s trying to kill him.

Big Madam
Big Madam abducted Rei Suzuya before changing his name “Juuzou”. Under Big Madam’s ownership he became a scrapper and entertainer for the audience at the Ghoul Restaurant. Big Madam would torture Suzuya and dress him up as a girl, even going so far as to castrate him. Eventually, the two came face to face and Big Madam begged for mercy after Juuzou wounded her. Upon Juuzou claiming that he had to kill her, that it was his “job”, Big Madam began to say that she never loved him before squad members intervened and killed the ghoul.

FATHERS

Kaneki’s Father
Died before Kaneki could even remember him, but left him many books to read, which kept him going through tough times.

Mirumo Tsukiyama
Due to his wife’s death, Mirumo shows as much love and care for his son as he can and is very proud of Shuu’s achievements. When Shuu was unwell he was deeply worried and actively searched for an “ingredient” that would help his son’s health return. In recent chapters, Mirumo was captured by the CCG. However, upon hearing that his son was in danger, he busted out of custody and went to save him.

Arata Kirishima
Arata loved humans and hoped to live a peaceful life among them, even going so far as to prepare and eat human food (with his children) despite the disgusting taste and digestion difficulties it gives ghouls. Instead of killing humans, he ate corpses and even other ghouls. Eventually, he was killed and his kagune (which due to cannibalism could evolve into a kakuja) was used by the CCG as exoskeleton armour.

Urie’s Father
Died fighting the One-Eyed Owl so that members of his squad could safely retreat.

Kureo Mado
Although he hated ghouls and was enthusiastic about killing them for their kagune, it is revealed this is because of his wife’s devastating death at the hands of the One-Eyed Owl. His daughter Akira and him developed a strong bond, and they cared for each other deeply.

FATHER FIGURES

Arima Kishou
Haise sees Arima as a father figure. Arima may be responsible for Kaneki’s loss of memory and identity change (along with poor eyesight), but he chose not to kill Kaneki when the opportunity arose and mentored Haise. Haise and Arima had a good relationship, as can be seen throughout Tokyo Ghoul:re (eg. Haise gives Arima a tiepin for Christmas, Haise calling Arima his dad, Arima giving Haise tips on fighting).

Haise Sasaki
When he mentored the Quinx Squad, he was seen as a father figure by the younger squad members. Haise prepared meals for the squad and trained them to become great fighters. Saiko often affectionately referred to Haise as “Maman”, which is the French word for “Mama”. Before his death, Shirazu wanted to see Sasaki, as his biological father had committed suicide, he wanted Sasaki to be there at least. This never happened, though, due to his transformation.

CONCLUSION

It may be that the representation, though in rare situations is inconsistent (as I mentioned earlier), is due to personal issues Ishida has with their own parents. It seems that mothers and their relationships with their children are generally bad while the opposite can be said for fathers. 

I apologise for any errors, and thank you for reading.

Il y a 90 ans naissait une héroïne française… Merci Madame Veil d'avoir lutté contre l'obscurantisme et de nous avoir apporté de la lumière!
(illustration : colombe de Picasso, sur une photo de James Andanson, et quatrain extrait du poème Liberté, in Poésie et vérité, 1942, de Paul Éluard)

mae-jones  asked:

Sherlolly fluff pour vous: Mary raised her brows at the discarded music sheets all around Sherlock. "Having a spot of trouble composing?" Sherlock huffed. "No. Maybe. Yes, hmph." She smiled. "May I ask who it is for?" Sherlock cricked his neck. "No." She scrunched her nose with a smile. "Ah, I see." He narrowed his eyes. "No, you don't." Mary chuckled as he brushed past. "Maybe you should pretend you're a fiddler, that's more Molly's style, methinks." Sherlock just grumbled in the kitchen.

Aaah….Sherlock😍😍😍…et Mary!

Merci beaucoup, madame

Il y a 40 ans, 
Merci Madame !!

Merci pour moi , pour mes soeurs , pour mes filles .. merci ……

Le 26 novembre 1974, Simone Veil montait à la tribune de l'Assemblée Nationale Française pour défendre son projet de loi. Les députés français votent une résolution pour réaffirmer le droit à l'IVG, mercredi.

40 years ago !

Thank you Madam !!

Thank you for me, for my sisters, for my daughters .. thank you ……

November 26, 1974, Simone Veil went up to the rostrum of the French National Assembly to defend her law. Today , French MPs are voting a resolution to reaffirm the right to abortion .

Bun is UP, mind is out… Bun is UP, mind is out…
The mantra had become the cadence that she practiced to. Amelia’s bun had not only pulled the thoughts from her head and left a desire to be a perfect bunslave, but it also pulled her feet up into pointe. She loved the feeling of the pearlyhose and pearlytard that now covered her body. She could feel Madame’s touch against her leg.
“A little higher my dear, that’s it. Good girl" 
"Oui, Madame. Merci” The bun had taught her how to speak properly too, now that she was a ballerina bunslave. 
“Alright, my beautiful bunslaves. From the top!" 
Bun is UP, mind is out… Bun is UP mind is out… 

Quelque part loin, très loin d'ici #2

Trois collègues hommes discutent quelque part, loin, très loin d'ici.

P : Hé, regarde, c'est Jean-Mi! Salut Jean-Mi! Alors, ce voyage d'affaires?

JM : Je veux pas en parler…

P :  À ce point là?

JM :  Ça s'est passé exactement comme on pouvait l'imaginer : j'ai passé deux jours à expliquer que je n'étais l'assistant de personne, que je n'étais pas le secrétaire ni le préposé aux cafés… et à faire des cafés pour tout le monde. J'étais le seul homme de moins de 30 ans parmis une horde de femmes Blanches hétérosexuelles de plus de 40 ans… Un cauchemar! J'ai mon amour-propre dans les chaussettes…

R : Hé dis-moi, la cliente, elle t'a pas trop…?

JM : La cliente? Le cadet de mes soucis! Le soir de la signature, la boss a exigé que je sois présent. Je comprenais pas pourquoi, normalement, au moment de la signature, il n'y a que les avocates de l'entreprise qui sont supposées être présentes… Mais là, devant tout le monde, K. a insisté pour que je sois là, juste elle, moi, son assistant et la conseillère juridique. En arrivant sur le lieu de la signature, K. a exigé que je j'enlève un bouton de ma chemise. C'est la seule fois du rendez-vous qu'on s'est adressé à moi. Je ne servais à rien d'autre qu'à la déco. Je ne m'étais jamais senti aussi humilié. J'ai fait 6 ans d'études pour qu'un jour, dans un bureau rempli de femmes riches, on décide que je fais joli…

R : Oh, mon chou, comme je te comprends…

JM : Le pire, c'est que pour le reste du voyage, les autres collègues me traitaient comme si j'avais reçu un traitement de faveur. J'ai eu le droit de me faire accuser d'avoir grimpé les échelons grâce à mes couilles… Alors que je dois toujours en faire plus qu'elles pour montrer que je suis au moins aussi compétent, elles me prêtent d'injustes facilités… Donc en plus d'être humilié, j'étais tout seul…

P : Et si tu avais refusé d'être présent, on t'aurait traité d'effronté, on t'aurait demandé pour qui tu prends pour te permettre de refuser ce genre de privilèges…

JM : Exactement… Franchement, les gars, parfois, je me dis que les mecs qui bossent en vitrine à la frontière belge, ils ont vraiment tout compris… J'veux dire, eux aussi doivent se faire humilier et avoir à faire à des connasses de misandres, mais au moins, quand la connasse a payé et qu'elle est partie, les gigolos sont pas obligés de débrieffer autour d'un déjeuner, ou de prendre l'avion ensemble, ou de se retrouver à la machine à café, ou d'entendre leurs blagues sexistes en réunion, ni de les accompagner au Zbouby Palace… Oui, parce que, évidemment, après la signature, il a fallu aller fêter ça dans la plus grande boîte de streap-tease de la capitale… normal, quoi…

P : Non, t'es sérieux?

JM : Oui, tout le staff et celui de la cliente.

R : Et personne n'a rien trouvé à y redire?

JM : Personne n'a osé en tout cas… Tu sais bien que c'est dans cette ambiance de ladies club et dans le champagne et le stupre que se font généralement les plus grands accords, que se mettent en place les bons partenariats… Refuser d'y aller, c'était refuser une opportunité d’être du prochain coup… Tout le monde le sait, donc personne ne proteste. Et surtout pas moi.

P : Et les femmes mariées?

JM : Comme si elles en avaient quelque chose à foutre…

R : Toutes des enculantes!

P : J'en ai marre d'être une minorité partout où je vais.

JM : J'en ai marre de cette bande de connasses.

R : En parlant du loup… Mieux vaut changer de sujet



K arrive

K :  Bonjour messieurs! Quelle douce vision que de vous voir tous les trois, aussi pimpants, dès le matin… On a vraiment une équipe charmante!

- Merci Madame K.

K : Oh, voyons Jean-Mi! Pas de “Madame” avec moi, pas après ce contrat! La cliente est FOLLE de vous!

JM : Mais je n'ai rien fait…

K : Ne soyez pas aussi modeste, mon p'tit Jean-Mi! Vous avez été brillant! D'ailleurs, à l'avenir, il n'est pas impossible que je vous laisse prendre un peu plus d'initiatives…

JM : Vraiment? Parce que justement…

K : Oui, on en parlera plus tard si vous voulez bien, pour l'instant j'ai rendez-vous avec les cheffes de services. Donc deux cafés noirs et un au lait, dans mon bureau. Merci mon p'tit Jean-Mi. Et… Patrick, cette chemise est… particulièrement seyante… Vous devriez prendre exemple Roger… Il ne suffit pas d'avoir des atouts, encore faut-il savoir les mettre en valeur…


Elle s'éloigne, fière d'elle, sous le regard consterné de Jean-Mi, Patrick et Roger, et rejoint ses collègues dans son bureau.

D : Dis-donc, j'espère que tu vas nous envoyer le petit asiatique pour le café… Il sert du jus de chaussette, mais… il est tellement croquant que je boirai de la pisse de chamelle macérée s'il me la servait..!

K : Non, l'asiatique est en procès contre nous pour harcèlement, tu te souviens?

D : Ha oui, c'est vrai, ça.

K : C'est le chargé de prod qui va nous l'amener.

J : Vraiment? Il accepte une tâche aussi subalterne?

K : Bien sûr, pourquoi il n'accepterait pas?

J : Oh, de nos jours, avec les masculinistes, tous ces mecs qui ne veulent plus être des mecs, qui nous font un scandale quand on leur fait un compliment… On sait jamais…

D : Tiens, en parlant de ça… Je sais plus quoi faire avec le standardiste…

K : T'as pas encore compris qu'il se moquait de toi?

D : Peu importe, le fait est qu’ il me rend dingue…

J : Raconte, j'ai pas suivi le dossier

D : Alors déjà, il a fallu un mois pour qu'il accepte ma première invitation à dîner… Sans exagérer! Il a fallu que je le lui demande tous les jours pendant un mois pour qu'il finisse par accepter! Et du bout des lèvres, encore!

K : Donc bon… tu sens déjà le mec qui dit non juste pour faire monter les enchères…

D : On dîne, tout se passe très bien, j'ai choisi un des meilleurs restos de la ville, je lui ai tout payé, grand cru, champagne, digestif à un mois de loyer… Et le mec, en sortant du resto, me dit qu'il habite tout près et me plante là. Sans un baiser, à peine un merci…

K : C'est pour te faire croire qu'il a l'habitude qu'on le traite comme ça…

D : Le lendemain, grande princesse, je lui offre un petit bouquet de fleurs, que je laisse au standard. Toujours aucun merci. Le jour d'après, je finis par lui demander s'il a aimé mes fleurs… Il me répond qu'il n'est “pas très fleur”.

J : Laisse-moi deviner : il est plutôt grosse montre?

D : C'est ce que je me suis dit…

J : T'as pas fait ça quand même?

D : Et pourquoi pas? Je le trouve beau, il jeune, il est frais, il sent bon, j'ai envie de le niquer… Si ça doit me coûter une Rolex, ça me coûtera une Rolex, et puis voilà!

J : Donc, la Rolex, ça a marché?

D : Même pas! Tu n'imagineras même pas ce que ce petit con s'est permis de me dire : il a refusé la Rolex parce qu'il trouvait que ça le mettait dans une situation délicate et que -attention, accrochez-vous- il ne l'assumait pas par rapport à ses collègues ! Non mais pour qui il se prend? Il devrait être flatté qu'une meuf de ma trempe daigne s'intéresser à lui et lui offrir une occasion de sortir de son caniveau… Moi?! Moi je le gêne? Ce petit crétin, c'est tout juste s'il est bon à cirer mes escarpins… En plus, je sais qu'il a pas de copine, je l'ai entendu parler l'autre fois…

J : Il est peut-être juste pas intéressé…

D : Meuf, je suis chef de service, je gagne en un mois ce qu'il gagne en deux ans, j'ai deux jambes deux pieds et je suis célibataire sans enfant… Qu'est ce qu'il pourrait vouloir de plus?

K : C'est vrai, je comprends pas son problème… un allumeur, j'te dis…

J : Non, mais c'est comme on disait l'autre jour : les meufs gentilles, ça les intéresse pas. Faut les traiter comme de la merde pour qu'ils soient intéressés… C'est de la biologie, hein, ils ont juste besoin d'être dominés…

D : Je sais que t'as raison, mais j'peux pas m'forcer, j'suis une fille bien… Moi, je marque ma supériorité dans la subtilité et la diplomatie…!

K : Dans le claquage de blé et l'intimidation?

D : Comme ma maman m'a appris.

* high-five*

J : Donc tu vas laisser tomber?

D : Hors de question… Si ce qu'il veut c'est préserver sa réputation de Saint-N'y-touche, je me ferai plus discrète, mais quand on veut quelque chose, on le prend! Je suis une femme, moi, pas un adolescent! Une femme, une vraie, ça prend! Et puis il n'y a que face à ce type d'attitude hyper-féminine qu'ils se sentent hommes, désirés et protégés…!

K : Prouve-lui que tu as le jet de pisse le plus puissant et il tombera le slip en moins de temps qu'il n'en faut pour dire “amour propre”.

D : Je dois filer, vous voulez pas qu'on finisse cette conversation ce soir au bar du coin?

J : Impossible pour moi… figurez-vous que ce soir je garde les mioches, mon mec sort avec ses copains…

K : Et ça te dérange pas?

J : Il leur faut bien un soir de temps en temps pour parler de trucs chiants, parler cuisine et mousse à raser, faire des ragots et se plaindre de leur femme …

D : Et tu vas être seule avec les mômes? Sans ton père, ni un baby-sitter?

J : Hé ouais…

D : Woaw… c'est incroyable… comme je t'admire…

K : Grave…T'es vraiment une super Maman!

Workout

Request: Can you do a fic where the reader and dean are sparring for practice for hunts and dean pins her and she gets really turned on by how strong he is which dean notices,then kinky smut? Love your blog, too, hun!

Author: Lexi

A/N: I feel like I being to brief with my one shots…? Was this okay..?

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: smut

Song: Workout-J Cole


Right hook. Left hook. Uppercut, uppercut, uppercut. Cross, jab, cross hook.

Your heart beat rose in your chest as you moved with Dean, saying every move he needed to do as you held the pads. He stepped forward, you stepped back. He punched hard, but you knew he was going easy.

“A bit sexist today?” You yell over his grunts.

“What do,” he throws a right hook, “you mean?”

“I know you can punch a lot harder than that,” you answer.

Shrugging his shoulders Dean drops his hands and pulls off his gloves. You pull your top lip between your teeth and watch him drink some water.

“vous êtes forts,” you say and watch the muscles in his body contract and release. Sweat dripped down his abdomen and off of his head.

“What the hell, c’mon, you know I don’t speak Spanish,” he pants.

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