#| saint is me complaining about the youth

[popponn]

about couples and such. [bakugou katsuki x f!reader] + midoriya izuku

notes: i tried my best to get his (and midoriya's) personality right, for a little after that one fight. i hope i really get it right and it's still bakugou and midoriya in the end. it was fun to (try to) write tho. extra note: petty couple fights. please do not take this fic too seriously because i certainly did not.

Whenever Katsuki and you fight, Izuku always suffers.

Such was the rule of the universe—or so his classmates said. Shouto pat his back, Ochako tried to cheer him up, and Iida… tried his best. But, in the end, Izuku couldn’t exactly refute those words.

Though, recently, whenever the two of you fought, it became a whole dorm crisis.

“I hate him,” you said, sobbing into your knees as you curled up on top of the lounge sofa. Izuku wished there were others with him and you at the moment. Unfortunately, like traitors all of them were conveniently away and busy.

Izuku stuttered your name. “He-hey, don’t say it like that,” he managed a smile that ended up more as a grimace more than anything. With a patience of someone who had handled this sort of issue since the three of you were in kindergarten, Izuku continued, “I’m sure Kacchan didn’t mean any of the words he said.”

“He called me weak! A deadweight!” you screamed before throwing yourself to the green haired boy. Seasoned and trained, Izuku caught you and returned your hug with a sympathetic pat to the back. A part of him noted that Katsuki had called you worse things back in your youth, but he supposed ‘childhood friends’ status that had changed to ‘romantic partners’ would change things too. So, wisely, he didn’t comment.

“There, there,” was the only he thing he could said. If only ‘Kacchan’ was better at this whole dating thing…

“Hey.”

Izuku’s head did a sharp turn to his right. Talk about the devil and he shall appear, they say. Think about Bakugou Katsuki and he will appear like a ghost haunting the dorm, he says.

From his hug, Izuku felt you tried to discretely peaked at your boyfriend. Without seeing it, Izuku knew you were failing miserably. Katsuki, too, seemed to notice your stare and immediately met your eyes with his permanent glare. In response, you immediately hid your face on Izuku’s chest and hug him tigther.

If Izuku noticed Katsuki shifting that glare into a genuine one at him—no, he didn’t.

As Izuku tried to think what should he do now, that he was stuck in this unpleasant confrontation, Katsuki spoke, “Have you eaten yet?”

You, unsurprisingly, refused to reply. Instead, you hugged Izuku tighter as if such action would make Katsuki step away. It didn’t, it only got the two of your an even nastier glare.

Izuku, like a saint, answered in your stead. “Uh, she haven’t,” Izuku said, omitting the fact that you were skipping meals since yesterday because ‘Katsuki called you a deadweight in the middle of a training’. Your tantrum was as complicated as it was already and he would not at anything to that.

Katsuki stayed silent as he gave your form a once over. Izuku suddenly felt like a parent. Perhaps, this was where he should nudge the blond to apologize to you?

“You are not a deadweight,” Katsuki stated, suddenly but confidently. You suddenly stiffened like a stone in his arms. “There I said it, so hurry up, the fuck you want to eat?”

Izuku tried not to outwardly grimaced once again at that. He knew that you are a tough girl, but considering the circumstances at the moment since this argument started, he really wished Katsuki could be a bit gentler. You just complained at him for three hours about Katsuki’s ‘cute bastard’ way of talking while crying and Izuku really really didn’t want a sequel of that to enfold in front of the related person.

Luckily, this time, you responded to Katsuki. Slowly, you raised your head away from Izuku as your hold on him loosened. You still glared at the sofa, not meeting Katsuki’s gaze. Silently, you sent a side glance to the source of your irritation.

“Katsudon,” you answered, quick and hoarse after crying, before promptly returning to hug Izuku tightly. Izuku regretted not bringing a pillow or something else to avoid this fate.

At your answer, Katsuki made a sour face. Of course. That answer either came from your mind that was filled of curses ready to be hurled at Katsuki or because you simply wanted to jab at him through his name. Nonetheless, with a sigh, Katsuki dutifully turned away and walked towards the kitchen, “Fine.”

As he walked away, Izuku once again wished that the two of you could discuss this just so this fiasco could end faster. He held back a sigh and returned to patting you in the back.

“Izuku,” you mumbled to his clothes.

“Hm?” Izuku responded patiently.

“I don’t like arguing with Katsuki,” you said, your voice just above a whisper.

Izuku sagely nodded, having heard this for hundred times already each time the two of you fought, “I know, I know.”

“I will…” you trailed off, gently prying yourself away from Izuku. Your reddened eyes blinked a few times, before you finished your sentence. “…I will help Katsuki. He must be hungry too.”

Izuku didn’t have the chance to reply before you walked away, going to the kitchen. He stared at your direction, wondering if he should follow. Then, he remembered how it had always been—since you were little and since the three of you reconciled.

Learning from experience, Izuku chose to return to his room.

(If he heard a quiet chatter accompanied by peaceful clanging of pans and sizzles of seasonings from the kitchen, Izuku didn’t bother to listen and gave that moment to the two of you.)

[josefavomjaaga]

Something I was wondering about the Ridley Scott movie trailers, but also with regards to the Napoleonicwars forum: Is there something like a specifically "British Napoleon"? Like, a historical tradition that differs wildly from the "European Napoleon"?

What irritates me most about those trailers we have seen is not so much Phoenix's age (that too), but mostly his behaviour. He's so ... static? I mean, sure, they put him on a horse during a cavalry attack which is ludicrous in itself. But in all scenes when he actually has to interact with people, he's like a pillar. Just standing/sitting there. Same facial expression for every emotion. Not even awkward (I would applaud that) but just aloof. Not really interested. Barely "there".

We're talking Napoleone Buonaparte here. That little ball of condensed energy. Always impatient, always in motion. The guy who could not sit still long enough even for painters to do a quick drawing. The guy whose quickly changing features painters complained were so hard to render. The guy who would fire off a salvo of questions to anyone he met because he wanted to see and know everything. The guy whose piercing glance and seductive smile are mentioned so often by pretty much everyone who met him, especially in his youth.

Which might just be the crux? "People who met him" for the biggest part excluded Brits. Those only got to see him during the brief peace time in the Consulate, and then again on Saint Helena. Interactions with him were very limited.

It would make sense for the movie to be based mostly on anglophone sources. Do British sources portrait Napoleon in a different way because their view of him is mostly determined by the depressed, defiant, caged Napoleon of Saint Helena? - From what I've seen, the first thing most European sources mention about his character is: intelligence, willpower, activity, ambition. - In the Ridley Scott movie, only "ambition" seems to be left.

[writers-get-biters]

actually im so upset rn abt so many things. this familial stuff is hurting us like shit. we can't be openly afamilial bc that's not a safe option for us rn but this playing pretend shit w family fucking hurts. were so tired and frustrated. we want to just scream about how fucking unfair this all is. offline, we can't trust a single fucking bodily adult person. it's not even a matter of safety in every case but our trust in adults offline has been corroded by bullshit fucking ageism that affects every fucking part of our life. idk. almost the worst part (aside from having like no fucking freedoms) is that we feel fucking bad. we feel bad that we're afamilial. we feel bad that we've been hurt by our family and the adults in our life that people tell us we're lucky to have. part of it is that like a number of our friends or ex-friends have shitty fucking abusive parents, and in comparison our family consists entirely of saints (besides us). and it's true; our family isn't abusive at least not how 99.9% of ppl define abusive but it just makes it so hard to explain why this shit hurts and why it isn't okay when we have kind of always been known for having a "normal" family. I mean it's not like we can even tell anyone how much it hurts us. to our offline friends, this would seem like privileged pointless complaining (which kinda fair enough?). to our family,... obviously we can't do that. idk it just all fucking sucks. I want to be free so bad but that isn't possible ig.

as a last ditch effort for getting out of scrutiny for the tiniest attempt at bringing up youth lib/pro-autonomy stuff ("idk maybe its not okay to force people to do stuff even if its "good for them" :/"), had to bring up that time they forced us to eat diet bars instead of lunch for like a week or two (cant remember; mightve been a little longer?) and then the bodys dad just fucking said he didnt remember and he was sorry and "maybe it wasnt the right thing to do" then asked me to accept his apology. was also expected to fucking hug everybody. why the fuck do we even ever try. i mean ik why. bc we hate being a fucking bystander in our familys ageism but it never even fucking works and the bodys younger family members are so fucking propagandized into it already they pardon it all. i hate this shit. no wonder some of the others of us wanna fucking die at this point

fuck this shit. i hate family

[pastel-omegas-blog]

Chapter One

Chapter Two

WARNING!!! THIS BOOK WILL CONTAIN MATURE THEMES AND VIOLENCE PLEASE LEAVE IF IT WILL MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. I DO NOT NEED THIS BOOK TO BE REPORTED . YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.( Mentions of suicide,bullying, blood/torture ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️( This book is going to have more matured themes  compared to my others, from smut scenes to non-con, lactation, drugging, hypnosis, abuse of power and over obsessiveness. 

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" Arguh! Do we really have to come to this frozen waste land? " A man said as he hugged the thick jacket he wore around his frame even tighter his pale cheeks already getting a red hue to them as he continued to swear under his breath, peaking out of the carriage window to see the knights sticking close to their side and small snow falling. His purple eyes narrowed at the sight of more snow.

" It won't take long until we reach the manor your grace " an elderly voice replied and the blue haired male clicked his tongue in irritation.

He hated this. 

He hated having to leave the comfort of his home in the capital.

He hated having to leave the warm and cool weather for this frozen deadland.

He huffed removing his glasses, wiping away the steam that fogged the lens for the umpteenth since he had crossed the border, before wearing them growling loudly as they started fogging up again.

The gods he hated this forsaken land!

He wished he hadn't accepted his older brothers proposal to come here. Had he known he would be stuck in this condition he would have refused to step foot into this land.

And he had sent him to where they throw that devil incarnate to. 

He was so mean doing such a cruel thing to him.

" I can't take this anymore! I want to go back home " the man says with a scowl on his thin peach lips  folding his arms and puffing out his cheeks his eyes narrowing into a glare as he stared at the elderly man who seemed to be acting as a chaperone 

Ren felt a headache beginning to form as he stared at the fuming recessive omega noticing how his scent of oranges started becoming acidic.

The aging recessive alpha didn't have the strength to deal with any bratty attitude. He was already stressed as it is. The imperial family were playing with fire with this stupid plan they were doing. Trying to one up on the Duke and the northern nobles would not be good for them in the long run, yet they still went ahead to do. And they made matters worse by adding an inexperienced child to the team as a representative.

" I'm sorry your grace but it's too late to turn back now. Please bare with the conditions for a few more minutes " the grey haired man said trying to soothe the younger man but he wasn't having any of it.

" No! I said I want to go back home now damnit! What are you deaf ? Has your age started affecting your hearing as well ? I want to go back home now. I don't care how you do. Open a teleportation portal for me or something damnit. How an old fool like you could ever be given the title of a ' war hero ' is beyond me. I'm tired and cold and I've had enough ! " The blue haired recessive omega whined out stomping his feet inside the carriage as he glared at the older man.

Ren bit back a growl as he let him s hands fall on his thighs his grip tightening on his own flesh causing a dull ache of pain to start forming.

How dare this brat.

How dare he say such words to him.

He was the son of an ordinary count while he was a Marquis. He didn't even have a noble title himself and was just lucky to be born in a well off noble family.

Apart from the difference in social class, he was a heavily decorated knight he had helped bring the empire to glory countless times during his youth and he had even been recognized as a war hero for all his efforts.

Yet here he was letting this inexperienced child yell at him and he couldn't complain about it, unless he wanted the ungrateful brat to tell on him and he would have his head removed from his shoulders. He was related to the holy saint and future emperor of his Empire. The holy man had made it very clear that he cherished his younger brother and no harm should happen to him

That was the only reason he hadn't thrown him out of the carriage yet.

How such a spoilt brat like this could be related to the kind and holy saint of their empire was beyond him.

Even though they shared similarities traits in appearance their personalities were vastly different.

Stoping himself from yelling at the younger man Ren spoke up again trying to calm him down. " Again your grace I am truly sorry for any discomfort your facing now, but it's too late for us to turn back. We will soon arrive at the Duke's manor so please hold on until then " the older man tried to reason and omega puffed his cheeks tears of frustration beginning to bring at the corner of his eyes.

" No. No. NO! "

The younger man spoke up stomping his foot and the older alpha swore he saw red for a moment, the only things keeping him from lashing out at the omega was his sense of pride and fear for his life.

Alfred glared at the older man through his foggy glasses, his long hair tied up in a ponytail swished around everytime he stomped his feet.

How could he just ignore him.

He was so cruel.

What kind of alpha was he? Had he lost his heart from butchering people in the battlefield that he didn't know how to treat an omega right?!

" You old - " the omega started only to be cut off

" Now now I know your having a hard time adjusting your grace but please stay calm. We'll be going back to the capital soon so don't worry. I'm sure you can handle this for a few more hours. "

A smooth voice spoke up  easing the tension inside the carriage in an instant. What  ever rage Alfred felt bubbling in his chest died down immediately he heard the man sitting beside him speak up and his ears heat up.

" I.. I'm sorry for d.. disturbing you Archmage Adonis " the blue haired man mumbled out fiddling with his fingers as he lowered his gaze to his laps. A soft chuckle made his blush worse, the soft scent of burning oak coming from said man calmed him down immensely.

" I know your exhausted. Poor omega the cold weather must be getting to you " the mage  purred out softly and Alfred could only nod his head at his words, not being able to look at the duel haired colour man.

" And I knew your stressed out as well lord Ren, but still try to be easy on lord Alfred. It's his first time doing something this important so the stress must have gotten to him and made him anxious. Please be more considerate to his situation " the man said and Ren felt his grip on his laps get tighter as he listened to the man's words.

How dare this high and night bastard blame him for something when he wasn't at fault. How is it his fault this that he was stuck with a bratty child who didn't have any single respect for his elders.

If the boy knew he would be whining through out this journey and would start demanding to go back home then he shouldn't have agreed to come in the first place!!

But like earlier he swallowed down his thoughts and lowered his head to the younger recessive alpha  mumbling out apologies instead.

No matter how wronged he felt he would be a fool to argue with the man.

Who was he, a mere marquis and an ordinary war hero to argue with the son of one of the four eastern dukes and Archmage of the magic tower.

He rather his pride be destroyed than he lose his life.

The man simply smiled at the older man's submissiveness before turning to look at the blue haired omega who had buried his face into the fur coat he was wearing as a sorry attempt to hide his flushed cheeks and the tower mage chuckled. " You see lord Alfred ? He sorry so don't get to worked up alright ? It's just a few more hours and I'm sure they'll soon move by in a flash so please hang in there " the man reassured once more and the recessive omega nodded.

 Silver eyes watched the whole thing go down, their owner not speaking up once as he watched the whole nonsense go down.

Sure the omega's constant whining was giving him a headache, but he dare not speak up. He might be the prince, but recently certain members of the saints family had moved into the imperial palace and now had more favor than him. 

Alfred was one of them.

So the red haired alpha had no choice but to sit still admist the chaos and try his best to ignore it, as much as he would like to help Ren the man was on his own in this.

An image of a h/c man flashed in his thoughts and Calix felt his heart squeeze in joy and fear. Joy that he finally see his older brother figure after such a long time and fear that he would have to leave him again so soon as he would be dragged back to that hell hole he called home.

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The entail shock of the arrival of the heavily guarded knights and the imperial carriage had died down a bit, but it sent the servants into a panic as they rushed to make the majestic huge mansion even more presentable, word of the unexpected arrival flew quickly which led to the current situation.

Walking through the busy halls with a scary scowl on his pale pink lips. The frown etched on his normally stoic face and the thick smell of his phermones was enough for the servants to scurry away in fear.

" Do they really lack manners to just show up uninvited without dropping word of their arrival before hand " the silver  haired duke grumbled under his breath not bothering hide the growl that followed after.

He had just come back from a patrol along the Inovre Forest and had battled some monsters they had unexpectedly come across. He just wanted to change his blood stained clothes and get some rest. Probably see a certain h/c omega , before he had to deal with his busy schedule for the day. Now he had to wrap that all up and let the work pile up because some dicks didn't in understand common courtesy.

​​​

" Well your cousin's family always have their heads up their asses. They feel that since their the one ruling the empire they can do whatever they want. " a smug voice replied to the man and he rolled his eyes.

  " Thank you very much for telling me something I already know Daniel. It was really helpful "

The silver haired man said sarcastically.

" Glad I could be of help sir~ "

The dark haired recessive alpha said with an optimistic beat, not minding how the other alpha pumped out more phermones at his words, if he was affected by the assault he didn't let it show. He wouldn't be a captain of the North wyvern knights if he let the phermones of an alpha trying not to throw a temper tantrum.

He actually found it funny that the feared Duke of the Northern territory was a few wrong buttons away from ripping someone's head off.

Oh what fun today was going to be ~

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" What could be so important that those 'Pure bloods ' decided they would come and pay someone as impure as me a visit. And without a word in advance as well. It's like they were hoping to catch me off guard and look for how to disgrace me. " A deep voice mused as his silver eyes paid close attention to the knights. The calm expression he wore was a great contrast to how he felt inside.

Duke Nicolas Devon Vermillion was livid.

The blonde dominant alpha's pheromones would have been all over the place if he wasn't trained to control them.

He already had enough on his plate with trying to find a solution to the sudden drought the land was facing and the sudden spike in månå beasts been so active.

He didn't need the imperial family to add to that headache.

' Has that little brat finally lost all form of respect ? He dare try to make a fool of me?! Has he let all that power finally take over his senses !! '

That ill mannered pup was really beginning to get on his nerves. He was nothing but a child who was given to much power and was in a position he didn't earn.

A small hand placed it's self on the man's chest as a hand hooked around his arm, a soft warm body pressed itself against his side. The strong scent of fresh grapes filled his nostrils and instantly calmed his senses a bit as he pulled the figure closer to him causing the person to giggle.

" There there Honey, it's alright. Don't let them get under your skin. That's what they want so let's not give it to them. So take a deep breath and let it out " A smooth voice spoke up their velvety voice calming down the blonde man even more as he listened to their instructions.

Letting out a deep breath Nicolas sighed a genuine smile tugging on his lips as he looked at his side, staring into white milky eyes that held nothing but love towards him, love that he returned back in his own gaze and subtle gestures.

His pretty wife  really knew how to make him feel better.

Long flowing silky snow like hair, with cool earth skin tone, pure white milky eyes. A very beautiful dominant omega with such unique features.

Unique features that only belonged to one family in their entire empire.

 Lady Marina giggled softly at her husband's antics as his grip on her waist tightened and loosened in a teasing manner.

Her cloudy white eyes looked over to the empty spots by her side and her husband's her plump lips turning into a small frown at the absence of her children. She could excuse her two eldest, because she knew they had places to be, yet her youngest was no where in sight.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by the unexpected blaring of trumpets and the former duchess turned her attention back to the carriage.

The knights stood by either of the carriage door their hands on their weapons, ready to draw them if  needed   as the manor servants laid out a lavish fur red carpet from the mansion entrance.

The door opened and our stepped their visitors.

An older man with grey hair was the first to come out. For a noble he was extremely dressed down wearing darker colours instead of flashy ones and he had no jewelry or gems on to show off his wealth. The only thing that screamed to be of value was the pure gold pin that took the shape of a small dragon that was pinned to his chest, a sign that the man was a former war hero.

The next person that followed was a man with long flowy white hair that reached his mid back, his pure white locks turned into a pitch black colour at the tips, his light blue eyes held a calm look to them, his thin lips stretched into a gentle smile as he stepped down with grace that belonged to that of a swan, his silver and sapphire coloured robes flowed gently around his form.

Recognition flashed in Nicholas silver hues as he watched the tower mage of the eastern empire extended his hand out to the inside. A petite hand stretched out to hold the mage's and out stepped a blushing young man who had the lower bottom of his face hidden in his fur coat.

' blue hair and purple eyes '

The thought passed through the couples head and they were shocked for a split second, it died down when they noticed how young the man looked and he wasn't dressed in any holy garmet. 

That and they knew their nephew would never allow the holy man to come on his own to the north.

" He must be a relative " Marina said quietly and her husband made a sound of acknowledgement as they watched the blue haired man glue himself to the mage's side.

Following after the blue haired man was a head of deep crimson hair, his silver eyes rolled in slight annoyance as he stared at the blue haired recessive omega, before he started looking everywhere as if he was searching for someone, a small frown tugging his lips downwards when he didn't see the person he was looking for.

Ren cleared his throat at the three young men he was acting as an escort for, getting their attention as he subtly gestured towards the former Duke and Duchess who were watching them with hawk like eyes.

Sure all three young men might be highly respected, but that was in the east. This wasn't their territory anymore. They weren't on top of the food chain and the aging alpha prayed to the gods that they could hold down their pride and ego as they as they talked to the real top dogs.

With everyone focused on their new visitors no one seemed to notice the fluttering of butterflies as they made their way back to their master.

Hi. So we meet our unexpected visitors. It might seem like much but the next chapter is gonna be hot. And sorry if this is all over the place.                                         

 Now let me explain how the Northern Grand duchy is related to the imperial family.

Nicolas Vermillion mostly known to others as the former Grand duke of the north, but before he got this tile he was referred to as the bastard child of Emperor Carinvan.

He was born from a lowly prostitute and was taken in by the Emperor's when his mother died from an unknown illness.

He was mocked and despised by the nobles and other royalty who cursed at him, especially his brother (the late Emperor ) who made sure to constantly remind him that he had dirty blood.

Despite this his father favoured him more because he was better versed in the ways of politics and he seemed like a fit ruler than his son.

Something happened though, but that will be explained in a later chapter.

He might not let it show, but it irks him that he couldn't sit on the throne and become the Emperor, but it doesn't matter now.

Now that he has a certain h/c omega in his grasp he was going to make sure his son was going to be  Emperor.

No matter the cost.

I've been feeling under the weather for a while that's why this chapter is so late.

[fandomanimatic-tournament]

Fandom song animatic tournament: Bracket 2 Side A

A Good Song Never Dies - Saint Motel

"'Cause a good song never dies It just reminds you of where you were The first time it made you cry, the first time you felt alive No, a good song never"

Achilles Come Down ([Blank] Come Down) - Gang Of Youths

"Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won't you get up off, get up off the roof? You're scaring us and all of us, some of us love you Achilles, it's not much but there's proof"

Remember that we're voting on how Iconic they are for ANIMATICS, not for the song itself. In order to make things fair, the tone and mood of the song should not affect how iconic it is (for example, a serious song should not be considered more iconic than a joke song just because it's serious)

Propaganda and animatic links of the songs under the cut:

A Good Song Never Dies - Saint Motel

Propaganda:

plenty of animatics in a wide variety of fandoms, the two most iconic of which having over 1 million views (Inscryption and Riddler) also it just goes really hard and is great for more badass/dramatic animatics

Animatics with the song:

Inscryption

Batman Riddler AU Animatic

DSMP Technoblade Animatic

HLVRAI

Achilles Come Down - Gang Of Youths

Propaganda:

No Propaganda Submitted

Animatics with the song:

DSMP Tommy Animatic

DSMP Wilbur Animatic

Unus Annus

BNHA

Rain World

Please be cautious and read the title, description and warning cards on the animatic videos if you decide to watch them. If you've got specific triggers I'd recommend even more caution when watching animatics of fandoms you don't know, since sometimes canon-typical themes don't get warnings.

Please keep in mind that I don't know all the media and fandoms of the animatics provided as examples and I don't have the time (nor the will) to research them all. Don't come into my notes or my ask box complaining about them being included, I will simply block you. If a ship animatic included is about an adult and a minor, do tell me and I'll take it out of the post

ALSO keep in mind that I don't know all the artists submitted; in fact, even if I do know them I do not know absolutely nothing about them as people (I do not have twitter nor tiktok) and I could not POSSIBLY have the time to research ALL of the artists' controversies and what came of them so PLEASE don't flood my inbox with the artists' entire crime list.

[twilightmalachite]

Raison d’être - The Nameless Girl 2

Author: Akira

Characters: Shu, Mika

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Yer right. What the, this is scary… Ya can see Grandfather steadily agein’, but she looks exactly the same."

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: Airport (Lobby)

Shu: Anyhow. There is something unnatural, regarding the fact the two diaries were written at two different time periods a while apart.

Regarding a common character these diaries share.

The one named “MADEMOISELLE”, of whom through the description I surmise to be the same character… does not appear to have aged throughout the work, or rather, the diary.

She, MADEMOISELLE, is an odd young lady who never grows old.

No, perhaps I should call her a girl? She is an eternal, nameless girl.

Mika: That means—

Umm, what does that mean? People are supposed t’age, aren’t they?

Shu: Hence why I called it “unnatural”. There is no Count of Saint Germain—Biologically speaking, there is no such thing as immortality.

Mika: Saint Jer… m… Who?

Shu: A tangent like that would be long-winded, or rather, insignificant.

Occult enthusiasts will never admit it, but it’s nothing but a scam—No, it’s been long proven to be a myth born from blasphemy and misunderstandings.

Well, Grandfather too was a fan of the occult, so it could be possible this diary is his way of making a grand joke, but…

The diaries were also carefully accompanied with hand-drawn sketches and antiquated photographs where the face of the person in question, “MADEMOISELLE”, can be seen.

Here, see for yourself. She appears exactly the same in both of the diaries.

Mika: Yer right. What the, this is scary… Ya can see Grandfather steadily agein’, but she looks exactly the same.

Does she not grow old fer real…?

Actually, maybe I’m biased ‘cause her name’s “MADEMOISELLE”, but… She kinda looks like Mado-nee, doesn’t she?

It’s like she’s a personification of Mado-nee, or rather, a slightly grown-up version of her.

Shu: I am curious about that too. Mademoiselle, the doll that my grandfather entrusted to me, may have something to do with this “MADEMOISELLE”.

Mika: Ah, right. Mado-nee’s different from the doll that ya made, isn’t she, Oshi-san?

Shu: Yes. She is an antique doll given to me by Grandfather. She is not one I made from scratch, meaning there is much mystery surrounding her.

There are many points of ambiguity about Mademoiselle, such as who created her, how she ended up in my grandfather’s possession, and so on.

I am a bit hopeful we will be able to find out more about that here.

Through the process of putting together my grandfather’s past and discovering more about this mysterious girl named “MADEMOISELLE”.

Mika: Just who is she, really… I’m startin’ to get a little scared.

Shu: Fufu, even you, who fears not even ghosts, can feel scared, huh?

I feel intrigued, more than anything else.

Although it is quite the vulgar sentiment, much like enjoying gossip articles. I feel guilty that Mr. Raffaello is leading me down this path.

The depictions in my grandfather’s diaries show a deep love he has for this girl named “MADEMOISELLE”.

My grandfather was always angry and would complain about everyone, except only this “MADEMOISELLE”. He was like a devout believer, or an innocent small child spoiled by his mother.

Although I cannot be sure exactly what kind of sentiment it was, my grandfather—absolutely loved her.

Whether it was platonic love, filial love as a family, or heterosexual love, it was never stated.

Although Mr. Raffaello claims it to be heterosexual love, that my grandfather and “MADEMOISELLE” united as man and woman. And himself being born, as a result.

Mika: Ooh, meanin’ who Grandfather had an affair with was—

Shu: Yes. That would be “MADEMOISELLE”. Things are coming together.

Though there is the possibility my grandfather wrote “Diary (Nameless)” while in his thirties, not as a youth—

And it sends a chill down my spine to think that an adult at that good age had feelings for a younger, child-like girl…

Mika: Hm~… But if “MADEMOISELLE”-san doesn’t age, or in other words, is immortal, isn’t it possible she’s even older than Grandfather?

Shu: This is a matter of appearances. I would be ashamed for the world to know that my own grandfather was afflicted with a lolita complex.

Mika: Nnah~, but don’tcha like small children too, Oshi-san?

Shu: I just admire what is beautiful and artistic.

And I imagine, or rather, expect that it is the same for my grandfather as well. Nothing to do with the graphic male-female relations that Mr. Raffaello speaks of—

I believe my grandfather simply loved beautiful things, just as I do, and just that—That is what I anticipate.

No, I am heading to Paris in order to prove that. To the city my grandfather lived during the time period recorded in these diaries.

Nowadays, you can look up anything on the internet instantly… However, nothing beats visiting the place yourself to investigate with your own eyes and fingertips, firsthand.

Mika: Even still… Even fer the case for “Diary (Nameless)” which was written closer to the present day…

Grandfather was in his thirties at the time… That’s still one, two, three, how many decades back again?

Is it even possible t’find traces of what had happened so so long ago even if ya look for it?

Shu: No need to fear about that, as I have something in mind.

And I also have you to help me look, Kagehira. You may be a fool, but your instincts are good.

As Valkyrie, we two will work together and win the Funeral Contest.

Mika: Nnah~, I dunno, I feel like this is kinda indirect.

Shu: Hmph. Do you think art can be borne from a blueprint created by lines drawn at random, without laying down any guesswork?

Mika: …Well, fair enough. Sometimes ya jus’ wanna take it slow and easy concentratin’ on a sole work of art.

Shu: Fufu. At ES, we often get idiotic orders such as “create a performance in a week!” from those who don’t know how much time art requires to be made.

When in truth, don’t you think it is best to sit back and enjoy the beauty and intrigue, just as one would enjoy a full-length novel?

[ ☆ ]

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[sprnklersplashes]

the dancing and the dreaming (ao3)

Jesper can’t be certain, but he’d bet his revolvers that music was scarce when Jan Van Eck ruled this mansion. He never struck him as the type to enjoy playing a song on a Sunday afternoon, even less so when he heard him complaining about his son’s “infernal flute”. Less so again when he watched the caution with which Wylan re-introduced himself to the pianoforte he grew up with, and the wary sounds the keys made when he first played again. 

Wylan is working to change that of course. First with his flute; his relationship to the pipe is the same as Inej’s with her knife or Jesper's with his revolvers. Then, when the papers were signed and confidence crept back, he came back to the pianoforte. He approached it the way one would an old second cousin at a family party; vaguely familiar but not entirely sure. It took a couple of weeks for the strength to creep into his notes.

And then Marya came home, and Jesper watched from the doorframe when she played for the first time, the light returned to her eyes with every chord she remembered. Slowly, music has become just as much a part of the house as the floors and windows, as vital to its daily maintenance as making the beds is. 

And if there’s a better way to come home than to the piano chords soaring from the music room, Jesper is yet to find it.

He hangs his hat and coat by the front door and follows the sound, shaking off the salt air of the harbour and the ever-present dust of Ketterdam. A maid appears around the door, presumably to take his things for him. He just smiles and shakes his head, instead flipping a coin into her palm. He might live like a merchant now, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to be waited on. For all his jokes to Kaz, he thinks he might go mad if he let someone else hang up his coat or had a maid bring his supper up to his desk. He spent his youth working on a farm and his adolescence working his way through the Dregs. It’s part of him at this point, driven by the ever-running motor that powers his body.

“The Saints did not give me these hands just to please you,” he said to Wylan as he made the bed one morning. Wylan had thrown a pillow at his head but laughed all the same.

He swipes an apple as he passes the kitchen, greets the kitchen boys, and then follows the familiar route to the music room. As the music becomes clearer, he begins to guess who the maestro is. The song is slow and slightly shaky in some places. Great care is taken in carrying the notes, like someone carrying precious cargo across cobblestones. 

He rounds the corner and finds his guess is, again, correct. Marya is sitting at the piano, her curls held back in a loose updo. As they reintroduced music to the mansion, Jesper has begun to see the difference in how mother and son play. Both hold great respect for whatever they play, but Wylan’s music has that little bit of force behind it. If Jesper had to describe it, he’d say it lay at the intersection of spite and ferocity. He’s taking back what his father took from them, snatching it from Van Eck’s cold hands. Maybe one day the rough edge to his playing will fade, though Jesper won’t complain either way. Marya on the other hand is more considerate. She doesn’t share her son’s residual rage, just a careful curiosity, and Jesper wonders as well if that will ever change as well as her memories come back. 

Wylan leans up against the doorframe, facing the window so that his curls shine in the late morning sunlight. Jesper doesn’t bother with announcing himself, instead wrapping his arms around Wyaln’s chest and resting his chin on his shoulder. He feels, rather than sees, the smile creep across his merchling’s face, and then Wylan’s hand comes up to grasp his own.

When he turns, Wylan greets him with a quick kiss, and he reiterates what he thought when he came in; if there’s a better way to come home, he can’t find it.

“Morning,” Wylan greets against his lips. He was still asleep when Jesper slipped out of bed. “How’s the Barrel?”

“The Barrel is the Barrel,” he replies. “Busy, shady and complicated. Kaz says hello by the way.”

“One of these days, he’ll have to reply to the dinner invitation,” Wylan says. Jesper just chuckles, thinking of Kaz in this vast mansion, sitting down to a three-course meal served in the dining room. If Kaz ever does the unthinkable and comes to dinner, Jesper suspects they’d suddenly be short on silverware and possibly a few champagne flutes and a tablecloth as well. Not that it would matter.

He presses a kiss to his shoulder and turns his attention to Marya. The song is slightly familiar, one she must have played once or twice before. As the sun lights up her profile, he makes out the slight movement of her lips, singing quietly the lyrics only she knows. He wasn’t sure, at first, how to get to know Ms Hendricks, but when Wylan guided her to the piano, it all became clear. In the same way that Jesper puts Wylan’s thoughts to paper, the piano bridges Marya’s thoughts in a way her words can’t. 

“How’s she doing?” he asks in a low voice. Wylan’s chest rises heavily against their clasped hands, his breath hitching slightly. His hold tightens a little on Jesper’s hand, and Jesper rubs his knuckles.

“She’s doing good,” he replies. “I think it’s a good day.” His voice is slightly hoarse, and his eyes glisten a little. Neither one comments on the small sniffle he gives, and Jesper nuzzles against Wylan’s neck. He doesn’t think a word exists for what this means to Wylan; to have seen his family ripped apart, turned upside down and sort-of-but-not-quite stitched back together. No language has a word for it, but no words need to exist. Not when Wylan’s shining face does more than enough explaining.

Marya finishes her song, the notes fading out almost thoughtfully, as if aware of the extra presence in the room and retreating from it. Jesper bites back the twinge of guilt as Wylan slips out of his grasp. He should know better than to take these things personally, and he does. Mostly. But some things can’t be helped.

“Mother that was lovely,” Wylan tells her. He pulls her against his chest and squeezes her shoulders, the warmth in his embrace brightening the cold morning. Jesper looks away for a moment, understanding the privacy of their moment. Just because he lives with them doesn’t mean he’s allowed into everything. 

He turns his gaze when Wylan’s curls appear in his periphery. He rises on his toes and kisses him, a quick peck that Jesper could easily turn into something more if his mother wasn’t in the room. He settles for humming, aware of Marya’s slightly-knowing gaze on the pair.

Wylan never introduced Jesper to her as his lover. Not that Jesper’s expecting him to. In a situation like this, they can only go one step at a time, and Marya knowing where and who she is is more than enough for now. It does make Jesper wonder who exactly she thinks he is to Wylan and if she understands when she sees them like this. 

“I should go,” Wylan says. He drums his hands gently against Jesper’s chest. “If I don’t get that inventory report completed and out by tonight, the Merchant Council will be beating down the door tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, the least exciting way to wake up,” he whispers. Wylan giggles as his cheeks pink slightly. He pulls his arms around Wylan’s waist, just tight enough for his heart to pick up. “Need a hand?”

“I’ve got this one,” he says. “You already did all the reading for me. Have the morning to yourself, and I’ll see you at lunch, all right?”

He pouts, his expression playfully exaggerated, but nods. He plans on going to bother his boyfriend in ten minutes or so anyway, so he accepts Wylan playing with his tie before going to move.

Marya, it seems, is less receptive to the idea.

The second Wylan steps around Jesper, she starts playing again. The song feels familiar this time, though he’s positive he’s never heard it. A collection of notes rising and falling and rising again, chasing each other in giddy circles. Images flash through Jesper’s mind; early evening on Ketterdam streets, where the pubs with some decency left in them would fling open their windows and he’d see couples dancing inside, laughing together like the pub was built just for them. He feels a phantom of the longing he felt back then, thinking that the expressions on those patrons and the life he had were incompatible. 

His first thought is “where in the heck did she learn that”?

His second thought is that he needs to thank her somehow.

He turns to Wylan, a grin cutting across his face. Marya plays the notes again, and they grow stronger. When he glances back, he sees her eyeing Wylan, her lips slightly parted in what can only be anticipation. He holds out his hand and bows slightly because he’s a gentleman.

“Will you do me the honour, Mister Van Eck?”

“Jesper,” he sighs. He presses his lips together, but the corners turn up as if the glee is trying to escape him. He looks from his mother to Jesper and back between them, the moment shaking him. He flexes his fingers and bounces on the ball of his feet, all the while Jesper’s veins start to hum.

“The Council needs those reports,” he says weakly.

“The Council will still be there tomorrow.” Jesper steps forward and takes his hand, feeling the slight tremble begin to steady. “Don’t make a man dance alone. Because you’ve seen me dancing and you don’t want to subject your poor mother to that.”

It’s a sly move, a Barrel trick from a Barrel boy, but he doesn’t take it personally. Wylan laughs, the sound rivalling the music itself. Then he heaves a sigh and steps back into the room, his eyes creasing as he smiles.

“No, I definitely don’t,” he concedes. He leads Jesper beside the piano, where Marya goes over the beginning chords again. He takes hold of Jesper’s other and pulls him close, unknowingly setting off small fireworks all over his body. This strange sensation, of every cell in his body buzzing while he feels more at peace than ever, has to be some kind of magic. His head spins, his feet stay on the ground, and his heart slides back into place.

Actual magic, not Small Science, twinkles when Wylan takes his hand. Jesper doesn’t wait for him before setting him off, pulling him around the room in something that resembles a dance. It’s a little bit like how he dances in the Crow Club, all reckless and wild, running on a high and itching for another, but it’s also something else. Something he learned a lifetime ago, beside a kitchen table, not a poker table. Where his feet dangled above the ground and his mother threw her head back as his father spun her around, her skirt billowing like a tornado around her.

For a moment, the past lays over the present, and he sees the same thing in Wylan. His laugh spills out like an overflowing cup, his hair falls into his eyes and his heart beats merrily in time with the music. Jesper twirls him without a thought and watches as his head falls back, how the dimples indent his cheeks and the light catches his eyes and holy shit, nothing has ever made him feel like this.

He has to ask himself why they’ve never done this before.

But then he catches sight of Marya at the piano, and how her hazel eyes shine as her fingers fly across the keys, and he’s glad they haven’t. She deserves this, to see them dancing for the first time. 

And Wylan deserves this, his mother playing the piano while Jesper flings him semi-recklessly around the music room. Dancing with flushed cheeks and shaking hands, crashing into Jesper with what he can only describe as perfectly harmonised abandon. 

And maybe, he’ll let him think that he deserves this too. Not the big house and the nice food, but the feel of Wylan’s hands on his shoulders, deserves the smile that’s making his cheeks ache and the giddiness that means that he doesn’t care. Deserves the softness on Marya’s face when she looks at him, and the surprised squeak when he and Wylan almost collide with a potted plant. 

If he had the time or the patience, maybe he’d dwell on those thoughts. But as it is now, he’s spinning Wylan under his arm, and the feeling of his fingers moving against his own is all Jesper can think about.

[michaelmilligan]

Midam week day five: INTERSTELLAR

(Aka Adam's birthday aka the Feast of St. Michael aka Cheers I'll drink to all that, bro)

A breeze was rustling through the grass as they landed, long blue stalks swaying under a red and purple sky.

At least Adam thought that it was grass they were standing in. With a little luck, it wouldn't be another sentient colony of strangely formed tentacles.

What is this? Adam asked as his eyes came to rest on an assembly of strangely out of place items a few feet away.

A PLANET NEAR EPSILON ERIDANI, Michael said, which – okay, interesting, but not the point.

I meant this. Adam started walking towards the table set up in the middle of the field, complete with a white tablecloth and four chairs around it. The pale brown of the furniture and bright white of the cloth looked strangely alien in this environment. Is this the fabled restaurant at the end of the universe?

Michael brought out his projection to roll his eyes at him. DON'T BE SILLY.

A smile tugged on Adam's lips, but he didn't let it take over completely. Why not?

With a fond sigh, but no answer, Michael turned his projection towards the table.

WHAT YOU SEE BEFORE YOU IS THE SET-UP FOR A FEAST. He frowned. THE RATHER INCOMPLETE SET-UP, I'M AFRAID. YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LET ME TAKE OVER THE BODY FOR A BIT LATER SO I CAN SMITE MY BROTHER.

Your brother? What does Gabriel have to do with it?

WELL. I FIGURED THIS YEAR, WE COULD CELEBRATE YOUR BIRTHDAY TRADITIONALLY.

On an alien planet?

Michael huffed and rolled his eyes again, but then suddenly seemed shy.

WITH FAMILY, he said eventually.

“Surprise!” Gabriel took exactly that moment to pop up right before them, startling Adam so bad he would have fallen over if not for Michael's wings stabilizing him.

“Gabriel!” Raphael's voice came from between some bushes, their vessel's face poking out. “We were supposed to wait for the signal!”

“Well, it was getting boring. So. Ta-da! Whadda ya think?” Gabriel gestured towards the table while Raphael sighed and stepped out of the bushes to walk toward them.

“Um. It's nice?” Adam said uncertainly.

Next to him, Michael made his projection visible.

“You were supposed to prepare a feast!” he accused his brother, pointing angrily.

Now it was Gabriel's turn to roll his eyes. “Don't get your wings in a twist. Just 'cause you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there.”

With a snap of his fingers, the table was suddenly laid with silver cutlery, porcelain plates and so much food that Adam had trouble taking it all in. There were bottles on ice, too, and Gabriel pulled one out of a bucket to reveal it was champagne. After popping the cork out with his grace, he poured them each a glass.

“To the Feast of Saints Gabriel, Raphael and Michael!”

“That's not the correct order,” Michael complained, but it was half-hearted. His relationship with Gabriel was still a bit rocky, hundreds of years of bitterness and anger not simply forgotten or forgiven all that quickly. So Michael was, at least, always careful not to start a real fight. Occasional banter and indignation notwithstanding.

The champagne was refreshing and bubbly, and Adam wondered if it had more alcohol than usual or if being in a different atmosphere affected him, because he already felt a little drunk after just one sip.

“Right, I forgot it's not just Michael's day,” he said. In his youth, the pastor had mostly talked about St. Michael on this day. After all, there was a reason it was known as Michaelmas.

“It's not like we've ever celebrated it before,” Raphael said, eyeing the champagne in their glass critically. “Gabriel had to google what the day even means.”

“So?” Gabriel crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Humans come up with weird meanings for days all the time.”

“Well, the most important thing today is Adam's birthday”, Michael said.

Gabriel nodded. “So it's the Feast of Adam, Gabriel and company.”

Michael glared at him.

Instead of even acknowledging that, Gabriel just conjured up a bottle of orange juice and filled up their half-empty champagne glasses.

“To me and some guy from Windom, Minnesota!” he said cheerfully. “And also some other archangels or whatever.”

Michael sighed, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth getting into it, and he just raised his glass to Adam.

NOT JUST SOME GUY, he thought at Adam, keeping it private between them. MY GUY.

Once again, Adam barely tempered down his smile. The Feast of St. Michael's guy from Minnesota.

Michael smiled back at him. THE FEAST OF ST. MICHAEL'S GUY FROM MINNESOTA, AND THAT GUY'S SIBLINGS-IN-LAW.

“Something you guys wanna share with the class?” Gabriel asked sarcastically, looking between them.

Without ever breaking eye contact with Adam, Michael simply said: “No.”

“You don't wanna know, Gabe,” Adam added, also still looking fondly at Michael, his smile only growing bigger as he heard Gabriel pretend to gag.

Adam had never had a brother – not one who counted, anyway – but he thought maybe Gabriel could be that. Plus Raphael, the long-suffering middle child... Yeah. Maybe they were something like a family.

A family of mostly immortal beings having mimosas between the stars.

That might not be the most traditional birthday for a human, but Adam really hoped it could become a tradition for him.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (February 10)

On February 10, the Catholic Church remembers St. Scholastica, a nun who was the twin sister of St. Benedict of Nursia, the "Father of Monasticism" in Western Europe.

The siblings were born around 480 to a Roman noble family in Nursia, Italy.

Scholastica seems to have devoted herself to God from her earliest youth, as the account of Benedict's life by Pope Gregory the Great mentions that his sister was "dedicated from her infancy to Our Lord."

The twins' mother died at their birth. When Benedict was old enough, he left home to study in Rome, leaving Scholastica with her father to tend the Nursian estate.

In time, Benedict left his studies to live first as a hermit and then as the head of a community of monks in Italy.

When Scholastica learned of her brother's total dedication to the Lord, she was determined to follow his example.

It is not certain that she became a nun immediately, but it is generally supposed that she lived for some time in a community of pious virgins. 

Some biographers believe she eventually founded a monastery of nuns there.

The brother and sister communities were about five miles apart. St. Benedict seems to have directed his sister and her nuns, most likely in the practice of the same rule by which his own monks lived.

Unlike her brother, St. Scholastica was never the subject of a formal biography.

As such, little is known of her life apart from her commitment to religious life, which paralleled that of her brother.

Pope Gregory wrote that Scholastica used to come once a year to visit Benedict, at a house situated halfway between the two communities.

St. Benedict's biographer recounted a story, which was frequently told about the last such visit between the siblings.

They passed the time as usual in prayer and pious conversation, after which, Scholastica begged her brother to remain for the night, but he refused.

She then joined her hands together, laid them on the table, and bowed her head upon them in supplication to God.

When she lifted her head from the table, immediately there arose such a storm that neither Benedict nor his fellow monks could leave.

"Seeing that he could not return to his abbey because of such thunder and lightning and great abundance of rain," Pope Gregory wrote, "the man of God became sad and began to complain to his sister, saying, 'God forgive you, what have you done?'"

"'I wanted you to stay, and you wouldn't listen,' she answered. 'I have asked our good Lord, and He graciously granted my request, so if you can still depart, in God's name, return to your monastery, and leave me here alone.'"

St. Benedict had no choice but to stay and speak to his sister all night long about spiritual matters -- including the kingdom of heaven for which she would soon depart.

Three days later in the year 543, in a vision, Benedict saw the soul of his sister, departed from her body, and in the likeness of a dove, ascend into heaven.

He rejoiced with hymns and praise, giving thanks to God. His monks brought her body to his monastery and buried it in the grave that he had provided for himself.

St. Benedict followed her soon after and was buried in the same grave with his sister.

Scholastica is the patron saint of Benedictine nuns, education, and convulsive children. She is also invoked against storms and rain.

[firstaidspray]

OC Lookbook: Juliette Chrysler

Inspired by @glitter-and-gasoline I decided to do a lookbook for Juliette for each of her roles in the Kieferverse using this meiker. This was a really cute and fun idea!! I encourage all my mutuals to do this.

Edit: @roofgeese also said to tag if I did it soooo!!

Desert Saints

Out in the California desert (and any nearby destinations in a similar climate), Juliette accompanies Arthur on the job as partners in crime in a short pleated skirt, tank top, and sneakers. Casual, cool, and easy to put together while looking adorable. Arthur is a fan of this look as well, considering how much skin it shows. It sucks she had to throw out one of these outfits after her first meeting with him- that much blood was impossible to wash out.

24

Juliette also enjoys casual skirts and tanks outside of her work scrubs in this verse, but prefers a sleeker skirt and heeled boots to be a little more professional at CTU. Add in one of Jack's shirts, which he absolutely loves when she wears, and this is what you'll catch her in when she's not treating people at the CTU clinic. Jack isn't used to girls who dress so revealing and youthful, but he definitely loves it.

The Lost Boys

The meiker didn't have a jacket exactly like David's but we'll pretend it's longer and say it is David's. Juliette wears a lot darker colors and more red in this verse, because those are vampire colors, don't you know? When getting up to no good with the boys in Santa Carla, Juliette will sometimes steal David's jacket and wear it over corset-like tops and pleated skirts, plus combat boots.

Truth or Consequences, NM

Another verse taking place in the desert, Juliette cool, cute clothes. A shirt she grabbed stole from a gift shop on a road trip with Curtis, cute pleated skirt, and a pair of pink combat boots, as well as a pair of sunglasses not unlike her boyfriend's- the colors of the frames and lenses are reversed, though.

Flatliners

Juliette's story in Flatliners begins in November and December, so she wears warmer clothes here. Like close friend Rachel, she also wears skirts of a bit longer length. Turtleneck sweaters and cozy cardigans pair well with late night study sessions with Nelson, and helps keep them both warm.

Stand By Me

A more vintage look since this story takes place in the 60s. Taking one of Ace's button ups and cutting the shoulders and tying the ends up around her waist, she creates a cute top that he can't even complain about, because even if she did destroy his shirt, it looks so good on her he can't be mad. Paired with some jean shorts, knee high sporty socks, and sneakers gives her a cute look appropriate for the era.

The Last Days of Frankie the Fly

After getting with Joey, who is now abandoning his demeaning job as a director of adult films and using his film school knowledge to make real movies, Juliette starts to dress more like a star. A semi-transparent skirt, tall boots, and a corset make her fit right in as an aspiring Hollywood starlet in the 90s. She also stole Joey's jacket, but he's not complaining when she looks that cute.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

hanma x fem! reader where.. lets say he was ordered by kisaki to “take care” of her as she was causing some inconveniences for them.. but he decides to play around with her a bit and it turns into an nsfw 😖

*phew* yes I am in love with the IDEA of this man.

(Realistically, I'd probably *redacted* and then go home, but WE STAN SHUJI HANMA HERE)

Get Lost: Shuji Hanma x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.2k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

song recommendation:

"Have you ever been in love?"

The question catches you off guard and you look at the man sitting across from you as he drinks his whiskey.

"You're asking me if I've ever been in love?"

"Is it such a foreign question?" he replies, adjusting his glasses. "If you're uncomfortable with it, we can just move to another question."

"No." You shake your head. "It's not, I'm just... I've never thought about it. I don't think so. Have you?"

"Never," Shuji Hanma murmurs, tossing back the last of his drink and smiling at you slyly. "But I have fucked a lot of beautiful women in my day."

"Oh?" You sip on your wine and raise a brow. "But none of them were good enough to make you feel like you wanted to stay with them forever," you laugh. Shuji shrugs, looking out of the window at the passersby and humming.

"Beautiful evening," he mentions and you nod.

"It's been so dreary lately. I love it when the sky turns different colors and makes the evening look so artsy."

"Would you be willing to come over for a nightcap?" your date finally asks, and you laugh a little. "I'm not pushing for it, but I like you. You're cute."

"Sure," you reply. "You're cute, too."

_____________________________________________________________

While you're in the bathroom, Shuji is mixing two drinks - one that will kill you and another that will get him drunk enough to not flinch as he finishes you off. You emerge moments later, completely unaware of the hit placed on you at that very moment.

"Tell me," Shuji murmurs. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a detective," you answer as he comes around the couch and places the drinks in front of you. "I do investigations on criminal organizations in the city. What about you?"

"An executive. Just your regular corporate fellow." Shuji sits next to you and puts his arm on the back of the couch. "Why did you choose detective work?"

"Well..." You clear your throat. "My father used to be a cop before he was murdered by a mobster when I was twelve. My mother was also part of the police force as a forensic investigator. It's kind of in the family. Plus, I really empathize with a lot of the mobsters here. It makes sense why they do what they do. I just want to make sure no one gets hurt in the process."

"So, would you be a mobster if you could?"

"No way," you reply. "If I could be anything else... I'd be a youth social worker. Or maybe a teacher." You shrug, leaning down for the drink. Shuji jerks forward, knocking your hand aside and taking the drink off of the coffee table.

"Ugh, something was floating in that," he complains, taking it to his sink and tossing it down the drain. "Sorry."

"I should probably stop drinking anyways. Just another sign from the hangover gods!" Shuji rejoins you back on the couch, giving you a small smile before sliding his tattooed hand over to yours. When he pulls you closer to him, you already know the game plan: he's going to kiss you, you're going to have sex, and then you'll never hear from him again. The usual.

Shuji's fingers slide across your cheek as presses his soft lips against yours, removing his glasses and tossing them on the coffee table. You lean into the kiss fully, hands coming up to his dress shirt and tugging slightly. "Climb into my lap," he murmurs between kisses, tongue swiping against yours. You do so and feel his hard-on raging against the seams of his slacks as you grind on top of him, which makes you a little more confident than before. But the confidence is soon stripped away as Shuji's hand grips your neck, thumbing the junction between your collarbone and throat.

"I'm going to fuck you. Afterward, you're going to leave. You'll resign from your job in Tokyo and get lost, and I better never see you again in these streets. The alternative isn't so pretty, but you're a smart girl." Your pulse quickens and you take stock of what his words mean as you swallow hard.

"But--" The grip on your neck tightens as he mutters:

"The alternative isn't pretty."

Soon, you're on your knees on the bed, mind swirling with thoughts about Shuji's words between the thoughts about how much of his thick cock would actually fit inside of you. It had barely fit inside of your mouth, but here you are...

"Ready?" You nod, and his cockhead presses at your wet entrance, trying to find a way inside. "Hips up." Your hips lift, and large hands part your legs more before the cock catches on your opening and slides inside.

"Shuji!" Your exclamation is accompanied by your head lifting, but Shuji presses it back to the bed, orange eyes wild.

"Take it. Take it all."

You can't do anything else as he fucks you stupid, pumping into your relentlessly and making you quiver with ecstasy. It's practically a sin how Shuji has you worked around his cock, pussy gripping him even as he pulls back.

"God, this looks so beautiful. Gonna just..." You try to angle your head so you can see what Shuji is doing, but you can barely make out his finger sliding into his mouth and then approaching your ass. The fat finger - it's his thumb - presses into your puckered hole and you groan loudly, tightening around the digit as your body is sent into a state of semi-overstimulation. Then the fingers on your clit begin rubbing away and you wail loudly, the sounds of Shuji fucking you sure to echo in his home.

Your body fights the urge to surrender for a good five minutes before you can't hold back, fingers and toes curling as Shuji pushes you to your limit. He laughs behind you, deriving pleasure from the way you sink into the mattress as you cum, the way you whisper his name over and over again, the way you forget that he's not your friend - he's your fucking enemy.

It drags him to his own end, which is bittersweet for him as he cums inside of your tight cunt. He wanted to play with you for hours - you were so much fun - but he had to send you on your way. Kisaki would be calling him at any minute to ask if you'd been taken care of, and he wanted to be clean and ready for bed by that time.

"Get dressed." Clothes are dumped onto your limp body and you try your best to pull on your items before hurrying to the door. "Don't let me catch you around this city, understand?" You nod, pushing your hair away from your face and closing the door behind you.

Shuji cleans up the apartment and steps into the shower, frowning a little at how pliant you had been. Did he want you to want to stay? To want more of him? To be defiant and fight him? Shouldn't you have wanted those things?

It's only when he's finished showering that he checks the GPS tracker he dropped into your purse, watching the purple dot speed onto the highway.

And he knows it's only of matter of time before he pays you another visit. If you didn't want more of him now, you would soon.

[minetteskvareninova]

How much of Hatice and Şah’s preference for Mustafa over his siblings is due to him being the only one whose mother is not Hürrem and how much of it is them genuinely liking him more (maybe because of him being the first one whom they spent the most time with in their youth)?

Hon, I know I am famous for my telepathic abilities (my most famous insight probably being Süleyman's drama kink), but for real tho. You are asking me to divine things which aren't cannon, because as far as I can tell (if someone else knows better, feel free to correct me!) the writers just flat out didn't bother with asking themselves these questions. There is no watsonian explanation for this whatsoever, at least no cannon one. The doylist explanation is twofold - the need to make them Hürrem's antagonists at any cost, and Saint Mustafa syndrome.

Now, if I MUST answer the question at any cost, even using telepathy, I would say they just get along better with Mahidevran and thus support Mustafa more as a result? I don't know, with the exception of that one time Şah almost got Bayezit executed (which, God was that weird and out-of-character - although it's possible she did think she could protect Bayezit himself, somehow) they seem to get along with them fine. They kinda dislike Mihrimah, but then, so do I. It's not explicitly stated, but it's possible Esme complained about her, hence the whole "she's her mother's daughter thing". It makes more sense than distrusting her on principle, at least. Anyway, their favouritism of Mustafa is less significant than the one Fatma holds later anyway, and God only knows what runs trough HER head...

[acrossthewavesoftime]

I cannot help complaining of my midshipman Being taken from me at boston as captn [Broderick] Hartwell had no [Ri]te to demand him, for he was my proper one, he got himself dischargd out of the Boyne into this schooner by choice, and perfectly satisfied, untill I told him of his neglect of Duty at Annapolis Royal, when by his not turning out in his watch at four in the morning, I lost my boatswain and four men, and at such a time as that when I did not know when I shoud fall inn with the pirate [Jeremiah] Obrien, it was Enough to Vex any officer that had any Regard for his Caracter, and I think if every midshipman is indulged to go to what Ship the[y] please when the[y] think them selves a grieved, it was more than ever I coud do when I was in that station-- (NDAR vol. 2 p. 186)

I think I've shared this one before, but this is one of my favourite midshipmen-related sources I have found so far.

The letter, dated 3 October 1775, written by Lieutenant John Graves, commander of the schooner Saint Lawrence to Admiral Samuel Graves.

While the letter is, strictly speaking, supposed to be a professional account of the Saint Lawrence's latest observations, it quickly veers into the personal, given admiral and lieutenant are uncle and nephew.

Rather charmingly, John has a near-poetic moment reflecting upon the beauty of unripe oranges hanging in the trees before he goes on about a troublesome midshipman, speaking his mind a little more frankly than one would perhaps deem professional; John however clearly writing as much to his uncle as he is writing to his boss, is delightfully straightforward and proof that some things never change.

It seems to be a tale as old as time; according to previous generations, the 'youth of today (whatever 'today' may be, given its apparently historically universal relevance)' always has had it a lot easier in life, yet can't be trusted with responsibilities and acts petulantly when being confronted with a mistake.

Not buying into this staple complaint of one generation against the other, younger one, I really wanted to know more about the young man in question and the incident that sparked his falling out with his commanding officer, yet sadly, the midshipman so far remains anonymous.

What else strikes me is that not showing up for your watch is no peccadillo, even more so when five people obviously managed to abscond during that time, and yet, John, as far as he discloses, seems to have deemed a stern talking-to sufficient punishment.

At Boston, Hartwell, on request of the midshipman it seems, pulled rank on John and managed to get the young man back into HMS Boyne. As far as I know, Uncle Graves and Hartwell were on good terms and liked each other, so I don't suppose the enraged nephew could have expected receiving Mr. Midshipman Sleepy back on board.

[confused-as-all-hell]

Dearest aria,

it is currently 12 in the afternoon and despite it being October, I'm dying out of heat here, I live in a tropical country so I can tolerate it and yet I complain that winter isn't coming everyday

I came to ask that how are you doing, if you're fine or not and if you're too burdened with work or anything and mostly, I hope you're fine and not burdened because I would hate to see my friend distressed

Speaking of friend, which I hope you consider me one of yours, even though, we barely ever talk.

And mostly I wanted to let you know how often I'm reminded of you and how often you haunt my mind, I sometimes stand outside in my balcony when there's a storm and I live besides a big forest and the way that the trees move when there's heavy wind and the way that I can see past the trees but not quite because it gets dark, reminds me of you everytime, we have a ceremic teacup set that has a sunflower on every cup and it reminds me of you, I pick up my green velvet gown and it reminds me of you, I look at the sun, I cut pomegranates for my mother, I talk to the clouds and everytime I polish my daggers, I'm reminded of you

And I don't mind being haunted by you because I'm always haunted by everyone and you're the most peaceful one by so far

And I hope to let you know that I started writing because of you, my writing is nothing, burned, bitter and lonely compared to yours but I started writing because of your light, because of how you write

I started writing because you make writing look so easy, so sweet and serene, so silver-toned, bell-like and honeyed

Your writing makes my worst days better and my best days even better, god, I hope you never take your pen off of your paper

God, how I love you and your golden pen from which you write from

I started writing because I got the inspiration and it was you who delivered it to me, not any big authors, not any of those writers that people talk about on a daily, not the first writer that I read about.

you did it, aria, because for me, you're my favourite writer and you will always remain to be.

And I will go now, I don't want to disturb you as I said what I had to.

The nightmarish lady who lives upstairs as my little cousin calls me,

Taba.

lovely taba,

do not leave so quickly, in your haste. will you not sit at my table and take tea?

it is four in the afternoon here, and autumn is sprawled over the earth, all curling crimson hair and pale graceful limbs. she slumbers within her cage of cold. sometimes i miss her. sometimes i long for snow.

a lover is a dangerous thing, and autumn is more dangerous than most. she never lingers long.

i am well. i am always well. i am young and mortal and lush, and there is no elixir sweeter than youth. these days, the hours stretch long and blur, and i am a tangle of spilling laughter on my bedroom floor. i want to tell you about this, the awkward sprawl of limbs and the ache of joy in your chest.

i'll tell you a secret too:

some days, i think i don't deserve it.

some days, i feel as though i should be making up every drop of my laughter with a traded tear.

(you need never fear you are not my friend. i love you.)

little cause have i to be loved by you so, however. my love, i am no saint. i am only a girl.

(i do not know. perhaps they are the same thing. perhaps they are not.)

but you?

a friend likes to say i write as though i have lived through every slender frame of time. if this is true, i've never met the likes of you before.

you remind me of a storm. you remind me of chaos. you remind me of furious, flashing life. nothing so soft and shy as a rainfall or fogged day. something alive.

and maybe this is foolish of me, but i think perhaps we are supposed to live.

lizzie has never thought of fate, and lyra imagines it as a future laid out, but what is fate if not a feeling? what is fate if not the hope it is? i might be carved an artist, a poet; in an heirloom life, i might have been a girl in a pale dress, still writing, still in love.

in your lives, i think you've been a storm.

taba, my lovely taba, do not leave so quick. linger. lay your coat in the closet, and come for tea. we can leave flowers in the thin pale cup and play at being gods.

you are a god.

and you are mine.

with love,

aria

[sollannaart]

Answers to the “Favourite Historical Figure: Ask Game”

About prince Józef Poniatowski, of course ;)

Because @josefavomjaaga and @tairin​ asked me kinda similar questions (4, 6 and 10 and 6 and 15) I decided to answer to both in one post.

And because I am a “perfectionist” and I like to illustrate my posts with images, it took me some time to prepare everything, that is why I am answering only now.

As for illustrations chosen - this time all of them are made by the Polish painter Bronisław Gembarzewski.

4. In your eyes, what is their biggest strength?

A little bit difficult question to answer, I have to admit. Because nowadays prince Józef is usually liked for his patriotism, and his contemporaries noted in him such virtues as kindness and braveness. (And for this he was especially loved by him inferiors - by soldiers.)

The feature of prince Józef’s character which, however, appeal to me most of all is his self-criticism. Because - judging by the correspondence, memoires about him etc which was left - if Poniatowski didn’t know something he would openly admit it. And never was prince Poniatowski arrogant, at meetings of the Council of Ministers, as Kajetan Koźmian recalled, when asked for opinion, he almost always started with these words: "I in my stupid sense think...", though the things with which prince Józef proceeded then were usually precise and clear.

Prince Józef’s in his study in Jabłonna palace.

6. In your opinion, what is their biggest flaw?

Oh, this one will be a little bit easy to answer. In his lifetime, especially before 1809, prince Józef was often accused of being too frivolous, of leading a life too merry, but from my point of view this is a kind of “features”, not flaws.

What really, in my opinion, might have bad influence on his life is that he, being a military commander, was often too indulgent towards those inferiors of him with whom he was in good terms. Remember, in one of the previous posts I wrote that after creation of the Duchy of Warsaw a lot of youth from the  “Blacha’s people” joined the Army? Thus automatically becoming Poniatowski’s subordinates. And he continued with them like nothing happened, like the were still only friends of him. (In the case, for example, of jumping naked around the fire in 1809, about which general Fiszer complained, no one, in fact, was punished.)

Infantry regiment review in the courtyard of the palace "Pod Blachą".

10. What is your favourite quote by / about them?

Oh, to this one it will also be interesting to answer. The first phrase, which can into my mind, was Napoleon’s sentence from Saint-Helene, that “Poniatowski was the man which should have been made the king of Poland”. But knowing prince Józef’s reluctance this is not the case.

The second variant was a phrase attributed to him, supposedly pronounced just before his death: “God has entrusted me with the honor of the Poles, to him only I will only give it” (”Bóg mi powierzył honor Polaków, Bogu go tylko oddam”). But modern historians have a lot of doubts whether Poniatowski in fact said something like this, so this looks like to be a legend.

But there is another phrase, also attributed to prince Józef at Leipzig, it is shorter and it sounds much more probable - “Il faut mourir en brave” (We must die brave, one must die brave), and this is the quote I like most all.

The death of prince Józef in the battle of Nation at Leipzig

15.  Describe them in one sentence

This, finally, will be very easy, because this kind of “slogan” came into my mind a couple of month ago, during a chat with one of my virtual friends, and is stuck there since then. “He wasn’t quick at setting his mind, but having set was faithful till the end.” Or just “faithful till the end”.

Prince Joseph gives the order to attack in the battle of Raszyn

And thanks a lot for asking!

[josefavomjaaga]

These are excerpts from »Mein Verhältnis zum Herzog von Reichstadt« by Ritter Anton Prokesch von Osten. This gentleman, fifteen years older than Franz von Reichstadt and apparently a bit of an adventurer but with excellent diplomatic skills, had made a name for himself in fighting for the unification of Greece and in the Levante, services for which he had recently been knighted. He had also, already in his youth, written several books full of appraisal for Napoleon, one about the battle of Waterloo. Recently returned to Austria, he was staying in Graz in June 1830, when he first made the acquaintance of the Duke of Reichstadt:

At that time the court also went there and on the 22nd I had the honour of being called to the imperial table. I sat opposite the Empress and had the Duke of Reichstadt, who sat opposite the Emperor, at my side. […]

Okay, let’s just stop here already for a second. So, at this official court event Franz sits

at the family table

and vis-à-vis his grandfather the Emperor (a place of honour).

This does not sound like isolation or mistreatment to me. In a letter to Austrian politician Gentz Prokesch even mentions that the evening before, when the emperor and his family appeared at the theater, the Duke of Reichstadt had been greeted by some with shouts of »Vivat Napoleon«. And this, as Prokesch states, »quite innocently«, i.e., without giving it much thought. Apparently nobody bothered about political implications.

During the imperial dinner that Prokesch was invited to, he did not have much occasion to chat with Franz, for once because arch-duke Johann talked too much, but also because Franz definitely held back at this public occasion and was not very approachable. He did shake Prokesch’s hand however, when Prokesch took his leave, and told him that he had known him for a long time already (i.e., that he had read his books).

On the morning after this day, Count Moritz Dietrichstein, who had been entrusted with the Duke's education, and a man who had been well-disposed towards me from the time when I had been carried by the favour of the House of Prince Schwarzenberg, came to me in order to renew the complaint he had already levelled at me yesterday, namely that, although I had been in the same city with the Duke for a week, I had neglected him. He invited me to go straight to him.

So, let’s recapitulate: The evil obusive reactionary instructor himself calls upon a known admirer of Napoleon in order to get him to make the acquaintance of his student.

I followed him with pleasure. When I entered, the Duke, a different man in his bearing from the day before, met me with all the swiftness of youth and with an expression full of confidence and warmth. Repeating the words of yesterday, he said: "I have known you and loved you for a long time. You have defended my father's honour at a time when all was racing to scorn him. I have read your Battle of Waterloo and, in order to absorb every line in it, I have translated it twice into other languages, into French and Italian." I answered what the desire to captivate the handsome young man, so unique in the world, made me say. Count Dietrichstein first brought the conversation to Greece. Full of best wishes for this country now called to its own life, I had already expressed the opinion yesterday, after the imperial dinner, that despite the evils arising from war, lawlessness, factionalism and misgovernment, Greece would quickly blossom into a happy future if a European prince was given to it as king and if it were not governed with diplomatic half-measures. To the Archduke Johann, to Count Moritz [i.e. Dietrichstein], to the principal of the Archduchess Marie Luise, to Colonel von Werklein, I had, at a moment when the Duke was otherwise engaged, suggested that the Greek throne, which had lacked a claimant since the rejection of the Prince of Coburg, could be given to no one more worthy than the son of Napoleon, and to my surprise this suggestion had met with applause. Even the Empress, who had come to us during this conversation, did not seem averse to it. [...]

Now Count Dietrichstein turned the conversation onto Napoleon.

Again: It is Dietrichstein himself who brings in the alleged hot potato. And apparently, Franz has no fear to talk about the topic in his governor’s presence:

The Duke spoke in great excitement. - The warmest admiration for his father, the most passionate attachment was in the Duke's every word. But he dwelt chiefly on the latter's military talents. To train himself as a general according to this pattern was something he was passionate about down to his fingertips. We discussed several of his manoeuvres, for example that of Austerlitz. I was amazed at the Prince's strategic judgement and the firmness of his expression. Among all the officers and generals present in Graz at that time, there was certainly not one with such a sharp military eye and so resolute a disposition towards the commander. He came back to my Battle of Waterloo, but also to my "Memories from the Life of Field Marshal Prince Karl zu Schwarzenberg". The Duke discussed these with a tact that surprised me. He then complained about his loneliness and burst into the words: "Stay with me! Make the sacrifice of your future, stay with me! We, we would understand each other!" He spoke this with a warmth that penetrated my heart. Then he continued: "If it is my destiny to become a Prince Eugene for Austria, I ask myself how to train myself for this role? I have to choose a man who can introduce me to the higher demands and tasks of war; I have and see no such man in my surroundings." Count Dietrichstein witnessed this statement and seemed to find it natural and approve of it.

Dietrichstein then leaves the two to themselves for a while, and Franz noticeably opens up even more and talks about his present situation at court and his plans for the future.

"[...] If it is my doom never to return to France, I am serious about my desire to become another Prince Eugene for Austria. I love my grandfather - I am a piece of his house and will gladly draw the sword for Austria against anyone but France." He laid down these words like a confession in my soul, and so I took them.

A bit later, Prokesch repeats how close the relationship between Reichstadt and his grandfather was:

[...] He loved his grandfather with the love of a child, for from the day he was brought to Vienna he had found in him the tenderness of a father. At that time he was given a playground in the emperor's rooms - did not leave his side for half a day, ate with him when the emperor ate alone, shared his stays in the country with him and grew up with him like a branch grafted onto a foreign trunk. He told me this, but added: that he would not forget for a moment who he was born and where his father was decaying. […]

Again – this does not sound like »isolation« to me.

Out of interest to those who are familiar with the books by Aubry and Castelot: How do they treat these informations? I understand Prokesch is generally accepted as one of Reichstadt's true friends? Or is there reason to question the truth of his statements?

I guess what I'm trying to say is: Let's be fair and hear both sides before jumping to conclusions. Just because Dietrichstein was – by modern standards – a horrible pedagogue does not mean he was automatically wrong in his assessment of Franz’s character traits. Proksch actually seems to confirm some of it. Just because »l’Aiglon« had a tragic fate does not mean he was automatically a saint.