#Events and Celebrations are Glorified

[qubexprovizag]

Well Furnished Office Space For Lease | Qubexpro Business Centre

Being a business owner, it is inevitable for you to want to rent or buy an office of your own whether your business demands one or not. However, it is important for you to take a handful of factors into consideration before you set up shop.

Look Into These Aspects Before Doing It Up

Space Management is Imperative

The first and foremost aspect of planning to set up an office is utilizing the amount of space that you have to the fullest. Prioritizing necessities over wants should do the trick. Take out a few hours of your time and list down the furniture, gadgets, and other important things that your office should see. Do your homework on the various kinds of smart furniture that you can implement in your office, in order to avoid congestion.

Invest in Your Employees!

Just like you prefer a comfortable work environment, similarly do your employees. In order to help maintain employee morale it is important to plow money into those aspects of your office that ensure the comfort of your team. Investing in ergonomically correct products that are also long-lasting may seem monetarily extravagant, but is definitely a good bargain for the longer run. Apart from being an advantageous investment, it will also make your employees feel important to your organization. Offering poor quality furniture for them to use can cause a damper in making them feel that they are needed by the company.

A Clear Picture for Better Judgement!

Your office should represent you and your business. It should project your ideas, your vision, and any other of your professional concepts. If you can represent a part of your business with the right décor and furnishings, it can be truly captivating and can help people understand your way of thinking better. For example, if you’re an interior designer, you may want to set up your office according to a trend that you strongly believe in.

As They Say- “Peace is Always Beautiful”!

The majority of people today have issues apart from work-related stress that demands them to reach certain targets. Some may have relationship issues, the pressure of household chores, unfavorable ways of commuting, etc. With all the hustle that the world sees today, it is important for a business owner to make life as easy as possible for his team at work. Also, since one spends a decent share of their day at their workplace, it is fair for them to desire a comfortable and peaceful environment. A serene surrounding is always a great motivating factor for employees to get on board, be methodical and stay for long in your company.

Make Your Office a Tech-Savvy One!

Technological support is very important in today’s world in almost every field. Depending on your business, it is necessary to implement the right technology. Note down the products that may come in handy for your firm and work towards implementing the same in your office. For example, if you own an IT firm, the right kind of commercial equipment that utilizes electricity efficiently is advised for you to consider before making a purchase. Do check for the warranty and quality of the product you plan on buying eventually.

Go paperless!

With global warming taking a major toll on the environment, our number-one priority should be to go digital! Apart from that, it is undoubtedly a better way of maintaining records and keeping track of things. So, even if you are far away from needing technological equipment similar in number to that of an IT firm, it is still a great idea to avoid using too much paper, which is when gadgets come into play.

If you’re looking at renting an office space, brands that are hesitant about a change can hamper your idea of a perfect office, which is not something that anybody wants when looking at investing in something for the long run. Choose a brand that customizes its space for it to look and feel like your own!

Get Your Office Today:

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[mini-uzzy]

I Hate Valentines Day And It's Obnoxious Romantic Love Centered Culture So Much Have A Nice Regular Day 💖

[httpsserene]

kinktober '23 table of contents

welcome to serene's f1 kinktober special! i do not know how many posts i will be doing for this event, but, reblog and save this masterlist for any updates concerning my f1 kinktober.

posts will be tagged with: # httpss :// kinktober 23

view playlist? ↴

upload 1 : charles leclerc / max verstappen x reader | corruption kink

innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things.

upload 2 : carlos sainz jr x reader | were/wolf shifter & predator/prey

for all people believe that werewolves are dangerous creatures, your wolf is pretty tame, even with some of his...quirks. this halloween you let him be the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood, while you give out candy to trick-or-treaters. what he doesn't know, is that you have your own trick-or treat planned for him after this– you're his treat tonight, but he's going to have to chase you first.

upload 3 : oscar piastri x reader | car sex & squirting

your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren.

upload 4 : daniel ricciardo / max verstappen x reader | overstimulation

you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you...pleasurably. and then winter break comes around, and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind.

upload 5 : lewis hamilton x reader | tender sex & cockwarming

your husband comes home to his monaco apartment after achieving p2 in spain. from the texts you sent him before he boarded his flight, he expected you to be awake when he arrived. however, you’ve fallen asleep–but that’s not a problem. he’ll sneak into bed right next to you and catch a few extra hours of sleep. you’ll commemorate the podium come morning.

upload 6 : george russell x reader | vampire & hickeys/biting

george has created a serious problem. you two have been dating for over three years, and he fed from you the first time about three months ago. the problem lies within the fact that he conditioned you to orgasm every time he used you as his glorified high-class wine bottle. on second thought, that’s a pretty good problem to have; his thirst is sated, and yours is as well.

upload 7 : pierre gasly x reader | witchcraft

witch!reader and potions master!pierre run a shop to fulfill anyone’s magical needs. it’s nearing valentine’s day, and the shop is bombarded with desperate humans looking for love charms & potions, even though there’s no magic spell strong enough to replicate true love. oddly, news travels from a few villages over that there’s a potions master who managed to make a real love potion. pierre has to get his hands on it—for the bit, obviously. there’s no way it will work.

upload 8 : lando norris x reader | pussy worship

if lando achieved a podium at silverstone, you promised you’d give him anything he wants. he thinks about it the whole race weekend, and when the two of you are celebrating his second-place finish, he tells you that he wants to take care of you. you’re disbelieving–he takes care of you every waking hour. lando, on the other hand, said that with his chest. and he’ll prove it to you.

upload 9 : charles leclerc x reader | orgasm delay/denial

the 2023 season has had a despicable effect on charles’ self-worth. it pains you to see how he attributes ferrari’s failure to deliver to himself. you can’t stand to see him berate himself for things that are out of his control. when the emilia-romagna grand prix is understandably canceled, you start forming a plan. if charles doesn’t believe he’s as good as you say he is, you’ll make him internalize it–using any means necessary.

upload 10 : yuki tsunoda x reader | ab-riding/frottage

your mental state is suffering–you’re not sure if you can handle alphatauri posting another thirst trap of your boyfriend to disguise their inability to build a car that doesn’t break within the first ten laps. but, when yuki posts his own half-naked picture on main? he’s asking for it, at this point. clearly, he’s been spending too much time with pierre.

© httpsserene 2023

[princesssmars]

i'd love just about anyone, so why was it you?

a victoria neuman x reader

your talent for singing is finally starting to take you places in the city of lights. so why did it have to introduce you to a woman who might ruin it all?

wc : 10.248

contains : fxf relationship. readers hair and skin aren't described. fluff. angst.nsfw including sex and language. the french. barely proof-read.

a/n : i cant believe there are no fics for this fine ass woman yet but i am nothing but a pioneer idk. in my daydreams this was like mafia au victoria but i literally never write or dream of those so i opted out lmao. go watch gen v. everyone always talks about how good the cover is but nonante-cinq by angele is a beautiful album so i recommend listening to that for french vibes. enjoy <3

it was the most stereotypical and overplayed song ever, but damn did you love la vie en rose.

just the concept of the song was romantic to you. to live every day like it would be magnificent, like you could know a day would be your last and look back at it and not regret a single thing. it meant looking at the world with a positivity that these days was mostly faked or artificial.

after the life you've lived, the things you've seen firsthand, you need that positive light in your life more than anything else. especially right now, as your manager is hounding you over the phone about your next gig.

now you loved your manager, nancy, you really did. she took you in and was honest when no one else would be, stood by you when no one else wanted to give you a real chance. but sometimes it felt like she didn't really believe in you. obviously, she believed you had talent, or else she would have 'left you in the dust for the rats to pick apart,' in her own words. it was almost like she couldn't fathom that what you had was real, like you didn't truly deserve all the things that were coming to you.

but as long as you were paying her, she didn't bother to speak up on it.

you were listening to her drone on and on into the speaker from your phone, holding the object up to your ear with one hand as you hold a menu to order something from the cafe waitress who's waiting beside you.

"ill have an uhhhh... le marie antoinette, and a coffee with sugar and cream please," you hand the menu to the waitress after she writes down your order, heading back into the cafe with a smile. this cafe was one of your favorites, nestled below an apartment building in one of the inner city arrondissements so you could sit outside beneath an umbrella and admire the city before you. "nancy, i don't see why i can't just...politely turn it down? it sounds like it's a glorified pin-up girl gig, le bellevilloise is offering for me to sing there exclusively for three months-"

"no, that's what im trying to tell you if you'd let me finish." you can hear nancy's telltale sigh through the phone. she had a short temper when she was stressed, something you sadly had in common, and you could hear her clicking a pen through the receiver. "this is an international gala slash fundraiser, attended by the one percent of the one percent. billionaires, senators, diplomats, everything. the event organizer asked for you specifically, so turning it down is a bad look. aka, you're doing it. go out and get a pretty dress. ill send you more details later."

the phone shut off and you let out a huff of air, crossing your right leg over your left beneath the table. once you have your meal and bite into your pastry you can't help but close your eyes at how good it tastes; the combination of the crunch of the macarons, the near-overwhelming sweetness of the cream, and the savory juice that leaks from the raspberries never gets old.

you don't know how you feel about this whole gala thing. sure its a great way to make connections and earn a fat stack of cash that will probably last you few weeks, but you've learned before that the people that you most admire, celebrities, politicians, even superheroes, can't be trusted. and being in a room full of them to perform wasn't at the top of your christmas wish list.

but like everyone else in the world, you were finding money hard to pass up on. just by the lowball nancy told you, you'd be able to comfortably pay the next month's rent and fix up your electric scooter, maybe even enough to save up for that beautiful flat you saw online with the grand windows and nice floor plan.

it'd only be a few hours of singing and kissing up to a bunch of snobs and you'd be done. easy peasy.

finding a dress wasn't to hard. your modeling connections from before you started to focus on singing gave you access to a few, good quality clearance pieces for your picking. you figure that the people you were performing for would prefer something classy and elegant, so you picked out a sleeveless black dress with black opera gloves, accessorized by a diamond necklace and earrings. one of your stylist friends, alex, who you asked to help do up your hair told you 'you're definitely gonna shag a rich man looking like this, just ask them if they have any friends for me!' and after a quick 'please don't wish that upon me' and a spritz of perfume you were ready.

the hours before you got on stage were nothing short of both nerve-racking but exhilarating. you rode in a standard taxi, your slight jitters noticed by the slightly balding man in the front. he eyes you pretty oddly when you got in the car before using you if you were a model, telling you that his daughter would like an autograph if you were. you felt slightly flustered when you had to tell him you weren't, but gave him some tips to tell his daughter if she wanted to pursue it. after around twenty minutes of driving through the city the car stops and you're escorted by a crew member into a grand building, those types you pass by and dream of getting the chance just to step into.

after that its a rush of meeting the event planner who gives you another run down of the evening and then meeting with the band members, a nice group of jazz players who you had heard about on the news for their blends of old and new methods of performing music. they played you a piece on their instruments in their dressing room, and it felt like hanging out with old friends listening to tunes as one twirled you around and the others laughed and the air felt warm and fuzzy.

later its time for your set, where you'll sing as the guests come in and take occasional breaks to save your breath and let whoever is hosting this talk. so you get up on your mini stage, make sure you look alright and you're in tune with the band, and then you do what you do best.

you've never felt better than how you do while you sing. every time you do so you tell a story, tales of success and tragedy and love and heartache. while you sing your favorite thing to do is to admire the crowd. when you were younger it gave you horrible stage fright, but as you grew up and saw just how much people loved your voice it made you confident, if not the tiniest bit narcissistic.

as you look out at the guests of tonight you see what's expected. important and powerful men donned in suits, their wives standing on their arms in glamourous gowns, you swear that you even see some fairly famous celebs in the mix, and they were all listening intently to you and your voice.

and that's when you saw her. near the back of the room with a glass of red wine in her hand, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, and darker eyes trained on you. in this profession you get used to people staring at you for hours on end, but something about this woman unnerves you slightly.

a short while later your set is over and after a round of applause the organizer tells you to enjoy yourselves, and that you're free to indulge in whatever food is left. after a brief touch-up in the dressing room and making sure you look presentable, you head out to get yourself something to eat. you keep getting stopped by people telling you how beautiful your performance was, how they'd love to get in contact with your agent to book you for future events, and your regular dose of creepy old guys hitting on you. but besides that things were going pretty well.

some servers were waking around with trays of champagne, but you figured since everything was complimentary you would treat yourself to something stronger. you head to the bar and order yourself a strong cocktail, and as soon as you finish your order a figure sits on the stool next to yours.

"get me a scotch on the rocks, thanks."

you glance at them from the corner of your eye and feel your heart beat faster when you see

it's the woman from before. from this close distance, you can admire her entirely, and god is she gorgeous. she looks so put together, not a hair out of place, and wearing a perfectly tailored suit that makes you guess she's some kind of wealthy businesswoman.

after not so secretly checking her out, she turns her body towards you and looks at you with a smile.

"im sure you already know, but you have an enchanting voice."

you look down bashfully, thinking the same about her. she speaks like she's so sure of what she's saying like there's no room for debate or argument.

"thank you. no matter if i know or not, it doesn't take much to make me a little nervous every time i perform."

the bartender brings over both of your drinks and she tilts hers to you.

"trust me, theres no need. you're nothing but a natural, one of the best singers i've ever heard."

"ah, now you're exaggerating. is there a reason you're complimenting me like you're being paid to do so?"

she shakes her head, setting down her glass of liquor with a clink. "not anything nefarious, if that's what you're thinking. just glad i get to talk to a beautifully talented woman."

jeez, she was laying it on thick. normally this was coming from some fifty-year-old man with greasy skin and weird teeth, but it felt nice coming from her. she was obviously gorgeous, leaving her body language open in case you wanted to decline and she would walk away in a moment's notice.

"im glad i get to talk to you too, miss?"

"victoria. its a pleasure to talk to you, miss y/n."

for around an hour or two the both of you sat at that bar, blocking out the fake laughs of investors and boisterous noises of people who got a little too friendly with the free champagne. she was so attentive to you. asking about what got you into singing and what brought you to paris by your non-native accent. you normally kept the finer details of your past a close-guarded secret, but you figured there couldn't come any harm from telling this attractive stranger a few things about yourself before never seeing her again.

"you're telling me at only sixteen years old, you flew to paris by yourself and made a living for yourself? you've got balls on you, sister."

"yeah yeah, but im nothing special. i just got tired of all the bullshit in the u.s., y'know? the greed, the cynicism, the-"

"superhero bullshit?"

you giggled while she smirked, observing your smile and how it made your eyes squinch.

"well i wouldn't put it like that but...superheros? really? its just, they make it so american, in a really really annoying way. i just couldn't deal with that being a reality. and where better than paris? it seems like voughts all but forgotten about it recently, thank god.”

"i understand. and i know we just met, but it does suit you. 'beautiful runaway finds passion, life, and love in the city of lights'. best cliche there is."

"and what a damn good cliche it is to be. although i haven't been that lucky on the love front."

her eyebrow raises and her nail traces around the rim of her glass.

"im sorry but i simply cant believe that. someone like you would have people lining up for a chance to talk to you, let alone date you."

you dryly chuckle before taking another long swig of your glass of champagne, dancing just on the edge of being intoxicated. you understood why everyone else was drinking this, it was sweet but strong.

"people have tried, of course. but sadly most of my escapades end in tragedy. very melodramatically. but enough about me, I'm guessing this isn't gonna go my way and you have someone waiting for you at home?"

"im offended you still think so low of me. but no, there was someone but it didn't work out. now its just me and my daughter."

god, she was a milf. if there was a god you prayed he would let you get lucky tonight.

"well, im sorry to hear it didnt work out."

"are you really?"

she looks at you with a smirk on her face.

"no, im not."

that was all she needed to ask you to come back with her to her hotel.

and not just any hotel, she was rich enough to be spending two weeks in the damn ritz. asking again what she did for a living didn't get you very far, the only hint you got being that it helped her change the world. ominous but whatever. it had to be legitimate if she was invited to that gala.

the cautious and common sense side of you is snuffed out for the night the moment she set her hand over the covered skin of your thigh in the car, the feeling of her hand on your lower back leading you through the pristine lobby of the hotel, that same hand helping you take off your dress and take you apart slowly over the rest of the night.

when you wake up the sun is peeking through the curtains, the softness of the sheets your laying on calling you back to sleep before you get up and look around.

you only got a few seconds to admire the room last night before victoria was on you, and now in the light of day you could truly take everything in. you find a note left by the woman, letting you know she had to leave temporarily for an important job thing and that she'd be back my lunch, inviting you to call up room service and enjoy the room intil then.

you were expecting for her to tell you to pack your shit up and go, so despite the oddness this was a nice surprise. besides, there was no way you were gonna pass up on ordering a five-star breakfast you didnt have to pay for.

after indulging in a meal brought by room service and finding ways to pass the time, you text your manager after she happily lets you know that your night was a success and that your payment should be cleared shortly. while you're in the middle of wondering if you should answer her query about the host wondering where you wandered off to last night, the sound of a door opening makes your head jerk towards the small entry area, victoria coming in through the doorway dressed in a tan suit and carrying a large black briefcase on her arm.

"ah, youre still here!,” she sets her bag on a glass table near the door and strides into the room, eyes connected with yours the whole time. you weren’t feeling nervous before, but under her gaze you wonder if maybe you should have taken that free meal along with some tiny soaps from the bathroom and headed back home.

“yeah, figured i’d stick around for whatever. besides, i had to stay and blame you for my manager thinking i got kidnapped.”

“i’ll make sure to apologize and send her an edible arrangement. besides, i hope to take up more of your time in the future.”

your eyes bulge so hard you’re sure you look like a moron. you cover it up by getting up to get yourself another cup of coffe from the tray the food came in on.

“well i should’ve guessed this was more than a one night stand when you allowed me to order up breakfast. but now i have to admit i’m slightly scared you’re actually plotting to traffick me.”

"trust me, that wouldn't be good for business. id just like to see you some more, if that would be alright with you.

was that an actual question? after the night you had and the way she’s been treating you, you didn’t see much of a choice except to say yes.

she tells you that a few hours later she has a flight back to america, but that she wouldn't mind spending the day with you if you're free. you agree to get a little bite to eat and it turns into a whirlwind day of showing her around the city you call your home. she has to wear giant sunglasses the whole time and have a mysterious security detail not too far behind, but you wouldn't change anything about it.

at the end of it all, she bids you goodbye in front of your taxi, admiring the cute outfit she bought for you so you wouldn't have to go home in your dress from the night prior, promising that she'll keep in touch with you once she gets settled in back a new york, jokingly telling you she'll send you a postcard. as you sit in the back of the taxi, your heart inflates a little as you take in the events of the last day. you never liked to mix business with pleasure in this way, partly because most of those business people were gross perverts and also that it could damage your career beyond repair, but with victoria you can't help but think that it was worth it.

eventually, a few days pass by, and the only calls you've gotten are from friends congratulating on what they heard was another great performance. and as nice as all the praise and the new gigs you started to get felt, the longer you heard no word back from victoria, it started to eat away at you inside.

back at your favorite cafe you sit with two of your oldest friends, jamie and chloe, as they ramble about the details of their changing lives and jobs. you don't know when you zoned out but eventually, chloe's manicured finger lightly pokes at your cheek, giggling when you make a playful motion to bite it.

"where'd you go just now? take me with you before jamie keeps talking about his new lover."

"hey!" jamie pouts, "you're just jealous because i've been regularly having passionate sex allll night long while you're still vying over your boss." you hear a shocked gasp behind him and you all turn to see an elderly couple looking at jamie like he's said the most blasphemous thing they've ever heard.

"really classy, james." you snort.

"what the hell! you're supposed to be on my side! everyone has noticed how you've been in a better mood since that gala. alex told us how they checked up on you afterwise and you showed up a day later with a new outfit and a hickey on your neck."

"that is- god, that’s so intrusive and so like them,” you rolled your eyes. you knew as soon as alex saw you that morning that they’d be gossiping to everyone about the state they saw you in. “and i don’t kiss and tell like that. at least not in public like this.”

“ok, so we’ll stop by your place tonight with some wine and talk all about it tonight. agree?”

“what? no-”

“agree!” chloe beams and shakes hands with jamie across the table, blowing you kisses before leaving her share of the bill on the table and leaving with some excuse of having to be somewhere. you glare at jamie as a warning before he gives you a kiss on the cheek and does the same. you grumble before biting into your muffin.

a few hours later you’re sitting on your soft sofa with jamie’s head in your lap and chloe on the other side, talking and laughing about old stories from your jobs. you take a sip of merlot right before jamie brings up what you were hoping they’d forgotten about by now.

“ok ok, enough chatter. seriously, chlo, you cackle like a seagull. y/n, when are you going to tell us about this mystery lover of yours? do you need another glass of wine to start talking?”

“don’t even think about pouring me another glass. look, there’s not much to say, ok? i was singing, she was staring at me from across the bar, we flirted a little, that was it!”

they stared.

“you want more?”

“how could we not? we haven’t seen you like this with anyone! not since we took you on that tourist tour on the seine!”

that…that took you for a spin. you remembered it clear as day, them tugging you along when they’d heard since you came to paris you’d been focusing on building up your image and working. it was more a joke, but the lights of the boat, the sky and the lights made you feel like you were in the most perfect moment of your life. hearing them compare that to how you looked now had a nervous feeling building in your gut.

“we spent the night together. and it was…good. really good. she let me stay while she went out, bought me a new outfit then said she’d be in touch.”

your friends are silent. way too silent. you’re afraid they’re about to laugh and judge you before they’re squealing and tackling you, pulling back when you groan after you almost spill your wine on your clothes.

"god, why are you always the lucky one? this isn't fair! at all!" chloe groans while dramatically resting her head on your shoulder, jamie still giggling as the wine clearly starts to take an effect on him. "please, please tell us what happens next before i scream."

"no thats- i mean, thats it. so far. for now." you stutter along your words as your friends' faces go blank yet again, except this time without a hint of a chuckle or smile.

"what the hell do you mean 'that's it.'? she ghosted you?" jamie gasps.

"no, she didnt ghost me-"

"sweetheart, im sorry to say this but you have been ghosted. in a really dickhead way."

"its not like that! she's a busy person with a serious job and a kid and responsibilities!"

you briefly hear chloe snicker "milf?" before you roll your eyes.

"she's gonna contact me. and even if she doesn't, maybe it was just a nice one-time thing! everyone knows I'm great at those."

jamie snickers before chloe smacks his shoulder in a second.

"why? why did you laugh?"

they share a look before she smacks his shoulder again.

"would you stop? i have pains, you know this. but y/n, we know you. we love you. but your latest stints haven't been...the most successful. or left you in the best headspaces."

"he's right, honey. remember the last girl, hannah? one of the worst situationships i've ever seen. you told us you would be alright when she broke it off and then we found you at that lousy bar at eleven in the morning..."

you start biting at your lip. there was nothing you hated more than when they told you the truth about how you could act. it wasn't your fault that all the time your relationships got messy, or that you got attached a little quickly. people didn't understand but a life like yours could be lonely. standing up on a stage and performing for people who want you to do just that and only that: sing and look like a glamourous pin-up doll. most of the time its the other performers who even bother to ask if your throat is alright after singing for hours.

so yes, sometimes you rushed into relationships. and you might have done it again in the dumbest way possible.

"i just...she let me stay after, y'know? and she came back and brought me with her again. why go through that effort just to leave me behind like trash?" your friends pouted before closing in to comfort you, rubbing your back and giving you small affirmations.

for a month you go into a rut. unless it's performing or going to the dentist for a checkup you don't leave your house. you become pretty good acquaintances with the grocery delivery boy, benny, who started panicking when he realized he forgot one of your items until you assured him it was fine. it wasn't the first time you'd grown so oddly attached to a romantic prospect, and it wasn't the first time you'd gotten hurt by it. you spend your time moping on your couch and binge-watching your favorite show for the third time when your phone buzzes from beside you.

nancy schmancy : call me.

you rolled your eyes. she could have just called you in the first place, but no. she had to be extra about it. you press the call button and don't have to wait even five seconds for her voice to ring in your ear.

"do you want to know what mister barbier just emailed me?"

"i think you already have that answer for me."

"he said, and i quote, 'tell y/n i send my best wishes. her performance last night was hauntingly beautiful, and i'm hoping it was one of her greatest acts yet.'"

"if you ask me, it sounds like i did a pretty good job."

"it sounds like he thought you were singing your damn suicide note!" she groaned, and you could hear her face scrunching from over the phone. "i don't know what is going on with you recently, and i don't want to sound insensitive, but if you can't manage to keep your work and personal life separate, even i can't help you make it far in this business. clients may say they want you to be expressive but they only mean so far. unhappy music means unhappy customers, capeche?"

"i understand, nancy. ill send a personal apology to mister barbier."

"good. ill call you soon to let you know about any new gigs. take care of yourself. seriously."

the line clicks and you toss your phone onto the couch and take another sip of sauvignon blanc from your rose-shaped wine glass. it pained you to admit it, but nancy had a point. if you kept letting yourself mope in your feelings you'd run out of people who wanted you to sing, and if the point came where you were out of gigs...you didn't even want to think about it. if you weren't singing you weren't living.

only a few hours after that call you manage to get back to normal. you go out and get your own groceries, deciding to indulge yourself and buy the ingredients for some recipe you saw online months ago. one of your clients cries at your performance, ecstatically telling you they'll be in talks with your manager to set up a stable contract. things really start to look up. two weeks later you even manage to get the number of a cute girl, elise, a tall woman with dyed hair who reached for the same vintage music box as you at an open market.

you're smiling as you look down at the messy ink on a slip of paper, the numbers and tiny smily face distracting you as you enter the hallway to your apartment. so distracted that you nearly trip over a object on the floor, looking down to see...a bouquet?

a really gorgeous bouquet you notice as you bend over to pick it up. its a collage of dusty blues and off-colored ivories, and when you brought it closer to your nose for a whiff you felt a sense of bliss. you bring it into your apartment with a skip in your step before you spot a piece of paper among the flowers, plucking it from the collection and reading it over.

upon closer inspection, you can see its a postcard, the cover a flattering shot of the statue of liberty with text that reads "love from new york city!". you try to calm your heart down at the location and the 'love' part, but you've already gotten your hopes up when you turn the card around to read the message:

xxx-xxx-xxxx

sorry for the wait. i'll make it up to you, angel.

you'd never felt so conflicted as you did in the past five seconds. half of you was vindicated that yes, this attractive woman didnt leave you high and dry and did actually have a deeper interest in you, but the other part was angry. and embarrassed that you were angry, because again, you spent less than a day with this woman, she didn't owe you anything. but also yes the hell she did.

before you could get yourself together you were harshly tapping the number into your cell, biting at your lip as the phone slowly rings.

"y/n, is that you?" echoes from the line, victorias voice sounding and running over your head like soft silk. no, no, stop it. focus.

"howd you know it was me? im sure you have other people who'd be calling you this late."

"certainly not anyone with a phone number from paris. besides, i was hoping it'd be you."

"well, i would have been flattered two weeks ago but unfortunately i dont think your words could phase me right now."

she sighs and the line goes silent. you feel bad for being catty for a few seconds before you brush it off. she's the one who played with your emotions and promised to call you but never did. she had this coming.

"im sorry, really i am. i've been busy with things at work and my daughter-"

damn it, she pulled the kid card again.

"i just...dont like being lied to. or led on. maybe its my fault for beeing too clingy-"

"no, no. dont apologize. if it means anything youve been on my mind for weeks now."

"yeah, same here. except my thoughts havent been all that nice." you laugh.

"deserved. and id like to make it up to you."

"oh yeah? let me guess, this time we'll spend two nights together?"

"close. how about two weeks. in new york."

you don't know if you should laugh. you feel like you should, so you do. but she isn't.

"you...you're being serious."

"im being serious."

what do you even say? what do you even do? of course, whatever higher power there is would make your life stable and steady for the past few months then throw this in to shake you up. you really should have been expecting it, considering...

you shake yourself back to the present. victoria is still waiting on the other line, unwilling to rush you into a decision, apparently. you'd applaud her for her chivalry if you weren't so stunned.

"victoria, come on. we've only met once, and while it was nice it was brief. now you want me to upend my life and career to jet off to america? it sounds crazy."

"you make me a bit crazy, honestly. besides, you were telling me in bed you haven't been in the states since you left, i have a feeling you miss it more than you let on."

you shuffle in your spot, reminded that you're standing in your cold-ass kitchen and you haven't changed out of the outfit you wore out today. but half of your uncomfortableness is from a feeling gnawing at your chest because she's right. at this point you can barely remember the night you left your childhood home, but you know it was rushed. you wanted to forget everything.

"i think you're also forgetting that i have a blossoming career here. are you gonna pay my definitely going to be pissed off manager her wages? plus i was supposed to be first pick for this really good gig-"

"i'll pay for everything, i promise. dont forget that i have connections. in two weeks they''ll be singing you praises across the globe."

you close your eyes and take in a breath.

"can you make my ticket first class?"

-

one thing you didnt miss about america? just how...much everything was, all the time.

your flight was quiet. victoria didnt hesitate to book you an expensive ticket, almost taking offense to your request for a nice one and scheduling you for business class, sending you a text to get lots of rest in the ultra-luxe beds on the plane. it was probably one of the best nights sleeps you'd had in months.

when you got off the plane there were two tall escorts holding a sign with your last name on it, taking the suitcases from your hands before you could say anything and leading you into a sleek black car. a voice in the back of your head starts screaming but you ignore it. for now.

the men in the car give you some basic rundowns, how they'll constantly be hovering over you during your stay for your "protection", and that they'll be taking you to settle into a hotel until victoria makes contact, and the little voice starts freaking out again and telling you that you've slept with and are fraternizing with a mob boss. at least it's more exciting than your last few flings.

the car goes silent after that, and you put in your earbuds as you watch the city go by. you weren't from new york, but you loved watching movies set in the bustling cityscape. the buildings really are humongous, and you see so many different types of people it sets your brain on a whirlwind.

you look back down at your phone after the fifth 'the seven' advertisement in one block.

yet again you're led into a clearly extremely expensive hotel, breezing through reception before you are led to a luxuriant hotel room, the bodyguards ignoring you as you giggle and flop onto the bed, waving them off when they tell you they'll be posted outside.

the sheets feel heavenly on your skin, and with the soft sunshine from the window beaming down on you and the gentle hustle and bustle of new york outside, you think you could fall asleep in a minute. but, begrudgingly, you peel yourself form the bed and open your suitcase to start putting your clothes away before taking a quick shower in the giant bathtub.

just as you exit the shower and wrap your body in a towel, your phone starts ringing and as soon as you read the 'v' in the contact name you push answer and bring it to your ear.

"hello? vic?"

"hey, hon. eager to talk to me?"

"you called me. and 'hon'? really? we've moved to petnames already?"

"figured id start making up for those weeks with no contact. and id like to do so again tonight. i wanna bring you somewhere."

your mouth quirks up in a smile as you re-adjust the towel around your body, the phone nearly slipping from its quick placement between your phone and ear, "id really like that. i hope its out to dinner, i didnt care to eat any of the plane food."

“yes, it’s to dinner. but its up to you if you want it to be fancy or casual. i know its tacky but there’s this pretty cute french place near where i live...”

“that vaguely sounds like an invitation to your place, but ill let it slide. are you gonna pick me up or are your special agents going to escort me everywhere for the next few weeks?”

“special agents? what agents?”

a bead of water drips from your neck down your back and it feels like the tip of a knife. a pressure builds in the back of your throat and your fingers grip the fabric of your towel. “what…that’s a joke, right?”

her laughter rings in your ear and you are seconds away from hanging up the call.

“sorry, sorry. i sometimes have a weird sense of humor. you'll get used to it.”

“i doubt it.”

“and i'm hopeful. i'll let you go so you can get ready, i'll be by in under an hour.”

you hang up after a sweet goodbye and gently sit on the toilet. your brain is rushing to catch up after the conversation like your body goes on autopilot when you hear victoria's voice. its terrifying and its thrilling. and you don't know why a part of you likes the feeling.

after you brush your teeth, do some quick skincare, debate over shaving just in case, and spend twenty minutes picking out a cute outfit, you finally hear the gentle knocking on the door while you're double-checking over the content of your purse.

rushing to open the door, you're greeted with the sight of a smiling victoria, her hands tucked into the pants of her clearly expensive pinstriped pantsuit. you're admiring the look of her hair tucked back into a ponytail when she's reaching forward and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"you look perfect. come on, i made us a reservation."

and it turned out to be a perfect night. she did end up taking you to the french place, allowing you to order whatever you wanted. that place was weirdly empty, only a handful of other patrons inside. you were pleased to see that the waitress was french herself, having a small chat about the customs and foods she missed while she praised the authenticity of the food at the restaurant.

only a day and you had already forgotten how forward the people back home could be, because the waitress throws a subtle look at victoria and compliments you on finding such an attractive woman. when she leaves vic just smiles.

“ok, id say at this point we’re doing pretty good with the communication thing, right?” you ask, taking a sip of the pricey wine your date ordered.

“yeah, id say that.”

you finger the rim of your glass, the nerves getting to you before you ask your question. "i want you to tell me what your job is. your actual job, not some vague ass title. you have security following gus around, so i feel like i should know."

"no, no, you're right. i just didnt wanna scare you off. or have you think differently of me once i told you." she sighs, thumbing the napkins on the table. "i work in the government. i'm a congresswoman, to be exact."

you don't doubt she's a politician for a second, because she shows no hint of nervousness at your lack of emotion.

"are you...a good congresswoman?"

"i don't really know how to answer that." she laughs.

"i'm sorry. i knew you were important enough to be at that gala, but a politician is...tricky."

she reaches across the table and lays her hand palm up, smiling when you rest yours on top of it. "look, i get it. i should have told you sooner but please understand why i didn't. i wanted to get to know you as normally as possible, without all of the press and politics in the way."

"normally as possible, huh? that includes sleeping together on the first night?"

you're trying to show your acceptance of the situation with your humor, but you can tell victoria can sense your uneasiness at the situation. here you were thinking you had found some under-the-radar millionaire to dote on you and instead, you'd roped in someone whose job was entirely in the public eye that could be put in danger at the flip of a switch.

"how about we finish up and take this back to my place? i'll tell you everything that you wanna know about me. no matter how personal."

you stare into her eyes for a few seconds and decide that she looks genuine, getting confirmation that her daughter is staying with a friend before ending your meal and following her to her place.

for the amount of money she's ready to spend on you, you're surprised to see that victoria lives in a chic but quaint townhome only a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant. she gently takes off your coat and instructs you to sit with her on the couch, pressing on a remote to turn on her fireplace.

after a few hours and two more glasses of wine, victoria had opened up to you about nearly everything in her life. the mysterious death of her birth family, being adopted by a man who helped pushed her to go into a political career, her polite but loveless marriage with her ex. she even shows you a picture of zoe that she has in her wallet, taking the chance to gush over her daughter. she seems like such a sweet girl.

maybe it's the wine or maybe it's the way vic is opening up to you so freely, but you decide to tell her more about your past. how you always wondered why you barely stuggled moving to another continent at such a young age, or the fact that you dont even remeber why you had the drive to leave your parents home in the first place. you didnt even remember the last words you said to each other.

and throughout it all she's nothing if not attentive, she doesnt ask questions unless you give her permission too, keeping her eyes on you and gently placing her hand over yours.

you feel a turning in your stomach when she moves a stray hand of hair behind your ear. you told yourself to try taking things slow this time, but your body is starting to feel fuzzy and shes looking at you like she wants to devour you.

she decides to indulge you and gently brushes her lips against yours, smiling at the way your breath staggers. your head moves forwards to finaly get her to kiss you but she jerks her head back.

"i want you to tell me what to do."

god, your stomach feels hot. this is new, but a really arousing style of new. the last time you both slept together she had taken a careful but unwavering charge, unraveling you with a steady hand a sweet smile.

"cmon just...please?"

"no. tell me what you want me to do."

you sigh and bite at your lip. "i want you to lay me down and fuck me. right now."

so she laid you down and she did. there were no words to describe how much you enjoyed that night on her couch, the way she could read your body like a book and brought you to ecstasy again and again and again...

and when you wake up a soft blanket is draped over your body, a brekfast of coffee and some crepes set in front of you.

the days after are a whirlwind. discreetly as possible victoria takes you on a tour of new york city, to more expensive restaurants and hidden jewels that most tourists skipped over.

youre lounging in your hotel room when you decide to inform your friends of how your trip is going. while slightly hesitant they seemed more than happy that you were enjoying yourself with someone who took a genuine interest in you.

until you told them her job.

"my love, are you insane? a politician?"

"an american politician?" chloe gasps, continuing off of jamies shock.

"hey, im american too dont forget!"

"of course you are, but please, you understand why this is not good, no?"

"you know how fishy they are, especially with all the supe business going on. that place is getting more dangerous by the day, and i dont think you should be seeing someone whos contirbuting to that."

it pained you to admit it but jamie had a point. the three of you would always laugh in amused horror at how badly things were going on in your birth country, and the politics...it was less than pleasant.

not to mention the supe business. every corner of the world had to deal with the annoyance that was vought and their "products", even france. but so far you'd just had to deal with a few perverted looks from traveling supers and talks of some stupid theme park a few miles out of the city. meanwhile, it seemed like every day a new superhero was being introduced to the American public. it unnerved you.

"i understand. i appreciate both of you looking out for me. trust me, i'll be on my guard for now on." you mumble, picking at the material of your sleeve.

"of course, songbird. we'll call again soon."

the call ends and drop your phone on the nightstand. you look at the eiffel tower cutout in your phone case and your heart aches.

the next morning you're eating a a breakfast of coffee and fruit crepes when your phone rings, dragging your atttention away from the trashy dating show you were watching on the bedroom's tv. when you see nancy's name you hesitantly answer the call.

"nance? is everything alright?"

"everything is great. i'm just here to check in about your next gig."

"my next- nance, im on vacation. please tell you didnt forget and booked me for a job when im across the ocean."

"no, im not that stupid, hon." she sighs. "i didnt even arrange this job, victoria did. im just the messenger."

you blink once. then twice. you remember vic saying something about helping you with a job but you honestly just thought that was bullshit to get her to come stay with you.

(or get in your pants. but you don’t think you’d be too upset about that now.)

“ok. thank you, nancy. tell me the details.”

it’s a lot more extravagant than you expected. victorias friend, an actual senator, was holding a fundraising event for some government program he and vic were both involved in. nancy wasn’t told what the program was, but that you would have to go through a security debrief before being told you'd be given a team to help you prepare. and picking from a selected closet of dresses. fun.

you ignore the feeling of nervousness that’s building up in your gut. because while all of your gigs were important, they were never this important. you push it down as you call victoria and thank her endlessly, when you tell your friends the minimum amount that you can tell them, and when victoria picks you up from outside your hotel twelve hours before the event even starts.

she pressed a small kiss to your hand, laughing at the grumpy and tired mumble you let out when you sit in the car seat. it only passes once she gives you a coffee she picked up, the caffeine waking you up and putting a smile on your face.

the content feeling turns into shock when you enter victorias' place and see zoe, vic throwing a short explanation of “busy babysitter” over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen.

its a bit awkward at first, sitting on one couch as she plays on a black nintendo switch on the other. it helps when you ask her about whatever she’s playing, the girl diving into a rant about the farm game she’s playing and how she’s trying to catch a certain type of fish.

victoria comes back with a tray of breakfast for the three of you before asking her daughter how school is going, how her friends are, etc. its nice to get a glimpse into victories private life during the morning, the close bond she has with her daughter. you notice some tension but decide not to bring it up.

the morning goes by too quickly, zoe being picked up to be dropped off at a friend's house after giving you a sweet goodbye and you getting rushed upstairs as the team comes to the townhome to help you prepare. its a nice change, having other people doll you up instead of having to worry about trying to do everything correctly and by yourself. and its a perk you don't have to spend your own money to do it.

the team members are nice but punctual, finishing your hair and makeup in record time with not a second wasted. you barely get time to notice yourself in the mirror before you're ushered into a gorgeous gown, soft fabrics and a chic and elegant style.

when your finished you’re finally allowed to observe yourself while your transportation and is prepared, and it feels like you’re looking at a dream version of yourself.

as you admire yourself in the mirror vic comes up next to you, clearly enjoying herself as her eyes slowly drift up and down your body.

“you look…ethereal.” she whispers, pressing a small kiss to your cheek after you turn to smile at her.

“only because of you. i don’t know how i could ever make this up to you, vic. this is just…”

“trust me, you’ve already done enough.”

while you knew there would be some press at the event, you didn't expect over two dozen paparazzi to quickly start flashing their cameras in your direction as soon as you got out of your ride. questions about who you were wearing, the relationship you had with vic, etcetera etcetera. you would've buckled from the sudden pressure if it weren't for victoria’s steady hand on your waist, the press of her arm through her red pantsuit.

the venue is downright insane, so grand you start to wonder if you're in one of those gilded age mansions you used to read about in new york magazines. climbing pillars and art on the ceiling of the main hall, which you don't get to admire since you’re yet again whisked away to get ready.

after a few more touch ups you aren’t afforded a minute to prepare, guided to the edge of the performance area. the sinking feeling is back in your stomach. the biggest moment of your life and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

the lights dim and you glide onto the stage, able to see the shadows of the guests faces from the flickering table lights. it’s eerie, the amount of them staring up at you with eyes you can’t even see.

you were given a set list a few days prior, only a couple of songs for the payment you would apparently receive after this. the songs piqued your interest, a collection of classical melancholic pieces from around the fifties. vic told you her friend was a vintage nut, but you didn't know why he chose these for you to perform when the event seemed to have an uplifting aura.

either way it felt…different, singing this time. the spotlight was on you and you’ve never felt as beautiful as you did in this moment. everyone was watching you, so hooked on the melodies escaping your body that you could see the emotions brining some people to the edge of their seats.

you don’t let it show but you grow a bit anxious at the sight of supers in their uniforms in the crowd. you don’t see anyone from the seven, but you do notice a woman you recognized from some commercial about climate change and earth preservation, the green of her dress and the nature motifs in her outfit give you a clue as to what her power was.

just when you feel yourself about to slip, dangerously close to hitting a note at a weird pitch, you see victoria, getting deja vu at the sight of her staring at you from the bar like the first night you met. she's looking at you like she's never doubted you for a second, like you're an angel sent from above that's blessed her life.

you hold her gaze when you sing. noticing the soft smile on her face when you sing a lyric about how the feelings in your heart feel so intense you fear you're going insane.

when the first song ends the lights come back on and you're met with a polite yet thunderous applause, the smile on your face so wide your cheeks start to hurt. the presenter comes back on stage, praising your performance with a swipe at his eyes before telling the guests that the host would be on shortly, and after he gives a short speech you'd be back to sing some more. with a gentle nod and wave, you step off the stage.

you feel like you're walking on air, with no doubt that was one of your best performances yet. your emotions got a little intense there but nothing you couldn't manage, and everyone seemed to like it anyway.

you're able to send a quick text and a picture to jamie and chloe before you hear the sound of the door to your quaint dressing room open, not able to turn around before you feel hands around your waist and plush lips on the side of your neck, the sight of victoria wrapped around you in the mirror making butterflies swarm in your stomach.

"i take it you liked my singing?"

"like doesn't even begin to cover it," she mumbles into your neck, raising her head slightly to be able to hold eye contact through the mirror. "i'm so lucky i found you, y'know that?"

you playfully brush her off, telling her you have to freshen up for some mingling before you get back on stage. she gladly helps you with your makeup, and while you weren't expecting her to be so touchy tonight you definitely aren't complaining, especially when her hand starts to drift closer to the space between your legs. it takes an embarrassing amount of mental strength to deny her, promising you'll continue once you go back to her place.

once you're finished getting ready she leads you back out to the hall, introducing you to numerous business people, politicians, celebrities, etc. you try not to fangirl when you meet a singer whose songs you've been obsessed with lately and when she asks you to perform at her cousins wedding. victoria just smirks when she leads you away and you let out a tiny squeal under your breath.

once the networking is done you're able to take the time to sit down and eat some of the catered food, almost moaning at the tastes of the food. you sometimes forget just how good food could be in the states, and these rich people pulled out all the stops. you try not to eat too quickly or impolitely as victoria talks with her tablemates, some people from her job apparently. after the first introductions and praises they gave you you mentally tapped out of the situation. she luckily covers for you when they question your mood, laughing when she tells them you've had a long day of being treated like a singing barbie doll.

everyone in the room quiets down when the hos taakes the stage and starts his speech. he introduces himself as robert stendham, and you feel a little embarrassed that this man gave you the chance to sing here and you didn't even know his name. you're thinking about how odd it is that you weren't introduced before this when he mentions something about the program and you perk up.

"...extend a personal thank you to general jameson for finding the time to escape his duties to fly in and be here with us tonight, and a special thanks to director neuman for helping me with this project and finding the beautifully talented y/n to perform for us tonight."

there was a brief few seconds of applause, victoria looking around and giving out smiles while you wondered what the hell she was the director of.

"as you can see, we have a few supers with us tonight. people like hazelwood, whose efforts against climate change have lead to over a dozen organizations plating millions of trees and clearing millions of pounds of trash for the ocean. because that's what supers are supposed to do-protect us. not act like degenerates who get to do what they want because of their abilities."

your eyebrow twitches, sensing the slight anti-supe propaganda from the end of his speech. well, not anti every supe, just the ones who act like gods among men, which you could understand. but you still felt an uneasy feeling rising in your stomach. you feel vic's palm rest over the top of your hand under the table.

"which is why im incredibly honored that director and congresswoman neuman has extended a hand to me to invest in the federal bureau of superhuman affairs, and to further extend that hand to you to help participate in this monumental institution..."

everything is a fog and your brain taps out once he starts talking about what this burerua does, how they closely monitor supes and jail the ones who've caused public harm. your head feels hot and your chest feels cold, and you can't stop your body from going on auto-pilot and excusing yourself to the bathroom before finding some balcony on the higher floor.

the cold air of new york shocks your body back into normalcy, but the pounding in your head persists. it feels like a panic attack ut so much worse, like your fight or flight has been activated without anything even happening. had you rushed into all of this? chasing a girl and a dream like you were a teenager again?

yet again the door opens behind you and someone comes to stand next to you, able to tell who it is by the scent of brown sugar and the glimpse of dark hair blowing with the slight breeze.

"you alright? mr. brandon from the tech startup was asking about you, tried to make me invest in some room light plant grower hybrid-"

"why did you bring me here?"

you cut her off and the air is quiet, save for the sounds of cars and the city and the wind. it's weird, standing in a tense silence like this with her.

"how are you feeling?" she whispers .

"are you- " you turn, nearly giving yourself whiplash with the speed at which you turn to look at her. the look on her face, like she's just observing you and how you're reacting. it only upsets you more. "are you being serious?"

"yes, i am. tell me."

"no, answer my question first. why are you avoiding it?"

she sighs, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face before reaching to grab your hand, which you hesitantly let her hold.

"as you heard, im part of a buereau that monitors supherhumans, keeping track of them, making sure they cant use their powers for harm. so far we've only had to deal with supes here in the states. until one day, this couple comes in that believe their daughter has used her powers on them."

she reaches for something in her pocket and your grip tightens. she pulls out a polaroid and holds the picture up for you to see. you feel like you're going to vomit when you see you, smiling, standing with your parents in a backyard.

"what...what is this? how'd you get this?"

"the couple gave me this picture, and told me how weird the least few years have been. friends and family asking where their daughter went, how she was doing, a daughter they didnt even remeber having."

you bring a hand up to your head, hopelessly trying to dissipate the splitting headache that's forming.

"but then they said the memories started coming back. glimpses of a child running in the grass, birthday parties, graduations, talent shows-"

"stop, please just stop." you gasp, hunching over as good as you can with the restrictions of your gown. it doesn't even feel like the world is just spinning, it feels like its being played in some celestial game of pool. "so what, you're saying...you're saying i did that? to my parents?"

"yes," she reaches for the side of your face, guiding you to look up at her. "and you can do so much more. you already have."

this can't be happening.

"why do you think people react so emotionally to your singing? you think its just because you're amazing? that's not even half of it."

your breathing is picking up again.

flashes of memories start appearing in your vision. so many happy times with your parents that you forgot, friends that you left behind. how your parents didn't support your half-thought-out plan to become a singer, how you made them forget. made yourself forget.

"i don't want you to think i did all of this just for what i want. i didn't. i care about you, and i want you to help me. but you need to trust me."

the blood is rushing back and from your head, and you think about how weird her eyes look against the backdrop of the city before you pass out.

finally. FINALLY. ong i wrote like 1k in the past day because i said just get this shit over with but its done! 5 months later! hope you enjoyed :)

[nomazee]

Greetings! Would it be okay if I request bodyguard!Dan Heng x celebrity!Reader with a 19:58 timestamp? I hope it's okay, thanks in advance.

i think my dan heng favoritism is showing because this is the longest drabble i've written for this event so far,,, i love dan hen hsr,,, THANK U FOR UR REQUEST :**

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

The airport is much too bright for Dan Heng’s taste. The reflectiveness of the linoleum floor tiles and the beaming LED lights make him squint as he guides you towards the baggage terminal. 

“That was fun!” your enthusiasm is almost painful compared to how exhausted Dan Heng feels. There’s no hint of a drag in your steps or a lull in your words as you head towards the carousels, on the lookout for a sky blue and neon green striped suitcase—courtesy of you, of course. You asked Dan Heng for his opinion when you were first buying it, claiming that it would be easy to recognize among the sea of plain, typical suitcases. Truthfully, it was an eyesore, but you looked so happy about it, so he just nodded along. 

“Fun? You’re not tired?” he asks. Your atrocity of a suitcase is, in fact, easily spotted, and Dan Heng goes to pick it up for you. Luckily, his is on the same carousel, and he takes up both in his hands before turning back to you. “It was a long flight. You’ll be jet-lagged for a bit.”

“Oh, I’m definitely tired,” you admit, engaging in a wordless struggle with Dan Heng as he fights against your attempt to take your own suitcase from him. He has yet to engage in an actual fight as a bodyguard (or do much at all, really), so he might as well help out by being your glorified bag-carrier. It makes him feel less guilty about the paycheck he gets every two weeks. “But being in first-class was so exciting! You didn't think so?” 

Exciting is certainly a way to describe it. For most of the ten-hour flight, Dan Heng was trying to not puke in a paper bag in front of you in fear that he’d embarrass himself, and then get fired. He hadn’t been on a flight in years, and sitting through one that’s that long was not the best way to ease back into it. It would be embarrassing to admit out loud, but you have a way of reading through him, so he divulges as much of the truth as he can stomach.

“There was… it was shakier than I thought. But it wasn’t loud, which was good.” 

“I meant, like, the food and stuff! And the hot towels that they gave us.” 

Of course you’d be excited over something like a hot towel. He tries not to look down at the (objectively) ugly suitcase that he’s successfully torn from your hands, but it’s all very you and he can’t help but be reminded of every single one of your habits. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks, instead of talking more about the plane, because he’ll seriously be sick if he keeps replaying the turbulence in his head. “The portions were small on the plane. We can check into the hotel first and then find somewhere to eat.” 

A sigh escapes you, lighthearted as you swat Dan Heng’s arm with your hand. You both walk through the confusing maze of the airport and eventually find the exit, stepping into fresh air for the first time in a while. “I’ll get you dramamine on the flight back, Dan Heng. Maybe then you’ll be clear-headed enough to understand how nice the hot towels were.” 

You’ve clocked him, saw right through him and pried your incessant way in and offered him a motion sickness pill while you were at it. He tries to ignore the flush of his cheeks as he watches you smile from his peripheral, but it’s hard to ignore when it’s all that he can feel right now. 

“The— food,” he stutters, because he’s a fool and would like to lay down already. “What would you like to get? It’s a little late, but you should get some dinner.” 

“Whatever you want, Dan Heng,” and he looks to his side to see you smiling at him, so warm and familiar and he’s really, really trying not to puke on the sidewalk right now for a variety of reasons. He ignores you again, because that’s his best way to cope, and hails a taxi before cramming in both your suitcases in a flustered haste. 

In the backseat of the car, you lean against Dan Heng’s side and open up Google Maps, scrolling through all the restaurants near your hotel. The line of your arm presses into Dan Heng’s, and his attention is flitting between that feeling and the bright icons on your screen, different foreign names and descriptions of food popping up. 

“I don’t feel like sitting down for a full dinner,” you admit, mercilessly skipping any restaurant that has things like tablecloths and candles and small plates. “Something to take back to the hotel would be nice. Oh—” you bring your phone closer to his face as if he can’t already see it crystal clear, “—the menu for this looks good! They have some of your favorites.” 

Dan Heng skims through it and finds that they do, in fact, have a suspicious amount of his favorites. There’s a prideful look on your face, hiding the fact that you likely spent an hour researching local restaurants to find something Dan Heng likes. It embarrasses him and makes him have hopes, like a fool. You treat him less like a bodyguard, more like a close assistant—a position that you’ve never actually had filled, which makes his suspicions (and hopes) grow day by day. Really, it’s more like a close friend, a partner, and he likes that thought more than he’s comfortable admitting. 

He mumbles something like okay, looks good, and the grin on your face only grows brighter and cheesier. He’s forced to look away from you and stare out the car window instead, watching the passing city lights against the dark background of the autumn night, in a country that he covertly learned the language of, so that he could guide you around a little better—in a country that you spent an hour looking up restaurants in, so that Dan Heng would have something to eat.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

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[ackerfics]

my love is mine all mine ch 1 | toji fushiguro x female reader

part one of to the girls who are failed by the narrative series.

series summary:

'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapter title: their redness talks to my wounds

warnings: objectifying women, misogynistic beliefs, pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, death, sexual assault/r*pe (but not to reader)

Each time a girl is born in your mother’s clan, a festival is held — flower lanterns drifting in the inky sky, bells ringing each passing second, and rhythms of geta filling in between the beats of the taiko. It is believed that your mother’s family was kissed by the deity of fortitude and fertility; very much like how the Mother and Father of the Shinto gods created the islands of Japan and brought forth a new wave of deities, the womb of the Hanamo clan will bring an heir to a dying clan. When the inheritance of The Glorified Womb is successful, all of the clans gather to get a glimpse of the future Lady of their estates and bid on who would welcome her to their gates. The festival is both a moment of celebration and sending off.

It’s the start of a new era and it is all ignited by the birth of a little girl whose body is blessed by a flutter of Izanami’s forefinger. 

You were told that your festival was the grandest of all the events thrown by your family. No one anticipated the weight carried by your first cry. You weren’t there to witness it but the maids who brush your hair constantly tell you that when you announced yourself to the world like the coveted little Lady that you are, all of the flowers coloured the grounds of the estate with the reverse cursed technique innate in your mother’s bloodline and the utilisation from your father’s. They said that it was the moment the entire Jujutsu world stood still, holding their breath; offers were made, compromises were presented on the table, bounties continued piling on your little fragile head — and you weren’t even a day old. You were the product of a fruitful union between the Hanamo and Joushou clans, they said, a little doll to flaunt and to cradle until a worthy man comes to take you away as his young bride.

You don’t understand it until you accidentally nick yourself while marvelling at the beauty of the blossoms in the gardens of the main family’s house.

The blooming red on the tip of your finger fascinates you, the drops nourishing the soil underneath the carnations intermingling with the short redbud trees. Pain doesn’t even come to you as you tilt your head to follow the trickle of blood on your forefinger, the lines on your palm seeping with the most perfect shade of red you’ve ever seen. The flowers speak to you with the more time you spend letting your blood escape through your skin. You can hear them more — all asking the same set of questions that you pay no heed to. Are you alright, young Lady of the House of Purity? Do you need us to carry you in our petals? Does it hurt you? Who dares soil the most-yearned young Lady? They deserve to shrivel. You don’t notice the foliage of the shrubs going past their trimmed appearance to engulf the bundle of roses right in front of you, threatening to swallow the poor plant whole for hurting you. You’re about to place your bleeding finger in your mouth, curious about the taste of it, when the maids shriek behind you.

“Ojou-sama!”

Your hair follows the movement of your head as you turn around to meet their frantic mannerisms. “Hmm?”

“Oh, my Lord!” One of them swoops down to where you are, unravelling a ribbon from her yukata to wrap around your wound. She then scoops you from the ground, her hand holding the back of your head as gently as possible. “What are we going to tell Yoshiki-sama?”

You place your head on the maid’s shoulder, your eyes catching the retreating shrubbery trying to touch you with their fingers. Slowly, you lift your head to get a good look at them, opting to just wave your small, pudgy hands at the leaves and the twigs and the bark. Curious; they almost waved back. But you discern that it is a product of the gentle breeze entering the large gardens. After all, plants do not talk, at least not in the storybooks the caretakers and maids act out for you. The women around you keep on talking as if you aren’t there nestled in between them.

“Is it bad of me to think otherwise?”

“Mari, his daughter is injured!”

“But he will punish us if he finds out!”

The maid carrying you tightens her hold around you. “Even if the heavens ring malice over us peasants, I would gladly inform the head of this house of anything regarding his prized kin. Mari, I thought you were better than that. We are hired to protect Ojou-sama with every inch of our being.”

A hitched breath comes from the other maid. “Don’t you dare drop my name when you speak of this to Yoshiki-sama!”

“If he brings up the subject of the witnesses, I would speak with utmost honesty.”

The maid whisks you away. It is only when she passes by Mari-san that you take a good look at the troubled countenance wrapping around the worried maid. You don’t know the hierarchy around the household but you definitely know your father is the highest-ranking person here, judging from how people speak of him. You surmise that the maid holding you as if you’re the most fragile thing on the planet is higher in rank than Mari-san and that probably makes her sad just like now. Intending to make her smile a little bit, you raise your hand over the maid’s shoulder to wave at Mari-san, your smile beaming and crinkling the corners of your eyes. The lower maid notices it and her entire demeanour shifts into that of a person endeared. She feels better and you also feel better now.

“Ojou-sama, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“What about Papa? Aren’t we supposed to go to him?”

The maid stiffens. “Right after we clean the wound and put some cute bandages on it, Ojou-sama.”

“Can I pick the pattern?”

The woman chuckles under her breath. “Of course; as long as it is in the box Ritsuko bought the other day.”

Ritsuko must be one of the maids as well. You think long and hard about the design you want, the image of cute cartoon characters filling your mind. With a little pout, you suggest, “I want Sanrio.”

“Let’s see if there’s any of the Sanrio characters in the bandages, then, Ojou-sama. Just a little more and—Mutsuki-sama!”

“I’ll take it from here, Aida-chan.”

The most beautiful woman who puts the flowers to shame — your mother. She was once the most desired bride, even threatening to break the close relationship of the oldest sons of the current head of the Zen’in family in hopes of finally giving birth to the sorcerer who will possess the Ten Shadows Technique they are praised for. Because of your father, the current head of the clan bearing a reverse cursed technique so notorious, that civil war was prevented and the Zen’in married other women from lower clans as a way to swallow their shame. All the funnier it was to the adults having meetings in your house when after marrying their chosen brides, the Zen’in sons weren’t blessed by Lady Luck — the eldest son’s children were never that exemplary (one didn’t inherit the Ten Shadows Technique and the other was an anomaly to your society) and the younger one’s wife experienced miscarriage and false positives.

Judging from the stories you’ve heard of that Zen’in dispute so many years ago, you understand with your little brain that your mother embodies the word pretty through and through — pretty enough to bewitch the young head of the Gojo clan, who is roughly around the same age as her. In the end, it was your father she chose and they were married as soon as she reached the age of eighteen. You graced their life four years after their marriage and she told you in hushed whispers behind a thin shoji that they prayed for your creation — that you are loved way before conception because there was not a night that she didn’t wish to the stars for your existence.

Your mother stands in the middle of the hallway, her maids lowering their heads behind her. The kimono wrapping her figure is anything but simple, one of the many gifts showered to her by your father. Her hair is cascading down her back and her smile is demure yet exuding with so much warmth that it compels you to reach out for her. Her glittering eyes shine ever more at your silent plea to be transferred into her arms.

“Oh, come here, my little petal,” she murmurs while taking you from the maid and in her frail arms. She huffs at the unexpected weight. “Aren’t you getting bigger?” Her voice is soft, almost like she is talking to an easily frightened kitten, even leaning forward to lightly brush the tip of her nose to yours. You giggle at the ticklish sensation and your mother hums a little amused laugh.

You place both of your hands on her cheeks. “Hello, Mama.”

“Hello, little petal.” Her gaze drifts down to the hastily wrapped ribbon around your finger, the red is still vibrant against the muted colours of the material. “Did you hurt yourself while playing in the garden?” Mother tuts under her breath. “We can’t have that now, can we?” The crinkles around her eyes harden into that expected of a Mistress of the house and all the maids present straighten their postures, all the while facing the ground. When the younger women keep their silence, Mother returns to gazing at you with that lovely look she usually has while trailing her eyes over your features. “I suppose it’s expected of children to have a little scratch here and there while enjoying life. After all, my little petal gets her love for nature from me. Isn’t that right, my darling?”

“The flowers talked to me in the garden, Mama.”

“Did they?” Mother glances at the maids before walking toward her room. “What did they say?”

You place a hand on your chin, tucking your head in the crook of her neck. “They were whispering about many things.” You gasp in realisation. “I think they found a little bunny!”

She adjusts you in her hold, her breaths deepening the more she carries you. “We’ll ask someone to fetch that rabbit for you.”

“Will Papa say yes?”

Mother pauses for a moment. The words coming from her throat are carefully crafted to never dim that enthusiastic gleam present in your irises. “Your father is weak when it comes to you; I’m sure he’s going to grant your wish no matter how bizarre it is. A bunny doesn’t even create a dent on anything he holds.”

“I’ll call it Melody.”

“Why the name, little petal?”

“Because it’s the only bunny in Sanrio.”

You watch the long corridors depict the opulence of the gardens of your father’s estate, all of the flowers arranged in a way that is akin to the traditional art of ikebana, making the lifeless plot of land alive. The previous head of the Joushou family decided that for their heir to win the heart of the flower of the Jujutsu society, they have to plant different species of flowering plants to the bland greenery they have in their backyard. It most certainly impressed the standing head of the Hanamo clan, who agreed to give their prized daughter to the man who would least harm her. Now, the garden is a testament to the love sprouting between your mother and father and many maids and butlers say that it is still revered by those who have heard it, all wishing for a love like that to save them from the fate given to them by the higher-ups.

A little honey bee drapes itself on one of the flowers, its wings fluttering rapidly against the purple petals. The flower sneezes though it doesn’t agitate the bee buzzing to get a taste of its nectar. You giggle at the incessant complaints brought by the flower, only to be met by the satisfied buzz of the bee.

“Look, Mama, the flower is talking so fast!” You point at the still-rambling flower, Mother following your finger with her hooded eyes. 

“It’s reassuring to know that I’m not the only one to hear them now.”

You lean back from Mother’s shoulder, her hand immediately flat on your back to prevent you from toppling. “Careful,” she mutters under her breath. The crease on her eyebrows vanishes at the sound of your twinkling laughter.

“Sorry, Mama!”

Mother shakes her head. “It’s alright, petal.”

“Mama says she can hear the flowers, too!”

She sighs at your manner of speaking. “You said you can hear flowers, too,” she corrects without looking down at you, the door of her room right at her reach. “You can easily replace the nouns with pronouns, little petal. It’s not appealing to the ears once you get older. Best to remember to stop referring to yourself from a third point of view as well. It is unbecoming of a little lady of this house to have such impaired speech.” Mother hears nothing from you, so she takes a little peek at you before letting out a huff at the deflated posture you carry. “Your father won’t like it, petal.” She heaves another sigh. “And yes, I can hear the flowers because of our family’s cursed technique.”

“What’s a cursed technique, Mama?”

Once you enter Mother’s room, she pads on the tatami and gracefully lowers herself on one of the zaisu with you on her lap. You don’t see any first-aid kits anywhere that can help her clean and dress your small wound. Instead, Mother unravels the ribbon around your finger and holds it up for her to see. The blood has dried now, the wound stark on your skin. You never realised that the nick made by the roses’ thorns travelled from the tip of your appendage down to the line bordering your first knuckle. Mother remains quiet as she rubs the tip of her own finger over your own, making you flinch at the sting. She glances at the harsh movement of your little body and tuts, the sound echoing through the walls of her minimalistically decorated room. With the tenderness only a mother can have, she keeps on brushing her finger against your open skin, her breathing becoming laboured with each passing second.

The feeling that washes over you is ticklish in every sense. Something is coming from Mother’s touch that has you looking over at your joined hands. There is a pulsating glow emanating from between you two — blinding and warm. It travels from her fingertips to your wound, stitching it together like how she sews the tapestries displayed on some walls of the estate. The pain you felt earlier can be a figment of your imagination because when Mother wipes your finger with a clean napkin on the low table in front of you, the magic she did erases any sign of your injury. And right when she finishes doing her magic, the flowers in the ikebana around her room continue flourishing until more than one blossom can be seen. It’s only then that you realise they are singing in a chorus so heavenly that you have no problems hearing them all at once.

With a rugged pattern of breathing, Mother answers your hanging question, “That … can be classified as a cursed technique.”

You lift your hand to your eyes, blinking every so often and examining it for any scar. “Whoa,” you breathe. “That’s so cool!”

“That,” she catches her breathing, “is the reason why you should never be hurt.” She cups your face with her palm, cradling it like the world that you are. “Our very existence, our cursed technique, the way we were born, is proof of how special we are. They are the reason why your father is quite protective of you. Believe me when I say that you lit up the entire compound when I gave birth to you. In this generation, you are considered to be the most valuable possession of the Jujutsu society. There may come a time when a strong sorcerer will be born, but for now, the world will fall to its knees at the sound of your name. Because you have my blood in you and you know what they say about my family?” You sheepishly shake your head and she takes that as a sign to continue, with a knowing smile on her glossed lips, “Men would go to war just to have us. The near downfall of the Zen’in and Gojo clans hundreds of years ago says it all.”

“I don’t want that,” you murmur, now forlorn at the possibility of wreaking havoc in your world.

“It is the way of the world for us, petal,” Mother says, like an afterthought she always kept ever since.

“I want to watch Sanrio all day and look at the flowers and play,” you pout.

“That doesn’t exactly work for us in the future.”

“Then maybe I should run away!”

Now, both of Mother’s hands trap your head in place. Your eyes take her in — the franticness coating her features, the disbelief in the form of the sneer on her lips, and the underlying glint underneath her pupils. Your little heart starts pounding in your chest. Did you do something wrong to elicit such a reaction from her? Your mouth is about to form an apology when she cuts off your train of thought, “Never think of that again. You are the current flower of the Jujutsu society; running away is something that will have you executed. Do you understand me?” You nod, only jumping when that response rings unsatisfactory to Mother. She grits out your name before repeating, “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mother,” comes your quiet response.

“Now, that’s a good girl,” her words are soft but they carry a weight enough to wilt the smallest of buds. “If you run away, you might as well be a dead woman crawling.”

You’ve always wanted a younger sibling.

You don’t particularly long for a brother to dote on or a sister to frolic in the garden with, all you want is someone to share this loneliness wrapping around every room you venture into. And you have reached an age where you wish you had someone to play with, being eight and now more aware that the attention people give you is devoid of genuine emotion. Father is busy with whatever adult thing he occupies himself with (as usual) and Mother has started becoming ill, staying in her room more than going out to get a dose of fresh air. You’re left in the company of maids, butlers, butterflies, and flowers. With so many festivals that have been postponed, you have lost hope that you will get that adorable little sibling in your dreams — until the spring of 1988 when news spread that Mother is with child and you will finally have the younger sibling she wishes for.

“Congratulations, Lady Joushou,” a passing visitor jovially cheers, their smile reaching the heavens as if it’s their wife who is pregnant with the next heir of the clan. “I hope it’s a boy!”

“Oh, imagine the joy Yoshiki would feel if a boy comes out,” an elderly lady from the branch family gushes with her mouth carefully covered by the sleeves of her kimono.

Mother simply passes them a smile, one that can’t be hidden by the products on her face. Her hand is carefully perched on her protruding belly, just two months away from giving birth.

Father decided that the announcement of the possible heir of the Joushou clan should come at a later date, with the news making an impact on the higher-ups and would eventually give the clan an edge compared to the others. Especially now that the Zen’in clan has failed to produce another child from the oldest couple of the current head, their last child still an odd specimen but a survivor of a room full of cursed spirits. Father said that wasn’t enough for them to be boastful about their prowess, you remember (he adds something along the lines of the entire Jujutsu world would bow before the boy who will carry his Nullification). But you never cared about clan politics or who has the more exceptional children, you just want your baby sister to be out into the world. You want to show her the storybook you created for her eyes and ears only, a story of a little princess in the flowers.

“You should eat more seaweed, dear,” another old lady pads over to suggest. “It would help with milk production if you plan on breastfeeding the future heir.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, Lady Joushou is going to breastfeed the future heir. Breastfeeding is vital for the relationship of the mother and the child after all.” One of the official elders of the clan swatted the lady from the branch family before taking the rein on the conversation, her smile making her eyes crease into lines. “Try some cucumber juice as well! It worked when I was carrying my last child. Your skin will glow when you drink it, too.”

“Dear, now that I see it,” the old lady from the branch family starts while placing her hand on her cheek. “You have been glowing lately.”

“That is wonderful news!”

Mother chuckles ever so slightly. “Why?”

“It confirms that you’re carrying a boy!”

“A boy?” Something lights up Mother’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

The elder of the clan hums, “When a woman looks decayed, it means that they’re pregnant with a girl because all of the mother’s beauty is being sucked by the baby. If the opposite happens like the mother getting prettier by the day, the baby is a boy because beauty is not something he needs.”

Mother blinks out of her stupor. “That’s … informative, Shizuka-sama.”

“But I remember that everyone thought he was carrying a boy when the little flower was born. You had the most noticeable case of pregnancy glow with her that we thought we finally had our heir. Turns out it’s even better — a little lady to carry on the mantle of being the glorified womb—!”

“Enjoying yourself listening to the elders, little petal?” Father’s voice makes you jump from the shoji. You look behind your shoulder to see him standing with his back straight, his long hair that was tied in a low ponytail hanging over his shoulder, and his smile gentle yet firm. Father is a man who commands attention wherever he's placed. You don’t see him without his usual stoicism. Even when he smiles, you feel as if he’s never within your reach. Father was once Papa and when Papa decided it was better for him to long for a child he could pass his technique to, he became Father. When you keep staring at him, Father lightly laughs, something that sounds more like a scoff than anything. “Come here, petal,” he softly says, letting his hands be free from the confines of his kimono to gesture you into his arms. He carries you once you reach him, releasing a playful huff, “You’ve gotten big, huh?” He noses your hair before opening the shoji.”

“Oh, Lord Yoshiki!”

“Did you have a good meeting, Lord Yoshiki?”

“You must be pleased to hear about the possible gender of your child!”

“Finally an heir to celebrate!

“We’ll definitely fix a festival that’s more extravagant than the Hanamo’s—!”

“Ladies,” Father cuts through, his smile glacial enough to make the elderly women freeze. “Can I have some time with my wife? Our precious daughter is asking for her mother and I can’t have our little petal deprive her of it simply because we have a party outside.”

The one from the branch family bows her head in front of the head of the clan. “Oh, right away, Yoshiki-sama! We deeply apologise for taking most of your wife’s time.”

You don’t fail to notice the look of disdain she gives your direction.

“Nonsense,” the higher in position among the ladies tuts.

“Shizuka,” comes from the weak admonition of the lesser lady.

“The girl has her maids, am I right?” The words are like poison on her tongue and her eyes are daggers that pierce through your little bubble. Ever since they didn’t get the heir they wanted the first time around, they find you lowly just like Mother. At the tender age of eight, you already grasp the reason why some of Father’s family look at you in a way that someone looks at an uncoordinated ikebana — with disappointment. Coming from a clan that’s purely known for their blessed wombs, it is easy for the other clans to assume that is all that the Hanamo clan is worth — bearing children with otherworldly looks that can make the entire world weak. The woman continues throwing her daggers, “The child your wife is carrying has more priority than the one you have now. This unborn child may be the next one to inherit our technique—”

“I appreciate the concern,” Father says without saying the name of the elder woman. “But I would like to dismiss you now.”

“Well, I—”

“You have said enough.”

The woman squawks like a chicken and you giggle at the sound. She meets your laughing form and the glare on her face can curdle milk. Your laughter ceases but Father places a hand on the back of your head as if to shield you from her. She chooses to save her life by tidying up her kimono and exiting the room, the other ladies following her like ducklings. Once the room encloses only you three, Father walks to where Mother is and sits at the end of the chaise lounge she is reclined on.

“How is the boy?”

Mother lets out a little laugh. “Not you, too.”

“Is there a problem?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Father hums, the conversation ending there.

You look at them like a tennis match.

Once upon a time, you longed for a younger sibling, not caring about the sex of the baby. Now, with the weight of the elder’s eyes on your useless form, you start to think that you don’t want a little brother, one that can be a godling among mortals. You want someone to play with and at the same time protect from the harsh realities of the elders — not someone who will take everything from you. It may sound selfish when you let it sink into your brain. You resort to twiddling with your fingers the more silence seeps through the cracks of the room. 

“I don’t want a brother,” your little mouth runs faster than your head. You pout as you fiddle with the material of your expensive kimono, embroidered with the different flowers that stand for your late grandmothers and aunts who married into other clans just like Mother. You don’t know what they mean but you figure that since they look pretty to be placed in a ceremonial robe, they might stand for something beautiful as well. While following the outlines of a chrysanthemum with your finger, you continue, “Brothers are going to be mean even if they’re little. I’ve seen my cousins and they’re rowdy — I don’t want my kimono to be dirty. Once, they threatened to push me off the bridge of our garden.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Father replies, adjusting you on his lap until he can face you while looking down. It’s genuine — the smile on his face; only reserved for his close family members, most especially you. He caresses the fluff that is making your cheek protrude with his thumb, his gaze seeing something that only he can envision. You may be imagining it but Father pulls you closer to his chest. He says nothing for a moment, instead leaning down to press a soft kiss on your hair inhaling that flowery scent your cursed energy pulsates with. “You will have a younger brother, petal. But fret not, your brother won’t be like your cousins because he has us. He will grow up to be sensible and kind and strong. He will carry on our name with him and you will be there as his guide.”

You tilt your head at him. “Won’t the elders do that instead?”

Father chuckles, his eyes fond as he keeps on rubbing circles on the apples of your cheeks. “I know he’d rather have you than those old people. The bond of siblings is something akin to an unsaid binding vow yet there are no conditions to be met because you are connected.”

You turn to Mother and all she does is smile. Looking down on Father’s rather plain kimono, you think it through.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, petal,” she tells you. “I, myself, have a brother and it’s not the end of the world. Every worry you have will vanish when he’s here with us.”

Your tentativeness comes in the form of reaching for Mother’s belly, curious to feel your potential younger brother. It’s almost like beckoning the bunny in the gardens to your hands four years ago; fur as white as snow and eyes as red as the red spider lilies decorating the inner corners of the foliage and shrubs (bad luck, the gardeners say). Confidence pools in your tiny hands upon finally touching the rough texture of Mother’s kimono under your skin because this time, you know that your younger brother would outlive any of you, unlike the bunny four years ago — the red of its eyes matching the blood pooling from its white coat, maggots squirming from its insides and onto the grass. The bunny died but your brother will live.

At least that’s what you constantly tell yourself when the entire estate is ablaze with the news that the baby boy Mother has been praised for for carrying, comes out pale blue as a stalk of delphiniums.

When your little brother never reached a full day of life and was placed with the ancestors the day after his birth, everything died in the Joushou compound. There is a lingering scent of rotting flowers in the breeze, encompassing the entire protective circle wrapping around the compound’s protective barrier. Mother won’t stop crying during the kokubetsushiki (where everyone says their farewells); not even your comforting tugs on her black kimono can quell the distraught her entire body racks with. Father looks forward as the son he prayed to the gods for will be burned — so tiny and so unfair, an image of a perfect clan head. You see the other clans wearing black like your family does but they don’t cry like Mother does nor grumble in disappointment like the elders do. You look over your shoulder at the clan with sharp eyes and you feel the flowers beside them squirm at their malintent, except for one. It’s a boy already staring at you, the deep green in his eyes reminds you of early spring when the greenery is at its most beautiful. The scar on the side of his lips is stark against his skin, so twisted that even without a smile on his face, it is prominent. He keeps on staring at you with so many emotions that you can hardly pick them out until your name is called.

“Yes, Father?” You look up at him.

Without returning your gaze, he says, “Let’s go.” You follow him through the door but Mother doesn’t. “Wife,” he announces, causing Mother to flinch.

“I-I’m going to say g-goodbye to hi—”

“Come.”

Her breathing hitches, having no choice but to always be obedient in front of so many prying eyes. “O-Of course, husband.”

The world carries on but Mother has never come out of her room ever since.

Nobody has ever entered it except Father, stoic but tumultuous, and the screams that follow are enough to give you nightmares at night — bone-chilling and grating.

“What were those screams, Aida-nee-san? It sounds like Mama is in pain.”

The maid finches at your question one morning while rubbing your skin with a soft sponge.

“For there to be blessings, one must suffer first, Ojou-sama — they were just making your baby brother. Your mother will be praised if the union becomes fruitful once again.”

You wish you never wanted a baby sibling at all.

You are nine when you are introduced to members of Mother’s family.

Your uncle, Hanamo Hatsugu, stares at you from across the table with eyes glistening with expectation. The table is painted with a variety of sweets from all parts of Kyoto, some intricate with their decorations (candied sugar moulded into swans on top of whipped cream) while others are the simple desserts that you see in catalogues (nothing but fruits as their jewellery, though also glistening with melted sugar). You have never owned a sweet tooth in your life, courtesy of the maids who think of your health, constructing nutrition charts for each day of the week, something that has to do with preparation. You think through all the possible things you can say to your uncle and all of them lead to him dejected or angry for your lack of enthusiasm at the spread he prepared. The most you can do is sit straight and let nature do its singing outside the window. Hopefully, it will drown out the silence you’re causing. 

“So,” your uncle drawls out like a child, his eyes never dimming — they’re the same as Mother’s, which means they’re the same as yours, too. “Do you want the panna cotta? The roasted strawberry crumble? Ooh, ooh, the black forest cake from this cafe is absolutely divine, one bite and you will see heaven, I would say!” At your wide-eyed reaction to the chocolate-coated frosting on the cake, he pauses with a smile before brandishing a saucer of a smooth cake topped with berries. “How about some angel food cake? No one can resist a slice of good angel food cake!” You make no move and you think he finally reaches his final straw because he leans back and groans in frustration. “Come on, sprout, you have to eat something! It’s been hours since you’ve been here.”

Oh, so, that’s what it is. You look down at the desserts he arranged on the table (at least from what he boasts about earlier, saying that it’s something he comes up with like flower arrangement). There’s nothing displayed here that’s not overly coated with sugar or drizzled with too much syrup. You might as well accept your fate.

You pick the dessert that you assume to be the least sweet of everything here — a dark chocolate glazed doughnut with dried blackberries on top. The eyes drilling on your forehead can be quite imposing but you take a bit of the confection nonetheless. You carefully chew on the bittersweet piece of candy, letting it melt on your tongue until you get a taste of it combined with the blackberries. You can’t even deny that they complement each other.

“Huh,” comes from your uncle.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You can look like a kid your age,” Uncle Hatsugu muses with his chin supported by his hand, “I’m glad.”

You don’t understand, tilting your head to the right.

“Now that’s downright adorable,” he points at your scrunched-up nose, furrowed eyebrows, and jutted lip. “I understand why some of our relatives spread the word that your father can never refuse you anything. You are like a tiny mouse.” He reaches out over the table and the display of desserts to pinch your cheek but you evade the possible harmful gesture. “And a flighty one at that. You know, that’s useful when harnessing our cursed technique. Do you know a thing or two about it?” While he speaks, he waves at one of the maids stationed at the shoji of the room before signing something that awfully looks like a drink.

With your mouth nibbling on the doughnut, you nod in response. At the sight of you still eating the dessert, Uncle Hatsugu brightens like a child witnessing their first rain of fractals on a chilly, grey day. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

At that, you knit your eyebrows even more.

“Hah, you’re so much like Onee-chan when we were young.”

You gulp down what you’ve been chewing. “Mama?”

He grins when he finally makes you speak. “Yeah, Onee-chan is a curious individual. I never quite grasped what she is like but,” he emphasised the word, “she is the most adept at utilising the healing potential of our cursed technique — actually every woman who earned the title of Heir Maker has the ability to do that. You may be too young to be told this but I guess it’s better than later.” The mirthful air surrounding Uncle Hatsugu disappears and what is left are heavy lines making up his sharp face. “You and all the women before you are considered to be anomalies in the Jujutsu system made by the old gaggle of men who call themselves the higher-ups and because of that, you are unofficially given the title of Special Grades.”

“Special?”

“Yes, little sprout is special,” he forces himself to smile. “And it is because of our family.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“Have you ever felt like the plants around you talk or relay their thoughts?” You nod and he puffs his chest in satisfaction. “Perfect, then, that means you inherited it. Our cursed technique lies in continuously seeing the world in a positive light, which means you will always have the opposite of cursed energy.” He flicks his hand to let blue flames cover his entire appendage, right to his elbows. You gasp at the hostility coming from Uncle but he only laughs at that and erases any sign of the flame from sight. “That is regular cursed energy. This, however,” this time, he cups both of his hands in front of him, putting more concentration than before, and instead of the blue flames from earlier, his hands carry white flames edged with green, “is the pinnacle of our cursed technique — the reverse of cursed energy.”

“Woah,” you gape, forgetting the doughnut in your hand and leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the white flames that only seem to grow brighter the more Uncle looks at you with fondness.

“Yeah, remarkable, isn’t it?”

You can’t help but nod in awe. “Mama healed me with it once when I got myself hurt from the gardens.”

“I heard from our elders that Onee-chan possesses the highest output of our cursed technique in centuries but she can only heal instead of attack,” Uncle Hatsugu ruefully smiles. “Too bad she is pushed to marry first before pursuing a career of fighting and protecting. But now,” his eyes that he shares with Mother gleam and you swear you see flowers bloom in his irises, “this is my chance to teach you how to use our cursed technique — Floral Anima.”

Only the men in the Joushou clan have the right to be sorcerers, that is if they successfully inherit the Nullification. As of now, you recall that there’s not a single woman sorcerer in your family. Being a sorcerer—no, wielding a cursed technique at most—is a figment of one’s dreams. 

“But there are no girls in my family who can do cursed techniques,” you supply with your eyes on the crumbs on your saucer. 

“The Joushou clan is not the only family you have, sprout.”

You peer at him through your unbound hair, trepidation still lingering in your limbs. You can’t even begin to think how Father would react to you dabbling in something only men can do. But then again, Mother has a cursed technique, some of the Hanamo women have cursed techniques, Hell, even the kinder old ladies you passed by earlier in the extensive gardens have cursed techniques (they made some of the flowers extra flourishing as a welcome to the Hanamo compound). All your life, you never wanted anything. Maybe this can be it — the one thing that will carve out who you are. Learning a cursed technique will give you the identity that has long since been stripped from you. The Joushou clan is not the only family that you bear the blood of. You’re a Hanamo as well — the known shepherds of the forests and blossoms of Japan.

With a deep breath, you lift your head and say, “What do I have to do?”

Uncle Hatsugu has that blinding smile again. You can smell the amalgam of floral scents in the air wafting from outside the engawa. “Come here!” He pats on the zabuton beside him.

You stand up and plop yourself next to him, making your hair bounce before framing your face. You look up at Uncle Hatsugu, who sits carefully to face you.

“Now, hold your hands together like you I did.” You do so and await his next instructions. “I want you to close your eyes,” you close them, “and think of what makes you happiest—it doesn’t matter when, whether it will be in the future or stuck in the past; it’s up to you.”

You think of making your own garden, with flowers that you have planted and cultivated yourself. You think of Mother healthy again, skin glowing like she did so many years ago. You think of the baby brother you once wanted, running around the cut grass on his stubby feet. Lastly, you don’t think of Father and his family. Yet nothing happens. You open your eyes and blankly look at your uncle in disappointment.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You huff. “But it didn’t work.”

Uncle Hatsugu pushes on your forehead with his forefinger, making you cover it up with a glare. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

“Then what am I supposed to think about?”

“I don’t know,” he admonishes. “Happiness is subjective to every person.”

“What makes you happy? What do you think about while making that white fire?”

His eyes glazed over as if he were watching a scene only he could see. A smile painting an arrangement of periwinkles and forget-me-nots creates itself on his lips, blues and purples shifting around each other and creating a sentimental mess. It takes him a moment to reign himself back to the present, with you patiently trailing your eyes over his face. “It’s always about simpler times. Like Mom cutting watermelon slices on summer days, growing my first flower for the first time, or,” he trails off, “wishing for a memory that is impossible to happen because you are here, the proof that it did happen.” His face contorts into a rueful smile, reaching out to pat the crown of your head. “I always imagine my sister never getting married, staying right here in our estate, and not having children — she is—”

“The happiest you’ve seen her,” you finish for him and he pales. “I know.” You look down at the kimono you have, a miniature copy of Mother’s. “I sometimes wonder what it would be like if Mother is not the mother I’ve grown to adore. Maybe I could be a different child.”

“Hey, I apologise for putting that thought in your head—”

“It’s alright, I’ve grown quite used to them.”

“What do you—”

You quickly lift your head. “Can you help me now?”

“U-Uh, sure,” Uncle Hatsugu stutters. “Try another memory. If you don’t mind me asking, what was the first one you used?”

You pout. “Mother being healthy again and my baby brother being alive.”

He nods in understanding. “How about this? Can you think of a place where you feel like you can breathe more easily?”

“I can try.”

“You will,” he fixes you with a playfully stern look, “and I won’t take no for an answer.”

You nod in determination. “Okay.”

“Okay! Now, do it all over again.”

You close your eyes and this time, you’re calm. Suddenly, you feel a gentle breeze covering your hands. The sensation urges you to open your eyes. On the palms of your hands is almost like that heart-fire demon in a movie you once watched. You expect the fire to burn your skin off but you’re thrown back to the memory of Mother healing your wound — that ticklish thing travelling through the lines of your skin. You did it.

“Oh, gods, you did it,” Uncle Hatsugu breathes. “You did it, sprout! What did you think of this time?”

Still mesmerised at the white fire, you say, “A forest. An evergreen forest that seems to know both everything and nothing. It’s like that forest I’ve seen in a movie with cute spirits, filled with life and a possibility of a blight inside.”

Again, you never want another sibling.

The Joushou clan is in an uproar.

Another boy went to the depths of the earth. Fingers pointing at the useless Hanamo clan whose only worth comes in getting bred by strong sorcerers. Your uncle nearly grows poisonous vines at the baseless accusation. Father stoically faces the storm. The Zen’in clan, especially a man with a bottle of sake for an accessory, laughs at Father for bearing the irony of possessing The Glorified Womb yet never having a son—an heir.

Yet one thing remains in your mind.

An image of Mother crumbling to her knees with a pool of blood for a moat surrounding her.

You’re ten when Mother finally departs from the world in a flurry of red spider lilies, leaving behind a younger sister instead of a brother. Both disappointments and blows to your father’s family. Everybody is clad, once again, in mourning black but you feel as if you’re the only one who genuinely grieves for Mother. Her family is not even present at the funeral services, purposefully banned from ever entering the Joushou clan’s gates for sullying their name by introducing their failure of a daughter to their head. You can feel the tension in the wooden panels of the house, the harsh whispers of the elders, and the animosity behind closed doors.

All of the flowers in the estate withered with her, you notice. It is only when you step out to the lifeless gardens that with each barefoot step you make the colours bleed through. You stop in front of the carnations that once made you bleed. They were the flowers you’ve seen Mother plant without using her cursed technique. She talks to them, you once saw, whispering sweet nothings as if they were her children just as much as you are. You realise that you have your younger siblings all along but the role of the protector fell on them.

“Watch over my little petal, alright? She may be reckless but she is kind and understanding, worthy of being the flower who will tend to this garden once I pass.”

You blankly stare at them now while lowering yourself to the ground, sitting like you were once on the engawa watching the butterflies jump from flower to flower, never realising that tear tracks start to form on your cheeks like the trails of fallen stars. With each tear that drops on the soil, a sprout pierces through the soil, growing and growing until a solitary carnation comes from a carefully tucked bud and brushes the tears on your left cheek away. That only makes you cry even harder.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there while the services are still ongoing in the estate but you startle when the carnation squeaks at you to look behind you.

Heartbeat lodged in your throat, butterflies making your stomach queasy, and time standing still, you find yourself staring at a black-haired boy at the entrance of this part of the gardens — his eyes wide, chest too still to indicate any breathing, and scar a sharp contrast to his pale skin. He’s dressed in black and only one colour is standing among the dreary coldness of the once vibrant foliage.

A pair of evergreen forests for eyes.

additional notes:

Joushou — Reader's last name; Mainly from the term shoujou since reader is almost like a protagonist of a shoujou manga (born to be in a shoujou, forced to be in shounen rip). Kanji: 浄聖; 浄 (clean, pure, beautify, unsullied) + 聖 (holy, sacred, imperial); Prides themselves for possessing a CT named Nullification, which stems from their constant renewal and flow of reverse cursed technique, even going as far as creating a barrier that can render any cursed energy attack useless or to break a domain expansion, hence, getting the moniker of the House of Purity.

Hanamo — The maiden name of Reader's mother; Kanji: 花茂; 花 (of the flowers) + 茂 (lush, abundant, thriving, outstanding, diligent); The women in this clan are most known to be Heir Makers since the Golden Age of Sorcery, having possessed the Glorified Womb after being blessed by the goddess of creation.

Floral Anima — comes from the Greek term anima, which means the soul or the irrational part of it. Its principle comes from the belief that all life possess a soul, even plants. By having this CT, those in the Hanamo clan can manipulate the anima or souls of the flora to their liking, with them only influenced if there is a constant output of reverse cursed technique (positive). This allows the sorcerer to grow plants in varying degrees, make them burst forth from spots of cursed energy, and create safety spots or prisons when absolutely necessary. They can also make use of the type of plant they have around them to create a multitude of attacks than can be gentle but highly offensive as well.

taglist (send an ask or a reply if you want to be added !! )

@booblikerlhc @sugutoad

[heartfullofleeches]

God I really need random blurb of Pin to quench my fluff thirst of him (and ideas). Speaking of Pin, can he eat? like, can he munch down the foods or just straight up swallow everything like a black hole

[They do have a mouth technically - how they eat will remain a mystery. Here's a blurb with my favorite Yan doll and reader who likes to bake/throw parties]

-

"Sorry... I can't make it."

"Maybe next time?"

"I'm sure others will show."

If only they had let you know sooner.... Or at all.

You always took the smallest thing into accountability when planning. Work schedules, events with family, the weather. You found the perfect day when all of your friends should have been free and sent the invites out a week in advance on the cutest little cards you found on your last trip the supply store. A couple of them had excitedly messaged you about the party, gifting hope soon to be crushed as you sat alone at the dinner table piled with cakes and cookies, and all the other treats you had prepped for their arrival.

You guessed not every adult wanted to visit what was essentially a glorified tea party with no real reason to celebrate, but it would've been nice if they just said that instead of wasting your time and effort. You wouldn't feel as bad if they texted you beforehand, but as always you were left in the dark. They only wanted your skills when it meant something. You were who they called to cater for birthdays and engagement parties - what was the harm in gathering just to see each other?

It sucked, but at least you weren't completely alone.

"At least I still have you, Pin."

The doll's round eyes point down at the large slice of cake on their place, hands posed on either sides of the table. You used the left over ribbon from decorating to make a bow tucked into their hair, keeping their yarn locks parted from their smiling face. Frosted stained their stitched grin from the first time they'd fallen over when you seated them in their chair. It was nice to know someone appreciated your baking - even if they were made of cotton and fabric.

The first to arrive and the only one who stuck around in the end. You found them at the same supply store you bought all of your decorations, but sometimes it felt like they were the one who found you. The oversized almost squashed you when it came tumbling from another prop you'd been checking out. When you couldn't find a price tag and the store owner claimed to never have seen them before, they gave you a fair estimate and you went about your day with a new friend and roommate. Pin had always been there when your friends weren't. You had an entire album full of pictures of your many celebrations together and costumes to match. If there was anyone you could depend on to brighten your day - it was them.

"I'll never leave you!"

Your first smile of the day - all because of the scripted lines of a giant doll. "Thanks, Pin. Glad I can always count on you."

Detangling your fingers from the cord attached to their back, the string pulls once more as you yank your hand away.

"I'm all you'll ever need!"

Your smile falls. "You just might you're right about that.... Well, it's getting pretty late. I should start cleaning up. Enjoy your cake while I do, okay?"

You gather the empty plates and cups on the table, returning them to the cabinets with a heavy heart. Next time will be different. It has to be. You leave Pin in their seat as you change into something more comfortable. Their button eyes follow you from the reflection of a mirror on the wall. While changing, you wonder what to do with the leftovers since there's far too much to eat alone before it all spoils. Reentering the dining room, it would seen that wouldn't be as much of a problem as you thought.

Sprinkles and crumbles coat Pin's face as they hang slumped in their chair. The fork that was once in their hands lies on the floor and their fingers were covered in just as much frosting as their shirt. There was even some on that zipper on their chest you were never able to get down even with pliers. Where an entire cake once sat was now the final envelope from the invite cards you picked up earlier that week. Your name was written in bold lettering on its back along with a little drawing of the missing cake.

"Y/n! Thank you so for always inviting me to your wonderful parties and making me feel like I belong. I wish we could talk more, but I'm a little shy. Your cakes are so delicious, and I'm really sorry your friends didn't come, but that just means more for me! I'm sure they'll come around someday, but if not you know I'll always be around to cheer you up. I love love love you, and appreciate everything you do so please don't ever stop doing what you love.

Sincerely, Pin."

[shape]

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A post shared by We will dance again🎗️ (@we_will_dance_again_berlin)

As we approach the anniversary of the massacre of October 7th perpetrated by the terrorist group Hamas in Israel, we invite you to a powerful memorial event for the victims of the Nova Festival, which will take place from 05.-06.10.2024 at Club ://about blank in Berlin. At the psytrance festival in the Negev desert alone, roughly 400 young and innocent ravers, who just celebrated life, were brutally murdered. Many more were seriously injured. Hamas kidnapped 40 of them as hostages in the Gaza Strip. There were numerous testimonies of rape and sexual abuse, including gang rape. One would think that public sympathy and solidarity with the victims would have been heard, especially from the club culture community, which has always prided itself on being ‘one family’, but the reactions were largely, as in the rest of the cultural and artistic landscape, deafening silence or even relativisation and justification of these obvious atrocities.

„We will dance again” wants to break this silence and send a strong signal of solidarity and hope, while at the same time opposing anti-Semitism, hatred of Israel and the glorification of terror. Because the attack by the Islamist Hamas on the Nova Festival was not just an attack on the visitors to a rave in Israel, but a fundamental attack on the basic values of club culture itself: Love, peace, freedom and unity

The event includes a day and night program with a film screening, panel discussion, reading, dance performance, information stands, Israeli food and a Clubnight with DJs and live acts on three floors.The proceeds will be donated to a foundation that supports the survivors and bereaved of the victims financially and in coping with their trauma.

PS: The organizers reserve the right to exclude participants who disrupt the event in any way. Anti-Semitic, anti-Israel and terror-glorifying or relativizing statements will not be tolerated at any time.

[pespillo]

the three pillars of the Red Sun Kingdom´s military;

the Juniors (kids and young teens), the Spies (called "Gooses" over the horrible sound they make when alerted) and Seniors (former scouts and sergeants who been trusted to take care of The Youth)

the Senior Rangers are Not above in rank from the spies, if they chose to betray the pledge they made under King´s Rule they will be immediately reprehended just like anyone else, the Youth just gets grounded time outs for bad behavior lol

(this is why its hard to take down King´s forces even tho they are literally babies all over the streets , because getting reprimanded for failing to keep the Youth out of harm´s way is more terrifying than anything else)

there is also more ppl getting recruited into senior rangers than actual former scouts going into it because a lot of them didnt , have the greatest background record when you think abt it, not even mentioning how a lot of former coven figures well uh didnt get the favor in trial so to speak (motions a guillotine)

theres also some groups that been actually replacing bureaucratic castle work that was done by belos former crew, they are managing but you can imagine how a council can get with teenagers in it lmaoo, a lot of hexside students are just on the older side of the Youth on sports team for entertainment events.

Senior Rangers do a lot of glorified babysitting so that the Youth doesnt bite eachother in lunchtime and all that , some celebrated members of it include Steve , he has a few medals for it, Kikimora is a head of the training programs . You would think she would hate it , but she gets to have people who actually take in what shes saying seriously, so she significantly calmed down her temper, also the Spies dont make any exceptions on who to reprimand so that certainly motivates one to be actually Patient with toddlers.

[transgenderer]

The Epic of Manas is a traditional epic poem dating to the 18th century but claimed by Kyrgyz tradition to be much older. Manas is said to be based on Bars Bek who was the first khagan of the Kyrgyz Khaganate. The plot of Manas revolves around a series of events that coincide with the history of the region in the 9th century, primarily the interaction of the Kyrgyz people with other Turkic and Chinese people.

The government of Kyrgyzstan celebrated the 1,000th anniversary of Manas in 1995. The eponymous hero of Manas and his Oirat enemy Joloy were first found written in a Persian manuscript dated to 1792–93.[1] In one of its dozens of iterations, the epic poem consists of approximately 500,000 lines.

The epic poem's age is unknowable, as it was transmitted orally without being recorded. However, historians have doubted the age claimed for it since the turn of the 20th century. The primary reason is that the events portrayed occurred in the 16th and 17th centuries. Central Asian historian Vasily Bartold claimed that Manas was an "absurd gallimaufry of pseudo-history,"[1] and Hatto remarks that Manas was

"compiled to glorify the Sufi sheikhs of Shirkent and Kasan ... [and] circumstances make it highly probable that... [Manas] is a late eighteenth-century interpolation."[2]

Changes were made in the delivery and textual representation[3] particularly the replacement of the tribal background of Manas. In the 19th century versions, Manas is the leader of the Nogay people, while in versions dating after 1920, Manas is a Kyrgyz and a leader of the Kyrgyz.[4] Use of the Manas for nation-building purposes, and the availability of printed historical variants, has similarly had an impact on the performance, content, and appreciation on the epic.[5]

Attempts have been made to connect modern Kyrgyz with the Yenisei Kirghiz, today claimed by Kyrgyzstan to be the ancestors of modern Kyrgyz. Kazakh ethnographer and historian Shokan Shinghisuly Walikhanuli was unable to find evidence of folk-memory during his extended research in 19th-century Kyrgyzstan (then part of the expanding Russian empire) nor has any been found since.[6]

While Kyrgyz historians consider it to be the longest epic poem in history,[7] the Sanskrit epic Mahabharata and the Tibetan Epic of King Gesar are both longer.[8] The distinction is in number of verses. Manas has more verses, though they are much shorter.

Manas is said to have been buried in the Ala-Too mountains in Talas Province, in northwestern Kyrgyzstan. A mausoleum some 40 km east of the town of Talas is believed to house his remains and is a popular destination for Kyrgyz travellers. Traditional Kyrgyz horsemanship games are held there every summer since 1995. An inscription on the mausoleum states, however, that it is dedicated to "...the most famous of women, Kenizek-Khatun, the daughter of the emir Abuka". Legend has it that Kanikey, Manas' widow, ordered this inscription in an effort to confuse her husband's enemies and prevent a defiling of his grave. The name of the building is "Manastin Khumbuzu" or "The Dome of Manas", and the date of its erection is unknown.

heroic levels of cope from the kyrgyz

[yanfeisty]

tw : talk about toxic behavior.

Hi guys, I just wanted to talk a bit about Tighnari ENG VA's situation, I only like to post about cute or positive things and I don't like going into bad events but I felt the need to adress it. Quick summary about what happened, Elliot (Tighnari ENG VA) has been accused of horrible things.

This post is not here to explain everything that happened, if you wish to know more you can go search about it, just be cautious because it can be triggering, warnings are SA and gr*oming, he didn't admit every accusations so until proven guilty we can't really be sure of anything, but he still did admit some which are still horrible.

I hope the best for the victims and wish they can recover from it, I know it must be difficult so let's support them. The others VAs have spoken about it and I find it good they did, they must be extremely disappointed by their coworker and to have worked with him. The chance of getting a new VA isn't low since hoyoverse had already fired another VA for other accusations.

I will accept and still write about Tighnari, the character has nothing to do with his ENG VA and behavior, but I think it's understandable if you don't want to read about him because you have his voice in mind or it just makes you recall the situation. I'm saying this because no Tighnari artist or fan should be attacked, do keep in mind that doing content about Tighnari ≠ supporting his ENG VA, if you do in fact, defend Elliot and/or try to romanticize this type of behavior no matter if you condemn it in real life or not, don't interact with me, there are real victims out there they don't need people who glorify/normalize this issue by using fiction or other.

Finally quick psa, I saw many people saying they were surprised about it because he seemed like a good and funny person. Just know that bad persons hide their horrible action, they don't want people to know what they're doing because they don't want their life to be ruin, and they especially do this behind a screen. Please, be careful when you message anyone, strangers or celebrities, no matter how much informations you have, you don't know any of them personally and for the case of celebrities you only know their public persona, and when it comes to VA, remember they aren't the cute character you like, just the voice.

[harveyguilleniconodelamoda]

Harvey on Fashion for Plus Sizes: "Let's Make It Available to All of Us!"

Harvey spoke to Charles Bright of GoldDerby last week on a webchat about What We Do In The Shadows ending, his voice acting career, and his incredible red carpet collaborations with Christian Siriano.

I want to do a full retrospective on this topic eventually, but that's somehow an even bigger undertaking than chronicling all of Guillermo's sweaters, so it may take a while. In the meantime, I've provided a write-up of the fashion portion of the chat below, along with some photos and additional fashion commentary from yours truly!

You can watch the full webchat here.

"Well you've got to remember that being a guy of size, not a lot of people or designers were willing to dress me," Harvey begins, in response to a question about his favorite red carpet look from the past two years. "And it's upsetting. It reminds me of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman going 'I've got money to spend in here!'"

Harvey has spoken before about how prior to 2022, he dressed himself for red carpet events, and sometimes even had to provide his own costumes on set when the costume department didn't have anything that fit him. This is a problem many plus sized entertainers have encountered over the years, even as conversations about body positivity and fat acceptance have become more prominent in public discourse.

Siriano deserves a lot of credit for his track record of breaking barriers in fashion, for getting on board with Harvey's vision, and for bringing some incredible, iconic, history-making looks to life. But Harvey had been slaying on red carpets for years before their collaboration began, often in looks he put together himself without the aid of a designer or stylist. His love of fashion is not new, and his sense of style has always been on point!

Hollywood has been extremely reluctant to be inclusive in this way, with the media often reacting to even one or two high profile plus sized celebrities with concern trolling about whether they're "glorifying obesity" just by existing as successful and talented people in larger bodies in the public eye. But just as with so many other aspects of his career, Harvey has simply carved out doors for himself when none were opening.

"People don't take a risk because they're afraid, right?" Harvey explains. "But you could be the first! I've been fortunate. Talking to Christian Siriano, I was getting ready for the Academy Awards and I had this vision of like...'I really want to do something different, and I know that you don't really dress guys. I want to find a happy medium where it's masculine, and a little feminine, but it's me,' and it just wasn't something that they usually do."

"But we collaborated and we had this idea of like, what if it was the 1920s, but I'm going in a style that's retro, so it's the Gilded Age. So my hair is 1922 but I'm giving a nod to the Gilded Age because that would be vintage back in 1922. And so that's how I got that idea, and then we got the whole tuxedo flare and whatnot."

The now-iconic tuxedo gown Harvey wore to the 2023 Oscars.

"Working with Christian has been great. After that I think Vogue ran it, and it got all this attention, and people were like 'woah! a plus size guy looking good in fashion' and I was like 'yeah, we are out here and there's a lot of us! And I feel like there's just not designers who are designing for us or making it available to us.'"

Harvey's red carpet look for the Oscars, as well as his look for the Vanity Fair after party, appeared on multiple best dressed lists. He was even declared the best dressed person on the Oscars red carpet by MsMojo.

"After that Christian and I became friends," Harvey says. "I hosted the GLAAD awards and he dressed me for that, and I was honored with an award in California and he dressed me for that...and so we've been collaborating on different outfits."

Harvey and Christian Siriano have now collaborated on ten different outfits for half a dozen events since the start of 2023, including most recently the 2024 Critic's Choice Awards in January (where he once again made it only best dressed lists, such as this one from TVInsider) and the Garfield movie premiere in May.

"The Met Gala last year was, I think, the cherry on top, because it was a kind of nod to Chanel with a tweed in pink. But [the gala] was also honoring Karl Lagerfeld, and to be in my body, and being a POC, and wearing pink--so still honoring but not forgetting, and also representing myself--was a nice collaboration, and I think that gown was really beautiful and I loved it."

Harvey's Met Gala ensemble was easily one of the most impressive of the night, managing to be both flawlessly on theme while also being a creative interpretation that critiqued the subject of the theme.

Harvey finishes up his thoughts on his red carpet style by saying he wants to continue working with Siriano, as well as other designers who are willing to take a chance with him.

"The payoff is, you know, like you said: people look to people in film and television to be inspired, and be like 'why can't I? I can wear that! Where can I get that?' You know? And it's like you should be able to get that. Let's make it available to all of us."

Sounds great to me, Harvey! And it's true.

On a personal note, Harvey's incredible style and confidence has definitely been an inspiration. He's spoken a few times about how he's had people tell him how watching him has given them more confidence in themselves, and I count myself among that number. I am so excited to see what the rest of 2024 holds for him, on and off the red carpet!

[minecraftbookshelf]

I absolutely adore Empires Lizzie and I think I love ur rendition of her and of her and Joel the best bc of the absolute hilarity that’s goes along with being very old and also very unbothered by things.

(This is my roundabout way of asking for more Lizzie and Joel shenanigans in the marriage of state au)

I need you to be aware of the exact magnitude of the warm fuzzy feelings this ask gave me. I'm so happy you love this version of Joel and Lizzie!

I don't have any actual snippets or anything but I can ramble about them for a bit.

I'm actually writing two versions of Joel and Lizzie for this AU at the same time because the young Joel and Lizzie that meet each other the first time they get married are so very, very different from the version who just celebrated their 589th wedding anniversary you know? Like you said, very unbothered by things. They were not always this way XD

It's challenging but its also a lot of fun, because it's getting to look at them both when they have no idea who they are, and then also when they are comfortably settled into both their own skins and their relationship with each other.

My plan is to post fics from their arc more or less alternating with the ones from the flower husbands arc, because the events of their story are going to have both an impact and also clues to what is going on in the present day era :) It won't be an exact back and forth, but that is the general vibe.

The moment that their relationship really shifted and started growing into what it is "today" was the first time Joel yelled at someone for Lizzie. Not instead of her yelling at them, yelling at them to defend her.

(It had to be translated, because the person he was yelling at didn't speak any of the languages he spoke at the time, and Lizzie didn't really either, but it was the first time someone stood up for her as a person. And after so long of being treated like a glorified weapon that meant everything.)

-

AU Masterpost

[artemlegere]

Napoleon Crossing the Alps

Artist: Jacques-Louis David (French, 1748-1825

Genre: Portrait

Date: 1801

Media: Oil on Canvas

Location: Château de Malmaison, Rueil-Malmaison, Rueil-Malmaison, France

History

Napoleon Crossing the Alps, oil equestrian portrait by celebrated French artist Jacques-Louis David that was completed in 1801. This idealized portrait is perhaps the most powerful portrayal of Napoleon.

David was the ultimate political artist. He was a fervent advocate of the French Revolution (1787–99), almost losing his life on the guillotine in the reaction to the Reign of Terror. Then, in the next wave of political events, he became an equally enthusiastic supporter of Napoleon Bonaparte, using his talent to glorify the new emperor.

This painting commemorates Napoleon’s journey across the Alps in 1800, leading his army on the invasion of northern Italy. The scene was chosen by Napoleon himself, and he instructed the artist to show him “calm, mounted on a fiery steed.” The emperor’s features are idealized, largely because he refused to attend any sittings. As a result, David had to ask his son to sit at the top of a ladder in order to capture the pose. The costume was more accurate, however, as the artist was able to borrow the uniform that Napoleon had worn at the Battle of Marengo (1800).

First and foremost, David’s painting serves as an icon of imperial majesty. The horse’s mane and the emperor’s cloak, billowing wildly in a howling gale, lend a sense of grandeur to the composition. Carved on the rocks below, together with Napoleon's name, are the names of Hannibal and Charlemagne (Karolus Magnus) - two other victorious generals who had led their armies across the Alps.

As with all the best propaganda, the truth was rather more prosaic. Napoleon had in actuality made the journey in fine weather conditions. Similarly, although David based the rearing horse on an equestrian statue of Peter the Great, in reality, Napoleon had ridden across the Alps on a mule.

[theanticool]

Tom Aspinall vs Sergei Pavlovich - UFC 295

There is a lot of talk about the heavyweight division being log-jammed. I don't really agree with that because the division is bad. There isn't a gut of contenders chomping at the bit, ready to fight for the heavyweight title.

But there is Tom Aspinall (14-3). The Interim UFC heavyweight champion. Soon to be the "defending" interim UFC heavyweight champion. Aspinall is the singular interesting prospect that has emerged out of the void at the bigger weights. Sadly, a figurative fight between an old Jon Jones and an older Stipe Miocic seems to be holding the actual title of champion hostage. So instead, Tom Aspinall is being celebrated as a glorified #1 contender who will likely never get a crack at the true champion.

Aspinall will still, however, get a shot at revenge which is the next best thing. Two years ago, almost to the day, Aspinall tried to leg kick Curtis Blaydes (18-4) only to have his entire knee explode on him 15 seconds into the fight. Now the two are set to run it back at UFC 304 this Saturday (July 27) in the co-main event.

[glorianamultistan]

Repeated love (Baekhyun x Male Reader)

Part 2

Should there be a second chapter, when all has ended with the strokes of a few signatures? There are times when butterflies have left the cases of some lepidopterists and with winged effects brought tornados to register that they lived and still have enough life even though they glorify some shelves or walls from behind the glass.

It all comes down to a slip in the wrong room while trying to find a place to lie down. Baekhyun never thought that seeing y/n sitting all dolled up for the party would make him lose some balance of mind.

The next mistake was of y/n, running arms open to kissing his ex in a room where he spent the former night with his husband.

Neither of the two was going to take a chance like this, they were not allowed to, too much was at risk. Two well-publicised marriages establishing relationships between multiple elite families, and here still, with whispers and moans, y/n let it all go. Four months and the body breaks only for the one the heart accepts.

After the dilemma of not wanting to leave each other's warmth, both went their separate ways for the sake of the party.

The next few days were hard for y/n as he tried hard to face his husband calmly. He was not a bad man per se, he liked y/n and was respectful to him and his choices, it was just that he was not, for now, allowing y/n to go out alone.

"Y/n I just ask for a month, after that, you can go wherever you wish to, I promise complete freedom, not from marriage obviously as we are in it till the end."

"But why!? This is illegal! You can't possibly not let me go out. I have a life to live, and events to attend."

"Oh honey, you come from L/n family, you know how laws are for all of us, right? Now, be a good husband and wait for me, I will be back soon."

It was a forced hug and a close-lipped kiss, and with that, he left y/n in the study, miserable enough to cry a little before going to his room to get his phone and message.

'I am not allowed to go out hyung. All of them, even my parents are in this.'

'Baby, I will be meeting your husband today in a meeting; I will ask about you.'

'Hyung! Why will you do this!? Don't do anything rash like this.'

'Don't worry, I will ask as a person interested in knowing the new partner of their business partner.'

'Just don't let the mask fall, please.'

'Won't you pick it up if I do, like the last time?'

'If you put me in such a position then I will have to do it because I do not want the chances to end like this.'

Explicit extramarital affairs as a member of such a class would not only ruin the chances of future re-establishment of the name but it will once and for all make the life in the country end too. Even though Baekhyun has connections well enough that he can leave the country and still confirm an easy life for y/m and him, he still has to plan everything properly; after all his own husband should not get the idea of anything going on.

The days go on as slumbered heat makes them overlap for y/n; he talks to Baekhyun without any concerns about being surveilled as in the manor, he is promised by his husband that no such practices will be allowed.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, controls his urge to run and pick up y/n and lock themselves in a room to never leave the bed, by constantly reimagining the night of the reception party and keeping his husband satisfied too; a single doubt of unwanted physicality can lead to a lot of assumptions and Baekhyun already slipped once when his husband notices nail marks on his back after the party. That was settled with a few nights of unwavering reverence for the body which was bound to Baekhyun as forcefully as his separation from y/n happened.

After two months of extended restrictions, y/n was allowed to visit his friends, and the first thing he did after creating facades of three to four parties was to throw a party at the same hotel and invite Baekhyun and his husband to the event too. It was just a celebration of 'close families' younger generation' that meant some of the most celebrated faces present in a hall with drinks and airs about them.

Just as y/n excused himself to use his room, Baekhyun excused himself with a smile to go to the washroom which he did not know where it was, and y/n as the good host coyly took the precedence to guide him as he would be visiting the wing with rooms.

'Hey Baekhyun, you can just use our room; you can relax there a bit too and get to know y/n; you have been persistent in meeting him; till then, let me entertain your husband.' 'What do you say hun?' Y/n's husband asked him but the younger was not ready with any response to such a situation; it was like exquisite wine being served and you taste it through your lover's mouth.

So Baekhyun did reply with a laugh, a kiss on his husband's cheek, and a warning to not steal him which y/n's husband repeated too, and they left for the rooms.

P.S.:- If you liked it, you can support me by buying me a coffee; link's on my page.