#Sister Gregoria

[mrfathercoffee]

<3

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 23 June 1751, Gregoria Apaza Nina, Indigenous Aymara rebel leader, was born in Bolivia. She led a major Indigenous revolt, along side her brother, Julián Apaza Nina (Túpac Katari), and sister-in-law, Bartolina Sisa, against Spanish colonial rule in the country. She and Bartolina took over the leadership of the rebels following the capture and death of Túpac Katari in November 1781. Learn more about Native American resistance in this book: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/books/products/500-years-of-indigenous-resistance-gord-hill https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=649457423894143&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[greatbritishsimchallenge]

With Cassian needing more time to rest, Elizabeth was free to return home and visit her family.

"Mama, papa, sisters, it is so good to see you!"

"And you, dearest Elizabeth. Come, you must catch us up on everything!"

At first, Elizabeth kept her news light and breezy, but it didn't take long before her complaints began to pour out.

"He is just so old, mama! He gets out of breath just walking up the stairs - anything fun like hunting or jousting is impossible."

"Poor sweetheart, though I did warn you of the price for choosing an old man. It's all very well focusing on his money and title, but you've also got to live with him until his death. Still, I suppose it won't be long now until he does die," comforted Elizabeth's mother, Gregoria.

"When we first married I was certain I'd be single within a week or so, and now here we are nearly a whole season later! The trouble is, now I don't even want him to die - I haven't yet told you the best and the worst part of my news. His granddaughter died not too long ago, reopening the potential for who will be heir after Henry."

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Agnes, one of Elizabeth's sisters.

"Tell me about it - if I can get pregnant quickly enough, I could end up redirecting the entire estates and titles into our family."

"What wonderful news!" cheered Gomes, Elizabeth's father.

"It is and it isn't - it means I am actually going to have to carry that man's baby," Elizabeth shivered at the prospect.

"Have you not yet consummated your marriage?" asked Gregoria, concerned.

"Mama, I don't want to talk about that with you! Suffice to say I have done enough to ensure he could not annul the union. Still, it doesn't mean I want to do anymore than I must. At first I kept him busy in the hopes the constant activity might exhaust him and kill him off. Instead, he's exhausted and very much alive and I need to somehow get him enough energy back to try for children."

"You must be careful, Elizabeth," warned Gregoria. "To never speak like this to anyone outside of this house. As your family, we support and understand your decision- your marriage has brought us great honour and status and will surely help your siblings to make stronger matches too. But your disgust for Lord Cassian is too palpable right now - if he senses it, this marriage will quickly turn. You know the rumours about his previous marriages. Just stay my happy little flower and let him pollinate you. Once you have your baby, you don't need to touch him ever again if you so desire."

"Don't worry about me, mama," dismissed Elizabeth. "I know what I'm doing. Lord Cassian is like my loyal old dog, grateful for head scratches and scraps. He adores me far too much to ever suspect a thing."

Start (Iron Age) | Start (Roman Britain) | Start (Anglo Saxon) | Start (Medieval) | Start (Tudor)

Previous | Next

[tkc-info]

Tu Reflejo Junto al Mío

Day 1 - Fair

@wagner-fell @littleturtle95 @chibi-tsukiko

1997

Things started out horribly wrong.

“Is your sister there?” Abuela Matea asked, peeking into the living room Areusa was searching, her wrinkled brow creased with worry.

Areusa put her hands up in a sign of frustration. “La mato, abuela, te juro que me la cargo.”

“Niña, no digas eso,” Abuela Matea entered the room “Ven, vamos a buscar juntas.”

Areusa had to suppress a sigh —her grandmother accepted no forms of negativity— and obliged in searching for Finea, the Carranzas’s youngest, together.

‘Searching together’, though, mostly meant Abuela Matea proposing absurd spots Finea could be in, and Areusa checking those absurd spots.

“She could be under the couch.”

Areusa picked up her skirts, kneeled down, and took a look at the space under the couch. “Nothing,” she hastened to stand back up. There was something embarrassing about being on the floor while a dozen portraits of your ancestors, all magnificent in their own way, stared down at you.

She tried to focus on Abuela Matea instead of the portraits.

Abuela Matea was probably the most elegant 63 year old Areusa had met (not that she’d met many). She had a perfect posture, carried herself with ease, and her voice compelled you to listen. But she only ever spoke about shallow subjects, probably because of the trauma she’d sustained by having her older sisters desert The Kinship to join the Spanish Civil War, thus leaving her with the dual task of cleansing the Carranzas’s name in the eyes of the Saz as well as keeping the dynasty going.

As of present, her ageless beauty was heightened by the blue traje de flamenca she wore for the Feria de Granada. Her very curly brown hair was held up in a simple manner, and had been adorned with a white peineta. Areusa herself was dressed in a similar fashion, but her dress was white and she wore a red rose, not a peineta.

“Bueno, ya aparecerá,” Abuela Matea shrugged her shoulders “You look a mess. Come here.”

“It’s not necessary,” Areusa muttered, heeding her grandmother’s orders.

Abuela Matea flattened her dress and took some dust off the hem. “You’re not on your period, right?” she asked casually.

“No.”

“That’s good. I remember the Feria de Abril of 1888, when Tatarabuela Gregoria wore a white traje just like yours —well not exactly like yours, you’re showing more skin— and she was on her period. Poor Tata bled through the fabric and ruined a perfectly good dress. I guess she also scandalised Sevilla, by that’s of little importance.”

Areusa hummed but didn’t say anything. She had the distinct impression that Abuela Matea only wanted to comment on the past; she was a historian, and they oftentimes were like that. Besides, Areusa, who was also a historian, had already glimpsed into Tatarabuela Gregoria’s period fiasco before.

“Ah, this is lovely,” Abuela Matea commented. She’d taken Areusa’s red rose and was inspecting it with awe “Where did you buy it?”

“It was a gift from my friend,” Areusa did her best not to blush.

“The one who’s tagging along?”

Areusa nodded.

Last night they’d snuck into a little village that had specialised in rose production. An old man there had mistaken them for a newly-married couple (likely because they didn’t dress like people their age) and proposed he buy a rose for his ‘young bride’. He hadn’t needed much insisting, and by the time they’d returned to Emtikax, Areusa had done so with a red rose bucket in tow. Taking one of them that morning and fitting it on top of her bun, however, had been an unpremeditated decision: she couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

“Well, your friend is very kind,” Abuela Matea said “A gentleman. He reminds me of Justo.”

Justo Robles Infante was Elicia’s best friend, and the embodiment of a Don Juan.

“He’s nothing like Justo,” Areusa said.

“I disagree. All men that treat their best friends with the gentlemanly care as they would their lover are just like Justo.”

That was the thing: he wasn’t Areusa’s friend, he was her boyfriend. Theirs was a forbidden love bound to be kept as their precious, dirty secret.

“We have to find Finea,” Areusa reminded, going back to the original subject to divert from the thorny one at hand “Otherwise we’ll be late, and that’ll make Tata Leonila and Elicia very angry.”

Areusa didn’t want to be in the same house, in the same country even, as an angry Tata Leonila and Elicia. They both loved the Feria de Granada with a senseless passion, and missing it because Finea was lost would be akin to the greatest of offences in their eyes. Where could Finea be, anyways? She’d been at the breakfast table that morning and been reminded of their going to the feria.

“But I’m so sad,” she’d complained.

“Qué sad ni qué sad,” Nise had chastised, inflicting a distinct Spanish accent into the Sazla word “If I have to go, so do you.”

“I don’t want to go,” Finea had carried on.

Nise and Finea had kept on complaining for over fifteen minutes during which Areusa had paid them no attention whatsoever. After all, they were having churros, a more interesting case of study than silly arguments. She’d only raised her eyes from her sandwich once to see Finea storm off towards a part of the Carranzas’s finca no one really treaded into.

Areusa’s eyes widened. “I know where Finea might be,” she breathed “Abuela, stay here.”

Before Abuela Matea could give her an answer, Areusa fled the room.

The Carranzas’s finca was a large country house in Aboveground Granada, and the main scenario for many of Areusa’s fondest memories. By all accounts, each one of its rooms, corridors and nooks radiated warmth and comfort, and yet there was a darker side to the finca few were privy to. At the very back of it —at the very back of a narrow, unwelcoming corridor— there was the beginning of a spiral staircase that descended several meters below ground.

The staircase led to a crypt.

Arms around herself, for the path to the crypt was a cold one, Areusa reached the end of the staircase and found herself in a short, dark tunnel at the other extreme of which was a metal door from the first half of the 20th century. And Finea was seating propped up against it.

“Te mato,” Areusa said “What are you doing here?”

Finea looked up at that. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” Areusa took a deep breath that would hopefully keep her from murdering her sister, and strode to her side “Everyone’s looking for you. Tata’s angry, and Elicia is close to being angry. Elicia. They’re worried and we’re going to miss the feria if you don’t hurry up to get changed.”

Finea harrumphed something unintelligible and crossed her arms at her chest. She glared down at her 1830s dress —an almond-coloured monstrosity, really. “I said I didn’t want to go.”

“And why is that?” Areusa asked, trying to hide her exasperation.

Those were the magic words to unleash a well of her sister’s misfortunes. “I’m not allowed to be on my own at all. I have to be with Tata and la Abuela in the finca suffering through their old friends who’ve been chocheando for two decades telling me how much I’ve grown and how they knew me when I was like this,” Finea spread her hand no more than five centimetres from the cold stone ground “And then they start talking about politics and Felipe González, and then about how ‘los jóvenes de hoy en día’ have had everything handed to them, and that when they were our age they could only ever afford to breakfast, lunch and dinner tortilla de patatas made out of orange peels and teachers at school could blah blah blah. And they expect me to listen and be interested!” she put her hands on her face “Oh, Areusa today I was supposed to get married and instead I have to go to the feria.”

Areusa blinked slowly several times. “Sorry what? You’re going to what?” she deadpanned. This was ridiculous.

Finea glared at her. “Yes. To Felipe Curado —don’t laugh at me!”

Now her laughter Areusa couldn’t help. Felipe Curado was a boy from Mirror Bolivia. He was the only classmate with whom Finea could speak in Spanish, and he was also very, very clearly gay. He followed two of Areusa’s male friends with ridiculous lovey-dovey eyes. That, Areusa could’ve told Finea, but decided against it for the sake of her little sister’s imaginary relationship.

“How are you even going to marry? You’re only twelve,” she said instead, once her laughter had died down to weak chuckles.

“I know we’re only twelve,” Finea pouted “But this will help me prepare for my real wedding: we were going to lock ourselves in the principals’s bedroom and kiss and say our vows of marriage, but we wouldn’t really marry because we would say ‘actually, no’ at the end.”

“You were going to lock yourselves in the principals’s bedroom?!” Areusa was flabbergasted, the sheer audacity “Never mind, stand up,” she tried to think of something that would get Finea outside the crypt; when she did, it was like a bulb lightning up above her head “See, today you won’t be with Tata and la Abuela all the time.”

Finea looked disbelieving. “I won’t?”

“No. I’ll get Justo to get on cacharritos with you.”

Justo was Finea’s deepest infatuation. Had been since as long as Areusa could remember.

“Really?”

Areusa nodded.

Finea scrambled to her feet and even did a little jump. “Let’s go then. Felipe has nothing on Justo. Justo is so, so, so, so, so handsome. He—”

Areusa wished she could share in to her sister’s enthusiasm. She couldn’t appreciate Justo’s best physical traits, as she’d desperately prayed she were able to do before being with him.

“I’m going to find Elicia,” Finea said when they got out of the crypt “I have to be especially pretty for Justo,” and then, she hopped away, her mass of brown curls bouncing off merrily.

Having dealt with Señorita Torbellino’s problem, Areusa collapsed against a wall as soon as Finea was out of sight. Carefully, she passed a hand over her hair, just to make sure neither her braided bun nor red rose had been upset. After that, she regained her composure enough to walk to the nearest floor mirror (under Tatarabuela Aixa’s portrait). The crypt was cleaned only twice a year, and she needed to check if her very white dress had got dirty.

“It’s fine. Thank Roxia,” she muttered.

As she inspected herself, she realised how much she’d love to see him reflected in the mirror, too. She wanted to see the both of them together and see how good of a pair they made. Fuck the people who’d think otherwise merely because they were different.

That thought in mind, she abandoned the mirror. He should be here anytime soon, and, in fact, the moment she turned a left corner to the living room she’d been in with Abuela Matea, the strident ring! of an old-fashioned doorbell reverberated across the finca.

Areusa picked up her skirts and ran.

“Respira, miarma, respira,” Justo said when she got to the foyer. Areusa had been so fast she now found herself heaving for breath. Not that she cared.

He was there, as gorgeous as ever he was and smiling slightly at her. He looked awkward in his traje campero.

Slowly, Areusa took a step forwards, then another and another towards him. When she was close enough, she set her hands on his chest, trying with every fibre of her being not to let on her adoration. “You’re wearing this right,” she said, sliding a finger down his left jacket’s sleeve.

Trajes camperos were like a straight, narrow line. Everything —the jacket, shirt, waistcoat, high-waist trousers— clung perfectly to his majestic body, giving just a tiny hint of how muscular he was beneath the layers. The grey tones of the jacket and pants complimented his tanned skin, and the sombrero cordobés he also wore gave him an air of mystery. Areusa could’ve kissed him then and there.

“I assisted him myself,” Justo piped in, effectively ripping Areusa’s eyes off his lips “He didn’t even know where to begin.”

“I hardly think I should be blamed for that,” he defended himself “I’m not Spanish.”

Justo shrugged. “I only hope you get used to our clothing, because I have a feeling you’ll be wearing them a lot.”

“I will,” he nodded.

He and Areusa shared a knowing glance.

Justo noticed it, but didn’t seem to grasp the meaning behind it —of course he didn’t.

“Is Elicia upstairs?” Justo asked. Already his body was half-turned away from them.

“In her room, probably with Finea.”

“Perfect, then I’ll head there.”

“Bye,” he said.

At the same time, Areusa remembered her promise to Finea and exclaimed, “Wait!” she explained what she needed from him “Justo, an hour or two will be fine. Get on the saltamontes with her, buy her buñuelos or candy floss, teach her a sevillana for all I care.”

Justo shrugged. “Sure. Now I’m leaving.”

Areusa watched him go with a relieved satisfaction; it was good that he adored Finea like a little sister. Justo’s footsteps steadily dissipated into nonexistence, and when she could no longer hear them, she turned to face him. And he instantly kissed her.

The sudden embrace caught her by surprise for a split second, but she quickly kissed him back. Areusa threaded her fingers through his hair —effectively knocking his hat down— and pressed her body against his. By the time he pulled back, they were both breathless in the best possible way.

“I recognise this,” he murmured, tracing the outline of the rose with the tip of a finger.

“Is that why you kissed me?”

“That, and because I simply wanted to.”

Areusa laughed. “Vente pa’ ca,” and she pulled him into a kiss again, this time shorter “Today will be great, you’ll see.”

He arched a brow at her. “On our way here, Justo told me to beware of you.”

“Justo’s the biggest scaredy-cat out there. You aren’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Areusa waved him aside. “You should greet the others.”

A silent pleasure of hers was watching him with her family. The Carranzas were intense, and he so clearly wanted all of them to love him.

“And who were you again?” Areusa’s father asked him when they entered the kitchen, where everyone —including Finea, Elicia and Justo— were. Austrecliciano de Rojas Alberti was a robust, short man with a skin complexion prone to tanning and a knack for speaking without preambles.

Abuela Matea jumped in the conversation before he could respond. “He’s Areusa’s friend.”

He smiled and stayed where he was. Inconspicuously, Areusa poked him on the ribs. “Kiss,” she whispered.

“Ah,” his eyes widened “Of course. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Rojas.”

And he moved to kiss Dad once on each cheek. Then he did the same with Abuela Matea, then her husband, Abuelo Geronimo, and Areusa’s mother, three sisters, and Tatarabuela Leonila. By the time he was done, he looked like he was trying not to look done with Spanish formalities, while Areusa’s family looked either amused or approving.

“I would offer you something to drink,” Mum told him “But it would make us be late to the feria and it’s unfair that you miss up on it.”

“We would have more time if it hadn’t been for someone,” Nise said, glancing pointedly at Finea.

Finea, standing before Elicia and Justo, grew red with fury. “It’s all your—”

“Girls,” Elicia said, in a calm yet no-bullshit tone.

Nise and Finea glared at each other once and shut up.

Elicia smiled. “He could stay the night, right?”

Areusa’s eyes widened like platters. Next to her, his reaction couldn’t have been much different. Did Elicia know what she was saying? No, of course she didn’t. She had a tendency of not clocking in romantic feelings, and, besides, he was an imlium. That was a reason upon another reason to believe he was only a friend.

“That would be perfect!” Abuela Matea clapped her hands together.

“As long as he doesn’t go near the crypt, I don’t have an issue with it,” Tatarabuela Leonila added.

The kitchen was soon filled with the Carranzas’s affirmations. Having him here would be great, he’s such a lovely boy, Abuela Matea thought. He was such a good listener, Mum thought. Parece un buen mozo, Abuelo Geronimo thought. He’ll love the special breakfast we’ll have tomorrow, Dad thought. It was good that he would stay the night, Justo thought, because he was around so often that his visits didn’t garner a special breakfast anymore. The only complaint was voiced by Nise:

“Why can he stay the night but Leora can’t?”

“She isn’t here now,” Finea said.

Nise rolled her eyes. “She could be.”

It all seemed settled, but then he intervened. “Wait,” he put his hands up “I’m not sure if I can accept the offer. Although I really appreciate it, don’t get me wrong.”

Everyone turned to look at him. He glanced at Areusa.

She read his gaze like an open book: he, too, was scared of what could happen. Whenever they wanted to be intimate —or just be together way past their bedtime— they enrolled Parisa to stand guard behind either of their dorm room’s door. Parisa alerted them of any dangers, and now that she wasn’t there, a lot of stuff could go wrong.

“His parents,” Areusa hastened to explain. Her family turned to her with equally blank expressions “They might be upset if he doesn’t show up.”

He nodded.

Thank Roxia, they bought his excuse.

“A night apart won’t hurt anyone,” Tatarabuela Leonila said, waving him aside “It’s good, actually. You need to build up on your independence, and tonight would be a step towards achieving that.”

Abuela Matea nodded. “Anda, stay.”

He was visibly conflicted. Tatarabuela Leonila and Abuela Matea were the oldest Carranzas, they were at the top of the hierarchy of authority of the family he so desperately sought approval from, and they had pretty much given him an order in his eyes. In fact, Tatarabuela Leonila’s stance promised no complacence to a negative response —in the past, he had served as her conduit to reminisce her youth in the Kingdom of Granada, and she was likely to want to bother him with her tales of robbing the Sultan’s harem again.

Areusa came to his rescue. “Why don’t we go to the feria now and let him think about what he wants during it, without you pressuring him like two—” she finished off with a rude word in Andalusi Arabic that had Tatarabuela Leonila snorting. It meant both hag and busybody, and was overall not something Andalusi youths would tell their elders.

“You can swear like a sailor sometimes,” Tatarabuela Leonila said, also in Andalusi Arabic.

Areusa shrugged. “Not my fault an insult describes you so well.”

Her great grandmother arched a brow.

Areusa smiled.

Abuela Matea clapped her hands together. “Let’s stop insulting each other,” she said in Sazla “I apologise if we sounded too pushy. I personally adore you, and wanted to retain you with us just a little while longer. It fills my old heart with joy to see my granddaughter surrounded with such good people.”

He beamed at her. It was adorable, he looked like a little boy who’d been given a toy he’d been begging for for ages. Areusa had the sudden urge to peck him on the cheek, ruffle his hair, and tell him how much she loved him.

“Abuela, you’re not old, come on” Elicia piped it.

“Matea, you’re a silver-haired beauty,” Justo added.

Abuela Matea looked highly satisfied. She shot Elicia and Justo a smitten smile, then walked to him and set a hand on his back. “See, regardless of what happens after we’ve decided it’s time to go back home, I simply know you’ll love the Feria de Granada. My great grandmother thinks Granada is at its most beautiful during Semana Santa, but I think you won’t see my city any prettier than this week.”

The Feria de Granada (or just about every other feria) was at its liveliest once the sun had set and the moon shone bright in the sky. At this time, the caballistas had mostly dissipated, and the stench of horse shit (oh, how Areusa detested horses who weren’t made of metal and cogs) thankfully cleaned with high-pressure hoses. The casetas —bar-like establishments— were filled with people who either were looking for a good dinner or wanted to get drunk and party hard.

They’d spent a good chunk of the afternoon in a caseta that was a juxtaposition of both types of casetas. The patrons there tended to be on the older side, and wealthy. Tatarabuela Leonila had kept an eye on a couple of them for hours, as if she were an eagle and they her prey. She was pretty much like an Andalusi Robin Hood: wishing some piece of shit would announce itself —usually by condemning Franco or talking about the Civil War in anything but a horrible light— to then slip a couple pesetas from their pockets into hers.

He had been flabbergasted by her actions the first time he’d witnessed them. He’d turned towards Areusa, the question ‘is this real’ shining on his eyes, and when she’d nodded that yes, the first Carranza was close to being a kleptomaniac but he shouldn’t give her away, he’d heaved a surprised breath and obediently gave his full attention back to Elicia and Justo.

As it happened every feria since they turned sixteen, they’d walked into the caseta and sweat-talked the owner into giving them the stage for an indefinite period of time. He played the guitar, and she danced flamenco to his improvised songs. It was standing on that stage that Areusa’s sister shone the most; Elicia lived for dancing, it was obvious. She moved with infinite grace, commanded everyone to look at her and be at awe at her. The red traje she wore equalled her to a flame, it made her a source of light the passion with which she danced only heightened. Elicia was the most beautiful woman in the whole of the feria.

But, eventually, her show drew to an end. Two hours after arriving to the caseta, Finea plopped herself besides Areusa and whined, “La abuela ya ha empezado a hablar con los viejos de la mesa de al lado sobre los jóvenes de hoy en día.”

Abuela Matea had been, true to Finea’s words, leaning over her table to better communicate with the married couple on the table next to hers —the caseta was so loud, Areusa couldn’t listen to their conversation. On Abuela Matea’s right, Tatarabuela Leonila ogled the woman’s pearl necklace. On her left, Abuelo Geronimo had already fallen asleep, and, resting her head on his chest, so had Nise. Both were doppelgängers, so there was a chance (albeit a small one) that their animi were strolling somewhere in the feria.

Finea had stared at Areusa hard, thus prompting her to stand up to whisper into Justo’s ear he’d promised to spend some time with her little sister. Justo had told Elicia, and Elicia had stopped dancing to the disappointment of quite a few of the patrons. However, while still recovering her breath, she’d seen Areusa and her face had brightened up.

“I’ll be back in a moment, but for now, my family is full of talent. My sister is a singer.”

Just like that, Areusa had been dragged up onto the stage. He had been the first her confused eyes locked into; like a compass created to always point north, she was destined to turn to him, no matter how disoriented. He smiled at her, and everything was fine. Her stage-fright disappeared, and before she could be none the wiser, she’d started singing.

For a split second —or perhaps an eternity— the caseta became silent. Areusa wouldn’t be able to remember what song she had sung first, only that it had been succeeded by multiple others, and that, as confidence settled in her belly, she’d begun accompanying her singing with dancing of her own. Soon, she felt herself Lola Flores in El Balcón de la Luna, and when she was done singing A Tu Vera, someone shouted:

“Ay Pena, Penita, Pena!”

“Estoy muerta de amor, muerta de amor,” she began; her eyes on him, always on her heart “No lo sabe mi pulso, ni mi pierna, ni el eco de mi voz, ni mi cintura, ni lo sabe la luna que está interna en el jardín de amor y calentura. Y estoy muerta, señor, como una rosa tierna, como una gacela en la llanura, como un agua redonda en la cisterna o un perro de amarilla dentadura. Muerta de amor, señor, y hoy que es Corpus Cristi, he paseado mi cadáver de amor iluminado, como una espantapájaros siniestro. La gente sin asombro me ha mirado, y ninguno el sombrero se ha quitado para rezarme un triste Padrenuestro.”

Wild applause, but she didn’t register it. He looked solemn, like he didn’t know Spanish, but understood her words for the declaration of love that it was. Right now, he was the only one who saw her, because wasn’t she going to die from love? Wasn’t the fatal assurance of it proof that she was already dead? And wasn’t everyone else oblivious to her fate? Everyone but him, who was terminal with her?

The beginning of the instrumentals of the song reached her as if from afar. She became one with the music, with its message. Lola Flores sung about the miseries of missing a lover who was faraway. And he was with her, but, in the presence of others who corrupted their intimacy, he could only let on a shadow of himself. As could she. She missed their true selves. She was angry that they could only exist stranded in a paradise whose foundations were built on shame and secrecy and guilt. She mourned a life of kisses shared in public and words of affection whose utterance wasn’t frightening. She mourned a life that would never come to be.

Tears streamed down her face before she could realise what was happening. There was nothing that mattered aside from him, her love for him, and her fury. Her fingers closed around the rose with the lyrics, mis rosas de abril, she brought it to her lips and sung: ¡Ay pena, penita, pena, pena!

Pena de mi corazón, her hands went through her head, unknotting her bun and letting her hair cascade down her frame. She let it down wildly, it covered her back, her arms. Que me corre por las venas, pena, she brought her eyes away from him, if only to observe her forearms. She imagined her sin flowing through her veins, red hot like passion, as if it substituted her blood. Con la fuerza de un ciclón, her gaze went back to her fellow sinner.

Es lo mismo que un nublado, tierna y pedernal. Es un potro desbocado, que no sabe adónde va. She looked at him. Es un desierto de arena, pena. Es mi gloria en un penal. At him, always at him.

¡Ay, penal! ¡Ay, penal!

It was torture, keeping her love hidden. Her voice, her movement, her eyes offered testimony of it. But, by Roxia, she’d take that torture willingly, for otherwise she wouldn’t have him at all. Having him was non-negotiable, otherwise her life would be a senseless void, no matter how much their condition infuriated her.

“¡Ay, pena, penita, pena!” Areusa finished off, unloading all her innermost love and pain onto that final verse. The story of her misery.

For the longest moment, silence took possession of the caseta. The rose had come apart with the strength of her dance, and Areusa now stood, heaving, with tear streaks running down her face, in the centre of a circle of petals. The first sound that broke the silence was that of his chair as he stood up from it. Holding her gaze, he walked up to the stage and hugged her in front of everyone.

Areusa’s ear was directly connected to his chest, and she could hear his heart beating a frantic staccato. It was that, that brought her back to reality. The caseta, the stage, the patrons, her family. Carefully, she untangled herself from his embrace. His hands found their way to her shoulders.

“You were,” he whispered in Sazla, his dark eyes shone “You were like an angel. I don’t know what you were singing, but it was an experience only a goddess could enact.”

Areusa almost told him she loved him then and there, but remembered her family at just the right moment. From the corner of her eye, she caught them approaching along with several of the patrons, and had half the mind to get him and herself off the stage before the small platform became too crowded.

Elicia hugged her in a way that made it impossible to breathe. “Justo, Finea and I returned the moment you started singing. Areusa, you’ve honoured Lola better than any other professional performer ever could,” she was crying, Areusa vaguely realised. It made sense, probably, as Lola Flores’s death only a month ago had left her devastated. She’d been Elicia’s idol growing up.

Mum and Dad came next.

“I knew you sang well, but I never knew you sang this good,” Dad said.

“I saw Lola Flores,” Mum said before drawing Areusa for an assault of kisses on the cheek.

Tatarabuela Leonila and Abuela Matea complimented her, as well, and so did Abuelo Geronimo and Justo, who kissed her on the forehead. Finea and Nise showed their surprise at ‘la actuación que se había pegado’. Afterwards, the patrons surrounded Areusa; they told her she should make a career out of singing, they asked her name, they begged her for one more song, though they didn’t know how she could top the last one. Throughout the stress-inducing inquisition, he kept a gentle hand on the small of Areusa’s back —the sea of people all around made his gesture impossible to notice— to show her support. She siphoned strength out of his touch.

“I think I want to go breathe some fresh air,” Areusa announced, yelling so as to make her voice heard.

A few people, among which were Elicia and Justo, voiced their complaints, but he promptly began ushering her out of the caseta, elbowing everyone (but her family) in the process. Areusa stole a glance at him, and saw he had on his face of dark forbearance. It made her smile. He looked like he wanted to snap at someone, and the fact that he couldn’t because he didn’t speak Spanish was killing him.

Eventually, they were able to get out of the caseta.

Areusa breathed in, drowned her lungs in fresh air with just the faintest trail of shit and wet pavement. “Finally,” she muttered in Sazla “They were so fucking annoying.”

He seemed surprised by her usage of The Kinship’s tongue. “We aren’t supposed to speak Sazla here,” he noted.

Areusa shrugged. “Music’s so loud no one will hear us,” she gestured around as if to proof her point; the streets were abuzz not only with people, but also with the song Mi Gran Noche, a Spanish classic “Besides, language education is so poor here, I’m pretty sure we’ll be mistaken for your average foreigner.”

That was enough to calm him. “It is rather loud here,” he commented.

She nodded. “Let’s get to the cacharritos section.”

“What are they, anyways?” he asked, when she began leading him to the front of the feria.

They interlaced their hands together. There were lots of people —the gesture wouldn’t be noticed— and Areusa could always use the excuse that she had wanted him close so that he wouldn’t get lost if someone she knew did notice their behaviour was more fitting for a couple, anyways. In the middle of dozens, several hundreds of strangers, she felt safe to express herself just a tad more openly.

“Cacharritos are rides. Like that thing,” she pointed at a metallic stick quite a few meters taller than any other buildings. It spun round and round before their eyes.

“We’re not getting on that, are we?”

Areusa arched a brow at him. “Of course we are. Cacharritos are the best part of ferias.”

“I disagree.”

“Oh, come on. I��ll pay for them.”

He looked like he wanted to protest further, but for some reason didn’t. He schooled his face into a facade of bravery and said, “Okay.”

“You’ll love them, I promise.”

He didn’t love them.

They first got on the saltamontes, a staple in ferias.

“Dos entradas,” she told the man in the cabin while he glared at the ride.

“¿Tu novio?” the man asked, glancing at him.

“Sí.”

“No vomitará, ¿no?”

“Qué va,” Areusa handed him the money “Ten.”

The man hummed and gave her two tickets. Areusa went to him and kissed him on the lips, in front of a hag who murmured ‘cuando Franco estaba vivo, los jóvenes sabían comportarse.’ Areusa paid her no heed.

“What was that about?” he asked, though he drew her in for another kiss.

“The man called you my boyfriend,” she explained “It made me happy.”

Someone from The Kinship would never do that. Areusa had always been too afraid about people finding out their relationship, that she’d forgotten how good it could feel to simply have a third party call him hers.

“I am your— oh, Roxia, that thing’s stopped.”

Areusa’s smile widened. She took his hand and pulled him into a seat. A few minutes afterwards, the saltamontes started.

She’d got on the saltamontes on every feria since she was eight. It was, by all accounts, the tamest ride she liked. It consisted on their seats going up and down all the while they also spun in a circle. He hated them.

He gripped Areusa’s hand until her fingers turned white, and when she asked him how he was faring, his voice became very high-pitched as he let out, “How do you think I’m faring?”

“Have you never got on any of these?” she asked in return.

“No!”

Areusa laughed, and that was that for the reminder of the ride. Afterwards, he said —while wobbling— that it hadn’t been that bad.

“Are you sure?” Areusa asked him.

He nodded effusively. “The ride itself was torture. But seeing you so excited was more than enough payback for weathering the last remnant of the Spanish Inquisition.”

They got on many other cacharritos after that one. Areusa laughed and shouted and had fun, and Mehran looked like he was a breath away from dying. Once, on the Project 1, he even asked Areusa if she knew any prayers, and when she told him she only knew them in 18th century French (Felipe V spent too much time praying), he begged her to recite them so he could then repeat her words.

Despite Areusa’s offer to stop with the rides, he insisted they kept going. The answer to her inquiry of why was always the same: “I love how happy you look,” he said on the line to buy the tickets for the tall cacharrito they’d seen first.

Areusa caressed the back of his hands. “You can always wait for me outside.”

He shook his head. “I won’t get to see you in the heat of the moment, though,” he smiled “Come here.”

And he pulled her closer than they already were. He was leaning against a grille, legs slightly open so that Areusa could stand in at a kissing distance. One of his hands was clasped together with one of hers, while the other hand brushed her hair with a care similar to adoration. The rose she’d been wearing had got too damaged by her dance, and some petals were stuck in her hair. He found one.

“There are really no words to describe you,” he said, inspecting the rose petal in his fingers “I almost couldn’t breathe, looking at you.”

“It was the song,” Areusa suppressed a shiver. He spoke with such feeling.

He took his eyes from the petal to her. “What was it about?”

“An impossible love.”

His lips twisted in pain. “Nothing has happened yet,” he murmured so low Areusa almost couldn’t hear him over the deafening music “Perhaps nothing will ever happen.”

Areusa wanted to believe him.

“Nothing will happen,” he insisted, his tone one of reassurance more than one of certainty “Hiding it is painful, but we’ll keep doing it.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything then, so she just kissed him. He returned her kiss, and it wasn’t until it was their turn to pay for the tickets that they broke apart.

“Dos entradas,” she said, taking out a handful of pesetas.

“¿No paga tu novio?” the woman selling the tickets asked.

Areusa tried not to flinch: people calling him her boyfriend wasn’t as pleasing now. “No.”

The woman tsked. “Los hombres, si son hombres de verdad, no dejan que la mujer pague nunca.”

“Pues entonces mi novio no será un hombre y yo seré lesbiana. ¿Cuánto eran las entradas?”

“450 pesetas,” the woman answered with a look of disgust.

Areusa handed the money over. “Aquí tienes.”

“That woman didn’t look the kindest,” he commented as he interlaced their hands.

Areusa snorted. “She’s a bitch.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing,” she brushed his concerns aside, then pointed at the cacharrito, which was beginning to slow down so that a new wave of people could get in.

He took a deep breath. “Just please let this be the last one.”

“It is,” she promised.

“Thank Roxia.”

“After all, this can’t be topped.”

He groaned.

He closed his eyes all throughout the ride, promising he was going to throw up every time they did a 360° spin at the highest point the cacharrito would go. When they got back to reality, Areusa got the impression he wanted to kiss the floor. He would have, if it hadn’t been for her family.

“¿Se ha montado borracho?” Abuela Matea asked.

Areusa shook her head. “No lleva eso de los cacharritos muy bien.”

“Ay pobre.”

All of the Carranzas, with the exception of Elicia (plus Justo) were there. That meant it must be one or two in the morning, time to go back to the finca. Tatarabuela Leonila was smiling in a feline-like manner; rings and bracelets Areusa hadn’t seen before shining on her hands. Dad looked slightly tired, as did Nise, Finea, and, especially, Abuelo Geronimo. As a cryogenised doppelgänger, Mum looked perfectly rested, but she nevertheless seemed to want to go back to the family home. Abuela Matea looked just like she had at the start of the feria.

“Are you good?” she asked Justo in sloppy English. She refused to speak Sazla among humans, even if she was horrible at communicating in the alternative. Areusa would be forever grounded if she found out her granddaughter had been speaking in any language other than English.

“I’m fine,” he replied. His English was accented, yet a far cry from Abuela Matea’s.

Abuela Matea smiled. “Good,” she turned to Areusa “Hablar en inglés es una tortura. Va a pasar la noche con nosotras, ¿verdad?”

“Er,” Areusa looked at him “She wants you to stay the night.”

He, who was only now coming off the cacharrito’s high, seemed very confused. “Sorry what?”

“That’s a yes,” Abuela Matea said, leaving the rest of the family to hook an arm through his “We have a very nice room for you. Justo usually uses it, but I think he’s sleeping under a bridge tonight, so you can take it.”

“A bridge?” he asked, utterly bewildered.

“Yes, yes. That’s not important.”

“They’re going to keep partying until who-knows-when,” Areusa explained “And by the time they’re done, they’ll be so drunk they’ll sleep in the streets because no hostel will accept them. But it’s okay, they know how to take care of themselves.

“Ah,” he said in a very neutral tone “So I get Justo’s room, then.”

Areusa looked down; suddenly the discarded serviette by her feet was very interesting. “Yes.”

He wouldn’t stay in Justo’s room.

Areusa paced her room up and down, traced the silhouette of the ancestors portraits that hung on her walls thrice each, and rearranged her wardrobe for two hours, after which she felt confident that the non-doppelgängers of her family were asleep, and that the doppelgängers were wandering far into the olive trees (that’s all they did at the finca). Then, she changed into a simple nightgown, put on a black manton over her shoulders, and slipped out of her room.

The distance between hers and Justo’s room was short, but still she treaded the way with swift feet —in the event someone resting in any of the rooms between theirs found themselves a light sleeper tonight.

She reached the door and knocked once, lightly.

Immediately, she heard shuffling from the other side, and he opened the door. He hadn’t even changed out of his traje campero. Areusa could see the bed fully untouched behind her.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked.

“Naturally,” he stepped aside to grant her entrance, but Areusa promptly refused.

“I was thinking of going for a walk?”

He arched a brow but obliged. They made their way down to the ground floor in silence.

“I wasn’t thinking about sex, by the way,” he said after a while, at the foot of the stairs.

She was one step ahead of him, so she for once came up to his height. His brow was creased with an adorable worry that made her chuckle. “I know that,” she whispered; the finca was so quiet it only felt right to speak in hush tones.

He didn’t have the highest sex drive out there, Areusa thought that sometimes he felt self-conscious about it, which was stupid, and making love once a fortnight was enough to satisfy him and her. Normally, when Areusa sneaked into his room, it was to have late-night conversations while cuddling half-naked and kissing. They did lots of kissing.

“You know,” he whispered back, looking into her eyes “If you ever think that your needs aren’t met, you can tell me. I don’t mind being intimate in that way more often.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she got on the same step as him, meaning he now towered over her, and hooked her arms around his neck “I firmly believe in quality over quantity. And we’re being intimate right now. Intimacy is more than having your dick in my vagina and fornicating like rabbits.”

He snorted, slightly flustered. “You’re too explicit,” he set his hands on her waist.

Areusa rolled her eyes. “I’m not half as explicit as I could be,” she got on her tiptoes to kiss his nose “Have you seen the Andalusi drawing room?”

“I haven’t.”

“I’ll show it to you,” she stepped aside; not relinquishing his hand, though “Tata had it made in the style of rooms in her youth —it’s all very Andalusi, hence its name. There’s a windowsill we could sit on, it overlooks a particularly nice piece of countryside.”

That was a lie, obviously. All of the countryside that surrounded the finca was boring. To the right: olive trees. To the left: olive trees. Up front: olive trees. At the back: surprisingly enough, more olive trees. There were mountains everywhere. Areusa thought Spain dull, at least when she wasn’t elbow-deep in her glimpsing, yet it was home.

“The Andalusi drawing room sounds nice,” he commented, and that was Elicia’s cue to pull him completely down the stairs.

A sudden thought crossed her mind on the way to the drawing room, though, and she stopped dead in her tracks in front of Tatarabuela Urraca’s portrait. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Come here,” Areusa spun around and headed off into the opposite direction “I want to do something.”

Her mind went back to that afternoon, right before he had arrived. She remembered herself in front of a mirror, seeing herself reflected on it, and wishing desperately for a second person to stand by her side.

“Stay here,” she said, upon arriving at the right corridor and urging Mehran to get in front of the mirror.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“You don’t need to,” Areusa went to stand next to him.

Their reflections together were beautiful. She could’ve stayed there for an eternity, analysing every minuscule detail that made everything perfect. His thumb brushed across the back of her hand as if in an afterthought, he was leaning just ever so slightly towards her, his eyes shone with affection when he looked at her reflection, a small mark was beginning to appear on his neck where she’d sucked into before, he was slightly disheveled from all the rides and so impossibly handsome. And Areusa somehow fit with him, with this divine creature she was lucky enough to call hers, even if she was also unfortunate enough not to be allowed to stake her claim publicly. There was nothing more she wanted than to declare her love for him and force everyone to be witness to her declaration.

“Amo ver tu reflejo junto al mío,” she said. She didn’t whisper. She didn’t want to. Whispers were for dirty secrets, and in that fleeting moment of boldness, she didn’t want her love to be dirty nor a secret.

“What does that mean?”

Areusa turned to him, she let the warmth in his eyes to bathe her. “It means I love you.”

He smiled. “Oh, Areusa, I love you, too.”

[juztize]

ARTICLE 1352.     CONTRACTS WITHOUT CAUSE, OR WITH UNLAWFUL CAUSE, PRODUCE NO EFFECT WHATEVER. THE CAUSE IS UNLAWFUL IF IT IS CONTRARY TO LAW, MORALS, GOOD COSTUMS, PUBLIC ORDER, OR PUBLIC POLICY.

G.R. No. 172919

TIMOTEO BACALSO and DIOSDADA BACALSO, Petitioners, vs. GREGORIA B. ACA-AC, EUTIQUIA B. AGUILA, JULIAN BACUS and EVELYN SYCHANGCO, Respondents.

This is a Petition for Review on Certiorari1under Rule 45 of the Rules of Court seeking to annul and set aside the Decision2 dated December 14, 2005 and the Resolution3 dated May 30, 2006 of the Court of Appeals (CA) in CA-G.R. CV No. 67516. The CA affirmed the Decision dated April 19, 2000 of the Regional Trial Court (RTC) of Cebu City, Branch 11, in Civil Case No. CEB-17994. The RTC ruled that the Deed of Absolute Sale elated October 15, 1987 between herein respondents Gregoria B. Aca-Ac, Eutiguia B. Aguila and Julian Bacus (Julian) (Bacus siblings) and herein petitioner Timoteo Bacalso (Timoteo) was void for want of consideration.

The BACUS siblings were the registered owners of a parcel of land which they inherited from their mother, Matea. In 1987, they sold this land to their cousin, Timoteo, at P8000.

However, in 1988, Timoteo, together with his sisters Lucena and Victoria and some of his cousins filed a complaint against the Bacus siblings and other persons before the RTC of Cebu City to declare null the documents and certificate of title and to reconvey the land, plus damages. They claim that they are the co-owners of the three-fourths portion of land because Matea bought it for and on behalf of his brother Alejandro (father of Timoteo) and others all surnamed Bacalso.

In 1989, RTC ruled Matea as the sole owner of the parcel of land, affirming the validity of conveyances to her children; same decision by the CA which became final.

In another case, TImoteo filed a complaint against the Bacus siblings for declaration of nullity of sale contract, certificates of title, reconveyances and damages. They claimed that the Bacus siblings failed to have a new TCT issued in Timoteo’s name. After subdividing the property, the Bacus siblings sold one lot to Evelyn Syhangco and that a TCT was transferred to her name without Timoteo’s knowledge, which were denied by the Bacus siblings, saying that sale did not proceed due to failure to pay the purchase price.

Syhangco claimed purchase in good faith, relying on lack of annotation in the TCT. The purchase was only established via the testimony of witnesses but not established at the same time of sale between Timoteo and the Bacus siblings.

In 2000, the RTC decided that the sale was void for want of consideration, petitioners having failed to pay the price. Moreover, the RTC held no recission of sale can be made due to Syhangco’s good faith. CA denied the appeal and the motion for consideration.

ISSUE: Whether the sale between Timoteo and the Bacus siblings void for lack of consideration, in view of the failure to pay purchase price.

RULING:

            Yes, the sale is void because, at the time of sale, there was no consideration agreed upon, which is an element of a contract, absent which it is void.

            According to the Supreme Court speaking through Justice Reyes, that Article 1352 of the NCC states that contracts without cause produce no effect whatsoever.

            Here, when Timoteo and the Bacus siblings were negotiating the sale of the land, there was no absolute and definite agreement as to how much it is, which cannot be established later on by testimony in court.

            Hence, the sale is void for lack of one of its essential elements.

[valkyries-things]

GREGORIA APAZA // REBEL

“She was an indigenous leader in Bolivia. In 1781, she participated with her brother Julian Apaza (Tupac Katari) and sister-in-law Bartolina Sisa in a major indigenous revolt against Spanish colonial rule in Bolivia. These Aymara leaders laid siege to the cities of La Paz and Sorata before being defeated and executed.”

[nighttbound]

Maybe it doesn't fit! Maybe I just think it looks sick! But if Gregoria makes wretched creatures, then I think she should look gnarly under her mask.

[twotriickhoofbea2t]

the Original Drawing was kinda bad, so i gave it another go!

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

The Gothicrock Animatronics, Charlie, Emma And Moon/Sundrop (2022)

--------------------------

Credit for FNAF series goes to Scott Cawthon

Credit for FNAF: Security Breach goes to Steel Wool Studios

----------------------------

 at first the little girl in the drawing “Emma” was suppose to be like a updated version of the other one I drew, which once again we don’t what name the girl from the teaser for FNAF Security Breach: Ruin (DLC), will be called.

so that’s why in the first fan art about her, where Sunny is being like a protective dad in it, it has [REDACTED] in place of her true name, and under it is “Emma” like a temporary fan name.

but I think it would make sense that this “Emma” in this drawing here,

is a separate character from the one who is seen in that DLC teaser.

like her full name being Gregoria Emma Afton.

just like Gregory, she has band-aids on her, but in the opposite places from where Gregory has his.

and there is a reason why Emma goes by her middle name, instead of her first name....it can have to do with Gregory and needing to hide who she is.

Gregory might be a Animatronic Doll, who was based on a child who was called

"Gregory" and even had short hair and dressed in the same outfit that Gregory wears, but it turns out that the child that he was based on, was a little girl who was a Tomboy who's name is Gregoria Emma Afton.

so how Gregory appears in the start of the game, is what Emma appeared as when she first went to the Mega Pizzaplex.

because she was dressed and looked like a boy, the scan of her that was used as a template for a new Animatronic Doll that looked really life like to a human child, was used for a hybrid type endoskeleton.

before she was scanned (unknowingly to her and others who came to the Pizzaplex.), she did have her hair in two ponytails and was dressed like how Gregory dresses in the game, but before she could go to the pizzaplex, she ended up getting bubblegum in her hair and she had to get a haircut that looks just like Gregory’s hairstyle in the game.

also my deciding to draw this Emma and even a reindeer animatronic named Dawn (even if it is just a insignia or symbol of her.)

was inspired by a video I saw that had to do with FNAF-SB Ruin DLC.

so it’s possible that the girl [REDACTED] might not end up being blonde.

Gregoria Emma Afton or just “Emma”, coming back to the Pizzaplex,

can be around the time when Gothic-Rock Animatronics come along.

I’m not 100% sure what they would look like, but I could try to do a Gothicrock drawing of Dawn The Reindeer when I can.

also the video that inspired Dawn in the first place, also talked about Gregory secretly being a girl, I mean I already had that theory.

that Gregory is either a girl, or he has a twin sister who we have been playing as the whole time in the game, and her twin brother could of been one of the missing children in the news paper.

but the theory of Gregory being a girl, could be technically right, but it would be the one that Gregory was based on that was used as his hybrid endoskeleton’s template.

Gregory might be 100% Human in some of the FNAF AU Timelines,

but it could turn out that in the canon game, he is a Animatronic Doll.

a Animatronic Doll, looks like a lifelike real human being.

but their eyes can start to glitch and static, because of whatever Vanny does that make it do so.

if the clones are canon, then the clones of Gregory, could be other Animatronic Dolls that were created just in case something went wrong with the original.

Emma’s light-up shoes were originally suppose to be red and purple, like the one in the teaser, but because I decide to have this Emma be a different person from the girl in the teaser, I decide to change it to yellow and blue.

the idea for “Gothicrock Animatronics” is that they are suppose to be successors to the Glamrock Animatronics.

even if Gothic-Rock Animatronics, might be Fanon only and it might not happen in the canon, I hope some fans like the idea.

anyway I will sign back on later or tomorrow, right now I need to sleep...

also I think Gothicrock Foxy would be lead singer for the Gothicrocks. 

see ya later and stay safe everyone...            

[broken-clover]

The Knightverse

So because @xrd made the mistake of encouraging me, I will now subject all of you to yet another AU, tentatively titled the Knightverse. It, at its core, is a roleswap type of AU, with different characters taking different roles, though there is also some miscellaneous changes I made for fun because I do what I want.

It’s still definitely a work in progress since I have a lot of characters undecided still, but I’m happy with what I have so far

Swapping Sol and Ky

-Sol is a hotheaded, dogmatic human who is the initial second-in-command of the holy order due to his very versatile fire magic and constant drive for victory. He despises gears at first, but gradually learns to settle down and respect all walks of life, while also softening his more reckless and antisocial traits.

-Ky is a 150 year old scientist who worked on the original Gear Project back in the 21st century, until, of course, everything went terribly wrong. Transformed into one of the first Gears by his former co-worker and dear friend, he has been living as a drifting vigilante for decades until beginning to settle down. He has a levelheaded if stoic demeanor, but overall has retained his compassion and hope for a brighter future. Despite his past traumas he remains open-minded and cares deeply

Swapping May and Johnny

-Captain May Gregoria is a mature, confident woman leading a pirate gang of adopted orphans and constantly living on the run from the law. She’s incredibly skilled in hand-to-hand fighting and is capable of hauling massive amounts of weight with her bare hands. She can be a flirt (with people of any gender) but never forgets that her adopted family is priority #1. Captain May rarely if ever comes across as surprised, and usually has a contingency plan up her sleeve, though she’s also perfectly willing to get her hands dirty if situations go south, especially if it involves the safety of her kids

-Johnny is a teenager adopted by May who is constantly trying to impress her and win her affections. He’s skilled with swordplay but tends to externalize his insecurity by seeing everyone who so much as meets May as a romantic rival, though he is rarely if ever taken seriously by them or by May herself. Is constantly trying to seek out and understand the true meaning of ‘maturity.’

Swapping Faust and Bedman, kind of

-Bedman (known as Dr. Matthew Morpheus) is a jaded child prodigy and medical practitioner. While brilliant, he is incredibly antisocial and struggles to get along with others due to a lack of people skills. Following the death of his beloved sister, the mental strain resulted in him developing immense psychic powers and leading him into a bloody rampage. Following the incident, he recovered his sanity and resolved to use his new abilities to heal, though his demeanor has arguably worsened due to his guilt. He has a Compelling Voice, giving him the ability to control an individual's mind, but his main use for it is keeping patients from experiencing pain during field surgery.

-Faust is a man abducted by a shadowy organization at a young age due to his immense magical powers, with the goal of converting him into a human weapon. In fact, his power was so great that he managed to teleport out of the facility completely on accident, and has been on the run ever since. As a result of being kept captive for multiple decades, his powers have been honed to perfection but his social skills are lacking, though his affable and earnest nature still make him friendly and endearing to many people. Despite his treatment, he remains very tenderhearted, with the sole goal of using his magical abilities to help people.  His prized possession is his sticker collection.

Swapping Baiken and Anji

-Anji is a traveling street performer and assassin embittered by the loss of his home as a young boy. He has developed a manipulative personality laden with polite gestures for the sake of lowering others’ guard around him. He uses his dancing skills to schmooze his way into high-profile locations before killing and/or extorting people in power for information. His ultimate goal is to find the person behind Japan’s destruction and murder them.

-Baiken is a battle-scarred drifter who lost an eye and leg in the siege on Japan that opened the crusades. Though she mourns the loss of her homeland, over the years she has become very tranquil and easygoing, traveling the world mainly for the sake of getting into swordfights and meeting new people. She still has a massive sore spot for her past trauma, but tends to keep it to herself instead of externalizing it towards other people.

Swapping Slayer and Sharon

-Sharon is an immortal and the founder of the Assassin’s Guild. Due to her condition she was originally more misanthropic, with the guild being more a doomsday cult trying to figure out what kind of weapon would be capable of killing her, even if it wiped out the world as a whole in the process. The guild ultimately became more focused on paid assassinations, but Sharon amicably left after meeting her now-life partner, Slayer, who helped her rediscover a joy for living. She enjoys frequently going out and getting into fights for the sake of it, and has a fondness for life’s simple pleasures

-Slayer is a dandy himbo vampire  who chases his wife around and calls her pretty

Swapping Daryl and Leo

-King Leo Whitefang was formerly Sol Badguy’s rival, who could never measure up to his abilities. Years of being overshadowed and seeing Sol’s abilities lauded have made him a shrewd, at times ruthless man who sees honest methods as inherently flawed and will use deception or more pragmatic tactics to get results

-King Daryl is a peculiar fellow, and the least known of the kings. He is the only one of the three that was not a frontline soldier, instead being a war medic and cavalry swordsman. He is deeply empathetic, if somewhat bombastic, but is frequently written off by the Illyrian public as a ‘fake soldier’ that can’t make aggressive policies

Swapping Nagoriyuki and Giovanna

-Nagoriyuki is a secret service agent for A Country, regarded as one of the nation’s finest (though he repeatedly gets cited for uniform violations. In his defense, he would like to dress properly, but the shirts aren’t built for someone with his...features, and the top buttons keep tearing off) He has a very professional personality, and is known for his thoughtfulness and temperance. While typically very composed and even-tempered even in difficult situations, he has a gigantic soft spot for his puppy-sized spiritual companion Rei, whom he spoils.

-Giovanna is a vampire with a giant sword. Disenfranchised and orphaned on the street as a youth, she was saved by and taken in by a vampire who taught her to fend for herself. She sticks to a code of honor, but maintains a very sarcastic personality- even though by her introduction she is manipulated and forced into working to try and cause mass harm, she will openly complain, mock, and insult her ‘employer.’

Axl Low, I-no, and Raven all have no distinct swap, but instead incorporate different aspects into something new

-Raven is an immortal from old Germany that has lived for hundreds of years due to his ability to regenerate from wounds. He has used this ability mainly for personal amusement and is constantly testing the limits of it. He has developed an upbeat, rather Dionysian worldview and lives a life of constant drunken benders and capriciousness in pursuit of his own amusement. When not utterly wasted, he is somehow even more unbearably chipper and friendly

-I-no (Sheena) is a time traveler ripped from her otherwise perfectly normal life. While trying to stop whatever force is causing her to experience time so abnormally, she is studying her new abilities in an attempt to change the timeline and bring back her dead wife, Marlene.

-Axl is a bitter and constantly annoyed straight man for Raven and Sheena, who views the former as insufferably sunny and the latter as simpering and helpless. He has been in Sheena’s position in the past, and as such eventually develops a bit of a soft spot for her, but otherwise most of his time is spent making it very clear how much he hates everything and anything that goes on around him. 

-Dizzy is similar to her canon personality, but she is significantly more monstrous, appearing more like a draconic version of Justice. She hides in the forest out of a fear of accidentally hurting someone from her large size, though Testament becomes her caretaker and she later befriends several others.

-Testament is Kliff’s adopted son, converted into a Gear during the war. As a human, he was immensely pompous and bloodthirsty, constantly striving out on his own in an attempt to overshadow his father’s legacy. He has taken his conversion as an opportunity to reinvent himself, becoming a caring, gentle, outspoken person with a love for pastel that seeks to make everyone happy

-In this universe, Commander Gears are self-propagating. Justice made Dizzy singlehandedly, as did Dizzy with Sin. 

-Because of this, Sin is distinctly more of a draconic humanoid, with wings, back scales, and a tail, but is more reasonably human sized than his mother since he’s not technically a Commander, classified instead as a (far smaller) male drone.

[pengychan]

This will not let me sleep do all Catholic kids in Italy learn prayers in Latin

Hahahaha, no, we didn't! Mass used to be in Latin but that changed a good while back (cannot recall the year, but probably around 1960) and since then Mass was held in Italian, or whatever was the language of the country where said Mass is taking place.

So any prayer I learned as a kid, I learned in Italian. I knew fuckall of Latin until I went to high school, (which was a few years after l realized Catholicism and I had disagreements), and I only learned it because my parents picked a type of school where learning Latin (and ancient Greek) was madatory. I have nightmares sometimes but it's okay they're fading

I mostly read some of the prayers I knew as a child in Latin when our teacher wanted to show us the difference between the "classical" Latin we were studying and the ecclesiastical Latin which developed later on. I then picked it up again in University when I studied the transition from Latin to vulgar dialects to modern Italian, so it was mostly a matter of linguistics. Little me never had to recite prayers in Latin.

And good thing I didn't cause I would have butchered it and Sister Gregoria would have had an extra excuse to smack the fuck out of me.

[mrfathercoffee]

Maybe I'm a little obsessed with my own au.

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 23 June 1751, Gregoria Apaza Nina, Indigenous Aymara rebel leader, was born in Bolivia. She led a major Indigenous revolt, along side her brother, Julián Apaza Nina (Túpac Katari), and sister-in-law, Bartolina Sisa, against Spanish colonial rule in the country. She and Bartolina took over the leadership of the rebels following the capture and death of Túpac Katari in November 1781. Learn more about Native American resistance in this book: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/books/products/500-years-of-indigenous-resistance-gord-hill https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.296224173896073/2018494305002376/?type=3

[greatbritishsimchallenge]

My dearest Lady Elisaria

Terrible news. My father, Lord John, has died from the Black Death, as has my half-sister, Lady Gregoria. I know this will sadden you too - my father greatly admired your loyalty to me and welcomed you as if you were one of his daughters. I know you will miss his generosity of heart and spirit.

Alas, that is not all. Sir Gregory writes that his Lordship is on his deathbed. The cook that made him sick died some days ago. I must confess, I am torn on whether to return for his burial. I know that, as his wife, I am duty bound, but still my fear of becoming sick is strong. Will you return too? I might just manage if we bear it together.

The Sisters have been very kind and cared for me in my grief, often praying with me and wiping away my tears. They have even offered to see me safely back to Windenburg castle and manage the funeral. 

Write me and tell me your plans - if I read that you depart for Windenburg, I will leave here moments later.

Your Lady

Colette

Start (Iron Age) | Start (Roman Britain) | Start (Anglo Saxon) | Start (Medieval)

Previous | Next

[cybertronian-cupid]

I know you mostly do NSFW, but I'm feeling less than great and would love if you could do a little fluff piece about the Con's reacting to their S/O feeling bad about how skinny they are/small their bust is. But just so my bigger sisters don't feel bad either if you could include the reverse as well I'm sure plenty of others would be happy too. ^^ Thanks for the chance to request! Please rest up, eat well, and get plenty of sleep!

We hope you enjoy these! We had a lot of fun brainstorming what these three each love about their skinny s/o and their fat s/o. Do know, though, any and all of them would feel b l e s s e d to have any of you absolute sweethearts as their s/o, no matter what you look like uwu ~Mila💟

The main reason for NSFW content being the main we do is the delightful thirst most of our anons possess… And of course our own thirst as well!💥*CACKLES*~Gregoria🏩

............................. ....................... ............................

First off, they all for sure are not happy that their s/o doesnt like their body, because they think s/o is beautiful. That goes for all three of them.

............................. ....................... ............................

Knockout

The next five go for both skinny and fat s/o’s. He loves them how they are, but also will support them in their endeavors.

"I love beautiful things and you dear? Are just the prettiest lil thing."

If his s/o is unhappy with how they look, he's gonna suggest some changes to their nutrition intake

If that's what they want do, then yes, he will do the research and help them to achieve their ideal body, but they are going to be healthy about it!

No diet culture on this war ship!

It's healthy portion sizes and a good work out routine according to what she can physically handle for his s/o.

Also, on a mildly nsfw note, he enjoys how skinny s/o's smaller chest fits perfectly in his smaller (especially when mass-displaced) servos. He just finds them extremely cute and pleasant to hold.

And his fat s/o? Just look at those curves. Not to mention how nice it feels when he hugs them close.

Flat/small Vs. Big chest also provides a good shopping challenge (and an outrage over the sizing, quality and pricing of some of these clothes.)

He'll end up getting his s/o a tailor, don't ask him how, his s/o just needs to make sure Lazerbeak gets lots of attention every time they see him. Lots of cooing, and appreciative pats.

............................. ...................... .............................

Breakdown

With a bigger s/o (especially those with a big chest) he enjoys joking about how he can’t see anyone smaller than him because of how big his chassis is.

He can definitely relate to them easier because he is a bigger/bulkier frame as well. They have similar struggles, just in slightly different ways.

Because they are so soft, he would call them his Little Marshmallow.

They are a Heavy Duty Couple. Yes, it is a constant joke between the two of them and the troops.

He absolutely gets them a strong comfort bra with the words HeavyDuty across each boob. Now they just need a hammer and they'll match!

With a skinny s/o, he adores how easily they can fit in his usually crowded subspace. Even when he’s sure there’s no room for her, they find a space to squeeze into.

His lil Pocket!S/O (gotta smooch ‘em all~)

If they're flexible, he will be equal parts horrified and amazed by how they can bend and twist.

............................. ...................... .............................

Starscream

Scream might actually get a bit self-conscious or mildly offended because "I am that skinny/I weight a couple of actual tons"

He’s not going to blame s/o for him feeling that way, he just had never thought about it before.

He is somewhat snarky about it in the following days though. Holds them in his servos more often too.

With a bigger s/o, he appreciates the thighs so much. Very much enjoys mass displacing to lay his head in their lap to get pets and affection.

He also enjoys the fact he knows his s/o is there with him, because they are easier to spot.

It's a big reassurance to actualy feel they are there with him when he's working. Even if they are quiet he can feel them sitting in his cockpit and it grounds him.

With a skinny s/o, though, he loves getting to cuddle them! They're likely more prone to being cold, and thus cuddle times happen more often!

He loves seeing the similarities and yet the stark differences between his current frame and his skinny s/o

Like, they have some “sharp edges” kind of like him. Almost looks like a small Cybertronian, even though she is definitely organic, and he finds it fascinating.

[sanguinesacrament]

I feel like it’s necessary to give Sanguis some sort of plight or unfulfillment, because what else would they work for? What keeps them restless in any verse? In their main verse it’s kinda happened so that they’ve stagnated because they...DON’T want to do anything about their issues. But here we have the Kaijudo AU, and a new set of circumstances. 

For anyone not familiar with the landscape of what the rulers in the Darkness Realm looks like--We have Megaria, who is the Empress, and has several sisters. They’ve all had this nasty contention for rulership of the realm--Like if I remember right Megaria killed a brother over it. SO. YEAH. Sanguis’ mother, Princess Gregoria, is a warrior but also an ambassador. 

As a Shadow Champion kaiju, Sanguis was created--more like, engineered by the Dark Lords, and I imagine they were solely made by Gregoria. But Sanguis isn’t huge and hulking like--fuck, I don’t know. Trox, general of destruction, another Shadow Champion. So Sanguis was more likely kept with Gregoria’s diplomatic interests in mind, and maybe more casting ability than physical size and strength. I mean, they’re 7′ 5″, but that’s run of the mill for kaiju who are more humanoid tbh. 

It has such a...connotation to say they ‘ran away’ but after they got warped to the human world? It was really like they did, because they just...never went back home. And the more I thought about it, of course they did. I feel like I made it sound like they were shirking responsibility, I guess, in previous posts...but god what if that wasn’t a place you even felt being good in. Your mother made you to be charismatic. Your mother made you as an asset in this ongoing family contention, in a brutal realm where people are offering their family runts up as TRIBUTES TO YOUR AUNT, LIKE, hello--?

Like, someone can find out about the life they lived as the child of a Princess--but it’s not the lap of luxury as much as you think. Not when you are a tool. Not when you have privilege just so you can worm yourself into a cozy place among the high strata of other civilizations. Sanguis was created to be good at talking, good at winning people over, good at asking questions that make you reveal things about yourself, but not because they themself had malicious intent, but because this behavior benefitted their mother second-hand.

They did not choose to be that way, but when they came to the human world...they didn’t have to LIVE like that. No being ordered who to visit all the time, under dire circumstances, just outings for relaying information between outposts and the Temple. They still have some of the same tendencies since they were ingrained in them from creation, but now it’s starting to turn into where their underhanded tactics are also self-serving, because they don’t want to blow the live they have here.

...So. What is Sanguis looking for ultimately? Connection, but connection that isn’t forced. Freedom to enjoy themself on their own time. Being loved but not because of what they strategically offer. Breathing room to mess up without so much on their shoulders. Comfort. Getting along with people and having relationships that are fun, not convenient or part of an agenda.