#and one must be appropriately bundled

[mariasont]

public swimwear to private entertainment

bimbo!reader models swimwear for aaron before the trip

pairing: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader warnings: fem!reader, aaron having dirty ish thoughts, suggestive ish ending prompt: here wc: 0.8k

Hotch eyes the open suitcase sprawling across the bed and feels something considerably close to existential dread. Surely, that must be every bikini ever manufactured. They multiply before him, each skimpier and more vividly patterned than the last, nestled carelessly among skirts and shorts so minuscule he’s fairly certain they qualify as handkerchiefs. 

He watches as you flutter from drawer to drawer, obliviously humming some sugary pop song, adding yet another bundle of fabric to the towering heap. 

He briefly considers stepping in, diplomatically suggesting that perhaps your packing approach is slightly disproportionate to a seven-day beach vacation, but really, who is he kidding? He’s better off staying silent.

Hotch gingerly lifts one of the offending garments from its glitter-speckled nest, eyeing it skeptically. He holds it carefully between thumb and forefinger — God forbid he accidentally damage whatever microscopic integrity it possesses. 

“Sweetheart,” he begins slowly, fidgeting with the beginning of a smile, “you can’t be serious.”

“Um, yes, I can be. That’s literally the cutest one I have.”

“It’s barely there.”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “It’s a bikini, Aaron. It’s supposed to be barely there. That’s, like, the whole point.”

Inside his head, Hotch feels like he’s refereeing a particularly violent boxing match. In one corner, the possessive side of him — territorial, irrational, and obnoxiously overprotective — clamors for immediate confiscation of the scrap of fabric, envisioning scenarios involving oversized sweatshirts, ski jackets, or perhaps a nun’s habit.

The other side, sensible and mature, argues sternly that policing your outfits is hardly appropriate boyfriend behavior, regardless of how many panic attacks they induce.

He sighs inwardly, concluding that he’ll simply have to weather his skyrocketing blood pressure silently, like the self-sacrificing martyr he apparently aspires to become.

“You’ll love it, promise,” you chirp, leaning in close to press a lipstick-coated kiss directly onto his cheek, a kiss his suspects might be visible from space. “Should I model it first? You know, for reassurance.”

“I doubt seeing it in advance will help my mental health.”

A bubbly giggle escapes your lips, and you pat his chest affectionately. “You’re so funny sometimes. Have you considered stand-up?”

Hotch stares after you for a moment as the bathroom door closes, mildly bewildered at how his dry sarcasm always manages to delight you so thoroughly. 

He sighs, shaking his head as he reluctantly turns back to his own suitcase, a carefully curated assortment of practical clothing and essentials.

Or at least it was, until he noticed that his neatly folded stack of muted shirts and shorts had apparently become prime real estate for your sandals and pastel tops. 

The bathroom door swings back open after a couple minutes, and Hotch glances up, immediately rendered speechless.

Perhaps permanently.

You stand framed in the doorway, a glittering vision wrapped tightly around curves he privately believes far more protection, or possibly none at all, depending on which impulsive side of him gains the upper hand. 

He briefly entertains the idea of canceling the trip altogether in favor of alternative plans involving far fewer garments — though that threshold has already been spectacularly lowered — and significantly less public visibility.

But practicality crashes rudely into his consciousness, reminding him with grim certainty that he was unquestionably correct about the fragility of this ensemble. One touch, one unfortunate gust of wind, and you’d be entirely uncovered, dressed only in sunbeams themselves. 

Hotch feels a preemptive headache forming, not at you, but at Rossi’s predictable, blatant ogling, which is practically guaranteed the moment his friend spots you.

Dave has never been one for discretion, especially when confronted by someone with beauty of your magnitude. He mentally rehearses contingency plans, debating how best to block Rossi’s line of sight without appearing caveman-like.

You twirl dramatically, shimmering as you collapse into his waiting arms, smile radiant enough to rival the sun.

“See?” You beam, fingertips brushing along his jaw. “It’s perfect.”

“Yes,” Hotch replies, attempting, but mostly failing, to keep his tone neutral as the pad of his thumb traces along your shoulder. “Perfect if you’re looking to give me gray hair.”

“Jealous already?”

His hand finds its way gently to your neck, idly tracing the fragile knot tied there. 

“Maybe I'm more concerned about accidental exposure.”

“You're being dramatic,” you giggle, tilting your chin defiantly. “It’s totally secure.”

“Secure?” He raises an eyebrow skeptically, fingertips tightening just slightly around the strings. “Let's test that theory.”

The bow slips free effortlessly, leaving you scrambling to secure the suddenly loose fabric against your chest with a startled squeak.

“Aaron!”

Hotch leans in, voice dropping dangerously low. “Just proving a point. Maybe we should try something a little sturdier before we leave.”

As it turns out, Hotch was entirely correct—not only about the questionable reliability of your swimwear, but also the inevitable delay it caused in their departure.

By the time they finally left, the bikini was neatly tucked away in his suitcase, officially reclassified from public swimwear to private entertainment. Secretly, he suspects you knew exactly what you were doing — and he can't find a single reason to complain.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 1 extras

💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)

maria's spring break getaway masterlist

[deltawrites]

𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 ㅤꨄ︎

Prompt: Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Receiving Gifts, Quality Time, and Physical Touch. These represent different ways people prefer to express and receive love

TW: second-person pronouns (gender neutral)

A/N: First time writing for Touchstarved! Lemme know how I do besties✌️

AIS - acts of service & quality time

Ais is someone who unexpectedly wears his heart on his sleeves. He’s very in tune with his emotions and is not afraid to let them show, even when it comes to matters of love and affection.

If he loves you, he will show you. Whether it’s a more obvious act such as protecting you from the random, heated drunkard or a voracious soulless, he isn’t afraid to put his life on the line in order to keep you safe if you've managed to win his heart. Your safety is now one of his top priorities, if not the top priority of his.

His less bloody acts actually makes him come across as quite the gentleman, and were likely the first signs that Ais may have a thing for you. Holding open doors. Pulling out a seat for you. Brewing you fresh tea during your odd visits to the Seaspring.

His acts of service are intended to lead to quality time together.

Granted, his pets will often appear during your times together with him, but who can say no to spending time with Princess??? She’s a darling!

His pets soon become yours. If he is ever busy or unable to be by your sides, expect them to take his place in the meantime. 

Expect him to outright carry you places later down the line. Doesn't matter your build, he’s strong enough to accommodate any weight!

VERE - gift giving & quality time

Vere isn’t ashamed to like the materialistic things in life. His tastes can run expensive and exotic, but why settle for anything less than the best?

However, if he is truly interested in you, expect to be on the receiving end and not the giver.

His mindset is that of showering the one who captivates him with the finest there is, cementing the idea to the object of his affections that to love him and him alone is to never be without.

Silken cloth, precious metals and gemstones, and the finest of cuisines. He loves you enough that the thought of you having anything but the best causes him worry.

Yes, Vere enjoys the finer things in life, even more so if he can share the joy of all that he has given you, together. 

Don’t expect him to let you be after he gives you a set of curated hair oils and skincare serums. Oh no, he intends to show you how good they truly are and how exactly to use them! 

Better yet, may as well make it a whole evening together! There’s also all those outfits he got you and he simply must make sure they fit you as intended, or he’ll have the tailor's head.

MHIN - acts of service & physical touch

Mhin is actually fond of physical intimacy, but their curse has made them a bit hesitant to pursue it out of fear of harming others, especially you, when it decides to take hold of their body without warning.

When Mhin cares for someone, they may forgo their initial concerns with a bit of reassurance. While cautious as always given the risks, even they can get swept up in the comfort of a warm hug or the comforting grip of your bandaged hand in theirs.

Most definitely, they are the type of person to press their forehead against your own, especially after a more tense situation occurs and they need to ensure that you are still here with them, safe and breathing.

When it's cold, they will scold you for not wearing weather appropriate clothing while also shrugging off their own cloak and bundling you up.

Ran into a steep incline and struggling to climb up? They may not look the strongest, but you’ll be surprised at the strength Mhin can muster in order to help you out.

If you are ever low on funds or worried about securing your next meal, you needn’t anymore. On top of feeding the various street cats in Lowtown, Mhin will take up an extra job or two to ensure you’re taken care of and never without a full belly.

Give them a kiss before their nightly patrols and you most definitely will be rewarded with them blushing profusely. 

LEANDER - physical touch & words of affirmation

Unlike Mhin, Leander is not at all hesitant about showing physical intimacy from the get go. You may even suspect he enjoys putting on a bit of a display in front of others. Especially in front of others.

In a way, his very open and handsy approach have marked you as off limits to nearly everyone in Lowtown. The only ones who would dare to make a move on you are either bold, stupid, or a blatant rival looking to stir up tensions.

From the moment you two met in the Wet Wick, he has always been smooth and purposeful with his words. It’s almost as if he can read your very soul. There are times you needn’t utter a word of complaint to him. Leander knows exactly when to give you comfort and how.

While he enjoys displaying his physical love for you to more watchful eyes, you’ll find that his carefully crafted words are reserved for you and you alone.

Those moments may be the only time where you witness him let down his walls a bit. Leander most certainly puts nothing but his best foot forward with his clients and the other Adderstones. Only someone who has truly gained his trust and stuck by him despite his well hidden shortcomings and secrets will ever witness such vulnerability.

If you have truly cemented yourself into his heart then congratulations, expect a ring and a heartfelt proposal within the next year. You will also gain some authority over his gang after exchanging vows.

He has an entire list of compliments and little nicknames he uses with various people in order to maintain his foothold within the lower districts of Eridia. They're superficial and corny at first, but as your relationship progresses they start to take on a much more impactful tone when he uses them on you. 

His favorites: Beautiful, Sweetheart, Love, My dear, My flower, My rose, My soul. 

KURAS - quality time and physical touch

One of the telltale signs that Kuras had a genuine interest in you beyond that of a patient is when he began to pet you on the head after your, now routinely, checkups at his clinic.

His ministries didn’t stop there. In a way, he was testing to see how far he could go before you would catch on. A simple head rub eventually turned into a bold but chaste kiss to the back of your bandaged hand, which in turn navigated its way to pressing his lips against your temple.

Honestly, it got to a point where the man himself had to stop and consider whether or not he was abusing his authority as your doctor when you seemingly didn’t respond to his signals like he expected you to. This isn’t his first time initiating the chase after all, so why wasn’t it working like before?

Kuras decided it best to take his affections outside of the clinic, which was most likely the cause for confusion given it is his place of business. Although he has no reason to eat, the same cannot be said about you. Expect frequent invites to small bakeries, cafes, and local street vendors some of which you question if you can afford without his generously offered coin.

If he takes you out eating then he will feed you small bites, although it begins to happen too much. It’s cute at first and he assures himself that this will surely win your heart when he sees how happy and fulfilled you look, but then you mentioned how parental his care feels one evening and he almost recoils his hand away out of shock. 

It’ll be a cute little moment to look back upon in the future, but in that moment he was truly at a loss for words and embarrassed for giving the wrong signals. This may be the one time you see him get flustered and trip over his own words. It’s rather cute!

He enjoys leisurely strolls by the river ways and will invite you if you indicate having some free time. Whether you two are engaged in deep conversation the entire time or simply wish to enjoy your walk in a comfortable silence, he can adjust to either. While he prefers to frequent quieter areas he is also not avoidant of more crowded and hectic areas like the Amaryllis district. You will be in safe hands there, as everyone knows not to push their wares or their luck when he quite obviously has a gently placed hand on the low of your back as you two engage with each other in your shared bubble.

requests are open!

[thevoidscreams]

How would each primemarch be if their wife is pregnant with their child?

No real warnings for this one other than pregnancy Lion: He's as cool as ever on the outside but he's secretly a mess on the inside. The lion is not the kind to be very open with his emotions so to some (Of the few who actually know) it might seem he has no feelings at all about his wife carrying his progeny. However those who know him better notice how close he keeps you from the start. He's not going to allow anything to happen to his beautiful lioness. 2: Went out for milk and didn't come back. Fulgrim: "Oh have you heard? My darling wife is with child." This man could not be anymore different, he makes sure everyone knows and is appropriately excited. After all how could they not be? He was going to have a child that was truly his own. He parades you about in clothes that show your progressive belly and he makes a show of rubbing it in. Not even his most beloved brother Ferrus is spared. Well to be fair Ferrus is especially the target of the pheonicians excitement.

Perturabo: He is quietly delighted his giant hands have never been so gentle. His honor guard becomes yours for the whole duration, not that they weren't ordered to keep you safe as well, but now they are especially vigilant. He doesn't make a fuss about it outwardly but the nursery soon fills with tiny marvels of engineering for your future child.

Jaghatai: He's also quiet about it, but he's always been a bit aloof about his brother. But in private he is incredibly happy, practically worshiping your body. Making sure you only have the best food. He's a very dedicated husband and soon to be father.

Leman: Is boastful about it. But also very vigilant. He's not letting you out of his sight so long as you've got his pup in your womb. He keeps you warm on cold nights as he refuses to let his child be born anywhere but on Fenris so you do have to suffer the biting cold. Don't worry though, you'll have more furs than you can shake a stick at to keep you comfortable.

Rogal:

No one even knew you were pregnant until the kid came. Though their were signs, kinda, like every place you stepped foot in having even more recent additions to the defenses. His best sons being put on guard duty. A rare quiet smile on his contemplative face and stern face. His apothecaries are the only ones not completely shocked.

Curze:

Oh boy if he was a mess before?... Hes actually quite mellow for most of the pregnancy, of course that is once he's established paternity. It's not that he doubts you, it's that there are other men on his ship and he can't trust them. He holds you even closer now at night. Whispering feverish, yet loving inanities to you. His hard bitter laugh has a softer edge to it now. Could it be that he might finally have two good things in his life to bring his mind out of the darkness?

Sanguinius: I'm saying it now, he started trying early, as soon as the ring was on your finger. Sanguinius loves his sons and that love is only amplifies for the child growing in your womb. But along with that love is a terrible anxiety, what if the child is touched by his thirst, doomed to live with the curse as he and his other children are? He'll love them all the same absolutely nothing will change that. And he somehow loves you even more for this gift of life you are creating with him.

Ferrus: His massive metal hands hold you so gently when you give him the news. He has so much to do, and so much to be. Now he must also be a real father, not only to his astartes, but to a small bundle of life that will share half of his dna. Should he tell anyone? Fulgrim? His father? Ferrus feels very real uncertainty about it. He will tell no one, he decides and puts an even more robust guard around you at all times unless you are with him, in his arms. It becomes the safest place in universe just for you.

11: Went out for smokes and didn't come back.

Angron: How did this even happen? Most people assumed your marriage to this giant butcher was all for show. But no, he is your husband and despite his moments of temporary insanity at the clawing of nails in his brain, he managed to do it. He won't touch you unfortunately. Despite his general disposition about things he does not hate you, and his fear of the nails keeps his hands at bay. No matter how much you plead. He will not risk the life of his child. In his moments of clarity you hold his hand, and kiss it, he tells you he loves you. You alone in the universe as he twitches at the biting of the nails. Maybe he will go back to perturabo and finally allow his brother to aid him. For your sake and for your child.

Roboute: Also quite hush hush about the pregnancy, he journals the whole experience, and builds the nursery with his own hands, putting his own little touches on the place. His hearts swell with delight every time he thinks about it. He holds you in his arms as he picks the handcrafted animals that will go into the rooms. He thanks you softly for allowing him to have this experience. He also has the whole timeline planned out for the pregnancy, you let him have it despite knowing that these things hardly ever go exactly according to plan.

Mortarion: Is this even allowed? Is what he keeps thinking to himself, but he is happy. Fearful as well as you progress, what if he ends up being like the awful monster that raised him? Or even like his own father. He vows to not be those men, he promises to you over and over that he will be the best father. On his knees, he swears to you. He loves you so much and his love your child as well.

Magnus: As soon as you tell him that you're with child he begins divining. Looking into the potential futures to ensure his child's safety. He messages you with his collection of scented oils as he tells you of the endless futures he's seen. He loves to touch you, to feel the aura of his little one growing inside you. He'll know them better than even you by the time they're born. His sons are just as joyful about all this, but do come up with some wild concerns that you never even considered. Magnus puts all theirs worries and yours to rest, telling you hes seen what may happen and will not allow any negatives to come to pass. He is arrogant, for sure, but it does make your fears less.

Horus: He couldn't have kept it under wraps even if he tried. His sons soon learn from the mournival and now every lunar wolf is on high alert to keep you safe. Even Ezekiel, those that's on orders from his primarch. Horus spends as much time as he is able with you. He's glad to be a father, a true father, fulfilling his unspoken desires at long last. He treats you like a queen, and you are never far from his side. As he speaks soft words of love to you and kisses your hands and cheeks.

Lorgar: Lorgar looks at you as if you hung the stars yourself when you tell him. He dedicates himself to you throughout the whole process, at you beck and call the whole time. He acquires for you the most luxurious things he can to pamper you. Most of your evenings are spent with him massaging you with lotions or oils as her tells you tales from his compliances. He adores you so much. Vulkan: He is likely the most outwardly expressive with his delight. Not boasting or bragging but delightedly sharing the good news with his family. It's a nice feeling, to be so openly praised by a primarch. He, like many of this other builder brothers makes toys for his soon to arrive child. He's attentive, maybe even a bit smothering. But it's all to ensure that you are happy and well. His sons are also over the moon at the news, there much beloved legion mother carrying their brother or sister. You will certainly be very safe and loved, that's for sure.

Corvus: He might tell a few of his brothers and his father, but other than that he keeps it a rather private affair. He will of course keep you close and when he is unable will have a silent guard keeping an eye on your every move to ensure your safety. At night when he holds you, he will sing you to sleep with his soft mellow voice. His dark eyes scanning the shadows for any movement. He will keep you and his little chick safe in his nest. Alpharius/Omegon: The question is who's the father? True they are twins of a sort, technically two halves of what would have been one being. But still. Either way, no one but the three of you will even know until the baby comes and even then it's largely going to be a rumor. You are well cared for as you always are, but the two fathers will ensure that regardless, nothing happens and no one knows.

[queenshelby]

Business As Usual (Part Six)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Wife!Reader

Warning: Arranged Marriage, Angst, Cheating

NOTE: THIS IS MUCH DARKER THAN WHAT I USUALLY WRITE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

During the drive, you distracted yourself from the pain by discussing what happened and why. You wanted to know whether your family was working against you and Shelby Company Limited and, much to your surprise, your husband admitted that certain members of your family strayed from the original agreement between your respective families. They had put you and Tommy's family into grave danger and Tommy told you that he would not stand for it.

Then, after a short drive, you arrived at the hospital. The building was a maze of corridors and staircases, filled with medical staff bustling about their duties. Despite the circumstances, you found solace in the familiar smell of disinfectant that hung heavy in the air.

The doctor attending to you was a woman named Dr. Miller. She was kind and compassionate, offering small smiles of encouragement throughout the procedure. You winced as she removed the bullet from your arm, but her soothing voice kept you grounded, helping you endure the excruciating pain with Tommy by your side.

His presence brought comfort, yet it heightened the sense of betrayal that lingered between you, and you were unsure by this point as to whom you could trust. 

He was there, yet he seemed miles away; distant, detached. You noticed that in his posture, his voice, his mannerisms—even his scent, masked by the sterile hospital environment.

"Considering the circumstances and the fact that you are currently with child, I recommend that you stay here for the night, Mrs Shelby," Dr. Miller suggested gently but you hesitated and shook your head.

"No, please, I want to go home," you insisted, your voice quivering with the weight of the events that had taken place. With everything that had transpired, you did not feel safe at a public place like this, but Tommy reassured you that he would arrange for appropriate security, even if you were to decide to stay at the hospital. 

"You should stay here Love. You need to rest, and you most certainly need proper medical care, eh," he insisted, running a tender finger up and down your arm, a light touch that sent chills down your spine. His sudden tenderness surprised you as, ever since you were forced to marry one another, he had been rather cold towards you, and yet, you shook your head and pulled your arm away from him. 

"As I said Thomas, I want to go home," you repeated, this time more sternly and with a glare thrown in his direction. "You either drive me back to Arrow House or I will make alternate arrangements," you said while watching as the muscles in Tommy's jaw visibly tensed and clenched, a sure sign that he was annoyed by your obstinacy.

"Fine," he grumbled reluctantly, casting a brief glance at the nurse stationed near the entrance to your room. "I'll take you home. But you must promise me to rest, eh?" Tommy demanded and you hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement.

"Mr Shelby, with respect, I strongly advise that your wife stays overnight for observation," Dr. Miller reiterated her suggestion, a firm conviction echoing in her voice but Tommy explained to her that you were determined to leave.

"I will arrange for her to be monitored at home by one of your nurses," he told her before producing a bundle of cash from his pocket and placing it discreetly on the counter.

Dr. Miller casted a questioning glance at Tommy and then at her nurse, silently communicating the unspoken agreement.

"Very well, Mr Shelby," she conceded reluctantly while accepting the payment without batting an eyelid. "I will send Nurse Dawson over to administer medication and monitor your wife's condition. Please remember that she needs complete rest and should avoid stress at all costs."

"Thank you, Doctor," Tommy responded curtly before guiding you out of the ward.

You glanced back at the enigmatic doctor, who gave you a warm smile and a nod, wishing you a speedy recovery. Once you were seated in the car, Tommy fastened your seatbelt carefully, his expression softening as he studied your face. "Are you alright, Love?" he asked softly, concern evident in his voice.

You swallowed thickly, fighting back the tears welling up in your eyes. "I am fine," you croaked, raising a weak hand to wipe away the stinging wetness accumulating near your right eye.

You'd always been tough, steeling yourself against whatever life threw at you, but the relentless strain of recent months had worn you thin.

A gentle nod was your only response, the understanding in Thomas's eyes mirroring the pain in yours. It was difficult to believe that just hours earlier, you'd been embroiled in a dangerous standoff, armed with pistols and ready to strike down your enemies. Now, as you sat quietly in the passenger seat, your thoughts drifted back to the turbulent three months that had transformed your life irrevocably.

The car accelerated smoothly through the foggy streets of Birmingham, weaving effortlessly through patches of damp road. You stole a sideways glance at Tommy, only to find him gazing out onto the rain-slicked pavement, lost in his musings.

The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with unsaid words and pent-up emotions. A single tear trickled down your cheek, mingling with the sweat on your skin. You reached up and wiped it away with the back of your hand, hoping desperately that Tommy wouldn't notice your distress.

You wanted to seem strong and unbreakable, uncaring about what he had done to you, but holding up this kind of facade had become increasingly difficult. 

Every time you blinked, you could see his betrayal staring back at you like a slap in the face. He slept with the enemy, cheating on you and you wished for things to go back to the way they used to be before you were thrown into this life. When the first few weeks had passed after your marriage, you thought that maybe things would change some day, but you had been foolish to think that someone like Tommy Shelby could ever change. 

Just like you, he pretended to be invincible. The veneer that protected him from real feelings seemed cracked now though, and underneath lay raw nerves. His eyes flashed, and he gripped the steering wheel harder. The Bentley purred along the roads of Birmingham, cutting through the misty weather like a hot knife through butter. In the dim light, his profile was illuminated by the dashboard lights, showing a man wrestling with inner demons.

Then, suddenly, he pulled over at quiet intersection, near an abandoned estate before parking the Bentley under a tree.

You were startled, and your eyes widened as the engine cut off. You could feel the awkward silence filling the air between you. The wind whistled loudly, causing the trees to sway.

"We need to talk," Tommy said, his voice breaking the uncomfortable silence. He opened the car door and helped you step out. He guided you towards an old wooden bench sitting under the shelter of a sturdy oak tree.

The bench creaked under your weight as you sat down gingerly, wincing from the residual pain in your arm.

You glanced sideways at Tommy, noticing his troubled expression.

"What exactly did you mean by 'we need to talk'?" you asked cautiously, sensing the seriousness of the conversation to come. "And why here?" you wondered, and Tommy's shoulders stiffened visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gathered his thoughts.

"Because I feel as though someone is listening to us, in my own fucking house," Tommy growled before offering you a cigarette, an offer which you declined. "Love, I know I have made mistakes..." he then trailed off, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt.

"You have. You betrayed me and you cheated on me," you interrupted bluntly, refusing to sugarcoat the truth.

Your tone was accusatory, carrying the weight of a betrayed spouse. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you refused to shy away from confronting the issue head-on.

Tommy flinched noticeably, his grip tightening on the armrest. He looked down, avoiding direct eye contact. "I know," he murmured quietly, shame coloring his cheeks. "I was...confused. Things got complicated and I..." he began to say before inhaling sharply. "You were forced to marry me, and I tried to honor our arrangement after the night we shared, but in order to protect you from your own fucking family, I couldn't. I had to ensure that you were not involved in any of my business deals knowing that you were pregnant with my child, and you hated me for that. So, tell me Y/N, how could you have possibly expected us to be anything other than fucking acquaintances, eh? You don't love me. You were forced to be with me and I was not going to live to honor my vows with a woman who shows no fucking interest in me and no fucking respect either," Tommy explained, his voice heavy with resentment, though his words carried a certain amount of justified bitterness. He had done everything he could to protect you from your own family's devious schemes. They were planning to sacrifice you for personal gain and screwing over the gang in which you were now involved. What more could you have possibly expected from him?

"As soon as I figured out your uncle's plan, I realized that you were a liability to me, and that fact alone made me distance myself from you, not out of hatred, but because I wanted to protect our child," Tommy continued, his voice softer now.

"So why did you sleep with Laura Manning then? What did she have to do with protecting our child?" you countered, still unconvinced that his intentions were pure. There was no denying that Tommy was a complex individual, capable of displaying immense kindness and compassion while simultaneously engaging in brutal acts of violence. You couldn't quite wrap your head around his motives, and it frustrated you to no end.

Tommy hesitated, his brow furrowed in concentration. "For the same reason I sleep with whores Y/N," he confessed, his voice strained and laden with regret. "To get some fucking release, after a long day of handling business" he added, before taking a deep breath and, immediately, you slapped him across the face. 

The sound of flesh connecting with flesh echoed loudly in the chilly night air. He flinched, surprised by your sudden reaction but not entirely unprepared. The sting of your palm burned against yours, the intensity of your anger shocking even you but, what you did next, came more of a surprise to him than anything before.

"You are being selfish Thomas, seeking release outside your marriage after all you did to me," you told him while reaching for his belt buckle, you undid it swiftly, and then slid his zipper down, before he could utter a word. 

"Fuck!" he gasped, his eyes wide in shock as you slid your hand beneath his briefs.

You leaned forward, wrapping your hands around his shaft and squeezing firmly. His cock throbbed in your grasp, swelling larger under your skilled fingers.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he stammered, struggling to form coherent sentences while being confused by your actions while trying to stop you. 

"Quiet!" you snapped, squeezing him tighter. "I am your wife and I need you to remember exactly that," you spoke swiftly while his eyes went wide as saucers, mouth hanging open, but he bit down hard on his lip to suppress an audible groan when you stroked him expertly. Each stroke of your fingers teased his erection, causing it to grow thicker and longer. You knew how to handle a man, how to manipulate him, and how to please him in ways he hadn't experienced before.

"No more whores!" you shouted, grabbing Tommy's erection even tighter. "No more fucking other women!" you snarled, pumping his cock faster. "I'm it, Tommy! Only me!" you told him before adjusting your position in order to take off your undergarments.

"I am your fucking wife and I expect you to treat and respect me as such," you said angrily before reaching beneath your skirt and slipping your panties off. 

You straddled Tommy, your knees pressing against his thighs and your moist pussy brushing against the head of his cock.

"Y/N," he protested feebly, his voice hoarse and trembling and, before he could say anything else, you pressed your index finger onto his lips.

"Ssh," you cooed seductively, grinding your hips against his groin, but Tommy would not relent. 

"Please, Y/N," he pleaded weakly, trying to push you away. "You're too delicate to handle me right now. You are injured and traumatized," he reminded you calmly, but you shook your head. 

"That's just it, Tommy," you purred, gripping his erection tightly before guiding it to your entrance. "I'm not delicate. Not anymore," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the rustling leaves overhead.

 "I know what you want, Tommy. What you need," you told him, your voice husky with desire. You felt him squirm beneath you, his cock growing impossibly harder against your sensitive flesh.

"And I'm going to give it to you at my discretion," you moaned, grinding your pussy against his swollen member. "Understand?" you asked while Tommy whimpered softly, arching his neck to lick your lips hungrily, but you pulled away, leaving him wanting more.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with lust and pleading. "Please..." he begged but you shook your head, teasing him with your eyes.

"You've got to prove yourself to me, Tommy," you smirked wickedly, rubbing your pelvis against his throbbing erection. "Show me that you're worth my time, effort, and affection."

He frowned, his brows knitting together in frustration. "How?" he asked, desperate for a way to appease you.

"Well," you purred, cupping his cheek. "First of all, you will give me authority to handle the liquor export division. I want you to give me full control over it and not interfere unless absolutely necessary."

Tommy stared at you in disbelief before heaving a sigh. "I'll consider it," he agreed reluctantly, following which he asked what else it was that you wanted. 

The air between you crackled with tension, the scent of sex and desperation mingling to create an intoxicating blend. You knew that you had him hooked, and now it was time to reel him in.

"Secondly," you continued, leaning closer to his ear. "If, what you told me is true, I want you to help me get rid of my uncle and his acquaintances. They pose a threat to our family, and I won't tolerate it. Understand?" you asked, seeing that it was them who put you into harm's way and, without giving it a second thought, Tommy nodded. "Agreed," he muttered gruffly, his voice barely audible.

He was caught in your web, ensnared by your demands and desires and you licked your lips, savoring the taste of power and dominance before making your final demand.

"Finally, I want you to stop sleeping around," you stated bluntly. "From now on, you're mine and only mine. Agreed?" you asked and Tommy pursed his lips, contemplating your request.

After a few moments of silent deliberation, he nodded slowly. "Agreed," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "No more whores," he muttered, and you smiled triumphantly, feeling empowered by your newfound control over him.

"Good boy," you cooed, planting a fleeting kiss on his lips before, finally, lowering yourself on to his hardness. 

"Oh, God, yes," he moaned, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. "I'm...I'm yours, Love," he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken as he felt your flesh surrounding his hardness.

You chuckled softly, feeling satisfied with your victory. "Yes, you are," you purred before you began to ride him.

You took his cock inside you with agonizing slowness, relishing the sensation of being filled by him. You let out a soft cry of pleasure as your walls tightened around his thickness.

"You feel so fucking good," Tommy moaned, thrusting his hips upward to meet each of your downward strokes. You reveled in the sensation of being impaled by him, his erection pulsating within you.

Each movement drove you wild, your juices flowing freely, lubricating your passage. You wrapped your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself as you bounced on top of him.

"You see, you could have had this all along, Thomas" you panted, your voice ragged and hoarse. 

Tommy's eyes narrowed, his breathing becoming labored. "I promise to make it up to you Love," he murmured, his voice shaking slightly.

"We shall see," you replied coolly, your gaze locked on his.

With each stroke, you grew more confident, knowing that you held the reins.

"I am close," Tommy muttered, his voice strained and breathless.

You smirked, enjoying the power you wielded over him as, suddenly, you pulled away and slid off his lap.

"Well," you drawled, standing up and dusting off your skirt nonchalantly and picking up your panties from the dirty floor. "Maybe I will let you have your release later, if you behave yourself."

Your words hit him like a punch in the gut, and you saw the hunger in his eyes intensify tenfold.

Tommy simply sighed, his gaze fixated on your every move. You knew that you had him where you wanted him. His cock twitched impatiently, yearning for release, but you decided to tease him further.

"Get up," you command, and he does so immediately, his movements swift and obedient. "When we get back to Arrow House, you will call Boston and introduce me as the new export liaison. Then, after that, we will go to OUR bedroom and you will fuck me like a good husband fucks his wife. Understood?" you asked him, your voice low and seductive.

"Yes, Love," he breathed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest and you arched an eyebrow, your lips quirking upwards mischievously. "Do you?" you challenged, stepping closer to him.

The scent of your perfume wafted towards him, intoxicating and alluring.

"Let's go home, Tommy," you murmured, reaching out to trace your fingertips down his arm and he shivered, goosebumps erupting on his skin.

He had never seen you like this - commanding, dominant, and utterly fearless. You had somehow managed to turn your situation around, seizing control and positioning yourself as the puppet master. And he was your willing marionette, dancing to your tune.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

[cursecuelebre]

Debunking Tarot Myths

There is a lot people who spread misinformation about tarot cards and decks and readers. Some myths people may hear a lot of times and others that aren’t wide known and it’s good to debunk these claims before it becomes a widespread myth.

1. You have to be gifted a tarot deck: Many people heard of this notion that you must be given a tarot deck in order to read tarot for it to work and be effective. Which is bullshit, it might have stem from an old tradition of gifting tarot cards because tarot back before 20th century it was difficult to obtain a tarot deck because it was rare and quite expensive. However does this hold up in a modern day if true, no because we live in a different period where things are very accessible, affordable, and open to things like tarot. If I had money for my very first deck I would buy it for myself it was a birthday gift from a friend who wasn’t a tarot reader so does it still count? Who knows, if you’re thinking about getting a very first deck buy it for yourself if you can especially if you’re still in a situation where you can’t ask your loved ones or friends for something like a tarot deck. This also comes from a gatekeeping mindset especially from older and experienced practitioners which is a problem and the myth other than what I stated earlier has no basis in any traditions. If you haven’t gotten a tarot deck thinking someone must gift you one, put that to the side and buy one for yourself, it won’t be easy at first not because of this myth but you’re new to tarot and getting comfortable with a new system of practice. I’ve known and read many people’s accounts of buying their very first deck and had no issues of using it and got great readings from the cards.

2. You must read in reverse: if you are new to tarot reading reversals can be difficult it was for me when I started out. If someone told me that I didn’t have to read reversals at the start I be appreciated because reading reversals is not just the opposite meaning of the upright position sometimes it’s the same thing but different way. A beginner can be overwhelmed by that, but if you’re someone who just want to prefer upright reading that’s fine there is no law where you must read reversals. Reversals are good if you want a different perspective in the reading, people who don’t read reversals have their own preferences and reasons. For me I started to read just upright to build up my intuition others read upright because it makes more sense for them.

3. You must cleanse your deck regularly: Again this depends on your practice but a lot of times you’ll hear people online that “you must cleanse your deck on a daily basis” or “you must cleanse your deck after each reading” which is not a bad idea however not required for me personally I barely cleanse my decks the only time that I would is if I’m giving a very used deck away or I got a used deck. Maybe depends on the reading I’ll cleanse but other than that no, I put it this way the deck is charged with my energy and safeguarded. If you’re constantly cleansing it will become at times a hassle, wasting cleansing items, and not able to do it like what if you’re doing readings at a coffee shop? You gonna whip a smoke bundle and a lighter probably not. I feel like it comes from fear mongering that how easily energy can attached onto things. My tarot deck is mine even if I let my friends hold it for a brief second it’s not the end of the world and I did readings in public places with no problems. A lot of readers I know don’t cleanse often. I’m worried that it will bring constant stress onto a person who thinks they need to cleanse in order for a deck to be accurate which isn’t always the case. It depends on your practice of course, do whatever you feel that is appropriate just don’t let this notion of “somebody told me I need to do this.” Can negative energy and unwanted attached itself to decks yes but it’s not that common and then it’s best to cleanse the deck but you don’t have to do it constantly or every single time. If you feel bad energy when you use the deck than it’s probably a good idea to cleanse it.

4. “Reversals are opposite of the upright postitions” : though some tarot cards it may be the case for instance the sun is all about happiness and energy but reverse can mean depression and sadness. I understand it might help someone who just is beginning with reversals it might be easier to have this perspective however not all cards will mean the exact of opposite, the devil card is all about enslavement to addictions, bad habits and behavior, anger and resentment when it’s reversed it can mean freedom from these challenges however it can also mean past challenges are present in some aspect it depends on the reading and the readers intuition. The tower reversed is avoidance and denial rather than missing a upheaval and important reality check. Four of cups is about disconnected and uninterested when reverse it can depression, separation, or rejection these are examples of cards that even when reversed their not positives all the time.

5. “You shouldn’t poker shuffle or bridge your cards when shuffling” : I hear this lot recently and it’s quite silly that people get upset of how one shuffles and make up a rule that “it’s disrespectful to poker shuffle your cards” that you must be gentle and slow when shuffling your tarot cards. Okay so this a made up rule by people who don’t like the shuffle or they just can’t do it themselves. I learned how to do poker shuffle for tarot, now if you don’t like the shuffle and prefer another way that’s fine no one is saying you have to shuffle like poker players but to say it’s disrespectful or ruining the reading is ridiculous. I won’t do it on thick cardstock for obvious reasons or large cards. I poker shuffle with my cards and my readings are perfectly fine and no problems with it nor anyone else who uses the poker shuffle plus it’s one of my favorite fidgets, it’s satisfying and helps me get into my reading more effectively. If you prefer another way to shuffle that’s great there is many ways you can but do not police someone just because you don’t like it.

6. “Tarot is a feminine practice” : Okay I absolutely hate when people put gender ideals or norms in tarot especially when it’s never been there. I’m not talking about the male or female figures in the tarot cause even a king of swords can be a woman or Non binary I see as their personalities not their gender. But when people say this statement they’re talking about the practice as a whole is “feminine” when is not, tarot especially the RWS and Thoth was created by men with help of woman of course. Waite never stated that tarot was feminine in nature and this ties in the shuffling of the cards that “tarot which is feminine must be shuffled slow and gentle.” Um no I as a cisgendered woman I never was slow or gentle can a feminine person not be anything but that or a masculine person can be passive as well it doesn’t make sense at all, if someone is saying this they’re full of bs because if they truly know tarot and how it work and the intentions of what Waite and Smith created they wouldn’t be saying this.

7. “You must use the whole deck in the reading.” : If you use all of 78 cards in your deck in every reading that you do I would think you get good sleep and drink coffee constantly because the amount of energy you must have to use the entire deck in multiple readings in a day is a lot. Very rarely if I’m feeling that I need to I would use the full deck but usually either I am drained or the cards themselves are telling me no farther and the reading is done. Plus it can be overwhelming for people to have many cards for a reading for the reader and the querent. I hear from many experienced readers that they don’t use the full deck or rarely because they feel drained from the energy so I don’t know where this comes from rather than people who have a lot of time on their hands.

8. You must you use spreads: No you don’t have to if you feel if it’s unnecessary, I mix my practice of spreads and no spreads, I create my own or use my own questions because there is no specific spread that I have for a situation. Can it be more organize to use spreads sure it can but not everything calls for it nor everyone is comfortable with it. I go by threes, three cards in a row so that I follow a story very simple and easy and some people will just have one card which is valid.

9. “There is rules in tarot” : No there isn’t, there is guidelines but there is no dogmatic rules of tarot. What Waite created and spoke about the cards in pictorial key of tarot is completely different how many others interpret the cards today. Definitely should respect history and read about the original intentions of the cards but it’s not set in stone, things change base upon the interpretation of the reader that is why intuition is so important when reading the cards. Tarot is a language but a language that is fluid and adaptable, The Empress can mean many different ways to people a Mother, A Queen, Mother Nature, A Teacher, A figure that someone looks up to or someone that that they hated it’s all depends on not just the reading but one’s life experiences, bias in life. They’re archetypes and the fool can be anyone and be part of any story. That is so amazing about tarot is that many people can change the symbolism and meanings that can help other people to connect with their lives. It may not follow the “traditional tarot” but it’s still works and is powerful to a reader and the querent. You can follow the traditional meanings but it’s okay to use you’re own intuition and get the message using different meanings of the cards.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 65: A Changing World

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

“Welcome to Amsterdam!” Nathaniel hollers over the blustering, chilly wind.

It really does look like where my familie would come from. The tall and narrow brick buildings are more charming than the architecture in Brooklyn. I say a quick goodbye to Nathaniel and march down the ramp onto the cobblestone road. By now it’s late afternoon and dreary shadows are littering the ground. Up ahead, dozens of people scurry throughout the port. As I make my way through the crowd I pick up Dutch terms here and there. 

“Goedenavond!”

“Neemt u mij niet kwalijk!”

But I’m still not fluent. I suppose that’s one flaw about America. I really do feel out of place. I just hope the train station has an interpreter.

Wheeeee!

Where there’s a train whistle, there’s a train. I hurry up the steep road and start to notice how people here rely on walking for travel. A fraction of motorcars are being used compared to Birmingham and everyone seems fine by it. We’ll all have to get used to it. Cars cost money. Walking doesn’t.

I spot a sign with plaatsbewijs printed on top and tickets printed below. So somebody must speak English here.

“Hallo!” The lady at the desk greets as I step up. She sounds like Oma. “What can I get for you?”

“A ticket for Oldenburg, alsjeblieft.”

 I hand her the pounds and she seems taken aback to see the money. Most people will probably react the same. The world’s a different place now since the crash. The lady exchanges the pounds for guilders and hands me a stub.

“There you are, joung mevrouw. Have a safe trip!”

I secure the ticket inside my purse and clutch it closely. The abundance in cash and my fur coat will do no good to keep myself anonymous. This is my first time alone in this country and I do not plan on being mugged by misfortuned bystanders. There are other ways I can help dispense money. 

The design of this train looks similar to the one from this morning, only the interior is much more grey and mournful. How appropriate. I take a seat by the windows and look out distantly at the growing darkness as daylight slips away.

“You are from someplace else, ja?” A man’s voice asks as the train lurches forward.

He’s choosing to sit across from me, as is another man who appears to be his friend. Both men look to be a few years younger than me. Almost Michael’s age. They’re both wearing brown jackets and trousers to bundle up from the cold. The tallest is wearing a wool hat.

“Yes. But how did you know?” As if my accent doesn’t already give it away.

The two men share prankful smiles. “You may not think so, but we can spot foreigners quite easily.”

The tallest raises a hand to show no harm. “Don’t fret, you have done nothing wrong. We just like to mess with people!”

Something about their gentle and hospitable nature tells me I can relax. The night approaches further and in the next hour we three carry out a friendly conversation. Both men are intrigued to meet an American, especially one who traveled from England. The tallest one is Johan and his colleague is Niek, both from North Holland and onward to see Niek’s tante and oom in Zwolle. I choose not to disclose the entirety of why I’m here so I keep it simple by saying I’m visiting familie as well.

“In Germany?” Johan ponders. “Even with the Nazis?”

“My broer and his wife keep to themselves. We do not agree with the Nazis. I first hoped to find out if they might consider leaving but after the market crash I’m not sure if they will be stable enough.”

Niek rubs his forehead and sighs. “We all will be asking that question. Is anyone stable now?”

Johan shrugs. “We should have enough-”

“I’m not talking about money,” he interrupts. “Are we stable as a society? Will this be the trigger for some people? The tipping point? I for one am looking to see if people’s mentality is stable.”

Niek’s words ring through my head and we fall into a deep silence. It reminds me of how unstable Thomas seemed when I left him. I know for a fact he’s going to keep himself busy to avoid the stress. I have little faith that Lizzie will help with it. Curse my empathisch nature but it still tugs at my heart to think of him alone in that soulless house.

“Veel geluk, Verena!” 

Johan’s parting words shake me from my thoughts. The train’s stopped. This must be where they get off.

“Tot ziens!” I wave before they walk out of the train car.

Only a short while until we enter Germany, and soon after that Oldenburg. When the train starts up again I allow the rhythmic clicking of the tracks to lull me to sleep…

“All out for Oldenburg!” The conductor announces.

Jesus! I stumble out of my seat and shake away the lingering fatigue. That was fast. Either that or I’m much more tired than I thought. I quickly grab my luggage and file out with the other passengers onto the platform. 

So far Germany looks similar to Amsterdam’s quaint streets, but there is a glaring difference. The bright-colored swastika flags lining the walkways. Lord help us. As I walk to the outskirts of the city the flags become fewer. So the Nazi influence must be targeted at the inner-city government but the countryside is less affected. So far. Right now I breathe in the brisk air and take in the frozen fields spanning into the horizon. It’s almost as if nature is noticing the shifts in the world too-

Beep! Beep!

“Verena!”

No! How did he-?

I whip my head around and gasp. “Broer!” 

It is Abel! Driving a pickup truck. 

“Verena! It’s been too long!” He cheers and jumps out to pull me into a hug. “Hop in! I’ll get your trunk.”

I take a second to look at his face. He’s kept his youthful appearance but has begun to grow a beard for the upcoming winter. It's been so long since our last visit.

In ten minutes we’re driving back and engaging in a tour of the area. This place is definitely somewhere Abel would live. Isolated, rustic, reflective. The few pictures of his home he’s shown in the past hardly does it justice. The sturdy-looking house is built along the forest edge; its lighted windows casting ghostly shadows across the lawn.

“Here we are!” Abel announces and helps me carry my things to the door. 

I walk in and observe the new atmosphere. Well, I shouldn’t say ‘new.’ This place holds a familiar comforting aspect that reminds me of home. A stocked kitchen, wooden staircase, cozy den. And to add to this-

“My, what a surprise!” A friendly voice calls out from the kitchen.

It’s Anna. Abel’s wife. She, like Abel, is bundled up against the cold. Her blonde hair has added some grey strands since I last saw her. Still, her warm personality has not changed a bit.

“Hello, Anna! And- Oh!” I gasp when a stampede of their four kids ambushes me. “Hello, everyone!”

“It’s taunte Verena!” Little Ruth cheers, hugging my legs.

“Children, children!” Anna reprimands and shoos them off. “Give your taunte some space!”

“Come on, everyone!” Another voice beckons and I see Anna’s broer wave at me from the stairs.  “Hello, Verena!”

“Hello, Franz. Still pulling the needle and thread?”

He lets out a grunt when the kids pile onto him. “Every day. Still scurrying to and fro for the Englishman?”

The reminder of Thomas short circuits my thoughts. Yes, this is technically a mission to connect the company with national businesses. However, I am specifically here for my familie. But is that how I appear now? Just a foreign representative that caters to Thomas’ crazy whims?

Thankfully Anna notices my hesitation and claps her hands. “Children! It is far past your bedtime. You can talk with taunte Verena tomorrow. Upstairs, now!”

Ankia and Nolan break past everyone to make it up first, trailed by Ruth and Elsa. We wait in silence and listen to the rampaging noise upstairs until it sounds that the kids have settled down. Franz takes my trunk and points me over to a door off to the side.

“This is our spare room. You can sleep here.”

“Liam told us you were heading this way,” Abel says as Anna hands me a warm mug of tea. “I’m assuming you are here for more than just a familie visit?”

He’s right. The unspoken thoughts linger and the air grows tense again. Anna exchanges looks with her husband and takes a hint. After she discreetly escorts Franz away, Abel and I take a seat at the table. 

“Something’s got you troubled, zus.”

“We just got plunged into a depression,” I state obviously.

Abel shakes his head. “I know. But whatever you’re facing is more than that.”

I chuckle lightly and sip the tea. “You can read people so well.”

“So can you. Everyone but yourself.”

“Oh I can very well read myself. Whether or not I decide to accept it is another matter.”

Abel snickers and leans back in his chair with a look that says he’s deep in thought. “You sound different.”

My brow furrows at his vague comment. “Good different?”

“Wise. Proper. Like an English monarch. Or a poet.”

I huff and raise an eyebrow. “Would you rather I belt out harsh nonsense like we do back home? Brooklyn streets filled with everyone screaming?” I smile lightly and let out a deep breath. “In my new ways of speaking I’ve begun to detangle my biggest flaw.”

Able cocks his head to the side. “You’re too trusting?”

Spot on. There’s no doubt he proves his dependable character for our family.

“Correct,” I praise and raise my cup for a mock toast. “I think almost every person I meet can be a good person. It was foolish of me to ever endure the idea of human perfectionism.”

“That is the way of the world,” Abel admits.

“Yes,” I mutter, running my thumb on the scratches littering the wooden table. “Now my broken self is hastily repaired.”

Abel doesn’t need to press on. He was one of the only people who first guessed why I was so upset when I left Birmingham four years ago. After less than a week he guessed I was enduring heartbreak and helped keep it secret from moeder and vader. Now that I am here he’s already guessed that I’m working with Thomas again.

“Don’t cut yourself short, zus. Sometimes we need your wild spirit to tow us along.”

“If you are referring to this depression then I’m afraid I do not have much good news for you.”

Abel grunts and stands up to pour some whiskey. “Oh, I know. Vader telephoned me yesterday and told me about the conditions at home.”

I’m almost too afraid to ask. “And the conditions here?”

He downs the shot. “Hell. We’re thankful to be on the edge of the country in order to avoid those raging bastards in the capital. People don't pay much attention yet but they're staining our government. The only reason we’re still here is because of Anna’s parents, but we’re convincing them to consider moving west.”

I hum in consideration. “Any idea where?”

“In my opinion, the further the better. I’d even consider England since you’re always admiring it.”

Now for question two. “How is business here?”

Abel sighs and gestures to where his familie just left. “Franz works the best he can. The Müller’s family shop is still up and running. People still need clothes, although with this new depression we’re starting to notice people sewing their own clothes to save money. Did you know that you can make dresses out of feed sacks?”

“How inventive,” I remark with light humor and reach for my purse. “I came here with an offer. If you need any support then Shelby Company limited is willing to partner with you.”

Abel locks eyes with me and processes this carefully. “Is that what Shelby sent you here for?”

I shake my head stiffly. “I came here on my own accord to ask you. And to give you this.” I hand him some of the bills Thomas paid me. “It’s part of my latest payment. The rest is going to vader.”

Abel holds the money as if I just gave him a delicate vase. No doubt he’s already thinking of using the money to help them move. After a few moments of staring at the bills he looks up at me with a soft expression.

“Shelby treats you alright?”

“Financially, yes.”

His gaze doesn’t falter. “And in other terms?”

My eyes narrow and I keep it brief. “No.”

Abel shakes his head sadly and sits back down. “Shame. I thought you could make friends with anybody.”

“I can. He doesn’t deserve it.”

"Then why do you sound so unsure?" Abel questions softly.

"God’s will becomes my will. If I submit my needs to the will of God then my needs will be fulfilled."

"Yes. But what if He is trying to fulfill your needs by steering you where you keep avoiding?" Abel stands and pushes his chair in. "I’ll leave it at that. You are tired from traveling. Get some rest and we can resume this tomorrow. How long are you planning on staying?”

I swallow and try to hide my sheepish look. “Would you mind if I stay a few days? I told Thomas I would be gone for two weeks.”

My broer claps me on the back. “You’re always welcome, zus.”

At least hospitality isn’t dead in this world yet.

For the next few days I get caught up with Abel and his familie. Him and Franz go into the shop every day to sew and sometimes make house calls for hemming. I help them draw up and look over our new contracts, guaranteeing them stability to move out of Germany. Anna upkeeps chores around the house with the help of the children. From what I witness, Anika and Nolan are the most social and interact more when we go into the market. Ruth and Elsa keep more to themselves and play more games. 

Throughout this visit I have to push away the regret of avoiding courtship. Seeing Abel so happy like all of my other broers seems to pinch at me and keep me thinking that I’m missing something. Or someone. But our familie security comes first.

Today is my last day. Tomorrow I will repack and begin the journey back to England. Instead of moping indoors I decide to take another walk into town. But something stands out about today. Next to the large fountain there are two people standing next to a crate. One is a short man with dark hair and the other is a woman with hair braids like mine. I step closer and peer down into the crate.

Arf!

Something furry jumps up and licks my hand. Huh? I do a double-take and realize it’s- a puppy? A puppy! A brown and black-patterned pup with curious eyes. But why is he alone in a crate?

“Are you getting acquainted with this little one?” The man asks when he sees me.

“He’s the last of his litter,” his partner says.

“He is darling!” I gush and kneel closer. “What breed is he?”

“A German Shepherd,” the man explains. “Purebred, and I must say this is one of the most energetic litters we’ve ever had.” 

“Are you in the market for one?” The woman inquires. “These dogs are incredibly loyal.

A new idea sticks in my head. He’s alone too. And of all times for me to come here I find him.

“Loyal, you say…” I look down again at the energetic dog and my hesitation starts to break down.

“Ja, ja. Very deadly should you upset them or their master.”

I nod and look back up at them. “How much?”

“200 pounds,” the man answers delicately.

Jesus! That’s steep, especially since I’m on a tight budget. But then again everyone’s taking a hit right now.

“I promise you these dogs are worth their price,” the woman adds. “They can be easily trained.”

If I’m going to remain a bachelorette in Birmingham maybe a trained canine companion isn’t a bad idea. Besides, who else is going to have enough money to pay for him?

“Does he understand English?” I ponder, reaching down to stroke his soft fur.

“A smidgen. But they’re bred for commands in German. Do you speak?”

How different can it be from Dutch? The dog lets out another eager yip and convinces me to learn more of another language. Apparently I don’t have enough on my plate as it is.

“No. But I can try.”

Ten minutes later the dog and I are both walking back to Abel’s, with a plain brown collar and lead keeping him from chasing every squirrel we encounter. I only have a few commands those two sellers gave me and so far it seems to work. We stop in front of another cottage and the dog sees another squirrel.

“Halt! Stop!” I order and pull on the lead. The pup freezes and looks up at me with pleading eyes. “I know you want to rip that rodent to pieces but you can’t.”

“Verena?” Someone gasps from behind.

Who else here would know me-? Oh!

“Zipporah! Is that you?” I gawk.

It is her! The Jewish girl I met back home! This must be her house! She looks almost exactly the same as two years ago. Same curly dark hair, same kind eyes, same wide smile!

Zipporah sets down the basket she’s carrying and rushes over to give me an embrace that stands out warm against the bitter wind. The second she does the pup starts to growl.

“Platz. Down. She is a friend,” I tell him while Zipporah scratches his ears.

“Goodness! I haven’t seen you since we visited America! I’m surprised Abel didn’t tell us you were here!”

“You know my broer-?” I start to ask but cut myself off when I notice more of her family placing suitcases in a nearby wagon. “Wait- Why are you all packing?”

The timid woman looks at her family and then back to me with troubled eyes. “Momma and papa say we must leave. There have been neighborhoods across Germany who do not take kindly to Jews. We are not waiting around to be evicted.”

Raging images of the swastikas from earlier flash angrily through my head and my fists clench. Not only does her sweet family have to be dealt the depression but also this horrendous persecution! So help me as soon as I get back I'm bringing this matter straight to Thomas! We have more than enough money that can go to helping these poor people.

“That is outright awful!” I curse and reach for her hand. “Surely there’s something we can do? Anything to help?”

“I’m afraid not. We are traveling to Boston to live with my Uncle Elijah. Once we’re settled I can come by to visit your family.” Suddenly her glum expression is replaced by hopeful eyes. “There is more good news! I’m to be married once we arrive.”

There’s that word again. Marriage. It’s affecting everyone around me. I really am happy for her but hearing of how this matrimony is being planned doesn’t sit well. Maybe it’s a warning telling me that sooner or later moeder and vader might think of partaking in the same thing for me. 

“Congratulations on your blessing.” I think for a second and word myself carefully so as to not cause offense. “I just don’t see why you’re so open to an arranged marriage, Zipporah.”

Her gleeful face does not change. “Momma and papa insist. Besides, it will be fun to meet someone! We’re both not getting any younger, you know.”

I gawk at her. “You’re barely twenty five! Do you want to be stuck with a stranger for the rest of your life?”

“And be a mother?” Zipporah whispers with joy. “Yes. Don’t you?”

I open my mouth to answer but my heart’s too confused. Obviously my answer is yes but there is so much to add to it. Do I dare tell her about Thomas? We’ve never spoken about my job nor my affiliation with the Peaky Blinders. 

“Life has… God’s path for me hasn’t been straight and even,” I answer slowly and begin to trail off. “I’m not sure if…”

Zipporah reads my eyes perfectly and doesn’t press further. “It’s all His plan. We can’t predict it even if we try. I’m sure He will send you someone wonderful.” She kneels down to stroke the puppy again. “Just like this little cutie! Where did you find him?”

“A seller in the marketplace,” I explain. “I wasn’t planning on buying a puppy but I couldn’t just leave him.”

“What are you going to name him?”

Good question. “They said he is very loyal…”

The pup takes a seat next to my boots and looks up at me expectantly, as if he knows we’re talking about him. 

Zipporah lets out a laugh and pats his head. “He certainly is. Then a name of loyalty he must have.”

@meadows5

[twistedbloodstain]

keith toshko x reader: one single thread of gold tied me to you | sanrio shenanigans

plot: the one where a drink bridges you and keith together. (and it’s not the alcoholic kind)

tags: keith toshko coco meet cute? , cinnamoroll, miffy mention, sanrio obsessed ! reader, fluff, grammatical error

masterlist

it actually frightens keith.

in actuality there’s nothing threatening about a white cartoon bunny with floppy ears and bright blue eyes originating from japan, created by the kawaii focused company that is sanrio…but if you’re keith that has been shoved out of the way and cussed off several times by strangers varying from different ages, well you start to ponder what all the fuss is all about with the cartoon bunny.

it’s as if they’d actually murder him and smash his head clean on the wall if he doesn’t move out of their way to the milktea shop.

keith is fourth in line right now, and as every customer leaves the line the closer he gets the clearer the cartoon bunny becomes in his line of sight. a lineage of toys placed by the counter are visibly seen which he must assume must all be what the fuss must be about.

it’s like happy meals for older people, he thought.

he’s never tried any of the drinks in a shop that predominantly sells milktea but apparently you can only buy the toys if you buy the appropriate refresher for it which comes in avocado dream, avocado pudding and honey jelly watermelon. keith wonders if anyone actually enjoys the refreshers they come with the toy, however he’s pretty sure this is another capitalist scam for hoarders, people with hyperfixations for the cartoon bunny and victims of bandwagon.

keith is the last of those.

surely, there must be something interesting with it though? as a child he enjoyed playing with those little trinkets happy meals gave out but as an adult? any person with a job will definitely struggle with finding time to give themselves a heart stamp from a sanrio character.

maybe it’s a gift? for girlfriends or sisters or maybe sanrio collectors?

keith comes to the realization that he doesn’t know why he came inside the milktea place, got in line and waited for at least 20 minutes for something that he doesn’t find important. now that he’s at least two people away from the counter, he comes to an epiphany that although he has an alright job, he behaves like he doesn’t have one.

there are people who would prize the little trinkets from capitalist scam more than he does but then there’s no harm in what he’s doing, so why not?

suddenly, the person in front of him calls someone to her side.

a hooded figure comes up to the girl in front of him and a hushed but brief exchange of whispers are shared before the person gets out of line and lets her friend take her place in front of him.

a glare is sent to him from the girl as she walks away from the line, likely telling him that she will be back for that toy.

keith traces where the girl is headed towards and it seems it’s towards the restroom until…

something squishy but sturdy is shoved into his arm which makes keith take a small step back, slightly shocked from the sudden force applied on him. from keith’s tall stature, he glances down at what hit him.

it’s a purple translucent bag.

with a shit ton of squishy keychains bundles up together.

keith can spot the cartoon bunny alongside other characters, some he doesn’t recognize but one figure stands out to him the most.

hello kitty.

who needs that many keychains? he practically screams to himself.

keith doesn’t get it. does he look like he doesn’t have a life when he comments on other people’s lives (internally) or is it when he takes a deep hyperfixation on something that really doesn’t matter to him entirely?

he needs a quick answer before he starts losing himself into a void that is sanrio because that keychain hybrid bag is looking pretty sick to him. especially the blue penguin with the hat and bowtie.

“oh my god. i’m sorry.” she immediately apologizes.

how do you define loser behavior? he wonders.

“it’s alright.” he smiles, she smiles back. deep hyperfixations make you look like you don’t care about anything else, and more importantly bland when you make one thing your entire personality. so how in god’s green earth does the person in front of him look more spiced up than he is?

keith notices her hoodie and it’s similar to the keychain figures littered through her bag. a white dog with black floppy ears, it kinda reminds him of snoopy and charlie.

cute.

what?

”i like your bag.” he blurts out.

what.

you turn around again and look down at your bag.

”thanks. it took me a while to get it to…look like that.” you grin.

thank god you didn’t find that awkward.

”where’d you get your hoodie? looks pretty sick.” he adds, seeing you are slowly welcoming him into conversation.

”from japan. a friend gave it to me for my birthday last year.” you eagerly reply, keith notices a glint in your eyes from his small comment. clearly, you enjoy it when people comment on your sanrio things.

”kinda reminds me of snoopy to be honest.” he chuckles.

”ohh…yeah i see it. actually, i used to like snoopy before pochacco.” you explain, “there’s a clear similarity.”

”yeah but the white bunny’s cuter though.” he remarks.

you blink at him several times as the silence soaks up the conversation.

“what.” you utter out, lacking a positive tone.

”i’m pretty sure it’s up for debate but each to our own right?” he pretends to say offhandedly.

did he say something wrong? is it wrong to say that your favorite character is kinda bland? plus didn’t sanrio get sued for trying to copy other people’s characters? like the white bunny with the bland face? he read that on the way here.

“cinnamoroll’s a dog.” you point up at the character banner above the counter.

”…oh.” keith realizes.

before he can say more, a ding rings through the room from the counter calling you to come up and order your drink.

keith is left in a daze.

you peel your metal straw from the satin case it was enclosed in and pop it into your avocado dream refresher then pull out your phone to contact your sister that was taking too long for a quick visit to the bathroom.

when it ends in a voicemail, you inform her you got the drinks and the heart stamp trinket she wanted for herself.

a person clears their voice behind you.

ah…it’s mr. bunny guy.

”hi.” he greets you.

”hey.” you reply. you urge him to sit in front of you with a wave of a hand.

”thanks…i won’t take too much of your time so yeah…” he stumbles with his words, “i noticed you didn’t get one for yourself so…here.”

he sets a cinnamoroll surprise toy on the table and this makes you stop sipping your drink. you glance at his other hand and notice he got the watermelon jelly one.

“oh…you don’t have to. i don’t mind the entire thing earlier.” you smile to ease him.

”i’m not really a fan of the entire sanrio thing, not that there’s anything wrong with it. it just never really piqued my interest.” he offers.

”i can see that.” you raise your eyebrow.

”so why go here?” you follow up.

“i honestly don’t know. i’m more of a coffee guy to be honest.” he mumbles shyly.

“i like coffee too, but only if there’s seasalt in it.” you grin at him. your phone begins to ring and a familiar ring tone emerges through the air with your sister’s caller id lighting up.

”oh shit. seems like you got some place to be. um…sorry to take up your time. again i’m sorry for that thing earlier.”

”no! wait.” you call out to him before he gets up from the chair.

you shuffle at your bag for something and it takes a few minutes for you to find what you’re looking for in that puffy keychain hybrid bag. a smile erupts on your face when you see the item you’re looking for, you pull it out and hand it to him.

it’s a blue penguin with a sailor’s hat.

”it’s for you.” you eagerly offer to him, “in exchange for the toy.”

keith stares at the keychain in amusement and doesn’t have the heart to tell you he doesn’t know who the hell this little thing between your hands is.

”his name’s tuxedo sam.” you roll your eyes at his amusement, “ i noticed you eyeing him earlier at the counter.”

keith beams at your offer and slowly takes it from your palm. he gives it a light squeeze before slinging it in his index finger.

”thanks.”

”you better take care of him.” you state in a half serious tone, “ do you wanna hang out?” the mood shifts.

”sure…sure. what about your sister?” he asks.

”i’ll just give this to her then we’re on our own.” you gesture at the cooler bag with the drink and toy inside it.

you both get up from the chair but not before you tuck in the cinnamoroll toy in your bag. keith toys with the keychain you gave him as you both head out of the milktea shop.

”so…what do you do for work?”

author’s note: i love sanrio sm so obvi i had to make a fic about it along with my all time favorite sus person keith toshko…2nd keith fic and he’s just so pretty to ignore. hope you guys love it! don’t forget to like and reblog :)

[romana-after-dark]

Rooms on Fire: I Will Run To You

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Madonna learns more about her role and the dynamics of the household.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

Extra warnings for chapter: Mentions of medical malpractice, death in childbirth, mentions of male sexual assault via power dynamics, lots of complex feelings.

A/n: next chapter things ramp up.

3.1k words

A/N I gotta apologize y'all. this was meant to include so much more but I guess this chapter is getting split bc I just put so much Jonah lore. I hope y'all are formal about liking him. We finally get some backstory on the uprising, Tom, and Madonna's dad, who BTW, had a name change. JACK IS NOW MARCUS more info after the story!

Support writers! Reblog and leave comments!

One so young, so changed Should not be left alone Two in love should confess And not be left alone And I will run to you Down whatever road you choose Yes, I will follow you down I will run to you ~I Will Run to You, Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty

“You paint a lot of fire”

Jonah’s voice startled you, making you turn around but you relax when you see it’s just him. Reyansh was watching you outside your studio, and Jonah coming meant you must be summoned somewhere. 

You were painting a picture of a burning house, something you saw in a dream last night. Ben and Will treated you normally, fucking you but also spending time together. You supposed Francisco’s behavior was normal too, considering that he continued to treat you like you only existed to fuck when he had to fullfill his duty. He never touched you alone. In the week since you got your period Santi was ignoring you. He’d call you to his room, fuck you with your face pressed into the mattress, and then toss you out. Last night he shoved you into the hall with your dress still bundled up in your arms.

“I paint what I dream.” You mumble, tired and not totally there. You were terrified to sleep, and after a second visit from the succubus it was getting worse, forcing yourself to stay up later and later. Lack of sleep was making it difficult to be alert, and little noises make you jump.

Jonah approached where you stood, keeping a respectful distance. He’d been distant as well since the night you saw him, and you still were unsure what you did wrong and why Iris was so upset with you.

“You dream of houses burning?” His voice was gentle but curious.

You take a deep breath, too tired to fight off any questioning. It’s best not to lie, anyway. “Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of fire. I dreamed I was dancing in front of it. I dreamed I caused it, and it was out of my control and now I must dance in the smoke and watch as the flames consumed things that I loved.” A pause, tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. “Sometimes, he stood inside them.”

“He?”

“My father.”

Jonah drew in a sharp breath and you worried he thought you were sympathetic to his traitorous cause. You weren’t, you had remembered how betrayed you’d felt that he’d thrown everything away to follow Deacon Davis, the judas who had killed the Divine Mother. As per tradition, when someone is sentenced to death, they burn at the stake and the unmarried women are expected to dance. The closer you are to the individual, the closer you are to the fire. You had been Marcus’s only family, him and your mom having adopted you as an infant. He died in front of you as you danced, embers blowing in the wind and singeing your white dress and sensitive skin. You were only 12, but you knew right from wrong, and your father was wrong. Sometimes you woke up still smelling his burning corpse. You had danced longer than anyone, keeping all the energy your child body could give you until you passed out.

You turn to Jonah with tears in your eyes, “I hold no mercy in my heart for him, please know that. I am loyal to the Divine Mother, I am loyal to my husbands above all else! I don’t know why I didn’t get pregnant but know I’d die for them happily should it came to that!” Crying now, you desperately plead to him but it’s not Jonah you are speaking to, truely. You know Pope is questioning you right now, and you cannot bear the thought that he doubts you.

“Honey” Jonah’s voice is strained, pain anguishing him. “How much do you know about the uprising…”

Your face is wet with tears, almost shaking in fear and frustration. You didn’t know how you’d messed this up so badly so soon. You just wanted to be held, you don’t remember the last time you’d been held without sexual desire… it was probably your father, may he be damned.

“Deacon Davis… he was an advisor to the Divine Mother, a friend to my husbands… he and Deliliah conspired against the Divine Mother and her family. Dad- um, Marcus, was a part of the traitors and he allowed Deacon Davis into Divine Mother’s quarters where he murdered her. Deliliah was Will’s betrothed before. She had seduced him for information and, and betrayed her husband! I would never do that, Jonah!” You realize now why he was questioning you, he thought a traitorous blood ran in your veins. Had Pope sent him? Had Francisco seen the evil in your heart, the evil that was inviting a demon?? Or had Jonah simply seen you for what you were. “I would rather die than betray them! You have to believe me!” You sob, closing your eyes as you are no longer able to look into his in shame. Strong arms wrap around you, practically holding your body up. 

Jonah held you tightly and you cried into his shirt, so tired, so sleepy… You just wanted to feel peace again. Jonah allowed you your release, wetting his shirt with your tears until your breathing slowed. It occurred to you that you were hugging and being held by a man who was not your husband, so you take a step back looking down.

“I- I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I haven't slept well-”

“It’s okay, honey.” His voice gently reassures you. “It’s okay to cry sometimes.”

You shake your head. “No… no I’m happy, I should be happy here, happy with my husbands, I am!” You’d shown weakness, surely Jonah would tell Pope that you were unhappy, that this was proof of your doubt, of unworthiness… Instead, Jonah pulled a sleeve down on his hand, stepping up to you once more. He ran the sleeve carefully under your eyes wiping the tears.

“There is nothing wrong with feeling what you feel. Your husbands are blessed with a kind, beautiful, artistic wife and they should be so lucky you sit at their table, nonetheless someone who cooks them dinners and paint them pictures. It is they who are unworthy, not you.”

You gasp at the blasphemy. “Jonah! No, no they are-”

“Gods, I know.” He wipes snot from your running nose. “But you… you’re like a daughter to me, and a father is allowed to place his children above Gods. Marcus may not… he may not have made the right choices, but he wanted nothing but good for you, just like I do. So please, for me, show him and yourself a little grace.”

With a little sniffle, you nod. “Thank you, Jonah.”

He gave you a smile, the bright one you like that made his eyes squint. “Good girl. Now, I got a surprise for you that I think will brighten your day.”

*

Jonah watched as you practically skipped down the hallway. When he told you Frankie wanted to take you out for a picnic, you perked up so fast it was like you hadn’t even been sobbing in his arms a moment ago. He wished he could be honest with you, he wished he could tell you the truth about Tom, Delilah, and most importantly, Marcus… but you were so brainwashed, there was no way for him to break through to you. He couldn’t simple tell you everything you’d know and believed whole heartedly, your religion, your life, the very thing that you chose above your father was a lie… not yet anyway. Maybe one day you’d doubt, you’d question, and the first people you’d go to would be Iris or him, maybe even Reyansh. Rey played the part well of a good soldier boy, he wasn’t as overt as Iris was but he knew you trusted him.

Despite being late already with the crying, you insisted on stoping in your room to grab a ribbon for your heart. Jonah’s heart hurt watching you put so much effort into this.

Will treated you well. Despite Jonah and Will’s… past, he couldn’t deny Will  was a good husband. He took care of you.

Ben was a little shithead and was absolutely going behind your back with women still he just couldn’t figure out who. Ben had to be more sneaky now. This didn’t stop him from very loud late night fucks with Frankie that it seemed only you and Santi weren’t aware of. Still, he gave you affection and spent time outside of sex with you.

Santiago, he expected nothing less. Santiago’s moods were unpredictable, they had been ever since he was a child. Jonah had known Santiago and Beatriz since he was young, when all this was fairly new and traction was growing more and more. Jonah didn’t exactly believe, but his wife Jess did. Maybe he did for a while, it was hard to not with the things he saw… Beatriz had taken an interest in him and thus, despite being married, he spent a lot of time at the mansion with her. Jonah felt like a hooker, like his body was a commodity and up for grabs from anyone, and the worst part was how okay Jessica was with it. She fucking encouraged it. “Its an honor!” It wasn’t such an honor when she died giving birth to Iris and was denied medical treatment. Doctor said it wouldn’t have helped. Jonah knew Beatriz had something to do with it. He was luck Irish lived. She was his only reason for living sometimes.

It was Frank he was surprised about. Jonah had known all four men for most of the 3 decades of their life, and next to Santi, he knew Frank the longest. Frankie was raised with Santiago, practically as brother. Beatriz couldn’t adopt him, because something something divine blood, but that didn’t matter when Santi pissed her off enough. Jonah had witnessed the lashings and beatings he had taken, but what seemed to hurt the teen the most was when Beatriz would hang his godhood over his head, saying that it should be Frankie who was the savior, not him. After Jess’s death, Jonah was moved into the mansion and promoted to captain of the guard. It was just an excuse for Beatriz to demand sex even more.

Frankie was a good kid, but he always followed Santi like a lost puppy. Santi became obsessed with Frankie, forcing Frankie to become more and more withdrawn. Still, the nice young man was in there somewhere, and Jonah would bring it out. After the girl came to his room crying about Frankie not loving her, Jonah spoke to him and said he needed to do better by her hence the picnic.

Rey was out at the stables by the time Jonah got there, preparing the three horses. He was there a lot, knowing a lot about horses. If he has any choice, Jonah was certain he’d have been a vet. Another life, he supposed. Jonah and Rey would accompany them since they were going out a ways.

“Hello, Francisco.” She spoke softly, but enthusiastic. For all he and Santi hurt her, she loved him.

Frank gave a small smile. “Hi, Madonna. I thought maybe we could take a picnic. Get away from… everything else.” He brushed the mane of the horse.

Everyone else, Jonah thought.

“That sounds wonderful!” You walk over to him. “What’s his name?”

“This is Cielo. And those two,” He points to the other horses being settled. “Are Estrella and Flora.”

“Will we be riding Cielo?” You ask, but Frank turns away.

“I’ll be riding alone.”

You look dejected again, so Jonah steps up, frustrated with Frankie. “C’mon, you can ride with me.” Jonah puts a put in a stirrup, launching a leg over the saddle and onto Flora, his favorite horse.

“Actually” Frankie interjects. “I think she should ride with Rey.”

Of course. 10 years later and everyone was still suspicious of him. Frankie climbed onto Cielo, and Jonah rode up to him, whispering. “Compliment her ribbon. She picked green just for you.”

*

Reyansh pulled you up and onto the saddle, allowing you to ride the side saddle to protect your modesty in the dress. If you knew you’d be riding a horse, you’d have worn pants. It wasn’t the most comfortable, and you feared falling, but Reynash’s arm was strong around you. He was careful to keep his hands at appropriate places, which you were thankful for. 

“How is your painting going?” He asks, as since Jonah leads the group and Francisco is in the middle still not keen on talking to you. Still, this was a step forward.

“It’s good, thank you. It’s nice and peaceful. I miss-” You stop yourself. What you missed was when Santi used to sit and watch you paint, drinking his wine and intent eyes on you. It had been a comfortable silence. “I do miss having company sometimes…” You missed your husband, you missed his laugh, his smile, his praise.

“Hey, I’d love to sit in on a session!” You could tell by the tone of his voice he was smiling. “I’d love to see a real artist at work!”

You laugh just a bit, “I’m not an artist, but if you’d like to watch, I'd like that.”

“Deal.”

*

You sat against a tree, legs bent modestly in your skirt and eating the sandwich Iris packed. She also packed apple juice, which you loved.

Francisco was silent. He’d thanked you for your help setting up the blanket and spoken as he served his food, but now he simply sat there. He looked sad, but even then he was handsome. Francosco sported a mustache, which had remained consistent the whole time you’d known him. Santiago was growing out his hair and beard, which was making your heart ache even more that you couldn’t kiss and touch him like you wanted to. Still, the silence wasn’t awkward. You had begun to wonder if he was just… quiet.

“Thank you for taking me out.” You say, speaking quietly. Jonah and Reynash were circling the parameter and you felt… watched. “I hadn’t realized how much time I spent inside until now.” Had you even left the house at all since your wedding? When was the last time you felt sunshine before today?

To your delight, while still looking down, he smiled. “I’m glad. Don’t like seeing you cooped up in that house all day.”

Your heart warmed at his concern for you. Feeling emboldened, you scooch close to him.

“It’s not cooped up with the men I love.��

This makes his eyes flick up to you. He narrows them suspiciously, but not angry “You… love… me?”

Your heart nearly shatters at the question, and you can’t help but find him so endearing. “But of course I do!!!” Careful, you place a hand on his face and feel the patchy bit of stubble. “You’re my beloved husband!”

“But… you had to marry me.”

You shake your head. “No, Francisco I chose you, I chose all of you and I love all of you. Is that why you’ve been distant? Is that why you’ve been so cold to me?”

“I-” He stutters over his words. “I don’t think this is good for you… I don’t think I’m good for you…”

If there were ever words you hadn’t expected from him, it wasn’t that. Francisco was a God, he was holy, good and righteous, how could he not be good for you. It didn’t matter. Clearly he was hurting, and as his wife, it was your duty to make him happy again. “Francisco Morales, you are my husband, you are the foster child of the Divine Mother, and the love of my life. I chose you before, I choose you now, and I will choose you in heaven, Divine Mother willing.” You bring your face closer to his. “I adore you, in all your God and human.” Feeling brave, you bring your mouth to him and tenderly take his pouty lower lip into your mouth, making him whimper. You liked that sound.

“You choose me?” He whispers, slowly kissing back. “Out in the open, no secrets?” His voice is slightly higher now, almost whining as he begins to chase your mouth. 

“Always” The desperation growing, you give him everything you have. You don’t care that it’s an open field surrounded by trees, you don’t care that Reyansh and Jonah could ride up at any point, and you don’t care who might see you. You were divine and if you wanted to make love to the god of nature in his own fucking land you will. You had Francisco Morales, demi-God, whimpering for your touch. You had HIM, finally had him and you weren’t going to waste it for one second. He wanted thing sout in the open, you would show him you weren’t ashamed to be seen getting filled by his seed. Before you, your husbands were not celibant, that much was known. The sex parties were stuff of rumors and you couldn’t decipher the truth from fact. However, it was clear that public sex was not off the table. Shame is a punishment for the sins of Adam and Eve, and for men born without original sin, there was no shame in sex. “I choose you, always.”

Frankie entangles his fingers into your hair, feeling the green tie in your locks. His other hand slides up to cup your breast.

“I love this ribbon, it suits you.”

*

“Whatcha think’n, old man.” Rey asks as he rides up to Jonah. Both are perched up on top of a hill overlooking the field you lay on and he watches you kiss Frankie. 

“I’m thinking,” Jonah turns to Rey, nodding his head back home. “That I got it here, and since the others are out, you should run back and try and sneak some time with Iris.”

Rey smiled at that, but hesitated. “You sure? Morales didn’t seem like he wanted her with either of you.” 

Jonah rolled his eyes, but it was good natured nonetheless. He liked Reynash, loved him even. He was a good kid. Iris was put in the position she was in, not any older than the girl was now, because of his shortcomings, his weaknesses. She was punished to punish him. She deserved all the good she could get, and Reyansh Saha was about the only bit off good left in this world, beside Iris and now Marcus’s kid he was looking after. He reminded Jonah of Delilah in a lot of ways. Always smiling. Always kind.

“Look at ‘em.” Jonah referenced the pair kissing below. “She’s going home on his lap.”

Rey laughed brightly, turning his horse. “Oh yeah, you’re quite the matchmaker!” And he road off, long dark hair wild behind him. Handsome devil.

The words matchmaker hung in the air. Was Jonah giving her false hope he wondered? Or was he giving her the time she had left and filling it with better memories. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was delaying the inevitable. It was always going to end one way for her. There was no way to live up to what Santiago wanted.

Because what Santiago wanted was Frankie with a womb.

SO MUCH JONAH HAPPENING!!!!!!!!

And poor madonna bc Jonah christ smelling your dad burn is a lot

So Marcus's face claim is David Habour, this came out of some chats with. @umnitsa in my romanaverse discord server. He is now your adopted father to keep things inclusive, but this is important as he has background info and ties in a lot. Think hopper in stranger things. Also May is already shipping him and Jonah so that ship name is Jonus lmfaooooo

If you are an active participant in one or more of my universes and have a discord (this means commenting or comment Reblogging, im looking for people who want to theorize and chit chat) dm me for a link! This is primarily focused on giving you extra content and sneak peaks but a lot of cool people are there too and you can share your work!

Please consider joining me in in donating to humanitarian aid in Rafah through Doctors Without Borders

LOVE YOU ALL!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock@neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows@hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile@rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado@mjnomaryjane @incorrectclassicbookquotes @axshadows @ghostslillady @movievillainess721 @justagalwhowrites @charethcutestory02 @pixielouise-blog @gogh-with-the-flow @justafandomgvrl @katw474 @loveable-liar @arrozconpepitoria @minigirl87 @runa-falls @pedge-page @angel-of-the-moons @beefrobeefcal @pixielouise-blog@miraclesabound @oliveksmoked @mjnomaryjane @bubble-pop-eclectic @corazondebeskar-reads @pedroshotwifey @umnitsa @koshkaj-blog @hiroikegawa@mangoslushcrush @withasideofmeg

If I forgot someone or you'd like to be added/removed LMK!

[egosdelirium]

So Uuuh remember my Sirius raises Regulus AU?

Well, here is a snippet of chapter 2, the brothers' first meeting:

From, The Disklavier

At four in the morning a member of the Black Family’s army of butlers and governesses, Kreacher, shook Sirius out of his slumber to relay the news that he’d finally become an Older Brother, and that he was to greet his new sibling and congratulate his parents as soon as possible.

Sirius didn’t need to be told twice. He zoomed out of bed in a flash, without giving old Kreacher any time to try to catch him and wrangle him into more appropriate clothes than his simple, woolen pajamas.

He sprinted to his parents’ room, the only place where he could hear faint chatter even in the dead of night, and crashed full-bodily against the heavy ebony doors in order to tackle it open.

The first thing he noticed upon entering the chambers was Mother’s absence. The second, a baby’s quiet cries.

Father was rocking a small, bundled up creature in his arms with gleaming pride written all over his face. As soon as he noticed Sirius’ presence, he beckoned him over.

Father then knelt down in front of Sirius, moved the hem of the white blanket from the bundle in his arms, and presented him with the smallest baby he’d ever seen.

He said, “This is your brother, Regulus Arcturus Black.” And Sirius’ entire universe shifted on its axis so violently that he stumbled along with it.

The baby was sniffling pitifully, his face contorted in what Sirius thought was evident displeasure. His little sobs were anything but loud, as if he was trying to stifle them… As if he already knew that to survive inside their house, he’d have to lead a very silent existence.

Sirius wouldn't have any of that.

He outstretched his arms and stared at Father with a clear question in his eyes, which Orion appeased immediately.

As soon as Regulus was carefully deposited in Sirius’ arms, his cries grew louder and louder, so much so that they elected a surprised chuckle out of Father - who rarely ever laughed at all.

“Don't worry, Sirius, he must be a little scared of the sudden change. He's just been delivered ten minutes ago, after all.” Father tried to reassure him, but Sirius wasn't worried in the least. On the contrary, he took the baby's crying in stride.

“He's not scared, Father. He's talking to me.”

Orion scoffed out one more little chuckle before standing up again and warning Sirius to hold Regulus very carefully.

Sirius didn't need the warning, he somehow knew exactly what he needed to do.

The crying didn't bother him at all, but even as he was in no hurry to shush it he started rocking the baby back and forth a little, like he'd seen Father do, because he thought that it was the right way to go about it.

Regulus seemed to like it. If anything, he stopped crying very quickly and settled peacefully against Sirius’ chest.

That baby was Regulus. What a strange concept, what a wonderful notion.

Sirius tried to pronounce his name, slowly.

“Re-gu-lus.” He added a little bounce to his step while trying again. “Re-gulus! Regulus.”

He smiled and decided that it was a good name. It also paired up nicely with his own.

“Hello, Regulus.” He said more formally once he was confident of the pronunciation. “I'm your older brother, Sirius.”

The baby gurgled in a weird way, and then he opened his eyes. They were gray, just like Sirius’, and so very tiny that he couldn't possibly be seeing anything through them.

But they looked very focused on what they had in front of them, which must have been Sirius’ face, and under their gaze, the boy felt seen.

Sirius heard his own heart stutter.

It jumped a beat, then another, and then it started banging like a drum, so fast that he feared for a moment it would jump out of his chest. Regulus seemed to be breathing in sync with that rhythm, impossibly small ribcage rising and falling steadily underneath the soft blanket that enveloped him.

...

[toxartsukagakas]

Yes_Man.NAR, Version 1.4.0

This update is on the smaller side with a more varied bunch of changes, but I'm deciding to release it early since the next update might take a couple months due to upcoming stuff! This update includes:

Weather Station integration! Open it either through the plugin menu on SSP's right click menu, or find it under Yes Man's 'function' menu! You MUST update him using the .NAR to have this feature, network updates will NOT install it. It's bundled with the .NAR due to using my own API key, and there are small changes to make sure degrees display properly in Yes Man's bundled balloon. This will also allow for future planned features in which Yes Man can comment on the current weather and other things!

Overhauled Yes Man's petting responses. Added in a lot of new ones and now what he says changes appropriately with how he feels about you.

Changes to Relationship System: I wanted getting to know him to take a bit longer, so values have been changed. If you already have him installed, it's going to change where you're at with him friendship-wise, and is not a bug. Made it to where romance points take longer to accumulate so you're befriending him before he gets romantic feelings for the user.

As always, full list of changes are in the changelog. As usual the link for new .NAR is [HERE], and like I said if you wish to use the weather station features, do not update him through network updates in SSP's menu! Switch to another ghost, drag the new .NAR over them like you did when you first installed Yes Man, when it asks if you want to overwrite the directory click 'yes', and then switch back, and he should be fully updated!

[painted-bees]

part i

  Hitting a cafe during rush hour wasn’t Raf’s definition of a fun idea, and he was well practised in the art of saying ‘no’. Yet, for some reason or another, that skill failed to find him when the wide-eyed little Portasound busker insisted on treating him to a coffee.   

  The streets outside Granville Station were abuzz with traffic of all kinds. The wide sidewalks were, at least, accommodating to the amount of pedestrians that relied on them during the city’s busiest times of day. The same could not be said for the roads as cars rolled slowly forward, bumper to bumper. Still, the ambience was manageable despite all the bustle. Only the hissing, honking noises of transit bus breaks would coax the occasional wince out of him in their random, unpredictable intervals.

  The little Portasound busker, ‘Magritte’, kept up beside him in lock step. She hadn’t stopped talking since they began their walk together and, in honesty, he preferred it that way. She was a disheveled little thing, more than a head shorter than he was. Her manner of dress was as sloppy as the thick bundle of curly, dark red hair that flopped loosely atop her head. Her grey sweater was several sizes too large, covering her to the knees. With sleeves that hung far past her hands if she didn’t scrunch them in her palms. Black leggings were tucked into knock-off ugg boots whose soles had eroded so severely on the outer edge, Raf was concerned she’d roll an ankle if he made her walk too briskly. She smiled so vehemently as she spoke, that her lips rarely closed around consonants, making it difficult to understand her at times.

  “–so when my dad was like, ‘you can stay here and work, or you can move out and do your music stuff’, I moved out. That was like…oh–almost three years! I was eighteen. I just turned twenty-one today!” She accompanied that last sentence with a joyful little skip that caused Raf to turn his head and watch her.

  “Well, happy birthday.” He exhaled a small laugh. “Vancouver’s an expensive place to live, but house hunting here probably already gave you the full story on that.”

  “Rent’s insane,” Magritte echoed his small chuckle. “But the weather’s way more agreeable in the winter, which is what I’m after. And the music scene! I heard there were tons of musicians in Van, and look–I’ve already met two in the first few hours of being here!”

  “Oh, you’ll meet more.” The way he said it made it sound more cautioning than he intended and he diffused it with a snort. “Guess the music stuff must have paid off after all, if you can afford a place in the city.”

 There was silence between them and Magritte chewed the nail of her forefinger for a moment. “It actually hasn’t, I’m not a professional musician by any means. I’m just really good at finding a lot of short term work and stuff. Sometimes it’s music related, but not often enough to call it a living.” 

  “Mmh.” Raf glanced down at her. The bounce in her step had vanished and he watched her chew on her lip beneath a knitted brow. With a shrug he said, “You sounded good in the station, all things considered. You stopped, you listened, you came in at appropriate moments, you improvised really well. The pieces I played weren’t really…great for busking…and demanded a lot more than what your little keyboard could reasonably provide, but even your rests were composed and natural. You didn’t drop off abruptly any time the melody brought you past the range of your keys, you played into it.” He smirked. “I’m not gonna lie and say we did a great justice to Paganini today or anything, but I was very surprised by what you were able to pull off. I dunno, seemed like the chops of a professional to me.”

  That brought the bounce back into her step, though she continued to chew on her lower lip. Raf was content to see her spirits buoyed at least somewhat by his sentiments. He hadn’t embedded a single white lie into his assessment.

 They arrived at the cafe of his choosing; a popular spot, very near to the station, named Caffe Artigiano. The outside seating was full up with patrons, but Raf hoped the inside would be a quieter space to sit anyways. Opening the door, he followed Magritte in. It was busier than he would have liked, but he couldn’t have expected differently, considering the hour. Still, one thing he appreciated about the place was that it did not play music. Only the sound of numerous quiet conversations filled the air. Raf gravitated towards a freshly vacated table in a far corner, and Magritte followed him to it. Her gaze hung on the coffee menu that loomed above the counter. 

He waited for Magritte to pick her seat before gently offloading his violin case onto the seat across from her. “I’ll go order. Was it a latte you said you wanted?”

  “Actually…” She let out an indecisive little sigh. “A mocha, I think. I want…choco. Oh, but–!” She dropped her duffel bag onto the ground before unzipping a side pouch and pulling out the twenty dollar bill that had found its way into her upturned ball cap at the station. She held it out to him. “With this! Please?” 

  He hesitated before taking the bill from her. “Yes, ma’am.” There was no point in telling her that the twenty had been his before it became hers. The thought was what mattered.

  The line at the counter wasn’t long, despite the busy patronage, and Raf soon returned to their table and evicted his violin case out of the seat across from Magritte. Finding an unused chair from a nearby table, he pulled it up next to him and sat his carrying case on it.

  He reached over the table to hand Magritte the change, and she stared at it blankly for a moment before saying, “–Oh!” with a bit of a start. She turned her palm up to receive it.

Magritte stuffed the money back into the pocket of her duffel bag. “So, Question.” She sat back up and looked to Raf. “You say you’re not a professional, but you sound like...you know…Properly trained, or whatever.”

  “Mmh.” It was a predictable topic, but not one he wanted to stay on. “Or whatever.” He laughed. “Yeah. Parents pushed it onto me a little too hard. I’ve got the training, but playing it is a chore and I kinda hate it.”

  Magritte’s eyes grew wide and rueful and she shrank against the backrest of her chair. “Wait, really?” She covered her face with the sleeves of her sweater and threw her head back with a guilty little groan. “I’m sorry, I made you play so many songs!”

  Raf patted the air in front of him in a placating gesture, “No, no. You didn’t make me do anything, relax.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I did that to myself. I meant it, though, when I said it was fun. It was the first time in a long while where I actually enjoyed myself once things got going.”

  Magritte drew in a deep breath, recollecting herself before tentatively asking, “Enough that you’d wanna do it again sometime?”

  A beleaguered laugh escaped him, “No.”   He had given her much of his time and energy already, and being asked for more put a bitter taste in his mouth. The arrival of his iced americano and her hot mocha couldn’t have been better timed. As soon as it was placed in front of him, he brought the drink to his lips and took a long sip. 

  Magritte sheepishly turned her gaze down to admire the little white hearts in the foam of her coffee before she started to drink it. She placed the cup back down but kept both hands curled around it. “Did you enjoy it when you were younger?”

  “Music?” Raf shrugged. “I don’t remember. It doesn’t really matter.” His gaze turned down towards her duffel bag as he grasped for a better topic. “Is your main instrument the piano?”

 “Yeah! It’s what I had access to, growing up.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “Oh, I, uh…mostly just the internet and stuff. My parents didn’t wanna waste money on it, and my highschool didn’t have like…a music class or anything. Just choir. None of my friends played music.”

  “...You learned online?”

  “Well, like…on Myspace and LiveJournal. Lots of people share what they know there, and I made some really good online friends who tried to teach me things. We’d share music with each other and do weekly challenges and stuff. It was fun.”

  “So, self-taught, more or less.”

  “Mostly. Oh, except–!” Magritte ducked down to unzip the main pocket of her duffel bag and dove her hands into it. She rummaged around until she produced a small mp3 player and earbuds attached by a chord. “There was a year when I was living in Montreal, my girlfriend was a jazz pianist. And then we met other, um…friends who taught me more in that one year than I think I ever learned in my entire life. It was her and a whole lotta horns. They all let me use their instruments and taught me proper technique and stuff. I think they liked watching me stubbornly struggle with it. In the end, I was only able to record one song before I had to, um, move on. But I’m still kinda proud of it. I dunno if you wanna–it’s instrumental and kinda eclectic, but I loved making it.”

  In response, Raf extended his hand, and Magritte spent a second scrolling through her library of mp3s before stuffing the little music device and earbuds into his open palm. 

  She performed an excited little wiggle in her seat as Raf wordlessly placed an earbud into his ear. “Just hit play, and it should be the right song.”

  Raf wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear. He was, at least, perfectly comfortable with listening and offering his honest input. He didn’t believe in ‘bad’ music. There was skilled and unskilled music, there was music that fit his tastes and music that really didn’t. But none of it was bad. All music created deserved to be created and allowed to exist–if only for the satisfaction of the musician who produced it. He was prepared to tell her that the best music she could make is the music she enjoyed making, even if it didn’t resonate with his personal tastes.   He pressed ‘play’.

 What hit his ear was an uptempo half-time funk sound carried on a unison horn line; crystal clear, well mixed, high quality audio. Right from the jump, the sound had a quirky, catching character. He fitted the other earbud into his ear as a sustained note leapt into an energetic, off-beat ska groove. His brow furrowed deeply as he tried to discern the instrumentation. The drum fill might have been digital, but the winds sounded far too dynamic to be synthetic. And there were…three of them; the two horns he couldn’t quite specify, and then a baritone sax. The horns took centre stage, confident and playful, supported by a jaunty walking bassline and synthetic, bubbly organ accompaniment. Despite its G minor key signature, the character of the piece was lively and a little goofy, smart but playful; it was simply–fun. A smile lit across his face as the melody modulated G minor into G Phrygian for the bridge section. The effect was a jesting ooh gonna getcha vibe.

  He listened to the end of the song before he began to comment on it. “Very cool. Your jazz friends weren’t sleeping on their music theory classes. I assume the organ is you?”

  Magritte shifted nervously in her seat as her thumb smoothed over the handle of her coffee cup in small, repeated strokes. “I borrowed instruments for this one and recorded it in…um, my girlfriend’s parents' house. They had a music room where I was allowed to record things.”

  “You borrowed–right. But the horns..?”

  “Yeah.”

  Raf levelled a measuring stare at her.

  “I recorded each instrument separately,” she began explaining, “It’s uh, piano, trumpet, trombone, and–oh! The baritone sax was played by Sadie, one of my, um…jazz friends.” She let out a weak laugh. “And then, like…a bass, I also played. And a synthetic drum fill ‘cus…none of us knew how to actually play drums.”

  “You played each instrument? Learned them and recorded this song within the span…of a year?”

  “No, just the trumpet and trombone! I already knew piano and bass.”   Confusion must have been apparent on Raf’s face, and she tried to address it by saying, “It’s all digitally processed, so it sounds a little more–”

  “No, I–I know that.” Raf massaged an eyebrow with one hand. “You’re the songwriter too, I assume?” His tone was a little more sharp than he’d have liked it to be. It betrayed his incredulity.

  Magritte picked up her cup and eyed him nervously over the rim as she sipped from it.

  “No, I don’t know how.” She sounded embarrassed. “I can’t read or write music. I just sketched a bunch of it out digitally first, and then–”

  “Fresh compositions? By ear?”

  “Yeah. And then I recreated it with the correct instrumentation.” She chewed on the nail of her thumb. “It works, I think.”

  “That’s still songwriting. It counts.” Raf sniffed and leaned back in his seat. “I gotta be honest, and don’t take this the wrong way but…it’s a little hard to believe.”

  Magritte’s nervousness dissolved into a flattered grin. “Yeah?”

  Raf’s brow twitched downward as he tried to read past her demeanour. He had expected a more sheepish response, if not a more defensive one. His doubt wasn’t intended as a compliment, but if she were being wholly honest with him, perhaps it made sense that she’d take it as one.

  He drained the last of his americano. “So, you’re not pursuing this professionally, because..?”

  “Oh, I am!” Magritte shrugged and turned her eyes to the upper right corner of the room. “It’s just been kinda…difficult.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that?” It was a stupid question he already knew the answer to. Music was more easy to find nowadays than ever before, but discoverability still relied on knowing how to promote the work and get the right ears onto it. And, across the entire spectrum of skill, this is what everyone tended to blame for the inability to live off their–

  “Money.”

  “M–!” The response was so sudden and matter-of-fact in tone, Raf couldn’t stop a bark of surprised laughter from escaping him. He’d have laughed the same way if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

  Magritte slapped her palms down on the table and leaned forward with wide eyes to state her defence. “Instruments are expensive, lessons are expensive, computers are expensive, software and sound libraries are expensive! Everything’s so expensive!” She slumped back in her seat, turning her palms over in an exasperated gesture. “If I could afford to go to school and actually like–learn music, and if I could afford to rent instruments and recording equipment and stuff, I could make more songs! I could upload like…whole albums! I’ve got all these doodles with my shitty midi libraries and they might sound actually good if I could just record them properly! But it’s been like…four years since I left home, and the only properly produced track I have to show for it is that one.” She flopped her hand towards the mp3 player on the table. “So, I just make my little digital doodles, and I come up with tunes that suit the sounds I have access to. I like it. I’m happy I get to make any music at all, but it’s a bit niche, you know? And I have all these other ideas in my head that need like…better, less…synthetic sounds. There are libraries that sound pretty convincing, but all the best ones are…expensive. And vocals are hard to record with the stuff I’ve got.”

  Raf held up his hands in effort to placate her. “No, I know, you’re right–money. I just–” It wasn’t a struggle he had ever faced, and he couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a heel over the fact that he hadn’t even considered it as an obstacle to the extent that she was describing it.

  “On the other hand,” Magritte’s voice took on a capitulating tone, “With the right skill, I should be able to produce bangers with whatever I’ve got, yeah? And,” she took up her coffee cup in one hand, staring into its contents, “if I was better at saving money, I’d be able to afford those really good sample libraries just fine, probably. I just like my sweet foamy lattes too much.” She sighed a little laugh at herself.

  Raf let out a low groan of disagreement, but didn’t elaborate on it. “I kinda…want to listen to those ‘digital doodles’ you mentioned.” If nothing else, it’d give him an idea of how much input her jazz friends had over the composition of the song he heard. If the obvious compositional prowess flexed in that fun-loving jazzy ska piece were completely absent in her little sketches, he wouldn’t chalk it up to being just a fluke. 

  Drawing in a deep breath and holding it, Margritte reached for the mp3 player and scrolled through its contents before handing it to Raf. “You can just skip through these as you like. It’s all a little–” She wrinkled her nose and let out a grunt in place of any real adjective.

  With an affirming little snort of his own, Raf took the little music player and put the earbuds into his ears once more. He pressed play, and immediately understood what she meant. The synthetic instrumentation was wholly lacking in dynamics, and the musical ideas present in the melodies begged for more colourful phrasing. As he skipped from one song to the next, he grew more frustrated. The compositional writing was good. Consistent with the first song he had heard, Magritte seemed to really love playing with eccentric progressions and modulations that were unconventional for the mood or emotion that the song was attempting to capture. And ever present in each little composition was this boundless sense of joy. But god, the instrumentation (or rather, the lack thereof) really, really held it all back.

  As he listened, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, with a low groan that betrayed his thoughts, he took out the earbuds and handed the music player back. “Yeah, that sucks.” The end of that statement stuck in his throat as he sputtered to clarify, “Not the music–”

  “Yes, the music.” Magritte’s giggle was one of genuine affirmation as she tucked the mp3 player away into her duffle bag.

  “No,” Raf argued, “your toolset. There’s a lot of skill here, but the cheap synthy sounds aren’t doing it any favours. You went absolutely ham on those horns in the first song, and I don’t hear any of that in these sketches because it’s just not possible. There’s a lot of energy that is just…missing. Even watching you play at the station, yeah your keyboard suffers the same limitations, but at least in person I noticed you’ll even make use of like…the percussion of your fingers hitting the keys, which, you know…is dynamic.”

  As he spoke, Magritte retained a smile and provided small nods before asking, “You like it, then?”

  Raf leaned back, folded his arms and chewed on the question for a second before replying, “Yeah. I do. A lot.” 

  A lot.

  There was a corner of his mind that begged him to get back home to his apartment and try out the melodies with an instrument that could do it proper justice.  Jesus Christ, this actually makes me want to play the violin.

  The realisation made his lip curl with a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite identify. “You know…”

  Magritte, taking the last remaining sips of her latte, turned her eyes up at him with a little “Hm?”

  There was a pause while Raf wrestled with himself. “I, uh…work at a recording studio not too far from here. Just down on uh…Powell Street.”   He felt his jaw clench. There was no good reason for him to tell strangers about where he worked. There was no possible good outcome in doing so. Mentioning it felt too much like an open invitation for her to pop in at any time, for no good reason at all except to make things uncomfortable.   “It’s called Hi-Note, and it’s got like…a pretty standard assortment of instruments to rent out and such. It closes early.” He wasn’t looking at her. Brow furrowed, he stared at the ice melting in his otherwise empty glass. “Swing by tomorrow night, after eight, and maybe we can jam for like..half an hour or something before I head home.”

  He didn’t glance up to see her expression, but her voice was slow to rise to his ears. “..Wait, really?”

  No. “Yeah.” What the fuck? “Really.”   Unable to unfurrow his brow, he managed to at least turn his gaze towards her. Her eyes were so large on that petite face of hers, and her lips parted slightly, muscles tense with the anticipation of some kind of catch or condition. Or, perhaps she had picked up on his apprehension and was waiting for him to revoke the offer. For some reason, the idea of doing so suddenly felt…unconscionable to him.

  In a small voice, she said, “I’d really like that.” The restraint of her response was belied by the way she wiggled in her chair. Beneath the table, her leg wagged restlessly like an excited dog’s tail. “Eight o’clock?”

 “Mmhm.” Raf felt some of the tension in his browline relax as a slight smile passed his lips. “Let's see if we can revisit some of those tunes you have. Just–for fun. No recording, nothing serious.”

  It seemed that Magritte could never keep a smile off her face for long, and once again, that broad, delighted grin of hers painted her features. “Yeah, yeah! I’d like that a lot!”

  “Alright then.” Raf knocked his knuckles twice on the table like a gavel, before standing up.

  As he reached to retrieve his violin case off the chair next to him, Magritte pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Hi-Note, eight o’clock.”

  Raf favoured her with a lopsided smirk. “Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t. I’ll see you there!”

  He provided her with an affirmative little wave, but by the time she had realised he was taking his leave, Raf was already halfway to the door.

  He heard her call out to him, “Thank you for the–um–everything!” 

  Looking back to her, Raf returned the sentiment with an appreciative nod before pushing through the cafe doors; exiting onto the busy sidewalk outside.

  He wanted to get home before sundown…

  To play his violin.

[lemonxdaisybby]

Hiking with the Ichigang

Honestly, I have no idea what this is lmao they are extremely dumb.

Not the type of headcanons I planned on writing, but the idea randomly came to me, and they were fun to make. ✨

Ichiban Kasuga:

Ichi is probably the one who suggested a little hiking day trip to be honest. Most likely got the idea whilst skimming through the magazine rack at the convenience store, and spotted some article/ad about hiking and nature and what a great experience it is.

Immediately thought it would be a fun bonding session to have with the gang, but he is wrong.

Organised the outing, but is somehow the least prepared.

Probably made a dumb footwear choice, like flip flops or sandals. Ends up with sore feet very early on, and stubs his toes on stones constantly.

Also did not bring enough water, and has to scrounge off the others.

Also brought no food/snacks. Luckily Zhao made an entire feast for the trip.

To be honest, once he’s there he just has no idea what he’s doing or where the gang should go. He’s having a great time regardless though, and is ultra enthusiastic as always. He’s just happy to be with his besties.

No thoughts, just vibes.

Yu Nanba:

He is absolutely exhausted after about 30 minutes of walking. Let this man nap.

Just wants to sit down and chill. Maybe even watch the different birds and critters go by.

He can appreciate nature, he just doesn’t really appreciate the exercise/walking part.

He would be grumbling and complaining constantly, to be honest. An absolute vibe killer.

Poor guy strikes me as unlucky, and would definitely get stung by a bee or a wasp.

Grumpy.

Adachi Koichi:

Somehow becomes the dad of the group, and has to take control after it becomes apparent that Ichiban the Organiser has no clue where to go, or what to do.

Is actually pretty prepared. Has appropriate hiking footwear, a backpack with the appropriate amount of food and water, and even medical supplies just in case.

Also has a map, but still somehow manages to get the group lost.

Blames them getting lost on the map being wrong, but it’s not the map. It’s him. It’s all him.

Saeko Mukoda:

Honestly, it’s not her vibe, but she enjoys spending time with her friends and wanted to give hiking a fair shot.

Sure she appreciates nature, but she prefers to appreciate it from afar.

Another one who complains that her feet hurt not long after starting the hike, and also did not wear appropriate hiking footwear.

She would enjoy taking pictures of the scenery, and selfies with the gang.

Would make herself a flower crown, and feel like a fairy princess.

The vibe would be ruined when one of the gang points out there’s a huge bug on one of the flowers. She probably ends up chucking the crown on the ground and stomping on it.

Wouldn’t despise the trip and would have some fun, but definitely would not be up for hiking again.

Seonhee:

This queen would probably do just fine on a hike, as long as any bugs stay away.

She’s not entirely sure how she got dragged along on the trip with these buffoons (minus Joon-Gi), but she can definitely appreciate the environment.

A nice change of pace/scenery for her.

Probably wants to ditch the rest of the group, as they’re all annoying her with their constant whining.

Must have rolled her eyes at least 276695290 times during the entire trip.

Saeko takes the prettiest candid shots of Seonhee just looking all regal and like an absolute queen, surrounded by all the pretty trees and flowers.

Joon-Gi Han:

OVER-PREPARED.

It was meant to be a little day trip/hike, and the gang would all be back home way before nightfall.

But Joon-Gi has packed a TENT. He has supplies to make a FIRE. He has CLIMBING EQUIPMENT, and also them stupid ass hiking poles even though it is a completely flat hike.

Has multiple backpacks just full of unneeded things.

The other guys can’t even see him. He’s just a bundle of walking backpacks.

He is just full to the brim of random survival tips.

Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

He would have to take the map off Adachi, and would get the gang back on the right track. He would also officially ban Adachi from giving them directions ever again.

Tianyou Zhao:

Definitely worked so hard the day before cooking food, and making little snacks and lunchboxes for the gang.

Probably made too much food, let’s be honest.

Would definitely be roasting Joon-Gi for taking the hike so seriously.

Would also roast Adachi for getting them lost.

Like Seonhee, he has no idea how he got roped in to a hiking trip with his favourite losers.

And like Ichi, Zhao is not 100% sure what is going on, but he too is just vibing.

[kakasakuzine]

This post contains some basic project information. For more detailed info, please visit our carrd 🌸⚡️

Zine Essentials

Mods

Bambi & Birdie

What is a zine?

A zine is a collection of artwork, stories, and sometimes additional creative works, all focused on a particular theme and created by fans, assembled into a small book! Often, in addition to the zine itself, projects like this include merchandise such as stickers, prints, and charms.

Zine Type

P4P, meaning this zine will be priced at the cost of production. Any profits will go to a charity that will be announced before pre-sales open.

Zine Focus & Theme

The focus of this zine will be the romantic relationship between Haruno Sakura and Hatake Kakashi from Naruto. The theme of the zine will be seasons, and the zine will be divided into quarters, each one thematically focused on a particular season.

Will this Zine have merch?

Absolutely! Our exact merchandise will be decided during the contributor pitch process.

Content FAQ

Will this zine be NSFW?

This zine will be a mix of both SFW and NSFW works. All works will come with appropriate warnings and NSFW works will be marked on the contents page.

Will the zine allow underage content?

SFW works can portray characters of any age. NSFW works will be required to portray characters as 18+.

Will there be any other content restrictions?

We won't be allowing omegaverse, self-inserts, or reader-inserts, and all pieces must focus on KakaSaku.

Are AUs allowed?

Narutoverse AUs are allowed. This means you are free to play with eras and tropes as you please so long as you do so within the universe of Naruto.

Is AI art/fic allowed?

Absolutely not. Any use of AI will result in immediate removal from the project and a ban from all future projects involving the mods.

Participation FAQ

Who's allowed to participate?

Anyone 18+! We do ask that anyone who supports the Israeli occupation of Palestine and/or the Russian invasion of Ukraine does not apply.

Do I need zine experience to participate? Am I more likely to be accepted if I have it?

Not at all! You'll need writing/art samples to apply, but zine experience is irrelevant and won't factor into applications.

How many contributors will you be accepting?

Not including guests and mods, we have spots for: • 24 Artists • 6 Authors • 3-4 Merch Artists

What types of work will we be allowed to pitch?

All roles will be allowed to pitch both SFW and NSFW ideas. Artists may pitch page-illustrations, 4 page comics, and spreads. Authors may pitch 2k and 4k fic ideas. Merch Artists may pitch stickers, pins, charms, prints, bookmarks and more!

How will contributors be compensated?

Sales allowing, all contributors will receive a full physical contributor bundle free of charge. If we don't reach the sales goal necessary to facilitate this, all contributors will receive free copies of whichever items they worked on. Additionally, regardless of the outcome of the zine, all contributors will recieve a free digital bundle and a discount code for any additional items ordered.

[ukrfeminism]

An MP has described the “terrifying” moment she believed she was going to die in childbirth as she called on the Government to do more to help women who experience traumatic births.

Conservative MP Theo Clarke (Stafford) received a rare round of applause from the public gallery in the House of Commons from mothers and campaigners as she gave what she described as “probably the most personal speech” she will make in Parliament.

Describing her own experience, she said: “After a difficult 40 hours of labour I began bleeding very heavily after delivery.

“I was separated from my baby and rushed into the emergency room for surgery.

“I remember the trolley bumping into the walls and the medical staff taking me into theatre, and being slid onto the operating table. I spent over two hours awake without a general anaesthetic, and I could hear them talking about me, and obviously it was not looking good.

“It was the most terrifying experience of my life.”

Visibly upset, the MP broke off and took an intervention, before continuing: “I genuinely thought I was going to die.”

The MP was opening what she described as the first debate on birth trauma in the history of the Commons.

She said her own experience “completely opened my eyes to challenges with post-natal care”.

At one point, while in recovery, she said she was lying next to her baby, who was screaming, and unable to pick her up she pressed a call button for help, only for the person to respond by saying “not my baby, not my problem”, before leaving.

The MP said such a moment was “unacceptable”, and said there is a need to address the “postcode lottery” of services available across England.

She described her own birth injury, a third degree tear, which she said occurs in about three in 100 women.

The consequences of an obstetric anal sphincter injury, she said, can include urinary and faecal incontinence, chronic pain, sexual dysfunction and other mental and physical effects, adding: “It is very clear, we must do more to help women.

“We need to break the taboo by talking about this,” she said.

Outlining her requests to the Government, she said: “It is so clear to me that so much more needs to be done to support women who experience traumatic births.

“Today I call for the Government to add birth trauma to the women’s health strategy, recruit more midwives, ensure perinatal mental health services are available across the UK, provide appropriate and mandatory training for midwives with a focus both on mental and physical health, ensure that the post-natal check with your GP is provided to all mothers and will include separate questions both for the mother’s physical health and mental health.”

She also called for an improvement in continuity of care and national post-birth services, for the obstetric and anal sphincter care bundle to be rolled out to all hospital trusts in England, and to provide better support for partners and better education for women on birth choices and risks.

Responding to the debate, health minister Maria Caulfield said: “By early part of next year, every integrated care system in England, and I can’t comment what’s happening in Labour-run Wales, but in England we will have a fully working maternal mental health service to support mothers experiencing moderate, severe or complex mental health difficulties.

“It is true that the number of women accessing perinatal mental health services has risen almost 50% over two years, but that’s actually good news because we want women to come forward, our challenge as a Government in England is to be able to meet that demand.”

On the women’s health strategy, she said: “We will be updating our year-two strategy fairly soon and we’ll be setting out our priorities and I can let members know about that as soon as possible.

“This is a priority for the Government and we are seeing change, but more change needs to happen.”

On Thursday, the Department of Health and Social Care also unveiled plans for how it intends to implement NHS pelvic health clinics across all areas of England – first announced in 2021 – which follows a number of pilot schemes, and which the Government said will provide better information for pregnant women, and improved aftercare.

[prismaticpollen]

the things we do for friendship (3/4)

original characters, f/f, cold

Wren wakes up sick the day of an important meeting and insists on going anyway. Vul isn’t sure how she feels about it.

(part 1 ) (part 2) (part 4)

The morning had started cool and breezy, chilly enough that it made perfect sense to wear layers, but it had warmed up by midday. All over the capital, people had discarded their coats, rolled up their sleeves, and thrown their windows wide open to enjoy the weather. Everyone seemed intent on savoring the fresh spring air as much as possible.

Well, almost everyone. Wren was freezing, bundled up in the softest sweater she owned. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed under a heavy quilt and watch old cartoons, but staying home hadn’t been an option. She and Vul had waited almost three weeks for a private audience with Queen Zara; rescheduling would have been unthinkable even if court decorum hadn’t forbidden it. This meeting was way too important to be derailed by something as trivial as a minor head cold.

Fortunately, she hadn’t had to say much after stating her case at the beginning. Vul had been doing an admirable job representing herself, and the Queen had addressed most questions directly to her, only asking for Wren’s input when Vul couldn’t answer adequately on her own. Wren had half expected the reverse, but the Queen had instantly welcomed Vul as she would have any foreign emissary, barely missing a beat once she’d recovered from the initial shock of meeting a real live alien.

That had been a spectacle to behold: the older woman had let out a high-pitched squeal more befitting an over-excited teenager than a sixty-something monarch, eyes bugging out of her head. To her credit, Vul had barely reacted, even though Wren knew the sound must have aggravated her friend’s sensitive hearing.

Regaining her composure, the Queen had promptly apologized and enthusiastically greeted Vul, and the two had been engrossed in conversation ever since. The discussion had touched on everything from geopolitics to theoretical astrophysics, often circling back to the same concept several times to give Vul’s translation device a chance to keep up.

Wren was trying her hardest to follow along, but she’d had a pounding headache for the past hour and it was taking all her willpower to keep from slumping forward in her chair and sleeping through the rest of the afternoon. She was so focused on keeping up appearances that she didn’t fully register the meeting wrapping up until Vul swatted at her thigh with her tail to get her attention.

“…won’t take kindly to us keeping such a big secret,” the Queen was saying. “We’ll have to plan our announcements carefully, but we should move fast. I’m thinking we go public sometime next week, that leaves us enough time to make the appropriate security arrangements and agree on a script.”

“That sounds good,” Vul said.

“Excellent. Wren, what do you think? You made first contact, it’s only fair that you should stay involved.”

“Next week is perfect, your Majesty,” Wren answered.

“Alright then, that settles it. One more thing, then I’ll let you go.”

What now? Hopefully, this would be quick.

“We’ll start recording from the arboretum. You might want to prepare a speech.” The Queen winked at Wren, actually winked at her like they were co-conspirators, then rose from the ornate conference table and left the room.

Oh, wow. Wren hadn’t been expecting that, but she wasn’t about to complain. Smiling to herself, she leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head with a sigh. “Ready to go?” she asked.

“Sure,” Vul chirped. Cheerful as always. “You okay? You sound different.”

Scratch that. She’d noticed, picked up on something with her inhuman hearing, and now she’d be worried and that was the last thing Wren wanted. Everything was fine, nothing worth stressing over, but Vul wasn’t used to seeing anyone in less than perfect health so she was bound to overreact the moment Wren so much as sniffled. The barrage of questions when she’d first discovered allergies had been bad enough.

“I’m just tired. Come on.”

The two of them made their way through the palace in silence, following the same narrow hallway they’d taken on the way in. After a few minutes of walking, they reached a large, heavy door protected by a biometric lock. Wren stepped up to it, leaned close enough to let it scan her eyes, then kept moving.

On the other side, a short set of steps led down into a tunnel. Running between the Queen’s chambers and a public park a block away from the palace, the rarely-used passageway allowed VIPs to come and go unseen; perfect for a secret meeting, but not the most comfortable way to travel. It was always brightly lit, fluorescent lights humming overhead no matter the time of day, and it always smelled like disinfectant.

Normally, none of this would have fazed Wren in the slightest, but this wasn’t a normal day. The sharp scent worked its way into the back of her sinuses almost immediately, throwing open the floodgates her cold had already pushed ajar. She sniffled wetly, scrubbing at her nose with her sleeve.

Vul certainly didn’t mind tunnels, as used to living underground as she was, but she still hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. “Wren?”

“I’b fide.” Ugh, that did not sound convincing. Wren cleared her throat, ready to try again, but it only made things worse. “The air id here does this sobe —SNFF!— sometimes. It’s just the smell, I pro-ohhm… prom-ihhh! HahHH-! AHHTSCHIEWWW!”

Vul stared up at her, tail lashing side to side. “Promise?”

“Yeah, that. I’m okay.” Wren hurried forward, moving as fast as she could towards the exit at the other end of the tunnel. Vul fell in step behind her, uncharacteristically quiet. No questions, no running commentary, nothing. Both girls’ footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, but otherwise their journey was almost eerily silent.

“HAHHTCHUU!”

Make that mostly silent.

Ten minutes (and another half dozen sneezes) later, Wren slid into the driver’s seat of her car. Vul climbed into the back, where tinted windows would hide her from other motorists, and Wren wasted no time turning onto the main road towards home.

She’d made the same trip many times before, and it was never a long drive, but this time it felt like an eternity. When she finally pulled into a parking space in front of her building, she slumped sideways, resting her cheek against the window. The cool glass felt so nice against her flushed skin, she might have stayed in that position for hours if Vul hadn’t spoken up.

“Come on, let’s go inside.” The alien sounded strange, not quite nervous but definitely tense somehow. She stuck close to Wren on the way upstairs, but wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she disappeared into her room the instant they made it into their apartment.

Hazily, Wren wondered if she’d upset her. If she had, it couldn’t be helped now. She’d check in later, but right then she was too tired for any lengthy conversation. She paused in the doorway just long enough to kick off her shoes, then stumbled to her own room for a much-needed nap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wren woke up around sunset, roused by the sound of what was unmistakably her blender running on its highest setting. She bolted upright, groaning softly; she’d fallen asleep in an awkward position, and her back and neck were stiff. Her headache was almost gone, though, and tight muscles would loosen up once she got moving.

After a quick detour to the bathroom to blow her nose and fix her ponytail, she entered the kitchen to find Vul emptying the blender into two glasses. The alien had made some sort of frozen drink, bright purple and slightly fizzy. She was clearly eager for feedback, thrusting one of the two glasses at Wren with a toothy almost-smile. “Here, try!”

Hesitantly, Wren took a sip of whatever it was. It was sour, almost earthy, with a sweet aftertaste. She knew her taste buds were a little off, but even under normal circumstances there was no way Vul’s concoction would taste normal. Setting the glass down next to the sink, she tried to school her face into a neutral expression. “What did you put in this?”

“Mostly Sprite and blueberries, a few cherries. Oh, and a little bit of onion. I didn’t know when you’d wake up, so I wanted to help. It’s what we do back home for anyone who can’t get their own food, mix up whatever we have so we can share.” Vul shifted nervously, tail drooping until the tip almost brushed the floor. “Was that wrong?”

“No!” Wren reassured her. “It was sweet, thank you.”

Really sweet, actually. Vul had been through so much over the past month, logically she should be the one seeking comfort, but instead she’d gone out of her way to be useful. Wren never would have asked for help, hadn’t even wanted to admit she wasn’t feeling well and risk stressing her friend out even more, but Vul had seen right through her.

“I really appreciate it. Honest.” What did I do to deserve a friend like her?

“But you don’t want it.” Vul spoke quietly. Her voice was dull, weighed down by the same strange tension as earlier that day, and she held herself rigidly.

“That’s not your fault.” Wren bit back a laugh. “You had no way to know, but just for future reference, onions don’t go in smoothies.”

“Oh! Sorry, is it that bad?”

Wren shrugged, hoping to soften the blow. “How’s about I order takeout, and sometime soon I’ll teach you some better recipes?”

“Okay!” Now Vul was the one laughing, bright and warm. The sound tugged at some deep part of Wren, urging her to join in the fun.

Soon, both girls lay sprawled across the kitchen floor, wiping away tears of mirth while Wren tried to compose herself enough to read a menu.

“How does soup —EHHTCHOO! EHTSCHUU! TCHUU!— Ugh, sorry. How does soup sound?”

“I don’t know,” Vul hedged. “Does it have onions?”

Wren started up again, practically cackling. Her breath scraped against her sore throat, but right then, she didn’t care. “Onions are supposed to go in soup,” she wheezed between giggles. “Soup. Soup isn’t a smoothie.”

“Noted. What about the other things, though? Like blueberries, do blueberries go in soup?”

“No! Definitely not. Blueberry smoothies are good, blueberry soup is just weird.”

Vul rolled onto her side and stretched towards Wren, poking her in the arm playfully. “I don’t know what goes together. We don’t have any of this stuff at home.”

“That’s why I’m going to show you. HAHHTCHU! Hehh… hehh-hehh-ehhtchiew! Hhehtcheeeww!” Wren paused, waiting for her body to make up its mind. When no more tickles materialized, she swiped her wrist under her nose before continuing. “After I get over this cold.”

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter Two: Miss Congeniality - Katsuko meets many residents of Azuchi... but not her fake fiance.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

A good General will ensure that his soldiers are provided with not only food, but also appropriate armor for upcoming battles. It would be illogical to send warriors onto the battlefield on an empty stomach, but even more so for them not to have protection from the weapons of enemy forces. The initial cost of armoring soldiers will be far repaid in ensuring safety (as much as possible given a situation of war) and loyalty.

Personal comments: Lady Mai requested permission to help “re-design” the Oda soldier uniforms. It is difficult to refuse Lady Mai anything, however such a decision rests in the hands of Lord Nobunaga and Lord Hideyoshi – neither of whom find it easy to refuse Lady Mai either. However, Lord Mitsuhide has stated he has another task for Lady Mai… This prompted Lord Hideyoshi to use more words I am not comfortable writing down.

Two days after leaving the mountains, I arrived at Azuchi Castle. Kyubei left me waiting near the gate, while he alerted Mitsuhide to our arrival. Though I’d previously spent a couple weeks in the castle town, I’d never been inside Azuchi castle itself and I was happy enough to have some time within the gates to look around. Up close, the tenshu was impressive building, rising from a thick stone base, up seven stories to tower over the hillside. There was even a balcony surrounding the uppermost floor, and I wondered if Nobunaga spent much time up there. Must be nice to be able to see the entire countryside from your bedroom.

Feeling slightly like a gawking tourist, I took a step backward to get a better look, and –

WHAM!

I’d backed right into the path of a young man who’d been on his way inside, his arms loaded full of books and papers. The resulting collision sent the books to the ground and the papers into the air--

Where they were caught in a gust of wind and went flying toward the gates.

“I’m so sorry!” I helped him chase after the errant papers. We (actually I) caught most of them, but one got stuck in a tree, entangled in a branch about three meters off the ground. Without letting go of his armload of retrieved papers and books, the man tried to climb the tree, and ended up nearly dropping everything again.

Not wanting to repeat the whole chasing down experience, I piled the books, scrolls, and odd scraps of paper back in his hands and pointed to the one in the tree. “Don’t move. I’ll get that one,” I told him, and scampered up to retrieve the page. I jumped down and gave him the paper, which he accepted with a quick bow. “I hope you’ll be able to put them all back in order.”

“There was no order to it – although… that would make it easier to keep track of it all, wouldn’t it?” He shuffled everything into an untidy bundle and tucked it all under his arm. “Thank you for your assistance, and my apologies for walking into you.”

Now that I was no longer scrambling after his paperwork, I finally was able to get a good look at him – messy dark grey hair falling into distracted violet eyes and a lovely, but unfocussed smile. I’ve seen him before! The clumsy bookworm… Mitsuyori? No… Mitsunari. Well, how could I forget the booksellers’ most loyal customer (who never actually bought anything)? Of course, since I couldn’t admit to spending time in Azuchi disguised as an elderly bookseller, I kept my expression neutral and pretended this was our first encounter.

“Actually, I think I walked into you. I was looking up at the tenshu. It’s spectacular.” I turned my face to the top of the castle once more.

He nodded, then smiled at me again, this time at least seeming to register my presence. “I remember how I felt when I first came here two years ag- Oh no! Why am I here?”

He stared hard at the castle, as if some stray thought was eluding him the way the papers had nearly eluded me. Since I doubted the question was either rhetorical or existential, I stayed quiet while he continued to gaze at the castle walls. “I didn’t mean to come here today; I’m supposed to be -” His expression changed to panic when the guard on the towers called out the change in vigil. “I’m late! Please accept my apology for running you over.”

“Of course, but it was my fau-” I stopped because he had already turned around and rushed down the hill.

Huh.

I watched him until he disappeared from view.

Sweet.

But… possibly not tethered to reality.

“Katsu!” Kyubei tapped my arm to catch my attention. “We’re to meet Lord Nobunaga in the tenshu.”

Dismissing the young man from my thoughts, I followed Kyubei up (and up, and up) to the top of the tenshu, where Oda Nobunaga was waiting for us in his rooms. Without prompting from Kyubei, I bowed low, aware that this was a formal audience, and possibly the first test of my manners.

In return, Nobunaga lightly dipped his head. When I finally rose and met his eyes, there was a hint of amusement in them. As it turned out, Nobunaga remembered ‘Katsu’ from our encounter in Osaka earlier this year.

“Fortune works in interesting ways, for you’ve ended up working for me after all, Katsu.” He lounged on a dias in an indolent pose, but there was an aura of kinetic energy around him that suggested he could go from restful to predator in an instant. “However- did you not say that you worked for a merchant who is like a father to you? Mitsuhide left me with the understanding that he was reaching out to a man who has some dealings in espionage.”

I bowed again. “Is a spy not a merchant of information?” Then, because he seemed to be in limbo between trust and distrust,” I added. “My business in Osaka the day we met was personal. I was not there spying for my master, and indeed my work for him generally only involves delivering messages. I didn’t tell him that we’d met.” I might have done so otherwise had not so many other things not occurred that day. In fact, I was flattered Nobunaga remembered me at all given that someone had tried to kill him that night.

While he seemed to think that over, I took in my surroundings. Like Aki’s office, there was a western influence in Nobunaga’s rooms, although the European objects (huh, he had even had what looked like a child’s stuffed bear mixed in there) displayed amongst Japanese works were displayed with more taste and flair. It was like the difference between walking into an episode of hoarders, versus walking into a museum. Then again, Azuchi castle had only been completed a couple years ago – Nobunaga likely hadn’t had enough time to accumulate the volume of tchotchkes that necessitates a once-a-decade konmarie purge.

Politeness required that I stay quiet until spoken to, and in any case additional exploration would have to wait, as a pair of voices approached. The combatants were arguing so loudly that I could hear them long before they appeared in the doorway.

“- this must be the most ridiculous scheme you’ve ever dreamed up,” said one man, sounding like he had had it up to here with the other person. “You have yet to convince me that you have any chance of success.”

“My dear Hideyoshi, you don’t need to be convinced. You only need to stay out of the way,” came the reply in a cool, mocking tone of voice, as a silver haired man came into the room. At his heels was this ‘Hideyoshi’ – yet another man I recognized from the booksellers. If I thought he had looked frazzled back then, it was nothing compared to him now. He had the look of a man who woke up every day to discover that imps had rearranged his furniture and placed his desk directly in the path of his shin. Then again, the other man had the look of a person who would indeed rearrange furniture; then stand by to watch the fun. So perhaps Hideyoshi came by his frazzle honestly.

Both stopped talking when they saw me standing there. Both subjected me to long, assessing stares. Ok guys, dial it back a notch… I’m not a used car you’re buying off the internet. “This is the young man you’re going to pass off as a Princess?” Hideyoshi crossed his arms and frowned as he turned to Nobunaga. “My lord, please, put a stop to this now. There are other ways we can handle this situation.”

Hm… should I feel insulted or complimented? While I was glad that my male disguise was so convincing, it was hurtful not to be deemed feminine enough to portray a girl. Although it was also possible that Hideyoshi was so against this plan that even someone like Miyahara Satoko would not be considered feminine enough.

Ignoring Hideyoshi, the other man (who I was certain had to be Mitsuhide) circled me, apparently mentally kicking my tires… and if he thinks he can open the hood and peek into the engine, my tires are going to kick him back. “I hate to admit you have a point. It may be impossible to turn this one into a convincing woman.”

I was seconds away from throwing myself a gender reveal party when I caught the teasing expression in Mitsuhide’s eyes. Ah ha ha… he knew I was female. This was a test. With an exaggerated eyelash flutter, I dropped into a graceful and dramatic bow, and said in my best boy-pretending-to-be-a-girl falsetto, “Why Lord Aketchi, that wasn’t what you said when you propositioned me in Kyoto last week.”

That earned me a smothered laugh from Kyubei and a long look from Mitsuhide. He turned to Nobunaga. “She’ll do.”

“Yes. I have prior acquaintance with Katsu and have judged him quick witted and resourceful. Your plan has merit.” Nobunaga didn’t exactly finish his statement with the words, ‘the great and powerful Oz has spoken,’ … but it was implied.

Hideyoshi stepped back as if he had been stung. I almost felt sorry for him, but my ego was still pouting from before.

I turned back to Nobunaga, figuring I’d better let him in on my current disguise. “Thank you. As it happens, I’m actually-”

“I’m sorry!” A pretty woman about my age hurried into the room. She was the epitome of femininity, even with (especially with?) a smear of rice flour across her face, and I wondered why she hadn’t been tapped to portray this Princess. “Masamune has been teaching me how to make dumplings.”

Nobunaga patted the cushion at his side. “Should I be jealous of the time you’re spending with the one-eyed dragon?” But his scolding was accompanied by a fond smile that transformed his fierce mien into something softer and more approachable.

The woman snuggled into his side with a smile. “Perhaps I am learning to cook something special for you.” He kissed her hand and for a moment the two of them might have been encased in their own personal bubble. I looked away, feeling like I was spying on a private moment.

Mitsuhide had no such restraint. “Mai, might I interest in you in a rather large sewing commission?”

She sat up straight and looked at him with excited interest. “Do tell.”

Hideyoshi gestured to me. “This is Katsu. Can you possibly-” he sighed. “Turn him into a girl?”

That earned me her intense scrutiny. She smiled. “You mean, back into a girl.”

I like her.

“Little Mouse, you’re always surprising me with your hidden depths.” Mitsuhide turned his attention to Kyubei. “Akihira determined that this person-.”

“Katsuko.” Kyubei supplied my true name. “She’s been my contact through Akihira for the past four years and I believe she is suitable for this task.”

“I trust your judgment.” Mitsuhide bowed respectfully to Kyubei. It was a bow of a friend to a friend, not a master to a servant, and my estimation of Mitsuhide rose slightly in due to the positive way he treated his subordinate.

“Now hold on!” Hideyoshi’s frown had intensified and his hair puffed out in kinetic disapproval. “The only reason I agreed to this in the first place was because you agreed to find a boy to play the princess… It’s too dangerous otherwise.” He directed his final objection to Mai, as if hoping for a female voice to help overrule Mitsuhide.

“I can handle myself in combat.” Well. I could defend myself, at least, then run like hell. I gave Hideyoshi my best scornful look. “If you’re not convinced, I can prove it in your dojo or on your archery grounds.” I could prove it here and now, but I sensed that Hideyoshi had a low tolerance for sharp objects too close to Nobunaga. Speaking of… he hadn’t said a word yet either for or against my participation. I glanced over to see if I could glean what he made of all this.

Although one of his hands was playing with Mai’s hair, he was obviously paying attention to and amused by the whole scene playing out before him. “No need for that, Katsuko. The task is to pretend to be the fiancée of one of Hideyoshi’s vassals. The only danger, and the only reason we hoped for a boy is that women have a habit of falling in love with him. Which would make our problem worse, not solve it.”

A boy might pose the same complications, but… details. “Why does he need a pretend fiancée?” If they had an incurable flirt on their hands, maybe they could just give him a good talking to?

“We’re,” Nobunaga gestured to himself, Hideyoshi, and Mai, “making a diplomatic visit to Kanamori Mozumi, a daimyo who has recently begun to mine silver in his territory, to discuss an alliance. As Genba castle is renowned for containing an expansive archive, I intend to bring our strategist along. However, Mozumi also has a seventeen-year-old daughter - Shohime, who visited here last summer, and … it appears our strategist left quite an impression on her.”

“According to my sources,” Mitsuhide added, “Mozumi has contracted a marriage between Shohime and a Daimyo from Tsuruga, and he would not be pleased if anything were to ruin his plans.”

“Understood. Tsuruga is on the coast, and Mozumi wants access to trade routes to export the silver to Korea and China. With income from the silver and alliance with you, Lord Nobunaga, Mozumi will triple his power and influence – as long as he can keep both the son-in-law and your alliance.” It also confirmed Aki’s take on the situation in Hida. Given the increasing demand for Japanese silver, and it was clear that Nobunaga would prefer to keep relations with Mozumi peaceful. Granted, with his armies and allies, he could also just take over Mozumi’s territory, but why waste the manpower and time if Mozumi was willing to treat with him?

My job, apparently, was to make sure that Hideyoshi’s vassal didn’t distract the Kanamori princess from her contracted fiancé.

“Yes, that’s an accurate summary of the issues involved.” Rather than sounding pleased at my knowledge, Hideyoshi continued to look skeptical. Maybe he wasn’t used to women having a grasp of politics?

“I get to make a wedding kimono?” Mai’s look of excitement could probably brighten a dark room.

“It won’t reach that point – Katsuko is simply a diversion. But...” Hideyoshi looked at me and heaved a pained sigh. “She needs clothing that would reflect positively on the Oda.”

She rubbed her hands together. “When do we start?” Ok, this girl really takes her sewing seriously.

Mitsuhide gestured toward the door. “Preferably last week, but since that’s not possible, now will be acceptable.”

Without another word, Mai jumped to her feet, grabbed my hand, and literally dragged me out before I realized I hadn’t even learned the name of my fake fiancée. I half turned back to ask, but Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide were already nose-to-nose in another argument. Eeek. Better to just let them wallow in their U.S.T.

Mai led me through the castle to a room filled with various fabrics, and what looked like multiple projects in progress. A couple nearly-finished kimonos were displayed on racks – lovely jewel-toned pieces with intricate patterns and embroidery. “Stand there, please.” She pointed to a box and took out a long string to measure me.

“Oh. Let me just get rid of-” I wiggled out of the leather corset-binder that was keeping me flat. “I won’t be sorry to put that away for a few weeks.”

“There’s got to be a better way.” Mai looked at the binder with disgust. The better way would have been my sports bra, but it died even before my still mourned hoodie. Unfortunately, it’s not like we had access to lycra here. “Do you have any preferences? Color? Style?” Mai went to a writing desk where there was a stack of paper and several different sized brushes.

Androgyny… but make it fashion.

“Something not terribly restrictive. And. Not pink.” I shot a look at a turquoise kimono on display – that one was more or less to my taste.

“I must overrule that.” Mitsuhide stood in the doorway flanked by Hideyoshi. Apparently, they kissed and made up. “Soft pastels – including pink.”

“Pink is certainly appropriate,” Hideyoshi agreed.

Great. Now they agree.

Mai quickly wrapped a yukata around me. She pointed to the men in the doorway. “Out!”

Right. I wasn’t very well dressed. It’s not that I have no modesty… more that neither of them were looking at me as if I were an object of desire, but rather a tool to be sharpened and polished. Ignoring her, Mitsuhide undid my braid.

He visibly flinched at my hair.

Hideyoshi actually recoiled.

Yeah, it’s not in any particular style and there are pieces that are much shorter than the rest, causing it to stick out in chunks everywhere.

“What happened? Were you in a fire?” Kyubei had joined us and looked at my hair with fascinated revulsion.

“Fume did it.” And then I tried to fix it with my dagger.

Hideyoshi turned to Mai. “We’re going to need more maids.”

Cue Jaws theme in head.

After that, the afternoon passed in a blur of discussions, haircut, fittings, hand cream, face cream, cream cream and…

Help, I’m trapped in a makeover montage!

By the end of the ordeal, I was buffed and shined and primped and folded, spindled and mutilated until I didn’t recognize my reflection in the mirror that Mai had unearthed. I’d taken on plenty of identities over the past seven years, but this one seemed even further away from Katsuko than my old man disguise.

Also… I had zero likelihood of being able to replicate this complicated hairstyle on my own.

Mai adjusted one of the folds on the kimono – one of her own that she was loaning to me until she and her team could finish my – for want of a better word- trousseau. Then she turned me around to face the men who were judging my transformation.

Category is: Sengoku Princess Excellence.

“I’m ashamed to admit I never realized you were a girl.” Kyubei bowed to the new me.

“Thank you.” That was a nice compliment on both levels. “I’m sorry I teased you about the mountain path.”

“An improvement.” Only the most charitable would call Mitsuhide’s expression a smile. Smirk. He smirked. “One would hope you can manage to also behave demurely and gracefully, Okatsu.”

‘Okatsu?’ Hm, alright. Disguises were always easier when I thought of myself as a new person. And ‘Katsuko,’ as Fume had stated repeatedly, was not a common name here. As for demure and graceful… well the first three responses I thought of were neither demure, nor graceful, so I settled for a faint smile, downcast eyes, and plans to get even with Mitsuhide later.

Apparently though, Mitsuhide’s not so subtle jab earned me sympathy points from Hideyoshi… which might have been his objective after all? If so, well played, sir. “You look lovely, Okatsu, and I am sure your manners are acceptable.”

There wasn’t much I could add to that, so I simply gave Hideyoshi another appropriately demure smile, while I crossed my fingers behind my back that I could remember everything about protocol that Aki had tried to teach me. When all else fails, smile and nod.

Anyway, I supposed I was ready to meet my so-called fiancé. Who was… where was he anyway? Maybe he was hiding? “Er, this man I’m pretending to be engaged to… he is ok with this, right?”

Mitsuhide and Hideyoshi looked at each other. Silently. Possibly communicating telepathically.

Well, that wasn’t a good sign.

“He does, at least know about this?” I had no doubts that I could squash the overtures of an unrepentant flirt, or, even have a bit of fun with one if I were in the right frame of mind – but it would be easier if he had at least agreed to this plan before I was foisted upon him.

“Did you?” Mitsuhide asked Hideyoshi.

“Of course I did!” In his annoyance Hideyoshi looked like a puffer fish, trying to make himself look bigger to broadcast his defense. “I informed him last night. I believe he heard me.” Then, more softly. “Hopefully, he’ll remember.”

After this ominous tidbit, Mitsuhide said with obviously false cheer, “Of course he will remember. I’m certain he’s looking forward to meeting Okatsu.”

The looks on everyone’s faces ranged from disbelief (Kyubei) to outright worry (Hideyoshi)… well, Mai, at least seemed convinced as she fanned her wet eyes and let out a happy sob. “I love weddings.”

Hm. Against all current evidence, I trusted Mitsuhide. Alright, I didn’t trust him specifically, but from everything Aki and Kyubei had ever told me about him, I trusted that Mitsuhide knew what he was doing. But I wasn’t sure that he cared as much about the people enmeshed in his schemes as he cared about the schemes themselves. Probably this plan would work, but it wasn’t likely to be easy.

But hopefully, a nice quiet meeting between myself and Faux Fiance would clear up any confusion and allow us to figure out how to play thi-

“Well, shall we join them in the meeting hall, where Masamune has prepared a meal in honor of your engagement celebration?” Mitsuhide bowed and gestured us to the door.

Celebration? Just how many people will be witnessing my first meeting with… and what the heck was this man’s name anyway?

@lorei-writes @lyds323 @bestbryn @katriniac @briars7