#there are individual pieces of clothing that will make people gender you a certain way and you will not know why

[spitblaze]

One day you will reach a point where someone will misgender you and instead of feeling the jab of disappointment or fear or mockery, you will only feel confusion or bewilderment or even just...nothing, whether you correct them or not. And you will realize how far you've come, and how resilient you've grown, how much comfortable you are in your own skin.

[sankttealeaf]

masterpieces

part one: artistic endeavours

pairing ; arthur morgan x gender neutral!reader

summary ; the time has arrived for your work to be on display at Galerie Laurent, and you can’t help but keep an eye out for a certain cowboy…

other info ; part two to artistic endeavours! thank u for all the love on this, it has been a blast and i am itching to write more silly little moments like this !!! keep an eye out for them :3c my requests are also open, too!

word count ; 5.3k (whoops!)

The evening of the exhibition had arrived, and your nerves had increased as the day went on. You spent hours switching between outfits, wanting to make a good impression on the other artists and possible buyers, but not wanting to look too over or underdressed. Your room was a mess, clothes scattered across your bed and floor and you still weren't sure if you looked okay. Part of you wished you had spent some extra money to purchase something new, but you knew that would've only made your choice worse. Time was ticking and you needed to leave if you wanted to be there on time. You were thinking too much about this, and decided there was no point in overthinking - you had decided on your current outfit.

You made a quick attempt to clean up the discarded outfits, shoving everything onto your bed. It would be cleaned up when you got back, if you weren’t too tired. You left your apartment, making the short walk down to the gallery, pushing down any anxieties that were threatening to rise.

Galerie Laurent looked busy as you approached the building, seeing a small crowd standing outside, talking and smoking. You didn't recognize anyone as you passed, muttering small apologies as you pushed past to walk up the stairs to the gallery hall. 

The hall was even busier with other like minded individuals, and the sudden increase of people around you made you feel overwhelmed. Grabbing a flute of champagne off of a tray and downing it for good luck, you began to weave between people, heading for the area where your paintings were on display. Front and centre was the big piece of the theatre at night, which was getting a lot of attention. On smaller canvases hung around it were other locations in Saint Denis you frequented a lot - the bakery near your place, the small park area and the docks. It looked perfect. 

You listened in to a conversation a few people were having, complimenting the brush strokes and the use of colour, and you couldn't help but smile. This had all been worth it. They gave you a smile as they saw you looking in their direction before moving on, discussing the work of the next artist by you.

The evening passed by smoothly, moving between conversations with people about your work to potential buyers asking how much you were selling them for. You had a few buyers lined up for your smaller pieces, and a couple of people who were interested in the big theatre piece. The idea that anyone wanted to buy these paintings was something you had yet to fully come to terms with, but you knew it would hit you later on tonight.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, looking at those in attendance. Part of you had hoped to have seen Arthur by now, especially after he was the one to help you break out of the creative block you were facing. But you couldn't see him anywhere. He didn't have to come, and it wasn't like you were friends or anything, so you told yourself it didn't matter. You were just two strangers passing by each other. Your disappointment fell away when you struck up a conversation with someone who began to ask you about your pieces, and what other things you offer. He was in the market for a new piece of artwork to go in his study, and was considering something that was in line with your style. You handed him a business card and told him to get in contact, and parted ways. 

As you watched the man leave, from the corner of your eye you spotted someone entering the room, looking a little out of place. You stood a little straighter to see above the heads of the crowd, and couldn’t help but smile at the familiar face.

"Arthur!" You called out with a wave, trying to catch his eye. He turned in your direction, and gave you a wave back. Seeing someone you recognized here was a relief, even though you hardly knew the guy. It was nice to have some support, no matter who it was from. He approached you, and you couldn’t help but notice how nice he looked cleaned up. His outfit was different from the one you first met him in, though it was definitely nowhere near close to the dress code everyone else had followed. An effort had been made, you noted.

"You made it!" You said as he walked closer, eyes already on your paintings.

"I said I would," he said with a smile, his hands moving to rest on his belt as he gestured to the canvases. "You did these?"

"Mhm. The bigger one was the one I was having issues with when we met," you explained, looking at him to try and work out his thoughts about it. He took in the painting, and you watched as his expression changed from genuine interest to shock, and he held back a smile. He raised his hand, pointing to a section near the bottom right. There, hitched up to a post, was a familiar looking horse.

"That ain't my horse now, is it?" He asked. You couldn't help but smile in response.

"What can I say? She's a pretty horse," you replied, as he let out a laugh, catching the attention of a few people nearby.

"I don't believe it. There she is… on a painting! On display!"

"The moment I saw her I knew she would fit right in."

"She sure does!"

The look of joy on Arthur's face was something you wished you could capture. The way he was beaming to himself over a simple thing like this warmed your heart. You had been nervous to add his horse in, going back and forth in your mind to figure out if it would be weird to do so, but you did it anyway, and it had paid off.

"Whenever we cross paths," he began, leaning in a little closer to prevent others from hearing, "drinks are on me."

You raised an eyebrow. "All drinks?"

"Sure. As many as you want. As repayment. I can't put a painting of you or, uh, your horse in a gallery, but I can do drinks,” he said, looking at you with a nod. “Just don’t go too crazy.”

“I can’t make any promises there.”

Quiet fell over you both, as Arthur took the time to properly look at your work. You wondered what he was thinking about as he moved from piece to piece, eyebrows pulled together in focus. There was a gentle touch on your arm that pulled you from looking at him, and you turned to find yourself in conversation with someone who was interested in buying the main piece. The man went into great detail about how he was a consumer of the arts, and how having the piece of the theatre in his house would be a perfect home for it. He offered you one hundred dollars in cash for the piece.  You heard someone clear their throat from behind you.

“Sorry, fella, but the startin’ price for this was five hundred. Right?” Arthur said, looking at you. Was he trying to upsell? You were happy to settle with one hundred, but the man didn't look convinced. 

“Who exactly are you?” He asked, and you could feel him start to slip away.

You spoke up quickly. “He’s a… very influential appraiser.” 

Arthur gave a nod in approval. “And I say this piece is to sell for no less than five hundred.”

The man looked past you both at the painting, and eventually sighed. “Did you have any other buyers interested?” He asked you, and for a moment you felt as if he was going to tell you to consider them. You shook your head, watching as he took out a money clip filled with cash - more cash in one place than you had ever seen. He continued speaking. “If I put down two-fifty for a deposit, and then come back and pay the rest, will that do?” He held out the money. You looked up at Arthur, unsure on how to process this.

“If you want it, sir,” Arthur started, noticing how unsure you looked, “then you can add an extra hundred to the price. Six hundred all together, and it’s yours.”

“Deal.” The man smiled, as you slowly took the money clip from him. He grabbed your hand in his, giving it a hearty shake. “I'll let the relevant people know to expect a check from me for the rest.” He left quickly, leaving you standing there with the money. 

You heard Arthur let out a little laugh beside you. "Some rich bastard is going to have a painting with my horse on it hanging from his wall."

You had yet to move, still taking in the fact that you had sold your piece for a lot more than what you thought it was to be sold at. The money felt heavy in your hands, and you couldn’t even let yourself laugh at Arthur’s silly comment, afraid that if you moved you would wake up from this dream, broke and alone.

“You alright there?” He asked, waving a hand in front of your face to bring you back to the moment. You blinked, and found yourself laughing.

“Six hundred dollars…” You looked up at Arthur in disbelief, thanking whatever was out there that you had crossed paths with him. “Thank you.”

He gave you a confused look. “I ain’t the one payin’ you.”

“You’re the one who got him to pay that much, though.” You began to quickly count the bills, double checking that it was the right amount. It was. “Six hundred… and here I was ready to walk away with just one hundred.” You counted out seventy-five dollars, and handed it to him. “Here.”

“Oh, no, I can’t.” Arthur put his hands up, taking a small step back.

You closed the gap, gesturing the money in his direction. “Take it.”

“Look, I-” “I’ll make it a hundred if you don’t take it.”

He stared you down for a moment, but when you didn't back down, he sighed, taking the money from you. “I didn't do anythin’ to deserve this, y’know.”

“You did a lot, actually,” you said, pocketing the rest of the money. “You had your horse, you let me draw her, you came to the showing and you up-sold my art to that guy.”

He considered your words, before shrugging. “I s’pose. Ain’t worth seventy-five dollars, though.”

You thought he was worth more.

The evening was drawing to a close, and you were beginning to ache from standing for so long in one spot. You stretched out your arms, and quickly counted how many people were still left here. Only a handful, not including you and Arthur - the latter had decided to check out the other pieces of art on display now that the main bulk of the crowd had gone. You gave one last look at your corner, pleased at how this night had gone, and went to join Arthur. 

He was looking up at a large painting of the city in the morning light, a soft fog covering the streets. His arms were folded over his chest, and from what you could tell, he didn't seem to be enjoying this piece.

“Ain’t as good as yours,” he said quietly, shaking his head slightly at the painting. “This is missin’ my horse.”

You let out a chuckle, ignoring the feeling of your cheeks warming up at the compliment. “That’s what makes a good painting? If your horse is in it?”

“She deserves to be in all paintings.”

His love for his horse was something you haven't really seen in anyone else before, and you wondered what it was he did for a living. Arthur looked intimidating from a distance, and you remembered how cautious you were around him during your first encounter. But seeing him here, studying all these pieces of artwork, standing out against the crowd of the higher end of Saint Denis society, it truly felt like something out of a painting. You tried to pinpoint what kind of business he could be in from just looking at him, but nothing pleasant came from it. Gunslinger? Bounty hunter? Maybe just a guy who happened to look too tough and leaned into that style? You had no idea. He tilted his head to the side, gaze still focused on the art in front of him.

“I think you’re supposed t’ look at the art, not the people,” he said, catching your gaze on him. You were quick to look away, face turning bright red as you tried to find anywhere to look at that wasn’t him. “No, I didn't - I wasn’t looking at you, I mean, I was, but not like that! Never, no, not at all.” You had to stop yourself from talking, the last thing you needed was to embarrass yourself even further. He just smiled at you, seeming to find some enjoyment out of seeing you like this. Or maybe you were reading into it too much. Probably that.

“I’m going to take this as a sign that I should be gettin’ back home,” you said, clearing your throat. “It is getting late…”

“Can I walk you back?” Arthur asked. You were taken aback at the question, and gave him a curious look. “Not like… y’know… the streets can be troublesome at night. Just for safety. No, uh nothin’ weird about wanting to make sure someone gets home safe,” he was quick to explain, though you couldn’t help but spot the faintest tinge of red appear on his own face, as he averted his eyes.

The offer was endearing, and you couldn’t help but smile widely at him. “I’d be honoured to have you walk me back home.”

The air outside was much cooler than in the gallery, and you welcomed the change. The streets were still lively with action, the night only just beginning. In typical Saint Denis fashion, you were certain that they weren’t going to quieten down for a long while. Clouds covered the night sky, blocking out any sign of the moon or stars, which made you wonder if it was going to rain sometime soon.

Arthur offered you his arm, which you took after a moment of overthinking the meaning of it, and the two of you set off for your home. You made little conversation as you walked, talking about the art on display to the patrons there and how ridiculous some of them looked. It then moved onto you, and Arthur was curious to know how long you had been painting for, and what got you into it. You told him the story, though it wasn’t as exciting and grand as others may be. Drawing was calming, and something you found that you were pretty good at - why not try and profit from it, right? You then changed the conversation onto him.

“What is it that you do?” You asked, looking up at him in curiosity.

“Nothing much. Nothing good, either,” he replied, but that really didn't tell you anything.

“Nothing good?” You let out a soft laugh at that. “You helped to upsell my artwork to a random man. That’s pretty good of you, if I’m being honest.”

He waved the comment off. “Nah, that was nothing.”

“Tell that to the six hundred dollars in my pocket. That’s enough money to… oh, I don’t know, travel the world? See the sights? Paint everything I come across?” The thought of travelling freely to see more of the world placed itself in the front of your mind, and it was closer to becoming a reality now.

“You really want to travel, huh?” Arthur asked.

You nodded in response. “There is so much out there I’ve yet to see. I think it would be nice to escape the city for a bit. Get some fresh air.”

“Y’know, I ain’t sure how long I’m going to be around here for, but,” he paused for a moment, checking over his shoulder. You copied him, worried that someone was following you both. When you saw no one behind him, you looked up at him, trying to work out if something was wrong. He continued. “There’s a few places I can think of outside the city that are good spots for drawin’. If you’re interested, I wouldn't mind showing them to you.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at the offer. “That would be really nice.” 

In all of your daydreams about seeing the world, you had travelled alone. But now you were looking at Arthur, and the thoughts of travelling and drawing together began to flood your mind.

"My place is just up here," you said, changing the conversation in hopes that it would push those thoughts to the back of your mind. The last thing you needed was to get your hopes up over nothing. 

Your apartment building was off the main road, hidden away between alleys and other buildings, but it was cheap and you had yet to have any problems with it. 

“I think I’ve been down this part before,” he mumbled, which caused you to laugh.

“I thought you said you hated the city?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t walk around it.”

You had to let go of his arm when you got closer to your door, rummaging through your pocket to find your keys. Arthur stayed a few steps back, giving you space. As you unlocked your door, ready to climb upstairs to your floor, you noticed a few drops of rain had started to fall. Then, all at once, the sky opened up, rain pouring down heavily. You turned to face Arthur, who was looking up at the sky, adjusting his hat to try and prevent his head from getting too wet. It would be rude to let him walk back in the rain…

“You’re welcome to come inside and wait out the rain?” You suggested, gesturing inside. Arthur considered it for a moment, looking up at the sky. The clouds seemed dark, and the sudden downfall didn't look like it would ease up any time soon. You gave him a nod to confirm that it was okay, and he stepped inside.

The main room in your apartment was also your art studio, which was fine when you were alone, but having company over meant that you were acutely aware of how messy it was. Your organisational system was chaotic, but worked for the most part. Canvases were stacked up against the walls, various sketches and other notes were stuck to the walls, mainly so you wouldn't forget about things.

"Sorry for the mess," you said, quickly grabbing a few things to clean some room up. "I, uh, had planned to clean, but… life got in the way, I suppose."

"It could be worse,” Arthur said, gently pulling a stack of canvases away from the wall to see what was painted on them. He put them back quickly when he saw you watching him, holding his hands up away from the canvases.

“You can look at them, I don’t mind,” you told him, putting away a stack of paper. With your approval, he went back to looking through the artwork you currently had out. Most of them were works in progress, ranging from personal art to a few portraits that people had requested from you. Even with photography growing in popularity, people still enjoyed a good painting.

You had cleaned up the small dining table, pushing aside any notebooks or old brushes that had yet to be put away and started to light up the room. It looked a little better, and there was enough room to sit down if needed now. You glanced over at Arthur, who was still examining everything around him like he was back in the gallery. It was slightly intimidating watching him look over your work, especially in a less formal setting. You had no idea what he was thinking, his back facing you, which only heightened your anxieties.

“You’ve got a lot of stuff here,” he said, turning his focus from your artwork to a small box full of various pencils that sat atop a drawer full of art supplies. You watched him pick one up, turning it over in his hands a few times.

“Most of my supplies are years old, I try to make them last,” you told him with a small smile. “Paint can go a long way if you look after it, especially oils.”

He raised the charcoal pencil up. “I’m more of a pencil man myself.”

“You are?” You made your way over to him, pulling out one of the drawers and searching through it. You remembered being gifted a nice set of charcoal pencils one year for your birthday, but they remained unopened in the depths of your drawers because you had so many already. It was underneath a few scrap sheets of paper and you pulled out a rather ornate looking tin, holding it out for Arthur. He raised an eyebrow curiously, gently taking a hold of it. “You can have these if you want. They’re brand new, I’ve never used them. Never really needed to, if I’m honest.”

He took off the lid, and revealed six pencils, each with a different density to them. “Are you sure?” He asked, as you nodded quickly. “You’re too kind…”

“Think of it as a thank you. For tonight.” You gave him a smile as he looked from the pencils to you, a similar smile spreading across his face.

“I guess there’s only one way to test them out, huh?” He placed the pencils on the side, before opening up the leather satchel that hung at his side. You watched, as he pulled out a small journal, holding it up. “Have you ever been drawn before?”

You let out a nervous laugh, having more practice being the one behind the pencil rather than the object of its drawings. When he didn't seem to laugh with you to confirm that it was a joke, you cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks. “I haven’t… Have you ever been painted?” It was your turn to notice the redness in his cheeks now, as he shook his head. “I have some new brushes I need to break in…”

“Best you go and get them then…” He responded softly.

You stayed still for a moment, just looking up at him, before grinning and rushing off to find the new paint brushes you bought recently. It was too late to properly set up a canvas, so you settled with the same sketchbook you used to draw his horse a few weeks back.

You gathered your supplies, and returned to find Arthur had settled himself on one of the chairs at the table. He had taken his hat off, setting it aside. It felt a little weird seeing him hat-less, like you had walked in on him half naked. A few loose strands fell over his face, and you wanted to gently push them back into place. You quickly shook that thought away and took the seat opposite him, laying out your supplies. Arthur reached over to pick up a brush, and you playfully tapped his hand away.

The two of you began to draw, the room filled with sounds of charcoal scratching against paper and rain tapping against the window. Arthur had his journal in one hand, holding it in a way that prevented you from seeing what he was drawing. Anytime you peered over, he would pull it closer to himself. 

Now that you had an excuse to look at Arthur up close, you began to take in his features, putting them down onto paper quickly. He had a really pretty eye colour, and in this lighting his hair looked like a honey colour. You caught yourself looking at him for longer than necessary a few times and were quick to avert your eyes back down to the page, blushing darkly.

Once you had a base sketch of him done, it was time to add colour. Usually you would take your time with this, but you weren’t sure how long you had with him and you wanted it to be close to finished before he left. You began to put down the darker tones, building up to lighter tones as you progressed. The new brushes were pretty good, and you were glad you had the chance to try them out on something smaller before using them properly.

Time ticked on without you knowing, and you soon had a pretty decent portrait of Arthur in your sketchbook. You looked up from your work once you were settled on it, and caught Arthur looking at you. He gave you a smile, and 

“I wasn’t keeping you, was I?” You asked, noticing the lack of pencil in his hand.

“Not at all. If you need more time-”

“No! No, I think I’m done,” you said quickly, not wanting to think about how long he was watching you paint and you hadn’t noticed. You cleared your throat, regaining your composure. “So…”

“So…?” Arthur frowned, as you gently placed your paint brushes to the side.

“Can I see your drawing?” 

He broke eye contact, looking back down at his journal. There was a moment where you thought he was going to say no, but instead he turned the book upside down, and held it out for you to see. On both pages were drawings of you. The one on the left was a close up of you. You looked to be concentrating, some of your hair fell in front of your face as you painted. He had captured the way the light fell on your face through the shadows, and it looked incredible. The drawing on the right was a little more detailed and captured more of you and your surroundings. You were deep in thought while painting, a brush behind your ear and one in your hand. He included parts of the backgrounds through quick lines and smudges of the charcoal to indicate that there was something there. Underneath that drawing was your name in capital letters.

“Arthur… these are beautiful,” you said, leaning closer to get a better look, trying to piece together in your mind his process. You looked at him, smiling as he had kept his gaze somewhere else, not wanting to look at you to see your reaction. There was a notable blush on his cheeks which had spread to his ears, and since he was hatless you could see it clearly. It was now you assumed he wasn’t one to take compliments.

“I’m sure it ain’t anything compared to yours,” he replied, only looking at you when he heard you sit back as you held out your piece.

“Careful, the paint is still wet,” you warned, as he took hold of your book. Your heart was beating quickly as he looked over your painting, and you now understood why Arthur was looking away - watching someone look over your work like this was daunting. You took to busying yourself with organising your paint brushes, only looking back at him when you heard him say your name softly.

“This is incredible,” he said, placing your book down on the table. “It’s like a photograph… I ain’t seen anything like this before.” Now it was your turn to blush, and you mumbled out a very small thanks in response. 

He pushed your book back towards you, and you handed his back. Your hands touched for a moment as he took it from you, which didn't help the warmth in your cheeks. The room felt oddly quiet, and it was then you realised the rain had passed. 

Arthur seemed to notice it too, as he cleared his throat and closed his journal quickly. "I should probably get goin' now."

"Oh, yes, of course," you replied, standing up at the same time as him. The both of you ended up bumping into each other by doing this, causing you to laugh nervously as he held your arm to steady you. His hand lingered on your arm, and you looked up at him. You could feel your heart pounding, and were almost certain Arthur could hear it with how close he was standing. 

Your hand moved to push back the strand of hair that fell across his face, and his hair was as soft as you thought it would be. The movement took Arthur by surprise, and you quickly broke his gaze.

"Don't forget your hat," you said quietly, moving your hand away from his hair and stepping away, your mind rushing with thoughts of what could happen if you lingered too long on him.

Arthur grabbed his hat, and you began to head towards the door, telling yourself to calm down and not do something you would regret. But life was here to do stupid things, right? It wouldn't hurt…

You held the door open for him as he followed you, stepping outside into the cool night air. The air was a welcome change from how hot and flustered you felt inside.

"Thank you… for coming tonight. It's been really nice," you said softly, watching as he tipped his hat towards you.

"The offer still stands if you ever want t' see what life is like outside the city." He smiled, and you nodded in response.

"You know where to find me now!"

The both of you stood there, neither walking away. Cheers and loud laughter could be heard from down the street from people, most likely drunk. Arthur turned in the direction of the noise, and you took this moment to take a step forward. Maybe it was because you were tired, or maybe it was because you were painting in a badly ventilated place again, but part of you felt disheartened that he had to leave.

"Arthur?" You spoke, catching his attention. He turned back to you, a look of concern on his face. You took a deep breath, and leaned towards him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you. Again. I really appreciate what you've done," you whispered, staying close to him. 

The kiss came as a shock to him, and he stood still, looking down at you with a blush. He gently pushed some of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering by your cheek before speaking. "It's nothin', really."

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, though you knew it was only a few moments. Arthur's hand was against your cheek, and you couldn't help but lean into it. You placed your hand atop of his, and smiled.

"You're welcome to stay for a while longer if you want," you offered, though your intention wasn't anything lewd. You liked being in his company, and wanted to keep this going for as long as you could. 

"I've been away long enough. People might start to get worried," he replied with a soft chuckle at your invitation, and you nodded with a smile. You let go of his hand as he moved away, and both took an awkward step back from each other.

"Drop by if you're ever in the city again, won't you?" You asked, keeping your hopes up that he would do so.

"Of course. You'll be the first to know I'm here." He gave you a nod, and took another step back. It felt like he was in the same boat as you, knowing he should leave but something was stopping him. You gave him a little wave, and watched as he waved back, finally turning around to walk away. He looked back at you before he turned off to the main street, and you couldn't hold back the smile as he did so.

You wondered if he would ever come back and visit. There was still so much you didn't know about him, but maybe that was a part of the charm? The strange artist with a mysterious story and the interesting horse he loves so dearly… Maybe there was a painting to be made from this?

[leothecloud]

Shoutout to trans individuals who realize more about their identity as they get older. The people who realize their gender may be completely different than what they originally thought and came out as. They are still trans. They are still valid. Gender is a spectrum and sometimes things might change for some individuals.

I came out as a Trans Man at age 15. I knew the name I wanted immediately and began social transition with friends. I had an idea of what I wanted to look like and I was certain of who I am. I never questioned things further or took a second look because in high school my brain went “I don't want to be a girl so being a boy makes the most sense.” never fully taking the time to learn or understand there are other identities out there.

I am 25 now and I started requestioning things at 24. I found it hard to explain what my gender feels like for me personally. I always said man because I do feel comfortable only in mens clothing and presenting that way. I did not know you could express however and not be a man. I never knew how to tell people how I identified outside the binary but I always knew something was OFF. I found xenogenders and that helped me explain what my gender feels like. Not what I am but how I view myself. I realized I feel empty, voidlike, endless, and that began my deep dive into who I am for the second time in my life.

The more I put the puzzle pieces together and re-evaluated things, the more I realized I am Agender. Not in a Nonbinary way. Not in a fluid way. I am completely genderless and that is why the xenos I began using were things like the sea or space. An endless voidlike thing. I realized I feel indifferent to the “parts” I have and wouldn't mind if I had nothing at all. I still present mainly masc but after talking to others and research I learned that Agender people dress in what they are comfortable in regardless of clothes and present in a wide variety of ways.

Some do view themselves more fluid or Nonbinary. However, I don't. I view myself as nothing. There is no gender for me at all. It is all empty and the ability to expand my horizons and learn and understand outside the binary has been a blessing for my journey.

So shout out to the people who are still figuring things out. Who are just starting to figure it out and who have realized things later after already coming out. I see you. You're valid.

[totally-sapphic-posts]

Hi :)

I'm the anon who sent you the little confession a few days ago and I was wondering if you have any advice for me. Whilst it was the first time I admitted I'm struggling with this, it's not new at all. It's been a struggle for as long as I can remember, but definitely since hitting puberty (which is like 10-15 years ago), and I feel like I've still made no progress in figuring myself out.

My relationship with my body is kinda weird. Some days I feel like it's a sack of potatoes I have to drag around, other days I kinda like it. It's like I'm a puzzle. Right now everything fits together well and it makes the picture that is me, but there are certain individual pieces that I really don't like. If I were to change them however, what happens to the big picture? It feels like either those new pieces wont fit with the rest or all the pieces have to change, completely changing the picture, and I don't think I like either of those options.

I'm extremely lucky in that my environment is quite progressive and self expression generally isn't frowned upon at all. So I can more or less wear whatever I want and I've convinced myself that that's enough for me, but there's always this lingering feeling inside of me that if it weren't for others, I might've done things differently.

Anyways, it feels nice to get that off my chest, so thanks :)

I'll start off by saying that I can only give advice from my perspective and experience, and that I in no way know everything or even the best way to approach this. In saying that, I would love if others who have different perspectives could maybe comment theirs.

Onto the advice :))

One perspective I know many people take is analysing where your feelings of discomfort in yourself may be coming from.

I have found that even in queer communities and trans communities, we're just upholding gender stereotypes which fuels a lot of gender identity questioning. In fact, I saw a post a few days ago where a woman who dresses fairly masculine and appears adrogynous was talking about how she's constantly addressed by strangers with 'they/them' pronouns. On one hand, she loves the inclusivity and that traditional male/female pronouns aren't the default anymore, but on the other hand she felt that there was an entirely other box that has been created. People saw her, saw that she didn't express herself in a typical female way, but not quite male either, so strangers keep labelling her as a they/them.

I even found personally that I struggled a lot with my gender identity because even in trans communities, we uphold gender stereotypes. I had to do a lot of self-searching and figure out that I'm just typically very masculine presenting and enjoy stereotypically masculine things. My friends are majority male, and that's just how it is. That doesn't make me a man, and doesn't make me a they/them either. I'm just me. With whichever way I choose to express myself, I'm just me.

Try out pronouns you like and feel comfortable with, dress how you want, act in ways that make you feel comfortable, enjoy your interests unapologetically.

And with the body discomfort, personally, I found that working out really really helped me. I love being strong and being seen as such. I love putting effort into myself and walking comfortably in my skin from taking care of myself in that way. Even if I'm wearing baggy clothes (which is the majority of the time) and no one can see how I actually look underneath, there's an odd comfort in my skin.

Speaking to a lot of people, I've found that there's this discomfort in self that is so deeply ingrained through no fault of their own that, at its root, is a societally ingrained perception of gender.

I've been asked hundreds of times, 'what is a woman?', I even attended a conference where this question was addressed at one point. And I discovered that it didn't matter how comfortable or uncomfortable in their own skin the woman was, everybody's answer differed. And from that, I've mentally broken down the construct of what a woman is, because nobody bloody knows, or at least, there is no one shared definition.

So, to me, I am a woman. What that means for me is I'm biologically a certain way. Outside of that? How I express myself? Whatever, that's just personal preference. If today I'm wearing a dress that barely goes past my ass and shows so much cleavage a good christian woman is clutching her pearls, and tomorrow I'm rocking the baggiest outfit ever, it doesn't mean I was more feminine one day and more masc the next, I was just going with what's comfortable. There is no gender involved there. I just am. On paper, I'm a female. What that means? I don't know. I don't even know if it has much significance other than medically and how I take care of my body and providing it with what it needs to stay healthy.

That's gender for me.

I don't know if this was useful or just came across as a rant.

But yeah, figure out the why. Is it you, or a subconcious need to feel a certain way because of external factors? Play around, find what makes you feel like you. Don't worry about anyone else. They don't have to be you. Only you have to experience yourself all the time, so you deserve to be happy being you in whichever way makes you comfortable in your skin.

[sofitechfashion]

How do you build your fashion style?

Building your fashion style is a process that takes time, patience, and creativity. To start building your personal style, consider the clothes you already own and think about which items make you feel confident and comfortable. These pieces can serve as the foundation for your wardrobe.

Next, add diversity to your collection by incorporating new clothing items in accordance with modern trends. Don't be afraid to experiment with different styles and colors; this is how you find what works best for you!

When shopping for new clothes, keep inspiration in mind. Browse through fashion magazines or social media influencers who have a similar body type or aesthetic as yours. Look at iconic fashion icons of the past and present and take note of their style choices.

Remember to not only focus on individual pieces but also on how they fit together into outfits that reflect your personality. This is where personalization comes into play: choose accessories that complement each other well, along with layered clothing options like jackets or scarves.

Always prioritize comfort over anything else! Your personal style should allow you to confidently express yourself while feeling comfortable throughout the day.

Find more inspiration in current fashion and modern trends.

Fashion is a constantly evolving industry, with new trends and styles emerging every season. It can be overwhelming to keep up with all the latest fashion trends and incorporate them into your personal style. However, finding inspiration in current fashion and modern trends can help you develop your own unique sense of style.

One way to find inspiration is by following fashion bloggers and influencers on social media platforms like Instagram. These individuals often share their personal styles and how they incorporate current trends into their outfits. You can also browse through online magazines or fashion websites for ideas on how to wear certain items or create a specific look.

Another great source of inspiration is street style. Observing what people are wearing on the streets, whether it's in your local neighborhood or during Fashion Week events around the world, can give you an idea of what's popular at the moment.

When looking for inspiration, don't forget about diversity. Fashion should be inclusive of all body types, skin colors, genders, ages, etc., so seek out sources that represent different backgrounds.

Remember that while it's important to stay up-to-date with modern trends in fashion, it’s equally important to integrate them into your personal style rather than blindly follow each trend that comes along.

So take time figuring out which ones suit you best!

Build personal styles by taking into account the positive parts and your overall appearance.

 Creating a personal style that reflects your personality and makes you feel confident is a journey. It takes time, effort, and inspiration to build something unique that represents who you are. By following the tips we have shared with you in this article, such as finding inspiration in modern fashion trends and refreshing your wardrobe with personal styles in mind, you can create an iconic look that stands out.

Remember to be true to yourself while building your personal style. Consider the positive parts of your body and your overall appearance when choosing clothes or accessories to wear. Embrace diversity by experimenting with different items until you find what works best for you.

In the end, developing a personal style is not just about looking good; it's also about feeling good. When you feel comfortable and confident in what you're wearing, it shows through your demeanor and attitude towards life. So take some time today to start building your own unique fashion statement—one that will make heads turn wherever you go!

Wear your new purchases with confidence.

Are you tired of staring at a closet full of clothes and feeling like you have nothing to wear? It's time to refresh your wardrobe with some modern trends and personal styles in mind. With the help of current fashion inspiration, iconic articles, beautiful celebrities, and famous designers, we'll show you how to wear your new purchases with confidence. So get ready to build a wardrobe that reflects your unique personality and style!

Develop your personal style in accordance with modern trends.

What does your style say about you?

How do you build your fashion style?

Find more inspiration in current fashion and modern trends.

Refresh your wardrobe with modern trends and personal styles in mind.

Build personal styles by taking into account the positive parts and your overall appearance.

Wear your new purchases with confidence.

Wear your new purchases with confidence.

Are you tired of staring at a closet full of clothes and feeling like you have nothing to wear? It's time to refresh your wardrobe with some modern trends and personal styles in mind. With the help of current fashion inspiration, iconic articles, beautiful celebrities, and famous designers, we'll show you how to wear your new purchases with confidence. So get ready to build a wardrobe that reflects your unique personality and style!

 If you want to read more related articles, please click the link below:

[thememphislee]

“Law And Border”

“Law And Border”

    I love freedom, I love being able to go where I want when I want without much interference or opposition.  I love the idea of being able to say what I want and the option to express myself the way that I see fit.  It’s easy to take these things for granted because we have them, usually.  Before I go any further, I should add the fact that we’re on the precipice of a new way of life.  Censorship and cancel culture have begun to overreach in our ability to communicate with each other and amongst ourselves.  I say and write some of the most offensive, racist, homophobic and discriminatory things that an individual might be capable of.  Do I apologize for it?  No. Do I regret it?  Eventually.  Could I change the way that I chose to define myself?  Probably.  Will I change knowing this?  Probably not. Why?  Because you would never know what I actually thought if I didn’t say it in the way that I meant it.  I find value in that.  No replacement for honesty, right?

    Oh yeah, I also say the most derogatory things about hippos, mainly because they’re so deadly, even though they’re adorable, they’re real bastards.  There’s even a term to describe a fear of hippopotamuses, although generic, it’s called “zoophobia.”  Where there is a fear there is a way these days! God forbid when they come up with a fear of genders or de-gender-ers, sorry the term for that hasn’t been invented yet.  But no fear, a term or definition for it will come.

    Sorry, I was rambling and ranting on purpose to confuse you, and hopefully lead you to read more.  Do you see what I did there?  Back to the title of this, it’s about laws and borders; law and order, or lack thereof. I love the United States because of the concept of liberty, the ability to be free, and an option for everyone in the world to achieve it.  Unfortunately, we have people that want to jump the line and get here without abiding to our laws.  What do you have without laws?  What is a piece of land without a property owner?  I was born here, and I was afforded certain rights, although lately those conditions seem to be compromised.

    I don’t dislike immigrants, I don’t even want to discourage them, but I do want them to follow “our” laws.  It’s simple.  Apply for citizenship.  If your life was shitty today, do something about it.  If your life was shitty yesterday, don’t repeat the step.  If your life is shitty tomorrow, ask yourself why. Don’t let it be because you burned your own house down, or in the least the house that you were striving to be part of.

    I would never travel to a country where I didn’t speak the language.  I also would never drag my kids, currently I don’t have any that I know of, LOL! Sorry, had to say it!  I don’t like kids, however if I actually had any, I would not put their well being or my state of mind in jeopardy by dragging them through the desert to a place that I didn’t speak the language, couldn’t guarantee that I could feed them, or properly clothe them.  Much less I wouldn’t take them to a place that I couldn’t provide for them.  I hate going to the DMV, (“Department of Motor Vehicles”, for you morons that don’t understand abbreviations) because I can’t figure out who or what or why their ticket system was developed.  A normal service ticket is like; “Line A is for number 32 at counter G currently serving all DCH tickets!’  It literally make no fucking sense!

    How many of you sleep with your doors unlocked?  Do you leave your cash on the front porch unattended?  I can probably already guess, you take precautions.  Is it because you hate people or is it because of their place in life? Maybe it’s because you have common sense.  Don’t pour gasoline on a fire unless you want it to burn.

 The Memphis Lee speaks!

 Now ya’ heard!

 That’s how I roll.!!!

[shoptrendthingss]

10 Best Cowhide Coat Brands in India For 2022

Calfskin Coats have forever been the harley davidson screamin eagle jacket core of a closet. A tasteful and exceptional garment, a calfskin coat is something that draws out the smooth character in you. Be it an easygoing calfskin coat or a planner one, each has its own appeal. What's more, in the event that you're really stricken with biker coats, pressing forward is the only option. While there are many brands that market calfskin coats, here are the main 10 cowhide coat brands in India that can without a doubt draw you into getting one. Here is the main 10 calfskin coat brands list for you to investigate. Here you can likewise check probably the best mens coat brands and forest coats in India.

10 Best Cowhide Coat Brands in India

Pole and Harbor A brand claimed by Myntra Plans Pvt. Ltd., Pole and Harbor is a tasteful design brand that offers an astonishing assortment of dress, footwear, frill and other style items. Offering a cool scope of calfskin coats, M and H's USP stays with the way that the style by this brand is reasonable for nearly everybody. Look at this astonishing dark strong cowhide coat. The coat is reasonable for the individuals who need to wear a strong yet tasteful appearance.

Pole and Harbor

Value: Rs. 2499 onwards

COBB A gender neutral design brand and one of the unadulterated calfskin coat brands, COBB Italy has a noteworthy presence in the worldwide style market. Taking special care of the steadily evolving inclinations, this brand features the dynamism of the youthful age who lean towards class and quality over all the other things. One of the most amazing brands for cowhide coats, COBB Italy offers various items that draw out the manly and female attributes of the present youth. Lay your hands on this strong blue lightweight calfskin coat by COBB and be your tasteful self.

Purchase Now Value: Rs.2679 onwards

US Polo Assn. A brand formally famous under the overseeing body of the game of polo in the US, US Polo Assn. is a style brand known for its neat assortments. Having an overall presence, this brand offers cool calfskin coats for people to draw out their smooth characters. Look at this astonishing US Polo naval force blue strong real calfskin coat that includes a stand neckline and front zip conclusion.

Purchase Now Value: Rs.10799 onwards

French Association FCUK or French Association is a UK-based worldwide retailer that markets tasteful clothes for the cutting edge youth. Conveying ageless plans in quality clothes, this brand is known for its astounding scope of coats. One of the most outstanding brands for a calfskin coat in India and abroad, French Association centers around quality and reasonableness for all. On the off chance that you're searching for a tasteful piece of cowhide coat showcased by this brand, then, at that point, look at this astonishing earthy colored strong calfskin coat that makes certain to feature your persona and add to your general style remainder.

Purchase Now Value: Rs.3149 onwards

Teakwood Calfskins A brand of a superior line of dress, Teakwood Cowhides gets its situation as a global brand started from Germany. Offering an extravagance experience with its large number of dress and travel assortment, this brand is known to be one of the most incredible brands for men's coats. Showcasing a line of suave assortment for men, this brand likewise advances in-house frill for ladies. Look at this astounding dark cowhide coat by Teakwood Calfskins created from veritable calfskin.

Purchase Now Value: Rs.12499 onwards

Roadster A brand claimed by Myntra's design house, Roadster markets popular dress that is in accordance with the loot of the present youth. An Indian brand for calfskin coats and a lot more classifications for people, Roadster, very much like its name offers high road plans that make certain to grab everybody's eye. Look at this strong naval force blue coat that has a fake collar and looks smart with some stone-washed pants and can be worn to any relaxed assembling.

Value: Rs.1799 onwards

Justanned A brand that makes cool and popular style, Justannned is exclusively committed to the promoting and planning of cowhide items. With its mainline center around Cowhide Coats and Calfskin packs, Justanned offers many immortal plans that take care of the requirements of rich characters. Featuring the most female and manly perspectives that make the attire in any event, engaging, this brand is known for its production of the best biker coats. Look at this dark calfskin coat with a band collar for an easygoing outing or maybe, an excursion.

Purchase Now Value: Rs.6400 onwards

Wrangler One of the best producers of western clothing, Wrangler is a brand that firmly upholds the possibility of consumer loyalty. Initially a denim brand, Wrangler is known for quality pants and dress things that are near road design. Possessed by VF Enterprise, an American clothing and footwear organization that serves quality dress and style footwear around the world, Wrangler is a name now equivalent to class. Offering exquisite pants for all kinds of people, Wrangler likewise appropriates choices of Cowhide Coats that are class-separated. The organization has confidence in keeping it cool and basic yet a la mode and rich enough to snatch a great deal of eyewitnesses. Lay your hands on this astonishing dark super-upscale coat and wear it with smooth appeal.

Purchase Now Value: Rs.1996 onwards

Tommy Hilfiger An extravagance planner way of life brand, Tommy Hilfiger clothing has its own appeal. From preppy new plans to cool rich numbers, the brand takes care of everything for you. An organization that serves buyers worldwide, the brand likes to keep the style remainder of its items sufficiently high to experience the intensity. With its superior line of dress, Tommy Hilfiger bargains in sharp footwear, exemplary clothing and other design extras and new aromas. Get this astounding dark unadulterated cowhide coat and keep straight with the top style of the day. Additionally we have made this astounding rundown of top forest coats that you can look at and let us in on which one you like.

Purchase Now Value: Rs.14999 onwards

Hotshot A one-stop objective of everything in vogue and reasonable, Hotshot is a brand to really flaunt. Offering an astounding line of dress for people, this brand includes an extensive variety of design items that are head-turners. One of the most amazing cowhide coat brands in India, Hotshot brings harley davidson screamin eagle jacket to the front the many sides of being smooth. View this popular dark coat that makes certain to draw out the attractive man in you.

[danielxricciardo]

Hi girl!! I love everything you’ve wrote! Couldn’t say how much I enjoyed reading one shots of F1 drivers! I have to ask if you could do one for Carlos? He and reader are expecting but keeping it secret, Carlos won the race! And he ask if he could hear her through radio, though with some glitch, all other drivers and teams hear Carlos’ radio, he tells her how he’s so happy with the win but more than anything about their little one on the way and now everyone knows the secret of pregnancy because he suddenly slipped it while talking to her on radio👶🏻 I can’t imagine how will other drivers will congratulate him (like Daniel, Max, Landooooo! Seb! And even Kimi!🤣) I think Lando will be overjoyed and will be presenting to be Godfather already Hahahaha!

Summary: Having a baby and everybody finding out

Warnings: fluff

Word count: 1.5k

You realized that you were pregnant after a series of fortunate events that, individually, you did not take as alarm signals.

One evening, Carlos decided to spare you from cooking dinner and ordered your favorite food from your favorite restaurant. You were very excited to eat it, but when the food arrived you were on the verge of throwing up because of the smell. You told Carlos you couldn't eat, so you just ate an apple and went to bed. The next day, after Carlos left for the gym, you couldn't get away from the toilet because if you took a few steps you would feel like throwing up. However, when your boyfriend came home, you didn't feel so sick anymore, but you didn't tell him what happened to you because you didn't want to worry him.

You had a vague idea that you could be pregnant but you wanted to wait until Carlos leaves for France for the Grand Prix.

The day he left you went to the pharmacy and bought two pregnancy tests.

Positive.

You just sat down and cried. You stared at the positive test for several minutes. Honestly, you were so hormonal and conflicted about the timing that you bawled your eyes out. You were both happy and worried. Carlos was busy with his Formula 1 career, you didn't know if it was appropriate to add a child to the dynamics of your life.

But you recovered immediately. You are talking about Carlos, of course, he will be happy to have a child with you. You've been together for four years, you knew you would be together for the rest of your life.

The next day you did another pregnancy test, just in case. Positive, obviously. You went to the pharmacy again, and you took four more tests, to do one every day until Carlos came home.

"Hey, honey. I missed you," says Carlos entering the house.

You didn't even let him take off his shoes. You handed him a gift box in which you put the six pregnancy tests you took.

"Amor, did I forget an anniversary?"

You nod.

"Open it."

You see him take the lid off the box and take out a pregnancy test. Then another one, and another one, until he took them all out. You could see it on his face, he was scared and overwhelmed.

"Seriously?" he asks.

You nod and bite your lip, a few tears run down your face.

"Amor, that's wonderful! Ay Dios Mio! Are we going to be parents?"

You laugh and kiss him long.

"Yes, we will be parents."

You have scheduled an appointment for the next day to confirm the pregnancy and determine how many weeks you are pregnant. It looks like you're 10 weeks pregnant, so that means month 3 of your pregnancy. You couldn't believe that for almost 3 months you didn't realize you were pregnant, but you always had an irregular cycle, so it's not really incomprehensible.

You and Carlos have decided not to announce publicly that you will have a child just yet. For now, you were happy to share the news with your families, wanting to plan a nice way to tell your friends as well.

You know that feeling you get at certain times of the month when you want to cry at every cheesy commercial or could explode with anger at the drop of a hat? Pregnancy is like that sometimes, except 10 times more intense. With your new hormones raging, and more stress in your life than ever before, what with getting a nursery together and preparing to welcome the precious baby into the world and all, emotions are high. Tempers are bound to flare.

That is how you felt sitting in the paddock with Carlos who was preparing for the race. He was starting from P3 so he was pretty excited and nervous for the race. He saw your state, he knew you too well.

"Ay, mi Amor, come here," he said and hugged you to calm your nerves. "Don't worry, ok? It's an easy race, I'm gonna win it for you and the little bean, ok?"

You giggle at the sound of Carlos's nickname for the baby. You kiss him and smile.

"You know I don't really care about winning. Just come back to us. Safe." you say, your voice barely a whisper, not wanting anyone around you to hear your discussion.

"Si, pequeña. Always."

Sure, you were always concerned when he was racing. But especially now when your hormones were driving you insane and you were growing another person in your body. But you trusted him. With all of your heart. If he said he will come back to you, he will.

It took you a few moments to understand what was happening. Carlos Oñoro was hugging you, yelling 'He won!' and you looked at the screens in front of you. He did. Carlos Sainz was the winner in Monza! He kept his word, he won for you and your child.

"Hey, Y/N!" you hear your name being called by Riccardo Adami, the race engineer of Carlos. "The winner wants to talk to you."

You giggle and go to him. 'The winner'... Has a nice ring to it.

"Hey, baby! Congratulations!" you say excitedly over the radio.

"Si, mi amor! I told you I'm gonna win for our baby! I love you both so much!"

What you didn't know was that there was a glitch over the radio and every driver heard Carlos talking about 'your baby'.

"Aaa, guys? Why am I hearing Carlos over the radio talking about a baby?" Charles asked his race engineer.

"There's a glitch. Come to the garage."

"A baby?!" Lando yells into the radio, making his race engineer flinch. "Was that Carlos saying he is going to have a baby? Oh my God!"

You were waiting for Carlos to come out of his car, being absolutely clueless about the hysteria you two just caused. Carlos was just about to get his helmet out when all the drivers came to you two, yelling congratulations to you both. You looked at Carlos. Did he tell someone about your pregnancy? Did you give it away?

"Uh, thank you but how did you find out?" Carlos asked, clueless as you.

"We heard it over the radio," Kimi responds giving you a genuine smile.

"This is not how I wanted you guys to find out," Carlos said and put an arm over your shoulders, kissing your head. "But, yeah, it is true, we are having a baby."

"Mate, you're having a baby! That is so crazy! You are basically a baby!" Daniel says and hugged you both.

"And who is the godfather?" Lando asked and everyone laughed.

"We just found out two weeks ago, there are still five months to think about it," you say and bit your lip and Lando pouts. "You'll be considered, Lando."

After three months you decided to have a gender reveal for your family and friends. You could have had it a lot sooner but you wanted to be at an appropriate time for everyone. All the drivers came, as well as your family and Carlos's too. You made everyone wear a piece of clothing according to the gender they think your baby is. You were surprised to see the majority of the people being team boy, but as Lewis said 'They just want to make sure the third generations of Sainz is coming in Formula 1' and you know he was right.

"Look, listen to me, I have three kids, ok? I know, for a fact, by the way you are carrying that it is a girl!" Sebastian said and you laughed. He was wearing his pink T-shirt with pride, being 100% sure he is right.

He was.

You were having a girl and you could swear that Carlos cried a little when he saw the pink confetti. He hugged you for a few minutes, being still in shock.

"Una niña pequeña..." he whispered in your ear. "I am not ready."

You laughed and kissed him.

"You are gonna be the best dad ever, don't worry."

"No, I know that. I am not ready for her to date! And she'll go to university, no..."

"Carlos, she is not even been born yet! You have plenty of time to spend with her."

"Hi, guys, sorry to interrupt!" Lando appears near the two of you, making you break apart from your hug. "Did you think about the godfather or... or this is not a good time to ask?"

Everyone heard him and started laughing.

"Mate, remember the bag I gave you when you arrived?" Carlos asked him and Lando nodded. "You can look inside the bag now."

Lando got the bag and inside was a white romper saying 'Will you be my godfather?'

Lando looked at the romper with tears in his eyes.

"Well, if you insist..."

[mimicofmodes]

“The Ladies Waldegrave” by Joshua Reynolds, 1780 (NGS NG2171)

I’ve complained before about two very big pet peeves of mine - corset stuff and Regency women being dressed in 1770s-1780s clothes - but one that may dwarf them because of how frequently it comes up in historical and fantasy fiction is the oppression of embroidery.

That’s probably putting it a bit too strongly. It’s more like ... the annoyance of embroidery. Every character worth reading about knows instinctively that sewing is a) boring, b) difficult, c) mindless, and d) pointless. The author doesn’t have to say anything more than “Belinda threw down her needlework and looked out the window, sighing,” to signal that this is an independent woman whose values align with the modern reader, who’s probably not really understood by her mother or mother figure, and who probably will find an extraordinary man to “match” her rather than settling for someone ordinary. To look at an example from fantasy, GRRM uses embroidery in the very beginning of A Game of Thrones to show that the Stark sister who dislikes it is sympathetic and interesting, while the Stark sister who is competent at it is boring and conventional and obviously not deserving of a PoV (until later books, when her attention gets turned to higher matters); further into the book, of course, the pro-needlework sister proves to be weak-willed and naïve.

Rozsika Parker, in the groundbreaking 1996 work The Subversive Stitch, noted that “embroidery has become indelibly associated with stereotypes of femininity,” which is the core of the issue. "Instead embroidery and a stereotype of femininity have become collapsed into one another, characterised as mindless, decorative and delicate; like the icing on the cake, good to look at, adding taste and status, but devoid of significant content.” 

Parker also points out that the stereotype isn’t just one that was invented in the present day by feminists who hated the idea of being forced to do a certain craft. “The association between women and embroidery, craft and femininity, has meant that writers concerned with the status of women have often turned their attention towards this tangled, puzzling relationship. Feminists who have scorned embroidery tend to blame it for whatever constraint on women's lives they are committed to combat. Thus, for example, eighteenth-century critical commentators held embroidery responsible for the ill health which was claimed as evidence of women's natural weakness and inferiority.”

There are two basic problems I have with the trope, beyond the issue of it being incredibly cliché:

First: needlework was not just busywork

A big part of what drives the stereotype is the impression that what women were embroidering was either a sampler:

sampler embroidered by Jane Wilson, 14, in 1791 (MMA 2010.47)

or a picture:

unfinished embroidery of David and Abigail, British, 1640s-50s (MMA 64.101.1325)

That is, something meant to hang on the wall for no real purpose.

These are forms of schoolwork, basically. Samplers were made by young girls up to their early teens, and needlework pictures were usually something done while at school or under a governess as a showpiece of what was being learned - not just the stitching itself, but also often watercolors (which could be worked into the design), artistic sensibility, and the literature, history, or art that might be alluded to. And many needlework pictures made in schools were also done as mourning pieces, sometimes blank, for future use, and sometimes to commemorate a recent death in the family. A lot of them are awkward, clearly just done to pass the class, but others are really artwork.

Many schools for middle- and upper-class girls taught the making of these objects (and other “ornamental” subjects) alongside a more rigorous curriculum - geography, Latin, chemistry, etc. At some, sewing was also always accompanied by serious reading and discussion. (And it would often be done while someone read aloud or made conversation later in life, too.)

Once done with their education, women generally didn’t bother with purely decorative work. Some things that fabric could be embroidered for included:

Jackets 

Bed coverings and bedcurtains

Collars and undersleeves 

Pelerines 

Neck handkerchiefs and sleeve ruffles 

Screens

Upholstery

Handkerchiefs

Purses, wallets, and reticules

Boxes

Book covers

Plus other articles of clothing like waistcoats, caps, slippers, gown hems, chemises, etc. Women’s magazines of the nineteenth century often gave patterns and alphabets for personal use.

(Not to mention late nineteenth century female artists who worked in embroidery, but that’s something else.)

You could purchase all of these pre-embroidered, but many, many women chose to do it themselves. There are a number of reasons why: maybe they wanted something to do, maybe they felt like they should be doing needlework for moral/gender reasons, maybe they couldn’t afford to buy anything - and maybe they enjoyed it or wanted to give something they made to a person they loved. That firescreen above was embroidered by Marie Antoinette, someone who had any number of other activities to choose from. It’s no different than people today who like to knit their own hats and gloves or bake their own bread, except that it was way more mainstream.

embroidery patterns from Ackermann’s Repository in 1827 - they could be used on dresses, collars, handkerchiefs, etc.

Second: needlework wasn’t the only “useless” thing women were expected to do

Ignoring the bulk of point one for now and the value of embroidery - I mentioned “ornamental subjects” above. As many people know, young women of the upper and middle classes were expected to be “accomplished” in order to be seen as marriageable. This could include skills like embroidery, drawing, painting, singing, playing the piano (as well as other instruments, like the harp or the mandolin), speaking French (if not also Italian and/or German), as well as broader knowledge and abilities like being well-versed in music, literature, and poetry, dancing and walking gracefully, writing good letters in an elegant hand, and being able to read out loud expressively and smoothly.

This wasn’t a checklist. As the famous discussion in Pride and Prejudice shows, individuals could have different views on what actually made a woman accomplished:

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Mr. Bingley feels that a woman is accomplished if she has the ability to do a number of different arts and crafts. Miss Bingley feels (or says she feels) that it goes beyond specific skills and into branches of artistic attainment, plus broader personal qualities that could be imparted by well-bred governesses or mothers. And Mr. Darcy, of course, agrees with that but adds an academic angle as well.

But what ties all of these accomplishments together is their lack of value on the labor market. A woman could earn a living with any one accomplishment, if she worked hard enough at it to become a professional, but young ladies weren’t supposed to be professional-level good because they by definition weren’t going to earn a living. All together, they trained a woman for the social and domestic role of a married woman of the upper middle or upper class, or, if she couldn’t get married, a governess or teacher who would share her accomplishments with the next generation.

(To be fair, almost none of the trappings of an upper-middle/upper class male education had anything to do with the kind of career training that college frequently is today, either. Men were educated to know the cultural touchpoints of their class and fit in with their peers.)

There are reasons that an individual person/character might specifically object to embroidery, but it was far from the only “useless” thing that an unconventional heroine would be required to do against her inclination by her conventional mother/grandmother/aunt/chaperone. Embroidery stands out to modern audiences because most of the other accomplishments are now valued as gender-neutral arts and skills.

“The Embroidery Frame”, by Mathilde Weil, ca. 1900 (LOC 98501309)

So, some thoughts for writers of historical fiction (or fantasy that’s supposed to be just like the 19th/18th/17th/etc century):

- If your heroine doesn’t like embroidery, she probably doesn’t like a number of other things she’s expected to do. Don’t pull out embroidery as either more expected or more onerous than them. Does she hate to sit still? I’d imagine she also dislikes drawing and practicing the piano. Would she prefer to do academic subjects? She probably also resents learning French instead of Latin, and music and dancing. Does she hate enforced femininity? Then she’d most likely have a problem with all of the accomplishments.

- If your heroine just and specifically doesn’t like embroidery, try to show in the narrative that that’s not because it’s objectively bad, and only able to be liked by the boring. Have another sympathetic character do it while talking to the heroine. Note that the hero carries a flame-stitched wallet that’s his sister’s work. Emphasize the heroine’s emotional connection to her deceased or absent mother through her affection for clothing or upholstery that her mother embroidered - or through a mourning picture commemorating her. There are all kinds of things you can do to show that it’s a personal preference rather than a stupid craft that doesn’t take talent and skill!

mourning picture for Daniel Goodman, probably embroidered by a Miss Goodman, 1803 (MMA 56.66)

[deltas-writing-corner]

No regrets

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Sukuna x reader (reader is referred to with gender neutral pronouns, but there are slight implications of them being AFAB)

Author note: At a whooping 11.5k words, it’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience as well as those who gave feedback during the initial interest check! I hope the wait was worth it and you enjoy this long piece! A bit of forewarning, this piece is rather dark, so please read the content warnings carefully and only proceed if you are comfortable doing so.

Revisions made on 3/30/2021

Warnings: Implications of noncon | abusive behavior | unhealthy obsession | death | slight gore | Please ask to tag additional content warnings that I have failed to disclose

Minors do not read/interact with this post!

Heian era

It was only a matter of time before the king of curses came to your village and slaughtered you all. It was inevitable, but the village elders were determined to hand over every last scrap of fabric and goods if it satiated the cursed being for a short while, knowing the all powerful curse was an indulgent one. Your village was a well known trading settlement, so gathering and setting aside the best of the best on the market was rather easy with all the merchants coming in and out of the town nearly every day.

Your family specialized in sword crafting, often forging or repairing swords for soldiers or aristocratic families who merely collected them as works of art. Your father taught you a bit of the craft and a few seasoned samurai humoured you and taught you some forms while they awaited repairs, but you mostly spent time helping your mother around your quaint home. Your days with them were peaceful, even with the ever looming and expected arrival of Ryomen Sukuna blanketing your people with constant fear.

The day finally came, yet all the preparations you and your people took to secure a better chance of survival still didn’t feel like it was enough as the four-armed monster of a man easily destroyed several houses with a mere flick of his hand and cut down several innocent individuals who fled last minute due to their anxiety getting the better of them. He was at least willing to see all that was being offered to him when it was made clear your people were not going down without trying their luck, but that sadistic smile of his was all the proof everyone needed to know that their careful efforts meant nothing.

Your village elders remained determined, and to the shock of you and your parents, they grabbed you and offered you up as one final offering. You were young, the youngest in the village in fact, and unmarried too. A perfect candidate for Sukuna’s harem and they knew this when they turned and grabbed you without a second thought. You still remember the way your mother began to smack your elders with her shoe when they yanked you away from her and your father’s side. Bless her heart.

Perhaps a part of you knew that your status as the youngest would be taken advantage of if things weren’t working out. Sukuna’s harem was only a rumor, scary gossip whispered amongst the housewives. Yet the idea of a monster like him having a harem didn’t seem so farfetched. You knew better than to question the validity of the lucky few who got away and were displaced because of Sukuna’s village razing and massacring.

Whether he accepted the last second addition to the offer pile or killed every single one of you right then and there, you accepted that your life would never return to how it once was before he came. You didn’t make so much as a peep of discomfort when the brute began to manhandle you, pulling back parts of your clothes away from your body to inspect you in front of the entire village, in front of your distraught parents. You didn’t wince in pain when he roughly grabbed your cheek between two of his meaty fingers and examined your face like you were merely a piece of art, an object. You just went completely numb.

Everyone, including yourself, was shocked when he agreed to take you along with all the goods your village offered, but not without ordering them to prepare another pile for his followers to collect every following month from now on. He made it clear that if they held back a single grain of rice or gave him anything else but the best, he’d send your body back to them in a bloody sack before reuniting them with you in the afterlife shortly after.

As the king of curses hauled you away like a sack of potatoes, your emotions came flooding back in. You kicked, scream, cried and begged like a moody toddler for your mom and dad to help you, to not let this monster take you away and do know who knows what to you. The last you see of them before you’re forcefully knocked out is your mother suddenly collapsing on the ground like all the energy she had just left her body instantaneously. Your brawny father seemed equally at a loss as well.

When you were brought back to Sukuna’s temple, you were hauled away by servants after he unceremoniously dropped you on the ground and retreated to his chambers. You were thoroughly bathed, skin rubbed raw of outside filth and dressed into a fresh new robe before being whisked away to Sukuna’s quarters by his demand. 

That first week under his roof was meant to break you, but for some reason you kept fighting back because of something a bit stupid. You wanted to keep your old clothes the maids forced you out of and you wouldn’t shut up or keep still under him no matter how much he harmed or degraded you. You don’t know why you kept pushing back against him over something so meager. The fabric wasn’t anything that fancy. The color was faded and you were even beginning to outgrow them. It’s the only memento you have of your home, so maybe that’s why your mind zeroed in on it and refused to yield to his torturous ministrations until you made certain it wouldn’t be taken away from you.

“Again with those rags you call a kimono?” he clicked his tongue with annoyance. “You want to keep them so badly? Fine, but don’t think I’ll be so accommodating next time.”

Living in a merchant town, you know how to tell when someone is trying to swindle you. As much as you hate the man who has been violating your body for literal days now, you can tell that he means what he has stated.

When you finally relax your body, he lets out a disgustingly child-like cackle, but before you can express any sort of rage that bubbled up within yourself, your mind goes numb once more if only to alleviate the pain you’re in just a bit.

There are two types of fates for those in Sukuna’s harem. There are the favoured concubines, who live relatively better than the disfavoured, who are made into servants. Of course, this is all a meticulous set up by the king of curses himself. Those he shows higher favoritism towards are desperate to remain in his good graces if only to make their way of living that bit easier to bear. Those he turns into lowly servants and brushes aside are desperate to rise above their rank and gain the privilege and spoils he grants to the selected few. It’s all an elaborate plan to instill discord between members of his harem so he can sit back and watch them tear each other apart without lifting a finger.

Your fighting back was what earned you an automatic spot amongst his favoured. He thought he had broken you, but just as soon as you yielded to him you flared up and began to fight back once more. It was invigorating, seeing the rage and desperation in your eyes when you were quiet and had a distant, blank look just moments before. How long had it been since a human raised their fist against him? Far too long for him to remember.

You were an outlier. Where all would refuse to meet his gaze whenever he passed through, you would always meet and hold his gaze without fail or hesitation. You talked back, cursing him a thousand ways into the next phase of the moon. You never bowed when others did. Never.

Your disobedience gave him plenty of reasons to drag you to his chambers and attempt to break you once more, only for you to shut your mind down as soon as you were thrown into his bed. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism? A way of trying to disassociate from all the rough treatment you endure under him? A part of him is grateful you aren’t like the others, that you’ve come up with a way of protecting yourself while the others around you, who give into the despair and hopelessness he brings them or lie to themselves that he holds some sort of affection towards them, if only to find some sort of hope through this hell even if it means lying to yourself. Both of which bore him immensely as well as annoy him greatly.

It’s sudden and neither of you can recall when it began, but after he was done having his way with you and you regained your sense of reality and would devolve into the usual episode of flailing rage and crying, he began to hold you against him and whisper soothing phrases like “good job” or “It’s over, you did well”. He kept his many arms wrapped around your shaking figure, waiting for you to eventually exhaust yourself and pass out before doing so himself. When the sun rises you are always gone from his chambers. How you manage to escape right from under him is a mystery, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to ask you about it. He likes waking up surprised. Hardly anything surprises him anymore.

It becomes clear to everyone that Sukuna acts differently towards you, treats you differently than the rest of his concubines. There are even periods of time where the rest of his harem is given little to no attention because he’s completely focused on you. The time he spends with you isn’t anything kind or relieving. He purposely says things that offend you and have you screaming at him. Should anyone else say what you say to him in return, he’d rip their tongues out and swallow it before their very eyes without any remorse. But you? He’s smiling down at you, as if you were an actor entertaining him with an elaborate and well-rehearsed performance.

“Damn you! Damn this temple! Damn your ancestors for existing and bringing you into this world!”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” he gives you a toothy grin, his sharp canines glinting under the light of the sun. “Damn me and damn the rest of the world for that matter!”

His encouragement only infuriates you more. Without a second thought you began to throw whatever it is you can get your hands on at him. Your comb, your shoes, your untouched makeup products, anything in sight is hauled at the deranged man who dodges everything with ease. Just as you throw a jar of ink at his head and it shatters against the way, bathing the wood with dark ink, he grabs you and you both tumble back into your unmade futon.

As usual, you thrash and voice your disdain as he presses his lips against your neck and aggressively undresses you. He’s high off the adrenaline from earlier, making his ministrations much more excruciating than they normally are. 

To him, it feels like a passionate session of lovemaking and he’s left light headed when he finishes.

For you, it’s just another day under his reign and body, your mind going numb as soon as he puts you on your hands and knees.

Just as quickly as he gave you most of his attention, he turned away and left you in the dust.

You have been his concubine for over a year when it happens. Your village continues to uphold their end of their deal and provide him with all the luxurious goods they can get their hands on each month. You’re not sure if he’s trying to torture you more or genuinely thinks he’s bringing you some sense of comfort and calm, but he personally brings you a small bunch of fabrics and trinkets that your father specifically went out of his way to get for you, hoping you would receive them somehow as a reminder that he still thinks of you. It’s during these small moments of Sukuna passing on these items that you learn that your mother passed after you were taken.

You didn’t shed even one tear when this information was given to you, as a part of you knew that was the case after you saw her collapse. Sukuna expected you to fly into another fit of rage. That was the only reason he told you if he’s being honest. He’s caught between feeling disappointed or worried when you just hummed in acknowledgement as you rolled up the soft, intricate rolls of fabric and stored them away. You never did anything with them, so they were sure to collect a layer of dust like the rest in due time

No one, not even Sukuna or even yourself, expected your village to take up arms and fight back against the followers he sent out to collect his offerings. When word came back of what transpired, Sukuna was tempted to take you with him and force you to watch as he slaughtered your village in retaliation for breaking the accord. He didn’t, nor did he send back your disfigured corpse like he promised he would back then. He simply went out, killed them, and then came right back to wash off all their spilled blood. All within the same day. 

After he killed all the villagers, he attempted to locate your father amongst the scattered corpses, but they were too mutilated and disfigured to discern who was who. Even if they weren’t, it’s not like he remembered what your father looked like. Did you even bear any resemblance to him? He overheard you speaking with one of the other concubines that your father was an armorer and was tempted to grab one of the expertly crafted swords the villagers were carrying and bring it back to you, blood and all staining the scabbard. He decided against it.

He’s demoted many concubines, all with the purpose of watching them try to regain the meager luxury and privilege they grew accustomed to. He did the same for you, eager to see you break character and come crawling back to him with pitiful desperation. 

A part of him knew that it wouldn’t take much effort on your part to have him changing his mind. He’d easily forgive you for the betrayal of your village. All you had to do was put on a show and give him the entertainment he wanted from you. You can kick and scream and deny him all you want, but he’s broken many people like you before. He’s had you under his spell since day one.

Except, you didn’t do anything. When he sent you to live within the overcrowded servants chambers near the far end of his temple, you never put up any sort of fight or caused a scene. Not even when he gave away all the fabrics your father sent you to the other favoured concubines, going as far as to force them to wear the garments whenever and wherever your presence is at. He waited with giddy for someone to inform him of how you lashed out at another girl and attempted to rip the cloth off of her body because they were wearing the fabrics meant for you. But there was nothing from you.

When he dragged you to his quarter and began to violate you like normal, he forced himself to brag and even fabricate details of the day he slaughtered the people from your village. He even lied about how your father asked about you before he was killed, falsely stating that the man had a smile on his face when Sukuna told him that you received all the goods he selected just for you.

Like always, your mind went blank until he finished. There were no twisted words of comfort afterwards like before. He simply ordered you out once he was done, one final attempt to invoke something out of you. You merely redressed and left in silence. He nearly got up and dragged you back, but once again, he decided against it.

One day he ordered a few men to build a crude looking home out back, detached from the main temple, and have you moved in it upon completion. If his normal efforts won’t elicit the usual reaction out of you, then he’ll take a different approach. He’ll deprive you of everything, social interaction, decent and consistent meals, and a stable shelter. He’ll have you isolated for a short while, after which he will visit you out of pity and revel in the sight of you crawling back into his arms. If the time he forces you alone is not enough to break you, he’ll simply extend your stay until you either give him what he wants or die because of your own stubbornness.

It hasn’t even been a day since you’ve been moved from the servant's chamber to your new quarters, and already he’s come to visit you. Within the same breath that tells you that your only other option besides begging for his forgiveness is to rot away in this poorly made shack, he gives you one final chance to change his mind, to beg him to take you back into his good graces.

The tatami is poorly crafted and discolored. The rafters used to construct the frame of the house already show signs of rotting and water damage. Before he allowed himself in, the tiles on the roof appeared to be hastily made and were not properly laid out. It was lightly raining outside, yet you already have a wooden bucket set up to collect leaking water.

“Can I help you?” you ask without glancing over your shoulder. He smirks at the thought of you knowing who he is by presence alone.

“No,” he smugly answers. “But maybe I can help you?”

You look back over to him with a mean glare. “You’re the one that put me here in the first place.”

“No, I didn’t,” he shakes his head to further cement his point. “You’re in here because your people thought they stood a chance against me and broke our agreement. Killing you would be an act of mercy to them. So long as I keep you alive and slowly torture you in both mind and body, they will never know peace.”

“You’re lying,” you say with certainty, with no fear. “I’ve never lied to you once. I would appreciate it if I can at least be given the same courtesy in return.”

He hates when people demand things from. Most importantly, he hates that you’re right. Your neck is always so small within his grasp, his fingers able to meet and fold over one another without strain. He keeps you suspended in the air just enough to where you can balance yourself on the balls of your feet. Whether you were tall or short, it mattered not. He always towered over you like the predator that he is.

“You want to know why you’re in this shitty home?” he sneers down. “You’re in here because you’ve begun to bore me. You amused me so much before, but the moment you started depriving me of my source of entertainment on purpose is the moment I decide to deprive you of your basic needs in return. I take what I want, when I want it, in whichever quantity I desire.

“You want out of here?” He makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “Then you better press your forehead all the way to the floor and beg for me to take you back. I’ll even tell you the exact words you need to say. ‘Please Sukuna-sama. Please allow me the privilege of sleeping under the same roof as you. Please let me breathe the same air as you.’”

He lets you go and grins when you prostrate after regaining your breathe.

“Please Sukuna-sama,” you beg.

“Please what?” he mocks. “Use your words.”

He feels a vein pop out on his forehead when you dare to look up and look at him with yet another angry grin. Without an ounce of hesitation, you say, “Please get out and leave me be.”

He nearly breaks the door from how hard he slams it shut. He abruptly turns around when he hears a roof tile fall over and splat into the muddy dirt. Those followers of his really built you a shitty home, exactly like he ordered them to do.

He feels the urge to gather them and wring their necks one by one, but he doesn’t know why.

Sukuna can’t sleep during those weeks apart. Not because of you, but because right as he drifts off into slumber he’s abruptly woken up by an intense source of cursed energy flaring up out of nowhere. But just as quickly as he feels it and wakes with a startle, it vanishes without a trace. He’ll go out onto his balcony and try to locate where the energy is coming from, but for some reason he can never pinpoint it despite his superior senses. He tries to suppress his own energy in the hopes of tricking the source into thinking he’s asleep and unsuspecting, but it would seem that they’re smart enough not to fall for the bait.

He doesn’t need sleep in the first place, so he’s tempted to just stay up and catch whoever is trying to scare him red handed and be done with them. The idea of someone getting the upper hand at him and forcing him into a position of defensiveness doesn’t sit well with him, so he decides to just let the unknown person have their fun for now and continue this little back and forth with them. Eventually they’ll grow cocky and slip up and he’ll confront them when it happens.

Because your little shack is located near the back of the temple, completely out of sight from Sukuna’s view from his balcony, Neither he nor the others notice the plumes of smoke that rise during the dead of night. No one also takes notice of the bits of metal that go missing throughout the temple.

The rise of the next full moon indicates the end of the month. Sukuna sends for someone to go retrieve you, but they never return and he’s left waiting long enough for the moon to reach its highest peak in the sky. When he orders someone else into his quarters he’s met with more silence that only further enrages him.

Just as he’s about to call for Uraume to figure out what the hell was wrong with his servants, he feels it. The cursed energy that he’s been trying to catch off guard the last few weeks. It’s willingly making itself known, practically begging him to follow its trail and meet with him. Just as quickly as he is able to identify and figure out which direction it’s originating, he notices that it strangely leads him in the direction of your poorly built home.

It’s impossible that it’s you. Cursed energy is born from negative emotions. He’s sure you still have an abundance of negative feelings towards him. Yet never did he feel even a speck of cursed energy resonate off of you. His mind immediately wonders if the individual knows of his strange obsession over you and is using you as bait. It’s foolish on their part, thinking the king of curses would yield for a mere human. 

His pace quickens despite his internal dismissal, failing to notice that everyone is hiding and waiting in anticipation. 

When he discovers that the cursed energy is indeed from you, he can’t help but to laugh like a crazed hyena. The sword by your side further amuses him and he’s genuinely curious as to how you got the proper materials to craft it.

“It took a bit of convincing,” you willingly answer his question. “I made everyone believe I could stand a chance against you and they gave me all the materials and tools I needed and looked the other way. I guess watching all those traveling merchants try to hype up their goods came in handy after all,” you look out in the distance as you briefly reminisce on the bygone days of your former life.

He begins to slowly clap with one pair of hands, the other crossed over his chest in amusement. “This is by far the most entertaining performance I’ve ever witnessed. Bravo. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I’d gladly accept the compliment, except this isn’t a show,” you stand to your full height and get a better grip of the hilt of your sword. “It’s the real deal.”

He erupts into yet another cacophony of wild laughter. “Do you seriously think you can kill me?”

“No,” you answer, truly throwing him off guard by the way he goes still so suddenly. “But that’s alright. I’m fine with never being strong enough to put a permanent end to you. Only one of us will be walking away from this fight, and I assure you that it’s going to be me.”

You draw your blade out and get into a low, defensive stance. Even under the lackluster light of the moon, he can see how well crafted your weapon is. He’s reminded of the craftsmanship the weapons your people carried when he slaughtered them, no better than a bunch of wooden sticks against him either way. Immediately, he regrets not bringing back one of their weapons and forcing you to expose to him your knowledge of swordsmanship and blacksmithing. Perhaps then he could have had you brandishing your blade under his command rather than against him.

Oh well, it’s better this way. It’s just as exhilarating and head swirling as those instances where you damned him with all of your being and threw things at his head. No, it’s more than exhilarating. It’s downright intoxicating seeing you readying yourself for his first move. How sweet of you to allow him the honor to make the first strike.

“You truly are something else entirely, beloved,” he dreamily sighs. “Did you honestly think you’d have the upperhand against me just because I gave you a little bit more of my attention?”

“Never,” you reply. You press your eyelids shut for a moment, and the moment you open them up the layer of dissociative numbness vanishes into a look of total focus and emotions he cannot discern. “But whether I live or die, I have no regrets about tonight.”

You really didn’t have enough strength to kill him. However, you did have enough to dismember all twenty of his fingers and seal him away. For the first time in years, the sun rises and bestows its warmth to a world in which two-faced Sukuna does not instill fear upon humanity or stain the earth in their blood. You and those who were under his servitude walk out of his temple as free people, hopeful people. As an act of gratitude for becoming their savior, nineteen others take one of Sukuna’s fingers each and swear to scatter them as far as they can so he cannot be brought back into the world.

As for yourself, you set out to rebuild your destroyed village and take up your father’s legacy as a maker of swords. Eventually you meet and settle down with a loving partner and raise children together. You pass on the family trade, your self developed cursed technique, as well as the memories of your time as Sukuna’s concubine. Those who come after you continue to carry on your will, to ensure that Sukuna can never be reborn into the world. Your sword and the old robes you kept after you were taken away are passed down as family heirlooms, but they are never used by any of your descendants.

That is until the year 2018, when Sukuna is resurrected within a compatible vessel.

Modern era

You bear not only a striking resemblance to your ancestor, but many of their memories as well. The family sword that was used against the king of curses is bestowed upon you, now dubbed the next in line to claim the title of clan leader, their preserved kimono now fashioned into a sageo that wraps around the scabbard.

Your family stays out of most affairs within the jujutsu world, but your birth and the strong connection to your ancestor eventually reaches the ears of many prominent figures within this hidden society. They think your birth a bad omen, a sign that the king of curses may return to the world one day. Most are scared, but your family pays them no attention. Even if the damnable curse did find a way to revive into the world, you and most of your family members who have inherited your ancestor’s technique will oppose him just as they did a thousand years ago.

“You don’t look too concerned,” Gojo makes his observation known to you as soon as the two of you settle in the small private room you ushered him to when he came to your family estate. He wanted to confirm the news of Sukuna’s resurrection to you himself. “None of you do, actually.”

“We all knew this day would come,” you calmly tell him as you poured him a cup of tea. “This is the risk our ancestor took when they developed their technique. In exchange for the strength and ability to seal Sukuna away, they willingly gave up the ability to deliver him a fatal and final blow against him.”

“I’m not well-versed when it comes to binding vows and heavenly restrictions,” he takes a moment of pause to sip his now cooled tea, visibly showing his disdain over it’s bitterness. “But is giving up the satisfaction of killing him really a fair exchange for a specific technique and a bit of cursed energy?”

Your lips pressed together in a grimace. “You have no idea what it was like living underneath that monster’s reign. Even if the binding vow had odd conditions skewed against their favor, every bit of what was given up was worth it if it meant regaining their freedom.”

Gojo isn’t moved or even impressed by your admittance. He simply shrugs before taking another sip of his tea, face contorting in displeasure once again as he forces himself to swallow the green liquid. You’re tempted to ask him why he keeps sipping if he hates the flavor, but he begins speaking again before you can voice your thoughts.

“So, about the vessel,” he leans against his closed fist, propped up by the low table underneath him. “The higher ups are willing to postpone the kid’s execution in favor of the opportunity to kill Sukuna, but they want someone from your family, preferably you, to be his second shadow so to speak. You’re the failsafe in case the plan doesn’t play out like I promised and the curse needs to be sealed again.”

“Sukuna’s vessel...is a child?” you ask incredulously.

“He’s about your age,” Gojo admits with a displaced smile, but it soon falls once you suddenly erupt into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“That’s priceless!” you say while wiping away a stray tear. “The king of curses, Ryomen Sukuna, stuck inside some teenager’s body? I bet he’s pissed off and swearing up a storm inside the kid!”

You’re not sure who exactly is getting the most amusement at the turn of events, you or your ancestor from beyond the grave. After your laughing fit subsides and you straighten yourself out, you turn back to Gojo to ask him the burning question.

“So when do I get to meet him?”

Itadori Yuuji is the polar opposite of Sukuna. While Sukuna had a smile that both angered and scared your ancestor and those around him, Yuuji’s was like a literal ray of sunshine. He’s nice, energetic, strong willed and even humorous. You’re honestly surprised he can act so hopeful despite all that’s happened to him and has been forced upon his shoulders.

You’re not going to lie, but you honestly expected a timid and somewhat gloomy kid. Someone easy to manipulate to put it bluntly. Yuuji’s friendly personality is welcomed in your book. Though you admit that now that you’ve exchanged a few words with him, you feel bad and pitiful that he’s been marked for death and likely has to deal with Sukuna on a somewhat regular basis.

As Yuuji rambles to you about some childhood incident, the slits underneath his eyes open up and a familiar pair of red eyes meets your gaze. “It’s you,” the manifested mouth on the side of his cheek morphs into a deranged, toothy grin that is so painstakingly recognizable. 

Your heartbeat picks up and your palms are coated with an instantaneous layer of nervous sweat. You contemplate saying something or simply ignoring the curse, not wanting to give him any satisfaction of hearing the voice of your ancestor acknowledge him in any way. Before you can come to any consensus, you’re amazed at how Yuuji easily slaps his hand over his cheek and tells the curse to buzz off.

Itadori further cements that he is Sukuna’s antithesis as he goes out of his way to apologize to you for the inconvenience the curse caused you (How could he tell you became nervous when Sukuna spoke only two words at you?) He even brings you a can of soda as a sort of peace offering/token of forgiveness! You’re grateful for the gesture, but you feel bad for letting him think that he’s at fault for something that wasn’t even that big of a deal to begin with.

“Still, I made you upset,” he looks down to his empty can and pouts. “If you don’t want to be around me-”

“Yuuji,” you interrupt him. “I’m fine, really. My ancestor stood their ground against him once. Surely I can do it again a millennium later.”

“Gojo-sensei was telling me about that!” his eyes sparkle with recollection. “That’s so cool! You’re basically his arch nemesis!”

You awkwardly laugh at his enthusiasm. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“So, Senpai,” he looks at your with a hopeful gaze. “Gojo-sensei seems pretty certain this plan of his will work, but what do you think?”

“Well,” you take a quick sip of your drink before continuing. “Before I tell you what I think about this whole debacle, I need to make a few things thing clear regarding the two of us.”

He obediently nods, face now serious, though it takes you a considerable amount of effort not to laugh from how innocent he still looks. It’s hard to believe he’s housing the king of curses within himself.

“First and foremost, don’t call me Senpai! ” you firmly say. Don’t call me by my family name either. We’re about the same age, so just call me by my first name from now on. Understood?”

“First name, got it!”

“Second,” you put up two fingers. “This is the most important point, so pay attention,” you look at him to make sure he’s ready to commit your words into memory. “Whether the plan works out or not, you must never forget one important fact of the matter. You are not Sukuna.”

He flinches, clearly not expecting such words to be directed towards him.

“I’m sure Gojo whipped up some epic tale about my ancestor’s grudge against that two-faced monster. I not only inherited their technique, but also many of their memories during their initial life. In a way, I suppose I hate Sukuna as well, and based on my reaction from earlier when he popped out, I’m not exactly going to handle moments where he gains control with as much poise as I should.

But remember Yuuji. My discomfort will never be towards you, but the curse you are now bound to,” you reach out and pat his head in assurance. “As the saying goes ‘the enemy of my enemy is a friend.’ Which brings me to my final point!” You excitedly profess. “I want us to be friends!”

“Wait, really?” he sounds almost unsure over your insistence. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up with me for my sake.”

“I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends” you explain. “Since we’re going to be around each other so often, I at least want us to be on friendly terms. I want your time left in this world to be as enjoyable and carefree as possible.”

“I guess we can be friends,” he crosses his arms and stares off in deep thought. “I’m just trying to think of a good starting point to get to know you.”

“You can always keep it simple and ask me what I like,” you say, laughing at the way he suddenly has an “ah hah!’ moment and looks at you like an excited puppy.

“Do you like Jennifer Lawrence?” 

Yuuji is almost offended that you didn’t know who Jennifer Lawrence is. He was utterly flabbergasted that you haven’t watched any of her movies either (“I don’t even know who she is Yuuji how the hell am I supposed to know she was in movies?”). He went on and on about every single film, but if you’re being honest his 2 minute summaries (infodumping, really) of the plots didn’t really do them justice. Out of nowhere he proposes that you and him have a movie night so he can show you exactly what you’re missing! Of course, it’ll have to be after the two of you settle into your dorm rooms.

It’s true that you were offered immediate admission into Tokyo Technical college due to your lineage, but no one but you and your family knew about this. Gojo also knew. He was the one that brought up the idea in the first place… 

Oh, Gojo told him. Well now you just feel stupid.

That’s how you found yourself in the dormitory’s common area with Yuuji and your other classmates, Nobara and Megumi. Meeting them wasn’t that bad. Just kidding, it was terrifying! Megumi looks exactly the way your family often describes members of the Zen’in clan to look like, blank and unnerving. You honestly thought Nobara would beat you up just from the way she was looking at you with such an observing glare, completely forgetting the fact that you’re a descendant of the person who single handedly sealed Sukuna away.

Oh yeah, Yuuji told them that! Was he not supposed to?

“Hah?” Nobara scowls at Yuuji, who puts his hands up in defense. “You mean their old ass grandparent turned that ugly ass curse into bite sized pieces?”

“I did,” you answer, but you quickly catch your mistake and correct yourself. “They did. Along with the sword they used to cut Sukuna down I also inherited most of their memories which is...It’s not as pleasant as you would think.”

Her expression softens up a bit and she steps in front of you. She holds out her palm and makes a beckoning gesture. “The sword,” she clarifies when you look at her with confusion. “Let me hold it.”

You make a quick trip back to your room to retrieve it. She nearly doubles over into you once you pass it over to her.

“Damn! How much does this thing weigh?!” she looks at you with disbelief

“It weighs next to nothing whenever I hold it,” you explain, taking it into your hold and tossing it in the air and twirling it around to further drive your point.

“Bullshit! It’s like 50 pounds!” 

“It can’t be that bad,” Megumi comments.

“Oh yeah? Here!” Nobara grabs and tosses it at him, much to your dismay. “See?” she shrills when he nearly doubles over himself. “It’s heavy!”

“Yeah, ok. This is definitely the sword that took down Sukuna,” Megumi gasps.

“My turn! My turn!” Yuuji makes grabby hands, but you push yourself between him and Megumi who’s still holding onto it before he can get too close.

“It’s probably best if you don’t touch it. Y’know?” you point back and forth between him and you.

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly remembers. “Crap, the popcorns gonna get cold!”

You sigh in relief when his attention goes elsewhere before quickly heading back to your room to put the weapon away. When you reenter the lounge, Yuuji greets you with a cheery smile before patting the empty space next to him. He wants you to sit beside him, but Nobara seems to have other plans as she sits right in your intended spot and tells you to sit next to her instead. You were honestly scared and a bit reluctant, but your fears subside once you sat down and she locked her arm with yours and leaned her head on your shoulder for the rest of the night. 

She and Megumi eventually retreated back to their rooms before they could fall asleep on the couch after the second movie concludes.

“Do you want to keep going?” Yuuji asked, hands fidgeting with the next DVD case he had at the ready.

“Sure,” you nod, not tired in the slightest just yet.

“Sweet!” he gave you a toothy smile before standing up to head towards the dvd player. However, the moment he stood to his full height he went deathly still. His body contorts before swiftly relaxing. He rolls his neck a few times and lets out a relieved sigh. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, that’s when you feel that disgusting familiar aura and your heart starts beating like you just did a triathlon in a few short minutes.

“Finally, some fresh air,” he sighs in relief as he arches his back and his spine lets out a few crisp pops. His voice hasn’t changed in a thousand years and neither has your fear and disdain for it. When he turns and looks at you with those familiar blood colored irises, you involuntarily reach out to grab your weapon, but you only grab at empty air.

“Hey,” you flinch when he addresses you. No, it’s not you he’s talking to. Given your identical appearance and even your cursed energy that you manifested out of habit, in his mind he must think of you as your ancestor themself, not a distant descendant. “It’s been a while.”

“What do you want?” you somehow manage to stutter out.

“Nothing,” he admits. “’Just want a good look at you.”

If your ancestor or even your family were to see you now, you’re certain they’d be disappointed in you for going still before your greatest enemy. All those years of hating and experiencing all those horrible memories feel like a complete waste when you can’t even muster the strength to bat his hand away when it takes hold of your chin and turns your head over for him to thoroughly inspect you.

“Did you miss me?” he strangely inquires.

Finally. You feel some control over your body come back and answer with an affirmative, “No.”

“That’s too bad,” he clicks his tongue with mocking dissatisfaction. “Because I missed you.”

His face begins to lean into you, lips slightly parted, and you know that he’s going in to press them against yours. Just as you’re about to gather all the strength you can muster and push him away, his body seizes once more and the black markings cross his face and wrists begin to fade and crumble away. An in-control-again Yuuji blinks a few times before checking his surroundings to regain his bearings.

“What happened?” he looks down at you and asks, not registering the fact that he was kneeling over you and firmly pushing you back against the couch with a painful grip.

A part of you wanted to punch Yuuji and run back to your room so you can wait out the slight panic attack that overcame you once Sukuna vanished, but you had to remind yourself that you would be hurting Yuuji if you went through with your action. In all honesty, that second point you told him of remembering to never think of himself as Sukuna was more for you than for him. While your ancestor would willingingly strike down any and all who have the slightest bit of affiliation with their tormentor, you are not them. Therefore, you will not stoop down to their discriminating level, no matter how justified it may be.

The night ended on an expected awkward note. Yuuji, bless his heart, went out of his way again to make it up to you. How? He bought a bunch of snacks from a convenience store in the city and gave them to you in a pretty, gift wrapped box. Nobara and Megumi, who helped him put together the forgiveness present, thought the gift itself was dumb and lackluster, but he reasons with them by stating how you also come from a countryside town as well and how you’d definitely like to try some of the Tokyo-exclusive goodies.

Well, the way towards another’s forgiveness is through the stomach, or something like that. The exact quote is a bit lost to you since you’re too busy savoring all the odd flavored chips and candies you’ve never had the chance to taste back home. Nobara and Megumi feel the immense urge to punch you in the back of your head over how easy you are to win over, but you look so happy eating your second bag of potato chips and Yuuji looks very relieved that he’s earned your forgiveness- 

Oh wow you’re offering to share your snacks with them? Don't mind if they do!

While all of you try each and every snack Yuuji gifted to you and rate them like you’re all a bunch of snack experts all of a sudden, Sukuna is brewing in his own satisfaction as he watches you through the eyes of his vessel. Nevermind the fact that you sealed him away all those years ago. He’s back now by a stroke of luck that only seemed to strike again when he saw your familiar figure through Yuuji’s vision. The cursed energy that radiated off of you, the sword you carried by your side, even your face, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the work of fate that you and him were reunited in this new era.

He made the mistake of letting you out of his sight back then, and he isn’t going to let it happen again. He wants to take control over his vessel's body each and every time he’s anywhere within your vicinity, but not only does the brat have the convenient ability to suppress him, you’re a rather cautious one. Just when he thinks Yuuji to be alone and susceptible, you appear out of thin air and keep him at a standstill from within. It’s annoying, but at the same time impressive as well.

While you may be oblivious to his vessel’s budding feelings towards you, he sees this growing fondness Yuuji is beginning to garner towards you as an opportunity, a weakness he can exploit to force a small rematch between you and him. He won’t kill you. He just wants to know if your technique that surprised and caught him off guard back then still elicits the same thrill it did then. 

You are his favorite source of entertainment after all, and it’s been far too long since he’s been amused.

Sloppy and desperate. Those are the best descriptors of your cursed energy the first time he detected it. Your sword still remains as beautiful and deadly as it was, cutting through rows of trees with ease with just the slightest bit of cursed energy embedded into your attack. It makes the phantom sensation of his vessel’s freshly ripped out heart, beat faster and his grin widens to the point of his cheeks hurting from the uncontrollable strain.

Precise and brutal. That is how he would describe your energy now. He easily feels the hatred and sudden rage that began to fuel and flare up your aura oozing out of you that only further accentuates its new characteristics. Normally, you would be swearing at him with a mouth so foul that it would make the average curse blush in embarrassment. He can’t say he likes the way you silently assault him. Where is that crude vocabulary of yours?

“Senpai!” Megumi shouts for your attention as he tries to keep up with your fast paced exchange with Sukuna. “You need to call down-”

“Megumi, don’t call me your damn Senpai!” You shout in response, eyes never daring to look away from Sukuna even as you address your classmate.

“That’s more like it!” he cheers with satisfaction. “Oh, how I’ve missed your damning words beloved.”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout as you swing your right arm and impulsively punch him. He easily blocks your melee, though you send him skidding back a few feet. 

With the much needed space set between the two of you, you correct your stance to a more defensive one. Your innate technique has been actively running ever since Sukuna took over Yuuji’s body and activated his domain expansion. Your sudden bout of rage overwhelmed you after witnessing Sukuna rip Yuuji’s heart out, nearly forgetting that you’ve been barred from the ability to inflict any lasting damage against him in your frenzied state.

Your inherited technique allows you to perfectly parry his ‘Dismantle’ and ‘Cleave’, but no damage will be inflicted if you purposely strike with the intention of dealing a lethal blow as you have been for the past few minutes. Your sword is blunt upon contact, evident by the lack of any lacerations upon his skin.

He may have offered the chance to heal Yuuji if you agreed to spar with him, but you know better than anyone that it’s all a bunch of lies coming out of his stolen lips. Yuuji was lost the moment Sukuna came out and set his sight on you, or rather, who he believes you to be. You’d easily blame yourself for being the cause of his demise, but you also know that Yuuji wouldn’t like it if you blame yourself over this from the afterlife.

The least you can do to make it up to him is bring his body back so it can be properly cremated. He at least deserves a proper funeral.

“All tuckered out already?” Sukuna mockingly coos at you. “I suppose that’s to be expected. How long has it been since our last battle? I doubt there was any curse who could live up to my strength this past millennium.” He cackles when you don’t reply. He’s right. He knows he is.

You finally break your silence with an odd comment. “You really think I’m them, do you?”

Though obviously rhetoric, Sukuna gives you a questioning look. “Elaborate,” he commands.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you simply state. “I have the same technique as them, but I am not the one who sealed you away that fateful night. That person is my predecessor, while I am their descendant.”

You state your family name, then your first name, and wait. He willingly takes in this information, cupping his chin and looking up at the sky as he mulls it over before coming to his own conclusion. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem to accept it as the truth, evident by the way he slips his hands back in his pockets and cocks his head at you with a playful attitude.

“Whatever the punchline was, I’m afraid it fell flat,” he lets out a sympathetic laugh. “You mean to tell me that after I was sealed away, you found yourself a spouse willing to take you, a washed up whore, into their bosom and bear children with you?”

The way he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in a dismissive manner pisses you off more than watching him crush Yuuji’s heart in his bare hand. Most of the memories of your ancestor revolve around their time as one of Sukuna’s concubines. The memories you have of their life afterwards are foggy at best, but you do remember the feeling of peace as well an overwhelming amount of bliss and mutual love their spouse gave them despite their history. It was one of the happiest moments of their life and it never once faltered even after they retold their darkest memories to their children and handed down their initial will, to always oppose the king of curses, no matter the era.

People may think it cruel, selfish even, that they did not strive to develop a better technique and pass down such a heavy responsibility to their children and their children’s children. But if there’s anything those hazy memories taught you, is that they do not regret the efforts that they did make to set themselves, and the others under his servitude, free from his tyranny. Had they submitted and gave into his whims, they would have never been blessed with their children and loving spouse.

Had they not done what they did, acted the way they did, you would not be here, opposing the king of curses within this new era of curses.

“I have never lied to you,” you repeat those now ancient words. “The least you can do is give me the benefit of the doubt before dubbing me a liar.”

It happened so fast that you question if it even happened or not. His eyebrows furrowed, the exact same manner when your ancestor severed the first of his twenty fingers on that fateful night.

When he began to approach you, you sheath your blade and returned to a neutral stance, feeling safe to do so as the previous hostile energy he exuded calms. Megumi stumbles in just in time to see Sukuna and you standing nearly chest to chest. He presses his palms together in preparation to summon one of his shikigami to provide support, but he stops his incantation when he notices that neither of you are exchanging blows anymore, though the two of you do exchange unfaltering glares towards each other that puts Megumi on edge even though he is merely a spectator in this situation.

“I am not them,” you firmly state. “This is the truth.”

Sukuna hums, dissatisfaction clear as you repeat your claim from earlier.

“It seems you weren’t lying,” he finally concedes. “Such a shame.”

With one final shrug, the black markings all over Yuuji’s chest and limbs begin to crumble until there's nothing but his unblemished skin. The sharper features his face takes on when Sukuna takes control and taints with his sigils turn back into those belonging to the typically boisterous boy.

“Hey,” his slightly raspy and confused voice greets you so genuinely. 

“Hey,” you greet him back with a relieved, yet sad smile. His eyes follow yours that seemed focused on his chest and that’s when he finally notices the gaping hole as well as the lack of a beating heart and blood trail.

The grey clouds that have been gathering before you all were dropped off at the school finally begin to shed droplets of cold rain down on you. A drop lands perfectly on his face that looks indistinguishable to a shed tear. You instinctively reach out and wipe it away.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he pouts. 

“It’s alright,” you withdraw your hand away from his cold and sickeningly pale cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from him.”

He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but his eyes finally go blank and his upright body gives out and falls forward. You catch him with ease and carefully set him down on the damp soil. He’s officially gone to you, yet you take extra care to cup the back of his head and gently set him down with shaking hands. As you kneel beside his stiff body, another drop falls on his face and trickles down. 

You’re not sure if it’s another raindrop or the first of many teardrops that begin to spill from your tear ducts once your brain finally registers that your best friend is lying dead before you.

A week later

Yuuji is dead, yet it is as clear as the large hole in his chest that Sukuna is still living on within the body, if only barely. Ieiri, Gojo and Ijichi can’t tell, but you can. Call it yet another inherited skill or instinct, but no amount of pitiful words or comforting pats on your back from either of them are going to make you second guess yourself on this matter.

Sukuna is alive, yet for some reason he isn’t staking his claim on the body. You know he can at any moment, but it seems he’s not entirely stupid and is trying to play his cards right.

Perhaps he’s waiting for something? Maybe a certain someone instead? It wouldn’t surprise you if he has allies that are still alive and are well aware of his resurrection. It wouldn’t surprise you either if they were gathering his other fingers in his stead. Those damn things are blinking beacons for other curses, so gathering them shouldn’t be hard even for the most mediocre of cursed beings. Even when he’s made into a bunch of inanimate objects, he can still cause some amount of chaos and grief.

Damn him.

Your claim that Sukuna still lives goes from outlandish and desperate to undoubtedly true when a faint pulse of his energy brings everyone’s attention to Yuuji’s corpse and puts you all on the defensive. It was a signal, specifically for you. He wants you to come to him, within his own playing field and without the prying eyes of your superiors or the chance for any outside interference from your teacher.

Speaking of Gojo, he’s been trying to pull you away from Yuuji’s corpse and usher you out of the room for your own protection.

“He wants to talk to me,” you state the obvious to him.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says with finality. It’s almost adorable how he’s trying to play the role of the stern authority figure when he’s normally such an eccentric man 99% of the time. “C’mon, you need to leave.”

“Gojo-sensei,” you reach up to your shoulder that he’s tightly gripping and gently pry his hand off. “I mean no disrespect to you, or anyone at this school for that matter. But when it comes to matters regarding Ryomen Sukuna, you and the higher ups don’t know a damn thing about that monster.”

Your hand hastily reaches out and your fingertips merely graze against Yuuji’s cold and rigid skin. Just that slight contact is enough to have your surroundings shift from a stagnant and grey autopsy room to a dark and brooding domain. You blink away the dizziness from your sudden shift of reality and the first thing you notice is the pile of ox skulls. You also notice the endless rows of ribs high up in the air that further add towards the domain’s ominousness.

“I’m here!” you cup your hands around your mouth as you yell out. “The hell do you want from me you two-faced bastard?!”

“Quit screaming,” his annoyed yet strangely soft voice startles you. You abruptly turn around to meet him face to face.

“Where’s Yuuji?” you ask with command behind your infliction.

“There’s no one else but us,” he says in a poor attempt to make you drop your defensive body posture. When he notices that you aren’t relaxing, he points behind you with an annoyed glare. You turn to see nothing but the collection of dirtied animal skulls, but at the last second you see an unconscious Yuuji planted face down into the ankle deep water (blood?) at the bottom of the mountainous pile. Upon seeing the familiar tuft of pink hair, you sprint towards his unmoving body. You flip him upwards once he’s in reach, fearing he was drowning or at the very least injured in some way.

As you try to gently coax or check for any sign of life within your friend, you ignore or even fail to notice the way Sukuna observes you from behind. The boy is unconscious only due to Sukuna easily decapitating him earlier as they fought over the conditions of the binding vow he was enforcing in exchange for healing his vessel’s body and bringing him back to life. Just as he was about to uphold his end of the vow, he felt as you entered the room his vessel’s lifeless body was most definitely being stored to be later cremated. 

His reaching out to you was an impulsive action on his part. He now knows that the one who stands before him is truly not you. Your energy and your descendants are near indistinguishable, so his sudden call of you was a mere force of habit and his prevailing desire to chase after you. It’s not his brightest moment, but you tend to make him act beyond what is usually his typical behavior. 

As he watches your descendant talk to a half awake and delirious Yuuji, he can’t help but to examine them with a bit of awe. The one before him is your descendant of a thousand years, perhaps even more. They are your flesh and blood, and yet they retain not only your image, but even some of your memories as well. He doesn’t know what to think of this revelation, truly he doesn’t.

The only thing that’s rubbing him the wrong way is the fact that they are not a product between you and him. It’s not that he has or had any sort of unfulfilled paternal desire locked deep within him. Even if he did contemplate producing a few offspring before his temporary demise, he only wanted children for the same reason he wanted a harem, as a source of amusement that he can freely manipulate however he sees fit. Perhaps he did consider impregnating a few dozen of his concubines to see if any could birth him an heir worthy of his legacy, but the entire process was too much of a hassle that he wasn’t willing to deal with at the time. He had no pure intentions when it comes to spreading his seed into the world.

So why is he angry that you went ahead and did so without him?

“Your ancestor’s spouse,” he idly mentions in an attempt to garner their careful attention. From the way they stiffen up and look at him with that familiar glare of yours, he has it. “What were they like?”

“As if I’d tell you,” they say.

“I see you inherited their stubbornness,” he huffs with annoyance, but deep down in the deepest and most hidden parts of his mind, he feels somewhat glad that your stubbornness continues to live on in the world. “Tell me, and I’ll let you return with Yuuji-”

“Their spouse was just as stubborn as they were,” they cut him off with an immediate answer. “No matter how many times they tried to ignore or downplay their advances, they continued to chase after my predecessor until it was as obvious as the sun that they truly wanted to be together with them and make them happy.”

As he expected, their recollection of your life after him is too disgustingly domestic and romanticized for his liking. What does come at a surprise is that they completely went against their earlier proclamation of remaining silent and divulged him on the information he initially asked of you rather readily. Something must have switched in their mind. Are they trying to get back at him on your behalf by proudly stating that you lived a happy life without him?

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” they say with a smug voice. “They hated you beyond comprehension, and even if they are long gone from this world, I assure you that their hatred remains just as intense as it was when they lived.”

“Don’t be mistaken, you pathetic human,” he growls, much more angrily than normal. “I could care less who they fornicated with and how many children they produced.”

“For the self proclaimed king of curses, you sure are a terrible liar,” they say, almost pitifully. “You regret the way you treated them, don’t you? Deny it all you want, I know I’m right.”

Your last comment is the final straw. With the flick of his wrist he casts you and Yuuji out of his inner domain and back into the living world. He heals Yuuji to maintain his side of the binding vow before settling back atop his rigid throne of horned skulls. He watches through Yuuji’s eyes how the two of you squeeze each other into a firm embrace after he reawakens. When Gojo makes a comment about how Yuuji is stark naked on the metal table, he feels the immense urge to grab one of the skulls and crush it into a fine dust in his bare fist as the two of you devolve into a fit of awkward but good natured laughter at the realization.

He can’t remember a time when you ever laughed or smiled like your descendant is doing now.

Does he regret never once seeing or hearing you in such a way? Maybe.

But you’re gone, so there is no point lingering on it too much.

There’s no point in having regrets now.

Bonus

Sukuna knew it was only a matter of time before you and Yuuji solidified your relationship as a romantic one. Back in his prime, he behaved no differently than Yuuji did after he brought him back to life, straightforward and without a second thought. Ever since he stole you away from your family and home, every chance you took at defying him and damning his name into the fiery pits of hell invoked something within him. Something no other man or woman can or ever will be able to. And yet, each time he reached out to indulge himself further of you, you retreated into yourself and tried to cast him out of every corner of your mind while he tried to engrave your everything into his very being. Your behavior to his advances differ greatly from your descendant, who accepts Yuuji’s advances with an honest and willing smile.

He watches the relationship through the unsuspecting eyes of his vessel. Sometimes, he gags at how sickeningly affectionate Yuuji can be. Yet despite his behavior, your descendant drinks it all up and returns the hugs and the kisses tenfold. Nobara and Megumi often roll their eyes on the sidelines and comment on how they were practically made for each other. Sukuna can't help but silently roll his eyes as well as agree with their annoyed comments, even if it makes him incredibly irritated. 

Will he ever admit to the latter? Never.

He does not regret the way things turned out between you and him. He cannot regret for the sake of his sanity. Instead, he often ponders about the possibilities. Had he not taken you from your home, could there have been a chance you and him could have been friends despite his reputation at the time? If he courted you properly instead of forcing you into his collection of common whores, could you look at him the same way your descendant looks at Yuuji, with so much love and tenderness that it makes his stomach twist into knots and the back of his throat burn? Despite being a curse who sustains himself on his pure carnal desires, could he have been selfless and put forth the efforts to make you happy?

During nights when they share a bed together, he sneaks control over the body and traces what was once your face with his black painted claws. Could you ever look so peaceful as your descendant does now if you laid beside him? Would you remain in his bed until the sun rises instead of fleeing? Would your body feel just as warm, fit just as perfectly in his embrace as your descendant does?

Sukuna does not regret the path he took. He cannot, for the sake of his sanity. He does wonder about the possibilities.

He wonders, could this descendant of yours have been his as well?

[sirensmojo]

“KINDRED”, 2 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, romance, fluff.

Word Count: 6K+

❰ ​Previous Chapter

(...) 

Several days later.

You were walking London’s street with the confidence of someone that ruled the place. Your back, straight, your head high as the air moved your hair gently, as if you were starring in an old Hollywood movie. 

Your suit fitted you perfectly, a little loose so you were comfortable. You were wearing the jacket closed, one hand in your pant’s pocket as the clicking sound of your high heels resonated against the cobblestones of the empty streets.

It was early in the morning, so early the thick mist nearly extinguished the cigarette hanging on your red painted lips, but your gaze was already as determined as one can be. 

‘This day will be great’ was the mantra you were singing in your head. You were supposed to open the library in less than an hour now, and you had to meet with your new employees to discuss the rules before opening.

You thanked God some of them were already a part of your organisation, which made it easier as they knew the way things needed to be done under your management. 

Entering the building, the women were already waiting, in uniform and standing in a perfect line side by side. 

You offered them a warm smile coming closer to them as you took your woollen coat off.

“Misses and Madams, let me welcome you to the Bridgehead Library. Now, you may or may not know me, I’m Y/N, you, strong fighter for women’s rights & aspirant to a world where we would walk the streets unafraid of any danger. Because we know how it is, for those of you that are single moms, for those of you that were disowned by your own family, those of you who don’t want to get married.” 

You paced back and forth in front of the aligned women, looking at each one of them straight in the eyes, as talking with a firm and confident tone.

“You’re not taken seriously, you’re misused and abused. You fear the barmaid will not serve you a drink cause no man stands on your side, you fear the man that is staring at your body will be lurking in the shadows, following you, and rip off your clothes when you’ll be in an empty street.”

You stop in front of a face you saw in the files of Thomas Shelby while doing some research on him. You identify the individual as Ada Thorne, born Shelby, Tom’s sister. 

“Well, you should know, for as long as you're willing to work here, none of the things mentioned before should ever happen to you. And your family will be fed and more... I guarantee you fifteen pounds a week. If anything… A-ny-thing may happen to you due to your gender, consider turning to Bridget, we will find a solution.”

You motioned to a blonde-haired woman sitting legs crossed at the principal desk to their right. Her hair was middle length and perfectly waved to one side as the other was tucked behind her ear. 

The named Bridget glanced up to you before colliding her lit matchstick with her cigarette. 

“You’re under my protection, use my name for doing whatever pleases you, whenever you want. This is your ticket to a brand new life, for all of you. And all of us, together, we can achieve great things. If the counsellor job isn’t enough for you, I invite you to turn to Ana.” 

You pointed a brunette on your side, her facial expression was passive & aggressive, but for some reason, it was comforting. As if you knew you were in security in her presence. 

“Now, as for the library…” You gave your instructions. 

As soon as you finished your speech, it was 7, the hour of the opening. 

The day was slow at the beginning, but soon enough the library was packed. Not only by people here to find a book, but packed with numerous women, all in a single file that led to a small room at the back of the first floor that had been designated as Ana’s office.

It was almost impossible for Ada not to wonder what was going on. 

Were all these women wanting to find another job than counsellor?

All employees tried their best to keep quiet the visitors, following your orders, but as Ada was passing by the single file to pick up and put back books, she could hear murmurs. 

The individuals were talking about politics, but something so far from what she had ever heard.

Some were talking about the tragic death of a certain Emily Davison before the war at the Derby Epsom and how they rallied the WSPU(Women’s Social and Political Union). 

Others were talking about a recent speech by Emmeline Pankhurst to which they couldn’t assist due to coppers. The Shelby sister surmised that woman must be the leader of the political party given the amount of respect they paid her. 

No need to say Ada was drowning in a tide of data and names she vaguely heard of before.

She didn’t pay that much attention to the women’s cause. Even after the death of her Freddie, after which reality smacked her back into the world she was living in. 

It was either her family or her convictions, as being a Shelby meant drifting from the oppressed to the oppressor. But she was so focused on not being a Shelby that she closed herself to other opportunities. 

She wanted to be a part of something bigger and better to help those in need. But she ultimately admitted to herself she needed her family in order to survive, which led her to jump off the communist boat.

But a part of her was always keeping her beliefs close to her heart. 

(...)

*The library, fourth floor*

You turned the keys in the lock, opening your door’s office. You switched on the light and when turning back, stumbled on a man sitting crossed legs, at the edge of the sofa.

When he was sure he made his presence known, he lied backwards, extending one of his arms on the armrest, his head held high.

He was dressed in an elegant dark blue suit, white shirt, the chains of his watch knotted around one of his buttons with a fine red & blue tie around his neck.

Right above his upper lips was a full mustache, and as your gaze reached his dark eyes, you glimpsed the stranger’s neat hair flattened backward.

“What a surprise.” You let out, walking to the desk as if it was normal for him to be here. You then hung your coat on the coat rack, turning your back at Mosley.

“A good one, I hope.” The man put on his fake smile, lying eyes everywhere he could on the woman’s silhouette in front of him.

“Always, Mr Mosley. How could you be any other thing than a pleasure to see,” you came back to where he was and sat in one of the armchairs ahead “and meet.” You added, offering him a smile.

“It’s a shame we never had time to properly exchange--”

“That’s why you crept into my office.” You cut him and nodded to herself, your knuckles hitting on her thigh.

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips before he stared even more at the light-haired woman.

“It is to be said, your name doesn’t get quite unnoticed in society or amongst politicians.” 

“So you’ve heard of me, even more charming.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

 If he thought he could cajole you that easily, he was wrong.

“Not only have I heard of your deeds, Miss you, but I’ve been reported daily about the people you keep company with.” He stated as if it was normal for him to send people spying on whoever.

You remained silent, waiting for the man to say more. 

He was gauging your reaction towards his words, lurking at any sudden change in your expression, but you kept on an unreadable face. Mosley tilted his head to the side, curiosity animating his iris.

“Leading me to question the nature of your relationship with Mr Thomas Shelby.” He continued, squinting his eyes.

“Perhaps socialists are your thing?” He spitted that last part with all the distaste he felt toward both the worker class and Tommy.

By the way your piercing eyes didn’t flinch a bit at his sneaky comment, Mosley surmised you weren't impressed, which eventuated in him smiling while keeping up the stare.

“Did you come all the way down to my library to give me a lecture on your inauthentic Dasein, Mr Mosley? There are doctors for that.”

A rictus at the corner of your lips distracted the eyes of the man in front you, who unwittingly broke the stare.

You won.

You took great delight in the void of Mosley’s expression that surely didn’t understand what you just said. 

“Oh, beg pardon. Perhaps I’m using concepts you don’t understand.” You didn’t even cover the fact you were making fun of his ignorance, your eyes still as sharp as razors.

“Don’t you know Heidegger, Mr Mosley? He discusses a neat difference between what he calls Sein, that covers what Is, what constitutes human existence with the Dasein that covers the phenomenological analysis of human existence. In other words, he says there is a gap between how things are and how we perceive them.” 

You got up and walked to your desk, making sure to pass by him pretty close so your perfume would meet the man’s nostrils. 

You then opened the ceramic piece in which you kept your cigarettes, and as you grabbed one, you concluded.

“When it may seem to you something is occuring, that doesn’t mean it’s actually happening. It just means your senses want to believe it is happening for numerous reasons, but the main one is almost always the fear of something. You don’t believe it wittingly of course, it’s your inconscient working. But still, you just confided in me an unconscious worry named Thomas Shelby.” You ignited your cig.

By using a psycho-philosophical reference, you were showing him your hand, how studious you were, which meant he couldn’t look down on you or intimidate you easily. 

His attempt to pressure you wasn’t working. And you were setting the standards high.

Mosley didn’t miss any of your movement since you got up. Eyeing you top to bottom. It was crystal clear your monologue satisfied him the most. He, that considered you as illegitimate of the high-society status you had been given. 

Perhaps he was wrong?

“May I add, no offense here, that whatever concerns him, or me doesn’t concern you a bit? I’m afraid you came here in vain.” You smacked her lips at the end of her sentence, faking to be annoyed by the fact he lost his time coming here.

“I found you, Miss Y/L/N, I found you.” He repeated, fluttering his eyes as tilting his head to the side.

His way of intensely eyeing the individual he was speaking to would be quite uncomfortable for you if you hadn’t been a woman in a man’s world for so long.

No wonder why this man was so feared and yet adorned. His whole character emitted mysteriousness while arousing wonder and curiosity. It was hard, nearly impossible to read his face or even get in his mind, but you didn’t need that to face him head-on. 

“And to answer your question, no. Socialists aren’t my thing, Kings are.” His brows raised at the end of your sentence.

You stared at each other some more, Mosley trying to discover the implied meaning of your sentence as you were internally laughing seeing him struggle.

“Anyway, I hope you’re finding our city to your liking. You’re from Birmingham after all.” He paused and got up, walking closer to the door with a hand in his pants pocket.”Talking of which, may I ask why not opening in a library there?” It was obvious the displeasure he felt towards your decision.

“I’ll call it ‘modern conquering’.” You responded with enthusiasm.

(...)

Ada poured wine into two cups when hearing the keys turning in the lock of her house. She first thought it was Ben, her lover coming back from his office, or wherever he was working as they weren’t truly speaking of work when together.

Her eyes widened at the sight of her brother when she turned back to the entrance of the living room. “Tommy?” Her high pitched tone expressing her surprise. 

“Let’s sit down, Ada.” The man always looked worried and thoughtful, but this time it was different, his eyes were actually reflecting emotions, which usually never are. 

“What’s happened”

Tommy came nearer the table and pulled a chair for his sister, without looking at her. “Sit down, eh?” He repeated before sitting down himself.

Ada didn’t stop looking at her brother, she knew him too well. Something wasn’t right. She pulled a chair for herself. 

Tommy tried his best to look at the face of his sister while talking but he just couldn’t, his eyes kept drifting away. “Ben younger is dead. Someone put a bomb in his car.”

As the brunette wasn’t talking, her mouth slightly opened in shook, he kept on talking, “I don’t know how you felt about him or how bad this is going to hurt, but whatever happens just remember you have a baby inside of you.” He pointed to her tummy.

His sister let her back hit the chair noisily, searching the void for answers. “God.” She hardly sighed. “Anyone you touch. Which means anyone I touch. Which means anyone any of us touch. He never knew I was pregnant… I hadn’t told him.”

Tommy that was looking at her to support her pain, once again looked down hearing the hard truth. 

“God, I didn’t love him.” She sighed heavily. “But I liked him. He was decent and good. And I wasn’t gonna marry him. The baby was a mistake but that’s okay… because I didn’t ask anything of him. God he didn’t deserve us.” A tear rolled down her cheek before she exhaled loudly again.

“Well I’ve spoken to his family. They’re going to take care of the funeral” Tommy said as Ada sniffled. “It will go down as an IRA assassination of a British military officer.” He felt the need to divulge her all he knew.

“But what was it really?” She calmly asked, looking intently at him her head tilted to the side.

Tommy smacked his lips and breathed deeply. “It was… a consequence of good intentions. My good intentions.” 

She scoffed.

“I pushed him to report on the fascists. I thought it was the right thing to do. And as a result, Section D or the Branch or intelligence had him killed.”

She scoffed again, looking away this time.

He abruptly took back in hands his beret he previously dropped on the table and started fidgeting with it, looking down. “There was a kid, died in the explosion. He was ten years old. It’s funny isn’t it, how it works?” He cleared his throat and got up, starting to move forward the door.

“No, Tommy.” 

He stopped, his back still turned to the woman.

“Don’t give yourself this excuse. “ Ada’s eyes were filled with tears, some of which hurtling down her face to her chin.

“He was ten years old. if I would stuck to what I do, he’d still be kicking a ball in the street. It’s funny isn’t it?” The meaning of his words was amplified by the thunder rumbling outside. 

(...) 

Days later.

It was the end of the day, employees had started to leave when Ada came to the entrance.

“Can I get the changing room keys?” She asked Bridget, who was sitting behind the desk, lost in a book.

“Ada Shelby? Miss you would like to borrow you a moment.” She pointed to the stairs behind her. “She’s waiting for you.” The desk lady invited the woman standing in front of her to get on her way.

Ada rolled her eyes at the mention of the Shelby name. “It’s Ada Thorne.”

The light-haired woman smiled at Ada’s comment.

She got up to the second floor and then to the third one before she wondered what her boss had to say that somebody else couldn’t tell her.

Ada rapidly caught sight of the wooden door at the end of the long corridor. She stops walking when hearing voices, a male and a female one. She stops, not wanting to get into their intimacy, but the door wasn’t completely closed, which allowed the voices to slip out pretty clear.

Not too long after she heard steps approaching and moved backward, so it didn’t look like she was eavesdropping. The door ultimately opened, and the fascist man she saw only once before with Tommy passed by her, without even glancing her way.

She knocked on the door and cleared her mind.

“Come in.” 

She cleared her throat. “Miss Y/L/N, am Ada Thorne, you asked to see me?” She peek into the room. 

“Yep, come in. Take a seat.” You motioned your hand that was holding a cigarette to the chair in front of her. 

Her back flat against the backrest, your E/C’s eyes entered those of the Ada’s.

You were searching for the same light that was twinkling in Thomas’ eyes, in vain.

“Do you know who I am, Ada? I can call you that, right?” 

“I heard about your achievements in Paris. What you did for women.” The brunette answered, uncertain of where this discussion was going.

“Do you know what I do?”

At the question, the woman ahead of you didn’t know what to answer.

Was there even a correct answer for that?

Of course, she knew part of her activities was illegal, she wasn’t blind. And, come on! She was a Shelby too, she could feel those things thanks to her brother’s choice of life. 

But what her boss wanted her to say, exactly? And for what reason? 

“You’re talking about the illegal part?”

“The criminal one” You snapped back.

Ada’s eyes widened.

“I surmised you didn’t. Why did you think there were that many women in here today? I offer them jobs in my London’s counterfeit money’s enterprise.” You leaned forward to Thorne, squeezing the cig into the ashtray. 

You crossed the fingers of both your hands together. “You don’t really want to work here.” You forced out the words as if to convince Ada.

“Understand this library covers an underground organisation that is beyond you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not particularly involved in the “business” of your own family. Tommy gave you a title in it but still, you’re here, working in a library to prove yourself something.

Why would I want someone like you in here? Someone that is unsure of what they are, what they want.” 

The venom entered Ada’s ear going directly to her chest, depriving her of oxygen for a short instant. But her eyebrows surely knitted in anger. 

“Stop acting like you know everything when it is clear you understand nothing.” She gained composure again.

“I heard, you didn’t even want to be a Shelby in the first place, running away from your home and your family.” You nodded, your eyes still deep into Ada’s.

“You ‘hear’ things and you take it as the absolute truth? And you’re the leader here.” Thorne chuckled to herself, her eyebrows raised high.

You sneered at the comment.

“What is the problem with my family anyway? If you want to fire me because I’m a Shelby then just do it. I’ll not come burning your library if that’s the matter.” 

The librarian cackled, putting your head into your joined open hands, elbows on the table. “God! No! That’s not that. It is more about the fact that the first time you’re getting involved in that kind of organisation it’s not your brother’s. Not your family’s.” 

Ada looked away, realizing what the light-haired woman meant. She, who never was included in the family business, rather by choice than by abandonment of her family, was employed in a pseudo library that was covering for dirty activities.

“It’s ironic indeed. But what makes you think I wouldn’t want to work here knowing the truth?”

You shrugged. “You never worked with your brothers. Even your aunt, Polly is actively working there.”

“It was my choice.”

“So you’ve changed your mind.”

Ada dismissed the talk, another question seeming to be more urgent:

“But why didn’t you just let me be unaware of all this and be like the others.” She retorted.

“Because you’re not ‘like the others’. You’re a Shelby and a Thorne. Your brother is sitting at the House Of Commons amongst politicians while getting his hands dirty here and there, and your deceased husband was a very known communist leader. You’re everything but random, understand that.” 

“So you’re telling this to me out of goodness?” She laughed at you without even hiding her reluctance toward this eventuality. 

“Respect.” You rectified with a solemn tone. 

The brunette stops laughing, her expression becoming serious again. She didn’t quite get your the true motives, but she had other questions.

“What are your relations with my brothers, are you enemies?”

“No.”

“Allies, then?”

“No.”

Even if you told Ada about the true roots of this library, she wouldn’t talk about the arrangement between her and Thomas. It wasn’t your place to do so, and you didn’t think Ada needed to know, at least for now.

“It’s not like you’re going to get your hands dirty anyway, but if anything should happen to me, they will associate you with me, so they’ll come for you.”

“Who’s they?”

“Coopers, I don’t have them in my pocket.”

Thorne seemed to be in her head, probably rethinking her intention to keep working here as a counsellor.

“You were already working here with the old owner so I’ll let you choose rather you want to stay or leave. But don’t stay because you want to prove something to yourself, or your family. I don’t need a crybaby. If the communist cause you defend isn’t matching with the cause I fight for, leave.” 

Your words cut in pieces the thick atmosphere that had settled between the two women.

(...)

Thomas convened a family meeting.

Everyone was already waiting for him at the pub. Charlie Senior and Curly were sitting at a table drinking from the bottle, while Johnny Dog and Jeremiah were sipping on whiskey at the counter, next to Aberama Gold, too occupied looking at his future wife Polly. 

She were sitting at a table with her son and his wife, Gina.

As Arthur and Finn passed the door, the oldest Shelby got behind Michael and didn’t miss the occasion to stumble wittingly on his cousin’s chair, pulling away the younger’s back from it. 

Next, he hassled to sit near the counter, pouring himself some liquor that he drank in one go. Finn reluctantly came and sat at the table between Gina and Polly.

Tommy finally arrived, walking around the table to place himself in front of everyone. 

“First of all, an apology from Lizzie. She can’t be here. Charles has a violin concert. Also, welcome to Mr Aberama Gold. He and Polly are to be married in three weeks with my blessing. From now on, Aberama will be welcomed at our meetings. First item: business. A bereavement. Colonel Ben Younger, who may perhaps have become a member of this family, was taken from us, four days ago, by dark forces. We’ve made some investigations, we think we know who planted the bomb. In the meantime, our thoughts are with Ada and the baby inside of her, who may one day, sit at these meetings but… Hopefully under happier circumstances.”

“Let’s drink to happier circumstances.” Pol’ offered while pouring some whiskey in her and Tommy’s cup.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed, raising his glass. “To Ada.” He added, soon joined by all the people in the room.

Tommy coughed at the burn of the whiskey and continued his speech, “Item number two: an announcement regarding Michael.” He coughed again as if to release some tension in him, his hand rose toward the younger Gray. 

“Before you go on, Tommy, there’s something I’d like to say, to the whole family directly, regarding finances and the future of this company.” Michael stated, getting comfortable in his chair, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his mother glaring at his wife.

Gina ignored her, looking down and smoking a cigarette.

“According to your own estimations, this new venture of the delivery and shipment of opium will bring into the company around £2 million per year. Therefore, due to the amounts involved, I think this company should be restructured.” He continued, looking fearlessly at a pissed Tommy.

“Michael. I think this can wait ‘till outside the family meeting.” His mother tried to postpone the confrontation.

“Restructured in what way?” Tommy asked, not because he was genuinely interested, but because he needed to know if Michael’s betrayal had limits. Which it didn’t have.

“Because of the amount of money involved, shipment and dispatch will become the primary source of income in the company. It’s simple mathematics.” Gina proudly announced, deciding to match her husband’s audacity as she looked Thomas the wrong way. 

Her husband got up, going behind her as he placed his hands on both her shoulders rubbing them gently. “With the help of my wife, I will organise an expansion into America, where the narcotics business is just beginning to grow. I have very good contacts in Detroit, New-York, Boston, who I’ve already spoken to about this. And Gina has family who are very experienced in this kind of business.”

It seems like the woman surely gained composure thanks to the assurance in her husband’s voice because she finally decides to look back at Polly, who was staring at her the whole time with an unpredictable longing to plant her butterfly knife in her. 

Gina, quickly glanced away as if to snub her husband’s mother.

“According to the conversations I’ve had with them, with a regular supply of pure opium from China, within a short space of time, the American narcotics business will bring in $20 million per annum. Enough money for you to enjoy an easing burden you all now feel. See, I know that the scars and the wounds, they’re on the inside, not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that burden off your weary shoulders. A new decade is coming. There’ll be new opportunities and new territories, more money than we’ve ever had before.” 

He stops looking around to everyone to pause on his cousin only.

“Tommy, you can still do the good work that deep down you want to do. Mum, you can get married and live in that big house.” 

Polly happily glanced at Aberama, letting herself dream of a good life for a second. 

“Arthur, you can be the man that Linda wants you to be.” 

“Fuck Linda.” Arthur interrupted.

Michael turned to Finn, walking toward him to rest behind the seated man, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it proudly.

“Finn, you’ve proved yourself. You’re part of the new generation. You could come to New-York with me.” Michael finished his speech. His wife handed him a file that he gladly took in hands. He walked to Thomas and dropped the file on the table that rested between them two. 

Tommy’s eyes went to the file before lifting to Michael’s determined face.

“Here is my proposal. A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director… and you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr Jones.”

He turned toward the other people in the room. “You will each receive a percentage of the profits as an annuity. And you will no longer have to engage in any of the associated activities.” 

Michael then grabbed the file to hand it to Tommy.

“Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.” 

The head of the Peaky Blinders paused, looking at Michael intensely before taking the file. “It’s cold in here, Michael.” He finished, turning to the fireplace and throwing the catalogue there. 

Johnny Dog let out an excited laugh, surely due to the heavy atmosphere the two cousins had settled. 

“Tommy the Americans want to deal with me.” Michael’s jaw tensed as his voice raised with impatience. 

“Item number three--” Continued Thomas as if nothing happened. But he was cut off by Gina’s venom:

“Tell him the truth.” She seemed unsatisfied with the way his husband chose to handle the situation. Tommy’s eyes hassled toward the young woman, speechless. “Go on. He can take it.” She continued.

His eyes went back to Michael that looked away, immediately, as if he didn’t want to come to this end.

“Tell me the truth, Michael.” Tommy encouraged, exasperated by this whole scene.

“The Americans don’t want to deal with an old-fashioned backstreet razor gang. Those days are done.” Michael gained composure again, looking blankly at Tommy.

The latter couldn’t even correctly react that some men entered the pub, needing some help to handle Bartley, who was convinced he was still at war. Everybody got out of the room in a hurry except for Michael, Gina, Tommy & Pol’.

Passing by Michael to get out, Arthur leaned to his ear slowly, “Fuck the Americans.”

Tommy turned around, hand on the wooden piece as he was leaning above the fireplace, looking intensely into the orangish flames.

“I’m doing this for you Tommy. It’s time… And you know it.”

The concerned one, closed his eyes taking a deep breath in and tried to calm his nerves and think. But nothing came to him, he couldn’t even properly swallow how much Michael’s betrayal had extended, the worst was that he was sure, it wasn’t the end of it. His cousin probably wanting to take everything from him slowly he surely voluntarily omitted things. 

“Tommy, Mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.” Now that there weren’t people to impress, Michael let the anger he felt toward his cousin’s actions.

The elder blue-eyed man couldn’t stay calm a second more, he abruptly turned around, grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was on the table and violently threw it in the fire, creating the flames to only grow bigger. Gina was scared, she held her chair with tightened hands and Polly and she jumped with surprise on their chair.

He turned again to Michael as the latter held him a butterfly knife already open.

“Go on, Tom. Go on cut me. Like the good old days. Or… See this for what it is. A natural succession that someday must happen” His arm going down again.  

At this point, the Shelby brother had calmed down, finding funny the proposition he was offered. His lips smacked and breathed deeply, looking at anything but his opposant. He shook his head in disbelief, “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back.” He looked at his younger cousin, deceived by him and angry at himself.

After losing $2 millions in the Wall Street crash., Tommy gave him an opportunity to come back to England and pay him what he owed him, but even there, in the boat, Michael met with people that are Shelby’s family enemy. When that happened, Tommy gave him the benefit of the doubt. And now this? Michael went too far, and this time Tommy will not close his eyes on it. The only reason his cousin was still breathing was that he's Polly’s son.

He walked around the table and addressed Gina, smacking his fingers as he pointed her, leaning forward. “You. You can tell your family--”

“Let me guess.” She interrupted him, the same satisfying face she had at the beginning of the meeting. “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” That wasn’t a question.

Michael grinned, as Tommy quickly got out of the pub. 

“Right?” Gina mockingly asked.

(...)

Tommy was spending most days at the House Of Commons lately doing speeches in favor of fascism to the greatest pleasure of Mosley. 

That day, he was there from early in the morning to the evening. It was already around 10, but his assistant opened the door to his office, saying someone was there but without having an appointment. 

“Who it is?” He asked, raising a brow, one of his hands went in his pocket to check on his watch.

“The librarian.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since your last meeting and at the simple mention of you, he would find his blood boiling in anticipation of the wave of feelings you brought him.

His pulsions talking for him, the Shelby brother ordered to let you in without questioning why you were here that late.

“Mr Shelby, you asked me to get information about a certain Michael Gray?” You came in like a tornado, your voice filled with sarcasm mixed with enthusiasm as you were the one pushing him to act on his cousin’s betrayal weeks ago.

How ironic was it that he had to learn the hard way you had been right since the very beginning,  you surmised something must’ve happened between the younger gray and him given the determined words he’d written on the note he left at the library sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. “No time for formalities.” You agitated the folder in her hand.

He almost gasped at your movements, he had forgotten how sensual you were.

Whenever they would meet, you would succeed to arouse something in him, maybe even igniting a fire that couldn’t be found when you weren’t around. 

“You might want to read that!” You nodded to yourself, your brows raised high as if you detained the most important information of the decade.

“You do me the lecture.” His playful tone made you look up to him. Your head tilted at the sight of the glasses hanging on Tommy’s nose as you released a little “huh” from your lips.

He squinted his eyes, not knowing why the actual fuck did you do that. Did you just judge him or was he dreaming? 

He took off the glasses and placed them on the table, not wanting to deal with that face you just made again, all while remaining silent and invited you to begin.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Do you think it’s going to be free, Mr Shelby?” You looked intensely at him, your own eyes devoid of emotions.

He hated the fact you were able to just erase your emotion from your face and your eyes as he desperately wanted to see things in them. But him being him, he too put on an expressionless face.

“What do you want?”

“Everything, but you can’t give that to me. So I’ll just answer ‘whatever’.” 

He frowned, not understanding her point.

“When I’ll need something, you’ll be answering present without the option to say no.”

He remained silent, quite taken aback by how forward you  was. His jaw clenched, tension building up in the room. If stares could send lightnings, they’d both be nothing but a pile of ashes by now.

Reading his silence, you deduced it means he was alright with the deal and proceeded to answer his previous wish, do him a lecture.

“It is written here that Gina Gray’s family isn’t rich, but they weren’t starving either…” You begins. You then allowed a sweet “bla-bla-bla” to come out your lips as passing over the words searching for a specific part.

Tom didn’t miss your deeds a bit. From the enthusiastic tone in your voice to your serious face. He looked at the way your were sitting, legs crossed with the file on your thighs as you was slightly leaning forward. 

No wonder your were excited to show him your findings while handling business like a boss. He caught himself thinking your were cute. 

It was the first time he’d seen your that commited. He’d seen you focused, but you were always passive whereas now, your seemed completely into what your were talking about.

“The part that interests us is this one ‘Has an uncle that meets up at the docks several times a week with a group of people being a part of the drugs industry. It seems they cover their activities by the image of a protestant group and illegally sends rifles under God’s cause to our beloved Scottish friends, in other words, the Billy boys. And this, on a daily basis.” 

You patted the paper.

“It is written here, they counted around 6 boats per month, Tom.” You raised your kindling gaze to the icy blue-eyed man. 

He paused, his lips slightly opening before sliding a hand on his face and looking down.

It seems Tommy didn’t believe what he was hearing.

He leaned on the desk and opened the wooden box where his cigarettes were. 

His back harshly met his chair as he stared at the woman, blinking.

“I’m serving it on a plate, to you, Thomas.” You”d serenely let out, as if you understood him without having him saying anything. “Just deal with it.”

“How much do you trust this contact?” 

“I trust him with my life.” You responded.

With this partnership, he didn’t proceed the same as usual by offering something in return. He didn’t have the time to give you a proper offer that you'd already started to work in favor of his plan against Mosley, so this relationship was more based on the trust they have into each other rather than a commun exchange of services.

Today was the first time you’d ask him to return the favor, and it was today as well that the man had to wittingly choose to trust her blindly.

He coughed and lighted his cig, and put an elbow on the wooden desk as he was still deeply in thoughts.

You got up, moving slowly and leaned on the desk, hands flat on it, her face not even a centimeter away from his. “If you don’t trust that,” you pointed at him and then at you, “end it.” You finished.

The mood automatically shifted due to the tension that has quickly installed between the two individuals. 

Not for even one second did you imagine things to get this sensual. Here you were, desperately searching other's eyes out of each other’s grip.

Tommy’s eyes hungrily drifted to your lips, and stayed there more than it should’ve.

You moved back and turned your heels, leaving the room.

Too much in too little time. This. What that even was, and what did it mean?

This was the reason why you never got emotionally involved in business . But that was different now. But for you, that always kept the idea that the past wasn't supposed to repeat itself, the present was slapping maybe too hard.

Thank God you succeeded at getting out, not because of Tommy, but utterly because of yourself. If you had stayed so much as one second more, you didn’t know what you would’ve done, or maybe you did know but preferred to bury it away.

It was easier that way.

Following Chapter ❱

[s0nia246]

This my Dramatical Murder oc. Kameko Kawakami or Coral is Jpop star from Midorijima. Her group is called RWF(Coral Reef.)

I'm still debating on a she has a love interest but I really thinking of Clear.

Name- Kameko  Kawakami

Gender- Female 

Age-25

Height- 5’8ft(172cm)

Weight-150lbs

Birthday- November 3

Zodiac- Scorpio  

Work Location- Evol Entertainment

Occupation-Singer,Dancer, Model, and actress for RWF 

Group name- RWF(Coral Reef)

Stage Name- Coral

Position- Leader(recently), Main Dancer, Matnae, Sup Vocalist

Hobbies/Likes- Dancing, Rain,and the Ocean

Dislikes- Broken Relationship,Working Overtime, and Flattery

Allmate- Precious 

Kameko's Personality- Kameko is extremely mysterious but some reason people thinks she immensely likeable, charming and conciliatory; she is also somehow  energetic, courageous and fiercely determined during her 8-10 work hours .

Extremely sensitive and emotional by nature, she could experience fluctuating moods and a certain amount of nervous tension. She is honest, frank and direct; she doesn't see the point in beating around the bush and loathes pretentiousness with a passion while injustice which makes her absolutely furious. Indeed, even though she is usually all smiles, sweetness and light, she is nevertheless capable of violent rage if you rub her up the wrong way. She can be very talkative and spontaneous, lively and quick as a flash; and although she remains essentially altruistic with a great love for humanity, she is not completely indifferent to the material realm and could sometimes be sensitive to external symbols of wealth. She likes to take care of her appearance and could have a penchant for precious stones or beautiful clothes.

As a little girl, a bubbly and mischievous ray of sunshine, she is vivacity personified! She has plenty of energy and is a real chatterbox who isn't afraid to speak her mind. She can be possessive and requires plenty of reassurance, love and affection because she is highly receptive to her environment. Stories, legends and fairy-tales certainly fascinate her, but she also craves action and the company of others.

Kameko likes to make others happy and maintain harmonious relationships with those around her. She enjoys communicating and exchanging within a group that she animates with warmth, generosity, a sense of humour and a critical mind. She has a profound sense of friendship and loves to be able to help others. Furthermore, she is clever, adaptable, resourceful and possibly even opportunistic.

Precious' personality- Coral always that names has a secret meaning. Precious' name is also in included.

P is for polite, naturally!

R is for rely, everyone’s trustworthy friend.

E is for extra, those little things you do!

C is for casual, no pretension here.

I is for interest, you show in others.

O is for outlook, pleasing to all.

U is for understanding, you show for others.

S is for serious, not always joking.

Coral would describe her personality as someone who is pleasing, stylish, diplomatic, gentle, and graceful. Humans want to get close to Precious cause Precious projects a cute, comfortable, and unthreatening posture. Some may think Precious seems quiet, shy, or reserved, but all they have to do is ask, and Precious participate. Precious learn quickly and like to broaden Precious's knowledge about any topic under the sun. Precious is reserved, secretive, and yet Precious give off an excellent first impression to others. Precious has a great common sense but can be easily annoyed and does not want to wait for too long for something. Try to be more generous with your time.

Oh! Precious forget secret name meaning for Coral and Kameko.

Coral

C is for compatible, a friend’s friend.

O is for openness, it’s refreshing!

R is for relax, you know how!

A is for accomplished, in all that you do.

L is for lofty, your ambitions are high!

Kameko

K is for kindness, you always show.

A is for affirm, the certainty of knowledge.

M is for mighty, your inner strength.

E is for electric, a sparkling trait!

K is for kid, the child within.

O is for orderly, a lifelong passion.

Fun Facts

Kameko is the extremely victim of Rhyme Drive-by.

RWF is the sibling group of Ocean. RWF has 5 members. RWf has a very unique style to thier group . RWF are very similar to Vtubers. Like Hololive. Ocean has 98 Female and Male members. They all have individual live stream. Their livestream scheduledare based on the idol. They usually use avatar during their stream . They only show their true identity for concert and meet and greets, and other events.

RWF have Rock Paper Scissors tournaments to determine position for music video placements.

The Senbatsu Election  (also known as Senbatsu Sousenkyo) is an annual event where fans can vote for their favorite. These events are usually take place two times a year in Platinum Jail.

Coral popularity ranking in Ocean is usually 8th and recently bacame 1st in RWF.

Each group usually has a team shuffle event every year but RWF usually stay together cause of how popular they are.

Kameko lives in Western district

Drinks at the Black needle every night

Was an orphan and doesn't know family origin. Only remember bits and pieces about her past.

(Feel free to ask more questions. Precious and Coral will do their best to help answer them. Have a good day😊✌🏿🐢)

[salemroleplayhq]

❝The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.❞

MEET…

Jillian Swann

Age: 30

Birthday: August 20th, 1991

Gender/Pronouns: Cis female, She/Her

Hometown: Salem, MA

Length of time in Salem: All of her life, except for the 3 years in which she was away for college and seven months in a mental health facility

Occupation: Freelance Artist & Muralist / Bartender at Rockafellas

Faceclaim: Laura Harrier 

THEIR STORY

tw: mentions of major depressive disorder, anxiety, postpartum depression, suicide attempts, fire

An only child, since infancy Jill most closely resembled her mother, though the resemblance didn’t stop there. Her mother was also Jill’s namesake — Jillian — but to avoid confusion the nickname ‘Jill’ or ‘Jilly’ were the names deployed most often to give her a better sense of individuality. She was raised with little austerity. Her mother was a high end jeweler and her father was a therapist. She had a double bed adorned with silky materials of the highest thread count, took long hot showers in the mornings and lavish baths in the evening. Pressure was put on maintaining an orderly appearance. Manners instilled, always. With strict guidelines to be followed within and outside the home — she was a child, thereby she must listen to those above her. Their daughter was to be seen and not heard, not to speak unless spoken to. Whether or not Jill’s quiet disposition is a result of her parents’ ingrained teachings, or if it was in her nature to begin with cannot be determined for certain. To avoid any unnecessary conflict, Jill was cautious never to do anything reckless that would put even a single strand of her hair out of place.

Her family may have been affluent, but even though technology installments were in abundance around the house — from cable TV to being given a personal iPhone at nine years old — she always showed an inclination toward more tangible forms of entertainment. More often than not her spare time would be occupied with long-winded outings to the library, teaching herself embroidery or knitting projects or skipping rope tricks. As an only child, her imagination became her closest companion. Inventiveness kept her boredom at bay, but it also made it impossible for her mind to ever be a peaceful and silent place. She took a liking to fiction and poetry books and art the most. She was thrilled by the way the right set of words could miraculously make sense of the big feelings she felt but didn’t dare speak about. She thrived off of what was obvious; the practical and evidential. Situations with a clear cut beginning and end that couldn’t be mistaken for something else. With art, she was able to embody everything that she had felt inside — what words couldn’t appropriately convey. ‘I don’t belong here. Nobody wants me. I don’t feel normal.’ Accordingly, nothing frustrated her more than having no idea where to begin when dealt with something that wasn’t so readily apparent or visible ( more often than not this equated to one category only: her feelings ). Winging things wasn’t her style — planning and perfect organization was. With poetry and art — with the attractive rhythmics of prose, and the curved painted brushes — she could suddenly adapt to any moment, turning anything that felt too overwhelming into something small and manageable ( destroyable, even — much of her first personally works ending up shredded or burned in the fireplace ). It was a comfort to find that even if an explanation didn’t exist, she could simply make one up herself by inking it down on a fresh piece of paper. This was a hobby she kept private, though she was passionately devoted to it. Each night filling a page or two, whether in a notebook or a sketchbook, until every few months she had a full book and had to start a new one.

Growing up Jill was very level-headed and had a natural talent for leadership. She was never boastful or power-hungry, but taking charge of chaotic situations came like second nature to her. She wasn’t shy of being in the spotlight, not because she ever wanted the attention but because she sought to benefit the bigger picture always. If there was a recognizable error she’d often be the first to analyze it without a bias to intervene with her perception, making her able to step in to adjust it until perfect form was achieved. She was considered mature for her age by most of her superiors — teachers and parents alike — never giving way to thoughtless impulses and seemingly unable to be offended. A teenager who possessed a gift concerning genuine empathy and kindness. Jill and her ego seemed to exist on opposite sides of the spectrum. Critique and praise rolled off her back one in the same. She was a quick learner, always eager to have new content to peruse. She loved questions, for there was always an answer. It was safe territory. As curious as she was in pursuits of knowledge, as a whole she was very reserved and well balanced and not at all spontaneous. She became a safe haven for many of her lost high school peers, but nobody had ever seen the deep inner turmoil she had wrestled with all of her life; that emptiness, that sadness, those thoughts that told her she wasn’t good enough. Despite being plagued by anxious voices, she tried to push on, at times self harming when it felt like it was too much.

When it mattered most, art saved her — especially after the fire. She was a creative through and through, but it was the self portraits of a woman losing her mind that allowed her to look at herself in a completely different light. Though she tried not to think of it much ( she couldn’t remember what exactly had happened even when she consciously tried ), Jill was unsure if she was relieved to have made it out of the fire. To her own life, she was apathetic. Yet, when she finally met Lachlan she had put up a good front — “thank you,” said with a warm smile that failed to reach her eyes; she had recognized him from their school, “for saving me.” As a result, she fell more into her creativity and further away from the her peers. Jill’s artistic talents were obvious to anyone on the outside looking in, expressed in her handiwork in her talent for choosing attractive fashions and creating hair styles at the girl’s sleepovers. Indeed, Jill had a great talent for styling clothing, sewing and braiding her friends’ hair as well as any professional hair stylist. But it was a duty rather than something she felt in her heart. The need to look pristine, whispering urgent nothings at the back of her head. Writing and painting was what she truly longed to do, but making a profession out of something anyone who could hold a pen or paintbrush could do seemed impossible.

Once Jill honed her ability, she began to submit her work into local competitions. Being able to be a freelance artist as a job seemed far fetched, but it was all she enjoyed spending her free time on — using real people as her subjects, sketching what she really saw, and uploading her work in the hopes that it would sell. The inspiration fueling each canvas was endless.

Taking two years to herself after graduating high school — allowing herself to build up various art equipment, a growing portfolio, and history of recurring clients that helped spread her name around — at 21, for the sake of improved credibility, it was with bated breath and hardened determination that she finally felt she was prepared enough to dare to apply to local universities offering a BFA degree in art. When Jill received an acceptance letter from FIT, it felt like an affirmation the direction she was headed wasn’t purposeless. Though usually careful about keeping her emotions withheld, she couldn’t help be feel thrilled at having seemed to have found her true calling.

Until three years into her studies. The stresses of college had overwhelmed her, and she found herself swallowing a bottle of pills in her sorrow. When she awoke, she had been back in Salem, her mother by her side — and Jill had turned her head, letting the silent tears flow down her cheeks out of shame. Moving back with her family had been hectic. Her deep depression and suicidal thoughts lingering but she had promised her parents that she would never hurt herself again. Instead, she spent her days in various forms of isolation, to locking herself in her childhood bedroom for days, to sitting on the balcony quietly nursing a cup of tea. It was the first time that she had purposely avoided writing or drawing.

As all things, with time was supposed to come healing. Over the years, Jill kept up a regular notebook habit despite how pointless it seemed — it was a freeing outlet that calmed her anxious thoughts. Within those pages she catalogued original writings as well as jotting down lyrics, sayings, quotes, and eavesdropped phrases she heard whilst out and about. Clearcut beginnings and ends were her favorite thing. Anytime the she was confused or disturbed by the people around her, she’d retreat to process it silently on a page. Unless she was at work around those her age, she was surrounded by adults. Neither were particularly easy to make sense of, so many a notebook went filled. Though she still managed to maintain her “Jill of all Trades” persona for her relatability and kindness, people had still spoken about her as the deeply troubled young woman as a result.

Her depression left her deeply afraid, and she became somewhat of a recluse most times because she couldn’t bear the whispers. Then she met Gabriel, an older man who had stopped in Salem for business, and it had changed everything. The casual fling began and ended without much fuss. It was a stress relief, nothing different than the glass of wine or smoke she ingested when particularly stressed. Jill preferred living alone, in all aspects. Romance was never appealing, neither was having to belong to someone, or adhere to any sense of domestic behaviors. Long term relationships were foreign territory for her simply because of her deep depression, and it was always a relief to find someone on a similar wavelength. A couple months after their fling drew to a close, Jill found it wasn't as easy to shrug off as past exchanges when she discovered she was pregnant. Something within her knew she wouldn’t abandon the life growing inside, even if it threw off every perfectly crafted plan she had.

Nine months later Jill was the mother of fraternal twins, Gabe always by her side. For a while it seemed like they could make it work out — a possible bond and a growing love for each other. Then the postpartum symptoms had hit, and just like that, their blossoming relationship was thrown right into the garbage after Jill had attempted to take her life once more in the midst of a breakdown. Having been sent to a mental facility some ways out of town immediately after, Jill has just come back to her hometown after seven months — desperate to heal.

PERSONALITY

+  empathetic, personable, creative

-  stubborn, perfectionist, naive

Jillian is played by CLEM.

[jasmineforrestsartdoings]

The ‘Girly’ Aesthetic

I’ve decided I want my art to be about the abstraction of ‘girly’ magic tropes that were aimed at many girls in childhood through marketing and media. Though it is true that strictly binary representations of gender are fed to us in our childhood, and a failure to swallow these tropes are often met with distaste and shame (even in childhood), the ‘girly’ is something that sits precariously in our culture. ‘Girly’ tropes have a negative stereotype attached to them, with many passing them off as lacking in substance or intellect of some kind, and being silly and frivolous. Young girls in our culture are in a catch-22, as they are encouraged to be girly in youth and later in adolescence when this mindset continues, ‘girly’ things are suddenly shamed and judged for their interests.

 Music acts, certain films and shows aimed at girls, even so far as makeup and feminine ways of presenting are judged harsher by society, particularly in comparison to similar media types aimed at boys. Examples of subjects of this ridicule are the twilight movies, acts like Justin Bieber and One Direction , and negative connotations of makeup being ‘fake’ and phrases like ‘take a girl swimming on the first date’ that demonstrate these attitudes.

 Therefore, I think it an empowering stance to celebrate the femininity that many people in our culture have related to from an early age. This media, because of the strict divide in binary, was often made in the absence of the male gaze and was more emotion driven . This ‘culture’ relates to films, shows, toys, website design, clothing and more, and something to notice is that much of it shares a particular aesthetic style.

The ‘Barbie’ movies were female led films driven by a female perspective. The movies, have light pastels, soft warm yellows and oranges and lilac in their overall aesthetic. The characters wore dresses that young girls would love to wear and didn’t cater to what a male audience would call ‘sexy’. In the design of the cartoon, there often featured elaborate swirls and tiny white stars or dots that would represent a ‘sparkle’. A soft, hazy fade is also employed to show the glow of light. Across the board, pink and purple are used heavily which makes sense when you consider these were the ‘girly’ colours in society at the time.

Here, in the Polly-pocket game website, (a toy marketed to girls but was expanded into an online game) we can see a very similar colour palette. A mixture of bright, sunny colours and pastels, with a heavier focus on pink and purple. It’s also worth noting that the protagonist, as with the barbie movies, is Caucasian, and presents as feminine, meeting all the beauty standards inflicted on girls at the time. Both Barbie and Polly Pocket have blonde hair and blue eyes, which caters to the standard of western beauty that has been popular since the golden age of Hollywood. Design of the room incorporates florals and bold pattern into it’s design and furniture is rounded and soft looking.

The Winx show was a main inspiration for my early pieces in this vein. The show had a heavy focus on fashion and individual style, features the same colour palette as aforementioned and heavily relied on the white dot ‘sparkle effect’ to animate their ideas of magic and fantasy. The ensemble of girls had different styles, ranging from hyper-feminine to tomboyish and sporty. In the cast it is also important to note that more diversity was present, there being a black, hispanic and East Asian members. However the protagonist of the show was style caucasian, and in the latest reboot of the show, two of the POC characters were actually white-washed and stripped of their cultural back-story.

Pixel Chix were popular toys around the time I grew up. The ever-present ‘girly’ colour palette still features. I think it is note-worthy that these toys were built in the shape of a home, and the character moved around this domestic sphere as part of the game. The games also encourages girls to nurture and mother the character in the toy, which can be seen as another way society inflicts this expectation of women to carry children on cis women.

Here is a good example of the sprawling swirls and shapes included in the girly aesthetic. The ocean wave curls under at the bottom, and is adorned with swirly shells and creatures. A chrome sheen is applied to the dolphins in this picture, showing a favouring of light reflection like sparkles, chrome shine and metallics in the girly aesthetic. 

My intention in my practice is to further explore and emulate the girly aesthetic in order to celebrate the feminine culture aimed at children that was unabashedly feminine and did not cater to the male eye, as a way of reclaiming ‘girly’ culture from the society that shames it.

[lightleckrereins]

Six dressup on possible updates and why some things won’t happen

Because between things I want to do, things I need to fix, and things people have asked about or suggested I literally made a list dividing everything between: will absolutely happen|maybe|I have to check if this could work|not possible|makes my life harder so nope|already tried and it didn’t work|not making it

Make all the clothes in all the colors: (not making it, please stop asking) I have said this before, and I’ll say it again: this is a really big no. Even if I could make this in less than a few months the game file would grow four times its current size and it already takes my computer ten minutes to load so not happening.

Different body types: (not possible) This one right here is the biggest no. Making different body types: plus size, different height, more gender-neutral bodies is technically impossible. A different body means redrawing all the clothes, which I am not making, because everything fits differently on each body; and there is no way on the Meiker algorithm to change the body and automatically change all the clothes with it. Trust me I wanted to do this, it is in the first page of my “what would I do if I actually made the game” notes and it was the first thing I crossed out because it can’t happen.

More face options: (will absolutely happen) meaning different noses, more eyebrows, adding eyebrow colors, more eye shapes, potentially another eye color, maybe more mouth shapes. Yes, to all, I knew I wanted more eyes and eyebrows since I was testing the game, so all of this are happening. Just be aware that this is still my cartoon style and some things don’t happen in it.

Face markings: (will absolutely happen) won’t be many things, but freckles and moles will come.

More skin tones: (will absolutely happen) when I made the skin tones, I thought I had everything covered. Turns out the middle range of skin tones doesn’t read that well on some screens, and that needs to be corrected. And believe it or not I did a ton of research to make this game as diverse as possible, and I want to add darker skin colors with different undertones like the lighter ones.

More hair colors: (maybe) I think there is a nice range so far, maybe adding another brown and blond hair colors could be nice. Problem is that this takes a while, and I don’t know if I have enough motivation for it.

Alt colors for the Howard ponytails: (will absolutely happen) Yes. And green spacebuns, because why not. And other queen-color details for the hair.

Allow different hair colors for each hair piece: (makes my life harder so nope) I do see the appeal, but I also think it would be way more tedious to change each part individually each time you want a new hair color so not happening.

Makeup: (already tried and it didn’t work) there is a folder in my face assets file called eyeshadow, I spent over an hour working on it, has all ten colors and everything. I had to drop the idea the second I started working on different eye shapes. There is no way for makeup to work and not look weird with at least one eye shape.

Nail polish: (I have to check if this could work) no clue if this could look good again my style, I don’t usually do nails.

Tattoos: (not making it) I really don’t feel comfortable with this one. I believe tattoos are a deeply personal thing so I have no clue what would work for the queens. And there is no way I will take the queens tattoos and add them, because that is super disrespectful to them and stealing from their tattoo artists.

Glasses: (already tried and it didn’t work) as much as I like the idea the HOH glasses already look weird with some hairstyles, so this idea was discarded months ago.

Non costume clothing items: (not making it) including, but not limited to: student cast and studio cast costumes. First this don’t fit the aesthetic of the current costumes. Second a huge reason why the game works is that the costumes follow certain rules (costume parts, where waistbands go, etc.) so other clothing pieces is a big no. But there is one thing I will try to make:

Denim jackets: (I have to check if this could work) won’t make any promises, but I do like this idea

Allowing for a both a Cleves top and a shorts underlayer at the same time: (will absolutely happen) Yes.

Band tops as an under layer so they can be worn under the Cleves jacket: (will absolutely happen) this is the reason I asked for ideas on the first place. I hadn’t thought about this, but it makes a lot of sense so yes. Not the long sleeved one for layering reasons but the rest of them yes.

Other shorts/pants as an under layer to wear with the Howard skirts: (makes my life harder so nope) this wouldn’t work for a dozen of layering, and lineart reasons and taking bottoms to a different category would be confusing

Remove the bra piece that shows under the parr/teal/orange tops: (not possible) I cannot remove the bra because that would qualify as nudity and Meiker’s no 1 rule is no nudity. I will try to make it smaller, but It can’t be removed completely and will show in some way or another under those tops.

More hairstyles: (will absolutely happen) I already added a few things that are not on the show, but there are so many more things I want to try specially with curly and kinky hair because that’s not something I usually do and the game was the best practice I had in a long time. And the hair 3 menu needs to be expanded.

Microphones: (I have to check if this could work) I will try to see if this could work on the back hand.

More backgrounds: (will absolutely happen) I mean the dark blue/Parr background. Maybe something else, maybe a non-stage background.

Extra accessories: (will absolutely happen) More earring styles and adding nose rings and other facial piercings

A few more costumes: (will absolutely happen) this is basically first UK tour costumes. I already have og Cleves and Aimie’s Howard top, so future costumes: Maiya’s old top (the puffed sleeves one, not the trash bag sleeves one) and pants. Grace’s original costume. Millie’s old top (the one with no over sleeve). Natalie Pilkington’s Aragon skirt.

[the-mira-life-project-mtf]

🌊Back Swimming🧜🏻‍♀️

So, the last time I swam. It was before COVID-19 came to town in February. I swam still in my male clothes...during the early months of my transition. I visited the pool three times a week for a five hour session. This was my exercise; visiting each time during holidays, swimming laps, practicing underwater swimming and aquatic aerobics.

How I missed it!

I began planning my return to swimming, but this time as Mira (female) and not the person they remembered.

I began shopping for swim attire, I wanted to find something I would be comfortable in. I chose a one piece with an inlayed bra to hide any embarrassing reactions to cold water.

The only issue (and very personal) with one-piece swimsuits is that that wrap between the legs, and for a trans-woman in transition...well I’m certain you’ll understand.

Now, I’m certain out of 100 people, only one might glance at the crotch, but that 1-out-of-100 was enough to make me second guess swimming.

So, as featured in the title image, I wear and one piece with a skirtkini to cover-up.

On the day of swimming, I dressed in my one-piece and skirtkini and wore my civilian clothes over that, not certain about the facilities.

Luckily they have a corridor called ‘Universal Changing Center’, private rooms to change in. On my first visit in 2018, I used the men’s locker room and that almost ended my swimming. It is weird to think: ‘If the UCC is ever closed, I’ll never be able to walk into the men’s locker room; and a women’s locker is so alien to me (and I also believe I don’t belong in there due to my male anatomy). But oddly, I don’t feel that I’ll have the same reaction as I had in the males locker room.

I undressed in privacy and stood alone in the wash room, calming my nerves as I walked out to the pool deck, thinking positive thoughts.

As in the image below, when I first received my swim suit in May, I was dismayed to learn that I had little to no mass to support the built-in bra. I wondered about how I would resolve this issue, but six months later, I ‘almost’ filled out the built-in bra, showing how much I grew during quarantine.

Walking to an open lane; one swimmer; the aquatic director and two life guards stood in this room

“Welcome Back Young Lady!” the director said to my thrill. I was passing!

“Thank you!”

“Take off your mask and choose which lane you like.”

I was ecstatic that no one was looking at me oddly or commenting. Now, I’ve written in many posts about dealing with gender dysphoria; about how 90% of the time, your fears are all in your head. You see yourself not passing, but in actuality, you are.

It is all about attitude and behavior. If you act uncomfortable with yourself, people will know. And if you act confident with yourself, people will know also.

It’s easy to say in practice, but in reality, all that goes away! The dysphoria takes over, and all your flaws seem amplified.

For me, it was my breasts and face.

I honestly didn’t want to remove my mask as I’ve loved hiding behind it with no one thinking my behavior is odd. And I fret about developing chest not conforming to the swim attire.

I had to mentally remind myself ‘Calm down! No one cares!’

I jumped into the pool and tried to speed swim underwater, finding a oddly familiar problem. The speed I can reach causes a wardrobe malfunction and I nearly lose my skirtkini in the first second.

Swimming Experience

Now, let’s talk about swimming as a guy and swimming as a trans woman.

Most of my experiences are exactly that: experiences. So this may vary between individuals.

As a man, swimming with the upper body is much different then swimming as a trans woman. This makes sense however. Men have muscle mass, but women have toned muscles. My percision was far better then my execution. It took far more effort to pull myself through the water, but where I struggled with strength, my dexterity has greatly improved!

With define hips, rotation was way much easier; but with breasts, I needed to find my center of gravity.

I still have not tried dolphin technique, and wonder if my added weight to my chest will make it easier or harder.

Underwater gliding is about the same, but as a man, I used to glide only an inch off the ground. But as a woman...miss calculated and OUCH! I continue to forget I have breasts and have to modify my techniques.

Wadding and maintaining a position is far easier. My center of gravity as a man brought the water to my neck, now it is the bust-line.

I want to do a detailed swimming evaluation between being male and female when the pool is open without reservation (so I can spend five hours doing drills).