#which is not to say i wear women’s clothes instead i just buy my plain t-shirts in the teenage boys section and then anything beyond that

[chronicbeans]

I feel like I request way to much and I can't remember if I made this request already 💀 I imagined puppeteer reader having to show wally basic human things like brushing your teeth and hair and that you have to wash your clothes and when they say this wallys just like "more clothes pls" and after a lot of begging reader gives in and takes him shopping and when they're out wally sees a couple being all affectionate and is just like ":O is this how you guys show affection wowow" and tries to pull the same moves on reader 💀 (can be romantic or platonic I just love the idea of wally unknowingly rizzing up reader 😭)

OMG YES. More human Wally being confused.

Human Wally and Puppeteer Reader (part 2):

🍎 Day 3: this man is helpless. Like, you know it isn't really anyone's fault, since he is used to being a puppet and not a human, but... Come on! He tried to eat the toothpaste! Actually, not even that... HE DID EAT IT. He said he ate it because it smelled nice, so it probably tasted good, too! He was perfectly fine, afterwards, too. Sometimes you wonder if he is really entirely human...

🍎 So, when you finally decide to try to teach Wally how the shower actually works (all this time he has been sitting under the water in his clothes), you take GREAT CARE in doing so. He seems to take things very literally or get more interested in something else. Also, you don't want him to eat the shampoo or soap.

🍎"Okay, Wally, lets go through this nice and easy..." you carefully, very carefully, and extremely carefully talk over the process of how to wash his hair and body, as well as how to dry himself off. You also make sure to make it absolutely CRYSTAL CLEAR that you don't wear your clothes in the shower, and to instead take them off and leave them outside the door, for now. When you tried to go over how to brush his hair, he raises his hand and says "Oh! I got that, already! How else do you think I get my hair this well made up?"

🍎 So, you ask him, after about an hour of teaching, if he is ready to try to shower properly. He nods in excitement, watching as you leave to let him try it.

🍎 It sounds like a warzone. You have no idea what is going on, but you are way too scared to find out. You do notice that, even if he has done nothing else properly, he has left his clothes outside the door. You snatch them up, glad that you can finally get them washed up and rid them of the numerous toothpaste, ketchup, and paint stains on them.

🍎 You end up asking Angela if he can borrow some of Henry's father's old clothes, which she has refused to throw away. She was extremely torn... letting that... THING wear his clothes? But, eventually, she ended up going along with it. She had said that it was probably what he would've wanted. He was always happy to give to those in need. So, you neatly fold and outfit up, and leave them outside the door.

🍎 Two hours later, he finally gets out and peaks his head out the door to get his clothes, only to stop when he sees that they are gone. "(Y/N)! Help! Someone stole my clothes! I can't go out like this! I need to look nice!" You rush over, sighing as you point to the folded clothing, looking up to Wally, who is hiding behind "Put these on. Your clothes need to be washed." "If they needed to be washed, I could've just worn them in the shower." "PUT THE CLOTHES ON PLEASE-"

🍎 He comes out, wearing the plain white dress shirt and black dress pants you got him. To your shock, he somehow got his hair styled into his classic pompadour, even though you don't know if you have the product for it. The bathroom is mysteriously clean, despite the chaos you heard from it. Now, its time to buy him some clothes of his own.

🍎 He is like a child on Christmas morning. He sprints through the clothes aisle, getting lost three times during your trip. He throws practically anything he can find in there that resembles the clothes he wore on the show, with a few extras added on. He even runs to the women's aisle to grab a few dresses, saying they reminded him of the few times he played a princess in Sally's plays. Oh! And they also look pretty!

🍎 At the check-out, he can't help but notice these two people behind you who are acting really odd. They are cuddling really close and using the most sugary of compliments to refer to one another. Is that how he is supposed to show affection to you? He hasn't seen you do that or have that done to you... Oh no! You must feel really lonely! He needs to fix this, as your most devoted puppe- umm... Human!

🍎 As you are putting the numerous bags of (really expensive) clothing into your shopping cart, you feel Wally latch onto you from behind, nuzzling his face into your neck as he says things like "I love you so much, sugar cube!" or "Let's get married, someday!" You wheeze from both how tight he is holding you and shock, not knowing where this lovey-dovey behavior came from. Sure, he was always clingy, but it was more in a "worship" way, not "we are suddenly dating now" way.

🍎 The cashier giggles, mentioning how the two of you are "such a cute couple and would make an even cuter married couple!" You decide to stay quiet in the store, walking out with the clothes in the cart and Wally hanging onto you like a lifeline.

🍎 You pack everything in the car, before sitting in the driver's seat and turning to Wally. "What were you doing back there? Are you trying to like, date me or something? Is this weird worshipping schtick you have going on not enough to you?" When he explains what he saw and why he was doing it, you calm down a bit. Just another case of Wally being a little confused, but having the right spirit. "Okay... Just remember that that sort of behavior is usually reserved for romantic partners or trying to get a date, okay? Reserve that for someone you really, REALLY love. I don't know how to explain it. Like, butterflies in your stomach, a nice burning in your chest when you are near them. That sorta love."

🍎 Butterflies in his stomach? Burning in his chest? Near the person he loves? He gets those things near you! There is also this new, beating in his chest ever since he became human. That must be love, too! He looks to you, saying "So... Continue treating you like that. I got it."

[thoughtfulreviewprincess]

Borrowed Clothing

“Where's my jacket?” Sasuke asks poking his head in the living room, he was wearing a black T-shirt which he would normally wear along with it.

“Your jacket?” Sakura tilts her head, cosy on the couch with her book.

“Yes, the blue one with the Uchiha logo on the back.”

“Oooh, I thought you might have meant this one?” And it's only when Sakura stands up does he realise she is wearing his oversized jacket.

The red one which he had thought he lost 2 weeks ago.

She was tiny in comparison.

“Why are you-”

“Yo, I'm home,” Naruto calls and Sasuke turns to see the blonde in his blue one.

He just grins as his eyes narrow.

"Why are you two wearing my clothes?" They smiled sheepishly shrugging.

“I mean isn't that what you are supposed to do when in a relationship? It's like an unspoken rule.” Naruto explains, Sasuke gives him a blank look.

“No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is,” Sakura interjects. “It's normal to borrow your partner's clothing.”

“When you say 'borrow' you really mean steal don't you? I've been missing that jacket for two weeks now.”

“Don't blame me, Naruto's the one who had it first. I thought you knew, I only took it after because it smells of the both of you.”

“Yeah, and besides, you can borrow mine if you want. I don't mind.” The Uchiha sighs seeing as there was no point in reasoning with them.

Plus, he couldn't say no to them anyway.

“Fine, but I want them cleaned up afterwards. Especially from you.”

Naruto tended to be quite slobbish with his food.

“Oi, I'm not that bad.”

~~~

Three days later, Sasuke is wearing his red jacket now as Naruto still refuses to give him back the blue one.

Sakura at least had the decency to wash the other and fold it neatly back onto the bed.

Even though it was clean, he could still smell the ramen and Sakura's perfume on it.

So that's why. Sasuke thinks to himself feeling calm and warm at their scent. Despite the fact that the two were both at lectures.

He didn't feel lonely as before.

~~~

“I see you're taking our advice!”

“Don't let it get to your head.”

“Too late.” The Uzumaki smiles seeing the Uchiha in his orange hoodie.

“It suits you,” he comments smirking.

“Yeah, it does.” Sakura agrees feeling snug in Naruto's jumper.

~~~

“I don't think it's going to work...”

“Well, it's your idea.” Sasuke snarls whispering.

“But can we even fit in them?” The Uchiha and Uzumaki browse through their girlfriend's clothes.

She was much tinier compared to them, but it didn't seem fair for them to only borrow each other's clothing when she had multiple options.

“It's worth a shot?”

~~~

“Uh...”

“It was Naruto's idea.” Sasuke pointed to the blonde.

“Hey, you’re the one who said we should try.” The boys glared and Sakura sniggered at them.

Naruto was in a pink crop top with strawberries that just about covered his chest whilst Sasuke was in a plain purple t-shirt that likewise was too tight and barely fitted the Uchiha.

“Well...it's the thought that counts.”

~~~

Since the two couldn't fit into her clothes, they thought of another idea instead.

“What are you...”

“We couldn't fit into your own clothes, so we thought we would buy a larger version of them,” Sasuke spoke.

“We also went and brought other clothes that would suit us but think you would like.” Naruto finished off.

“I can't believe you actually went out of your way to buy something, just so you can wear something that's mine.”

“This is equal rights,” Naruto stated.

Sakura huffed amused, he had a point.

“We've borrowed your perfume though.” Sasuke shares perfume in hand.

“My perfume?”

“To make them smell like you.”

Of course, they did, it was cheesy but kind of sweet.

Only one question remained though.

“Are you two even going to go outside wearing them?” Most guys would feel embarrassed at wearing 'women's clothing' but then again...

“What do you mean? We already did.”

They were her boys after all.

[audreydoeskaren]

Have you read Spin the Dawn by Elizabeth Lim? Idk what Era precisely it's meant to be, but I'm curious if anyone in the Chinese fashion sphere has anything to say about the clothes making/designing portions of the book, re: what clothes making was really like, the job of a royal tailor/tailors in general (were they common, or did most people make their own clothes? Was it a respected job?), that kind of thing! Thank you for your work on this blog!

I don't usually read fantasy novels like Spin the Dawn but I can say a thing or two about clothing production in imperial China. The state of dressmaking was different for each era and I can only talk a little bit about the Ming and Qing. Obviously I don't know the complete details of every stage of production for clothing, I'll just share some things that I do have knowledge on. Most of my information came from Rachel Silberstein's book A Fashionable Century: Textile Artistry and Commerce in the Late Qing, which could be read on JSTOR.

Royal dressmaking

Clothing that was meant for royal use was seldom created by one person alone, but rather the combined efforts of specialists and professionals in different areas. The designs would be made by artists in court, then textiles used for the clothing would be commissioned from state owned textile workshops, then sent to tailors to be sewn into garments and then to embroiderers if embroidery was required. Embroidery wasn't always necessary, since for most of the Ming fashionable and prestigious clothing was made from fabrics with woven patterns (e.g. brocades, damasks) instead of embroidered ones; embroidery would not become the dominant form of decoration until the Ming-Qing transition in the mid 17th century. Normal people wouldn't be able to purchase fabrics from the imperial workshops, but imperial workshops have been on the decline since the late Ming and commercial workshops were producing quality fabrics on a par with those from the imperial ones. Imperial workshop also frequently sublet their work to commercial ones.

As to the design aspect, formal court dress was heavily regulated as to what patterns and garments could be used for what occasion, so there wasn’t much room for artistic liberty. It was on informal clothing that more creativity could be exercised; embroiderers could choose what patterns and motifs go on garments and tailors could experiment with different proportions.

Source

Women’s 吉服 jifu formal ensemble from the Qianlong era. The patterns and their placement for such formal garments were fixed.

Source

Guangxu era informal 氅衣 changyi. The final appearance of this garment was still the combined efforts of many people, e.g. the weavers decided on the purple color, the tailor decided on the proportion and the embroiderers the floral motifs etc..

Home dressmaking

Common people prior to the 17th century mostly made their own clothes, particularly by the female members of the household. It was very common to make clothing from scratch i.e. the growing of cotton or grooming of silkworms, to fabric weaving, sewing and embroidering. It was considered a part of women's education to learn how to weave fabrics and sew garments together, but this doesn't mean that the entire dressmaking process was confined to women or one person either; men, who were expected to do farm work, would grow the crops necessary for the weaving of fabrics, and often assisted in the weaving process. Since the majority of the Chinese population lived in the countryside, many families produced fabrics from raw materials they made on their own farms and made clothes from said fabrics. Because of the difficulty in weaving brocaded fabrics by oneself, home dressmakers who couldn't afford to buy ready woven fabrics prior to the late Ming had to limit themselves to plain fabrics. In the late Ming and early Qing, the rise of embroidery as the dominant method of decoration meant that fashionable patterns became available to less wealthy people who couldn't afford to buy expensive brocaded fabrics, since they could reproduce all the fashionable patterns with just needle, thread and spare time. Embroidery books showing popular patterns and motifs were widely available and could be purchased cheaply. With that said, that doesn't mean that the entirety of a garment had to be made from scratch; many decorations and notions could be bought from shops, like trimmings, ribbons, buttons and prefabricated embroidery appliques. The seamstress would just need to buy the fabric, decorations and notions and put them together as one garment. In the Qing, women seldom went out of the house, and they relied on vendors or middlemen for vendors who brought products to their homes for sale. For women at the time, being a skilled weaver, seamstress or embroiderer was a highly desirable trait, not just because it symbolized "female virtue" whatever that means, but also because it provided work opportunities. Women who were otherwise not employed could take commissions from commercial weaving, tailoring or embroidery workshops as a side income.

Commercial dressmaking

Since the 17th century, the textile industry was increasingly commercialized and it since became more viable to purchase ready woven fabrics from commercial workshops, especially for people in urban areas.  These were usually owned by rural families as a side income, and they would often hire landless people to work in their manufactories. I don't know if owning a textile manufactory was a respected job (probably not, considering the literati's hatred for everything commercial) but these people did make serious money. Family operating businesses were often co-owned by wife and husband. Embroidery workshops making prefabricated embroidered appliques and tailor shops making ready to wear garments were also quite common, often relying on middlemen for delivering orders and negotiating prices between the workshop and individual embroiderers/seamstresses in the countryside. In Qing tailor shops, it was often the case that only menswear could be purchased ready to wear, whereas womenswear was made to measure or by the wearer herself. Within tailor shops, there were many subdivisions of labor, like some people did pattern drafting, some people cut pattern pieces and some people assembled the garments. The status of commercial tailors has historically been low, mostly because of the Confucian ruling class’ disdain for consumption, luxury and anything non-self sustaining.

Source

Ca. 1780s export painting showing weaving women.

Feminist tangent

In the Qing, most home weaving and embroidering were done by women, but the commercial workshops were male dominated and their guilds prohibited entry for women, because commercial dressmaking had become a lucrative business and men didn’t want to share employment with women. Male employees in workshops were considered artisans and better paid, whereas women who had to work at home were considered unskilled labor and paid less. Most commercial tailors in the Qing were also male, for reasons similar to why embroidery was male dominated. Whereas women commonly sewed clothes for themselves and their families, they were often prohibited from becoming professional tailors working in workshops or joining a guild. It’s that bogus thing where handicrafts are “women’s work” but when men see how profitable they are they suddenly become “artistic” and limited to men. 

Commercial tailors, who were male, were seen as a cultural abomination for doing what was historically seen as “women’s work” for profit. In order to elevate themselves to a higher, more respected status, they chose to throw women under the bus and revise the history of all things historically considered “women’s work” to make them more male centered. An example of this was the 露香园 Luxiang Yuan or Dew Fragrance Garden, a renowned Suzhou embroidery workshop built up by three generations of women of the Gu family, who owned the estate and was the namesake of their style of embroidery, 顾绣 guxiu or Gu embroidery. The male family head at the time, Gu Mingshi, later became the patron saint of the Suzhou embroiderer’s guild founded in 1867. The reason why Gu Mingshi was worshipped instead of the three women who made Gu embroidery famous was largely because male members of the Suzhou embroiderer’s guild needed historical justification for their exclusion of women and erasure of women’s contributions. Apparently late 19th century scholars also complained about this misogyny so this isn’t a new understanding.

Source

Gu embroidery by Han Ximeng, one of the three OG Gu women.

With all of this said, it doesn’t mean that women stopped working in commercial embroidery; women were actually the backbone of the industry, they just didn’t get any recognition from official, male written guild records and such. Many people in the 19th century observed that while the resident embroiderers in commercial workshops were men, a lot of their work was sublet to independent female embroiderers in the countryside, who were not credited on the finished product or advertising. 

Now I’m kinda inspired to make a whole rant about working women in the Qing and their representation (or lack thereof) in the Republican era, but there are some 20 unanswered asks sitting in my ask box so maybe later😅

[sasschijinx]

Day 7 - A free space drabble

Here's a snippet of something that has been rolling around in my head. It's set in the Evo-verse, which is probably my favorite 'verse to read but not one I've written in. I have a rough outline of the story in my head but I'm not sure what I'm doing with it. I guess we'll see 🤷🏻‍♀��

Rogue tossed her backpack over her shoulder as headed out of the auditorium classroom.

Her civil liberties class had ended early and she was done class for the day, and she was eager to get home and start on the copious amount of homework that had already started piling up.

She had just started her junior year at the local university, studying pre-law. It was ironic given her criminal past and brushes with the law, but she knew she could help make a difference for mutant rights in the courts and help those less fortunate. It really wasn't that different than what the X-Men did. Practicing law and defending the less fortunate were actually the perfect profession for a bleeding heart like her.

For years she had covered up and hidden behind a tough, untouchable Goth facade but that was only because she was literally untouchable. One swipe of a finger, an elbows, her lips, and thoughts, feelings, mannerisms, even mutant powers, were all downloaded into Rogue's brain. Over the past couple years, after sealing Apocalypse in the pyramid and saving the world, Rogue had slowly been working toward control over her powers.

It was slowly going at first but more recently she was making great progress. She was now able to make physical contact for up to 10 minutes before her absorption power kicked in.

She was nearing her Mini Cooper S, a high school graduation gift from Logan and the Professor, when she saw him. Remy LeBeau.

It had been 2 years, 3 months, and 10 days since she last saw the low-life swamp rat but she didn't think about him. Much.

At first she managed to convince herself that despite having found some common ground with the irritatingly handsome Cajun thief and one-time enemy, there was no way she was attracted him. He was a criminal. He had no scruples. And she definitely wasn't hypnotized by his devilish eyes. His dreamy red on black eyes, which threatened to burn her alive with their gaze.

Most of all, Rogue didn't believe in love at first sight. No matter how many of those harlequin novels she secretly read, sensible women do not just fall for the scoundrel. And one thing she highly valued about herself was her sensibility.

She stopped in front of him, ready to throw down.

"Not uh, no. Ah don't think so. You best move off my car, swamp rat, before Ah kick your ass. Ah got nothing to say ta ya."

He licked his lips, giving her a once over that ended with his gaze locking in on her bright green eyes that were no longer dulled down by thick black eyeliner. "Is dat any way t'treat an old friend, chere?"

"Friend?" she scoffed. "It's been two years! Two years since New Orleans. Haven't heard from ya since. Ain't such a great friend, huh?"

Even after two years, she had to admit, he still looked good. He was wearing his hair longer. A longish auburn shag that fell across his face. It was so much better than the stupid bowl cut. And gone was the goatee. Instead he was rocking all-over stubble. He was also wearing plain clothes, though he was still wearing a beat-up duster. This was the first time she'd seen him wearing something other than a uniform.

Rogue found she liked it. A lot. Then she immediately chastised herself for the errant thought.

He looked genuinely pained for a split second before masking his face. "Things have been... complicated down South. I'm sorry I couldn't look you up sooner. Truly, Rogue."

She wasn't buying his apology and was ready to dish out a sarcastic retort.

"Ahm SO sorry to hear that," she said in mock sympathy. "So, what can Ah do for my old friend Gambit? And hurry it up. Ah got a constitutional law exam to study for."

"Please, it's Remy," he said sincerely. "And law, chere? Dat's the subject of m' people."

He smirked and she rolled her eyes in disgust.

"It's true. We thieves are well acquainted with de many facets of U.S. and international law. Practically learned all de criminal law statutes along with our ABCs. If y' ever lookin' for a study buddy, I'd gladly offer m' services."

She sneered at his come-on and motioned for him to hurry up and start talking about the real reason he was here.

He took a breath. "I was hopin' y might consider putting in a good word with de X-Men for me."

Her mouth actually dropped. That's not at all what she thought he'd say. She looked at him blankly. "Ah'm sorry. What did ya just say?"

****

Gambit had been shadowing Rogue for weeks now. Getting to know her routine and rituals. Waiting until just the right moment to make himself known.

She seemed to have grown into herself. She walked with an air of confidence. Something the Goth teen hadn't had when he last saw her. In fact, she had ditched the Goth look altogether and seemed to be in favor of a more stripped-down natural look. Interesting.

Remy found it sexy as hell. He couldn't argue with her new look. Though the dark Goth style had never been his type, Rogue wore it well. And beyond even her good looks, there was something about her that drew him to her. Maybe it was the fact that her upbringing had paralleled his so closely that it innately felt like she was his kindred spirit. He felt connected to her in ways he couldn't describe or even begin to understand.

Not that he believed in that twin flame/soul mate nonsense. Not really.

Now that she ditched the makeup and apparently her flat iron, if her fluffy waves were any indication, Rogue was a knockout.

Even more curious was, although she still wore gloves, her outfits were noticeably less layered with more skin showing. In his shadowing of her, he hadn't seen her interact much with anyone other than brief conversations with classmates on campus and batistas at the local coffee shop she liked to study at. He hadn't dared follow her inside the Mansion's gates... yet. He wanted to lay low for as long as possible.

He looked up to see her huffing over to him. Dieu, she looks beautiful when she's riled up. He can't wait to talk to her, to verbally spar with her. He's been aching for it since he'd gotten back to town three weeks ago.

And for the last two years if he's being honest.

He glances down at his watch. She's right on time.

[princesssarisa]

Cinderella September-through-November: "Cinderella" (1990 Golden Films animation)

Golden Films was one of those low-budget animation companies that specialized in producing "mockbusters": middling-quality, direct-to-video animated films based on the same subject matter as the latest hits and time-honored classics from Disney and other high-profile animation studios. I never watched any of their films in my childhood, but I remember seeing them available at Blockbuster and other video stores: particularly their notorious 1996 version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which changes Esmeralda's name to Melody and has Quasimodo become handsome and undeformed in the end. Fortunately, there's nothing so offensive in their Cinderella. That is, apart from the fact that it was sold with a misleading VHS and DVD cover portraying Cinderella and the Prince as looking more like their Disney counterparts than they do in the actual film, making many parents think they were buying the Disney classic for their children only to realize their mistake too late.

This 25-minute Cinderella is a far simpler retelling of the story than Disney would ever have thought of producing, both in terms of its storytelling and in its plain, cartoonish animation. The backgrounds are reasonably well-detailed and pretty, often resembling a lower-budget version of the Disney film's backgrounds, but the character designs have decidedly less elegance to them. Cinderella herself is pretty-faced yet rail-thin, with a massive strawberry blonde ponytail that becomes a massive beehive hairdo for the ball, while the Stepmother and Stepsisters are buffoonish, long-nosed caricatures, one sister thin, the other sister and their mother fat. The teeny-tiny, chubby, pink-clad Fairy Godmother has a cartoonish charm about her appearance, while the handsome Prince is the most realistically drawn character overall. The time period is indeterminate: the Prince and other men's clothes have a Renaissance flair and the King and Queen wear medieval-looking robes, and yet most of the women's gowns have a vaguely 19th or 20th century appearance, and photography evidently exists too, as the morning after the ball, an embarrassing picture of the Stepsisters is published in the society newspapers they constantly read.

The classic story is told in a straightforward, mostly faithful fashion. Cinderella's father is said to still be alive by the voiceover narrator, but he's always away on business and never appears onscreen. The Stepmother and Stepsisters are petty bullies to Cinderella: when at one point she accidentally spills coffee on her Stepmother's dress, the Stepsisters purposefully spill coffee on their own dresses too just to give her extra work by making her wash them, and later, they send her outside during a rainstorm to bring in their packages from a shopping spree, causing her to catch a cold. Meanwhile, Cinderella daydreams and sleep-dreams of romantic interludes with the Prince – the very likeness of the real Prince, despite the fact that she's never met him – and the Fairy Godmother later reveals that she sent her those dreams. Another creative touch (although the Muppets' Hey, Cinderella! did it earlier) is that the ball is a masked ball, which helps to explain why the Prince has to rely on the glass slipper to recognize Cinderella rather than her face.

Apart from minor embellishments like those above, this Cinderella is surprisingly loyal to Perrault's original in some ways that most other versions ignore. This is one of the few adaptations where the ball takes place over two nights instead of just one, with Cinderella losing her slipper on the second night. The first night, she gives special, kindly attention to her Stepsisters without their recognizing her, although here she urges the Prince to dance with them rather than giving them oranges. Likewise, in the end she not only forgives them, but pairs them off with handsome gentlemen of the court.

As a whole, I'd say this is a reasonably charming Cinderella, though far from an essential one. The writing, voice acting and music are all solidly done, and while the animation isn't beautiful, its colorful appearance still holds some appeal, especially for children. If this should serve as a child's introduction to the fairy tale – for example, if their parents are misled by the cover and buy it thinking it's the Disney version – it would serve that purpose well. But as a whole, there are plenty of Cinderellas better than this particular "mockbuster" version.

@superkingofpriderock, @ariel-seagull-wings

[agapaic]

[19 days] sin city

this drabble is a gift to one of my dearest and biggest supporters, @geoviki​, who requested a bonus ‘second kiss’ continuation scene between he tian and guan shan in the ‘sweet tooth’ universe (a crazy rich asians-inspired fic), and i sincerely hope you enjoy it, viki! all my love, xxx

Guan Shan hasn’t set foot in God’s house since he was a kid. His mother goes every weekend when she doesn’t have a double shift, but he can’t bring himself to go with her. Too busy, too cynical. He knows he can’t struggle with his faith when he’s lost it; he doesn’t know if he ever found it. He knows without a doubt that he sins.

As it is, he isn’t burnt in the service, isn’t poisoned by the communion. He thinks that if anyone were to be dealt retribution then he wouldn’t be first in line. Singapore’s elite have bigger, dustier skeletons in their closets than Guan Shan, half-disintegrated with age.

He tells himself this through the readings and prayers and hymns he’s forgotten the words to, glances routinely through the stained-glass windows for a glimpse of an outside reality he can’t see. He can hear it: the rush of mid-morning traffic beyond the grassy verges of the church, neatly protected from the central business district by iron fencing and a half-acre of flower beds and rain trees.

Beneath the lip of the pew, where copies of the testaments, old and new, have been neatly placed and the firm, embroidered hassocks hang off metal hooks, He Tian squeezes Guan Shan’s hand.

‘Nearly done,’ he murmurs, while Father Joshua delivers his sermon on godliness in children and parental obedience.

Guan Shan's gaze slides to his. It’s one of the only things He Tian’s said the whole service.

‘You believe all this?’ he asks, whispering.

‘They do,’ He Tian replies, his lips barely moving.

Fans move lazily above them from the high steepled ceiling, their chains rattling over the din of the priest’s solemn tone. They don’t offer much: the inside of the church is still sticky with heat, and members of the congregation attempt to cool themselves with the service pamphlets or paperback copies of the Bible with broken spines and annotations in the margins.

From the seat in front of them, Guan Shan watches a bead of sweat slide down a woman’s neck, dampness collecting at the high laced collar of her Chanel dress. She has her own bamboo fan, painted with pretty avian sketches.

Guan Shan pulls his gaze away. ‘Which godly child are you?’ he asks He Tian quietly. ‘Absolom or Samuel?’

He Tian tries to hide a grin. ‘Destroyer of kingdoms or a monk?’ he questions, angling his head as if looking behind him. His breath is cool at Guan Shan’s ear. Guan Shan lets him lean close, breathing in sandalwood and khus oil. ‘Are those my only choices?’

Guan Shan sets his eyes forward. ‘Nothin’ else seems to be acceptable.’

‘Yes—they’re a stern lot.’

‘They should put their money where their mouth is.’

He Tian snorts quietly. He releases Guan Shan’s hand, and Guan Shan says nothing when his hand moves instead to rest innocently atop Guan Shan’s thigh.

‘He Tian…’ he starts to warn.

He Tian keeps his expression plain. ‘I told you if you came I’d make it worth your while.’

‘That’s not—’ Guan Shan bats his hand away. The gesture elicits a harsh smacking sound, and a few heads turn. Guan Shan presses his lips into a hard line. When eventually their attention shifts away again, Guan Shan hisses, ‘I’m not doin’ that.’

‘I thought you didn’t care much for His wrath,’ He Tian says, pointing discreetly upwards.

‘That’s got nothin’ to do with…’ Guan Shan breaks off. He Tian’s eyes are glittering. He’s joking with him. Guan Shan clenches his jaw. Murmuring, he says: ‘You shouldn’t mess with people like that.’

‘But you make it so much fun,’ He Tian whispers.

Guan Shan glares at him. He endures the rest of the sermon in stoic silence. Absolom, he thinks. He Tian, the destroyer of kingdoms—and young men’s hearts.

///

They linger outside after the sermon. The air is thick and charged with the aftermath of a morning thunderstorm, the ground wet with rain and the smell of petrichor. Guan Shan breathes in deeply, stepping back while He Tian greets strangers and allows middle-aged women to offer both cheeks for him to kiss, their husbands noticeably absent. They run their eyes over Guan Shan and the suit he’s going to make He Tian return by the end of the day, and He Tian politely evades their desire for introductions.

He knows everyone, Guan Shan realises, but it doesn’t surprise him. He’s seen the He family work a crowd at a party or a charity function. The lingering congregation of a Sunday mass is only another opportunity to schmooze and gossip.

‘Just another five minutes,’ He Tian murmurs at Guan Shan’s ear. ‘My father will have my hide if I don’t show my face for a decent length of time.’

‘How long’s that? By his standards?’

‘He’d have me go to brunch with someone’s mother and their daughter if he had his way.’

Guan Shan fingernails bite into his palms. The thought of He Tian being palmed off to some socialite’s offspring makes him bitter with jealousy. He’s seen He Tian only a few times since the charity function at the She estate, communicated with him mostly in veiled text messages and late night calls.

It’s been weeks since they’d shared the feeling of each other’s lips in a quiet room at the She mansion, weeks since they’d shared kueh with their legs dangling over the edge of a jetty across from Sentosa island. Most nights, Guan Shan still tastes both on his lips.

He’s got little stake to claim over the young heir of the He fortune, but he can’t help himself. He goes where He Tian asks him to, wears the suits He Tian buys him. Fuck, he’s started smoking his brand of cigarettes, too. And if He Tian wants to take him to church one Sunday morning so he has better company than a band of middle-aged women wanting him for themselves more than their daughters… Who is Guan Shan to say no after the first three times?

‘What are you thinking?’

Guan Shan blinks. Another church-goer has come and gone, and they’re alone. He Tian is watching him closely.

‘I want a cigarette,’ Guan Shan says. Technically, it’s not a lie.

He Tian snorts. ‘In the courtyard of our Lady of the Veil? Blasphemy, Mo Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan shrugs. He remembers their exchange at the threshold of the church, where two children no more than ten stood with a coin bowl held out, covered in pool-table green cloth and more cash than Guan Shan earns from a month’s tips.

‘I’m not a Catholic,’ he’d told He Tian, feeling strangely compelled to tell him with an even stranger degree of anxiety about the fact, as if it were a make-or-break moment for something they had that could neither be made nor broken.

He Tian had snorted then, too. ‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, stepping through the doors, palming the children a few bills to line their pockets. ‘Neither am I.’

Now, Guan Shan watches as He Tian reaches into the lining of his suit jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from the pocket. It’s too warm to stand outside in their Sunday best for long, and He Tian tugs Guan Shan over beneath the shade of an Indian-almond tree, its boughs offering some cool relief to a small section of the church courtyard.

Guan Shan watches He Tian light a cigarette between his lips, the flame close to his fingers. It catches; there’s a cherry red glow. Smoke blooms between them, and then He Tian plucks the cigarette from his lips and holds it out as if it’s a newly picked flower.

‘Here,’ he says. A moment passes, where Guan Shan doesn’t take it. ‘I thought you wanted it.’

‘I do, I just—’ Guan Shan can feel his cheeks starting to redden. He swallows. His throat has gone dry. He can hear the voices of men and women standing before the church. He knows some of them are watching, wondering, eager to know who his family is and where he’s come from and how he has captured He Tian’s attention with such painful, singular attentiveness.

‘You’re not—’ He Tian breaks off with a laugh. ‘You’re not worried that I’ve touched it, are you?’

Guan Shan looks away, and He Tian’s eyes widen.

‘Oh,’ he says. His smile grows wider. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he croons. ‘I didn’t know you were such a puritan. How proud He’d be.’

‘Shut up,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s stance shifts, intrigued. ‘If I’d known it took an indirect kiss to make you blush, Man Upstairs be damned, I’d have put my mouth elsewhere a long time ago.’

‘Shut up.’

He Tian’s laughter is deep as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Some of the women are frowning at him. The hot breeze carries the smoke in their direction, and they waft it away with their fans and paper service pamphlets, rouged mouths pursing tightly. He smiles at them, all affable apologies, and they can’t begrudge him long.

‘They want you to fuck them,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s eyes flick to his, and his smile grows indulgent. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘You’re not gonna do anythin’ about it?’

‘Like what?’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. ‘Like—tell them to fuck off?’

He Tian snorts. ‘They’re old friends of the family. And you forget they haven’t made me an offer, sweetheart.’

‘And if they did?’

He Tian considers him carefully. His playfulness begins to fade. ‘You’re jealous,’ he says. ‘Of them?’

‘They’d divorce their investment husbands if they knew they had a chance with you.’

He Tian taps cigarette ash to the ground. He looks away, squinting at the skyline, considering something, before taking a step forward.

‘Firstly,’ says He Tian, his voice low, ‘if they had a chance with me they’d know it. Secondly, there’d be no divorce or marriage to a man twenty years their junior because their reputations wouldn’t survive the scandal. And thirdly: what the fuck would I want with them when I have the prospect of a whole indirect kiss with you?’

Guan Shan glares at him. ‘Gimme that,’ he says, snatching the cigarette from He Tian’s fingers before putting it to his lips. He nearly chokes on the inhale, eyes watering, and smoke seeps from the corners of his mouth before he can control it the way he wants it to. There’s nothing attractive about it, but he catches He Tian watching him with an indulgent smile.

‘It’s been five minutes,’ He Tian says, taking a glance at his watch. ‘We can go now. I promised to buy you brunch. You’re still happy with Orchard Road?’

‘I’m not finished,’ Guan Shan says.

He Tian’s brows lift. ‘You can’t smoke and walk?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

He Tian tilts his head. ‘Oh?’

‘I meant—it’s not really fair, is it? It’s always—always you kissin’ me, and shit.’

‘Always?’

‘Yeah, with the—distractin’ the guards at She Li’s house and with—’ He makes a vague gesture. ‘—the cigarette and—’

‘Guan Shan—’

‘—it’s only fair that I get to prove my own fuckin’ point too—’

‘Mo Guan Shan—’

‘So will you just shut up and let me kiss you?’

He Tian stares at him.

Then he swallows.

‘If you really want to,’ he starts, ‘I suppose I’m in no position to—mmphh!’

It isn’t tender or soft, and Guan Shan is vaguely aware of the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. He lets it fall, hopes he’s ground it out beneath his foot properly and remembers to pick it up after or risk a fine, but first: this. His fingers tightly locked in the dark strands of He Tian’s hair; He Tian’s lips bruising against his own, the sharp gasps of the women loitering by the church doors.

It’s exactly as he remembers from last time. A crushing pressure, the sense of being caught unawares. No finesse. Guan Shan knows it could be slower, that they could take their time, a pilgrimage of vulnerability and one body learning another, but something possessive in him has taken over—this is a crusade.

He Tian’s answering kiss twists into a grin against Guan Shan’s mouth. Guan Shan swallows He Tian’s amusement down, finds the feel of He Tian’s smile against his lips unfairly alluring. He does his best to try and rid He Tian of it, crowding close until He Tian’s back hits the trunk of the almond tree and He Tian is groaning beneath the pressure of his lips. He tastes the acrid smoke of their shared cigarette and He Tian’s breath mints, feels the humid beat of the mid-morning sun—and He Tian’s hand pressing gently at his chest.

He pulls away, staggering and breathing hard. With satisfaction, he notes that He Tian is, too.

‘I think we’re even now,’ says He Tian, a slight rasp to his voice. His eyes are bright and he runs his thumbnail over his lower lip, which has gone swollen and red. ‘You’ve suitably convinced your audience.’

Guan Shan looks away. ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Oh?’ He Tian asks, amused. ‘That wasn’t you staking your claim?’

Guan Shan hesitates. Part of him can’t bear to look behind him. ‘Are you gonna be excommunicated?’

He Tian chuckles. ‘I’m sure I can find my way back in. Father Joshua is particularly fond of He Cheng’s hideously curvaceous Bugatti.’

‘Guess that’s somethin’,’ Guan Shan mutters.

In answer, He Tian sweeps a hand through the loose strands of Guan Shan’s red hair that have slipped down across his forehead. The touch is fond and familiar and makes Guan Shan swallow hard.

‘You know,’ says He Tian. ‘You can do that any time you want. Not just to prove a point.’

‘You haven’t,’ says Guan Shan, an accusation.

‘I didn’t want to scare you off. I realise last time I was a bit—’

‘Forceful?’

‘Abrupt,’ He Tian corrects delicately. ‘But still—I don’t want you to think you’re any less mine.’

Guan Shan looks at him. ‘Thought you couldn’t have anythin’ you wanted.’

‘Ah…’ He Tian drops his hand, leans back on the heels of his Louis Vitto’s. Almost boyishly, he says, ‘I thought it was a done deal. You and me.’

Guan Shan neither confirms or denies. Instead he asks, ‘Who’d you trade with to get that impression?’

He Tian nods his head upwards. ‘Did it work? I sold my soul for it. ’

‘And they still let you in?’

He Tian’s look is sinful. ‘They let the worst of us through.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. He wets his lips. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I think you’re on a decent road to redemption.’

‘Is that your way of saying it was a worthwhile bargain?’ Tell me it worked.

‘Is that your way of askin’ if I’m yours?’ Guan Shan asks. All these riddles and metaphors—sometimes he has to bring them back to the ground, make sure they’re on the same page.

‘I—Yes.’

Guan Shan nods, then jerks his chin in a challenge. ‘Make me believe it and I might be.’

He Tian’s eyes flicker towards the church just for a moment, but then he smirks, reaffirming their closeness with one step. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he murmurs, angling his head down, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

[ijustwant2write]

Far Away-Finn Shelby x Reader

Requested by anonymous: 'Hii i love your imagines and i wanted to request one in which the reader is has a crush on finn but she feels useless because she is a foreigner from spain and doesn't have any talent or family so she kind of runs away and tommy comforts her♡'

Characters: Finn Shelby x Reader, Thomas Shelby x Reader (platonic), Arthur Shelby x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Racism, self doubt, swearing ,fluff

(A/N: I am White British, so I'm sorry if it isn't as detailed as you wanted it to be. I didn't want to write the wrong thing and/or offend anyone, but I hope it's still what you want)

Tags: @jenepleurepasbaby @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"You're late (Y/N)." Mrs Laine tutted as I ran up to the stall, seeing that it was somewhat already set up.

I failed to catch me breath."I'm so sorry Mrs Laine! My mother-"

"I don't want to hear any excuses. Make sure the stall is in place, you know my back doesn't do so well under any weight."

I nodded, doing as she said straight away. Once I thought the stall was sturdy, I helped her arrange the flowers, noticing how my hands were shaking from the cold. The gloves I had on weren't thick enough, and my clothes were worn down. My parents would talk about the heat of Spain, how much colour there was everywhere; Birmingham seemed to be the exact opposite. As foreigners, my parents had found it hard to get jobs, even though England was supposed to promise them good employment. We were on the bare minimum, only just getting by, and my job on the florist stand didn't help much. But Mrs Laine was the only one who would take me on, and although she showed sympathy, she could be a scary woman.

"Heads up, your Peaky boy is headed this way." she said, turning back to the flowers.

Whipping around, I made sure my hair was neat, wrapping the coat together around me to hide the plain dress I had on. My hands weren't only shaking from the weather now.

"Fuck (Y/N), you look freezing." Finn exclaimed as he approached me.

"N-no, I'm fine, just a bit chilly." I replied, hiding my shivering.

"Thought I told you to get yourself a new coat last week?"

Although I was always extremely reluctant to take it from him, Finn always gave me a wad of cash, to help me and my family. I didn't know if his brothers were aware of this, and I was scared of what they would think. I didn't want to use Finn, I had no interest in his money, but after he insisted, and once that first bill was paid, I knew I couldn't refuse, for the sake of my family.

I cast my eyes down."Uh, we...we were behind on some payments."

He gave me a sympathetic smile, though it wasn't pitying me."Right," he dug into his pocket, taking out another roll of cash and putting it in my hand,"that's for your family again. And when you get off your lunch break, I'm taking you shopping."

"Finn, I can't let you do that."

"You've got no choice." he smirked, leaning in closer."By order of the Peaky fukcin' Blinders."

I felt stupid as I giggled. Finn just smiled, keeping eye contact with me as he left until he fully turned around, glancing over his shoulder one last time. Mrs Laine disrupted the flutters in my stomach.

"Be careful girl. He is a Shelby after all."

"Well, he's not bad to me."

"No, but he's done bad things."

I rolled my eyes as she turned away from me. If I had a pound for everytime someone said that to me, I would be the one giving Finn money.

Mrs Laine had almost fired me on the spot when Finn had shown up once. We had met before I got the job, I had only been in Small Heath for a week, having moved here from the rough housing we were in before. Finn was by himself, spotting me struggle to find my way to the market. No one would even look at me as I politely asked for help. People were horrible, judging who I was based on my looks. That's all we got as I grew up, and my parents reminiscing about beautiful Spain and the people didn't help. Why couldn't we have just stayed? Why did I have to be born in miserable England?

Finn wasn't afraid to come up to me, the cheeky grin appearing as he escorted me to the market, staying by my side and helping me barter with the sellers. I didn't miss the blatant flirting, and shamefully I flirted back. If my mother had seen me, I wouldn't be allowed out of the house for a week! We had seen each other a few times after that, but once I got my job, he would always walk to the betting shop through the market to see me.

"Am I alright to go for my break Mrs Laine?" I asked, smiling sweetly at her.

She stared at me for a few seconds, loudly sighing before waving her hand at me."Go on then. But (Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Don't be getting pregnant anytime soon. Got a lot of customers that come here just to see you."

"To see me?"

"Well, do you see any other Spanish beauties around here? It's not just the flowers that are exotic."

"Oh..."

"Well what did you think I was going to say?"

"I don't know...something about me being charming, or just plain friendly."

"I don't mean no harm by it (Y/N). But surely you knew? Plus, Small Heath is a harsh place, might as well have the harsh truth, eh? Especially by someone you know and trust, and not someone off the street."

I was too shocked to retaliate, upset by her true thoughts about me. I thought she had taken a liking to me, even if it was out of pity, and wanted to do an act of good deed. But she was using me, attracting more customers and making me sweet talk them into buying fucking flowers.

"(Y/N), you ready to go?" Finn called as he walked towards me, though I was already rushing to him.

"Yeah."

"Woah, what's wrong?" he asked, stopping me in my tracks.

"Nothing, just some rude customers today."

Finn led me to his car, a brand new one he had just got, now that he was proving himself to his brothers in the betting shop (amongst the Peaky business). I said nothing, only nodding along to what Finn was saying, still focused on Mrs Laine's words as we climbed into the car.

"Hey," Finn snapped me out of my thoughts,"you sure you're alright?"

I hastily nodded my head."Yeah, you know what people are like. Some comments were particularly harsh today."

"Do you know who those people were? Do they need straightening out?"

"No! No, it's fine. I can deal with it."

His hand reached over to mine, squeezing if gently."I'm here if you need me, for anything."

I glanced down at his hand holding mine, those damn butterflies going crazy in my stomach. I felt like an idiot just nodding my head, almost whining when he removed his hand to start driving. The car ride had small talk here and there, but I couldn't help watch the people we passed. All those girls in their pretty dresses, the expensive fabric against their porcelain skin; blonde or brown hair in neat curls, bouncing on their rosy cheeks. And everytime I spotted girls like that, there was always a man or a group of them gawking, as if they were the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. If I were to walk down those streets, it would be an entirely different story; racist remarks, or slimy, low life men who wanted a piece of everything.

The people's clothes looked expensive, some carrying around multiple bags from various shops, the streets were cleaner, the buildings were bigger, and there were more cars. We were definitely out of Small Heath and in the rich part of town. Suddenly I began to feel nervous, knowing I would stand out in the crowd more than usual.

"You'll be fine (Y/N), I promise. If anyone stares at you for two long, they'll be dealing with me." Finn reasurred me as he found a place to park.

"I don't know Finn, there's a lot of...I just wished I had something nice to wear."

"That's why we're here. Come on, I'll even let you hold my hand the whole time."

As soon as we were out of the car, I gripped onto his hand, not missing the quiet chuckle from Finn. He guided us to the main square of shops, and I was in awe. The windows displayed delicate jewellery, the lights making them shine even brighter, and the clothing was elegantly sprawled on mannequins. I had never been to a place like this, and I had never even dreamt that I would.

Finn dragged me into mutliple shops, suggesting things that I would like and getting the shop assistants to help. For a while, I started to enjoy myself, shocked by how many things I looked good in. Finn was grinning the whole time, complimenting me every time I came out in a new dress. However, I didn't miss the looks I got from the women inside the shop, looking me up and down, not wanting me near any of the clothes or accessories.

As Finn spoke with a shop assistant about the sort of coat I was after, I idly walked around, admiring everything. I went to pick up a pair of red gloves, when someone else snatched them away. Looking up, a girl my age had them grasped in her hands, glaring at me. My eyebrows furrowed, confused at her behaviour.

"Excuse me," a worker said behind me,"we don't let shoppers touch the items."

"But that woman just took those gloves." I gestured to the woman who was now on the other side of the shop.

"I'm just informing you."

"Will you inform her?"

"Miss, please do not shout at me."

"I didn't. My voice is at the same level as yours."

"Is she harassing you?" the glove thief intervened, clearly still holding onto them.

"I'm not doing anything wrong." I tried to keep my voice down, I didn't want to give them an excuse to kick me out.

"She would have stolen those gloves if I hadn't got there in time!"

I glanced over to Finn, seeing that he was looking through the coats, not noticing the conflict going on. I could have screamed at those women, accusing them for discrimination against me, but I knew that would paint an even worse picture. Instead, I stormed out of the shop, running as soon as I got outside. I was crying as I ran, making it hard for me to breathe, but I kept going. However, a poor woman like me running through a wealthy neighbourhood was suspicious, and I soon had a policeman coming after me.

"Stop! What have you stolen?!" he shouted at me.

Why did these people think I was a criminal?! I had never done a bad thing in my life! Part of me thought to stop and explain myself, but I knew what would happen; he wouldn't believe me, and I would be taken away kicking and screaming. My legs were burning, lungs trying to gather every last bit of breath, until I crashed into someone, toppling onto the ground with them. I tried to scramble to my feet, but we were tangled, weighing each other down.

"Sorry gentlemen," the policeman said, hauling me onto my feet,"I'll get this scruff out of your way."

"Oi, I didn't ask you to do that."

I recognised the voice. As I came to my senses, I looked at the owner of the voice.

Thomas. Fucking. Shelby.

"You what?"

"She's with me." he blandly said, his brother Arthur looking confused beside him.

"She was running away-"

"Do you know who I am?"

The policeman huffed, shoving me towards Thomas. I stumbled, managing to not fall onto the leader of the Peaky Blinders. We watched as the policeman left, and now I didn't know what to do.

"Th-thank you Mr Shelby. Why did you do that?" my voice was quiet, as I was terrified of this man.

"Yeah Tom, why did you do that?" Arthur said pointedly.

"You're the girl I've seen Finn hanging round." Thomas said.

"Yes."

"I'm assuming he's the one that brought you here?"

"Yes."

"Can you say something other than the word yes?"

"Yes. I mean, sorry, yes, I can."

"Why were you running? And where is my little brother?"

"He's in one of the shops I ran out of. There were just these...these horrible women in there." I hung my head, now getting embarrassed.

"Let me guess, they were being racist towards ya'?" Arthur blatantly.

Thomas sighed at his brother."My brother was wrong for bringing you here. Not because you shouldn't be here, but he should have just fucking surprised you with some clothes. For some reason he loves to show off nowadays."

I didn't say anything back.

"And I know he's been giving you money."

My head snapped up, eyes wide."I swear I didn't ask for it! He always insists, and even when I don't take it, he sends it straight to my house-"

Thomas held up a hand, looking done with the conversation."I'm not angry about the money. It's been coming out of his own wages."

"He's been giving his money to me?"

"My little brother has fucked whores, used girls, he used to be obsessed with screwing around. But for some reason, you're different to him. Has he even kissed you yet?"

I shook my head.

"Then I'm glad he's spending money on the right person."

God, did this man ever smile?

"Thank you Mr Shelby."

"(Y/N)!" Finn's voice yelled out before he rounded a corner, spotting us. He looked relived when he spotted us, continuing to run.

"Finn, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Thomas said, lighting a cigarette.

"Why did you run off?" Finn ignored him, directing his focus to me.

"The women, they were being awful to me. Accusing me of things I hadn't done." I explained.

"Oi!" Thomas grabbed Finn's face, making him look away from me, and at him."You, sort this out and leave. Don't cause her any further embarrassment, alright?"

He let go of Finn, nodding to me before walking away. Arthur pinched his cheeks in his hands, slapping them before following Thomas. Finn shoved him away, but instantly putting his attention back on me.

"You should have told me, I would have sorted it."

"I couldn't. They were ganging up on me, they were driving me out of the shop. I didn't want to embarrass you, you've got such a big name. And they were all probably thinking you had gone crazy for bringing me here in the first place."

"I don't give a fuck what they think. If I had noticed sooner, I would have threatened to fucking cut them."

"Oh, because that would have made the situation better."

"You know what I mean. I just can't stand when people are like that towards you. It doesn't make sense to me."

"I'm different Finn, I'm totally different from everyone around me. I look different, my accent is different, my parents struggle to speak the language...and nobody wants to accept that."

"I do. You're just (Y/N) to me. One of the most stunning, interesting and caring person I have ever met. You've never wanted to use me, when I give you money, there is genuine resilience in your eyes, but I know you take it to help your family instead of yourself. That's why I thought today would be nice. I could finally treat you to some nice things. Make you look even more beautiful."

"For fucks sake Finn, you're going to make me cry again."

"Those clothes you wanted are still in all the shops. Think it's time I paid for them."

"Thank you Finn." I leaned up, kissing his cheek, enjoying watching the blush on his cheeks.

I grabbed Finn's hand, rubbing my eyes before smiling at him. We started walking back towards the shops, and I felt more confident, though not because Finn was beside me; but because someone understood me. Even his brothers were nice to me, and that was the first time I met them. I didn't need a man to make me empowered or keep me safe, but the puppy love that was blossoming into something more serious gave me confidence, to really show others that I was worth something. They were all wrong about me, and I wasn't going to be quiet about it anymore.

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Part 3

Enjoy @kriskukko​ and @punkhorse96​ 

Blood For Gold

Part 3

Wednesday morning came all too soon. Out of everyone in the Morrigan family, you and Jane were closest, since you were only older than her by a mere five years, she only 17 and you, only 23, but she was incredibly sweet and kind and you insisted that Jane also get a new dress or two for the occasion. 

“This was supposed to be all about you Audra.” Jane gently argued from her spot in the next dressing room in the back of the shop. 

“Who says I can’t share my limelight- at least a little. I would much prefer to see you married off and matched with someone who would treat you like the treasure you are, than myself.” You told her as you peeled your first and frankly hideous dress off your frame. 

“But not for another two years at least, I do not think I’m ready yet.” She meekly replied. 

“Then that is what you should hold to. Do not marry until you are ready, too much disaster can happen when you are not.” You advised. 

“But I don’t think you can last that long.” She murmured quietly. 

“We shall see,” You answered her with a heavy sigh. 

“I was mistaken for you when I came back from Kent.” You informed her nonchalantly. 

“By who?” She asked. 

“Duke Voyambi and Count Jabire.” You answered. 

“But I do not know them personally. I know of them, but not them.” Jane frowned. 

“But what do you know of them?” You asked curiously. 

“The Count only recently became a Count, I believe that title has only been in his family for less than three generations, it was given to them when their grain storehouses were full enough to go through the mill and make enough flour to get the whole of London through a hard winter after a bad drought of the summer, but otherwise it’s a humble family and according to Father, they are nowhere good enough for a Morrigan.” She murmured quietly. 

“And Voyambi?” You asked. 

“Oh, he’s a purist, he’s for union, which Father says is foolish, he’s very involved in making sure all orcs get better… everything, from treatment, to housing, to wages, to food and clothing. Father says he’s the only nobleman foolish enough to throw the classism that brought him so high away and in his efforts to raise all orcs up, will lower himself, but yet we still buy his soap because it’s the best quality around and to buy any other made outside the country is unpatriotic.” She repeated. 

“How did his family get the Duchy?” You asked. 

“Oh his grandfather was the king’s personal body guard and saved the king’s life repeatedly in the last war, he was made a Duke and his family has had the Duchy ever since, the soap had just been a family thing they always made for themselves that the king also enjoyed and when they received the Duchy, the king made the family the official soap makers of his realm, the Voyambi’s and Jabire’s both got their nobilities at the same time, along with the other half of the new money, a great many fortunes have been made and lost since industry has taken off. And both owe their wealth to their industries, that can come today and be gone tomorrow, their fortunes are not stable. So they are also not good enough for a Morrigan.” She answered before you both came out of the dressing rooms in the new gowns. 

“Besides, to lay with an orc is to kiss your cunny goodbye because they’ll destroy it and rip it to shreds, or so I’ve heard.” Jane whispered into your ear as you did your best to not burst from trying to contain your laughter. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Well, Mother always says that the bigger the cock, the smaller the brain too.” She continued to breathe into your ear. 

“Ah, ok. Thanks for letting me know.” You thanked her. Oh, if only she knew that it was an orc cock that finally rutted you right but just thinking about it sent a shiver down your spine. Demsey Draft’s orc cock had been just what you needed, and his mouth, and hands, and amazing body and passionate spirit. And he had smelled like that Duke’s soap too and he was remarkably clean for a male prostitute, even dressed nicely too. Well he had been a moura, all moura’s liked to keep clean at all times in all things and always dressed resplendently. 

“So what do you think of the dress Audra?” Jane asked, pulling you out of your reverie. 

“It’s beautiful.” You answered as you looked down and appraised it. It was much prettier than the last dress as you walked out into the show room to see none other than Duke Voyambi come in with a few orc women with him and your excitement at recognizing a friendly and familiar face died in your chest as Jane’s words were recalled into your mind. He would most likely only marry an orc woman, you didn’t stand a chance as you looked away just as Duke Voyambi noticed you were here and froze at the sight of you at seeing you there in a new and very fashionable dress, your gold moura marks a sharp contrast of the dark and rich burgundy magenta of your gown and especially to see them around your chest and your back, neck and shoulders and down your arms as you had been turning away from him, he was reminded of his own rutting the night before which he had tried to put out of his head and had hoped that his rutting had been the end of it, but now, all it did was fuel his own flame of desire for you to burn brighter and fiercer. 

“Countess Morrigan.” He greeted you which pulled your attention back to him before you smiled politely at him.  

“Yes Duke Voyambi?” Agnes greeted, thinking he had greeted her, curtseying in place as she plastered on a pleasant smile as you stood just a little straighter before you and Jane also curtsied respectfully to the Duke and his party who also curtsied in response as Jane came to stand closest to you as the Duke could now clearly see the difference between you and Jane, while Jane was also blonde, and fairly pretty in her own right, she was just a little plain next to you. 

“Audravienne, this is Duke Demsey Voyambi, his sisters, the Duchesses, Amara, Kiera and Callie Voyambi.” Agnes introduced as she practically dragged you over to them, her fist tight like a vice over your forearm before she let you go once you were close enough to them.   

“Your Graces, allow me the pleasure to introduce you to Sultana Audravienne Saharrazat, Divana of Kilan of Dorierra,” Agnes introduced you with quite the flourish as your eyes got wider as you looked at Jane who had come with you and was now flanking your left side as you two shared a meaningful look as your cheeks flushed and your ears burned while your moura marks flashed a rose gold for a moment as Jane stared in shock at her own mother. Normally her own mother turned her own nose up at them, but now she was practically pushing you onto them and no longer doubted her parent’s insistence that they needed to get rid of you, she thought they meant only get rid of you to who they deemed worthy, not just...anyone. 

Meanwhile the Voyambi’s were giving each other meaningful looks too as they looked you over curiously while Demsey tried to keep his composure as he realized all mouras must have marks like yours, he just never noticed. You had been stunning in black on Monday but now in brighter colors you were even more ravishing. 

“What beautiful tattoos you have Sultana,” Callie, his youngest sister praised as she noticed them. 

“They aren’t tattoos, they are my moura marks,” you gently corrected her as your marks pulsed rose gold again. 

“You’re a moura?” Callie asked, her eyes and her sister’s eyes growing wide with excitement as smiles bloomed on their faces. 

“Yes, that’s what Dorierra is- is a Moura country.” You answered, letting your moura accent become thicker than usual, since you had worked for the last two years stomping it down to try to sound more English but you could tell Agnes was going to “resell you” as pure moura, so you were sure your moura accent would probably be accepted again in this instance, instead of punished the way it usually was with the Morrigans. 

“Oh, do all mouras have marks like these?” Callie asked curiously. 

“No, most have markedly less, usually just the collar, maybe a feather or two on their backs and shoulders, I am one of the few remaining ‘true mouras’ the purer a moura’s blood, the more gold moura marks they will have, these moura marks would have been my moura cloak and wings before the Gold Death a hundred and sixty seven years ago- that wiped out the entire heavenly moura population and killed off roughly 80% of the world moura population, my family line was spared because we were mixed with human and elven races, but any purer, we would have died out too. So instead of flying the heavens, I just get to wear the reminder of what mouras used to be and what we used to have.” You answered somberly as Jane held your hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“Sultana, you really shouldn’t be so dark, especially with new acquaintances,” Agnes tried to pleasantly chastise you with a forced lighter laugh. 

“Forgive me then your Graces.” You offered as you gave the Voyambis an apologetic smile as Demsey and his sisters were doing their best to remain composed as Demsey’s heart practically crushed inside of his chest as he wondered how a moura as decked out in moura marks as Audra's had been could be found in a brothel of all places. 

"Let's try some more dresses on Ladies." Agnes encouraged as she pulled you away and practically pushed you into the dressing room as she whispered some harsher criticisms to you along the way. 

"Your Graces, I really should apologize for her. She spent her whole life in Dorierra and she hasn't learned our manners and customs as well as she should have by now. But surely your Graces will forgive the Sultana's rudeness." She soothed as she came fluttering back over to them. 

"Oh she wasn't rude at all, she was just being informative. She's really very lovely." Amara reassured her. 

"Well I must say the Sultana would still make the ideal bride. She is so incredibly sweet and kind and caring." Agnes tried to praise.

"Is that the way she was with the Late Count Edward then?" Kiera inquired, doing her best to hide her suspicions from her tone so as not to openly offend the Countess. 

"Oh absolutely, she never left his side and she made sure his final years were spent in the greatest of comfort because that's what she has been bred to do- to cater to a husband and make him feel like a king or a sultan or an emperor even. No one can do better for breeding or brains or beauty than a moura. And the Late Count Edward even afforded her a dowry for her upon his death of 50 thousand pounds. She'll be the catch of the century and her mourning period ends in only twelve days, barely a week and a half from now and she'll be free and clear for the taking." Agnes informed them brightly. 

Now upon hearing that all the Voyambi's practically had their eyebrows shoot up into their hair line. 

“Don’t most people usually have to pay handsomely to the stables for a moura bride?” Kiera countered as in her own mind, red flags were being thrown all over the place.  

“Oh she just fell in love with England, she didn’t want to return.” Agnes lied as the Voyambi’s looked at each other meaningfully again but were discrete about it. 

“Yes, that’s why the Sultana is such a fantastic find!” Agnes insisted.

“Was there a reason why she didn’t return to the stables? I thought most mouras always return to the stables, especially in the case of widowhood.” Kierra probed, trying not to sound too suspicious. 

“Well then it’s a shame that the Duke is already attached to Lady Whitesale, but I’m sure you’ll find an overabundance of suitors for the Sultana.” Kiera urged firmly, even though that was in itself a white lie also but the last person she wanted the Morrigans to prey on was her brother, wolfish people as they were.  

“Oh, I didn’t realize that, forgive my interference then, I would just hate for someone who would be exceptionally worthy to miss out on such a prize as the Sultana,” Agnes offered to save face before she left to return to the dressing rooms to see how you and Jane were getting along. 

“I’ve never seen a trap so firmly set or a more falsely appetizing bait in my life.” Kiera muttered to her brother. 

“It does make me wonder why she didn’t return, the mouras always return, even if they have children, especially because they have children, mouras only leave the nest for a time before they return, they always return,.” Amara mused. 

“Maybe they are waiting for her to marry another and then have a child to bring her back then. Edward was older but not ancient, he could have had another ten or even fifteen years. But he only lasted barely a year with her. Besides, a moura’s beauty is always outmatched by their greed for wealth and power, of which we have little of either, especially compared the wolves of Broadcove. She would probably burn through such a fortune in less than a year because there are no greater golden leeches than mouras, there’s good reason why only royalty have them, for they are the only ones with enough funds to upkeep them, for however long or short you get to have them around.” Kiera practically sneered as they walked over to one of the displays, not knowing you were just on the other side of the very thin wall and could hear every word as you pressed your back against the wall as your gold moura marks seemed duller than usual as you simply pressed your head back against the wall and tried to blink back your tears as you did your best to remain composed. 

“Audra? Are you alright?” Jane asked as she came out to the other dressing room in her next gown which caused the Voyambi’s to gasp softly and hush themselves from over the small wall. 

“Yes of course,” you sniffed and put on a brave smile for her sake. 

“You should definitely get that dress Jane, it’s so becoming, blue is definitely your color, it brings out your eyes, and if your mother will not buy it for you then I insist I will. You deserve to look just as pretty as I do, if not prettier and I have the perfect jewelry to match at home.” You insisted before you brought her closer. 

“For who knows how long your parent’s generosity will last.” You murmured to her which made her erupt into a giggle as she readily nodded in agreement. 

“If it ever stops, promise me, whatever happens, you’ll come visit me yes? Our family ties are about to be broken but hopefully our bond of friendship never does.” You implored her as she eagerly nodded yes as you walked each other out of the dressing room to see the Voyambi’s in the process of discretely scattering away. 

You weren’t sure why you cared so much of what the Duke and Duchesses thought of you, but you hated for them to believe lies, even though you were sure that even if you could scream the truth, they wouldn’t believe you now. They were set against you. 

But at the same time, Callellea’s words still rung in your head, beware of who the Morrigan’s introduced you to, even though you technically already had met at least Duke Voyambi earlier while Jane’s words also weighed heavily on your mind. If the Morrigan’s would not approve of the Voyambi’s, even if the good Duke was interested, if anything happened further, there would be no way for you and Jane to remain friends, for you were sure Agnes and Richard would never let Jane visit you if you became a Voyambi. You had to admit that it was a bad fit all around as you looked over to see the Voyambi’s looking at stockings from across the dress salon’s sales floor as the Duke turned his head to cast another glance your way and your eyes met again. He did not look dangerous to you though. He looked...kind, and pleasant and amiable and a gentle-man, and now all you could do was hope that Lady Whitesale would be good to him and help him build a proper empire and not tear it down as fast as he could build it. 

“Ugh, don’t waste your time or your thoughts on the Voyambis Audra, they’re purists, and would only ever want an orc bride or groom, and Whiteales is one of the very few orcs in high society they are not related to and she is a piece of work and you’ll see that for yourself at the ball at Havenfield.” Agnes urged you as she puffed out the sleeves on your shoulders as you nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t worry Audra, we would never part with you over anyone not worthy and the Voyambis are a far cry from. Come, we will get these gowns too.” She insisted as you could tell it was her feathers that had gotten more ruffled than yours because her plan of dumping you on the first available gentlemen had practically spit it back into her face. 

“Of course Countess, thank you.” You thanked her softly before she grabbed your chin to have you look up at her but the action caused you to rear your head back and out of her reach, looking at her with frightened eyes, fearing she was going to smack you again and that was observed by Demsey and his sisters, all of who had their eyes widened at the implications of that. 

“Like a head-shy horse she is.” Callie breathed as she tried to discretely stare at you from around her brother.  

“Horses only get head-shy when they’ve been hit or hurt. She’s clearly been hurt.” Amara realized. 

“And maybe it’s that- that is the reason she is not welcome back to the stables, head-shy horses are nigh impossible to get into gear. If she’s head-shy, that means she may have been broken beyond fixing and no longer usable by the moura stables, they are a stable after all, they’d sooner turn a horse to glue than rehabilitate it.” Callie empathized. 

“All the more reason not to have anything to do with the Morrigans and especially the Sultana.” Kiera insisted before her brother and other sisters turned to glare at her as Duke Voyambi was ready to march across the shop and take you away from Countess Morrigan in that instant so you would no longer suffer at her hands because you were a victim in all of this, he was sure of it. He just didn’t know how to help as he just watched as Agnes gathered you and Jane up and left before his sisters felt comfortable to try on dresses themselves before Amara took the dressing room you had occupied and found your purse on the floor next to the chair and grabbed it and tried to catch you again but the note from Callellea fell out of it as Kiera practically pounced on it and ran with it after Amara. 

“Sultana!” Amara called after you as you were about to get into the carriage as Agnes was losing patience for you to actually climb into it so she could. 

“You forgot your purse Sultana,” Mara said as she finally handed it off to you once she caught up with you. 

“Oh my goodness, thank you so much.” You thanked her as you readily took it back. 

“And this flew out of it?” Kiera said as she held up the note from Callella from her spot several paces behind her sister which made your eyes go wide in fear which Amara definitely noticed. 

“Uh, that is only a receipt, you can throw it away Duchess, thank you so much for returning this to me,” you thanked them before you quickly got into the carriage as Kiera looked from the note and back to you with a frown. 

“What was that all about?” Kiera asked. 

“Here, give it to me,” Agnes insisted as she reached out for it.

“Oh it’s only a receipt. We’ll throw it away for her, it’s the least we can do.” Amara said as she took the note and discretely threw an actual receipt away into the garbage bin next to her while she pocketed the note herself before they waived you all off as Amara noticed you seemed relieved yet saddened by it, giving the trash bin a longing glance as you passed it before Amara ushered Kiera back into the store. 

“Did you not see the way Aurdra became white as a sheet at the prospect of the Countess having this? It’s important that the Countess not have this.” Amara insisted as she pulled the note out of her pocket to see what it was before all of her siblings gathered around her to try to read what was written on it. 

“I knew it, those Morrigans are wolves.” Amara whispered hatefully as she read it. 

“It still doesn’t explain why the Morrigans are so eager to push the Sultana off.” Kiera argued as she took it and read it for herself before Demsey took it and read it too. 

“I know why.” Demsey volunteered before his sisters looked at him eagerly. 

“When Count Edward died, he left a living for the Sultana and that living which I heard a rumor Count Richard contested, and is most likely how she can afford to keep Mirador on her own as a widow. I don’t know how much it is, but it must be enough for the Morrigans to not want to pay it any more than they absolutely have to, they’ve been stuck with having to pay it while she’s been in mourning. The Count and Countess Morrigan hoard wealth and resources like the world is ending tomorrow, and the Sultana is obviously a leaky drain they wish to stop up. They’re going to be pushing the Sultana off on anyone they can and they’re hoping that putting a price on her head as high as fifty thousand pounds, that it will be enough to tempt anyone and everyone, come that ball and every other social event from now until the end of the season, the Sultana will be the bait in a dog fight.” Demsey realized. 

“But that is not our fight,” Kiera insisted. 

“If she was a jewel orc, which is what one gets when they mix orc and moura together- which we all know are one of two breeds of orcs allowed in the stables, your tune would be completely different Kiera. You’d be the first one to push me towards her and rescue her from them because you don’t like Lady Whitesale any more than I do which she is barely tolerable at best. But because the Sultana is human, elf and moura, you’re against it when she is still, obviously, the victim in all of this. Moura brides have no say so in who they marry, she was married for a year, widowed overnight and then immediately shipped off because it took less than a week between Edward being known as having passed and her moved into Mirador. There is obviously interference between her and the stables for other letters from them to go awry before they reach her. Mouras are social creatures, you isolate one, you weaken it. She’s clearly been on her own for two years by my calculations.” Demsey firmly countered.  

“How would any of us fare if we were isolated from our own kind, shipped off to a country that was alien to us, match us with a stranger and expected everything to be ok? The fact that she is just now learning she has a people here, and it is probably that- that has her fearing Countess Morrigan. It’s what abusers do, they isolate their victims, then make them completely dependent and then dump them and leave them devastated. That is what is happening here. And it also means someone other than the Sultana is keeping her from the stables and other mouras and my bets are on the Morrigans because if she was to go back there, they would not be able to silence her so effectively, you saw her, she couldn’t breathe without the Countess correcting her and breathing fire down her neck. The mistreatment she has obviously endured at their hands must be so great that it threatens what is left of the Morrigan family honor. But the Morrigan’s are obviously fed up with paying for it and because they are old money and old nobility, even if the Sultana and us were to speak out about it, who would believe us let alone her? But it must still be- threat enough, for the Morrigans to try to play nice for now.” Demsey reasoned. 

“So what we are going to do, is we are going to get whatever ribbons and lace and whatever else we need from here, we are going to get lunch, and then we are going to wait for the Sultana to return home, we are going to give this back to her, because this is the only touchstone she has of home she has because while she’s in mourning, she can’t reach out to others, as are the customs here, and then we are going to ask if we can help in any way. Because she obviously needs our help. If she is going to be bait in a dog fight, at least we can deter a dog or two if we can’t pull her out.” Demsey insisted as he folded the note back up and put it into his breast pocket for safe keeping as that seemed to settle the matter as Callie and Amara were proud and pleased for while Kiera simply huffed in annoyance. Her brother’s bleeding heart was going to get him in trouble one of these days.

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 3 (1/2)

I don’t think you actually care about it, but I’ve chosen to write my Bachelor’s Degree Thesis about “Anglo-American Travel and Travel Writing in Italy”. Anglo-American folks, do you see? This is how much I love you guys!

Previously on TWoT: The thaw finally gives the VdL gang the possibility to move from Colter. Emily jumps on a wagon and enjoys the ride southward. In the meantime she gets the chance to know some of the members better. She finds more about their past, about their personalities, she is more and more interested in Arthur, the grumpy cowboy with the fairytale name, and she starts to appreciate them despite the fact that they are criminals. Now it is time to understand how things in their camp work. 

Chapter 3 (1/2) - On the road

Words: 3k

On the road to Valentine, Emily found more than her love for the country, she found out she had new friends, some new kind of family, an uncommon family, a crazy family, a family of outlaws. She didn’t see it in these terms, of course, but we all know how it works with the Van der Linde gang: once you start getting attached, you’ll never let them go. 

Anyway, at that moment, she couldn’t believe her own feelings. She had alway despised criminals: she believed laws were made for a reason, which is being followed, she hated thieves because she thought they took away the product of honest people’s work, not to mention murderers, who were nothing more than the worst kind of thieves, because they stole our most precious thing, our life. 

So, how could she feel that way? She felt pity for them, for their stories, she felt emotionally attached to Hosea, who talked to her like a father, even better than her real father actually, she had to admit shamefully, because she had never had that kind of talk with him and he had never made her feel that way. In her house, her mother was the backbone of the family.

And then there was that Mr. Arthur, with his sarcasm and “tough and rough”way to do things, and handsome, again she had to admit that too. And Mary-Beth, she looked like the perfect friend, when she would open up a little - she probably was a little shy. And little Jack, she liked that kid too. 

So, on the road to Valentine, Emily found more than her love for the country, she found out that people are people, no matter what they’ve done in their life, and that good and evil sometimes overlap.

“What’s this place called again?” asked Arthur. 

“Horseshoe Overlook” answered Hosea.

“It’s a good place to lie low?”

“It’ll do for now. And how long do you think Dutch is going to lie low?”

“W-wait, I though you said we were going to Valentine” Emily stepped in.

“It’s a place near Valentine, yes” replied Hosea.

“But… we won’t stay in the city?”

“How do you think we can make twenty people stay in the city?” asked Mr. Morgan.

“And we have to hide, the law is still looking for us, we can’t risk to catch too much attention” added Hosea.

“I don’t understand, why are they looking for you?” she asked.

“On the left here, Arthur. Up the hill” Hosea said pointing at the left path at the crossroad. Then, he sighed and made a little pause before he explained her their situation. 

We all know about the ferry job in Blackwater, how it all went to hell and how Dutch killed an innocent girl “in a bad way”, how Javier tells it. And we know how they had to flee from Blackwater because of the Pinkertons, and how some of them didn’t make it.

Emily remained silent after Hosea told her all this. She was thinking not about the fact that they had stolen a lot of money from that ferry, but about the amount of people who died for that theft. That girl on the ferry, that Davey and that Jenny in the mountains, not to mention all the people they had to shoot to get out of Blackwater. And from the way Hosea was talking about it, she could tell he wasn’t proud of how things had gone.

“Why you do that? Why are you criminals? Can’t you just… change your life?” she asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to do. Make enough money so we can buy some land out in the West and start a new life” answered Hosea.

“But why you have to steal it, can’t you take a loan from the bank or something like that?”

Hosea and Arthur chuckled.

“You’ll soon learn Dutch isn’t fond of the American government, and the bankers, and the industrialists, and everybody else who has just a little power on this land.”

Emily couldn’t understand what Hosea was telling her, she couldn’t understand what Dutch really wanted. He wanted a new life? He wanted to be a criminal? He wanted to fight the government? He reminded her of Robin Hood, but instead of taking from the rich to give to the poor, he took from everybody to give to his family. 

After the climb up the hill, they found themselves in a plain ground where the path was surrounded by trees, and the more they followed it the thicker the trees became, until Arthur pulled the reins and made the wagon stop.

“There you are brother.”

Emily raised her head and looked at the man who had spoken, the one with the parted mustache and bowler hat, laying his back on a big rock at the edge of the road.

“Head in there and follow the track for a bit” he said pointing to a little side path among the trees.

Then, he reached the back of the wagon and hopped in.

“Okay, let’s go” he said with a gesture of his hand.

Emily looked at him and smiled. From close up, she could perfectly tell he came from some place in the South, like Colombia, or Mexico, or maybe Brazil. He also had a strange accent when he spoke, so she was pretty sure he wasn’t from there.

“Where do you come from, Mr…?”

“Javier, Escuella. Mexico.”

“Oh, I would’ve said something like Cuba. Do you like in here?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s a good country.”

“Are you gonna ask everybody about their lives?” said Mr. Morgan with annoyance.

Again, Emily couldn’t understand why he had to be so grumpy. She was just trying to have a conversation, know better the people she was gonna spent some time with.

“Why do you care, Mr. Morgan?” she laughed.

“I’m just afraid you’ll start make me insistent and annoying questions” he replied.

“Don’t worry, from now on I’ll avoid you like the plague” she joked.

Both him and Hosea chuckled.

“So, any trouble getting in here, Javier?” asked the latter.

“No, it went well. This is a good spot” he replied.

“Excellent. I think this will work for us, for now anyway.”

“Were are we going to sleep?” asked Emily as the thought of another night on the ground was starting to worry her.

“We got tents. It’s not like sleeping in the best hotel in town, I know, but it’s not the worst, either. You’ll get used to it” answered Hosea.

“Tents like… like camping?”

In that moment she understood what Dutch meant by “camp” when they had rescued her the day before. And yes, her fear had just been confirmed: she had to sleep on the ground, again. 

“See for yourself. Here we are, home sweet home” Hosea said and at the same time the path into the woods ended and a clearing opened at their sight.

Mr. Arthur made the wagon stop again and Emily took a deep breath before standing up. 

Javier was waiting for her, with his hand ready to be taken to help her getting down. It was the most courteous thing anybody had ever done for her and she looked at him with surprise for a moment before taking it.

“You weren’t wrong, Hosea. This place is perfect!” she heard the loud and thundering voice of Dutch saying.

“I hope so” replied Hosea.

“Hey, were have you been?” 

She had just jumped down the wagon and she turned around to meet Mary-Beth’s eyes: she had removed the heavy coat and headscarf and she was wearing a pink shirt on a mauve long skirt. 

Actually, the weather there was way better, the temperature warmer, and Emily didn’t felt anymore in need to wear that bottle-green woolen coat.

“I stayed behind with Hosea. You’ve already settled the camp” she stated looking at the tents around her.

“There’s still a lot to do. Come, I’ll show you around” said Mary-Beth taking one of the crates from the wagon and leading the way.

...

They walked through the tents, passing right in front of Abigail, who was bringing another carpet inside of hers.

“Hi Abigail!” Emily exclaimed. 

Abigail answered with a smile before entering her tent, where she opened and left the carpet among the others on the ground next to John, sleeping on the cot thanks to the reverend’s morphine. 

“We’ll sleep here” said Mary-Beth showing her their place, with the four bedrolls on the two big carpets. 

“What, here?” she heard Emily ask as she left the crate under the tent.

“Yes.”

“We don’t have a tent?”

Mary-Beth looked at her and then pointed at the large piece of cloth above their heads.

“This is our tent.”

“I mean a real tent. Like that one” Emily said pointing at John’s tent.

“Only Dutch and John have those.”

“Why?”

“Because they are… they are…”

Emily and Mary-Beth looked at each other in the eye, exchanging a meaningful look. They both knew it wasn’t exactly right to leave the women sleep on the ground and out in the open air while they had all the privacy and comfortable cots they wished, but there were rules.

“So there is some kind of hierarchy here, like… they are on the top and all of us down here?”

“No, Dutch is the leader, and then Hosea, Arthur and John, then the men, then Miss Grimshaw and then us.”

“So it’s a patriarchal totalitarianism?”

Mary-Beth frowned, not understanding what she wanted to say with those big words.

“Never mind. There is a place I can wash?” Emily asked taking off the coat she had given her.

“If you want to have a bath, we have to go to town, or if you aren’t squeamish you can wash in the stream, but you won’t have much privacy there.”

Emily opened her mouth in astonishment and Mary-Beth was pretty sure she was about to say something outraged, but right at that moment Dutch called them all.

“Come it’s time for the speech” she said to the new girl.

“The speech?” 

“I know that things have been tough, but we are safe now and we are far too poor” was saying Dutch as they both reached his tent quickly, where the rest of the group had gathered.

The speech was the same as always: we all need to work, no more passengers, bring some food, share what you got with the gang, be careful, don’t catch too much attention.

They had almost finished with the usual bunch of encouraging words when Mary-Beth felt the sleeve of her shirt pulled and turning her head she saw Emily looking at her with an expression she couldn’t make out.

As the speech ended and the people scattered, going back to their works, trying to make that place livable, she turned to face the new girl.

“What?” she asked.

“I have to pee.”

...

She hadn’t drunk a single drop of water, and the extreme cold of the mountain had forced her body to keep all on the inside, but when she removed that coat it was like every single muscle relaxed and it came altogether. She needed a bathroom. 

That speech was nothing more that a series of rules they apparently had to follow: go around, make some money - even though she had no idea how to do that - put some in the box, bring some food… 

What the heck did “bring some food” mean? Couldn’t they go to the market and just buy things like all normal people do? It was 1899, so she supposed markets and stores already existed. 

She couldn’t restrain herself anymore, so as soon as they finished with that dictatorial shit, Emily pulled Mary-Beth’s sleeve.

“What?”

“I have to pee.”

“Well then, go in the woods.”

Emily widened her eyes and for a moment she was about to laugh, but then she understood Mary-Beth wasn’t joking.

“But…what about a toilet? Don’t you…” but she stopped halfway of her sentence.

How were toilets in 1899? Did they have them?

“If you have to go, go in the woods” repeated Mary-Beth.

“What about toilet paper?”

Mary-Beth raised her eyebrows and nodded. 

“Yes, come” she said and leaded her back to her tent, their tent, how she had to call it from now on. 

She went to the back of the wagon right behind the place they were going to sleep and opened a box from which she took a roll of paper very similar to the one they used in 2020, just a little different in color and consistency.

“Here, don’t use too much, this thing is expensive” said Mary-Beth as Emily took a couple of sheets.

“Are you sure you have no toilets?” she asked still full of hope. 

“I have no idea what that means.”

Emily looked at her freckled face trying to find another word to make her understand, when it suddenly came to her mind.

“Restrooms” she exclaimed with a snap of her fingers.

“Restrooms?” asked a voice from behind her.

She turned around and met Karen’s bewildered expression.

“Where men go to make their things?”

“And women don’t?” asked Emily.

“I’m afraid not. Only men can use them” Mary-Beth informed her.

“And we don’t have one, you can find it…”

“In town. Yes, I got it” Emily said with a puff.

There was one reason why she never went camping with her friends: lack of bathrooms.

Sleeping on the ground for a couple of days, she could endure that. Cooking things on a campfire, that could be fun. Bugs and wild animals, unless it was something extremely disgusting like cockroaches, it was fine. But bathrooms… No place to wash properly, no private space to do her things, she couldn’t stand that, and yet there she was.

“I can’t believe I just did that” she murmured to herself walking out of the woods.

As the shadow casted by the trees ended and she stepped in the sunlight, Emily looked at the camp in front of her standing against the endless background of the Heartlands. She had heard of that place, one of the most beautiful of all the States, but she didn’t expect it to be like that, and the tents they had settled fitted perfectly with the general view. The rurality and simplicity of that sight made her feel like she was in some kind of movie, and made her curious to see how those people lived their everyday life. 

She started wandering around: she exchanged a smile with Javier Escuella, asked to Mary-Beth what she was reading, peeked inside Dutch’s tent, the most articulate and comfortable of all the tents, which sight made her a little angry, then she stopped for a while to watch Charles Smith chopping the wood for the campfire, and in the end she approached a table, where Uncle and the big man with the long brown beard were seated.

“Hello” she said sitting next to them on one of the upside-down barrels, and noticing they both had a bottle of what seemed to be beer in their hands, she thought it was a little too early for drinking.

“Hello, dear. Oh! I got something for you” chuckled Uncle standing up and leaving.

“W-what…” she stuttered moving her eyes from Uncle’s back stumbling away to the other man, who shrugged. 

“Isn’t it a little too early for that?” she asked pointing at his bottle.

“Mind your business!”

He had a growling angry voice that made her jump on her seat when he snapped in that way.

“Hey, I was just saying. Sorry if I offended you.”

“Your the one who says you come from the future, right?”

Emily sighed and looked away.

“Yes” she murmured. 

“So you know how things will go? Like, what will become of the West?”

Emily fixed her eyes on the man’s face, asking herself what were his intentions, if he was just playing with her, or if the beer he was drinking had already gone way up to his head. 

“I mean” he whispered leaning forward on the table and as a reflex Emily did the same so that now their faces were really close and she could smell the alcohol in his breath. 

“Will it stay untamed?”

Emily considered what she had to reply to him: the truth, the hard truth, or a lie?

“We’ll we have the chance to live free?”

He looked like he was truly believing in the fact that she came from the future. 

“For the first question: no, the West will be tamed in the end. For the second, I don’t know what to tell you, I’m not a fortune teller.”

The man withdrew from her, looking at her with wary eyes and the same did she, still not sure if he was drunk or anything else.

“Here, my dear.”

Emily turned to Uncle as he sat down again.

“You forgot these on the wagon this morning” he said giving her the oatcakes tin box. “What was Mr. Williamson here telling you?”

“I’m not sure” she replied narrowing her eyes to look at the big man, while he took a sip from his bottle.

“Anyway, thank you for these, Uncle” she said standing up.

“No big deal, no big deal at all.”

Emily headed to what she supposed to be the camp kitchen since Mr. Pearson the cook was there with a big pot on a table putting things inside it. She smiled as he noticed her, but she didn’t stop to talk and opened the tin box to take an oatcake from it. 

Chewing happily for the recover of her source of nourishment she kept walking around the kitchen until she found something that took her smile away. There was a man, someone who she had never seen before, tied to a tree like he was some kind of prisoner. She walked closer, pushed both by the curiosity and the pity for that figure.

“Please, please, water” he whispered without looking at her and she immediately turned around looking left and right and asking herself where could she find water.

Then, she stopped, thinking about the reason why that man was tied, why he was a prisoner. Maybe he was a bad man, a dangerous man, and the fact that she was in a camp of criminals could only make her wonder how dangerous he had to be, if they were so scared by him that they had to tie him up. Emily decided that she didn’t want to find out and taking another bite from her oatcake she walked away as fast as she could.

[starfirette]

fantasy | diana prince x reader

»a/n: 😈

»masterlist

» Diana Prince x Reader | sensitive Diana | fem x fem smut | lowkey angst | wordcount: 4,563

Your little London townhouse has a perfect view of the steelyards and its workers who slave away under a sunless sky. It’s your tradition to fall asleep to the sound of them packing up, then to wake up to the sounds of them beginning work again.

To say time passes slowly for you would be a grand understatement.

You tried many times to find happiness in the city, looking high and low in the most unseemly of places. No thing or person could make you happy these days. You sit at a desk most of your life, taking notes for a bitter old man who can’t ever say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Secretary positions are all the rage these days since it’s the only real way women can make money without signing away their soul and what little freedom that have to an angry, rich man. To be a wife is to be silent and gentle, even if you’re hot tempered by nature. If you were to marry, you would surely have to give up the outlandish dreams you have. You crave independence, freedom, true love; what woman doesn’t yearn for these things? Some women have the unsuspecting loophole to win a man’s affections and hope he will let them at least pretend they have rights.

This option is not one you can choose so easily. You have never had eyes for a man. When you are alone, lounging on your bed or soaking in the tub, you envision yourself in the arms of a woman.

That’s your deepest, darkest ‘secret.’ You badly want to live in a world where your desires of romance don’t count as a real personality trait or as a sin.

You’ve never uttered this secret to anyone, ever. How could you? What friends do you have that are loyal enough to keep that to themselves?

Conversion therapy frightens you a good deal more than a heterosexual marriage. And that’s saying something.

There are plenty of times where you feel completely alone, stranded in silence, and forced to live in your cramped, London townhouse, where the wind whistles through the cracks of the walls and the floorboards creak anxiously. Even in your own home you feel trapped.

The only escape are your books, which you come upon rarely enough as it is. Your books aren’t the type of books women read. Your books are textbooks. Some you’ve purchased under fake names or titles, as if you were shopping for your husband or father. Some you’ve stolen. But all are cherished by you.

The largest wall of your home is lined with weak shelving where you could display your texts happily. Almost proudly.

Ah, to have independence—to be free to study at a university, to do such good with talents reserved solely for a man. And how could they be? What makes you different from a man? You love women, like they do! You breathe, like they do!

It’s the curls of your hair that keeps you from achieving your dreams. The breasts and the curve of your hips which you are coerced into keeping hidden, even on the hottest summer day.

In your ideal world you’d live with a wife, with a few cats and dogs, and you’d be a real doctor of history. A professional, dedicated to her work of uncovering the truths of the world.

In your ideal world...

It doesn’t do good to live in a fantasy land. As cruel as your reality can be, it is the only reality you have. It is in this reality that you must crawl out of bed at five in the morning and be at the office no later than twenty after six, with a plate of pastries and a mug of tea ready for Mr. Landings.

A dreary winter day you leave your London townhouse dressed in a new, fine suit of buttercream cashmere. It had taken the majority of your yearly savings to purchase, but you figured if you cannot be granted the right to bury your head in a woman’s thighs, you can at least dress the way you’d like to.

It’s always best to wake up extra early to be at the front of the bakery line. The freshest breakfast treats sell out first thing of the bakery’s opening, and considering you buy for Mr. Landings, Mr. Trevor, Mr. Carber, and the two respective secretaries, you have no choice but to be at the front of that damned line. This morning the cost of your number three spot was your rouge and lipstick. You feel absolutely plain, but your fine suit cancels out most of the insecurity.

You managed to get a good number of items. On your way out you found most of the line to be other secretaries, dressed in their own cashmere suits and nervously tapping their heels. No doubt they were praying the bakery didn’t sell out of breakfast goodies. You tip your hat down to avoid meeting their eyes. You’ve had your share of failed food runs, and it’s never fun.

You run across the street, only able to take sparing steps as your heels wrestle against loose gravel. You arrive to the office at the perfect time, with your fellow secretaries Etta Candy and Julia Deneiros still in the process of unlocking the doors.

“Sorry I’m late,” you murmured to your work friends.

“You have nothing to apologize for when you have the breakfast, my dear,” Julia assured you.

As Etta got the doors open, Julia ushered you in first. You hurried to set the treasure down on the main desk of the office. Once that was out of the way, you started tea in the side room, then proceeded to settle at your ‘desk.’ It was a small slate of red stained wood, though the legs sometimes wobbled and creaked. Your telephone on the left, accompanied by the contacts you kept for Mr. Landings, hardly rang as Etta usually took care of every business call.

Emptying your pockets took hardly a minute. You set your coin purse and silver pocket watch on the wood before shuffling through the loose pages that cluttered your workspace.

The tea kettle lets out a whistle. Julia tended to it herself, and you softly muttered a ‘Thank you’ but she’d already been gone.

Around a nibble of croissant, Etta wondered aloud whether Mr. Trevor would be coming in today.

You shrug without looking away. "Perhaps he's gotten himself a lucky lady,” you suggested. Julia poured you a steaming cup of tea.

You half expected Etta to scold you, but she instead made a small sound of agreement. “I suppose he could have found himself an exotic bride!” Etta laughed.

Julia giggled like a school girl, choking on her words: “We mustn’t gossip!”

Even though she said as such, she couldn’t help but to entertain the topic. The two ladies remarked that Mr. Trevor would settle with one woman the day the sky turned green.

And for a moment, you agreed with them, humming softly into your tea before you took a cautious sip.

For a brief moment the world was just right—and then Mr. Trevor quite literally waltzed inside with a beautiful woman.

Now, beautiful couldn’t properly describe this woman. What you notice first was her lips, round and quirked as though she was seeing an office like this for the first time in her life. Her eyes sparkled with a million untold stories.

Also, she appeared to be wearing the strangest of costumes. A coat of black fur strapped close to her waist, but every step she took revealed flashes of bare legs. You could have fainted.

Etta only saw the face of her boss, and she cheered. “You’re not dead!” She exclaimed. She doted over the wrinkles of Steve Trevor’s suit before hitting him over the chest with friendly familiarity. “I did think you were dead, you know.”

You frowned. “No, you didn’t,” you mumbled halfheartedly. You made to your feet, shuffling over to greet Mr. Trevor. “Hello,” you said, nodding your head.

The young woman met your eyes and she smiled, showcasing her perfect, pearly teeth.

“I’m Y/n L/n,” you say, forcing yourself not to stutter. Etta introduced herself next, holding a hand out to the woman for a handshake. While that would have been proper, you find it’s rather scary to shake hands with attractive people.

“We ladies are Mr. Trevor and Mr. Landings’s secretary.”

She cocked a thick brow. “What is a secretary?” She has a thick accent, one you can’t quite recognize, but it’s rather musical.

“Oh, well, we do everything. Go where tells me to go, do what he tells me to do.”

The woman looked flabbergasted. “Where I’m from that’s called slavery!”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. Both you and Etta became large fans of the woman, who introduced herself as Diana. No last name, but she seemed so confident with the partial title that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

“Would you like a cup of tea? Shall I take your coat?” You offered. Can we run away and get married and adopt lots of babies?

“Oh, thank you,” Diana beamed. She went to shrug off her fur, and you quickly stopped her when you saw what she had been wearing under it. Etta lurched to tie the coat up tight, making Diana grunt as the air was pushed from her lungs.

You laugh nervously, eyeing Mr. Trevor, who looked annoyed rather than surprised.

“Fantastic,” Mr. Trevor snubbed. “Ladies, would we care for a trip to, uhm, get Diana new...well, new…”

“Clothes?” You suggested when Mr. Trevor became clearly uncomfortable.

“Yes, that, thank you.”

“Mr. Trevor I would be more than willing to, but I do have to wait for Mr. Landings—”

“Nonsense, Miss L/n, Julia can manage on her own. Let’s just be on our way.” You gathered your few things, shoving your coin purse and silver watch deep into your pocket. “Sorry, Julia, dear,” you say. She shakes her head. “It isn’t a bother. Try to enjoy your day out of the office.”

You smiled and waved her goodbye before joining Mr. Trevor and the ladies.

Mr. Trevor inquired where you and Etta frequent for clothes. You suggested Paya’s Apparel, but Etta suggested Madame Penny’s Dresser. You tried not to take notice when Mr. Trevor sized your outfit up to Etta’s. He dubbed Etta’s suit no doubt fancier and declared Madame Penny’s.

Diana didn’t move her feet to follow. “What is the difference?” She asked. She asked you. You were caught at a pause. “I would think Mr. Trevor finds Madame Penny’s

more suitable for a...for you.” You awkwardly shoved your hands into the pockets of your skirt. You’d splurged on this suit. Or so you thought.

“Steve! Steve, wait, let's go to Pa-Papaya’s?” Diana asked you.

“Just Paya’s,” you giggle.

“Steve,” Diana continued, “I think Paya’s will do just fine.”

Mr. Trevor sighed heavily, as if he had been expecting something like that to happen. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Diana held a hand out. You looked at it fearfully. “We are walking together, so should we hold hands?” She asked. She went to wrap her hand in yours. Steve scrambled for Diana’s arm, pushing it down to her side. “No, no, no, don’t hold hands. When I said people hold hands when they’re together, I meant together as in married.”

Diana’s mouth rounded out as she said, “Oh!” She sent you an apologetic smile, to which you promptly looked away from. Looking her in the eye made you nauseous, more than you’ve ever felt before.

Away you were whisked to Paya’s. It’s a good center, with plenty of fashionable dresses. Admittedly it isn’t nearly as expensive as Mr. Trevor probably would have preferred. But it’s fashionable, affordable, even for you. It’s a large shop with dim lights behind brassy lamps and lanterns.

Diana looked around, her eyebrows raised practically to hairline. She approached a mannequin clad with a silky pink corset. She touched the material and frowned. “Is this what passes for armor in your country?” She asked.

You couldn’t quite imagine what she meant by armor.

“No, no,” Etta explained, “that’s what keeps our tummies in.”

Diana sent a sharp glance to Etta. “Why must you keep them in?” She demanded.

Etta repressed a few other comments. She settled with, “Only a woman with no tummy would ask such a question.”

“Why don’t we look around?” You suggest as Diana’s eyes wander for more things to poke at. You figure she’s never visited a London shop before. Where could she be from that has such different traditions?

“How about this one?” Etta suggested as she found a brown suit with a thick fur wrap. “Stylish, professional, but still good to wear for a night on the town!” Etta seemed thrilled with her sales pitch. You weren’t impressed. If Diana was to wear something, she should wear something more flattering. Of course Diana could wear a sheet of dirty canvas and still look stunning.

Diana tucked her hand into yours, catching your attention immediately. You looked to her, finding that her eyes were already fixated on you. “What do you think of this one?” She asked. She didn’t seem sure of her own choice. Your legs felt numb as Diana’s fingers tickled the top of your hand.

You quickly pulled away from her. “I think something like this would be better,” you suggested, turning to the first suit you could find. It was black, with a long skirt and a frilly kind of blouse.

Diana still seemed uncertain. Mr. Trevor begged her to at least give it a shot. Diana sighed. “I suppose I can,” she declared. She began to remove her coat. You got a longer glimpse at what was underneath it.

Etta darted like lightning to stop her. Once again Diana was gasping with confusion as Etta tied her coat shut tightly. “Come with me, dear,” Etta said, blotting the sweat off her forehead with her handkerchief. “We’ll find you a dressing room.”

Diana was ushered off with Etta, leaving you to recollect your thoughts. You stopped Mr. Trevor from following.

“Might I have a word, sir?” You softly asked.

“Of course.” He continued to look quite ill.  

“It’s just that I did see what she was wearing, sir,” you began. You’d seen such similar armor in your stolen books. “Is she…?”

Mr. Trevor suddenly gripped you by the shoulders. He looked absolutely relieved. “So you know about them?! And the magic island? I don’t think I can handle it on my own, Y/n.”

You blinked a few times. “Did you say magic island?” You finally asked. “No, I meant is she Greek?”

Mr. Trevor recoiled, falling into a fit of coughs. “Absolutely, yes,” he said. “I’ll be...I need some water.”

You wonder what in the hell happened to Mr. Trevor for him to lose his usual composure. He’s been known to always have a witty remark for something, but today he’s entirely off his usual tempo.

You searched for Etta. She is speaking with the oncall saleswoman, who was in the process of explaining the most boring details of Diana’s selected suit. “Etta, Mr. Trevor bid me go ask you if you could pick out a few more outfits for Miss Diana to try.”

“Of course!” Etta said. “Stay and wait with her, please?”

“Done,” you promise.

Etta and the saleswoman took off to find more dresses and blazers for Diana. You looked around before darting back to the dressing rooms. “Diana?” You called.

A door opened promptly. “Hello.”

“H-hi,” you stuttered out.

Facing her was incredibly difficult. Her eyes literally seemed to sparkle with pure joy. Among that, her hair falls over her shoulders in loose, brown curls. Her coat is off, strewn behind her over a chaise. You can see her arrangement of weapons on the floor. Her armor, red and gold, has yet to be removed.

“I wanted to-to speak with you. About you.”

Diana moved aside for you to come in. You felt a bit uncomfortable. It’s not really wrong for you to be here. Any other woman wouldn’t mind helping Diana dress, and afterall, richer women have handmaids specifically for dressing them and even to bathe them. Diana may be a stranger but she’s warm and kind; she’s different.

She didn’t seem to bashful about her variety of weaponry. You’re mostly in awe.

“I’ve never known any female warrior before,” you muttered as you gave the sword a final glance. The hilt had strong patterns carved over it, and the blade looked razor sharp. A stab with that sword would feel completely painless at first, while the blade sliced through you like a ribbon.

“I am an Amazon,” Diana explained.

“Pardon me?” You asked.

“Warriors put upon the world by the gods. We are...well, a bridge to a better world. The guardians of mankind and all that is good.”

Oh, well okay. You weren’t exactly sure how to respond to that, considering it’s a bit crazy.

“You don’t believe me,” Diana says. “I cannot say I don’t understand. We have lived in secret for most of history.” She shrugged in her plates of metal. “I feared the world was under a bigger threat than it ever has been. That is why I left my people to join Steve Trevor.”

You nod. “Alright, I guess. While I’m hesitant to believe all of your story, I trust Mr. Trevor’s judgement.”

Diana smiled at that. “That is all I need.”

She gestured to the loose garments of purple you’d chosen for her before. “I hate to trouble you more than I already have. But I cannot understand how this is supposed to work.” She referred to the corset which ties up underneath every layer. “Oh, well generally someone can do it for you, but there are some that tie up in the front. Should I choose one of those for you?”

“No, that’s alright. I have you to help me.” Diana started to remove the plates of armor, starting with her thigh pieces. She organized her things very sternly, as if she were keeping a strict inventory log in her mind. For all you know she is.

She wrapped her arms over her chest to keep some modesty, but even so, even as you chant to yourself not to look, you felt your mouth become bone dry. You grabbed the corset and waved for Diana to turn around. She molds the front of the corset to her chest, using one arm to keep it in place while she used her left hand to move her hair. Your fingers dragged over her skin. She is so golden, so soft. The smell of soap and seafoam lingers.

You could easily dip your head down and kiss her neck.

You force the thoughts from your head. Trembling, you lace up the corset, hardly able to maximize your strength as you pull as tight as you can. Your limbs feel like phantoms. They move on their own while you bite back tears.

When you finished, you blotted your tears away with the inside of your wrist. “I’ll be leaving, now,” you tell her. “Good luck.”

Fleeing the room while Diana calls after you was the only way to save yourself. The need for Diana built up strong in your belly, as did the cloud of heartache in your chest. Your breath became restricted by the pain. You brushed past Etta on the way out of the store, briefly explaining you needed to leave and to send your apologies to Mr. Trevor.

What worries you most isn’t Mr. Trevor and Diana’s alarmingly fictional stories, or even Diana’s weaponry she keeps strapped to her body; it was the fact you had let Diana get to you. She messed with your brain without even knowing it, and now you couldn’t help but think how horrible your life is.

You briskly walked home. You fumble with your keys at the door, scraping the sides of the lock with the blade. Throwing yourself inside is the only thing that relieves you. This little house by the steel mills is your palace of your true nature. While you shiver at night and hear things creak, you can at least be yourself.

Typically you would calm yourself with a nap or a bath, but your nerves are far too shot.

You journeyed straight to your bedroom and kicked off your heels. Settling over the squeaky mattress with your lip caught in your teeth, you struggle to steady your hands enough so you can unbutton the top of your coat.

You lay back and slide your hand down your belly, poking through the band of your skirt. And you imagine…

You imagine yourself in that dressing room, your hands sliding down Diana’s smooth back.

You pressed the smallest of kisses atop her bare shoulder. The little hairs on her neck rise, her breath caught. She turns on her heels to face you, practically forehead to forehead.

She drops the corset to the floor, kicking it away without a care in then world. Her hand finds yours, and she holds it one more time, tickling your skin with the lad of her thumb. With a gentle smile, Diana raises your hand to hold one soft breast.

You palm and squeeze at her, feeling completely in awe of her beauty. Diana dragged you down to kneel with her on the floor. In the fantasy you lay not in a dressing room, but on a soft quilt. Where you are doesn’t matter; it’s Diana. Diana pushes you to your back, undoing the clips in your hair and massaging your scalp of the pain your tight bun left behind. She drags her fingers through your hair, then down your chest. She bows her head down, mouth catching your hard left nipple. Your right breast is tended to with her hand, while your left earns the attention of hee teeth, tongue, and lips. She leaves tender bruises over your chest, purring her affections and compliments into you.

Soon she trails her mouth down. Her long, dark hair drags over your stomach. Diana places herself just between your thighs, resting her weight onto one of her elbows.

With two fingers she spreads you apart to see your dripping cunt clenching with suspense. Diana presses a kiss to your hipbones. With a finger dipping inside of you, she catches arousal and swirls it around your hole, preparing to widen you out. Two of her fingers creep inside of you, curling up and pressing the top of your cunt’s walls, making you lurch your hips up against her face.

With a muscled arm she pushes your hips down, a hand digging into you to keep you in place as her lips pucker over your aching clit.

The bead pulsed with excitement as Diana pressed a gentle kiss against it. Her tongue poked out to swirl a small circle over your clitoris. You whined, wiggling your hips desperately to feel more of Diana.

Her fingers pumped in and out, scissoring apart and always tickling that magic spot deep inside of you.

Her tongue swirled faster and wider, occasionally taking breaks to ease the muscle, but her attention on you never failed.

Her cherry red lips sucked on your clit. She sang a sweet song into your cunt, the vibrations making your thighs tremble.

She made you cum hard over her fingers, which she stuck within her mouth to clean them.

As you wind down, she places her own two fingers at her own entrance, already slick with arousal. She lubricates her own clit, rubbing the bead for a few moments while gasping your name like a prayer. She roughly grabbed at your legs, spreading them apart so she could position herself at your cunt. She lowered carefully onto you, her warm pussy sliding against yours.

She forced one of your legs over her shoulder as she started to wiggle her hips. She murmured your name, casting her head back and closing her eyes. The movement was rhythmic and precise, your clit rubbing against hers sweetly. Tears bubbled in your eyes, blurring the vision of Diana’s face as she fucked you into the floor, her hips bucking faster, skin and cum mixing and slapping loudly.

Lewd moans fell out of your mouth as you cried out to Diana, begging her for more, to which she obliged. She thrusted faster, kissing the side of your leg that now trembled violently over her shoulder.

You whimpered when she sang your name, a warm smile still quirked on her lips.

You wanted to sink into the fuzzy blanket and stay there forever, being fucked blissfully by Diana’s hot, soaking cunt.

The intense orgasm brought you to the brink of sobs as Diana pushed your hips hard into the floor. “Fuck, yes,” you shout. You beg for it harder and Diana listens, giving you everything you could ever want.

In your fantasy you would cum twice. You would reciprocate the pleasure, flipping Diana over and crawling between her thighs. Her hand would weave in your loose hair, pushing your face deeper into her hips. Your tongue would dip into her entrance, lapping up her cum like it was honey. You would send wide stripes up and down her before using one finger inside of her—then two, then the third, as gently as you could. Her hips would be grinding against your face, her cum dribbling down your chin. She would whimper like she never has before, moaning your name mercilessly, because it doesn’t matter who heard.

Your fantasy ends.

Your fingers are soaked with cum and you move off your bed to wash your hands. You use a warm, damp cloth to clean the mess between your thighs. A part of you feels satisfied, but only the primal part. The rest of you feels sad. Lonely. You crawl into bed, still dressed in your new red suit. You wonder if Diana thinks you to be totally insane, considering how you had run away so abruptly. You worry that she knows, somehow, your secret. You want to know what she would think. What would she say if you ran to her, now, and confessed you wanted nothing more than to kiss her and be held by her muscley, tanned arms.

Despite it being the dead middle of the day, you stay in your bed for hours. Your telephone rings a few times, but you don’t bother. It could easily be your office calling to fire you.

Something within you no longer cares. Let them.

Leave this place, maybe, and find that magic island which Mr. Trevor had spoken of. It would be a land of freedom; freedom to study what you want, to kiss who you want—to sleep in past eight in the morning and not worry about the secretariat duties of providing breakfast.

If Diana is an “Amazon” then you want to be one too. For besides her blatant beauty, there was something about Diana that was incredible. Her smile, her eyes—she glistened with confidence. She knows who she is.

You know who she is, too.

She’s the love of your life, but of a life you will never get to have.

[leilabeaux]

In My Sights II

Masterlist | One

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 1885

Warning: Schmut, this part literally starts off with a bang.

Summary: Certain obligations call you back home.

Author’s Note: So much for this being a one shot.

Your hand grabbed the headboard tightly, holding on for leverage as you slammed yourself down onto Ivar over and over again. You bit down hard on your lip when you felt that sweet release slowly creeping up on you again. Trying so hard to hold back your desperate moans, you refused to let him know how badly you were falling apart. But when you felt his thumb start to circle around your clit, you were unable to stop yourself from crying out his name.

He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you down to him. “Say it again, say my name again,” he whispered harshly into your ear as his thumb moved faster.

Your head was so cloudy from the pleasure that you found yourself willing to follow his order and repeated the cries of his name. He kissed you deeply while his hand tightened around the sides of your neck. You felt the spasms taking over your body as you became lightheaded.

Digging his head back into the pillow, Ivar groaned out loud as he came inside you after feeling your pussy clench around him. Your senses felt overloaded when he loosened his hold on you, the rush of air you were finally able to take in seemed overwhelming. You continued grinding your hips slowly against his while you both rode the aftershock of your orgasms.

You collapsed onto his chest in a sweaty mess of loose limbs. A part of you was surprised he lasted as long as he did. It seemed like he was determined to make up for all the lost time and make sure you didn’t forget him if you decided to make yourself scarce once again.

“Stay with me for once. It’s the least you could do,” he insisted, pulling you back to him when you tried to get out of bed. It was the same thing every time you two got together, he’d beg you to stay and you’d have an internal struggle while you told him no.

Feeling his arm wrap around your back, you laid your head against his chest. “Because I stole your kill?,” you guessed.

“Because you said no,” Ivar lamented softly. Taking your left hand in his own, he gently caressed your empty ring finger. “I still have the ring if you changed your mind.”

You were foolish to think he wouldn’t bring up the elephant in the room.

This is why you stayed away for so long. You knew if you kept showing up in his life that he would slowly try to wear down your resolve. At least he didn’t have the ring with him this time. It was hard enough just saying no to his hopeful face at the time and even harder saying no to the beautiful ruby stone surrounded by a diamond halo.

“Ivar, you hardly know me.” It was the same response you gave him the last time.

Other than your addiction to labels, luxury, and murder, he only knew of a few small facts you deemed safe enough for him to know. None of which you thought would cause a man to spend at least six figures on the perfect piece of jewelry for you.

“Well if you marry me, then I can spend the rest of my life getting to know you,” he contended as he interlaced his fingers with yours.

“How about we just enjoy the next few hours?” You were grateful that you were looking away from him. You didn’t think you could take seeing the disappointment that you were sure was on his face.

Ivar only hummed in response. You knew this wasn’t going to be the last you would hear of this though it seemed like he was conceding for the night. The truth was that you wanted to be his wife, you wanted to wake up every morning in his arms. But you weren’t naive. You knew that the only happy ending women like you get is one where you don’t end up with a bullet in your head.

You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to be lulled by the sound of his heartbeat.

It was a faint buzzing sound that stirred you from your slumber. After a few moments of trying to wake up, you realized it was all coming from your phone. You looked down at Ivar and was thankful that he was still deeply asleep. Carefully slipping away from his hold and out of bed, you grabbed your phone before going to the bathroom for privacy.

You tried to hold back your disgust as you evaluated the room. You couldn’t understand why he would lower himself to such grimy accommodations when he had more than enough money to buy a whole luxury hotel if he wanted to. Shaking your head, you started going through your phone.

You had two missed calls from the same contact. There was no name saved under it, only a single emoji of a cross. Your finger hovered over the screen as you dreaded having to return the call. You knew the voice on the other end would be displeased over being ignored. A single message popped up just when you were about to hit call.

You are due for a confession.

Kind of early for that, ain’t it, Padre?

Do not call me that and you are due whenever I say you are due.

Fine, I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Good. I will have a plane waiting for you at the airport.

That was not good. If he knew where you were, then it was very likely he knew what you were up to. Cracking open the door, you peeked to make sure Ivar was still sleeping. So much for staying till morning.

You quickly freshened yourself up, taking care to wipe the mascara and lipstick smudges from your face, before stepping out and quietly putting your clothes back on. Gathering his clothes, braces, and crutch, you set the items by the bed so he had easy access to them.

You didn’t take a chance on kissing his goodbye, fearful that he would wake and give you too many valid reasons to stay. Hopefully, your parting gift would ease his frustration when he woke up alone.

——

You said you would be there as soon as you can but that was a lie. After your long flight back to Wessex, you decided to take a much needed soak in the bath. It was just before midnight when you texted that you were finally on your way.

Though you never missed an opportunity to get dressed up, you knew walking into the church wearing a high-end dress and a pair of pumps at this time of night could possibly draw some unwanted attention. Instead you were dressed in a well-worn University of Wessex hoodie and plain jeans. To the few people currently occupying the pews, you were just a normal college student looking for some spiritual guidance.

You entered the confessional booth and knelt down on the step, clasping your hands in prayer. “Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks, twelve hours, and six minutes since my last confession.”

You wondered if you had the wrong booth when all you got was silence. Usually the exchange was simple, you would say the code—twelve hours and six minutes—and then the priest passed along a memory stick containing your next assignment. The remainder of the time was spent with listing your unabsolved sins.

“Hello? Is this thing on?,” You jested, giving a few raps on the partition. When it did finally open up, you could tell it was him even though the screen obstructed most of his face. “Damn,” you softly whispered.

Heahmund stared down at you, slowly exhaling as if trying to control his annoyance. “Hello, Sister Mary Julian. I am glad you could finally join me.”

The Bishop was very careful to limit his interactions with you which you took no offense to. The rare times he made an appearance was either to make a very special request or to lecture you over your work. “So, this assignment must be a juicy one if you’re personally delivering it to me,” you hoped.

“I think we both know that there is no new assignment. I had been informed that you have been away for the past few days.” It looked like you were in for a reprimand tonight. Raising his brow at you, he continued, “Tell me, Sister, what was the purpose of your trip? And I think it is in your best interest if you do not lie to me.”

“Pleasure, mainly.” Technically, not a lie. The only reason you took the job was to see Ivar again. “Just needed a bit of R&R.”

“I found it very interesting that the son of a well known diplomat was also there getting some ‘R&R’. A diplomat who is a very generous friend of the church.”

“That is interesting.”

“And even more so that his son unfortunately died due to a severe allergic reaction.”

“Should have avoided the shellfish.”

“I did not get to that part yet.”

“Damn.”

Heahmund pinched the bridge of his nose while he roughly sighed. “While your creativity in your work does amuse me, I thought we agreed that you would not take a contract on your own. Remember I handle the clients and I pick your assignments. All for your safety. Or do I need to remind you why?”

“No.” Your hand instinctively went to scarred skin below your ribs, remembering when you first met him. You were a bloody mess, passed out at his feet after being betrayed by a client. But that was a few years ago and you felt a few years wiser now.

“Do not go behind my back again,” he warned. “Your set of skills have proved useful to me and to the church and I ensure that you are well compensated for it. We would both hate it if I had to cut ties with you now.”

Rising up from the step and brushing the dust off your knees, you were happy there was no mention of what or who else you were doing while away. Heahmund was willing to overlook the sinful acts you had to commit for work purposes but, as a bride of Christ, any personal intimate relationship was nonnegotiable especially one with a man whose family was considered an enemy of the church.

“I have not excused you. I told you that you were due for a confession.”

You didn’t care if he saw you roll your eyes as you kneeled back down. You made quick work running down the list of sins you committed since the last time you were in the booth. Murder? Check. Grinding against a married man? Check. Not dressing modestly? Check. Obsessed with material possessions? Always.

Still Heahmund held back on giving you your penance. “Anything else you might be missing?”

Your mind shifted to the image of Ivar looking up at you from his position between your thighs, his tongue flat against your clit while his hands pinned yours down on the bed. You felt yourself getting wet just from the memory alone. “No, nothing I can think of, Bishop.”

——

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius @spotgaai2000 @castielsangelsx @walkxthexmoon @multifandom0-0 @placetokeepstories

[thisiskatsblog]

Hey, sorry if this is too personal or if you’ve already answered it. Would you mind telling how you realized you were bisexual? I’m kinda confused and struggling a bit 😫

Hi there! Warm hugs to you! Confusion happens. Struggling with that is really normal and okay. Whatever it is that’s confusing you, there’s probably a lot to unpack, but it’s good you’re not running away from it. For me, there were cues all along, but clarity came when for the first time, and this was in my mid- twenties, I allowed myself to sit with all of my feelings, without pushing any of them away. Because pushing them away, I only then realized, I had been doing for a very long time. 

It was almost insignificant. My partner commented positively on the female violinist at a Sparklehorse concert. I was really pissed and scolded him about it. He said I shouldn’t feel so offended as “She’s your type”. For a moment I felt like I was about to explode. He meant to say she looked like me, but for a second I understood something different. And I had a flash of realization. I had been about to act offended, which would have been blatantly homophobic, but underneath, I had also felt a tinge of relief, YES she WAS my type, I liked this woman, I’d do her. And it was this mix of “oh god I almost acted like a homophobic prick” and “oh god FINALLY someone GETS me” that made me realize - OH. I have these feelings, and they have been making me miserable, because I feel like I should be pushing them away. But what if I didn’t act like a prick to myself, what if I stopped being scared of them, stopped pushing them away? I watched the rest of that concert mesmerized by the wonder of my feelings for Sparklehorse’s cute violinist, and realized, yes, I feel sexual desire for women, and that’s never going to go away. My sexual desire for men had always been clear and without question to me, I knew that wasn’t going to go away either. So that was the start of a long, and still ongoing, journey of gradually looking my feelings in the eye, and starting to understand I was always going to feel attracted to more than one gender, and trying to navigate that fact in a biphobic and bi erasing world. It is not always easy and simple. I don’t feel I’m fully there; but looking it in the eye really made me a better, nicer, happier person.  

I have probably shared the full story in the past and I may have tagged it “bisexuality” or “me”, but I feel ya so I’m happy to tell the story again. Under the cut. And: always here to talk. 

Clearly it’s something that was always there, and the realization came in many many stages. When I first heard of the concept gay people (it was the eighties, in the context of AIDS) I asked my mom “but what if I turn out to be gay” and her absolute certainty that I wouldn’t, really did not sit right with me. I was 8 and could not imagine getting naked with anyone, but I could imagine marrying a girl. I think I already realized I liked some girls a bit more than others in my very early teens, but it took the form of strong admiration.  I grew up in a strongly religious and homophobic environment, incredibly powerful incentives all around to ignore those feelings, stay far away from them, not explore them, just, pretend they were not there and label them “I just REALLY want to be her friend”. Just blame that tingly feeling in your chest when you sat close and she talked in your ear on the strong smell of her perfume. And later, telling yourself this is a phase, a test. Yep, must be God testing me - praying (something i considered useless long before I lost all faith), but praying, probably the last time I did it, please God, help me, please let this go away. I cried an entire night long. And forgot about that episode for more than ten years. Pushed it as far as I could in my memory.

 Knowing for absolutely sure I liked guys, I was sure I could not be a lesbian (and didn’t want to be, the homophobia was deeply engrained) and I was sure this would eventually go away. And it did, I got a boyfriend, he was cool, and beautiful, and delicate, and he had long hair. Boyfriends came and went until I met a girl who instantly became my best friend on the day we met, and someone - probably thinking we looked cosy - handed us a flyer to an LGBT event at uni that same day (I should write a fic based on this I know). She said “let’s go, for fun”, and me, remembering the goddess from high school who had inspired my desperate prayers, though, yeah, I should look into this, and said, “yeah, for giggles”. We went and I... did NOT feel at home. I’m rather femmy, and most of the women there were pretty butch, and I just... did not feel attracted or like I belonged. I also didn’t like it when the groups split up and the guys went elsewhere. We watched a lame movie about a woman discovering herself and my friend had opinions. One of which was “I don’t want to go for the drinks after, you’re prettier than any of the girls here anyway, let’s go to mine and have some tea”. I am pretty flirt blind I have to tell you that at this point. Over all the years that we were best friends we emotionally functioned as a co-dependent couple, but I never took any of those things she said, like “you are more important to me than any boy could be” seriously. Like, at all. I was pretty dense. Plain stupid, really. But I agreed with her and said, yeah no, not interested, let’s have tea at your place. All the environmental homophobia had deeply hidden me from myself. So we stayed best friends who acted a bit like a couple. 

So i was completely oblivious, but it must have been around this time that I at some point woke up from a very sexy, pleasing dream, which I had not wanted to wake up from, and realized, hey, that was a girl, with delicious boobs, lush lips and beautiful curly hair I was just dreaming of. SHOCK. It was not a phase... By then I’d had sexual experiences, had grown comfortable with being a sexual being (coming from such a religious upbringing, that in itself took ages) and I could look it in the eye. Sexual desire for women. But I thought it was just that. Hmm, I apparently like thinking of sex with women. Not a hair on my head that considered a romantic relationship, building a life with a woman. It was before women could get married to eachother and have children. Ellen had come out maybe a year or two before, or three, or five, I don’t know - point is: I didn’t know any long term female couples. There were no examples.

That said, my friend and I were sometimes perceived as a couple (I will never forget the time someone congratulated us on planning to move in together, or the time someone called her my sweetheart instead of my friend (girlfriend and friend are the same word in Dutch, so I cannot imagine the times people used that word meaning something other than I took it for, or the times I said it and people took it for something else). But people really close to us thought we were an item. Except there were boyfriends, coming in and out of our lives through revolving doors. They generally didn’t bother me. I mean, mine, always delicate long haired boys, sometimes wearing makeup or girls’ clothes, DEFINITELY did not bother me. But they annoyed her. She never thought any of them was good enough for me. I didn’t think any of her boyfriends were quite good enough for her, but she was clearly also not serious about them, so they didn’t bother me. Until we made plans to move into an appartment together and she sent me househunting with her then boyfriend who was also looking for something, and he inadvertently said “i don’t need something big, I expect I’ll be spending most of my time at your apartment”. I cancelled the plans immediately and I didn’t even know why it hurt me so much. 

Worst. Breakup. Ever. She was extremely upset over it as well. People who knew us well could just not get what had happened. And it took me years to figure out how I had been separating my strong emotional attachment to her very neatly from any sexual attraction I felt to the female body. Years later, I figured out that my behaviour on a beach holiday with our respective temp boyfriends, had been pure jealousy and repression. One time she wanted to bathe topless and I got completely upset. My boyfriend was upset at me “not trusting him”, her boyfriend was upset at me “being a prude”, and she was upset at me refusing to look at her and “treating her like a slut” (I wish). But really I was scared shitless. I did not want to look at her boobs. Without being in any way conscious of it, I looked away to avoid having to recognize sexual feelings. That same holiday her boyfriend at some point stood stark naked on a table. I looked away from his private parts as well, a little less though, those feelings were also not desirable considering he was her boyfriend, but - you know - more familiar, and less scary. When I heard her bumping the headboard in the room next door, I wanted to have loud sex with my boyfriend too. 

And years later, I had sex with her boyfriend as well. After he’d long been dumped and replaced, after I’d cancelled the moving in plans. After she and I had tentatively started talking again. I begged him never to tell her anything about it ever. It felt like the worst betrayal, as I knew she had truly cared for him and I couldn’t bear for her to find out. I don’t think she ever did. I also never stopped feeling guilty about it. What she thought of me was the only thing I cared about. 

There was a short interlude with a hot redhead I’d developed sexual desire for, still not taking the possibility of a relationship with a woman seriously, and running into her in the underwear department with exactly the same set in her hands, and thinking, oh, to buy underwear for her, wrap it, gift it to her on her birthday, and that eliciting the picture of a longer term relationship with her, and thinking, yeah for her I might not mind people thinking i was gay, I’d be proud to introduce her to my friends - an easier thought to entertain when it’s entirely hypothetical and also realizing then: uhm. People thought I’d be a lesbian, like they now think I’m straight. Perhaps this is the reason why I do not know anyone who is bisexual. I just think of them all as straight, or gay. The invisibility of people who are bisexual was a really difficult one for me. It’s SO difficult to picture coming out as bisexual when no one you know is living any kind of example. Anyway. This was a fantasy, but a useful one in making progress towards understanding myself. 

Enter the man I ended up having a child with. He had been in the picture for a while. The “girlfriend” from before (that’s what I call her now) had always warned me off him, didn’t think we’d be a good match. But I really liked him, that wasn’t going away. So when it turned out he liked me too, we got together and it worked. It was our last year of uni, and after, she moved away for an internship, and I moved in with him. She visited once, which led to his confession that he hated her guts, and her confession that she hated his, followed by a list of denigrating comments about our living circumstances. She was clearly not supportive of the relationship that was everything to me so the decision was easy to cut her out. This was even worse than the first “breakup”, complete with nightmarish dreams and withdrawal symptoms. I kept dreaming about her an din those dreams we’d make up and apologize for all the horrible things we had said and done to eachother. I also kept having sexual dreams of Madonna, and a hot friend of ours. Which I’d discuss with my boyfriend. He could relate. It must have been around this time that I started truly questioning the nature of my lost relationship with the girl.

The relationship with my boyfriend was good but I did display some serious unpleasantness around... certain issues. I’d always had that with my boyfriends. I had issues with pictures of beautiful girls on their walls. Particularly if they had nice boobs. They had all seen that as inappropriate jealousy or prudishness. Jealousy it was, but not the kind they thought. To me, the realization FINALLY came as I was at a concert with my boyfriend, and he was talking appreciatively about a female violinist. I acted angry and upset. He called me a prude. I denied it. He called me jealous. I denied it. He thought I was acting like a pain in the ass anyway and said I should feel honoured, cause “She’s your type”, he said. 

And my brain went “Ah”. Indeed, she is my type. I’d do her. BUT I CANNOT SAY THAT AND I HATE YOU FOR BEING ABLE TO SAY THAT. I was jealous, cause he was allowed to express desire for women, and I felt that I was not. So that was it, my aha moment during a Sparklehorse concert. He had meant ‘she looks a bit like you’, I got him completely wrong, but I am so thankful I did. 

That’s unfortunately not the end of the story. But it was the turning point. I had finally understood. It was the starting point of me revisiting all the past issues, stringing all the beads I just painted for you together, making sense of my own story. I made a resolution then and there, that - whatever else - I was probably never ever going to come out, because bisexuality did not exist in my world,  but I would allow myself to feel sexual desire for women. I was going to stop hating myself for it, and I was going to stop hating others for being allowed to feel something I didn’t allow myself to feel. I instantly became a much more pleasant person to everyone I know. And enjoyed my raunchy dreams about Sparklehorse’s violinist, Madonna, and a certain redhead. 

On online fan forums I started migrating to LGBTQ content, it was my way of staying in touch with my community, as there was none in my real life. There was no local  bi group that I knew of, and though I did attend some lesbian parties with a lesbian friend, besides her, most lesbians I met were not very welcoming. The fact that I had a boyfriend of course did not help. I should not be blaming them. 

I found my people online. Started introducing myself to people I met online as bi. Started figuring out how I had been suppressing my sexual desire for women. Then when I couldn’t deny that anymore, had been separating my emotional attachment to women from sexual desire. Realized that societal heteronormativity had made it almost impossible for me to conceive of women as potential long term romantic partners. Casual sex with women I could definitely conceive of, and co-dependent strongly emotional more than friendships eclipsing all the men entering and leaving through revolving doors. But a healthy, stable, romantic, emotional and sexual partnership with a woman? That seemed impossible to me. 

I worked hard to change that, and opening my mind to it, and to the idea that sometimes, you love more than one person at the same time; This has really helped me accept my feelings, myself, who I am. And as I said, it made my life a lot better. It’s gradually allowed me to develop the confidence to come out to people I trust, friends, colleagues, and to try and find, and even build bi+ communities. It’s been great to meet and talk to other people who don’t fit into narrow categories, and allow themselves not to. 

Wishing you the very best on your journey; thank you for sharing with me; and always here to talk anon

[taylorinthetardis]

Only Human - Prologue and Chapter 1

Hey everyone! So this is the Pride and Prejudice AU I’ve been working on for a while now. It’s set in Modern Day London and told from Darcy’s POV. It is cross posted on AO3, the link to it will be below. I promise I will update it soon, I’ve just been a little bit blocked for a while. But I promise there will be more. So here we go, the prologue and first chapter are under the cut! Enjoy!! Feedback is much appreciated!! If you like it and want to be on a taglist, please feel free to say so!!

Thank you to @madbaddic7ed for all your encouraging words and for convincing me to cross post!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109365

Only Human

Summary:  The events of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice as seen through the eyes of Darcy. Story takes place in modern day London. Lizzy and Jane are American students studying abroad. Their sisters take turns visiting them throughout the story. Bingley and Darcy are recent business partners, but longtime friends. Caroline is as snake-ish as ever. George Wickham is an actual rapist - the rape will not be described in detail.

Pairing: William (Will) Darcy x Elizabeth (Lizzie) Bennet; Charles Bingley x Jane Bennet

Rating: Explicit due to eventual smut

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2.8K

                                                       Prologue

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I, William Darcy, am an arsehole. The following tale, dear reader, will explain how that came to be and how, I hope, I have made the preceding statement a falsehood instead. The following tale does not often show me at my best. I hope, however, that you may look past my faults and forgive my disgraceful, ignorant, and often impure thoughts as I relay to you the circumstances by which I came to fall deeply in love with the most wonderful, challenging woman I’ve ever met, the method by which I nearly ruined an incredibly important friendship, and the events surrounding the creation of a familial fissure that will never heal. I hope you will not judge me too harshly.

                                       Chapter 1: Hanover Terrace

I was sat in my office. My office. Still getting used to that. When I took over control from my Aunt Catherine in April, a lot of work was done to make this office mine. Catherine’s taste in furniture was, how should I phrase this, medieval. I was honestly surprised we didn’t have to remove any torture devices when her furniture was cleared out to make room for my more practical mahogany desk and overstuffed leather chairs. My degree from Cambridge’s Judge Business School was propped in my bookcase with photos of my parents and Georgiana on either side. The office is still rather spartan in comparison to Charles’ but I don’t mind it. Our companies had recently merged, an event that proved profitable for both parties and served to deepen our friendship. Our offices are across the hallway from each other now, as opposed to being across the Thames. The economic windfall had been excellent for Charles. He had decided to purchase a new home, one big enough for himself and his sister and closer to her university. Charles is an orphan, like myself, and the sole caretaker of his younger sister Caroline, who recently began her studies at the fashion and design school at Regent’s University. I feel for Charles sometimes. His younger sister is an absolute terror, but I guess we can’t all be blessed with saints for sisters. Caroline is an uncommonly cruel young woman. She delights in shit-talking friends and strangers alike. She also is labouring under the delusion that she will one day be my wife. Her older sister, Louisa, has enjoyed several years of trophy-wifery and it seems Caroline has decided that is the life she wants to live as well. Although she just recently came of age, she has flirted with me non-stop since the first day Charles invited me home with him. We’ve known each other since we were 18 years old. We are now 25. Damn near seven years. SEVEN YEARS. Seven fucking years dealing with Caroline’s shite. She just turned 18 earlier this year. What the hell did she think I was going to do with her when she was eleven goddamn years old? Go to prison? I sure as shit think not.

Charles entered my office at around 1. He was bouncier than usual. He had either had more than one of his normal sickly-sweet coffees or he was in love again. Turned out it was both.

“Oh, Will I’m so happy you convinced me to snatch up Hanover Terrace. I met the most beautiful woman in world yesterday. I never would have known her if I hadn’t decided to take your advice. I invited her and her sister out with us tonight. You don’t mind, do you? Even if you do, once you meet her, you’ll forget you were ever bothered.” He spoke at such a speed that I only caught about every third word. My ears perked, however, at the ‘out with us tonight’ part. Out with us? I don’t remember agreeing to go anywhere with Charles. He always wants to go to nightclubs. He knows I don’t dance. He always does this. Drags me to some poppy nightclub with strobe lights and terrible music.

“And how did you meet this one Charles? Spill your coffee on her? No, wait, you were walking Caroline’s stupid pug and she thought it was cute and wanted to pet it.”

“Christ, am I becoming that predictable?” Yes Charles. Every girl you’ve ever fancied has fallen into your life in a cliché.

I nodded.  He sighed.

“Well, it’s different this time. She isn’t like any other girl I’ve been with. More beautiful than Sarah, kinder than Tilly, oh and her sister Will. Her sister has got to be one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever spoken to in my life. They’re both very beautiful Will. If I was a betting man, I’d wager that Lizzie might even be beautiful enough to tempt you out of your shell and entice you to have some goddamn fun for once. Maybe she’ll even get you to dance.” He nudged me with his elbow, winking. Yeah right Charles. Not even Charlize Theron could get me to dance at a nightclub.

“I seriously doubt that Charles. So, what’s this one called, hm?”

“Jane.” He said it with a sigh. Oh, he’s already long gone. “Her sister is called Elizabeth, but she prefers Lizzie. They’re American, Darce. From the Midwest. They’re both studying abroad at Regent’s for the year.”

“And to what godforsaken place will you be attempting to drag me to tonight?”

“I was thinking Drama? I wanna show off a little Will. I really like her; I want to impress her.”

“Drama might be a little much for a midwestern girl, don’t you think? What about that place we went in Camden a few months ago, by the lock?”

“Lock 17? Isn’t that a little down market for you Darce? There isn’t even a dress code!”

“Come off it, you know I couldn’t care less Charles. I don’t even like going out. I just think Lock 17 will be the better choice for her. You don’t want to scare her. Anyway, I think you’ll have a nice time. Without me.”

“Nuh uh, you aren’t getting out of this. You come or you’re dead to me.” I rolled my eyes. Jesus he’s such a goddamn drama queen.

“Ugh fine I’ll go. But I’m not dancing and you can’t make me. I’m a grown man Charles. So, meet at Hanover Terrace at, what, 8pm? Or should we meet earlier?”

“I was thinking 7:30, that way we’ll all have plenty of time to get ready and you can get to know them before we go. I’m going to order the cab for 8 so we’ll have plenty of time to get there if there’s any slow spots.”

“Please tell me you’ll be leaving Caroline at home.”

“Yeah, so she can kick my arse over it later? No chance. Besides, we’ll probably lose her to the dance floor as soon as we get in. She’ll find some nice dumb boy to buy her drinks and you won’t have to see her all night.” No Charles she’ll be on me like white on rice all damn night and you bloody well know it.

“Alright. But I’m not dancing.”

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

I arrived at Hanover Terrace about 7:30. As soon as Charles opened the door, I immediately regretted my decision to come. I should have told him I got food poisoning from lunch or something. Caroline was stomping through the front room, going from box to box screaming that she couldn’t find her favourite clubbing heels. Who the fuck has a favourite pair of heels for clubbing? Heels seem so impractical for dancing. Charles’ new love and her sister had yet to arrive and Charles appeared to be in a slight panic.

“What if she doesn’t come Will?” He said shakily. Christ he’s in a full meltdown.

“I’m sure she’ll be here in a few minutes Charles. It’s not even close to 8 o’ clock yet. You’ve got plenty of time, just relax.” I took a minute to look around his new home. He had barely unpacked. I helped him get everything in order for the move about two weeks ago and he moved in a few days later. Everything was basically where it was when I visited three days ago. “Have you genuinely not unpacked anything Charles? How are you even living in here?”

“I’ve got enough clothes unpacked upstairs to last another week probably. Caroline’s rarely home in the evening anymore so I just keep getting take-away. There’s a Chipotle just around the corner on Baker Street. You know I love a burrito bowl. Something I have in common with the lovely Jane.” Gag. Well, at least the movers got his furniture set up, although most of the downstairs furnishings were unusable because they were covered with cardboard boxes and plastic totes and suitcases. The sofa in the main living area was clear enough that I took a seat. Caroline continued her tear through the front room until a triumphant screech echoed through the relatively empty house. The heels in question were easily six inches high, sparkly platformed monstrosities. They completed a look which can only be described as what a disco ball would look like if it was a contestant on Love Island. Hopefully Jane and her sister would be a bit more sensibly dressed, like Charles and myself. I decided on a plain black tee and black jeans with my black and white trainers. Charles had gone with a less monochromatic palette, wearing a bright blue button down that was almost the colour of his eyes and a pair of dark blue jeans. We’re wearing the same shoes. Us and every other man in London. Suddenly there was knock on the door. I checked my watch, 7:35. I told Charles he was worrying for nothing. He bounced towards the door like Caroline’s pug when he needed a shit. He opened the door to reveal a young blonde woman and a younger looking woman with auburn hair.

“Jane, Lizzie, I’m so pleased you’re here. Sorry about the mess, haven’t had much time to unpack yet, with work and all.” Charles led them through to the room I had posted up in. The dark-haired girl peered at me through purple framed glasses. Her sister gave her a little nudge. Well fuck, Charles wasn’t kidding. God they’re both gorgeous! They were dressed considerably more sensibly than Caroline. Jane wore a low pair of black heels that complemented her red cocktail dress. Her sister was even more comfortably dressed, in black leggings, Doc Martins, and a plain white t-shirt. She wore a black leather jacket over the tee. Neither girl appeared to be wearing much make-up. Both were possessed of the natural beauty that Caroline tried to fabricate in her hour-long make-up routine that left her looking like she had Photoshopped her own face, but in real life. I stuck my hand out. “Will Darcy. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Wow, sound more like you’re a hundred years old, why don’t you Will?

“Will, this is Lizzie,” he gestured to the brunette, “and this is Jane.” He put his hand on the small of the blonde’s back and she blushed redder than Charles’ hair.

“Lizzie Bennet. It’s so nice to meet you Will.” She took my hand with her considerably smaller one and shook it. It was a firmer handshake than I’d had from some of my business associates. She dropped my hand and her sister took up the vacancy. Her handshake was much softer, grip much lighter, much more feminine. Looking at the two women before me, I wouldn’t have known they were sisters if Charles hadn’t told me. They couldn’t have been more different. One blonde, one brunette. Jane had soft blue eyes, Lizzie’s were bright and hazel. Jane was tall and slender, her sister shorter and softer around the middle. Taking all of her in I came to a sudden realization: she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Okay Will be cool. For once in your bloody life be cool. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak Lizzie launched into an animated conversation with Charles about her day. It was all I could do not to stare at her mouth while it moved faster than Charles’ ever had, no matter how in love he was or how many Frappuccinos he had consumed. I sat back down on the sofa, while Lizzie sat on the carpet, Charles on the coffee table, and Jane remained standing. Lizzie told us about one of her professors, an archaeologist who taught university classes when he wasn’t on digs.

“He’s like a real-life Indiana Jones except without the bullwhip and the hat. And he’s not Harrison Ford. But still. Oh, and don’t even let me get started on my Shakespeare professor. George. He’s my most favourite.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying your studies Lizzie. But don’t forget to explore the city while you’re here! London is full of endless things to see and do. I’ve lived here most of my life and I still haven’t seen everything!” Charles is so blessed. I wish I could just talk. Talking is better than staring. C’mon mouth, work! “Wouldn’t you agree Darce?”

Shit, I have to talk now? I nodded, again opening my mouth to speak, but no words came. Charles picked the conversation back up, turning to Jane to ask if she had a pleasant day as well.

“Yes. I took a lovely walk through Regent’s Park today. I only have the one class on Thursdays so I’ve been using the rest of the day to explore a bit. Lizzie’s schedule is so much fuller than mine so I’ve been finding places for us to go on the weekends. We’ve gone to Camden Market and Hyde Park. When you met us the other day, we were on our way back from the Tate Modern, I don’t remember if I said or not.”

“Yes, you said Lizzie was disappointed because she thought you were going to the Tate Britain.”

“Do you have something against modern art?” Oh, cool. Thanks, mouth. Why did that come out like I’m angry about that? Modern art is dumb. How is a pile of rubber or a cut-up McDonald’s bag art?

“I can appreciate that its art, like how I can appreciate that romance novels are literature or techno is music, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I prefer the old masters and classical art to a splash of paint on a canvas. My little cousin can do that too, does that mean her art belongs in a prestigious museum? Naw fam it sure don’t.” Yes. I wholly agree. Why does she have her eyebrow raised at me? Does she think I don’t agree? What is my face doing? Am I scowling? I don’t want to scowl. Did she say ‘fam’? That doesn’t matter. Why does it feel like it matters?

“You’ll have to excuse my sister. She’s never been shy about her opinions. And she has a lot of them.” Jane shot her sister a disapproving look. Lizzie just shrugged. Caroline chose that moment to come swanning into the room. Seeing there was a perfectly good space next to her brother on the coffee table, she chose to throw herself down into my lap. Oh, for fucks sake. She’s gonna get fake tanner on my trousers.

“Will, my love," I threw up in my mouth a little, "we’re going to have such a wonderful time at Drama tonight.” I can’t wait to burst her bubble.

“Caroline, did Charles not tell you? We aren’t going to Drama. We’re going to Lock 17, in Camden.” I tried to move her from my lap, but she dug her heels into the carpet for grounding. Fat Christ, Charles will you get your sister under control?

She sputtered, on the verge of a full tantrum directed at her brother when, blessedly, Charles’ phone vibrated. “That’ll be the cab. Caroline are you still coming?”

She jumped up off my lap and straightened the piece of sequined cloth trying to pass itself off as a dress. “Of course I’m going Charles. I put all this on, I can’t just not go out now!” She stomped off to the dining area to get her bag from the table. Charles led Jane towards the front door. I extended my hand down to Lizzie, who took it. I pulled her up from the floor. You should let go of her hand now Will. You’re being weird. I dropped her hand like it had burned me. Smooth. She looked at me, smirked and cocked that eyebrow again. Saying nothing, she followed her sister and Charles out the front door. Caroline took advantage of my initial inaction by slipping her arm into mine, leading me towards the cab. And my doom.

[oscararcane]

Pranks

I wrote this month ago, but never posted it. Today is as good as any to do so, I suppose. So have this indulgent lil’ Maegar Varn/General fic.

Writing diplomatic letters, reading treasury reports, sitting during long hearings in the throne room of his rustic fort… It had been a long and not-so-enjoyable day for Maegar Varn. But that was baroning for you, in the eloquent words of his Treasurer. Therefore taking a relaxing bath was quite welcome in this automnal evening. Not to mention how relieving it was to soak in hot water after a cold day. The season was getting cooler every day and the cold winds tended to squeeze through the wooden plank of his makeshift castle, making every room uncomfortably chilly.

The baron closed his eyes and sighed with content when he heard a tell-tale jingling. His body tensed up and his eyelids shot open.

- Sahira?

Maegar looked intently towards the screen that separated the bathtub from the rest of his bedroom, looking for a familiar shadow. Nothing. Yet he could have sworn it was the sound of the Tiefling’s jewellery he just recognized. Despite her agility, the General was not entirely discreet. Part of it was by design. She was an adept of the “hiding in plain sight” technique. The other part was, of course, because of the ridiculous amount of necklaces, earrings and bracelets she covered herself with. Most people did not pay too much attention to it, but that light tinkling that accompanied Sahira’s every movements had become a familiar signature to Maegar’s ears. A comforting sound that reminded him a very good friend was here with him.

But lately the persisting noise had become a little unnerving.

The Varnling Host commander stood up and grabbed a towel, tying it around his waist. Stepping out of the bath, he walked around the screen in a couple long strides. His eyes darted around, looking for the Tiefling. She was not here. His eyes lingered on the clear, undisturbed sheets of his bed. His clothes were not here either.

- Oh for the love of…

Maegar pushed out a long exasperated sigh and opened the door of the bedroom, walking out in nothing but the immaculate piece of cloth hanging from his waist. He had reached the middle of the main hall when the heavy double doors cracked open, letting Cephal and the cool evening air slide in. When he saw the preoccupied expression on the wizard’s face, Maegar considered turning around and getting some dirty clothes to put on. Part of him wanted to avoid an argument. The other part was always up for a good fight.

Cephal lifted his eyes from some paperwork and stared at Maegar. Annoyance immediatly made his nostrils flare.

- And why, pray tell, are you naked? - I’m wearing a towel, Maegar answered just to contradict him.

Cephal glared.

- Sahira stole my clothes, the Baron yielded.

An all too familiar anger lit up in the wizard’s eyes. But for once it was not directed at Maegar.

- Another one of her pranks? Cephal snapped. This is getting out of hands! - This is nothing new, she always liked joking around to cheer up the crew.

It was a bit of a lie, Maegar was aware of that. Sahira did always like pulling pranks. It sure did cheer up the Varnling Host many times. But she never did them so often as of late and she used to choose a variety of victims. Now Maegar was systematically the butt of the joke. Something was going on and the Baron could not figure out what. This did not escape his perceptive Regent who narrowed his eyes at him.

- Always eager to defend her, aren’t you?

Maegar felt his face flushing despite the cold. He did not let it rattle his confidence and grinned.

- Aren’t we all?

The baron could have sworn the shadow of a smile stretched the wizard’s thin lips.

- Nevertheless, this is getting disruptive. You need to talk some sense into her, Cephal concluded.

He walked past Maegar, the conversation over as far as he was concerned.

The Varnling Host commander took a sharp breath in and walked out the door into the cold fall evening. Nearly naked.

A shiver ran down Maegar’s spine as he walked to the nearest guard. The young man - a new recruit - stared at him, his eyes wide open in shock.

- You! The Baron called out. Have you seen the general?

The guard did his best to not peer at Maegar’s ludicrous get-up.

- Yes, y-your Grace! She ran towards the tavern I think. There was a bundle of… something in her arms and she was huh… cackling? - Cackling, huh? Thank you, boy.

Maegar patted the young man on the shoulder and started to walk briskly towards the small town. As he was stepping in the freezing water of the river, crossing the shallows to reach the other bank, he considered his stupidity. He should really have put something on. But at this point turning back to the fort felt just as stupid. At least Sahira would get a good laugh out of this.

The Baron made his way through town, his wet bare feet amassing mud, ignoring the confused whispers and stares of his subjects. The key was to keep appearing confident, pretending that walking half naked on the streets was perfectly normal. Maegar was sure he was not convincing anyone, but at least his dignity was mostly intact.

Finally he stopped in front of the tavern. A burst of laughter drew his attention upwards. Sahira was standing on the roof of the building, doubling over in a fit of hilarity. Maegar put his fists on his waist in an authoritarian pose, but could not help but smile.

- You didn’t even put any boots on! The Tiefling managed to say in-between two giggles.

Now a couple snickers could be heard among the crowd, even though they did their best to not look like they were making fun of their Baron.

- I would very much appreciate if you gave my clothes back, General, Maegar declared loudly to cover the sound of Sahira’s laughter.

After a couple more chuckles, the Tiefling regained a bit of control. She looked down at the pile of dark cloth she was holding in her arms.

- Why don’t you, huh… come and get them, your Grace?

Maegar could not see the twinkle in her eyes from where he stood but he could imagine it from her mischevious tone. The Baron did not waste a second protesting and rubbing his hands, looked for the best spot to climb the tavern’s walls. His eyes stopped on a stack of barrels. Taking a running start, he climbed the structure and in a few light jumps, he reached the roof of the tavern. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sahira getting ready to flee and jump on the next building. A pretty risky move, but Maegar knew she could do it. Running as fast as he could with a towel barely holding onto his waist, he caught up to her and grabbed her waist before she could jump. Taken by surprise, Sahira dropped Maegar’s clothes which floated in the wind before reaching the muddy ground.

- Oh no, your clothes, she said, not sounding sorry in the least.

Maegar sighed as he released the giggling Tiefling.

- I guess you’ll have to stay half-naked for a while now, she added turning a cheerful glance towards him.

As the setting sun hit her strange yellow eyes, her slit-shaped pupils narrowed. An uncomfortable vision for most people at first, but one Maegar was used to. He grinned back at her.

- If I’m freezing to death, it’ll be on you. - Don’t worry, your Grace, I’ll make sure it won’t happen, Sahira replied while winking at him.

There it was. The flirting. It did not happen constantly, but it kept coming back. The Tiefling did not flirt exclusively with him and it probably did not mean anything. Just a bit of fun. But each time, Maegar felt something twisting in his gut.

The slight pause before his answer was long enough to be noticed but short enough to seem meaningless. Or so he hoped.

- Then let’s go find a nice fireplace to sit nearby, shall we?

Once again he pretended to be oblivious. He knew the game, he knew how to flirt back and joke around. Sahira probably had seen him do it before, with other women. It was unlikely he was fooling her, but if it affected her, she did not show it.

- And for the love of Shelyn, stop calling me your Grace, Maegar added as they climbed down the tavern’s walls. - Yes, sir! Sahira chuckled.

Under the astonished stares of the tavern’s clientele, the Baron retightened his towel around his waist and took a sit at the table nearest to the fireplace. Meanwhile the general grabbed a chair. Not to sit on it, oh no. It was not her style. Instead she stepped on it, settling herself nonchalantly on the table, one foot resting on the seat of the chair while the other sat upon its back. It was well-known among the Varnling Host as “Sahira’s chair problem”. She always found creative ways to never sit properly on one. Planting her hands behind her, she leaned backwards and looked down at Maegar from her elevated vantage point. The Tiefling smiled warmly.

- Better?

Looking up at her, Maegar grinned back at her.

- A lot. Drinks? - You pay. I’m broke. - You keep saying that, but it’s been almost two years since you bought that potion.

Sahira shrugged, looking away.

- I don’t have a reason to save money anymore, so I spend it as soon as I get it.

Maegar smiled softly.

- No settling down for our dashing bard?

He knew he was treading on a dangerous path, so he took care to do it as gently as possible. Sahira darted her eyes towards him for a second. It was enough for him to see her discomfort.

- We’ve already settled down, remember? I have food, I have this room up there. I don’t need anything else.

The baron looked down at his hands. He was not sure what he expected, really. Sahira was an adventurer at heart. Building a home, taking roots, living an ordinary life was not for her. Still, she stayed when Maegar acquired Varnhold and accepted the charge of General. If the Varnling Host commander kept bringing the subject up, it was because he feared Sahira would just get up and leave someday, bored with all this settling down. Deep down, he had a feeling the recent increase in pranks might be related to this problem.

- Nothing money can buy anyway. - What?

Maegar lifted his head suddenly, surprised. Sahira was looking at him again, a soft smile on her lips, something like melancholy shining in her eyes. The expression faded quickly, replaced by her usual mischevious grin.

- Deep in thought, are we? What has the handsome Baron so distracted?

The flirting again. This time Maegar had to clear his throat to prevent his voice from sounding a bit too hoarse, flushing slightly.

- Sahira, we need to talk.

The Tiefling winced.

- I don’t like the sound of that...

Instinctively, the Baron gently grabbed her wrist, as if afraid she would run away. She just might, he thought. It would not have been the first time.

- Listen… You know I love your pranks. But don’t you think you’ve gone a little overboard lately? Not to mention you could pick a few other targets. Cephal might be in need of one...

Sahira scoffed.

- These need to be fun for me too, you know. And Cephal is anything but fun to prank. What are you complaining about? Without me, you would be buried in paperwork all day and never see the sun.

Maegar sighed. Leaning back, his hand slid from her wrist to rest on the top of her hand. Getting the bard to talk was a challenge. She always prefered roundabout ways of communication.

- I have a lot to worry about, Sahira. Running a barony is not going to be fun every day. If on top of that I have to worry about the next thing you’re going to pull on me… This is getting stressful.

Even from the light touch of her hand he could tell her whole body tensed up.

- Maegar… I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to hurt you. I’ll stop the pranks, I promise.

She started leaning forward. She was ready to bolt. Maegar squeezed her hand to stop her.

- I just want to know what’s going on. Why are you doing this?

Sahira slowly settled back into her initial position, looking straight in front of her. Her mouth kept opening and closing. Maegar tried to help.

- Are you… bored? - Gods no!

Ah. Well so much for that intuition.

- Recruiting and training guards, organizing patrols, new problems every day… The Tiefling continued. I have plenty to do. It’s just that… You’ve been busy too.

Sahira glanced carefully at him. He tried to look as encouraging as possible.

- When I try to find you, you’re either receiving people in the throne room or writing letters or reading reports… I never get to just chat with you anymore. When we travelled with the company, we were always together. We didn’t even need to talk that much because we could see each other all day long. Going from that to having a hard time crossing path… I guess I’ve been missing you. The pranks were a way to get you to interact with me, I suppose.

Maegar slowly blinked at her. It was not what he expected and he felt like a fool. Taking a moment to absorb the information, he started mechanically brushing Sahira’s knuckles with his thumb. Stopping as soon as he realized it, he looked up at her.

- I’m sorry… I didn’t realize. But I should have. We can fix this. What do you say we set up a weekly evening just to hang out? No baroning, just enjoying each other’s company.

The Tiefling smiled down at him.

- I’d like that.

[iamyemzi]

#YemziGirl Feature 50 (April) - Barbara - Nanny from Brazii

Hey Barbara, lets get straight into it…does being a nanny make you want kids more or less?

Hello Elizabeth !!! First of all thank you for getting in touch with me and for the invite I really appreciate it. Well I helped looking after my cousins and neighbours kids so when I came to London I first started working as a cleaner then slowly I was getting into the nanny life and as long as I remember I always loved it. I always say when I go on interviews that some people do this job because of the money and some other people do because they love being nannies and love what they do and I am one of them, being a nanny it isn’t an easy job as you need to balance the kids, parents and your needs and also you need to always keep reminding yourself that they aren’t your kids and you must do what the parents wants even though sometimes you won’t agree with them. I remember this family that I worked once that was very challenging that got me so stressed to the point that the thought of not wanting kids was being on my mind constantly and people that knows me knows that there isn’t nothing else in this world that I want more than kids so I had to put myself first and move on because I was getting so stressed by kids that are not even mine so when I have mine I wouldn’t be patient and this is not how I want to be when I have my own kids. 

Why did you leave Brazil for London and what do you miss the most?

I left Brazil on 2012 when I was just 23 years old and was the first time I was living way from my family and in a foreign country. I came because a good friend of mine came with her girlfriend and a few months later she invited me to come and I decided to as I wasn’t in a good place back then as I was dealing with depression (only had the knowledge that it was depression years later) so I took some time off from drama university to come to London and have been here ever since. I love London and I feel like home here more than Brazil, I know I came from a beautiful country with beautiful people like me rsrsrs but life in Brazil it isn’t that beautiful like most people see when they watch tv or go on holidays specially now with that guy on the presidency. I really miss the weather of course but I am not complaining about UK weather no no no I am grateful with either because in my perception we must be grateful for everything we have in our lives but I was born there and that weather is part of my culture so I do miss playing outside with my friends as kids or going to a bar as adults OMG!!! If I could only share the images I have in my head with you all would be amazing but besides the weather I miss my family and friends the most but I have made my own family and friends here and where I live Willesden Green I can get all the Brazilian food I want to so I am ok with that rsrsrs. 

Your bared all on BBC's Naked Truth:Tattoos so beautifully, how was that experience?

The experience on The Naked Truth was amazing and of course being naked in front of camera and people I’ve never met wasn’t that easy but the program’s idea of showing to people what tattoos means to us was what that made me want to be part of it. At the time we filmed it I didn’t have my full arm and leg inked and I’ve seen and heard people saying and looking weirdly at me because of my tattoos but imagine now that I have way more tattoos...once I had a nanny job position turned down because my tattoos would influence the kids rsrs crazy huh!? I can’t believe that there are people that still think like that they are more worried about my tattoos than how I am going to treat their kids. I am really happy and blessed with the family I am now and I can say this I’ve had a really hard year before I met them with three different families and I’ve been putting out to the universe to bring a good family that would see me for who I am and forget the stereotypes and I finally found them and I remember on my interview I asked the mum if she had any problem with tattoos and I showed her my arms and I was really worried about her reaction and me and the little girl was love on the first sight and her mum was like “no I also have one so no problem I am more worried how you are going to look after her than about your tattoos” I was in shock and as I am writing this now I have tears in my eyes because maybe for some people this was nothing but for me was her way of saying I don’t judge you by your look. The world it is getting better as much as we think that it is not but it is look at us black people everyday we are making our voices to be hear more and more...yes we have a long way to but hey lets celebrate instead of complain right? I hope one day people understand that tattoo is a form or art and expression. 

As an aspiring plus size model which brand would you love to work with and why?

As long as I remember I’ve been overweight and we know how society treats us plus sizes women  and men so until my 25 years old I thought that being “fat” was bad and no one would love me for who and how I was and that feeling made me doubt myself all the time but then I decided to lose weight and I lost 50kg in a year I went from 126kg to 78kg and you are must be thinking WOW she was so happy right? No! I wasn’t. I was happy from the outside because I never thought that I could lose weight on my own without surgery or pills but I was so unhappy inside because I was treating myself so badly and that made me feel so unhappy and when I got stuck and couldn’t lose more I started gaining again and today I am back to my weight and you are must be thinking WOW she must be sad now right? No! I AM NOT and you know why? Because I had to learn how to LOVE MYSELF I thought that losing weight would make me happy and make people love me because that was what the tv and people used to say to me all the time and I saw that it wasn’t true. Today I learned that the “love yourself “  means literally love yourself no matter how you are, you can be slim or plus or too tall or too short be black or white or be Japanese or African love yourself means be grateful and proud of the life body,s kin that you have but doesn’t mean that you don’t need to look after your health for example today I want to lose weight because I want to be healthy to look after my kids when I have them not to make people to love me. 

So once I started my journey on loving myself I started to have my own plus size inspirations so I thought about modelling so I’ve done one photoshoot for a friend and I loved it so I went and did a workshop for plus size model and I met so many wonderful and beautiful plus sizes women but ever since I haven’t done anything but soon I will be back to it. I always buy clothes from this brand called grassfield it is an online store that I found on instagram they are two sister if I am not wrong from Nigeria and all they clothes are handmade and believe me they are amazing and they have from size 8 to 24 so I would love to model for them plus just know that I am helping my black sis from there I am happy to keep buying from them. 

What should designers who are wanting to cater to larger women pay attempting to?

Well I have large breast so I still think they should be paying more attention to that because sometimes you can find plus size clothes that with fit you everywhere but not on breast area and it is só frustrating and I know all my big breasted sis out there will agree with me rsrs. 

Beauty products your afro can’t survive without? 

OMG!!! One of my favourite subjects rsrs my friends always make fun of me saying that I go crazy if I don’t deep condition my hair at least 3x a week and I look after it like a babe and it isn’t completely true but I do deep conditioning it 1x when I am working and 3x a week when I am on holiday and as I do the low poo method so I don’t use any products on my hair only products that are allowed so I get it from Brazil as we have a huge range of products but when I cannot get it from there I get from Shea Moisture or Cantu they are not cheap comparing to the normal brands but for girls like me that are always dying their hair it’s worth it. 

What does style mean to you?

Style for me means WEAR WHAT MAKES YOU FEEL COMFORTABLE AND BEAUTIFUL. At least that how I am to be honest, as I mentioned before I have my inspirations but I have my own style that for some people it isn’t cool but it’s fine beca I don’t choose my outfit to please anybody but me and I love before going out I plan the whole outfit in my mind and when I put it on I look in the mirror and I say GIRL!!! You are looking Gorgeous OMG rsrs and I am telling you I go out in the mood and no one will change it. I see sometimes people looking at me thinking “her style is cool or I didn’t like it” but the most important thing is I am feeling myself so F*%# the world rsrs. 

Plain or printed?

Both depends on the occasion

Favourite quote? 

Treat yourself with love and respect, and you will attract people who show you love and respect in other words FIRST LOVE YOURSELF 

What piece of Yemzi do you love or have your eye on and why?

Girl I am getting that Yemzi identity pin!

Thanks so much @barbraprata! <3

[maxismatchccworld]

Sims 4 Patch Notes

UPDATE: 4/16/2019 – PC 1.51.75.1020 / Mac 1.51.75.1220

Happy April, Simmers. Nice to meet you! Maxis hired me as a freelance writer to work on these game update notes. (Side note — if you find a problem, blame SimGuru Graham — he’s my editor.) In all honesty, it’s a pretty sweet gig. I got to see the new Expansion Pack, Game Pack, and Stuff Pack that the team is working on, and did you know that they bring in bagels on Fridays? But hey, enough about me. Being a freelancer, I’ll be gone again before you know it.

Anyway, funny coincidence; there’s actually a brand-new Freelancer career arriving in this update that’s free for all players. I was playing around with it earlier, and go figure… my Sim self earns more money as a freelance writer than I do! Geez; guess I’ll have to live out my fantasies of getting rich through The Sims again. Looking beyond the new, free features though, I’ve got to say… those SimGurus really knocked it out of the park with this one. Just look at all those lovely fixes to many of the top discussed community issues!

Well, let’s get to it, shall we? Here’s everything you’ll find in this April update. Have fun!

Yours truly,

Sue D. Nym

Freelance Writer Extraordinaire

NEW CONTENT

Freelancer Career

Freelancer is a brand-new type of career. Sims can choose to be a Freelance Artist, Programmer, or Writer, and will work through an agency that will connect them with a variety of gigs. Unlike other careers, there’s no defined work schedule to worry yourself over. Need some extra Simoleons? Smash through a few gigs in a single day and get paid! Need some time off? No problem – plenty of gigs will be waiting for you when you’re ready to get back to work. Your office is wherever you want it to be. Perhaps a quiet corner in the local library, or maybe you’d prefer a home office decked out in the new set of office furniture? You’re your own boss, so the choice is yours! Completion of gigs across the different agencies will lead to a variety of rewards, and ever-increasing pay. Really, it’s the best Sims career Maxis has ever made. [Sue, please… remove this. No editorializing. – SimGuruGraham]

New Objects

This free set of home office furniture and decor is ideal for your burgeoning Freelancer Sims!

Bookcase: Edgier LadderCase

Desk: Anglette Desk

Desk Chair: The Professional

End Table: A Cute Anglette

Decor: Not So Simple Pen Holder

Decor: Hand Reference Model

Decor: Robo, The Friendly Circuitry Kit

Decor: The Note Book

Laptop: FreeRoam Portable Computing Device

Wall Decor: Better As A Pair Of Paintings

Wall Decor: Supreme Freelancer Award

New Clothing

Freelancers tend to want comfy, but professional outfits. We’ve got them covered with the following new pieces of clothing.

Women

Men

A cable knit cardigan outfit

A sweater and skirt outfit

A layered sweater

A pair of flats

A collared sweater

A button up shirt

A crewneck sweater

A pair of drawstring pants

Moschino

In collaboration with Moschino, your Sims can now enjoy an item from the Moschino X The Sims Capsule Collection. The new Freezer Bunny hoodie can be found in the Create a Sim catalog.

Immaculate White Shelf

I could have buried this down in the Fixes & Updates section, but… it’s kind of a big deal. There’s now a plain white version of “The Immaculate” shelf available in Buy Mode!

[Note to self: Sue seemed super excited about this. It sure seems like something we should do more of… – SimGuruGraham]

FIXES & UPDATES

The Sims 4

Sims will travel to the correct venue when invited out to an event by a NPC Sim.

Fixed an issue where the UI would occasionally indicate that a Sim was at work, when they were actually at home, which would block access to the Sim’s inventory.

Sims will no longer receive random phone calls from other Sims between the hours of 8pm and 10am, allowing them to enjoy a full – and speedy – night’s sleep.

Fixed an issue where multiple music tracks could end up looping and playing simultaneously.

Expecting parents will once again be able to “Take Family Leave” via their phone to take time off from work.

Fixed an issue where a Sim who had cheated with another Sim romantically, were then unable to successfully propose to that Sim and get married.

Fixed an issue where Sims in the eSport Gamer branch of the Tech Guru career were not earning money when programming video games.

The Pick Up Serving Together interaction will no longer cause one of the Sims involved to fail to route to the food.

Fixed an issue where interactions on the Digitalistic Sketchpad object would disappear if a Sim’s actions were canceled while they were picking up the Digitalistic Sketchpad.

Updated the Digitalistic Sketchpad object so that creating paintings on it will satisfy Aspiration goals and work tasks that involve painting.

Fixed an issue with the Lin-Z Smart Speaker, where the interaction to hire a Gardener would remain unselectable, even when the home had a garden that needed tending.

Sims will now look at the Lin-Z Smart Speaker when speaking to it.

The “Pre-Owned Painter’s Easel”, that’s unlocked via the Painter career, will now provide an Inspirational emotional aura, instead of a Focused emotional aura.

Fixed an issue where staircases were not rendering properly while held by a mouse cursor.

Updated positioning of overlapping Search & Reset buttons in a player’s catalog within the Gallery.

Adjusted icons of Lunar New Year recipes to better display what food you’re looking at within an inventory.

The children’s Yin & Yang Necklace will no longer clip into their neck when wearing a shirt that’s tucked in.

The “CleanRoom” wall pattern, which was previously missing a name for its 5th color variant, has now had that specific color variant named “Like Sand”.

Added the ability to click through different pack art on the main menu for any of the packs you currently have installed.

A new content alert icon has been added to individual careers within the Select a Career panel, to help players find new careers that have been added to their game.

Note: If a save file created prior to this update contains a Sim that’s already in this bad state, simply traveling to another lot with that Sim will permanently fix this issue.

As far as I’m aware, this is the only instance in the game where a color variant has been given a unique name. Huh… neat!

Mac

Fixed an issue for Mac users with Intel integrated graphics, where the mouse cursor would not move properly after adjusting the shape of a Sim’s body in Create a Sim.

Removed an outdated file that was causing a false error message to appear for 64-bit Mac users that said, “The Sims 4” is not optimized for your Mac and needs to be updated.”

Get To Work

Scientists will once again wear an appropriate outfit when going to work even if StrangerVille is not installed.

The “Chemical Analyzer” object can now be purchased from Build Mode without having to use a cheat.

Fixed an issue where selecting the Randomize from Gallery option until receiving an alien Sim, and then further randomizing that specific Sim, could result in a naked alien Sim.

Made updates to the list of valid objects that can be selected as the outcome of the SimRay’s “Transform Object” interaction.

City Living

Fixed an issue where objects from multiple festivals were appearing on top of each other in the neighborhood simultaneously.

Apartment landlords will now leave the apartment immediately after addressing a tenant’s complaint.

Added the ability for Sims with the Vegetarian trait to hire a Vegetarian Caterer by clicking on Stoves or Refrigerators.

Vegetarian Sims will no longer enjoy eating Mud Carp.

Cats & Dogs

After installing this update, Sims who adopt an animal after befriending them will be able to become companions with them and lecture them for misbehavior.

Fixed an issue where hungry pets would not eat from food bowls autonomously.

The pet toy box will no longer have its position rotated in a random direction when a Sim returns home from an active career.

Fixed an issue where the “Litter-Matic Scoop-Free” litterbox wasn’t looking clean after cat poop had been removed.

Fixed an issue with the Pet Adoption Agency, where they would occasionally show up at a Sim’s home without any pets to adopt, and would simply stand at the home’s front door and not do anything.

Note: Sims who have already adopted an animal after befriending them, in a save file created prior to this update, will continue to experience this issue. We’re investigating a separate fix for this issue in existing save files.

We’ve placed the magic gnomes responsible for this in the naughty box alongside SimGuruNinja.

Seasons

Updated the Gardening career so that Sims will earn more than 10 Simoleons per completed work shift.

Fixed an issue where on days where no holiday was set to occur, a Sim’s work schedule would update to falsely indicate that the day was a Holiday just prior to going to work, causing the Sim to stay home for the day.

Fixed an issue where NPC Sims were not autonomously using the skating rinks that appear in certain neighborhoods.

Toddlers will no longer attempt to queue up behavior to “Run Inside” during bad weather conditions if they’re already inside.

Fixed an issue where Sims voices could not be heard when Singing Together around a Holiday Tree if City Living was not installed.

Get Famous

The Acting career task to “Get Into Hair and Makeup” can be successfully completed once again.

Fixed an issue where celebrity Sims who had been set to use their normal walkstyle were switching back to using the celebrity walkstyle after traveling to certain types of venues.

Three star celebrity Sims will no longer use the celebrity walkstyle.

Dine Out

Players who have City Living installed can now add the Siopao and Ensaymada dishes to their restaurant’s menu. Yum!

Vampires

Vampire Sims created after installing this update will be able to continue to gain points after reaching the rank of Grand Master.

Fixed some circumstances where Vampire NPCs could appear at a venue and prevent the player from being able to save the game.

Fixed an issue where NPC Vampires would have their Vampire Energy drained after completing a load, which was causing them to idle in place instead of performing their expected autonomous behavior.

Note: Vampires that already exist will continue to experience a problem with gaining points after reaching Grand Master. We’re investigating a separate fix for Vampires in existing save files.

StrangerVille

Fixed an issue where Sims that had been shared to the Gallery after completing Act 1 of the StrangerVille Mystery would be blocked from progressing in the mystery when downloaded from the Gallery into a new game.

The following environment objects, which were created for StrangerVille, have been added to the Build Mode debug catalog to allow placement on lots. Players must enter the bb.showhiddenobjects cheat before they can be seen in the catalog.

Added proper images to the Officer and Covert Operator branches of the Military career.

Removed the “Question about Spores in Lab” interaction for Sims who have already acquired the Modified Hazmat Suit.

Removed the “Heart of the Pack” styled look from Create a Sim, as it was authored using clothing that’s only available to Sims that have joined the Military career.

Updated the pack information panel on the main menu to not display world objects under the Build Mode Items.

10 different cacti

3 different Joshua trees

3 different RVs

2 clusters of rocks

2 junked cars

A group of desert flowers

A military truck

A tire

A parking stop

My First Pet Stuff

Fixed an issue where deleting/selling the rodent habitat could cause the game to become unresponsive.

Holiday Celebration Pack

The Crown Roast platter will now show a partially eaten state when half of its servings have been taken.

I’d like to adjust the wording here, as this issue was not specific to stray pets and there may be confusion. The bug was happening if you became Friends with the pet before using the Adopt interaction. You HAVE to become Friends for Adopt to become available on a stray, but some users were encountering this by petting their computer-adopted pet a bunch of times before hitting Adopt.