#Serving Trolley For Home
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My Red Queen
{𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼}: Male! Reaper!Reader x Grell Sutcliff
{𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷}: For the first time in years, Grell get a whole day off, and her beloved (Y/N) is determined to make it perfect.~
{𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼}: Dom!Top!Reader, Sub!Bottom!Grell, soft sex, public sex/exhibition, Grell's privates referred to as cock and pussy
{𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽}: ❝Grell x Male reader who treats her like a QUEEN please please please❞ - Anon
Waking up with Grell in the bed next to you wasn't uncommon, per say. Rather, it was unusual to have her in bed and not be forced to shake her awake and rush her out the house. And while you may have been a Reaper yourself, all with the same responsibilities, the difference was you actually took care of your work, allowing for days off, sick and vacation days - not that you'd ever have use for them. This was one of few rare days where Grell actually had a day to herself. A free day.
You nearly did shake Grell awake after a moment of silent staring, as coming to your senses so early in the morning was a struggle. Your eyes drifted to a window with sheer red curtains - Grell's design choice of course - and watched as dawn just barely peaked over the horizon in the distance. Your home was drenched in crimson color, various shades of red meeting your gaze as your bleary eyes scaned the room. Your tongue lapped at dry lips, eyes closing again. Your hand extended over her body, pulling her night-dress clad form closer to yourself, head over hers with her nose in your neck.
A few more minutes wouldn't hurt. She deserved it... sometimes, anyway.
·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──
The sun had just come above the horizon, slighting you while Grell simply snuggled further into you embrace. You groaned, rolling onto your back, an arm laying over your eyes as you breathed. The red-head pressed herself even further into you while you blinked sleep from your eyes. You gazed at Grell while she slept, musing that this had probably been the longest she'd slept in a while. A grin crossed your face as you sat up, groaning and poping the tense muscles in your back. Grell - ever the light sleeper - whined out for you, hands making grabby motions towards you. A chuckle bubbled in your throat, as you smiled down at her. Gently, you picked up a pillow and placed it in her grip, watching as she squeezed it to her body with a huff. Before throwing the sheets off yourself, you leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.
Silently you slipped from the bed - rearranging the sheets and smoothing them out - and stalked to the kitchen. Slippered feet padded across wooded floors as you slowly took out eggs to fry and bread to toast. Ham was first on the stove, followed closely by bacon as you began the toasting process. You plated your meats and bread while taking out a pan to make oatmeal porridge to finish the meal, begining the mixing as you cracked eggs over open heat. The eggs were laid on the toast delicately, porridge made and served in a bowl with a smaller bowl of fruit on the side. A glass of milk finished the meal, moving it all close a small serving trolley you had bought a long while ago, dusty from lack of use.
You cleaned it off with a rag, taking time to get all the crevices before moving the large breakfast onto its surface. With pep in your step and a hum in your throat you made your way back to the bedroom, mapping out the rest of the day in your head. Date activities flew through your mind as you pushed the door open.
The trolleys wheels squeaked as you parked next to the bed, Grell still sound asleep though the pillow was long abandoned. You sat next to her, bed caving under your weight, and laid over her. She jolted under your weight, immediately squirming and flailing under you. You giggled as she cried out, her hands finding her way from under the sheets and slapping lightly across your face. You raised up slowly, wacthing her struggle her way from beneath the many layers you each slept under.
"Ungh?!- W-what are you doing?!-" Grell's rant was cut short when her gaze swept over to the trolley. Her already opened mouth dropped further, and her hands rubbed at her eyes is shock.
"Is this... did you..? Darling, is this for me?" You smiled at her, leaning your head onto her shoulder with a nuzzle.
"Mhm. Good morning, my Rose." An arm wrapped around her waist, the other reaching over to the nightstand to pick up her glasses. Once in hand, you adjusted your seating and placed a hand on her chin. With a smile, your carefully flicked open the glasses and slipped them on, then booping her nose, and finishing it with a kiss on the lips.
Before it could go too far, you pulled back with a smile, eyes widened.
"When you finish, get dressed. I have the perfect date planned."
·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──
You finished up preparations just as Grell walked out, dressed in a brand new bustle dress. You grinned, collecting the basket and throwing the large blanket you had pulled out over your shoulder, and made your way over to her. You moved the basket to one hand, the other then wrapped around her waist. Slowly you rocked her and yourself around, sweeping the two of your closer to the front door while humming.
"Is that a new lipstick as well?" You asked. Grell looked at you and smiled, flashing you her sharp teeth.
"You noticed? I figured if I was going to finally put this gown to use I might as well go all out, Darling." She chirped, puckering her lips and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. A hum was your response, readjusting your grip on the items in hand.
"Well then, I believe that is everything my Rose. Are you ready to depart?" You held an elbow out for Grell and she chuckled - her crimson hair sweeping with you both - while slipping her own elbow into the crook of your own. You smiled at her while continuing to slowly move your swaying bodies to the door.
"I want to know where we are going-" "Not a chance, Rose." You hushed. Lips pressed to hers to silence any complaints about to leave her mouth with a smile. You pulled back and she whined, weakly punching your chest in jest.
“Come, my Rose.” She glared at you, her expression slowly melting into a smile. Grell allowed you to guide her to the door, your free arm holding the door open and allowing her out first with a cheesy grin. Without any more hesitation, you both exited the home and out into the surrounding forest, your steps filled with a purpose.
·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──
“Darling this is… wow…”
You had left Grell to marvel at the sight of the surrounding clearing. While you carefully made your way to the center of the flower field you both stood in, she gently ran her manicured hands through the many different kinds of flora that made up the clearing.
You whistled as you walked, finally making it to the center of the flowers to an even smaller clearing, setting down the large blanket and basket you had brought. While you set up everything, your gaze landed on her as she marveled, a small smile finding its way to your face.
“… How did you find this place?” Her voice broke the serene silence. You looked up from unpacking and chuckled.
“Well, it was actually a death that brought me here.” You answered. Grell looked over at you with a confused - but interested - look.
“A death?” She questioned as she moved closer, wading through the sea of flowers.
“Yes! Its quite silly, actually. The poor lad had a run in with a wolf - no idea what drew him out here or why, but he put up quite the fight! Had more stamina than I would’ve initially expected. Ran right through here, got him in this lovely little area. I’m sure you would have loved to see the flowers painted in his blood and gore, my Rose.” You gently placed the small vase with a single rose in the middle of the set up and beamed.
Grell made her way and stood silently beside you, clasping her hands over her mouth. Tears glossed her eyes before she leaped at you, tearing a yelp from you. Her arms squeezed the air out of your lungs, resulting in a loud weaze from your while she lightly cried into your chest. Your hands wrapped around her, one landing on her head to lightly rub at her scalp.
“Oh, this is simply amazing Darling! Why, I can’t think of the last time someone put in so much effort for me. Ah, I’m on the verge of dying from joy!” Her voice muffled into your chest, her head slowly rose from the valley of your heart and her chin found its way to your collar bones.
“You… you are simply amazing, Darling.” Her voice was a tad shaky when she spoke, lips trembling with a smile. You kissed her forehead and massaged her head.
“It’s you that’s amazing, Rose.” You responded. Grell smiled harder - if at all possible - and squeezed you tighter. You hugged her tighter in response then looked towards the picnic basket not yet unpacked then back towards Grell.
“If you would let me go, Dear, so I may get the food out..?” She stared at you, huffed, then nodded. Her arms slowly unwound themselves from around your body. You chuckled at her downcast expression from letting you go as you moved towards the basket. You completely missed the lovestruck eyes she gave you when your back turned.
Behind you, Grell stared at your back as you moved small sandwiches and thermoses from out of the basket, humming all the while. The only thoughts going through her mind were how could someone like her ever have ended up with someone like you. Her hand rose to her chest as she thought, expression softening and lashes fluttering, even if you couldn’t see it.
Happiness. That was what she felt when with you. Happiness and some semblance of belonging. Love. Like she was cared for. Things she had longed for far too long and now that she had them… she couldn’t understand how you could just give them to her so willingly-
“And… finished! Now, my Rose, would you like to eat?” Your voice snapped her from her thoughts, staring at the spread before the both of you, all carefully prepared by you - a slanted grin plastered on your face, hands open and ready to hug her tight.
“… Yes. I think I am.”
·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──
Grell's moans filled the air as she held your face against her weeping cunt, the noises mixing with the noisy sounds of you messily laping up her juices as best you could, trying to not let a drop go to waste.
Grell laid on her back, skirt and petticoat slipped up her thighs and leps clenched around your head - you were laid on your stomach, head snuggly nestled in her heat. Her glasses were fogged as she moaned out. One of her hands grasped at the grass beneath her fingers, plucking a few tuffs from the earth. Her other hand buried itself in your hair, keeping you pressed to her mound.
You moaned into her cunt, savoring her flavor as it melted on your tongue. Grell's moans increased in volume as you futher burried yourself in in her heat. Slowly you lifted your head and simply stared into her own half-lidded eyes, licking your slick covered lips.
Grell panted, swallowing harshly. Her grip on the ground lessened as she propped herself up on elbows. Her lips upturned into a small smile and her hand that nestled in your hair gently combed through.
"Oh Darling..." she sighed, her other hand came to her face and gently rubbed under her glasses. You shifted, lifting from her sex and crawling on top of her. Your hands found there way to the sides of her face and lifted the glasses from her eyes, revealing cystaline tears that streamed down her face.
"Rose?" You whispered. Grell gasped and her breath stuttered. She fell back onto her back and continued to wipe at her eyes.
You hummed and gently wrapped your hands around her wrists, lifting her arms and staring into her wattering eyes. Her lower lip quivered as she sniffed. Silently you shuffled off her and sat on her side - still holding her wrists - and gently pulled her upwards into your lap. You let go of her and slowly ghosted hands down her torso, then waist, and finally reached her hips where you pulled up her drawers and began to fix her skirt.
"What's wrong, my Rose?" Grell sniffed and more tears rolled down her face. Her warms wrapped around your neck.
"Its just. Well. I suppose it has been... a while. Since someone has held me so... lovingly." She muttered, pushing her face into your chest. You hummed, adjusting her so you were sitting with legs crossed with her in the valley between those legs.
"Well of course I would, Rose," you spoke while kneading her legs, "I don't think I could find a reason why not. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." You spoke with a sincerity that caused Grell to move her gaze from your chest to your eyes. Her own were still watery, mascera lightly running down her cheeks. She bit her lip and looked down.
"How did I ever find a man like you?" She mused. She let go of her lip to smile, before it immediately dropped down into a frown. Her breathing became shakey again.
"I just can't understand it... How could someone so... you! Ever find anything in me? We're leagues apart and no one ever wants me without something in return and it just leaves me so... confused-" You cupped her chin and pressed your lips to her forehead then moved your own forehead to hers.
"I don't much care for any of that speech, Rose. Not from the most beautiful, confident and outspoken woman I know. Even if that last one gets us in a bit of trouble at times..." You chuckled. Grell stared into your eyes - chartreuse into chartreuse - and started sobbing into your arms. You quickly wrapped around her and squeezed her into your chest, fretting over your words and wondering if you said something wrong, about to ask before Grell began to shout-
"YOU'RE THE MOST PERFECT MAN EVER!! NO OTHER MAN COMPARES AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!! OOHHH MY DARLING BOY I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!" Her sudden declaration echoed through the forest, birds that had been startled took to the sky and in the distanc you could hear deer scamper away.
Grells hands readjusted themselves to grip at your shirt, pulling you down and smashing her lips into yours. Your eyes widened, before shutting. Your arms squeezed her waist as you broke away.
She looked up at you, stars practically in her eyes. You smiled down at her. She began to giggle and you followed suit, the two of you falling on your sides into the grass. You thumbed Grell's cheek and wiped the smudged mascera away. The two of you stared into each others eyes, chuckles turning airy as the forest breeze brushed over you.
"How did I end up with such a woman like you?" You whispered. Grell smiled and pressed against you.
"I'm not sure. Nor am I to how I recieved a man such as yourself. Though, whatever I did, I'd do it again in a heartbeat." You pressed your lips to her in a quick peck.
"As would I, Rose." You both stared at each other before Grell looked down at her waist and legs then back at you.
"You could start by carrying me home. I can't feel anything below my waist, Darling." You grinned and snickered.
"Of course, My Rose."
{𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼}: Finally, it does feel good to be writing again. I hope I am able to keep my inspiration high for a long while, I would much enjoy cleaning my drafts.
-🖋️
All publishings on this account belong to @simplyafountainpen. I do not authorize my fics being altered, translated, stolen or published/reposted to other sites, thank you.
© simplyafountainpen - all rights reserved
#⸸⚜/ᐠ - ˕ -マ‧˚꒰🐾꒱༘⋆✄┈┈┈┈ 𝓓𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭#⸸⚜ฅ/ᐠ˶> ﻌ<˶ᐟ\ฅ‧˚꒰🐾꒱༘⋆✄┈┈┈┈ 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼#x male reader#male reader#top male reader#grell sutcliff#grell sutcliff x reader#black butler#grell black butler
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Flowery peace offering
Summary: You are not in the mood for bad jokes.
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Pregnant!Reader (girlfriend)
Warnings: a lil angst, pregnant reader, redemption, Lloyd being a horny bastard (implied)
Catch up here: Plant Theft
A/N: Please consider I mostly do not write canon Lloyd.
Plant apocalypse masterlist
“Come on, cupcake. You need new clothes,” Lloyd tuts. “I won’t tell you twice. I took a week off to take care of you.”
You’d rather stay at home, snuggled in your favorite blanket. “It’s the least I can expect after you were away for almost a month. I had to go to the latest ultrasound alone.”
Lloyd sighs deeply. You pout and cross your arms over your grown belly, pushing your tits up. His eyes darken, and he cups his crotch.
Since he got to know that you are pregnant, he’s horny all the time. Not that he wasn’t a horny bastard before you got pregnant.
“Cupcake, if you keep on presenting the goods on a silver plate, we will never make it to the boutique. Now, get up and in the car. You’re wearing one of my shirts and sweatpants.”
“But…but…it’s comfortable and I don’t wanna go shopping,” you stick your tongue out. “I only wanna sit here and have a snack. Maybe you are allowed to cuddle me too.”
“Cuddle you, huh?” He grins, as his eyes drop to your cleavage again. Lloyd licks his lips and hums. “Muffin, we will go shopping. No discussion. If you don’t get up, I’ll carry you out of the house.”
You grumble under your breath but push the warm blanket off your body, revealing your baby bump to your boyfriend. He sucks in a breath and curses. “Damn, you look ready to get eaten.”
“Help me up,” you mutter as Lloyd is busy staring at your tits and belly. “Lloyd, help me up. I can’t get up today.”
He snickers at your predicament. The sofa is too comfy, and you don’t have the energy to get up on your own. “Aw, look at my pretty muffin stuffed with a sweet Lloyd filling…”
“No…just no,” you hate looking in the mirror today. You love your baby bump and feeling the new life growing in your belly. But today you don’t feel comfortable trying new clothes on. “It doesn’t fit. It’s too small.”
“The changing cubicle or the pants?” Lloyd jokes.
“What?” You poke your head out of the changing cubicle to glare at Lloyd. “Did you really just say that? How dare you! I didn’t want to come here and try stupid pants on.”
You shove the pants down your thighs, wiggling them down to throw the fabric at Lloyd.
“Muffin, I tried to be funny!” Lloyd raises his hands in surrender while you throw all the clothes you want to try on at him.
“I’m done here,” you grunt. “I won’t try more clothes on. I want to go home right now!”
“Cupcake? Muffin?” He steps toward the changing cubicle. “I didn’t mean it that way. Baby? Y/N?”
“Forget it!” You storm out of the changing cubicle, walking past Lloyd. “I will never talk to you again.”
Lloyd pokes his head inside the bedroom. “Baby muffin? Cupcake?” He sighs deeply. You didn’t talk to him for almost five hours. “You know that my humor is not for everyone. Cupcake, you are beautiful to me. Even more, since you are having my baby.
You pout and refuse to look at Lloyd. “Go away.” You snap at him. “I don’t want you near me tonight.”
“I got something for you, wait…” He opens the bedroom door to push a serving trolley filled with plants into the bedroom.
“What?” You glance at the plants and flowers on the trolley. “You can’t buy my forgiveness with flowers.”
“Plants, muffin,” he corrects. “Look, I know my joke wasn’t funny. I didn’t want to hurt you, baby cakes.” Lloyd turns around to walk back outside only to carry a huge flower hamper inside. “I got more, wait…”
“Lloyd,” your eyes get glassy seeing all the plants and flowers Lloyd carries inside the room. Within a few minutes, the room is filled with plants and flowers. “What did you do? Be honest.” You push the covers off you to kneel on the bed. Looking at all the plants and flowers you frown. “Lloyd, did you rob a flower shop?”
“Muffin, I’m not a criminal,” he tuts. “Maybe I threatened another customer because they wanted to buy one of the plants I wanted. But that’s all.”
“Hmmm…you are not forgiven,” you point your index finger at Lloyd. “But I accept your peace offering. Raise me to food, and you are allowed to share the bed with me.”
Lloyd grins. He gives you a wink before jumping on the bed. “Does this include letting me eat your sweet muffin?”
“We will see…”
A very Lloyd Christmas
#lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x female!reader#lloyd hansen x reader#lloyd hansen x you#lloyd hansen x y/n#female reader#pregnant reader
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Make a wish
You celebrated your birthday with Ghost and TaskForce and you wished for nothing but him.
"To love is nothing. To be loved is something. But to love and be loved, that’s everything."
After Captain Price and his team finished breakfast, you settled in the living room. You brought the tea trolley over and made them tea, handing a cup and saucer to everyone.
"Thank you, kid," Captain Price said as you served him.
You gave tea to Soap and Gaz too. "Ghost, you want tea?" you asked.
"Sure," he replied.
You handed him a cup as well. "Yer hoose is braw, and it's right lavish an aw." Soap admired.
"English Mctavish." Ghost facepalmed.
"I said your house is lavish and its nice." Soap explained.
"Thank you. My father built it. I'll give you a home tour once you guys finish your tea," you offered.
"She is a master in archery aye. She has horses too. She can shoot an arrow right at the aim while riding a horse," Ghost added.
"That is impressive, Nora," Gaz admired.
"Thanks. I will show you how I do it," you promised.
"Oh, I forgot," you said, suddenly remembering. "I did some shopping and the bags are still in the car. Let me fetch them."
As you made your way to your car, Ghost followed you. "The guns you bought, let me take them inside," he offered.
You opened the car doors and took out the bags while Ghost grabbed the gun cases. Together, you walked back inside.
You handed over the bags to each one of them. "Soap, this is for you. Kyle, that's one for you. This one's for Simon and Captain Price," you said, distributing the gifts.
"Thank you so much, lass," Soap said rummaging through the bag.
"Are ye pullin' ma leg? how much did ye spend on thae things?" He asked.
"Well! That is none of your business. Gifts don't come with a price tag." You folded your arms on your chest.
"Thanks, Nora, but you didn't have to put in so much effort," Kyle added, looking genuinely touched.
"Thanks, kid," Captain Price mentioned, nodding appreciatively.
"Don't mention it. I went shopping and thought, why not grab something for you guys?"
Ghost placed the gun cases down on the table. "She bought these too," he added.
Ghost opened the gun and sniper cases in front of everyone, revealing the impressive weapons inside.
"Whoa! A sniper! Are you kiddin' me?" Soap exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "Whit will ye dae wi' a sniper?"
"I like snipers, plus Ghost is here. He’ll teach me before he goes back. He taught me a couple of days ago," you explained with a grin.
"Wow! This is one o' the best snipers in the world," Soap said, admiring the sleek design. "Thank ye so much."
"Yeah, Ghost recommended it to me, so I got it," you said, glancing at Ghost.
Soap looked over at Ghost in disbelief. "Weel, LT himself disnae hae a sniper like this. It's much better than the ones he's got."
You smiled. "Well, now he has it."
Ghost shook his head. "No, I don't. And I don't want it anyway," he said quietly.
Soap chuckled. "Yer loss, LT. This is a beauty."
Ghost simply shrugged, the rare softness in his eyes replaced by his usual stoic expression.
"Why? It's a gift from me to you," you said, looking at Ghost.
"If you had mentioned it when you were buying it, I would have never let you get it in the first place," Ghost replied. "It's too expensive."
You shook your head. "Gifts don't come with a price tag. Captain Price, please make him understand."
"Take it, Ghost," Captain Price said, nodding.
"I can't, Price," Ghost insisted, shaking his head in disapproval.
"Okay, then throw it in the garbage, will you?" You snapped, shutting the sniper case with a bang. Your lower lip started quivering, and tears welled up in your eyes as you ran upstairs.
"You broke her heart, LT," Soap said, his voice filled with disappointment.
You closed the door and fell face-first onto the pillow, tears streaming down your face. It was so embarrassing and disappointing at the same time. Your sobs filled the room, muffled by the pillow.
A soft knock on the door interrupted your crying. "Open the door, love," Ghost said in a gentle tone.
For a moment, you hesitated, your emotions swirling inside you, but then you slowly got up and walked to the door.
You opened the door, still feeling annoyed and hurt. "What do you want?" You said, your voice tinged with frustration.
Ghost came inside and closed the door behind him. He walked over to your bed and sat down, he pat his thigh and opened his arms for you gesturing for you to come sit on his lap.
For a moment, you stood there, conflicted, but then you slowly walked over and allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting arms.
"You cryin', love?" Ghost asked softly.
You wiped your tears hastily. "No," you replied, trying to regain your composure.
"Hmm, I see," he said, his gaze understanding.
"Why did you embarrass me in front of your team?" You asked, your voice tinged with hurt.
"You got it for yourself, love. That's why," he replied simply.
"I can get another one for myself," You insisted.
"Okay, I'll take it, but only on one condition," he said.
"What condition exactly?" You asked, curious.
"You'll have to take mine. I'll teach you how to use it. It's smooth in my hands," he explained.
"Okay, deal!" You agreed, offering your hand to shake, but he surprised you by kissing your knuckles.
"Come, let's go downstairs," he said, taking your hand gently.
"Ghost!" You called out as he turned to leave.
He looked back at you. "Yes?"
"Do you still have your navy blue uniform, the one you wore when I saw you for the first time?" You asked, still holding his hand.
"Yes, but why do you ask?" he inquired.
"Will you wear it for me on my birthday? You look so good in that. I'll unwrap you as my gift," you said, giggling at the thought.
"Yeah, sure, but get ready to explain why I'm wearing it to my team, especially Price," he chuckled.
"Leave it to me. No worries," you assured him, and you made your way downstairs.
"Did you change your mind, LT?" Soap asked as you entered the room.
"Yes," Ghost replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Good," Soap said, nodding in approval.
Meanwhile, you glanced into Captain Price's eyes, seeing a mixture of curiosity and intrigue reflecting back at you.
You led them to the back of the house where your horses were stabled.
"Meet Arther and Elfie," You introduced Soap to your beloved companions.
"Such bonnie horses," Soap remarked, admiring their beauty.
Next, you demonstrated your archery skills, drawing back the bowstring with precision and releasing it with practiced ease. Captain Price watched intently, a glint of admiration in his eyes.
"Remarkable," he exclaimed, genuinely impressed by your proficiency.
Ghost retrieved his sniper rifle and handed it to you. "Try it," he encouraged.
You hesitated, feeling the weight of the weapon in your hands. With his guidance, you took aim, your finger hovering over the trigger. The rifle trembled slightly as you pulled, but you managed to hit the target, albeit not as accurately as you had hoped.
"It's not easy," you admitted, feeling a twinge of disappointment.
"But you did well, considering," Ghost reassured you, his tone encouraging.
You smiled gratefully, grateful for his support.
As the evening descended, the cake was delivered, marking the beginning of your birthday celebration. Your house help had meticulously arranged all the decorations and table settings before bidding you farewell for the night.
Meanwhile, Captain Price took the opportunity to discuss their upcoming mission with his team, their voices low and serious as they strategized.
Feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, you retreated to your room to change into your birthday dress. The corset that came with it proved to be a challenge as you struggled to zip it up on your own. Frustrated, you knocked on Ghost's door, hoping for assistance.
He opened the door, and your jaw dropped at the sight before you. He had changed into the navy blue uniform, looking incredibly attractive in it.
"What happened?" he asked, noticing your expression.
You entered his room and closed the door behind you. "Simon, can you please help me zip my dress? I can't reach it," you requested, feeling a rush of embarrassment.
Standing in front of the mirror, you were almost ready, the dress clinging to your figure. He stepped behind you, his presence towering over yours. The corset accentuated your petite frame, making you feel even smaller in comparison.
His gloved hand brushed against the bare skin of your back as he took hold of the zipper, and you sucked in a breath at the unexpected sensation. Your heart raced as you felt the warmth of his touch, his closeness sending shivers down your spine.
He zipped up your dress smoothly, his voice breaking the silence. "You're good now," he said softly, his words lingering in the air between you.
"Thank you," you murmured gratefully as you turned around. He put his index finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up meeting his gaze.
"Ready to be be my good girl tonight. Will ya?" His masked lips touched your cheek.
You blushed and ran towards the door. Standing at the doorway you peaked a last glance at him. You exited Ghost's room and returned to your own.
As Ghost stepped out of his room, he encountered Soap making his way upstairs.
"Going on a mission, LT?" Soap teased, noting Ghost's uniform.
"Yes, birthday mission," Ghost quipped in response.
"Seriously! Why are you wearing your uniform?" Soap inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"Because she asked me to wear it," Ghost explained simply.
"Hmm, I see. She likes you in it," Soap remarked before continuing downstairs, leaving Ghost to ponder his words.
They all waited for you downstairs, their anticipation palpable in the air. With a final glance in the mirror, you made sure everything was perfect before slipping on your heels and descending the staircase.
As you reached the bottom step, you were greeted by their warm smiles.
"Here she is," Captain Price announced, his voice carrying a note of pride.
"Wow! Lass, you're looking so beautiful," Soap complimented, his eyes twinkling with admiration.
"Thank you," you replied, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks at his kind words.
You couldn't help but notice Ghost's gaze fixed on you, practically staring. His intense scrutiny made you feel vulnerable, as if he was seeing right through you. Yet, amidst the intensity, there was a glimmer of admiration in his stare, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes.
"Make a wish, lass," Soap chuckled, gesturing towards the candles on the cake.
Closing your eyes, you made a silent wish. A wish for Simon to be yours forever, for his safety, and for him to return to you unscathed from every mission.
With a deep breath, you blew out the candles, the room erupting into cheers and the chorus of "Happy Birthday."
As you opened your eyes, you felt a rush of warmth and gratitude wash over you. It truly was the best day of your life after your father's death.
Captain Price stepped forward, presenting you with a small box. You opened it eagerly to reveal a beautiful, delicate metallic quartz watch nestled inside.
"Thank you! It's so precious," you exclaimed, touched by the thoughtful gift.
As you all enjoyed the cake and then indulged in dinner, Captain Price suddenly cleared his throat, directing his attention to Ghost. "Simon, why are you wearing your uniform?" His question caught Ghost off guard, but before he could respond, you jumped in to explain.
"Actually, I asked him to wear that for my birthday. I was curious to see him in uniform," you said, offering Ghost a reassuring smile. His eyes crinkled from behind the balaclava he was wearing, a silent acknowledgment of his amusement.
"Alright, gentlemen, want something to drink? Please, help yourselves," you announced, rising from your seat and making your way to the bar. You took out the glasses, giving them a moment to process the exchange.
Soap and Ghost then took the dishes to the kitchen while the rest of you settled in the garden, enjoying the pleasant evening. Soap, with his characteristic sense of humor, regaled you all with his silly jokes, eliciting laughter from all of you.
"Hey LT, what has five toes and is not your foot?" Soap said.
"What?" Ghost asked.
"My foot!." Soap said and burst out laughing.
You couldn't control your laughter too. Soap was so funny.
"Your turn LT". Soap pointed towards Ghost.
"What do we call the fish who wears a bow tie?" Ghost asked.
You looked at each other's faces.
"Sofishticated." Ghost said.
Nobody laughed.
"What? Wasn't it funny?" Ghost said.
He was met with silence.
As the night grew late, you found myself sitting beside Ghost. His hand resting on the small of your back while everybody was busy talking.
He turned to look at you. Your blue eyes met with his caramel ones.
You stood up and went to stand at the door, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.
"Aye! Come join us," Ghost called out, noticing your presence.
"No, you enjoy yourself. I'm going to bed now," you replied, turning around to head upstairs.
But before you could take another step, Ghost approached you and grabbed your wrist. "Hi, Lieutenant," you teased, your voice soft and playful.
You placed your hands on his chest, tilting your chin up to look at him. "Hell, if you put a bullet through my heart, I will spare you my life," you retorted, a smile playing on your lips.
You took the whiskey glass from his hand and placed your lips at the same spot he drank from and chug it at once.
You turned to go upstairs, but Ghost surprised you by grabbing you around the waist, causing you to squeak in surprise.
"Is everything alright there?" Captain Price's voice rang out from the garden.
"Yes, everything is fine, Price," Ghost replied calmly, his gaze locked on yours.
With a swift motion, Ghost lifted you into his arms and carried you upstairs, his strength both surprising and comforting.
"Your room or mine?" he asked with a playful smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Pic credit:
IG: Vehenan Virabelasan
#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#modern warfare#modern warfare 2#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#task force 141#task force x reader
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The slow but incessant rain of anvils began in 1942.
George Macomber was walking from the trolley stop to his home in Great Falls (a name which many newspapers took advantage of in their lede selection) when a two-ton Bavarian fell out of the sky, landing squarely on top of poor George. He was Flattened instantly.
And, seconds later, he slid out from beneath the anvil, with a new height of one and a half millimeters. He had become, in an instant, the densest human being on the planet.
George Macomber happened to look up just before impact. This saved his life: because he was the first to ever be Flattened, the extremely-high-density intravenous fluid setup had not yet been invented, and no hospital could have kept him hydrated if his mouth were not accessible on his topside. (Iris Colelman invented the extremely-high-density intravenous setup in 1947, after hundreds had perished due to dehydration mere days after their Flattening.)
In another twist of good fortune, George Macomber had served as a signal officer in the Navy during the Great War and knew Morse code. While his vocal chords were capable only of producing an awful gurgling, he could still communicate by blinking - a trick that the doctors recognized quickly. And so he was able, painstakingly, to describe the characteristic sound of the anvil's descent: a terrifying descending whistle, like the slide-flute sound used for falling bombs in animated reels.
His story is not all a happy one, though. Some who are Flattened eventually pop back up to their former stature, but poor Mr. Macomber never did. While his medical condition remained stable, his wife divorced him and he had trouble finding employment. Seven years after his Flattening, he stopped eating or drinking. His final words, blinked to his nurse, are lost to history; she felt that she owed him her silence, even as she was fired and eventually prosecuted for letting him pass in this manner. The court asserted that she should have immobilized him and given him a high-density drip.
Only twenty-three days after George's Flattening, Irma Childress was returning from the bakery when a six-ton farrier's anvil hurtled down and Flattened her. She, too, was lucky enough that her mouth remained accessible. Her story is happier than George's - she was also the first person to pop back up to her normal height. It took her six months, and those must have been worse than George's, as she did not know Morse code - though she learned it and was proficient by her third Flattened month.
Even after regaining her former height, Irma remained wary of doors, stairs, and any place with high foot traffic. She sold her house in Los Angeles and moved out to an almond farm. She spoke to the press repeatedly and respectfully, and to this day is remembered as an early and passionate advocate for keeping the Flattened comfortable and helping them maintain their dignity.
Nobody has discovered where the anvils come from. They fall primarily in North America, most often in the southwest and midwest. Some suspect that they are flung by tornados, or some sort of awful prank, or military test flights. They are always of recent manufacture, indicated by a date stamp, but never a maker's mark.
The rate of Flattenings increased until the late 50's, at a peak of a bit over 100,000 in 1958. Today, the rain has slowed: there are usually between one and two thousand Flattenings a year. This incident rate has held steady since the early 1980's. This is unusual, since far fewer anvils are manufactured or used today than were in the 1940's. Of those Flattened, about half pop back to their previous height, usually between two months and a year after their initial Flattening.
It was difficult for the Flattened to connect with each other before modern video conferencing - those who were lucky enough to look up before their Flattening can see above themselves, but cannot see in front of themselves, and it is generally difficult for the Flattened to orient themselves otherwise. The Flattened of today generally stay on a table with a tablet above them, modified to use eye tracking for navigation. (Of course, this only really works with Flattened whose eyes are on their top- or bottom-sides; those with eyes facing forward, or whose faces were crushed into their bellies, can usually hear, but have a very hard time making themselves understood.) Regardless of orientation they are helped by dedicated care nurses who changes their IV fluids. These nurses are provided by Flattening insurance, offered by all major insurance providers; they often also take over some of the responsibilities the Flattened previously held, such as taking care of their children.
Sadly, the provisions surrounding Flattening insurance have changed in the last twenty years. Most nurses make less than 20% above minimum wage, and are afforded very little flexibility by the job, which requires them to attend the Flattened's household around the clock. They become very close with those they care for - in many cases they develop shorthands to make communication easier, such as diacritic modifications to the blinked Morse code.
While the Irma Childress Foundation is the leading voice for Flattening insurance reform, some long-term Flattened feel that their concerns are often not heard. They contend that the Foundation often bargains away provisions that could help some edge cases - especially those with limited communication capabilities.
Some of the Flattened have started pooling resources to buy land and build a city suited to their own needs, to wean themselves off of the marginal succor offered by the insurance system. We who stand tall must support them. We must afford them not only the dignity of doing our best not to step on them, but to self-determination. We must acknowledge that their lives are all unique and different. We must refuse, if you will pardon the pun, to flatten their experiences into one single narrative.
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Grayson notices first. Because, of course he does.
He sees the way you make the effort to stand on your tiptoes as you help a granny pick a loaf of bread off the top shelf.
He watches you load the shopping trolley, the granny’s smile mirroring your contagious beam.
And he wonders, how could a person like you be so giving and yet so restrained.
He knows the routine - find a meaningful aspect worth a story, take a snap shot, frame and repeat. Maybe find a place on one of the many Hawthorne foundation walls to hang it.
And in the couple of days he’s been trailing you, he can’t find a singular aspect in which you don’t shine in.
You’ve been anything but ordinary. And that’s saying a lot for a guy who’s visited thrice the number of countries the average person could dream of by the age of seventeen.
Everything you’ve done has been generous, charitable, benevolent. For others.
What about yourself? He wonders. Do you care for yourself with half the effort you spend on others? Do you, perhaps, take the time to rest your darkened under-eyes?
He can’t fault you. He should know best. A workaholic, obsessed with using the privilege bestowed upon him to serve as many people as he could.
How thin could one spread themselves for the good of others?
——————————————————————————————————
It’s raining now. The regular patter of raindrops on the concrete soothing to the ears.
You turn to him, eyes crinkling in superficial jolly. He sees the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He’s been around false pretences far too long to stay ignorant.
“Let me.” He speaks gently but firmly, gesturing to the bags in your hands.
It’s a command, more than a query.
You can’t find it in yourself to say no. The straining plastic handles seem to be trying their best to cut the circulation on your fingers.
In true gentleman fashion, you suppose, the blonde transfers the bags he’d been holding into one hand, extending the other for yours. The moving is done with seemingly with no effort.
You stretch out your aching palms and blink away the fatigue the best you can.
You lead Grayson to the van, loading the booth with a capacious number of groceries. It’s preparation for Christmas week in the food bank - one you’ve started with a couple of friends in the neighbourhood.
You slam the booth shut, ready to head to the driver’s side. Grayson strides ahead of you. “I’ll drive. You get some rest.”
You stare him down in the rain, pale gray eyes against yours.
“It’s perfectly fine, I can drive. Besides, you’re here as a photographer right? Can’t have you too tired to take pictures later.”
“I’ll be in perfect condition. Don’t worry about it.” He calmly stands his ground, words flowing out his mouth like honey. You don’t want to admit it, but his words soothe your drained self.
So annoying, you sigh, feeling indebted to him.
And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he extends a handkerchief to you. It’s gray (who knew?), embroidered with caca lilies at the hem. Petals with a clean, no-frills silhouette. Much like its owner, you chuckle to yourself.
Grayson catches a glance of you drying yourself off with his handkerchief, a small grin on the corner of your lips. He can’t help but smile too, amused that you found the piece of cloth entertaining.
——————————————————————————————————
It’s been 20 minutes into the drive home.
You yawn loudly, and stretch the best you can while confined by the seatbelt, ignoring the dignified presence beside you. You side eye the guy, just in case he got too displeased with such unseemly manner.
And get slight whiplash when he locks eyes with you.
Grayson is surprisingly, slouching in the leather chair, hair slightly tousled. His slacks crinkle at the perfect spots, shirt still slightly damp from the rain. His eyes bore right through you and the red light illuminating his figure does nothing to soften his gaze.
You fidget with your hands. You feel out of place in the passenger seat, with nothing to grip onto for comfort, for control. To feel like you owed no one.
“Need help urm, drying the shirt?”
And again, Grayson goes against your expectations, dropping his arm for you to have an easier access to his chest.
You hold your arm steady as you dab the cloth on the darkened spots.
The red light turns green and you retract your hand.
“Thanks. Consider it payment for the driving.”
Your cheeks burn. He knew.
You don’t notice the way the tips of Grayson’s ears tinge pink.

Picture from Pinterest.
#the inheritance games#grayson hawthorne#grayson hawthorne x reader#grayson x reader#grayson hawthorne fluff#tig#bee’s writing
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Congratulations!
David 8 x Reader Words: 1144 Crossposted on Ao3 Crackfic Happy Birthday David ❤️ Idea from: @theropoda and @lehnsharrk
"Your Weyland-Corp package will be delivered in approximately 15 minutes."
Wow, that was fast! You had entered an online competition to become one of the beta-testers for the first model of their Home-Android line, and luck must have been on your side, because you actually won!
Putting your phone down, you scrambled through your room, hurriedly pulling on something more presentable than pajamas and hastily combing your hair into place.
Frantically running through your apartment, you tried to clear away stray clothes and dishes. You were so caught up in tidying that you almost tripped as the doorbell rang.
Sure, the Android was technically designed to help with housekeeping, but the delivery person didn’t need to know just how much you actually needed it.
Opening the door, you were greeted by a large cardboard box perched on a trolley, nearly obscuring the man in a green Weyland uniform and matching cap as he peeked out from behind it, checking his clipboard.
"Y/N L/N. Is that correct?"
You nodded, stepping aside to let him wheel the massive package into your living room. Once it was set down, he handed you an impressively thick manual and tapped on its cover.
"Here’s the QR code for the app. Please use it to send feedback or report any issues you encounter."
With a grunt of effort, he hefted the package off the trolley, left it in the middle of your living room, and exited your apartment without another word.
What.
Blinking, you stood frozen for a moment before heading to the kitchen to grab a pair of scissors. With a decisive stab into the parcel tape, you sliced through the middle of the box.
Inside was a beautiful man- wait, no. Android. Oh. A very beautiful Android.
You flicked through the manual, scanning for activation instructions. Ah, here it was. To activate, press a small sensor located behind his right ear for five seconds.
Taking a breath, you reached out and pressed the spot. Moments later, his eyes opened, and after a brief pause, his gaze locked onto yours.
Now he was the one blinking, his brows furrowing slightly as he began testing his limbs. With deliberate movements, he stepped out of the box.
“Good day, Ma’am,” he said in a voice that was smooth, polite, and just a touch mechanical. “My name is David 1. I will serve as your assistant and companion, ready to assist you with whatever you may require.”
He extended a hand, stiff but purposeful. “May I ask what I should call you?”
And that's how daily life with David began.
It was really weird to configure your timezone for something that looked so human, and to enter a PIN code for him via an app??
And the ads. You weren’t safe from ads, either. Sometimes, when he didn’t have anything to do, he would just stand around or sit on the couch and start citing commercials.
The first time it happened, you almost spat out the tea he had made for you beforehand.
“Would you like to renew your Audible subscription? The first three months are only $0.99.”
As you choked on your beverage, David stared at you apologetically before quickly getting up and patting your back to help.
“Sorry, (Y/N), I didn’t mean to surprise you. You can turn it off with the Premium Subscription for $19.99 per month.”
Putting your cup down, still coughing, you turned to him.
“I have to pay for that? Seriously?”
He just shrugged, his face imitating an :I emoji.
After a while, you noticed that even David got annoyed by the interruptions, disliking how your conversations were suddenly stopped by yet another commercial for shaving cream.
The two of you made it your mission to bypass ads with free trials he found online. He even read your books to you instead of you paying for another damn subscription.
HelloFresh? He grew vegetables on your windowsill. Man, he was amazing at making fresh pasta.
“FOR FUCK'S SAKE, I DON’T WANT YOUTUBE PREMIUM! THIS APP SHOULD BE ABLE TO PLAY VIDEOS IN THE BACKGROUND WITHOUT ME PAYING FOR IT!”
You shouted in frustration. The ads were SO annoying, and you couldn’t turn them off!
David blinked, and for a moment you thought he had lagged as he processed your words. Then he answered.
“If you give me permission via verbal verification, I could enter the darknet and download an adblock mod. It’s a bit risky, but my firewall should be sufficient to withstand any viruses.”
You hesitated, not wanting to risk his functionality. But when he one day started quoting a Viagra advertisement like those on Tumblr, you caved.
“Please enter the darknet and find that mod. I can’t take this anymore.”
So he did. And you got really fucking scared for a moment, because one of his eyes twitched and stayed half-open, like your old dolls when you tilted them sideways. Oh shit, did you break him? Please, please, please no- oh. Oh God.
He needed a second to install and initialize. His expression reminded you of your Furby with dying batteries that suddenly came to life in the middle of the night, croaking its last words. But after another minute, he was fine.
This action had some side effects, though.
He still worked perfectly - cleaning the dishes, doing the laundry, watering the plants, until he suddenly called you a donkey while you were cooking. With an awfully familiar voice.
You stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“That wasn’t me,” he replied in his normal voice, furrowing his brows.
Nodding slowly, you turned back to add meat to your sauce, only to be interrupted by:
“Why did the chicken cross the road? Because you didn’t fucking cook it!”
Instead of getting annoyed, you broke down laughing, and even David couldn’t hide a grin as he watched you sink to the kitchen floor.
“I seem to have caught a serious case of Gordon Ramsay.”
That was it. you were officially cackling like a hen. On the ground. Crying.
It wasn’t so bad, really. He functioned just fine, even though he occasionally squawked like a bird at random. But you just squawked right back. Just normal ADHD things, to be honest.
At the end of the day, he became your illegally modded roommate, sitting with you on the couch, your legs sprawled over his lap as you both munched on popcorn.
You still weren’t entirely sure where the food he sometimes ate with you went, but you decided not to question it.
Weyland never got their Android back, you hid him in your closet that one time they tried to collect him after the testing period was over.
“I have the power of God and anime on my side,” your favorite person declared.
“Yes, David, you do,” you replied with a smile.
~The End~
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Some of my notes for my 'The Trolley Problem' and 'The Riddle of the Sphinx' comparison under the cut.
Sphinx and Trolley Problem are humiliation rituals for Squires and Blake (Pemberton), perpetrated by Tyler and Drew (Shearsmith). Both episodes represent an intrusion and subsequent violation of Pemberton's psyche; he is deconstructed, humiliated, and then punished as a consequence of his transgressions towards Shearsmith, who undergoes a catharsis.
Though Pemberton's relationship to the 'gimmick' (classics, cryptic crosswords, psychology, and ethical thought experiments) first establishes him as the authority on the matter, it is actually how Oedipus Rex, the crossword, and the trolley problem are used by Shearsmith in his revenge which is the episode’s defining characteristic.
The first act sets up Pemberton as the principal intellect through him 'teaching' another character who he perceives as intellectually less than him (through being present as implicitly or explicitly working-class, which ‘Nina’ and first act Drew both are).
The locations also serve this intrusion. Pemberton dominates through his familiarity with the spaces, which belong to him, and are reflections of his superiority; Blake takes advantage of this familiarity when he cuts the power in the third act. Both spaces are adorned with possessions that indicate his comfortable status quo. Importantly, Shearsmith is both times invited into the space (Blake picks up Drew from the bridge, Squires telephones Tyler to request his assistance, though Charlotte breaks in Squires was aware she would do so and allows her) which aids Pemberton’s superiority over him and the humiliation when Shearsmith seizes control from him. Drew holds Blake hostage in his own kitchen, Tyler turns Squires’s rooms (Charlotte’s body, the crossword) into a crime scene to frame Squires. His space is physically violated as is his psyche.
Robbie and Nina are both killed through revenge. Both their deaths involve slow suffocation (as does Simon’s hanging). Charlotte is killed by Tyler acting through Squires (who poisons Charlotte under Tyler’s unconscious influence). Robbie is killed Blake acting through Drew (unknowingly leaving his son to suffocate).
The other two children commit suicide. Ellie and Simon’s suicides are both caused by domination, and then rejection by Pemberton. Ellie is taken advantage of by Blake, then discarded when she becomes an ‘inconvenience’. The episode suggests that this series of events is what pushed her to commit suicide when she did - presumeably overdosing on the antipsychotics Blake prescribed her. Simon enters the Cambridge cruciverbalists competition to, in Tyler’s words, ‘earn back his mother’s love’. When Squires’ beats him unfairly, the rejection from his mother, and the humiliation from being beaten by Squires is overwhelming: he goes home and hangs himself. These suicides are covered up, or at least never adressed by the Steve character in favour of his career, until another character forces it into the open. The suicide of each child comes as a consequence of Pemberton’s obsession with his image. Blake cannot tell the truth to the authorities because he would lose his licence to practise, Squires cannot accept the possibility of ‘The Sphinx’ losing the crossword competition. Blake even goes as far as to attempt to murder Drew to maintain his equilibrium. Therefore, it serves as the greatest punishment of all for Drew and Tyler to strip Blake and Squires of their identities through the appropriation of what they have lauded themselves as experts in. Drew and Tyler do not merely formulate a revenge plot, but model them specifically after concepts established as belonging to Blake and Squires’ - and Blake and Squires do not fully realise what is happening until the very end. It is best described as the ego-death of Pemberton.
Sphinx and Trolley Problem are knee-deep in Oedipal imagery. Whereas Sphinx retells the original Oeidpus tale by literally addressing the play, The Trolley problem remains in the unconscious, alluding to Freudian theory in the implications of its relationships (“she was estranged from her father and she saw me as some kind of…”) The Trolley Problem is arguably overall more fragmented and unconscious in its themes and characters than Sphinx.
Shearsmith is emasculated by Pemberton: Squires replaces Tyler as the husband and as biological father to his children, Blake describes himself as being a replacement father for Ellie. Father and husband as patriarchal dominating forces Shearsmith is cast out from. Shearsmith is almost entirely sexless (or coded as a potential victim), which also emasculates him (“I’m a red blooded mammal Tyler, not like those molluscs you spend half your time with.”) Pemberton is driven by sexuality to the point of being a predator; tied with his control and superiority, he represents a traditional masculine violence. Pemberton cannot view Shearsmith as a potential threat because of his sexlessness, which is aided by Shearmith’s intellectual and class ‘inferiority’.
The emasculation fuels Shearsmith’s revenge – revenge for things that Pemberton has taken from him and humiliated him by taking. He repossesses his masculinity in his revenge plans by beating Pemberton in acts of violence: Tyler cutting up and feeding Charlotte to Squires, Drew burying Robbie. Both are an imitation of Pemberton’s prior violence. Shearsmith attacks Pemberton’s identity as a father as Pemberton did to him. It is less about avenging Simon or Ellie as people, but revenge for what Shearsmith has lost and what Pemberton has put him through – children in the episodes are fragments of whole people used as pawns to aid each father in achieving his desire. Female suffering is at the heart of both episodes; Daughters are exploited and abandoned by their fathers. Sons are restricted to framed photos and die because of their father’s arrogance. Their own actions are only deplorable when they realise they have harmed their own biological children and thus have failed as fathers (men and predators): Tyler feels no guilt because he has no biological children; Drew and Squires commit suicide; Blake falls to his knees in horror, outcome left ambiguous. It is part of their humiliation. Though Tyler's motivations exist as entirely self-serving (avenging his marriage and time wasted), Drew is much more aligned to genuine compassion for his daughter.
Blake = Drew = Ellie = Robbie, each character representing and mirroring each other. In Sphinx, Charlotte = Simon (avenging twin), Tyler = Squires (Tyler raising Squires’s children, Squires marrying Tyler’s wife).
Fascinating is how much Shearsmith understands Pemberton, and how little Pemberton understands Shearsmith. Shearsmith studies Pemberton so well that his revenge is him effectively becoming Pemberton (the setter, the psychologist, the abuser). Pemberton underestimates Shearsmith because of his preconceived idea of his inferiority.
Blake maintains more control than Squires because of Drew’s instability as a character. The portrait of Drew is a man so haunted and overwhelmed by his emotions that he quite literally bursts into flames at the end of the episode in response to them. He hatches a plan that is derailed by outbursts (“I think I might have killed somebody.”) and overpowered by Blake’s physical violence. Although in the end it all works in his favour, it speaks more to his ability to improvise more than his own stability. There is also a leniency Drew’s plan affords to Blake, which Tyler does not offer to Squires. Blake gets the chance to save Robbie, if he confesses (reinforced by script). If we can trust Drew’s promises to Robbie, there’s an alternate universe out there where Blake admits his fault and Robbie is dug up. Charlotte dies in every iteration of Tyler’s plan.
Class dynamics are undermined through the revelations that Charlotte is a Cambridge masters student and daughter of a Cambridge professor. (Drew undermines Blake’s authority and intelligence because of his degree). Drew is actually implied to be of a similar status to Blake.
Recurring themes of poisoning (through scenes involving cups of tea) and suffocation (Simon, Robbie, Charlotte). Betrayal from the father figure the child is close to (Robbie and Blake, Charlotte and Tyler). Shadowy spaces and a degree of pathetic fallacy. Elements of abjection and the uncanny (mirroring, violence, poisoning). A degree of self awareness from Pemberton (shame surrounding hearing Ellie’s recording, “I don’t have a good side” / “I don’t care what people think of me”, Squires: “I was just showing off”). Revenge tragedy. Characters arriving under false pretences – characters playing roles (as a psychotherapist, vulnerable man, girlfriend attempting to impress, amicable colleague). A vulnerable young woman is denied bodily autonomy (Ellie having no physical presence in the episode, Charlotte being paralysed) by the men who victimise her.
#inside no 9#the trolley problem#the riddle of the sphinx#unfinished unwritten and unstructured#just notes
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Like real people do
Alfie Solomons x Fem!OC

[warnings: WW1 setting, blood, wounds and mentions of death, angst]
masterlist | previous part
一 four
August 1917, somewhere in France
“Get me bandages!” you yelled so loud that even the dazed Tommy shot up in a startle, eyes wide in fear. “Someone get me bandages!”
You were tired. Tired of being invisible, of feeling drained of life. Tired of seeing men meet their end, most of the time in horrid conditions. The war felt never-ending, and you’d caught yourself thinking of running away a few times already, though you’d never admit it to anyone. Being a nurse was a source of pride, and what kind of coward would show off about giving up? You weren’t much better than the men who left their families at the first difficulty.
No, you weren’t strong.
You wouldn't be the model daughter if this war ended. The model woman fighting for her country. You were weak, exhausted, and terrified. The familiar smell of home had become a foreign memory, and your parents’ faces washed by bloody ones.
On the first day of August, the tents were overflowing with men. You still needed to serve lunches, but you’d been caught trying to stitch a leg up in the chaos of it all while the man screamed his lungs out. The food forgotten, all your focus went on that stranger whose life you needed to save.
“I’m almost done, alright?” you panted, trying to meet his faraway gaze. “Hold on a second, I’m almost done.”
Every day you met, cleaned, and bandaged hundreds of faces, all different but linked by the same sights. Yet, there was always one you longed to see.
Captain Solomons.
Was he alive? Had he been sent off somewhere else? Was he thinking about you at all, like you were thinking of him?
You’d learned about his title a few days before, when you’d stumbled across his name on a register. At first, you hadn’t understood why he hadn’t mentioned it—the others commonly did—but it soon dawned on you that the titles didn’t really matter anymore in a life in which tomorrow might not exist. Solomons was a man like any other. He might be gone the next day, and you'd forget him by the end of the week.
If only.
It became harder and harder to picture his face in your mind, just as it became hard for you to simply remember things. You were in a constant state of anxiousness, barely eating anymore but always trying to cheer up those who were receptive to your voice. If you were becoming a shell of yourself, then you might as well offer some humanity to those in need. As long as they stopped calling you a coward.
Still bandaging the poor man’s leg, you glanced up at his pale face and offered a supportive smile. Or what looked like one.
He gritted his teeth with each puncture.
“Is this alright?”
“Tell me I’ll walk again,” his voice reached your ears for the first time, younger than the face attached to it.
“I’ll try my best to make it as it was before,” you promised. “It’s just a matter of time, alright?”
Before the man could even respond, Mary was shouting your name across the tent. That voice was barely believable for a woman so short. She had more energy than all the nurses combined, and you flinched every time, shutting your eyes as if she were a bomb herself.
“Jesus Christ.”
Turning back to the soldier, you squeezed his arm lightly and promised you’d be back. You ran up toward Mary, wondering if you’d done something wrong. You’d checked in with the men as you’d been told, even took time to clean up the trolleys. Self-consciousness prickled at your skin when you met her upset gaze, mingling with guilt.
“That bloody pighead won’t let me touch him until he sees you,” Mary huffed, raising a brow so comically high you had to guess if she was joking.
Frowning, you stepped aside so you could have a look at his face.
She wasn’t joking.
Your gaze landed on Solomons, coughing soil and blood out of his mouth and swiping it from his face. Blood poured from his leg, staining the bedding crimson. Still, he seemed almost… calm.
An icy dread gripped you when you saw his hands. Every scar was fresh and new, forever engraved in the flesh.
“Captain.”
“Sadie, eh?” his voice finally filled your ears, and nothing had ever sounded so close to home. “Would ya like to save my life today?”
“Oh dear,” you muttered as you lunged over, tying a clean bandage around his injury to stop the blood flow.
Behind you, Mary said she was going to eat something. You didn’t pay much attention to her anymore. With a brief nod, you focused back on Solomons and told him to stay still while you cleaned the wound and picked up a needle and a thread, clutching your fist nervously. Why were you nervous for? You did that every single day.
So you started working on the gash with an odd weight on your shoulders, conscious of his pain when he cursed under his breath, although it didn’t sound English. Despite his pale face, he didn’t look like he was near fainting. Instead, he watched you with steady eyes, not bothering to look away when you glanced up to check how he was feeling.
Solomons nodded briefly, telling you wordlessly to go on.
“Why wouldn’t I save your life?” you asked when the thick silence made you uneasy, shooting another glance up at his tired face.
His face. Real. In front of you. His eyes still held the same depth from the first time you’d met him.
“Didn’t know if ya wanted to see me again," the Captain said, as if he hadn’t been close to death for a moment. “But ya see, Sadie, sounds like ya do care ‘bout me, don’t it?"
He was unbelievable. You paused, entranced by him and his ways.
“I do, actually,” you kept eye-contact, your hands trembling when he sent you the tiniest of smiles. “Now please hold still.”
You only tore your eyes away from his wound to fetch sterile dressings from the nearest trolley, putting all your attention on the blood oozing over, staining your uniform with red splatters. Solomons hissed quietly once or twice, but he was quieter than most.
You tied off the final knot firmly, not willing to do this again soon. It felt like stitching your brother up after a bad fall from the ladder—his pain became yours, and you wished you could suffer for him.
“Right,” you looked closer at the cut showing through his torn trousers, careful when you put your hand on him. “It doesn’t look too deep. I don’t think it’s going to s–”
“You’re a real beauty, Miss Murray.”
At a loss for words, you burst into a chuckle and narrowed your eyes at him. Solomons had lifted his head up to have a better look at you, not once bit of teasing in his expression. Just pure sincerity, if not awe.
“Half the men in here have told me the same, Captain.”
“Alfie, right?” he corrected you, his head falling back onto the bed. “They don’t mean it like I do. They’re lyin’ bastards, all of ‘em.”
“Well, I’ve become immune to compliments, Alfie. It was getting boring.”
You swore you saw a tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes when he glanced down at your face.
“Immune, yeah? What a sad thought that is, Sadie.”
Was that another smile on your face? Probably. Your name had rolled off his tongue like honey. Like he had said it all his life.
“Do you want to know a secret?” you added, purely chatting just to have more time with him.
You pretended to be cleaning the trolley up while you watched him nod, the sight catching in your throat. No man had ever looked so fascinated by your words before. It made you want to spill everything—to lay out your life and tell him every last detail.
“Half of them have also asked for my hand," you whispered cheekily, like sharing a bit of gossip.
“Have they?” Alfie’s words sounded light-hearted, but something serious swirled in his irises like lava.
You offered a shrug. “The morphine can mess with people’s heads. The proposals are quite the daily occurrence now, y’know.”
“Yeah, I do know. I do know. Have you told ‘em that someone’s waitin’ for you after this war is over?”
Swallowing in an attempt to slow your pulse, you turned your attention to the bloodied needle, skimming your finger over it.
His blood on your chair.
You weren’t sure who he meant, exactly.
Right then, looking back into his eyes, you wiped your finger on a dirty piece of fabric lying next to the threads and willed yourself to stop acting so odd.
Thinking such thoughts would only cause you pain. Alfie would go back to his life as you would, maybe find a wife or girlfriend to help in his bakery, and you’d be the idiot once again. Andrew was waiting for you, anyway.
“That’s my excuse to avoid insistent men,” you said after a moment.
“Right. Clever girl.”
With the ghost of a smile on your lips, you turned at the sound of the Chief Nurse bursting through the tent, a trail of other nurses hot on her heels. You didn’t think and went back to his leg, acting as if the bandage hadn’t been applied correctly. She’d come and think you were panicking again, and you couldn’t afford that. Not when your time with Alfie was so limited.
Besides, you really didn’t want to have lunch and leave him to be cared for by one of the new ones. They didn’t know what he needed. They wouldn’t get him.
“Wastin’ time on my leg while others are waitin’ for a nurse, huh. I might be the next one to ask for your hand, Sadie.”
Ignoring his last words, you grabbed a random tool and gazed back at him. “I’m due my lunch break. Someone’s replacing me.”
“Wastin’ your lunch break on me, yeah,” Alfie teased, wiping his sweaty forehead with his dirty hand.
“Not wasting. Taking the opportunity.”
“Right,” he slightly narrowed his eyes at you and at the tool that was usually used in much bloodier circumstances. "When do you take the opportunity to eat, eh?"
Your blood heated, just like on the day Andrew had first kissed your thighs. He cared.
“I’m just making sure you’ll heal nicely.”
“You do your job, nurse.”
You smiled up at him, sheepish. Behind you, the Chief Nurse was shouting at the girls to speed up and a man yelled at them to let him die.
Wanting to bring Alfie some comfort–or maybe to yourself–you brushed a gentle thumb on his forehead, wiping off the soil.
"What happened?" It came out lower than intended, as if afraid to stir things up.
Alfie thought for a minute. His hand started shaking by his side, but he remained calm.
“Got stuck in a mine,” his voice turned more solemn, raspy. “Did everything I could to get out. I don’t think the others made it.”
Hesitantly, you put your hand on the leg that wasn’t hurt and squeezed lightly.
“You’re safe now, Alfie. You can rest up.”
His focus narrowed as if peering through a tunnel; as if all he saw was you and the black circles under your eyes.
“It’s not my blood,” he added, drawing your attention to the red spots on his neck. “There was this wop, clutchin’ at my neck. I shoved a nail all the way up his fuckin’ nose. Watched him die without feelin’ anythin’. Not one sorry feelin’ in my bones, Sadie.”
You knew he was testing you. Knew he was only saying this to see how you would react, and how fast you would run away from him. Only you didn’t, and you didn’t want to. Maybe because he was the only person who’d truly seen you since arriving here beside Ellen, and he was the kind soul you’d prayed to meet for two years. You’d saved him, yes, but you could also think he’d saved you in some ways. With his words, with his understanding.
“You did what you had to do.”
Alfie didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes on the pillow, blinking slowly at the ceiling. The conversation had drained him.
“I…” you swallowed hard, pretending to organise the tools on the trolley by lengths. “I’ll get you some water. For your throat.”
He gave you a small nod, his eyes trained on you as you crossed the tent and went out, barely recognising yourself. His compliance was so soft, so intense, that it made you breathless. It was dangerous to find comfort in this war, knowing it could be taken away at any time. You couldn’t allow your heart to be compromised.
So you didn’t meet his gaze as you handed him the glass of water, staying just close enough to ensure he drank it. Of course, you cared. You just weren’t sure why—or if it even mattered.
Then you walked back to the Tommy you’d tended to, who was now sobbing quietly to himself. Across the room, Alfie seemed to find the sight of you a miracle—his eyes traced your movements, lingering like he was afraid you might disappear if he looked away.
#tom hardy#tom hardy fanfiction#alfie solomons#tom hardy x oc#tom hardy x reader#peaky blinders#peaky blinders fanfic#alfie solomons x oc
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Stalker and the need for a purpose
Modern mass culture, aimed at the 'consumer', the civilisation of prosthetics, is crippling people's souls, setting up barriers between man and the crucial questions of his existence, his consciousness of himself as a spiritual being. / A. Tarkovsky, Sculpting in Time
It is rare to encounter a work of film that fundamentally challenges the way a person views an art form and what it is capable of doing. I first watched Stalker (1979) in the beginning of 2023, and it is probably the film that lingers in my mind the most. It combines the techniques of cinema, such as long shots and visually abstract imagery, with a poetic and often literary script. Stalker does not lend itself to simple, straightforward interpretations and explanations, rather it invites the viewer inside its own calm, meditative universe to explore the ideas of science, art, purpose, faith and desire.
By drawing from a rich spiritual foundation and Tarkovsky’s own outlook, it manages to move into the territory of a transcendent work of art, as the film evolves. Yet it’s not explicitly religious or faith focused, making it a more compelling experience, unlike Andrei Rublev (1966), which is explicitly Christian in its nature. Whereas Stalker explores ideas of faith in the frame of a science-fiction film, making the nature of the film more inquisitive and reflective, and thus more compelling. I have since watched the film two more times, each time with a growing admiration for it and its three main characters. Through its beautiful script, the film has created a whole new adoration for faith as a driving force behind creating art.
The film is loosely based on a short novel Roadside Picnic by the Strugatsky brothers. The film takes the key idea of the Zone from the novel - a mystical and strange place brought into existence by aliens - and the idea of stalkers, people who explore and guide others through this forbidden place, often at a cost to themselves. The book contains several journeys into the area and multiple characters, whereas the film only has the Stalker, his daughter and wife, and the Writer and the Scientist. In the film the destination is a room, in the book it is an object called the Golden Sphere. By going into the Room, one is meant to have their innermost wishes fulfilled. Stalker serves as an excellent example of taking the key elements of a story, stripping away the unnecessary and creating something new in a different art form.
The film starts with a sequence at the Stalker’s home, with his wife begging him not to go, however he goes anyway, leaving his family behind. He meets the Writer and the Scientist and after getting past the security measures, there is an extensive and hypnotizing long shot of them being on a railway cart, moving from the sepia coloured ordinary world into the vividly green and natural landscape of the Zone. It is a film that is almost three hours long, yet is composed of only 142 shots. Through utilising the function of the long shot,the camerawork makes the viewer immersed in the imagery by making the viewer focus and pay attention. Geoff Dyer has called the sequence of the film’s three main characters going into the Zone ‘the greatest sequence in film history’. The sound design changes as the cart approaches the Zone and after a period of looking at the characters’ heads and hearing the clanking sounds of the trolley, the viewer, along with the three main characters, enters the Zone.
The Zone is lush and quiet, it’s a living landscape, containing hidden dangers that only the Stalker is capable of guiding people through. Throughout the film these dangers never truly materialize, they are only spoken about. This leads to many interpretations of what the Zone is meant to represent, with interpretations ranging from a post-nuclear fallout zone to life itself.
I do not consider myself as a person of faith and have always avoided the label of spirituality, as I have often perceived it as oppositional to ideas of rationality. However in Stalker spirituality and faith are presented in an almost spellbinding way, as a desire to resolve the tension between the human spirit / soul and the world that values the material and provable. The dialogue between the Writer and the Scientist is often confrontational and combative, each trying to prove their superiority to the other. However, in contrast to them, there is the Stalker’s character. He goes out and accompanies people in the Zone as that is the way he defines his purpose. Towards the end of the film, he gets accused of doing these incursions into the zone for selfish purposes by the Writer and the Stalker responds by saying :
“Yes, you’re right, I’m a nit, I haven’t done anything in this world and I cannot do anything... And neither could I give anything to my wife! And I do not have any friends and I cannot have, but you cannot take what’s mine from me! Everything is already taken from me, there, on the other side of the barbed wire. All I have is here. Can you understand! Here! In the Zone! My happiness, my freedom, my dignity – everything’s here! For I lead the same as me in here, unhappy ones, suffering. They... They have no other hope left! And I – I am able to! Can you understand – I am able to help them! Nobody else can help them, but I, nit (shouts), I, nit, am able to! I am ready to shed tears of happiness that I am able to help them. That’s all! And I want nothing else.”
Tarkovsky once explained that for him the Stalker embodied the kind of character that he most wanted to be like out of the three men. He was someone the world saw as too weak, yet he was actually the strongest out of the three. He has a sense of faith, of purpose, one that is independent from the pressures of the modern world. He defines himself through his ability to provide hope to others, a life in the service of trying to lessen the suffering of other people. And the purity of this portrayal of a life of devotion and clear purpose has stuck with me since I first saw the film. The Stalker is a poor man,living in bleak circumstances, yet, as he exclaims above, the Zone provides him with a space, where his mission is clear and he can help others. Upon returning home, he despairs that the people have lost their faith:
“ [..] nobody believes. Not only those two. Nobody! Whom should I lead in there? Oh, God... And the most terrifying thing is ... that nobody needs it anymore. And nobody needs that Room. And all my efforts are worthless!”
Stalker is a character, who embodies a childlike belief in the good and the possibility of humans to experience it. However, his despair comes from the fact that the commitment to the material, to ideas of success and glory (the Writer) and the purely rational (the Scientist) have led to the loss of belief, the idea that something more meaningful is possible, this breaks his heart, because, if that is the case, then what place does the world have for someone, whose reason for existing is to give others their ability to believe?
The film does not offer a neat answer to this question, it ends on an ambiguous and supernatural note, but having seen it three times, I cannot help but explore questions of faith, belief and meaning within myself a lot more and through that Tarkovsky has definitely achieved his stated purpose - to create a work of art that serves a higher spiritual purpose.
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Doing my Carlsbad - a visit to Karlovy Vary
So, last year, I wrote this post:
Indeed, I did actually go there and so here are some of my thoughts. Along with some pictures of an Indian peafowl named Frosty. More on him later.
All photos are my own.
One of the most amusing things about Karlovy Vary is its coat of arms.

It's the Bohemian lion having a bath!
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Getting to Karlovy Vary
The city isn't exactly the easiest of places to get to; while there is an airport, it isn't served from many destinations at all and none from the UK. The best option is to fly into Václav Havel Airport Prague and get a coach to the Tržnice (Market Hall) stop, where taxis are available to take you to your accommodation. This takes about 90 minutes and costs under 10 euros with Regiojet.
Don't use Wizzair though. They're awful. Never again.
The city has an attractive main or upper railway station, recently rebuilt with EU funding.

Trains to Prague run every two hours, for a journey time of around three hours, using modern Interjet carriages, with a trolley service provided. There is also a chance you might see one of these:

It's called a RegioMouse!
Part of the M152.0 family of diesel railcars, these were originally built from 1975 to 1982 and are still in use today, with many refurbished and featuring modern amenities like full-colour passenger information screens.
České dráhy (ČD) provide an excellent app in English for purchasing tickets and train information; ticket machines were not present in the stations and while there is a ticket counter available, staff might not speak fluent English.
It is important to note when Karlovy Vary that Czechia does not use the euro, unlike most of its neighbours, but instead the koruna or crown, currently at a rate of around 21.5 koruna to the dollar. Also, the taxis (and quite a few shops) do not take card, so it is advisable to bring some Czech money with you or get it from an ATM at the airport.
The Hotel
I had looked to stay at the Grandhotel Pupp:

However, this was beyond my price range and I merely had a cake from their cafe, off-camera to the left.
Instead, I stayed at the Hotel Imperial, a rather magnificent affair to the south of town, on a half-board basis that proved good value for money.

If your thought is Grand Budapest Hotel; right city, wrong hotel. The inspiration for that was the Hotel Bristol in-town.
This place has two restaurants, two bars and a whole spa/wellness thing... which cost rather a lot for rather little. In the end, I didn't use it at all and instead got my wellness in other ways.
The room I was in was a single one, which had a bath, but no overhead hook for a shower. It also contained a bidet, a novelty for me as British homes don't tend to have them.
Walking
Karlovy Vary is surrounded by mountainous forests and there are extensive paths around it that go up into them. Maps are available, with some of the routes also indicated by paint on the trees.
The paths are generally properly constructed with gravel etc. but be warned that this is not a walk in the park. Some of the ascents can be quite steep and you can easily cover 200 metres up, then 200 metres down in the space of an hour. It can also get a bit chilly as you ascend.
However, you will be treated to some spectacular views.

Over the decades, various chapels and lookout sites have been constructed. The most prominent of these is the Diana Lookout, which is connected to the valley by a funicular railway:
There is a restaurant, a butterfly house that also includes birds and a children's playground.
Speaking of birds, there is also Frosty the peacock. An Indian peafowl with a rare colouring, he very much has the run of the place and will happily display for tourists.


The city centre
The centre of Karlovy Vary is heavily restricted to motor vehicles, with permits required to enter and some of the local parking reserved for a particular vehicle.
There are parking garages etc. in the outskirts, and you can get into the city centre in 10-15 minutes.
The sights
Karlovy Vary is a small and compact place in terms of tourist sites, but there is a fair amount to see.
The area around the River Teplá (which joins the Ohře here) is where the hub of the action is, including the Grandhotel Pupp and a whole slew of high-end shops. The Pupp itself has a cafe that serves a distinctive liquer cake and, amusingly enough, a casino.

There are no less than four colonnades where water from the various hot springs is pumped up and available on tap. People buy special drinking cups with the mouthpiece in the handle and will consume the heated waters from each of the springs.

Personally, I have a somewhat sensitive stomach and declined to imbibe, but I did buy one of the drinking cups from the Karlovy Vary Museum, which is a three-storey affair that covers both regional and local history.
****
The Imperial Spa that I discussed in the previous post is now a museum, with various displays on the history of the spa action in the town.

It now features a rather modern concert venue that is frankly only missing Rebecca Ferguson with a sniper rifle:

There are two paintings depicting many of the famous visitors this place has had over the centuries, like the cover of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in painting form.
There is fine artwork in many of the other rooms as well and a highlight of the building has to be the gymnaisum area where people used 19th-century exercise machines; the women in full dresses and corsets!

Unfortunately, no such machines are present or indeed usable.
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The diverse clientele of what was then Karlsbad has seen a variety of churches and chapels constructed to serve various Christian denominations, although these days Czechia itself is pretty non-religious, especially compared to its neighbours.

This is a Russian Orthodox Church that apparently is a meeting point for some of their spies. The interior (photography not allowed) is a tad small for that, mind! In February 2025, ownership was transferred to the Hungarian diocese to prevent an asset seizure.
****
One place that Raffles would have recognised from the time is now longer an Anglican Church. Instead of being demolished, it is now home to arguably the worst tourist attraction in the City:

They really don't want photographs taken inside, sticking multiple labels in the interior, so you're going to have to rely on my description as well as a low-resolution photograph from the tourist card website:
This is a museum of low-resemblance waxworks where pop culture has been frozen in the 1990s. If it wasn't for the labels, you would have no idea of who they were supposed to be in many cases. I had to cover my mouth to avoid sniggering and open leaving after ten minutes, I burst into laughter as soon as I was clear.
At least I only paid one crown for the place with the tourist card.
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Karlovy Vary is mostly a place with beautiful architecture that evokes the city's glorious past.
There are some exceptions to that rule though. The tallest building in the city: the Spa Hotel Thermal.

In 1960, the communist government in Czechoslovakia, having been deemed to have achieved socialism, mainly because its leader was very nice to Khruschev, proclaimed a new constitution and renamed the country the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic or ČSSR in both local languages. In the process, the national symbols were changed, and the Bohemian lion had his crown confiscated until 1990.
At the same time, the Karlovy Vary Film Festival was getting increasingly popular and it was decided that a new hub was needed, which in 1963 was expanded to include an international hotel fit for foreign visitors who would be in some cases bringing hard currency with them.
Brutalism was in vogue at the time - after a competition, married couple Věra Machoninová and Vladimír Machonin won the right to design the new building. After clearing an area with a bunch of older buildings in serious disrepair, work started in June 1968. Two months later, the Soviet Union put down the Prague Spring with tanks, starting the "normalisation" period of increased repression and censorship that lasted into 1987... with the building opening in 1977, where it served as a sanatorium for workers in the rest of the time the festival wasn't on.
It remains the main hub for the Film Festival to this day, but with its interiors and exteriors not out of place in an episode of Andor, I can see why many of the red carpet events take place at the Imperial.

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Food and drink
Karlovy Vary has a large collection of eateries to sort your tastes. The Pupp has a cafe next door to it that serves Pupp cake to the original receipe of Johan Georg, made with Becherovka liqueur that is produced in the town.
A particular local speciality is the spa wafer from Mariánské Lázně; these are available for 20 crowns from street vendors, heated on a hot plate.
You can also buy them cold in boxes to take home, but they taste better warm.
Czech is the default language on food packaging etc. learning the words for various fruits etc. will help avoid tastebud surprises or worse.
I ended up coming away with a liking for Birrell non-alcoholic beer and have since been unable to find it at all in the UK, instead relying on other alternatives from British stores.
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Transport
Karlovy Vary is served by an extensive bus network run by DPKV. Tickets can be bought on the bus for a variety of periods, as well as at the tourist office at the Imperial Spa. The Region Card gives you a 50% discount on 24-hour public transport tickets at the latter:
The buses do get busy though and walking is frankly the better option in many cases. Bear in mind that if there are designated pedestrian crossings close by, you should use those to avoid the risk of a ticket for jaywalking.
The main railway station is a bit out of the centre of town, but there is another one slightly closer:

The lower station is a rather different beast to the upper station. A sign of its age is the fact that it has two functioning split-flap passenger information boards, made in Czechoslovakia:

There is also a shop/eatery on the upper floor and the ticket office sells various train-related souvenirs. I bought a pen.
There is a single-line diesel service operated by GWTR going to Mariánské Lázně every two hours, which also serves the city's Arena one stop down the line - a request stop as well.

If you wish to head for other places, hiring a car might be useful, but you should bear in mind that:
A vignette is required for driving on motorways.
They drive on the right.
Headlights must always be on.
The drink-drive limit is zero.
Signage fits the European standard, which is rather different from the American one.
You must stop for any pedestrians on what we British people call a "zebra crossing".
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The tourist scene
Karlovy Vary very much caters for the tourist and can be said to be a quadrilingual city. The Germans have put aside any enmity over the past behind them and flock to the place in droves; my hotel breakfast and dinner was filled with the sound of their language, along with a big information board for a tour group.
It also had two police officers turn up and take a guy away with them, but that's another story.
Indeed, German is a good language to know when dealing with locals. English on the other hand is very hit-and-miss. While extensively present on tourist signs, menus etc. you might not be able to make yourself easily understood and Google Translate will come in handy.
The fourth language of Karlovy Vary is Russian. Russian can be found on many signs - indeed one beauty clinic had its exclusively in Russian. The place has attracted Russian people since the days of Peter the Great and was subject to an oligarch-fuelled property boom after the collapse of the Soviet Union. However, Covid (where the Czech government did not accept the Sputnik vaccine for entry purposes) followed by the invasion of Ukraine has meant that the Russians can no longer even get visas to enter the country in most cases, barred by the pro-Western government in Prague. They did however allow in a lot of Ukrainian refugees, many of whom speak Russian, but they do not exactly have the same levels of money on hand.
This does explain the number of estate agent signs I saw around, but getting the property off the Russians is hard due to sanctions.
Health issues
If you have a health situation, as I did, the local hospital proved pretty decent and my GHIC covered the cost of treatment, if not the prescription:
Many of the hotels also have on-site doctors - indeed, some spa treatments require their sign-off - but these can be pricey. Health insurance is strongly recommended.
****
Conclusion
Karlovy Vary is a lovely city, with great views, lovely architecture (mostly) and wonderful cuisine. It's definitely good for a short break, although you might run out of things to do after a few days as it isn't that big a place.
Thank you for reading. Please feel free to ask any questions below.
#letters from bunny#aj raffles#mr justice raffles#e.w. hornung#karlovy vary#tourism#czech republic#czechia
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I’m just home from my vacation in Ontario and it is the middle of the might. We are ordering pizza.
There was this guy on the flight back that was the aisle seat. I was in the middle and my wife had the window. We didn’t know the aisle guy. As he sits, I say hello and smile, as it will be a five and a half hour flight, may as well make friends.
He didn’t really want to be friends. He was going through the trauma of his best friend’s death the day before. He smelled of alcohol and weed. I desperately wanted to help him somehow, but he looked like he wanted to be left alone, so I gave him as much space as I could on a cramped plane.
He was tense and upset, probably drunk. When the drink trolley came up he asked for a double jack and coke (the flight attendants didn’t know what it was so I intervened as he began to get upset and told them it was whiskey) and he downed it pretty fast.
When the flight attendant passed by again, he tried to order another, but they explained that the trolley makes two trips and there are rules about serving alcohol on the plane. He was getting angry, belligerently saying that he travels all the time and this is the only plane he has been on that doesn’t serve drinks even requested, and he started swearing and saying his friend died and he just needed to be drunk. The flight attendant was amazing, took it all in stride and calmed him down, saying the trolley will be back in an hour for another drink. He got his drink then and settled.
He was apologetic when we landed, as if he had upset me. He didn’t, I was more concerned. I told him I was sorry for his loss and I wished him good luck. He smiled sadly at me and disappeared into the arrivals area.
I also thanked the flight attendant for her professionalism as I left.
I don’t know that guys full story. I don’t know his friend or what is going on in his life beyond this interaction. Sometimes there are people that look like they a protagonist on a journey, filling out a plot point or a quest line. His story and my story didn’t cross more than this interaction.
I hope he does well. I hold no ill will because he was hurting and was looking for (or trying to escape) some understanding of his situation. It is unfortunate that he doesn’t like the particular airline we travelled, but that’s a chapter of his story I did not get to know.
It is sad that little interactions I have all the time just end. I will never know that guy from the planes favourite colour. Never know if he liked the Beatles or the stones. He was just some guy who didn’t even tell me his name.
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I was so grumpy about having to wake up early this morning for a meeting about a ministry I volunteer with, and even more so when I missed the bus and had to detour to the trolley in the rain. I was already feeling Bad and overwhelmed and filled with dread last night while my parents drove me home, and now that things with the car are going to take even longer as insurance takes its sweet time, the extra time to get somewhere that's ordinarily a very short drive added bitter frustration. But then it turned out to be such a good priority reset for me, as I met with two women who used to host as roommates (what do I mean I can't be a host parent, they did it in their twenties! Granted, there were three of them, but still. Maybe I can come back to this goal after I graduate?) and we talked about how to recruit new volunteers, particularly at my church, given the expansion of the ministry in this county with new funding, and even starting to brainstorm some ways I can contribute to training and resources so we can take on more kids with disabilities, given my autism expertise. I still crashed when I got home, and that means I'm behind on getting started with schoolwork, but it made me realize I actually am excited for what I've said I'm looking forward to: having more time, starting this summer, to serve the Lord by loving families in need. However sour my attitude right now, that's the stuff that really matters, so much more on an eternal level than where my focus is (or even should be) for this moment. I want to be intentional in the changing of life season to invest my time in Kingdom things.
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With the Olympic torch extinguished in Paris, all eyes are turning to Los Angeles for the 2028 Olympics.
The host city has promised that the next Summer Games will be “car-free.”
For people who know Los Angeles, this seems overly optimistic. The car remains king in LA, despite growing public transit options.
When LA hosted the Games in 1932, it had an extensive public transportation system, with buses and an extensive network of electric streetcars. Today, the trolleys are long gone; riders say city buses don’t come on schedule, and bus stops are dirty. What happened?
This question fascinates me because I am a business professor who studies why society abandons and then sometimes returns to certain technologies, such as vinyl records, landline phones, and metal coins. The demise of electric streetcars in Los Angeles and attempts to bring them back today vividly demonstrate the costs and challenges of such revivals.
Riding the Red and Yellow Cars
Transportation is a critical priority in any city, but especially so in Los Angeles, which has been a sprawling metropolis from the start.
In the early 1900s, railroad magnate Henry Huntington, who owned vast tracts of land around LA, started subdividing his holdings into small plots and building homes. In order to attract buyers, he also built a trolley system that whisked residents from outlying areas to jobs and shopping downtown.
By the 1930s, Los Angeles had a vibrant public transportation network, with over 1,000 miles of electric streetcar routes, operated by two companies: Pacific Electric Railway, with its “Red Cars,” and Los Angeles Railway, with its “Yellow Cars.”
The system wasn’t perfect by any means. Many people felt that streetcars were inconvenient and also unhealthy when they were jammed with riders. Moreover, streetcars were slow because they had to share the road with automobiles. As auto usage climbed and roads became congested, travel times increased.
Nonetheless, many Angelenos rode the streetcars—especially during World War II, when gasoline was rationed and automobile plants shifted to producing military vehicles.
Demise of Public Transit
The end of the war marked the end of the line for streetcars. The war effort had transformed oil, tire, and car companies into behemoths, and these industries needed new buyers for goods from the massive factories they had built for military production. Civilians and returning soldiers were tired of rationing and war privations, and they wanted to spend money on goods such as cars.
After years of heavy usage during the war, Los Angeles’ streetcar system needed an expensive capital upgrade. But in the mid-1940s, most of the system was sold to a company called National City Lines, which was partly owned by the carmaker General Motors, the oil companies Standard Oil of California and Phillips Petroleum, and the Firestone tire company.
These powerful forces had no incentive to maintain or improve the old electric streetcar system. National City ripped up tracks and replaced the streetcars with buses that were built by General Motors, used Firestone tires, and ran on gasoline.
There is a long-running academic debate over whether self-serving corporate interests purposely killed LA’s streetcar system. Some researchers argue that the system would have died on its own, like many other streetcar networks around the world.
The controversy even spilled over into pop culture in the 1988 movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit, which came down firmly on the conspiracy side.
What’s undisputed is that, starting in the mid-1940s, powerful social forces transformed Los Angeles so that commuters had only two choices: drive or take a public bus. As a result, LA became so choked with traffic that it often took hours to cross the city.
In 1990, the Los Angeles Times reported that people were putting refrigerators, desks, and televisions in their cars to cope with getting stuck in horrendous traffic. A swath of movies, from Falling Down to Clueless to La La Land, have featured the next-level challenge of driving in LA.
Traffic was also a concern when LA hosted the 1984 Summer Games, but the Games went off smoothly. Organizers convinced over 1 million people to ride buses, and they got many trucks to drive during off-peak hours. The 2028 games, however, will have roughly 50 percent more athletes competing, which means thousands more coaches, family, friends, and spectators. So simply dusting off plans from 40 years ago won’t work.
Olympic Transportation Plans
Today, Los Angeles is slowly rebuilding a more robust public transportation system. In addition to buses, it now has four light-rail lines—the new name for electric streetcars—and two subways. Many follow the same routes that electric trolleys once traveled. Rebuilding this network is costing the public billions, since the old system was completely dismantled.
Three key improvements are planned for the Olympics. First, LA’s airport terminals will be connected to the rail system. Second, the Los Angeles organizing committee is planning heavily on using buses to move people. It will do this by reassigning some lanes away from cars and making them available for 3,000 more buses, which will be borrowed from other locales.
Finally, there are plans to permanently increase bicycle lanes around the city. However, one major initiative, a bike path along the Los Angeles River, is still under an environmental review that may not be completed by 2028.
Car-Free for 17 Days
I expect that organizers will pull off a car-free Olympics, simply by making driving and parking conditions so awful during the Games that people are forced to take public transportation to sports venues around the city. After the Games end, however, most of LA is likely to quickly revert to its car-centric ways.
As Casey Wasserman, chair of the LA 2028 organizing committee, recently put it: “The unique thing about Olympic Games is for 17 days you can fix a lot of problems when you can set the rules—for traffic, for fans, for commerce—than you do on a normal day in Los Angeles.”
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zutara au where katara is an up and coming model/actress and zuko is the closed off guy who serves her tea at the shop next to her apartment.
Okay. Look. Listen. Against all odds, despite them filling all my favorite tropes, I do not actually… ship Zutara. I don’t read fics of them, I’ve never written them— which is wild, right? Wacky? Crazy? Doesn’t make sense. I know. I agree. Idk.
So I wrote this anyway and I have no clue what the fandom is like or how they characterize these characters but HERE WE GO DIVING IN HEADFIRST ANYWAY LETS GO
Katara already knew her and her brother had wildly different priorities— but moving into her new apartment proved that Sokka existed on an entirely different plane of reality.
“My sister has the cash to live anywhere she wants, but she picks a place next to the weirdest building in the city.” He had grumbled the day of the move, which kind of pissed Katara off.
Not because he called the building weird, but because that was his issue with it.
He should have been far more upset with the fact that the skyscraper belong to Ember Corp.
Katara pointed this out to him, to which Sokka only shrugged in reply, “I figured you didn’t care about that seeing as you moved in next door anyway.”
And then she had to stomp away in a huff to stop herself from snapping at him, because that would be hypocritical and ridiculous; but it wasn’t like she moved in next to the corporation that demolished their family’s home and community for parking lots because she didn’t care!
She did care! A lot! Maybe too much!
But then that was why she chose this apartment; the skyscraper next door wasn’t just a skyscraper.
Like Sokka said, it was…
Weird.
Good weird.
To be fair, Ba Sing Se as a whole was a little weird— a hodgepodge of shiny, towering buildings and ancient temples and Spiritbucks and cobblestones and sky trolleys.
No structure could compare to this one.
From a distance, it looked like a regular skyscraper; the architecture was more creative than most, but it didn’t stand out.
Then one’s gaze would travel down, and there, at the base…
A tea shop.
An old tea shop.
It wasn’t even all that fancy, though there were pieces that hinted at a rich history— the small, painted wood pillars on either side of the door, the round windows with various designs etched into them, and the roof— oh the roof! A beautiful hip-and-gable one with the edges flared up and rust red shingles that complimented the muted green of the shop itself.
Katara loved it.
And the fact that a skyscraper had been built atop was so ludicrous it made her dizzy.
She’d once asked Toph why it was like that, and in turn Toph explained that the rumor was that the old guy who owned the shop had been offered a ton of money from Ember Corp for the location. He refused to sell, but reportedly told them he’d be willing to sell the air above his shop for the same price, and a promise that his shop would stay— he wasn’t selling the land, after all.
So they reinforced the shop and foundation to be able to bear the weight, and just like that, a new skyscraper had risen above the city.
Katara only went to the tea shop.
She wasn’t sure what about it was so enticing. Maybe it was how peaceful it was; even when the giant sliding doors were left open in the summer, the noise of the city never seemed to penetrate the shop fully. The smell of tea soothed her. It was soft, and sweet, and earthy, and strangely reminded her of home.
Which was wildly different in culture, but… she felt safe here. Like she had at home. Before it was taken.
That could be the reason she came— she liked seeing something old and ancient stand up to an entity like Ember Corp. It filled her with satisfaction to see something refuse to give in to intimidation, to be immovable in the face of “innovation.”
It was almost sacred in a way.
So she found herself stopping by every morning on the way to work— be it a photoshoot or commercial or audition— for some matcha to perk her up. And every evening, if the shop was still open, she’d grab a Jasmine brew on the way home.
The owner was so kind, a round, elderly man with a gravely voice filled with mirth. He insisted on being referred to as “Uncle Iroh,” which Katara didn’t mind. Sokka was her only family in the city, as their Gran and Father and what remained of their community migrated to the southern towns after their neighborhood was sold out from under them.
She could use an Uncle these days.
On one particular morning she was running late. She whirled into the shop, juggling various items while she searched her purse— sunglasses, phone, the audition packet, chapstick, planner, book for the trolley— ah! Wallet!
But when Katara turned to the counter, it wasn’t Uncle Iroh who she saw; a grumpy looking guy stood there, shaggy hair falling in gold eyes. Those eyes were what she noticed first, bright and intense and filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place— anger? Contempt? For… her?
The scar, she noticed second. Which upon reflection was a little ridiculous, considering that the angry deep red color and mottled flesh took up nearly half of his face. Not that it should have been what people saw first when they looked at him, she was certain he probably hated it being pointed out, but it was hard to miss.
They stared at each other a moment.
“…Hi?” Katara ventured, less confused by the new employee than the fact that he apparently had no customer service skills. No “Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon!” or “Can I take your order?” or even a rude “What do you want?”
The boy’s brow just furrowed deeper, which seemed almost impossible, yet there he was— basically one big furrow at this point.
“…Um…” When it became clear the grumpy employee had no intention of being friendly, Katara ventured, “Can I have a hot matcha to go?”
She waited anxiously as he punched the order in, finally speaking, “That’ll be six yuans.”
It was Katara’s turn to be the furrower. “Six? It’s usually three, isn’t it?”
This was met with an eye roll and a breathy huff, “My Uncle is… let’s just say he gives discounts more often than he should.”
Katara lamented that the new price would likely mean she’d only have one tea stop a day rather than two, but didn’t argue as she zipped open her wallet, uninterested in prolonging this weird interaction that made her more and more late by the second. She passed the rectangular coins over, and the boy dropped them into the register before turning on his heel to prepare the tea.
That was weird.
But so was a tea shop with a skyscraper balanced atop.
She crossed her arms, checking her phone for the time over and over again. Why was this taking so long?
Katara leaned over the counter to see what the boy was doing, and blinked. The kettle was—
“Are you… are you boiling water?!”
He frowned back at her— though it was likely just a regular look, if frowning was his default state as it appeared to be. “…I don’t know how you make hot tea, but here we boil it.”
“Yes but—“ Katara cut herself off, biting her tongue so that she could calm the ever growing frustration bubbling within. Sokka said she was hot headed, ironic considering where their ancestors came from. Finally, she managed to speak with an even, calm tone; “You have a boiling water tap.”
“…A what?”
Dear Spirits, this guy...
“The owner, he only uses the kettle at night when it’s less busy, for a more authentic experience. In the mornings, he uses the tap— or an electric kettle.”
The guy glanced around. “Because the mornings are so busy?”
To be fair, the shop was empty at the moment. Katara wondered if it was due to the upcoming holiday.
“Yes.” Katara ground out through gritted teeth.
He shrugged in response. “There’s no rush now, so it’s not a big deal.”
“It is!” She finally burst out, “It is a big deal! I’m late for work!”
The boy seemed taken aback for a moment, blinking at her. Then his face hardened. “It’s not my problem if you didn’t leave early enough.”
“But it is your problem that you don’t know how to do your job correctly!” Katara snapped back.
This seemed to rile up the guy even more, his nostrils flaring, “I didn’t even want—“
He was interrupted by the scream of the kettle, and he turned his back on her to remove it from the heat. Katara rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache encroach on the edges of her consciousness.
It only grew when she looked up to see him dropping a teabag into the cup of water.
“What are you doing?!” She demanded, aghast.
He glanced up, confusion mingling with his frustration this time. “Making tea?”
“I asked for matcha!” Her voice was shrill now, but she couldn’t help it— who hired this guy?!
“…Is this not matcha…?”
“That’s green tea!” And in a bag rather than an infuser, no less!
“Matcha is green tea though.”
“It’s prepared differently!” Katara leaned further over the counter, her braid hanging over the opposite edge as she craned her neck, “Look, Uncle Iroh keeps the materials right there under—“
“Hey, don’t lean over here like that!”
“Or what?” She retorted as the guy stalked towards her, “Mad that I know this place better than you do?”
With the way his eyes narrowed, he was indeed mad about that. “No, I’m not— the money is over here!” He waved his hands at her in a shooing motion. At least he had the intelligence to know not to put his hands on her.
Katara snorted. “Do I look like a robber?”
“You look like a pain in the—“
“Nephew? I heard the kettle…” A sleepy voice interrupted them, and Katara quickly straightened from being sprawled over the counter as a bleary-eyed Uncle Iroh parted the curtains to stare at them.
“Uncle, this girl—“ he pointed, “should be banned from the shop.”
Uncle Iroh yawned, turning his gaze to Katara. Then he brightened. “Ah, Miss Katara, a pleasure to see you— picking up your usual, I take it?”
“Well, yes, but…” she hesitated. A moment ago she had been ready to go ballistic, but Iroh had called the guy ‘Nephew’… so he was his literal uncle? Tattling to family felt a bit childish. “It’s fine.”
“Is it now? Well, I see you’ve met my nephew, Katara, this is—“
“Lee.” The boy interrupted immediately, his hand flying up to cover the name tag pinned to his apron, “My name is Lee.” He looked meaningfully at his Uncle, who merely shrugged.
“He will be working here from now on, so I hope that…” Iroh’s voice trailed off as his gaze wandered to the cup of tea. He blanched. “Z— Lee, did Katara ask for green tea?”
It was Lee’s turn to go pale. “Well, she asked for matcha, and that’s basically—“
Uncle Iroh groaned as he hurried to the tea, nose wrinkling in disgust, “And a bag, too! Where did you even find— no, no bags! We use these!” He waved around an infuser wildly, and Lee grew more indignant.
“Well how was I supposed to know that?! Why do you have teabags if we don’t—“
“Never mind that!” Uncle Iroh bustled around, scooping the matcha into the chawan to whisk, “Clearly you are far worse off than I thought— what has your father been teaching you?”
“Business! And finances, and—“ a furtive glance was shot towards Katara, “and things way more important than making tea!”
“Bah!” Iroh finished whisking and began to prepare the drink, “Very few things in life are more worth knowing than this.” He snapped the lid onto the cup and passed it over the counter with a cheery smile, “There you are my dear, I hope it’s to your liking.”
Katara was already speeding for the door with a wave, “I’m sure it’ll be perfect as always— see you tonight?”
“We’ll be open— and I’ll make sure my Nephew knows how to at least brew jasmine by then.”
“Uncle.”
Katara jogged to the sky trolley stop, her mind racing a bit. Uncle Iroh said Lee would be working there from then on… and if today was anything to go by, her once peaceful escape was about to become a whole lot more stressful.
Unfortunately, slinking into the agency thirty minutes after she was supposed to did not go unnoticed. But the lecture about professionalism and punctuality in the industry was brief, and the day passed in a blur. Lee was nowhere to be found during her evening stop, though Uncle Iroh was appalled to discover that he had charged Katara full price for the matcha. He insisted on giving her the evening mug of piping hot jasmine at no cost, and she took up her usual place on the patio to sit and read and relax before tromping up to her apartment.
The weeks passed fast, and to Katara’s dismay, Lee was now there every time she stopped in.
Figures. Her luck had always gone overboard to balance out— placed first in the third grade spelling bee? Broke her arm on the way home. High school valedictorian? Congratulations, your childhood home is being bulldozed! Career picking up? An annoying man now works at your favorite place in the world.
…Maybe one of those things wasn’t like the others, but it still irked her.
But Lee didn’t speak to her again beyond the curt welcome he gave everyone, the exchanging of funds (he gave her the Uncle Iroh discount now,) and the call of her name when the tea was at the counter.
Katara didn’t like hearing her name on his lips. It was wrong. It made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, made her body tighten and squirm in an uncomfortable way.
A fight or flight response, she reasoned.
And then one evening, he didn’t call it.
She was curled in the plush chair that Iroh always let her drag to the patio in the evenings. Days were getting longer again, so the sun hadn’t quite set yet, casting a golden glow between buildings.
The day had been exhausting; three auditions and two photoshoots. Katara had been up since 3am for the first shoot, but despite her yawns and heavy lids, she couldn’t resist the allure of Iroh’s tea.
Katara was reading. Well, she thought she was reading; but when the sound of a clearing throat made her eyes flutter open, the sky was much darker and the streets bathed in blue rather than gold.
Her head felt cotton-y in the way it did when one took an impromptu nap, and she yawned, looking up from her curled up position on the chair to see Lee standing next to her.
“Ah— sorry, is it closing time…?” She began to straighten out, reaching for her bag, but Lee shook his head.
“No, uh… no. I just… here.” He held out the teacup. “Free refill.”
Katara blinked, “Oh.”
Lee shifted uncomfortably, and it took a moment for Katara to realize what she was seeing; he was nervous. “If you don’t want it, I can—“
“No, no I do!” She nodded to the side table, placing the book that had become wedged between her and the cushions on it as well. “Tell your Uncle thank you.”
“Uncle’s not here.” Lee said. Then he hesitated. “I… I can tell him when he gets back.”
Katara reached for the cup. It smelled amazing, and she sipped at the rich, floral drink. It was different than usual, but good different.
So she took a deeper sip, licking her lips as droplets clung to them.
Her face lifted to Lee, who was shifting his weight back and forth anxiously. Anticipating.
And then it hit her.
“You made this?” She asked— since that first meeting, Lee had only made one of her orders when his Uncle had stepped out. It had been rather disappointing.
“Uh… yeah.”
“It’s really good.” To her surprise, Lee almost smiled, the corners of his lips tugging up as his body relaxed.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Did you add something different…?”
“A few things— Uncle thinks that jasmine is best on its own but…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I… got bored.”
“Well maybe you should be bored more often if this is the result.”
The furrow that lived between Lee’s brow and where another brow once grew smoothed in surprise— no, that wasn’t a strong enough word for it— shock? The emotion was fleeting, gone in an instant, though his face managed to retain its new relaxed state. “That’s the second compliment you’ve given me. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.”
Katara surprised herself by laughing. “You gave me a free drink, so maybe I should buy one too.”
Lee ran a hand through his hair, revealing how his scar stretched up to his forehead; “Well, uh, I should—“
“Do you want to sit for a second?”
Lee immediately, wordlessly dragged one of the patio chairs up next to her in response, flopping into it.
They sat in silence for a minute, watching the occasional car pass by.
Then Katara couldn’t help herself; “Why did you start working here? You didn’t seem like you liked tea all that much.”
Lee sighed, his hand mussing up his hair again; he did that a lot, as if he wasn’t used to having so little of it. “I… messed up big time back home.” His head tilted back to gaze up at the skyscraper that towered above the shop behind them. “So my father sent me here to… I don’t know. Punish me, I guess. Cut me off, told me I couldn’t come back until…” he trailed off. “…you know, I was lucky my Uncle even agreed to let me stay here. If he hadn’t… I don’t know what I would have done.”
Katara couldn’t imagine it— what sort of father would abandon his kid like that?
Sure, she felt abandoned by her own dad half the time, but… at least when he left, he did it knowing her and Sokka were safe and cared for. And at least she didn’t doubt that he loved her, as angry as she was at him for his choices.
She cleared her throat, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried—“
“No, it’s okay.” Lee’s voice had a rasp to it, the sound of someone trying to hold emotion at bay. “It… it was probably time I told someone about it. I haven’t exactly made a ton of friends here.”
Katara spoke before she even realized she’d decided to; “You can come out with me and my friends sometime.”
Lee tilted his head to her, a puzzled expression on his features, “…Me?”
“Do you see anyone else here?”
And then a real smile played across his lips, “Are all your friends hot shot movie stars too?”
It was once more Katara’s turn to be surprised. “You— that— I’m not even close to a ‘hot shot movie star!’” She laughed and tugged on her braid nervously, suddenly feeling shy. “You know who I am?”
“Yeah.”
“Since the beginning?”
“…Yeah.” His voice was softer, more reserved, as if the question had stirred something in him. Guilt?
Katara pressed on, not wanting to ruin the new atmosphere they’d built for themselves. “So you’ve seen me in… what, shampoo commercials?”
Lee shook his head, “Nah, my fa— someone my mom used to be friends with, uh… helped fund that one movie; Glacier Soul?”
“You… you remember me from that?” She laughed again, both delighted and aghast, “It wasn’t even a big role, I wasn’t a lead or anything— and I wasn’t great in it—“
“No.” Lee‘s voice was firm, no room for disagreement. If he didn’t sound so earnest, Katara may have assumed he was just being nice. “You were perfect.”
Katara shifted, warmth spreading on her cheeks. The prickle on her neck, the tightness in her body, those both were present now too; but it wasn’t fight or flight this time, was it? Had it ever been? “Well I… I’m glad you liked me. I mean, me in it. It was my first dramatic film and… and I’m just… glad.”
They both fell silent, Katara downing the rest of her tea to keep from saying more dumb things.
“So…” Lee was hesitating again. “When… when are you and your friends next…?”
“Oh!” Katara reached for her bag, rummaging for a pen, “Here, one sec—“ she grabbed her napkin and jotted down her number. “Text me when I leave, I’ll let you know next time we have plans.”
Lee seemed completely out of his element as he stared at the napkin she’d shoved at him; as if he couldn’t believe it was actually there. Finally, he nodded, “Right, yeah, that sounds— yeah. Good. Great.”
“Yeah?” Katara asked teasingly.
There was another hint of a smile when he replied with, “Yeah.”
Her body was heavy again, so Katara started to gather her things. “Well, good to know you’re not so bad when you’re not extorting people or serving them poisoned tea.”
Lee sputtered, “I… I haven’t done either of those things!”
“Mm, that green tea you tried to give me looked pretty deadly.” He seemed troubled despite the tease, and Katara nudged him as she stood. “Tonight though? That jasmine tea was ridiculously good.”
Lee relaxed again, understanding the jests now and looking quite pleased with himself, “I practiced.”
“I can tell.” Katara yawned and stretched, her body complaining after being curled up for so long, “Well, Lee, I’m glad I got to know you a little better.”
He was running a hand through his dark locks again, looking as if he were going through some sort of inner turmoil despite the small smile on his lips, “Y-yeah, me too, listen, uh…” he took a breath. Then another. “I’m… I…” and then he deflated, “I’m glad too.”
Katara said goodnight, made him promise to text her as soon as she walked out the door, and as she strolled to the next building over, she realized she felt light. Bubbly. Happy.
So their first meeting had been rocky; she couldn’t blame the guy for having a bad day, especially since it sounded like he’d been through the wringer shortly before that.
Why should a bad first impression affect this one?
Katara’s phone buzzed with a text, and when she pulled it out she saw a little fire emoji.
And then she texted back something that normally she’d never in a million years say.
‘Is this your way of saying I’m hot?’
Sokka would laugh in the face of anyone who implied his uptight little sister had flirted.
Lee’s reply was immediate.
‘What?! No! What???? It’s just my favorite!’
‘…wait, don’t take that the wrong way, I mean, I’m not saying you aren’t’
‘Uh’
‘I mean’
‘Can you just ignore all of that? Please?’
‘…Please?’
Katara laughed. Normally she might over analyze his panicked denial, worry she overstepped, but… something felt different about Lee. He was so serious, serious in a way that made her loosen up.
Her brother often told her she was a stick in the mud. And maybe she was, maybe she was austere and boring and too much a stickler for rules… But Lee made her feel like she was fun, too.
‘Ignore what?’
‘I didn’t see anything :)’
‘….thank you.’
She hummed to herself as she savored the taste of jasmine still on her tongue.
Maybe Lee wasn’t so bad.
And maybe… maybe now she had more than one reason to look forward to her morning matcha.
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Ellis Twilight Chapter 13
DISCLAIMER: I just deepl and google translated my way through this because I wanted to know what’s going on, so there are definitely mistakes but I believe I managed the general gist of the story. Anyway, it’s just a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes. Ikemen Villains belongs to Cybird.
Another note: I know Ikemen Villains is set in victorian London, but I will use the japanese suffixes because I prefer them.
The room facing the forest surrounding Crown Castle was bathed in pleasant sunlight filtering through the trees.
Kate: Ellis-kunʼs room is calming.
Ellis: I guess so. Jude asked me “Donʼt you even read a single book?”
Ellis-kun picked me up from the wheelchair and sat me on the sofa.
On the tray that was placed on my lap were fried eggs and bacon.
The salad, white beans stewed in tomato sauce, and buttered toast were neatly arranged.
Kate: Wow … it looks delicious.
Ellis: Kate-san always eats everything at breakfast with relish.
Ellis: I put a little bit of everything on your plate.
Kate: Thank you. … Letʼs eat.
Relaxing in the tenderness of the presentation, I reached for my fork.
But while I was enjoying my breakfast, I couldnʼt help but notice what was in the room and what I could see.
(Thereʼs a lot of greenery … I guess heʼs good at taking care of it.)
(It smells good, like freshly washed clothes, just like Ellis-kunʼs shirt.)
I fidgeted to calm myself down. I let my body sink deeply into the sofa.
(I feel like if I stay in this room, I wonʼt be able to get up and leave the room …)
(… Iʼm not spoiled, Iʼm not spoiled!)
I devoured everything on my plate before it melted like butter on toast …
Kate: I think Iʼll go for a walk around the castle today for rehabilitation.
I turned my attention to the future in order to somehow make a change.
But—there was no reply.
Ellis: …
Kate: Ellis-kun?
Ellis: … Oh, hmm. Nice.
When I put the tableware on the tea trolley that had been brought in and cleaned it up …
Ellis-kun extended his hand to me as if it were normal.
Ellis: Hold my hand when you walk. Youʼre probably still feeling light-headed.
Kate: … Yes, thank you.
Somehow I managed to get up from the couch before I turned into melted butter—
This time, I felt like a part of my heart was entwined with Ellis-kunʼs scent, body temperature and long fingertips.
It was the first time for me to rehabilitate walking in daily life, and I was surprised to see such a wide range of problems.
(The muscles in my leg that I tried not to move became so stiff …)
I did some stretching, but my walking was still awkward.
Without letting go of Ellis-kunʼs hand, I managed to reach the common room.
Roger: Oh, Ojou-san, are you going to rehab right away? Iʼm interested.
Roger-san, Jude-san and Harrison were gathered in the common room.
Ellis: Ah, Jude. Itʼs unusual for you to stay in the castle until this hour.
(Even though he should be at the office at this time.)
Kate: Are you really okay with your work?
Jude: Yer all making a fuss. They just stopped me.
Harrison: I got some strange information, so I kept it in my mind.
Kate: Strange information?
Roger: Ah. It might have something to do with the kidnapping incident where you left the perpetrator behind.
I felt a sense of unrest creeping up on me like smoke crawling on the ground.
Ellis: …? Isnʼt the case supposed to have been solved?
Harrison: Indeed. Jude, Ellis and Kate took out the gang leaders who were leading the kidnapping.
Harrison: I have confirmed that all of the underlings whose lives werenʼt taken away are now serving time in prison.
Harrison: —Despite this, kidnappings are still continuing.
Kate: Huh …?
Roger: The targets are street children. Or children who ran away from home or got lost.
Roger: Although there seem to be no adult victims, reports of misdeeds are continuing to occur.
Roger: So, I grabbed some kids around there and traced the rumors—
Harrison: The story goes that Jake Grace is recruiting circus members, and the people he recruits are disappearing.
(What do you mean?)
Kate: But the gang that was using Jake-san is no longer in existence, so why did they use the same story …?
Jude: The man who was being used has become the main culprit.
Kate: Eh …!?
Ellis: Does that mean Jake-san is the perpetrator of the kidnappings?
His nice smile came to mind.
Kate: But …!
He was the kind of person who smiled and offered flowers to child who had fallen.
(Just like Bill-san, he truly loved performing.)
(I thought he was the kind of person who believed in that power.)
(I canʼt believe someone like that would willingly kidnap children …)
Harrison: “Even if what remains after removing the impossible is unbelievable, it is the truth.”
Jude: Tsk … Conan Doyle quote.
Harrison: I think thatʼs great thing to say?
Roger: Anyway, I thought itʼd be best to check, so Jude is in charge of this matter.
Ellis: … And me?
Roger: You have to take care of Kate, so leave it alone.
When I took a quick glance at Ellis-kun, I noticed that his expression was a little lost.
(This incident is the first mission that I have been involved with Crown as a Fairytale Keeper.)
(Thatʼs why I donʼt want to do it half-heartedly.)
(Besides, I canʼt just leave Jude-san alone and take a leisurely vacation.)
And Ellis-kun, who knew Jude-san even longer, probably felt the same way or more.
Kate: I can walk now. Just give me a couple more days. Right, Roger-san?
Roger: Well, the inflammation in the affected area has almost gone into remission. All that remains is to recover motor function through rehabilitation.
Kate: Please let me join the investigation.
I was sure Jude-san wouldnʼt like it, but he just frowned as if it was bothersome.
Jude: … If yer going to come, ya have to work as hard as one person. And if ya canʼt keep up and die, itʼs yer fault.
Kate: Understood.
Ellis: … Donʼt worry, I wonʼt let you die, Kate-san.
Always trying to make me feel safe, Ellis-kun, standing beside me, smiled happily.
Kate: Thank you. Iʼll do my best not to hold you back.
Ellis: Donʼt try too hard. Youʼll be in trouble if you get hurt again.
Ellis: Donʼt leave my side.
Jude: Donʼt spoil her.
Ellis: I havenʼt?
For the next two days, Ellis-kun and I worked hard to recover, and Jude-san worked hard to gather information.
And so—
—It was noon on the third day when Jude-san found out where Jake-san was.
The information was that Jake-san at a private house on the outskirts of the suburbs.
“The house had been vacant for a while, but I heard a child crying.”
Apparently, there was a rumor among the neighbors.
Ellis: Be careful because itʼs slippery in the rain.
Kate: Yes, Iʼll be careful. Thank you.
I followed Ellis-kun, who took care of my legs, and Jude-san, who moved on without showing any concern.
—The mansion stood alone, covered with a desolate garden.
(Jake-san is here …?)
As we got closer, I heard some noise.
What reached my ears was mixed with a slightly cracked melody that seemed to be coming from a gramophone …
(Itʼs the sound of a crying child.)
The three of us looked at each other and approached the mansionʼs door with increased vigilance.
There were no guards around … so as I huddled against the wall, I heard Jake-sanʼs voice from inside.
Looking in through the doorway—
(… Are those the kidnapped children?)
Inside the deserted mansion, more than a dozen children were huddled together crying.
Skinny girl: I want to go home …
Girl with dark brown hair: Whereʼs the fun circus?
Boy with blank eyes: So … youʼre saying thereʼs nothing like that anywhere!
The girls started crying loudly at the boyʼs voice.
—Then, Jake-san appeared.
Jake: Come on, fighting is no good!
Ellis: … Heʼs really here.
Jude: …
(Did Jake-san really kidnap these kids …?)
Jake: Sorry, little friends. After all, the people who gave us the money were bad people.
Jake: Iʼve lost contact with the friends Iʼve gathered so far.
Jake: So, this time I decided to collect them all and take care of them!
(Ah …)
He remained as positive as ever, but when he saw the crying children, it was obvious that his life was in ruins.
Jake: Now, Iʼm barely surviving on the funds that the bad guys paid me before, but Iʼm sure Iʼll be able to start making money soon!
Skinny girl: How …?
Boy with blank eyes: Itʼs already decided, youʼre going to sell us.
Jake: No way! Weʼre going to make it ourselves! A circus!
Jake: A stage that will make you happier than going home awaits you!
Jake: People around your age grow the most. Letʼs practice together and become a star!
Girl with dark brown hair: Oh no …!
Skinny girl: Mommy …
Kate: Thereʼs something wrong with him …
Ellis: Jake-san looks much more haggard than the last time we saw him.
Jude: Heʼs in debt, heʼs depressed, heʼs forced to hire again, and I guess, heʼll finally go crazy.
(Thatʼs it …)
Jude: Iʼm telling ya, thereʼs no room for sympathy. No matter how crazy you are.
Jude: There ainʼt a reason to look for kids, put them under control and lock them up until they donʼt eat anything.
With a bang, Jude-san violently kicked down the door.
Jake-san seemed surprised by the sound and turned around … and burst out into a bright smile.
Jake: You guys from back then!
That smile gave me chills.
His expression was bright, as if he really thought he had done nothing wrong—
Jake: When I woke up, I was in a cell, so I was surprised.
Jake: Were you all chosen to be acquitted?
Ellis: … Well, yeah, thatʼs about it.
Ellis: So, we heard you were doing something similar like the gang, so we came here.
Jake: Same as the gang?
Jake: No no, itʼs a misunderstanding. I wonʼt sell these kids.
Jake: And these kids were attracted to the charm of the “fun circus” and came along on their own!
Jude: … hopeless.
Jude-san ignored Jake-san and let the sound of his heavy shoes echo on the rough wooden floor …
Boy with blank eyes: What are you going to do?
Jude: …
Without saying a word, he touched the foreheads of the children huddled together.
As the children fell down one by one, I hurriedly ran over to them and gently laid their small bodies on the floor.
Jake: … Hey, what are you doing to my group …
Jude: Yer making too much noise.
Jude: Even if itʼs called a miracle, what happens is nothing more than a gang, kidnapping, confinement and abuse.
Jude: Based on what Iʼve just heard, ya donʼt have any intention of letting these kids go, do ya?
I felt a horrifying murderous intent, and my body sank.
Jake-san must have sensed this as well, as he looked at Jude-san with a look of agitation and caution.
Jake: Of course! What the hell are you guys … have you come to interfere with our dreams?
Ellis: … Yeah, thatʼs right.
Ellis: If you keep doing this, itʼs our job to stop you.
Jake-sanʼs knees went weak and he backed away, using the wall for support.
Jake: Ah … ah, hahaha! Thatʼs what this is all about!
Jake: You guys were making use of me too …!
Kate: …
The smile had disappeared from his face.
The eye that wasnʼt covered by the eyepatch was shining brightly.
Jake: Iʼve been hearing this voice for so long that it makes the ground shake!
He took something out of his pocket.
It was like a poster.
And one more thing …
(A photograph …?)
It was a small photo that fit into the palm of a hand.
(Maybe …)
–flashback–
Bill: The story is from about 20 years ago, he made a big hit and became very rich, but as far as what his name is …
–flashback end–
(20 years ago?)
If so, the photo was probably taken with the latest camera at that time, but the colored scenery in photo was extremely blurry.
Ellis: … Is that poster saying you were a huge success?
Jake: Ah, thatʼs right! The best stage is waiting for us!
Jake: Everythingʼs perfect and everyone can be happy, thatʼs the Grace Circus!
Jake: This time, letʼs create the best moment that will last forever!
Ellis: … I see.
Ellis-kun looked extremely sad.
He looked so sad that I felt pain in my chest as I watched him.
(Ellis-kun …)
Did Jake-san notice the sadness in the air? The color of madness was fading from his eyes.
Ellis: “Eternity” is only available at the end of time.
Ellis: Iʼm sure you understand, too. … That moment will never come again.
Jake: No … no …
Photos and posters fluttered from his hands.
They were so worn and tattered that I could tell that he had been carrying it around with great care.
Jake: If I hadnʼt been rejected, it would have continued forever …
Jake: We all loved the circus, but we all scattered.
Jake: I destroyed it … but if I prepare the stage again, Iʼm sure itʼll be the same again—
Jake-san, who had been nodding off and spitting out his regrets, suddenly looked up.
And when he looked around—
Jake: Thatʼs why I canʼt let it end here!
He quickly turned around and ran towards the back door of the mansion.
(—!)
As soon as his eyes widened—he collapsed to his knees.
With a thud, Jake-sanʼs body fell at my feet, where I was next to the children.
(…)
A knife was stuck deep into his back.
The familiar black-bladed knife belonged to Ellis-kun—
Jake: Ugh …
Kate: Jake-san …
I remembered that he had given flowers to a girl who had fallen.
I couldnʼt help but stare at the thin, large palm that was thrown out without any power.
(Jake-san—)
My heart was filled with helplessness and tears welled up in my eyes.
The story of a man whose life was ruined by malice, and his obsession with the best moments.
His actions could certainly be called a “sin.”
(But … Iʼm sure that deep within his heart were more pure thoughts.)
(Thatʼs how it is …)
While no one spoke, it was Ellis-kunʼs voice that broke the silence.
Ellis: At that time, 20 years ago, he was at his happiest …
Ellis: Itʼd have been nice if I couldʼve ended it.
⤷ next chapter
#resa translates something for once?#ikemen villains#ikevil#ikemen villains ellis#ikevil ellis#ellis twilight
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how you see yourself 。*.♡
i was tagged by the beloved @rosenfey to do this cute lil meme; tysm ambie!! mwah!! i’m self conscious right now so i’m just going to tag anyone and everyone who sees this!! do it RIGHT NEOW >:3
character ➳ this is well known, but i've felt a profound connection to padmé since i was a child. it's not out of relatability, though, it’s from a deep understanding. (LET THE RECORD SHOW I JUST DELETED A BIG ASS RANT RATTLING OFF THE THINGS I LOVE ABT HER CHARACTER BC IT GOT SO LONG I WOULD’VE NEEDED A READ MORE 😭). i just.. i love her!! i love her. i love her and i’m the only one who gets her.
style ➳ no one is a monolith, but i do gravitate towards softer, more feminine looks. many dresses and skirts in my wardrobe :3 though it is ofc not limited to just that
object ➳ so, earrings are perhaps an odd choice here, but i wanted something to represent my clutter bug!! i love collecting little bits of miscellany, earrings included (and these are very my style; i adore pearls and cute “busy” looking items), because i’m a purveyor of all things meant to make my heart glow a little softer <3
place ➳ i'm a cali baby until i die. i struggled to pick one sole place, so i chose the whole state because it truly is so important to me. it's not just sf and the bay area (my home), but the redwood forests to the east and the beach towns down south and wine country to the north. california's pre and post-colonial history is rich and vast and bits of its geographical beauty have survived in incredible ways. and, despite all of the flaws of this godforsaken state, the cultures here have worth. there are merits and there are good people, you just have to care, and because of that, i don’t think i’ll ever want leave. i don't jump ship because work is simply hard; i want california to be what i know it can be.
animal ➳ otters are my favorite animal, we know this, but too many people have affirmed me as a cocker spaniel/cavalier spaniel over the years, so i had to include it. i think it's the hair texture and general air of prancing about?? i am simply a little lady idk what to tell u!!
song ➳ i chose i'm your man by mitski,,,, 👀👀 i'm in the song, just not as singer’s the point of view, if you catch my meaning. men ruined my life but whatever.
job ➳ though office and archival work is my calling (i was born to organize and file and push trolleys of books and boxes and sit on the computer and be a little secretary), part of me will always feel that being a childcare worker is integral to who i am. i mean, i did it for so many years i loved teaching, i loved nannying, i loved early childhood education studies. i loved being miss jasmine :]
food ➳ burritos are my favorite food ever, but i chose the petit fours because, well, it's me!! it feels like me!! little cakes served on dainty platters accompanied by a sweet drink?? bite sized flavors of rose or chocolate or matcha or vanilla or lavender or raspberry and and and???? exactly. teensy and sweet and delicate and perfect.
color ➳ pink, forever and always. the pink i used for this edit is more vibrant than my favorite shade of pink (blush), but pink is pink so i'm okay with it <33
#hiiiii hi hi hi !!#these kinds of tags are my bread and butter i adore them so much#anyways.txt#tag game#intro
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