#and i realized that i already had a situation where a woman and her handmaid were loyal friends

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Me: I have so many fairy tale retellings that I was already planning on working on. It'll be easy to just pick one and finish it before Valentine's Day.

My brain: That's cool!

My brain: But what if

My brain: and hear me out

My brain: What if you came up with an entirely new retelling?

Me:

Me:

Me: I'm listening.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 7

Y/n meets her savior and officially joins the investigation. 

@deadman-inc-bikeshop @viviace and @dovahdokren here you go. If you want to be on the tag list, send me a DM. 

Trigger warnings: dissociation, implied sex abuse/trafficking, discussions of death, drugs

It was only when the man left your line of sight that your senses started to return. And even then, you felt like you were on a separate plane of existence from everything happening around you. You were floating, completely numb to your surroundings, letting the world push you wherever it needed you to be.

You weren't entirely sure how you made it from the dumpsters to the FBI headquarters, but there you were.

You listened in on the conversation happening in the other room. From what you could tell, the man who saved you was arguing with his boss.

"Because if there's so much as a Tylenol in her system, you're going to pass it off to the DEA." The man said, his voice soft but firm. This wasn't the first time they had this argument and it showed.

"Will, it is not my fault that the DEA gets preferential treatment." The boss sounded exhausted. "We have a better chance of catching this man with their resources. And we can't turn a blind eye to how substances affect human behavior. I thought you of all people would accept this."

"What if there's nothing in her system?" The man posited. "Then all we have to work with is our own resources. Would that be so bad?"

"Look," the boss said, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. "We can't determine anything until forensics gets lab results back tomorrow. For now, see what you can find out from the waitress. She was able to keep her talking, maybe we can find out about what."

The man resignedly left the room and made his way to you. You glanced around the hallway, hoping he wouldn't notice that you've been eavesdropping.

He sat on the opposite end of the bench. You pulled the security blanket from the ambulance tighter around your shoulders.

"I know this is such a stupid, insensitive thing to ask," the man broke the silence. "But are you okay?"

"If it makes you feel any better," you sighed and dropped your shoulders. "I wasn't really okay to begin with."

"Yeah." The man agreed. "It doesn't matter how much you break something, it's still broken. Broken is a... Boolean value."

"It's just that.." You clutched the receipt between your fingers. "Just as I thought things were starting to improve, the universe sends me a cultist strapped to a bomb. I'm never going to recover from this."

"I don't think anyone expects you to." He said. "My name's Will, by the way."

"[F/N]." You said, just for formality's sake. He already knew your name. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you for saving my life."

"Don't worry about it." Will smiled weakly. "If you think you can, though, it would be innumerably helpful if you told us what happened."

You knew you weren't in a position to be asking for favors, but you were desperate. "Could I maybe stay with you for a while?"

Will hovered his hand over yours as if asking for permission. You took it, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"I'll stay with you as long as you want."

Will's presence made it easier to tell the man, whom you learned was the head of the Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI, everything that progressed that night.

"And then she started chanting that one bible verse about the martyrs inheriting the kingdom of heaven." You finished. "That was when Will shot her in the leg."

The director, whose name you learned was Jack Crawford, took a moment to ponder the information. You felt like a child that had been sent to the principal's office.

"Do you have any reason to believe that the woman was under the influence of any drugs? Alcohol?" Jack asked, resting his hands on the desk.

"Not with any certainty, no. I didn't see her ingest anything." You shook your head. "If she was under any influence at all, it was probably against her will."

"What makes you say that?" Jack cocked his head. "In your own time, of course."

"She was..." you glanced at Will, just to remind yourself that he was there. "Scared. Nothing she said had any conviction behind it. It was like she was a hostage being forced to read a fake suicide letter."

"What about these 'cult names' you mentioned?" Jack said. "What significance do you think they have?"

"She kept referring to Chase as 'vanguard'." You began.

"That's what Keith Raniere called himself." Jack interrupted. "Keith Raniere was the head of a sex trafficking cult."

"And the only reason I know that is because I listen to a lot of podcasts." You felt the need to explain. "I'm not sure how Mulvaney decided it would be a fitting title. Maybe he identified with Raniere."

"Did the woman call herself something, too?" Jack leaned in.

"Funny you should mention that," You forced a laugh. "Because she referred to herself as an 'unwoman'."

"That is interesting." Jack brought his hand to his temple, perhaps trying to convince you that he knew what ‘unwoman’ meant.

"He probably thinks Handmaid's Tale is some kind of instruction manual." You said, emphasizing the title of the work. 

“Handmaid’s Tale!” Jack exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "So, are you thinking maybe he's running a breeding cult?"

“Like a borrasca.” You turned to Will, hoping that maybe he would understand what that meant.

As if on cue, a woman in a lab coat burst into the room. 

“Dr. Katz,” Jack announced, taken aback by her urgency. “Welcome.” 

“Jack, you’re going to want to see this.” Dr. Katz said simply. 

Jack stood up from his seat. “Excuse me, Ms. [L/N], Will. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

Again, you were alone with Will. 

“I’m...” Will broke the silence, pausing to find the right words. “Jack isn’t as scary as he looks. He just has a habit of asking too much of people. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re perfectly within your rights to tell him to back off.” 

You shook your head. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

“Tell me about it.” Will muttered and leaned back in his chair. “It does seem pretty out of character for him to want to drop the whole case on the DEA, but he does have a point about their resources. You can’t argue with money.” 

“No.” You agreed. “You can’t.” 

Will sighed. “I’m sorry. The last thing you probably want to hear about is FBI in-fighting after almost being killed twice in a two-week period.”

“It doesn’t really inspire confidence, no.” You said. 

“Let’s talk about something else.” He offered. “Do you like... fishing?” 

You laughed at his strange attempt at making conversation, but answered honestly. “I used to go fishing with my grandpa when I was a kid.” 

Realizing he’d tapped into a happy memory, Will decided to follow it. “Where did he take you?” 

“My grandparents had this lake house up in Michigan.” You reminisced. “On this dinky little manmade lake where all the rich boomers took their spoiled grandkids for the summer.” 

“Did you ever catch anything?” He shared a little smile.

You realized that he was doing the same thing to you that you did to the unwoman. He was trying to keep you talking to avoid, or at least prolong, some catastrophic event. But he was doing it for your sake. You appreciated that. 

“We pulled up a ton of bluegills, some walleyes, occasionally a bass.” You listed. “One time he and his brother-in-law settled a dispute by seeing who could catch a catfish first. They were outside all day.” 

“Did he ever take you downstate to go fishing on Lake Erie?” 

You stared vacantly ahead. “He wanted to.” 

Will lowered his head in respect. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It was, like, fourteen years ago.” You admitted. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Still,” Will shrugged. “Grief takes a lot out of you. I’m sorry for bringing it up, I had no idea.”

“At this point, most avenues in my life end in death. It’s not your fault.” You smiled at him. “Thanks for trying, though.” 

You settled into another prolonged but comfortable silence. 

“I think Jack is going to arrange to get you into some kind of protective custody, by the way.” He said, shifting his body to face you. “And I don’t think he’s going to give you a choice now that he knows Chase is targeting you, specifically.” 

“Yeah, I was thinking about that.” You answered. “I think they’re probably going to insist I quit my job, too.” 

“You sound disappointed.” Will nodded. “You’ve grown to like that job, huh?” 

“I was good at it.” You admitted. “My boss was gunning for me to take over when he retired. I had big plans for that place. I know waitressing is supposed to be a job that’s ‘just a job’ but--” 

“You had ambition.” Will finished. “You were making an investment for your future.” 

For the first time in a while, you felt heard. “Right.” 

“If you would permit me to say,” Will stood up and walked towards Jack’s desk. “I think you would be an invaluable asset to this investigation.” 

You leaned on the armrest. “I don’t know, Will. I feel like I would just get in the way.” 

“But the sooner we catch this sick fuck, the sooner you can get back to your restaurant.” He said, grabbing a post-it note. He gestured to you with a pen. “And I will do everything in my power to get you back to that restaurant.”

“Why?” You asked. “I’m just a waitress.” 

“Your profile of Chase Mulvaney in your TattleCrime interview was a work of genius.” Will took off his glasses. “And it was incendiary enough to make him come back for you. It wasn’t just a cocaine-fueled bout of murderous hysterics. He remembered you. Now, throughout this investigation, Jack has been ignoring me. But maybe he’ll listen to you.” 

“And if he doesn’t?” You raised an eyebrow. “What then?” 

Will sighed and leaned back on the desk. “Then I do it myself.” 

“Fuck it.” You said, the complete contents of your soul behind those two little words. If he was going to raise the stakes, by god you were going to match him. “I don’t have much else to live for, so might as well die for something.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Will agreed. 

[passionate-hedgehog]

Impasse pt 2

Impasse is a 3-part series revolving around Reader entering society in Regency-Era London. Completely inspired by me binging the entirety of Bridgerton in less than 24 hours, Impasse will end with either Duke Damien Haas x Reader, or Courtney Miller x Reader.

Pt 2.

Pairings: Eventual Damien Haas x Reader, Eventual Courtney Miller x Reader

Warnings: None

Word: 2187

A/N: I know that my masterlist links arent working. If you try to use it, and things dont go where you want them to take you...well...I warned you. I’m turning this into a 4 part fic. There’s no way I can comfortably fit what I want into 3 separate sections. Part 3 will be out when this hits 15 notes! Thank you to everyone that liked and interacted with the first part. And thank you to the fans of my toher works. I love all of you omg. Enjoy ♥

Chapter Summary: The social Season has officially begun. Deals are being made amongst friends and old flames are fanning. Will there be any sparks igniting as well?

“What do you suspect he wants to talk about?” After the morning activities with Lord Haas in the drawing-room, Y/n and her handmaid found themselves busy with average daily activities.  

Caroline’s expression was nonplussed as she stared at the back of Y/n’s head. The women were preparing Y/n for bed. The latter was in her chair as the housemaid brushed through her hair.

“Why must you give me that look every time I open my mouth?”

“Why must such ridiculous things come out of your mouth every time you open it?”

They discovered Shayne in his favorite study, books littering the desk he occupied. Y/n would always ask him when he planned on attending university but the young man tended to reply with something akin to “that’s not for me”. The young woman didn’t understand. She knew how smart her twin was, how clever he could be given the situation. Mayhaps one day he’d see the things he could accomplish.

“To what do I owe this visit?” The fair-haired man asked as his sister sat at the opposite side of his desk. A rather thick tome set open before him while his right hand held a fountain pen to sheets of parchment.

Y/n perched her arms along the length of the armrests and sat comfortably. “I thought I might see what you’re up to. But I find that you’re doing nothing different than normal. When are you going to talk to Father about university?”

Shayne restraint from rolling his eyes visible as he went back to his books, and scratching at the parchment. “When are you going to talk to me about Courtney?”

“What? That has nothing to do with...Shayne. My favorite twin, you could be doing so many more things if you were off to study. Collegiately.”

This caused the young man to sigh. “Y/n-,”

“I’m being serious here, Shayne. You’re in here, every day, reading and writing. It’s almost a different book a week. Sometimes, your nose is in a book about far-off adventures in distant lands and sometimes it’s about the history and tragedies of the lands around us. Look that book right there.” She motioned to the collection of parchment before Shayne. “I gather that one is not Shakespeare. What is it? The history of France?”  

Shayne lowered his head back to the pages before putting his pen back on the parchment, not meeting his sister’s eyes. “Spain, as a matter of fact.”

Y/n held a blank countenance. 

“I’m trying my hand at the Spanish language. Does that quell your curiosity?”

Y/n smirked. “You’re just proving my point.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” The young man laid his fountain pen on the parchment and clasped his hands together before leaning forward. “I’ll talk to Father about university if you read and respond to Courtney’s letter..”

The young woman grumbled and stood up from her chair. “Suddenly, I have a desire for some poetry. Caroline, I’ll be in the library. I’ll call for you if I need you.”

The handmaid nodded from where she stood by the fireplace, her hands clasped in front of her as Y/n walked to the door. “Of course.”

Y/n turned one last glance to her twin before exiting the room and found Caroline in the chair Y/n’s ownself just left. The handmaid was smiling at Shayne as he talked. The rosy tint to Caroline’s cheeks as the man laughed sparked Y/n’s curiosity yet still managed to make her smile. It was cute if she had to be honest. The handmaid had the tendency, lately, to be quieter than usual. While yes, Caroline was well-mannered and modest, it was different when Shayne was around. Had it just been the two women, Caroline could be witty. Y/n enjoyed that in the handmaid. It was refreshing and reminded her of a long-lost friend.

“For Heaven’s sake, Courtney. You’re not even here but you’re still here.” The young woman fiddled with a woven bracelet made from brightly colored twine.

“Y/n?” A voice called from next to her as her hand was on the doorknob to the library.

“Oh, Lord Haas! I did not realize you were here.” Y/n peered behind her companion and to her own left and right, in case she missed any other person.

“It’s just me. And please, call me Damien. We’ve known each other since we were young, back when we had all of our friends amongst us.” The duke gave a gentle pleading look. 

“I was a tad cheeky back then. I wasn’t going to call you by any title.”

Damien cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re still a tad cheeky to this day. Am I wrong?”

Y/n’s matched his smirk before opening the door to the library and making her way inside. A witty remark was caught in her throat when her eyes caught someone standing next to the nearest shelving of books.

“Court-Courtney?” Her hand slipped off of the knob of the door. “What are you doing here?”

The light-haired woman bit her lip. “I wanted to visit. You never responded to any of my letters. I thought...I thought maybe something had happened.”

“You...I can’t...Excuse me.” The young woman turned around in haste and scurried away. She found herself in the empty kitchen trying to breathe through what just happened.

Good going. You’re such a coward.

“I’m such a coward.”

“No, you’re not.” Damien had followed her into the cooking area. He led her to a chair and guided her to sit. “Some refreshment might make it better?”

Y/n watched her old friend as he went about collecting items. She noticed how at ease he seemed going through her icebox and cupboards. How expertly he sliced up fruit. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in his livery, as well, but there was enough going on inside of her head. Damien approached the table with a modest platter and placed it in the center of the table before he sat himself in a chair across from her.

“I figure that some soft cheese might do some good as well as figs and berries. I hope they comfort you the way they do me.” He had gestured towards the food.

Y/n gave a thankful nod before reaching for a bite. “Thank you, Damien. This means very much to me.”

The man grabbed fig and brie, biting into them. “If you need to talk, I’m all ears. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. But I’m here.”

Y/n fidgeted with a slice of fig fruit. She mentally weighed her options before speaking again. “I haven’t seen Courtney in over a year. We got into an argument...about the things she wanted to do and where she wanted to be in life. I regret it. I regret it every day. I let our relationship ...decay...because I didn’t approve of what she wanted to do.”

“She wanted to work with horses, right? And entertain? That’s where she’s been this whole time?” Damien bit into some brie.

“I was treating her like she was someone like me. Someone that already had their life plans laid out for them. She was able to choose what she wanted in life.”

The young man studied Y/n’s face. “Y/n, were you...jealous that she had such an opportunity to live a dream that you tried burning bridges with her? She was your best friend. That had to be a hard decision to make.”

“It’s about more than that. I’m happy she was able to live how she wanted to...thrilled that she got to work with her passions. But..I wasn’t there with her. She wasn’t with me. It didn’t matter what she was doing...I just wanted it to be with..with me. 

“I had this asinine vision that society would be in a different place by now. That two close friends could...be closer. And that I wouldn’t have to feel like I was left alone for the rest of my life. I see so many friendships for what they could be. The feelings that I’ve had over someone that will never be attainable I see in others. All of the time. Especially while I promenade! And it makes me sad for those yearning and it reminds me of what I can never have.”

There was a moment of silence before Y/n’s eyes widened in the realization of what she had just let out. “Oh my. I-You didn’t hear any of what I just said. Promise me!”

Damien laid a soft hand on Y/n’s arm. “I promise. I had no idea that you had harbored such...persuasions. Not that it’s anything you need to feel sorry about. You can’t help it. Your reactions, for sure, but...not for what you feel.”

“You, Lord Haas, will make someone a fine husband someday. Maybe even sometime soon? It is our season, finally, after all.” Y/n tried to hide her watery eyes behind a coy smirk. “Someone is bound to catch your eye.”

Damien breathed out before responding. “Someone already has, if I’m being honest. But maybe I’m far-reaching more than I originally thought.”

His words seemed to spark a sense of excitement through Y/n. She sat up straight and gripped the edges of the table.

“Who is she? Will you point her out to me while we promenade? No. I have an even better idea; can you introduce her to me at one of the balls?” Y/n was nearly on the edge of her seat. “Damien! This is exciting!”

“It’s not quite that intriguing, I promise you. Especially since nothing can come of it.” The man picked at the fruit on the platter. “But I digress. It seems that you’ve got your own sorting out to do. What are you going to do about callers if Courtney plans on joining in on the festivities this season? She may not come from one of the families but she has enough friends.”

“Then I hope she enjoys herself. For all I know, everything I felt could have been my very own thoughts and not hers. If she’s here to find a match, then let her. If she’s here to have fun, then by all means...I hope she has it. I just hope I can keep my heart to myself this time. I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Y/n,” The man licked his lips before continuing. “Might I suggest trying to find out what exactly it is that your heart wants before you do anything else with it?”

The young woman topped her fig slice with some brie. “I’m going to pretend that you did not just offer such advice. Who would even think about courting a woman trying to figure out whether or not she wants her story to end with another woman? You slay me, Lord Haas.”

“I’m being entirely serious. Y/n, you could…” Damien seemed to pause before paying very close attention to fiddling with a berry. “We could stop your callers from coming around and maybe I could use a distraction. We could work together.”

“What? Like...you and I? Together together?”

The german-born duke hesitated before taking one of Y/n’s hands into both of his. “We could go to promenade as a match. And then to the balls, And the parties. No one would be the wiser. You could use this time to figure out what it is you truly want. And then who.”

The young woman looked down at their hands, hers fitting inside his the way she suspects other women her age dream of, yet, she wasn’t sure what it did to her. What he offered could very much help her, but what if Courtney got the wrong idea? What if everyone got the wrong idea?

“But what if it went right?”

“Hmm?” Damien asked in confusion.

“Nevermind.” Y/n shook the thoughts from her head. “Damien, I think...you may be on to something. You’re right. I...I don’t know how to be a...a wife to anyone. Let alone a man. And I won’t know until I figure myself out a little bit more. And then if this girl is running through your mind and you firmly believe that you can never court her…”

“Trust in me with this. I always thought she was someone I could never hope to marry, far too good for me in so many ways. But...maybe this will help me to see who else is out there. Maybe I’ll find my perfect match. And if we come out as a couple, it’ll provide good reason for the other men to leave you alone.”

“Too bad they just don’t leave me alone as is.”

“I believe Olivia said the same thing after she met Sam.”

“Heavens, that was a riot.” Y/n lifted her pinky to solidify the agreement with her friend. “Lord Damien Haas, I believe we might have ourselves a deal.”

[deputy-videogamer]

Gemini |Part 1|

Pairing: Geralt x Reader, Yennefer x Reader, Geralt x Reader x Yennefer

Part 2

Summary: This is based off of @deepestfirefun Witcher imagine where the reader is a powerful sorceress of the world and her father the king fears for her power and asked his royal healers to seal her powers. It does so successfully but the results led to the reader's mind to be split into two. One is kind hearted the other is a crazy murderous lunatic. Geralt is tasked to kill her, but finds something is off of this request.

A/N: Their original imagine is a Geralt x Reader, but I though it would be more interesting if it was also a Yennefer x Reader cause WE NEED MORE YENNEFER X READER FICS!

Being a person who possesses powerful abilities is something that can be feared by many, including the king; your own father.

Your mother was a woman who originally possessed your powers, but when she was pregnant with you, the chances of you surviving were slim. So she transferred all her powers to you in order to live, at the cost of her life.

Perhaps you father started fearing you when you were just a small girl who just had discovered your new found powers

You were in the garden being watched over by one of your many handmaidens as you were running around all over the place. The smell of fresh flowers filled the area, showing off it’s vibrant colors. While exploring the garden, something caught your attention, one of few fruit trees that were planted in the garden had a bright shiny apple dangling from one of it’s limbs.

You usually would ask your handmaiden to call one of the guards to retrieve the juicy fruit, but the limb of the tree was closer to the ground compared to the other fruits. Looking back at your handmaiden was busy knotting something, most likely another piece of clothing for you, taking this as a sign of distraction you quickly climbed up the tree.

Once at the top you then slowly crawl towards to receive your red reward. You danity fingers almost there as you struggle to get closer making sure you wouldn’t fall off. But as fate likes to put people in dangerous situations, your hand has slipped causing you to fall towards the ground and release a scream in the process. Your scream was heard from not only the garden but from inside the castle as well. The guards along with your father heard your cries and raced towards the guard to rescue you from any harm.

If only you had called your handmaiden to help you get the apple instead of you trying to get it yourself.

The first few guards had entered the guard, but instead of finding any types of assassin or even seeing their princess harm from the fall, the opposite had happened. There you were floating off the ground as you remained still in the crawling position with your eyes closed in hopes to not see the ground when you fell. Realizing you were not in pain, you hesitantly opened one eye to see what was the prevention. Your hands hovered over the ground as the air that kept you from falling had acted like a cushion.

The magic had stopped reacting when you managed to gently stand up. The air dispersed into nothing, you were amazed at your new found powers, wanting your father all about it. You were about to run and tell him about your new discovery when you looked up and saw your father. The smile on your face had dropped when you saw the fear in your father’s eyes. The handmaid that was with had fear that your father would do something to you and quickly scooped you into her arms, racing towards your room.

Being so young you thought that your father would be proud of having powers like this. But such fantasies are nonexistent and you knew so too. Ever since that day your father had avoided you, leaving you with your handmaiden to take care of you as you grew older learning to control your magic with the help of your mother’s former master. He had commented with enough training and control you would become the most powerful mage of all Tameria. This even puts more fear for your father.

You had remembered the day that everything changed just like it was yesterday. You were already at the age of 12 when your father had called you. Such an usual request from your father for he avoided you all your life. The child in you had believed that he had finally come to accept your powers and wanted you to forgive for such neglect after all these years. The thought in your head, had filled you with joy finally you can have a father.

The maids had escorted you to the dining hall where your father had sit on one side of the table as your seat was all the way to the end.

“Ah (Y/N), you finally arrived.” The first ever words that had spoken to you in years. “Please take a seat.” Your body skipped all the way to your seat.

With the sound of the bell, the servants had brought out food and drinks for the two of you. Your father had gestured to you to eat first. Being young you didn’t think little of it, bringing the chalice to your lips, the sweet liquid ran down your throat.

Placing the chalice back down on the table, a sudden headache had you clutching your head.

The pain. The pain was indescribable. It burned almost like someone had set you a curse that made you feel pain throughout your whole body. Your knees gave up sending you in a fetus position, as the pain continued to spread throughout your body. Your lips release a heart wrenching scream hoping for anyone one to hear you and to send help.

Then it stopped. The pain no longer was there, instead you felt empty. You couldn’t even bring yourself the only energy you had left was the movement of your eyes. Your eyes moved around the room to see anyone that would help you move. What your eyes caught was the shards of the plate scattered around the floor, it must have fell when you were in pain. Immediately, all the color vanished from your face when you saw that your eyes no longer look (e/c) in its place were blood red eyes in your reflection that stare hauntingly at you back.

Finally picking yourself back up. Your eyes angrily stared at your father who didn’t do anything to help you.

“What did you do to me?” Your voice didn’t have any other emotions but hatred. When he didn’t answer you threw the dinner knife at him. The small utensil caused a cut on his cheek.

“I-I- I did what I had to. Your powers have been getting too much ever since the first time you showed them to me.” You wanted to be shocked, instead you let out a menacing laugh.

“And you thought that poisoning your own daughter would save you sorry ass.”

“No, the drink was supposed to destroy your powers not kill you.” His reasoning only made you even more frustrated.

“Oh it did alright. But not without a price.” As the venom dripped from your mouth the hatred in your voice changed to an oddly sweet voice. “Instead of being a normal person who could show emotions. I now have only two emotions; happiness and anger.”

“I did what I had to do. It was to save you!” Save you? He took away the powers that were the only thing left of your mother. They could take away your appearance, make you deformed or curse, but taking away your mother’s magic wasn't one of them. 

The rage appeared once again in your heart, this time it wasn’t going anywhere. “No, you are wrong you didn’t save me. You saved yourself!

That was the final straw. Grabbing the glass shard from the ground, you tackled your father out of his chair, pinning him on the ground as you tried to stab him with the piece of glass. Your father cried for his guards as he struggled to keep the glass away from his heart. 

The sounds of heavy metal footsteps were coming closer to the dining room. You didn’t want to hurt the knights that were the only source of friends along with the servants, all you wanted was to kill your so-called father. With one final push the shard pierced your father's shoulder his cries of agony filled your ears like it was some sort of melody. You raced out of the castle, out of the town, out of the kingdom that you once called home. You didn’t stop running until you reached the heart of the forest, the dress you wore was torn and dirty, the heels that you wore were removed in order for you to run faster. The crown that you wore on your head was no longer there as it fell down when you ran away.

Wanting to forget your heritage you had ripped the remaining of your dress, shorting it up to your knees. You wanted to cry, but you couldn't. The emotion didn’t seem to exist to you all there was happiness and anger. Only the drops of the rain were the only representation of tears the only thing you could count as sadness.

It seemed like that piece of memory was like a horrible nightmare only it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. The day your father poisoned you were only 15 years old, no young woman should experience such a horrific event.

For the last 16 years you remained hidden in your forest that you now called home. You survived this long due to the books you read back at your home.You hunted for animals with the bow and arrows you created by hand, forged edible plants, bathed in the lake, and took shelter in caves or built your own hut. You even made friends with the nymphs, nereids, godlings, and even with the strange woodland spirits that had a deer skull for it’s head. When you told them about how your father poisoned you they pitied you and offered their help. 

As of right now you were picking blueberries to have for snacks and to share with the forests natives. Looking inside your basket it was full to the brim, it should be enough for you for a few weeks. Dropping a few more berries into the basket, you then headed off to your little cottage. The weather today was so relaxing, the gentle breeze soothing your nerves, forgetting the reminders of being an ex-princess. 

“You are humming.” A feminie voice called you out. On the right side of the trail a familiar looking nymph grinned at you. Just like all the nymphs here she wore no clothing, only her hair covering her chest. 

“Hello to you, Maia. What brings you here?” You asked her, offering her your basket to her. Which she grabbed a handful.

“Just wondering what you are doing now.” She plucked one of the berries from her hand into her mouth. “But also some concern.”

You slightly tilted your head to the side with your smile still on your face. “Concern? For what?”

Your friend’s expression told you something horrible was to occur sooner or later. She plucked one of the berries and raised it. 

“Do you know about the White Wolf and Yennefer of Vengerberg?”

Ah! So that’s what this is all about. It seems like your father is desperate to rid himself of your existence, it seems like it has gotten to the point where he called two of the most feared and deadly people of Tameria.

“I heard from my sisters that your father has requested for both their presence. Just how desperate is that man?” She squashed the berry between her fingers, wiping it the juices away

All you did was giggled at her response, the face on Maia’s face said otherwise.

“This is something to jest about (Y/N). Both names aren’t supposed to be taken lightly,there is a reason why they are feared.” All you did was shrugged, you twirled in place before dancing around the trail.

Due to the potion you drank. Your two emotions tend to do random gestures. For your happiness it meant singing, dancing, laughing, and telling jokes. The anger it would led to short temperance, fighting, and in some case the desire to murder, although as long as you were calm it won’t show.

You stopped your little dance to turn and face your sister.

“A Witcher and a mage?” You smiled at your nymph sister as she looked at you with concern. “I should honor the coming for my head….That is if they can get past my other half.”

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 33 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 32 here. Part 34 here.

Summary: A perfectly normal, innocent car ride goes perfectly normally and innocently.

Words: 4100

Warnings: unsafe driving

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HELLO, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Honestly, we needed a break from the drama. Sometimes a girl just wants to have fun, and that girl is ME!

Wanted to let y'all know I was overwhelmingly flattered by the response to the previous chapter. I know I can't respond to every comment, but please know that I appreciate every single one, and feel so lucky and grateful for y'all.

Hope y'all are continuing to stay safe and healthy. Love y'all so very very much. Thank you thank you thank you. <3

The crack of thunder jolted you awake and you squealed, snapping into yourself. Underneath the sheets, you trembled into consciousness, awakening to a massive mattress that was devoid of any body but yours. You blinked, rolling for comfort, finding only the rustle of cold sheets, an endless valley of cotton around you. Rain tinkled the windows at the sides of the bed, steel morning sun pouring through the blinds and spilling over the hardwood.  

The walls rumbled again with thunder, and you shivered, gathering the covers around you. Showers were one thing--but you’d never been particularly fond of storms. Swallowing, you glanced around the bedroom, spying light from the adjoining bathroom, running water muffled beyond the door.

“Kylo?” It was strange to call his name, to summon him in familiarity, as if he were a man you were bound to in domesticity and not, lawfully, in slavery.

All the same, the water stopped, and relief trickled over you. Shuffling beyond the door, and he stepped out, toweling himself dry, damp skin silvered in the dim light. The steam had reddened his pink lips, roused flush at his cheeks, and his hair clung in black tendrils to his face, his rounded ears poking through. A streak of warmth shot through you; Kylo Ren was destructive in his beauty, devastating in his power--but he’d never looked so… sweet.

He glanced over the room, ruffling his hair with the towel before meeting your eyes. There was no affection or concern inside of his gaze that you could identify. And he said nothing.

You blushed. “Um. I was--” Lightning flashed outside, and you flinched. “Was wondering where you were.” It was difficult to stop your attention from roaming his body, from settling between his legs. Just looking made your mouth water. “Good morning.”

Kylo stepped forward, deviance flickering across his face. “Poor little bird.” Husk edged his voice, and he drew closer. “Helpless without me.”

Lust thickened your throat, heated your neck. “I just get nervous during storms,” you said with a laugh. “I always have.”

“Hm.” He took another step, hooked the towel on the door, and meandered to the side of the bed. His cock twitched, swelling with blood as he watched you. “What else makes you nervous?”

“The dark.” You wet your lips, shifting toward him, focus dancing between his face and his growing erection. “You.”

He tilted his head, studying you, only feet from you, now. “Me.”

“Yes.” Your heart leapt, your thighs tensing. “You.”

Kylo loomed over you, growing harder with every passing second. “The way you’re looking at me might betray that.”

“Really?” More heat coursed through you, and you bit your lip. “And how am I looking at you?”

His face darkened with desire. “Like you want to take my cock in that dirty mouth.” Strong fingers gripped your chin, wagged your jaw. “Like you want to swallow my cum.”

“Christ.” Air caught in your throat, and you shuddered, staring into his blackening gaze. “Maybe I do.”

He huffed. “Of course you do.” He released you and patted your cheek. “Little whore.” Turning, he crossed to his dresser, even as his dick stood with need. “But we’re leaving.”

“Oh.” Crestfallen, you flopped against the mattress, skin tingling. “Now?”

He didn’t respond, having already started pulling on clothes. You sighed, rolling over, reaching for your dress in the ball of fabric by the side of the bed.

“Do you listen?” Kylo looked at you, somehow knowing what you were doing without having seen you. “I don’t want that on you. Again.”

You frowned, raising a brow. “What do you expect me to wear?” you asked. “You should be well aware that I don’t have anything else but my nightgown.”

Kylo considered you while he finished buttoning his trousers. Then, without a word, he turned and left, and you sat, confused, listening while he marched through the hall and down the steps.

A slow sigh escaped you, mind spinning with the realization that your Commander was fetching something from your room. For you. It churned your stomach, in reality, this veneer of--would you call it thoughtfulness?--over him, as if you’d be able to walk out of this home and function as a free woman. Your own personal agreement with him that your existence amounted to more still did nothing to soften the legal definition of your life. Even though the previous night still had your heart flooded with joy, time’s passing had wound new anxiety around your heart in anticipation for it to collapse and smother you like a peat moss ceiling.

When he returned, he brought your nightgown with him--and only that, neglecting to provide another pair of socks, underwear, or really anything else a woman might need. He offered it to you without pretense, and you took it, rationalizing that you’d only worn your underwear for approximately all of a couple hours the previous day, anyway. Both of you finished changing in silence, and when you were finished (bonnet included, obviously), you glanced down at yourself, recognizing that despite its modest silhouette, a bright, white, billowing dress still seemed too conspicuous outside the secrecy of his room.

Kylo held you in an empty stare, and then pulled a coat from his closet--long, black, hooded. You looked between him and the jacket, folding your arms over your chest, the anxiety curling tighter. His acknowledgement that you were not yet free tickled the terror buttons in your brain.

Despite this, you accepted it, pulled it on, and immediately drowned in it. It was almost comical, how big it was on you--you wagged your arms, letting the sleeves flop around, glancing at him with red cheeks. He observed you, expression flat, lingering there for longer than you expected before grabbing his own coat and shrugging it on. It concealed his shoulder holster and pistol, as always--but with the rain, it served its intended purpose for once.

There was no glance of agreement before Kylo Ren exited the room, leading, as always, with the assumption you would follow--and of course, you did.

It must have been early, since no one else in the home appeared to be awake. Another blink of lightning, grumble of thunder; you squeaked and quickened your pace, seeking comfort he appeared unwilling to offer. Outside, you flipped up your hood as you trotted to the Audi, squeaking again and hopping in when the sky flashed; before you even felt situated, Kylo started the car and pulled into the street.

The ride began in silence, as you’d expected--but you were content to watch him drive, mesmerized by the size of his hand on the stick shift, how long and large his fingers seemed, even out of gloves. Your thighs pressed together in reminder of your budding desire--in these untread waters of tentative see-saw equality, anything seemed possible. Anything up to and including getting your Commander to finger you while he drove. Anything up to and including sucking his cock and finally making him cum.

You shook the thoughts from your head. There was a more pressing matter on your mind.

“I was wondering,” you said, “if you’d already read my file, why did you ask for my name?” You looked at him. “You already knew it, didn’t you?”

Kylo blinked slowly, tongue pressing against the top of his palate. “Choice.”

You frowned. “Choice?”

“Your name was yours to give,” he replied. “Not mine to know.”

“If I hadn’t told you, would you still have used it?”

“If you hadn’t told me.” He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “You wouldn’t be in this car.”

You shifted in your seat. “What would you have done?”

He paused, eye twitching, and he stole a glance before refocusing on the road. “I don’t know.”

An ache spread in your chest--this intent to create choice when he’d inadvertently taken it from you, this attempt to offer you ownership of your own identity, this concession that your name was yours--somehow seemed more precious to you than his asking at all. Strange, how there could be such meaning attached to the typical foundation of any relationship, but Gilead had ravaged any former definition of intimacy. Between Handmaid and Commander, it was up to you to forge it on your own.

“So…” you said. “We’re kind of saying forget your Wife, then, huh?”

He didn’t respond.

“I mean that you seem to believe she won’t report us, or anything.”

Kylo exhaled through his nose. “She won’t.”

“You’re really sure of that.” To be fair, after your last couple interactions with her, you seemed convinced of that, too. You glanced out of the grey-veiled window. “I just don’t get why she hasn’t gotten rid of me yet.”

“The more quickly she cycles through Handmaids,” he said, “the less generously she is received.” A pause. “Dead Handmaids have a difficult time producing children.”

You swallowed. Supposably, that was true. Perhaps she’d become willing to let you and your Commander fuck as many times as needed until she got what she wanted. After all, you knew as well as anyone how inverse the relationship between desperation and the tolerance for misery could be. The both of you being gone in the early morning was another tick to her endurance meter.

“She’ll be mad when she wakes up, though.”

He huffed. “She can take it up with God.” His voice was low. “Or take it up with me.”

“Oh.” The acknowledgement of God seemed awkward, given everything you’d shucked together in the past twenty-four hours--you scanned him, more words lingering on your tongue, a desire to know. Anything seemed possible. Up to and including... “Do you think God exists?”

Despite what you considered to be commendable bravery in your question, Kylo Ren was silent. He shifted down, peeling onto a highway ramp, staring through the downpour.

“I don’t think he does.” You looked at your hands, then out the window. The skies were dark for miles. “Or, if he does, he doesn’t listen to me.”

“He exists.”

You blinked, seeking his gaze. “Oh?”

“If as nothing else but an idea. An existence in shared consciousness.” Kylo glimpsed you for a second. “That's existence.”

“It is.” Interesting how his power in shared consciousness had resulted in the complete upheaval of your entire life. “But it would be nice if he were around so he could tell people what he thinks.” You paused. “You know. If he could offer approval or disapproval.”

He paused, brow drawn in thought, throwing the stick forward and back as you cruised down the empty road. The absence was by design, you were sure--less chance of being questioned by anyone else, even if you were in the Lead Commander’s car. A twinge in your chest. Another reminder of your societal place.

“If a person feels conviction in what they believe, then the origin of that conviction matters little.” He paused. “We cannot ignore our destinies, regardless of who created them.”

That word destiny again, as if he were shackled to it in that same hopelessness with which you’d grown all too familiar.

“What is your destiny, Kylo?” You searched his face. “Better yet, what’s mine?”

The knot in his throat bobbed. His jaw tensed. “We’ll see.”

His reticence panged in your chest--you chewed your lip, heart thumping with what you were about to do. “Maybe they’re more similar than we know,” you murmured. “Maybe we get to find out together.” You reached out, placed your hand over his on the gearshift, thumb petting his thick knuckles.

Lightning cracked the sky, and hunger crashed over you, spurred by the connection of skin, leaving wildfires on your flesh. Your chin quivered, thighs forcing friction between them, and you gazed at Kylo. His pupils were dilating--you clenched. He felt it, too.

Pulling your lips in over your teeth, you scooted toward him, guiding your hand over his, tracing the valleys of his veins, the knobs of his joints, following the tendons that led to his fingers. Kylo was silent, stoic, watching the road, the only betrayal of his desire a soft swallow. You grinned, taking a single digit and drawing along the edge of his palm, up the side of his own finger and around the nail, trailing back toward his knuckles, caressing the sensitive tissue there. His chest swelled, grip tightening on the knob, and your cunt pulsed.

Emboldened, you slipped two fingers forward, skating over the tops of his, and loosely gathered his first two digits. You stilled and stroked them in a long, languid motion, grasp tightening as you slid up. Kylo’s breath hitched, and you stroked them again, gliding up and down, thumb dipping into the divot between them, skimming the pads of his fingers when you reached the top. When he sucked in air through his teeth, you whimpered, squirming in your seat.

“Naughty thing.” He was getting hard--you could see the tent forming between his legs. “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

You nodded, continuing to pump his fingers with your own. ”Yes.”

“Yes?”

Your cheeks burned. “Yes, Kylo.”

A short, sharp inhale. “You want my cock.” Said cock was now straining in an urgent bulge. “You need it.”

Swallowing your need, you nodded again. “Yes, Kylo,” you said. “I do.”

Kylo grit his teeth, and he glanced over you. “Fuck yourself.”

“W-what?” You throbbed with excitement.

“Lift up your skirt. Take off your underwear.” He drilled you with his gaze for a brief moment. “Spread your filthy little cunt, and fuck it.” Shifting forward in his seat, he adjusted his erection. “Make yourself cum, and I might let you suck me off,” he said. “Like you’ve wanted.”

Heat suffocated you. The thought of being able to wrap your lips around his dick made your stomach drop with greed. You didn’t need a second prompt--you released his fingers, popped your seatbelt and lifted your hips, sliding your underwear down and leaving it crumpled on the floorboard. Kylo’s eyes darted between you and the road as you eased back, gathered your skirt around your waist, and grazed the lips of your pussy.

“Oh.” Pleasure rippled through your thighs, your heartbeat thumping in your core. You sank into the seat while you teased yourself, glancing over your folds, face hot with the realization of how wet you already were. “Shit…”

“Good girl.” Lust laced his voice. “You wish I were touching you instead.”

You nodded, smoothing your hands over your inner thighs before brushing your cunt again, more demanding in its heat. “Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I…” Whimpering, you peeled yourself open, coating your fingers in your slick. “I want your cock.”

“Mm.” Kylo palmed at himself through his trousers. “You want me in that tight pussy, don’t you?” His breath was shallow. “You want me stretching you open.”

“Yes.” You circled your clit, gasping at the gush of delight. “Fuck, yes…”

“Fuck.” He fumbled with his pants, pulling at himself until he’d released his long, hard cock--he fisted it with his right hand, his left still on the steering wheel, and his hips snapped into his grip. “I don’t think I asked you to stop talking.”

Heat scorched your blood. “I wish this was you.”

You positioned two digits at your pulsating entrance and sighed, head falling back when you pushed in, relishing the soft squeeze of your own walls. Arousal fogged your mind, imagining your core clenching around his cock, massaging and milking it as he thrust into you, how good it would feel to him--and you groaned, curling into yourself, two free fingers rubbing your clit. Kylo hissed in approval, painting pre-cum around the pink head of his dick, working himself in rhythm with your hand.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said. “Tell me how wet you are.”

You shuddered with embarrassment. “I…” The last time he’d been inside of you, it hadn’t been pleasant for either of you. He was looking for undeniable proof that you wanted him. “I’m… really wet for you.” The admission brought a flutter around your fingers, and you flicked your clit faster, panting with delight. “You’d love how it feels.”

He snuffed a moan. “I know I would.” He drew lines along his shaft, making it twitch in need before he gratified himself with slow, deep strokes. “Fuck--I’ve thought about that pussy every night… thought about fucking it.” His hand tightened, and he sucked a breath through his teeth. “Thought about making it cum.”

A blissful groan escaped, and you leaned into your seat, legs spreading wider--you crammed a third finger into your cunt as it thrummed around you, other hand swirling tight circles around your clit. Ecstasy flooded you, and your jaw dropped open, hips rolling, mimicking a reality where he was fucking you. Kylo grunted, focus torn between the highway and your unraveling rationality.

“That’s right,” he said. “Look at that. So shameless.” He growled, jerking his cock, breath quickening. “You want me to fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

“Oh?” You forced a half-smirk through your open mouth. “And how do I--ah--how do I deserve to be fucked, Kylo?”

“You deserve to be fucked like the nasty little slut you are.” He swallowed, smearing more precum down his length. “You deserve to have that cunt pounded so hard you forget how to breathe.”

“Jesus.” You were vibrating, now, heart skipping, one hand fast and slick on your clit, the other crooking and thrusting into your core, bliss engulfing you to near-drowning. Every pass on your nub made it twitch, made your walls tighten, made your legs shake with your rising orgasm. “Fuck, I wish you were in me,” you whispered, “I wish you could feel me clench like this around your cock…”

“Such a whore for me,” he groaned, pumping his dick. “Fucking yourself just to taste my cum.” The car wobbled for only a second. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, whimpering and heaving as you stuffed your cunt full, stretched yourself wide, heat blossoming between your thighs.“Please, Kylo, please, please, let me cum for you, let me suck you off--”

“Earn my cock,” he snarled. “Cum like a good girl should.”

With a cry, you obeyed, every muscle below your waist convulsing with euphoria--you jerked, trembled, eyes squeezed tight as your pussy pulsed and spasmed on one hand, your other rubbing you to squealing. Then it broke, a wave over your flesh, and you gasped, thrown forward, your skin buzzing with the remnants of your climax. To your left, Kylo’s face was tight with restraint while you caught your breath.

���Good girl,” he purred, seizing your head. “Now take your reward.” Jaw tight, he shoved you toward his dick.

There was no argument there--you dropped your jaw and shifted onto your knees, humming as his hot, heavy length drove past your teeth and hit the back of your throat. He held you there, canting into your mouth, and you moaned, lids fluttering, his size straining your jaw, inspiring drool down your chin. You sealed your lips around his girth, hollowing out your cheeks, and sucked, his cock throbbing when you pressed your tongue against it.

God, just to have him in your mouth again was enough to grind your thighs together, sore clit swelling for more--groaning, you clutched his thigh for balance, bobbing your head, swallowing inch after inch with every dip of your neck. Saliva flooded your cheeks, mixing with the hint of pre-cum that glazed his cock, sweat already beading at your hairline.

“That’s it.” Kylo dug under your bonnet, gnarling your hair to halt you, adjusting you so he could plunge into your throat--you wailed, muffled by his length as he drove deeper and deeper. “That’s it--fuck--listen to you. You need me to fuck your pussy like this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t respond--he was slamming into your mouth. Tears brimmed your eyes, and you folded your lips around your teeth, sucking hard against him. He growled and ripped you from his length, holding you by your hair.

“Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Yes,” you whined, shame searing your skin, “yes, I need you to--I need you to fuck my pussy like this.”

“Of course you do.” He sank into your throat again, hips snapping with fierce, angry strokes. “You’re a fucking whore.” The pulsing at your tongue became desperate, rapid--he was close. “You love my cock, you love having it inside of you--”

You moaned in assent, trying to breathe through your nose, writhing with the effort. Kylo choked, dropped his seat back, snagged your hair with both hands and pushed your nose to his base. His knee steadied the wheel while he watched you gag and wretch on him, watched spit dribble onto his skin. Seething with pleasure, his hips thrashed, and he yanked your head free, holding it still while he savagely fucked his fist.

“Beg for my cum.” His voice was ragged, he shuddered as he held off his peak. “Beg for it, bitch.”

You whined. “Please give me your cum, Kylo, please!”

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, “fuck--”

A deep moan choked in his throat and he sputtered your name, his cock twitching as it shot jets of white cum onto your tongue and cheeks--the last load hit you in your closed eye, and you squeaked with faux-pain, recoiling.

Kylo released you, tucking himself away, and you sat, gathering his release from your face and eye. It was thick and viscous in your mouth--you hummed in happiness, swallowing it and giggling as you wiped at your sticky lid. Your Commander had sat forward, still chasing quiet breath, hand on the wheel while he observed you. While you cleaned the last of it from your face, thunder crackled, and you cowered, neck hot with embarrassment.

His gaze glimmered, lip twitching, and he sniffed. “Perhaps you could tell me what doesn’t frighten you.”

“Well, getting cum in my eye isn’t exactly a common occurrence for me,” you replied, pouting playfully.

A tiny smirk twisted his mouth. “Would you like it to be?”

You couldn’t help yourself; you laughed, smacked his shoulder. “You’re nasty!”

“Mm.” He reached over, thumbed an errant glob from your cheek, and swallowed it. “Very.”

You giggled again--in that moment, your eyes met--and the air, the rain, the passing seconds all paused, paralyzed by a breathless, infinite inevitability, something so impossibly imminent, it felt almost like fate.

Like destiny.

Kylo shattered the stare, attention back on the road.

It was as if he’d plucked your heart from your chest and set it on fire--a fire that would smolder and glow in your blood, keeping you warm through the night. A long, shaky sigh left you, and after pulling your underwear back on, you rested your head on the window, watching the watery world wave past, wondering if choice and destiny could exist simultaneously, and wondering, if not, which one had possessed you.

“Are we there yet?” There was a lilt of sarcasm in your voice.

But he only glimpsed you for a second, and did not respond.

The highway stretched for longer than you anticipated--and only one or two other cars passed by on the road--until Kylo shifted into an exit lane, taking a winding ramp down along the edge of a forested area. He coasted through the receiving lane and turned down the road, tossing the car into a high gear as he accelerated through streaming puddles.

It took a couple more turns before he slowed, decelerating with the gearshift to avoid hydroplaning with the brakes, and turned through a grand, broken gate, drifting down an untended path.

Small hills rolled out around you, the landscape consumed by neglect. Foliage had eaten the trees, monuments stained and forgotten. It was only after staring into the wild green valleys that you realized there were hundreds of monuments, which seemed strange, almost indulgent. There were thousands, even, all stone-marble-grey-white, all etched with intention, decorated in lost memory. Then it smacked you: they weren’t monuments. Anxiety streaked through your veins, your mouth dropped dry, chest crushed with dread.

Whatever Kylo Ren was showing you, he’d taken you to a cemetery.

[writinglionqueen]

Aela is the queen and kings daughter? I'm confuse lol. Anyway for the my king serie, I was thinking, how Drew will react if one day walking around the castle overhear some handmaids talking about a gift to make for the queen's birthday and he realize that he completely forgot about it and try to fix it running to the market trying to find a gift for her?

~Nope, if you reread Tit for Tat, Aela is the name of the queen’s horse which is a Clydesdale. Oooh but your prompt idea is gonna make a cute blurb~

Like always, your king rose before you did; just moments before the sun shone over the hills of the kingdom. Right as the roosters stir and call out for the start of a new day.

Your king sat up in the bed, mindful of you as he moved up and out of the warm comfort of your arms and sheets. 

Drew dressed himself carefully. He hated the thought of waking you so he was mindful to keep his belt from clattering and to keep himself from stomping about. 

The king looked to you from where he stood next to his side of the bed. A smile graced his features at your open mouth, faint snoring self, curled under the sheets and furs directly I the middle of the bed, right in the spot that had been warmed by his body. 

Carefully, Drew reached down to tuck you in some, placing a kiss to your temple before leaving you in your slumber. 

The king had early duties to attend to, like making sure his soldiers were getting up on schedule to start their training and to see over any changes in the future plans of Scotland. 

But first, breakfast was a must for the king felt famished and needed something large now in case he were to miss lunch again. 

He sat in his grand chair, still feeling the cloudy affects of a well rested sleep. He watched on as servants brought meats, a bowl of porridge and cheese to his table. Drew gave them a smile as he dug into the food, watching the servants settle at one of the dining tables to eat their first meal before starting their day. He paid their conversations no mind…until your name was brought up on giggles. It confused him…but also kindled his temper. 

When people laugh at you, Drew was quick to shut them up. A servant brought up a tankard of ale and one of milk to him and that’s when the king had to ask. 

“Why do they giggle about their queen?” he asked the servant who looked up at him before smiling herself. 

“Oh, well, today’s the queen’s birthday, Your Highness,” she answered. “The girls are wondering what you were going to…gift her majesty. They’ve been placing bets.” Drew’s eyes widened at that. 

He had been a fool. He had completely forgotten what the day was. How could he be that stupid? 

He sobered immediately when he noticed the servants eyes linger in curiosity. He smiled. 

“It’s my little secret,” he said, his smile changing into a smirk that had the servant girls giggling madly. Their rumors were to start. But there was no time to loose. He needed to figure out what he was going to gift his wife…and fast. 

His eyes caught Baron who entered the great hall. A hand was on his mouth to stifle a sleepy yawn before Drew called him over. 

“Corbin.” The man hid a groan as he went to stand before the great table in the front. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Baron said with a mellow tone of disinterest. Drew would reprimand him another time. 

“I need you to tell the council that I will be out for a few hours,” he said to the advisor. “Make sure all is well while I’m out.”

“Out?” Baron asked while raising a brow. “Out where? For what?” 

“Today is my queen’s birthday,” Drew answered before taking a few more bites of ham and a quick sip of his ale. “I need to…fetch something for her.” He lowered his voice because the servants were keen on watching him and listening in for the sake of their rumors. Baron looked back at the servant girls before looking to his king. 

“You don’t have anything for her do you?” Baron asked. Drew narrowed his eyes at him, trying to silence him with just a look. “Do you have anything in mind?” Drew grumbled as he stood to his feet. 

“I have an idea,” he clarified as he exited the great hall, leaving the servant girls to giggle in their growing excitement. He was quick to get his horse ready to ride him into the town to scope out a present fit for his queen. 

Most shops were opening as he arrived to look through. Down the main lane of the town, he could see a shop for clothes, swords, jewelry and even a book shop. 

If he wanted to gift you a sword….he would’ve made one. The keep’s steel was stronger, anyway, and you liked his pieces a little more. You had an eye for which blades were crafted by Drew…and which were not. Your king liked that. 

He thought of buying you a few new books…but…though he knew which kind of stories you liked reading, it was doubtful he was going to find ones you’d love within the shop. 

So, it was going to be a new gown or a piece of jewelry. 

Drew dismounted from his horse before leading him over to a rail to tie him up. He patted his side as he looked to the clothes shop and the store that catered to jewelry. The trinkets found in the latter would’ve been easier to save for last. Drew wanted more time to look at the clothes first.

So, he entered the little shop. Dresses of various seizes and materials caught his eye…but none seemed fit for you. He wanted something fine, fit for his queen…maybe there was something hidden he could see. The shop’s keeper was settled at the counter, obviously half asleep as her eyes looked to be trying to close.  

“Excuse me,” Drew said, catching the shop keeper’s attention. She looked to him in obvious distaste at having someone be within her shop so early. But once her eyes focused on the king, she sobered immediately.

“Your Majesty,” she said in surprise, she went to stand, to bow but Drew raised a hand to stop her. With wide eyes, she looked to the king. “What can I do for you, my king?” Drew looked around the shop.

“I am looking for a gift for my wife…something special,” he said before looking back to the keeper.

“I….don’t think we have something fit for a queen, my lord…in my humblest opinion,” she said. Drew smiled, sweetly.

“Would you have something that’s of fine quality, though?” he asked. “Something not…shown here.” The keeper looked to be in thought for a moment.

“I can see what I have stowed away,” she said before ducking under the counter. Drew listened to her open the clasps of a trunk before rifling through it. “Any material your queen likes.”

“Anything soft,” he answered. The woman hummed as she settled a few things onto the counter. Drew watched on, his eyes looking over the gowns she had pulled out. A deep navy one caught his eye.

“Alright,” the woman said, popping back up over the counter. “Come see, Your Majesty, perhaps your queen would like one of these.” Drew moved to the counter, looking over the dresses, their material, their shape and color…wondering which would be the best fit for you. “It would be easier if the queen was here to make sure she likes them as well.”

“She’s still asleep…and it’s her birthday,” Drew said, reaching out for the navy one, feeling the material. He liked it. “I wanted to surprise her.” The woman oohed at that.

“Shall….I show you something really special, then?” the woman asked, with a teasing uplift to her voice. Drew’s eyebrow raised at that. With a devilish smile, the woman moved down the back of the counter. She disappeared under the wood once more to open another trunk before she pulled out fabric from it. She moved back to the counter where Drew stood before holding up…a shift and corset. Drew’s face heated as he knew where this was going.

The shift itself looked more transparent than the one his queen already wore…and the material of the corset looked to be more of the Irish lace that Sheamus loved to gift his queen every now and again through a messenger. Though, the king would never try to gift you something as scandalous as an Irish lace corset…but Drew wouldn’t have put it past his friend to try if he would’ve thought of it first.

The king’s mouth had gone dry at the littlest thought of you in either material.

“I got this from a French seller who said he stumbled upon Irish lace. Pretty material, right, my king?” The woman looked expectantly at the king. He couldn’t say much. His face was too hot. The woman reached for her king’s hand so he could feel the material. “It’s quite soft. It’s never been worn and, I hear, it gives a woman a great shape.” The material was indeed soft, the lace was intricate and spun nicely. The woman, then, handed the shift to the king. He felt the fabric of it in his large hands. “This one is one of the softest linens I’ve ever seen in my shop. It comes from Britain, I think. Would your queen like either of these?”  

Drew needed to speak as the woman gave him an expectant look. He cleared his throat and took a small step back from the woman and the counter.

“I…I don’t…know…I-“ Drew stammered out. Never would he have thought of every buying you something so….lewd. Well…not yet anyway. 

The woman said nothing, but she settled the two items back down onto the counter before going back to the same trunk she retrieved the corset and shift from. She pulled out a length of fabric and Drew already knew the type of fabric -silk- but he awaited the woman’s return to tell him it’s purpose.

“If you buy both the items, I can throw this along with it,” she said. Her smiled turned more devious. “Sometimes…not being able to see what’s coming next is exciting.” She winked at him.

“A blindfold,” Drew deadpanned. The woman gave a nod. The king needed to get control over the situation. He swallowed and cleared his throat once more.

“Perhaps, my lady, I shall…wait…to buy these items another time,” he said to her. The woman smirked as she collected the soft materials, folding them up nicely before placing them off to the side.

“Shall one of these gowns then suffice?” she asked politely as she gestured to the gowns on the counter. Drew nodded as he reached for the navy dress.

“This one…I think she’ll enjoy it,” Drew answered, feeling the flush of his cheeks leaving him. The sweat of the…situation starting to cool. The woman smiled.

“It’s a lovely gown. Shall I wrap it up, then?” she asked. Drew nodded.

“Yes, please,” he murmured. The woman gave a nod before she took her time to wrap the dress in fabric with a bow. She settled the parcel to the side. Drew paid the price for the dress before giving a nod of thanks to the shop keeper. She bowed in respect to him. And as he scurried to leave he heard her call after him. 

“Come back anytime, Your Majesty, if you’d like those items for later.” 

Drew gave a sigh of relief when he exited, feeling the cool air of the morning chill the sweat of embarrassment…and excitement. 

Perhaps he would return for those items…if you wished for them. Drew could only imagine you in either…or both. It would, indeed, be fun to try the blindfold though. 

He shook the thoughts from his mind as he moved on towards the jewelers. Something inside to go with the dress would be ideal. The little shop held it’s pieces close by the keeper on shelves. 

Like the woman of the last shop, the keeper here sobered when he realized his king had entered his establishment. 

“My King, what an honor to have you here. What can I do for you?” he asked. Drew looked to the man. 

“Would you have anything….with sapphires in it?” Drew asked the man. “It’s for my wife. Today’s her birthday.” The man nodded as he moved about the room, showing the king all the pieces that held a sapphire or two within the metal.

None of them really stood out for Drew….except for one. 

It was a silver necklace with a round pendant on it. The center held a sapphire that gleamed like none other in the firelight of the shop. It almost looked like a star which is why it caught Drew’s eyes instantly. 

He remembered on the various night you arrived to his keep, the two of you talked about everything and anything. Your home was the one thing you liked to talk about. you were proud of the little town and the little keep…but the one thing you loved about home…was the stars. 

Though that didn’t change when you came to the larger keep, to the larger town with your larger than life husband. In fact, Drew caught you a few times outside, looking up at the stars and gazing at their beauty. You even loved to grab his cloak, some nights and sit upon the balcony of your room just looking up at the navy sky lit up by specks of diamonds. Some nights, he’d join you. Some nights you were alone with your thoughts and the stars. 

Drew held the pendant in the palm of his hand, watching the “star” in the middle move. The shop keeper looked. 

“It’s a star sapphire,” he said. “It’s quite rare, my king.” Drew smiled down at the gem. 

“I’ll take this one,” he said to the seller. The man smiled. 

“Shall I wrap it for you?” Drew gave a nod as the man wrapped the piece of jewelry in soft velvet. Drew placed the parcel with the gown on the counter, opening it to settle the necklace parcel there as well. Drew paid for the necklace, thanked the shop keeper before he left for his horse. The king was quick to ride back to the keep with the large parcel under his arm and get back inside before you woke up. 

Baron eyed his king who carried the large gift under his arm. 

“Has my queen woken yet?”  he asked the advisor. The man shook his head. 

“Not that I know of, my king,” Baron said. “The servant girls were just about to deliver her breakfast.” Drew saw one with a tray of foods and stopped her. With a smile, he took it from her. Her smile grew as she released the tray and went about her day. 

“I’ll take it from here,” he murmured, balancing the tray and the parcel before he walked in the direction of his quarters. 

“Shall I tell the council not to disturb you for the day?” Baron called. Drew would’ve flipped the advisor off if it wasn’t for his hands being full. 

“Might as well,” he called back. It took him a minute to open the door without spilling the food meant for you. You stirred at the thumps of your husband’s boots coming into the room. “My queen,” Drew called out making you whimper in the displeasure that came with waking up. 

“My king,” you groaned as you opened your eyes to take in the dimmed light that leaking through the windows. You looked to find your king with a tray of food and something under his arm. You sat up in the bed as your king moved closer to settle the food before you. “What’s this?” Drew smiled as he sat beside you on the bed. 

“Happy birthday, my love,” he said while leaning in to kiss your temple. You smiled at your king before you reached for a strawberry on the tray. 

“Almost forgot,” you murmured before taking a bite. Drew smiled as he settled the large parcel on your lap. 

“This is for you,” he whispered as if sharing a secret….like the first time he ever gave you a present. You couldn’t help but give him a large smile as you untied the parcel to reveal the navy dress and another little parcel inside. 

“Ooh, it’s so pretty,” you said in awe as you felt the fabric of the dress. “Ooh…I love it.” You smiled to Drew. “Maybe I’ll wear it today, my king.” He smiled at that but he watched you untie the velvet parcel to find the necklace. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of the star sapphire. “Wow. This….this looks like a star.” You help up the necklace to observe it closely, watching the star move across the gemstone when the light caught it. “Oh my. I love this.” You looked up at Drew. “Where did you get this?” Drew smiled before kissing your lips slowly. 

“I’ve had it for a while,” he answered, “waiting for the day to give you a star, my love.” You giggled at that before cuddling into his side. You swayed the pendant watching the star move and shine. 

“You forgot it was my birthday as well, didn’t you?” you accused in a teasing manner. your king laughed. 

“Oh, yeah,” he answered. You hummed. 

“I forgive you,” you said to him. “The star bit was a nice touch at a cover up, though.” Drew chuckled. 

“I try.”

“I love you, my king,” you murmured up to him. Drew hummed as he reached to cup your face in a large hand. He turned your chin so you face him entirely. 

“And I love you, my queen,” he murmured back before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. 

It was the best start to your birthday, and the day wasn’t even over yet. 

Tag: @adriennegabriella @alwaysbenhardysgirl @amariemoore @andie01 @annoyingasian @artemisapalla316 @aspiringhorrorfilmmaker @balorstrowmanblackmurphy @baronsbelleevangeline @biforbecky2belts @blackmoonrising @burning-coco @calicina @calwitch @claymoreme @darlingambrose @dcnmarvelgamergeek @demonqueen29 @desstehhnee @drewmcintyreinarefereeoutfit @fireyegale @fivefootxo @flawlessglamazon @haharollins @hardcoresweet45 @homeorbust @i-have-saracasm @itsicantbelievethis666 @kalliravenne @king-drew-mcintyre @lilred91 @littledeadrottinghood  @littlesuperstar @lolorockstar101boom @madamaholmes @madebypointlesswerewolves @meishaabae @meremaidqueen @moxleysbaby @moxley-unhinged @mox-made-me-do-it @moxtiel @neversatisfiedgirl @new-zealand-chic @nicolewoo @nothinginlifebutgreif @number1120 @ofbeornandbjorn @psychic-angus @queenofthearchitect @reigns420 @rollinsreginssupreme @rollynch-roman-empire @sassymox @sassyspacedust @savemeroman @scuzmunkie @shieldgirl18 @slytherinyourrpants @snowtroopergirl @softmoxymuffin  @superrezzy00 @svnflowrs @taryn-dibiase @thatpanpal @the-beastslayers-queen @thehoundsofjustice @thewrestlingwarehouse @theworldofotps @trashofambrolleigns  @twistedbeautifully @undeadspazzattack @unprettypeony @voidstrugh @wrestlersownmyheart @writing-reigns @writtingrose @xbreezymeadowsx @xladyxfatex @xprincessofthefallenangels @yaint-me @youcantreignonmyparade

[pocket-luv101]

Summary: Kuro is locked in a cell and has a chance meeting with Mahiru. She starts to sneak food to him every night. (KuroMahi, Fantasy AU, Fem Mahiru)

Kuro laid on a straw bed and stared at the moon through the bars. The small window in the corner of the wall didn’t allow a lot of light to enter his underground cell. He was arrested when they discovered he stole from the royal family’s garden. He didn’t know what would happen the next day but his only concern was for his siblings. They were likely worried about him as well.

A soft sound caught his attention and the moon became blocked by a bundle of fur. A black cat stood on his window sill and poked its head through the bars. The cat leaned forward a little too far and it fell into his cell. Kuro managed to catch it before it could crash into the ground. He cradled it in his arms and lightly scratched its head. At least it didn’t seem scared by the fall since it purred happily.

He was already surprised by the cat’s appearance but then he heard someone call his name. “Kuro! Where are you, Kuro? I have your favourite toy here so come back and play.”

While Kuro didn’t recognize the voice, it was clear that the cat did. The cat purred loudly and waved its tiny paws towards the window. He realized that the cat had the same name as him and the woman was looking for it. The window was too high for him to return the cat to its owner. He could hear the worry in her voice so he called back to her. “Excuse me, are you looking for a black cat?”

“Yes. Have you seen my cat, Sir?” The woman followed his voice and knelt in front of the window. Kuro expected her to flee the moment she saw that he was locked in a cell. He wouldn’t blame her for assuming the worst for why he was arrested. The only thing that caught her attention was the black cat in his arms. “There you are, Kuro. You shouldn’t wander off and bother this man.”

“This little guy’s name is Kuro? Mine too. He wasn’t bothering me but it’s going to be troublesome to find a way to return him to you. Cats land on their feet but I don’t think tossing him through the bars is a good idea.” He said. Kuro stood beneath the window and raised the cat as high as he could. She reached down as well but she could barely brush her fingers over its dark fur.

With a sigh, she pulled her hand back. She still had a hint of determination in her eyes as she stood. “Wait there. I’ll go down to you and get him.”

“Wait here? I don’t have a choice but you won’t be able to open—” She had already left before he could say anything more. He didn’t know how she intended to go to the lower floor where the prison cells were kept. Kuro looked down at the cat who was blissfully ignorant of its owner’s worries. He sat on the pile of hay and stroked the cat.

Did she not realize that he was locked in the cell? He expected the woman to eventually return to the window once the guards denied her entry. As he waited, he heard soft whispers in the hall. “Thank you for letting me down here, Tsurugi. You know how Kuro wanders. I need to put a bell on him. This should only take a minute so you don’t need to escort me all the way to his cell.”

The conversation ended with her hurried footsteps. A woman stopped in front of Kuro’s cell and he could see her clearer. Since she wore a simple dress, Kuro assumed that the woman was one of the princess’s handmaids. Her brown eyes beamed the moment she saw her pet. He placed the cat on the ground and it trotted to her. She knelt and gathered the bundle of fur into a warm embrace.

“Look at all the trouble you caused on your little adventure. No more running off alone. Thank you for finding him, Sir. It’s ironic that you two share the same name. Mine’s Mahiru.” She told him. The cat climbed onto her shoulder and she lightly scratched its ear. “I told the guard your name and he said you were caught stealing from the royal garden. Is that true?”

Kuro doubted she would believe him if he tried to lie so he nodded. Her next action shocked him. She took out an apple from her apron and held it out to him. After a moment of hesitation, he took it from her. Their fingers brushed and he noted how soft and slender her hands were. He thought a maid’s hands would be rough from work.

“You must be hungry.” Her eyes were full of sympathy. Mahiru took a step closer to the bars and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Your hands aren’t bound. I saw that the other prisoners had chains on their wrists. Did you take yours off? I imagine lock picking would be a skill you have.”

He paled and instinctively placed his hands behind his back. Kuro knew that it was pointless because she already knew he had taken the chains off. She had a sly smile as she placed a finger against her lips. “It’s okay, I won’t tell the guards. If you were planning to break out of the cell, you would’ve done so already.”

“You don’t know me so you can’t say that for certain.” Kuro pointed out but her confidence didn’t falter.

“There are a few trays of food in the corner of your cell. You’re supposed to slip them beneath the door so the guards can take it back to the kitchen. From how many dishes there are, you’ve been here for two days.” She said and gestured towards them. Her eyes were a soft brown but it was clear that her observation was sharp. “The guard should’ve told you that or else the food will attract rats.”

“I can deal with rats.” He said but he used his foot to slide the trays beneath the door.

Mahiru stacked the trays into a pile and picked them up. The bowls tilted haphazardly but she kept them balanced. “I’ll bring these to the kitchen and wash them. It’s not my job anymore but it’s best if these are washed as soon as possible. Did you enjoy the food?”

“The stew was nice.” His words caused her smile to grow and his heart skipped. From her reaction, he guessed that she worked in the kitchen and helped make the stew. She started to back away but then her cat jumped down from her shoulder to the tray. Mahiru started to drop the plate but Kuro reached through the bars to help steady the tray.

His hands were rough and they covered her smaller ones easily. Mahiru wasn’t scared because his hands were also warm and gentle. She looked up at him and their gaze met. Kuro joked and said: “Your cat sure likes to cause trouble. We might have the same name but we’re nothing alike.”

“You both like the stew I cook.” Mahiru said as he dropped his hands from her. She walked back down the hall.

Kuro sat in his cell with little to do but stare at the window. He watched the clouds pass and he made pictures out of their vague shapes. With his finger, he drew a cat in the air. A pleasant scent drifted to him and his stomach rumbled. Even though he was hungry, he was more worried about his siblings. Were they eating right?

“You must be hungry.” The words and voice were the same from the previous night. He looked back to the window where Mahiru sat behind the bars. She had a basket of cookies with her and she wrapped a few into a napkin. Then, she lowered the makeshift bundle through the bars with a rope. “I made a lot of cookies for lunch and there were some leftover. I thought you might like them.”

“Will you get in trouble for feeding a prisoner?” Kuro didn’t take the cookies until she shook her head. She didn’t tell the guards that he could free himself after she left but he didn’t know if he could trust her. Mahiru didn’t seem deterred by Kuro’s silence and sat on the ground. He said, “These are good. Last night, you said you worked in the kitchen.”

“I used to. My new job is good but sometimes I wish I could go back to my old, simple life. I wasn’t given a choice when… They took my apron and traded me this gown. I must sound ungrateful.” She sighed heavily. Her words were vague so Kuro couldn’t fully understand her situation. He could hear the sadness and loneliness in her voice though.

“I don’t think you sound ungrateful. Everyone has their own idea of a happy life. You were living yours but then you were pushed out of it. Getting extra work sounds like a drag too. At least your new job keeps you in this castle so you can be close to your friends and family.” He said as encouragement. “Hey, do you want your napkin back? I’ll throw up the rope so be ready to catch it.”

“Okay.” She slipped her hand through the bar to catch the rope. When she felt the yarn against her palm, she closed her fingers around it. She pulled the rope up and discovered a cat toy tied to the end. Kuro had braided the hay into a cat tail. “Did you make this for Kuro? He’ll love it. I had to leave him in my room for the day since I have a meeting tonight. I’ll give it to him later.”

“It’s rushed.” He shrugged.

“It’s still nice.” She smiled down at the simple toy. “Thank you, Kuro.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, Kuro. I had to get something but I think you’ll like it.” Mahiru was breathing heavily since she ran to meet him. She would visit him during her breaks and talk with him over a light meal. She saw how barren his cell was and would bring him books or games for him. Kuro enjoyed their talks the most but he knew he wouldn’t see her much longer. His trial would be held in a few days.

She knelt on the ground. A paper airplane flew out the window and landed on her lap. She unfolded the parchment and saw the sketch of a bird. He was thankful for her kindness. He knew the sketches wouldn’t repay her but he wanted to make small gifts to thank her. “This is beautiful, Kuro. Thank you.”

She slipped a square board through the bars. Kuro caught it and flipped it over to find a chess board. He told her he would play the game with his siblings and he was surprised she remembered the small detail. He started to arrange the pawns and said, “I haven’t played this in a while so you’re probably going to beat me.”

“Do you miss your siblings?” She asked softly and he didn’t answer her. Mahiru wished she could reach down and comfort him. “There are a few positions open at the castle. I’m friends with the head butler and I could refer your siblings to him. We might be able to find a job for you as well.”

“I don’t think they’ll hire a thief like me. Not many people are open minded like you are, Mahiru. But it’ll be great if you can help my siblings. They’re good people.” He said. She could hear how much he cared about his siblings and he was a good brother. “How do you want to play chess? It might be hard when we’re in different places.”

“I’m going to go down to your cell to play with you. It has been awkward speaking through a window. Thinking simply, if you can’t come out, I’ll go to you.” Mahiru tossed a ring of keys into his cell. “The reason I was late was because I had to convince my brother to lend me his keys. I told him that you’re trustworthy. He made me promise to return them in an hour or else he’ll come down to get me. He’s protective but a great brother. The guards will switch in a minute and I can slip inside then.”

“Thinking simply? I don’t think you thought this through, Mahiru. If the guards see you in here, they’ll assume you’re helping me and they’ll punish you.” Kuro grew to care for her and he didn’t want to see her hurt. He wasn’t able to argue further before she left. He sighed and sat on the bench to wait for her. From their talks, he learned that she was stubborn so he wouldn’t be able to change her mind easily.

Kuro began to awkwardly fiddle with his bangs and he couldn’t deny that there were nervous butterflies in his stomach. His appearance didn’t matter to him but Mahiru’s opinion of him did. He did his best not to appear nervous as the guard passed his cell. Once the guard was gone, he walked to the bars and tried to peer down the hall but it was difficult.

Mahiru sneaked through the door and rushed down the hall before the next guard arrived. She knew he would be put on trial soon and decided she wanted to speak to him privately. Her steps slowed when she neared his cell and she dusted the dirt from her skirt. She hoped the elegant gown wouldn’t surprise him too much. She placed her hand over her racing heartbeat and reassured herself that Kuro wouldn’t change his opinion on her and stay her friend.

After she took a deep breath, Mahiru continued forward. She almost reached his cell when some grabbed her skirt and pulled her aside. Mahiru instinctively let out a loud scream but a hand covered her mouth. She shuddered when she realized that a prisoner was the one who grabbed her. “I heard you and your lover next door. You have a key. Give them to me.”

“Mahiru?” Kuro heard her scream and his heart dropped. The sound of a struggle was the only answer he had and he rushed to open his cell to save her. He threw open the door and his anger flared the moment he saw the prisoner. He marched forward and wrapped one arm around Mahiru to pull her away from him. With his other hand, he punched the prisoner and forced him to let her go.

He kept his arms around her waist as he took her away from the prisoner. Kuro stopped in his cell and he looked down at her. He tenderly stroked her hair to comfort her. “Are you okay, Mahiru? Did he strike you?”

“I’m not hurt, Kuro.” The panic and adrenaline faded but she didn’t want to leave Kuro’s arms. Mahiru hugged him and buried her face in his strong chest. She could feel his heart racing beneath his shirt and she was certain hers was beating rapidly as well. “I just need a moment.”

“What’s going on here?” She looked up from the haven of his embrace and turned back over her shoulder. A guard marched towards them and she realized her scream must’ve called them. Mahiru let go of Kuro and went to explain the situation to the guards. More guards came before she could and placed chains on him.

“Wait, don’t touch him!” Mahiru couldn’t say anything more as they took him away.

Kuro stood before the council with his wrists bound. They wanted to put him on trial under the assumption that he attacked Mahiru and tried to escape the prison. He was more worried about Mahiru since they hadn’t been able to speak since that day. He hoped the event hadn’t frighten her or caused her to lose her job.

The king’s advisor listed his crimes and Kuro knew they would throw him in prison again or worse. He doubted they would believe him if he tried to explain the truth. Yet, he didn’t regret meeting Mahiru nor running out of his cell to save her.

The door opened behind him and everyone in the room was shocked to see a woman step inside. Mahiru held her head high as she walked in front of the council. The king narrowed his eyes and the room became tense. “Shouldn’t you be in your studies, Mahiru? This is no place for you.”

“You placed Kuro on trial for attacking me so I have a right to be here.” Mahiru retorted. Kuro didn’t expect her to speak with the king such. He knew she came to defend him but he didn’t want her to be punished as well. She glanced at him before she addressed the king again. “I tried to explain what truly happened but your advisor wouldn’t allow me to speak with you, father.”

“Father?” Kuro said in disbelief. He looked between her and the king. For a moment, he wondered if he misheard her since he couldn’t see a resemblance between them. The implication of her words crashed over him and his eyes widened. Mahiru was a princess. He thought of the simple dresses he often saw her wear and compared them to the gown she wore now.

In his one word, she could hear his disbelief and shock. Mahiru had intended to tell him about her status the night she went to meet him. She faced her father and told him how they met. “Kuro is my friend and I went down to the prisons to speak with him. Another man attacked me and Kuro was the one to save me. You can not punish him for a crime he didn’t not commit.”

Mahiru walked to Kuro and removed the shackles from his wrists. “He told me that he stole from my mother’s garden to feed his family. I have the appropriate punishment for him. I want him to become one of my personal guards. He has protected me already and I trust him. Please, Father, spare Kuro.”

She lowered her head to him. Mahiru held her breath while she waited for his answer. Her father stepped down from his throne and looked down at them with a stern frown. Kuro instinctively moved closer to protect her. “You trust him but that’s because you have an open heart. I cannot trust a lowborn thief easily. I will allow him to be your guard but he cannot be alone with you. Have Tsurugi be his partner.”

“Thank you, Father! You won’t regret your decision and I’m certain you’ll see that he can be trusted.” Mahiru promised.

Kuro stood in front Mahiru’s room later that night. She didn’t notice him in the doorway immediately because she was speaking with another woman. Once again, she wore a simple dress. Mahiru stood behind a woman with long, black hair and braided her locks. A few days ago, he would’ve thought the woman was a princess and Mahiru was her maid. Now, he knew the truth.

“Thank you for letting me braid your hair, Licht. It relaxes me. We don’t get to have talks like this often anymore. I miss simply being roommates with you.” Mahiru sighed and set aside the hairbrush. She sat on her bed and her cat jumped onto her lap. “My new title has made everything complicated. I don’t know how to greet Kuro when he comes later. What do you think I should say to him?”

“You like to keep things simple so you can start with ‘hello’.” Licht suggested. “We’re not roommates anymore but you’re still my best friend. No matter if you’re a princess or a maid, that won’t change. A title doesn’t change who you are inside. If Kuro thinks that it does, he’s a stupid demon and he’s not worth your time. You’re a good judge of character. Is he a demon?”

“No, Kuro’s wonderful.” Mahiru smiled as she thought of him.

“Then you don’t need to worry about him rejecting you.” Licht reassured her.

“Hey, what are you doing out here, Kuro?” Tsurugi took him by surprise and pushed him forward. His voice drew Mahiru and Licht’s attention and Kuro felt nervous with so many eyes on him. He looked around the room until his gaze met Mahiru’s. He felt calmer when he saw her and he stepped forward. Kuro bowed to her when he reminded himself that she was a princess.

“You don’t need to bow like that, Kuro.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and gently urged him to stand again. Mahiru turned to Tsurugi and said, “I would like to speak with Kuro in private. Father said I can’t be alone but may Kuro and I speak on the balcony? It won’t be a long talk and we’ll leave the door open. Please, Tsurugi?”

He simply nodded and Mahiru smiled in relief. She walked through the glass door and didn’t notice how Licht stopped him from following her. Licht lowered her voice to a whisper, “Demons can’t fly, I hear. The moment you make her cry, I will kick you off that balcony.”

While she gave him the light threat, Licht pushed him through the door to Mahiru. Kuro stumbled but he didn’t fall because Mahiru caught his hands. For a silent moment, he could only stare into her brown eyes. The one to break the silence was her cat. Her pet trotted onto the balcony and into their moment. It rubbed against his leg and purred.

“You must have a lot of questions for me, Kuro. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I was a princess. Honestly, it’s new to me too.” Mahiru slipped her hand from his and leaned against the rail. “My mother was a maid who she had an affair with the king. She became pregnant with me but she didn’t tell him. She left the castle and gave birth to me. I grew up as a simple country girl.”

She faced him and continued, “My mother died a few years ago. I knew my mother worked in this castle so I applied here. A small part of me wanted to find my father. I never imagined he would be the king. Suddenly, the friends I made started to treat me different. Only Tsurugi and Licht haven’t changed. I was worried you would see me differently too.”

“I can’t lie to you, Mahiru, I was surprised when you came into the room and said you were a princess.” Kuro said and her eyes fell to the ground. He took her chin between his fingers and lifted her gaze to him. He knelt on one knee like the knights he saw in a fairy tales. “I got to know who you are without the title and I want to protect that woman. Will you accept me as your knight?”

“I’m still new to being a princess so I don’t know how to knight you yet. This will be my own way.” Mahiru lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his palm.

[aliypop]

Beautiful Nightmare

Word count: 649

Characters: 3,613

A/N So I finished Pennyworth and I realized.. Well I could make another character and so I did.

Warning: Nightmare

"Tell me Pennyworth how do you destroy a monster without becoming one yourself," a striking voice said, "Or do you need the motivation to become a monster," peering out from the shadows was John Ripper, 

"What do you want with me, huh?" Alfred spat out his sight a little hazy and limbs feeling numb as he realized he was being restrained by something. Alfred had been in these types of situations before, and he usually knew how to get out of them, except for this time, "I don't want anything from ya really, well.." He paused in thought before grinning down to Alfred, You can't ave her," he said, his eyes wide from fear, 

"I already do.." by the snap of his fingers a young woman was standing in the middle of his slaughter hall, bag over her face and her hands tied, she was calmly collected, and she was his beloved Yasmine, "Caught her sneaking in, some princess," Ripper laughed taking the sack off her head, her vibrant eyes found Alfreds, and for the first time he was horrified, "Please don't hurt he-" he heard the trigger of his gun, the shine of his tools reflecting in the darkroom, 

"Alfred I-" 

BOOM!

Alfred sprung up from the mattress that was under him, a bit displaced from where he was, getting out of the bed he began to walk downstairs to a fully and royally furnished home, rain beating on the windows and his anxiety was already over the walls, he wasn't sure if the dream was a sign out to get him or a warning, heading towards the vast sea that was the kitchen Alfred could feel his hands already shaking and feeling sick to his stomach, 

"You're up rather early.." Alfred jumped only hearing the voice behind him, Yasmine had been worried about Alfred since their last mission with Thomas and Martha, "I was making tea.."  Alfred said Yasmine giggled watching his actions and the bottle in hand, 

"Lying to the misses in the early morn.," she asked sitting on the counter her dark royal blue robe trailing off of it, and her short dark curls framing her chiseled brown face, "What makes you think I'm lying love," Alfred said still shivering,

"You're holding the expensive wine Elizabeth gave me.." she took the bottle from his hand pouring the wine in a glass, "You only drink when you're upset, now what's eating at you," her eyes fixed on his as she tilted his chin up towards him, 

"It's nothing .." 

"Don't bullshit me, Alfred.." she growled at him, "You were tossing and turning in your sleep shouting and rambling.." she sighed as he turned away from her.

"I-.."

"Stop telling me you're okay, I care for you.. you know that." 

Alfred took a deep breath as he sat next to her on the counter the beating of the rain against the window made him jump, "I had a dream .. nightmare about you.. us" he began to breathe shorter as Yasmine pulled him close, "I thought I damn near lost ya Ripper shot ya and," he sighed a tear falling down his cheek, Yasmine kissed it away as she then looked at him, "Well baby I'm here, I'm not leaving or dying anytime soon," 

"Promise?"

"Promise." Yasmine kissed him sweetly the cabinets supporting the young couple, 

The lights then flickered on as the sounds of footsteps were heard trailing towards the kitchen, Yasmine grabbed her pistol that she hid under the lower cabinet, handing one over to Alfred. 

"Your majesty!" Anastasia Yasmine's handmaid said seeing the pair on the ground, "That is utmost unsightly for a princess to be seen like that !" she pointed to the young woman who only picked her bra up and holding Alfred by the hand, "Go ahead tell my mother," she smirked, "But I have to go make a beautiful nightmare." 

[misssiriuss]

Hello, I would like a “general deep channeling with story” reading please 💕✨

So I will give you a deep channeling !

I sense a lion, a very fiery one inside you, ready to fight the boar In front of It, yet It hesitate.. It hesitate, and don't want to take the step to actually catch Its prey, and therefore It waits, and let the board sprint Its way.

The lion energy Is the strongest here, and I sense that you are a really strong being, yet you don't want to admit It. Yes thats true dont hide that!! 🤨 You look at the other black panther, admire them, yet you don't see the unique strong, elegant qualities you carry around you. 💕

Some people might be Intimidated by you, but when you play yourself down, thats when they feel like they can Intimidate you. Some have a subconscious jealousy towards your strength, and therefore wants to play you down. Though this Is In a very low vibrational perspective, but I believe by you knowing this, It will take you higher and make you understand 😊👊

Though on the other hand, I feel you being the lion kit, still finding their ways, while embodying the lion. There Is both a lion kit, and a big strong lion within you that Is clashing together. I believe It could be the adult self, and your child self clashing as Its a normal process for humans who are maturing.. Yet, In this case Its special because Its a lion we are talking about, a natural leader.

BUT as for what I see In the future, Is you venturing somewhere else, maybe travelling or what we In the human world "moving." There will be a completely different place for you to explore.. and I sense some triggers that will make you want to burst out your anger, yet, I sense that this anger will calm you down, and release the pressure and self sabotaging you have been holding yourself Into. This new place will also finally be a place where you feel like the people around you are likeable, strong willed and lionlike like you.. That will help you a lot with belonging

Though You will be in a social situations where you will be tested to show your true leadership qualities, and embrace your true nature, but don't worrt too much about It because It will happen without you realizing It! 💥👊

As for what could help you even more Is by making sure that you work out regurlarly, maybe go to the gym to increase that self asserrivness within you! It will help a lot with your body Image

a past life

please listen to your feelings and intuition, because these matters

I sense a tribe female, who has been hurt and abandoned.. Her child was stolen from her as she was neglected by the tribe leader. People were disgusted by her, throwed her away frpm the teritorium as if she was a piece of trash..

She died by dogs eating her up. (If you have any negative connotations to dark/black, dogs with sharp alerted ears, Its a sign)

But I also sense she was you In a past life, and she has a message for you

"You.. You are a dream to me, to live freely as you do, you will never have to suffer the way I did.. The version of you, Is a chance to grow to the person I missed In me"

She tells you that the way you live now Is a blessing.

This tribe woman, wants to remind you about children. If you have had a fear about keeping a child In the far future, this reading want to tell you the reason you feel that way, Is because of the past life you had, your child being stolen from you 😐

"Miss, don't be afraid of me, I am just your stolen child" Is a quoteish sentence.

I also sense some handmaids tale vibes, and If you get really triggered but also drawn to watching these series, It could be a sign. (I know many people are drawn to watching It and everyone have their own deeply rotted reasons)

I also sense that In that past life, the lover you had neglected you at last.. You loved him deeply, but he just, never wanted to see you again. And could be a sign of trust issues, and how you simply don't want people to leave you, ever. In this case, you are for example really afraid If some friend for example don't contact you when they are for a trip for example and you subconsciously feel like "what If they suddenly say that they don't want to be with me anymore" and therefore you make sure you contact them a lot, make sure their Interest don't suddenly falls apart.

On the positive side, I see a chance to heal those aspects.. This tribe woman, smiles. "You have gone far by knowing this" because by just knowing this, your subconscious will take you to a journey where you will be able to heal those aspects..

How you can heal consciously

"By shouting your name, you will heal anyday" This Is very metaphorical.. But I sense that the power to heal yourself already exists within you. You just let It be revealed by truly being yourself..

And as you are aware of these things, there will be a chance to accept, embrace and love those aspects.. to finally release them..

The quickest way to ever heal, Is self love, forgivness, respect, and empowerment.. Because as you empower yourself, you will empower others 😊 A person who truly love themselves won't ever feel like they need to prove themselves how good they are to anyone.. Because deep down, the validation they ever need, Is from themselves 💕

For that self love, I sense some stagnant energies that could be released quicker by just.. crying.. to just simply cry.. 🙁

If you feel a connection to feathers, healing with them feel like woulf be effective

Bonus Extra guide

A guide, a very stubborn, kinda angry one, In the Disneys spirit movie with the horse, you kinda see these big animals he come across on the ice.. (I don't remember the name of the animal) 🙁 And It wants to tell you that you must listen to the messages universe keeps on giving you.. Wether It would be through music or cards.. But I specifically sense It through music...a song that involve feather In the picture, and has pastel like colors on the album. If you come across a song like that, listen to the message throughly.

Helping affirmations

My inner child and adult are cooperative

I embody, love and embrace my power as It lifts me up.

I see the truth, when I look at the mirror.

My inner tribe leader, smiles at me with light.

I go far, as I now heal the burden of my scars.

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

Info about my free/paid readings

Donation

General Psychic poem for all 🤖💌💎

[florihilda]

The Waterwheel Turns (Klaus Valerian Gaiden)

The heavy, pressing ennui of this life in the Shroud has had its effect on his writing, he worries-- or maybe the threat of censorship still weighs heavily on his mind, though he knows that no one knows where he is, now. It has not been more than two cycles since he was a wanted man in Ala Mhigo, after all-- is it really so irrational to fear lifting a pen, after all that his innocent prose had swept him into?

(ooc: just reposting an old bit of Flora's dad's backstory I wrote literal years ago!)

A heavy rain beats down hard on the roof, until it sounds like the building is in very real danger of collapsing-- And every bucket in Klaus’ possession is being put to use, at current, collecting the rainwater that drips down from leaks in the ceiling. Though he can’t see the level of the stream beside the millhouse, he knows it must be flooding, from the rapid, shrill creak of the waterwheel outside.

It ought to go without saying, but he can’t sleep with all of this racket- though he’s been lying there and trying to keep his eyes shut for bells and bells. He supposes he ought to just stay up and write; that’s the best use of these dark, awkward bells before dawn. The mun-tuy beans in the mill require no work at this moment-- the water passing through the wheel does all the labour. During this easy, leisurely phase of the growing cycle, there’s nothing to do but listen to it.

He sits up from his bedroll, and reaches for his quill, his inkwell, and his notebook. He regrets rising, already, but he needs to accomplish something with this time. Especially since he’s had so many phrases on his mind-- phrases that seemed like they could work so well in cohesion. But the heavy pressing ennui of this life in the Shroud has had its effect on his writing, he worries-- or maybe the threat of censorship still weighs heavily on his mind, though he knows that no one knows where he is, now. It has not been more than two cycles since he was a wanted man in Ala Mhigo, after all-- is it really so irrational to fear lifting a pen, after all that his innocent prose had swept him into?

He’s barely begun jotting down these scraps of ideas, before he hears footsteps at his door-- and without thinking, as if he thought Theodoric’s men themselves were lined up at his door, he shoves his notebook under a blanket.

But instead of the stuff of his nightmares, he hears something not quite so bad as imminent torture and death-- the high, familiar voice of a woman, from outside his door, laughing and chattering with someone else whose voice does not carry at all. This sound is followed by a jangling of keys, and the rattle of his door handle as it opens.

Standing tall in the doorway is the tall, lithe form of a shadow-black Duskwight Elezen, swathed in a loose, boldly-patterned dress: it is Lisette Desmoulins, his landlady. Of course she enters like she owns this place-- because she does. She’s followed by a tiny, pigeon-toed midlander girl, who carries her lady’s wet cloak over her arm-- her wide eyes heavy and tired, but alert.

The duskwight grins as she sees Klaus sitting up in his bed-- she’s truly the only one energetic and awake, at this hour. “Ah, you’re awake! Good, I’ve much to discuss.”

“Good eve, Lady Desmoulins,” Klaus begins as he stands, placidly patting down his hair. He’s learned to show no irritation at these late-night calls, no matter how late or how often they may be. As unpleasant as this living situation was, he was in no danger of being arrested or beheaded.

The title of “Lady” brings a proud, wry smile to the Duskwight’s mauve-caked lips. It is a title only recently earned, and it’s still a novelty to her, though she’s been dressing and acting the part for many cycles, now. With a snap of her lady’s fingers, her midlander handmaid sets down a folding wooden stool, so that she might sit down.

She sits, and brushes the rainwater off of her skirt, staring straight forward at him. “How goes the milling, Nicholaus? I see the caverns are all picked. You’ve been hard at work. I knew I was right to assign you this tract.”

“I think we will have it all ground in the next sennight. It shall be ready to ferment, after then, yes.”

“I have been doing some work of my own-- have you heard?” She leans forward, with a mischievous grin, peeling off her thin satin gloves. “Has someone written you about it?"

“I have not received any correspondence,” Klaus replies, with a curious blink. “Not in moons.”

“Hm. That is unexpected of him. Well,” she crosses her legs. “I went calling in Gridania. I have paid a certain typesetter a visit about your latest works. I am surprised he did not write you immediately, or send you a proof-- or did he? I know he has kept busy, these past few moons, but I cannot believe he would not have time for you, of all men!”

Klaus’ jaw stiffens. “Yes-- indeed, I’ve not heard from him. What did he say, when you went to his shop? He has received my final drafts, yes?"

“Well, yes, but there is a story to be told,” she says, with the sort of indulgent tilt of her head that only happens once she knows she has his undivided attention. “When I laid eyes on the fruits of your labour, I was stunned. All of those poems-- why, I scarcely realized you’d written so much in your time here! I told him, it is a shame these cannot be leatherbound-- yes, that they would be much too conspicuous to get back to Ala Mhigo, I know, I know they must be smuggled, given, ah, the political content. But it pained me to hear they must be bound into mere flimsy pamphlets-- I was just about to inquire if he could make me a leatherbound copy for my cartonnier-- when dear Jeanne has the most delightful idea.” She tugs at her handmaid’s sleeve. “Do show him, Jeanne, do.”

The midlander girl holds out in her trembling hands some sort of double-sided leather strap, stitched on both sides. She still cannot pry her eyes up from the floor to even look at Klaus, though it’s plainly visible that her cheeks have flushed up to a vibrant-rose-red hue. Jeanne stands there in an apprehensive silence, as if expecting the worst reaction from him. He hated being called ‘that Ala Mhigan fugitive--’ and this was why. Jeanne must have thought he was a violent criminal, of some sort, after hearing that epithet.

“What-- what is this?” Klaus inquires, in a gentle voice barely above a whisper-- but Jeanne still ducks her head down, terrified, upon hearing him address her at all.

Lady Desmoulins bats her eyes, so proud of work that wasn’t even hers. “Genuine anole skin-- the lightest and softest sort, mayhap fit for an Ala Mhigan lady’s subligar, though I daresay such a garment would chafe parts of me I would not dare name.”

“The-- the poem is inside-- I--I-if I tear this seam, it--” Jeanne takes a plain copper seam-ripper from a pouch on her waist, and starts to pick the stitching open. She holds the strap open-- and, indeed, a little slip of paper lies inside, with a series of familiar stanzas printed on it. The paper is coated in a thin layer of wax-- presumably, to safeguard the ink from moisture. “It’s inside. Your-- your writing is inside."She’s able to look up, at this point, but only to flusteredly clarify, “A-- a print of your writing.” (Very helpful, yes, he couldn't tell.)

“Isn’t Jeanne smart? I love her so!” The duskwight beams, reaching up to take the midlander’s hand in her own and pat it fondly. “And your work still has the dignity of being leatherbound-- Technically. Someone will just be wearing it to Ala Mhigo, you see?”

The handmaid starts again, in a shaky voice, “I--I spoke to my brother, and--” but she freezes up, and has to look away.

But her lady is able to finish, for her, grinning: “Jeanne’s dear brother is an apprentice leatherworker. He has access to the appropriate facilities. And I’ve already paid him to make these, ah, modifications to his patterns. These subligars and harnesses are eastward bound in a moon, to the acquaintances of yours we discussed, last time.”

Klaus rapidly rises to his feet, shocked to hear any insinuation of spent coin. “Lady Desmoulins--”

Lady Desmoulins only needs to suspect a ‘thank you’ is coming, before a loud, boisterous cackle spills out of her mouth. “I am already harboring a fugitive. And, frankly, I have never half-arsed anything in my life, is that understood? I said before that I take care of those in my employ, did I not?” Lady Desmoulins' long, black-lacquered nails happily rap against a nearby fermentation barrel-- And in this light, her nails are nigh-indistinguishable from cockroaches or beetles. “Keep on these beans. Ensure this paste is the most savoury concoction to come from Hyrstmill. The more it sells for in the Bower, the less you shall owe me, come winter.”

There was always a drawback, with this woman. There was always some condition to any kindness she paid him. At this rate, he’d be here in Hyrstmill forever, working off whatever debt she deemed him responsible for-- working in these damned Mun-Tuy caverns, for the rest of his days.

Before Klaus can even manage a reply to the conditions presented, the duskwight is already standing and spinning away toward the door-- Jeanne, the well-trained puppy she is, has snapped shut her folding chair, and is draping a cloak over her lady’s shoulders so that she may leave.

The duskwight looks over her shoulder and gives him a blithe, innocent smile-- It disarms and silences him. “I am counting on you, Nicholaus. And so is Ala Mhigo. I will notify you when the goods are ready for transport.”What if this truly was just her way of showing her support for him and his craft? Some bizarre, misguided way of showing his people succor? It was still some way to hold him under her thumb, regardless-- he was certain of that.

“Yes--” He says, staring forward-- trying not to blink, trying not to let any suspicion show on his features. “I will do my utmost.”

When Lady Desmoulins has left, there is nothing to be heard in the shack, save for the rain and the turning of the waterwheel. Klaus sinks down to his bedroll, again, and though his quill is in his hand, he can’t think of anything to write.

[scarrow]

Image: Four headlines and images from The Babylon Bee, a satirical conservative Christian online newspaper. Let’s take a look at how these jokes are neither funny nor compassionate.

1. Headline: “Alabama girl crushed as mother explains she may never have opportunity to kill offspring.”

While we’re discussing a bill that leaves no exemptions for rape or incest, it’s important to remember that some very young girls can become pregnant. If the young girl in this story had been living through abuse and sexual assault, and was now having her mother explain to her that she’d soon be dealing with pregnancy and childbirth as well, I can imagine that she would be crushed. This is already happening in other countries where abortion is illegal or heavily restricted. https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2019/03/latin-america-must-stop-forcing-pregnant-girls-into-deadly-situations/ 

2. Headline: “Close one: This baby was almost born into poverty but his mother killed him in the nick of time.”

Yes, poverty is a major reason for abortions, especially for mothers who are already taking care of other children. If you care about woman in poverty and want to give them a reason to chose to carry their pregnancies to term, they need affordable child care, good housing, food, and medical care. I wish “pro-life” groups advocated for these things. But as the world is, unplanned pregnancies are more likely to continue the cycle of poverty. https://www.marketwatch.com/story/women-denied-abortions-are-significantly-more-likely-to-experience-poverty-2018-01-18 

This headline also seems to imply that the mother had a late term abortion, which is unlikely given the reason. Late term abortions are for wanted pregnancies in which something has gone terribly wrong. Parents mourn ending a pregnancy at this stage; don’t shame them. Here’s one such story: https://www.bustle.com/articles/180946-i-had-a-second-trimester-abortion-i-am-sick-of-hearing-politicians-opinions-about-it 

3. Headline: “‘We are living in a totalitarian nightmare’ says protester freely without any fear of government retribution.” (with photo of protesters dressed in red dress and white hats like The Handmaid’s Tale)

This reasoning has been used to shame protesters on a variety of topics. I’m not sure why, as it seems better to speak up while someone still has the right to speak up. (Remember the famous quote from Martin Niemoller, “First they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew…”) The reminder that there are still many positive aspects to our government shouldn’t silence the criticism of the bad things. Totalitarian governments don’t happen in a day. They happen slowly, operating through fear and deception to take away freedoms and solidify power. The protesters in this image dress from The Handmaid’s Tale, a 1980s dystopian novel and recent Hulu TV series. The author, Margaret Atwood, made a point to only include details in her story that had happened somewhere in the world. https://historycollection.co/17-moments-in-history-that-inspired-the-handmaids-tale/ 

4. Headline: “Bunch of backward hicks in Alabama first to ban most barbaric practice know to man.” 

I agree that mocking Alabamans is not a kind or helpful way to deal with this problem. However, many have been reasonably criticizing the lack of care this state has for its young children. These politicians are being hypocritical when they focus only on the well-being of fetuses and not the hungry children, foster children, and uneducated children. https://www.scarymommy.com/men-vote-alabama-abortion-ban/ 

Abortion is no more barbaric than any other surgical procedure. I realize it may seem gross, but so is a C-section (which is more dangerous than an abortion). I consider it barbaric that for being the richest most powerful nation on earth, America is lagging on maternal health care. https://www.amnestyusa.org/the-u-s-maternal-health-crisis-14-numbers-you-need-to-know/ 

So I continue to be confused by the values of conservatives (who say they care about families) and the values of Christians (who say they care about the poor). 

[usnewsaggregator-blog]

Roy Price canceled ‘Good Girls Revolt.’ For the show’s stars, it’s ‘horribly meta.’

New Post has been published on http://usnewsaggregator.com/roy-price-canceled-good-girls-revolt-for-the-shows-stars-its-horribly-meta/

Roy Price canceled ‘Good Girls Revolt.’ For the show’s stars, it’s ‘horribly meta.’

Inspired by true events in 1969, this series followed a group of young female researchers at “News of the Week,” as they fight for equality in the workplace. Amazon did not renew the show for a second season. (Amazon)

After a wave of sexual harassment accusations in Hollywood, chatter in the industry isn’t just about how sexism infects offices — it’s also about how it infects what you watch.

Roy Price’s resignation last week from Amazon Studios amid sexual harassment allegations has been especially resonant for cast members of “Good Girls Revolt,” the series about discrimination in the workplace that Amazon didn’t renew after one season.

The streaming service has maintained that its decision was solely because of the show’s under-performance. But for many of those who worked on the show, its end was baffling and deeply personal. Since the allegations against Price have become public, several of the stars have been openly tweeting about the show, and privately texting each other about the new revelations in a group chat.

“The show getting canceled in that way felt so horribly meta,” said Erin Darke, who played Cindy Reston, a magazine researcher with grand career plans, in a recent interview. “And such a horrific reminder of how far we haven’t come when one guy who seems didn’t even watch it just had the power himself to say no, no one gets to watch it.”

Based on Lynn Povich’s memoir about female journalists’ 1970 discrimination lawsuit against Newsweek magazine, “Good Girls Revolt” earned rave reviews, a 96 percent Rotten Tomatoes audience score and plenty of media buzz. Amazon’s decision, which came just weeks after its October 2016 release, prompted the show’s creator to make the rare move of calling out Price specifically.

“What we hadn’t factored in is that Roy Price just doesn’t care for the show,” Dana Calvo told the Hollywood Reporter in December. The outlet, citing insiders, reported Price didn’t think the show was an awards-season contender and questioned whether he watched the series. Calvo added: “All I know is that in the [season two] pitch, he asked us to refer to the characters by the actors’ names because he didn’t know the characters’ names.”

Genevieve Angelson, who played the hard-working researcher Patti Robinson, said she “doubled over and sobbed” on her bedroom floor when she found out Amazon wasn’t renewing the series. The excitement over show had been palpable to her; for weeks, she had been getting recognized and flooded with deeply personal fan messages.

“It was just so shocking. It was so the opposite of everything the evidence had told us,” Angelson said. “I’ve been the lead on other TV shows before, and that visceral response in my day-to-day life hadn’t happened before.”

[Roy Price resigns from Amazon Studios amid sexual harassment allegations]

Like competitors Netflix and Hulu, Amazon doesn’release its viewership data. An outside firm that compiled audience estimates for Sony said the show was a hit, especially with women. Amazon’s now-former head of comedy and drama development, Joe Lewis, said that those figures “are wrong and that the show wasn’t performing at the levels we had hoped for.”

Amazon and Sony, which produced the show, both declined to comment for this story. (Amazon founder and chief executive Jeffrey P. Bezos owns The Washington Post.)

Various subscription-based platforms have ended shows after one season. Amazon Studios didn’t renew shows such as “Betas” and “Mad Dogs.” After the cancellation, Sony shopped “Good Girls Revolt” elsewhere. No other company took it on.

[Review: ‘Good Girls Revolt’ is a much-needed dose of forthright feminism on TV]

But, for the past week, fans have seized on the news about Price’s departure to call for the show’s revival. The former executive reportedly passed on “The Handmaid’s Tale” and “Big Little Lies,” both of which won major Emmys, and, according to the Hollywood Reporter, he mused openly at a company party about whether the stars in the latter series would show their breasts.

Darke said the cancellation and Price controversy underscores the need for more female entertainment executives.

“The feeling of not having an equal seat at the table, not only economically and politically, but also creatively, even just in the conversation — it feels like being choked,” Angelson added.

[Harvey Weinstein embodies a culture whose power is on the wane]

Long before she learned about the project, Angelson had already read Povich’s book and knew some of the real-life women involved. “It was the role I was born to play,” she said. When she went to the audition, Angelson told the pilot’s director: “Cast me or don’t cast me, but please take this pilot to full series because I need this show. I think we all need this show. I don’t care if I’m a part of it, I just want you to make it.”

Povich, who released her memoir in 2012, said she heard from young women who watched the TV adaptation and previously didn’t have a clue that the women of Newsweek united in the landmark lawsuit.

“I wrote the book because I believe in people knowing the history of their lives, and young women knew nothing about the lives of their mothers and grandmothers, didn’t know there had been years and years of women laying the foundation by fighting for their rights,” Povich said.

[How a fed-up group of ‘Good Girls’ beat the ‘Mad Men’-era sexists]

And her book — about how a group of young, anonymous women banded together confront their employers despite the career risks — sheds some light on why sexual harassment may be so rampant in Hollywood.

“If someone is sexually harassing you, someone else is getting harassed, too,” Povich said. “I was thinking about this in the Harvey Weinstein case — they had a different situation. They were actresses, freelancers, each coming in one by one, and didn’t necessarily know each other. I could understand why they felt so vulnerable and had no one to talk to.”

[Violence. Threats. Begging. Harvey Weinstein’s 30-year pattern of abuse in Hollywood.]

The process of making “Good Girls Revolt” was also life-altering for some of those involved. The combination of the 2016 presidential election results (which came about a week after the show’s release) and playing Cindy “definitely lit a fire in me,” Darke said. “My generation hadn’t been doing enough. We had gotten complacent.”

Darke began hosting her version of “consciousness raising” meetings (inspired by those in the show), fundraising for various causes and volunteering at an abortion clinic, where she met a young woman who decided to volunteer because of “Good Girls Revolt” and Darke’s portrayal of Cindy.

“Good Girls Revolt” was “a dream job,” Darke said. “Both to work on a show that had something to say about feminism and equality, and also to work on a show that had three female leads, who are all different people, not perfect people, but multidimensional.”

Plus, working alongside a female director, show creator and producers was a new experience. “It felt so safe and lovely,” she said. “I miss Cindy like I miss a friend. All of us were not done telling that story.”

[‘Good Girls Revolt’ star on the series’s cancellation: ‘More than ever, we need stories like this’]

Angelson said she wanted the second season to tackle the ways in which women could perpetuate misogyny. Instead, its sudden ending thrust her back into network TV pilot season. And while she had a blast shooting such a pilot, “the types of stories that are told in that field are just very different.”

After dozens of women accused Harvey Weinstein of sexual harassment, several male celebrities professed ignorance of such misconduct, or regret for not having done more to stop the culture of enabling it.

Similarly, some men who watched “Good Girls Revolt” were shocked by some of the story lines.

For instance, Cindy’s husband, eager to get his wife to quit her career aspirations and start a family, secretly pricked a hole in her diaphragm. A male friend of Darke’s told her it never occurred to him that a man could get a woman pregnant to trap her.

“Even the most well-intentioned men in our lives actually don’t realize the full experience of women,” Darke said. “Entertainment can help open them to that.”

Original Article:

Click here

[rambles-n-tumbles]

Arranged Marriage

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon, OC/Kim Namjoon

Genre: Royal AU, Suggestive Themes(?)

Word Count: 2,324

Summary: Jungkook had a habit of never letting on more than he knew.

“If there isn’t anything else to discuss, excuse me.” 

Namjoon stood from the table, several men standing with him as he adjusted his coat, the maid pushing in his chair and collecting his dishes as he walked out of the room. He was tired, his parents pushing him to wed finally reached a peak where they refused to fund his travels until he took a bride. Namjoon couldn’t blame them, though, as the people in his country were getting restless and the trading routes running dry, they all knew the only way to fix it was to make a deal with the larger country to the north. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry, no it was more who they pushed him to marry that was the problem. 

But if it would save his people the struggle to make ends meet, then he was willing to meet with the blonde from across the ways. That was where Namjoon found himself tonight, making his way through the halls to reach the guest bedroom.

His family wasn’t very wealthy, as they always pushed for their small country to prosper, the walls of their home vacant, save for a few paintings that Namjoon could recall being gifts from foreign nobles traveling through. He could rattle off names of all the gentlemen that had presented them, facts they shared with Namjoon when he was younger and willing to listen. Now there was a new one hanging in his hall, a bouquet of roses in shades of purple and pink, accompanied by a young woman hiding away in her chambers with a story Namjoon didn’t know if he would get a chance to learn.

“Good evening, Prince Namjoon.” Namjoon smiled at the woman, the older handmaid having been a close companion to him in his younger years. “What are you doing down in the guest corridor?”

“Do you know where Princess Ju-Won might be hiding, Myeong? I want to have a word if it’s alright.” The woman smiled, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the guest chamber two doors away.

“She hasn’t left since she arrived.” Myeong ruffled her dress, her graying hair falling lightly around her face. Namjoon couldn’t tell when she started aging, and suddenly he wished his noble blood let him buy something more than just a nice home and country. “I would guess she’s feeling rather homesick, your highness.”

“Well, she’s getting married in a week, Myeong. I don’t think she’s too ecstatic. Neither of us is.” The older woman laughed, the sound so carefree and colorful Namjoon didn’t feel like a man about to speak to his betrothed. He felt like a child, so young and naive to the acts he’ll have to endure as an adult, something that seemed so far away in a moment. “Do you think I could talk to her?”

“Could, yes. Should, I don’t know, sir.” The older woman stuck her hand out, swiping at some dust on a lampshade as she moved towards the guest bedroom. “How about we find out?”

Namjoon stood straighter, nodding as Myeong knocked twice, a small ‘come in’ allowing her entry into the room. He could hear the woman speaking behind the door, a voice like wind chimes but to Namjoon it reminded him of the guilt he would face later. The agony of admitting something he hated. He was getting married, and it was to fulfill a duty to someone other than himself.

“Your highness,” Namjoon snapped out of his thoughts, Myeong holding the door open for him, “Princess Ju-Won accepts your appearance.”

“Ah, right.” Striding in, Namjoon realized he had only greeted the princess at the door since the woman had disappeared from sight shortly after arriving. There, she seemed so small and afraid, so different from the woman he saw before him.

“Prince Namjoon, a pleasure.” Ju-Won stood tall in front of Namjoon, head held to the height of someone that knew their position. She knew he had to be there, had to please and appease her in order to get what he needed from the deal. In order to save his people.

“Princess Ju-Won, I was worried. You didn’t join us for dinner, I was concerned.” Namjoon saw the split second of guilt wash over her face, her back becoming his focus as she spun and walked to the bed. Sitting, she sighed, locking eyes with Namjoon again only after she sat at the foot of the mattress.

“Prince, I’m sorry. I just- I don’t feel up to dining right now.” Namjoon fidgeted, suddenly feeling very conscious of the fact that this woman was the one he was going to marry while they’ve known each other a grand total of five minutes she was already on the verge of tears.

“Oh, um, are you homesick?” The princess nodded, Namjoon’s hopes to avert the situation rising slightly as she inhaled, her eyes dulling instead of the tearful luster they held before. “Well, I was hoping we could become acquainted. Maybe you can talk to me about it and I can help you figure something out? Someway to make this change easier?”

The princess smiled, taking Namjoon’s hand as he sat beside her. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“They’re making you marry her?” Namjoon managed to sneak out of his home unnoticed, finding his way through pubs and local slums before his paths crossed with the real reason he was resentful to marry the princess. And his reason was a sassy, silver tongued king in his heart, but status-less in the world that cared, the world Namjoon refused to let dictate his life up until now.

“No one is making me marry her, they’re just-” The brunette beside him groaned, tugging pieces of grass from under their legs, a bag of food lay forgotten beside them as they rested on a blanket.

“They’re just threatening to leave you broke until you crawl back to them.” Namjoon sighed, entangling his hands into the brunettes short locks as he felt the younger male relax slightly under his touch.

“Jungkook, I have to do this. You know they’ll make it happen one way or another. Everyone is counting on me.” Jungkook grunted but otherwise refused to speak. He never could stand Namjoon’s family and their impossible tasks, but this was a new low. He couldn’t even begin to wonder what would happen to his partner once he tied the knot.

“What’s she like?” Namjoon hummed, leaning back as he asked himself the same question. What is she like?

“She’s, well she’s quiet. And she cries easily, apparently.” Jungkook scoffed, letting Namjoon ponder his response in silence. “She seems nice enough, though a bit spoiled.”

“Great. Princess Snob is going to be a drag.” Namjoon chuckled, ruffling grinning male’s hair as he let a laugh slip past his lips.

“Her name is Princess Ju-Won Park, and she is not that snobby. I’m sure I’ll live.” Jungkook tensed up in Namjoon’s side, the latter pausing momentarily to watch a strange look cross the former’s face. “Kookie?”

“Huh?” Jungkook snapped back to reality, locking eyes with a confused Namjoon. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said she’s not that snobby.” Namjoon sat up slightly, searching for an answer in the deep brown eyes of his partner. “Are you okay?”

“Actually,” Jungkook shifted his body around, pushing apart Namjoon’s thighs as he sat on the ground between them, “I’ve never been better, darling. Now, let me give the groom-to-be a little gift.”

Namjoon did a once over in his bedroom, making sure he had everything packed accordingly. The last week had been a whirlwind of declarations and compromises, but with more trade posts opening their borders he couldn’t complain. His country was thriving, and the wedding was only three days away. In the mess of planning for everything, Namjoon couldn’t help but feel a knot in his stomach at the realization that he’s pushed away his coldest reality- he won’t see Jungkook anymore.

No more late night escapades. No more wrestling over snacks and making up with longing kisses and hidden hands in places princes’ shouldn’t put them. No more ignoring how much of a prince his country needed him to be.

Now it was time for him to say goodbye, and Jungkook hadn’t even dropped by with so much as a letter. Namjoon sighed, taking his books to read on the trip over to his betrothed’s palace. The wedding would take place in a ballroom said to house over 400 guests, and even the thought made Namjoon want to rush into Jungkook’s arms, the scent of trees and firewood bringing him home.

‘Home,’ Namjoon thought to himself as he walked outside, waving to his handmaid and servants as he climbed into the awaiting carriage. ‘I guess I won’t be feeling very at home anywhere now.’

And as the carriage pulled away, Namjoon opened one of his books, a novel about the moon and its stars, and Namjoon wanted nothing more than to count the stars in those big brown eyes he missed so much.

“And this is my uncle Ji-Young. He made sure we had all those horses brought out for you before you arrived. We know how much you love riding.” Namjoon hated riding horseback but shone a smile on the pair before watching the man excuse himself for a drink, not willing to start this discussion so early on. Apparently, the princess was also a flawless liar and knew how to make things her own, and Namjoon wasn’t sure he would last to see their first anniversary. But as his new bride pulled him along, Namjoon made sure to smile and make small talk with the older men he had to respect.

Through all the chaos and last minute arrangements, Namjoon thought the new bouquet would be the last of the surprises his new wife would throw at him. And yet somehow, she managed to pull this stunt on him.

“Prince Namjoon, meet my cousin, Jeon Jungkook. He’s a part of the bluer blood, a purer family circle.”  

Namjoon couldn’t breathe, the lover he met rolling through grass fields and covered in kisses and wildflowers was before him in an entirely different light. Brown hair falling gracefully, Jungkook wore a smile as fitting as the suit on his back, black shoes shining in the sunlight that cascaded from the windows.

“Well, it’s an honor to meet you, Prince Namjoon.” Jungkook outstretched a hand, the same hand Namjoon kissed and held and adored on so many occasions that it left him breathless, his new wife taking this for nerves.

“Oh, Jungkook you’re scaring him.” The two laughed, Namjoon suddenly finding the connection remarkable as he let their hands fall, separated from the one they wanted to hold onto forever.

“No, it’s fine, Princess.” Namjoon cleared his throat, smiling a different smile at Jungkook, one he reserved for the male in the best times. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jungkook. I hope you won’t be a stranger in our home.”

Jungkook grinned in a way that Namjoon thought the devil himself would appear, the slyness seeping through as Namjoon remembered the night they said goodbye’s, the night Jungkook held him so close he thought he might break and come together in the same breath. The night he cried as Jungkook walked him back to his palace, to the throne in which he knew he would take up. The night he pressed himself to the younger male once more, hurting and true as he muttered swears of affection and commitment bled through him.

“Definitely not.” Namjoon knew Jungkook’s gaze was clouded, lust overflowing and yet the woman by his side didn’t blink as Jungkook uttered, “Don’t think you can get rid of me so quick, your Highness.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

[librfinalproject]

Here’s Why You Should Be Reading 1980′s Novels Right Now

Even to put aside creations of genius like leg warmers and high waisted jeans, we still have a lot to learn from the decade of big hair, big TV, and even bigger greed. Here are three books from the 1980’s, and why they’re still absolutely worth your time.

First up is The Handmaid’s Tale. Margaret Atwood’s highly praised speculative novel The Handmaid’s Tale is an account of the life of a woman in a society that considers her less than woman. She’s more important for her parts. That society, the Republic of Gilead, is a dystopian, totalitarian theocracy that replaced the government of the United States in the name of “a return to traditional values” (Atwood 7). Due to low birth rates caused by viruses and pollution, a new order was implemented in which society is modeled after extreme religious conservatism, and fertile women are forced to be positioned as “Handmaids” for the sole purpose of serving as child bearers for the Commanders and their Wives.

Limitations on reproductive freedoms are not something contemporary women will be wholly unfamiliar with. Since the 1970’s, women in the United States have had their legal right to determine their own terms for pregnancy or termination, though there are still many challenges that affect vulnerable women particularly in rural areas. But recently, following the blocking of the Supreme Court nomination from the sitting but outgoing president and the election of a casually authoritarian conservative president in 2016, these protections have come under question.

Donald Trump has had the opportunity to nominate and appoint two conservative judges to the Supreme Court, and states have already begun implementing “trigger laws;” that is, legislation that upon the overturning of Roe v. Wade would criminalize abortion. I can’t help but think of then eighteen year old Evelyn Beatriz Hernandez Cruz of El Salvador. In 2016, Cruz unknowingly was pregnant following repeatedly being raped by a gang member, and experienced a stillbirth in her home. In 2017, she was sentenced to thirty years in prison ("El Salvador Rape Victim Jailed…:”).

Such severe real-world examples aren’t necessary to see the reflections of the kind of extreme conservatism that The Handmaid’s Tale brings up. Offred, the narrator of the novel that is able to give us the perspective of the Handmaids of Gilead, at one point says that “a rat in a maze is free to go anywhere, as long as it stays inside the maze” (Atwood 165). Mazes aren’t all visible to us, but they’re confining nonetheless. Earlier in the narrative, Offred describes “then,” before Gilead:

I never ran at night; and in the daytime, only beside well frequented roads. Women were not protected then. I remember the rules, rules that were never spelled out but that every woman knew: Don’t open your door to a stranger, even if he says he is the police. Make him slide his ID under the door. Don’t stop on the road to help a motorist pretending to be in trouble. Keep the locks on and keep going. If anyone whistles, don’t turn to look. Don’t go into a laundromat, by yourself, at night… Now we walk along the same street, in red pairs, and no man shouts obscenities at us, speaks to us, touches us. No one whistles. There is more than one kind of freedom, said Aunt Lydia. Freedom to and freedom from. In the days of anarchy, it was freedom to. Now you are being given freedom from (24).

These rules that no one talks about, but all women know are invisible mazes, and this isn’t fiction. Women are forced to mentally and physically wind their ways around the dangers and obstacles of the patriarchy. Atwood published The Handmaid’s Tale in 1986, and the struggles she comments on through Offred are just as prevalent now in 2019 as they were then, if not more. Irene Cambra Badii writes that the story of The Handmaid’s Tale, told in both the original novel and the new television series, shows a “distinctive characteristic of the patriarchal system with respect to conception of women: the social mandate of motherhood. Patriarchy considers reproduction as a basic social function, in which women play an indispensable role” (182). Many contemporary readers will not enjoy this book, but for all the right reasons, I believe. It’s crooked, eerie, and absolutely uncomfortable oftentimes. I don’t think The Handmaid’s Tale is a book that is meant to be enjoyed, but I believe that’s the reason that it’s as important now as it ever has been.

Secondly is The House on Mango Street. The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros’s 1980’s poetic and understated novel, consists of short vignettes which detail moments in the childhood of Esperanza, a young girl navigating her life in a seemingly forgotten, run-down neighborhood. Esperanza and her sister Nenny come of age in this neighborhood, and they see some of the difficulties that people, especially women, face.

The book is dedicated “a las mujeres,” or, to the women, a common subject in the novel. The narrator is particularly interested in the stories of women, children, and the home environment itself. Stories like “Darius & the Clouds” is exemplary of the novel as a whole. In style, like the other chapters, it’s short, has childlike diction, and is packed by Cisneros with details about Darius, one of the neighborhood boys, doing things like chasing girls with sticks that have touched critters, as neighborhood boys do. The story opens:

You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad… You all see that cloud, that fat one there? That’s God, Darius said. God? somebody little asked. God, he said, and made it simple (33).

This informality continues throughout the novel, and gives each and every character a lifelike quality that makes the reader even more invested in these kids and families than he or she might be otherwise. Though we get short descriptions of the situation that Esperanza and her family are in, and Mango Street as a whole, details about the kids and their dynamic are what really distinguish the setting and characters of the novel. Darius’s story in particular echoes what seems to be much of the theme of the novel as well. Cisneros writes that there is too much sadness on Mango Street, but the kids “take what [they] can get and make the best of it” (33). What the kids make the best of in this story is the sky, though we see this repeated in many ways, from sky to hand-me-down high heels to coconut and papaya juice.

Many of the stories deal with environment, and the subject of nature is a recurring one in this book. Cisneros seems to have a deep appreciation for nature; she speaks extensively (through Esperanza and in the author’s truly beautiful introduction to the novel) about the type of garden she would like to have, and the type of house, and furnishings, and life as it relates to these things. Esperanza’s words and experiences are marked by the power of one’s environment. We can see this as Cisneros’s appreciation of beauty as well as a sort of political statement echoing the “All brown all around, we are safe” sentiment in “Those Who Don’t,” or possibly exposing some of the privileges that Esperanza notices in people outside of her street, where women may not be forced to “sit their sadness on an elbow” (29, 11). Cisnero writes:

Those who don’t know any better come into our neighborhood scared. They think we’re dangerous. They think we will attack them with shiny knives. They are stupid people who are lost and got here by mistake. But we aren’t afraid. We know the guy with the crooked eye is Davey the Baby’s brother, and the tall one next to him in the straw brim, that’s Rosa’s Eddie V., and the big one that looks like a dumb grown man, he’s Fat Boy, though he's not fat anymore nor a boy (29).

The novel beautifully and skillfully demonstrates an understanding of a life indistinguishable from the politics of feminism, art, poverty, and the Latinx family that Cisneros articulates in her introduction, and truly isn’t a book to miss. In “Coming of Age in a Divided City: Cultural Hybridity and Ethnic Injustice in Sandra Cisneros and Veronica Roth” Susanna Roszak connects Mango Street to many of the currently most popular young adult novels, like Veronica Roth’s Divergent and Lauren Oliver’s Delirium; she suggests examining these texts “reveals ways in which they echo current issues of race and ethnicity without naming them as such” (61). Not only has this book stayed relevant since the 1980’s, but it will be enjoyed by today’s young adult readers in much the same way as the chart-topping books they’re used to consuming as well. This is one of those pieces of literature that is so lovingly curated with the markers of a street in a neighborhood that the author seems to truly know that it can seem absolutely timeless, in 2019 or otherwise, and whether you can relate to the characters or not, it’s an unexpectedly beautiful and most valuable place to exist for the couple of hours readers can lose themselves on Mango Street.

The third 1980’s novel we should all be paying attention to is The Color Purple. The Color Purple is set in early twentieth century rural Georgia and is told in a series of letters to God from our narrator, Celie. Celie grew up being raped and abused by her father, and then was transferred to the home of “Mr.,” where she endured similar abuses. The one good thing she found when moving to be a part of and take care of Mr.’s family was his photo of his past lover, Shug Avery.

Shug and Celie become best friends, and, eventually, lovers as well. Shug, an experienced blues singer, takes Celie under her wing and helps her realize her own strength and independence, and even reconnects her with her sister, Nettie. Shug tells Celie that her “first step away from the old white man was trees. Then air. Then birds. Then other people” (Walker 73). In her exploration of green-feminist politics, “Ecowomanism: Black Women, Religion, and the Environment,” Melanie Harris points out the return to spirituality found in the environment, and the type of environmentalism that comes out of that. In a modern, technological society, there is little room for inner-lives, and many turn to literature, religion, and some even to a focus on nature. If we began to need this in the 80’s, we certainly only need it more now. Harris is interested in the connection between modern social justice and environmental justice. She believes that we can use the example of Celie and Shug as a “literary example as a source from which to glean ethical values that can help shape earth honoring ethics, earth honoring faiths and eco-theologies” (27).

Not only is The Color Purple an inspiring novel with timeless struggles and a poignant view at the type of intersectional struggles black women have faced, it also is a subtle reminder of the type of love for nature that Walker, in her books and in her definition of “womanism” advocates for. In 2019, while many of those governing the country continue to deny climate-science, but scientists’ estimates become more and more bleak, a little reminder of the preciousness of life and the precarity of nature as we know it will never hurt. Some believe that due to “the connections made between women and nature... women are disproportionately affected by environmental abuses throughout the globe, women have, an ‘epistemological privilege’ or deeper knowledge about earth systems than men” (Harris 32). These theories are fascinating, and only growing as these concerns become more immediate. Reading Walker’s theories on nature, womanism, and The Color Purple may shed light on some of what the importance of this new focus may be.

Works Cited

Atwood, Margaret. The Handmaid's Tale. 1st ed., Anchor Books, 1998.

Badii, Irene, et al. “The Mandate of Birth. Bioethical and Biopolitical Issues Regarding the TV Series The Handmaid’s Tale.” Revista de Medicina y Cine / Journal of Medicine and Movies, no. 3, 2018, p. 181. EBSCOhost, doi:10.14201/rmc.19091.

Cisneros, Sandra. The House on Mango Street. Vintage Contemporaries, 2009.

El Salvador Rape Victim Jailed 30 Years For Stillbirth". Aljazeera.Com, 2017, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2017/07/el-salvador-rape-victim-jailed-30-years-stillbirth-170707062208443.html.

Harris, Melanie L. “Ecowomanism: Black Women, Religion, and the Environment.” Black Scholar, vol. 46, no. 3, Fall 2016, pp. 27–39. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1080/00064246.2016.1188354.

Roszak, Suzanne. "Coming of Age in a Divided City: Cultural Hybridity and Ethnic Injustice in Sandra Cisneros and Veronica Roth." Children's Literature, vol. 44, 2016, pp. 61-77. Project MUSE, doi:10.1353/chl.2016.0022

Walker, Alice. The Color Purple. London: Women's Press, 1992. Print.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 14

Read it on AO3. Part 13 here. Part 15 here.

Summary: Strangers are rarely trustworthy in Gilead. But you think these three seem okay.

Words: 1800

Warnings: Handmaid AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Guys... I have... actual other characters from the source material? And they're named? This has never happened in my life. God, I'm so bad at writing fanfiction.

I'm cranking these out because I feel inspired. For now. Don't worry, Kylo Ren isn't gone forever.

I want to say thank you all for your feedback and input and everything. I love y'all so much! <3

You pulled on your gloves, glancing around the closet you’d lived in for the past few months. Though you weren’t sure what to expect today, the glow in your chest informed you with confidence that you wouldn’t be returning to this space tonight. This space, where you’d first met Commander Ren, the space where he’d kissed you, tender and anxious--you’d miss those moments. Just not where they happened. 

I’ll see you tomorrow, he’d said--but he was already gone by the time you awakened. When you bid goodbye to Emma and Rose that morning, that nag of guilt clung to your heart. How could you escape and leave them here? But to even hint to them you knew you might not return would put their lives in danger--after all, much easier to tell the truth about what you don’t know.

Heat steamed your blood when you stepped into the sun, your chest tight. Ofarmitage said you’d know them, but you had no idea what that might mean, how they might arrive, or when. The anticipation might pull at you until nighttime--maybe they’d whisk you off under the stars, muffled voices and quiet feet. Maybe it would come during dinner, mid-meal, a knock on the door, an unrehearsed ruse. And maybe they wouldn’t come today at all--maybe they’d forget about you, or just get too busy being revolutionary, or whatever.

Or maybe--you realized as you approached the Handmaid at the end of the drive--they’d come first thing in the morning.

Testing her, you began. “Blessed be the fruit.”

“May the Lord open,” she replied. Not an ounce of hesitation.

The woman in front of you was not Ofarmitage--but she was also not anyone you knew. Fair skin and chestnut hair were obscured by her wings, but as you peeked around them, you observed a well-defined jaw, the soft angles of her cheekbones leading up to moss-green eyes. When they met yours, your breath hitched, struck by some mixture of awe and fear, the power contained within her gaze paralyzing.

Ofarmitage had been right. You’d know these people when you met them. And whoever this was, she was here for you.

“I’m--”

“I know.” She was moving, head craned to the ground, voice low and quick. “Listen carefully. When we reach the checkpoint, a van will pull up and an Angel will tell the Guardians that you and I have been identified for possible re-education. Say nothing.”

Your body tensed. “Okay…”

You’d hoped that she’d elaborate on this, or provide more instructions--but she said nothing else. The short warning gave you both far too much and far too little time to panic--with every step, your heart rate ballooned, blood building in your neck, flooding your face. If you’d been hot before, you were frying, now, futilely resisting the urge to glimpse the Guardians, to see if you could spot any hint of suspicion on their faces. The closer you came, the shorter your breath, until you were within only feet, and you were certain that any bit of oxygen in a five-foot radius had combusted from your temperature.

“Your pass,” said one.

It had seemed so silly to you that they asked for your pass despite recognizing and seeing you every day--but then again, here you were, with a Handmaid that was most definitively not Ofarmitage, pretending as if everything was normal. Panic choked you as your hand crawled for your pass, waiting for this fabled van--the other woman stood there, said nothing, head bowed so low the men wouldn’t be able to see her face.

“Pass.” The other one sounded a little more impatient.

Eager to show you could listen, you tugged at your pass and showed it in silence, and the Guardian gave a huff of acknowledgement. The other woman was patting herself, and you swallowed, mouth dry. Why wasn’t she showing her pass? Did she even have a pass?

“Show your pass.” The Guardian stepped forward, and you heard metal clicking as he brandished his rifle. “Now.”

The urge to make an excuse was biting at your tongue, but the fear of betraying your possible escape loomed greater, until the Guardian came a step closer, reached for her wrist--

Before you could speak, the rumble of an engine swept behind you, a rush of air whipping your skirts at your ankles. Embarrassed, the Guardians stepped back, and you glanced over--a black van with white wings plastered on the paneling idled to your left. You stood, frozen, as the door swung and slammed. A man you couldn’t yet look in the face had arrived. So far, this stranger had kept her word.

Briefly, it crossed your mind that this entire situation could be a trap and you were about to be carted off to be tortured, or to the Colonies, or maybe just straight-up strung up by your neck. Within the moment of terror, you accepted this as an outcome--the alternatives were as just as appealing.

“Stand down,” the man said, and the two Guardians stepped back. “Your passes.”

As if by magic, the woman next to you had found her pass, and displayed it to the man--you followed suit, keeping your gaze locked on the ground.

“Get in the van.”

“Sir--”

“The Eyes have identified these individuals as possible subjects for reeducation,” the Angel said, just as you’d been told to expect. “We’ll be taking them for further questioning.”

“Oh,” said one of the Guardians. “Yes… yes, sir.”

Another door opened, and the other woman moved into the van, and you followed, your wings feeling too tight around your head. As you gripped the side of the vehicle to get in, you realized your hands were trembling. No, no--all of you was trembling. You sat down next to your would-be accomplice, eyes trained on your lap, and the door shut, and then another.

“Drive, drive,” the Angel said--and the van lurched, screeching onto the streets.

“Yes!” The woman next to you ripped off her wings, and you watched, cheeks hot, as she high-fived the Angel. “We did it! That was awesome! You nailed it, back there!”

“No, you were great!” It was only now you were getting to look at him--dark hair, dark eyes, and   a huge, gorgeous smile, white teeth contrasted with dark skin. His face was gentle and kind--not at all what you’d pictured when you’d heard the severity of his voice. “I thought for sure you were going to kick that Guardian’s ass.”

“It was close!” she said. “You and Poe arrived at just the right time.”

Poe--you glanced at the driver, a handsome man with a square jaw, black, curly hair, and a confident smirk. “It was always the plan.”

The woman turned to you, a grin splitting her face. You wanted to blush. “You made it! How are you? Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded. You’d actually done it. The fear of Commander Ren’s reaction loomed in your mind. “I’m--I’m okay.”

She gripped your shoulder. “I know this is strange. But you’re safe now. Thank you for trusting us. Oh, and my name is Rey.” She gestured to the two men in front. “That’s Finn, and that’s Poe.”

“Hello.” It’d only been a couple years, but it was still so strange to greet men by looking them in the eye--you hadn’t expected the hesitation you were feeling now. You wanted to crawl inside your own skin. “Thank you, all of you. Very much.”

“What’s your name?” Rey asked, leaning forward.

“Ofkylo,” you replied automatically--and their faces maintained a look of anticipation. You balked at your own stupidity, face burning. “Oh, God, shit, that’s not my name--”

“No, no, it’s okay--”

“It happens all the time--”

“Don’t worry about it--”

“No,” you said, “no, it’s not okay.”

You stared at your hands as they turned to fists. Forget years, it’d only been a couple of months since you’d become Ofkylo, and it was the first identity out of your mouth. Your intimacy with your Commander--no, Kylo Ren--had seemed almost invigorating in the prison of his home, as if you had some illusion of influence, some pretense of power. But now, in the face of real, unshackled existence, your fantasy shattered, splinters poking into you, mocking you. The humiliation tumbled, sharp shards in your chest, and you growled, burying your head in your hands. God, you hated him. You hated what he’d done to you. More than anything, you hated what you’d become.

“God!” Shouting resonated through your bones. “Fuck! Fuck you, Kylo Ren!”

A hand rested on your back, rubbing circles into the spot between your shoulder blades. Flinching, you thought you might cry--but tears refused to form, as they had done for the past few years--so you screamed, clawing at your face, curling into your lap, willing reality to end, until you collapsed, throat sore, limbs quaking.

Kylo Ren had used you like a toy, or an instrument, something he took out of storage for his entertainment, something to be locked up again when he was done. The fact that even for an instant you’d tricked yourself into feeling special made your skin blaze with embarrassment. His tenderness, his confusion, his damn handwriting--none of it mattered now, and you wanted to blast every recollection to fragments.

Heaving a sigh, you straightened up, looking between Rey and Finn. Rey’s hand hovered over your back, and you nodded, permission for her to take it away.

“It’s really okay,” she said. “You’re not the only Handmaid to do that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You pulled your gloves off, watching your flesh come alive. “It’s what it means, you know?”

You shook your head, and, holding your breath, tore your wings from your head, tossing them behind you. After that, you plucked the pins from your hair, gasping in relief as pressure evaporated from your skull.

“My name…” Staring at your saviors, you spoke it aloud, and it fluttered off of your tongue with soft, buttery wings. The moment you said it, you cursed the voice in the back of your brain, wondering what it would sound like coming off Kylo Ren’s tongue. Fuck him. “That’s my name.”

“Then that’s what we’ll call you.” Rey smiled. It was a weight off your soul. She turned to the front of the vehicle, peering through the windshield. Outside, you could see a large home--not as large as your Commander’s, but still pretty damn big. “We’re almost there,” “she said. “I can’t wait to show you around.”

[sophygurl]

And now that I’ve written up the panels I attended*, I will attempt to write a little bit about the ones I was actually on. I’m not multi-taskented enough to take vigorous notes while actually panelling, but I’ll try and get some basics down at least. Please feel free to comment with additions and corrections!

(* - I did not write up the Leverage panel because 1) I was super exhausted, and 2) it was mostly a FEELS/SQUEE panel anyway, and 3) I figured (rightly) that it would be heavily live-tweeted anyway, so instead of my trusty notebook and pen, I brought my pillow and I got there early and took up two chairs - I apologize as I know it ended up being standing room only but I decided this was an access issue as if I could not put my feet up my gimpy ass was going to have to go back to bed - and I kinda hugged the wall while sobbing freely, cheering loudly, and generally having an exceptional time. Check the #LeverageFandom on twitter for actual accounts, including some of the show creators tweeting back at the fans awwwww)

Anyway, the first panel that I was on was Science Fiction on TV (#SFonTV) with moderator Carrie Pruett and fellow panelists Sigrid Ellis and Candra K. Gill. 

I was super excited to be on this panel because TV is my JAM and also all of those panelists are excellent people that I’ve had the privilege of panneling with in the past. 

It was primarily a squee panel and I recall raving about 12 Monkeys, Dark Matter, Lucifer, Orphan Black, Luke Cage, Colony, The Expanse, and Timeless among other shows.

Candra and I bonded over being some of the few who prefer Dark Matter over Killjoys (I like them both but DM is one of my absolute faves and I feel like KJ gets a ton more attention).

We discussed some SFF comedies such as The Good Place, The Last Man on Earth, Powerless, and my personal rec: People of Earth (seriously watch this show). 

We chatted about the proliferation of superhero shows (”when is Marvel going to get in the game?” LOL), and also time travel shows - some that succeeded and some that failed. 

OUaT was brought up and many of us agreed that it’s one of those shows we just can’t quit even though we want to. 

And then we did talk some about how much more representation we want out of our TV - specifically out of SFF TV because if they can have magic and super powers and time travel and futuristic sets and space travel - surely they could also have more people of color, more fat people, more disabled people, more queer people, more people of all shapes and sizes and colors. Why is this so hard!?

A few recs that others gave that I wrote down include: The Celluloid Closet documentary (that’s been rec’d to me before, I should really get on that), following Vincent D’Onofrio on twitter, and the show 3%. 

At the end, I did my usual “I love TV - come talk to me about it” spiel, and my MOM from the audience said some embarrassing thing about how I also write great reviews (I don’t even really DO that anymore mom!) so I waved my hand and said “that’s my mom everyone - don’t listen to her!” - and then gave her a big hug after because that’s just such a my-mom thing of her to do and it’s so adorable how she always wants to come to WisCon to “see me talk”. 

The next panel I was on was Where Do We Dystopia From Here? (#WhitherDystopia on the tweeters), which had a pretty good turn-out for a 10:30 pm panel. Our mod got sick so we had a sub-mod who had to kinda jump in to the subject matter last minute. I had some issues with my fellow panelist which isn’t worth getting into on a public post but otherwise I think the panel was good and the audience contributed a lot, which was cool, especially since we were across the hall from the Vid Party!

The hashtag for this one got some good rep, so check that out for a complete idea of how the panel went. I know I started off giving some history of the terms dystopia and utopia because I am a nerd who looks these things up ahead of time. 

I also brought up “whose dystopia? dystopia for who?” a lot as a theme because so many dystopias focus on specific privileged groups who are suddenly having to face conditions that actual real populations of people are already dealing with, which can be frustrating. Also a main theme of dystopias is that some small group of powerful people are in control and wielding that authority in horrific ways - so for that small group of people - it’s not a dystopia. Basically, I just really want to encourage people to be constantly asking themselves whose dystopia is this, for whom is this a dystopia - both in their fiction and in real life.

We talked some about the differences and similarities between post-apocalyptic and dystopian fiction. One thing I’d noted when looking at examples myself was that post-apoc. fiction tends to be in more rural settings with themes about survival, and dystopian fiction tends to be set in more urban settings with the main theme being resistance. Of course, the two can be put together - especially when a dystopia arises after some cataclysmic event. But another form of dystopia is the kind I related to the frog-in-the-pot analogy of it happening slowly and gradually around people so that before they realize they’re in a dystopia it’s already too late.

Themes of dystopian fiction we discussed included: those in power using propaganda to make citizens believe they’re in an utopia; that the totalitarian control of a dystopia can come from any direction - both socialist and capitalist dystopias, dystopias where religion is suppressed or used to oppress, governments taken over or corporations have or technological advances have, etc.; constant surveillance being either a reality or a belief held to keep people under control, dehumanization of the groups being controlled.

When defining dystopia, especially in relation to similar genres, I said it’s kind of like the old saying about porn in that “I know it when I see it.” There’s a specific feel to dystopias - they don’t always fit exactly, but we recognize these common themes and kind of settle in to it.

I talked some about real life examples including the often-used Nazi Germany one, but also stuff from our own history in the U.S. - slavery, conditions after Hurricane Katrina, and frankly what’s happening right now in Flint, MI with the water crisis. 

We talked about what is useful about dystopian fiction - how it reflects a society’s deepest fears and hopes for itself, can draw attention to current real issues, and can provide us with hope and even ideas as to how to resist dystopian aspects of our current situations - or where we see things going in the future.

As far as limitations and problems with the genre, I know I talked some about how most dystopian stories only focus on one or two issues and then take them to a sort of ridiculous extreme which can undermine the multiplicity of issues actually facing us and make us take them less seriously. Also, a common trope of YA dystopias specifically is that one special person who alone has the power to topple the powerful regime and how that trope can lessen the idea that we can all fight back and overcome these things. 

We talked some about the increase in sales of 1984 and BNW after Trump’s election and what that means. I specifically found it interesting that it was these classics written by white guys and not more recent dystopias that may be more applicable or female authors, authors of color, etc. 

I remember being asked about dystopias from more marginalized voices and wondering aloud about examples of poc authors writing dystopias - I could think of Octavia Butler’s Parable series and posited that N. K. Jemisin’s Broken Earth series might fit (got some questioning looks there so IDK if I sold that or not), and someone in the audience reminded me of Alaya Dawn Johnson’s The Summer Prince (which I need to read!), but I don’t think we came up with anything else. 

There was an audience comment about having trouble relating to urban dystopias where they just don’t have skills that could keep them alive because they feel like those would be fairly easy things to learn how to do. I talked about a common theme in dystopias being that either nature no longer exists because we’ve destroyed it or it’s being forbidden in some way - such as in The Hunger Games. 

Some of the sources I referenced included: Brave New World, Nineteen Eighty Four, Woman on the Edge of Time, The Handmaid’s Tale, Parable of the Sower, The Hunger Games series, 12 Monkeys, Mad Max, The Matrix, The Purge movies, Continuum, Colony.

Recs from others that I managed to jot down: Paolo Bacigalupi’s work, Lois Lowry’s The Giver, The Roar and The Whisper by Emma Clayton, Jennifer Government by Max Barry, the Silo series by Hugh Howey, Red Rising by Pierce Brown, The Grace of Kings by Ken Liu, Underground Airlines by Ben Winters, and the Snowpiercer movie.

(I was pleased after attending the other Dystopia panel the next day that we hadn’t had too much overlap. Ours was focused primarily on fiction with a little bit about real life where the other one focused more on real life stuff as it pertains to fiction.)

The third and final panel I was on was The Age of the Scifi Cop Show (#ScifiCops) with moderator Candra K. Gill and my fellow panelist Samuel Steinbrock-Pratt. 

This one’s got a lot in the hashtag too, so check it out! Candra and Samuel had a lot of cool stuff to say, as did our lively audience. Samuel especially had a great perspective because he’s a criminal defense attorney.

We discussed issues of surveillance and privacy as it relates both to tech-heavy sci-fi shows and more paranormal shows where, for instance, the zombie can eat a murder victim’s brain and gain their memories like in iZombie. 

We talked a lot about superhero/vigilante shows and how they represent who is and isn’t allowed to break the laws and why. Samuel had some strong feelings about Daredevil, especially, as a defense attorney who 1) only wants to represent the innocent and 2) goes out and breaks laws all the time himself. I added that Luke Cage did some interesting things in regards to intersections with vigilantism and law enforcement, as well as race, class, and gender. 

Person of Interest was another show we talked about a lot, both positive and negative. 

One topic was why there are so many scifi cop shows, and just cop shows anyway. Part of the reason is that it’s a nice formula for a show to follow in a serial format. Another is the ability for lots of excitement and drama involved. Also examined was the idea of who profits from having a common narrative where the cops are our protags?

We talked some about how these shows, in a genre that’s supposed to be about stretching the imagination, still don’t address so many systemtic issues in the police such as racism and abelism. Some shows actively reinforce these things by having us rooting for cops who are corrupt themselves, where other shows just gloss over these problems by having active surveillance and yet not dealing with things such as stop and frisk laws.

Samuel and Candra had some great things to say about cop shows set in the future and how they tend to criminalize the same things we do now, but that what we decide are crimes changes over time. For example - drug crimes are a thing that a futuristic cop/legal show could show having been abolished. Or what about a future where there are no cops? What about reparative justice?

An audience member asked about an epidemiological approach to crime. They used the example of lead poisoning leading to violence, which another audience member refuted, but the issue of taking an approach of what health issues might be causing crime remained of interest. The Reavers from Firefly were brought up.

I talked about a Canadian show called Cracked, starring David Sutcliffe, which is not a Sci-fi show, but does deal with cops gaining a greater understanding of how mental health issues intersect with crime - from either the perpetrator or victim side of things. The show paired cops with psychiatrists or psych nurses in a unit specially created to deal with crime relating to mental illness. 

We talked some about shows coming more from the outlaw angle such as Mr. Robot and Leverage.

Other shows I brought up included Stitchers, Limitless, Lucifer, Lost Girl, Minority Report, Continuum, and IDK a bunch more. 

Some stuff that got rec’d that I wrote down to check out included: Ultraviolet (the TV show not the movie), and the book A Door Into Ocean for it’s portrayal of banishment and reconciliatory justice. 

Phew! And so. Those were my panels. Or at least, what I can recall of them a good week later. 

I always appreciate getting feedback as a panelist - so feel free to chat with me, privately or publicly, about how you think the panel went if you were at any of these!