#black women frolic

[softtopxpressions]

Konjit made her debut at the GA Renaissance Festival, as my first cosplay ever & she was received well. Garenfest was amazing no matter where you looked there was something awe inspiring happening. I let my nerd flag fly and I was truly in my ✨ELEMENT✨! I also met some great peeps. This was 100% the best was to end May Me-cations. May was filled to the brim with adventure and self actualization and I can’t wait to see what June has in store. 🍃

[seobinghard]

you're on a missionᵗᵐ to make potential financé!san hate you so bad he has no choice but to call off your engagement once and for all. blame it all on your parents who set you up with their best friend's son. you? engaged? no way. so what if he's hot, successful and educated? you're just a girl, insane and a little medicated. there's no fucking way this is gonna work. you're destined to frolic about, not be strapped to someone's son. so for the next two weeks you're forced to spend with san, you make it your life's mission to make his life a living hell. perhaps if you burp in his face at nobu, he'll be so disgusted he'll leave the hatted restaurant and never return mwahaha. but he only smiles and says "you look so cute when you eat. you wanna get froyo later?" tf. that is not the reaction you anticipated. so you proceed to 'accidentally' drop your cup of froyo on his black boots. that should do. but san only laughs and tells you "it's fine, it'll wash off." um, wtf. that's not right. okay, restrategise—the club. yes. men hate loud women who can't keep to themselves. so you start throwing moves on the dance floor, singing your lungs out to 'dirty cash' with a bottle of dom perignon in your hand. you expected san to frown and fuck off for the night only to be shocked by his dance moves—since when does he dance and how is he so good ? he pulls you into him by the waist until you're face to face and takes a good chug from the wine bottle in your hand. "baby, you left me all alone at the bar :(" he pouts, face pink from the alcohol. you are so fucking confused; flabbergasted if you will. wtf went wrong? san's supposed to hate you and all you did was make him even more obssessed. and when you bring up the hefty bar tab you purposefully racked up on his amex, san only laughs and kisses your forehead. "here." he hands you aNOTHER amex. FUCK. there's no way out. say good bye to frolicking about, this is your new husband now HAHAHAHAHA

[madridfangirl]

A Weekend in Ibiza - Part 3

(Jude Bellingham blurb)

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4)

4k words. Jude*female reader. Smut & suggestive language.

A/n - When we don't get Jude holiday content, we make shit up

..................................................................................................

Jude stared at the blank screen after she hung up on him. In utter disbelief.

He really thought he was in. The wine & note was such a master stroke. A public message but one only she would understand. That, coupled with the song, was absolute pants-dropping stuff. Proof that he could do more than just think with his dick. 

He had been quite proud of himself for coming up with it. And, unless his radar was completely broken, he had sensed a change in her tone & voice too.

But poof. The pat on the back was clearly premature. 

Fuck this shit. 

Determined to go back to how smooth & satisfying this vacation was going till this morning, Jude returned to the club. And to the set of women he was holding off when he thought he was gonna be otherwise occupied. 

His mates could see he was off the rails tonight. Grinding & grabbing freely. Caution out of the window. High on loads of tequila and some other emotion he wasn’t in the mood to share, not even with them. They let him be, only intervening when he was gonna end up with someone in the club’s loo, and sending them back to the villa.

As a gorgeous & supremely enthusiastic woman bounced on him that night, throwing her head back in pleasure, screaming his name, Jude laid back and shut his eyes, imagining those sounds in another voice. Later, he crashed on the living room couch, face down, drifting to a restless sleep.

You woke up the next day, still undecided, but glad that you had held off last night. And not jumped into something without thinking it through. 

Kicking yourself for avoiding outdoors all day yesterday, you booked a long snorkelling & island hopping trip, soaking in the sun and the glorious water. And kept your phone on airplane mode. Afterall, this was meant to be a relaxing holiday in your dream location. Ibiza wasn’t going to be just about him. Heck, you didn’t even know he existed till yesterday morning. Peaceful times.

Amidst the fun & frolic, though, his thoughts kept creeping up. You couldn’t shut him out, much to your surprise & dismay. This was strange & unusual, but you fought the feeling.

Till you got back to your room that afternoon and succumbed to checking his Insta. The real meaning of the phrase ‘dropping to one’s knees’ became all too clear in that split second.

He had uploaded a set of rigorous workout photos. In a sleeveless black vest and the tightest pair of training shorts you had even seen. Sweaty thirst traps, basically. The comment section had exploded, as did your ovaries.

You had meant what you told him yesterday - casual sex had never appealed to you. Hook-ups were not your cup of tea. You had been in two relationships previously and sex had happened only after an emotional connection. It had been a while since then but you had never felt such a NEED before.

This guy though - the pull you felt towards him, the way your body responded to just his thoughts, the desperation you felt to get his hands on you (& yours on him) - it was an unearthly feeling. Like all the forces in the universe had aligned to bring you two together. 

His persistent attention was flattering, you couldn’t deny. For some unfathomable reason, he really wanted you. 

It was high time to admit, that, you wanted him too.

And what better place to get this anomaly out of your system than this faraway exotic land, where no one recognised you. What happened in Ibiza could literally just stay in Ibiza.

This realisation gave you new found clarity, and courage. Still not enough courage to call him though - you opted for texts.

‘9 pm tonight? My room?’

You’d rather die than go to his villa, that much you were set on. God knows what all would have happened there. 

He saw the message after a few mins, around 6 pm.

‘Why wait till then?’

You took in a few deep breaths. Shit was getting real.

‘Ok. Room 209.’

‘Will be there in 20.’

20 mins. He was gonna be here in 20 mins. Million dollar question - what to wear? But but, this wasn’t a date. So it didn’t matter that you hadn’t packed anything worthy of a date night with someone like him. It was just gonna be a night with him. And for that you knew exactly what to wear. After all, you didn’t believe in half measures.

The bell rang, and there he was. Dressed in a tucked in sheer blue shirt and tight white pants. 

Tall, handsome, and so big. Towering over you.

You let him in & shut the door, leaning your back against it. 

While Jude leant against a nearby desk, facing you. Blatantly checking you out, surveying your skimpily clad body. Trademark cocksure smirk & posture, like he always knew it was only a matter of time before you’d fold. And he’d get his prize. 

You almost wanted to shoo him out right away, just to see the expression on his face.

But, he looked SO SO DELICIOUS right now that your throat felt dry and you started to wonder why he wasn’t all over you already.

‘So, how do you wanna do this?’

You shrugged and said abruptly, wanting him to get on with it.

He chuckled loudly, lips curving into a gorgeous smile. Plump, lush, pink lips claimed all your attention as he sauntered over to you, placing his hands on the door, caging you in between.

You turned your face and crossed your legs as his hot breath hit your cheeks, overwhelmed by his proximity. Soft lips pecked your neck as he moved to whisper in your ear.

‘Wanna get you nice & ready for me. Yeah?’

You nodded eagerly, and he smiled against your cheek, moving to your ear again.

‘Say the word and I’ll stop.’

Before you could respond, he gripped the hem of your kaftan and lifted it over your head. Your arms moving up involuntarily to do his bidding.

Leaving you in your new turquoise blue bikini set. The one you had bought on a whim but never did have the guts to wear. Until now.

He hummed appreciatively and his eyes turned a shade darker as they raked your form. 

Jude kissed the pulse point on your neck and licked down in a straight line, shoving his tongue in your belly button.

You mewled embarrassingly, trying to pull him up to your boobs, needing his touch there. But he just shushed you and smiled against your skin as he kneeled down. THE BASTARD. 

Deft fingers removed your bikini bottoms, leaving your core bare to him. Cool air & warm breath hit you there, making you shiver in anticipation. 

It was killing him to not just take you then & there, but he could tell you were too tense. He wanted you pliant & needy, for what he had in mind tonight. This seemed like the best way to get there quickly.

His head nudged between your legs, spreading them apart. His mouth found your clit, sucking & licking softly. You flinched, trying to close your legs instinctively but his hands grabbed your thighs, hooking one leg over his shoulder to give him better access. Grabbing his hair with one hand and the door knob with the other, you held on for dear life as his tongue slid down your folds.

This was not an activity he did often, or at all. But what he lacked in experience & skill, he made up with eagerness and effort. Your helpless moans massaged his ego, providing extra motivation to elicit more such sounds. Your trembling thighs cocooning his head perfectly. Your wetness tasting bitterly sweet on his tongue. Your fingers digging into his scalp, trying to push him into the right spots & angles that drove you wild.

And wild you were. Moaning with such abandon, right on the door - half the rooms in the corridor would have heard you by now. 

His mouth was heavenly, but his eyes were another story altogether. Shimmering with hunger and pride - for reducing you into a mewling mess. His mouth fucked your core but his eyes were fucking your whole being, reaching the depths of your soul.

But then, he slowed down. Not stopping fully but not going nearly as fast as you needed. Keeping you on the edge.

‘Tell me.’

He rasped from between your legs, voice muffled.

‘That fucker - you didn’t go with him, right? Say you didn’t let him touch you. SAY IT.’

You wanted to choke him with your legs for choosing this moment of peak vulnerability to make you admit this. CONNIVING BASTARD. 

‘I’ll keep you like this all night if I have to, baby girl.’

His silky, smooth voice was filled with promise. His slow strokes accentuated your agony.

‘I HATE YOU.’

You groaned, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right.

‘Tell that to you body.’

‘FINE. HE DIDN’T TOUCH ME. HAPPY NOW?’

Jude paused completely. Forcing you to look into his eyes. When you did, a strong hand spanked your butt, on the leg that was hooked over his shoulder. You gasped for air, the shock and sting and pleasure making you nearly double over.

He resumed his work with renewed vigour, each stroke a power move now. His hands gripped your ass, keeping you in place, the force sure to leave marks, which was probably the point of it.

You cried out as his relentless moves forced your body to reach its peak, faster than usual. The familiar sensation built in the pit of your stomach, travelling through your lower body and releasing through your core. Into his waiting mouth.

He lapped you up, but didn’t stop, applying more pressure than earlier to your most sensitive spot, as if testing the limits of your body. You struggled against his grip, in vain, and the overstimulation made you climax again, quickly.

‘P-please…wait…’

Your choked voice got his attention. Unhooking your leg slowly, he stood up, wiping his face with the back of his hand, letting you rest against him. Your drained body falling into his warm, worked up, still fully clothed one. His fingers clearing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

Time stood still for a minute, as he swayed you a little in his hold.

Then, the sharp sting on your butt made its presence known. The fog lifted from your head as you remembered how he basically played you. Manipulated you into admitting something you never would have otherwise. Was that his plan all along?

But he made you feel so good.

Fuck that. He made you lose a point in this battle of wits and you hated losing. It was time to regain control.

Jude felt a soft but firm hand push at his chest. He stepped away, blinking in confusion.

‘I need a shower.’

You said curtly. And the insufferable boy smirked again, cocking his head.

‘I’ll join yo..’

‘NO.’

You cut him off swiftly, enjoying his mouth opening & closing like a buffoon as you sneaked out of his hold & walked to the washroom. Only to be stopped by a strong grip at your elbow.

‘Be back in 10. Or I am coming in.’

‘No you’re not. Also, FYI, if you are expecting me to return this favour at some point tonight, that’s not gonna happen. I don’t do that…stuff.’

You marched to the washroom, locking the door behind for good measure. It took quite a few splashes of cold water to counter how hot you were still feeling, especially between your legs. 

You stared at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror, closing your eyes and reliving his touch. Very aware that you hadn’t felt pleasure like that before. And he hadn’t even properly taken you yet.

Somehow, by satisfying you, he made you even hungrier for him. You wanted more, so much more. His mouth, his hands, his body, at all your sensitive spots. And you wanted to touch him too, so so badly. 

The need for him overtook all your senses & you marched back out. Stopping at the door with the near pornographic site in front.

Jude had stripped to his briefs, glorious hard muscles on full display. And was gulping down a bottle of juice from the mini bar. Little droplets escaping from the corner of his mouth, sliding clumsily down his chin, on to the pool of soft hair on his chest. 

He stopped when your eyes met, intrigued by your feverish expression. 

Time to drop all pretenses.

Taking off the only garment you had on, your bikini, you swiftly walked to him, as his eyes widened, glued to your chest.

You pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed and climbed into his lap, guiding his large palms to your boobs, moaning as they squeezed you firmly.

His mouth was still slightly agape, forming a delicate O, making his glossy lips all the more edible to you. Then, he gazed into your eyes, his hands still groping you thoroughly.

‘Who are you, and what did you do to the girl I met yesterday?’

Great question, you couldn’t believe yourself either.

‘You killed her, with all your naked hotness. I WANT YOU.’

He just moved his hips so his crotch brushed against you, demonstrating with HARD evidence how much he wanted you too. His fingers pinched your hardening nubs, as you fell into the crook of his long neck.

‘Juude.’

His whole body jerked, having waited so long to hear his name from you. 

‘Touch me, please.’

He followed through, like his life depended on it. His warm, strong hands roaming your bare back and his wet sultry mouth tending to your front. You gripped and pulled and bit at whatever of him you could find access to, as your nails dug into his rippling back muscles. He left his fair share of marks as well, paying special attention to your neck and chest. Your lips crashed into each others, FINALLY, as your tongues clashed for dominance, his winning eventually as he left you breathless & dizzy. Your indelicate movements in his lap driving him nuts throughout. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, groaning into your ear.

‘Need you…right now.’

‘Umm-hmm.’

Jude grabbed your face, lust dancing in his eyes.

‘You ready to take me, yeah? Like a good girl?’

You nodded & braced yourself for what was coming. He wasn’t gonna go easy, not after you made him wait so long. The thought both excited & unnerved you.

Next second, he tossed you from his lap on to the bed, his large frame looming over you. Your hands moved to grip the sheets but he flipped you again, to your hands and knees.

‘But…’

‘Shhhhh.’

You wanted him face to face, so you could feel him close, so his eyes could fuck the depths of your soul again. But his need was more primal right now.

His finger prodded at your core, checking your readiness. Finding you dripping wet but still too tight for his liking. He added another one to stretch you further, burying them in till his knuckles. 

Jude leaned over your back, stroking your boobs with his free hand, kissing your shoulders, whispering in your ear.

‘Breathe. Relax for me, doll.’

You would have given him the world at that moment if he had asked like that. He should have been a hostage negotiator, with that honeyed charming convincing voice.

He felt your walls unclench in real time, cooing appreciatively in your ear.

‘Such a good girl.’

That felt like a bigger validation than graduating top 1% of your class in uni or landing a high flying consulting job. Both of which were your biggest achievements. Till that point.

A minute later, he was running his covered tip up and down the edge of your folds. But his own need didn’t allow him to tease for long, and he entered half way in with a single thrust, pausing to let you adjust. 

Your hands and knees gave away at the intrusion as you fell face down into the pillow. It had been a while and his size didn’t help either. He placed a pillow under your lower waist to lift your ass up, giving him the angle he needed. Then pulled out & thrusted again, going three quarters in this time.

You already felt so full, biting the pillow to curb your moans. 

‘Just a bit more, yeah? You’re doing so good. So good for me.’

Enchanting you with that silky sweet voice, he thrusted in again, entering fully. So deep, you could almost feel him in your throat. He stayed still, letting you get used to him. You desperately reached behind with your hand, looking for some contact, and he held it firmly, giving it reassuring squeezes. 

Jude felt like his head would explode any moment with arousal. The shifts in her demeanour, from sweet & coy one moment to this wildfire he had met today, were giving him sexual whiplashes. He was worried he’d burst too soon, given how painfully hard he already was, & embarrass himself.

Unable to wait any longer, he started moving inside you. Slow, deep, rhythmic strokes, driving you mad. One hand balancing your ass, while other moved underneath to find your clit. Doubling your sensations to ease his path. As you moaned his name like a chant, the sounds making him harder.

Chasing his release like a mad man, his hips picked up pace soon, as did his hand. You cried into the pillow, feeling hot all over, as he played your body like a fiddle, for the second time tonight. Your head started to spin, as he pounded you mercilessly into the mattress. Your legs started to shake & your walls started to clench around him.

‘Not yet.’

He commanded hoarsely, denying you the friction of his hand anymore. You whined, and tried reaching down with your own hand, but he grabbed it mid-way.

‘I said, NOT YET.’

You mumbled some gibberish into the pillow, which he didn’t bother to register. Too far gone by this point.

Suddenly, you felt his weight on your back, crushing you further into the mattress. His voice in your ear wasn’t silky soft this time, it was downright menacing.

‘What did you call me yesterday, a little boy fresh out of his teens, huh?’

You desperately shook your head, having no memory of it. But he remembered. Every. Single. Word.

The force of his next thrust made your voice choke in your throat. Burning your insides. The pain unlocking a different layer of pleasure. He was all-consuming. All around you. Deep inside you. Your existence was anchored on him, everything else blurred into the background.

‘Still think so?’

You had lost the ability to think or feel anything, other than the sensations he was giving you.

‘I…I don’t. Please Jude, let me….I can’t….pls…’

The helplessness in your choked voice gave him the final nudge he needed. His strokes became sloppier, deeper.

‘Now, doll. Let go now. Cum for me.’

Right on cue, you let yourself go. Almost embarrassed at the timed precision with his command. The delicious squeeze of your walls & your cries tipped him over the edge too. He continued to stroke lazily, letting all the pent up need release. Then crashed on top of you, panting into the side of your face, still buried to the hilt inside.

‘H-heavy.’

You struggled underneath, with whatever minuscule energy you had left. He caught it, pulled out slowly and rolled off you, smiling contently, tracing lazy patterns on your sweaty back.

While he dispensed off the condom, cleaned himself & put on his briefs, you stayed out like a light. Only coming to life when you felt a wet towel between your legs, kicking it away instinctively given how sore you were. Faintly hearing a light chuckle somewhere.

Jude let you be for a few minutes. But when you still didn’t move, he wrapped an arm around your waist, slowly turning you to face him. You groaned at the light hitting your face.

‘Heyy, you’re ok?’

You hummed and snuggled into his warm, broad, inviting chest, shielding yourself from the light. 

‘Let’s get some food into you, yeah?’

Food arrived 30 mins later, by which time you had recovered enough to realise he couldn’t answer the door. Couldn’t be seen in your room. While he argued you looked too fucked out to get in front of the waiter right now.

You won the argument, shooed him into the washroom (as he tied the bathrobe tightly around you), and collected the food-table at the door itself. The room was too much of a mess for anyone to see.

Both ate in peace, falling into a comfortable silence. You, in particular, were shocked at yourself, at how easy you felt around him. Given you had no experience of such arrangements while he, well, his was a different story altogether.

You wondered at what point he’d wanna leave, and how come he hadn’t done that already. But he was showing no signs of wanting to leave. It was 10 pm, and they ended up putting on a random movie on Netflix, snuggled together in bed. The movie ended at 12, and he still didn’t make a move. 

‘You could leave if you want to. It’s fine.’

He looked at you curiously. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was hurt.

‘Do you want me to leave?’

No. Not at all. 

‘Isn’t that what you’d normally do?’

He shrugged, and you didn’t push it further. Falling asleep into his comfy arms. While he stayed awake for a bit, gazing at you & questioning his unusual behaviour tonight. Finally drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

You were awoken way too early the next morning, with his kisses on your shoulder. 

‘It’s 6 am. Let me sleep.’

‘Are you still sore?’

Of course. He wanted another tumble. Is that why he stayed? You tried to be mad but your voice betrayed your excitement.

‘Just a little. Not much.’

He smiled that gorgeous smile, drawing one from you too. And got on top of you, granting you your wish of being face to face with him.

Your bodies moved in sync, as if already in tune with each other. Unlike the rush of adrenaline last night, this time was slow & soft. Him being mindful of the residual ache in your limbs. His pace & force never exceeding a certain threshold. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, as you pulled him down for a kiss, gazed into his beautiful eyes and shut out the world. If this was gonna be the last you ever see of him, then you wanted to commit every inch of his handsome face to memory. 

‘How long are you here for?’

He asked suddenly, pulling you out of your trance, while still moving inside you.

‘Till tomorrow morning.’

‘What are you doing today?’

You had booked a day long tour today, filled with activities.

‘Nothing.’

His eyes twinkled happily, turning you into mush. 

‘Good. Let me just sort out a few things & I’ll be back in a couple of hours, yeah?’

His mouth reached your breasts, sucking & nibbling in tune with his thrusts, making you work extra hard to string words together.

‘W-we can’t go outside.’

‘It’s fine, we’ll stay here.’

‘You don’t hv other plans?’

He very much did. Infact, the plans were heavily dependant on him, & he’d have to go sort it out soon.

‘Nope.’

‘Okay then.’

You closed your eyes, as he rocked you to ecstasy.

..........................................................................

I died a few times while writing this.

And I still have plans for the last day / final chapter. Someone kill me.

Would absolutely love to hear your thoughts here / in inbox. Thank you for the feedback and interest in this story - it kept me motivated to turn it around soon.

[platrom]

Infinity.

PROLOUGE.

JJK x READER

SUMMARY: In every universe, Ryomen Sukuna will find you, whether it is by chance or not. But only time can tell if you awake to discover your doomed fate.

WARNINGS: Heian era, reference to murdering of newborn girls in families, reference to being unloved, Uraume is cruel, servants are poorly treated and killed, Sukuna is idealized, reader has a best friend :)

MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER

i. bliss

The springtime is always beautiful in Japan. Children tear away from the insides of their machiyas and frolic outside, dancing to the sway of the cherry blossoms and the tweeting of the birds. Parents tear away from work to spend a moment gazing at the beauty of life, and the world sings at the generosity of their gods.

But this year, unlike any other, has been far more prosperous.

Umes, ajisais, and himawaris have sprouted for the first time in decades. The elders are pleased to see the flowers of their childhood, ones that had disappeared for so long, had come to life.

The townspeople are kinder and more genuine. More bargaining is taking place and more vendors are being generous with their customers. Free fruits are being handed out to parents and sips of sweet juice are being given to playing children.

The rumors say it is Lord Sukuna’s doing. The world is coming to life because he is choosing his bethroted tonight.

Women from all over the land have arrived to his estate. Peasants, aristocrats, and royalty from all regions have traveled miles to reach the prosperous land of Ryomen Sukuna, where no battle has ever been lost. He is a permanent legend in Japan’s history.

The world will remember his name.

“Who do you think Lord Sukuna will choose?” Aguri sighs, sweeping the sides of the corridor. Speckles of black drift from the ends of the broom to the corner of the room. “I heard Akazome Emon is a high contender. Her poems are moving— I’ve heard.”

A silence settles. What she means to say is if she could read, she’d know. But as a maid as low her, you’ll never learn to read kanji. Her family had come from poverty, anyway. Aguri, as her parents called her, was an unwanted child. Just like her name’s meaning— excess. They had too many girls, all her parents desired was a boy who could carry on their name.

She was not, and so they left her behind to sweep floors and wash grime wherever a stray like her would be allowed.

It’s a fate better than being buried alive.

“She will be lucky to have him, if he chooses her,” you offer as you scrub down the walls. The pail beside your foot shakes as you step into it. “It is not our place to decide what our lord favors. It is his choice and his bride.”

Aguri pouts. You grin.

“No matter what, I’m sure Lord Sukuna will find a spouse worthy of ruling beside him and all will be well in Japan.”

“You’re staring to sound like Uraume,” Aguri nudges your hip. You elbow her back. “You and them can take place as Sukuna’s most loyal servant.”

“(Name).”

The two of you fall silent. To your left is Uraume themself, staring silently at you and Aguri. A seedling of fear festers in your stomach, flooding your system.

Your mouth glues shut, and you both bow your heads.

“The Frozen Star,” is all you offer. The ends of your hair slide against the smooth floor. It is black like the hearts of the direct subordinates of Sukuna and as dead as the heart of the king.

It is ruthless and eternal, just like Sukuna.

“You are summoned to the maid headquarters. Come with me immediately,” they order. Instantly, you move to their side, keeping your eyes trained on the ground. Uraume scoffs.

“And you,” they refer to Aguri, “if these floors are not spotless when I come around again, you will be fed to the curses.”

Your eyes may not see her, but your soul does. You can feel the way she trembles in fear, the promise of death far too close to comfort.

These threats were common. In fact, you both had watched your fellow maids been fed to those ghostly spirits that lurked in the bottom of Sukuna’s estate. Monstrous and deformed faces that foamed at the mouth at the site of a terrified human that got shoved into their cage, prepared to be eaten by another lifeless creature.

It was only a matter of time until you were next. One mistake was all it took for your life to end in the Sukuna estate.

Maybe living outside the castle’s walls were easier.

But you had heard the tale of the curses that flooded the village in the dark hours of the night. The ones that rose at dusk and feasted at dawn. In Sukuna’s estate, they were tamed and chained. In the world outside, they were free and vicious.

All safety had a price to pay.

You wish you could defend Aguri against Uraume, but you are powerless. One word out of line and your head will be off your body.

Your fists clench at your side.

“Yes, Frozen Star,” Aguri responds quietly, kneeling down to the bucket beside her feet. Uraume scoffs and begins walking, leaving you to trail behind her tail.

ii. opportune

The walk is long. Your head remains lowered as you walk inches behind Uraume, a symbol of measly position beneath a loyal Sukuna subordinate.

Individuals like them are treated as royalty adjacent. The ones the king can trust are considered to be angels sent from God, meant to serve Lord Sukuna for all of their lives. They are one in few, but undoubtedly devoted.

You had heard tales from the cooks in the kitchen that Uraume and their fellow subordinates had been kidnapped once, but a neighboring kingdom. They were tortured, striped of their clothes, and humiliated in front of masses. When their captors dangled the possibility of freedom above their heads in exchange for information on Sukuna, their mouths stayed sealed, just as their cries of pain did, and they endured the beating of one thousand whips until the king himself saved them all.

When you told Aguri the story you heard as you passed the kitchen, stars grew in her eyes. She seemed enamored by the idea of such a strong leader caring so much about his men. Aguri would never doubt the greatness of Lord Sukuna.

As for you?

Your opinion is always better left unsaid.

Uraume suddenly stops, and you pause your movements. The ends of their robes sway.

Their eyes focus on the top of your head. You wait in silence, your eyes trained on the tips of your shoes.

They’re worn, black flats. The sides are tearing on the edges, and the curve around your ankle is beginning to flake as the string stitching it together frays at the edges. They were the standard shoes lowly maids were given to wear— typically, they belonged to previous workers who had either died of old age, or from being fed.

The men of the estate received the shoes of the men who had died in war. They worked outside, against the spirits of the night.

You don’t understand how they get selected. There are men who can see the spirits that work inside the castle, cooking and cleaning like the rest of the women. You’ve heard the words “cursed energy” and “technique” leave the mouths of those who perform such gruesome tasks.

You are glad you have none. You can only see the spirits, but not kill them. You can stay safe inside the walls of the estate.

“You have served Lord Sukuna exceptionally. You will now be in charge of cleaning the rooms of the servants,” Uraume pushes the door open and steps inside, leaving you to follow.

You’ve never seen this room, before. There are stacks of rollers with a thin, plastic film around a black handle in thick layers filling the highest shelves. In the middle shelves are the bedsheets you all use, rags sewn together by young girls to cover the thin and scratchy mattresses the estate grants. And on the lowest shelves lay bottles of clear, yellowish liquids and an assortments of colorful towels with splotches of dark gray all over.

Uraume nods. “These are at your disposal. You are expected to know how to use all of these materials and clean all rooms by the end of the week.”

You bow. “Yes, Frozen Star. Thank you.”

She leaves.

iii. fulfillment

Somehow, cleaning the quarters of the maids is worse. It is a change from your previous routine— scrubbing the floors with Aguri, dusting the shelves, polishing the trinkets of the kingdom, and heading off to sleep after your measly meal of broth and whatever rotten vegetables were in the kingdom.

Now, you work alone. You must carry heavy sets of bedsheets and towels to each room, along with sets of rollers and bottles of spray. The cart they had generously provided was broken by another many years ago, but everyone has failed to notify Uraume.

The sides of your shoes are beginning to crack and tear even more, but you are certain any chance of getting a different pair of shoes is slim to none.

Nevertheless, the job does have its benefits.

While you clean the rooms of the higher-up maids, you have found little trinkets stuck underneath their beds or on the floor. Little bows, scrap pieces of porcelain fabric, and even bits of beads from heavens knows where.

You show them to Aguri every night, pleased with your findings. They are forgotten goods to you, perfect to make something special in the future.

Aguri is saddened by your move, however. She now works alone during the day and sometimes sits alone during supper while you run around cleaning. But the moments you two share in your quarters at night make up for it. You both gossip under the moonlight and giggle over the findings in the rooms.

In a few of the men’s quarters, you have found the undergarments of another woman. The suspicions you two have built against the others in the estate tend to be correct.

It is a joy to see love behind the dark walls of the castle. It sparks hope that even on the darkest of places, life can be grown.

#© platrom, plot / writing / banners & headers. do not repost, reblogs are appreciated! please consider leaving a comment and a heart! <3

[amageish]

So, Felicia Hardy mentions having a girlfriend in Marvel's Spider-Man 2 and this has resulted in a lot of discussion... I wanna talk about it!

One thing I find really interesting about the conversation is that so many articles discussing it credit Felicia's bisexuality to this moment from 2021, where she and Odessa Drake have an on-panel kiss followed by an off-panel one-night-stand.

While this is pretty friggin' gay and good for them, I feel like reducing the story to "Black Cat kissed a girl in 2021 and that's why she has a girlfriend in the video game" is missing a lot of the larger context... so let's discuss some of the history of Felicia Hardy, AKA the chaotic crime bisexual Black Cat.

Felicia Hardy debuted in 1979. Tamara Blake, her "oldest friend" and female lover, first appeared in 1984, only 5 years later, debuting in the Peter Parker, The Spectacular Spider-Man Annual "Cat and Mouse."

Dropping by for a night of "harmless frolic," Tamara robs Felicia, aiming to play a game of cat-and-mouse with her friend. While their relationship is not explicitly romantic in this story, Tamara is portrayed as very close to her ex-partner-in-crime and very familiar with her relationship habits. She is surprised by the reveal that Black Cat is trying to settle down with Spider-Man - and to be skeptical about if Felicia will be able to tie herself down to one man... almost as if she knows Felicia has a pattern of behaviour when it comes to monogamy.

I don't know if this story was intentionally gay or not, but it would be used as a foundation for later queer storytelling about Felicia, so it seems worth mentioning it here!

What is pretty explicit, however, is Felicia's relationship with her partner Diana in the 2002 Spider-Girl series. They are just called partners, not lovers, but the framing and discussion of it is obvious enough that, in my opinion, if you know that gay people exist and can accept the possibility of them being gay, then you probably will read this and go "Oh, yeah, they are gay."

This story does not take place in Earth-616 and is primarily focused on Mayday Parker as Spider-Girl and Felicity Hardy as Scarlet Spider, but Felicity does have two moms - and we love that for her!

Jumping ahead a bit, Tamara returned via flashback in Black Cat #10, released in 2020, and this fleshed out their backstory together. It revealed how they trained together under Black Fox as their mentor and clearly shows them using slight-of-hand to hold hands and canoodle without Fox noticing what they're up to.

This is just a super-cute panel to me. That's such a clever use of slight-of-hand; I love it so much...

The next year, in Black Cat Vol 2 #3, there's a vision of Black Cat surrounded by a harem of her lovers, which includes Tamara and Odessa alongside several of her more famous male affairs.

Shortly thereafter, she kissed Odessa on the lips, as discussed earlier. In case the earlier evidence was not enough for you, Felicia Hardy is now formally unquestionably a girl-kisser. We even later get to see her and Drake's one-night-stand via flashback, in case there was any lingering doubts about what happened.

However, it also doesn't end there. It's not like Felicia just kissed a women, Marvel patted themselves on the back, and now she's been back to dating Peter Parker exclusively. There are plenty of comic characters who have had one defining "queer moment" and mum's been the word on their queerness since then... Felicia, meanwhile, is very loudly bisexual.

Immediately, she got a Pride variant cover in 2021 and has been on at least one cover every year since. My favourite is probably this one from 2022, which is both very poly and also features Peter Parker... I'm sure if you'd ask Marvel corporate they'd say he is just there as an ally, but it's still funny to me.

In 2021, she was the character used for the grand return of Jessie Drake (Felicia really has a thing for women with last names that end with -ake, apparently). Jessie was Marvel's first explicitly transgender character, debuting all the way back in 1992. After getting off to a rocky start, Felicia blows up a building with Jessie's help and they go out for dinner.

(This story was not followed up on as the book it was supposed to lead into got cancelled. Drake has not so much as cameoed since. F in the chat for Jessie Drake).

In 2022, there was an 5-issue mini-series all about Tony Stark and Felicia bonding over their mutual problem of supervillain ex-girlfriends trying to murder them. Of the two halves of the pair, Felicia gets the better deal - Tamara not only teams up with Felicia and Tony to fight Tony's ex, but they do so much flirting that Tony forgets that are not currently dating.

And, finally, in 2023, there was another Felicia story in a Pride issue wherein she hooked up with a pseudo-diety and also worked with Gambit to fuck with some transphobes in the process. Good for them!

This is not by any means a definitive list of everything gay Felicia has done - she famously flirts with MJ and Cindy a lot, for instance - but I hope it provides some larger context to Felicia's sexuality in the game.

Moreover, I hope it shows that queer storytelling isn't always about writing a single gay kiss that generates headlines. A lot of Marvel and DC queer storytelling that goes viral isn't the actual multi-issue multi-comic-run queer stuff; it's the one big kiss or something subtextual that happens to feature MCU heroes with better SEO then people like Felicia have... and I think it's the more under-the-radar stuff that's often more valuable.

[bella-lestrange51]

The black sisters as promised (although it is a little later than planned )

@marylily-my-beloved @xixovart anyone who want to be tagged in the next one let me know!!

The black sisters-

Bellatrix

Bellatrix being a child of Diana is honestly a huge comfort to me. Both are sisters to ‘sweet summer children’ and have a very no nonsense aura about them.

Diana is a goddess of the hunt and wild animals and later on in mythology took over for the goddess Luna in childbirth and fertility. In some stories she is the queen of the moon and open sky. In many of her stories she is seen as a ‘man hater’ as she continuously shares her distaste for the male species.

I truly believe this resonates with bellatrix. Even in canon, the only man she ever showed interest in was Riddle, and I believe it was only because of the power he held. I see Bellatrix as a woman that never had power as her father held it all to himself as head of the house. This could be linked to her seemingly uninterested in men as we know that canon pure blood families were what we would call extremely conservative. Bellatrix and Diana both being maneaters and wanting to rather spend all their time frolicing in the woods with other powerful women honestly is reason enough however there are more reasons.

Both are sisters to sweet summer children. What I mean by this is that both Apollo and Andromeda are very sunshine characters coded with a deep sense of love. Both Apollo and Andy would go to extreme lengths for the ones they love, leaving their sisters to feel the need to be strong enough to protect them from people who could simply be using them. (If Vestia didn’t fit andy so well she would be a child of apollo)

Andromeda

Andromeda being a child of Vestia seems like a perfect fit. To start, Vestia is the goddess of the hearth, also known as the heart of the home, and is depicted as a peaceful and loving goddess. To me this by itself is reason enough to pair Vestia with andromeda.

Being the middle sister we can infer that Andromeda is always halfing to mediate her sisters’ arguments, similarly in a few resources I’ve used for this project Vestia is depicted as a levelheaded and calming deity unlike her siblings.

Knowing that after Andromeda left her family in canon is when things truly started to go south, I have always interpreted this as Andromeda taking the ‘home’ aspect out of the sisters’ house when she left. This alongside Andromeda canonically creating a very homey environment for her own child, led me to assign her the goddess of the heart of the home herself.

Narcissa

Minerva is a cunning goddess. She is strategic and instensly clever. Most younger children I have spoken with have told me about their home life, specifically the youngest children in an abusive environment, have explained to me that the way they survive is by watching. They sit back and watch as their older siblings fail to keep up with their parents expectations and watch as their siblings are punished. By doing this the kids learn and strategize ways to keep their parents happy, usually at the expense of their siblings' misdeeds.

Seeing as Narcissa is the youngest sister and is in an abusive environment, I felt safe giving these same qualities of being observant and strategic in order to make it, to Narcissa. I also felt safe assigning narcissa minerva as a godly parent as they both share some extremely similar qualities, i do acknowledge that these qualities are used in different ways however being strategic and cunning in a war environment compared to an abusive environment i feel can be similar in ways.

And while I do give her the qualities of a traumatized child I don't see her as weak, frail, and in need of saving. In fact I see her as the opposite. I see Narcissa as a child who had to grow strong in order to protect herself, and smart and cunning in order to protect her sisters. I see her as a dangerous young woman who knows how cold the world is and yet doesn’t let herself be frozen by its touch as to not hurt the ones she cares about.

[jellyfitzjelly]

trick or treat!

i'm sorry i didn't get to your ask earlier! Have a peek at my Greek Sladick AU!

The wind blew, finally making this afternoon pleasant, and carried faint voices from upstream. At first, Slade paid no mind to it. But as the wind picked up, so did the laughter. Was there a bacchanalia? A feast? Or simply young women playing? Seeing as this was the most exciting thing of the day so far, Slade simply couldn't resist checking it out. Making sure his men were busy, he quietly made his way in the forest, staying close to the river. The voices were getting louder and louder, and Slade realized those were the voices of young men. Finally, he came to a clearing. He stayed hidden behind bushes as he observed naked young men frolic in the stream. Then, Aphrodite made man came out of the water. Slade was struck down where he stood: vanquished by golden skin, defeated by sapphire eyes, crushed by jet black hair, enslaved by youthful and strong muscles.He couldn't take his eyes off that beauty. Who was he? Unlike the others, he was adorned with golden jewelry, as if to signal he was not a mere mortal. Slade wanted him — no, needed him!

[blacksapphicguide]

Superdyke (short film)

1975 movie. Streaming on YouTube and VK. Comedy, slice of life

Plot points:

Lesbian Amazon group frolic throughout the city.

San Francisco.

Directed by a Black lesbian director (Barbara Hammer).

TW//: Display and use of presumably human bones

Black sapphic individuals:

Unknown

Connections:

N/A

Sex & Nudity - Moderate

Explicit sapphic art displaying vaginas and butts

Use of a vibrator in public (over clothes)

Kissing and making out

View of naked women (breasts, butts, vaginas visible)

Very little presence of studs or black lesbians.

Violence & Gore - None

Profanity - None

Alcohol, Drugs & Smoking - None

Frightening & Intense Scenes - Mild

Use of (presumably human) bones by individuals

[princesssarisa]

Sleeping Beauty Spring: "Märchenperlen – Dornröschen" ("Fairy Tale Pearls – Briar Rose") (2008 German TV film)

Märchenperlen ("Fairy Tale Pearls") is a series of fairy tale films produced by the German TV network ZDF, which airs one or two new installments every Christmas season. Having already seen the series' excellent adaptations of Cinderella and Snow White, I looked forward to seeing its version of Sleeping Beauty. This film starts out as a faithful retelling of the Grimms' Briar Rose, with some inspiration drawn from the 1971 German film too. But the princess falls asleep just a quarter of the way through, and from there on, it becomes quite an inventive retelling... in more than one sense of the word.

In an 18th century kingdom, King Arthur (Dirk Bach) and Queen Ute (ChrisTine Urspruch) long in vain for a child, until Queen Ute sheds a tear into a well, out of which pops a talking frog (in slightly jarring CGI) that foretells the birth of Princess Rosalinde. When the princess is born, twelve wise women are invited to her christening, but since the king has only twelve golden plates, the thirteenth wise woman, Zeta, goes uninvited. (Yes, this version follows the Grimms in calling them "wise women" instead of "fairies," although Zeta is referred to as "a wicked fairy" later.) These wise women are stately, ethereal, middle-aged and elderly figures in black robes and silver-gray veils, who sing an ethereal, Enya-like song before they bestow their gifts. When Zeta (Nicole Spiekermann) arrives unexpectedly, she sets the Lord Chamberlain's beard on fire and turns the guards' spears to snakes, and then curses the princess to prick her finger and die on her fifteenth birthday. Of course the twelfth wise women, Svenia (Dorothea Parton), alters the curse to a hundred-year sleep. Nonetheless, despite the distraught pleas of the kingdom's peasant women, King Arthur has every spinning wheel burned.

Fifteen years later (the passage of time conveyed by a minstrel's song), Rosalinde, nicknamed Rosa (Anna Hausburg) has grown to be a free-spirited, tomboyish beauty. She frolics in nature and plays at sword-fighting with peasant boys, and loves science as well, idolizing Leonardo da Vinci and aspiring to be an inventor herself. But her progressive spirit can't save her from her fate, as on her birthday morning, when her parents are out buying her a horse as a gift, she hears a mysterious voice singing from inside a tower. It is, of course, an ethereal wise woman's song, and when Rosa ventures into the tower, she finds a disguised Zeta with a spinning wheel. When Rosa falls asleep (not on the usual bed, or even in her spinning chair – this poor princess has to spend a hundred years lying on a pile of straw on the floor), the rest of the castle instantly falls asleep with her, and briars quickly grow all around.

A hundred years later, in the early 19th century, we meet our new protagonist: Prince Frederik (Moritz Schulze). This prince is an aspiring scientist and inventor, constantly studying with his mentor Professor Prätorius (Franz-Joseph Dieken), to the dismay of his mother Queen Margarete (Bettina Kupfer), who would rather see him find a bride. He doesn't believe in fairy tales like the popular story of "Briar Rose" either. But as it happens, his greatest invention so far is the photograph, and he attaches his tiny clockwork camera to the bodies of pigeons so they can bring back pictures from far and wide. To his surprise, he finds that his latest areal photo set includes pictures of the sleeping court inside the briar-covered castle, and of the sleeping Rosa, whose beauty captivates him.

At first Frederik tries to battle the briars with a sword, but the seemingly sentient briars entwine him like snakes and he barely escapes with his life. Undeterred, he performs a series of clever, funny experiments back at home, testing different methods of avoiding the briars, all in vain. But eventually, he devises an elaborate, daring new invention: the hot air balloon. After long construction, Frederik and Professor Prätorius experience the wonder of flight. But when they reach the castle, the magic briars ensnare the balloon's rope, their escape throws them off course, and a storm forces them to land in the nearby forest. Ultimately, fairy tale magic and courage succeeds where science fails: the next day, Frederik once again charges at the briars with a sword, and when he does so, a hundred years having gone by to the day, the briars vanish. The wise women's otherworldly song then leads Frederik to Rosa, whom he wakes with a kiss on her forehead. Her parents and the rest of the court awaken too, Frederik and Rosa's love blossoms as they discover their shared passion for science, and all ends happily.

Overall, this is a fresh and enjoyable Sleeping Beauty: mostly lighthearted in tone, without the emotional depth of some other versions, but engaging all the same. While the addition of science and invention into a classic fairy tale might seem awkward, it works surprisingly well, adding liveliness and creativity yet never outbalancing the magical elements. The film's aesthetics are appropriately charming, colorful, and fairy tale-ish too (though the special effects can be corny at times) and the cast is strong.

This is definitely a Sleeping Beauty I would recommend.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @thealmightyemprex, @faintingheroine, @reds-revenge, @fairytaleslive, @the-blue-fairie, @themousefromfantasyland, @thatscarletflycatcher, @paexgo-rosa, @comma-after-dearest

[whitepolaris]

Alien Invasion! The Great UFO Wave of 1973

On the last night of August 1973, the world's most spectacular UFO episode started in rural southwest Georgia. Around midnight, four government employees driving near Dawson spotted an oval-shaped light in the heavens. Soon Gary Ellington, a city policeman, observed two UFOs in the shape of a football-only car size-which reportedly approached and withdrew. Alerted by a state trooper, Albany Herald reporter Suzanne Shingler saw give aerial objects playing "games in the sky, flashing like neon signs gone mad."

"Women tourists were coming off I-75 screaming the world was coming to an end," reported Cordele policeman Vernon Pridgen. One motorist was driving along "When all of a sudden the inside of the car lit up, bright as daylight."

On the second night of the UFO invasion, Cordele police called their Macon counterparts to warn of approaching UFOs. A number of Macon cops saw the craft, including one diamond-shaped object with a tail surrounded by six red and grin lights. A fire vehicle tore off after one UFO, but the thing sped away. In southwest Georgia, Camilla newsman Chester A. Tatum photographed an object with a "ribbed-type design" that trailed a luminous exhaust.

Thousands of people, including hundreds of police officers, sighted a wide variety of objects that displayed every imaginable maneuver in the skies. On September 5, Kenneth Parker was near Valdosta when he saw a giant UFO "glowing and looking like a big ball of flaming gas." Minutes later, a second, identical craft arrived; then they disappeared one by one. The next day, a Daugherty County farmer nearly passed out when a shiny, round craft the size of a motor home zipped past him.

The UFOs next favored the Pine Mountain area. The hundreds of people who staked out observation spots at the state patrol post in Manchester were rarely disappointed. Troopers, policemen, and an Atlanta television station had sightings. State patrolman Larry Taylor and Talbot County detective Charles Pope saw a UFO and doused their lights for a better view. At that moment, Pope reported that it reversed direction and wafted away like a balloon, only much faster.

On September 6, policemen and city officials saw a large reddish green light fly across Tybee Island, outside Savannah, and plunge into the Atlantic Ocean. Witnesses believed it was intelligently controlled. On September 8, two military policemen, Randy Shade and Bart J. Burns, were patrolling nearby Hunter Army Airfield when they spied a fast-moving, low-flying craft, which came "in at treetop level and made a dive," their report read. The MPs instinctively ducked-and drove their patrol car into a ditch. They worked feverishly to extricate the vehicle while the object hovered 200 yards away. multicolored lights "flashing brilliantly." It kept peace as they returned to headquarters.

There were a number of bizarre elements associated with the situation in Savannah. On September 9, four individuals called to report a UFO landing in historic Laurel Grove Cemetery. Out of the craft bounded "ten big, black hairy dogs" to frolic among the graves. Raymond Williamson, Emanuel County farmer, saw UFOs that night, but they had "been landing in the pasture near my house for six years." The craft, "the size of a camper shell attached to the back of a pickup truck," evinced particular interest in his cows.

The phenomenon kicked it up a notch on September 10 near Griffin. At four in the afternoon that day, retired millworker Ress Clanton was outside when he observed a gold-colored object the size of a baseball descending at a controlled rate of speed. It struck the ground and disappeared in a cloud of white smoke, leaving a burned area on the ground the size of a basketball, but no crater. The heat was high enough to burn skin at three feet and to turn the blade of a pocketknife stuck into the ground red-hot.

Dr. O. E. Anderson, a soil scientist with the University of Georgia, arrived three hours later and found the soil still registering 200 degrees Fahrenheit. Anderson excavated the crater and took control samples from the area. No evidence of petrochemicals or flares was found, but there was 2,000 times more copper at the impact site than in the control samples, and 200 times the chromium. Clanton knew what it was: "A piece of brimstone from heaven come down here to show people how He can burn the earth with it."

Twenty miles away and four days later in Brook, tenant farmer Roy Lawhorn was awakened at two a.m. by "a sound like locusts and a bright light outside the house. I grabbed my rifle, because it looked like it was coming toward the house," Lawhorn said. "I shot at it three or four times, and it just disappeared into the ground." The UFO, "big as your head," descended slowly, "like an umbrella." Lawhorn drew the opposite conclusion from Clanton, saying, "I thought the devil had come to get me."

Dr. Anderson found a charred spot that matched the dimensions of the one in Orchard Hill, but nothing unusual; was detected in the soil.

Near Rome on October 15, two Rome News-Tribune employees saw a blue object flying "in a jerky motion" through the sky. Other locals saw an oval craft with clustered, twinkling red lights and a "big bright white object."

On October 17, Clarke County deputies Charles Fowler and Ray Hanson and a security guard "saw an object rise from the ground," Fowler said. It was twelve feet in diameter and sported multicolored rotating lights.

The same night in Warner Robins, Laurence Smith, Peggy Stepp, and her daughter were followed by two huge cigar-shaped craft.

"I was petrified," Stepp said. "And then they started getting close." Soon, she recalled, "My God, there was one right behind us. My daughter screamed hysterically, and the thing stopped right above us and put this bright light on the car."

They managed to scare and reported the incident to the Houston County Sheriff's Department, which dispatched Corporal Bobby Fisher to investigate. Fisher soon found the object, "Big as a building," and gave chase "when it zoomed over me. It stopped there right over me, and I got out of the car," he said. "I took my flashlight and pointed it at the thing. It was only about one hundred feet above me. I couldn't see anything for the bright light. I think I got some type of reflection off of it when I pointed my flashlight at it. That's how close it was. I thought that thing was going to land right there in the field."

After a month and a half of near-constant sightings, the UFO wave entered a more frightening phase. The other-earthly beings-if that's what they were-began to close their shyness and emerge from their crafts. On October 18, Paul Brown, a preacher and car dealer, was headed home near Danielsville on U.S. 29 listening to the World Series when suddenly his radio stopped working. "Everything lit up," he said. "I could see the road, and the fields lighted up all around me. My first impression was that it was a small airplane trying to land."

The plane first paced his car, then quickly landed in front of Brown, forcing him to stop.

"I realized if I don't stop, I'm going to hit it. So I came to a screeching halt."

The craft was six feet high and fifteen feet in diameter. At that point, a bright light was cast upon him, the round beam blinding him.

"I don't know why I did it," Brown said, "but I opened the car door and managed, frightened as I was, to get one foot on the ground. Two subjects came out. Where they came from, I Don't know. I couldn't see a flap, a drop door, or anything. When I finally got my vision clear, I could see a clearance underneath, so it was not belly-landed; it had some kind of landing gear. And they came out, and they had on the most beautiful outfits I've ever seen-silver, blousy, come down to where your wrists are; then they had what happened to be white gloves. Very tight around the neck, like something a priest would wear. Down to the fleet, like a jumpsuit. It looked like if you pulled a gun and shot it, it would glance off, yet it moved. They could move, yet it looked like it was heavy, because of the way they walked, very slow. I estimated them to be four to five feet tall.

"They just started walking down the road toward me, very slow. I could see a face, you know, place where eyes would be, ears. The faces were reddish. Hair was almost like cotton; no discoloration, which leads more to believe maybe it was a mask of some kind. I never got close enough to really say-closest I ever got was one hundred and fifty, two hundred feet away, which is not too far away when you're there by yourself."

Brown, who carried a pistol for protection, decided that it was time to employ that resource. When he produced the weapon, they proceeded to turn around and walk very slow back behind the shadow to the bright light. All of a sudden they disappear behind the light, and I tried to see where they go, in a hatch or what, but I couldn't."

The aliens boarded, the lights were extinguished, and the craft "took off at an angle and made a sound I would described as like a million fans," or "like golf balls coming by my ear." The experience "almost stood my hair on end."

Brown immediately the incident, and by daylight, deputies found Brown's skid marks and noted that roadside grass was "fan swept."

That night near the coast, an Effingham County woman saw two small silver-clad beings standing beside U.S. 17. Perhaps it was the same ship and aliens making another call.

On the following day at three thirty, a motorist was driving on I-75, near Ashburn, when her car suddenly and completely shut down. Stopped on the roadside, a "strange feeling" led her to look right, where she saw a "four-foot-tall metal man who appeared to be wearing a metallic pewter outfit capped with a bubble or dome made of the same material-there were two openings for the eyes. The slits were rectangular." The creature circled her car and disappeared six minutes later. A state trooper told the woman that several drivers had told him the same story, and three hours later, her engine remained too hot to touch.

Another incident involved a University of Georgia student with the unlucky name of Mars Walker. Early on October 20, he was studying in his Athens apartment when "a high-pitched, sirenlike sound" attracted his attention, followed by a "glow like watch-dial" outside. He opened the door to find a round aerial object, with a diameter varying from ten to seventeen feet, slowly descending fifty yards away. The sound increased, and a being began to coalesce inside the object, resulting in "a humanlike being standing erect" that resembled "a sea-green opaque" hologram. The head was surrounded by tentacles, and the hands had fewer than five fingers. "The odd thing to me is how little attention it paid me, no interest in communicating with me or threatening me or any other activity, besides observing." The creature and the UFO departed a half-hour after arriving.

Georgia's period of intense UFO invasions concluded in Colquitt County, when on October 24, 1973, a driver found his path on GA 133 blocked. The object was seven feet high and shaped like the top of a silo. Lights surrounding the craft activated, and it flew low over the man. Half an hour later, a similar UFO that hugged Sylvester Road buzzed a carload of people. After that, sightings tailed off. But the alien creatures were not finished with the Peachtree State, not quite yet.

[softtopxpressions]

Healing my Inner Child w/ My Adult Money.

She deserves patients.

She craves understanding.

She yearns for playtime.

Finally at 29 I am giving her exactly what she has waited a lifetime to receive. I love her and she has always loved me.

[fangirleaconmigo]

Hi! I love your witcher content. If you don't mind and have some time, I'd like to ask you a few questions.1) What is your favorite underrated tertiary character? 2) Do you see Ciri ever being in a long-term romantic relationship with someone? If so, do you have someone specific in mind? 3) Your thoughts on Sh'eenaz and her story. Btw she was bi, right? (I don't know if I remember it correctly) 4) Ace Milva, pan Regis - thoughts?

Hi Nonny! Ooo, what a fun ask.

Favorite underrated tertiary character.

Ok, this will depend on what you mean by tertiary.

Milva. I'm a big Milva fan, as people know. (that's my Milva character write up) But she might be seen as secondary, not tertiary.

Nenneke. She isn't just Geralt's mother figure. While that is very important, she also plays an important role in the narrative with the themes of religion, of the feminine, and of the divine. I still haven't gotten to my post about her, but I will.

Angoulême. I also dearly dearly love Angoulême. I get emotional when I think about her. The witcher books love to put the main characters through hell but then give you a parallel character where they show you...but guess what babes...it could be alot worse. Because...what if they didn't have each other? Brehen contrasts with Geralt because he doesn't have Kaer Morhen, and Angoulême contrasts with Ciri because she is just like her (looks, nationality, fell into a gang, etc) but she doesn't have noble blood and she doesn't have anyone running across the continent trying to help her.

If you want more tertiary than that, I'd say I really love Black (I'll see you in hell) Rayla. I love Dainty (All Cops are Bastards) Bibervelt. I love Percival (beloved nerd) Shuttenbach. There are so many more. But there is a handful.

2. Ciri and romance. I mean, she might! I haven't personally thought about it though. I've only read the books and watched the show. So, in my only canon experience with Ciri, she is no more than 16 and deeply traumatized. When I sit down to write fic, I just want her to get to be a kid, and spend time with her parents. I ship her with time to heal. I just feel very very protective of her, almost irrationally so. (she doesn't exist, Des!)

If I played the games and saw her as an adult, OR if I really sat down to write and tried to imagine something, I'm sure I could. But I haven't sat down and imagined yet, as she heals and grows, what she would want and who that would be.

Just my personal thing, I don't begrudge anyone else their ships, and I hope everyone else is having fun shipping Ciri.

3. Sh'eenaz. The thing with the witcher characters is, they never 'identify' themselves as any sexuality. And then fans scratch each other's eyes out inferring different things from it and fighting, which is very frustrating.

But Sh'eenaz DEFINITELY says that she has sex with women (well, mermaids). When Algloval won't trade in his legs for a tail so she can have a real committed relationship with him and reproduce with him, she gets very angry. She's like...he's not taking this seriously. He just wants sex and no sacrifice or commitment. She says she already has girlfriends who will have sex with her, and that, by the way, they are much better at it than him.

"Tell him I have girlfriends who are much better at those frolics that he was suggesting on the rocks!"

She's like, if all you're giving me is sex, I can get better, elsewhere. She wants a real relationship and to spawn.

I think for me, the main question I have for her arc is, what changes her mind at the end? Is it mostly to achieve peace and keep Algloval from invading the ocean? Is it love? Is it both? I wonder how much of it is each? I still have to think about that one. It's a great story though, and I listen to the audiobooks, so Peter Kenny's voice as Geralt singing mer language will never ever leave me lolol.

4. Ace Milva. I talked about it a bit on my Milva post I linked up there. In canon she is annoyed when the others talk about sex, and she has had a very empty sexual experience. She is never shown to really lust over anyone or pursue sex.

but like I said before, she never 'identifies' as anything.

So, you could take those facts and spin them into any number of headcanons. I don't ever want to be the headcanon police, or to contribute to an environment in fandom where people feel they can't experiment with fics.

However, I personally like her very much as ace or demi. It is a nice fit with canon, and I've written one fic concept where to me, she is demi, and I would definitely write her or read her as ace as well. To me, that's a great headcanon.

Pan Regis. I don't remember if there is any evidence of this? But I vibe with it. I don't want to delve too deeply into why I that is, because it's late and I've written so much as it is. I should do a Regis character sheet, but I have so many I want to do in front of him in the queue. But I'm very down with this headcanon.

Thanks for the ask!! And for talking about the books with me and reading my posts. <3 <3 <3

[beautifultimes-beautifulplaces]

Turoń - In Polish folklore, Turoń is a festive monstrosity in the form of a black, horned and shaggy animal with a flopping jaw. Its appearance can be noticed at folk events during the period after Christmas, yet most likely in times of Carnival  and before Lent begins. The name is derived from the word tur, meaning aurochs.

The person that played Turoń covered himself with a cloth sheet or sheep skin, holding a wooden pole in front of him, topped with a bull's head with flopping jaw, horns (sometimes real ones – bovine – or simply, wooden ones), the head covered with rabbit skin or some other animal skin.

Whenever the caroler group entered a house, Turoń jumps around, dancing and making animal sounds. Turoń is especially fond of playing tricks on women, whom he chases around the house, provokes and sometimes hits with its jaw. During the carol singing Turoń claps his jaw to the rhythm of the song and rings the bell on its neck.

Turoń's muzzle is made of thin wood, covered with rabbit skin and is so big that it can swallow an apple whole or drink a glass of vodka in one shot. It is believed that the alcohol, consumed by the beast in nearly every visited household, makes its behavior so insolent.

At some point an important moment in singing comes: the Turoń faints, and then everyone tries to resuscitate it by massage, lighting hay as a kind of an incense, blowing wind under its tail, pouring vodka into the muzzle of effigy and undoing hexes. Turoń recovers and begins to frolic again, which often announces the end of the visit.

[alternamarian]

Six days after that, I and Bardia set out [...]. No one in the palace knew of our going except the Fox and my own women. I had on a plain black cloak with a hood, and a veil over my face. [...] You may well believe that I had set out sad enough; I came on a sad errand. Now, flung at me like frolic or insolence, there came as if it were a voice [...] “Why should your heart not dance?” It's the measure of my folly that my heart almost answered, “Why not?” I had to tell myself [...] the infinite reasons it had not to dance. My heart to dance? Mine whose love was taken from me, I, the ugly princess who must never look for other love [...] perhaps to be murdered or turned out as a beggar when my father died [...] And yet, it was a lesson I could hardly keep in my mind. The sight of the huge world put mad ideas into me, as if I could wander away [...] see strange and beautiful things, one after the other to the world's end. [...] Who can feel ugly when the heart meets delight? [...] Was I not right to struggle against this fool-happy mood? Mere seemliness, if nothing else, called for it. I would not go laughing to Psyche's burial. If I did, how should I ever again believe that I had loved her? Reason called for it. [...] I was not a fool. I did not know then, however, as I do now, the strongest reason for distrust. The gods never send us this invitation to delight so readily or so strongly as when they are preparing some new agony.

— Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis

William Lacalmontie

[mh073099]

“I’ll Find You” - Captain Rex x Reader Part 1

Lovers to Enemies to Lovers with some spy razzle dazzle AU~ 

Masterlist  Prologue 

Part 1 - Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You 

Warnings: Time Jump: Manipulation: Violence: Death: a hint of Angst: Mothers are their own warning, but yes mommy issues. Have you seen Tangled? Age gap could also be a thing, but I am thinking Rex is in his mid 20s while our is now turned 18 and while there is sexual tension and some touches, this is just the beginning mfs, I am a fan of time jumps. 

Washington D.C., US - 01/01/2067   06:30

It’s cold. So cold I can’t feel my nose and the air hurts my lungs.

Still, I keep running. I look down to see Ace at my side, happy to frolic in the snow and ice. At least one of us is happy. Laps around the Washington monument have become a morning routine the past year. At least I knew about moving to D.C. this time. Over the past three years, I have been dragged all over the world. Trained, tortured and honed into the weapon I was born to be. But I don’t dwell on the past. Learn the lesson and move on. Stop thinking about it.

I finish up my last lap and make my way over to the woman reading a newspaper on a bench. She looks unbothered by the cold in her black peacoat, and no nonsense look on her face. As if the cold knew better then to bother her.

I sit down next to her, and she passes me a coffee.

“Good morning mother.” I say, taking sips of the bitter deliciousness.

She hums in response. We sit in silence for a moment. Ace’s head on my lap looking unbothered by our morning run. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, enjoying the silence.

“I need to make my dinner reservations before it’s too late,” my mother states.

Here we go.

“Do you know what time you’ll be having dinner?” I ask.

“I’m thinking about 07:30 tonight.” She sniffs into the cold. “I’m bringing Mark.”

“A Special friend?” I can’t help the cheek in my voice,  

“A very special friend.” Mother Smirks into her coffee.

“Where will you and this special friend be dining tonight?” I look over at her.

She’s so regal. Poised. Dressed in all black, hair in a slick ponytail. Her Gray eyes are sharp, but the lines around them are soft. The faintest hint of a smile on her face is soft too. She looks over at me, and I feel 15 again. I want to trust her.

Don’t be fooled, I hear her voice in my head.

“Vermillion. I’m craving a steak.”

“And for dessert?”

She looks away before answering. “I don’t think I will have time for dessert.”

Red Flag. No Dessert means no extraction. I’ll have to get away on my own. This isn’t something I’ve done before. There is always an exit strategy.

“Grown-ups don’t always have time for dessert,” is left in the air. So many words between us are left in the air. They suffocate me.

“Dessert is overrated anyway,” I chuckle. Best not to dwell on things that will not change.

“But before I go to dinner, I need to go to the dry cleaners. Pick up 2 orders I’ve placed.”

She means I need to head to the armorer and pick up new gear. New Gear? No Extraction teams?  What’s going on?

“How’s your arm?” She asks, ending the former conversation that has my focus. Instructions were clear. The execution of said instructions are also clear.

“It’s Fine. Little stiff from the cold,” I reply rolling my shoulder. The twinge reminds me of my 18th ‘birthday gift’.

“Next time, maybe you won’t be so clumsy,” she says as she gets up.

Right. Clumsy. That’s what that was.

“I hope you enjoy dinner!” I call out to the women, picking up the newspaper she let on the bench.

“So do I!” She calls back without looking.

She never looks back.

 Washington D.C. – 01/01/2067   19:56

The bar is loud. Pulsing to a beat I don’t care about, with bodies bumping and humping everywhere. The air is sticky with the sugary sent of alcohol and the floor wet with substances I have no interest in discovering.

Perfect.

I move deeper into the bar, losing the long coat, throwing it across a passing chair. I let my hair down and move to the dance floor. I let myself get lost in the bodies, disappear into the heat of the animals I have now become apart of. Swaying and twirling, my hips moving this way and that. The adrenaline pumping through my veins puts a thin veil of sweat over my skin. To any on looker, I’m just a girl cutting loose. And I am, I take a brief second to enjoy myself.

But only for a second. As I move my hips to the deep base line, I twirl and keep watch of my exits. Looking for whoever might follow. I left the scene clean. There were no hiccups, dinner went as planned. But it was always better to stay vigilant. Always assume the worst.  

To blend in, you must believe the story you are selling, yourself. So I do just that. I let it all go. And I dance.

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 09:00

I make my way back to my apartment, thinking of my instructions while Ace walks paces in front of me.

‘I need to make dinner reservations before it’s too late.’ – She means I have a new mark with a quick deadline. Planning will be minimal, and location may not be private. Which means possible interference.

‘I’m thinking 07:30’ - obviously, meet the mark at 07:30. The sniff was her sign that this had a small window of opportunity. Less that 10 minutes.

Vermillion was the closest restaurant to the target. That’s where I need to be near before receiving exact coordinates to my mark.

‘Craving steak’ - this meant mark wouldn’t make it out of this dinner alive.

This would be my 5th time killing for the cause. Sleep isn’t as easy as it used to be. This is what I was trained to do. Mother would not accept failure. My shoulder twinged in reminder of the last time I failed.  When your own mother shoots you, because you fail to kill someone things are put into perspective fairly quickly. It was a reminder that I do not live in a perfect world that the republic would like us to believe.

I’m luckier than some. Mother shooting me was a lesson I had to learn, right?

Wrong.

It could be worse.

It could be him.

I resolve myself from my thoughts.

Only through victory are my chains broken. Then I shall be free.

I am breaking chains. That’s all this is.

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 21:02

For a little over an hour, I danced by myself and who ever I was around. It wasn’t until I was craving water and heading to the bar that I realized I could feel eyes on me. I looked and my eyes met his.

Handsome was my first thought.

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 14:22

After getting to my apartment, I started my prep. My go bag was secured, and Ace was made ready if I needed a quick escape and he had to meet me somewhere. When we made our move to D.C. permanent, I trained him to meet at the monument if he hears a bell, I can play by pressing a button on my cell. Smartest dog I have ever met that one. After showering, cleaning and prepping, I looked around.

I always felt detached when dinner plans were made. I still haven’t gotten used to living alone. The only thing that makes this place home is Ace.

Not wanting to linger, I made my way to the dry cleaners of Elm and Main. A front for a private armory for the cause. Supplied by smugglers and ran by the ugliest women I have ever met. Talzin was mean and cold. But she could fix anything and supply you with everything. It was like magic. Dark magic, really.

Walking in, a young bald woman behind the counter looks up at me with a blank face.

“I have a pickup for 2 orders.” I say nonchalant, picking up a sweet from the bowl on the dusty counter.

“Name?” the woman’s voice is raspy, like she’s smoked 5 packs a day and didn’t know how to quit.

“I hardly think that’s necessary. I frequent this establishment often enough. I’d like to speak with management please.” I huff. My face is straight, by my eyes scream try me.

Her brow narrows. “One moment please,” and she disappears into the back.

I hear the door lock behind me, ultra-aware of the fact that there’s now a man in front of the door. A rather large man in fact. His imposing figure doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. His nickname Savage was earned, my mother had told me. I didn’t ask for details on how. Thankfully, she never gave them. Just one of those things you get used to, I guess.

“Let her through Ventress,” I hear faintly from the back. Then the bald woman with dead eyes appears again, through the currents that lead into the back.

“You may-“She starts, but I was already moving past her, and into a hallway. I reach the end that leads to stairs down into a basement where the voice came from. I keep going until I reach the bottom and come out into the open room. It looks like speak easy, with Dark Maroon walls, and emerald, green flooring. But instead of a bar of alcohol lining the walls, its artillery. Firearms of many shapes and sizes: grenades, blades, rockets and mortars. On the other side of the room, It looks like a tailer. Suits and dresses, made of bulletproof fabric. Shoes with false bottoms and necklaces that record everything. Ignoring the setting, it’s all pretty cool one has to admit.

“Your orders are there on the shelf girl.” Talzin rasps from a desk behind the glass firearm bar. “You have an outfit, two standard Government Issue Glock .19s, a poisoned blade, a dress and a coat with a built-in vest. Invisible to the naked eye. All more than what asset like you deserves.”

“How do you know the dress will fit.” I snark back as I reach for the bags on the counter closest to me.

“It always fits.” She glares at me. Even from afar and sitting down it feels like she is looking down at me. “You also a little something extra in there.”

“For me? Talzin, you shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re too sweet. Have a wonderful day you old goat.”

“I hope you die, menace.”

I didn’t linger there either. With a nod out to savage on my way out the door, I head home to get ready.

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 21:03

Leaning against the counter further down the bar, He stared at me. I watched his eyes rake over me and watched him watch me do the same. He was tall. Thick thighs covered by black slacks. Strong shoulders and a chest covered by a white button up just trying to hang on for dear life. Clean jaw line, full lips. Dirty blonde curls, and the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen.

I pushed the thought away but held my ground and looked him in the eye. Men were easy. Act sweeter than honey, and they land on that flower quick like a bee. I put on the mask of innocent trouble, winked and turned away. I ordered some water, and while waiting to be served, I felt a presence at my back. The warmth sent chills through my body.

“Only one reason a girl dances like that,” is whispered in my ear, the low voice rumbles from his chest. I feel like the bee.

I turn and look up through my lashes. He looks down at me with a small smirk on his lips.

Oh, how I would love to wipe that smirk off those lips.

“And what reason is that?” comes out much softer and more breathless than I meant it to.

“You’re losing yourself, to run away from something,” He lowers his chin to look me more in the eye.

“What are you, a shrink” I deadpan with a raised eyebrow, and make a face.  

His laughter flows from him like oozing lava. “You’re too young to be dancing like that. You have all the opportunities in the world open for you.”

If only you knew.

“Compared to what, old man?” I challenge with a smirk and turn to reach for my water. My comment earns me another chuckle. I relish the sound as I sip from the tiny black straw.

“Ouch. I’m not that old, just old enough.”

“Old enough to be a prude it sounds like.” I stir my straw.

“Never been described as a prude before.”

“Shocking.”

“What’s your name, princess?”

Looking up at his question, I realize he’s gotten incredibly close. Practically caged in at the bar. All my instincts scream at me to get out of this conversation and get the upper hand. The secret voice in my head tells me I don’t want to be anywhere else.

“You think you’ve earned my name?” I cock my head at him.

“I asked nicely, didn’t I?” he cocks his head opposite of me. He’s enjoying this. The smile, the fire in his eyes. He almost looks ready to devour me.

He’s toying with you.

“I didn’t hear a please in there, old man,” earns me another chuckle.

“How about this, we exchange information. That way we both are gaining something from it. I will give you my name, if you’ll give me yours.”

“I don’t know, I kind of liked how princess rolled off your tongue.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Neither of us step down from this stalemate. Our Eyes are locked, and the rest of the bar just falls away for a moment. Dangerous in my unchosen profession. And yet, I could die happy with that warmth staring back at me if that’s what were to happen.

He breaks the tension by stepping back and offers his hand. “I’m Rex.”

“Princess,” I wink while taking his hand. My cheekiness earns me another chuckle. My toes curl at the low sound.

“Ok princess. Would you like to dance?” He asks with a bright smile.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 19:10

Wearing a black cocktail dress and heels that were provided under the Bulletproof jacket, I sat on a bench outside some steak restraint, and listened to the soft snow fall, with my face up towards the sky.

The calm before the storm.

PING.

I looked down at my phone. One new Notification.

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 21:40

Dancing with him felt like playing with fire.

“Rex” softly leaving my lips as he trailed kisses across my shoulder felt like a prayer.

“Princess” being whispered into my ears felt like God decided to answer.

My head said it was time to leave. Forget the man with eyes made of honey, and leave.

My Heart said stay, and so did his hands. He gripped my hips just so and oh-

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 19:28

I made my way into the Hotel, retrieving a room key from a pot plant in the corner of a hallway on the second floor.

I made my way to the 6th floor.

Room 612.

I knock.

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 21:59

We’ve been dancing so long that my feet start to hurt. I don’t want to stop. His arms around me make me feel safe. The grip of his fingers on my hips, moving them against his to the beat. He’s spun me and twirled me and let his fingers trail across my shoulders and arms, down my sides and just barely over my thighs more times than I can count. I let my hands wander just as much. His chest is broad and firm, solid and sturdy. His hands dwarf mine and consume them. His thighs are large, and oh so delicious. I must keep my thoughts on what I would do on those thighs at bay, lest I get more than I bargained for.

This is for appearances. An alibi. I’m trying to lie to myself that I’m not actually enjoying his warm body moving against mine. When did everything I do, start becoming I lie I have to tell myself?

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 19:29

Mark answers the door. He’s expecting a high-end escort and thinks nothing of the glint in my eye.

At least I do look expensive.

The door closes behind us.

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 22:01

His lips ghost the shell of my ear and I get goosebumps. I want to feel those lips outside of ghost stories that haunt the edges of my existence.

“Let’s get you something to drink, princess,” he purrs, and grabs my hand. I am helpless and follow.

It’s time for me to go. Stay. I have to be up early. Don’t go. “Another water?” he turns to me as we arrive at the crowded bar.

“Yes please.” I reply. Then think for a second. “How did you know it was water?”

“Princess, you barely look old enough to be in here, let alone drink.” His smile is soft.

“Why are you wasting your time with a child then, hmm?” I challenge with a dip in my brow.

His smile softens, if that were even possible. “You don’t seem like you’ve been a child for a very long time now.” If only I could count how many times I have gotten lost in his eyes tonight. “And I’m not that old.” He adds with a huff.

A giggle escapes me before I can stop it. “How old are you?”

“24. And you?”

“18.” I said squarely. His eyebrows rise.

“Wow, you are young.” He says, his eyes harden a tad bit and I am suddenly filled with insecurity I am not used to.

“And?” comes out my mouth, low and irritated.

“And? And nothing. You’re legal. And besides, we’re just friends.” He pokes the bear. His smirk irritates me more by the second. All that I was feeling has been channeled into annoyance. I can work with this. This can give me the upper hand.

“Oh? Friends, are we?” I challenge back.

“Oh, I hope so.”

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 19:30

He asks my name, and I give him a fake. Mark pretends it’s real and gives me his real name. I don’t care though. He’s still going to be Mark to me. Another Lie I have to tell myself.

He turns his back heading to the bar cart.

Sorry Mark.

Walking away almost felt too easy.

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 22:03

We stand there, leaning against the bar, just drinking each other in.  Drinks on the counter forgot.

Friends get hurt. I know. Fuck being friends. I know. Can’t even give him my real name. I know. I could drown in those eyes. I know. 

Love at first sight? It doesn’t exist.

At that, I hear myself say “Well Rex, It’s past this princess’s bedtime. See you around?”

With a raised eyebrow and a soft smile, he looks down at me. I detect disappointment and relief simultaneously as his shoulders relax but his jaw clenches. “Ok princess,” is more soothing than it should be. He grabs my hand, and brings it to his lips. 

“How can I find you again?” comes out of my mouth before I can even stop it.  

He chuckles, low and deep, more of a rumble than a chuckle, his fingers softly rubbing against my knuckles as he lowers my hand, still in his.

 “You won’t.” And with that, he lets go, turns and walks away.

And I? I am left reeling from whatever the fuck just happened. A thousand emotions are running through me and i-

PING.

I look at my phone.

One New Text Message from: Mother

Need to talk. Now.

Oh. I knew it was too easy.

----- 

-M.F.

[ausetkmt]

“Clouds don’t cry The rain is not their tears O Bachchoo, you and I Indulge metaphoric fears

Heavens don’t weep They have no heart to break And no eternal sleep They’ll forever be awake!”

— From The Frolics of Dancing Man Singh, by Bachchoo

This week the University of Cambridge published a report by a body it had set up three years ago called “The Advisory Group on the Legacies of Enslavement”. The report was commissioned to research the university’s contribution to, connection with or profit from the historical injustices of the British slave trade. It found secondary connections of donations from families involved in the trade to some colleges, but didn’t discover any ownership of slaves or plantations by the university.

Very many institutions in Britain, including the National Trust, which preserves and exhibits historical buildings and estates, have engaged in research to find and expiate such connections with and profit in the past from slavery. It is undertaken as a necessary correction or addition to history and an attempt at a national “confession”. These institutions — other universities, schools, boards of education and museums — are in various ways examining their curricula and contents. The statue-toppling tendency is of course part of this historical renaissance, the attempt to blame the blame-worthy.

And within this movement to correct history, the issue of reparations is constantly mooted.

It’s a difficult question. Who is to pay reparations and to whom? How is a figure to be placed on the cost of a lifetime of suffering? To whom is the demand which arises specifically from the enslavement of African people to America and the Caribbean to be addressed? It was British, French, Dutch, Spanish and Portuguese traders and traffickers who either bought their human cargo from other Africans, from Arab slavers operating in north-west Africa or themselves captured African people in their thousands and transported them as chattel. Who then should pay the reparations? The descendants of the tribes who took other tribes as prisoner to sell them? The descendants, if they can be traced, of the Arab slave marketeers? The present British, French, Dutch, Spanish and Portuguese governments? Will the reparations be in cash? To whom?

In America, it is assumed that reparations should be paid by the United States government – there seems to be no demand on the enslaving tribes, Arab traders or governments of nations who carried on the trade. The logic is perhaps that the plantation owners, though originally from European nations, were through subsequent history citizens of the southern “Confederate” states, and though the north fought to end the slave trade and liberate the plantation slaves, the US government is the succeeding authority to those Confederate states which sanctioned slavery.

My only encounter, an ironic one, with this demand was when I was chairing a talk in London by late Trinidadian philosopher C.L.R. James. James’ lecture to a large, packed audience at the Riverside Studios, a theatrical venue, was about three black women writers — Toni Morrison, Alice Walker and Ntozake Shange. This was early in their careers, before any of these three had won literary prizes and gained the reputation they subsequently did.

Amongst the audience was a lady who called herself Queen Mother Moore, her small entourage and her consort, a tall black American gentleman in an African dashiki, a large necklace and a striking headband.

James concluded his lecture and as chair I asked for audience questions. This gentleman stood up and, without any allusion to the literary evaluation he had just heard, asked if C.L.R. was in favour of claiming the three acres and a donkey which the then government had promised the freed slaves as reparation. I was inclined to rule the question as irrelevant, but C.L.R. said that he’d answer. He did, saying: “Good luck with that, and if you win, I shall be happy share the land with you, but please keep the donkey.”

The gentleman and no doubt Queen Mother Moore and her entourage were not amused. The audience were. The Moorists left before the next question.

There are consistent calls now from the ex-colonial nations to demand that the loot stolen from their lands be returned and of course demands for reparation for the cruelties to which their peoples were subjected. I have no hesitation, gentle reader, in joining my friend Shashi Tharoor in demanding that the Kohinoor diamond be returned to India. If it is, I advise Narendraji to be cautious and not to claim it, while thanking Liz Truss or whoever, as it carries a curse which ensures pain and death for any male who owns or displays it. Caveat emptor!

As for demanding reparations for the cruelties and exploitations of the Raj, which Shashi has eloquently done, my late friend Charles Allen, the historian, was of the opinion that the high caste from which Shashi descends is guilty of much more cruelty and exploitation of the lower castes of Kerala than anything the Raj perpetrated. Who am I, gentle reader, to judge?

History is full of injustices, transgressions and genocide. Are the descendants of the victims of those injustices entitled to reparations. If they are, I want, as a Parsi Zoroastrian descendant of the Persian empire which was plundered along with mass slaughter by the Macedonian vandal Alexander the Damned, claim the euros which are my due from Greece.

...