#but romani always make me cry

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the ask game perhaps 25 or 22? :]

-searchforahero from the main blog <:

for the choose violence ask game!

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

i've answered this one a couple times so hmm lemme think. OH i think the Pre-Crisis relationship between Jason and Nocturna <3 i'd do ANYTHING to have more fanon content for Nocturna being Jason's maternal figure and how their bond could be explored. i think about her a lot and i wish we got more of her, it feels like fanon just glosses over it. which is understandable given it's Pre-Crisis and all, *but* a lot of fanon Jason takes pull from his Pre-Crisis comics so i feel like we should see more of a Nocturna presence. like she seems like the type of character fandom woud love to sink their teeth into. mysterious love interest of Bruce's fights Bruce for custody of Jason? that's PEAK fanfic material. i would like more of her <3

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

i was going to say the obvious one of antis crying about having to filter out Batcest content bc how dare Ao3 not entirely consist of content that caters to their sensibilities. but honestly? a bigger one? any complaints about Devin Grayson as a writer. most information about her is incorrect (she did not change her last name bc of Dick, Tarantula is not her self-insert, she did not write the rape scene as a personal fantasy, she is not in love with Dick) and the information that is correct and genuine criticism of her writing (how she handled the aftermath, how she wrote Dick's Romani heritage, etc) applies to *every* male writer in the industry. it's always *just* her though, that this fandom harps on to the point she's this boogeyman that somehow is responsible for every bad comic plot ever. i'm begging people to move on. complain about *literally* anyone else i'm begging. the genuine criticisms of her have been exhausted and all the other things about her are straight up misogynistic lies. because a woman in this industry will always be more scrutinized. i don't think she's perfect, nor do i think her writing is without flaws, but i do think most ppl complaining about her haven't even read her work. they just want to make a woman into a scapegoat. it'. truly irks me one day I'll write a long thinkpiece about it-

[weemstar]

Hi

With the current news about the antisemitic fuckhead known as Kanye West trending, I have been seeing people say "death of the author" in response to if it's alright to continue listening to his music

Let me be brutally clear: death of the author does not mean what you think it means

"Death Of The Author" specifically is in reference to the theory that a creator can not put meaning behind work, but instead only create something through THEIR EXPERIENCES AND BIASES (this is important) and let the audience put meaning onto it themselves, because art is subjective.

So when you create something, you are putting pieces of yourself into the work you create, since humans are silly creatures who tend to think within the scope of their own life and experiences. He has put pieces of his rotten way of thinking into everything he has touched, and unfortunately he makes money off every single click or stream of his music. When you support his music, even the old stuff, you are literally giving money to the things he's saying. Past and present.

Death Of The Author is NOT

Enjoying things regardless of who made them

Ignoring the implications within a creative work simply because you like it and do not want to feel bad about liking it

Completely disregarding entire communities of people who's very existences are at risk just so you don't have to acknowledge your own inner problems such as racism, ableism, homophobia, etc

"But Weems," I hear you cry, "Kanye wasn't saying these things when he made this music!"

No you're right, he wasn't always mentally unstable and quite literally spewing Nazi rhetoric openly, but for the past decade, he's been getting to this point and he ABSOLUTELY has been showing signs of megalomaniac tendencies ("I told you who I am! A God!").

Again, if you're giving him any attention right now through his music, you're literally paying him to continue to act like this. Even if you pirate it or have had it for awhile, that includes you types before you say "but what about-"

Honestly I don't think his music is even worth potentially labeling yourself a Nazi-sympathizer.

And now you know what "Death Of The Author" means and why it does not apply.

So start correcting people and shutting down the idea that we can still consume products or creative works made by people who want to commit genocide when their bigotry is literally engraved into the work they've put out.

Support your local Jewish and Romani creators.

Have a nice day

[harrowscore]

people being surprised that the acolyte was cancelled and the sw dudebros won... i'm sorry, i really am, but what else did you expect? disney will always cater to this part of the audience. i'm not saying this because i feel superior or whatever, on the contrary, it's because i've been there too. i mean, remember what kelly marie tran went through after tlj was released, and how it resembles the treatment of the acolyte poc actors (especially, from what i've heard and quite unsurprisingly, of amanda stenberg)? it's nothing new. imo there has been a horrific regressive movement these last few years - conservatives, antiwokecels, straight up racists etc. have become even louder, more aggressive, and their numbers have increased. what once felt ''reasonably'' progressive would become, were it released today, the object of an unholy amount of unfounded criticism, with dudebros whinging like little babies because a person of color/queer/a woman dares to get an important role in a beloved franchise or *gasp* even get cast as a protagonist, which is dumbfounding to them because wow, you mean women and minorities actually exist and their stories are important too??? *surprisedpikachu.jpg* like guys, mulan was out in 1998. if disney had the audacity of making such a classic in this day and age, hordes of manbabies would cry about ~the evil feminazis~ and their nasty ~gender propaganda (whatever that means), and also ~communism!!!! because the movie is about a chinese woman. i'm sure mulan (as the hunchback of notre dame, to make another example, that with all its flaws as an adaptation is still explicitly against racism, specifically towards the always demonized romani people) had this kind of criticism back then too, but it was almost 25 years ago. the world should have and is changed since then, but in some ways we're going backwards. my theory is that since women and minorities actually got some rights and representation during the last couple of decades (and oh boy, was it a harsh battle to even get that) these people feel somehow threatened. they're not ~inherently superior or at the top of the game anymore, or at least many people realized they shouldn't be. and they're afraid, and as such they need to cast themselves as the victims. but other, way more clever people than me have divulged into the causes and spread of fascism and right-wing ideologies, so. i'll leave it at that

[russicnroses]

RUSSIAN ROSE | VOLUME ONE | PART 2

CHAPTER ONE: Even now, there is a place I want to return to.

PAGES: 32 - 66

TRANSLATION TOOL: Chatgpt

CONTENT / WARNINGS: long post, blood, death mention.

Saya murmured, "Haji."

"You did all that while I was sleeping?"

Saya thought that Haji must have memorized maps and features beforehand. He likely explored more than just the kitchen in this short time. Haji always thought ahead and looked out for her, even though he ended up in this situation because of her. Unable to find the words, Saya fell silent. Haji knelt down and looked into her eyes.

"...I am originally from the Romani people. Have you forgotten?"

Saya shook her head. When Haji was a boy, he was brought to be Saya's caretaker from the Romani people, who lived on the move, making a living through songs, dances, and fortune-telling. He was Saya's first friend from outside.

"Since we move around a lot, we naturally become good at paying attention to our surroundings."

Haji said lightly, then immediately lowered his eyelids.

"And you've been busy with your training."

At the sound of his caring voice, Saya turned her face away.

"I only did it because it was necessary."

"Then let's each do what we can."

Haji spoke gently, and Saya could only nod.

"...Yeah."

Seeing her reaction, Haji stood up and said, "The tea has gotten cold. But don't worry, there's still plenty of it warm."

"Haji, you really like this, don't you..."

After Haji cleaned up the tea and left, Saya took out a long package from the bed. She unwrapped the cloth to reveal a single sword. Standing by the window in her nightclothes and barefoot, she held the sword in front of her chest and closed her eyes. There was something she had to cut down with this sword. She opened her eyes and drew the sword from its scabbard.

Her reflection in the window glass faced her, and she pointed the sword at it. The darkness of the winter night was deep, and even the special grooves on the blade were reflected in the polished glass.

(...But)

This sword is meant for cutting that.

Can she really do it? Alone, she wondered. The girl in the glass seemed to be both crying and laughing.

Saya shook her head and closed her eyes tightly to chase away the illusion.

"Let's do what we can," Haji had said.

(I will do it, no matter what.)

Because it is the only atonement allowed to me.

When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with a determination so strong it was tragic. Saya slashed through her reflection in the glass with a single stroke.

The next day, although she didn't intend to, Saya slept until just before noon, likely due to the fatigue from the long journey. After eating the lunch Haji had prepared, and just as she finally caught her breath, an old maid appeared. This elderly maid, Tanya, was short and stout, wearing a black vest that seemed like traditional attire and a skirt embroidered in red and yellow patchwork. Her hair, starting to turn white, was covered with a black cloth, also embroidered. When Saya gazed at the colorful skirt, Tanya noticed her stare and smiled, wrinkles forming around her eyes.

"I've never changed this outfit since the time I worked as a nurse in the palace."

"Men out! Men out!" Tanya said briskly, belying her age, as she tried to shoo Haji out of the room. Even though she was shorter than Saya, she surprisingly managed to push Haji out with considerable strength. Just barely turning back, Haji called out, "Saya—"

Noticing his expression, Tanya frowned, looking exasperated.

"Don't look so worried. I'm going to make your princess even more beautiful."

With that, she shut the door on Haji without giving him a chance to reply and then quickly grabbed Saya's arm, stripping her of her dressing gown and pushing her into the adjacent washroom. Sitting on the black and white checkered floor, Saya, dazed, poked her head out the door and asked, "P-prepare for what?" Tanya, who was already busy lining up socks, petticoats, and other various items, replied without stopping,

"You're going to a champagne party tonight. They said you wouldn't need help with food or personal care, but picking out clothes is a woman's job."

"Tonight... already?"

Saya hesitated, as it was just past one in the afternoon, and she hadn’t even gotten dressed yet. Noticing Saya's hesitation, Tanya turned around and asked,

"Couldn’t you even get out of your underwear by yourself?"

"N-no, I can manage!"

Flustered, Saya shut the door, and Tanya's laughter rang out.

"First, wash your face with the verbena water there."

Obeying, Saya looked into the basin on the white sink and found it filled with sweet-smelling water. At her feet, in a basket lined with light pink satin matching the wallpaper, were lace-edged undergarments. Another matching basket contained several clean white towels. Following Tanya's instructions, Saya washed her face.

She was surprised at how perfectly warm the water was, recognizing Tanya's skillful preparation. Pushing aside her confusion, Saya took off her undergarments and moved towards the bathtub, which was filled with pale pink rose petals.

Saya immersed herself in the bathtub, taking a deep breath. The sweet, yet refreshing fragrance filled her chest. Her fingers and toes felt relieved for the first time in a while, and Saya stretched her arms, wrapped in rose petals.

When Tanya grabbed her arm earlier, she was startled. That's why she couldn't shake free. The wrinkled hand reminded her of Joel's.

"It was warm," she thought as she submerged her nose in the fragrant water.

"You look much better. Your complexion has improved," Tanya said as soon as Saya opened the door after spending ample time in the bath and putting on the prepared undergarments.

"Now, the real work begins." Tanya patted Saya's shoulder lightly, pushing her gently, indicating she should turn around. Tanya, without any warning, began to tighten the satin corset laces forcefully.

"—!"

Saya gasped for breath, but Tanya paid no heed, moving around to adjust the ribbons on her shoulders and chest.

Tanya dressed Saya in a petticoat with three layers of lace sewn onto the hem. Compliantly, Saya let herself be dressed in a champagne-pink dress with a flared back hem. Tanya stood Saya up straight, took a few steps back, and slowly circled her, examining her from every angle.

Despite Saya's desire to take a break, Tanya said, "This is too extravagant for a champagne party. It's too plain, and although the color is light, it won't work. Sorry, but you need to change into something else."

Saya, without the energy to argue, obediently took off the dress. She reached for a gown to cover herself while Tanya prepared another dress, but Tanya frowned and said, "What are you doing? You need to change everything. The shape is completely different."

Saya held the corset's chest area and nodded. In Tanya's basket was a complete set of differently shaped undergarments.

"Everything... from scratch..."

Saya felt overwhelmed, realizing that no amount of time would be enough.

After a long struggle, Saya stood in front of the mirror in a light cream-colored dress. The soft chiffon fabric had fine pleats, a wine-colored velvet ribbon sewn across the chest, and lace at the hem. The dress had small puff sleeves, a square neckline exposing her collarbones, and a matching velvet choker with a teardrop-shaped garnet pendant. The shoes also had ribbons tied at the back of the ankles, with the same pendant on the instep. The dress's overall silhouette was simple, but the soft fabric swayed gracefully with movement. Tanya, satisfied, nodded approvingly.

"This one is definitely the best."

Saya, finally able to catch her breath, almost missed Tanya's words. "Definitely...?"

Saya frowned, and Tanya pretended not to notice, sitting Saya in front of the dresser. "Here, this is Tanya's special beauty lotion made from smetana and cucumber juice. You don't need makeup, but let's at least use this."

Saya let Tanya apply the lotion from a small container to her face. In the mirror, she saw Tanya smiling happily.

"Tanya?"

Tanya placed her wrinkled hand on Saya's shoulder, leaned in, and looked into the mirror, touching Saya's short hair. She then averted her gaze.

"Why did you cut it so short?"

For Tanya, it was a simple question. But Saya, sensing something in Tanya's reflection, replied, "Because it was in the way."

"In the way?"

Tanya was about to press further but noticed something in Saya's expression. She brightly and casually said, "I was told not to pry when I was hired. Anyway, a tidy look makes the neck ribbon stand out. I'm just glad a girl came."

Saya, taken aback by Tanya's words, looked up. Tanya had already started putting away the dresses she had taken out. Even while cleaning up, Tanya's slightly rounded back swayed cheerfully.

Saya, confused by Tanya's demeanor, remained silent. Tanya noticed and asked, "Are you quiet because the corset is too tight? You just have to endure it."

"It's not that... you just seem so happy."

Unable to express that she hadn't seen anyone other than Haji smile around her for a long time, Saya instead mentioned Tanya's cheerful attitude. Tanya, continuing her tidying, responded.

"I've visited many mansions, but the ones with young girls coming of age are the best. They have a certain charm. Before Saya came, this place was filled with only men, making it dull. I even tried on many dresses to show off—well, for women, the fun of a party starts with deciding what to wear and how to style their hair."

She took a dress she was putting away, twirled it, and turned back seeking agreement. Saya could only respond with a wry smile.

The constant fussing over her left her feeling overwhelmed, not knowing how to handle the unguarded affection from someone she had just met. The affection directed at her was like the love for a granddaughter—something Saya didn’t understand.

Tanya said, "Oh? Was I being noisy?"

Hearing the sadness in her voice, Saya hastily shook her head.

"No, it's just that I've never been to many parties, so I'm a bit nervous."

The words she used to cover up the situation were also partly true. Saya had only interacted with a very limited number of people.

Tanya muttered in a puzzled tone. Having worked in numerous mansions, it was strange to her that a noble girl of this age was unaccustomed to parties.

However, she soon recalled the rule about not prying too much. With a bright, friendly smile and tone, she encouraged Saya.

"It’s okay. I guarantee you'll be the most beautiful guest here today."

Tanya approached Saya, who was still seated on the dresser chair, and gently held her hands with her own dry but warm hands.

"Enjoy yourself."

The mansion of the duchess where the party was held was located in the city center. The party was akin to a salon, with both nobles and intellectuals present.

Since Emperor Nicholas II stopped hosting balls at the palace, salons like this became the place where whispers and information were exchanged among the public.

In this country, which still had an emperor, the gap between the rich and the poor was immense. In the battlefields and snow-bound villages, surviving was a struggle, but in the capital Petrograd, salons were held nightly to stave off the boredom of the long winter nights.

In front of the mansion, without a large front yard, several carriages and automobiles were already lined up. Seeing that it would take time to reach the front, the coachman of the hackney carriage dropped off Saya and Haji across the street.

The coachman, irritated, whipped his horse and drove off. Saya shivered at the cold and the grating sound of wheels.

"Are you alright?" Haji immediately asked.

"I'm fine. This coat is warm, and it’s just a short walk," Saya said, holding the chest of the seal coat Tanya had prepared for her. The coat, with its glossy black fur, was indeed warm, and she understood that Haji decided it was safer to get off without arguing with the ill-tempered coachman.

Moreover, the street was practically blocked by the carriages of visiting nobles, making crossing the street safe. Though it must have annoyed the hackney carriage driver that the nobles were blocking a public road.

"Let's go."

At that moment, a black car pulled up a little distance away and dropped off guests who seemed to be attending the same party. As a one-horse carriage passed by, the car’s engine started again.

Startled by the noise, the horse neighed suddenly.

"Whoa, hey!"

Ignoring the coachman's attempts to stop it, the horse kicked its hooves on the cobblestones, as if desperate to escape.

As the runaway horse gallops towards them at full speed, Saya and Haji are standing on the street. The driver, who appears to work for a household, is thrown off the carriage, leaving the horse uncontrolled and heading straight for them.

"Saya!" Haji shouts. There's no time to dodge. Haji instinctively pulls Saya down, covering her fragile body with his own.

Just as they fall, Saya glimpses a figure leaping out. With the hem of his long coat fluttering, the person lightly kicks off the cobblestones. In the next moment, he is already on the horse's back, gripping the reins effortlessly despite the lack of a saddle.

"Hee!" The horse, feeling the unexpected rider on its bare back, desperately tries to buck him off.

A scream rises from the crowd of lady guests. Just as everyone thinks the rider will be thrown off, he uses the opportunity to deftly wrap the long reins around his hand, shortening them.

With a strength that belies his light movements, he pulls the reins. The horse, frustrated, lowers its front legs. The young man forcefully directs the horse's head left and right, repeatedly, robbing it of the will to advance.

Eventually, the horse exhales clouds of white breath into the night air and, despite stamping its hooves vigorously, stops running. The young man on the horse's back pats its neck, speaking to it in a low, calming voice.

"Sorry for being rough. It's okay now."

"I apologize!" The driver, clutching his fallen hat, rushes over. The young man dismounts, hands the reins to the driver, and after surveying his condition, smiles.

"It seems you're not hurt."

"Huh—" The driver, not expecting concern for himself, is momentarily speechless, then bows deeply.

"Yes. Make sure to check the horse thoroughly when you get home."

"Truly, I'm very sorry! This horse is usually well-trained and doesn't spook from cars..."

"I see."

The young man glances around. "Are you hurt?"

The guests, who had been watching the event unfold, all nod in unison. Saya, helped up by Haji, stands just as the car responsible for the incident disappears without a trace.

"Well then." The young man, in a light tone, heads into the duchess's mansion. The guests, who had been standing in shock, follow suit. Saya whispers to Haji beside her.

"He was quite something, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

Having seen various animals at the zoo, Saya and Haji know well how difficult it is to calm a panicked horse so quickly. They, too, follow the guests into the mansion, still amazed at what they witnessed.

As Saya felt the excitement subside, another carriage stopped on the street behind them, and a voice called out from among the descending figures.

"Maxim!"

Saya turned towards the familiar voice. It was Valery, standing with a bright, beaming expression. The other three followed, looking less enthused. They had left the mansion separately, planning to arrive after finishing their own tasks. The ladies in the crowd glanced at them intermittently.

In the entrance hall, where the doors had been left open to welcome guests, the young man from earlier stopped at Valery’s call. Valery ran up the short steps leading to the entrance and took his hand, kissing the silver ring adorned with a monogram—a combination of a plant pattern and initials.

Noticing Saya and Haji, Valery caught his breath and introduced them.

“Perfect timing, Maxim. This is Saya and Haji. They arrived as scheduled yesterday.”

Maxim, who was already accustomed to the surroundings, handed over his coat and smiled.

“Ah, I’ve been out since the day before yesterday, so I couldn’t make it to the welcome.”

Saya, a bit flustered, responded. In the bright light, she could see that Maxim was still somewhat young to be called a man, with a handsome face. However, he was as tall as Haji and had a well-toned physique.

His straight black bangs partially hid eyes that were a bright, transparent green, tinged with gray towards the edges. The mysterious eyes reflected various expressions depending on the light, making one want to keep looking at them.

Maxim's demeanor was neither volatile like Rojion's nor restrained like Eduard's. He had a calm air about him that didn’t make him seem weak. Saya thought that his essence might be reflected in his ability to calm the horse with both strength and gentleness.

Maxim smiled again and extended his right hand.

“I'm Maxim. Nice to meet you.”

"Nice to meet you"—these were the first such words Saya had heard since entering Russia. Saya, caught off guard, didn’t immediately extend her hand. Maxim watched her with interest.

(Oh no...)

Saya looked down. When people found out she was Saya, those associated with the Red Shield would always give her a once-over. Usually, they’d react with disappointment or slight satisfaction at seeing something peculiar. They’d then either adopt a researcher’s look or quickly lose interest.

“Uh…”

Just as Saya felt increasingly awkward, Maxim’s well-formed fingers touched her cheek.

“Short hair suits you. Everyone should have it like this.”

"Since you’re going to tie it up anyway, you might as well cut it, right?"

Though she didn’t know how to respond to such a statement, Saya felt oddly flustered even though he had only lightly touched her hair. Meanwhile, Maxim let out a small laugh. Saya followed his gaze and saw he was looking at Haji, who was glaring coldly at Maxim, a far cry from his usual gaze towards Saya.

While Saya wondered why Maxim was laughing at Haji, the remaining three appeared. Maxim turned to them with a familiar smile.

"Now everyone’s finally here."

"You were also out somewhere, weren’t you, Maxim!"

This was said by Rozion.

“We don’t even know where you were, and you suddenly act like the leader, huh?”

As usual, Kirill’s tone had a sharp edge. Saya noticed that among the group wearing matching rings, Kirill was the only one not wearing his.

(…Are they on bad terms?)

"No," Maxim calmly smiled, showing little concern for the group's dynamic. He addressed Eduard, who stood alone.

"Sorry for leaving you in charge, Eduard."

Eduard responded briefly, but Kirill snapped back.

"In charge? Why didn't you deny it, Eduard!"

"Yeah, Kirill might need babysitting, but not me," added another member.

"You wouldn't listen, running back alone and sneaking in through windows," Valery grumbled about Rodion, who shrugged.

"Just don't lump me in with Rodion," Kirill retorted, frowning.

Maxim smiled, "Yes, yes, you’re all a troublesome bunch," but didn't seem genuinely bothered.

(…Maybe they aren't on bad terms after all?)

Saya sensed a different atmosphere compared to when she and Hagi first arrived, attributing the change to Maxim. Just then, a voice called from the hall.

"Let's start the party!"

Saya followed the crowd. Introduced as a distant relative of Kirill, she greeted many, but felt their lack of genuine interest. Hagi, treated as a servant, had gone to another room.

In Russia, noble society followed English and French customs, using those languages predominantly. Saya overheard snippets of conversation but felt uncomfortable when people switched to Russian upon noticing her.

"Would you like a drink?" Maxim asked. He and Valery stayed with her, while Kirill and others mingled.

Maxim explained, "To gather information, be popular in society, especially here." Saya felt overwhelmed.

(Before finding any clues about the Chiropterans, just getting used to this atmosphere might take time.)

Though the hall was warm and crowded, Saya felt a cold lack of welcome. Tanya had told her to have fun, but she struggled to do so.

(But I can't complain about this.)

Saya resolved to stay strong. Just then, a lavishly dressed woman appeared, her green satin dress and opulent jewelry catching everyone's attention.

"Good evening," She said.

"Duchess," Maxim greeted, taking her hand and kissing it lightly, making her smile.

"You must come more often. And who is this?" she asked, glancing at Saya over Maxim's shoulder.

Saya averted her gaze again.

Though ultimately, she stared intently at the other woman. Deciding now not to show weakness, she couldn't let herself be discouraged by something like this.

In contrast to Saya's inner turmoil, Maxim maintained a calm demeanor.

"She is a distant relative of Kirill and an old acquaintance of mine. Have I ever mentioned that she lived abroad for a short while as a child due to her father's work?"

“No, I don't think you've mentioned that before.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it was during that time. I must have thought I had mentioned it. I apologize.”

The Duchess stared at Maxim for a while as he smoothly explained, then finally said,

“Well, it's quite alright. Welcome, young lady. I enjoy casual parties, and I welcome any guest. In return, I usually ask first-time guests to provide some entertainment. Do you have any talents?”

Saya was at a loss for words. She hadn’t been told anything about this. In fact, such a rule probably didn’t exist.

The Duchess simply didn't like her because she was friendly with Maxim. Maxim seemed to realize this and continued smiling as he spoke.

Maxim must have realized this as well, but he kept smiling as he spoke.

“Duchess, she’s actually a bit tired from her long journey. Perhaps for today—”

“—Saya can play the cello, can’t she?”

It was Valery, who had been silently standing by, who said this.

“I saw a cello case among her luggage.”

“But I haven’t played for a while and didn’t bring it with me.” Saya said.

Originally, Saya had played the cello to teach Haji, but he had improved significantly, and now he was the one who played it most of the time.

At this point, it was impossible to refuse. Saya reluctantly accepted the cello and sat down.

“Oh, we have a cello here. Please bring it. Right away.” The duchess instructed a servant, and soon enough, a cello was indeed brought in.

Naturally, the guests noticed and began to focus their attention. “Please, use it. It’s not a well-known instrument, but it’s well-maintained.”

“Really, it’s not something worth playing for so many people.”

Noticing the gathering audience, Saya said this and first placed the bow on the strings. The cello was indeed well-maintained, producing a deep, pleasant sound.

Saya loved the sound of the cello. It felt as though it enveloped everything. Thinking this, she no longer felt self-conscious about being watched by everyone.

She started to play gently, as if checking the mood of an unfamiliar instrument. It was a piece she often played while at the zoo, the fifth suite of the unaccompanied cello suites.

Saya didn’t know the name of the piece. She only remembered that someone once said they loved it.

She had loved the person who loved this piece.

Once the melody started flowing, her hands moved naturally, and the music embedded in her memory poured out through her hands before she could even think.

This melody, tinged with sorrow—in the past, Saya had been so absorbed in learning the music that she didn’t even know the feeling of sadness. Playing music had been one of the few pleasures allowed to her, and she took pride in learning each piece and performing it.

She had nothing else.

Why did Joel love this sadness of this piece?

As she finished the last bar, Saya let out a deep breath. Relaxed and freed from tension, she leaned back deeply in her chair.

It took a while for her to notice that the room had fallen silent.

When she raised her head, everyone was standing still, quietly. Among them was Valery, who had suggested she play the cello.

Saya lowered her gaze again. Among the faces she saw was Valery's. When their eyes met, he snapped out of his daze and blushed. This brought Saya back to reality as well.

(That’s why I said I didn’t want to...)

Her earlobes burning, Saya muttered to herself without making a sound. Surely, everyone was stunned because she was so terrible.

Just as Saya was about to lower her head, the silence was broken.

"Wonderful!"

From among the crowd, two young men appeared, clapping. They seemed much more mature than Maxim and the others. Even among the beautifully dressed guests, these two had an unmistakable noble presence that naturally drew everyone's eyes.

"Who are they...?"

A murmur arose from the crowd. Maxim, who had somehow moved behind Saya, whispered in her ear, "That's Duke Felix and Grand Duke Dmitry."

(A Grand Duke... someone very close to the Emperor...)

Saya strained her limited knowledge. As she was doing so, the two men approached, knelt, and each took her hand, kissing the back of it in turn. The crowd's murmur grew louder, filled with envy and jealousy.

Felix smiled at the bewildered Saya and spoke to Maxim, indicating that they were already acquainted. "When you came to negotiate at my house the other day, I didn’t see such a treasure. Is this a merchant’s trick to raise the price by withholding the best goods?"

"Felix, this young lady is not a commodity. Please don’t take offense. He was just trying to make a clever joke, although it was a poor one," Dmitry said with a laugh. Saya found herself smiling back. Seeing this, Felix looked displeased.

"So, you're planning to make me the villain to take the glory for yourself," Felix said, taking Saya’s hand again. "Of course, it was just a joke. If I offended you, I apologize. To make amends, please attend a party at my house next time."

"Well, I guess I gave you a good excuse in the end," Dmitry said, and Felix and Maxim laughed. After chatting for a while, the two men left. The duchess had also disappeared into the crowd. Meanwhile, the other guests' attitudes towards Saya had noticeably improved since the beginning.

Maxim shrugged slightly with a wry smile, then turned to Saya. "I was worried about how things would turn out, but it went well. Your cello playing was wonderful. You’re very modest for saying you couldn’t play."

"Really?"

Saya was puzzled by the direct compliment. "I’ve never been told I was good before. I’ve only been told someone liked it..."

When Haji had first come to the mansion, it was Saya who started teaching him the cello. She had hoped to get closer to him, as he was initially very reserved. As Haji’s skills improved, Saya played less and less. Of course, part of it was because she enjoyed listening to Haji’s playing, but also because, living comfortably, Saya had never felt the need to push herself despite any feelings of frustration.

Still, sometimes, when Joel asked, she would always pick up the bow.

Concerned for the elderly Joel, Haji would set up chairs on calm, sunny days, and Saya would play the cello. Sometimes they would play duets. Joel would always watch silently with a gentle smile. He never gave Saya detailed instructions.

When the music ended, he rarely commented, but he would often say, "That was nice," or "I love the way you play the cello."

Even if someone else joins us, it's a quiet and fulfilling time. If I have any happy memories, it would be those moments...

Saya thought, now realizing that the place she can never return to is eternally beautiful.

Saya tried to push away the beautiful memories and said, "Haji can play various pieces."

Suddenly, Maxim called out to Valery. Saya looked up to see Maxim gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

"We've received the endorsement of the two grand dukes. From now on, you'll be invited to any salon. Today's results are more than enough," Maxim told Valery.

"Escort Saya properly," he added.

Valery, feeling it was unnecessary to be told this, showed a sullen expression. Maxim laughed, then took Valery's hand and kissed the ring on his long, nervous fingers, as if it was their customary practice. Maxim smiled at Valery as if reminding a child, "I'm counting on you."

Valery, blushing, turned away and said, "I can handle it. Let's go, Saya."

Saya hurriedly interrupted Maxim, who was about to call Valery again, not wanting to trouble them any further. "Thank you very much for tonight," she said quickly and followed Valery.

Maxim, left behind, played with his pocket watch and muttered to himself, "Saya, that's ordinary..."

A carriage that had startled horses at the party later dropped off its passengers at the Winter Palace. Tsar Nicholas II primarily resided at the Alexander Palace in Petrograd's outskirts, and the once lavish Winter Palace, which had not hosted a ball in a long time, now stood as an empty shell.

In a secluded room known to only a few, the person from the carriage was relaxing. The walls were covered in dark red velvet and embedded with numerous glass pieces, each holding a bird's egg. These natural eggs came in various sizes and colors, from speckled to green and even red, creating a vibrant pattern.

The room's master, matching the room's color, sat comfortably on a couch, listening to a visitor. "This dog is for the Crown Prince," the visitor said. In a basket at the master's feet, a few puppies wagged their tails energetically, indifferent to the dim room. One puppy, with an unusual coat, stood out among them.

Unlike the other fluffy puppies, this one had no fur on its body except for its head and tail. Since neither person mentioned it, it didn't seem to be due to illness. It was a peculiar dog.

The master of the room spoke, "Ah, very good. The black panther from the other day was also very well received. Animals seem to be the best way to appeal to children. If a single panther can win favor with the royal family, it's a cheap task, wouldn't you say, Yuri?"

Called by name, the old man—Yuri—bowed his head. "Yes. Thanks to that, I've been able to immerse myself in my research, and I am grateful."

The master of the room, accustomed to being bowed to by those older than himself, nodded and changed the subject. "Speaking of research—what's the status of that matter?"

A faint tension filled the room. "We are slowly obtaining records, but it will take a bit more time to reach the final stages..." Yuri's expression showed no hesitation. Given enough time and sufficient funds, results would surely come. He had the face of a determined researcher.

The master of the room seemed to find Yuri's demeanor pleasing. Smiling, he played with his long hair and said, "Well, we have some interesting reports. Let's start taking this more seriously. Fortunately, thanks to the foolish humans, we have no shortage of test subjects..."

"Yes," Yuri responded, bowing his head again without a change in expression, despite the arrogant tone. The master looked down at him with satisfaction. Suddenly, he frowned in displeasure.

Yuri, noticing the master’s reaction, raised his head and heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The footsteps were frantic, and a voice echoed through the empty Winter Palace.

"Grigori! Oh, Father!"

As Grigori, the master of the room, opened the door, Empress Alexandra burst in almost simultaneously. She wore a high-quality sable coat, her usually neatly styled hair disheveled, spilling out from under her hat. She had rushed over, clearly in distress.

Recognizing that she had thrown herself into Gregory’s chest, the woman quickly began to tear up. "I’ve been looking for you—searching everywhere, Grigori."

While comforting the woman with his arm around her shoulders, Grigori quickly glanced down the hallway behind Alexandra. Fortunately, she had followed his instructions to leave her attendants outside.

Grigori's lips curved into a barely noticeable smile, one that only a keen observer would discern.

(After all, I am the only one who can save this woman right now.)

Even though he already knew the reason for her visit, Grigori deliberately asked:

"What has happened, Empress? Why are you so upset?"

Tears streamed down the Empress's face, uncontrollably spilling from her eyes. Though her face was beautiful, it was pale and showed signs of exhaustion.

"The Crown Prince—Alexei has been injured! Oh, I warned him to be careful!" Alexandra cried. "It's my fault."

Her bell-like voice suddenly echoed through the deserted hallway. Grigori, while holding the weeping Empress, looked towards the source of the voice.

A young girl, dressed in a coat and hat matching the Empress’s, stood there with a solemn expression. Earlier, Grigori had been wary of any onlookers, but he didn’t reprimand her. She was Anastasia, the Empress's sixteen-year-old daughter and the older sister of the Crown Prince. She spoke:

"I was playing with Alexei as usual and took my eyes off him for a moment..."

"His bleeding won't stop, and he's in pain. Even now, while we're here—oh!"

Supporting the Empress, Grigori called out to Yuri:

"I understand. Yuri, please accompany Her Majesty to the outside. I will prepare and follow immediately."

"Of course. Come, Your Majesty, please remain calm. If Grigori is attending, you have nothing to worry about."

Yuri’s face now bore the expression of an old man who revered the royal family as if they were gods. The suspicious aura that Grigori had when facing Yuri earlier had completely vanished.

As he watched Yuri support the sobbing Empress, Grigori turned to Anastasia, who had been left behind.

"I was just about to visit you, Anastasia."

Showing no signs of distress, Anastasia gave a slight smile.

Alexei suffered from a severe condition that caused uncontrollable bleeding, but Grigori had saved him from the brink of death many times before. The entire imperial family believed they were safe in his hands. This trust was why he was allowed to come and go from the Winter Palace.

Grigori picked up the basket Yuri had brought. It contained the puppies, who were now peacefully asleep. He smiled contentedly and said:

"I will ensure you can play with him again soon."

[anotherrandomkink]

I have so much to say about ticklish! Dick mf grayson heres my word vomit:

-With his family they suspect he likes being tickled unless he outright tells you (which hes only told like 2 people family wise) its just suspicion because he is the gaslight and lying king. (That legit canon i dont make the rules. However he tries not to do it to team mates and family but hes not broadcasting this ya feel?)

-On the family note he truly honestly is such a fucking tickle monster do not let him find out you are ticklish.

-Jason knows it best of everyone because he also can school his features well and dick loves a challenge

-doesnt normally get tickled by his siblings mainly because him getting revenge on them is always brutal (note: brutal as in whatever weaknesses u have consider it fair game i.e. dick does this thing where he sort of baby talks and tim surprisingly cannot handle it and dick doesnt normally do it unless hes being mean or jay hates being restrained because it makes it 10x worse) but bruce isnt scared of him and will tickle dick until hes reverting back to Romani

- but even after stunts like bruce tickling the shit out of him he'll pop up grinning like nothing happened. His siblings are always baffled

-even tho he can be brutal hes generally quite sweet which is why his siblings allow it or is quick about it like they'll try and tease him at a gala and he'll squeeze their knee once when they least expect it (bruce has a rule against this dick could care less)

-on the sweet note yall ever been tickled by someone sweet but ruthless as fuck? Dick grayson people. And hes nice after too. Aftercare king. Will sit with you until ur good. rubbing his sibs back and asking what they need, he knows, he just likes giving people the option to choose.

-also listens to all boundaries a king.

-with his significant others its a bit different.

-hes whiny about being tickled by partners with his family its all bravado and shouting and fighting but with someone like kori or wally he just lets it happen while saying they're mean and he doesn't deserve it and leave me alone!!

-if his partner is really feeling mean theyll stop prematurely and this always gets to dick. Hes a bit spoiled (i hc all batkids this way) so he feels he shouldn't have to ask. In that same breath he will ask. Red faced and a bit pissy "please?" "Please, what dear?" "....tickle me...please>:(" (its his inner actor coming out)

-also will tickle his partner to death only if they reciprocate at least not minding being tickled (wally never cared either way, kori didnt like it all the time she wanted to be asked, etc etc)

-i also hc his thighs are his worst spot but his partners know he has a tickle spot on his inner thighs that gets him screaming and silent laughing until hes crying after like a minute. He has a love hate relationship with that spot.

-hes also a walking tickle spot unbeknownst to his siblings all teasing works on him. His significant others usually learn pretty fast because it goes from dick barely fighting and being teasing back and all it takes is one "well aren't you adorable" and hes screeching at them to shut up!! And god forbid u pull him back when hes half heartly crawling away. Everything makes it worse for dick. He cant help!! Is what he'll say if u point it out. (He really cant)

-his friends also tickle him but only the closest to him know he likes being tickled.

-its kind of hard to hide that from friends when they are constantly around you and ur significant other

-they catch on eventually or when they try and stop the "torture" and his significant other goes "u wanna tell them or should i?"

-is ok with friends tickling him but would prefer only people hes close with him kinda like brucie boy

[dramatisperscnae]

🎵🎵 for dick and kyle, two for each.

[Send a Note, Get A Song || accepting]

Jerry Spurlock - Bring On The Starlight This is a song from the renfaire circuit here in the States, and there's a lot I draw on from the Rennies when it comes to Dick's childhood in a traveling circus bc there's a lot of overlap. This just makes me think of when the show is over and the circus folk are all quietly relaxing together before moving on to the next town.

Though we have come to an end, And it's time to say, "So long, my friends," I hope you can feel that the meaning is real when we promise to meet once again, Be you rich man or poor man, a fool or a sure man, We've gathered our hands and we've made a merry stand.

People they come and they go, it's the nature of things, I suppose, One thing's for certain: the night is a curtain, where the moon of our memory glows.

So bring on the starlight, make everything end right, A dream's just a memory that grows. And the faire time was our time, a dream time to share time, Yes, the faire time was a fine time to know.

Heather Alexander - G*psy Bardic Tinker People Yes I am aware this song uses the G-slur, which is something I try to avoid in general but especially with Dick, HOWEVER this song still makes me think of his early childhood among his father's people, being raised in a Romani circus, and so here we are. I also like to think that Bruce did what he could to not separate Dick entirely from his heritage, but there's only so much he could do on that score unfortunately.

Swirl and turn Crackle and burn You'd be surprised at what you'd learn Cry and laugh Take and give It's not what you have but how you live With the g*psy bardic tinker people

Swirl and turn Crackle and burn To honor life is what you'd learn Cry and laugh Take and give It's not what you have but how you live With the g*psy bardic tinker people

Blackhawk - That's Just About Right The song is about an artist who's trying to paint the world as he sees it and just cannot get it right until he realizes it's really just. All about your perspective. -gestures at Kyle- Have you met him?

He says, "Man, I ain't comin' down 'til my picture is perfect And all the wonder has gone from my eyes" Down through my hands and onto the canvas, Still like my vision but still a surprise" "Real life", he says, "is the hardest impression It's always movin' so I let it come through" "And that", I say, "is the glory of true independence" "Just do what you do what you just gotta do"

Your blue might be gray, your less might be more Your window to the world might be your own front door Your shiniest day might come in the middle of the night That's just about right

Gene Wilder - Pure Imagination This one is really kinda self-explanatory, I think XD

If you want to view paradise Simply look around and view it Anything you want to, do it Want to change the world? There's nothing to it

There is no life I know To compare with pure imagination Living there, you'll be free If you truly wish to be

[cookie-waffle]

I’m currently attempting to watch every animated Disney movie, as well as some of the classic live-action ones, in order (skipping Song of the South and the WW2 propaganda stuff ofc)

Some quick thoughts on the movies I’ve rewatched so far:

Sleeping Beauty- A classic that was a huge influence on the world of animation. We wouldn’t have a lot of the pop culture we have today if it weren’t for this movie. Not much else to say about it. I do wish that Snow White was not 14, because it makes the Dwarves creepy with that context. But, luckily, it never states that she’s 14 so you can just tell any kid you show the movie to that she’s a grown up.

- Pinocchio- Still very fun. Pinocchio himself is very cute and likable. My only real issue is Stromboli. I THINK he’s supposed to be Romani, and if he is then his portrayal is pretty racist. But I think it will fly over most kids heads. I know it did for me when I was a kid.

- Fantasia: Absolutely fantastic. The quality is so high that I actually didn’t know it was from the 40s till I re-watched it. I will say though, that the parts with the human composers on screen may bore some kids. Of course, the biggest issue is a pretty racist caricature of a black person in the centaur short, but that scene has actually been cut out for years. I’m not a super huge fan of animation studios censoring their racist histories, but the upside is that you can probably show this to your kids without much worry.

-Dumbo- “Baby mine” makes me cry harder as an adult than I did as a kid. It’s a very cute and simple movie, but of course it’s biggest downfall is the racist “black” crows. But at the very least, the stereotypes shown in the crows are so old that modern day kids wouldn’t be able to associate them with black people, so it’s probably still okay to show them the movie.

- Bambi: Still as good as I remember. Watching the little animal kids play around is genuinely adorable. Bambi’s mother dying is still sad. Idk what else I can say tbh. And there’s no racism or weird underage stuff, so it’s perfectly fine to show kids.

- Saludos Amigos- Although there were some outdated depictions of south American people that may be considered offensive, I was expecting much worse. It was still enjoyable and I’d say it’s still probably okay to show to kids. It also debuted José the parrot, who I’ve grown to like a lot.

- The three Caballeros: It was fun. Idk what else to say about it other than I’m glad José got a lot of screen time. And Donald Duck is always funny, so I did laugh. Ngl I kinda ship the caballeros as a polycule now lmao.

- Fun and Fancy free: Aside from The Three Caballeros, this is the only classic Disney movie I did not see as a child. It’s cute. I enjoyed it and liked how Jimmy Cricket was the host. The Bongo short was adorable and I really wish I saw it as a kid (I THINK I saw the Jack and the Beanstalk short as a kid, but maybe I’m just misremembering scenes from House of Mouse.) I found it really interesting to see something that was such a clear product of WW2z Walt Disney was not a perfect man by any means, but this movie shows that he truly wanted to make people happy during a dark time in history. It’s no Lion King, but it’s still an enjoyable movie. I just don’t recommend it if you have a phobia of puppets/marionettes because the second short shows them a lot.

- The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad: I absolutely loved this. I remembered some of the Ichabod story from childhood, but completely forgot the Mr. Toad part of the movie, so a lot of it was like watching a new movie. Ichabod was still as good as I remembered, but Mr. Toad was WAY funnier than I remembered. The man is a menace to society and I love him.

-Cinderella: I am shocked at how much I loved this as an adult. It’s probably the most well-aged of all the classic Disney Princess movies. It’s about an abuse survivor finally getting what she wants, and honestly? That simple concept is enough for me to love it. I also greatly appreciate how there’s no old racist stereotypes and that Cinderella herself is an actual adult and not 14-16.

- Alice in Wonderland: Absolutely nothing wrong with this one. It’s Alice in Wonderland, idk what else to say about it. The Mad Hatter is still my favorite character just like he was during my childhood. Only new thing I could say is that, as an adult, I finally realized just how fucked up the oyster story was lol. Overall, I think this is a harmless movie to show kids. It’s also fun to watch while high lol.

- Robin Hood: Ah yes, the movie that planted the furry seed in my head as a child. I think I actually enjoyed this more as an adult. King John is very entertaining. This is honestly one of those underrated Disney Gems. Only real criticism I have is the part when Robin and Little John disguise as stereotypical romani women, but I highly doubt most kids will actually understand what they’re referencing.

- Peter Pan: I’ll admit, I have a soft spot for Peter Pan. And watching the movie as an adult, Captain Hook made me laugh a lot at all his slapstick. I think he’s one of my favorite Disney Villains after rewatching it. But, I do have to address the pink elephant in the room: the racist portrayal of native Americans. Tiger Lilly is the only native character who isn’t designed with super racist overtones. As someone who has a lot of native blood, I have mixed feelings in this movie. I think it would still be okay to show kids this movie to kids if you explained to them that that part of the movie was inaccurate, or just fast forwarded through the racist scenes. It’s certainly NOT the most racist thing that Disney has ever animated, but I can understand why you wouldn’t wan’t to show this to your kids. Other than that, everything else is fantastic and really captures that “Disney magic”

- Lady and the Tramp: This movie is adorable and it WOULD be perfectly fine if it weren’t for the racist siamese cats. However, it’s a similar situation to Dumbo in that the stereotypes are so old that the vast majority of kids will not associate them with the race they’re making fun of (I know I didn’t as a kid)

-Sleeping Beauty: This film’s visuals are absolutely amazing. The animation is fantastic and the design of Maleficent is peak. And I like how Prince Phillip actually has some personality. However, the one GLARING issue with this movie is Araura’s age. Unlike in Sleeping Beauty, they verbally confirm several times that Aurora is 15-16 years old. Personally, I would not want my kids to think that it’s okay to get married at that age. However, when I was a kid, I did not pick up on her age at all. I had always assumed that Aurora was in her early to mid-20s because that’s how old she looks. So, I can’t really say if this is appropriate to show to kids or not. It’s really up to you.

- 101 Dalmations: Simple, but very cute, especially if you’re a dog person. Cruella Devils is a super entertaining villain, and it’s honestly a refreshing change that she isn’t an evil queen or witch, she’s just a massive bitch. I love that. Perfectly fine to show to kids.

[mywifeleftme]

178: Various Artists // The Paths of Pain: The CAIFE Label, Quito, 1960–68

The Paths of Pain: The CAIFE Label, Quito, 1960–68 Various Artists 2021, Honest Jon's (Bandcamp)

One of my favourite reissue compilations of recent years, Honest Jon’s The Paths of Pain: The CAIFE Label, Quito, 1960–68) collects recordings discovered in 2013 in the offices of impresario Carlos Rota after his death. The Quito, Ecuador-based CAIFE label had gone out of business more than 40 years before, and while at its height a number of regionally popular stars recorded for the label, its growth potential was hampered by the fact that few Ecuadorians owned record players in the 1960s. Based on the photographs and descriptions in the vivid liner notes by Ramona Stout, Rota was a compulsive hoarder (and general scoundrel), but despite the chaotic state of his storage, the tapes are uncannily pristine. (Being restored at Abbey Road no doubt helped as well!) When I hear traditional mestizo folk music, it’s nearly always on a battered 45 or through a rime of tape hiss even a diligent remastering engineer has failed to eliminate. Though with my inexpert ear I’d have guessed a vintage for these songs closer to the ‘30s or ‘40s than the ‘60s, the sound is crystal clear and untouched by contemporary studio gloss. Like unearthing a perfectly preserved music box from a fossil bed, there is something magical about hearing this delicate music with all its detail intact: intricate Spanish-influenced guitarwork, lovelorn vocal harmonies, quavering organs, even the occasional twinkle of a xylophone.

Stout attempts to hunt down information on all of the artists featured on the compilation with varying degrees of success. Of Biluka y Los Caníbales, she is able to not only share that the strange cartoony whistling sound featured on the recording is the artist blowing over a Ficus leaf laid flat on his tongue, but that he could play up to eight songs on each leaf before it became unusable. Of Los Iñaquingas, an Andean flute duo, she can tell us nearly nothing. In the case of Romany-Italian émigré Raul Emiliani, who contributes violin to a Gypsy jazz-inflected duet with pianist Héctor Bonilla, tracking down his still-living widow provides material for a wryly amusing miniature biography, including the detail that he once stole label head Carlos Rota’s car to settle an unpaid debt. These musicians’ individual stories weave together the narrative of Rota’s family (Carlos’s son Daniel headed the restoration project) with that of the musical era captured on these tapes—both a ‘pure’ distillation of Ecuador’s unique musical heritage, and one largely abandoned by younger generations in a more culturally globalized era.

The songs are sublime and sublimely sequenced. If there is a theme beyond their common provenance it is that the compilers have chosen to stick to songs of sorrow. While the album’s frequently chipper melodies makes for light, even easy listening, the translated lyrics helpfully provided tell a different story. Try “Sangrante Corazon / Bloody Heart” (performed by Hermanas Mendoza Suasti):

The bloody heart which you hold in your hands is granted eternal life when I may kiss your temples. Captive like this, I want to live. I exist in anguish, fearful of abandonment. In my martyrdom, sacrificed on the altars of oblivion, downcast, nonetheless my soul beams, when you’re near.

Or better still, “Desesperacion / Desperation” (Benítez y Valencia):

You live enchained to my memory, but still the poisoned claws of pain constantly dig into me. Ever since you crossed my path, like a hallucination, my fate is to follow you. Since then all I can think about is seeing myself in your wide eyes, suns of passion. Even if it impossible to adore you because my heart is in ashes. My pain makes you out dimly, like the shadow of a cloud. In the end, if you leave, my darling, you abandon me to pain, and so I hide, in despair, crying for love. In the end, without your love, I’ll die in desperation, from love, from pain.

Goddamn. But the searing intensity of the lyrics’ anguish isn’t a great leap from the jaunty English murder ballad, or the wave of drownings and vehicular suicides going on in contemporaneous American pop. The songs on the CAIFE tapes hold on to something luminous in loss—and like all beautiful lost things, give off an unmistakable glow to those who find them.

178/365

[radarrider87]

The Seven Year Sleep (Chapter 3)

I linger at the bar long after the final bets are placed, a candle bouncing its light off the side of my lowball glass. The fairy fountains have gone dim, and most of the crooks are either stumbling in the streets or passed out under the very fountains that swallowed up their dough.

A small voice reaches my ear, a sound so tender and easily broken. “Another glass, sir?” asks the unlucky waitress, who seems to have full run of the bar now. Cremia, was it? Somehow, the little lady found time to change her blouse as the evening wore on, but the shame of that incident is still written all over her face.

I shake my head slightly and raise my glass. A good sip of Chateau Romani remains, but I'll keep nursing this one. Best to keep a level head as I put my questions to Ingo.

She turns her attention to wiping up the mess left behind by so many crooks and gamblers, extinguishing most of the candles as she goes. I sit there and try to work up the nerve to track down the proprietor. Can't say I'm looking forward to seeing his ugly mug up close... or dealing with any goons he may have hired to push around unwanted guests.

Well, how about that. Ingo saves me the trip, rounding the corner of his bar. He snatches Cremia by the arm, hissing through his teeth as he lays into her.

“You lousy bimbo.” He bares his teeth, a golden tooth flashing next to a rotten one. “I oughta tan your hide for that little stunt you pulled! If you so much as look at one of our guests the wrong way, I’m gonna do a lot more than dock your pay, that’s for damn sure.”

All of a sudden, Ingo’s eyes are flickering with something very close to fear. He twists the girl’s arm as he stares across the room. “For crying out loud, the last thing I need is somebody like Big Knuckle laying waste to the place. I’ve worked so hard, damn it! I’ve earned it! This club, this beautiful club that should’ve always been mine... Graaah! Listen to me when I’m talking to you, girl!”

That greaseball makes to slap Cremia with all of that pent-up insecurity of his, but then he stops. A smooth, pale hand is resting on his shoulder. He turns sharply, furious that somebody has the gall to lay a hand on him here, in his little corner of the world.

Malon, still gorgeous in that violet dress of hers, looks him in the eye.

“Leave her alone, uncle. Can’t you see she’s embarrassed? She won’t let it happen again.”

Ingo grinds his teeth, towering over his niece. “Keep your pretty nose outta my affairs, Malon. Remember who puts a roof over your head and food in your mouth. I only do that ’cuz your my brother’s whelp, but if you’re not happy with the jobs I give you, maybe we can find something more interesting, eh? I’d make a serious wager that our guests would like to spend more time in your company, and they won’t just be interested in your singing voice, I can tell ya that much.”

I slam the glass down on the bar, nice and hard.

The three of them look my way, and Ingo starts to chuckle.

“Well, well, well. Look what the wallmaster dragged in! Didn’t think I’d be seeing your sorry ass around here.”

The stick man struts over and stands on the other side of the bar like a puffed up rooster.

“Silent Masters. I thought you’d still be hiding in a hole, especially after all that trouble you caused for the rich stiffs. Who was it again?”

I stay true to my name, silent in the face of stupidity.

“Oh yeah, the Fitzgeralts!” He whistles through those rotten teeth. “You really dragged the whole lot of ’em through the mud, didn’t ya? But maybe I should be thanking you. If it wasn’t for crazy flatfoots like yourself, I’d still be playing second fiddle to that fat brother of mine.”

Snatching a towel from the bottom drawer, Ingo turns about. He casually polishes the golden horse on its pedestal, as if the thing needed an extra shine. “So, what can we do for ya, Mr. Masters? Ready to throw in your lot with the winning side for a change?”

I lay out my uncle’s drawing, sliding it across the bar. The instant Ingo looks back and catches sight of those triangles, his face turns whiter than a graveyard ghost. He clears his throat, regaining his composure with a little effort, but I can see right through the act.

“Got no idea what I’m looking at, Silent. Care to enlighten me?”

Folding up the triangles slowly, carefully, I slip the scrap of paper back into my pocket. Then, after taking a deep breath, I reach across the bar and grab Ingo by the collar.

That odd screeching sound he makes would probably wake up half the neighborhood, if he didn’t get the wind knocked out of him as he hit the trim, that is. Dragging him over the top, I demand answers. I demand to know the meaning of these damn symbols, and while he’s at it, he’d better tell me where I can find this Sheik character.

Ingo's right eye twitches something fierce, but he still has the gall to smile. “Wrong move, detective. Boys!”

A rough set of hands throw back the stage curtains, and goon after goon marches into the club. Some snicker at my bad luck, and others just crack their knuckles. One goon, a moblin gangster by the looks of him, even adds a bit of brass to those knuckles of his.

Heavy boots thump against the floor, and a large figure takes the lead of this small army. Figures. Who better to lead the assault than the Lynel bouncer himself? The beast man flexes every muscle in his body, and I swear I can hear that fancy club jacket ripping at the seams. I turn back to find Ingo’s smile has gotten just a little bit wider.

Damn.

Lowering Ingo nice and easy, I push the empty lowball towards him and make my final request. He tosses some ice into the glass and pours a generous helping of green spirit.

“Sure thing, Silent. On the rocks... just like your life, eh?”

As I make a toast to bad company, I can feel them closing in. Malon catches my eye as I raise the glass to my lips. She looks nervous, and who can blame her? One of the moblins stands next to me, baring his teeth in a parody of a smile. He’s watching me, waiting for me to down the drink so he and his buddies can put me down for good.

Here goes nothing.

I throw back the glass without swallowing. The green spirit tingles inside my mouth as I grab the candle off the bar. Turning on the gangster, I blow liquor through the flame. His suit jacket catches instantly, setting his right arm aflame and sending the moblin on his way, screaming. Before anyone else can put in their two cents, I smash the glass upside the head of a goon behind me.

And just like that, the club switches from last calls to anything goes. Two moblins rush forward. I whip off my trench coat, catching one and twisting the coat around his head. As I swing him around, making sure his head connects with the bar, I slip a knife from its hidden holster and stab his buddy in the shoulder. He screams bloody murder until I knee him between the legs, at which point he only manages to grunt as he tumbles to the floor.

I’m not too aware of anything outside of the fight, but I do hear a lot of screaming. Cremia’s making a fuss as she runs backstage, and she’s not the only one. As the last moblin slumps to the floor, I catch sight of the first goon dousing his sleeve in a fairy fountain. While he does manage to put out the fire, he finds himself in a whole bucket of trouble as the fairies shriek and pummel the intruder senseless with their magic. Guess that’s what you get for cheating in this joint.

All of this good fortune must be going to my head, because even as I dust my hands of these lowlifes, I realize the fight isn’t over. There’s still one major player, and he’s coming right at me. The Lynel bouncer huffs and puffs, hot air blowing from his nostrils as he charges forward, and I’m standing in the way like a damn chuckle head.

A woman throws herself at me, pushing me to the side as the Lynel crashes through the bar wall and reduces it to splinters. Malon is lying on top of me, and I can just make out her lovely face through the curls of red hair.

“Watch yourself, Silent. I’m not losing you again.”

I gently roll her to the side, urging her to stay out of trouble. She scoffs. “Look who’s talking.”

As I get back on my feet, I can see the bouncer doing the same, throwing a piece of the counter away like an unwanted blanket. Glass shards are stuck in his skin and he’s bleeding from a dozen places, but none of that means squat to a Lynel.

The beast man grabs a bottle, smashing it against whatever’s left of the bar. He’s getting ready to charge again, but there’s no way he’s gonna pull a fast one on me again. I dart forward, leaping onto his back, locking him in a chokehold that I knew my life depended on.

The Lynel roars and cusses at the top of his lungs until he’s suddenly out of breath. Even still, he refuses to give in. He swings the broken bottle over his head. He stumbles into the casino, throwing his back against tables and fountains, doing everything he can to get me off his back. And boy, am I feeling it.

Water splashes all over the floor as the bouncer knocks over a fountain. A fairy cries out, covering her ethereal figure in a towel and sprinting away. This is getting out of hand. I need to slow this bruiser down before he breaks everything in the club, including yours truly.

I tighten my grip around his neck, willing the big guy to drop, and pretty soon, all of that effort pays off. The Lynel crashes down, his knees slamming against the wood. The rest of him follows, and as I somehow manage to walk away from the fight of my life, I can hear the beast man snoring, loud as a jack hammer.

I stumble backwards, every muscle screaming in agony. And just when I think it’s over, all of the hired thugs down for the count, I can feel a hand tugging at the collar of my shirt.

Ingo, the head honcho himself, is holding a knife to my throat. His eyes are on fire, and he won’t take no for an answer, no sir. He’s gonna have his pound of flesh tonight.

As I push back against the stick man, I hear Malon shouting. “Silent! Catch!”

I glance over and catch sight of a golden horse flying through the air. Holding Ingo back with one hand, I grab the airborne statue with the other. Swinging it around, I knock Ingo over the head with his prized trophy. The club owner slumps over, dropping his knife as he slips off into dreamland.

I make my way over to Malon, who kisses her fingers and gently touches the statue in my hands. "Thank you, Epona," she says with a smile. "Such a sweet girl."

Yeah. Good ol' Epona.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39944304/

[f0xd13-blog]

People say português People are xenophobic towards brazilians.. bit h that is totally rarelly the case... portuguese always loved brasil but the woke onws are comming over here with this attitude like if we was all white and then get the answer and end up crying still accusing us of discrimination... i've seen this happening so many times. So whats happening now is... american woke culture did that and you is just getting thw consequences of people that a triggered af because we was never what you have in your head ok??? I had multiple brazilians comming here full of money!!! Full of money with more money than the usual portuguese

Ps. That brazilian girl had an italian boy friend both living in portugal one was the real colonizer of portugal (italy) the other one got their country destroyed by the kind of people she is dating... crazy....

Oh yaaa braziliam inwquality didn't existed as much in portugal rule it was when those italians immigrated there all of sudden you have a straight line divifding white people from asian/black ppl.. so imagine what it is to have that sort of people over here now with the most inaccurate attitude ever

Anyways moving on... shitloads of celebrations black this lgbtq that, latrashtinos and not giving one minute to the romany while trying to be us... literally TALK ABOUT US AND TREAT US LIKE A COMMUNITY. They will only rest when their kids start exploding

Remember when putin said that people (rosalia at the time) was playing with an extremely ostracized group of people from southern iberia with russia blood? Remember that putin is an mj fan? Remember that ive said american folk is pure portuguese gypsy? Are things starting to make sense??? 1 ywar of jokes don forget!!!

So keep joking wlon and kanye... keep joking!

They think this is a joke like literally you will get bombed or holocaustwd that's for sure

Copying me just to put it side to side with the sadf boys?????after all that happened!!! You either get bombwd or i will eventually build camp in the usa... minimum!!! After all the abuse

I couls have become a rapper with my own ideas right? But no kanyé did it... you are dead america im just not sure how still

No shit everybody knows that already

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And the more u put gypsies on my feed and try to hide what happened to us and to me personally the more that holocaust thing will be a reality. I can't have a normal life (ain't even asking to b rich tbh) you will finally discover what an holocaust was sincw u didn't because of us

America needs to takw action on their fascists or shit is about to happen

I ain't joking

This ain't even a situation of trying to be diferente we literally ain't hispanic

We ain't hispanic

Most be jewish but he blocked me before i could answer

Anyways poeple from that video are just portuguese and this are romany

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[tehuti88-art]

10/6/23: r/SketchDaily theme, "Inktober: Golden/Free Draw Friday." Drawlloween theme, Oct. 6: "It Lives In The Mountain."

...

This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Nikolas (no last name ever given). He's the father of Mirela. Near the story's beginning he's captured and imprisoned while she escapes; they both think the other is dead until she finds him near the story's end, in bad shape but alive. There's already some info about him in Mirela's entry, but there'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, I'm not sure if he wears earrings or not, so I didn't give him any. He's quite thin and haggard.

TUMBLR EDIT: There's some info regarding Nikolas's (last name never given) character and role in the plot in his daughter Mirela's entry. I just read it for some refreshers; he's a minor character and appears really only at the story's beginning and toward the end, so hasn't been developed much, but here's what I've come up with so far based on Mirela's info.

Nikolas and Mirela are Romani, the people known by the Nazis as Zigeuner and colloquially known as Gypsies. Mirela loses her mother young and her father never remarries; he instead devotes all his attention to his daughter, and is rather too protective of her, as if afraid to lose her as well. He's a loving father, though, so although she's occasionally disgruntled by his eagle eye, Mirela tolerates his behavior, knowing he only looks out for her out of concern. The two of them are quite close as they're the only ones in their immediate family unit, in a culture that prides itself on large extended families; Mirela feels guilty more than once that she's not the son her parents surely would've preferred, yet Nikolas always assures her her worries are unfounded: "You're everything your Mutter and I could have ever wanted, meine Maus, don't think for one moment we would have traded you for anything." It's expected that someday she'll be married off to secure a connection to another family, but unlike many others, she isn't engaged at a young age, and Nikolas doesn't pressure her about it: "There'll be plenty of time for us to deal with that later."

As it turns out, there isn't plenty of time. The Nazi Party has determined that the Romani are subhuman, and have no right to exist. The Wehrmacht raids the camp where Nikolas and Mirela live, taking many of the adult men alive--they can be used as slave labor in the nearby camp--while outright killing most of the women, children, and elderly they come across. Mirela wants to fight back--but Nikolas knows they're hopelessly outnumbered, and suspects what will happen to Mirela if she's captured alive. So he grabs her arm and does the only thing he can think of: Goes running. "I want you to keep this in mind," he pants when they have a few minutes to rest; "If anything happens to me--shush, little Mir, let me finish--if anything happens, every night, when you put your head down to sleep, I want you to look for the moon, and I want you to know I'm looking at it too. No matter what happens, this'll hold us together, ja...? While your Mutter looks down at us both."

Mirela has to fight not to cry. Then has to fight not to get captured, as the German soldiers find them and they go running again. Mirela wants them to stay together, but Nikolas shoves her away from him the moment he realizes he won't be escaping along with her; Mirela stumbles nearly to a halt, turns to run back when a couple of soldiers grab Nikolas, but the panic in his voice--"Run, little Mir, keep running!"--makes her turn and set off again. She doesn't look back--she knows she'll never be able to leave him behind if she looks--plus several more soldiers are already in close pursuit of her. Nikolas sees them all go running off into the dark before he's knocked to the ground and then kicked in the side. "Should've just burned you with the rest of your camp!" his assailant snarls before he's dragged up by his arms and marched away.

(He completely misses how Mirela actually ends up rescued, by an American battalion called the Trench Rats.)

Nikolas is placed in a military truck crowded with other men, and transported to a different kind of camp. (NOTE there's a potential plot conflict here--he may be shuttled through the camp system for a while before ending up here at last.) He's confused by the sign that assures him work will set him free, especially when one of the other men mutters that this is a lie, he's heard the only way you get out of a camp is through the chimney. That comment REALLY confuses him, until he looks up at the thick black smoke pluming from the chimney stacks and realization hits, what he's truly seeing; he goes pale and starts shaking. Inside the muddy yard, the men are forced into a line and made to step forward, one by one, as a guard casts them a quick glance before yelling, "Right!" or "Left!" and jotting down a note in his book. Nikolas has no idea what any of this means. A guard shoves him forward as he isn't paying attention, the guard with the book looks him up and down and barks, "Right!" and he takes a step to the right, out of the line, but has no idea what to do next. Somebody whistles; he looks at another officer standing off to the side, observing the proceedings; he's smoking a cigarette and has a scar over his eye and a bored look on his face. "Head right and get your assignment, stick," he says, and nods in the direction Nikolas assumes he's meant to go. He's processed into the camp--name jotted down and replaced with a number which is tattooed on his arm, stripped, deloused, sent into a shower, given striped clothes and a black triangle with a Z. A guard points out a barracks building--"That's your home from now on, unless you f**k up, then THAT'S your home," and he points--left. Nikolas looks. There's another building that looks like the showers he just came from. Nikolas isn't sure how...but he knows there's something different about THOSE showers...and now he knows that to be sent left is very bad. He assumes this is the way one leaves the camp--through the chimney. He determines to do his best to never have to set foot anywhere near that part of the camp, and hurries to go get his work assignment. As long as he's useful, he reasons, he'll stay alive, and as long as he's alive, there's a chance he'll find Mirela again.

He goes in his assigned barracks building, where somebody exclaims, "Herr Nikolas!" and hurries toward him. It's another man from his camp; they briefly embrace and he says with a dismayed look, "I had really hoped you escaped." He asks what became of Mirela; "Last I saw of her, she was running," Nikolas says; "I have to hope she got away, otherwise, my heart will stop in my chest," and his eyes well up; "I'll pray for her, and for you," the other man says, before someone steps in and yells at everyone to stand in front of their bunks. Someone in prisoner's stripes, yet wearing an armband and wielding a club, strolls down the aisle between them, loudly laying out the rules. "You will wake before sunrise, use the toilets, then line up in the yard. You will wait for roll call and get your daily assignment. You will take your lunch, you will do your work, you will go back to your bunks at dark. You work, you live," he says; "Make yourself useful, you sleep here. Make yourself NOT useful..." He halts, glares at them, and says, "You want to stay useful, trust me. Work sets you free!" He abruptly thwacks at Nikolas's head, making him gasp. "Caps off when you talk to a guard!" he snaps, and the others quickly remove their caps. "Keep yourself useful or you go out the chimney. Where you stand now is where you will sleep tonight. Now back to the yard to get your assignments."

"Why does he speak like a guard?--he's one of us," Nikolas whispers, confused, as they exit; another prisoner snorts and mutters, "He's not one of us, he's a kapo. Same difference as a guard, just worse." And indeed, Nikolas quickly learns that the kapos who oversee the work units are not their friends, and often are even more brutish than the guards. He's assigned to a unit that places slabs of stone in carts to be wheeled to a workshop on camp grounds; other days, he helps break bigger slabs into smaller ones for transport, or does the transporting himself, or cleans the barracks or the toilets or the medical facilities. It's a miserable existence, and given the paltry food portions and the alternating sweltering heat and freezing cold of the barracks, he grows thinner and weaker by the day. Every time he catches a glimpse of the moon through the cracks in the barracks roof and walls, however, he dares to feel a tiny twinge of hope. His little Mir is still out there, he has to believe she is. Knowing she could be looking up at the same moon is the only thing that keeps him going.

His curiosity is frequently drawn to the workshop he often delivers to. A select group of prisoners works in there, doing what, he's not sure. Another prisoner says they produce craft items for sale. Nikolas is surprised by such news, that certain prisoners don't do heavy labor. It seems like a dream job. His fellow prisoner informs him that a craft job is difficult to secure, yet he can't stop thinking about it. He wonders if he could ever have a hope to work in there. Such thoughts become rather pressing and less conjectural when he pulls a muscle in his shoulder one day and finds that he can't lift the heavy slabs anymore. He does his best trying to conceal his injury, but it's nearly impossible, and when he steals away behind the barracks to rest his throbbing shoulder, a kapo soon finds him.

Kapo: "You! Back to work! You rest when you go to sleep!"

Nikolas: "Bitte, just a moment, bitte."

Kapo: "No moment! You know the rules. You work or you die. You want to keep living? Then get out there and work."

Nikolas: "I want to work, I do, but..."

Kapo: "Why are you holding your arm like that...?" *suspicious look* "Are you hurt--?"

Nikolas: "Something in my shoulder. I want to work, I do, but I don't know if I can."

Kapo: "You will if you want to keep living."

Nikolas: *stepping toward medical building* "Bitte, I should go to see a doctor--"

Kapo: "Nein!" *Nikolas freezes* *under his breath* "You don't want to go to the medical ward."

Nikolas: "If I can just have them look at my shoulder..."

Kapo: "If they can't fix you up immediately, they'll kill you. They have no time for someone who can't get right back to work. You want to be dead?--because that's what'll happen."

Nikolas: *pales* "What do I do...? I can hardly lift anything."

Kapo: "You're going to have to. There's nothing else for it." *long pause; Nikolas looks aggrieved* *reluctantly* "Your...your best bet may be the commandant."

Nikolas: *confused* "The commandant...?"

Kapo: "They say he's a bit like you people. Likes making bargains if it suits him."

Nikolas: "Bargains--?"

Kapo: "Maybe you can offer him something he can use. And he lets you live a little longer."

Nikolas: "What do I offer him?"

Kapo: "That's up to you to figure out, Zigeuner. Now you better get back out there, and try to get to work, while you do so."

Nikolas returns to his work station. He does his best to keep at it, but the pain is such that he knows he won't be able to do so for long; a night's sleep offers him a small respite, though not much of one. The next day, he drops the slab he's carrying; fortunately, it doesn't break, unfortunately, he can't pick it back up, his shoulder has almost given out. The kapo overseeing his work unit (different guy from yesterday) orders him to get back to work, and when he doesn't, smacks him with his club. And then--"Hey!" The kapo pulls off his cap and snaps to attention. Nikolas follows suit without looking, figuring it's a guard; so he blinks in surprise a few times when he sees who's approaching. The officer with the cigarette and the scar over his eye--Sturmbannführer Konstantin Klaus--stops in front of them, frowning. "You don't hit so hard or they can't work," he says to the kapo; then to Nikolas, "Back to work, stick, or maybe he should hit you harder." Nikolas winces at the throb in his shoulder and the numbness in his arm; Major Klaus notices his look, for he frowns even more and says, "You hurt, stick...? Can't work...?" And his gaze shifts toward the crematoria.

Nikolas's heart crowds up into his throat--he suddenly notices the workshop, in the distance behind Klaus--and without thinking first, his old haggling skills pop out. He begs Klaus for a chance in the workshop, touting his carving skills, he's much better carving things than carrying them. The commandant seems unmoved: "No room in the workshop, stick, all the positions filled. If you're hurt, you go to hospital and get patched up and get back to work." Nikolas persists even though by now even the kapo is wincing at his audacity; he figures it can't hurt any more than the alternative. Klaus is strict but he isn't known to be particularly cruel; he doesn't threaten or hit Nikolas though his argument changes: "Only skilled crafters in the workshop, stick! Don't have time to train another of you when there's no room anyway." Shaking with fear by now, Nikolas tries one more time, remembering what the other kapo said--They say he's a bit like you people. Likes making bargains if it suits him--and says what must be the magic words: He doesn't need special training, he's carved trinkets for years, he can carve things for sale, to make money. This time Klaus's curiosity seems vaguely piqued; when Nikolas says he can carve whatever he needs, he looks skeptical, but unbuttons his greatcoat and removes a leather wallet, thumbing through it. As he does so he pulls a few things out to look; Nikolas notices a photograph, a portrait of Klaus in uniform with a woman and two young boys. He snaps back to attention when Klaus holds out a card with an ornate rune printed on it; the commandant shakes the card at him so he gingerly takes it. "This," Klaus says; "carve this, then we see if you're any good. Take it to the workshop, show the man the card, ask for a seat then get to work. You have an hour." Nikolas requests at least two hours; Klaus gets a sour frown and says, "It takes you two hours to carve this, stick, then you're not that skilled." Nikolas says he'd like the extra time to personalize the carving, give it more detail; Klaus just jerks his head at the workshop and says, "Get going, stick," so Nikolas obeys.

Nikolas presents himself at the workshop--everyone is diligently at work, many of them sculpting Julleuchter, special SS Yule lanterns (these are a running gag in the story--SS members keep getting gifted them, nobody actually wants them)--shows the guard the rune card, says the commandant has requested a carving; the guard is perplexed, they have no current openings, but clears a space for him, brings him wood and a small carving knife, vows he's going to have a close eye kept on him so not to try anything. Nikolas is nervous--he plans to try something, just not what the guard suspects. He sets to work. Carving the rune is nothing--he wasn't exaggerating when he claimed he's skilled at carving, he made decent money in his old life crafting wooden trinkets to sell to gadje, and got good at doing a quick job. He finishes a simple but decent rune in no time. Then picks up another piece of wood and surreptitiously sets to work on a second project. The guard occasionally passing by says nothing about his second project, perhaps assuming Klaus requested it; "Fifteen minutes, Zigeuner," he does warn, so Nikolas hurries to put on the finishing touches. He cleans up his space when the guard returns and tells him his time is up, returns the knife, is escorted back out with his carvings in hand.

Klaus is nearby, arms crossed, waiting; "Well, stick?--let's see what you got," he says, and Nikolas holds out the rune carving. Klaus looks it over; "Not bad," he muses, though doesn't appear overly impressed. Then Nikolas swallows hard and holds out the second item he carved; "What's this--?" Klaus asks with a frown, before getting a decent look at it. It's a simple carved portrait: A man in uniform, a woman, two boys. Although simplified and stylized, it's obvious that it's the Klauses, as Nikolas even included a little scar over the man's eye. Klaus's eyes go wide, he blinks, then he swallows; for a brief moment he looks almost ready to cry. He then shakes it off, frowns at Nikolas, demands, "How'd you make this--? Huh, stick--? Answer," and Nikolas explains how he saw the photograph of Klaus's family. "I can make more carvings," he says quickly, "whatever carvings anyone likes! Carvings to sell. I can make a simple one in an hour, a better one in two, I can work from sunup to sundown. All I need is wood and a knife and a picture, I can do it and make money for you."

The whole time he talks--begs, really--he can see the look on Klaus's face shift. The commandant looks skeptical yet torn; "Workshop is full, stick," he insists, "who do I kick out to make room for you?" but Nikolas can tell that the words sell and money got through to him and he's wavering. "I take only a small space, just a small space," Nikolas pleads, "I don't even need a work station. I can sit on the floor if you need me to. You don't need to kick out anyone. Keep all the workers, don't lose a space, I'll find a spot, it's not a tradeoff, it's a bonus. Let me prove it, give me a week," he adds, "and you'll see, you'll make some money, you can charge whatever you want. I used to make good money off gadje." And at last, Klaus gives in; he orders the workshop guard to clear a corner space for Nikolas, tells him to work on some more rune carvings for now, and he'll bring him a job soon to see how he does--"You better not be sh*tting me, stick, or back to the yard for you." The spot Nikolas finds himself in is in a back corner near a grimy old window; it's dirty and dusty and chilly, and he shivers so hard he nearly cuts himself, but he has a bit of natural light, which is nice, and he makes a handful of rune carvings before it's time to retire for the day. Best of all, he gets to rest his aching shoulder.

The next day when he arrives at the workshop, Klaus greets him with a photo, a portrait of a rather rotund officer he doesn't recognize. "Your first job, stick, do it right," he warns, and Nikolas sets to work. He's conflicted about whether he should stay true to the photo, or slim the man down some; he knows the Nazis pride themselves on their general fitness. At the last moment he decides to carve the portrait as he sees it. The guard carries it away. Nikolas nervously makes more runes. Some time later Klaus arrives. "Well, stick," he muses, looking perplexed, "my Kamerad adores his carving, says it really captures his essence or some sh*t. He's telling some friends. Expect you'll have a busy day tomorrow." Nikolas is put to work carving sets of sig rune and Lebensrunen knickknacks until Klaus can bring him more portraits to carve. The workshop guard admires the sig runes and he and several of his fellows put in orders with Klaus. The work starts flowing. Nikolas can hardly whittle fast enough, but he does. The items he has to carve, frankly, turn his stomach--he despises that he's basically creating propaganda to help fund the SS--but a living is a living, he reasons--anything that keeps him alive a little bit longer, in hopes of seeing Mirela again.

Nikolas passes much of the story like this, presumably. Klaus gets the idea that a handful of Nikolases is better than one, so selects several particularly skilled craftsmen to observe and learn from him, and Nikolas willingly teaches them his craft, so the workshop can put out a higher number of carved items for profit. He keeps a few secrets to himself, however...that's just the way...and his own works remain the most sought after of those produced in the camp, ensuring his survival as long as there's demand for them. He carves runes, portraits, SS insignia, decorative containers, völkisch figurines and doodads to display on shelves, SS altar statuettes, whatever is requested, he carves it--he suffers numerous cuts, his hands ache and cramp, his back hurts and his eyes sting from hunching over his dusty projects, but he doesn't complain. Nobody seems to care once they find out a Zigeuner is the one doing the work; if anything, they find it to be a novelty, to purchase such fine crafts from a subhuman.

As the story goes on, however, and the tide of war starts to turn, ironically the approach of the Allies proves to initially be bad news for the camp inmates. As the situation grows more dire and the Germans suffer heavier losses, there is of course much less request for novelty items, and resources need to be conserved for the war effort. Not only does the workshop eventually close, the craftsmen being sent back to hard labor in the yard, but the population of Klaus's camp starts to swell and as living space becomes scarce, food runs low as well while disease starts to spread. Klaus's main interest is in keeping his prisoners alive--not out of any concern for them, but to provide slave labor for the Reich--but this gets increasingly difficult as conditions deteriorate, and he even struggles to get SS headquarters to respond to his requests for aid. The results of this are mixed for prisoners such as Nikolas: On the one hand, the strict order and emphasis on hard labor is slackened, so the guards don't even bother meting out punishments most of the time, and Nikolas no longer has to do anything that strains his shoulder too much; on the other hand, hunger and illness run rampant, the facilities are no longer maintained, and overcrowding becomes a problem as the trains keep coming yet nobody is transported elsewhere anymore. The crematoria run day and night--prisoners start dying on their own, without the need for so much intercession by the SS.

Nikolas finds himself fighting to stay alive in a completely different manner. He can't strike bargains with bacteria, however; and eventually he develops a bad cough and his feet start to not look so good. He wraps the latter in what rags he can find, but it becomes excruciating to walk as the obvious infection spreads, and he spends much of his time huddled shivering in the yard or on his bunk, coughing up blood and peering up at the moon when it's visible. It's been so dreadfully long since he last saw his Mirela, and he's never had any word of her, so he finds his hope at last waning. He feels intense shame over this...but he's just so sick, and tired of holding on. He wonders now and then, in vague states of delirium, if perhaps his little Mir has been waiting for him on the other side all along...and maybe he's meant to join her there. Once or twice he even thinks he sees her wandering among the crowding prisoners in the yard, and he drags himself outside to look for her, yet she's never there. At last it becomes too difficult to go back inside--the prisoners who are still strong enough to stand fight among themselves for access to a dry bunk to sleep on, and Nikolas knows he'd never stand a chance keeping hold of his--so he pulls his tattered clothes around himself and sits in the mud, trying to take slow deep breaths and rest himself for whatever comes next. Klaus remains in his camp, though most of his guards desert, and almost all order breaks down as word reaches them that the Allies have entered the city and are on their way to liberate the camp. Nikolas doesn't even feel any hope but that whatever comes next, it gets over with fast.

He watches wide eyed, shivering, and sweating one day, as some of the prisoners revolt and turn on the commandant, a kapo smashing his knee with his club; instantly crippled, Klaus cries out and topples where he stands, then disappears from view in a hail of kicks and blows. His demise seems ensured until other people start pouring into the camp and pull the infuriated prisoners back. They're wearing uniforms, but they aren't the dreaded Red Army which was expected; they're speaking English. They manage to drag the half-conscious Klaus away to safety while the prisoners yell to leave him, they'll save them the trouble and kill him themselves: "He can leave through the chimney! It's good enough for us, it's good enough for him!" Once, Nikolas might have felt a twinge of compassion--Klaus is an awful person, yes, but he was never exceptionally cruel, and Nikolas feels he owes his life to him--yet by now all he feels is numb. He hardly pays attention to the American and British troops as they take over the camp and peruse the sorry state of affairs; it's a vast complex, full to the gills, and they don't have the resources yet to evacuate everyone, so Nikolas and those similarly poorly off just remain where they are for now. One soldier does pass him a canteen, and he sips some water and whispers, "Danke sehr," before breaking down coughing again. He looks up toward the fence, so near yet so far, now and then, at the prisoners milling around in front of it and the troops wandering outside, then blinks, confused. A young woman is walking past, peering into the camp, an aggrieved look in her eyes. He could swear it's Mirela. It looks just like her.

"Mir...?" he whispers; he rubs his eyes, blinks, squints. She keeps walking along the fence. He desperately tries to keep her in view, sure that once he loses sight of her, even for a second, she'll vanish--maybe this is her ghost calling to him--yet she remains in view, craning her neck and looking around. She resumes walking and is about to disappear past a group of prisoners when Nikolas, panicked, says aloud, "Mir--?" then starts yelling as loudly as he can: "Mir! MIR! Mirela! My little Mir--!"

He expects Mirela's ghost to keep on walking--yet she abruptly stops, eyes going wide, and turns in his direction. He sees her mouth form the word Papa? "Mir!!" he yells again, before he loses his voice and starts violently coughing. But her eyes finally fix on his and she shouts back, "Papa--?" It's not a ghost, it's really his little Mir. She's come back to him at last.

Nikolas's and Mirela's reunion is outlined HERE. The Trench Rats, mingled among the Allied troops attempting to evacuate the camp, bring a stretcher to carry Nikolas out as he can't walk; Mirela stays by his side the entire time, eyes full of tears, as he strokes her hair and murmurs, "Meine Maus, my little Mir. Herr Gott brought you back, everything is well now."

In the medical ward at Trench Rat Headquarters, things are not so well. A doctor introduces himself, listens to Nikolas's breathing, his cough, asks how long he's had it, murmurs something about "TB" to another Rat who leaves to fetch a test. He examines Nikolas's feet and asks if they hurt; "They used to, but it's not so bad now, I can hardly feel them," Nikolas says, noticing the looks the doctor and Mirela get. The doctor talks a little with the other Rat when he returns; obviously choosing his words carefully, he tells Nikolas that they might not be able to save his legs, but they'll do what they can. Mirela is devastated by this news, but Nikolas simply takes her face in his hands and says, "My legs, I can live without; but I can't live without you." He reassures her he'll be fine no matter what happens as long as they stay together. He's sedated as surgical equipment is wheeled in and slowly drifts off. When he wakes, Mirela is still there, clasping his hand, her eyes wet. Nikolas's right foot is bandaged; his left foot...is no longer there; the bandages end just below his knee. He has to swallow hard and take a few breaths, blinking away the tears; yet he manages to smile at the distressed Mirela, stroking her face again: "It's not so bad," he murmurs when she says she's sorry. "I've lived through so much worse, I'll live through this. Now that Herr Gott's brought you back. We'll be all right, I know we will, I feel it in my heart." He thanks LC Amaranth, the intern who managed to save his right foot, as Amaranth seems rather despondent about not being able to salvage his left foot, which the surgeon, Burgundy, had to remove. They start him on an experimental antibiotic to try to treat the tuberculosis; although he never completely gets rid of his cough, his health does improve, and he asks for a knife and wood. As he recuperates he busies himself making little carvings for the others in the medical ward; he gives Burgundy a small figurine of St. Luke as thanks for his treatment.

Another Trench Rat, wearing a sergeant's stripes, often stops by to check on him and Mirela. Neither one of them ever says anything about it...but Nikolas notices the glances Mirela casts him, especially when he's not looking. He doesn't cast surreptitious looks back at her, but the way he always makes sure to stop by and check on them also catches Nikolas's attention. "Little Mir," he says to her quietly one day, "you and this sergeant...is there something between you two...?" Mirela vehemently denies any such thing...but the way her face goes bright red tells him differently.

Nikolas: "You've always been an awful liar, meine Maus..."

Mirela: *eyes downcast* "I mean it, Papa. There's nothing. I've done nothing, he's done nothing."

Nikolas: "Why then when you answer can you not look at me...?" *Mirela winces* "All right...you say you've done nothing, I believe you. Yet still. The way you keep peeking. You feel something for him...?"

Mirela: *silence*

Nikolas: "I'm not upset with you, little Mir. Just, you've never kept secrets from me before."

Mirela: "It's nothing."

Nikolas: "It does not look like nothing."

Mirela: "Even if it were something...it doesn't matter. He's gadjo, not one of us."

Nikolas: "Not one of us...? Meine Maus, you really think such a thing matters much anymore...? When they've killed most of us? I do not even know if the rest of our clan is still alive or not. If you feel for him, if he feels for you, this is what matters, ja?"

Mirela: "That's just it, though...I don't think he does feel anything. He never says anything."

Nikolas: "Have you asked him?"

Mirela: "Nein, but..."

Nikolas: *throwing up arms, exasperated tone* "Mir!"

Mirela: "Papa--"

Nikolas: "Mir, he's a man. You don't just assume a man feels nothing because he says nothing. We're terrible at such things. You ask!"

Although embarrassed, Mirela does so. And Nikolas is right; Sgt. Gold has had feelings for Mirela for quite a while, yet assumed she didn't feel the same. As the war finally ends and Nikolas is at last strong enough to walk again--albeit with a crutch now--the Rats work to get families back together and settled into homes. Nikolas chafes at the thought of staying in one place--that's never been the life he knows--yet things have changed so much, he's not sure they can return to their old life. "It's not the same without the clan," he murmurs wistfully to Mirela. When Gold comes to him to ask for Mirela's hand, he gives his blessing, but wonders what this will mean for the three of them; "Mir and I, Germany is our home," he says, "and America is yours...what is to be done?" Gold seems a little confused before saying, "I think there's been a misunderstanding...I plan to stay here, at least, for now." He explains that he's volunteered to remain in the country for the time being, helping the remaining Rats with their duties; "I could never ask Mirela to leave her home, or to leave you." What's more, his job will be pretty fluid, so he's likely to move around quite a bit. He has every intention of keeping Nikolas an active part of their life; he suggests that they can even help him with translating and understanding customs as he deals with the locals.

Nikolas perks up at this--it's not the same as his old life, but it's something, and it's better than being stuck in the same house all the time. What strikes him most of all, though, is the fact that Gold took Mirela's preferences into account before deciding on his work...and the look in Mirela's eyes when Gold glances at her. Her mother once looked at him like that. He knows she's made the right choice, and everything will be fine.

[Nikolas 2023 [‎Friday, ‎October ‎6, ‎2023, ‏‎2:00:20 AM]]

[lunarubra]

This is my realistic reaction after reading this chapter:

Okay, let's start with Lucy shooting bullseye with both her hands—she's my queen.

I really enjoy reading about Tommy "dealing" with his growing feelings. And we all know Tommy's strategy for dealing with feelings: avoid them, push them down, light a cigarette, and hope the nicotine covers them, making them disappear. Perfect plan, Thomas, always worked out so well.

So, of course, when Lucy shows everyone what shooting really means, I can just imagine his insides going all fluffy and mushy, falling even more in love with Lucy, and then he remembers to put back his hard gangster exterior.

That dialogue under the tree is freaking perfect, arghghghghghgh!

“You’re a contortionist?” “I wasn’t very good. I kept trying until I just about broke my neck trying to stand on my head. Mum banned me from doing it after that.”

I absolutely adore all of this dialogue, but this little piece just made me all gushy inside. I couldn't help but think about smol bean Lucy with her curly red hair, growing up with her Romani family, trying to become a contortionist. She's such a precious little pup. And then there's the natural way they discuss guns, with Tommy casually asking her to be his assassin. It's like he doesn't really care, but we all know it's going to come back at you, Thomas. Just be aware, no matter how hard you try to make us think you don't care. Let's see what happens in a couple of chapters.

“You’re very…” he hesitated as he looked for the right word. “Small,” was the best he managed to come up with.   “Oh, so short people can’t be violent, now? Is that it?” she attempted to make her voice sound incredulous, though it broke at the last moment with a small laugh. Tommy shook his head and laughed. It was the first real laugh she had ever heard from him, lines appearing around his eyes as he smiled up at the sky.

Laur, you've got to stop it! How do you manage to make them so darn fluffy and make my teeth ache from how sweet it is, all while they're talking about violence? And then you make me scream when he helps her put on a holster for the first time. We should all feel wary and careful when instead we're thinking, "Look at Tommy, he's so sweet. The sweetest man ever, caring so much about Lucy! Look, he even gives her her first gun and holster. What a precious moment."

And then the ending. Because if you're going to kill us all with fluff and comfort, you're doing it in the best way possible.

“You dug yourself out?” he asked, voice a gentle rumble. Through teary eyes she managed a nod. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still down there.”

Okay, I'm crying. They are truly made for each other. I think here Tommy finally understands that he's met his counterpart, his equal, someone who really understands him. I'm not sure if my vocabulary is vast enough to express how important this part is—I know I'm repeating myself a lot. Sorry, Laur, I hope you can still bear with me. I think, for now, this chapter and 'Part 6: The Shovels Against the Wall' are pieces that I could read hundreds of times and never get tired of. Thank you for sharing them with us <3

Part 1: These Devilish Intentions

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Tommy and Lucy realize they may be more alike than either of them could have thought.

Word Count: 2,769

Notes: Warnings for references to past sexual assault.

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic

Previous Part • Next Part

Chapter 3: Where Secrets Lie

She rode without a saddle, well experienced in riding bareback thanks to her time spent with her Romani cousins in the mountains. Beside her, Tommy sat astride a beautiful stallion. He looked nearly regal, like he had been made for the sole purpose of riding horses. 

The Lees were camped out not too far from town next to a small stream, shaded by the huge trees growing nearby. Little wagons dotted the area, men and women milling about, doing assorted tasks around the camp. There were a handful of children running around, but they were quickly ushered inside wagons or tents as soon as their parents noticed her and Tommy’s approach. 

Keep reading

[thorne1435]

Heya, Random-Music-Anon here (as you christened me with that name). Just... Gonna drop you some more music and watch as you review em and give recommendations.

Hope you like it, includes a couple more pure EDM and foreign language songs 🧡

The Edge - Panicland

Rome Falls - Panicland

Same Graves - The Ghost Club

Secukupnya - Hindia

Where'd U Go - Illenium

The Edge: Yo, it's like All-American Rejects but, like, with a synth. I'm really fond of how the entire everything changes for the chorus. Like, the chorus and the verses are different songs, and that's cool. I'm not sure what all changed. The tempo, for one. I'm tempted to say the key changes also but actually I'm very bad at judging when a key changes, most of the time. It just makes this song more unique though and I like that. It should be said, that its chorus being significantly slower than the verses does sort of set up and then subvert the idea that the chorus will be significantly faster than the verses. This could be deliberate ("Edging" so to speak) or...they could've just had that chorus written down ages ago and wanted to use it somewhere but then they wrote a verse that was completely different and they just mashed them together because they really wanted both things to get used. I've done similar things before, so it sort of makes sense that it would happen with better composers than me.

Man, you'd fuckin love this band called half alive... Here, listen to this!

Rome Falls: Billie Joe Armstrong is that you?! Oh-- oh that's the joke?! Shit dude, I don't even know what to say. I was gonna do the same joke I did up there and recommend some green day song and then give you the link to something completely different but now I feel like that's lazy, because this is a style parody. But it's a really good style parody. Save for the opening. Green Day would never try to be that ornate, I've never heard a Green Day song with that kind of choral element or that vocal range.

Wouldn't it be so funny if I recommended Green Day anyway? I think it would.

Same Graves: You ever just listen to a song and hear the same basic concept as a country song you heard like 5-8 years ago? And you think "Well, I shouldn't say it, because if I do then everyone will know that I took note of a country song, and that's social faux pas." But you think about it, and like, it sticks with you. And then you think, "Hey, didn't a rap record say this, too?" And then you remember rock icons like Cobain who hated the celebrity worship aspect of music as a modern medium and how they would probably agree with the message, too. And then you think "Huh. I guess no matter how you make it big as an artist, if you manage to in the first place, your social life will become a dichotomous mixture of harsh criticism and blind devotion and you'll never be a person again, and artists probably go into it knowing it'll occur but needing money less than artistic expression." and then you go "Fuck. I hate capitalism. I want the art back. I want our peaceful existence back. I want life to be what it should be." And then you cry about it...

I'm sure that's a universal experience.

Anyway, uh, what were we doing? Music share? Oh, fuck, uh... take...this? I guess?

Secukupnya: Unfortunately, I don't speak Indonesian (or any other Austronesian language). So, I had to look up a translation of the lyrics, which is always sketchy when it comes to small artists and/or languages that have no real western presence like Filipino or, like, Romani or something. From what I can gather, though, this song is about life being fucking depressing. People living paycheck to paycheck, marriages being loveless and weathered beyond repair... but it's not about that alone. They're saying that it's better if we're all sad together (Bersedih bersama-sama) which I think means grieving what could have been as a community instead of as individuals. After all, everyone fails sometime (Kita semua gagal), so we all have something to be sad about. Sharing our problems with each other will make us feel better than just keeping it to ourselves and watching everything collapse in silence. I choose to believe this is a call to action for our communities to start caring about each other like we should: to start being communities. Because that is the based interpretation.

Well, I have sad music in another language also! Granted, it's Molchat Doma which kind of blew up a year or two ago, but...shut up.

Where'd U Go: Ah...EDM. I really liked the lo-fi drum set, about a minute in. But that usually isn't my style. Modern dance music seems to follow an easily-listenable formula and then gets really loud and full, with heavy emphasis on beats and percussion, which is pretty cool but I don't tend to like easily-listenable music, at least not in its modern iterations. I stand by it being valid art, all the same. It's just usually not as memorable to me as shit that I had to listen to a few times to actually understand what it was supposed to be. There's usually nothing to say about EDM. It's just music, specifically for listening. No real meaning outside of the sound itself. That's interesting, and I think it absolutely says something about humanity and "The Human Experience", just by virtue of existing. But it's not good for overanalyzing which is what I love doing to music, so, like...it's not for me. (unless it's really jazzy. if you put your edm on a blues scale i will suddenly pull a 180 and love it unconditionally)

That being said, sometimes I do like to no-thoughts-head-empty while listening to a piece so, uh, here. Take this.

[nellygwyn]

One thing I have learnt from being upfront about being Romani at work (unlike in the past where I've concealed it for several reasons) is that it doesn't make one shred of difference to white British people. They will still indulge in anti-Romani racism/anti-Traveller prejudice right in front of you.

I have been sent links in a work WhatsApp group to articles in local right wing publications about '''anti social''' behaviour (read: taking a horse and carriage down to the river bank and causing a minor, trivial traffic jam) from local travellers, almost always followed up with the crying laughing emoji. I have been present for a conversation where someone I considered my friend laughed along as two other colleagues indulged in appalling anti-traveller rhetoric (some bullshit about not paying taxes ofc). Worst of all, I have listened to colleagues insult Romani/Traveller customers, as if their custom is worth less because of who they are. One even watched a young Traveller child who cannot have been older than 7 get relatively excited about some policemen with guns who were outside my work (as young boys tend to do - I know policemen are shit lol), and jokingly remarked that said Traveller child was probably destined to be shot in the future. Racism towards a person of any age is wrong, ofc, but there was something particularly sickening about hearing it voiced towards a child. But gypsy children aren't human to white Europeans, that much is clear.

It's not enough to have Nazis on Twitter telling me to go back to my own country (Wales? Lol) or screenshotting any tweet I make about anti-Romani/anti-Traveller sentiment in Europe and telling me to drink bleach/wishing some appalling sexual violence on me. I have to be belittled by those who are supposed to be, if not my friends, then my equals at work. The only people at work who have been genuine/kind about me being Romani are other non-white people (not shocking at all).

[wwhatev3r]

heyo! I was wondering if I could request an easy company ship? you can put me in the company if you want :)

I'm a trans guy (he/him), 5'8", I have reddish brown hair, hazel eyes, and I'm relatively athletic body wise but I have a lil tummy. I have a bigger nose due to my Italian, Jewish, and Romani decent, dimples, a phat ass (fhfhfhddjdj), and my hair is a mess of curls.

personality wise I'm the funny friend who's just kind of over everyone's bs. very snarky and quick with a joke if someone's being stupid. I'd say I'm pretty social on a surface level, but I'm only close with a few people who have earned my trust. I yell when I get mad, cry when I'm upset, and am nothing but laughs and smiles when I'm happy. my mood can change very fast because of how in tune with my emotions I am, so I'm prone to snapping on people, but I usually apologize right after and try to make things right.

my hobbies are reading, playing/listening to music, looking at hot men, and sleeping. I can play six instruments, I've always read at a high level, and I'm gayer than a box of fruit loops. speaking of food, I love cooking and eating too, hence my tummy. mac and cheese is an all time favorite and I love to bake cookies and brownies in my free time. big clothes are my favorite thing EVER and I will constantly steal clothes from people who are bigger than me. you will 100% catch me wearing a shirt that is two sizes too big in any given day.

alrighty I think that pretty much sums me up! no rush to get this done or anything <3

I ship you with...

Frank Perconte

Notes: “Oh my god, okay it's happening everybody stay calm.” OMG, I finally got to write a ship request for a boy! Literally, where have you been? It’s kinda weird that I don’t see gay men on BoB fandom, since the show is just gay men playing with guns. Ngl, you gave me a hard time, your personality is too unique for those basic ass Easy Company boys, but I think I got it…

P.S: I was between him and Christenson, since you two are very creative people. (He is so hot... jeez) 

Okay, listen to me… this was an amusement to write and I finally got someone that I ship with my short king Perconte. 

The only non basic man on that Company is Frank mf Perconte, I mean my man has his wrist with 20 wristwatches, brushes his teeth every five minutes and gets mad if he has blood on his trousers

He would have an instant crush on you from first sight

Was the moment he spotted your fat ass, jk

Can you just see the height different

He’s literally asking you with his eyes for you to please pick him up

But he does try his best to act cool and flirt with you and everything

Okay, George Luz is definitely one of your best friends, and I think you would throw snarky jokes at Bill.

Talbert tried to get into your pants too… just sayin

Once you’re dating he’s just all over you 

You’re like his prince 

I’m not sure if you can steal clothes from him because… well, you know why but he sure gives you all of them with no problem

He gets a little pissed with you eating mac and cheese

“NO! That’s not pasta, that’s American freaking noodles. I’m going to make you real pasta and you’ll see what’s good.”

Yup, he cooks for you

But if you join is even more fun, for some reason I think you two would even be a little competitive in the kitchen

✨Italian Supremacy✨

He loves to snuggle with and read until you fall asleep

Normally he is more down for books with smut but he reads whatever you like

If you snap and unload your anger or frustration on him, he makes that puppy-like expression and asks you: “Hey, what happened?”

He prefers to spend time with you when you’re down but if you need time alone he lets you rest but we will be checking on you every five minutes

“H-honey, are you better? Can I come in now? I-i made you brownies…”

Oh my god, when he found out you played six instruments!!

“You’re shitting me? Really? No way… I’m going to find them all and you’re going to play for me. I don’t care.” 

So, one of your hobbies is looking at hot men (I can relate but with girls too, can I do that a job?) so Frank would definitely love when you hype him out or when you compliment him

He instantly melts, It’s the cutest thing. 

YEAH, he plays with your curls when he’s bored or when he can’t sleep

Sometimes when you’re speaking or smiling he can’t focus on what you’re saying because of your dimples, he just finds them so pretty.

Not many people know but Frank Perconte was very sentimental and a man of very few words. 

So, he is social but sometimes he can get very quiet during a conversation and that’s when when you enter, he feels more free to be himself.

He comes to you for advice, he does it even before you started dating, and not just because they are good but also because your opinion is really important to him

I hope you like your ship request, my man Perconte is really underrated please give him some love <3