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[lovezbrownies]

Divorce her. (Yandere!Military Chief x GN!Reader.)

Gen's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Your wife left to provide for you and your small family in a distant country years ago. Yet as you try to meet and surprise her, an obstacle appears and blasts you far from your wife's reach. Also requested here

Word count: 5,723

Warnings: Gen. Gen is the warning. Drugging, Kidnapping, Gen making Darling uncomfortable, I forgot, oh noncon touching at the end and Reina being cockblocked! Enjoy <3

Gen wasn’t one to travel often, mostly limiting her trips to diplomatic reasons tied to her job. Even then, she preferred staying within her home country, ever the patriot. Today was one of those rare exceptions—returning from a necessary trip. She stood in the airport, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, waiting for her chauffeur. The bustling crowd around her was nothing but noise, background static that her sharp focus easily ignored. She had no intention of blending in or being approached by anyone.

Suddenly, she was jostled to the side, forced out of her quiet stance by an unexpected shove. A collision with some frantic, careless figure. Gen turned sharply, already preparing to unleash a torrent of irritation. But what she saw gave her pause. You, the cause of her disruption, were a flurry of disorganized motion—papers scattered on the floor as you scrambled to pick them up, your backpack slipping over your head, adding to your disarray. You were a mess, yes, but a mess full of an odd, hyperactive energy that had her narrowing her eyes in curiosity instead of outright fury.

As you fumbled on the ground, Gen’s mind flickered between irritation and something...else. The adorable stupidity of the situation—your frantic attempt to gather papers and the way your backpack tumbled around your head—drew her interest in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Despite her irritation, the sight was almost endearing. Bending down, Gen snatched up one of the fallen papers, her curiosity spiking. A letter. She held it for just a moment, eyes darting to the sender’s details, but before she could read more, you yanked it out of her hand, clutching it tightly against your chest.

“Sorry for bumping into you, but honestly, you were asking for it standing next to a corner… Bye then.” Your hurried words tumbled out as you straightened up, clearly eager to make a quick escape, eyes darting in the direction of your next destination. You were on a mission, even if it was unclear what exactly that mission entailed. But something about your flustered state made Gen want to prolong the interaction, her natural predatory instinct to draw out the hunt kicking in.

Just as you were about to dart off, Gen’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “May I ask what’s got you in such a hurry? I could help you, you know. I’m a well-known Chief within the Court of Xelera.” Her voice softened, a calculated move to make herself seem approachable, as though the sharp edge in her demeanor had been momentarily dulled. And, as expected, your eyes brightened at her offer, a smile of hope lighting up your face. The shift in your expression, from frantic to grateful, tugged at something inside her, a soft crack in her usual stoicism.

“R-Really? That would mean so much if you could help me!” you exclaimed, your excitement palpable. Gen watched you closely, her eyes narrowing slightly. So, you were someone worth helping, were you? “I’m here looking for my wife!” The words left your lips with a mixture of pride and desperation, but the mention of a wife? That struck a different chord in her, though she kept her outward expression kind and interested.

You continued eagerly, “My name’s Y/n L/n! My wife sends me letters, but she never puts a return address or tells me where she is exactly.” There was a hint of frustration in your voice as you spoke, your grip on the letter tightening. ���But! She talks about her favorite places sometimes, so I thought I could narrow it down and knock on a few doors! I noticed most of the places are in districts name The Gates, Talis, and Suriso… Strange names…” There was such sincerity in your voice, such an earnest hope that Gen almost found it amusing. Almost.

The Gates, Talis, and Suriso, huh? How strangely ironic and fateful for the locations you want to surround where Gen herself lives… Maybe you’re a spy? An assassin? But with how you look… Definitely not. Sure looks might fool you but even assassins cosplaying as the average civilians look so obvious to Gen’s watchful eye. So Gen decides to put her guards down, but not yet reveal that those districts contain all of the noble houses of Xelera as well as a majority of the most important people in Xelera. However the important people are more safe and protected within The Gates compared to the average noble in Talis. And Suriso is just a shopping district for the rich, yet still overly guarded.

Gen smiled, the expression widening as she listened to your story. She was intrigued, of course, but the mention of Dacos—the thought of helping someone from an enemy land—added another layer to her growing curiosity. Your innocence, your naiveté, was charming, if not utterly foolish. “I’m from Dacos, so I don’t know much about Xelera,” you admitted, your voice almost sheepish. “But if you’re willing to show me around, I’d be really grateful!”

Gen’s mind was already working, weighing the risks and rewards of getting involved with you. The Gates, Talis, Suriso—districts filled with wealthy officials, nobles, and diplomats. Did you really think it would be that simple? “Ah, yes, regular residency districts,” Gen replied smoothly, though internally she was already reevaluating her approach. “They’re quite far from here. I’ll book you a hotel and pick you up tomorrow afternoon. We can start our search then.” She smiled, but this time it was more controlled, less genuine.

Your face lit up again, completely trusting of the offer. Nodding eagerly, you agreed without hesitation, oblivious to any potential danger. Gen felt a small pang of something she couldn’t quite name as she led you to her car, instructing the driver to head toward a particular hotel. The conversation flowed easily as the car moved through the streets of Xelera, though Gen remained half-focused, her thoughts wandering between your naïve excitement and the way she felt drawn to you.

At the hotel, Gen flashed her military ID, securing you a room without issue. She handed you the keycard, her fingers brushing yours briefly, though she pretended not to notice. “Here you go. Don’t mess up the place—I use it often,” she teased, a sly wink accompanying her words. But, once again, her playful hint seemed to go over your head, as you simply beamed at her, offering another round of grateful thanks. She shook her head, watching as you disappeared into the hotel, her curiosity about you deepening with each passing moment.

After you disappeared into the hotel, Gen lingered for a moment outside, her fingers tracing the edge of the keycard she'd just handed you. There was something about the way you smiled at her, so innocent and full of trust, that stirred an unusual feeling in her chest. She wasn’t used to this—being genuinely intrigued by someone’s quirks, especially someone so... hopelessly clueless. Yet here she was, standing outside a hotel, thinking about a stranger from Dacos of all places. A potential enemy.

Shaking her head slightly, Gen turned and made her way back to her car, the faint sound of the hotel’s doors sliding shut behind her. As the driver pulled away from the curb, Gen leaned back in her seat, her sharp eyes watching the city lights flash by. Her mind was far from the bustling streets of Xelera, though—her thoughts drifted back to you. How easily you'd opened up to her, despite being in unfamiliar territory, was baffling. She couldn’t decide whether it was sheer naiveté or blind hope driving you. Either way, it intrigued her.

The next day came swiftly, and Gen found herself standing outside the hotel once more, dressed sharply in a tailored black coat, her military insignia glinting subtly in the daylight. Her patience wasn’t infinite, but she’d promised to help you—and, if she was honest with herself, part of her was curious to see how this search for your mysterious wife would unfold. You appeared from the hotel doors, a bit flustered but smiling as brightly as ever. You waved at her with that same innocent enthusiasm that made her wonder how someone so naïve had gotten this far in life.

“Gen! You’re early!” you greeted, your voice carrying that chipper tone she was starting to associate with you. You jogged over, stumbling slightly as you reached her, nearly tripping over your own feet. Gen caught you by the arm, her reflexes sharp as always, and she raised a brow.

“Careful,” she murmured, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Wouldn’t want you falling on your face before we’ve even started.”

You laughed sheepishly, pulling yourself upright. “Right, right, thanks. I’m just excited, I guess.”

Gen watched you carefully as you stood beside her, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your jacket. There was a nervous energy about you, but it wasn’t the kind born from fear—it was more like you were too eager to stay still. She couldn’t help but wonder if your excitement would fade once you realized how slim the chances of finding your wife were.

She gestured for you to follow her to the car. The ride was smoother this time, and as you both settled into the backseat, you started rambling about your wife again—how you’d met, the letters she sent, the little clues she’d left behind. Gen listened with half an ear, her attention divided between your words and the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Reina. That was the name you kept mentioning. Your wife’s name. Gen knew the name all too well, though she kept that particular piece of information to herself for now. The Reina you were searching for wasn’t just anyone—she was someone connected to Xelera’s underworld, someone who had connections that made even Gen tread carefully. But you, in your innocent excitement, had no idea what kind of person you were chasing.

As you spoke, your eyes lit up, and Gen found herself watching the way your face animated with every word. There was something almost infectious about your enthusiasm, and for a moment, she allowed herself to be swept up in it, letting you guide the conversation without interruption. But the moment was fleeting. Gen had too much experience, too much knowledge of how the world worked, to let herself fully indulge in your hopeful idealism.

Finally, the car came to a stop in the district of Suriso, one of the places you'd mentioned. Gen stepped out first, her eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced precision. The area was bustling with people, but none of them held the same energy you did. There was a heaviness to the place, an underlying tension that came from its proximity to the wealthier districts and the power that loomed just beyond its borders.

You, however, seemed oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, stepping out of the car with wide eyes as you took in your surroundings. “So... this is Suriso, huh? It looks... different from what I imagined,” you said, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. Gen watched you closely, her lips curling into a small smile.

“Welcome to Suriso,” she replied, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. “Not exactly the shining beacon of hope you were expecting, is it?”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “Yeah, not really. But it’s still got... potential, right?”

Gen shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes as she motioned for you to follow her down the street. "Potential, sure. But keep your eyes open. Not everyone here is as... friendly as I am." She smirked, watching your face fall slightly as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

You nodded, falling into step beside her, your gaze darting around as if you were trying to memorize every detail of the place. Gen could tell you were still clinging to hope, but she wondered how long that would last. You were too trusting, too quick to believe that people would always act in your best interest. It was both admirable and foolish, and Gen couldn't help but feel a strange sense of protectiveness over you because of it.

As you walked, the tension in the air thickened, but you seemed blissfully unaware. Gen, on the other hand, was fully attuned to the subtle shifts in the environment, her senses honed from years of experience. She kept a close eye on the people around you, making sure that no one was watching you too closely. Not yet, anyway.

You came to a stop in front of a small café, the sign hanging above the door slightly weathered but still welcoming. “How about we stop for coffee?” you suggested, glancing at her with that same hopeful smile. “We can figure out our next move after that.”

Gen considered the offer for a moment before nodding. “Sure, coffee sounds good,” she replied, though in truth, she was more interested in learning just how far you were willing to go for this search. This would be the perfect opportunity to probe deeper into your thoughts, to see what made you tick.

The first morning after your search for Reina, Gen arranged to meet you at a quaint café near your hotel. Despite her carefully crafted words and the subtle charm woven into her messages, you arrived feeling awkward and out of place rather than charmed. As you waited at the table, your eyes wandered nervously around the café. Gen's entrance caught your attention—calm, composed, and with an aura of control that made her impossible to ignore. But something about her made you uneasy.

She slid into the seat across from you, her smile polite yet calculating. You could tell there was something just beneath the surface, though you weren’t sure what. Her presence, while meant to be comforting, felt like a looming shadow, as if she was dissecting everything about you with every glance. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice sweet but with a tone that implied she expected a particular answer. You hesitated, feeling the weight of her attention. “Yeah… I guess,” you muttered, focusing on your coffee, too nervous to meet her gaze for long.

Gen’s eyes flickered as she tilted her head slightly, her smile widening. She enjoyed the discomfort radiating from you—subtle, but there. The power she held over the situation was intoxicating, though she masked her true thoughts behind a facade of gentle concern. “You still seem tense. Maybe I could show you a quieter place next time, somewhere more… intimate,” she offered. Her suggestion felt less like an offer and more like an expectation. You nodded, unsure of how to decline without making things more awkward, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup absently.

The conversation flowed in a way that felt controlled by her every word, and though you participated, there was an underlying sense of being led rather than sharing. Gen’s eyes never left you, calculating your reactions, savoring each time you fumbled with your words or nervously shifted in your seat. By the end of the meeting, she felt a stirring inside her—a deeper curiosity about you. You were no ordinary distraction. You were something she could mold, something she could control.

The second day was filled with promises of sightseeing and exploration. Gen picked you up in a sleek car, her demeanor as poised as ever. You climbed into the passenger seat, feeling an odd sense of pressure. She’d been incredibly insistent on showing you around, and despite your initial hesitance, it felt easier to agree than to push back against her firm suggestions.

As she drove, Gen talked about the city in a way that seemed almost rehearsed—every detail carefully curated for your ears. You didn’t feel at ease with her, but it was hard to pinpoint why. Her words were pleasant enough, yet you felt like every compliment, every smile was a move in a larger game you weren’t fully aware of. Still, you let her guide you through the streets of Xelera, her voice filling the quiet moments in the car.

When she pulled up to a small park, she insisted you both take a walk. As you moved through the paths lined with autumn leaves, Gen's eyes were always on you—studying how you reacted to her, to the surroundings. She would occasionally touch your arm lightly, guiding you in a direction that she wanted, her hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. Each time you tensed up, a flicker of amusement sparked in her gaze.

“I think I’m starting to understand you a little more,” she said at one point, her tone deceptively soft. You blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. You didn’t feel like you’d revealed much about yourself at all, yet she spoke as if she knew you better than you knew yourself. Gen’s smile deepened when she saw your confusion—it was exactly the reaction she craved.

By the third day, you had started feeling the weight of her presence more heavily. Gen invited you to dinner at an exclusive restaurant, claiming it would be a “more private” opportunity to help you with your search for Reina. Something about the invitation felt off, but you reluctantly agreed, unsure how to decline her without coming off as ungrateful.

When you arrived, the restaurant was dimly lit, the ambiance heavy with formality. You felt out of place immediately. Gen, however, thrived in this environment. She led you to a private booth, her hand on your lower back, gently pushing you forward as though you needed direction. Once seated, she leaned back with a casual air, while you sat rigidly across from her, trying to mask your discomfort.

Over the course of the dinner, Gen continued her usual dance of veiled compliments and subtle domination. She ordered for you without asking, brushing off your mild protest with a light laugh. “I know what you’ll like,” she said confidently, as though there was no question about it. You found yourself eating the meal in silence, uncertain of how to assert your preferences in her overwhelming presence.

Throughout the evening, Gen played her role perfectly, appearing attentive and interested in you, though you could feel that familiar sense of control seeping into every interaction. You realized then that this wasn’t just a friendly dinner. It was another move in whatever game she was playing. Her eyes, sharp and predatory, lingered on you as you fumbled through the conversation, but instead of pushing back, you tried to keep things neutral, unaware of how deeply Gen was becoming enthralled with the power she held over you.

On the fourth day, Gen arrived at your hotel without so much as a warning text. You heard a knock and, when you opened the door, there she stood, a smile plastered on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She stepped inside before you could even greet her, as if your space was hers to claim. “I thought we could spend some more time together today,” she said, her tone laced with sweetness that made the hair on your neck stand up.

You stared at her, momentarily frozen by the boldness of her entrance. No invitation had been extended, but she behaved as if she was expected. Your discomfort was palpable, but Gen either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. She began to walk around your hotel room, examining the small details of your life here—clothes strewn across a chair, a book half-open on the nightstand. “You should really try to keep things tidier,” she remarked lightly, her fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt as though it were hers to touch.

Her movements felt like an invasion, each glance, each touch calculated to unsettle you. You tried to form words, to question her sudden intrusion, but Gen’s control over the situation was absolute. She moved to sit on your bed, patting the space beside her as if beckoning you to join. The weight of the unspoken command pulled you forward, and despite the unease bubbling within you, you found yourself sitting, albeit stiffly, beside her. Her hand drifted to your knee, a light touch but one that felt heavy with meaning.

As she began to talk, her voice remained that same soothing, artificial sweetness. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she admitted, her eyes watching your reaction closely. The way she said it made you feel small, like you were a possession she was beginning to covet. “You seem so stressed. I could help with that, you know.” Her hand squeezed your knee slightly, her touch lingering longer than was comfortable. You shifted slightly, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened imperceptibly, as if reminding you who held the power here. The subtle possessiveness in her actions sent chills down your spine, her words no longer a suggestion, but an inevitability.

The fifth day began with an innocent enough plan—another café visit. This time, Gen chose a quieter spot, tucked away from the city’s hustle. When you arrived, she was already seated, waiting for you with that same deceptive smile, the one that never fully concealed her true nature. The café was warm and inviting, but you could feel the coldness in the air between you two. Today, something felt different. Gen was more focused, her gaze sharper, as if she had decided to push past the boundaries you hadn’t even known she had set.

As you sat down, she leaned in immediately, closing the distance between you. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said softly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. Her tone was calm, but there was an undercurrent of accusation that made your pulse quicken. You shook your head quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “No, not at all. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.” It wasn’t entirely untrue, but it felt like an excuse you hoped she would accept.

But Gen wasn’t in a forgiving mood today. Her smile tightened at the edges, her hand reaching out to brush against your arm. The contact sent an involuntary shiver through you, her touch feeling more like a claim than a comfort. “You shouldn’t lie to me,” she murmured, her voice deceptively soft. “I can tell when people are holding something back.” Her fingers lingered on your skin, and it felt like she was testing you, pushing to see how far she could go. The intensity of her gaze locked you in place, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the tension between you two remained. Gen’s words were carefully chosen, each one laced with subtle commands disguised as gentle suggestions. She asked about your day, your plans, but every question felt invasive, like she was gathering pieces of you to add to her growing control. The way she looked at you—hungry and possessive—made you realize that this was no longer just casual companionship. She was slowly wrapping herself around your life, tightening her hold. You could feel her drawing you further into her web, her obsession growing more evident with each passing moment.

By the time you left the café, you felt drained, her presence lingering long after she had gone. The weight of her fixation was becoming more than just uncomfortable—it was suffocating.

The sixth day marked a new level of control for Gen. You had tried to maintain some semblance of distance, but it seemed like she was always one step ahead, knowing exactly where you were and what you were doing at all times. That evening, she showed up at your hotel room once again, this time with no pretense of politeness. She knocked, but when you opened the door, she brushed past you without waiting for an invitation, her presence filling the room like a storm.

Her demeanor was different today—more demanding, less subtle. She paced the small space of your hotel room as if it were her own, her eyes scanning every inch as though she was sizing it up. “We’ve spent a lot of time together this week, haven’t we?” she asked, her voice casual but her tone heavy with implication. There was no real question there; it was a statement of fact, and you knew it. You nodded stiffly, unsure of where this was going. Gen’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.

Without warning, she closed the distance between you, her hand gripping your shoulder with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You need someone like me,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You’re too trusting, too… vulnerable.” Her words felt like a trap, a carefully laid snare that you had walked into without realizing. You tried to step back, but her grip tightened, her nails digging slightly into your skin. “I can protect you,” she said, her eyes dark and unwavering. “But you need to let me.”

The possessiveness in her tone was unmistakable now. Gen wasn’t just interested in you; she wanted to control you, to bend you to her will. The atmosphere in the room felt suffocating, her presence overwhelming. You could feel the shift in her—this was no longer a game of subtle manipulation. She was making her claim on you, her obsession fully on display. Every word, every touch was a reminder that you were no longer in control. Gen had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

By the seventh day, you were nearing the end of your rope. Gen’s constant presence in your life had become unbearable. She texted you relentlessly, her messages veiled in sweetness, but the underlying demand for your attention was always there. That morning, she insisted on meeting you again. You could feel the weight of her obsession pressing down on you, but you reluctantly agreed, hoping to somehow manage the situation.

When you met her, Gen was already waiting, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching you with a predatory intensity that made your skin crawl. She greeted you with a smile, but there was nothing warm about it anymore. “I was starting to think you didn’t want to see me,” she said, her voice dripping with a faux playfulness. But the accusation was clear. You forced a smile, trying to keep things neutral, but Gen was already pushing past your defenses.

Throughout the conversation, she grew more demanding, her words laced with possessiveness. “You can’t just avoid me,” she said at one point, her tone darkening. “I’m trying to help you, but you’re making it difficult.” Her eyes bore into you, daring you to challenge her, but you couldn’t. The power dynamic between you had shifted completely—any illusion of casual companionship was gone. Gen’s obsession had consumed her, and it was suffocating you.

The breaking point came when she reached across the table, her hand wrapping around your wrist with a firmness that made you flinch. “I don’t like being ignored,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “You need to learn that.” The threat in her words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, you realized just how deep her fixation ran. Gen wasn’t going to let you go—not easily, not without a fight. And as you sat there, trapped under her gaze, you felt the full weight of her obsession crushing down on you.

This was no longer about companionship or even control. Gen had crossed the line into something far darker. The week had started with her charm and manipulation, but now, you were facing the reality of her true nature—obsessive, possessive, and dangerous.

On the eighth day, the world outside felt like a distant memory as you slowly woke up in an unfamiliar place. The walls were a muted beige, adorned with expensive artwork that only served to highlight how out of place you felt. Your head throbbed with a dull ache, the remnants of whatever Gen had slipped into your drink the night before. Panic set in as you tried to move, only to discover that your wrists were restrained, tied to the ornate bed frame. A wave of nausea rolled through you, a bitter reminder of how easily Gen had taken control.

As you struggled against the restraints, the door swung open, and there stood Gen, her expression a mixture of amusement and something darker. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she purred, stepping into the room like she owned the very air you breathed. The sight of her made your heart race—not with excitement, but with fear. “I hope you’re feeling better. I prepared your first meal.” She held up a tray, the aroma of food wafting toward you, tantalizing yet nauseating under the circumstances.

“Let me go,” you demanded, your voice shaky but resolute. Gen merely chuckled, a low, sultry sound that sent chills down your spine. “Oh, but where would be the fun in that? You’re my guest now, and I’ll take excellent care of you.” She placed the tray down on your lap, the clatter of the plates echoing in the silence. You eyed the food suspiciously, knowing full well that Gen had no interest in your well-being. “You’re going to eat, and you’re going to enjoy it. After all, I can’t have you wasting away on me.”

Your appetite vanished as you pushed the food away, the act of defiance feeling more futile than empowering. Gen’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. She leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear, her voice dripping with a chilling sweetness. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?” Her eyes sparkled with sadistic delight, and you could feel the weight of her control pressing down on you, suffocating any lingering hope of escape.

Every meal became a battle of wills, Gen meticulously serving you while you tried to resist. With each passing moment, the reality of your situation sank in deeper. You were trapped in her home, her possession, and no matter how fiercely you fought back, Gen was always one step ahead, her grip tightening around you like a vice.

A week passed in this twisted cycle, and every day felt like a struggle for survival within the confines of Gen’s control. You had learned to adapt, finding ways to please her in hopes of avoiding her wrath. Her laughter would ring out when you complied, a sound that should have brought joy but only served to remind you of the chains binding you to this life. Each time you did something to make her happy, a part of you died inside, but you had no choice. Displeasing her meant punishment, and you were terrified of what that might entail.

In this new routine, you had become more pliant, like a puppet dancing to her tune. Gen rewarded your compliance with moments of kindness—short-lived and always tinged with manipulation. She would occasionally loosen the restraints, allowing you a moment of freedom, but only to remind you of how easily she could take it all away. “See? Isn’t this much better?” she’d coo, her eyes alight with a wicked gleam as you shifted uncomfortably in her presence.

You learned the unspoken rules of her household: don’t question, don’t resist, and above all, please Gen. The fear of her disappointment hung over you like a dark cloud, forcing you into submission. Each day became a lesson in survival, your mind slowly warping to fit the confines of her expectations, and though you fought against it, a part of you began to wonder if this was all you would ever know.

Finally, the day came when Gen announced you were allowed to leave your room, albeit under her watchful gaze. “I think you’ve learned your lesson well,” she said, her voice silky smooth. “But don’t get too comfortable; your freedom is still mine to grant.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The world outside felt foreign, and you hesitated, dread pooling in your stomach.

“Let’s go to the living room. I want to show you off,” Gen ordered, her tone brooking no argument. You followed, heart racing, acutely aware of her presence behind you, the heavy weight of her obsession clinging to your back like a shadow.

You stepped into the lavish living room, decorated with expensive furniture and art that screamed opulence. It felt like a gilded cage, and as you took a seat on the plush couch, you felt the familiar pressure of Gen’s gaze on you. She settled beside you, her arm draping casually over your shoulder, claiming you in front of anyone who might walk in.

Just as the atmosphere began to settle, the door swung open, and there stood Reina, her eyes wide with shock. “W-What are you doing here…?” she stammered, panic flooding her expression as she took in the scene before her. The moment felt like time had frozen, and you could feel Gen’s grip on your shoulder tighten slightly, a warning of the tension building in the air.

“I work here,” Reina replied breathlessly, her voice tinged with confusion and concern. She turned her gaze to you, desperation etched across her features as she asked, “Why are you here too?” The question hung heavily between you, an unspoken understanding that something was horribly wrong. You felt your heart race as you searched for words, but all that escaped your lips was a weak, “You—You work for her…?”

Gen’s lips curled into a smirk, relishing the unfolding drama as if it were an entertaining play. “Oh, yes,” she drawled, her voice dripping with condescension. “You see, I’ve found another…” Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as she leaned closer, her voice low and mocking. “Unless you want to share, Reina?” The suggestion sent a ripple of tension through the room, a twisted game unfolding as you watched Reina’s expression shift from shock to a mixture of anger and disbelief.

The air thickened with unspoken words, a confrontation brewing as you glanced between them, caught in the crossfire of their conflicting emotions. You were the pawn in Gen’s twisted game, and as you sat there, the realization hit hard—you had lost more than just your freedom. You had become a trophy in Gen’s obsession, a pawn in a game you never wanted to play.

[astrojulia]

Tarot Cards as Professions

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Major Arcanas:

The Fool: Work with abroad, connections with imports, language teacher, multinationals, entrepreneur, intern, college student, art major.

The Magician: Entrepreneur, job that needs skill with the hands (acupuncture, hairdresser, artisan), actor, salesperson, influencer.

The High Priestess: Education, especially children, nutrition, psychology, cook, housewife, food engineering, toy factory, fortuneteller, spiritual advisor, librarian.

The Empress: Management, business administration, foreign trade, secretariat, translation, decoration, stay-at-home mom, model, cook, farmer.

The Emperor: Business administration, work related to areas of technological innovation, the military or sportsmen, CEO, tycoon.

The Hierophant: Philanthropic areas, ONGs, religious work, social work, diplomacy, and a degree, journalism, writer, editor, priest, spiritual guru, politician.

The Lovers: Sales area in any sector, tourism, theater, advertising, the arts in general, porn star, stripper, masseuse.

The Chariot: Activities related to transport, cars, the latest technology, chauffeur, mechanic, athlete.

Strength: Aesthetics, physical education and various body therapies, medicine, zoologist.

The Hermit: Teacher, writer, doctor, antique dealer, restorer, librarian, gardener.

Wheel of Fortune: Financial market, exchange offices, casinos, lottery houses, stock exchanges, and areas related to public relations, hospitality, game show host.

Justice: Public jobs, won through competitions, politics, police, with government positions, in the diplomatic area, law, insurance company worker.

The Hanged Man: Nurse, auditor, inspector, porter, secretariat, general assistants, yoga instructor, prison guard, philanthropist.

Death: Doctor, farmer, geologist, business administrator, gardener, accountant, assassin, death row executioner, surgeon.

Temperance: Working with liquids in general or with what is transported in liquid form such as alcoholic beverages, medicines, juices. chemist, chef, food critic, regional or even international traffic.

The Devil: Does not limit the individual to a professional wing, so he can also go to extremes for the desire he has, such as landlord, drug lord, sex trafficker.

The Tower: Social assistance, humanitarian aid, medicine, firefighter, police officer, construction worker.

The Star: Music, painting, sculpture, poetry, cinema, makeup artist, dressmaker, beautician, agent, promoter, sound artist, astronomer, harpist, dealer, meteorologist.

The Moon: Oceanographers, sailors, fishermen, owners of bars and restaurants or nightclubs, artists in general, medium, hypnotist, psychiatrist.

The Sun: Motivational speaker, entertainer, comedian, social relationships, work with the public, artist in general, member of society.

Judgment: Work done at home, connection with the law, lawyer, judge, work with disabled or people excluded from society, social assistance, board member, executive producer, director.

The World: Pharmacist, massage therapist, scientist, teacher, community leader, religious leader or priest, fashion designer, makeup artist, interior decorator.

Wands:

Creative industries such as advertising, marketing, and graphic design.

Entrepreneurship and starting your own business.

Athletics, sports coaching, or physical training.

Outdoor jobs like park ranger or tour guide.

Event planning or organizing.

Firefighters or rescue workers.

Ace of Wands: Entrepreneur, startup founder, motivational speaker, fitness coach, personal trainer.

Two of Wands: Business strategist, project manager, travel agent, international consultant, import/export specialist.

Three of Wands: Sales representative, marketing manager, e-commerce entrepreneur, market researcher, international trade coordinator.

Four of Wands: Event planner, wedding coordinator, party organizer, festival manager, hospitality industry professional.

Five of Wands: Conflict resolution specialist, mediator, lawyer, debate coach, competitive sports coach.

Six of Wands: Public relations manager, spokesperson, social media influencer, motivational speaker, winning athlete.

Seven of Wands: Defense attorney, human rights activist, political campaigner, advocate, civil liberties lawyer.

Eight of Wands: Courier, delivery driver, airline pilot, travel blogger, expedition guide.

Nine of Wands: Security guard, bodyguard, soldier, endurance athlete, self-defense instructor.

Ten of Wands: Overworked entrepreneur, project manager, event organizer, professional organizer, heavy equipment operator.

Page of Wands: Assistant in a creative field, aspiring artist, intern in a startup, social media coordinator, apprentice.

Knight of Wands: Travel journalist, adventure tour guide, professional athlete, race car driver, stunt performer.

Queen of Wands: CEO, business owner, charismatic leader, life coach, influential speaker.

King of Wands: Executive manager, entrepreneur, leadership coach, consultant, director of a creative agency.

Cups:

Counseling, therapy, or social work.

Hospitality industry, including restaurant management and bartending.

Wedding planner or event coordinator.

Artistic fields like poetry, writing, or acting.

Healing professions such as nursing or holistic therapy.

Psychologist or counselor specializing in emotions and relationships.

Ace of Cups: Therapist, counselor, social worker, holistic healer, emotional support specialist.

Two of Cups: Marriage counselor, matchmaker, relationship coach, wedding planner, love psychic.

Three of Cups: Event organizer, party planner, celebratory event coordinator, community organizer.

Four of Cups: Meditation teacher, mindfulness coach, spiritual counselor, psychologist, therapist.

Five of Cups: Grief counselor, trauma therapist, hospice worker, emotional healing practitioner, bereavement support.

Six of Cups: Child psychologist, teacher, daycare worker, children's book author, pediatric nurse.

Seven of Cups: Creative writer, fantasy novelist, imaginative artist, dream analyst, visionary.

Eight of Cups: Travel blogger, adventure seeker, spiritual pilgrim, explorer, wanderlust photographer.

Nine of Cups: Life coach, happiness consultant, gratitude coach, self-help author, wellness retreat organizer.

Ten of Cups: Family therapist, marriage and family counselor, foster care advocate, wedding planner, family mediator.

Page of Cups: Creative writer, artist in training, intuitive healer, aspiring therapist, dream interpreter.

Knight of Cups: Actor, romantic poet, musician, art therapist, love and relationship coach.

Queen of Cups: Psychic reader, intuitive healer, counselor, compassionate caregiver, therapist.

King of Cups: Therapist, counselor, intuitive mentor, emotional intelligence trainer, psychologist.

Swords:

Legal professions like lawyers, judges, or law enforcement officers.

Journalists, reporters, or investigators.

IT specialists, computer programmers, or hackers.

Teachers or professors specializing in critical thinking or philosophy.

Military or defense-related careers.

Strategic planners or analysts.

Ace of Swords: Lawyer, judge, legal consultant, investigative journalist, strategic planner.

Two of Swords: Mediator, conflict resolution specialist, negotiator, diplomat, relationship counselor.

Three of Swords: Divorce lawyer, grief counselor, trauma therapist, emotional healer, heart surgeon.

Four of Swords: Rest and relaxation specialist, meditation teacher, spiritual retreat organizer, yoga instructor.

Five of Swords: Military strategist, competitive sports coach, lawyer specializing in litigation, debate coach.

Six of Swords: Travel agent, relocation consultant, therapist specializing in transitions, boat captain.

Seven of Swords: Private investigator, spy, intelligence analyst, cybersecurity expert, undercover agent.

Eight of Swords: Social justice lawyer, human rights advocate, disability rights activist, therapist specializing in limiting beliefs.

Nine of Swords: Insomnia specialist, anxiety therapist, nightmare counselor, sleep coach, mental health counselor.

Ten of Swords: Surgeon, coroner, forensic scientist, mortician, grief counselor.

Page of Swords: Researcher, journalist, fact-checker, apprentice in a legal field, investigative reporter.

Knight of Swords: Military officer, police officer, attorney, competitive fencer, conflict resolution specialist.

Queen of Swords: Judge, lawyer, critic, journalist, literary agent.

King of Swords: Judge, attorney, CEO, strategist, military general.

Pentacles:

Financial advisors or investment bankers.

Real estate agents or property developers.

Agriculture, farming, or gardening.

Architects, builders, or construction workers.

Conservationists or environmentalists.

Accountants or bookkeepers.

Ace of Pentacles: Financial advisor, investment banker, wealth manager, entrepreneur, luxury goods retailer.

Two of Pentacles: Financial analyst, accountant, bookkeeper, event planner, stock trader.

Three of Pentacles: Architect, contractor, project manager, teamwork facilitator, craftsman.

Four of Pentacles: Wealth manager, investor, financial planner, asset protection specialist, treasurer.

Five of Pentacles: Social worker, philanthropist, charity organizer, financial counselor, volunteer.

Six of Pentacles: Philanthropist, humanitarian worker, non-profit manager, social worker, charitable fundraiser.

Seven of Pentacles: Gardener, farmer, agricultural consultant, sustainability expert, botanist.

Eight of Pentacles: Craftsperson, artisan, apprentice, skilled tradesperson, technical trainer.

Nine of Pentacles: Luxury brand manager, independent business owner, successful entrepreneur, vineyard owner, art collector.

Ten of Pentacles: Real estate developer, property investor, family business owner, generational wealth manager, financial advisor.

Page of Pentacles: Intern, student, apprentice in a practical field, aspiring entrepreneur, entry-level employee.

Knight of Pentacles: Accountant, financial planner, farmer, skilled tradesperson, meticulous worker.

Queen of Pentacles: CEO, business owner, property developer, hospitality industry entrepreneur, financial advisor.

King of Pentacles: CEO, business mogul, successful investor, high-level executive, financial consultant.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

[a-d-nox]

web of wyrd: the career number

the number we are focusing on today is based on the SACRAL PHYSICS NUMBER AND THE FLOW NUMBER (ex: my career number is 7: 8 + 17 = 25 -> 2 + 5 = 7 (recall that numbers must be summed a second time if they total 23 (i.e. 2 + 3 = 5) and above)). for some reason this is a calculation error in my astro-calc chart - my monetary number and relationship numbers are swapped (don't be afraid to question your numbers and check the math of websites).

but what does this number mean?

this number represents your career and monetary situation in this lifetime. that being said, this number can give you insight into what you can do for a career long-term, what you are like at work (your strengths and weaknesses in the workplace), and your monetary mindset.

so let's talk about some examples:

7 - the chariot

click here for the card description of the chariot found in a prior wyrd web post.

for unblocked 7s it is important to maintain focus, have clear intentions, and a plan in their line of work. they often work from the bottom up - they start in an entry level position then come into power (in some theories, the charioteer was both the page of swords and the page of wands before they came into power in the major arcana). often it is their careful planning and plotting that gains them their success.

blocked 7s often lack confidence at work and fear being talked down to / judged for their actions. they often lack focus and direction, which causes them financial stress. they are in need of careful planning and reflection to get out of their burdensome situations. they should try to be less impulsive and more intentional at work and when searching for jobs in order for them to find what works for them.

careers for the charioteer are chauffeur, delivery driving (UPS, amazon delivery, mail, etc), military services, pilot, police men, emergency services (firefighting, EMT, etc), security guard, equestrian, chemist/pharmacist, chef/cook/baker/nutritionist, political diplomat, marine biology, phlebotomist, ship captain, babysitter/nanny, hotel manager, housekeeper, fisherman, fertility specialist, farmer, land baron/baroness, pottery maker, plumber, real estate agent, and other related fields.

14 - temperance

rider-white's temperance (symbolic of sagittarius) depicts an angel facing the view with their eyes shut. their purple-y/red wings emphasizes their passion for the mystical as well as harmony. their golden curls are haloed showing that the angel is an enlightened being. they stand in a white (innocence) robe with one foot on land and the other in water - which shows they are connected to the emotional and the physical world. water seamlessly flows between the cups, meaning to show the flow of energy in life forces. a sun (alludes to the sun card) rises in the distance and illuminates a path for the angel to take. the irises to their [the angel's] right show that they have the wisdom needed to take on whatever gets in their way on this journey.

unblocked 14s seek help from those around them so that they can reach their monetary and career goals. they look for signs as to what they should act upon in their career and as to what they should do for their long-term career. they are flexible at work and are often very even-keeled. they are patient at work and when it comes to making money.

blocked 14s often try very hard at work and to make a lot of money - they can be too hard on themselves and their co-workers. they might struggle with relaxing - they have a lot of monetary stress. they have to realize that being overworked does not mean they are working efficiently/effectively. look at you schedule / your role and try to find ways to slow down so that you can realign with your values and goals.

careers for the angelic temperance person are medical careers (doctor, nurse, etc), pharmacist, scientist, librarian, life insurance agent, marketing/advertisement, air steward/stewardess, attorney, banker, religious leader, teacher, philanthropist, philosopher, publisher, podcaster, radio show host/hostess, writer, and other related fields.

18 - the moon

rider-white's the moon (symbolic of pisces) depicts one wild dog/coyote and one tame dog (the duality of human nature) barking at the moon or rather an eclipse. behind and between the two dogs is a lobster - the lobster is a bottom feeder of sorts, thus could represent the shadow self. the lobster emerges from the water to walk a moonlight/guided path through the mountains similar to how the hermit once walked the mountains - thus alluding to the lobster doing self-discovery / the quartet doing shadow work. first the lobster must walk between the rebuilt towers - likely face personal change.

unblocked 18s embrace their darker selves when in the workplace - they are okay with failing and having weaknesses. they see it as room made to grow/evolve. while they know how to be civil, they also know when to be impulsive and aggressive to get things done. they are open to others ideas - they are open to learning what they perviously didn't know before. they are ambitious and want to go outside the scope of what they are already know. they don't fall for things that sound too good to be true in their financial realm. they are willing to confront why they maybe the ones in their own way of gaining more money, getting a raise, etc.

blocked 18s often refuse to acknowledge that they are in a career that is making them unhappy or is not compatible with their monetary lifestyle. they might be the type to ignore their debts for awhile or to the point where it gets bad and they struggle to catch up / recover. they are also prone to falling for "get rich quick" schemes; they also might struggle with gambling - the might not know how to walk away when they have made money back / are gaining. they hate failing at things or having weaknesses in the workplace. they are prone to staying in a job that is comfortable for them without growing or accepting promotions. don't be afraid to break free.

careers for the moon are night club owner/manager, psychic, doggie daycare center management, dog kennel owner, dog breeder, night club performer, professional water sport athlete, alcohol vender, sommelier, marine biology, art therapist, artist, bartender, mental health professional, chemical engineer, detective, drug manufacturer, life guard, prison guard, private investigator, relief worker, writer, and other related fields.

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic"! button if you want to see a specific pac/pile next! if you'd like my input on how i read a specific card or what i like to ask my deck, feel free to use the ask button for that as well.

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© a-d-nox 2023 all rights reserved

[kerwynlar]

The Sensation of Your Hands on Me

A Belly Kink fic by Kerwynlar

When the prince consort finds out that the king, his arranged marriage husband, is suffering from indigestion, he just wants to help him feel better.

Modern royalty arranged marriage romance with belly kink/sick kink.

Tags: Original male character/Original male character, Sickfic, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Indigestion, Burping, Embarrassment About Burping and Getting Over That, Fluff, Romance

2,550 words

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Prince Consort Nathaniel stayed by his husband’s side as King Lawrence worked the room following the banquet. Mostly this involved a steady stream of people approaching where Nate and Lawrence were standing next to a high top table, bowing to the king, and attempting to make conversation that they imagined would curry favor with him. Lawrence was pleasant and gracious to everyone, but as the evening wore on, Nate thought his expression seemed more and more pinched, and Nate watched him press his hand to his belly a few times. Lawrence’s three-piece suit was immaculately tailored but it seemed to Nate that it was fitting a little tightly across his middle.

They had been married for four months, but had known each other for years. As the second son of the royal family of a neighboring kingdom, Nate had been dispatched by his sister on diplomatic missions to Lawrence’s court many times. The two got along well and Nate had been hesitantly considering Lawrence a friend for a while. When his sister told him that she and King Lawrence were negotiating a new treaty and part of it would entail Nate’s marriage to Lawrence, Nate had been thrilled. Because aside from Lawrence’s position, Nate had always found him very attractive, and a true pleasure to talk to. Their wedding night had been wonderful, and within a month Nate had admitted to himself that he had a massive crush on his husband. It wasn’t clear if Lawrence felt the same way, but they continued being friendly, bordering on affectionate with each other, and very happily “doing their marital duty.” 

Four months of accompanying Lawrence to this kind of formal event had given Nate a pretty good idea of what was normal for the king and what was not. Nate was certain something was wrong but there was no opportunity to ask. 

Finally, Lawrence signaled to his security chief that he was ready to go, and caught the attention of their host to say his goodbyes. The armored limousine was waiting at the front door when they walked out, and Nate kept his hand on Lawrence’s back as the king got in, then went around the other side and got in himself. 

The privacy screen that separated them from the chauffeur and bodyguard in the front seat was raised. Nate loosened his tie and looked over at Lawrence, whose head was resting back against the seat with his eyes closed. In the light coming in the car window, he looked very pale. 

“Lawrence? Are you alright?” Nate asked gently. 

“Yes, of course,” the king replied suspiciously quickly. 

“It’s just… you’ve seemed uncomfortable since the dinner ended and you look a little bloated.” Nate nodded at the buttons of Lawrence’s waistcoat, which, now that his jacket was unbuttoned, were clearly straining against his belly. 

Lawrence opened his eyes, looking horrified. He sat up quickly and covered his belly with his hand. 

“I don’t think anyone else would have noticed!” Nate said quickly, raising his hands. “I only saw the bloating once we were in the car and I was the only one who saw you in between talking to people at the event. I’m sure nothing seemed off to anyone else.” 

Lawrence sighed and relaxed a little. “You really don’t think anyone else noticed?” 

“Yeah, you were holding it together really well. But you don’t have to do that with me. We’re married now, remember? I’m on your side no matter what and I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

Lawrence gave him a wan smile. “I appreciate that, Nathaniel.”

“So, are you feeling sick?” 

Lawrence grimaced. “It’s just indigestion. It… is not an infrequent occurrence.” 

“What do you do when it happens? I think we have about a two hour drive back to the palace. There’s not much around but I’m sure Security can figure something out if you need to stop.” 

Lawrence sighed. “I just want to get home and go to bed.” 

Nate nodded. “Anything we can do to make the drive more comfortable? I’m happy to have you put your head in my lap if you want to lay down.” 

Lawrence shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, then quickly closed it again and swallowed thickly. 

Nate reached out to touch his arm. “Nausea?” he guessed. 

Lawrence shook his head again as he breathed out slowly. “I - my stomach just… hurts. I’m not nauseated.” 

Nate grimaced sympathetically. “How about unbuttoning your waistcoat? It looks uncomfortable.” 

Lawrence looked a little scandalized. 

“You do know I see you naked?” Nate chuckled. “And maybe by the time we get home you’ll be less bloated and can do it back up before you get out of the car.” 

Lawrence looked away from him. “Nathaniel, you - you have a very positive view of me… and I am reluctant to damage that view.” 

Nate reached over and took Lawrence’s hand, then brought it to his lips to kiss. “I promise you that I don’t think less of you because you have indigestion, Lawrence.”  

Lawrence sighed and resignedly loosed the buttons of the waistcoat. The sides of the garment parted and he gave a little “mmf” that sounded relieved, before making the odd swallowing motion again. 

Lawrence ran his hand over his exposed shirt front, which was also tighter than it should have been, but not straining the way the waistcoat had been. But with the waistcoat out of the way it quickly became apparent that the trousers were the real culprit: the waistband cutting a harsh line through his bloated middle. Lawrence’s hand strayed to the button of his trousers but took no further action, though he did swallow again. 

“Go on,” Nate encouraged him. “There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about, love. Might as well be comfortable. It’s just me.” He hadn’t really noticed the endearment until Lawrence gave him a sideways glance, but neither of them commented and Lawrence undid his trousers. His belly pushed forward, forcing the zipper down a little, and Lawrence groaned. 

Nate grimaced. “Your poor belly. You must be feeling awful.” 

“I’m… somewhat used to it,” Lawrence said quietly. “But it’s not pleasant. I’m sorry to have made such a spectacle of myself. Thank you for being so kind about it.” 

“Lawrence. I’m your husband and we’re alone. I can’t think of anything that is less accurately described as a spectacle. Now how else can we make you more comfortable? I could rub your belly for you? Might feel nice.”

Lawrence shook his head quickly. “Baring myself is one thing, but I don’t want to disgust you.”

Nate frowned. “Because you’re bloated? Nothing disgusting about that. I’d like to help you feel better if I can.”

“No, because I might…” Lawrence gestured vaguely. “Not be able to… hold it in.” 

Nate was confused for a moment before the swallowing made sense and realization dawned. “Are you keeping yourself from burping?!” 

Lawrence looked away from him. 

“Lawrence! No wonder you’re so bloated! Let that out!” 

“It’s unseemly and unpleasant,” came the muttered reply.  

Nate sighed and reached over to touch Lawrence’s cheek, then applied a gentle pressure to get him to turn to face Nate. 

“Forget ‘unseemly’, I’m begging you. Our marriage may have been arranged, but I really care about you, Lawrence. I have the utmost respect for you and that’s not going to change one iota because you get indigestion and you burp when you do! I mean, I know you’re the king, but you’ve got a human body and human bodies burp sometimes.” 

Lawrence sighed, looking down again. “You’re very kind, Nathaniel.” 

Nate moved one of his hands to Lawrence’s swollen belly. It felt firm and hot even through the shirt. “Please, let me try to help you feel better.” 

Lawrence hesitated, then nodded. 

Nate slid closer on the limousine seat and spread his palm over Lawrence’s belly, clearly feeling the unhappy grumbling within. “Let me know if anything I’m doing doesn’t feel good, okay? And no more holding back if you need to burp.” 

Lawrence nodded again and Nate moved his hand to the top of the swell, just below Lawrence’s ribs, where the gurgling was strongest. He started moving his hand in slow circles, pressing gently. After only a minute, Nate felt the gurgling intensify. Lawrence gave him a miserable glance, then turned his face away and covered his mouth, letting out a quiet burp and muttering “excuse me”. 

“That’s a good start,” Nate said, “but I know you can do better.” 

Lawrence rolled his eyes but a minute later he turned away again and gave a much deeper and louder belch. “Excuse me.” 

“There you go.” Nate smiled. “How did that feel?” 

“Embarrassing and unpleasant.” Lawrence frowned, then relented. “But necessary. I suspect it helped a bit.” 

“Good,” Nate said firmly. “Could I unbutton your shirt so I stop getting hung up on the buttons?” 

“Certainly not my favorite context for you to undress me,” Lawrence said, “but yes.” 

Nate quickly undid the buttons of Lawrence’s shirt and spread it open, revealing the soft white undershirt beneath. He began rubbing circles over Lawrence’s stomach again, this time with both hands. 

Lawrence gave a soft groan and relaxed back into his seat. “Oh, that feels very nice, Nathaniel.” 

“I’m glad.” Nate smiled. 

“Would you rub a little lower as well, please?” Lawrence asked quietly. “Maybe my sides.” 

“Of course, love.” Nate started moving his hands in sweeping arcs down the sides of Lawrence’s belly and back up the middle. 

Lawrence closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh. “Wonderful. Thank you so much.”

Nate didn’t bother to prevent his pleased grin. “You’re welcome, I’m glad it feels good.” 

Though Lawrence covered his mouth when he belched again a minute later, he barely turned his head.  

“You said this happens a lot?” Nate asked. He was certain Lawrence wasn’t asleep, but thought he might be relaxed enough to share a little. 

“I’ve always had a sensitive stomach,” came the murmured reply. “There are some things I simply can’t eat and my staff provides that list to anyone serving me food outside the palace, but frequently some ingredient is overlooked, or something that I wasn’t previously aware of as a problem will set me off.” 

Nate couldn’t help it: he leaned forward to place a kiss on Lawrence’s belly. It was still bloated but seemed a little less tight and gurgly than it had been. When he sat up, Lawrence was watching him. 

“Kiss it better?” Nate offered with a lopsided grin. 

Lawrence gave a soft chuckle. “You’re wonderful.” 

Smiling ear to ear, Nate went back to rubbing his belly. 

Nate roused Lawrence out of his doze as they neared the palace. 

“You are the king,” Nate said as he watched Lawrence re-button his shirt. “If you didn’t want to do up your trousers no one would say a word.” 

Lawrence sighed. “Just because no one can speak against me does not mean I should give them something to resist speaking about.”

Nate smiled and gave his arm a squeeze. It was a classic Lawrence thing to say. 

 “Anyway,” Lawrence said as he started pulling the sides of his trousers together, “you’ve really helped immensely.” He got them buttoned with a grunt of effort, and while they were clearly too tight, it did appear to be better than before. 

When the car stopped, Nate leapt out and hurried around so that he could offer Lawrence his hand. The king accepted the assistance with a warm smile, and threaded his arm through Nate’s as they walked into the palace. Lawrence held onto Nate firmly and leaned against him in a way that made Nate’s own stomach flutter. 

Nate cleared his throat when they turned into the corridor that led to their rooms. “Shall I - ah - come with you? Help you get settled?” 

They had adjoining bedrooms. Usually Nate slept in his own room and Lawrence slept in his, except when they had had sex late at night in Lawrence’s room and neither of them was awake enough after for Nate to leave. 

“I’d like that very much if you don’t mind,” Lawrence said. 

“Not at all,” Nate said with a smile, steering them to Lawrence’s door. 

Inside, Nate helped Lawrence out of his suit and into soft silk pajamas. The king tied the drawstring of the bottoms under his still-bloated belly, and smoothed the shirt over the curve. He looked up at Nate. “Nathaniel…” Lawrence looked away quickly. “Would you… would you consider staying with me tonight?” 

Nate’s eyebrows shot up, but Lawrence continued. 

“Just - um - just to sleep. I… I find I’m reluctant to part with the sensation of your hands on me.” 

Smiling, Nate leaned in to kiss Lawrence’s forehead. “Good, because I’m reluctant to stop touching you. Let me just change. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” 

Eight and a half minutes later, Nate re-entered Lawrence’s room just as the king was emerging from the en suite, one hand pressed to his belly. 

Nate’s happiness was immediately tinged with concern. “How are you feeling?” 

Lawrence shrugged. “Better than I was, but still a bit sore and bloated.” 

Nate nodded and pulled back the covers on the bed for Lawrence to get in. After some maneuvering, they settled on their sides, Nate’s front pressed to Lawrence’s back. Nate slipped his hand under Lawrence’s shirt to rest on his belly. He spread his fingers wide, trying to cover as much area as possible in hopes that the warmth and pressure of his hand would continue to help. 

Lawrence gave a relaxed sigh, and Nate kissed his shoulder blade. The room was perfectly quiet until Lawrence spoke again.

“The treaty is a ruse, you know,” he said. 

Nate frowned, not following at all. “What?” 

“I initiated negotiations with your sister because I wanted to marry you.” 

Nate’s frown deepened. “That’s not right,” he said. “Amelia sent you the first letter asking if you would be open to a new treaty.” 

Lawrence nodded. “Prior to that letter, two diplomats mentioned to Queen Amelia that I seemed open to discussions on tariffs. They did so at my request. I wanted to encourage her, but make it seem like it was her idea.” 

“But… you did lower tariffs. And you gave her some airplanes.” Nate tried to process his husband’s words. 

“Yes, and I got lower - urrf, excuse me - lower grain prices and a number of other benefits for my kingdom. But the outcome that I, personally, wanted, above everything else, was your hand in marriage.” 

“I… but why?” 

“You are a very smart man, Nathaniel,” Lawrence said quietly. “You don’t need me to answer that.”

Nate felt a shudder run through his body. “Why are you telling me now?” he heard himself ask. 

Lawrence rolled over, bringing their faces inches apart. “Because in all my thinking about marrying you, I never expected… this. I never expected that you would be this kind, and this caring, and this insistent on helping me.” 

Warmth had been building in Nate’s chest and now it burst forth. He closed the inches to kiss Lawrence’s lips and they melted together.  

“Well, your majesty,” Nate said, when they finally broke apart to breathe, “I can confidently promise you a lifetime more of this.” 

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

"One evening, during dinner at the grand baronial table of The Manor, there was a phone call from Freddie’s girlfriend, Mary Austin. She had left The Manor to return to London earlier that day and now confirmed that she wasn’t feeling well – an ear infection.

‘I HAVE to go now! I have to go to Mary!’ he stated emotionally to everybody gathered at the dinner table. Fred would need to be chauffeured because he never drove. They were at that time living together at his newly acquired flat in Kensington.

I offered to take Fred. The manageress of The Manor diplomatically offered the studio car: a Ford Cortina estate. With Fred sitting up front beside me, we set off. I felt a bit uncomfortable with the car’s brakes, which were spongy and slow to respond. During the journey, we chatted about music and things in general, but I sensed Fred was tense – he really did care about Mary and wanted to be there with her as soon as possible. Approaching London at a roundabout on the A40, I changed down a gear and pressed the brake. Nothing. Oh dear! I managed to swerve and steer the car most of the way around the roundabout until it veered into a pile of drainpipes. As I fought to control the car, in my mind flashed the headline that might appear in the Melody Maker: Roadie Kills Pop Star.

The car came to an abrupt halt, and Fred and I looked over at each other and confirmed we were both all right.

Fred would take control – he would go for help! Neither the AA nor RAC stood before me on the roadside, not even the elusive, stylish Queen megastar, but Fred, in his faded blue jeans, white clogs and an embroidered black silk kimono a fan had given him on tour a few months previously. He had not shaved for a day or two and his dark stubble was proud, his carefully tousled hair now blew free as he wandered off towards some lights in the distance.

After about half an hour, Fred returned and explained the situation comedy that had unfolded. He had knocked on the door of the first house he came to and was quickly recognised by the people who answered. They let him use the phone and offered him tea.

When Fred’s car and driver arrived at the scene, he reassured me he had called The Manor and somebody was coming to pick me up. The car brakes were found to be faulty, and the police took no action against me.

Later, a music press interview offered Fred a dramatic opportunity to relate how the incident had affected him. He replied that his life had flashed before his eyes – and he had wondered who would look after his cats. ‘And the roadie actually screamed!’ Fred commended me for getting so far around the roundabout and never held me responsible. I still drove him many times after that – even in an old Transit van!"

- Peter Hince, 'Queen Unseen: My Life With the Greatest Rock Band of the 20th Century' book

- Peter "Ratty" Hince met Queen in 1973 when they were opening for Mott the Hoople, began working for the band full time during their 1975 'A Night At The Opera' album, and stayed on as the head of their road crew until their final concert in 1986, 'Magic Tour'.

Peter is currently a professional photographer -

👉 Curiosity

Interviewer: How did you become know as "Ratty"?

Peter Hince: When I started in the music business and being the youngest, I had to do the ‘dirty’ work, which included crawling on top of the dirty, dusty equipment to put small items in the tight spaces under the roof of the truck. I was very skinny and had long greasy hair and was nick named ‘The Rat’ by the truck driver on a Mott The Hoople tour. When I first started working for Queen full time, Brian May changed it to ‘Ratty’.

Maybe he thought it was nicer - and possibly after the character in the classic Wind in The Willows book ??

- Peter Hince, interview 2006,

(read more on http://www.queenarchives.com/qa/peterhince.html)

📸 Pic: Approximately 1977 - Freddie Mercury with Mary Austin

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Friday: Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann

Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann

In the 1920s, the richest people per capita in the world were members of the Osage Indian Nation in Oklahoma. After oil was discovered beneath their land, the Osage rode in chauffeured automobiles, built mansions, and sent their children to study in Europe.

Then, one by one, they began to be killed off. One Osage woman, Mollie Burkhart, watched as her family was murdered. Her older sister was shot. Her mother was then slowly poisoned. And it was just the beginning, as more Osage began to die under mysterious circumstances.

In this last remnant of the Wild West—where oilmen like J. P. Getty made their fortunes and where desperadoes such as Al Spencer, “the Phantom Terror,” roamed – virtually anyone who dared to investigate the killings were themselves murdered. As the death toll surpassed more than twenty-four Osage, the newly created F.B.I. took up the case, in what became one of the organization’s first major homicide investigations. But the bureau was then notoriously corrupt and initially bungled the case. Eventually the young director, J. Edgar Hoover, turned to a former Texas Ranger named Tom White to try to unravel the mystery. White put together an undercover team, including one of the only Native American agents in the bureau. They infiltrated the region, struggling to adopt the latest modern techniques of detection. Together with the Osage they began to expose one of the most sinister conspiracies in American history.

Covered with Night by Nicole Eustace

The Pulitzer Prize-winning history that transforms a single event in 1722 into an unparalleled portrait of early America.

In the winter of 1722, on the eve of a major conference between the Five Nations of the Haudenosaunee (also known as the Iroquois) and Anglo-American colonists, a pair of colonial fur traders brutally assaulted a Seneca hunter near Conestoga, Pennsylvania. Though virtually forgotten today, the crime ignited a contest between Native American forms of justice―rooted in community, forgiveness, and reparations―and the colonial ideology of harsh reprisal that called for the accused killers to be executed if found guilty.

In Covered with Night, historian Nicole Eustace reconstructs the attack and its aftermath, introducing a group of unforgettable individuals―from the slain man’s resilient widow to an Indigenous diplomat known as “Captain Civility” to the scheming governor of Pennsylvania―as she narrates a remarkable series of criminal investigations and cross-cultural negotiations. Taking its title from a Haudenosaunee metaphor for mourning, Covered with Night ultimately urges us to consider Indigenous approaches to grief and condolence, rupture and repair, as we seek new avenues of justice in our own era.

Return to Uluru by Mark McKenna

A killing. A hidden history. A story that goes to the heart of the nation.

When Mark McKenna set out to write a history of the centre of Australia, he had no idea what he would discover. One event in 1934 – the shooting at Uluru of Aboriginal man Yokununna by white policeman Bill McKinnon, and subsequent Commonwealth inquiry – stood out as a mirror of racial politics in the Northern Territory at the time.

But then, through speaking with the families of both killer and victim, McKenna unearthed new evidence that transformed the historical record and the meaning of the event for today. As he explains, ‘Every thread of the story connected to the present in surprising ways.’ In a sequence of powerful revelations, McKenna explores what truth-telling and reconciliation look like in practice.

Return to Uluru brings a cold case to life. It speaks directly to the Black Lives Matter movement, but is completely Australian. Recalling Chloe Hooper’s The Tall Man, it is superbly written, moving, and full of astonishing, unexpected twists. Ultimately it is a story of recognition and return, which goes to the very heart of the country. At the centre of it all is Uluru, the sacred site where paths fatefully converged.

Yellow Bird by Sierra Crane Murdoch

When Lissa Yellow Bird was released from prison in 2009, she found her home, the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation in North Dakota, transformed by the Bakken oil boom. In her absence, the landscape had been altered beyond recognition, her tribal government swayed by corporate interests, and her community burdened by a surge in violence and addiction. Three years later, when Lissa learned that a young white oil worker, Kristopher "KC" Clarke, had disappeared from his reservation worksite, she became particularly concerned. No one knew where Clarke had gone, and few people were actively looking for him.

Yellow Bird traces Lissa's steps as she obsessively hunts for clues to Clarke's disappearance. She navigates two worlds - that of her own tribe, changed by its newfound wealth, and that of the non-Native oilmen, down on their luck, who have come to find work on the heels of the economic recession. Her pursuit of Clarke is also a pursuit of redemption, as Lissa atones for her own crimes and reckons with generations of trauma.

[hekate1308]

Fictober #19, This Is Getting Ridiculous

Prompt: This Is Getting Ridiculous

Fandom: Father Brown

Pairing: Inspector Sullivan/Sid Carter

“This is getting ridiculous, wouldn’t you say, Father?” Lady Felicia asks one day as they are having tea in the rectory garden.

While he is aware that she is prone to overexaggeration, much as dear Mrs. M is prone to taking the Bible too seriously, and has long since grown accustomed to their respective… well… spleens, he simply raises an eyebrow and asks, “What exactly is ridiculous, Lady F?”

“Oh, don’t act like that. Sid and the dear inspector. You have to admit it’s obvious, only they won’t admit it to themselves.”

He has to say that, as of late, it truly is rather mysterious as to why these two have not been able to figure things out. Sid has not done any breaking and entering in months, unless it be for a case, and Inspector Sullivan has grown more and more lenient in certain ways, to the point where he will only put up a token it of resistance when Father Brown himself shows up at a crime scene. Honestly, it’s sort of a nice change of pace, even if he says so himself.

Still – there are some things they have to consider because, despite God declaring that love comes from him and as such is a gift to be treasured, there are people who do not agree, who think that some forms of love should not be allowed, that it is sinful when it truly is not, when it really could not be, not like this, when both of them clearly feel the same.

It’s rather sad, and he wishes the world were different, despite living in the best possible world, naturally, but still…

“It does appear that the inspector is no longer nearly as annoyed with Sid as he used to be” he therefore declares diplomatically, because it’s the closest he can come to actually admitting any of this out loud out of sheer habit, and she gives him a knowing smile.

“I think it’s time to... encourage them wouldn’t you say?”

”I don’t think the Inspector would like that very much” is his honest answer.

“Oh he’ll thank me later” she says and he knows from experience that eh can’t dissuade her, but at least he has a good enough opinion of the inspector’s heart not to worry too much.

As it turns out in the coming weeks, Lady felicia’s plan is to throw them together as much as possible and hope for the best. Which might of course work, but at the same time, eh has the feeling that the inspector might need a bit more encouragement than that. Sid – oh, he’s under no delusions in that regard. Sid is probably more than ready to throw caution to the wind, but then, he’s not working for the police and has seen the inside of a jail more than once, even though until now he’s gotten off lightly.

And so, he watches the two of them clear out lady F’s shed because apparently the Gardner doesn’t have time, which is a lie, or work away on her car, because for some reason the chauffeur seems to have gone the way of the gardener (at elates that’s an activity they both enjoy) and then, on a rather memorable occasion, keep the two small girls of her visiting cousin occupied (as it turns out to no one’s surprise, the good inspector is better at keeping everyone in check while Sid takes care of the entertainment).

As far as he can tell, at least they seem to be getting along now, and to no longer pretend that they don’t like each other, although they clearly have not gone any further…

Again, it is not his life, and he really should not know about this, thinking of the church, so he decides to let things take their course, and it seems that they do, about two weeks later, if he is right.

He certainly has never seen Inspector Sullivan smile at a crime scene, but the real surprise is that he simply looks at him and shrugs. “Coming to take a guess, Father?”

“I just want to pray for the poor soul, and see if I can identify them.”

“In that case… be my guest.”

He decides not to comment because certainly the inspector has his reasons.

Said reasons how up ten minutes on their favorite motorbike and Father brown, even if he does say so himself, does a very good impression of a man who is much too busy realizing why the inspector is hurrying over the street.

Even so, he catches Sergeant Goodfellow’s eyes and they smiled at one another.

At least he will be able to tell Lady Felicia that all is well the next time she comes over for tea. If she has not yet noticed herself, that is.

[spell-fox]

Session 39 One Step Down

(Session cut short due to sickness! Mostly fluff)

In which Nat and Greyson are okay, Eli finds home in a basement and Gabi needs to learn to drive

After a discussion on what to do about the Tremere™ Percival, the current prisoner high-skilled, highly-connected Tremere and Ichabod’s ally, Gabi mentions house-hunting together. They need space for her childe Callum too. He’s moving out right. Right? Is this a Nosferatu thing? Eli leaves Gabi and goes to meet with Natanel to check in on Greyson.

Nat is exhausted and in pain. Unburdening the Beastial Soul really takes it out of a fella. He is observed on the Tube by a mystery ghoul, who loses him in the crowd. The coterie go to meet Greyson to check in on the other side of that Unburdened Beastial Soul. He’s about as okay as one can expect, memories are flooding back to him.

Greyon’s chimera cat Snowball is yowling to be let out. The other chimera cat Luna is missing. Greyson lets them in and they talk memories, trauma, crimes. So many crimes. Actually, Greyon’s newly recovering memories will be helpful for addressing Ichabod’s trail of chaos. He thanks Nat for the soul washing, and Eli for the Ichabod slaying.

Greyson: I wasn’t meant to be a Malkavian

Eli: none of us are what we’re meant to be

Natanel: join the club (playful smile)

Natanel doesn’t want to have the job title Baron of Eastbourne, nor Peace Envoy, maybe Diplomat? Maybe? Camarilla council meetings will be interesting going forward. The Ravnos, Natanel’s boss, Dr Kostin will be joining them. And Callum. So uh, how old is Gabi’s childe Callum? HMM.

Eli tells Greyson Luna threatened him in the umbra. (Natanel: I’m not really fond of your cat if I’m honest.) As they leave Greyson ?? potentially ? passions Snowball. God forbid a Malkavian do anything.

They go house hunting with Gabi. But first they need to get there. Gabi insists on driving. Can she drive? Nope! She manages to drive on the correct side of the road. Reassuring. The first place is a murder house, complete with ghosts. The stairs are too narrow.

Gabi: how would we get your stuff up the stairs?

Eli: we can’t live here

The next place neighbours Miasma’s. It’s huge. A bit dilapidated. Eli struggles. There are marble floors, columns, there is a garden. He really struggles. This is a Nice House. The kind of house Other People, People Not Like Him live in. There's even a room for Gabi's "husband-in-law" (Kuro). Eventually they go down to the basement, which is caved in, mouldy, damp and exactly what he is used to. He’s able to calm down enough for the others to reiterate that he can have nice things.

Natanel waves goodbye to Miasma’s house. He responds telepathically. The third flat is horrible. Shiny. The toilet is shiny. Why is there a shiny toilet.

Eli and Gabi go back to his underground disused train station home, which smells Antique and slightly damp and exactly like home. Natanel goes back to Hector’s, to talk everything that happened, with Greyson, their future, their wedding, they agree supernaturals are all just awful in their own ways. They squish hug on the sofa. As long as they are together, Hector says a cardboard box is fine.

Actually, he wants a cardboard box. A nice one. Natanel will put a blanket inside and a blanket on top. He’s make the best cardboard box bed for his husband.

The next day is interrogating Percival time. Eli makes the mistake of letting Gabi dress him. She shaves his beard (crime). He tries to convince her that maybe diving lessons are a good idea if she doesn’t want a chauffeur. Natanel gets ready with his usual crop-top and hoodie, and the two meet at the Mithrarium.

[eretzyisrael]

by David Israel

The Wall Street Journal’s editorial board on Thursday night published a scathing attack on President Biden’s Israel police, especially the way he’s been mistreating PM Benjamin Netanyahu’s government.

To remind you, last Tuesday, NY Times pundit Tom Friedman wrote (White House Urging Israelis to Play Nice, Tom Friedman Says US to Reassess Relationship with Israel): “US diplomats … find it hard to believe that Bibi would allow himself to be led around by the nose by people like Ben-Gvir, would be ready to risk Israel’s relations with America and with global investors, and WOULD BE READY TO RISK A CIVIL WAR IN ISRAEL (sic.) just to stay in power with a group of ciphers and ultranationalists.”

In its response to that and similar brazen attacks fueled by the administration, the WSJ editorial board (What Does Biden Have Against Israel? – The President treats the governing coalition in Jerusalem worse than he does Iran) asked: “Why does President Biden go out of his way to snub, criticize and give marching orders to the government of Israel? At least rhetorically, the President and his Administration treat Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his governing coalition worse than they do the ruling mullahs in Iran.”

The WSJ is critical of Biden’s repeated declaration that he will not invite the Israeli PM to the White House, while US Ambassador to Jerusalem Tom Nides has been warning that Israel is “going off the rails,” and both men know that their statements provide shameless support to Netanyahu’s enemies.

“When Mr. Netanyahu was most vulnerable, in late March, Mr. Biden needlessly decreed that Israel ‘cannot continue down this road’ on judicial reform,” the WSJ editorial continued, noting that “the Prime Minister had already changed course and agreed to moderate the reforms—a domestic Israeli affair in which the US President has no business. Mr. Nides publicly instructed Mr. Netanyahu, as if with his chauffeur, to ‘pump the brakes.’”

“This is no way to treat a democratic ally,” argues the editorial, and suggested “the President’s Israel policy has been counterproductive. US aid to anti-Israel international bodies has resumed, and all of the West Bank and East Jerusalem is treated as ‘occupied territory.’ This is now a liberal article of faith, but how does it advance peace to indulge Palestinians in the belief that Jews are interlopers in Judea and at the Western Wall?”

The WSJ says Biden is undermining Israel’s democratically elected government while “Hamas and other Iranian proxies are gaining power in the West Bank, activating another front against Israel.”

The paper warns: “The new wave of terrorism against Jewish civilians will set back the Palestinian cause but advance Iran’s.”

The editorial also lists Biden’s other failures in the Middle East, including abandoning the Abraham Accords, one of his predecessor’s most brilliant achievements. Biden also failed to keep Saudi Arabia in the Western camp, driving it instead to deepen its relations with China. And the administration’s promises about a better nuclear deal with Iran are all gone.

Perhaps most disappointing has been the failure to extend the Trump-brokered Abraham Accords. The Saudis are the prize, but Mr. Biden’s open hostility drove them to hedge their bets by signing a Chinese-brokered deal with Iran instead. Normalization with Israel may have to wait for a U.S. President interested in rallying a coalition to contain Tehran.

“While Tehran escalates its proxy wars and whittles down US nuclear demands, Mr. Biden carries out diplomatic offensives against Saudi Arabia and Israel,” says the WSJ editorial.

[bugs-in-situations]

Please give more information on Evprim Hoaxe

ah yes the silly sad king who failed so bad at king-ing

he's the Actual Legitimate Wasp King here, so the name "hoaxe" doesn't really uh, fit him anymore? but we don't know what we'd change it to

vanessa took over his kingdom because she was doing what the cuckoo wasp do and using him for free babysitting. with the added magic stuff of mind controlling him and all his subjects. his crown is meant to shield against magic but she took it so he gets affected anyway

team peacock does find where his crown is kept and gives it back to him so he escapes to the ant kingdom at the end of chapter five. he also gives the crown back to team peacock at the start of chapter seven so that they can be shielded from vanessa's toxic slutch beam attacks (they put it on stompy like a cone of shame)

he doesn't have any magic and he's no good at fighting physically either. he is a good diplomat when needing to interact with other kingdoms, but the wasps are in the middle of Terrible Thorny Plants That Eat You Land so they don't get all that many visitors. the general public opinion of him is positive (when his subjects aren't brainwashed), even if a few of the more old-fashioned wasps dislike having a ruler who can't lead them into combat as well as the previous queen did. whenever he has to leave the central palace general jayde will chauffeur him around in one of her chariots (we've decided those are actually driven by wheel bugs instead of giant isopods. it fits better, most true bugs aren't awakened and actually live on land)

also he's trans. the word "king" is a loanword from the termites, but not the same situation going on here. btw

[handeaux]

Long Before Lyft And Uber Rolled Into Town, Cincinnati Relied On Hacks And Hackmen

In the days before ride-hailing apps, before Yellow cabs and Checker cabs, folks got around Cincinnati by hack, and in those days hackmen were the stuff of legend.

A hack was driven by a hackman, who waited for fares at a hackstand. The busiest hackstands were located on Third and Fourth streets and, later, around Fountain Square on Fifth Street. Now, a hack is short for a hackney, and a hackney originally referred to the horse and only later to the open, wheeled conveyance behind it. A hackney was a horse rented out indiscriminately. Such a horse became “commonplace through overuse” and yielded our word “hackneyed” to indicate something tired and trite. Cincinnati’s hackmen were anything but trite. By all reports they were some of the most colorful characters to populate our fair city, especially the night hackmen.

It was an unwritten rule that night hackmen and day hackmen were distinct species, with no commerce between them. A day hackman made his bread ferrying passengers from the trains to hotels, or from home to office and back, with the occasional funeral thrown in. The night hackman carried the same customers, but to very different destinations. There is an abundance of good hack tales in Frank Y. Grayson’s classic book, “Pioneers of Night Life on Vine Street.” Grayson has this to say about Cincinnati’s night hackmen:

“When a night man obtained a load the load was usually loaded. Nine times out of ten, after engaging a hack the first thing the fare would do was suggest a drink. I never saw a backward cabby when it came to that crisis. He met it like a man and a hero. Over the drink the fare would pour out all his troubles, fancied and real, into the saddlerock ears of the cabby, who was a whale of a yesser while the compensation was mounting without the assistance of a meter.”

Indeed, these were the days before intrusive devices like meters invaded the hack. Most fares were negotiated on the spot, although there were some standard routes. Most hackmen charged fifty cents to transport a man and one suitcase from the train to the nearest hotel. Or the nearest hotel offering tips to the hackman, because fares didn’t begin to cover the hackman’s salary. An enterprising hackman told the Cincinnati Post [19 December 1882]:

“We make off of what we ‘catch onto.’ You see, we watch the depots for strangers coming in who don’t know the ropes. They will ask us to drive them to a clothing store or something of the kind, and of course we take them to some merchant who has agreed to give us a commission on all the trade we bring them. We get 10, 15 or 20 per cent, and sometimes a present from the storekeeper.”

The hackman’s fares tended to be arrayed along the middle of Cincinnati’s social classes. Poor folks walked or took the public horsecars. Rich folks had their own carriages and chauffeurs. A good fare was often a gambling man or a sporting woman who had just come into a rare and munificent payday. According to Grayson’s book:

“When a fellah climbed into one of these open faced hacks that used to rattle over our well-paved thoroughfares in the old days, he just naturally harbored some plutocratic ideas. It was pretty soft to loll back on the cushions and lift your eight-by-twelve iron hat to some walking acquaintance as you dashed along up the gay white lane. You were overcome with a sense of dignity; you realized that the thrill of a lifetime had come to you and that an ambition to ride up Vine Street or down Vine Street, as the case might have been, behind a pair of spanking bays or grays, was at last fulfilled after all the years of yearning.”

And hackmen often had to earn their fares and tips as diplomats or warriors. Only a veteran hackman could be trusted to convey his intemperate passenger to the front door while his fare’s good wife endeavored to enact her frustrations with a rolling pin. The veterans knew how to handle a rider whose libations rendered him ten foot tall and bulletproof. Most importantly, the good hackman knew how to take a secret to his grave. The hackman saw everything and had nothing to say, except in some general terms, as the Post reported:

“Once I carried a tony bride to her wedding, and several years afterward met her when she came home, and drove her to the house, where her father would not admit her. At her request I then drove her to a house on Longworth-st. [the heart of the red-light district], and she has been there since. There was a big difference between those two rides; she was laughing on the first, but crying on the other.”

Hackmen made good money on drunks. Sometimes an inebriated fare, afraid to go home in that condition, hired a hack to wander a couple of hours until the toot had worn off. Sometimes after a few too many toasts, the fare needed assistance finding his home port. Far too often, there was a woman involved. As Grayson said:

“They knew how to keep a secret as gloatingly as a miser hoarded his three-cent pieces; if they had been loose-lipped the divorce court would have worked overtime and, gosh knows, it was bad enough when operating on a normal basis.”

A good score often involved a married pair out slumming among the demi-monde who required a level of discretion, according to the hackman interviewed by the Post:

“Sometimes a couple way up in society will be driven to places of questionable resort, and in that case we always sock it to the man heavy. He dasen’t kick, you know.”

Eventually, progress stilled the staccato clopping of the old hacks. By the dawn of the 1920s, horses had no place on Cincinnati’s streets. Some of the old “Jehus” (as they were called, after the biblical charioteer), adapted. One who made the transition was Louis Brizzolari, known as “Briz.” According to Grayson:

“Bris still clings to his little old Vine street. He can be found on it on any night. He now has a fleet of automobiles. Briz hasn’t gathered much more flesh than he packed a good many years ago; he has to wear glasses now when he reads; his hair is somewhat silvered, and there are little nests of crow’s feet under his eyes, but withal he is the same old genial Briz, witty, a good fellow, a dandy story teller and a square shooter who has seen the seamy side of life by gaslight ever since Hector was a purp.”

I am here to tell you, it is all but impossible to conjure that sort of personality from an ride-hailing app.

[queenofcandynsoda]

Dystopian Omegaverse AU: Gammas

Gammas

Description: Gammas are the maintenance workers of Sol Fertilis. They help to encourage the status quo due to their dislike of chaos and danger. 

Rank: Third-Lowest (Gamma Plus) [Second-Highest if Married]; Second-Lowest (Gamma Minus) 

Color-Code: Violet (Standard), Lavender (Pup), Wisteria (In training, girl, Gamma Plus), Lilac (in training, male, Gamma Plus), Thistle (In training, girl, Gamma Minus), Plum (in training, male, Gamma Minus), Floral White (Wedding), Royal Purple (Married, Gamma Plus, female), Burgundy (Married, Gamma Plus, male), Mauveine (Married, Gamma Minus, female), Puce (Married, Gamma Minus, male), Mauve (Ceremony), Mardi Gras (Elder, female), Murrey (Elder, male)

Traits: Gammas are more territorial, sexually promiscuous, and hygienic. Their teeth is sharper than Betas’, enough to break skin. Their heats are not passive, long-lasting, or heavy. Their pheromones are used to help calm down Deltas and Betas. They have a protective instinct towards Omegas and pups. They are also like cleanliness and stability. Their scent is like fresh laundry, freshly cut grass, peppermint, and citrus fruits. 

Occupations:

Gammas from Delta-Gamma are known as Gamma Plus or Gamma+.

Female Gamma Plus would get higher jobs such as nurses, educators in kindergartens and elementary schools, librarians, paramedics, seamstresses, and secretaries.

Male Gamma Plus would get to be an event planner, paramedic, medical scribe, medical assistants, library-assistant, commissionaires, horticulturists, and tailors.

Gammas from Beta-Gamma pairs are known as Gamma Minus, or Gamma-.

Female Gammas Minus take the role of domestic workers, gardeners, doulas, caretakers, personal shoppers, home cooks, nannies, maids, cooks, alewives, and textile makers.

Male Gammas Minus take the role of janitors, couriers, garbagemen, chauffeurs, valet, public transportation workers, groundskeepers, postal service workers, porters, butlers, and cup-bearers. 

Both of them could work as sex workers in state-sponsored brothels for foreign diplomats, flight attendants, car attendants, cashiers in diplomacy malls, and etiquette attendants to help tourists.

Housing:

Under an Alpha: They live in a certain section in the mansion known as the Gammas’ Quarters in an estate. 

Gamma Plus: They live in service apartments, apartment hotels, and luxury apartments. After marriage, they are allowed to live in luxury two or three-store houses and split houses. 

Gamma Minus: They live in duplexes, basement apartments, and micro apartments. When married to a Beta, they live in small apartments, cohousing, studio apartments, and lofts. 

Population: 20%

Male-to-female gender ratio: 1:3

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Does Harry secretly believe that Diana was assassinated?! by u/International_Bed719

Does Harry secretly believe that Diana was assassinated?! Before I go into this, I want to make it clear that for me Diana's death was a tragic accident and nothing more, and if you believe otherwise I suggest you look out for a Mitchell & Webb comedy sketch on the assassination theory on Youtube. If that's not enough for you, I can debunk it in detail, but it's a bit off topic for a SMM sub.Anyway, this is something that has been troubling me from some time but what with all the NYC paparazzi chase debacle and the following fallout I hadn't thought to post about it before now.Ever since Harry recounted in Spare how he asked his chauffeur to go through the Alma tunnel in Paris to recreate the last minutes of his mother's death, it's been clear to me that he doesn't trully believe the official explanation of what happened. In fact there was something about the way he dealt with this anecdote in the book that made me think that it was almost a veiled threat to the RF that he would maybe make a documentary about the accident and perhaps go through some of the alternative theories.To be clear, Harry's version of this reenactmement in Spare makes no sense to me, as having been through that tunnel many times, I simply don't believe that Harry could have gone through it at the speed Diana's car was travelling and think it was nothing. I can explain why that is, but I'll save that for another post. Nevertheless, it is at this point he seems to express doubts about the media/police explanation.We also know that he is completely paranoid at this point and interprets everything in the most sinister light. I think he clearly gets this from Diana who was also paranoid. Contrary to popular belief her mental health problems were not due to the RF, although the pressure of the role clearly didn't help. Diana went into the marriage with Charles with a lot of mental health baggage due to her difficult unbringing.Early on in the marriage, Diana cheated on Charles with her bodyguard Barry Manakee, who was then moved to diplomatic protection and died in a motorbike accident about a year later on his way home. Diana told anyone who'd listen that he was bumped off and was hit head on by a truck. For those who don't know, he wasn't and the circumstances of the accident were very straightforward and had nothing to do with a truck, but if you want more info on that, see google.Anyway, suffice it to say that thanks to his mother and his rampant cannabis use, Harry is clearly paranoid and as we know an avid surfer of the internet. Imho a man who constantly looks for comments about himself on twitter and youtube would probably have done the same thing for his mother. I find it very hard to believe that he hasn't read all the conspiracy theories about her death.And then we come to what I always considered to be his strange justification for leaving the RF and his completely irrational reaction to specifically the "British press", as if tabloid media doesn't exist elsewhere.He's always insisted that the royal press corps is somewhat in league with the RF and that he had to get away to "protect his family". Why?It's easy to make sure that you don't die at the hands of the paparazzi. You just need to check that the cars you travel in have blacked out windows, that you put your seatbelts on and that you don't drive at ridiculous speeds to try to outrun them. That's assuming they would have chased him in the first place, which in the UK just does not happen anymore. He also has an intense and lingering obsession with his security needs.To my mind, the only way these justifications and his behaviour make any sense is if in his mind, the "British Press" is actually a proxy for other more sinister forces. I trully think that he wanted to leave because he thought they were going to be disposed of for being a nuisance, just as he thinks his mother was disposed of for the same reason. post link: https://ift.tt/Q2TCSJh author: International_Bed719 submitted: June 21, 2023 at 11:22AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[perceivedfm]

⟨ ANONYMOUS ASKED ⟩ ——- occupation ideas ?

hi ! you can check the tag in the source for some occupation ideas, but some other ideas can be found below ! i tried to keep both ideas on the lists different; but if you need more specific recommendations for a character, let me know, and i can try to help you out.

ideas are: gamer, gardener, handyman, marketer, marriage counselor, receptionist, radio announcer, bookstore clerk, distiller / winemaker, chauffeur, court clerk, diplomat, bartender, cashier, archaeologist, fashion designer, babysitter / pet - sitter, doctor / surgeon, researcher, accountant, weather - person, art director, bodyguard, security guard, coach, criminal investigator, journalist, dancer, firefighter, funeral practitioner, personal shopper, and writer !

ADMIN DREAM is... online ! ——-  5-15 minute replies.