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[delirious-donna]

Demon In The Mirror [Sebastian Michaelis]

an: this is a rework of an old fic for a different character/fandom. I liked this fic idea and lovely Sebby really fit it, or at least I think so! I've been hyperfixated on the world's best butler so this scratched an itch for me.

pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x female reader

warnings: canon Sebastian, mirror sex, rough touching, praise, light degradation, biting, mark marking, dirty talk, pussy fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mentions of blood (tiny)

Masterlist

A mirror–polished and unassuming as it stood in the corner of the room. It never lied, never hid the truth behind a veil of deceit. All it could do was reflect what it hungrily absorbed.

Truth laid bare for all who peered into its depths. The reflection of not only your physical reactions–the jerk of your limbs, soft quiver of your stomach–but your emotions poured into the surface and were somehow magnified back. Magic, perhaps?

On its own, the mirror was a beautiful thing, decoratively ornate and standing on claw feet. You gazed into it every morning to peruse your outfit and ensure your hair was coiffed exactly as intended. However, when you added what was showing on the calm surface at this moment, the mirror became a truly magnificent beast.

Two bodies entwined in a lover’s embrace.

Every detail was laid bare in exquisite detail, and this outcome was entirely your doing. Slender fingers with midnight nails flexed deliberately into your jaw, testing the strength you had long known against the delicate frame of your mortal body. The angle forced you to stare straight ahead, to witness what was happening to you in such clarity it stole the little air remaining from your lungs.

“You wanted this, did you not?” He lilted with an air of amusement that curled your toes. “I believe you were rather forthright with your desires this evening, at least you were once I coaxed them out of you.”

Sebastian Michaelis, the head butler and right-hand man to your father was a demon. As the eldest daughter in the family and well into your twenties, you were an anomaly to your father. He would have married you off years ago if it weren’t for your ability to chase away every suitor that called. The only person who had been able to get close to you was Sebastian if you could even call him a person. Except, you liked that he wasn’t human—humans were boring.

You cared not for whatever mysterious and demonic bond had been formed between him and your father. All that mattered was that he saw the real you beneath the prickly exterior you presented to the world. It had taken many months of flirtatious glances, heated whispers promising you all manner of carnal pleasure and touches that only grew in intimacy, but you considered Sebastian to be your lover for close to half a year now.

The only problem… he treated you with kid gloves.

“Sebastian… You know, it would be okay if you held me a bit tighter. If you wish to, that is.”

That was what had started it all, the words that led to this path of twisted pleasure. 

You recalled the delicate touch of white-gloved fingers, how they curled around your biceps to draw you into his lap. His carefully fastened tie and top buttons were messily undone by your hasty fingers and his midnight hair was just the tiniest bit dishevelled from where you had brushed through it.

The demon gently pawing at you was more than capable of tearing people apart with his hands, the white of his gloves rarely soiled by the crimson remnants of the deaths he bestowed, and yet he held you as if you were fine china. Didn’t he know that the times you bore witness to his feats of strength had resulted in ruined undergarments beneath your gown? He was a sight to behold, tall and lithe with a presence that demanded respect despite being a servant by occupation. What you wouldn’t give for him to direct some of that power and strength towards you, on those intimate late-night visits to your quarters.

“But, my dear, you are so soft. I wouldn’t wish to hurt you.” The sentiment was huffed into the sweet crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin whilst he smeared lazy, wet kisses to your jaw and the pulse hammering beneath the surface. It sounded almost bemused, and that irritated you.

You were no porcelain doll only to be taken out when it suited and arranged delicately upon pristine sheets. You were no silly girl. You were a woman, goddammit, and you wished above all else to be treated as such. Apparently, your expression gave away your frustration, either that or Sebastion was simply well-tuned to the emotions swirling in your complex mind.

“Have I said something wrong, darling girl?”

With today’s gown laid neatly atop your dresser, the petticoats beneath bunched around your thighs and hips, you sat back on your haunches to glower at him. His finger idled with the lace fastens of your bodice, doing little to stop you from moving away from his embrace.

A petulant huff passed your lips, arms folded across your chest, and his easy smile dimmed in response. It should have been your first warning, but ire had a way of dulling your senses to danger. 

“I will remind you that I am not made of glass, nor will I break if you…” The remaining words of your tirade seemed to become stuck in the back of your throat as your gaze met with Sebastian’s. The subtle carmine of his irises caught fire, glowing coals of ember that spoke of something… unknown? Worryingly unknown.

Maybe you had misspoken, your tone a little more harsh than you intended but it was too late to remedy. Your shoulders sagged, your body deflating rapidly from the hot air that filled you only moments ago. 

The room charged with electricity, you could feel it press atop your head like a physical manifestation of a weight trying to crush you against your bedspread. Something was most assuredly wrong and it wouldn’t be long before you found out the consequences of your little outburst.

“If I what?” he hissed from between gritted teeth, white and gleaming.

Your eyes snapped to his face, and the stark lines of displeasure traced his cheekbones and brow. No longer were you gazing into the face of Sebastian, your lover, this was the demon that lurked beneath. The one you longed for and were going to suffer his wrath no matter if you tried to back peddle or not.

He sat up straight with a start, forcing you further back and almost tumbling you right out of his lap. A palm anchored around your wrist, tightening against the fragile tendons until they nearly popped and wrenching you forward until you were nose to nose. His breathing was harsh, your own picking up pace to match it perfectly. For a moment you thought he would speak but after many moments of staring back and forth, he pushed back and looked towards the periphery. 

With a precision no man or demon should have, he caught the fingertip of his virginal white gloves between his teeth and slowly pulled each one free in turn. You squirmed watching him reveal his hands, the intricate design that you always did your best to ignore caught your attention but it was quickly stolen away.

That same hand shot forward to wrap around your hair, yanking on the length in one swift motion until your roots tugged painfully and your throat bared in front of his eyes. The breathless whine you expressed sounded truly pathetic, only matched by the arousal pooling in your underwear.

“Hm, so you won’t break if I do this?”

Sebastian reared back and bit around the slender column of your throat, not enough to break the skin but it hurt—it hurt bad enough to spark tears in your eyes. The sweep of his hot, wet tongue licked across the mark he made, tracing the indents his teeth had created along with a low grunt that sounded from the depths of his chest.

Cool, nimble fingers reached into the front of your bodice, teasing against your heated flesh before rending the garment clean in two. The noise of expensive fabric ripping thundered in the room and you gasped at the sudden chill covering your naked breasts. 

It was hard to navigate the sudden flip in his demeanour, although you had all but asked for it. You braced your trembling hands over the lapels of his double-breasted jacket in an attempt to find grounding and solace, but there was none to be found. It appeared that your demon lover was bowing to your whims, you should be pleased, and yet there was a beat of trepidation in your heart. What had you let yourself in for?

As if sensing your wayward conviction, Sebastian moved with alarming ease to the edge of the bed. It was evident that your added weight meant nothing to him, and that alone made you moan into the shell of his ear.

He placed you down in a puffy cloud of your petticoats and stood to shrug out of his jacket and waistcoat but annoyingly left his shirt in place. It didn’t stop you from ogling him openly, knowing what lay beneath even if it was rare to spend the night with him completely nude.

A finger and thumb pinched into the fat of your cheeks, lifting your gaze from the blatant lust-filled staring to meet his eyes that had mellowed to a sparkling fuschia. He was so pretty, so devastatingly pretty that you clung to his wrist, blinking up at him with heat-filled cheeks.

“You will direct your eyes up here, and wherever I instruct, is that clear?”

Only when he was satisfied he had captured your attention and you had given your clear understanding did he release the grip of his fingers, settling beside you. He patted his lap in invitation and you were crawling before he could even raise a sleek black eyebrow.

Smooth palms decorated your sides, pausing to grope your breasts. Sebastian exhaled a laugh when the excess spill from your breasts squished between his splayed fingers, pebbled nipples grazing the hearts of his palms. You whined and rocked against the bulge beneath his tailored trousers, only feeding the frenzy of his wandering hands and how roughly he was exploring your smooth skin. It was a perfect storm of demonic lust and ardent excitement, the result of which resided in the pit of your stomach. You were drooling between your thighs, flushed by the thought of it and you knew he’d tease you when he discovered how wet you were.

“A needy little thing, aren’t you? Darling, surely you aren’t this desperate for my cock?” His hand was beneath the plumes of petticoats, zeroing in on your soaked panties before you could blink. Sebastian tsked whilst his finger stroked the sizeable wet stain that traced the length of your slit. “Deary me, you’re already soaked. One might think that this side of me excites you.”

Without warning, he bounced you from his knee, your feet found the plush rug by your bed but your balance was not to be trusted and you were thankful for the firm hands at your waist keeping you steady. That was until those ruthless hands were twisted in your petticoats and tugging them down your legs to pool around your twisting feet, followed by the sudden removal of the final piece of clothing.

You tried to shield your modesty–an arm slung across your breasts and a hand cupping your sex whilst stepping out of your panties when suddenly you were dwarfed by Sebastian’s taller frame. He appeared even taller than usual, though you weren’t sure if it was an illusion aided by the long shadows cast by the candles on your bedside.

A mere flick of his wrist and your hand dislodged from protecting your decency. He stepped right into your personal space to force his hand exactly where yours had once been and began to dig deeper. Your nails scrambled against the stiff white starch of his shirt, blinking up at him much too fast whilst he took no care to spread you apart with his fingers.

“A-ah, Sebastian!”

Again, he tsked you and clicked his tongue against his teeth in admonishment when a slick covered finger rose into your vision, sparking a fresh wave of heat in every inch of your body.

“Clean it off like a good girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping in honeyed sweetness that you did not trust.

This was not something you had participated in before, but you were determined to meet the challenge in his eyes and earn a sliver of praise that would bow your spine. The taste was surprisingly sweet, a little heavy on your tastebuds but you sucked the long digit between your lips and twirled your tongue around and around to better understand why Sebastian so loved to lay between your thighs and indulge.

He patted your head affectionately, lowering his hand to caress your cheek and smirked when you turned your face to press a kiss to his palm. Unknown to you his attention had snared on the standing mirror in the far corner of your bedroom, eyeing it with first curiosity and then wicked amusement.

You were uncertain why he was interested in the mirror, leaving you by the bed naked and vulnerable, to examine the gold-gilded frame and moving it with ease towards you. What on Earth..?

“What are you–?”

Sebastian cut you off, turning you roughly and sitting with you on full display for the mirror. It made you uncomfortable to see yourself this exposed, you barely looked at yourself in this state whilst bathing or dressing so to see the thick strands of lust hanging from your parted lips was jarring. A sensation writhed in your chest, a mixture of embarrassment mingling with a little pride. Your demon that stared from over your shoulder was here of his own free will, no contract or binding bid him to your side and that was an empowering thought.

He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your flushed cheek. “I am merely doing what you asked of me. You wished me to hold you tighter and be used like a pretty whore for the night, so I am doing just that.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Ah, but you may as well have, my darling. Your body speaks far more readily than your mouth and I can hear it loud and clear.”

Before he had finished speaking, his thumb found your eager little pearl, stroking around and around in maddening circles without touching it directly. Sebastian shuffled beneath you and you felt the blunt tip of his cock trace along your cunt for the first time that night. 

A thread of power pulled through the length of your spine, straightening it and you knew deep down that it was his doing. Your eyes flickered to his blazing ones, biting your lip enough to cause blood to bead. A heated kiss cleaned the offending crimson from your plump bottom lip. The scene was like nothing you could ever dream of. No book or play could conjure such images. It was enough for sweat to roll from your temples and he hadn’t even slipped inside yet.

“Can you see what I see?” He cooed, stroking the curve of your jaw with his thumb.

You weren’t sure you did. Sure, you were a carnal feast for the eyes but wouldn’t any woman be in this position? Evidently, he disliked your silent uncertainty.

“A strong woman who stood against her family and chose to take a demon as a lover instead of marrying into dazzling wealth.”

Your chin rose as the words hit home, the cool ferocity of his tone enough to make you clench around nothing but air and the promise of what was to come.

“You are mine. No one else could hope to take you from me. I speak these words now and I will die by them. Mine. Do you understand?”

Nodding weakly, you watched his features twist in the reflection of the mirror. The desperate hunger and possession stoked the fires of the demon. It was at that moment that he pushed the bulging tip into your leaking cunt, pushing deeper past the tight ring of muscles with an exalted sigh of triumph. Sebastian held you still, fingers gripping the meat at your waist to prevent you from trying to run from the stretch you were sure to be experiencing.

It only took one forceful rut of his hips to sheath himself halfway, forcing your silken walls apart, to accept him as you always did. The remaining air from your lungs expired from the sudden pressure and overwhelming feeling of fullness.

Steady hands braced on the inside of your knees to prevent you from closing your thighs and it only made your whimpers sound all the more desperate. You were met with a warning growl directed into your ear, fiery pain following from the sharp teeth that tore at your shoulder until the marks were clear in the watery image in the mirror.

You blinked through tears, struggling in the clutches of a beast you had never mated with before. This was different, and you knew that when he stroked himself to the hilt in your cunt, he felt bigger, wider even, and the tip of his cock knocked painfully at your cervix.

It was near impossible to keep your eyes open, not when they were filled with unspilled tears and your head and heart were pounding from the lack of movement. Scrunching your eyes closed was natural when all you wanted to do was roll your hips and surrender to the build of friction but you couldn’t.

“Watch.” He demanded, wetting two fingers in his mouth and smacking them against your jumping clit as punishment for daring to close your eyes. “This is what you wanted and you’ll see just how rough I can be.”

Here you were. Nude and being used for pleasure. Wrapped in a strong embrace that forced you to witness what you had brought about. Expert fingers pinched at your tender nipples and rolled the taut buds between finger and thumb whilst the other hand abused your puffy clit.

Your body trembled as another orgasm neared–you had no idea what number this one was and it certainly wasn’t the first.

“Oh. Oh, fuck.”

The words tumbled out in velvet tones, eliciting a dark chuckle from Sebastian. He delighted when you cussed, knowing that your usual etiquette was entirely lost and your decency stolen away by how he fucked your pliant body.

With every new wave of pleasure, you understood more and more about the monster holding you tight and you didn’t believe you could love him any more than you did right now. He could destroy you without so much as breaking a sweat and yet he chose to hold you like this. Yes, it was rougher than ever before but you knew there was still a gentleness to his ministrations.

This demon had found a mortal interesting enough that for the first time in his long existence, he had no desire to ever see his contract fulfilled. 

His pistoning hips stopped; twitching cockhead buried against your cervix and the pulsing veins that ran the length of his thick shaft throbbed for release. He had assaulted the softy tissue buried behind your clit for long enough, it was time for him to find release too.

You were witnessing the birth of a million stars–a fucking cosmos--behind your eyelids as Sebastian massaged your insides in slow, deliberate circles. Every time you found the reflection in the mirror and met his potent stare, it made you whimper and rut even harder against him.

He was close, you could feel it with every laboured breath at the nape of your marked neck.

“What a picture you make, my dear, one I would love to hang in my room. You are all blissed out and ready for me to spill. Should I cum inside or paint your pretty stomach?”

Your head fell to his shoulder, and for the first time, he let you take your eyes off the show in front of you. Instead, he narrated it to you and that was almost worse. The seductive silky smooth tone of his words heated your blood beyond the boiling point.

“Oh my... look at this thick creamy ring around my cock… I could watch your pretty pussy drool over me all day.”

With a final shove of his hips, jets of heat coated your walls and you were spared from the embarrassment of begging for him to cum inside you. Sebastian grunted into your neck, the sensation of his hot mouth on your skin and the continued lazy pumps deep in your cunt tripped you over the cliff edge and into freefall.

Boneless, panting and mind blank except for the pleasure, your dazed eyes lifted to stare at the mirror.

Hair as black as a starless sky fell over your shoulder, strong arms clinging to your midriff and a mixture of viscous arousal dripped from between your trembling thighs.

Flushed and shivering, you bit your lip at the sight—your demon in the mirror.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

qin shi huang with yoriichi tsugikuni!fem!reader headcanons

warnings: spoilers from manga, ooc, slow burn friends-to-lovers troupe

Special thanks to @onecantsimply, @yellow-snark and @thatstrangesheep for their feedback and help with these headcanons! Enjoy! :)

Even in death, Qin Shi Huang was an emperor whom everyone respected as the ‘king who began everything’. He had reunited the annexed nations of China, a guiding light who led his people bringing peace and prosperity after almost a millennium of strife. Now, within the vast afterlife known as Valhalla, he reigned over a substantial amount of territory alongside his successors, working as a cohesive council when conflict arose.

Today, however, he has come to handle the problem on his own terms. For the last two months, men, women, and even children have gone missing from the foot of the northeastern mountains. Given the harsh environment, it is not too odd to believe that the cause of their disappearance might be an attack from a wild animal, angering the spirits who guard the terrain, or just simply got lost.

But the disemboweled bodies told the emperor a different story: there is a beast devouring his people, and it is certainly not a bear. For a split moment, Qin Shi Huang feared that Chi You had somehow returned from beyond its miserable grave and had come back to take revenge on the ‘insolent whelp’ who would not bow before its bony knees as payment for being accepted as an emperor of China.

If that were truly the case, though, there would be more corpses strewn about the mountain base than the current number of victims. Qin Shi Huang had already defeated the god, and he will do it again to protect his subjects. Such is the road he leads as an emperor, after all~.

So imagine his surprise when he comes across a six-armed being with pasty skin and glowing golden sclera, hunched over the corpse of a man cradling his child. It was not Chi You, but a demon. A demon that was the stuff of legends many years ago, only for them to suddenly vanish and become nothing more than a bedtime story to keep children from sneaking off at night.

And now, here is the great emperor, face-to-face with this drooling beast. Qin Shi Huang frowned, bending his sinewy body into an offensive position. Just when he was about to launch an attack, his opponent’s head rolled off its shoulders. He blinked, watching the demon’s body collapse onto the grass, twitching rapidly before disintegrating into dust. Hm? He hadn’t even moved! Unless the presence of an emperor is that powerful before a demon that it self destructs?

“Are you all right?” Qin Shi Huang then saw a figure standing where the demon had been, sword unsheathed. At first glance, she seemed like an ordinary traveler by the way she dressed, but the emperor knew that she was certainly not an ordinary person. Not from the tremendous amount of chi circulating around this woman’s body and the sword fastened at her waist.

She was a warrior as Chun Yan had been.

He grinned. “Hao!”

[Eye Color] orbs blinked at him in confusion, tilting her head to the side as she repeated the word. “Does that mean…you are hurt?”

Zori sandals stomped against the bloodied soil as she strode over to him, astounding Qin Shi Huang with her agility. She frowned slightly, her eyes scanning over his body. “You…are all right, it appears.” She glanced up at him. “I…apologize if I had gotten…your clothes dirty. You are a young lord, yes?”

Qin Shi Huang frowned. “Buhao.”

“Hm?”

He raised his right hand, pressing his middle and index fingers together before he pointed them towards the ground, the golden nail guards glowing beneath the moonlight. “Humble yourself. You are in the presence of an emperor. Be grateful I have not executed you for your impudence.”

“You…are an emperor?”

That was how the greatest emperor in all of Chinese history crossed paths with the greatest Demon Slayer in history, the Mother of All Breathing Techniques, the Sun Hashira [First Name] [Last Name].

In your defense, you never would have guessed that the man who had been endangered moments ago had not been a feudal lord looking for trouble in these woods, but an emperor who had come to kill the demon devouring his people.

You did apologize for being rude, and politely asked His Imperial Majesty if there was a town close by. You lived deep in the mountains, though in the opposite direction of his territory. It would take about two days to return should you leave now. That was only if you were lucky enough to not come across any more demons on your journey back home.

To your surprise, this emperor all but commanded you to follow him to his palace. He boasted that it was the largest one in Valhalla, with the finest food and rooms available for only esteemed guests and members of his court. However, since you did humble yourself before him, he will make an exception and allow a weary traveler to stay in the guest quarters for the night. You thanked him, trailing after the man through the woods to the crowded streets of a bustling city and right up the stone footsteps of an extravagant palace the likes of which you had never seen before.

You dared to say that it was much bigger than the Ubuyashiki compound.

With a clap of his jeweled hands, a group of young maidens in flowing robes appeared before him. He ordered them to make sure you received the most excellent care, including running a warm bath and mending your damaged clothes. Before you could have a moment to say something, you were immediately whisked away to another part of the palace until dinner was ready.

The food was just as extravagant as the clothes that the maidens had dressed you in. It was almost too much, but you dared to not insult your host. Instead, you bowed your head to him in gratitude and ate as much as you could without being too rude. Thankfully you could recall some of your table manners from when you had been alive, before becoming a Hashira and just the daughter of a prestigious household in the Sengoku era.

Between the raucous laughter and idle chatter amongst the others who dined at this table, you had almost expected to be asked to leave or escorted out of the banquet hall so that the emperor could speak to his fellow countrymen freely without the presence of an outsider.

Instead, His Imperial Majesty asked you many questions. Who you are, why were you in the woods, how did you defeat the demon, etc. You answered them to the best of your ability, humbly explaining that you had once been a Demon Slayer and trained to exterminate the ones who came out at night to consume human flesh. There is nothing special about you.

You had simply worked hard, protected humanity until your untimely death. There was no need for him to know of your ability to see the Transparent World, much less the Breathing Techniques of a Demon Slayer.

Some secrets were meant to be just that: secrets. And you were bad at explaining things; it had been a miracle that the Hashiras, those whom you had worked alongside all those years ago, could comprehend your words and adapt the Sun Breathing techniques into their own variations: Water, Insect, Flame, Wind, Stone, and so forth.

Again the emperor surprised you; he seemed intrigued by the Breathing Styles and continued to ask questions about how to use it until the handmaidens escorted you to the guest quarters later that night, although His Imperial Majesty wished to keep speaking even in a drunken stupor.

The following morning, you thanked the emperor for his hospitality and left the palace. An armed entourage followed you out to the city’s borders to make sure you would not try to attack His Imperial Majesty nor the citizens. You thanked them for their vigilance and hard work before beginning the journey towards your humble home.

You were certain that this was the first and only time you would come across royalty and thought nothing of it in the days that went by upon returning, weeks becoming almost two months since the demon attack. You would either be tending to the crops or practicing your swordsmanship. Eventually, it was time for you to venture down from the mountains to restock on your supplies.

The villagers who lived at the mountain’s edge were kind people. Some of them were elderly and required assistance with manual labor or errands. You did not mind helping them, and were quite hesitant to accept anything from them, especially rice or other precarious commodities.

Most were merchants who traveled a great distance from the village to the city to sell their wares. How could you even consider taking that away from them? To your dismay, they were quite stubborn and practically shoved it in your hands.

The ‘payment’ from the villagers, including the usual amount of items you purchased from the vendors, became too much for you to carry without making two trips up and down the mountain.

You were almost considering having to borrow a cart when a voice called out to you.

Turning around, your eyes widened in shock at the appearance of the emperor Qin Shi Huang walking down the muddied main road, flanked by four or five armed soldiers. He recognized you immediately, almost running with a wide grin on his face.

He’d been wanting to continue his conversation with you, yet due to his workload in the palace prevented him from venturing out sooner. You had also been difficult to track down as no one seemed to be aware that a Demon Slayer wearing hanafuda earrings existed in Valhalla except for a young whelp and his little sister living in the floating cities alongside the Valkyries.

But now, he’s here and ready to chat~. You should be grateful he had traveled such a long way to visit. He is an emperor after all. He was willing to help carry the supplies up the mountains if it meant he had an opportunity to challenge you to a fight and idly chatter over drinks.

Upon explaining that you did not drink alcohol, the emperor told you not to fret. He’s come prepared. Revealing a large jug of corked liquor in his hand with a wide grin, you realized that he would not go away even if you politely asked him too.

So with great reluctance, you guided Qin and his entourage up the mountains, some of them carrying your supplies.

A peaceful day became chaotic. And from this single afternoon of idle chatter and sparring with an incredibly powerful fighter transitioned to an unlikely friendship. Qin Shi Huang was nothing like Sumiyoshi, that much was certain.

Where Sumiyoshi was a humble man blessed to have a family in turbulent times, the boastful emperor had been an unwanted child from the moment he was born. If it had not been for his mentor and mother, that meek little boy would not have the confidence to move forward and pave the road for his people to live in peace, let alone find a method to deal with the Zhao’s anger aimed at him simply because he was from royalty.

He had many children sired from his concubines but he never took an empress, much to his council’s annoyance even in the afterlife. Chun Yan too, of all people!

Yet despite such different personalities from two different people who are your friends….you knew they both possessed kindness and empathy. Why else would an emperor continue to maintain contact with you via letters and occasionally visit you in the mountains over the next thirty years?

He’s a man who had led his people into prosperity after all, the king of all kings.

You had lost so much when you were alive…is it truly all right to be selfish and treasure Qin Shi Huang as a friend, an emperor of all people?

Qin Shi Huang quickly discovered that there was more to his new friend than being a calm, unreadable individual who never raised her voice once even when he had been purposely annoying just to gauge a reaction.

The Sun Hashira…she was perfect. A beautiful, complex creature who values integrity and kindness above all else. She did not enjoy fighting, preferring a quiet life away from society than challenging one opponent after another. And like him, she knew what it meant to lose a loved one.

When it came to strength, she once told him, those who are marked like herself will all meet the same fate. He had an idea as to the cryptic meaning behind her words…and he prayed that she would live in this afterlife.

When he revealed his past to her, what he had done as a child until his death, the Sun Hashira simply accepted it all as they say together on the snowy veranda of her small home.

“To live in an era of conflict…there can never be true peace without bloodshed. Your Imperial Majesty had gone through so much….and you were loved deeply by Chun Yan. I wish….I could have met her….and thank her for raising a wonderful, strong son.”

Qin Shi Huang.exe stopped working for a span of five seconds before he tried to hide his embarrassment with a swing of the warm sake that his host had prepared especially for them to celebrate the New Year together.

Another year has come and gone…so why was it that his heart hasn’t stopped hammering against his ribcage?

Bonus Content:

After five years of sending luxurious gifts and love letters, it took a stammering confession from the emperor to convey his feelings towards the Sun Hashira.

Although she did not want to marry right away, she humbly accepted a period of courtship from China’s greatest emperor until it was appropriate to be welcomed as his empress.

Some of his court were pleased that he had finally selected a wife to become the mother of the nation, but there were others who believed that [First Name] was too independent and would not respect the traditions required to follow after becoming an empress.

Needless to say, Qin Shi Huang made an example of the courtiers who dared to disrespect his new wife behind closed doors. His warning also extended to the concubines, should they try to do something malicious out of petty jealousy.

Quality time included sampling delicacies in the garden, sparring matches, and cuddling in his private quarters.

Chun Yan approved of [First Name], congratulating her adoptive son on finding a woman who can keep up with his shenanigans.

The domestic bliss between the emperor and empress never wavered…until Brunhilde approached the palace and asked for their aid to fight against the gods. Both of them.

If it hadn’t been for [First Name]’s benevolence, Qin would have immediately executed the Valkyrie on the spot for her arrogance. Instead he gave her the courtesy and listened to her proposal regarding the event called Ragnarok. A battle royale until one opponent is annihilated.

The emperor would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested, but he had no intention of bringing his Sun Hashira into it. He wanted her to spend this afterlife in peace, not to put her life on the line again.

Alas, his wife was stubborn. He agreed to Brunhilde’s terms so long as she agreed to his terms. Once she left the palace, he pulled his empress into a long talk about this…situation.

Whatever obstacles will come their way, they will face it together. The Sun Hashira isn’t alone anymore.

Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@onecantsimply

@recreationalfanfics

@deathmetalunicorn1

@yellow-snark

@thatstrangesheep

@dance-till-the-death

@staticradiotv​

Honorable mentions:

@myrisan-melodies​

[sifu-kisu]

Parts of a Chinese Sword: The Jian and Dao Anatomy

Chinese swords are very beautiful and dangerous weapons that have played an important role in Chinese history and culture for thousands of years. Their intricate design and construction are a testament to centuries of Chinese swordmaking tradition.

One must be familiar with the complex workings of Chinese swords to fully appreciate their lethality and beauty and use them more effectively in Wushu or Kung Fu Chinese martial arts. In this article, we’ll introduce you to the various components of the Dao or Jian, the traditional Chinese swords, and their use.

Parts of the Jian / Straigh Double Edge

The Parts of a Jian Sword – Credits: Mandarin Mansion Antiques

The Jian is a type of ancient Chinese straight, double-edged sword that has been valued for over a thousand years. Its blade is long and narrow, while the handle is straight and slim. Soldiers, martial artists, and academics employed the sword in ancient China and surrounding regions. Together with the staff, spear, and Dao swords, it is one of the four key weapons in Chinese martial arts.

1. Jiantan – Pommel

The Chinese word for the pommel of a Jian sword is Jiantan, and it is there that the sword begins. It’s a metal weight at the end of the handle, and its purpose is to balance the blade so the user can have a firm hold. First only available in ring pommels, Jian pommels eventually evolved into more complex designs like the metal cap, ball, or teardrop shapes and the common disk pommel known today.

2. Jian Sui – Tassel

A Jian sword’s tassel is a decorative accessory that can be fastened to the pommel or scabbard. The Chinese sword tassel is often constructed from silk. This sheath beautifies the Jian and adds a few features that may or may not improve the sword’s effectiveness in battle.

3. Jianba – Handle

The different possible edge features on the Jian sword – Credits: Sword Buyers Guide

The Jianba is the sword’s handle, and it is always straight and slim, measuring somewhere between 6 and 10 inches (15 and 25 cm) in length. For ceremonial and combat purposes, it may be crafted from various materials, including bone, wood, horn, and even jade. The majority of Jianbas have a shorter handle designed for use with one hand, although there are also longer versions used with both.

4. Jian Ge – Guard

Traditional Jian sword guards are thin, tapered pieces of metal that can be angled in either direction relative to the blade and handle. In some cases, it can be round or square that goes between the blade and the handle. Its purpose is to shield the user’s hand from the oncoming blade and to stop the enemy’s weapon from sliding down the blade onto the hand. In some cases, it only serves as a beautiful ornamental piece.

5. Shaungxue – Hamon

A hamon is the visible line on the Jian sword that is sometimes on the blade but not always. It is a result of the differential hardening used throughout history to make the edges of the blade sharper by using clay. It is a feature most known today on the Japanese Katana.

6. Jianti – Blade

The blade of a Jian sword is narrow and long, normally measuring 23 to 31 inches (60 to 80 cm) but reaching as high as 47 inches (1.2 meters), and always tapers into a sharp blade tip. It is the only straight Chinese sword, one of just a few in the arsenal of Chinese swords, with no curving variant. The blade is forged from bronze, then iron, and finally, high-quality steel, and it is optimized for speed and accuracy when cutting.

7. Jian Ren – Edge

The straight Jian scabbard –

The sharp edges on both sides of the Jian’s blade are called Jian Ren. This Jian Ren has three sections and parts, mostly seen in the combat or martial arts type of Jian sword.

Top – razor sharp and used primarily for hacking, slashing, thrusting, but not blocking

Middle – semi-sharpened part of the blade but much thicker, which is used for slashing and blocking

Bottom – very thick, sturdy, and usually unsharpened for defensive or unorthodox offensive movements

8. Jian Jian – Blade Tip

The very point of the Jian sword is called Jian Jian. It is sharpened on both sides and made to be deadly when used for thrusting and piercing, but it can also be used for slashing.

9. Jianqiao – Scabbard

When not in use, a Jian sword is stored safely in its scabbard, called the Jianqiao. It’s usually crafted from wood and covered in luxurious materials like silk or leather. Metal fittings and tassels are two examples of possible embellishments for the scabbard.

Parts of the Dao Sword (Knife/ Saber)

The Parts of a Dao Sword – Credits: Mandarin Mansion Antiques

The Dao sword, often called the Chinese broadsword, is a renowned blade that has served Chinese warriors for millennia. Its defining feature is a single-edged blade, which can be straight or slightly curved and may be gripped in one or both hands thanks to the long, slim grip. The Dao sword has a long history of use in numerous Chinese martial arts traditions, but it was primarily a sword of the soldier thanks to its ease of use and simpler design.

1. Daoba Dingshu – Pommel

Usually, the Dao sword has a smaller metal cap of a pommel which can be ring type, as seen in the 20th-century use of the Dadao. However, the most common type is a round or wider disc shape. It serves as a back support to the user’s hand as well as a possible blunt attack tool.

2. Lanyard and Tassel

Like the Jian has the traditional Chinese tassel, so does the Dao. But most of the time, the Dao swords have a lanyard, which is meant to have a better grip on the sword and make this curved blade more effective in mounted attacks.

3. Daoba – Handle

The handle of the Dao, which can be as small as a person’s hand or the size of the blade itself, is called the Daoba. Its most common length is 8 to 13 inches (20 to 35 cm), and it can be used with one or two hands for powerful slashing attacks.

4. Daoba Shu – Ferrule

The small metal piece just under and between the guard and the handle is called the Daoba Shu. These are often circular metal rings made for extra joining and fastening of the handle and sealing and reinforcing the wrapping material.

5. Dao Hushou – Guard

The metal piece that protects the user’s hand between the blade and the handle is the Dao Hushou. The most common type of guard seen on a Dao sword is round or disc-shaped. It offers protection to the user’s hand but is fairly limited. It makes for an excellent marching or cavalry type of guard. However, It is also featured in the parts of a Katana known as tsuba.

6. Dao Cao – Groove

The early types of Dao Ren on the straight Dao swords, which curved with time – Credits: The Scholar General

The Dao Cao translates to saber groove and can be found in almost all types of Chinese Dao. They are sometimes referred to as blood grooves, but their real purpose is to lessen the weight of the blade so that it can increase the saber’s handling and speed. In addition, they make eye-pleasing aesthetics.

7. Dao Ren – Blade (Edge)

The sharpened side of the Dao swords, which makes them single-edged, is called the Dao Ren, which sets it apart from the Jian. This edge makes for an effective slashing tool that benefited from the curve added onto the later Dao types of swords. Thanks to the Dao Ren, these blades were easier to master and cheaper to produce, but still very effective in combat and became the main type of military sword for Chinese soldiers.

8. Dao Bei – Spine

The sturdy part of the Dao sword, which can hold off the flexibility of the edge, is called Dao Bei. This isn’t a sharpened part and can be either straight or curved based on the type of sword and can be used for defensive purposes too. Sometimes the blade can be made broader and wider, and there are instances of a spike on some Dao Beis.

9. Blade Rings

There are some cases of Chinese swords with rings placed on the Dao Bei or the blade’s spine. They are mostly for entertainment and ornamental reasons, but some say they are also beneficial in combat.

10. Tunkou – Blade Collar

An unsharpened piece of metal, usually on top of the guard of Dao swords, is called a Tunkou, which is a blade collar. This is placed for decorative purposes, mostly with traditional Chinese elements, but it also holds the blade tightly inside the scabbard, keeping it safe from the elements. 

11. Dao Feng – Blade Tip

The very end of the blade is called the Dao Feng, the blade’s sharpened tip. There are cases where only one side is sharpened, but on some Dao swords, the tip is double-edged, making it ideal for both slashing and thrusting.

12. Daoqiao – Scabbard

The P-shape curved scabbard of the Dao sword – Credits: Mandarin Mansion Antiques

The Daoqiao, or the scabbard for the Dao blade, has the same features and materials as the Jian, except that it is curved.  It protects the blade from outside elements and is a nice resting piece for carrying the Dao around.

13. Dao Shu Liang – Scabbard Suspension

The Dao Shu Liang is how the scabbard is different from the Jian. This tradition came from Persian influence on the west during the Tang Dynasty and is basically two ropes swinging from the blade that hold the swords in a horizontal fashion

[cloverdaisies]

# THE LOVE POTION

eric sohn x gn!reader/ collab! 007 files w/ @winterchimez

— “you must locate, befriend & kill agent sohn.”

description: the infamous english spy eric sohn! travels into europe searching for an encryption that serves as a communication link for the secret service rival spectre.. it’s sohn’s mission to retrieve the device and return it to safe hands.. however upon arrival his ultimate distraction is you, can you craft the perfect potion that will make 007 fall in love?

genre & warnings: from russia with love! 007 au! 60s au! love triangle! betrayal & romance! mentions of blood! violence! mentions of death/ killing! but no actual character deaths! cursing! alcohol consumption! mentions weapons! kissing & other mildly suggestive themes! pls lmk if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 6k+

a/n: dt: @sohnric happy belated birthday bar 🤍 wellll … what can i say???? this is overdue !! do excuse my hiatus & messy schedule.. i would like to say a massive thank to @winterchimez for inviting me to collab with you for this event !! it REALLY pushed me out of my comfort zone & throughly enjoyed perfecting this plot as much as i could as a big challenge.. sorry for being so late … 🤍 please do go check out the others work for this event which you can find here and enjoy!

Devilishly you smiled to yourself in the mirror as you pulled on your white satin gloves and fastened a thin pearl necklace around your neck.

“Tea?” Your advisor of sorts, Sangyeon, suggested, gesturing a hand towards the teapot with a smile of generosity. “You’ve got a long week ahead, is it not better to relax now y/n?”

Sangyeon was a taller man, with darkish hair and buttery highlights that glimmered with sufficient light source. He wore a long black blazer with tailored trousers and a fitted white shirt to polish him perfectly. He’d been assigned to look over matters concerning your work, making sure you weren’t up to anything suspicious and meet your personal needs when required. Despite him being so helpful, there was something that irked you about his unwavering presence and constant eye over your activity.

Turning your neck ever so slightly, you grimaced letting out a small huff thinking of the mission you’d been proposed a little over the week ago by the organisation higher-ups.

“I suppose so. I mean…” You cleared your throat before chuckling quietly. “It’s going to be hard to fool one of the the top english spies, is it not? I’ve heard he’s a bit of a charmer. I can’t quite understand why I’ve been hired.”

“Quite so. He’s always got company you could say.” Sangyeon laughed in return, pouring the steaming hot tea from the pot with a gentle hand. “That being said, despite his charm you need to be incredibly careful not to reveal anything and stay on your guard at all times.”

“I always am. No man charms me. Id do anything for the mother country.” You reached out to grab the china teacup off it’s saucer and took it to your lips to sip.

“I definitely charm you, don’t I?” He retorted with a sly wink and a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

“Oh you wish.” You scoffed, placing the cup back down and shuddering at the comment before returning to the mirror to fix your appearance. “Besides, I have a dinner party at 8pm and I don’t need your loitering to be dampening my mood. Thank you for the pastries though, you should consider opening a bakery.”

“I’m glad you liked them. I’ll be back to escort you to your car then.” Sangyeon sighed, leaving the hotel suite with a soft close of the door.

꒰��� ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

In England, the sound of a melancholy low trumpet hummed over scene from a street player outside, fading into the open window of a grand office. It was almost sunset, the sky tinting a pale shade of orange amongst dark clouds.

“It’s been 2 days since the killing of that agent they masked as you and you’ve got 3 hours until that flight to Istanbul! Do you understand the consequences if you don’t retrieve that lektor Sohn? That cipher machine connects their entire military intelligence and you’re walking around with a blinking target on your head! ” M recited to Sohn, between his fingers a thick cigar emitting a cloud of heavy smoke.

M, the head of the British Secret service, was addressing what was the assassination attempt of Sohn at a British military facility earlier that week. Sohn had been giving a mission to retrieve a soviet device called the lektor, a cipher machine developed to connect communications.

“I’m very aware, I’ll play my cards right when I get there.” Sohn replied, his lips twisting into a sly smirk as he was being lectured by the higher up.

“Very well.” M sighed rising from his chair, leaving his cigar to rest in a glass dish before retrieving a brief case from the side of his desk. “In that case, there’s 20 rounds of ammunition, flat throwing knives and a 0.25 caliber, rifle that folds it has infrared sight. Use this when you need it and don’t let it out your sight.”

“Thank you very much.” His fingers wrapped around his crystal glass of whiskey, Eric took a sip before inspecting the case with a smug smile. “I best be off.”

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

As the evening settled in Istanbul, the dinner party had began not being invited to sit at the table yourself, you felt quite disappointed your importance in the operation had been significantly swept aside. Upon arrival you quickly recognized a ruddy faced man with a well kept moustache, his hair turning a dark grey with age and was smartly dressed in the cream suit that had been described to you by Sangyeon.

“Hello, I give my deepest apologies for interrupting your conversation. However, I must speak to you in private sir.” You gently tapped on the man’s shoulder, watching him jovially turn with attention.

“Very well, may I ask your name? What can I do for you?” The man answered almost like a store keeper with polite customer service, as if a mask of required kindness had been veiled over his face.

“I’m Y/N, L/N, former agent associated with spectre. I have quite the infatuation with Eric Sohn, I heard he was travelling to the country this evening and I was hoping I could help assist his duties.” You replied opening your eyes like an innocent fawn in attempts to convince your ‘pure’ intentions.

“What’s your interest with Mr. Sohn? How am I meant to trust your being genuine, Y/N, is it?” The head of the British Secret Service in Istanbul spoke softly to you as you chewed at your inner lips nervously. Politely observing your attire, his lips twisting into a curious smile.

Sticking to the script, you began. “I’d be willing to betray this country, for the man has me quite swooned. Therefore, if you would be ever so kind to introduce me to Eric Sohn himself, I’d be ever so grateful. It could get me killed if you tell any other soul.” You spoke eloquently, your demeanour slightly mischievous as you attempted to charm the gentleman.

“If that’s so. I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you.” He returned a smile , turning away from you likely to confront Eric about the matters. Your grin almost resembled that of the cheshire cat, deviously imagining the plans success.

“Aren’t you quite the actor?” The voice of Sangyeon behind you caused you to jolt in fear, in case it was one of the agents unaware of the mission assigned to you.

“You just scared the living day lights out of me, can you not just go jumping out of the shadows at me like that?” You brought your hand out to your chest and let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s what I’m trained to do sweetheart.” He chuckled, patting your head like a lost puppy before pacing himself around to the other side of you.

“Seems your plans going smoothly, you have someone approaching you, west.” He quickly pointed over to where Eric Sohn was with gentleman you spoke to earlier.

It came as no surprise to you that the man was incredibly handsome, his smile as he spoke to the other was just magical it served as almost a charm and worked on people like a spell. It was a smile that evoked emotions inexplicable, love, desire, a false sense of comfort that could easily be used as a weapon for betrayal. It was no wonder he was the most sought after member of the secret service in his country, his looks alone could turn his every target into his puppet. He was smartly dressed like described in a classic black tuxedo, a briefcase slotted into his right hand, his hair an enchanting shade of platinum blonde that emphasised his defined bone structure, a jawline so dangerous it could tear paper.

Almost choking on your previous words that no man could charm you, you gulped slightly, clearing your throat and fixing your posture as he approached.

“Allow me to introduce you to Y/N L/N who I’d briefly mentioned earlier.” The gentleman in the cream attire held out his hand to greet you, gently shaking it with a two hands.

“Hello y/n, I’m Eric Sohn. Its delightful to meet such a gem amongst all these people.” He leaned to great you with a polite kiss on the cheek, gently shaking your hand. Every feeling of morality in your body shuddered, nervously feeling the limbs in your body grow weak almost as if you were one flirtatious comment away from fainting.

“It’s such a divine pleasure to meet you too, I’ve been dying to finally get the chance to meet you in person. I’m such an admirer of you work.” You quickly gathered yourself together and carefully spoke with a soft velvety voice.

“Shall we go for a walk in the gardens?” Eric suggested, his eyebrow raising curiously as he also observed your attire and features.

“I’d be more than glad.” You responded as he held his arm out towards you to link, gently taking your arm and walking you out the grand marble doors.

The night was darker than usual, with a dull moon and stars that twinkled pathetically amongst thick clouds. However the bright lights that had been messily strung across the hedges lit up the the scene warmly. The sound of the blue piano being played from the inside faintly bled out into the garden along with indistinguishable chatter from guests up in the main hall.

“I must ask y/n, what gave you interest in the British Secret Service in the first place?” He began as you walked the side of the grounds arm in arm.

“Well… I felt as if my position in the country wasn’t appreciated enough. I don’t agree with their morale or treatment regarding myself.” You replied gracefully, glancing over to the tidy man. His presence radiated that of a tough masculine self assured nature. He looked at you with suspicion, allowing his guard to remain up like a fence.

“Well it’s in my best interest to not trust your intentions immediately, but I believe the information that resides with you is incredibly valuable to me and my mission.” He took a moment to take a breath before a cocky smirk crawled on to his lips. “Therefore, to test this loyalty of yours. I have to request a map, one of the military base that holds the lektor I’m after. Provide this and you earn my trust, sweetheart.”

You gulped for a moment, you had specifically been told not to leak any intelligence or assist him in anyway. You couldn’t foil his plans by providing a false map either, your hands were tied and even he knew that. Him and his manipulation tactics. He knew sly ways around people, you providing this map would mean surrendering all your loyalty to the secret service and despite having feelings inexplicable for the man beside you, you couldn’t give up what meant most to you. You had to figure out a plan.

“When do you want me to provide this to you?” You attempted the mask the fear that lingered in your throat, strangling your words with thick ropes that made you sound as if you’d seen several ghosts appear before you.

“Tonight, slip it behind the fourth pillar beside the stairs by 10 and I’ll soon be there to pick it up." He smiled, there was something sinister about his words as if he knew that it would be almost impossible for you to hatch a plan within that time.

“Very well, it will be there.” You took a breath momentarily, his warm touch departing you as he proceeded back into the large building. He turned back to you a last time, giving you a sly wink before going upstairs with a bright smile on his lips.

“Are you out of your damn mind? You are aware he’s drawing you right in his trap?” Sangyeon appeared from behind one of the pillars outside, having followed you around the entire time. “He’s not an idiot, he’s trapping you, you providing that map will lead him straight to his plan.”

“Then you best tell them to prepare.” You rolled your eyes, watching his serious dark eyes stare into your conscience. “If I don’t give him this, we lose all trust. He’s not an idiot but perhaps you are, now leave me be.”

You breezed past him, making sure to shoulder check him before making your way back into the hall with a bitter smile on your face. Going into the bathrooms on the left side of the building, you took a pen from your bag and began to map out a rough sketch of the secured military base housing the lektor Sohn was after. Folding it between your fingers, you left the bathroom, discreetly dropping it by the pillar he’d asked you too.

You grabbed a glass of prosecco from one of the many waiters dotted around the function room and joined Sangyeon’s friendly conversation with other associates. Nervously, your attention wavered from the bubbles appearing at the top of the champagne flute, to over your shoulder where Sohn was now making his way behind the pillar.

He walked around it as if he was daydreaming, picking the sheet of paper up and sliding it into his pocket. He gave you a brief smile before proceeding back to his gaggle of officials who’d be overseeing his work in the country.

“I think it’s home time for us.” Sangyeon closed the conversation with a sigh, placing a firm but soft hand on your shoulder. You smiled at the group of men in front of you, before slipping past them arm linked with Sangyeon.

“The officials aren’t pleased with you.” Sangyeon muttered through pursed lips. “However, they understand that you sincerely had no other choice."

"And? Are they preparing?" You replied raising one eyebrow cockily.

"They can't assign enough men to cover the base tomorrow. However if Sohn gets his hands on the device, which is unlikely, they're use as much forces as they can to retrieve it back." Sangyeon sighed at the seemingly idiotic plan, his rough palm wiping the illusion of sweat from his forehead and loosening his slim black tie as you elegantly slipped into the parked Mercedes.

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

The quiet hums of soft jazz fell across the café like a warm blanket, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a plethora of pastries baked earlier that morning danced through the air as if it were a spritz of expensive perfume. Outside, rain fell like hail, beating the ground like drumbeats and forming puddles that resembled ponds or even lakes.

Upon first encounter it would seem that you had your nose stuck into an edition of wuthering heights your eyes flickering over the nonsensical words, so often turning a page with a dramatic sigh. However, the act of appearing busy wore you out like no other, your fingers rested on the right side of your face with impatient taps.

“Well… What a surprise to see you here!” An almost sarcastic voice sounded as the bell chimed over the café alerting you from the words on the page.

Your eyes snapped to Eric Sohn, neatly dressed as usual in a tuxedo with pin stripes, the outfit missing the blazer but tied together with a waistcoat. If you hadn’t been so stressed about the date, you would have fainted over his rolled up dress shirt that exposed his toned forearms. You would have been a mess, but that’s not the point at hand.

“Well yes, I do enjoy a morning read, you could say.” You smiled, almost grimacing at the script-like conversation. Finding yourself almost upset you had to talk to him that way, wishing you could genuinely talk to the man on a level that wasn’t inevitably leading to the utter destruction of betrayal.

“You seem like you’re away with the fairies this morning, what’s on your mind?” He sat beside you for a moment, his elbows rested on the table behind him. His face was just above your head, eyes looming over you suspiciously.

“I’m just worried.” You replied simply, packing your things into your bag with a short huff. Awaiting you both was Sohn’s plan to breach the military base that very afternoon.

“How so?” He chuckled almost, smile lines breaking out in his cheeks, his grin lighting up his every feature, helping you to climb down from the stool you’d sat on.

“Well, what happens if this doesn’t go to plan?” You looked him in his deep brown eyes that glistened so prettily under the warm lighting, his smile dampening quickly.

“In my way or yours?” He smirked cockily, turning from you to leave the café, briefly turning to check you were following. However, you stood frozen still, what does that mean? Your plan hadn’t worked? Your blood ran cold, he’d truly had you wrapped around his finger, he knew.

“Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean by that.” You laughed the situation off, watching as his pitiful smile broke again, an almost pathetic laugh escaping his lips.

“Don’t play dumb.” He rolled his eyes momentarily, grinning with a hint of mischief to his words. “You and I clearly have our differences. I don’t fall for this entire act you’ve got going on, sugar.”

You felt sweat forming in the palms of your hands, your lips begin to quiver slightly, whilst your tongue felt like it had been duct taped to the roof of your mouth. With a clenched jaw you chose silence, watching him smirk as you stared into the pitiful void in his eyes. His hand ran through the platinum blonde strands of his hair as he sighed, unable to contain his chuckles as he watched you drown in your own psychological mess.

“Instead of being confused, I think it would be more worth while considering siding with me. Why don’t we get you out of this mess of a life you live? You’re ordered around like dog and it’s not fit for a diamond like you.” He sighed pacing around you like a lion playing with its food. “I’ve taken a liking to your dedication, I can see you’re so badly trying to stay loyal to your work but there’s something else you can’t resist.”

You shuddered as his lips hovered over your ears, whispering words of temptation in the most insatiable manner. Your body still frozen in time had not moved an inch from the table you’d been sat at. Warmth rising to your features whilst your stomach rattled around like a brittle old machine in the dry cleaners.

“You know this too. I’m not trying to manipulate you as I have nothing else to gain from your companionship. However, I’m quite fond of you y/n. I think your intelligence is to be treated better.” He shrugged his eyes glistening in a way that presented his words as something genuine, something honest. His praise lit up fireworks in your system, you were on rich compliment away from detonating completely.

“I appreciate your words Mr. Sohn.” You began, clearing your throat gently before continuing. “However, I think you and I are destined to be opposed. I wish you well.”

You fiercely clutched your bag in the warmth of your hand, swiftly rushing to exit the sheer embarrassment of the situation. The once soft sound of harmonic trumpets now sounded like the chaotic thrill of elephants stampeding through the small confinements of the café. It was in no way complimented by the grating sound of a piano keys being smashed in a way that was neither melodic or enjoyable to listen to. Yet before you could grasp the golden handle of the door, you were beckoned back by the honey sweet sound of your name amongst the frightful waves.

“Y/n?” Eric who turned to face you a final time, smiled, not a classic smirk or sinister chuckle, a small smile that made his eyes resemble those of a harmless puppy. “Contact me, if you change your mind.”

You looked back with a blank expression, observing his relaxed demeanour with bitterness lingering heavy on your mind. A bitterness, a feeling of resentment, but what you would do to run away with him if you could. You’d be killed.

The sound of the café bell chime felt almost like the sound of a distant gunshot to Eric, at heart he knew he’d never be able to swoon you in the way he’d hoped. There was a small rose seed sewn into his heart especially for you, he himself resented the way you as intelligent as you were, could be used as shark bait and treated like no more than a sniffer dog. Unusual for him to grow such a soft spot considering you were the enemy in the equation. He sighed, clutching the briefcase he’d been gifted and headed out to do what he came here for in the first place.

The military base was fairly small, observing the blueprints you’d traced for him, his plan was fairly simple. The box-like building was connected to an underground train link, there was no service running for another half an hour, which gave him that much time to secure the lektor and catch the next train inbound.

A small ladder led up to a hatch secured in the bottom of the facility, gently he used his fingers to open it almost silently. Stupidly, the officials thought Sohn would blatantly try to enter the building through the main entrance, a line of armed men waiting behind the doors.

The operations room was a littered with different documents, weapons, machinery, cupboards the only option for Sohn was to scramble through every shelf hoping to find the device wherever it’d been temporarily hidden. Underneath a satin sheet, there was a black box that somehow resembled the demonstration he’d been shown of the device. However, as he opened the box an explosion of smoke popped causing his ears to ring as the distant sound of yelling was heard from the unmanned room. This couldn’t stop Eric, he calmly continued to rake through the drawers as the voices grew louder.

In the bottom drawer, was the box he was looking for, checking once to see that it was not another trap and the actual device. As he pulled it from its case, the sounds of shots hitting the wall behind him caused him to pull a small pistol from his blazer pocket. Shooting back at the guards, neither of them being able to see clearly through the smoke from the trap. Eric crawled to the hatch, lektor huddled close to his chest.

The honking of the steam engine down the tunnel relieved him as he fired up the hatch to warn the soldiers not to come down. With his back against the wall, the train narrowly passed by him with little space to leave. He elbowed one of the windows as it slowed on the tracks, hurling himself onboard one of the carriages. He quickly switched suits, and sealed the device in his briefcase as protocol before exiting the broken room on the carriage and proceeding to another.

A sigh of relief slipped his lips as he sat down with his briefcase beside him, he even decided to purchase a cup of tea for the journey and peacefully kicked his legs up to read a newspaper. At least for the first ten minutes, the sound of his cabin door sliding open alerted him to look up casually from the words on the page. He couldn’t quite explain who the man who stood at the door was, he was familiar but not a man he knew at least. He was dressed a long black tux with brownish hair, his eyes replicated those of fury, aggression, enough to alert Sohn at least.

“Hand it over.” Pulling a gun from the waistband of his tailored black trousers, his face remained blank as Sohn raised his hands in the air with a laugh.

“That’s not very friendly.” Eric tutted, standing up from his seat with the case laying on the seat behind him. As he observed him more carefully the identity of the man began to become less pixelated, funnily enough it’s as if everywhere Sohn went he saw a face like resembling the man in the crowd. “I’m not a fan of stalkers but I’m sure we could settle this with an autograph.”

The joke seemed to land terribly with the other male, his lips curling in disgust as he readjusted his finger over the trigger of the gun in his hand.

“Get over yourself.” The man sneered before looking Sohn directly in the eye with a cold stare. “Your plan is hardly turning out successful, poor y/n came crying to me about your twisted bullshit.”

“Ah yes, now I remember!” Sohn clasped his hands together beginning to pace the small room, the man’s gun latching target to his head. “You’re y/n’s little lap dog! That makes so much more sense, unrequited love, that must be hard for you buddy.”

Sohn’s words cut through him like a knife, the anger boiling through his veins as he struggled to keep his composure. The gun wavering only slightly as his lips pursed furiously.

“I’m more than that buddy.” The unnamed man laughed in a way that attempted to conceal his emotions but instead the line came out as no more than a high pitch croak. “Now hand it over before I turn your brain into several servings of spaghetti.”

“Sangyeon!” The sound of angry footsteps stomping through the corridor alerted the man, however he didn’t take his eyes off Sohn for a second.

“Listen, Sangyeon is it?” Sohn laughed, his voice sounding assertive despite the noise of the rattling train and noisy horns. “I think you better calm down, she won’t be happy with what you’re trying to do here.”

Sangyeon’s gun lowered, just to the point where it was out of sight of the narrow train passage but still somewhat aiming at Sohn.

“What is it?” He called, the relief of Sohn’s face when he saw yours outside of the window was golden. It would have been so tedious attempting to get out of the situation himself.

“I’ve been looking for you all bloody day! Now I found out you’re trying to leave the country? What are-”Your eyes originally blinking in red fury softened into bright pearls upon meeting Eric’s. Then all of a sudden they turned red again as you looked back to Sangyeon with increased suspicion. “Step away from the door.”

Surprisingly he did just that, revealing the gun that was pointed towards Sohn just out the hallway. Eric discreetly took the opportunity to assemble the weapon given to him as Sangyeon’s eyes focused on yours.

“There is no way, I’m letting you kill a man that’s not business to take care of.” You sighed, blocking the doorway and staring into the soulless void of eyes. “Leave here immediately. You’re only gonna end up hurt.”

“Y/N? Are you out of damn mind?” Sangyeon burst out into maniacal laughter almost resembling one of those villains from a popular comic book at the time. “I’ve spent years protecting you and you repay me by - I don’t know - falling in love with the enemy?”

“I am not in love with Mr. Sohn-” You refuted, the lies slipped from your tongue as denial spun its web around the pink mush of your brain. You couldn’t coherently finish the sentence without entering a spiral.

“Really?” Sangyeon eyes flickered with false confusion, his lips breaking out into a scary grin. “Then tell me why I can’t kill him?” He left a pause for you to fill in the space, but as your eyes darted around the room you realised that he was perhaps right. You couldn’t admit that but there was no reason to let Sohn get away with the device needed to connect the entire unions military operations. It was simply ridiculous.

“Thought so.” Sangyeon sighed. “It’s a shame you’d leave me with such a broken heart.” There was a glint of genuine pain in his eyes, underneath the tough exterior. He was always good at concealing his emotions, rarely showing them and acting as enthusiastic as a piece of cardboard most days.

“Leave.” You looked him in the eyes more seriously than you ever had before, you were of course furious with Sangyeon. However, you couldn’t watch him get hurt or at least die trying to defend a union that didn’t even value his work.

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t. You’re going to get us into a situation you don’t know consequences of.” Sangyeon spat his words firm, eyes bulging out of their sockets as if they were signalling your final warning. “I’d do anything to protect you y/n. Now let me.”

With that he pulled your arm out of the way of the door, only to reveal an Eric Sohn that was more than ready to pounce. Sohn tackled Sangyeon, wounding his arm but managing to throw his gun down the other end of the carriage. Sangyeon panicked, attempting to reach for Sohn before he could take your arm. He yelled out for you, the change in his voice causing you to whip your head around as Eric’s sprinting stopped.

“Y/N!! WAIT!” The agonising shriek ran cold through your bones, you gasped turning to the man as he rose from the ground. “Don’t leave. I serve no purpose without you.”

“I love you.”

The scene looked like a shakespearean tragedy, the two men on either side of the carriage looking at you expectantly. Sangyeon the tragic hero, the final villain to be defeated clinging to a last thread of hope that you’d take his hand and run away with him instead. Then on the other hand Sohn, a dream-like protagonist that had fallen in love with an enemy in battle, waiting to ride his horse into into the sunset. Your mind ran codes like a computer, processing your deepest desires battling the virus of conflict that had been hard-wired into your system.

“I can’t, but we will meet again Sangyeon.” You sighed, your love for Sangyeon was purely platonic, forced out of a system that took you for granted and fed you to the sharks. “Leave this line of work as soon as you can, you don’t deserve to be hurt this way. But I have to go.”

Tears welled at Sangyeon’s eyes for the first time in perhaps over a decade, he knew you were right, in fact he didn’t want you to be in danger anymore. Mature, as he always was, he knew your decision was ultimately the right answer. His love for you, was far greater than his selfish desires, but succumbing to your own was the best thing you could do. The only thing he necessarily cared about over his broken heart, was Sohn’s ability to keep you safe - he knew he would. As he clenched his fists watching you and Sohn run into the hills together he smiled, a chuckle leaving his lips, glad you had your happy ending.

“Where is he?” Asked a gaggle of soldiers boarding the train, their rifles over their chests as they marched down the carriage.

“I lost him.” Sangyeon replied, his lies convincing enough to deter the soldiers away from the area, as he weakly stepped off at the last stop of the train. It was a beautiful day outside, a beautiful place to announce his new beginning. He sighed, as he viewed the coast line from the train stop, maybe opening a bakery isn’t a bad idea after all.

꒰ა ˚₊ ✧・┈・╴﹕꒰ ᐢ📰☕️🎬ᐢ ꒱﹕╴・┈・𐑺 ‧₊˚໒꒱

“You ever visited here before?” Sohn asked, leaning across the canoe as he rowed down the streets, the sunshine lighting up his golden skin.

“Well, I’ve never left the country.” You chuckled, causing his face to light up in amusement as you admired the waters surrounding the city of Venice.

“I thought I’d ask, I’m glad I’m able to provide such a romantic spot for such a beauty like you.” He winked mischievously, laughing as you cringed at his advanced his eyes scrunching into crescent moons.

“Do I have to be worried about all this flirting Mr.Sohn? I’m not falling for any tricks.” Your eyes squinted at him suspiciously, propping your head in the palm of your hand as you leaned across the canoe.

“Well, if this is anything to settle your worries. I’m in a bit of trouble with M for accepting your side quest. He said to me a few years ago that if I let romance get in the way of my missions ever again, I’ll either get myself killed by it or even M himself.” He laughed thinking back to conversation. His eyes that sought out reminiscence in the distance then flickered to meet yours. “When I first met you, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep that promise.”

Melting into his words, you laughed as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks and the irresistible warmth of true love blossom in the pit of your stomach. As your eyes lingered on each others, you observed the beautiful nature of Sohn himself. He was etched in the model of a greek god, you finally validated yourself for falling into his trap, perhaps the love potion you were casting accidentally splashed yourself. For a few moments, Sohn hesitated, leaning closer to you for a moment as you froze. Your brain almost completely malfunctioned as he smiled, lifting your chin with the palm of his hand. Finally pressing your lips to his you smiled to yourself, as the sun began to set in Venice, the once blue sky-line was painted like a canvas with the most vibrant shades oranges and pinks.

Despite your mission abhorrently failing, the feeling of true love and freedom was the most successful ending your desolate heart could have asked for.

Besides, the love potion seemed to be successful.. Eric certainly seemed smitten as your words fell on his ears like sugar, as you talked the past and other interesting things about yourself. Venice seemed like the perfect place to forget your lives, forget how you met and fall in love all over again.

fin. — “you will locate, befriend and fall in love with agent Sohn.”

[shini--chan]

May I request 2p allies making their s/o mute as a punishment for trying to run for help.

⚫〰️⚫ Thank you

Alright, as the ask indicates, it is not a never family friendly post that awaits you up ahead. Excluding 2p Canada this time, since I had difficulty coming up with another form of mutness other than those described via the other characters.

This came out later than planned due to time management issues on behalf of the author. Nevertheless, enjoy!

Trigger warnings: body horror, physical abuse, emotional abuse, mutilation, misuse of medical procedures, drugging, malnutrition, dark magic

Yandere 2p! Allies - Silence is Gold

America

Allen would loathe to admit it, but he had come to like you when you were quiet. Aside from that, you looked so cute with your neck bandaged up. And those glares and petulant expressions you made! Oh, if he had known how agreeable you’d become after losing your voice, he would have done this far sooner. 

That being said, it had been an accident - he hadn’t wanted to punch you in the throat, but you just had to jump in the way, when he was busy teaching that bastard a lesson. Therefore, he had had no choice but to cut open your throat to ensure you could continue breathing. 

When you leaned down to take his plate, you purposely bumped his shoulder. Yes, you were still very upset with him about what had happened. However, the feeling was mutual. He slapped your arse when you straightened up again. 

It caused you to perform a little jump and then glare at him. 

“If I had known that you’d look so sexy with something around your neck, I would have bought you a set of chokers long ago, dollface. Don’t worry though - you look good with the bloodstained gauze as well”, he slyly complimented you. Oh, how it infuriated you. 

You had tried to talk a few times these past days, causing the wound on your neck to reopen and weep plasma and blood everytime you did. As it was, you were lucky that you had gotten antibiotics, or else Allen would have been far stricter with you. 

Petty as you could be, turned your back on him and flipped the bird as you marched back to the kitchen. At this, Allen could prevent himself from laughing. 

Allen actually wouldn’t want to rob you of your voice, since half the fun in having you is that you talk back. However, he would discover the benefits of muting you after he would have to do it in some shape of form. Once doing so, he would find this experience refreshing and seek to replicate it multiple times in the future. Here, you would really be in danger of losing your voice permanently if you aren’t able to curb his … preferences. 

The problem here is that he would find your muteness and the injuries connected to it to be unbelievably arousing. In ways, your life would biome harder than it already is thanks to that.

China

Could you really be blamed for panicking in a situation such as this? The rush of hysteria made the binds tying you down to the table seem even tighter than they were, and you felt like you were suffocating, no matter how fast you breathed. The air was too hot and your clothes too scratchy, with the latter made all the worse by the fact that you were coated in grim and your own dried sweat.

To your left, you heard Zao approach you. Since your head was fastened to the table, you only could see him once he appeared in your periphery. There was a horrid grin on his face, that stood in complete juxtaposition to what he said.

"My heart, this is really something I don't want to do, but you leave me with no choice."

You wanted to retort, but thought better of it just in the nick of time. He had a brown glass bottle at hand, and you didn't like all the warning labels on it, nor how close it was to your mouth. 

"But give in and swallow, I promise to help you with your recovery if you comply", he told you in a sickly sweet tone as if he was talking to a child. As much as you wanted to shake your head, you couldn't. By now, you were trembling. 

Two fingers pinched your nose firmly. After a few seconds, you started to become lightheaded and you heard and felt your blood pounding. Opening your mouth wouldn't be an option, since the bottle would immediately be emptied into your mouth if you did that. So instead, you opened the corner of your mouth and tried to breathe as discreetly as possible. 

To no avail. The fingers that were on your nose went for your mouth and pried your lips apart. As valiantly as you struggled, the bottle still went in. The fluid caused your throat to burn, and when you accidentally breathed some of it, you let out a hapless scream of pain. 

His method of muting you would be more permanent - rendering your vocal cords and throat useless by forcing you to drink acid or poison. This would either be the response to a multitude of transgressions, or him being particularly ticked off by an escape.

A side effect of this would be that you would be unable to swallow food or drink. But he would be there to help you, either by feeding you through a tube, an IV or by supplying you through your back door (i.e your rectum). This would serve as an extension of the original punishment. Additionally, you would be helpless and reliant on him. 

England

When you finally woke up, you felt groggy and heavy, each of your limbs made of lead and your mouth full of cotton. Sleep drunk, you opened your eyes and eased yourself to a more upright position. 

Not that it was more comfortable - there were kinks and knots in your back that only a professional massage could relieve you from. Why the hell had you fallen asleep here of all places? You were seated in an old dentist car, the once royal red faded. The contraption creaked ominously whenever you moved.

This was getting weirder and weirder by the moment. The twilight of the room you were in didn't help.

Your mouth felt dry and slightly numb, and your lips subsequently cracked. You parted your lips and wanted to run your tongue over the dried skin only to discover that you didn't have a tongue anymore. 

Cold shock made you bolt upright and all at once, the world shifted into sharp clarity. Once again, you tried to stretch your tongue out only for nothing to move, not a stump. That was when you started to panic.

Lungs heaved as you tried to explain the situation to yourself. There was absolutely no pain, you weren't feeling weak. The taste of blood was absent, and the bitter sting of iodine or saline solution wasn't present either. 

In your panic, you opened your mouth and stuck your fingers inside to feel for your tongue. It had been completely removed down to the root. There wasn't even puckered skin where the muscle would have begun. Tears started to leak from your eyes and you tried to force a few miserable sounds out of your mouth. 

"Now, now don't engage in self-pity. You did bring this on yourself, my rose bud."

The blood in your veins turned to ice, and you halted your frantic movement. Despite the dim lighting of the underground room, you could clearly see Oliver Kirkland. He was seated on a red satin loveseat, and in the jar he had balanced on his knee was your tongue. 

Oliver would use magic to completely remove your tongue from your mouth, aiming to insite as much panic in you as possible. As such, you'll only find out what he has done after completion of the procedure. 

Instead of helping you to deal with the situation, he would mock you relentlessly. Furthermore, he would place the blame on you - it was you that ran away, it was you that forced his hand; everything that went wrong is your fault. The jar with your tongue in it would be placed in a spot that you'd have a hard time overlooking. A taunt, and a reminder that the amputation is only temporary. You just have to play being a good spouse for long enough and then he'd give you your tongue back. 

France

Putrid pus stained the sheets as he pulled them away. Yesterday the colour had been yellow, but now it had a slight green tint to it. Francois brushed his fringes out of his face and tied his hair back to a sloppy ponytail. 

With a soft sigh, and placed the bandages and tincture bottles on the bed next to you and tilted your head towards him. Sickness and the corresponding fever made your sleep deep, unlike it usually was. You didn't even stir when he lifted your head onto his lap. 

At this point, it was up for debate what was sealing your lips more - the rough stitches or the infection. The swelling had distorted your mouth, so much so that it was beginning to block your nose and hinder your breathing. 

Cursing softly under his breath, he set out to drain the pus from the needle wounds. He shouldn't have used the expired saline solution, yet you had given him no choice. You had been so busy thrashing and screaming around when he had sown your mouth shut. 

Francois still didn't understand why you had put up such a fuss. The punishment was deserved and it made your resistance all the more pathetic. Seriously, had you really thought he would take you escaping lightly? How could you delude yourself into thinking he wouldn't take all those vile words that you had uttered upon being brought home to heart?

The pus drenched bandages were thrown into the bin, and he proceeded to down the injured tissue with iodine. You groaned in your sleep, and tried to open your mouth. A noticeable tremor ran down your body, and you stopped straining against the stitches. 

Perhaps it was better that you were lost in a haze. It gave your captor more time to think and calm down. 

Francois would elect to make your muteness temporary, but with some caveats. You'd wear scars around your mouth for the rest of your life and the mental and physical trauma would haunt you for years to come. Such a situation would have a high potential of arising if you poured your heart out to somebody else and incited them to help you escape. 

Russia

This was getting more tiring by the hour. Slowly, you were asking yourself if this really was a punishment, or if it was one of Victor's loathsome social experiments.  loathsome social experiments. They both tended to be alike, so it was hard to tell on a normal day. 

“If you keep glaring at me like that, your face will distort to a permanent frown”, the man in question remarked. The knife repeatedly scraped over the wood in his hand, causing shavings to fly with every stroke of the blade. He didn’t even look up from his whittling when he said that. How rude. 

Feeling petulant, you knicked a stone in the river. It was a nice day to be outdoors - the spring air was filled with the sweet smell of flowers, and the sun was shining through the birch tree. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to be happy, not when he had brought you to the spot where he had captured you a mere week ago, picnic basket at hand. 

You had difficulty swallowing every other bite, and also keeping it down. Now that bastard even insisted on staying a bit longer to enjoy the alleged peace and quiet that the forest offered. 

With how frustrated you were, you opened your mouth in order to say something, only to receive a smack to the face with the flat side of the knife the second you opened your mouth. In shock, you quickly closed your mouth again and looked at him aghast. 

This time, he was even meeting your eyes. 

“You know the agreement, so don’t break it by talking now.”

Mutness wouldn’t even be the intended punishment at first - it would be offered as a second, milder option to a harsher punishment. Victor would have a habit of giving you an option of choosing between two or more punishments. It would be to give you an illusion of power over your own fate and an opportunity to assuage your character. Mind you, he would never give you the full details of the punishments that you can choose from. 

In this case, he would enforce a “voluntary silence” upon you. You would have to refrain from speaking for a certain time interval, or else suffer a harsher punishment. This is one of his games with you, that would be designed to mould your personality to his liking. Also, this would be a form of discipline training for you. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: 5 Symbols

for your next poem/story (pt. 2)

BA

For the Ancient Egyptians, the Ba was the symbolic representation of the soul.

It takes the form of a small bird with the head of a human being.

Could fly between its owner and the Gods for as long as the body was intact.

The Ba is twinned with the Ka.

If the Ba represented the soul, then the Ka was the “life-force,” the spark of life that animated the body and whose departure resulted in death.

The Ka was sustained with offerings of food and drink, although it was the “ka” or spirit of the food and drink that was consumed.

In the Afterlife, the Ba and the Ka would be reunited to form one single entity.

BECKONING CAT

A friendly little statuette with a warm welcome found all over Japan and China.

What the cat is doing with his paws carries a secret message.

The cute little Maneki Neko or beckoning cat is ubiquitous in Japan and China where he appears in both homes and offices.

Can be seen in Oriental restaurants all over the world and is for many people the ultimate symbol of prosperity and good luck.

Comes in different colors, each of which signifies a different meaning:

For example, a red cat will protect from illness, and

a black one will ward off evil.

The position of the paws also carries a message:

With the right paw raised the cat will bring money and happiness to home and workplace.

A cat raising its left paw will attract new customers for a business.

And a cat with both paws raised hits the jackpot; both home and business will be happy and profitable, attracting good luck, friends, prosperity, and new clients.

This cat is also the symbol of the small Buddhist temple in Tokyo, where the original incident that shot the cat to fame is said to have happened:

Originally the temple was a lowly place, whose impoverished priest would regularly share what little food he had with his pet cat.

One day some Samurai were passing and noticed this cat, who had one paw raised as though to say hello. The warriors stopped, intrigued by the beckoning cat, and went into the temple just as a horrendous rain storm started.

They believed that paying attention to the cat’s invitation had prevented them being struck by lightning. Thereafter, the fortunes of the priest, the temple, and of course the cat, started to change for the better.

BULLA

This is a special charm or amulet that was given to Roman children when they were born.

A sealed locket, the bulla (“bubble” or “knob”) contained magical spells specific to the child in question, such as symbols of protection, or wishes for wealth.

Was constructed of different materials depending on the wealth of the family:

leather for the poorest families and gold or

other precious metals for the wealthiest.

Roman boys put aside their bullae when they reached puberty, and the object was offered to the Gods. Girls wore theirs until the eve of their wedding.

In either case it was considered that the bulla belonged to the child, as part and parcel of their personality.

It is the origin of the name of the Papal Bull, the special edict that hails from the Vatican, which is fastened with an oval seal of the same shape as the bulla.

CALUMET

For the Plains Indians, the pipe, also called the calumet, is one of the most important and recognizable symbols.

Although it is sometimes referred to as the Peace Pipe, shared ceremonially as part of a unifying ritual, the pipe was just as valid a symbol during times of war.

The tobacco used in the pipe is also a powerful magical substance originally intended for ritual use only.

The smoke rising from the pipe signifies a prayer traveling toward the Gods and symbolizes the sacred breath, source of all life.

The fire that lights the pipe symbolizes the Sun and the male element.

The pipe itself is equivalent to the prayer that is offered up from it.

Considered so important that in Native American tradition it is described as though it were a person, and each of its components has the name of a body part.

In addition, the bowl is described as an altar, and the stem, the passage of the breath extending from the human body.

CANDLE

Symbolizes light in the darkness in a way that a light bulb simply cannot do.

It represents the element of fire as a benevolent force.

Made even more powerful if the candle is made of wax, a substance made by a magical creature, the bee.

The colors of candles are significant in magical practices:

For example, pink is said to attract love.

Black candles are used in dark magic.

Source ⚜ More: On Symbols ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Bad Habit

Bad Habit (NSFW) Characters: Levi x Hange Word Count: 1147 words Canon Universe So, this links a couple of things together… 

Fiercely, Levi yanked Hange’s leg to his heaving chest, lifting her hips up so that he could sink his weight into her. Beneath him, Hange’s head was thrown back against the pillows, his name escaping her in strangled gasp. Insatiable, Levi pushed deeper, more insistently into her. Strangely, he found he was no longer concerned about the noise they were both making.

This felt different to the last time they had been together… That had been a quick, messy, sweaty affair; half-dressed and leaning against a block of straw. Hange remembered the clumsy, desperate kisses; her hair still wet from the rain; her cold lips against Levi’s neck. There had been no time for self-consciousness, for they had only stolen a few precious moments together. Afterwards they had found it hard to look at one another; clawing pieces of hay from tangled hair, hastily buttoning shirts and fastening belts. There had been no time to think about their next meeting, or to question the events which had passed inside the stable… Before she had even acknowledged the line she and Levi had just crossed, Hange had found herself rushing back to the castle with her jacket held up over her head.

But this time, things were different. Hange hadn’t been expecting company that night. It seemed as though hours had passed as she had sat upon the lounge chair in her room, eyes glazed. She had been too exhausted to cry any more bitter tears. Hange stared at nothing; her body bowed forward so that one elbow rested upon her knee. Fretfully, she gnawed upon a bitten-down nail. One ugly thought surfaced, then another rose to take its place. Increasingly wild theories were emerging, leaping over one another; giving persistent chase around her mind. 

A sharp knock had brought her back to her surroundings. Hastily rubbing her face, Hange approached the door. There was Levi, bearing a china cup and saucer. Of course he’d brought tea. Was it a pretence? She had hardly entertained the thought before glancing over his shoulder first one way, then the other up the darkened corridor.

“Did anyone see you?” 

“No…” Levi raised his eyebrows. He held out the cup to her, but did not cross the threshold. Hange turned her back to the doorway. There came the sound of a click.

“You never make two. You didn’t think I’d ask you in, huh?”

Hange coughed out a tearless sigh as Levi set the tea down upon a small, round table. He offered a half-shrug. Hange returned to her chair. Hesitantly, Levi made a brief motion as though he was about to leave again. Instead, with a gentle thud, he kicked off his boots by the door and took a seat beside her.

Seemingly, Hange felt like talking after all. The conversation wound itself in convoluted loops, beginning with the deaths of Sawney and Bean, before meandering through possible theories. First, Erwin’s, which had been the outcome of the little information they had managed to gather. Soon their talk wandered through the labyrinth of Hange’s thoughts; twisting into complications which neither could explain. What would the attacker’s next move be? The expedition teams were leaving tomorrow; it could not be delayed. There were those who knew. There were those who could never know. Hange’s tea had grown cold in its cup, the colour fading from golden brown to milky grey. 

“It’s not just about the titans…” Hange’s voice was hoarse. “It’s…”

She gestured uselessly, buckled under the weight of such weariness. No. It wasn’t grief for Sawney and Bean but the wasted effort. Her heart ached with it; the risk to those lives who had helped to capture the titans. And what was there to show for their preparation and sacrifice? It was all for nothing. Worse, the Scouts were bound to face the same danger all over again if they were to learn anything new.

“I know,” came Levi’s reply, filled with doubtless reassurance.

Exhausted, Hange sank against him. Her cheek rested on the collar of his jacket.

“I know it's more than that. And we’re all just as sorry for it.”

Beside her, he was real and solid and warm. For a moment, the horror of the situation wasn’t entirely insurmountable. They would find the perpetrator, one way or another. Even if it wouldn’t bring the test subjects back. Even if it meant putting even more lives at risk… alas, that was the Scouts’ burden to bear. Hange shifted slightly against him. Her forehead rested against Levi’s chin. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest. As his fingers stroked her hair back from her face, Hange released her breath slowly. Levi had remained still then. Hange turned her head towards him. He did not move away. Then she gently brushed her lips against his.

Everything had happened quickly after that, like a series of choreographed movements. They were learning each other’s patterns, rhythms, inclinations, as though by instinct. Their bodies were no longer strangers to one another. It was suddenly easy to undress each other; safe to lose themselves completely. It was becoming a habit.

Now Hange’s head was pressed into the pillows scattered upon her bed. Her legs were draped over Levi’s shoulders, so slick with sweat that they were slipping out of place. Levi’s hand clutched her ankle firmly. Hange was lost to an all-engrossing heat; one that was building so sharply, so agonisingly close. She hardly noticed when Levi’s fingers threaded through her own, gripping her hands as his thrusts became more desperate. 

Her whole body rocked on a wave of ecstasy. As the sensation crested to its peak, Hange choked out a few incoherent words between her sobs. Heat flared within her. Every muscle in her body clenched. And then, the sting of pleasure was ebbing away. 

Levi’s movements were slowing. His eyes were closed; brow slightly furrowed in concentration; his cheeks flushed. Dark hair stood up, uncharacteristically unruly. Hange’s chest pulled tight. Her hands slid up Levi’s back and into his dishevelled hair. Breathless words left her in a sigh. Levi’s body tensed. He drew back enough to look down at where she lay beneath him. Her eyes were half-closed; face aglow.

She knew he would not answer. Not until he was sure of what he had heard. Both shared the same secret but were too afraid to reveal it.

Hange took Levi’s warm face in her hands. Their lips met silently, softly. She held him there and Levi showed no inclination to draw himself away, or to continue moving against her.  He was still inside her; stomachs pressed together; skin warming one another, as he kissed her again. Their bodies moulded naturally, as though they were made for only this. As though they could remain this way for the rest of their days.   ... Levi x Reader version is here.

I’m taking NSFW prompts 👉 Smut Scribbles

[zablife]

Lily

Tommy x Lily Shelby (OC)

Summary: Tommy attempts to deal with the aftermath of his wife and daughter's kidnapping.

Author's Note: Written for @runnning-outof-time 3K celebration Tales from the Flower Garden with the prompt "Promise you'll come back to me." Congratulations again, K!!

Warnings: heavy angst, mention of blood, child death, mention of murder, trauma, anxiety, catatonia, fighting, drinking

“Kill…kill…kill,” the words fell from her lips in haunting whispers. The only words she spoke since returning from the clutches of the Changretta family, covered in blood. There was so much it caked in her hair and under fingernails. She’d done terrible things, but exactly what transpired was locked inside her mind forever, the price she’d paid to return to Tommy far too great to be revealed. 

“You’re the only one who was there. What happened, Arthur?” Tommy begged to know. It was the question he’d asked day after day, but Arthur had been high on snow that night in the warehouse and the painful memory was erased in the white abyss. 

“Told ya, Tom, it was over when I got to her,” Arthur explained, reaching for the whiskey on the sideboard to stop the aching in his head. Tommy grabbed Arthur’s arm, stopping him with a dangerous glare.

“Have you lost your fucking mind, eh? My daughter’s dead and my wife’s a fucking ghost,” Tommy spat, shoving Arthur into the wall with all the force he could muster. “I won’t ask again. What do you remember?” he shouted, trembling with emotion.

Arthur struggled under Tommy’s iron like grip as he repeated Tommy’s words from the night his sister-in-law and niece were kidnapped. “Do it…do it or else they kill your daughter. Lily knew it was the only way.” 

“My fucking orders…” Tommy muttered as he released his brother from his grasp, stumbling backward as the guilt crushing his chest made it difficult to draw breath. 

“May God forgive ya,” Arthur said, looking at the ground. He wanted peace for his brother, but knew that was impossible. The vendetta Tommy and Luca had started was to blame for all the turmoil and nothing would change that now. 

Tommy rubbed a hand over his eyes as he exhaled a shaky breath. “You think anyone would forgive me now? Would you?” 

“Forgiveness is out of my hands,” Arthur said numbly, looking out toward the garden where Lily sat still as a statue. “It’s not for us to decide.”

Polly walked into the study at that moment, determined to pull Tommy from his work and back to his duties as a husband. “Tommy, you should go to her,” she urged, but he only stared out the window at his wife’s motionless profile. 

“And say what Pol?” he asked, shoulders slumped forward in defeat. 

“You don’t have to say anything. She just needs to know that you’re there,” she advised. It was the only thing anyone could do until Lily decided to return to them. However, she needed the support of her family.

The servants were doing most of the work caring for Lily because Tommy was too afraid to go near, worried he might inflict more damage on her tortured soul. As it was his wife screamed through the night and unless someone took her outdoors in the fresh air, she'd claw the walls until her fingers bled.

Tommy turned with a nod, acknowledging he’d heard his aunt’s words and shuffled toward the doorway to the gardens. Inhaling a deep breath at the threshold, he took a step onto the lush green grass and began a path toward his wife, squinting in the bright afternoon sunshine. He couldn’t deny the lovely warmth he felt on his face, but the aching dread in the pit of his stomach held off any pleasure he felt at the sensation. 

As he approached the bench where Lily sat, he hesitated momentarily. Although she hadn’t attempted it, she looked beautiful. Frances had dressed her like a china doll in a gown he'd chosen for her because she lacked the capacity to decide for herself. Her hair was fastened in a loose braid to keep her locks from her face and Tommy longed to stroke it, smelling the lavender bath salts she used.

God how he missed pressing her against his body, feeling her skin on his when he awoke, and wondered if she might feel the same. Since her return, she slept in a separate room. Tommy reminded himself it was best for her recovery. Her screams the first night she was home were proof she wanted nothing to do with him and why he had retreated instantly, so as not to make the pain worse. She was so fragile now, he worried one touch from him might break her.

Her back was ridged as he drew close, shoulders pulled backward tightly as though someone had forced her into position and her distant stare made him ill at the sight of her. She looked more like a waxwork than a human being. Tommy carefully took a seat next to her, leaving a small distance between them as he swallowed harshly. Did she even know he was there? he wondered. 

Then she stirred ever so slightly, hands raising from her sides to rest in her lap daintily and her head moved to glance over her shoulder. Her eyes didn’t fix on him, but Tommy knew she spied him from the corner of her eye and he cleared his throat to speak. The words would not come to him as his heart thundered in his chest. How could he apologize for what had happened? All that she had suffered because of him? 

A gentle breeze blew through the garden, lifting a few wisps of hair from her neck momentarily and Tommy caught the scent of her perfume mixed with the flowers from the garden. It was an intoxicating mix that reminded him of their days as newlyweds, caught up in the passion of early romance. They’d stroll the gardens after dinner and when the mood struck, he'd pull her into the flowerbeds, crushing the delicate petals as they made love. Lily chided Tommy for ruining her efforts at growing a proper garden, but secretly loved his affections. He smiled at the memory, but it was soon carried away as the breeze died down and he noticed his wife’s eyes staring back at him. 

“Lily? Darling, can you hear me?” he asked hopefully, slipping one large hand under both of hers. “I want to tell you something," he began hesitantly, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. When she didn't flinch, he continued earnestly, "I know you weren’t meant to be with a man like me. This isn’t the life you deserved and there are things I regret, but nothing more than leaving you to defend our daughter by yourself. Whatever happened with the Changrettas, I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day." He searched her eyes for understanding, a lump forming in his throat as he choked, "It’s all my fault and I’d do anything to have you back.” Tommy’s eyes welled with tears as he spoke the words he hadn’t said out of fear or pride, but thought a thousand times before.

Lily’s chin raised slightly, lower lip twitching as though she would begin speaking at any moment and Tommy held his breath, anxiously waiting for her reply. Squeezing her hands gently, he noticed a slight change in the brightness of her eyes and he ran his thumb across the back of her hand to encourage her. However, after several minutes, no sound came from her parted lips and he sighed in agonizing defeat. Making one last desperate plea, he begged, “I can’t live without you, Lily. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Continue reading their story here- Windflowers.

---------------------

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[0maisie0]

how about an idea for a fic about y/n and Toymaker: y/n is kind of in a relationship with him and can't help but wonder what it would be like to date someone else? and Toymaker doesn't like it and is a little angry with her. but in the end there is a hippie ending?

(I hope this is what you wanted.)

The vibrant red paint on Mr Emporuns toy shop shimmed in the sweet afternoon sun as you hurried down the street. A single handmade bag, filled with a variety of sewing needles, threads and fabric, rested in your palm as the ceramic doll heads in the window seemed to face you. Their dull black eyes seemed to shine at the sight of you and you were sure if they could move you would have felt fifty little china hands wrapping around your ankles in a twisted hug.

The bell chimed through the overstimulating shop as you shuffled past the red curtain. Toys lined the walls as you walked up to the empty dark oak counter and placed the bag down on it. The familiar grin of the toymaker was nowhere to be seen as you fiddled with the little merry-go-round that spun under your touch. The snow white horses spin around and around.

“Maybe he went out…” you muttered to yourself and stepped behind the counter, pulling out a half-finished doll dress from the shadowed shelf just below. It was one you had been working on in your free time, a small gift to adorn the doll the toymaker had gifted you when he had first confessed his feelings.

A soft smile covered your features as you remembered that day, but it was slowly replaced with a frown as the voices of your friends swam around your mind. The blushed mutter as she talked about her adoring husband and the extravagant evenings they had shared in London's finest locations. The new jewellery and gentle touch.

Your hands tranced over the miniature dress as you wondered when the last time you and the toymaker even went out for dinner. You supposed it can't have been for at least three months. He treated you like another one of his delicate dolls lying in his hands as he combed through their hair.

Before you could stop yourself your mind wandered to the other men that wandered the streets of Soho. Did they take their partners out as much as your friend said? Did they spend the last few coins they had on a new shiny bracelet just to see the smile on their wife's face?

A sigh escaped your lips and floated around the room, still no sign of the toymaker as your hands moved automatically to switch the side of the dress. Watching as the yellow threat pierced through the fabric over and over.

Would the man next door let you wake up alone almost every morning? Would the beggar around the street give his wife the warmest blanket in the heavy winter? Would the old landlord go three years without any sign of taking his relationship further?

“The landlord is a man of the town who likes much younger women.” a rich voice broke through the air behind you as two firm hands spun you around. You were so lost in your own head you didn't hear the door open behind you and the toymaker's face drop as your thoughts echoed through his mind.

The toymaker's hypnotic blue eyes stared down at you. He could see right through you as his hands rested on your hip, his thumbs rubbing over the soft fabric. His grey hair was perfect as always while his collar shirt wrapped around his neck and stayed fastened with a bow. Meanwhile the soft breeze outside had definitely swept itself through your hair and ruffed your dress.

“Something wonderful about me is,” he leaned down closer to you, his breath fanning over your face. His voice seemed to drop an octave. “I always know what you're thinking.”

A shiver of fear ran up your spine as the toymaker grinned down at you, pulling your body closer to his. His arms kept you locked against him, unable to escape his warm gasp even if you wanted. 

“You were gone a while, doll, I hope you enjoyed your lunch,” he whispered in your ear, leaving a small kiss on your temple as he continued. “What friend was it again?”

His lips stayed just hovering over your skin as you muttered back, your voice wavering slightly. “Oh, umm, f/n, I grabbed some more thread on the way home… and there was fabric on offer…”

“Enough. I want to know what she put into your pretty little head to make you think of others.”

Your voice trailed off as the toymaker's words bled into it. Every part of him felt hypnotic as your face flushed and your body radiated heat. His hands gripped your tighter, leaving little ink marks from his nails. His waistcoat rubbed against your blouse as he stared down at you. Waiting… Expecting an answer.

“I…”

Nothing came as you stared up at him, your lips parted slightly as you stared deep into his icy blue eyes. He glared down at you, before his face soured and he hissed out.

“Don't protect her, I have been very lenient with you daring…” his face darkened as he continued. “letting you go out, giving you everything you so much, but you're mine, only mine and I will not let those petty little men out there take you away from me.”

You stayed silent as he pulled you through into the ever-twisting back of the shop. This time it was a long hotel-looking corridor with rows and rows of doors on each side. He pressed you against the wall, his hand pressing just below your neck.

“This is my domain, my universe governed by my laws. I will not have you thinking of other men.” slowly his hand moved down to your chest and his voice softened slightly. He could feel your heart racing, shaky and laboured breaths filling your lungs under his touch.  

“I can feel your breath. It's so human…” his voice dropped to an affectionate mutter. “My beloved human.” 

“Toymaker?” you muttered, pulling yourself away from the wall and into his body. “I don't… mean it. It's my thoughts, I can't control them and I want to be with you.”

He pulled you close to his chest, pulling open the nearest door to reveal the familiar sight of a warm bedroom. You had slept there for many years at this point with the burgundy french loveseat near the fire being a favourite of the toymakers as he sat you down on it. 

“My precious doll, your poor human mind is too susceptible to the distractions of the world. I am all your mind needs to think about.” he ran his hand through your hair, smiling softly as you leaned into his touch and relaxed to his hypnotic voice. 

“Il take you out to the Ritz, i'll show you the universe one day.”

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

fasteners from china fixdex & goodfix anchor bolt manufacturer

[gayf1hoe]

Part 5

“Y/N, Y/N”, I open my eyes and whine with displeasure at being woken up by someone pounding on my door shouting my name. I manage to accumulate enough energy to get out of the bed and take a quick look in the mirror, my eyes still slightly red and puffy from spending half of the night crying into my pillow. I place my hand on the cold metal handle and pull the door open to reveal Zhou and Yuki standing at my door.

“You look rough” Zhou comment's, clearly displaying he hasn't had lessons In what to say when someone doesn't look well or happy.

I simply mutter my response “thanks I feel rough”.

After a brief moment of chatter they eventually tell me that they are here to drag me to the airport. We have 2 weeks until Baku and I agreed to go on a trip with them to China. And standing here looking at them with a pounding headache and chronic fatigue setting in I feel an impending sense of regret casting itself over me.

Reluctantly I pack my suitcase with their eager eyes fixated on my every move as they continue to ask me questions about what happened after I prematurely left the beach, but they know how stubborn I am and don't push on too much. Eventually I manage to finish packing my bag and walk out of the room and wait for Zhou and Yuki to follow behind me, closing the door behind them.

As we walk down the corridor and edge towards the stairs the voices from downstairs travel up and I can faintly hear the thick Monegasque accent of Charles and the indistinguishable Dutch accent of Max.

I lug my suitcase down the stairs with the help of Yuki who eventually sees that I am struggling and helps me carry it down the stairs where I see Charles and Max engrossed into a deep conversation in one of the corners of the reception area. I quickly return my key and then head outside to put my bag in the taxi and before I get into the taxi I hear someone saying my name behind me.

I turn to see Max walking down the marble steps.

“Can I talk to you quickly?” he asks.

I sigh and look into the car where Yuki and Zhou have fixated their gaze on me and Max, so I shut the door and walk over to a pillar and ask him what he wants.

“I just wanted to know where we are at?”

“I don't know Max, but I need break to clear my mind and forget about all of this for just a moment so I will see you Baku” as I finish my sentence I walk back over to the taxi and pull the handle to open the door and reveal Yuki and Zhou who have an inquisitive look etched on to their faces and immediately ask me what happened, I quite abrasively shrug off their comments and put my headphones in to avoid further interrogation.

The miles seem to fly by and we quickly arrive at the airport and because I got up late we have to frantically run through the terminal to the gate where our flight is already boarding, and we make it just in time, out of breath and sweating. We walk down the cabin aisle, people's eyes averting towards us making me feel self conscious but they are probably looking at us because we are the reason the plane has been held back, eventually I reach my seat and fasten my seat belt.

The best thing about sitting in first class is you get a little section to yourself but that still doesn't seem to stop Zhou coming and sitting next to me mid flight. By now Yuki has fallen asleep so Zhou decides to come and talk to me.

There is a spare seat next to me across the aisle so he preoccupies it whilst he's talking to me. Initially the conversation is light and jovial and then he brings up the topic everyone seems to cycle back to when talking to me, Max. But as he already knows the premise of mine and Max’s not so platonic relationship I suppose it's only fair he questions me.

“So why are you giving Max the cold shoulder?” he asks.

“Alessandro worked it out and I don't want to jeopardise mine or his career so I thinks it's best if we distance ourselves and let things settle before we go any further”

“But surely if you love him nothing else matters”

“I wish it was that simple Zhou but I love racing as well and if I create a media catastrophe no team will want me, not even Sauber, so I have to be on my best behaviour”.

After a while of talking Zhou heads back to his seat and I try to get some rest however all I can think about is Max. I can hear his voice echoing in my mind. I'm hoping that a week away from him will provide me with a chance to sort of erase him from my mind and clear my head of all thoughts about him.

I've never had a serious adult boyfriend, I had one when I was a teen but that was when I was infantile and the true meaning of love was just an alien thought in my adolescent mind. I had never experienced love, but with Max I think I am. It's such a strange feeling that is both warm and comforting but intimidating and scary. I have always cowered away from commitment and love because I never thought and still don't think I'm capable of it.

Racing is the only thing I have truly loved in my life but it's a different type of love, without racing I can't imagine where I would be.

But as the constant questions pace through my mind I do eventually manage to drift off to sleep for a while before the wheels touch down in Shanghai.

Disembarking the plane goes much smoother than boarding it and after we collect our luggage from the crowded baggage carousel we emerge into the rain and wind of Shanghai and even for March the rain is quite strong and heavy but Zhou informs me that this is normal for China.

Everything is written in Mandarin so me and Yuki are heavily reliant on Zhou to navigate us around this country and he eventually flags down a taxi and says something to him in Mandarin that I don't understand at all. But despite not speaking the same language the gentleman's demeanour is claiming and reassuring, he is a middle aged man with a bright smile I would expect to see on an outgoing teenager.

During our journey he points out lots of things and tries his best to explain them in English but Zhou helps translate and he tells us about all of the Iconic landscapes and best places to eat. It's also nice to see Zhou happy at being home, and I feel a sense of jealousy as I haven't been home or seen my family since before the season started as I had to move to Switzerland to be close to the factory and office which meant I had to leave my friends and family behind. But I suppose I'm lucky that Ollie is in F2 and a Ferrari reserve and I get to see him quite a lot at the races. When I first met him I always thought he would make it to F1 before me, and as he is apart of the Ferrari Academy I was almost sure he would, but instead it was me who only had 1 year in F2 and a few drives as a development driver for a team at the bottom of the grid, however I see the irony that I have joined a team that is (was) at the bottom of the grid.

I do reminisce about my days as a development driver for Williams. I always had great fun, I got to drive cars and not have to worry about coming first and scoring points all I had to do was provide feedback and that was it. When I first joined the Wiliams development program everyone thought I would debut for Wiliams, they had already started creating contracts for me but if truth be told I could never see myself in a Williams or a Mercedes, I don't have a so called “dream team” that I want to be in, making it to Formula 1 is my dream so I already have everything I want.

Zhou had booked an apartment for us to stay in rather than a hotel which is more convenient and private, as I initially step out of the car the smell of the local flowers that are starting to blossom as we approach springtime fills my nose.

The apartment is located on the outskirts of Shanghai away from the tumultuous scene of the bustling inner city and I'm grateful to be somewhere much quieter and peaceful for a change.

We quickly deposit our bags in the apartment and set off in search of something to preoccupy ourselves for the much needed week's break. Even though there has only been 3 races so far I'm pretty exhausted and doubt I can do another 18 races. I can't even begin to fathom how I'm going to find the energy to continue with the season, deal with Max and the media and look happy whilst doing all of it.

Zhou takes us to a place he used to visit as a child. It's an amusement park that has a whole host of games and rides. At first I'm apprehensive thinking about all the loud noises, screaming children and blaring music but as we arrive I feel my inner child coming out when I see the bright blinding colourful lights, stuffed animals and magnificent rides and roller-coasters.

We start with the very first thing we see when we walk in which is the ring toss which Yuki fails at miserably.  Zhou and I manage to get all of them and together we win a massive stuffed panda, and we have no idea how we are going to walk around with it.

The evening completely makes me forget about Max, that is until I see a passer by drinking a Red Bull and my mind instantly thinks of Max. It's like he has an inescapable hold on me that I can't seem to escape no matter how far away we are from each other and it makes me feel pathetic and stupid.

Yuki and Zhou try their best to make me happy but nothing seems to really work, when I'm in this depressive mood the only person who's ever made made me happy is Ollie but he's in Baku already and I don't want to disturb him even though he said “you can always call me, I will always answer no matter what”.

The past 6 days have been great, I have managed to regain some happiness and confidence and I have regained enough energy to continue on until the next break.

As I'm sitting on the plane I'm looking forward to Baku not only because I love the track but also because it will be my first ever F1 sprint. My phone is full of messages, emails and calls from loads of people but I have ignored all forms of social media and commutation, I just needed time away from racing and the media to fully relax.

But as the wheels screech against the runway in Azerbaijan the world of racing comes racing back towards me and the pressures of it are once again back on my shoulders. Me, Yuki and Zhou step out of the airport and there are lots of paparazzi flashing their camera lights in our faces and asking question after question, but they are all speaking over each other it's all so incoherent. Eventually we push past them all and get into the cars and all I can say is:

“I really haven't missed this”

The other two simply let out a little chuckle.

I feel my phone vibrate again and see that it's from Alessandro telling me that I have to check in at the hotel and then head to the garage for a meeting before sprint qualifying tomorrow.

As I look up from my phone I see Zhou turn to me as he has also seen the message and we both laugh at each other's displeasure.

We arrive at the hotel which doesn't look much like a hotel more like a big house but as we walk through the doors it shocks me at how beautiful it is. I collect my room key from reception and walk up to my room to drop off my suitcase and slightly unpack and then head downstairs to reconvene with Zhou to head to the track.

We both sit in the car and he then starts up a conversation I was hoping to avoid.

“So do you think you will see Max?”.

“Hopefully not” I reply.

“Why not?” He asks.

“Because I have no idea what I'm going to say or do?”

“You will be fine you will think of something”

Arriving we head to our garage and as its media day the paddock is flooded by people. The meeting flies by and then I head to the studio to talk about the team's hopes for this weekend and as I walk in I see a space next to Max, but pretend I haven't seen anything and walk over to Lance to sit next to him. And wait for the interview to get underway.

When it starts a lot of the questions are aimed at poor Max asking about Red Bulls falling from the top of the constructors and I can tell he's getting increasingly annoyed with the questions so when the questions come to me I can tell he's relieved.

“So Y/N you went away for 6 days with no media interaction or anything, why was that?”  is her first question.

“Well I needed time to relax and compose myself and just evaluate the first 3 races, I was quite tired and overwhelmed from the first few races of the season so I just needed that time to take a step back for my own wellbeing”

“So going into this weekend what are Saubers plans for the sprint and the grand prix?”

“Well of course maximise our performance and points and ensure we achieve a good result”.

The questions seem to be never ending by eventually she does finish allowing us all to escape. I walk back to my garage and collect my belongings and head back to the hotel where I spend the whole evening doing absolutely nothing apart from binge watching TV and falling back into a bottomless pit of self wallow and depression after seeing Max again.

Waking up on the day of sprint qualifying I don't feel the eager emotions I expected before my first ever sprint race. I quickly get dressed and decide to walk the 15 minutes to the track and arrive a little late which ends in me receiving a lecture from my engineer but I don't really pay attention.

FP1 And FP2 fly by and before I know it it's sprint qualifying and I'm determined to get pole.

SQ1 and SQ2 go perfect. I'm in P1 and as SQ3 begins It's starts to rain so I have to box for the inters.

My first lap on the inters goes horrifically and I set a time of 2 minutes and 12 seconds which is appalling so I push more than ever and pray I stay on the track.

I'm the last one to cross the line and nervously await the result:.

“Y/N Pole Position the top 5 is yourself, Norris, Sainz, Verstappen and Zhou.”

I am incredibly excited and can't believe that in my first F1 sprint race I am on Pole Position.

And as I'm sitting at the start line waiting in anticipation for the Red lights to go out I still can't believe I'm on Pole.

As the 5 lights go out the instant kick of adrenaline hits me and I see Lando begin to fall behind in my rear view mirror and see a bright red Ferrari appear.

I manage to maintain my position throughout and can't believe I have won a sprint race and by the sound of it neither can my engineer.

“Y/N P1 great result. P2 Hamilton. P3 Verstappen. P4 Zhou. P5 Alonso.”

As we arrive in Parc Ferme I jump out of my car and hug Lewis and without thinking I hug Max and there is an element of awkwardness but I run over to my team to escape it.

After the podium ceremony there is much time for jubilation as we have to get ready for qualifying for the Grand Prix Tomorrow, but I'm exhausted so I don't have too much hope for qualifying.

To my genuine surprise I get P4 behind Lewis who is on Pole and Max, Checo and Carlos.

The team all go for dinner at a nearby restaurant and we all have a great time but are conscious of the time and getting enough sleep for the race tomorrow so at around 10 PM we head back to the hotel.

The night before a race I like to keep a routine however it is disrupted by a knock on the door. I go over the door and open it and when I do I am greeted by Ollie who is smiling ecstatically and he lunges himself to embrace me in a hug before I can even say hello.

I quickly learn he is staying at this hotel as well but because I have been in such a rush the past 3 days with media day, the sprint race and both qualifying sessions I haven't had a chance to even ask him where he is staying.

This of course means that I go to bed much later than expected as I spend ages catching up with Ollie and ask how his racing has been going but all he's interested in is the fastest new report about me and Max.

But I myself haven't got the first clue about what's going on between me and Max so it's a little difficult to provide him with an accurate and true update.

When I tell him about how everything I see reminds me off him, and hoe I can't stop thinking about him constantly he just laughs and says “You're in love” which isn't very helpful because I could have told him that for the offset, I just need him to give me advice or confidence to do something about it.

At around midnight Ollie heads back to his room and I try to get some rest for the race tomorrow.

The paddock on race day has a feeling and atmosphere that's indescribable. It's a mix  of encouragement, excitement and eagerness from the fans but it's also nervousness, anticipation and enthusiasm from the drivers and these feelings seem to entwine to create a questionable atmosphere that plagues every race.

I take a quick glance at my car as it Is in its position in the number four spot and being this far back from the start line is painful but I only have myself to blame.

As the lights go out I get quite a good start and I manage to squeeze past the Ferrari of Carlos and set my eyes on Checo who puts up a much greater fight than Carlos did. I take 12 laps to get past him and then set my eyes on the biggest problem in my life: Max.

I push my car to its limits, I use all of my ERS and it's barely enough to keep him within DRS rage however at one of the corners he runs wide and loses a little bit of time which means I can get past him.

And after another 5 laps my team calls me in and the worst thing that could happen, happens.

It takes them 13.5 seconds to complete the Pit stop. When I first joined the team I made Alessandro promise me that there would be no terrible pit stops but it appears to have happened and thanks to that I got onto the grid in 9th.

For the rest of the race I'm fighting for positions and the image of a podium finish is now out of mind.

I manage to cross the line in sixth which isn't bad but it isn't good either.

“Y/N P6  good job, Zhou P5”

“No, that was a shit performance. What took so long with the pit stop? Why did it take so long to change 4 tires when other teams managed to do it in about 2 seconds. It's a joke”

“Y/N let's talk about this in the meeting, Not on radio”

“No let's talk now, tell me how we did such a shit job”

“Y/N calm down, go to cool down mode and bring the car to parc ferme after the cool down lap”

As I pull into Parc ferme I don't go over to the team. Instead I head to my room and throw off my helmet and balaclava and get out of my race suit.

I sit down on the chair in the corner of my room and try to take a moment to debrief, when there is a knock on my door.

I reluctantly get up and open the door to reveal an out of breath and sweating Max. I quickly invite him on and offer him water because I know if Alessandro sees him he will hit the roof. I then take a seat and ask him what he's doing here.

“I came to tell you that you should be proud of yourself, I know coming sixth is awful but you did your best in the circumstances so try to not to beat yourself up about it” he says kneeling down in front of me.

“Thanks I guess I did get pretty angry at my engineer”

“I know they were replying your drivers radio in the cool down room”

“Great,” I reply.

Me and Max just gaze into each other's eyes and get lost and then all of a sudden we are both leaning in causing our lips to connect and turn into a passionate moment of making out before I tell Max he has to go to the podium.

“Only if you come,” he says.

Even though I don't want to, I remember back to the times where even though he didn't win Max watched me on the podium so I feel obliged to say yes so we both stand up and sneak out the back of my garage to avoid being seen.

[bijoumikhawal]

Talking about the Qabā'. Again.

The last time I talked about the Qaba was in another post where i was very excited to have found a miniature from either Syria or Egypt that matched an extant piece of fabric from a close time period. Today I'm going to talk about the garment itself more, and it's relatives. The impetus for this is that a few months ago, I was scrolling through hanfu blogs- if you've read the article I published in Egyptian Migrations, you know I have an interest not just in Egyptian fashion, but how other cultures navigate fashion, both in their unique subcultures and traditional styles. While doing so I came across the tieli (貼裏), and quite liked the look of it, so I searched up the garment and began looking more at it. As I was scrolling through the many pretty pictures, I realized hey- I've seen this before. This looks a lot like that coat with the red foliage pattern!

Turns out this was because they're related.

They're not the only ones either- the Qabā' (as both Farsi and Arabic call it), the Tieli, the Indian Jama, the Korean Cheolik, and more, all bear a resemblance to each other. Covergent evolution happens plenty of course, but in this case there's something of an established link. In fact while doing my research, I found a paper specifically about this garment family (The Dress of the Mongol Empire: Genealogy And Diaspora of the Terlig by Woohyun Cho, Jaeyoon Yi, and Jinyoung Kim), though without explicit mention of the Qabā'.

The name and garment Tieli come from the Mongolian Terlig and Jisün (also called a Zhama (诈玛 or 詐馬), establishing a possible linguistic connection to the Jama) during the Yuan dynasty. Like many Mongolian traditional garments, it's well suited to horseback riding, which which what many Mamluk depictions also show the Qabā' being worn during. It could be round or cross collar (the combination of the two is unique to the Qabā'). The key features of the garment were a knee to calf length skirt that was gathered or pleated, a close fitting bodice cut separate from the skirt, close fitting sleeves, a corded waist which usually lead into the ties that closed the garment. According to the aforementioned trio, the garment was originally made of hides, and the waist detail found in the original Terlig, lost in other cultures renditions, is an indication of this. The Terlig, known before this point, was introduced to China, India, and Korean when the Monglian Empire was an active political entity in the 13th century and onwards, and this is the case for this style of Qabā' as well. During the 13th century, the Ilkhanate was established in the former territory of the Khwarazmian Empire, after a political incident where the Shah ordered the execution of a group of merchants sent by the Mongolian Empire lead to a long military conflict. The Ilkhanate went on to control large portions of Turkey, Syria, Iraq, and the Caucasus, as well as Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, and Pakistan. Ultimately the Ilkhanate tried, but never did, conquer Egypt, which was ruled by the Mamluks at the time.

However, it did leave a cultural influence behind. Reference to this origin for this style of qaba can be found in one of the two names for the Qabā': al-aqbiya al-tatariyya or qabā' tatarī, meaning the Tatar coat or Tatar way of wearing a coat. Tatar, in this instance, is being used to refer to Mongolians. A similar distinction can be found in the Jama, where Muslims fasten it on the right in the Mongolian style (brought to my attention by the paper mentioned before). The tatarī is fastened in the same way, ties on the wearer's right of the body. The other style of Qabā' (al-aqbiya al-turkiyya) is the same, but fastens on the opposite side of the body. The Mamluks preferred the tatarī, but it was not the exclusive style worn. Along with this, some Qabā' fastened in the center front.

The Jisün was a type of Terlig, made of one color of silk and gold, worn as a robe of honor by officials during the Yuan dynasty. During the later Ming dynasty, it became the dress of certain military officials. It had different varieties for seasons and social status. It also progenitated the Yesa (曳撒), which was longer and more widely worn than the Jisün. The Feiyufu (飞鱼服) was a Ming variant of the Tieli, and another type of honor robe. The Qing dynasty Chaofu also seems to have taken the terlig into account when it was designed.

The Cheolik has a crossover collar, pleated skirt, and may have quite long, wide sleeves. Political marriages with Mongolian courts likely helped this garment take root. This garment is still worn today as Korea, like China, has revitalized its traditional clothing. It is mostly by women today as far as I can tell, though historically it was a masculine garment. It has a longer hem than the Terlig. It also sometimes had a higher waistline.

The Jama was introduced by the Mughal dynasty, and unlike the other garments listed here which typically used rectangles and triangles for constructing clothes, the one pattern I've seen for it taken from an extant garment (as opposed to being a guess) shows a skirt made of gores and set in sleeves with a gusset. Another example, laid flat, shows rectangular sleeves with a gusset, but the skirt cannot be determined. It was later renamed to sarbgati. It typically has a crossover fastening, though I have seen one that closed in the center front. The ties are especially prominent and decorated, which overall is not the case in the rest of the garment family. Gold bands on the sleeves and collar are sometimes found as decoration. It also has a longer hem and higher waistline than the Terlig.

In my previous post I noted a similarly to this robe and the Central Asian and Persian robes I'd seen from a different century, but was hesitant to connect them. Now I'm sure of a connection. The waist seam is confirmed! There are still several stylistic differences, though:

1. The Qabā', in Syrian and Egyptian depictions, typically combines a round neckline with the cross over collar. The Persian Qabā' typically does not have a round neckline.

2. The Qabā' usually has what looks like a gathered skirt, not a pleated one, as the Tieli does. The Terlig sometimes has a gathered skirt as well, as does the Jama.

3. The Syrian and Egyptian Qabā' is decorated with strips of gold, not with a cloud collar. The Persian Qabā' often has a cloud collar, which it inherits from the Terlig, and I have seen an Angarkha from Lahore with a cloud collar as well. It sometimes has bands. The Seljuk Qabā' sometimes has bands, and sometimes has a rank badge (more commonly found in Chinese court dress). As an aside, I recently found a British drawing (from life, presumably) of an Egyptian envoy in a garment similar to an Angarkha as well...

4. The Qabā' in Syrian and Egyptian depictions often retains the knee or calf length good for horse riding that many other garments in this family moved away from.

5. The Qabā' most likely does not have the corded waist found in the Terlig. There is a gold band around the waist in some depictions that could be a braided waist, but could also be a belt. Unfortunately I don't know of any extant examples from Syria or Egypt that would clarify matters. There is an example which might be Persian that does show this corded waist. Most depictions have no waist detail other than an indication of a waistline.

As far as I know, while this robe spread a little into the Balkans and Eastern Europe (the cloud collar has appeared in some Christian Iconography and a few examples of Terlig like historical garments exist), it did not spread much further west or south of Egypt. However, given the Qabā' has been excluded from discussions of the Terlig's many sons already, it's possible I simply don't know about it, as further iterations in Africa would be excluded as well. As always, I welcome people bringing their own findings to the table.

Further reading: The Dress of the Mongol Empire: Genealogy And Diaspora of the Terlig by Woohyun Cho, Jaeyoon Yi, and Jinyoung Kim

Mongol court dress, identity formation, and global exchange by Eiren L. Shea

https://sartorialegypt.wordpress.com/2022/12/03/a-brief-discussion-of-a-mamluk-robe/ - prev post

http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O480307/gown/ - the cloud collar angarkha

https://www.newhanfu.com/6021.html - Discussion of the tieli and yesa

https://www.jstor.org/stable/41917645 - Terlig discussion

https://www.jstor.org/stable/43957434 - general discussion of Yuan clothing with a nice example of a terlig

https://en.unesco.org/silkroad/silk-road-themes/mouvable-heritage-and-museums/robe-decorative-braided-waist-band-0 - Terlig example

A Preliminary Study of Mongol Costumes in the Ming Dynasty by Luo Wei

https://m.terms.naver.com/entry.naver?cid=46671&docId=563301&categoryId=46671 - Cheolik

Arab dress: a short history; from the dawn of Islam to modern times by Yedida Stillman

https://lugatism.com/outer-garments-in-the-mamluk-sultanate/#3-_Qaba_qba - the Qaba and other dress in the Mamluk era

https://www.agakhanmuseum.org/collection/artifact/robe-AKM677 - a robe which may be Persian or Central Asian with the corded waist

Additionally, blogs like @ziseviolet and @fouryearsofshades post about hanfu, including the tieli and yesa.

[seat-safety-switch]

My grandma used to get the undercoat every year on her shit-box Beretta. It lasted from 1989, when it was made, until the mid-2010s, in Ontario. This is the corrosion-prevention equivalent of discovering time travel: when I'd tell this story, whole-ass autobody shop techs would straight out say "that's impossible," their noses starting to bleed as their minds ran into seven or eight times overclock just to try and comprehend a universe in which this was possible. Before long, they'd lie dead on the floor.

Like I said, she went in every year. In fall, she'd book it, they'd put it up on the lift and then they'd spray some kind of crazy-ass oil compound on the underside, protecting exposed metal and weak original undercoating from nature's fury. I assume they cleaned the old stuff off, or maybe they didn't: just this constantly accreting katamari of petrochemical shield, the car riding an inch lower to the ground and weighing 250kg extra by the time it was sent to the junkyard. Good luck taking any fastener off without a jackhammer, respiratory protection, and a death wish.

For all I know, they never were able to scrap that thing when she got bored of it and traded it in on a new Kia. Gummed up the jaws of the junkyard crusher, unable to penetrate through the infinitely thick matrix of polymer and road salt. Sent the entire assembly, crusher and all, to China to be analyzed by their own junkyard scientists. An even bigger crusher was probably destroyed trying futilely to compact that one for scrap value. In the middle, a perfectly-preserved rust-free lower half of an '89 Beretta, a monument to man's dominance over nature.

I think about this often as I expose my own shitbox cars to the elements. Even with the thick layer of engine, shock, and transmission oil that leaks onto the major mechanical components, that floorboard still has some pretty raunchy holes. Sometimes I "find" a road sign in a ditch and pop-rivet it in there, but it doesn't last very long either. Sure, I'd thought about getting them to under-seal my cars the same way as grandma's, but I'm worried the coating guns use a little bit too much pressure and will just cut the damn thing in half on the lift.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: This is a Drill

Never underestimate “old”. Some things are old for a very good reason. They work.

Horseshoe crabs have lived visibly unchanged for over 300 million years. Sharks are an age-old “fish predator” shape. Books have reliably kept and passed down information for over a millennium; we’re still investigating remedies in Bald’s Leechbook.

One of the oldest complex tools we have is the drill. What’s interesting about that is that we’re not sure which function of it as a tool came first. Humans being humans, odds are we did both at once.

The best-known modern function is that of creating a hole through, or partly through, another object. What we do with the hole afterward is up to your imagination. Stringing neat things as jewelry goes back as long as Homo has been sapiens; likely longer, check what anthropologists have dug up lately. Fastening things together, drilling out things we don’t want (knots in wood, bad teeth, etc.) or just putting holes in things for the heck of it are all common uses.

(Never underestimate the human ability to do things Because. We poke things. It’s a species thing.)

But when we drill things, we also create friction. Modern drills employ several methods to try and reduce it, everything from lubricants to timed bursts to heat-resistant gold oxide drill alloys. If all we want is a hole, generally we want as little heat to damage the material as possible.

In some ancient tools, though, making heat was the entire point. I’m talking about the original fire drill.

Now, when it comes to making fire, I am firmly in Camp Matches. I’ve also worked around Bunsen burners enough that I’m okay with flint and steel. But we’ve only had steel for, oh, say around 2500 years, plus or minus depending on where you were on the planet. Matches have only been around a few centuries. And if you’re really in dire straits - cast up on a deserted island formed from a coral atoll, or something - you might not even have flint.

In which case you’d better have ingenuity and patience. Given a bit of materials and time, you can drill fire into existence.

Note, have absolutely all your fire materials and very fine tinder set up in advance, and protect everything from the wind as much as possible. It’s going to take a long time, you’ll only get one ember at a time, and it’ll be a cold night sleeping if you miss.

So. Have everything you can think of set up, sit down, and drill. Be prepared for hours of pulling your bit back and forth.

No, longer than that.

Longer.

Eventually, it works. And if you get it to work once you will understand why ancient hunter-gatherers would set up fire-pouches and horns to carry a hot ember with them at all times. Because augh.

So. That’s a drill. And it will almost definitely be useful in your world, for one reason or another.

Fun fact: one of the first human uses of diamonds was industrial, diamond-tipped drills to make fine holes in pearls! They were imported from India to drill pearls in China in the Yuan Dynasty. Cool!

[wonderlanddreamer]

Chapter 2: Florence continues to snoop in Peaky Blinders territory and John ups his intimidation tactics.

TW - Slight dubcon at the end. NO SMUT.

Masterlist here.

Florence awoke to the soft, diffused light filtering through the worn lace curtains of her bedroom. The hues of dawn cast gentle shadows across the room, illuminating the organised chaos that was her personal sanctuary. Her petite frame rose from the bed, the crisp linen sheets falling away to reveal her nightgown, a simple but elegant garment that spoke volumes about her understated grace.

She stretched, her long, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. The braid she had worn to bed had come loose during the night. Bright blue eyes, framed by oversized circular glasses, flickered to the mirror on her vanity.

Her house, small and quaint, was a perfect display of her solitary life. Papers were strewn across the wooden floor, remnants of late-night research sessions and hurried mornings. Books were piled high on every available surface, their spines cracked and pages dog-eared, evidence of her voracious reading habits. Articles and photographs adorned the walls, a collage of her life's work and passions. In every corner, plants thrived, their vibrant greenery adding a touch of life and colour to the otherwise monochromatic palette of ink and paper.

Florence moved through the space with a quiet confidence, her steps light yet purposeful, as if each movement was part of a well-choreographed dance.

She pulled on a simple white blouse, its fabric soft against her skin, paired with a charcoal grey skirt that fell just below her knees. The ensemble was practical yet stylish, embodying the balance she strived for. Florence needed to blend into the background when necessary, yet command respect in the moments that mattered most.

Her fingers worked deftly, fastening the small, delicate buttons of her blouse with a ease. She slipped on a pair of low-heeled black pumps, the kind that allowed for quick movement but still gave her an air of professionalism. Her accessories were minimal: a watch with a leather band, a simple silver necklace, and a pair of stud earrings that glinted subtly in the sunlight.

Florence paused in front of the full-length mirror. She adjusted her glasses, the frames dark and sturdy, framing her intelligent eyes. She smoothed her braid, ensuring that not a single strand was out of place.

She made her way to the kitchen, where her favourite china cup awaited her, ready for her morning tea. The aroma filled the air as she poured herself a cup, savouring the warmth and comfort it provided. Her eyes scanned the morning newspaper, but her mind was already racing ahead to the day's agenda. She was undeterred by John Shelby's threat; if anything, it had only strengthened her resolve. She was ready to dig deeper, to uncover the truths buried beneath layers of intimidation and corruption.

With a final sip of tea, Florence gathered her notes and tucked them into her satchel. The weight of her work rested on her shoulders, but it was a burden she bore with pride. She paused at the door, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the bustling streets of Birmingham. The world outside was rife with danger and intrigue, but Florence was ready to face it head-on. She was a force to be reckoned with, a beacon of truth in a city shrouded in shadows.

The morning air in Birmingham was crisp and tinged with the scent of coal and industry as Florence stepped out onto the cobbled streets. The city was already alive with activity, the relentless hum of machinery mingling with the distant clatter of horse-drawn carriages and the murmurs of early risers.

Florence navigated the narrow alleyways and bustling thoroughfares with the ease of someone who had spent years learning the city's intricate rhythms. Her bright eyes, sharp and observant, caught every detail: the hurried steps of labourers, the haggling of market vendors, the furtive glances exchanged between men in dark overcoats. Each interaction, each whispered word, was a potential clue.

Her first stop was the local bakery, a modest establishment run by Mrs. Whitaker, a stout woman with a kind face and flour-dusted hands. The bakery was a hub of local gossip, a place where news and rumours mingled as freely as the scent of freshly baked bread.

"Good morning, Mrs. Whitaker," Florence greeted, her voice warm and sincere.

"Ah, Miss Fletcher! Good morning to you," Mrs. Whitaker replied, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "What can I do for you today?"

"Just a loaf of your finest, please. And perhaps, if you have a moment, any news from around Small Heath?" Florence asked, her tone casual but her eyes keenly observant.

Mrs. Whitaker's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of hesitation crossing her features. "Well, there's always something, isn't there? Heard there's been some trouble with the Peaky Blinders again. Nasty business, that lot."

Florence nodded, her mind filing away the information. "Anything specific?"

"Just whispers, really. Some say they're planning something big, but who knows with those boys? Best to keep your head down and stay out of their way," Mrs. Whitaker advised, handing over the loaf.

"Thank you, Mrs. Whitaker. Always a pleasure," Florence said, slipping the bread into her satchel and giving a parting smile before stepping back into the street.

Her next destination was the local pub, The Garrison, a known haunt for the Peaky Blinders. As she approached, she adjusted her glasses and took a deep breath, readying herself for the tension that always hung thick in the air around the place.

Florence entered The Garrison, the familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. The pub was a sanctuary of sorts for the locals of Small Heath, a place where deals were made and secrets exchanged. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, giving it an aura of mystery that matched the reputation of its most famous patrons, the Shelby family.

Harry, the bartender, stood behind the counter, his bald head and kind eyes a stark contrast to the rough crowd he often served. He spotted Florence immediately, his curiosity piqued as she approached the bar. It wasn't every day that a woman like her walked into his pub.

"Not often we see a lady like you in here," Harry remarked, his voice carrying a mix of surprise and caution.

Florence met his gaze evenly, her expression unwavering. "Just doing my job. Heard there's been some activity in Small Heath. Thought I'd see if anyone had any information."

Harry shrugged, reaching for a glass and filling it with whiskey. "Depends on what you're looking for. Might be some folks who don't take kindly to questions."

"Yes, I'm vaguely aware," she replied, taking the glass from him and slipping a coin across the counter. "But I find people are more willing to talk when they know someone's listening."

Harry studied her for a moment, sizing her up. There was a determination in her eyes that suggested she wouldn't be easily dissuaded. He nodded slowly, a hint of respect in his gaze. "Just be careful, miss. This place has its shadows, and not all of them are friendly."

Florence gave him a small, appreciative smile before taking a sip of her drink. She knew the risks, but she also knew that the truth was worth pursuing. As she scanned the room, she felt the weight of Harry's warning. She was here to uncover stories, no matter how deep she had to dig.

She moved to a corner table, her back to the wall, and sipped her drink. Her eyes scanned the room, noting the subtle exchanges between patrons, the way certain names drew sharp glances and hushed tones.

A young man, scruffy and nervous, approached her table. His clothes were tattered and his hands trembled slightly as he clutched his cap, twisting it in his grip. "You lookin' for information?" he asked, his voice low and barely audible over the din of the pub.

Florence nodded, leaning in slightly to hear him better. "Yes. Anything you can tell me about the Peaky Blinders or crime in Small Heath."

The man glanced around the room, his eyes darting to the shadowy corners where danger might lurk. He leaned in closer, the scent of sweat and fear mingling in the air. "There's been talk of a big shipment coming in, something the Blinders are keen on. And there's been more fights, more blood in the streets. If you're smart, you'll stay clear."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the violence and danger they implied. Florence's mind raced with the new intel, piecing together the fragments of information she had gathered. The Peaky Blinders were notorious for their ruthlessness and cunning, and any shipment they were interested in was bound to be significant.

"Thank you," Florence said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She reached into her purse and slipped him a few coins, the metal clinking softly as they exchanged hands. It was a silent agreement, a promise to keep their interaction discreet.

The young man pocketed the coins quickly, casting one last wary glance around the pub before slipping back into the crowd. Florence watched him go, her mind already turning over the possibilities. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, but the pursuit of truth was never without risk.

As she left the pub, she felt the weight of eyes on her, a reminder of the dangers that came with her profession. But Florence was undeterred. She had a story to chase, truths to uncover, and no threat from a Shelby or anyone else would sway her from her path.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows across the cobbled streets of Birmingham, Florence made her way to the Birmingham Gazette's office. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, a fleeting moment of tranquillity before the night claimed the city. The streets, usually teeming with life, were beginning to quiet down, with only the occasional pedestrian or horse-drawn carriage breaking the silence.

The Gazette’s building loomed ahead, an imposing structure of brick and stone that stood as a testament to the weight of the words crafted within its walls. Its façade was marked by tall, narrow windows and intricate masonry, though the exterior was darkened by years of soot and grime from the industrial heart of the city. A single lantern flickered by the entrance, casting a warm, inviting glow on the worn steps leading to the door.

Florence pushed open the heavy wooden door, and was immediately enveloped by the familiar scent of ink and paper. The interior of the office was a world unto itself, a haven of intellect and inquiry amidst the chaos of Birmingham. Rows of desks were neatly arranged, each one cluttered with typewriters, stacks of paper, and half-empty inkwells. The walls were adorned with framed front pages of past editions, chronicling the city's history and the Gazette's role in it.

The office was eerily quiet at this hour. The only sound that broke the silence was the distant, rhythmic ticking of a clock mounted high on the wall, its hands inching closer to the end of the workday. The occasional creak of the floorboards under Florence's feet added to the ambiance, a reminder of the countless journalists who had walked these halls before her.

Florence made her way to her desk, a solid oak piece that had seen better days. It was littered with notes, clippings, and a well-worn leather notebook she carried everywhere. She placed her bag on the floor and lit the small oil lamp on the corner of her desk, its soft light creating a circle of warmth in the otherwise dim room.

Florence settled at her desk, the familiar weight of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders after a long day of chasing leads and delving into the dark underbelly of Small Heath. She took a moment to collect herself, her eyes scanning the cluttered surface before her. The desk was strewn with hastily scribbled notes, newspaper clippings, and a map of Birmingham marked with various points of interest.

Her fingers lightly brushed over the cool, metal keys of her typewriter, a trusted companion in her investigative journey. The machine was old but reliable, its black finish worn to a dull sheen by years of use. Florence took a deep breath, the scent of ink and paper filling her lungs, and let it out slowly, trying to steady her nerves.

She straightened a few sheets of paper, aligning them perfectly before feeding one into the typewriter. The paper slid into place with a satisfying click, ready to bear the weight of her words. Florence's fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, her mind organising the day's events into a coherent narrative.

The rhythmic clacking of the typewriter keys soon filled the room, a comforting and familiar sound that seemed to drown out the worries and dangers of the outside world. Each keystroke was deliberate, the letters imprinting themselves onto the paper with a crisp, decisive snap. As she typed, the story of Small Heath's underworld began to take shape, each word a step closer to uncovering the truth.

Her focus was so intense that she didn’t hear the door creak open, nor the soft footsteps that followed. The rhythmic clacking of the typewriter keys filled the room, a steady cadence that drowned out the subtle sounds of intrusion. Florence was lost in her work, her mind completely absorbed in the story she was weaving. It wasn’t until a shadow fell across her desk, cutting through the warm glow of the oil lamp, that she looked up.

Her heart skipped a beat as she met the cold, calculating gaze of John Shelby. He stood there, a picture of calm menace, his presence both commanding and unsettling. The dim light cast sharp angles on his face, highlighting the hardness in his features and the glint of steel in his eyes. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored suit and polished boots, but there was an air of danger about him that was impossible to ignore.

“Florence,” he said, his voice low and smooth, yet carrying an unmistakable threat, a reminder of the power he wielded.

Florence’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain composed. Her mind raced, assessing the danger while her exterior remained calm and collected. “Mr. Shelby,” she replied, her voice steady and measured. “What brings you here at this hour?”

John took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers, piercing through her facade with unsettling ease. The intensity of his gaze was like a vice, squeezing the truth out of her without a word. “Heard there was little lady in glasses digging her nose around at The Garrison today,” he said, his voice low and laced with menace. “Sounded a lot like you.”

Florence’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the peril she now faced. She fought to maintain her composure, her eyes locked onto John’s unyielding stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her tone even and controlled. “I’ve been busy with my work all day.”

John’s lips curled into a sinister smile, a chilling contrast to the coldness in his eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted just enough to reveal a hint of amusement, as if he enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game they were playing. “Oh really?” he drawled, taking another step closer, the space between him and her desk now almost nonexistent. “You know, I fuckin’ hate liars.”

He circled around her desk, his movements slow, like a predator sizing up its prey. Florence could feel the tension in the air, a palpable sense of danger that made her skin prickle. She gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles turning white as she tried to steady herself. The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls closing in as John came to stand behind her.

John leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. His hand brushed against her shoulder, the touch deceptively gentle, fingers trailing down her arm with a chilling intimacy. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he murmured, his voice a low, threatening whisper. “Stay out of our business.”

Florence’s eyes darted to her notes, the evidence of her day’s work spread out before her in a chaotic array of papers and scribbles. Each piece of information represented hours of painstaking effort, a tapestry of connections and secrets that she had painstakingly woven together. She knew there was no point in denying it further, but fear kept her silent, her throat constricting as if gripped by an invisible hand.

John’s gaze followed hers, landing on the scattered papers and the typewriter that had been the instrument of her relentless inquiry. His calm demeanour cracked, replaced by a flash of unbridled fury. With a sudden, violent motion, he grabbed the typewriter and hurled it across the room. The crash echoed through the empty office, the machine shattering into pieces, keys and metal fragments skittering across the wooden floor.

Florence flinched at the sound, her heart racing, but she quickly composed herself. The defiance that had been simmering beneath the surface now blazed in her eyes as she faced John. “You can’t scare me into silence, Shelby,” she declared, her voice stronger and more resolute. “The truth will come out, whether you like it or not.”

John’s eyes narrowed, his anger intensifying. The room seemed to darken as his presence grew more menacing. In a swift, brutal motion, he grabbed her wrist with an iron grip, yanking her to her feet. The force of his pull sent a jolt of pain up her arm, but she refused to show any sign of weakness.

“You think you can ignore me?” he spat, his voice a low, dangerous growl. His face was inches from hers, close enough that she could see the flicker of rage in his eyes. “You think you can lie to me and get away with it?”

Florence struggled against his grip, her fear morphing into a reckless determination that burned in her chest. “Please, Mr. Shelby, I’m just doing my job,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and defiance. She refused to let him see her break.

John’s grip tightened around her wrist, the pressure sending sharp jolts of pain up her arm. His eyes blazed with a dangerous intensity, and yet there was something undeniably magnetic about his anger, a raw, primal energy that seemed to fill the room. He leaned in closer, reducing the space between them to mere inches. His other hand rose slowly, almost languidly, to brush a strand of hair from her face, the gesture mockingly tender and intimate.

“Your job,” he hissed, his breath hot against her skin, each word a caress and a threat, “is to keep your nose out of our business.” His voice was a low, seductive growl, filled with a dark promise that sent shivers down her spine.

Florence’s breath quickened, her senses overwhelmed by the proximity of him, the scent of his cologne mingling with the raw power he exuded. But beneath the fear, a spark of defiance flared. She met his gaze head-on, her eyes flashing with an unyielding resolve.

“You cross us again,” John continued, his tone softening to a dangerously smooth whisper, “and it won’t just be your typewriter getting smashed.”

Desperation and courage surged within Florence, a volatile mix that fueled her next, reckless action. Her eyes darted to a letter opener lying on her desk, its sharp edge glinting under the dim light. In one swift motion, she snatched it up and slashed at John, aiming for his arm with all the force she could muster. But he was faster.

John’s reflexes were like lightning. He caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip like a vise, unyielding and painfully strong. He twisted her arm with brutal efficiency until she was forced to drop the weapon, a cry of pain escaping her lips as the letter opener clattered to the floor.

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, a mixture of amusement and fury, as he bent down to pick up the fallen letter opener. He turned it over in his hand, examining it with a calm, deadly curiosity. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper that seemed to vibrate in the tense air between them. “But guts ain't gonna save you.”

With a final, violent shove, he forced her on to her back against the top of desk, the edge of the wooden surface digging painfully into her lower back. The letter opener was pressed menacingly against her throat, its cold metal biting into her skin. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the tension between them almost palpable.

With a sudden, predatory move, John surged forward, his body a blur of motion. In an instant, he climbed onto the desk, his powerful frame pinning Florence beneath him. The hard surface pressed painfully into her back, trapping her against the unyielding wood. His weight bore down on her, a suffocating force that made it difficult to draw breath. The edge of the letter opener felt like a shard of ice against her skin, a cold reminder of the lethal danger she was in.

Florence's breath came in shallow, rapid gasps, her chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. Her heart pounded so violently she feared it might burst from her ribcage. She stared up at John, her vision filled with the furious intensity of his gaze. His face was contorted with rage, every muscle tight with barely restrained violence. Yet beneath the mask of fury, she glimpsed something else—something darker and more complex, a volatile mix of emotions that defied easy categorisation.

"Do you have any fuckin' clue who you're playing with, Florence?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate through her very bones. The words were laced with venom, each syllable dripping with contempt and menace. "Do you understand the fuckin' consequences?"

Florence swallowed hard, her throat dry and constricted, each breath a struggle against the weight of the fear and tension that enveloped her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, a searing contrast to the cold edge of the letter opener against her skin. The intensity of his gaze bore into her, a tangible force that seemed to strip away her defences and lay her soul bare. The air between them crackled with a dangerous, electric charge, a volatile mix of fear and something else—something she couldn't quite name, but that thrummed through her veins with an unsettling familiarity.

"I know the risks," she managed to say, her voice barely more than a whisper, each word a battle against her own terror. "But I won't back down. I can't."

John's eyes narrowed, the fury in them blazing like a storm ready to unleash its full wrath. Yet, as he searched her face, scrutinising every nuance of her expression, a flicker of something else crossed his features. It was brief, almost imperceptible—a softening of his hardened gaze, replaced momentarily by something that looked almost like admiration.

But the moment was gone as quickly as it had appeared, swallowed up by the relentless tide of his anger. His grip tightened, the letter opener biting more deeply into her throat, a cruel reminder of the precarious edge on which she balanced. The brief reprieve of humanity vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating menace.

"You’re a stupid, stubborn little girl," John said, his voice a volatile mix of frustration and grudging respect. Each word was tinged with a raw intensity that made Florence's skin prickle. "It's gonna get you fuckin' killed."

His grip on the letter opener relaxed slightly, and with a deliberate slowness, he allowed it to fall to the desk beside her. The metal clattered against the wood, the sound reverberating through the tense silence. Florence's heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the gravity of the moment. She barely had time to process the shift in his demeanour when his hand moved to her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek with surprising gentleness. The contrast between his earlier violence and this unexpected tenderness sent a shiver down her spine, a confusing mix of fear and something unsettlingly close to desire.

John's touch was light, almost reverent, his calloused fingers tracing the curve of her cheekbone with a delicacy that belied the brutality of their confrontation. His eyes, dark and stormy, held hers with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. The fury that had blazed within them moments before had softened, replaced by a deeper, more complex emotion that Florence couldn't quite decipher.

"You’re playing with fire, Florence," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate whisper that seemed to wrap around her like a physical presence. His face was inches from hers, so close she could feel the movement of his lips against her own. "I'd hate to see that pretty little face burned."

Florence's breath hitched, a jagged sound that betrayed the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. Fear was there, a cold, unyielding knot in her stomach, but it was accompanied by something more confusing, more dangerous—a spark of something primal that flared in response to his proximity. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, a searing contrast to the cool air of the room. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, a magnetic force that drew her in despite every rational thought screaming at her to pull away. It was intoxicating, and she hated herself for the way her body responded, a traitorous shiver running down her spine.

"I stand by what I said," she replied, her voice finding a steadiness that belied the tumult inside her. "I’m not afraid of you."

Her words hung in the air, a bold declaration that seemed to challenge the very fabric of the tension between them. John's eyes darkened, his expression shifting into a dangerous mix of anger and something more primal, more visceral. His gaze locked onto hers, a storm of emotions swirling in the depths of his eyes. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers, the space between them shrinking to a hair's breadth. She could feel the heat of his skin, the roughness of his breath, and the raw power emanating from him.

"You should be," he whispered, his voice a rough, dangerous promise that sent a fresh wave of shivers cascading through her. His lips were almost brushing hers, the tantalising proximity a heady mixture of threat and temptation. Each word was a caress and a warning, a reminder of the perilous edge on which they both balanced.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The tension between them was almost unbearable, a taut wire ready to snap. Florence could feel the rapid thudding of her heart, each beat a drumroll leading to an inevitable climax. John's eyes bore into hers, dark and stormy, a tempest of emotions she could barely decipher. And then, with a sudden, fierce urgency, his mouth claimed hers in a bruising kiss.

The initial shock was like a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins. His kiss was violent, a raw expression of dominance and control. Florence's mind screamed in protest, her body instinctively recoiling from the intensity. She raised her hands to his chest, pushing with all her might, but it was like trying to move a mountain. His body was a solid wall of muscle, immovable and unyielding.

His kiss was a battle, a clash of wills fought with lips and teeth and tongues. The taste of him was overwhelming, a blend of heat and fury that left her breathless. Her struggles only seemed to fuel his intensity, his grip on her tightening as if to prove a point. His hands were everywhere—cupping her face, tangling in her hair, pressing her harder against the desk.

With a surge of desperate energy, Florence managed to tear her mouth from his, gasping for breath. "Get off me!" she demanded, her voice a mixture of anger and something she couldn't quite name. She shoved at him again, her palms pressing against the hard planes of his chest, but he didn't budge.

John laughed, a low, mocking sound that sent a chill down her spine. "You think you can push me away, little Flo?" he taunted, his voice dripping with a dark, twisted amusement. "You think you have any fuckin' control here?"

His words stung, a cruel reminder of the power imbalance between them. But Florence refused to back down. She met his gaze with a defiant glare, her eyes blazing with determination. "You bastard," she spat, her voice trembling with the force of her resolve.

"Don't you dare fuckin' forget this," he said, his voice rough. "Remember what fuckin' happens when you cross me."

With that, he released her and stood, stepping back from the desk. John straightened, his expression once again cold and controlled. "Stay out of our business, Miss Fletcher," he said, his tone a final warning. "Next time, I won't be so forgiving."

John turned and left the office, each step echoing with finality on the polished hardwood floor. The door closed behind him with a decisive click, the sound reverberating in the silence that followed. Florence remained where she was, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, her mind spinning in a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

She slowly pushed herself up from the desk, her body trembling visibly as she tried to regain her composure. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her, as if they might give way at any moment. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady the trembling that had taken hold of her. Every breath was a reminder of the intensity of the encounter, the bruising pressure of John's lips still lingering on her own.

As her eyes roamed the room, they landed on the broken typewriter lying on the floor, keys scattered like fallen soldiers around it. The sight of the shattered machine sent a fresh wave of fear and anger coursing through her. That typewriter had been her lifeline, her conduit for uncovering the truth, and now it lay in ruins—a stark symbol of the power John wielded and the lengths he was willing to go to silence her.

With a deep, steadying breath, Florence forced herself to move. She knelt down and began picking up the scattered keys, each one a small, sharp reminder of what she was up against. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal, and she felt a pang of loss for the machine that had been her trusty companion in this dangerous game.

Piece by piece, she gathered the remnants of the typewriter, placing them gently on the desk as if by some miracle she could put it back together. But she knew it was beyond repair. The typewriter was a casualty of this war, but she wouldn't let it be in vain.

As she tidied up the office, straightening papers and organising her notes, her mind raced with thoughts of what to do next. The reality of her situation was clearer than ever—she was in over her head, but she couldn't afford to stop now. The truth was too important, and she was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.

The night outside had deepened, the city settling into a restless silence. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of a siren were the only sounds that broke the stillness. The darkness outside the window seemed to press in on her, a stark contrast to the harsh fluorescent light inside the office.

As she placed the last of the broken keys on the desk, Florence stood back and surveyed the room. It looked more orderly now, but the chaos in her mind was far from settled. She knew she had to come up with a new plan, a new way to continue her work without the typewriter. But how?

She leaned against the desk, her fingers tracing the lines of her notepad. The battle had only just begun, and she needed to be ready for whatever came next. Ideas began to form, tentative and fragile, but they were enough to give her a glimmer of hope.

Florence's resolve hardened, her determination solidifying into a steely resolve. She couldn't let John's intimidation tactics break her spirit. If anything, she needed it to fuel her determination. She was ready to face whatever came next - at least she thought she was.