#spanish chestnut

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Saturday 11 January 2025

A large, deciduous tree Castanea sativa (sweet chestnut, Eurasian chestnut, European chestnut, Sardian nut, Spanish chestnut, castanwydden) makes an imposing avenue, forest or specimen tree. With age trees develop a spiral, grooved bark and produce spiny fruits containing edible nuts.

Jill Raggett

[horsesarecreatures]

Piropo DY - 2015 Arabian Stallion

[buffetlicious]

Astons Specialities brought back the Spanish Chestnut Pork (S$18.90+) with one dollar price difference. This chestnut fed pigs from the autonomous region of northwestern Spain is flavourful and so succulent juicy. Along with the price increase, they also stopped the apple sauce pairing and replaced with a generic brown sauce. :( Picked potato wedges and creamy coleslaw for my two sides to accompany the main course.

Topmost image courtesy of Astons Specialities.

[ponyjump]

Cyrus & Solana 2024 Mid-Year Release Chestnut Lipizzaner foal and Spanish Stallion (unicorns)

[i-have-the-best-url]

Honestly this is him welcoming white boy after white boy to his house

I’m sorry but why does Raymond Chestnut in a suit look like that one meme like look at it

I can’t be the only one who sees it

[goodspiritsnewsat]

GSN Review: Method and Madness Irish Whiskies

Method and Madness Irish whiskey has been born from the minds of the Masters and Apprentices of Midleton Distillery. Innovation is nothing new to Midleton, but the Method and Madness micro distillery has provided the canvas for experimentation to run free. The whiskeys coming from this distillers’ playground provide a new taste inspired by Irish whiskey history. The range includes Method and…

[p0orbaby]

We’ll Do the Things That Lovers Do

summary: you ask, alexia answers

warnings: none

a/n: it’s a cute one

word count: 1.5k

-

The first time you meet Alexia, the sun is a ruthless overseer, searing the already pale blue sky into white. You’re twelve, English, slightly awkward, and profoundly unsure of why your parents thought it was a good idea to send you to a football camp in Spain. You like football well enough, but you’ve always been better at watching it than playing. Still, here you are: standing on a pitch that smells of hot turf and dry grass, surrounded by kids who chatter in Catalan and Spanish. The words tumble from their mouths too fast for you to catch more than fragments, a reminder that you’re out of place.

The ball comes to you with a dull thud. You freeze, and for one breathless moment, the whole world shrinks to that scuffed, overinflated orb at your feet.

“Shoot,” a voice says, startling you. You glance up and see her—Alexia.

She’s smaller than the others but somehow commands the space around her, her presence as steady and deliberate as her movements. Her ponytail is lopsided, and her knees are bruised, but her eyes are bright, alert, the colour of chestnuts split open in autumn. She nudges her chin towards the goal, repeating the word as if it’s the most natural thing in the world: “Shoot.”

You do.

It’s a disaster. The ball veers wildly to the left, nowhere near the goal. You feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, but Alexia grins—a wide, unabashed smile that flashes crooked teeth. She claps you on the shoulder as she jogs past, muttering something you don’t understand but recognise as encouragement.

That was the beginning.

-

The pitches look smaller than you remember—disappointingly so, as if the scale of your childhood has been robbed by adulthood’s harsher clarity. Once, they stretch endlessly before you, bordered by mountains shrouded in haze, the kind of expanses that make you feel free and invincible. But now, standing at the edge of the field, the chain-link fencing looks shorter, the goals less daunting, and the turf more contrived—newer, more synthetic, missing the patches of wear and uneven grass that seem like the field’s imperfections were secrets shared only with you.

You’re struck by how time skews memory. Is it really this contained, or is this just another reminder of how the magic of youth magnifies everything? Back then, the setting sun behind the hills paints the whole world in gold, and the air always seems fresher, tinged with the earthy smell of grass and sweat. Now, as the same sun filters through the fence, casting sharp geometric shadows, it feels less grand, more staged—as if the past doesn’t belong here anymore.

The drive here is steeped in silence, a comfortable one, though tinged with anticipation. Alexia leans against the passenger window, her profile illuminated by the last of the daylight. She isn’t glued to her phone like most people would be; instead, she keeps her eyes on the world beyond the glass, mind wandering to a place you wish you could join her. Every so often, you catch her glancing at you—not suspiciously, but with a curiosity that she doesn’t voice. You think she’s learned to trust your mysteries, to follow where you lead, even when you offer no explanation.

You don’t tell her where you’re taking her. She doesn’t ask either, though the slight tightening of her lips gives away that she’s thinking about it. It isn’t a long drive—twenty-five minutes if you discount the wrong turn past the industrial estate. You hadn’t planned to drive at all; Barcelona’s public transport is convenient, reliable, and environmentally conscious. But today feels like a day for small indulgences, for moments steeped in intention.

The Aston Martin DBX707 isn’t the kind of car you use often; its polished bottle-green exterior and tan leather interior scream opulence in a way you sometimes find embarrassing. It isn’t about practicality or subtlety—it’s about craftsmanship, the pure indulgence of owning something that serves no greater purpose than being exceptional. Alexia doesn’t comment on it when you pick her up, though you notice the way her fingers linger over the stitching on the door handle, tracing the lines absentmindedly, as if she’s trying to understand it through touch alone.

When you park just outside the gates of the Espanyol academy grounds, she finally speaks. “You’re being weird,” she says, her voice light but edged with curiosity. Her outfit mirrors her casual confidence—black jeans that brush the laces of her shoes, a white cropped t-shirt that looks effortlessly styled, and a leather jacket that has clearly seen years of wear. It isn’t flashy, but on her, it might as well be runway-ready. The thin gold bracelet on her wrist—a birthday gift from you two years ago—catches the fading sunlight with every movement.

You smile, stepping out of the car and sliding on your jacket. It’s one of those late-March evenings where the air is crisp but not cold, hovering just on the edge of warmth. “You’ll see,” you reply, your tone deliberately vague.

The grounds are quieter than you remember, almost reverent in the stillness. The sleek building that replaces the old equipment shed gleams in the light, its glassy windows reflecting the hills beyond. Everything looks new, improved, as if the years have smoothed over the rough edges you’ve grown to love. Even the pitches seem more uniform, the kind of green that’s cultivated with care rather than worn down by eager feet.

As you walk, Alexia trails a step behind, her eyes roaming the space with a mix of recognition and disbelief. “This is—” she starts, her voice catching. Then she stops, as if finishing the thought might make it too real.

“Where we met,” you say simply, stepping onto the grass.

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she stands still at the edge of the pitch, her hands sliding into the pockets of her jacket. Her gaze is distant, fixed somewhere between the past and the present. “I haven’t been here in years,” she murmurs finally. Her tone is quiet, almost introspective, like she’s speaking more to herself than to you.

For her, this place is sacred. It’s the foundation of everything she’s built—the trophies, the accolades, the flint of the unwavering respect of millions. For you, it’s a piece of your past, formative but fleeting. Yet standing here now, you realise how deeply intertwined your histories are.

You walk toward the center of the pitch, the turf soft beneath your shoes. You’ve chosen your outfit with care: tailored charcoal-grey trousers, a crisp white shirt, and suede loafers that are entirely impractical but precisely the point. Alexia follows, her steps slower, more measured, as if each one carries a memory she hadn’t expected to confront today.

“Do you remember the first thing you said to me?” you ask when you reach the center circle.

She squints slightly, her expression softening as she searches her memory. “I told you to shoot,” she says at last.

“And it was terrible,” you add, a grin breaking through your composure.

“It was,” she admits, a quiet laugh escaping her. But her smile lingers, her eyes meeting yours with something deeper—a shared understanding, a recognition of how far you’ve come.

You reach into your pocket, the small velvet box heavy against your palm. This isn’t impulsive; you’ve rehearsed this moment in your head a hundred times. But no amount of planning can prepare you for the way her gaze shifts, the subtle widening of her eyes as she begins to realise what’s happening.

Look,” you start, your voice a little rougher than you intended, “I’m not great at this stuff. You know that. But I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and… here we are”

Her eyes flick to the box before you’ve even opened it, and she straightens slightly, her breath catching just enough for you to notice.

“This place—it’s where we met. It’s where all of this started. And I figured, if I’m going to do something as ridiculous as this…” You flip the box open, revealing the ring. The diamond catches the last of the light, though it feels absurdly shiny for how grounded she is. “…then I should at least do it here”

She blinks, her lips parting as though she’s about to speak, but she doesn’t. So you keep going.

“I love you,” you say, the words blunt, unembellished. “You already know that. And I don’t think there’s a version of my life that makes sense without you in it. So… will you marry me?”

For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind skimming over the turf. Then she steps forward, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a grin so wide it’s almost smug.

“Yes,” she says simply, as though the answer was never in doubt.

Your hands are steady as you slide the ring onto her finger, the weight of the moment settling between you like a tangible force. She steps closer, her arms wrapping around your waist, her face pressing into your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

“It felt right,” you reply, your hand brushing over her hair. “It’s always been you, Alexia”

[teamatsumu]

kinktober 2023 -> day 3

phone sex - oikawa tooru x reader

word count: 1,061

kinktober masterlist

The hallway was alive with chatter, and you were sure you would have missed your phone ringing in the noise if it wasn’t already in your hand. You frowned at the contact name, confused why your boyfriend was calling you. According to your calculations, it was almost midnight in Argentina right now, so why was he awake?

“Tooru?” You answered, using a finger to plug your other ear so you could hear him better over the noise of the students crowding your university hallways. You could barely make out shuffling on the other end of the line, before Oikawa’s familiar voice broke through.

“Heyyyy.” He whined, immediately following it with a giggle. You rolled your eyes and felt your lip twitch with amusement.

“Tooru, why are you still up?” You hiked your bag higher on your shoulder as you made your way through the halls. “You have practice tomorrow.”

You heard a thud on the line, followed by a curse. “I missed you, Y/N-chan~”

Oh. You sighed when the realization hit you. “Are you drunk?”

“No!” Came the instant reply. “Only a little tipsy.”

You bit back a laugh at how indignant he sounded. There was another thud and another curse, this time in Spanish, and your lips twitched in amusement.

“You okay there, champ?” You teased, almost imagining Oikawa stumbling around his home.

“‘M just tryna get out of these damn clothes.” He mumbled, before you heard another soft thump and a relieved sigh.

“Finally in bed?” You asked. “Get some rest now.”

“Nooo..” Oikawa trailed off. “Talk to me. I miss you.”

You sighed. “You need to get up super early tomorrow, baby. And I know you’re tired. You need to sleep.”

“I miss your face.” Oikawa continued talking, as if he hadn’t even heard you. You weren’t surprised. Sober Oikawa was hard enough to deal with, drunk Oikawa was insufferable.

“If you were here, I would cuddle you.” He rambled on. “You’d feel so good against me right now. Y’know I’m completely naked? Bet you’d be naked too if you were here. God, I’d just dip my fingers into your pussy to see how we-”

“Tooru!” You yelled, eyes nearly popping out of your head at how the conversation (one-sided as it was) took a turn. You cursed internally when a few people turned around to look at you at the noise, frantically looking around for a more private place. You ducked into the door which said ‘restroom’ on it, mere feet away from where you were standing. The noise from the hall faded away.

“What the hell?” You continued, walking closer to the sinks, relieved that the bathroom was empty.

“I’m horny!” Your boyfriend whined on the other end.

“Well, I can’t do anything about that right now!” You snapped, checking the stalls to see that they were also thankfully empty.

“Yes you can!” He shot back. “C’mon, tell me what you’re wearing.”

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. This fucker. “I’m at uni, Tooru. Be serious.”

“Please, baby.” He whined again, though this time it was more breathy. Your eyes widened when you realized he was probably touching himself. “‘M so hard. And it’s been so long. God, I miss your body. I miss your voice.”

You felt yourself clench at the thought of Tooru running his hand over himself right now. You looked around at the completely empty bathroom, biting your lip in contemplation. Were you really going to do this?

One more image of Oikawa laid out naked and turned on, of his glorious body and roughed up chestnut hair, was enough for you to make your decision.

“Okay.” You breathed out. “Hold on.”

You rushed to lock the bathroom door, moving into a stall and locking that too for extra measure. “Fuck, okay.”

“Talk to me.” You heard him on the other end, almost begging. You sighed and pushed your hand into your pants, biting your lip when your fingers brushed your clit. This was going to be quick and messy, you could already tell.

“I’m,” you gulped. “I’m touching myself.”

A groan. “Yeah?” He sounded so wrecked already. God. You realized in that moment how badly you had missed him too.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Touching my clit. Feels good.”

Oikawa cursed. “Keep going, baby. Push down harder. Then put a finger inside.”

You followed his instructions, allowing yourself to let out a little moan at the feeling of being filled, albeit only slightly.

“God, I can imagine you right now.” Oikawa rambled on, and you could almost hear the sound of his hand moving, slightly wet, probably from the precum. “Bet you’re already soaking for me, aren’t you? Bet you miss my cock.”

“I do!” You whined, now fully immersed and overcome with pleasure, sliding another finger inside your hole. “‘S not the same, Tooru. Miss your big cock. Miss being filled to the brim.”

“S-shit, baby.” His voice sounded so broken, and it pushed you even closer to the edge. “I miss your pussy all the time. Can’t wait to get back and fuck you until you can’t walk. God, I’m gonna ruin you. Just let me come back. Let me come back.”

His ramblings were getting nonsensical, but his voice was wrecked and you moaned at the sound, your orgasm building far quicker than you anticipated, your movement growing frantic.

“Tooru, I’m so close.”

“M-me too. Fuck. C’mon baby, come all over your fingers like a good girl. You do that and I’ll give you my cock when I get back. I’ll fuck you five different ways. Just come for me right now, Y/N. Come.”

You moaned as your orgasm finally hit, letting Oikawa talk you through it with his silver tongue. You listened as he announced his own release, getting off on the sound of his curses and broken groans and using them to prolong your own orgasm. By the time you were done, you were sweaty and out of breath.

All was silent for a few minutes as you readjusted your clothes, putting your phone to your ear once again and not hearing anything except Oikawa’s steady breathing. You nearly snorted.

Bastard fell asleep immediately after cumming. Figures.

You dropped him a goodnight text before ending the call, unlocking the door and going about your way as if nothing had happened in the bathroom stall.

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartzz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi i @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

[lostsyren]

PLEASE dad Rafe, where Sofia is like a Pilates mom trophy wife and she and Rafe have kids and UGHHHHHHHHHH traditional rich family like Rafe would have. Maybe a little bit of angst with some kids telling the kids things like "your mom was a Pogue" that they heard from their moms or whatever.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ family

{summary: rafe and sofia are now married with two kids, both trying to navigate the tricky waters of parenthood}

{a/n: i’m sorry this took so long but i hope you enjoy it!}

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡

Rafe never thought he’d be able to have this. Someone like him blessed with something so pure?

The house was filled with noise. Gone were the silent, eerie hallways of Tannyhill, haunted by the memory of a broken family and cursed reputation. Rafe had forged his own home– made a new family.

And he had Sofia to thank for that. Her laughter bounced off the walls, a sound he’d happily get drunk off of. But it wasn’t just her voice in the medley. Bright, chirping babbles, the patter of little footsteps…

“Daddy!” A little voice called out.

Rafe was in his bedroom, buttoning up his shirt, ready to head out to the office, when the door swung open, revealing his little daughter waddling inside.

“Hey baby aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for school?” He cooed, going to pick her up.

Sofia entered a moment later, still wrapped in her dressing gown, “sorry, she’s being a real nightmare today, aren’t you, chiquita?” Sofia said, with a faux, playful anger.

“Don’t you have your Pilates thing this morning?” Rafe asked, after pressing a quick kiss against Sofia’s cheek.

“I do, let’s see if I make it,” she huffed, taking their daughter into her arms. “¿Estás vestido?” She called out to their oldest. (She was trying to teach him Spanish).

“Yes mom!” He yelled back from his room across the landing, in that exasperated tone befitting of a pre-teen.

After Rafe and Sofia got married, she quickly became pregnant. It wasn’t planned, the whole ordeal both exciting and terrifying. The couple were graced a beautiful baby boy, the spitting image of Rafe, who they named Leo.

Seven years later, and they were once again blessed, this time with a daughter, Eliza, who was now a boisterous five year old, starting kindergarten.

Rafe and Sofia remained in the Outer Banks, despite Rafe’s desires to leave. Sofia wanted to stay close to her family, and have the children’s grandparents nearby. Leo and Eliza also loved to spend time with their cousins, Valerie and JJ (John B and Sarah’s kids,) who lived where the old Chateau used to be– a new development spearheaded by Rafe, being built there as a gift to his sister.

So they stayed on the little island of Kildare, Rafe forsaking his tumultuous past for the sake of his family.

His family.

He still couldn’t quite believe it even after more than a decade.

“You get ready for your class, I’ll drop the kids off, yeah?” He suggested, noticing Sofia’s increasingly worried expression.

“But then you’ll be late,” her mouth pulled into a stark frowned as she held Eliza on her hip.

“You can’t be late when you’re the boss,” Rafe smirked, to which Sofia rolled her eyes playfully.

“Listen to your father now ok baby?” Sofia warned, giving Eliza to Rafe.

“We’ll be fine, won’t we?” Rafe grinned down at Eliza, ruffling his daughter hair. She’d inherited her mother’s chestnut curls, hazel eyes, and wide, sunny smile that lit up any room she waddled into.

Rafe left Sofia in the bedroom so she could change, heading to his son’s room.

“You ready kiddo?” He called rapping his knuckles on the door.

Leo exited a moment later, “where’s mom?” He asked.

“She’s got Pilates on this morning, so I’m taking you and Eliza to school.”

Leo was just about to turn thirteen, evident in his moody, brooding demeanour. Sofia often told Rafe not to worry, that it was normal. But Rafe couldn’t help but see himself in his son. He remembered how he was like at that age– alone, misunderstood. He’d hate for Leo to feel the same.

“Go grab you and your sister’s backpacks bud and I’ll meet you by the truck.”

The three of them all headed downstairs, Leo grabbing the school bags, Eliza slipping on her shoes and Rafe grabbing the car keys.

Just as they were about to all head out, the front door wide open, Sofia came down the stairs, looking like a vision in her skin tight workout gear.

Fuck. Even after fourteen years, Rafe was smitten.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” She teased, approaching them with a glorious smile. Sofia knelt down, pressing Eliza’s face with kisses.

“Come here Leo, you too,” she teased, bundling him up in a hug.

She stood up, ruffling Leo’s hair with a playful touch. “Trabaja duro en la escuela, ¿vale?”

Leo rolled his eyes, “yes mom I will.”

“En español por favor,” Sofia chastised.

Leo rolled his eyes yet again, “Sí, lo haré.”

“Gracias, cariño. Now go, don’t want you to be late.”

Rafe gazed at this with a soft smile, his heart suffuse with an overflowing warmth.

“What– no kiss for me huh?” He probed, his eyes roving Sofia’s figure shamelessly.

“Ew dad, can you not?” Leo groused, grabbing his sisters hand and tugging her on to the porch.

Sofia and Rafe ignored his juvenile rumblings, Rafe’s hands sliding around her hips as he pulled her into a quick, firm kiss.

“Love you,” he said, softly.

“Te amo,” she replied with a sly grin, “now go before Leo throws up.”

“How does he think he ended up here huh?” Rafe joked, tightening his grip on her hips

“Oh shush, they’re gonna be late.”

So Rafe compiled, bucking Eliza into the car seat in the back, whilst Leo jumped up front.

“Wave bye to your mom,” he instructed, pulling out the driveway, as Sofia waited by the front door.

The early air was balmy and sweet, and, like he did every morning, Rafe thanked the higher powers above for the blessing which he had the fortune of calling his family.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡

“Rafe, you have to come to the school now, Leo just got into a fight.” Sofia’s voice called from the other end of the phone line, her usually calm and breezy tone now panic-stricken.

Rafe left the office, heading down to the school district, his fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel.

He recalled getting into fights at Leo’s age, in some messed up plea for Ward’s attention. The sudden recollection of his own father sent chills through his terse body– he hadn’t thought about him in years. Sofia had put the spiralling introspection to rest, back when he had found about the pregnancy. Questions of his own imminent fatherhood had plagued him– the prospect of becoming like Ward Cameron, a man who he loved and hated all at the same time, the possibility of hurting his kids in the same way his father had hurt him. After nearly a decade, these poisonous insecurities returned with a corrosive force. They decimated the confines of his mind that he’d so carefully constructed to keep the thoughts at bay.

So lost in multiplying thoughts, Rafe was surprised at how fast he reached the school. The school was the kook academy, a playfully moniker from his youth. Sofia was hesitant to send them to a private school, but Rafe persisted, wanting his kids to have the best of the best.

Jumping out the truck, Rafe made a beeline for the reception, relieved to see Sofia’s car already parked there.

The receptionist led him round back to where the principal’s office was. Ms Wilson was already talking to Sofia and Leo when he entered, the conversation stilling to a halt at his arrival.

Sofia glanced around at Rafe, still dressed in her leggings and zip up jacket. Her brows were cinched, mouth caught in a small frown. She seemed more anxious than angry– unlike Rafe, who brewed with a silent rage.

“Mr Cameron, I’m glad you could join us,” the principal announced, inviting him to take a seat in the vacant chair.

He simply grunted in response.

“As I’ve informed Mrs Flores, Leo was involved with an altercation with another student at recess.”

“Altercation? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Rafe, cálmate,” Sofia scolded.

“There’s no need for the expletives Mr Cameron. Leo punched another child and held him down– his teacher had to pull him off.”

“This true Leo?” Rafe looked down at his son, whose face was covered by long strands of dark blonde hair. He was silent, playing with the skin on his nails.

Rafe tensed his jaw. “I asked you a question kid.”

“Yes it’s true.” He mumbled in response.

“As per school policy, Leo is to face one week suspension. He’s usually exceptionally behaved, so I will reduce the time to only three days seeing as this was a one off thing.”

“Thank you Mrs Wilson, Leo is very sorry for what happened,”Sofia said in earnest.

Rafe glanced at Leo, who looked the opposite of apologetic. He instead saw the same firey, blue resolve in his son’s eyes that perturbed him. It was like looking in some twisted mirror, the reflection stark and undeniable.

“What did the other kid do to provoke him huh?” Rafe pushed, tapping his foot against the carpeted floors of the pristine office.

“The other child in question said the attack was unprovoked, and Leo is not disputing that.”

Rafe simply hummed in dissatisfaction. “Is that all then?”

“If you have no further questions, then you’re free to take Leo home,” Mrs Wilson looked between Leo and his father, warily.

“Thank you again,” Sofia simpered, picking up Leo’s bag for him.

“Come on,” Rafe muttered.

When the three of them left the school, Leo stuck by Sofia.

“I’ll drive him home, you can go back to work Rafe,” Sofia said, her hand reaching over to rest on Leo’s shoulder.

“No, we’re gonna have a serious talk about this, you understand Leo?”

He just looked at his father with those unblinking, blue eyes.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡

Rafe reached home after Sofia and Leo, seeing the car already parked in the driveway. When he entered the house, he heard muffled voices come from the living room. But when he entered, the conversation between Sofia and Leo came to a standstill.

“You wanna explain why you were in fight huh?” Rafe began, shucking off his suit jacket. He didn’t mean for his voice to sound so loud, but he couldn’t help it.

Leo once again was silent. It was Sofia who spoke instead, “Rafe, control your temper–“

“Why don’t you tell that to our son?”

Sofia’s eyes were watery, as if she was about to cry, “stop it, Leo had his reasons.”

Rafe paused for a moment– what reason?

Sofia went and took a seat next to her son. “The other kid, he was saying things, making fun of Leo�� that’s why he retaliated.”

Rafe’s face softened, extending his gaze towards his son, who sat motionless on the couch.

“What things?” Rafe asked, question directed to his wife.

But Sofia just shook her head, her dark hair falling into her eyes.

“What things were they saying kiddo?” Rafe approached his son, squatting down so they were eye level. Up close he could see the red rimming his eyes, as if he’d hastily wiped away the tears before Rafe had come in. The notion made Rafe’s heart sink.

Leo sniffed, darting his gaze away from his father. “Jared Richardson was going around saying I shouldn’t speak Spanish because that’s what housekeepers speak.”

“He said what? That little piece of shit.”

Leo’s gaze became darker, his pupils contracting, leaving only pure, distilled ice. “He also called mom a dirty pogue who came from the Cut. That’s when I punched him.”

Rafe’s rage multiplied, his molars pressing tightly against each other, the sound of grinding bone filling his ears.

Sofia had folded in on herself beside them, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Rafe reached one hand to rest on her knee, rubbing soothing circles across it, whilst the other hand raised to rest on Leo’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you say anything to the principal?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass mom.”

Sofia pushed away Rafe’s hand, rushing upstairs, leaving only Rafe and Leo in the living room.

“I didn’t want to upset mom either,” Leo whispered, the unwavering frigidity dissipating into a watery sadness.

Rafe was struck silent, not knowing what to say or do. “It’s good you defended your mom. That’s what family do– have each other’s backs, ok?”

Leo nodded, his lips contorting into a frown.

“And I know I was mad before. But I’m proud of you son, you hear me? You did a good and honest thing. Violence is never the answer, but sometimes it’s the only way– you gotta decide when is the right time to use it, ok?”

Leo nodded, taking his father’s words to heart. Rafe wondered if he was doing the right thing. Teaching his son force was sometimes a necessity? What kind of bullshit parenting was that? None of the hundreds of books and articles he’d read prior to Leo’s birth, said that. But he quashed away his qualms– he had faith that Leo knew what was right and honourable. After all, his mother was Sofia, and she was the most noble and righteous person he’d ever known.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you.”

“It’s ok dad, you didn’t know.”

Rafe felt his heart surge with a warm glow and and firey shame.

“You can go order some takeout. Grab something for your mom and me too, yeah?”

Leo nodded, before heading off towards the laptop. He seemed in better spirits.

Rafe sighed, standing up and walking upstairs to Sofia. Their bedroom was empty, the door to the en suite shut. He swallowed thickly, knowing how terrible she must’ve felt right now.

He knocked on the door, “Sof, it’s me.”

The door clicked open, Rafe slipping into the bathroom. Sofia was mess in of tears and sobs.

“Where’s Leo?” She asked, hands still gripping her sides.

“I told him to go order some food.”

Sofia sniffed, quelling her cries. “How is he? What did you say to him.”

“He’s ok. I apologised for shouting.”

Sofia nodded, a fresh wave of tears welling in her waterline.

Rafe furrowed his brows, his lips frowning in sympathy, “come here baby,” he murmured.

Sofia let out a shuddering breath, letting Rafe’s embrace muffle her whimpers. His hands slowly unfurled her tense grip from kneading her skin, leading her arms to wrap around his waist instead.

“I feel so terrible, like it’s my fault Leo was in trouble.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s Jared Richardson’s and his shitty parents fault, ok?”

Sofia moved away from the plane of his chest, looking up at him with wispy, tear-beaded eyelashes. “Maybe I shouldn’t have made them learn Spanish.”

Rafe shook his head vehemently, “stop it. You did nothing wrong. Don’t blame yourself for some asshole kid ok?”

“You’re right, it’s just hard to know my son is getting made fun of because me,” she said softly, her lips trembling.

Rafe pressed a kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries, “you’re the best mother anyone could ever ask for Sofia. Leo and Eliza see it, I see it. Be kind to yourself– that’s what you always tell me huh?”

Sofia laughed, her eyes shining bright like two pennies, “you listen to what I say?”

“Occasionally,” he quipped, brushing away the strands of hair that were stuck to her brine soaked cheeks.

Sofia sniffed, shaking away her tears. “Ok, I���ll go speak to Ms Wilson tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan, I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t think she likes you very much,” Sofia teased with an impish giggle.

“I won’t say anything this time!” The two faded in and out of laughter.

“Thank you Rafe,” Sofia said, puncturing their comfortable silence. She ran her lithe hands up and down his back.

“For what?”

“For making me feel like I’m a good mom.”

“You are a good mom.”

“And you’re a good dad.”

Rafe shook his head. It was almost instinct. The ingrained, virulent denial.

“You’re not like him. You’re more than he ever was. As a man and as a father, ok?” Sofia declared, voice soaked in resolve.

She didn’t have to say his name for Rafe to know who she was talking about– Sofia knew of Ward Cameron and his contentious relationship with his son. A bond that hung heavy over Rafe’s mind.

“Ok Sof,” he whispered, voice barely a rasp. He conceded, giving in to her saccharine words and convincing tone. Maybe he was better. All he could do was try, with every fibre of his being and morsel of his spirit. He’d do better. Be better. For Sofia, Leo and Eliza.

Sofia squeezed his hand tightly, grounding him in reality. “Now come on, let’s go before Leo orders the entire menu.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡

[miraraeblog]

MiraRae's Royal Tropes & Legacy Challenge (aka The Royalty Challenge)

You can find the video where I go over the challenge and share images from my own attempt at the challenge here.

Here’s the overview, general rules, and cultural suggestions for your 10-generation Sims 4 royalty challenge. This challenge focuses on celebrating different cultures while allowing flexibility based on available packs and gameplay preferences.

Sims 4 Royalty Challenge Rules and Overview

Overview

No CC or mods required

This 10-generation challenge builds a diverse and culturally inspired royal legacy. Starting with Windenburg (or another world of your choosing), each generation introduces a new royal family and unique storyline, encouraging players to explore different cultures within The Sims 4. Packs are recommended to enrich gameplay but are adaptable based on availability.

Required and Optional Packs

Required: Get Famous and Get Together for fame, Windenburg, and the club system.

Optional (Choose at least 3-4 for added cultural depth):

Island Living (Sulani, Hawaiian-inspired)

Snowy Escape (Mt. Komorebi, East Asian-inspired)

High School Years (Copperdale, Native American-inspired) or Horse Ranch (Chestnut Ridge, Native American-inspired)

Wedding Stories (Tartosa, Spanish/Portuguese-inspired)

For Rent (Tomarang, Southeast Asian-inspired)

Love Struck (Enamorada, Latin American-inspired)

Life and Death (Ravenwood, Romania-inspired)

Note: If certain packs aren’t available, substitute suggested cultures/worlds with other packs/worlds you have available. You can also

Click here for a list of suggested cultural traditions and events for each kingdom

General Rules

Starting Funds: Each family begins with 1 million simoleons to simulate royal wealth. (type "money 0" then "money 1000000" in the cheats bar)

Weekly Stipend: The primary royal family receives $100K every Sunday (type "money 100000" in the cheats bar), symbolizing royal taxes or revenue. During the financial hardship generation, this stipend is suspended.

Fame Requirements: Each main family’s heir should ideally achieve "Global Superstar" fame before they take the throne, marking them as worthy in the eyes of their royal peers. If an heir ascends to the throne without this status, they face skepticism from other royals, who may question their worthiness. Use Mean interactions from other royals, such as Mock Celebrity Level or Insult, to show this tension.

Succession: If the reigning monarch dies, the heir immediately ascends the throne, regardless of whether they’ve reached "Global Superstar" or completed other personal goals. If this happens, the new monarch can still work to achieve "Global Superstar" while ruling but must endure the added challenge of earning respect from other kingdoms.

Marriage Dowries: Royal marriages bring in $200K, noble marriages bring in $100K (nobles must be descendants of other royal families), and no dowry is given for commoner marriages.

Interactions: Use Mean, Friendly, or Romance interactions as directed by each generation’s storyline to build relationships, rivalries, and romantic conflicts.

Click here for suggested titles by culture.

Generation Rules and Assigned Tropes with Clear Heir and Monarch Roles

Generation 1: Founding the Royal Line

Aspiration: Successful Lineage for the Windenburg king.

Trope: Establish alliances through arranged marriages.

Setup:

Create the Windenburg Royal Family: Start with a king and their spouse (either a queen, prince consort, or sovereign consort). Both should be young adults or adults. Assign the Successful Lineage aspiration to the king.

Enter Live Mode: Have the Windenburg royal couple conceive or adopt at least two children.

Raising the Heir:

Raise the children until they reach the child stage, focusing on building skills and preparing the heir for their future role.

Begin involving the children in clubs or other social events to start developing their social networks.

Introducing the Willow Creek Royal Family:

Once the Windenburg children reach the child stage, create a Willow Creek royal family with similarly-aged children. Set up a king and their spouse (either a queen, prince consort, or sovereign consort), who should also be young adults or adults. Assign the Successful Lineage aspiration to the Willow Creek king.

Arrange Friendships: Have the Windenburg and Willow Creek monarchs meet and develop a high friendship level to foster diplomatic trust.

Betrothal Arrangements:

Betroth the Windenburg heir to the second eldest Willow Creek child.

Betroth the younger Windenburg child to the Willow Creek heir, creating a dual alliance between the families.

Life Span and Succession:

Life Span: Playing on a short lifespan is recommended to help move the story along and set up future generations.

Succession: The Windenburg heir will ascend to the throne upon the current monarch’s death. To speed up this process, you may use cheats to arrange an early death for the monarch, allowing the heir to take over once the marriage alliances are secure.

Transition to Next Generation: The Windenburg heir becomes the new monarch after the current monarch’s death, with the Successful Lineage aspiration complete. This begins Generation 2.

Generation 2: The First Female Monarch

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim for the female heir, focusing on skill-building.

Trope: A female heir breaks tradition to rule.

New Royal Families: Create an Oasis Springs royal family with a supportive female or non-binary ruler.

Setup:

Heir Requirement: The current monarch from Generation 1 should only have daughters, or the oldest child should be a girl. If there are older boys, arrange accidental deaths when they are infants or toddlers using cheats so that the female heir is next in line.

Societal Challenge: Other royals and commoners, particularly from Willow Creek, may treat the female heir with less respect, creating added challenges. This represents societal resistance to a female ruler.

Heir’s Goals Before Ascending:

Alliance with Oasis Springs: Develop a strong relationship with her betrothed from the Oasis Springs royal family, whose monarch is supportive of a female heir.

Skill Development: Reach "Global Superstar" fame and max out three skills (suggested: Charisma, Logic, and Writing).

Proving Worth: Complete the Renaissance Sim aspiration to showcase her abilities. Unlike previous heirs, she does not need to maintain positive relationships widely, as her success is based on accomplishments rather than likability.

Monarch’s Goals:

Establish the female heir as a capable and skilled leader, respected for her talents rather than societal approval.

Transition to Next Generation: Once the heir becomes monarch, having completed her aspiration and skill goals, move on to Generation 3.

Generation 3: Sibling Rivalry

Aspiration: Leader of the Pack for both the eldest (heir) and younger sibling.

Trope: Sibling rivalry challenges succession.

New Royal Families: Add a Sulani royal family if Island Living is available.

Setup:

Family Requirement: The current monarch (from Generation 2) should have at least two children. The firstborn is designated as the heir.

Life Span: Play on short lifespan until the oldest child reaches their teen birthday, then switch to normal lifespan.

Sibling Rivalry:

From childhood, the younger sibling initiates Mean interactions with the heir to create rivalry and tension.

The younger sibling tries to gain favor with the monarch, using Friendly interactions to turn the monarch’s opinion against the heir.

Heir’s Goals Before Ascending:

Club Leadership: Both the heir and younger sibling should pursue the Leader of the Pack aspiration by forming a club with other royals. The heir must work to become the respected leader of this club, gaining influence and support.

Romantic Alliance: As teens, the heir must develop a romantic relationship with a royal from Sulani and secure a betrothal.

Proving Worthiness: Build friendships with the monarchs of Sulani, Oasis Springs, and Willow Creek to prove the heir’s diplomatic abilities.

Fame Requirement: The heir must reach "Global Superstar" fame before becoming a young adult to secure their position.

Monarch’s Goals:

Encourage unity among siblings while assessing their skills and alliances. The monarch will ultimately decide which child is worthy based on their accomplishments and relationships.

Consequences of Success or Failure:

If the heir completes all goals before reaching young adulthood, they ascend as monarch, while the younger sibling becomes a low-ranking noble or commoner.

If the heir fails, the younger sibling is appointed as the new heir, and the eldest becomes a low-ranking noble or non-royal.

Transition to Next Generation: The designated heir ascends the throne after their mother dies and completion of the Leader of the Pack aspiration, beginning Generation 4.

Generation 4: Forbidden Love

Aspiration: Soulmate for the heir.

Trope: The heir defies tradition by falling for a commoner.

New Royal Families: Add a Mt. Komorebi royal family if Snowy Escape is available.

Setup:

Family Dynamics: The monarch from the prior generation could only conceive one child, increasing the stakes for the heir’s choice of partner.

Life Span: Play on a short lifespan until the heir reaches their teen years, as this is when the storyline begins.

Heir’s Goals Before Ascending:

Forbidden Romance: Develop a relationship with a commoner through Romance interactions, defying the monarch’s arranged match with a Mt. Komorebi royal.

Commoner’s Challenge: The commoner must work to max out their Charisma, achieve "Global Superstar" fame, and attain a pristine reputation before reaching young adulthood. If they fail, the heir will be forced to marry the Mt. Komorebi royal.

Aspiration Completion: Complete the Soulmate aspiration by strengthening the relationship between the heir and the commoner, focusing on emotional depth and commitment.

Family and Political Obstacles:

Monarch’s Disapproval: The monarch discovers the relationship and expresses their disapproval with Mean interactions toward both the heir and the commoner.

Rivalry with Mt. Komorebi Royal: The Mt. Komorebi royal (or a substitute family from another available world) becomes a rival, using Mean interactions and spreading rumors about the commoner to complicate their relationship with the heir.

Transition to Next Generation: The heir ascends as monarch after securing their chosen relationship and completing their goals, beginning Generation 5.

Generation 5: Financial Hardship

Aspiration: Assign Fabulously Wealthy to the heir (the one who experienced forbidden love in the previous generation) only after they become monarch and the financial hardship begins.

Trope: The royal family faces financial struggles.

New Royal Families: If High School Years or Horse Ranch is available, add a Native American-inspired family in Copperdale or Chestnut Ridge.

Setup:

Marriage Alliance: When the monarch's heir is a teen or young adult, arrange a marriage with a royal from Copperdale, Chestnut Ridge, or another available kingdom to support future alliances.

Financial Hardship Begins:

Depletion of Wealth: Once the sim who experienced forbidden love in the last generation becomes monarch, reduce household funds to $50K (type "money 0" then "money 50000" in the cheats bar), simulating an economic depression.

Aspiration Activation: Assign the Fabulously Wealthy aspiration to the new monarch as they begin the struggle to restore financial stability.

Sunday Income Suspension: The family no longer receives the weekly $100K income, making them rely solely on career earnings, marriage dowries, and resourcefulness.

Monarch’s Goals:

Career and Earnings: Family members, including the monarch, must join careers and earn money. They may also sell off valuable items from the castle.

Marriage Dowries: Marry off children strategically to nobles or royals, bringing in dowries to aid household finances.

Wealth Restoration: Complete the Fabulously Wealthy aspiration by reaching a total of 1 million simoleons to ensure a stable future for the next generation.

Consequences for Failing to Restore Wealth:

If the family fails to reach 1 million simoleons by the monarch’s death, they will forfeit the weekly stipend for the rest of the challenge, adding difficulty for subsequent generations.

Transition to Next Generation: Progress to Generation 6 once the monarch has died and the family’s wealth has been restored, securing the legacy for future heirs.

Generation 6: Tragic Loss

Aspiration: Friend of the World for the heir (motivated by the tragic loss of their elder sibling).

Trope: A tragic loss leads to an unexpected succession.

New Royal Families: If Wedding Stories is available, introduce a Tartosa royal family.

Setup:

Sibling Bond: The eldest sibling and second eldest (now heir) are best friends, making the sudden loss more difficult to bear.

Unexpected Tragedy: The eldest sibling dies as a teenager, and the suggested causes could be a fire or accidental death from extreme heat, cold, or anger (symbolizing a sudden heart condition).

Heir’s Journey Before Ascending:

Personality Shift: Before the tragedy, the second eldest was cheerful and lighthearted, likely in a relationship with a noble or minor royal, as their betrothal was not a high priority.

Transformation after Loss: After the sibling’s death, the heir adopts the Gloomy trait, reflecting a sorrowful and serious new outlook on life. They lose their lightheartedness, straining their relationship with their former sweetheart, who struggles to understand their new disposition.

New Betrothal: The heir is betrothed to a Tartosa royal who was possibly intended for their late sibling. This new match brings empathy and companionship that resonates with the heir’s grief.

Heir’s Goals:

Aspiration and Friendships: Complete the Friend of the World aspiration by building meaningful friendships as a way to honor their late sibling’s memory.

Skill and Fame: Catch up on skills and achieve "Global Superstar" fame, reflecting their dedication to fulfilling the role their sibling left behind.

Monarch’s Goals:

As monarch, focus on building alliances and nurturing friendships, creating a legacy of compassion and unity inspired by the bond with their lost sibling.

Transition to Next Generation: The heir becomes monarch after completing the aspiration and building a strong support network, leading into Generation 7.

Generation 7: Betrayal and Unity

Aspiration: Assign Neighborhood Confidant to the heir only after they become monarch; Chief of Mischief for the betrayer (optional).

Trope: Attempting to unify kingdoms while facing betrayal from within.

New Royal Families: Add a Del Sol Valley royal family (Middle Eastern-inspired) or another available kingdom.

Setup:

Life Span: Play on short lifespan while the heir ages up, as most of the storyline occurs once they become monarch.

Betrothal: Arrange a betrothal between the heir and a royal from Del Sol Valley (or another available kingdom) to promote unity among kingdoms.

Heir’s Journey as Monarch:

Goal of Unity: Upon becoming monarch, the heir is assigned the Neighborhood Confidant aspiration with the goal of uniting the kingdoms through diplomacy, trust-building, and alliances.

The Betrayer: Create a royal advisor as the betrayer (alternatively, a sibling or member of the spouse’s family can be chosen). Play as the betrayer occasionally to sabotage the monarch’s reputation using Mischief interactions, Gossip, and Spread Rumors.

Betrayer’s Motivation: The betrayer might fear unification, have personal ambitions, or oppose the monarch’s influence. They work to undermine the monarch’s mission by sowing distrust and spreading rumors.

Monarch’s Goals:

Repair Reputation: Switch to the monarch’s perspective to counter the betrayer’s efforts, completing the Neighborhood Confidant aspiration by assisting others and winning back trust.

Reputation Requirement: The monarch must achieve and maintain a good or pristine reputation by the end of their reign. If they die with a poor reputation, their heir will inherit a negative reputation (use cheats if necessary).

Transition to Next Generation: Move to Generation 8 after the monarch’s death, with alliances and reputation intact or damaged, setting the stage for the next generation’s challenges.

Generation 8: Enemies to Lovers (or Friends)

Aspiration: Serial Romantic for the heir (switch to Soulmate or Friend of the World after completion).

Trope: Rivals in an arranged marriage who eventually develop a deep, genuine romance or friendship.

New Royal Families: Add either Tomarang (Southeast Asian-inspired) or Enamorada (Latin American-inspired).

Setup:

Life Span: Play on short lifespan until the heir becomes a teen, as the main storyline begins with their arranged marriage as young adults.

Arranged Betrothal: The heir is arranged to marry a royal from Tomarang or Enamorada, creating a union meant to strengthen alliances but marked by initial rivalry and tension.

Heir’s Journey Before Ascending:

Establishing the Rivalry: Use Mean interactions between the heir and their betrothed to create genuine resentment or frustration, establishing a rivalry rooted in clashing personalities.

Serial Romantic Aspiration: While still at odds with their betrothed, complete the Serial Romantic aspiration, pursuing other romantic interests to heighten the complexity of the arranged marriage dynamic.

Bastard Child: The heir should have a child with one of their romantic interests outside of the arranged marriage. This will setup for the next generation.

Character Growth and Friendship: After completing the Serial Romantic aspiration, work on building a strong friendship with their betrothed using Friendly interactions. This should create a foundation of trust and understanding before any romantic developments, if they choose that path.

Developing a Lasting Bond: After establishing a solid friendship, the heir can either pursue a romance by switching to the Soulmate aspiration or cultivate a supportive platonic bond by switching to Friend of the World. This bond, whether romantic or platonic, represents growth and mutual respect.

Monarch’s Goals:

If the heir becomes monarch before the “enemies to lovers” or friendship arc resolves, they should focus on presenting their relationship—whether romantic or platonic—as a symbol of harmony and unity for their kingdom.

Transition to Next Generation: Move to Generation 9 after the heir embraces their role as monarch and completes either the Soulmate or Friend of the World aspiration, establishing their relationship as a symbol of unity, through love or friendship, despite their turbulent beginning.

Generation 9: The Dark Monarch

Aspiration: Public Enemy for the dark monarch, driven by ambition, manipulation, and resentment.

Trope: A ruler with sinister ambitions and dubious alliances.

New Royal Families: If Life and Death is available, add a Ravenwood royal family (Romania-inspired), or substitute with another mysterious, gothic family.

Overview: The bastard child from Generation 8 ascends to the throne under controversial circumstances, using cunning and manipulation to establish their rule and assert a place in a family that once excluded them.

Setup:

Starting Role: Have the current heir marry into the Ravenwood royal family. Upon their marriage, shift focus to the illegitimate child who takes the throne.

Ambitions and Dark Interests: The new ruler harbors a fascination with hidden lore, arcane knowledge, or crypts. If Life and Death is available, they may have the Macabre trait, which fuels a desire to access Ravenwood’s hidden tomes and ancient secrets.

Pregnancy: Ensure the banished royal has a child during their exile, laying the foundation for the drama and redemption of Generation 10.

Heir’s Goals as Monarch:

Manipulative Relationships: Use Mean and Mischief interactions to destabilize alliances and assert dominance, ruling through fear and underhanded tactics.

Public Enemy Aspiration: Complete the Public Enemy aspiration by creating conflicts among allies, sowing distrust, and displaying a complete disregard for ethical rule.

Legacy of Fear and Exile: Establish a reputation of dominance and intimidation. To consolidate power, the dark monarch banishes the rightful heir and their family (including the former consort) to a distant world like Newcrest. This exile creates resentment and a desire for revenge among those banished.

Transition to Next Generation:

This setup leads to Generation 10, where the rightful heir’s descendants, now growing up in exile, seek to reclaim the throne and redeem the family’s reputation. Generation 10’s story will focus on taking back the kingdom and dismantling the dark legacy established by the previous ruler.

Generation 10: Restoration and Unity

Aspiration: Party Animal for the heir, reflecting their efforts to bring people together and restore the family’s reputation through gatherings and celebrations.

Trope: The rightful heir returns to repair the darkness introduced by the previous ruler, creating unity and peace across the kingdoms.

New Royal Families: Add any royal family not yet introduced from the list of optional kingdoms.

Overview: The exiled rightful heir returns with the support of an ally, using events, diplomacy, and celebrations to regain the throne and repair the family’s reputation.

Setup:

Would-Be Heir’s Background: Begin by playing as the rightful heir, raised in exile and determined to reclaim their family’s place. They develop a friendship and romance with a royal from a new or existing family, who helps them gain the support needed to reclaim the throne.

Alliance and Support: The romantic interest becomes a critical ally, leveraging their own influence to help the heir gain supporters across the kingdoms.

Heir’s Goals:

Gathering Support and Building Alliances: Use Friendly and Charisma interactions to build alliances and sway others to support the heir’s return.

Reclaiming the Throne: Rally allies, turn family members against the current ruler, and work to secure the throne peacefully or through a coup.

Restoration of Unity: Host frequent gatherings, celebrations, and diplomatic events to promote unity, rebuild alliances, and complete the Party Animal aspiration.

Symbolic Celebration: Host a final, grand celebration that brings all allied royals together, symbolizing the restoration of peace and trust across the kingdoms.

Monarch’s Goals:

As monarch, the heir continues to prioritize unity, ensuring the legacy of restoration and harmony is secure for future generations.

Challenge Conclusion:

The challenge concludes with the rightful heir fulfilling the Party Animal aspiration and hosting a unifying event that repairs the family’s reputation, securing a legacy of harmony and peace.

Optional Heir Training Requirements for Kids

These skills help develop the heir’s personality and abilities. Completing each skill offers unique benefits, while neglecting them may lead to challenges when the heir becomes monarch.

Toddler Skills (Foundation for Royal Training)

Benefits of Toddler Skills: Toddlers who excel in Communication, Imagination, Thinking, and Movement build strong foundations for future skills, improving confidence and early social connections, making them more adaptable and expressive as they grow.

School Performance for Heir Children

Grade A: Demonstrates discipline and intelligence. An "A" student is seen as a capable future leader, gaining confidence and public respect.

Grade B: Shows responsibility and diligence. A "B" student maintains a solid reputation, though not as outstanding as an “A” student.

Grade C or Lower: Indicates a lack of focus or rebelliousness, leading to doubts about the heir’s abilities. A "C" student may struggle with confidence and need to work harder to build a positive reputation as monarch.

Child Skills for Heirs

Core Skills

Creativity

Benefit: Enhances cultural sophistication. High Creativity allows the heir to host or attend artistic events confidently, boosting their public image.

Consequence: Low Creativity makes the heir appear out of touch with the arts, leading to lower public favor, especially among cultural allies.

Logic

Benefit: Essential for strategic thinking and decision-making, a high Logic skill ensures a capable and respected leader.

Consequence: Low Logic can make the heir appear impulsive or easily manipulated, weakening alliances and trust among advisors.

Charisma

Benefit: High Charisma makes the heir a persuasive speaker and well-liked by allies and subjects.

Consequence: Low Charisma results in awkward public appearances and difficulty gaining allies, leading to potential diplomatic challenges.

Secondary Skills (Choose 2-3)

Piano, Violin, or Pipe Organ (Choose One)

Benefit: Proficiency in an instrument adds elegance and discipline, helping the heir impress at royal gatherings.

Consequence: Lack of musical skill may lead to perceptions of the heir as rigid or less cultured.

Horseback Riding (Requires Horse Ranch)

Benefit: Represents physical fitness, courage, and a connection to tradition. Skilled riders gain favor with allies who value athleticism.

Consequence: Lack of riding skill may portray the heir as unadventurous, causing potential friction with more traditional or outdoorsy allies.

Singing

Benefit: Provides an entertaining and charismatic presence, enhancing public opinion and adding warmth to the heir’s image.

Consequence: Lack of singing skill may make the heir seem less approachable or expressive, affecting connections with commoners and allies.

Cross-Stitch or Knitting

Benefit: Demonstrates patience and creativity, appealing to those who value craftsmanship and dedication.

Consequence: No skill in these areas may make the heir seem impatient or uninterested in detailed work, affecting perceptions of their dedication.

Mischief

Benefit: A mischievous heir can navigate court politics and handle potential threats with ease, adding charm and cunning to their personality.

Consequence: Low Mischief skill makes the heir vulnerable to manipulation and may lead to difficulties in handling rivals or potential threats.

These skills allow heirs to grow with unique strengths and weaknesses, influencing their journey to become monarch based on their well-roundedness and adaptability.

[anghraine]

I had a longer, grumpier post about this that I've been drafting (it's past midnight but I'm delaying lying down for COVID+asthma reasons), but I actually do also find the raw quotes about Elizabeth at Pemberley pretty funny. Her impressions of the expensive interior are like:

It was a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy its prospect.

The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine,—with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.

Mrs Reynolds could interest her on no other point [than Darcy]. She related the subjects of the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the price of the furniture in vain.

they were shown into a very pretty sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness than the apartments below; and were informed that it was but just done to give pleasure to Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking to the room, when last at Pemberley. “He is certainly a good brother,” said Elizabeth, as she walked towards one of the windows.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth's impression of the land:

The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent. [...Pemberley was] backed by a ridge of high woody hills; and in front a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.

The hill, crowned with wood, from which they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight. As they passed into other rooms, these objects were taking different positions; but from every window there were beauties to be seen.

They entered the woods, and, bidding adieu to the river for a while, ascended some of the higher grounds; whence, in spots where the opening of the trees gave the eye power to wander, were many charming views of the valley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods overspreading many, and occasionally part of the stream. Mr Gardiner expressed a wish of going round the whole park, but feared it might be beyond a walk. With a triumphant smile, they were told, that it was ten miles round. It settled the matter; and they pursued the accustomed circuit; which brought them again, after some time, in a descent among hanging woods, to the edge of the water, and one of its narrowest parts. They crossed it by a simple bridge, in character with the general air of the scene: it was a spot less adorned than any they had yet visited; and the valley, here contracted into a glen, allowed room only for the stream, and a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice-wood which bordered it. Elizabeth longed to explore its windings; but when they had crossed the bridge, and perceived their distance from the house, Mrs Gardiner, who was not a great walker, could go no farther, and thought only of returning to the carriage as quickly as possible. Her niece was, therefore, obliged to submit

On reaching the house, they were shown through the hall into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. Its windows, opening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts which were scattered over the intermediate lawn.

[honestsycrets]

hi sy! first things first, you’re a fantastic writer. i am in LOVE with your western series! second, may i request an idea? it’s the 1920s, and miguel is one of the top mobsters in nueva york, while the reader is his mob wife. after an attempted hit from one of miguel’s rivals that nearly kills her and gabriella, the reader decides it’s time to her and little girl to skip town, but miguel will be damned if his family tries to leave him. cueeeee angst, drama, the whole shabang!

canary I: a threat | [miguel o'hara x reader x gabriel o'hara]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader, gabriel o'hara x reader

❛ type | double shot; 5k

❛ tags | non-monogamy, some angst, 1920s inspired piece, irish clan inspired piece, bootlegging and mention of hits, explicit, a depiction of killings, some jealousy, some trad-roles elements, f!reader, 1920s slang and Spanish not translated, time period birth control (cervical cap).

❛ sy’s notes | i have spent weeks staring at this piece. it's a bit longer than my usual works and for that reason i decided to split it up into two chapters. this piece takes on a little bit more of a generalized irish mob approach rather than italian. this chapter is more domestic than the subsequent one will be.

Miguel O’Hara hated it when his kills ran. No matter how many alleyways they ducked into, shoddily constructed fences they tumbled over, or crappy cars they tried to hitch a ride in, he always found them.

His fingers were blisteringly tight around his kill’s throat, sure to leave certain bruising if the man made it out alive. He wouldn’t. Not based on the blood that seeped over Miguel’s tanned hand. He gurgled underneath Miguel’s hand, the kill messier than he imagined. Any number of his hitmen could have carried out this contract but instead, his crisp white top was slathered in the contract kill of the week. He recalled the sudden memory of his hand on your slight waist, the kiss on the top of your head with the promise of his night. He snarled the memory away.

Should’ve just shot him, Miguel thought. Mierda.

With the fading of the man’s life, his choked grunts drifted into silence. Miguel allowed the man to slump over. Silence fractured, his world bursting with sound. The salt-laden wind whistled past his hair as ships sailed into the pier, carrying cargo, and his latest shipments. Bootlegged booze had its own benefits-- poor training and numbers among agents, for example. A crackle of an engine sped down the road was followed by the bright beams of an electric headlamp.

“¡Oye, Miguel!”

Of course. Under the bright moon that shone arrogantly in the dark sky, the figure came into focus. His polished suit was just a tad too big for his toned, but hardly muscular frame. Even in the darkness, he had the kind of smile that made people feel like they were the special ones. It matched the gentleness in his eyes behind that swoop of chestnut brown hair. If the feds published men of their color on army recruitment posters, he’d certainly make the cut. Handsome, but not too handsome. Strong, but not too strong.

“Gabe,” he breathed. “The lights.”

“Lights? The lights!” Gabriel looked back at his shiny black car. He bounced back toward the car, bellowing. “This a Spot boy? You did a number on him.”

“You sap. Could you be any louder?” Miguel threw aside. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you could use me tonight, big shot,” Gabriel said in that sugar-dipped tongue of his. It works less on Miguel than it had on you. It was oddly discomforting. As the days wore on, he loathed his brother’s silver tongue.

“I could use someone watching my girls.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I was. They're sleeping." Gabriel booted the man, more than minced meat when Miguel was done with him. “You had some beef with him, huh?”

“No.” Miguel mumbled, looking at the man’s body rather than his own, something sharp hovering there. There was nothing he wanted less than to stand in the biting cold listening to his baby brother prattle on a moment longer. He wiped his blade on his once-was-crisp slacks and slid it back into its sheathe. “Let’s hit it.”

“Jake,” Gabriel said, an annoying rendition of an okay. Gabriel was full of shitty terms from his stint in the big house. Almost as many as he picked up at Miguel’s speakeasy.

“Say. Miguel?”

Gabriel’s voice was soft, almost strained. Miguel caught his eyes, knowing subconsciously what his brother would say. He sucked in a breath to calm himself from a reaction to thin, sharp words. They balanced on the point of a knife as Gabriel spoke them into existence.

“They're our girls.”

This setup wasn't going to last. One day, you'd probably settle with Gabe. Miguel jerked up to the sensation of your fingers ghosting his chest, twiddling around his inky black chest hair, gliding across scars. He senses the source of his disquiet, your small frame draped over his side, watching him with a foreign curiosity.

“Muñeca?” he murmured sleepfully, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “What's it? Did Gabriel sleep in?”

He finds it hard to believe that his chirpy brother would do such a thing. Mornings were notoriously his favourite part of the day. Unlike Miguel, who shunned the light that streamed in from your thin curtains.

“Coppers took him in for questioning,” you murmured, leaning in to lay a small peckish kiss on his lips. That was quick. His eyes swept down to your lips, lingering there as you spoke. “Gabi said you’d come with me to iglesia.”

“Chingado. He passed the buck onto me.” Miguel groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow, weighed down by such a stupid request. You thumbed the golden necklace he’d forgotten to take off, gliding one of your legs up his hirsute thighs. He finds himself hiking your leg higher up his thigh. “That’s what you woke me up for?”

“‘Course not,” you muttered. “I missed you last night. Where’d you go off to?”

“To finish intake.”

You didn’t believe that.

“Promise it didn’t have nothing to do with what Gabi got carted off for?” He holds you in a working gaze, something that tells you he isn’t about to answer something like that. You are his woman. Yet, some secrets aren’t ones that he’s willing to disclose. It could put you in a compromised position. Most men, namely the Italian boys, had enough sense not to drag a man’s family into problems between the mob and the clan but in this world, not everyone had sense.

“Miguelito, you’re scaring me.” Your breath quickened, palpable with your chest against his. His large hand encompassed the middle of your back, guiding small, consolatory circles.

“Some things you’re better off not knowing,” Miguel worked at an explanation. Some things like the amount of hits he was getting for Spot boys. The booze going missing from the speakeasy. Some of his girls licked off the street. Just-- some things. “Got it?”

“Long as it’s not another dame,” you mumbled, fisting his necklace around your fist, dragging him forward for emphasis. A smile tugged at his lips, somehow pleased with your response. “What? You been out the house more times than not.”

“I share you with my brother,” Miguel worked the back of his neck. “Better that I skip town than hear you moaning for him. Might hem him up one of these days.”

You laugh-- but Miguel doesn’t find a lick of it funny.

“You got me now,” your hands drifted up to Miguel’s massive shoulders. “How ‘bout this. You fill me all up for church, wear that spiffy dark blue suit. Then we take Lyla out to get her some cherry coke at the apothecary’s. Maybe I’ll even sing you a whole song today if you’re lucky.”

Church, again. Miguel rattled a groan. Of course, he couldn’t have one day off from frateurinizing with people who hated the fuck outta him. Church folk. He didn’t know why you insisted on going with people who openly called you loose.

“Can do without one of those things.”

“If you want me, you go to iglesia, Miguelito.”

West-Side Violence at All-Time High! Italian Enforcer found dead! The West clan’s Gabriel O’Hara facing added charges on suspicion of--

Tch. You interrupted the scowl on his face with a well-placed kiss to his cheekbone, sliding a piping hot mug of Joe before him. Wafts of steam warmed his cheeks. You set down his morning’s breakfast, a plate loaded with fats. No tamales today, but baked beans from a few well-established Irish wives in the area. You wiped your greasy fingers off on a dirtied apron. Miguel stabbed a hunk of sausage as you spoke.

“Gabi’d never do that. They’re trying to hem him up like that capo last month,” your voice quaked, strutting back toward the cabinets. “It’s too personal. He’d… fill ‘em up with lead sure, but a stabbing? It just don’t make sense.”

Sure didn't. Miguel dropped the paper to the side of the oak table, tracing lines of worry that grew into spiderwebs of panic across your forehead. You spoke so feverishly in defense of Gabriel, whose absence was palpable. He often talked about the latest hired singer, sneaking behind your waist for kisses on your nape when Miguel could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning after pulling all-nighters.

“I have someone on it.”

“I bet Papa did it.” His daughter-- or Gabriel’s-- they were never quite sure. He glanced to his foot where Lyla sat. A full seven-year-old, Lyla was a spitfire of a thing, her hair in a bouncy bob topped by a silky ribbon. She glanced up from the dreidel she was spinning around and around. His lips pulled into a minced smile. “What? He’s a liar.”

“Miguel.”

Couldn’t even eat in peace.

“Lyla,” Miguel gestured toward the door. “Go wake up Maeve. Go on kid, get.”

That kid had a smart mouth. He watches her roll her eyes, only budging when you supply her with a hunk of pan dulce. She takes a mean bite, eyes locked on Miguel as she hopped out, somehow less bothered than she was a few seconds ago. You closed the metal door behind your daughter, a hand balled up on the bend in your waist as you watched her skip down the stairs and out of view.

“Most girls don’t talk like that about their papas,” you mumbled. Your arms crossed one over the other for support. “Does she hate him that much?”

“Most girls don’t grow up in the life.”

“Mi culpa.”

With his breakfast all but spoiled, Miguel pushed the plate away. His hand was soft on your waist, nose burrowed into your hair, tracing the notes of jasmine and rose, vanilla and sandalwood. The scent was unmarred by the stench of speakeasy smoke so early in the morning. Your hand came over his, steadying yourself from the rushing thoughts by leaning into his touch.

“I need a girl at the speakeasy tonight.”

Unlike his brother, Miguel’s requests rarely offer a tone of choice. It rolls off his tongue dry and hits your ear like a spike. Nothing about your relationship with Miguel was easy-- it was marred by the rivalry among the brothers-- and as you suspected-- interloping from your grandfather.

“Y Lyla?”

“Maeve is her nanny.”

“How can I step in there without Gabi?”

“He’d want you to. And I want to see you out of this dumb apron.”

“It isn’t dumb,” you pursed your lips, somehow more convinced despite your reservations. Most days, you spend the day in the house-- isolated from any life you came to Nueva York for. Any half-formed excuse that was on your tongue flopped. He nearly has you. “It is right dumb, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. What happened to my canary?”

“She met a pair of terrible brothers who don’t care for pulling out.”

“Don’t blame me.”

He pushed himself against your back, twiddling your fingers against the pantyhose that clothed your thighs. A smile tugged on your lips as Miguel leaned over to kick the front door shut, dipping onto his knees. It wasn’t often that he allowed you to ruin his perfect face before work. Today is a special treat.

But… if you thought back, you really should have.

Took a long time to get any mail from the island. Almost impossible.

In your hands is a sloppily penned letter-- You should be married to one of those boys-- your grandfather. He isn’t stupid enough to think that you’re opening this for the first time tonight, here and now, right in front of him. If you’re ‘reading’ it, you must be wanting him to take a hint. Miguel bent down, placed a kiss on your temple, gliding his hands over your own to place the letter onto the vanity.

He used those very same hands that were meant for maiming against the clasp of a set of pearls around your neck with gentle precision. His fingers coursed along the curls at your nape as he clasped them together.

“How long before your set?”

“Half an hour… maybe.” You stood to face him, pursing ruby-red lips, whispering in his mother’s tongue. He never liked it when his mother barked at him in Spanish, but when it's off your tongue, he knows how sweet it could be. Your hand inched its way over his chest, tracing the fat knot against his throat.

“What’s the issue?”

“I don’t-- feel very perfect. You have all these shebas out there--” women who not only knew how to sing but weren’t terribly mottled by stretchmarks or burdened by the eviscerating effect of motherhood. They’re beautiful, free canaries when they sing in his speakeasy. As much as you loved singing-- you felt shy on that ruby-red stage lately, before a dozen ruby tables and the hopping band.

“They’re to bring in the sugar.”

“Uh-huh, bring in the sugar until they take you away.”

“I’m satisfied.” Miguel took a step up, communicating the way he knew how, by settling his large hand over your jaw. His strong hand glided to your chin, urging you to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. Tied me down with Lyla as it is.”

“Words are just words. Why buy the…”

“Cow if you can get the milk for free, sí, I know what your grandfather says.” He slips into your chair. “Què quieres?”

“I don’t know, Miguelito. A promise. A marriage. Algo.”

“You want me to wife you up? Don’t remember ever talking about this.” He gestured you to come closer. You stepped up, knocking between his legs. Miguel’s gaze falters, chasing the glint of your tassels as they come to a stop.

“What’s the issue?”

“Nothing. I thought you’d ask Gabe.”

“Gabe gets around.”

“You believe those rumors.” You slap his large hands groping up your thighs, climbing over his lap like it was your throne. His massive frame eclipses the chair, suppressing your comparatively smaller frame. “And don’t think I do?”

“Do you?”

“No,” he laughs. Or, not recently. It’s hard being a father-- harder when he has a whole ass business to keep on top of. Most women wanted those things: jewels, a new pair of silk knickers, and a home. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

“Oh Miguelito,” he suckled your neck, drawing horrendous marks to the surface. Marks of his ownership in the absence of a ring. He hears the pleased hum of your voice, low and sweet, and knows that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“I haven’t put in my cap,” his fingers danced across the outside of your thighs, slipping past your stockings to your silken shorts. He slotted his fingers underneath the fabric, grazing his fingers through your neatly kept curls. Your breath came in deeper bursts as he melded his hand over your vulva, expecting you to grind back on him. You did, ever so eager for him.

“Don’t bother me with that,” he said in a low, husked voice. “You know how I feel about your birth control.”

It was your idea, primarily. Gabe was ever too content to simply be with you-- he didn’t need a large family like the rest of Miguel’s Irish clan. Four, six, sometimes more. Unlike Gabe, Miguel wanted the exact opposite. You shifted over his thigh, obeying his desire to have you ride him. Miguel urged your hips down, working his thumb over the precious button as you did. Miguel’s leg trembled up against your slit, bursts of warm friction warming your hungry body. With his slacks freshly cleaned, you worry about soaking them, soaked in lubricant as you were.

“Come here,” you surrendered a soft moan to him, leaning forward now, less to ride his thigh than the bulge in his slacks. He does not quite care for the idea of ruining himself inside the confines of his pants, but if you want to feel him, he has no reason to deny you. You’re wonderfully spoiled, juddering your hips over him like any whore walking the streets in exchange for a coin or two. What he’d give to have this to himself.

It donned on him-- he could have it to himself. This time, he’d be certain of who the child belonged to. He adored his Lyla, though his irritation with her quips was ever palpable, this-- right here, the ability to fill you and be certain filled him with fat hunger and possessive need to burst into his slacks.

“Stop-- Muñeca-- stop,” Miguel tipped his head back, gathering his focus by digging his hand into your hair, stopping you immediately. His harsh grip loosened, followed up by loosening the button of his slacks and shoving them below the curve of his ass. His cock slapped your silken shorts, beads of his desire dripping from his cockhead. “Take those off. I’m finishing inside.”

“Miguelito,” you slipped onto shaky feet, enough that Miguel could force the shorts underneath your dress to the floor. “We agreed that babies would be--”

“You asked to be my wife. Ain’t this what wives do?”

“I know bu-- not there, deja, let me,” you stopped. His cockhead clumsily poked here and there, until finally, your hand guided him properly. Your mouth fell into a hazy moan when Miguel’s cock shoved forward, breaching your cunt with a snap of his hips. You seated yourself back onto his fat cock, reminded of the absence of your cervical cap in your cunt.

For all your talk, you ached for him, dipping your intertwined hands down to your mound. The rhythm was as sloppy as whatever singer was on stage right now, her voice giving way into a distinct crack. Whatever-- if it bought him more time to properly seed you, he didn’t mind.

He buckled forward as you clenched down upon him, holding him prisoner deep in your body. Liquid soaked his slacks-- and Miguel huffed, puffs of hot air warming your back. That was going to be fun to walk out in. His wife’s cum soaking his crotch.

“Hold still. It’s almost showtime,” Miguel’s voice was thin, his hand splayed on your waist as he used you less like his woman and more like a toy for his pleasure. It didn’t take long for Miguel to find a proper rhythm, his muscles flexing against your back. You were preoccupied as it were with the pain of Miguel’s teeth sinking on your shoulder, spiking hot as his pleasure crested. Soon enough, you felt his warmth fill your core, your head lulling back against him only after his thrusts ebbed.

“Don’t clean up, go on stage leaking.” Miguel held out his hand for you to take, allowing you to pull your shorts back up your ass, nestling his leaking cum in the fabric. It helped ease the anxiety of having you on stage, somehow, to see you in such a state.

“When you knock me up, you’re telling Gabi. I... can't.” You told Miguel, smoothing your dress over your shorts. There was a nervous flush in your eyes-- shame, he placed the emotion. He scrubbed the smile from his face. He had at least a few weeks.

“Sure thing.”

There was a certain delight in seeing you dressed up in that little black dress, all bright red lips, and sultry song. Not that you didn’t look tasty in that stupid apron you wore not to dirty any one of the pretty dresses you wore to church-- like you weren’t a heathen for warming the bed of two O’Hara boys. The people knew it. The church knew it. Damn well, the town knew it.

“Pal, that’s her on stage,” went an Italian boy. An allied family through nothing but contract killing and coin, he was safe here for the time being. One little lapse in a contract could shake it all. “That’s their kitten.”

“She married?”

Miguel turned his gaze back to you for a long moment. Your warm, sweetly lidded words slipping off your tongue, making his mind sluggish and relaxed after a long day. He captured your eyes, minding how your hands fell to the tasseled ends of an already short skirt, daring to expose your skin obscured by pantyhose to the crowd. You knew the game, how far you could lift your skirt without your would-be husband jumping his cage.

“Don’t be goofy. Miguel’d get sore if Gabe tried. She has ‘em both around her finger. Has a kid by one of them. No one knows whose. I got my money on--”

Stupid kids.

“Kid, I’m gunning for another.” Miguel cut the boy off, eyes crinkling at the edges. Something in the way you moved on stage reminded him of Lyla’s pregnancy, perhaps the glitter in your eyes when you met him at his table, instead of backstage, holding his large hands in your own. Some sparkle in your eye, a ginger announcement in his ear. Half elation, half… something else. Something, not quite fear, swirled in the boy’s eyes. Miguel watched with a keen interest as the boy flushed.

“Right on, big shot.”

Miguel brought his cigarette to his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed and his mind wander to the past. He should have known you were hands-off from the moment Gabriel wouldn’t beat it with the idea of adding another girl to their speakeasy.

The best time to tell Miguel about his new girl in the speakeasy was when he was in a good mood: catching any bootleg thief put him in a good mood. Not that he was particularly partial to grey matter and blood spraying him like a fresh pinata, but… he was more partial to money in his pocket and a good reputation. His boys cared for much of the violence in the West of this shitty little town.

“You hired a new girl?” Miguel repeated, drawing a long hit of his cigarette with blood-smattered fingers.

“Spanish girl. Like us. We don’t have a Spanish girl in this joint.”

“Gabe. Most of our clients are Irish. They don’t speak Spanish.”

“You should see her Miggy. She’s got this angelic little face,” Gabe whacked his elder brother, his grin growing ear to ear. There it was, his baby brother got blinded by his dick again. “When she sings you-- well, you get all twisted up.”

“Angelic face,” Miguel mumbled under his breath, tapping excess off of his cigarette. For the price he paid his girls, she had better have the face of Mary herself. The last few Gabe had pulled were mistakes. Some drug-addicted. Others whose husbands always caused a mean stir. He drags his hand down his face, weighing the costs. “She another dumb--”

“She’s Daniel’s littlin’. You remember Daniel? Taught you how to use a kn--”

The sigh that sat in his chest dissipated like vapor, perfusing into his tissue. Miguel looked at the paper Gabriel set in his blood-tinged fingers. He rotated it, gave it a look with his tired eyes. Talk to Gabriel. That old man knew just what Miguel would have said: get your ass back on a boat and go home to whatever rinky-dink island you foolishly sailed off of for this shitty city.

“Lemme see her sing.”

He doesn’t pay attention when Gabriel introduces you onstage for the first time, focusing on the paper ledgers Peter arranged for a review. Unlike his Italian connections, he don’t mind mixing it up with the Jewish boys. They’re twice as smart on the books and twice less likely to be hauling in trouble. Bootleg booze was one thing— the opium, the heroin, the cocaine, and morphine another. It packed too much heat from the coppers.

He hadn’t meant to look up.

It didn’t occur to him that you could have a sickly sweet voice, tempered by the rich Spanish on your tongue, only rivaled by those beautiful looks. His abandoned ciggy threw smoke into the air. He slumped back into the chair with a heavy thud, unclenched his tense jaw, and listened to a siren’s song that felt both familiar and distant all the same.

You had the sort of eyes he swore he’d met before, despite knowing he’d never seen a face like yours around. He’d remember sinking his teeth in that delicate neck that sat under pearls that he supplied most of his singers for their performances. His eyes hungrily cantering down your tassel dress. Not one he provided, no, he knew most to all the pieces in the back. There was a simple beauty in the gown.

You were trouble. He caught your eyes with an intent expression and expected you to blush and look away. You smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or Gabriel, who flicked a grade-A smile, and a twiddling wave of your little fingers. He wants to feel them scratching down his back.

“--anyone home? Miggy? Miguel. Don’t tell me you’re already stuck on her.” Gabriel teased, elbowing Miguel in the arm. “You are! Told you she could sing.”

“Pipe down.” He jammed his ciggy in the dish.

“Sorry.”

He watches you a moment more, the slide of your legs to the tune of the band. The way your laugh resonated through the speakeasy when a patron stumbled onto the stage for his take on some stiff-legged swing. Most women would push them off, look to him for help in the swing, but you ran with the twirl the drunk led you into. He hated to admit that Gabriel was right. Among all the girls in his speakeasy, you brought a lightness to the life of a drunkard he’d not seen in a while.

“Gabe,” he mumbled, standing up and whirling his suit jacket over his broad shoulders.

“Yeah?”

I told’ja so, Gabriel’s voice sounded in his head. He could already feel the stiff annoyance that would be Gabriel’s fist connecting with his shoulder. Why did Gabriel have to know him so well? Miguel spoke with an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Let’s keep her.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.”

A hail of loud pops ruptured his sweet, distant memories. He reaches out to snatch his gun from the table, settled between the fresh flowers he plucked for your show. For an instant, his world wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t sounded out by the deafening assuredness of a kill, but very real panic under the singled out by the shrill of your scream.

They're going to push up on us, Miguel told Gabe. He never did take anything outside the speakeasy seriously.

Except tonight, there was no Gabriel. Miguel clasped his hand around his gun, whirling for the source of the flame. The barrage of gunfire is put down as quickly as it began. With a host of Irishmen in the bar, he should be so unsurprised. One of the Italian kids slumped over on his table.

There’s blood-- a lot of blood. Hysterics bound all around, some soothed by their partners or friends. The other Italian boy just stares-- lips slightly apart-- jarred by whatever horror was before him. Miguel finds it hard to believe that he hasn’t seen worse. Others burning his ears like the morning sun in his eyeballs every day you forgot to pull the curtains closed.

“God damn it, Peter.” Standing there is the scrawny little devil of a bookmaker himself, smiling cheesily.

“Hope that’s a good god damn it.”

He shoved his way from the tables, numbing out the complaint of the Italian boy. You were long since gone, probably a good thing that you weren’t here, that’s for fucking sure. It’d been the first time since Gabe’s incarceration he managed to drag you out of there and now… you were somewhere, undoubtedly frightened. Maybe even hurt.

“Boy, wonder who this kid crossed. Say, about Gabe, I got good news--”

He seized a chair, flicking it past Peter, a sure hiss for him to shut the fuck up about his baby brother in the can. Peter put his hands up reflexively, tracing Miguel’s rising shoulders.

“She ran to the back.”

The slender hallway down to his office is cold, only illuminated by the occasional pull-pin light bulb swinging overhead. He came here most days that he wasn’t on shift, taking a hit, or caring for his boys. Keeping track of everything was the best way to stay ahead. And even still-- he missed something from one of Spot’s boys.

You didn’t bother to close the door, balled up in a corner of his small office. He has a glorified cot for a bed in a corner, a heavy desk that nearly killed Gabe trying to hike it down the stairs years ago, and a rack stuffed with any number of books.

“It’s me,” his voice filled the room. You peered up from behind your arms, wrapped around your knees. What a stupid oversight, he thought, whoever was in charge of the damn door let someone in that was… going to be a problem. He was good with Lucky’s crew. Now he was gonna have to pick up that wired phone and tell him some kid was dead.

Your heels scratched across the ground, scooting back to the cool wall. You weren’t hurt-- just, sort of shocked. Maybe being conned into church with you panned out somehow.

“Muñeca.”

“That ain’t… ever happened with Gabe before.”

Gabe. Dy by day that he heard his brother’s voice, it became more of an annoyance. It wasn’t fair to make the comparison-- Gabe caring for most things that went on in the speakeasy, Miguel caring for interpersonal deals and security. With Gabe away, he’d not… it didn’t matter.

“It won’t happen again.”

“If Lyla were here--” You’re a shark-- going after the one thing you knew would hurt. The little girl back at home who he went to great lengths to make sure was safe. She was… his, even if he felt was his brother’s, putting more salt into an ever widening sinkhole that was his irritation.

“She wasn’t.”

“But what if she was?”

“Cállate,” he barked.

“Fine, I’ll beat it. You can holed up all alone down here like you like to be, you-- you-- big lug.” You recoiled for an instant, before forcing yourself up, rubbing at heavily fallen tears in your pursuit of the door. Your cheeks were kissed by raw agitation, all pink and in any other situation, beautiful. Miguel swayed to catch your elbow.

“Discúlpame,” he murmured, a rare apology if you could even call it one to begin with. There was a long pause, and he wondered if you would be upset with him for the rest of the day. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He knew he made it damn hard not to.

That was the thing about Miguel. He made it hard to get close, but even harder to leave. No matter what he did, you wanted to stay there right by him-- because he was the complicated brother. The one who… well, hell, you wanted to be about. Gabe was good and easy, your Miguelito was…

“Dios mio, Miguelito. This hinky stuff ain’t happening again. Or-- Or I’ll leave you both. Take Lyla right back to the island I came from and marry a man who isn’t in wrong with the police.”

You should have known the day that you gave birth to his daughter that something like that wasn’t going to happen.

[drownedinlavender]

⋆｡°✩South Park High School AU Headcanons⋆｡°✩

Mainly written to get out of my writers block lmaoo. This is a guide to all my headcanons in my “Be Nice to Me” fanfic

⋆｡°✩ Kyle Broflovski:

6'2”. Tall with lean muscle. Ginger with emerald green eyes and light freckles. Very curly hair with trimmed sides.

Juggles the debate club, basketball team, student council, and too many AP classes to count.

The first to get his driver's license out of the main 4 + Leopold.

His parents got him a car for his birthday for doing so well academically.

Works and volunteers during the summer.

Gets into detention often due to Cartman baiting him into fights.

Has gotten benched multiple times for playing too aggressively in basketball games when instigated by rival teams.

Has a tight knit study group with Wendy, Tolkien, and Nichole.

They help each other out with their AP classes but also consider each other rivals, trying to beat the other for the title of valedictorian.

Very good at first person shooters, often out performing Cartman.

Knows how to build a PC.

Learned how to program in his free time.

Spends time with his family and has a close relationship with Ike.

Knows Cartman’s schedule better than Cartman himself

Begrudgingly gives Cartman rides to school sometimes. Will leave him if he takes too long though.

⋆｡°✩Eric Cartman:

5'10”. Big, bulky build. A lot of arm muscle + big belly. Soft chestnut brunette hair. Dark reddish brown eyes. Thick eyebrows.

Is both on the football and hockey teams. He likes to use both sports as an excuse to be a major asshole towards others and uses his size to his advantage.

In the board games club. Argues with Nichole a lot for leadership.

Has a hard time studying and paying attention due to ADHD.

Does enough school work to pass. Thinks school is pointless and a big scam.

Would much rather play video games or watch TV instead of school work.

Unfortunately, to his Spanish teacher's demise, outperforms others in Spanish class.

Prefers first person shooters but also loves dress up games. Would kill anyone that found out.

Will trash talk your mom but if someone trash talks his mom he WILL dox them.

Loves reality tv. Big fan of RuPaul's drag race, Love is Blind, the Real Housewives.

Is a menace on reddit.

Has gotten his account reported many times on reddit, discord, and twitter.

Planning to major in business or finance in college.

The last of the main 4 + Leopold(Butters) to learn how to drive. Was genuinely too lazy and constantly bummed rides off the others anyway, specially Kyle.

⋆｡°✩Stan Marsh:

5'11”. Average build. Straight dark black hair. Wears a beanie often since his hair gets oily fast. Dark blue eyes.

Stan loves writing and listening to music. He's very big into metal, rock, and Midwest emo right now.

His extracurriculars are football and the board game club.

He volunteers at animal shelters in his free time and fundraisers for the environment.

He's an average student, usually getting Bs and Cs, and a D if he doesn't study enough.

He's terrible at multitasking. He's a very forgetful person.

Wendy and Kyle constantly have to remind him about deadlines and big projects.

On his 16th birthday, his dad gave him his old pick up truck.

Tolkien comes over often and they do homework together. He helps Stan with math a lot.

Stan and Kyle still consider themselves best friends even if they don't live right next door.

Crimson Dawn meets up often, practicing at Stan's since they can be as loud as they want there.

Sometimes friends like Kyle, Wendy, Timmy, and Tolkien come over to just hang out with the others and watch the band practice.

Stan and Wendy have been off and on since elementary school. It's obvious when they're not dating since Stan sometimes relapses back into his goth phase.

Stan and Tolkien have hooked up on a few occasions when Stan and Wendy broke up.

Tolkien has also dated Wendy on more than one occasion.

Stan is the type of kid that casually gets along with every “clique” in school since he doesn't really have beef with anyone. He's a very chill guy who often reacts pretty indifferently to most things.

⋆｡°✩Kenny Mccormick:

5’8”. Very skinny, mainly due to a poor diet. Wavy dirty blonde hair, tends to grow it out or cuts it short depending on his mood. Purple eyes. Front tooth gap.

Kenny's been working overtime while attending school since middle school. He gets paid under the table for most of it.

He saved up just enough to buy a really run down, beat up, used car. It's a stick shift and requires a ton of repairs.

He learned a lot about mechanics in order to save money and not have to take it anywhere to get fixed.

He learned how to drive stick shift and how to fix a car through YouTube.

He takes and picks up Karen from school. He also pays for all of her school supplies and encourages her to pick up extracurriculars.

Kenny doesn't have to study in order to get good grades in school. He barely has to do his homework either. As long as he listens to the lectures and skims through the material, he’ll pass. If he didn’t work overtime then he would be highly ranked in their year.

Kenny barely sleeps 4 hours a day. 5 on a good day.

He plans to keep working at the same pace and go to a trade school. Once he is more settled and his sister is an adult able to stand on her own, he might go back to school but he doesn't really stress about it and prefers living day by day then worrying about the future.

⋆｡°✩Leopold Butters Scotch:

5’9”. Lanky. Light blonde hair and sky blue eyes.

Works while attending school. Is very good at saving money.

Bought his own car at 16. Very safe driver with the occasional outburst of road rage.

Bought his own gaming PC. It's Hello Kitty themed. His favorite games are Animal Crossing and Hello Kitty Island Adventure.

Does very well in school.

Tutors others in his free time.

Volunteers to read for preschoolers at the community library.

Works as a summer camp counselor during the summers.

Cartman copies his homework when he isn't looking.

Part of the Board Game club and the Cheerleading squad.

Still gets grounded by his parents a lot but plans to live in College dorms soon.

Misc.

⋆｡°✩Clyde is part of the football team and basketball team. Sports are his bread and butter. He doesn't do well academically. Cry baby. Is on and off with Bebe.

⋆｡°✩Craig is captain of the space club. Wants to become an astronaut. Has been consistently dating Tweek ever since getting shipped by the Asian girls.

⋆｡°✩Tweek works at his dad's coffee shop while attending school. It has become a bit of a hub for the kids to hang out so it's doing well and he gets paid well. Is great at saving money. Loves playing DnD and really gets into character. Attends the space club with Craig.

⋆｡°✩Tolkien is a star student. Plays basketball, football, and is in the student council. Has dated Nichole, Wendy, Stan, and Clyde. None of his relationships ever end poorly. Is friendly with everyone. Is arguably the most popular, well liked kid in school.

⋆｡°✩Bebe is bisexual and has dated a few of the girls when off with Clyde. Clyde has no game however and barely dates anyone when they are broken up. She's part of cheerleading, volleyball, and the yearbook club. She's a minor influencer online, focusing on fashion, beauty, feminism, and human rights.

⋆｡°✩Wendy and Kyle constantly compete for valedictorian. She's captain of the debate team, cheerleading squad (Bebe vice captain), and volleyball team (Nichole vice captain). Stan and her have almost consistently dated with some hiccups here and there. They don't break up as often as Clyde and Bebe but when they have, she's dated Tolkien and Bebe briefly. She volunteers in a multitude of different organizations and feels very passionate about every cause she takes up. Has a substantial following on Twitter where she's very vocal about her beliefs.

[hexcrystals]

so there's been a lot of posting about things like ofmd not being a 'kind show' and no longer being 'the queer joy show' etc etc and. i just want to remind us of where everybody is in s1's finale vs s2's

let us begin

stede: stede ends s1 on a hopeful note (setting off to go get his man) but shortly prior to that he's kind of been through it (he nearly got executed and then two different people tried to murder him). stede ends s2 on an even more hopeful note, having got his man, ready to open an inn with him. verdict: slightly better off at the end of s2

ed: ed ends s1 in absolute despair. izzy has been a real dick to ed (depending on your interpretation, he's done something ranging from being a little tiny bit mean to ed to calling him a slur and threatening to kill him, but we're not having this discourse again) so now he's back in his blackbeard persona mere days after feeling some hope that he was finally free from piracy and ready to run away with someone who loves him for who he is. the last shot we see of s1 ed is him absolutely crying his eyes out in the bed nook. it inflicts d4 psychic damage on me whenever i look at it. anyway at the end of s2 he's been on an absolute journey, he's learned that he's loved, he's free from being blackbeard, he's stood beside the man that loves him and they're going to give everything a go. verdict: significantly better off at the end of s2

stede's crew: i mean. what is there to say. at the end of s1 they've just been marooned and social order on their little island is rapidly breaking down due to buttons and roach teaming up to try and eat the swede. at the end of s2 they're happily back at sea and the swede has spanish jackie to fight off anyone who would even consider having a nibble. verdict: significantly better off at the end of s2

honourable mention - buttons: ends s1 unsuccessfully trying to eat the swede. ends s2 having fulfilled his life's dream of becoming a bird. good job buttons. verdict: slightly better off at the end of s2

ed's crew: as above, the crew end s2 happily sailing away into the literal sunset. we finish s1 with jim presumably unconscious and izzy pointing a gun at frenchie. so not an ideal situation really. fang seems to be having a good time though and ivan gets killed off between seasons (rip king) so it averages out at a slightly better rather than a significantly better. verdict: slightly better off at the end of s2

honourable mention - frenchie: ends s1 hoisting his flag at gunpoint. ends s2 captaining the bloody ship. go frenchie. we love to see it. verdict: significantly better off at the end of s2

lucius: ends s1 soggy. ends s2 not only dry, but married. verdict: significantly better off at the end of s2

izzy: ah yes this old chestnut. so. two perspectives here. one is simply that he ends s1 alive and ends s2 dead. so. possible verdict: significantly worse off at the end of s2. alternatively, he ends s1 as his classic repressed self, smiling from ear to ear because ed cut his toe off and it sparked joy, disliked by the crew, resented by ed. he ends s2 having accepted himself and having experienced all the queer joy he would never have permitted himself in s1, having experienced more screentime and growth than any other secondary character in s2 (yes he's a secondary character no i won't argue with you about this), and dies exactly as he lived - being a pirate who can pull off a plan. he gets to have his deathbed deep and meaningful conversation with ed, which brings closure to them both. he gets buried beside ed and stede's new inn, on land where his grave will be tended, having been given a nice funeral by people who once despised him. so. possible verdict: slightly better off at the end of s2. he definitely seemed happier in s2, and died at peace rather than as a frothing little ball of anger, which is more than i could've foreseen in s1.

anyway. the eagle eyed mathematicians among you will notice that even if we take it as read that izzy is significantly worse off at the end of s2...

every single other character ends s2 in a better place than where they ended s1.

ofmd is a kind show that's full to the brim of queer joy. you guys are just sad that your fave died. and that's fine. the writers did a great job creating a story with characters that were so well written that people are genuinely grieving izzy's death.

but his death does not erase the inherent kindness and joy of the rest of the show.

anyway thanks for reading. i had fun playing with the tumblr post editor settings. by which i mean changing the text colour was unreasonably difficult and now i am stressed

[cinnaleaf]

「 Fall For You | A Very Merry Footballer Ficmas 」

summary: your crush takes you to santa’s hometown where he falls for you on a skating rink – literally.

warnings: really, really cheesy fluff, dominican slang, language 🎅🏾: even the best gifts come with a little falling | pt 5 of my ficmas series wc: ~2.7k

You weren’t sure why you agreed to coming to a Christmas themed village to ice skate with Alejandro. It could’ve been the way his eyes lit up when he suggested it, or the fact that he was really good at convincing you to do things you wouldn’t normally do because of his dazzling smile. Either way, you were here now – lacing up your skates and standing on the edge of an ice rink that looked like it was a set piece to a Christmas movie.

The two of you were visiting Rovaniemi for the weekend as a last minute trip he planned to escape Barcelona during the holiday break. The snow fell lazily and settled on wooden poles that were glowing with Christmas lights crisscrossing above the rink. There were families and couples circling the rink with all different levels of skill. Some were gliding around like ice fairies while the others were wiping out everytime the skate touched the ice. The stalls on the sides of the market sold mugs of mulled wine, spiced gingerbread, and waffles slathered in chocolate. It smelled like the epitome of Christmas – cinnamon, sugar, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and frosty air biting at your nose.

Alejandro stood beside you, fumbling to pull his knit beanie lower over his ears. He stared at the ice curiously. “You know I’ve never done this before, right?” he asked, side eyeing you with a small smile that didn’t really mask the nerves he was trying to hide.

“That makes two of us then” you replied, nudging him with your elbow. “You wanted to come here though. Don’t back down now.”

Alejandro rolled his eyes and muttered something in spanish that you didn’t catch because you were too distracted by a little girl skating on the ice. She wore a pink beanie with a fuzzy pom pom on top paired with a pink glittery scarf as she zipped through the ice. She did a little spin and grinned at both of you, then skated off before you could process the type of skill she had for such a tiny body.

“Oh, she’s showing off” Alejandro said while shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

“Maybe..but it can’t be that hard to skate on solid ice.”

“If you say so....”

The rink wasn’t super big, it was cozy enough to feel magical, even if you lacked the skating ability threatening to ruin the picture perfect postcard illusion. You heard chatters of a group of older women handing out skates while sipping mugs of hot chocolate as you entered the rink.

“Do you think they have insurance...like if someone breaks a leg or something?” you asked.

Alejandro snorted and grabbed your hand while both of you shuffled to the edge of the rink. “Only one way to find out.”

Alejandro stepped on the ice first, still gripping your hand like it could save him from falling. You followed shortly after, gripping onto the rail with your free hand as your skates wobbled underneath you.  The moment his skate touched the icy surface his body jolted forward and he froze, flailing his arms out to balance himself. He looked over his shoulder at you with wide eyes like he was betrayed.

“So...they don’t do balance conditioning in training I guess…” you joked, stepping onto the ice with what you hoped was a lot more confidence than what you felt. The ice was...solid. But it was also slick and unforgiving to anyone who didn’t know to coordinate properly with the slipperiness of it. Your ankles wobbled instantly, and Alejandro tightened his fingers around yours.

“Don’t make any sudden movements” you said, mostly to yourself because you were too scared to move.

Alejandro laughed. “Are you the police? It’s just a skating rink.”

“No. This is a disaster waiting to happen. Look at us.”

The two of you inched forward and Alejandro’s free hand gripped the rail so hard his hands were cramping. A younger boy skated past, showing off as he hopped to one leg, making Alejandro’s hand twitch in response.

“You better not” you warned, knowing exactly how competitive he was.

“I wasn’t going to do anything” he lied while side eying the showoff who couldn’t have been older than 10 years old.

The snow picked up and flurries brushed up against your cheek while also settling onto his beanie. He looked over at you, grinning despite the chaos of neither of you knowing how to ice skate. “This is fun though...right?”

“Yeah. If you have a humiliation kink.”

Alejandro’s laugh echoed across the rink. “You’re so dramatic.”

Before you could reply, his skate slid out from under him and he instinctively reached out for you in the process – meaning both of you went down like a pair of dominos. The ice was cold and wet against your knees when you landed on the ground. You were mortified, yet Alejandro thought it was hilarious.

“Are you good down there?” an older man called out in a thick Finnish accent from off to the side. “That one looks like it hurt!”

“We’re fine!” Alejandro yelled while waving the man off, his other hand was still gripping yours as you both tried to regain a semblance of dignity. “Ay coño (oh damn), are we really that bad at this?”

He started laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, tipping his head back as he sprawled on the ice in a snow angel position. You weren’t doing much better. Your hands were pressed against the freezing surface and your knees were tucked as you tried to push yourself up. But every time you moved, your skates fell under you and sent you sliding sideways.

“I swear you’re useless” you huffed, but you were slightly smiling.

“Me?” he shot back, propping up on his elbows. “What did I do?”

“You dragged us here knowing damn well neither of us know how to skate.”

“I thought it was a good idea.” he said between chuckles while still trying to get off the icy floor. “We’re bonding. It’s romantic.”

“This is not romantic” you argued, flopping back onto the ice as your legs wobbled again when you tried to get back up. “We look dumb. No one else here is struggling this much! I can’t even get up!”

Just then, the pink scarf girl gracefully spun past you, twirling on her skates like she was a ballerina on ice. Alejandro scoffed, not believing his eyes. “Yeah, she’s doing that on purpose. That little girl is a paid actor.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the blooming warmth in your chest from how handsome he looked, even if he couldn’t skate and looked like Bambi right now. His beanie was crooked and there were snowflakes dusting over part of his curls that weren’t covered. 

Alejandro shifted to sit up just as the girl executed another flawless spin. “She’s pissing me off” he jerked his chin toward the little girl. “Is she practising for the winter olympics or what?”

“She’s like 8 years old” you contested, wiping your damp hands on your coat while glaring at the skates as if it wasn’t your terrible coordination keeping you on the ground. “You’re beefing with a literal child.”

“I’m not beefing” he answered way too defensively for someone not beefing. “She’s just making us look bad.”

“Um, no. We’re making ourselves look bad” you deadpanned, bracing your hand on the ice to try and stand up again. That was a mistake. A big one. The moment you shifted to move, the skate slid out and you went down again with a dramatic thud. Alejandro started laughing so hard he started wheezing and rolling on his side like it was the funniest thing he ever saw. “You’re not as graceful with your falls like I am.”

“Shut up and help me!” you snapped, but you really wanted to laugh too.

“Alright! Chill out on me, don’t yell.” He got up and scooted toward you in a penguin shuffle type movement. “I’m coming to the rescue.” He reached out again, tightening his fingers around yours like he was about to get it right this time around. For a second you thought it may actually work....until his other skate slid and gravity pulled both of you down again. You both hit the ice with a thud, tangled together in an awkward mess.

“You are sooo bad at this” you wheezed, clutching your stomach because you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Me?” Alejandro’s head shot up with a grin full of teeth and mischief. “You keep bringing me down every time!”

“You literally dragged me down first” you shot back, swatting at his arm playfully.

“You could’ve stayed up!” he argued, gesturing wildly. “There’s railing all over. You’re supposed to hang on to that and be my support system!”

You squinted at him, trying to hold back your laughter and failing miserably. “How am I supposed to support you when you can’t even stay upright for 5 seconds?”

Alejandro’s jaw dropped and he shook his head. “That’s not true. I’m athletic.”

“Maybe on the pitch but definitely not on ice.”

Alejandro side eyed at you, offended. “Tu si hablas mierda (you’re chatting shit)” he muttered under his breath while shaking his head.

“Say it again louder so I can hear it” you challenged, sitting back on the ice like you had all the time in the world.

“Nah” he said while grinning. “You don’t need to hear it but it’s the truth. You’re talking nonsense.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a groan. “Ale..you’ve been on the ice for less than 20 minutes and you’ve been on the ground for most of them.”

“Damn” He placed a hand on his chest like he was so hurt. “Tu ves? (kinda like ‘oh yeah?’) This is why I can’t take you anywhere. Always coming for me.”

“You dragged me here! I wanted to do the reindeer safari instead!”

“Yeah but I thought this would be cuter” He gestured toward the snow falling gently around you. “The lights and the snow...it’s romantic, no?”

“No. We literally look like two penguins who’ve never been on ice before.” you scoffed, trying to shuffle back onto your knees but it was no use, you were failing miserably.

Alejandro threw his head back and started laughing at you. “Nah, chill. Penguins are elegant. We’re a lot worse. We look like those inflatable things at car dealerships.”

“Well...you’re not wrong about that” you bit back your grin as he reached out for your hand to try and help you up, but you didn’t trust him at all.

“If you make me fall again I swear…” you warned while eyeing him suspiciously.

“Relaxxx. I got you. De verdad. (forreal)”

You reluctantly let him pull you up to your knees and it seemed like you may actually be able to get up for once, but then he lost his footing again and he yelped, toppling forward to take you down with him again. Alejandro groaned dramatically, sprawled on top of you like he was so done with life. “Maldita sea, pero esta vaina me quiere matar! (damn this shit is trying to kill me)” he muttered while shaking his head.

“Aww” you giggled while trying to pull him off, but he was too busy pouting about his latest fall. “Are you okay?” You were trying to sound serious and be helpful but the fact that he literally couldn’t get up without falling over again had you in stitches. 

“No.” he grumbled, lifting his head just enough to glare at you while also pouting like a child. “This shit hurts.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed some snow that had accumulated on his curls due to his beanie falling off in the process of the fall. “Awww pobrecito (poor baby). Sana sana colita de rana (heal heal little frog)” you started a nursery rhyme meant for children when they got hurt in a teasing tone, rubbing your hand over his shoulder like you were fixing his imaginary injury.

“Yo stop. That’s for little kids. You’re making it worse!”

You ignored him, finishing the nursery rhyme just to piss him off. “Si no sanas hoy, sanaras mañana (if you dont heal today you’ll heal tomorrow).” you sang softly while still rubbing his imaginary wounds, though it was mostly his pride that was injured.

He smirked at you as his pout twisted into a smile. “Tu ere mala loco (you’re crazy). You know that, right?”

“I’m helping!” you gasped in shock.

“Nah tu ta pasa (you’re doing too much). You’re embarrassing me.”

You kissed your teeth at his dramatics, poking his shoulder dramatically. “No. You’re embarrassing yourself and I’m trying to soften the blow. You’ve been on the ground more than you’ve been on your feet. Just get up without thinking about it too much.”

Alejandro huffed and braced his hands on the ice as if he was preparing to get up, but he was still very clearly thinking about it too much. “Aight. I’m about to get up this time. No overthinking.”

“And probably no balance either.” you teased, reaching out to brush your hands over the earring in his ear. “How can you dribble in rain during a match but not manage a single step on ice?”

“Different terrains. And grass isn’t this slippery.” he contested, tilting his head a little so your fingers would brush against his skin.

“Mmm..sounds like an excuse to me but okay,” you muttered while still playing with his earring.

“Keep playing with my ear like that and I’m staying down here on purpose.”

“Don’t tempt me” you replied, smirking while giving his earring a flick.

The corners of his eyes turned into a smize as he widely grinned at you. “Nah you’re a distraction.” He shifted around to push himself up again. “Watch this. I’m about to–”

He fell again. No grace, no coordination or balance at all. He came crashing down right back onto you and you bursted out laughing again.

“You’re so bad at this. The reindeer safari was a safer option.”

“This ice is just plotting against me” he complained, but he wasn’t all that mad judging by the grin on his face.

“No..that’s all you.” You wiped away the water from the melted ice on his face, but this time he leaned into your touch a little more. Neither of you said anything else as the skates whizzed past and the laughter from the rink carried through. The only thing you were focused on in that moment was how close your faces were and the sight of your breaths in the cold, frosty air. Alejandro’s eyes flicked to yours, meeting your gaze.

“You have snow on your lashes” he murmured, reaching up to gently brush the flakes away with his thumb.

“So do you” you whispered back.

A single snowflake drifted down from the sky and landed directly on your bottom lip. Alejandro’s gaze followed it, his breath visible in the cold as he leaned in.

“I got it,” he said softly. His lips brushed against yours, melting the snowflake while also stealing the breath from your lungs. The kiss wasn’t anything awkward or rushed, it was perfect and warmed you in the best way despite the cutting chill of the finnish air. Alejandro pulled back just slightly, licking over his lips but still close enough to steal another kiss if he really wanted to. He was widely grinning now. “Dime princesa (tell me)” he murmured in a teasing voice. “Is this romantic enough for you now?”

You giggled softly, shaking your head as your fingers brushed over his cheeks, still damp from the melting ice. “I think you made your point.” Your cheeks were hurting from all the laughter and smiles but you couldn’t deny this was sort of romantic...in a really bad, cheesy rom com sort of way. “But do a little research next time so we can have romance without all the bruises.”

Alejandro chuckled as he shifted to lay back on the ice, neither of you getting up as you both stared at the snow fall from the sky. There were a lot more skaters circling around you now as they zipped past in their own little world.

“Alright. Reindeer safari next time. But you have to admit this was worth it for the kiss..”

You smiled, flicking a bit of snow off his nose. “Maybe…. but you really should work on staying upright though.”

Alejandro smirked, leaning in to melt away another snowflake that landed on your lips. “Nah. I’m okay with falling. Especially if it’s for you.”