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hermeticmelancholy · 7 months

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David Gascoyne "And the Seventh Dream is the Dream of Isis"

1 white curtains of infinite fatigue dominating the starborn heritage of the colonies of St Francis white curtains of tortured destinies inheriting the calamities of the plagues of the desert encourage the waistlines of women to expand and the eyes of men to enlarge like pocket-cameras teach children to sin at the age of five to cut out the eyes of their sisters with nail-scissors to run into the streets and offer themselves to unfrocked priests teach insects to invade the deathbeds of rich spinsters and to engrave the foreheads of their footmen with purple signs for the year is open the year is complete the year is full of unforeseen happenings and the time of earthquakes is at hand

today is the day when the streets are full of hearses and when women cover their ring fingers with pieces of silk when the doors fall off their hinges in ruined cathedrals when hosts of white birds fly across the ocean from america and make their nests in the trees of public gardens the pavements of cities are covered with needles the reservoirs are full of human hair fumes of sulphur envelop the houses of ill-fame out of which bloodred lilies appear.

across the square where crowds are dying in thousands a man is walking a tightrope covered with moths

2 there is an explosion of geraniums in the ballroom of the hotel there is an extremely unpleasant odour of decaying meat arising from the depetalled flower growing out of her ear her arms are like pieces of sandpaper or wings of leprous birds in taxis and when she sings her hair stands on end and lights itself with a million little lamps like glow-worms you must always write the last two letters of her christian name upside down with a blue pencil she was standing at the window clothed only in a ribbon she was burning the eyes of snails in a candle she was eating the excrement of dogs and horses she was writing a letter to the president of france

3 the edges of leaves must be examined through microscopes in order to see the stains made by dying flies at the other end of the tube is a woman bathing her husband and a box of newspapers covered with handwriting when an angel writes the word tobacco across the sky the sea becomes covered with patches of dandruff the trunks of trees bust open to release streams of milk little girls stick photographs of genitals to the windows of their homes prayerbooks in churches open themselves at the death service and virgins cover their parents' beds with tealeaves there is an extraordinary epidemic of tuberculosis in yorkshire where medical dictionaries are banned from public libraries and salt turns a pale violet colour every day at seven o'clock when the hearts of troubadours unfold like soaked mattresses when the leaven of the gruesome slum-visitors and the wings of private airplanes look like shoeleather shoeleather on which pentagrams have been drawn shoeleather covered with vomitings of hedgehogs shoeleather used for decorating wedding-cakes and the gums of queens like glass marbles queens whose wrists are chained to the walls of houses and whose fingernails are covered with little drawings of flowers we rejoice to receive the blessing of criminals and we illuminate the roofs of convents when they are hung we look through a telescope on which the lord's prayer has been written and we see an old woman making a scarecrow on a mountain near a village in the middle of spain we see an elephant killing a stag-beetle by letting hot tears fall onto the small of its back we see a large cocoa-tin full of shapeless lumps of wax there is a horrible dentist walking out of a ship's funnel and leaving behind him footsteps which make noises on account of his accent he was discharged from the sanatorium and sent to examine the methods of cannibals so that wreaths of passion-flowers were floating in the darkness giving terrible illnesses to the possessors of pistols so that large quantities of rats disguised as pigeons were sold to various customers from neighbouring towns who were adepts at painting gothic letters on screens and at tying up parcels with pieces of grass we told them to cut off the buttons on their trousers but they swore in our faces and took off their shoes whereupon the whole place was stifled with vast clouds of smoke and with theatres and eggshells and droppings of eagles and the drums of the hospitals were broken like glass and glass were the faces in the last looking-glass.

#poem #poetry #surrealism #david gascoyne #surrealist #symbolism

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steele-soulmate · 11 months

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Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 489, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death

WORDS: 1202

While Peter helped me take a shower and change into some comfier clothes, Elizabeth changed the bedsheets of my assigned hospital bed and greeted people who came by to offer us congratulations and well wishes. Baby Violet Marie napped in her hospital issued baby bassinet, sleeping on her tummy as the doctors prepped for her spinal correction surgery.

I had been given a belly band to help retrain my tummy muscles and regain my slim waisted hourglass figure. I still had trouble going to the bathroom on my own, but my wonderful husband or my sweet daughters were always right there to help me.

When the two of us reemerged from the bathroom, we found that the small hospital room had been magically transformed into a literal greenhouse. Dozens and dozens of flower bouquets decorated the room, most on the floor up against the wall and clustered around the window.

Elizabeth was singing a soft song as she watched over her newborn baby sister, only looking up as her mommy and daddy came into the room once more.

“Hihi,” she greeted the two of us, stepping away from the baby bassinet. “I discovered that the bassinet has a heating pad, so I turned that on. A nurse came by and told me that the doctors have finished prepping everything for Baby Violet Marie’s surgery and to just page the nurse’s station whenever you’re ready to hand her over.”

“Thank you Bitty,” Peter said as he quickly situated me back into bed before paging a nurse to collect Baby Violet Marie for her surgery. He carefully picked her up from her bassinet and gave her to me for a brief cuddle with mommy as a nurse came to knock on the open door.

“When you bring her back…” Elizabeth opened the backpack that Josh dropped off for her and pulled out the Madeline dress that she had carefully made for the newest member of the Ratajczyk family. “Can you dress her in this?”

“Absolutely. The surgery shouldn’t last no more than eight hours, so she’ll be back sometime later sometime tonight.”

“Okay, thanks,” Peter hummed, scooting me over and gingerly getting into bed with me. I automatically felt safer with my protective husband in bed with me. “Sweetheart, you should sleep some. You have a very traumatizing birthing experience with Baby Violet Marie.”

Yes daddy.

~xoXox~

I spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep, waking whenever we would get new visitors- my seven older brothers, Anna and the twins, Evans, my two younger sisters, Baby Noah, Peter’s four older sisters, their daughters, Josh, Kenny and Johnny, Slitzy and a couple of fans.

Katie, Baby Tommy and little girl came by to say hihi and jumped onto the bed for snuggles with mommy and daddy. Jackie brought her camera and was busy taking pictures of the chaos in the hospital room as our guests conversed together.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ratajczyk?”

Everyone’s eyes turned to where a grizzled man wearing a security uniform was hovering in the doorway with an exhausted look on his face.

“They’re still here?” my soulmate asked standing with a huff. “Jesus-”

“We’ll help you get rid of them,” Adam offered, the men quickly leaving the hospital room, leaving Evans behind to protect the women.

“What was that about?” I asked Anna, who was sitting in a chair with her cane folded up underneath her.

“Some fan club has been out in the waiting room terrorizing people left and right,” she answered with a little shrug.

I knew just who she was talking about without needing to ask any more questions.

Evans made himself busy by proudly presenting me with a smorgasbord of hand crafted grilled cheese and pepperoni sandwiches, French fries infused with garlic seasonings, cinnamon applesauce and Oreo brownie cupcakes. The food with delicious and still warm as I began to eat, making faces as the kids helped themselves to my food.

“Well Evans, I guess your cooking is kid approved!” I announced as little girl offered a garlic fry to Baby Tommy.

“Yay, you have no idea how happy that makes me!” he cheered happily as Peter and the other men came back into the room. “Oh, I made enough for everyone to take a plate!”

“You have scored a keeper, Ephie!” I mumbled out through a mouthful of food. “When are you two getting married?”

“Oh, we already tied the knot ages ago,” Ephraim shrugged nonchalantly, his cheeks a faint pink color.

“Uncle Ephie, Uncle Evans, when are you going to have a baby?” Aria then asked, her normal blunt, nonboundry self.

“My sister is pregnant and unable to care for Baby O’Riley once he or she is born,” Evans volunteered the information. “Ephraim and I are planning to adopt Baby O’Riley and love him or her with our everything!”

“Yay yay!” cheered Baby Tommy as he began to bounce up and down. “Yay yay!”

“Hey there!”

I looked up and smiled at Isabelle, who came into the room with a smile on her face.

“Sorry, I got home late last night and crashed in bed,” she explained. “I completely slept through the girls coming back last night and caught up when I found the note in the kitchen.”

“It’s fine, Izzy bear,” I told her, taking up another sandwich to eat. “I’m fine, Peter is fine, Baby Violet Marie is fine-”

“Speaking of which, here she is!” announced a nurse as she rolled in Baby Violet Marie’s baby bassinet. The little girl was sound asleep, a thick bandage wrapping across her body as she slumbered on her tummy. She wore her Madeline Halloween costume as she breathed evenly.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW…” Everyone exploding into soft coos as she was rolled to a stop next to me.

“She’s so precious,” breathed Sammi as Baby Noah toddled up to her.

“Baa bee?” he meeped out. “Baa bee! Lookie mommy- a baa bee!”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

#Real person fiction (RPF)#Tattooed Wings #Peter Thomas Ratajczyk #Type O Negative #Vanessa Rose Pickings/ little girl #Special needs baby #Aria Bradley #Evie Bradley #Deaf #American Sign Language (ASL)#Elizabeth Ratajczyk #Alopecia #Thomas Joseph Ratajczyk/ Baby Tommy #Autism #Katie Ratajczyk #Down’s Syndrome #Baby Violet Marie #Neonatal death #Matching tattoos soulmate AU

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cowperviolet · 4 years

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A Guide to Medieval Childhood

Our popular imaginings and depictions of medieval childhood tend to be somehow both scarce and bleak. It’s often supposed that childhood as a category didn’t really exist until the twentieth century, and that even the highborn children before that blessed time were regarded as basically inconvenient mini-adults until they were old enough to fight or marry, respectively.

The sources we have tend to favour the royal families and the high aristocracy with some wealthy merchants thrown in the mix, so, unfortunately, the information below would mostly be concerned with these groups - although I’m going to do my best to include some facts about the lives of children from lower social strata, too.

Infantia, or infancy

As Maria von Trapp used to sing in technicolor meadows, let’s start at the very beginning - it is, after all, a very good place to start.

A mother rarely gave birth unattended - and I’m not talking about medical professionals; more often than not, these would be represented by a sole midwife. However, having a close friend or a relative with you as you are waiting for the baby to arrive was a practice well-established by the early fourteenth century even among royal women, whose births, marriages and deaths alike were always ruled by strict ceremony.

In their case, as in the case of all great families of the land, the practice also had a purely pragmatic side - additional companions mean additional witnesses who would be able to swear, should a scandal arise, that the little heir really arrived in the lawful way and had not been, say, smuggled into the bedroom in a pan. (In the case of the British royal family this precaution eventually led to the Home Secretary being obliged to attend all royal births, and was only done away with in 1930, when the late Princess Margaret was born).

Of course, for all the companionable support, the birth was not without its risks - for the child even more so than for the mother. It was for that reason that, uniquely, the Church allowed the midwives to baptize newborn - or unborn - babies in case they don’t survive by the time the sacrament in question could be performed properly by a priest.

If everything went well, it was the time to prepare the child for an ‘official’ baptism in the local church, which was going to not only save his soul for the world to come, but to help his standing in this one - after all, being baptized in a particular church meant being integrated into the larger community of the parish. The mother could rest - she was not required to attend the christening (or, rather, she couldn’t, as she would only be able to enter a place of worship again after being purified via a brief ‘churching’ ceremony on the fortieth day after giving birth). The child’s godparents would have been there to stand in her stead.

In fact, many contemporaries considered that a woman needs at least a month to properly recover after birth. Nor was it supposed to be a time of solitude - receiving female visitors was both allowed and encouraged.

Meanwhile, the child would be transferred into the care of a wet-nurse. Breastfeeding your baby yourself usually signified that you simply cannot afford wet-nurse of good character. The good character part of the job description concerned itself both with the purely physical characteristics - the wet-nurse had to be a little below thirty, to have white teeth, sweet breath, and a child of her own not above eight months of age, otherwise her milk could be considered stale - and the moral ones. It was believed that virtues and vices both could be transmitted through milk, and thus it was imperative to choose a wet-nurse both sensible and respectable.

Once hired, she rarely left the baby’s side - contemporary writers acknowledged that leaving an infant to cry is harmful for the child’s health, both mental and physical, and therefore a nurse should always be at hand with either her breast or a lullaby. In the highest households of the land, such as that of the royal children of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, one or two women were also employed as specifically the child’s rockers, tasked with, well, rocking their little charge to sleep - though not too quickly or too harshly, ‘for fear of making the milk float in [her] stomach’.

Every medieval baby, regardless of his family’s income, was swaddled from birth and until he was about eight or nine months of age: not only would he be kept warm, the parents judged, but it’s also going to help his limbs grow straight. A ‘breechcloth’ – essentially, a premodern nappy - was a piece of easily-washable linen, doubled over and then fastened into place with pins. Then a linen shirt would be gently placed over the infant’s body, after which the swaddling bands proper – sometimes three yards long – would come out. They were long, narrow pieces of – you guessed it - linen.

This swaddling part was universal for everyone; however, even here, before the child could partake in any fashion proper, the class divides came out to play. Babies from wealthier families could sport crimson mantles and bands decorated with gold embroidery (sometimes coordinated with that on their mothers’ outfits, like on the famous Cholmondeley Ladies painting at the top of this post).

Another – perhaps, more familiar to us – sphere of baby-related conspicuous consumption was the cradle. When, in 1494, the son of Beatrice d’Este and Ludovico Sforza was born in Milan, the proud father presented his guests a four-poster cradle covered in white satin, where the little heir now lay. When Lucrezia Borgia gave the d’Este family an heir, she splashed out on the cradle for the little Ercole even more. According to contemporary witnesses, the cradle was located under tent-like Moorish-style silk draperies done in the Este colors. It was on a platform encased in a great carved and gilded canopy, six feet long and five feet wide. The cradle proper was curtained in white satin, with the sleeping baby covered with cloth-of-gold.

The weaning tended to come, by our standards, rather late: some contemporary arguments recommended three years for boys and two years for girls (the former, after all, were expected to lead more active lives, and thus needed their mother’s nutritious milk more). Even then, hard food was to be introduced gradually – starting, for instance, with a chicken leg the child could chew on.

Once out of swaddling, the boys were dressed in smocks, and the girls in gowns – not that there was much visual difference between the two, mind. Regardless of their parents’ social standing, they all also wore tight linen caps that bore the charmingly hobbit-y name of biggins.

Naturally, the higher one stood upon the social scale, the more ornamental these gowns and smocks tended to be. The toddler Princess Elizabeth, who was the daughter of Henry VII and thus the aunt of her much more famous namesake, was dressed on separate occasions in a green velvet gown edged with purple tinsel and lined with black buckram, a dress of black velvet edged with crimson, or a kirtle of tawny damask and black satin. Admittedly, these were mostly for ceremonial occasions, and in the privacy of her yellow ochre-coloured chambers even the princess probably tended to wear something more comfortable. In winter, she was kept warm with furred robes fastened with silver buttons and caps trimmed with peacock feathers, and, regardless of the time of the year, indulged with sweets made from sugars flavoured with rose and violet, as well as with fruits from sunnier climes like pomegranates, quinces, and almonds.

Royal families were never noted for modesty of consumption in any era, but even the middling merchants of Florence were often criticized for spoiling their children with fine clothes. Fra Dominici wrote scathingly about parents who dress their children in ‘fancy garments, stamped shoes, short waist-coats, tight and fine-knit hose’. Neither did he approve of toys like “little wooden horses, attractive cymbals, imitation birds, [and] gilded drums,” recommending instead more virtuous playthings like “a little altar or two, … little vestments … little candles … [and] little bells,”, so that the children could pretend they were acolytes or priests. Three guesses no prizes as to which category ended up being the more popular one.

Some types of toys would have been surprisingly familiar to us – for example, doll furniture. In Germany one could find whole doll kitchens with dishes, meat plates, cutlery and furniture since the 1550s at the latest. Wealthier girls were also bought so-called fashion dolls that showcased, you guessed it, the latest fashions in the land.

Of course, poorer children had to make do with dolls stuffed with straw, and play with such props as animal knucklebones or wooden wheels. However, it doesn’t mean that their lives were completely devoid of fun. Contemporary paintings, such as Peter Brueghel’ Children’s Games (1560), show children playing blind man’s bluff, ‘paper, scissors, stone’, roll hoops and rock barrels.

Pueritia, or childhood

A child’s education started with learning his (or, rarer, her) letters. A rather charming contemporary advice recommends the parents to do it by carving each letter on a piece of fruit, and reward the child with the fruit in question if the letter is correctly identified. These kinds of basics could be learned at home (though, if you decided to choose the method above, better do it specifically in the kitchen) – however, once the rudimentary parts were done with, the paths of learning could branch wildly.

The wealthiest families hired tutors for their children, and these posts, prestigious and coveted as they were, could sometimes become subjects of competition. For example, when the future Elizabeth I grew old enough for her first lessons, it was assumed that these are going to be provided by her aunt and godmother, Lady Troy. However, the less highborn, but more ambitious Katherine Champernowne had other ideas; Henry VIII ended up being impressed by reports of her as a woman of good education, and appointed her to be his daughter’s governess in 1536. She held that post until 1544, when her precocious charge overgrew the standard highborn lady’s curriculum that consisted of reading, embroidery, music, riding, falconry, and chess. After that, the scholar William Grindal became the princess’ tutor, introducing her to classical authors such as Plato.

Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek literature was not exclusively the preserve of the upper-class education. The cathedral school of St. Paul’s, for instance, taught children from middling walks of life - such as one Geoffrey Chaucer, the son of a wine merchant - and placed a great emphasis on the learning of Latin. The recitation of the Latin alphabet started with the sign of the cross and ended with ‘Amen’: quite a sign of respect, coming from a religious institution. The school’s library was full of books on logic, law and medicine, as well as such still-popular classical hits as Aesop’s Fables.

The boys (unlike in the more flexible world of private education, school pupils were invariably male) also owned some books of their own: contrary to a common misconception, even before the invention of printing press books were not necessarily objects of luxury. For example, when in 1337 John Cobbledick left twenty-nine books to Oriel College, each of them was priced at about 6 shillings. Two centuries later, when William Chatsworth sent his beloved wife Bess of Hardwick gifts during his sojourn in London, he included some learning materials for their children: three French grammars, a copy of Cosmografie de Levant, and psalms in French.

Charitable institutions could sometimes take care of the education of poorer children: for instance, in 1542, the Alderman William Dauntsey of London directed in his will that his executors should build a charity school of eight chambers (one of them for the schoolmaster) in West Lavington, Wiltshire.

Boys who could boast some musical talent had an unusual route for both education and promotion: chapel choirs. Many noblemen - and noblewomen such as Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII - engaged in cultural patronage, supporting at times dozens of choristers. Margaret herself had hired a composer, Robert Cooper, who was entrusted with finding gifted boys for her chapel from ‘London, Wynesore and in the west country'. She also made sure that, apart from musical education, the boys in her choir received tuition in Latin: in January 1506 the same Cooper was responsible for purchasing five 'gramer bokes ... for the chyldryn of the chapell', costing 4s 3d. Their education ensured that, after growing out of their roles in the choir, the boys would be able to continue academic studies. One Thomas Freston left Margaret’s chapel at the age of 13 to attend Winchester College, while the 1460 statute of Tattershall College specified provision for ‘four poor boys’ who were 'teachable in song and reading, to help the choristers, each of whom is to have commons and clothing and all else that the choristers do'.

Girls could be educated in convent schools; some, though by no means all, later chose to enter these nunneries as actual novices (they couldn’t legally make such a decision until the age of twelve, however, just as they couldn’t legally consent to marriage). Within the convent walls, as outside them, their comforts depended a lot on their parents’ standing - if their entry fee was generous enough, the girls, whether they came as pupils or little novices, could count on having a bedroom to themselves, a generous provision of wood to burn in their fireplace, and rare foodstuffs for their tables. When Edward I’s daughter Mary entered the convent of Amesbury as a novice in 1285, at unusual (and frankly illegal) age of seven, her lifelong allowance included an annual provision of twenty tuns of wine from the Bordeaux claret merchants and forty oaks as kindling for her fireplace.

Convents were supposed to foster the life of prayer and quiet contemplation, which was even harder to get used to for her teenage novices than it were for the secular boarders, who weren’t, after all, handled as strictly. However, even in a nunnery, there was a certain softening of the rules when it came to young girls. For example, at the Feast of St Nicholas, the patron saint of children, the youngest novice was named the Girl Abbess and allowed to lead the community in dancing and revelry.

Adolescentia, or adolescence

This stage of life was thought to start at about fourteen and end in one’s early twenties. Highborn children of both sexes were usually sent to foster at the homes of friends or relatives of equal standing, both to finish their education and to establish useful connections. When the teenage Jan of Brabant was sent for foster at the English court, he devoted his years there to perfecting the arts of jousting and hunting with falcons, as well as the less official, but nonetheless useful skills of party planning, people-charming, and careful gambling. His future bride Margaret of England, meanwhile, was improving on her feminine arts of weaving and embroidery, often spending substantial sums on gold thread and silks of different colours.

The machinery of altar diplomacy was already in full swing by the time they reached that age, even though marriage proper - with the consummation implied - was usually still a few years in the future. The fate of Margaret Beaufort, who gave birth to her first husband’s son at age thirteen, was considered grotesque and frankly unsafe; after all, it’s no coincidence that she could have no children after. For instance, Thomas Aquinas cautioned in his Mirror for Princes that consummation should be delayed until the woman had reached the age of eighteen, and the man twenty-one.

The complicated diplomatic and legal negotiation process behind such agreements was left to the heads of the families and their respective employees, without the involvement of the betrothed ones themselves. After all, it included such charming tasks as drawing a complete summary of all villages, farms, rents, forests, and windmills belonging to the future groom’s family which would be able to provide the income for the bride’s dower, or widow portion, in case she outlives him - a pretty significant possibility, considering.

Lower down the social scale, marriage arrangements were not so pressing a concern - urban artisans, male or female, often married only in their mid-twenties. When their children reached adolescence, they usually worried about arranging an apprenticeship for them rather than a betrothal.

A child could be apprenticed to a master who practiced one of the trades regulated by the guilds of the town. These included mercers, grocers, fishmongers, drapers, tailors and even artists. The training usually took seven years, during which the master in question was obliged not only to educate the apprentice, but also to feed and clothe them and generally treat them like a member of their family (which usually also meant having them help around the house). This way, the future artisans spent their adolescence in a situation of indenture and completed their training in their early twenties. The ultimate dream after that was becoming a master in their own right and acquiring one’s own workshop; but, like people in their early twenties everywhere, most were too broke for that, and ended up working as journeymen in their master’s workshop for some more years - or sometimes for the rest of their lives.

Although the most prestigious trades, such as those of mercers or goldsmiths, only admitted men, others - the tailors, the bakers, the printers, the bakers, sometimes the painters - were open to apprentices of both sexes. Female artisans often ended up marrying their colleagues from the same guilds, and then keeping workshop together, but sometimes they kept their trade and conducted their business separately.

At this point, gaining the trappings of trade and marriage, they progressed into the adulthood, and thus beyond the scope of this post.

Sources:

Devices and Desires: Bess of Hardwick and the Building of Elizabethan England by Kate Hubbard

Daughters of Chivalry by Katie Wilson-Lee

The Lives of Tudor Women by Elizabeth Norton

Chaucer: A European Life by Marion Turner

Kisby, Fiona. “A Mirror of Monarchy: Music and Musicians in the Household Chapel of the Lady Margaret Beaufort, Mother of Henry VII.” Early Music History, vol. 16, 1997, pp. 203–234

The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–1700: Objects, Spaces, Domesticities by Erin J. Campbell et al.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing ref #writer #writeblr #writer's problems #fantasy guide #writing resources #writers resources #writers reference #middle ages #medieval #history #medieval history #historical guide #writing community #writeblr community

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strawberrymilkloadingscreen · 4 years

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Giving Up the Ghost Chapter 1 (Rise TMNT) (Donnie x Black&Female! Reader)

“Holy shit they’re turtle demons.”

You hadn’t believed April when she said that the demons and ghosts you were obsessed with lived in her tiny apartment. Every time you’d gone over in the last year and a half there hadn’t been that sort of itchy energy that you associated with demons, or the more groggy and cold one that came with ghosts. In fact, she didn’t live in a building considered a hot haunting zone online, her entire block was ghost free, and even the little sub place she was working at didn’t have a lick of phantom energy.

April O’Neil was as normal as could be.

However, there wasn’t anything you could say to refute the very clear evidence in front of you. Four gigantic turtles with weapons were crowded in your friend’s living room, yellow paint splattered on them, April, and the walls.

April scratched her head and ended up smearing hazard yellow paint through her cherry red curls. “Heeeey. What’re you doing here?”

“Me? Can we start talking about them?”

“Them? Psht! They’re just-“

A turtle in blue set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, April. Talking about secret hobbies is embarrassing, but coming clean will do the body good. Like milk.”

“Leo…”

“The truth is that we’re… cosplaying.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “Seriously? That’s the best thing you can come up with? Even without my token I can practically see the energy coming from you.”

“Human girl say what?”

“She probably means the trace bits of mutagen from the oozsquitos in our blood.” A purple one muttered. “Which, I mean, is fair and accurate. Better question is how she can see anything since looking at her she’s obviously a normal everyday human.”

“WHOOOA!” You leaned back as an orange clad turtle got eye level with your chest. You weren’t sure when he got there, and that part concerned you more than a little. “What’s that!”

“What’s… Oh.” You plucked up the gem that had a perfect hole in the middle of it. “It’s the token. It lets me see ghosts, demons, but not 5’3 turtles dressed in neon orange.”

“It’s a great color. Is that violet or lavender?”

“I dunno? What are you?”

“Well I’m a warm shade of green with-“

The largest turtle plucked the smaller orange one up with one hand, and easily set him with all the others. “We’re mutants that are turtles… And ninjas. So don’t say a thing or we’ll make you disappear.”

“Isn’t that Hypno’s thing?” The one in blue wondered.

“Leo I’m trying to keep her from spilling our secret, annnd she’s fainting.”

You were in fact fainting into a pile of pure excitement and worry onto April’s paint splattered floor. The last thing you saw was April’s baseball bat, and four flinching turtles trying to get out her glitter encrusted door…

_______________________________________________________________

You ended up waking up on your front porch with a bottle of vodka tucked under your arm. You weren’t sure if it was April’s way to say sorry, or if it was to give your landlord and other passerby the idea that you passed out drunk. Either way the booze was welcome as you made your way out of the muggy summer heat and into the ice cold of your apartment. Your roommate’s cat, Xena, meowed at your return and followed you about as you took off your boots at the door. You went to the counter and pushed aside empty Chinese takeout boxes and mail to make room for the vodka.

With that task completed you quickly stripped, and tossed out the paint encrusted clothes in the trash, before cramming yourself in the shower and scrubbing hard. “How was I not robbed and murdered?”

Probably because you looked crazy. A Ouija board shirt and some booze was enough to make a handful of people back away from you; a wonderful lesson that college parties and your small town had taught you. The wet paint was probably another great deterrent. Whatever the case you were thankful enough not to get mad at the splotches that wouldn’t scrub off your dark skin. You quickly hopped out and towel dried before pulling on some comfy clothes and going back into the kitchen.

You paused beside a large tank sitting on top of some stacked books. With a groan you popped down on your knees and peered inside, a soft smile curling on your lips as you watched the turtle sitting on a pastel rock. “Hey Venus. Comfy?”

“Awe, are you talking to your turtle?” Your skin jumped and you quickly stood rod straight. “Hey don’t get jumpy on me now. Just me.”

“I mean it’s normal to get jumpy when around a walking talking garbage disposal.”

“I’d be offended if it wasn’t true.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bottle of vodka. “What are you even doing here, Ricky? Jessie won’t be back for another week.”

“Forgot my phone charger here last night.” He waved the blue device around. “Oh, by the way, there was another haunting out at my Ma’s. Said she saw the pots moving. Think you could take a look?”

Ghosts… Wait, that was why you went to go see April. You’d seen some new ghost documentary on a streaming service, and you’d made plans with her to see it. When you got there…

Turtles.

Well, the red one said they were also ninja. That sounded utterly ridiculous, but you weren’t inclined to argue with demons or ghosts. Not that you had met that many, four in total including the ones today, but you’d read enough materials to know that it would be stupid to do so! Old ladies out in China Town though…

“Sorry Ricky, but I’ve got my plate full. Can you tell her I’ll try to make it some other time?”

“No prob. Pretty sure she’s just lonely and making up stuff to get some visitors. Should really go out there and scrapbook with her again now that I think about it.” He slicked back his blue hair. “Anyway, I’m heading out. If Jessie calls tell them I want some nudes”

“…No.”

“How about ‘I love you’.”

“Better.”

You waited until you heard the soft click of the door and snap of the lock before you went over to the cabinet and popped open a soda. You took a good swig before adding a splash of the vodka, and going back to the living room. Xena decided to take over your legs, but you couldn’t complain as you grabbed your laptop and began to do what you did best. Blogs were examined, newspaper articles scanned, and plenty of folklore was cracked open between sips of your boozy treat.

There were plenty of things for ninja that would come up for New York City. Everything from comic-cons, movie sets, and even a few historical events for museums. You were getting something similar for turtles as well. A new friend donated to the zoo, a fundraiser for conservation, and plenty of art meant to beautify the city.

However, when you entered the terms for humanoid turtles that’s when things were getting sketchy. Strange photos out outlines in a fish and ladder market, far more convincing ones during the hippo turtle meme a few years back, and a shaky video of black blobs ziplining down to a rooftop pool.

The more that you saw them the less you were convinced these things were demons or ghosts. Some type of cryptid maybe? Aliens? However, the term ninja made you lean more towards monsters, to be more specific kappa. Turtles that would drown their victims, rip orbs out of asses, and had a strange love for cucumber. You ended up falling asleep with Xena asleep on your keyboard and the new knowledge armed in your brain.

That was why you found yourself standing outside April’s, now non glittery, door the next morning. You had a basket hanging off your arm, and your cellphone fisted in your free hand. You kicked at the door, and only moments later it was ripped open by a still yellow streaked April.

“Oh it’s you…”

“Don’t get all excited to see me.”

The two of you stood in silence for a long moment, nervous smiles on both your faces and the air thick with tension. You took a deep breath and held out the basket full of sake and kappa.

“Here!”

“What is it?”

You looked away, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip until it stung. “Well, you had kappa in your house, and I wanted to give that as a peace offering. I dunno how you managed to meet kappa of all things in NYC, but I’m not gonna judge… Or tell. Especially that last one.”

April stared at the basket for a long moment, before looking at you with an equally bewildered look. She held up a single finger, before pulling her phone out of her pocket and tapped something out on it. “Wha-? You think they’re monsters from Japanese folklore? Girl, you really went all out with that vodka, huh?”

“I dunno what they were. One minute I was in your house, and the next it’s a mess and you have huge ass turtles in there. Isn’t that just the most interesting thing to ever happen!”

“Ahhhh not really?”

“Well, I guess you’re used to it. That’s fair.”

April gave a soft sigh before opening her door up all the way, and gesturing for you to come inside. “Look, I think the two of us are gonna have to have a long talk. Want some coffee?”

“Only if you’ve got whipped creamer.”

“Don’t you know it.”

You followed her into the apartment and your nervousness melted away. "So how'd you meet them?" "Well it all started when I was a kid thanks to a sad sad trolling attempt..."

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envyplays · 4 years

Text

Fullmetal Alchemist Collaboration Cafe

Celebrating one of the greatest Manga/Anime out there, this is the Fullmetal Alchemist cafe! This extremely popular cafe ran not only in Tokyo, but Osaka and Nagoya as well. Regardless of which location you choose to go to, you'll need to make a (free) reservation for this cafe.

The cafe, as mentioned before, was held in three seperate locations;

- アニぱらCAFE（池袋） [Anipara CAFE (Ikebukuro)] (20/22/2019 ~ 11/2/2020) - アニぱらCAFE（心斎橋） [Anipara CAFE (Shinsaibashi)] (05/02/2020 ~ 12/04/2020) - アニぱらCAFE（名古屋） [Anipara CAFE (Nagoya)] (5/6/2020 ~ 30/8/2020)

Something special about this cafe is that all locations had three iterations of the menu that ran for a limited time. For this review, I’ll only be covering the 2nd iteration, which is the one I managed to attend.

Al bun

Al has turned into an adorable steamed bun! Packed full of soft delicious red bean paste, this bun is paired with refreshing oolong tea.

Ed bun

Ed has turned into an adorable meat bun! This Ed bun, served in a bamboo basket, is paired with a warming oolong tea.

Ed’s ‘To the Promised Day’ Omurice.

The yellow omelet and red ketchup of this Omurice dish presents the image of a determined Ed facing towards ‘The Promised Day’

Al's hamburger

A hamburger set consisting of an Alphonse hamburger, fries, and a cup of consommé soup☆ Truly a filling menu item.

Roy's rainy day salad

A fresh ham salad with a wafer featuring Roy standing in the center. Recreate the rainy day scene of cornering Scar by pouring the 'rain' dressing over the salad!

A karaage recipe passed down the Armstrong line for generations!

A large serving of crisp Karaage in the shape of Major Armstrong's face! It's an elegant, excellent, filling dish♪

The Havoc General Store's 3 color french fries

Beloved for 80 years! From fixing your pants rubber waistband, to providing armored vehicles, the Havoc General Store has it covered, including the perfect sauces for french fries!

Greedling's greedy tan tan men

Tan tan men representing the scene of Ling accepting 'Greed'! Recommended for the greedy who want to experience deliciously filling flavor and spice in all its splendor.

The pocket watch engraved with the day we set out dessert

Get a taste of Ed’s willpower with this orange and custard dessert representing the pocket watch engraved with the date the brothers set off on their journey.

Winry's apple pie

Passed on from the Hughes family! Winry's special apple pie☆ Topped with a piece of chocolate in the form of a spanner!

Roy's burnt Cheesecake

It smells of burnt cheese... Did the Colonel make this?! Please enjoy this specialty cake.

Lust's velvet cake

A gorgeous velvet cake inspired by the Homunculus of 'lust', Lust herself. Adorned with a wafer of Lust piercing through with her Ultimate Spear!

Scar's roasted soybean flour parfait "Ishval"

A roasted soybean parfait in the image of Scar standing in the Ishvalan Desert☆ You can enjoy the deep and rich flavors of roasted soybean.

Brigg's special gross coffee jelly

Briggs' famous 'gross coffee' has been turned into delicious coffee jelly! Enjoy it together with as much cream as you desire.

Gluttony's "Can I eat these cream puffs?"

An assortment of mini cream puffs inspired by the Homunculus of 'gluttony', Gluttony. Be careful, it seems the Gluttony wafer also wants to dig right in♪

Ed's most hated milk

"Who would want to consume white liquid secreted from a cow?!" As you gulp down this glass that appears to contain Ed's most hated milk, you'll find its actually deliciously sweet white chocolate milk♪

Al's black sesame drink

A delicate and delicious black sesame drink representing Al. It seems some sort of noise is coming from inside Al...?!

Lan fan's violet soda

A refreshingly tasty violet soda. With Violet flowers, meaning 'loyalty' in the language of flowers, Lan fan expresses her emotions for her master in this drink.

Olivier's Royal milk tea

Royal Milk Tea representing the proud, but with a soft spot for her subordinates, Major General Armstrong. Only you can properly judge the flavor, don't let anyone else influence that!

The Philosopher's stone berry tea

Will you be able to ignore the laws of equivalent exchange if you drink this?! It's a cold berry tea with a bright shining Philosophers stone inside!

Trapped inside a jar, Envy’s salty lychee drink.

Be careful not to let Envy escape! This drink is reminiscent of the time in which Envy was trapped inside a jar.

Homunculus cola

A special cola engraved with the mark of the Ouroboros! There appears to be a Philosophers stone floating at the bottom...?!

The dwarf in the flask

Iced coffee inside a flask, representing the 'The Dwarf in the Flask'.

Random Cafe latte

Ed and Al have been turned into adorable Lattes♪ Get excited for which one might show up! You can also purchase the mug itself at the Goods Corner.

---

I visited this cafe on the 21st of March 2020. I was lucky to make it before the cafe was ultimately cut short due to the corona virus.

The cafe itself was downstairs underground, and gave off an almost otherworldly vibe because of it. It felt like as you entered this cafe, you entered into a Fullmetal Alchemist bubble of sorts. It was absolutely wonderful. The inside of the cafe was small, but lacked customers, making it feel quite spacious despite that. It also featured a wall in which visitors could draw on sticky-notes and post their thank-you messages. Not to mention, the unique bathroom... covered in images of Major Armstrong...

As per usual, for each item you order from the menu, you'll receive a unique randomized coaster. This time you’ll also receive one of several different design lunch mats, as well.

As for what I ordered, for main I went with "Ed’s ‘To the Promised Day’ Omurice.". The soft omelette combined with the refreshing tomato sauce always makes for a wonderful combination. I think the presentation was also quite unique with all the dishes I tried that day.

For dessert, I continued the Ed theme, and went for "The pocket watch engraved with the day we set out dessert". This dessert was... unique. It was mostly just wafers in order to make up the pocket watches shape, with a small amount of cream to go with it. While it certainly was a sign to behold in terms of presentation... I think it was slightly lacking in the flavor department unfortunately.

Lastly, I ordered a single drink. Of course, I absolutely had to choose "Trapped inside a jar, Envy’s salty lychee drink.", all things considered. It was my first experience with salty lychee, and it was lovely and refreshing.

All in all, this was the 2nd cafe I ever visited, and while I was nervous at first, I believe this is the one that made me fall in love with Anime cafes and kick start my adventures with them. It was an emotional experience, with how much FMA means to me, and it means even more so now. I have many things to thank FMA for and I truly hope to see another FMA themed cafe again someday.

#FMA #Fullmetal Alchemist #anime cafe #cafe #FMA brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 2 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Okay so, to be honest, we really thought that we were doing this for ourselves and that maybe a few people would read it. The fact that so many of you guys have been SO kind and supportive is just lovely and we are infinitely grateful for you all!! Here is Chapter 1. Here’s a link to AO3 if you’d prefer to read there. 💫

Last Chapter: Violet received the thrilling news that Fame intends to promote her to design as soon as she finds and trains a new assistant.

This Chapter: We meet the other department heads.

***

Violet looked out on the conference table one final time, consulting the list in her notebook to make sure that nothing was forgotten. It was Wednesday morning, the 9am monthly creative meeting starting in less than 15 minutes.

The table was set with a light breakfast spread, no one but Trixie and Alyssa ever actually eating at these things, but she had made sure there was a selection of fruits, and that everyone had their favorite beverages besides the ginormous coffee order. Keeping track of the department heads and their various likes and dislikes was almost a job in itself, but Violet had gotten it down to a science.

There were frosted Pellegrinos for Fame, Raja preferring grapefruit juice. Alyssa liked Redbull, Alaska preferred diet Doctor Pepper, Trixie was a regular coke kind of guy while Pearl was a wildcard, but Violet had a good feeling about the chocolate milkshake, since she had heard the rumor that Pearl had been out partying.

Violet had spent most of last night writing the job description for the new assistant, falling asleep with her notebook in hand, only to wake up in a panic at 3 am to realize that the electricity was out yet again. She had slept restlessly for the rest of the night, then missed her first alarm, barely making it to her gym for a shower before coming in to work at 7.30 sharp, and while Violet knew she looked flawless, it felt fundamentally wrong to take a stop at her gym without working out.

The only bright spot so far had been how HR had accepted her initial proposal right away, giddiness bubbling in her chest at the thought that the process of finding her replacement was actually happening.

“- and don’t forget to bring the swatches.”

Raja Amrull was standing by the window, her phone to her ear, a cup of coffee already at her lips as she spoke to her assistant.

Raja Amrull was the chief creative officer, co-founder of Galactica and one of Fame’s very best friends. Violet took a moment to watch her as she gave order after order, her voice filled with a natural authority that always made Violet’s stomach do a flip.

Raja was wearing a mustard fitted pantsuit, the black hair that almost reached her waist put in intricate braids, and Violet knew it was the work of her girlfriend. Raja’s tan skin was practically glowing in the morning sun, the dark brown tattoos on her left hand standing out.

Even though she was in her 40s, 41 if Violet remembered correctly, she still looked every bit the supermodel she had been in the 00’s.

Raja wasn’t a naturally sweet person, but in Violet’s opinion that didn’t matter. She was competent and got her business done, which was something Violet admired in a leader.

“Violet?”

Violet blushed, the sound Raja’s voice cutting through her daydream. She had been so caught up in watching her that she hadn’t actually paid attention, but Raja had never been known for her patience, so she simply snapped, pointing at the room's thermostat, and Violet quickly made her way over, turning it down four degrees to the temperature she knew Raja preferred.

She felt like an idiot for forgetting, and she promised herself that it wouldn’t happen again.

Alaska, head of makeup and fragrances, was the first to arrive. The blonde wasn’t particularly talkative before her third cup of coffee, her every word drawn out in long lazy vowels. Alyssa came second, Violet counting her blessings that the marketing director had shown up on time. Alyssa always got the job done, but getting her anywhere on schedule was always an experience, the woman forever off in her very own world where she was the star of everything.

Fame was third, her first words as she stepped through the door, “Why is no one ready?” and Violet felt her stomach clench.

The meeting wasn’t scheduled to start for another 10 minutes, but that was one of the most terrifying things about Fame. She was never early, she was never late, everyone else was simply supposed to be there the exact moment she wanted them.

Violet was just about to open her mouth to apologize for Pearl, when the woman in question came in through the door.

“Morning everyone.” Pearl smiled, her voice a slow drawl. She was wearing a black turtleneck crop top, a black miniskirt and Violet was pretty sure she could see pieces of golden glitter in her unwashed blonde locks.

Alaska waved, but Fame gave her one single slow judgemental once-over, the kind that Violet had witnessed cause several interns to burst into tears.

“What are you wearing?” Fame’s voice was icy cold, but Pearl only smirked.

“You don’t like it?”

“Did you sleep in your makeup?” Fame reached out, touching Pearl’s chin with a single finger and tilting her head up, turning her face from side to side. “You know how I feel about this mistreatment of your skin.”

Fame dropped her hand, and Violet immediately handed her a tissue. Fame wiped her fingers, giving the now crumpled paperback to Violet, the whole exchange taking less than 10 seconds.

“You smell like an illegal teen party.”

“It’s because I’ve been to one.” Pearl smiled brightly, Fame’s disapproval and rudeness clearly not touching her at all. “Wait until you see the photos. Half the partygoers were wearing our newest print. Trixie was absolutely right-”

Just as Fame said those words, Trixie pushed through the door, the senior creative team of Galactica now all present, to Violet’s relief.

“You rang?” he said with a cheeky grin, earning a fist bump from Pearl.

It had taken Violet months to realize how much of a genius Trixie actually was--his close-shaven brown hair, obvious bald spot, a fondness for colorful t-shirts and love handles all doing everything they could to hide that he was one of the main forces behind Galactica’s success. But Trixie (who’s real name was Brian, though Violet had never heard anyone call him that) was wildly creative, known for his effective management style and outside the box thinking.

While Raja handled the broad creative direction and was the face of the company to customers and consumers, Trixie was in charge of the day to day operations of the design departments. He ruled the design atelier and the tailoring department with a gentle touch, though no one dared cross him, Trixie just as willing as anyone else in the boardroom to do what it took to get the job done.

“I’m sorry I’m late-” Trixie yawned, barely hiding it behind his hand.

“I take it the collection is going well?” Raja smirked, her knife cutting through an apple.

“Don’t even ask.” Trixie groaned, sitting down in a chair, grabbing the coffee - two-pump caramel, whole fat milk - Violet delivered to his hand and drinking it down greedily. “My machine broke and ate most of my prototype.”

“So it’s not here?” Fame raised a brow, but Trixie shook his head, reaching into the paper bag he had brought along.

“I’ve been remaking it all night on Katya’s shitty theater machine.”

“Oh, my poor darling.” Fame leaned against the edge of the table, gently running a hand through Trixie’s buzzed hair. “We’ll get you a new one.” “Thank you.” Trixie smiled, and Violet grabbed her notebook, knowing that Fame without a doubt expected her to find the exact same machine Trixie had broken and get it delivered to his apartment before the workday was over.

***

A knock caught Violet’s attention. She was back in the office, writing out her to-do list from the meeting, her nails clacking away on the keyboard.

“Violet?” Max Malaphany was standing in the door, a smile on his lips. “Is she in?”

Max was an impossibly tall British man, his soft short hair grey, his eyes blue.

“Sorry,” Violet quickly pressed save, turning her chair. “Fame is in a meeting, but I can pencil you in for later?”

Max was Galactica’s main photographer, and one of Fame’s treasured darlings. He had a studio on the top floor, his sure hands and endless patience capturing all in house media, Galactica producing every single shot for their website themself, and while Violet wouldn’t have believed it made that much of a difference, their online portfolio had thousands and thousands of visitors every single day.

“I’ll just wait here.” Max was carrying a portable light table under his arm, and Violet could only guess what would be in his backpack. “I’ll only be a moment.”

If it had been anyone else, she would have protested, ushered them out of her little front office one way or the other, but Max was different. He was one of the few calming presences at Galactica, he never probed, rarely gossiped, and Violet truly enjoyed that about him.

“Do you want some water?” Violet had a mini-fridge under her desk stocked with the most important supplies, since she never knew when Fame’s cravings or the mood of her guests would strike.

“I’d love that.”

She quickly grabbed him a water, and Max settled down in one of the plush armchairs normally reserved for visitors. He didn’t start talking, wasn’t trying to make chit chat that would inevitably turn awkward, which was why Violet had allowed him to stay.

She went back to her memo, working for a little while but her eyes were stinging, and she only barely managed to hide a yawn behind her hand.

“Are you feeling alright, Violet?” Max asked gently.

“What?” In spite of her exhaustion, Violet was in a fairly good mood, and while she didn’t have the sunniest disposition, she wasn’t actively annoyed at the moment. She quickly checked her face in the glass door to the office, smoothing down her hair.

“You look lovely as always, Violet.” Max smiled. “I was only asking because, well, I’ve never seen you slouch before. Are you feeling unwell?”

“Oh…” Violet straightened her back, her fingers in her thick black locks. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Okay.” Max nodded. His expression was so understanding, his manner so patient, that Violet did something she rarely ever did. She offered more information.

“I’m just tired, I-” Violet swallowed down a nervous chuckle, her tongue feeling like it was growing in size in her mouth. “I don’t sleep well these days. The electricity in my building, isn’t, it isn’t very stable, and I keep having these nightmares where my phone runs out of charge so I miss an important call and-”

“Oh dear.”

Violet realized how stupid she had to sound, but she had woken up covered in sweat thinking she had missed calls from Fame, any rest she got broken up by the worry that she wasn’t doing her job.

“I’m sorry. It’s nothing to worry about really,” Violet assured him. “The landlord said they’ll rewire the building-” Max didn’t need to know that her landlord had been promising that exact thing the entire time Violet had been living there, but she didn’t really have any other options, her student debt way too much for her to even consider spending another penny on rent. “I’m sure it’ll work itself out.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck with that,” he said sincerely. Just then, the door opened and Jaida, the company's CFO, came out.

“Max!” Fame appeared in the doorway, a delighted smile on her face.

Violet’s stomach turned to ice, everything in her begging that Fame hadn’t heard her complain.

“Hello Miss. I know you’re terribly busy, but I wondered if you could spare a few minutes to discuss the test shoot for the new brochures yesterday?”

“Of course, anything for you!” Fame said. She truly was a different person in Max’s presence, Violet noted. Softer and calmer--as most people were.

“Wonderful.”

***

“Oh I don’t know about this light for orange, it’s so ghastly-” Fame was chewing her lip, a lens in her hand as she went over the pictures Max had brought in for her.

“Fame?”

“Yes dearest?” Fame looked up. She loved Max. When Pearl had told her of a British wildlife photographer she had met in LA and bullied into taking her picture, Fame hadn’t been interested. As always, Pearl had proven to have an eye for talent that few could compete with, her social media director not only able to sniff out trends like a bloodhound, no, she knew people, and she knew them instantly.

Max had a rare talent for capturing the natural beauty of an unnatural world, so much of fashion made up of things that didn’t matter, but when he shot, when he turned his lens on someone, he captured all the best they could offer each and every time.

“I heard Ivy moved in with her boyfriend.”

“Mmh?” It was indeed true. Raja’s assistant, Ivy, had been living in the building Fame and Patrick owned for a few years. Fame and Raja had almost gotten in a fight, something that never happened, when Ivy’s house in Queens had been torn down, but in the end Raja had gotten her will, Ivy moving into the studio apartment on the top floor. “She left two weeks ago.”

Fame had meant to find someone else to take the apartment, but that building was special. It wasn’t just an apartment complex, it was a place where she kept her chosen ones, a safe haven she offered to talent that she trusted.

“You know, Violet doesn’t have reliable electricity. In her building. I mean.”

“Oh Max.” Fame smiled, touching Max’s knee. “You have always had such a tender heart.”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #lesbian au #fashion au #pearlet #violet chachki #miss fame #pearl liaison #trixie mattel #raja gemini #max malanaphy

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queenofeden · 5 years

Text

i admit this one got away from me but i certainly was having fun and that’s what matters right? also asra is here for once. he’s not part of it.

Day 23: Humiliation

Pairing: Nadia Satrinava/Julian Devorak/Female Apprentice

Word Count: 3474 (yikes @ me)

Summary:

"You asked for it, and so you will keep what was so graciously given to you, do you understand?"

✨ My Ko-Fi // Read on AO3 ✨

Laurel whimpers, face half smashed into the bedding, silk covered fingers clawing uselessly at the coverlet. Julian's cock splits her open from behind, her cunt aching around his girth as he takes his last few erratic thrusts and spills, a searing hot splash, deep inside of her. She nearly chokes on the sudden feeling of fullness, gasping, breathing in a mouthful of damp fabric. Julian's cock continues to twitch and pump into her, milking himself for all he can, until at last he begins to slip out of her.

"Careful," Nadia whispers, either to Laurel or Julian, she can't be certain. "Very good." Her hand pets over the small of Laurel's back while Julian gives her a more solid pat-pat on her haunches, like she is a well behaved farm animal.

The head of his cock eases out, and immediately Laurel can feel come begin to trickle from her well used hole in his wake, even as Nadia's stern voice warns her to hold. Desperately she clenches, trying to stem the flow, shaking all the while -- her bones threatening to rattle right out of her skin.

Julian's voice is rough and wretched when he speaks, but full of tenderness, something almost proud in his tone. "Look at you, you took all of it so well."

"She did," Nadia agrees. Her cool fingers trail over Laurel's mess of a cunt, no doubt scooping up the little bit she'd let slip. "For the most part, anyway."

Nadia's come covered fingers press shallowly inside Laurel's asshole, stretched wide but unused, unfucked as of yet. She smears Julian's spend around Laurel's sensitive rim, pressing it inside.

"You asked for it, and so you will keep what was so graciously given to you, do you understand?" Nadia asks, single finger pulling like a hook, forcing Laurel's hole to gape slightly, her cunt twitching in response. Laurel bites back a moan, clenching her eyes shut. She nods, duvet scratching her cheek.

"Mmn, fuck. Yes, Nadia."

"Excellent. Come now, stand up."

Standing is worse. Easier to keep his load inside her with the clench of her thighs, perhaps, but oh, the wet, slick, stick of her own arousal coating her thighs, squelching and practically bubbling up around her neglected clit, combined with Julian's -- marking her ass and, try as she might to fight the inevitability of gravity, already threatening to leak out of her.

Nadia guides Laurel with a gentle hand to the tall floor length mirror and begins adjusting and smoothing the skirts of her gown back into place. Fashionable, but terribly thin, they swish gorgeously around her hips and ankles, but give Laurel very little confidence in their ability to conceal her shame.

Nadia doesn't seem to share these concerns, only presses and tucks at Laurel's clothes, making her somewhat presentable again. She combs and fluffs Laurel's curls with her fingers, pinches her already flushed cheeks until the apples pink prettily.

"There," Nadia breathes, giving her cheek a final, light pat. "Absolutely lovely. No doubt the ambassador and his partner will just adore you."

In her reflection Laurel looks wrecked still, eyes glassy, chest heaving and blotchy. The thought of facing the ambassador and his retinue like this fills her with a low hum of dread. Laurel sniffles delicately, bottom lip rolling between her teeth.

"And you," Nadia says, gaze drifting over Laurel's shoulder. "My sweet Julian, did you enjoy yourself?"

He appears behind Laurel in the mirror, hands trailing up her half-gloved arms. "More than I could possibly hope to describe."

"Good to hear. It is a rare treat indeed that you should be allowed to come inside my cunt." Nadia's hand presses low on Laurel's stomach when she says the word 'my'. Laurel hisses, and Nadia smiles. "I believe a thank you should be in order?"

The tips of Julian's ears go red. "Y-yes, Nadia! Of course, my apologies. So sorry. Thank you, thank you so much!"

"For?" Nadia drawls patiently.

"For, god, for allowing me to come inside Laurel."

"You are very welcome." Nadia kisses him lightly on the cheek, careful not to leave a smudge of lipstick on his pale skin. "Now, I believe it's nearly time for dinner. Shall we?"

Arm in arm, Nadia and Laurel descend the stairs together. Laurel keeps a death grip on Nadia's forearm, Nadia covering her tense hand with her own lax one.

“I’ve one last surprise for you,” Nadia whispers suddenly. Laurel blinks, startled. At the bottom of the stairs there is a faint hubbub of voices that freezes Laurel's feet mid-stride, a familiar prickle of magic at the base of her neck. Nadia pulls to a halt on the step below, gazing up at her slyly.

"Nadia--" Laurel whispers, heart thumping in her throat, so close she can almost taste it.

"Yes, my love? Is something wrong?"

"Nadia what--"

"There you two are!" Asra's friendly voice calls up from down below.

Laurel feels her eyes nearly cross, all the blood in her body suddenly draining to her feet and leaving her faint. Asra bounds up the remaining stairs two at a time towards them, white curls bouncing with every step. Without thinking he reaches for Laurel, pulling her into a tight hug which would normally be received and returned with enthusiasm.

Instead, Laurel tries not to gasp directly into his ear, only capable of patting his back dumbly with one hand. The smell of him overwhelms her, bitter herbs mixed with spicy incense that still sing home in every nook and cranny of her heart. It is a comforting thing, usually, one more than welcome. Currently, she wants nothing more than to shove away from him and crawl out of her own skin. Over his shoulder, she watches Nadia's grin grow wider, crinkling the corners of her wicked, twinkling eyes.

She feels she might collapse when, at long last, he finally releases her and goes to hug Nadia. Laurel sags against the bannister, breathing deeply, shakily through her nose.

Asra turns back, his smile faltering into a small frown. "Are you alright, Laurel?"

"Oh fine, I'm fine!" she lies, words tumbling out too quickly. "Just, so -- so surprised to see you here! What are you doing here, Asra?"

"A little surprise for you, dear." Nadia says, voice smooth as the silk of Laurel's gloves. "You were so nervous about the ambassador's dinner, I thought it would serve you well to have another familiar face at the table."

Laurel's neck couldn't possibly be a shade lighter than crimson, but somehow she manages to nod and smile. "That's just -- so sweet of you Nadia. Wow. A whole Asra! Here for dinner!"

The whole Asra in question glances between them, brows pinched slightly at the center. Nadia lays a gentle hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to her.

"And will Muriel also be joining us this evening?"

Laurel certainly doesn't gasp, but perhaps a small whimper makes its way past her clamped tight lips. Too distracted to keep it in, a small stream of Julian's come leaks out of her, smearing between her restless thighs.

Asra shakes his head, smiling dreamily at the mere mention of Muriel's name. "No, he really wasn't feeling up to it, what with the other visitors and all. He sends his love, though."

“Such a shame. I’ll have the staff send you home with some food for him, we’ll surely have plenty,” Nadia says.

“Oh! More company?” comes Julian’s voice, echoing off the walls from the direction of his own personal rooms. “Who is it?”

He stops short, easy smile frozen on his face when he spies Asra. His eye widens a fraction, but thankfully he composes himself far quicker and with more ease than Laurel had. “Why, hullo there, Asra, I wasn’t aware you were joining us for dinner?”

“Apparently nobody was,” Asra mutters, looking between all of them curiously. When his violet gaze lingers too long on Laurel’s face, she turns away with a cough into a gloved fist. Nadia’s attention shifts swiftly to Laurel, playful gaze softening.

“Why not go ahead to the dining room with Julian, Asra. We’ll join you in just a moment.”

The two of them retreat around the corner. Laurel leans her full weight against the bannister now, knees buckling. Her brow feels damp with sweat, her thighs still sticking together uncomfortably, hyper aware of the slip between her ass cheeks and her slit with every movement. Nadia crowds close, taking her trembling arms in her hands.

“You invited Asra?” Laurel whimpers once she is close enough.

Nadia chuckles and brushes an errant curl from Laurel’s sticky forehead. “I told you there was one last surprise.”

Laurel shivers. “Yes, but -- but Asra?”

Nadia takes her chin gently in her grip and tilts Laurel’s face up to meet her eyes. “Is this too much for you?” she asks, voice dropping low below a whisper, suddenly very serious. “You need only say the word, Laurel, and I’ll take you to the baths at once myself and get you cleaned up.”

“I--” Laurel’s lips part, then close. Shame and humiliation flare bright as a bonfire in her chest, but so too does her desire, left like unbanked coals to smoulder deep inside her. The shock of Asra’s presence had thrown her, certainly, but was it enough to stop? To call everything off? She has no doubt as to Nadia’s sincerity in the matter, Nadia who is looking down at her with such care, with all the love in the world, waiting for her to answer.

“I -- no. No, I’m fine. I can do this.”

The corner of Nadia’s mouth twitches upwards. “There is no need to be brave, my sweet. I’ll not be disappointed, I promise you.”

“No! No, really. I’ll be fine. I -- I want to.”

Nadia leans in close, careful still of marking Laurel with an obvious lip print, but pressing their cheeks together. “So eager to please,” she breathes directly into Laurel’s ear. “My good girl, I am so proud of you.”

Laurel sighs, eyes slipping closed as Nadia’s praise washes over her, warm as a balmy summer breeze.

“Are you ready to go to dinner, now?”

Steeling herself with a final, deep breath, Laurel nods.

Laurel was not ready for dinner.

Nadia had cleverly seated Asra directly to Laurel’s right, Nadia at her left at the head of the table. Normally this place would be Julian’s, but he had been relegated a few seats down so as not to offend the ambassador’s sensibilities. There was no need for the court physician to have a special place at the table, after all. Asra, however, as a guest of the palace, was perfectly content to sit close -- too close -- to Laurel, his shoulder brushing hers with every lift of his fork, every touch like a jolt of electricity straight to Laurel’s core.

If standing had been unbearable, somehow sitting is even worse. No longer does she worry about come sliding down the insides of her thighs, she is only aware of it, in the most uncomfortable way possible. Her ass presses to the chair, her thin skirts the only barrier between her bare skin and everyone else. Across the table from her, the ambassador sits with his partner to his left. They both watch her, or perhaps they don’t, but she can’t help but feel their stares sitting heavy on her.

Can they tell that something is amiss? Can they see the flush on her cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her upper lip, the fine tremor in her hands as she lifts her water glass to her lips and drains it all in one long gulp? All throughout the meal, she feels Asra sneaking furtive glances at her. When she barely picks at her dinner, and the ambassador is turned away in rapt conversation with Nadia, he turns just slightly in her direction.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, voice laced with such genuine concern Laurel feels like she might start to cry. “You’ve hardly eaten, you look flushed. Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick, Asra. I’m fine,” she hisses, and spears a large bite of seared meat and vegetables with her fork as if to illustrate her fineness. It tastes like ash in her mouth, but she swallows it all the same, attempting an easy smile. By the way his brows pinch, it must not look as convincing as she would like.

The ambassador’s partner, tall with deep-set eyes and a long, dark ponytail pulled over their shoulder, suddenly turns away from the conversation and stares, it feels, directly into her very soul. Panic flares bright in her chest. Why would they look at her like that? What had she done? She’d been so careful, all this time, but what if she’d slipped? Perhaps they could sense something wrong with her, or her magic, or could smell her like a bitch in heat.

The thought makes her shudder, concentration slipping, more come leaking out directly onto the fabric of her dress. She cannot stop it this time, her muscles strained and exhausted. The wetness seeps out, down into her skirts, between her crossed legs. She cannot even make a sound, only feeling the heat of sheer mortification prickling at the roots of her hair, travelling all the way down her spine.

“I’m just worried about you,” Asra continues, oblivious to her thoughts, what her body is doing. He lays his hand gently over hers, a sweet gesture that makes her entire body seize up. She jerks her hand away, fork clattering against the china. It draws everyone’s attention, and Laurel wishes that she could simply sink down into the floor, chair and all.

“S-so sorry, clumsy fingers,” she tries to laugh, setting her fork down with more force than is necessary.

“You know, funny story that, ambassador -- I’m reminded of the summer I spent--” Julian’s beautiful voice cuts through the quiet, responding to some part of the conversation Laurel clearly had not heard. Everyone’s attention diverted, she turns baleful eyes to Nadia, who only sips her wine, an amused smile hidden behind the rim of her glass.

“Laurel--” Asra whispers, voice harsher than his usual pleasant drawl. Right. Asra. Gods, she’d already forgotten about him. Poor Asra, could he feel the echo of her heart, beating against the cage of her ribs like a frantic, trapped bird? Her head snaps back to him, shame churning her stomach like a whirlpool.

“Sorry, you -- you startled me.”

“Laurel, your aura is going haywire. What is up with you right now?”

“Asra, I--”

“Let me guess, you’re fine?”

“I -- yes. I’m fine!” she snaps, their harried whispers bitten between their bowed heads, nearly touching. “Please, Asra, I am begging you as my dearest friend. Do not press this right now. Not here.”

The drone of Julian’s voice pauses, and in the brief interim, Nadia clears her throat.

“Doctor, perhaps you would like to continue your… delightful story somewhere more comfortable?” She smiles, radiating an air of warmth and confidence. “Shall we all retire to the study for dessert?”

And then she stands.

As is custom, when the Countess stands, so too does the rest of the table. Even Asra and Julian scrape their chairs backwards immediately. The only one who doesn’t, who can’t stand, is Laurel.

Once again she feels the weight of everyone’s stares descend upon her, heavy and delicate as a pile of bricks. As Nadia’s wife she should have been the first to stand, and yet here she is. Laurel knows -- she can feel it, knows that there is a stain on the back of her gown, very likely also on the seat below her. She can’t. She simply can’t. There is a moment, in the flash of a second, where she considers just simply magicking the spot away. Surely no one would see in so short a time, but then she remembers Asra again. He would feel her cast, would know that something had transpired, if he doesn’t already. Truly, she hasn’t the mind left for logic or reason.

She clenches her fists so tightly her nails threaten to draw blood from her palms, and stays seated. Nadia stares down at her, and arches a delicate purple brow.

“Are you well, my love?”

“Forgive me,” Laurel manages through clenched teeth. “I do believe I am not feeling well after all.”

“Was something the matter with the food?” the ambassador asks, sounding almost suspicious.

“Oh, oh, no. No, of course not.” Laurel looks up at the ambassador, and speaks directly to him for perhaps the first time all night. “I am ever so sorry to interrupt. Please, spare no thoughts for me and carry on with your evening.”

“There is no need to apologize.” With heady, knowing eyes, Nadia places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Doctor Devorak, I’m terribly sorry to steal you away from the fun, but it seems that my dear wife is feeling ill. Would you please?”

Julian snaps to attention. “Of course, Countess!”

He shimmies out from between the close-pressed chairs, and makes his way the short distance to Laurel’s seat. With a nod, Nadia takes Laurel’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, a perfect dark lip-print branding her cream colored glove.

“Come, everyone. My offer of dessert and conversation in the study still stands. If you would all follow me?”

Bodies stream out of the dining room in two single file lines, following Nadia’s regal figure like trailing ducklings. Julian’s hands find Laurel’s shoulders the minute the sound of the dining room door clicking shut echoes out, and Laurel’s body and face crumple in tandem.

“Oh, darling, are you alright?” Julian asks, fingers tracing delicately up her neck.

She nods, even as she feels tears spill from the corners of her eyes down to her chin.

“I can’t stand up,” she says weakly. She almost feels like laughing at herself, at the sheer absurdity of her situation, but all that comes out is a small sob.

“You can’t -- oh. Oh,” Julian’s voice warbles as the realization, the implication of her words, settles upon him.

“‘Oh,’ what?” comes Asra’s sharp voice.

Laurel jumps, and so does Julian, by the nearly painful strength with which he grips her. Laurel’s head swivels towards his voice. Asra stands too casually, arms crossed, leaned against the frame of the closed door. She had felt him leave her side, she was sure she had, so sure that he had followed Nadia, but it seems… well…

Laurel folds her arms on the table, shoving her half empty plate aside, and pillows her head upon them.

“Ilya, why can’t Laurel stand?”

Unseen, Julian begins to babble. “I -- well, you see it’s. Hah, well really, it’s a funny story you see, now -- uhm… hm--”

Laurel raises her hand, and then her head. Julian’s near panicked voice trails off. “Don’t, Julian. Just -- just don’t.”

“What -- what should I?”

She sighs, resigned. “Just, help me up would you?”

Rather than offer her his hand like a normal person, Julian simply bends down and scoops her bodily from her chair. Her arms fly around his neck in a momentary panic, then they both look at one another, then back to Asra, who of course is still there, standing, waiting for an explanation.

Slowly, Julian places her back down onto her feet. Still, she can feel the wet slide between her legs, and now the cool clinging of the skirt against her backside. When she looks down there is, blessedly, by some grace of the gods themselves, no spot on the chair cushion.

Asra stares at her, wide eyed for a brief moment as they make eye contact, and then his face shifts into one of sly understanding.

“So this was…?”

Laurel winces, and gives a small shrug.

“And you.” Asra points to Laurel. “You two?” He pauses. “You… three?”

Laurel bites the inside of her cheek so harshly she tastes the tang of blood. She nods.

Asra also nods, brows raising and lowering, furrowing briefly as the words settle. He blinks decisively. “Right, I think maybe I should leave now. Give Nadi my thanks for dinner?”

“I will do that, yes.”

“Great. And tomorrow, Laurel? We’re having lunch together,” he says, with a glint in those violet eyes. “It seems like you and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Laurel nods again, words failing her. Her face could not possibly be hotter.

Asra slips from the room without another word, the door closing with a solid thump behind him. Julian’s hands hover behind her back.

“Well, that went… It certainly went a way, didn’t it?”

“Julian,” Laurel sighs. “Please just take me to our room, I’d like to change my clothes now.”

“I -- of course.”

And once again, she finds herself in his arms.

#the arcana #the arcana game #nadia satrinava #julian devorak #nadia x julian x apprentice #arcanagame #my fic #kinktober2019 #nadia

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squiddybeifong · 5 years

Text

Teatime

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Talia tapped her nails on the table’s edge as she silently stirred her coffee, watching the milk swirl into the liquid.

Raven tossed her head back and downed the rest of hers, uncaring as she noted the hardened scrapes and the hidden message at the bottom of her cup.

Harley ripped off an edge of her brownie and began loudly chewing, amused to all hell at the predicament they found themselves in. She didn’t touch her iced mocha, letting it sweat onto the napkin and twisting the wet paper into a ball. Talia shot her a look as the clown flicked a piece of mush her way, rolling her eyes when the blonde snickered as the younger woman flicked it back.

A tendril of black magic silently swiped some of her dessert and Harley clicked her tongue. “Sooooo,” She couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice if she tried, “Anyone’s drink poisoned?”

Dark emerald eyes flicked to the demoness as Raven merely shrugged out a nonchalant, “Mine was.”

Bright blue eyes glanced her way, unconcerned and curious, “Think mine is?”

“Probably. Talia’s too if she's not drinking anything.”

Her suggestion forced a snort out of the fighter, “Our assassins aren’t anywhere near that stupid.” Talia looked up and smirked at the two women, her shoulders lazily rising in what might have been misconstrued as a laugh. She brought the cup up to her lips, humming out, “They know better.”

Raven leaned back in her chair, squirming at the too-plush feeling of a cushion under her. Levitating an inch she tilted her head back until her hood fell, her violet gaze locking with a hidden assassin’s masked face. He stayed still as a statue but she felt the sharp tension that spiked his emotions. Lips curling, the demoness merely grinned at the man, her teeth sharp and four eyes glowing crimson for only a second.

He felt the shadows shift around him and ducked back into a better, far more hidden spying spot.

Talia sneered into her cup at his carelessness and Harley snickered, tossing an arm over the back of her chair. Speaking up as if the man’s silent interruption hadn’t even happened, Harley popped off the cap and took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah! And besides,” She giggled at the whipped cream on her nose, “Birdie’s here to heal us if anything goes wrong.”

“Awful mindset to have, Quinzel.”

She waved aside Talia's words. “Well yeah, but it’s true. Y’all know I--Oh.” She looked down at her stomach, not noticing how the other two glanced at her as she cut herself off. Blonde brows furrowed and Harley ran a tongue over her teeth, lazily lifting the plastic cup to her face. She gave a one-shouldered shrug, considering the fact that she probably shouldn’t have boba in her mocha, even if the almost-rhyme was fun to say.

The Gothamite glanced at Raven, wondering whether or not to break out the puppy dog routine. The Titan gave her a pointed look at the half-hearted guilt that hit her empathic shield, her face falling as Harley shrugged out, “This might’ve--probably had glass in it.”

Raven’s hands immediately glowed blue and Talia let out a breath through her nose. She hid her smile in the shadows of her hair but Harley noticed, waving her hand to blow a kiss in the brunette’s direction. Pale hands split from beyond the indigo cloak, one working on the siren’s throat and the other on her stomach.

Harley chuckled as she scooted their chairs together, remarkedly casual as the mage got to work on healing her.

Talia watched them curiously, quietly sipping her tea as the miniscule shards of glass were teleported onto the table, shrouded with black magic. She licked her lips, considering the two in front of her; the two she’d started a… friendship with.

Dark green eyes flicked to where she knew some more of her assassins were hiding just out of eyesight, poised and ready to end her visitors’ lives the moment she gave the signal. Not that she couldn’t finish them herself, but something awful twisted in the prodigy’s stomach at the mere thought of killing them at this point in time. Especially not when they’d travelled all this way just to see her.

Talia glared down into her coffee, conflicted. Despite her emotions (the very same emotions she knew that Raven was certainly privy too), her words were steady as she declared, not once faltering, “I’ll ensure that it won’t happen again.”

Harley’s face rose to meet hers but Raven didn’t look up. The hero’s head did tilt to the side and Talia assumed she was listening just as intently. Still, she had made her decision and was going to stick with it, “I’d rather not…” Her eyes shut as she tried to find the word, wondering why she felt the need to be honest with these two (of all people).

But the thought of them rejecting her popped up, yet alone the thought of them leaving her after a lie concerning whether or not they were targets. Well, that was just too much to think about and Talia really didn’t want to ponder about why that was. She rolled her jaw and pushed on, “I don’t wish to jeopardize…”

A brown hand waved in the air between the three of them, uncertain but honest, “Whatever this is.”

Raven’s lips curled into what could be a tiny smile, the motion hidden by the shadows of her face. But Harley was as open as ever, stretching as much as the healer would allow to grab her hand.

Talia didn’t make an effort to move, although when their fingertips could only brush together, she didn’t pull back.

The doctor held out her cup and Talia clinked their drinks together, her eyes barely widening as Harley tossed her head back and downed the rest of her tainted coffee in one swoop. Raven’s powers flickered and her brows scrunched for only a second, rising nearly to her cloaked hairline as Harley slung an arm around her shoulders.

The blonde wiped her mouth and leaned forward, placing an exaggeratedly loud smooch on the skin right above Raven’s gem. She giggled out, her words escaping in a sigh, “Y’all are the best.” The teen faltered for just a heartbeat at the casual affection and immediately got back to work, crackles of power zapping at her fingertips.

After a beat the mystic spoke again. “Unnecessary,” Raven murmured, her shoulders twitching as she carefully healed the miniscule scratches, a tendril of magic pulling another piece of brownie towards her again.

“But not unwanted,” Harley sing-songed out. She lazily rested her chin on top of Raven’s head, letting out a loud raspberry as she spotted another assassin, his sword accidentally glinting in the light. Sapphire eyes winked at him and Talia let out an annoyed sigh, softly rubbing her fingertips over the rim of her cup, the ceramic colder than Harley’s fingers had been.

After a calm few seconds, a rough sigh preceded a curl of magic wrapping around the legs of Talia’s chair, shifting the assassin closer. Both women glanced at the superhero; Raven’s shoulders moved in what could have been a shrug as she elected not to say anything, but it was enough.

Harley chuckled and leaned her weight half on her chair and half on Raven, sighing happily at the syrupy feel of the girl’s powers. The three sunk into a companionable sort of silence and green eyes closed.

Taking a slow, heavy breath Talia took another sip of tea, hearing the methodical clink! clink! clink! of tiny shards of glass land on the table.

Yeah, this was enough.

#talia al ghul #harley quinn #raven #my writing #with imagination #it's that song by harry connick jr. i was listening and this idea refused to wait so we got a tag fellas #do y'all wanna know what i wrote in the doc to remind me what this is about?#woke: raven gets introduced and gets two moms thru harlivy #awake: rae and talia meet and bond bc they both got dem demon daddy issues #galaxy: when she's with harlivy rae's got moms and when she's with harley and talia she has two older sisters #i just. i dunno #i need teen rae with harlivy and also talia/bruce or whatever their ship name is #i need them venting about being manipulated and them working with each other to help get over it #i need casual flirting with talia and harls #i need convos about how hot talia and kinda harley think b is and raven getting grossed out #i just really need all of them growing together. just like bettering themselves and having harley be the voice of reason with all the #bad tendencies and cycles and demon shit and aaaaaa #like there's a very specific dynamic im looking for but i don't know exactly how it's gonna come about #talia and rae being like sisters... rae and harley in that older sis that's just older enough that it's almost adult to teen talks #and talia just barely being below that line of more adult than older sister to rae but also not siblingly enough to not flirt w/harley #im just.. i've seen this dynamic before i just can't remember /where/#and at the same time it's like #am i patient or even knowledgeable about them to write something like this? probably not but im going for it #why am i posting this? i have no clue how this is gonna go #oneshots? maybe?? im not sure #it seems like it needs chapters but that means plot n junk. plus im already so behind on what i already got on ao3 lmaoo #but stupid cephalopod brain needs input now so here it is #but like.. yknow if any of y'all got any ideas of harley nicknames for talia im all ears like blease

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swyllh · 5 years

Text

take me higher

title: take me higher

pairing: bts!jin + reader

genre: speculative fiction, slice of life

note: heavily inspired by a mix of - welcome to nightvale, bts boy with luv, the recent blackhole image. tldr jin’s trying to ask you on a date, but the universe appears to be conspiring against him.

strange things happen in north walden. it's almost as if the world's worn out, plucked loosely at with bitter thumbs; at the intersection between fourth street and mango avenue, there's a greyhound keening against the fence every monday evening. its wail pierces through fogged diner windows and static camera lenses, seething lilac echoes.

the radioman pauses promptly, his orchestrated cheer drained from the blaring speakers.

"you want sugar with that?" jin says, unwittingly generous with his charms.

his eyes are grand, skimming past the rim of the impossible. we can now see the unseeable, you recall hearing from the local telecast, a potent celebration of ambiguity.

"sure, thanks," you say, elbows chilled from the skittering marble of the countertop.

jin grins, shooting stars in his eyes. he blinks them away, but the universe washes pink with yet another supernova. your order slides up to you, saucer blooming like a setting sun. the swirl of tanned reds and violets skips up along the curve of the handle, scampering free of your fingers.

"did you hear?" you ask, as jin frets over some lavender-scented utensil.

yes, did you hear? the radioman, forgotten, adds.

"about the blackhole?" jin says, deftly retying the straps of his apron. "yeah, that was something, wasn't it?"

it sure is! deadly, blistering, and now... in ochre, the radioman announces. scientists from the national scientific agency have now termed the image 'messier 87'.

we have seen the unseeable, they said, monotonously, and we have given it a name just as it has given us ours. after that, the coats marched, waving a sleeve at the scorching flare of light particles on the screen.

a brush of joy spreads across jin's face. you take another sip of the frothy milk, watching, as the foam trills gold against the inside of your cheek. there's another wail, rounded at the edges.

"messier 87," jin begins.

do not, the radioman hisses, speak its name. we do not call on those we do not seek answers from,

the scientists said, cloaked now entirely in a singular starched coat. it was white.

you shrug, and jin chortles. the radioman hurrumphs, and continues with a tirade of nonchalant euphemisms about messier 87. as they wind on, you share a look with jin - this time, pluto in full view. the dwarf planet swings from the right eye to the left, too enthusiastic in its orbit.

and now, the community calendar.

jin perks up, a gradient of constellations rippling from some unforeseen beginning. time, like sand, scatters in equal parts ease and beige.

the radioman clears his throat knowingly, and continues, this thursday, young sadie will be hosting a garden party. she has requested that every visitor bring a jar of pickled gingers.

it is for my mother, young sadie said, she likes gingers.

"i do have gingers in the back," jin says, raising your hopes with the tilt of his head.

the galaxies fumble, re-calibrate their axes, and spin anxiously in his eyes. you tap a finger against your chin, pretending to consider.

"why don't we-"

alert, alert, the radioman parrots, we have just received news that messier 87 will land this thursday. all citizens are advised to stay indoors and keep the windows sealed. do not, i repeat, do not answer to any call of faith.

"yikes," jin says, frowning. "i wonder how young sadie will host her party.

you shrug. "if we make it past thursday, we could make it to her next one."

messier 87 will depart on friday evening after claiming at least twelve victims. the governor has appointed a mourning on friday night.

the greyhound's last wail is cut short with a few sputters. and then a low whine. something's written an ancient hieroglyph on the glass door to the diner. it's an eye, affixed to a symbol vaguely resembling a water tower. the scrawling glows ominously.

"you might want to clean that up later," you say.

jin turns to face the door. "oh, no, that's a blessing from the angels."

he reassures you with a blinding grin, the peekaboo sun warming the sides of his irises. for some reason, you can't look away. neither does he.

and then a loud, scratchy feedback breaks it. the radioman continues drilling: on saturday instead, young sadie will be setting up her garden party. again, she has requested - what? - oh, no more pickled gingers. young sadie has requested a shellfish from each patron.

jin raises a brow, as do you. it doesn't take long before the coral peal of laughter pulls you into its orbit. when he looks up, the milkyway is speckled against the curve of his cheek.

you lean in, ignoring the winded sputters from the radio. "you don't happen to have a shellfish, do you?"

"you mean two?"

#bts #jin #wtnv #bts fanfiction #bts ff #seokjin scenarios #boy with luv #it's been so long since i last posted #but the recent bts album shook me #so much #so yeah this is what happened #but anyway finals are in three weeks #so i'm just gonna disappear after this

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steele-soulmate · 11 months

Text

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 479, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

WORDS: 1286

DING DONG

I stirred awake as the doorbell chimes rang out, signaling the arrival of an unexpected visitor. I heard someone answer the door, the quiet mumble of voices and then a car leaving the property.

PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT-PAT

“Mommy! Guess what?” Katie chattered as she entered the master bedroom, Jing in tight to her chest as she vibrated with joy and excitement. “Baby Noah is here for a visit!”

“Baby Noah?” I blinked owlishly. “IS Auntie Sammi okay?”

“Sammi had a doctor’s appointment,” Peter announced, entered the master bedroom with a chest full of babies. “Her usual sitter had to cancel at the last possible minute, so she sent me a text. I hope you don’t mind me agreeing to watch him for a few hours.”

“My love, I hate to say it,” I sighed as I struggled to sit up again. “But I do think you have a serious case of baby fever.”

“All for good reasons, my sweetheart!” he protested as he settled the quartet of babies down onto the bed and taking a seat on his side to keep an eye on the happily wandering babies. “I need to practice for when Baby Violet Marie arrives!”

“My love, you’d take any good excuse to bring out all the baby loving flair,” I droned. “Admit it.”

“Touche, my sweetheart,” he grumbled as Baby Tommy dragged Baby Noah over to me, babbling away at a million miles an hour as he pressed his younger cousin’s hand to my popped out tummy.

KICK KICK KICK KICK

The chubby nine month old little man jumped backwards with a scream, tears welling up in his soft brown eyes.

“No cwies, Baa bee Vi wet Mawie say hihi!” Baby Tommy explained. “Daddy put seed into mommy tummy and baa bee is bown!”

I giggled at Baby Tommy giving Baby Noah a watered down version of the birds and bees talk, knowing almost at once that both boys would grow up to be gentle and caring.

Baby Kit toddled over, her steps careful and tender as she made her way over to where the two little men were sitting.

“Baa bee?” she giggled, bumping into me and pressing her little baby hand into Baby Violet Marie. “Baa bee!”

PUNCH KICK PUNCH KICK PUNCH KICK PUNCH KICK

“Mesies havie baa bee?” she asked with a giggle.

“When you’re older,” I told her, leaning forward to press a motherly kiss to her temple.

“And not a moment sooner,” Peter grumbled as little girl toddled over to him and crawled onto his burly chest. “Hello there, little girl.”

“Papa Pete, meseis lob ou!” she declared as she curled up into a tight little ball and fisted at his loose waves.

“I love you too, little girl,” he hummed as Elizabeth and Katie entered the room next, dressed in their pajamas as they sought out cuddles with the rest of the family. “Hey girls.”

“Daddy,” Elizabeth greeted him as Katie scrambled up onto the bed.

“Hey, to what do we owe this special occasion to?” Peter asked, twisting himself to glance at his alarm clock. “It’s two in the afternoon- are you feeling okay?”

The girls just whined, clearly just wanting to get some snuggle time in with their favorite people as they crawled underneath the blankets and covers.

“Where’s Isabelle?” Peter wondered.

“She’s participating in an extra credit lecture in her room,” Elizabeth reported. “She takes her studies seriously.”

I couldn’t help but pick up on the admiration in her voice and knew that the family nanny was my daughter’s idol when it came to school.

A soft knock at the door turned out to be Isabelle.

“Hey,” she introduced herself with a sheepish grin. “So my professor wants to meet little girl. I mentioned a couple of times that I nanny, and shared a few stories of the babies’ troublemaking. Everyone just took a vote and now want to meet her.”

I burst out into sudden laughter as Peter handed her over with a whiskery kiss to her temple.

“Be good now, won’t you little girl?” he rumbled as Isabelle lifted her to her shoulder before turning to leave the master bedroom.

“Fuk,” she gurgled.

“LITTLE GIRL!”

Isabelle’s giggles trailed off as she trotted back downstairs to return back to her lecture as Peter turned to me.

“I’m a bad influence,” he bemoaned dramatically. “My babies are cussing before their fifth birthday. I’m a bad daddy to my babies.”

“My love,” I sighed as Elizabeth and Katie were drifting off to sleep. “You are not a bad daddy. You are kind, and you are protective, youare a good man. Do not ever think otherwise.”

“As my woman commands of me,” he murmured, leaning over the girls to press a sweet kiss to my lips. “I’m going to call for a pizza delivery, you get some more sleep. We can have a family picnic in bed when the food gets here, yeah?”

Perfect daddy.

“Yeah?” He dug his cell phone out of his back pocket and stood to leave the room to phone the order in. “You want your usual?”

Yes please daddy.

“Alright.” the corner of his eyes crinkled up as he opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the backyard. “Yes hello, I would like to call in a order for delivery…”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

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sistridargento · 6 years

Text

And the Seventh Dream is the Dream of Isis

white curtains of infinite fatigue dominating the starborn heritage of the colonies of St Francis white curtains of tortured destinies inheriting the calamities of the plagues of the desert encourage the waistlines of women to expand and the eyes of men to enlarge like pocket-cameras teach children to sin at the age of five to cut out the eyes of their sisters with nail-scissors to run into the streets and offer themselves to unfrocked priests teach insects to invade the deathbeds of rich spinsters and to engrave the foreheads of their footmen with purple signs for the year is open the year is complete the year is full of unforeseen happenings and the time of earthquakes is at hand today is the day when the streets are full of hearses and when women cover their ring fingers with pieces of silk when the doors fall off their hinges in ruined cathedrals when hosts of white birds fly across the ocean from america and make their nests in the trees of public gardens the pavements of cities are covered with needles the reservoirs are full of human hair fumes of sulphur envelop the houses of ill-fame out of which bloodred lilies appear. - across the square where crowds are dying in thousands a man is walking a tightrope covered with moths there is an explosion of geraniums in the ballroom of the hotel there is an extremely unpleasant odour of decaying meat arising from the depetalled flower growing out of her ear her arms are like pieces of sandpaper or wings of leprous birds in taxis and when she sings her hair stands on end and lights itself with a million little lamps like glowworms you must always write the last two letters of her christian name upside down with a blue pencil she was standing at the window clothed only in a ribbon she was burning the eyes of snails in a candle she was eating the excrement of dogs and horses she was writing a letter to the president of france - the edges of leaves must be examined through microscopes in order to see the stains made by dying flies at the other end of the tube is a woman bathing her husband and a box of newspapers covered with handwriting when an angel writes the word TOBACCO across the sky the sea becomes covered with patches of dandruff the trunks of trees burst open to release streams of milk little girls stick photographs of genitals to the windows of their homes prayerbooks in churches open themselves at the death service and virgins cover their parents' beds with tealeaves there is an extraordinary epidemic of tuberculosis in yorkshire where medical dictionaries are banned from the public libraries and salt turns a pale violet colour every day at seven o'clock when the hearts of troubadours unfold like soaked mattresses when the leaven of the gruesome slum-visitors and the wings of private airplanes look like shoeleather shoeleather on which pentagrams have been drawn shoeleather covered with vomitings of hedgehogs shoeleather used for decorating wedding-cakes and the gums of queens like glass marbles queens whose wrists are chained to the walls of houses and whose fingernails are covered with little drawings of flowers we rejoice to receive the blessing of criminals and we illuminate the roofs of convents when they are hung we look through a telescope on which the lord's prayer has been written and we see an old woman making a scarecrow on a mountain near a village in the middle of spain we see an elephant killing a stag-beetle by letting hot tears fall onto the small of its back we see a large cocoa-tin full of shapeless lumps of wax there is a horrible dentist walking out of a ship's funnel and leaving behind him footsteps which make noises on account of his accent he was discharged from the sanatorium and sent to examine the methods of cannibals so that wreaths of passion-flowers were floating in the darkness giving terrible illnesses to the possessors of pistols so that large quantities of rats disguised as pigeons were sold to various customers from neighbouring towns who were adepts at painting gothic letters on screens and at tying up parcels with pieces of grass we told them to cut off the buttons on their trousers but they swore in our faces and took off their shoes whereupon the whole place was stifled with vast clouds of smoke and with theatres and eggshells and droppings of eagles and the drums of the hospitals were broken like glass and glass were the faces in the last looking-glass.

David Gascoyne

#englishpoetry #david gascoyne #gascoyne #and the seventh dream is the dream of isis #surrealism #surrealist poetry #daily poem #poetry blog

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irrfahrer · 3 years

Note

☘❀☘ ☘❀☘

Send me “ ☘❀☘” to give my Muse (Ask-Reciever) a Bouquet of Flowers!

Even the walls of her cabine were vibrating from the engines woarking to keep the life-supporting-systems, the artificial grvity and teh aircirculation and generation moving. The vibration worked from the low ceiling along the grey, naked durasteelwalls and into the Tynnans bunk she was laying on, making her bristle her pelt in miserable revulsion as the vibration crawled into her skin, her veins, her muscles, her bones and made every single breath aching. Ziv hated beeing in space. Ziv hated beeing in space, because she always got spacesick. It was the beeping of her cabines door that brutally pushed the Tynnan out of her comatose like doozing and threw her into a state of waking that greeted her with a wave of dizziness which made her stomach turn, turn, turn. “..ugh why...”, Ziv groaned, pinning her ears back and bristling her whiskers in utter misery like a beaten animal. “...Why the kriffing Kriff does the universe hates me so kriffing much....”, Ziv muttered to herself quietly, more like a miserable cheeping, as she pressed herself up in a sitting position so heavily as if her body was carved of stone. Spacesickness had alwas been with her, but it became worse as longeras she stayed on a ship or spacestation like this so after the weeks he had been already in this palce, she felt as if put through the cantinas meat-grinder. The second she sat up, she already ignored sitting up and promptly grabbed for the wall next to the bunk to keep herself upright while the world around her turned, turned, turned. Yet she was already up, so with her blanket wrapped around ehr small shoulders like a toga the young woman dragged herself through the small cabine to the door, her arms ont he wall in case she would just drop to the floor the next second. It seemed to need hours until she eventually reached the door and in fact it were only a few steps, yet those steps had felt as if weights had been bound to the Tynnans hindpaws. There was another beeping noise that was definitve too loud for Zivs now too sensteive senses as she gave the orde rto open the door. Hissing loudly, much much much too loudly, so loud it made the Tynnan flinch, the door slidened opned and revealed two bouquets of Arallute-Flowers laying on the with durasteel tiled floor before her. For a second Zivs mind was too tiered and exhausted to really react as the young woman looked blinking down at the bouquets- as a botanist she promptly recognised the Arallute Flower with their plumb, violet flower heads, the stark stem and the scent that remainded her of warm milk and the nerf-pelts she would lay under patients backs in heir beds so the natural oils would ease them into sleep, yet as a person focused on midwifery she also recognized the Arallute in its function in Alderaan traditions as when the flowers dried they became hard with its seeds closed inside to be used as a rattle for small children so eventually it had become tradition gifting young married people and expecting parents a Arallute-flower. Blinking slowly, her eyelids feeling as heavy as stone Ziv leaned forward and picked up the bouquets. There was a second of unexpected wildness as a crooked smirk cut through the young womans snout like a knife and she chuckled, although she regretted it promptly since it made her feel more sick: “..Eh, whats this for? I am pretty kriffing sure I had never been that bad and long drunk that I forgot an one-night-stand, kriffing six months of pregnancy and a birth...”. Still laughing and still feeling much too sick to really enjoy the present, she looked around on the corridor- the Tynnan felt too tiered to pick up a trail of scent and every smell around her had turned for her much too keen nose in a thick, heavy boundle that made it in this moment impossible to pick up the certaine scent the visitor had left behind. Eventually she only shrugged, gently cradling the bouquets in her arms like a treasure. ”Hey, Loverboy, Lovergirl, Lover-Nonbinary-pal or Lover-Alien!”, the young woman yelled along the empty corridor with a paw beside her muzzle to be louder: “Thank you! But Next time you feel kriffing affectionately towards me, you better just bring me a Bouquest of Naboo-Lavender! It helps better against my spacesickness than kriffing Arallutes!”

#awww thank you anon :D #V: Odyssee #irrfahrer #Ziv Odiz' zee #...who sended this? :o #do you want to continue it? I WOULD LOVE TO :D

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lexrius · 4 years

Text

Introduction to the World of Jörubos: Part 2- Juld’win

The Kingdom of Juld'win

Located in the Eastern Continent in the North Eastern parts of the Suncrest Plateau is the human Kingdom of Jul’dwin; best known for their architect and agriculture. The Kingdom lies at the edge of an emerald forest of beauty and mystery. Most of the Kingdom; however, is grasslands and open fields making it a thriving ecosystem for farmers.

The land is filled with a large variety of fauna. The most well known is the Prairie stallions who make their home near the middle of Suncrest Plateu. These stallions are the most common mounts in Jörubos. Other herbavorial creatures include the suncrested deer who's antlers are used to make bows and is one of the main food sources for the Kingdom, plateau bovine who are mostly kept as farm animals but some still roam wild, and the Juld'win rams whom are also mostly farm creatures used for milk and cheese. Many birds fly the skies stick in the trees; one of which being the rainbow pheasant whose feathers are used for nobility mask and jewelry. You must beware of the many dangerous creatures who call this land their home. The lands are homes to many packs of grassland dire wolves and territories of the great bears who roam in the forest.

Worn by the royal family and its soldiers; the red and gold and white colors of the Juld'win Coat of Arms has always welcomed its visitors. With the six armed leopis gripping the halberd with a mighty roar shows the bravery and strength of the human Kingdom. The crown it wears upon its head is made of floral design indicating the agricultural side of the human Kingdom.

Currently ruled by King Aldrich Adamson Beasley; who tends to his people and protects the weak and poor. He is a righchious King who has helped his fellow Kingdoms in a time of need for their people. He is also feared in battle. The man has been to many battles as the Kingdom of Juld'win was in a state of civil war between the Western Kingdom and the Eastern Nobility of Hollows Grove. As soon as he stepped on the battlefield; the war was as good as done. He is a master swordsman who can hold his own against a hundred soldiers. For he is also known as the Ursol of Juld'win.

Juld'win's soldiers fight as one on the battlefield. Taking after their king they fight with brutality and cunning skills. Traps and their ferocity are what these men are best known for.

Their archers wear the mask of hawks in battle indicating that they are the best of the best for no soldier leaves the training ground without mastering their work. Human mages are extremely rare; only able to learn light and dark magic. Light mages either become healers and join the churches or Paladins and they join the Sol Crusades.

The human religion revolves around the God Lighet; God of light, Agriculture and architecture. It is said that he built the Kingdom up from nothing but stone and his mind. He is believed to be the leader of twelve. Each one of his soldiers represents the spirit of mortals. Nemielle (Hope), Mathias (Fate), Laura (Justice), Pariah (Valor), Tyre (Willpower), Inigo (Courage) and etc. Some say he can take the form of a great Leopis to bolster the strength of his army and people tenfold.

The flora in Juld'win have always been a gem in the world of Jörubos. Many floral plants bloom year round. The spring holds the pink and white flowers that bloom near the town of Excalibrae. But like the town they hold a dark and deadly secret. Winter comes and blooms the sugar plum trees with bright violet flowers in the Emerald Groves. Winter also brings the frost lilies which bloom in the snowy terrain of Moonlit Peaks. Summer brings the orange and yellow daisies of Suncrest plateau which is a delicacy to many of its wildlife and is said to be used for healing ailments. Autumn brings the oranges and browns to the trees and bushes of the Kingdom. Many fruits and vegetables are grown in the farmlands of the Kingdom and traded all over the world.

The architecture of the Kingdom is incredible. All made of stone and marble which protects the people who reside inside. The Kingdom has three walls. The first being the farmlands where the poor and farm workers live and make their profit. Fresh rivers flow through with enough river-stone salmon to feed to their families. The second wall is the trade district. All merchants from all over the world enjoy coming here. Full of festivities and culture it is enjoyed by all who walk through its gates. The final wall is the nobility and castle workers and soldiers homes. The castle lies in the middle of it all making it the biggest Kingdom in all of Jörubos.

Finally its hunters guild. Like all the others it comprises of the best hunters in all of Juld'win. With the civil war going on; they have become a safe haven for those who wanted to escape the fighting. They expanded their guild to become a village; welcoming those who seek sanctuary with the Chantry of Lighet as it's center. Priest, nuns and healers from the villages burned by the war help heal the broken bodies and spirits of the refugees.

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

The human Kingdom is revealed!!!

I had to take a lot of inspirations for this so it didn’t seem too....real? I guess you could call it. Lighet and his soldiers were heavily inspired by blizzard’s archangel designs. In the future I will probably do something revolving stained glass designs for each of the religions.

The mask design was inspired by: https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.deviantart.com%2Fwindfalcon%2Fart%2FGold-Spiralwings-Leather-Mask-715428404&psig=AOvVaw0fQx6J9-Q4Jz3pokKKMOoV&ust=1590357695955000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CA0QjhxqFwoTCKCtt9-iy-kCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD

And omg I am terrible at clothing designs. Good lord was the King’s wardrobe a mess. I literally cropped half of it because it was just awful.

Tomorrow I will reveal the last Kingdom!

Stay tuned

#my world #my book #Project Jörubos #book project #project #Juld'win #King #human culture #coat of arms #Jörubos #holy crap that coat of arms took me an hour to draw

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imageandidentityagathazielinski · 5 years

Text

Cuba Street Research

"I have a number of memories of the Matterhorn; I worked for the Stucki’s as a Friday night waitress and in the school holidays as the dish washer. George was a very particular man and meticulous in the kitchen, which was always spotlessly clean. I loved to sit around the back of their secret city garden and slurp on an iced chocolate on a hot summer’s afternoon, a great break from the busy hot kitchen sink. Or on a Friday night break, I would sit on one of those heavy wooden Swiss style adze chairs, under that massive BW photo of the Matterhorn. The moody lighting was a relaxing place for a break and to enjoy a really good toasted sandwich." - https://cubastproject.wordpress.com

matterhorn was sold to George Stucki and Ursula during the 1970s & 1980s. George's Black Forest Cake was an exotic afternoon tea & his cheese scones were light and legendary

cubastreetproject.wordpress.com

"compelling capital city icon"

4 January 1840 - early settler ship called Cuba came to Wellington. It bought some of NZ's early European pioneers.

Cuba Street is named in honour of this ship.

Tonks family were the first Cuba Street dwellers arriving in 1842.

William Tonks established some brickyards in 1847, and also was renowned for harbour reclamation work in 1866.

In the early days, Cuba Street had 2 grocers, butcher, violet maker, bell hanger, locksmith, painter, draper, boot shop, and pub called the Nag's Head Inn.

Shops that can still be seen - Te Are House (former department store opened in 1868), Need Hardware building (opened circa 1874), Hannah's footwear (established in 1868). Many buildings were wiped out in a fire in 1879.

Cuba Mall

1878 - 1879 - a steam tram ran through Cuba Street from Pipitea to Vivian Street.

1880 - horse drawn trams were introduced but quickly phased out by the arrival of electric trams which ran until 1964

the bucket fountain was installed in 1969 by Sir Francis Kitts

Cuba mall is now one of Wellington's busiest pedestrian areas.

cuba street was as a registered historic area in 1995 - there are more than 40 heritage buildings on the street.

theculturetrip.com/pacific/new-zealand/articles/a-brief-history-of-cuba-street-wellington/

the long dirt street was not sealed until late 1800s, gas street lamps introduced in 1860s

steam trams introduced in 1878 were noisy and most unpleasant.

in 1800s, oyster bars were plentiful, initially run by the greek community. The greek community also later set up milk bars

hotel dining was for special occasions, between 6-7, any later and you would be refused service. Royal Oak Hotel (corner Cuba & Manners) listed politicians amongst diners.

1958 - Mr & Mrs Littlejohn owned Orsini's, later owned by Phillip Temple. 201 Cuba street, one of the first fine dining places

1961 0 french immigrant Madame Louise established Le Normandie in Cubacade, it was later owned by Drago Kovac

Initially licensing laws did not allow wine to be served in restaurants, but people would smuggle bottles of wine in through newspapers and their coats. in 1962 the laws changed and most restaurants served French Bordeaux wines.

in the 1950s, coffee culture became very prominent in Wellington. in the 1960s, a Swiss German couple opened Matterhorn coffee lounge

in the 1970s/80s a group of young men set up a hair salon called Bananas & later Guava. This salon and Svette fashion design store on upper Cuba became fashion leaders of the city.

Crown Studio (corner Cuba & Dixon) established by Mr Thompson in the 1920s. They were the official photographers for the All Blacks in the 1920s and 1930s. They have also photographed the changes that Cuba Street has gone through.

James Smith was a draper who arrived from England in 1865. He and his wife Annie bought a small shop & house on the corner of Cuba & Dixon. It was rebuilt in wood in the 1870s and renamed the James Smith Te Are House. In April 1885 a fire started in the building and it had to be rebuilt again in brick.

The cuba mall was closed in the 1960s to remove tramlines and the public wanted the space to be permanently vehicle free to walk around. The council felt pressure to design a mall

Nola Millar (named Wellington's mother of modern theatre) established the NZ Drama School at 127 Cuba Street

At 125 Cuba Street, Dorothy Daniels taught ballet students for most 40 years. n 1976, Deirdre Tarrent bought the school.

44 buildings on the street are earthquake prone

cubastproject.wordpress.com/a-film-of-the-history-of-cuba-street/

in 1926 Alfred Fagg started roasting NZ's first beans for espresso. He sprinkled them on the path outside his shop so when people walked over them and crushed them, a coffee aroma would fill the air.

midnight espresso is known as one of the legends of Cuba Street

it became an essential late-night hangout spot in the 1990s - a man named Jeremy Taylor was a frequent visitor here and he now works at Slowboat Records.

noted.co.nz/life/life-travel/cuba-st-heart-of-wellington-bohemia

in the mid 70s-early 80s 'mid cuba' (vivian street) was the red light district

in 2005 the Wellington Arts Centre was established in Abel Smith Street which includes Enjoy Gallery, (Suite) Gallery, McLeavey Gallery, the Moko Museum, Thistle Hall, Victoria University Faculty of Architecture and Design and Access Radio

wikipedia.com

Cuba Mall opened in 1969 - originated called Cubacade

Influenced by the layout of pedestrian malls such as Stroget in Copenhagen, Spark Street in Ottawa, Hohe Strasse in Cologne & Collins Ave in Miami

based on modernist principles of ease of livign

discover.stqry.com/v/modernism-in-wellington

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evolutiontale-au · 7 years

Photo

Name: Toriel Dreemurr, Queen of the Underground and Monsterkind.

Nickname: Tori, if you truly wish to nickname me. It is what my children sometimes call me.

Age: Adult. I have two vertical stripes that I display upon my skirt.

Gender: Female.

Sexuality: As straight as a ruler can be, dear children.

Species: Monster, of the Boss variety.

Powers: ...We possess the elemental magic of our family, centered around water and light. It is strong and versatile, as a Royal must be; able to heal and destroy in equal measure. You will likely not see it unless you have revealed yourself as an ally... or a threat.

Weapons: We need no weapons, but if you insist upon knowing, we do favor the falchion and the spear.

Weaknesses: Our weaknesses are none of your concern, dear children. Do refrain from inquiring further.

Appearance:

Height: 7'6"- I am one of the taller monster types.

Weight: It is rude to ask a lady her weight. I recommend you avoid doing so in the future.

Body Type: I am what my children call "fluffy," due to my fur. I also have two conical horns upon my head, small in size unlike those of my husband's.

Skin Tone: You wouldn't normally see it, but it is a faintly off-white color, similar to milk.

Eyes: Violet, as though the colors of patience and determination were combined.

Hair: My fur is a lovely shade of cream, like marshmallows just beginning to brown over a fire.

Favorite Clothing Style: Upon my head I wear my crown, golden with red and blue gems. My usual outfit consists of a periwinkle dress with a deep blue sleeveless tunic over it, a periwinkle heart upon the front of the tunic and the Delta Rune upon the back. A deep blue skirt is tied over this with a light blue belt, and adorned with two light blue vertical stripes upon the skirt.

Scars/Characteristic Markings: Whatever scars I may possess are hidden beneath my fur, but my horns do have a few rings around them from when they had broken and regrown in my childhood.

Personality: I prefer to think things through before I ACT, and this shows in my dealings with Asgore and my people. People have described me as being inviting, and relaxing to be around, which are accurate descriptive terms. I can be somewhat cold at times, particularly if angered or disappointed, but I do my best to avoid making serious decisions while experiencing such emotions. Keep in mind that I am well-balanced, and I will neither favor you over my people, nor my people over you.

Likes: My children, wonderful they are. Cooking. My kingdom. Nature. Magnolia flowers.

Dislikes: Killing. The shift in the energy of the Underground when a new human falls.

History: I was born in a time of war, sealed in the Underground with the rest of my people when I had merely four horizontal stripes. I do not remember what my father looked or behaved like, but my mother was a Queen of passion and dedication, and it was only due to her that Monsterkind was not left in chaos with the aftermath. Surviving Monsters were identified, and due to the dangerously low amount of adults alive, a new system of raising children was created based upon our stripes. If you have ever heard the phrase, "It takes a village to raise a child," then I am certain you can imagine the basics of our society.

As a child in the Underground, I was raised by the adults whom had the time to spare, and I grew up with many other children. Asgore was one of them, his parents having died honorably beneath my father's command in the War, and we bonded over being the last generation of our kind. I never expected to fall in love with him as we grew together... but I did, and with my mother's blessing, we underwent the Bonding ceremony.

Mother stepped down at this time, and taught us how to rule. She taught us everything she knew, and when she was done, she finally Laid Down to Rest.

Together with my husband, we ruled the Underground ever since, keeping the society she created stable and encouraging it to grow. It was not long after that new fields of education cropped up with the next generation, and we instated a Royal Scientist for these new teachings... a young Ms. Flamel. It surprises me that she learned all she did without a teacher, but her knowledge has been invaluable towards improving the quality of life for Monsterkind. Our son got along with her well.

Asriel... He was such an energetic boy, and somehow he got into one of these new fields. Chemistry, I believe. He loved to create flashy shows of fire and light with all the chemicals, explosions being one of his favorite things, and it was all ended by the first Human child to fall- Cheydan, the soul of Patience.

Asgore wished to kill all fallen humans for what she did, but I knew that it was wrong to punish many for the crimes of few. I remained calm until his anger had subsided, made an agreement with him, and moved to the Ruins where I could better wait for more fallen children.

Oh, forgive me if I cease my story here; for I have a visitor. It is likely one of my sons, and I must ask a favor of them both...

Other: With subtlety, one can achieve their goals with minimal compromise.

#EvolutionTale-AU #EvolutionTale-Info #Toriel #Art Shitz #Stained Glass

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