#was one of the first white women allowed to work on the factory floor for her company

[an-incoherent-mess]

I love my grandma, she is very weird and seriously badass, I can't fathom having a normal grandma.

[missscarletta7]

The Broken Crown- Chapter 1

Hello! So this is my first Peaky Blinders Fanfiction.  I own nothing, except for the few OCs I created. 

This story is also on Wattpad and FF.net under the same title if you want to read it there as well--- however be warned it is not as edited as this post and I changed the name of one of the characters because I thought it was a better fit... lol!

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

  Enjoy!

OoOoOo

"He's a ghost, he's a god, He's a man, He's a guru,

You're one microscopic cog, In his catastrophic plan

Designed and directed by his red right hand"

~Red Right Hand~

1919

She had that dream again, the one where she had to decide which door she would open. Both doors were identical in every way. Yet, she just stands in the empty room lit as if by candles; frozen in place; The weight of the decision ultimately waking her out of-

No, that wouldn't do, a dark-haired girl thought as she scratched out the words she had just written down. In a small bedroom on the second floor of number Seventeen Watery Lane, sixteen-year-old Margaret Shelby sat on her bed, or rather the bed she shared with her older sister. Dressed in the long white nightgown that had once belonged to her mother and with a pen in hand, she scribbled down more words in her brown leather-bound journal resting on her lap. The journal was gifted to her by her Aunt Polly on her most previous birthday. Upon receiving it she couldn't wait to fill its pages. She liked writing, ever since she learned how to form her words into a cohesive sentence on paper. It had been an outlet, a distraction from the "shit-hole" that was Small Heath, Birmingham.

As a child, she had the fondest memories of taking the drawings her eldest brother Arthur would sketch and would accompany his rendering with an original story. She took pride in how much he would always be so impressed and relished when he called her “his little genius". As the years passed, she believed if she could write and publish a story that was good enough, then maybe one day she could provide for her family. Give them a way out of their current situation. Not that she knew much of how dire their situation really was. To their credit, her family tried their best to shield her, as well as her youngest brother Finn, from feeling the effects of living a life in the slums. She was lucky in that way, most of the girls her age had dropped out of school and had a child of their own already.

Her thoughts of prose were soon interrupted by familiar sounds causing the pit of her stomach to sink. Even after three months of him being back, she doubted she would ever get used to it. Opposite from her bed, through the thin wall with floral green wallpaper which had been peeling off for years, muffled cries could be heard. Maggie knew exactly who it was, her brother, Tommy.

She placed her journal onto the thin cotton sheets and traveled into the hallway. Before she knew it, she was standing outside the door of her older sibling. Taking a deep breath, she decided against knocking and slowly opened the door.

"Tommy?" she whispered into his candlelit room. She could see he was awake. Lying flat on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Go back to bed, Mags," the second oldest Shelby ordered, but the girl hesitated.

"I thought I heard yelling," she sounded apologetic, before taking a whiff of the air. "Do you smell that?"

"I said back to your bloody bed," his harsh tone surprised her.

This time she did listen, gently she closed her brother's door and made her way back to the empty bedroom she once was in.

OoOoOo

The next day, Margaret exited the small school she attended that was located right on the edge of Small Heath with her best friend Cara Ryan by her side. The girls had played together for as long as their memories had served them. Cara was a stylish and talkative girl who stood at a height of five feet and six inches. Dazzling green eyes sparkled and her straight honey blonde hair fell upon her shoulders. Her family did better than most, the Ryan's own a dress shop that is very popular amongst the younger women, Ada, in fact, is a frequent customer of the establishment. Though the word 'customer' was a loose term, the Ryan's like most shop owners in the area were obliged to give anyone with relations to the Peaky Blinders whatever they wanted. Mrs. Ryan's and the two oldest sisters operated it, and in her spare time, Cara could often be found working in the backroom, sewing buttons and beads to fabrics. The family had a deal, in a year's time Cara would come to work for the shop full time, but until then Cara could continue her education.

"Can't believe Henrietta's having a baby," Maggie said aloud, as shorter and younger students ran past them excitedly.

"I can," Cara replied smugly. "That girl would open her legs up for any sod that gave her a second glance."

"I feel bad for her." She admitted thinking of the fifteen-year-old whose life was now forever changed.

Cara shook her head, "Don't it's her own bloody fault."

After rounding the corner, they both saw Ross Murray. A thin nineteen-year-old with dark hair standing at five feet and eleven inches, resting his back against the dull red brick wall, smoking a cigarette. Cara stopped them in their tracks and waved at the young man. "All right, Ross?!"

Maggie smiled at her friend, she liked Ross, he'd always looked out for her and Cara like they were his own sisters. They had all been in school together up until the moment Ross was kicked out for beating up another boy named Jonah Smith. In all likelihood Jonah may have had it coming. He never had the ability to let go. For example, just last year Maggie would have to constantly have to turn down his advances for over a month. Due to the reputation of her family, attention from boys was a rare occurrence. Which she didn't mind, she never really felt romantic feelings for anyone. However, Jonah took advantage of her brothers absence. One day he even cornered her when she went back to the classroom to grab the jumper she left behind. Thankfully Jonah eventually stopped, and never bothered her again.

Getting kicked out of school didn't seem to bother Ross though. Once he turned eighteen, he enlisted to help with the war effort. He completed basic training within the required three months, and according to the letters he would send her and Cara, he was held in high esteem with all of his commanding officers. Just as he was about to be shipped to France, an armistice was declared. He'd managed to find a job working at the BSA factory rather quickly, but when he came back into town Maggie could tell he had changed. He now had this mentality that made him seem as though he was ready for a battle, yet had no one to fight.

"Cara, Margaret," he acknowledged, stubbing out his cigarette on the bricks he had rested his back upon "Where are you two heading, aye?"

"Just going home," Maggie told him, readjusting the bag on her shoulder.

He came closer to them, "I'll walk with you. Birmingham hasn't been the safest place now that all these blokes with fucked up brains are back."

"Look at that Mags," Cara said happily, and he allowed her to take his arm. "The only gentleman in Small Heath"

Maggie smiled knowingly at the sight. Since Cara was ten years old, she had been smitten with the dark-haired boy. Cara would frequently turn down other offers in hopes that Ross would one day ask her to be his girl. They both hoped that it would happen soon, because in Cara's words "She wasn't getting any younger".

"Don't know what you two keep going to school for," He expressed to them, as they began to walk in the direction the girls needed to travel. "What more is there to learn?"

His comment made Maggie shrug, "It's something to do."

"Yeah, most girls our age who aren't in school are either whores or mothers." She agreed.  "Or both."

They continued chatting about their school day as they walked closer into town. The canal that ran nearby as well as the different establishments were coming into view. "Mags, is that your brother?" Ross asked, pointing to a couple of boys.

Maggie turned her head to where her friend was pointing. He was right, her younger brother Finn, was running around in front of the pharmacy with Isaiah Jesus. He must have skipped school again. "Oi!" Maggie called out angrily, and Finn froze in place "What have you been up to all day, hm?"

"Please don't tell Tommy," the ten-year-old begged.

Maggie was about to tell him off, but she was caught off guard by the arrival of a person exiting Compton's, "Ada?"

"Oh, hello." The dark-haired beauty clutched the paper parcel tighter in her hands, clearly caught off guard by the sudden appearance of her younger siblings. "Heading home then?"

Maggie nodded and Ada continued, "I'll join you." The older sister then turned to her brother "Right Finn?" The boy scowled, but nodded all the same.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Maggie told her friends, still trying to process what her sister was up to.

Cara didn't seem to mind her best friends' announcement to depart. Turning to the hazel-eyed boy she asked, "Fancy accompanying me to the confectionery?"

He looked over to the Shelby family first, "Will you three be alright by yourself?"

Ada looked amused at his worry, "We'll be fine. I doubt anyone would mess with us." He accepted her answer with a nod and led Cara to the candy shop.

As the water rushed in the cut, Ada and Maggie walked down the sidewalk arm in arm. Finn wasn't too far in front of them. He was running and jumping around like a madman. That boy always had so much energy, Maggie found herself thinking. No wonder he skipped school, the poor thing probably could not sit still.

"That Murray boy has aged well hasn't he," Ada commented, finally breaking the silence, "Have you two?"

"Ada!" The younger sister cried out in surprise.

"Just asking." She shrugged, "Jesus you're a prude"

"Everyone's a prude compared to you" she retorted, "What were you doing at the pharmacy?"

Ada didn't reply though, instead opting to purse her lips. They were almost home now; Maggie could even see Pol heading to the house, traveling towards them. She was about to wave at her aunt until she was distracted by Finn, who ran around in front of his sisters. Her heart clenched when she noticed a black metal object in his hand.

"Finn, where did you get that gun?" she questioned, yet the youngest Shelby only giggled in response. 

"Oi! Quit messing around," Ada scolded, moving forward in an attempt to take the weapon away. "You shouldn't b-"

BANG! The sisters screamed and Aunt Polly, who had witnessed the whole event transpire, rushed over from down the street. Both the girls tried to catch their breath and a shocked Finn looked like he was trying to mentally process what had just happened. 

"The hell were you thinking?!" Polly scolded, snatching the gun from his hand. "Where did you get this?!

"He nearly fucking killed me!" Ada screeched pointing to her brother.

"I-I found it on the sideboard of the shop." Finn spit out as they watched his face concave and he soon began weeping in fear. "I-I thought it was empty. I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

His tears pulled on Maggie's heartstrings, but Polly wasn't having it. She pushed the sobbing boy towards Maggie ordering, "Take him home, and no more playing with guns. Next time you leave them be." 

The young boy nodded and allowed his sister to lead him back home."I didn't know Mags, I swear" he cried out again.

"I know you. You can apologize to Ada once she's feeling more forgiving" she expressed, her arms wrapped around his small shoulders.

OoOoOo

Childhood had molded her into the person she had become. Now she understood that...

Maggie internally groaned and scratched out what she had just written. No, that was definitely not good enough. She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard a chuckle. Her eyes were taken off the page by Ada, who was getting ready for her date with some mystery man.

"What's so funny?" the younger sister grumbled.

"You," Ada smiled as she brushed her hair in front of the small vanity mirror, "And how seriously you take yourself."

Quickly she closed her journal, wanting to change the subject "So, what was the family meeting about?" Maggie asked, not genuinely curious.

"New copper’s coming to town," Ada replied unbothered, more interested in fastening her shoe buckle.

"When I went downstairs, I caught Finn trying to listen through the door. Told him off for eavesdropping," the younger sister snickered .

"Can you believe that little tosser?" Ada said, putting on her paste earring. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately. He could have killed me today!"

"It was an accident, Ada." She reasoned, opening her journal once more, "Pol already told him and John off, what more can you do?"

"I can still bitch," the older sister huffed, before looking at the book in her sisters' hands. "Are you ever gonna tell me what you're writing about?" Ada asked pointedly, now completely dressed in a white fur coat that rested over her dress.

"Are you ever gonna tell me who you've been going out to see the last few months?" Maggie shot back jokingly. 

Ada responded by pantomiming the locking of her lips, which only made the younger sister smile. "Cover for me?"

"As always," The girl assured Ada before she quietly opened and closed the bedroom door.

It was about an hour later when Maggie began to hear the familiar muffled cries. Feeling hopeless as she stared at the green papered wall.

OoOoOo

The following day was mostly uneventful for Margaret. She'd gone to school and heard all about Cara's "date" with Ross. According to Cara, he was a complete "gentleman", much to the blonde's disappointment, though she still clung onto hope. 

Now she stood in the kitchen with her Aunt and sister making dinner, continuously kneading some dough until her skinny arms began to burn. Hopefully, this batch of bread would last long enough for her to enjoy. Last time she made bread her siblings had eaten it all, not saving any for her. Upon hearing the door slam, she and her aunt stopped to glance over to the door.

"Holy Shit!" The girl exclaimed, witnessing her eldest brother who was bloody and beaten, being assisted by John into a wooden chair.

"Finn, go find Tommy and tell him what happened," Polly commanded. Like a shot, Finn was running out of the room, but not before Pol hurriedly added, "And tell him we need a shit ton of more alcohol!"

Polly then immediately began to gather gauze and rods of wood to make a splint, "Margaret, start heating up water, then cut this cloth up in stripes." Nodding at the directive, the girl began to do just that.

"The fuck happened?" Ada interrogated, arms crossing in front of her chest.

"Was told some of the men found him like this outside the cinema," John explained.

"Do you know who?" Maggie heard her sister continue as she put the kettle over the flame, but Arthur remained silent.

"I'd like to know as well," An aggravated Polly chimed in.

This time Arthur did speak. “That Belfast copper,” the mustached man spit out, "I'll discuss it more once Tom gets here."

They all fell into silence, the only noise coming from Maggie who pulled out a chair to sit next to her brother, and quietly began cutting the cloth Polly left for her on the table. "Do you think this is enough?" Maggie asked her aunt after she finished.

"Should be plenty, love," Pol told her, taking one of the strips to start mending his hand.

"John, wipe the blood out of his eye," Ada told the third eldest sibling who was just watching the ladies scrabble around as they tended to Arthur.

"Since when did you give orders?" John asked incredulously.

"I'm a trained nurse." The sister stated.

Though seeing as John wasn't budging Maggie rose from her seat and began to wipe the blood herself.

"Don't make me laugh. It hurts my face," Arthur joked as Polly bandaged him up. "You're a nurse like Mags here is a writer."

His comment caused more annoyance than Maggie cared to admit. With her index finger, she pressed onto a forming bruise on his cheek with great pressure, instigating a string of curses to come out of the eldest man's mouth.

"Oops," Maggie said insincerely. This caused Arthur to look to his aunt, wondering if any reprimanding would be given to the girl, but Polly just gave her brother a 'like you weren't asking for it' look.

 "I bloody am!" The older Shelby girl whined to John.

"You went to one first aid class in the church hall and got thrown out for giggling," John corrected her.

"Not before I learnt how to stop somebody from choking," she shot back.

"I'm not bloody choking, am I?" Arthur spoke gruffly.

"You will be when I wrap this cloth around your neck." She told him as she poured hot water from the kettle into the bowl.

"Let me see him." Tommy's voice was heard as he entered the kitchen. "Well, have this" Tommy passed the bottle of rum and Arthur took a swig. Grabbing a rag, he immediately got to work tending to his brother's face.

"He said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham. 'National interest', he said. Something about a robbery." Arthur explained. "He said he wants us to help him"

"We don't help coppers," John said immediately, disgusted at the thought.

"He knew all about our war records. He said we're patriots like him. He wants us to be his eyes and ears. I said -" He paused a moment before continuing, "I said we'd have a family meeting and take a vote".

Everyone remained silent, and frankly, that was enough of an answer to the eldest. "Why not? We have no truck with Fenians or communist," Arthur said exasperated, before heatedly asking Tommy. "What's wrong with you?"

Tommy continued to stare back at him, before asking his aunt, "What the fuck is wrong with him lately?"

"If I knew I'd buy the cure from Compton's Chemist," Polly answered, staring at Tom who stared right back.

OoOoOo

Being alone at night was something Maggie had gotten used to now. The cries next door, however, that was something entirely different. Sighing to herself, she decided to give it another go. Once again, she rose from her bed, and ventured into the hallway. This time though she brought her journal with her. Not long she stood in front of her brother's door, allowing herself to open it. 

Again, in the candlelit room, she saw him lying in his bed staring at the ceiling, though she couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. "Still awake?" she asked.

"Can't seem to fall asleep," Tommy mumbled calmly. She took his stillness as permission to enter.

"Do you remember when I was a little girl and you used to read me books to make me fall asleep?" she asked, moving closer to the bed, "I used to love those voices you'd do for all the different characters from the picture books."

He nodded and he couldn't help the ghost of a smile while thinking of the memory. Unlike his other siblings, Maggie was the only one who would beg him to read to her. It was something they bonded over.

"If you want," she continued, motioning her hand to hold the journal up. "I can read you my story." Tommy was silent as he looked at the journal for a moment, before Maggie added, "I just thought maybe I could try to help you sleep like you did for me."

"Only if you do voices" he stressed jokingly, then shifted his body to make room for her on the small mattress.

"Remember," she squished next to him leaning her back against his bed frame. "This is a work in progress."

"I won't judge you too harshly" he replied, watching her open the journal that lay on her lap.

"Long ago when she was young, she believed that what she saw in her dreams could be a vision of what was to come. It was only now she understood that it was just an amalgamation of-"

"A what?" He interrupted.

"An amalgamation" she repeated. "Do you not know what an amalgamation means?"

"No, I do. Didn't think you did."

"Shut up. You're supposed to allow my words to lull you to sleep."

"Sorry, please continue"

"It was only now she understood that it was just an amalgamation of all her childhood aspirations, fears, and perhaps a little  too much whiskey. With this knowledge she found herself yearning for-"

By this point, Tommy had closed his eyes and was half-listening to the words his sister read from her journal. It wasn't half bad what she wrote. He reckoned by the time she was his age she'd actually make something of herself all with those stories in her head. Perhaps make a career out of it, possibly even get out of Small Heath. It was to be the start of a new decade, a new time, who knows what would happen? When he finally made it back from France, her face was the first face that caught his attention on the station platform. It shocked him. No more was the little girl he would read stories to, but in her place stood a smiling young woman. She had changed so much during the time he was gone.

Come to think of it, they'd all changed. Arthur was head of the family, in charge of the business, and had done a decent job of it. But that was before France, he was different now. He quickly noticed the change in his brother and how he couldn't think straight anymore. Arthur's personality became more explosive, as well as violent. John, well he had become more reckless, especially after a few drinks got into him, and since Martha's passing the drinking had only increased. 

As for him, well he was the one who had changed the most. He used to be carefree, joke and laugh, but now he was more solemn and even more protective of his family. Constantly worrying about how Arthur couldn't handle the business anymore, how John couldn't be alone anymore, and him? Well, he couldn't stand to see his family scrape and scrounge in the slums of Small Heath in order to survive any longer. No, not anymore. New copper sniffing about or not. No matter what Polly said, Tommy saw an opportunity with these guns. He wasn't about to turn it down. He just had to play it smart. As Maggie continued her reading, Tommy could feel himself slowly begin to drift out of consciousness and into a dreamless sleep.

[oneweekoneband]

In the first cold hours of a new December morning, Taylor Swift once again revealed herself to be the primary antagonist in my hero’s journey. Weary and woebegone as I am, I will not waste strength on any attempt to deny that this latest attack has knocked me off balance, but I believe it is important that I—we, really, the lot of us who have been bloodied pitiably beneath this most brutal show of force—rebound immediately into a defensive posture so that there might be any hope at all for survival. Taylor’s second pandemic album will be released at midnight tonight, so I guess Shakespeare and his little “play” about elder abuse can get fucked after all. The album is called evermore. It was hubris, I can see in retrospect, which led me to tempt my enemy by writing all these words about her on this, the week of her birthday, knowing as I do that Taylor is one of those especially dangerous adults who make a big deal about both birthdays and lucky numbers. Icarus is my name now, covered in melted wax and tumbling to the sea. So as to steel ourselves for these horrors yet to come, I offer now, with not arrogance but the faith of the foolhardy, my best conjecture as to the content of each detestable track. 

willow - Could be about a tree. Could be about a girl. More likely it is both somehow, which is extremely pervy, and not just because that’s part of the plot of the unspeakably cursed The Raven Cycle novels, which I, a full blown adult with, generally speaking, normal brain function, voluntarily read for the first time this summer because some of us, ma’am, used the pandemic for activities that hurt only ourselves, not others. Well, happy holidays, tree fuckers.

champagne problems - Whatever this is, know that I will be considering it a work after Fall Out Boy’s “Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends” and I’ll be right to do so and many people will say as much admiringly and they’ll smile at me with pride and doff their caps as I go.

gold rush - If this song is anything but a loving, comprehensive summation of the children’s novel DEAR AMERICA Seeds of Hope: The Gold Rush Diary of Susanna Fairchild then I’m going to walk directly out of my home and, deadly virus be damned, keep walking until I’ve entered Taylor Swift’s instead, at which point I will begin to scream out a litany of complaints at the very top of my voice, ceasing only when her security team kills me or we fall in love.

tis the damn season - Worst case scenario this is a sad Christmas song (the best kind of Christmas song) and it devastates me in the most degrading way possible. Best case scenario it’s really bad and dumb and I can live without pain.

tolerate it - Many possibilities here. Could be about white-knuckling it through a period of depression, or a breakup. Most obviously, it could be about COVID-19 lockdowns keeping us trapped in our homes, disconnected from loved ones, going slow-brained and strange, bowls piling up, and suddenly so desperate for human interaction that even memories of having drinks with somebody from Hinge who quoted Friends twice in an hour are tantalizing in comparison to the touch-starved dreamstate of staying indoors... But I kinda feel like this is Taylor replying “COPE” from on high to my tweets about how I would rather be boiled alive than have to face the existence of this record.

no body, no crime (feat. Haim) - What would be very good is if this is a homosexual romp about Taylor Swift and the one hot Haim guitar girl with the really gay energy doing a murder together a la “Somethin’ Bad” by Miranda Lambert with Carrie Underwood, but honestly, it is probably another song about Gone Girl.

happiness - Impossible to speak on this since, thanks to Taylor Swift, happiness is something with which I have no familiarity. 

dorothea - Have seen chirping on the odious bird application about how perhaps this song title suggests that Taylor has written a song about Middlemarch, titling it for Dorothea Brooke, but I reject this because it implies that Taylor has read Middlemarch, which is a premise I cannot accept. Whether this refusal is out of self-preservation, being unwilling and in fact unable to face a world where Taylor Swift read and was moved to creation by the novel which was my most essential friend the summer I got dumped by a guy who I still had to work feet away from in a candle factory for another month, and about which Emily Dickinson (Emily Dickinson whose birthday it happens to be today, which isn’t to say that this means anything about anything. I am simply trying to batten down all hatches literally and spiritually in light of having been had once again by this numerology obsessed demon) once wrote "What do I think of Middlemarch? What do I think of glory.” or because I just at my core do not believe that Taylor has read a single book since Gone Girl I couldn’t possibly say.

coney island (feat. The National) : Some ungodly americana ass bullshit that is going to ruin my life. The thought of holy terror shaped like a horse girl Taylor Swift and trickster nymph in the body of a tax accountant Matt Berninger, two individuals I have allowed, separately, to cause me grievous psychic harm, having even the barest amount of one to one contact, even digitally, has made me want to peel all my skin off and put it back on flipped inside out so that I might, when I look in the mirror, see a version of myself which approximates how I feel.

ivy - Another song for the plant lesbians. That’s fine, and I’m happy for that community, but what I want to know, looking at this growing pile of songs named after women, is where, Taylor, is the song about loudmouth queen Inez, legendary gossip and, for my money, the star of folklore?  

cowboy like me - Putting it as mildly as humanly possible, to slit my throat would be less cruel. I am drawing a straight line from me writing illegible sequels to perfect film An American Tail: Fievel Goes West (itself a sequel) in crayon as a toddler, to Paula Cole’s “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?” on the radio in my mom’s two door Honda, to me everyday after school in third grade changing into the cowboy costume my godmother bought, to me at fourteen internalizing a sense of righteous indignation that would take years to even begin to outgrow when Crash beat Brokeback Mountain for Best Picture, to the winter I dropped half my classes out of fear and sickness and read paperback westerns on the twenty third floor of the college library for tens of hours at a go, to the profoundly gay episode of Supernatural called “Tombstone” which is, yes, named for the profoundly gay cowboy film Tombstone, to the inspired and revitalizing pause in “Space Cowboy” by Kacey Musgraves where she’s like, “You can have your space........ cowboy”, to Mitski’s Be the Cowboy, to the perfect boygenius cover of certified classic “Cowboy Take Me Away”, to whatever the hell this is going to be.That line is not to make a point at all. It’s just that there is a line and beside it there is me, incapacitated.

long story short - Just like all the other times anyone has ever invoked this phrase in the entire history of human beings expressing themselves with language, it is going to be a huge lie, because this woman never shuts up.

marjorie - After all that Taylor has put me through over the years, she should have at least named one of these wretched things “ellen” after my dead Sagittarian grandmother, whose birthday is tomorrow, December 11th, which is again, the release date of Taylor Swift’s second album in sixth months, but it’s probably for the best that she didn’t because you simpletons would immediately think it was an homage to George Bush’s friend Dory the fish, and therefore gay, regardless of the actual text of the song, and it’d be the “betty” massacre all over again. That being said, this is almost assuredly another horny song about some mid-century white lady. Only days ago Taylor was telling Entertainment Weekly that she’s been watching a lot of movies in quarantine, and while she didn’t name 1958’s Marjorie Morningstar starring Natalie Wood, I wouldn’t put it past her.

closure - God, I hope this one is another Kaylor classic so we can all act like complete raving lunatics online from the confines of our own plague quarters for a few days. It’s been a hard year.

evermore (feat. Bon Iver) - I’ll be catatonic by this point. Who cares?

right where you left me - Yes, in hell.

it’s time to go - Yes, TO HELL.

[antoine-roquentin]

1952                

The [United Packinghouse Workers of America] takes its advocacy outside the plant and sues a Waterloo tavern owner for failing to serve Blacks. It was one of many tactics the union used to desegregate the city. One of its most effective strategies involved white workers going from tavern to tavern to order food and drinks. Their Black coworkers came in next. When the businesses refused to serve the Black workers, the white workers walked out. From the late 1940s through the ʼ60s, the union handled discrimination complaints at other workplaces, pressured hotels to desegregate, boycotted stores that wouldn’t hire Blacks and convinced the local newspaper to stop identifying race in crime articles only when the suspect was Black.

Jimmie Porter, a locally heralded civil right activist, was central to the union’s integration efforts. A native of Mississippi, he observed that while the racism in the North wasn’t as blatant, it also wasn’t too different from what he’d left. “I pretty well knew where I stood in Mississippi, and here, I had to be told and reminded,” he said in an oral history interview. “They had conditioned most of the Blacks who lived here to never look at how well they should be doing compared to whites who they had gone to school with, but to measure themselves by their country cousin.”

1954            

Anna Mae Weems becomes one of the first Black women to integrate Rath’s sliced bacon department, a bastion of white women working in a pristine environment. Born in Waterloo, Weems couldn’t understand why, after graduating from high school, she couldn’t get the jobs that her white classmates were getting. The union recruited her to further challenge the race and gender barrier at Rath. She soon became the shop steward for the bacon line.

It had been a long fight to get there. Black workers had often been assigned to the dirtiest jobs in the packinghouse. Black women were overrepresented in hog casings departments, where they “flushed worms and feces from the animal’s intestines,” one historian wrote. Meanwhile, Black men were frequently assigned to the kill floor, though the position had unexpected advantages. Whenever there was a dispute, the workers could stop the line, threatening to let the hog carcasses rot until the company resolved their grievance.

1956            

Rath’s employment peaks at nearly 9,000 workers. Thanks to the jobs at the packinghouse and at other factories, thousands of Black people moved to Waterloo from the South during the Great Migration. As Rath became an increasingly popular brand, the union ensured that the workers’ economic fortunes rose with it. By the mid-1960s, wages were the equivalent of $24 to $32 an hour in today’s dollars, helping create a Black middle class.

1967            

An upstart company, Iowa Beef Packers, introduces a product known as “boxed beef,” transforming the meatpacking industry. Instead of sending sides of beef to butcher shops, IBP workers stood side-by-side, each making a specific cut to disassemble a carcass moving down a conveyor. “We’ve tried to take the skill out of every step,” IBP’s president had told Newsweek in 1965. The new process sped up production and allowed the company to move its plants from cities into rural areas where livestock was plentiful and unions were scarce. Most large meatpackers would follow suit.

1968

The UPWA merges with the more conservative Amalgamated Meat Cutters as corporate power grows in the changing meat industry.

1979            

The meatpacking union joins an organization of retail and grocery clerks to form the United Food and Commercial Workers. Some meatpacking workers found themselves battling with their union as much as their employers. At some plants, members of old UPWA locals tried to push back against wage cuts, but the UFCW leaders sided with the meatpackers. “It was like a shot of whiskey. When we was the UPWA, we was little but powerful,” a union leader told oral historians. “Then we joined the Amalgamated and we got like a mixed drink. Now it looks to me like we’re a shot in a quart of Squirt.”

1985                

After years of financial trouble, Rath shuts its doors, contributing to an economic tailspin in Waterloo that deeply affects the Black community. Simultaneously, the 1980s farm crisis had taken a toll on Waterloo’s other big employer, John Deere, which laid off thousands. As the last ones in, Black workers were now the first to go, erasing hard-fought economic gains.

The civil rights movement had spurred the desegregation of Waterloo’s schools, but as in other cities, it prompted white flight. Without good-paying jobs, many middle-class Black families also left for opportunities elsewhere. Those who stayed faced bleak prospects. “You could have a master’s degree and be in Waterloo, and if you were Black, it was hard for you to find a job,” said the Rev. Belinda Creighton-Smith, senior pastor of Faith Temple American Baptist Church.

1988            

IBP announces its plan to build the world’s largest hog-slaughtering plant in Waterloo, promising 1,500 jobs for the struggling city. Many hoped it would provide work for hundreds of laid-off Rath employees, but some leaders had their doubts. The company had a reputation for mistreating workers and had been fined by the Labor Department for failing to report injuries. Willie Mae Wright, the only Black city council member at the time, was among those skeptical of IBP. But after meeting with community members, she said in an interview, she “went along with it knowing that people didn’t have jobs.” City officials approved the IBP plant.

1990            

IBP’s slaughterhouse opens to much excitement in Waterloo. But many of IBP’s initial hires don’t stay on the job for long. Some told community leaders they were overwhelmed by the speed of the processing lines, which left their hands numb. After several years, few in the local workforce wanted to work there.

1996

IBP looks elsewhere for workers. It recruits homeless people from shelters and under highway overpasses. It hires labor agencies to find workers from the U.S.-Mexico border, and appeals to California farmworkers who want out of the hot fields and a lower cost of living.

IBP also runs a recruiting operation in Mexico, buying ads on local radio stations and turning pharmacies, stores and car washes into application centers. The company eventually charters buses to transport workers directly from Mexico to its plants. While IBP insisted the workers were authorized, dozens were detained in two immigration raids on the Waterloo plant....

2018            

A financial news site, 24/7 Wall St., ranks the Waterloo-Cedar Falls metro area the worst place for Black people in America. The Black unemployment rate is nearly five times higher than for whites, and Black residents own homes at less than half the rate of white residents, the report notes. Despite the economic gains that meatpacking jobs had provided a generation earlier, Waterloo remains largely segregated, with a historically Black neighborhood bounded by railroad tracks on three sides. And many in the Black community haven’t fully recovered from the 1980s economic downturn.

2020                

An outbreak at the Tyson plant makes Waterloo one of the country’s biggest COVID-19 hotspots. The disease disproportionately affects the city’s immigrants, refugees and communities of color — a demographic heavily employed by Tyson. “This is their first attempt to get a slice of this American apple pie and then for it to be so bitter for them is a travesty,” said state Rep. Ras Smith, who represents the city’s east side. “I don’t want Tyson to overshadow what Waterloo is.”

[wouldpollyapprove]

She’s Not Yours: Part Two

Summary: Y/n and Finn have been friends for a few years, meeting when he let a few men know that she was no longer theirs to catcall. They were the best of friends, but Y/n wasn’t as honest with him as she wanted to be. But how could she be when she involved with his brother. Life couldn’t get any easier for her when she found out that Finn had developed feelings for her. What a rough position she’d found herself in.

Thomas Shelby x Reader / Finn Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Violence, lanugae

A/N: I wrote this while writing Legend, which has Tom Hardy in it, and I fucking loved it. It was amazing and he did an amazing job portraying Reggie and Ronnie. And I loved the whole cast. It was like two hours but totally worth it. I’m also pleased with how this turned out. I was unsure how I would make a second part of this but here it is. 

Part One

Masterlist 

With Y/n’s quick departure, the Garrison was a war zone, Tommy and Finn at each other’s throats. One angered over what he felt had slipped between his fingers, the other outraged that he may not be the first choice. Neither were willing to back down. As foolish as it was, they were both willing to die for their cause. 

Arthur and John shared a look, one that told the other it would be a long night, as their brothers’ rage spilled out into the main room. They were there to drink, but from the looks of it, they were there to break up a fight.

“Fuck you, Tommy!” Finn spat as his fist connects with his brother’s jaw. Tommy staggered back, hitting the door frame of the private room. “Fuck you!”

The older man was at a loss for words. Most of the time, his youngest brother was all bark and no bite, but it seemed the dog had come out in him. His punches were clean and movements swift. Finn was no longer a blinder, dependent on his blade and pistol. Instead, a boxer with iron fists and feather feet. This was not his brother, not the one he knew.

“You fucker.” Tommy composed himself and wiped a bit of blood from his lip. “You think you’re tough now, don’t you?”

The two brothers that watched from the sidelines did nothing to intervene. Tommy and Finn would fight no matter what they did. So, there they stood, leaning against the bar, as they watched their brothers throw glasses at each other and dodge punches, waiting for them to grow tired.

Those wanting to enjoy their evening in the pub found that it was time to go home when Tommy landed on a table, its legs gave way from the force. People finished off their drinks, some left them half have empty and escaped through the door. As much as everyone wanted to stay and watch, putting money on a certain outcome, they knew it best to leave. Peaky business was meant to be just that: Peaky business. No one wanted to stay just to be grabbed by the collar and thrown out the door by John or Arthur.

Harry, though, he wanted to have a pub left by morning and did what should have been done when glasses shattered against the wood floor. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the telephone and dialed the one person that would end the violence. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Polly’s stern voice filled the empty pub as her eyes landed on her nephews that were trying to kill each other. Nothing else had to be said for John and Arthur to finally come between the men. John grabbed a bottle from Finn’s raised hand with one hand and held him back with another. Tommy huffed when Arthur stood between him and John, his muscles relaxed a tad as he wiped the sweat from his brow. When all was calm, their aunt asked again, “What the fuck is going on here?”

The tap of her foot echoed through the room, all her nephews afraid to answer. Of course, John and Arthur weren’t exactly sure what the fight was over, more impressed with the fact Finn decked Tommy. “Well?”

“Finn here is mad that someone desires me more than him,” Tommy pointed at his youngest brother.

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll only get her killed.”

“You shut your fucking mouth!”

“That’s enough, Thomas,” Polly said through gritted teeth. “Who are you two blockheads fighting over? Tell me it’s not Y/n.” Silence fell over them once more, answering her question. She groaned, “You idiots! I assume you scared her off too.”

“Well, it seems I’m the only one that knows how to treat a woman right,” John laughed before his aunt told him to shut up. 

“You two better figure this out before I do,” Polly warned. “She deserves better than this.” She gestured to the broken table, shattered glass, and bruised men. “Y/n deserves to be happy, not miserable.”

While the Shelby brothers sorted there shit out, Y/n was a miserable mess. Coming home with puffy red eyes, her mother begged her to explain what had happened. The woman was as loving as she could be but couldn’t find it in her heart to understand her daughter. She cared, but never enough. Between sobs, her mother did nothing but scold her when the name ‘Shelby’ rolled off her tongue. Shouts could be heard down the street as Y/n’s mother told her that she’d gotten what she deserved.

“They’re no good gypsy gangsters! I thought I raised you better than this! Better than to be a fucking whore!” Her mother screamed behind her, watching her daughter run up the stairs to the sanctuary that was her room.

With the bedroom door shut and locked behind her, Y/n slide down the hardwood onto the floor and pulled her knees close to her chest. She shouldn’t have said anything, nothing would help anyway.

Her mother never minded Finn, he was a fine boy as long as he never entered the house and his name never spoken around the table. The Shelby family, though, was a different story. They were the enemy in her mother’s eye. The ones out to ruin their lives. Y/n wasn’t allowed to be around the family, but that never stopped her. What her mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

But now she knew. 

She knew that her daughter did more than run around with Finn. She did more than just have a drink at the Garrison. Her daughter was a fucking whore in her eyes now.

As the night dragged on, the tears never stopped but Y/n decided to push herself off the floor and try to get some sleep. After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, sleep finally caught up with her and she let peace overtake her. There were no tears behind her eyelids, no fights, no brothers, no unloving mother. There was nothing but fields of green and pure white daisies. 

Like all things, that came to an end.

Y/n batted her eyes, letting them adjust to the light that peaked through the window. A groan escaped her lips when her door rattled, her mother on the other side. 

“Open the fucking door, Y/n! I need you to go to the market!”

The girl sighed and sat up. The market was better than home, so she couldn’t complain. Quickly, she changed her clothes and smoothed down her hair. Moments later, the door opened, her mother’s furious face staring right at her. 

“About fucking time!” she spat and shoved a piece of paper in her hands. “These are what I need.” Y/n nodded and went to move past her mother, but the woman grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her back. “Don’t you fucking think of going to see those Shelby boys,” she whispered in her ear. “Or I’ll tell your father what you’ve done.”

Y/n nodded and turned for the stairs before her mother could see her paling face.

The streets were packed as men set off to work at the factories and women to the shops. Y/n kept her head down, afraid of how fast word traveled in Small Heath. Few knew what had actually taken place at the Garrison the night before, but people had creative minds and loved spinning stories out of nothing. It wasn’t ridiculous to fear gossip.

Marking off things from her mother’s list, she did her best to move as quickly as possible. Even if there was a crowd, her mother would simply believe she’d stopped to speak with Finn or Tommy and tell her father. Y/n couldn’t have that. Not when she knew the temper that man possessed. 

She wasn’t even halfway through the list when a paper was dropped in her basket. She turned to see the delivery man but caught nothing but the sight of other women looking at the selection of fruit. Y/n glanced back at the note before picking it up. Once open, her eyes scanned the ink along the page. In unfamiliar writing, it requested her presence at the Shelby residence.

“Fuck,” she swore, turning her back to the tomatoes in front of her. Moving through the crowd she sighed. That was the one thing she’d been told not to do. But her feet carried her there anyway. It was an accident, really. Walking cleared her mind and that’s what she did once she was away from the market. She walked and walked and walked, ending up closer to the Shelbsys’ house than she would have liked.

It was too late to turn back once she realized. So close, it wouldn’t be right to turn away now. One foot in front of the other, she bit back her fear and went up to the front door. With shaking hands, her knuckles hit the door, waiting for a response. Shuffling behind the door made Y/n wish she’d headed home. Then the door opened.

Polly gave the girl a sympathetic smile and opened the door wider. She entered the house, the smell of biscuits wafted through the air. Polly led her to the kitchen, where Tommy and Finn sat opposite of each other at the table. Y/n stopped in the doorway when their eyes landed on her, unsure of what to do. 

They were going to make her choose, weren’t they? The thought made her breakfast want to reappear. She could n’t do that, she couldn’t choose. Finn was her best friend, she would be lost without him. He was the brother she’d never had, the friend that would stay up all night to help soothe a broken heart. Y/n couldn’t lose that. Then there was Tommy. He made her heart flutter and treated her like adult she was. He made her feel safe and gave her the stability she lacked at home. 

“I’ll leave you three be,” Polly stated and grabbed a cup of tea. “Any fighting-” She pointed at Tommy and Fin. “-and I’ll kill you both.”

With her exit, Y/n shifted her weight from one foot to another, her nerves getting the best of her. She couldn’t stand to look at the two men, who’s eyes were trained on her. Shame was all she felt, that she’d put them in such a position.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” she shook her head, eyes on the ground. “I should have never put you both in this position.” She wanted them to be mad, it’s what she deserved. But neither of them seemed angry, their eyes soft.

“Tommy told me you didn’t want to hurt me with your relationship,” his words were soft, bitter at the end. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry, not when you cared so much. You shouldn’t be sorry, I should.”

A soft smile from her friend coaxed her closer to the table. Finn was probably still angry, but at least he understood, that’s all she could ask for. She knew, though, that Polly had a part to play in this. Probably threatening the boys to kiss and make up. It was times like this she was glad they were a tight-knit family.

“You’re okay with it?” she asked, close enough for Tommy to pull her onto his lap.

“Are you okay with it Finn?” He flashed his brother a smug smile, content that he was getting what he wanted as usual.

Finn groaned, rolling his eyes. “Just give me some time to get used to it.”

*~~*~~*

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[moonlightwinterdxxix]

Here again with a story idea 😂 A day where all the brothers have plans for to go out but there's sudden expected construction work outside their house so they literally can't leave?!? (Let's assume the Matsu parents didn't think their NEETS really had anything to do outdoors that day so they didn't bother to informing them about it haha) Maybe either a hilarious series of escape events or forced family bonding time? 😂

Ah, @yisongye Here it is!! 😂😂 I hope you enjoy my interpretation of this very interesting 2020 experience 🤣🤣🤣

~~~

The bedroom door slid open and slammed against the wall, and he screamed out, “Hey, guys! Guess what!”

Karamatsu raised his chin from the hand mirror, smirking. “Yes, my dear older brother Osomatsu? What might you have upon you as to call for your excitement?”

“There’s this really big gamble that’s gonna happen in Pachinko today from a visitor!” Osomatsu informed, a pair of fists rocking in his exhilaration. “And here’s the big deal: she’s a chick! A very pretty one too! I have no idea what she would want as a penalty aside from money but I’m dead-set on challenging her!” Osomatsu flushed, sultry in a green fantasy. “Ooh man, oh boy, I’m not just gonna give her a run on her money! I’m gonna challenge her into having s** with me!” He laughed maniacally, a predator’s villainous cackle.

Todomatsu scoffed in amusement, rolling his eyes. “Well, try as hard as you want. You’ll never succeed—you’ll be a virgin NEET forever.” He angled his phone, checking himself in the selfie feature of his camera. “On the other hand, there’s a very nice girl that Atsushi informed me will come to the mixer. I’m planning on going out to buy myself a nice new jacket later so I can look nicer come Friday. There is a sale at the mall, after all, so I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Can that beat my luck though?” Choromatsu boasted, popping the collar of his green shirt. “I managed to get VIP passes to Nyaa-chan’s concert. So all of you might be hopeful, but I’m meeting my cat idol in a few hours. So weep in your misery, everyone. Your Choromatsu is going forth into another world.”

“Heh,” Karamatsu retorted, narrowing a perpetually theatrical gaze. “Might I remind you first, my brother. Fap none of the dazzling women that might catch your eye, no? Set a good example to all of your brothers, non?”

With his smile wilting, Choromatsu sputtered as his face went rosy. “Wh-Wh—You shut the hell up, Shittymatsu! I know stuff, you moron!”

“Heh! Good for you, brother! For my luck shines upon me like it came from heaven itself!” Karamatsu flashed them his teeth, touching an eyebrow with two fingers. “You see, my brother, my day too flows with the passionate love from Akatsuka-sensei himself! Today I have been welcomed passage into the core of Akatsuka Ward itself, and I am to meet with a lady of whom I blind date for us was set! Hm, I thank Chibita for his kind heart, how could I have known that he would know such a precious soul—BOEHH!”

Ichimatsu slammed the back of Karamatsu’s head with an unplugged iron, and Karamatsu tumbled down onto the floor. “I bet your sorry ass that you’ll be meeting up with a dishwasher, you piece of crap.”

Jyushimatsu hollered out, “As fun as meeting with girls sounds nice, me and Ichi-nii decided to go to Sealand instead! There’s this annual dolphin show that happens every so often, and after attending it once I decided to invite him to the next one! I spent my entire allowance on getting us front-row tickets, so he has a nice experience when watching the show! The dolphins are always trained so well, once I had a dream of wanting to be one too.”

Ichimatsu grinned slightly, amused. “Hm, and after that I’ll be taking Jyushimatsu to the cat shelter. I’ve made an appointment to adopt one of the cats there—Mom and Dad already let me. She’s a very young one, about two months old, found beside a river where she almost drowned. I felt bad for her and decided to keep her so she doesn’t drown herself again. Her name’s Kawa, and she’s a plain white one. I hope she likes it here at the household with me.”

“Awwww~” the collective chorus of his brothers cooed lovingly, and Ichimatsu flushed bright pink and turned away with his hands smashed to his ears.

“Shut up! Stop shedding attention to my shitty life!” Ichimatsu exclaimed miserably.

“Either way, it seems that all of us have plans for today,” Choromatsu laughed, over from his former humiliation as he shrugged his backpack on entirely. “Anyway I need to go now. The arena could get pretty crowded if I came in much later than twelve.”

Osomatsu darted his gaze to the clock to Choromatsu then back again. “But it’s eight-thirty.”

“The earlier the better.” Choromatsu lifted his shoulders, chuckling. “Perhaps I can eat lunch while waiting too. Can’t watch a concert with an empty stomach. We need energy for screaming at the top of our lungs.”

“As if you don’t do that everyday already,” Osomatsu murmured, but remained unheard.

To Choromatsu, “Yeah, I agree,” Todomatsu said, standing up from the couch and patting his pants. “I’d better get to the mall early before it gets too crowded. I mean, sales are still sales, aren’t they? I don’t wanna be stuck in a traffic of people before I see something pretty.” He directed himself towards the cabinet and rummaged through the pockets of one of his hoodies, grabbing his wallet and stashing it into his current pants. “Yep. Imma go for now. See you all later?”

“Yeah, sure!” Jyushimatsu exclaimed, waving. “Later! Have fun!”

“Kiss Reika for me, okay, Fappymatsu?” Osomatsu derided, the curves of his features smug.

Choromatsu scoffed in reply as Todomatsu tittered, and then the bedroom door shut as Choromatsu and Todomatsu exited.

A minute passed.

And then...

“EEEHHH???!!!”

The rest of the Matsuno household were already out the bedroom and down the stairs, sliding into sudden halts as they saw Choromatsu and Todomatsu frozen in front of their door. They were both with mouths so rounded that their jaws were on the floor, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. Their fingers were spread out from their hands at their sides, legs parted.

“Totty? What’s wrong?” But then all the other four were soon to realize it, and with matching, elongated yells all six were better classified with the term ‘identical’ as they all sported the same gawking, disbelieved expressions.

In front of their front door, the ground was a literal swimming pool of wet cement. Across that, there were careless-of-them construction workers with complete top-volume cranes and drillers, the workers saluting each other and bearing wide blueprints as long as a man was tall. This occupied the front porch all the way to their gate, nearly tore down completely, now granting the brothers a perfect view of Matsuyo and Matsuzo as they stared at their own sons, a pair of shopping bags dangling from their mother’s arms.

“Wh...” The first with a voice managing to come out his lips, Choromatsu averted his gaze to their parents. “Mom?! What in bloody hell is this?!”

“Ah, that!” Matsuyo laughed, unbothered in the slightest by the unexpected construction. “It’s just a bit of construction, my NEETs! I didn’t think I needed to tell you since you can handle yourselves, but never mind that! Don’t worry! It’ll only be about three days until you can go outside the house again.”

“Three days?!” Osomatsu exclaimed, face contorting in horror. “But that sexy-chick gambler will leave the city in three days!”

After shooting his brother a pointed look, Karamatsu yelled out the more proper response to their mother’s statement, “How are we supposed to leave the house?! And how are you two getting back in?!”

“Ah, don’t worry about us,” Matsuzo said, chuckling lightheartedly. “We booked a stay at the hotel about a week ago because we knew about this. Plus we bought a ton of groceries last week, so the fridge was practically an entire factory of sushi and takoyaki. I’m still surprised that there was only about a shelf left of it before we left the house three hours ago.”

“Th-That was our storage?!” Todomatsu sputtered. “Our food?!”

“Gee, I wonder where all of it went,” Ichimatsu sarcastically drawled, maliciously digging a dagger-sharp gaze against Jyushimatsu, who had gone from pale to red in a matter of seconds through the transition of realization to shame.

“No, we can’t survive this!” Osomatsu protested, gesturing wildly at the commotion lining each space of their front. “Mom! Dad! This is worse than suicide! No, we need to get out of this house! You can’t expect us to stay locked in here the entire three days, do you?! We’re your sons! You know that!”

“And we’re your parents,” Matsuyo retorted, her glare making Osomatsu and his brothers all shrink. “And you know well enough that we hate it when you have no consciences. This is punishment for illegally performing on the streets a month ago just to get money for a fish sale for Totoko’s sake! Grow up! Cod, you’re all a bunch of oversized children. You’re lucky we still gave you a storage of takoyaki.” Turning her nose up, she said, “Let’s go, Matsuzo-dear. We have that specialized screening on that one movie, right?”

“Of course, darling,” Matsuzo said devilishly, internally guffawing at his son’s anxieties. “Shall we?” He extended his arm.

“My pleasure.”

All six began yelling in unison as their parents began walking away, striding off with the pride of victory and the blessing of their lack of child tomfoolery. The brothers all tumbled down defeatedly on the floor, groaning in exasperation. It was Jyushimatsu who remained standing, mind calculative as his pupils dilated and his mouth was covered by a hand. Then...

“I think I can make that jump.”

“Ah, I see you wanna die early,” Todomatsu chortled groggily, unimpressed. “Ichimatsu-niisan, take notes. Your medal’s been snatched.”

“No!” Jyushimatsu contradicted. “I think I can make that jump! Then when I do, I’ll get all of you a ladder or something so you can get across.”

“Sure, I believe you,” Osomatsu said casually, pouting. “You’re the same guy who can turn into a living Jyushimatsu virus. If you can jump that gorge of death then go for it.”

“Idiots, it won’t work,” Choromatsu finalized, crossing his arms. “He won’t make it. Trust me.”

~~~

“Or not. Of course. I rest my case.”

Preparing himself, Jyushimatsu bent his legs.

“On three, Jyushimatsu,” Ichimatsu announced. “One...two...three!”

Jyushimatsu bolted, and with the speed of a fictional being he raced across the entire room until his feet were no longer on the ground, and he was hovering in the air, his shadow overlapping gray as his form paralleled the top of their doorframe. He was only by the first half of the entire cement pool when gravity played its part and tugged him downwards.

With his arms up, Jyushimatsu yelled out a stainless “BOEHBAA!!”, only stopping when a cross-crossed surface dug into his butt and he was pulled back into the house.

And dropped on the floor with a thud, tilting his head towards Todomatsu and the butterfly net he had in his hands. “Thanks, Totty.”

“I told you it won’t work,” Choromatsu grouched.

“Work or not, where was this butterfly net from?” Todomatsu questioned, scratching his head in confusion.

Jyushimatsu said, “I also got it from Dayon’s stomach.”

Todomatsu immediately panicked, dropping the net and struggling for the closest sink.

“Aha! I have a new plan!” Karamatsu extolled, spreading his arms wide. “My brothers, this plan of mine is guaranteed to entrance our grand exit! Be amazed, my brothers! We shall be able to access our hopes and dreams on finding the romance, enjoyment, and entertainment that our lives have waited for! My brothers, join me!” He began spinning around dramatically, a hand sailing to his back pocket for a rain of rose petals that he sprayed over the floor. “Grab a pen, and wonderful stationary. We are writing letters.”

Everyone stared at him dumbfounded, except for Ichimatsu, who bluntly said, “Kill me now.”

Minutes later, all six of them were gathered around the living room table, color-coded papers assigned to each brother. At the center of the table was a pack of markers, as well as some glitters none of them (but Karamatsu, apparently) knew they even had. At the head of the table, Karamatsu smirked at them, a finger-gun connected to his jawline as his sunglasses hid his dancing eyes. “Now, pick up a pen,” he instructed.

They all did, grabbing the marker colored with the hue of the sibling closest to them. Karamatsu picked last, raising his pink marker. “Step two, revisit your talents in mastery. Perfect, swooping calligraphy, as a dazzling prince such as us possesses.”

“Bro, I failed art class because of calligraphy,” Osomatsu deadpanned.

“Now,” Karamatsu pronounced as if no one had spoken, “Take the tip of your pen to the page. Then with the watery softness of a fountain, draw the letter ‘I’.”

Though hesitant, everyone followed.

“Good, my brothers. Next, add a space. Then, the letter ‘L’.”

They obeyed.

“Brothers, the letter ‘O’.”

They complied.

“The letter ‘V—”

“Karamatsu-niisan, what’s the message you’re making us write?” Choromatsu asked bluntly.

“Um...” Karamatsu made a heart with his hands, smiling boldly, “It will say, ‘I love you, dear cement! Please let us pass through your jinxes, allow us passage because you reciprocate my feelings to you!’ Oh, brother, the ground will harden almost immediately because of passion! I can see her heart beating from our kindness! Oh, brother, my brother, it shall make her weep tears of rock that would melt into a river of the soul! I see it, brother! It shall work, brother!” He was dancing in his reverie, nearly crying. “Oh, brother, my brother, sweet brother—BOEH!”

He collapsed on the ground, and Ichimatsu dropped his fist. “How about, ‘Brother, shut the eff up’.”

“Ugh, this sucks!” Todomatsu whined, tossing his paper away. “You’re all stupid and useless! Now I’m never gonna be able to look attractive enough for the new girl.” He buried his head in his arms on the table. “It’s hopeless for me. I need to be stuck with a bunch of ‘overgrown children’ until Atsushi sweeps her off her feet.”

“No.” Osomatsu stood up, all serious. Everyone looked at him. “There’s still hope. I think there’s one more thing we can do before we can say that we failed.”

Choromatsu lackadaisically suggested, “Request the construction workers for a way across?”

“Even better.” Osomatsu straightened his body, chin up, spine vertical. “Everyone. Off to the roof.”

Silence (...)...

“...eh?”

It was even louder on the roof than outside, because the entire view was there to present itself. The machines were huge, matted with soil and cement, some of the yellow on the bodies faded or whitened. Five of the six of them watched the entire thing with fearful anticipation, the giants in front of their house like dragons hovering over a field of lava. Whatever plan this Osomatsu-niisan of theirs had, it had better be worth it. Because so far, it looked like death was going to be the option here if it weren’t success.

“Boys,” Osomatsu announced, hands on his waist. “It’s time. Jyushimatsu, come here.”

Gulping, Jyushimatsu didn’t protest as he allowed himself to be led by his oldest brother, scarily close to the edge of the roof. Sweat ran down the sides of his face, his legs trembling in his discomfort. But he stayed there with his hands at his sides, staring straight and down towards the valley of Tartarus below.

“Karamatsu, come here,” Osomatsu instructed, and with the same worrisome posture Karamatsu stepped next to his eldest and fifth-born brother. “Karamatsu, go over Jyushimatsu’s shoulders.”

Karamatsu sputtered, and Choromatsu let out a “NO!” louder than the entire construction company combined.

But Choromatsu was ignored as Karamatsu timidly climbed onto Jyushimatsu’s back, and rested his thighs over Jyushimatsu’s shoulders. Both of them were perspired and horrified, already awaiting doom before a signal can even be clarified. Jyushimatsu clasped Karamatsu’s legs like it was giving him reassurance, but the threat of failure was still too strong for that.

“Ichimatsu, you next!” Osomatsu called out, and Ichimatsu greenly approached the building tower with his chin dipped and his eyes sullen. Internally, he was mouthing his last will and testament.

But he climbed nonetheless onto Karamatsu’s shoulders.

“Okay, my turn.” Osomatsu climbed onto Ichimatsu’s shoulders, and the weight began tugging down on Jyushimatsu as a wobble began to wrack their brother building. Hands grabbed legs, butts nestled tightly against napes, and lips went pressed as three of them stifled the screams that were growing in their throats.

“Choromatsu! You’re up!”

“This is dangerous, you idiot eldest!” Choromatsu reprimanded, arms wide for emphasis. “No more kidding—you’re literally trying to kill us!”

“Wouldn’t you die for Nyaa-chan?” Osomatsu inquired calmly.

Choromatsu was up over Osomatsu’s shoulders ten seconds later.

“Finally! Totty!”

On top of the tower, Todomatsu shook harshly as he grabbed the sides of Choromatsu’s head for dear life, legs intertwined over Choromatsu’s chest. Actually, most of them were like that. The only exception was the oldest brother, as determined as an eagle, staring straight through the obstacles separating him from making out with a beautiful gambling girl.

“Jyushimatsu, on three, run back, and then jump.”

“We’re gonna die,” Ichimatsu rasped with a plastic smile.

“Yup,” Karamatsu agreed in a tiny voice.

“On three, Jyushimatsu,” Osomatsu repeated, fiercer, and Jyushimatsu stepped back, all his brothers doing the same with the connections binding them in that formation. Jyushimatsu’s legs were shuddering. The pores on his skin were leaking.

“One...two...THREE!!!”

Eyes shut, Jyushimatsu made his run and jumped.

A few seconds later, at the other side of the gate, there were six bodies lying on the streets they’ve cracked, car horns roaring angrily in the traffic they caused.

~~~

Matsuyo tapped her feet. “I don’t think I need to scold you anymore. You know very well what you’ve done, right?” She crossed her arms, tilted her chin. “And because of that, there won’t be any more takoyaki. Not just because you absolutely don’t deserve it anymore, but because we can’t afford it.”

“Eh? Why not?” Osomatsu asked, then whimpered when he tried to move his head a little. With a full body cast matching those of his brothers’, there was no twitching a pinkie nor a strand of hair on the hospital beds.

“Not only because I have six sons confined with full body casts following surgery,” Matsuyo said madly, “but because of the damage! Not only did you break almost every bone in your body but you broke the road itself! There’s gonna be so much construction in front of our house now and guess what! We are the ones who need to pay for it!”

“Are we that fat?” Karamatsu sobbed.

“Think about what you did, you NEETs,” Matsuzo moaned, massaging his temples. “This didn’t just ruin our day with all these expenses. But your day too. Didn’t you all have anything better to do?” With that, Matsuzo and Matsuyo left the room, shutting the door behind them.

When they were completely gone, Jyushimatsu whimpered, “So...No dolphin show?”

“No cat...?” Ichimatsu followed up miserably.

“No clothes...?” Todomatsu wept.

“No Nyaa-chan...?!” Choromatsu cried.

“No date?!” Karamatsu tearfully yelled.

“No sexy-as-hell gambling babe?” Osomatsu whispered.

They all went quiet.

Then together, they all cried as one.

[kathyprior4200]

The Chipper Cleaner

The Golden State of California hosted a melting pot of different cultures, cuisines and languages from around the world. The Great Depression of the 1930s hit families and businesses hard. Many people were out of jobs, some lived in the streets or in debilitated shacks close together. Mexican, European and Asian immigrants were often seen in camps, doing what they could to survive and live through the days. Men, women and sometimes children would help out in the fields and harvest wheat and food. It wasn’t uncommon to hear guitar playing or balls being kicked around or a few songs carried out in the desert air in an attempt to lift spirits up.

 To make matters worse, a terrible drought spread through the nation in 1930. Crops died from lack of water and harvests failed across farms in the U.S. Thousands went hungry as farms and homes were lost. The former prosperous economic growth and glory of the Roaring Twenties was reduced to memory.

 The 1940s would bring about World War 2, more women in the workforce and the internment of thousands of people with Japanese ancestry. For as diverse as California was, racism, sexism and discrimination were still commonplace everywhere.

 In the vibrant city of Los Angeles, California, a nifty little girl was born. Her name was Nerissa, born March 22nd, 1929. She was born to her parents: Hiroto and Akemi Nifuti. Her mother, Akemi was from Japan and arrived to Hawaii. Having only met her husband through sent pictures as a picture bride, she and Hiroto got married on the docks of Hawaii. She was disappointed to hear that Hiroto was older and didn’t have any luxury cars or clothes. Nevertheless, it was an escape from her family duties back in her home country, so she moved and married him. After working on the plantations for a while, the couple decided to move to California, where they lived in a rural area. Their small house was made of wood that was painted red and white.

 Close by their house was a field of wheat, soybeans and tomatoes growing on vines. Or at least, that’s how it should’ve looked during a good harvest. However, the drought had done a number on the family’s crops. The beans were small and dried up, the tomatoes hardly growing at all. The family had to be careful about not spending too much money…they made some of it selling their crops at a local farmer’s market. Thankfully, their jobs allowed them to keep a house and not go broke. Other families weren’t as lucky.

  Niffty’s father was a farmer and newspaper editor and her mother worked at a sewing factory. Since Niffty’s parents were often busy with work, they hired a sitter to take care of her. The sitter was white with brown hair and green eyes, in her early 30s. She would often wear pink dresses with white polka dots on it, her mousey brown hair tied back. Although Michelle Marie Ann was Caucasian, she treated Niffty like she was her own daughter. She watched Niffty crawl, babble, and slowly take her first steps.

 “Yay, nice job!” she said in a cooing tone as Niffty took her first steps across the floor before landing in a heap in her lap.

 Michelle looked over at Akemi and Hiroto. “She’s a fast learner,” Michelle remarked. Both parents were pleased. Hiroto then went out to water what was left of the crops, while Akemi sat in a large room to get a head start on some dresses and hats.

 Niffty started crying again and Michelle rocked her gently in her lap. Michelle let out a soft sigh and carried her to a bedroom to change her diaper.

 Whenever Akemi had time to spend with Niffty, she taught her the Japanese language and etiquette.

 Niffty started learning when she was a couple years old. Her mother would sing her songs and tell her stories. The little girl loved every minute of it. Niffty’s father would smile passively at them, before returning to work or have some drinks.

 Niffty would later learn to write several Japanese characters as well, at least at home or when writing letters to distant family members.

 “Hai. Yes,” Akemi said, with a nod of her head. Niffty copied the motion. “iie. No.” She shook her head, more of a frown on her face, before Niffty copied her.

 “Onegai shimasu? What’s that?”

 Niffty answered. “Please?”

 “Very good,” Akemi said.

 Of course, Niffty had to learn several things the hard way.

 “Nerissa! iie!” Akemi scolded when a four year old Niffty had arrived into the house wearing dirty shoes. She pointed back outside and Niffty slumped back out to take her shoes off.

 “Nerissa,” called her father. “I need your help digging up some dirt out here.” Niffty raced out and grabbed a small shovel. She helped her father dig holes and seek out fresh dirt to try and plant seeds.

 At dinner time, the family had sushi, onigiri rice balls and grilled chicken skewers called yakitori. Niffty was struggling with holding chopsticks. Hiroto had to chuckle as Niffty’s sushi kept slipping from in between the wooden utensils. Niffty reached to pick it up but Akemi stopped her with a glare. Niffty kept her little hand extended, the two members locked in a sort of stare down. Niffty tried using the chop sticks in one hand before both utensils rolled off the table and clattered to the floor. Niffty grabbed the sushi and popped it into her mouth with a giggle. Akemi sighed and slapped her hand to her forehead. Hiroti rolled his eyes and helped himself to more food.

 “Nerissa, dear you still have much to learn,” her mother said as Niffty bent down to pick up the sticks.

 Akemi also showed Niffty the very important duties of cleaning the house and sewing clothing. “I work at a sewing factory,” she said. “And more than likely, you’re gonna work in a similar job if not the same. Watch closely.”

 Niffty watched in curiosity as Akemi sat down and worked both a sewing machine and used her own hands. She weaved string of different colors through loops as she moved the sewing needles around in her hands. Niffty practiced on her own, sewing together a hole in a small cotton cap to start with. She fumbled several times but slowly got used to it. Several weeks later, she had made her first scarf.

 “Quite impressive,” Akemi praised.

 Niffty had poked at her fingers several times, but they eventually toughened up. Muscle memory took over in her fingers for many of the tasks she did. The more she performed them, the easier it felt…and the faster she did them. Sewing on buttons, bows and decorations was Niffty’s favorite part. It wasn’t long before she frequently helped out her mother with sewing and cleaning the house. It became an expectation for years afterward.

 “Scrub harder, Nerissa,” Akemi said as Niffty learned how to wash dishes. “You need to really get the stains off around the bottom rim of the pot. Like this.” She grabbed a sponge and moved it rapidly up and down and in circles. Niffty laughed as she got her hands soapy and wet. On occasion, Akemi would playfully splash her with water. They would have a quick water fight with loud giggles before returning to work.

 Cleaning chimneys was Niffty’s least favorite hobby. But it was one her father insisted she do. “You’ll eventually need to learn it if you ever get a somewhat decent job,” he reminded her. Women were working more, but opportunities were still very limited for them.

 Using thick dusters and other supplies, she could easily fit into the small space. She hated how dirty she got from the soot and ash. Niffty felt like Cinderella much of the time, from the hard cleaning work she did, to fantasizing about going to a ball and meeting a prince. Imagining herself as a beautiful princess helped pass the time. The water in the wooden wash bin would be black by the time Niffty was done washing herself off. She would scrub her skin for half an hour, trying to get the grime off as much as possible.

 Niffty soon she got some exciting news at age six: she was going to school for the first time. She was soon dropped off at Wellis Elementary, a yellow brick building. While at school, Niffty excelled at literature, home economics, art, reading, writing and history. She was also a fast runner in gym class as well. Math and science were subjects she struggled with.

 Nifty would spend hours reading the books in the classrooms. She would often be seen eagerly raising her hand to tell the answer. She had to learn to slow down on whatever activity she did…many of the classmates couldn’t keep up with her!

 “Shorty Jap! Shorty Jap!” jeered a bunch of mean older kids who shoved Niffty to the floor on her way to music. Niffty cried out, tears flowing down her cheeks. A nearby teacher arrived and took her to the nurse’s office.

 “Just a bruise on your knee but it should heal up in no time,” the nurse said as Niffty wiped her tears away.

 “Why are they so mean?” she sobbed. “What did I do?”

 “Those kids are mean to all the newcomers,” the nurse said. “They tend to pick on the little kids in particular.”

 “But I’m not that little,” Niffty said. “I just turned seven!”

 “Sorry, I thought you were four.”

 Niffty lowered her face, black bangs obscuring her forehead. Her face flushed in embarrassment. Her dress was white, her leggings tight and shoes were shiny and black. Her hair was short and black, her eyes dark brown and slanted. Her skin was a light brownish or as some bullies would mock, “yellow.” Indeed, Niffty was one of the shortest people in her class. There were rumors about her having a growth stunt, but Niffty had developed physically and mentally at a fast rate. Indeed, she was smarter than many kids her age.

 “Don’t let them get to you,” the nurse said. “Now hurry on back to class.”

 Fortunately, singing and playing instruments helped Niffty forget about the incident. “I’m gonna be a singer when I grow up!” she declared much to the bemusement of her classmates.

Niffty got home to see Michelle Marie Ann smiling warmly at her, wearing a fluffy lavender dress with a purple bow around her waist. Niffty remembered to leave her shoes outside.

 “How was school?” she asked.

 “It was fine,” she replied in a monotone.

 “Only fine? You were so enthusiastic about it earlier.”

 “Mean kids were mean to me.”

 “How so? What did they do?”

 “They said I was a shorty Jap and shoved me to the ground.”

 A horrific look crossed Michelle’s face. “I’m so sorry, Nerissa,” she said.

 Her parents shared concerned looks in the distance. Sooner or later, their daughter would have to learn the hard truth about who she was and about the society they lived in.

 “It’s okay,” Niffty said. “I still got to learn new things and do the entire alphabet in English!”

 “How wonderful!” Michelle smiled. Niffty was always optimistic, ever the imaginative one. Whenever things got down, Niffty would always see the silver lining in everything.  

 “What did the kids mean when they said that stuff?”

 Michelle sighed, trying to put words together. “Let’s just say that many people don’t like others who are different.”

 Before Niffty could ask further, Michelle said,” I have a surprise for you, sweetie.”

 She dug into her dress pocket and pulled out a stuffed animal. Niffty beamed and took the figure and hugged it to her chest. It was a stuffed pink poodle decorated with white polka dots.

 “Do you like it?”

 “Oh I do I do I do!” Niffty squealed. The two of them shared a warm hug.  

 After dusting a bookshelf, vacuuming the rugs and polishing several appliances, Niffty soon got ready for bed. Michelle tucked her into bed. Hiroto was passed out on the couch and Akemi was up in her room finishing up outfits to sell.

 “Can you read me a story?” Niffty asked.

 “Of course my dear,” Michelle answered. “Which one?”

 Niffty pointed to an orange picture book. “That’s one of my favorites.”

 Michelle picked it up and read the title. “Princess Hachikazuki.”

 Niffty cuddled up in her sitter’s lap as Michelle began. It was like she was transported to another world.

 In the story, Lord and Lady Sanetaka prayed to the bodhisattva of mercy to give them an heir. The beautiful princess was born. The mother became sick and before she passed away, she placed a bowl on the princess’s head. The princess threw herself in a river when people laughed at her but soon, a prince fell in love with her. Although her rival stepsisters tried to separate them, Hachikazuki’s bowl came off of her head, allowing her to win a ladies contest. The couple happily married and the princess was reunited with her father.

 “Oh I just love happy endings!” Niffty beamed as Michelle closed the book.

 A year later, Michelle told her a story that seemed to stay with her. It would be the last story the sitter ever told.

 “Read me a story, please?” Niffty asked.

 “But it’s your bed time, Nerissa,” she said. “You’re getting old for this, according to your parents.”

 “Please? Please? Please?” the little girl pleaded with shining eyes.

 Michelle gave in with a smile. She knew Niffty would always be a child at heart. “Alright, but just one.”

 She cleared her throat.

 “Once upon a time in a vast kingdom, there lived a beautiful blonde haired princess. She lived in a palace with her father and mother, the king and queen. While she was there, she was taught how to sing, play the violin, dance and how to rule with a firm hand. The king and queen loved to perform for their subjects. They would host grand balls for the nobility and invite the well-off to join the fun. There were jesters, jugglers, and an array of delicious food for them to enjoy. All in all the princess was very happy, surrounded by the music.”

 “But as she got older, she learned more about the land she was in. Her father had enforced strict rules on his subjects, and for good reason. Although the peasants, knights, shop owners and caretakers worked hard, they also fought a lot. It wasn’t uncommon for farmers to fight over crops, or fellow knights to raid churches and villages. Disease also spread rapidly.”

 “One day, the princess saw a horrific sight. Soldiers from a rival kingdom arrived and mercilessly slaughtered the citizens! The knights in armor were no match for the guns. After the damage had been done, those who remained had to dispose of the dead and start over, always in fear that they would come again.”

 “Father,” cried the princess. “How could you let this happen?!”

 “My army is no match for the soldier’s guns,” he replied. “They invade and kill my people for the sake of it. But there is nothing that can be done. Perhaps the troublesome workers deserved their fate.”

 “Mother!” the princess cried. “Can’t you do something as well? Those poor people suffer every day out there!”

 But the queen was busy deciding which dress to wear for the next performance.

The princess tried to talk to the people around her, offering to help in any way she could. Many of them laughed and mocked her.

 “A secluded princess trying to help us out?” they asked. “Who does she think she is? She doesn’t know anything at all.”

 Fortunately, the princess befriended a woman warrior to help her out. The woman could live off the land and use any kind of weapon, but she had a bad temper at times. The princess had an idea.

 “What if I run a refuge place to help travelers and my people get along? If not that, then at least, the poor would have a place to stay.” Her warrior friend agreed to help, provided she not get too optimistic about the iffy plan. The king and queen used some of their money to build the building by the trading route, just so they could focus on their own hobbies. They, too, didn’t agree with her ideas. The princess was saddened by her ignorant parents.

 One traveler soon arrived, a man who smoked, drank and often ran around nude. He slept with women and men alike. He was a reckless fighter as well, and had almost died fighting off rival knights on the battlefield. The princess happily welcomed him in, but the warrior wasn’t as pleased. It was slow going, but it was a start.

 Now, the king had many lords and men in his inner circle. One of them was a man who lived in the woods and hunted deer. He often wore a dark cloak and carried a staff with a deer skull on it. But he was also a devious trickster. He was feared throughout the land because of his great skill in dark sorcery. Many people had fallen prey to his curses, poor and wealthy alike…he loved making deals.

 When the sorcerer saw that the princess was opening the place of refuge, he decided to check it out. He already had a plan to get to know the members of the royal family…having a secret grudge against them. Before he did, he gathered two people to his side. One of them was a strong muscular fighter…and the best gambler in town.

 “Your skills in gambling and fighting are second to none,” the sorcerer said, soon gathering up lies. “I could use a strong hand like you. Those horrible soldiers killed my wife and children and I’m worried that I’ll be next.”

 “I’m not helping you,” the gambler scoffed as he drank more booze and drinks. “Why didn’t you use your magic?”

 “The soldiers weren’t affected by it and now…I’m left with nothing...”

 “But if you work for me, I’ll give you more drinks and money. Plus if you’re looking for a nicer place to stay, the princess has a refuge center not too far from here.”

 Reluctantly, the gambler shook the sorcerer’s hand and followed him.

 Later, the sorcerer spotted a maid who was cleaning chimneys and caring for a bunch of children.

 “You look like you’re pretty busy,” the sorcerer said. “Cleaning the same dirty place all the time sounds boring.”

 “It is,” the maid said. “And lonely. There are no handsome men around either.”

 The sorcerer then spoke in a smooth seductive tone. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Why, if you help me out, I’ll provide you with a clean house and introduce you to the most handsome of men in the kingdom. I’ll be your first friend if you wish.”

 The maid eagerly shook his hand, and the trio went off to the hotel. Once they arrived, the princess welcomed them in with open arms.

 “I’d love to help out with your place, your majesty,” the sorcerer said with an elegant bow. “Trying to make people better…that’s near impossible, but hey, it’s worth a shot.”

 The sorcerer charmed the princess with dances and magic tricks. With a snap of his fingers, the place was repaired and clean. She soon became attracted to him. The man even made a splendid dinner for everyone to enjoy.

 “He’s untrustworthy,” the warrior woman warned the princess. “I’m your best friend but please be careful.”

 “Don’t worry,” the princess said. “I can take care of myself.” She hoped that her plan would work…and hoped she could prove herself worthy to her parents.

 Then, on the next fateful day…”

 “Nerissa!” called Akemi from down the hall. “It’s time to go to sleep!”

 “She’s right,” Michelle said as she closed the book in a heart stopping snap.

 “Awww, Michelle! Mother! You can’t stop there! We were getting to the good part!”

 “Maybe another time,” said Michelle as she tucked Niffty into bed. “Good night, dear.” Michelle’s footsteps grew fainter as she left the room.

 Nifty stared at the starry sky and the full moon though her window. “Maybe my dreams will come true someday,” she sang softly to herself with a smile and a look of longing.

 “A dream is a wish, my heart makes

When I’m fast asleep.

In dreams, I will lose my heartaches

Whatever I wish for, I keep

 “Have faith in dreams and someday

My rainbow will come smiling through

No matter how my heart is grieving

If I keep on believing

The dream that I wish will come true.”

 Niffty yawned after she finished the song and settled into sleep.

                                        Yellow Peril: Chinese workers arrive to U.S. mid 19th century, restricted to railroads and mines. Anti-Chinese groups worked to pass laws to limit Asian American equality with whites. Like Irish, Italians, Chinese and Japanese were viewed as threats to “racial purity” and a source of economic competition.

1886-1924 peak: People immigrating from Japan to find work to survive. Many arrived on Hawaiian Islands, moving to the West Coast. Immigrants selecting brides from their immigrant countries via a matchmaker who paired them only using pictures and family recommendations. Some women choose to be picture brides to escape familial duties and seek economic growth. Some came to Hawaii because it was a trend. Picture brides immigrated to the U.S. to be with husbands. Men would often pose in pictures with cars and items they did not own.

Nakodo: go between/match maker who looks at status, age, wealth of bride

 Pucture brides had to go through immigration inspections. They would meet their soon to be husbands and attend a wedding ceremony on the docks.

Reality: older grooms living in racially segregated plantations

  Plantation workers, many Japanese women. Irrigated and weeded the fields, stripped cane of dry leaves, or cut seed cane. Women were also expected to take care of the house, cooking, cleaning, sewing and raising children. Many women moved to Honolulu to start their own businesses.

 Values instilled to children included filial piety, obligation to community and authority, reciprocal obligation, importance of hard work, frugality, drive for success (seiko).

 Some married husbands were abusive or alcoholic or tried to sell women into brothels but many wives stayed for their children. Wives who eloped could be sent back to Japan.

 No passports to picture brides in 1920.

   Naturalization Act of 1870: revoking citizenship to Chinese Americans

 Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882: stopped immigration from China

 Japanese workers recruited, triggering a rapid increase in population.

 Immigration Act of 1924: banned Japanese and Chinese from entering U.S.

  Japantowns (Nihonmachi) in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle etc. community groups organized charity events and set up shops separate from whites, Japanese language schools.

  Pearl Harbor attack 1941: led the United States into World War 2. Americans, French, England, unified to fight against Germany, Japan and Italy.

Kamikaze suicide bombings, Pearl Harbor, Baatan Death March, American POWs killed by Imperial Japanese forces

 “Jap hunting licenses” Japanese forced to move away and close their businesses.

 Stereotype of Japanese and schools as loyal to the emperor of Japan, promoting racial superiority and violent fighting skills.

 1942: Japanese incarcerated in camps “War Relocation Camps” western U.S, 1942-1946 “one blood drop rule”

    Jan 1942: immigrants required to have certificates and IDs on them

 Unfavorable reports of Japanese action noticed by the U.S. government, (Pearl Harbor, Invasion of China 1931).

 Thin barracks with little room for privacy, barbed wire fences and guards.

(shikata ga nai) “It cannot be helped.” School lessons only taught in Englsih. Dust storms, cramped living conditions. There was baseball, bands and recreation.

Internment ends 1945/1946

Japanese businesses, homes and places of worship were destroyed with vandalism, gunshots and explosives. Some people were shot in the camps while others died from lack of medical care.

 Niffty lives her life as a Japanese American woman and teenager in the 1950s. She is little, with short black hair and pale skin. She is born in the 1920s…on March 22 (VA birthdate), 1929 (Year of the Snake)! Being the same age as Vaggie when she died at age 22, Niffty died in 1951. She is a human named Nerissa Nifuti (after the maid. Her last name is Niffty in Japanese).

 March 22 1929: Niffty’s birth in Los Angeles, California, as Nerissa Nifuti. (Capital city based on New Orleans, New York and Las Vegas populous cities of the former homelands of the other characters)

1930: age 1

 1931: age 2

 1932: age 3

 1933: age 4

 1934: age 5

 1935: age 6

 Niffty briefly lives with her parents in a rural area. Picture bride mother who arrived from Japan and to Hawaii and worked on a plantation, older alcoholic father who lived in Hawaii.

 1930s: Niffty learns to walk and talk and speak Japanese and English. She always removes her shoes whenever she enters her home and other buildings. She is fast in almost everything, crawling early, babbling early, very talkative and quick on her feet. Niffty is a fast learner as well, often ahead of her class. Niffty learns best by working with her hands. Niffty develops her love of reading and writing.

 At some point, Niffty’s father becomes abusive to both of them but Niffty’s mother has to stay to uphold her family honor.

 1936: age 7 Niffty starts school. Niffty is often chided for talking so fast and not being passive

  Niffty is bullied in Weill school for her heritage and short height. Niffty excels at literature, running, music, singing, arts and crafts, reading and writing, but not at math, sports, science or history.

  1937: age 8 With being a good housewife instilled in her at an early age, Niffty begins to clean and cook and sew early on, while also looking for the perfect husband in the future.

 1938: age 9

 1939: age 10 World War 2 begins

 Niffty reads mangas and starts writing her own stories while maintaining a clean house for her family. They also have a black poodle named Michelle.

 1940: age 11

 1941: age 12

 1942: age 13

 1942: Year of Death. Niffty and her parents are sent to an internment camp. Manzanar Relocation Center. Niffty’s father is shot for trying to escape and her mother dies of an illness at an infirmary. The walls are thin and barracks are overcrowded.

  1943: age 14

 1944: age 15 Niffty is often surrounded by the stench of death. She eats like an animal and longs to be free.

 1945: age 16

Niffty’s father is shot for trying to escape and her mother falls ill and dies in a makeshift infirmary. Niffty remains in the camp until 1945, finishing schooling and joining the band. Niffty has to live with several other families and children in cramped spaces. The lessons were only taught in English. Niffty falls in love with several boys. Niffty meets one nice one but he eventually leaves with his family, leaving Niffty behind.

 Niffty returns to her home town with nothing to return to. She finds Japanese businesses, homes and places of worship destroyed with vandalism, gunshots and explosives.

 By sheer luck, she is able to live and work for an upper class white family as a maid, cook and a person who sews their clothes. The mother is racist toward her but not the father nor the older sister, who tolerate her.

 1946: age 17 Niffty is visited by Alastor through a radio. He offers her mangas, appreciation for her work and a new “perfect” boyfriend/husband, plus a radio. She agrees to help him out later on, but she gets more than what she bargained for.

 1947: age 18 Niffty gets married to her boyfriend but still works for the family.

 1948: age 19 Niffty’s husband starts hitting on Niffty’s white adoptive sister. Niffty’s adoptive parents make her do even more work since she is so good at it. Niffty’s fanfictions are read by others and starts attracting horny older men.

 1949: age 20

 1950: age 21 Niffty’s husband beats and violates her, though Niffty still remains in love with him. She lets him violate her, feeling more and more broken and helpless. One part lasted three hours, leaving her feeling sticky and disgusting.

 Niffty asks the radio for advice and it influences her to do evil things. Jealous of her adoptive sister’s beauty and attention to her husband, Niffty kills her and cleans up the mess, serving her flesh in meat pies to neighbors.

 During one evening on the streets, a horrified Niffty glances at a man violating a corpse of a woman and stabs him to death. She darts away before she can be caught.  

 1951: age 22 The trauma Niffty faces catches up and she snaps. Niffty kills her husband as he tried to rape and stab her and sets his house on fire. At the same time, she cries over the loss of him. She writes about it in a journal, which is discovered by the mother. This draws attention to the police, the father had called them earlier.

 Niffty gets cornered by police inside her home. One of them is a relative of her husband. Niffty tries to run but gets shot three times in the thigh. Before anyone could do anything, the officer picks her up and tosses her into a burning fireplace, where she dies.

   1951: Niffty arrives in Hell, lost and overwhelmed. One demon, a black spider named Rhapso hires her to work at a clothing Emporium. Niffty is beaten and chided for every little mistake she makes, every loose thread, driving her toward perfection like in life. Niffty also has to clean her boss’s room and cook meals. Out of sheer spite, Niffty steals and wears an elegant dress made of black swan feathers, sizing it down to fit her small body. Her boss threatens to roast her in the furnace but as she is immune to fire says “Let’s say you’re in deep hot water, brat.”

 Niffty is thrown into the burning lake as punishment. Niffty plunges to the bottom of the lake, unable to breach the surface as sinners sink to the bottom instead of floating like in regular water. Though Niffty can survive in hot places, the heat and pressure becomes uncomfortable. There are also fiery underwater monsters to avoid. Niffty often has nightmares of her boyfriend sending her into an icy lake to drown, or watching her parents suffer at the internment camp. There is no way for her to interact with the world, make friends and no one to fall in love with. She dreaded having to be forcefully pulled from the surface by her boss and be forced to work more long shifts.

 Until one demon is alerted by her presence…

 After having signed the contract on Earth, Niffty’s presence is sensed by Alastor’s shadow. The shadow reaches in and picks up Niffty, the little demon gasping for breath. Then, she meets Alastor. Alastor reminds Niffty of the deal she had made in the living world and invites her to shake his hand to seal it. Niffty is eager to do so, already enamored by the Radio Demon’s charm.

 Niffty’s boss comes back and demands Niffty go back to work, but Alastor says he would take Niffty instead. Niffty sets her boss and store on fire for revenge, entertaining Alastor. Niffty calls herself Niffty.

 Niffty soon works for Alastor, making his meals, cleaning his cabin-like lair underground (Deer’s Den) (plus his above ground smaller radio studio cabin), sewing voodoo dolls and tailoring his suits. She also is handy in fighting as she is immune to fire, speedy, skillful with her hands and can fit into small places. In exchange, Alastor gives her a place to stay, money, some journals and clothing for her hobbies, plus voodoo creatures for her to eat and play with.

 Niffty is soon summoned from the fireplace and gets to work cleaning the hotel rooms and helping make meals for the hotel residents. Niffty writes erotic fanfiction and sews in her spare time. Along with Husk, Niffty protects Alastor and helps kill his enemies.

 Niffty starts an Instagram account under the name babyfeatherduster. She is seen posing at Alastor’s feet, hanging out with Husk and trying to take Alastor’s picture. People mistake her for a child, even though she is in her 20s.

 Niffty’s true intentions would eventually be revealed. Niffty seeks to be doted on by lots of men, and she lives in a fantasy world of her own. And she’ll use any means necessary to make the world of Hell her own. (she might manipulate men into sleeping with her). Niffty shares traits with Charlie from Always Sunny. Niffty loves erotic stuff and that includes fanfictions, pictures and maybe spying on nude men. She has pica, eating stuff like spiders and fabric. Although Niffty likes to get lost in fantasy and romance, she may be the most socially aware member of the group. She can also manipulate people and knows about Hell’s racist/class driven system. Her delusions of authority and emotions hide a sense of insecurity. Like Charlie from Always Sunny, Niffty is good at sewing, cooking, singing and music.

[waiting-to-wear-cute-fits]

I hope at least 1 person enjoys this mess. This took me half my sleeping playlist and more thinking than should ever be allowed to make. Also, remember this was made at 3am. I have no clue wtf i wrote here, but i stand with it.

1. Spotify

2. Hella messy

3. Brown

4. I don't like my birthname cuz it's trauma related and doesn't fit whatever gender i have. I obv do like my chosen name

5. Single ;-; buuut after 4 minths, crushing on someone finally

6. Chaotic, lost, positive (but not really)

7. Aquagreen ish? Idfk at this point, some asy blue, others aqua, others green. But I'm hoping to dye it dark green soon

8. Lolz i can't drive

9. Thrifstoresssss

10. What in the actual world is going on, why does it look straight and gay at the same time and why does it somewhat work? Also, changes every day

11. Tumblr and pinterest lmao. Oh ye and tiktok but i never said that

12. Idk mate, i sleep on a matress on a floor placed underneath the loft bed i used to sleep in when i was 4. It's the matress that fits in that bed. You make it up.

13. Yup! 2, love em

14. Literally anywhere with my bestie and some friends. That would probably be in some cotaage in the forest

15. Low exposure and blur lmao

16. Catrice cuz it's cheap 😣 i do not support what they do tot animals. Aandd Yves Rocher.

17. Like 4, but only cuz i dance lmao

18. Winx club? Idfk probably soon to be heartstopper but I'm putting myself on reading the comics first.

19. 37-38 EU

20. 164cm / 5'4

21. Sneakers

22. Used to, before covid, but only the gyms with the creepy men are opened, the nice ones with the old granny's all closed

23. A FUCKING PICNIC, PLEASEEEE I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR LIKE 3 YEARS. Just overal tbh, any date would be nice atm, i haven't had a single one in my life.

24. Literally 0 fucking nothing. Unless u count my bankcard. That probably has like 3 euros

25. Currently non, but i wore one white sock with chilli peppers and one green sock with watermelons today.

26. 2 and a huge bear to cuddle cuz I'm SINGLEEE AND TOUCHSTARVED.

27. Nope lol, i once got accepted at a job, didn't even get to go to work once and got fired 🥰😍 I'm currently hoping to find a job in some coffeeshop for the summer. Yk, meeting the gays and making money. Would be nice

28. Actually, quite many.

29. Bro i actually genuinely don't know. My mind erases literally everything

30. VANILLA and lavender

31and 32 Oofff idfk imma just pur some random names i like. Athena; Violet; Nuri; Moss (we're not going to talk abt the fact 1 of these is just my best friends name

33. Oooff I'm really bad at this film stuff. But probably Timothée Chalamet

34. ZENDAYAAAA

35. ZENDAYA 😩😩 aaand Billie and Conan and Harry

36. Bestie i barely ever watched a movie. But proabbly charlie and the chocolate factory and i also enjoyed little women might just be ciz of the actors.

37. YESS FINALLY MY TYPA QUESTION. Uhh, when i comes to my favourite books, quite hard cuz i read like a LOT. Buut a classic, the fault in our stars. And then 2 dutch books, 'het geheugenboek' and 'alaska' but ye for the most part i forgot about many books or mixed them up.

38. Money tbh lmao 💀 doing stupid impulsive shit is so fun, but i need the money yk. Like how am i supposed to get random piercings and tattoos and dye my hair when I'm hella broke.

39. My deadname had a nickname that some of my old friends are still allowed to use. My parents think my chosen name is my nickname. And my besfriend calls me all typa cute things like 'bitch, dumbass, stoopid'

40. Literally once for myself. Ended up being there for an hour snd nothing was wrong.

41. BESTIE ARE YOU CRAZY, nah i can't choose sorry.

42. Jupp haha people always think I'm fucking crazy with the shit ton ammount of stuff i take. Also, i forgot my antidepressants again i think.

43. Dry and oily mixed 😍 also full of acne ;-;

44. Losing the ppl i love and being alone.

45. None lmao, u crazy?

46. Either a random bun or just having it hanging loose. For danceclass a ponytail

47. Just an ugly house that's medium-sized

48. Billieeeeee 😩 and jisoo when it comes to the way she looks.

49. I don't remember, but it was probably someone in the street saying my hair looks cool or whatever. I also remember this kid asking if I'm a mermaid and saying i must be cuz of my hair and because i was pretty or whatever. Pretty cute lolz.

50. HAHAHAAA i sent a text to my bestfriend rantind about how i stupidly replied to my crush' story at 2 am and how she'll think I'm absolutely insane

51. Uuh i think i knwo when i was 5 but i didn't really care, i went to ask when my brother was like 6 and figured it out, so i was probably 8.

52. Like one of those cute little ones that make u go 'ooohh' don't ask me for the name. I have no clue.

53. Yk, I'm a fucking simp, i thonk it looks hot, but PLEASEE DONTTT at least not regularly.

54. No lmao i quit school

55. Dancerrrr

56. Tf u talking about. I'm European

57. Yessirrr always ahhahaaa

58. Nooo 😭

59. Really depends. But when I'm posing, i don't really, or only with a closed mouth

60. Pfff waaay too manym probably like 10.000 idfk

61. Yeah lmao, ya gurl can't hold in their pee for the life of it

62. Yesssss ofcourseeee omg

63. Idfk what Wendy's is, so imma say mc donalds lmao?

64. Lol whut idek ketchup?

65. Literally whatever the fuck i can blindely grab, usually just some random big shirt and whatever shorts or joggings i find

66. A WHAT?

67. Dance but it's not just a hobby, reading, photograpy, some crocheting. Yk, a bit of everything

68. Somewhat, yeah if i try.

69. Yes, i play the piano. I quit lessons though

70. A dutch artist 'toerist Le Mc' I'm pretty sure. Would've been Måneskin if that cobcert didn't get rescheduled

71. COFFEE ALL THE WAY but i do drink tea too

72. Starbuckssss

73. Let's start with not ending up as a sinlge catmom, shall we

74. H and E. My best friend doesn't even know this bruhhh i feel like I'm betraying him now

75. BESTIE I'M STILL SINGLE. But if it fits my name, probably yeah.

76. Someone tell me, idfk everything looks weird except for brown and grey. Or maybe i just have less style than i thought.

77. Yessss 😭 my friends from school and definitly my best friend. Also my childhood best friends for some reason. And my gothmother who lives in Italy

78. Closed, bestie, first of all, I'd wake up to a yelling mom about how messy my room is, my cat would murder my laptop and some monster would murder me if i left it open.

79. Yeah lol. Tf else are the shadows i see and the touch i feel sometimes.

80. gurl to thins day idfk what a pet peeve is lmao

81. Uuuh i think my mom

82. Ppfftt idfk probably vanilla, basic but guuudd

83. WHAT? i never had fucking golden oreos and i only ever have knockoff glutenfree oreos

84. What in the world. I know i like those chocolate sprinkle thingies for on ur bread but i also know that basically no one outside of the dutch part of belgium or fromt he Netherlands knows it.

85. A white huge shirt from my dad that says 'all the arms we need' with 2 people hugging in the middle. I think it's a protest shirt against some war or otherwise he probably got it at some hippie shop

86. Billie eilish and conan gray

87. Both lmao, depends on my mood and where i am in my stresslevels and the people I'm with.

88. Yesssss unless they are too harsh with it and it breaks off or run their fingers all the way through when it's not brushed.

89. Yeahh, they're sweethearts.

90. Yes, twice a day.

91. Nope unless u count the being jigh on no sleep in 3 whole night. I hallucinated cuz of that like 4 times before. Good times

92. Nope

93. Some random mix of veggies and potatoes

94. Oh bestie i couldn't tell u, there's so many. Mind u, i listen to music 24/7

95. Summer. Actually, spring, but yk

96. Night, but also spring afternoons

97. Dark chocolate, preferably 80%cocoa at least.

98. May or june probably

99. Libraaaaa

100. I think that must be the people i was with at camp.

Unusual Asks

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? 

is your room messy or clean?

what color are your eyes?

do you like your name? why?

what is your relationship status? 

describe your personality in 3 words or less

what color hair do you have?

what kind of car do you drive? color?

where do you shop?

how would you describe your style?

favorite social media account

what size bed do you have? 

any siblings?

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

favorite snapchat filter? 

favorite makeup brand(s)

how many times a week do you shower?

favorite tv show?

shoe size?

how tall are you?

sandals or sneakers? 

do you go to the gym? 

describe your dream date

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

what color socks are you wearing? 

how many pillows do you sleep with?

do you have a job? what do you do? 

how many friends do you have? 

whats the worst thing you have ever done? 

whats your favorite candle scent? 

3 favorite boy names

3 favorite girl names

favorite actor? 

favorite actress? 

who is your celebrity crush?

favorite movie? 

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? 

money or brains? 

do you have a nickname? what is it? 

how many times have you been to the hospital?

top 10 favorite songs

do you take any medications daily? 

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

what is your biggest fear? 

how many kids do you want? 

whats your go to hair style?

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) 

who is your role model? 

what was the last compliment you received?

what was the last text you sent?

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

what is your dream car? 

opinion on smoking?

do you go to college? 

what is your dream job? 

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? 

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? 

do you have freckles? 

do you smile for pictures?

how many pictures do you have on your phone? 

have you ever peed in the woods? 

do you still watch cartoons? 

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?

Favorite dipping sauce? 

what do you wear to bed? 

have you ever won a spelling bee?

 what are your hobbies?

can you draw? 

do you play an instrument?

what was the last concert you saw? 

tea or coffee?

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

do you want to get married?

what is your crush’s first and last initial?

are you going to change your last name when you get married? 

what color looks best on you? 

do you miss anyone right now? 

do you sleep with your door open or closed?

do you believe in ghosts?

what is your biggest pet peeve? 

last person you called`

favorite ice cream flavor? 

regular oreos or golden oreos? 

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? 

what shirt are you wearing? 

what is your phone background?

are you outgoing or shy?

do you like it when people play with your hair?

do you like your neighbors? 

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

have you ever been high? 

have you ever been drunk? 

last thing you ate? 

favorite lyrics right now

summer or winter? 

day or night? 

dark, milk, or white chocolate? 

favorite month? 

what is your zodiac sign

 who was the last person you cried in front of? 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Fueled by Hatred”

Hello everyone, today I decided to write for those people who are more interest in the space stuff and the more deep disturbing topics, but Don’t worry, I will be continuing Krill’s adventures on earth.

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED: this contains gore and violence.

Please keep sending me your suggestions and ideas. I enjoy it, and it helps me to determine what people are and are not interested in. 

I’ve seen something about humans, something that I cannot unsee.

It haunts me.

Have you ever noticed that humans are a weird paradox of strength and weakness? They are built soft and sort of squishy, but there is no argument, that humans are one of the most dangerous creatures in the galaxy, and one of the hardest to kill. To continue this paradox, an adult human is nearly impossible to defeat, but a human infant may just die for no reason.

Humans were born on a death planet, they are without the protection of fur or an egg (humans have live birth). Because of their physical structure, human women cannot support an infant with a fully developed cortical structure. For this reason humans are born practically blind, and completely helpless, and they will remain so for many years. It takes almost two decades for the human brain to develop to full maturity.

For this reason, human children are extremely vulnerable.

However, this weakness has allowed nature to compensate the infant’s weakness by increasing the protective instincts of parent human, and most adult humans even if they are not parents.

Human adults have been known to, lift objects more than twice their weight, leap into freezing water, fight off large animals and walk through fire for their offspring.

They have even been known to kill.

In fact, they will brutally rip apart members of their own species in order to protect their young.

If you don’t want to take my word for it, just ask a human. They have no problem admitting this to you. I guarantee if you ask them they will say and I quote, “If someone hurt my kids, I will destroy them.” Some of you may say this is just hyperbole and, depending on the situation, it might be, but I also guarantee there are times in which this is under exaggerated.

Total destruction cannot begin to fathom what a human will do to you.

They will unmake you.

***

Three separate ships and three crews had come together to investigate the tip. One crew was Human, one ship was Rundi, and one ship was Drev. Each crew had at least one human on board, and the human crew had one nonhuman.

Krill had never seen such a diverse group coming together and working with each other. Massive Drev stood tall above their human and Rundi counterparts. One human even rode easily on the back of a Drev serving as a second pair of eyes plasma rifle poised over the massive creature’s shoulder.

All in all there were three strike teams one from each ship and about seven people on each team. Captain Vir headed one of the teams having more tactical experience than many of the people on his crew, Krill had been added to the team for his medical experience. He stayed at the back of the group behind the more experienced field operatives.

He was happy to stay right where he was.

Captain Vir took point as the three groups fanned out in a relatively triangular formation.

They were investigating a couple of things. Number 1 was a small issue and included the problem of improper IGFDA certification on food packing. Products coming out of this factory were improperly labeled without all the requisite ingredient labels. Issue 2 there had been a rash of missing person’s reported in this area, and it was unknown where they could be located. The factory was the only conceivable place large enough to house that sort of thing, and number 3, the factory was run by known members of the Prodigium race’s mob, so this was as good a place as any to start.

They spread out from their established pattern and made their way in a large circle around the building. The Rundi took the docking bay, the Drev took the front entrance, and the Humans entered through the side doors. They moved swiftly and silently clearing rooms before silently moving on keeping in quiet contact with the two other teams. The building was laid out in increasingly smaller squares, so eventually, the group of them met up at the second-to-last square towards the center. All they had seen so far was storage areas, docking bays and packing plants.

They met u with the Drev team at a third door, half of each team fell back leaving Captain Vir, and the leader of the Drev stacked up on the door. The Drev commander nodded to Captain Vir who allowed the door to be opened for him, he swung into the room, and then stopped very suddenly. The Drev glanced over his head and had a similar reaction.

A waft of frigid air chilled Krill to the bone.

“Captain?” A team member whispered.

After a long pause the man turned to face them.

Krill felt the room grow cold and it wasn’t just the air from the freezer unit. It was as if time had cowered to the corners, and all sense of lighthearted laughter had fled from the man. His face grew pale and then tipped back towards red. His hands balled into white knuckled fists, his lips tightened mouth twitching. But his eyes, horror drained to be replaced by pure absolute rage and hatred.

Mercy winked out.

The ten foot tall Drev commander stepped back a pace.

One of the other humans saw the reaction and peered over his shoulder. His reaction was instant turning to the wall and retching violently. The human on the back of the Drev leaped to the floor and trotted over. Captain Vir grabbed her arm as if to stop her, but it was too late.

The plasma rifle shattered in her hands as if it were made of aluminum or glass.

Everyone took a step back.

When she turned to face them, her face was twisted into an expression of such predatory rage that Krill felt his heart freeze.

Captain Vir shut the door, but the damage had been done, whispers spread around the room, and quietly, one after another the humans grew still and silent aside from shaking hands of absolute unadulterated wrath.

The Rundi appeared somewhere during this and eventually Krill learned what had happened.

From what he understood, when the captain had opened the door, he had seen a meat processing plant and freezer. Meet was being disassembled into its component parts for packaging and eventual sale, the problem?

They were human parts, and they weren’t very big.

The rest of the hallway watched in fear as the creatures, once known as human, stalked passed them. Their teeth were bared like wolves, their hands twisted into talons their eyes were dark, their backs bent forward, focused pits of hatred, and in their hands they brandished any weapon they could find. The Drev crewwoman held a massive knife in her hand in replacement to her broken weapon.

And they moved like shadows, feet that had once shuffled were absolutely silent bodies moving with unparalleled predatory precision. Writhing muscle churned in the shoulders, veins stood out on hands and necks, teeth glinted.

Krill kept well back with the Drev following at a distance as the humans moved forward flowing like a ribbon of death on a sour wind.

The humans made it to the next room before the rest of them, and they wiped through like a wave of decimation.

The Prodigi had been sitting in a large circle playing some sort of game when the humans attacked.

They didn’t stand a chance.

Krill had never seen anyone kill with that sort of emotionless precision. The first humans moved taking one violent movement to slit the throats of the guards. Thick green ichor sprayed violently from the slits as bodies slumped to the ground.

Green oozed from the walls.

Other humans spilled through the gap overwhelming their foe before action could be taken. The next creature was bludgeoned to death. Rifle butts glowed with luminous liquid.

And still the humans did not stop.

Without fear or thought they stalked towards their enemies taking terrible hits with barely a sound. When weapons refused to work, they used whatever weapons they had, their fists, their fingernails, their teeth.

The last and largest of the creatures was able to stabilize himself enough to fight backhanding captain Vir into a stack of cages with a clatter. Cries rang out from inside those cages.

The cries of human young.

The massive creature tried escaping, but he had missed one of the humans crouching in the darkness as chaos reigned around her.  

The screams of the dying.

Then she leaped coughing the creature around the shoulders locking her legs around its massive neck, and then squeezing.

The creature bellowed and then choked swatting at her and flailing about, but she did not let go allowing the massive muscles of her legs to slowly choke the life out of the creature. She never let go clinging tighter as the thrashing grew more frenzied. The creature sunk to its knees she snarled in rage.

It fell to it’s back flailing pathetically.

The rest of the humans had stopped to watch completely silent. Krill moved forward as if to stop the human, the danger was passed, but a strong arm stopped him. Krill looked up to find Captain Vir holding him back. Blood leaked from a cut at his temple painting his face red. His eyes were absolutely cold devoid of sympathy as he watched the creature choke.

The room was absolutely silent but for those gurgling cries.

The humans did not move to stop their companion, and neither did the rest of the crews.

She squeezed harder constricting like a snake crushing the creature to death.

He eventually grew still, she held on longer.

At first no one moved.

And then it was like a light was flipped on. The human eyes widened, their bodies straightened, their hands unclenched, and they turned rushing to the cages smiling and whispering encouragement as they broke open the cages and liberated their young. The wide eyed children clung to the adult humans spirited away from their imprisonment.

Captain Vir grinned at Krill as he walked form the room carrying two, one for each arm, “Adorable aren’t they?”

Krill just watched.

***

Turns out that since humans are so soft, their meat is a prized delicacy on the black market. The more tender the meat, the better, so certain groups of aliens had been paying for the meat of children like a human would pay for veil.

They had harvested their prey and packaged it in this area and then sent it out to specific buyers. This error had cost them their lives.

Though the galactic assembly did an investigation, nothing ever came of it. Both the Rundi and the Drev kept silent about the whole situation. The humans claimed self-defense, krill kept what he had seen locked away in the back of his head always aware of what hid inside his smiling human companions.

Humans are willing to kill, fueled by rage they are ruthless and without mercy.  

To hurt a human child is to immediately forfeit your life.

They will unmake you

[theliterateape]

In The Young Century

By Dana Jerman

MY GRANDFATHER WAS IN A MOTORCYCLE GANG IN THE NINETEEN-TEENS. He lived in L’el Shoal, Nevada with a man named Felix who customized motorcycles that he built exclusively by himself in a garage that he also built. He allowed my grandfather to live with him above the garage because my grandfather, albeit poor, was savvy with machines, and very attractive. The young and unmarried Mexican women of the town would follow him home like lost kittens in the rain—helpless at his raw charm. My grandfather had in his charisma a bold streak, which gave him a power and magnetism often working in his favor. It was this lucky part, unfortunately, that precipitated the joining of a gang.

Once there was a man who came thru L’el Shoal in the early summer of 1919 bringing with him three young women of breathless beauty – his daughters. He had been taking them all, five originally, with him across the west in an effort to marry them off to men of trade and culture. In place of the first two daughters, his caravan contained a refrigerator and a gramophone. I do not know all of this story’s lurid details, however my grandfather, being impetuous and observant, went to the man with Felix’s prize motorcycle, offering it for all three of the remaining daughters. The man was reluctant, but my grandfather triumphed. He had spoken with the women the evening previous—sneaking into their camp only an hour after learning of their presence. The women saw his heart and asked him for help. They felt their sisters were married off to ancient, unkempt men who would only neglect them. In order to reunite with their sisters the remaining three vowed to stay together and were attempting to hatch a plan when my grandfather arrived.

Felix was dually upset, as you can imagine, on hearing that his most favored possession had been traded. Then he met the daughters, who were of the understanding that it was in fact Felix’s generosity which had saved them. My grandfather smiled the rich, knowing smile of the stealthy hero when he recalls the moment that the sisters retreated to the bedroom with Felix in a gesture of much gratitude. The kind of smile I believe he wore that night when he sat in a wooden chair in the long driveway before the garage. The end of his short cigar a dusty red star against a black sky dancing with specks of white fire, as he came to tell me the story of how he met my grandmother.

She had put her fist through glass to get out of a burning building when she was young. Her right hand had long soft indents of scars running past her knuckles and up onto her wrist. My grandfather told her that upon seeing her scabs and scars he knew that she had a place in heaven because it looked as if an angel had already tried to grab her by the hand and take her where it wanted. But it wasn’t an angel, it was a ferocious fire. A fire she started, and not accidentally…

Late in her thirteenth year she began work in a factory in the town of Campus near the county line. She made coats and worked both as a seamstress at a sewing table and a large spooling machine. The coats were big and designed for very cold temperatures. The kind Campus, Nevada, would never see. Almost a hundred workers occupied the cramped and dingy two-story building. Her uncle, her last living relative with whom she lived, also worked in the factory, there on the second floor, assembling zippers from thick silver teeth that came in big metallic canisters and glittered like shards of moon rock. Of course my grandmother, much like my grandfather, had a flash-in-the-pan quality about her that gave of sex and temper. Rebellion and direst justice. Qualities that she did not share with the authorities in the factory.

My grandfather smiled the rich, knowing smile of the stealthy hero when he recalls the moment that the sisters retreated to the bedroom with Felix in a gesture of much gratitude.

On her sixteenth birthday, and just as she and her fellow workers were getting back to their stations after a celebratory lunch, one of the suits came onto the floor to tell them that they were again to take a cut in pay. This time almost a quarter of the rate, which had been reduced by nearly ten cents a month previous. The workers froze, aghast at the news. A middle aged woman broke the silence, crying. Her cries soon escalated to wails as she sank to the floor. “I have to feed my children. My children will die! How will I feed them? My babies!!” Two women rushed to her side but she seemed inconsolable. My grandmother, standing a few feet away felt her hands reach up to grasp the sewing machine and the table to which it was crudely attached. In one motion she dumped it with an undeniable crash to the floor. The crying woman looked up. Pairs of eyes shot surprise at my grandmother, and through the sea of gazes one of the floor managers darted toward her. 

She sped in the other direction, toppling other sewing tables after her. By this time three floor managers were giving chase, but she was small enough to dart under the low-lying metal casing of the large industrial spooler. There was a lot of noise and shouting by this time, but my grandmother knew just what came next. She reached for her cigarette matches in her apron pocket and began to light the massive bobbins. Moving down the row, crawling fast and watching from the floor as the flames climbed the yarn and smoke began to billow at the ceiling. The workers went fast for the exits when she was pulled from under the spooler and tied to a sewing table chair by a floor manager. She tried to fight him, but the smoke was beginning to make her eyes itch and water. The fire had spread almost instantly. Flames snatched furiously over everything as the windows were being thrown open so all could make an escape. My grandmother toppled the chair and got low to the ground. She felt for a match as she knew some had tumbled from her pocket while she was being tied. She found a way to strike it and burn quickly through the yarn, the same she had used day after day to make the thick winter coats. She coughed hard on her hands and knees, unable to look up. Her eyes and lungs crowded by smoke.

My grandmother was always keen of her surroundings and knew that the quickest way to extract herself would be through the hole in the floor. An open chute where the finished coats went into oversized laundry bins. She only hoped that there would be enough coats to catch her, and there were, though the basket was nearly on fire. In the dusty factory the blaze spread as if it had been set in a dry forest and now the first floor was charring rapidly. It was then that she shattered the window and freed herself. Bleeding from deep gashes to her knees and arms, her eyes burned and felt as if they were swelling. When she could get up a moment later she limped to the front of the building and began to call for her uncle. One of the workers ran to her. In a coughing daze grandmother did not recognize her. “Mila…Mila! Your uncle brought out a young boy just a moment ago, but he raced back for you! No one could find you! Mila… Mila! Do you understand!?”

Mila turned back to face the building only to watch the second floor collapse into the first. Knowing her uncle had been trapped she screamed, and had to be held back from the entrance. A floor manager appeared, patchy black from the smoke, and struck my grandmother, attempting to apprehend her. Two men moved in on the floor manager and in a flash everyone was crowded around the fighters.

Grandmother escaped and ran from the factory and the workers to the apartment she and her uncle shared. He had the only key, and she had to break yet another window. She felt her hand begin to ache once she was inside. She moved to lie on the soft worn thatch rug of the center room floor. Catching her breath, coughing, she felt over the back of her hand and picked out a long razor of glass. After discarding still more glass from her arm, she crawled to a basin to rinse off the blood. Sixteen years old and she looked to herself in the smudged punched tin mirror as if she’d just turned sixty. Falling asleep in the bath she awoke with a jolt hours later, suddenly consumed with the dream that she was being drowned by a floor manager. A few tiny shards of glass hovering and glimmering at the top of the pink water.

Before the light of the next morning she collected most of her things and all the money she could find in the apartment and began to walk out of town. A long walk on roads that wound out through dried up river valleys and were not traveled by many. L’el Shoal was still thirty-eight miles away when she was picked up by a man in a brand new gray car. Somehow they got around to talking and he admitted he owned a factory and should she come work for him. He’d make a comfortable life for her, he said, and when she protested with remarks made deliberate and simmering with pride, he decided to put his cigar out in a gash on her knee. Like a tiger sprung from a trap she responded by swinging her heavy bag into his face, caving his nose in. The car lurched and she tumbled out into the loose gravel, the tiny rocks pushing into the bandages on her ankles and hands. Her brand new burn wound round, quarter sized, wet and trickling.

Grandmother sixteen years old, and my grandfather was twenty-one. This age gap didn’t make much difference. Not when he helped her up out of a ditch near town early the next morning, her body stiff but yielding. Small enough to fit between him and the motorcycle. Her pack on his back. His jacket reversed and over her shoulders to shield her from the wind. She had always liked to sleep. But working at the factory kept her from six in the morning to seven in the evening. Grandpa said she slept for two days straight. “Got up to piss and drink some water once shortly after that. Then I knew she’d be okay.” he recalls. The light in his eyes appears to brighten: “Next night I came home late and she is waiting up. She asks me where she is and what day it is, and if she can have some coffee or a cigarette. I say yes to the coffee, then tell her I only smoke cigars. She says “Not while I’m around.”

He takes it to mean she doesn’t like the smell, but we know it’s something different. She does not leave the garage for a week, though she knows she can and is not afraid. One night my grandfather helps her clean and re-bandage her wounds and she admires his way and the closeness of him surges through her. She moves to kiss him and he accepts her. She offers her kisses like she was made out of love and nothing else. For my grandfather, memories of what it was like to be kissed by other women drop away like the last stars at daybreak. In the days that followed, he taught her how to ride a motorcycle.

[an-incoherent-mess]

I love my grandma, she is very weird and seriously badass, I can't fathom having a normal grandma.

[bustedbernie]

From the Vault (2016), more on Bernie’s history of sexism:

Hillary Clinton is not the first progressive Democratic woman to be challenged by Bernie Sanders. He ran against me in 1986 when I was running for my second term as governor of Vermont. At that time he had little affinity for the Democratic Party. When advised that his third-party candidacy might result in a Republican victory, he saw no difference between Democrats and Republicans, saying: “It is absolutely fair to say you are dealing with Tweedledum and Tweedledee.”

Voters did not agree. Sanders received 14 percent of the vote, the Republican candidate, Peter Smith received 38 percent, and I won with 47 percent.

By any measure I was regarded as a progressive governor. If I was vulnerable, it was for being too liberal. As a legislator, my maiden speech on the floor of the Vermont House was in favor of ratification of the Equal Rights Amendment. My first priority as governor was universal access to kindergarten. I set a record for a Vermont governor’s appointees; women filled half of my cabinet. I sought out talented women, many of whom were the first women to head their agencies.

Women draw on a different network than men and can share an alternative definition of “qualified.” Hillary Clinton’s campaign staff, according to Fast Company, is over 50 percent female. Sanders’ campaign began with a a predominantly male inner circle and continues to face accusation of keeping women out of the top ranks.

When Sanders was my opponent he focused like a laser beam on “class analysis,” in which “women’s issues” were essentially a distraction from more important issues. He urged voters not to vote for me just because I was a woman. That would be a “sexist position,” he declared.

Sanders has emerged as a more sophisticated and astute politician since those early days, and his message has more resonance.

Thirty years later, women and men assume that gender no longer matters in politics. Now only 8 percent of voters would declare in a poll that they would not vote for a woman president. I remember precisely the time and place when a barber in Springfield, Vermont, ran out to tell me, “I will never vote for a woman.”

Rare then, even more rare today. But that does not mean that gender no longer plays a role in how we judge a woman’s candidacy for the top job. Women, it turns out, are influenced by gender bias to almost the same degree as men. For example, both Clinton and Sanders have declared they are favor paid maternity and sick leave, and equal pay for equal work. What sets them apart? I believe it is both style and substance. Sanders can shout his message and wave his arms for emphasis. Clinton can’t. If she appeared on stage as angry at the “system” as he is, she would be dismissed as an angry, even hysterical, woman; a sight that makes voters squirm.

An angry female voice works against women but is a plus for men. It demonstrates passion, outrage and power. Sanders bristled when he was accused of sexism after he implied that Clinton was among the shouters. Ironically, it is he who has, according to his doctor, suffered from laryngitis.

Gender adds muscle to substance. How will a female president differ from the men who have ruled the world?

Living in a woman’s body makes the world look different on some – though far from all – issues.

As a new legislator, my first bill introduced in the Vermont House was to increase funding for childcare. I had young children and I knew that finding childcare determined whether or not I could leave my house and come to the capital, Montpelier. And I knew, that for poor women, childcare determined whether they could go to work and support their children. As governor, I saw to it that childcare funding was quadrupled and funding for education doubled. Hillary Clinton’s career follows a similar trajectory. Education reform was her priority as the governor’s wife in Arkansas. A bill to cover children’s health insurance (CHIP) was her achievement as a New York senator. “Women’s rights are human rights and human rights are women’s rights” was the message she sent to every country she visited as secretary of state. Yes, Hillary has been around, she’s been a determined, consistent fighter for children’s welfare and women’s rights. It’s part of her DNA.

She was drawn to these women’s issues – now urgent economic issues – in the same way that I was, by our experiences as working women, wives, and mothers. A number of men will protest: “I believe the same thing as she does.”

What’s the difference? The difference is how do they rank on the agenda. Is equal pay near the bottom of the list, or is it a priority? Is defense of Planned Parenthood an issue that saves women’s lives, or is it only another institution among many? Placement on a competitive agenda is vital to achieve results. I believe that Hillary Clinton will give high priority to equal pay for equal work, not because she has experienced discrimination herself, but as a woman, she can empathize with women who have been discriminated against. It is a kind of empathy that allows no definition, but I felt it every time I made eye contact with the women I met along the parade route or on the factory floor.

One of the criticisms Clinton has received is that she is not authentic, that she is too political (i.e. scheming) and that she has been around for a long time so that she is a captive of various institutions.

If we’re counting from when Sanders was elected mayor of Burlington, he has been around for some time, too: 35 years. In part because he is a man, he can run as the ultimate outsider. Clinton can’t be the outsider even as her very candidacy defies precedent. Ever since women got the vote, we believed, like the good students we are, that the path to political participation, as instructed years ago by the League of Women Voters, was to be informed, understand the system and play by the rules. That’s how we could make it in a man’s world.

That responsibility did not rule out reform, but it did crimp revolution. When I campaigned for governor, I believed that I had to assure voters that I would not be that different from the male governors who had preceded me, even when I knew that I would be. Being the first woman and a revolutionary would be too much for the voters to swallow.

Sanders is brave, pairing Socialist with Democrat. And I agree with him on the growing cancer in America of income inequality and a democracy-threatening campaign finance system. He is a bold truth teller, and I am grateful that he has changed the conversation. He makes the answers sound easy, which in turn, makes him look authentic. But the answers are not simple. The word “complex” does not win applause in a political speech. Nuance is not welcomed. “We need a revolution,” is more powerful than “I have a plan.”

I understand that voters are looking for authenticity; they always have been, asking, “Are you who you claim to be?” A woman, running for a leadership position that has always been held by a man, has to create a new persona. To succeed, she has to play the game as it has always been played, but at the same time, play it differently. It’s difficult to find that sweet spot where a woman is “just right” tough enough to be commander in chief and feminine enough to be mother of the nation..

When we elected the first African American as President, we believed that an African American man would be revolutionary and bring us hope.

Barack Obama, in many ways, has changed the rules, and had new priorities on his agenda, but not to the extent that some voters had hoped and others had feared.

Still, the world seen through the eyes of a black man looks different than through those of a white man. As a result of President Obama’s leadership, we look at him and ourselves differently.

And the world as seen through the eyes of a woman will not result in revolution, but it will mark a change towards greater gender equality. Visualizing Hillary raising her right hand to take the oath of office, and Bill holding the Bible, will tell every little girl and boy, that, yes, women can achieve anything.

[boredroo]

A Messenger pt. 5

Summary: The Council has heard of the names that have reigned down London; the Frye twins have evidently brought upon a change for the better good against the Templar’s tyranny, but order must still be kept.

You have been sent by the Council to evaluate the two sibling assassins, report what is must and maintain control where it must be maintained.

Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

[][][][][][][][]

Jacob has brought you along to clear up some ‘pests’ in your current borough, but neither of you have actually arrived there yet. One reason, in particular, is the rope launcher now newly implemented into your gauntlet—

“Come now, (Y/N),” Jacob waves at you from the roof above. “Don’t want to be late for the party, do you?”

“Just a moment, sir,” you call back, fiddling with the familiar yet strange contraption around your wrist. Nervous is not quite the word you’d use to describe the feeling in your chest, rather…

Your head shift upwards, meeting Jacob’s grin. Anticipating… bright. Are you… concerned of possibly making a fool out of yourself? In front of him?

Such a thought only snaps you out of your brief trance, and you shake your head with vigor before you automatically thrust your arm out and-

SNAP!

The hook connects to the edge of the roof with a hard click, and rather seamlessly, you follow its path, launching yourself up as the rope retracts itself. With no spare of any effort, you land right next to Jacob. …That wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be.

And for that, you receive a hard, supposedly jovial pat on your back. You’re thrown exactly one step ahead from his enthusiasm. “Very good, (Y/N)! Now we can finally get to work.”

You sulk just slightly at his words, promptly folding your arms. “Sorry for the delay, sir,” you mutter through your lips, to which he responses with a light, easy laugh as well as a teasing pat on your shoulder.

Jacob is then adjusting his hat, looking mildly distracted with nothing in particular whatsoever. He’s whistling a small tune when he turns to you and blurts, “Race you to the factory!”

“Wait, what?-”

But your question falls on deaf ears as he’s already breaking into a sprint, so abrupt it is you’re left with your mouth agape. You have to blink a couple of times before you decide it’s wise to follow him and catch up as much as you could with wasted time. He’s already a few roofs away!

“Mr. Frye, wait!-”

“Trying to have me go easy on you, (Y/N)? Not a chance!” He laughs from far away. 

How reckless! What if he gets hurt? Worse, what if there are snipers on this high ground-

“Frye, look out!” And right as the thought crosses your mind, a familiar shade of red flashes over your sight. There’s a sniper perched atop the house where Jacob just leaped onto! 

You could only warn him, panicking, realising you aren’t close enough to protect him. Your throwing knives are nestled in the spaces between your fingers without you even noticing you’ve taken them out of your person.

But it seems, from the pained yelp of a woman instead of Jacob’s, your worries are paltry—Jacob effortlessly takes the sniper out before she could even turn around, pinning her flat onto the ground and sinking his blade through her very last breath. His recoil after is fast and flawless, already he’s resumed his running without batting an eye.

He really wants to win this race, doesn’t he?

…And at the moment, you want nothing more than to deprive him of just that. What expression would he give you if you were to beat him at his own game? Would he still laugh as smugly and carelessly as he always does when he gets his way?

What drives you to go faster, to widen your swift as wind steps is, however, the idea of seeing the complete opposite—You want to win this race just as he does, perhaps even more, just to see him wallow in absolute defeat.

So you call out right as you whizz past him, jumping onto the next rooftop.

“Trying to have me go easy on you, Frye?”

His charming voice rings from behind, “Don’t make me laugh!”

And at that, the competition heightens.

So unprofessional, you chide yourself as you ram into Jacob’s side to throw him off, and he only shoves you back harder.

This is not what Assassins are trained for, you think hard, just as Jacob takes advantage of a lift in the path to return to scaling the roofs, and you going faster with the help of the grappling hook he himself has given you.

There is absolutely no meaning for this race, your conscience screams angrily in your head—You manage a quick glance to your side, huffing slightly in a still composed breath. Jacob returns your attention with a handsome smirk before pulling out his gun to obliterate the sniper on the roof just meters away from you. When you nod in gratitude, he simply winks in return.

…There’s no meaning, but this is much more fun than anything else you’ve ever done in your life, you finally allow yourself to admit. The hint of a smile on your lips more than proves that.

Jacob is a strong, powerful assassin, but you’re faster, much more agile than him, especially now when you try to be. The sight of dirty smoke from a nearby chimney signifies how close you two are to the factory. Both of you share a quick look before speeding up more and more in unison, each of you eager towards the finish line.

You’ve outran him, breaking into an almost screeching halt at the ledge of the roof, and Jacob stops just a few steps before you. You smile at the sight of the ground beneath the building, and you turn around to face him.

You’re lifting your arms up to your side, spanning them open. Jacob watches silently, mouth open slightly in what seems to be… fascination. His eyes widen just more when you throw a grin towards him.

“My win,” you declare. And then, you fall back.

The air rides against your back as you’re falling down, flying down. And at the very precise, planned moment, you spin, and finally collapse into the haystack beneath. Climbing out of the cart takes much shorter time.

As you’re brushing off a few stray hay in your hair and coat, Jacob falls into the cart next. He climbs out in one smooth swoop immediately after, though as he walks up and reaches you, he stops short, so closely standing just at your side, only to whisper to you-

“Show off.” 

You suppress your smile. His hand lifts to your face, leather-gloved fingers nearly brushing against your cheek, and when he pulls his hand away, you see hay in between them. 

“Missed a spot.”

“…Thank you.”

***

Smoke and soot flare up your nose, the stench of coal all over you is almost overwhelming. Hiding behind a corner in an alleyway, you and Jacob are finally at the factory, now having a quick, thorough recon from the distance before you engage.

“Brutes at the gate,” Jacob notes, using his Eagle Vision—Him and Evie seem to share a more powerful, more cohesive sight than you do, being able to catch everything even to the smallest details. “Two at the front, one watcher on a patrol walking behind them.”

“Affirmative,” you’re more attentive on the possible escape routes, as well as opportunities to get in and out. Your eyes cast right past a couple of windows on the storey above when-

“…Mr. Frye, are the workers… children?” you ask. Your voice sounds like it’s drowning.

“Hmm? Yes, those bastards steal children to make them do the heavy work for them,” Jacob sounds more than spiteful as he explains. But you don’t hear anything after that. Instead, you’re trembling, frozen where you are as you watch, with your chest heaving heavier and heavier-

From the open window on what seems to be the first floor of the building, you see a small, so delicate girl, crying and sniffling, terrified as she cowers away from a man in a black and red coat. He snatches something from her hands, and she tries desperately to get it back, but it’s futile, she’s so small, so weak-

Powerless. The pained scream she lets out as the Blighter throws her down onto the ground ingrains itself into your head.

“So how’re we going to- Wait, (Y/N)? (Y/N)?!” Jacob shouts. You’ve ran right towards the front entrance before realising it.

You hear his hasty footsteps behind you, his urgent and panicked cries of your name, but you don’t mind any of them. Red in front of you, red on their shirts, their jackets, the blood they’ve spilled on their hands-

You have to get rid of every one of them.

“(Y/N)-!”

Gunfire cuts down Jacob’s voice, and cold silence follows right after.

You reload your gun, the screams of the Blighter in front of you, cussing you to damnation for killing his friend are just white noises to your ears. The brute lunges for you, ready to strangle your last breath out of you, and you aim.

BANG!

His body drops down like dead weight. But it’s not over. People are piling out of the factory, men and women in red, in the colour of blood are rushing towards where you are. The children’s screams haunt you, but you have to do this, you have to stop this nightmare and save them for good.

You have to save them where you couldn’t with your own family.

“(Y/N), you have to slow down-!” Jacob has caught up, and he ducks right when you brandish your gun over him and shoot the sniper targeting him from above.

“(Y/N)!!!” he screams in shock when he turns back to you, but you’re already running full speed inside.

“Get the alarms!” you order.

“(Y/N), please, please just slow down a bit-!”

“I said get the alarms!”

Everything, everyone that gets in your way instantly meet their end. You’re wiping the floor clean, sinking your blade into necks that get too close, shooting the spaces between their eyes when they think they could get smart and throw you off from afar. Your throwing knives are running out fast all the same, but that’s where your fighting prowess comes in hand, being unarmed does nothing to distinguish the raging fire, the anger and hatred blinding your entire sight.

You pin down the Templar that tries to ambush you on the stairs, quickly slitting her throat. The fluttering of black and red from the corners of your eyes alerts you, and you dodge just in time before a bullet almost found its way to your heart, that you automatically counterattack by sending a throwing knife right onto his hand. The gun drops onto the ground as he yells from the pain, clutching onto his bleeding wound.

The foreman of this grotesque factory visibly falters in his stance when he sees you approaching him slowly, like a prey being cornered by its predator. He continues to back up until he reaches a dead end, an open balcony that only does him nothing in protecting him, not from you.

“P-Please,” he begs, knees meeting the ground. Your eyes fall onto the object he’s carelessly clutching onto in another hand, a doll stained in dirt.

Wordlessly, you open your hand to him. He glances to it, up to your cold eyes, back and forth until he understands. He nods frantically as he practically digs the doll into your palm.

“Take it, take anything you like! Please, just-!”

“(Y/N)!” you hear Jacob panting as he runs up to you from behind. “(Y/N), what are you-”

With your grip firm on the doll, you kick the foreman in the chest, and he screams as he falls, sinking, drowning, dying-

The screams stop after not longer than a few seconds, only replaced with a loud thump on the ground far from where you stand. You don’t bother looking down, only turning to walk away. Jacob quickly follows you, though you don’t get too far.

A group of children hiding behind stacks of crates nearby easily catches your attention, specifically the little girl peeking from the corner to look at you. You hesitate for a moment, but finally muster enough courage to walk up to her albeit slowly. She reclines back into the dark as you lower yourself on one knee, but when you silently offer the doll out to her, she reveals herself just a bit, interest and curiosity twinkling in her wary eyes.

“…This is yours, isn’t it?” you ask a bit too quietly. She stares at you for a moment, and nods.

You wait as she contemplates on taking it, but when she finally does, she breaks into a bright, innocent smile. “Thank you!”

You intend to accept her kind gratitude, but she cuts you off when she suddenly hugs you, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around your neck, and you’re rendered more than speechless.

Before you could even think on what to do, how to even respond to such a gesture, she’s already released you, now running off with the other children to escape their once former prison. Now that’s left is just you and Jacob.

 …And Jacob doesn’t look exactly happy when you face him.

“What on earth-” he starts, closing in, “-did you think you were doing?! You’re lucky I was here to cover you! That was unbelievable!”

If Jacob, the reckless twin is vexed at you for being reckless, then you’re sure you’re in deep for what you’ve done.

And so you have nothing to say in return, nothing except a shaky, guilt-dripping, “…I’m sorry.” He quickly wilts at that, his fury as if vanished completely, only concern remains in his eyes.

“(Y/N)-”

“Jacob! (Y/N)!” A cry from outside—That was… Evie?

Trading brief, confused looks with Jacob, both of you drop down from the balcony, heading back to the front gate.

Jumping off a carriage by the road, Evie hastens towards you two as soon as she spots you. “What have you done?!” She shouts right in Jacob’s face.

“Me?!” he yelps back.

“The gang leader’s coming this way, that witch Octavia Plumb!” Evie says. “Apparently, someone was making a huge ruckus at one of her territories and one of the men bolted off and called for reinforcements. You really couldn’t help yourself, can you, Jacob?”

She’s… blaming him, for what you did. No, no no no, none of this was his fault at all, you lost control—If it’s anyone she should be chewing out, it’s you-

“Evie, wait-” you quickly step in front of Jacob. “It wasn’t him, I-”

“Boss, incoming!” A Rook warns, hurrying to join you and the twins. You look around, and heaviness weighs down in your chest when you see the wave of red coating the ground, men and women, all armed, heading in your way; and behind them is their gang leader of Southwark, Octavia Plumb.

The number of Rooks that are present, by nothing but coincidence as well, can barely compare to the intimidating numbers and forces of the Blighters. You’ve initiated a Gang War on your own, with no pieces to actually defend yourself on the chessboard. 

What have you done?

The streets covered by the reds of her men, Octavia is prideful, fearless as she paces forward.

You look towards Jacob, and as if sensing your eyes, he returns your gaze immediately, offering a wry smile. He seems to have something to say, but you don’t allow him, turning away in an instance.

…You have to protect him, both him and Evie. They cannot pay for your mistake. You have to do something. And fast.

“Away with you!” Octavia bellows, spitting at you and the Rooks. “Southwark belongs to the Blighters!” A brief nod to her lackey, she prepares to leave on the carriage she came with, let others do her dirty work for her, as what the Templars love to do.

But you’re not letting that happen this time. Absolutely not.

…The last bullet in your gun belongs in her heart, and it will stay there. It happens so swiftly, like a giant blur, even you’re surprised at what you’ve done—Octavia suddenly falls on her knees and down from climbing her carriage, that when she’s sprawled on the ground, with blood blooming under her and on the street, the clean hole on her forehead is wide out for everyone to see, and recoil in utter shock from it. You’ve shot her right through the back of her head.

“…For the love of god,” you hear Jacob mumble under his breath amidst the uproar the Templars are in. His alarmed eyes are on you when you turn to them, both his and Evie’s jaws have dropped just slightly.

“…I’ll fix this,” you say, nearly pleading. “I swear I’ll fix this. Please, fight with me.”

They glance at each other, and then to you. Evie shakes her head, and dread fills you up until-

“Do we have a choice?” she says, though exasperatedly. But her smile afterwards is soft, and almost forgiving. Then, it turns fierce as it lays upon the heated Blighters, more than eager for a fight.

You’d think Jacob would find a line that even he wouldn’t cross for you no matter how thin it might be, but from the way he’s cracking his neck, rocking his shoulders up and down to warm himself up, he’s only further proving you wrong.

“Don’t worry, love,” he walks up to your side, patting your back with that always bright, heart-fluttering smirk of his. “Your knight’s here to save the day.”

"Oh, please,” Evie snorts, unsheathing her sword-cane, her cape elegant as it flutters along. She walks forward slowly, Jacob following right behind her. 

You feel it wrong to walk beside them, considering the kind of trouble you’ve just kindled, but Jacob spins around abruptly, walking backwards even, his arms spreading to his sides slightly.

“Well? Don’t leave us hanging. Come along!” he calls.

You don’t hesitate to join them then, even erupting into a smile.

With a twirl of her cane, Evie ardently thrusts her arm into the air, “This borough belongs to us!”

The Rooks explode into cheers in support, fists into the air as well, and you join them with just as much fire and spirit.

With that, Evie and Jacob begin running, and the Blighters do the same to meet them halfway. Havoc erupts over the streets, and you more than eagerly jump right into the core of it, more than eager to clear these red stains off the city with Evie and Jacob at your side.

——

That’s it for this part, estimating for the whole thing to end under 10 parts! Thanks so much for reading!!! 💖💖💖

@multi-fandom-ficrecs aaaaah thank you so much for the nice comments!!! 😭 I appreciate them so much, you have no idea how happy I was reading them! I’m so glad you enjoyed reading my writing, thank you omg!

@carolinecrazyangel omg thank you for saying that! I’m not exactly a writer so that really means a lot to me! 😭 And yeah! There’ll probably be one more part after this until the romance finally kicks in fully sooo 👀

And thanks again to everyone who’s read this! 

[hungergames-fanfic]

Sleep My Little Dora

To make sure no one steals our horses or carriage daddy pays a local man to keep watch. Cause the stew pot is hot and momma Bilmin carries the basket of bread up the flights of stairs, it's my job to run up before them to open the exit door. Down the hallway, sounds of children crying and faint yelling can be heard through the walls. When we get to the Oxoro's door, I can hear the sounds of gunshots. They're watching television, most likely an illegal film. Movies of any kind aren't allowed unless they’re filmed from home or shown on one of the government approved channels.

Eddy opens the door by just a crack. He peeks out and I'm the first he focuses his eyes on. My cheeks feel warm. Spotting daddy he opens the door wide and steps aside. In here, normally empty, it's full of people who turn away from the television to see who it is. On the sofa sit Mr Oxoro, a woman and another man. On the floor is Vano, outside the window is Omarion talking to someone out of view, i assume it’s Felix. Next to him, with her foot inside is a girl that catches my eye.

At first she looks like a boy. Fluffy short hair sticks out the front of her backwards hat, she wears a big green shirt and black shorts. Her socks too big for her skinny ankles, they fall loosely off her foot.

Mr Oxoro stands up once he sees daddy and helps momma Bilmin with the basket. He welcomes us in the house and introduces us to everyone. When he says my name everyone turns to look at my arm. Including Felix who peeks in. I'm guessing they know about what happened.

"That's my sister Jenae, her husband Otto", Mr Oxoro points, "eldest you've met Vano, that at the window is Jocabeth and", he chuckles, "the little one is Abie". From the small hallway a girl sticks her head out the Oxoro sons room. "You go on Isadora", Mr Oxoro says to me, "boy been excited to see you". This brings out a big smile on my face.

In the room, across from the door, Efrain lays in his bed. He smiles wide and calls me to go closer. "It's okay, Eddy made sure to clean everythin' up and i got my shots", regardless of what he says, I still run and give him the biggest hug. "Oof", he goes and chuckles.

"Efrain!" I yelp, "so much has happened, so much i wanna tell you", I chant happily. He chuckles and looks at my cast. "I bet", he says.

I spill the second I sit on the middle bed, Felix's. I tell Efrain about being so alone during lunch and after school. How I tried to be better friends with Wendy and the other kids we play with when I come over, but none were as fun to be around. I tell him how one day I had an extra piece of bread and spotted Ari sitting all alone. "Ari?", he asks. "Yeah, Arielle", "Arielle!?", Efrain exclaims with his eyes wide. Excitedly I tell him about all the fun that I've had with her. How every day in lunch and after school we spend time together. How at home we always play games or play outside with the animals. I don’t admit we play dolls the most. I laugh when I tell him about getting lost in the shopping center in Littleburg, taking a bath with her and then working in the farm as punishment. I tell him about being in trouble for lying, having to work in the farm as punishment and getting injured riding Milk. I also mention taking Ari home before coming here but I never tell him about the kisses.The one she gave me the other night and the one I gave her this afternoon. Secrets I plan to keep forever.

With a big smile on his face Efrain talks about how glad he is that Ari and me are friends, how excited he is to talk with her when he goes back to school and playing around in my house. I've also decided not to mention how much she doesn't like him.

"Ya'll sound like Vano and Bethy. Girls, girls, girls, i'm tired of it, so can we please finish watchin’ Lizard Sphere A", Abie snaps and rolls her eyes at us. Efrain and I laugh but neither pays attention to the animated show, instead he shows me all the drawings he's drawn while in bed rest.

While he shows me some really cool ones of me and him being space men and Abie choking in the background, I can't help but to stare at him the same way I did to Ari earlier. Last I saw him, Efrain's wasn’t this skinny. He practically resembles Ari, whom he used to be a little bigger-than. He's also a lot more pale and sickly like his momma. His eyes are sunken and his cheekbones stick out. He looks like he's at the verge of death with only a smile keeping him alive.

"Y'all come eat", Jocabeth says at the door. She leans in with a bored look on her face, like nothing is cool enough for her. For a split second, I wish I was her. I stare at my light orange dress, my frilly, itchy socks and white, shiny belted shoes. I pull on a curl that already rests on my hand, how I wish I were as comfortable as her. In the living room, I stare at her nonstop taking in her personality. Everyone laughs at everything she says, eating a piece of cooked lettuce from her soup with her hands, burping as loud as she wants, joking and laughing so care free. If I ever ate with my hands and burped that loud i'd be in trouble. I wish I was funny too.

While we all enjoy momma Bilmin’s cooking, the adults talk amongst themselves, they mention the cost of living and how the president doesn't care about us. This catches my attention.

"Some bloke started a union a few months ago, found'em dead in a ditch and a lot of folk got fired. They ain't waste a second though, next day the factory was full of new workers", Eddy says. He looks irritated and waves his arms with annoyance.

"It's like we brought bad luck or some", Jenae ways touching her forehead. She looks upset.

"Naw auntie, there was rumors 'bout this from the start. I'm just worried 'bout findin' another job", Eddy says thoughtful.

"I'm in need of some hands", daddy speaks up with a shrug, "c'mon Asmel, I've told you this", daddy turns to Mr Oxoro.

The conversation goes on and on until everyone agrees that Eddy and Vano start working for daddy from now on. Apparently Mr Oxoro's sister and family were kicked out of their home from a shark? Now they live here and will be staying until they get the money to move out. Daddy invites Mr Otto to work in our ranch too but he jokes that he's one of the new workers in the meat factory. Mrs Jenae claims she cares for Mrs Oxoro and the kids. In a way, it makes me happy to hear someone is here to care for my best friend.

After dinner we all sit in front of the television. Blowing a bubble with her gum, Jocabeth puts a movie in the VCR. "A classic", Mr Oxoro says hugging his wife who's wheelchair has been rolled right next to him. On her lap sits Efrain snuggling with her arm and next to momma Bilmin, I hold her hand and watch, occasionally turning my gaze out the window. There Felix, Eddy, Omarion, Vano and Jocabeth joke about. I wish I was old enough to hang out with them.

The movie starts off in a dessert, how humanity has decayed and withered except for a couple of people living like ferals. They fight for food and water, some even fight for money. Those wanting to be rich steal from those already poor and hungry, "not far from the truth", Mr Oxoro says. Just as I fully invest myself into the movie my thumb reminds me of all the times I bumped my hand on to something. I try to keep the pain to myself but its not until I can't ignore it that I speak up. Daddy uses this as an excuse to go home, says my pain medication has worn off and he forgot it. Jenae, who's been eyeing daddy all night is the first to hug us goodbye. She bumps into my hand. I'd shriek, drop and die but I don't want the older kids to think i'm a wuss. Instead I hold on to the tears in until we leave the apartment.

On the way home I silently cry so much I fall asleep only to wake up when I feel my hand hit the bed. Daddy's carried me inside, taken off my socks and gives me kiss before he leaves. I don't know for how long I sleep until I'm woken up again.

The lights in my room are turned on, I shut my eyes tight and cover my face with my arm. Someone slaps my hand off my face, forcing me to look at them.

"What is this I hear bout you kissin' girls?", momma snaps at me. "That. Is. Disgusting. You hear me? Where have you seen women kissin' other women?" She raises her voice angrily. Momma Bilmin, woken up, comes out her room and into mines. Momma explains to her how I kissed Ari on the lips just this afternoon. She says it grossed out as if I had stepped on poop and got in bed.

"She ain't hurtin' nobody!", momma Bilmin snaps at momma. Daddy walks in my room too, he stands in between them just as momma Bilmin tries to get in momma’s face. My warm tears quietly roll down my face just like they did on the way home, only now the pain is in my chest. I've never made momma this mad before. She ain't ever yell at me this loud either.

"No, no, no!", momma yells pushing daddy’s arm away and turns to me. "I don't wanna see that little red head in my house ever again, you hear me?" She connects her thumbs with her index fingers, making her point. "I don't wanna see or hear bout you kissin' girls, Dora! When? Where has she seen any of this? Sure as hell not from me!", she screams and walks out the room still scolding me from the hallway. Daddy shoots me a look of worry and goes after momma. The rest of the night I sleep in momma Bilmin's room. She combs my hair with her fingers, sings a lullaby and assures me there's nothing wrong with liking who I like. Still, I cry until I've fallen back asleep with only one thought in mind. Liking girls is not normal, it's gross. Momma said so.

[borgqueens]

When the sophisticated electric car that Americans flew to the Moon set out across the lunar surface, it rolled on wheels that had an interior of titanium and whose tire treads were made of wire mesh. The treads flexed to allow the lunar rover to race across the Moon’s dusty surface; the treads let some of the dirt into the tire, and then as it rolled around, the mesh flexed open and the dust simply fell out.

It was a brilliant solution to keeping traction in a slippery, gritty surface in one-sixth gravity. And the mesh that made it possible? It was made of piano wire—woven by hand.

When the Apollo spacecraft floated down to the Pacific Ocean on three distinctive orange and white parachutes, each one 83.5 feet across and 7,200 square feet of material—bigger than the floor space in two homes—all the sewing was done by hand, by women at black Singer sewing machines. Each chute required 2 million individual stitches to assemble.

And then there was the Apollo flight computer. In two previous installments of #50DaysToTheMoon, we’ve explained how astonishingly advanced the technology of the Apollo computer was, and how MIT’s pioneering use of integrated circuits in the spaceship computer laid the foundation of the digital age.

The Apollo computer, like the lunar rover and the parachutes, was cutting-edge technology for the era, so much so that it, too, leaped ahead of the ability to manufacture it in an automated way.

The technology, tools, and materials required to fly to the Moon in the 1960s often stretched the limits of what was available, and once it was invented, actually manufacturing it for spaceflight often proved even harder. But here’s the thing: That didn’t slow anyone down. If the lunar rover wheels had to be woven by hand, so be it.

And so, like the lunar rover wheels and the parachutes, the circuits and programs of the Apollo flight computers were also woven by hand, by women at a Raytheon factory in Waltham, Massachusetts. They sat at sophisticated looms, using long needles with wire attached to them instead of thread, carefully weaving the wiring that was the programming of the computers.

The software was, in fact, hardware.

It was an astonishing process that was tedious yet required absolute attention and precision. Every single 1 and 0 in the computer’s memory required a wire in exactly the right place. A single mis-wired strand meant the computer’s programs wouldn’t work properly—and might fail at some critical, potentially disastrous moment.

The women who did this work had, in fact, been recruited from nearby textile factories. The memory holding the programming for a single Apollo flight computer—for the entire mission—was a total of just 73 kB, far less than the memory many emails require today. Yet it took dozens of women in Waltham eight weeks to assemble it, meticulously, by hand.

Raytheon set up a dedicated group just to weave Apollo computer memory, and the company found out how just how hard the task was. In the mid-1960s, there was a strike at the Waltham factory, and supervisors and managers tried to do the work the women had been doing. When the strike was over, every module the supervisors had wired was scrapped.

This kind of computer memory was called “rope core memory,” because it ended up looking like collections of densely bundled ropes made of wires. For Apollo, it had two critical advantages: It was impervious to damage. It couldn’t be accidentally erased or altered by an astronaut or a technician, or by an electrical problem. The software to fly to the Moon was hardwired into the computer. (In a frightful test of this, Apollo 12 was launched into a bank of rain clouds and was promptly struck by lightning twice in the space of 16 seconds just after leaving the launch pad at Cape Kennedy; the spaceship’s flight computers were undamaged.)

Just as important, in the mid-1960s, in the transition from vacuum tubes to transistors, and from transistors to early computer chips, handwoven rope core memory was far and away the densest computer memory available. It packed between 10 and 100 times more kilobytes into the available weight and space than any other kind of memory. On spaceships where keeping the weight down was a constant battle, that was indispensable.

The only problem was that it required an eight-week manufacturing lead time. With testing and then moving the computers to the spacecraft at the Cape, that meant a flight’s software had to be finished and perfect many months before the flight. Even in the 1960s, programmers wanted to keep tweaking right to the last moment. When they learned that they had to be done months in advance, says MIT’s Ramon Alonso, who helped invent the programming logic for the Apollo computer, “The reaction was, ‘What? I can’t walk up to the launch pad and change whatever the program is like?’ ”

The Apollo guidance computer was the first operational computer to use rope-core memory. By the time U.S. lunar modules starting landing on the Moon, the technology had moved on to the much easier to handle—and much cheaper—computer chips and floppy disks that dominated computing for the next several decades.

So the Apollo flight computer was not only the first computer of any significance to use handwoven rope core memory. It was also the last.

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 102 - Like the start of every hot-housewife p*rno I have ever seen

By mid-afternoon, Blake had deemed today as an utter wright-off.

The rain was lashing hard at the windows and a whistling wind seemed to blow an icy cold draft under every door, dropping the temperature inside the gloomy factory by several degrees.

There was no way she or any of the other Saviours could work in the garden for the rest of today. So instead, the caramel-blonde woman had relegated herself to doing something else that had taken her fancy on this cold, dark and stormy day.

And so, after heading back to her room an hour ago, ditching Danny around the corner (only needing him as far as the end of Negan's corridor to try and get a rise out of the dark-haired Saviour) Blake had hurriedly gotten dressed, flinging on a pretty flowery dress that tied at the waist and a pale blue button up sweater from her closet, and had soon, with a contented sigh, headed down to the marketplace and the stores, to pick up the items she required before bringing them back up here to her room on the second floor.

And now here she was….…making brownies.

Blake hadn't baked anything since waaaaay back before the start of all of this. And even then, that had been just a birthday cake for one of her colleagues at work, that David and his friends after coming home drunk one evening, had torn apart and devoured amongst themselves, before it had even reached her anyway.

Blake wasn't sure what had come over her.

Here she was…baking….like a good little wife. A sudden urge having overwhelmed her to make something sweet during this rare bit of spare time.

And so, after picking out the ingredients (perhaps a little selfishly) from the pantry, she had come up here and gotten to work.

Although Blake's intentions were not all that selfish, hoping that once she was done, she could go downstairs and share them with some of the lower-ranking Saviours, of which were mainly kids and older folk, in the dining hall later.

Her room had a small little kitchenette on one side, that Blake had not even touched since she had arrived here at the Sanctuary, the worktops gathering dust and the small powered oven never having even been switched on.

Even whilst living at Alexandria, Blake had only ever stuck to making easy dishes like pasta with sauce and eating heated canned goods where she could get it. After living out on the road and eating only basic scavenged rations and roadkill, finding even those bland foods too much for her stomach to handle.

Cooking wasn't exactly her forte, but hey, neither was gardening, and Blake had soon taken to that well enough.

But now the caramel-blonde woman was stood at her kitchen counter, mixing ingredients in a large bowl, as the window over to her right rattled a little with the carrying wind.

She pondered now what a winter in this place would be like.

The Sanctuary itself was large and built up, but certainly draughty at times, so it wasn't really a surprise to her that the wives had requested pants to wear. For really that wasn't that much to ask in this world, now was it?

Blake dwelled on the women a little now, wondering how their sore-heads had been this morning, and wondering whether Negan had been to see them as he had threatened to. She promised herself that she would make time to go see them later today and have a catch up.

But Blake, a little lost in thought, jumped now, as the door behind her was suddenly shoved open.

She hurriedly dropped her wooden spoon into the bowl with a small clatter and clutched a hand to her chest in fright, turning quickly to see Negan strutting through the door, without Lucille for once, but with a wide, arrogant, questioning grin, fixed onto his long, bearded face instead.

"Jesus, you gave me a fright," Blake breathed out, eyeing him with wide green orbs.

But Negan's own chocolate gaze flickered over her now, taking in every inch of Blake's appearance as well as the brownie ingredients spread out on the work surfaces behind her.

"Well this is where you are…" he growled, hovering in the doorway and lifting his chin as he surveyed her. "I have been searchin' high and low around this god-forsaken fuckin' place for you, and here you are all along, bakin' Daddy up some treats by the looks of it."

At his words Blake couldn't help but smirk, but even so, still rolled her eyes, turning her back on him now and picking up her spoon once again.

"These are not for you, Negan," she purred with a small sigh.

Behind her she head the door snap shut gently, as a pair of heavy boots crossed the room towards her.

She smiled to herself, in an instant feeling a warm trickle of breath on her neck and a possessive hand slip around her waist, pulling her backward into a tall and taut body.

"Hold your fuckin' horses there, Sweetheart," the dark-haired man murmured in an incredulous voice into her ear. "Cause', hell, this look like my goddamn shit your using to make them. So I think I am more than fuckin' entitled to take what I want."

Blake gave another hard sigh, stirring her ingredients and ignoring Negan's comment.

But it wasn't even another second later, that the leader of the Saviours spoke again, coming to rest his prickly bearded chin against her shoulder, as Blake leant back against him easily.

"Y'know I never had you down for the Martha Stuart type, Peaches," he hummed in a low voice, into her ear. "An' yet here. you. are, cookin' up a goddamn storm, and lookin' like the start of every hot-housewife porno I've ever seen."

Blake's lips twitched slightly, as she pulled her face back a little and turned her head, eyeing him.

"And I'm guessing you've seen a lot of them have you?" she uttered in an amused voice.

But Negan, looking as cocky as he ever did, merely widened his grin, showing off his set of white teeth as he did so.

"Oh fuckin' plenty, Darlin'," he chuckled, as Blake pursed her lips, tutting, as she turned away from him once more.

But from behind her, she felt Negan bounce slightly on his heels.

"But in fact, while we're on the subject of pornos," he said in giddy voice. "I have got Rick's ol' video camera upstairs that I thought we could make use of. Make a few home videos of our own if you catch my fuckin' drift.…"

But at once, Blake made a face, catching his drift indeed…

"Nu-uh, no way, Negan," she scoffed, batting his hands away from her as they playfully slid further around her middle squeezing at her tightly. "My job in building this big new world, is not going to be to make pornos with you, thank you very much!"

At this she heard Negan give a low grumbling growl into her ear.

"Suit your fuckin' self, Sweetheart," he tutted, suddenly and without warning, reaching around Blake now and swiping his finger into the bowl of mixture and bringing it up to his mouth, sucking it clean.

"Hey," she reprimanded, swatting at his hand with her own paw, as the dark-haired Saviour pressed his body further into her now.

"Mmmhmmm, now that shit tastes good," he mused, as Blake smiled to herself now, rolling her eyes a little.

God, he really could be such a pain in her ass sometimes…but even so, he made her happier than anyone else had made her in a very, very long time.

Her and David had never been like this….like two teenagers, caught up with each other, having fun…

With him it had always been serious…and barely even a few months into her relationship, David had moved in with her, almost treating her like his maid at times. It all getting way too serious, too fast.

So here, now…all this with Negan…it was like she could finally be happy, even in this screwed up world.

He made her feel protected and cared for, giving her everything she could ever want.

But why?

Did he really feel the same for her as what she felt for him?

It truly felt like it now.

But after years of being used and not seeing David for what he truly was, Blake didn't want to mess this up…overthink things…get in too deep and say the wrong thing.

So she held off, giving the tiniest of gulps now, and reaching for an awaiting baking tray, and easily pouring the chocolatey mixture into it.

Blake could feel Negan's dark eyes watching her every movement quietly. But the silence between the pair of them was not an uncomfortable one.

"You remember when you gave me this room?" she murmured conversationally after a long drawn out minute had passed them both by. "I thought it was some kind of trick at first…."

Negan grinned, pulling back a little and allowing Blake to bend down and place the tray of brownies into the oven, turning the dial.

"Pfft. Well I ain't a monster, an' I wasn' about to keep you locked downstairs in that fuckin' cell forever now was I?" he said in a carrying voice, as Blake shut the oven door, wiping her hands on a dishcloth and turning to face the dark-haired man now, pressing her back up against the counter top behind her. "I could see that it was never your fuckin' choice to come here in the first place. An' I wasn't about to stick you in a goddamn room with your asshole of a fi-an-ce."

Blake gave a small nod now, pursing her lips, remembering those less-than-fond memories.

"Well it's lucky you didn't…" she said in a quiet voice. "Because I think if David had gotten his way, I doubt I'd even be standing here right now. I'd probably be outside chained to that stupid fence with the rest of the dead."

That was the truth in her voice. Had things been different, had Negan not been here, Blake was likely be dead now by David's hand. And that alone was a scary thought.

But Negan, lowered his chin, pressing his own bearded lips together, looking slightly stern, the slightest of frowns darkening his brow as he pondered this.

"Well I'm fuckin' glad I made the right decision there…despite how much you smart-mouthed me to start with, Peaches," he said raising his eyebrows, and taking a small step into her now.

And at his words, Blake couldn't help but smile softly, parting her lips as she grazed his mouth with hers.

She kissed him gently, their lips parting and meeting again softly several times…making the most deliciously wet noises she had ever heard.

Before, giving a small sigh, Blake gently pulled away, turning back around in Negan's arms contently and making to clean up the kitchen counter top.

But Negan obviously had other plans, the caramel-blonde woman feeling him press a grin into her hair, as his hands skimmed down her thighs, before dragging them upwards once more, rumpling the hem of her dress as he went.

Blake, lifting her eyes dead-ahead of her now, gave a slow blink, knowing full-well where his hand was going to go to next.

And as predicated, it wasn't a second later, that she felt Negan glide his digits down between her legs, causing her to give a small gulp of delicious agony and lean back into him a little.

"Mmmm, well, shit….cotton fuckin' panties, huh?…" Negan commented in a low, excited, humming voice into her ear now. "I have got to say, Peaches, I am loving this new you…goin' from badass to wholesome in just a couple of hours. You are keepin' me on. my. toes, Sweetheart!"

Blake's lips curved into a grin, feeling his expert fingers now glide over her the fabric that lay in between her hot, wet pussy, reaching her aching clit and causing her to jolt slightly, giving a moan of need.

But Negan merely chuckled into her ear through Blake's mass of caramel hair, as her fingers tensed around the edge of the counter top.

God, she wanted him…

"You like that, Darlin'?" he growled out now. "Hmmm? Does my fuckin' girl want me to fuck her over this goddamn counter?"

And Blake could only manage a desperate nod now, as she closed her eyes feeling Negan reach beneath her dress and pull her panties down her legs in one swift and rough movement.

Fuck…..this had all happened pretty fast.

Not that Blake was complaining.

Negan's hand reached up again now, running his fingers over the sticky cream that coated her glazed cunt, giving a grunt into her ear, as his other hand fumbled at his own belt buckle hurriedly.

Blake parted her lips wetly, her stomach convulsing as two of Negan's fingers disappeared up inside her slit just for a brief moment, pumping into her, before he pulled them out, holding his cum-covered digits to her mouth.

"Lick it all up, there's a good fucking girl," he groaned out now, easing his finger into her mouth, as the sound of his zipper being undone carried though the room now. "Cause' I've got a feelin' you taste as good as those goddamn brownies."

And Blake did as she was told, hurriedly sucking both of Negan's fingers clean, one-by-one.

She tasted herself, acidic yet sweet, like oranges and honey, and gave a small moan as Negan removed his fingers from her mouth, hitching up her dress a little from behind.

"Bend over for me, Peaches," came another whisper from the dark-haired Saviour behind her now, which caused Blake to gulp, all the breath suddenly leaning her body, as she felt Negan position his stiff cock at her hot, wet entrance.

The pair of them really were instantiable…

Both of them with equally high sex drives, and equally desperate for one another.

But Blake obeyed Negan's request, lowering herself forwards against the kitchen worktop before her and presenting her ass for him, feeling his slide his dick in and out of her folds a couple of times precariously.

Before the caramel-blond woman gave a grunting whine, frowning slightly, as she felt Negan stretch her wide and enter her fully.

His hands were on her hips now, as he wavered for a brief moment, giving an audible gulp, obviously appreciating the sensation of being buried into her up to his hilt.

But it wasn't a couple of seconds later that Negan eased himself out, before slamming himself into her once more, causing Blake to close her eyes, letting out a harsh breath of air.

"Shit," Negan uttered bluntly, his breaths already ragged in his throat before they had barely begun, but even so, he persevered, pulling out before slowly thrusting into her again….and again….and again…..

Fuck….this was heaven.

Or maybe instead, a delectable sort of hell…with Blake bent over and Negan well and truly fucking her brains out.

She gasped out as Negan thrust into her harder now, building momentum.

The room was filled with hot pants, the sound of Negan's chinking belt, and the hot, slick sound of Negan's dick coated in Blake's juices as he slid it in and out of her tight pussy.

Her hand and elbows were pressed flat to the surface of the worktop and her eyes on the faux-marble top, dusted with flour, getting her pretty, floral dress a little messy.

But right now Blake didn't care, as another moan of utter pleasure left her pink and swollen lips.

Sex with Negan was not like any sex she had had before.

This was dirty and hot, and everything Blake had ever fantasized about

And the caramel-blonde woman couldn't help the frown that twitched between her brows, opening her mouth in an o-shape of utter pleasure, feeling her orgasm building.

As much as she loved taking control, sometimes it was certainly nice for Negan to just take exactly what he wanted from her…just bending her over and fucking her, unable to help himself. Wanting her just that badly.

"Nnnngggfff," he breathed out, Blake hearing the dark-haired Saviour lifting his closed eyes to the ceiling, as a gulp slid its way over his Adam's apple, obviously trying to hold off on cumming, as long as he possibly could.

But Blake couldn't.

And it wasn't even a minute later, that she whined out, her walls clenching around Negan's cock as her head fell forwards, her dragging across the floury surface beneath her.

Negan grunted at the sound she made, his grip on her hips and ass tightening, as he leaned in towards her slightly.

"Unfff, I'm gonna cum, Darlin'..." he murmured thickly, but the words had barely left his mouth, and so with Negan holding his dick firmly inside her, he soon sent stream upon stream of hot, white cum up into her cunt.

Both of them stood there for a moment, propped up by the counter now, breathing hard.

Before Negan, letting his hands slide up to Blake's shoulder, moved aside a small strand of blonde hair, pressing a kiss to her smooth shoulder.

At that feeling, Blake, still catching her breath, and trembling slightly on her feet, smiled gently.

Happy.

And it was just a second or two later, that Negan slowly eased himself out of her, as Blake stiffly pushed herself up once more, wincing a little as she did so.

They had to stop doing that, she knew it.

She was not taking any form of contraception right now and Negan cumming inside her was becoming a very regular occurrence right now. Twice in one day today, for example. And she just could not risk getting pregnant. Not after two miscarriages anyway. Not in this world.

Blake made a mental note to herself to go see Dr Carson later today or tomorrow.

She bent slightly, sliding her white cotton panties up her thighs one more, as she glanced over at Negan, who was sat now, on the edge of her bed, hand pressed to his un-stiffening cock and his eyes closed.

"Everything ok?" Blake mused, folding her arms across herself bemusedly, as she eyed him. His member still slick and glazed with her juices by the looks of it.

But Negan merely opened his chocolate eyes slowly, grinning over at her contently.

"Oh, it. is peachy fuckin' keen, Doll-face," he said reaching out his free hand and beckoning her over towards him.

Blake, smirking to herself, did as he wanted, padding over towards him on bare-feet, her front now completely covered in flour , as she came to straddle him, sitting down onto his lap, as his hands moved to her waist, sliding around her middle.

The dark-haired leader of the Saviours gazed up at her now, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. A look of utter awe passing over his long, bearded face.

No one had ever looked at Blake like Negan did, and this alone made butterflies swirl inside her.

She wanted so much to stay here forever with him now….

Just him and her.

"You really are a fuckin' queen, you know that, Darlin'?" Negan mused, his eyes taking in every inch of her face now, as Blake placed her hands gently to his leather-clad shoulders.

She licked at her lips slowly, smiling.

"I really wasn't before I met you, y'know," she answered in a quiet voice, a blush creeping up over her chest.

But Negan, reaching his hand up to Blake's face, swiped his thumb over her cheek, brushing away a little flour that lingered there, giving a sigh.

"Oh I bet you fuckin' were, Peaches…" he murmured now, gazing into her eyes. "I just don' think anyone gave you the fuckin' opportunity to shine."

Blake felt a lump appearing in her throat now, as she dropped her gaze from Negan's for the tiniest of moments, before staring up into his eyes once again.

"Thank you," she said in a voice barely louder than whisper now…..

… realising, truly and utterly, that she was so, so desperately in love with him.

Finally admitting it to herself...after all this time.

But still not quite plucking up the courage to admit it to Negan himself yet….

…instead, smiling and kissing at Negan's bearded lips once more.

There she was, caught in heaven now…both of them so wrapped up in one another…

Kissing gently at the other's lips….

…..neither of them noticing the strong smell of burning and smoke that had suddenly filled the small room.

Suddenly a sharp twinge hit Blake's nose and she pulled back from Negan, her eyes widening as she realised just what she could smell and see.

"Shit!" she cried, pushing herself from the dark-haired man now, readjusting her dress and getting hurriedly to her feet.

Running over, Blake quickly grabbed a dishcloth, opening the oven and tugging the tray of brownies out, placing them down onto the counter top, her other hand wafting away the steam and smoke as she did so.

Luckily, as the smoke cleared, taking a good look at them, they didn't look too bad. Perhaps a little caught around the edges, but even so, still pretty good.

She heard Negan behind her give a stiff grunt, easing himself from the bed and doing up the zipper on his pants and rethreading his belt buckle.

"Now those smell good enough to fuckin' eat, Sweetheart," he uttered out in a low growling voice, coming up behind Blake now and reaching over her shoulder for the tray of dessert, but Blake slapped his hand away.

"I told you, Negan," she scolded in a high-pitched voice. "These aren't for you."

The tall Saviour gave a grumble now and Blake could almost feel him pouting over her shoulder like a moody teenager.

"Well that's fuckin' gratitude for you, ain't it…" he said taking a step or two away from her now, as she glanced at him over her shoulder coyly, watching as the dark-haired man leaned back against his long legs and pointed at her, raising his eyebrows aloft in a teasing manner. "I provide you with shit, an' you give me nothin' in return. That how our entire relationship is gonna be, Princess?"

There it was, their playful banter returning again….causing Blake's lips to twitch slightly.

God, he truly did make her happy in so, so many ways.

But the caramel-blonde woman, brushing down the front of her dress neatly, just gave an easy shrug of her shoulders.

"Maybe," she purred out. "But you knew what you were getting into…"

And with that, she threw Negan a playful wink, before turning back to her brownies.

"Like I told you the first time we fucked, Negan.." she continued in a carrying voice, without looking around. "I like to be on top."

Behind her, at her words, she heard the leader of the Saviours let out an appreciative chuckle, dragging his hand down his stubbly bearded face and giving a heavy whining sigh.

"Oh, I know you do Darlin'," Negan murmured. "An', hell, I ain't gonna argue with that."

There was a short moment of silence where Blake heard Negan cross the room, heading over towards the door now.

"I've got a meetin'," he informed her. "But I will see. you. later, Peaches. Hopefully boucnin' up and down on my dick…as per fuckin' usual, seein' as you like it on top."

And Blake could only smile to herself now, rolling her eyes hard as she replied.

"Bye, Negan…" she uttered back in warning return, hearing the door open and close behind her, leaving the blonde queen, alone once more.