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obanaispy · 2 years

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Milkmaid ✩

{ adult audience only }

who: naoya zenin x genderless reader

wc: 1,232

synopsis: our kind father naoya graces y/n with some milk <3

warnings: degrading, rough sex, sacrilegious/religious play, slapping with dick, spit , anal, oral (being face fucked), choking, bruising, light breath play, panty stuffing

notes: hi my babies! you all know i love trying out different styles so today, here’s a first person view into your life as a milkmaid for a very loved father! i really hope you dig it. let’s also remember naoya is the biggest asshole known to man so if you need comfort.. go check out another one of my fics here . i hope you all missed me like i did you. enjoy! also, happy sunday xx

milkmaid { mihlk-mayd }: a sweet person that enjoys milk (heh)

“don’t you want to make it into heaven?”

father naoya was always such a sweet man. the church was previously his fathers and he had made sure to keep the tradition of love and safety alive. not to sound like i’m sucking the mans dick though like trust me, this leads up to a reason. you see, recently i’ve been having some.. impure thoughts. sexual, sadistic dreams have been more often than not and i find my mind drifting even whilst sitting in the pews as he preaches the word of a life without sin.

“will you still respect me with my sins, father?”

“why, of course” he answered, my body relaxing as i stared at the wall separating us within the confessional. the hour was late and i could no longer hear his word with a mind tainted like mine. “what seems to be the issue, dear y/n?”. his words cut through my thoughts as my thighs tightened at the way he spoke my name. parting my lips, i took a deep breath before beginning to explain— “well.. father. lately i’ve been stuck in this.. trance-like state? my dreams have been melting fantasy with the real world and i even happen to.. see you there with me during those impure moments. am i.. possessed?” his silence almost alarmed me before i heard a deep sigh.

“my dear child.. i’m afraid that you are. luckily, i have just the solution.”

i felt my eyes water in joy, mouth opening to thank him before i was cut off abruptly. “get on your knees and face the door.”. was this still the father? his voice sounded.. grim. cold. nonetheless, i got into the position, awaiting his next move. suddenly, the door opened and he stood before me, his usual bright eyes now mimicking dark holes— hands fidgeting at his collar as he loosened it slightly. bringing a hand down, he lightly caressed my face before gripping it in a manner that went against the previous touch.

“i can help you but, you need to trust me”

“of course i trust you father. that is not a thing that needs a second guess” i whispered, panties becoming damp as i found myself lacking shame. father naoya went to unbuckle his slacks, my eyes following his movements in shock as i struggled to speak a word. before i knew it, his cock sprung out of his boxers, his hand going to stroke it until it stood up fully erect. “i will get rid of the demon that has attached itself to you.. i mean, i can not have a whore running around my sanctuary, can i?”. not giving me a second to recover from my shock and answer, he suddenly slapped me with his dick— his free hand reaching down to grip me by my hair as he yanked my head back.

“i asked you a question, slut. can i?”

“n-no father.. you can not..”. father naoya was no longer himself.. or maybe this is who he really was? i couldn’t even figure out the difference seeing as his cock pushed its way past my teeth shortly after, beginning to fuck my mouth at an unforgiving pace as he tugged at my locks harshly. “a vile.. disgusting object is what you are. coming into my holy space .. behaving as if you don’t want to be split in half by me” he gritted, harsh words causing my heart to pound. tears began to spill out onto my cheeks as he thrusted— hips suddenly pushing all the way forward to fill my mouth completely before stilling.

tapping on his leg urgently, i tried not to choke on my spit. it slowly started to coat my chin— soaking the bottom of my dress as i regulated my breath slowly. “there we go.. there we fucking go”. reaching down father naoya released my chest from my clothes, fondling my nipples as he started to buck his hips once again. i found myself bobbing my head to meet his thrust, my hand traveling between my legs.. hoping to provide my aching spot some release..

“are you fucking kidding me?”

pulling his cock out of my mouth naoya suddenly gripped my cheeks once again this time spitting directly in my face. “how dare you touch yourself in my presence, demon? do you wish to be pleasured? to feel relief? do you feel you are deserving?”. i found myself nodding, chest rising and falling as i tried to catch my breath once again. clicking his tongue, he quickly turned me around— positioning me to where my hands and knees rested against the cold floors. he did not even bother to pull down my panties, ripping them apart before shoving the fabric deep into my cunt— his large fingers joining it before slowly slipping themselves out as he proudly hummed.

father naoya spread my cheeks apart before spitting against my asshole, the action causing a whimper to fall out of my throat. shortly after, i found myself moaning as his tongue circled and filled the tight hole— hands gripping my ass hard enough to leave bruises that would refuse to leave. positioning himself behind me, his cock slowly began to push into my asshole before filling me as much as it was allowed. his thrusts were gentle for only a second before i felt him change his positioning a bit— cock now fucking my asshole wider than it’s ever been.

crying out, my fingernails crawled at the floor in pain and ecstasy, mind focusing on the feeling along with the way he grunted in between each thrust. “squeezing me so tight.. has anyone ever fucked you this good? made you feel them deep..deep inside of you?” he husked out, lips now pressing against my ear as his chest rubbed against my back. his thrusts were slowing down but becoming even harder, balls slapping against my cunt. my panties were now soaking, the feeling of being double stuffed making it difficult to even respond. one of his hands gripped at my hip as he held me in place, adrenaline too high to feel the intensity of his grip.

he gripped my neck, squeezing the sides as he brought my head up to look at his face now looming over me. “you look so fucking out of it.. pull it together and answer me.” he chuckled darkly, his brows furrowed in concentration. “no sir.. i’ve.. i’ve never been fucked so good..” i squeaked out, eyes struggling to stay open as an orgasm washed over me. naoya’s thrust became sloppy, hand squeezing hard around my neck as he let out a few frantic humps before pulling out— his hands moving quickly to make me face him before shoving his cock into my mouth to use me once again.

“worthless piece of shit.. swallow my seed and become pure. every. single. drop.”

as he released into my throat i fought back a cough, mind cloudy as i swallowed all that he had to offer— vision blurry. the father removed his cock and i felt.. sadness. looking up to him, it felt like he was the one who had been reborn— not i. this was not the kind man that frequently spoke the word of our lord.. and i truly did not hate him.

“father.. i do feel i may need a few more sessions”

he smiles.

#obanaispy #oswrites #anime #jjk smut #naoya smut #naoya zenin #naoya x y/n #naoya x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen naoya #jjk zenin

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boxwinebaddie · 7 months

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Hey Uncle Nina, I was wondering if you had any writing tips for new writers? ((Also side note but I am really inspired by you deciding to take breaks, (not in a mean way, i'm so, so, sorry if it sounded mean!!) I'm also just inspired by you in general your like my idol. :33))

hello my precious peach! before i begin, i would just like to start off by saying that you could, never, ever be mean, darling! you are so kind and wonderful!!! this message made me smile a rare kyle pile smile of over-large, lopsided stanley marsh proportions at my computer screen <33 and i admired it for many, many moons. :')

-- but i can't believe i'm your idol, possibly?! awww!!!! wowowow! i am extremely honored that you'd consider me as your idol given that i am constantly being a bumbling buffoon and am the ceo of girlfailuring.

behind 16k of nonsense and bold-space-italics, i swear i am just deranged writer college student, cat mom, box wine enthusiast.

i will say, however, that it means a lot to me that you find me inspirational or that you look up to me in someway because...

sigh. okay. please be cool guys. i debated mentioning this for a long time because i am scared it will punish me in some way, but...

i am studying to become a teacher. :')

woAh! new uncle nina lore just dropped! shdkahldk

so if i seem exhausted all the time, that is why, and if i preach at you guys a little bit, its just what i am constantly doing haha. i also specialize specifically in the area of social emotional learning, aka the part of teaching that focuses on mental health, creating a safe environment in your classroom, advocating/addressing student social needs, making sure students feel loved/validated/heard, etc.

with that said! i would love to give you some tips! anything i can do to support you on your writing journey means so much to me! i'll drop some things i have found helpful under the cut! xx

THIS ASK IS VERY LONG AND MAKES NO SENSE AT ALL BUT I HOPE THAT IT HELPS EVEN A LITTLE BIT! <3

i thought i would begin by playing off the part of your ask where you felt inspired by willingness to take breaks and!!!! i love that actually because...it took me a very long time to get there.

and if anyone has followed me from the very beginning, you watched me learn how to become kind to myself and go from rushing and stressing and feeling horrible about myself to...letting myself relax.

so, my darling, i want to start by saying...

fanfic is funfic.

writing is not always easy, no, sometimes it is very hard, but it should always, always, always be fun.

writing is a hobby. it's something that we do to unwind, to make us happy, to share stories through a creative media, to capture thoughts, feelings and speak without using our physical voices.

it should never, ever feel like work. ever. ever, ever, EVER!

if it starts to feel like work or a chore, it's time to step away.

one of the worst crimes i fell victim to as a writer was...rushing. i was obsessed with getting out my updates fast and not falling 'behind' ( which was some invisible and impossible standard i set for myself ), so i started rushing my updates and found they got really...forced.

forcing out writing feels horrible and even if it is good writing ( which i'm sure yours will be regardless ) it takes the fun out of everything. like, i forced out OG chapters 11-12 of peppermint and literally deleted them because of how much i hated them BECAUSE i rushed! forced!

and the reason i was doing that, unfortunately, was because i was trying to keep you all engaged! i wanted to satisfy you all, i was scared of letting you down, that you would be upset with me etc.

and unfortunately, along the way, i stopped...writing for me.

now, it's easier said than done but...

Write. For. You.

this is your story. you are writing it because it means something to you. you are writing it because you are passionate about it. and yes, it is fun to share your stories online ( i have never felt blessed in my life than to have had my stories read by all of you ), you are not writing it for the people who are reading it/to satisfy the masses/get notoriety, you are writing it because it's something you love.

if people read it and like it too, that is an added bonus.

and those people, i have found, are some of the loveliest in the world and they will...wait for your content. however long that will take. be it tomorrow or never. you are under no obligation to post within a certain time frame or please other people. post when you want. post when you feel good. write when you feel good.

with that said...take your time, will you darling?

however much time that is. take it. be greedy with it.

take so, so many breaks. come back with fresh eyes.

learn from my mistakes. i got so holed up writing this summer that...quite frankly, it almost killed me. do not do that. see your friends, touch grass, make meaningful experiences outside of fanfiction and then come back in healthy shifts. do not marry your work or your computer. do not chain yourself to your desk, lovely.

another thing is that writing is rewriting.

always write a first draft. and a first draft is anything past a blank document. i like to write all my drafts in google docs first and then transfer them when i am ready to format. it just keeps them secure and i really just prefer the format and the fonts and stuff, haha.

you may be writing something and being like, yikes! this is foul! i should delete this whole thing!

doooooo not do that.

leave it alone. just write your weird little thing and when you come back later you might be like...woah, i was kind of being a dickhead? this is actually pretty good, wtf? ooooorr...you may still not like it but you can always salvage parts you do like...or be like hm i like the direction that this was going in, lets follow that.

when i was an english major, i specialized in editing, so my favorite thing is looking at my horrible draft and sentence by sentence just fixing every sentence until i like it. <3 its tedious, but i swear its fun when you're done and you're like wow this is neat!

also, be kind to yourself, yeah? you might think what you've written is 'bad'...never use that word, by the way. nothing you write is 'bad' its just not the way you want it to look...Yet. you might need to rework it or, honestly, you are probably just holding yourself to an impossible standard. take pride in the things that you write! you worked hard!

i. am. proud. of. you. <3

one of my favorite things to do is...really understand my characters.

my favorite comments about my fanfics are that people think that my characterizations of the boys are really good which, means a lot to me because characterization and detail is very important to me.

i think its fun to flesh your characters out!

to do this, i have a notebook dedicated to my fanfics! i take notes about character backstories, headcanons, write myself notes when i have random ideas! it helps keep me organized!

i also like to do these character forms...it helps me have a solid feeling about my characters, how they look, walk, talk, etc. i love, love, love detail so i fill those out pretty thoroughly

( which!!!! if you guys want to see me fill one out! just ask me and specify which character to do it for! i could totally do pep!stan or pep!kyle or rm!jerseykyle or...ok actually, if i do raven i have to be Very Careful because of the plot...so...maybe ask me in a couple chapters before i do one on him...which pains me because THATS THE ONE I WANT TO DO!!! LIKE MAN!!!...i can also do side chars

***also maybe let me know what sections you want just because they are long as fuck lmaoooo help haha )

answer as many questions about your characters as you can! think about what they smell like! what types of food gross them out! celebrity crushes! one thing they could change about themselves? hidden talents? ideal man/woman/person? birthmarks/scars, etc.

i think ones about character motivations/dreams/fears/insecurities are reaaaallly good ones to look at.

also just putting your characters in situations is fun ( its why i like when you guys ask me about headcanons or give me one shot requests because it helps me flesh my characters out! )

( also if you aren't sure! that's okay! go with your gut! you can always edit! or change stuff! like...i learned about marj while writing pep and i used chapter five as a way to transition butters into marj...i also...fml found out something very annoying that impacts a large part of the rm lore i wrote BEFORE IT RECENTLY HAPPENED and had to painstakingly readapt my fanfic...around this info...but! thats on Being Flexible, my friends! writing...is rewriting )

also for inspiration! idk play dress up! hit your closet or the thrift store and wear something your character might! method act. ( if you are writing stan do not drink like him, i have done enough of that in my life for all of you, you're welcome it fucking sucks )

i am cringe but i do run the clove essential oil writing ravenstan/i did make a fireball apple cider ( yes they are gross, yes im gross ), i washed my face with an aggressive peppermint face wash writing stan season, i write a lot of my kyle chapters in large sweaters and frown often haha...

ok...uh personal cringey sidebar convo...weirdly sometimes writing stan i wear a lot of big hoodies, flannels and i am like...boy...nina? boyfriend? nina? why do i kinda? like him? skhdsldhd help if u dont get a little confused about ur gender for a second writing your boy fanfics are u really in character or what lmaooo

( off topic, but to respond to that, i think i am very comfortable in my femininity and girlhood, i just occasionally have a slightly more masc fuckboy backwards hat, ahah then what ;) frat boy moment that i lean into, mostly in a gay girl way...does that make sense? help sdjs the best way i can describe it is this meme lmaoo )

anywaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays! moving on!

also reading your writing out loud! while weird! is very cathartic and it helps you check if dialogue sounds the way you want it! or if there is an accent you need to hear ( yall heard me do the jersey kyle accent to check pronounciation ) it helps you get more attuned with your writing and really get the feel for it. if you do not want to be a clown like me another thing you can do is highlight your whole piece an have your phone 'speak' it back to you...that way you can check spelling errors.

which...btw...spell with your heart. spell with a stanley marsh level of loveliness and possible illiteracy. it's ok. don't beat yourself up.

but more on characters! make pinterest boards! make playlists!!!! make them on piccrew! don't get obsessed but have fun!!!

( seriously though...do not worry about being too detailed. please be so detailed be so fucking insane. i love reading so much and your readers will too. but maybe i am a maximalist. i want to eat ur chars )

another thing i like a lot about writing is dialogue!!!! i LOOOOOVE dialogue so so so much!

i always write all my dialogue first and try not to write it on the fly because i like to use it as a way to mark my progress, keep me on track, help me remember what goes next, etc.

then fill in the blanks later! its good for plot pacing.

i get asked about believable dialogue sometimes and you really just have to look at how your character presents themselves and how they interact with your world...on a base level.

like i.e. you're new at school and you run into pep!style

stan is sweet and kind and popular and immediately very likable. he'll probably tell you your shirt looks cool/that he likes your hair, probably offer to carry your books and babble on and on about football, video games, marvel movies, cool dogs, nature etc. he's senior class president and gods angel so he'll look after you. he might hug you. he will also probably talk your ear off about kyle and how cool he is.

"woah! sick shirt dude! i love the smiths! i'm listening to them right now! but --ooooof. that's alooooot of books, man. oh god, is that -- ap...history? yiiiiikes, bro. i mean, no offense! it's cool you like learning stuff. kyle's like that. oh...kyle? ha, he's my super best friend! uh-huh, since kindergarten! you know, since you're smart you're probably in a ton of his classes. lucky. speaking of, you'll know him when you see him. he's really tall, he's got big curly red hair, lots of freckles, pr..pretty, s-soft hands and his eyes are really green, like, really, r-really green i mean wowz...ah-hah? my boyfriend? aaaaa, hahaa....no-no he's not my b-boyfriend, why would you--i sound like i'm in love with him? i-i well i do love him, just not like that...i mean, maybe a little mayb--let's get you to class, okay smart guy?"

HEEEEELP

kyle...rip. kyle would probably be like watch where the FUCK you're going new kid! fucking idiot! and then be like i...how do you know my name??? and be like ah, i see you met stan. if he likes you, you're probably alright...y-you have a CRUSH on him??? i mean, i get it...he is captain of the football team, has really big blue eyes, nice eyelashes, broad shoulders and is like smoooooking ho--IS HE MY BOYFRIEND???? UM! NO! he is--he is NOT my boyfriend! were JUST super best friends! pfft you...you asked because he talked about me...like i was his boyfriend? like he was in love with m--ah-hah...you-yknow! we're just close were just....whatdidhesayaboutme askhdlad

important to think about where they might use words like, uh, um, like etc. also things that might be specific to them. i have pep stan say wowza a lot because i think its cute. and that the boys say hyh all the time to eachother. making a lingo is a great way to form chats.

( for accents and stuff, i would just watch videos of people with those accents speaking...even using tiktok as a resource for slang people might use...saying stuff out loud...etc )

uhhhh what else?

BE WEIRD!!!! be so fucking strange and weird!!!!!! be so odd! if you're looking at your story and you're like oof...is this too weird? NO! make it weirder! make it so so mindboggling haha.

i remember i was writing rm and i was scared to post it because i was literally like...this is too weird. people are gonna think this is weird and too ooc and not like it but...

who are we writing for my friend?

YOURSELF!

who cares if its weird! who cares if one person or one hundred million people like your fic! we are publishing stories on the internet! that is already weird, so who cares????

write your truth. write whatever you want. if people dont like it. i seriously dont care. I LIKE IT. i like what you write.

but that does matter.

it matters that you like what you write. write for yourself. write because you love it. everything else is background noise.

do not be afraid to be selfish, to take care of yourself and write only when and what feels right to you.

you guys can also ask me more specific questions or have me beta read anything -- ask me about concepts you might want to write! my dms are open, i have a discord, my twitter...even on ao3! im happy to help and i hope any of this was feasible.

-teacher uncle nina

#this is such a mess #i hope any of this makes sense #basically #write for yourself and no one else #take risks and have confidence in what you write #take breaks and write without a schedule #do character forms make playlists pinterest boards hcs #method act if you need to #read your work back to yourself use voices if you want #its good for checking spelling and vibing with your writing #be cringe #write your stuff in a google doc then transfer to save your work #try dialogue first and then fill in the gaps #put your characters in diff situations #and see how they would talk and interact #see how that might differ character to character #and idk be weird #please be weird #do not be afraid to be strange or cringe or intense #i love and support yall being as insane as u want #also yeah uh please dont dox me that makes me seriously nervous i need a job u guys #i get paid actually zero dollars to write i write because i love it lmao #i get paid not that much more to teach but u know...box wine is not free and neither is therapy which i need often #but yeah whew teacher nina nation nina lore haha #ALSO NOT ME HAVING A GENDER MOMENT U GUYS #i luv being hyper fem y2k princess nina but also in bi girlie way i like being boyfriend nina who will carry u over puddles & wins beer pon #i think its funny when people run into me and they think im cute bc of my fit like oh my godddd #and then i roll up w my dead ass man voice and start being like shaka brah!!! bet!!! bet dude!!! you wont dude! no balls bro? ashdlkha #frat boy girl failure uncle nina nation who is up

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neutralgray · 8 months

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A Synthesized History: An Amateur Comparison of the Perspectives between the "Patriot's," the "People's," & The "True" History of the United States - Part 7

Full Essay Guide link: XX

(Patriot - Chapter 7 | People - Chapter 8 | True - Chapter 15)

The Mexican-American War: Manifest Destiny from Coast to Coast

Following Andrew Jackson's tenure in office, Martin Van Buren took the role of presidency but was then voted out after only one term. Despite being largely like Jackson in his political beliefs at that time, this demonstrated that the political landscape was uncertain and shifting following the wake of Jackson's largely corrupt and forceful administration.

Democrats and Whigs now played out the same two-party rivalry that characterized the Federalists vs Republicans. Unfortunately for the Whigs, they had less ideological unity. The Democrat political party was easier to rally because they had one purpose, as described by its conceptual founder, Van Buren-- maintain the role of power in the government. The one thing unifying the diverse body of political opinion for the Whigs was a shared disdain for Jacksonian political ruling.

Meanwhile, another powerful Christian revival swept through the nation. This spirit of Christian awakening was dubbed "The Second Great Awakening." During this period the Presbyterians, Mormons, and Congregationalists grew to prominent Christian practices. While there was still plenty of fire and brimstone to be offered in many congregations, new more "enlightened" ideas of spirituality took off. Leaders like Charles Grandison Finney encouraged expanding womens' roles in church groups, preaching using colloquial and approachable language, and praying for people by name. This indicated a desire for a more intimate religious experience over one of wrathful authoritarianism. Transcendentalists emphasized goodness in nature and humanity, and included influential writers and poets of the time, such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau.

Utopian ideals became common among this progressive new style of Christianity. Utopians varied between religious and secular groups, but the overall unity of this label is that these were people who believed in maintaining self-sustaining communities. These communities encouraged enlightenment through social, economic, or spiritual reform. This century is often considered a "golden age" for the American Utopian.

This was also a great period for American literature. Most popular writings were idealistic and romantic. Writers such as Emerson and Thoreau wrote influential poems and essays of the time. Great American novels such as Moby Dick and The Scarlet Letter were published. Books written for general entertainment were also popular, such as the works of James Fenimore Cooper. Cooper wrote ongoing colonial and native characters across multiple novels that were usually set in the American frontier. Works such as the autobiography, Life and Adventures of Colonel David Crockett of West Tennessee, also helped mythologize the view of American frontier life. Just as literature spread, so, too, did new ideas.

Abolition was a growing political position that demanded the abolishing of slavery. Abolitionists challenged the practice of slavery, which the United States had thus far done an excellent job not talking about. They demanded the immediate end of slavery, recognizing it for an evil so great that it called for a decisive and strong end without concern for the "political" or "economic" practicalities. These were human lives and abolitionists were tired of this issue being shelved again and again.

Abolition, unsurprisingly, ignited significant aggressive responses. It was a threat to a thriving industry with money to push and bounties to issue. Violent responses aimed at prominent abolitionists and their homes were committed (or encouraged/funded) by southern slaveowners and a general populace of people who toiled and strived to reach the wealth of slaveowners. That wealth was squeezed, however, during the 1837 financial panic.

With Jackson having crippled the Bank of the United States, general funds in the United States had no centralized support. Crops reduced in value, which gave smaller returns to farmers, who then often had to foreclose their property to smaller banks. Meanwhile, these smaller banks in Jacksonian states almost exclusively loaned finances to members of the leading political parties-- a blatant example of corruption. The industrial sector was also suffering heavy interest rates. People looking to expand and generate more profit during these financial issues turned west to the regions of Texas and California, which the United States had now been eyeing for some time.

William Henry Harrison was the next president, following Van Buren. The man would die a month into office, however, and his vice president, John C. Tyler would take the office. Tyler proved unpopular with Whigs due to disagreements in restoring the BUS and was voted out after one term. Next up for office of president was James K Polk. Just like his predecessors, he would only serve one term... but Polk's zeal for expansion west into Texas and California would clearly demonstrate that one term is enough to dramatically set a new direction in history.

Slaveowners were eager to expand their territories and plantations. Evangelicals following the zeal of the second "Great Awakening" wanted to expand the Protestant religion to the "unsaved" Native Americans. The president wanted to expand his country so the United States would finally touch from sea to shining sea. Luckily for the United States, the borders of Mexico were wide open for American immigration.

Mexico rebelled against the Spanish Empire and had become independent in 1821. Now independent, they opened their borders to newcomers. There was a catch, however-- to move into Mexico one had to agree to follow several key immigration laws:

If moving to Mexico, an immigrant had to agree to convert to Catholicism

Official deals and legal agreements had to be done in the Spanish language

Settlements were not allowed too close to the Mexican/American territorial borders

American immigrants had a secret weapon the Mexican government had not considered however: simply ignoring these rules. American settlers would come in large numbers, establish their own communities, and essentially ignore any demands of the Mexican government. Many of these immigrants also bought their slaves with them. Slavery was outlawed in Mexico in 1829 but just like all the other laws, American settlers simply ignored that one too. By 1830 there would be about 20000 American immigrants and 2000 slaves compared to the 5000 Mexican inhabitants in the Texas region.

Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón, or simply "Santa Anna," seized power and attempted to enforce the laws immigrants of Mexico had to follow. Santa Anna was highly authoritarian, but he was also populist and influential. This demand from Santa Anna sparked rebellion among pro-autonomous Federalists, which then led to the Texas Revolution, or the Texas War of Independence. By 1836, Texas founded its own small government, The "Republic of Texas" and even forged its own declaration of independence. It was essentially a microcosm of the United States... funded and encouraged by the United States. The small republic was given American funds, American arms (such as the new standard revolver), and American volunteers. It could potentially be described by the modern term "proxy war." Following their independence, Texas requested to formally join the United States.

Texas was initially rejected and continued to serve as a buffer between the United States' "Empire of Liberty" and Mexican territory. Debates about its potential inclusion revolved around its potential as a developing slave state, which was fiercely opposed by abolitionists. In John Tyler's last days of office, however, he developed a "joint annexation resolution," which did a lot of the heavy lifting in potentially absorbing Texas as a new territory. James Polk then became president, riding on a platform which promised the annexation of Texas and Oregon. The stage was set to absorb Texas, but as is obvious by Polk's campaign promise alone, he had larger aspirations than simply absorbing the new fledgling republic.

A border dispute among the Texas Republic and the Mexican government meant a section of land was now contested territory. The new Texas republic considered their border to be Rio Grande River, approximately 100 miles further south than where the Mexican government established the border. The Mexican government also considered the Texas land as legally still a part of their territory, but they were currently in no position to fight. The United States promised Texas they would support their claimed border territory, which really meant the U.S. was procuring the extra 100 miles of their own soon-to-be territory.

The U.S. and Mexico, up to this point, had only been in conflict indirectly through Texas. No major hostilities had directly taken place between the two, though this was about to change. The Mexican military did attack United States forces first, but it's certain that this was a very predictable outcome and something Polk was actively aiming for. The American government offered Mexico an insultingly low bid on the land to entice potential conflict, then ensured U.S. troops were placed in key areas around the borders and in contested areas of Mexico. Polk had also already suggested an open declaration of war to his cabinet before hostilities ever occurred.

Once Mexico had taken the bait and attacked a small force, Polk's "preparation" was suddenly justified. Using the age old political skill of blatantly lying, Polk claimed the Mexican army had invaded American soil and spilled American blood. Whigs and Democrats alike were in a frenzy, with overnight supporters. War was voted by congress. The House vote was 174 to 14. The Senate vote was 40 to 2.

Racist and religious rhetoric justifying the war was spread through newspapers, columns, and magazines. The term "manifest destiny" appeared in a democratic publication written by John Sullivan which discussed the push into Mexican territory. It came to be understood as a belief in the United States' destiny to spread from coast to coast and continue growing its fabled "empire of liberty." It was nothing more than a romanticized term for imperialism.

The United States waged aggressive warfare. Multiple forces with multiple points of attack were utilized to break the Mexican hold on its territories. U.S. forces occupied Mexican lands and faced many rebellions from the people, but these rebellions were always crushed. Cities like Santa Fe were taken without battle. Other cities had entire blocks leveled by cannon shells and bombs, killing both civilians and combatants. In California, American insurgents would disrupt and raid Spanish settlements while declaring that California was "free." This was known as the Bear Flag Revolt, and appeared eerily similar to the strategies in Texas. Eventually Mexico City, the Mexican capital, fell and was occupied by a seaborne invasion led by general Winfield Scott.

With Mexico defeated, they were forced to the negotiating table to sign the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. With the treaty signed, Mexico gave up their claim to virtually all territory north of Texas and to accept Texas' further southern border. In exchange, any debt Mexico owed the United States was erased and they were paid $15 million for the affair. Because of the "good grace" of payment the American government offered the Mexican government, one paper concluded that "we take nothing by conquest, thank God."

Oregon was also acquired during this time. Oregon was a territory jointly controlled by the United States and England. It was a mutual agreement, but the United States made it clear that they were willing to fight for total control. At this time the border of Oregon stretched to the southern border of Alaska. Compromises were made and the modern border between British Columbia and Washington (state) was established.

The territories of Texas, California, New Mexico, and Arizona were now under the control of the United States. Mexico's territorial claims were the last obstacle in the way of the United States stretching from the east coast to the west-- "manifest destiny" in action.

Sentiment about the war among the "common people" is disputed. Zinn notes that several historians use prominent news print at the time as indicative of general support, but most major publishers were in the pockets of major party supporters. Other papers openly opposed the war. Volunteers among the general populace were initially high at the start of the war, but with volunteer signup quickly dropping off despite propaganda and rewarding promises by the American government. Diaries of many soldiers during the occupation suggest quick and drastic changes of opinion among troops, many of whom felt the United States simply had no business being in Mexican territory. Other prominent voices suggested the war keep going, however. Some people believed entirely in "manifest destiny" (imperialism), believing the United States had a rightful claim to ALL Mexican territory. Still, some voices opposed the war simply because they could not stomach the idea of the United States absorbing a large populace of brown-skinned Catholics. Senators like John Calhoun of South Carolina even outright stated once that "ours is the government of the white man."

So who really won the Mexican-American war? Certainly not the people of Mexico. So then could this be considered a victory for the American people? A select few, maybe. The real winners were slavers and land speculators that moved into the territories after the war and laid claim to any new land that may be valuable. The rich and powerful once again used their wealth to establish new revenue streams to be even richer-- a repeating theme.

Texas became a slave state in 1845.

Final thoughts:

I think this is by far the most opinionated I've come across in my writing tone thus far. It's becoming more difficult to tolerate or accept the repeated violence as simply an artifact of history. The ink may be dry but how many times is the text going to tell the same story? American forces wage war, force negotiation, and then many find a nice blanket of justification to wrap themselves in. Manifest destiny, indeed.

I know many would likely argue "all" of history is like that, but I will not use the immorality and atrocities committed by other countries to somehow excuse the evil often done by the American government in the name of their glorious democratic empire. Call me naive, but imperialism committed by anyone is bad. The United States has thus far, at this point i history, quickly developed a talent for mythologizing their own rebellious spirit while crushing and inciting rebellion to strategically and brutally carve out their expanding borders. Not to mention that American imperialism was wed to a strong sense of capitalism, with generation of wealth being seen as an ultimate virtue.

For the text itself, I was surprised that all three clearly supported that Polk deliberately set Mexico up to attack U.S. forces to trigger a war he all but openly wanted. Even the more conservative voice among the three texts in question supported this was the real cause for the war. Due to the bait trap, it seems like it would be easy to argue for the justification of the war. I'm glad none did.

I did find it odd that Zinn, in A People's History, criticized other historians for suggesting support for the war was high by citing papers and magazines while doing the same to suggest it wasn't. It struck me as oddly hypocritical, but rationalized that it's likely to demonstrate a point made early on in this series of essays-- history is best known by those who lived through it. The war was likely a mixed bag of support, opposition, and neutrality. This is much the same as any modern political conflict.

Schweikart and Allen sometimes write with too much "hot air" in A Patriot's History, focusing on minuscule details that I think bog down the clarity of events as they come to pass. Perhaps this is part of the point, though-- history is not a clean and organized affair. Even writing these narrative essays, I do my best to present things in a fairly concise order but I'll have to fill in missed details retroactively to provide context for new things, or events will occur simultaneously but need to written about separately to be concise.

Sjursen's approach in A True History continues to be quick and snappy but with all the vital information being easily digestible. I am shocked, however, that for a book with the secondary title Indigenous Genocide, Racialized Slavery, Hyper-Capitalism, Militarist Imperialism, and Other Overlooked Aspects of American Exceptionalism, his voice is often more optimistic than Howard Zinn, who calls into question even the untouchable "saints" of American history more often than Sjursen seems to dare.

On a personal note, I enjoyed writing on the subject of American literature in this essay because it's a subject I actually knew a little about before starting this history journey for myself. I remember learning about American literature movements and periods in high school. The optimistic and hopeful "romantic" period really appealed to the soft cynic in me. It was an important time for American words of art. The romantic period, however, would soon end. Even the brightest of optimists and humanitarians could not continue to write about the wonder and goodness of human nature following the bleak and miserable shadow soon to be cast over American life by the Civil War.

#James K Polk #History #American History #A Synthesized History #A True History #A Patriot's History #A People's History #Michael Allen #Larry Schweikart #Howard Zinn #Daniel A Sjursen #Essay #Political essay

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hauntedsharkstrawberry · 1 year

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virtuous Hurons, allied with the French, and the vicious Iroquois, who attacked the French colonies. This dualistic perspective on the native North American peoples was picked up and perpetuated by nineteenthcentury historians.

French-language Histories in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries The second and third historiographical categories include studies of New France during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries published in France or in North America. These works were written by a wide assortment of authors, including secular French Canadians, Jesuits and other priests, as well as anglophone North Americans. In the French-language, to begin with, the influential writers included François-Xavier Garneau (1809–66), Benjamin Sulte (1841–1923), Jean-Baptiste-Antoine Ferland (1805–65), Étienne-Michel Faillon (ca.1799–1870) and Camille de Rochemonteix (1834–1923). François-Xavier Garneau, born in Lower Canada (now part of Quebec), was a French-Canadian nationalist. His Histoire du Canada depuis sa découverte jusqu’à nos jours was first published in 1845.34 In it, he argued that the Jesuit missions had retarded the development of the colony and nineteenth-century liberalism. His anti-clerical attitude provoked proclerical reproaches from conservative francophone readers. Although he regarded Charlevoix as the best early historian of Canada because of his exact and minute descriptions as well as his simple and natural style, he considered Charlevoix’s ecclesiastical view of the colony outdated and irrelevant for contemporary readers living under British rule. Garneau dismissed missionary enterprises and experiences. He also neglected the native population, to whom the Jesuits had preached.35 Another secular francophone author was Benjamin Sulte, whose extensive publications included his Histoire des Canadiens-français, 34 Garneau, Histoire du Canada depuis sa découverte jusqu’à nos jours (1845, 4e éd., 4 tomes., Montréal: Beauchemin & Valois, 1882). The first edition of 1845 in three volumes was enlarged to four volumes as the second edition in 1852. The third edition was published finally as a complete set in 1859, and was further enlarged as the fourth edition in 1882. An English edition is available as History of Canada, from the Time of Its Discovery till the Union Year 1840–41 (trans. of rev. 1859 ed. by Andrew Bell, 2 vols., Montréal: John Lovell, 1862). 35 Garneau, History of Canada, vol. I, xx–xxi; Histoire du Canada, vol. I, vi–viii.

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stephspurs · 3 years

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A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

here is the second last part besties wahhh I'm so sad its coming to an end!! I'm also so sorry about this part, it'll break a few hearts :'( Love always, Steph xx

Part 11 | parte undicesima

warnings; heartbreak, swearing & angst - i'm sorry in advance. word count; 2185 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. final update; Wednesday 18/08 5pm AEST. tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

A few days had passed since the Villa match and Amelia had heard from Jack when he returned to Birmingham. He sent her a simple text to let her know he made it home. That’s it. The two went from previously not going more than 24 hours between FaceTimes or calls or memes to a simple made it home a few hours ago, thanks for a good time x.

No “speak soon”, no promise of a FaceTime , no double kiss at the end of the text that would have typically been there otherwise. If anything, she was more mad that he made her feel like a side piece; like one of his instagram girls that she knew he entertained throughout the week. Amelia knew that she, for lack of better terms, fucked up. She fucked up their friendship, and was praying to all of the Gods that would listen to help her not fuck things up with Ben, too. However, the fact that she didn’t go to church as often as she should have is probably the reason that Ben refused to make eye contact with the girl. It was either that or…he already knew.

“Benj, hey, wait up.” She called as he walked out to his car after a particularly long day at Cobham.

“Don’t call me Benj,” he coldly stated without turning around, continuing his stride.

“Okay fine, Chilly. Wait up will you!”

“Don’t call me Chilly either, that's reserved for friends.”

“Okay, if I can’t call you Benj, or Chilly, what can I call you?”

“The best mate of the guy you fucked multiple times on Saturday night” He spat out at her, as he finally turned around, ready to see the shocked look cast over Amelia’s face as she stood a couple feet away from him. He wasn’t expecting to see Mason at his car, just across the way or Jorgi at his, a few cars down. But they were there and it didn’t matter; they were going to find out sooner or later, anyway.

“He told you.”

“He told the group chat, Amelia. The fucking group chat! How does that make you feel? He’s already bragging about it. Your bed isn't even cold yet! It probably doesn’t bother you that much though - you’re just like him.”

“He fucked you when he knew exactly how I felt about you, having gone to him for advice as to how to apologise to you. I called him on Friday after I left your house and gushed to him like a bloody little girl because I was so happy you forgave me, and that we had kissed. And then, just like that, you let him weasel his way between your legs.”

“I know I should be taking this out on him, and I will don’t worry, but you knew what you were doing also. You knew exactly how I felt about you. I was ready to commit to you that night and you said you wanted to be friends, that you needed time to heal or whatever. So I hope you’re happy and are healing, because I take it all back.” With that, Ben turned around and got in his car, driving away from the girl who felt remorse worse than she ever has in her life.

Witnessing the whole exchange, Jorgi gave Mason a nod to say “go check on Ben, I’ll look after Amelia” and walked up to the girl from behind. Without scaring her, he firmly grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her to his chest where she let go of all of the emotions she had been keeping inside. With every stab of the knife that was Ben’s words, she felt herself becoming more vulnerable and exposed than ever before. She refused to let him see her cry. That wasn’t something she was willing to let anyone see; she didn’t realise all she had been holding together until she no longer had to, until she had the physical support of Jorgi holding her up in the middle of the training ground car park.

Ushering her to his car - she could collect her own another day - Jorgi put her inside before any other first team members - or worse, staff members - could see the distraught girl and drove them both back to her place where he spent the rest of the evening comforting the girl and letting her know she wasn’t alone. He had even made a desperate call to Fede, asking for advice on how to cheer the girl up. Of course, her Italian ex-lover had been worried the moment his national teammate had told him that the girl was inconsolable and was just about ready to board a flight to her, but Jorgi had calmed him down too. Fede’s advice of coffee, warm pyjamas and clean sheets had done the trick of putting the girl to sleep for the night.

The next few days had come and gone, and the two heartbroken almost-lovers were back to the beginning - Ben ignoring Amelia and Amelia trying to get Ben in a room. But it wasn’t to be. Towards the end of the week, Amelia had received a phone call from Mr Mancini, formally inviting her back to the Italian National Team staff for the upcoming friendly matches and preparation for the 2022 World Cup. Without any hesitation, she accepted her role and began to prepare the necessary procedures that would need to be implemented or maintained during her time away with the Italian side.

Sharing the news with her fellow Italians, Jorgi and Emerson, she decided that she wanted to be the one to tell Ben. She wanted him to know, whether he cared or not, that she wasn’t running away from him and that she would see him soon.

“Chilwell, please stay behind after the session.” She decided it was best if she requested it in the company of the rest of the first team and also the staff members. She was being selfish but she didn’t want him to run away from her again.

He remained sat in his seat as the rest of the team and professional staff left for the evening. Arms crossed, slouched down, looking at everything else in the room but the girl who was nervously wringing her hands together.

“I’m leaving for international duties tomorrow morning.” With that sentence, he stopped tapping his left leg and looking at the cornice details. Instead, his attention was focused on her.

“But we don’t break up for internationals for another week.”

“I know, but Mancini has requested I come earlier to settle back into things over there.”

“It’s only an hour flight away, how difficult could it be?”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me go.”

Silence. Ben didn’t have an answer for her. Of course he didn’t want to see her around Cobham on the day-to-day basis they currently had to endure, but that doesn’t mean he wants her to go back to Italy. Even if it was only for a couple of weeks. Especially if it meant she was around Fede again.

“Well, much to your dismay I'll be back here in 3 weeks. And, Italy are playing England in the last friendly match of the break.”

With a slight nod of his head, Amelia presumed that their conversation was done with. She turned to gather her paperwork and heard the chairs behind her move, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. She sighed into her hands. How did she let this happen? She preached to Ben how much she didn’t want to be selfish with his heart, and that's exactly what she did. But hey, it takes two to tango. Deciding there was no time like the present, she dialed the contact that once made her smirk but instead only made her furious to look at.

“Amelia, hey, how are you? Sorry it’s been a hectic couple of weeks.”

“Cut the crap Jack, you never intended to keep this friendship after you got what you were after.”

“Excuse me? You wanted it just as bad as I did.”

“You’re right about that, I thought I wanted it. Now, though, all I feel is regret. You know Jack, I knew from the moment we met that you were just my type, the kind that only calls me late at night. I knew a guy like you, and he treated me more or less the same. I gave myself to him, over and over for the better part of 3 years, and it was only when I left that he decided I might have been worth it... worth him.”

“But not you, you couldn’t help but run to your group chat and brag about your latest conquest, about how you made me feel wanted, only to rip it all out from under me the next morning and every day since. Honestly Jack, I think it's time you grew up a little. For Ben to confide in you how he was feeling and for you to just have blatant disregard for your so-called best mate. I can’t believe you would stoop so low. I know I'm in the wrong here too, but you are his best mate for crying out loud! How could you do this to him?”

“I don’t even want to hear what you have to say, I just needed to get that off my chest. Lose my number Jack, find some other hopeless girl that you can lure in with your foolish words and sweet nothings because I’m done. I’m done with whatever this was to you.”

______________________________________________________________

“You’re probably not going to believe me, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you here,” I heard from behind me, spinning around on my heels to see the ever-charming, boyish grin I used to love with my whole heart. This time, it's a different kind of love - it's an unconditional love shared between two people that are glad to exist together in the same crazy world.

“Federico, amore mio.” (Federico, my love) I stood up from my place on the bench at the Technical Headquarters and Training Ground of the Italian Football Federation, bringing the taller, heavily tattooed man into my arms. A gentle rock from him, side to side, to let me know that he can feel the weight of my moral compass.

“Vieni, cammina con me” (come, walk with me) He looped our arms together, and we strolled around the perimeter of the pitch that I was using to visualise my plays for the upcoming games. By the time we made it to the first set of goals, Fede had had enough of letting me mull over my own thoughts.

“Tesoro, Jorgi called one night a couple weeks ago. As smart as he is, it turns out he is hopeless at calming down an emotional female. While I'm not proud of knowing exactly how to calm you down, being that it was more often than not my fault you were inconsolable in the first place, I had to get some information out of him as to who upset my favourite girl in all of England.”

So I launched into the story, telling him everything from Mykonos to that fateful night a few weeks ago. Fede being Fede, he wanted to know everything, but I stopped just short of letting him know how many times Jack took me to paradise (much to his dismay). By the time I had wrapped up, we must have walked the pitch at least 3 times in its entirety, before retiring to the centre circle where we sat on opposite sides of the half way line staring at each other.

“I’m sorry that I ruined you for any other man,” Fede spoke solemnly.

“Fede, no - it was my stupid mistake to sleep with Jack.”

“No, let me finish amore. I’m sorry that I made you love me so deeply, and convinced you that the way I treated you was the right way, that the way I was with you was what you expect in every man to come after me. This Jack, he sounds just like me about 5 years ago - before I met you. But Ben, he sounds like the man I am trying to better myself to be, to be the man that deserves the kind of love you have to give.”

“I want you to listen to me. You need to fight for Ben. From what I have heard from both yourself and Jorgi-”

“That boy cannot keep his mouth shut to save himself,” I muttered under my breath.

“Amelia, you have a heart that deserves to be loved. Open yourself up to Ben. Tell him how you feel. From experience, you are very hard to ignore when you’re so vulnerable. Be honest with him, apologise, make him feel wanted, not like a second choice. Let him know how much you care for him, and equally how much you want him to care for you. He will see your sincerity and realise just how truly irresistible you are.”

Part 12. | la parte finale

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therealjammy · 3 years

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The Lady of Half-Death

Hi, hello, posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, in case you don’t feel like venturing to Ao3.

This work’s alternate title: “Lucky One”

Content Warnings: Very NSFW, a brief but graphic depiction of violence. (This work is meant for 18+ only!)

It’s also told in first person POV, the Forbidden Perspective, so sorry if that’s not your jam.... Thank you for reading xx

November, 1937

On a bitter November day, early in the morning, I was roused by the tinkling of the bell hanging beside my bed. Being Mother Miranda’s most competent servant, I was long used to a summons during the small hours of the dark. She was night’s creature, bent over her studies and her subjects until a bitter sun lit the sky, almost unaware of time’s passage, while her servants kept in perfect time with every striking hour. I splashed sleep from my features with bitterly cold water from the basin on my dresser and wrapped myself in my warmest robe. I lit a candelabra, savoring its small warmth as I donned my silver mask. It had frightened me at first, how the servants wore these metal things elongated into an elegantly startling bird’s beak, but when serving the Lady of Ravens, one had to know to whom they pledged their loyalty, both inside and outside the house’s grounds. Though the metal was light, it still made one’s head ache after only a few minutes of wear, and was a constant irritation after many hours. But like a pain that was more a nuisance than anything, it was easily set aside.

I walked quickly through dark hallways and creaking staircases, passing through rooms whose furniture was covered in sheets and rooms whose contents were not. Each was quiet as the long-dead.

The doors to the laboratory opened on soundless hinges. Inside, there was only a spotlight on the latest occupied table and the stoic figure of Mother Miranda leaning over it, her hands coated in deep crimson, her subject unmoving. Her face was drawn into a deep, displeasured frown.

“What may I bring you, ma’am?” I asked carefully.

“Tea, Trudy,” replied Mother Miranda. By the ancient tiredness in her voice, I knew the kind I ought to fetch.

Staying true to her grief, Mother Miranda had a fondness for black tea, steeped for five minutes to be strong, made stronger with a dollop of Sanguis Virginis, a sweet but robust red wine made by Lady Dimitrescu. She kept the largest bottle for herself, but sent a smaller one to Mother Miranda every winter. The bottle was red and adorned with golden flowers crawling up its sides.

By the time I brought the fresh tea to her, Mother Miranda’s hands were washed of blood, and the subject on the table was covered with a white sheet, slowly turning scarlet. I set the teacup and candelabra beside her and gave a professional distance.

“The nature of science,” Mother Miranda said, picking up the teacup, “is to fail again and again.” She held it delicately. There was rage underneath that delicacy. “Every vessel thus far has been unfit, even if it’s accepted the Cadou, and with each unfit one I feel as if I am losing her more.”

“You might feel like Tantalus, ma’am,” I said after a pause, “with your goals evading your grasp, but I rather think you must be like Orpheus.”

“Attempt until death,” she murmured. “Yes, child, I believe you’re right.” A long sip of tea. Underneath her golden mask, her pink lips turned a deep red. She set the cup gently in its saucer and rose from her chair, black robes shuffling quietly. “Come. Let us begin anew.”

I lifted the mutilated subject from the table, wrapping the sheet about her carefully, and carried her fresh limpness to the courtyard with the others. Her cooling blood seeped from the sheet and onto my robes, and it dripped onto the bricks and my feet, leaving a sticky trail. It was cloying, but it was a sweet perfume compared to the rich decay that wafted from the courtyard’s cold soil. In the dark, I saw there was already a space made for her. I lay her carefully in it. A good sacrifice deserved gentleness once the deed was done, after all. In that sense, I was more merciful than Mother Miranda. Once a body was no longer of use, she would carry it out herself and toss them hastily aside, for only one body mattered above the rest.

“In life and in death,” I said over the grave, “we give glory to Mother Miranda.”

I sprinkled a handful of dirt over the covered girl and left her to the bitter, near-winter air.

Inside again, I scrubbed the table twice with soapy water and dried it thoroughly. I lit more candles, placing them around the table’s edges, away from the notes that Mother Miranda spread across the surface. While she organized them, I brewed another pot of tea, bringing it and the gifted bottle of Sanguis Virginis with me. When I had poured my own cup, Mother Miranda gestured to the wine. Pour that in, too. I obeyed without question. Grey eyes watched me drink, unchanging even when I made no face at the taste of wine and blood mixing with strong black tea. I’d learned long ago that reactions caused reactions. I remained impassive, though my stomach still curdled and rebelled at the taste of the sinful wine. To the others—Mother Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu— the wine was a sweet and prized possession. If ever it was sold, it would be incredibly expensive.

I brought a chair and perched myself next to Mother Miranda. It was always a thrill to be at her side, to study her volumes of notes and drawings and glimpse the way her mind worked. But more than that, I cherished the nights like this, when it was only the two of us. I enjoyed her company. I desired more of it, because I desired her. At times I believed she knew this, but then she would dismiss me so easily, brush by without a care, and I’d question if she knew at all.

Attraction, I reminded myself, was a science, too, and like an experiment gone horribly wrong, it was best if one didn’t share the results.

I cleared my throat and straightened in my chair. “We should begin where this one failed,” I said. “Pinpoint a reason, compare it to the rest.”

We pored over notes for hours, comparing observations, Mother Miranda writing furiously in her looping scrawl underneath a page titled Quinn. The candles burned low, and the sky lightened outside the laboratory’s several windows, revealing a cold, white-filled dawn.

“The conclusion is painfully obvious,” Mother Miranda sighed at last, pushing her nearly empty teacup aside. It’d turned cold hours ago. “I must find a truly unique vessel. The village is rotting with diluted blood and therefore cannot be used again. Three of the Lords—those children!—were ones I found outside. Diluted in other ways, perhaps, but strong enough.”

“Yet you declared them all unfit,” I remarked.

“Because they were too much,” Mother Miranda said stiffly, “and the rest have been too little. They served their miserable purpose and now I must find yet another clean slate! And to think I’d chosen so carefully…” A hand curled into a fist, clenched improperly due to taloned fingertips.

“Send me to the field, Mother Miranda,” I said. “I will search for you.” But it was the wrong thing to say, for her other hand darted quickly out and knocked her teacup and saucer from the table. They shattered on the floor, black-red tea pooling around their remains.

“Do not be dim, child; it cannot be done by you. It must be me.” She paused for a long moment, coming back to herself with a single, sharp shake of her head. “Please,” Mother Miranda said around a breath, “forgive my outburst.” She moved smoothly to the shattered teacup just as I did. We knelt out of time but reached for the same piece, her gold-plated fingers brushing my bare ones, sending a brief, hot shock through my being that ended in my chest.

“You need never ask my forgiveness, Mother Miranda,” I said, slowly withdrawing my hand and reaching for a different piece. “A woman in grief doesn’t know her own actions.” And it was her grief, I thought then, that made my heart ache for her. That made everyone’s hearts ache for her. Mother lost a child, they’d say. No greater tragedy exists. We must be kind.

“Grief is some people’s undoing,” Mother Miranda said. She had stopped picking up shards of teacup, a few pieces cradled in a hand. Her gaze was on the puddle of bloody, wine-soaked tea. “It festers like a splinter left in too long, or a piece of metal unable to be dislodged, and it consumes, until its host perishes with it. I’ve known it for many stretches, but rather than give myself to despair, I have chosen determination; for the parasite cannot fully live while its host fights it. So fight I must.”

Her face was a pale reflection on the tea’s surface.

II.

The next morning, a snowy one, Mother Miranda went for a walk. In her absence, her rule passed to me, and then to the Head Housemaid Vera, a stout older woman who kept the other servants in strict line. I was, however, only consulted for advice or for orders. Other than that, I was blessedly alone, a spectre haunting the laboratory while I organized Mother Miranda’s notes and gave into my own musings, letting my mind take up the cluttered space. Many things ran through it: thoughts of my former life, of the people I’d once seen and never would again, and if I followed that line, I knew exactly how I’d come to be here. Sitting alone in a tepid laboratory, surrounded by paper, rotting with attraction.

It’d been there from the beginning, for there was always attraction to a leader, and many reasons behind it. People were attracted to safety and to comfort, to promises and protection, but highest of all, a deity that preached all the above. People backed off their words more often than they gave in to them, but a deity never would; their word was given and kept. It was learned, it was ingrained, and so like everyone else, I held that same attraction. I gazed upon the same likenesses of Mother Miranda and prayed for protection, for strength. I prayed to one day work for her—the highest blessing of all!—and that prayer was answered. She came to my door in all her godly glory and the paintings held no candle to her real beauty.

The attraction molted once I’d begun to work for her properly. She was aloof and cruel and methodical, but there was talent and beauty, too, and soon enough I began to realize there was a person underneath the deity. And it was the person whom I thought of, now, wondering where her walk was taking her, who she was talking to, what she was thinking. I imagined her underneath a cold white sky, ashy flakes of snow sticking to her black robes and veil, the harsh, mountainous landscape reflecting her own desolation back at her.

I thought, as I filed the last of the notes away, that I would make her return easier. Oftentimes her walks changed her mood; one never knew the sort she’d bear when she walked through the doors. It could be the silent sort of rage, during which she’d seal the doors of her laboratory shut and refuse to emerge for days, or the one where she’d return with a deadly ice in her eyes and drag the nearest servant by the wrist to her chambers. Sometimes they’d be alive and shuffle from the room with their clothes barely on; other times there was an unfortunate mess to clear away.

During my luncheon, I called Vera to me and ordered the most frequented rooms be given a thorough cleaning, excluding the laboratory and Mother Miranda’s bathroom.

“And her dinner?” asked Vera, once she’d given the orders to four maids. “Something comforting, I assume, as the latest loss is still ripe in the courtyard.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “A shepherd’s pie with marmite in the gravy, and the bottle of Sanguis Virginis.”

“Very good, Miss Bevan.” Vera bowed her head and left.

I went over the bathroom myself, being careful to put every object in its proper place. I drew a bath, the water unbearably hot, but by the time Mother Miranda returned, it would be perfect.

I loitered for a long while in the bathroom’s silence, sat on the chessboard floor, gazing out the window to the snow-covered hills, the occasional drip, drip of the tub’s taps serenading me into a trance, filled with visions of blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and impeccable hands.

I wasn’t the first to think of her in this light. Far from it. Worship came in many forms, after all, and many people fell to this one. Except mine was to the woman I knew, not to the idol emblazoned on a shrine dangling from a peeling wall.

Unable to think of nothing but the bathroom’s suddenly stifling heat and the absent Mother Miranda, I left, unaware of where I was going until I collapsed on the chair I’d occupied earlier, everything about me aching for someone who saw me only as a servant in high regard—but a servant nonetheless. The fact, I thought, unbuttoning my uniform enough to feel cool air caress my chest, made me desire her all the more.

I propped a shoed foot on the seat’s corner to give myself better access and began my pleasure gently, my head falling against the back of the chair once the rhythm was established, my free hand indecisive on where it wanted to stay—a breast, the chair’s edge, the table; at least until my mind offered me a vision of Mother Miranda ordering me, from between my thighs, to keep it planted firmly on the chair’s edge. There it stayed while my other moved, and behind my closed eyes I saw a skilled tongue working me up, teasing, licking slowly as if to claim ownership to even that part of me; I saw intense eyes meeting my own, telling me to give myself over; in my mind I whispered my glory to her. I twitched erratically, my movements almost clumsy; a few moments more and I’d be tumbling into the blissful void—or would have, had I not heard the door open and the familiar, near-silent movement of the woman living in my head.

The silence that beat between us lasted only a moment and yet it felt like centuries. Mother Miranda’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits, and before I could manage to stumble out an explanation, she strode to me in five heavy steps.

“You dare defile this space with your musings?” Mother Miranda hissed, her grip on my wrist vicelike. “Do you not know how ill I find this gesture? How ill it makes me to think you care naught for the meaning of this room?” Claws slashed at my cheek, the first sting of it only surprise at first; it burned when I realized she’d cut flesh. I felt blood welling, but I could not bring a hand up to staunch its flow. Nor could I staunch the fresh wave of heat that pooled in my core at Mother Miranda’s fury. Cold eyes darted from my still-wet hand to my face. Mother Miranda scoffed, roughly releasing my wrist. “Attraction is a damned wicked creature,” she said. “It morphs perspective and thought. It makes one act rashly, makes one believe they’re subtle. You think I’ve not seen your lingering gazes, child? How you bask in my company the way you would underneath the sun? How you are afraid of my rage but it arouses you all the same?” She chuckled lightly, dragging gold-tipped fingers over my cheek, the metal blessedly cool against my heated skin. Having spent so much time in close quarters with this woman, I was no longer terrified by the talons. Their scraping made the coil in my belly curl tighter, and if she were to slip bare fingers against me, she would find me all too ready for her. I met her eyes with a steely look of my own, hoping she wouldn’t see shame, but Mother Miranda was wise in ways I couldn’t fathom. She saw through people as if they were cheesecloth.

She hummed, fingers roving lower, tracing my pulse hammering in my throat. “Is there any shame about you, Trudy? I should think so, as you are not my equal.” Moving lower still, to the buttons I hadn’t undone, hovering like she wished to tear them—and perhaps she did, for her hand gave a small twitch. “I am higher than you will ever be, yet you stand here, gazing at me so defiantly, trembling with your want of me… Do you think it will make you rise to my level?”

Her words were fog clouding the forests of my brain. I could think of nothing but how I wanted to serve her, to fall to my knees and pledge fealty, even if it was sworn with her hand guiding my mouth between her thighs. I said, “No, Mother Miranda.”

“No, indeed. But,” a taloned thumb slid over my lower lip, “it’ll bring me pleasure to see you try.”

When she kissed me, it was with a slowness that one could believe was care, but I sensed the possession. I opened my mouth to it, leaned into it, every nerve alight at the thrill of kissing someone I had once dreamed of serving under. Her hands drew me close to her, splaying across my back, bunching up my uniform, and her kisses became rougher, filled with need. I met every one with a need of my own, my shaking fingers undoing the rest of the buttons down my front. The movement caught Mother Miranda’s eye; she pulled back, her gaze intense, the color high in her cheeks, watching intently as the top half of my uniform parted and revealed bare skin. She reached out, two fingers gliding smoothly over my collarbones, my sternum, tracing the swell of a breast; gooseflesh rose in the touches’ wake, and my breathing trembled.

“You are practically untouched,” Mother Miranda said quietly. There was, to her, no greater sin than a specimen that remained unstudied and uncatalogued.

“Only practically, Mother Miranda,” I returned.

She leaned down, burying her face against my bloodied neck. Lips pressed softly, tongue lapping slowly— tasting me. “Have you not known love?” she said. “Or devotion?”

“Fleetingly.” There was the blacksmith, Cristian, in whose strong arms I felt safe. There was Tatiana, who made me feel at peace even after our desperate acts. But with this life, they were fleeting. To serve one of the Lords or Mother Miranda herself, it was until death. “The only devotion I know,” I continued, my voice growing thinner the lower her mouth travelled, “is to you.”

Mother Miranda hummed against my chest. “You worshipped well, then, Trudy,” she said, rising, taking my chin between two fingers and tilting my face up to hers, “but what of now? How shall you prove your worth to me?”

I grasped her unoccupied hand and pressed it against my breast, holding it there. I wanted her to feel it, to feel my heart underneath it, to know she could reach in and take it because I offered it to her. “Take what you will,” I said.

What was left of her resolve crumbled. Mother Miranda swept me into her arms with a low growl, lifting me as easily as she would a child and setting me hastily onto the table we’d cleaned the night before. Impatient fingers worked the rest of my clothes away. She tossed them aside and pressed me into the cold wood, impossibly dark eyes drinking me in, lingering on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. Places I hoped she would kiss. Places she did, in that order, her mouth untamed, leaving harsh love-marks behind. Throughout that act, she didn’t once touch me; I was strung so tightly that even one finger tracing me would’ve been my undoing. It was a sort of torturous study, I realized, clamping my tongue between my teeth when it nearly made me beg for release; she was seeing me as a case, testing my own resolve. How long could she make me wait before I begged forgiveness? Time ceased to exist. I could not tell how long she made me hang.

When she finally did touch me, I was relieved. Instead of a sigh, a long whimper escaped my mouth. Mother Miranda groaned in response, her fingers twitching and pausing against me, surprised at the slick want they found. Her second touch was heavier, more confident. My hands couldn’t help but cling to the back of her neck, which was covered by a thick cotton veil. I realized I’d touched her without her consent, but when I made to pull away, her free hand came to rest over both of mine, and together we slid the veil from her head.

Blonde hair, a darker gold in the dim light of the laboratory, fanned around her face, gracing my bare forearms, soft as silk. Without the veil, it was tantamount to seeing her naked.

“Cling to me,” Mother Miranda breathed.

It was as much permission as I was going to receive.

I buried my hands in her hair and leaned up to kiss her. I accepted her tongue when it slipped between my teeth. I opened for her when, at last, she slid fingers inside me.

And when she truly took me, she devoured me, sprinkling evidence of her use across any expanse of skin she could reach, uncaring if teeth dug in too much, if my back was rubbed raw from the wooden table, if her golden talons left angry scratches. I clung harshly to her during my crisis, my cries only winding her further, for when I was barely limp, she withdrew entirely and carried me to her own chamber. Deposited on her bed, I watched through bliss-filled eyes as she undressed.

Black robes pooled at her feet. In the blue-white moonlight, she was harshly ethereal. Everything about her seemed to glow, including her eyes. And sprouting from her back were five pairs of midnight wings. I wanted to catalogue it as a dream, a delusion caused by a mind still recovering from an intense crisis, but the wings, like Mother Miranda’s arms and legs, were very much a part of her.

“Look while you can,” she said. “Commit it to memory, for true revelations are rarely given so freely.”

She stood for study, allowing me to take in every inch. My eyes lingered where hers had lingered on me.

“Do you reject me, Trudy?” she questioned softly.

“No, Mother Miranda,” I replied. I offered her my hand. “I’d fall to my knees in prayer if I were not otherwise occupied.”

She accepted my hand and leaned over me on her bed, naked and otherworldly, and in my long, exquisite worship of her, I met death eye to eye and thought there would never be another equal.

#resident evil #resident evil village #fanfic #mother miranda #mother miranda x oc #mother miranda x reader

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donottalktojasmine · 2 years

Text

SOLEDAD BROTHER NOTES

currently | 1/13/2022 7:30 PM – 9:30 PM

PDF - Soledad Brother by George L. Jackson

DEDICATION

“…to the destruction of their enemies I dedicate my life.”

This statement sets the tone for the rest of the text. Its potency, urgency, and weight are demonstrated in those works. I was also drawn to the descriptors like evil and terrible to describe his brother, Jonathan Jackson.

FOREWORD BY JONATHAN JACKSON, JR

“No matter how oppressive his situation became, George always had time to lend his spirit to the people he cared for.” p. xiii

Instead of succumbing to the pressure of being in the underbelly of the ultimate manifestation of capitalism, George continued to show up for his community with compassion. When fighting for the liberation of all, individual comfort must be sacrificed for the good of the whole. Comfort is probably found in that sacrifice because ideally, everyone is sacrificing and struggling for the good of everyone else.

“…the way George’s writing make his personal experience universal is the mainstay of his brilliance.” p. xiv

The importance of accessibility in revolutionary text.

“U.S. history is essentially a type of hidden history.” p. xv

“”The monopoly of truth, including historical truth,” stated Daniel Singer…,”is implied in the monopoly of power.”

Because most people base their opinions and beliefs in half-truths, they are easily manipulated by the most powerful among us. The half-truths of history also affirm the idea that people who amass great power are inherently good or went about gaining that power in a good way.

3 Mechanisms of State Control - p. vxii-xviii

Denial: easiest mechanism; if an event or information doesn’t fit the state’s agenda, it will simply be denied. Because the average American is taught to trust the state, they go along with the denial. Example: Prewar state terrorism in North and South Vietnam and bombing Cambodia

Self-censorship: emphasizes certain parts of an event or idea and de-emphasizes others to minimize outrage or even garner support. Example: Minimizing the devastation of Israel bombing Palestine

Imprisonment: final stage if neither of the above methods works. Because most people believe imprisoned people lack morality, they aren’t investing in their humanity. The state can silence and dispose of imprisoned people at its will.

(According to me given the text)

“Nothing is more dangerous to a system that depends on misinformation than a voice that obeys its own dictates and has the courage to speak out.” p. xix

Reminds me of my 2022 intention to develop my own opinions and stand in all my power and brilliance. This system was created and sustained on the oppression of poor people and suppression of the thoughts and assertions. Anytime someone rose to any semblance of power, they were eliminated and their radical ideology was diluted and absorbed into liberalism.

Potential allies to imprisoned people are “hesitant” and “[fear] their own persecution or imprisonment.” p. xix

I must resist fear.

I must resist.

“…society lacks a distinction between a prisoner’s actions and his or her personal worth; a bad act equals a bad person.” p. xx

This makes me think of disability activists and the belief that we are temporarily able-bodied. Under capitalism, we are all temporarily not imprisoned. So, to operate under the belief that all imprisoned people are immoral is dehumanizing.

Radical Dilemma: a phenomenon experienced by people raising their consciousness where unlearning methods of state control can be difficult to cope with or push through. The severity of social conditions lower the intensity or anxiety of this dilemma, according to me.

“I can only be executed once.” p. xx

Quote from “Blood in My Eye”.

“No amount of action, preaching, or teaching will spark revolution if social conditions do not warrant it.” p. xx

Reactionary Time: in relation to Jonathan Jackson’s revolutionary act and assassination; 1970 was just after the assassinations of many revolutionary leaders and society was ready to get back to the status quo. Revolutionary acts were handled with severity with little outrage from the public, according to me. p. xxi

Reformism: political doctrine advocating for the reform of an existing system or institution instead of abolition and replacement, according to google. p. xxi

Liberalism: a political and moral philosophy based on liberty, consent of the governed, and equality before the law, according to google. p. xxi

“COINTELPRO, however, was really a symptomatic, expendable entity; a small police force within a larger one (FBI), within a branch of government (executive), within the government itself (liberal democracy), within the economic system (capitalism). Reformists in radicals' clothing unknowingly argued against symptoms, rather than the roots, of the entrenched system. Doing away with COINTELPRO or even the FBI would not alter the structure that produces the surveillance/elimination apparatus.” p. xxi

“Improving black neighborhoods is the equivalent of ghettoizing some other segment of the population – poor whites, Hispanics, Asians, etc.” p. xxii

1. Ghettoize is one of my favorite words ever.

2. This may be tough to swallow (radical dilemma), but we must shit to a class-first analysis in order to get to the root of the issue (capitalism).

“Failure to understand the radical, encompassing viewpoint in the sixties led to reformism.” p. xxii

The state also terrorizes the people by making an example of the radical figures in society through death or imprisonment, denying ever doing it, then censoring the fullness of their humanity and ideology. Wheeew diabolical shit. While reformism is never the correct answer, the average person wouldn’t consider liberation over their life because capitalism has crushed their ability to envision what that looks like. They do know what the sacrifice looks like and

“…the partied of the left were too committed to reformism to exploit their revolutionary potential.” p. xxii

Quote from “Blood in My Eye”

“Unlike the reformist left, prison oppression was directly affecting him.” p. xxii

George’s conditions accelerated his radicalism.

“Among people of color in the United States, the quick fix, “blame it on whitey” mentality has become so prevalent that it shortcuts thinking.” p. xxiii

Tool of denial

“…race as an issue is a symptom of capitalism.” p. xxiii

Class-based revolutionary change

“His life serves not as a mere individual example of prison cruelty, but as a scalding indictment of the very nature of capitalism.”

“In these times, there are two very different ways to be born into privilege. First and most obvious in the system of capital is to be born into wealth. Second, and not precluding the first, is to have an intellectual, politically conscious base from which to grow as a person philosophically and spiritually. Radical figures in modern society — Lenin, Trotsky, Ché Guevara, my father, Jonathan Jackson, and my uncle George Jackson — have the capability of providing this base through their examples and writings.”

Redefining privilege is something to I’ve never thought to do consciously. I’ve always felt an immense privilege to be a person that has the opportunity to research and discover new thoughts and consider other ways of being.

“…discover your humanity and your love in revolution.”

Quote from George Jackson

SUPPLEMENTAL TEXT

because I couldn’t find an adequate definition or explanation of Liberalism...

Combat Liberbalism by Mao Zedong The Pitfalls of Liberalism by Kwame Ture

#george jackson #soledad brother #jonathan jackson #jonathan jackson jr #political prisoner #black august #mao zedong #kwame ture

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peachybowen · 4 years

Text

stupid • r.b

series masterlist

pt.1 pt.2

pairing: ricky bowen x reader

warnings: none

songs: Falling For U by Peachy! and mxmtoon, Wondering by Julia Lester and Olivia Rodrigo

words: 3.6k

AND ALSO I’M HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE THAT I HAVE A MASTERLIST 🤪 YOU CAN SEE WHAT I’M WORKING ON AND YEAHHH

A/N: feedback is always appreciated 🥺 I’m sorry if you find any grammar mistakes. Enjoy xx

I have dreamed of playing the lead since 5th grade. Of course I didn't tell anyone besides my brother and Cousin. When I got home last night, my brother and I talked. He was happy for me. Ej also said that he was really proud of me but he also added that he thinks that Nini deserved better.

,,Yo, what's up? I'm trading in my East High Leopards gear to be a Wildcat, starting today, because it's the day of the read-through! Blessed to be playing Chad. Swipe up for a link to tickets.'' EJ said holding his phone up, smiling the whole time.

,,Hi!'' Ash and I exclaimed simultaneously, walking up to EJ.

,,Say hi to my cousin and my little sister and bye to my cousin and sister.'' he turned his phone off and put it in his jeans pocket.

,,You're in a good mood.'' I mentioned and continued walking beside him, with Ash on his other side.

,,That's just for the fans, Y/N. Inside I'm a bucket of sad.'' he stated and I looked at Ash and then at him.

,,You still not over the not-getting Troy thing?'' Ash asked.

,,I put 3 years into this drama department and now I have to understudy my girlfriend's ex?'' he turned to me.

,,No offense Y/N.” he added and I just laughed and waved it off.

,,I know it sucks. But, I mean; Y/N is Gabriella and I don't think we would want an incest couple in our play, you know.'' Ash explained and I cringed at the thought.

,,Ash is 100% right.'' I agreed and started walking faster, Ash right behind me.

When we arrived at the rehearsal room, I saw Ej putting the Chad Danford card next to the Gabriella one. Ricky and I didn't talk much since the auditions and maybe, just maybe, that was my fault. I have been avoiding him, which was actually pretty hard considering I had almost all my classes with him. He tried to talk to me here and there but I just hummed in response most of the time. Honestly I was just trying to get over my crush on him. He still wasn't over Nini and he actually wanted to take part in the musical for her and I kinda ruined his chances because she did not get the lead. I also didn't want to ruin our friendship. We were friends since kindergarten and I wanted to keep him as a friend. After the auditions, Ash came over. She actually told me not to avoid Ricky but I just thought it was a good idea. Of course Ej agreed with me.

,,Could everyone take their assigned seats?'' Ms.Jenn asked loud enough for everone to hear. I walked to my seat and noticed that Ej put the cards back to how they were. I sat down with a sigh. Soon after Miss Jenn actually asked Big Red to read the stage directions because Natalie, the stage director, wasn't there. And like 5 seconds after that Ricky took the seat next to me. I looked at Ash, who was sitting across from me. She smiled and turned her attention to the blonde drama teacher.

,,I realize that you all walked in here as strangers.'' she started looking at us.

,,Actually, I'm Y/N and EJ’s, cousin!'' Ashlyn corrected. I could see Ricky looking at me out of the corner of my eye but I just ignored him.

,,But after today, you're a family. Please take your neighbors' hand.'' she finished and everyone did what the teacher said. I took Gina's hand and turned my head to Ricky, who was holding his hand out for me. I took his hand but avoided eye contact.

,,Hand.'' Ms.Jenn said as soon as she saw that Ej and Ricky weren't holding hands. Their heads shot in my direction when they heard me giggle. I stopped immediately.

,,Feel each other's energy. Let the silence speak volumes. In a world full of no, this is a space full of yes.'' the drama teacher preached.

,,Nice. Did you just come up with that?'' Carlos whispered to the middle-aged woman.

,,I did.'' she replied, smiling at him. It was silent. Nobody said anything and I could feel Ricky staring again and I just turned my head to Gina and smiled at her. Seconds later Ms.Jenn started singing ''We're all in this together.''. I let go of Ricky and Gina's hand and looked at the script on my table, highlighting my lines. Ash started to clap after Ms.Jenn finished singing. Nobody clapped beside her so she stopped and everyone looked at her.

,,"Sharpay heads for class, hears singing," "opens the door to the biology lab." "She finds Gabriella and Taylor washing their hands." "They turn to find there are no paper towels in the dispenser. They-'''' Big Red was disrupted by Miss Jenn before he could continue reading.

,,Try to read the punctuation.'' she instructed and smiled at the redhead.

,,"Sharpay comma heads for class period.'''' he said and I grinned. He was so oblivious sometimes it was cute.

We took a break after reading act one. I was talking to Ash but I also kinda watched my brother and Nini talking. And, yes, Ricky looked at them too. Nini got a text, she laughed, and Ricky was on his phone so it was kinda obvious that he sent her a meme or something like that. Ej glared at him and sat down again.

,,Cool glasses.'' I turned my head to see Seb taking a seat next to Ashlyn. She smiled.

,,Thanks. They're my grandmas.'' she acknowledged.

,,I have the same ones at home.'' he laughed.

,,Really? Why?'' I asked, trying to join the conversation again.

,,So, I can see when I'm milking.'' he replied and I was confused.

Milking?

Before I had the chance to ask what he meant by that, Miss Jenn said that we were gonna continue.

I was on stage waiting for Ricky. Ms.Jenn wanted us to start rehearsing early and I wasn't really thrilled. When he came running in, he said that he was sorry for being late.

,,We're diving into page 97.'' Ms.Jenn directed and handed us the script.

,,You mean the last scene?'' Ricky asked just as confused as I was. The teacher just hummed in response.

,,You wanna rehearse this? It's just one line.'' I also asked.

,,Yeah, I've got one, too.'' Ricky stated turning to me.

,,And then there's the kiss.'' Ms.Jenn exclaimed. I looked at her and started to panic.

,,There was no-. I don't remember a kiss in what we read yesterday.'' I stuttered trying to reason with her.

,,It was very much in the original movie.''

,,I only remember a hug.'' I augmented further. I wasn't really in the mood to kiss my best friend. It would just make things more awkward between us.

,,The kiss ended up being cut. Little racy for its time.'' she explained looking at me with a smile.

Later that day I sat in Miss Jenn's office, explaining to her that I just couldn't kiss Ricky.

°Ej's POV°

I was standing outside Ms.Jenn's office, waiting for Y/N when Ashlyn walked up to me.

,,Hi!'' she greeted cheerfully.

,,Go away.'' I simply said.

,,No, you go away. You're standing in front of my locker.''

I stepped away and she opened the locker.

,,I can't believe this. She's around Ricky's finger.''

,,Who?'' Ash asked and looked at me.

,,Miss Jenn! She added a kiss.'' I explained and Ashlyn rolled her eyes.

,,Ej, stop. He's not bribing our director.'' she interrupted.

,,Y/N doesn't want to kiss him, Ash. And I don't want that either.''

,,Being her big brother doesn't mean you own her.'' she commented. I rolled my eyes and changed the subject.

,,I need you to do me a favor.''

,,What kind of favor?'' she asked with a raised brow.

,,I need you to borrow Nini's phone.'' I explained and she looked at me like I was crazy.

,,Borrow? As in steal?''

I just nodded. I needed to be 100% sure that Ricky wasn't in the way of my relationship. Nini was different. She wasn't like other girls. The girl helped me be a better person.

,,Okay, you've just gone up 3 levels of scary!'' the girl stressed, shocked by my words. She tried to reason with me for a bit but then she left, leaving me standing alone in front of the office, waiting for my sister.

°Y/N’s pov°

,,I'm kinda lost. If the play is over, why would we still be dancing?'' Ricky asked beside me. We were back in the rehearsing room. Just as I was about to answer, Carlos came up from behind us.

,,It's a certain call. You're the last two to come out. We want to bring the audience to their feet!'' he explained snickering.

,,Teach them the dance.'' Ricky joked.

,,Carlos? Can we wait for Miss Jenn?'' I pleaded kinda just wanting the director there.

,,Miss Jenn is busy tracking down a prop. She's asked me to create a crescendo, people, so let's stop swirling and let's start twirling.'' Carlos directed calmly.

,,But why are we practicing the bows when we haven't even practiced the play?'' Ricky asked still confused.

,,Because you start with the hardest dance that takes the longest to learn. It's in the Big Book of Broadway.'' Carlos started. Gina came up behind him.

,,Page 374.'' they both finished at the same time. Gina walked away after they both high-fived each other.

Shortly after we started practicing the dance. Ricky was terrible. I mean he tried but he did not succeed. Kinda embarrassing.

,,What is he doing?'' Nini asked from the side as soon as the music stopped. I turned to look at her. She stepped forward and looked at Carlos.

,,Why you're talking to him? I'm right here.''

And that was when I took a step back. I wasn't in the mood to be in the middle of Nini and Ricky drama. I had enough of that over the summer.

,,'Cause you're not here. Not for the right reasons.'' Nini snapped.

,,What's that supposed to mean?'' Ricky asked standing right in front of her. Everyone was silent. Nobody wanted to interrupt that conversation.

,,What I said, Ricky. You hate musicals. You're doing this so we're in each other's grills.''

Carlos took a step forward to break the two apart but they kept on going.

,,Now you're rubbing some weird cologne on your neck.''

,,Hey, you love Throb!''

,,And wasting everybody's time by making fun of something that the rest of us take seriously.'' the brown-haired girl ranted. After the words left her mouth, Carlos told everyone to take a five-minute break and to get out. I stayed just being moral support for Carlos and Ricky. He and Nini argued for a few more seconds, my brother's name was mentioned and Ricky left. Just as Miss Jenn came back, Ricky walked through the door.

,,We're you going Troy?'' she asked, confused as to why he was leaving in the middle of rehearsals.

,,It's Ricky.'' he mumbled before exiting the room. I sighed, looked at Nini, who looked at her hands, grabbed my things and went after him.

,,Why are my leads leaving?'' Miss Jenn asked again.

Ricky was way faster than me.

I mean have you seen him? He's way taller than me!

However, when I saw Big Red outside talking to him, I decided to let them talk. My mind just told me to leave him alone to cool off, you know? So I decided to talk to Nini instead. On the way back, Carlos asked me where Ricky went and I told him that he went outside. Not so sure if that was a good idea because it would just put more pressure on Ricky. When I arrived at the rehearsal room again, Miss Jenn was talking to Nini and she still stood by the piano, looking at her hands.

,,Nini can I talk to you for a second?'' I asked and walked in her direction. Miss Jenn turned to look at me and left the room without another word. I think she knew that it was better to let teenagers sort their problems out alone sometimes.

,,I really don't want to talk to you right now. Ricky probably send you and I'm really not in the mood to-''

,,Ricky did not 'send' me. I'm here because I chose to talk to you. I know that you probably don't even want that because I basically stole the role you wanted to play but listen. Miss Jenn is working really hard on this musical and so is everyone else and I know it's hard being in a musical with your ex- and current boyfriend but please, for the sake of this musical, get along with Ricky.''

,,Y/N you don't even understand the situation. You never had an ex before!''

,,That may be true but I'm not on good terms with Ricky either! Do you see me causing a scene? No! So please Nini, at least consider, not ripping Ricky's face off.'' and with that, I left.

The first thing I did when I arrived at home was eat. I always ate when I was frustrated. Not my best habit. While waiting for my pizza to be done, I decided to post something on Instagram

y/ncaswell

Salt Lake City, Utah

liked by ejcaswell, dancingcarlos and 67 more

y/ncaswell you're looking at your Gabriella Montez baby 🤪

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dancingcarlos and that's on actually auditioning for Taylor

yourgirlash u rocked that audition tho! So proud of u :))

I smiled at all the supporting comments and began eating my pizza, which I got out of the oven without burning my hands.

what? I'm proud of me. I always burn my hands while getting the pizza out of the oven. That's why Ej is normally doing it when... I want pizza.

After eating half of the pizza, leaving the other half for Ej, I went upstairs. I threw my bag into a corner and threw myself on bed. I sighed and grabbed my ukulele. The next thing I knew was that I started playing some chords that popped into my head.

I was hangin' with you and then I realized

I didn't think it was true, I was surprised

When I found out I've fallen for you

I didn't wanna believe my feelings for you

I didn't wanna believe that I could lose you

If I told you just how I felt

But I can't help it

I'm falling for you

And I can't quit it

'Cause I'm stuck on you

And it might be pathetic and you might be skeptical

But I just want to be with you

Please tell me, boy

Can you get a clue?

Or come through 'cause I just want to be with you

,,The song is for him right?''

I gasped in surprise and turned my head to the door to see EJ leaning against my door frame, eating the pizza I left for him.

,,When did you come home?'' I asked while placing the ukulele on the floor. He walked towards me and sat on the edge of my mattress.

,,5 minutes ago but stop trying to change the subject. The song is for Ricky right?''

I just nodded, looking at my hands.

,,It's cute.''

,,What?'' I asked and looked up.

,,The song. It's cute. I mean I don't really support the idea of you and him together, you know that but I like the song.''

,,Thank you and don't worry EJ, him and me? That won't happen. He's still in love with Nini.'' I responded with a sad smile.

,,I know this may sound really awful but maybe it's just not meant to be.''

Maybe he was right. Maybe the universe wanted to show me that it just wasn't meant to be. That I was chasing a dream. Ricky was so in love with Nini and to be honest I wasn't surprised. Nini was such a sweet and gorgeous girl, always have been. It's so easy to fall in love with her. No wonder my brother did.

I nodded and the only word that left my mouth was:,,Maybe.''

EJ flashed me a smile, patted my shoulder and left the bedroom. I sighed and my head hit the pillow.

The next day was pretty much uneventful.

Ok maybe that's a lie. I did catch Nini spying on Carlos and Ricky in the library. That's a good thing right?

When I opened the door to the auditorium, everything was silent. But as soon as the door closed and I leaned my back on the wall, someone started playing the piano. The curiosity got the best of me and I walked up the stage to see who was playing the wonderful melody. I was quite surprised to discover Ashlyn sitting in front of the piano, pressing the keys softly.

,,Oh hi.'' was the first thing she said when she noticed my presence.

,,Hi. I didn't know anyone was in here.'' I answered looking at my cousin, who took her hands off the piano keys.

,,I can be gone in like 7 seconds. Six if I don't zip my bag.'' She replied as she started to throw her things into her bag.

,,No, Ash. Don't go. What was that?''

,,What was what?'' she asked and stopped packing her things.

,,The song you were just playing.''

,,Oh that. Miss Jenn asked me to compose a song for my character. It's probably way too much.'' she explained and grabbed the notes out of her bag again. I just nodded and listen to her ramble. I didn't really know why she was so nervous.

,,Why don't you play me some more of your song?'' I asked and sat down beside her. Ashlyn nodded and started playing the same melody I heard when the door closed.

,,Seems like a part of me will always have to lose.'' She began, her eyes watching her fingers which were pressing down the piano keys.

,,Every single time I have to choose

Swore that it felt right, but was I wrong?

Is this where I'm supposed to be at all?

I don't have the answers, not today

It's like nothing makes the questions go away

What I'd give to see If the grass was greener

On the other side

Of all I've had and lost

Would it be enough

Or would I still be wondering?'' she sang, her eyes still trained on the piano.

,,If I could go back and change the past

Be a little braver than I had

And bet against the odds

Would I still be lost?

Even if I woke up in my dreams

Would there still be something I'm missing?

If I had everything Would it mean anything?''

I looked at her in awe. I never really heard Ashlyn sing like that before and she had so much talent. She turned her gaze to me for a second, implying to sing with her. I smiled and turned my attention to the little sheet of paper in front of me.

,,Maybe I should turn around and take the other road

Or maybe I'm just looking for what I already know.'' we sang together, smiling after realizing that we hit every note in perfect harmony.

,,I'm just wondering...

It feels like I might have broke the best thing that I had.'' I sang alone and at that exact moment, Ricky slowly walked in. We didn't notice though. We were to caught up in our own little moment.

,,I said too much to ever take it back

I'm scared I'll never find something as good

And would I even know it if I could?'' I vocalized the verse Ashlyn wrote so flawlessly.

,,If I could go back and change the past

Be a little braver than I had

And bet against the odds

Would I still be lost?

Even if I woke up in my dreams

Would there still be something I'm missing

If I had everything

Would it mean anything.'' we both sang again.

,,To me?'' I finished and smiled. My smile fell as soon as I saw Ricky standing in the room.

,,Uh...We're back.'' he stuttered and looked at us with semi-wide eyes.

,,What?'' I asked quietly.

,,Downstairs.'' the curly-haired boy answered and shook his head slightly which made his curls bounce a little.

,,Miss Jenn wants to see everyone in the bomb shelter.'' he finished and left without saying another word. I looked at Ashlyn and she just shrugged before she got up and packed her things. Me being the incredible cousin I am, I waited for her.

When we arrived downstairs the whole theater group was building a small circle around the blonde drama teacher who had a huge carton in front of her.

,,Here it is, people.'' Miss Jenn breathed out, holding a small device in her hands.

,,Is that a garage-door opener?'' Seb asked as he looked at the small object in front of him.

,,No, Seb. This is Gabriella's Phone. From the film.''

A few students gasped.

,,I plan on creating a time-capsule display in our lobby. If they can have 40 sports-ball trophies, we deserve a little movie museum.'' the teacher explained, holding up the phone so everyone could see.

,,Okay, people, enough dazzle. Fetch your scripts please. Places for the top of the ski lodge!''

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awesometheauthor · 4 years

Text

Part III of the Arias Davila:

1. DIEGO ARIAS was born in Avila, Espana, and died 1466 in Segovia, Espana. According to the Tizon de la Nobleza, he married ELVIRA GONZALEZ,

Here we go again, rumors do not make for good genealogy or a written history. When I see the tag tavern maid I can't help but think about Juan Ponce de Leon's laison with a non existant Leonor Ponce de Leon who was also labeled to be a tavern maid.

"rumored to be a tavern maid", who was born in Madrid, Espana and a Jewish Conversa as well. Diego Arias, was created Senor de Alcobendas, Villaflor, Casasola, San Agustín, Pedrezuela y Villalba, and elevated to high office due to his intimate relationship with King Enrique IV, called "el Impotente", due to his well known homosexual proclivities. Diego Arias er hombre de extraccion humilde, de bajas inclinaciones, Judoo Converso segun el sentir popular, elevado por Enrique IV de la nada a las cumbres del poder y de la opulencia. Las "Coplas del Provincial" motejaban a Diego Arias de Judio en las conocidas estrofas: "Aguila, cruz y castillo, Dime, de dónde te viene, pues que tu pila capuz Nunca las tuvo ni las tiene? El aguila es de San Juan; El castillo el de Emaus, Y en la cruz pusiste a Jesus, Siendo yo el capitan" Las estrofas se referían al blason de los Arias D'Avila compuesto de un aguila, castillo y cruz: en la parte superior derecha, una cruz colorada en campo blanco; en la superior izquierda, un aguila en campo blanco; y en la parte inferior del escudo, un castillo blanco en campo verde. Siendo príncipe don Enrique, Diego se estableció en Segovia y comenzo a ganarse el sustento cambiando especias de escaso valor y vendiendo a bajo precio otras de mayor estima, como pimienta, clavo y canela. Así recorría los pueblos castellanos congregando a los aldeanos al son de sus canticos moriscos. Así se gano de casa en casa las voluntades de los campesinos y obtuvo recursos suficientes para sus gastos. Con el favor de Juan Pacheco, se convirtio en recaudador de alcabalas y rentas del príncipe, y para ejercer el cargo en mejores condiciones de prontitud y seguridad, compro un caballo, flaco, de miserable traza y de bajo precio, que le permitia ponerse a salvo de las iras de los aldeanos. Por ello merecio el mote de "El Volador". Diego cometio un crimen horroroso y fue condenado a la pena capital de la que lo libro el Infante Enrique, príncipe de Asturias. Este, prendado de su dotes, no tuvo inconveniente en nombrarlo su secretario y le hizo tomar el apellido Arias. Al subir al trono pasando a ser el Rey Enrique IV de Castilla, Diego fue nombrado Contador Mayor de Castilla, cargo que desempeno por muchos anos, y desde el cual disponía a su antojo del reino. Se dice que "Diego Arias, acumulando atropello sobre atropello, aconsejaba al rey...que no hiciese caso de las querellas y enojosos llantos del necio vulgo y del insolente populacho, mientras tuviese dinero en abundancia; ni temiese las murmuraciones de los grandes, ni su adusto ceno mientras capitanease escuadrones satisfechos con el aumento de soldada..." Source: Jose de Herrera via E mail.

There are other sources full of rumors that would try to convince us that Diego Arias was a Jew.

By : Richard Gottheil <http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/contrib.jsp?cid=C120046&xid=A040718&artid=156&letter=D> Meyer Kayserling <http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/contrib.jsp?cid=C110107&xid=A040718&artid=156&letter=D> Minister and confidant of King Henry IV. of Castile; born of Jewish. parents in Segovia; died in 1466. He, together with his family, embraced the Christian faith when Vincent Ferrer was preaching special sermons with a view to making converts. Drawn to the court of Juan II. of Castile by Alvaro de Luna, Davila, in conjunction with his former coreligionist Juan Pacheco, became both the farmer and the administrator of the royal taxes. In time he gained the confidence of the prodigal young king Henry to such a degree that the latter appointed him head of theroyal audit office or minister of finance ("contador mayor"). To win popular favor both he and his wife showed themselves very generous toward the Church; nevertheless he was always considered a Jew. The author of the "Coplas del Provincial" addressed to Davila the following malignant couplet: "A ti Diego Arias p . . . Que eres é fuiste Judio, E tienes gran señorio Contigo non me disputo." [Translation.] "Diego Arias, thou wretched hypocrite, A Jew thou wert and a Jew thou art. Great is the power that is thine; Hence to no dealings with thee I incline." Toward his coreligionists Davila's attitude was for a long time cold and forbidding; only later, when it became his duty to appoint supervisors of the revenues in most of the cities, did he have recourse to Maranos. Furthermore, despite repeated decrees of the Cortes to the contrary, he appointed Jews as tax-farmers. The chief administrator of the ducal tax-revenues at the time was D. Moses áº’arfati; Rabbi Abraham and Joseph, Castellano were the farmers of the revenues in the bishopric of Roa from 1460 to 1462, and D. Moses of Briviesca the farmer of the revenues of S. Salvador de Oña in 1455. While the Jewish tax-farmers were very lenient, the Marano officials appointed by Davila showed themselves merciless, which drew upon them the enmity of the people to such an extent that D. Gomez Manrique, who possessed great influence, preferred charges against the minister, and in the "Advice" which he addressed to him ("Consejos à Diego Arias") he predicted for him a fate similar to that of Alvaro de Luna. With a king so frivolous and prodigal as Henry, Davila's situation was indeed very difficult and precarious; and he often found himself on the verge of being deposed. On one occasion when he represented to the king that the conditions urgently demanded a curtailment of expenditure, the king replied in an imperious tone "You speak as Diego Arias; I act as king." The castle Puñorostro, together with the villages and hamlets connected with it, which, after its acquisition by him, he turned into an entailed estate. Davila transferred to his oldest son, Pedro Davila, whom he married to D. Maria de Mendoza, niece of the first Duke del Infantado and a grandchild of Marquis de Santillana. Pedro filled the same position as his father had at the court of Henry IV., until he was overthrown through the intrigues of Alonso de Fonseca. Davila's second son, Juan Arias Davila (not "de Avila"), was Bishop of Segovia. Full of hatred against the Jews, he caused sixteen of them who had been accused of a ritual murder to be burned at the stake.Bibliography: Enriquez del Castillo, Cronica de D. Enrique IV. xx.; Amadorde los Rios, Hist. iii. 128 et seq., 168 et seq.; Grätz, Gesch. viii. 327.G. Read more: http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp?artid=156&letter=D#ixzz1BcTEW8Ot <http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp?artid=156&letter=D>

The Jewish Encyclopedia.

Ayes Sources:

Archivo: Archivo General de SimancasSignatura: RGS,LEG,148012,254Código de Referencia: ES.47161.AGS/1.2.1127//RGS,LEG,148012,254 Titulo Nombre atribuido: Pago de deudas a Diego de Madrid por Diego Arias Dávila. Fecha Creación: 1480-12-10 (Medina del Campo) Signatura Histórico: RGS,LEG,148012,254 Nombre de/l (los) productor/es: Cancillería. Registro del Sello de Corte Alcance y Contenido: Requerimiento con emplazamiento a Diego Arias de Avila [Dávila], hijo de Predrarias de Avila [Dávila], para que pague a Diego de Madrid, como heredero del dicho Pedrarias, cierto dinero y trigo que éste le quedó debiendo.-Consejo. Notas del Archivero: Información descriptiva tomada del asiento núm. 878 de la obra: 03

Archivo: Archivo General de SimancasSignatura: RGS,LEG,148406,90Código de Referencia: ES.47161.AGS/1.2.1123//RGS,LEG,148406,90 Titulo Nombre atribuido: Receptoría en pleito de Diego Arias Dávila y Diego de Tejada por ciertos bienes. Fecha Creación: 1484-06-19 (Valladolid) Signatura Histórico: RGS,LEG,148406,90 Nombre de/l (los) productor/es: Cancillería. Registro del Sello de Corte Alcance y Contenido: Receptoría en el pleito que tienen de una parte Diego Arias de Ávila [Dávila], y de la otra Diego de Tejada por ciertos bienes que se determinan.-Consejo.Notas del Archivero: Información descriptiva tomada del asiento núm. 2898 de la obra: 03

Archivo: Archivo General de SimancasSignatura: RGS,LEG,148406,105Código de Referencia: ES.47161.AGS/1.2.1123//RGS,LEG,148406,105 Titulo Nombre atribuido: Incitativa a petición de Diego Arias Dávila, curador de Inés López Dávila. Fecha Creación: 1484-06-20 (Valladolid) Signatura Histórico: RGS,LEG,148406,105 Nombre de/l (los) productor/es: Cancillería. Registro del Sello de Corte Alcance y Contenido: Incitativa a petición del protonotario Diego Arias de Ávila [Dávila], curador de Inés López de Ávila [Dávila], para que le entreguen ciertos bienes la abuela de la menor y Toribio de Ávila, vecinos de Ávila.-Consejo.Notas del Archivero: Información descriptiva tomada del asiento núm. 2903 de la obra: 03

Archivo: Archivo General de SimancasSignatura: RGS,LEG,148409,160Código de Referencia: ES.47161.AGS/1.2.1123//RGS,LEG,148409,160 Titulo Nombre atribuido: Amparo a unas casas en la ciudad de Segovia a Diego Arias de Ávila [Dávila]. Fecha Creación: 1484-09-01 (Córdoba) Signatura Histórico: RGS,LEG,148409,160 Nombre de/l (los) productor/es: Cancillería. Registro del Sello de Corte Alcance y Contenido: Amparo a unas casas en la ciudad de Segovia a Diego Arias de Ávila [Dávila], protonotario.-Consejo.Notas del Archivero: Información descriptiva tomada del asiento núm. 3262 de la obra: 03

Archivo: Archivo General de SimancasSignatura: RGS,LEG,148310,292Código de Referencia: ES.47161.AGS/1.2.1124//RGS,LEG,148310,292 Titulo Nombre atribuido: Sentencia en pleito de Diego Arias Dávila sobre ciertos heredamientos. Fecha Creación: 1483-10-30 (Vitoria) Signatura Histórico: RGS,LEG,148310,292 Nombre de/l (los) productor/es: Cancillería. Registro del Sello de Corte Alcance y Contenido: Ejecutoria de una sentencia dada en el pleito que Diego Arias de Ávila [Dávila], 'cuya fué Torrejón de Velasco', sostuvo con los hijos de Gil de Vivero, ya difuntos, sobre los heredamientos de Pajares, Valverde y Posanco [Pozanco].-Consejo.Notas del Archivero: Información descriptiva tomada del asiento núm. 1626 de la obra: 03

Archivo: Archivo General de SimancasSignatura: RGS,LEG,148312,1Código de Referencia: ES.47161.AGS/1.2.1124//RGS,LEG,148312,1 Titulo Nombre atribuido: Confirmación de juro al obispo de Segovia, Juan Arias Dávila, y su mesa obispal. Fecha Creación: 1483-12-15 (Vitoria) Nivel de Descripción: Unidad Documental Simple Signatura Histórico: RGS,LEG,148312,1 Nombre de/l (los) productor/es: Cancillería. Registro del Sello de Corte Alcance y Contenido: Confirmación a D. Juan Arias de Avila [Dávila], Obispo de Segovia, y a su mesa obispal de 4.000 maravedís de juro que posee por privilegio de Enrique IV. Insertos: a) Albalá de Enrique IV, para que se asienten al contador mayor Diego Arias de Avila 4.000 maravedis de juro que en él renuncia D. Gómez Carrillo de Albornoz. 25 Noviembre 1456. b) Renunncia y troque que el dicho contador hace a favor de la diócesis de Segovia y de su obispo D. Fernando del Orden. Medina del Campo 2 Noviembre 1459. c)Carta de privilegio de Enrique IV confirmando al obispo y diócesis de Segovia los dichos maravedís. Medina del Campo 2 Noviembre 1459.-Contadores Mayores. Notas del Archivero: Información descriptiva tomada del asiento núm. 2040 de la obra: 03

Archivo: Sección Nobleza del Archivo Histórico NacionalSignatura: OSUNA,C.138,D.101Código de Referencia: ES.41168.SNAHN/17.3.13//OSUNA,C.138,D.101 Título: Cédula de Enrique IV por la que manda a Fernán Gómez de León, su recaudador de alcabalas en Cáceres, que pague a Diego Arias de Ávila 2.600 maravedíes. Fecha Creación: 1462-07-10 (Toledo (Toledo)) - (Toledo (Toledo)) Signatura Histórico: OSUNA,LEG.138,D.4 OSUNA,C.138,D.101 Estado de Conservación: Bueno Lengua/Escritura de la Documentación: EspañolCortesana Características Físicas y Requisitos Técnicos: Original Índices de Descripción: Alcabala Arias de Ávila, Diego Cáceres (Cáceres) Cédulas reales Enrique IV, rey de Castilla (1424-1474) Gómez de León, Fernán Libramientos Recaudadores de haciendaNotas del Archivero: Descripción elaborada por Natividad Manzano Rubio

Archivo: Sección Nobleza del Archivo Histórico NacionalSignatura: OSUNA,C.296,D.13-14 Código de Referencia: ES.41168.SNAHN/42.3.3//OSUNA,C.296,D.13-14 Titulo Nombre atribuido: Escritura de cambio entre Álvaro [López] de Zúñiga [Guzmán, I] conde de Plasencia con Diego Arias de Ávila, por la cual el primero da unas casas en la ciudad de Segovia a cambio de unos molinos en el río Voltoya. Fecha Creación: 1457-10-23 (Segovia (Segovia)) Signatura Histórico: OSUNA,LEG.296,D.2;OSUNA,LEG.296-1(10) OSUNA,C.296,D.13-14 Nombre de/l (los) productor/es: Ducado de Béjar Alcance y Contenido: Contiene: -Documento 14: correspondencia remitida por Francisco Díez de Velasco al capitán Juan de Capilla sobre compraventa de lana. Dada en Béjar (Salamanca) a 8 de abril de 1639. Estado de Conservación: Bueno Lengua/Escritura de la Documentación: Español. Cortesana y Humanística. Notas del Archivero: Rus Huerta Rubio

Archivo: Sección Nobleza del Archivo Histórico NacionalSignatura: OSUNA,C.96,D.45-47Código de Referencia: ES.41168.SNAHN/14.2.6//OSUNA,C.96,D.45-47 Título: Escritura de compraventa, por juro de heredad, otorgada por Fernando de Ribadeneira, vasallo del rey y de su Consejo, a favor del rey Enrique IV, y en su nombre a su contador Diego Arias de Ávila, de los lugares de Langayo, Piñel de Yuso y San Mames (Valladolid). Fecha Creación: 1458-05-24 (Medina del Campo (Valladolid)) - 1837-10-02 (Medina del Campo (Valladolid)) Signatura Histórico: OSUNA,LEG.96,N.15;OSUNA,C.96,D.15;OSUNA,C.1,N.36 OSUNA,C.96,D.45-47 Alcance y Contenido: Documento 45: Original en pergamino. Medina del Campo (Valladolid), 1458, mayo, 24. Documento 46: Traslado. Madrid, 1837, octubre, 2. Documento 47: Copia simple, sin fecha. Estado de Conservación: Bueno Lengua/Escritura de la Documentación: EspañolGotica y humanística Características Físicas y Requisitos Técnicos: Original, traslado y copia Índices de Descripción: Arias de Ávila, Diego Compraventas Consejeros reales Contadores de hacienda Enrique IV, rey de Castilla (1424-1474) Juros Langayo (Valladolid) Piñel de Abajo (Valladolid) Ribadeneira, Fernando de San Mamés (Valladolid) Notas del Archivero: Descripción elaborada por Natividad Manzano Rubio

Archivo: Sección Nobleza del Archivo Histórico NacionalSignatura: OSUNA,C.97,D.6-8Código de Referencia: ES.41168.SNAHN/14.3.3//OSUNA,C.97,D.6-8 Título: Escrituras de partición de los bienes de Diego Arias Ávila, contador mayor del rey y de su Consejo Real, hecha entre sus hijos Juan Arias Ávila, [obispo de Segovia], y su hermana Isabel Arias, ésta última con autorización de su marido, Gómez González de la Hoz, regidor de Segovia. Fecha Creación: 1466-01-15 (Segovia (Segovia)) - 1837-10-09 (Segovia (Segovia)) Signatura Histórico: OSUNA,C.97,D.2;OSUNA,LEG.97,N.2a-c OSUNA,C.97,D.6-8 Alcance y Contenido: Contiene: -Documento 6: traslado. Valladolid, a 23 de enero de 1473. -Documento 8: traslado realizado tras la ley aclaratoria de señoríos, por la cual deben presentarse en los juzgados todos los títulos de propiedad, lo cual hace el [XI] duque de Osuna, [Pedro de Alcántara Téllez-Girón], para demostrar la procedencia o fundación de algunos de sus señoríos, como es el caso de Quintanillas de Yuso y de Suso (Valladolid). Madrid, a 9 de octubre de 1837. Estado de Conservación: Bueno Lengua/Escritura de la Documentación: Españolcortesana y humanística Características Físicas y Requisitos Técnicos: traslados Índices de Descripción: Arias de Ávila, Diego Arias de Ávila, Juan, obispo de Segovia (1461-1497) Arias, Isabel Consejeros reales Consejo Real Contadores de hacienda Estados señoriales González de la Hoz, Gómez, regidor de Segovia Inventarios de bienes Leyes Madrid (Madrid) Obispado de Segovia Quintanilla de Abajo (Valladolid) Quintanilla de Arriba (Valladolid) Segovia (Segovia) Testamentarias Títulos de propiedad Valladolid (Valladolid)Notas del Archivero: Descripción elaborada por Isabel Ralero Rojas

Archivo: Sección Nobleza del Archivo Histórico NacionalSignatura: OSUNA,C.97,D.9-11Código de Referencia: ES.41168.SNAHN/14.1.5//OSUNA,C.97,D.9-11 Título: Sentencia del pleito entre los hijos de Diego Arias de Ávila, contador mayor del rey, a causa de la herencia de su padre, por la que se otorga el mayorazgo a Pedro Arias de Ávila y el resto se divide en tres partes, una para Isabel Arias de Ávila y las otras dos para Juan Arias de Ávila, [futuro obispo de Segovia], salvo algunas excepciones señaladas. Fecha Creación: 1466-01-11 (Segovia (Segovia)) - 1473-01-23 (Segovia (Segovia)) Nivel de Descripción: Unidad Documental Compuesta Signatura Histórico: OSUNA,C.97,D.2(D-F);OSUNA,LEG.97,D.2(D-F) OSUNA,C.97,D.9-11 Alcance y Contenido: Pronunciada por los jueces que para ello fueron nombrados, Juan García, maestrescuela de la catedral de Segovia y Pedro Jiménez, maestro de teología y canónigo de la misma. Estado de Conservación: Bueno Lengua/Escritura de la Documentación: Españolcortesana y humanística Características Físicas y Requisitos Técnicos: traslados Índices de Descripción: Arias de Ávila, Diego, contador mayor Arias de Ávila, Isabel Arias de Ávila, Juan, obispo de Segovia (1461-1497) Arias de Ávila, Pedro Canónigos Catedral de Segovia Catedrales Contadores de hacienda García, Juan, maestrescuela de la Catedral de Segovia Herencias Jiménez, Pedro, canónigo Jueces Maestrescuelas Mayorazgos Pleitos Segovia (Segovia) Sentencias judiciales TeologíaNotas del Archivero: Descripción elaborada por Isabel Ralero Rojas

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Archivo: Sección Nobleza del Archivo Histórico NacionalSignatura: FRIAS,C.95,D.17Código de Referencia: ES.41168.SNAHN/2.4.3.9//FRIAS,C.95,D.17 Título: Merced que hizo Enrique IV de 600 fanegas de trigo y 400 de cebada a Diego Arias de Ávila, confiscadas a Juana Pimentel. Fecha Creación: 1462-01-10 (S.L.) - (S.L.) Nivel de Descripción: Unidad Documental Simple Signatura Histórico: FRIAS,LEGAJO.1,CAT.40/19 FRIAS,C.95,D.17 Lengua/Escritura de la Documentación: Español Características Físicas y Requisitos Técnicos: Traslado Índices de Descripción: Arias de Ávila, Diego Cereales Confiscaciones Enrique IV, rey de Castilla (1424-1474) Pimentel, Juana Privilegios nobiliarios Reyes de CastillaNotas del Archivero: Descripción elaborada por Ana Valseca Castillo

Archivo: Sección Nobleza del Archivo Histórico NacionalSignatura: FRIAS,C.11,D.36 ES.41168.SNAHN/2.4.2.25//FRIAS,C.11,D.36 Título: Acuerdos entre Juan Pacheco, Maestre de Santiago, y Miguel de Lucas Iranzo, Condestable de Castilla: - El Maestre de Santiago otorgaría al Condestable el Sello Real y la facultad de nombrar chancilleres, desembargándole el juro que tenía del rey; también daría unas rentas de la Orden de Santiago a los hermanos del condestable Fernando de la Cámara, Comendador de Oreja, y a Diego Yarce, de la encomienda de Montizón. - Además, el Maestre procuraría que Fadrique Manrique devolviese las fortalezas que tenía ocupadas a las ciudades de Jaén y Andújar, y restituiría a los Maestres de Santiago y Calatrava, las villas de Arjona, Arjonilla e Higuera de Martos (Jaén) - El Condestable dejaría libres para el Conde de Medellín, nieto del Maestre, las tercias de Andújar, junto al portazgo, que correspondería al Maestresala Gonzalo de Ávila.; al condestable se le devolverían las salinas de Arias y Almalla. Fecha Creación: 1469-07-08 (S.L.) - (S.L.) Signatura Histórico: FRIAS,CATALOGO.11/5 FRIAS,C.11,D.36 Alcance y Contenido: Sello de placa del condestable Lengua/Escritura de la Documentación: Español Características Físicas y Requisitos Técnicos: Original Índices de Descripción: Andújar (Jaén) Arjona (Jaén) Arjonilla (Jaén) Ávila, Gonzalo de Cámara, Fernando de la Cancilleres Comendadores Condestables Convenios Deuda pública Encomienda de Arjona Encomienda de Arjonilla Encomienda de la Higuera Encomienda de Oreja (Madrid) Encomiendas Fortificaciones Higuera de Calatrava (Jaén) Jaén (Jaén) Juros Lucas Iranzo, Miguel de Maestres Maestresalas Manrique, Fadrique Medellin, condes de Orden de Calatrava Orden de Santiago Órdenes Militares Pacheco, Juan, I marqués de Villena (1419-1474) Salinas Villena, marqueses de Yarce, DiegoNotas del Archivero: Descripción elaborada por Rocio Gonzalez Sanchez

Archivo: Archivo General de SimancasSignatura: RGS,LEG,148505,41Código de Referencia: ES.47161.AGS/1.2.1122//RGS,LEG,148505,41 Titulo Nombre atribuido: Comisión a Gómez García de Córdoba, escribano de Camara, para hacer pesquisa en Segovia sobre los escándalos promovidos en la ciudad por la Prisión que ordenó Juan Arias de Avila, obispo de Segovia, contra el protonotario, Diego Arias de Avila, en razón del nombramiento de un 'sodean'. Fecha Creación: 1485-05-10 (Valladolid) Nivel de Descripción: Unidad Documental Simple Signatura Histórico: RGS,LEG,148505,41 Nombre de/l (los) productor/es: Cancillería. Registro del Sello de Corte Alcance y Contenido: Comisión a Gómez García de Córdoba, escribano de Camara, para hacer pesquisa en Segovia sobre los escándalos promovidos en la ciudad por la Prisión que ordenó D. Juan Arias de Avila, obispo de Segovia, contra el protonotario, Diego Arias de Avila, en razón del nombramiento de un 'sodean'.-Consejo.

#history #Genealogy

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soraratranslations · 4 years

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DADS - Chapter 1

Ch. 1 - An Erotic Rare Book

In this world, there is an extremely rare and valuable book called "Yin and Yang: Secrets of Harmony".

Just as the name implies, to practice what's in this book, there must be a man and a woman rolling in the hay to harmonize their Yin and their Yang. And even though those who follow the teachings of this book acquire average results from its pages, it still ranks among the top ten books that people ardently yearn to follow.

Why do they wish to practice it? It’s really quite obvious.

Since this is such a popular book it's inevitable that it falls in the hands of a lot of perverse and crooked businessmen who take the opportunity to make easy money. They tarnish this book; these men sell pirated versions of it in large quantities, which despite being all named "Yin and Yang: Secrets of XX" have vastly different contents (which have no limit to how heinous they can be).

Suffice to say even a fool could tell that these versions are all somewhat skeevy. How amazing do you think your cultivation is, eh? You know that if you neglect it even a little bit you will go into Qi-Deviation and die, right? Does this look like a joking matter to you?

But even though everyone knows that the books are fake, they are, somehow, frequently sold out. In the end, we don’t know what the buyers truly think about them. Are they really satisfied with them?

And although piracy is rampant, the real book is still out there. And so many cultivators know who owns it that it is said to be an open secret.

The XiYin Imperial Family are precisely the ones who own this rare cultivation book. The entire family works arduously to understand this book and, allegedly, their couple with the best Cultivation Base has already ascended to the Heavens.

And they achieved this without neglecting either their careers or their families. Making them triumph in life and turn everyone under the heavens envious!

But even though everyone knows where this high-quality cultivation book is, few would actually dare steal it. This is because the XiYin Royal Family are not to be messed with; they are the type of people that would never stand to be insulted without retaliating. But also, even if they stole it, no matter how hard they try, it’s not sure that they could even be able to practice what this book preaches, as it isn’t for everyone.

Let's look at the title of this book once more - “Yin and Yang: Secrets of Harmony". Do you understand what the words Yin and Yang mean?

If you wish to practice this, there is an obvious crucial prerequisite... That's right, you need to have a cultivation partner!

So, tell me, Daoist friend, are you married?

This one question will probably obliterate more than half of the possible suitors to this art, which happens to be all of the old single dogs reading this! And so, since it's useless to steal the real deal, it's better to just buy a few pirated copies and enjoy them!

Besides, even if you have a cultivation partner, practicing this book isn't for every cultivation couple.

And to prove this let’s take into consideration the XiYin Royal Family. These people don’t selfishly keep this book to themselves. In fact, when a well-established and renowned family of cultivators holds a wedding ceremony for cultivation partners, they will generously gift them a copy of "Yin and Yang: Secrets of Harmony" as a congratulatory gift.

But strangely, every single married couple who was at first united in studying these profound scriptures falls apart and breaks up after a few years.

It was like a curse!

Some curious few have asked these estranged couples why they broke up, but they either shook their heads and said nothing, or looked up to the heavens and sighed, refusing to answer.

Over time, the tale of this first-class cultivation book "Yin and Yang: Secrets of Harmony" has been shrouded in a dark shadow and the couples who were lucky enough to receive it no longer dare to practice it recklessly.

All those who cultivate it end up breaking up! It’s incredibleFully effective, you are really getting your money's worth!

The reason why was obvious. There wasn't a single person who actually believed that the XiYin Family was offering the real version of the book. Otherwise, how could we explain how the Yin Family's couple’s cultivation flourished and their relationship deepened, but every other couple’s bound would be torn to pieces?

To clarify things, the XiYin Imperial Family had to come forward and explain what had been happening. Although the cultivation in "Yin and Yang: Secrets of Harmony" was very straightforward, there existed an essential prerequisite that was asked from the cultivation partners.

So, if the two of them did not feel genuine love for each other, a love sturdier than gold and capable to outlast life and death, they shouldn’t, under any circumstances, try to practice it or they would end up Qi deviating and dying.

After they spoke up, many cultivators realized what had happened. And honestly, that was quite understandable; frankly speaking, meat pies didn't simply fall from the sky. Did they really think that it was that easy? To be comfortable and not have to face any hardships, but also to easily increase your cultivation level? Yea, right; dream on!

No wonder the XiYin Imperial Family members had always been so cautious and taken so long to choose their cultivation partners. In fact, taking this into account, it's better to have no partner than to end up with a shoddy one. Those cultivators who didn't succeed and instead broke up certainly didn't share a worthy enough love.

No wonder they kept silent after they broke. Who would want to admit they got into their relationship with such weak feelings?

But in terms of cultivation requirements, "Yin and Yang: Secrets of Harmony" asks for rather reasonable requisites. Take “The Merits of the Five Element Chaos” in comparison. This book is amongst the top ten first-class rare cultivation books and requests that the practitioners must have within themselves the spiritual roots of the Five Elements.

For those who are more eccentric, there is also a book titled "The Revered Book of the Chrysanthemum" which ranks first in the list of top ten unwanted first-class rare cultivation books.

Why is it unwanted, you ask?

It is said that the creator of this book possessed the body of a man but the heart of a woman. They used all the knowledge they had gathered in their life time to create this amazing skill which allowed them to change their sex. But if someone wished to practice this, they must first castrate themselves. If they cultivated it successfully, men could become women, women could become men, and they could also change their appearances to those of others.

This kind of cool skill, most cultivators would rather die than get it! If the average cultivator gets this rare cultivation book, they will either immediately toss it out on the street or change its cover and give it to an enemy.

Anyway, in regards to "Yin and Yang: Secrets of Harmony", despite it having such a good and widespread reputation, because of its particular prerequisite very few cultivators actually achieved success with it.

Yin Feilian, the current Empress of XiYin, and the Emperor Consort Yue LinYuan are one of the few rare successful cases. They were only a little over two hundred years old when they successfully concluded the Foundation Building Layer.

That evening, the couple was in their bedroom cultivating arduously and alternating from position to position according to the drawings in the book. As their cultivation reached its climax, the sky and earth changed drastically.

For a moment, the wind surged dragging the clouds and thunder burst in loud rumbles waking up everyone in the XiYin Royal Palace. Cultivators were especially sensitive to these changes of the sky and earth, so it wasn't long before the Palace where Yin FeiLian and Yue LinYuan lived was surrounded by noblemen.

One of them, a white-haired old lady, slowly stepped forward and, while looking at the thunder in the sky which was getting closer and closer, earnestly said, "This is the thunder of a Golden Core Tribulation!"

The old man who was beside her frowned, "FeiLian and LinYuan have only been cultivating for 210 years, isn't it too early for them to pass a tribulation?"

Unlike other cultivators who were impatient to pass their tribulations and ascend to Heaven, the Yin family, as the mainland's oldest and most prominent cultivation family, had a more long-term vision, and regarded their cultivation in a rather shrewd manner.

It wasn't good to rush the cultivation. Being too hasty would definitely lead to an unstable foundation, which would, without a doubt, hinder any future progress.

Behind them, a pale young man coughed a few times, "They were probably enjoying themselves, and forgot to hold back their layer progress."

Although he murmured, everyone there was a cultivator who possessed good eyes and good ears so he was clearly heard.

For a moment, the sound of his coughing spread in all directions, making everyone feel somewhat embarrassed. But no matter how awkward the situation was, everyone knew that he was probably right. If it wasn't because of that, who would try to pass a tribulation in the middle of the night?!

The young man who had spoken was Yin FeiLian and Yue LinYuan's beloved son, Yin Li. It was said that dragons birthed dragons, phoenix's birthed phoenixes, and a mouse's son would know how to dig a hole. However, this proved itself wrong when it came to Yin Li.

Both of his parents were literary scholars and skilled at all the Four Arts. Yet he was exceedingly plain - not a single literary or artistic gene had been passed onto him.

Instead of wasting time reciting poetry, composing texts or any of that sentimental nonsense, it was certain that his time was better spent assisting his Imperial Mother in dealing with the kingdom’s affairs.

So, because of that, once he came of age he took over his mother's work.

Yin FeiLian was moved to tears; she hadn't birthed her son in vain! She had waited for this day for so long - at long last, she could finally travel around with her husband and enjoy her time engaging in... Engaging in the affairs of love!

Still, that day Yin Li's mood wasn't great. Just like the two noble elders had said, XiYin's Imperial Family's Daioist Empress and Emperor Consort, his parents, had formed their Golden Core a little too early. It seemed like he had been spoiling them too much, which lead them to behave more and more recklessly.

It seemed that it was time to tighten the reins and let that irresponsible couple experience what human suffering was.

It took three days and three nights for Yin Feilian and Yue Linyuan to pass their tribulation.

Many XiYin Royal Family's ancestors remained outside, keeping an eye on the passing of the tribulation. Fortunately, although this couple was unpredictable, their cultivation was very sturdy.

Their Golden Core Formation tribulation happened deep in the Winter, and so its thunders followed one after the other, each one more Earth-Shattering than the one before. This culminated into a final thunder which hit the Palace where the couple lived, shattering it into a pile of rumble.

Once the thunderous tribulation ended, the dark clouds dispersed, rays of light in all the seven colours of the rainbow brightened everything they touched, and cranes flew in from distant places. This meant that Yin Feilian and Yue Linyuan had succeed and finally formed their Golden Core.

From within the ruins, the couple emerged hand in hand with a golden halo surrounding their bodies, filled with astonishing vigor.

The two of them bowed down and courteously apologised to the elders keeping watch over their tribulation, "Our break-through was too sudden and we were not prepared. We apologise for causing trouble to our ancestors."

The white-haired old lady looked at them kindly, "No harm was done. It was most fortunate that you managed to pass the tribulation. From now on the XiYin Imperial Family has two more Golden Core cultivators. Congratulations!"

Everyone there belonged to the same family, so there was no need to stand at courtesy. Having seen Yin Feilian and Yue Linyuan safely pass their tribulation, the XiYin Family's elders soon departed one after the other, leaving behind only Yin Li and a few youths of the Imperial Family.

Yin Li expressionlessly bowed before his parents and said, "Congratulations to Esteemed Mother and Father for your breakthrough and the forming of your Golden Core."

It is said that no one knows a son better than his father, and Yue Linyuan indeed understood his son's personality rather well. As soon as he saw his cold expression his heart stuttered - he was, without a doubt, heavy-hearted.

He quietly looked at the Imperial Family's young descendents behind Yin Li. The girls winked at him, trying to stop themselves from laughing, and his ominous feeling grew.

Yet, Yin Feilin was less attentive than her husband and did not notice her son's unusual mood. Full of self-satisfaction, she bragged, "We didn't expect breaking through would be this easy! It just shows that "Yin and Yang: Secrets of Harmony"s meritorious teachings really are exceptional. "

Yin Li coldly said, "Esteemed Mother, you should consider the future ahead. Your highness easily broke through the Golden Core Layer, but that doesn't mean breaking through the Nascent Soul Layer will be as easy. Your Highness can seize all the opportunities today, but a shaky foundation will eventually lead to hidden dangers in future breakthroughs. Esteemed Mother's cultivation can’t diligently wield to Your highness’ desires and for that matter I have decided that, from now on, the political affairs are Your Highness's responsibility once again! "

Yin Feilian was stunned,"The political affairs? You’re telling me I have to go back to handling the state's affairs? I have to work everyday once again?!"

She spoke so urgently she forgot to refer to herself with the imperial "We".

Yin Li flicked his sleeves and coldly said, "That's right. Your son has now said everything he had to. Esteemed Mother, please conduct yourself well. "

Having finished speaking, he turned and left.

Yin Feilian wanted to chase after him, but was held back by the Imperial Family's youths. They had been Yin Li's loyal supporters since childhood and fully endorsed and assisted his every decision. They all started speaking at once, trying to persuade Yin Feilian to accept reality and well-behavedly go back to handling the tedious affairs of the state.

Yin Feilian stomped her foot in annoyance, "You lousy wenches can speak lightly since it isn't up to you to sit on the throne in this lifetime! No, this old mother wants to abdicate the throne and cease to be the Empress!"

Hearing her words, the young girls all dispersed laughing. They joked amongst themselves - they were in the flower of their youth and were not yet done enjoying it, who would want to make life harder for themselves and become the Empress?!

Yin Feilian had lost her temper, her heart muddled, but Yue Linyuan kept his calm and thought ahead. He quietly whispered in her ear, "This evening, we'll quietly leave. You were the Empress for over a century, your duty has come to an end. Once we leave, the Imperial Family will have to choose a new Emperor!"

Yin Feilian looked at her husband with tender, sparkling eyes, "After so long, my dear husband is still so clever. "

The couple had made their decision. When evening came, they would take advantage of its moonless darkness and strong winds covering themselves and leisurely fly far way, ridding themselves from their troubles.

Like they say that no one knows a son better than their father, they can also say the reverse - no one knows a father better than their son.

Yin Li knew his father extraordinarily well, and had already foreseen his witty scheme. After returning to the Palace, he wrote a letter in quick strokes, sealed it and asked his personal guard to deliver it personally to his ancestors' hands.

After that, he simply packed his baggage, took the servant he favoured the most, Yang Huiyan, and two late stage Golden Core cultivators of the Secret Imperial Guard, and quietly left the Imperial Palace of XiYin in a simple and unadorned carriage.

A few hours later, the Empress got the sealed letter. After opening it she slapped her thigh and read out its words: "Messenger, hand this over safely and swiftly to Feilian and Linyuan. Your dear Li has already left, so if my mother and father are allowed to leave, the country of XiYin will have no ruler. "

Would the old Empress really have to come out of retirement and deal with the pile of paperwork and the affairs of the throne?!

No, it had been so hard to pass that hot potato and crawl out of that abyss of misery that she could not let herself be dragged again back into the pit!

#DADS

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wazzupmrstark · 5 years

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thank you for saying its okay to be sad abt tom dating someone,,, I've been feeling guilty about it and trying to squash those feelings down because like logically i knew id never even be w tom but i still had sad feelings lol but yeah I'm also happy for him and she is hot af so like good for him

dude of course!! I feel like there can be a lot of preaching and finger pointing when stuff like this happens which, of course, can be necessary (bc people are legit crazy) but also I think it’s important to acknowledge that a lot of people are gonna have some negative feelings about it even if it’s over something as “silly” as this like it’s all about perspective!! and like you said, everyone (fingers crossed) knows how unlikely it is to meet the man let alone date him lol so we all knew it was gonna happen eventually but change is hard and it’s okay to be a little emo about it!! you! are! valid! squashing your feelings down is never healthy!! you’re allowed to have emotions and be emotional and feel things deeply like sometimes that’s just the kind of person you are, even when it comes to the more trivial stuff like this

but recognizing that they look happy as heck and they’re a hot fucking couple (date? pair of friends? whatever they are?) and being happy for them is so so important too!! boy’s been working hard lately he deserves to date! have fun! do whatever the fuck!

there’s a huge difference between being emo but supportive as heck versus feeling entitled and bitter and hateful (and ACTING on those feelings wtf I hate people)!!!

so don’t sweat, love, ur doing great and have nothing to feel guilty about xx

#shes super hot #answered #anon

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laraslandlockedblues · 5 years

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Ok actually I know the tags on my gif post I just did said I wasn’t sure when I’d be back, but I’m feeling strangely articulate tonight so here we go. Long-winded under the cut.

TL;DR - Real life is (and will continue to be) a busy bitch, a writer’s ego is a fragile thing, and my Lightning Struck series (Cullen/Evelyn) can now be considered on indefinite hiatus.

Hi! Yes, I’m alive and well and I really do appreciate the messages asking if I was all right and checking on me. You’re all too sweet and kind, and I’m so grateful for each and every one of you. Keep that in mind as this ramble continues, please.

This has been a weird year already, and it’s only March. Normally I’d be like “IT’S ALREADY MARCH?!” but no, this year...It’s only March. That’s how I’ve been feeling.

January started off with a weird mood for me. Over the holidays I had the usual family stress and blahness that comes with adulthood, but a few fandom things happened too that put me into a rather...difficult headspace, shall we say. For one thing, I will say I’ve noticed I’m not the only one who’s pointed out that it feels like the fandom is dying. And it is. Which is sad. I feel like I only just got here - I’ve played DA for years but I only really started to interact with its fandom in late 2017, so for me it was still all fresh and new and exciting. Seeing that die down, compounded with the Tumblr wank, especially, was really disappointing.

As a creator, too, it was hard not to take that personally. It was hard not to take people moving on to other fandoms and interests and things as an indictment on my work. Rational brain knew that that was the problem, rational me knew that we were all just moving on because other things were catching our interest. It’s natural. But dumb, idiot writer brain was struggling with the fact that I was feeling like I was screaming into the void.

What bothered me more was that I even cared. I never once wanted to care about that. I always preach writing for oneself, and that’s why I write. But I hated the fact that for a time I’d gotten so much feedback that I noticed its absence when it died down a little. And that’s not anyone’s fault, I’m not begging for comments or feedback, seriously. Again, rational me was shrugging and still wanted to write for me because it was fun and I enjoy it, but the fragile writer ego we all carry around inside us took a hit and began to doubt.

It stopped being fun. Especially because it wasn’t necessarily a total lack of feedback - it was, for me, a lack of feedback on what I was actually, currently working on. Over the holidays for some reason I began to get comments on WIPs that I hadn’t updated in ages - asking me for updates. Now, everyone has their own opinion on those sorts of comments, so this is only my own, and take it with a grain of salt and everything I just mentioned above.

It sucked. It absolutely, 100% sucked. Seeing the email notification that I got a comment would bring me so much joy - only to open it to see that it was a comment on something I hadn’t written for in a long time asking me when I’d feel like providing more content for that fic again. I began to feel like fic was a transaction and I was piling up debts. I started to feel like I owed fandom and readers what they wanted, instead of doing this for the reason I started in the first place - for myself.

I know that Rylen is niche. I know that fics that have very little to do with canon are niche. I know that Abby isn’t always super likable. I know that John is off-putting because he’s such a morally ambiguous OC who has nothing to do with DA and makes really shit decisions. I know all of that, and I’ve never expected any of those fics to get any sort of response, so the fact that they’ve gotten the response that they have still blows my mind and makes me insanely, insanely happy. And so I hated that I felt ungrateful, and that I was doubting my work, and that writing and fandom was beginning to feel like a labor and not something I loved.

The more I noticed I was struggling with working on updates, the more I started to think a break might be in order. When some RL stuff finally cropped up, the fact that I was sort of forced into a break was a blessing in disguise, to be honest. I leaned into the skid and let myself step back to reevaluate why I do this and what I want to get out of it. I fell into a new fandom and worked on random pieces of writing for it, which I threw into the voids of ao3 on a second account and only shared for myself and a few friends who were also falling into that fandom with me. I rediscovered the joy of writing and not caring what response I get. I reignited my love of crafting a story a certain way because I wanted to and not because I thought it was where anyone else thought it should go.

I remembered why I love writing in the first place - for myself.

And with that, I finally began to let go of some things, and let myself mull over decisions I’d been putting off or avoiding. I shrugged off the stress of expectation and “owing” anyone my time or effort, and I’m finally back to enjoying myself and my writing, free of doubt.

With that, I have some news, good and bad. The bad news first - my Cullen muse has left the building. I have waited, and hoped, and tried, but at some point he walked out the door and he hasn’t made an appearance since. That isn’t to say that I don’t still love his character or content about him, but personally, I can no longer write his POV or romance. The ability to do so has eluded me for months now, but I’ve accepted this sad truth at long last. Unless he’s trading banter with Rylen or Abby, his muse is no longer whispering in my ear. And that makes me sad, and for all I know he’ll reemerge some day, ready to help me write again. For now, though, that isn’t possible. Which does, unfortunately, mean that my Cullen/Evelyn WIPs are currently either abandoned or on an indefinite hiatus (I’ve tagged them appropriately on ao3 if you’re curious). If I do manage to return to them, I expect to only focus on Moments Passed and Miss Grey. As for what I’ll do about Beautiful Disaster...I’m not quite certain yet.

It did also mean that I was able to let go of something that had bothered me for a while as well. I’m almost positive no one noticed since it’s been kind of off radar for a while, but - my fic What Are the Odds has been orphaned. I’m still proud of it as a fic, but it came with a lot of baggage and my Cullen/Evelyn pairing was just ever so slightly OOC to the point that comments on it made me cringe. I’m a firm believer in not deleting, and so off to the fandom as an orphaned work it went, to be enjoyed without me having to be aware of it at all.

Now, the good news is - I do 100% still plan on writing Abby/Rylen. Their muses are still there and whispering to me, and I definitely want to continue working on the WIPs I have for them. At the moment After Rain might be slow to update (need to figure out how I’m navigating some canon plot to get me from point A to B to C to D and on). But I plan on trying to finish it as well as the others that I have for them. Abby/Ry live on, because I absolutely love them so much, and the idea of writing for them is back to bringing me joy.

I cannot make guarantees on update speed for the foreseeable future, possibly for the rest of the year. Currently RL continues to be a shitshow, as I was reminded today, and writing more than a sentence here or there has been difficult. In a few months I will also be moving, and once at my new destination I actually have a Big Project (a writing one I hope to be able to share here, if people are still around/Tumblr is still a thing) that I intend to make my full time focus. My goal has always been to be a writer, and while fanfic has been an amazing way to explore my writing style/storytelling/character voice, I have plans to get published. I’ll have a better opportunity to put those plans into realistic action later this year, which I’m actually really, insanely excited about.

If you have made it this far, THANK YOU. I love this fandom, and I’ve met so many wonderful, lovely, supportive, talented people in it and I have missed you all dearly during my time away. In no way was this a call out post directed at anyone in particular, and in no way was this a “woe is me, please give me attention” cry for help. I’ve just had a lot of thoughts and feelings during this break, and I actually wanted to sort of vocalize them because: 1) wow I already feel better after doing so, and 2) to let other writers know it’s 100% valid to need to take a break or occasionally get in your head about needing validation/feedback/wonder why we do this when it just feels like screaming into a fathomless void. It’s natural and normal and totally human, and if you’re feeling that way, find someone supportive to help you through and take a step back. Everything will be waiting there for you when you’re ready for it. And remember - do it for yourself because it’s something you enjoy.

#lara rambles #long post #do n/ot/ reblog #seriously please #no reblobbies #thank you for the love while i was away #i'll try to be around more often now #xx

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mysweetestcreature · 6 years

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Strands of Hair

Request: could you write something about harry having a new hair and make up artist and them casually flirting then one night before a show they take the flirting too far? love your writing xo

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! xx

***

“He’s a total softie,” Lou says, “but he can be a bit stubborn when it comes to his hair.” Y/n makes a mental note to not mess of the famous locks of one Harry Styles. A few months ago, she’d been contracted by Harry’s management––at her good friend, Lou Teasdale’s, recommendation––to be the rock star’s new stylist. It’s been a dream of hers, to travel the world. And now she’s able to do it, while doing something she loves. Her old job at a makeup/hair salon in the heart of London had been a fantastic start out for her career. Some well-known public figures have sat in her chair and allowed her full creative freedom.

But this is much different. Not only is he one of the biggest names in modern times, but she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t a bit of a fan herself. “What about makeup? Does he wear any?” Y/n asks.

“Some powder on occasion, but he really doesn’t need it. Have you seen the man’s skin?” Lou laughs. She gives Y/n an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “You’re going to do just fine, okay? You know you’re good at what you do, and Harry’s really easy to work with. If I wasn’t needed at the salon, I would still be on the road with him.” The main reason she was hired was because Lou had made the decision to focus on her personal business ventures, a hair coloring salon, which she helps run with her sister. Y/n gives her an appreciative smile, as she packs the last bit of her makeup and hair necessities in her tote.

Hopefully all goes well.

***

11 March 2018, Basel, Switzerland

The first night of the tour, and the adrenaline is running high backstage. Already, Harry can hear the echoes of the growing crowd waiting on the other side of the screen. It’s the first time he’ll be performing in front of so many people as a solo artist. Tonight, marks his first ever arena gig, and he cannot be more excited and nervous. When someone has been on the road as much as he has, one would expect him to feel immune to whatever jitters may course through his body. Yet, the feeling never stops, as Stevie Nicks has so prudently preached.

He’s got his sparkling black trousers fastened around his hips, a black ruffled blouse tucked into it. “Hair and makeup, now,” Jeff orders as he passes him in the hall and turns to point at his watch. So, he does just that. To be honest, he’s a bit sad that Lou isn’t joining him on this leg of the tour. She’s been with him ever since he started out in this crazy business, but she did promise that his new stylist would be nothing short of exceptional.

“Hi!” a voice chirps at him just seconds after he passes through the doorway. Harry takes a moment to get a good look at her. Her hair is pulled back into a stylishly messy bun that sits near the top of her head. She’s dressed in high-waisted navy blue skinny jeans, with a light grey cropped tank on top. Just the right amount of skin lingers in between. “I’m Y/n!”

“I’m Harry,” he politely nods to her. She giggles softly, and he can’t help but smile at how infectious it is.

“I know, I’m actually a really a big fan,” she blushes, then signals for him to take a seat in the chair right in front of the vanity. He looks at her through the mirror, and watches as she runs her hands through his hair, tussling it on the sides. Her fingers feel good as her nails lightly scratch against his scalp, he bites his tongue to hold back a pleasured moan. “I’ve been told not to mess with the hair too much but is there something you want specifically?” she asks, the reflection of their eyes meet.

“I dunno, maybe just curl it a bit?” Lou would usually cut it before most shows, but he’s recently made a firm decision to let it grow out into its naturally wavy state.

She nods, and takes a brush and gently brushes it back, making sure not to hurt him. The last thing she needs is to cause physical pain to the man that’s paying her. “How about if we curl the front?” Y/n steps in front of him and stares intently at the top of his head. Her hand reaches up to curl a piece around her finger, her mouth curls to the side in what looks like pure concentration. Yeah, curling just a bit of it in the front would look good.

The breath he didn’t even know he was holding releases once she turns around to get the curler ready. He won’t deny that she’s cute, really cute actually. “Sure, that’d be cool,” he says calmly, although his mind is still focused on how she smells of vanilla and…roses, maybe? As she gets to work on his hair, he tries to come up with something to say. Surely it shouldn’t be this difficult to make conversation. They’ll be working closely with one another for the better part of five months. “How long have you known Lou?”

“About three years or so,” she replies, taking a moment to dart her eyes up at him through the mirror.

“Oh…lovely,” he says, and noticeably winces at how sarcastic that had sounded. She chuckles as she wraps a strand of hair around the wand. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” he shakes his head lightly, his dimples pop out as he offers an embarrassed smile.

“It’s alright,” she giggles. She lets the heated curl fall against his forehead, then brushes it to the side. Once more, her fingers comb through his hair, and she looks at his reflection to make sure everything looks perfect.

When they’re both satisfied with how it looks, she moves on to dust a bit of powder over his face. The things they had said weren’t false at all. This man has the nicest skin she’s seen. Would it be weird for her to ask him about his skincare routine? “You have really nice skin,” she mumbles, but he’s able to catch it.

“Why, thank you. I just drink loads of water,” he jokes, and a flush of pink rises to the apples of her cheeks. But when she dares to meet his eyes, they’re all bright and green, and suddenly she feels like she’s the seventeen-year-old fawning over his picture in the magazines.

“Oh, so that’s your secret,” she muses, as she tries to play off the discomfiture of having been unable to hold her thoughts in.

Harry laughs, and nods his head tauntingly slow. “Yeah, that’s all there is to it. I could give you some pointers if you want,” he teases, but when he thinks logically about what he’s just said, he realizes how stupid it must’ve sounded. Luckily, she finds the humor in his statement, not being able to bite back the melody of giggles that so eloquently dance through her lips. It’s a sound he could get used to hearing.

***

18 March 2018, Stockholm, Sweden

Four shows down, and Y/n finally thinks she’s gotten the whole ‘moving around a lot’ thing down. Thankfully, the following meetings with Harry hadn’t been as awkward as the first. They’ve actually been able to maintain a decent conversation while she plays with his hair, and she finds that they share much of the same humor. He’s quite funny, always cracking jokes at opportune times.

The rest of the band is really great, as well. She’s already formed a close bond with Sarah and Clare, and she loves doing their makeup. Since the guys go light, only really covering themselves in the faintest of foundation, it’s a good contrast to be able to experiment with different eye looks to match their colorful outfits. In the show in Paris, she’d given Sarah a magnificent blue cut-crease to match her sparkly top.

She’s forgotten what an exhilarating performer Harry is. There’s just something about his charm and charisma that instantly draws an audience by the thousands. He’s cheeky, but also the sweetest person all at the same time. It reminds her of why she became a fan in the first place. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that she’d ever take part in his career in any way besides admiring him from afar.

During his Amsterdam show, she chose to settle herself within the crowd, wanting to see him rock the stage in the way that only he can. She’d jammed out during ‘Only Angel’ and had shed a tear or two when he sang ‘If I Could Fly’ while phone lights lit up the arena. Something worth mentioning is how good he had looked in his custom Harris Reed. He was like a modern-day pirate, as she had told him while seated in front of her.

Tonight’s suit, however, has her feeling a certain way. It’s a custom Calvin Klein suit, light pink with thin black lines that form squares along the fabric. Inside, he’s only got on a tank, and bless her soul when he had come into the makeup in only that, she felt her thoughts drift astray towards the tattoos that scatter along his bare arms. The muscles in himslightly flexing when he had opened up a water bottle.

“It’s a nice suit, yeah?” Harry Lambert whispers as they look on from the side. She bites her lips inward and gives the faintest nod. He’s going completely wild on stage, ‘Kiwi’ just has that effect on him. At the final seconds of the song, he does his infamous spit take, and launches a mist of water into the air. There’s something about it that she finds so extremely, breathtaking. She shouldn’t be having these thoughts about him, he’s her boss and maybe she can call him a friend, but that’s about it.

Each member of CHASM exits off the stage, Harry being the last. “How’d I do?” he smiles at her, an arm casually slung over her shoulder as they walk. “You were amazing, as expected,” she says sincerely, “a bit pitchy during Sign of the Times, but I suppose it happens to the best of us.” She keeps walking in spite of him stopping in his tracks, his arm falling to his side as he stands there completely stunned. She turns, continuing to walk backwards, and flashes him a mischievous look.

***

24 March 2018, Oberhausen, Germany

Harry’s developed somewhat of a crush on her since they’ve embarked on this tour. There’s something about her that keeps drawing him in, and he has yet to find out what it is. One thing he admires is how she always manages to smile, even when it’s visibly evident that she’s running low on energy. It’s the travelling, he assumes. When he was on tour with One Direction, it had taken him several weeks to find his own rhythm in the midst of the all the hustle.

It’s still early, they’ve got about eight hours until they’re meant to be preparing for tonight’s gig. He pops in to where she’s sitting in the makeup chair, scrolling through some pictures of makeup looks from by her favorite beauty gurus. “C’mon, get up,” he says to her, pulling her hand till she’s standing on her feet.

“What? Where are we going?” she raises a suspicious eyebrow at him. “If this is one of your pranks, I’m telling you, Harry…”

“No! I promise you that you’ll appreciate this one.” He grabs her purse on the way out, and she looks down to where her hand is being firmly held in his. His hand digs in his jacket pocket and pulls out a pair of sunglasses. “Here, put these on.”

***

The liquid burns her throat, but she can slowly feel herself becoming more in touch with her senses. Turns out, he was taking her to a coffee house not too far from the venue. He’d made her wear his extra pair of shades, so they could easily maneuver through the streets without anyone recognizing them––she’s acquired quite the following since early March.

“Hit the spot?”

She hums in satisfaction, her eyes closed as she indulges in the feeling of having the steam of her coffee open up her sinuses. “Definitely,” she replies, and takes another sip of the dark roast. She opens her eyes to see his sparkling down at her, the sunglasses he had worn earlier perched on the top of his head, no longer hiding the green irises she’s become entranced by. Before she has chance to stop herself, she’s pushing back a stand of hair that’s gone aloof. “Sorry…It was bothering me,” she blushes.

Harry takes a step closer to her, only a few inches now separating them. Y/n can feel the rushing of her heartbeat as the warmth of each of his breaths sends shivers down her spine. “It’s fine,” he says in low voice, his gaze darting down to her parted lips, all plump and pink, and just begging to be kissed. “It’s yours to play with.”

***

31 March 2018, Madrid, Spain

“Amazing job, tonight!” he hears her praises Clare and Sarah once they’re all backstage. He makes his way over to her, only be stopped by Jeff. His manager starts talking his ear off, but Harry can hardly pay him any attention.

A pang of jealousy hits him when he sees her hug Mitch and Adam, if only it were him. Their eyes meet from across the hallway, and she shoots him a sweet smile before getting whisked away by one of the staff members.

“Sorry, can we talk about this later?” Harry excuses himself and takes long strides over to his band. The four of them are laughing amongst themselves, Mitch holding a bottle of champagne in his hand, a flute in the other.

“Want a drink?” he holds it out for Harry to take.

He waves his hand to decline. “Have you seen, Y/n?” he asks, looking over Adam’s shoulder. He doesn’t even notice them exchanging knowing looks. At this point, the mutual attraction shared between Harry and Y/n is obvious to all. Sarah motions over to hair and makeup, and he’s already jogging over to the room.

When he sees her, she’s twirling the wire around the handle of hairdryer, making sure that there are no twists––he’s learned that she hates when things aren’t properly put back in order. With her concentration in full effect, he quietly tiptoes behind her. His hands dwell over her sides before he’s digging his fingers into her hips. She lets out a yelp and nearly jumps out of her own skin.

“Oh my god!” she swats his arm then clutches her heart. “Don’t do that, you know I’m not good with surprises.” His chest rumbles as he tries to hold in a laugh, his closed-mouth smile threatening to expose his teeth. His hands find her the curves of her waist and he gently pulls her closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but there’s not a single shred of remorse etched into his words. He tilts his down, their noses bumping as his lips ghost above hers. “Forgive me?”

***

11 April 2018, London, England

“What’s going on with you and Harry?” Clare inquires while they help themselves to food from the buffet. “You two seemed awfully cozy last night,” she winks, and Y/n feigns innocence as she shrugs.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she responds airily. Clare smirks at her and plays along with the charade.

“So those noises that Mitch heard when he came by to drop something off at his room were just cats fighting?” Y/n misses her bowl, the oatmeal falling on the table with a big splat. An already distressed looking waiter that passes them lets out a defeated sigh and turns back to grab a towel. Y/n calls out an apology, but he’s already disappeared into the kitchen.

***

She’s setting up her station when she hears the door shut behind her visitor’s footsteps. There’s no need to turn around because almost immediately she’s being pressed up against the vanity, a prominent bulge poking into her back. “Where’d you run off to this morning?” he whispers in her ear, his hands roaming down her front.

Her head falls back to lean onto his shoulder and enjoys the feeling of his kisses along her neck. “Went to get breakfast with Clare,” she purrs, biting her lip when his hands slide up her shirt and cup her breasts through her bra.

“I missed you,” and he gently squeezes them, massaging them in rounded motions. Not only did Harry wake up alone in bed, but he woke up with the most painful morning stiffy that he had been forced to take care of himself. He was only relieved for a few hours before the thoughts of past few nights resurfaced in his memory, and it was almost as though he could feel her body writhing beneath him. Those images had been enough to bring life back to his lower half.

He pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it over the chair behind him. Her hand reaches behind to slip past the waistband of his joggers, he moans against her hair as she strokes him, her head craning to reach for his mouth. “I’ll make it up to you.”

And just like that, he’s pulling down her jeans and bending her over the vanity. She looks up and sees his eyes are a darker, more dangerous shade of green. “Want you watch how I fuck your pussy,” he husks against her temple, and suddenly she’s gasping as he slowly enters her from behind. His eyes roll to the back of his head as she envelops him completely. “Fucking tight,” he mutters under his breath.

Her eyes drift shut for only a moment, but he’s pulling strands of her hair to have her look at their reflections. “Gotta stay focused, love. Keep them focused on me.” She watches as the glistening of sweat begins to form beads at the top of his forehead. Her eyes trail down to where she can see how his thick length gleams with her wetness every time he pulls out.

She braces herself against the edges of the table as he rocks her back and forth with even thrusts. “Tell me how much you like it,” his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. “Tell me how much you love having me so deep in your cunt.” The veins on the sides of his head become more prominent as he tries his best not to bust his load right then and there. She’s so warm and tight, it’s driving him absolutely wild how he feels himself hitting the very end of her. He moans as his balls slap against her ass each time he drives into her delicious heat.

“I fucking love it,” she pants out as he starts picking up speed. “I love it so much, daddy,” she cries, and reaches back to pull at his hair, turning his head to meld their lips together. The rising production of heat and humidity in the room slowly begins to fog up the mirror until all that’s visible is a hazy outline of their intertwined bodies.

His hands move back to her breasts, twisting her nipples as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along her neck. He sucks just below her jaw, bring the erotic purple shade to the surface to let people know who she now belongs to. In the few short weeks that he’s known her, already does he feel himself being tangled around her little finger.

The sensation of him being so deep inside her, hitting all the right places and has her on the verge of an explosion. Her arms spread over the table, knocking down some of the stuff she’d previously laid out for tonight. With the little energy she has left, she reaches to wipe away the fog in big circles. She’s met with his darkened eyes once again.

“Gonna give it to me?” he breathes out. “You gonna cum all over daddy’s cock?” She nods eagerly against him, her hair tickling the edge of his chin as her back arches to meet his thrusts in search for that last bit of needed friction.

“Right there, please, daddy, don’t stop!” she screams, her voice rising as she feels herself on the brink of a climax. A string of curses leaves her mouth as she sees a flash of white flood her vision and take over all of her senses. Her body goes limp in his arms, as he continues to drive into her with a tantalizing force.

Once she’s gathered enough strength after coming down from her high, she lets him slip out of her and gets on her knees. She takes his cock in her hand and covers her lips over the tip, her cheeks hallowing as she sucks down until it’s hitting the back of her throat. His head falls back, as he fucks into her face. “Yeah, baby, suck my cuck. Take my treat,” he moans, his eyes shutting tightly as he his seed shoots deep into her mouth.

He pulls out of her, and bends down to pry her lips apart. His thick sticky release sits in a pool on her tongue. “Swallow,” he orders. She closes her mouth and he sees the bob of her throat, and he imagines what his cum looks like as it fills her tummy.

***

12 April 2018, London, England

“I love this hair on you,” Y/n says as she tussles the curls atop his head. She doesn’t particularly love it when it’s too messy. No, she prefers it to be the perfect balance, nice and maintained in the back, while the front gracefully bounces whenever he goes wild. “Love this suit, as well,” she leans in to whisper in his ear. Harry smirks at her and leans up to give her a quick peck on the lips. “Alright, now we’ve got to fix the nails. Have you never heard of a base and top coat before?”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles drabble #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #one direction imagine #one direction one shot #harry styles

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johnnyappleseed-cat-blog · 5 years

Text

Beginning

JUDGEMENT.

XX, XY, & XYY

DNA’m them genes...

Some people don’t get it.

Out here in NY there’s no law. Someone needs to press the Rock. D’Angelo has a great album Voodoo. Press her with the Rock. Back in High school I used to bust it to the jam.. Berry Jelly.. Yo these girls used to call me Jelly. In High School.. Some wonder and do.. Some look and preach. Some work and never look up. I mean the sky is pretty high up there.. Hopes and dreams are not cheap.. and neither is the Dentist. Some people break the backboards and some wave their hands. Some are players and some are fans.

Fans have RPM’s and Players don't spin.. My right wrench is torque’y though.. That’s Rotations tension for those who don’t know math.

Wu-tang has a track.. Might be GZA liquid swords.. Where the Kung-Fu teacher talks about picking the sword and joining the father in life while the other option is pick the ball with the mother in death. Idk which is better play ball in the fake afterlife or live on the edge of death to get laid. It’s not really a game. Players are the only ones who get to do both. Also PSYTRANCE is da shit.

I’m putting my sword in the ball though.. I don’t trust Dad’s anymore its an Evil word. To Me. #Wethepeople

-Johnny Apple Seed - DA KEAAWT

cute stuff ladies

#Wethepeople Allaboutmoney itsallthesame

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dariamalek · 6 years

Text

I Haven’t Been Fully Truthful...

It’s 4:30 and I am sitting at my desk under dim lighting, the sunset is lightly illuminated through my window.

I have an extremely bad case of writers block. I’ve had it all weekend. I’ve been meaning to write an essay for my class. I keep glancing at the clock and watching the minute hand move ever so quickly. It’s giving me quite a bit of anxiety. I keep remembering all the other things I have to do and it’s putting me on a stretch for time.

I have had my off days but this week has been much more utilizing than others. I have noticed that I have become different on a day to day basis.

Each of you who have ever read my blog will know me as someone who does yoga every weekend, is relaxed and positive and relatively happy in her life because she is an expert at organization, problem solving and staying motivated. You will also know I do many things, which makes me the perfect candidate to educate you on how to be able to do all these things.

But there is something that I have been hiding from you all.

I am not that person you think I am. At least not all the time.

Overtime, I have dulled. I have lost that spark of excitement and youth in me. I say youth because I am 21. I’m not in my late twenties working my criminal law desk job yet, it’s my age that seems to impress people. The fact that other girls in my age are studying, working light jobs and going out and spending time with their friends while I am studying for a Phd, working a highly trained office job, working on my big interiors business and writing novels. I am different from the other girls but, that’s not always a good thing.

I spend my nights alone. I no longer go out with my friends and I dread it when I do because I am just too tired to leave my house. I have lost that passion: even for things I love. Before when I used to speak to someone about something I loved or had interest in, my eyes would widen and I would feel so connected to the conversation and almost compelled to know more from the other end. I’ve lost that now.

Compliments used to make my day. I would think about them all day and they would always put a smile on my face. Now, I can give a half ended smile and say “thank you” but, nothing will change inside me.

Waking up is dreadful to me now but, I always fall asleep with a half empty glass of wine and a book on my nightstand.

Now, this is not a cry for help or pity. This is another lesson for you.

Of course you’re thinking: “you’re preaching something you don’t even know? Why would we want to learn anything from you?”

Because I am teaching you the reality of what it’s like to be successful. I wrote a post about picking your career based on what you love and that’s what will truly make you successful but, even if you do, it’s not always going to be sunshines and rainbows.

I am teaching you the reality of a wake up call.

If you're feeling like you’re losing something, it’s a sign you need to step back and reevaluate your life. You may love your job-but it’s not always your job thats the problem. It could be something inside it. It may be your lack of organization. It could be how you chose to go about your day. Down to your social life or your diet.

Everyone needs a breather, even from the things you love doing. Don’t make my mistake. Don’t rush into things and think that everything is going to be easy to handle. Respect yourself enough to step back for a moment, or a week, or a month: your mental health is more important than all the money or all the relationships you are going to have. I went into all this thinking it would be a slice of cake, but I forgot to accept that with big accomplishments come a lot of work. I was young and I didn’t think it through. So from my mistakes please take this:

Don’t rush into things.

Don’t be afraid to take some time off to focus on yourself and plan ahead realistically.

Following your heart, in that very second, isn't always the right choice.

Think before you speak or make decisions.

Think rationally.

You will face lots of blood, sweat and tears in order to be successful: even if its in something you love with all of your heart.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

In order to teach positivity, you must show that negativity exists-even in the most positive people. But, there are ways to fight it. You must teach that negativity needs to be present for us to understand the positive.

With love, daria xx

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