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destielharlequinchallenge · 4 years

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The Destiel Harlequin Challenge Master Post: 2020 Mega Bang

Participants in the 2020 Destiel Harlequin Challenge completed an amazing 20 fics and 3 sets of artwork! You can learn all about those here!

Spectre (fic by a_dusky_gold, art by aceriee)

This whole thing… this was supposed to be a fucking farce. A way to keep Nicholas Vaught occupied until the deadline he’d given Dean would run out, and he’d still get the money to send Dad to the Town Hall rehabilitation for alcoholism, because that was the goddamned deal.

There were no such things as ghosts or magic or a Book of Life. Dean knows, okay? He wasn’t the Army’s goddamned Mystery Raider for nothin’; he knows history, he knows artifacts, and he knows that the Book of Life is an ancient myth that is about as real as werewolves or vampires.

And yet.

“The Book of Life,” the man had said. Dean can’t even remember his name.

Shit, shit, shit.

Dangerous Ground by Amethystaris

Special Agents for the Department of Diplomatic Security, Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester have been partners and best friends for three years, but everything changed the night Cas admitted the truth about his feelings for Dean. And when Cas was shot a few hours later, Dean felt his reluctance to get involved was vindicated.

Can a camping trip in the High Sierras save their partnership?

Honour Undressed by andimeantittosting

Among his friends, Castiel, Lord Milton is everyone’s confidant and, along with his trusted valet, the fixer of problems. But there is one secret Castiel has never shared: he is in love with his valet and has been for years.

Born in the gutters, Dean Winchester was assigned as Castiel’s batman in the war, and when Castiel travelled home to take up his title, Dean followed him as his valet. To assist Castiel, Dean is not above a little burglary or blackmail. But the one thing he wants for himself is Castiel’s heart.

When Castiel’s closest friends become the target of a blackmailer, certain truths come out. But while Dean determines to seduce Castiel, Castiel is adamant that he must resist, for if there is one rule a gentleman must follow, it is never to dally with his servant.

Havenport by BlueMasquerade

Castiel cleared space on his desk by the expedience of sweeping the previous contents to the side. He set the bundle down in the center of the surface and studied the knots in the rope before expertly untying them.

The book was old, its leather bindings cracked and crumbling. He carefully opened the cover to reveal the pages within, each hand cut, the edges beautifully deckled, the text written in pen and ink.

“This is written in ancient Enochian.” Castiel looked up, gaze narrowed. “Where did you obtain a book written in ancient Enochian?”

“Is that what it is? All I could tell is that it sure as hell isn’t English.” Mr. Winchester grinned, a dimple flashing in his cheek.

an aching in my heart by contemplativepancakes

When Dean’s best friend dies, leaving behind her daughter, Dean knows he has what it takes to give Claire the life she deserves. The problem is, they’re not related by blood, and Claire’s long lost uncle gets called to take her in. Castiel Novak was bad news when he was in highschool with Dean, and judging by his blue hair and tattoo sleeves, nothing’s changed. Castiel ran out on his family once before, and there’s no way Dean’s going to let that happen to Claire without putting up a fight.

Fools and Fate by Danica_Dust

Castiel Novak fled his coven to escape the rigid, predetermined Fate laid out for him within its confines. Desperate and alone, he took shelter in the city of Sacriloga, forsaking all magic and living off whatever he could steal. There, witches like Cas are hunted. They are feared. And they are burned.

When Jack, a young witch also on the run from his own coven, seeks out Cas’ aid, however, Cas finds that he cannot reject the boy, leaving him to his sure destruction. Especially after the newest visitor to Sacriloga makes his presence known: the legendary Hunter, Dean Winchester, who has been following Jack’s trail.

Sworn to the Men of Letters, Hunters live by one principle: thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Dean’s path was never meant to cross with Cas', but a desperate stunt and a single mistake forces them into an impossible union—holy matrimony.

The war between the witches and the Men of Letters is an ancient one and Cas' most dangerous enemies bring a Fate worse than fire. Unable to ignore his growing feelings, yet powerless to change what he is, a choice must be made.

A suffocating Fate on one hand. A precarious freedom on the other. And in between, the kind of love that makes fools of us all.

Ozone by Deancebra

A young magic user who wants desperately to live. A jaded recluse who has forgotten what living means. They’re each other’s only chance.

Dean’s wild magic is killing him. The mage guilds have given up on him, and it’s only a matter of time before he dies in a spectacular, catastrophic bang. His only hope is an exiled wizard who lives in seclusion—and is rumored to have lost his mind.

The years alone on his hilltop estate have not been good for Castiel Novak. After the magical accident that disfigured him and nearly destroyed the village, he drifts through his days, a wraith trapped in memories and depression. Until a stricken young man collapses on his driveway, one who claims Castiel is his last chance. For the first time in fifteen years, Castiel must make a choice—leave this wild mage to his fate or take him in and try to teach him, which may kill them both. The old Castiel, brash and commanding, wouldn’t have hesitated. Castiel the exile isn’t sure he can find the energy to try.

A Demon Like Him by EllenOfOz

Dean Winchester doesn’t want to be a warlock. The idea of working in a lab, channeling demonic magic into enchanted batteries is not what he wants to do with his life, but it’s a dangerous opinion to have—his father was a powerful and well-connected warlock, and Dean is expected to follow the family tradition.

His only way out is to fail the demon summoning class—failure means expulsion from the Warlock College. Despite Dean’s best efforts to fumble the summoning, it works. Although not the way anyone expects.

Dean’s demon, Castiel, is an incubus, but also a powerful mage on a mission to rebalance the magic that is being stripped from Demonside by warlocks.

Dean must choose: fail out of his final exam and turn his back on becoming a warlock, or help Castiel and graduate. But he doesn’t count on how hot the incubus is, or how close they have become in just a few days.

A Working Relationship by fangirlingtodeath513

The homes that Castiel Novak designs for Angelic Houses are to die for. They’re pristine, perfectly designed and organized, and they’ve caused more than a few bidding wars. It’s the perfect job—he’s organized, good with math, and he’s able to pick up on design trends relatively quickly. The only thing that isn’t perfect? His obnoxious older brother, Luke. Castiel’s been vying for a position on a flipping team for years now, but Luke has never even considered it. When a lecherous gossip reporter overhears an argument, they receive an offer they can’t refuse.

They’re invited to compete on Flip Off, a competition where two people flip houses and compete for the highest profit. Castiel wants the leverage a win would bring him, but he also wants to prove himself. Enter Dean Winchester, a contractor with his own team and one that’s blissfully unconnected to Angelic Houses, allowing Castiel to prove himself without any help from the family company.

The undeniable attraction between them certainly doesn’t help matters, but Castiel is resolute in his decision to make a move only after they’ve finished working together. At least, that had been his plan until Dean made him an offer he simply couldn’t refuse.

Crashing In by followyourenergy

Castiel Novak is convinced he’s the last unwillingly single person in Lupine Cove. Even Gabriel, his perpetual bachelor brother, has found love. It’s probably because Cas leads the most boring life in existence. He’s a gay man living in a rented, one-room cottage in the same small coastal town he grew up in, just getting by as the owner of the same convenience store he was practically raised in. The most excitement he gets is chatting with the locals or maybe, if he’s unlucky, oversleeping and rushing to work. So when a baby is left at the Safe Haven drop-off at the local fire station, he takes the opportunity to step in for the child temporarily, at least until suitable parents, plural, can be found.

Life certainly gets more interesting.

And it gets even more interesting when a handsome man comes crashing—literally—into his life.

Make Me Believe by GhoulsnHalos

Ten years ago, Castiel Novak’s stepfather disowned him, taking from him his place as hereditary heir to the head of the Hunter and Warrior Guild. Now, he’s a self-made, and celebrated, master gem and metal smith. Castiel doesn’t believe that the God’s decide your soulmate. Until he designs what can only be a gift fit for his soul mate, who in contradiction to the etiquette, if not the laws of Neffroen, must be a man.

Dean Winchester is convinced that he is a lowly, dumbass, no magic hunter who couldn’t possibly be on the same social scale as a Novak. So, why is it when he spots the jewelled torc in Castiel’s shop, Dean develops an obsession over the neckpiece and its creator? It can't be anything to do with the will of the Gods, no matter what anyone says, because that's baloney and Dean's not into men.

When Castiel’s long-lost brother turns up and suggests he ought to challenge their stepfather and that Dean is destined to help Castiel rule the clan, Castiel takes some convincing. The real problem is Dean. Can Castiel with the help of family and friends convince Dean of his place by Castiel’s side? Can Dean play the part everyone expects of him to help Castiel regain his rightful place in society?

Shielded Heart by JuniperJones

Arthos, the Infinite City, is a place of alien wonders and indescribable beauty—and, most importantly for Dean, it’s also halfway across the universe from his abusive ex-fiancé. He came to the city desperate for a fresh start, but he finds himself downtrodden on a world of aloof alien beings with little hope of finding his place—and a good chance of being kidnapped or killed before he can even settle in.

At least until he is saved by an irresistible alien with piercing eyes and a seductive smile.

Castiel is the living embodiment of temptation, and he makes no effort to disguise his desire for Dean. But when his past threatens to drag Dean into a dangerous underworld, Dean discovers Castiel isn’t who he claims to be. After enduring so much suffering, can Dean bear to take a leap of faith with this mysterious alien? Can he trust Castiel with not only his life, but his heart?

Stumble and Fall by Kitmistry

Castiel was raised to do one thing: serve his country, whether that was fighting a war or becoming an expert spy. But when his lover is charged with treason and executed Castiel defects. He has evidence that can destroy the KGB’s entire spy ring in New Mexico, he has names of scientists involved with atomic weapons who send information to the Soviets, and he won’t stop until he has revenge.

Putting all his trust in the Americans, Castiel finds himself under the protection of U.S. Marshal Dean Winchester, who is too cocky and attractive for his own good, but at least seems to know what he’s doing.

When a routine transfer to a safehouse goes horribly wrong, Castiel and Dean narrowly escape with their lives. With the Marshals compromised and Castiel being framed for murder, he and Dean are on the run from KGB and law enforcement alike. They have no one to trust except each other, and nowhere to go that their enemies can’t reach.

The Shots We Don’t Take by MandalaRose

Still nursing the tatters of a broken heart and trying desperately to stave off the terror of his impending graduation, college senior Cas Novak decides it’s time to blow off a little steam. Not just any hook-up will do, however. The last thing Cas needs right now is a distraction. On the lookout for someone he can enjoy a steamy night of passion with before leaving them behind entirely, Cas thinks he’s found exactly what he needs in cocky university hockey star and well-known playboy Dean Winchester.

Dean is gorgeous, doesn’t date, and is the singular most infuriating person Cas has ever met. He’s the perfect one night stand...that is, until Dean decides he wants an instant replay of what was supposed to be a one-time event. Will Cas’ offer of friends, sans benefits, convince the arrogant love ’em and leave ’em hockey defenseman to find an easier score? Or will Dean wear down Cas’ defenses and lure the sexy nerd in the dorky trenchcoat back to his bed?

Bullets Over the Bayou (fic by mattzerella_sticks, art by dontbelasagnax)

Everyone wants Castiel Novak to quit the force, including Castiel. But he stays on despite the toxic work environment he’s surrounded by. Still believing he can do some good despite the many lines of red tape impeding him. Luckily, a pair of scissors by the name of Dean Winchester drops into his hands, and he finally feels like he can do some good.

Dean Winchester thought he would be in New Orleans for a day or two. Identify the body of his deadbeat father and then move on. No one knows he’s here. His mother and brother are blissfully unaware of the danger his father roped him into. With a parting gift of a journal, delivered to him the same day he received word about his father, Dean has become the target of a group of people who want him dead. The same people who killed his father.

Racing against the clock, can Dean and Castiel figure out what is so important about John Winchester’s journal that someone would kill for it?

Masquerade by noxsoulmate

It had begun as such a good plan; one that benefitted them both. And masquerading as Castiel Krushnic's boyfriend during the weeks of balls, galas, and charity events certainly was no hardship. With the impending end of their arrangement, though, Dean Winchester must admit that behind the mask of an aloof CEO lies a man he could fall in love with. Or maybe, he already has…

The Medium by raths_kitten

Detective Dean Winchester hates it when his Chief sends a medium to consult on his cases. But this time, the murder is closely linked to Castiel’s world and they both need to work together to solve it.

Any Semblance of Touch (fic by saltnhalo, art by c-kaeru)

1925, New York.

Dean Winchester’s life’s work is protecting the world from the supernatural relics that could destroy it. When an amulet with the power to control the tides is shipped to New York, he must intercept it before it can be used to devastating effects. This time, in order to succeed, he needs a powerful psychometric… and the only one available has sworn off the magical world altogether.

Castiel Novak’s gift comes with great risk. To protect himself, he’s become a recluse, redirecting his magic into museum research. But with the city’s fate hanging in the balance, and faced with the power of Dean’s charm and persuasion…

He can’t force himself to say no.

The Love of a Righteous Man by SargentMom573

Five years ago, Captain Dean Winchester defied his father, Senator John Winchester. With his brother Sam, and his spaceship Impala, Dean found his place among a ragtag fleet of pirates and smugglers. Their latest mission left him with a price on his head and a scar on his heart. When a surprise attack separated him from Sam and revealed a Sith weapon, he would do whatever it took to bring his brother back – even sacrifice his own happiness.

After Emperor Michael’s death broke the psychic link between them, Emperor’s Hand Castiel Novak spent years drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a barrel. Mostly sober, three years ago he found a new purpose as the Impala’s Chief Medical Officer, and Sam Winchester’s guide in the Force. And a good friend in the Impala’s gruff but kind Captain.

Dean and Castiel must work together to bring Sam home alive. But when Castiel’s last mission is exposed, will Castiel complete it and destroy any hopes Dean had for a family? Will Dean forgive Cas’ horrific purpose before it is too late? And give them both what they really want — the love of a righteous man.

SKID by spnsmile

Dean Winchester swore off love after getting dumped and fired from his job the same day. Badly drunk, he ended up balcony-hopping until a pair of hands snatched him inside a darkened room. But it's no hero, it's someone with deep voice whispering threats with a gun pointed at his back. Dean’s too drunk to deal with life but one good look at his hot assailant plus enough beer sold him to his accursed fate. The next morning, he found himself engaged to the most notorious leader of a powerful clan, Castiel Novak.

Married life in the compound for a month was not as blissful so when he could, Dean fought for that freedom. Castiel relented and as Dean tried to put the pieces of his normal life together, getting a bike messenger job and dealing with pain in the ass clients, he now also needs to deal with the dangerous presence of his very jealous and very protective husband watching over him.

Is his life ever going to get back to normal?

#2020 masterpost #destielharlequinchallenge #destiel harlequin challenge #destiel fanart #destiel fanfic #destiel

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paralleljulieverse · 3 years

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It’s been a while between posts here at the Parallel Julieverse, but we have finally managed to clear a bit of time from work, life, and other such annoyances to get back to what really matters: all things Julie! And in this post we highlight an interesting tidbit of trivia from late-1950 when Julie was appearing in Red Riding Hood at the Theatre Royal Nottingham, the subject of a recent 70th anniversary tribute post.

Although she had only just turned 15 when she was cast as the eponymous lead in Red Riding Hood, Julie Andrews was already an established juvenile star of considerable note. Her debut star-making turn as a 12-year-old child prodigy in Starlight Roof in 1947/48 garnered widespread media attention and it catapulted the young singer into a whirlwind period of touring performances, radio programmes, West End pantomimes, and even early television appearances. Julie’s subsequent casting as the resident singer in the hit BBC radio series, Educating Archie, augmented her fame further, bringing her voice into the sitting rooms of Britain on a weekly basis and making her a household name.

With this growing renown came equally expanded opportunities for cross-promotional marketing such as celebrity endorsements and advertising. A particular variant of celebrity promotion popular in the era was the staged 'star visit’ or what today might be termed ‘celebrity event marketing’ (Segrave 2005). Here the star would be invited to appear at a particular event or special occasion as a way of boosting public and media interest, while serving in return as a form of value-adding PR for the star and his/her professional ventures.

Julie was involved in several such ‘star visits’ during the three month run of Red Riding Hood. During rehearsals in mid-December 1950, she was invited as a VIP guest and honorary judge at the Annual Dance for Booth and Son, a major British apparel manufacturing company (‘Ilkeston’, 1). Around the same time, she paid a special visit to the Nazareth House for Children in Nottingham (‘Night’, 2), as well as the Borough Green Air Training Corps Cadets Open Night where “[p]art of the evening’s entertainment had to be cancelled in order to allow the enthusiastic younger generation to get her autograph” (‘Julie stopped’, 3).

One of the more fascinating such events -- and the one that we profile here -- was a courtesy visit to famed music impresario, Lawrence Wright. Today, Wright is little remembered, save by a handful of theatre history enthusiasts, but he was a major figure in the British entertainment industry of the early twentieth century (Wright 1988). Popularly dubbed the ‘Daddy of Tin Pan Alley’ and the ‘Monarch of Melody’, Wright started as a music composer in his hometown of Leicester where, under the pseudonym of Horatio Nicholls, he penned a string of popular songs such as “Down by the Stream", “Blue Eyes”, “Toy Drum Major”, and “Among My Souvenirs” (‘Alley’s Daddy’, 3).

Wright’s greatest success, however, came as a sheet music publisher and entertainment entrepreneur. In 1910, he chanced upon a catchy tune written by a local Leicester street singer called “Don’t Go Down the Mine, Daddy”. He promptly purchased the rights to the song and published it as part of his embryonic music company. A week after the song went on sale, there was a tragic mining disaster in Whitehaven in which 147 men and boys lost their lives. Recognising a potential marketing angle, Wright had a snipe printed across the top of the sheet music declaring that “Half the profits from the first ten thousand sold will go to the relief fund for the Whitehaven pit disaster” (Wright, 4). The song became a national sensation, selling over a million copies, and making Wright a small fortune. With the proceeds, he moved to London and set up shop as the ‘Lawrence Wright Music Company’ in Denmark Street, establishing what would become the city’s ‘Tin Pan Alley’.

Under the slogan, ‘You Can’t Go Wrong with the Wright Song’, Wright became the single biggest music publisher in the UK with an eventual catalogue of over 5000 songs which he leased to major theatre producers and singing artists of the day. In an era when many homes had a piano and singalongs in the parlour were a popular social pastime, Wright also sold his sheet music direct to the public through a nationwide chain of ‘Lawrence Wright Music Shops’. Ever the canny entrepreneur, Wright diversified his business holdings with a host of affiliate ventures. In 1926, he founded The Melody Maker, the first British periodical devoted to popular music, which remained in continuous publication right into the early-2000s. He launched a popular series of self-paced musical tutorials which taught a generation of young Britons how to play everything from the piano to the banjo. Wright also moved into theatre producing, mounting an annual summer revue, On With the Show at the North Pier Pavilion in Blackpool, which ran for 32 years and served as a showcase for many of the nation’s biggest variety acts (Wright 1988).

One of Wright’s more legendary professional pursuits was in the area of entertainment publicity. An inveterate showman, he would do anything to advertise his latest song or business venture, often falling foul of the authorities with some of his more colourful efforts. To promote his 1927 song, “Me and Jane in a Plane”, he chartered a bi-plane to fly at low altitude around the Blackpool Tower, while Jack Hylton and his Band played the song on board and dropped advertising leaflets to the startled crowds below. He offered £1000 to anyone who could disprove the title of another Wright song, “I’ve Never Seen a Straight Banana”, with the result that Denmark Street was awash with truckloads of fruit sent in by eager contestants. And what better way to launch a tune called “Sahara” than to dress a bevy of beautiful blondes as Arabian princesses and ride them on camels around Piccadilly Circus (Wright, 11; ‘King’, 7).

Less extravagant, but no less important to his business success, was Wright’s promotional use of stars. Across his fifty year career, Wright forged key professional relationships with many leading musical artists of the day. He even married a star: variety singer and comedienne, Betsy Warren, in 1933, though their union ended in divorce after only a few years. More enduring were his collaborations with the scores of stars who sang his songs and appeared in his shows. In 1960 to mark his 50th year in show business, Melody Maker published a special golden anniversary tribute to Wright that was brimming with congratulatory greetings from a cavalcade of stars old and new: everyone from George Formby, Jack Payne, and Billy Cotton to Harry Secombe, Connie Francis, and Frankie Vaughan (Wright, 18).

It was in this context that 15-year-old Julie Andrews found herself paying a promotional ‘star visit’ to Lawrence Wright in late 1950. The precise circumstances surrounding the visit are unknown. The young singer had an existing professional relationship of sorts with Wright, having included several of his songs in her concert repertoire such as “The Dream of Olwen” and “I Heard a Robin Singing”. Indeed, an article in the trade press from this time makes mention of Julie in relation to a newly published Wright number, “The Song of the Tritsch Tratsch” which she had started to perform in some of her concerts and, she was quoted as saying, it “always gets a grand reception” (‘Song Notes’, 4). Another likely influence behind the visit was Tom Arnold, the producer of Red Riding Hood. Arnold was a close business associate of Wright’s and one suspects he may have been instrumental in engineering the visit as a way of promoting his panto. Either way, at some point in November/December 1950, Julie dutifully trotted off to Wright’s office where, with photographers conveniently on hand, the young “panto starlet” was received by the impresario and what press reports termed a chorus of “his stars”.

It is this “chorus of stars” that makes the visit especially interesting from a theatre history perspective. While the names of the five female stars assembled to greet Julie may not ring many bells today, they were all celebrated theatrical luminaries of their day:

Carole Lynne (1918-2008): A glamorous actress and singer of the 1940s, Lynne starred in a string of big West End musicals including Black Velvet (1939), Old Chelsea (1943) opposite Richard Tauber, and a revival of Jill Darling (1945). She also appeared in a number of wartime comedy films such as Ghost Train (1941) and Asking For Trouble (1942) with Max Miller. In 1946, Lynne married famed theatre impresario, Lord Bernard Delfont -- the brother of Sir Lew Grade who would play a major role in Julie’s career -- and, after retiring from the stage in the early 50s, she became a prominent society hostess and patron to many theatre charities (’Carole Lynne’, 62).

Dorothy Ward (1890-1987): A noted beauty of the Edwardian stage, Ward rose to prominence in West End operettas such as The Dairymaids (1906) and Tom Jones (1907). She achieved her greatest fame, however, as a dashing pantomime Principal Boy, appearing in over 40 pantos across her 50 year career. In many of these shows, she played opposite her husband, Shaun Glenville, a noted panto Dame, and few Christmases passed without the pair “on the same stage, he in skirts and she in tights” ( ‘Obituary: Miss Dorothy Ward’, 14).

Marie Burke (1894-1988): A singer of remarkable versatility, Burke originally trained for an operatic career but found her niche in the lighter fields of operetta and musical theatre. She made a high profile debut as Isolde in Charles Cochran’s controversial 1919 production of Afgar, after which she spent several years touring in the United States and Australia. Burke had her greatest stage success playing the part of Julie in the premiere London production of Show Boat (1928). Thereafter, she headlined several major operettas including the London premiere of Waltzes from Vienna (1931-32) and its Broadway transfer as The Great Waltz (1934), and Don Juan de Mañara (1937) at Covent Garden. Burke had an equally successful screen career, appearing in over 70 films and TV programmes from the teens till the 1970s (‘Obituary: Marie Burke’, 12).

Patricia Burke (1917-2003) : The daughter of Marie, Patricia Burke was born in the proverbial trunk while her mother and father, tenor Tom Burke, were on a concert tour in Milan. Inevitably, she took to the boards herself as a teen, singing and dancing her way to fame in a string of West End musical successes of the 1930s -- with more than a few Julie connections. She made her professional debut in the 1933 premiere of Cole Porter’s Nymph Errant starring Gertrude Lawrence and later appeared alongside Beatrice Lillie in Happy Returns (1938). One of her greatest West End successes was as the female lead in The Lisbon Story (1943), a show which introduced the popular standard, “Pedro, the Fisherman” which Julie would later record. Following the war, Burke made an unexpected move into 'legit’ theatre, playing the female lead opposite Trevor Howard in a well received 1946 Old Vic production of The Taming of the Shrew, followed with a number of other equally high profile performances in classics such as As You Like It (1948), Jonson’s The Alchemist (1948) and Shaw’s Saint Joan (1948). Burke never forgot her popular roots, though, and she continued to alternate dramatic roles with musicals and pantos, as well as appearances in film and TV programmes (‘Patricia Burke’, p. 44).

Marjorie Browne (1910-1990): Another popular performer of the mid-century, Browne started her career in the mid-twenties as one of producer Charles Cochran’s ‘Young Lady’ beauties, scoring a major success in his revue One Damn Thing After Another (1927). Browne went on to perform widely in hit West End shows such as On Your Toes (1937) and Chu Chin Chow (1940), as well as touring productions of Rose Marie (1942-3), Hit the Deck (1944) and Good Night Vienna (1946). She also appeared in a number of British film musicals of the 30s and 40s including Lassie from Lancashire (1938), Laugh It Off (1940) co-starring Tommy Trinder, and I Didn’t Do It (1945) with George Formby.

It was, thus, quite the illustrious welcoming committee on hand to receive our young Julie. And, as much as the visit was a factitious PR event staged for the cameras by the ever-wily Lawrence Wright, there is still something deeply moving about its symbolic enactment of a generational passing of the theatrical torch. As representatives of the outgoing old guard, the five grand stars stand at the rear, poised with the confidence of a lifetime’s experience, charging their glasses in warm salute to the rising star of the next generation. That the women are bedecked with the emblematic accoutrements of mid-century celebrity -- furs, coiffure, champagne -- while, in the foreground, an adolescent Julie -- perched rather awkwardly on the corner of the desk, lanky legs akimbo -- is garbed in a homey juvenile ensemble of woollen coat, tartan skirt, ankle socks and Mary Janes -- cradling that perennial icon of cosy British domesticity, a cup of tea -- only adds to the symbolic poignancy.

By 1950, the tide was also starting to ebb for Lawrence Wright. Musical tastes were changing and audiences were fast moving on from the fireplace singalongs and end-of-pier entertainments with which he had built his career. A few short years later, he would stage his final summer revue in Blackpool in 1956, going into semi-retirement before passing in 1964 at age 76. His voluminous catalogue of songs, however, would endure. Prized as a valuable commercial property, the Lawrence Wright catalogue has been owned, at various times, by the Beatles and Michael Jackson, before being bought up by the Universal Music group (Horn, 595).

As a final Julie connection, years after her 1950 ‘star visit’ to the great man himself, Julie would once again sing a Lawrence Wright song when, as Gertrude Lawrence in the 1968 musical biopic, STAR!, she performed the classic WW1 music hall number, “Burlington Bertie from Bow”. Wright had purchased the rights to "Burlington Bertie” when it was first written in 1914 and it would remain a valuable possession of his corporate trunk. Even though “Burlington Bertie” was not in fact a song ever performed by Gertrude Lawrence, it perfectly captured the flavour of Edwardian music hall and provided an ideal showcase for Julie’s combined vocal and comic talents. The song was also something of a personal favourite for Julie. She had recorded the song previously for her 1962 album of music hall standards, and had even shared the stage in the late-40s with the original “Burlington Bertie” herself, the legendary Ella Shields (Andrews, 116). Julie’s performance of “Burlington Bertie” in STAR! would prove a highlight of that otherwise troubled film and she would continue to perform the number in concert well into the 1980s, proving indeed that “you can’t go wrong with a Wright song”!

Sources:

‘Alley’s Daddy Dead’, 1964. The Stage and Television Today, 21 March: 3.

Andrews, Julie. 2019. Home Work: A memoir of my Hollywood years. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson.

D.G. 1964. ‘The King is Dead. Long Live the King!’, The Illustrated Chronicle. 22 May: 7.

Heyes, Joy 1991. ‘Obituary: Marjorie Browne.’ The Stage and Television Today, 21 February: 30.

Horn, David 2004. ‘Lawrence Wright Music Company’ in J. Shepherd et al, eds. Continuum Encyclopedia of Popular Music of the World : Media, industry, society. London: Continuum, pp. 594-95.

‘Ilkeston Firm’s Event’, 1950. The Nottingham Evening Post. 16 December: 1.

‘Julie stopped the show at cadet’s open night.’ 1950. The Chronicle and Advertiser. 15 December: 3.

“Night of their Lives: Children at panto. dress rehearsal’, 1950. The Nottingham Evening Post. 23 December: 2.

’Carole Lynne: Glamorous actress and musical theatre star who as Lady delfont became one of London’s leading theatrical hostesses’ 2008. The Times, 22 January: p. 62.

‘Obituary: Marie Burke’ 1988. The Times, 23 March: p.12

‘Obituary: Miss Dorothy Ward’ 1987. The Times, 22 January: p. 14.

‘Patricia Burke: Thirties musical star who proved her range with Shakespearean roles, but retained a love of pantomime.’ 2003, The Times, 27 November: p. 44.

Segrave, Kerry, 2005. Endorsements in Advertising: A social history. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland.

‘Song Notes’ 1950. The Stage. 16 November, p. 4.

Wright, Lawrette, 1988. Lawrence Wright: Souvenirs for a century. Chards: Matthews Wright Press.

#julie andrews #lawrence wright #red riding hood #united kingdom #musical theatre #theatre history #music hall #variety #burlington bertie from bow #carole lynne #dorothy ward #marie burke #patricia burke #marjorie browne #ella shields #british

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thecandywrites · 3 years

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Blood For Gold Chapter 15

Oooh, Audra's deepest darkest secret becomes known and puts her that much closer to danger of entrapment while the Voyambi's have to admit the ugly truth of their current view of their own heritage vs their station in English society.

@punkhorse96 GURL. Buckle up Buttercup because we are almost getting to the peak of this roller coaster. Because the Komoba battle will be the peak, the court case- the fall and then it's the throws and twists and lurches to follow.

Also Stregabor from the Witcher? Who else could play the most devious of mages? Who else I ask you? Who?

Blood For Gold

Chapter 15

“Oh there you are Axal, I need you for just a moment.” Yalin insisted as she saw him leave his rooms, having waited outside of them for the last half hour for him to emerge since she had gotten up extra early to catch Axal at the earliest moment possible.

“Is everything alright?” He asked as she grabbed ahold of his hand and drug him down the hallway.

“Yes, yes, of course, it’s fine, I just need a private word with you.” She did her best to reassure him but Axal could sense her panic before she pulled him into a spare room and dismissed the servants in the hall so their ears could not eavesdrop.

“Do you have any affection for Ramsey? I need you to be completely honest and transparent.” Yalin pressed.

“I do.” Axal slowly nodded as he frowned deeply in confusion at her, not knowing where she was going to go with such a line of questioning.

“Then I need your help to find him a wife as soon as possible.” Yalin insisted.

“Uh, I don’t..quite..” Axal frowned deeper.

“Axal, I will be perfectly frank and honest with you, Gregori has long had his eye on your sister Audra for Ramsey ever since Ramsey said that she was the only one for him at her wedding to Count Edward Morrigan of all places.” Yalin began. “And it is clear that Audra has no interest in him and I have already given Audra my word to protect her from a marriage of convenience but little love and I fully intend to keep my word, but before Gregori has a chance to pressure her into a match she will find no joy or happiness in, I need to find another for Ramsey. Do you know of anyone, anywhere, in any court who could both be a lady of good wealth, breeding and most of all availability?” Yalin pressed him as Axal simply blinked in surprise at her as realization seemed to dawn on him.

“I must be clear, I have no issue with you having affection or attachment or romantic entanglements with Ramsey. And Audra seems happy for your happiness. And I know she must love you. And I know she would rather much leave Ramsey’s heart to your care than her own. But Gregori has his mind made up and I need someone who will satisfy Gregori’s need for an heir from Ramsey, so that leaves your sister free to pursue a union with another who can give her the love and care she deserves without the expectation of an heir because such endeavors would endanger her life, but...you see what bind we are in.” Yalin expressed.

“Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I have already reached out to Lady Octavia Lafronze, she’s only 27, she can still bear a child or a few even, she has a companion who can pose as my own wife if we need to keep a ruse going for the public. She will be here only the day before the Komoba battle. She’s on her way already. Audra knows of my attachment to Ramsey and until Octavia can get here, she has agreed to “play along” until then and even Ramsey has agreed to switch his “interest” when she does arrive. And Lady Octavia will fill our need. We just need to be patient.” Axal revealed.

“Oh thank the heavens.” Yalin breathed in relief as she leaned against a nearby table and clutched her middle.

“Ok, so here is the other thing. Audra’s case against the Morrigans, I don’t know if it would be best to go forward. I fear it may be more troublesome than it’s worth and whatever justice that Audra has already gotten, I fear that is all she may ever receive.” Yalin hinted.

“Audra prizes her peace. She may not want to revisit the past and rehash and open up old wounds. I will feel her out on this.” Axal reassured her.

“Thank you.” Yalin nodded as she blew out another breath of relief before Yalin gave him a reassuring squeeze to his hand before she hastily made it out of the room and quickly went down to breakfast before an attendant came and handed Axal a note, instructions to him written by his grandmother as Axal nodded and quickly asked for directions to where he had just been instructed to meet with the rest of his family before he went back into his room to get redressed in the approrpriate attire.

By the time Yalin got down to breakfast, hardly anyone was there.

“Where is everyone?” Yalin asked as it seemed that only the Voyambi’s and the Raymonds were at breakfast before Jane came into breakfast and sat down next to Charlotte.

“Jane dear, do you know where Audra and her family are this morning?” Yalin inquired.

“Yes, Audra’s grandmother got her up quite early this morning and they asked for breakfast to be brought to the gardens, they are all preparing for the kamoba battle. Apparently they all plan on participating.” Jane answered.

“Ah, that...that does explain it.” Yalin realized as she sat down as she noticed all the Voyambi youngsters seem to eagerly inhale their food before excusing themselves from the table, Ramsey and Charlotte included, leaving just Jane with the Duke and Duchess Voyambi and Gregori and Yalin.

“Do you not wish to see the training yourself?” Duchess Voyambi asked her curiously once Jane was invited to sit closer to them towards the head of the table.

“No, for the last two years I have watched Audra continue her training in private, although my parents forbade her from actually wielding any weapons, she was able to practice with sticks in the gardens and practice the drills in her room after waking up and before going to bed. Mouras take physical fitness to an extreme, even the women are trained like soldiers.” Jane explained.

“Like the orcish shield maidens of old.” Duchess Voyambi noted to her husband with a grin which he soon mirrored.

"And warchieftesses too." Duke Voyambi grinned.

“It is quite the spectacle. I remember watching my Dearest train for hours before the battle, even the exercises are quite intense.” Gregori noted with a sweet adoring smile to his wife that she did her best to return but Gregori could see something in her eyes and that her smile did not reach them as he gave her a curious look before she quickly looked away and blushed just a little under his scrutiny.

“Well it’s been ages since I even tried the exercises, I think it would do me good just to try to see how much I still remember.” Yalin said as she excused herself from the table after eating only a few bites, to get redressed into the more appropriate attire as Gregori got up and followed his wife before Jane excused herself from the table as well, leaving the Duke and Duchess Voyambi to sit in bewilderment.

“What is troubling you Dearest?” Gregori asked as he helped loosen the ties of her corset and untie her dress from her body.

“You are.” Yalin confessed.

“How do I trouble you?” Gregori asked before Yalin turned around and faced him.

“Audra drank a gallon of mourkatili. A gallon of it Gregori. With such a dosage, it is a miracle she is even alive. She is tainted and poisoned beyond repair. She can not bear Ramsey heirs and Ramsey needs a legitimate heir and woman of good breeding and nobility to give it to him. Likewise, Audra deserves a mate who can be loyal and faithful to her and I know her well enough that she will not put up with disloyalty in her marriage mate. She deserves faithfulness and devotion in all things. She has suffered more than enough as it is and before the ball at Havenfield, she came to me at the Gold Finch and asked me to guide her to a match who would treat her with kindness, respect, reverence, loyalty, devotion and faithfulness.” Yalin insisted.

“Do you think Ramsey incapable of giving such things to her?” Gregori posed.

“Yes, because he is already giving those things to her brother, which Audra is actually happy about. It would make her miserable to know that Ramsey would have to choose between Axal and herself and she would much rather have Axal be with Ramsey privately. But publicly, she can not be expected to act the perfect wife in public but in secret to know that she would share her husband with her brother of all people. And separating Axal from Ramsey would hurt all three of them. You and Ramsey both need to give up on the idea of Audra being Ramsey’s future wife and we need to consider other possibilities and I gave Audra my word that I would guard her against a marriage such as that and I have every intention of keeping my word. She is not the same woman who her master makes her out to be. She has suffered and changed too much at the hands of the Morrigans and she can not produce heirs. She is of no use to us, she is a dear girl but she is a lost cause.” Yalin maintained, choosing her words carefully.

“Oh I disagree, I think this palace is the perfect place for her and she’s plenty useful still, I think she’s finding her stride here and just because she can’t have heirs, doesn’t mean she can’t mother Ramsey’s illegitimate heirs to adopt them and make them legitimate and Axal is free to stay and keep Ramsey company as long as Audra plays her part publicly. She can have whatever affairs she wishes to have, because such seed taking root is obviously null and void.” Gregori readily shook his head no in friendly disagreement.

“How?! How in the world, is she still of use to us?” Yalin demanded.

“Dear, did you not get enough sleep last night? You aren’t thinking this through or not seeing this clearly then. We can use her treatment from the Morrigan’s hand to win over all of their fortune to her in court. You read the letter from the Mage, we have more than enough proof to string them up in the town square. She’s still an heiress of a great fortune and breeding.” Gregori insisted.

“But what of Jane? Of young Count Edward the third Morrigan? Jane is only a teenager and the young count is still a child. What would become of them?” Yalin asked.

“Audra has a good heart, she has affection for Jane, she will make sure Jane is taken care of and of course Jane, by Audra’s insistence is innocent. Besides Audra’s brother seems to like her enough. I’m sure he could always play the hero and take her and her little brat of a brother with him back to Dorierra to live happily ever after and save her from her monstrous parents and the Morrigans can be made an example of. Think of all the gossip papers you will sell telling everyone all about it.” Gregori incited.

“But what if Audra does not want that? Doesn’t want to be in our family? We can not force her to marry Ramsey just because you want her wealth and the court may not do as you say, we can’t afford to buy off every judge and juror to win it in Audra’s favor and the Morrigans have enough wealth to appeal it to the highest of courts where such measures are forbidden.” Yalin pressed anxiously.

“Oh once she sees all the benefits of being in the second most powerful family in England, no woman can resist. A life of lavish luxury with only having to smile and wave and play the tiniest of parts to enjoy it. The komoba battle will reawaken every moura instinct she has, she will see reason and see that our family is the only family she needs or should want to be a part of.” Gregori insisted as he kissed his wife’s knuckles sweetly before he called for her attendants to help her get dressed as she stood there in only her shift, her clothes long since fallen off to the floor.

“I’ll see you down in the gardens Dearest. Don’t worry about a thing, I have it all under control.” Gregori reassured his wife sweetly as Yalin just stared in thinly veiled horror at his back. She knew her husband well, he was not going to be easily swayed and she feared of what other measures he had already taken in the endeavour.

Gregori left and immediately went down to see you in particular as Demsey and his own brothers had gotten changed into appropriate fencing attire so that they could participate as well since Demsey and his siblings, his brothers especially had done nothing but gawk at you and the other mouras in small, very form fitting white work out clothes and bits of white leather armour in places in the outfit.

Demsey had thought he had walked into a fevered dream, watching you wield a sword and a small shield like a true shield maiden and every orc instinct had been screaming at him that at last, he had found a true warchieftess and he needed to show off to you his own fighting ability, as limited as it was compared to the other fighting styles you were clearly displaying. Being in high society, he was used to fencing and shooting, but that was the extent of it. Some of the common orcs still held brawling battles with the weapons of wars of old, like battle axes and broadswords and the like in the clan halls, but such things were seen as unseemly to the orcs in higher society and seen as barbaric and Demsey and his family as well as the other orcs in high society had made efforts to distance themselves from the “common” orcs in such things in order to be accepted by the rest of the gentry.

But now- seeing the style of which mouras fought- the style similarities were clear and perfectly natural. However the manner of the komoba fighting was much more aggressive and meant for a battlefield, meant to actually slay and kill your opponent, with the match only ending when it was clear that the opponent would be one pass from a weapon away from decapitating or dismembering the opponent with blows that would kill the other in quick succession. It was both beautiful in it’s violence, devastating in efficiency but yet had a dramatic flair that was impossible to resist being drawn in to see how each match would play out, where fencing played out on a thin strip of space, this was set in an octagon shape. The spaces lined out with paint in the grass itself.

One had to have a keen eye and lightning fast reflexes to strike and counter strike and the weapons, although these were made of wood or very dull metals, they were dipped in paint to show all the blows and strikes and “kills” that shown up on the white leather armour of the participants with barrels of water and cloths to wipe away the paint after each match with buckets and buckets of paint for the weapons to be painted in- in every color of the rainbow and then some.

Your paint color of choice was a brilliant turquoise and Demsey had watched with eager anticipation how when sparring with your grandmother- whose color was a brilliant copper orange- how your grandmother who was clearly the master and teacher of the group, all others taking instruction from her.

At first she had simply gone over the drills with you, all of you sitting in grid pattern, doing the exercises and drills with your grandmother staying close to you, using surprising gentleness in her critique, offering just as much praise as she did censure about your form of the various stretching poses and fighting poses as she was the first to spar with you, seeing how much you had remembered and how much your body remembered and how much you had lost over the last two years of neglecting the practice.

At one point she had blindfolded you and had short staff and a longer one in each hand and walked around you and occasionally would gently tap at your body to signify attacks, some of them light, some of them more forceful, to see how you reacted, evaded and counterattacked, leaning on your other senses besides sight to do so and Demsey had never seen anything more captivating and it made him ache and yearn to be a part of it, thus, the fencing attire, he and his brothers now sported.

Not even boxing fighters in a ring had so much contact with their opponents as this style of fighting did. Sometimes the key was to keep the enemy at a distance, other times it was to get as close as physically possible to deliver the devastating blow, sometimes it even involved grappling and pinning the other to the ground first. It struck Demsey to see the methods and philosophy behind each move and style of fighting and how it seemed to encompass everything and style and way of thinking and how there was clearly an array and a scale to it. Some of the styles were very simple, others- much more complicated but when blended made something awe inspiring.

Gregori had watched the match with your grandmother until she noticed that Gregori seemed to be waiting to speak with you and ended the session for the moment so that you could speak with him in private.

“Yes?” You asked Gregori as he pulled you aside and took your arm into the crook of his elbow after you had wiped off all the copper paint from your body so that none would get on Gregori or his clothes.

“How are you liking things here at the palace?” Gregori asked.

“It’s a palace, everything is exquisite.” You answered pleasantly, already on guard as you could tell Gregori was about to try his best to sell his son to you as a husband.

“Has everything been to your liking so far?” Gregori asked.

“Yes,” you nodded as you smiled politely.

“Could I speak candidly with you?” He asked politely.

“Please do, I thoroughly enjoy honest and candid conversation.” You encouraged him.

“I understand that from partaking in mourkatili, even with as high of a dose as you have been forced to partake in, that your reproductive abilities are hindered.” He began.

“That...is true.” You nodded, even though in truth you had tried to take pains to use eastern medicine to recapture it. But you could not be sure of your results.

“I want you to know that if you and Ramsey were to ever enter into a romantic attachment that you should know that we would never, ever, expect you to mother heirs. Your life is worth more than any hiers you would risk your life trying to bear.” Gregori assured you.

“...ok.” You blinked in surprise as you frowned in confusion, which was utterly adorable.

“You see Ramsey has had several lovers and already has many illegitimate heirs and if you were to ever marry, you could always save those illegitimate heirs and make them legitimate by adopting them. It would bring them out of poverty and give them the lives they rightly deserve but yet, Yalin and I, our hands are tied so to speak to do any better for them than we already have.” Gregori explained.

“And I understand that your brother and Ramsey have already become attached and it would only be right that he should remain by your side, to live out his days to make sure that you never again suffer and both of you could live perfectly comfortably and happily here with us.” Gregori offered.

“But such a life...it would not be honest,” you began to softly and gently counter.

“But it would be fair. So far the investigation with the Morrigans have found solid evidence and proof of their attempts to murder you. The courts will surely award all that they have to you for recompense. We have the power to make that happen. We can elevate you to that of Dauphine in English society and as a Dowager among the stables. We can get you justice and revenge for what you’ve suffered. We had a mage help with the investigation. He found your scene catcher spell, with the password, we can have all we need on Agnes and Richard.” Gregori revealed as you blinked in surprise as fear seemed to bloom in your chest. If they had already broken the password, you could be finished.

“But Jane and I corrupted some of the feed. The moment of Edward’s death, he was in the act of…” Your voice broke as even now tears came to your eyes at the horror and violence of the moment came flooding back to your mind. “He was in the act...of raping me and he had….he had a heart attack and died. It was so horrific. I had Jane help me strike it from the record. So just by that alone, it’s corrupted and it’s been tampered with. It won’t hold up in court.” You confessed lowly as your big gold eyes welled with tears.

“Just that admittance alone is enough to justify why that isn’t in the record, the judge will allow it and allow the rest of it to stand on its own and it will be taken as gospel and if there is anything else that you would like to keep from it to preserve your own integrity and dignity. That will be allowed as well. You are a lady after all. Not everyone needs to see every little thing, this investigation is to expose the Morrigans, not you.” Gregori reassured you.

“But what about Jane and little Eddie?” You asked.

“It is clear that you wish to protect them, that is truly amiable despite their parent’s treatment of you. I believe your brother Ocearian can save Jane from the shame of what her parents have done. She is, as you say, innocent. Ocearian I’m sure will happily take Jane home to Dorierra and with her- little Edward.”

“What if I want Jane to have her fair share of her family’s wealth? I don’t want to leave her or her brother with nothing and no choice but to flee to Dorierra. What if they wish to stay here in England. Could I at least leave Broadcove to Jane and Edward?” You asked.

“If that is your wish. Of course, it will be all available to you do as you wish with it.” Gregori agreed.

“Do you need my answer now, or can I think it over?” You asked him.

“Think on it as long as you need to, no rash decisions need to be made today.” Gregori reassured you gently which you greatly appreciated.

“Then do you have a piece of paper?” You asked him before he produced a small notebook and a small pencil.

“This is the password to most of it, it should give everyone all they need for the court case.” You said.

“Excellent, I shall get my best men on this, you will get justice and your just rewards for your pain and suffering, I swear and promise you.” Gregori grinned victoriously as he kissed your temple the same way his own daughter before he left again and you returned to the others.

“What was that about?” Axal asked you.

“Gregori asked for one of the keys to my ace. I gave a small one to him.” You hinted as you dabbed at your eyes as you steeled yourself for what was to come, both in the battle and in the court case afterwards.

“So you’re going through with the court case? What about your precious peace?” Axal asked.

“I’ve had a year of it. After this court case, I’ll have a lifetime of it.” You said as you got your wooden weapons redipped in your preferred paint.

“But what was his price for it?” Axal asked.

“That IF Ramsey and I were to ever get married, that I would consider adopting his illegitimate heirs and share Ramsey with you, whereas you would get to live with me and “protect” me from further abuse here. I didn’t give an answer one way or another and all I told him was that I would carefully consider it.” You reassured him before you got into sparring positions with Axal.

“And when Octavia comes, I’m sure she’ll happily comply with those terms as well.” You offered as you blocked his attack and counter attacked with ease. “Just make sure Ramsey knows to put on a good show of being captivated by her and wanting her and only her when she does come so I can get off clean.” You insisted as you dipped and dodged his attack and struck a gut blow with your shorter “dagger” on his middle.

“I will.” Axal reassured you.

“And what will you do with your hundreds of thousands of pounds?” Axal asked.

“Share them with Jane so that she is taken care of as well, hell I’ll even give Octavia a share of it, if it means I don’t have to marry Ramsey and you for that matter so that you can care for Octavia’s lover as your own wife.” You readily offered.

“Because I’m sure Yalin and Gregori only wish to see Ramsey happy, and once they see that I can not make him so and that you and Octavia can in all respects, then that can settle the matter.” You insisted.

“But what about Duke Demsey, won’t he need an heir?” Axal questioned as he used his shoulder to knock you away and off balance before you regained it.

“He does, that is what gives me pause. I do not think his affection for me may outweigh his own obligations and duty to his family. But we are still only friends. He may not wish for anything more from me. There may be another he has his eye on anyway, I will just have to wait and see. For all I know, I’m offending him even now. Proper English ladies do not participate in hunting or fencing or anything like that. It’s unladylike. So the fact that I know swordsmanship may be turning him off of me as we speak, look, even his own sisters sit by the side and only watch and do not participate themselves.” You mused as Axal and yourself finished your own sparring to rest and take a breath of air as you sat in the shade of a nearby tree and watched the others spar as you sat side by side.

“He’s an orc, his orcish heritage means shieldmaidens and warchieftesses are coveted. If anything I think you’re turning him onto you now more than any other. You were too focused on sparring with Grandma to notice how he was practically drooling and because of that, he was the first to insist that he dress in fencing attire to properly take part in all of this. He’s a decent swordsman, but that is all he is. He has no other skills, at least any that I can see.” Axal mused as he watched Demsey and Sierge fence each other in the very English style.

“In this society, he doesn’t need any other skills besides those, and even though they have that past, clearly they don’t embrace it in the present.” You shrugged as you again nodded over to where Amara, Kiera and little Callie watched on.

“Do you like English society?” Axal asked.

“It has its quirks and moments, rules of etiquette are extensive and date back to the medieval period for most of it and they like to pride themselves for having “polite, civilized and polished society”. But with industrialization, their business practices can be barbaric and ruthless, some men make or lose their fortunes in weeks or months, bask in the sunlight one moment or be shattered on the rocks the next with the tides. There are terms like “old money” and “new money”. The Morrigans have the old noble heritage even though most of their wealth has been amassed fairly recently, just in the last two generations. But the Morrigans are considered “old money” and the Voyambi’s are considered “new money” only because they’ve had their noble title and wealth within the last three generations. Their classed society makes movement restricted and women are property of their fathers then their husbands and I’ve seen women in this society choose peace over their dignity because while they are expected to be at home and run the home, their husbands are expected to bring income yet can splurge most of that income into gambling or whores or misstresses of plenty, even Richard has several whores, his favorite lives in Broadcove and his little bastards are being trained as stable boys and game keepers or gardeners, he keeps her to her appartment of rooms like a parrot to it's cage and his illegitamate daughters are being brought up to be ladies maids in the house in fact my first paid companion was his eldest illegetimate daughter came with me to Mirador as my own maid because I felt sorry for the way Agnes always treated her, in fact most of Richard's bastards followed me to Mirador because I treated them like people. Who had no power over who their father was. It is wholly barbaric in of itself. But because that is the norm, it makes competition to find a gentlemen in both name, status and breeding important, but of character- with how polite society and it’s customs dictate, it’s a gamble and true happiness in marriage is a chance. Not a given,. And what a man may be like in public may not be the same kind of man in private. Yalin and Gregori seem to be the exception, not the rule.” You admitted as Axal blinked in surprise at your revelation.

“Do you think you’d be happy with Demsey though?” Axal pressed.

“I honestly don’t know, we get along and we are friends and we have moments where possibilities threaten to ignite but something keeps it from actually doing so. I tried feeling him out last night to see if he would be open to anything and he...he was withdrawn and wouldn’t...he would not make himself available in spirit, he was...he was closed off to me, even with drink in hand, I could feel it in his energy, he was missing someone. He really had to push himself to stay with me mentally- in the moment. Which makes me think that there might be someone else that has caught his mind and heart, who is not Kate Whitesale, or me. But someone else, someone in the past. Maybe one of his workers, maybe one of his secretaries, maybe his favorite maid at Whydah. But polite society means I can not ask him about any of it or even his sisters who would be offended at me implying anything by asking while being none the wiser and completely unaware of their brother’s private lives and are purposefully kept in the dark about almost all of it." You sighed in defeat as Axal just stared in bittersweet fondness at you.

"And who am I to demand answers to such questions from him? He has made no declaration of intent towards me other than friendship. He has only stated that he wishes to be my friend. That is all he has said. And that is all his actions have said as well, at least so far. And I have no choice but to take him at his word. But the longer Demsey and his brothers participate but his sisters do not, makes me think that the same applies even in their family, even with them being orcs, notorious the world over for their proficiency and fierceness in battle even evenly among the sexes, which again leads to be believe that I offend him in the knowledge that I can fend for myself physically.” You confessed lowly to Axal before Demsey approached.

“You fence well Demsey.” You praised as you noticed he was drenched in sweat already and smelled wholly delicious as the very inappropriate thought of licking some of that sweat off of him popped into your head before you tried to swish it away mentally as you damned your own body for it's natural physical reaction to him.

“Thank you, I didn’t know if you had noticed, I know my skill can hardly compete with your own.” He praised which surprised you.

“Well you could always spar with her. See for yourself.” Axal suggested as you turned and looked at Axal incredulously.

“I would be honored.” Demsey readily agreed.

“Are you sure?” You asked Demsey.

“Yes, I’m sure I could learn several, if not dozens or even hundreds of things from you, if you would be willing to teach me.” Demsey insisted as you blinked in surprise as your jaw fell, leaving your mouth just slightly agape, just a little as your mouth ran dry as your brain once again was eager to supply all of the things you’d like to teach him, like making love to you right for starters, before Axal practically pushed you towards Demsey who offered his hand to you to help you up off the ground before you took his hand and let him help you to your feet.

“You would not feel emasculated or embarrassed if I bested you?” You asked. “I do not wish to embarrass you, especially in front of your family or mine.” You whispered to him as you walked with him back to the group.

“Not at all. You are granddaughter to the Great Saharan Viper, and her most prized pupil, how could I possibly be embarrassed to lose to such a champion?” He flattered you as you blushed and smiled bashfully and had the ground had the slightest bit of unevenness, you probably would have tripped and fallen straight onto your face.

“But my skills are rusty, I have not held a sword in two years. I may have forgotten most of it.” You tried to excuse.

“Audra, you will not hurt my pride, do not disparage yourself. I was watching you, you have retained more skill than I think you give yourself credit for. It’s like riding a horse, once you learn, you never fully forget and the style is most intriguing to say the least, so what color should my weapons be dipped in?” He encouraged you as he stood with you in front of the other buckets of bright color paints.

“Whichever strikes your fancy, and whichever you like best.” You shrugged before he chose a wonderful purple color that was a nice contrast to your own turquoise.

“Are you sure you want to try this? The rules of komoba are wholly different from the fencing you are used to. Because all those rules that fencing prides itself on- get thrown out and no longer apply, the object is to strike down your opponent by any means necessary, using everything you have to your own advantage and what can get you disqualified in fencing get you a win in komoba.” You gently warned him.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, komoba is...everything a proper fighting sport should be, realistic with real battlefield applications, fencing is pointless on a real battlefield.” Demsey reassured you and once again those butterflies started fluttering in your stomach as your heart fluttered delightfully as your smile turned bashful once again and your cheeks flushed beautifully. It seemed Demsey’s own reserve the night before- had seemed to vanish now as a new boldness seemed to take hold of him and you adored it.

“Then why don’t you use the battle axes that orcs are supposed to be so fond of?” You questioned only to see him falter slightly.

“Um, well, I’ve...never had an opportunity or reason to wield one before. My grandfather’s from the war- they along with his armor hang on the wall, and the late king gifted my grandfather a golden enamelled set but they are strictly decorative.” He revealed.

“So...you have no experience with any other weapons besides the swords of the fencing variety?” You asked him.

“Not even broadswords or longswords or…” You asked him in confusion as Demsey’s shoulders sagged in shame as his head dropped a bit as he had to shake his head no.

“No, the commoner orcs still practice such things in the clan halls and of course soldiers do. But since my family and others who are in the gentry, we do not partake in such things and take pains to distance ourselves from such things for fear of others in the gentry to view us as “barbaric” too.” Demsey confessed lowly.

“But do you think such things are barbaric?” You asked worriedly because if Demsey thought komoba was “barbaric” you were going to force yourself to lose interest in him because you were sick of having to divorce yourself from your own moura heritage, you had done it enough with the Morrigans, never again would you do it, you had sworn yourself an oath.

“No. I think it’s part of our history that we should be proud of. In fact I insisted that Whydah have a proper gymnasium to take up the practices again, granted in private because to do so publicly would damage our reputation.” Demsey tried to explain as his cheeks flushed into a deep pine green.

“But komoba is by far the most elevated form of fighting in the world. And it’s a sport I wish I had much more experience with and I wish I could build a proper komoba battle ground at Whydah so that we could take up the sport there too.” Demsey offered, trying his best to not to sound as hypocritical as he felt.

“Well, I’m biased but I feel the same way, that komoba is the best form of fighting however I can understand the need to protect one’s reputation. The Morrigans forbade me from holding any kind of weapon, often instructing the chefs to serve my dinner to me precut so that I would not wield so much as a dinner knife because they thought my komoba training was unladylike and uncouth and would tarnish the Morrigan name and wished to divorce me from it and any other parts of my moura heritage that didn’t fit the more proper “English” lifestyle.” You explained.

“And such measures are an egregious sin, no one should be so divorced from their own heritage, especially when such a heritage is so rich in tradition and color and splendor.” Demsey tried to praise as you just shook your head because clearly Demsey had done the same to himself and his own heritage.

“So, obviously, you clearly resent their efforts in thus.” Demsey realized from your tone since it had sounded pretty resentful to him which gave him hope that he could seperate himself in your mind and make himself as appealing as possible because he wanted to accept you and your heritage with open arms.

“I do. Which is why I’m surprised you asked to spar with me.” You noted.

“Why?” He asked curiously.

“Because while you are eager to learn the komoba style from me, I see that your sisters sit on the side lines, watching with eager eyes and jealousy to watch Benny and Calla and their siblings as well as myself and my own siblings of both genders take part in the komoba training. And it makes me wonder if you or your parents would be taking the same stance with them learning it as well. Orcs are known to have shield maidens and warcheiftesses do they not? Or does your family also wish to distance itself from that history in order to embrace the more proper “English” ways? Especially in it's womenfolk?” You questioned as Demsy looked at you in shock yet realization as he looked from you to his sisters and back to you again as once again, shame and embarrassment began to eat at him.

“Audra, please, please forgive me, I didn’t even think...or consider...any of that. If you will excuse me for just a moment, I need to rectify this, immediately.” Demsey realized as he put his weapons down in the grass and immediately left and went over to his sisters who were sitting under a canopy to protect them from the morning sun.

“What’s wrong? I thought you looked to be just about to get your wish and get a chance to spar with Audra?” Amara asked curiously.

“I was...until she brought it to my attention of how unfair it is that Sierge, Tzane and I are trying to partake and participate but that you and Kiera and Callie are being excluded and it isn’t right. You all should feel just as welcome and just as included to participate in this as we are.” Demsey insisted to his eldest sister.

“Thank you! Finally!” Kiera exclaimed exasperated before she got up and went over to Benny and asked if Benny had an extra set of komoba clothes as Amara smiled happily and did the same with Calla as Callie bravely went up to you as you readily agreed to let her borrow your own spares as all of you re-entered the castle to get redressed just as the Duke and Duchess Voyambi left the palace to join everyone in the gardens as Yalin also emerged wearing her own day komoba battle clothes from her youth, although she did have to be squeezed and cinched into them because her body had changed a fair bit since her youth.

“So where are you ladies off to?” Yalin asked.

“Oh the Voyambi ladies wish to also try to learn komoba with us, we were going to be lending them our spare day clothes for it.” You readily offered as the Duke and Duchess were surprisingly pleasant with the news.

“Oh of course. With such masters of the sport here, it would be a shame to not take advantage of such an opportunity.” Duke Voyambi reassured his daughters who practically squealed in delight.

“Thank you Papa,” they thanked their father with a kiss to his cheek before you all eagerly went back to your room to change.

“Thank you for saying something to Demsey.” Kiera thanked you as you finished with Callie’s suit and then turned your attention to Amara.

“You’re welcome. Whenever I see injustice and unfairness, if I can equalize it, I like to try.” You answered her.

“Women in English society are restricted enough just in the wearing of our corsets and being “polite” in society, especially on the train to gentlemen who feel entitled to converse with you and invade your space. No need for much more than that is there?” You giggled as you laced up the covers over Amara’s forearms.

“No truer words have ever been spoken. That’s why we never go anywhere without our brothers for that very reason.” Amara confessed.

“So in Dorierra, how young are you when you first learn komoba?” Callie asked.

“Three. As soon as we learn to walk and don’t fall over just trying to walk from one end of the house to the other as young toddlers do.” You answered her.

“Three?! That’s when orcs of old used to learn to fight too!” Callie offered.

“Speaking of, have any of you ever learned any of the old ways?” You asked them as Kiera, Amara and Callie all shook their heads no.

“No, once grandfather got the Duchy, he forbade our father from ever learning any of the old ways. Because the gentry turned their noses up at us and the other orcs, trolls and the like who had gotten into the nobility at the same time were our only society. But at the same time, the common orcs who fought side by side with him in the war, would not socialize with us either, thinking that because we had the duchy, that we were too good for the likes of them. And they wouldn’t even let us go to the clan halls, thinking that we would take them over with just our nobility instead of honoring the old ways of tradition. They would allow father and grandfather into the fencing houses but as soon as they would enter, the other patrons would quickly leave. It wasn’t until Demsey and Sierge were born and were brought to the fencing places that others found that they had no skills whatsoever, and would lose almost every match that they accepted Demsey and Sierge and then Tzane until they got to be proficient. But the moment any of them use their full strength, they get disqualified for “overpowering” their opponents. It pushes them to walk almost impossibly fine lines and it’s only when Demsey championed for the unions that we got welcomed back into the clan halls again, but only for meetings to discuss clan affairs, never for the fighting or anything like that.” Amara explained.

“Oooh, that, that explains it then. I know what that is like. The Morrigans forbade me from even wielding a dinner knife, much less any other kind of weapon. Because they didn’t want any parts of my moura heritage to tarnish their Morrigan name and proper English sensibilities. And I know what it’s like to divorce yoruself from your own heritage to survive. So your family has my sympathy and empathy in this matter.” You offered before you left the room.

“Yeah, that’s probably why I’ll never settle on English soil then.” Benny confessed to you and Calla as you left the room and locked the door behind you.

“Oh poor Sierge, he’ll be so heartbroken to hear that.” You cooed to her sarcastically which got her to snort a laugh.

“When I had said something to Sierge about how it wasn’t fair for him to participate but his sisters were simply watching, he insisted that proper English ladies never should be allowed to participate, and no lady worth her honor in English society would even want to because it should serve as a distinction between the sexes’.” Benny confessed which made you and Calla gasp.

“But yet one word from you and Demsey had the opposite reaction.” Calla realized.

“What I’m curious about is, how you responded to Sierge’s comment.” You put to Benny since the Voyambi sisters had practically jogged down the hallway to get to the courtyard as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t say much around the mouthful of golden yellow paint I put in his mouth with the short dagger stick before I put him into the ground so hard all the air got knocked out of his lungs, I think he’s probably still throwing up from having swallowed so much paint.” Benny proudly beamed which got you and Calla to bust up laughing.

“Put him in his place, I like it.” You offered with a mischievous smile.

“If he thought that way about proper English ladies, what did he think of us then?” Calla asked Benny.

“Oh he thought we were the exception because we were moura and would continue to be the exception because of it.” Benny answered.

“Double standards at it best I suppose.” Calla sighed tiredly.

“Well then let’s not waste this opportunity to show off how truly amazing mouras can be.” You insisted.

Meanwhile Bellfast, the Mage came to the Palace of Windsor to see Gregori personally, as he watched from a safe distance to see you and the other moura’s leave the palace for the gardens.

“Ah, Bellfast, my good fellow, Lady Audravienne has given me the password to the scene catchers.” Gregori happily said as he showed Bellfast the password.

“Yes, I already have divined it and the second and the third.” Bellfast reported with a meaningful look to Gregori before Gregori quickly led the way to a private office.

“And?” Gregori prompted.

“You need to see this.” Bellfast insisted as Gregori had ushered Ballfast into a private office as Bellfast cast the moment of Edward’s death onto a small mirror in the office as Gregori watched on intently. Frowning in disgust at the scene before a loud crash boomed through the room and Gregori gasped as his eyes went wide as he covered his mouth with his own hand and watched as the scene unfolded before Gregori’s own servants knocked on the door to make sure he was alight and safe which Gregori quickly reassured them and ordered them to leave immediately and to not say a word of the sound to anyone or they would be whipped and then dismissed immediately.

“Who else has seen this?” Gregori demanded of Bellfast.

“Only you, myself, Audravienne- because she lived through it, and Miss Jane Morrigan who came up with the third password to help Audravienne destroy it. It was completely struck from all the records so that even the sound of the crash was gone, the Morrigans were out to dinner and little Edward was asleep, but even the other servants heard it down into the basements. But Jane bribed them to keep quiet about it and old Edward’s doctor simply said he died of a heart attack and the bed was quickly set to be burned and was ash by the time the Morrigans got home. I can recreate the bed if need be.” Bellfast offered.

“No need right now. Do not let on that you know of any of this. I have my own uses for this. For now, only use the first password that Lady Audravienne has provided and compile all you can in a case against the Morrigans for time’s sake and make the second and the third passwords appear invisible and all that they contain inaccessable for now and do not use anything that is protected behind those other two. String everything else together in such a way that the poisoning of Edward is hung on the Count and Countess Morrigan so that they could fully inherit the estate sooner but make it so that it looks like they are framing Audra for it, which they clearly feel she did, and obviously their poisoning of Audra and all abuses to her by them and by the old Edward, I want any judge and jury to find Audra as innocent as the white dove she is and will continue to be and appear so, but also, if Lady Audravienne will not cooperate further, do your best to hang the Wolf Eye on her and obviously the murder.” Gregori instructed.

“That won’t be difficult to do. Also I have recreated all of Lady Audravienne’s mail and all four postmen are currently in prison and their confessions are on the record, as are all the servants who were involved in Lady Audravienne’s poisoning. But all the others who were involved with covering up Edward’s true cause of death are still free and Lady Audravienne's servants at Mirador that followed her from Broadcove are most intriguing." Bellfast said as he handed the latest report to Gregori who took it and read it over, almost giggling in his chuckle as he read it over.

"The Morrigans are of course panicked but claim they have the proof of the Wolf Eye coming from Audra, which other than coercing their own remaining servants to say so, the scene catchers clearly contradict which means we can pin insanity onto them and Dr. Rickets is simply awaiting instruction and of course is eager to say either way in order to keep his liscence to continue to practice his medicine, he claims he did something to the mourkatili to make it less lethal and less damaging to Lady Audravienne's person, claiming to the Morrigans that such measures were to "intensify" it's effect but in all actuallity it was only to protect your interests and claims that he can cure Lady Audravienne so that she can bear heirs without any ill effects and reverse the mourkatili, even at such a dose as was given to her.” Bellfast offered.

“Excellent.” Gregori beamed proudly. “How much is owed to you for such services?” Gregori asked as he went into his own box of funds in the room.

“Oh, for now my bill is with the Morrigans, but I will still happily take my agreed payment from you, however when Lady Audravienne wins her case, I’ll ask for a tip from her in her preference.” Bellfast began to chuckle darkly which Gregori soon mirrored as Gregori handed over a thousand pounds in a stack of bills.

“Yes, she will. I can’t wait to see what she is truly capable of. For now though she is hesitant and weary, let us win her trust and confidence first and only if she becomes uncooperative, then we can use this as leverage, but otherwise she has been a dream to work with and responds best with a gentle guiding hand and kindness, which considering the abuse- is no wonder to anyone. Yes, tender loving care will be all that is needed to pacify her and keep her happy and content. After the komoba battle, every moura instinct in her will be truly awakened and she will come to all of her senses that the Morrigans tried to dull. Oh and if I may request one more favor, just incase Dr. Rickets can not provide what he has offered, find the best mourkatili antidote you can with the added benefit that Lady Audravienne’s womb will be restored to her and her full health that she enjoyed when she left from Dorierra, just in case Dr. Rickets is not to be trusted.” Gregori requested before Bellfast simply took a very fancy glass bottle, wrapped in silk cloth to keep it safe, out of his coat pocket and unwrapped it before he put it on the desk in front of Gregori with a smug grin before handing over the silk itself.

“Only have her drink it after the court case, for now the mourkatili will still show up in her hair under blacklight, since it will purple, if it is still strong within her, it will also show up in her eyes under black light as well.” Bellfast instructed.

“Excellent.” Gregori beamed before he took it and rewrapped it and put it into his own pocket.

“Good work Bellfast, as always, you are the best Mage in all of Europa and I’m so happy that you answered my invitation.” Gregori praised him.

“Thank you for the invitation in the first place. I will happily use these funds to further my own research.” Bellfast grinned as he took his payment and tucked it away into the pocket the antidote had previously been put into before Gregori saw his guest out before he called his servants over.

"Do not let the Dauphine or anyone else know that the Mage Bellfast was here today, this report was sent by a messenger and there was no sound of a crash in the study, was there?" Gregori practically snarled at his servants who nodded yes as their knees had to be locked to keep from knocking together in fear.

"Yes your Grace." They answered obediantly before Gregori smiled victoriously and straightened up and returned to the gardens where your grandmother was now teaching all the Voyambi's, the Duke and Duchess included the basics of Komoba along with Yalin who he took aside and slipped the report into her hands.

"Just delivered just now from the Mage from a messenger." Gregori told his wife as she read it as her eyes got as large as saucers.

"Oh my, this is the scandal of the century." Yalin had to admit.

"And I can't wait to read all about it in the gossip collumns when the matter is brought up in court." Gregori incited with a scheming smile to his wife that she was powerless to resist from mirroring.

"Yes it will." She agreed before she got back into the grid to finish her own refresher course in kamoba.

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Chapter 15 #regency era orc drama #regency era orc #it's getting hot in here #so take off all your corsets #mouras #orc x reader #orc romance #monster boyfriend #exo #exophillia #woooooooo

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recurring-polynya · 4 years

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So you ever try to wrap your brain around Yachiru being Kenpachi's zanpakutō? It seems to violate all known (manga-canon) mechanics.

So, to be honest, that particular plot twist hit the note in my head that says “Yes, this is pleasing and not entirely unexpected to me!” I think it’s the fact that the idea of his zanpakutou being embodied this whole time made more sense than ::gestures vaguely at all of Yachiru:: this.

I don’t exactly remember, but I think I may have been spoiled on this one--I got spoiled on a lot of the Bleach endgame, and that always affects the way a plot twist lands, so please take my opinion with that grain of salt.

I think there were a lot of hints along the way-- that although Yachiru is very, very strong and somewhat bloodthirsty herself, she always seems more interested in seeing Zaraki gets the fights that he wants, and watching them raptly, deeply invested in his happiness. She doesn’t actually act like a child, she acts like someone would expect a child to act-- mischievous and silly, but she does not grow and explore or, most importantly, assert her personhood, the way a real person does. She never seeks to grow stronger, or to fight for herself. She wears the lieutenant’s badge and goes to the meetings, which she neither complains about, nor takes any interest in. A real child would either not put up with this shit, or seek to be taken seriously in this role (try to imagine young Byakuya, for example, being named a lieutenant). Most importantly: She is constantly trying to give him directions and they end up lost every time. We thought it was a running gag, but it was a metaphor.

It also seems to me that the other child characters in Bleach grow and age at times when their powers are developing. We see Rukia, Renji, Gin, Rangiku, and Shuuhei as powerless children, and then they age to teens when their powers develop. Toshirou is definitely seen as a smaller child in his Rukongai flashbacks, and it’s implied that he is currently at in impasse with his powers, having difficulty with the upper levels of his bankai. Even so, though his body is stuck in an adolescent state, he has the faculties and personality of an adult. Yachiru, if I am figuring things correctly, is older than Rukia and Renji. It seems like she must be an enormous outlier in the Bleach universe, and it’s frankly weird that, say, Yamamoto wouldn’t take a greater interest in her (unless he knows exactly what she is, and I suspect that both he and Unohana both do).

Unless I’ve missed something, we hardly know anything about zanpakutou-spirit dynamics within the Bleach manga canon. As far as I know, we only ever see two-- Zangetsu and Zabimaru. I think it’s safe to say that Zangetsu already violates all known normal mechanics. I also want to point out that I was a lot more pissed when Zangetsu turned out to be Yhwach (or whatever that was, please no one explain it to me I don’t want to think about it). It was telescoped well enough, but it poisoned a character who had always been there for Ichigo as a mentor and source of strength and it gave me the same yucky feeling as when they killed off Han Solo-- I do not like this. This does not feel right or enhance the story.

We don’t get a whole lot of Zabimaru either-- they can manifest on their own, and do so in order to bother Renji. They seem to be a fairly simplistic being-- they want to fight and be strong and are impatient with Renji’s (very reasonable) desire to take a minute to think things out.

Nobody asked, but I feel like it might be helpful if I unleashed my personal headcanon on Where Zanpakutou Come From. In the Zanpakutou Spirits Arc, the episodes are prefaced with a voiceover that says that zanpakutou are born and die with their shinigami, and I am sorry, anime filler arc, I reject this. One of my favorite Bleach phrases, which seems like it should it could have come from some angsty hurt-comfort fanfic, is “There are no ghosts in Soul Society.” (it actually came from a filler arc episode where Ikkaku, Nanao and Hanatarou get lost in the sewer). But I think there are! When shinigami are killed and reborn in the Living World, presumably, it is as a normal human with no powers. I like to think that some essence of their power and their zanpakutou are left behind, free-floating, nameless, formless, but with some distillation of the principles that guided their shinigami’s life. This ur-zanpakutou attaches itself to a young, spiritually strong person, and becomes intertwined with their soul. They develop a form based on the thoughts and memories and hopes and fears of their shinigami, and their names and specific powers are born of the union of zanpakutou and shinigami. Noble souls often get zanpakutou passed down from previous generations, who take the form of a grandparent, or form that their grandparents zanpakutou had. For kids from the Rukon, I think that most zanpakutou spirits takes the form of a barely remembered mother from the Living World, or a particularly frightening woodcut from a favorite storybook. As an aside, this theory also explains why almost every Rukongonian shinigami we see died as a child-- it’s easier for a free floating zanpakutou spirit to bond with a child’s developing psyche. It’s also a reminder of one more way that Zaraki himself is an outlier.

Zaraki is a really messed-up guy, I think we’re all on the same page there. Like, he just really needs a shit-ton of therapy, I can’t even start. He was a feral murder-child, and I think he saw Unohana as a mother-figure who rejected him. Unlike Ichigo, who needs a wise, experienced mentor to guide him through his warrior journey, Zaraki needs validation that he is a Normal Guy with Normal Murder Thoughts and Feelings, so his subconscious shapes his zanpakutou into another feral murder-child to love him and be his family. Zaraki doesn’t know how little girls act-- pink hair seems good? Stuffy people hate kids, right? It makes perfect sense that Yachiru would go fuck around with Byakuya. Zaraki finds all of Yachiru’s antics hilarious-- the names she makes up for people, the way she climbs all over Ichigo, her general proclivity for going ham. Zaraki is an incredibly simplistic person. My favorite Zaraki parts of Bleach are where you think he is about to get real deep and have some sort of insight, and it turns out to be “I’m gonna stab you, but I’m gonna use both hands” or this entire problem-solving process I’ve pasted in below, which ends in him finding Tousen by letting Tousen stab him. He’s just stupid, bless his heart, and having a murder gremlin for a guiding light just... tracks?

The weirdest thing about Yachiru is that she has her own zanpakutou. I spent about 10 minutes thinking about it, though, and decided that she’s just a recursion, and that the weird feeling I get thinking about her is exactly the way I feel about writing a function that calls itself, and I find that little paradoxical frisson to be kinda cool, actually. The second weirdest thing about Yachiru is that there does not seem to be any connection, thematically, between Yachiru and Nozarashi. After he finally learns his sword’s name, I would have liked to see Zaraki have a trip to his inner world (like Ichigo does, in the midst of battle) where he meets an adult spirit who has qualities of both Yachirus (which he absolutely does not recognize) and that there is some interesting explanation of Nozarashi’s special abilities. To be honest, I couldn’t even remember what they were. Kenpachi has always been one of the strongest Bleach characters and so much about him is just iconic, and then his bankai was just completely bland and unmemorable, with no symbolism whatsoever. Lame.

#kenpachi zaraki #yachiru kusajishi #yachiru unohana #zanpakutou spirits #bleach headcanons #feel free to reblog with your point-by-point complaints about where yachiru violates canon tho #they are probably better thought out than this answer #which is basically just 'i vibed with it'

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whatwouldmindykdo · 3 years

Text

I wrote a little something about coming to terms with my sexuality and thought I’d share it here...

For as long as I can remember I’ve dreamt of my wedding day. As soon as I was able to comprehend the concept of wedding and marriage it became my only goal, my ultimate achievement: I wanted, I needed to get married. This would make me successful and prove my worthiness. I would be happy forever. And so, for years, I’d spend hours imagining the magical day: the dress, of course, and its designer, the venue, the guests, the music, the menu, the bridal party, the decor. And of course, the groom. Because it was always a groom. However, I would find it extremely difficult to imagine him. I could think of qualities I would look for in a partner, but that was it. Looking back now, I think that, more than any of these things, what I dreamt of was being loved and being in love. I was just hoping to find the kind of unconditional love I grew up surrounded by. Not a person but a feeling. An ideal.

I grew up in what you would probably call a liberal family. My parents are very open-minded, left-wing voters and I grew up having political debates at the dinner table. But it was always about tolerance. Every love is love, they would say. Everyone deserves to be happy, they would say.

This, however, was not true for them growing up. Both my parents grew up in working class families and worked their way into the middle class. As liberal as my parents are, their own parents were rather conservative in thought.

My father’s parents had grown up on farms. Their own parents, my great-grandparents, lived a life I cannot even begin to comprehend. After the Second World War, as life was changing everywhere, and especially in the countryside, my grandparents left for the city (well, a city, not THE city) to work in factories. They were deeply religious and my father was raised a Catholic. However, he also enjoyed great freedom. He was free to come and go, almost as he wished, to play with his brother and friends. He was free not to work in school, drop out after middle school and go on to work with his father. Which he did, for a while, until he realized he didn’t want to do that his entire life. In other words, he was free to fail, and try again. Would it had been the same thing had he been a girl? We will never know, as he was one of two boys.

My mother, on the other hand, was not. Her grandparents had been mining workers, as almost everyone in the area. Her own parents had been saved from this life, and pushed to look for work in other industries. They had married young and my mother was the eldest of two. Her parents were heavily involved in political and union movements, pushing for workers’ rights. This gave her an awareness of the political situation and an ideal of what is achievable when you work for it. My mother, however, is also a woman. And as such, her parents expected her to behave a certain way.

She was expected to be the perfect little girl. Calm, pretty, smiling. Not to take too much space. Do well in school. Be polite. And so my mother tried her best to be this ideal girl. She excelled in school, practiced many sports, and took it upon herself to keep the family together and happy. She eventually went on to work and had to move out to another city, but always close to family as she was sharing an apartment with her aunt. When she found another job closer to her parents, she moved back home. Eventually, she met my father. They dated for a couple of years, but moving in together was unfathomable. Not before marriage. And that’s how my parents ended up married without having ever lived together, something I honestly find quite hard to imagine. Her brother, on the other hand, lived a life closer to my dad’s. He could not roam the streets or drop out of school but he did leave high school without graduating, moving out to work away and never looked back. He introduced many girlfriends to his parents before eventually having a child and getting married, in that order.

My parents would probably tell you that they raised me and my brother the same way. That not more was expected of me. That I could do the exact same thing he did. And to some extent that is true. We were both expected to excel in school. To be polite and respectful. We were both told we could dream of being whoever we wanted to be. But what had been instilled to my mother was also, somehow, perhaps more sneakily, taught to me. I also had to be the perfect little girl, no excuses. The one that doesn’t move. The one that doesn’t scream or make a scene. The one that helps at home. As Michelle Cliff says in Notes on Speechlessness, ‘I am reminded that a great compliment of my childhood was: ‘she’s such a quiet girl’’.

Instead of rebelling against this system I made it mine: it was my way of taking up space. My way of being remarkable. I was expected to excel at school: I was top of the class. I was expected to be calm and discreet: I would literally never speak. Even today it takes a lot for me to be able to do things I know my parents disapprove. Because I have built myself through others’ approval, and then who am I once they don’t approve?

What does that have to do with being a lesbian, you may wonder. See, I knew about lesbians. I knew about gays. It was not entirely unknown to me. I saw them on the news, we talked about them at home. But no one in my family was gay, lesbian or part of the LGBTQI+ community, at least not openly. That was not what we did. As much as my family rebelled against capitalistic society, we were expected to conform in certain areas, and this was one. We, as a family, are heterosexuals. And so I unconsciously associated being a good girl to being heterosexual.

I don’t remember the first time I heard of the LGBTQI+ community, nor do I remember the first time I had a crush on a girl. I am quite sure she was my primary school best friend. I very clearly remember wondering whether I was in love with her or whether that was just how you felt for your best friend (hint: I kinda knew the answer). And so, little me moved on with life. Eventually the feeling wore out, and there was a very intense and dramatic fall out. But that was it, no more questions about my sexuality. Not until I was well into my teenage years, at least. When I made it to university I had began what I would call my transformative journey, learning extensively about feminism, inclusivity and human rights. I was passionate about these subjects and wanted to learn more, and more. I surrounded myself with people who were open-minded, teaching me about these very topics, and, for some of them, part of the LGBTQI+ community. At about this time I began identifying as pansexual or bisexual. I have never been really sure about this. There was no major coming out though. I just stated here and there that I thought love was about a person and their soul, not their gender. Even though I was identifying as pansexual / bisexual, the doubt never really left. I felt ill-at-ease with the identification. Maybe I’m not into labels, I’d think. Maybe.

Deep down, I knew. I think I’d always known. I would get major crushes on women in films and TV shows. Maybe that’s just identification. I could hardly imagine being in a relationship with a man. Maybe I just haven’t met THE one. I would feel uncomfortable whenever a man flirted with me. Maybe I’m just not into him.

I just couldn’t imagine being a lesbian. And that’s not to say that I could fathom the very existence of lesbians. I knew they existed, I had a friend as they say. I truly believed that all love is love. What I couldn’t accept was that I was a lesbian. How could I not like men? Good girls like men. Good girls are straight. Good girls get married TO A MAN, and have children WITH A MAN. No way. I must be pansexual. Or bisexual. Not lesbian.

Funnily enough, the pandemic was a big transitional time for me. I was able to truly connect with myself. Away from the world and the mundanities of everyday life, focusing on what really matters for the first time, I came to a realization. I do not like men. I do not find pleasure in imagining a relationship with a man. This realization was validated by experience. I signed up on a dating app (what??? I know, don’t judge). My immediate reaction was to set up my preferences to women only (that should have been another hint right?!). However, almost immediately I changed those preferences to everyone (men and women). Why? Because, I thought, by excluding men I might miss out on the one (he’s always somewhere). What if I miss on the opportunity of happily ever after because I renounce to dating half of humanity? And oh boy did I regret that. I was instantly contacted by half the male population of my surroundings (the joys of being on a dating app) and it really felt like it was not for me. I was feeling miserable rather than happy, anxious rather than excited. I switched back to women only and I have felt safer and more myself ever since.

I guess you could say that I have been feeling rather at peace with who I am. I have come out to a few (selected) friends, in the least dramatic way possible (well, they also are the least dramatic women I know). There remains the question, however, of coming out to family. Because although I have come to term with being a lesbian, I am still scared AF when it comes to coming out to my family and the main reason is: what if I am not lesbian after all (eye roll emoji)? The real reason, though, is that I know that as open-minded as my parents are, a coming out also means a period of adaptation, of understanding what it means exactly. And for someone like me who hates both confrontation and disappointing this feels like a big deal. Selfishly, I wish someone had been there before in my family. That I would not be the first. The trailblazer. The odd one out. The lesbian aunt. But then, I think of my little cousins. And how I could be that person for them. If I allow myself past the fear.

Thing is, I also truly believe that I will not be able to be fully happy until I come out. I will not be truly happy until I can be who I am fully, knowing that the people who accept it are the ones who love me, for real. But what if that means losing my grandfather? What if it means that people will literally never stop talking about it?

As much as I have talked about the hardships of coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality, I will also mention that coming to terms with this reality has been a huge relief. It has opened me to a world where love and inclusion are legion. A world where you are accepted for who you truly are. It has given me role models, values and a political awareness that I probably would not have had otherwise. In other words, being lesbian is a blessing because it is who I am, fully. And when I get to be this person, I can finally start to breathe. I can finally start to live.

My problem lies with mainstream culture and the way it portrays lesbian relationships. I have grown up with the ability of seeing gay couples loving each other, hating each other, flirting, breaking up. Mainstream media and popular culture have very much romanticized gay relationships. What of lesbian relationships then? The reality is completely different. And how could it not be when Instagram still censored the ‘lesbians’ hashtag two weeks ago? When we only have The L Word as a reference? Where on TV and in films have lesbians been given the space and time to actually develop a relationship except in that show? And I’m not even talking about the perfect, happy relationship. Just any relationship. More than 3 minutes of screen time. You’ll have to agree that this is rather recent.

How different would my life have been if I had seen lesbian couples on TV? How different would my life have been if people had not shied away from lesbian relationships? It is time for pop culture to be inclusive of our people. Little girls need this representation. They need to know that this kind of love exists, is normal, and brings fulfillment. I wish this had been my reality so that I wouldn’t have been mad when Casey from Atypical dumps her boyfriend to explore her relationship with Izzie. Because then perhaps I wouldn’t have been mad at her for doing that. I wouldn’t have been mad at Izzie for being honest. Because that is how deeply rooted my fear of being a lesbian was: I was mad at these two women for having the courage to explore their feelings and be true to themselves, when Casey could have had the perfect ending with Evan. And that is not ok. I need to let go of the idea that the perfect life means being in a heterosexual relationship. Because I know that this is not for me. This will not bring me fulfillment.

#lesbian #lgbtqplus #about me #sexuality #coming out?#gays of tumblr

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adrischrv · 4 years

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REGNUM [L.H] — Chapter One

Summary: Princess Amberly begins her adventure in Gardenstone’s Homecoming ball. // The first chapter of my King!Luke fanfic.

Author’s Note: Welcome to Regnum, hope you enjoy! English is not my first language so let me know if there are any mistakes. Gif made by Sheisbea in wattpad!

Word count: 2,452

“… The paradisiacal view of Gardenstone is, without a doubt, one of its greatest attractions. With special mention to the Flaney Forest, the national pride full of ruins of the ancient world …”

The presentation brochure did not lie at all, if in mere images the forest looked beautiful and imposing I can imagine how majestic it would be to see it live. But for now, I could only do that, imagine the places that Gardenstone offered as the time passed since my arrival locked in a room.

One day passed since my picturesque journey from my kingdom to Gardenstone … my kingdom-to-be. I was traveling like a bunch of lobsters, the most important thing Maredale exchanged with Gardenstone, to realize the longed-for union between both kingdoms and in the process, marry someone I had not seen in my entire life.

I’m trained to be a strong leader but not arrogant, humble but not naive, and seductive but not easy, but something had been missing from the list and that was how to be a good wife. I knew how to run an entire country, but the heart of a man? Lost cause. And it was normal, with only 19 years it is not my fault to know absolutely nothing about the subject, more than the common and what I read in my romance books, of course. I kept telling myself over and over how important it had been to pay attention to my parents’ relationship when I was a child, maybe I would know how to start a conversation with my husband, was that important? Should I speak to him?

“Your Highness, I’m sorry to interrupt. Queen Susan has sent this maid to you.”

The guard’s words helped me get out of the spiral.

I nodded as I watched a freckled red-haired girl approach with a box in her hands that she balanced as she bowed.

“Good morning, Your Highness. My name is Lidia and I have come to help you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lidia. You can call me Amberly,” I smiled. “Excuse me, but help me with what, exactly?”

Lidia gave a little laugh, taking brushes and makeup from the box and placing them on the dresser; the only piece of furniture in the room along with the bed. I took a seat watching Lidia inspect my curly hair in the mirror.

“King Robert has organized a homecoming dance in your honor, Queen Susan seems to have convinced him that leaving you locked up until the coronation is done is not the way to treat a guest … much less if it will be our future Queen.”

“Future queen.”

The words echoed in my mind, realizing the seriousness of them.

Years ago, “The International Revolution” had been present, everything got out of control. There were no intermediaries, intentions to fix it, faith, or hope. In a world where more than 80% of the earth was uninhabitable, a scattered society grew up and far from all the horror; Lauxwell, Gardenstone, and Maredale; three kingdoms that from the beginning asked for their expansion. Lauxwell and Maredale boast coastlines and rivers, while Gardenstone lives in the middle of both. There was a deal to be made and everyone knew about it, two united kingdoms would cause the fall of the one who was left behind, it was fate. My mother, Queen Elizabeth, had made a deal with the Kings of Gardenstone where both kingdoms would unite, and eventually, Lauxwell must do so as well, leaving one of the kings’ children and me in command.

I watched Lidia place four different dresses on the bed, needing to ask her a question.

“Lidia, what do you think of the princes? Jake and …?”

“… Luke, Your Highness.”

“Yes, Luke … I’ve heard about both of them but I need to know more. Tell me your opinion, without fear.”

Nervous, the maid spread one of the dresses in my direction. Immediately, I went to change behind a curtain while she spoke.

“Well, if you want to know … Prince Jake, your future husband, is charismatic and reserved. Nothing like the brother.” She shook her head. “Prince Luke is an open book, predictable and, excuse the audacity, extremely spoiled. I’ve lost count of all the girls who claim to have been with him, your high- Amberly.”

I chuckled when I heard how Lidia spoke about my future brother-in-law. She wasn’t wrong; Prince Luke was handsome, his blond hair looked like pure gold, and his blue eyes weren’t far from a replica of the ocean, but his arrogant, carefree, and selfish personality made him look like the worst candidate for any throne, or so they said. It was curious to analyze the capabilities and goals that I possess compared to those of Luke, who despite being two years older than me, seemed to have practically no training as well as his interest in the crown.

“I appreciate your honesty, Lidia,” I said sincerely. “I haven’t had the honor of meeting them yet, but something tells me that Prince Jake is a good person.”

“He is, and you will be astonished when you see him. You’re ready, by the way.”

The dress she had given me was light pink; made of pure silk, short sleeves raised slightly at my shoulders that guide the viewer to the factory V-cut, and a remarkable length to the floor, without being floaty. This color highlighted my light brown hair -like my eyes- which reached a little before my ribs dropped in majestic waves - my favorites. I looked radiant, although I would always prefer to wear a pair of pants and a jacket on casual days.

Two knocks on the door made Lidia cross the room quickly to attend to it.

“Excuse the interruption, Your Majesty.” A rather formally dressed boy appeared. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Hood, the son of the Diplomatic Advisor of the Kings, but to be honest, I think I am a bit of everything. The dance guests are here. The kings asked me to escort you to the ballroom.”

“Right away. Thank you very much for your help, Lidia.”

The maid nodded, a little taken aback by my thanks. Hood extended an arm and I reciprocated.

“So Hood… that doesn’t seem like your name, is that your last name?”

“You’re perceptive, Your Highness, I like it. It is my last name, my name is Calum but my father does not approve of saying my name. In the palace, I am best identified by my surname.”

I allowed myself to look away from the virtual paintings that adorned the halls, slowly reproducing old and new photographs of the royal family. Prince Luke looked happy in the older ones and there was no sign of him in the newer ones.

“… So I recommend you not drink the yellow liquid, it leaves a pretty bad mouth odor.” For a second I had forgotten that I was walking with Calum. “Any questions, princess?”

I opened my mouth to reply, being interrupted by some strong footsteps coming down the stairs at the end of the hall.

“There you are, Calum! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

A youthful voice was present, it was Prince Luke.

I allowed my eyes to roam his face. If I weren’t going to marry his brother, I would dare to think of his features as those of a Greek god I read so much about. So thin they were shocking. His blond curls gave a familiar air after having seen the queen’s hair, he had stopped at a point where the sun was shining on him, making the delicacy of the fabric of his white shirt revealing a little of his body. Suddenly, I was not surprised because he had many young women at his feet.

The blonde stopped when he noticed my presence. His demeanor changed radically and he became serious, his look bordering on arrogance.

“Good night… princess.”

His blue eyes peered up and slid boldly over my silhouette. My body tensed and the prince smiled when he noticed.

“If you allow us … Even if not, I honestly don’t care …” He laughed. If he hadn’t said that, I would have found him adorable. “I’ll take Calum with me for a moment.”

The prince tugged at Calum. I looked at the young man with concern, I still needed to know where to go.

“Follow the hall to the end, the door is open. See you later, Your Highness.” Calum indicated as if reading my mind.

"Thanks, Hood.”

I smiled walking past them with my posture restored. I regulated my breathing as I made my way to the living room when I realized that I had stopped breathing.

The queen had wanted to mix the past of our world with the modernity of the present, starting with a classic giant chandelier right in the center of the room. Below, a circular platform with the thrones for the hosts of the evening. The people of the kingdom enjoyed the food displayed on a long table to one side of the room and the classical music that played in the background invited them to dance.

The sigh of someone behind me caught my attention.

“Oh! Nice to see you, Prince Jake.”

Prince Jake perfectly wore a suit that undoubtedly highlighted his arms, which looked strong and his spectacular form. Years of difference and experience showed in his handsome face adorned with a blond beard.

“Let’s not be formal with each other. We’re going to be husbands, after all, ”he suggested, extending his hand at the invitation of a dance.

I had a hard time knowing if his tone was friendly or serious, however, I took his hand and we began to dance.

“You’re right”.

“What would you like me to call you? Amberly, your highness, fiancée…?” Jake asked, this time clearly friendly.

I smiled.

"You can call me Amberly, Ams … My father used to call me Amber,” I said, too lost to notice that I had said it in the past tense.

“I heard about your father, I think he was one of the best kings the new world could witness. And he was very considerate in changing the laws to allow your mother to reign without him … Ams.”

My father had left my mother to take a year off, a year that lasted since I was seven. He left, leaving my mother in charge of the kingdom as the first queen to do it on her own.

I looked at my mother across the room. She was the older, talented, and brave version of me. She was talking with the King and Queen of Gardenstone using an air of born charisma and smiling. Our eyes met, suddenly I wanted to ask for the thousandth time the true importance of this union. But I couldn’t, it would be absurd, so I just smiled.

King Robert was a man with a fair complexion, brown hair, and a not very expressive face that was affected by stress and age lines, wearing a suit with insignia representing different achievements. Next to him, the flawless Queen Susan settled in a red dress noticeably longer than mine and long sleeves that her collected blonde hair revealed. Her air of excellence and at the same time warmth was incomparable, I felt happy with the simple idea of being able to exchange ideas, doubts, and advice with the queen.

The king gave his wife a kiss on the palm of his hand and looked at Jake just as the current piece was coming to an end, asking him to join him in talking with my mother.

"See you after my speech,” Jake apologized.

Queen Susan approached silently offering her arm, I reciprocated and we began to walk around the people in the room.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” the queen said, breaking the silence. “Sorry we didn’t have time to talk earlier, but tell me how are you handling all this?”

I had even thought-rehearsed the correct answer.

“It is new and certainly a little scary, but I am not closed to the advantages and possibilities that there are in achieving this union, your majesty.”

“It’s a real honor to have you here, I can’t wait to show you everything so that you will soon be queen, I mean it. But we can start with my son, what do you think of him?”

"I don’t know him well enough, he seems to be a man who knows what he wants and has good manners.”

The truth is, I just thought he was very attractive and I only knew what Lidia had told me before. What I couldn’t help was being curious about Prince Luke.

“He can be when he knows what he wants but he doesn’t know what that is yet. Hope you help him figure it out if it’s not too much to ask.”

I nodded. In an instant, the king was beckoning me from a table set discreetly in the corner of the room, Luke was beside him. He was holding the hand of a fair-skinned blonde girl who looked almost angelic in the white dress she was wearing. She might seem like a princess. Seem.

The queen followed my gaze and lowered her arm.

"Oh, don’t worry dear, go to the King. We´ll have plenty of time to talk.”

I bowed and walked over to the King and Prince.

“Princess, excuse me for abusing your kindness, I know that you have received war planning lessons since you were little and I thought I would show you this simulator. My useless son does not know what would be the necessary movement to attack this blue base.”

The king says indicating the piece in the center of the map. I began to analyze it, the king had three large troops occupied and two small ones unoccupied and the base did not seem large. Luke moved the two little ones to the base, getting a glare from his father. I looked at them curiously for a moment, was this a test for me or for Luke?

Regardless of the answer, I took a large one taking it to the side with a small one, and did the same with the ones that were left at the base, leaving them balanced. The king smiled and applauded.

“Wonderful! Very simple, isn’t it?” The King exclaimed, clearly annoying Luke.

"As simple as there is, actually.”

An unknown voice caught the attention of everyone at the table. The owner was unknown to me but seeing that raven-haired man move in my direction, I knew it was his intention to change it.

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #luke hemmings fanfiction #king!luke #prince!luke #ashton irwin #imagine #king!ashton #michael clifford #calum hood #smut #readregnum #5sos fic #fanfic #5sosfam

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falling-feuilles · 4 years

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Chapter 1

CW/TW: Physical Abuse

1805 St Petersburg

The air outside was brisk and cool, not enough to warrant a thick coat, but enough to remind the citizens of the approaching winter. The daytime ambience of the party offered a sense of dissociation from reality, a distraction from the impending forces of Napoleon and his army. Despite the approach of such a powerful adversary, the usual fear and anxiety associated with such situations was missing from the faces of the guests. Most of the guests, that is. Two young women talked quietly in the corner, both around 20 years of age. The ladies were recognizable by those in society as the two daughters of Prince Karlov Meininov; Princess Elisabeta Bolkonskaya, the younger, and Princess Y/N Zhudova, the elder, by a year and a half.

“Sister,” began Y/N, “It will be alright, you’ll be with myself, Marya, and-”

“I know, I know, but… I worry for Andrei, N/N. You of all people know he hasn’t been himself as of late, even Pierre has-”

A small commotion interrupted the woman’s words, drawing the attention of the two, as well as the attention of the surrounding guests. A young man, no more than 20, argued with a small number of other, older men. Y/N sighed, knowing the likely cause for the debate. The man in question was Pierre Bezukhov, an old friend and stalwart companion. He was just over two and a half cubits tall, stout, and bespectacled. Lise gave her a knowing look, nudging her in his direction. She gave her sister a gentle pat on the arm, moving swiftly over to Pierre just as another man caught his attention.

“Pierre, old friend,” greeted the man.

“Andrei, it’s so good to see you here” he sighed. The two embraced, breaking apart, not aware of Y/N standing nearby, smiling softly at the two.

“Getting a taste of high society?”

“Yes, and making a fool of myself, as usual…”

Pierre turned, finally noticing the woman standing off to the side; he broke out into a wide grin, moving quickly to kiss her outstretched hand. Andrei did the same, greeting her with a small smile.

“How are you two enjoying the salon of our dearest Anna Pavlovna?” Y/N asked, smiling playfully.

Pierre chuckled, looking nervously around for the woman in question before continuing.

“She thinks me some sort of ill-mannered beast, but considering the conversation I just had she is not the only one.”

“Think nothing of it, I find it endearing.” He blushed, smiling a little, “But, you are right, you know,” she continued, seeing the confused looks on the men’s faces, “Russia is in need of a revolution of its own, although preferably one with fewer beheadings.”

Pierre smiled, making to continue before something caught his eye. That something being a beautiful, dark-haired woman in a Grecian dress; Helene Kuragina.

“She’s ravishing… No hope for me though. I see her every day and she hardly notices I’m there.”

Y/N sighed, looking upon the woman disdainfully. Helene was a cruel, snake of a woman; she had been immeasurably hateful towards Y/N in the past, calling her mother a “ruble-seeking gypsy of a woman” on more than one occasion. Y/N’s mother was a peasant girl of English descent who had fallen in love with a wealthy Prince, her father. They married in secret, but after Y/N’s grandparents discovered the union, they immediately broke it off, marrying him off to a wealthy Princess from the Capitol. Little did they know, Y/N’s mother was already with child and was forced to care for the child with no help from the Prince, who had no knowledge of his previous wife’s condition. When Y/N was 12 years old, her mother became ill with consumption and passed soon after. Before she died, she sent word to the girl’s father, begging him to take her in and care for her. Her father was more than happy to, welcoming his child with open arms.

“But your lovely wife? Is she well?” Pierre directed his and Y/N’s attention away from Helene, back to Andrei and each other.

“See for yourself,” Andrei gestured to where Lise stood, making small talk with a group of other women.

“She’s enchanting,” Y/N nodded, agreeing with Pierre.

“She brings happiness wherever she goes, you’re a lucky man Andrei, and my sister is lucky to have you.”

“You think?”

“I know, she cares for you deeply.”

After some time, and a number of enlightening conversations regarding the politics of modern Russia, Lise beckoned Y/N over, reminding her to be at her house at the appropriate time the following morning.

“Lise, I’ve already told you I’m attending Natasha Rostova’s name day ceremony tomorrow, I’ll arrive the day after you do.”

“Oh yes, my mistake. Wish her a happy name day for me.”

“I’ll be sure to.”

“Where are the two of you off to?” Pierre questioned, adjusting his spectacles. Y/N lifted her hand from his arm, moving to assist her sister down the stairs.

“Hasn’t he told you? He’s going off to the war and sending me away to the country to have my baby all alone. That’s the sort of husband I’ve got.”

“Are you really?” Questioned Pierre, turning to await Andrei’s answer.

“She won’t be alone,” he began, “She’ll be with my sister as well as her own.”

“But to have my baby in that bleak place, with people I hardly know?”

“Lise, we have been through all this, it’s for the best.” he continued, “Now, take the carriage home, the doctor said you should rest. We’ll walk with Pierre.”

Lise huffed, looking towards Pierre and her sister.

“You see? He treats me like a child.”

“Lise…”

“No, I don’t care if they hear. You have no pity for me; you were never like this before.” she stopped, noticing Andrei’s irritation, “You see? I don’t believe he loves me anymore.”

Y/N sighed, she could tell Andrei off and she knew he would listen to her; he had always valued her opinion very highly. Alas, they were in public, in front of a number of people. She decided against it, as there were reputations at risk; not that she herself had much of a reputation to maintain, it was more for the sake of Andrei and Lise.

Pierre tried, desperately, to comfort Lise, as was his nature. He quickly abandoned that attempt, realizing his inexperience and lack of tact would, undoubtedly, do nothing to ease her mind. Y/N could tell, however, that the attempt was appreciated by Lise, nonetheless.

“No, no, don’t. I’ll be good,” Lise chuckled, “I know Andrei wishes to speak with you. You won’t be too long?”

“No, my love.”

“Goodnight Pierre. I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

Y/N moved forward, pressing a kiss to each of her sister’s cheeks before the two men began once again to walk down the final few stairs. Pierre offered Y/N his arm, her gloved hand resting upon the dark wool of his coat.

The trio walked along the street, passing beneath street lamps and small trees. The silence was comfortable, familiar. They crossed a small, cobbled bridge before any of them dared to speak.

“You’re really going to the war? You don’t think Napoleon’s the antichrist like the rest of them?” Pierre asked, looking to Andrei.

“It’s got nothing to do with Napoleon.”

“Then why, Andrei?” Y/N interjected, stopping to face him. Her face was calm and retained all the composure expected of a woman of her standing; save for her eyes. The E/C orbs were hard as iron, unafraid to stare him in the eye. Despite looking upon Andrei as a brother, her sister came first. Always. Lise had always been her first priority, since they had first met she was always responsible for her well-being, despite being older by a mere year and a half. In all honesty, she wasn’t angry at Andrei, as Lise was, or concerned for his safety, as Pierre was, although that was certainly a priority. Pierre stood beside her, looking at her face. He recognized the disappointment and confusion in her eyes. The three of them had been close long before Andrei and Lise had begun courting. It was an unconventional friendship, but it had lasted for far longer than any of them had expected.

Andrei took a moment before replying, formulating his words

“Because I can’t bear any more of this life. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, night after night.”

Y/N continued walking, shaking her head. Her hand began to tremble lightly as it rested on Pierre’s wrist. At this slight shaking, Pierre looked down, noticing the movement and the distress palpable on her face. He rested his other hand on hers, gently squeezing it. She looked up at him, gratefully. Her body pressed closer to his, as though he was a rock, anchoring her in the sea of frustration and distress that was closing in around her.

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s the truth,” he continued, swiveling to face Pierre, muttering under his breath, “Never marry, Pierre. Don’t make my mistake.”

Y/N turned to face him, face distorted in anger. Never had she expected that Andrei would say such a thing in front of her, Pierre clearly felt similarly. She lifted her hand gently from beneath Pierre’s, and promptly slapped Andrei across the face.

“You will NEVER refer to my sister as a mistake!”

Pierre was shocked, he had never seen Y/N this furious before. She had always been very well-mannered and calm, even when people insulted her heritage, choices, or her appearance, but this was nothing like he had seen from her before. Andrei lifted a hand to his face, cupping the now-reddening mark upon his cheek.

“Honestly Andrei, you don’t want to fight because you can’t bear any more of your life as it is, you want to fight because you can’t bear yourself any longer. You think no one loves you, or cares for you, or gives a damn about your well-being. We do! You are stuck in such a state of self-pity and self-hatred that you no longer recognize when people, your friends and wife for a start, are concerned for you. I just…” she paused, calming herself before continuing in a quiet voice,”You have so much Andrei… more than so many will ever have, and you’re willing to throw it all away for… for nothing.”

“Y/N, that’s not fair-” Pierre began, but she held up a hand.

“Life’s not fair, Pierre. You and I know better than most, it’s time he knows. Until then, I must take my leave.” She turned to leave, head held high despite the sadness in her eyes. Pierre grabbed her arm, she paused for a moment. Their eyes locked, solid E/C meeting deep brown. Pierre himself knew that life wasn’t easy. He was the bastard son of a Count, but he had been raised as close to a legitimate child as a natural son could be. Y/N, on the other hand, was raised in a poor town, by a woman whose only source of income after her father’s departure was the sale of her own body; while Pierre and Andrei wanted for nothing, she wanted for everything and it had showed.

He could see it in her eyes; the anger at Andrei’s willingness to abandon his family for a cause he didn’t believe him. The envy of his early life, and the ease with which he had lived it. And finally, the sadness that he couldn’t appreciate the life and opportunities he had been given. He released her arm, allowing her to walk away.

She reached the end of the street, making her way back to the salon to retrieve her carriage. Her feet travelled the familiar streets, easily carrying her back to the event, which was winding down. Guests wandered steadily out, the women escorted by the men into their carriages. Y/N made her way through the crowd alone, searching for the familiar carriage she had arrived in.

A hand on her back distracted her from this pursuit, causing her shoulders to clench as she whirled around. A man stood behind her, tall and dark. Y/N recognized him as Prince Anatole Kuragin, standing beside him was his father, Prince Vassily Kuragin. She curtsied, offering up her hand as was customary. Both men took it, the younger Prince lingering far longer than she would’ve liked.

“Princess Y/N, you look as lovely as ever. I have been trying to get into contact with your father in the hopes that we, meaning my son and I, could visit with you and your father. Unfortunately, he hasn’t returned my letters.” He paused, allowing her the chance to respond.

“As much as I appreciate your interest in the lives of myself and of my father, we don’t often receive guests; much less guests who we haven’t personally invited. If my father was interested in meeting with you, he would have done so already. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am rather tired and would like to return home, have a lovely evening gentlemen.” She moved back to her carriage, noticing her driver standing near it, waiting to assist her.

“Dear Princess-” started Anatole, only to be cut off by his father.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be able to squeeze us into your busy schedule? We are rather eager to visit.” she sighed, turning back to face

“Prince Vassily, forgive me, but even if I was available, I can assure you neither my father nor myself are interested in whatever proposal you may have for either of us. Good day.”

This time, she was allowed to walk uninterrupted back to her carriage, stepping in with the help of her driver.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“Yes, Sergei, I am. Thank you for your concern.”

As soon as the door was shut, she placed her head in her hands. She undid the pins keeping her plaits in place, allowing them to fall past her shoulders to her lower back. As she slowly unravelled the braids, her mind began to wander; back to the argument. Had she overreacted? Probably. Had she ruined her friendship with the two men? Most likely. But, was she right? Most definitely.

She resolved to draft two letters when she returned home, addressed to Andrei and Pierre. As she neared the gates of her house, she noticed the lamps were lit in the Western-most Room of the building. Father was still awake, despite the late hour. After exiting the carriage, she began to hear the distant melody of a piano. As she approached the double doors, she recognized the familiar tune of Dussek’s Piano Sonata No.18, Op. 44. It had been a long while since she’d heard her Father play the piano.

Her Father suffered from not only the early onset of the memory loss and confusion associated with old age, but also a failing heart. Thus, he had lost much of his knowledge and ability to read music, but was physically unable to do much else. Her Father had always valued music very highly, considering it a necessary part of a child’s education. Following this ideal, he had enrolled both Lise and Y/N in piano lessons, as well as the flute and the violin, respectively. While Lise was competent at playing the flute, Y/N was considered by many to be a very talented violinist, even at a young age. This was one of her few talents deemed recognizable and praiseworthy by the upper members of society.

She entered the doors, quickly hanging her cloak and heading into the parlor. Her ailing father sat on the bench, arthritic fingers moving across the keys to the best of his ability. The sheet music in front of him was haphazardly placed on the stand in front of him, distracting him from her presence. She looked around for her violin case, noticing it sitting, open, on the sofa.

The sound of the violin was a frequent one in the Meininov household, and a welcome one at that. Very rarely, however, was it accompanied by another instrument. This was one of those rare times. While there was no true accompaniment to the piece being played, Y/N certainly made it sound like there was. Her movements were sure and precise, easily providing a more prominent melody to the piece.

This continued for the next couple minutes, until her Father, while turning the sheet music, knocked the papers onto the ground. He did not seem to recognize that fact and continued playing, if one could call it that. His piece of the music became more and more discordant; his memory of the piece having faded as quickly and abruptly as it had fallen on the floor. Y/N set her violin down quickly, moving to restrain her Father. At this rate, he was going to damage his fingers and the piano. He became still, opting to grab her wrist in his hand and stare at her, showing no recognition in his face. While the pressure started out light, it quickly became unbearable.

“Father, you’re hurting my arm… Father, let go…” she let out a hiss of pain, feeling his iron grip continue to grow tighter. “Alexei! Mikhail!”

The two men came into the room, noticing her struggling in his grip. They moved forward and grabbed his arm, attempting to pry his fingers off her. After a minute of this struggle, he calmed down, released her, and walked out of the room as if nothing had happened. Y/N cradled her arm to her chest, noticing the mark already beginning to bloom red beneath her skin.

“Are you alright, mistress?” asked Alexei, moving to her side.

“Yes, yes,” she pulled her sleeve over the marks, “Thank you for your help.”

They nodded, leaving the room. She could hear whispers emanating from behind the doors they had left from. As her footsteps drew near the door, the whispers stopped and hurried feet moved quietly away from the doors, back to their respective positions within the household.

When she reached her chambers, a young woman was waiting inside to help her prepare for bed. She made to dismiss her, but the maid, a girl named Alexandra, approached her, taking her hand gently. She pushed up the sleeve of Y/N’s dress, exposing the injury. Despite being newly made, it was already painfully red and extremely tender to the touch. Alexandra led her over to the pair of chairs residing in the corner of the room.

“What are you-?” Y/N began, but a sharp pain in her arm cut her off. She grimaced, looking to where Alexandra was carefully prodding the bruise, feeling the area around the mark.

“I think you might have sprained it, my lady,” she answered quietly, tucking her hand into the pocket of her apron, drawing out a roll of clean cotton. The two sat in silence while Alexandra deftly wrapped the bandages around the bruise, obscuring it from sight. After tucking the end of the bandage into itself, finishing the task with ease.

Y/N lifted her newly wrapped appendage to her face, noticing the skill with which it was bound.

“Who taught you medicine?”

“My mother, she was a nurse before… before she got sick.”

“I see; is that why you came to work in our household?”

“Yes she has been suffering from consumption for the past few months and we don’t-” she hesitated, voice breaking. After a moment, she continued. “We don’t have the money for her medicine so my sisters and I had to find work.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, where is she being treated?”

“At our aunt’s house, she was a nurse too, but we can only do so much without the proper medication.”

Y/N nodded, moving quickly over to the desk seated in the adjacent corner. She withdrew from one of its drawers, a sheet of paper and a small box. The box contained a quill and an inkpot, as well as a wax imprint with which to seal letters. She quickly drafted a note to her family’s doctor, instructing him to provide all necessary medications and assistance to Alexandra’s mother, and to charge all costs to her personal account.

After a few short minutes, Alexandra was given the letter, now sealed and addressed to the physician. The girl examined the letter, clearly struggling with the words on the outside.

“Can you read?”

“I… no, I can’t.”

“This letter is addressed to my physician. I’ve instructed him to provide your mother with the necessary medical care. I’ll inform the carriage driver to bring you there tomorrow morning.”

“But, I can’t afford it, we-”

“You won’t be paying, he will be charging it to my account.”

Tears brimmed at the edge of her eyes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.

“Thank you so much, you’ve no idea how grateful I am,” she placed her arms around Y/N, hugging her tightly. She smiled softly, patting Alexandra’s back gently.

“Now,” she released the girl, wiping the tears from her face, “Run along, you should be getting to bed soon.”

Alexandra nodded, holding the letter close to her heart as she left, closing the door behind her.

Y/N brought her hand closer to her face, tracing the bandage with the tip of her finger; writing the letter had been painful, far more than she would have imagined. So, her apologies would have to wait for the time being.

A/N: If you find any spelling mistakes, please message me the part, chapter, and sentence. I’ll do my best to fix it, thank you!

#war and peace #bbc war and peace #pierre bezukhov

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joachimnapoleon · 4 years

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Meet the Bonapartes: Pauline (1/3)

New project! I got it into my head recently to do some research/mini-bios on all of Napoleon’s siblings. I find all their stories pretty interesting, but predictably (and understandably) they’ve always ended up relegated to the background of Napoleon’s much more famous story. I’m planning on each write-up being multiple parts. And, if the way this first one has gone so far is any indication, probably more parts than I originally intended them to be.

The conventional thing to do would be to write them in order from oldest sibling to youngest.

...

Anyway we’re starting with Pauline, the third youngest, because she’s one of my favorites. :)

*****

Pauline Bonaparte was born in Ajaccio, Corsica, on 20 October 1780; she was the sixth of what would be eight surviving children born to Carlo Buonaparte and Letizia Ramolino. Baptized the following day at the local cathedral, she was christened Maria-Paola; her family would refer to her throughout her childhood as "Paoletta."

Almost nothing is known of her childhood in Ajaccio other than that her education was woefully neglected (as would be that of her younger siblings, Jerome and Caroline), and that she delighted in mischief at a young age. Her father died when she was only five years old, and her mother did little to instill discipline into the younger children; they were given a room in the house in which they were pretty much left to their own devices. Napoleon, eleven years her elder and appearing only sporadically during her early years as he continued his education in France, nevertheless developed a strong affection for her which he would retain for the remainder of his life, and which Pauline would reciprocate for the rest of hers.

In June of 1793, the inflammatory political sentiments of her third eldest brother, Lucien, set the ire of the supporters of the Corsican patriot Paoli against the Buonapartes, and the family was soon forced to flee Corsica for the French mainland. They eventually settled in Marseilles, and it was at this time that the names of the family were "Frenchified"; the surname Buonaparte was refashioned to Bonaparte, Maria-Paola into Pauline, and her affectionate nickname of Paoletta now became Paulette.

In Marseilles, she continued with the mischief of her childhood, stealing figs from a neighbor, who once caught her in the act and chased her off with a vine whip, sputtering curses. In her less mischievous moments, Pauline made herself dresses; by her mid-teens she was already becoming known for her beauty, and had developed a taste for finery, although the family was still far from wealthy at this point.

In later years, once Napoleon had come to power and royalist (and British) propagandists began taking aim at the Bonaparte family, numerous sordid stories were published about the behavior of Pauline and her sisters, with the earliest accounts of their alleged promiscuity occurring during their time in Marseilles. The royalist Peltier was one of the first to spread these rumors, depicting Pauline as having taken her first lover at the age of fourteen, and claiming that all three siblings had worked as prostitutes in while living Marseilles (Caroline was only eleven years old). There is nothing credible in any of these stories, but they were the start of a near-constant stream of rumors and tabloid gossip that would continue to accumulate about the Bonaparte sisters for the rest of their lives, and which have unfairly tarnished their reputations to this day.

However, Pauline did fall in love for the first time during this period, at the tender age of fifteen, with a much older man: a forty-one-year-old politician named Stanislas Fréron. Fréron had been tasked with establishing the authority of the revolutionary Convention to Toulon, where he first encountered Napoleon Bonaparte. How he first met Pauline is less clear, but she soon fell head-over-heels in love with him. With the assistance of older sister Elisa (and possible Lucien), she wrote love letters to Fréron, featuring excerpts such as the following:

Ti amo, sempre, et passionnatissimamente, per sempre ti amo, ti amo, amo, amo, amo, amo, si amatissime amante.

Fréron seems to have genuinely reciprocated the feelings. It was through him that Pauline became acquainted with the writings of Petrarch, which would always remain dear to her. Fréron intended to marry the girl, and Napoleon was not initially opposed to the match. Letizia Bonaparte, on the other hand, did oppose it; whether because of the age difference or because of the stories of Fréron's less-than-savory private life (he had at least two illegitimate children from an Italian actress) is unclear. Pauline scorned her mother's opposition, gushing to Fréron:

My heart is not for sharing. It's given to you whole. Who could oppose the union of two souls who seek only happiness and who find it in loving each other? No, my love, not Maman, not anyone can refuse you my hand.

It wasn't until Fréron began to fall out of political favor that Napoleon finally vetoed the impending marriage himself. Pauline was devastated, but submitted to her brother's will, writing him the following (again with the help of Elisa):

As for me I would rather be unhappy all my life than marry without your consent and bring your curses down on me. If, my dear Napoleon, you, for whom I have always had the most tender affection, could see the tears that your letter has caused me to shed, I believe that even you would be touched.

By way of consolation, Napoleon invited her to visit him. At some point after the Fréron affair, one of Napoleon's young aides-de-camp, Jean Andoche Junot, fell passionately in love with Pauline, and hoped to marry her. But Napoleon bluntly shot him down, saying "You have nothing. She has nothing. What does that total? Nothing. Your children will be born to wretchedness. Best to wait."

Pauline accompanied the rest of the family to stay with Napoleon in Mombello, Italy, in 1797. This was the first time the Bonaparte and Beauharnais family were in regular close contact with each other; it did not go well. Letizia despised Josephine, and in short order all of her children (minus, of course, Napoleon) followed suit. Pauline, envious of Josephine's grace, polish, and fine wardrobe, made it a point of sticking her tongue out at Napoleon's wife whenever her back was turned. She ran wild enough at Mombello--allegedly taking numerous young officers as lovers--that Napoleon became determined to marry her off as quickly as possible. He finally settled on a promising subordinate, twenty-five-year-old Charles-Victor-Emmanuel Leclerc. The match was convenient, as Leclerc, like numerous others before him, had also fallen in love with Pauline. She would refer to him affectionately as her "little Leclerc." The pair were married on 14 June 1797.

The French academician Arnault leaves the following impression of the newly-married couple, after a visit to their home on the rue de la Ville-l'Evêque:

I found Leclerc at home and intoxicated with happiness; amorous and ambitious, and both with reason. His wife seemed to me very happy too, not only because she was married to him, but also just because she was married. Her new position had not increased her seriousness, as was the case with her husband; he seemed more serious than usual. But as for her, she was just as much of a madcap as ever.

She became pregnant soon after the wedding, and Leclerc doted over her anxiously during what proved to be a difficult pregnancy. Their only child, a boy named Dermide Louis Napoleon Leclerc, was born on 20 April 1798. Pauline was plagued with recurring poor health from this pregnancy on. Her biographer Margery Weiner writes:

A difficult confinement left her debilitated and probably with some minor disorder easily rectified nowadays but, without proper treatment, a constant source of malaise and lassitude. It is likely that she suffered from post-natal inflammation for which contemporary medicine could prescribe only a round of therapeutic waters and baths, recommending in desperate cases baths of beef tea, surely more efficacious to swallow than to wallow in.

Leclerc eventually resigned his post in Paris and was reassigned to Brittany. Pauline did not accompany him to this post, staying in Paris with baby Dermide (Napoleon was campaigning in Egypt at this time). She was befriended by Madame Permon and her daughter Laure (future wife of Junot), who helped her make her way into Parisian society. In short order, Pauline was dazzling the salons of Paris with her natural charm and beauty (as well as her increasingly expensive wardrobe). "Nothing can give an idea of this ravishing figure," says Laure Junot in her memoirs. "She truly lit up the salon when she entered."

Perhaps entranced by her own talents for seduction and manipulation by this point, Pauline embarked on a brief triple love affair with three generals who were also close friends: Moreau, Macdonald, and Beurnonville. She seemed to take as much delight in being able to play the men against each other as she did in experiencing their affections; but it wasn't long before the three friends compared notes and decided to walk away from her in unison in order to preserve their friendship. The greatest effect of this affair was undoubtedly the stain it left on Pauline's reputation, not only in France but eventually abroad, as it quickly made its way into the British tabloids.

In late 1801, Napoleon--now First Consul--ordered Leclerc to Saint Domingue, to take charge of the 23,000 French troops there and suppress the rebellion of Toussaint L'Ouverture. To Pauline's dismay, her brother commanded her to accompany her husband on the expedition. Historian Michael Broers describes her resistance to this measure:

She... tried every trick she knew to get out of it. She claimed to be pregnant: Napoleon had her examined by his own doctor with the predictable result; she said she could not cope with the coach drive from Paris to Brest: he sent her in a sedan chair. She retaliated by going on a ruinous spending spree in Paris, which she landed on Napoleon, before her departure.

***

Sources:

Broers, Michael. Napoleon: Soldier of Destiny. 2014.

Cronin, Vincent. Napoleon Bonaparte: An Intimate Biography. 1972.

Fleischmann, Hector. Pauline Bonaparte and Her Lovers, 1914.

Fraser, Flora. Venus of Empire: The Life of Pauline Bonaparte, 2009.

Roberts, Andrews. Napoleon: A Life. 2014.

Weiner, Margery. The Parvenue Princesses: Elisa, Pauline, and Caroline Bonaparte. 1964.

Zamoyski, Adam. Napoleon: A Life. 2018.

#Pauline Bonaparte #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #history #18th century #19th century #Meet the Bonapartes #Charles-Victor-Emmanuel Leclerc

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a-stitch-in-time-and-space · 4 years

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You ask for prompts and I'm here again to seek new content to read: 3. How often do/can they see each other (due to living on different planets, having stressful jobs, etc) with Gashir (/Garakshir) 🤩🤩

Eyyyyy. I am just gonna… casually fold into this… a little trans-Bashir as a treat…. because it’s trans day of visibility!!! Also I hc Cardassians as intersex, in the sense of they as a species don’t call themselves intersex, but their genders are far more loosely determined at birth, because there’s not really sexual dimorphism (or rather, there is, but it’s so many different factors that it’s not classified) and then gendering comes later in life depending on what role they’re supposed to play in society ahem – different post to make!

Also Garak has a tail in this, also casually.. also this got longer than intended… oops?

—– Letter Analysis ——

Their lives have a sort of normality that many families in this day and age exist with. Space travel, careers that necessitate being off-planet for long stretches at a time, the struggles of being a representative for entire planets or systems, all of this isn’t out of the ordinary.

Still, it takes them a little while to adjust, if only because they spent so long not getting it together that now that they have, well, they want to savour it. On the flip-side their relationship functions much better than so many who enter into partnerships of some kind without fully considering the difficulties of spending so much time apart and inevitably crumble.

Because of all that time they know, without a doubt, that their lives are entwined for good, regardless of how much of it they spend without one another’s physical company.

They fall into letter-writing naturally. After all, they had been doing the same before, why stop now.

It has become something of a competition at this point: who can write the longest letter. Thus far, Julian is winning and Elim is still in the process of reading his when they see one another again. He pretends to be blasé about it, but Julian can read him easily these days. He wonders at the time when he couldn’t and can’t really picture it.

While Elim is giving him a back-handed compliment at the way he’s managed to fold three words worth of content into whole paragraphs, Julian realises that he’s never known anyone as well as he knows Elim. And every detail of himself is known in turn. From the scars of his chest surgery that he purposefully kept, to the ridges at the base of Elim’s tail, it feels like everything about them was perfectly made for the other.

It’s strange, how many tiny moments are filled with love, they both learn.

(After Elim sends him a letter of 3000 pages, Julian simply answers: You win).

They consider what it would be like to have a family with the way their lives are run. Elim generally lives on Cardassia unless his diplomatic duties take him elsewhere, while Julian is hopping from emergency to medical find to distress call to conference.

Still, they approach the matter on the premise that it will happen. Their letters during these years follow a trajectory of thought with little variation, as they can’t actually be together for the discussion.

They discuss pregnancy – both of them are capable of bearing a child, but the time needed (nine earth months for humans, even longer for cardassians) makes it a challenging prospect. Moreover Julian and Elim, each for their own reason, have issues with concepts surrounding an uncontrollable force fundamentally changing their bodies.

It doesn’t take them long to agree that adoption was always the only option. Still there’s the matter of their careers being incompatible with children. Neither of them wants to put a child in harm’s way and both of their careers contain elements of danger. I believe, writes Elim drily and with an underlying sadness that Julian wishes he could heal, that this sixth assassination attempt may contain a sign that a child would not be particularly safe in my company.

The way this resolves itself is oddly perfect for what they need and who they are and comes through both of their continued work with mixed-species war-orphans, who more often than not are homeless, ostrasized and suffering from any number of easily treatable diseases. Garak opens a series of institutions in the name of Ziyal and habitually lends a hand in their various gardens where he befriends a number of the kids.

This plan also works to ground a lot of Julian’s focus in the space of mixed-species research, specifically writing papers on the future of the galaxy needing to see species integration for the sake of these kids as an inevitability as cultures mix and to understand the medical and cultural implications thereof.

Kira and Ro get heavily involved on the Bajoran side of things – in general a bunch of adults from DS9 days come together to give kids a better chance than they had.

Beyond that though, they come to realise that they’re okay on family. With these kids – many of whom they get to know personally over the years – with Molly and Yoshi O'Brien and Rebecca Sisko getting older and the two of them functioning as uncles, there’s more than enough for them to be getting on with on the children front: Elim and I were very happy to see you all again – Don’t worry, I’ll keep Yoshi safe – we’ll be making a stop at Bajor where Nerys is very excited to see him again –

Their circle is actually a sizeable, cross-galaxy household. They come to realise that it doesn’t matter if your family is someone you can’t see often, what matters is they’re all inhabiting the same space.

They don’t argue often. With the lack of time they have together, what would be the point of raising petty squabbles. There are things like the time Julian forgot about a very important dinner that Elim was a guest of honour at, which opened up a box of the kind of loneliness Elim thought he’d overcome, but it wasn’t about anger or arguing, it was about the two of them figuring out that sometimes this not seeing one another was actually damned hard. It was about asking for forgiveness and receiving it even before the asking. It was about making sure that they wouldn’t let things ever be unsaid, because their time together – comparative to their whole lives – was always going to be so short.

The actual worst long-standing consequence is that Elim and Julian are political celebrities, and so whatever tabloid-equivalent exists publishes one thousand pieces on their apparently irreconcilable relationship. Julian finds himself referred to as everything from a “heartthrob who found he needed more,” to “a cheater who habitually has several affairs at once.”

It’s amazing, remarks Elim in his latest letter, how these kinds of spurious articles are written even today, and how they still don’t seem to know the facts. On that note I hope you have a wonderful time with Data, and Parmak sends his love from my lap - it’s making it very hard to write this.

They’re both twenty years older by now, but things aren’t slowing down with their work by the looks of things. Julian’s work centres more and more on the various groups whose medical needs are considered less valid or even non-medical, because of their social status and who often have medical issues of kinds that don’t come up in normative societies – mixed-species, augments, A.I. (for awhile his standing suffers, when he argues that mechanical needs for A.I. ought to be taught in Starfleet Medical), non-bipedal species, Ex-B’s, Jem'Hadar, clones.

Elim keeps his Carrington Award on the wall for everyone to see. Partly to mess with him – To The Prestigious Winner of the CA – many of his letters begin for several years after, but mostly out of pride.

(In return and with as much love, Julian addresses him as Ambassador and Castellan – the joke evolves as they find ever more flowery titles for one another. Julian wins this one: My Dearest, the Ambassador to the United Federation of planets, Castellan of the Cardassian Union, Blusher when Being Whispered Compliments about the Length of Your Tail, Not-So-Secret Reader of Austen and Pratchett, Seducer of Doctors (No Doubt Currently Spluttering in Denial), Possessor of Biteable Ridges (Blushing Again, I Hope) and of My Heart… this opening continues a further four pages. The letter itself reads: I expect to land on Cardassia within the next three days. Surprise.)

At the end of it all, Julian finally comes to Cardassia for good. Along the way it’s become his home more than any planet, station, starship, or system, for the simple fact that he’s been returning to Elim, and Elim is home.

There’s a strangeness to all the time they have. The walks they take, the languid mornings, the discussions of books they’ve read whilst in each other’s company, it’s all far more surreal than the years spent wanting to see one another again and catching whatever moments they could.

They can’t shake the habit of writing one another letters, even as they’re sitting in the same room. They don’t need to be long or well-formed any more, although occasionally silly competitions spring up, just for fun.

The one Julian’s reading right now, as Elim’s tail languidly curls around his waist, simply says: I am glad that you’re finally home – E

–— The End ——

Submissions for drabbles are now closed, thank you for sending me asks!

#Julian Bashir #Elim Garak #Garashir #ds9 #st: ds9 #star trek #fanfic #writing

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things-we-used-tc-share · 4 years

Text

What Kind of Magic Is This?

Warnings: Drug mention (not use, just a brief discussion of hallucinogenics), Faeries.

Ship: Platonic Logicality.

Word Count: 1623.

Plot: Patton likes to collect Dandelions for a variety of different things, he gets a visitor on his lunch break in the middle of the forest. (Faery!Logan)

The crisp spring air brings a warm breeze against Patton’s cheeks. The sound of leaves crunching under his feet amongst daisies and dandelions has him humming to himself, music playing from the headphones around his neck. He rests the basket full of uprooted dandelions on the ground and takes a moment just to breathe the air into his lungs, eyelids fluttering closed as he tilts his face up towards the sky. The tips of the tree branches allow sunlight and blue sky to be seen through their canopies, and do not resist the way the wind blows a gentle wave to their arms. Patton opens his eyes and imagines they are waving to him.

He hums along to the music as he sits down under the tree and slides his backpack off, opening it up to find his lunch. Dandelion hunting is not exactly a strenuous sport, but there’s nothing like a jam sandwich in the spring air. He rests the container on his lap and prises off the lid to take a bite out of his sandwich.

For a moment there is only the stillness of nature, the only movements are the wind and Patton’s own, and then he hears the sound of footsteps; quiet, for a moment he’s sure he’s imagining them. And then he turns his head in the direction of the noise to see a man staring at him curiously. His heart skips a beat a little at first, surprised to see anyone this deep in the woods at any given time, and offers a small smile once he relaxes. “Hello!” He offers cheerfully, still a little bit nervous.

The stranger doesn’t reply at first, as if processing the word, before he offers a smile in return “Hello,” He stands still, as though waiting for the other to continue the conversation, or maybe invite him to sit down.

Patton looks down at his sandwiches “Are you hungry?” He asks, holding up the container “It’s homemade jam, I make it myself, but it is quite sugary,” The stranger steps forward a few paces and it’s then that Patton was able to really read his expression. The poor man looks skittish and nervous, a little like a frightened deer, but offers a shy smile and moves forward to sit down cross-legged on the ground. He’s wearing a long, thin skirt that appeared to be hand-dyed, although Patton recognises the material to be cotton, he’s not so good with knowing dyes. “What’s your name?”

The stranger hesitates, bright azure eyes taking a second to study Patton “Logan,”

“That’s such a nice name I’m-”

“Don’t,” The man cuts him short, shaking his head, a look of panic in his eyes “Don’t say your name,” He repeats, a little calmer, “The trees have ears,” Patton looks at the grass beside him with a curious expression, and then back to the stranger, wordlessly offering him a sandwich. “All it takes is one slip up and suddenly you’re waking up with no recollection of your life fifty years later, having not aged a day,” Patton laughs softly at that.

“I didn’t know these were Faery woods, I’ve been coming here for so long,” He gestures to the dandelions in the basket “Easy pickings without disturbing an eco-system with over harvesting,”

“That’s…a surprisingly intelligent conclusion to reach, for a Human,” Patton swallows the bite in his mouth much too soon and chokes a little. “I suppose I should have delivered that punch line a little more efficiently,” Patton raises his eyebrows in a way that says, ‘You think?’ but in a slightly unnerved fashion. “I will not harm you, and it would be rude to do so as you offered me your hospitality so very kindly,” Patton gets the distinct feeling he shouldn’t trust that sentiment, but it’s not as though he can just run away from the…person.

“How come you look like a human?” He asks, studying the other, he looks…normal, tan skin which isn’t uncommon for this area, bright blue eyes and red lips, he doesn’t look like the stories of the Fae he’d been told as a child. He doesn’t seem all that tricky either, speaking like he’d eaten a dictionary for lunch.

“Your eyes see what they want to see, much less what we are,” The man takes a bite out of the jam sandwich “This jam is truly quite delicious,” He doesn’t swallow at first, moving his mouth as if pressing the bite he’d taken against his tongue, savouring the texture. “Most people go their entire lives without ever seeing us as anything less than mildly odd humans, others see us the first time, and others take many years of exposure before they view our vessels for what they are,”

“How come some people see you first time?”

“Hallucinogenics,” the words is so blunt that Patton snorts a little, “Mind altering states of consciousness rewire how your brain sees things, what you want to see is the truth, and the truth is what you get, to some extent, the buildings are not moving and people’s faces aren’t warping, but Faeries are Faeries,” Patton nods in understanding, and continues eating his sandwich, it somewhat makes sense, but he’s not well known for his ability to compute things on a scientific or logical level, so he takes it at that and leaves it.

“Do you meet a lot of drug addled humans high on psychoactive substances then?” He starts to relax a little, a joking edge to his tone. Logan seems to recognise this and visibly relaxes, his back slumping a little, and a small smile on his lips.

“These woods are hotspots for such people, it’s an escape or get away from the pressures of modern society, truth be told they tend to be not all that startled upon meeting Faeries, practically assuming us to be hallucinations, but they do have some interesting conversations and that I admire above all else,” Logan’s lips tilt in a grin as he nods as though recalling one such conversation “I learn more about humanity from passers-by than I think I could from wandering into a city, something I have no desire to do, because when given the chance and time, Humans are naturally very open and love to discuss the traumas of their lives, and of course happy moments too,” He shrugs, a small movement and very quick “I think the best conversation I ever had was with a young witch, she was to be married in a couple of days and was not at all happy about it, she’d been worried about having to hide her powers from her betrothed husband and although he was a gentle man, she did not love him,” Patton listens intently “It was strange for me to listen, marriage is supposed to be a happy affair, a union of two, although I’ve never understood the obsession with couples, yet she was miserable, I was astounded that humans force two people to be together in a ceremony that is dedicated to love,”

“What did you do?”

“I killed her father,” Patton chokes on the air and the bluntness of the words and the calm expression on Logan’s face “Well, sort of, she wished he died, and he did, because that was what she wanted, with no-one in place to control her or her family, the marriage did not go ahead and she got to play it off as too being stricken with grief,” Logan sighs, “I don’t like killing people, it’s messing with fates that are beyond even us, of course not all Faeries feel the same, but if someone asks a wish of me it has to be granted,”

“But she was a witch, could she not have…done it herself?”

“Witches have a variety of different powers, some deadly, but unlike Faeries witches are mostly human, which means they are more so subject to karma than we are, and if what goes around comes around…”

“It could have killed her too,”

“Exactly, Faeries don’t really get handed karma, because we made the world what it is, we wrote the DNA of the Earth, we basically made karma, but I still don’t make a habit of playing games with it, destiny has a funny way of putting a knife in your back,” A silence follows, and Patton takes a deep breath in; he almost feels his ribcage rattle. “Darker Faeries, Night Faeries if you will, tend to live short lives and live off of carnage, we’re all creatures of day and night and one cannot survive without the other, but sometimes I do wonder how different life would be without hunters and many-eyed fiends,” Patton wonders as such quite often too, just this morning the news had reported hundreds of deaths, and he has a habit of questioning whether life could be better if the balance was tipped instead of restored. “But it’s best not to dwell on such things, this cannot be changed and it’s...illogical to hope for the impossible, it will only hurt you,” Logan takes the last bite of his sandwich and looked towards the sun “I’m going to be late, you should head on home now, thank you for the conversation, little human,”

Patton does not find the term patronising, and finds instead his heart flutters in his chest “If I want to find you again, how do I do so?”

“Just stray from the path and stand in a clearing, I will find you,” Logan stands and plucks a flower from the inside of his sleeve, he hands it to Patton “And bring this with you,” He smiles, and Patton takes the flower. “It will not die, as long as I’m alive,”

“Thank you,”

He stands too, and gathers his belongings, looking back over his shoulder towards the Faery as he leaves, humming a soft tune that he does not know as he goes.

Ko-Fi // Patreon

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#sanders sides #ts sides #logicality #Logan sanders #patton sanders

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beeblackburn · 4 years

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Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Four

For those keeping score, I’m clipping through a chapter-a-day! Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: Keeping Score Point-of-View: Savine dan Glokta

Glokta once thought this of Valint and Balk:

So this is what true wealth looks like. This is how true power appears. The austere temple of the golden goddess. He watched the clerks working at their neat stacks of documents, at their neat desks arranged in neat rows. There the acolytes, inducted into the lowest mysteries of the church. His eyes flickered to those waiting. Merchants and moneylenders, shopkeepers and shysters, traders and tricksters in long queues, or waiting nervously on hard chairs around the hard walls. Fine clothes, perhaps, but anxious manners. The fearful congregation, ready to cower should the deity of commerce show her vengeful streak.

—Last Argument of Kings, Too Many Masters

I don’t think he ever anticipated said golden goddess to be walking in the flesh.

But she is no goddess, no. Not of the benevolent kind.

She is the Devil, kin to the devil-blood themselves.

Sparks showered into the night, the heat a constant pressure on Savine’s smiling face. Beyond the yawning doorway, straining bodies and straining machinery were rendered devilish by the glow of molten metal. Hammers clattered, chains rattled, steam hissed, labourers cursed. The music of money being made.

She is Kanedias, overseeing the workers, hot at the forges, seething with production and things that worked, just like him.

One-sixth of the Hill Street Foundry, after all, belonged to her.

Caring naught for humanity, this is another workshop set in Hell, full of Shanka, workers made to do the Master Maker’s bidding.

One of the six great sheds was her property. Two of the twelve looming chimneys. One in every six of the new machines spinning inside, of the coals in the great heaps shovelled in the yard, of the hundreds of twinkling panes of glass that faced the street. Not to mention one-sixth part of the ever-increasing profits. A flood of silver to put His Majesty’s mint to shame.

But, unlike Kanedias, this devil-blood cares more for money than weapons, the work leveraged to profit instead of done for the work itself. And, as the times go, smaller, meaner people walk beyond the shadows of greater people.

And whose shadow better than the first to commit to the power of coin?

“It was money that bought victory in King Guslav’s half-baked Gurkish war,” said Bayaz. “It was money that united the Open Council behind their bastard king. It was money that brought Duke Orso rushing to the defence of his daughter and tipped the balance in our favour. All my money.”

—Last Argument of Kings, Answers

This devil-blood walks in the shadows of the First of the Magi himself, only further committed to the High Art of making money.

And, on a voice standpoint, just read how much Savine’s POV is precise in the details of her workshop, how much numbers and calculations factors into it. How many longer, lingering sentences and more complex vocabulary there is, compared to Rikke or Leo’s chapters. This is a thinking woman, full of ambition and comfortable in the Other Side.

But, what is a Kanedias without his Jaremias? Or, better yet...

“Best not to loiter, my lady,” murmured Zuri, fires gleaming in her eyes as she glanced about the darkened street.

A Bayaz without his Yoru Sulfur?

She was right, as always. Most young ladies of Savine’s acquaintance would have come over faint at the suggestion of visiting this part of Adua without a company of soldiers in attendance. But those who wish to occupy the heights of society must be willing to dredge the depths from time to time, when they see opportunities glitter in the filth.

“On we go,” said Savine, boot heels squelching as she followed their link-boy’s bobbing light into the maze of buildings. Narrow houses with whole families wedged into every room leaned together, a spider’s web of flapping washing strung between, laden carts rumbling beneath and showering filth to the rooftops. Where whole blocks had not been cleared to make way for the new mills and manufactories, the crooked lanes reeked of coal smoke and woodsmoke, blocked drains and no drains at all. It was a borough heaving with humanity. Seething with industry. And, most importantly, boiling over with money to be made.

Quite the ambitious woman, Savine is, and with the prerequisite lack of scruples that a child of Glokta would have. Yet, Glokta never had this sort of ambition to him, even before the Gurkhul Empire got to him. After, he was just trying to keep his head above water and do his best to win. If I had to put my finger on where Savine gets her ambitions from, first trilogy-wise? I’d say it’s West more than Glokta. Savine shares quite a few characteristics with Glokta, but it’s that need to rise that I feel she shares with her uncle Collem West.

And look at this dense microcosm of the peasantry! Full of squalor, wretched stenches, spaces full of cramped families, it’s a tapestry stitched full of misery, and all Savine sees is that very humanity being put to use for making money.

Savine was by no means the only one who saw it. It was payday, and impromptu merchants swarmed about the warehouses and forges, hoping to lighten the labourers’ purses as they spilled out after work, selling small pleasures and meagre necessities. Selling themselves, if they could only find a buyer.

There were others hoping to lighten purses by more direct means. Grubby little cutpurses weaving through the crowds. Footpads lurking in the darkness of the alleys. Thugs slouching on the corners, keen to collect on behalf of the district’s many moneylenders.

I once read about how the only differences between the great and small thieves is a matter of legality and scale. And it really shows here, how we’ll take advantage of the poor conditions that the working class must endure, only to fill our own pockets. It hardly matters whether we steal with a small pleasure given or a sharp knife at the back, it’s taking advantage of those without much to line our own bottom lines.

Risks, perhaps, and dangers, but Savine had always loved the thrill of a gamble, especially when the game was rigged in her favour. She had long ago learned that at least half of everything is presentation. Seem a victim, soon become one. Seem in charge, people fall over themselves to obey.

So she walked with a swagger, dressed in the dizzy height of fashion, lowering her eyes for no one. She walked painfully erect, although Zuri’s earlier heaving on the laces of her corset gave her little choice. She walked as if it was her street—and indeed she did own five decaying houses further down, packed to their rotten rafters with Gurkish refugees paying twice the going rent.

Then it’s not really a gamble, is it, Savine. That’s stacking the deck, reaping the rewards of it, and patting yourself on the back for being a daring risk-taker, you fool. If that’s the root of your arrogance, then, boy, is this world going to topple you sooner than later because it doesn’t treat the arrogant much better than the merciful. And, boy, is Savine not lacking in arrogance. She reminds me of a pre-bridge Glokta, in terms of how much she buys into her own hype.

An intriguing nugget, though, is her predisposition with presentation. That need to perform and look a certain part. It’s definitely something Glokta, back then, never felt like he had to. I get more shades of West here and his need to perform to a certain standard, but I also think the question of gender has to be considered with how Savine feels she has to perform. It’s an interesting wrinkle in how Savine zigs where Glokta zagged in terms of their respective youths.

Also, Gurkish refugees? (arches a brow) What the hell happened to the Gurkish Empire? Or, are these just people who got tired of the cannibalistic slavery? I can’t really blame them, but is the Union really that much better, guys? Hmmm. Either way, way to take advantage of marginalized people in a racist society, Savine. You’re a class act, m’am, truly.

Zuri was a great reassurance on one side, Savine’s beautifully wrought short steel a great reassurance on the other. Many young ladies had been affecting swords since Finree dan Brock caused a sensation by wearing one to court. Savine found that nothing lent one confidence like a length of sharpened metal close to hand.

Whoa, whoa. Finree wears a sword nowadays? ... Actually, given how Hal’s dead, I can definitely see this as a way to establish authority and put herself on the same level of respect as a man in the Union. And, given how much there’s institutional sexism in that society, I can’t really blame her. Though, given the round of PTSD she got last handling a blade... I’m sure she doesn’t want to actually kill anyone with it now.

Honestly, though, good for Savine and those women of the Union. Better weigh your hopes of safety on a sword than the mercies of your men or enemies.

Savine gathered her skirts so she could squat beside him and look in his dirt-smeared face. She wondered if he sponged the muck on as artfully as her maids did her powder, to arouse just the right amount of sympathy. Clean children need no charity, after all.

Wow, Savine, has it ever occurred to you that the conditions you benefit off of aren’t as pristine as you make it out to be? Have you considered that maybe the world isn’t a projection of your own inclinations to performance?

Just no empathy here, none at all.

She was not at all above sentimental displays of generosity. The whole point of squeezing one’s partners in private was so they could do the squeezing in public. Savine, meanwhile, could smile ever so sweetly, and toss coins to an urchin or two, and appear virtuous without the slightest damage to her bottom line. When it comes to virtue, after all, appearances are everything.

The boy stared at the silver as though it was some legendary beast he had heard of but never hoped to see. “For me?”

She knew that in her button and buckle manufactory in Holsthorm, smaller and probably dirtier children were paid a fraction as much for a long day’s hard labour. The manager insisted little fingers were best suited to little tasks, and cost only little wages, too. But Holsthorm was far away, and things in the distance seem very small. Even the sufferings of children.

“For you.” She did not go as far as ruffling his hair, of course. Who knew what might be living in it?

I’m very reminded of capitalists donating to particular charities while turning a blind eye to the very real exploitation and labor abuse they perpetuate and are supported by. They can afford to look virtuous and get ass-pats for giving what’s effectively their pocket change, but god forbid they do things like get taxed heavier or give enough to put a good dent in most cases of institutional poverty. It’s all about appearances, and so long as you close your mind to the golden pillars, stained with blood, your entire enterprise is supported on, you can justify any means for profit.

And what frightens me about this is... this isn’t some relic from the past. Child labor is still a thing world-wide! And plenty of capitalists rely on them, plenty of our industries rely on them, just to squeeze out extra money to gild their bottom line. And we turn a blind eye on them and ignore the moral horrors of them out of convenience, because to look those children in the eye would make us monsters. And Savine prefers not to feel like a monster, but is more than willing to keep up the hellish circumstances that churn out her money.

“None more blessed, my scripture-teacher once declared, than those who light the way for others.”

“Was that the one who fathered a child on one of his other pupils?”

“That’s him.” Zuri’s black brows thoughtfully rose. “So much for spiritual instruction.”

Zuri’s certainly got a character, being a more cynical follower of religion, huh. I wonder if she’s been disillusioned by her faith, just like Temple was. And why she went to the atheist arms of the Union. I also wonder if this isn’t a commentary on how our religious leaders end up falling short of the actual beliefs and commit to the obscene and awful while papering it over with their high position.

Zuri whipped out a cloth and wiped down a vacant section of the counter, then, as Savine sat, she slipped out the pin and whisked away her hat without disturbing a hair. She kept it close to her chest, which was prudent. Savine’s hat was probably worth more than this entire building, including the clientele. At a brief assay, they only reduced its value.

And who’s partly responsible for that discrepancy of worth, huh, Savine?

She planted one elbow on the stretch of counter Zuri had wiped so she could lean closer and draw out both syllables. “Savine.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

“Oh, if you enjoy the tip, you’ll go mad for the whole thing.”

“That so?” he purred at her. “How does it go?”

“Savine… dan…” And she leaned even closer to deliver the punchline. “Glokta.”

If a name had been a knife and she had cut his throat with hers, the blood could not have drained more quickly from his face. He gave a strangled cough, took a step back and nearly fell over one of his own barrels.

Well, well, well! Glokta’s gotten quite the name for himself, it seems! Can’t exactly be surprised, given he’s the effective ruler of the Union and the Arch Lector of the Inquisition, but it’s a far cry from the simple Inquisitor he started off as, way back at the first trilogy’s start. He’s riding high at the top and Savine gets to use his name to put the screws on random dumbfucks.

Quite theatrical with her words, Savine is! She knows when to let her opponent in, so she can skewer him. Her fencing is such that she knows how to leverage her father’s name to a fine emotional stab to the throat once her opponent dips in and she lunges for the kill. Say one thing about Savine dan Glokta, say she knows how to fence, just like her father.

“If I spent all my time shut up with Mother, we would kill each other,” said Savine. “And I feel that business should be conducted, whenever possible, in person. Otherwise one’s partners can convince themselves that one’s eyes are not on the details. My eyes are always on the details, Majir.”

Oh, dang. Is that exaggeration or do Savine and Ardee not have a good relationship? Also, dang, is Ardee still alone in her home? That’s... actually really sad, given how lonely she was at the first trilogy’s start. She deserves better.

Also, Savine’s not wrong, but at the same time, I can’t read this as anything other than Savine not wanting her partners to fuck her over somewhere. Which, I can’t quite blame her for, but when she’s as rich as she’s implied to be...

My understanding runs thinner. Though, I suppose she wouldn’t have gotten the wealth she did by being a passive business partner that way.

“A promissory note from the banking house of Valint and Balk.”

“Really?” Valint and Balk had a dark reputation, even for a bank. Savine’s father had often warned her never to deal with them, because once you owe Valint and Balk, the debt is never done. But a promissory note was just money, and money can never be a bad thing. She tossed the pouch to Zuri, who peered inside and gave the smallest nod. “It’s coming to something when even the bandits are using the bank.”

Majir mildly raised one brow. “Honest women have the law to protect them. Bandits must take more care with their earnings.”

!!!!! WHOA, WHOA, WHOA. Is that a smart call, Majir? Glokta’s not wrong there!!! There’s half a trilogy detailing how awful that bank is!

Savine, what are you doing. For such a ruthless and to-the-point woman, that’s pretty naive to assume money is money when your father himself warned you against it! Banks have ruined better people than you, and it’s indebted your father! How can you say something like that and think it smart?

(Bangs head against desk)

“True.” Majir watched her turn away, big fists pressed into the counter. “Do pass my regards to your father.”

Savine laughed. “Let’s not demean ourselves by pretending my father gives a dry fuck for your regards.” And she blew a kiss at the terrified barman on her way out.

This, along with her pinching Majir’s cheek earlier, makes me think Savine just gets off on punching down and patronizing people lower than her. Makes for a killer ending line, but it doesn’t suggest any good things about Savine as a person at all.

Dietam dan Kort, famed architect, was a man who gave every appearance of being in control. His desk, scattered with maps, surveys and draughtsman’s drawings, was certainly a wonder of engineering. Savine had moved among the most powerful men in the realm and still doubted she had ever seen a larger. It filled his office so completely, there was only the narrowest of passages around the edges to reach his chair. He must have needed help to squeeze himself through every morning. She wondered if she should recommend her corset-maker.

“Lady Savine,” he intoned. “What an honour.”

“Isn’t it, though?” She made him lean dangerously far across the desk in order to kiss her hand. Savine studied his, meanwhile, big and broad with fingers scarred from hard work. A self-made man. His greying hair was painstakingly scraped across a pate quite obviously bald. A proud and a vain man. She noticed a slight fraying of the cuffs on his once-splendid coat. A man in straitened circumstances, intent on appearing otherwise.

In short, a man Savine will take pleasure in wringing. And I must take note of the passages here, how much Savine’s POV attends to the details of her surroundings, of the appearance and small notes that others would miss. In a lot of ways, she’s the opposite of Leo, someone who takes pains to note the presentation of another because she’s very driven to it herself and thinks to leverage that knowledge to squeeze those who can be.

Also, I kind of wonder if noble titles can be bought in this world, given this assumption of Dietam dan Kort as a self-made man. Either that or Kort’s just a son from a smaller family who managed to get a good opportunity through this new age. Either way, given the way Savine’s accumulated her wealth, despite her noble title of Glokta, I imagine he’s similar to her, if only not as successful.

Zuri placed Majir’s pouch on the desk as delicately as if it had been deposited by a summer breeze. It looked very small on that immense expanse of green leather. But that was the magic of banks. They could render the priceless tiny, the immense worthless.

I’m reminded of Daniel Abraham’s The Dagger and the Coin and how the big twist was this dawn of paper money about to circulate throughout the world. And how it’s a sort of magic in its own right... but it’s always a blessing and curse, just like magic in the Circle of the World.

“Of course!” He was unable to disguise a note of eager greed as he reached across the desk. “I believe we agreed a twentieth share—”

Savine placed one fingertip on the corner of the pouch. “You mentioned a twentieth. I remained silent.”

His hand froze. “Then…?”

“A fifth.”

There was a pause. While he decided how outraged he could afford to be, and Savine decided how little to appear to care.

Eager greed, huh? Me thinks, the raven call the crow black here. And there’s another note of projection in Savine’s POV, it’s a consistent note of Savine seeing intent where there might not be. She does it with the link-boy about how dirty he was, and now, she does it with Kort’s outrage. She just can’t seem to think that these reactions and people are genuine. Her head’s full of presentation and performance, and she just seems to internalize that there’s always a double-meaning to everything and everyone.

It’s honestly a really fascinating note about how unreliable Savine might be, how much her predilection with appearances bleeds into how much she reads into the world.

“When I confide, in strictest confidence, that you are short of investment, lacking the necessary permissions and troubled by restless workmen, it will be all over town before sunup.”

“Sure as printing it in a pamphlet,” said Zuri, sadly.

“Good luck finding an investor then, reasonable or otherwise.”

It had only taken a moment for Kort to go from bright red to deathly pale, and Savine burst out laughing. “Don’t be silly, I won’t do that!” She stopped laughing. “Because you are going to sign one-fifth of your enterprise over to me. Now. Then I can confide in Tilde that I just made the investment of a lifetime, and she won’t be able to resist investing herself. She’s not only loose-lipped, you see, but tight-fisted, too.”

Oh, very hard power here, Savine. Corporate blackmail and underhanded threats, I very well see. It must do your black heart a bundle of joy to punch down on fellow nobles. There’s barely any carrot here, mostly the stick.

“Greed is a quality the priests abhor.” Zuri sighed. “Especially the rich ones.”

“But so widespread these days,” lamented Savine. “If Lady Rucksted sees some gain in it, I daresay she can persuade her husband to make a breach in Casamir’s Wall so you can extend your canal into the Three Farms.” And Savine could sell the worthless slum buildings she had bought on the canal’s likely route back to herself at an immense profit. “The marshal’s notoriously stubborn for most of us but to his wife he’s a pussycat. You know how it is with old men and their young brides.”

In a lot of ways, this feels like a statement of the new generation, the new wave of greed that Sult disdained way back at the trilogy’s start is in full swing now. Now, Sult was a classist bigot who wanted the peasantry to knuckle down to nobility like old times, but at the same time, we see how much this attitude of greed has bled into the nobility themselves now, far beyond the realms of the merchants Sult once held in contempt. And Savine plays to get ahead of the others, already thinking reaches ahead of her competition here. Profit’s the name of the game, and she’s a natural hand at it...

“The first to do so.” Where it could service Savine’s three textile mills and the Hill Street Foundry, incidentally, and sharply raise their productivity. “I daresay—for a friend—I could even arrange a visit of His Majesty’s Inquisitors to a labour meeting. I imagine your troublesome workers will be far more pliable after a few stern examples are made.”

“Stern examples,” threw in Zuri, “are something the priests are always in favour of.”

... Though it doesn’t hurt to have father’s institutions as muscle to sweeten the pot, huh. Really, Savine, this is embarrassing if you think this is a fair game between you and Kort. You stacked the deck and have the dealer on your side and I imagine this wasn’t the first time you’ve leveraged the Inquisition in your business deals. (snorts)

Kort sagged, his chin settling into the roll of fat beneath it, his eyes fixed resentfully upon her. Clearly, he was not a man who liked to lose. But where would be the fun in beating men who did?

Savine really gets her kicks off punching down people lower than her. That’s like, an inherent part of her psychology, huh.

“A notary from the firm of Temple and Kahdia is already drawing up the papers. He will be in touch.” She turned towards the door.

Hey! Temple’s business! Sounds like he’s done well for himself since Red Country, I hope he’s doing well with Shy, Pit, and Ro! Though, dang, Temple, could your business not help out a woman like Savine?

“They warned me,” Kort grunted as he slid Valint and Balk’s note from the pouch. “That you care about nothing but money.”

“Why, what a pompous crowd they are. Beyond a point I passed long ago, I don’t even care about money.” Savine flicked the brim of her hat in farewell. “But how else is one to keep score?”

Oh, oh my. I know I’ve mentioned Kanedias, Bayaz, and West, but this part? This part? All Sand dan Glokta, down on a bone-deep level. This is the part of Glokta that just loved to lord his dominance over those who couldn’t punch back. The part that just loved to feel superior to everyone else, way back back at that bridge when he thrashed those fencers and wanted to wound West when his own blood was drawn. The part of him that can’t stand to lose, the need to win at all cost.

It’s all about the conquest with her and her father. There’s no higher-minded purpose behind it, it’s just the winning.

As a chapter, Keeping Score, is a microcosm of Savine’s character. There’s an arc in it, but not as strong as one as Where the Fight’s Hottest, nor is it quite as impactful as Blessings and Curses. But it has plenty of Abercrombie snark and some great starting fencing, though, with opponents that Savine can easily take down without much effort. But it sets up a great industrial age sweeping over Adua and how much that change’s going to affect the world going forward... and how Savine’s going to take that change by the tails.

As a character... Savine’s 100% more interesting than Leo in a lot of ways, but at the same time, wow, is she just a spectacularly scummy person in most ways Leo just isn’t (aside from him being a oblivious musclehead). A capitalist who leverages her father in power plays and corporate blackmail, just to gain even more wealth that she doesn’t need out of a need to win. There are definitely interesting aspects to how Savine differs from her father and her historical DNAs, but in a lot of ways? She feels very reminiscent of pre-bridge Glokta in a way that makes me realize that man would’ve been downright insufferable as a POV.

I can take Savine, because I definitely think she’s got a ton of potential and, you know, there’s no way Abercrombie would let her stay the same the entire book. Though, a curious thought is that Savine strikes me less a fantasy archetype than a modern archetype in a fantasy world. Hm. That’s an interesting thought, especially considering how much Temple was a modern character dropped in a fantasy western world.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five: A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

#a little hatred #a little hatred spoilers #the age of madness #the first law #joe abercrombie #savine dan glokta #a little hatred part I

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