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bellatrixscurls · 7 months

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exquisite weather today, no? | part i

warnings : smut, dom anthony and sub reader, pet names, fluff, ben and colin being little shits, reader is kind of naive given the action takes places sometime in the 1810s.

summary : anthony does not want to corrupt his innocent little wife... but what happens when his brothers lend him a helping hand?

a/n: please enjoy part one of my new series until i am done with the james and sirius fic, thank you! <3

“You are telling me that you have not slept in that way with your wife?” Benedict stops in their way down the halls, looking very much concerned. Anthony hums, checking his clock.

“But you’ve been married for almost a year now!” the younger brother exclaims, looking up at the viscount with a frown.

Anthony smirks and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. “Not that it is any of your concern, but we do things. Together. Alone” his lie is obvious, but still, he leaves Benedict stunned in the middle of the hallway.

When he finally realises that the maids are looking at him funny, Benedict clears his throat and offers them a polite nod, before following Anthony into the drawing room.

Ah, here you are — sitting next to Colin on one of the sofas. With Anthony distracted, speaking to Daphne about the ‘Hearts and Flowers’ ball, he approaches you carefully, sitting beside Colin.

“Exquisite weather today, isn’t it?” he gives you a nod and you mirror his action, smiling, “Indeed it is, Ben.”

Colin looks between the two of you, back and forth, a confused smile gracing his lips. “This is not about the weather, is it?” he whispers through gritted teeth.

Benedict’s smile turns into a grin when the words leave his brother’s mouth. “I am, in fact, glad that you asked, Colin!” he says happily, “I came here because I need some... advice, from Y/n.”

Raising your eyebrows, you look at him in curiosity, “and what could someone such as yourself need advice for?”

Benedict thinks about it for a moment; should he say it? He means no harm but... a little fun won’t hurt... will it?

“Sex” the words leave his mouth and Colin chokes on his tea, eyes wide as he looks back at Benedict. ‘Are you mad?’ he mouths to his brother, but the second-born chooses to ignore him and look back at you. “So. Y/n?”

Benedict finds you looking up at him with wide eyes, lips pursed as you tried to search for that word in your mind, but with no results. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Ben.”

This time, it is Colin looking back at you, a deep frown settling on his face. “Pardon? Anthony is your husband, there is no such thing as not knowing what sex is.. Does he refer to it differently?”

“You know... when you’re alone, naked, and he towers over you. That thing he puts in between your legs” Benedict quips, already very much content of where Colin has taken the conversation.

“He towers over me?”

The two burst out laughing at your cluelessness and, from the other side of the large room, Anthony’s brows furrow in concern.

“His cock, sweetness. What he has between his legs. I’m sure he spoils the crap out of you with it every night” Benedict taunts and Colin laughs breathily, adding on “or maybe he does not, brother. Seeing that Anthony is so busy all the time. He has more important things to take care of, I suppose.”

At this point, your eyes are teary and your hands are shaking as you listen to your brothers-in-law tease you endlessly. You are not aware of the meaning behind it, though.

In a moment, you feel a hand wrap around your waist and pull you up against the warmth of someone’s body; Anthony. As you look up at him, his heart shatters and his jaw clenches. “I do not know what you did, but be sure that I will find out. And when I do, I hope you will be taking a walk far away from here. More walks.”

And with that, he takes you away from his brothers and rest of the family, not bothering to excuse himself or you, his face red with hatred. He doesn’t know what his brothers told you, but he is positive that it managed to hurt you... And Anthony cannot bare seeing you hurt.

His hand grips yours tightly, in a possessive manner, not hurting you. He is always gentle with you, no matter the circumstances.

Once you reach the wooden door, Anthony ushers you into the bedroom with a hand at the small of your back, following closely behind before he closes the door.

“What did they tell you, my love?” his tone is alarmed and so are his hands, twitching at his sides.

When your eyes finally meet his, they are still filled with tears, sadness pulling at your heart. “Am I a burden to you? Am I- not pretty enough?”

Anthony’s heart breaks and he realises that he’s never seen you so sad before, not even when you were merely a couple and you had family issues.

“Angel, you have to tell me what it is that they told you. I need to know” he repeats through gritted teeth, ready to walk down those stairs and strangle Benedict and Colin.

“Sex” you repeat Benedict’s words unsurely, glancing up at Anthony. “Told me you are too busy for that. And I- you have never told me of that.”

At this point, his hands fly to your waist and he positions you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your lower body as he turns you to face him entirely. “My darling- They told you that? I-” he seems at a loss for words, and finally, his lips fall into a straight line and he lets go of your hand for a second, walking away from you, and to the floor mirror in his room. You pout as you lose his warmth, and your brows furrow when you notice him pulling the mirror towards you.

He takes his hand in yours and he helps you to your feet, your bottom lip wobbling when you catch sight of your teary eyes, but Anthony notices immediately, and his hands move to hug you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You are so beautiful” he says softly, placing a kiss on the side of your neck, nosing at your skin as he continues speaking, “Undress for me, my love.”

Breathing having picked up, your eyes widen anxiously as your hands find his. “Anthony-” “I want to show you how good I can make you feel. Trust me. Please” he pleads, his eyes looking helplessly into yours. You give a curt nod, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Your shaky hands move to undress yourself and Anthony helps peel off your dress and chemise, leaving you bare and vulnerable before him.

Anthony lets out one of the most obscene sounds when he presses his clothed body to your bare one, and you can feel his erection pressing into your backside, not that you are aware of what that is. Yet.

“Your hand. Move it down your body” he commands rather softly, watching you through the mirror. Your cheeks heat up but you obey nonetheless, your left hand stopping right above your lower stomach, “Lower. Touch your pussy for me, sweetheart.”

“Alright” you take a deep breath, your hand sliding further down your body, resting at your cunt, your warm touch making you shiver. “Feels odd” you whine, eyes pleading as you find his eyes through the mirror.

He bites his lip, his eyes closing for a moment before he is able to look at you again. “It shall feel good in just a moment... Can- Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes, please” you whisper and his hand instantly reaches to your cunt, using both of his hands to spread you open, your folds damp and spread out for him. “S’pretty” you say absentmindedly, dreamily staring at yourself in the mirror.

“Yes it is” he hums, grinning widely against your shoulder. His middle finger taps your clit twice, and he smirks as your body jolts up. “See this, darling? It’s your clit, your little button... You can rub it whenever you wish to feel good.”

“Whenever I wish?” you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yes, sweetness” he hums, his cock hardening at the thought of you wanting to touch yourself, let alone to the thought of him. “And if you want it to feel even better, you must-” with your hole dripping wet, Anthony manages to slip a digit right inside of you, causing you to gasp in both slight pain and excitement. He is finally giving it to you.

“Anthony- what is this?” you ask curiously, Anthony’s finger still inside of you, leaving you to adjust to the sudden intrusion.

“Bit of stimulation before I can give you my cock, bunny. Or, as my dear brothers wish to call it, have sex” he chuckles lowly and starts pumping his finger into you, your fragile body shaking, your knees ready to give out, but you know that he is here to catch you.

“Great” you reply breathily, one of your hands slipping into his.

“You must relax, my love” he tuts, moving his finger in and out slowly, the feeling leaving you bucking your hips into his hand, eyes rolling back. “Let them enjoy the show” he eyes you intently through the mirror.

You look at him rather confused, but his other hand moves to cup your jaw and gently turn your head to the side, towards the door.

A door cracked open. Benedict and Colin.

#anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x reader #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfiction

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aziraphales-library · 2 months

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I'm seeing so many season 2 "fix it" fics or things along that line which is great; but I feel like I'm missing fics on 2 very important things from the season:

1. Crowley reacting to Nina asking Aziraphale about the "naked man in your bookshop" in ep 1

2. Crowley reading/watching Jane Austen things after discovering that she was more than a criminal mastermind.

If you or your followers know of any fics along these lines, I would be eternally grateful! Thank you.

I've found a couple of Crowley reacting to "naked man friend", one featuring Crowley reading Jane Austen, and a couple that include Jane Austen herself...

Take a Big Cup; Put Six Shots of Jealousy in It, Nothing Else by Violencerarelyknocks (T)

Season 2: 6 shots of espresso scene I thought they moved way too quickly past "How's your naked man friend?", so I adjusted it a little. Jealous!Crowley

What Does It Matter by Multifandom_queer (T)

An alternative to how the "naked man" scene could have ended. Funny misunderstandings reveal many feelings. Teen rating for talks of sex but no actual sex

Pride & Prejudice and Pain by SharpCroft (G)

Struggling to move on, Crowley turns his anger on an unlikely source - The Complete Works of Jane Austen.

Of letters and diamonds by yellow_owl (G)

Aziraphale and Crowley find out how Jane Austen pulled off the 1810 Clerkenwell diamond robbery.

Such Means as Are Within My Reach by HC_Weatherfield (NR)

On her death, Jane Austen left Aziraphale a parting gift: a volume of her personal diary, encrypted in a code entirely of her own invention. When, quite by chance, Aziraphale discovers the key to the cipher, she is able to relive her past with this marvelous lady. The experience is quite different for Crowley, on every count.

well-versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice by laiqualaurelote (G)

Once she had said to him, hoping to probe: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” To which Mr Crowley had only responded: “What do you know of the universe, Miss Austen?” In which Jane Austen, criminal mastermind and aspiring novelist, pulls off the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery, with the help of a certain demon.

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #jealous crowley #jane austen #mod d

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kiwiana-writes · 2 months

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WIP Wednesday

Thanks and apologies to everyone who's tagged me in the last week or so—I've been both sick AND overseas, neither of which are particularly conducive to getting shit written. I did intend to write something new for the Big Secret @indestructibleheart Collab tonight, mostly to torture @rmd-writes who is desperately trying to figure out what the fuck it's all about, but unfortunately my brain is still fried and I haven't actually written anything in ages, so y'all get the chapter one opener instead which I don't think I've shared yet.

August 8th, 2024: 1710 Ecuador Time / 1810 Eastern Daylight Time Alex slides his carry-on into the overhead luggage compartment before sliding into the window seat, shoving his tablet and headphones into the back pocket of the seat in front of him while he waits for Cash to get himself settled. It’s been a long two days at the conference—and he’s grateful for the opportunity, even as he’s fully aware that first-year associates whose mothers aren’t the outgoing President don’t generally get the opportunity to attend Political Science and International Relations conferences on behalf of the firm in the first place—but he’s more than ready to be back in his own bed. God. Is this what maturing feels like? Admittedly, it’s a little weird being back on a commercial flight. Between his mom’s term wrapping up in a few months and Henry in the middle of the legal process to drop his title, it’s going to be their reality soon enough, though he’s hoping they might still be able to borrow one of the royal jets from time to time. The last time he flew commercial, he landed in the rain and drove to Kensington to scream at Henry through a window; it ended well, but he didn’t know it would when he was on the flight. This time, nearly four years on, he knows exactly what he’s returning to: the home they’ve built together, books and records intermingled on their shelves, David’s bed in a corner of their bedroom (usually neglected in favour of sleeping at the foot of their bed instead). The constant is Henry, but this time, Alex knows exactly what they are to each other—and what they will be soon enough, if the box he has hidden at the back of his nightstand has anything to say about it.

Tagging @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @celaestis1 @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @matherines @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @nocoastposts @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @ssmtskw @stereopticons @three-drink-amy @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

#wip wednesday #kiwiana-writes #wip: rwylm

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rosie-b · 3 months

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Centuries Overdue

Chapter 5

In which we finally get to visit the catacombs. Also, there are magic zombies (more or less)!

Excerpt from the ninth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at the Agreste mansion in Paris, France, on the twenty-eighth of June, 1810.

The Darkness is strongest under the City.

I know what lies there, moved from the soil above over decades and still growing as I write. The Catacombs are hardly a Secret, but they hold more than one.

Last night, after writing my last entry, I went on a walk to Test the darkness and see if It would follow me again. It did. It was stronger than ever, and It called to me in my parents’ voices, both at once.

“Come with us,” It beckoned. “We are Lost, but not Dead yet. Come save us!”

If this is a Mage’s Joke I will need more than Providence to keep me from giving in to my Anger. But I think, no, I know that it is no joke. It is the voice of my Parents, trapped by the Mage of the Darkness. It was feeding off the souls of the Talents and Mages It gathered, then, but Its Downfall did not undo their imprisonment. And from their chained Power, still flowing to It, It rises again!

It is hunting me. I said as much to the Bourgeois family last night, when I visited them. I needed some reason to be Out, after all, some reason to fool the Darkness into thinking I am no wiser now than I was in Ravlunda, when I let the Darkness re-grow in the foolish Hope that It was dead.

It will get a surprise when I am the One to fool It.

I am going to visit the Catacombs. I will scour every tunnel for the heart of this Darkness, and when I find It, I will destroy It once and for all. I will free my Parents and the other trapped magicians. Only then will I be able to rest.

What I am doing, I must do in secret. Visits to the Catacombs are allowed, but only with permission, which is granted sparingly and with bias. It seems the common people take precedence now, not the Nobles, as it once was, or the Children of those whose families left France in l’Émigration. This makes sense, though it adds Difficulty to my own Cause.

I cannot afford to wait for the Officials to believe my Words and grant Me an Appointment. I must act now to save my Parents, else all will be lost and the Mages, once mighty, will be brought down by one man’s Folly. I pray that they do not suffer for my failures.

There is an entrance I know by the Barrière d'Enfer, the Gates of Hell. I will slip in quietly to-morrow, while the Guards’ eyes are full of sleep, taking my Journal of Spells with me. It is the Book of Spells which Mages of Tikki and Plagg may use, as well as a few handy Universal ones. With any luck, Plagg’s Blessing will grant me the strength I need to Destroy this most evil of Mages for-ever.

And at last, the Darkness will be vanquished.

At last, we will know Peace.

__*__*__*__*__

After she finished the last of Adrien’s journals, Marinette had the strangest feeling that she’d never again feel as complete as she had while she was still reading them. It was like her world had been in color while she still had more entries to look forward to, but now it had faded back to its normal sepia tones; not quite black and white, but no longer as vibrant as she remembered.

She could always reread the journals, she supposed. Alya had finally convinced Mayor Bourgeois to ‘donate’ the entire collection to her ‘charity organization,’ really the Mages’ cross-country education for new group members. The papers and legitimacy of the organization, of course, had been completely made up through a series of intricate illusions made by several Mages, but it worked, and now the Agreste journals were finally back where they belonged.

Marinette kept visiting the café on Wednesday evenings, partly for her new and old friends and partly to try and fill the void Adrien’s journals had left behind. Sometimes she’d stay for the whole gathering, sometimes not, but she always enjoyed the company, and by now she’d begun to feel like a real member of the little group, even though she lacked her own magic.

Still, Alya insisted that Marinette must have a Gift from one kwami or another, and she called some of her friends from the other surviving Mage groups to come test Marinette. Luka, Kagami, and Zoe had all come at one time or another, but Marinette hadn’t passed any of their tests. When Alya’s boyfriend, Nino, returned from his stay with Wayzz’s group, she convinced him to test Marinette, too, but still without any luck.

Marinette was fine with that, really, but it was becoming a little embarrassing, so she convinced Alya to drop the investigation for now.

“We have basically the rest of my life to figure out if I’m really a Mage or not,” she’d pointed out. “There’s no need to rush into this!”

Alya had sighed. “You’re right, but can you blame me for trying? I always knew you were special, and even if you’re not a Mage or a Talent, I think you should’ve been one. Any kwami would have to be crazy to pass on giving you a Gift.”

Marinette thought it was sweet that her friend thought so highly of her.

But even with all her praises, Alya still didn’t trust Marinette’s (potential) latent magic enough to let her go into the catacombs alone, though.

“No way,” Alya had insisted in a panic when Marinette first brought up her idea. She’d crossed her arms over her chest in a large ‘X,’ staring at Marinette with something like horror in her eyes. “There is no way I’m letting you walk down into those catacombs, to find Adrien or for any other reason. I agree that Adrien’s last entries sound concerning, but face the facts, girl! He had to have had severe PTSD, and the ‘darkness’ he thought was tracking him was clearly just in his head. Maybe he wasn’t crazy, but his mind was definitely playing tricks on him.”

“I’m not arguing there,” Marinette had protested. “I’m just saying, there has to be some way we can find his remains and give him the proper burial he deserves. I get why you’re nervous, but there are plenty of people who explore forbidden parts of the catacombs!”

“Yeah, but we’re not cataphiles,” Alya had pleaded. “Learning what is and isn’t safe in the catacombs has to take them a long time, and even then, there are too many miles of unexplored tunnels. Nobody knows all of them. And if someone had found a body, Adrien’s or someone else’s, they would have reported it by now. But there are no new bodies in the catacombs, just the old ones that are supposed to be there. And, consider, do we know for a fact that Adrien went to the catacombs? No. He said he was going to visit them, but he might’ve changed his mind.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Marinette had said firmly. “Adrien wouldn’t do that. He thought he knew what he had to do to save the Mages, and he had a plan for it. It wouldn’t be like him to just give up.”

“Well, I guess in a weird way, you knew him better than me,” Alya had said with a shrug, apparently trying to seem nonchalant after her outburst. “I just don’t think it’s safe for you to go down there after him, that’s all.”

Marinette had paused. Alya had been acting strangely from the moment Marinette had first mentioned her plan to go into the catacombs, if not to find Adrien’s body, then at least to pay her respects from a distance.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you.”

Alya had immediately shot back, with a touch of desperation, “No, I’m not! I would never want to hide anything from you.”

“But you did,” Marinette had pressed, though she felt a bit bad for saying it. “You hid magic’s existence from me for years. Not that I’m mad! But we both know you can lie to my face if you need to. That’s like your whole deal, illusions and lies. So what is it, Alya? Just tell me what you’re hiding. I won’t be mad, I promise. I’ll try to understand, no matter how weird it is!”

It had only taken a little more begging for Alya to willingly uncover her secrets.

As it turned out, there was a dangerous power making its home in the catacombs, preventing any Mages from getting in (or, potentially, out).

“There’s a reason why none of us, not even Fluff’s Mages, go down there, Marinette,” Alya admitted after one of the café meetings. “There’s something else in the tunnels. You know I don’t believe Adrien’s Darkness exists, but some kind of twisted magic definitely does. Maybe it always has, but I think it’s still new. Not many Mages know about it, because so far, not many need to, except the local Mages. It’s not a full-blown problem yet, since whatever it is prefers to stick to the tunnels. When it does come out, though, it acts like a void, draining Mages’ powers from them if they come into contact with it.”

Alya had shuddered, rubbing her arm as if she was cold despite the warmth of the café.

“Last semester, I had the misfortune of meeting one, a wandering branch of the magic. I was walking home in the dark from class, and I felt a cold wind at my back. It didn’t feel natural, so I cast an illusion to provide some cover for myself and hid in a group of tourists until it revealed itself. Wasn’t much to look at, just a wisp of darkness in the shape of a human. When it noticed that I’d seen it, yellow sparks collected in it like a child’s scrawled-out crayon lines, giving it some creepy mockery of a face and arms and hands and eyes. It stared right back at me.”

As she’d listened to the story, Marinette’s heart had stopped. Darkness in the shape of a human? Her mind raced as she considered the possibility that this was the same Darkness Adrien had written about before passing.

Alya had groaned on seeing her friend’s scrunched-up face. “I can tell what you’re thinking, girl. But this isn’t the Darkness Adrien was talking about! That Mage was killed long ago. This is a new threat, one whose origins we have no clue about! But I heard about it before, from Nino. He was tracked by one the second-to-last time he visited Paris and had to fight it off. He came back from experience suggesting we call the attacking magic figures ‘zombies’. He thinks the magic is inhabiting the corpses from the catacombs, or taking control of the dead’s spirits, and then it uses that to attack us, possibly to steal our powers away and get even stronger. I don’t have a better name for the magic, and it does look like a corrupted Mage post-mortem might, so. Zombies it is,” she’d said, offering Marinette a wry grin. “Luckily, no other group of Mages has had to deal with them so far, just us here in Paris. And there doesn’t seem to be a magic virus to worry about, so, yay.” She’d thrown up fake-enthusiastic jazz hands and an exhausted smile.

So, the maybe-new Darkness wasn’t a big problem yet. That was good, but how safe was it for the Mages, truly? Alya’s story was just raising more questions for Marinette.

“How did you defeat it?” she had asked, sitting on the edge of her seat and gripping her warm coffee mug tightly. What was the key to killing a living Darkness?

Alya had hummed and wrapped her hands tight around her own mug as she remembered. “I had to use a very powerful spell. All the Mages here know it; it’s the one Universal spell that still works, basically. Unlike the other, more ancient ones, it was created by all the kwamis together, as they simultaneously established the same spell for each group of Mages. They came up with it to provide us with a better defense after the final battle against the Darkness. So, because of its origin, it’s technically a kwami-specific spell, not a Universal one, but it functions the same way because every kwami gifted it to every group of Mages. It’s meant to kill an unkillable enemy, no matter the source of its power. The spell is stronger when said by many Mages all at once, but luckily, me reciting it on my own was enough to get rid of that zombie. It won’t hurt us again.”

Marinette had let out a sigh, relief pooling in her stomach as she accepted that her friends were likely all safe. “Thank goodness. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Alya had nodded, a far-off look in her eye. “For now. And I know you think you’re safe, too, but be careful, Marinette. The zombies have only shown interest in strong Mages so far, but that doesn’t mean they won’t go after you. Even if you’re right, and you’re not a Mage, going in the catacombs would mean putting yourself in danger. Promise me you won’t do it, okay?”

Marinette had hummed and smiled and promised she’d stay safe.

But here was the thing. As far as she knew (and as several failed tests proved), Marinette was not a Mage.

And the ‘zombies’ were only targeting the strongest Mages. Not even mid-level Mages, and she’d asked the newest members of both Trixx and Fluff’s groups. None of them were worried about being targeted, and they were all at a much greater risk than Marinette was, herself.

So all things considered, it was perfectly safe for her to book a ticket for one humdrum, non-magical, guided tour of the catacombs, right?

It wasn’t like she was going to go off the safe paths or actually try to bring Adrien’s remains back to the surface for burial. She just wanted to visit the place where he’d died, to find some kind of peace with his ending. She’d felt wrong ever since she’d finished his journals, and somehow she knew that if she could just pay her respects (even if in a less-than-normal way), she’d find closure.

So after a few weeks of deliberation, she booked a ticket for a tour.

On the day of her visit, Marinette deliberately did not tell Alya where she was going after her last shift of work at the library. She headed straight for home, where she dropped off the big purse she’d taken to work and checked that her phone was charged before putting on a light sweater and some boots and heading off to the catacombs.

She was the first one from her tour group to arrive, so going through security was a breeze. But before she could head down to the catacombs, her guide informed her, they had to wait for everyone else to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, they did, and the tour officially began.

At first, everything was surprisingly modern; the building’s white paint and first rooms full of security weren’t out of the ordinary for any other touristy location in Paris. The first (20 meter-long, she remembered) spiral staircase was just like any other; everything felt normal until she reached the transition between what felt more like a hospital or a very plain museum and the old, stone-hewed catacombs. Her hackles raised as she walked through the door and up a stone staircase into the long tunnel whose end marked where the catacombs truly began.

The iron gate made her feel apprehensive, like she was walking into a prison, but the security guards lounging just beyond it seemed more homey than anything. The painted pillars looked as though they belonged to a medieval castle, and the absurd mixture of so many different elements shocked Marinette back into feeling like a visitor on any other, normal tour.

The smell, though; the smell was what assured her that this was more than just some random tourist trap. Marinette’s mom had taken her to an old, stone chapel for the funeral of a family friend once. The musty scent of the catacombs reminded her strongly of the way that haunting chapel had smelled. She decided not to think about the reason for the lingering stench—if she could help it, that was. She was about to see the evidence of its origins for herself.

Don’t focus on it, she told herself. It’s not musty, it’s just dusty. Just a nice friendly dust around here, like in the library by Adrien’s books. Yeah, that’s it! Nothing scary here.

She’d never thought she was afraid of the dead before. Then again, she’d never visited the catacombs before. But she was still confident that she’d accomplish her goals, no problem. Nobody had been trapped in the catacombs since— well.

She decided not to think about it, realizing that she’d be doing that a lot during this trip.

Once the rest of the tour group collected in the room past the gate, they were led deeper into the tunnels. There were no bones at first, just rough-hewn stone and white brick walls, low ceilings with moss creeping across them, and dim lighting from lamps and the lit-up information board on the right-hand side. But through the next open doorway, Marinette could see walls made up of bones, what looked like femurs on top of femurs with a line of skulls in between, like a skeletal tapestry woven by the dead.

The tour guide spoke about the catacombs’ history as they moved along the tunnels, but Marinette’s gaze was drawn by the bones, and she fell into the middle of the group as faster-walking tourists pushed past her. Everywhere she looked was claimed by death, even the heart formed by some well-placed skulls in the wall. This really is the empire of the dead.

A sign on the left stated that these bones had been transferred to the catacombs in 1859, well after Adrien had visited and been lost to the tunnels. They were still building when he came here; the tunnels must have been bare here when he visited.

As she kept walking, Marinette slowly grew accustomed to the otherworldly atmosphere of the tunnels. There was an elderly German couple behind her whose quiet, friendly-sounding conversations kept her grounded, and further in the back of the group, an American family argued about their plans for the next day in English.

Marinette wasn’t feeling as nervous anymore. She was just here to pay her respects, to get some closure and leave. And that was similar to what the catacombs’ designers had wanted to do, too. They’d taken delicate care of all the skeletons they were in charge of transferring, bringing a priest with them on all their trips to inter the bones. They’d offered prayers in hopes of securing a peaceful rest for the long-dead people who had once occupied these crumbling bones.

Bodies were turned into art here, a sign of the care with which the builders had made the catacombs. Every section of the catacombs had some loving touch in it; whether it was a carved sign with French poetry or a wave-like pattern in the walls of bones. It was comforting, for a while. Marinette recalled that the tunnels’ construction had been out of necessity to free more space for the living and move the dead out of their overfilled cemeteries and marveled that such a gruesome task had been carried out so artfully.

Still, there was a sinister air in the bone-lined tunnels, a promise of danger carried by the cold, dusty wind poking through the seams of her sweater.

Marinette wondered if the magic zombies Alya had talked about really stayed here, in some blocked-off tunnel of the catacombs. She knew they posed no danger to her, as a non-magical human, but if they were real— they are real, Alya’s voice reminded her—then who was to say they weren’t the ones responsible for what had happened to Adrien? Who was to say that they hadn’t lured him off the path and trapped him with their dark magic?

Who was to say they hadn’t turned him into one of them?

Suddenly, Marinette didn’t feel so good about this trip. Her churning stomach threatened to eject the lunch she’d eaten before coming, and her head felt murky, like a thick wall of fog was clouding her thoughts.

The tour guide’s voice grew fainter, and Marinette took a moment to steady herself. She nearly put a hand on the wall, but remembered not to just in time. The bones here were older than in the last tunnel, though you couldn’t tell by looking at them. Underground, in an environment like this one, it took much longer for remains to decompose, Marinette remembered.

She wanted to think about something else.

Just 112 steps until I get out of here, she told herself. Stairs, anyway. It was 131 down, and 112 back up at the end of the tunnels. That’s what the pamphlet said. The exit can’t be too far from here; the tour only covers a tiny part of the catacombs!

The tour group was about to move past her, and the man holding hands with his daughter motioned to her, as if to say, are you going to catch up, or do you need help?

She smiled reassuringly and started walking again, and before long, she was back in the middle of the pack.

The next section of the tunnels was marked by a sign, like many of them were. This one read that the bones had been moved in 1787. A little bit past it, a pillar was tagged with graffiti. The sight of it knocked Marinette out of the last traces of her reverie, and she scoffed as she kept following the tour group.

It was almost as if they were moving back in time; the farther they went through the tunnels, the older the bone deposits were. Her mind wandered back to Adrien, to the boy who’d lost his parents to evil magic, but dedicated his life to saving others from the same fate. He’d spent so much of his life as an unrecognized hero, working to keep the magic community in contact despite the many battles tearing apart their continent, constantly traveling though he ached for a home.

And when he finally was able to rest, peace was stolen from his once again, this time claiming his life.

A light breeze ran through the tunnel, and Marinette shivered, rubbing her arms and cursing herself for not wearing more layers. It was late summer aboveground, and so even this sweater had felt like overkill, but now she wished she’d worn a thicker one.

In the next section of the catacombs, her left shoe’s laces came undone. She’d worn hiking boots, ugly brown things without a zipper, at the recommendation of the owner of the shoe store she’d visited when she’d told her that she would be visiting the catacombs. By the time she got done fixing her shoelaces, stooped down by the left side of the wall, the group had nearly moved past her; there were only a couple visitors beside her as she resumed following the guide.

The next turn the group took was a little confusing. It looked like they were supposed to head straight, but a locked and secured gate informed the group to turn to the left, instead. Marinette lingered at the gate, looking through it to where the catacombs continued. No one was allowed back there, not even the guards. The tunnels beyond the gate were dark, and her eyes drew shapes in them like ghosts grasping the walls to stand and chase her.

She stumbled back, and her sweater caught on a jagged stone jutting out from the wall. Marinette breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she hadn’t gotten caught on one of the bones, but grew mortified to notice that she’d fallen behind the group. She tore her sleeve free and quickly headed down the left tunnel, walking quickly to make up for the time she’d spent staring at the closed-off tunnels. A few minutes later, and she’d still not caught up to the back of the group, though, so she turned around to check whether she’d missed another turn somehow.

The tunnel was closed off behind her. Her stomach lurched, and she rushed back towards the corner she’d turned into the tunnel from, only to find a dead end. There was no exit to the tunnel, just a pile of bones filling the gap between the limestone wall and the pillar supporting the ceiling. Past that, she couldn’t see anything; there was a gap at the top of the bone pile, but she was too short to see over it.

She took a rasping breath and choked on the musty air.

A low murmur came from behind her, farther down the tunnel she’d already started walking through.

Her heart pounded. Was that the group? Had she missed the real turn she’d taken when she turned back to find it?

She put one foot directly behind the other, toes brushing the heel of her boot, and slowly spun back around in as close to a perfect 180 as she could get.

“Hello?” she called. “Hello? Wait for me, please! I fell behind!”

Marinette grimaced when there was no answer. How far behind was she? How had she managed to get this lost in such a short amount of time?

Lost. Marinette was lost, just like—!

Okay, no, she told herself strictly. Do not follow that train of thought. Just— follow the sound of the group. Yeah, that’s it!

She took a step forward, and then another, further and further from the pile of bones and down the dimly-lit hall, hoping to hear the German couple’s accent or the loud American mother warning her kid not to touch the bones.

She shuddered and looked down, as far as her gaze could safely travel from the bone-lined walls. Just keep walking. One step at a time.

There was a cul-de-sac just off to the left, and the tunnel past it sloped steeply downward. She passed between a pair of pillars, and suddenly, the walls weren’t lined with bones anymore. Her shoulders slumped in relief, and she tried calling for the group again.

“Hello? It’s me, Marinette! I think I’m lost!” She paused. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

Marinette stumbled over the floor, which was rough and not smooth as it had been in other parts of the tunnel. She steadied herself against the wall and decided to take a break, so she pulled out her phone and checked the time. There was no service down here, but the light of the screen was still comforting. She’d charged the phone up before leaving work, so there was still seventy percent of the battery left, and that was good; maybe she’d get a bar of service somehow and find a map of the tunnels on the internet to help her.

Or maybe she should stop wasting time daydreaming about saving herself and get moving so that the group would finally be able to hear her and she’d be found. She pushed herself off the wall and started walking again.

The tunnels branched off a few meters down the hall, and Marinette staggered to a halt.

“What?” she asked aloud. “What… how is this possible?”

All of the tunnels before her were dark, and as she cautiously stepped into the large, maybe three meters-wide space where they joined together, the tunnel behind her fell dark, too, leaving her alone in the middle of the catacombs with no clue where to go, trembling in the dim, eerie lighting of the concourse.

She turned to her right, and was struck by a sight so horrifying that she nearly fainted. There was a skeleton, which was par for the day so far, but this one was just… different, in a way that sent shivers down her spine. This skeleton was collapsed by the tunnel just to the right of the one she’d emerged from, and its bones were still arranged like those of a normal corpse, unlike the other skeletons she’d seen that day.

There was an old leather journal a half a meter from its outstretched hand.

#ao3 links at top #ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #ml au #centuries overdue #this chapter has the last journal entry :'(#it feels weird to know that part's done even if the rest is still coming out

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shiftingparadise · 1 year

Text

Draken x Reader x Mikey (I'm sorry (Part 2)

Hi guys, since some of you asked, here's part two :) Hope everyone's doing fine 🤍✨

Warnings: a little bit smutty and mentions of cheating

word count: 1810

“Ken wait-“, your hand reaching out for his jacket, “Where are you going?”. “Mikey”.

He didn’t even turn around. He didn’t even look at you.

“B-but you just came back-“, “And?”. “I-I thought maybe we could have dinner together or-“. “You can come with me if you want”, a slight look over his shoulder.

It has been weeks since you saw Mikey, and you avoided him at all costs. You used to follow Draken everywhere. Always. How long would it take before Draken got suspicious?

“Right”, you faked a smile, “It’s been a while since I saw him. I’ll get my coat”. “Okay, I’ll be waiting outside”.

“Or you could wait for me”, the words got stuck inside your throat. You didn’t deserve to be treated nicely, not after what happened.

---

“Yo Draken,”, a smile on his face as he opened the door, “Where were you-“.

It hurt to see the stunned expression on his face; to hear his words die out at when he looked at you.

“Hi Mikey”, a forced smile on your face, “It’s been a while”. “Yeah”, his eyes locked on yours, “It’s been a while”.

“Mikey, we need to talk”, Draken frowned, “Let’s go inside”. “Talk?”, the blonde stepped aside, “About what?”.

Did Draken know? Did he know you slept with Mikey?

“Your birthday”, a sly smile on his face as he grabbed Mikey’s shoulder, “Did you think I’d forget?”. “I’d sure hoped so”, Mikey awkwardly smiled as he dropped his shoulders.

You weren’t the only one that was scared. The way his eyes darted towards the ground, the way he subtly scratched his chest…

“Huh?”, Draken’s brows pulled together as you sat down next to him. “What?”, you shuffled closer, a smile on your face. “You never sit next to me”. “So?”, an insecure smile on your face. “You always sit next to Mikey”, he nodded towards the ground where Mikey was sitting, his eyes glued to the TV. “O-oh”, an awkward silence filled up the room. “Don’t worry, Draken, she just missed you. You were gone for a while again”, Mikey lazily changed channels. “R-right”, you chuckled. “Whatever”, Draken pulled his arm away from behind you, “So Mikey, I rented a club for your party. Owner doesn’t mind”. “A club?”, you frowned. “Yeah, we need some privacy. Thought Mikey wouldn’t mind’. “Rented?”, Mikey smiled as he once again changed channels. “Fine, he owed me one”, Draken smirked, while taking a sip from his beer. “Bathroom”, Draken nodded for you to move.

Mikey always sat in front of Draken on the ground. Draken liked it, he liked feeling like a big brother to Mikey.

“Right, sorry”, you shuffled to the other side, already dreading being alone with Mikey.

“Thought I’d never see you again”, Mikey almost whispered. “Sorry”, you responded, eyes glued to the back of his head. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I can’t live without you”. “We can’t”, a lump in your throat. “I know”, a broken sigh as he let his head fall against your leg, “But I miss you. I miss the warmth of your body, your smile, your smell…”. “M-mikey”, you fought the urge to brush through his hair as his hand clung onto your leg. “Say you missed me too, please”, his grip around your leg tightened. “I-I missed you too”, tears building up in the corner of your eyes.

You missed him, more than anything. Every time Draken entered through the door, you wished Mikey would follow him. You missed his voice, his laugh, the sight of him standing with his hands in his pockets… There were many times you fought the urge to call him, to ask him to come over when Draken was gone. It was wrong, you knew that but…

“Mikey?”, Draken yelled from the kitchen. “Hm?”, Mikey responded as he quickly moved back to his spot. “Where’s your tea?”. “Tea?”, Mikey scoffed as he got up, “Why do you want tea?”. “Y/N, she likes tea”, Draken quietly responded. “I know”, Mikey smiled as he looked at you, “Wait, I’ll make some”.

It felt like ages since Draken even thought about the things you liked and didn’t. Did this mean he felt it? The tension in the room? The tension between you and his friend?

---

“I need to talk to the club’s owner. I’ll see you at the party?”, Draken looked at you as he put on his coat. “Oh right, the party”, you took a sip from your tea, “I almost forgot”. “I got you something”, his voice sounded rough, “It’s in the bag on our bed”. “A-a gift?”, your eyes wide open. “I know you have troubling choosing what to wear, so I thought… It doesn’t matter, you can choose whether you wear it or not”.

And just like that, he left. He didn’t look at you, he didn’t kiss you… Did he hate you? Was he trying to love you again by buying you clothes?

With curiosity as your friend, you rushed to the bedroom, only to find a beautiful gift bag with a shoebox next to it. You carefully opened the bag. Inside it was a beautiful black dress and next to it were matching heels. Draken never did something like this. He wasn’t the romantic type. Maybe he noticed you felt neglected? Maybe he did love you and he was trying to make things right?

---

You hated this. The crowd, the loud music… But this was Mikey’s party and Draken got you this nice dress …

“Another one, please”, you sweetly smiled at the bartender, “You know what, make it two”.

“One”, a stern voice next to you. “Sorry”, the bartender raised his shoulders as he looked at you. “I said two, Mikey”. “And I said one”, he smiled at the bartender as he placed the shot in front of you. “Another one, please”, you smirked as you raised your glass. “Oh come on Mikey, loosen up”, you pinched his arm, “It’s your birthday”. “You’re drunk”, his eyes studying your movements, “Where’s Draken?”.

”How would I know? Thought he was with you”. “Maybe with Takemichi”. “Probably”, you shrugged before ordering another shot. “She’s had enough”, he chuckled at the bartender, “Come on, let’s dance”.

“Dance?”, your brows pulled together at the thought. You hated dancing.

“M-mikey?”, your heart racing as he grabbed your arm before pulling you behind him. “Where are we going?”. “Just follow me”.

Before you knew it, you were in a small, dimly lit room in the back of the club.

“Mikey?”, a shaky whisper as you heard him close the door. “It’s my birthday, right?”. “It is”. “I never asked anything from you, I never…”, his voice sounded rough, “But I just want-“. “What? What do you want?”, you took a nervous step toward him. “One kiss, that’s all”, he grazed your arm, “You look beautiful. I can’t stop thinking about you-“.

Why? Why were your lips suddenly on top of his? Why were you pulling him close?

“Y/N?”. “What?”, your eyes wide open, your lips eager for his taste. “Do you want this?”. “W-what?”, you took a step backwards. “Us”, dark eyes scanned yours.

“I do”.

“Mikey-“, “Right. Draken”. “Hm”, guilt flooded your senses. “Come here, bunny”, his hands gently cupped your face, “I’m sorry if I hurt you, but I want more. I need more of you”.

“I-I need more too”, your eyes darted towards the ground in shame.

“Y-you do?”, disbelief in his dark eyes. “I-I missed you, Mikey”.

You didn’t know why. Why were you slowly lifting your dress? Why did you sit down on the table behind you, your legs wide open. You knew why. You were in love. You were in love with the best friend of your boyfriend.

“Y/N?”, his voice shaking. “P-please Mikey”, your head turned to the side, cheeks blushing with shame.

“F-fuck”, he almost sprinted toward you before crashing his lips against yours, “Say it. Tell me what you want”. “Y-you”, a shy response while his digits stroked over your panties. “Shit”, he smirked as he pushed the thin fabric aside, “Your panties are soaked”. “Only for you, Mikey”. “Oh?”, he tilted his head, “Never been this wet for your boyfriend?”.

No. You weren't ever this wet. Sex with Ken was amazing, or it used to be anyway, but it never compared to this.

“N-no”, you shook your head. “Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll take care of you”.

A soft moan as his tip pressed against your entrance.

“Ssh”, his head resting against your shoulder, “I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry”.

---

He heard it. The suppressed moans. The way your soft voice called out his name. The name of the person that he saw as family. He heard the table drag over the cold floor every time his best friend pushed into you. The way his best friend told you over and over again how good you felt, how you were supposed to be his… He heard everything.

Draken clenched his teeth, his forehead pressed against the door. He wasn’t mad, not yet anyway. He was hurt, sad, even broken. He could handle it if you cheated on him. He knew he wasn’t perfect and that he needed to show more love, but Mikey? How could you sleep with someone that he saw as his brother? He knew Mikey had a crush on you. He always knew. He saw it in the way Mikey’s eyes lit up every time you entered the room, every time you called out his name… But still… The two persons he loved most in this world betrayed him like no one else could.

Should he enter? No. He didn’t want anyone to see how broken he felt right now. He didn’t mean to follow you two. He didn’t mean to disappear on purpose to see if Mikey came to you, but… He felt it. He felt something was wrong. He just wanted to make sure, but he never expected it to be true. He thought he was being paranoid because surely, the two people he loved most wouldn’t do this. They would never betray him like this.

“D-draken?”, Takemichi’s scared voice rung from behind him. “Hm?”, he slowly turned around, ignoring the sound of you begging Mikey to come.

“I-is that Y/N’s-“, “Not a word”, the words sounded like a threat.

“Fuck”, Mikey’s voice floated through the air, “You were supposed to be mine”.

Draken’s heart shattered. The one thing that hovered over him like a dark cloud, the one doubt he had… It came to live as he heard those words. He always thought Mikey would be better for you, that Mikey would treat you better.

“Draken?”, Takemichi’s eyes wide open in shock, scared of what was going to happen. “Not a word”, Draken’s hand on the blonde’s shoulder, “Let’s go, Takemichi”.

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josefavomjaaga · 4 months

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Hello, dear Josefa ✨

I hope you are doing well!

While Flower and myself were talking about our favourite couples of the napoleonic era, our conversation found its way to the Soults which we would love to group with couples like the Davouts or the Mortiers but can't because of the cheating on our monsieur le maréchal Soult's part.

With that in mind, we wondered: Do we know how madame Soult reacted to the cheating? How did her behaviour change through the first days, weeks, months after finding out? Did it even change?

We are aware that we don't know any details of the actual conversation where the couple discussed this matter but we still wanted to ask!

Thank you for your time and effort! c:

We do not really know, I fear. We do not even know when and how exactly she learned about Soult's little secondary Spanish family. It is quite possible that it did not come completely unexpected anymore, as people in Paris had been gossipping about Soult's alleged infidelities ever since 1810, and in one of his 1811 letters Soult kind of had admitted to a marital misstep.

If I remember correctly, Soult finally was granted permission to leave Spain by mid-February 1813, and could leave at the beginning of March. On his way through Southern France he took the occasion to go see his old mother in Saint-Amans, whom he originally had wanted to visit four years earlier, on his way into Spain. I do not remember (I'm not even sure if it is clear) if Louise and the kids already met with him in Saint-Amans or if they waited for him in Paris but I suspect they went to Saint-Amans and from there back to the capital that Soult reached at the beginning of April. He soon had to leave again, this time with Napoleon to Germany, on the 1813 campaign, and on 12 April he already gave full powers in all matters to his wife so she could handle affairs during his absence.

Did she at this point already know about the full extent of these affairs? It's likely, but we do not have any real clue.

She must have known by late June 1813, however (interestingly, that's the same time when, many miles away, Maria de la Paz Baylèn and her little baby son leave Spain and enter France). We know that because Soult in his letter fom 23 June at least vaguely hints at how hurt Louise must have been by his confessions. He invites her to come to meet with him at Dresden with their children, despite the fact that [...]

you will not be lodged very well, but you will be with me, your sorrows will cease, your cheerfulness will return, and you will be certain that, despite everything that has happened, you have never ceased to be tenderly loved [...]

"Despite everything that has happened" clearly means that by that point, Louise is fully aware of the existence of Maria de la Paz and her baby. And she had taken it badly, as was to be expected. Obviously, she doubted Soult's love for her, and she may have considered taking further steps, or at least that's something Soult feared:

I'm not talking about the other feelings, for nothing could add to their strength other than the step you're taking right now.

(All emphasis by me)

And then he continues to implore her to come and sit down with him and talk it all over.

So, obviously lots of trouble in honeymoon land. From the looks of it, I'd say Louise did not so much react with fury, but rather turned sad and depressed - which probably hit Soult far more. Her fury she apparently kept in stock for one French emperor to be used when she heard that her husband was about to be sent back to Spain again. But that's a different story 😁.

Thank you for the question, and I hope this kind of suffices, as it seems to be all information there is. (All quotes from N. Gotteri, "Le Maréchal Soult", as usual.)

#napoleon's marshals #jean de dieu soult #louise berg-soult #1813

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kjs-s · 1 year

Text

Treat You Better

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader

Song: Treat You Better — Shawn Mendes

Summary: Matt feels like he can treat you better than your boyfriend and wants you to know it

Word Count: 1810

Warnings: mention of controlling and intrusive relationship and messages

A/N This is my second entry for @caplanbuckybarnes's decade challenge

You were waiting outside your lawyers’ office when your best friend rushed up the stairs while looking for her keys.

‘’(Y/N) what are you doing here? And how long have you been waiting for me? I’m so sorry I kept you waiting’’ Karen still rummaged in her bag looking for the keys.

‘’Don’t be silly darling, you had no idea I would show up first thing in the morning. I just came over to ask the guys for a favor and to catch up with you a little.’’ She finally opened the door to allow you into their improved office. You hadn’t been over for a couple of weeks and the changes they had made were spectacular. They had placed a painting right next to Matt’s office and a plant next to the entrance. But what caught your eye were the brand new coffee maker and the new bigger couch.

‘’I gather you like what Foggy did with the place. He kept mentioning redecorating so he decided to surprise us. I am glad he kept it minimal though. So, you mentioned needing to talk to one of the guys is there anything I can help you with?’’ Karen asked you while sorting the mail.

‘’Well, I just got a job offer that is exactly what I was hoping to get with my chemistry degree. I already had two interviews that went exceptionally well. We will sign the contracts tomorrow so I hoped one of my lawyers would accompany me to the meeting.’’ You were beaming with joy talking about your new job. It was your dream job for a long time and you knew you would be working at a company that helped people get better.

‘’Congratulations (Y/N), tell me everything about the job. What company is it with? And how did they find you?’’ Karen asked while prepping the coffee maker to have something to offer you.

‘’It’s actually one of the companies I had my internship at that didn’t have many open positions at the time. But after my recent article, they approached me about a great opportunity. I don’t want to jinx it but as of tomorrow you will be best friends with the new head of R&D at Rand Enterprises.’’ Immediately afterward your phone started to buzz with messages from your boyfriend David.

Where are you?

Why did you leave without telling me anything?

You could at least tell me that you had something scheduled or wait for me to wake up before leaving.

Why don’t we have anything for breakfast? Didn’t you get anything before leaving? You always make something for us.

You sighed at the texts and decided to answer them later. The messages just kept coming though so you muted your phone.

‘’Don’t give me this look Karen. He is just checking up on me.’’

‘’I didn’t say anything sweetheart. But don’t you think that he checking on you all the time like that is a little controlling? I don’t want to intrude or anything I just find it to be a little off.’’ She offered you a cup of coffee but you declined.

‘’You could be right. He wasn’t like that from the beginning. Something changed a few weeks ago and he started texting me almost all day long. I am trying to find out the reason so that we could work on it but I feel like he will blow me off. I mean, just two nights ago I was almost in tears because he was asking me about what I was looking at while browsing. I still haven’t told him about the new job either. I have a feeling he might talk me out of accepting it or ask me to quit because it will have longer hours.’’ You were worried about that possibility for a while and you felt relieved confiding this in someone. You didn’t even let yourself realize that you were scared of that reaction.

‘’I’m sorry to hear that and to dampen your mood. If you need to talk more... .’’ Karen didn’t get to finish her sentence before Matt and Foggy entered the office.

‘’’ Good morning Karen, (Y/N) what a pleasant surprise. I haven’t seen you for so long.’’ Foggy gave you a warm hug. Matt also greeted you but you could sense something was on his mind. You asked about it and he lied that it was about a case. When you entered Foggy’s office to arrange for him to accompany you Matt revealed to Karen that he had heard your conversation and that he planned to talk to you about it.

On your way out he held your hand in his and after congratulating you he reminds you just like Karen tried to before that he will always be around if you need anything. You always loved how compassionate Matt is and how much he cares about the people around him.

Your meeting was successful and you were elated. Your start day would be in two weeks to give you some time to settle anything you needed with your current job.

‘’It’s official now. So congratulations (Y/N), this deserves a celebration.’’ Foggy was also excited about you since he knew how hard you worked to get such a prestigious position.

‘’I’m not sure, I would have to ask David about it and you know that he doesn’t like gatherings.’’ You were still nervous about announcing the new job to him.

‘’It won’t be considered a gathering. Just the five of us and if he doesn’t want to come we will celebrate on our own. You deserve this and you are well aware that Karen and Matt want to spend more time with you. Especially Matt since this was actually this idea.’’

‘’I can’t promise anything but I will try to meet you at Josie’s tonight.’’ You checked to see that David had called you ten times and texted you asking about your meeting. You had told him you had a performance evaluation at your work.

When you entered the bar you looked around for your friends. Karen and Foggy were at the pool table playing so you made your way to the bar where Matt was ordering for everyone.

‘’I would like one of my usual as well Josie. Thank you. Hi Matt, how are you?’’ You took a seat next to him and noticed his smile when you addressed him.

‘’Better now that you are here. I am so glad you managed to come. It wouldn’t be a celebration without the one with something to celebrate. How was your day?’’

‘’I gave my two weeks’ notice to my boss. He was surprised but with all the times I was skipped over for a promotion he should have guessed already. I will miss some of my coworkers but we arranged to remain friends. They also mentioned a farewell party on my last day.’’

‘’That’s really nice of them. I am sure they will be sad to see you go.’’ Matt didn’t want to mention anything about your boyfriend not to dampen your mood. You helped him carry the drinks to the others and joined them for a few games.

After a few hours, Matt claimed he was tired and that he would leave. However, not feeling safe walking home on his own he asked you to go with him.

‘’(Y/N) I don’t want to intrude or anything but can I ask you a personal question?’’He asked after almost halfway through to his house.

‘’Of course Matt you can ask me anything you want.’’

‘’Are you happy with David? I noticed that when you talk about him your tone changes and becomes sad. I also heard you talking to Karen yesterday about him being a little controlling.’’

You were taken aback by the question that you didn’t even think about how he could hear you through the closed door. Maybe your mind was too focused on whether you are happy on not to register that information. You knew that his hearing was better than others but you had no idea how good it was.

‘’ You can tell me if I'm off but I feel that I know he's just not right for you. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries I just needed to let you know that I like you. And I'll stop time for you the second you say you'd like me too.’’

You couldn’t believe that you were hearing and Matt knew that you were overwhelmed with his confession.

‘’I am not expecting an answer right now. I just want you to know how I feel and that I just want to give you the loving that you're missing. Waking up with you would be everything I need, because I know I can treat you better than he can if you give me a chance to prove it.’’

Before you could respond you were already at his home so he bid you good night and left you to your thoughts.

Arriving at your apartment you met David who started inquiring you about where you were all those hours and he told you that one of your coworkers called asking about your preference for the cake for your farewell party. Just as you feared he listed all the things that would keep you at your dead-end job and how the new company and the longer hours wouldn’t be right for you. The most ridiculous excuse was that after some research he discovered that the new company wouldn’t allow you enough time off to talk to him about your day. You felt that he was talking like he meant giving him a report about everything and that was the moment you realized your friends were absolutely correct about him. So you broke up with him and told him to leave your apartment and lose your number for good. He mentioned that he would call you to reconsider but you told him not to bother.

Having finally clear thought you made your way back to Matt’s house.

‘’(Y/N) what are you doing here? Is everything alright? Are you hurt in any way?’’

‘’Everything is finally clear. You were right about everything you said earlier. I am so sorry I didn’t see it before and that it took me so long to understand that you were better for me. But I might need a little time to start something new. Would you mind if I just sleep on your couch? I don’t feel like being alone right now.’’

He insisted on you taking the bed and when you woke up in the morning he had bought breakfast and gave you all the space you needed to clear your head and figure out your emotions. It only took two weeks before you started dating and your friends had a new reason for a celebration.

#cappysdecadeschallenge #matt murdock x reader #marvel fic #my writing

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ltwilliammowett · 1 year

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@nympheline asked: what sort of love tokens did sailors wear, please?

Well, we all know the little things that Sailor made for her loved ones at sea or bought and gave to her before they set sail. Be it coins, shell pictures, scrimshaws, woolies, portraits etc. But what did the wives, fiancées, but also mothers and sisters give the men (assuming they went voluntarily, because the pressed ones often had no opportunity to say goodbye or even exchange small gifts)? Mostly the women gave their husbands something useful. Especially when it concerned the working class, it was simple things like wool socks, hats, a waistcoat or a pin cushion or a whole housewife (sewing kit).

Housewife, c. 1810 (x)

But foodstuffs such as sweets or tobacco were also very popular.

Waistcoat of Tahiti cloth (tapa) for Captain Cook to wear at court, had he returned from his third voyage, ca. 1779 / embroidered by Mrs Cook (x)

Members of the upper classes or the nobility, of course, had completely different means at their disposal. And there were portraits, tobacco boxes, pipes, wines, food, but also embroidered handkerchiefs, books and letters as examples.

Well, i hope it helps you a bit, and as soon as i have more pictures, i will elaborate further.

#naval history #love token #wifes #sailors #age of sail

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doomedlemur · 4 months

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Good Omens Fanfic Recs

I decided to write up and sort my fanfic recommendations and thoughts, mostly for my own benefit, as an organized list of my favorites for reference. But also, here it is in case anyone's interested.

Heads up, no post-season 2 fix-it fics on this list if that's what you're looking for. Personally I'm content to wait and see on that front.

Also, I'm a sucker for pining, but also headcanon these guys (gn) as demisexual virgins, so nearly all are ace-friendly except the long AUs.

Canon Compliant - short

In general I favor canon compliance and keeping in character. Part of what got me hooked on Good Omens fanfic was the immense breadth of history available to explore with these characters. Let's list in approximate chronological order!

A Letter from “Crawly” to Azirapil (<1k) - Fanfic in Cuneiform. Amazing.

see, how the most dangerous thing is to love (6.8k) - Crawly and Aziraphale meet during the Trojan War as Achilles mourns Patroclus. Super well-researched and thought out with the Iliad!

Temporary Tattoo (9.8k) - Okay, this one's arguable on the canon compliance, it's kinda a crack-fic (and feels way more 19th century than 11th) but I loved it. Crowley's snake tattoo wanders, and he can feel what it feels. (The sequel is also really sweet, though definitely canon divergent.)

that old common arbitrator, time (1.1k) - 1602. An epilogue of sorts for the Trojan War one, Crowley and Aziraphale critique Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida. Lots of fun references.

the stars are the same as ever (4.4k) - Vignettes about Crowley hanging out with astronomers in the 17th century.

Mean It (2k) - The origin of the Apology Dance. 1650, 1793, and 1941 all featured. Short and sweet, very believable. Just as flirty as I imagined.

well-versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice (3k) - Jane Austen, mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery, brandy-smuggler, master spy, and wrote books too. Well-researched, with Austen-esque prose, and perfectly fills in the background for how Crowley remembers her.

Crossing Paths (3k) - Edinburgh, 1827. Showing how Crowley and Aziraphale crossed paths there, and dropping us off where the Resurrectionists minisode begins. Delightful.

I stretch out the time (and now I know why) (6k) - 1960's ineffable wives and what happened to make Aziraphale say Crowley goes too fast.

Orchids and Tea (3k) - A shameless plug for my own fic. Meet the old lady downstairs who Crowley gives his "bad" plants to.

What You've Lost But Never Had (3k) - A sweet outsider POV with Maggie's closeted grandfather.

So You Need To Get Into A.Z. Fell & Co.; Now What? (A Guide For Unfortunate Bookworms) (1.8k) - Handy guide for interpreting the store hours, etc.

The Disposables (7.5k) - Arguably canon divergent. Surprisingly heartwarming. Eric the Disposable Demon is buds with the Usher.

When You're Through With Life and All Hope is Lost (Friends Will Be Friends) (<1k) - COVID-era ficlet post-Lockdown minisode.

The Last Four Years (11.7k) - Perfectly fills in the gap between the seasons with all the feelings and poor communication that brought us here, from the Ritz to Aziraphale's phone call.

Pointless (1.5k) - An exploration of Crowley as he is at the beginning of season 2, anxious and depressed about the pointlessness of it all.

Been Together Long? (1.2k) - It's so common for fics to depict Crowley as knowingly in love but hiding his feelings for 6000 years. But I don't think he's self-aware enough for that, and I really do believe that was an Oh moment with Nina on the street. This fic is an excellent insight into what he was thinking there.

The Afternoon Lecture (<1k) - A cute little outsider POV fic, set sometime in the Happily Ever After probably.

The Slings and Arrows of Angelic Archery (<1k) - Guess which historical/legendary figure Crowley was! Sadly just a little modern-day conversation about it rather than the actual thing.

A Narrow Escape to the Country (10.7k) - This one is so fun! Crowley and Aziraphale are guests on a house-hunting TV show. (Established relationship with innuendo, but all sexy times are off-camera.)

My Roommate from Hell (5.7k) - Warlock ends up college roommates with Adam, and yeah, Warlock's upbringing made him kinda weird.

Canon Divergent - long

Divergent in that these were written before season 2 came out, so branch off from after season 1.

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach (99k) - This one is recommended a lot I know, but deservedly so. This was the first GO fanfic I read, as I idly looked to see what had the most kudos. And then I couldn't put it down.

Instructions Not Included (68k) - Plot heavy but excellent. I loved the writing style of this one; it's so evocative with its metaphors, but without being flowery. Sadly left a few unanswered questions since the sequel was abandoned, but it's still well worth reading. Very realistic progression of feelings between Crowley and Aziraphale (intimacy without sexuality).

The Sandford Flower Show (E) (46k) - This was a bit of a painful read with flashbacks to ancient Egypt, but it's very good. Many feels. (Higher sex-drive than I generally prefer for canonverse, so note that E rating.)

Canon Divergent - short

Slow (9.3k) - Adam assumed Crowley and Aziraphale were married and restored the bookshop with a marriage certificate on the wall. Miscommunication and sweetness ensues.

Human AUs - long (modern day)

It took me a while to warm up to the idea of reading AUs, since the immortal natures and powers of Crowley and Aziraphale are so integral to their characters (also I personally don't seek out fanfics for the smut and the highly rec'd ones are nearly always Explicit). But after seeing Slow Show in particular recommended so often, I finally gave it a go. Yes, the human versions of the characters are always different in varying ways, but I've found it really fascinating to see the different ways characters, scenes, and lines get reinterpreted in AUs and have now read way more of them than I expected to.

Slow Show (E) (95k) - I have never in my life read anything (fanfic or otherwise) as emotionally intense as Slow Show. This fic is all lust and angst and I physically felt the agony of it for days while I read. While other fics are also explicit, this is the most mature and "adult" feeling with its themes. Yes this fic is recommended a lot, but its reputation is well earned. However, that said, I wouldn't say it's my favorite.

Old Vines (E) (189k) - Excellent slow burn. This one really captures the aspect of them both being anxious/frustrated under contractual obligations, wishing they could be freer to do their own thing. Truly gratuitous descriptions of all aspects of wine, from growth, production, tasting, and quantity consumed. I learned a lot. Was also actually really inspired by Aziraphale's journey in this.

Or Be Nice (E) (151k) - I wasn't sure I'd like this one at first, but I'm glad I went for it. It's more a character study than a drama. Well done progression from enemies to lovers, and some of the very best conversational dynamics (if a bit of ngk overuse). This one highlights the petty/mischievous sides of Crowley and Aziraphale that are rarely found in fanfics, and the execution is delightful. Loved Anathema in this also.

stalwart sun, wily moon (370k) - (What, a non-explicit long AU??) This fic is amazing. Yes, long, it could use some editing to cut back a tad tbh, but still, amazing. Heist AU with an intriguing plot and life or death stakes. Characters and side characters all really well done, incorporates everything from the botched baby swap to the Great Plan and more. Amazing. Really. Only fic I've bought a physical printing of.

Talk about the weather (81k) - (Technically not explicit but yeah no they have sex.) Weatherman/stormchaser AU. They have an Arrangement. The premise of this one was weird for me because I headcanon Crowley as disliking the rain, but it's good. Not the typical characterizations you see in fics, which was really refreshing. Finally! Someone who remembers Aziraphale is kind of a bastard who doesn't say what he means, and someone who lets Crowley be happy and confident instead of a nervous wreck!

on the same page (E) (117k) - They're both writers. A very good execution of your classic fake marriage. Some lush metaphorical prose. Excellent characterizations on our pair, and the setup preceded by 6 years of intense yearning was just perfect. I do wish the side characters had gotten more fleshed out.

Married at First Sight (146k) - This premise is so silly (though then again the TV show does really exist), but it's actually really well done. The feels nearly made me cry.

Human AUs - long (historical)

On Espionage and Prophecy (E) (133k) - Take the first season 1941 flashback and make it a novel-length human AU. Aziraphale's a bookseller and Crowley's a spy working with him to double-cross the double-crossing Nazis. I will say the plot contrivance sometimes requires a bit of suspension of disbelief, but that's okay, it's fun and has some great pining.

Half Agony, Half Hope (E) (31k) - Regency era AU, but it's not all Jane Austen fantasy-land. We've got some real history lessons here, highlighting the political struggles of the time. This one's on the short side, but doesn't really feel like it; time passes behind the scenes, so the relationship doesn't feel rushed. Overall it's excellent and really deserves more love.

Human AUs - short

On the Ethics of Asking Your Professor on a Date (7.4k) - I kinda wish this one was a bit better with the showing vs. telling in places, but I still found it really charming.

Postcards From Paris (12k) - Crowley starts receiving postcards from an A.Z.F. meant for the previous tenant, and after awhile gets a chance to write back. Very sweet.

Miscellaneous AUs - short

air conditioned, love unconditional (8.8k) - AU where Aziraphale is a ceiling fan and Crowley is an air conditioning unit. Look, it's adorable, okay? (though the ending is kinda silly)

Speaking in Code (8.9k) - Cute queer Outsider POV. Aziraphale and Crowley become college professors in their retirement. Arguably canon compliant, but I'm calling it an AU since I don't really see it happening. A+ for the accurate gender treatment on Aziraphale.

Lit (12.7k) - Technically canon-divergent from the book? Crowley takes a university course on literature and surprise! The book they’re discussing is Good Omens. Crack treated seriously. It works really well actually!

#this list subject to edits as I encounter more #will take more recs if you like these vibes #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic rec #ineffable husbands

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108garys · 8 months

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Mr Cutter

This has been sitting around forever, I initially wanted to do the other guys first but I got distracted so here's 1810s C, Mr Cutter the Magistrate(out here signing execution orders)

I really liked all the progress on this so I'll add all of that undercut

I've also finished the ladies of this cycle Tamsyn, Abby, Miranda

@kassiekolchek22 @delurkr @tatjana-fantasy @blubary @ultrabananapudding @ivycross @eddie-brii @taylorshope @mybrainrotforreal @mythwood @eframschweigersskincells @oblivious-troll @hannahhook7744 @lazylesbianbear

#little hope #The dark pictures anthology #The dark pictures little hope #reverend carver #Little hope au #little hope 1810s #Little hope reincarnation cycle #Little hope oc #Tdpa oc #supermassive games #historical au #He may be evil but he's cute OK

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mineralsrocksandfossiltalks · 9 months

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Throwback Thursday

Time for a little bit of paleo history. This week, let's talk avout Mary Anning.

Mary Anning is credited with being the very first woman in paleontology. She was born in Lyme Regis in 1799.

She was lucky enough to live in a place that would one day be known worldwide as The Jurassic Coast.

Her Father, Richard Anning, was a cabinetmaker. He moved to the area in thw hopes of attracting wealthy clientel in the form of tourists. Instead, he became a beach comber, selling fossils as souvenirs. By the time Mary was six, she was going out and helping him.

Tragically, Richard died in 1810 leaving his pregnant wife and two other children desitute. To make matters worse, they were part of a Protestant offshoot that didn't follow the Church of England. That meant their neighbors felt no obligation to help them.

Mary did find out ahe could support her family just as her father did when she sold an ammonitebfor much more money than her father had ever gotten for his finds. When she was 12, she and her brother Joseph made a baffling discovery.

It took months to excavate because it 17 feet long and contained 60 vertebrae. Word spread that they had discovered a monster. It looked like a cross between a fish and a crocodile and it was complete and articulated. She sold it to a rich collector for 23 pounds, which was enough to support her family for half a year. Don't worry though, it has since made it's way to the Natural History Museum of London.

Ichthyosaurus

Over her lifetime, Mary found several more ichthyosaurs. In 1823, she discovered as a complete Plesiosaurus and in 1828, she found the first pterosaur outside of Germany. She even found a number of coprolites.

#paleontology #history #ichthyosaur #plesiosaur

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yr-obedt-cicero · 1 year

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alright i’ve heard so much about burr and his umbrella? and out of anyone, i have a feeling you’d be someone who would know something about this, so can you please explain what is going on with burr and his umbrella that he lost when he was like 5 or 12 or smtn?

I forget not everyone knows the extensive Amrev fandom lore. Y'all make me feel old.

Basically, Aaron Burr had this one umbrella that had a knife equipped with it, and was constantly losing it and lamenting it's disappearance. Like, a lot. It's a continuous thing in his journal.

London, December 6, 1808;

“Home at four. Caught in the rain, having yesterday left my umbrella at Brentford—no doubt lost.”

London, December 7, 1808;

“Went to the stagehouse to inquire for my umbrella, but with little hope. It was there, brought by the coachman. How very honest people are here, and yet I am cheated most impudently every hour.”

London, December 14, 1808;

“Rose at six; set off at seven. I sleep very soundly in these stagecoaches. By sleeping, however, forgot to ask for my umbrella, which I had left at Stanmore.”

Edinburgh, January 13, 1809;

“As you would not suspect that I could be till this hour in Edinburgh (if, indeed, the subject has been thought of at all, which, with humility, I acknowledge that, from appearances, it did not merit), this formal notice is given that I am here, and like to be here eight days longer.

Send Tom to Craven-street to demand letters, and to Bedford-street for the umbrella, if not heretofore found. A. Burr.”

London, Febraury 8, 1809;

“Out at ten; raining, took K.'s umbrella, having lost my own.”

Gotha, January 9, 1810;

“As I was writing the concluding line of the preceding page last evening (about one o'clock), an ill-looking fellow opened my door without knocking, and, mut- tering in German something which I did not comprehend, bid me put out my candle. Being in no very placid humour at the moment, as you see, I cursed him, and sent him to the lower regions in French and English. He advanced, and was going to seize the candle. My umbrella, which has a dirk in the handle, being near me, I seized it, drew the dirk, and drove him out of the room.”

Paris, April 20, 1810;

“At eleven to the umbrella mender. Nothing done.”

Paris, February 13, 1811;

“A brilliant morning. Sun shining bright for this hemisphere. Went out without my umbrella. Before I got one hundred yards it began to rain. Went back for the umbrella.”

Paris, July 11, 1811;

“To near Luxembourg to get an umbrella which some one, unknown, left in my room a fortnight ago, and which has, therefore, become my property by prescription. Paid for mending it, three francs.”

London, February 18, 1812;

“Got home at four, and discovered that I had lost my umbrella; a most serious misfortune, and little hope of recovering it, as I have no recollection where I stopped. It is impossible for me to buy one or to do without one.”

London, February 19, 1812

“My umbrella hung heavy at my heart. Went to hunt for it. Walked back on the track I came from J. H.'s yesterday, and called at the places I had been; but no umbrella. It is finally lost, and I must submit to the inconveniences of getting wet and of spoiling my clothes.”

London, February 20, 1812;

“Then home, following again the track of my poor lost umbrella, but to no purpose.”

London, February 22, 1812;

“—but, in the first place, I slept till near nine, and, in the next, it rained in torrents, and you know my umbrella is on a voyage.

Round by Westminster and Blackfriars' Bridges to Graves's. The rain setting in again, bought me the cheapest umbrella I could find that was large enough. Cost ten shillings and sixpence.”

And here is a longer post.

#amrev #american history #aaron burr #burr's umbrella #history #queries #sincerely anonymous #cicero's history lessons

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randomheadcanons · 1 month

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When Aaron and Mona meet, 1810.

Aaron liked Forsaken Bluff. It was a mostly sleepy little town that suited Aaron just fine. Additionally, because the town catered to supernatural folk, they often had warm blood on hand. That always made his journey back from the California territory of Mexico easier. It wouldn’t be long before it became a state territory, Aaron reasoned; it had too much value as a resource haven for the Union not to take notice and ultimately grab it for itself.

His time in California was good; he and Bruce always had a good time. He also took the opportunity to get to know the other vampires in the area; one never knew when it would come in handy, and Aaron liked to keep tabs.

But it was time to head home. He had some affairs to attend to back in Jamestown. He needed to check on his younger brother, Samual. Though younger was a relative term at this point; Samual would be about 45 now, Aaron mused. Far older than Aaron himself would ever get. And “checking in” as Aaron saw it, was probably far more unsettling to a human than a vampire. Aaron loitered around his family’s farm, of which Samuel was now the owner. He would hang around for a couple days, watching his brother, before leaving a monetary gift on the doorstep before disappearing. Aaron never left a note, nor did he stick around to see Samuel find the envelope. He simply left, trusting that Samuel would do what he needed to do with the money.

Hopefully invest, Aaron thought to himself with a snort before entering the saloon. While the stock market was less than 20 years old, Aaron sensed that it was going to be quite popular, especially as his contacts in New York were involved in the original market in Holland.

“What will you have?” The bartender asked. She was tall and tan. Her blonde hair was bound at the nape of her neck, the scar on her lip bending with her smile.

“A glass of A-” Aaron smiled, taking a seat at the bar.

The bartender grimaced. “Sorry darling,” She apologized. “I’ve got AB+ and O-“.

“O is fine,” Aaron assured, waving his hand.

The woman nodded. “Want anything in that?”

“Uh,” Aaron mused, “Bourbon, if you don’t mind.”

“Make that two,” said a new voice to Aaron’s right. He looked over and smiled.

Vampires, generally, were beautiful; it was a natural part of their arsenal to catch prey. When turned, a human’s most attractive attributes were heightened, to better draw in their next meal. Aaron was used to seeing beautiful vampires.

But this woman was something else entirely.

Her deep, rich, dark hair was coiled elegantly on top of her head, with wind whipped strands framing her face. Her equally dark eyes drew Aaron in immediately, and he knew that those eyes had seen centuries of life already. Her lips…her lips were a soft pink and would no doubt gain some color with the blood cocktail that was placed in front of her and Aaron.

She was alluring.

“Hope you don’t mind that I swooped in,” she said, picking up her drink.

Aaron blinked, “No, of course not,” he assured, putting 2 half dollars on the counter. “My treat,”

She smiled, craning her head over to a quiet table in the back. “That’s kind of you,” She said softly. “Care to join me?”

Had Aaron had a heartbeat, it would’ve skipped several beats.

He picked up his own drink before following her to the table. He beat her to it and pulled her chair out for her, which she took, tucking the seat of her dress underneath her as she sat.

The other nice thing about Forsaken Bluff, Aaron mused, was that he could move as freely and quickly as he desired without fear of repercussions.

“What brings you to Forsaken Bluff?” the woman asked, taking a slow sip.

“Passing through,” Aaron supplied, “Coming from California, and you?”

“Heading to,” she said with a smile. ”meeting some acquaintances there,”

“Are you traveling alone?” Aaron asked, some concern in his voice.

She laughed. “Yes.” She paused, taking another sip. “It’s 1810, after all. And I can take care of myself,”

”Of that I have no doubt,” Aaron agreed. “Where is home?”

“Italy,” she said, glancing out the window, “have you been?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “There’s so much to explore here,” he said, gesturing around, then grinned. “But I have time.”

She nodded. “Plenty of time.” She agreed, finishing her drink and offering her hand. “I’m Desdemona de Leon,” she introduced herself. “And you?”

“Aaron Shepard,” he replied, taking her hand and pressing his lips to the back of her hand. Her eyebrows rose in bemusement.

“A true American then,” she mused.

Aaron nodded. “Yes ma’am, born 15 years before the War, turned in 1781.”

“Oh very young,” Desdemona commented.

Aaron shrugged and smiled easily, “Plenty of time to explore,” he agreed. She smiled back. It was like the sunrise Aaron hadn’t hadn’t seen in 30 years.

“Well, Mr. Shepard,” She said, standing up. Aaron aimed to follow before she lifted up her hand, “Please, no need to rise on my accord.” She said, holding up a half dollar up. She smiled. “Your next drink is on me. Thank you for your company.”

Aaron nodded with a smile. “Will we meet again?” He asked, eyes meeting hers.

Her dark eyes met his and a smile played on her lips. She opened his palm and lightly placed the coin in it before curling her fingers over his to close around it.

“I’ll make sure of it.” She promised.

And then she was gone. And Aaron was out of breath.

#I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR #Aaron Shepard #my art #Desdemona de leon

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rosie-b · 3 months

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Centuries Overdue

Chapter 4

Excerpt from the ninth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at the Agreste mansion in Paris, France, on the twenty-fourth of June, 1810.

I think this House is full of Ghosts. Around every corner I hear Laughter; through the Walls there comes a Sob; beneath my Bed the Darkness hides, ready to pull me out and slaughter me for its Revenge…

Did I write before that we never found the Mage responsible for the Darkness, even after we defeated it? There was no Body, no Spellbook, not one single Sign of who it was who betrayed us.

At the end of the Battle there was a great Cry, a loud Wailing which still haunts my dreams. Then the Darkness gathered into itself and exploded in a great display of power and Cowardice which left us no doubt that the Mage behind it was Dead.

I have told myself that I ought to be relieved, as the other Mages are, that at last the Darkness is vanquished. For a time, I fooled myself into thinking that I was!

But as all lies ever must do, this one I told Myself crumbled, leaving more Pain in its wake than it had initially hidden.

I cannot help but feel that I have failed. There was no moment when I saw the Face of my parents’ murderer, no time when I felt Closure for bringing safety to the rest of our Community.

The Mages are safe. The Talents are not; they have died, they have died in great numbers and no-one will answer for their deaths. Death chosen by one who finally sees that their loss is imminent brings no peace to the ones they have hurt. The Mage of Darkness was a Coward who faced no punishment despite committing very many crimes. Am I wrong to feel like that Mage won, and not the group who vanquished the Darkness?

I find myself flinching at every Shadow, and there are many in my parents’ house. It has been empty of their Presence for decades, but it searches for them, it waits on them to return. And it finds Me in their place, instead. I can only imagine it to be Angry.

I never lived in this House, but I came here and claimed it as mine with an old Deed given to me by M. Bourgeois, who kept the House from falling apart while my Parents and I were gone. I look like my Mother, and a little like my Father, and yet I am nothing like them. They will never live here again, but I, a reminder of their Existence, do presently. Were I this abandoned House, I would be angered, too, by the situation. A new Darkness lives in this place. I can feel it, and I cannot blame it for existing.

But I still find myself sensing Darkness elsewhere. Along my journey to my foreign home country, I felt It ever at my back, always reaching out for my shoulder as if to tap it, yet It vanished the moment I turned around. It is in the streets of Paris, on the rooftops, in the warm restaurants, in my Home.

There is something afoot in Paris, something sinister stirring yet again. I begin to believe that the Defeat we handed the Darkness in Blå Jungfrun was not as decisive as we had hoped, that the Darkness I feel now is the same as the One we had thought destroyed.

And yet…

I know that we defeated the Darkness. I saw it with my own eyes. This Feeling of mine is nothing more than Mischief and a passing fancy.

I will not write any more on the matter.

__*__*__*__*__

“Repeat after me,” Alya said, and Marinette immediately nodded.

It had been one week since she somewhat-accidentally infiltrated the Mage meeting, and now she was at another one, this time as an invited guest. And possibly, a new Mage, if this test proved that she had magic powers, that was.

“It’s just one spell. One tiny illusion, and we’re not going to throw you out if it doesn’t work.”

Marinette nodded again, blinking rapidly as her anxiety whispered a dozen ways this could go wrong in her ear.

“You don’t need to worry at all.”

Another nod, this one barely visible.

“What I’m trying to say is, relax , Marinette! The worst thing that could happen is you accidentally making a fake flower a few sizes too big! Illusions never hurt anyone, remember?”

From her perch on top of the new sofa the cafè had gotten, Alix leaned forward and grinned.

“Well, technically. They can be pretty deadly in battle. But only indirectly!” she backpedaled at Alya’s glare.

Marinette leaned her head back and groaned, “Ohh, Alya, do you really think I should do this?”

Alya folded the spellbook under her arm and reached out with the other to pat Marinette’s shoulder. “Of course, girl! There are literally no bad outcomes, and can you imagine how cool it would be if you turned out to be a Mage of Trixx, too? I’ve been hoping for this ever since I met you, even though I thought it was unrealistic at the time! Come on, Marinette. I’m not letting you leave this cafè until you at least try!”

Marinette smiled at Alya’s firm brand of encouragement. “Okay, okay! I’ll do my best,” she said, stretching out her fingers and wiggling them like she was warming up to draw a design for class. “I’m ready.”

Smiling approvingly, Alya opened the spellbook to the dog-eared page. “All right. First say, ‘mirage,’ and then picture a flower.”

“That’s it?” Marinette asked, astounded. None of Adrien’s spells looked this simple! And none of them were in French! “Let me see that.”

Standing on her tippy-toes, Marinette strained to look at the spellbook and scoured the page for the gibberish language from Adrien’s journals. There it was! But Alya wanted her to speak the spell in French anyway! How did that make sense?

“Trust me, Marinette,” Alya said, amused. “Just because a spell is recorded in a way that keeps it safe from enemy eyes doesn’t mean it has to be spoken in the same way. This code is protected by magic, but it represents all the same letters the normal French alphabet does. Spells can be spoken in any language, as long as they’re properly translated. Look, this one is in French; this symbol is ‘m,’ this one is ‘i,’ and if you put them all together, they make the word ‘mirage.’ Do you get it?”

Sinking back onto her feet, Marinette nodded, feeling a bit stupid. “Oh. So, it’s like there’s an eternal illusion spell cast on the letters?”

“Close! It was cast on the concept of the code itself, so that anything written in it can only be decoded by someone who was willingly taught the code by a Mage or, in the past, a Talent. I’m going to teach you how to decode it, too, and then you can read as many spells as you want.”

“Even the ones in Adrien’s journals?”

Alya nodded. “Even those ones. Although from what you’ve told me, deciphering his French will be your main problem!”

Marinette laughed. “It isn’t that bad once you get used to it!” she insisted, playfully defending Adrien’s abnormal writing habits.

“Whatever you say, girl. Okay, for real this time, say mirage!”

“Mirage!”

“Great! Now close your eyes and picture the flower. Doesn’t matter what type, just add as much detail as you can. When you’re done, say, ‘I call on Trixx’s power to create this flower’ and then you’re done.”

Marinette giggled as she followed Alya’s instructions, and her friend immediately protested.

“Wha— hey, don’t laugh! My spells don’t usually rhyme!”

Marinette nodded, keeping her eyes closed, and let out a deep breath as she prepared to try the spell.

“I call on Trixx’s power to create this flower,” Marinette said after a moment’s pause, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

Then she cracked open her eyes and looked for the flower.

“Nothing’s there,” she said, looking up at Alya dejectedly.

“You’re right,” Alya said, looking at the space between them where the flower should have been. “You could try again or just give up if you think you did it right. Being a Mage is pretty rare these days. And there are other spells to try, to test whether you’re a Mage of a different kwami than mine!”

“I tried as hard as I could,” Marinette said, rubbing her arm. “I don’t think I messed up, except for when I almost laughed. I just don’t think I’m a Mage, Alya.”

“Not Trixx’s, anyway,” Alix said as she hopped off the couch and landed on the floor with a thud, which scared Marinette. “But,” she said as she appeared behind Alya’s shoulder, reached around her, and flipped to a different page in the book, “You might still be Fluff’s. Repeat after me.”

Alya handed the spellbook to Alix and moved out of the way as she gave Marinette an encouraging smile.

“I promise to keep this short. Come on, just one more spell and we’re done! We only have Trixx’s and Fluff’s spells, so we can only test to see if you’re one of theirs. If not, who cares.” Alix raised one shoulder and dropped it back down.

Marinette sighed. “Okay, fine. What’s the spell?”

“Say burrow, then say the place and time you’d like to go to. So like, this same spot, five seconds from now.”

“Burrow, right here, five seconds from now?”

“Aaand you’re not one of Fluff’s Mages. Congrats!”

“That’s not— how do you know I didn’t mess up? I didn’t even say the same words as you did!”

“It doesn’t matter for that spell. Makes it pretty dangerous if you say something like outer space for your location, or if you go back before the Earth formed, but it’s the most basic spell we have.”

Marinette was briefly seized with an image of her accidentally falling into a black hole or falling into a star because she said the wrong thing by accident.

“Alya! Did you know that spell was so risky?”

“Well, no and yes. I’m not overly familiar with Alix’s spells, but all of Fluff’s magic is more immediately dangerous than Trixx’s. That’s why Fluff’s Mages get so much credit for helping defeat the Darkness with that Adrien of yours. Without their help, the battle could easily have gone in a very different direction.”

“It’s also theorized that one of us killed the Mage behind the Darkness,” Alix supplied. “And that whoever they were, the evil Mage is spiraling across the universe like a dead fish thanks to us. Maybe one day we’ll find their body,” she said, grinning evilly.

Marinette swallowed. “That’ll be fun.”

“Oh yeah, I’m so looking forward to it.”

“Uh-huh. Well, thanks for your help, Alix!” Alya took the book back from her and snapped it shut. “How are you feeling, girl? Worn out from the tests?”

Cocking her head, Marinette responded, “Not really. I’m kind of disappointed, but mostly relieved. Being anyone’s Mage doesn’t sound like the right fate for me. I’m just a normal girl with a normal life!”

Alya hummed. “Maybe you are. But you could still turn out to be a Mage, or even the first Talent in over a century! I’ll give up on tests,” she said at Marinette’s weary look, “But maybe you’d like to learn the Mages’ code, instead? Then you could really read all of Adrien’s journals.”

“My one true desire,” Marinette joked. “That does sound nice, actually! He records so many different spells, and it’s driving me nuts that I can’t read them. Like, there’s a spell for making ingredients hop into a pan and cook themselves! I need to know what it says, even if I can’t actually make the magic work.”

“Sounds like a universal spell to me,” Alya said thoughtfully. “No one’s tried one of those in forever! If it still works, any one of us Mages should be able to use it, even you, if you’re at all Gifted!”

“That would be pretty nice,” Marinette said as Alya led her over to a table and pulled out a chair.

“On to the lesson! Or, I guess it isn’t much of a lesson, exactly. I’m going to write down each of the code’s symbols next to their translation on a piece of paper for you. Once you have it, you can decode any spell you want with minimal work. And soon, you might even have the code memorized and not need the key anymore!”

“Thanks! That’s really cool, Alya,” Marinette said, watching as she quickly muttered a spell under her breath and pulled a paper from thin air.

Once the paper appeared, Alya grabbed it, making it glow golden orange, said another spell, and then set it down on the table once it stopped glowing.

“There. Once you have the key memorized, the paper will cease to exist. And if anyone but you sees it, it will look like a menu for the cafè. Sound good?”

Marinette nodded and Alya smiled.

“Great. Now, can I borrow a pen?”

“What, you can’t just summon one?” Marinette teased.

“I could, but that would be another complicated spell, and I just did three of those. You can’t normally touch illusions like this, or they fall apart. That’s part of why I wasn’t worried about the flower spell, because it just casts a basic illusion, nothing more. Anyway, the more complex a spell, the more tiring it is for the Mage casting it.”

“You mean, if you cast too many spells at once, you die?”

This was not good! Being a Mage sounded more dangerous with each new fact Marinette learned about them!

“No, there’s a safety built into the concept of spells. If you try too many at once, you might faint or go into a coma, but if it's a combination that would kill you, then you just can’t finish the spell. It becomes physically impossible.”

“Oh, that’s smart! Which Mage figured it out?”

“No one knows. In any event, while you don’t have to worry about me dying, I don’t feel like sleeping for twenty hours just to make up for summoning a pen.”

“That makes sense. Here,” Marinette fished around in her purse and pulled out a pink gel pen. “Will this work?”

“Perfectly. Thanks!”

Alya wrote out the code on the left side of the paper and then the translation on the right side.

“A last note: the symbols for numbers overlap with a few of the letter symbols. To show the difference, use the guide at the bottom. And that’s all there is to it!”

“Thank you so much!”

As she took the paper from Alya, Marinette hesitated.

“Hey, did I ever ask you what happened to Adrien? I mean, he’s dead, obviously, but when did he die? Did he ever write any other journals, aside from the lost ones? Was he happy?”

“Oh,” Alya said. “That’s… hard to answer, actually. We know more about how Adrien’s parents died than we know about how he died. It was in the catacombs, here in Paris. He told one of the Bourgeoises that he was going to visit them, illegally, I might add, and that was the last we ever heard about him. According to the Bourgeois family back when they still acknowledged our existence — although I’ve been promised a response to my email soon, at least — Adrien went a little crazy before his death.”

Marinette took a sharp breath. Adrien, crazy? Sure, she’d considered it, herself, back when she hadn’t known that magic was real, but now that she knew she could trust the stories he wrote in his journals, she didn’t think he was crazy. She thought he was very smart, in control of his thoughts and able to tell when his emotions were threatening to take over. His writing had become something of a constant in her life. What did the magic community think happened to him, that Adrien could be thought ‘crazy’?

Alya continued the story. “He thought the Darkness was coming back; that someone was killing off all the Talents; and towards the very end, he told his closest friends that the Mage of Darkness was hunting him down to get revenge. Revenge, of course, for that time when we ganged up and defeated that same Mage. We killed them, so like, what Adrien thought was happening was just impossible. It’s sad; he cared so much about keeping the Gifted community safe, and he contributed so much to our survival; but in the end, what he’d gone through for our lives cost him his own. He was a hero. But sometimes, being a hero means you don’t get a happy ending.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Alya said, covering her trembling hand with a warm, firm one. “I know you got attached because of those books. But it’s in the past. Adrien Agreste got lost in the catacombs at age twenty and died before he could find the way out. That’s all we know.”

Marinette was suddenly finding it really hard to see. At some point during Alya’s tale, she’d begun to silently cry for the Mage she’d begun to feel like she knew. He’d done so much for her, and she’d never get to thank him!

She licked her lips, tasting the salt there, and took a deep, rasping breath.

“Did you ever find his body? Is there a grave I could go visit?”

Alya shook her head and held Marinette’s hand tightly, offering the only comfort she could. “Nobody’s ever found his body. Plenty of Mages have tried, but they’ve had to turn back. The catacombs are dangerous if you go off the known trail, and it wouldn’t do us any good to find one body just to leave another one there with it. So because of that, we really can’t teleport straight to the spot, we can’t go back in time to stop it, nothing. According to Fluff, ‘everything is the way it should be’. The way it has to be. But it’s always hard to lose one of our own. I wish things were different, ‘Nette, I really do.”

Marinette’s hand shook in Alya’s as she fought off her tears. How could she be crying for a centuries-dead man? She’d known he was dead before she even asked what had happened to him! Crying about it didn’t make any sense!

“It hurts more than it should,” she whispered. “He gave up everything to protect his people, led them to victory, finally won and got to go home. And he went through all of that, just to die as soon as he got back to Paris? That’s completely unfair!”

“I know it is,” Alya said softly. “We all do. He will always have a place of honor in our histories, and a statue at Plagg’s cave. He is and always will be remembered. That’s more than most can say.”

Marinette wiped her eyes and nodded. “I guess it is,” she forced herself to say. Far more people's names are forgotten than remembered, in the grand scheme of things. Even detailed journals, like the ones Adrien had written, were lost or destroyed more often than they lived on even one century after their writer, let alone two.

How fortunate, then, that she’d gotten to read his journals at all. Even the best Mages couldn’t say they had done that, but finding them had been a blessing for them all, and soon, the Agreste journals would be back where they belonged. Their stories would live on.

Written for @mlbigbang

#adrien gets better I swear #don't worry about him :))#this chapter is really just the calm before the storm #ao3 links at the top #ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #ml au #centuries overdue

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scotianostra · 8 months

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ugust 20th 1872, saw the death of the Scottish "the laureate of the nursery", William Miller.

Miller was born in Glasgow in 1810 and spent most of his boyhood in what is now the city’s Parkhead area. His ambition to become a surgeon was ended by serious illness and he was eventually apprenticed as a wood-turner. He became a skilled craftsman, developing a particular talent for cabinet-making. Early in his life he began writing poetry and children’s rhymes, mainly in the Scots language he used in everyday life.

His song Wee Willie Winkie along with other verse by Miller, first appeared in Whistle Binkie: Stories for the Fireside, a compendium of songs, in 1841, it went on to appear in further editions of that and many, many more publications since then. However it was not received well at first, indeed the editor of Whistle-Binkie,David Robertson was not keen on the grumpy figure personifying sleep and it was received with mixed opinions by Robertson’s friends. To settle the dissent, he dispatched the manuscript to R. M. Ballantyne of Edinburgh (who had himself contributed much to the publication and was the writer of over 100 books in his lifetime) who asserted, according to the Perthshire Advertiser that:

“There is not at this moment in the whole range of Scottish songs, anything more exquisite in its kind than that little Warlock of the Nursery, “Wee Willie Winkie.”

Miller suffered from ill health throughout his life and never managed to make a career solely as a poet and continued to work as a cabinet-maker and wood-turner for most of his life, most of the time from his own house, he did however have his fans, Lord Jeffrey, founder of the prestigious Edinburgh Review, being one, another was the Countess of Selkirk, and it was during one of his bouts of illness it became known she helped the erstwhile poet out when reported in The Glasgow Herald in 1846 that…:

“We learn that the Countess of Selkirk has transmitted to Mr David Robertson of this city, by the hands of the Rev.Mr Underwood of Kirkeudbright, the sum of £2, for behoof of William Miller, the author of “Wee Willie Winkie,” &c.; her Ladyship having been impressed with a favourable opinion of the poet from having perused his Nursery Rhymes. Mr Miller is so much improved, that he is now able to pursue his occupation of a wood-turner.”

In November 1871, an ulceration of the leg forced William give up his trade. Despite the increasing frailties of his body, his mind remained as sharp as ever and he continued to write and disseminate poetry, works which appeared in publications such as The Scotsman. Learning of his condition as an invalid, The Greenock Telegraph and Clyde Shipping Gazette on the 1st March 1872 urged its readers to furnish monetary contributions ‘for this deserving old poet:

WILLIAM MILLER THE POET.

“Perhaps the most delicious nursery song that has been written by a modern minstrel for the delectation of the “bairns” in these northern regions is the song of “Wee Willie Winkie.” We are sorry to hear that the writer of it has for a long time past been an invalid, and that he is in poor circumstances. William Miller has a strong claim on the public for some help to smooth his declining years. He is now upwards of sixty, and at his advanced age, afflicted as he is with serious disease of the limbs, there is no prospect of his ever being able again to resume work. By trade he is a wood turner, and he resides in Glasgow, of which city he is a native. One who knows him says that his heart seems still young, his mind still vigorous; but he feels his position irksome and his spirit galled that he cannot now, as formerly, earn by the swear of his brow the bread of independence.”

You have to love the language of the day used in these newspapers!

The following July, Miller stayed at Blantyre for a time, hoping that the town’s airs – the settlement was 8 miles from Glasgow – would reinvigorate him. The trip proved futile and he was soon returned to his son’s house in the city, having suffered a paralysis of the lower limbs. He passed away, destitute, at the age of 62 on the 20th August, 1872.

The poet subsequently received a number of obituary notices in the newspapers lamenting the loss of this Scottish talent. The account below, in The Greenock Telegraph and Clyde Shipping Gazette on the 22nd August, 1872), reports the grim news:

DEATH OF WILLIAM MILLER, THE POET

“The death is announced of William Miller, the nursery poet. He was born in Glasgow in August, 1810. He was early apprenticed to a wood turner, and by diligent application to business made himself one of the best workmen of his craft; and even in his later years there were few who could equal him in the quality of his work. It is, however, as a poet that he is known to fame. In his early youth he published several pieces in the Day and other newspapers; but from the fact that no record of these productions was observed, it is impossible to know when they issued from his pen.

The first thing that brought him into public notice was the publication of the nursery song “Willie Winkie.” The MS. of this song was sent to Mr. Ballantine in Edinburgh, who gave it unqualified praise, as being the very best poem of its kind that he had ever seen. This led to the publication of the poem, and it at once attracted a large amount of attention. This was followed by a number of other pieces of a similar description, all of which were received with great favour, and led to the author’s acquaintance with Lord Jeffrey and other gentlemen of literary tastes.

The best of his nursery songs which have obtained for him the well-earned title of the Laureate of the nursery were all written before he was 36 years of age; but it was not till 1863 that, at the request of several friends, he collected together and published a small volume, entitled “Nursery Songs and other Poems.” It had a wide circulation and has earned for the author a reputation that will never decay.

Miller is buried in Tollcross Cemetery in a plot that does not bear his name a sad state of affairs that led to friends and admirers raising a memorial stone by public subscription and it stands in the Glasgow Necropolis, near the Bridge of Sighs.

In 2009, Glasgow City Council unveiled a tribute to the poet at his former dwelling, 4 Ark Lane in Dennistoun, erecting a bronze plaque on the wall of the Tennent’s Brewery which now sits on the site of William Miller’s house. A blue plaque in the Trongate also serves as a quirky tribute to his most famous creation, declaring that ‘Wee Willie Winkie was spotted here in his nightgown’ in 1841.

It is clear that, even now, William Miller’s pyjama-clad figure still urges children to get into their beds and sleep as a nursery song learnt and replayed the world over

Here is the Scots version of ‘Wee Willie Winkie,’ a rhyme anglicised very soon after its publication:

Wee Willie Winkie runs through the toon,

Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-goon,

Tirling at the window, cryin’ at the lock,

Are the weans in their bed, for it’s now ten o’clock?

Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye coming ben?

The cat’s singing grey thrums to the sleeping hen,

The dog’s spelder’d on the floor, and disna gie a cheep,

But here’s a waukrife laddie that winna fa’ asleep.

Onything but sleep, you rogue, glow’ring like the mune,

Rattling in an airn jug wi’ an airn spoone,

Rumbling, tumbling round about, crawing like a cock,

Skirlin’ like a kenna-what, wauk’ning sleeping fock.

Hey, Willie Winkie – the wean’s in a creel,

Wambling aff a bodie’s knee like a very eel,

Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug, and raveling a’ her thrums-

Hey, Willie Winkie – see, there he comes!’

Wearied is the mither that has a stoorie wean,

A wee stumple stoussie, that canna rin his lane,

That has a battle aye wi’ sleep before he’ll close an ee

But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.

#scotland #scottish #history #cabinet maker #poet #makar #wee willie winke

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