#my soup is done. I shall retire

[llycaons]

hm yeah forgive me if this is blindly obvious to everyone/not really unique but um I don’t think lwj ever wanted to die with wwx or particularly wanted to give up his life, even if he risked it when he fought for what he believed in. I think he would die for wwx if the circumstances called for it, but unlike wwx I see him as such a continuously life-affirming character for himself as well as people he’s close to. he’s selfless but not self-sacrificial to the degree that we see other characters. he just never comes to a point where he would give up on that, on living that life that’s filled with good things he loves, or at least on living a life he can be proud of. he fights for that. he persists in his actions and values even in the face of the death of the person he loved the most, a situation where other characters in the series absolutely just lose it. he wants the people he loves to thrive and he wants to be by their side...he wouldn’t accept dying with them or after them. for both their sakes

#sorry if this makes no sense I'm hitting 21 hours awake #I also don't want to sound like I'm judging wwx or character who aren't this way. im not I juts think lwj is kind of unique in #his simultaneous utter devotion to his loved ones but his recitence to engage in meaningless acts of extreme self-sacrifice #or self-destruction #like wwx do. like jc does even #I don't think wwx or jc being self-sacrificial is a character flaw but it is a very sad manifestation of their circumstances and the way #they were raised and taught #meanwhile lwj is like. he wants a good life for himself and his loved ones and he wants them to be together #and he;s going to keep working at that #oh my god I just realized this stands out to me because half the characters who die in this show commit suicide out of despair #like it's more of a genre trope at this point than a commentary on suicide itself #myu. xxc. wwx. qin su #mxy even #when his loved one dies he stays and he keeps working for a world his loved one would have liked and he never stops looking #again. not that any of these characters were weak or anything. lwj's just the exception #suicide m #have I mentioned how sorry I am that this is nonsensical #my soup is done. I shall retire #cql txp

[murdockparker]

Roses and Regrets Part 2

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: What a pleasant life it is, to be a widow with no obligations. Getting new dresses, making unlikely friends, what a treat.

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: 18+!!! MINORS DNI (I will haunt you)

Warnings: female masturbation, yearning, Reader decidedly hates Anthony (what's new??) , maybe a bit of angst

A/N: oops my hands slipped and this is what happened. sorry bout that, bruv!

first part - next part

—

“You should have seen him, Meg.”

Her lady’s maid nodded along to Lady Barlow’s rant, having heard the interaction in nauseam since she returned from the park. From his appearance to his demeanor—Meg assumed she might as well have been there. Carefully, she continued to remove the pins from the dowager viscountess’ hair, the very same that she had placed in the morning. 

“I am sure Lord Bridgerton was certainly unagreeable,” Meg droned, accidentally snagging her lady’s hair. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“You know, you don’t have to do all that, I am a perfectly capable woman,” (Y/N) laughed, looking at her maid in the mirror. “And he was, unagreeable, if you must know.”

“He is alway unagreeable,” Meg said, exasperated. “My lady, please take no offense, but I think this talk of Lord Bridgerton must cease.”

“You do not have to ask me twice,” (Y/N) snorted. “I wish for nothing more than to stop speaking about that oaf.”

Meg blinked. “Right. Of course.”

“You… you do not believe me?”

“I believe you believe it to be true,” Meg carefully stated, hands by her sides. “We have a good friendship, ma’am, and I am ever grateful that you allow me to speak my mind—”

“So speak it,” (Y/N) said, voice tittering on a giggle. “I shall not take offense, I swear it.”

“You have done nothing but speak of Lord Bridgerton since you arrived from your visit to the park,” Meg began, choosing her words carefully. “Save for when you had your meals, hard to speak over soup and the like. I, for one, am exhausted hearing about it. Perhaps a respite from the topic?”

“Imagine how I feel,” (Y/N) finally laughed. “That man makes me insane.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I pray whenever he marries—oh that poor woman—I hope she can teach him some manners.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perhaps I should send him a book on it? Manners, I mean.”

“Good idea, ma’am.”

“Meg, you are not hearing me.”

“Oh I am hearing you,” Meg nodded. “I am just choosing not to listen.”

She bit her lip, eyeing her friend’s faraway glance. Glassy, almost. “Perhaps… I suppose I should drop the topic for now?”

“It is late,” Meg shook her head, nearly dropping out of a trance. “I have mending to attend to, if you do not mind.”

“You hate the mending.”

“Picking and choosing my battles, ma’am,” Meg smiled politely. 

“Admirable,” (Y/N) said. “I suppose it is late…”

“Might I fetch you some more tea before you retire?” She set the last pin down amongst the vanity. Covered in expensive oils and products, it’s a wonder that anyone could find anything at all on the surface. Thank God Meg knew the contents like the back of her hand.

“No… I fear it will keep me up all night, but thank you, truly,” (Y/N) said. 

“Goodnight, my lady.”

And then, she was alone. 

Snuffing her candle, she hopped into her bed. Thankfully she never shared this one with Lord Barlow—that was reserved in the wing across the estate—leaving this bed untouched by such a soiled man. It was pleasantly plush and covered in endless pillows, she wondered if the royal princesses slept in beds as nice as this one—nicer, probably. More pillows, if she had to wager.

Sheets pulled up to her chin, eyes focused on the ceiling, she tried to chase sleep. Her mother had taught her a trick when she was young, imagining rabbits chasing around the room and counting those—perhaps it was sheep? Regardless, she tried counting. She only made it to twenty nine before flipping onto her side, exasperated by the count. 

Sleep never came.

The covers melted off of her body in an instant, floating over to her door to ensure it was locked. Quietly, oh-so quietly, she turned the latch. No need for the staff to interrupt her… sleep. She hardly had to turn to such matters, but when exhaustion cycled her brain and not her body, leaving her tossing and turning all night, she really had no other choice. 

No other choice, she reminded herself. 

She laid on top of the covers this time, rabbits and sheep all but forgotten.

If there was to be one positive of marrying, it was the sheer fact that she was able to fully understand her body as a woman. While the marital act itself was entirely loathsome—a chore with Lord Barlow that happened infrequently during their marriage to try for an heir—the act of doing it alone? 

Why the idea alone just got her heart pounding. 

She never had anyone to teach her these things, her mother passed before her marriage, so there was no ‘wedding night talk’. Everything that Lady Barlow had learned was from her sheer will and determination—a chase for something she never quite knew she was racing towards. Her husband? He had never been any help. A few grunts and thrusts before he would spend himself inside, collapsing on top of her for the night. 

She refused to give her late husband much thought—not when her hands were on her breasts, one slinking lower to touch a more delicate area. 

No. She needed to focus her thinking on something else. Something to get the job done, send her to sleep sooner than later. 

The gentleman. The faceless one that she imagined in place of her own hands. It usually sped things along if she focused on a generally well-looking fellow and how he’d touch her instead of just chasing her own feelings with her fingertips. Saved her wrists a lot of pain too—occasionally she felt like she was back practicing her penmanship, writing lines all day with her governess—the ache was fairly similar. Although, one pain caused a higher embarrassment than the other.

Decidedly happy with her diversion of thought, she made quick work on the bottom of her nightdress and pulled it up to her stomach. (Y/N) had never the need to sleep with drawers, feeling a dress was more than enough. Besides, it gave her easy access on nights like tonight. Her fingers danced with her lower lips, already damp with arousal. 

She sighed at the first contact, the pure ecstasy of running her fingertips across her glistening folds. In her mind, he was doing this to her, the nameless man who wanted nothing more than to give her what she needed. With slow and tantalizing circles, she teased her clit, gasps leaving her lips involuntarily, her eyes rolling shut before she could even think. Her non-dominant hand continued to grasp at her breast, squeezing and rolling the flesh until she was utterly mindless. 

The climb was thrilling, it was suffocating and all encompassing. How she dreamed she could experience this with someone, feel this pleasure with another, both giving and taking exactly what the other needed. She groaned again, feeling herself getting closer to the edge, her circles faster now, the gentleman making good work on her neglected center. 

“Gods,” (Y/N) cried, trying her very best to keep her voice down. She didn’t need Meg inquiring about her, not when she was so worked up and so, so close.

And then… the fall. Everything was white and her heart felt like it was bound to beat out of her chest.     

Brown eyes.

As she fell into a peaceful slumber, for no reason in particular, she decided her faceless gentleman had brown eyes. 

—

Breaking her fast was usually rewarding, the chefs at Barlow Estate were some of the most talented in the ton—of course, only in her humble opinion, not that she had much to compare it to. When she first married Lord Barlow, having such fulfilling meals first thing in morning was almost worth marrying such an oaf. Almost.

“Did you have a good sleep, ma’am?” A butler asked, taking (Y/N)’s empty plate, replacing it with one full of fresh cut fruit.

“Oh!” Her face flushed. “Y-yes, James, of course. I always have a pleasant sleep.”

“You look well rested, ma’am,” he nodded.

“My lady,” Meg spoke up, gaining the attention of Lady Barlow from her fruit. “You have an appointment at the modiste early this afternoon.”

“I don’t recall making an appointment,” (Y/N) held her hand still, half of an apple tight in her grasp.

“I made the appointment, ma’am,” Meg said. “You are in need of new dresses—” 

“Is there something wrong with the way I dress?”

“Of course not,” Meg said quickly, her face growing slightly pink. “It is just, since the late Lord Barlow passed you have been in mourning attire—blacks, blues, the entire dreary ensemble. I figured it would be best to get dresses that suited more the colors of the season.”

“I am unsure if you noticed,” (Y/N) said, taking a small bite of her apple. She chewed it quickly. “But my dress today is green.”

“I did notice,” Meg nodded politely. “It is a lovely color, but perhaps a lighter blue would be nice? A purple?”

“Perhaps you should listen to her, ma’am,” James interjected. “The family account has not been used since after your wedding and the mourning attire—”

“And I can use that money elsewhere,” (Y/N) raised her brow. “I’m sure the new viscount will be pleased I am not blowing his money so frivolously, I do not see the need for new dresses.”

Meg sighed, giving James a trying look. He shrugged. “Humor me. Just one dress.”

“Fine. One dress."

Somehow, between the carriage ride to the modiste and the tailoring of a beautiful purple display piece, Lady (Y/N) Barlow was talked into three new dresses. A sharp pinprick to her left leg brought her back to her senses. 

“Oh! Lady Barlow, I do apologize,” Madame Delacroix said. “You must keep still as I pin your hems."

“I will try my best,” (Y/N) smiled, glancing down at the woman working hard on her new dress. “How fortunate the display dress you had fits so well.”

“Oui, how fortunate,” Madame Delacroix nodded. “A few pins and stitches and it will be perfect. And this color is very flattering—I am certain the men of the ton will turn their heads at this.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I have no need to turn heads, Madame,” (Y/N) said curtly. “I am simply just refreshing my wardrobe.”

“Oh, no one has the need to turn heads, save for the young ladies,” Madame Delacroix giggled, it sounded almost fake, forced. “But my work will do that regardless, so do expect that Lady Barlow.”

“Joy,” (Y/N) sighed, tilting her head at her reflection. While it hadn’t been an extraordinarily long time since she debuted—a shake over three years at the most—she was no longer the young girl from her first season. Her curves have filled out, her features more defined, so this particular cut was suiting her just fine. Madame Delacroix was the best modiste for a reason, knowing just how to make the ladies of the ton sparkle.

The front door swung open, a sea of blue flooding in the entryway. “Ah, Lady Bridgerton, I shall be with you in a moment!” Madame Delacroix called out.

(Y/N) froze at the mere mention of the Bridgerton name.

“Take your time, Madame,” Lady Bridgerton cooed, practically shoving a book of fabrics in her daughter’s face. Eloise, (Y/N) recalls, the second eldest daughter of the brood. It was her first season. “We’ll be patient.”

“Shall I pull another dress, Lady Barlow?”

“No,” (Y/N) shook her head wildly. “I rather think I am finished for this afternoon. Please add the dresses to my account—”

“Lady Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton said kindly. “How lovely it is to see you.”

Fuck.

“Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) curtsied, feeling far too proper. “Likewise.”

“What a lovely color that is on you,” she said, eying the girl up and down. “I take it you are out of mourning then, yes?”

“Have been since the Danbury Ball,” (Y/N) nodded. “But I gather Lady Whistledown has already made that public knowledge.” 

Lady Bridgerton's cheeks flushed, like a child with their hand caught in the biscuit jar. “I cannot say that I find myself reading that gossip rag often, but—”

“Oh Mother,” Eloise groaned, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. “You read Whistledown just as often as I.”

“I do not blame you, Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) quickly added. The older woman’s shoulders relaxed. “For the many months I was in mourning and not socializing, Whistledown was my way I could keep up with everything. I very much would like to thank her, should I ever get the opportunity.”

“Yes, well,” Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat. “In any case, if you happen to be free tomorrow afternoon, would you like to join me for tea?”

“Tea?”

“I remember how it felt when—” she stopped herself, eyes becoming glassy. “Becoming a widow so suddenly is difficult. I would like to bestow my wisdom upon you if you’d allow it.”

“You are not quite old enough to be bestowing wisdom,” (Y/N) laughed lightly.

“I beg to differ,” Eloise mumbled.

“Flattery, Lady Barlow, will get you everywhere,” Lady Bridgerton smiled, elbowing her daughter lightly. “And you already have the invite, no need to lay it on so thick.”

“That is very kind of you, but—”

“So, shall we say noon tomorrow?”

The Bridgertons, as Lady Barlow gathered, were a difficult lot to say no to.

“Noon. Sounds perfect.”

—

It felt odd, being in the drawing room of Bridgerton House. She only ever had the fleeting thought that she’d ever sit here the once—ages ago during her first season. Now? Now she was sitting and drinking tea with Lady Bridgerton as if nothing was wrong in the world.

“You have a lovely home,” (Y/N) said, holding her teacup a little tighter than she should. 

“Thank you,” Lady Bridgerton said voice full of appreciation. “Tell me, Lady Barlow, how is your family?”

“My family?”

“Oh, forgive me for asking,” Lady Bridgerton clarified. “I just had realized that I know very little about you, you were only in the season for such a short time before you married. I figured your family was a good place to start.”

“No, no,” (Y/N) put the cup down. “I understand. Seeing as everyone knows about your family,” Lady Bridgerton chuckled at that, “I should only fill in some blank spaces, I suppose.”

The elder dowager nodded her head, tipping her cup at the younger widow to continue.

“No family, I’m afraid,” (Y/N) said, her voice wavering on sad. “Mother passed a few years before my debut, Father just last year. No siblings, so… just me I’m afraid.”

“Goodness,” Lady Bridgerton pressed a hand to her heart. “Your father and husband in the same year? I am truly sorry for your losses.”

“My mother was the true loss,” she said honestly, her voice practically lifting. “Kindest soul to grace this Earth, I mourn her every day. The others? I do not doubt anyone has missed them.”

“Lord Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton dropped a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “He was an odious man. When I had heard he had taken another wife—it was quite the story around the ton. I was beside myself.”

“I happen to be number three,” (Y/N) said matter-of-factly. “Number One and Two both died in childbirth, trying to give that man his beloved heir. Never worked out, and I cannot say I am crestfallen I never came to be with child, either. The new Lord Barlow is quite well suited for the role regardless, I am told, so I suppose it has worked out for the best.”

“Yes,” Lady Bridgerton had a small smile against her lips, “I can imagine so.”

“Does your son,” (Y/N) coughed, correcting herself, “Lord Bridgerton, does he know I am here for tea?”

“Oh my son is not always privy to my social calendar,” the older woman winked. “He is probably out galavanting and trying to find a wife.”

“A wife?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Bridgerton nearly beamed. “Lord Bridgerton is finally looking to marry—even after all these years of begging him. Something just clicked last season, I suppose. Perhaps Daphne, the duchess, marrying finally gave him the right idea?”

(Y/N) nodded politely. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“I only wish for the best for all eight of my children,” she nodded, “so seeing him look to marry makes me ever hopeful.” 

“Mhm,” (Y/N) sank into more of her cup, polishing it off.

The grand clock ticked away. 

“I apologize if this all makes you uncomfortable Lady Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton started. “It is just… when Edmund passed, I had my family and wonderful friends to support me. I figured, perhaps, having another friend would not be the worst thing?”

“Lady Bridgerton, you are very kind for checking in with me, and I very much appreciate this tea,” (Y/N) said honestly. She felt like she could jump out of her skin with anxiety, but tried her very best to keep it under control. “But… as you had alluded, it is no secret that Lord Barlow and I were not a love match. There is no need—”

“Being a widow is hard,” Lady Bridgerton cut her off. “It is rotten work and you feel like a shell of yourself, only having a title such as ours because of who we married and not in our own right. Tell me, do you plan on remarrying?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am quite content with my life,” (Y/N) said thoughtfully. “Widows have all the freedom in the world, I am allowed many opportunities because of it—far more than when I was simply a little thing on the Marriage Mart.”

“I suppose that would be… correct,” Lady Bridgerton treaded lightly. “However, do you not wish for a family? The support of another?”

“It is not that I do not wish for a family,” (Y/N) said truthfully. “I am sure part of me does, but it is more the matter of everything that comes with it.”

“I could never imagine going about life alone,” Lady Bridgerton said. “After Edmund… I am just grateful my children were here to keep me sane, grounded, even.”

“Children can be a blessing…”

“But children,” Lady Bridgerton added quickly, “they are not for everyone. I hope you find happiness in whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” the young viscountess said sincerely. “You have such a wonderful life, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Violet,” she corrected. “Please, call me Violet.”

“Oh,” (Y/N)’s cheeks darkened. “Violet, then.”

“We are friends now, after all,” Violet smiled kindly, the kind of smile only a mother possessed. She waved for the tea to be replaced, a butler practically rushed to fulfill the viscountess’ request. “More tea?”

“I would love some more,” (Y/N) said, feeling lighter than air. Perhaps having a friend was a good step forward, a leap into the right direction.

The door to the drawing room slammed open.

“Mother, I just received our balance from the modiste and—”

Much like he owned the place—and in a way, he did—Lord Bridgerton took command of the less-than-quaint room and had all eye on him. His own eyes—his brown eyes—were trained solely on the widow sitting beside his mother, his mouth agape.

“Oh Anthony, you cannot just barge in here,” Violet scolded, “we have a guest.”

“I see that,” he seethed, shoving his hands behind his back in faux-decorum. “Lady Barlow.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded stiffly, not bothering to raise from her seat.

He ignored her, turning swiftly to his mother instead. “May I have a word alone with our guest, Mother?”

Feeling the tension in the room rise, Violet sighed, giving into her son’s request. “I believe I should check on the governess, anyhow,” Violet said, rising from her seated position. “Behave.”

Anthony brushed his mother’s whispered warning off, tilting his head to the staff, all leaving the room at his command. The door had barely clicked shut before he stepped forward. “Since when are you friends with my mother?”

“Since when do you care about who I spend my time with?”

“Since that company is my mother,” he said cooly. “I would have thought you were just so turned off by the Bridgerton name that you would ignore all of my family—”

“She is a nice woman,” (Y/N) rose, crossing her arms. “How you managed to turn out the way you have despite that is beyond me.”

“You are in my home,” Anthony pointed. “You insult my character and you dare try to befriend my mother?”

“Dare?” She laughed. “Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“Not with my mother,” he stepped towards her. 

“Your mother,” she smiled forcefully, “Violet, has been nothing but kind to me today. She was merely looking out for me—offered me some good advice.”

“Advice?” He laughed. “On what planet could someone many years your senior offer you helpful advice?”

“You could not settle with just insulting me, so you had to insult your own mother? She is not yet elderly—”

“Yet she is older than you,” he corrected, his cheeks pink from his mistake. “Do you not have friends your own age?”

“Do you not have something better to do?”

He huffed, squeezing his wrist in restraint. “I came here to speak with my mother—”

“Yet you shooed her out of the room and decided to speak to me instead,” she countered, stepping closer. “To insult me? To threaten me? Whichever, I suppose, I will never understand. I decided to take tea with Lady Bridgerton because she offered it—offered advice on being a widow, something you have already known about me.”

“I wouldn’t wish for her to hear our conversation, besides, her advice could not have been that helpful,” Anthony snorted. “My parents were in love, her trials of being a widow pales in comparison to your situation—”

“The one in which I also lost a husband? The sole definition of being a widow?” She said, her arms tight against her chest. “That situation?”

The grand clock—that damned grand clock—chimed in the uncomfortable silence, a new hour beginning.

“I may not have loved Lord Barlow,” she admitted. “He may not even have been a friend to me, but I still am a lady who has lost her husband—a lady who has so much as lost her way in this fucked world, a world where a woman cannot simply be without one. Your mother was simply being kind.”

“I did not mean…” Anthony’s posture softened, even just a bit, words caught in his throat.

“But you did,” she pointed. “If you hadn’t meant it, you wouldn’t have said it. My, Lord Bridgerton, you certainly have a way with words, much like you always have, it seems.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She looked at the clock. “I must take my leave. I am expected to be back home soon, the estate certainly cannot run itself, seeing as my husband,” she nearly spat the word, “has left it to my care. What a thoughtful man he was.”

“I—Lady Barlow,” Anthony started, unsure of where he was going with it. “Please accept my apologies.”

“Keep them,” she smiled. “They are nearly as useless as you are. Excuse me.” Lady Barlow opened the door with haste, nodding to the staff members who were waiting outside. Her lady’s maid, Meg, followed only a few steps behind her, her attention caught on the wounded viscount in blue.

Anthony practically dissolved into the arm chair, unsure of what to do next. He had half a mind to go to his study to drink, to pour over the invoices that had him enter this room in the first place. His interactions with Lady Barlow usually left him buzzing, his blood boiling and his ego only partially wounded. How he was left feeling so defeated was beyond him.

“A way with words?” He mumbled to himself. “I never wish to understand that woman.”

Yet, a part of him nearly screamed the opposite.

How peculiar.  

—

Roses and Regrets Tag List:

@creative-heart , @sunshineangel-reads

want to be added to my taglist? comment below!

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #x reader #oopsies #didn't expect to write some steamy bits already in chapter 2 but oh well!! reader is pent up i guess

[lonely-lighthouse-keeper]

JOURNAL OF THE LIGHTHOUSE STATION AT CACHALOT COVE

[[ log 41 ]]

~Partly Cloudy Conditions All Day, Full Sun 1130-1500~

~Wind Speeds Up to 8 km/h~

Time of writing this log is 2210

Duties done:

𓇼 General Cleaning

𓇼 Lunch~ Mashed Potatoes and Gravy, Meatballs, Salad

𓇼 Dinner~ Rice, Meatballs, Salad

Hello dear logbook! This has been my first full day working at the soup kitchen! Funny how it’s called a soup kitchen, yet no soups have been made yet. The weather was much more bearable today, and no smoke in the vicinity either! Much less stressful too, but I shall now retire to the comfort not so comfort of the bed I am borrowing for these few nights

May the Seas and Stars Guide You~~

#lighthousecore #sirencore #piratecore #siren aesthetic #lighthouse aesthetic #mermaid aesthetic #lighthouse #lighthouse keeper #ocean #oceancore #nautical #nauticalcore #seacore #ocean aesthetic #goblincore #coastal #cachalotcove #calico #keeperslogbook

[shut-up-rabert]

After hours

Last night my brother and I had our devices taken at around 12-ish because according to my Mata ji “ye haramkhor 2 baje tak dekhte rahenge” (the sad thing is we couldn’t protest because she was right lmao, she even took the notebook which I was scribbling on)

So here we lay, 2 sloths of persons who have snored till noon and will not be feeling any drowsiness anytime soon, just sitting up and whispering in the dimly lit room as the city sleeps. One of the multiple things we bond over is our mutual love for the after hours: despite our clashing choices, we always seem to match on subliminal things. He loves the calmness and freedom, I admire the mystery and fantasy. Collectively we are fascinated by that one Shinchan movie where he goes out at midnight and discovers this whole new world (I think it was Golden Sword??) which clicked to both of us.

One of the things he mentions in this conversation is his love for soup, and how he desires have it at midnights and just talk, which is something I agree upon. It seems both calm and fantastical, I guess.

Moments later, I hear my mother coughing in the kitchen: she’s taking her homemade cough medicine. I go to check up on her and see soup packets lying around in the drawer. A craving creeps on me and before I can rationally think, I’m asking her if I can go ahead and make myself some.

At first she is reluctant; its 1 in the morning, but Papa and her have always been against us going to bed hungry, so she relents and answers all my questions regarding one italian mushroom soup: how much black pepper is needed for one bowl, how much salt should be added, what quantity of soup powder…..

As soon as she retires to her room, I go ahead and put another bowl of water in the saucepan. To them, my brother is asleep (as he should be, he has an exam the next day) but not giving him some when it was his idea just feels wrong.

Cooking the soup is easy: it boils over by the time I’m done squishing the lumps of soup powder on a spoon and dropping them back in. Now, when it comes to adding the tastemaker, I go ahead and add a pinch or two more than double the quantity my mother prescribed for a bowl. My brother likes his soup seasoned well, so adding two pinches of red pepper seems risky but not unwarranted.

He pouts when he sees me barging in with the cream coloured broth: he wanted hot and sour. I tell him to shutup and eat it and he does.

“This is excellent!”

For a moment, I feel as if I’m being mocked. No matter how much blood, sweat, tears and love I pour in making him anything, he has one reply to encompass my hardwork: this is shit.

He backs his first claim, says I did a great job, and how he has a new favourite soup that tastes like mom’s pasta.

We talk even more; there is laughing, arguing, offence and satire. The words said are not with me anymore but the feelings will forever be.

While chattering about random nonsense, our train of topic halts at our earlier midnight adverts: we did this first time with namkeen when we used to read stories together and second time with maggie reading encyclopedias together (the first time I made midnight maggie was atrocious; my father who was simply checking on me had to join in and make it better)

Our devices were taken so to keep us from staying up till two, but the night ended with yours truly having to scold both my brother and I into finally lying down at three.

This was our third series of midnight mishapps, who knows how many more will be there, I wish for many, because these carefree, personal, fantasy-esque moments with the one person who understands me the best, one I can hold serious and non serious talks with over a cup of soup, are one of the core memories my soul shall take away from this life.

#bhoi being writer #This experience is love

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

Blacklisted

"Blacklisted…" Marinette whispered her face blank as she stared at Chloe's worried face. "Adrien and Lila had Gabriel blacklist me." Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she choked back sobs, she covered her face with her hands. Chloe moved quickly pulling her shaking friend into her arms. "What am I going to do Chloe? Fashion was my future-and-and they ruined it for me. Four years of college all for nothing." Marinette sobbed into Chloe's shoulder as both girls sank to the ground.

"I don't know Marinette, I really don't know." Chloe said quietly she pulled back and pulled a handkerchief out of her bag. She brushed it across Marinette's cheeks wiping away the tears. "My mother confronted him and he refused to unblacklist you. It ended in a screaming match and mother declaring that Bourgeois would never associate with them again. Mother has been trying to counter the blacklist but Agreste has gotten too far already Mari." Marinette sniffled nodding as Tikki and Pollen flew over to their holders tentatively, the other Kwami remained near Pollen's little mansion.

"There is nothing that can be done? There has to be something!" Tikki said with anger clear in her voice. Marinette gave her a sad smile holding out her hand for Tikki to sit in it. Pollen landed in Chloe's open hand curling her arms around Chloe's thumb.

"No Tikki there is nothing we can do. We just have to move on." Marinette said they could all hear the anguish in her voice. She took a deep breath stopping herself from crying. "Plagg," she called softly , causing the Kwami to fly over. "normally I wouldn't allow this, but I think Gabriel has a streak of bad luck coming don't you?" Plagg was silent before her let out a loud cackle flying around Marinette's head.

"Oh kid, you're my favorite Ladybug for sure! What do you say Tikki, want to take away his creativity?" Tikki frowned part of her wanted to join in, but part of her pointed out that she should be the better person. "Come on Sugar Cube, I know you want to get payback for your chosen." Plagg said softly, smirking more when Tikki sighed and nodded. 

"But only once." She said looking at him with her own glare.

"It's funny," Audrey commented during dinner, she looked up with a smirk. "ever since Gabriel made the mistake of blacklisting you six months ago his designs have really dropped." She let out a laugh before taking a sip of her wine. "On top of that he has not only lost workers, but I heard there is a scandal going on with his son and the model of his!" Chloe snorted at that shaking her head, she took a bite of her steak. She glanced over at Marinette sending her a gentle smile, Marinette returned it before turning back to Audrey. "Mari dear, have you decided on what you want to do? I told you once I have absolutely no problem with you remaining here. On top of that I am more than willing to help you sell your designs under the acronym MDC like you've been doing with Jagged." Marinette glanced down at her food before looking up with a small smile.

"I am going to keep designing for Jagged and Clara. However I will not for others

, no, I have other plans now. Audrey you like my food, pastries, and weird drinks, yes?" Audrey glanced at Chloe in confusion before nodding.

"Yes I find it pretty amazing that you can make pastries from all over the world. Your apple pie is my favorite, although it is the reason that I have to work out so much." The comment caused the two young women to burst into soft laughter. "What does this have to do with anything?" Marinette smiled and placed her elbows on the table resting her chin on one hand. She smirked slightly thinking over her plan. 

"You see they derailed my dream just a bit, yes, but I have two loyal customers so I'm not completely stuck. I am not a one trick pony, I have a lot of talents." The mother and daughter were silent both confused, causing Marinette to laugh softly. "I was raised in a bakery, and my Great Uncle is a world renowned chef. I think a restaurant is in my future." Audrey smirked as she held her wine glass up.

"You see Mari, this is why you're one of my favorites, you never let anything keep you down. You'll have my backing and my husband's as well. With Chloe's help we are going to make your restaurant a hit." She shared a smile with her daughter knowing that Marinette's restaurant would be a hit when it opened. "Just one question Mari, what is the theme?" Marinette smirked looking over at Chloe with a twinkle in her eye.

"It's going to be subtlety themed around Paris's heros. Ladybug, Lynx(Felix), Viperion, Ryuko, Queen Bee and current Honeywell. Each hero will have their own signature dish. That is their personal favorite, Ladybug's is macaroons with her famous spotted design. Lynx's is Soupe à l'oignon, and so on. Desserts will be specially designed after their hero., While meals will be served on dishes resembling their costumes." 

“Well, you know you’ll have my full backing. Once you pick the perfect location I will have construction workers on the site, and once they’re done interior decorators to listen to your every input! On top of that I will make sure to talk up your restaurant to every business partner I have.” Audrey declared gently dabbing around her mouth with a napkin. She placed the napkin down before standing up; she made her way to Chloe grabbing her daughter's face and kissing her forehead gently, before doing the same to Marinette. “Now it is time for me to retire to bed. Don’t stay up too late girls!” She waved walking to the door nodding when Butler Jean opened the door for her. “Much appreciate Jean.” She gave him a rare smile, one which he returned with his own. Chloe and Marinette shared a look giggling softly together as Jean closed the door behind Audrey.

“Well, Dupain-Cheng, shall we retire as well?” Chloe said mimicking her mother’s voice. Marinette snorted covering her face with her napkins as Butler Jean gave Chloe a stern look struggling to hide his own smile.

“It’s beautiful.” Audrey said in awe taking in her once protegees restaurant. The outside of the store was simple yet elegant. Cream bricks with black accents, the two large windows were slightly tinted and had the name written in elegant cursive. ‘Miraculous’ The outside sitting area was gated off with a station for the host that provided shade on particularly hot days. It was divided into different sections, for certain Parisian heroes. Ladybug, Lynx, Viperion, Ryuko, and Honeywell. Each section was styled after their hero, Marinette and the interior designers had managed to make it so the colors didn’t clash. Instead they gave off a look of abstract beauty. In the middle of the outside area sat one table that had a sign stating it was permanently reserved for the original Queen Bee. The table made Chloe shine with happiness that only doubled once she realized that there was also a table inside reserved just for her. The inside was much the same except in the middle of the restaurant their was another table for Chloe. There was a window that took up much of the back wall, displaying the kitchen where ten chefs were divided in two, each learning their heroes menu together. There were two hallways on either side, the right had the bathrooms and the left had five private rooms. Each styled after their hero. "I must say, I was unsure that you'd be able to fit their colors together. However, you and the interior designers pulled it off flawlessly. May I see the menus?" Marinette smirked a twinkle in her eye as she held up five menus.

"Five menus for each hero. Which one would you like to see? The waiters and waitresses are instructed to request what hero's menu they would like to eat from. Each has eight different meals, five deserts, one specialty drink, and specialty salad, the only thing they have in common is drinks. side salads and soups. Two waiters and two chefs for each hero, more will be added if needed. The chefs have their own spaces together in the kitchen."  Marinette surveyed the restaurant, a smile taking over her face as she took in her finished product. Butler Jean walked up placing a hand on her shoulder, his gentle smile already present.

"If I may break character for just a second, I must say and I'm sure Mistress Bourgeois and Mistress Chloe agree, I am quite proud of you Miss Marinette. You've truly outdone yourself." Chloe nodded and came up hugging Marinette's arm smiling at her as Marinette started to tear up. The tears didn't fall until Audrey placed her hand on the back of Marinette's head, a rare smile on her face.

"Thank you for everything." She whispered softly, smiling brightly at them.

"Don't bemused, it's just the news! Nadja Chamack back again! Good afternoon Paris! New in Paris today, I'm sure you have all heard of the hit restaurant Miraculous that only opened a week ago! Well Paris, I have the inside scoop for you today! I was invited by the owner of the restaurant just last night! Now I am sure you are all wondering! Nadja, how did you get a direct invitation?! I was shocked too! Only to discover the owner of the restaurant was my goddaughter Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Marinette is twenty-three years old and now owns one of the most popular restaurants in Paris! Let me tell you! The restaurant is absolutely beautiful and styled after our heroes, you all know Ladybug is my personal favorite. So Marinette set up a private room for my daughter and me. She has five private rooms, all designated with a specific hero, so obviously my room was Ladybug's! I must say the restaurant is truly one of a kind! Marinette has out done herself, and its not just me saying that. Jagged Stone, Audrey Bourgeois, Clara Nightingale, and even some famous actors and musicians have all gone to Miraculous this past week. Each one had raving reviews, so much so that many celebrities and even some heroes are coming to Paris just to eat there. Pictures on Jagged's and Clara's Instagrams show them posing with a bright eyed Marinette, in one of the private rooms together! I think Paris agrees with me when I say this, congratulations Marinette, and I must say this to my goddaughter, I'm so proud of you Marinette. Now it’s time for sports-" Lila paused the tv glaring at is as she stared at the picture of Marinette between Jagged and Clara. She screamed throwing the remote at the wall, causing Adrien to tense up in their share kitchen. He sighed glaring down at his coffee only sparing a glance at the tv as he stirred. 

'When will she stop causing problems, I seriously thought she was more mature than this. But no she just has to keep thrusting herself into the spotlight knowing it'll piss Lila off.' He shook his head turning to watch his fiance finish her tantrum, as a smirk covered her face, a plan clearly forming. Only briefly did he wonder what the new lie was going to be this time. 'I am surprised she didn't just give up when we ruin her dream. Lila and father thought for sure that would break her.' He glanced down at his right hand where the ring use to rest anger growing in his chest. 'She deserves it, if she had just kept her mouth shut things would be different. No, she had to tell Ladybug everything when she discovered my identity. If it wasn't for her I'd still be Chat Noir, things would be different. I'd be with the love of my life and out of my father's control. This is all her fault, she deserves to be ruined.' Lila turned to him with a predatory smirk, her eyes glinting in the light as she walked up to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck leaning against him standing on her toes as she lifted one leg into the air. She bit her lip before kissing him and pulling back their lips barely touching as they stared into each others eyes. 

" We're going to get reservations at her crappy little restaurant, and we are going to destroy it and her name for good." Adrien smiled and placed his mug down wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulled her closer kissing her deeply before pulling back

"I'll have Nathalie set them up for us under my name. Now go get dressed, we have a photoshoot at 5." He let Lila go picking up his phone and texting Nathalie as Lila went to the shared room in their penthouse. He picked his coffee back up and starred at the picture of Marinette on the tv a smirk crossing his face. 

Two days later however they were all furious when the reservations were denied under all their names. They were only given reservations after using a fake name. When the day came they were dressed to impress and arrived in a limo. Lila smirked before letting her mask fall into place, as paparazzi turned to them and started taking pictures. She wrapped her arms around Adrien's arm giggling and waving at them until they reached the door only to be stopped by two guards and a hostess who was looking down at her book. "Name?"

"We are under Anthony Stewart." Adrien said smiling charmingly. The host ran her finger down the book till she came to the name. She nodded and looked up glancing at them before turning to the guards only to turn back surprised.

"I apologize we do have a Anthony Stewart down for reservations but you are not him." Adrien smiled nodding to her glancing at Lila. 

"Yes, you see my assistant set up the reservation for us under his name." The hostess gave them a tight smile before nodding politely. 

"Yes we do allow that to be done here. Unfortunately I am still not allowed to let you in." She said holding back a smirk at their shocked faces as the cameras began to take even more pictures.

"What do you mean you're not allowing us in?!" Lila said anger displayed clearly on her face.

"I'm truly sorry, here Maya let me take over while you take care of our other guests." Marinette said as she stepped out of the restaurant. She hair was pulled into an elegant up do, still wearing her signature black earrings. However she had a simple pairing of silver glasses on and was wearing a pink pencil skirt a white ruffled top and a black blazer. Her nails were a soft pink matching her toes as she wore black open toed heels. Both Adrien and Lila saw the glint in her eye even though she was smiling politely at them. "I really hoped you would all take the hint when reservations under your name were all rejected. You see I refuse to allow petty drama cause problems for my restaurant, and I'm afraid that you two bring drama with you where ever you go. However I can see my hint was not noticed so I'll tell you myself. Lila Rossi, Adrien Agreste, you two and your families are banned from setting foot into my restaurant. So sorry, but after you two repeatedly bullied me, spread lies about me and tried to ruin my future, I simply couldn't find it in myself to allow you in. Now please leave, your blocking other customers." Marinette turned and began to walk back into the restaurant until Adrien grabbed her arm dragging her back roughly.

"Now listen here Marinette!" He started until Marinette turned to him no fear in her eyes as she drew her free arm back and decked him. Adrien released her arm falling backwards holding his nose in pain, Marinette falling to the ground holding her arm gingerly.

"How dare you!?!" Lila snapped dropping down and wrapping her arms around Adrien's shoulders protectively, glaring at Marinette attempting to play the victims. "Thats it! We are sueing you for everything you have, I can't believe you just assaulted Adrien!" She smirked as she watched an officer get out of her car and advance on them. "Officer! Officer please arrest her! She just assaulted my fiance!" Lila cried out as tears began to fall. 

"I'm afraid I'll be taking Mr. Agreste into custody instead Miss Rossi. I was here the entire time and I watched him grab Miss Dupain-Cheng roughly. He assaulted her and she defended herself." Sabrina said staring down at the two as Lila looked up at her in shock. Another officer pulled up with his lights on and stepped out of the car. "Raincomprix, an ambulance is on the way to fix his nose before I take him in. Please make sure to get the photographers names, emails and numbers so that we can get pictures and possibly videos. Then take Miss Dupain-Cheng statement along with pictures of her and her arm, I'll take his pictures. After that get witness statements." Sabrina nodded before pulling out her notebook and walking over to the paparazzi. A few minutes later an ambulance pulled up and took care of Adrien before he was escorted to the back of the police car. Lila stood watching in shock, her mind running a mile a minute, she was quick to flee the scene once she realized pictures were still being taken.

The next day they were all over the news and everyone was on Marinette's side. Videos and pictures were all over social media and Gabriel's lawyers told him that there was no way they could save Adrien from being guilty unless they took a plea bargain. Adrien would admit his guilt and instead of jail time he had to pay Marinette a settlement and was given a restraining order to not come within fifty feet of her for five years. Gabriel's brand took a great hit and for a while Lila and Adrien couldn't step outside with out receiving glares or being refused business. Their reputations were dearly hurt and it didn't look like they'd ever be fixed. While Marinette was higher than ever everyone viewing her as a strong and amazing person after she didn't let his attack hold her back. This drove them crazy but they knew they couldn't do anything, Lila however decided that Hawkmoth just needed to target Marinette. Unluckily for them, it was that targeting that gave away Gabriel's identity to Ladybug and the Miraculous team.

A few months later it was breaking news when the Miraculous team brought in Gabriel, Natalie, and Lila and exposed them as Hawkmoth and Mayura, and that Lila was working with them. Adrien was spared after Ladybug revealed that he was Chat Noir. Everyone was ecstatic, parties were thrown and statues of the heros were placed in different parts of the city. It was shortly after that it was revealed that Gabriel blacklisted many people and allowed his designers to steal work in the hopes that they'd get others akumatized. Marinette was ecstatic that her name in fashion was cleared but she told the press she wasn't planning on going back into fashion. That only a few people would receive her designs, and they would only be those that Clara or Jagged recommended. It was a few months later that Gordon Ramsey visited her restaurant everyone was expecting Ramsey to find something to tear apart and were extremely surprised when he made a tweet praising Marinette's meals and her chefs talents. It actually spurred a friendship between the two and soon Gordon was added to the list of people that received her designs. After this everyone was going to Marinette's restaurant, they had reservations book 6 months out. Every day there is new pictures of celebrities at the restaurant Marinette was the new name in restaurants and cooking. She even agreed to star on some cooking shows. Her favorite guest spot was on Nailed it. The show was themed after heroes Jacques Torres made cupcakes specialized after America's heros, while Marinette made a five tier cake, each tier representing a different Parisian hero. Marinette lost it when she saw the cupcakes for Batman and Robin she couldn't stop laughing and immediately took pictures. Marinette and Jacques held multiple conversations in French, both struggling not to laugh as Nicole made faces at them. When Marinette pulled out the money gun she flicked her head done and a pair of Eiffel Tower shaped glasses covered her face. She looked at Nicole seriously and nodded before saying she was ready to complete the mission. This cause Nicole to burst into laughter.  After the winner was announced Marinette made another announcement, all three contestants and their family had an all expenses paid trip to Paris and a free meal at her restaurant Miraculous. It was shortly after that, that Marinette began to open more restaurants starting in each heroes city. Twenty-five percent of their earnings went to either the heros in question or a charity that they picked. Marinette's restaurants got popular quickly and soon she was named the youngest billionaire and only twenty-five years old. Everyone was shocked when majority of her money was put towards charity and thar she began different foundations to help others. She even began programs to pay for peoples schooling in university and colleges. Soon she was invited to charity events all over the world, from the Maria Stark Foundation to the Martha Wayne charity Gala. When she is twenty-six Marinette moves out of Audrey's penthouse and travels between different homes until settling down into a penthouse in New York. Audrey and Chloe both follow her over Audrey simply returning and establishing New York as her base of operations once again.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous marinette #miraculous au #miraculous fandom #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #lila salt #adrien salt #adrien x lila #nailedit #gordon ramsay #chloe bourgeois #chloe sugar #audrey bourgeois #mlb x dc #ml x dc #dc comics #marvel #maria stark foundation #martha wayne clarity gala

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Can you do a jade x reader where she's sick and needs to rest but is being too stubborn about it because she doesn't want to fall behind on her studies?

I know I have written a lot of Jade as of late due to the various Anon roleplay messages, but I felt like I needed to knock this one out.

I have been having my own sleeping troubles recently, so I can really relate to this prompt. This has made it somewhat difficult to focus and be productive at times, so I hope writing this short piece will help to reorient me.

Imagine this...

“You must.”

“I mustn’t.”

“You must.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You must, I insist.”

“I really don’t need to...!”

They’ve been at it for a few minutes now. bickering back and forth as they toiled away in the botanical garden. Alone--save for the plants that listened in, leaves and petals unfurled, piqued with interest.

You dust off your lab jacket with a gloved hand and readjust your safety goggles. These mandrakes won’t harvest themselves--and you’d be damned if you didn’t. No way are you going to back down from this argument.

You pray that he cannot see the sheen on your forehead, the heated flush that decorates your cheeks.

“Don’t worry so much about me, Jade. I’m just fi--” you nearly double over mid-sentence, but Jade swoops in and manages to break your fall. You land squarely against his chest.

“Look at you;” Jade sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders to bring you upright, “you can barely stand straight. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“4 hours is enough,” you reply stubbornly.

He frowns. “It is most certainly not. And when was the last time you’ve eaten?”

Silence.

You are quick to glance away, but it is too late--Jade sees the unmistakable guilt in your eyes.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice gentle, but with an edge to it.

“Dinner last night...” you confess, refusing to meet his disappointed gaze.

“It is nearly evening now,” Jade says sharply. “I believe I had advised you to take better care of yourself yesterday. Why have you not taken that to heart?”

“I can’t afford to fall behind in this class, I just can’t. Professor Crewel will be so angry,” you protest, gesturing to the plants that surround you. “We need to get this project done, and done well.”

“What you need to do is rest,” Jade corrects, peeling off his safety goggles. “I shall escort you home so that you may retire for the night.”

“No...! No, I refuse!”

“Do not argue with me, (Y/N). I am only concerned for your health and wellbeing--and surely you do not think you can perform at your best when you are feeling so unwell? You simply must take a break.”

“You can’t make me...!!” You jerk away from his grip--but the sudden movement sends your head spiraling. The world around you blurs, your vision spins.

And you collapse, becoming a pile of flesh, and bones, and feebleness.

“...Oya, oya. You are ill, as I suspected..” Jade comments, removing his gloves and crouching down to meet your eyes. 

“I’m...okay...!” you huff, still in denial. “Just a little dizzy, is all! Come on, we need to harvest those--”

You are silenced by the cool feeling of the back Jade’s hand against your forehead. His face is near, his wistful lips parted slightly. He is testing for your temperature, no doubt--but the motion, the closeness, the intimacy of it, sends your heart racing and your face aflame.

“You’re running a fever,” Jade declares, his voice nearly a butterfly’s whisper. His sharp eyes soften.

“Okay, so I am. You win. Are you happy now?”

“I will be once you have had a hot, nutritious meal and are sent off to bed.” Jade stands back up and extends a hand to you. “Come now.”

“But the project...”

“Leave that to me. You only need to concern yourself with a safe and speedy recovery.”

“I can’t possibly make you do all of the work, though...”

“I insist.”

You hesitate, but you eventually accept his outstretched hand. Tiredness has, at last, started to overcome you. Your eyelids are heavy, your face hot--and Jade’s smile is so alluring, his voice silken...

Surely there is no harm in following his siren’s song?

Jade hoists you up with a grin and assists with removing your protective gear, humming a soft tune all the while.

He is pleased.

“...Thanks,” you mumble shyly.

Jade chuckles, bringing a hand to his mouth. “Think nothing of it, dear. Now then, how does a warm bowl of soup sound?”

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Jade Leech #Reader #self insert #Jade Leech x Reader #Reader x Jade Leech #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland requests #twisted wonderland scenarios #imagine this

[elfyourmother]

Prompt 29: Paternal

It had grown late, the evening, and the manor was silent, with nobles, servants and retainers alike retired to their rest. Naught but the merry crackling of the fire within the mantle kept Gisele company, within the vast upstairs library. She had nestled before it, settling into a large, plush armchair, with a spot of light reading—a Nymian treatise, dry as the Sagolii Sands, and precisely the manner of doldrums she required to lull her mind into some semblance of calm. Better than the alternative, she supposed, which was lying in bed with wide eyes staring at the vaulted ceiling and fretting endlessly over Haurchefant.

“Do you never rest, dear girl?”

Gisele glanced up from her tome, startled from her contemplation of Nymian military tactics by the sound of Count Edmont’s hushed voice at the threshold. In his hands he bore a silver tray, set with one of the myriad Fortemps services; Gisele spied the porcelain tea pot in its cozy and a pair of delicately painted cups and saucers, with traditional Ishgardian accoutrements—birch syrup, yak’s milk cream, and so on—but it was the scent of warm bread which filled her senses and stirred a pang of hunger within her, along with rich, decadent chocolate. Upon the tray there was a hunk of warm baguette, paired with a ramekin filled with chocolate ganache.

“I have been known to do so, my lord, upon rare occasion,” Gisele replied, with a wry little smile. Edmont chuckled, shaking his head, and carefully crossed the plush carpeting to her chair, to place the tray upon the low table before the fire.

“I thought I’d find you here, at any rate. But if you will not rest, then at least take some few refreshments. We missed you at supper,” he said, and began to pour her cup first; the blooming scent of orange blossom filled her nostrils.

Gisele smiled, with a gracious incline of her head, and set the book down in her lap. “Thank you, my lord.”

They sat a long while, she and Edmont, blowing gently into steaming cups before the fireplace, sipping their tea in silence. Sustenance helped, of a surety; she did not realize quite how famished she’d been until then, and it occurred to her that she had in truth been eating rather poorly of late. Nothing escaped the Count de Fortemps’ notice, however, and as he drank his tea and enjoyed the light snack with her, she felt his eyes upon her intently all the while.

“I have the utmost faith in your healing magicks, Gisele,” Edmont said. “And I do not doubt that my son yet lives because of them. You have done, and are doing all you can for him, and for that I am grateful beyond measure. Would that you shared my faith in you, however, for I would not have you wither away in your distress for him, consumed by disquiet and fear. Not merely because Ishgard as yet has need of your service, but because none deserve such a fate less than you, my dear.”

Gisele raised her eyes from her cup, to gaze upon the aged Fortemps patriarch; his smile was warm and tender, his eyes full of compassion, and for not the first time did she see somewhat of Haurchefant in that expression, kindly and generous. Warmth spread through her breast as she beheld it, as surely as the warmth of the tea spread through her weary, cold limbs.

“I am humbled by your kindness, my lord,” she replied, swallowing down the lump which formed in her throat, and with a dainty hand swirled a piece of baguette about the chocolate spread. Even as she savored it, chewing slowly, her stomach growled—to her mortification. It would seem the light refreshment only dulled the bright and keening edge of her hunger.

It had not escaped Edmont’s notice, of course. “There is onion soup, as yet, from supper. Come with me to the kitchens, and we shall find where Eudemie placed it, shall we?”

Gisele smiled at him, placing her empty cup upon the tray. “Of course,” she said.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2020 #edmont de fortemps #gisele surana #bisho writes #elf dad best dad #food cw

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

Bastien reconnects with Sophia after detaining Anton Severus. Can they all rest easy now he’s under lock and key?

Word Count 351

A/N Apologies, most of this chapter has been posted as a standalone piece. However, the plot moves forward afterwards. No warnings, mention of menstruation, otherwise fluff and a little drama. As always may I point out that my blog is NOT SUITABLE FOR UNDER 18s

13 Home and Dry?

The gate at Valtoria Manor was too badly damaged to open easily and although it was possible to walk through easily no vehicles could get in or out, so Bastien borrowed one of the SUVs that had been standing by outside the gates in case Anton had managed to get out that way. He arrived back at Applewood a couple of hours later. The King knew of their success and had asked him to report first thing in the morning so he made his way straight to the suite he shared with Sophia. The door was unlocked, and he walked in to see Riley sitting on the couch of the lounge. Next to her, curled up into a ball and fast asleep was Sophia, her face puffy, in pyjamas and fluffy slippers. He nodded in thanks to Riley and motioned her to go. She smiled sympathetically and gave his arm a squeeze as she left. Bastien took his coat off and sat next to his lover to gently stroke her face. Her eyes opened sleepily before becoming wide at the sight of him. She threw her arms around his neck with a little cry.

‘Bas, you’re back’ She turned her face to rain kisses onto his cheek.

‘Indeed I am, my goddess’ he murmured, laughing at her greeting as her hair tickled his neck. ‘Hold on tight’ She obeyed and he stood, putting his arms underneath her thighs and lifting her easily to carry her to bed. She sat on the edge and pulled off her pyjama top as he knelt stiffly to take her slippers off, then she slipped out of the bottoms as he stood to take off his shoes. He noted that she kept her panties on, and made a mental calculation, realising that it was time for her period. It explained why she had been so emotional and had insisted on him returning, and he felt chastened that he had not thought of that possibility. He had observed that she was often more emotional at that time of the month – something he had not noticed with other partners as he’d not spent enough time with them.

She slid silently under the covers, never taking her eyes off him. He swiftly undressed to his boxer shorts, only roughly folding his clothes so he could get into bed with her and pull her to him. Wordlessly they lay facing each other, shifting slightly from time to time – a kiss, a caress of the cheek, a hand on the other’s upper arm, chaste little gestures of reassurance and reconnection. Finally she grew still, her breath soft and steady as she fell asleep, safe with her lover, her Dark Knight.

------

‘We had the exit covered, the only thing we missed was the car in the stable block’ Bastien reported to the King. ‘We had armed men at the gates, and I was not far outside in the control van. The light conditions made it challenging and Anton managed to scale the gates with cover from two of his men. I was able to step out of the vehicle and apprehend him myself before he escaped into the woodland beside the Manor’

‘Well done Bastien’ he said gravely ‘Anton is in custody, and I’m sure it was satisfying for you to be the one to take him down.’

‘Thankyou Sir, it was. My men performed well and I am reasonably satisfied with how things panned out given the short notice we had.’ He shifted in his seat before he continued ‘With respect, I plan to step down from the Guard within the month, and recommend Lewis to succeed me.’

‘That is your privilege after all your years of service. Bastien, I want you to know that I greatly value your input and I don’t think anyone could have performed better’ Liam replied ‘I’d like to retain you as security advisor on the Council as liaison with the Guard, to leave Lewis more time to concentrate on settling into the job. Should you not wish to take that position you may of course retire on a full pension, which as you know is very generous, as befits your service to the Crown’ Bastien inclined his head.

‘Thankyou Sir, I shall consider your offer. Now Anton has been apprehended I hope that Cordonia will be a more peaceful and harmonious place.  When you and the court return to the Palace I shall be asking for leave to find other accommodation for myself and Sophia’ Liam nodded in answer

‘I’ll be sorry to see you move out’ he said ‘I can’t remember a time when you weren’t about. I know Drake looks on you like a father, and in a way I do too, especially after discovering some of the things my own father did over the years.’ Bastien squared his shoulders

‘Things I assisted him to accomplish, or did nothing to prevent’ he admitted, gritting his teeth.

‘I’m sure you did what you thought best’

‘That is very generous of you, Sir. I will of course answer any questions you may have’

‘I may have some in time. Thankyou for your report, Bastien.’ Liam looked at his watch. ‘I have an appointment with a trade delegation, so I’ll call on you later if it’s convenient.’

‘Of course your Majesty’ Bastien bowed and left the room.

---------

Sophia sat huddled up on the couch, hot water bottle clutched to her stomach, soft blanket around her shoulders and knees drawn up to her chest. This wasn’t the first time she’d had her period since she’d moved in with Bastien, but they’d not discussed it before, just skirted around it. Her cycle was mostly regular, but the symptoms varied wildly, and this was a bad one. She was bloated and her head throbbed. She had managed soup and bread for lunch, which was sitting heavy in her belly and the painkillers were taking a long time to kick in, so she curled up and started to channel surf.

She heard Bastien returning from work, and he came in to the lounge. She knew that he had eaten in the staff canteen, but she hadn’t wanted to appear in public with the way she was feeling. He paused momentarily as he took in the situation, stooping to kiss her on the forehead before he continued through to the kitchenette, clattering around making coffee as she settled on a romcom. She frowned at the kiss and winced at the sharp noises, calling out to him testily.

‘Do you have to make so much noise?’ she snapped

‘Sorry my goddess. Do you want anything to drink?’

‘No’ she said shortly, the smell of coffee turning her stomach. Yesterday she had desperately wanted him to come back, but right now she wished he would just leave her alone.

‘I could make hot chocolate’ he cajoled. She shook her head, irritated that he would presume that would make her feel better.

‘No thankyou’ she said in an attempt at politeness that she definitely didn’t feel. He came over and sat next to her, leaning his arm on the back of the couch, head on his palm and body angled toward her.

‘Can I do anything for you, theá mou?’ he asked soothingly. She shook her head and kept her eyes on the screen, though really she wasn’t watching it – it was just wallpaper. ‘Sophia?’ he prompted. She turned her head to him sharply.

‘What is it, Bastien?’ she said sharply ‘I just want to sit and be quiet’

‘You’re hurting, agápe mou’ he pressed ‘I want to help’

‘Well don’t’ she snapped, looking back at the screen ‘I’ve coped with this on my own for years. Most women do, you know’ He was quiet for a while but didn’t move.

‘We’ve never talked about this’ he said, quietly probing ‘How is it for you? You can tell me’ She sighed heavily, knowing he wouldn’t let it go.

‘My guts hurt, my head throbs and the pills aren’t helping’ she said, a lump forming in her throat.

‘It’s not usually this bad, is it?’ he asked, his tone gentle. She shook her head, and found her eyes prickling. He handed her  a tissue, and she accepted it and dabbed at her face, sniffling and holding back tears as her mood swung from irritation to self pity. He leaned closer, his tone soft as he carried in his assault on her walls.

‘Did I ever tell you about the first time I went down on a girl?’ She shook her head, pressure building in her chest from the sobs she withheld. He smiled ‘She didn’t know her period had started, and it was a while before either of us realised. She was mortified’ Sophia looked at him watery eyed, her sob turning into a laugh.

‘That can’t have been nice’ He put his hand on her knee and squeezed it.

‘I didn’t mind. A few towels and a wash afterwards and all is fine. You don’t have to hide anything from me, theá mou’ he said softly ‘Come here, let me hold you’ She made a little sound of acquiescence and he moved close as she repositioned herself, still hugging the hot water bottle. Gently he put his arm around her shoulders, stroking her hair. She sighed and relaxed into his warm embrace, genuinely feeling just a little better.

‘I can heat up that bottle’ he offered. She shook her head, unwilling to move.

‘No, just stay like this for now’ she murmured. She stared at the screen. She knew he disliked what he termed ‘fluffy’ films or series, but he bore it without complaint. If it weren’t for the dull ache in her belly and throbbing head she would have fallen asleep in his arms. Instead she shifted uncomfortably, groaning quietly.

‘What pills did you take?’ he asked ‘How long ago?’

‘Aspirin’ she mumbled ‘An hour ago. There wasn’t anything else in the cabinet and I didn’t feel like going out’

‘Housekeeping are stocked with all sorts of pills and potions’ Bastien pointed out ‘What usually works?’ She shrugged. Housekeeping at the Palace was indeed a wonderful source not only for pills, but pads and tampons, and the last time she’d bought any was when they were touring with the court. But this was Applewood and their supplies were different.

‘They don’t have the ones I used to take back home, and I’ve run out’

‘Tell me what they are and I’ll see to it’ he said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a hot chocolate?’ She sighed

‘I’m bloated and that will make me feel worse.’ she grumbled, becoming aware that she needed to change her tampon, and hauled herself on to her feet. As she returned from the bathroom Bastien addressed her again.

‘What do you usually have when you feel bloated?’ She ensconced herself back on the couch, shivering slightly and pulling the blanket tight around her shoulders. Her head still ached and she was suddenly consumed with a longing for comfort food. He waited for her answer, stroking her knee and running his hand down her calf to her foot.

‘Oat milk. But I want chocolate ice cream. Ben and Jerry’s Phish food is good’

‘I’ll get you some’ he said ‘Do you have an empty packet of your pills?’ Resignedly she sighed.

‘In my toiletry bag’ she said ‘It’s okay Bas, you don’t have to’

‘Yes I do’ He bent to kiss her forehead before getting up ‘Hold tight, I’ll be as quick as I can’

‘Does the kitchen stock Ben and Jerry’s?’ she asked ‘Do you even have it in Cordonia?’

‘We’re not savages’ he chuckled ‘Let me heat up that bottle before I go, the kettle boiled not long ago’

---------

Sophia jerked awake at the sound of the door to the suite closing. The television screen flickered and the bottle held against her belly was still warm. She dabbed at the drool at the corner of her mouth as Bastien entered with a grocery bag. She goggled at it as he sat on the couch next to her. He drew out a packet of the pills she wanted.

‘Did you go to the store?’ she asked incredulously, and as he nodded she had a vivid picture in her head of him standing solemnly in line at the checkout, basket hanging from his elbow.

‘I did’ he said ‘I do have basic life skills you know, I’m not a spoiled noble with lackeys to do all my business.’ He paused for a moment thoughtfully ‘In fact I am a lackey’ She sat up eagerly, peering at the bag on the couch.

‘What else do you have?’ she asked, reaching out, but he held it back from her and drew out a tub of ice cream. Her eyes grew wide ‘Bas, you are incredible. You did this for me?’ tears started to her eyes again and this time she let them flow. He scooted next to her, putting the bag on the floor and placing his arm around her shoulder.

‘Hey hey, don’t cry agápe mou’ she soothed. She sobbed and hiccupped for a while

‘You – you’re just so…nobody ever…’ her words were disjointed and he held her tight and kissed the top of her head. She smelled sour but he didn’t care.

‘How could I see my goddess suffer and do nothing?’ He let go of her ‘Now what type of spoon do you want? Tea spoon or dessert? Do you want a bowl?’

‘No bowl – but a teaspoon, I’m not a savage’ she managed to quip, smiling faintly. Bastien chuckled and went to fetch it. She heard him put something into the microwave and presumed it was to heat up a drink. He came back and sat down next to her, handing her the spoon. She opened the tub and drew her knees up, toes curling in anticipation. Bastien smiled fondly as she dug in, and went back to the microwave as it dinged. Wordlessly he handed her a warmed wheat bag as she ate. A look of bliss crossed her face as she let the ice cream melt, feeling the chocolate shapes hard on her tongue then melting slowly. She replaced the hot water bottle with the wheat bag, which she surmised he had just bought from the supermarket. In contrast to the bottle it was soft and pliable and moulded to her belly. She squinted at him.

‘Do you want any?’ she held the tub out to him, but just barely, and reluctantly. He shook his head

‘No, I’m fine. How about a foot rub?’ Her eyes widened

‘I don’t think I could handle Phish food and a foot rub together’ she said incredulously. ‘Not just now’

‘I could run you a hot bath’

‘Mmmm’ she mumbled, settling back into the couch ‘I don’t know, cold ice cream, hot bath. Might upset my stomach’

‘Let me know if you change your mind’ he said, and went back to the kitchenette, coming back with a glass of water and the packet of pills. He popped two out for her and put them into her palm. She held the ice cream tub between her knees, earning a look of disapproval that he quickly hid as she put the pills into her mouth and took the glass to sip some water and gulp them down. She settled back and took a couple more spoonfuls of ice cream. He had barely sat down beside her again before she handed the tub back to him, sighing happily. He rose again to take it back.

‘How about that foot rub?’ she called to him as he put the dessert into their tiny freezer compartment. He smiled and turned back to her, happy to see the contented look on her face. She was puffy and blotchy, but to him she was the most beautiful sight in the world

‘Whatever my goddess desires’ he murmured, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

--------

‘Excuse me? Anton wants to talk to me?’ Liam was incredulous ‘Correct me if I’m wrong Lewis, isn’t he under lock and key and heavily guarded?’ The future Captain of the Guard shuffled nervously.

‘He has the right to a lawyer, and he has anticipated that. He’s demanding to have a meeting with yourself – and Lady Olivia’ Liam frowned grimly and called his secretary in.

‘Call my lawyer again, Scott’ he said to the neatly dressed brunette. ‘Apparently we have to set up a meeting with our new ‘guest’.’ He sighed and turned to Lewis ‘We don’t have to leap to his demands immediately. Tell him I’m arranging it, and let him sweat’

------

It was the next day when Anton and his lawyer sat in a high security prison suite across the table from Liam and his lawyer. Lewis attended to conduct and record the interview, and Bastien sat behind the one way mirror in an adjoining room. Lewis had an earpiece to stay in contact with his superior. Bastien trusted him, but it was crucial that they not miss anything, and two heads were better than one. Lewis turned on the recording equipment and read the opening statement – the date and the attendees, the purpose of the interview, as was standard.

‘Who’s behind the glass, and why isn’t Lady Olivia here as I asked?’ Anton lifted his chin to indicate the security screen.

‘My client is within his rights to know who else is present for this interview apart from the people in this room, and to request whomever he wishes to be present’ the dark haired severe looking lawyer insisted. Lewis kept his expression neutral – something he was well known for, and a valuable asset in his line of work.

‘My supervisor is monitoring the session’ he said truthfully, hoping that the lawyer would not probe further. If he did, he would know how sharp she was and would give some indication of how to deal with her. ‘Also Lady Olivia is observing’ Anton gave a satisfied smirk and raised his hand to the screen in a mock wave.

‘Hello darling wife’ he said ‘You really should come and say hello’ Lewis winced and repositioned his earpiece as Olivia’s reaction was picked up by Bastien’s lip mike. The lawyer inclined his head toward Lewis and Liam.

‘I presume your supervisor to be one Bastien Lykel, responsible for the illegal detention of my client, am I correct?’ Inwardly Lewis cursed,  but he nodded.

‘I would dispute the word ‘illegal’ but otherwise that is correct’ he replied, and Anton smirked again.

‘How interesting that he’s chosen to hide behind a screen. Is he afraid to meet me face to face? He does tend to let his feelings get the better of him in my presence’ he sneered.

‘Unless you have a specific reason to have Mr Lykel in the room, he is entitled to remain where he is’ Liam’s lawyer, Mr Archer said levelly. Anton shrugged dismissively

‘It’s enough that he hears what I have to say. This won’t take long.’

‘Very well then, why did you want to speak to me?’ Liam chimed in. Anton leaned back and gave a wide grin.

‘My client wants to bring charges of treason against your father, yourself and Captain Lykel’ Anton’s lawyer stated. Liam laughed aloud.

‘I’m not aware that you can prosecute a dead man’ he snorted, but Archer put his hand on his arm to quieten him, and leaned forward.

‘On what grounds do you place this charge against the legal monarch of Cordonia?’ he asked shortly

‘On the grounds that Constantine obtained the throne unlawfully, blocking the claim of the Severus family. This charge will of course be posthumous. My client claims to be the rightful King, and claims Lady Olivia Vanderbilt Nevrakis to be his legal wife, to reign by his side as Queen.’ Liam’s fists clenched and he could only imagine what was going on behind the security glass. He kept his mouth shut and let his lawyer speak for him, aware that every word that fell from his lips was, now more than ever, highly significant.

‘Do you have evidence to support this claim?’ Archer asked. In answer the other party placed a folder on the desk between them.

‘I think you’ll find everything you need here’ she said ‘My client has the original documents in a safe place. As you know, if you do not produce an heir within a year of being crowned, you forfeit to the heir of the Nevrakis family anyway. My client simply wants justice for the way his family has been treated  by your Father.’

‘I also protest the abysmal standard of my detention’ Anton continued ‘As a gesture to the future ruling monarch, I demand better accommodation’ Liam knew he had to regain control of the situation, and pulled himself up straight.

‘I will have the papers examined’ he said shortly ‘I will also review the conditions of your detention’

‘I also demand to meet with my wife’ Anton leered. ‘I think you’ll find the papers we’ve just handed you will make it plain that Lady Olivia is my betrothed. No formal ceremony is required’

‘Whether you meet or not is a decision only Lady Olivia can take’ said Liam, thin lipped as Lewis declared the meeting over. ‘Don’t hold your breath, Severus’ he glowered.

Next Chapter 14 Loose Ends 

@emceesynonymroll @sirbeepsalot @cora-nova @stopforamoment @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria​ @drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @pedudley @indiacater @texaskitten30​ @be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @ladyangel70 @rainbowsinthestorm @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad @kimmiedoo5​ @bascmve01  @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @princess-geek

#silver service #protect and serve #bastien lykel #sophia x bastien #OC x Bastien #anton severus

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #14 - Part

a story about family, and grief.

cw for minor character death, lore consistent racism (unfortunately garleans are Like That), depression, and references to alcoholism.

==================

  Don't cry. Oh, don't cry.

He did not hear her. He continued to weep, tears leaking beneath the seal of his crimson mask of office and into her robes, soaking into the fabric. 

I'll save you, Hades. I'll find another path. I'll save you.

It was her last thought: carried in the drift of her soul as it split into four and ten, like the currents of the spring wind in her feathers. Taking her way home upon the wing to her friends and to the man she loved. 

To the world she loved.

   (To-)

   ~*~

"I'll save you, Vittora," Julian rem Laskaris whispered. "I will."

He sat as he had for days, clutching desperately at the hands enfolded in his own, so pale and wasted they were nearly translucent. She lay still and pliant, her brow cool and clammy and - strangely, he thought - it was damp. He did not realize at first that it was with his tears. He had duties, but he cared nothing for them at this moment. Neither Rabanastre nor the castrum would cease to exist while he tended to his family. The tribunus had not left his wife's bedside in a near sennight.

His brilliant composer, his nightingale, was dying. She had drifted into deeper and longer periods of sleep as she weakened, as time had worn on, and the warmer climes of the Estersands had done little to improve her condition. And now that she was near the end, she had lapsed into this dreamless coma. The final sleep, the chirurgeons had told him, and Julian thought it quite apt.

For there would never be the like of Vittora cen Remianus upon this star, ever again. Not for him. Not in this lifetime, not while he drew breath.

If you have goodbyes to say, they had told him, 'twould be best to see them said now. 

He only distantly heard the sounds of his young daughter's wails for her mother, muffled as they were against her governess' apron. Once again he found himself grateful for L'haiya dus Eyahri's steady presence and the rock it had been in their household, for being able to care for the girl where he knew he could not, even though she was the only child they had borne together.

He could feel her gaze boring into his back. He had looked into that small face only once, and was met with a silent plea for strength and comfort. She had reached for him, and he had turned his back, and he had refused to look again. Aurelia had Vittora's eyes: those deep dark fathomless pools of indigo blue.

Already, he couldn't bear the sight of them.

"I'll save you," he repeated. With the greatest care he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them to her knuckles, then held one of her palms against his unshaven cheek: rough with gold and brown stubble. "I'll find a way. I'll find someone who can heal you. I swear it."

His attention remained fixed upon the figure in the bed, counting silent beats to the tortured sound of his wife's breaths, living upon the stuttering rise and fall of her chest.

He could see nothing of her face in repose through his tears. 

~*~

He had left Rabanastre for Ala Mhigo. It had been a demotion to do so, but Julian had cared only to leave his grief behind.

It had followed him all the same. His daughter might have the look of a Laskaris but she was every ilm her mother's child, from her dark blue eyes to her iron will, and as she grew the ghost that haunted his halls only became more and more corporeal: a child with his honeyed tresses and his wife's luminous eyes, rebuking him in silence like a vengeful shade as she grew into her majority.

She had befriended her governess' young kinsman, and that he had allowed- he understood the value of allowing her friends and privately felt that a sense of noblesse oblige might not go awry- but even that had to come to an end, as the shadow of Solus zos Galvus' war machine fell upon them as readily as anyone else within the Empire's reach.

But instead of accepting matters as they were the girl had tried to go after them, had made a very public scene of it, and it was not until he had engaged in a furious lecture that he realized how worried he had been. Supper that night was an acutely uncomfortable affair, place settings slammed onto the table with angry emphasis and food all but untouched by both father and daughter as they sat across from each other in a tense and stony silence - neither willing to bend to the other's will. 

At length, the former could stand it no longer. The chair scraped against varnished beechwood flooring as Julian rem Laskaris gained his feet.

"I am retiring. I find my present company exhausting and I have a great deal of paperwork I must finish before cockcrow," he said, his voice flat with restrained ire. "Elle, pray send Cook my regards. The meal was quite fine, merely do I have no appetite. She can put my portion in the cold-pantry and have it brought to me before she retires for the evening."

"Yes, my lord, of course. Mistress Aurelia-"

"-will finish her meal and spend the rest of the evening in her bedchamber." Aurelia's chin snapped upwards, her expression incredulous. Julian continued on, undaunted: "And shall remain ensconced within the grounds for the next sennight. Perhaps more attention paid to her studies will impart the wisdom that her association with your young kinsman clearly has not."

Those dark blue eyes came alight with her fury and he did not miss her governess' wince. The girl might have become less outspoken and more circumspect over the years as her lessons began to shape her deportment, but it was clear she was not about to accept her punishment as meekly as he had expected or hoped- 

-and how very much like her mother she looked, he thought bitterly, at that moment. She stood to face him, hands balled into fists at her sides, lower lip quivering but too angry to cry.

"I am not one of your cohorts," she began, "to wait with bated breath upon your every command-"

"Sit down," Julian barked, suddenly every inch the commanding officer, fists slamming upon the table. She jumped, the spoon in her hand barely missing the rim of her soup bowl to clatter upon the muslin-covered surface. "I am still your father, girl, and you will respect that authority while you remain under my roof."

"That is a laughable assertion," she spat, every inch of her willowy frame screaming defiance, "given the only time I ever speak to you at any length is when you see fit to hand down some manner of discipline-"

His expression was akin to a thundercloud on the horizon. "Young lady-"

"-upon a matter in which you are barely versed!"

"You are on extremely dangerous-"

"Mother might not have agreed with me either, but she would have at least understood why I tried to go find him," she cried. "Would that I had been left with her, and not you!"

Something very like pain flashed through his chest. They were the words of a child, reckless and spoken in her anger- but it hardly mattered. Whether she realized it or not, her words had struck true. 

Slowly, as if physically wounded, Julian turned away. He held his hands clasped behind his back as if at parade rest, but he could feel how they trembled.

"I am going to wash my hands," he said, his words cold and clipped and soft, "and L'haiya will have the rest of your meal brought to you. You are not to leave your quarters until further notice."

"Father, I-"

Without another word, he quit the room, back stiff and straight. He did not heed her anguished sob nor the clatter of running footsteps.

=

It was nearly two hours later that he heard the measured rap upon his study door. 

He sagged forward in his chair, face buried in his hands, an open decanter and snifter at his side, and a gilt-edged picture frame on the desk in front of him. L'haiya shook her head as if to dispel the vision.

"Julian," she said in a low voice.

Without lifting his head from the cradle of his hands he murmured, "I assume she is sleeping."

"Yes. She'll not be leaving the house even with a chaperone until further notice, per your orders." 

She didn't bother to hide the disapproval she felt, and after a long moment, the Garlean's chin lifted ever so slightly, just enough to fix her with a cool and challenging glower. His pale grey irises were bloodshot, and strands of platinum blond hair hung low over his third eye and the edge of his brow, brushing at drink-flushed cheeks.

"You don't approve of my actions."

"I have not approved of your actions where she is concerned for a very long time, my lord."

Julian uttered a short, cold laugh. 

" 'Tis bold of you, to censure me while addressing me as a superior in the same breath. Boldness was ever your curse, Elle." He reached for the gem-cut bottle and tilted it against the lip of his snifter. Golden liquid splashed against the sides of the glass. "You know full well what I could do to you simply for speaking to me in such a fashion."

"With all due respect, my lord, you did not retain my services so that I might bow and scrape to your whims. You have underlings aplenty." Her hands bunched into fistfuls of her skirts. "Vittora was my friend long before you were my employer and I promised her I would look after both of you."

"I do not require a lecture from a savage," he slurred, in tones both petulant and caustic. Her lips thinned with anger.

"You are deep in your cups and thus I will overlook the insult this once."

"That I am 'in my cups' is the only reason I have to countenance your insolence." 

"Then I'm afraid you shall have to countenance it further, because I've come to do what Vittora asked of me," L'haiya retorted, "and speak to you as if we were peers- if only for this moment. I do so in full acceptance of the consequences should you feel they are warranted."

The words hung between them like an omen. 

For a moment the tension from the dining room returned- but this time, Julian did not rise to it. He lifted his glass and drank, grimacing at the numbness and heat from the alcohol, and L'haiya saw for the first time how much silver there was at his temples, how deeply sunken his eyes had become. He looked more like his older brother now than ever.

At last the tribunus exhaled and set the glass back on the desk. It left a wet ring against the varnish, one he didn't seem to notice.

"Very well," he said. "Speak your piece. I shall decide the merit of it."

"I don't think you should need me to tell you this but it seems someone must. You are neglecting your duty to your daughter, Julian, and you are failing her."

That got his attention. His hand froze halfway to the neck of the decanter and his eyes snapped upwards, dark with incredulous anger. L'haiya crossed her arms over her chest, meeting his scowl with an unbending stare of her own. 

"She isn't always the perfect picture of good behavior - no child is - but surely you have not failed to notice how very hard she tries to earn your approval. It will not be so very long before she no longer wishes to seek it. If you would have her speak to you with respect, she must be shown respect in turn."

"She is a child!"

"Aurelia is sixteen summers, Julian. She could well be considered an adult, and for many purposes as far as the Empire is concerned, she would be."

"That you would even suggest-" 

"The viceroy, in recent memory, has spoken to her with more warmth and familiarity. The viceroy, Julian! And it was by form letter, to commend her for her qualification to sit entrance exams! As a representative of the province! What do you even know about your own daughter these days? When was the last time you asked her about her hobbies?" L'haiya snapped. "Or discussed anything with her besides the food at table, or what arrived for you in the morning post?"

He sputtered, jaw slack: astounded at the woman's incredible gall as much as her words.

"I realize that you kept me on explicitly to be her governess and prepare her for her station in life as a citizen of the Empire, and I have filled that duty as best as I am able. But I am not her mother, Julian. And you cannot continue to shirk your responsibility to your own child and expect her to do aught save resent you." 

"This will not-"

"She needs you to be her father, not her commanding officer."

"I shall think on it," he muttered.

"You should act, not think-"

"Now you are overstepping your place. L'haiya." 

Julian's warning growl froze her words on her lips and he saw the veils drop back over her eyes again, now that she had been reminded of the social chasm between them. Anger overwhelmed him for a brief moment before it conceded defeat to despair: that old lurking and most toxic of friends. 

He slumped forward in his chair and reached once more for his decanter.

"My apologies," the Miqo'te said, each of her words edged with ice. "I had thought you might like to know where matters stand. Before you lose your daughter as well as your wife."

She quit the room, and he found solace once more in the burn against his throat.

~*~

He did not speak to the girl then or any time in the weeks afterward. 

He didn't know how. 

Unwilling to offer forgiveness to his child for her harsh words, or to beg her forgiveness for his own inability to be a father to her in return, he could but watch as they drifted ever farther apart. They became as silent ships passing in the night with sails ghostly and unfurled. She continued to bring his post and his evening coffee, and he took it with a cursory word of thanks. Beyond that small interaction, they did not speak. 

You are failing your daughter, Julian, L'haiya said in the halls of his mind, and beyond his affronted anger at a servant addressing him in such an unacceptably familiar way - to his own sensibilities, at least - he knew that she was right.

He was failing her. It was easier to keep the girl at arm's length, to treat her as he would have treated one of his administrative staff. To issue discipline in the way he might have issued an order. Far easier to do that than to look upon her and think of her as she had been, only to fancy that he saw Vittora staring back. 

He had thought that time might dull the loss, but he felt it as keenly now as he had then. If only she hadn't left him behind, but she had, and a part of him had died with her. It had gone into the grave, laid alongside her in her coffin like an offering to a god, and left only the pathetic, spiritless creature that he was now. His routine was unbearably dull but bearably tedious: waking and working and eating and sleeping, day to day to day. 

The truth of the matter - one Julian rem Laskaris bitterly accepted as his lot - was simple.

He was weak. 

He had always been weak. He had been weak-willed as a boy, and as a son, and as a soldier, and he had proven no better as a father. He knew that he was weak.

But he could not feel the drive nor desire to change what he was. And in this moment, facing down the Resistance skirmishers, calling orders to protect the supply line -- losing himself in his work as he had done since the day he had put his wife in the ground, Julian rem Laskaris failed to see the sniper from atop the high and windswept crag.

Nor did he see the arrow that pierced his throat.

His last memory as his body went cold, Garlean blood spilling onto foreign sand, was of the color of his daughter's eyes.

#ffxivwrite2020 #prompt 14: part #aurelia laskaris #cw minor character death #cw depression and self harm #unfortunately for her dad the garlean empire hasn't yet invented therapy #also brief 5.x spoilers for the beginning

[zedpercyfan]

The Sirens of Cerulean | Part One

A City in the Fog

A thick fog was out one cold late afternoon along the Cerulean coast; it hung and swirled.  One of Cerulean City’s oldest structures, an ancient white lighthouse, stood atop a cliff, standing as a guardian to guide ships away from the perils of the rocks below.

Tracey Sketchit was the lighthouse’s current keeper, the original one having retired some years back, leaving the position open. Tracey had been without much of a consistent job and took it since the pay was so good, plus it came with housing attached.  There was also plenty of Pokémon that passed, and the occasional wandering Trainer that could keep him company or let him draw them and their Pokémon, a favorite pastime of his.

The black-haired man sighed, it was afternoon and he was bored as he finished sipping his tea.  He grabbed his sketchbook, wandered upstairs and went outside to the balcony – the wind rustled his clothes and hair as he stood.  “Right, anything that wants to be drawn…?” he thought aloud.  Some migrating Wingull roosted nearby amongst the usual coast residents of Pidgeys, its evolutions, and the local Corsolas, Poliwags, and others that lived there. Tracey smiled, and began to scribble away as his Marill joined alongside him.

He continued his penmanship until a low, soft, feminine voice was heard, a kind of singing.  Tracey’s hand stopped, and rested the thick book against the wet, rusted railing.  He scratched his chin thoughtfully whilst Marill blinked in wonderment, her mouth agape. He pointed a finger toward the ocean. “Y’know,” said Tracey.  “I really do think that they’re out there.”  Marill looked over, eyebrow raised.  “Well, you know what I mean.”  He leaned in and whispered.  “Come on…I know that you can feel their presence as well…”

He did not get an answer, as Marill was looking out towards the fog covered ocean where the voice could be heard.  Tracey looked down, only to see that down below, the Pokémon looked the exact same way.  The man blinked but said nothing.  He just followed their gaze and remained silent as they all peered into the wispy soup.

OoOoO

Later that afternoon, a young man of about his mid-twenties came slowly trudging along the dirt path from the nearby forest. With a Pikachu resting on his shoulder, the man walked with a carefree nature, his black shirt and pants were simple, but what was most strange of all was that he had a dark blue coat – almost like a cape – on him for warmth.

He seemed to wander aimlessly till he heard a sultry sound, it carried along the breeze.  It was delicate yet packed a pleasant spine chilling evocation with it. “Wow, that’s some voice,” he said, mildly awed.  He looked to his Pikachu.  “What do you say, buddy?  Shall we follow this strange but alluring voice?”

“Pi Pikachu!” squeaked the mouse in agreement. Ash hummed in agreement.

He followed against the sea breeze till he reached the water – his feet stopping as soon as he felt rock beneath him.  He looked out across the rocks where the sea met land.  “So this is Cerulean City?” he said.  “Well, the air is salty enough for it.”  He shivered in the breeze and began to notice that the light was fading.  “Almost nightfall…can’t stay out here. Brr…”  Pikachu whimpered and buried himself in his Master’s cloak.  He looked around and saw the giant lighthouse to his left, behind it stood the city itself.  Slowly and carefully, he began to trudge toward it.

A short walk later he reached the city and found his way to an inn.  A rather shabby looking place built out of grey stone.  The raven haired man wandered in and tapped the bell for service. “Coming!” a voice yelled.  A girl who looked barely past nineteen came sprinting from a room behind the counter before she nearly impaled herself on the wooden desk; her hands saved her as they reached out to stop her from the accident. She had dark blue hair which flowed all over her face from the inertia.

“Careful,” chuckled the traveler.  “It’s not a race.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” said the girl as she pushed her hair back into place behind her ears.  “Right…welcome to the Cerulean Playhouse Inn, I’m your host, Dawn Berlitz!  How may I help you today?”

“Cerulean…P-playhouse…Inn…?  Eh?”

“Pi pika…”

“Cerulean Playhouse Inn,” repeated Dawn.  “This was once the site of an old theater, some of the old framework was used to create this place a hundred years ago.  As a gesture of hospitality, I love to entertain the guests daily with a Pokémon performance.  You know, like a Pokémon Contest.”

“Ah, I see, sounds great,” the man said.

“Good to hear!” chirped Dawn with a sway of her head. “Anyways, what’s your need here?”

“I’d like a room, stay time indeterminate,” he said. “I’m Ash by the way, Ash Ketchum.”

“Ash Ketchum,” repeated Dawn as she scribbled his name down.  “Um, why ‘indeterminate’?”  Ash flinched.

“Just trust me.  I’m a little in the dark on the matter myself.”

“I think I get it…” said Dawn with a nervous chuckle.  They continued the paperwork and Dawn soon finished up.  “Right,” she said, holding a hand out to the doorway on her left, “if you’ll just follow me sir, we’ll be at your room.”

Ash followed her, but just as Dawn began to go up the stairs, a man with blond hair suddenly stomped into view on the upstairs landing and looked down at Ash grimly.  “Hey, what’s the big idea?!” he shouted.  Dawn pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“Barry, he’s a customer, he’s not here to steal your glory as a Pokémon trainer or…”

“Oh yeah!?  Well, if he is after my glory then I’m tripling his fine!”

Ash blinked.  “Triple my fine?  I’m broke enough as it is…”

“Oh no, Mr. Black Hair show off!  You’re not stealing any of my glory.  Me and Empoleon shall crush you, and—”

“Barry!” shouted Dawn.  “As if anything like that has to do with anything!”

“Oh yes it does!” replied Barry with an accusatory finger.  He slammed the railing with both of his hands, fumes practically roaring from his nostrils.  “You listen here, tough guy!  This establishment has tons of trainers staying here overnight every day! They’re in, they’re out.  Take the hint!  We don’t have the room to house some dude who says he doesn’t know how long he’ll be here!  Honestly…!” And he stormed off.

Dawn gritted her teeth.  “Ignore him,” she said as looked back at him.  Ash could only grimace at her unsubtle twitching eyebrow. He could only imagine that what that ‘Barry’ had said wasn’t close to the tip of Dawn’s iceberg.

“R-right…”

Dawn said no more on the matter and lead – with noticeable irritation – Ash into his assigned room.  She was about to leave when…

“Excuse, Dawn?” began Ash.  “But may I ask a question of you?”

“Sure thing – what do you need to know?”

“Well, to start.  How long have you been here?”

“For over half of my life,” replied Dawn.  “My Mother and I moved here from the Sinnoh region to have a fresher start.”

“I see.  Then tell me – what do you know of the Cerulean Sirens?”

Dawn’s originally polite countenance fell to an uncertain one.  “The Sirens…?” she muttered.  “Not sure in all honesty.  But every time a major fog comes rolling in we hear these strange sounds coming from the ocean.  There have been rumors, you see, about how the Sirens use the fog to sneak about and intermingle with us humans once we’ve gone and lost ourselves in the soup.”

“Yeah, it would seem right for them given their descriptions,” said Ash.  “But, tell me, do you believe they exist?”

The bluenette tapped her chin in thought.  “I guess.  Though I’d much rather meet one than go on believing simple fishermen’s tales.”

Ash nodded.  “Just curious,” he added, by way of deflecting any questions about why he had asked.  “Good night.”

“Good night,” said Dawn with a bow.  She turned back and closed his door.  Once Ash was sure she was out of earshot, he walked to the window and opened it.  For the second time that evening, a strange melody filled the air – soft yet powerful, calming yet unnerving.

OoOoO

It won’t lift for anytime soon it seems, thought Tracey as he stared in boredom out of the observation window the tune the only thing keeping him amused – he then blew the foghorn once again before stepping out to the balcony.  When he did he heard strange splashing sounds from below. He scanned the area but saw nothing. Must be a Pokémon…

It was only the fog that covered the mysterious singer…

Beneath the fog and cold waves a few figures swam up to the surface and looked around.  Soon enough they heard the same low song that Ash and Tracey were listening to, they nodded to each other before diving back under the water.

Deep in the water some few miles away from Cerulean they approached a strange civilization made of stone bricks.  The two figures swam towards the largest building, protected by two other figures holding tridents, one of whom gave the scouts a stern look before nodding.  Inside, the scouts approached a brown-haired figure whose tail flicked back and forth, arms crossed in front of his chest in impatience.

“We overheard the enemy singing out again,” said one, “and as usual, it was directed toward the ape primitives.”

The brown hair figure’s frown deepened. “Ever the persistent ones, those harpies,” he sneered.  “I swear, when we’re done we won’t ever have to hear our vocals ever directed at those despicable apes ever again!”

OoOoO

“ ‘Well why shouldn’t we?!’ is what we’re obviously yelling to them,” huffed a pink-haired figure.  She was talking to another one with blue hair, who was sitting next to one with orange hair.  “They deserve it, the bratty troublemakers.”

“It’s all changed since our old ruler passed away,” the orange head said with a sigh.  “Speaking on the topic of ‘why shouldn’t we’ – where’s Daisy?”

“You called?” said the woman in question.  A beautiful blond woman swam elegantly in, her appearance above all else being even more beautiful than her three sisters’. But to call them just humans would be inaccurate – they were Sirens, or to put more simply with terms associated with fantasy, mermaids.

“Yes actually,” put in Lily, the pink-haired one. “We were actually wondering where in you’d gone.”

Daisy swam up the table they were sitting around and grabbed a piece of coral and took a bite out of it.  “Just out singing,” she said nonchalantly.

“Singing where?” asked Violet, the blue-haired one.

“Y’know, out on the ocean,” replied Daisy as she avoided eye contact.  She began chewing more on her food, this time far more aggressively.

“You were out singing for that lighthouse guy, weren’t you?” said Lily finally.  Daisy choked on a piece of the coral fruit.  “Knew it!” she sang victoriously, pumping a fist into the water.

“That’s dangerous, you know,” said Misty, the orange-haired, and youngest of the four sisters.  “You’re lucky the fogs about.  Why do you risk yourself so much just to sing for a guy?”

Daisy recovered from her cough.  “You wouldn’t understand, Misty,” she said.

“I think I understand that we’re in enough hot water as it is with the rest of our kind!”

“But,” said Violet pointedly, “you did join us willingly in our stand against Rudy when he became ruler.”

“Y-yes, I did,” said Misty.  She looked to Daisy.  “I’m just worried about your safety.  Not because of the humans but just in case any of Rudy’s thugs goes and finds you.”

“Ha ha!  Misty, you worry too much,” said Daisy.  “Those silly Sirens wouldn’t go near the human’s settlement unless they were ordered to, and we’re settled too close to them to make threatening us an impossible reality.”

“The pure amount of phobia they have is as sensible as staring into the sun,” Misty muttered.  She then yawned.  “Well, I’m tired, so I’ll be going to sleep.  Come along, Goldeen.  Night all.” Her Pokémon partner opened her eyes and quickly swam after her short-haired mistress.  Daisy watched her disappear into the cave.

“I think,” she said to no one in particularly, “that that girl could do with something new in her life.”

OoOoO

“It’s quite easy, Dawn,” grumbled Barry as they walked through the hallways.  “Just go up to him, say ‘Thank you for your partro-patro…PATRONAGE, at Cerulean Playhouse Inn, but we only do one-night stays, so please have yourself a good stay in this city, and get out!’  It’s easy!”

“Oh cool off,” sneered Dawn.  “What’s the harm in him staying for more than one night?”

“It’s the principle,” said Barry pompously. “We serve travelers, not tourists.”

“Ash is hardly a tourist,” said Dawn evenly.

“Oh, taking his side now are we?”

“Not even close.  I just don’t think that there is any harm in letting him stay. Besides, it’s hardly written down that we only serve for one night here.”

Barry didn’t immediately reply, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned towards another corridor.  He huffed heavily.  “You’re the one defending him.”

“Only because he’s a nice man, unlike you!  Your antagonism to him last night was hardly warranted.”

“Oh just do what you want,” sighed Barry, walking away.

“Honestly,” said Dawn aside before looking in Barry’s direction.  “I swear, I could make a living out of dealing with stubborn men like you!”

Just up above, Ash had finished getting ready for his day, in his hand was a strange book, the condition of its binding suggested it was of elderly age.  With the book safely in his arms, and Pikachu on the opposite shoulder, he arrived at the top of the second floor landing in time to hear the last part of Dawn and Barry’s spat.

“Ugh!” shouted Dawn in frustration.  “Stubborn brat, he should be thankful I even give him as many chances to keep working here as I do!”

“Hah!” said Ash suddenly.  Dawn blinked in surprise and whirled round to see Ash beginning to go down the stairs.  “Tell us how you really feel.”

Dawn sighed.  “He’s only in it for the money, and his work effort is subpar, but he’s a decent hustle in the case of ruffians showing up.”  She paused and noticed the strange book.  “Oh, what’s that about?”

“This?  Ah, just some research I plan on looking into.”

“Is it to do with Sirens?”

“Um – er – well…” Ash slowly crept up to Dawn and leaned in.  “Well, yes, it does actually.”

“Wow!  Really?! Or are you just pulling an elaborate prank because you think of me as someone who’d believe anything?!”

“What?  No, no, no, not at all!” cried Ash in alarm as he stepped back.

Dawn quickly calmed down.  Ash could only marvel at the wonder of a woman’s mood swings. “All right then – prove you’re actually on to something.”

Ash sighed and beckoned her closer.  He then held out a hand and it began to glow in a blue color in a shape that Dawn could only describe as a ball, then, he made it disappear.  Before she could speak, he spoke up.  “I’m an Aura user,” he said in a hushed tone.  “The society I belong to recently has felt some strange spikes and stagnations coming from this area.  However, we really don’t know what’s causing them since those signals are coming from way out on the ocean.  What we suspect is that the rumors going around about the actual existence of the Sirens might just be true.”

“So…they might actually exist?”

“Might is an accurate word for this situation,” he replied.  “The legends spoke of them being able to harness a great power and channel it through various methods with their advanced technology that’s incomparable to our very own.  But…” he added with uncertainty, “again, we just don’t have any confirmation.”

Dawn mulled the situation over, all of the info she got was quite shocking to her and she was struggling to comprehend it all, but he said it all with such conviction that she fully believed it. “So, what you’re saying is, is that there appears to be trouble, but it’s only a theory?”

“Yeah, it’s only an idea.  I have no idea until I finally know what’s happening.”

“Wait though!” said Dawn as realization came to her. “If we’re in danger, shouldn’t the citizens know about it…?”

“Shh!  Shh!” said Ash sharply.  He brought a finger to Dawn’s lips.  “As I said, it’s just an idea.  No one else can know why I’m here, at least not until I know exactly what’s going on here. Dawn,” he added quietly.  “Can I trust you to not say a word about this anyone else?  Extra people knowing what’s happening might cause more trouble than necessary.” Dawn’s eyes widened, Ash didn’t seem to be playing light anymore, his look was extremely serious – whatever it was that he was looking into, it wasn’t a dead end.  She nodded affirmatively.  “Good.” Ash smiled, and then quickly took his leave into the misty city.

OoOoO

“…Wake up!  Wake up!” came a prattling voice on the other end of her seaweed curtain. Misty groaned and got up from the shell that was her bed.

“What do you need, Daisy?” she asked sleepily.

“It’s already eight o’clock actually!” said Daisy cheerily.  “So, like, it’s you who should’ve been up a while ago missy.  Anyways…!”  Daisy then invited herself into her sister’s room.  “I was, like, thinking that you could do with a routine change, so come with me!”

“Go with you where…?”

“Oh, just around the reef.  It’s been too long since we’ve spent time together – you really got to wonder where time flies.”

“That time took flight as a result of you disappearing of somewhere quite regularly recently…” said Misty sarcastically.

“Oh lighten up,” sang Daisy, and swam off with Misty reluctantly following.

Along the waves, Daisy saw a male Siren swimming a few yards away from where she and Misty were travelling.  The male frowned when he saw the two approaching.  “And just where are you two ladies off to at this hour?” he asked cautiously.

“Morning to you too, Sean,” replied Daisy crisply.

“You’ve got some nerve being snippy,” grumbled Sean. “You’re the ones who went and defected – your pitiful resistance group lives pathetically.  Honestly, your opinions are all insane.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinions at all,” answered Daisy.  “I’ll ask when I want an idiot’s position.”  And she quickly swam off.

“Nicely handled,” praised Misty when they were out of earshot.

“You get used to it when you’re on the defending side,” said Daisy with a smile.  “Anyways, this is your surprise.”  She pointed towards the surface of the ocean, though the light looked more fractured than usual.

“Huh, a storm might be passing by,” observed Misty.

“Yeah, I felt it in the waves,” added Daisy. “But all the same, you’ll really like what I’m about to show you.”  Before Misty could voice an opinion, Daisy grabbed her by the wrist and pull her up to the surface, the area they were was covered with rocks, one of which the blond rested herself against.

“Ugh!  The surface?” coughed Misty.  “What is it from here that you’d want me to see?”

“Take a look.”  The orange head opened her eyes and gazed upwards to what Daisy had been pointing to and gasped.  It was the lighthouse, standing tall and somewhat menacingly over the washed clifftops and swirling fog.

“The lighthouse?!” she spluttered.  “Wait a minute, what are you showing me a human structure for?”

“One – I think it’s beautiful, two – you’ve never seen it yourself before, and three – take a look up there…” said Daisy, whose tone went surprisingly soft on her third statement.

“What am I looking for?”

Her older sister pointed a finger at the male figure with black hair atop the balcony.  “Him,” she said dreamily.  “Oh…what a looker that one is.  His name is Tracey.  I’ve been observing his movements for a while recently.”

“So this is where you’ve been off to all this time?”

“Yeah, it’s quite out of the way from Rudy and his goons, and no one else really passes through here except for Pokémon, so I can observe him in peace.”  Misty blinked, clearly not understanding.  “I think he’s sweet,” went on Daisy.  “You know what he does aside from keeping that light going?  He watches the Pokémon, closely at that, he even draws them in that weird book of his…”

“Draws?”

“Yes.  He talks often to that Marill of his, they seem awfully close.  He calls himself a Pokémon Watcher, which I think has to do with that drawing habit of his.  Whatever drawing means, it seems similar to our photos back home.  So I think it’s just an archaic version of that – even if it does seem like a lot of work for something we could do in seconds.  So primitive!  Although…I wish I could get the chance to see his work up close, just to know what it’s like.”

Misty gulped.  “You wouldn’t risk approaching him, would you?”

“What, are you suddenly as afraid of the humans as the rest of those ‘Magikarp’ we call our kind as well?”

“N-no…” said Misty quietly as she sunk under the water, her sister following.  “I’m just scared for your sakes.”

Daisy smiled gently at her little sister. “Don’t worry, Misty, I’ve been careful, and if my observations are anything to go by, he’s curious about us as well.  Well,” she added with a mischievous snicker, “mostly in me, that is.  I am the one who has been singing for him recently. Ooh!  I know, I could sing right now actually.”  Daisy immediately popped her head out the water.  Misty didn’t know why, but in reflex she dove further down into the water.

She watched as Daisy began to sing.  They were both so preoccupied that failed to notice that Misty’s Goldeen was beginning to panic.  The nearby weeds were swaying furiously, and the Pokémon began to scatter – the girls were oblivious to it.

OoOoO

Ash made his way through the fog, all the areas closest to the water in town was packed with people either at market or fishing. He wanted to begin his search by investigating places where he had heard the strange song being sung the night before. The book told him that often with Sirens the first sign of them being about would be fog.  Deducing from that, he decided to head back to the lighthouse where the fog had first begun to appear and where the voice originated.

He stepped cautiously through before stepping up to the door and rapped loudly.  “Ahoy!  Ahoy, Keeper! Anybody home?!” he yelled.

Tracey was just putting some finishing touches on a drawing of his when Ash’s loud knocks disturbed him, luckily, he didn’t ruin his own work.  “Who the devil could that be?” he said in surprise.

“Marill, mar?”

Tracey didn’t give in a second thought and hurried downstairs where he found Ash.  Tracey couldn’t help but of him as a strange man.

“Ah, hello Keeper,” said Ash as he let himself into the building.  “Hope you don’t mind; could do with getting out of the winds.”

“Mm, those winds are bit fierce,” said Tracey. “But anyways, who are you and what do you want?  Almost no one from Cerulean visits the lighthouse, except Mrs. Meyers to deliver me bread.”

“Well, I’m not from around here, I’m a traveler,” said Ash as he aired out his coat.  “I’m Ash, Ash Ketchum.”

“Sketchit, Tracey Sketchit.”

“A pleasure, Tracey, and sorry for the intrusion but I’ve come to ask something of you.”

Tracey raised an eyebrow.  “About what?”

“Heard any…strange songs lately?”

“Oh, well yes I have,” said Tracey, shocked yet pleased at having someone aside from his Pokémon to talk to about the strange occurrences.  “It happens almost every day actually.  Just…comes randomly, fog or not.  Whoever she is, she has a fantastic voice.”

“I can imagine,” said Ash grinning.  “I overheard the tune when I passed by last night. Tell me, do you think it’s a Siren?”

Tracey was astonished!  “Y-you believe they exist?”

“Well, do you?” asked Ash.  “You’re the one hearing these miraculous songs.”

“I know, and I do believe in them,” answered Tracey confidently.  “Well, see I want to.  Thing is though, I’ve never seen one.”

“Mmm,” muttered Ash in agreement.  Just then the two men both heard a familiar, and spine-chillingly, but calming, female voice – it was the mysterious singer.

“Speak of the Devil…” said Tracey.

“Yeah,” replied Ash.  “Think it’s a Siren?”

Tracey seemed unsure, he shook his head to get the doubt out before a more confident looked came to him.  “What else is there to explain why those songs keep coming from the ocean?” he said

His visitor only shrugged, before a sight from the window caught his eye.  “Well, who knows?  Perhaps it’s just our minds playing tricks on us.  But oh man, look at that.”

Coming in from the sea were huge rolling waves. “Uh oh,” said Tracey, though he sounded calmer than he should have.  “Better keep an eye out – there could be fishermen out on the bay, I only hope they aren’t getting caught in that, or our singer!”  Before Ash could speak, Tracey dashed back upstairs.  Ash grimaced as he heard the waves.

“Come on,” he said to Pikachu, and dashed out the door.  A freak wind passed through, blowing up sea water and tiny pebbles, the waves crashing fiercely against the rocks.  Ash heard a high-pitched scream suddenly and followed it.  “Don’t worry!  I’m coming!”

OoOoO

Misty was panicked as the icy water swirled around her – she couldn’t navigate through all the confusion.  Suddenly, she hit a rock face; she thought for a moment that it was a cliff and that she was safe.  She held Goldeen and breathed a sigh of relief, then suddenly a large wave came and Misty shrieked as the force hit her and pushed her up the slick rock, she dragged over the jagged structure, her nerves firing off as the feeling of pain coursed through her.  She landed tail first into the hard rock surface on the other side.  “Ow!” she wailed loudly.

She took in her surroundings as soon as the chaos stopped – there was only enough water to submerge her bottom half, leaving her torso exposed to the earth.  “Oh no,” she gasped.  She had been forced into a tiny cove, the rock she fell in from being too big to climb. Her tail was bruised and she saw it was beginning to swell – she winced at the sight.  She was worried – she was stranded!

Her heart rate began to go up.  She was trapped, alone, in plain sight and with Daisy nowhere in sight.  “Oh Goldeen,” she whispered in fright.  “What if a human finds me…?”  She had heard rumors that humans destroyed what they knew nothing about.

Ash jogged as quickly and as safely as he could over the dangerous terrain, whoever was in trouble needed to get out of the storm and fast.  Wind and rain buffeted him.  He hurried around the stones before halting with a loud screech of his heels.

Splashing before him in a pool of water was a figure that looked like a girl in a swimsuit, her hair orange went only as far as her shoulders.  But most shocking for him of all was…

“A…tail?” he said aloud.  It was large, green, made of scales, and pretty.

Misty squirmed round and stared in fright, any cry for help was lost in her throat like a cornered Pokémon.

Ash found his voice.  “You…” he began.  “You’re a Siren, right?”

#Pokemon #zedpercyfan #Pokeshipping #pokeani #SatoKasu #the sirens of cerulean

[cheion-writes]

A Valentine’s Special!

Sidestep and Steel really do care for each other. They just need some help recognising that. 

Thanks @auroriane for being an awesome beta as always! Any remaining mistakes you see are my own. The complete list to all my fics can be found on my Tumblr :)

1. Sick Days

With Sidestep: 

Your cough harshly as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, feeling utterly and completely miserable. You shouldn’t be sick; you aren’t supposed to get sick. But yet, here you are, nose stuffed, head pounding, and throat as scratchy as sandpaper. Of course, it wasn’t as bad this morning – not until you got caught in the rain on your way to the Rangers base. 

You had arrived drenched, sneezing and coughing, and Steel had taken one look at you before hustling you into one of the private rooms to rest. You blame your fever-addled mind for agreeing to his offer. For letting you actually fall asleep. For imagining that look of concern on his face when he came in to check on you. 

Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you swing your legs off the bed with a sigh, sending out a prayer that you can sneak out without alerting any of the others. 

You freeze as your eyes land on the doors. There’s a blue flask on the table next to it; it wasn’t there before. Where did it come from? Who put it there? The only one that came in was Steel a couple of minutes ago, and… 

...

Oh. 

Cheeks reddening, you slide off the bed and patter to the door to pick up the flask. Your eyes immediately find a handwritten note by its side: 

‘Here’s some apple and pear pork rib soup. It’s good for your throat.’ 

You don’t notice the smile on your face as you pop open the cap and enjoy the steam that curls comfortingly around your face. As you slowly sip the admittedly good broth. 

As you tell yourself that increasing warmth you feel in your belly is simply because of the soup.

---

With Steel: 

“So, Soup, huh?” Ortega’s face sparkles with amused delight as he stares at you. 

“It’s. Just. Soup.” you growl, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Right…” he drawls. “Let’s ignore how you drove all the way to that expensive Chinese restaurant to get it, shall we? How worried you looked when they first came in... how you oh so gently covered them with that blanket when it had fallen off the bed…” 

“I would’ve done the same for any of you.” 

“Right…keep telling yourself that Chen.”

2. Mods 

With Steel: 

You grimace as you step into the base, your arm joint aching and throbbing dully. You’re trying to hide it as well as you can but obviously it isn’t enough, for their lips instantly pull down into a worried frown when they notice you. 

“Are you alright?” You shake your head, your candid honesty somewhat surprising you. “Bad joint,” you mutter. 

Their concerned eyes scan you for a moment before they rise to their feet and gesture to their chair. “Sit,” they say. “I think I can help.” 

You’re surprised when you acquiesce without a single protest. As their gentle touch brushes against where mod meets skin, you hope they can’t feel the shudder that ripples through you. Throughout it all, they pointedly ignoring your gaze, and you can’t help but notice their pulse fluttering tremulously as they tinker around with the mod.

 “There,” they say after a long while. “Is it better?” Slowly, you try moving your arm, heaving a sigh of relief when you realize the bone-deep ache has vanished.

“Yes, much better,” you reply, a fond smile of gratitude spreading across your face. They beam in turn, and it’s a long while before you both turn away.  

---

With Sidestep: 

“You two looked comfortable,” Herald’s voice is the epitome of glee as he corners you in the hall. 

You roll your eyes. “I just don’t like to see any of you hurt.” 

“Really?” he grins. “I mean…you were looking at each other for such a long time. And I haven’t seen you smile like that before…” 

“I’m just relieved he’s fine.” 

“Right…” 

“There’s nothing more to it, Herald. Nothing at all.”

-

3. Nightmares 

With Steel: 

 It’s the whimpers that first alert you something is wrong. They’re lying curled up and vulnerable on the couch, tears streaming down their cheeks as they whisper a plea for help. You hear Ortega’s name upon their lips, and once or twice, you think you hear yours as well. 

“Please… Ortega… Chen… please, please don’t let them take me,” they sob. “I can’t go back, I can’t…” 

You swallow hard as their sobs intensify. Silently, you reach out and gently slide a hand under their shoulders, lifting them slightly off the couch. Their head falls into the nook of your chest, but caught in the throes of the nightmare, they do not wake. A wave of fierce protectiveness overwhelms you as you feel the shudders and sobs wracking their fragile form. “Be calm,” you hear yourself saying. “I’m here. And I promise you: nothing – no one – will harm you, not as long as I’m here.” 

Slowly, impossibly, you feel them relax in your embrace, their breathing slowly evening out. You don’t let go; not until the choked words stop, not until their whimpers finally quieten. “Sleep well,” you whisper as you lower them back down and drape the blanket over them once more. I’ll be here when you wake. 

---

“So… Care to tell us why you spent such a long time with Sidestep last night?” 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Angie.” 

“Of course not. We all know what’s going on.” 

“For the last time, nothing is happening between us.” 

 - 

4. Even Heroes Need Saving

With Sidestep: 

 It's a particularly nasty part of town and as luck would have it, you had all bumped into an anti-Ranger group as soon as you arrived. Apparently, their dislike of the Rangers was particularly intense for a certain Marshal. 

As you trail worriedly behind the stoic man, you note the clenched fists and locked jaw, the supremely-concealed pain in his eyes as the crowd continues to jeer. 

"He should retire." 

“Even the others are all better.” 

“Just an old soldier pretending to be a hero.”

You find your rage rising at their poison-barbed words, until you can take it no more. 

“Shut the hell up!” you yell as you whirl around, eyes dark and terrifying and blazing with fury. They immediately fall silent and take a step back at your outburst, but you are far from done. 

“Marshal Steel saved my life and the lives of hundreds of others in his time as a Ranger! He saved hundreds more in his time as a soldier! He probably saved your sorry asses countless of times, not like any of you deserve it! He cares more for others than for himself, he always strives to do his best, and he will always be there for anyone no matter the cost to himself!" 

You take a deep breath, your voice rising as you bellow out the final words. “He is the most courageous, compassionate, and self-sacrificial man I've ever known, and he's a better hero than any of you will ever hope to be! So don’t you dare speak otherwise!" 

At the end of it all, the thoroughly chastised and intimidated group is tripping over themselves to escape your wrath. 

Satisfied, you nod, dust your fingers and turn to face Steel… only to see him staring open-mouthed at you. “I never knew you felt that way about me,” he says quietly as a blush creeps up his neck.

“Yeah, yeah," you reply, turning away so he won't see the heat upon your face. "You better remember it because I’m not saying it again." 

You don't need to look up to feel the shy smile that spreads across his face as he hurries after you. 

---

“You do know there are videos of you defending the Marshal going viral online, do you?” 

“It’s just because those people got on my nerves.” 

“Sure…. if you say so…” 

“Why doesn’t it sound like you believe me?” 

- 

[Interlude] 

 i. 

“You got me… a cactus plushie?” 

“It’s for Spoon. You did say he always ruins those.” 

“Oh… thank you, then. I’m sure he’ll love this.” 

---

“Hey Sidestep? I heard you got something for Steel-” 

“It’s just a plushie! For Spoon!” 

 ii. “I’m fine, Chen. You don’t have to stay.” 

“It’s alright. You look like you could use some company.”

 --- 

 “So... I saw you sitting so close to them in the park today.” 

“They looked like they needed a friend… why are you looking at me like that?”

- 

5. The Rangers Act

With Sidestep: 

“You’d best come at once.” 

Ortega’s terse voice rings in your ears as you tear down the sidewalk towards the Rangers base, as does a single thought that echoes on repeat  in your mind: 

"Please, please let him be safe.”

Ortega had sent you that call an hour ago, informing you that the Marshal was hurt and that it was of paramount importance that you turn up at the Rangers base as soon as you could. Subsequent attempts to contact them had failed, and you found your anxiety growing as time ticked by. 

Please don’t let him be hurt. I can’t bear it if he is. 

It’s a startling revelation, but it doesn’t make it any less true. 

As you screech to a halt in the hall, a sigh of relief escapes you as you spot a rattled but otherwise uninjured Steel. 

"Chen, you're alright!" you sigh as you dash to him, wrapping your arms around his broad chest. He hugs you back just as tightly, and you miss the moment his fear melts into relief, and then into confusion. 

“Wait… I thought you were the one injured?” 

“Me?” you repeat. “Ortega told me that you were hurt so I had to come here at once!” " 

His eyes widen in confusion. "But Herald called me…. He told me you were hurt and that I should prepare the ops room for surgery..." 

"What?!” 

The word escapes you in an undignified, high-pitched yelp. Just what are they playing at? What's with telling you and Steel such crazy lies, getting you both here alone and- 

Oh. OH. Oh no they didn't.

You see the moment Steel comes to the same realization as you do. 

“They set us up, didn't they?” you moan as you bury your face into his chest. 

“It would seem so,” he chuckles in fond exasperation. You notice he makes no move to push you away. 

You groan even louder. "I'm going to kick their ass for this.”

Steel laughs. "That’s something we can agree on." His eyes soften. "But for what it's worth… it’s made me realize what I should have long ago: that I can’t bear losing you." 

You heart skips a beat at his words. Exhaling lightly, you pull him in close, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat as you finally allow yourself to admit the truth you’ve been denying for so long. “I can’t bear losing you too.” 

He smiles softly at that. His fingers cup your cheek in a gentle touch, and his voice drops into a tender whisper you’d never once heard him use before. “You know… I think I like you very much.” 

You huff out a breathless laugh, your cheeks heating up as you gaze into his earnest eyes. “I think I like you very much too.” 

He chuckles and leans in close until your foreheads meet; you’re closer than you’ve ever been before. There you remain for a long while, simply drinking in the presence of each other. Then, his fingers grasp your chin, and you find yourself gazing deep into his eyes once more. Slowly, you feel your eyes drift shut as you lean in even closer, as does he. 

 When you finally press your lips upon his own, the touch is gentle yet deep, hesitant yet intimate. 

And when the kiss finally breaks off, you realize that his cheeks are just as flushed as yours.  “So…does this mean you’ll go out with me?” he asks with a small smile. 

You find yourself smiling back. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

#fallen hero: rebirth #my writing #romance #sidewei #fanfiction

[arthur-darlin]

ALL THE EVENS

2. How old are you?

I've been alive for 21 slutty, slutty years

4. What is your zodiac sign?

The (worst) best one

6. What’s your lucky number?

16 (I blame HSM3 for that, but I'll never change it)

8. Where are you from?

Good ol' Hampshire (pls don't track me down)

10. What shoe size are you?

37. I like saying the European size because the UK number is too small

12. What was your last dream about?

A cute picnic. Not a nightmare for once

14. Are you psychic in any way?

Hell fucking yeah babes (to some extent)

16. Favorite movie?

Surprisingly not LOTR (because it's not a singular movie). Probably Clueless

18. Do you want children?

I've had enough of children to last me a life time. I'll pass thanks

20. Are you religious?

I'm religious, just not with an Abrahamic religion. I guess it's more of a spirituality

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

Nope, nor shall I ever be

24. Baths or showers?

Give me the human soup

26. Have you ever been famous?

I was once featured in The Guardian, but I'm not bragging

28. What type of music do you like?

Anything that doesn't make me feel human when listening to it

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

Trois!

32. How big is your house?

Tiiiiiiiiny, but very cosy

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

A BB gun, yeah

36. Favorite clean word?

Mellifluous

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

I'm a pussy; definitely less than 36 hours

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

As far as I know, they're all still secret 👀👀👀

42. Are you a good judge of character?

I'm a dumbass- I either hit the nail on the head or its a big ?

44. Do you have a strong accent?

Nah. I blame my London (Kent) born Dad and Midlands Mum

46. What is your personality type?

ISTJ? It's on my blog but I can't be arsed to look

48. Can you curl your tongue?

I can do lots with my tongue, including curling it ;)

50. Left or right handed?

右回りの

52. Favorite food?

God damn, gnocchi fucks me UP

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

Clean when I'm in a good frame of mind. You can tell my mood by the state of my room

56. Most used word?

Right. Idk why, It's a one worded utterance when someone speaks to me

58. Do you have much of an ego?

It's getting there. One day I'll be unstoppable

60. Do you talk to yourself?

Who DOESN'T talk to themselves?

62. Are you a good singer?

Fuck no babes

64. Are you a gossip?

I like hearing it, but there's always guilt behind it

66. Do you like long or short hair?

Short hair on myself, longer on others

68. Favorite school subject?

English, because I'm the kind of gay that depended on their English teacher too much in school

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

In a swimming pool for my friend's 11th birthday. Gnarly

72. Are you scared of the dark?

I'm scared of what is in the dark

74. Are you ticklish?

Why don't you find out? (Don't touch me)

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

Every single motherfucking day bih

78. Have you ever done drugs?

Alcohol aside, the strongest drug I've done is ibuprofen

80. How many piercings do you have?

One! They still freak me out

82. How fast can you type?

Nobody has seen my type. That's how fast I am

84. What color is your hair

Who tf knows these days? Currently rose blonde

86. What are you allergic to?

Bananas and raw tomatoes make me rash and my throat itch, and goji berries and hazelnuts make my stomach DIE

88. What do your parents do?

Happily retired and travel

90. What makes you angry?

Poor management (👀👀👀)

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

By babies, I'm including nonhuman babies. Because I'm definitely not wanting real babies. And they're all a secret until they furr baby is revealed to the world

94. What are you strengths?

Undefeated limbo champion at work

96. How did you get your name?

It was chosen by my father, king Uther Pendragon

98. Do you have any scars?

I'm happy to discuss one scar, and it's on my middle finger from trapping it in a foldaway camp bed. I like showing people and flipping them off at the same time

100. Color of your room?

Magnolia. Tragic, I know, but I rent

[kittywildegrrl]

MAMA CAT AND THE VERY HARD SLOG

In Which MamaCat Gets Her SAG-AFTRA Card and It Makes Her Start Blogging Again

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?

Write day and night like you're running out of time?

Ev'ry day you fight, like you're running out of time

Keep on fighting”

-- Lin-Manuel Miranda, “Non-Stop,” HAMILTON, Act 2

Oh, look, I’m back.

The agent looked at me with clear confusion. “Diana,” the agent asked, “How do you DO it?”

The agent in question, here in Minneapolis, is a good friend of many years, a responsible person with spouse and family, mortgage, all the Adulting, if you will. Also, a really wonderful actor as well. So, somebody I was glad to answer honestly. And if you’re taking the time to read my little bloggety blog, then I shall extend the same courtesy to you.

The agent was asking how, essentially, how does it happen that I seem to be always heading off to or getting back from New York, when I don’t seem to have a whole lot of money. I have heard friends say things like, “But you have agents in New York, don’t you?”; “I wish I could do that”; “New York must be so fun!” The answers are, (a) it seems that way because I often am on my way there or back here; (b) no I do not; (c) you could, if that were your priority; and (d) yes, it is, but I’m not going for fun - I just happen to have fun while I’m there.

There comes a time in your life when you just know that THIS IS IT, this is the thing I am going to do with my life, with the time I’ve got left. It may come to you as a child, or it may come to you in something that looks to others like you’ve had a complete crackup from your midlife crisis. It may come at any time, and it may change your life if you let it. It may come back after detours of many years, and tap you on the shoulder, and say, “Hey, did we want to Actualize or what?” Parts of it may suck. Parts of it will definitely be much harder than you had anticipated. Parts of it will amaze you. All of it will require risk and courage (cue “Climb Ev’ry Mountain”).

Five summers ago, I was doing a season at Allenberry Playhouse in south-central Pennsylvania. It was the summer I grew up, at the ripe old age of 56. I made a few lifelong friends, did some delightful work, took some hikes, enjoyed some bananas Foster, got some nice reviews, had a nervous breakdown when I saw the rehearsal & production photos and realized what my body actually looked like after years of sitting… you know, the usual.  

Among the lifelong friendships that were born that summer, is that which blossomed with the lovely and talented Shannon Haddock, actor, blogger, wife, singer, in no particular order. My pal. My sister from another mother. She offered to all and sundry at Allenberry a safe place to crash in the Bronx, on their couch (hers and her hubby’s). I guess I was the only one to take her up on it. And I have done so again and again. I have also accepted invitations to sleep on April & Andy’s couch, and Bethany & Adam’s couch. At a time of life when most of my peers are either already retired or just about to retire, I am couch-surfing like a college student. AND LOVING IT.

If you’re a Facebook friend of mine, you’ve seen a lot of photos uploaded from New York… but few seem to notice that you don’t really see me doing a lot of spendy things. Or touristy things. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Welcome to New York, now spend your money and go home! Two baseball clubs, every kind of cuisine, Fashion Week, FLEET WEEK!!! Have a blast! But my path is a little less Vacation-y and a lot more Focus-y.

I may check into the restaurant on Facebook, so my husband knows where I’m eating and whatnot, but the odds are pretty good that it’s not a famous or trendy place, & there aren’t any fab pictures of fancy, expensive meals. Maybe one cocktail. Maybe I’m splitting something with a friend whom I couldn’t make time to see otherwise. What you don’t see is the two bags of groceries I carry home after I get off the train, to pitch in for meals with my benefactors (or, one bag of groceries & another with a bottle of wine in it. Let’s get real.). Or me shopping at the dollar store on Upper Broadway instead of, say, Bergdorf’s.

Sure, I’ve seen this show and that show… but some of them only because a dear friend sprung for tickets (thank you Fern!!!!!). Most of what I’ve seen on Broadway, I’ve seen because I could grab $39 nosebleeds, or I hit a Lottery deal. Quite a few trips go by without me seeing anything on Broadway at all, except the tourists in the streets. Some of the shows I’m fortunate enough to have seen have been Off-Broadway & Off-Off-Broadway; not just because that’s the surest way to catch fresh work, but also because that’s usually where I’ll be able to see my friends performing, and the tickets are much cheaper Off-Off (so are the bars).

I see folks waxing rhapsodic on the Social about their trips to the City, the amazing things they’ve seen and done and eaten, and it looks and sounds great! But it’s a version of the City I never see. And I am just fine with that. One thing I can confirm about New York: there is literally something for everyone.

I go on the cheapest flights at the most annoying flight times. My last trip back, for example: from the apartment in the Bronx to my husband’s arms in Minneapolis took well over 12 hours, but it was barely $125 including meals. Leave the Bronx on a train to go get on a bus to Boston. From there, take a train into Logan to catch a flight back into NYC. Change planes for a flight to MSP. Yes. That’s how Mama rolls.

I live like the other actors live while I’m there; $25 - $50 for some class is CHEAP AF, but the same $25 - $50 is WAY the hell too expensive for a meal. The train may only be $2.75/trip (less when you’re savvy about your MetroCard refills), but look here, there’s time walk between at least two or three of these appointments and I can get cardio while saving almost enough to afford the lunch special at that place in the Garment District where they always have a 1/2 sandwich with a cup of soup for $10 if you go at the right time of day. If a friend is taking a dance or improv or acting class on the regular, that allows one free drop-in session, you can bet your bagels I’ve gone with her and taken the free drop-in.

It’s a freaky weird choice of lifestyle, but I’m committed. Many people have suggested that I should be committed – but I think they were thinking of something else. Perhaps in later installments I’ll tell you tales of what I’ve sacrificed to pull it off, regale you with fascinating (or boring) vignettes, detail some of the moments and connect the dots. It’s the best possible way to work things out in a world in which we can’t pick up and move to New York, but in which I need to be there for karmic and professional reasons.

But six weeks ago, I got the break. A really cool one. It may or may not lead to Really Exciting Stuff; no one can predict the future, but it was most definitely something cool. And it goes directly to these efforts over these five years. And it’s supported by the friends & husband who have helped me suck up the sacrifices, live through the tears, and learn to go without the shiny things in order to earn the greater things.

“Diana,” the agent asked, “How do you DO it?”

I do it on the cheap, babe. I do it on the 1 Train. Just like Lin-Manuel.

Meow, darlings.

#actorslife theatre musicaltheatre film NYC unionmaid

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Darksiders: Arthurian Tales

Chapter 2: Part 2

Death woke to hear the sounds of muffled voices. With a massive headache, he looked around slowly. Surveying what little he could see currently. It wasn't much to look at really, just a simple cell. He could feel his arms, somewhat asleep, had been chained above his head. The shackles were connected together by a small chain, and through the wall were heavier chains holding his arms in place. He heard the voices again, only to start hearing screams of agony as well. He paid it no heed, not even as the screams lowered in volume as they slowly ceased. Heavy footsteps soon approached the cell door, and a slit was slid open.

"Oi. You awake in there yet?" A gruff voice asks from beyond the door.

"I am. What of it?" Death said simply.

"Good. The King would see you now."

The door open with a loud creaking of the metal, and King Uther came into the room with a few guardsmen. Death found himself disgusted by a certain scent in the air. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but it reminded him of Lilith. Naturally it pissed him off when he realized that much. Uther then grabs a heavy mace and asks Death,

"Where has your brother gone?"

Death remained silent, refusing to say a word. The mace was swung just enough to barely touch him as a warning. Not that Death cared, as he did not flinch.

"Has he gone for reinforcements from your Council? To your siblings perhaps? WHERE IS HE?"

Death looks up briefly and says, "You're no King or Master of mine. Your laws mean little to me. I will not bow to you, nor will I bend to your will."

Uther's eyes bulged in flaring anger, the mace was then swung again. This time hitting Death's side. He only grew angrier when the elder Horsemen made no sound to indicate pain.

"Either you tell me what I want to know, or I can beat the information from your body." He growls in fury.

Death only chuckles, "You're welcome to keep at it. If you think it will change anything."

Death then felt another hit from the mace to his other side. Then to his leg, his arms, chest, face. Anywhere Uther could hit him, he swung. After what felt like hours, Death glanced up to see Uther had stopped. Catching his breath as he wiped sweat from his brow. Death hadn't even broken a sweat in the meantime. Sure the dull spikes did manage to cut his skin, but beyond the occasional small splatter of blood, there was precious little evidence of Uther's work. If Death had been injured, he honestly couldn't tell. He men couldn't see much of a difference either, as Death cocked his head without any hitch or pain.

"Finished already?" Death asks mockingly.

Uther only growls before saying to him, "For now I shall retire. Clearly I underestimated you heavily. Brute force will not be enough. So I shall reconsider my offensive before my next visit."

Uther then walked away with his guards behind him. The door shut once again, and Death was left with his thoughts. Course while the mace had done precious little to him, his arms being above his head had begun to be an issue. A bit dazed from the circulation problem he lifted his leg over his head until he was upside-down. Not a comfortable position for most people, but Death's flexibility was nearly unmatched. He began to contort his body to try and reach the innocent looking hairpin that still remained in his hair despite the bashing from the mace. Eventually he was able to grab it and allowed his body to lower back down. He shook off the vertigo as best he could while working to unlock the cuffs. One hand then finally both were free. Death landed somewhat gracefully onto the ground and remained there for a moment to regain himself. Now that circulation was back to normal in his arms, it didn't take very long at all. Course he could hear footsteps approaching, and quickly turned the hairpin into a small knife. However he was surprised to hear a familiar female voice behind it.

"Let me inside the cell."

"Milady you're surely..."

"Did I stutter? Open this door now."

"Yes Ma'am."

Death lowered the knife, which was actually Harvester in another form. The door then opened to reveal Morgen standing there. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, even chanting a spell that shielded the door with something.

"What's that for?" Death asks her curiously.

"I could ask the same about your knife. But if you must know, it's a spell for soundproofing doors." Morgen says simply.

"Ah. And the knife isn't for you, I was expecting someone else." Death says.

"I figured as much. I brought food if you're hungry. And some balms and such if you need them." Morgen says.

"I've healed on my own, but the food I won't object to. Since you were nice enough to bring...." Death says before opening the the basket she'd brought.

Inside it was a small meal. A container still warm with a pleasant smelling soup, a fresh bread loaf perfect for dipping, and a canister of cool water.

"...a bit much isn't it?" Death asks her after examining everything, a bit shocked at the gesture.

"In my opinion, it's perfect. You'll need your strength for what's to come. So eat up and don't fret about the amount of food here." Morgen says with a smile.

Death takes her up on the offer, eating the meal she brought. He found the soup tasted just as nice as it smelled. The bread was soft but had a perfect crisp to it. Clearly the cook knew what they were doing. Then again, anyone cooking for royals should know fully well what they're doing anyway. Once he'd had his fill, he turned to Morgen,

"Tell your cooks they do great work. Just don't let that go to their heads."

"I'll be sure to pass on the word. Just make sure you rest well tonight." Morgen says warmly as her eyes seem to light up.

"I just might for once, despite the mess I'm in." Death says, hearing a soft laugh from her.

"Well goodnight to you." Morgen says before leaving the room.

Death considered saying the same, but chose not to in the end. But after a moment he facepalmed himself, realizing he hadn't exactly thanked her for the food. He could only hope his actions were enough to get the idea across to her. For now he lay down on the cot, the only light coming from the barred window. Morgen return the basket to the kitchen and told her head maid Mrs. Mina,

"He liked the meal."

"I told ye he would lass. Your cooking is always a delight. Especially since we taught ye all there's to know." Mina says kindly.

"You did, but he is Death after all." Morgen says.

"Yeah that's my big brother for ya. Intimidating as fuck with a smartass mouth. He give you a rough time? He can be a bit....'uncooperative' when pissed off." Strife says to her, having overheard the small conversation.

"He wasn't a problem at all. He enjoyed the food, though he was surprised by it. Death was actually quite calm when we spoke." Morgen says.

"He's not used to people being nice for the sake of it. Even Death is usually only 'nice' to get something in return. Not that he's a selfish prick or anything. He's an annoying prick, but not selfish. As for him being calm, Death probably already sees you as an ally. Or again he's just trying to make sure you don't backstab us or some shit because he was too aggressive or mean to ya." Strife says.

"I see. Well I trust it pleases you to know he's alright?" Morgen asks him.

"Yeah, it's definitely good to know he's not in any major trouble. Just let me know if any real bad shit goes down. I mean it too."

"Of course Strife....uh I mean..."

"Hey don't sweat it lady. I don't care if you say my name, neither does Death really. You can call me by my name if you wanna." Strife says casually.

"Very well then, Strife. Goodnight for now. And goodnight to you too Mina." Morgen says scurrying away in slight embarrassment.

She reaches her bedroom easily enough and begins to undress after locking her door. However, Morgen soon feels like she's being watched. She quickens her pace, getting her nightgown on and hurrying to bed. Despite her concern, Morgen eventually does fall asleep.

#Darksiders #Darksiders Fandom #Darksiders Fanfic #Darksiders Arthurian Tales #Implied Adult Themes #Death #Strife

[burnsopale]

Burgeoning, Ralf/Johnny

Title: Burgeoning, part 1 Pairing: Ralf/Johnny Rating: G for now Summary: Ralf has a hedgehog problem. The hedgehog has a Ralf problem.

Author’s note: I’m very excited to get to post this (and hopefully continue it) as this is the origin story for Ralf and Johnny’s relationship that forms a rough backdrop to all my other fics.

Ralf had long since mastered the ability to eat without looking at his plate. He found mealtime boring, the ceremony of sitting down to dinner a waste of time, and since Johan insisted that Ralf at least had his breakfast and dinner in the dining room, Ralf usually brought a book. This evening was no different.

He didn’t even look up when Johan entered, assuming he had come to clear a dish or refill Ralf’s glass. Instead, the aging butler remained standing just inside the door until Ralf, irritated at this irregularity, looked up.

“Yes?”

Johan’s impressive brows were furrowed, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes that Ralf was decidedly not paying him for.

“We have a guest, sir.”

“We never have guests, Johan.”

“We do today, sir.”

Ralf put his fork down but kept his book optimistically open. “Well, who is it? The press? A fan? … It’s not my aunt, is it?”

Johan shook his head solemnly. “Master Ralf, I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your meal for anything so trivial.”

Ralf put the book down, realising he was being teased. “How would you describe them, then?”

Johan considered it, wiggling his moustache. “I'd say the hedgehogs are awfully big this year, sir.”

Ralf rolled his eyes and rose. “Very well, I’ll come see. There’s no need for this silliness.”

He proceeded Johan down to the entrance hall, but when he pulled the large front door open, he found the porch empty. A frosty March wind blew straight through his thin shirt. "Johan."

"Yes, Master Ralf."

"There's no one here."

"I suppose he wandered off, sir."

"If it wasn't dinnertime," Ralf said as he got his shoes and jacket out of the closet. "I would suspect you of trying to get me to go for a walk."

He threw on a scarf and headed outside, jogging lightly down the stairs to the gravel path and looking left and right for the mystery guest.

"He probably wandered around the house, sir," Johan said from the doorway. "Having come this far to see you, it's unlikely he'll give up without results."

This person sounded more unpleasant by the minute.

Ralf turned back to ask why Johan hadn't simply gotten the broom and taken care of this already, but the butler had already shut the door. Ralf sighed and headed into the garden.

Years later, the memory of what followed would take on a rosier tinge. The sun, though not very strong yet in early spring, would seem very bright in the pale sky, and the hedgerows would be green, and thinking of the boy he had found chucking stones at a stained glass window would make Ralf smile.

But it was not years later. It was now.

"That window is an important piece of family history and I will thank you to cease this instant before you do irreparable damage to it!"

Johnny McGregor halted with his arm pulled back for the throw. "That's more words than you spoke to me the entire tournament," he said, let the stone fall and put his sore, red fingers into the pockets of his jacket. "I was beginning to wonder what I'd have to do to get your attention."

"What do you want?" Ralf demanded. "And make it quick; I was in the middle of dinner."

The boy was the same as when they had parted, autumn-red, cotton candy hair standing straight up on his head, pale lavender eyes full of determination, irritating pointy little nose poking into Ralf's business.

"I want a rematch," the boy said.

"You can't have one. Goodbye." Ralf turned on his heel, happy to have settled the matter, and began walking back towards the entrance.

"Oi! Come back here or I'll make that window sing!"

Ralf stopped and turned, glaring. "What more do you want?"

The boy pulled his Beyblade from his pocket and held it out. "I demand a rematch! I'll defeat you and reclaim my honour." The sun shone in the bit chip and for a moment Ralf imagined a brush of fire against his skin.

"I don't give rematches, McGregor. You fought well, but in the end you lost. Fallen warriors do not rise again."

"I’m not a bloody fallen warrior!" The boy was getting agitated.

Ralf turned away again, determined to get to the door this time. "Go home, McGregor." He heard the sound of a stone being picked up. "If you scratch that window I'll release the dogs."

He was all the way to the staircase before the boy suddenly jumped in front of him, throwing his arms out to block the way.

"I am not leaving until you battle me!"

There were hectic red spots in his cheeks. Again, years from now the memory would strike Ralf with nostalgia. Johnny in his heavy boots and with his bare knees, mouth pinched childishly, big eyebrows lowered over his lovely eyes. But at the time, Ralf's sweeping glance was more dismissive than admiring.

"Get out of my way."

"Battle me!"

Ralf took a deep breath, fixed the boy with his eyes and began to slowly ascend the stairs, forcing the boy back with the force of his glare. "You have five minutes to clear my property before I release the dogs. At best, Mr McGregor, you might return from the dead to face me again in some future tournament, but otherwise I do not waste my time on losers."

The boy's heel caught on the last step and he fell on his ass, leaving Ralf room to walk past him and open the door. He shut it resolutely behind him and turned the key.

"I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE ANY DOGS!" came a shout from outside.

"Well, he's got us there, sir," Johan said, helping Ralf off with his coat.

Ralf unwound his scarf, kicked off his shoes and walked determinedly back towards the dining room and his book. "He'll leave once he realises it's futile."

Several hours later, Ralf was in the larder with Beate going through the supplies. As usual, she had listened politely to his arguments for dialling back the food budget and making the menus simpler, and then proceeded to ignore him, walking along the shelves and making notes on her clipboard, the ribbon on her apron jumping as she clucked and tutted to herself.

Ralf was picking out a bottle of wine to bring upstairs, when Beate turned and said, "Old Johan told me about your guest, Master Ralf. I noticed him when I arrived. Should I perhaps make him something? He looked cold, the poor thing."

Ralf stared at her for a moment. "HE'S STILL HERE?"

A minute later Ralf and Johan were leaning out of a third story window and looking down at the stoop of Castle Jurgens.

"Mein God, he's still out there."

Ralf leaned further out, as if proximity could somehow reveal the huddled figure on the stairs to be something other than the boy.

It didn't.

"He is quite tenacious," Johan said, moustache twitching over a small smile. "No wonder with the fight he gave you in the tournament."

Ralf was getting a headache from all the glaring he was having to do today. "He did not give me a fight, Johan, I defeated him quite easily."

The look Johan gave him in return was so frankly disrespectful that Ralf was left gaping like a fish.

After a moment, Johan inclined his head. "Of course, Master Ralf. Shall I take the bottle?"

"Leave it. I want to read."

"Very well, sir. Then, if there's nothing else you need, I'll turn in." Johan left. His joints ached in the cold, so he usually went early to bed in winter time.

Ralf smiled after him, feeling the melancholy affection one has towards elderly friends and family, the kind where love is sharpened by the knowledge of their decline.

Then he turned to once again look down at the splotch of colour on the grey stoop. It was about to become properly dark, and the temperature was falling further and-Oh!

If Ralf had been one for skipping, he might have done so as he hurried down the hallway to the nearest broom closet, from whence he intended to fetch a bucket. He knew just the thing to make his unwanted guest give up and go away.

As he filled the bucket with water, he had time to consider that this was not going to be terribly honourable.

On the other hand, he told himself as he carried the sloshing bucket down to the second floor, it was his peace being disturbed. All he was doing was getting rid of a trespasser. Wasn't this even somewhat reminiscent of the knights of old pouring boiling oil from the parapets to hinder invading armies?

With this happy thought in mind, Ralf emptied the bucket of water out of the second story window and listened with grim satisfaction to the shriek that rose from below.

"YOU SHITE! YOU ARSEFACED NUMTPY! GET YOUR SCRAWNY ASS DOWN HERE SO I CAN KICK IT!"

"Get off my property!" Ralf yelled back.

"NOT ON YER LIFE!"

Apparently the shock had changed the boy's accent. Ralf distinctly remembered it being English until now, but the thick Scottish brogue certainly made the insults a lot more effective.

Ralf didn't bother to bandy with the boy any further. McGregor would leave once it got cold enough. Ralf left to replace the bucket.

He spent the evening finishing his book, eventually fell asleep in his chair, woke in the morning hours and dragged himself to bed, having forgotten the boy for the moment.

By ten o'clock he was in his private gym room, doing his morning exercises. A knock on the door surprised him; Johan rarely had any reason to disturb him before breakfast.

"Come."

It was indeed Johan. "Good morning, sir."

Ralf put his barbell down and stretched. "What is it, Johan?"

"I was wondering if I should bring Mr McGregor breakfast?"

For a long moment, Ralf just stared at his butler.

"Yes, sir, he's still-" "HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE!"

For another moment they stared at each other.

"There's some soup left over from yesterday," Johan said eventually.

"Heavens, no." Ralf picked up the barbell again and started on the other arm. "If you feed him, he'll never leave."

"Soup it is."

"What-No-You-!"

Johan left.

"Someday I will fire you!" Ralf cried after him.

"Not if I retire first," came Johan's reply from down the corridor.

Ralf was just wondering if he shouldn't get some dogs after all (Johan could walk them), when Johan returned, looking troubled.

"I'm afraid the boy cannot leave, sir."

Ralf sighed. "Alright, we'll get some dogs-wait, what do you mean cannot?"

"You should see for yourself, sir."

McGregor was curled up on the stairs in a fitful doze, his breath ragged and broken by shivers.

Johan knelt by him and touched his forehead. "He's got a bad fever. Did it rain last night? His clothes are damp."

Ralf cleared his throat. "Not that I noticed."

Johan rose. "I'll call the doctor. Will you carry him, sir?"

"Carry him?" Ralf looked uncomprehendingly at the old man. "Just get the ambulance to come get him. What do I care if-."

"Master Ralf!" There was no trace of humor on Johan's face now. "This boy is all alone in a foreign land and he is sick because of us. I will take care of him, but I request that you lend him a bed if nothing else; it's not like we don't have them to spare."

Ralf stood shocked and ashamed while Johan walked around him to hold the door open.

Johan never scolded him. Not like this.

He looked at McGregor, just as another hard shiver rocked the boy's body and made him scrunch up his face in pain.

Ralf exhaled. He knelt down, worked one arm under the boy's back and another under his knees and lifted him with an effort. Once he was steady on his feet and had the boy balanced in his arms, he turned to Johan and manoeuvred them through the doorway.

They walked in silence up the stairs to the guest rooms.

"m'not leaving..."

McGregor was stirring, eyes open just a sliver. They were hazy.

"m'not ..."

"I'll have you out on your ear the moment you're well," Ralf mumbled back. "I haven't forgotten what you called me last night."

 Sometime later, Ralf was jogging through the forest that bordered his estate. The sun came dazzling through the leaves, and the only sounds were his fast steps on the soft path and his own measured breath.

He kept thinking back to putting Johnny McGregor to bed, helping Johan discard the boy's wet clothes and getting him into a nightgown that had belonged to Ralf's father. McGregor was strong, broad over the shoulders, arms and legs like young trunks, but mostly he was soft. Soft thighs, soft stomach, soft cheeks red from fever.

At this moment, he was sleeping in one of Ralf's beds, back at the castle, watched over by Johan. His autumn-red hair on one of Ralf's pillows. Breath ragged from the cold Ralf had caused him.

Ralf sped up. He'd outrun these strange, unwanted feelings. Let the boy rest for a day, and as soon as he was well he would be out of Ralf's house and out of his hair, and Ralf would never have to see him again.

#Beyblade #BeyArMaMo #BeyArMaMo2018 #Judin writes #RalfJohnny #Header credit goes to Modernwitchesdaily on tumblr #I will not be posting 2000 words every day! #Burgeoning

[veridium]

“All That Glitters” Chapter Two

Cassandra x Olivia

Characters: Theia, Olivia, Cassandra, Josephine, Vivienne

Chapter Summary: Olivia at last breaks it to Cassandra about her upcoming mission. Expectantly, it does not go as well as one would hope. Cassandra can’t help herself from wanting to please Olivia, but also follow her own honorable compass, and takes a risk which has potentially bad consequences.

Author’s Note: CASSANDRA NO CASSANDRA STAHP.

--

The remaining couple hours in the day wore on as Olivia busied herself, multitasking in both finishing up the day’s tasks and trying to formulate a tactful way to inform Cassandra of her upcoming mission. Theia’s ominous observation had remained branded in her mind, not because it surprised her, but because she knew she was right. Olivia hadn’t yet been in a situation where she would have to worry about Cassandra’s jealousy or possessiveness, and she hardly thought she ever would after beginning her new life at Skyhold. Clearly, old occupations died as hard as habits did.

When at last she released herself from her day in the tower, she wandered down to the grounds where she found Cassandra, standing by the straw sparring dummies, sheathing a new practice sword she must have gotten from the Smith’s shop. The sun had been down for a while, and the remaining orange on the horizon line was quickly dissolving to black. It left little light for them to enjoy in the open air.

Olivia approached, bare feet and blanket shawl around her shoulders, her trademark after hours look.

“New toys to play with, I see,” she greeted whilst still being a few yards away.

Hearing the voice that was like ring velvet to the ears for her, Cassandra grinned, eyes still on the new sword as she inspected the quality. “Yes, you know me, I am endlessly playful.”

Olivia finally reached her lover’s side and she wasted no time, slipping her arm around Cassandra’s and hooking herself around its strong feel. She smiled and rested her chin on the edge of Cassandra’s shoulder, her eyes gazing down at the sword as well. The familiar contrast of light armor texture to the flimsiness of her blanket and day dress the texture of their love.

“You seem pretty amenable to such things when it comes to me,” she cooed, standing on her toes a bit with her habitual dancer’s feet.

Cassandra smirked. “You make playfulness more interesting than most interpretations I have seen.”

“What flattery. Perhaps you have a fever? Are you sure you are feeling well?” Olivia bit her lip and put her hand to Cassandra’s forehead, as if to assess her temperature.

Cassandra scoffed, not remaining still for such an evaluation. She gently stepped away from Olivia, in order to place the practice sword back on the rack of weapons and tools for the sparring ring. “Will you be going to supper in the Hall or retiring now that you are done with the day’s work?” she returned the conversation to more practical matters.

Olivia folded her arms, tucking in the shall tightly around her shoulders. “No, I was thinking of merely making some pot of soup down in the kitchen and having dinner in bed, again,” she tilted her head to the side. “You feel like eating something like that, or should I steal you something different while I am there?”

Cassandra turned and faced her, now, arms at her sides as she took a few steps closer to her. Even if she was being a tease, Olivia was hard to stay away from for long.

“If they have some of the salted beef and bread, I would not decline it,” she admitted, a crooked grin on her lips. “And a few spoonfuls of your soup, if you would be so merciful.”

“I would, on one condition,” Olivia took a step forward, closing the rest of the distance between them.

“Name it, then.”

“The world and my soup could be yours, Seeker Pentaghast, if you would give me your blessing for my upcoming mission to the Capitol.”

Cassandra paused, slightly surprised by the specificity and ambition of Olivia’s request. She had expected something more trivial and endearing, like being the one to blow out all the candles at night before bed or letting her bathe in the bathtub with hot water first. She should have known that in the Inquisition, such things were not out of the ordinary.

To read the full chapter, Click Here!

#oc stuff #olivia sinclair #olivia x cassandra #NEW CHAPTER