#she was so young. that decade was like a third of her life. she spent a third of her life carrying that with her. being someone else | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

orphicrose · 2 months

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Are you still doing requests? Can I request Alastor x Wife reader who were married together alive an reunited in hell and while Alastor hates modern tech the reader grew on it and even started a life hack channel on voxtube of tricks from the 1920s and it becomes really popular and she gets sponsors and fan mail meanwhile Alastor needs Angel's help just to video chat her and one day she gets a 5 million subscriber mileage congratulations gift box (that all creators get bit hes still mad) from Vox himself

Old man and an Iphone

Requests are still open indeed.

I can definitely do my best! I’ve changed the dates around a little to better fit the technology advancements in the universe. This is set in the early 2000s

This is somewhat small, but i hope you like it.

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Years passed like turning pages since your husband had departed from you, in the cruelest ways that anyone could imagine. A fate that wasn’t even inevitable. That singular fragile piece of metal, shot from an unknown hunter, took him away from you.

You knew who he was, you knew what he was. Knowing that you’d end up in the same temple of horror one day that he has. His sins being your sins. That brought you some peace. Knowing you’d be reunited one day. Even if it was in the worst place imaginable. Hell. That day came sooner than you’d like to admit. Leaving behind your clueless grandchildren and your own hellish spawn.

The ground below you hit rather hard, not even knowing you were falling down the rabbit hole till the bottom came right to your face. You let off a grunt in response. Your body feeling light, all of a sudden. As if the age and wrinkles had just vanished, and you were young again. Legs feeling like they could run miles, and skin, well. Your new hellish form wasn’t much of an improvement from leather skin.

Knowing for years you’d end up here, it wasn’t too difficult to take in. Accepting your sins and your fate as a part of your journey. It wasn’t so bad. There was society, and structure down here. Immortality being the only true torture.

The other torture, you had no idea where your dearest Alastor had ended up. It had been almost 70 years since you’d seen him, god knows what he looks like now. Your reunion was sudden, after all, he was a well known overlord. Yet, it was still something out of a textbook romance novel.

Over the next decade or two, you two spent every second together. Refusing to be apart again. You sharing stories about your children, grandchildren. Melting Alastor's heart like he never thought you could. There was so much catching up to do. After time, you became infatuated with the media, creating your own channel. it was called "Hellish crafts", which started with a bunch of silly tips and tricks when it comes to house work. Alastor didn't understand, but it came with a hefty income.

After becoming tenants at the misguided daughters of hells hotel, you soon began helping with advertisements. Which grew the channel even more. From random life hacks, to advertisements, to smaller channels asking you for your help to grow theirs.

"Must you film me, dear?" his hand covers his face as the camera fizzes out of focus.

"Yes! Its for Charlie. Lighten up old man" You teased him, filming the hotel lobby. He smiled at your expression, resting a hand on the small of your back as you did your craft.

"Y/n! Y/n! Another letter for you!" Niffty ran over

Alastors hand dropped, snatching the letter from the little goblin.. Eyebrows furrowed. "This is the third letter in the passed three days, sweetheart"

"What can i say, my channel is a hit" One eye was closed as the other was pressed to the run down camera that Alastor insisted you used. Still walking slowly around the hotel, trying to get a good shot. Alastor stood in his place, reading the letter. "Another delusional fan" He mumbled.

"Don't worry! i wont let the fame go to my head" You swung around with the camera, getting him in frame. The static of his aura interfered with the lens and gave your brow a small electric shock. Jolting you backwards.

"I've warned you about that" He chuckled, hand returning to your waist and pulling you closer. His other hand with the letter, raising, and a fit of flames emitted. Turning the letter into ash on the floor, which nifty didn't wait to clean up.

Life was like this for a while, constant letters. Some weird, some genuine. But you never got to read most of them, as Alastor made it his duty to send them to another realm before you could. was he jealous? maybe, he'd never care to admit it though. That was until a rather glamorous piece of paper fell through the letter box on this particular day. Stamped with Vox's logo. You got to this letter first.

"What the fuck?" Your almost angry tone alerted Alastor, whose body materialized next to yours in seconds. "What's the matter, my dear?" his eyes briefly scanned over the letter before snatching it from you.

"What is a 5 million subscriber?"

"Its the amount of people who support my channel, i honestly didn't even know it was that big." you stared up at him, waiting for some sort of outburst on his face.

"That's... " he thought for a second "Wonderful dear! Absolutely wonderful!" his arms wrapped around you in an embrace, spinning you around. When you first started the channel, with his knowledge, it was more of a way to pass the time. So, for it to be as big as it is now was quite the accomplishment. What kind of husband would he be not to support his perfect wife, he thought. Whether she was practically paying vox or not. His quarrels weren't hers.

"I believe you have some type of reward, y/n" He spoke again, putting you down and giving the letter back. His sharp nail pointed at a fine print at the bottom. 'Visit the Vee headquarters to redeem your reward'.

You both looked at each other, brows raised and a concerned look in your eyes. "I'm sure it's not important. I don't need a reward"

He looked as if he was in deep thought. Contemplating everything for a second. "You should go" "But vox is your-"

"Hush, little woman" His finger covered your lips "This is important to you darling. I trust you"

The smile on your face made his bigger, making you deserving of the little peck he placed on your lips before adjusting his posture. "On the condition that my shadow follows your every move"

"Done"

A few hours had passed since your departure, Charlie offering razzle and dazzle to escort you to the large mansion on the other side of the pentagram. It was quite the journey, considering the traffic. And it wasn't long before Alastor began to miss you, wondering if you were okay.

"Ahem" static gave Angel a brief episode of tinnitus before he swung his body on the lobby sofa, met with the lanky deer.

"Waddya want, pimp?" his attention didn't last long, his phone having far more interesting contents than the demon lurking behind him.

"I need a favor" his smile made the question seem a lot more sadistic than intended. His body swiftly moved around the sofa, standing in front of the spider now.

"If you want my soul, I got bad news for ya."

"Your soul?" He was almost confused for a second "No, i need help with this" he lifted his hand, angels phone disappearing and reappearing in the deer's grip.

"Wh- hey! Give that back" Angel leapt to his feet, reaching up and snatching it back. "Why do you want help with a phone? Aren't you like, from the dark ages?"

It took Alastor a moment to be able to admit to it. "I'd like... to call my wife"

"Awww, is someone clingy" angels teasing didn't last long before radio dials appeared in the demons eyes, radio interference filling the air as quickly as it had disappeared earlier. "Okay, okay" Angels hands flew up in surrender, Alastor returning to normal instantly. "Splended!"

It took a moment for Angel to flick through the thousands of contacts he had, before he finally reached you. Pressing the call button and handing the phone to Al. Who held it like an old grampa looking at a meme. "What do i do now?" he squinted his eyes at the device in his hand. "Just hold it" Angels voice became frustrated as he readjusted the phone in Als hand.

You had picked up the call a minute ago now, on your way back to the hotel. Being greeted to the two boys bickering. "Helloooo?" you sung out, attempting to get their attention.

"Oh. Hello my dear!" Alastor noticed to and bared his teeth in an awkward smile. "I just wanted to see how my love was doing, is all"

"How sweet. I will be back soon." You had many questions to ask when you were back with the comfort of your person.

"Do hurry"

#fanfiction #x reader #request #reqs open #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin angel dust #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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writing-intheundercroft · 7 months

Text

Your Ivy Grows // A Trip to Town

AO3

She should’ve been in bed.

Truthfully, many of her problems stemmed from her being out of bed at the wrong time. Her mother had always warned her that her disobedience would one day get her in trouble. In fact, she wouldn’t be living out of a musty old mansion had she not been out of bed the night Marvolo Gaunt and his lackeys dropped in to visit her father. She was supposed to be safely tucked away in her room, not out in the garden harvesting her dirigible plums under the moonlight. They would’ve never known of her existence had Marvolo’s associate not been standing next to the parlor window.

Then again, how was she supposed to know that her father owed Marvolo Gaunt a debt, and had spent the last six months trying to keep him from collecting? Twenty four hours after she’d been snatched from the garden, she'd been banished to the Gaunt’s seaside manor with just a house-elf for company. She’d remain there until her father found the blasted spellbook he’d promised to Marvolo.

Her first few weeks of living at the house were eventful. Marvolo had sent a bevy of governesses to supervise her, and she’d promptly chased each one of them off. Each had been directly instructed to keep a close eye on the girl, never letting her leave the manor. It only made her tongue sharper, lashing out even harder at her keepers. The first was old, and easily offended by even the lightest of jabs. The second had cried on her first night after she’d made a dig at her marital status. The third hadn’t even been there for a full twelve hours before she forced Golly to pack her trunks.

“Master Marvolo won’t be happy with you,” Golly scolded her, the morning after the last governess took off running from the manor.

She shrugged, smiling at the little house elf as she sipped on tea. “Can’t we just be on our own? I much prefer your company.”

The house elf sighed. “You know Master Marvolo won’t settle for that. He doesn’t trust me to supervise you alone.”

She could’ve run at any moment then. The manor had anti-apparition charms set around a wide perimeter (even down by the shoreline, she’d tried in vain) so physically running was her only option. A witch of her skill level could easily make her way back to London, and she had tried to do so the night after the last nanny departed, but Marvolo seemed to be one step ahead of her. He’d caught her climbing out of her bedroom window that night, and forced her back inside the manor by the collar of her nightgown. Her wand was promptly confiscated, locked away somewhere in the depths of the house. The threat that followed haunted her dreams.

If you try to run, I will find you. The house-elf? Dead. Your parents? Dead. Your father owes me a debt, and running will only make it worse. It’s better if you behave.

And so, the next week, the younger Mr. Gaunt arrived.

She hadn’t expected him to be so…different. He was the exact opposite of Marvolo; blonde, tall, and lean. His voice was charming, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d smiled at the dinner table. Given her father’s profession, she was used to gruff, vulgar men. The younger Mr. Gaunt was so soft . Despite the angular lines of his face, the young Gaunt had a softness to him; his skin, smooth as cream, was unmarred by marks or stubble. His lips were plush and pink, and his eyes were like glimmering opals.

She was glad he couldn’t see her blushing at the dinner table.

Perhaps the summer could be salvaged, she had thought, once she slid from her bedroom to the back door. Golly had told her all about her former mistress, the Gaunts’ aunt who’d disappeared without a trace about a decade earlier. She was a lover of plants, the old house elf had explained, and her garden was in rough shape. The ivy had overgrown, and choked the life out of any other plant in sight. She’d taken to pruning and tilling the garden for new flowers when she couldn’t sleep at night; working with her hands distracted her from the worry she had for her parents.

Again, the younger Gaunt surprised her–this time, less pleasantly. She hadn’t heard his footsteps (he was quite light on his feet, she noted) over the sound of her own humming. She’d expected a bit of a scolding for being out of bed so late, but she hadn’t expected his screeching. He threw the wine glass, the rich red liquid flying over the two of them as he scrambled to the ground. He could see (she assumed) with his wand, but he’d discarded it, patting around the garden beds with his hands like a madman. He yelled about violets, bluebells, a whole bevy of flowers before yelling at her to return to her quarters. The linen apron and garden tools Golly had shown her were abandoned, and she returned to her room in shame.

The morning light came faster than she’d hoped. Grumbling to herself, she rolled out of the down feather bed, wrapping her housecoat over her nightgown as she descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Just as she was about to turn the corner into the kitchens, she heard a commotion; pots clanked on the ground, and what sounded like a hand met skin.

“Ouch!” The younger Gaunt grumbled. “I said I’m sorry.”

“You’ve apologized to Golly, but you haven’t said you’re sorry to her,” Golly gasped. “Golly is shocked you’d behave in such a manner, Master Ominis. Madame Noctua raised you to be kinder.”

She pressed herself against the wall, heart beating out of her chest. She’d never known a house elf to ever lay hands on their master.

“How was I supposed to know she’d been clearing up the garden?” He grumbled. He hadn’t said his first name at the dinner table; she repeated his name over and over in her mind. Ominis, Ominis, Ominis. It didn’t quite suit him.

“The young miss has been kind to me,” Golly chided him. “Golly must insist you apologize to her at once.”

She could hear his footsteps drawing closer to the doorway. There was nowhere for her to hide; he’d surely see her with his guiding wand, and things would be even more awkward than they already were. She wished the stone wall would absorb her, praying that he’d somehow turn around.

He did not–but he still didn’t see her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the awkward run in, but it never happened. Opening one eye, she saw her chaperone turn the corner and walk towards the backstairs. His wand was stowed away in his pocket, just using his hand to graze the walls for guidance. His appearance was so different from the tidy, proper gentleman who’d met her for dinner the night before. His light blond hair had been perfectly groomed then; it was now messy, slept in, strewn across his forehead. His face was flushed, no doubt from the hangover he was probably feeling after downing an entire bottle of wine by himself. The collar of his shirt was undone, showing the slightest hint of his pale chest. His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, displaying his forearms as they grazed the wall.

Ominis Gaunt was handsome , she thought to herself. Dreadfully handsome, despite the bite in his tone from the night prior. She wanted to hate him for the way he spoke to her, but something in her stirred at the sight of him so undone. She held her breath as his hand traced the wall, reaching out for the metal bar of the staircase handrail. He slowly ascended the stairs, and the sound of his footsteps disappeared as he got farther and farther away.

His houseguest finally breathed a sigh of relief, turning to walk into the kitchen. Golly had resumed her activities, whisking batter in a bowl, and smiled up at her when she entered the room.

“Master Ominis was just on his way up to apologize to you.” she tutted. “I’m surprised you didn’t run into him.”

“I did,” she admitted. “But he didn’t see me.” She sat across the table from Golly, leaning her chin into her palm. “He walks around the house without his wand. Do you know why?”

Golly shrugged. “Master Ominis practically grew up here, Miss. He did not spend a lot of time in his family home; I don’t think his mother quite had the patience for his blindness. Madame Noctua basically raised him, and until he was old enough to use a wand, he used the walls to guide himself. Perhaps it's out of habit.”

“I’m very sorry for him, in that case.” she mused, pulling a tea cup from the center of the table. “Such a lonely life for a child.”

“I’d wager you’d understand,” Golly hummed, snapping her fingers. A kettle floated over, pouring warm tea. “You grew up in seclusion, did you not?”

She eyed the house-elf. Golly was right, but her situation had been far different. She had grown up alone, mostly due to her parents’ paranoia. Their dangerous profession meant traditional schooling was unsafe, so she’d been homeschooled by her mother all her life. She hadn’t spent much time (if any) with people her own age. It seemed while Ominis had grown up alone in the big old house, he’d at least been able to go to Hogwarts.

“Golly thinks you should go out in the garden today.” the house-elf announced. “You’ll find Master Ominis now understands the undertaking you’re endeavoring with the plants.”

----

It wasn’t long after breakfast that she went out to the gardens. She stopped in the shed, picking up a fresh apron and a basket of gardening tools. Slipping on a pair of dragon-hide gloves, she walked out into the sunlight towards the rose bushes. Their former caretaker must have been cross-breeding varieties; the bushes were now a little too close, tangled together after years of growth without supervision. She knelt on the ground, taking out the pruning shears.

“Excuse me,” a crisp voice interjected.

She turned her head, blinking through the sunlight. Ominis was standing over her, his hands stuck in his pockets with a sheepish look on his face. “Do you have a moment?” he asked, digging his toe into the dirt like a sulking child.

She stood, dropping the shears into the basket. “Mr. Gaunt,” she mumbled. “Good morning.”

He winced at her words. “Please–you can call me by my first name. Ominis.”

“Ominis,” she repeated after him. It still didn’t suit him.

“I wondered if you might take a turn with me around the garden,” he asked awkwardly. His right hand was raised, the tip of his wand glowing red.

Without a word, she wiped her hands on the apron, following him as he turned on his heel. Their feet crunched on the gravel as they walked down the rows of boxwoods in silence, until Ominis cleared his throat.

“I’m very sorry for my reaction last night.” he apologized. “Golly explained to me–she told me that the garden looked horrendous until you arrived and started caring for it.”

“It’s alright.” she said softly. “You didn’t know.”

“I must explain,” Ominis insisted. “The garden is very dear to me. My Aunt Noctua loved her plants, and she made me promise to take care of them some day.”

“It’s quite a grand garden, Mister–uh, Ominis.” she corrected herself. “And forgive me for saying, quite an undertaking for a blind man.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Yes, I suppose so. I considered hiring a groundskeeper to tame it.”

“Let me,” she interjected. “I’d love to take care of a garden this big. It’s quite a challenge, but it keeps me busy since there’s not much to do around here.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Ominis asked hesitantly. “Even Aunt Noctua had gardeners.”

“I have nothing but time on my hands,” she snorted. “I can handle it. Besides, you could help me if you’d like.”

“I’m rather dreadful at gardening, actually.” Ominis admitted. “Noctua tried to teach me a few things, but I was so young, I doubt I remember. I was even rubbish at herbology in school.”

“Perhaps I can pick up where she left off,” she offered. “Teach you a thing or two about plants. You can accompany me to the flower market, I’m not allowed out without supervision anyways. I haven’t been able to go into town since the last governess left, and I’m dying to go to the market.”

“To the muggle market, you mean?” Ominis asked, quirking an eyebrow.

She hesitated. The Gaunts were supposedly considered the cream of the crop when it came to purebloods, descended from one of Hogwarts’ founders; they probably weren’t too accepting of muggles.

“If it’s not allowed…” she started to say, until Ominis cut her off.

“No, let’s go to the market.” he offered. “I haven’t been to the town since I was a little boy, Aunt Noctua used to take me all the time. I’d like to know if it's changed at all.”

“You’re okay with the muggles?” she asked slowly.

Ominis frowned. “I told you last night, I’m not like my brother.” he stated. “I’m not like my family much at all, really.”

“Indeed.” She said, a smile growing on her face. She knew he couldn’t see it, but she hoped he could feel it. “We’ll go to the flower market first thing tomorrow morning.”

Ominis gave her a kind smile in return. He looked so different from the morning–hair perfectly shaped, slicked back away from his face. His crisp white shirt was held together at the wrists with silver and emerald cufflinks, and forearms covered. Everything was buttoned up, tidy, and proper.

She preferred him the way she’d seen him in the morning, a little messy.

“What was that?” Ominis asked.

She blushed. “Er, what?”

He frowned. “About my hair. You said something about my hair.”

“O-oh.” She stuttered, mortified that she might have verbalized her internal thoughts. “I just meant it looks nice today.”

Ominis’s face flushed, turning a pretty shade of pink. “Er, thanks.”

The pair continued their walk through the garden, a healthy distance between them. Ominis offered pleasantries about the area, asking what she’d gotten up to in the time she’d been staying at the house without him. His wand remained in front of him, glowing red as he guided them through the winding garden.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she interjected, “how does it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Your wand,” she asked. “How you use it to guide yourself.”

“It’s a mixture of things, really.” Ominis admitted. “My Aunt Noctua spent months researching–simply put, my wand helps me see.”

“Yes, but what can you see?” She asked, tilting her head at him curiously.

“Well, I can’t really see, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ominis said flatly. “I can sense locations of things, and I can sense when things are coming at me. But I can’t see what things look like, it doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m sorry if I’m prying. I’ve just never met someone with your abilities before.”

Ominis paused. “My abilities?”

“Well, someone who could cast such a charm on a continuous basis must be quite skilled. It seems like rather complex magic; your aunt must have been quite brilliant to come up with it.” she pointed out.

“No one has ever framed it up that way.” He blurted. “Most people call it a disability.”

“I prefer to look at things differently than others,” she hummed. “Makes life more fun.”

Ominis’s lips curved upwards, almost smiling. “Indeed.”

-----

She was quite eager for the next morning to arrive; nearly every night of her stay at the manor had been spent dreading another day of solitude, but she had high hopes for her new chaperone. Mr. Gaunt–Ominis, rather–had promised her a trip into the town, and she yearned to stretch her legs. The few weeks in captivity had been stifling, mind numbingly boring. With Ominis, she’d finally get a chance to leave the barrier of the grounds.

There was a knock at her bedroom door; likely Golly, who helped her dress in the morning.

“Come in,” she yelled lazily. She sat at the dressing table in her chemise, holding her hair up to see how it could frame her face. Perhaps Golly could help her pin up her hair in something fancy, so she could appropriately match Ominis’s opulent appearance.

The door opened, and boots clacked against the floor. She turned, gasping as she saw Ominis standing before her. She prepared to shout that she was indecent, but her lips faltered when she saw his empty hands. Like the morning before, his wand was stowed away in his pocket, only this time he held a wooden cane.

“I wanted to see if you’re ready yet.” Ominis said politely. “I remember the flower market opens rather early, and the best picks go first.”

“Almost ready,” she lied. “Give me a moment, I’ll meet you down in the foyer.” Even though she knew the man couldn’t see her, her arms still flew across her chest to cover herself. It seemed silly, even though his wand was far from his hands, but he was still a man.

Ominis bowed his head slightly. “Of course. I’ll see you downstairs.”

She haphazardly threw on her green day dress (the nicest one she’d brought with her) and braided her hair. Picking up her sunhat and gloves, she rushed down the staircase to Ominis, who was standing by the door.

“You’re loud when you walk.” Ominis noted. “I could hear you the minute you stepped out of the bedroom.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing the door open as she slipped on her lace gloves. “Did you get super powered hearing to make up for your blindness?”

Ominis pressed his lips into a flat line. “Actually, yes.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” she stuttered.

Ominis rolled his eyes. “I’m joking,” he laughed. “You’re just as loud as an elephant, stomping your way up and down the stairs.”

She paused for a moment, chuckling in unison with him. It felt nice to have a companion to laugh with, and it meant after their disastrous first day together, he was starting to feel comfortable around her.

“So, Ominis Gaunt has jokes,” she teased. “Not all prim and proper, I see.”

Ominis gave her a look. “Despite my appearance, I do have a sense of humor. Now, follow me. I know a shortcut to the town.”

She followed him and his glimmering red wand through thickets of trees on the property. Ominis walked ahead of her, pausing only when they reached unsteady terrain. He’d hold his hand out, helping her step over thick tree roots. His knowledge of the property from childhood hadn’t faded, no matter how long it had been since he’d last returned.

“I’ll need to take your arm when we reach town,” he announced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t have my wand out.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to guide you.” She murmured. They were nearing the edge of the town, muggles within seeing distance. Ominis flipped his coat, shoving his wand inside. He gently looped his arm through hers, the other holding out the wooden cane.

“To keep up appearances.” He said simply, as if he’d read her mind.

They walked, arm in arm, down the hill and onto the dirt path. The muggles didn’t spare a glance at them, likely assuming they were another young couple enjoying a marvelous summer morning. Ominis’s arm looped tighter around hers, his hands gripping the seam of his jacket.

He was nervous, she realized. His jacket flap opened in the wind, and she could see the handle of his wand tucked into the inner pocket. Oh how she missed having her wand…

She felt a pang of guilt run through her body; was she really thinking of stealing a wand off a blind man?

“It’s busy.” Ominis commented anxiously, pulling her tighter. The muggles packed around them, and the market was loud. Vendors yelled out their wares and prices, and old women were haggling over flower pots. It had to be sensory overload for him; he was practically clinging to her. Without his wand, Ominis had to rely on her arm and the meager wooden cane in his right hand.

Bodies started jostling them, and a dog across the road barked. Ominis startled, letting go of her arm. She quickly side stepped a puddle in the street, jumping onto the curb with her skirts in hand. Ominis, now cut off from his only guide, started jerking back and forth against the crowd in the street. Again, no one minded him, bumping into him as they went about their business.

She could run.

Ominis wouldn’t dare pull his wand out in public in front of so many muggles; she’d have at least a ten minute advantage on him. He was also far too gentle–she knew he wouldn’t immediately report her missing, not to Marvolo. Ominis had made his dislike for his brother well known within the first twenty four hours of meeting, so he’d likely try to find her himself. She could be in London by nightfall, and could escape with her parents by morning. It would mean sacrificing her beloved wand, but she could always buy a new one someday.

She froze on the pavement, staring at him. His head twisted and turned, even though he couldn’t see; Ominis yelped out her name over the crowd. He’d shaken out his well kept hair, a lock of blond hair falling in the middle of his forehead as he wobbled against strangers in the street.

There would be other opportunities, she thought. It would be sick to leave a disabled man in such a state. Besides, it wasn’t worth leaving without her wand anyways. If Marvolo was sick enough to threaten a sweet old house-elf, she couldn’t imagine what he’d threaten Ominis with.

“I’m right here,” she called out, stepping back into the street. She caught Ominis’s flailing hand, drawing him closer. “I’m sorry–I’m right here.”

His chest was heaving, and he pulled at his cravat, loosening it from his neck. “I was worried you left me.” He admitted. Ominis said it so honestly, it shocked her.

“I wouldn’t,” she lied. She smoothed her gloved hand over his hand to reassure him. “Shall we peruse the flowers? Perhaps we can bring home some roses for Golly.”

Ominis nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes, let’s move on.” he said shakily.

-----

An hour later, the pair walked back up the trail to the house. To her surprise, Ominis had purchased nearly every bouquet she’d stopped over.

“You didn’t have to buy every single one, Ominis.” she grunted, shifting the weight of four wrapped bouquets in her arms. “They don’t go together at all, it’ll look horrendous.”

He shrugged. “They smell good. Besides, it’ll be nice to have flowers in the house. Golly could leave the windows open for days and it’ll still smell like mildew.” he wrinkled his nose. “The poor thing has gotten too old to clean that big house by herself.”

She pursed her lips, adjusting the bouquets against her hip as they started walking uphill. “How about I put these flowers in vases when we get back? Would you like an arrangement for your bedroom?”

Ominis gave her a flat lipped smile. “That would be nice.”

As soon as they were covered by the trees, Ominis pulled his wand out of his jacket. The tip turned red, and Ominis shuddered as he adjusted back to his sight . He was no longer nervous, now confidently walking through the wooded path back to the manor.

“You don’t like going long without your wand.” she observed.

Ominis shook his head; his hair remained mussed from the panic at the market. “No, I don’t. It’s a little disorienting going back and forth.” he cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t thank you earlier, by the way.”

She leaned her nose down, sniffing some particularly potent sweet peas. “For what?”

Ominis bit down on his lower lip. “For not leaving.”

She froze in place. “What do you mean?”

“Here, let me carry some of those.” Ominis offered, taking a few of the bouquets with his free hand. He nodded his head forward, beckoning her to follow. “There’s no need to lie. I know you contemplated it, at the very least. You had a chance to run, but you didn’t, and I appreciate that you stayed.”

Ominis Gaunt was far more perceptive than she’d anticipated. She supposed being honest with him would push her further into his good graces. “I thought about it–but staying was the better option. Besides, your brother locked my wand up somewhere in the house.” she admitted.

Ominis clicked his tongue. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less from him.” His face softened; it was a mystery how a man with such sharp features could look so gentle at the same time. “For what it's worth, I’m sorry. If I could help, I would.”

In just the two days she’d known him, Ominis Gaunt had proven to be quite different from his relations. He was honest and kind, and actually made for good company. He somehow understood how she felt; perhaps he too knew the feeling of being caged in. She couldn’t imagine growing up with a brother like Marvolo Gaunt. Something about the way Ominis stiffened when he heard Marvolo’s name told her he wouldn’t have been kind to his younger brother.

“I won’t run,” she said softly. “Not yet, at least.” It was the truth. No matter how kind her new companion was, her first priority would be returning to her parents. As soon as she got access back to her wand, nothing could stop her.

“Well, when you do, at least give me a heads up.” Ominis teased. His dry humor was endearing. “That way, I can run too.”

There was an ease between them that soothed her. Ominis wasn’t like a governess, watching her like a hawk and criticizing her every move. He’d been quick to apologize for his mistake in the garden, and even more understanding of her motives. They weren’t too different from one another, she thought to herself. Perhaps Golly had been right. They might understand one another. Perhaps even become friends.

“Do you need a hand?” Ominis asked.

She hadn’t realized that she’d stopped in her tracks. They’d stopped in front of a large root; Ominis had shifted the bouquets under the arm wielding his wand. His free hand was outstretched, offering her balance.

She gladly put her hand in his.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x oc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #writing-intheundercroft

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eyesteeth · 8 months

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fionna and cake e6 spoilers + thoughts on the endgame for this series

firstly, on ice prince: i think it's good for simon's development that he got to see this. but it could also be very bad if he doesn't allow himself to ruminate on it. ice prince spends most of the episode making simon feel like shit, because ice prince apparently conquered the madness of the crown out of sheer force of will, will that simon apparently lacked. and ice prince is living the life, having everything simon wishes he could have - the benefits of the crown with none of the downsides.

except, that's a lie. it's only until the very end of the episode is it revealed that he was actually broadcasting the madness of the crown into bubblegum, showing that this ideal cannot exist. the fun magical simon everyone claims to want is a falsehood. you cannot have the magic without the sadness and the madness.

what i find very curious about this universe is that it seems to run very similar to ooo. all the candy subjects are present, albeit mutilated by bubblegum's crown-influenced mind, and we even see a young ice marcy with the same axe bass ooo marcy has. so the simon of this universe had to have gone down nearly the exact same path as ooo simon, with a few exceptions:

he somehow had the thought to beam the madness away from him, implying he had help or some level of cognition or malice ooo ice king never had.

he and marcy are no longer on speaking terms (why recreate a person if you can just talk to them).

he's not obsessed with betty.

the last one of these is the one that stands out the most. the (outwardly) most functional simon we've seen so far does not care about betty. she died and he got over it. which leads me to my main thought about the ending of this series:

i don't think simon and betty should end up together.

their story is very much one of cycles, a loop of loss and finding and being lost again. simon has been grieving betty for decades, given how much finn's aged, yet simon never seemed to get out of the third and fourth stages of grief - he's cycling between depression and bargaining and seems to have been for a while. this is definitely not helped by being a normal man in a world full of magic when that magic can't even bring back the person he wants.

and if he does find her in the other multiverses, it wouldn't last. either she wouldn't be "his betty", or he'd become an anomaly just like fionna and cake, and would end up wreaking havoc anyway. he needs to accept that the woman he loves is gone. even if he somehow made his way to golbetty, betty's wish in the AT finale was to keep simon safe. golbetty is NOT safe, that's why she left so quickly during that battle. if he approaches her, there is no guarantee that she'll stay put. she could even boot him back to ooo.

much like his desire to get the crown and be magical again, his desire to find betty is founded on the falsehood that everything will be fine if he just has this one thing.

now, granted, this doesn't mean i wouldn't like to see him try. he is so dedicated to this line of thought that it's very likely he could end up regressing into ice king if they do manage to find a crown. that's the point of this kind of narrative, seeing the protagonist struggle and fail before eventually coming to the final realization. it's a story of grief and addiction, and those are never linear things. we still have four episodes left, and a lot could happen.

which, to that point, i think the marceline episode is going to be in the next batch, either e7 or e8. i am fairly confident this will be a world where either a) simon did not find the crown and died in the bombing, b) simon briefly spent time with marcy but died in an attack, or c) simon left marcy earlier and she ended up falling in with the vampires. her manner of dress in the trailer and promo image seems to suggest that this is a marcy who was either raised by her father and proudly wears the crown of vampire queen, or was raised by the vampires who were killing humans after the bombs. i believe this could only happen under those three circumstances.

this is going to be especially important for simon's development on two fronts. firstly, it shows that simon's time as himself was worth something. marceline is much better off having had his help during the years right after the bombing. even though he left in the end, what he did to help her prevented her from becoming whatever she is in this upcoming episode. and, secondly, it's a reminder that the marcy back at ooo is still someone he can talk to. just because she has a girlfriend/wife now doesn't mean that he's unwelcome in her life. it's the classic depression isolation, and maybe this realization will get him to break out of it somewhat.

also for future episodes, betty shows up in the trailer, and i'm willing to bet(ty) that this is going to be either e9 or e8, depending on how long simon's going to sit on this interaction and process it. i can see it being in the next batch if e9 and e10 are going to be the climax and resolution, but i can also see this betty scene happening in e9 and pushing him into regression and a mental spiral in e10, which is mostly him having a horrible time and the world of fionna and cake shaking up as a whole.

it's snowing over there now. maybe they get some earthquakes as foreshadowing to the breakdown simon's about to have. truly, who knows? we just gotta wait. but it will be interesting either way, i think.

#adventure time #adventure time fionna and cake #simon petrikov #theorizing

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mycovenofchaos · 2 months

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It’s Peanut again a and I just want to help Admin with the crazy asks she has been getting.

One, if Evan wants to date his costar, then he will. No tantrum in the fandom will stop this, no tarot reader will be able to control it. He spent almost a decade with Emma fucking Roberts against the advice of anyone that spent more than an hour with that couple. Evan is hardheaded and when he has decided he wants to be with someone, not even the Rapture will stop him.

Second, I can guarantee you his soulmate has no idea she is his soulmate. I can swear up and down that this woman is somewhere out with her friends or working overtime on a project or she is probably wasting her tears on some greasy fuck boy having ZERO CLUE WHAT THE FUTURE HAS IN STORE FOR HER. Like Maddie said, it will all take us by surprise. You won’t be able to tell from a tagged post on Instagram or a 20 second reel. If you think you can be smarter than what the Universe is, think again. If you think that for some reason you have the right to know who she is before Evan ever meets her, that’s just ridiculous. Star has said that she has probably been on this blog and I won’t doubt her, but I still believe she has no fucking clue she is The One.

And last but not least; what the fuck are you guys gaining from this? I am serious. Some anon wrote a whole damn paragraph on TWEAM analyzing centimeters of the FACES of Evan’s ex girlfriends I’m like??????? Are you guys fucking insane???????? Is this how you act with crushes in real life????? I can’t believe my generation went through an entire third wave of feminism for you young girlies to be having freak outs over some man!!!!!!!! Hello???? Who cares what Evan wants????? If you wanted to be with someone so much what else are you doing instead of analyzing faces? Are you interesting? Are you fun? Are you loyal? Can you keep a conversation going for more than five minutes?

For real. Please.

That’s all!

Thank you, my dear friend! 💕

#peanut has a word here

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invinciblerodent · 28 days

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1) Will your OC get married and with who? 2) Will they have any children? What are their names?

OC Ask Game!

I think I’m gonna go on for a long (long, long, LONG) time about Iona, and mention the others kind of as a footnote, because I think Iona’s answers to these are just… the ones that are most interesting to me, lol

(fair warning looking back, this got PROFOUNDLY away from me- the TL; DR of it is that for Iona marriage is "yes, eventually" and kids are "no, never", for Arvid marriage is a "yes, of course, sure" and kids are "well if you want it", and for Petyr both are "hah! no. nope. no.")

So, this whole “what now” issue in Iona’s case, it’s… all a bit muddled.

As a little background to it, in 3e, it’s said that courtships between elves often take a very long time, sometimes decades, before a commitment is reached- which is understandable, especially considering that elves are also said to seldom fall out of love with one another, and don’t typically remarry after the death of one spouse. A commitment that’s meant to span a lifetime of centuries (whether the life of one has a natural endpoint or not is irrelevant), it makes sense that they’d take it seriously, and not jump into soul-bonds willy-nilly. (An albatross is definitely going onto her moodboard now, lol.)

I think both Iona and Astarion would still be kind of... feeling themselves out, by the end of the game, and neither of them would be drawn to the thought of “blissful mutual domesticity” just yet.

I mean, on top of being a quite young elf, she’s spent a good 80% of her life among humans: her experience with life is colored by the perceptions of a people who are constantly trying to outrun the rushing of a clock that might as well be standing still for her. So exploring what time even means to her, that’d be a very exciting prospect. While Astarion, he was even younger than she is now when he had the “elven” part of his identity taken away from him, only to be made into someone that’s seen as a tool first, monster second, and person a distant third. He’s eager to re-learn personhood and live again, so they’re both sort of… (re-?)discovering themselves and their “feyness” together, and in each other.

My little idea is that after the Brain’s defeat, they’re going to spend one or two decades on solo adventuring: primarily looking for a way to allow him to walk in the sun again, but that… proves itself to be something of a wild goose chase. The travel itself is annoyingly cumbersome (either they have to shelter during the day and cover no ground, or he has to be polymorphed and be both unable to communicate and practically defenseless [can’t risk fighting, if his form is dismissed he’s dead]). But also, there are just… too many disappointments. Too many dead ends. Too many times they’ve gotten too close only to find out that they were either late, or misled, or just plain wrong about something.

I think he’d grow frustrated with it first, and grow reckless: strain against his limits, start pushing his luck with the Sun, start making dangerous mistakes, and it’d be her who’d start gently encouraging (cajoling, bargaining, eventually pleading with-) him that maybe they should return to the Gate. To regroup, try to find other avenues, head off in a different direction. And while he'd know she's right, agreeing… it'd still feel like he’s admitting defeat.

Of course, he’d try to put on an unbothered face, but she would still obviously be able to tell that he’s upset: primarily with himself, but also a little bit with… everything. Of feeling both free and trapped, both bursting with the desire to DO something, but also being… powerless.

Which (stay with me, we're a third of the way!) is the context in which the thought of kids and “marital bliss” would rear its ugly head.

Because I headcanon that vampire spawn are naturally sterile. (I know full vampires can sire mortal offspring, but since spawn can’t create new vampires via bite and the bite is almost always a penetration-allegory, I like to think that translates to them being just… unable to reproduce, period.) And elves in general already have far lower fertility rates, so even if he wasn’t sterile because of the vampirism but just maybe less fertile than usual, the chances of conception between the two of them would still be infinitesimally small.

And I mean, the topic really wouldn’t come up naturally, so I think Astarion would likely think that she’d eventually want children. I mean, he knows very well that she had been previously married to a human- humans usually want kids, so it’d be a natural assumption that she’d be on the same page as her ex-husband, and the fact that she doesn’t have kids now wouldn't be for a lack of wanting. (It is. It is for a lack of wanting. But both of them being ~excellent~ [pejorative] at communicating, he definitely wouldn’t ask- if only for fear of the answer he thinks he'd get.)

So it'd kind of… eat at him, for a while, the thought that at some point, she might grow to resent him. There'd be a small, niggling part of his mind that'd worry that at some point, the limitations would all prove too much, and she’d grow frustrated, tired of always having to work with and around his… shall we say, conditions. Beyond his partial reliance on her pain and literal body for sustenance, the physical differences between them, and the messiness of healing (the times he startles awake screaming, the times he can’t bear even the thought of being touched, the times he’s frustrated with himself and takes it out on her), this is just one more thing.

He can’t take her out for a nice day in the city. He can’t warm her body at night, wine and dine her (or just share a meal like a regular person), or love her as brazenly as he did starting out, out on the street for all to see because… well, he can’t go out into the streets. Can’t even travel with her during the day, not without taking the shape of a stupid animal that can’t communicate with her, joke with her, or even delight her with the looks he had thought for so long were the only thing he was good for.

Though secure in her love of him, he’s not stupid, or an idealist who’d think that love alone is enough for a happily ever after. While enjoying the time while it lasts, naturally there’d be sort of a running tally in his head of all the ways their lives chafe against one another.

Watching her face grow paler and paler as she’s deprived of the sun and has her blood drained, he’d never quite stop wondering at what point is the scale going to tip, at what point she’d finally realize that she had bet on the wrong undead horse by choosing to love the vampire who asks her to sacrifice so much, and not only doesn’t want to, but isn’t even able to give her what (he thinks) she wants.

Which, she doesn’t want it, of course. She has not even one maternal bone in her body.

Iona is well aware that she would make a terrible mother, and she absolutely does not want to be one. So it wouldn’t even occur to her that this would be something on his mind on top of all else. When he’d be having his little personal crisis about this, she’d be busy trying to make the impossible happen and circumventing the need to find a way to give him back the Sun by inventing one herself. That’d be why she'd lock herself into her study alone for longer and longer periods of time, why she sometimes wouldn’t come out for days, why she'd sometimes steer the conversation away from certain things- she wouldn’t want to give him false hope in a project that’d quickly prove so far beyond her abilities.

But, she'd still obviously recognize his occasional bouts of melancholy- I mean, it’s very unusual for someone to look at another so fondly and happily one moment, and then get quiet and forlorn the next. That distance she'd see behind his eyes sometimes when she'd tell him she loves him, that’d be rather worrying to anyone.

It’ll take a while for this particular cat to work its way out of the bag, but it would happen eventually, of course.

In reality, none of that would bother her.

She delights in being the sole person deciding what, when, and how she wants to eat. She loves the coolness of his touch- it soothes the heat of the draconic blood running through her veins better than any balm. Sure, going to markets and doing all that domestic pish can be fun, but... well, she’s always been an indoorsy person. Being bitten is no burden (she wouldn’t offer if it was), and there being no risk of a pregnancy, even after the tadpole’s death? At the risk of sounding crass, that’s an incredible perk, with no downsides. Feeling him find his pleasure while buried deep inside her, with no pang of fear or worry? It’s absurd how perfect that is, how happy she is with the fact that with the man she loves, that fear of being impregnated against her will can be put completely to rest.

And the rest, the messiness, the less “pretty” parts of it all, the evenings spent soothing his pain that’s either real or real only to him, that’s… just what happens if you love someone. Sure, she worries of course, but even when it’s inconvenient, when it’s ugly, when the old scars feel like they’re on fire and she can’t even being to think of a way to help… she still loves him just the same.

So no, no children necessary. It’s not in the cards for them, and even if it was, I don’t think either of them would really want it, or be good at it.

... She’d probably like to overwrite the memories of her first marriage (and speak the word “husband” without rancor) though, but only eventually.

And I like to think that that’ll have to happen with an item I’m tentatively calling “Taran Tal’hondnor” (The Gift of True Love), and it’s an enchanted ring that she will finally be able to create after many years of study, and even more miserably failed attempts at creating an enchantment that’ll let a vampire walk in the sun.

I like to imagine her proposing to him, on her own terms this time, with one such gift.

Because she loves him to the point of invention.

Quickly on the others, Arvid… might like fatherhood, if he were so inclined. He’s a very caring, kind, nurturing person, and if he were to be in that position, he would probably be a very good dad. He’s generally in a nurturing role already, and Gale being in a teaching role, they could prove to be excellent parents, if that were what they wanted.

But they… probably wouldn’t want that. Gale being the age that he is (“canon” says 35, I see ~38-40, minor difference) and a human, yet saying that he’s “not ready”, I personally interpret that as a rather telling thing. His past of having spent such a long time in a "monogamous" (I'm fairly sure that part's one-sided, no time to go into that now) relationship with a goddess who had no intention of having kids with him, and his present willingness to be with an illithid who can’t, that to me is implying that it’s not something that’d be that important to him. Like I personally see that as him not actively preferring to have kids if it’s up to him (he likes peace, and quiet, and downtime, and a nice glass of wine with a quietly romantic evening meal- very much the quintessential childless millennial, 100% part of the appeal to me lol), but he’d be happily willing to do it if his partner wanted it themselves.

But in my world, his husband (I like how I skated by the first part of the question, I mean they already ARE married lol)… doesn’t really have such strong feelings about it either. So, since two "maybes" don’t make a "yes" (and for this kind of thing, you need two enthusiastic "yes"-es for it to no longer be a no), it’s a "no".

But I think their marriage is going to be very happy and fulfilling to both of them nevertheless. <3

And since I don't yet have any kissy-shots of them (☹️), have an "are you seeing this shit" silent exchange for these two <3

Honestly? I would sooner give a baby to a pack of feral wolves and hope for the best than have Petyr become a father. He'd absolutely be the kind of dad whose kids become DnD characters. He's someone's tragically emotionally distant boomer dad just waiting to happen. (I mean, come on. My guy felt inadequate once, and coped with it by fucking off to the woods for 20 years? Yeah, sure, father of the year.)

And Shadowheart, she basically didn't have parents growing up, she has a TON of cult indoctrination to process and unlearn as an adult, and -let's be real- likely has no fucking clue how motherhood would even really work. Like the woman whom she used to call "mother" pretty much straight-up tortured her. C'mon now.

I like to think that, though they are the only two in my lineup who are physically able to have kids by accident, they (with their 8 and 10 INT scores respectively) would still be smart enough to smell that particular disaster before they'd barrel into it head first, and either actively decide not to have kids, or put it off so far into the future as for it to be meaningless. Maybe the discussion can be tabled in a few decades' time, but since by then their home will be surrounded by, god, so many animals to take care of (including a barely not feral, adult owlbear) (and their mutual boyfriend who sometimes shows up for like a month to fuck nasty on every available surface of the house and surrounding wilds), I doubt it'll result in a resounding "yes".

In the same vein of things, if a big, beautiful, traditional wedding is something that she wants (which I... kinda doubt would be super important to her), she definitely bet on the wrong horse, because this guy is not one for pomp and circumstance.

I like to imagine that after their departure from the Gate (and their bidding of not exactly "farewell", but "see you later" to Halsin), he'll just... take her "home" to his little shack in his corner of the forest, and then, sitting under the canopy of his favorite woods, enjoying the balmy evening breeze and the undisturbed night sky with his favorite person, he'll look up at the moon, take her hand, and silently, in his head, give his thanks to the Moonmaiden for this peace.

And... that'll be it. From that point forward, it'll be easy to fall into a kind of sweet, quiet domesticity that is essentially a marriage in all but name.

I definitely like- and relate to the idea of them foregoing the "2.5 kids, white picket fence" idea of a happily ever after not out of a conscious rejection, but rather just by... being themselves. Together.

#hi this is 2.6k words #i sincerely apologize for i hopelessly run at the mouth #oc: iona raedir #oc: arvid trygg #oc: petyr wildbrook #squirrel plays bg3

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thepastisalreadywritten · 11 months

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SAINT OF THE DAY (June 18)

St. Osanna was a Dominican tertiary who spent her adult life serving the poor and the sick and offering spiritual direction to many.

However, she was also a mystic and a visionary, eventually bearing the pain and red marks of the stigmata, though not the bleeding.

She was born on 17 January 1449 to a noble Italian family.

Her visions, first of angels and of the Trinity, began at the young age of five.

She felt a call to religious life and became a tertiary at 17, having already rejected a marriage arranged by her father.

In 1463, at the age of 14, unable to explain her attraction to religious life to her father, she secretly received the religious habit of the Third Order of St. Dominic.

Returning home, Osanna explained that she had made a religious vow and had to wear it until she had fulfilled her promise, which is an ancient custom.

She waited 37 years to complete her vows, so she could care for her brothers and sisters after the death of her parents.

A legend states that Osanna, like Catherine of Siena, miraculously learned to read and write.

One day, she saw a piece of paper with two words and said, "Those words are 'Jesus' and 'Mary.'"

Allegedly, from that time on, anything relating to the spiritual was within her grasp.

When Osanna was thirty years old, she received the stigmata on her head, her side and her feet.

She also had a vision in which her heart was transformed and divided into four parts.

For the rest of her life, she actively experienced the Passion of Jesus, but especially intensely on Wednesdays and Fridays.

She was also a mystic who would fall into ecstasies whenever she spoke of God and a visionary who saw images of Christ bearing his cross.

She bore stigmata along with red marks, but there was no bleeding.

Moreover, she helped the poor and the sick. She then served as a spiritual director, spending much of her family's considerable fortune to help the unfortunate.

She spoke out against decadence and criticized the aristocracy for a lack of morality.

She died on 18 June 1505.

#Saint of the Day #St. Osanna

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sheizara · 1 year

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November 25 - Day 6 Home / Unnatural

Her half-brother hadn’t been a kind man. Not to her, at least. She’d been the potential heir for that family before he was born, and she knew it irked him how their father had doted on her up until he died and passed his titles on to his trueborn son — bastard daughter or not.

Their estate was large and beautiful, sprawling in the Eversong river valley. Halandir, she knew, felt the pressure of being the “last of his line”. Technically not, though, because Shei had always been right there, too. Working in the halls rather than living in them. His home, not hers. To him, she and her parents had just been the Silverbells — there to serve, but for little else.

Moving to Stormwind, she thought, would be a fine escape. After they had been kicked off the estate lands and, presumably, erased from record of ever having lived there so that Hal could look as pristine as possible for his new, well bred wife, her parents had joined the Farstriders. They were still young enough and could make a living defending the kingdom up until it killed them, too, many decades later. Quel’thalas had nothing left for her, and high elves were welcome enough in some of the other kingdoms.

It had been an age. She had watched this human city grow and be destroyed and rebuild and become more cosmopolitan as it became a kind of capital for the various Alliance races. And still, seeing the elegantly printed ‘Lady Tel’vaiel’s Birthday Masquerade’ invitations tacked to the billet boards soured her whole day.

Some darkly curious part of her wanted to attend, finally maybe meet the woman that had been the cause of a serious amount of general unpleasantness in her life. Had Hal ever told her? Had he been cruel to her too? Did they have children? Who was left there that she’d worked with, especially after the siege? She missed Johar and Vyarha, who would let her sneak sweets from the kitchen, and Olanne, Dania and Somna who were most often on cleaning duties with her.

That first year she chickened out. The dress and mask stayed boxed under her bed in her small human style apartment. It was too much to think about and every time she thought about it the bitterness threatened to overwhelm her.

The second year she went and stuck to the fringes. Well, she’d tried. There had been so much free alcohol and so many people hidden behind masks to dance with and talk to that she’d been swept up in all the lavish splendor. This had all been denied to her. Nobody had anything unkind to say about the hostess herself. Her half-sister-in-law, for all she could tell, was charming and winsome.

Lady Fiorenze Tel’vaiel had spent all this money to throw a grand party that anyone could attend two years in a row now, all the conversations she listened in on or questions she asked about the woman to dance partners glowed with praise. Someone told her that the Lady was a childless widow, and she puked in a bin out in a back alley shortly after.

It could’ve all been hers if she’d stayed in Quel’thalas. The Tel’vaiel titles were hers by birthright — but everything was so different now. The king and the prince were dead. Long live the Regent-Lord and whatever the fuck system they were following out there to keep the nobles happy. There wasn’t a chance in hell any claim she made would ever be honored — and after more thought seemed like it would just be putting herself back into a cage for no good reason.

That third year the affair was hosted, she’d managed a dance with her half-sister-in-law. She was charming and winsome as she had seemed from afar, almost unnaturally so. It was hard not to like her, weird as the whole situation was. Shei managed to successfully and secretly slip a letter into one of her pockets; nothing complicated, just a request for an audience here in Dalaran sometime. Tea, or whatever. Curiosity ate at her and she wanted to know so many things. Sure, the party was fun or whatever, but it was hard to think about anything else… well, until the wine tables refreshed.

The summons came shortly before Winter’s Veil, with a notice that if she couldn’t bring a lawyer one would be provided for her. That was certainly extremely ominous, but she knew a really great divorce lawyer she’d worked with a few times now and convinced him to come along with her for however many billable hours were needed.

They didn’t really have a long conversation when it came down to it. The lawyers were for a reason; Lord Iliphar Tel’vaiel, her father, had left her provisions in his will that Halandir never fulfilled, and some of the others at the estate had vouched for the accuracy of her existence.

Johar and Vyarha still worked in the kitchens. Somna and Olanne didn’t work in the main house anymore but had homes of their own on the estate lands. Dania had joined the Magistry at some point and had left the estate all together.

With the flick of a pen the Lady promised her that her inheritance would be paid, and that was more than enough for Shei.

@daily-writing-challenge

#novemberday62022 #novemberdwc2022 #sheizara

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timetakeover · 2 years

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[Dhawan!Master for @timetreatment 's Third Doctor]

The years have dragged on. The first ten or so, the forties and early fifties, were the worst. It's steadied out since. Little indignities, every fucking day, but the big events are few and far between. The fact that he hasn't been forced to regenerate yet is a miracle in and of itself. (Though, maybe this would all be easier if he did.) If he could survive the 40's, he can survive anything.

But, mostly, what he's learned is that humans are animals. He knew, of course; even in the 2020's they're cruel, uneducated, lesser life forms. But, it's worse here, and worse more so to be at the center of it. It's one thing to watch them tear each other apart, it's another to be chewed up and spit out by the system himself. The infighting alone is almost too much to wrap his head around.

There's a million things in the universe just dying to crush mankind. They could be invaded by the daleks tomorrow. There's things on Earth that could wipe them out and they don't even notice; he's been watching pregnant humans smoke cigarettes for the past few decades.

They barely have the technology to keep their society afloat, and yet, instead of banding together, they nitpick. They form their tiny, superficial, groups and try to assert dominance over anyone outside of their group. They turn on themselves. They can't begin to grasp how unimportant they all are in the eyes of the universe.

It's infuriating. Any life lesson he learned as Missy is gone, any sympathy he once felt for humans unearned. They're monsters, all of them. He knows there's only one person he can trust, one person who would ever treat him with the proper respect, especially now. The 60's roll into the 70's. He knows exactly when the Doctor gets cozy on Earth. He's been planning for this, anticipating it.

The first few decades, all he thought about was the Doctor. About revenge. All the ways he could make her pay for this in another 80, 70, 60 years. He's never hated her as much as he does then; the source of all his problems, his suffering. He's consumed by it, by the thought of making her suffer the way he has. Oh, but, the loneliness sets in. It always does. There's other versions of the Doctor between now and then, between the best friend he had on Gallifrey and the raging cunt she turns into despite everything he did as Missy.

He knows the Doctor's history like it's his own; he knows about the Doctor's time spent at UNIT in the 70's, about how those years are creeping up on them now. He spends a decade telling himself that he'll only watch, not interfere, all the while coming up with dozens of plans just incase. He promises himself that it's only harmless fantasy but, really, what would it hurt to just speak to him? Just once? He pulled off a human disguise for years with the current Doctor. A few white lies wouldn't change a thing, so long as the Doctor that exists here in the 1970's never finds out who he really is.

The Doctor comes to Earth and he watches. He studies. Admires. Memorizes his schedule, allows him to fall into a comfortable routine, allows the freshness of the situation to decay into boredom. The humans fawn over the beautiful mystery man suddenly in their midst; they always do. He can't say that he blames them.

He isn't sure when his idle fantasies become reality. One day he's watching, the next he's clutching a stack of books, all topics the Doctor is interested in, all topics that present the image of the Master as an intelligent, open minded, young man. Not necessary if he's only going to watch. Some nervous part of him hopes he'll miss the Doctor entirely; that he'll have left early today, that they won't cross paths, that he can spend another day rethinking this. Then he sees him.

It's all instinct from there, rounding the corner in a hurry, just a flustered human running late for an appointment. The Doctor doesn't see him until it's too late. He bumps into the older man with expert precision, just the right angle to send his own books and the Doctor's paperwork crashing to the ground. Then he's on his knees, frantically gathering up his belongings. "I-I'm so sorry..! I should've been paying more attention, I-"

He glances up at the Doctor with big brown eyes, enormous retro glasses askew, then quickly looks away, tapping the edge of a stack of papers on the ground to align them. Is he endeared by the disheveled human act yet? "I'm so sorry. Are you alright..?"

#timetreatment #dhawan!thread;

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artigas · 2 years

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It’s crazy to think that, in less than two months, my journey within the New York Public Library will be over. I’ve spent nearly nine years working in libraries, being somehow transformed from a young girl in her third year of undergraduate school to a more exhausted, but hopefully more self-confident adult entering a PhD, dipping her toes into her dreams.

When I started working in libraries, I didn’t know I’d stay. I’ve been working since I was fourteen, which is something I used to say with real pride and now I say with a kind of commie bitterness, disappointed that a child had begun trading hours of her life away for a few skimpy dollars before she even turned sixteen. When I began working in a library, I didn’t expect to make anything out of it besides a part-time job. I didn’t anticipate a lot of things, like the constant sexual harassment, or the beautiful ethics of public libraries, or the power of loving a community you supply books to. I didn’t suspect I’d make so many seismic memories, which have become almost gold-plated in my mind after a near-decade of librarianship.

And what memories they are. The small satisfaction of creating a good book display. My library teens, whom I still love and carry in my heart, but whose futures I can only wonder about now. The nights I commuted half-sleeping on public transportation, tipsy from drinking with my coworkers after weekend shifts. The way I cried when I left my branch in Harlem, a memory which I anticipate will rival the way I will cry in late August when I leave my branch in the Bronx.

I told someone recently that, regardless of whether or not I had been admitted into a PhD program, the time has nonetheless come for me to leave libraries. And I do think that’s true. I don’t know how you continue to do the good work when you’ve become a little resentful of it and, as much as I’d like to deny it, I think some small part of me has. I’ve given a lot of good years to a non-profit structure that always demands more, but has never paid me livable wages. I’ve outperformed people who are paid more than me and, when I was younger, I thought I’d eventually be rewarded for it, but that day never really came. There is simply no upward mobility for me in this place now, which runs at odds to this chapter in my life in which I find myself thirsting for change. That’s how it feels, anyway. Who knows what I’ll think, years from today, about this strange and liminal space I feel my life has entered into now.

I don’t know what leaving is going to feel like. I don’t know what jokes I’ll make about myself when I can no longer call myself an “almost librarian”. But I do know I’ll carry librarianship like a pebble in my pocket, with kind memories and a warm fondness. I know libraries will always be a part of me and I know I will always carry my library card like a little bade of courage. I can only hope I don’t wear as many cardigans.

#personal

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akanennie · 2 years

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A new chance

Paring: Future!Bucky Barnes x Fem!40th!Reader

Words: 2,019

A/N: I really don’t understand how watching Shang-Chi made me have inspiration for this imagine, but it happened. I hope you enjoy it. ❤️

Part 1

Y/N had led a bitter life since the arrival of the army telegram saying that Bucky had died in combat. Years have passed since the end of the war, and she hadn’t yet overcome losing those two.

Y/N would get up early in the morning, have her breakfast and go to the winery where she worked all day. She had lunch at Gli Amanti just to see those young couples together and imagine herself there with Bucky, or maybe on a double date, since Peggy also suffered from Steve’s disappearance.

At the end of the day, after closing the winery, Y/N went to the pier from where the warships left and stood there, sitting in a crate, just watching the sea. The pier’s watchman already become a friend of Y/N’s, since he couldn’t stand to contain the curiosity and went to her to question why she came daily at that time just to look at the sea.

“I’m waiting for him to come back.” That’s the answer he had.

The watchman didn’t believe that Bucky would return after being declared dead in combat. No one came back. At first, he thought Y/N was crazy, but then he understood her. It was hope, the purest hope that it was all a mistake. She knew Bucky wouldn’t die easily.

However, one day, something different happened in her routine. Y/N spent the whole day doing the same things, but when she arrived at the pier, which would usually only have her and the watchman, she found a third person sitting on her crate.

Y/N approached curiously, the man was tall, blond and all thick. There was something familiar on him, but She still couldn’t identify it. It was only when he turned to look at her when he heard her footsteps that Y/N felt her body lock in a deep shock.

It was Steve Rogers. Her clumsy friend who turned into a national hero. He had returned from somewhere she doesn’t know. A little older, of course, but it was Steve, Y/N would recognize those blue eyes and kind smile anywhere.

“Hi!” greeted Steve.

Y/N started crying, compulsively. Steve hugged her to comfort her and alleviate the nostalgia he also felt for his friend. It took a while for Y/N to calm down, but when she did, she filled Steve with questions that he patiently answered without hiding anything.

“So… Do aliens really exist?!” asked Y/N, surprised by the reports about the future she received from her friend. Everything seemed very fanciful, but she couldn’t discredit it.

“Yes, some good, others don’t.” Steve replied, shaking his legs and looking at the water below the pier. “It was all very confusing for me, too. It was already strange to have slept for almost seventy years, so having to fight aliens, it seemed even more like a very weird dream.”

“It’s so hard to believe all this.” commented Y/N, stunned. “If it weren’t for you telling me, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“And would you believe me if I said that Bucky didn’t die in the war?” asked the blonde, looking at his friend.

Y/N looked at him in shock, tears flowed again down his face simultaneously with the laughter that escaped through his throat.

“I knew it! I knew he didn’t die!” exclaimed Y/N, getting up from her crate bouncing and vibrating in joy.

“He had a fate a bit different from mine, which led him to face the decades with much more violence than just sleeping on the Arctic ice, but he’s going back to what he was before the war.” Steve said, after laughing at his friend’s energetic reaction. “Of course Bucky has some sequels, but it’s nothing he can’t deal with.”

“But… Steve…” Y/N looked at Steve when she was hit by a question. “If he is now overcoming the traumas, will you leave him there alone, with strangers?”

“Well, I thought about it too.” commented Steve, getting up from the edge and approaching Y/N while removing something out of his coat pocket.

He reached out to her, showing a kind of bracelet and a bottle with a red liquid. Y/N looked at that strangely, and then looked confused at him.

“I lived at that time wishing to come back every second.” commented Steve, putting the bracelet and bottle in Y/N’s hand. “The great love of my life stayed at that time and there I buried her without having lived by her side.”

Y/N gave Steve a compassionate smile, she knew he was referring to Peggy. She could even imagine how he felt when he buried the one she fell in love with.

“That’s why I thought I’d send you there to stay with Bucky.” commented Y/N, faced him as if he had said the worst of absurdities. “It’s simpler than it seems, and they’ll have each other.”

“I don’t know, Steve…” said Y/N, a bit scared. It was too much news for her. “Y/N, you’ve always been very evolved! Always very independent, strong and even fought with Bucky when he enlisted.” said Steve, concentrated and serious. “What I mean is that you have always been ahead of your time. Your place is there with him. Mine is here with Peggy.”

Y/N pondered in silence, looking at that vibrant red liquid. All those years she waited for an opportunity to meet Bucky again, to live the romance they planned to live, but that the war took away from them. It seemed wrong to abandon everything for a fanciful idea, but just imagining finding Bucky made her smile without even realizing it.

“Can I give you an extra incentive?” asked Steve, attracting Y/N’s eye again. “When Bucky heard about my plans, he asked me to tell you that time and circumstances mistreated him, but he never stopped loving you.”

It was really the last incentive Y/N needed to accept that crazy idea from Steve. She loved her family, she liked her job, but knowing that even with everything he went through he still loved her, she couldn’t stay there anymore.

“How do I go?” asked Y/N, Steve smiled in an immediate response.

After a brief explanation of what Y/N would feel on her first time trip, Steve explained what he knew about the device and how it worked just to make her feel safer. Upon activating the bracelet, a white outfit with red details covered Y/N’s body and automatically adjusted to her body, alone.

“Don’t worry about the adaptation when you arrive there.” Steve advised as he put the bottle in a compartment in his uniform, at Y/N’s waist height. “Bucky and I made some friends who will be happy to help you.”

“Okay.” Y/N replied, watching Steve straighten up and bring her right arm close to him.

He slid his fingers on a screen, touching letters and numbers, surprising his friend with such technology used in such a weird costume.

“When you’re ready, just press this button.” Steve said, pointing to a red button in the space between her friend’s right thumb and forefinger.

Y/N looked at the button and then at Steve, then pulling him for another hug. He corresponded to her with affection, sighing when she let him go.

“Don’t do anything stupid there?!” he asked, and Y/N smiled mockingly.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” replied Y/N, laughing with Steve, and then she pressed the button, disappearing from her friend’s front.

“Be happy…” Steve said, in a whisper to himself, because he knew she wouldn’t listen to him.

(...)

The delay in Steve’s return bothered Sam and worried Professor Hulk. He was expected to come back 5 seconds ago, which obviously didn’t happen. Bucky was the only one calm, because he knew his friend’s intention to come back once and for all in time. Sam began to put pressure on Professor Hulk to bring Captain America back and the giant scientist began to despair that something could have happened that would possibly prevent Rogers’ return.

However, the platform began to show signs of movement, surprising Bucky and relieving the other two. The soldier wondered if life didn’t work with Peggy, so Steve decided to come back, but this idea ran away from his mind when a completely different person appeared on the platform. Obviously she was a woman by her size and that worried them. After being deceived by the Nebula of the past, they had to be attentive.

Worried that it would be some problem after everything they have gone through so far, the men kept their guard closed and ready to counterattack if necessary.

But the woman’s lack of action intrigued them. She first looked everywhere, then started trying to take off her helmet, but she didn’t even know how to do it. Barnes was the first to take action, since he was the closest to the platform, and Sam and Professor Hulk stood in case he needed help.

“Trouble taking it off?” Bucky asked, already on top of the platform and going to it.

The woman didn’t seem to have listened to him, because she continued to grunt nervously because she didn’t know how to take off her helmet. Bucky looked at the green giant that pointed near the nape of the neck, on the right side, that would be where he would find a button. That’s if that uniform was really similar to the one designed by him and Stark.

Bucky stopped the woman with his metal hand, she breathed in surprise as he leaned over to find the button on the back of her neck. He let her go with his metal hand and pressed the button, but he wasn’t prepared to see Y/N there.

His expression of shock was Similar to Y/N’s, she analyzed him with her eyes filled with tears. Bucky was extremely different from how she saw him before leaving for England. Long hair, beard needing to be trimmed, some expression lines in the eyes and a little dark circles, probably for sleepless nights. But those eyes… she would never forget them.

Bucky also analyzed her and smiled when he saw that she hadn’t changed anything, Y/N remained the same wonderful woman as always.

“Bucky?” asked Y/N, and he confirmed it with his head.

Y/N began to laugh and cry with happiness before jumping on him and squeezing him in a strong hug. Bucky reciprocated her, without using so much strength not to hurt her, but with the same happiness of having her in his arms again.

She filled him with kisses all over his face before finally gluing her lips to his in a kiss full of love. But the euphoria led them to have less breath, and the contact they wanted so much ended earlier than they wanted. And as much as they didn’t want to separate, now they would have their whole lives together to exchange all the kisses they couldn’t exchange.

However, a throat clearing took them out of the bubble they were in and made them look in the direction of the spectators. Wilson and Professor Hulk had a naughty smile on their faces, and Bucky learned at that moment that Sam would not leave him alone until he was satisfied with the provocations.

“I don’t know who you are, but something tells me that he knows you very well.” Sam joked, Hulk laughed and Barnes rolled his eyes.

“Don’t start…” Bucky grumbled, holding Y/N’s hand before helping her get off the platform.

Everything Y/N found at that time was different from what she knew in the 1940s: mutations, heroes, villains, countries she didn’t know existed, technology, magic, and aliens… If it weren’t for having Barnes, giving her a bit of familiarity, she would’ve freaked out.

However, Steve was right. Y/N was a woman ahead of her time, and she adapted very quickly to the news. In a short time, she didn’t even look like a woman of almost 100 years old. And she was very happy, she had her concerns about the man of her life being a hero, but she was still the happiest woman in the world.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #imagines marvel #marvel imagines #marvel

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elsanna-shenanigans · 2 years

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April Contest Submission #9: warming up cold bricks

Words: ca. 2,000 Setting: mAU Lemon: no Content: Abduction, missing part of a limb, mention of abuse Song: The World Retreats – David O’Dowda

Usually, people don’t realize what a gift life is. How quickly things can change. A wrong turn, a wrong street, and everything suddenly fades away.

Elsa Andersen’s life was envied by many. CEO of one of the biggest economic group of the decade, inheritor of the family enormous mansion, outrageously rich, married to a young, beautiful woman, there was not a single stain on her perfect, dream life.

But everything changed on a cold January night.

As she left the towering building of Andersen-Schneider, her high heels clicking on the paved sidewalk of Paris, she took a turn to join her car, only to feel the cold metal of a gun placed against her temple.

“Fais ce qu’on te dit ou on te bute.” Said a deep voice, muffled by a mask. A chill ran down her spine, cold sweat quickly covering her nape.

Her sight went dark in a second. A bag has been placed on her head, and with a harsh strike to the back of her head, her consciousness faded.

Her abduction was on the front page of every newspaper the next day. Suddenly, her life wasn’t envied that much.

=======

Clear blue eyes opened, only to see ambient darkness. Her bones were aching from the cold, and the light carpet she was sleeping on didn’t spare her much from the hardness of concrete. A few days has passed since Elsa was abducted, maybe a week or so, she guessed. Her kidnappers weren’t exactly talkative about what was going on outside. The only thing that was keeping her updated about the date was the single meal she was given each day.

The past days has been terrible, living in what looked like a cave, sleeping on the floor, having to relieve herself in a bucket. But at least, the people keeping her there didn’t maim her, or even dare to touch her, for what it’s worth.

Elsa sighed, defeated. She slowly curled up in a ball, her frail arms circling her knees. In this quiet, dark and lonely place, she let go of her façade, and soft sobs were starting to break the deafening silence she had to bear.

“Please… Please Anna, will you wait for me? I’ll come back home soon, I promise.”

=======

Time goes by in a weird way when you only have yourself as sole companion, even more so when you are surrounded by darkness. The door, this barricade that blocked her way to freedom, to home, to Anna, only opened twice a day to let a masked man come in to give the woman her meal or to empty her bucket. On these moments, light was finally granted to her, but as the time slowly passed, it only became a curse that burnt her retina.

And then, one day, the light stayed. It took her a few minutes to get used to this blinding whiteness, eyes fragile after so many days spent in absolute obscurity. Two men were here, still strangers with a masked face, watching the weakened women with some kind of nervousness. As if they were about to do something even themselves found despicable.

A third man entered, holding a butcher knife.

=======

Some days passed. Elsa gave up counting time as pain kept pulsing in her left hand. The last digit had been shortened, but one of the men tended her wound, leaving it cleaned and dressed in a heavy bandage. After that, darkness came once again, and Elsa was getting closer and closer to losing her mind. She was numb from the pain and the cold.

A second time, the door opened and light stayed a little bit longer. The three men were here, and for a moment, terror filled her veins, scared that they came for more bits to cut. But apparently, they changed tactics.

They gave her paper, a fountain pen, and instructions. It was destined to Anna.

‘Mon amour,

It is strange to write after spending so many days in the dark, famished. The only thing that keeps me sane is thinking of you, safe at home.

I, however, do not really have a choice about my own safety. Please, my dear, my beloved, you have to listen to them. 70 millions euros is a small price to pay to save my life. They wouldn’t hesitate taking it.

Do not obey the police orders, whatever they are.

My life is on the line.

You’re my home, and I will keep loving you until I draw my last breath.

Yours,

Elsa’

One of them understood English. They must have known that her wife was American.

As she writes, Elsa couldn’t help but hope that Anna would understand, that she wouldn’t cede to whatever they asked. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips, knowing perfectly how her beloved would react to such thoughts. ‘You stupid selfless woman’, she’d say.

The men left the basement after checking her letter and taking a photograph of her thinned frame holding the daily newspaper. They let her keep the light, and the tabloid with it.

“Severed phalanx of Andersen-Schneider’s CEO found in a package – Abductors threatening that ‘more bits are going to follow’” It said on the front page.

=======

Their hideout changed. They were supposed to make an exchange with the police, but Elsa guessed that her captors got cold feet.

To know that she was so close to be back home, with her wife, was nearly the last straw for her sanity. After more than a month of abduction, giving up was starting to feel like it was the better solution. But her heart couldn’t let go, it couldn’t accept the prospect of abandoning Anna, her sole reason of existing since she lost her parents. Her beloved, her home. Even surrounded by pain, cold, fatigue and hunger, she could still sense the lightness of her touches, the warmth of her freckled skin, the love behind those beautiful teal irises.

Just knowing that Anna was waiting for her was enough to keep her alive.

The conditions of the new hideout were a little better than the previous ones. Elsa was still sleeping on the floor, but now she had two meals per day, and access to the daily paper.

Days went by, punctuated by this slow, ever existent agony that was gnawing on her very bones.

Until, one day, they let her out.

=======

It had been two very long months for Anna, alone in that way too big mansion, legacy of Elsa’s parents. She was only able to call it her home because of the woman that always stayed by her side, because of their love, so pure and warm.

Home has never been about having a roof to stay under. A house was just a pile of cold bricks that protects you from the weather, but a home was a place where you could feel truly, completely safe. It was not only a matter of physical comfort, but also one of memories, of feelings and relationships.

Without Elsa, the huge family house was nothing but walls without any meaning.

They met a few years ago, not so long after the tragic death of the Andersen couple. Elsa had been staying a few months in the US because she desperately needed a change of air, because the sight of a house that was no longer a home was unbearable to her.

Little by little, the two of them built a new home within those same walls, based on the love they shared, founded on mutual respect and adoration.

Until strangers decided to wreck it on that cold January night.

Living alone in a country that wasn’t hers, between walls that suddenly no longer made sense to her, was not an easy task. But Anna wasn’t one to give up, especially when it was about bringing back her wife and the home that came with her.

On the night of the 26th of March, as the redhead was nursing her third glass of wine, eyes red and puffed, her phone rang and her heart missed a beat. It would not be the first time she’d been contacted by her lover’s abductors, if it was one of them. Anna braced herself, and picked up.

“Hello?”

“…Anna?”

The voice was hoarse and so, so tired, but there was no mistake. It could only belong to one person.

Tears began to collect in her eyes, but Anna refused to let them fall.

“Where?”

=======

Tires screeched against the pavement, and a car door was slammed shut. The sound of hectic footsteps echoed through the night as the redhead was running towards a frail figure sitting on a bench near the phone booth.

Clear blue eyes opened, looking up to her savior. Anna was shocked by the emptiness of those irises she knew like the back of her hand, but quickly dismissed the feeling. She tentatively raised a hand to softly touch a hollow cheek, as if the blonde was made of glass and she was scared to break her in thousand of pieces.

No words were exchanged, maybe because there were none to say. Nothing was strong enough to describe what both women felt that night. Thinned, weak arms encircled her waist while a nose nuzzled lightly in the crook of her neck, and Anna answered the embrace by holding her gently, letting her wife get drunk of her warmth.

None of them knew how long they stayed in this position, holding each other in a gentle, soft way. Even if Elsa was just a shadow of her old self, this shadow was enough to make the redhead feel more complete than she ever did.

They made their way to the car in a comforting silence, in contrast to the deafening, cold one they got used to these last two months. The ride home went the same way. Home… It was funny in a sense, the way Anna was already calling that big, cold mansion her home as soon as Elsa was once again by her side. But to be honest, any place could be home if the blonde was there.

Once the car parked, Anna linked her fingers to Elsa’s, deciding to ignore for the moment how slender they were, and led her inside. She knew instinctively where to go, how to bring a little bit of dignity to the woman she loved.

=======

Warm water was starting to feel the bathtub. After making sure that it was not too hot, Anna turned to face the blonde and finally took the time to study her. She must have lost 30 pounds, something like that, but it wasn’t the weight loss that made her look so fragile in Anna’s eyes. It was how she stood. Gone was the regal CEO, who moved with poise in her perfectly tailored suits, always in high heels and exuding confidence. In front of her was a frail girl who was trying to take the minimum amount of space, an uncertain frown covering her face and deep, empty eyes staring at the void in front of her.

Anna slipped her hands against the hollow cheeks of her lover, caressing the dirty skin with her thumbs, and managed to get an eye contact. A silent question went through the redhead’s gaze, and she was answered by the smallest of nods.

Slowly, with careful, gentle movements, Anna started to undress her. There was nothing sexual in the way she got rid of the dirty clothes, not when the only thing she could focus on was on how sharp the blonde’s collarbone had became, how visible her ribs were. There was only trust.

Anna also remove the huge bandage that was covering Elsa’s left pinky, and she tried to remain unfazed as she discovered the badly scarred, shortened finger. They only took one phalanx, threatening to remove more. She tried to not think about that tiny bottle filled with formal she received. Carefully, she took some gauze and an antiseptic to clean the half-healed wound.

Next, the redhead took off Elsa’s pants, one leg after another, calm and loving. The other woman was not resisting, full of trust in the hands of her beloved. The underwear followed, and soon the blonde was resting in a bath filled with warm water and soap. And then, Anna took her time to clean her skin.

It was a slow, silent process, but a truly needed one. Because her epidermis wasn’t the only thing that had to be clean. Under Anna’s hands, her own very soul was cleansed in the most respectful and loving way.

Once it was done, Anna sat on her heels next to the bathtub. Gently, she cradled Elsa’s head in her hands, and placed her forehead against hers, daring to let out a sigh of relief. She felt a wet, light touch against her freckled cheek (Elsa’s fingers), and a hoarse voice finally broke the silence.

“Je suis à la maison.”

A chuckle left Anna’s lips. She still couldn’t understand a word of french, but at the moment she perfectly knew what her wife was trying to say. She kissed her, just a light peck against chapped lips. She could taste the salt of her own tears as she whispered:

“Yes, darling… You’re finally home.”

#elsanna #april 2022 contest #prompt: home #submission #cw: abduction #cw: missing limb #CW: abuse

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devanitoland · 5 days

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114 ac - devani toland is born

the third child of house toland of ghost hill, devani toland was a wild and wilful child. as she grew, conflicts between herself and her family became more frequent. in her teenage years, she spent most of her time away from ghost hill, with either dante uller or ruqaiyah dayne.

130 ac - departure from dorne

aged 16, devani escapes on a ship in the night, running away from home dressed as a boy. she leaves no indication of where she is, leaving rumours to swirl. in 131 ac, her family are forced to admit that they do not know where she is after covering up her disappearance for a year. to all in dorne, devani toland is effectively a ghost. i would like to keep her exact whereabout fairly loose and open to give flexibility where it's needed for future plotting, however, devani remained in essos for 14 years and travelled extensively. whilst she did not visit every city or country across the narrow sea, she's seen and done plenty over the last decade and a half. during her travels, she did not use her last name except for in notable circumstances, and kept the guise of a travelling bard, and mixed with commoners and nobles alike where the opportunity presented itself.

135 ac - communication from essos

devani wrote to her family, a short note that told them that she was alive but left no opportunity for further contact.

137 ac - devani marries

devani meets a mercenary from selhorys, a volantene town, and weds him two weeks later. she decides to settle in selhorys, believing herself in love with him. it is soon revealed that her love was just infatuation. devani intended to leave, but discovered that she was pregnant with his child, and so decides to stay. her mental health declines in this time, and her marriage crumbles. her husband gives her little freedom, and she does not appreciate it. they fight often. devani's longing to leave grows.

138 ac - motherhood

devani gives birth to a son on her 24th birthday. the child is named kheerat toland - a deliberate choice to give him her name by her husband, as his own family was not noble. this insistence was the final nail in the coffin for devani, who at the time was ready to shed her former life completely. following her son's birth, she suffered with post-partum depression, and within a few weeks, she ran away from selhorys, her marriage, and her son, starting again for a second time. she does retain contacts in the town who keep her informed of her son's wellbeing, but believing herself to be an incapable mother, she has kept her distance completely.

144 ac - return to westeros

devani hears word of house toland's conflict with the jordaynes. knowing she is her brother's legal heir, she departs from essos to return to dorne to see how things play out, and stake her claim on her seat, hoping her brother falls. after a brief stop in king's landing, she continues on to dorne. her first stop upon her arrival, before making herself publicly known, is to hellholt, where she reveals herself to dante uller. rashid jordayne dies, and the conflict with her own house remains in a state of stasis, disappointing devani greatly. her appearance is less well received by her cousin, joy manwoody, who busies herself with figuring out where devani has been and uncovers the secret of her husband and son. unwilling to return to the life of a wife of a man she doesn't want, devani kills her cousin covertly. devani attends the coronation of king jaehaerys, where she is involved in covering up the murder of young marbrand. this kick-starts a mental decline for her. dante uller is killed, and devani's mental health spirals. she then travelled to the westerlands with the dornish court for the celebrations following the birth of a prince.

#⊹ character building ╱ interested in everything and committed to nothing #⊹ task ╱ find me where the wild things are #optoo2charriehistory

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whileiamdying · 12 days

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How a Dream Came True: Young Jane Goodall’s Exuberant Letters and Diary Entries from Africa

BY MARIA POPOVA

When Jane Goodall (b. April 3, 1934) was a little girl, she was given a stuffed toy chimpanzee, whom she named Jubilee. From that moment on, little Jane and Jubilee became inseparable, but she especially enjoyed sitting with him on a tree branch in her family’s backyard, where she would read the Tarzan novels for hours on end. Like most children, Jane transformed the toy and the books into raw material for dreams — in her case, the dream of going to Africa to study the curious lives of monkeys. Unlike most children, she spent the next two decades turning that childhood dream into a reality by becoming the world’s most influential primatologist and the most celebrated woman in science since Marie Curie.

When she boarded the S.S. Kenya Castle one chilly spring day, 22-year-old Goodall was burning with exuberant enthusiasm for the work she was heading to Kenya to do. But she had no idea that this work, at first met with enormous resistance, would revolutionize not only our understanding of chimpanzees — her lifelong locus of curiosity and expertise — but our understanding of the complexities of all animal consciousness.

Jane Goodall with the young chimp Flint at Gombe (Photograph: Hugo van Lawick, Goodall’s first husband, courtesy of Jane Goodall Institute)

In a letter to her family penned aboard the Kenya Castle in March of 1957, found in the altogether magnificent Africa in My Blood: An Autobiography in Letters (public library), Goodall writes:

Darling Family, It is now 4 p.m. on Thursday and I still find it difficult to believe that I am on my way to Africa. That is the thing — AFRICA. It is easy to imagine I am going for a long sea voyage, but not that names like Mombasa, Nairobi, South Kinangop, Nakuru, etc., are going to become reality.

The first page of Goodall’s letter to her family from aboard the Kenya Castle

On April 3 — her twenty-third birthday — Goodall finally arrived in the dreamsome reality of Nairobi. Her first letter home brims with uncontainable gusto for the life she was about to begin — a life she had purposefully pursued since childhood:

I really do simply adore Kenya. It’s so wild, uncultivated, primitive, mad, exciting, unpredictable. It is also slightly degrading in its effect on some rather weak characters, but on the whole I am living in the Africa I have always longed for, always felt stirring in my blood.

Illustration by from ‘Me … Jane,’ a picture-book about Goodall’s childhood. Click image for more.

But the most fateful date in Goodall’s journey came more than three years later: On July 14, 1960, she arrived in Tanzania’s Gombe Stream National Park, where she would spend many years conducting the groundbreaking research for which she is celebrated today, and to which she still returns frequently in the course of her tireless environmental conservation work.

It was there that she met, named, and befriended the now-famous David Greybeard — the first chimp to overcome the fear of human contact and the generous gatekeeper who made possible Goodall’s research amid the chimpanzee community.

Jane Goodall with David Greybeard at Gombe

On her very first day at Gombe, Goodall saw her first chimp. It was a highly unlikely occurrence — at that point, scientists considered chimpanzees mysterious creatures at once wild and timid, nearly impossible to sight, let alone approach. In a diary entry from that first day, preserved by The Jane Goodall Institute, the young scientist captures the tremendous thrill of that miraculous event — a visceral affirmation that she was indeed living her childhood dream:

We woke at dawn … Left about 9 and arrived about 11. The fisherman were all along the beaches frying their dagga fish. It looked as though patches of sand had been whitewashed. Above, the mountains rose up steeply behind the beaches. The slopes were thickly covered with accacia and other trees… Every so often a stream cascaded down the vallys between the ridges, with its thick fringe of forest — the home of the chimps. The lake water was so clear I could scarcely believe it. Our tent was up in no time, in a clearing up from the fisherman’s huts on the stony beach. We had some lunch together, and then Ma and I spent an exhausting and hot afternoon setting things in order. I say exhausting because I had a foul sore throat, turning into a cold. Then, about 5 o’clock, someone came along to say some people had seen a chimp. So off we went and there was the chimp. It was quite a long way -too far to tell its sex or even see properly what it looked like — but it was a chimp. It moved away as we drew level with the crowd of fishermen gazing at it, and, though we climbed the neighboring slope, we didn’t see it again. However, we went over to the trees & found a fresh nest there. — Whether that day’s of the day before I couldn’t tell. We returned to the beach and walked back. We all had dinner together, and after long chats, & helplessly endeavoring to hear the news, Ma and I thankfully retired to bed.

Although 26-year-old Goodall was accompanied by her mother at Gombe — a requirement by the park’s chief warden, who was concerned about the young primatologist’s safety, and a reflection of what women scientists had to grapple with in that era — she continued corresponding with her relatives at home. On day three at Gombe, she writes in a picturesque letter to her grandmother Danny and the rest of the family:

We got here, Danny, on your birthday & mentally had tea with you — just after I had seen my first chimpanzee! I could hardly believe I could be lucky enough to see one on my very first day. We were quite far away, but at least close enough to know it was a chimp & not a baboon. There are lots of Baboon here — one Troop comes very close to the tent each morning to watch us. I went out yesterday afternoon to do a little exploring on my own and saw a beautiful bushbuck — a smallish animal, lovely reddish gold colour. He flew away almost from under my feet, barking like a dog. The country here is quite beautiful, but very rugged. The little stream behind the tent rushes down the steep rock valley, gurgling and splashing down steppes of waterfalls. The water is pure and sweet — doesn’t even have to be boiled. 16 such streams flow down the valleys between the mountain ridges, & along their banks are the forest galleries, the home of the chimps. In between the mountain slopes are fairly bare — really it is ideal country for my job, though at the moment the task seems of a huge magnitude. We got here, Danny, on your birthday & mentally had tea with you — just after I had seen my first chimpanzee! I could hardly believe I could be lucky enough to see one on my very first day. We were quite far away, but at least close enough to know it was a chimp & not a baboon. There are lots of Baboon here — one Troop comes very close to the tent each morning to watch us. I went out yesterday afternoon to do a little exploring on my own and saw a beautiful bushbuck — a smallish animal, lovely reddish gold colour. He flew away almost from under my feet, barking like a dog. The country here is quite beautiful, but very rugged. The little stream behind the tent rushes down the steep rock valley, gurgling and splashing down steppes of waterfalls. The water is pure and sweet — doesn’t even have to be boiled. 16 such streams flow down the valleys between the mountain ridges, & along their banks are the forest galleries, the home of the chimps. In between the mountain slopes are fairly bare — really it is ideal country for my job, though at the moment the task seems of a huge magnitude.

To see the passion and perseverance with which Goodall has dedicated her life to the accomplishment of that monumental task is nothing short of breathtaking.

Jane Goodall with David Greybeard at Gombe

Complement the altogether exhilarating Africa in My Blood, a trove of Goodall’s contagious enthusiasm and goodness, with the beloved scientist on empathy and our highest human potential, her answers to the Proust Questionnaire, and a lovely children’s book about her childhood.

#Jane Goodall

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theliterateape · 1 year

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A Merry Christmas Punch/CounterPunch On the Sensitive Topic of One Mr. George Bailey, Part One

By Don Hall

Author’s Note: This is the first year in a very long time that I will be spending Christmas away from Kansas and my family. It will also be the first Christmas I’ve ever spent working and, given that I work at a casino, my first Christmas in a casino and my first Christmas in the desert.

As this holiday comes crashing through and the New Year comes next, two benchmarks approach. Both the mark of my first year in Las Vegas (I drove my Prius filled with crap out of Chicago on February 12th) and my fifty-fourth birthday. The year has been one of huge, sweeping change, a fresh start in a new place in a new industry, and some rather serious if not completely naval-gazey observations about things in general.

Rather than walk you through all of that happy crappy horse shit on Christmas Day (I’ll save the staring into my naval pieces for the New Year/Decade), Joe Janes flew out to Vegas for Christmas and he and I went head-to-head at BUGHOUSE! Our topic: George Bailey: A Wonderful Life or a Miserable Failure?

This morning, we start with my argument. Later today, Joe will present his. FYI: he won. Go figure.

George Bailey: Having Friends Bail You Out Isn’t Enough

The warmth of that final scene is supposed to make us hug our loved ones and revel in the glow of a town surrounding their failed banker by bailing him out all in the Spirit of Christmas.

But did that room full of people really know George Bailey? Did they fully grasp his horrible failure as a human being before throwing down the money he lost?

Who was George Bailey and why do we in the Age of Cancel Culture want to see him escape his tragic fall?

First, understand that the film was pretty much critically panned at the time of its release in 1947 and recorded a $525,000 loss. It didn’t become the feel good classic until the 1980s when public television began playing it because it was free to do so. The 1980s when the world was celebrating problematic films like The Breakfast Club, Wall Street, Risky Business, and Porky’s.

Second, George Bailey in his own words:

George Bailey: How old are you anyway?

Mary Hatch Bailey: Eighteen.

George Bailey: Eighteen. Why it was only last year you were seventeen.

George Bailey: [to Mary] You look older without your clothes on.

George Bailey: You call this a happy family? Why do we have to have all these kids?

Third, the George Bailey his many friends did not know:

George is that guy who graduates high school and then comes back to the high school party to troll recent graduates.

At the party, George becomes reacquainted with Mary, graduating that night. Mary is smart—she advances to college—but that isn’t what interests George. Walking home, he speaks lines seemingly from the Weinstein couch: “How old are you, anyway?” he leerily asks Mary, who replies that she is eighteen and wonders if that is “too young or too old.”

Later, when he learns he will be stuck in town managing his late father’s bank, George drunkenly makes his way to Mary’s house, where he “shakes her,” yells at her and forcibly kisses her. I suppose a later scene where he asks her if he can masturbate in front of her, she says nothing, so he does.

After George and Mary have married and had children, George releases his workplace stress by screaming at his children and destroying family belongings—incidents that today would be seen as red flags for domestic violence

Annie is the Bailey family’s African-American maid. At one point George’s brother slaps her fanny. All in jest, though one wonders how an older minority woman, as Annie is, might take such sporting if she weren’t dependent on a privileged white family for her room and modest income.

So, George is a sexist, a creep, a sexual assaulter, a potential domestic abuser, and a passive racist

He’s also a tragically bad businessman. Entrusting the money of the poorest people in Bedford Falls to a known drunk and a man who needed string on his fingers to remember things. You’d think after George caught the drunken Mr. Gower poisoning kids, he’d learn not to trust alcoholics but he was far too self-involved to learn that lesson. It all indicates that George had checked out somewhere around the time his selfish fucking brother reneged on his promise

George had kept the business running, in an agreement with his brother that Harry would take over after he returned from school. But Harry and his new fiancée, Ruth, had other plans. Ruth tells George her father offered Harry a job in the research business. While Harry says nothing’s set in stone yet, it hits George that his dreams really are turning to dust

Did Harry truly understand how much George hated him after that? The look of horror, panic, and hopelessness George gets on his face after Harry reveals his casual “I’m in love and have opportunities so go fuck your dreams of world travel” says far more than words

When George discovers the $8,000 missing, he loses his shit. “It means bankruptcy and scandal, and prison. One of us is going to jail. Well it’s not gonna be me!” George tells the exhausted and addled Uncle Billy, making it clear he’d send his uncle up the river if the money doesn’t turn up

Finally, when he sees that Potter, a bitter old man with a successful if not completely cutthroat business whom he has intentionally alienated throughout the first half of the film, is going to have him jailed, he decides to commit suicide. Not out of chronic depression or a chemical imbalance. Not out of grief or any sort of mental illness he may be suffering. He decides to take his life because that’s just easier than taking a breath, figuring out where the money went, and solving the problem.

His decision to off himself and leave his family and the host of poor people in town whose money has evaporated is narcissistic, sociopathic, and selfish to a degree that those friends who bail him out would stop in their tracks and say “What the fuck?

Instead, he is redeemed.

In the unwritten sequel, when George discovers a few months later that Billy has been quietly funneling funds to pay for his drinking problem, he decides to buy a shotgun, kill Mary and the kids and then turn the gun on himself until Clarence comes back and shows him how Zuzu grows up and creates a strain of agriculture based on the science of flowers that can feed the world. The third unwritten film, has George older and on trial by the FDIC for financial malfeasance. He plots to wear a suicide bomb to the trial and thus end his troubles but this time Clarence shows up, slaps him repeatedly in the face and tells him maybe suicide is the right choice. Once called on it, showing himself to be the coward he always was, Bailey turns state’s witness against his uncle

In a time when society no longer truly embraces redemption for mistakes, the idea that we can all sit down and feel good about a suicidal, abusive, sexist, racist, avoider of responsibility like George Bailey is out of place. We now look toward Punishment instead of Rehabilitation, Revenge in lieu of Redemption. We no longer Forgive or Forget

He may have a room full of friends but they don’t know what we know. He will never be held accountable for his mistakes. Bailey is a tragic failure and should be cancelled

Don’t even get me started on the Grinch or Ebenezer Scrooge.

#christmas #George Bailey #BUGHOUSE!

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antitheticpages · 1 year

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HELENA BERTINELL/I.

NAME: helena bertinell/i NICKNAME(S): miss bertinelli, huntress, hel GENDER: cis female PRONOUNS: she/her BIRTHDAY: february 14 AGE: typically early to mid 30s SPECIES: human SEXUALITY: bisexual CURRENT LOCATION: varies by verse, typically in gotham city OCCUPATION: verse dependent; school teacher; orphanage patroness; vigilante ETHNICITY: italian-american; latinx heritage from her biological father NATIONALITY: american

PLACE OF BIRTH: gotham city, united states of america HOMETOWN: gotham city, united states of america EDUCATION: gotham preparatory; institut le rosey in rolle, switzerland; università degli studi di palermo ACCOMPLISHMENTS: bachelor’s degree in early childhood education; associates degree in criminal studies. JOB HISTORY: third grade, gotham public school (previously); english language teacher, palermo university & community center (previously). FACECLAIM: lindsey morgan EYE COLOR: brown HAIR COLOR: dark brown, nearly black at times HAIR TYPE: thick, wavy, voluminous BODY TYPE: athletic HEIGHT: 5'11 WEIGHT: one hundred and thirty-five SCENT: limoncello; rosemary PIERCINGS: none SCARS: so many

MOTHER: maria panessa bertinelli FATHER: franco bertinelli (assumed); santo cassamento (actual) SIBLINGS: pino bertinelli, salvatore asaro (cousin, akin to big brother), mario cassamento (half, mario is unaware) CHILDREN: verse dependent RELATIONSHIP STATUS: yeah, no FRIENDS: yeah, no ENEMIES: the cosa nostra

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of mass murder, blood, child death. also mentions of catholicism. if you find anything else here I should tag, please let me know because I do not want to trigger anyone.

I have chosen to base my portrayal of Helena on the origin story within the Huntrcss: Year One comic run. I also take influences from Bctman/Huntrcss: Cry For Blood and may even reference other sources in my portrayal. It is important to note that there are still canon divergences from these runs.

Princess to one of Gotham’s infamous crime families, Helena was born to Maria and Franco Bertinelli on a chilly spring morning. Months prior, Frank had accused his wife of having an affair with a man from a rival family of the Cosa Nostra: Santo Cassamento. While she assured Franco that it was impossible and that she would never run around on him, the truth of the matter was that he was correct. Maria Bertinelli had accidentally fallen in love with another man, and through acts of devotion, it brought her a daughter. Thus began the plot to end the Bertinelli family mafia dynasty. It took years to pull off the scheme: years and many a favor owed, but eight years after her daughter’s birth, Maria had lured the whole of the Bertinelli clan into a trap in the guise of a celebration on the following Helena’s birthday: February 16th, 1997.

The day became an event that would come to be remembered by those in Gotham and beyond as 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘. Despite all of her planning, Maria’s children, Helena and Pino, were in attendance due to a mistake made by the family governess. Little did she know, she was walking them right into the slaughter.

By the time Maria took notice, it was too late. the shooting had begun. Maria had succeeded, but not without a price: shielding her children from what she herself hath wrought, Maria and her son Pino were struck by bullets...leaving the young Helena as the only survivor of the massacre. The next decade of Helena’s life was spent in Sicily being raised in secret by Santo Cassamento’s family: his sister Antonia, her husband, Nicola Asaro and their son Salvatore...a family of sicilian assassins.

In Sicily, Helena was homeschooled and was taught to fight by her cousin Sal, who had become like a brother to her. When she was 15, she began to attend boarding school in Switzerland. This lasted until she graduated and returned to the farm, although it was a short time spent before the Italian government began cracking down on the Cosa Nostra: the entire Asaro family was arrested for their crimes, once again making Helena the last one remaining.

At 18, Helena began University in Palermo: which began her true education on what the Mob truly was. Growing up the daughter of a boss, she had been indoctrinated by certain myths and taught to believe that the people in charge were pious, rather than criminal. It was during her time at college that she also eventually met (or rather, became reacquainted with) a former classmate from kindergarten, on vacation with his family from Gotham City. It was then that Helena began a brief and chaste affair with Tony Angelo, the son of Nino Angelo ― the mobster who took over for her father after his death and now ran Gotham.

When she turned 21, she could finally legally claim the Bertinelli fortune that had become her inheritance: something she had looked forward to for years. She met with the Asaro family lawyer the night before to discuss the amount in full: a mere two million dollars. Helena, knowing something was wrong, threatened the lawyer and forced him to tell her where the rest was. He obliged, but in doing so (and under Mandragora's orders) set her up for ambush that would lead to her to rebirth. With the memories of the day that she lost her entire family still strong, Helena felt there was only one thing left to do: continue to seek vengeance from those who had wronged her. Thus, Gotham’s (eventual) Huntress was born.

Within the first year of becoming the Huntress she was able to take down many individuals she held responsible for the death of her family, including Stefano Mandragora, the boss of all bosses when it came to the Cosa Nostra. Her initial goal had been to retrieve her true inheritance that had been withheld from her rather than the two million euros she was offered: hush money. her rightful inheritance was three billion euros in the form of a diamond necklace, which she stole back from Mandragora during his attempt to ambush her.

It was the night she killed Mandragora that she learned that the list of mobsters involved in her family's massacre was deeper than it appeared. She also learned that her mother, Maria Bertinelli, had planned an escape with her birth father and that together they had approached him about the hit. Next on her list was a man she had only known as "The Pope", whom of which she was forced to follow back to the one place she swore she would never return: Gotham City. When she returned, she discovered that Tony had married the daughter of a wealthy politician: giving the Cosa Nostra family ties to Gotham’s local government. A marriage of convenience.

No more distractions. Helena forced herself to bury Tony in the past, and set forth to focus on her hunger for vengeance. The next several years were spent traveling the globe and taking down each of the men responsible for the decimation of her family.

#helena.

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