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#undeserved deference
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“I refuse to remain silent as religion rips through humanity like a virulent plague.
I know it's awfully rude to question and criticize this very ancient institution, but so what?”
-- Michael A. Sherlock
Better rude than complicit.
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nutzgunray-lvt · 4 months
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Class 1A Dynamics (Part 2)
This is going to be consolidated, so I apologize for the long length, but it's going to serve as a conclusion as to why I believe Class 1A's reputation as a found family is undeserved.
In my opinion, the Final Exam arc and Forest Camp arc is when we start to see the cracks in Class 1A's dynamics, as well as their more problematic moments that don't match how they supposedly are as characters. We do get really nice moments of Momo offering her home and services as a tutor to a handful of her classmates (Jirou's interactions with Momo's mom were really cute), but that's it.
Kirishima hears from Bakugou's former middle school friends how they and Bakugou bullied Izuku for his Quirklessness... and promptly ignores it. Mr. Anti Bully hears that the role model he looks up to was/is a bully, and does NOTHING about it. Not even when Bakugou gets them kicked out of whatever place they were studying at and blames IZUKU for it does he do anything other than say, "Lol, classic Bakugou!"
One of the biggest moments, in my opinion, is when Ochako, Ida, Momo, and Tsu (I think it was them? I can't remember) have no objections to Bakugou backhanding Izuku. They hear Recovery Girl saying that they have no communication... and take it at face value. No trying to stand up for him, no saying that Bakugou's the instigator between them, nothing.
(To say nothing how Sero failed the exam for being taken out of the arena unconcious, even though Bakugou passed despite ALSO being unconcious when he was dragged out of the arena 🙄)
The actual camp itself was pretty nice in regard to student interactions. Shouji was worried for both Tokoyami and Izuku (Izuku looked so cute being carried by Shouji 🥹), and Izuku made sure not to place Bakugou's safety over Tokoyami's when Dark Shadow went on its rampage. Tokoyami in turn was perfectly willing to sacrifice his life for Izuku, Shouji, and everyone else's safety. Aoyama risks his life and position as the traitor by clearing a path for Bakugou to get to camp. It was extremely annoying how Todoroki had to keep telling Bakugou not to run towards the villains and not to make the poison gas worse by using his Quirk (collateral damage is a concept Bakugou doesn't give a FUCK about), but I guess that was nice or whatever.
Then came the rescue.
Shouji aknowledges how guilty Izuku and Todoroki must feel about Bakugou's kidnaping, and then Kirishima and Tsu get into an arguement about whether or not to leave the rescue to the adults. I HATE how Kirishima guilted Izuku into joining the rescue. Izuku had broken limbs and a high fever to the point of having seizures. He was unconscious for three days, and for him to be told, "You can still reach him with your arms!" when everyone in class knows Bakugou would (and DID!) refuse Izuku's help is disgusting. In theory, it's nice how they take Bakugou's ego and feelings into account when they decide a small team is going to rescue him (I'll have more to say on that later). But then, Ida tries convincing Izuku not to go... by punching his sick and injured friend hard in the face. Ida, what the FUCK? Did he ever apologize for doing that?
And then not only does Bakugou not ever thank Momo, Ida, Todoroki, Kirishima, and Izuku for rescuing him and risking their place at UA, Aizawa then acts as though the class needs to regain his trust (even though they had no idea the rescue team went through with their plan) when it really should be the other way around. Great father figure he is, right?
So they move to the dorms, and we get a really nice moment where Tsu tearfully apologizes for saying that the rescue team were acting villanous in saving Bakugou. This is all well and good, but then we get to the Licensing Exam. As awesome as it was to see Ida helping Aoyama secure a place in the final round, as awesome as it was seeing everyone defer to Izuku's judgment, it all was completely undone by the bullshit house arrest.
I've gone on and on about how it's my least favorite part of the entire story, but seeing 1A not aknowledge Bakugou's bullying of Izuku yet again really soured my opinion on them. Ida especially gets the brunt of my criticism here, because as one of Izuku's best friend, he should have figured that Izuku not only didn't want to break curfew, he's NEVER looked for a fight when it came to Bakugou. And then when Izuku apologizes (barf) for defending himself, they all accept it like he did something wrong.
I HATE it, and for a while, I hated 1A because of it.
Then we get some smaller moments between that and the stupid Dark Izuku arc that are pretty nice. They express worry and relief for those involved in Eri's rescue, Izuku encourages Jirou to not be afraid to express herself musically, and Mina teaches Aoyama how to dance before the School Festival. Everyone criticizes Izuku for running around and trying to get candy apple ingredients for Eri, and they make fun of him for getting in trouble after the Gentle Criminal fight, blah blah blah. No one cheers for him or encourages him during his mock interview with Mt. Lady, but whatever.
Then Izuku leaves UA.
Not ONCE do ANY of Class 1A consider why he left, even though he literally tells them in the goddamn letters he left for them. Not once do they call out Bakugou for being the actual reason he has such low self-esteem and self sacrifical tendancies. Not once do they consider having just his closest friends find him and bring him back. After all, most of them admit they don't really know Izuku on a personal level. They don't even stand up for Momo when he jumps down her throat for not calling him by his stupid hero name.
Nope, they all decide to just bumrush him and let Bakugou lead the charge.
They let Bakugou make fun of him, project his own flaws onto him, and not once aknowledge that Izuku is neither in the physical condition nor mental condition to be hearing any of that. They then quite literally beat him into submission. Sure, some of the classmates try saying nice things to him about how he helped all of them (Dark Shadow was so gentle with Izuku 🥺), but Sato tries guilt tripping him about Eri, which is just gross.
Then comes the infamous Youtube Apology, where Bakugou talks about Izuku's Quirklessness and how that made him lesser than Bakugou in his eyes. No one reacts to any of this, and instead of just letting Izuku sleep or getting him to the fucking doctor, they throw him in a bath like that'll fix anything. We do get an awesome moment where Tokoyami and Sato call out Bakugou for bullying Izuku again despite supposedly apologizing, but that's chump change, considering what all they put Izuku through.
And then comes the traitor reveal.
I don't blame 1A for being angry at Aoyama, considering how his actions put everyone in danger, but I think it's so strange due to two things. One, Aoyama was clearly coerced into being a traitor. His parents were the ones who made the deal with AFO, and Aoyama was obviously remorseful for his actions. Two, just look at Bakugou. He was the one who not only ran towards the villains in the first place, but everyone had to keep him from making everything worse when they were trying to protect him.
And yet who's the one that gets treated with consideration and kid gloves?
Bakugou.
I can't say anything about the Final War, because everything is so fucking messy, but I guess I will say how nice it is that the class protects the girls from Mineta's sexual harrassment and don't take it laying down.
To close off, Hori did a piss poor job in showing organic development of 1A as supposed super close friends and found family. They all deserved better than what they wound up becoming, and it's just really sad all around.
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jozor-johai · 6 days
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Reread the AGOT Prologue last night, and I was so caught up this time in how the dynamics of that chapter are a microcosm of the class dynamics in Westeros.
Not such a long post, but putting it after the cut for ease.
Waymar Royce, of course, stands in for the Lords, with his wealth and name and undeserved authority, while one-named Gared and Will are the smallfolk.
In this chapter, with a speaking cast of 3, there's already this question of where does power lie? In this scene, the smallfolk outnumber the lords 2-to-1, and neither believe in Waymar, but ultimately each of them defers to the lord's authority (the ratio is much more extreme in Westeros at large, but this works for a 3-person dynamic). Will and Gared also trust each other, and trust each other's expertise, more than either of them think Waymar should be trusted in any capacity—he's not leader by merit (he has much less experience than either of them), he's not leader by popular appeal (they laugh at him in their cups), and he's not leader by age (younger than the both).
And we see already in this small moment the ways in which authority attempts to deal with usurpation—which we will see played out over and over again throughout the entirety of ASOIAF.
Gared challenges Waymar's authority on the basis of experience, which is a justified complaint. Faced with an inarguable position, Waymar responds with unnecessary cruelty: "you ought to dress more warmly, Gared." This is one way for the upper class to keep the smallfolk in line—to flaunt their wealth and advantage, and to push back visciously against challenges. This is the Tywin technique, one which we see done consistently throughout the series.
The significance of this being a mental confrontation cannot be overstated: when confronted with Varys' riddle, Tyrion later observes that the rule "All depends on the man with the sword." Here, Gared is the man with the sword—he's a man-at-arms, and the better swordsman. While "Will doubted it[Royce's sword] had ever been swung in anger," "Will would not have given an iron bob for the lordling's life if Gared pulled it[his own sword] from its scabbard." Gared could fully kill Royce here, if he dared. And so the challenge, for Waymar, is to make sure Gared never dares. Power lies where men believe it lies, so Waymar's job as authority figure is to demoralize Gared, so he does not outright challenge Waymar's authority. (This is the role of public humiliation—another 'Tywin tactic,' but which is also used broadly).
Perhaps Gared would dare to challenge Waymar's authority if he were not alone. When Varys follows Tyrion's thinking that the man holding the sword might have some real power, he questions: why do the men with swords obey kings at all, then? Tyrion posits: "Because these child kings and drunken oafs can call other strong men, with other swords." So perhaps the issue is unity, a majority feeling—one man cannot rebel, lest his own class turn against him, but perhaps many can. We see this as the series goes on in instances like with the Sparrows, who amass enough numbers that they can imprison the queen, or with the sellswords in Meereen, who might turn the tide of battle if they switch sides (to the side that they believe might win).
To gain this advantage, Gared and Will would have to be a united front. In the beginning of this chapter, Will was a neutral figure, he's not willing to actually challenge that authority, he didn't want to be involved in the confrontation, but knew "he known "they would drag him into the quarrel sooner or later." Later, though, after witnessing Gared's demoralization, Will nearly steps in himself—in defense of Gared, out of respect for Gared's experience, and in a moment of class solidarity, Will speaks up to defend Gared, and is cut off:
"If Gared said it was the cold …" Will began.
"Have you drawn any watches this past week, Will?"
Here, Waymar's goal, as ruling class of this interaction, is to prevent class solidarity within the smallfolk. If Waymar responded too rudely, or with too much aggression, this might bind Gared and Will together for certain, and Waymar might be usurped (this is the result of the repeated aggressions of Aerys II, resulting in his death, or the repeated aggressions of Tywin which spawned the aforementioned Sparrows).
So Waymar has to employ a different strategy: (still a bit snidely) Waymar plays the role of 'encouraging mentor,' invoking this idea that he deserves to rule by the merit of being inherently 'wiser' or a keeper of 'knowledge'. He suggests that Will figure out for himself, under Waymar's guidance, that the cold could not possibly have killed the wildlings. Led more gently by Waymar, Will seems to decide for himself that Waymar is correct. In short, Waymar is able to reposition Will to be on his side, not Gared's, by leveraging his initial assumed authority and the existing attitude of elite education, even as that makes Will go against his own first-hand experience.
This is another tactic that we see repeatedly used throughout ASOIAF (and the world)—the ruling class acting as though they are simply elevating the ("innocently wrong") subjugated class to a more aware and knowledgeable position. If we believe the Maester conspiracy, they are the most obvious example of this, but the fact that it is only the lords who have access to Maesters means this is implicitly true without even needing a conspiracy—the ruling class is already gatekeeping knowledge and education from the subjugated class. (As an aside: the Maester conspiracy, ironically, is only concerned with the possibility of an even higher authority secretly gatekeeping knowledge from the nobility—in other words, the fear that the Maesters are treating the Lords the way that the Lords treat the smallfolk).
So let's return to Varys' final proposed answers to his own riddle: "Some say knowledge is power. Some tell us that all power comes from the gods. Others say it derives from law." Waymar has employed the knowledge-as-power against Will, and we're also constantly up against the backdrop of law-as-power: The Night's Watch.
Waymar references "Mormont," someone who Waymar does not want to disappoint, and they all consider the agreed-upon terms of the Night's Watch. Even in this microcosmic scenario, they are part of a system, one where this authority figure is, seemingly, held to his own authority figure, and one where the "rules" of the interaction have been determined long before now. In the end, once Waymar decides, "the order had been given, and honor bound them to obey." They have all agreed to a set of laws, already, which keep them bound to Waymar's authority.
So, ultimately, it is in this moment that despite Gared and Will being fully correct in their fears, despite being more experienced, wiser, older, and in all ways better rangers than Waymar, authority itself held true, and Waymar marched them all on towards his own death.
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blackswaneuroparedux · 11 months
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Anonymous asked: You’re one of the smartest and well-grounded defenders of conservatism I have read here but I’m curious how you would defend the British monarchy. What would you say to those critics who think the coronation of King Charles III and the monarchy in general is just a waste of time as its rituals are out-dated and therefore has no symbolic value? How will you and your family be celebrating the coronation of King Charles III?
Thank you for your kind words, however undeserved. I’ve already started celebrating the coronation. I was in London earlier in the week seeing family and friends and I was just taking in the magnificent royal pageantry makeover of central London. One of my gentlemen’s club is in Pall Mall (it feels weird to say that as a woman) and just walking down there up to Fortnum & Mason and Hatchards bookstore in and around Piccadilly and Green Park gave me goosebumps. I only wish I was there longer but alas I had to get back to Paris; but at least I bought some food and tea stash from Fortnum & Mason to bring back to friends.
I’ll be properly celebrating the coronation by hosting a ’street party’ on our French vineyard with my cousins and inviting some of the British expats and French neighbours to celebrate with lots of fine wine and champers in full flow. Like millions of others, my immediate family are doing their own thing to celebrate the coronation. Overall, it should be a great day. And historic too. I have a spring in my step even if the very next day I have the weight of work on my shoulders as I rush to the airport the very next day to step back on the punishing corporate treadmill. 
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On the face of it, the British monarchy runs against the spirit of the times. Deference is dead, but royalty is built on a pantomime of archaic honourifics and frock-coated footmen. In an age of meritocracy, monarchy is rooted in the unjustifiable privilege of birth. Populism means that old elites are out, but the most conspicuous elite of all remains. Identity politics means that narratives are in, but the late queen kept her feelings under her collection of unfashionable hats. By rights, support for the crown should have crumbled under Elizabeth and especially under Charles. Instead, the monarchy has thrived. And it continues to thrive and thus maddening the bourgeois woke elites and perplexing race grifting decolonisation academics. And yet millions of Britons and many others around the world will tune in and celebrate the coronation of King Charles III. Unless your head is firmly embedded in the pages of the Guardian newspaper, poll after poll has shown the majority of Britons have supported the monarchy as an institution and the republican movement in the UK is a joke. Clearly the majority of Britons don’t see the monarchy as a waste of time or its rituals out-dated and nor having symbolic value? Why is that?
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Most of the criticisms of monarchy are no longer valid today, if they were ever valid. These criticisms are usually some variation of two ideas. Firstly, the monarch may wield absolute power arbitrarily without any sort of check, thus ruling as a tyrant. However, in present era, most monarchies rule within some sort of constitutional or traditional framework which constrains and institutionalises their powers. Even prior to this, monarchs faced significant constraints from various groups including religious institutions, aristocracies, the wealthy, and even commoners. Customs, which always shape social interactions, also served to restrain. Even monarchies that were absolute in theory were almost always constrained in practice.
In Britain even the monarch was subject to the law from medieval times. As Sir Edward Coke put it in the famous 1610 Proclamations case, “the King hath no prerogative but that which the law of the land allows him”. If anyone doubts these issues are still relevant, the Supreme Court quoted these very words in its 2019 judgement on Boris Johnson’s prorogation of Parliament. And the pre-existing law referred to, that “common law of the land”, went back - both in legal myth and in the popular mind - to Anglo-Saxon times, the era of Athelstan and St Edward (whose crown King Charles will wear).
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A second criticism is that even a good monarch may have an unworthy successor. However, today’s heirs are educated from birth for their future role and live in the full glare of the media their entire lives. More importantly, because they have literally been born to rule, they have constant, hands-on training on how to interact with people, politicians, and the media. This constrains bad behaviour, in theory. But it doesn’t always of course - just look at the antics of Prince Andrew and Prince Harry. Whatever your views of these people they are essentially peripheral figures to the central and singular importance of the monarch himself. The late Queen rarely put her foot wrong.
Even detractors of the monarchy had to admit the Queen herself conducted herself admirably. Christopher Hitchens, hardly a pro-monarchist but a staunch republican, was spot on when he shrewdly said, “the British monarchy doesn't depend entirely on glamour, as the long, long reign of Queen Elizabeth II continues to demonstrate. Her unflinching dutifulness and reliability have conferred something beyond charm upon the institution, associating it with stoicism and a certain integrity. Republicanism is infinitely more widespread than it was when she was first crowned, but it's very rare indeed to hear the Sovereign Lady herself being criticised, and even most anti-royalists hasten to express themselves admiringly where she is concerned.” Hitchens inadvertently highlighted an unseen truth about the longevity and relevance of the monarchy which is it has never been about the glamour or the gossip but about its symbolism which are deeply rooted in the ancient history of these lands.
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Critics may decry nostalgia for monarchy but they are missing the wider point which is the monarchy is at the beating heart of modern constitutional democracies. As in previous centuries, monarchy will continue to show itself to be an important and beneficial political institution wherever it still survives.
Look around and you’ll see that constitutional monarchies are undoubtedly the most popular form of royal leadership in the modern era⁠, making up close to 70% of all monarchies. This situation allows for democratically elected governments to rule the country, while the monarch performs ceremonial duties. Most monarchs are hereditary of course but I would argue in republics like the US and France for instance one has a ‘republican monarchy’. The presidency has all the symbolic trappings of a monarch and plays that unifying role for the nation. As an aside it’s interesting to note that the French president, Emmanuel Macron, technically serves as a Co-Prince of Andorra - a fact I enjoy making my good French republican friends squirm in discomfort. But France remains resolutely a republic despite many other European countries being a constitutional monarchy.
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Monarchy has a long history in Europe, being the predominant form of government from the Middle Ages until the First World War. At the turn of the twentieth century every country in Europe was a monarchy with just three exceptions: France, Switzerland and San Marino. But by the start of the twenty-first century, most European countries had ceased to be monarchies, and three quarters of the member states of the European Union are now republics. That has led to a teleological assumption that in time most advanced democracies will become republics, as the highest form of democratic government.
But there still remains a stubborn group of countries in Western Europe which defy that assumption, and they include some of the most advanced democracies in the world. In the most recent Democracy Index compiled by the Economist Intelligence Unit, six out of the top ten democracies - and nine of the top 15 - in the world were monarchies. They include six European monarchies: Norway, Sweden, Denmark, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and the United Kingdom.
It remains a historical paradox. These monarchies have survived partly for geopolitical reasons, most of the other European monarchies having disappeared at the end of the First or Second World Wars. Their continuance has been accompanied by a steady diminution in their political power, which has shrunk almost to zero, and developing roles that support liberal democracy. What modern monarchies offer is non-partisan state headship set apart from the daily political struggle of executive government; the continuity of a family whose different generations attract the interest of all age groups; and disinterested support for civil society that is beyond the reach of partisan politics. These roles have evolved because monarchy depends ultimately on the support of the public, and is more accountable than people might think.
Understanding this paradox of an ancient hereditary institution surviving as a central part of modern democracies is a key part of understanding why monarchies persist and will continue to exist.
I would argue though that even within the modern constitutional monarchy, the British monarchy uniquely stands out from all the other European ones such as Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Belgium, Netherlands, and Spain.
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David Starkey, despite being curmudgeonly and provocative with his outsized remarks remains one of our finest medieval and royalist historians. He has always been particularly good at explaining the shifting tone of monarchical power in Britain. After the straightforward Anglo-Saxon model, English kings had to incorporate the Norman way of doing things, with its "chivalric virus"; we then see the Tudors appear with their imperialist vision, followed by the disastrous Stuart belief in the divine right of kings, which James I subscribed to intellectually, and which Charles I paid for with his head. After that we see Hanoverian mediocrity, followed by Victorian pomp, and Windsor flexibility – changing nationality and name as wars with Germany, their ancestral home, demanded.
From the beginning, Starkey argues, England’s monarchy has been unlike any other, divorced from imperial Roman traditions and based on an unspoken contract between king and people, and so reflecting a deep sense of patriotic exceptionalism. From Alfred, who effectively invented the idea of an English nation, to George III, who became the incarnation of bluff, beef-eating John Bull during the Napoleonic Wars, and on to George VI, the personification of quiet determination during Britain’s darkest and finest hours, successful kings have come to embody a wider spirit of national defiance. Perhaps that explains why, for all his faults, we remain fascinated with Henry VIII: he may have been a monster, but he was proudly, unapologetically, our monster. The Glorious Revolution of 1688 which really was one of this nation’s finest hours that did much to lay the seeds of our modern constitutional monarchy that we have today. Compared with the blood-soaked warrior kings of the past our recent monarchs have been personally colourless and politically irrelevant, except at key moments to unify a nation on its knees (against the imminent Nazi invasion during World War Two and the Blitz) and provide a point of continuity in the face of massive societal and economic change.
But does this history make Britain’s monarchy unique. Yes, it does. It’s not just the history but the rituals that define the monarchy in Britain that make it so unique today. Indeed far from being out-dated and empty of any symbolic value, the uniqueness of its rituals make the monarchy in Britain stand out because it’s precisely because of its Christian influenced rituals are embedded in the DNA of the monarchy tied to the history of these sceptred isles as Shakespeare put it.
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G.K. Chesterton wrote that “the opponents of ritual attack it on the ground that it becomes formal and hollow. So it does. But ritual only becomes formal and hollow where men are not sufficiently ritualistic.” What did he mean by that? A clue can be found in publication of The Black Book back in 1820 which was radical critique of the corruption and power of the English Establishment. It made this comment on royal ritual: “Pageantry and show, the parade of crowns and coronets, of gold keys, sticks, white wands and black rods; of ermine and lawn, maces and wigs, are ridiculous when men become enlightened, when they have learned that the real object of government is to confer the greatest happiness on the people at the least expense.” Forty years later, Lord Robert Cecil, the future third marquess of Salisbury, having watched Queen Victoria open parliament, wrote with scarcely more approval: “Some nations have a gift for ceremonial. No poverty of means or absence of splendour inhibits them from making any pageant in which they take part both real and impressive. Everybody falls naturally into his proper place, throws himself without effort into the spirit of the little drama he is enacting, and instinctively represses all appearance of constraint or distracted attention.”
As Sir David Cannadine, the great British historian, suggests, the elite's desire to temper the radical consequences of democracy was a crucial reason for their invention of so many royal rituals since the later nineteenth century. Indeed, for Cannadine, it is precisely the 'invention' and performance of royal rituals and Christian traditions, perfected at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century, which prevented the British monarchy from suffering the same fate as its Austrian, Prussian and German equivalents.
The Queen's coronation in 1953 was the first major international event to be broadcast on television, with an estimated 20.4 million viewers in the UK alone, 56% of the adult population. The coronation was the first media event seen by the majority of the population, and was for many their first experience of 'watching the box'. What people saw or were presented in the case of the British monarchy, were many references to its past by pointing out similarities between Elizabeth II and her famous predecessor Queen Victoria, by highlighting the longevity of rituals, or by implementing (seemingly old, but often invented) traditions in royal events like jubilees. In all of these cases, a diachronic genealogical link to the past is established in order to point to the institution's continuity, stability and anchorage in British history.
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But Chesterton is onto something that has never really been talked about when we look what is behind the Christian symbology of rituals (real or invented).
The uncomfortable truth - for republicans and others of no Christian faith - is that Britain’s monarchy stands as the world’s only remaining state religious institution. The coronation is more than mainly a religious ceremony, as if that remaindered it for everyone not religious. It is a symbol among much else of the world’s oldest and only global narrative: God’s story. It goes all the way back to the crowning of Edgar by St. Dunstan in AD 973, drawing, it is said, an on even older Frankish ceremony. It takes place in Westminster Abbey, the national shrine. The oath is administered by the highest clergyman in the land. His office takes precedence even over the monarch himself. There is not just the formula “So help me God” repeated as does the U.S. president at the end of every secular statement; there is not simply an oath “upon my honour and integrity,” as in Turkey, or upon the honour of the nation, as in France.
The new queen in 1953 was asked, “Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of God and the true profession of the gospel?” And she, and now as Charles will, pledged to do this, kneeling at the altar of the greatest temple in the land, hand upon Bible; “the most valuable thing this world affords,” the priest intones. And of which the priest then adds:
Here is wisdom. This is the royal law. These are the lively oracles of God.
Then, in the even more amazing rite of unction that stretches in one unbroken line from the anointing of Solomon by Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet in the Hebrew Bible, the king is anointed with oil under a gold awning in a ceremony of the utmost holiness and away from the gaze of onlookers (it will not be televised). The archbishop hands him the symbols of his rule:
Receive this orb set under the cross, and remember that the whole world is subject to the power and empire of Christ our redeemer.
It is this that is the radioactive heart of Britain’s monarchy, and the secret of its strength. I think King Charles knows this. And so King Charles III will, I hope, defend faith in such a way that accounts for the universal and particular, all the while remaining committed to Christianity, the fabric of Britain’s history and heritage.
Both the monarchy and its rituals are together a protection against tyranny and a remedy for weakness. For, long forgotten by secular pundits, it models itself on the Christian belief that authority is what it is because it has been crucified; that only Christ the servant king is truly powerful, and because all are fallen, all can be restored only through him. The eternal Light that will outlive the rise and fall of worldly civilisations is just what the nations of the world need to hear.
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Coming back down to more earthly concerns, the British public look to the monarchy to represent continuity, stability and tradition, but also want it to be modern, to reflect modern values and be a focus for national identity, inclusive of creed, colour, and sexual orientation. The monarchy provides the poetry and the government provides the prose.
Writing in the 1860s, Walter Bagehot, The Economist’s greatest editor, noted that under Britain’s constitutional monarchy “A republic has insinuated itself beneath the folds of a monarchy.” The executive and legislative powers of government belonged to the cabinet and Parliament. The crown was the “dignified” part of the state, devoted to ceremony and myth-making. In an elitist age, Bagehot saw this as a disguise, a device to keep the masses happy while the select few got on with the job.
You do not need a monarchy to pull off the separation, obviously. Countries like Ireland rub along with a ceremonial president instead. He or she comes from the people and has, in theory, earned the honour. A dud or a rogue can be kicked out or prosecuted. To a degree, history lays down the choice - it would be comic to invent a monarchy from scratch.
However, constitutional monarchy has one advantage over figurehead presidencies that is the final reason behind our British monarchy’s surprising success: its mix of continuity and tradition, which even today is tinged with mystical vestiges of the healing royal touch. All political systems need to manage change and resolve conflicting interests peacefully and constructively. Systems that stagnate end up erupting; systems that race away leave large parts of society left behind and they erupt, too. Look at France, a country I live in now and I love, it had a revolution to overthrow a king only to end up with an emperor who made war on Europe, and left a country that has gone through as many republics as often I’ve changed my underwear in a working week.
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Under our late Queen Elizabeth II, Britain changed unrecognisably. Not only had it undergone social and technological change, like other Western democracies, but it was also eclipsed as a great power. More than once, most recently over Brexit, politics choked. During all this upheaval, the continuity that monarchy displays has been a moderating influence. George Orwell, no establishment stooge, called it an “escape-valve for dangerous emotions”, drawing patriotism away from politics, where love of country can rot into bigotry. Decaying empires are dangerous. Britain’s decline has been a lot less traumatic than it might have been.
Elizabeth’s sleight of hand was to renew the monarchy quietly all the while, and King Charles’s hardest task will be to renew it further. The prospect is daunting, but entirely possible. My money is on the monarchy.
God save the King!
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Thanks for your question.
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ridiasfangirlings · 11 months
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So I've been rewatching and re-reading K stuff (yet again) and there was something that really really irked me the wrong way. When Homra are discussing "the new Blue King" in R:B Yata says "if only those Blues dare to try something with Anna again".....while they are actually the ones hiding the twins (who were involved in Anna's torture from Mizuchi to make her into the new Blue King alongside Shiotsu) from the new Scepter 4 under Reisi, since he wanted to bring them to justice. This is actually soo hypocritical and annoyed me to no end!?! The audacity to make Reisi out to be the bad guy when, let's be honest, he's the one person that always had everyone's best interest in mind and tried to always do the best possible thing for everyone and in every situation, yet the majority of people (both characters from the anime and irl fans) give him so much shit, totally undeserved! The truth is all of Homra should be thanking him for saving them again and again.....the ungratefulness is off the charts! But that line from Yata was the last straw for me!!! So I wanted to ask what are your thoughts on this matter?
I do think Munakata gets some undue shit from Homra’s end of things but most of my irritation on that point is like post-S1 with people blaming him for Mikoto’s death (and annoyance with the narrative itself that tends to paint S4 as in the wrong), I think the hostility makes more sense in the early part of the story. In this specific case, remember that R:B takes place before LSW, so Homra hasn’t helped the Minato twins at this point and their only interaction with S4 was the whole deal with Anna and the Center. That being the case I think it makes perfect sense that Yata would be distrustful, from his point of view these are the guys who did horrible things to Anna and now they have a new head. Yata’s not exactly the deepest thinker so I doubt it really occurs to him that there might be differences in leadership style between the old and new clans, and the idea that the previous S4 were doing what they did at the behest of Mizuchi and Shiotsu felt backed into a corner and that there was no room for argument isn’t something Yata would even consider. To Yata it’s just very simple, the twins were from the Blue clan and they were the ones harming Anna, so now that they have a new King he’s suspicious. 
Similarly at this point it’s not like Munakata’s done anything that should make Yata trust him, in fact at that point he was trying to interfere with a Homra member and Yata’s whole natural tendency to see things as ‘us vs them’ certainly makes this seem like the work of a hostile adversary. I don’t have any issue with Homra and S4’s hostility pre-S1, they’re clearly different groups with different goals, and what Munakata wants is not necessarily more correct than what Mikoto wants — and obviously this changes more with S1, where Munakata gets painted by the show itself as being a bit more villainous, early on at least, even though at that point he really is right and is trying to save Mikoto, and then after when everyone keeps bringing up that he killed Mikoto as if he had any choice. I don’t blame Yata for being on edge about a new Blue King, to him all of Homra’s interactions with the Blues at this point have been bad and why should he show any special deference to Munakata, Munakata isn’t his King and Munakata’s way of Kingship is different than Mikoto’s.
Also as far as Homra hiding the twins goes, LSW actually makes note of this. No one’s super happy about sheltering them, that was Kusanagi’s decision because he’s on good terms with Shiotsu and was doing him a favor. After Akito fights at Homra’s side Yata basically immediately switches to seeing him in a more favorable light because Yata’s the type who sees someone fighting at his side as a sign that they’re comrades now, something Fushimi gets notably irritated by. I feel like could be seen as one of Yata’s good points honestly, he doesn’t hold grudges if it seems like someone’s stopped being his enemy and he’s happy to invite Akito as a comrade. Also on the end of  Character Development, Yata has a lower opinion of the old S4 members who would go to the new King because he can’t imagine ever serving another Red King besides Mikoto and so in the moment he’s more sympathetic to the twins because he thinks this is what he would do if his King was gone, not submit to the new one (and then when confronted by the actual reality of that situation in MK he sees that it isn’t so simple and changes his mind, because Yata has grown up a little). 
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sheev66 · 1 year
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Denji, The Door and The Dream
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about Denji’s journey in part 1 of Chainsaw Man, especially the symbolic meaning of the door. Makima spells out the literal secret that was hidden, but I feel that it goes deeper than just the death of Denji’s father. In Fire Punch, one of Fujimoto’s other works, the question of how the main protagonist can continue to live despite all he goes through is the central stake of the narrative. In Chainsaw Man, Denji is effectively immortal. As such, his central conflict is also how he can continue to live in the symbolic dimension, as his own person with his own dreams. Throughout the manga, Denji has a new life constructed for him, watches it be obliterated, then reforges himself anew. At the most fundamental level, this arc is propelled first by the opening of the door, and the nature of Deni's dreams.
Denji's dreams of simple comforts and security are quickly achieved when he's taken in by Makima to work with Public Safety. At a very early stage however, Denji finds the fulfillment waning and sets up a new dream to work towards; reaching second base.
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Just as before though, the experience of reaching his goal leaves a feeling of emptiness in it's wake.
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In response, Makima just sets out a new goal for Denji. An interrogation of what true fulfillment may mean for Denji is deferred for later.
Throughout his journey, Denji experiences the recurring dream of the door, the one that should never be opened.
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By the end of the International Assassins arc, he makes the resolution to leave the door closed, to let ignorance be bliss as Quanxi put it. Too many times already has Denji let down by the truth behind the curtain, such as with his relationship with Reze.
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Makima, however, forces the door open by implicating Denji in the death of his new family, Aki and Power. It is revealed that Denji's locked away the memory of murdering his own father deep in his own subconscious as a way of protecting himself.
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With that revelation, a long carried but never acknowledged fear is given voice by Makima; that it's wrong for Denji to dream at all, that he is undeserving of any good that may come to him.
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This the moment that utterly crushes Denji and it's represented symbolically by his child-self affirming it to Makima.
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This image is illustrative of how Makima strives to reduce and pacify the people around her, but it also shows that the belief was born the day he murdered his father, and carried with him ever since. When Makima congratulates and calls him a good boy and congratulates him, Denji suddenly begins to cry.
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Hearing someone say to him hits so hard because he never believed it about himself.
Denji choses to keep living after Power sacrifices herself for him, but his dreams need a new direction. It's in Kishibe's underground safehouse where he is finally able to reflect. As it turns out, there had been a misunderstanding at the heart of Denji's dreams. When Makima thought of how to break Denji's contract with Pochita, she believed it was necessary to prevent him from having a "normal life". Denji too equates his dreams of a better life with the achievement of normalcy in chapter 1 and throughout the story.
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Here is the crucial fact, however. Pochita never mentioned normalcy in his contract with Denji. He merely asked Denji to show him his dreams.
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The word "show" is pivotal too, for Pochita does not say "achieve" or fulfill". Dreams of fullfillment and contentment are not measured by any real condition of normalcy, for one does not exist. As Makima said, Denji was happy enough in his routine with Pochita. Dreams have a life of their own and are constantly renewed and reformed. The joy is in dreaming and striving itself. That is the realization that Denji comes too when Kobeni asks him if he ever actually wanted to be normal.
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Normalcy is being controlled, being pushed around, being kept on a leash. The truth is he didn't want it then and doesn't want it now; he dreams of more. With this revelation, a new way to keep living presents itself to Denji. He shouts that he wants more, that he wants ten girlfriends.
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His new goal may seem juvenile and petty, but it's not the goal itself which Denji is recommitted to. Instead, it is a synthesis of all Denji has learned thus far. He knows he is just a dog chasing cars, but through deliberate ignorance, he can choose to believe in the chase, to keep moving forward and sustain himself. To be Chainsaw Man for his own selfish desires. He's knows it's wrong and he knows he shouldn't, but for his own survival, he can push those feelings aside too. That's the place Denji ends part 1, and it will be interesting to where his dreams will carry him in part 2.
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nestasgalpal · 2 years
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After reading ACOWAR, I have realized that moving to the Illyrian camps will be a huge hurdle in Feyre and Rhysand’s relationship. The culture of the camps is so different than the one in Velaris. In Velaris, females are free to do what they please. They can interact with the opposite sex, they can speak to males and they can have careers. While in Illyria, they must look at the ground in the presence of males (which is something I think Feyre would forget to do, they must contribute to the camps (which is something that I can see conflicting with her duties as High Lady) and they must defer to the males around them (which will irritate Feyre as she has always been outspoken). I think Feyre will struggle with adhering to these laws, and it will cause many problems. How do you think they will cope with these things?
Hi! I won't spoil anything about ACOFAS or ACOSF if the last book you read was ACOWAR, but yes, I cannot picture Feysand in Illyria either.
In that place Feysand could never be themselves freely because of what is expected from their gender. It would be a lose-lose situation because being untrue to their values would make both miserable. But deciding they simply won't accept Illyria's culture and acting as if they were in Velaris would unleash conflict, whether they are right about the unfair power dynamics between men and women or not.
But I will tell you something: when I say they would be themselves and act as equals, Feyre using her authority and everything, I don't think they would do it for other reason than insisting on their moral superiority. I don't see them any time in the future putting any effort into changing the status quo. Every time we've heard them describe Illyria, they've painted it and its people as uncivilized savages. I am a white woman, so I cannot speak for racial minorities, but it for sure feels like both Rhysand and Feyre look down at illyrians and almost use them as a way to feel better about themselves. They see the misogyny and only think, "oh, that is bad. Good thing we are better than them and Rhysand would never do that to me/Feyre won't have to endure that". They see what happens in the camps and I don't see them processing it beyond how it affects them in particular.
I know Feyre has been High Lady for a brief period of time, but even before that, her reaction to how things work there was never "I must work to change this". I was only, "Rhysand is the only one who cares. He is so good for not agreeing". And for the record, it's not just Feyre: no female character from the Inner Circle (you know, the people in the highest positions of power in the entire court) shows any intention to intervene, what they do feels more like nodding in disapproval.
I blame SJM for this, it's not Feyre-hate. Even though respecting women should be the bare minimum, and maybe specially because respecting women is the bare minimum, I think illyrians are used as a plot device to enhance Rhysand, who in reality has achieved nothing in 500 years of ruling over them in his "fervent desire to help those women".
Feysand would never fit in Illyria because when they look at those people, they only see savages who mistreat their women instead of what they actually are: the Night Court's people. It is quite literally Feysand's job to look after their citizens, provide for them by managing the court's resources and step by step moving the society forward. Instead, with both illyrians and hewn city's citizens, it almost seems like they are undeserving of their mighty rulers, who don't even care about them enough to try. Instead of ruling for their people, Feysand have chosen a city to love because they fit in it, and have left the rest of their court to rot, picturing themselves as the heroes because "they are different", "they are dreamers who can look beyond prejudice".
I am happy for the members of the inner circle who found a safe space away from the cultures that tried to kill them, but it saddens me that they never looked back. Mor escaped her abusive family, but what about the hundreds of other women suffering the same fate because they weren't the High Lord's cousin? I love that the bastards found a new family who took care of them… but now that all of them are in positions of power, why do they hate on the entirety of their race instead of actually using their ruling power to help the unprivileged? Again, isn't it their job?
Feyre has disrespected illyrian culture enough by taking their wings as a symbol of her power, while illyrian women (who she has done nothing to help or even thought about beyond how Rysand's worry about them makes him a perfect husband) have them clipped. If she went and moved there while keeping that sense of superiority she has towards them, oh boy, not even Cassian could stop that uprising. They would never fit there because they give back the same hate they get from illyrians. Illyrians are too misogynistic to accept Feysand's dynamic, but Feysand are too classist and racist to even try to change that.
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sweetestlamb · 2 years
Text
Scent of A Woman
Summary: The Alpha/Omega kanthony story that nobody asked for.
Author's note: Bridgerton broke me and this couple owns me, honestly I tried really hard to sound Bridgerton-y but towards the end I got lazy and tired lol so please ignore my horrible attempts at trying to sound like the show. I just got this idea after all the references to Kate smelling amazing and I couldn't let it go.
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To say it's overwhelming to be surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces and their barely concealed whispers would be a mere understatement of grand proportions. Kate can feel their judgmental eyes on her skin, she tightens her grip on her sister's arm tugging her along on their prolonged stroll around the promenade.
Her steps are short and measured, not too rapid whilst not too languid- a stride she taught Edwina with thick novels balanced on her small head a mere three and ten, knowing such behaviors would be expected from her sister. She knew in her heart that they were much more than their orientation but, it was still preferred that Omegas were docile and gentile in mannerisms. And Edwina had all the showing of an Omega.
When Edwina finally presented as an Omega she and Mary were unprovoked as it was expected from the way her sister would obediently follow and listen, she would make an Alpha exceptionally happy one day. Kate herself was a beta, or so it was assumed when she neither went into a heat or a rut when she became of age. The doctors Mary contacted cited the deep grief of losing her father as a factor into her body's refusal to act but when the next year came and passed it was accepted that Kate was nothing special, just another beta added to the ton.
Ergo, this trip was solely for Bon. Her sweet and gorgeous little sister, who was finally a woman and as such needed to be wed before her next heat. She would need an alpha to suit the heat that would surge through her blood, omegas were dependent on their alphas and Kate would not give her precious sister to anyone undeserving of her devotion. Once an Omega was bonded, they could not love another it was a gift and a curse, moreso the latter in her eyes. But such was Edwina's fate thus she would work hard this season to find her sister the best match. Someone who would love her and care for her, someone kind and gentle who she could trust with her sister.
"Ah finally a lot worth meeting! Come Sharmas I shall make introductions to the Bridgertons. They are a family brimming with Alphas perchance you will find your match there Miss Edwina." Lady Danbury stage whispered standing on the other side of her sister, grasping Edwina and redirecting them the clicks of her walking stick loud in the idyllic scenery.
Kate allowed herself to be tugged along as well, glancing off to the side sending a silent prayer that this family would be courteous and not look at them like something vile they had mistakenly stepped in. The Cowpers had left a rancid taste in her mouth just moments ago and she feared her temper could not survive another mishap.
"Lady Bridgerton! It is splendid to see you, I see the entire family is attending this stroll. Good day to you all, please make the acquaintance of the Sharma family I am sponsoring them this season!"
She curtsies, the movement instinctive at this point. Edwina does the same beside her and she can hear Mary introducing herself from her position behind them, the path had not been wide enough to accommodate them all.
Mary introduces her and Edwina as well and her sister is a portrait of a perfect omega, deferring her gaze to the ground just as Kate as schooled her and releasing just enough of scent as to be polite, the air is suddenly filled with sweet vanilla and warmed sugar and she sees the two males in attendance straighten in the wake of the aromatic release. Only one seems to remain unaffected, except an arch of his brow. Everything about him practically screams Alpha she's near certain, so his reaction must be based on his control. She's almost impressed most others of his orientation would be peacocking and asserting themselves in light of a sweet and available Omega being in their presence.
"Oh! Lady Danbury we are pleased to make their acquaintance, we look forward to seeing you all. You must join us for tea!"
The woman, Lady Bridgerton is lovely; smiling at them in a fashion that exudes honesty. Her heart aches for the woman as her eye catches the wrinkled mark on her neck, the sign of an Omega's greatest lost- the death of their true mate. They are said to be exceeding rare and had she not witnessed it between her appa and Mary she wouldn't have believed it to be anything more than fairytales recited to impressionable young maidens.
Yet, here is another Omega who was involved in a true mate match.
She looks calmly at the remaining members of the family, trusting Mary and Lady Danbury to carry the rest of the conversation as they've been doing expertly. She glances at the large bunch- two small children who appear very close in age, a young lady squirming in her dress who sends her an exasperated look she has to stifle her commiserating chuckle, then finally she raises her gaze to the Alphas. Their resemblance is uncanny, all tall and broad. The first one she glances at stares back looking amusedly before shooting her a playful wink, the edge of her lip lifts lightly before her gaze continues on, the next brother has a jovial grin on his handsome face tilting an imaginary hat in her direction. This time she almost bursts out with laughter, but she barely contains her mirth.
Then finally as if pulled by an invisible magnet her gaze is tugged to the sole brother who remained steadfast after Edwina's subtle reveal. To her utmost shock his eyes are already on her, penetrating deep into her skin with his gaze so sharp she finds herself looking away first- a rarity for her. As she is a Beta such propriety as avoiding an Alpha's gaze is not pertinent for her to follow but there's something about him that makes it difficult for her to maintain eye contact.
"Wouldn't it Kate?" Edwina chirps beside her beatific wide grin on her face.
She's at a complete loss. She had been idlely following the conversation until him, once their gazes met her head was filled with buzzing too loudly for words to penetrate her ears. She can feel all eyes on her, and each second her nerves feel more and more heightened until she snaps.
"Yes, of course!"
All of the older ladies look satisfied now clustering together and leaving them to their devices. She capitalizes on this small moment of reprieve whispering loud enough for only her sister's ears.
"What did I just agree to?"
Edwina looks back at the with wide eyes, before responding at the same volume.
"Kate were you not listening? The Bridgertons kindly invited us to a small soiree tonight, it's our first invitation of the season and by such an affluent family. I also think all three brothers are Alphas, what good luck! Maybe one of them will be my match no?"
She swallows hard. Nodding in supplication once again allowing herself to be guided. Making sure to keep her eyes locked to the ground this time, there's no true reason she just finds the pathway to be most interesting. That is all.
Anthony is not looking for an Omega. He only needs a viscountess, preferably a Beta or another Alpha. Although female Alphas are few and far in between, Lady Danbury being one of the only ones that he knows. The main reason is because Omegas are too.... dependent, clingy even and simpering. He watched his mother's world fade to darkeness the day his father died, saw the light leave her eyes in perfect harmony with his father's last breath. He did not need anything of the sort. Alphas could only bond with Omegas, so he avoided them like the plague. He never wanted to leave behind half a person like his father had, an agreeable marriage was enough for him. This was his personal motto since the role of viscount was prematurely thrusted on his shoulders, he would never fall in love.
He knows what his mother is attempting to scheme, saw the glow in her skin as the Sharma sisters were introduced. Edwina was the image of a satisfactory Omega, all bowed head and sweet scent meant to lure and attract her future mate. The scent was pleasant but it did not stir anything within him, she was beautiful but so young he was almost reminded of Daphne and that was enough for him not to go along with any of his mother's plotting.
He already had a checklist of suitable matches for himself. Omegas were not on that list.
But it's difficult to keep his eyes off the Sharma sister. Eyes stalking her every movement as soon as she enters the room. She was quite a vision in deep green, the bodice of her dress tight enough to press her decolletage distractedly high in the air. Her dark hair coiled into a perfect coiffure up-do that leaves her neck bare, no mating mark in his line of sight. He almost sighs in relief, he had already assumed that she was not an Omega, she seemed nothing like her demure sister- he recalls those beguiling huge brown orbs directly gazing into his own eyes.
An Omega could never dare to act quite so bold.
Immediately at their arrival, suitors surround them from all angles but to his astonishment Miss Edwina is the only sister they set their sights on, her dance card filled to the brim in mere seconds- he observes as she bows are head in a perfect show of coyness and humility. An Omega must never show too much hubris. Miss Kate seems nonplussed by the interest shown in her sister, watching over the proceedings as if this is commonplace to her. Her face a blank slate as she glares at each man who requests her sister's hand, it doesn't go unnoticed how Miss Edwina subtlety looks to her sister before accepting or declining a dance.
He's reminded of his own relationship with his siblings, although Colin and Benedict are both Alphas as well he's the elder Alpha and a dominant, with a pointed look and a tilt of the head he can get either one to obey his commands. Not that he takes advantage of this privilege, he only wants the best for each member of his family and would sacrifice anything to make it so.
For some odd reason he finds himself drawing closer to the ever popular Sharma sisters, their mother residing beside them but not close enough to deter suitors.
He bows his head in greeting and all three ladies curtsy in reply, Miss Edwina bowing the lowest whilst Kate is already ascending from her fairly short descent. Once again her eyes are not locked on the floor as is polite with an Alpha of his status, but he finds that her refusal to balk to social norms does not offend him rather he's intrigued by this enigma of a woman.
"Lord Bridgerton, you honor us so with your presence, please thank Lady Bridgerton again for her invitation this party is quite exquisite." Even Lady Mary looks past him, never making direct contact with his eyes.
"I shall carry the message once I am in her company. She will be overjoyed to know you are all in attendance." His gaze never leaves that of Kate, he watches in amusement as Lady Mary attempts to conspicuously get her to lower her gaze; tugging gently at the waist of her dress. Kate releases a huff of air finally looking down but he can almost feel the defiance wafting off her very being.
"Miss Sharma, could I interest you in a dance?"
Kate speaks first. Eyes still lowered but nothing demure about her even now.
"My sister's dance card is all but filled my Lord. She was but taking a minute pause before her next par-"
He interrupts her, reaching out to finger the card hanging from her own wrist. Nary a name on there yet and with a grand flourish he reaches into his breast pocket to retrieve his quill pen, he can feel when her eyes drift back up and watch as he scribes his own name onto her card: Anthony Bridgerton.
"Shall we Miss Sharma?" He presents his hand, bowing slightly at the waist while looking into those impossibly large eyes, he's certain he has never laid eyes on orbs quite so bewitching. She's lovely there's no way around that.
She seems to be at a loss for words, gaping at his name on her card and he has to shake the mental image of her mouth open for far more nefarious purposes. Such imaginings are unbecoming of a gentleman.
"She would love to!"
This time, Miss Edwina is the one to answer for her sister none too gently shoving her into him. Kate all but stumbles into his arms, he steadies her with an gentle grip high on her waist- she's quite tall for a lady only inches separating them in height. It would make certain things fairly simple to accomplish.
Readjusting his hands on her body, he offers the crook of his elbow leading them both onto the dance floor much to the bewilderment of everyone in attendance, it is not common for him join in on the festivities so he knows that his willingness tonight will not go unnoticed.
"You are hardly the first to try to curry my favor to get closer to my sister. This game becomes old fast, it would do you better to court my sister directly. Treat her well and I will have no reason to intervene in your courtship."
The words are spoken almost if she's reciting poetry from a book.
"I am offended you would compare me to those unimaginative cads. Every action that I take is intentional, if I desired to dance with your sister I could easily take the place of any man here." He returns her hard stare, their bodies spinning in perfect synchrony despite the fire between their gazes.
She scoffs loudly. He's grateful for Eloise in that moment, because of her he's witnessed such unladylike behavior before and this does not hinder his poise.
"My Lord may I speak candidly?"
He nods bemusedly and eager to hear her thoughts.
"You think far too highly of yourself."
This time he cannot contain his humor, chuckling lightly at the slight and then further at the unfiltered shock on her face.
"Perhaps our meeting was predestined then, I who think too highly of myself and you who does not think highly enough of herself. We are a pair indeed, there is much we can teach each other."
Before she can argue against his statement, the music comes to a stop and he releases her despite his body growing accustom to having her near after only one dance. He brings her gloved hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss against the silk and lace. She's oddly still in his arms and it piques his attention enough for him to raise his eyes, he almost thinks it a trick at first blinking to see if that will undo the sight. But her cheeks are still flushed, her deep bronze skin slightly pinked in a most distracting manner.
They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, drawn out so long that voices begin to murmur around them as they are the only two remaining on the dance floor. But still they are suspended in time, gazing long and hard at each other. Then she licks her lips in a move that denotes nerves and he finds himself mirroring the motion, and suddenly his senses are awash in an intoxicating odor of....lilies. Before he can fully inhale the sweet floral aroma, she snatches her hand away scurrying from him like a wild animal that's been cornered.
He watches her escape with a predatory stare. Bringing his hand to his nostril to savor her scent, one whiff is enough to make his head spin.
Lilies.
Her body jostles as she presses her shins deeper into the thick muscles of her horse's hind, the wind whipping through her hair as she skillfully steers her horse-Nimbus, through the foliage of thicket of trees. The sounds of his gallops are still not enough to drown out the clops of her own heartbeat, and she almost screams in frustration.
Sleep eluding her all night until she could remain in her chambers no longer and took to the stables, opting instead for an early morning ride. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon and she knows that she must return soon before anyone notices her absence, Mary will surely scold her for leaving unchaperoned but she needed a moment to clear her head, empty her mind of him.
Lord Bridgerton.
Their dance had thrown her off kilter to say the least.
She had not been lying when she stated that several men before him had feigned interest in her in a ruse to get closer to her sister. And she had been certain that was what he was planning, he was an Alpha and all Alphas desired an Omega to control and protect. She knew that her sister would make any man who was lucky enough to receive her favor very happy, personally she despised how Omegas were regarded in the world but there wasn't much she could do about it. Except find a mate who would cherish her sister and not use her orientation as a weapon against her.
She didn't know enough about Lord Bridgerton to know if he was such a man but true to his word his attention remained on her the entirety of their dance. His eyes never strayed to Edwina and she pondered his true intentions, a man like him had no business with a woman like her.
It wasn't like he had arrogantly declared, she did not think lowly of herself. She merely understood her role. She was not a diamond like her sister and she had no need to be, she was her sister's keeper and had been since they were both young. That was her role, she had no time for courtships or fanciful thoughts, her head needed to be tightly screwed on at all times.
But, he was causing her to swivel. If only a bit.
The way he looked at her made her skin burn, she recalled her the way her cheeks ached just last night as he kissed her hand and gazed up at her.
He was handsome, she wasn't foolish enough to deny that. For a woman of her stature it wasn't often that a man could make her feel delicate in their hold, and it wasn't only due to his height but the weight of his body- those barely hidden muscles and his aura. Unlike most alphas she had encountered he did not wear his scent like a cloak, rather he seemed confident in his standing enough to suppress his Alpha scent. But everything about him signaled Alpha nonetheless, it was in his walk, the way he held his shoulders and in the bass of his voice.
He muddled her thoughts and she could not afford any distractions this season, her focus needed to be finding someone suitable for her sister. Not Anthony Bridgerton.
Lord Bridgerton.
Panting she tugs at Nimbus' reins halting his gallop into a light trot before stopping him at together. Her long braid has been completely undone by the vigor of her ride and the unforgiving force of the wind. Swinging her leg over she easily dismounts, running a hand through her thick unruly curls hissing as her fingers become tangled in the mess.
"I did not expect to come upon a damsel in distress."
She closes her eyes praying this is another one of her unwelcome dreams, he had plagued her mind all night.
"Attempting to wish me away? I am afraid I am not so easily ridden of."
She turns to him with a sneer and is greeted by a lazy grin.
"I am no damsel nor am I in distress. You can be on your way Lord, I am quite fine."
Ignoring her he also dismounts his much larger horse, taking long strides until they are face to face.
"Are you unchaperoned?" He glances around, looking and finding no other.
"I required alone time to clear my mind. Furthermore, I am perfectly safe. I can care for myself."
If she were Edwina this would be astronomically dangerous, but she is not an Omega nor coveted by any so her safety is almost guaranteed.
But to say such a thing out loud would only affirm his erroneous claims about her self esteem- or lack there of. She is merely realistic and grounded in her beliefs.
"I have no doubts of your resourcefulness but as a gentleman I shan't leave you unchaperoned. Allow me to escort you home."
She nearly huffs in annoyance, he was the one she had been attempting to escape to begin with having him escort her would only heighten her problems.
"That is unnecessary. I will take my leave now, I am certain a viscount must have more important matters to attend to. Please attend to them."
Remembering her manners she curtsies before spinning around and all but running to her horse.
"Wait."
It's but a whisper, carried by the morning wind whipping around them.
But she finds herself unable to move, foot caught midair and no matter how she fights her limps will not obey. Terror races through her blood as he draws closer, until she feels a strong grip on her wrist and she's unceremoniously spun back around.
Lord Bridgerton to his credit seems just as perplexed as she is, his jaw clenching as he stares into her eyes.
"Miss Sharma, you look like you've seen a ghost. What ails you so?"
He looks righteously affronted tugging her closer until her head is barely touching his neck. Then sandalwood and the scent of clean linen surround her in a symphony of aromas and without her permission her nostrils inhale deeply, until the scent permeates her lungs and it is all she can smell. Her once thundering heartbeats start to calm and all the anxiety and tension previously held in her body fades away as if vapors exiting her body.
"Breathe, there. Nothing will harm you, I shan't allow it."
She doesn't know what is occurring. This feels oddly familiar. Like she's witnessed this very scene before.
It takes all of her willpower but she drags herself away from the firm hold that he has on her. His eyes are glazed over, looking at her but not seeing her at the same time. He's following his instincts she can tell, her distress activated something in him.
"Goodbye Lord Bridgerton."
She races away before he can stop her. Never before feeling so startled in her life.
Then it comes back to her, all in a sudden.
Her father cradling Mary in his arms, his calming Alpha scent soothing her shaking body. She had only peeked in to see them because of a nightmare of her own, shocked to find her appa comforting the woman she had grown to love as a mother. She had left silently, crawling under her sheets futilely trying to ignore the crash of thunder and slosh of rain against her window pane.
She races back to the Danbury house, mind more jumbled than it was when she first left.
He knows of his natural ability to soothe distressed Omegas, is still haunted by the tremors that wrecked his mother's emaciated body as she mourned the loss of her true mate, his father. He was the only one old enough to comfort her, Colin and Benedict not yet presented. For as long as he can remember the instinct never surfaced unless a member of his family needed him, until her.
It was nothing like comforting his mother, the urge to defend was almost visceral he could have upended countries for her if it was what she required.
It makes no sense, his body's reaction to Kate's apparent unease. She is no Omega, and betas are unable to transmit distress waves yet he could palpably feel her crying to him it was weak no more than a murmur but his body heard it regardless. And reacted, sending his own waves in return and then he felt her melting into him, in a way that shouldn't be possible for a beta.
It's clear that she's avoiding him and instead of taking offense, it applauds her good sense. This was the best course of action, lest they have any more illogical circumstances. He cannot deny that she intrigues him but he has no time to explore someone who has the power to unhinge all his well laid plans. Spontaneity is out of the question, his viscountess must be without surprises.
So as dutifully planned before the arrival of one Kate Sharma he attends his interviews, screening all the eligible women in the ton who could be his viscountess. Excluding the lot that are Omegas much to the chagrin of his mother.
"Does my orientation disgust you so son?"
Guilt, always with the guilt first. Only his impeccable manners deter him from rolling his eyes.
"I have my preference mother. I have always been upfront about that. I do not want a mate just an amicable partnership."
She sighs dispassionately, staring at him with a gaze flooded with sadness.
"Your father never saw our love as a weakness, nor I. Our love made him stronger."
The mention of his father nudges an old festering wound and he lashes out.
"And look how advantageous that was for you! You contemplated death after he passed, I will never allow myself to be like that. Never."
He hates making his mother cry more than anything in the universe, it's a dagger to his chest each time.
He brings his bad disposition with him to the interviews, snapping at the women before they can finish their sentences. Although he's invited all betas and Alphas- the few in the ton, they are all too frightened to meet his gaze and it vexes him to his bones.
"Look at me!"
"I'm sorry my Lord!"
Lady... something or another pleads still unable to bring her gaze from the ground and in the end he leaves canceling the rest of the interviews for the day. Exhausted and embarrassed at his unseemly behavior, he is not an Alpha who treats women like such. He's ashamed of himself. Truly.
He's walking aimlessly when he feels that pull, his skin tingling. There's an Omega in trouble in the vicinity, it's not something he does often feeling too much like a damn bloodhound but he starts to sniff the air until he's caught the scent and he follows the trail until he sees a familiar head of dark curls.
There's a large Alpha towering over the lady, much too close and the glint in his eyes shows that he's aware that his proximity is improper but he simply does not care. Without a second thought he stomps over, roughly shouldering himself in between them much to the audible relief of Miss Edwina.
"Lord Mooney." He blocks Edwina from the unscrupulous gaze, staring at the other Alpha with a hard humorless smile.
"Bridgerton. I was merely making myself acquainted with the newest Omega in town. I meant no harm if she belongs to you. There was no mark."
There are those who view Omegas as property or mere ends to a means, he's been in the company of them and not done enough to silence them but now standing there with Miss Edwina cowering behind him, he realizes the err of his ways. No one should be treated as such regardless of their orientation.
"She belongs to no one. She is not an object to own, you would do well to keep such antiquated repulsive comments to yourself. Good day."
The man sputters at him but that's of no concern, instead he offers his arm to Miss Edwina who stares cautiously before grabbing his arm. Together they walk away, aware of the bevy of eyes tracking their every movement.
"Are you unharmed?"
She nods softly, "Yes my Lord. I was only unnerved at his brazenness. Thank you for your assistance. And your kind words."
If only she knew the horrid things that he too thought about Omegas she would surely retract her gratitude but he stays mum on the matter.
"Edwina! I told you to wait for mama!"
Suddenly Kate is upon them looking genuinely scared for her sister's well being and then stumped at his presence. Then in a move almost too fast to catch she glances at their intertwined arms and he has an overwhelming urge to tug his arm away but doing so would be rude beyond measure. So he stays.
"I become distracted by a dress in the window of the modiste store, I apologize for making you worry Didi."
Kate can't seem to stop looking at their arms and finally Miss Edwina unhands him, realizing what her sister just be imagining.
"Oh! Lord Bridgerton was just helping me escape the attentions of a most offensive gentleman."
Miss Kate looks unconvinced but nevertheless she bows in his direction her voice devoid of any emotion, "Thank you for helping my sister Lord Bridgerton. I am most grateful for your superior kindness."
He gets the odd feeling that he's being mocked, her words overly grand and he feels a smile forming on his lips at her gall.
"You are most welcome Miss Kate. If you are truly thankful then allow me to escort you both as you await the return of your mama. It would calm my heart to know you are both safe."
Two can play this game he decides. Offering both arms to the sisters and Edwina eagerly holds on again looking expectantly at her sister. He smirks at the grimace on her face before she follows suit.
"You both look lovely today. I am the luckiest man in England to be allowed such an honor."
Miss Edwina giggles at his compliment but Kate only glowers at him, her full lips pressed in a thin line.
"Where to madams?"
"The jeweler. Mama is picking up an order."
With a destination in mind he guides them both, subconsciously leaning towards Kate and internally preening at her ungloved hand on his forearm.
"Lord Bridgerton, may I be bold to ask a question? I have heard rumors and I am most curious."
He can feel Kate's eyes over his shoulder, most likely trying to dissuade Miss Edwina but for once she does not obey her sister. Color him impressed.
"You may." He waits patiently as she finds the words, her face twists into different expressions before settling.
"Is it true that you despise Omegas?"
"Edwina!" Kate reprimands immediately, halting them all with a sudden stop in her shock.
"He said I may ask!"
"But you know better than to inquire about such personal matters!"
It's as if he's watching Gregory and Hyacinth picking at each other. In a much used move he stops their bickering with a firm wave of his hand, Miss Edwina looking down immediately but Kate just stares at him coldly affronted by his treatment of them.
"Miss Kate it's quite fine. I don't mind answering."
In a childish move Edwina pouts her lips triumphantly at her sister who looks ready to scold her again.
"I do not despise Omegas. I merely do not want to bond with or marry one. I have a preference for betas or even female Alphas, that is all. But worry not my way of thinking is not common, you will find that most Alphas are searching for their perfect Omega."
Edwina stares at him calmly before responding, "I was not worried my Lord just curious."
Then without any preamble she adds too innocently, "Kate is a beta. Some even think her an Alpha because of her disposition. She's the bravest person I know."
Kate sputters at the praise and then stammers at the very obvious implications of her sister's words.
"I doubt Lord Bridgerton cares about my orientation Edwina, there is no need to share such information."
I care.
That is what he thinks and even considers uttering aloud but they are interrupted by Lady Mary, who is being followed by his mother and Eloise in tow. He pretends not to see as his mother gazes at the sisters hands on his forearms. He was a gentleman, that was all.
"Anthony."
She's still upset with him. That is the only time she calls him by his given name.
"I did not expect to see you. Are your interviews all completed?"
He doesn't glare at his own mother that would be disrespect of the highest level but he does stare, hard. Begging her with his eyes to stop her inquisition.
Her lip twitches as she ignores his plea.
So vengeful. As are all the women in his family.
"Did you find your perfect not Omega viscountess? Should I start planning for the wedding?"
He almost groans at the loss when Kate lowers her hand and steps away from him, moving closer to her mother in lieu. At a sharp glance Edwina reluctantly does the same, stepping to the other side of her mama.
"I heard about your preference Lord Bridgerton. I was most surprised your mother and I had much deliberated whether you would be a good pair for Edwina. But it seems that will not be the case."
Kate shrinks further behind her mother's body despite her superior build. He yearns to reach out and touch her, tell her that he had never considered Edwina in that light.
"Mama!" The Omega squeals in embarrassment grabbing her cheeks in a coy move.
"Miss Edwina is lovely I am sure she will not have a lack of suitors around her waiting to fulfill all her needs."
"You are too kind."
Then there is a pregnant pause where no one speaks. Kate avoids his gaze looking seemingly everywhere but him. It is most frustrating.
"Lady Mary, I was planning to enjoy a picnic in the park with my children. Would you and your daughters want to accompany us?"
"Oh! That would be just lovely Lady Bridgerton, we would be honored!"
Lady Mary leaves no room for argument even as Kate leans over with a hand on her forehead, she gives her a stern look and in a moment they are all walking to the promenade.
"Anthony, were you joining us? I thought you would be much too busy for such frivolous activities today."
He will surely have to apologize to his mother. This attitude will not dissolve until he does so he is certain. He wonders if this where he inherited his stubbornness from.
"Nothing is more important than my family, you wound me mother."
She dismissively hums at him, pulling Eloise who throws a confused look over her shoulder.
There are far too many difficult women in his life.
The maids are still setting up the picnic when they arrive, a large checkered blanket spread over the grass and an abundance of food- warm breads, fresh jams, an assortment of cheeses, curied meats and lemonade. A small affair only by Bridgerton standards.
All the ladies daintly fold their dresses under them before sitting, except Kate who is the only one still standing.
"Didi, sit here with me!"
Impulsively he strides over taking the seat next to the one Edwina is indicating. Kate's lip pucker line she's sucked on a lemon but with all eyes on her and no plausible excuse she begrudgingly comes over, sliding down onto the thick blanket. Moving away quickly when their shoulders accidentally meet.
His younger siblings are the first to break the silence, eagerly filling their plates with a bit of everything. He reaches out for a warm croissant himself, but instead he collides with Kate who had the same idea.
"Sorry my Lord."
She does not sound sorry one bit.
He hums picking up the pastry before bringing it to her mouth, she stares at him as if he has lost his mind. Perhaps he has.
"Anthony I am certain Miss Sharma can feed herself." This brings everyone's eyes to them and Kate suddenly rises, brushing dirt off her dress.
"I think I will stand by the water right there. I am not hungry. "
He starts to open his mouth but she anticipates his reply.
"I need no chaperone I shall be right there. You shall all be able to see me."
Then without waiting from approval from her mother Kate stomps away, everyone continues to eat undisturbed by her departure.
All except him.
Again there is that mind numbing scent of lilies that derail his rational thoughts.
In actuality she is starving. But her closeness to Lord Bridgerton was causing her skin to feel unusually warm and she felt like she would surely evaporate in his presence if she remained.
She can't explain her body's reaction to him. Cannot begin to rationalize the way her heart thumps when he is near.
Exhausted from her worrying she leans her head back, letting the sun's rays wash over her.
Of course he was going on interviews with the intention of marriage. She was the only one who felt whatever this was, and she was working to feel it no more. Distance and time was necessary and it would be less difficult if their mamas would stop pushing their families together. They were quickly becoming friends and while she was ecstatic that Mary now had a companion, she selfishly wished that they would sever their relationship and stop forcing her to face him.
Would she be expected to attend his wedding? She shuddered at the mere thought, the only silver lining being that he would not be wedding Edwina.
"Here. Eat."
She jumps at the almost emotionless voice of one Eloise Bridgerton.
"I am not-"
"You don't have to lie to me. I know when one is merely trying to escape an uncomfortable situation. I have been there several times. Just eat it."
"Well.....thank you."
She accepts a scone smothered with strawberry jam and a cool glass of lemonade.
"Is this because of my brother? Does he make you uncomfortable Lady Sharma?"
She almost chokes on the scone, desperately drinking the beverage to clear her throat. Eloise looks at her with knowing eyes as if her near death is confirmation of her inquiry.
"Well if it is any consolation, I believe you make him uncomfortable as well. He has not stopped glancing at you since you left. It was his idea to bring you refreshments."
It's not thoughtful. Anyone would do the same. It doesn't mean anything and she shouldn't interpret it as anything either.
"I look forward to seeing more of you Miss Sharma. I have yet to meet a woman who can make my brother act in such an unusual manner."
She doesn't look over at him but still she can feel his eyes on her. Can smell his overbearing scent even this far away, it is almost beckoning her to return. She has to shake her head to clear the cobwebs settled there.
The faster she finds Edwina a mate and returns to India the better for everyone.
His mother has taken quite the strong liking to the Sharma family and he cannot fault her for her decision. They are indeed a lovely bunch despite the eldest's perpetuity for glaring at him and thinking the worst of all his intentions at any given moment. He recognized the walls she had erected around herself all too well, he too was a constructor after all.
So he's not the least bit surprised when his mother informs him that the Sharmas shall be joining them for dinner. This has become such a common occurrence, it is more frequent when the Sharmas do not join them for meals. And this leads him to join them for meals more often as well, ignoring the suspicious looks that his mother shoots in his direction.
He's the master of the house, he need not answer to anyone.
"Are you always this much of a sore loser?" Kate rolls her eyes at him in a most unladylike fashion, her hair is hanging loose today and she looks so pretty he almost ignores her jibe at him.
Almost.
"I am no sore loser. I did not lose. You cheated, there is a difference."
Colin had taught them all a card game he has learned during his travels, a game of wit and manipulation and to his annoyance Kate had been a natural. She had has Colin coined a masterful "poker face".
"I did not cheat. I am simply better than you. You cannot blame if you fell for my trap."
She had cheated. Surely she shouldn't be that attractive and good at everything- now it was horse back riding, shooting, betting and this poker game. His ego couldn't handle a woman like Kate Sharma.
"Kate, we are guests in the Bridgerton household and you are being a sore winner. Focus on your meal bragging is unbecoming for a lady."
Kate appeared wholly chastised but he hides a grin as she whispers under her breath.
"Sore winner? Winners should be allowed to boast and why am I the only one being spoken to like a child?"
He grins widely as she glares at him, happily eating his dinner. Meat and vegetables tonight, a modest meal. But Lady Mary had shown the cook her family recipe for curry and the meat was coated in the thick flavorful sauce. The blending of the two families is reflected in the mix of English and Indian cuisine on the dinner table. 
Conversation is flowing easily as it usually does with both families in attendance, they are strangers no more forced together by their overzealous mamas. Now there is true affection shared by them all.
He watches fondly as Eloise gabs loudly about Omega rights as Kate emphatically nods along, just as passionate about the topic. The two seem to agree on several matters and it is near impossible for anyone else to interject into their conversation once they have commenced. 
Gregory and Hyacinth are not so subtlety feeding sneaking pieces of meat to the furry demon Newton under the table, he pretends not to notice for tonight. His mother will surely scold them if notified and he would hate to sully the good atmosphere being shared by all at the table. He only sends them a reproachful glare when they appear to be overfeeding the mutt, Gregory stills his sister’s hand pausing her hand before consuming the food on his plate and motioning for her to do the same. 
His inner Alpha preens at all his treasured people being in one location and being able to simultaneously enjoy their company. He swallows the purr that builds in his chest, it would not be decent at the dinner table after all. 
“Please excuse me, Eloise.” 
His ears perk up and his gaze instinctively follow Kate as she leaves presumably to freshen up in the loo. 
Benedict draws him into a discussion with Miss Edwina as he contemplates the importance of arts and leisure and he absently listens astonishingly aware of Kate’s absence, everything feels imbalanced  and it becomes increasingly difficult for him to maintain focus so a few moments when she still as not reappeared he excuses himself from the table as well citing the need to sign important documents. Nobody questions his departure. 
The scent of lilies leads to his study and he follows it, curious as to what caused her to detour from the wash room. 
The study door is slightly ajar and with the toe of his boot he presses it open further, finding the back of one Kate Sharma. 
Intently looking at a portrait that he still struggles to gaze upon.  
“Edmund Bridgerton. My father.” 
She does not startle as if she could sense that he was already present. It is the same for him, he always knows when Kate is near. 
“Your parents were an Alpha Omega pair. True mates I hear.” 
Their love was legendary and something to aspire for when he was a boy, before his father unceremoniously collapsed in his arms and irrevocably altered their lives for eternity. 
“Yes. They were soul mates.” 
He could see it in the way that they laughed together, his father would gather his mother in his large arms and gently hold her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. 
Then he died and took all that love to the grave with him. 
“Do you ever wish--” 
“No. I never want to give my heart to another or have them offer me theirs. I want to live a predictable life with a woman that I find agreeable who will be a suitable viscountess. Love has no place in my marriage,” 
“Is this the reason you avoid all Omegas? Are you nervous that there is a possibility that you could come to love them? 
Could he ever love an Omega? 
His mind is filled with doubt. He thinks about all the facets that have drawn him to Kate, an Omega could never offer him a challenge. 
“I find them....tedious. I want a partner, not a child to care for.” 
He can feel Kate’s ire sucking all the air from the room. Her eyes are fire and brimstone when she finally turns to face him. 
“My sister is nothing like that nor your mother or Mary. You are placing your bias on an entire population of people. I never imagined you would be so short sighted as to make such baseless generalizations.” 
She glares at him circumventing him as she strides to the door. 
“Wait.” 
He stops her with a gentle hand on the wrist. 
“My....apologies. I did not mean those words. I have used them as an excuse for such a prolonged time they started to become truth to me. The truth is....love is terrifying and I would rather avoid it if possible. I know that Omegas thrive in true love matches and I cannot offer that to anyone, tying a hopeful Omega to a flawed man like me would be selfish and thoughtless.”
Her eyes. Liquid brown pools of chocolate brown. 
They widen, then soften in understanding. 
“Perhaps you are more than you give yourself credit for. Even someone like you is capable of love, being scared is no reason to hide from it. Your parents knew that their love was finite but it was enough to feel it, to love and be loved unconditionally. Is that not what we all aspire for?” 
He does not permit himself to hope or dream, that is for a man with less responsibilities than he. 
But she is gorgeous in her fierce defense and he cannot stop himself this time. He wants. 
He stalks closer, giving her ample time to escape from him. Taking slow purposeful steps until they are mere inches apart, those eyes all but mesmerizing him at this proximity. 
“Kate, please go downstairs.” 
She stares at him, eyes dancing all over his face ashe draws closer, encouraged by the lack of fear in her eyes. 
“I am not one of your siblings. You cannot order me around.” 
The Alpha in him begs to differ, clawing at the precarious thread of control that remains, his scent now permeating and soaking the air particles in the room. And then everything is lilies, sweet and cloying coating his throat and blocking his senses. 
“Kate.” 
His nostrils flare. 
“Go. Down. Stairs.” 
Her eyes glaze over and he has to kiss her, to devour her, or better yet destroy her. The way that she has devastated him, wholly down to his bones. 
Her hips are so soft under his tight grip and the exhaust of air leaving her lungs as he presses her into the door is all it takes for him to surge forward, terrified when in lieu of running away Kate mirrors him her hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders as she leans into him. 
“Kate.” 
He pleads once more. 
She must stop them. He is far too weak. 
“Anthony. Please.” 
The thread snaps, too thin to withstand the strength of their passion and he releases a roar deep from his chest as he does the one thing that has plagued his mind since he encountered this enigma of a woman. 
“Anthony! Kate!” Daphne’s voice breaks their intimacy. 
He pauses, hovering above her parted lips. Lily and spice punch him in the lung each time he inhales a breath. 
So catastrophically close. 
“Where are you both? Dinner has reached a close. Kate, your family awaits your return.” 
He collapses against her into the door, his body zinging with the need to claim, take, dominate. 
“My Lord.... You must release me. We will be discovered.” 
What was he minutes away from doing? He could have ruined Kate’s reputation. He was not one for regrets or mistakes, but this would have his greatest of all. 
“I...sorry. Go. I will stay here.” 
And after a long stare she slinks away, he pounds his clenched first against the solidness of the door desperately sniffing at the air. With his head hung in shame, he can see the tent formed in his trousers. It aches for release. He palms at his engorged member, Kate the sole object of his desires as he ardently strokes himself to completion, biting his lips as he recalls the how lose they were to crossing a line they could never return from. 
They both ignore each other for weeks. Anthony, attending several interviews daily and Kate accompanying Edwina on her many outings with suitors. Neither misses the other nor touches themselves with the other’s name on their tongue. 
She wakes up in a light sweat that only progressively gets worse until she becomes dizzy and almost faints, it was all too dramatic for her liking she was no damsel prone to fainting spells. Edwina had pleaded to stay with her but she would not let her little sister become sick as well.
Edwina was the one who needed to be healthy after all. Her health was nowhere as important.
And this meant she would be able to avoid him easily. There would be no family events and forced meetings between them at least until she had recovered from this sudden fever.
The servants check on her regularly bringing medicine and liquids. She has banned Mary and Edwina from her room but they speak to her through the oak of her door, telling her about Edwina's dates and which suitors are her favorites. She listens and offers commentary when necessary, soaking in a pool of her own sweat.
Sleep is torture. One person haunts her consciousness appearing in less and less clothing each time. He is shirtless in bed with her, then he's wet and crawling out of the lake he'd accidentally fallen into. That memory still haunts her from weeks ago, she had been trying to enjoy a nice row with Mr. Dorset when he had unnecessarily intruded despite being there himself with Cressida Cowper. She had desperately wanted to reject the hand he offered her but there were too many eyes and she did not want her actions to reflect badly on Edwina.
But then he started to caress her fingers and refused to let go so she'd tugged her hand away and he had tripped into the lake taking poor Mr. Dorset with him.
He must have been wearing the flimsiest shirt in all of England because it became completely transparent. Every muscle and curve of his well developed body on display, she tried not to look but her eyes would not obey her orders. And now that image was haunting her without end.
And furthering her shame she was... affected by her dreams. Waking up wet in unimaginable places. Too embarrassed to allow anyone to assist her in the bathe. The urge to take matters into her own hand per se was overwhelming, on one occasion she found herself grinding into her mattress chasing friction that it could not provide. She did not know of an illness that made people so unhinged and bothered.
But she is nothing if not controlled. She ignores her body's cry for more, please, and forces herself to sleep and ignore the temptation of the Anthony in her dreams.
On the fourth day she's has regained enough of her senses to leave her bed and eat the food the servants have been leaving her.
She's ravenous devouring everything in sight.
That's when she hears voices, they are too far for her to place them but they feel familiar. She presses her ear against the door attempting to listen better.
"-sends her well wishes and a fruit basket. Would it be possible to see her? We have all been worried beyond belief."
"I am not sure that would be best. She's still recovering and might be contagious. I will write to you all when she has fully recovered."
She has enough sense of awareness to grab a robe before opening her door and racing down the winding stairs. It's just like that day in the woods she cannot control her body, her feet refusing to stay away from him any longer. Something inside her demanding to see him and hold him. A hunger that cannot be appeased from afar. 
Mary gasps loudly at the sight of her in a flimsy night gown and a robe and nothing else, immediately stalking over to attempt to shove her back where she came from. Her desire to be near Anthony is too strong however and she sidesteps her startled mother until she's in front of him, breaths coming out in short pants.
He looks like heaven.
And she steps closer again, unable to resist his scent today and the fever that had resided is set aflame once more.
"Anthony."
She barely recognizes her own voice, it's been long unused while she was sick. Now it is all throat and rasp. 
He steps towards her too with arms wide open, and she almost trips over herself running to embrace him and everything is right when his arms are curled around her. She boldly nuzzles against the bare skin of his neck, rubbing her nose all over the gland hidden between the thin skin.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
"Kate! No!"
Mary's voice sounds far away but it is of no importance not with him cradling her and sniffing at her neck as well. Then she suddenly feels rumbling between them and it takes a moments pause to realize it's coming from him, he's purring between them- a deep guttural noise that makes her want to bend over and present herself to him.
And the filth of the thought is enough to knock some sense into her.
She knows what is happening to her.
But it can't be. She was a beta. Her eighteen birthday had come and past and nothing had happened. So why now? Why him?
In the end, he pulls away first nearly shoving her across the room in his haste. Her heart smarts at the callous move.
"You are experiencing heat."
He says it with so much disdain that she almost folds in on herself. She cannot deny his accusation not with the fever still running through her veins right now. With her body demanding that he take her right here regardless of their audience. 
"I must take my leave."
And then he's gone, fruit basket discarded on the floor and the door slamming behind him.
Her heart is in tatters and she feels Mary pressed against her back, holding her tightly like when she was much younger.
"Oh Kate, what will we do? My dear girl, my sweet precious Kate."
Mary had known, she was just the last to know about her transformation. 
He demands a carriage and a case with his possessions and without much of an explanation to his family before he runs away to Aubrey Hall.
He cannot stay here. Cannot be around her.
It should be impossible, Omegas presented on their eighteen birthdays without fail. It was so for every Omega that he knew so he doesn't understand why Kate would present this late in her life. What could have possibly changed to do this to her?
She had smelt so sweet. Sweeter than any other Omega he had ever encountered. His instincts had been telling him to do unthinkable things to her, claim her, bite her, possess her. And it terrified him. He was no boy, definitively not green behind the ears had even fucked courtesans in heat and never had such thoughts about them. Their holes had been wet and tight and that was the only observations that mattered to him.
He had been considering courting her. She was strong willed and gorgeous and someone who challenged him. All assets he had wanted in a partner. 
How could he reconcile all he knew about Kate with her newly discovered orientation? Would her disposition alter now? Would she be unable to meet his eyes like everyone else? He didn't want to see the light that he loved so much in her fade away into a distant memory.
Wait?
What was he thinking? He did not love anything about that insufferable woman! He could not love anyone especially not her.
Love was never in his cards and now that he knew who she truly was, he would extinguish these feelings towards her. They could never be. He would never wed or bond with an Omega. He would never end up like his father, dying too young and leaving Kate behind all alone and heartbroken.He could do her one last favor as a token to their failed relationship. 
He stays at Aubrey Hall for two weeks. Ignoring all the correspondences that arrive by carriage. He intends to hide until all his affections for her disappear.
She expertly hides her suffering from Mary and Edwina, having done it since she was a child and they believe her eventually when she tells that that she's fine and Anthony is not her true mate. Mary looks at her with wistful eyes but she pretends not to notice, all that remains is her dignity and she does not intend to willingly hand that over. But in the crevice of her heart she knows, it is an instinct and Omegas can always tell, Alphas are free to ignore it if they so desire but an Omega do not have that freedom of choice. Once their true match has been acknowledged it is impossible to truly love another. 
She could tell immediately after seeing him in the wake of her heat. 
Her heart went, “Oh it is you,” 
Then he promptly stomped all over that same heart in a matter of seconds. 
She cries softly at nights and stands tall in the morning. Edwina has found a few suitors who she has developed affections for and she is hopeful that her sister will be wedded soon and she will be able to return to India as planned.
Her orientation changes nothing. He changes nothing. She will live alone until it is her time to disappear from this planet. 
It means nothing to her that he hates her now for something she has no control over, it is better this way; they can both move on now before either of them developed any real feelings. She plans to forget all about him. As he has of her.
They attend parties and she garners attention now with her new Omega status but she ignores them all, only thinking about Edwina.
In the end her sister chooses an Alpha Lord that she knows she has mild affections for instead of the mild manner scholar who has captured her heart. It's the sensible choice and it breaks her heart.
She knows why Edwina makes this choice. It is for her and Mary. It is because she has groomed Edwina for this, her entire life.
"Are you certain you wish to marry him Bon?"
Edwina gives a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and she wishes their life was different. Wishes neither of them were bound by their circumstances.
"Bagwell could never provide for me. I must do this for our family."
It's a sentence she has lived her entire life by. But instead of feeling pride at Edwina's selflessness she feels anger at the part she played in making Edwina think she should sacrifice her happiness for them.
"No. I won't let you do this. Bagwell is who has your heart. Marry him. I will deal with the rest."
Her final sacrifice for her family.
"Dorset will be wed soon. You received an invitation days ago."
He's in his study, back at home with his family. His self executed exile over now. His plan was an utter failure, nothing but thoughts of Kate filling his mind his entire stay until he had to return to at least be close to her.
"Good for him."
"I shall be bringing the family to the modiste tomorrow. He is an old friend of yours, we must see him off."
This grabs his attention, he puts down his quill giving his mother his full undivided focus.
"See him off?"
She finally brings her gaze up to meet his, inhaling deeply before responding to him.
"Yes. He will leave for India with Ms. Sharma after they are wed."
This must be another dream, better yet a night terror. He pinches himself harshly, grunting when the pain shoots through his arm. 
This was...real. He was awake. 
“She presented as an Omega. I finally understand why you ran away. She is marrying Dorset to help dear Edwina marry for love, she has fallen for a mere scholar. You missed much with your escape to Aubrey Hall. I wrote to you but no letters returned so I presumed that it was of no significance to you. Dorset is a good man, he will treat her well. It is probably the best for all parties involved.” 
“Mama.” 
He has not called her that since he was much younger and far less jaded. Her eyes widen at the long forgotten moniker. 
“Yes, my dear?” 
“I think I made a horrible mistake.” 
“Oh Anthony.” 
She hugs him tightly, rocking him back and forth as he clutches her with all his might. 
“Anthony, you must go to her,” 
He listens, silencing the Alpha inside him that balks at taking orders from an Omega, that is not who he is anymore. He will be better for her. All that time spent alone in Aubrey Hall did nothing but strengthen his feelings for Kate. There was no one else like her, no one that made him question everything he thought he knew to be true. Nobody who called him out on his ignorance and forced him to see from another's perspective. Nobody as smart, witty, gorgeous and frustrating. He had spent all this time evading love only to stumble into it anyway. She had done it on purpose, spitefully made him fall in love with her just to prove to him that it was possible.
"I think I love her."
He loves her. There's no thinking about it, he can feel it in his blood.
He must go to her.
Miss Edwina opens the door looking haggard and exhausted. He immediately peers over her shoulder, manners all but eviscerated in his search for Kate.
"Lord Bridgerton. We are not entertaining guests at the moment."
She tries to close the door in his face but he moves in between the space swiftly.
"I must seen her Edwina. Please let me in."
He has never seen Edwina look so enraged, he flinches back at the dark storm that forms on her usually sweet countenance.
"You abandoned her when she needed you the most. Was your hatred for Omegas so strong you would discard my sister so easily? I thought you were a good man, a decent man but you are less than human. I will not let you anywhere near my sister."
He smarts at the carefully sharpened words, feeling smaller than an ant beneath her feet.
A servant interrupts them.
"Miss Edwina, we need more cold water. Kate is burning up, her fever grows worst by the second."
He uses the distraction to press the door open further, making sure not to hurt Edwina as he forcefully enters their home.
"You dare to show your face."
Lady Danbury, the real woman of the house appears. Walking stick extended to prevent him from moving any further.
"I know you all detest me but think about Kate."
"How dare you say that to m-"
He waves his hand in apology, "I love her. I acknowledge that I was a coward before, I was scared of how she made me feel and I ran away. Many times. Too many times. But I think she still loves me too and this fever is no fever, she needs me. Just like I need her. She's my mate."
"She's engaged to another."
"I do not care. She will never love another besides me and I her. Do you want your sister to spend all of her life in a loveless marriage?"
He knows that is a low blow but at this point he is willing to do whatever it takes to see Kate, cross any bridge and suffer any loss.
Edwina glares at him unmoving, looking so much like the little girl she tries to pretend not to be. Lady Danbury looks contemplative, rubbing her chin as she considers his words.
"You can go."
He swivels at the new voice, Mary slowly walking down the stairs with a bucket and rugs in her hands.
"I do not trust you at all. But if you are indeed Kate's mate then you are the only one who can help her. She might be going into shock from being separated from you for so long."
He rushes over to the staircase, blinking wildly as he climbs the steps in a haste. Mary only blocks him for a moment before stepping aside, and he runs the rest of the path uncaring about how eager he appears.
He growls at the servants stationed outside her door. All of them are betas unable to smell the too sweet scent of Kate strong enough to penetrate the door but still his Alpha wants them all gone, they are too close to his mate.
Tripping over themselves they all scatter away.
This time there is no hesitation, only a mere door separates them.
He shakes his head, lily drunk already before he drags the door open and gapes at the sight before him.
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merv606 · 3 months
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I love, love, love Mercy, but I absolutely hate Terry. He’s an irredeemable monster, and he does not deserve to have Daniel, body and soul, whatsoever. I mean, god, Daniel can’t even choose what clothes he wants to wear, or how he wants to wear his hair. Everything he does is in deference to Terry because he’s so afraid of him. And who can blame him? Terry hurt him so badly and could have murdered him that night, FUCK HIM. Not to mention Terry keeping him locked away and isolated in a foreign country where Daniel doesn’t even speak the language is so cute incredibly foul. And keeping him away for MONTHS from his own children?? Making him divorce his wife by proxy?? Having people think poorly of him due to TERRY’S actions??? Terry is so evil, and totally undeserving of Daniel in any way, shape, or form. In a Mercy AU, I would want Chozen to save Daniel, and then have them end up together—after all, he’s the only one who can take Terry down, and has truly changed and become a good man. He’s like the anti-Terry. Anyway, love the story and Silverusso, but Terry is too evil for me to want him to end up with Danny. Even though it’s inevitable.
Thank you 🥰
Well, Terry has gotten him some clothes by now - he said he would and Daniel’s hair is just - he hasn’t really asked for it to be cut really.
Although Terry prefers him smooth shaven he only shaves Daniel’s face when he asks. At least I think that’s what I wrote 🤔
As for his marriage - well, Terry had a point - it was easy to disrupt it. He was right there - considering all the problems they were having before Terry even entered the chat.
Everything is on point though.
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thestylesfamilysblog · 3 months
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Take A Breather
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Elodie Styles x Harry Styles
synopsis: the end of the semester hasn’t been easy on Elodie, and a few things are starting to weigh on her heavier than usual…
warnings: slight angst, insecurities, mentions of harassment, sad Elle
a/n: I wanted to write some backstory to the other day when Elle went missing, idk why I just felt like doing a little something and I haven’t written anything in a whole for her older self so why not!
The second year at Harvard had gone by fairly fast, truth be told Elodie had blocked out most of the year. It had never been this hard before but she was struggling to find her place within the university, of course she had a small group of friends and Teddy but when you weren't in the same program, sometimes finding time to get together was hard.
Elle really only had herself to blame in a sense, she'd gone from wanting to go out and get dinner on friday nights with friends, to just going home and keeping to herself in her room. It wasn't as if she was totally miserable, no she had a beautiful life, amazing family and an even more amazing boyfriend.
It had happened a few weeks ago in a lecture, Teddy was friends with everyone, his laughter and humour contagious, it didn't surprise her to hear people boast about him, especially the girls that sat near her in Romance Literature on Wednesday mornings. Normally she was a pretty confident girl but the more she listened to their conversation the more she almost felt undeserving of her spot in Teddy's heart.
To top off the current storm brewing in her head, she was also dealing with a teachers assistant that took any chance he could to make inappropriate comments, and ruin her work before her professor had a chance to view it, causing her to quickly need to redo it and submit it herself every time.
She just wasn't feeling her best, and after the fight with Elijah she just wanted to be alone. In hindsight maybe letting someone know where she was would have been a good idea, but all she wanted was a space to just be alone and let a bit of the weight off her chest.
-
Elodie had found this little cafe in first year, just a mere few blocks from Harvard's campus, no one ever came here, she and the owner becoming good friends, an elderly lady, Joanne, always happy to see her.
It must have been around 3 hours of her just sitting, trying to journal like her dad taught her, a few tears here and there, but the warm blueberry matcha was helping her keep it as together as she could.
Meanwhile Harry and Ro had been frantically searching for her with the help of their friends, it wasn't much longer that Harry had pulled up outside the cafe just as shed been walking out, the only person she could think to tip her father off would have been Teddy.
"Jesus Elle you scared the shit out of me.."
His voice wasn't filled with anger or animosity, more worry and a care only a father feels towards their child
"I'm sorry dad..I just-I'm sorry" she answered back softly, tears still being held back which only brought a frown to Harry's face
"Come here.."
Pulling her into a hug she began to cry, her hands gripping onto his coat as if he'd get ripped away from her
"Oh Elle...what's going on?"
"I need a break.."
Harry furrowed his brows before guiding her to get in the front seat of his range rover, the heat helping to warm her now cold hands up. He was quick to join her, remaining parked but turning his attention back to her
"What do you mean a break?"
"I-I'm not happy in school...Im struggling in one class where the TA is horrible to me, I feel so disconnected and alone from everyone, I just I'm not happy dad...and I feel like im not good enough for bear.."
At the sound of her voice breaking he sighed, grabbing her hands and holding them gently
"Well first things first, if you need a break then take one my darling, defer a semester, a year, whatever you need, mum and I will support you, I'll even look into getting the TA fired"
"Dad, the school didn't do anything.."
"So? I'll make them do something, no one messes with my baby girl and gets away with it right?"
He waited until Elodie nodded before speaking up again
"Now, why are you feeling so down about bear, has he said something?"
She shook her head
"No, he's perfect in every way, it's me...I just I feel like I'm not good enough for him, the girls I see talk about him are so beautiful and I guess I don't know I just feel so insecure and its nothing to do with him...its all me..."
Harry went to speak until Elodie sniffled and continued
"He's so perfect to me, and he loves me so much...I can be myself around him and he's everything and im just me...I feel like I just don't deserve his love...and I have never felt like this about anyone before, im just scared I'll lose him"
Harry could understand where she was coming from, it was hard to be a girl growing up, he'd had his fair share of insecurities himself and he only wished he could take all of these negative feelings away from her
"Well for one, you are enough, you always have been and you deserve every ounce of love Teddy gives you, i've seen that boy with you, he looks at you like you hung the moon and stars. I know sometimes with other girls it can be hard and you compare yourself to them but I promise you, Elle you are beautiful inside and out, and I hate to hear you think any less of yourself."
Harry knew it might not have fixed everything but it was enough to have her nodding, a small smile creeping up on her face. Harry knew Elodie would get another good talk with her mother that same night but for now he did the one thing he could think of to cheer her up.
Milkshakes and a drive filled with her favourite music, just like they used to when she was a little girl.
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its time to continue my rewatch lol
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honestly kinda wish we got more of akko with her bangs all out
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lol look at all those books on akko’s desk that won’t get opened for like a year 
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obligatory yay
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wonder how annoying it mustve been for whoever got stuck drawing diana’s hair over and over lol
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she
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i promise i won’t let this turn into me just posting diana pics
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see? have a sucy
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lol why is she holding both a fork and spoon at the same time while she eats
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akko fell victim to diana’s voice
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i honestly do love the idea of diana calling akko by her whole name in fics because it’s perceived as intimate but akko is always telling everyone to specifically call her akko and idk if she’d realistically want to be called atsuko lol plus diana just immediately is ok with referring to her as akko instead of atsuko which i will always love
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literal blorbos
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cmon akko you shouldve known this dumbass was a secret chariot otaku the moment she knew exactly what you meant by shiny rod versus sucy and lotte being like wtf r u talking about
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CMON...
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no comment
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lil babby akko
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never noticed the card shop with the premium card for sale is called ursa major lol and look at that awesome store next door
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shiny chariot poseur cavendish can’t even pick up on the nymphodia  
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i know this ep is supposed to parallel diana’s dumbassery in the 1st ova, but man... this must legit be one of her worst memories ever. like ya sure in the ova she let loose some magic eating dragon but no one actually got hurt whereas she literally shot akko with a magic radiation bullet lol
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diana “shit maybe it’s not a replica” cavendish
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can never get over how akko just defers to diana here on the papilliodya spell pronunciation
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kira kira mabushii screenshot
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from the start of the series its very clear diana’s such a precious little bean like cmon shes having a little meltdown here over undeserved praise and then has like no idea how to be like akshually it was akko
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stupid gay baby
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colors in the final scene of this ep are so nice
ok done with ep 2, will probably just try to do an episode per day or something
also i started this post for ep 2 as a draft before my last post but i kinda wanted the chariot card thing to be its own post lol
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"In India, as elsewhere in our darkening world, religion is the poison in the blood. Where religion intervenes, mere innocence is no excuse. Yet we go on skating around this issue, speaking of religion in the fashionable language of 'respect.' What is there to respect in any of this, or in any of the crimes now being committed almost daily around the world in religion's dreaded name?"
-- Salman Rushdie
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littlesparklight · 1 year
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What traits of Paris are admirable for you? Like, what would you say to someone who doesn’t like the character? 😱 I’m very interested in your opinion.
Like, an encomium for Paris? ;) I can do that.
(Undoubtedly a lot, if not all, I'm going to say here I've said elsewhere because I love blabbing about Paris, but 1. I am lazy so I'm not going to go looking and 2. I love blabbing about Paris. Also 3. in the spirit of an encomium I'm going to (try to, since I do know he has faults and those can be interesting to engage in) defer discussing his faults, as well as the consequences even his positive qualities has in the canon situation for the moment.)
With the understanding that some of the things below requires accepting that Paris is effeminate and I'll be interpreting this positively contrary to Ancient Greek opinions about effeminacy;
One of the first things is way he stubbornly and determinedly is honest to his own preferences and presentation in the face of insults and ridicule of the same. Like, yes, dancing and music are good peace time pursuits and bad war time pursuits, but "all things in [manly] moderation/restraint" is an important "qualification" when it comes to men enjoying or being good at these pursuits. Paris doesn't care. Music and dancing etc isn't something he's going to stop enjoying or pursuing just because there's a war on. More than that, he's not going to stop dressing nicely, or focusing on his hair just because he's being insulted left, right, and center about it. Being able and willing to keep to your preferences in the face of social censure (your enemies are one thing, but it comes from close family as well) is really admirable to me.
Being able to take a moment to laugh about how great and fine you're feeling, how sweet life is, if just in that moment, while knowingly walking straight into danger is a pretty nice quality, too.
In conjunction with the above, and going with Hecuba's dream omen having happened, and thus that the exposure did, and the fact that Paris would have learned about this sooner or later... Look. Regular human people with normal human interiority would have to think about and confront this, however lightly. How do you come to peace with that your life, even when you were completely innocent of any wrongdoing, was considered undeserving to be alive? Your own parents, however roundabout, however unwillingly, attempts to kill you. Your parents are also later happy to ignore the reason/hope they were wrong about it when you come back alive, but at least by the point that the Achaeans make a final landing Paris would have to face, if just for himself, that it really was (not is, any longer, too late for that) his life's or Troy's.
That's a terrible thing for anyone to have to face, so, uh, being able to compartmentalize enough to still be cheerful and lighthearted is pretty damn impressive. (I suppose one could go with "he's selfish and literally doesn't care about anyone else" and like. Sure. I guess. But 1. we have no proof of that, and 2. the only other possibility aside from compartmentalizing to have some mental equilibrium is Paris getting straight up suicidal, when it's already too late to matter.)
He's agreeable and doesn't actually pretend he has no faults (as society sees them), and yes, again I suppose one could say it's cowardly or conflict-avoidant of Paris to agree to Hektor that he's correct and then not change at all. But some of those changes he shouldn't have to make, and I don't think he's conflict avoidant. His aside about Hektor being as "relentless as an axe" comes right after he's said Hektor is correct in rebuking him, which, while I don't think it neither negates that, does qualify it. Paris is lodging a roundabout complaint that Hektor is, if not wrong, then going a bit too far. Without actually starting a fight in a situation where they can't have one! His response to Hektor in the later scene isn't just flat agreement and this time even less a qualification. Rather it comes with a correction of Hektor's assumption of why he's still in his bedroom - again, that's not really conflict avoidant, in my opinion, just not making a fight there's no time and place for, and he doesn't fully have a right to have, anyway? And I'd say Paris knows he doesn't (or at least know this is no place/time, again, to have a fight), so that's why you get this.
(And he does protest Hektor's rebukes/insults the one time we see in the Iliad where Hektor is entirely in the wrong!)
I don't know if it's petty or not to add this, but I'd like to juxtapose the particular part of Hektor and Andromache's scene where she attempts to give him (perfectly sound but against the personal heroic masculine code!) military advice with Helen's rebukes/insults to Paris when she finds him in their bedroom. Paris doesn't tell her she doesn't understand military matters [because she's a woman] and neither does he tell her she shouldn't talk about those things [because she's a woman]; all he does is tell her to not insult him so harshly and anyway, he might win some other time. In this instance, he's markedly less sexist than his brother, which, I don't know if it might be another "symptom" of his "softness" and effeminacy, but if it is, it's (to us) a pretty good one. (And like, not that Paris doesn't talk about Helen as "an object" when they were talking about Helen and the wealth in Book 3 - but in this wise he isn't making himself guilty of any crime that any other man isn't, Menelaos included.)
Is being a bomb lover and making sure your partner is satisfied an admirable quality (even as that's part of the initial problem)? Then that, too, since that'd be part of ~the gifts of Aphrodite~. I do think you can interpret those "gifts of Aphrodite" wider than just about sex, so he's charming and good with people, and listening/creating accord (political unity, which was one of Aphrodite's other sides). But I know this is perhaps more extrapolation than otherwise, so take or leave that as you will.
(As an extra thing which has nothing to do with what we see in the Iliad and most probably isn't Epic Cycle material: Regardless of whether one considers Aphrodite the legit objective winner, gift-bribes or no gift-bribes, the situation of the judgement is an impossible one. But in a more "fair" setup, where all you have is the word of a mortal against a god that won, Paris, compared to many others who fail in similar (or even more damning) circumstances, gives what he promised to give, and judges fairly. I'm talking about a situation where, while it only appears in a medieval document but might be a legit survival of something earlier, Paris has a pet prize bull he pits against other herders. He crowns the bull each time it wins and says that anyone who can beat his bull will be given this golden crown. Ares fights the bull in bull form and wins. Revealing himself (or even if he does not), he is awarded the prize as promised.)
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beauregardlionett · 1 year
Text
in little ways (when everything stays)
AO3 Link
The snow was long to linger around the estate, winter refusing to relinquish her icy grip far into the month that should have heralded spring. Beau related to the sentiment of the season a bit too much for her taste. As grateful as she was for the return of warmer weather, she almost resented the sunlight. It brought an inherent amount of cheer and color Beau thought was undeserved. Yasha was still a prisoner of war - how dare color show its face?
But she was no more able to halt the passage of nature than she was able to return Yasha to her side.
Any attempts beyond Beau’s initial and short-lived reunion with Yasha proved impossible. Whatever magic Caleb tried to use failed, meticulously drawn chalk circles flickering and fading away without result. Even Lady Jester’s attempts at scrying never found purchase. After several unsuccessful attempts—all spearheaded by Beau’s insistence—Caleb finally determined that someone must have caught wind of their interference and put up wards.
The guilt ate Beau alive most nights, as she stared despairingly at the canopy of her bed instead of sleeping.
Regardless of her wishes, time marched on and the estate still had to function. Without Yasha to tend to on the daily, Beau’s duties alongside Fjord in the stables were her only source of distraction. He proved to be no better at lightening the mood than Beau, and they found a certain sense of solidarity in their misery.
Sometimes news of the war would find its way to the estate through gossip or official notices, and Beau hated hearing any of it. All of it whispered like an ever-present reminder of everything she stood to lose should Yasha never return. The long dried flower folded in cloth weighed heavy against her heart in her breast pocket. It had only survived this long because Beau had requested Caleb to work his magic on it.
Time marched on, life moved steadily forward as the vines in the garden crept ever up the trellises after the snow melted. Spring found a foothold at last, taking every inch possible to spread a healthy green. Color followed close behind, blooming along the vines in the garden, bursting from branches in the nearby forest, and draped over every available surface as bouquets and fabric. There were festivals to prepare for, to welcome life, light, and color back into the world. The Lord and Lady of the estate would not put celebrations on hold for Beau’s ceaseless misery.
Crouched among the strawberry vines, Beau paused her picking to watch a pair of butterflies chase each other through the garden. The wind rustled the surrounding leaves with quiet deference, lifting the loose strands of Beau’s hair with invisible yet gentle fingers. She breathed in a deep breath, tasting pollen and spring on the back of her tongue with it. Beau couldn’t not be grateful for all of this. But every moment she was came with the bitter pill of wishing Yasha were here to enjoy all of it, too.
With a resigned sigh, Beau turned from the butterflies and resumed harvesting the strawberries. When her basket was full and her fingers sore, Beau stood to crack her back and stretch her legs. Finding herself eye-level with a ripe strawberry, Beau tugged it free and popped it into her mouth whole. The burst of sweet tang on her tongue helped chase away some of her sourness for the moment.
She pilfered another on her way back to the kitchen door just to prolong the feeling.
Caduceus had propped the door to the kitchen open while Beau was in the garden, likely to let the breeze through. From the opening, she could smell the wafting temptation of Caduceus’ creations, a lure she followed without hesitation.
Hefting her basket of strawberries onto the prep table, Caduceus handed Beau a cup of tea and a plate of pastries before she even met his gaze.
“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?”
“Many times,” Caduceus chuckled with a pleased smile. “Thank you for getting the strawberries for me, Beau.”
“Anytime, man,” Beau said easily, sliding into a chair at the prep table and digging into her snacks. “You know I’d do anything to get a break from the stench of horseshit.”
“Indeed,” Caduceus hummed as he began sorting through Beau’s haul of berries. “Though you could permanently escape that assignment if you took the Lord up on his offer, of course.”
Leave it to Caduceus to be the bluntest out of all Beau’s friends. He never believed in beating around the bush. Beau swallowed down her mouthful of pastry with a gulp of tea and avoided eye contact.
“You know why I can’t.”
“I know why you think you can’t.”
Beau sighed, a sharp exhalation, and refused to look up from her plate. Caduceus was annoyingly perceptive for a cook.
“I won’t say you have to, or that you should,” Caduceus continued, moving away from the prep table with a portion of strawberries. “But I would remind you that loitering does nothing good for the head or the heart. You’re only allowing a wound to fester.”
“Maybe I don’t care about that,” Beau shot back, lacking any of the heat she intended.
“Now you and I both know that isn’t true,” Caduceus pointed out, calm as ever. Beau chanced a glance up and found him adding strawberries to a sizzling pan. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. I think it’s more accurate to say you care much more than you let others believe—about both matters.”
Beau looked down at her nearly gone pastry and swallowed around the lump in her throat. She knew Caduceus was right, because he was almost always right. However...
“Accepting his offer means leaving,” Beau confessed to her confection, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Caduceus was quiet for a long few moments before his warm hand slotted onto her shoulder. Beau looked up at him and fought down a curse when she realized tears blurred his face. She set her jaw and pretended they weren’t there.
“We aren’t going anywhere, Beau,” Caduceus started, tone gentle, as if she were a startled animal. “And you wouldn’t be gone forever. So what’s holding you back?”
Beau realized he was asking as a courtesy, to allow Beau the autonomy to say it for herself. Caduceus clearly already knew where her hesitations came from—the entire estate probably did at this point.
“Leaving feels like giving up on Yasha. It feels like moving on and pretending everything is fine when we all know it’s not. We don’t know where she is, or if she’s even still alive. But...if news comes or if she comes back and I’m not here? I-I don’t...”
Beau trailed off, directing her gaze down quickly, blinking with frustration as a few tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Emotion choked her voice off, the realization that she had already made up her mind in the duration of this conversation tightening her throat like a noose. She was going to hate herself either way.
“Pursuing something you’ve been after for years while someone you care about is missing does not mean giving up,” Caduceus said, his rolling timbre soothing Beau’s frazzled nerves. “It means you are allowing yourself to grow to meet them whenever your paths cross again. Yasha won’t be the same when she returns, so how could you expect yourself to remain stagnant, too?”
Beau appreciated his deliberate use of when instead of if. She wiped at her eyes and sniffed back the threat of more tears.
“You’re right,” Beau muttered. “As usual. I know I won’t be gone forever, but a year still seems like a long time.”
“It can be a long time,” Caduceus acknowledged, removing his hand and wandering back over to the sizzling pan on the stove. “But I’m sure it will move much faster than you think.”
I hope so, Beau thought to herself as she polished off her pastry.
--
“You’re sure you have enough pastries for the trip?” Jester fretted at Beau, chewing at her lower lip nervously. Fjord reached over to press his fingertip to Jester’s cheek, prompting her to free her poor lip.
“I’m sure, Lady Jester,” Beau assured with a fond smile. “You’ve given me more than enough for the journey twice over.”
“You might get super hungry!” Jester defended with a playful pout. “Since you’re always climbing trees and stuff, that requires energy!”
Beau laughed and couldn’t argue the point further. Jester tugged Beau into a fierce hug and squeezed her tightly. With a wheezed laugh of surprise, Beau returned the embrace with a squeeze of her own. When Jester freed her, Beau took a moment to straighten out the light shawl across Jester’s shoulders and brushed a stray piece of hair from her face.
“Try not to give Fjord too much of a heart attack while I’m away, yeah? Wait until I’m back so I can help.”
“I am right here,” Fjord intoned dryly as Jester giggled a promise to Beau.
Turning to Fjord next, Beau clasped forearms with him before pulling him into a brief, firm hug. His clothes smelled like hay and sun-warmed horses, something Beau breathed in deeply, letting it settle into her bones for the journey ahead.
“I’ll see you when I get back,” Beau promised. “Take care of everyone for me until then.”
“Will do,” Fjord said, voice low. He gave Beau one last tight squeeze before releasing her. As Beau turned back to Jester, she caught sight of Caleb approaching from the front door. He walked straight up to Beau and pulled her in for a warm hug without preamble. Despite their rough start with each other, Caleb had become something of a confidant and brother to Beau. She would miss him the most out of everyone, but Beau would never say that out loud. She didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or let the sentiment go to Caleb’s head, after all.
“Stay safe, please,” Caleb whispered against her shoulder. “Come home when you’re finished.”
“Nothing in the world could keep me away longer than necessary,” Beau murmured back.
When Caleb released her, he pulled something from the pocket of his coat and pressed it into Beau’s palm. She blinked at him, startled to find the teleportation ring sitting innocuously in her hand. It had been ineffective after their first use of it, given that Yasha’s captors had likely erected wards to keep magic from reaching the prisoners. There was no need to return when Beau couldn’t leave in the first place.
“I know it has not been of use to us as of late,” Caleb explained, gaze steady on Beau’s bewilderment. “But I figured it might bring you some measure of comfort, since we will not be there to offer it. And, if news comes, this will get you home much faster than a horse.”
“Thank you,” Beau choked out after a few long moments of stunned silence. She slid it onto her shaking finger and clenched her hand into a tight fist, feeling the way the metal dug into her skin. It would never take her where she wanted to go. But having a potential connection to Yasha so near settled something frantic in Beau far more than she ever thought it could.
As she looked up from the ring to Caleb, Beau found the Lord and Lady of the estate standing not far off, Caduceus with them. With a brief squeeze of a hug to Caleb, Beau approached the trio at a brisk pace. She paused before the Lord and Lady, bowing her head in greeting and gratitude.
“Beau,” Lady Marion said, her voice warm and soft as always. She stepped forward, warm hands cupping Beau’s jaw as she placed a quick kiss on Beau’s brow. “We’re going to miss having your boisterous energy around the estate while you’re gone. Try not to give the instructors too much grief and save your energy for us upon your return, alright?”
Lady Marion’s tone was fond and teasing, eyes bright with a familiar warmth that Beau had quickly learned to not take for granted. Beau’s arrival at the estate was greeted with Marion’s sweet maternal instincts and gentle teasing. She was everything Beau had needed and nothing she ever expected to be on the receiving end of. Beau had, of course, taken a little while to warm up to Marion, but once they found common ground, Beau found it immensely easier to accept Marion’s maternal gestures.
She grinned at Marion now, nodding her head in Marion’s gentle hold. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all we ever ask of you,” Marion said, pressing one last kiss to Beau’s brow before releasing her.
Beau fought back tears and turned to face Lord Babenon with a much more reserved expression. Not that she didn’t get along with the Lord of the estate, but she maintained a vastly different relationship with the man compared to her interactions with Lady Marion. He was reserved around most individuals that were not his wife and daughter. Beau had no grief over his lack of paternal emotion toward her, given the relationship Beau had with her own father.
She was more than content with the amicable relationship they maintained.
“I know you’ll do well, Beauregard,” Lord Babenon said, the hint of a smile curling at his lips. “I hope this experience is everything you hoped it would be.”
Beau nodded in response and reached out to accept the hand he extended her way.
“Thank you again for your involvement in helping me get this far, my Lord.”
“Nonsense,” he waved away Beau’s gratitude with a shake of his head. “You did all the prerequisite work on your own. I worked with the Soul many years ago when their programs were much more internal than they are now. The individuals spearheading this short-term educational program are close acquaintances of mine, at best. I merely knew the right people to send your information to, that’s all.”
Beau thought that was an understatement, given that he helped to expedite her application since she had hesitated for so long. Regardless, sending her information to the Soul, waiting for a response, and then preparing for the trip had taken time. The year long educational program was due to begin in just under two weeks as summer gave way to fall. Though the evenings stayed brighter longer, there was a taste of anticipation in the air heralding the close of summer. Beau actively steered her thoughts away from the fact that it had been around this time last year when Yasha first left.
“My gratitude stands,” Beau said as she released his hand. Unable to defer her a second time, Lord Babenon gave a short huff of a laugh and waved Beau off good-naturedly, bidding her a safe journey. Lady Marion took him by the elbow and they returned to the interior of the estate together.
Caduceus stepped up in their absence and handed Beau a parcel of food he promised to put together for her the night before.
“Thanks, Cad,” Beau said, allowing the depth of her gratitude to seep into her tone. “I’m going to miss your cooking while I’m gone.”
“I’ll be here with plenty of snacks for you to try when you get home,” Caduceus promised, smiling beatifically down at her. “Though I’ll miss your company in the kitchen, we’ll see each other again soon.”
“I’m holding you to that, big man,” Beau said as she let him squeeze her into a quick, warm hug.
After another brief round of hugs, goodbyes, and well-wishes, Beau started away from the estate on horseback. She twisted in the saddle one last time to look over her shoulder at the shrinking vision of the place and people she had called home for years now. It was with a firm reminder everything would still be here upon her return that Beau turned back to face the road ahead of her.
Summer clung to the surrounding forest, spilling color with every bloom and blade of grass she passed. Winter was behind her, a distant memory for now, and Beau had to hope that news of Yasha would come sooner rather than later. She traced her thumb over the ring on her finger and took a steadying breath.
With a snap of the reins, Beau let the warm breeze against her cheeks dash away her tears.
--
The door that was barely Beau’s height swung open seconds after she knocked. Startled at the quick response, Beau blinked down at the halfling child peering up at her.
“Uhm...” Beau began eloquently. “Hello. Is this the Brenatto household?”
“Luc!” A man’s voice called from further inside the house, sounding exasperated and frazzled in equal measures. “What have I told you about answering the door by yourself?”
The door opened wider in front of Beau as the owner of the voice gently tugged the child back a few paces. He flashed Beau an apologetic smile and shook his head.
“Sorry about that. Luc’s just learned that he can reach the doorknob, unfortunately. How can I help you?”
“Oh, that’s alright,” Beau said on instinct, miles out of her depth. “I’m looking for the Brenatto household? My name’s Beau.”
“Oh! Yes! Veth reminded me you were coming tonight before she left. Please, come in!” The man stepped aside, pulling the toddler along with him so Beau could duck into the warm interior of their home. As the door shut behind her, Beau watched as the toddler - Luc - scampered off into the house before his father could grab him again.
“Luc! Don’t—oh gosh.” The man ran a hand down his face and shook his head with a tired smile. “I’ll find him in a moment. Anyway, hello! My name is Yeza. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
Beau stooped to shake his hand that he reached up to her. Thankfully, the ceiling was just high enough for her to stand mostly upright, so she didn’t look like a complete fool.
“Beauregard, but you can just call me Beau.”
Yeza nodded in response and turned to glance over his shoulder before speaking again.
“Well, Beau, dinner should be ready in a few minutes. I have to go make sure Luc isn’t trying to stick his hand into the soup pot again.” Yeza grinned up at Beau, revealing the tired lines at the corners of his eyes set against the fondness Beau saw there. He pushed wire-framed glasses further up his nose and gestured to a hallway on Beau’s left.
“I would show you to your room if Luc wasn’t so...eager to help. But if you head down there, your room is the second on the right. Settle in and I’ll come find you when the food’s ready.”
Yeza didn’t wait around for Beau’s response before he was rushing off deeper into the house. There was something gentle and honest about Yeza that Beau was unfamiliar with. She didn’t mind it, but she didn’t know how to face him with her own brand of honesty.
As Beau wandered off toward her room, she could hear Yeza frantically calling for Luc to get away from the stovetop.
The bedroom that would be Beau’s for the next year was small, but it fit a bed big enough for her and a small desk. They had clearly modified the room for someone that wasn’t halfling sized. Beau figured she wouldn’t be doing much outside of the work and research the Reserve was going to pile on her, so the space didn’t matter. There was a window above the bed with curtains that matched the bedspread, late evening light spilling in through the window panes.
Beau dropped her bag at the foot of the bed and sat in the middle of the mattress. She shed her coat and dropped it on top of her bag as she looked around the room again.
The ring Caleb had given her sat snug at the base of Beau’s right ring finger. The metal pressed warm against her skin at this point as she curled her hand into a fist and traced her thumb over it. In her breast pocket, as always, was the flower Yasha had left with Beau almost a year ago. Her chest ached fiercely with longing as Beau curled in on herself.
“Please,” Beau whispered to her knees, voice cracking with emotion she usually kept hidden. Hopefully, the shadows in this bedroom wouldn’t taunt her lack of control. “Please be safe, Yasha. I’ll be home soon.”
Yeza called for Beau fifteen minutes later, Beau’s emotions packed away again in time for dinner.
--
“What are you reading?”
Beau looked up from the spread of books and journals on her mattress to find Luc hanging off the doorknob and staring at her curiously. He wore a thick sweater against the sudden snap of colder weather, his little arms swallowed by the sleeves. Beau furrowed her brow, fairly certain she had locked her door before diving into her studies.
“Did you pick the lock on my door?”
“Uh-huh!” Luc beamed at Beau as he dropped the two inches to the floor and trotted over to Beau’s bed. He could just barely peek over the edge of the mattress at her as he held up a hairpin.
“Mama showed me how!”
“Your mother knows how to pick locks,” Beau said, not bothering to phrase it as a question.
“Mama’s the coolest!” Luc declared. “She’s a spy!”
Beau raised an eyebrow as Luc tried to scramble onto Beau’s mattress. She was fairly certain that Veth had introduced herself as a camp instructor in the summer and an assistant professor when classes were in session. The matriarch had given Beau a boisterous welcome the morning after Beau arrived, since she was out most of the evening prior. But sure...Veth was a spy.
Taking pity on Luc’s struggling toddler legs, Beau boosted him up onto the mattress and watched him sit cross-legged across from her. The journals and books lay between them, three languages and endless connected threads spread out in a rough timeline.
“What are you reading?” Luc asked again.
“Homework,” Beau stated shortly. She did not know how to handle kids. The closest she ever got was the brother almost two decades her junior that she had never met.
“Is it boring homework?” Luc asked, still staring up at her.
Beau paused and raised an eyebrow at Luc. He had two professors for parents, and she couldn’t pretend she knew how to talk to kids. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to speak to Luc like she did to everyone else, Beau shrugged.
“Not really,” she confessed. “I’m helping the Cobalt Soul archive here in the city organize their resources and notations on abnormal cult activity. These papers and journals are about the Cult of the Caustic Heart. It’s everything the archive has on them. It’s not much, but the cult hasn’t been notably active in decades. The monks only recently took interest in them again because a runaway captive approached them with this artifact she stole, one of what the monks think might be a pair.”
Beau shuffled through her papers and found the drawing of the bowl she had. Turning it toward Luc, he leaned forward with enormous eyes to study the paper. He turned his little face up to Beau, clearly enraptured.
“No one knows exactly what the bowl is supposed to do, but the runaway told the monks that apparently, if it’s used in a ritual, it’s for communication. She said it was supposed to connect the cult to Tiamat, an ancient evil goddess of dragons. The monks gave me everything on the cult to figure out how much truth lies behind those rumors and if there're any hints about where the cult might be located. Also, if there’s any information about where the second bowl is.”
“That’s so cool!” Luc shouted, sitting up on his knees now and staring down at the papers and journals. “Did you find any of that stuff?”
“There’s nothing about the bowl,” Beau admitted, shifting through more of the papers to point at a small leather book. The edges of the paper were curled and aged, the corners worn down with use and from oiled fingertips. The smudged, faded ink was scrawled in Undercommon, and detailed old information about the Cult’s location.
“But there are hints in some of these about where they might be located, or at least a trail of where they have been established before. If I can piece together the timeline of these documents completely, the monks might figure out where they are now.”
“You can read this?” Luc whispered, voice awed as he stared down at the little book. “You’re cool like mama!”
Beau remembered abruptly that she was speaking to a five-year-old, but he was engaged and awed. Luc’s smile lit up his face, and Beau couldn’t help the pulse of fondness for her host family’s son.
“Thanks, little man,” Beau chuckled. “You’re pretty cool, too. I couldn’t pick locks when I was your age.”
Luc puffed up his chest with exaggerated pride and grinned his gap-tooth smile up at her.
“I’m gonna go on adventures when I’m older! Mama said so.”
“Oh, yeah?” Beau grinned, amused by the thought of tiny Luc among people her height. “You’ve got a long way to go, bud.”
Luc cackled and chucked himself off the bed. “That’s what papa says, too! But mama always says that means I can practice my shooting more!”
“Shooting?” Beau asked, genuinely bewildered.
“My crossbow!” Luc crowed. He rushed back to the bed and reached up to tug at Beau’s pant leg. “Come on, I’ll show you! Papa’s still making dinner, so I can practice and show you!”
Beau looked down at her pile of work and figured she had made enough progress for now. She could always come back to it again after dinner, too.
“Sure,” Beau agreed, climbing off the bed to follow Luc’s scampering figure out of the bedroom.
--
“How are things going here?”
Beau glanced up from her mug at Caleb, where he sat on the other side of the tavern table. He had shaved in the months since Beau left the estate and she struggled to process the way it altered his appearance. Other than that, he remained relatively unchanged.
“They’re good,” Beau admitted. To anyone else, it was the expected answer, if not one that might be considered underwhelming. But Caleb could hear the admission in it, the guilt that Beau enjoyed the work while Yasha was still missing, still unreachable by magic, according to Caleb.
“How about your host family? Are they nice?” Caleb moved along, taking her answer in stride instead of fixating on it. Beau was silently grateful for the way he knew her so well. Once upon a time it would have unnerved her, but now it brought a sense of familiarity that Beau had been longing for as of late. As pleasant as the Brenatto family was, the estate was home.
“They’re really nice,” Beau said, a bit more genuine as she smiled down at her drink. “Yeza’s a wonderful cook and Veth is...definitely entertaining. We butt heads about a lot of stuff, but it’s all in good fun. Their son is the nosiest little stinker I’ve ever met, but he’s growing on me.”
When Caleb said nothing in response, Beau glanced back up at him curiously. He stared back at her, face pale.
“Caleb? What’s wrong?” Beau asked, voice pitched low with alarm. She didn’t know everything about his past, but she knew more than most. He had connections to the school in this city, and had taken the risk of visiting her, anyway. Beau’s initial concern was that he had spotted someone he used to know somewhere in the tavern and was preparing to fight or flee. She fought down the instinct to glance around, not wanting to give them away, should it come to a fight.
“Brenatto?” Caleb said, his voice hoarse and eyes misty.
“What?”
“Brenatto,” Caleb repeated, his gaze refocusing on her. “Their last name, is it Brenatto?”
“Yes,” Beau said slowly, wracking her brain to remember if she said her host family’s last name at any point. She was fairly certain she hadn’t. “Why?”
Caleb breathed out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. To Beau’s surprise, he smiled - a small and private thing.
“Caleb,” Beau said, her voice lacking any of the heat she intended. Damn her soft spot for this man she considered a brother. “You’re freaking me out.”
“Apologies,” Caleb said, breathless and brisk. “May...may I visit them with you?”
Beau waited until he made eye contact with her again, trying to read whatever complicated parade of emotion she found on his face. There was something hesitant there, but mostly, she found hopeful fondness. Beau couldn’t even guess what was happening, but she was curious enough to find out.
“Sure,” she said, before emptying her mug. “Let’s go. They’re all at the house right now, if I remember right.”
The walk back to the house was quick and silent between them, Caleb keeping pace with Beau’s strides through the snowy streets. It was only when Beau turned to the Brenatto’s house and Caleb followed without missing a step that Beau realized he had been here before. She bit down on all of her questions and opened the door, ducking inside first so she could call down the hall.
“Hey, I’m back,” Beau said toward the kitchen. “I brought my friend with me, by the way. He wanted to say hi.”
Luc’s head popped around the doorway to the kitchen first, eyes as curious as ever. A few moments later, Veth stepped around her son with a ruffle of his hair and a bright grin.
“Luc and I just finished up some Winter’s Crest cookies,” Veth called back as she wiped her hands clean on her skirt. “You and your friend can—”
Veth trailed off as she looked up and took in the sight of Caleb and Beau standing at the entrance of her home. It was hard to tell with the distance, but Beau knew Veth wasn’t looking at her. She had honed in on Caleb, and the same was true for him.
“Hello, Veth,” Caleb whispered, voice watery and unsteady. “It is good to see you.”
“Bren?” Veth whispered, stunned and unsteady.
“Ja,” was the only sound Caleb got out before Veth ran and threw her arms around his legs. He crouched to her level so she could wrap her arms around his neck and hug him fiercely. They spoke to one another, voices so soft Beau couldn’t make out all the words. She felt like an interloper standing sentinel over their reunion, so she shuffled toward the kitchen where Luc was still watching. Yeza appeared a moment later, confusion melting into surprise before he shuffled past Beau and his son toward Caleb and Veth.
“Bren?” Yeza asked incredulously. Beau watched Caleb lift his head and flash a watery smile to Yeza.
“Hello,” he choked out. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” Yeza agreed, stepping close to clasp a hand to Caleb’s shoulder. “You look well, friend. I assume you’ve found a good place to settle down, then?”
Caleb glanced past the couple at Beau, both of them following his gaze.
“Funny story, actually,” Caleb said with his signature dry wit.
“And long,” Beau chimed in as she leaned against the wall, wrestling her curiosity into submission for now. “How about we talk about it over those cookies Veth mentioned?”
Beau went first, explaining how she had been living at the estate of Lord Babenon and his family for a while, when Caleb showed up. She admitted they had bonded after a rocky start, and that he was here in the city to visit her for Winter’s Crest. Caleb then explained that he had stumbled upon the estate by accident, simply fleeing in the first direction he had picked after leaving the city six years prior. He told the Brenatto couple with quiet and careful words (since Luc was there, too) about the night he left - the horrors he endured at the hands of his professor. He also mentioned the name change, an attempt to further hide himself from his past.
Yeza looked sick as Veth wrapped a protective hand over Caleb’s knuckles on the table. Beau knew Veth could be fierce when she wanted to be, but the look in her eyes now was downright murderous. Beau could relate to that sentiment—she heard all this before in much more gruesome detail, and it angered her even now.
“We...we didn’t know what to think, or where to start,” Veth said eventually. “You just vanished, and no one said anything other than that they had removed you from the school roster.”
“I did not want to risk contacting you, in case they were watching you,” Caleb murmured, eyes flicking between Veth and Yeza. “You already risked so much with the mere intent of helping me escape.”
“We were so close, too,” Yeza said with a shake of his head. “If that night never happened, we would have gotten you out.”
“I do not blame you,” Caleb insisted, eyes flashing. “I never did. Both of you were the only source of hope I possessed back then, and I never forgot you.”
Veth squeezed Caleb’s hand as Yeza wiped at his watering eyes.
“You ran away from school?” Luc piped up, scarcely able to peer over the kitchen table.
“Luc,” Yeza whispered in quiet warning.
“It is alright,” Caleb said with a fond grin. “I’m glad to see he’s as bright and curious as you both hoped he would be. My only regret is that I wasn’t around when he was born.”
He glanced at Veth with a teasing smile, looking lighter than Beau had ever seen him.
“Do you still eat that strange sandwich concoction from when you were pregnant with him?”
Veth made a face and took a half-hearted swipe at Caleb’s arm that drew a quiet chuckle from him.
“Oh, hush.”
Luc turned to Yeza and declared, “I’m going to run away from school, too!”
Yeza looked at the ceiling with a quiet groan as Beau choked out a laugh around her cookie. Leave it to Caleb, of all people, to inspire delinquent school attendance in children.
“Well, my little friend,” Caleb said, leaning forward conspiratorially and immediately catching Luc’s attention. “How about I show you some magic I learned from my former school days to change your mind?”
“Magic?” Luc all but screeched, standing up in his chair to properly see over the table. “Really?”
“Of course,” Caleb grinned, moving to stand already. “Come along, let’s go to the backyard.”
Luc scampered eagerly off after Caleb, already spouting an endless stream of questions. Yeza put his head in his hands as Veth cackled with delight. Beau silently wished Yeza luck with the future wrangling of his energetic son.
When Caleb left that evening to return to the estate, Beau kept him trapped in her hug longer than she usually would. After he was gone, she stared up at the dark ceiling of her room, surrounded by her latest project for the Soul, unable to sleep. Caleb was the closest to home Beau had been in months - a realization that felt like a finger against a healing wound.
She fell asleep to the repetitive rub of her thumb over the ring on her finger.
--
“Luc,” Yeza sighed, hands on his hips. “Let Beau’s leg go. She needs to get home before dark.”
“I don’t want Beau to leave!” Luc cried, glaring mutinously at his parents. Beau chuckled down at him and waved Yeza and Veth off as she crouched down. Luc pulled back from her leg enough to look up at her when she tapped his shoulder.
“Hey little man,” she said. “I’m gonna miss you, too. But I’ve got some important stuff I need to go take care of.”
“Like a mission?” Luc whispered, teary eyes going wide.
“Something like that,” Beau said, smiling. “Someone I care about a lot has been missing for a while. I need to go home and figure out what to do next so I can find her. Plus, I need you to stay here and keep training with that crossbow and the tricks Mr. Caleb showed you. Remember those inks I gave you for your birthday a few weeks ago?”
Luc nodded fiercely, his attention completely fixed on Beau’s face.
“Well,” Beau said, reaching into her bag and pulling out the empty notebook she had swiped from the Soul on her way out. “I want you to keep this journal with you and write about all of your adventures for me. Remember when I told you how important note keeping and documentation are for historical records? If you’re going to go on adventures one day, you’ll need to keep a log of everything for the libraries in the future.”
Releasing her leg, Luc stood up to accept the journal, staring down at it like it held all the secrets of the universe.
“Promise?” Beau prompted, holding out her pinkie.
Luc’s little halfling pinkie barely made it around the width of Beau’s as he grinned up at her.
“Promise.”
With their toddler appeased, Beau could bid Veth and Yeza farewell, promising to visit when she was able. They even mentioned making the trip to the estate themselves, too.
One long journey later—it took her the whole day where she would usually split it over two—found Beau guiding her weary horse to the gates of the estate. The sun had been sliding toward the horizon for a while now, painting the midsummer sky orange and pink. Fjord was the first to spot Beau as she approached the stables, his eyes lighting up before he swept forward to pull Beau into a bone-crushing hug. She squeezed her arms around his shoulders in return, breathing in the clinging scent of hay and summer.
“You’re back!” Fjord exclaimed, tusked grin wide on his face as he pulled away to take her in. “We thought you were coming back tomorrow morning!”
“I pushed through,” Beau said with a nonchalant shrug. “I missed home too much to prolong the trip.”
“Everyone is about to start dinner,” Fjord said, pulling off his working gloves to toss aside thoughtlessly. “Let’s check the kitchens first before we find the Lord and Lady.”
Beau agreed readily, thoughts already turning to the promise of Caduceus’ cooking.
Fjord pulled Beau along, excitement spilling from him as he informed her about the recent additions to the stable. As they walked, Beau glanced around the grounds, secretly pleased to see that not much had changed. She noted the few new stalls added to the stables, as Fjord had mentioned, to accommodate the foals that had been born in the spring. They had replaced some stones in the decorative garden walls near the front entrance of the manor, not as sun-washed and eroded as before. Out in the distant fields, Beau could tell the flock of sheep that presided over the rolling hills had increased.
They passed into the garden that belonged to the kitchen, and Beau felt all the tension bleed from her shoulders. The strawberry vines were heavy with ripe fruit, clinging to their trellises as always. Across the way, she could see the foliage of the beets and carrots poking up from the soil, looking freshly watered. Behind those hung the summer squash, looking ready for harvest. Against the furthest fence stood Caduceus’ personal crop of cornstalks, the ears just visible from where Beau and Fjord were. The raspberry and blackberry vines grew off to Beau’s right, not quite ready to be plucked. Beyond them were a quartet of orange trees, Caduceus’ pride and joy.
The garden was unchanged, as peaceful and organized and well-tended as ever.
Beau stepped into the comforting warmth of the kitchen after Fjord, trying to hide how choked up she suddenly felt. Caduceus glanced up from where he was pouring out cups of tea at the prep table.
“Beau,” Caduceus drawled, his timbre soothing something Beau didn’t even know was unsettled. “Welcome home.”
Caleb looked up from the book he had been hunched over with surprise, smiling when he found her gaze.
“Hey, guys,” Beau said, fighting back tears. “Good to be home.”
Caduceus pulled out a fourth plate after a round of welcoming hugs, setting the table now with her place. They took their time eating and catching up, Beau slowly settling back into her groove among her friends. They updated her on the war, most of the information Beau had already heard in the city. It was dragging on, but they weren’t losing ground to the East. As when she was in the city, Beau didn’t know how to feel about the news, her thoughts occupied by Yasha. A brief trip to greet the Lord and Lady, and an incredibly enthusiastic tackle of a hug from Jester later, Beau finally flopped into her bed. Someone must have been sent to make it up for her when she was being held captive by Jester.
Beau smoothed her finger over the ring and thought about Yasha’s empty room elsewhere in the estate. The thought left a bitter sting at the back of Beau’s throat. She laid her hand over her breast pocket, the familiar shape of the handkerchief pressing back against her fingers.
“I’m home, Yasha,” Beau whispered to her canopy. “I’ll bring you home soon, too—I promise.”
--
“Come on, Beau!” Jester called from further down the path with Fjord. “Hurry up!”
Caleb glanced sideways at Beau when all she did was huff out a sharp sigh, one of his eyebrows lifting curiously.
“You go on ahead,” Caleb called to Jester after a moment. “We’ll catch up.”
Jester hesitated for a moment before her excitement won out and she pulled Fjord along with her. Beau was grateful for all of two seconds before Caleb turned to her again.
“What is the matter?”
“Who said something was the matter?” Beau bit back immediately, giving herself away.
Caleb stared at her, unimpressed.
“I’m just not in the mood for this.”
Beau wasn’t in the mood for anything, to be exact. She had pulled out her handkerchief this morning for her daily ritual of staring at Yasha’s flower, only to find it completely crumbled. Realistically, Beau had known it was only a matter of time. The poor thing lasted almost the entire two years since Yasha’s departure and Caleb’s magic could only do so much. It had been brown and fragile and nearly indistinguishable for a long time now.
Beau wasn’t superstitious, but by the gods, if that didn’t feel like an omen.
“Would you like to be left alone?” Caleb asked quietly at her shoulder, something knowing in his eyes. Beau hated him and loved him for it all at once.
“For a bit,” Beau said after a moment, deflating with the confession. “I don’t want to upset Lady Jester, so I’ll catch up once I’ve composed myself. I know she misses Yasha, too.”
Caleb clapped a hand to Beau’s shoulder, that knowing look still there, and Beau realized they all missed Yasha. Next week was the anniversary of Yasha’s departure, and it was a date none of them intended to celebrate.
“Take the time you need, ja?” Caleb murmured. “But try to enjoy yourself a little before the day is done, too. We all deserve it.”
“I’ll do my best,” Beau promised before Caleb walked off to catch up with Jester and Fjord. She stood in the middle of the path for a moment, feeling unmoored, before picking a random direction to wander in.
When the news reached the estate that morning that a traveling carnival had arrived in town overnight, Jester had been thrilled. She convinced her parents to allow her to attend with the company of some of the household staff. The Lord and Lady clearly hoped to lift their daughter’s, and the staff’s, spirit with the experience. Though not everyone had been as close to Yasha as Beau’s group, she was still a well-liked individual in the household. Her absence ached like a sore spot that had never healed.
So here they were—here Beau was—at the carnival. Townspeople wove around Beau in a steady throng, a constant hum of excited chatter filling the surrounding air alongside the heady scent of alcohol and fried food. In any other situation, Beau would be over the moon, intent on enjoying every moment.
Unfortunately, losing her flower, her anchor, that morning put a damper on the whole day.
She was standing by a stall selling giant pretzels near the main tent, contemplating purchasing one to lift her spirits. Beau was on the verge of deciding when a chilled hand wrapped around her elbow, startling her. Whirling around, ready to throw a punch if necessary, Beau blinked in surprise.
“Hello,” a cheerful, accented voice greeted her. The purple tiefling draped in crimson and decorated with baubles beamed at her bewildered expression.
“Hi?” Beau said, taking a half step back when the tiefling released her elbow. “Can I help you?”
“Not sure yet,” the tiefling said. “Depends on if your name is Beau or not.”
Beau froze, wondering immediately if this was some sort of setup. She hated to think it, but she wouldn’t put it past her father to send mercenaries after her, despite the years that had passed.
“Who’s asking?” Beau asked, voice icy and cautious.
“Ah, of course,” the tiefling grinned again, sharp and amused. “The name’s Mollymauk Tealeaf, but you can call me Molly. And I may be the one asking, but I’m not the one looking.”
Beau raised an eyebrow at Mollymauk, still tensed to throw a punch.
“If I promise you aren’t about to be kidnapped, would you follow me to speak with the person looking for you?”
“That’s exactly what someone about to kidnap me would say.”
“Yes, well, you look like you’d put up a fight, and I’m far too lazy for that.”
It was a bad idea; it was a horribly laughable idea to follow Mollymauk anywhere. But Beau’s innate curiosity always did land her in situations.
“Only because you’ve made me curious,” Beau said begrudgingly after a pause long enough to make Mollymauk look bored. “But I’m punching you at the first sign of trouble.”
“Fair enough,” Mollymauk agreed with a casual shrug. They spun off a moment later, walking around the main tent toward the area marked off for performers. Beau followed them at a more sedate pace, senses on high alert and ready for a fight.
They didn’t have to walk far before Mollymauk paused outside one of the smaller tents tucked away behind the main one. They stood aside and gestured to the entrance wordlessly, a grin playing at the corner of their mouth. Beau hesitated to put her back to Mollymauk, and her distrust must have shown because they took an exaggerated few steps back before gesturing again.
Beau slowly turned her back, still taut with the expectation of a surprise attack. Lifting the flap of the tent entrance, Beau slipped inside, unsure of what to expect. She had to blink against the sudden shift in lighting, a few lanterns brightening the simple interior.
There was a low table in the center of the tent, a discarded tray of food bowls perched atop it. A trunk sat against one wall, clasped shut but likely meant for clothes and storage. The only other item in the tent was a long, low bed, currently occupied.
The figure glanced up from the book in their lap to look at Beau.
They froze at the same moment Beau’s heart plummeted to her feet.
“Beau?”
“Oh my gods,” Beau choked, voice strangled. She stumbled forward and nearly tripped over the table in her haste. “Oh fuck, what the fuck? Yasha?”
Beau all but fell onto the edge of the bed, her hands shaking hard enough that she thought they might stop working all together. But she convinced them to reach up and cup Yasha’s too prominent jawline in her palms. She blinked harshly through her tears so that the vision of Yasha’s face in front of her remained clear.
“Yasha?” Beau whispered again. “Is that really you? Are you real? This isn’t a dream, right?”
Book long forgotten, Yasha braced one hand on Beau’s hip and the other against the side of her neck, asymmetrical irises flitting over Beau’s face. Her eyes were just as teary as Beau’s, a disbelieving smile playing at her lips. Beau realized Yasha seemed paler than normal, her cheeks rather gaunt—but she was warm, and alive, and right in front of Beau.
“I’m here,” Yasha whispered, voice trembling. “I’m here, Beau, I’m alive. It’s not a dream.”
“How?” Beau all but sobbed, curling her fingers into the hair at the nape of Yasha’s neck.
“Ah, now, that would be our doing,” Mollymauk’s voice said from the entrance. They entered with a small jar of water, setting it down on the table as Beau spared Mollymauk a glance.
“We found dear Yasha in the middle of nowhere with several companions, all of them injured and starving. That was...roughly three months ago? And much further east.”
Beau turned her attention back to Yasha, eyebrows furrowed in question.
“After you left, they somehow found out that someone had infiltrated the prison. I still don’t know how they knew, but they warded the prison against magic and treated us...even less kindly than before.”
Beau winced at the news. They had figured as much when Caleb and Jester’s magic stopped being able to locate Yasha, but it still hurt to hear. She opened her mouth, but Yasha cut her off.
“Don’t you dare apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”
As much as Beau wanted to insist that it was, she couldn’t find the strength to argue against Yasha’s steely gaze and gentle hands. When Beau’s argument never came, Yasha continued.
“About five months ago, they were moving us from that prison to another. It had something to do with the fact that the army and territory lines were falling back closer to the prison’s location. They didn’t want to give up prisoners of war and gain nothing in return, so they started moving us further into their territory. I realized pretty quickly they were short-handed and careless, and it didn’t take much for us to overwhelm the guards and escape together. I thought we would run into soldiers from our side of the war as we fled, but we never did. The trip shouldn’t have taken so long, but we were starving and hurt and had to cross the mountains on foot. By the time Molly and the carnival found us, we were barely alive.”
“Thankfully, we got you to a town with a decent medic fairly quickly,” Mollymauk piped up, pouring a glass of water and handing it to Yasha. “We were going to leave them all there and be on our way, but Yasha here insisted on coming along with us once she heard we were heading this direction.”
Beau looked between the two of them, still yet to relinquish her grip on Yasha, processing all the information she now had. It was baffling to think that in the few weeks Beau had been home, Yasha had been traveling here. Beau had been at the Soul, and Yasha had been starving in the mountains.
But she was here now. A quick glance revealed that her injuries seemed to be mostly healed, bandages peeking out from Yasha’s tunic. Gone was the smeared dirt and blood, her hair washed and mostly brushed out. Though she clearly had been starving, there was a weight on her cheeks that hadn’t been there last time Beau saw her in the prison. She smoothed her thumbs over the lines of Yasha’s cheekbones just to prove it to herself.
Beau could sense Molly’s gaze lingering on them as she and Yasha drank in the changes they could see on one another. Gods…Beau had so much to tell Yasha about. But that could wait until after Yasha was in her own room and had gotten more rest.
“I’ll give you two some time,” Mollymauk spoke up as they stood and dusted off their thighs. They exited the tent without preamble, but not without flourish.
Beau buried her fingers back in Yasha’s hair with one hand, the other still smoothing a gentle pattern against the skin of Yasha’s cheekbone. Even now, with her right in front of Beau, solid in her grasp, it was hard to believe. Two years since Yasha left, and close to a year and a half since Beau had seen her—and now the nightmare was over.
“I can’t seem to believe that you’re really here,” Beau whispered. Her thumb trembled as she passed it over Yasha’s skin again. “I keep waiting to wake up.”
Yasha’s eyes went soft and sad before she tipped their foreheads together. The familiar callouses on her palms were diminished with lack of use, but Beau’s face still fit in the curve of Yasha’s palm like it belonged there.
“I know what you mean,” Yasha murmured, brushing their noses together. “Every day I woke up praying I would find myself at home again with you and everyone else. It seems the Storm Lord has finally answered my prayers.”
Beau felt overwhelmed beyond words, wanting to cry and laugh in equal measures but unsure which one should come first. She slid her hands to frame Yasha’s jaw, curling in toward her face, eyes squeezing closed as she pushed their foreheads together with more pressure. Yasha mirrored her almost immediately, thumbs tracing tiny circles against Beau’s skin.
“I’ve missed you so much, Yash,” Beau confessed, her voice watery and barely audible. “It felt like I forgot how to breathe when you were missing.”
“I know the feeling,” Yasha whispered back.
“I want to kiss you so bad right now.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Beau choked on a quiet laugh before she was surging forward to close the scant gap between them, eyes still closed. She used her hold on Yasha’s jaw to tilt her mouth down toward Beau’s as Yasha ducked to meet her halfway.
The last time she had kissed Yasha, they were in a prison cell and Yasha tasted of every horrible thing that had happened to her. She had been wounded and barely upright, and Beau still remembered the searing weight of her lips and the burning taste on her tongue. They had rushed, terrified of being caught.
Yasha took her time now, gentling Beau’s frenetic need for reassurance with the slow slide of her lips. Beau’s first coherent thought was that Yasha tasted like Yasha again. She was something warm and slightly salty, a pleasant nip to the tastebuds. There was a bitter tang of medicine between her teeth that Beau could taste when she licked into Yasha’s mouth. It was easy to ignore when Yasha’s thumbs traced over Beau’s cheekbones.
She was breathless, weightless—completely untethered from her limbs even as Yasha’s hands anchored her. They moved with one another at the pace Yasha set before settling into stillness. Beau found herself content to simply exist, pressed against Yasha, and safe in her hands.
They pulled back eventually for air, just enough to breathe in the other’s space, noses brushing and hands clinging to one another. Beau felt giddy, high on something stronger than adrenaline. She hadn’t opened her eyes yet, lingering in the euphoric haze of kissing Yasha.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the space between their mouths.
“For what?”
“For keeping your promise,” Beau whispered again, afraid to shatter this spell by speaking too loud. “For coming home.”
“Beau,” Yasha’s tone prompted her to open her eyes at last, finding Yasha pulling a little further back, only enough to look her in the eye.
“Nothing in this world could have kept me from you—not even the gods.”
Beau stared at Yasha’s steely, determined gaze for a moment, drinking in her dedication. It was startling to be the source of that devotion, especially for someone who had a history of being cast aside. But Yasha looked at her and spoke as if there was no other option but to return to Beau at the end of it all.
“I love you,” Beau breathed. “I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it all.”
“That’s alright,” Yasha said, face breaking into a soft smile as she brushed a loose strand of Beau’s hair from her face. “Just stay with me, and we’ll find a place to put it.”
Beau huffed a wet laugh, the realization that Yasha was home finally sinking in. She dove forward to wrap her arms around Yasha’s torso, tucking herself into an embrace she often feared she’d never feel again. Forget the estate—home was here, in Yasha’s arms.
“I love you, too,” Yasha said, pressing the words against Beau’s hairline as she dropped a careful kiss there. Her big, warm hand slid down the length of Beau’s spine and back up again.
“I should probably find the others,” Beau mumbled into Yasha’s tunic. She made no move to get up from the bed, though. “But maybe I will after a few more minutes.”
Yasha laughed, a quiet rumble in her chest where it pressed against Beau’s ear.
“There’s no rush,” Yasha said, still rubbing Beau’s back. “We have all the time in the world, Beau.”
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dragonologist-phd · 1 year
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Owlcatober 2022 - #23. “Good”
“But then I thought…even people who do those horrible things…they couldn’t have always been so bad inside, could they? Maybe someone decided they were bad, and told them so, and they believed it.”
A conversation between Ember and Knight-Commander Lilith
AO3
The encampment is a whirlwind of activity, an endless bustle of soldiers running through their training, quartermasters barking orders out to their apprentices, people of all sorts tending to the daily duties that keep the Crusade afloat. The noise and activity never halts- save for the brief moments when the Knight-Commander passes by, during which everyone from the servants to the swordsmen pause to stand at attention and give her a respectful salute.
Lilith gives them acknowledgment as she makes her way through the camp. Their deference is noted, of course, and with no small amount of satisfaction. The army’s time on the road has been short, but already the troops know to respect her- and even, she thinks, to fear her.
The reaction is not undeserved, not after the things they have seen her do, and she decides to be pleased that the people under her command are learning so well.
Her inspection of the camp is swift, and altogether leaves Lilith in better mood than she had thought she would find herself. For once, things are running smoothly. The Hellknights have settled in well, and the protests which rose from weak-hearted soldiers at the news of their recruitment have been firmly snuffed out. Lilith is about to return to her tent and the battle plans within when she is waylaid by an obstacle which, in hindsight, should perhaps not have been so unexpected.
“Lilith!”
If the informal address weren’t enough, the chirping voice has sufficient familiarity to immediately inform Lilith of whom it is that has appeared at her side, even before she wearily glances down at the little elf girl. Popping up at the oddest of times has shown itself to be a talent of this particular companion, no matter how Lilith tries to discourage her from following along at her heels.
“Ember. Do you need something?”
“No,” the girls says happily as she skips along at a quick pace to match Lilith’s long strides. “But I wanted to tell you, I thought more about what you said.”
“I say many things.”
Ember’s answering giggle is soft as a whisper, barely audible over the activity of the camp around them. “That’s true. I’m talking about what you said about only helping people who deserve it. Do you remember?”
Only then does Lilith stop and turn to face the girl. Yes, of course she remembers what she’d told the young witch: Don’t waste your powers on the unworthy.
Ember had been disheartened by those words- as disheartened as someone like Ember ever is, at least. Lilith, on the other hand, had been left somewhat hopeful- perhaps, she’d thought, Ember would finally be dissuaded from this interest she’d taken in Lilith’s war. Alas, it had worked just as poorly as all of Lilith’s other attempts to send the girl away from the Crusade.
“Of course. And what was it you were thinking?”
“Well…at first, I was thinking that maybe you’re right,” Ember says. Her brow furrows as she sorts through her thoughts. “Except the thing is, I don’t know who is worthy and who isn’t. How could anybody?”
“The best way to judge a person is by their actions, I would say.”
“I know. And sometimes people do such horrible things. And maybe they do that because they’re bad, which I guess would have to make them not worthy?”
Ember says this all with a sense of puzzlement, one which Lilith cannot understand. From any other child, she might assume this reluctance to acknowledge the faults of the world came from naivete, but Ember…for all that Ember speaks of childish ideals, she has clearly seen too much to be called naïve.
Yet even now, she shakes her head at her own words and continues on. “But then I thought…even people who do those horrible things…they couldn’t have always been so bad inside, could they? Maybe someone decided they were bad, and told them so, and they believed it.”
Something tightens in Lilith’s chest, but she keeps her expression carefully neutral. “…Maybe so.”
“And that’s bad, isn’t it? Because the person who told them that could be wrong! And so if someone told them they were good, they could believe that too- someone just has to tell them.”
“What is the point of all the conjecture?” Lilith’s tone is harsher than intended, but Ember merely blinks in surprise before her smile returns once more.
“Oh, right! I just wanted to let you know- I don’t think anyone is really bad inside, not all the way. Which I think means that nobody is unworthy. So I decided I’ll never reject anyone, just in case.” She claps her hands together, apparently thrilled with her conclusion, and looks up at Lilith with sunny expectation.
But Lilith doesn’t say anything in response; she can only look down at this child, this cheerful, hopeful, child who somehow looks at the unforgiving world around her and still manages to say things like that. Ember tilts her head, her smile slipping by the smallest amount in the face of Lilith’s silence. “Is that okay?”
“You’re too good for all this, Ember.” The words slip out without intention, heavy and mournful, and it is only a fraction of what Lilith suddenly wishes she could tell this child.
But before Lilith can anything else, Ember’s eyes widen, and suddenly her hands are clasping Lilith’s in a desperate plea. “Oh, please don’t be sad! I didn’t mean to make you sad!”
The sudden touch jolts Lilith back to the present moment, and she swiftly stomps down on the surge of sentimentality. With a brittle smile, Lilith gently pries her hand from Ember’s grasp. “I’m perfectly fine, I assure you. Don’t go wasting your worry over me. You just…you go help people, then, if that’s what you think you need to do.”
Ember gives her an uncertain look, but finally nods and returns the smile. It isn’t until she slips away, back into the crowd of soldiers and generals and mercenaries, that the hollow bitterness returns to Lilith’s chest, and once again she mourns the fact she simply isn’t able to turn this girl away from the battle she has chosen.
You truly won’t be deterred, will you, you strange little fool, Lilith thinks. Not even by people you’d undoubtedly be better off without. Fine. Be stubborn. Just please be smart enough not to let this war destroy you.
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evas-apartment · 7 months
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Also since I'm here two wrestlers dies within a day of each other, and its been bumming me out. One was an old man, who died of old age, which for a wrestler from that era is nice to see. As weird as that is to say. But yeah, Terry Funk died. One of the most influential guys ever, but then the next day, fucking Bray Wyatt died man, at age 36 from a heart attack. Absolutely fucking devastating, he had a wife and a young kid.
Like there is no God. People being robbed of life is all part of the plan yeah? The thanks we receive for unyielding, unquestioning deference, literally drone levels of mindless fellowship is him stealing our blood time and time again. Wrestling is like the only thing I follow, so these are the celebrity deaths that affect me, and if that's silly then fuck off I guess.
Like I'm fine. Of course I'm fine. Some men I didn't know died, life goes on, but it made me sad and this is my blog so I'm talking about it. Especially at his age, that's so not right. You're not supposed to bury your kids. I'm not even an atheist, I just don't give a shit if God exists or not, and if he does, then he's an asshole undeserving of my devotion. That's why I have a wife to dote on.
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