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lunasilvermorny · 3 years

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Maria Black - Harry Potter OC

Introduction:

This is my HP OC that I created a long time ago, when I was around 12-13 y.o. (so, you know... it’s been a while!)

Over the years I’ve developed her story more and more, changed it as I got older and basically kept the headcanon alive for years - but I never wrote about her. Everything I had I kept inside my head, and all the potential stories remained as nothing but a day-dream.

Until today! (or a few days ago, when I came up with the idea.)

It’s time to document this headcanon, even if it’s not going anywhere serious other than some stories and drawings.

I can’t emphasize it enough - I made most of it during the mid/late 2000′s, waaaay before the Cursed Child. So please don’t associate any part of my HC with this terrible excuse of a canon. JKR already proved that her judgement is questionable, so for me the only thing that is canon are the books and my headcanon relates to them and nothing else!

Anyway, let’s dive in!

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Bonus drawing from baby-OP:

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General plot:

Maria is the daughter of the Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange and was born a few months before they were sent to Azkaban. Her aunt Narcissa took her in and she was raised by the Malfoy family.

When she was about 5/6 y.o., she went to Azkaban to see her mother. (in the headcanon, her father died in Azkaban). She got scared by the Dementors and when she tried to find the exit, she came upon Sirius’ cell. This encounter changed her life and made her realize that her family is one of the “bad guys”, and she’s decided to leave the first chance she gets.

The day she left to Hogwarts was the last day she spent with her family.

Since it’s a HP OC-insert kind of headcanon, she befriended Harry, Ron and Hermione and was practically the 4th member of this friend group. So most of the plot of the headcanon correlates with the plots of the books, so I’m going to focus more on the individual parts that doesn’t relate the regular plot.

Before she got to Hogwarts she asked to be referred to as Maria Black and not Maria Lestrange. In the future she’d also legally change her name.

Because she’s decided to never go back to the Malfoys ever again, she was basically homeless for the first two summers away from Hogwarts. She mostly relied on magic (around other wizards, so no one will know she’s a minor using magic) and some friends that let her stay with them every once in a while.

(The is a LOT more, so if you’re interested, keep reading ^^ )

After the 3rd year was over, one of her friends that was an exchange student from Beauxbatons, invited her to spend the summer at his house in France. The reason he wanted her to come over was because his father was a coach for the French junior-league Quidditch team and wanted him to let her into the team, so in the future she’d be able to become a professional player. He knew that she plans on filing for Emancipation of minors, that will strip all the legal rights from her family and free her from them - but for that she needed a sufficient income. Her friend’s father was glad to help and after she showed him her skills, he let her into the team. When she was 15, she got into the professional league. (I based this part of the HC on the fact that Viktor Krum was also a student, when he became a Quidditch star.)

Sirius was the most important figure in her life and became like a father figure to her. Through him, she also felt that Harry and her (although not by blood) were related.

For a long time, the ending of the headcanon was that Maria killed herself after Sirius was murdered, but in recent years I’ve reversed this decision and kept her alive for the duration of the book and beyond that.

During her 6th year, after her mother already escaped Azkaban, she was forced to hide in Hogwarts (she wasn’t allowed to keep her role in the Quidditch team anymore), because Bellatrix made it clear that she’s going to kidnap Maria and force her to join Voldemort’s side.

She was able to avoid this fate only up to the plot of the 7th book, that’s when she was finally captured and held hostage in an attempt to force Harry’s hands and save her. However, before she was kidnapped, Maria asked from the Order and Hermione that if she’s ever to fall captive, to prevent Harry from saving her at all cost, since it’s an obvious trap.

Frustrated by the fact that the trap hasn’t worked combined with Maria’s general resistance, Bellatrix tortured her daughter for the entire duration of her incarceration, mostly by using the Cruciatus curse on her over and over again. At a near-dead state, Bellatrix used the Imperius curse on her to try and make her fight on Voldemort’s side at the Battle of Hogwarts, but Maria was too weak and wasn’t much of use to her in the end.

After the fight, Maria was in a coma for a few months and even after she woke up, she had a very long recovery period. The worst expression of it manifested in her PTSD from the Cruciatus curse that caused her to scream in agony almost every time she went to sleep. At some cases she was in such bad shape that no one was able to wake her up.

After a partial recovery, she returned to her pending career as a Quiddich player.

Her relationship with Fred Weasley:

Maria was fairly popular and had dated a few people (in a non-serious way, due to her age), but her first love was Fred Weasley. They’ve started dating in secret when she was in her 5th year.

During the 6th year, she has prepared him for the possibility of the kidnapping and asked him not to come rescue her if it ever happened.

In the summer after her 6th year, to reassure her that they will both survive the war, Fred gave her a ring and told her that after it’s all over, they’ll get married. (It wasn’t a proposal per se, but an attempt to give her hope when she was sure she’s going to die.)

Maria wasn’t aware that Fred died since she almost met the same fate herself at the Battle of Hogwarts, and found out about it from George after she woke up from the coma.

Her relationship with Neville Longbottom:

At the beginning, no one knew she’s Bellatrix’s daughter. People were suspicious of her during year 3 (after all, she is Maria Black) because they thought she was assisting Sirius (and at some point there were rumors that she was his secret child), but it wasn’t until year 5 that the news about her being Bellatrix’s daughter has spread out by Malfoy.

Maria considered Neville a close friend and was afraid of his reaction once he finds out, but even though he had to get over the initial shock, he told her that he knows that she’s nothing like her mother, that she has proven she’s on their side and that he’s not going to judge her over something that is out of her control.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, during her recovery, she’s met Neville’s parents and also spent time with them while she was admitted. The fact that she was tortured by Bellatrix too was a bonding factor and made her and Neville even closer.

After a few years, Neville and Maria have started dating, but their future together in unknown.

PTSD and irreversible damage:

I mentioned that due to the torture she experienced, Maria suffered from PTSD, caused primarily by the Cruciatus curse. She would have recurrent nightmares that caused her to scream and cry in agony, as her body turned and twitched, as if she was under the curse.

In most cases people were able to wake her up, but in more severe cases, she was able to stay in that state for hours. The worst case was a day and a half without a break. She was taken to the hospital by apparition, but the snap switch in location has severely worsen the situation and she was taken to the ER (or a magical equivalent of an ER), where she was under treatment for days until the outburst finally got under control. She was in a coma for two months after that and had to go through the long recovery once more.

In addition to that, Maria also suffered an irreversible damage in her reproduction system. Bellatrix knew she doesn’t share her purist views, so to make sure she doesn’t “taint” the family legacy with a mixed-blood offspring, she completely destroyed the system, to a point that it was almost impossible to reconstruct, even with magic. Maria went through many treatments, but was eventually considered infertile.

Her relationship with the Weasley family:

Maria was accepted as one of the family back when she was still in Hogwarts.

Even though her relationship with Fred was a secret - Molly, George and Ginny knew about it. After Fred’s death, Molly has told Maria that she still views her as a daughter and said she’s always welcome at their house.

She usually spent the holidays with them and came to visit Molly and Arthur almost every weekend. She usually brought game-tickets to anyone that was interested, especially when she’s started playing for the biggest teams. (Nothing will make me do the proper research of all the Quidditch teams, so let’s just suspend our disbelief just a bit more, because I don’t have a specific name.)

Her relationship with the Malfoy family:

During the year she was Bellatrix’s prisoner, she was held captive at the Malfoys’ mansion. Even though Bellatrix showed nothing but cruelty to her, Narcissa secretly tried to help her, mostly by giving her food during starvation punishments, clean her room and at extreme circumstances - heal her wounds.

Even though she hasn’t set her free, Maria appreciated the fact that Narcissa risked herself by helping her, so after she heard about Lucius’s death, she agreed for a reconciliation.

Although there were some push-backs (especially from Ron), she accepted an invitation for dinner at the Malfoys’ mansion, where she reconnected with both Narcissa and Draco.

After that she came to visit every now and then, although not as frequently as she visited the Weasleys.

Maria and Harry:

As I mentioned before, Maria is basically an OC inserted into the main plot, so she’s best friends with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Harry and Maria always had a sort of sibling connection, that was reinforced by their connection with Sirius. After his death, they referred to each other as the only family they’ve got left. (Even though Maria technically had Tonks, but that’s a story for another time.)

Maria and Ron:

Their friendship was a bit more complicated. Although not romantic in nature, they had a mutual crush on each other at a certain point (but nothing came out of it), and they always had a certain tension afterwards.

They also have very different personalities and got into many conflicts. Ron usually accused Maria of being a fake friend, because she was very friendly in nature and had many friend-groups other than the main three characters. Maria in return accused him of being too judgemental and had a hard time taking him seriously.

However, with all the flaws, they also had many things in common - their love of Quidditch, their disregard to the rules and in general they had a lot of fun hanging out with each other.

Maria and Hermione:

Probably have the rockiest friendship out of the three main characters. They are almost opposites, aside for their academic approach. Maria is more reckless and easy going, and she usually can’t handle Hermione’s stiffness.

Maria was especially sensitive to any criticism of Sirius, and they had many fights over it during their 5th year.

But even though their friendship wasn’t ideal, when it came to real struggles, they were there to support each other, especially emotionally.

Her special connection to Sirius:

Sirius was the catalyst that made her realize that she was born to a dark wizards family. She’s met him only once (before the events of the 3rd book), but it was a strong enough impact that affected her entire world view.

She put Sirius on a high pedestal and saw him as a parental figure. He was the first in the family to openly rebel and she followed his footsteps when she left the Malfoys’ household. This is also the reason why it meant so much to her that she was sorted into Gryffindor and not Slytherin.

During the 3rd year, everyone suspected that she helped sneak Sirius into the castle and was covering for him, since she refused to accept the accusations against him. She didn’t have any proof that he’s innocent and Sirius never told her that he is, but she was determined that he’s a good guy.

After Sirius escaped, he hasn’t kept in touch with her as much as with Harry, but it didn’t discourage her. She had a feeling that he’s hesitant to accept her because she’s still Bellatrix’s daughter and never resented him for it. However, after his death, Lupin told her that Sirius was very proud of her and had greats hopes for her - he just didn’t know how to show it.

Dobby:

Since she grew up with the Malfoys, she has known Dobby her entire life. They were pretty friendly toward each other, but they were instructed not to talk with each other.

Once, she tried to give Dobby clothes to set him free, but because she wasn’t technically a Malfoy, it didn’t work. After that, Lucius forbid Dobby from ever interacting with her again.

AUs:

Did you really think I don’t have like 200 different AUs for this headcanon? Of course I have! I’ve been building this headcanon since I was a literal child!

My favorite AU is the one where Fred didn’t die in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he and Maria got to be together after all. They usually get married (although there is a variation where she broke up with him instead), and in one AU in particular, healers are able to restore her fertility and they have a child together.

Maybe in the future I will make more posts about these AUs.

HPHM

Since Luna is very close with the Weasleys too, in most AUs Maria gets to meet Luna and the two become friends. Luna is also Maria’s private healer, since Maria gets injured a lot during Quidditch games.

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There is so much more!!

But I will leave something for future posts :)

#my art #drawing #my headcanon #hp headcanon #harry potter #harry potter hc #harry potter oc #oc #original character #hp oc #maria black

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izcana · 3 years

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“Darling, I’m Home!”

Disclaimer: I do not Teen Wolf. That credit goes to Jeff Davis. The only thing I own is the plot line. Enjoy! If I'm being honest here I might as well mention that I've never watched a single episode of Teen Wolf (:p) but I've read plenty of fanfiction about it and I did some research on fandom about the plot – hopefully, it's enough! It's canon-divergent anyway so I don't think it'd be that big of a deal but if anything (vital)'s wrong, please tell me so I can fix it straight away!

***

"When are you going to tell them you're married?" Laura asked after dodging yet another crowd of fans. "You can't go on like this forever, you know." Laura was probably right. She's always right. Yet Derek couldn't do it. Separating his personal life from his acting career was the best solution and he was standing by this. Derek felt bad for Stiles, his lovely mate, at home all alone and caring for the precious pups in his stomach. Despite all this...

"I can't, Lo," Derek mumbled, opening the door to the Camaro.

"Why not, Derek?" She demanded, pulling the door angrily, though not with her full force, of course. Being an Alpha wolf meant that she could have ripped the door off its hinges. "Cora announced her marriage to Scott a couple of months ago and she's doing just fine. Plus, if you tell them you're mated, the fans will leave you alone. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"It is, okay, Laura?" Derek glared at the window, pouting at nothing. He hit the horn, though it felt more like a tap to his Alpha senses. "Cora's...different."

"For your information, Der, she's also a very sought after actress. And don't go on saying how you're more popular than she is."

"I wasn't going to," Derek replied simply, rolling his eyes.

Laura flipped her hand dismissively and glared into her phone. Derek scowled at the car in front of him and beeped his horn.

"At least talk to Stiles about this, Derek," Laura implored, her eyes softening at the mention of the said Omega. There was practically no one in the Hale family who disliked Stiles; Talia dubbed him the most adorable little boy and though he wasn't the "ideal" Omega, no one (who mattered, at least) cared and loved Stiles all the same. Derek felt a wave of shame run over him once he remembered how much he's been neglecting the pregnant little were-fox. "He'll probably want you to stay with him. He's pregnant, Derek! Start thinking a little about your mate, shall we?"

"I am, Laura," Derek denied, though he agreed that he really ought to pay more attention to Stiles.

"Your heartbeat skipped. You agree with me, so stop lying!" Laura scolded. Derek silently cursed Alpha werewolf hearing.

"Whatever, Laura, I'll think about it." And that was that. End of the conversation.

***

Derek fumbled for the keys of his apartment, having finally shaken Laura off. "Darling, I'm home!" He called into the loft. Blank silence followed.

Derek wasn't too worried about it since he could hear his mate's heartbeat beating peacefully in the background and the peaceful smell of Stiles. Under normal circumstances, Stiles would already be awake since were-fox hearing was very sensitive (Derek could think about a million other things that were sensitive about his mate but that's beside the point) despite the fact that the bedroom was soundproofed. It only worked for were-wolves and were mainly for the benefit of the Hales, who dropped by at some of the most absurd times. However, after the pregnancy was discovered, Stiles had been sleeping a lot more and he seemed tired every day (not that Derek could blame him).

He stepped into the loft quietly, making sure to drop off his shoes next to the door as his mate had apparently cleaned the hallway earlier today, even though Derek had told him time and time again not to tire himself out – it wasn't good for the baby. Stiles refused to listen, though. Stiles was Stiles.

Perhaps, Stiles might actually listen to him when the pups are almost due...

He tip-toed around the enormous leather sofa Talia had insisted they get and into their shared bedroom. He took off his clothes carefully and stealthily walked to the washroom, turning the shower console to low so it wouldn't disturb Stiles, even though Derek was certain he'd wake soon if he hadn't woken already.

By the time Derek wrapped a towel around his waist and crept into his bedroom to get his clothes, Stiles was already awake, his slightly red-rimmed and puffy amber eyes staring sleepily back at Derek, nonetheless alert. "When did you get back?"

"Half an hour ago," Derek murmured gently. Stiles nodded and stretched, showing off the beautiful milky white skin and the swollen stomach that was full of Derek's pups. Derek and Stiles' pups. "Do you want anything to eat?" Derek now knew from experience that Stiles was always hungry and came up with the most peculiar food combinations.

"Yes, please," Stiles answered predictably. "Can you get some gherkins with whipped cream?" That was one of the "favourites".

Derek went to get the said "favourite". When he came back, Stiles was on the phone.

"Huh? Oh, that. Pause. No, no, he hasn't told me. Pause. Who told you? Pause. Oh, typical. Pause. I'll ask him. Pause. I'm wonderful, thanks. Pause. Bye, Cora! Visit whenever you want!"

"What did Cora want?" Derek asked, setting the cup of herbal tea and the plate of gherkins with whipped cream on the table.

"She told me that you and Laura talked about your career," Stiles said, scarfing down the gherkins. "When were you going to tell me?"

Knowing fully well that lying to Stiles was impossible (were-fox hearing and Stiles being Stiles) he admitted "Never."

"That's what I thought. Cora seemed to think so, too."

"Do you want me to?" Derek asked softly.

"Honestly? This is selfish of me, but I do. I wish you'd be around for my pregnancy. By the pace we're going at now, you won't even be there for the birth!" Stiles cries, and to Derek's horror, promptly burst into tears. He clutched at Derek weakly, as if willing for him never to leave again but not having the strength to stop him.

"It's not selfish, Honey, you're allowed to feel what you feel," he murmured softly into Stiles's peach-scented hair.

"But..b-but..." Stiles stuttered.

"But nothing. If that's what you want, Sweetheart, I'll tell my boss tomorrow to put me on paternal leave."

"I don't want to get in the way of your work, Alpha." That's when Derek knew Stiles was completely gone. He only called Derek "Alpha" if he was in heat or upset. "You seem to like acting so much, I didn't want to slow you down," he added pathetically.

"You're my mate, Stiles," Derek said, sighing. "You don't 'slow me down', you inspire me. Where did you get that idea? I love you."

"You're a movie star! Why are you still with me? You can get someone so much better," Stiles moaned sadly, clutching his stomach when the baby started kicking at his kidneys.

"Listen. I love you, only you, never anyone else, okay?" Derek said, staring straight at Stiles, who was avoiding his eyes.

"Okay," Stiles whispered, his eyes shining with tears. One slipped out and Derek wiped it away. "I believe you."

***

Should I keep doing a/b/o stories? Please tell me in the comments – I've been very interested in a/b/o recently but I didn't know whether I was good at writing it? If you want me to, I can definitely continue; practice makes perfect!

There will be a sequel in response to requests on Archive of Our Own.

Epilogue

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles x derek #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #tw #au #two-shot #mpreg #mpreg stiles #stiles stilinski #derek hale #laura hale #cora hale #scott mccall

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josefavomjaaga · 3 years

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A bit of a misunderstanding

Briefly (okay, not really) back to family trouble and that truely complicated almost-father-son-relationship between Napoleon and Eugène. In mid-February, as related earlier, Napoleon had had Josephine write to Eugène in order to repeat to him an order to evacuate Italy. This had wounded Eugène deeply as he – probably rightfully – saw this as distrust from Napoleon's side. Distrust in Eugène’s loyalty; apparently, Napoleon had felt the need to bring Josephine into this, in order to give Eugène sufficient motivation to remain in Napoleon’s camp.

And, as has also been said, Napoleon in truth had ample reason to question where Eugéne really stood in this struggle. From his private correspondence it becomes pretty clear that Eugène’s only hope for the empire to continue lay in Napoleon making peace, not in him winning. Eugène refused to go along with the plan to evacuate Italy (even if for good reasons), he had never completely given up his correspondence with the enemy (i.e., with his family in Bavaria), he continued to negotiate with Murat (in a way Napoleon could not directly oversee), and he had on several occasions even contacted his Austrian opponent Bellegarde, both on business (armistice) and in private matters: about his family.

The one thing Eugène truely worried about was the fate of his wife and children. He had four kids at the time (three daughters and one son), and Auguste was due to have her next child in mid-April. Eugène was mortified at the idea that Auguste might fall into the hands of enemy troops (or possibly of rioting Italians?) without him being able to come to her aid. (Maybe that’s his childhood memories resurfacing. He had grown up during a revolution, after all; he had lost a father on the scaffold.) In order to make sure nothing would happen to her, Eugène had contacted Bellegarde early on, and Bellegarde not only gave all sort of promises for Auguste’s safety and liberty, but even contacted his emperor. Who actually sent the following note:

Emperor Franz of Austria to the Vice Queen. Troyes, February 18, 1814:

Madam my cousin, Marshal Bellegarde having reported to me the determination of Your Imperial Highness to fix her stay momentarily at the castle of Monza, I pray her to be convinced that this general has perfectly fulfilled my intentions by anticipating all that can be pleasant to Your Imperial Highness. I have just ordered that a guard of honour be formed for your suite: your suite will in any case enjoy the most complete freedom, and I can only regret the reasons which force you, Madame, to a decision which would flatter me in all other respects. I beg you, Madame to accept the assurances of the very distinguished consideration with which I am, Madame my cousin, of Your Imperial Highness, the good cousin,

François.

This letter would reach Eugène and Auguste on March 2. On a sidenote: How all these good cousins and other relatives managed to write all these polite letters while having people fire at their recipients is beyond me. - Anyway, this is the letter Eugène asked Auguste to tell her father about in order to calm Max Joseph’s fluttering nerves.

It should also be pretty clear that this sort of amicable conversation between enemies was not what Napoleon had in mind when it came to defending the borders of his empire. And so, right after having sent off his own letter to Napoleon, defending himself about not evacuating Italy, Eugène received yet another missive from his imperial step-father.

Napoleon to Eugène. Château de Surville close to Montereau. February 19, 1814 My son, the vice queen must immediately go to Paris for her delivery; my intention being that under no circumstances she should remain in a country occupied by the enemy: therefore, make her leave immediately. [...]

This is when for Auguste and Eugène the proverbial shit really hit the fan. What could this be, other than Napoleon’s reaction to Eugène’s disobedience? Napoleon was basically taking Auguste hostage, in order to make sure Eugène would remain loyal to him!

On top of that, Auguste was already approaching the last five weeks of her pregancy, and as she had suffered of bad health after giving childbirth before, she had really not planned on travelling in her state, particularly not on winter roads. But that was not really what infuriated her. She had already been angry about Napoleon before, about the divorce, for him having stripped Eugène of his right to the crown of Italy, and especially for the reproaches regarding the evacuation of Italy. The way Auguste saw it, Eugène was always there, always Napoleon’s last resort, was always called in to clean up other people’s mess, and never did he get any reward for his efforts. In an earlier letter to Eugène she had already written:

I am appalled, my dear Eugène, and I am no longer surprised that the Emperor is abandoned. Is it possible to be more ungrateful than this man is? You who sacrifice everything for him, who have done wonders, to receive reproaches as a reward! No, my friend, I did not expect this last blow which crushes me, I feel all that you must feel at this moment, I am disgusted with this world and with men; it is clear, the family of the Emperor, and perhaps the Emperor himself, is jealous of you, they would like to see you make mistakes. The King of Naples will be forgiven his treason, but they will never forgive you for the reputation and esteem you enjoy. [...]

And now Napoleon ordered her to Paris. Under a pretext, obviously – after all, France was just as menaced by enemies as Italy! The Allied armies were closing in on Paris already. This really was too much!

Eugène’s own reply was still somewhat toned down, stating basically »Okay. I’ll tell her. She won’t like it. And I really don’t know what I have done to deserve this.« However, Auguste this time took to the plume as well.

Auguste to Napoleon. Milan, February 27, 1814.

Sire, Eugène has just communicated to me the order given to him by Your Majesty: it surprised me greatly, for I did not expect that after all the proofs of attachment Eugène never ceases to give you, you would also demand of him to risk the health and even the life of his wife and children, the only asset and consolation he has in this world. If he does not speak on this occasion, it is for me to do so. Without doubt I know his and my duties towards Your Majesty. We have demonstrated this to you often enough, and we have never failed to do so; our conduct is known to all; we do not resort to intrigue, and we have no other guides than honour and virtue. It is a sad fact that our reward has been nothing but sorrow and mortification, which we have borne in silence and with patience. Although we have done no harm to anyone, we have enemies, I cannot doubt it, who seek to harm us in your Majesty's mind; for, if you would open your heart, you would not treat us as you do.

What have I done to deserve such a harsh order of departure? When I got married, I never thought that things would come to this.

My father, the king, who loves me dearly, had offered to take me in when things were going so badly, so that I might be able to give birth in peace. But I refused, fearing that this step would cast doubt on Eugène's conduct, although his actions spoke for him, and I intended to go to France. I have since been ill, and the doctors told me that I would be risking a great deal if I made such a long journey at this time, being already in the eighth month of my pregnancy, and so I decided to retire to Monza, if Eugène was forced to leave Italy, believing that Your Majesty could not find it bad; but I see that you no longer take any interest in what may happen to me, which grieves me deeply.

In spite of this I will obey your orders, I will leave Milan if the enemies should come here; but my duty, my heart, makes it a law not to leave my husband, and, since you demand that I risk my health, I want at least to have the consolation of ending my days in the arms of the one who possesses all my tenderness and who makes all my happiness.

Whatever his fate will be, I will share it, and it will always be worthy of envy, since we will be able to say to each other that we have deserved a happier one, and that we will have a conscience without reproach.

In spite of the sorrows which Your Majesty is causing us, I shall never cease to rejoice in His happiness, and to wish for that of the Empress.

However, this time, they probably really did Napoleon an injustice. He, but also Josephine and Hortense had talked about Auguste coming to Paris for the birth of her child on several occasions before (apparently, all French ladies were convinced that life outside of Paris was unliveable). And Napoleon never made much words about personal matters. (This at least Eugène could have known – Eugène’s invitation to his own wedding had basically read: »Be here! Yesterday, if possible!«) Napoleon indeed answered Auguste very politely:

Napoleon to Auguste. Soissons, March 12, 1814.

My daughter, I received your letter; as I know the sensibility of your heart and vivacity of your mind, I am not surprised by the way in which you have been struck. I thought that, with your disposition, you would have a bad time in a war zone and among enemies, and that the best thing to do for your safety was to come to Paris. I did not tell you this earlier, because Paris was then in danger, and I saw nothing to gain by placing you in the midst of the alarms of Paris instead of those of Milan. But, as soon as the danger of Paris was over, I thought that this journey had all sorts of advantages for your state. Acknowledge your injustice, and it is your heart that I hold responsible for punishing you.

It was – who else - Eugène at the receiving end of the imperial wrath:

Napoleon to Eugène. Soissons, March 12, 1814. My son, I have received a letter from you and one from the vice queen, both of which are extravagant! You must be out of your mind. It is by reason of human dignity that I wished the vice queen to come to Paris to give birth, and I know she is too delicate to find herself in this state among the Austrians. At the request of Queen Hortense, I could have written to you earlier, but then Paris was threatened. From the time when that city is free, there would be nothing simpler today than to come and give birth in the midst of one's family and in the place where there is the least cause for concern. You must be mad to suppose that this has anything to do with politics. I never change my style or my tone, and I have written to you as I have always written to you. It is unfortunate for the century in which we live that your reply to the King of Bavaria has earned you the esteem of the whole of Europe; as for me, I have not paid you a compliment because you have only done your duty and that is a simple thing. However, you have already been rewarded for it, even in the opinion of the enemy, whose contempt for your neighbour is in the highest degree. I am writing you a letter in figures to let you know my intentions.

»What’s up with you two? You gone both totally bonkers now? All I said was: come to Paris!«

This was basically the last »family« interaction between Napoleon and Eugène. At least for quite some time. After Napoleon’s abdication, Eugène did try to contact Napoleon, before and after Josephine’s death. There are three letters from that time, none of which seem to have reached Elba. As for later communications, during the Hundred Days and on Saint Helena, I know there was some, but this seems to have been almost completely about financial issues, at least from Napoleon’s side.

#eugene beauharnais #eugene de beauharnais #auguste von bayern #napoleon #italy1814 #milan #Bellegarde #endofempire #is there life outside of Paris?

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currantlee · 3 years

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Language: English Rating: General Audiences (G) / P12 Warnings: - Fandom: Kingdom Hearts Series: Another 358 Days (Ao3, Tumblr) Genre: Songfic, Romance Characters: Roxas, Xion, Naminé (mentioned), Riku (mentioned), Isa (mentioned) Relationships: RokuShi (Roxas/Xion), Namiku (Riku/Naminé, if you squint) Words: 5,416 Chapter: 1/1 Beta: @theeeveetamer Notes: This is one of my favorite fanfics I’ve written so far, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. The midsummer part, most importantly the custom Xion mentions, is heavily inspired by actual Swedish midsummer customs. Written for RokuShi Week / RokuShi Day 2021 Other Platforms: -

Midsummer was the biggest holiday in Twilight Town, rivalled only by Christmas. However, the way the citizens celebrated was completely different. Christmas was something celebrated in private with one’s family, but Midsummer was celebrated in public with the entire town, akin to a big festival. There was music and dancing, there were lots of food stalls with some of the best this world had to offer, there were competitions in sack racing and tug-of-war… The blur of laughter, chatter and music was audible even on top of the clocktower.

Roxas smiled as he took another bit off his seasalt ice cream. It was wonderful, but he had needed a break. Celebrating for almost three days in a row was incredibly exhausting.

It was a great end for his first year as a normal person though. Well, not quite, it was still a full week until then. They had agreed to not celebrate, since the anniversary of them finally getting their own bodies was also the anniversary of the Second Keyblade War. So much pain had happened on that day and in the immediate aftermath.

It really was a shame they had missed Twilight Town’s Midsummer celebration last year though. Sora had been too busy preparing for the Keyblade War to stop by, and neither Roxas nor Xion knew about the holiday anyway. He couldn’t believe they had been oblivious to it for so long, considering how much time they had spent there as Nobodies. Even Axel apparently hadn’t been aware it was a thing until recently.

Summer in Twilight Town by itself was wonderful. The sunsets looked even brighter than they usually did because there were less clouds in the sky, and it was warm enough to not wear a jacket and exchange the long pants in favor of shorts. But Midsummer? That was an entire league of its own, and even though it was exhausting, Roxas absolutely loved it, just as much as he loved his home.

He’d always hoped for a normal life, but now that he had one it wasn’t perfect, or even as normal as the one he had dreamed of. There was always something that reminded him on his origins, whether it was his therapy sessions, Terra, Aqua and Ven or Riku asking for their help regarding some Keybearer duties or the simple fact that he had a cable port on his left wrist.

But… That was okay. He was incredibly grateful for this second chance one way or another. Besides, it was not like he could change where he came from anyways. Why waste time and energy on it? He liked his life as it was – actually, he liked it even better than the one he’d dreamed of.

There was only one thing that bothered him recently.

It had started when he had been sick with an upset stomach. Xion had blamed herself because she thought she was absorbing his strength again, going as far as trying to leave Twilight Town in the assumption that he would only become better when she did that. It hurt to see her that way, loathing herself with guilt for something that wasn’t her fault at all.

Luckily, he had been able to stop her from doing that, and she had settled on taking care of him instead. She had even managed to brew tea for him, a thought that made Roxas smile to this day, because if there was anything Xion was truly awful at, it was cooking. Something always went wrong even when she attempted something really simple, not that anyone would fault her for it. She still tried her best.

It had taken her several tries, but the tea she had given him had definitely been one of the best Roxas had ever had in his short life. Maybe because it was from her.

He had probably said and done quite a few stupid things over the course of the afternoon they had spent together, since had been so incredibly tired. Roxas’ cheeks heated up slightly. Xion really meant a lot to him. This feeling was one of the most real things he had ever experienced. He wanted someone to feel about him that way – more specifically, he wanted her to feel that way about him.

He had known her for almost as long as he existed, and he couldn’t really remember a time without her. She had been what caused him to think of himself as an individual for the first time, and they had been through a lot together in general. Axel said things like that deepened the bonds between people, and whether he was right about that or not, one thing was for sure: Xion was Roxas’ best friend in a way that Axel could never be.

Roxas didn’t want to lose what he currently had, and especially not the people he cared for. Naminé, Axel and by some extension Ven were the closest thing to a family he had, even though Ven wasn’t around as much. Roxas couldn’t imagine living without them anymore, just as much as he couldn’t imagine living without the friends he had made over the past year.

Losing Sora had already been tough enough. Roxas had gotten a lot better at handling his emotions, but he was sure that handling another loss would be tough, even if it was Isa. But losing Xion again… The thought of it alone was unbearable and his eyes even got a bit watery when he thought about what he would do without her.

She was special to him, Roxas had known that for a long time. He had never thought much more about it though, not until recently, when he had upset his stomach. What was that feeling he held for her, and her alone?

Could it possibly be… Love?

He had asked Axel about it when that question first crossed his mind, but for once his friend didn’t have an answer. ‘That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself, Roxas,’ was what he had said.

Roxas sighed. Maybe he should talk to Xion about it…

“Hello Roxas!”

Wow. That really was perfect timing… He smiled.

“Hey Xion.” He motioned to the space beside him. “Do you want to take a seat?”

She nodded and sat down next to him.

Maybe this was a good time to address what he had just been thinking about. On one hand, the clocktower felt like a personal place, and they were alone today. On the other hand – even though people rarely came up here, which was one of the reasons why this had been their preferred meeting place back in their Organization days, it was still a public space.

Even though Xion had gotten a lot better at dealing with emotions as well and her color changes provided a good aid at determining her feelings, she was still a lot worse at it than Roxas himself was. She still couldn’t even name what she was feeling most of the time. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by any means, especially because knowing Xion, she wouldn’t be able to tell him that he was making her feel that way. Sure, she’d get green freckles at some point, but by that point, she would already have to feel really uncomfortable – and even then, she could still try and suppress the freckles because she didn’t want to upset him. Roxas didn’t want to take it that far under any circumstances.

Besides… How did one even start something like this? Surely saying something like ‘Hey Xion, can we talk about my feelings for you? I’m kind of confused’ wasn’t the best way to go…

“Say, have you heard about that custom that if you place seven different kinds of flowers under your pillow tonight you’ll dream of the person you’ll marry?”

Roxas nodded. Olette had been going on about it for days. “It sounds just like another midsummer superstition to me though.”

Xion shrugged. “Well, Naminé seems to be absolutely convinced it works.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t dream of Riku then,” Roxas said with a light chuckle and finished the last bit of his ice cream.

“You still don’t like him him, do you?”

Well, his relationship with Riku was admittedly a difficult one.

On one hand, Riku was Sora’s best friend. They had grown up together, almost like brothers since Sora’s mother had often looked after Riku when they were younger. Roxas did feel somewhat sorry for Riku due to his rather complicated family issues, or what he knew about them, but on the other hand… He still couldn’t forget what Riku had done to him.

Roxas understood how Riku felt about Sora. After all, he felt similar about Naminé. If she were to fall asleep for a year, Roxas knew he would do just about anything in order to help her wake up again too, even if that meant asking Riku to kiss her.

But taking someone else’s existence away? Ruining a life? It had been so unfair, and Roxas couldn’t help but hate Riku for it, despite how kind he was to Naminé (and really all of them) and everything he had learned about him over the past year. Again, Roxas wasn’t very good at forgiving.

He sighed. “Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

Xion nodded, but didn’t say anything. Roxas was grateful for that, he wasn’t really in the mood for talking about his complicated relationship with Riku, or Isa for that matter. Maybe someday, he could find it in his heart to forgive them both – but not today. Especially since there was something else he wanted to discuss with her…

“I still can’t believe that we’ve been living like this for a year now.” There went his chance at doing so. She had already settled on a new subject. If he could just think of something “No one threatening to turn us into Dusks, no daily missions… Just Axel, Isa, Naminé, you and me…”

“Is something bothering you, Xixi?” He couldn’t hold it back anymore. This tone was so off for her.

Xion shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, really,” she said. “But recently, I've been confused by my feelings for you.”

He didn’t see why it should… Wait! “You too?”

“What do you mean by…” She stopped, and her eyes widened a bit. “Roxas… Don’t tell me you’re feeling weird about me too.”

He sighed and nodded. “I do, as a matter of fact.”

Xion bit her lip. “How… How do you feel?”

Roxas shrugged. “It’s… Well. It’s something different than I feel for the others, I think…”

“Does this mean we can’t be friends anymore?”

Oh no. He hadn’t meant to upset her. Hastily, Roxas shook his head. “No, of course it doesn’t!”, he assured her. “I’m just saying that you’re special to me, Xion, that’s all.”

“Special…”, she whispered, lifting her head, but still not looking at him. Instead, her gaze wandered to the sun on the horizon. She obviously needed some time, so he decided to say nothing and turned to watch the eternal sunset as well, in order to give her some privacy.

Twilight Town’s sun wandered across the horizon, it just never really rose, at least not during the day. It did change with the seasons however, in winter it was a bit lower than in summer.

During daytime, the sun would wander across all four points of the compass. When it was in the North, it marked a new date for the citizens of Twilight Town. When it was in the east, the colors of the sky changed to softer pastels, and it was usually when Roxas, Xion and Naminé would get up to go to school. When it was in the South, they would usually have lunch, and on Wednesdays it was when lessons were over. And getting closer to the west, the sky would gradually fade into the bright reds, and eventually purples when it neared the North.

Currently, it was somewhere between South and West, and the sky was colored in warm, glowing pinks and oranges. On this day, they were even brighter than usual. Maybe because midsummer was the day when Twilight Town got closest to an actual sunrise, the day with the greatest amount of light. Starting tomorrow, it would only ever get darker until around Christmas, hence why the day was so special to the citizens.

“You’re special to me too, Roxas.”

Huh? He turned to Xion, surprised by her speaking up all of a sudden. She was smiling at him, and his heart jumped. He was special to her too. He was special to her too!

… But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel that she was… Something still wasn’t quite right. “Xion?”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just… I just wish I could tell you how.”

“Hey.” Xion’s hand was resting on the floor between them, and Roxas placed his on hers. When she didn’t pull away, he squeezed it lightly, in an attempt to reassure her somewhat. “Knowing that is enough for me Xixi.” Sure, he would like to know what this feeling of his was, but simply knowing that he was special to her too made him incredibly happy.

“But it isn’t enough for me.”

That was something else.

Xion sighed. “I want you to know how I feel about you,” she continued while purple freckles appeared on her skin. “But I just… I lack the words to describe it, as usual.”

She sounded so incredibly frustrated that it hurt, especially because he had no idea how to help her with this, or at the very least, cheer her up a little bit. “Maybe there is another way than words,” he tried anyways, even though that probably wasn’t any help either.

Xion drew her hand away and reached into her pocket, but clearly hesitated. Did he say something wrong?

“There might be another way,” she said quietly. It was almost a whisper. “But… You won’t like it.”

This admittedly made him a bit nervous – but he didn’t care. Showing him how she felt about him somehow was clearly important to her. It didn’t matter whether he would like the alternative for words or not, as long as it helped to make her wish come true. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. “What is it?”

Xion took a breath, then she pulled her hand out of her pocket. She was holding a red cable with two equally shaped plugs on both ends. They were flat and fairly narrow, and the metal part was just a bit shorter than the plug of Roxas’ headphones. He swallowed at the sight of it – he knew this particular cable and what it meant, even without Xion saying it.

“We could try to sync.”

The issue with that was not that he didn’t know whether it was safe or not – Even had actually tried this out together with Xion and Naminé not too long ago. The issue wasn’t even that Roxas had never attempted a sync himself before.

It was just that he was incredibly scared of getting a cable plugged into his wrist. Even thinking about it gave him chills.

Sure, doing it enabled him to do some cool stuff, like not having to pick up his gummiphone every time he wanted to switch songs when listening to music, but being connected to some sort of computer always made him feel like a Nobody again.

Even had once explained that human bodies, which Replica bodies emulated, worked in cycles, or rhythms, out of which the heart was only the most obvious one. They changed frequently in relation to physical activity and environmental factors, but also in response to emotions – and reverse. If the rhythms were influenced by an external factor, like music (probably the reason why music had been a taboo in the Organization), emotions could be influenced as well. Even called it the physio-psychological correlation.

Machines had rhythms too, but contrary to the many harmonious rhythms of a human body, which created a flow, theirs were a completely synchronized pulse.

Whenever some kind of data was transferred between a computer and a Replica body, some kind of synchronization was needed to establish a connection. While his body emulated human rhythms most of the time, it could also sustain itself on a machine rhythm, at least temporarily. But doing so had an effect on his emotions – it made him apathetic, like the machine was actively suppressing his emotions. Like he was back to zombie stage again.

That was why he preferred to avoid using his port as much as possible.

He knew Xion wasn’t a computer, even though she, like him, was technically a human-machine-hybrid. She probably had a flow as well, as opposed to a machine’s pulse, so it wouldn’t feel the same, but still… And what if their bodies jumped into “machine mode” in order to sync?

Roxas sighed. He was about to say “no” – but he couldn’t, because it was Xion who asked this of him. Xion, who wanted him to know how she felt about him so badly. How could he say “no”?

He swallowed. “Okay.”

“Roxas, you know you don’t have to do this for me…”

“I know,” he said. “But I’m going to do it anyways.”

“Roxas…” The look on her face made his heart beat faster. “Thank you.”

Xion was beaming, and for a moment, it was like she was the sun. He even felt a lot warmer than before. Whatever was coming – this alone made it worth it.

“Do you want to go first?”, Xion asked kindly as she handed him one end of the dual cable.

Roxas sighed. He knew she was trying to make it a little easier for him, but nothing would ever change the fact that he hated sticking a cable into his wrist. Nonetheless, he reached for the end of the cable she offered him – but he hesitated taking it. The thought of pushing a cable into his wrist gave Roxas chills, but actually doing it made him feel sick to his stomach. He knew it wasn’t the same but…

His hand trembled. He couldn’t do this.

“I’m sorry, Xion.”

She shook her head. “It’s alright, Roxas. I know you hate this.” She lowered her head. “I think I’m the one who has to apologize to be honest. I shouldn’t have asked this of you…”

She shouldn’t apologize, Roxas thought. It wasn’t her fault after all. He had held out hope that he could do this for her, only to disappoint. If anything, it was his fault. Why couldn’t she just be mad at him for this?

“Don’t apologize, Xion.”

He couldn’t leave it like this. He just couldn’t. This was important to her. But to do it, they had to get that cable into his wrist somehow. And if he couldn’t do it himself…

Roxas stretched out his left arm towards her. His hand was shaking, but he didn’t care. Anything to make this possible – for her. “Can…” He swallowed. The words felt like they got stuck in this throat.

“Can you do it for me, Xixi?”

It came out as a whisper, so quiet that he almost wasn’t able to understand what he was saying himself.

But Xion heard him anyways. She looked at him in surprise. “Roxas… Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Please.”

Roxas was used to other people doing it for him, ever since the first time shortly after the hospital situation. Even had been the one to do it and while he had been rather careful, it had taken Roxas completely by surprise, since no one had bothered to tell him what the weird thing on his wrist was for in the first place.

After that, he had never really been able to shove the cable into his own wrist, unlike the other two. Even Naminé didn’t bat an eye when she did it, although he knew she didn’t like the feeling of being connected to a computer either. So at least he wasn’t alone with that. Sheesh, he would never understand how Xion didn’t mind that aspect of their existence, and even enjoyed it at times!

Roxas flinched when she finally took his hand.

He realized Xion had never done this for him before, which was kind of funny since he usually needed help with it, either because his arm was shaking too much or he outright couldn’t do it by himself like now…

He gasped when he felt her gently rubbing her thumb across his hand.

Roxas had expected a firm grip on his wrist and her just getting over with it, simply and plainly like everyone else did. But Xion…

“You’re tense,” she murmured as she ran her other hand up his arm, brushing his skin with her fingertips.

To his surprise, Roxas found himself relaxing a bit, even as she slipped his wristband up his arm. It hid his port underneath, and Roxas never took it off unless he had to wash it (he had a few spares), and he wore a different, water-resistant one for showering. They all did.

The port itself was pretty unspectacular. If one didn’t look closely, they might even have overlooked it. It was really just a slight bump on his skin, with a hole that faced into the direction of his palm. Still, Roxas didn’t like seeing it – and yet, he couldn’t look away whenever it was not covered…

“Look at me, Roxas.”

… except for when he looked at Xion. He could always look at her, even when she wasn’t looking at him like now.

“What color are my freckles?”

“Uh…” He swallowed. “They’re blue.”

Out of all her colors, blue was the most mysterious one. By now, he had been able to figure out the meaning of each one he had seen on her, except this one. Blue seemed to appear completely by chance.

“Can you tell me which kind of blue?”

That would be more difficult. He was pretty sure Naminé could have instantly named the exact hue, but Roxas wasn’t good or even interested in that stuff too much. So he just tried describing it instead.

“It’s a vibrant one, but not too…” What was the word again?

“Saturated?”, he guessed. “I don’t know, Xion, it’s hard to describe…”

“Can you try it anyways?”, she asked.

Roxas nodded. “It isn’t a bright blue,” he continued. “I think it has a certain… Depth to it?” That sounded incredibly stupid… “It’s actually a really nice color, pleasant to look at…”

“Okay, that’s enough for me.” She looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Xi-…” He felt her pulling his wristband down again, gently and carefully, and when he looked at his wrist once more, he could see the cable poking out from underneath. Now he understood what she had been doing – and it had worked. Roxas hadn’t felt a thing.

A grateful smile washed over his face. “Thank you, Xion. For distracting me.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, Roxas. For agreeing to this.”

How could he not? This seemed so important to her…

“Ready?”

Xion had taken the other end of the cable, and looked ready to put it into her port. For a short moment, Roxas was about to panic once more, but he tried to keep it down. For her.

He swallowed and nodded. “Ready.”

“Alright.”

Roxas took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he braced himself for the unknown.

His eyelids twitched.

Being connected to each other felt a lot different than being connected to a machine. Sure, there was this sudden awareness of the many different rhythms his bodies usually worked in and the flow created by this, but he couldn’t feel a steady, rhythmic pulse on the other end. Instead, Xion had her own unique flow, one that felt much calmer than his own, despite how unpredictable it seemed at the very same time.

Roxas would have liked it, if he wasn’t so terribly aware of how his own flow was heavily affected by his nervousness, and how it could theoretically affect her as well. They were connected after all. Even if it didn’t happen by accident, Roxas was well aware that they needed to establish some harmony between their flows for Xion’s idea to work, which meant…

Xion lightly touched his fingertips. “It’s okay if you don’t want to continue,” she whispered. “We can stop.”

Roxas shook his head. “I just don’t want to affect you, Xion.”

“Let me worry about that part,” she said, and Roxas could have sworn she smiled, despite not seeing it because his eyes were still closed. “Just try to relax, okay?”

He trusted her. “Okay.”

With that worry out of the way, he tried to focus on the connection, on her flow over his own. It felt pleasant – and warm, which surprised him a bit, because he hadn’t thought it could feel that way. Even though he knew that this could change at any given time, especially with him on the other end of the connection, it made him feel a bit calmer. He distantly wondered how his own flow felt like to her for a second.

Until both flows just… Dissolved.

One by one, his individual rhythms seemed to dissect themselves from his flow, dissolving it entirely in the process. There was no longer a messy flow, there was a multitude of rhythms now, more or less harmonious with each other, and every single one rather fast compared to Xion’s calmer ones.

This was overwhelming. It was too much.

Roxas pressed his eyelids together more tightly. He wanted to scream… No, he just wanted it to stop. But who knew what would happen if he just cut off the connection now…

In an attempt to distract himself, Roxas started to hum a little tune.

It was nothing he had ever heard before, completely improvised. That way, he had to focus on matching the individual notes rather than simply repeating something he already knew. He did this often when he tried to calm himself down.

To his surprise, Xion joined in after a few notes. Roxas almost stopped humming himself. Xion almost never hummed, let alone even sang. While she did have a wonderful voice in his opinion, she just didn’t like using it very much, and Roxas respected that. She didn’t have to if she didn’t want to.

But now she did, and Roxas loved every single second of it, especially since he got to hum and create a tune alongside her. They stringed it together, note after note, and while Roxas provided the melody and Xion the accompaniment in the beginning, he soon found that he couldn’t quite tell which was which anymore. What had started as an improvised tune soon evolved into a harmonious overture, by no means perfect, but pleasant to listen to.

Suddenly, there was a new flow between them.

Their rhythms weren’t completely synchronized, but harmonious in a way that allowed them to melt into each other, while still being individuals – a bit like the music they created.

By now, he could not just feel her flow on the other end of the connection. He could feel her entire being, like they were becoming one for as long as this connection lasted. Despite that, Roxas still felt like himself, and he knew Xion did as well. He… He even liked being connected to her like this. Even if it meant shoving a cable into his wrist… Actually, he could get used to that, if it meant they could do this more often.

Xion was amazed how that little bit of humming had helped Roxas to calm down and form this connection. She definitely wasn’t going to become an enthusiastic singer, but she didn’t regret using her voice this time, just like Roxas didn’t regret letting himself in for this experiment. They both enjoyed the connection.

He reached for her hand by moving his own forward a bit, so their palms were touching. The touch was like a question, asking whether she was feeling the same.

Xion gently laced their fingers together. His hand was so warm, and the touch prickled a bit on her skin due to excitement.

Xion’s feelings were different from Roxas’, but they felt just as strong. She didn’t have the urge to protect as much as he did, and the metaphorical butterflies in her stomach were something Roxas had never experienced at all. He knew the warmth that came alongside them however, as well as the feeling of being about to overflow.

It was something Xion felt for no one else, a deep-running connection that went far beyond the current harmony of their bodily rhythms. Far deeper than it was reasonable. She didn’t care about that however, all she wanted… Actually, she didn’t want anything right now. Just having Roxas here with her, alive and well, was more than enough for her. He was more than enough for her.

He had his flaws, by all means, just like she did. Neither of them were perfect, and maybe they weren’t even perfect for each other, but neither of them cared. Who they were and what they saw in each other – they didn’t want to change any of that.

Their only wish was to stay with each other like this.

Xion opened her eyes and smiled. “So…” She sounded quiet, almost reverent. “This is… Love?”

Roxas still didn’t know for sure. But was there really a way to know for sure at the end of the day?

He shrugged. “Does it really matter?”, he asked. “All I know is that…” How was he supposed to say this? There wasn’t really a description… It was something just between the two, and nobody else. It was real – a reminder that they were real too. Nothing could ever change that. Roxas gave up. There was no reason to not say it like that.

“I think I love you, Xion.”

In that moment, the butterflies of light in Xion’s stomach were finally released for good. They had waited too long for the right time to fly, and now it was finally there. It was like an explosion of emotion, strong enough to even invoke physical feelings – the complete opposite to the empty void that had been their existence as Nobodies. They went everywhere, brightening up their surroundings as they filled it with all the colors they were made of. Roxas felt like a few of them brushed his skin.

Xion brought her free hand to his cheek. She only touched him lightly with her fingertips, as if she were asking a question, and Roxas answered it by leaning into it. Not too much, but enough to feel her palm too.

“Roxas…” He knew what she was going to say, but nothing could replace the feeling of hearing it from her with his own ears.

“I love you too.”

And with that, the music evolved into a symphony.

A tear dripped on Xion’s fingertip, and Roxas realized that he was crying. And Xion – a few tears ran down her cheeks as well. They were both overflowing now.

Roxas sighed in bliss and leaned his forehead against hers. He didn’t want this moment to end, but since everything eventually did, he wanted to relish in it as much as he could. “Can I kiss you?”

He knew her answer already, thanks to the ongoing connection between them, but hearing it from her just felt so much better.

Xion smiled, and he could swear her blue freckles had gotten more intense. Now he finally knew what they meant. “I was just about to ask the same.”

Love is free, free is love Love is living, living love Love is needing to be loved – John Lennon, Love

#RXWeek2021 #RokuShi Day #Kingdom Hearts #KH Fanfiction #RokuShi #Roxas #Xion #Fandom #Fanwork #Fanfiction #RokuShi Week #RokuShi Week 2021 #RokuShi Day 2021 #Currantlee writing #Currantlee completed #Currantlee completed Story #Currantlee completed KH Fanfic

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rachelillustrates · 4 years

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An Exploration of Kiliel

OKAY, fandom thoughts on my art blog because of Story Study.

My Wife and I finally watched The Hobbit movies, so I’ve finally gotten to Kiliel (..... ❤ ) and I have some headcanons/thoughts about Tauriel’s introduction to the story, the flow of their romance, and what’s important.

(So this will be part meta, part headcanon as I sort that out.)

What’s striking me right away - other than the fact that I came into these movies ALREADY shipping them and am damn pleased about it, thanks Tumblr - is that we are given.... well, bupkis on Tauriel’s motivations and backstory. And the person I’m watching these movies with, who I love very much, was quick to point out that her introduction and immediate positioning as a Romantic Female Lead could read very shallow to the casual viewer.

(Which I am not, thank the Gods.)

So, what of Tauriel’s backstory and deeper life goals? Digging into the fandom, I found notes that her parents were killed by Orcs when she was young, and that Legolas took her under his wing afterward (making him her mentor, and thus making the idea of their romance even less attractive to me, since that means he would hold even MORE sway and authority over her and there would be very little equality for her there. Also, Gimli).

But that’s it. And we’re not given that in the main plot of the movie at all.

What we are given is the information that she’s conscious of the dangers to the outside world, and wants to protect her people by stopping those dangers at the source, despite contrary orders from her King.

So what I think the movie intended, with that scene where she talks to the Elvenking about her concerns and how she immediately chooses to go after the Dwarves later - motivated primarily by the thought of saving Kili - is that Tauriel has a deeper drive to help save the whole world from the threats she sees to it. Because of what happened to her parents, because she knows the spiders are coming from outside their borders, etc. The featurette “Tauriel: Daughter of the Forest” says of her “She has a great curiosity of other races, of the world outside - she literally hasn’t been anywhere...” (mentioned in part 2, part 1 is here). So, to me, her motivations for leaving Mirkwood include that - as well as saving this Dwarf she feels an inexplicably deep bond with already.

On that note, I wish they had gone a bit deeper into her and Kili's immediate connection than what we were shown. I do appreciate how she insisted on fending for herself, in their Battle Couple introduction, and how Kili immediately accepted her for who she is - the trousers joke was, admittedly, a little uncomfortable for me due to personal reasons, but I think it could be read as him meeting her aggression in battle with aggressive flirting, and in that light, her positive response to it (in what she said to Legolas, and in returning to check on him of her own volition) makes a lot more sense to me. And while I really enjoyed and understood the Feast of Starlight scene, those less romance-genre minded than myself may not have understood that as deep "enough” (for more of the intentions of the plot in that scene and the take the actors had on it, click here. Includes a hysterical Leoglas moment at the end!).

Rewatching it, I do see and recognize how deep their connection is and how meaningful what they choose to share of themselves is - especially with the idea of Kili honoring and respecting (nay, being attracted to) her ferocity, and the fact that most of her kin probably don't automatically respect her for such things. The sexism among the Elves is not as bad as it is with humans, but it is still there. Who knows how much Tauriel has had to fight for her place as the Captain of the Guard, being a woman. And again, it probably wasn’t as bad for her as it was for, say, Eowyn - but no matter how much space there is for women to step up and be active agents of the story in the mythology of the world, Tolkien didn’t choose to make women part of the action, actively, most of the time. So the world still reads as a mostly Men-at-War, Women-at-Home place. And that has to have had an impact on Tauriel’s life. And in addition to how charming Kili is, just as himself, the fact that he sees that part of her, respects her and admires her FOR it, must hold a lot of weight.

Another part of what I've seen, in re-immersing myself in the fandom now, has been this idea that both Kili's culture and Tauriel's culture have an idea of soulmates, the One person who, when you meet them, shakes you to your core, and you are never the same again. I really think that's what the writing was going for (see Evangeline Lily’s comments in part 2 of “Tauriel: Daughter of the Forest,” particularly), but it wasn't given the space and depth that it needed to be apparent on surface level of casual viewing.

So, from my fangirling perspective, I imagine that they both felt that right away, but were so surprised by it - because of the unexpectedness of their circumstances, and the animosity between their peoples- that they didn't know how to handle it, and fell into awkward humor, and slightly clumsy attempts to get to know each other as they tried to sort it out.

I imagine that Tauriel's outright denial of any connection to Legolas, and immediate acceptance of his father's racism toward her in that context, was also swayed by her newfound feelings. They (Tauriel and Kili) probably did talk more, as well, about their families and their deepest dreams after the Feast of Starlight scene cut off. We just aren’t given that information.

(Anyone else for a romantic adventure Kiliel-centric mini series?)

Then of course, we are given the healing scene. What I got from this, beyond their romance, was that Tauriel always looks to be helpful. When she takes the athelas from Bofur, she looks like she’s had a revelation. She realizes she can help, she can heal Kili, and that gives her an outlet of action for all the confusing feelings she’s having. She goes right into business mode about that - and Kili, all pained and fevered, barely realizes it’s her. But when he does, he looks at her in wonder (with a fever-dream angelic view of the magic around her, even! Sidenote - I LOVE how messy her hair was. Both beauty and realistic adventure life). And she looks back at him with such serious kindness, telling him to trust her, without words. Of course, he does....only to then believe that she wasn’t there at all, and spill his heart out to this apparition of the person he already knows he loves.

And in that, he is so sure that she’s beyond his reach, even though he knows he loves her already. Even though as he talks about how she’s on another level of existence than his, his action is still to reach for her hand, still reaching for her, despite the words he’s saying. He still wants to believe it is possible - that they are possible - even as he’s trying to accept that they can never be.

Which, of course, leads into the beach scene. After the whirlwind of surviving Smaug’s attack, too (extra shoutout to the writing there, regarding Tauriel and Bard’s children - she’s aware enough to realize that Bard’s son is the only one of the three of them that might have had any sliver of training for situations like this, because human misogyny, so she uses that to protect all of them - “Your sisters will die if we stay here,” etc. - but as soon as he runs off to help his father, she still makes the girls her priority, as well as the Dwarves. Headcanoning that if Kili had survived, and they married and moved into Erebor, she would have damn well taught those girls how to fight).

Anyway, back to the beach. I think my favorite part of that moment, other than the Heart Wrenching Perfection of what Kili says to her (and how it’s acted!), is that he has realized that she wasn’t a fever dream after all - that he did, in fact, say all those potentially embarrassing romantic feely-feels things right to her actual face - and instead of being embarrassed, he just GOES for it. He is that sure. Sure enough, that even when she can’t let herself reciprocate his feelings (even though she clearly does - and she doesn't say no, btw, she is interrupted by Legolas' arrival and thusly the reminder of her duty and her 'place') he then gives her the token from his mother, to let her know she’ll always be in his heart, no matter what she decides. And he almost doesn't, he almost leaves, but turns back in the last moment, in that desperate, loving attempt to try again. No matter how impossible it seems.

MY freaking heart.

Also, when Tauriel then learns of her banishment, she looks shaken at first - but quickly, almost relieved. See here, at about 39 seconds in. She has clearly been fighting against her own heart each moment since Kili came into her life - even though, as I mentioned before, he provides a grand excuse for her to go help other people beyond Mirkwood’s borders. And now, released from the obligations she has to her people, to her King, who doesn’t fully respect her anyway, she is free to do what she could not just moments ago. She is free to choose her own path - to follow her heart, and her ambitions to help the world.

Of course, she follows Legolas first - the path of least resistance being to follow her mentor and Prince. And I get from that that she’s shut herself off from her own emotions for so long - likely due to her parent’s death, early in her life - that she really doesn’t know what to do with herself, in that freedom, and in love. So, following her nearest authority figure, giving herself a moment to breathe and decide later, seems natural.

But, luckily, that path leads right back Erebor.

And unluckily, right into the tragic ending.

But first, she confronts the Elvenking (who has banished her, and therefore freed her, though that was not his intention) about his refusal to stay and help. His concern for his own people, again, will lead to them not being there to save the lives of others suffering in the world around them. And she’s not having that - in general, even if a large part of it is her love for Kili. The script focuses only on that love - with Thranduil refusing to accept that she really loves Kili, comparing what he imagines she feels to what he felt for his late wife, it seems - but there is so much in her whole narrative that has already pointed to her desire to help the whole world, even before she lets herself start feeling for Kili. And this moment plays right into that deeper motivation.

Of course, her story being a romance, finding and protecting Kili is her first priority. And sadly, that goes, as we know, badly.

It bothers me a LOT that she “had” to be damseled in the Big Fight. BUT. We at least get the strength of their connection before she gets trampled by Bolg (and the surety of her voice when she calls for him, and the focus that hearing her, and his calling back out to her, gives him - yes. It’s subtle, but its very strong and very there). And at least they get to see each other one last time - Kili knows, no matter what happens, she chose to come after him after all.

And all the emotion, in her watching him die, and him realizing what they’ve lost even though she did choose him.....ugh. My heart, again. They are both just so clearly broken - Tauriel so confused, not able to accept that its come to this, after she chose to find him, after everything. Kili so brokenhearted that after all his hoping - after she chose him back - they still can’t be together (not to mention the fact that he’s just lost his brother, too, the only other person we see him love as intensely as her). And then, in the last moments of (this part of) the fight, when Kili is gone and Tauriel is alone again, her pain is so great, her anger so clear, her love so deep, she is willing to use her own momentum and throw herself off the tower’s edge with Bolg, just to try and make for damn sure that he pays for what he’s done.

(I will forever maintain that the fact that that didn’t kill him - that SHE didn’t get to kill him - is a travesty. Especially with his murder of Kili, but also for the gross tongue thing. Very uncomfortable with what that implied.)

I’m gonna skip over the intervention of Legolas to save her life, cause that’s not important here, suffice to say that once again I am Pissed as Hell that they felt the need to damsel her so much. Sigh. I must assume, from a writing standpoint, that they chose to nerf her in this battle because she’s never been involved in war like this - fights to protect Mirkwood, yes, but not War Battle. HOWEVER, there are ways for them to have written through that and not made her look so weak. Especially considering that she is a seasoned warrior - AND had fought Orcs before, as we saw in “The Desolation of Smaug” - and between her and Kili, who one of Thorin’s strongest warriors, they should have at least been able to do better together. Crudmuffins! That, of course, would have messed with the outcome of the source material, but who of us would really be complaining? Hmm? (Sorry Tolkien.)

Their canon story ends, of course, with Tauriel having to come to terms with her feelings and Kili’s death all at once. As as much as I spent most of the movies harshing on Thranduil (except to honor how fabulous he is, stylistically and attitude-wise, and make as many Party Elk jokes as I could), i am glad they brought him back for this scene - not only that he gave Legolas a direction away from mooning over Tauriel, but that he got to help Tauriel accept what had happened (in his own blunt way). The way he watches her here, and looks at her, I feel like he’s really seeing her and accepting her as a person and not below him for the first time. I’m also headcanoning, since we know that Tauriel was orphaned and bonded with Legolas soon after (as her mentor - and honestly, I read their relationship as more of a broship/sibling situation), I feel like she was taken under the wing of his household - not because he approved, but because it was the Right Thing and probably looked good to his people, even if he couldn’t fully accept her due to her heritage. I also feel like the fact that she asks him to take the love away from her, since it hurts so much, also points to a more parental role than he would admit. If your heart was broken, who else would you ask to take those feelings from you - at that first heartbreak - than a parent?

But of course, he can’t - all he can do is finally admit, despite his earlier insistence otherwise, that her love for Kili IS real (I feel like he might have gone through something absolutely similar with his wife’s passing - finding her falling in battle, mourning over her body). And that smashes any hope she had that she could keep denying how she feels - it passes over her face, visibly and physically, that shock that he’s admitting it, then frustrated realization that if it’s real, she can’t deny her feelings anymore and can’t close her heart to it, and then just pure pain again as she realizes what she had and the full measure of what she’s lost.

And then she kisses him, as if she’s sealing that love and acceptance - the only time, super duper heart-stabbingly tragically, that she’ll ever get to you know, according to this version of the story.

I can only hope that afterward, Tauriel chose to honor herself and Kili’s memory by continuing to help the world at large, in her exile. And that she surprise and “oh shit”-ness of Thranduil’s expression upon realizing that an Elf could truly love a Dwarf means that he will be kinder to Legolas when he brings Gimli home.

Now, as far as the runestone goes, I initially wanted to believe that Tauriel would take it back after she gave it back to Kili in death, maybe to return it to his mother on a well-intentioned trip to meet her, to give them both closure. However, upon learning about what’s specifically written ON the stone, I have a different thought - Middle Earth News points out here that the runes on it translate to “Return to me.” Obviously, at its creation and initial giving, that was about Kili’s mother bidding her reckless son to come home safe. But when Kili gave the stone to Tauriel on the beach, he made it theirs as well. He bid Tauriel to return to him by giving it to her. And so now, in returning it to him upon his death, Tauriel bids Kili in turn to return to her, death be damned.

So while at first glance, that returning of the runestone may look like Tauriel denying her feelings again, its really a further, even more solid gesture of that acceptance. And honestly, to me, an expression of hope.

And I feel like hope is what really strikes me, about this ship. They have SO much potential, not only in how little we’ve been given of them in canon, but the potential they see in each other in those brief moments where they obviously imagine what their lives could be like, if they could be. One of my favorite shows says, early in its story, “Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing.” And that is exactly what I see in them, and why they strike me as so wonderful. They are hope, and the belief in love despite all odds against them, despite all the darkness around them.

And no matter how shakily that might appear to be set up, that is gorgeous, at its heart and root.

And if you got this far in all my scattered ramblings, thank you!

(The art above is my own, btw. For more of my own star-crossed inter-fantasy-racial height-difference queer fae, click here 💕 )

~~~

Patreon ~ Etsy ~ Ko-fi

#kiliel #meta #hobbit headcanons #the hobbit #romance #fanart #fanart friday #fangirling #lotr #lotr fanart #legolas x gimli #legoli #kili #tauriel #tauriel x kili

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mannatea · 4 years

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Fireside Dreams, a Rose of Versailles ‘fic

Words: 5,176 Summary: Oscar was in love. Pairing/Character: Oscar/André Extra Info: This was originally posted on Fanfiction.net back in 2008. It is a full rewrite. Rating: I’d say T bordering on M, but it’s rated M on AO3 just to be safe. :) Genre: Romance and Friendship with a dash of Angst. Kind of character-study-ish, too.

Notes, if anyone’s interested in them.

All right, so...if you read the original version of this story, you’ll notice the rewrite is...very different.

A few little things:

I use the French manga as my usual reference, so you’ll see a lot of lines quoted that might not match up perfectly with the Japanese-to-English translations that many people are used to. There is one line I did pull from the Japanese though, I believe it was: “One eye isn’t too much to sacrifice for you, Oscar.”

The French version says, instead, “I’ll always be ready to sacrifice an eye for you, Oscar.” I like this too, but I don’t think it really conveys that deep emotional impact that the scene was supposed to have on the reader. Rather, it almost sounds goofy (since he only has one other eye to sacrifice)!

I guess I could have gone with a loose translation of the French (maybe, “If it’s for you, Oscar, I’ll sacrifice my other eye without complaint.”) but I wanted something the audience would be familiar with.

I do believe the intent of the original line is supposed to convey: 1) I’d do it again, 2) No regrets, and 3) harken back to André’s promise to put his life on the line for Oscar some day...even though the eye thing was a complete accident in the manga.

The lines for the lips I know are my creative translation of the French manga.

I feel like I shouldn’t HAVE to put translations for the French in here, but...I dunno. Why did I put them in the story like some kind of ouiaboo? Because there are some words that just don’t have the same meaning in English, my dudes.

Mon Dieu = My God!

d’accord = okay, yes, [agreement]

Whenever Oscar tells André to do anything, in the French manga, this is how he responds. I could have just written “okay,” but I can’t help but feel that it’s too informal/not respectful enough, and “yes ma’am” (which is closer to how I read it) just feels too formal.

Je t’aime = I love you. André shouts it over and over in The Incident Scene, which is what I’m referring to by using it.

I actually hate the title (“Fireside Dreams”) but I’ve known it as this for so long I couldn’t change it.

I changed the ending A LOT for reasons I’ll talk about below, but...I kept the cheesy last line. Well, I rewrote it, but I kept the general feeling of corniness that existed in the original!

------------------------------

Goals when writing this were as follows:

Try for a tone that felt as if it could have been part of the manga.

Eliminate André’s POV (more on this later).

Deep-dive into Oscar’s POV.

Treat the story like a fanficcified Character Study piece.

The manga tone thing was frustrating, because the manga lends itself to this really flowery, romantic language that I don’t actually think Oscar would use very often (mostly because the entire series tells us that she is Not That Kind of Person and I don’t appreciate her suddenly Becoming That Person Because Love). A lot of the fandom will disagree with me on this point, and that’s okay. I tried to strike more of a balance where Oscar thinks some of these types of things, but says Logical Oscar Things.

André’s POV originally came in when he did: at Oscar’s door. It also transitioned suddenly into third person omniscient from third person limited, aaaaand when I reread it...I didn’t like it. I felt like it made it harder to follow! The original was supposed to be more of Oscar’s story anyway, so I just committed to it in the rewrite. Overall I do feel this was better for the story, but I lost some lines I really liked from the original that were in André’s POV! Who knows, though, maybe they’ll make an appearance in another story, someday!

Regarding this story as a character study, though... Okay, I’ll try not to let this get long, because I haven’t eaten all day and it’s already getting late here, but I want to address this.

Something that always stuck with me about the manga was how Oscar confessed her love to André quite early on compared to the anime, and how it felt to have their relationship evolve before the end of the series (when she asks André to marry her).

1. I am always ALWAYS ALWAYS a sucker for the woman to ask the man to marry them, ESPECIALLY in period dramas, and

2. See the image below.

Oscar as a character has always interested me greatly, and been highly #relatable, but on my last rewatch I feel like I understand her better than I ever did as an early 20-something.

Despite being in a relationship with André when she asks him to make her his wife, she’s still afraid of actually following through with the act! That’s not something we get to see in the media very often, so I enjoyed getting a peek at it in Rose of Versailles.

Additionally, I felt that Oscar’s whole romance arc was kind of its own character study for her in the canon. She spends most of her life being efficient and logical. Love confuses her. Feelings are difficult to navigate and express. She would not have defended André so passionately I think if she did not love him, but when faced with those feelings she doesn’t even tell him she cares. If the author wanted to make Oscar astute/in tune with her own feelings, she could have written that scene a hundred different ways, but instead we get “I didn’t do it for you, I did it for Nanny! Hahaha!” Part of Oscar’s issue is most assuredly due to the way she was raised, but I feel it didn’t create that character trait so much as it expanded upon it.

Anyway, something difficult to put into words is Oscar’s wondering in the story about being “broken.” I’m writing this from a very specific perspective, but I feel like Oscar’s feeling is relatable to many different types of people. I mean, raise your hand if you’ve ever felt like you were broken, if there was something deeply wrong with you. Now raise it higher if you feel that way and yet...you’re also pretty satisfied with yourself and like who you are, and you don’t really wish to change.

Oscar’s in an interesting position. She’s a woman who identifies as a woman, but she lives as a man. She wears men’s clothes, she does men’s work, she has men’s hobbies, and she’s expected to publicly Act Like a Man. She’s good at these things. She enjoys these things. She delights in her own skill, and has a lot of fun springing the fact that she’s a woman on poor unsuspecting people (like Rosalie, lol) while also shooting down things typically associated with being a woman (like when she glared at André for suggesting she had an understanding of something because of women’s intuition). It’s easy to understand Oscar’s POV: she wants to be free to be herself, and that means picking and choosing from gender stereotypes as she sees fit, identifying herself as what she is and what she is not.

At the end of the day, Oscar is...Oscar...which is how I imagine André feels about it.

I’m sure if you read the story, and you went out of your way to read this far, you probably have a personally complex view of Oscar yourself, so please don’t feel as if my view of her has to match yours. Everyone will read her a little differently!

I wanted to explore the confusion that Oscar feels. The confusion that makes her put on a dress even though she isn’t comfortable in one, the confusion of falling for someone you already knew from the beginning was unattainable (though I didn’t go into detail on this particular point), the difficulty in expressing feelings when you’ve been raised to not do that, and the understanding that different does not mean broken.

Oscar is not broken. You are not broken. I am not broken.

------------------------------

One last note about this story, and it’s related to The Incident Scene. I’m choosing to interpret it in my own way, so if it’s different than yours, I hope my interpretation wasn’t too jarring!

I look at the scene, particularly in the manga, to be kind of a Domino Effect of less-than-stellar choices. Oscar tries to communicate her feelings but does a very poor job of it, and in the process hurts the person she’s trying to communicate with. As a result, he makes a bad choice and hurts her in turn. I don’t feel that any of the hurt was intentional (these two people love each other, after all), but circumstances have put them into positions where some kind of hurt was inevitable.

André undoubtedly would have been rejected by Oscar no matter when he confessed (just because she wouldn’t be mentally capable of processing it quickly enough to spare him), but he chose to confess to an Oscar 1) as part of an emotional outburst/explosion, and 2) physically.

Oscar is not used to Intimate physical contact, and understandably freaks out. She’s also not used to André as a Passionate Person. He’s always been so mellow! It’s frightening to her on multiple levels.

NOTHING EXCUSES ANDRE, BY THE WAY! Taking his frustration and sorrow and fear and emotion out on Oscar was terrible.

But context is important, I think, to understand how manga!Oscar forgives him before he even leaves her rooms. André’s outburst was never about him being horny, or him wanting to be intimate with Oscar. If you look closely I think it’s clear that it’s a chain of André trying to communicate to her in turn, and failing repeatedly until he rips her shirt (that he’s already holding onto)—something I don’t believe he meant to do, or he wouldn’t feel such immediate shame for it.

It was an outburst of fear that she was abandoning him. It was an explosion of all the love he legally wasn’t allowed to feel for years of his life. It was frustration and sorrow over seeing the person he loves best denying Who She Is in the face of an unrequited crush.

I never felt that André was insisting she was a woman instead of the man she wanted to be so much as he was insisting that Oscar Is Oscar, and she cannot change that, and shouldn’t change it out of fear or embarrassment AS WELL AS SAYING, “You are who you are and I LOVE YOU FOR THAT! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!! PLEASE HEAR ME AND DON’T HURT YOURSELF BY TRYING TO BE SOMEONE YOU’RE NOT!”

Unfortunately André fails to speak plainly enough and the whole thing Backfires. (Now you can consider how he was raised to speak to his betters.)

I know all of the above wasn’t necessary to read the story (or even afterward), but I thought it would assist if anyone read my ‘fic and came away from it wondering if they’d read/watched a completely different version of The Incident.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! I sure hope you leave a comment over on AO3, since you can do so anonymously, and Feedback Is Life!! ♥

#rose of versailles #berubara #berusaiyu no bara #mannafics

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maevefiction · 5 years

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 53: Epilogue

Sunday June 29th, 2036 - Talk Story Bookstore, Kauai, Hawaii.

Stepping inside Talk Story after two decades had passed was surreal. It remained essentially the same, right down to the red painted walls. I, too, remained essentially the same, if you ignored the wrinkles that had begun to etch themselves into the flesh of my fifty-eight-year-old face…laugh lines, frown lines, and a downright furrow between my eyebrows from a lifetime of what-the-fuckery. The grey hair that had first appeared when I found myself wrangling three children all under the age of five was now expertly masked with copious amounts of dye applied by the talented folks at Zig-Zag Hair & Body. I still did yoga on a regular basis, more now that the kids were…well, grown, I guess. For the most part. Which was really a mind-blower, as is everything else associated with the passage of time in regard the human condition. Aging, kids, is not for the weak. No one tells you that if you sleep too long, your body parts will hurt. Your tits will sag, you’ll pee your pants when you cough, sneeze, or laugh too hard, your hands will ache if you, you know, use them to do stuff…like hold books. Your knees will creak to the point where you aren’t sure if it’s you making sounds or the stairs you’re descending. After you’ve finished a round of particularly vigorous doggy-style, you’ll find yourself uncertain as to which will be more detrimental…remaining in place or attempting to get off the bed. It’s an unimaginable brutality, standing powerless against the effects of time on your physical being while the inner you, the corporeal you, does not follow suit. This Maude was the same Maude who had married the love of her life in this very place, right down to her limitless desire for Lindor truffles and continued disgust at the idea of pineapples on pizza. I can, however, confirm that time does aid in the healing process, which is how we ended up back on Kauai. Each year that passed put more distance between us and the horror we’d endured, and little by little we were able to work through it, first by being able to actually view our wedding photos and videos, then feel small bits of joy while doing so, until finally, sixteen years out, the fear and anxiety was almost fully overridden by that joy. And here we were, on the day of our 20th wedding anniversary, right where it had all begun.

Some unpleasant memories, though faded and dim, still lingered, and as a result neither Tom nor I could bring ourselves to return to the Coconut Beach Marriott. The kids were all aware of the circumstances surrounding our wedding and the days that followed, as we’d vowed to be open and honest about it if the subject ever came up, because we preferred that they learned the truth from us rather than believing what they might have seen on the internet. Two years ago the need for the ‘the talk’ had arisen, and Henry’s reaction had utterly floored me…he’d leapt up off the couch, pulled me into his arms and whispered that he’d hoped his presence had brought me some comfort and that he wished he’d been able to do more. He’d turned nineteen in February, my firstborn, and even though as a parent you’re not supposed to, like, have a favorite…he was, in fact, my favorite, at least in the sense that there was a depth and level of understanding between us that was akin to psychic connection. Perhaps it was due to our shared trauma, or perhaps it was the trauma that caused me to relate to him differently…though in the end, it didn’t matter because I’d never expressed such a sentiment out loud, nor would I. Besides, I’d always known that he already knew anyway.

Henry…also known as Our Son the Writer, as well as Indy Gallagher, his chosen pen name. He’d taught himself to read at age four, having grown frustrated with Tom and I not being able to drop whatever we were in the middle of, which was usually dealing with one of his siblings, in order to do it on his behalf. From that point forward, books and the stories they contained were his passion…he was never without reading material, absorbing any and all information he encountered and losing himself completely in imagined realities, always longing for more. It was that longing which set him upon the path to becoming an author when he was thirteen, having found himself unwilling and unable to accept that George R. R. Martin’s ‘A Song of Fire and Ice’ series had gone unfinished and deciding he’d tackle the task on his own. A year and many kudos on AO3 later he’d started to build his own fictional universe, and when he self-published the first book of the series, ‘Times Prior’, in August of 2034 it sold a half-a-million copies inside of sixty days without any marketing whatsoever. The main characters were inter-dimensional entities left stranded on Earth, their memories thought to have been wiped clean, and the story followed their journey as they sought to combine the snippets of their past that remained into a single coherent whole that revealed their history while attempting to covertly integrate with humanity. Book two, ‘Presented Puzzles’ had been released in early December of last year, hitting the million mark within two weeks. Though I already had first edition tucked away at home, I hoped to find one here to purchase so I could secure the receipt to the flyleaf with a notation that this copy had been purchased from the location where Indy Gallagher’s own story had begun.

When I felt Tom’s hand on my back as he stopped to stand on my left, I turned my head his way, peering upward. Though he had his share of wrinkles and his hair, which he’d taken to wearing long enough to brush his chin, had gone completely grey at the temples with salt and pepper throughout the rest, the fucker did NOT look fifty-five. Not to me, anyway…when you’re young and you imagine being fifty-five it seems so damn old, but when it’s staring you in the face, or especially once you’ve passed it by yourself, not so much. There were still bricks in his stomach, his ass remained quarter-bounce ready, and, now that the Hiddlespawn had matured, I took advantage of the Silver Fox Hotness Level One Billion as often as humanly possible. As you do. He grinned at me, then leaned in to nuzzle my cheek with his own.

“Well, here we are, my love, at long last. How the ever-loving fuck has it been twenty years? Speaking of…perhaps I can interest you in a waltz down memory lane via a certain out-of-the way restroom?”

My jaw dropped open. “Oh my god, how dare you? Since when am I the kind of woman who has sex in public places?”

He laughed, tongue poking out between his teeth. “To the best of my recollection, since…forever.”

I crossed my arms, eyes rolling skyward. “Your recollection has clearly become unreliable, old man.”

“Mmm hmm. Meet me there in twenty?”

"Absofuckingloutely." I uncrossed my arms with the intention of pinching his nipple through the fabric of his white V-neck T-shirt, but was interrupted by the arrival of our entourage as they filed through the door and filtered into the space around us.

Simon settled in to my right, with Luke at his side, as per usual. Simon’s approach to aging was best described as rage, rage against the dying of the light…his hair remained blonde, though these days, much like Tom, he’d been wearing it longer, so much so that he occasionally sported a ponytail. Just a ponytail, never, ever a man bun. Never. I was, and I quote, to ‘dispatch him quickly and without prejudice’ if I ever witnessed him committing such an unforgivable offense. Fillers and chemical peels were a regular occurrence, as were weekly spa visits and a thorough daily skin cleansing and hydrating regimen. He made use of our gym more than Tom or I did and had taken up running more than a decade ago, which he’d deemed necessary in order to have enough physical stamina to open his own restaurant. It was a joint venture with his son Roland, aptly named Ka-Tet…with permission from Uncle Steve, of course, who was still cranking out wordy goodness at eighty-nine. It was located close to home, near Regent’s Park in the space formerly occupied by Odette’s, with a décor that was best described as dystopian spaghetti western. There was no set menu…Simon decided he’d be preparing whatever the fuck he felt like making on any given day, take it or leave it…and they were only open Friday and Saturday nights, which created an air of exclusivity that resulted in the place being booked almost a year in advance. It was perfect work-life balance for him, and whenever anyone mentioned how youthful he appeared he’d nod and reply that all credit belonged to his favorite preservation method…daily alcohol infusions.

Luke remained at the helm of Prosper, though he’d pulled back significantly since Ka-Tet had opened and essentially served only in an advisory capacity. He’d begun to lose his hair just prior to turning forty, and he’d opted to just shave it all off and embrace baldness as opposed to undergoing transplants or wearing a toupee. It suited him, honestly, and his penchant for quirky glasses and three-day stubble seemed to transform him into the way he was always meant to look. Scholarly, like a college professor. Which he and Simon had role-played, as I’d been forced to discover even though my hands were covering my ears, because Simon wouldn’t take no for an answer and spoke louder instead when I requested that he keep that shit to himself. I watched as he reached for Simon’s hand without even a glance downward, their fingers twining together in a gesture so often repeated it was automatic, built into the fabric of their muscle memory. They turned to smile at each other, then shifted their gazes in unison to focus on their daughters as they passed by to their right.

Seph’s light brown hair was wound up in a bun that rested at the base of her neck, dressed in a light blue linen tank dress that matched the frames of her glasses. She resembled Luke a great deal, other than her lips and nose, the former much fuller, the latter more rounded at the tip. Her frame was lithe, almost lanky, and she stood an inch or two taller than me sans heels. In the fall she’d be returning to Cambridge for her second year in pursuit of her BA Tripos Degree in Law, after which she intended to obtain a Masters in Law, then finally a Doctorate in Law. Ez, who was essentially a carbon copy of Simon as far as physicality was concerned, was currently a student at the New York School of Design and would be heading back to the city after our vacation. She’d just finished the Fashion Design certificate program and was scheduled to intern at Manhattan Fashion in the Garment District from July 15th through September 1st, at which point she’d return to NYSD to complete their Couture and Menswear programs back to back. She’d designed the dress Seph was wearing, as well as her own, a white cotton sleeveless wrap-around that hugged her curves and accentuated her impossibly tiny waist. Which I supposed was made possible, along with exceptional genetics, by running six days a week, an activity she’d often participated in with the other masochists in my life…Simon, Tom and Henry. Now that she was based in New York it was solely Henry, their ability to pair up simplified by the fact that both of them resided in the same building, Henry in my old apartment, Ez in hers two floors below. He was standing next to her, dwarfing her five-foot-six frame with his own, his height topping out at six-foot-one, just an inch shy of Tom’s. His hair, worn shoulder-length, was black like my mother’s but curly like mine, eyes identical to Tom’s in shape and color. He had Tom’s nose as well, but my lips and jaw. Like his father, he was lean but muscular, blessed with a gracefulness that I had never possessed. He’d relocated to New York the previous summer to focus on writing, opting to forgo college in the wake of the success of his debut novel. I agreed that college would be a waste, being a firm believer in the fact that one could either write, or couldn’t, but I’d called bullshit on the ‘going away to focus’ aspect, at least privately when Tom and I discussed it. He and Ez had always been very good friends, nearly inseparable, and I felt it in my bones that the real reason he’d decided to leave London was so they could remain in close proximity to one another. Her desire to live in the same building had been presented as great way for both of them to adjust to new surroundings without feeling isolated, which was true, but again, my bones had whispered that there was something bubbling beneath the surface. There had been no confirmation as yet, and I’d stopped mentioning it when Tom, the most hopeless romantic amongst all hopeless romantics, told me I was turning into an even more hopeless romantic than he’d ever been. But it hadn’t stopped me from, you know, looking for signs.

A flash of flaming red glimpsed out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn and look to my left, basking in the breathtaking sight of the whirling dervish that was our daughter, Mona Diane Hiddleston, born at sunset on Wednesday, June 17th, 2018. Her hair was the color of my father’s and Tom’s paternal grandmother’s, wavy like Tom’s, worn long and loose and hanging halfway down her back. Her eyes were brown like mine, and shaped like them as well, but the rest of her face was all Tom. She was five-foot-nine, and often described as a force of nature, at which point I’d smile and say that I had not the slightest idea who she’d gotten that sort of personality from. She’d be relocating to New York in mid-August to begin her dual-enrollment program at Julliard, studying both Instruments and Composition with the goal of a Doctorate in Musical Arts and a career as a conductor in mind. Unlike me, she could read and write music, and play any instrument she was handed with little to no training. Her singing voice was exceptional, her range higher than mine though not quite as broad, but she’d never expressed any interest in developing it other than participating in the school chorus because she needed an elective to flesh out her schedule. Mona had been our ‘difficult’ child…as a baby she’d been fussy, easily irritated with a sleep schedule that was measured in fifteen-minute increments, and as a toddler we’d dealt with outbursts and tantrums over what we considered to be thoroughly minor issues, such as the lights being too bright, her clothes being too tight, or the seams of her socks being ‘wrong’. Throughout it all, the only consistent way to soothe her had been with music, be it listening to it or creating her own using our piano, pots and pans, or anything else that provided rhythmic sounds. Shortly after she turned five, she was diagnosed with sensory processing disorder, which we learned later on went hand-in-hand with her being highly gifted. All three kids were, which wasn’t exactly a surprise given Tom’s and my placement on the IQ scale, but giftedness manifests differently in each individual with a variety of traits, some more challenging to cope with than others. Once we’d established a methodology for managing her SPD, she was like a different human being…strong, steadfast, boisterous, fully confident in her sense of self and intent on extracting each and every thing she expected from this world without apology. And my god, I was so very, very fucking proud to be her mother. And honored. She’d noticed I was staring at her and had just opened her mouth to ask me why when our youngest bounded out from behind her, paused briefly at her left, then pivoted to park himself directly in front of her.

Sean James Hiddleston, born Friday, October 23rd, 2020 five minutes before midnight, named as such due to the fact that the blue hue of the eyes that peered up at me when he opened them for the first time was identical to my father’s. He’d been a complete surprise, so much so that I hadn’t even realized I was pregnant until I was three months in…at 42, I’d figured missed periods meant I was embarking on the journey into menopause, and when Tom suggested that perhaps I should take a pregnancy test I’d laughed and laughed. Henry had just turned three and Mona wasn’t quite two, and when I saw the giant plus sign in the test window the laughter faded damn fucking quick when I realized Tom and I would shortly be outnumbered by a trio of ankle biters all under the age of four. After the initial shock dissipated, we were overjoyed, in awe of how the universe continued to be so generous to us, providing yet another miracle. By the time I’d begun to show Henry was cognizant enough to ask questions, and when I informed him he’d soon have a new brother or sister his face had paled and he’d whispered ‘Mamma, will it be like Mona?’, causing Tom to run out of the room, unable to keep his shit together, while I comforted Henry by explaining that every baby is different, the entire time asking myself the same question he had internally. As it happened any worries about his temperament were for naught, because Sean had been a jovial soul right from the get go. He was the child, however, that we had to keep the closest eye on because if left to his own devices even for a second he’d be into something he shouldn’t have been, and when confronted he’d just grin and simply say ‘But I’m learning things.’ Even still, at fifteen-going-on-thirty, he uttered that same phrase at least once a day. Sometimes more. Like when I’d caught him trying to remotely hack into my brand new Alienware laptop two weeks prior…you know, just to see if he could. And, of course, he could. Of all three children he resembled Tom the most, blond wavy hair, same blue eyes, nose and jaw…the only bit of me in his face were his lips. He’d begun his adolescent growth spurt just after Christmas and had shot up from five-nine to six-two in what seemed like no time whatsoever, and if I did a side-by-side of him and Tom from his Eton days it wasn’t easy to tell who was who. Despite their physical similarities, Sean had been cursed with my lack of grace and had already broken almost every toe and sprained various extremities on the regular. He had been blessed, however, with my engineering and mathematical skills, and his abilities made an accelerated program via online courses the best option for him after he’d finished year six. Once he turned sixteen he’d be permitted entry into Cambridge’s School of Technology, where he planned to focus on Computer Science, but the next round of required classes wouldn’t be available until fall of 2037. Starting in September of this year he’d be officially interning at CodeHex, working both with me and other high-level employees across our departments. I say ‘officially’ because he’d been interning in an unofficial capacity for nearly four years, popping in every weekday as soon as he’d finished his online courses back at our flat. When he was a preschooler he’d spent a good bit of time there as well, at my side or on my lap, as I worked to establish the CodeHex company and brand during my ‘free’ hours while Henry and Mona were at school. On the first day of his own year one he’d frowned as Tom and I hugged and kissed him goodbye outside the school’s entrance, stating that while he was very excited to make all sorts of new friends and learn new things, he’d very much miss his old job and old friends. Then he’d spotted a girl with a Captain Marvel backpack and promptly ditched us in order to run over and introduce himself, turning back to wave and smile at us before returning his attention to her and walking into the building while Tom and I stood on the sidewalk crying our eyes out like a couple of schumucks.

He’d moved closer to me, though still blocking his sister, arms raised and hands extended, palms toward Tom and I as he spoke.

“This is it, then, is it Mum? Where you and Dad met? All those years ago? Right here? In this bookshop?”

I nodded. “Yeppir. Also where we got engaged, and where we got married.”

Tom elbowed me, and Simon twisted his torso sideways to gawk at me, his head cocked to the right.

“Woman, have you finally lost your mind? You were married at the Marriot. I was there, looking resplendent in my purple tux while you puked in the bushes, remember?”

Opting to attempt to make a royal fuck-up appear as if it were a conscious choice, I turned my head towards him, index finger of my right hand raised and pointing toward his chest. “Well, you’re not totally wrong…we were married at the Marriot, but that was actually our second ceremony. The first one happened here, right after midnight so it was officially on the twenty-ninth.”

Simon gasped, placing his right hand over his heart, finders splayed wide. “Are you telling me right now, twenty fucking years later, that the two of you snuck off and got married without your best friends and spent the entire next day pretending your entirely invalid not at all legally binding apparently just for show wedding ceremony was one-hundred-percent genuine?”

I bit my lip and glanced skyward briefly, then back at Simon. “Yes. Yes I am.”

He reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Maude Hiddleston, I have never been prouder of you than I am at this moment, you sneaky little MINX. How did you keep it a secret this whole time?”

I shrugged. “Only four people on the planet knew…me, Tom, the judge and Roger Marshal.” While researching our trip we’d learned that Roger had passed away in 2033, but his daughter Denise had taken over the business. Tom and I planned on seeking her out during our visit, but hadn’t provided any advance notice as we felt that expressing our condolences in person would be most appropriate since Talk Story, and her father, had played such an important role in our lives. I poked Simon’s left pec with my right index finger. “Shouldn’t you be all ragey because you weren’t there or something?”

He released my shoulders and crossed his arms in front of him, rested his right elbow in his left hand as he tapped his lips with his left index finger, then pointed it at me. “You know what? I fucking should be. But I’m not. Because I’m sure it was all mushy-mushy gushy-gushy and there was probably sniffling and crying and Shakespearean sonnet level verbal exchanges and therefore I’m dropping it in the ‘glad to have missed it’ bucket.” He mock-gagged, and as I swatted at him he pulled back and away, flipping me double birds.

Mona stepped out from behind Sean, her head tilted to the left. “Well that diminishes both the impact and validity of all those lectures on the critical importance of honesty a bit, doesn’t it?”

Tom roared with laughter, and I smirked. “I look forward to opening the box that contains my ‘HYPOCRITE’ T-shirt this coming Christmas morning. Men’s 2 XL, please. Black with white lettering. Maybe a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ on the back written in a script font?”

Henry raised his hand as he joined in. “Oh! Oh! There must be some photographic evidence of the clandestine ceremony hidden away somewhere, I’d imagine? That absolutely needs to be on the T-shirt’s front-side. And Dad’s complicit, so we’ll have to have one made for him as well.”

Sean grinned. “If such evidence exists, you can count on me to track it down.”

I glanced over at Tom, who was still chuckling. “This whole kid thing…your idea, wasn’t it? I can’t fathom having done this to myself without being coerced by an insanely hot dude via repeated seductions until I…”

All three of them screeched in unison. “MUM!”

Tom pointed at them in turn. “The lesson here, progeny of mine, in case you needed a refresher course…your mother is a master of diversionary tactics and especially enjoys their implementation when the outcome is likely her having…hmm…how shall I phrase this delicately?”

I snorted. “What your voluble father is attempting to convey without incurring my wrath is…the last word. I like having the last word. He neglected to mention that no topic is off limits in the pursuit of achieving that particular goal. So, shall we move on or would you prefer that I begin my dissertation on our wedding night activities?”

Again, in unison, with Simon, Luke, Seph and Ez joining in this time around. “MOVE ON.”

We all split off then, singly for some, in pairs for others, and wandered around the shop. Tom and I paused in the precise spot I’d been standing two decades earlier, narrowing down my reading options for what I’d thought would be hours of alone time on the beach. His arm slipped around my waist, and I circled his in turn, each of us leaning into the other, silent in our contemplation of the Before and the After, which is how we both viewed the stages of our lives prior to and since crossing paths. I could hear Sean exclaiming to Mona that he’d located the music section and that she just had to come see it immediately, Seph and Luke laughing as Simon assured them that yes, he did in fact still enjoy reading the Twilight Series novels and that there was nothing wrong with having a little vampy wolfie sad girl angsty fluff in your life thank you very much, and then, footsteps behind us…a strange echo of the past, and this time I didn’t hesitate to spin around to see who they belonged to. Tom did the same seconds afterward, and before us was a woman wearing a tea-length bright green tank dress, her jet-black hair worn in two braids that hung nearly to her waist. She smiled, and my mouth dropped open when I took note of her name tag. She smiled, realizing I’d recognized her.

“Aloha, Hiddlestons. Welcome back to Talk Story.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Alani. Oh my god. Well, this is a mind fuck of epic proportions. And I’m spewing profanity. Whoops. Sorry.”

Tom somehow managed to speak like an actual human being. “Alani! What a marvelous thing, seeing you again in this very special place…you’ve been well, I hope?”

She laughed, then stepped forward to embrace both Tom and I, then pulled back. “I have. I teach at the Waimea High School during the year…9th grade English Literature. Weekends and summers inevitably find me here. This place seems to have a gravitational pull I’m unable…and unwilling…to escape.” Sighing, she glanced around the room, then fixed her gaze back on us. “Have you heard?”

Nodding, I reached for Tom’s hand and took hold. “About Roger? Yes, but not until we started researching our trip. We wanted to wait to meet Denise to express our condolences. Is she available?”

Alani shook her head, frowning slightly. “She’s not, I’m afraid. Honestly, we’ve not seen very much of her at all, and she hasn’t been back since she told us she was putting the place up for sale. Of course, I understand that it reminds her of her father and…”

My grip on Tom’s hand tightened, as did his on mine, so much so that we both let go as if we’d received an electric shock. I took a deep breath, telling myself to be cool, Maude, be fucking cool before giving nonchalance a go.

“So. Talk Story’s for sale? Huh. Well, we most definitely hadn’t heard that. I don’t recall seeing a sign…”

Tom cleared his throat. “Neither do I. Does that mean a sale is pending, or is the property still available?”

She nodded, which was not at all helpful, but the words she spoke afterward were. “It’s still available. The sign’s off to the right of the building, attached to the potted tree so it faces oncoming traffic. The realtor’s been in a few times since it went up in January, but never with any clients. Our revenue isn’t even a quarter of what it was a decade ago, and Denise isn’t very involved so things have gotten worse since Roger passed. At this point, I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to remain open, but I’m going to keep hoping that someone sees the value here, the history this place contains…” She cleared her throat, then shook her head back and forth slowly. “Goodness, I’m so terribly sorry. I honestly only meant to say hello…everything else just sort of…happened. I don’t know what came over me.”

I reached out and patted her upper arm. “Please, no worries. This place seems to foster that sort of thing. Books aplenty with the occasional divine intervention. That’s so going on the marketing materials. You on board with that, Tom?”

“Oh yes. Yes I am. Alani, do you happen to have the realtor’s number handy?”

One walk-through, two hours, and countless document signatures later we were officially in contract to purchase Talk Story, with a closing date set for Tuesday, July 1st at 1 PM at the Kauai Coldwell Banker Realty office. Much like I had twenty-one years earlier, we all had to haul ass back to Kapaʻa in order to make our dinner reservation at Kauai Pasta, though this time we were a party of nine instead of three. We’d requested the same booth area, spilling over into the two additional sections in the same row that backed the wall. Tom and I, in an effort to be appropriately extra, ordered the exact same meal we’d ordered the day we met, but sat side-by-side instead of across from each other. Midway through the main course we turned to each other, smiling as our eyes met, and all the noise of friends and family faded into the background as we paused to remember, lost in our thoughts of days gone by, and I felt this monstrous rush of emotions…love, joy, peace, and so many more…and I was so…so…grateful. Granted, I was grateful every day, but this was an all-encompassing gratefulness, and I looked away for a moment to survey our friends, their children, and each of our own children in turn. Life is incredibly strange and unusual, even downright cruel at times, but like the weed-dealing kid in American Beauty said, “sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in”, and that’s where I was at in that moment, in the very same space that had fanned the flames of the spark that had emerged at Talk Story. Which we’d just bought. For nine-hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all contents included. I turned my gaze back to Tom, my head tilting to the right.

“Did we, like, just actually buy a bookstore? As in, the bookstore we’ve always considered ‘our’ bookstore is now…our bookstore?”

He nodded, and I felt his hand first on my knee, then creeping up under my shorts. “We did. And while I’m thoroughly delighted with that particular development, I’m also a tad disappointed because we missed out on our restroom rendezvous this go-round. Care to christen this one instead?”

“Oh, that’s a bold move right there, Thomas. The ladies’ room is literally separated from this table by a single wall. I’ll go first, you get up five minutes later and lurk outside the door…I’ll leave it open a crack so I can keep watch. When the coast is clear I’ll pull you inside.” I lowered my voice, whispering in his ear. “And then I’ll, you know, pull you inside again. And again.”

He groaned quietly. “Woman. Cease. And go. Go now.”

I excused myself, and that five minutes seemed to take a thousand years. There was fire in his eyes when he shut and locked the door behind him, and without a word he turned me around, bent me over the sink, pulled off my shorts and underwear and fucked me so hard I couldn’t help but cry out his name as I came, which he muffled quickly by covering my mouth with his left hand, which made me come again. And again. He soon followed, leaning down and biting my clothed shoulder gently to stifle his own cries. After he pulled out I stood upright, and he leaned in to kiss me, sucking my tongue into his mouth as he zipped himself up, peeked out the door, then exited and darted into the men’s restroom next door. I used the facilities, washed up, and waited for three minutes after I heard him finish up and walk by. A sly grin spread wide across his face awaited me as I returned to the table, and as I sat down Sean asked if we’d be ordering desert. Simon, ever the obnoxious asshat, smirked and commented that he was reasonably sure that some of us had already had their desert, which left Sean puzzled, Mona and Seph disgusted, and Henry and Ez blushing like mad, which really got my Spidey Senses all a-tingle. Luke simply smiled at me, shrugging helplessly, and I sighed, nodding, both of us silently accepting yet again that yes, this was indeed the life we’d chosen.

As it happened, no desert was ordered…instead, we headed back to the beach house we’d rented on the Coconut Coast, in Anahola Beach Park, which was seven miles or so up from the Coconut Beach Marriott. With only four bedrooms, it meant the kids had to share, so Sean and Henry were in one room and Mona, Seph and Ez in another, but it was literally steps from the beach, totally private, and had a pool and a hot tub. All of that was lovely, but lovelier still was the item tucked away in the fridge…a two-tiered chocolate cake with layers of cheesecake filling, iced with white buttercream and decorated with green and purple fondant orchids. As Tom and I fed each other a slice, Simon smeared icing on the back of my neck. I retaliated by flinging a banana from a bowl on the counter in his direction because bananas are disgusting and there was no way I was wasting cake, and suddenly we were in the middle of an all-out food war that ended with all of us jumping into the pool fully clothed. Fun was had, at least until we clambered out of the water and got a gander at the current state of the formerly pristine kitchen. It was almost midnight by the time we finished cleaning up the mess we’d made, but we’d powered through by taking turns listening to our favorite playlists. Just as we’d begun to discuss our shower schedules, the first few notes of Adventure Of A Lifetime began to play. Without pausing to determine who was responsible for choosing it, Tom and I gravitated toward each other and began to dance, then sang, and as the song progressed we were joined by Simon, Sean, Henry, Ez, Mona, Seph and Luke. By the end we were essentially screaming the lyrics, a troupe of dancing fools bound by love and blood still sharing the same adventure, celebrating where we’d already been, exited for what we’d discover down the road. Everything you want’s a dream away…we are legends, every day.

Later on, after all the good-nights were said and Tom had passed out after our engaging in some seriously spectacular anniversary shenanigans, I found myself wide awake. I walked to the glass sliders and stared past the pool at the reflection of the moonlight on the waves, the ebb and flow of the ocean that had always, to me, seemed representative of the back and forth, the ups and downs…all the moments of our lives as we pass through them. And then, there they were…Henry and Ez, walking toward the pool, holding hands. They too stood gazing out at the waves, and released each other’s hands to slip their arms around each other’s waists. Without warning, since I wasn’t privy to their conversation, Henry leaned backward, face to the sky, laughing the laugh that I knew sounded so very much like his father’s. I could see them both shaking with mirth, and they quieted slowly, her hand rubbing his back. As I continued to watch, transfixed, she rested her head against him, and he turned to pull her into his arms, then leaned down to kiss her.

At that point what migh happen next was absofuckinglutely none of my business, so I turned around and headed back toward yet another temporary bed that contained the sleeping form of my personal, perfect, permanence, awash in moonlight. I was now more awake than ever, so I remained in a seated position next to him, my back resting against the headboard. He mumbled in his sleep, rolling over to drape his left arm across my lap. The desire to wake him up and share what I’d seen so I could have a ‘HA, I told you so’ moment was strong, but it was cast aside by a vivid memory from when Henry had been an infant. Tom had just returned from promoting Kong, and I, in my incredibly sleep deprived state, experienced an instance of déjà vu that evolved into a vision of me, at some point in the future, passing the sleeper Henry had been wearing that night to a young man. Back then, the voices I’d heard weren’t familiar, nor recognizable, but now…now they were, because I’d been listening to them all day long. I recalled that when I was still carrying him inside me, each time I’d held Ez, Henry had thrashed about wildly, something that had never occurred in such a fashion with anyone else. The entanglement particle theory came to mind, one that Tom had referenced in Only Lovers Left Alive, which Einstein had dubbed ‘spooky action at a distance’. If entwined particles become separated, even if they wind up at opposite ends of the universe, if one is altered or affected, the other will be identically altered or affected.

I started down at the ring on Tom’s left hand, and the two on my own, one which had been inscribed with two lines of text at the bequest of the man who’d become my husband twenty years ago. On the first was ‘Talk Story - 6/29/15 - Our Story’, and on the second, ‘My Light in the Mist’. I was, briefly, unable to breathe, feeling that I suddenly, and for certain, temporarily, understood life, the universe and everything.

Even in the darkest hour of our journey through this life, there’s light. You won’t see it in that moment, you might not see it for a long time afterward…but it’s there, hidden by darkness, and as the darkness begins to fade there will be tiny specks of it in the distance. Chase after them, because those specks – they’re hope. The fading darkness transitions to a thick fog, then a translucent mist…you may find yourself lingering there, in the in-between, reasonably content. Living, but with a sense of incompleteness that you can’t seem to define, are able to suppress, but can’t quite shake. That’s the light, reaching out for you. And one day, it will finally make contact. And if you’ll allow it, the light will take you by the hand and lead you out into the open where the sun can fully shine upon you again…or perhaps for the very first time. And I’m here to say…allow it. Grab that hand. Grab it with everything you have, and never let it go. No matter what, never, ever let it go.

- Maeve Curry, June 2015- July 2019

#chapter 53 #epilogue

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imtaesbitch-blog · 5 years

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Where the trees sing

This is inspired by my favorite book by Laura Gallego, Donde los árboles cantan. Thank her for this.

Fantasy AU

NatureGod!Taehyung x Princess!reader

Y/N, the only daughter of Greystone duke, is engaged to Kim Seokjin since they were kids. They both love each other and will get married when spring comes. But, during the anual winter solstice party, the kingdom is threatend by barbarians and sadly, both Seokjin and the Duke must leave to protect their land. Due to some circumstances, Y/N is sent to the Great Forest, where she must learn how to fight and maybe, just maybe, enter the deepest part of the forest, where trees sing along strange creatures who live there…

Warnings: Murders (not graphic), Smut, Y/n is a strong independent woman who fights and is not submissive so if you are not into that you can leave, violence in general since people fight with swords and bows

Chapter 1

Like every year, nobles all over the kingdom came together to celebrate the Winter Solstice Party. It had always been this way. Every king in Nortia had been crowned during the winter, even if their predecessor died seasons ago.

Jousts were held during the day, and dinner parties at night. All the nobles who were invited stayed over at the Normont castle for a few days until the celebration was over.

That’s how it had always been.

Your dad, the Duke of Greystone, and you, had never missed it. Not even the year your mother passed away. But it was a long time ago, so all bad memories had been left behind.

Particularly this year, you were incredibly excited to be in the celebration, because that’s where you would get married in spring.

You had been engaged since you were a kid, to none other than your childhood friend, Kim Seokjin. You had grown up together, your parents were old friends so whenever they met up, you would not leave each other’s sides. You were in love since you were kids.

Seokjin was a handsome and charismatic prince, and held a prestigious title, he was a noble from Castemar, one of the most powerful royal families in Nortia. Your parents were waiting until you turned 18, so that they could split some land and share castles with each other’s families. It was a very convienent marriage.

You were seated at the dinner party with the hundreds of nobles that had come. You were wearing a colourful and fancy looking dress that had been sewed by your servants, and your hair was carefully tied up in braids. Seokjin and you couldn’t stop staring and smiling at each other from the sides of the long tables that separated you, which caused all your acquaintances to make fun of you. You couldn’t care less though, because you couldn’t wait to be officially together.

Suddenly, a funny looking man entered the room. He was wearing old and dirty clothes and a hat full of bells that sounded loudly every step he took. He stopped in front of the king and bowed clumsily.

“I greet you, Majesty, monarch of the North.”

No one made fun of him though, instead they applauded him. You also applauded excitedly. Everybody knew Oki the jouglar, he was greatly respected because he knew more songs and stories than anyone. He visited the king’s land every winter solstice, to tell a story.

“Ladies” - He said-. “And nobles. Today i’ve come to tell you a story about the Great Forest.”

Everyone murmured in fear. Gosebumps ran down your back.

The Great Forest was the biggest forest in the Kingdom. It was so big that nobody that had ventured in, had come out. Legend said, that it was home to a number of mysterious creatures that kept the forest alive. It was the most feared place in all the Kingdom, and no one had tried to visit it for decades.

The king lifted his hand.

“ Quiet everyone. What do you have for us this year Oki?”

“ Majesty, i’m afraid this year I haven’t come to talk about a love story or about adventures. I’ve come to talk about a legend.

>> Stories say that, there was once a man who entered the Great Forest. After hours of walking, he found a small river and decided to camp there for the night. He almost fell asleep, when, suddenly, he saw a figure approaching him. Evidently, he reached for his sword and prepared to kill the creature. But to his disappointment, it was only an old man. A very dirty and ugly one. He asked for food and water, and altough the man wanted nothing but to be left alone, he felt compassion and let him stay with him for the night. When the young man woke up, the old man had disappeared, but when he went to the river to clean himself up, he saw the reflection of a young handsome boy.

My name is Taehyung and i’m the ruler of this forest. I was testing you last night. And you, my friend, deserve a price for your kindness. enter the deepest part of the forest and you’ll find me. I’ll give you the power of eternity.

After that, the reflection fade away. Apparently the man followed Taehyung’s indications and entered the deep forest. And then he disappeared forever. He never came back.”

“So this man, Taehyung, lied to him?” A noble asked, he seemed angry at how the story had ended.

“I don’t know that. Apparently, Taehyung has the form of a human, but he is like a God. The god of nature. He makes sure the forest runs correctly. At least, that’s what the stories say.” Oki answered honestly.

You had heard of him before. The god of nature. You used to read fantasy books as a kid, and he appeared in a lot of them. You thought he was just an invented character, but something about the way Oki told the story made you think twice. Did he really exist? You had never thought about it deeply, you just assumed he was a made up fantasy character. Anyway, you thought, it doesn’t really matter. You have no intention of entering the Great Forest.

“Thank you Oki, for your story. You can stay and eat with the rest of the nobles. You’ve earned it.” That’s what the king told him every year, and like every year, he refused.

“Thank you for your kindness, your Majesty, but i’ll eat with the servants.” Oki bowed and walked throught the big door to leave the room.

Just as he left, another figure emerged from the door and ran hurriedly to the king. Everyone turned to him. You recognized the man, his name was Yoongi. He was a noble, but you didn’t recall seeing him many times. He was a few yeard older than you, but he was already Duke of his castle, since his parents had died. You knew that even though he knew your father and the other nobles, he was an introverted man who would rather stay at his castle than come to the winter solstice. That’s why you were wondering what he was doing here.

He stopped in front of the king. He didn’t even bow before he started talking.

“Your Majesty. There’s no time for celebrations. I come from far away and have very bad news. The barbarians are coming to conquer the North.”

Everyone present in the room started freaking out at that moment. Everyone knew who they were. The North and them had been at war for the longest time, but had been at peace for the last few decades.

The barbarians hadn’t attacked the Kingdom in a long time. In order to do that, they had to cross the White Mountains, and unless they were extraodinarily strong, they could never arrive to the North.

“Yoongi. How dare you interrupt my dinner party to say such things? They will never be able to cross the mountains. They are not coming. Leave now before you make me mad.” The King was getting angrier at every word. You thought that if the king said it wasn’t true, then it could never be true. He was supposed to know everything.

“You’ll regret this, your Highness, they are coming. They have crossed the mountains and want to kill you. They want your throne. If we don’t start preparing to fight back, we’ll be dead in a few weeks.” Yoongi seemed desperate. “Please, Your Majesty, don’t ignore this.”

The king looked at his soldiers, and they proceeded to hold Yoongi and walk him out of the room.

“You’ll regret this…You’ll regret this!” He shouted as he was being kicked out of the room.

You were in shock. How could someone speak to the king like that?

Although you were confused, you couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. What if what he just said was true? what if they came and both your father and Seokjin had to leave to fight them? you were suppsed to get married in a few months, but if the barbarians came, you wouldn’t be able to get married. Seokjin looked at you from his seat and reassured you with a small smile. He knows you are overthinking. They aren’t here now, and that’s all that matters. You thought it would be better to forget about them. Yoongi was probably crazy, and you trusted your King.

Not even two weeks later thought, the barbarians came. Your father and Seokjin left to fight them, which left you completley wrecked. Your whole life had been destroyed in less than a month. The worst part was that, weeks passed, and you still didn’t hear anything from them.

You weren’t allowed to leave the castle either, it was too dangerous.

After a month, you heard the barbarians were winning. They had already conquered many castles and lands, and killed hundreds and hundres of men.

Spring came, and your anxiety increased everyday. Luckily, the barbarians hadn’t come to your castle yet.

Until one day, they did.

(sorry i know tae is not really in the chapter, i swear he will be in the next ones. I just wanted some context for the story.)

(also, seokjin x y/n are not a thing, i just needed a temporary prince)

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crimethinc · 5 years

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Love, Anarchy, and Drama: The Classical Anarchists’ Adventures and Misadventures in Polyamory

Like many contemporary anarchists, many anarchists of the 19th and 20th centuries maintained relationships with multiple romantic partners, or were involved with partners who did so. Just as it does today, this often precipitated gossip, heartache, jealousy, and interminable emotional processing. A complete history of anarchist polyamory drama would be nearly as ambitious as a comprehensive history of the anarchist movement itself. Here, we’ve limited ourselves to a few poignant anecdotes from the lives of a handful of classical anarchists. There is a great deal more to be told—for example, the love triangle involving Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, and Johann Most, or Voltairine de Cleyre’s writing about ownership and possessiveness in relationships.

Why revisit all this, you ask? Certainly not just for the salacious thrill of letting the skeletons out of the closet to dance a little on holidays. No, we return to these stories because our antecedents were just like us, flawed and fallible yet capable of greatness. They were responsible for both heroic acts and gross stupidities (let’s not forget Bakunin’s anti-Semitism). In studying their lives, we might recognize some ways to improve ourselves.

A membership card for Emile Armand’s “International Association of Combat against Jealousy and Exclusivity in Love.”

“We want freedom; we want men and women to love and unite freely for no other reason than love, without any legal, economic, or physical violence. But freedom, even though it is the only solution that we can and must offer, does not radically solve the problem, since love, to be satisfied, requires two freedoms that agree, and often they do not agree in any way; and also, the freedom to do what one wants is a phrase devoid of meaning when one does not know how to want something.”

-Errico Malatesta, “Love and Anarchy”

Mikhail and Antonia Bakunin and Carlo Gambuzzi

One of the most influential anarchists of the 19th century, Mikhail Bakunin famously asserted “I am truly free only when all human beings, men and women, are equally free.” In his Revolutionary Catechism,1 he devoted a section to the abolition of compulsory relationships, marital or otherwise:

Religious and civil marriage to be replaced by free marriage. Adult men and women have the right to unite and separate as they please, nor has society the right to hinder their union or to force them to maintain it. With the abolition of the right of inheritance and the education of children assured by society, all the legal reasons for the irrevocability of marriage will disappear. The union of a man and a woman must be free, for a free choice is the indispensable condition for moral sincerity. In marriage, man and woman must enjoy absolute liberty. Neither violence nor passion nor rights surrendered in the past can justify an invasion by one of the liberty of another, and every such invasion shall be considered a crime.

There was a 24-year age difference between Mikhail’s father and mother; they had become engaged when his mother was 18 and his father was nearly 42. This was not particularly unusual in Russia at the time. Mikhail grew up surrounded by four sisters, from whom he learned a variety of intellectual pursuits and, above all, the importance of women’s autonomy and self-determination. He came of age fighting alongside them against pressure from their parents to get married to men who did not share their philosophical or artistic interests.

When Mikhail was living in exile in Siberia after being sentenced to death in three countries for participating in the revolutions of 1848 and 1849, he met Antonia Kwiatkowki, the daughter of an exiled Polish teacher. When they married, she was 18 and he was 44.

A few years later, Mikhail pulled off a daring escape from Siberia, circumnavigating the globe to arrive in Western Europe, where there was not yet a price on his head. Antonia joined him, and the two lived together in Sweden, Italy, and Switzerland.

At this point, Antonia was in her twenties, while Bakunin was in his fifties, prematurely aged by years chained up in solitary confinement. Antonia began a tempestuous relationship with one of Bakunin’s young Italian comrades. In the following letter to his Russian friend Nikolaj Ogarev, Bakunin describes the considerable challenges that ensued. His complicated feelings will be familiar to anyone who has struggled to set boundaries regarding a partner’s volatile relationship or struggled to balance the demands of two very different relationships.

Mikhail Bakunin.

December 16, 1869 Locarno, Switzerland

Antosja arrived. I went to meet her in Arona, the first Italian city at the end of Lake Maggiore, and I spent two and a half days in great anxiety, expecting her at any moment. Contrary to date on the telegram I had received from Naples, she arrived two whole days late, as a result of the storm in the Mediterranean. She traveled by sea, on account of the low price. The poor woman was quite shaken. Imagine yourself in this situation: alone at sea with an eighteen-month-old child, eight months pregnant and of an ideal disposition for seasickness. She spent days without moving on the boat until Gaeto, despite terrible sea turbulence. She arrived to me exhausted and sick. The child is also sick. I took them to Arona with great difficulty. Antosja took a little rest, the little one as well. But in four, three, or perhaps two weeks, she will deliver. You understand that in these conditions, my head is spinning.

Dear friend, I want once and for all to explain to you my relationship with Antosja and her veritable husband. I did a terribly stupid thing, even more than that, I committed a crime by marrying a young girl almost two and a half times younger than me. I could, to justify myself, invoke many extenuating circumstances, tell you that I pulled her out of a vulgar provincial dump, that if she had not married me, she would have become the wife of a monster, of a Siberian police chief. But a fact is a fact, a mistake a mistake and a crime a crime. Antosja is a kind person and a beautiful soul, I love her as much as a father can love his daughter. I managed to wrest her away from the world of trivial ideas, to help her human development and save her from many vulgar temptations and loves. But when she met true love, I did not believe myself to have the right to enter into a struggle with her, that is to say, against this love. She loved a man who is completely worthy of her, my friend and my son in social-revolutionary doctrine, Carlo Gambuzzi. Two and a half years ago, Antosja came to tell me that she loved him and I gave her my blessing, begging her to see me as a friend and remember that she had no better nor more sure friend than I.

A few months later, at the Congress of Geneva, after a long struggle not only on her part, but also on the part of Gambuzzi, a struggle in which furthermore I did not interfere in any way, that I deliberately ignored, Antosja found herself pregnant. Due to lack of confidence, she hid her pregnancy from me, she endured terrible torments, deceived everyone and, under the pretext of going on a trip, went to give birth in a village near Vevey, exposing herself, as well as the child, to great danger. Informed of this without my knowledge, Gambuzzi arrived and took the child with him to Naples. Antosja recovered; as for me, I still suspected nothing.

One year ago, in October 1868, an incident revealed everything to me. The fact that I did not learn this earlier is not the fault of Antosja but of Gambuzzi. From the beginning, she wanted to tell me everything, but he demanded of her and pleaded with her not to talk to me about anything. In this respect, as in many others, he showed himself to be below her. Raised in the bourgeois world of Italy, he still can’t free himself from the cult of propriety and from the point of honor, and often prefers small winding paths to the long straight road. I will say in his defense that the thought of aggrieving and offending me actually terrified him. He has a filial attachment for me and an undeniably warm friendship.

Anyway, having learned the essence of things, I repeated to Antosja she was entirely free and asked her to decide her own fate, without any consideration of me, in the manner that she believed best: to stay with me as a wife—a wife of course only insofar as the public is concerned—or to separate from me and live in Naples openly as the wife of Gambuzzi. She decided on the first option for the following reasons: above all, she is accustomed to me, and the idea of living apart seemed unbearable to her; second, she feared being a burden for Gambuzzi, feared to put him in a situation that he would not know how to extract himself from with honor, given his social prejudices.

So all three of us decided that everything would remain the same as before. The child would spend the winter in Naples (this decision was made in October 1868) and, in autumn, Antosja would travel to Italy, supposedly with a sick Polish friend who would “die” in the summer and entrust her son to Antosja. This fall, Antosja traveled to Naples with the child, and what happened was what was to be expected and what I had predicted: once again, she became pregnant.

She was in despair. So Gambuzzi proposed that she come to give birth in Naples and leave the new child entirely to his guardianship; renouncing him completely, she would return with me after the birth, with the son, our adopted child of the deceased Polish friend (of course a myth). Antosja rebelled against this proposal and stated categorically that for nothing in the world nor for any consideration whatsoever would she abandon her child. A fight began between her and Gambuzzi. They appealed to me as judge. I took the side of Antosja, of course, and wrote to Gambuzzi that his plan was monstrous, that a mother capable of abandoning her child simply for social considerations would be a monster in my eyes.

So Antosja addressed this entreaty to me: leave Geneva, come to Italy and recognize the two children as my own. I did not reflect on it for long and agreed. I felt obliged to accept, because I could see no other way to save Antosja; and having committed a crime against her, it was my duty to assist her. That took place in July or August of this year, precisely at the moment when I announced to you that I had to leave Geneva.

After the Congress of Basel, Antosja pressured me. I hastened to leave and, as agreed, I went down to Locarno, began looking for a home, a nursemaid, and telegraphed Antosja that she could come, that I was waiting for her. For over two weeks, I received no word of reply to my telegram, nor to letters sent after it. I realized that the struggle was continuing between them; I wrote them a synodic letter in which, while describing our mutual situation to them in its true light, I indicated two options for them and demanded that they choose one or the other, namely: either Antosja, renouncing once and for all the love of Gambuzzi and contenting herself merely with his friendship, return immediately to me with my son and my future child, or else she should remain in Naples as the wife, known to all the world, of Gambuzzi, with the two children of their relationship also recognized by him. I offered my stamp of approval for either decision, but I demanded they choose one or the other without delay and stated that I would only agree again to do the first provided that it come into effect immediately.

Antosja arrived. Gambuzzi offered to stay, but she declined the offer.

Friendly relations on my part, as well as on the part of Antosja, continue with Gambuzzi. Their romantic relationship is over. I adopted the children of Gambuzzi, without denying his incontestable right to take charge of and lead their education alongside Antosja. Life here is inexpensive. He will pay 150 francs per month into the common fund and I will do the same. We will stay together, Antosja and I, as long as the revolution hasn’t called me. Then I will belong only to the revolution and myself.

In fact, after this letter was sent, Antonia maintained a romantic relationship with Carlo Gaumbuzzi and gave birth to a third child with him. Mikhail and Antonia continued to live together, and Mikhail participated in raising all three children as if they were his own. Antonia stood by Mikhail even when political conflicts and financial mismanagement alienated him from many of his other comrades and created considerable difficulties for their household. After his death, she finally moved in with Gambuzzi, and the two had one more daughter together.

Errico Malatesta, Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, and Giovanni Defendi

While still a teenager, Malatesta met Mikhail Bakunin and joined him in helping to organize the First International and other early anarchist efforts, including armed uprisings in 1874 and 1877. Targeted by the Italian police forever afterwards, he was compelled to spend a great part of his life in hiding or in exile, especially in London.

Around the same time that he met Bakunin, Malatesta had begun a romantic relationship with the anarchist Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli. Little is known about their relationship, but they likely began seeing each other as early as 1871,2 as Malatesta was involved alongside her brother in the Mazzinist student movement and then the Neapolitan section of the First International. Emilia followed her brother to London in 1879 and began working as a seamstress.

A comrade of theirs, Giovanni Defendi, had gone to France in 1871 to participate in the defense of the Paris Commune, for which he was imprisoned for eight years. After his release, in 1880, he moved to London. That year, he and Emilia announced that they were entering into a union libre:

The undersigned make it a point to announce to you that, on May 8, 1880, they will enter into a free union, in the presence of some socialist friends invited and gathered simply to receive communication.

The reasons that determined them to dispense with legal marriage, as well as religious marriage, are that they view them as bourgeois institutions created for the sole purpose of settling questions of property and inheritance, not offering any serious guarantee to proletarians of either sex, consecrating the subjugation of women, committing wills and consciences for the future, without taking into account the characters involved, and opposing the dissolubility which is the basis of any contract.

The question of children will be settled later in the manner most in accordance with justice and according to the situation that bourgeois society imposes upon them.

Fraternal greetings.

-Giovanni Defendi, Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli

Malatesta had already been living with Emilia before this; he joined the couple at their residence in London in 1881. He lived with the Defendis for much of the next four decades. The British police, scandalized, reported that there were rumors that Malatesta was sleeping with Emilia despite her relationship with Giovanni.

Errico Malatesta.

The house and the business of the Defendi couple, where Malatesta lived, 112 High Street in Islington, was a convergence point for everyone that arrived in London. How many stormy and brotherly discussions were had in the little kitchen through the grocery store of the good Defendi family, which served as an Athenaeum!

-Luigi Fabbri’s Life of Malatesta

Emilia had six children, some of whom she may have conceived with Malatesta—including her son Enrico, born in 1883, who accompanied Malatesta when he went to Italy in 1897, and her daughter Adele, born in 1892. When Emilia fell ill in the aftermath of the First World War, Malatesta stayed by her bedside for months, nursing her until she passed away.

In contrast to the dramatic difficulties that beset Mikhail and Antonia Bakunin and Carlo Gambuzzi, the relationships of Errico Malatesta, Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, and Giovanni Defendi appear to have been healthy and stable, providing a solid foundation for their decades of political activity. Knowing that Mikhail Bakunin mentored the young Malatesta, we can’t help wondering if the two ever discussed affairs of the heart. Could Malatesta’s graceful conduct in relation to his partner’s marriage have been informed by advice or anecdotes from Bakunin? We know they discussed the political and martial aspects of liberation, but we know less about their discussions regarding its personal aspects, which are just as fundamental to the anarchist project.

Likewise, though Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli was an important participant in the Italian anarchist movement in diaspora across several decades, we have little documentation with which to understand the substance of her contributions. On the basis of what we do know about her role in organizing, though, we know they were considerable.

“Let’s eliminate the exploitation of man by man, let’s fight the brutal pretention of the male who thinks he owns the female, let’s fight religious, social, and sexual prejudice. In any case, [in the anarchist future] the ones with bad luck in love will procure themselves other pleasures, since it will not be as it is today, when love and alcohol are the only consolations for the majority of humanity.”

-Errico Malatesta, “Love and Anarchy”

América Scarfó, Severino di Giovanni, and Émile Armand

If we don’t know as much as we might wish to about the perspectives of Antonia Bakunin and Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, we have a full record of the thoughts of América Scarfó, an Argentine anarchist who began a romantic relationship with a married man while she was still a teenager.

Born in a middle-class immigrant family, América already shared anarchist ideas with her brothers Paulino and Alejandro by the end of her adolescence. Their family rented out a room to an Italian anarchist who had fled with his wife and three children to Argentina on account of the rise of Mussolini. He and América began a vibrant intellectual exchange that blossomed into romance. But then a police raid forced him to go into hiding along with Paulino and Alejandro.

Frustrated by the interference of the state, her parents’ opposition and, worst of all, the criticism of other anarchists, América wrote the following letter across the Atlantic Ocean to Émile Armand, an interanationally known anarchist proponent of “revolutionary sexualism” and camaraderie amoureuse. Armand had revived Zo d’Axa’s individualist anarchist publication L’En-Dehors, largely as a vehicle to promote what today we might call relationship anarchy.

In sending this letter, América was publicly declaring the legitimacy of a relationship not sanctioned by the church, the state, or her parents, just as Giovanni Defendi and Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli had done before her. But more than that, she was taking revolutionary measures on the terrain that was available to her as a young woman in Buenos Aires: challenging the norms around intimacy, gender, and affective relations in society at large, in her birth family, and in the social circles of her fellow anarchists.

Revolution is not something that the party implements in the parliament or the workers carry out in the factories—it is a project that concerns every single aspect of life, and therefore, every single person, wherever she is situated.

América Scarfó.

Buenos Aires, December 3, 1928 To comrade E. Armand

Dear Comrade,

The purpose of this letter is, first of all, to ask your advice. We have to act, in all moments of our lives, in accord with our own manner of seeing and thinking, in such a way that the reproaches and criticisms of other people find our individuality protected by the healthiest concepts of responsibility and liberty, which form a solid wall weakening their attacks. For this reason, we should act consistently with our ideas.

My case, comrade, is of the amorous order. I am a young student who believes in the new life. I believe that, thanks to our free actions, individual or collective, we can arrive at a future of love, fraternity, and equality. I desire for all just what I desire for myself: the freedom to act, to love, to think. That is, I desire anarchy for all humanity. I believe that in order to achieve this, we should make a social revolution. But I am also of the opinion that in order to arrive at this revolution, it is necessary to free ourselves from all kinds of prejudices, conventionalisms, false moralities, and absurd codes. And, while we wait for this great revolution to break out, we have to carry out this work in all the actions of our existence. And indeed, in order to make this revolution come about, we can’t just content ourselves with waiting, but need to take action in our daily lives. Wherever possible, we should act from the point of view of an anarchist, that is, of a human being.

In love, for example, we will not wait for the revolution, we will unite ourselves freely, paying no regard to the prejudices, barriers, and innumerable lies that oppose us as obstacles. I have come to know a man, a comrade of ideas. According to the laws of the bourgeoisie, he is married. He united himself with a woman as a consequence of a childish circumstance, without love. At that time, he didn’t know our ideas. However, he lived with this woman for a number of years, and they had children. He didn’t experience the satisfaction that he should have felt with a loved one. Life became tedious, the only thing that united these two beings were the children. Still an adolescent, this man came to know our ideas, and a new consciousness was born in him. He turned into a brave militant. He devoted himself to propaganda with ardor and intelligence. All the love that he hadn’t directed to a person, he offered instead to an ideal. In the home, meanwhile, life continued with its monotony relieved only by the happiness of their small children. It happened that circumstances brought us together, at first as companions of ideas. We talked, we sympathized with each other, and we learned to know each other. Thus our love was born. We believed, in the beginning, that it would be impossible. He, who had loved only in dreams, and I, making my entrance into life. Each one of us continued living between doubt and love. Destiny—or, better, love—did the rest. We opened our hearts and our love and our happiness began to intone its song, even in the middle of the struggle, the ideal, which in fact gave us an even greater impulse. And our eyes, our lips, our hearts expressed themselves in the magic conjuring of a first kiss. We idealized love, but we were carrying it into reality. Free love, that knows no barriers, nor obstacles. The creative force that transports two beings through a flowery field, carpeted with roses—and sometimes thorns—but where we find happiness always.

Is it not the case that the whole universe is converted into an Eden when two beings love each other?

América Scarfó in 1929.

His wife also—despite her relative knowledge—sympathizes with our ideas. When it came to it, she gave proofs of her contempt for the hired killers of the bourgeois order as the police began to pursue my friend. That was how the wife of my comrade and I have become friends. She is fully aware of what the man who lived at her side represents to me. The feeling of fraternal affection that existed between them permitted him to confide in her. And he gave her freedom to act as she desired, in the manner of any conscientious anarchist. Until this moment, to tell the truth, we have lived really like in a novel. Our love became every day more intense. We cannot live altogether in common, given the political situation of my friend, and the fact that I have still not finished my studies. We meet, when we can, in different places. Isn’t that perhaps the best way to sublimate love, distancing it from the preoccupations of domestic life? Although I am sure that when it is true love, the most beautiful thing is to live together.

This is what I wanted to explain. Some people here have turned into judges. And these are not to be found so much among common people but in fact among comrades of ideas who see themselves as free of prejudices but who, at bottom, are intolerant. One of these says that our love is a madness; another indicates that the wife of my friend is playing the role of “martyr,” despite the fact that she is aware of everything that concerns us, is the ruler of her own person, and enjoys her freedom. A third raises the ridiculous economic obstacle. I am independent, just as is my friend. In all probability, I will create a personal economic situation for myself that will free me from all worries in this sense.

Also, the question of the children. What do the children have to do with the feelings of our hearts? Why can’t a man who has children love? It is as if to say that the father of a family cannot work for the idea, do propaganda, etc. What makes them believe that those little beings will be forgotten because their father loves me? If the father were to forget his children, he would deserve my contempt and there would exist no more love between us.

Here, in Buenos Aires, certain comrades have a truly meager idea of free love. They imagine that it consists only in cohabiting without being legally married and, meanwhile, in their own homes they carry on practicing all the stupidities and prejudices of ignorant people. This type of union that ignores the civil registrar and the priest also exists in bourgeois society. Is that free love?

Finally, they criticize our difference in age. Just because I am 16 and my friend is 26. Some accuse me of running a commercial operation; others describe me as unwitting. Ah, these pontiffs of anarchism! Making the question of age interfere with love! As if the fact that a brain reasons is not enough for a person to be responsible for their actions! On the other hand, it is my own problem, and if the difference in age means nothing to me, why should it matter to anyone else? That which I cherish and love is youth of the spirit, which is eternal.

There are also those who treat us as degenerates or sick people and other labels of this kind. To all these I say: why? Because we live life in its true sense, because we recognize a free cult of love? Because, just like the birds that bring joy to walkways and gardens, we love without paying any attention to codes or false morals? Because we are faithful to our ideas? I disdain all those who cannot understand what it is to know how to love.

True love is pure. It is the sun whose rays stretch to those who cannot climb to the heights. Life is something we have to live freely. We accord to beauty, to the pleasures of the spirit, to love, the veneration that they deserve.

This is all, comrade. I would like to have your opinion on my case. I know very well what I am doing and I don’t need to be approved or applauded. Just that, having read many of your articles and agreeing with various points of view, it would make me content to know your opinion.

Her letter was printed in L’en dehors on January 20, 1929 under the title “An Experience.” Émile Armand printed his answer alongside it:

“Comrade: My opinion matters little in this matter you send me about what you are doing. Are you or are you not intimately in accord with your personal conception of the anarchist life? If you are, then ignore the comments and insults of others and carry on following your own path. No one has the right to judge your way of conducting yourself, even if it were the case that your friend’s wife be hostile to these relations. Every person united to an anarchist (or vice versa), knows very well that she should not exercise on him, or accept from him, domination of any kind.”

Severino di Giovanni.

The lover that the 16-year-old América Scarfó refers to in this letter was, of course, the anarchist Severino di Giovanni, Argentina’s most wanted criminal. When she sent this letter, he was living underground, accused of carrying out a string of bombings targeting the Italian Consulate, the US embassy, the Ford Motor Company, and a monument to George Washington, among other targets. By the time he was captured in January 1931—along with América and her brother Paulino—he was also accused of the most dramatic robbery in contemporary Argentine history and the shootings of various police officers.

At that point, a military coup had taken place in Argentina, Hitler was headed for power in Germany, and the whole world seemed to be sliding rapidly towards fascism. In such a context, we can understand Severino’s actions as a rational attempt to carry out much-needed revolutionary measures on the terrain that was available to him, just as he and América were doing in their romantic relationship.

When the police captured Severino, they rushed him to a doctor to treat his wounds, so as to be sure he would die at precisely the hour they decreed, after the proper show trial. The police reportedly tortured Severino, but none of the arrestees cooperated with the state by informing against their fellows. After the trial, Severino’s lawyer was arrested, dismissed from his post in the armed forces, imprisoned, and deported.

The novelist Roberto Arlt witnessed the scene of Severino’s execution:

He looks stiffly at his executors. He emanates will. Whether he suffers or not, it is a secret. But he remains like this, static, proud.

Only after the execution did they call over a blacksmith to unfasten his fetters—and another doctor, this time to make sure he was dead. Then they executed Paulino Scarfó, too, for good measure.

They had released América, deeming her unfit to stand trial on account of her age.

Severino di Giovanni under arrest.

On July 28, 1999, after 68 years, the Argentine government finally returned Severino di Giovanni’s letters to América Scarfó. América passed away on August 26, 2006 at the age of 93. Her ashes were buried in the garden beside the headquarters of the Argentine Libertarian Federation in Buenos Aires.

There are many different risks to loving fiercely and outside the prescribed lines. Perhaps the only thing worse than these terrifying risks is the deadly certainty that comes of not daring to love.

“For us, love is a passion that engenders tragedies for itself.”

-Errico Malatesta, “Love and Anarchy”

Further Reading and Viewing

Anarchist Individualism and Amorous Comradeship, Émile Armand

The Knights Errant of Anarchy: London and the Italian Anarchist Diaspora (1880-1917), Pietro di Paola

Anarchism and Violence: Severino di Giovanni in Argentina, 1923-1931, Osvaldo Bayer

Daiana Rosenfeld and Anibal Garisto have produced a documentary about América Scarfó’s relationship with Severino di Giovanni entitled Los ojos de América (“The Eyes of América”).

Thomas Nast cartoon attacking Victoria Woodhull, advocate of free love, member of the First International, associate of anarchists, and, incidentally, the first woman to run for president of the United States.

Bakunin’s Revolutionary Catechism is distinct from Sergey Nechayev’s Catechism of a Revolutionary, which is often mistakenly attributed to Bakunin. In fact, there were serious differences between the politics of the two Russian revolutionists, as Bakunin set forth in this letter to Nechayev. ↩

See Errico Malatesta da Mazzini a Bakunin, la sua formazione giovanile nell’ambiente napoletano (1868-1873) by Misato Toda. ↩

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loretranscripts · 5 years

Text

Lore Episode 29: The Big Chill (Transcript) - 7th March 2016

tw: graphic violence

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

Some places are more frightening than others. It’s hard to nail down a specific reason why, but even so, I can’t think of a single person who might disagree. Some places just have a way of getting under your skin. For some it’s the basement, for others it’s the local graveyard. I even know people who are afraid of certain colours. Fear, it seems, is a landmine that can be triggered by almost anything, and while history might be full of hauntingly tragic stories that span a variety of settings and climates, the most chilling ones – literally – are those that take place in the harsh environment of winter: the incident at Dyatlov Pass; the tragedy of the Donner party; even the sinking of the Titanic in 1912 took place in the freezing waters of the north Atlantic. Winter, it seems, is well equipped to end lives and create fear, and when I think of dangerous winters, I think of Maine, that area of New England on the northern frontier. If you love horror, you might equate Maine with Stephen King, but even though he’s tried hard over the last few decades to make us believe in Derry and Castle Rock and Salem’s Lot, the state has enough danger on its own. Maine is also home to nearly 3500 miles of coastline, more than even California, and that’s where the real action happens. The Maine coastline is littered with thousands of small islands, jagged rocks, ancient lighthouses and even older legends, and all in the cold north, where the sea is cruel and the weather can be deadly. It’s often there, in the places that are isolated and exposed, that odd things happen, things that seem born of the circumstances and climate, things that leave their mark on the people there – things that would never happen on the mainland. And if the stories are to be believed, that’s a good thing. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The coastline of Maine isn’t as neat and tidy as other states’. Don’t picture sandy beaches and warm waves that you can walk through; this is the cold north, the water is always chilly and the land tends to emerge from the waves as large, jagged rocks. Go ahead and pull up a map of Maine on your phone, I’ll wait. You’ll see what I mean right away – this place is dangerous, and because of that, ships have had a long history of difficulty when it comes to navigating the coast of Maine. Part of that is because of all the islands - they’re everywhere. According to the most recent count, there are over 4,600 of them, scattered along the coastal waters like fragments of a broken bottle. One such fragment is Seguin Island. It’s only three miles from the mainland, but it’s easy to understand how harsh winter weather could isolate anyone living there very quickly, and when you’re the keeper of the lighthouse there, that isolation comes with the job. The legend that’s been passed down for decades there is the story of a keeper from the mid-1800s. According to the tale, the keeper was newly married and, after moving to the island with his bride, they both began to struggle with the gulf between their lives there and the people on the coast. So, to give his wife something to do with her time – and maybe to get a bit of entertainment out of it for himself – the keeper ordered a piano for her. They say it was delivered during the autumn, just as the winter chill was creeping in. In the story, it had to be hoisted up the rock face, but that’s probably not true; Seguin is more like a green hill pretruding from the water than anything else but, hey, it adds to the drama, right? And that’s what these old stories provide –plenty of drama. When the piano arrived the keeper’s wife was elated, but buyer’s remorse quickly set in. You see, the piano only came with the sheet music for one song. With winter quickly rolling in from the north, shipping in more music was impossible, so she settled in and made the best of it. The legend says that she played that song non-stop, over and over, all throughout the winter. Somehow she was immune to the monotony of it all, but her husband, the man who had only been hoping for distraction and entertainment, took it hard. They say it drove him insane. In the end, the keeper took an axe and destroyed the piano, hacking it into nothing more than a pile of wood and wire, and then, still deranged from the repetitive tune, he turned the axe on his wife, nearly chopping her head off in the process. The tragic story always ends with the keeper’s suicide, but most know it all to be fiction. At least, that’s the general opinion, but even today, there are some who claim that if you happen to find yourself on a boat in the waters between the island and the mainland, you can still hear the sound of piano music drifting across the waves.

Boon island is near the southern tip of Maine’s long coastline. It’s not a big island by any stretch of the imagination, perhaps 400 square yards in total, but there’s been a lighthouse there since 1811 due to the many shipwrecks that have plagued the island for as long as Europeans have sailed in those waters. The most well-known shipwreck on Boon Island occurred there in the winter of 1710 when the Nottingham Galley, a ship captained by John Deane, wrecked there on the rocks. All 14 crew members survived, but the ship was lost, stranding them without help or supplies in the cold winter. As the unfortunate sailors died, one by one, the survivors were forced to eat the dead or face starvation, and they did this for days, until fishermen finally discovered and rescued them. But that’s not the most memorable story from Boon Island, that honour falls to the tale of Katherine Bright, the wife of a former lighthouse keeper there in the 19th century. According to those who believe the story, the couple had only been on the island for a few months when Katherine’s husband slipped while trying to tie off their boat. He fell and hit his head on the rocks and then slid unconsciously into the water, where he drowned. At first, Katherine tried to take on the duties of keeping the light running herself, but after nearly a week, fishermen in York on the mainland watched the light flicker out and stay dark. When they travelled to the island to investigate, they found Katherine sitting on the tower’s stairs. She was cradling her dead husband’s corpse in her arms. Legend has it that Katherine was brought back to York along with her husband’s body, but it was too late for her. Just like the lighthouse they had left behind, she was now cold and dark. Some flames, it seems, can’t be relit.

There’s been a lighthouse on the shore of Rockland, Maine, for nearly 200 years. It’s on an oddly-shaped hill, with two large depressions in the face of the rock that were said to remind the locals of an owl. So, when the light was built there in 1825 it was, of course, named Owls Head. Give any building long enough, mix in some tragedy and unexplainable phenomenon, and you can almost guarantee a few legends will be born. Owls Head is no exception. One of the oldest stories is a well-documented one from 1850. It tells of a horrible winter storm that ripped through the Penobscot Bay area on December 22nd of that year. At least five ships were driven aground by the harsh waves and chill wind. It was a destructive and fierce storm, and it would have been and understatement to say that it wasn’t a wise idea to be out that night – on land or at sea. A small ship had been anchored at Jameson Point that night. The captain had done the smart thing and gone ashore to weather the storm inside, but he left some people behind on the ship. Three, actually: first mate, Richard Ingraham, a sailor named Roger Elliot, and Lydia Dyer, a passenger. While those three poor souls tried to sleep that night on the schooner, the storm pushed the ship so hard that the cables snapped, setting the ship adrift across the bay. Now, it’s not exactly a straight shot south-east to get to Owls Head, it’s a path shaped more like a backwards “C” to get around the rocky coast, but the ship somehow managed to do it anyway. It passed the breakwater, drifted east and south, and finally rounded the rocky peninsula where Owls Head Light is perched, all before smashing against the rocks south of the light.

The three passengers survived the impact and, as the ship began to take on water, they scrambled up to the top deck – better the biting wind than the freezing water, they assumed – and then they waited, huddled there under a pile of blankets against the storm, just waiting for help. When the ship began to actually break apart in the waves, though, Elliot, the sailor, was the only one to make an escape from the wreckage. I can’t imagine how cold he must have been with the freezing wind and ocean spray lashing at him from the darkness, but standing on the rocks with his feet still ankle-deep in the waves, he happened to look up and see the lighthouse on the hill. If he was going to find help, that was his best option, so he began to climb. He was practically dead by the time he reached the lighthouse, but when he knocked, no one answered. A moment later, the keeper of the light rode up the path on a sleigh, having been out for supplies, and realised at once that Elliot needed help. He took him in, gave him hot rum and put him into a warm bed, but not before Elliot managed to whisper something about the others.

The keeper immediately called for help and gathered a group of about a dozen men. Together, they all travelled down to the shore, where they began to look for the wreck of the ship and the people who may still be alive onboard. When they found the remains of the schooner, the men began to carefully climb across the wreckage, looking for signs of the other passengers. It was treacherous work – the wood was encrusted in ice and each step swayed dangerously with the waves. When they finally found them, they were still on the portion of the deck where Elliot had left them, but they seemed to shiver whenever the light of the lantern washed over them. Climbing closer, the men discovered why: Ingraham and Dyer were both encased in a thick layer of ice, completely covering their bodies. They were frozen. Not taking any chances, the men somehow managed to pry the couple free from the deck of the ship and the entire block was transported back up the hill to the lighthouse. All that night, they worked fast and carefully. They placed the block in a tub of water and then slowly chipped away at the ice, and as it melted, they moved the limbs of each person in an attempt to get their blood flowing again, and somehow, against all logic and medical odds, it worked. It took them a very long time to recover, but Ingraham and Dyer soon opened their eyes. Ingraham was the first to speak, and it was said that he croaked the words “what is all this? Where are we?” Roger Elliot didn’t survive the aftermath of the shipwreck. Maybe it was the trauma of climbing up the hill to the lighthouse, soaked to the bone and exposed to the freezing winds of the storm. Perhaps it was an injury he sustained in the shipwreck itself, or on the climb to the lighthouse. Dyer and Ingraham faired better, though. They eventually recovered and even married each other. They settled down and raised a family together in the area, all thanks to the man who died to bring them help when all seemed lost.

Later stories from inside Owls Head lighthouse have been equally chilling. Although there are no other tragic events on record there, it’s clear from the first-hand accounts of those who have made Owls Head their home that something otherworldly has taken up residence there. The Andrews family was one of the first to report any sort of unusual activity on the property. I can’t find a record of their first names, but the keeper and his wife lived there along with her elderly father. According to their story, one night the couple was outside and looked up to see a light swirling in her father’s window. When they climbed the stairs, they found the older man shaking in his bed from fright. Some think he might have seen the old sailor, a common figure witnessed by many over the years. When John Norton was keeper in 1980, he claimed to have seen the same apparition. He had been sleeping, but when a noise woke him up, he opened his eyes to see the figure of an old sea captain standing over his bed, just… staring at him. The old sailor has been blamed for mysterious footprints that tend to appear in the snow, footprints that could be found on the walk toward the house. The prints never seem to have an origin point, and always end abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. Others have claimed to feel cold spots in the house, while some have gone on record to swear that brass fixtures inside the lighthouse, fixtures that were usually tarnished and dark, would be found mysteriously polished. None of the keepers have been able to figure out who was doing the cleaning for them, though. There have been other stories as well, tales of a white lady who has been frequently seen in the kitchen, of doors slamming without anyone in the room, and of silverware that has been heard to rattle in the drawers. Despite this, though, most have said that they felt at peace with her there – more at peace, at least, than they are with the old, bearded sailor.

In the mid-1980s, Andy Germann and his wife, Denise, lived there while tending the light. They moved in and settled into life on the harsh coast of Maine. Andy divided his time between tending the light and a series of renovations to the old lighthouse, which left the yard outside rather chaotic and full of construction materials. One night after climbing into bed, the couple heard the sound of some of the building supplies outside falling over in the wind. Andy pulled on his pants and shoes and left the room to go take care of the mess before the wind made it worse. Denise watched him leave, and then rolled back over to sleep with the lamp still on. A short while later, she felt him climb back into bed. The mattress moved, as did the covers, and so she asked out loud how it had gone, if there had been any trouble or anything unusual, but Andy didn’t reply, so Denise rolled over. When she did, she found that Andy’s spot in bed was still empty. Well, almost. In the spot where he normally slept beside her, there was a deep depression in the sheets, as if an invisible body were laying right there beside her. Of course, it was just the dent where Andy had been sleeping moments before. At least, that’s what she told herself, but thinking back on it later, Denise admits that she has doubts. There were moments when she was laying there, staring at the impression in the sheets, that she could have sworn the shape was moving. Maybe she was too level-headed to get upset, or perhaps she was too tired to care. Whatever the reason, Denise simply told whoever it was to leave her alone, and then rolled over and fell back asleep. At breakfast the next morning, she wanted to tell Andy about the experience, thinking he would laugh it off and help her to explain it away, but before she could, he told her his own story. It turns out Andy had an unusual experience of his own the previous night. He explained how, as he had exited the room and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, he saw what he could only describe as a faint cloud hovering close to the floor, and this cloud, he said, had been moving. According to Andy, when he walked down the hall, it moved right up to his feet and then passed on through him. That’s when Denise asked Andy where the cloud had been going. “Into the bedroom,” he told her. “Why?”

You don’t have to travel to a lighthouse to bump into tales of the unexplained or otherworldly. You can hear them from just about anyone you meet, from the neighbour down the street to your real estate agent, but lighthouses seem to have a reputation for the tragic, and maybe that’s understandable – these are, after all, houses built to help save lives in a dangerous setting. It might be safe to say that the well for these stories runs deeper than many place – but are they true? Like a lot of stories, it seems to depend on who you talk to. Keepers across the decades have had a mixed bag of experiences. Some see odd things, and some don’t. Maybe some people just connect to the stories more than others and go looking for hints and signs where there are none. One recent family described their time there as “normal”. They never saw ghosts, never watched objects move, and felt right at home the whole time they were there. Another family, though, acknowledged that something unusual seemed to be going on in the lighthouse. They would find lightbulbs partially unscrewed and the thermostat would constantly readjust itself – perhaps whatever it is that’s haunting the lighthouse is just very environmentally conscious. It’s easy to laugh off most of these stories, but we’ve never lived there, we’ve never heard or felt something that can’t be explained away, and like most samples of data, there’s always the outlier. Another family who lived at the lighthouse in the late 1980s claimed to have experienced their fair share of unusual activity, though. One night, while Gerard and Debby Graham were asleep, their three-year-old daughter, Claire, quietly opened her eyes and sat up in bed. She stared into the darkness for a moment, as if carefully listening to something, and then climbed out of her bed and left the room. Her little bare feet patted on the cold floor of the hallway as she made her way down towards her parents’ room. Inside, she slowly approached the side of their bed, and then tapped her father on the arm to wake him. When he did wake up, he asked Claire what was the matter. The little girl replied that she was supposed to tell him something. “Tell me what?” he father asked. “There’s a fog rolling in,” Claire replied, somehow sounding like someone infinitely older. “Sound the horn”. When he asked her who had told her this, the little girl looked at him seriously. “My friend,” she told him, “the old man with the beard.”

[Closing statements]

#lore podcast #aaron mahnke #podcast transcripts #maine #hauntings #transcripts #29

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sweettoothshipperrotg · 5 years

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Arranged Marriage... SweetTooth AU?? :3

Well, this is what happens when I allow the plot bunnies (pun fully intended) to hold me hostage: y’all end up with a thirteen page fic. (sorry?)

Kinda long disclaimer: My brain setted this during victorian times in England, more specifically in the 1840′s London. Bunny is an army lieutenant that had been assigned to the British colonies of New South Wales (aka Australia), Toothiana is a princess from one of the many Indian states that were under indirect british rule (she still held her title as maharani but could not kick the dudes out of her region). Although I did as much research as I could to inform myself and provide argument for the fic, I apologize if you feel that I was disrespectful/misinformed in the way I depicted the characters and circumstances here. It was not my intention and I would appreciate if you can offer constructive criticism so I can improve. What I DID do is try to keep it as ambiguous as possible so although it does not directly mention anyone in particular, the idea still remains (don’t go around colonizing countries an being an asshat to people)

A/N: Whenever you see boldened and cursive text it’s because the characters are speaking a different language apart from regular English.

Ok, I’m done, I promise. ^^;

Hope you like it!

“I have been eagerly awaiting the day I could finallymeet you…and I am not disappointed. You are beautiful.”

The words that came from her fiancé’s mouth would havesent any other young girl’s heart aflutter. To Toothiana…they felt completelyhollow.

Every fiber of her soul was begging her to turn back,ran to the closest port, and sneak onto a ship that would take her far awayfrom here and closer to her beloved country. Yet she remained rooted on herspot.

The atmosphere was charged with tension, silence stretchingand making everything worse.

All eyes were on both of them, sizing, judging, and losingno detail of the interaction among the betrothed couple.

Their dark clothes and pretentious faces wereunnerving to say the least.

They thought themselves above her and her people.Fools, the lot of them.

Toothiana kept her head held high. The people who hadaccompanied her and her younger sister had instructed her on how she wassupposed to curtsy and handle herself when she met her fiancé. She refused togrant him said honor.

She was the heir to the throne of Punjam Hy Loo,daughter of Haroom and Queen Rashmi. She bowed to those worthy of it.

Her disruption of protocol sent tongues wagging; awave of poorly concealed whispers filled the room.

The man in front of her seemed to tower above most ofthe attendees. His bright red uniform and medals pinned to his chest, proof ofhis prowess in battle, seemed obnoxiously loud and reminded her of howdifferent and apart they truly were. Of how men sporting the same uniform hadinvaded her country and taken by force what didn’t belong to them.

To look at him, to think of why she had to do this wasmaking her sick.

She had been taken away from her home with courteoussmiles and polite words that did nothing to hide how the invaders held all thecards and they had no quarrel with twisting her arm into submitting to theirwishes.

So they had shipped off across the ocean, away fromthe deep colors of the green jungles she loved so much, from the colorful lifeof her city, and from the comfort of being among her people.

She dearly missed the sun kissed bedroom she had grownup in, the morning chants and prayers of the devotees inside the temples, theair full of spices and the perfume of the flowers in bloom.

The trip had been horrific. Storms and rough seas madeher fear that she would die in the middle of the vast ocean without theappropriate rites, her soul becoming chained to the sea and not be allowed totranscend to the beyond and see her parents.

On those nights where it almost seemed that the shipwould capsize at any moment, she held tight to her baby sister (a merelythirteen year old girl who had tragically been roped into this voyage due tosharing the same lineage) and allowed a few rogue tears to trickle down her face.

The only comfort had been the kind young man thatstationed himself outside her cabin to make the sisters feel more secure,promising to keep them safe at all costs.

Jackson Overland Frost had been a true blessing duringher long journey, joining her at the port before they departed and using hiswits and charm to win her over. He had offered his services to accompany her,serve as her interpreter, and to help her navigate this new culture full ofstrange and different aspects.

He had proven a good, amicable companion. Since he wasthe only one who spoke to her in her language, it had initiated an almostinstant bond between them.

He treated her and her sister with the upmost respectand saw them as equals.

Although he did not share the same nationality as herfiancé, he had provided as a diplomatic envoy between countries and had quicklybecome friends with him.

In fact, Jack had provided her with far moreinformation about her intended than any member of her escorts.

Toothiana did not know much of Lord Bunnymund. He wasthe sole heir of his family’s titles at his 26 years of age, had ascended tothe rank of lieutenant during his military service but had been eventuallydischarged from the army (the reason of said discharge had not been explainedto her).

“How is he? Tell me about his real colors”,she had asked him while gazing at the miniature with the rendition of the manshe was to marry.

“Bunny? Well, he’s real annoying, realgrumpy, and really full of himself!” He said with a playful smile thathad made her little sister burst into laughter. “But in all seriousness, I havenever met a stronger, more honorable man than the likes of him. Truly, the lastof his kind.”

She was not able to get any more meaningfulinformation out of him. Any other pertinent details, he proclaimed, she wouldhave to ask the man himself.

Right now, Toothiana wished she had extricated moreinformation from Jack.

The small painting had not made him justice, of thatshe was certain.

Despite belonging to the upper class, his face did nothave the softness or paleness of noblemen his age. His features knew themerciless lash of the wind and the unforgiving rays of the sun, making himstand out from the sea of faces that seemed to quake at the mention of notbeing as white as snow.

His hands looked rougher than those of the pamperednoblemen.

The voice that had greeted her had sent a shiver downher spine: deep, calming, kind, instead of the monotonous plummy ones she hadheard since the beginning of her journey. It was the type of voice that shewouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of her days.

However, his eyes were the most striking of his attributes,two orbs of vivid green that sucked the air out of her lungs when she firstlooked at them.

Despite how pleasing he was on the eyes, she wasdetermined to not budge an inch.

They wanted to make her dance to their tune? Fine.

But she would be the one to mark the tempo.

“And I hope that you do not prove asconceited and vain as the rest of your countrymen”, she retorted with asweet smirk. Even if no one but Jack and her sister could understand her, shewas content with her words.

Jack snorted at her comment, barely covering hislaughter and trying to pass it as a fit of cough.

Although it was only for a moment, she could swear shesaw her fiancé smiling at her display of spirit.

His fiancé was nothing like he had expected.

The ones that had arranged their union had granted himlittle information about her.

Whatever he received should be taken with a grain ofsalt, anyways.

Their derisive remarks and snide commentaries againsther being a foreigner and from a different culture got on his nerves.

He hated this place.

Aster was certain of this once he had been forced toleave his post at the army and practically dragged back to his country to sitdown and submit to orders like a good puppet.

He had been received with a scowl by the ones sittingatop of the political playfield.

And, stars above, the almost unending procession fromone minister’s office to another just to receive the same lecture from stuffyold men with no idea of how real life was beyond their very noses, almost droveBunnymund mad.

They had no qualm of gloating about how lucky he was to not have been executedfor his seditious actions against the crown.

What did they knew of his motives? Absolutely nothing.

They had never gone hungry a day of their lives. Theyknew not of sore muscles and tired bodies after strenuous hours of labor underthe sun. They feared not the crack of the whip, nor the unkind treatment of strangersthat had no roots to their lands.

While stationed as an officer, he had tried to breakpeace between the locals and his countrymen. But the latter refused to give anyquarter to what they considered belonged to them.

The moment that he was demanded to comply withatrocities like the ones they had ordered of him had been the straw that brokethe camel’s back.

Bunnymund had taken action against those who commandedhim. Slowly and discreetly, he had aided local insurgent factions, providingresources, information and even shelter to those who were on the run.

Unfortunately, he was caught without any means ofescape.

The first month that he stayed in prison had beentesting.

His once fellow officers now treated him like thelowliest of criminals, spitting insults whenever they passed him by.

The beatings and punishments were administered withardent fervor.

When the infection had settled in, he truly thought hewould die in that filthy cell and not even be given a proper grave.

Those days spent at the camp’s infirmary – confined tohis bed not only by the fever but by the manacles to prevent any chance ofescape, and being look down by the doctors and nurses that kept him alive – hadcrawled by agonizing slow.

Illness decided not to kill him, and back to the cellhe went.

He was careless enough to lose track of the time hespent there, only when he was released he found out that his confinement had lasteda year and 3 months.

Out of nowhere, he was presented to the commander ofthe camp and informed that his family had pulled enough strings for him to besent back to his country to be dealt with by higher authorities. He was givenhonorable discharge of the army and was forbidden to return, the disdain in theofficer oozing from every word.

And throughout this horrid experience, Bunnymund hadnever uttered a word. He had not complained, nor begged, nor retracted from hisactions. It was a waste of time to try to convince them.

He was placed on the next ship back to his countryunder heavy scrutiny of two officers who had been assigned to police him thewhole trip. They did not engage with him, but the surly looks they gave himwere a dead giveaway of their opinion of him.

When the ship finally docked, he was not greeted byany better circumstances.

He had only seen his parents once. His father had donewhat he did best and berated and screamed at him, telling him what adisappointment he was to the family name.

His mother had stayed behind her husband, a silentlook of disapproval battling with the sorrow of seeing her only son in such aregretful state.

They had not allowed him to see his sister.

Days flew by. Although it was nothing compared to hisprevious accommodations, the room he was confined in told him that his ordealwas far from over.

He had been escorted to a fancy chamber, where theminister of foreign affairs was waiting for him with a reproving look and a litpipe that wafted its acrid smell all over the room.

That’s when his future purpose was laid in front ofhim.

He was to marry a princess from a small region of acountry he had never had the opportunity to see for himself.

She was the heir to the throne and her influenceweighted a lot on the hold his country had over hers.

There had been several rebel uprisings on neighboringregions and, if the princess allied herself with said insurgents, his countrywould lose an important trade point and area of influence.

They simply could not let it happen. And since theprincess and her sister were both too valuable to kill and yet too dangerous toallow to act freely, they had decided to extract her and ship her away so shecould not play her hand against them.

The diplomats had found the perfect excuse, too. Arebel war lord had threatened her throne, fully intending to kill her and takeover the region. Under a poorly disguised attempt to “guarantee her security”,they had taken her and her sister away and were on their way here.

In order to bind her to his country, they were forcingher to marry a complete stranger.

Since he had fallen from grace, he would pay his dueby playing said role. And the minister made it quite clear that Bunnymund hadno say on the matter.

He had dreaded their meeting since the man informedhim on their imposed betrothal.

What did she look like? Any description of women fromher country had not been favorable – the opinion of men who claimed to haveseen them not proper for polite society –, but Aster knew better than to trustthose pompous bigots.

What would she think of him? Arranged marriages werenot uncommon in their times but it felt like there was an ocean between themwith how different they were.

Would they get along? It almost seemed impossible thatthey would be able to find common ground.

But to his surprise, princess Toothiana had turned outto be quite a remarkable personality (at least to his standards).

Their first encounter was full of tension and statelyprotocol. The latter she broke with a confident smile on her face, clearlyletting all those haughty toffs she would not be intimidated by them.

Although he couldn’t understand her, judging by what ahard time Jack had had to try to conceal his laughter Aster knew the womanstanding before him had more fire within her than any other.

She had refused the dresses they had provided her with–thankfully, because Aster thought her own clothes made her absolutelybreathtaking, any intention of putting her into something more restraining andstifling a disservice to her person–, as well as stubbornly stuck to speakingin her own language . He liked how her rich voice traveled through the room,the unknown words twisting and wrapping around him in a pleasant sensation.

Although she had never made any acknowledgement of thefact, Bunnymund knew princess Toothiana could understand his language. Thespark of understanding gave her away, despite how everyone else considered herand her sister as uncivilized and inferior creatures.

She couldn’t have easily traversed among the wolvesthat surrounded her had she not been a bright and confident woman.

Even though they had not spent much time together, hedid find himself thinking of her: her warm smile when talking or watching overher sister –which reminded him so much of his own–, her bubbly and melodiclaugh when she and Jack shared a secret joke, even the grace she carriedherself with.

Her entrancing eyes followed him around and he couldnot deny the effect her beauty had on him.

But it was more than just that. Her strength anddetermination had quickly casted a deep sense of admiration within him.

She had left everything behind and was facing thisabysmal uncertainty head on.

He truly felt grateful to be by her side, especiallywhen she managed to irritate diplomats and nobles the way she did. And despiteenjoying what an interesting woman she was, he knew there was a whole lot moreto find out.

His fiancé definitely was a mystery, but one he didn’tmind to unravel.

Their wedding came sooner than expected.

Suddenly, Bunnymund found his garments a tadconstricting around his throat. His reflection stared back at him paler than hewished.

He was not ready for this.

Meanwhile, Jack was leaning back against his chair andhaving the time of his life. He had a smirk hanging from his lips and a glassof strong liquor on one hand, claiming that just because Bunny was going towaste such a fine kind of liquid courage didn’t mean he had to.

The young man had always liked to crack jests at hisexpense, which got them into extensive verbal banter. His carefree naturelacked the discipline and method the military service had instilled into Bunnymund.

Bunny found it rather amusing that despite not likingeach other in the beginning they had ended up friends.

It was good to have him around, a friendly face amongthe sea of pampered halfwits who were attending.

Several diplomats and ministers were there to gloat atwhat a good idea had been to match two of the empire’s greatest headaches.

Aster’s family was nowhere to be present. His fatherand mother had been outraged at the news he was marrying a foreigner theyconsidered beneath their status.

His only regret is that he hadn’t been able toproperly talk to his sister. Not even his letters had been answered, probablyintercepted by his father and now serving as tinder for the study’s chimney.

Luckily, Jack had stayed by his side, refusing todepart until his friend was in more stable grounds.

Aster could only imagine how his fiancé might bedealing with the situation from her end.

The wide open windows didn’t feel like they wereletting any air in. The walls were starting to close in on him.

He needed to leave the room, he needed to move.

Without any further explanation he was out the doorand into the corridor before it all became too overwhelming.

A sliver of light from a door slightly ajar caught hisattention.

Peering in, he was surprised when he saw his futurewife and sister in law sitting by the window sill.

The princess was no longer using her colorful clothes.She had been forced into a white wedding dress that constricted her movementsand truly did not complement her dark skin the way her usual garments did.

Although she did look beautiful and any woman from hiscountry would have been raving at the soft satin fabric and the delicate pearlsand crystals embroidered into the dress, it was clear to see that this was notwhat she wanted.

She had had no say in any of the wedding arrangementsand no one had been sympathetic enough to try to make her more comfortable.

His fingers brushed something small that had beenburning the inside of his pocket since Jack had handed it to him (his quips atbeing tired with being an errand boy due to Aster’s house arrest ignored) andwatched the two sisters, wishing he knew what they were saying.

“Our parents would be proud of what a strongwoman you are”, the younger girl commented while trying to put a bravefront for her sister.

“I think they would be proud of the both ofus”, Toothiana cupped her face and stroke her cheek with her thumb. “Youhave been through so much because of me, but I’m glad I have you with me.”

These words filled the young princess’s eyes withtears. She had been doing her best not to cry, to try to be strong and carryher family’s name with dignity. But everything had been possible thanks toToothiana.

A deep sense of fear took over her at the idea ofbeing sent away from her or that her sister’s husband would not allow them tostay together.

“I won’t feel brave if they take you awayfrom me. I don’t want to be alone.” She couldn’t keep her voice fromquivering; tears threatening to break lose in any moment.

Toothiana pulled her close to her chest and squeezedtight, almost to make sure that what remained of her family was truly there.Tears started to form in her eyes. “Do not worry, little sister. I will notallow anyone to separate us.”

They remained like that for a few moments, wishingthat the clock would stop counting down the seconds.

Eventually they separate.

“Why don’t you go with Jack for a while andask him to tell you about sledding through the snow again?”, Toothianasuggested, knowing the young man always managed to cheer her little sister up.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I want some time on my own before I have togo.”

The girl smiled and nodded, quickly exiting the roomin search for the fair haired boy that had swiftly had become their friend duringthese testing times.

Toothiana would have to thank him for being so kindand staying until everything had settled down – although she was certain thathe was also hoping to catch a particular black-haired girl’s attention before allwedding celebrations were over. She didn’t know much about Emily JanePitchiner, but knew that her friend would never fall for a shallow woman andthe girl seemed to have a sensible head on her shoulders.

If Jack had chosen her, she was bound to be special.

The memory of the pair made Toothiana focus on theview before her, thinking at the same time of her own parents and how in lovethey had been.

Nothing of these was related to love. Not even asingle aspect of her wedding was truly hers.

In her home her engagement and wedding would have beenone of the greatest events of the region.

Suitable men would have been called from far and wideto attend the ceremony where she would choose her own husband. There would havebeen exchange of gifts, prayers at the temples, celebrations.

She would have used a beautiful red dress and adorned herselfwith jewelry and flowers, like other brides from her culture.

She would have her family and friends join her groomand her in the joyful yet solemn occasion, clapping and cheering when thenewlyweds exchanged garland as a symbol of acceptance.

There would have been demure side glances, nervouslaughter at being caught watching, a rush of excitement while holding hands.

Toothiana forced herself to cast away those images,looking down at her hand and tracing the delicate and intricate traces of hennathat her sister had painstakingly drawn onto her hands.

It had been the only aspect of her culture they hadmanaged to have, mainly because the sister had done it at night when everyonewas asleep and then it was too late to do anything about it. The princessesrelished on how the maids and instructors assigned to them fussed on howuntoward it was.

A choked sob escaped from her throat and tears rolleddown her cheeks before Toothiana could hold them back. She made no movement towipe them away.

She had been hiding her emotions to both not givethose bastards the satisfaction and to not worry her little sister. But now shewas alone, she could allow herself to cry a little.

The door slowly creaked open and she turned aroundexpecting her sister or even one of the annoying ladies that had done nothingbut pester and nag at her.

She quietly gasped when she saw Bunnymund lingering atthe door, as if considering if he should pursue this course of action.

Turning around, Toothiana wiped away her tears and triedto swallow down the feeling of embarrassment at someone seeing her crying.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered courteously, sounding a tadashamed. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you, princess.”

She gave him no answer.

“I know that you wished not for this union.” Bunnymundcleared his throat. “And I would not do you a disservice by saying that this isthe way I wanted my marriage to unfold.”

Well, at least they were being honest.

“But…”, he paused to gather strength. “Despite thecircumstances, we find ourselves together in uncharted territory. I know nothow to be a good husband and I’m sure that Jack has made you aware of my manyflaws.”

Toothiana smiled, wanting to turn around and poke funat him about the fact that no matter how much they bickered, Jack had a trueappreciation of him as a friend. Yet she remained quiet.

“We may not know much about each other. But in whatlittle time we have had, I have realized that I’ve never met a braver, more strong-willed,and kinder woman I would wish to marry.” He slowly and carefully approachedher, letting her know he meant her no threat or harm.

Her heartbeat accelerated the way it always did whenhe looked at her with those green eyes of his.

Despite her cautiousness around him but she hadmanaged to see that he was nothing like the noblemen from this country.

He had always been gentleman towards her and hersister, his presence making her feel safer. Whenever they sat with Jack andinteracted he showed true interest in what she had to say, curiously askingquestions and wanting to know more about her and her country.

And, through enough persuasion, she had found out ofwhy he had been discharged from the army and forced to come back to hishomeland.

Jack had only explained the general details, insistingthat it was better for her to hear it from Bunnymund himself, but she wasgrateful that now she knew what an outstanding man her future husband was.

Toothiana had found something she never imagined shewould find in him: kindred of spirit. Despite the differences, they shared alot in common. Their passions and ideals did not clash with the other’s, butthey burned brightly with the same intensity.

She was starting to want to know more about him.

“What I’m trying to say is…you’re not alone,princess.” He stared at her with meaningful intensity. “I promise I will carefor you and protect you to the best of my ability, til death do we part.”

Aster kneeled down while pulling a small box from hispocket and offering it to her.

Uncertain, she took it and cautiously opened.

Tears prickled at her eyes and a wave of emotion swepther as she stared at a delicate necklace with black beads on the chain and agolden pendant.

A tradition among her people was that the groom wassupposed to tie it around her neck, recognizing her as a married woman.

“Jack told me that it was customary in your countryfor the groom to gift these to the bride.”

Silence stretched as Toothiana took the necklace toadmire it in its full splendor.

Noticing the lack of verbal response and the way hisfiancé was crying, an instant feeling of panic gripped at him. Had he offendedher? Had he ruined an important custom from her country? Had Jack lead himalong just to make him look like a fool?

“I… I apologize if I have offended you, princess. It wasnot my intention to…” His face started to feel redder by the second as hespluttered.

She chuckled and shook her head to let him know hisfears were unfounded, a couple of tears still trailing down her face due tobeing moved by such a sweet gesture.

He took that as a good sign. Standing up he extendedhis hand towards the piece of jewelry. “May I?”

Her beautiful smile when she nodded made his heartskip a beat, while he inched closer so he could put the necklace on her.

It felt strangely intimate (yet not unwelcomingly so).They had never been so close, and thus never felt the heat radiating from theother’s body.

Toothiana could finally appreciate the finer detailsof his features, while Aster was finally able to let her perfume tickle theback of his nose.

Once he was satisfied with how it looked he slightlystepped to fully gaze at the enchanting woman, now looking even lovelier withthe smile that graced her lips.

He was as bold as to take her hands in his, but wasrelieved when she didn’t pull away.

“From now on, you are my path, and I choose you.”

Toothiana couldn’t be happier that they agreed.

*****

THE END, my lovelies!

Also, three cheers for Jack being such a good bro

I hope you liked it and that my writing did justice to the topics that were depicted here. See you soon and don’t hesitate to send me prompts! :D

P.S.:

I add bellow the links that I used as reference/inspiration to write this piece:

https://www.britannica.com/event/Indian-Mutiny

http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/british/victorians/indian_rebellion_01.shtml

http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/empire/g2/cs2/background.htm

https://australianstogether.org.au/discover/australian-history/colonisation/

http://cbhsyearfivehistory.weebly.com/aboriginal-lifestyle-after-british-colonisation.html

http://www.britishempire.me.uk/page102.html

https://museumsvictoria.com.au/longform/journeys-to-australia/

https://www.sbs.com.au/nitv/article/2016/12/01/10-things-you-should-know-about-slavery-australia

https://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/history/australia-has-a-history-of-aboriginal-slavery

https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/australia-needs-to-own-up-to-its-slave-history-20150427-1muhg3.html

https://www.quora.com/In-Ancient-India-a-woman-chose-her-husband-in-Swayamvar-true-or-false

https://www.manhattanbride.com/insights/indian/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swayamvara

https://www.kuberbox.com/blog/mangalsutra-different-states-india/

#sweettooth #bunnymundxtooth #bunnymundxtoothiana #bunnymund #toothiana #rise of the guardians #ROTG

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alia-turin · 6 years

Text

Title: Broken Bonds [Chapter V] Previous chapters: Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV AO3

Characters:

OC, Libertus Ostium, Cor Leonis, Luche Lazarus (mentioned), Titus Drautos | Glauca (mentioned), Nyx Ulric (mentioned), Gladiolus Amicitia, Crowe Altius (mentioned), Iris Amicitia, Prompto, Ignis

Warning:

SFW. probably minor Comrades spoilers

Notes

This chapter was the end of me. It had to be written because it’s major point for the next chapter, and there are a lot of things that had to be said, but half way through it my idea slightly changed and I literary deleted a page worth of writing and rewrote it. ANYWAY. I hope you enjoy reading it more than I enjoyed writing it, next one will be 100% NSFW

Tagging: @birdsandivory (PERFECT) @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy (some Nyx/Luna hint because I know you will love it) @jojopitcher (HOW DO YOU WRITE HAPPY) @fromunseeliecourt @xanxusthot @lazarustrashpit @littlestfangirl

As soon as Ada heard the Marshal is back Ada went to pay him a visit. The past two days have been rather refreshing. She still had nightmares and trouble sleeping but it wasn’t as bad, at least she wasn’t waking up freaking out and needing to scream. The prince’s retainers have helped a lot in that as well. She spent a lot of time training with Gladio and Prompto which made her feel as if she had friends again. Libertus of course was also around but officially or not he had become the head of the Kingsglaive, or whatever was left of them, he had far less time to just sit around and practice.

The Marshal wasn’t in his office and while waiting for him Ada went through her phone’s text messages. Ever since her phone was back to life she was avoiding to look at it afraid that remembering the life she had before will send her back into that terrible abyss she has been living in for the past months. On the other hand, facing your fears was how you fought them and she had convinced herself to do so.

She started going through her messages with Crowe. The last message they exchanged was before Crowe had left for her last mission.

Crowe: I have the feeling I will hate that mission.

Ada: ??

Crowe: Cannot send you details over phone, talk with Nyx or Libertus, but I feel like they should have send somebody else.

Ada: You will be there and back in no time!

That was the last time she spoke with her and it felt a bit strange. Knowing what she knew now, she wished there was a way to prevent everything from happening. Credit where was due the captain knew his people. He must have known that Crowe would never betray the crown so it was easy to get rid of her before everything started. Ada scrolled a bit up and there was a picture of Libertus which Crowe had send her. He was drunk sleeping on a table, she saved the picture on her phone to show it to Libertus or use it against him depending on the circumstances.

Next were her messages with Nyx.

Nyx: Don’t tell that to anyone, but the princess is hot!

Ada: aren’t you supposed to guard her?

Nyx: I’m, it involves keeping my eyes on her. All. The. Time.

Ada: She is almost married you know?

Nyx: A minor formality. She is coming ttyl.

Ada wondered if the princess would have felt the same way about Nyx and she decided the answer was yes. Why not, he was handsome, well-mannered when he wanted to be and she had seen him how he threats ladies so if things had developed differently the young prince might have had some competition.

Reading these messages felt bitter sweet but also strange. She felt as if it wasn’t her writing them. She felt she was a different person now, less naïve and sadder. She could remember the feelings associated with them. Laughing so laud when Nyx told her about the princess and looking forward to see how his crush will develop. It all seemed so innocent and turned out so wrong.

The last group of messages was from Luche. Her attention was caught by the last message. ‘Call me when you wake up. We can talk again without fighting and maybe leave for Galahd. I hope your head is okay.’ The message was send on the day the treaty was supposed to be signed and probably couple of hours before the king was killed. Eben weirder according to her phone she had read the message before, but she had absolutely no recollection of doing so.

Ada scrolled very quick through the other messages in case it was an old message that due to a glitch had switched dates, but it wasn’t. It didn’t even make sense to be considering the context. She checked the message two more times as if the words will magically change.

The fact that the message was read was the easiest part to explain. Probably as she was coming to her senses, reached for her phone and marked the message as read not entirely sure what she was doing. Between waking up and finding her way out of the city she had massive memory gaps so marking something as read or even reading it and forgetting about it wasn’t surprising.

The message itself. Assuming it wasn’t a phone bug and the chronology of the message was right, which seemed correct…he knew she was alive. He didn’t fail to kill her, he didn’t make a mistake. He knew she was alive. He left her alive. Ada could feel anger growing in her which was new. So far, she had felt only regret and pain towards him, but the anger that she was feeling now made her feel sorry for the fact he had died, since she wanted to personally set him on fire now.

“I hope your head is okay.” She read it aloud, almost shouting. “It hurt for a month you tonberry shit!”

“I have been called worse.” A familiar voice came from behind her and Ada’s heart skipped a beat. She turned around to see the Marshal just walking in the hotel.

“I meant the phone. The person in my phone.” She was angry and trying to cover that anger lead her brain to completely switch off and act like an idiot.

To his credit Cor wasn’t laughing or anything but she could see it in his eyes. He was enjoying that internally.

“Can we start again?” she sighed deciding that is easy than to explain what she meant by ‘person in my phone’.

Now he finally smiled and made hand gesture inviting her to follow him to his office.

“How was your trip?” she started with casual conversation since her mind was still screaming for Luche’s skin and it wasn’t in the romantic way.

“I thought I have a trace on the prince but was nothing.” Finding the prince has turned something like an obsession for Cor. He was gone and they all expected he should literary pop somewhere, but it has been months now and there was no trace of him.

“I’m sorry.” She realized how pathetic that sounded only after she said it. Ada had decided that there will be no more of that regret business, or at least not to the level she had dragged herself.

“We will find him sooner or later, I’d rather have it sooner.” He sat on his chair and pointed toward another chair for her but Ada just shook her head. She needed to stand.

“I actually came to thank you. You have been very kind to me and you have no reason to be so toward a glaive.” She absolutely didn’t want to be here talk about that. All she needed was to be outside of the city walls killing something.

“I told you my trust towards the glaive is work in progress. You, Libertus and few others have helped this place a lot for a very short period of time. I’m still having some doubts regarding using the glaive, but can also admit that some glaives deserve my trust.”

“Still, you gave me sound advice that I am trying to follow as best as I can, and you did set me up to meet Gladio and the rest which was actually very positive experience.” Even if she knew that probably she will never have such close friendship as she used to have, it was nice to be able to relax with someone and talk about all kind of irrelevant things.

“I’m glad it worked.” He gave her a brief smile and she realized just now that it wasn’t often to see him smile. His face usually lacked expression, it was always his eyes that betrayed his thoughts and feelings.

“I actually wanted to ask something else. Can we open a restaurant in Lestallum?”

“A restaurant?” he seemed confused.

“One of the prince’s retainers can save the world with his food” Just remembering Ignis’ food made her hungry.

“Ignis.” He remarked.

“Yes. You said it’s all about rebuilding the kingdom and I know big part of it is finding the prince but we lack a prince right now so…restaurants and bars are normal places where people relax. If we are to rebuilt we need to go back to ‘normal’ whatever normal might mean in the current situation.” Interesting talking with him about what could be done for Lestallum and what they could work for made her anger ease a bit. Her thoughts were still all over the place, but looking forward to something seemed to be the key.

“As much as I agree with what you are saying, we are still low on power and there are at least ten outposts which I would like powered by the end of the week.”

“Fine I will do it.” She didn’t even think about it when she answered.

Cor didn’t answer at first just stared at her for a while probably trying to figure out if she was insane.

“Few days ago, you barely stood on your feet, now you want to lit half the continent over a restaurant.” His eyes narrowed as if he was looking or some sort of trick.

“First of all, it’s very good food, best I ever had, second what do you want me to do? I am most useful outside the walls, the kingsglaive have fought more battles than almost anyone around, not counting you.” Ada almost felt like her old self, confident, knowing what she wanted and finding ways to get there.

The Marshal didn’t answer immediately he thought for a while. She wondered why was so hard for him to make a decision, it wasn’t even that she was asking him to look for the prince, she knew that was off limit for glaives.

“You take care of all these outposts by the end of the week, plus additional power to be able to light the restaurant.” He finally said.

“Deal.” She eagerly agreed.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” his question caught her off guard, not just because of its content but because it was related to nothing they talked about.

“Dinner?” Ada repeated. “With you? Dinner like date?” only when she said the word date she realized that was a bit too presumptuous.

“Yes, a date.” He laughed which didn’t make her feel any better about the whole situation. What do you say when the Marshal asks you on a date?

“Can I think about it?” That probably wasn’t the right answer, but…what the hell?

“Of course, you can. It’s fine you want to say no, I won’t take it personal.”

“Right.” Part of her wanted to say yes, just right here on the spot, no thinking needed, but at the back of her head there was a little voice screaming that it’s terrible idea and in fact she should just pack her things and leave.

She found Libertus helping Iris unload some delivery that group of hunters have found. Ada gave them a hand, she was kind of hoping she can get fist dips on whatever was in the boxes before half of Lestallum comes here to claim whatever they liked.

“Have some good news.” She said grabbing one of the boxes. “You remember how we spoke about helping Ignis open a restaurant?” Iris nodded, Ada could already see the excitement in her eyes. “Well, the Marshal said yes.”

“We have to tell Iggy!” Iris jumped and almost dropped the box she was carrying.

“Well, the Marshal had couple of conditions that I need to take care of, and I will probably need help from your brother, but by the end of the week things might be in motion.”

“What did Cor ask for?” Iris wasn’t moving boxes anymore she was way too excited.

“He is worried something non-essential as a restaurant might be bad for the power supply and naturally he doesn’t want to do it if that would mean less outposts so…” she was still fighting the urge to leave all that and just disappear.

“I can help you!” Iris volunteered but Ada shook her head.

“Your brother is already giving me trouble for training you. He is worried that next thing you will run after me on hunts. I had to swear in everything that exists on this star that it is for self-protection, and he approved of that. I’m not getting on your brother’s bad side.” Gladio was good brother of course he didn’t want his sister to get hurt hence the self-protection part had won him over since he didn’t have the time to do it himself.

The girl was disappointed, but Gladio or no, Ada wouldn’t have taken her anyway. She was way stronger than she looked and Ada didn’t doubt she would be able to stand her ground in a fight, but Iris reminded her of herself, before joining the Kingsglaive, and consciously or not she wanted to protect her from everything the world outside could throw at her.

‘Just like Crowe did with me when I first joined the Glaive.’ That thought made her suddenly feel very lonely.

When they finished unloading the boxes Ada and Libertus went through them like children when given their birthday presents. Being with the Glaive was like having siblings, but a lot of siblings, many of which are not afraid to elbow you in the face in order to get something that was supposed to be for ‘everybody’. Mastering the skill of being fast and first when you wanted something was essential. They both found clothes and other items that wanted and Iris was kind enough to give them huge discount, which was lucky for Ada since money wasn’t somethings he had.

“Help me hang these.” She had managed to find a long piece of fabric which could be used as curtain. It was going to make her so called apartment a bit nicer and wouldn’t look like a box.

“I love what you have done with the place.” Libertus joked as he walked in her mostly empty accommodations.

“I’m trying.” She smiled but thought that this apartment reflected her own mental state very fittingly. It was gloomy and empty, and now these ‘curtains’ were going to be the first item making it a bit homier, but there was still long way to go.

After they were done with the curtains she asked him to stay.

“Have to tell you something. I think the Marshal asked me out.” She didn’t really look him in the eyes because she was still conflicted if she was happy about it or honestly terrified. Probably both.

“He what?” Libertus shouted very loud and Ada made a sign with finger to lower his voice. “He what?” he repeated a bit quieter.

“When I asked him about the restaurant and all, at the end he asked me if I want to have dinner with him.” She was excited, she was very excited but why by the Astrals she wasn’t happy.

“And you said…”

“I said I will think about it.” She looked at him with apologetic face.

“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Libertus was staring at her as if she had lost her mind, which probably she did.

“It’s not him. He is perfect.” Ada stopped for a second realizing what she said, but he was perfect. “It’s me. Why me? There are so many other women. And…I’m scared.”

“Stop right there.” Libertus sounded as serious as he could. “Look at yourself. Have you seen that face? The hair, the eyes…you are cute. He is not blind. You happen to be also a decent human being even if you forget about that very often. Tell him yes. Don’t be scared, scared of what? He won’t leave you for death on his floor.”

“There is something else. Something that threw me overboard before he even asked me.” Ada pulled her phone and showed him the message she found from Luche. “I was going through old pictures and messages today and found that. It said it was read but I don’t remember reading it. That doesn’t bother me, it bothers me the fact that he actually didn’t want to kill me.”

“So, what? That doesn’t redeem him.” Libertus was getting angry and she thought it probably wasn’t so wise to show him that, but he was her only friend here. Close friend.

“It’s not that. There isn’t a thing that could redeem him and I have not forgiven him what he did…it was so much easier to hate him when I thought he betrayed everything, myself included. I spent one year feeling guilty because I couldn’t stop him, because I couldn’t prevent Crowe’s death…I felt guilty that I was alive, but now I feel guilty because it was some misguided mercy that kept me alive. He could have shown mercy to Crowe and a lot of other people who deserve it more than I do.”

“Ada, you should stop.” Libertus grabbed her hand. “The only people who deserve to be dead are Luche, the captain and everyone else who followed them. You made the right choice.” Libertus was emphasizing on every word as if she was a little child not fully understanding.

“I know. And I don’t. I had started getting better and that message just…I want to move on but how do I move on?” she was back to square one, lost.

“By going out with the Marshal.” Libertus chuckled. “Come on, you don’t need to marry him, it’s just one night of eating and drinking. In my opinion your dating history is terrible so that would be an improvement.”

Ada punched his shoulder teasingly and laughed.

“So about the Marshal…do you like him? I mean he is totally your type. Handsome, position of command, jawline….” Libertus was chuckling.

“I guess.” That was complicated question. “He has been kind to me even if he has no reason to be. Plus, he is a very attractive man.”

“And the chance of him killing you because you refuse to join his treacherous plot is zero.” He was still laughing.

“Thank you, Libertus, I will have that in mind.” She laughed with him.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #final fantasy 15 #cor leonis #libertus ostium #gladiolus amicitia #gladio #iris amicitia #iris #ignis scientia #I'm ignis #prompto argentum #prompto #my writing #original character

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letterfromtrenwith · 7 years

Text

The Proper Attire

A Francis/Demelza fic.

This fits in with my AU fic ‘The Old World’. It’s not necessary to have read that one to understand this one, but I would very much appreciate it if you did! :D

Francis met and fell in love with Demelza while Ross was away. They’re now married, and Francis comes home from a business trip to find his wife’s got some new clothes, although they’re not exactly what you’d expect the mistress of Trenwith to wear....

----

“For to hear the fond tale, Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valley below…”

Francis smiled to himself as the melodious tones of Demelza’s voice reached his ears. While spending a few days in St Ives on business, he had been surprised by how homesick he felt. Of course, it was not really his home that he missed, but the woman he now shared it with. His marriage to Demelza had made him even happier than he could have possibly imagined – more than worth every obstacle they had had to overcome to be together.

He had been delighted, therefore, to conclude his business the day before expected and return home early. He was looking forward to surprising her, so had been pleased to hear her voice floating out of the stables as he led Bess toward them. Demelza was fond of the horses, and often spent time with them. Rounding the corner, he opened his mouth to greet her and immediately stopped short.

“Pray sit yourself down, With me on the ground, On the bank where the primroses grow…Oh, Judas! Francis!” She had turned from where she was brushing her own horse, Liddy, and startled at the sight of him. Obviously, she had not been expecting to see him – he in turn had not been expecting to see her like this.

She was dressed in his clothes – a pair of breeches and an old shirt, open part way down her chest, exposing the almost indecently fine material of her chemise underneath. With this she wore a pair of her own riding boots, and her hair flowed loose around her shoulders. She looked magnificent, and horrendously embarrassed.

“I weren’t expectin’ you back until the morn! I’d never ‘ave – Not if I thought that – Oh!” She dropped the brush and darted out of the stables, rushing past Francis and towards the house without so much as a by your leave. He stood in shock for a moment before recovering himself and leading Bess to her stall.

By the time he returned to the house after taking care of his horse, Demelza had changed into a simple green day dress and tidied her hair somewhat. She still looked beautiful – she always did – but not quite as…alluring as she had before.

“Welcome home, Francis. How were St Ives? If I’d’a known you was comin’ back early, I would’ve ‘ad a proper welcome arranged. Are you hungry? I’ll ‘ave something made, and let me get you a brandy…” She rambled, coming to take his coat and hat, acting so much like he had just arrived that he almost wondered if he had entirely imagined her appearance at the stables. Demelza obviously did not wish to discuss it, so he decided to let it lie for now.

“Demelza, slow down! Will you not at least let me kiss my wife hello?” He asked teasingly and she blushed before coming back to him for a kiss, ‘hmm’ing softly as he pressed his lips to hers.

“I did miss thee,” she said eventually, after they broke apart.

“And I you, Demelza, very much indeed.” He was about to suggest that they retire to their chamber, where he could show her just how much, when a voice floated out from the sitting room.

“That you, Francis? Well, don’t leave an old woman waiting…” Agatha. Francis and Demelza smiled at one another, before he kissed her on the forehead and made for the doorway.

“Coming, Aunt.”

As Demelza was clearly determined to act as if it had never happened, Francis tried to put their brief encounter at the stables out of his mind, but was completely unable to. He imagined she was embarrassed at having been caught wearing men’s clothes, and under ordinary circumstances, she had every reason to be. Such a thing was quite scandalous, especially for a woman who occupied the position she now did in society. She may have been a miner’s daughter once, but she was now the mistress of Trenwith, and a Poldark. There had been enough gossip about her when they married; a revelation of that sort would increase it ten-fold. Not that anyone was likely to find out – Demelza had obviously attempted to avoid him seeing her, had doubtless avoided Charles and Agatha also, and their servants were trustworthy.

It was not Demelza’s embarrassment which kept the incident in his mind, however, as much as he wished she did not feel it. He could not forget the sight of her – finding his mind wandering back to it often, and not only when he had an idle moment. The way the breeches had hung loose on her slim hips, the material of the shirt seeming to somehow both skim over and cling to her body. He had seen her in men’s clothing once before – not long after they had met, he had run into her in Truro, disguised as a boy, dressed in her brother’s clothes. It had intrigued him, then, as had her later admission that she often went abroad dressed in such a fashion – but this was different. It had inflamed him.

He could not get the thought out of his head, and was finding himself distracted at the most inopportune moments. This had led to a rather awkward interlude a few days previously when George, noticing his preoccupation during their lunch at the Red Lion, had asked him if all was well. Francis had stuttered something about simply being concerned with the fortunes of the mine, which was not entirely untrue. George had obviously known that he was dissembling, but had not pushed it further. Even if he had, Francis could hardly have told him that he was unable to concentrate on their conversation due to salacious thoughts about Demelza wearing breeches. There were certain things which one simply did not share, even with one’s closest friend. George was not easily perturbed, but Francis imagined even he had his limits.

About ten days after Francis’ return from St Ives, he and Demelza were left alone in the sitting room after dinner. She smiled sweetly at him over her embroidery as they sat by the fireplace, unlit in the warm late-spring weather. They had been silent as she worked, and he skimmed some accounts, which gave him little better news than usual; it was not quite as comfortable a silence as they generally shared, however. Since his arrival they had acted quite normally with each other –as gentle and affectionate as ever, but there had been a slight undercurrent of awkwardness.

Demelza had seemed a little on edge with him, almost as if she were expecting him to scold her. He hoped she knew him better than that, but he also knew that she had lived on eggshells in her old home, forever doing all she could to avoid her father’s wrath, but learning to expect it anyway. She knew that he was nothing like her father, of course, but he supposed it was difficult to break the habits of a lifetime. After all, he had no little experience with ill-tempered fathers himself.

That last thing he wanted, however, was for Demelza to feel embarrassed, or to have any secrets from her. So he took the bull by the horns.

“Demelza…”

“Yes, Francis?” She looked up from her sewing, the candlelight illuminating her pale blue eyes.

“About the day I returned from St Ives…” Her face coloured and she dropped her sewing, looking distraught.

“Oh, Francis, I be ever so sorry! It were only for lookin’ after Liddy, I swear! An’ you never wear those things…I never would ‘ave done it if I’d know you were comin’ and I’ve never let anyone see me. I’ll never do it again, I promise!...I know it not be fittin’.” Her words came out in a rush before trailing off to her conclusion, and Francis rushed to reassure her, seeing unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

“Oh, Demelza, do not distress yourself, my love. When have you ever known me to concern myself with what is “fittin’?” Even in her upset, she could help but laugh at his deliberately poor imitation of her accent, which had been his intention.

“You are…not cross, then?” She frowned slightly, as if she could not work out why that might be. Francis smiled.

“Come here,” she took his outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her onto his lap, slipping his arms about her waist. Her hands settled on the lapels of his waistcoat, and she looked at him from under red-gold eyelashes as he spoke. “I am quite the opposite of cross. Demelza, ever since that day I haven’t been able to forget the sight of you dressed in my clothes. Indeed, I found it very pleasing.”

He gently slid his hand up her back, hoping to emphasise his meaning. Judging by the silent ‘o’ of surprise and understanding formed by her lips, he had been successful.

“I see,” she began, speaking low and soft. “Well…I be glad we got that settled. I’ll be off to bed, then. Don’t work too late. Good night.”

A quick kiss, then she was off his lap and out of the door, leaving Francis bewildered. Later, after around half an hour of futilely attempting to concentrate on his papers, he made his own way upstairs. Pausing outside Demelza’s chamber, he prevaricated for a moment – they spent most nights together, but after her abrupt departure, he was not sure that he had not offended her. Except, he had felt the quickening of her breath at his admission, and noted the flush on her cheeks. In truth, he was confused. It was best, therefore, to simply ask. He tapped on the door.

“Demelza, may I come in?”

“O’ course, Francis.” He entered, and opened his mouth to ask her…Well, upon catching sight of her, he clean forgot what he had been going to ask. She sat on the end of her bed, dressed much as she had been in the stables – in a pair of his breeches, and a shirt. However, this time she wore, as far he could tell, nothing else. Her legs were bare below the knee, and the shirt, which was open almost to her waist, exposed nothing but pale skin. She had let her hair down and regarded him with a saucy glint in her eye.

“I be sorry for runnin’ off so sudden like, but I ‘ad to make some time t’get ready.”

Francis was aware he probably looked an idiot, gaping like a fish, but confronted with this vision, he was entirely lost for words. Demelza took pity on him and stood, approaching him with what he was certain was a deliberately exaggerated sway of her hips. He settled a hand at her waist, wondering at the strangeness of feeling the distinctly feminine curves of her body under the material of his own clothing. He trailed the fingertips of his other hand down the bared skin of her chest, making her shiver and gasp, before kissing her, passionately.

“You know,” he said, finally finding his voice as their kiss broke, “I’ve never removed a shirt from another person before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everythin’, I suppose. I misdoubt it’ll be the last, ‘owever.”

#poldark #francis poldark #demelza poldark #demelza carne #francis x demelza #fic #m: fic #f: fd #f: au

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freedomborn · 7 years

Text

I wrote a little Nick and Lucas thing just for fun, directly inspired by a couple of lines from the movie ‘Moana’ (which I still haven’t seen. RIP)

Lucas and Nick have gotten into the habit of sitting by the riverbank and talking through their issues with each other, but they don’t usually get very far before they start arguing. Today, Lucas tries humor. It’s.... a little bit effective?

“I’ve certainly forgiven you for the most part, but I’m not going to lie. There’s probably always going to be a small piece of me that says ‘fuck you’ for all that you’ve put me through.”

Like most long-time enemies, small talk between Nick and Lucas was always going to be a little bit uncomfortable. The two were seated by a riverbank deep in one of Montana’s beautiful forests, keeping an awkwardly large amount of distance between each other while Nick spoke. Lucas, during this time, couldn’t maintain eye contact for more than half a second with the younger man, and opted to watch the river instead.

Unlike most long-time enemies, though, they tried. It had been about a year since the first time they both ended up in this general location, and the interaction turned into a nasty fight that could have ended a lot worse than it did. Since then—and especially recently—both had been making a strong effort to abandon the past, talk through their problems, and hopefully find a little bit of common ground.

It wasn’t until those last couple of sentences that Lucas’ solemn expression started to change, and he glanced back at Nick with the very slight hint of a smirk.

The younger man caught the change, and raised an eyebrow curiously at his old enemy. “What? Did I say something amusing?”

“You said something incorrect, which is always amusing.” Meeting up here with Nick on Sunday afternoons was becoming too commonplace, and more than anything, Lucas just wanted to lighten the mood a little bit. This probably wasn’t the way to go about it, but considering nothing had ever worked in the past, it was time to try something new.

So far, Nick wasn’t taking it well. “Everything I’ve said to you in the past five minutes has been completely subjective and opinion-based; I didn’t present any facts that could be considered ‘incorrect’.”

So defensive. Lucas chuckled softly, picking up a stone in his hand and tossing it into the river in front of him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You just had me at ‘fuck you’; you don’t usually slip up that much when you speak, but it’s okay. I know what you meant to say.” The blond was completely at a loss, so he continued. “I’m pretty sure what you meant to say is ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you?!”

“You’re welcome.”

“What? No; I… what??” It was probably immature to find Nick’s astounded and completely appalled state to be so funny, but… it was pretty damn funny. “Why would I…? I would never…!”

“Oh, come on. Give some credit where it’s due. You’re married and have children with a woman you never would have met if it wasn’t for the genetics lab. And who’s the one who paired you two together?”

Nick just stared at the other man for a moment, completely taken-aback by this argument. “You ordered her to spy on me and report back any suspicious activity because you thought I was a rebel.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.”

The younger man opened his mouth to reply, but no words came to him. It seemed that his complete disgust had to be put on hold for a moment as he begrudgingly thought this over. He was glaring toward the ground now, but it wasn’t long before he muttered his half-assed answer.

“If she and I were somehow meant to be together, I’m sure we would have found each other without all of the pain. Even if not, I would’ve been none the wiser. I’d probably be married to someone else, having never met Christina, and in that circumstance I’m sure I would have fared just fine.”

“Okay, fine. But what about Logan? He’s important to you too, isn’t he?”

“Understatement,” Nick replied softly. He could tell where this was going, but he wasn’t about to deny his connection with the kid. “He’s my son; he’s the most important person in my life.”

“And who was responsible for his creation?”

“Sanders,” Nick retorted, without as much as a second thought. “Certainly not you.”

“Well unfortunately for you, that manipulative son of a bitch is dead--thanks to me; you’re welcome--so you can’t thank him. But keep in mind that none of his ideas would have been able to happen without my ability to run the place, and organize the teams, and insure that everyone had what they needed. And don’t forget who granted your request to let you take care of Logan in exchange for a little bit of extra work. That wasn’t Sanders.”

“Well yeah, but…”

“You’re welcome again.”

Nick let out a huff, getting up from where he was seated and taking a couple absent-minded steps closer to the riverside. As bad as he was at reading people, he could catch the playfulness in the other man’s voice, at least enough that he knew the insistence on a ‘thank you’ wasn’t completely sincere, but the topic required a bit of self-reflection nonetheless.

“I am happy now,” he admitted softly. “Not because of anything you’ve done, but certainly because of the people I met along the way. I’m not thankful that I was taken from my home and forced to play a role in some illegal organization for thirty years, and I don’t think anyone should expect me to be. But at the end of the day, things turned out. I never thought that they would, but they did.”

“That makes sense.” Lucas decided to stand as well, preferring to be at the same level as the other man when they talked. “And I’m glad that things are working out for you. Not saying you made the best decisions, really… at any point ever in the lab, but even so. I’m glad that you had an opportunity to start fresh.”

Nick nodded in response, the argumentativeness having all but disappeared. Now his expression could be described as little more than neutral—serious, but calm. He didn’t think much of it when he responded to Lucas’ kinder words with a ‘thank you’, until a split second after he said it. “Don’t—“

“You’re welcome!”

Dammit, he fell for it; that one was painfully obvious. Nick rolled his eyes. He wanted to retaliate, but he knew very well that Lucas got what he wanted. Nothing that the blond could say now would make Lucas and less smug about winning this one. It wasn’t even worth trying.

...So he pushed him into the river instead. Seems like an appropriate long-time mortal enemy thing to do. It would have been a sufficient form of retaliation, if Lucas wasn’t twice his size, but the scientific mastermind didn’t quite think that far.

Oh well. Hindsight is 20/20 when you and your old enemy are sitting together in a shallow riverbed, staring dumbfounded at each other.

“Really Nick? Really?”

‘You started it’? Childish. Throw water in his face to shut him up? Even more childish. Turn Lucas’ previous game against him? Also childish, but… reasonable. Better than saying nothing at all.

Nick went to stand up in the knee-deep water, but slipped on the mossy rocks under the surface and fell back down. Of course, Lucas was very quick to laugh at him for it. But he also didn’t look like he was going to try and get up himself any time soon.

The blond steadied himself and tried again, this time successful, and gradually waded back toward the shore.

“You provoked me to do it,” he chastised, glancing behind him as he pulled himself out. “But I was being more responsible than you think. I threw you into shallow water where the current isn’t strong. Unlike last year when you almost murdered me further downstream.”

“You had to bring that up?” Lucas eventually stood up too, taking a bit more care with it so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself like Nick did. But he was a bit more balanced anyway, so it wasn’t that hard to get up and climb back out. “That was an accident.”

“I think what you’re trying to say,” Nick replied smugly, shaking water out of his hair as he spoke, “is ‘thank you’.”

This is what their arguments boiled down to nowadays: this petty, childish nonsense. Lucas only snorted, punching the other man in the shoulder as he passed by.

“Oh yes, thank you so much for not having the motive of drowning me. Let’s not get into that all over again. I think we should probably head back to town before it gets dark… and while we’re on at least a semi-good note. And before you end up in the river a second time. I’d rather leave here jokingly insulting you than yelling at you.”

“Agreed.”

“For the record,” Lucas added, “I was completely kidding about all of that. I know I was an absolute piece of shit to you in the lab. I don’t think either of us owe each other anything at this point.”

“Yeah, I know. Lightening the mood and everything, I get that.”

As they conversed, the two started to make their way back, following the trail through the forest and back toward home. Lucas led the way, since the path was fairly narrow, and Nick didn’t object to following a few feet behind him.

“Oh, and another thing…” Lucas glanced behind him for a moment, meeting Nick’s eyes, before turning back around and focusing on the path in front of him again. It sounded serious, so the younger man chose to keep quiet this time and listen. “Just… for the record, again; I feel like I should tell you. So that you’re aware, you know? In case you aren’t.”

“Go on.”

Lucas nodded. Thankfully Nick couldn’t see from their positions that he was grinning. “Yeah, okay. I just wanted to say… you look really fucking stupid when your hair is wet. Like… seriously, it would do you a tremendous amount of good to get a haircut.”

“Hah…” Nick found himself grinning. He wasn’t going to start this again. Besides, there was something about Lucas’ joking insults that was almost comfortable. Like their relationship was changing for the better, but not too much. “Fuck you too.”

“You’re welcome. I’m keeping you from looking like an idiot in public.” As if they weren’t both soaking wet and covered in mud. But whatever; it was the thought that counted. Kind of.

Of course, like most long-time enemies, things were bound to take some time. The pair had their moments where it felt like nothing would ever improve, and moments when they did genuinely feel like they hated each other again, but things were getting better. They talked, and they listened; they did what they could to put the past behind them. And as of today, the awkwardly large gap that they usually kept between them when walking together was just a little bit narrower.

#My writing #nick and lucas

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archive-dcgausscr · 7 years

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tris/ash in whatever verse u want my guy

send me a ship and i’ll break them down:

how did they meet?

they met in elementary school! tristan was moved up into the fifth grade, and due to his size, age, family history, and financial status, he was a prime target for bullying. but ashton wasn’t having any of that, and the two became fast friends.

who developed romantic feelings first?

honestly, i think ashton in the sense where, i mean, he was around kat and tris almost all day. and i think, in general, especially as a kid when you’re trying to figure shit out falling for someone who emulates everything you want but can’t or don’t have is REALLY common. not to mention, they were REALLY close, and the thought of ashton looking for any form of love anywhere he could get it isn’t entirely bizarre. at the same time, i feel like in some way tristan has almost always had complicated feelings for ashton, but he didn’t really think about it because he had kat! but towards the end? he definitely KNEW. but by then ash probably was like nah that won’t happen, and that’s why he was basically like one foot out the door by the time tris was finally single again. did that make sense?

who is their biggest “shipper”?

EILEEN. FUCKING. RIVA. in general, tristan has never had a tendency to open up with anyone outside of the family. throughout his childhood the only people she’s ever seen tristan truly be himself with were kat, ashton, and maybe costa. but the problem with kat is that, while they were best friends, they had a tendency to try and get under the other’s skin as much as they could. not to mention, while kat really did love tristan, she wasn’t in a place where she was really capable of like properly understanding. at times, it was VERY obvious that there was a large disconnect between kat and tris, and while eileen wasn’t always around, she definitely saw that. meanwhile, tris and ashton have always been two sides of the same coin, they bring out the best in each other (though, they’re easily capable of bringing out the worst in each other too). not only that, but eileen also knew that ashton was coming from a place of empathy rather than sympathy. although she didn’t know all the details, she did know ashton’s home life was terrible, and she knew no matter what was going on with tristan he’d never approach the situation from a place of judgment. basically, she’s always seen it. when the two got older and tris and kat’s relationship was starting to fall apart and then inevitably ended, she was incredibly surprised they didn’t almost immediately get together.

when did they have their first kiss and under what circumstances?

oh my gooooooood, freshman year of high school they went to a small “party” at costa’s girlfriend’s house, and she’d talked her slightly older brother into getting a shit ton of wine coolers, and everyone was a little buzzed and it was a MESS. but anyway their friends jokingly shoved them in the closet for seven minutes in heaven, bUT JOKE’S ON THEM. but it was ?? sweet ?? and surprisingly a secret, because i don’t think anyone expected them to actually do it --- i don’t think they even knew it was going to happen. but it started off like real soft and sweet and then it was like WHOA and then tristan remembered he had a girlfriend and that stopped there. unfortunately though, tris has no memory of this? so if you were to ask him about their first kiss he’d list something else entirely.

who confessed their feelings first?

ohhh complicated question. i think ashton. but only because ashton verbally admitted he had them out loud first, but i think tristan made it clear he had feelings for ashton first. i also don’t think this came out in a good way, especially with how their relationship started off post-mikey. i mean, it was definitely in the middle of a fight, and it was definitely ashton trying to prove a point and get tris to just fucking STOP GOING OFF. it worked, for a few at least.

what was their first official date?

lmao they didn’t go on an official date for a very long time. i think they struggled with having any kind of real transition from friendship to romantic relationship, which i don’t think is a real problem? i mean, they spend a lot of time together, and a lot of their hobbies coincide, so the need for like official dates isn’t really there? they’re both pretty low maintenance. buuuuuut honestly tris took ash to one of those in-theater star wars marathons and then they got food. nothing fancy, but it worked for them.

how do they feel about double dates/group dates?

i mean, considering they share friends and stuff, double dates happen a lot, even if they’re not necessarily labeled as such. i don’t think they mind them, but i wouldn’t say they LOVE double dates by any means. i think tristan’s more likely to want out of one than ashton, but tristan’s more antisocial than ash.

what do they do in their down time?

the nerds. tris reads a lot, or plays guitar. ashton watches stuff on netflix, drinks a little too much, eats a ton of junk food. a lot of their interests coincide, so they end up doing a lot of stuff together, even if they don’t intend to. like, binge watching the same show, but not finishing it together because different schedules. tris also spends a lot of time with ashton’s disobedient af dog in hopes he can get him to at least sort of listen.

what was the first meeting of parents as an official couple like?

oh man it was no different than any other time ashton’s been over. eileen was over the moon, and tristan’s dad wasn’t there.

what was their first fight over and how did they get past it?

IT WAS ABOUT MIKEY, IT’S ALWAYS ABOUT MIKEY. BECAUSE ASHTON DOESN’T SHUT UP ABOUT HIM AND TRISTAN’S INSECURE ASS THINKS ASH IS GONNA LEAVE. LMAO THEY NEVER GOT PAST IT, IT’S THE BIGGEST AND MOST PROMINENT ISSUE IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP.

which one is more easily made jealous?

ashton, but that’s not saying much. they’re both really jealous bastards.

what is their favorite thing to get to eat?

take their asses to sonic. or order some pizza? they don’t eath healthy at all, but hey.

who’s the cuddly one? what’s their favorite cuddling position?

ashton is undoubtedly the cuddly one. like, the man is a teddy bear, that’s what he was made for, and it’s a shame he hasn’t been cuddled more in his lifetime. BUT i think he likes being little spoon most of all. if tristan’s doing shit (like mentally) then tris is the little spoon, but more of than not ash is the little spoon and tris is the big spoon.

are they hand holders?

not really, but they can be.

how long did they wait before sleeping together for the first time? what are the circumstances?

l m a o i mean, not long at all. they don’t have self control, and considering all those years of pent up feelings and frustration, i have no doubts they moved really fast. honestly, i feel like tristan convinced ash to sneak into the country club and they got wasted on the course and ended up fucking around. which i know sounds like ?? wow that’s great but in a sense, that’s kind of special because tristan has always found solace in the country club at night and he usually goes there alone, so taking anyone there is kind of a big deal for him.

who tops?

tristan, more often than not, but considering ashton lowkey understands a lot of tristan’s trauma, they reach a point where tris’ll bottom every now and then, but it’s nowhere near as often as ash bottoming.

what’s the worst fight they’ve ever gotten into?

honestly whenever they fight is bad, i don’t think any fight’s been worse than another, especially since they so rarely fight. though the fights before either labeled it an actual relationship were horrible. it was just the two of them trying to see who could hurt the other more, and it was fucked up.

who does the shopping and the cooking?

ashton hates grocery shopping alone, and fortunately, tristan loves making lists. tristan can’t cook, and fortunately, ashton can at least work an oven. so, tristan does the grocery shopping, and ashton makes dinner. though, they do eat out pretty frequently.

which one is more organized and prone to tidiness?

tristan’s organized, i wouldn’t say tidy, but he’s not messy. he makes contained and organized messes. he has a tendency to refer to it as organized chaos. ashton is a mess, but that’s fine, tristan usually cleans up after him because if he doesn’t it drives him insane.

who proposes?

tristan lmao i mean if you want to call it a proposal. they do get married twice, and the second time around tris does properly propose, but that first time around was a joke.

do they have joined bachelor/bachelorette parties or separate?

they never had a bachelor party! i don’t think they’d really want one either? so if anything, i would say joined, especially since by the time they have a proper wedding they’d been married for years.

who is the best man/maid of honor? any other groomsmen or bridesmaids?

tREVOR AND ANDY!!! unless tris has patched things up with his brother, then colin would be best man and trevor would be a groomsmen, but that doesn’t seem likely.

big ceremony or small?

small. small. small. small. small.

do they have a honeymoon? if so, where?

they went to oregon that first time! i think the second time around they go to italy, because it’s warm and pretty, and eileen could watch amelie.

do they have any children? how many?

they have two! they’re cute, but they’re assholes. given who their parents are though it’s not a surprise.

#rcjoice #a:rcjoice #↳ RE: THESE THINGS TAKE TIME #↳ RE: THESE THINGS TAKE TIME (ANSWERED MEME)

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