#reveal to me that neither she nor my father ever wanted me for no other reason than to make me feel bad
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Guide in the Darkness (Smoker x f!blind!child!reader x Fujitora)
A/N This is for the Anon that asked for toph!reader and I completely butcher the request so bad that I deleted it within the hour. Also sorry for the lack of uploads, got off a plane and have been unpacking since, and I start work tommorow but I will try to still upload daily!
Dividers by @/saradika
The muscular man sighs as he hears another crash coming from his daughter's quarters, opening the door, he glances at a vase smashed on the floor.
“Thought I told you to stop breaking things on purpose,” he grumbles, blowing out the smoke from his cigars in a thick cloud
“This is so stupid! I can’t do anything, Dad! The moment im on a boat, I’m so useless! “She screams, slowly sinking down to the ground and sobbing
A heavy sigh of irritation escapes Smoker's lips as he drops to his knees before his daughter, kneeling to the same level as her. A heavy hand touches her shoulder in a reassuring manner. A warm and kind gesture, but his face remains straight.
“And destroying your furniture will fix that; how?”
“Shut up! Shut up, just shut up!”
Smoker lets out another sigh as his cigar puffs out more smoke, and a heavy eyebrow raises at her harsh tone. His face is stern, but a certain tenderness behind his eyes is revealed when he speaks to his daughter
She pushes his shoulder away, but Smoker just grabs her with his other arm again.
"Is that so?" Smoker responds simply. Silence fell after he spoke those words, neither of them saying anything nor moving from their positions.
“I’m sorry…” she mutters
Another gentle sigh escapes his lips as she does this. His rough exterior fades for a moment as he speaks to her. His eyes no longer piercing through her own, now much more warm and kind.
"It okay,” he grunts
“Come with me; I have someone I want you to meet.”
She dries her tears slowly, standing up
“Who is it?”
"Just follow me." He rises back to his feet, the same look in his eyes once more as he holds out his hand for her to take.
He guides her off the boat, where they walk for a while until they reach an office within some Marine headquarters, closing the door behind them once she is inside.
"My, my, what a young beauty she is, Smoker..." Fujitora said kneeling in front of Reader.
“You must be around ten right now aren’t you”, smiling as a small affirmation leaves the girl.
“Last time, you were but a baby." The blind admiral grins, tapping the end of his cane against the ground.
"I am Issho; many people call me Fujitora; however, you may do so too if you so desire.”
“Umm, hi,” she mutters, hiding behind her father’s legs
“She’s just a little timid” Smoker remarks as he turns to Issho, nodding slowly at him.
A small gesture, as always, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
“Why are we here?” she mumbles
The tall man sighs once again and moves closer to his daughter.
He crouches down to her level again and takes hold of her shoulders with both hands.
"Reader, the man standing there, he is a Marine like me. And he is also blind.”
Reader stills at that and turns around towards Fujitora, using her devil fruit to locate him easily
“You’re also blind?”
Issho smiles widely, putting his cane down on the ground as his eyes shine.
"Yes, I am."
The admiral's smile fades as an eyebrow arches. A small hand finds its way into his and is immediately swallowed into his hand like a grain of sand.
"I don't believe I've ever met a child with a devil fruit, let alone a logia type." He chuckles softly
“Mind telling me what you are capable of?
“I...I use it to sense everything around me,to ‘see,’ but I can only do that when im on land; when I go on the ship with Dad, I become useless.”
Smoker's face softens once more as she explains herself to his coworker
"I am sorry to hear you feel useless when you cannot sense anything. However, I can assure you that you are not. It is simply a limitation that you have, but I believe you can overcome it. Do you want to know a secret?" Fujitora asks her
She nods timidly but remembers that the man before her had the same affliction as her
“Y-Yeah”
"You are more than just a devil fruit. No matter what you may lack, you still have feelings, a will of your own, and loved ones. Those things are the most important part of being human. Never forget that, young one. We should meet up later so I can discuss your training a little more in-depth. I promise you that we will find a way to make you feel more confident in yourself. Just don't give up, and never lose sight of the truly important things. I know it’s scary to be truly blind in an already dark world, but I promise you, you will get through this; I will help you.”
She stares at the man before her for a minute, tears starting to fall from her eyes as she sniffles, nodding her head
“Thank you,” she cries hugging him
Smoker smiles as her daughter embraces Fujitora , finally finding a mentor she can relate to
“Thank you,” he grumbles to Fujitora
Fujitora nods his head, his expression remaining stoic despite the kindness and affection being shown towards him
"No need to thank me. If I can do anything at all to help her overcome these struggles, it is my duty as her mentor, after all. I must prepare her to be the very best marine that she can be, even if that means I have to make some special arrangements for her."
“Mentor?”
“Fujitora is gonna teach you how to use and master Kenbunshoku Haki,” Smoker said, blowing smoke from his cigars once again
“…I have not mastered the use of it; it will help you ‘see’ even without your devil fruit, so you will be able to find your way even when you are not on land,” he finishes, taking another puff
She grins, turning around towards her dad and jumping into his arms
“Thank you, Dad! For always helping me and not giving up.”
Smoker remains silent for a moment, as if surprised by his daughter's sudden affection toward him. He then wraps his arms around her and pulls her in tight. It’s the fondness for her was clear, although his usual reserved and aloof demeanor din’t really allow for much overt affection
"You're welcome. Should we head out? I think you’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”
She nods, turning her head back to Fujitora
“Bye-bye Fujitora! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Funitora nods, smiling at her genuinely way before saying goodbye
"Farewell, little one, you were a pleasure to meet. Rest assured that you are in the best of hands."
This is much better, sorry y���all it was killing me inside that I made such a bad piece to the point of having to delete it and deleting a request by doing so.
Taglist:
@imaginarydreams
@amethystviolin
#one piece x reader#one piece#one piece x child!reader#one piece fluff#one piece imagine#smoker x you#smoker fluff#smoker x child! reader#fujitora issho#one piece fujitora#admiral fujitora#fujitora x reader#smoker imagine#smoker x reader#smoker op#smoker
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Parts 1 2 3 4 5
This one takes place in the 60s (Part 2)
“I got what I deserved?” Morgana echoed, her voice trembling with disbelief. “I deserved to be lied to, betrayed, and killed by someone I once trusted with my deepest secret?”
Merlin remained silent, refusing to meet her gaze. Morgana pressed on, her resolve unwavering. “It wasn’t just my secret, Merlin. I trusted you with my life.” Her voice quivered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to,” His confession came softly. “From the moment I knew you had magic, it was all I wanted to do.”
“Why didn’t you?” Morgana’s voice rose. "We could have supported each other. Eased the burden of our secret together.” She hesitated, then added, “Perhaps I wouldn’t have turned to Morgause.”
If only that was easy.
A feeling, a mix of anxiety and relief washed over him as he prepared to unburden himself from the weight of his secrets.
Merlin’s nod was barely perceptible. "When I arrived in Camelot, like you, I knew nothing of magic. Not until I received Gaius' teaching and Kilgharrah's guidance." He paused, his next words caught in his throat. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he took a deep breath, clearly wrestling with the decision to speak. "I trusted them with my life. So when they warned against revealing my magic to you, I listened.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
The air between them crackled with unspoken emotions, the tension palpable.
"The worst part is, I didn't always listen." Merlin admitted. "I knew Mordred was destined to kill Arthur ever since we first met him, despite that knowledge, I still saved his life, and it cost Arthur his."
Her eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape as she stared at him in utter disbelief. The news was too shocking to comprehend, too surreal to accept. "You knew?"
“Kilgharrah foresaw much,” Merlin replied. “Including your path toward darkness. Camelot’s true enemy was never Uther—it was you. Lives could have been spared if I’d heeded his warnings.”
“But not mine.” A heavy sigh escaped her lips, carrying the weight of her disappointment. It was as if the air itself had grown heavy with unmet expectations.
"You, more than anyone, ought to grasp the ease with which your demise could have been accomplished." He instantly noticed how her brows furrowed, "If we are here today, it is because I disregard his counsel. I adamantly refused to acknowledge the potential for malevolence within you, as I held firm to the belief in your inherent goodness." He drew a deep breath, his voice heavy with resignation. "Yet, your actions have validated his warnings. You've obliterated entire lineages, laid waste to kingdoms, and snuffed out countless innocent lives. For what purpose?"
"You had those who cautioned you, whereas I had Morgause." A storm brewing behind her eyes as frustration began to simmer beneath the surface. "She exposed me to the true horrors of our world, the injustices inflicted upon our people by Uther and the likes of him. They needed to be halted."
"By seizing control of Camelot?"
"Uther's reign had to end, and though you may protest, Arthur was his father's son. What other recourse did I have, Merlin? To remain subservient and obedient, as you did? Clearly, that path led to naught but disappointment. You never trusted Arthur—"
"Because of you." How could she fail to see it? "Magic is merely a tool, neither inherently good nor evil. Its use determines its nature. Arthur needed to understand that. But how could he comprehend this, with you are embodying his father's teachings? Magic was evil, and you have only confirmed Uther's beliefs."
"I acted as I believed right at the time—"
“Don’t justify what you have done. You were no child Morgana, you should have known better. Done better.”
“You poisoned me.”
Ah, of course she would throw that back at him.
"Then direct your anger toward me alone," he bellowed. "But you cannot justify the slaughter of innocents—"
"You destroyed me that day, Merlin," her voice fractured. "I loved you, and you ruined me. Magic did not corrupt me, Merlin. You did."
Her revelation struck him like a physical blow, stealing the very breath from his lungs. She regarded him, awaiting. But there was nothing that he could offer her back.
She loved him?
Should he believe her?
His heart pounded deafeningly, drowning out his thoughts. All he managed was, "How unfortunate."
It felt as though they had been transported back to the throne room, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy in the air. The intensity of her gaze mirrored that fateful moment, as if the passage of time had dissolved, leaving only the raw emotion between them.
He had just poisoned her all over again.
In her eyes, he glimpsed a reflection of the betrayal and hurt that had marked their past, a silent acknowledgment of the wounds they had inflicted upon each other. It was a poignant reminder of how far they had come, and how much they had lost along the way.
"Indeed, it is," she sniffed. "Goodbye, Merlin."
From this list, send me a prompt if you’d like.
#mergana#merlin x morgana#mergana fic#should i continue with is#I didn't mean for this part to be this long#sadly#we don't have katie in the 80s or 90s#if i am going to continue this we are jumping another half a decade#did i say how sorry i am for the long chapter#don't hate me
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Can you imagine in the yandere Bridgerton's in the isekai AU had their memories of their previous lives back and are all eager now to go toe to toe with their rivals while saving them from their bad endings. Except, the once villainous rivals now appear so tame and sweet, like regency disney heros and heroines. And for a moment they are disappointed and think that all is lost. Only to realize that their previous rivals destructive tendencies have been geared towards good and on the downlow. On the outside, Simon is the gallant duke who swooped in after his childhood sweetheart's father passed and took over the business. In reality, Kate controls everything with Simon as her right hand and, while fair, will hunt down anyone who dares to hurt her family and friends. Basically, she's a regency mafia don, an angel to those in need but a devil to those who hurt her family with the help of the others. They don't want Portia to worry about them and thus present themselves as angelic to the outside world. Of course once the Bridgertons realize this, it just makes them fall harder. "Oh isn't my beloved just amazing in how they tore they person's life apart! And without spilling a drop of blood. Their precious hands must never be sullied. That passion should be reserved only for me. I shall have to marry them so that I can take care of any problems they face."
Oh that would certainly spice things up, I imagine it that they somehow woke their memories of their epilogue selves and were so excited to finally feel that passion once more they had with their villains. Immediately though they, especially Colin, Eloise, and Hyacinth, notice that Penelope and Felicity haven’t been coming over. Where were they? They had been around for years before.
Violet bitterly reveals that the women of the Featherington house moved away a long time ago, she suspects Lord Featherington sent them away. Colin did not like that answer, he was looking forward to banter with Penelope again. Had his mother not gotten to Lord Featherington first he certainly would have. Benedict and Eloise also became irritated after a trip out to the country they found neither Sophie nor Phillip at Pennwood or Romney Hall. Where the hell could they be? The pattern continued for Anthony, Daphne, and Francesca. All their villains were not where they were supposed to be!
Then like the heavens blessed them one day before the start of the 1811 season multiple of their villains all appeared outside the Featherington house! Simon, Gareth, and Lucy were not seen amongst them but it wasn’t long before they were there too. There was something different about them though, something sweet and good. The Bridgertons weren’t sure how they felt about that, yes that new goodness in them made them so much more beautiful but the dreams of reigniting that passion seemed so far away.
No they refused to believe that. They know their villains, they are after all their villains. They know that passion laid dormant in them somewhere. The Bridgertons vowed to bring it out of them.
In the meantime though, Anthony, Benedict, and Daphne have their hands full keeping those undeserving away from their villains. Their other siblings took to stalking their villains as either their villains, themselves, or both were not out in society yet. No one in or out of the ton will ever take them away from them. They will not live without them again.
The more the Bridgerton siblings watched their villains though, the more they believed that passion isn’t as far away as they first believed.
One day while the Bridgertons were spending a lovely day in the park aka their mother was stalking Lady Featherington again, the siblings took noticed of something interesting.
Their villains were having a group lunch together, and at the same time they glanced back at Portia and Mary, both consumed by their conversation. A quick nod to Felicity, who kept her focus on her mother and Mary, then to one another they made their excuses and left in small groups to walk around the park. The Bridgertons were quick to follow after them from a distance.
Benedict and Hyacinth followed Sophie and Gareth walked together. They watched as Sophie and Gareth expertly took items off of lords without their knowledge, many of them are known gamblers to the point where it affected their families. Those items were then placed near the ladies of those houses.
Michael and Penelope helped Phillip gather berries. At one point a lord passed by them, Michael stopped him and the two entered a conversation. Penelope and Phillip still gathered berries, with Penelope quietly observing. When the lord left the three went back to berry gathering. Kate, Simon, and Lucy, who were followed by Anthony, Daphne, and Gregory, stopped by where Penelope and Michael whispered something to them. Phillip handed them the berries they been picking. It was only luck that Colin remembered from his travels that those berries were poisonous and known to cause hallucinations.
Berries in hand Kate, Simon and, Lucy found the lord that Michael stopped, tucked away in a secluded place where no one would see them. It took a moment but Anthony recognized him, he was known to traffic children, but no one had proof. Kate, Simon, and Lucy confronted the lord, revealing proof no one found before. Simon restrained the man, Kate forced the berries down his throat, and Lucy searched his pockets until she found a key. They left him to wander in his halllucination, meeting back at the Featherington tent where the others now sat too.
“Did you enjoy your promenade?” Portia asked them.
“Yes,” Penelope said, “we did happen to run into Lord Lumley during our walk as well.”
Portia and Mary made a face. “I assumed he asked again about going into business together.”
“We denied him,” Kate said. “We just thought he wouldn’t make a good business partner. Too much of a liability.”
Portia nodded, proud. “Yes, you must always consider who you are going into a business deal with. Your partners can make or break a deal.”
Their villains beamed at the praise.
Oh that passion was defiantly still there. Now the Bridgertons had to make sure it was only ever directed at them.
#bridgerton#what if villainess isekai au#isekai and yanderes#kathony#benophie#polin#saphne#philoise#franchael#hyareth#grucy#violet x portia
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Noragami reread: Volume 3 & 4 thoughts
The next installment!
Fascinating how Yato swings Sekki at Nora as a "get out of my way" threat, but after she leaves he reveals he was just bluffing, and neither he nor Yukine say they ever want to do that (threaten to kill someone) again. Remember when in the anime he made Yukine kill that ayakashi girl? Reminding you for no reason in particular.
Since 3 is the Yukine volume, there's just a lot that ties into what happens once you learn his past...his constant feelings of abandonment manifesting as resentment toward everyone around him, Hiyori being the first one to name their relationship as father and son, the explicit paralleling of Manabu and Yukine as kids who were ostracized...Just pretty much everything about this volume hurts much worse when you know Yukine's past. Also, when the themes are consistent 🤌
I am so mentally ill over Yato and Yukine's relationship you wouldn't believe. They helped each other in the ways they always needed to be helped. Yato wishing he had someone who wouldn't leave him while Yukine is realizing the ones he had did leave him...I'm beating my fists against the ground. Oh my GOD this volume is a doozy.
I'm still curious about Nora attacking Hiyori after not paying attention to her at first. She only talked to Yato and Yukine, then shows up with an army of wolves to kill Hiyori. I assume she mentioned these companions to Father and he put her up to it? But then, why give up after only one attempt? When Nora attacks Yukine later in the series, it was something she did out of jealousy, not because Father told her to. (In fact, doesn't he scold her for it?)
Volume 4 picks right back up with the consistent foreshadowing/theme repetition I've observed. Mayu tells Yukine, "Be careful. The darkness is always right beside you." and he shudders, reflecting on the word "darkness." Yukine hates the dark, and hates giving in to his dark side, so this statement both shows his honest effort to improve and how, despite his intentions, it will overtake him again. Man.
The very next page, Mayu tells him to protect his master for his name's sake, and Yukine agrees to stake his name of "Yuki" on it. Thinking ahead, he was always motivated to protect Yato. But Yato went ahead with self-sacrifice anyway, and so Yukine's name wasn't good enough. He lost his stake, and had to search for a new name. I'm going to cry and this volume has barely started.
Yukine reflecting on Hiyori parting ways with him and not remembering him after hearing Suzuha's story makes me want to blow up.
The last thing for this volume is that interestingly, Kugaha's hair seems to be colored as black in his first appearance. In his later appearances, it's more two-toned. By the last chapter of this volume, it's fully light. Just an observation.
Here's some more quick Discord thoughts:
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Bless for your Geralt whump, my eyes are sparkling! Your writing is really amazing
Nonnie, this has probably sat in my inbox for coming up to two years, I am so very sorry. If you're still in the fandom, I bring you an apology story of whump but, because of the way the brain gremlins sway, we're whumping Cahir today.
My Friend
Long story short, Kaer Morhen crumbled into dust, the Wolf School was no more. The stragglers and survivors who had been trying to find sanctuary there for the last century or so were left adrift. Options weren't exactly abundant and the Continent was a bit of a mess still. It was at Ciri's insistence that they headed south, to Nilfgaard in the hopes of maybe doing some good.
In a way, things were easier than anticipated. Ciri was welcomed by Emhyr, who was shrewd enough to recognise the potential power in having some witchers call Nilfgaard their home. Though Lambert went gallivanting off after the Cats' caravan, Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir stayed put with Ciri.
As it so happened, Emhyr took great interest in Vesemir's experience and Geralt had also intrigued him. It left Ciri free to explore and she took Eskel along. They didn't do anything as crass and voyeuristic as go into the dungeons. Ciri had no interest in seeing others suffer for their misdeed. Instead, she and Eskel took passages and random doors which led deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the large building. In the end they found themselves in a dimly lit, dank corridor that stank of misery and mould. Noses crinkling, they pressed on, curious about whether they were about to find some long forgotten, hidden cellar where they could carve out a secret space of their own. It was no such thing. Stepping into the room at the end of the corridor, Ciri almost wished she had never found it.
In the corner was a skeltal waif who looked as though he should have been dead some time ago. Yet he was breathing, squinting up at them as they stepped in. What Ciri didn't expect was for the man to panic.
"Princess? You can't be here!" The words were no more than a low croak. "He can't find you. Please. Run!"
Rather than listen, Ciri stepped closer. The rag that had possibly once been a shirt on the man revealed a gnarly scar, the wound had probably near enough split him in two from collarbone to the soft hollow of his belly. Magic had to have been involved in his survival.
"It's okay," Ciri tried to sooth but it seemed to fall on deaf ears as the man shook his head.
"No. Emhyr. He's your father. He's evil."
"I know."
That seemed to take the man by surprise and he sagged, eyes turning sad. "You know. No. He lies." Eyes turned to Eskel and rather than fear there seemed to be relief. "Witcher, help her get away please. Get her out of this web before it's too late."
Curiosity piqued, Eskel approached. Not once did the man flinch or show any sign of fear. As he crouched down, he offered a small smile. "In all the time I've known Ciri, she has only ever done what she's wanted."
"Please." The plea was so broken, so desperate, Eskel didn't have the heart to interrupt. "I have a good friend who was looking for her. A good man, Geralt of Rivia. Do you know him? He'll help."
The pieces clicked into place then as to who the man one. Eskel had heard enough stories, as had Ciri over the years.
"Cahir?"
For a moment silence hung in the air before Cahir sagged. "Nobody's called me that in so long."
"Okay, we're getting you out of here."
Picking Cahir up was almost laughably easy. He weighed near enough nothing as he was cradled against Eskel's chest. Torch in hand, Ciri led the way, trying to keep to the less populated passages to avoid questions for as long as possible.
In the end Cahir was gently deposited in Eskel's bed. Neither Eskel nor Ciri mentioned how he seemed reluctant to let go of Eskel, lingering in the warmth of any scrap of touch he could.
Nothing could remain a secret for long. Emhyr was outraged that his decisions were overruled. But, to nobody's real surprise, Ciri was a force of her own and, backed up as she was by her witcher family, got her own way. Cahir was free.
The curious part was Geralt's recation in all that had happened. Cahir had called him his friend. He had nodded in ackowledgement, offered a soft, "I didn't know he'd survived," and left it at that. There was no urge to see him, no exclamation of relief that his friend was alive. It was like when Lambert had told them that Aiden was alive. While knowing Lambert's misery was resolved, there was no mad dash to see him, they weren't friends after all.
When Cahir was a little more coherent and less lost in the depths of survival, he had smiled at Eskel.
"You must be one of Geralt's brothers." Which made no sense, Eskel's medallion was tucked under a shirt for a change, there was no way Cahir could have seen it. All the same, he had glanced down to try and see it, while a hand reached to fiddle with it. It only made Cahir laugh a little. "You two look like brothers. But you're more approachable."
If Eskel didn't know any better, he would have thought Cahir was flirting. Which, maybe he was. The thing was, it was difficult to tell how much Cahir was simply basking in the offer of kind company and how much he was intentionally seeking out contact. Such conundrums were rather quickly resolved, given how he and Ciri tended to mutter and giggle, heads bowed together in secret. And the blush that crept over Cahir's cheeks whenever Eskel interrupted those chats by announcing his presence. While he tried not to eavesdrop, it was difficult not to overhear snippets despite his best efforts. Murmurs like "I know he's your uncle but oh fuck me, I'm sorry" which was countered with "he'd snap you like a twig, at least get better before you try and jump him" coupled with "do you think I should cut my hair?" and Ciri's reply of "let me try and tame it for you, sickbed sexy is the height of fashion at the moment" made Eskel work hard to hide his smile. Especially when he saw the result of Ciri's efforts.
"You look nice," he offered when he saw Cahir's new hairstyle. Maybe the ribbon was a bit much but Eskel wasn't going to say that. Instead he enjoyed the pleased, flustered expression on Cahir's face. It didn't take long for Cahir to end up snuggled in his lap, forehead tucked against Eskel's neck and fingers tracing the lines of his palm. Very quickly it became the default position they could be found in, Cahir protectively wrapped in Eskel's lap. Not seeing Eskel's face also made it easier for Cahir to open up. He said very little about Emhyr and his time in the dungeons, nor did he speak much about his time with Nilfgaard. Then again, the scars and nightmares more than spoke enough for him. Instead there were stories of the Hansa, of friends, of camaraderie.
"It was nice," Cahir said softly, "to have so much trust. They were my friends."
Yet Geralt still hadn't been to see him. Eskel couldn't wrap his head around it. The fondness with which Cahir talked about the ragtag group, how they bickered, had messy fights (and how Milva once broke him and Geralt up), it all sounded almost homely.
"Would you like Geralt to come and see you?" Eskel finally asked. He couldn't imagine having a friend so close and recuperating from something so awful and not want to see them.
"That's his choice." Sadness tinged Cahir's voice.
"But-" Eskel was at a loss. He tried again, "You said he's one of your closest friends? Someone you'd trust and someone you've literally almost died for."
Finally, Cahir looked up at him, the sadness wasn't just in his voice, hus whole face was warped with it. "I did say that and I did do that. But I only ever said that he was my friend. I don't think I was ever his."
#eskhir#cahir/eskel#eskel x cahir#eskel#cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach#the witcher#tldr: friendship isn't always a two way street
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Downton Abbey - The Story of Emma Barrow
Thomas Barrow x Emma Barrow
Sneak Peek
You can already find 30 chapters on Ao3, Fanfiction.net and Wattpad. 😉
Sitting on the floor, Emma played with her wooden figures. Every now and then, the hall boys and housemaids complained that she sat in the way, but that didn't stop the young girl from continuing to play. It was Anna who immediately recognized the soldier, "Emma, look who's here," she spoke gently. Emma looked up, her eyes scanning the room. Two housemaids sat at the table, doing their needlework. Beside them sat Anna, and behind her stood Daisy. On the other side stood Mrs. O'Brien and a man in a soldier's uniform, who revealed a warm and heartfelt smile.
Emma stared at him with her mouth half open, before a huge grin formed on the face of the 5-year-old. "Daddy!" she exclaimed excitedly. She immediately jumped up from the floor and ran straight into the waiting arms of her father, who crouched down to her level. "There's my little dwarf," he smiled and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Emma's tender arms wrapped around his neck as she pressed her face firmly against his chest, "Daddy, I missed you so much," the little girl confessed.
"I missed you too!" he replied, planting a kiss on her cheek. It had been two and a half years since he last held his daughter in his arms. Three birthdays he had missed. And if it hadn't been for Mrs. Hughes, his daughter might not even recognize him anymore. But the housekeeper made sure to show Emma a picture of Thomas and read his letters to her before bedtime.
"I missed you more," Emma stubbornly declared, "And I love you very much, Daddy!"
Thomas felt like bursting into tears, but certainly not in front of all his former colleagues. But that one phrase, "I love you," he hadn't heard it in what felt like an eternity. And suddenly, that very phrase was said to him, and he couldn't bring himself to return his child's affection. Instead, he pressed another kiss on Emma's cheek before resting their foreheads together. At least the others couldn't see his overwhelming emotions. Emma's small hands touched his cheeks. Perhaps the child was just as overwhelmed as he was. Emma pressed her head against his chest once again. Despite not seeing each other for so long, she instantly felt safe in his arms.
"You've grown up," Thomas remarked gently, "How old are you now? Three? Four?"
"No, Daddy," she giggled, "I'm five years old!" and she showed him all five fingers.
"Five?!" Thomas marveled, "Then you're a big girl!"
"Yes! I'll be going to school next year!" she explained proudly. As neither Thomas nor Emma wanted to break free from their new familiar embrace, he lifted the child in his arms and positioned her comfortably at his hip. After all, he had to show what a great father he was. Lady Grantham had made some connections for him so he wouldn't have to return to the front. One of those connections was that he was a single father who hadn't seen his child in a long time, which made a position - especially due to his injury - at the Downton hospital more fitting.
"What's wrong, my little dwarf? Why are you so sad all of a sudden?"
"I don't want you to leave," she sniffled, burying her face deeper into Thomas's shoulder, "Please Daddy don’t ever leave me again!"
"That's good because I'm staying in Downton."
"Really, you're staying?" she asked hesitantly.
"I'm staying," he confirmed with a nod, though his child wasn't convinced by his words. With his finger, he gently booped her nose, "You can believe me. I won't leave you again!" Thomas was satisfied with her more or less approving nod and shifted his gaze to the circle of housemaids and kitchen maids.
"Where is William?"
"He's in training for the army," Daisy explained.
"I thought he died out of love for you," Thomas chuckled.
"That's mean. You‘ve just returned," Daisy shook her head in disbelief. Emma remained quiet in the newfound familiar position in her father's arms. She didn't move much or speak. She simply listened to him. The voice she hadn't heard in two and a half years, and yet it sounded so familiar. And then there was the strange but familiar smoky scent.
"Imagine Carson without his footman, like a circus director without his little horse," he grinned mischievously.
"We don't need your cheekiness here. Thank you very much, Thomas," Mrs. Hughes suddenly appeared behind them. Emma gave the housekeeper a big smile as she wrapped her arm around her father's neck, who didn't look in the housekeeper's direction once.
"I apologize, Mrs. Hughes, but I am no longer a servant. I receive my orders from Major Clarkson."
The older lady let out a soft groan. Emma didn't understand what was so bad about the sentence her father told. A circus without a horse would only be half as spectacular.
"Who is that?" Thomas asked, nodding his head in the direction of a new housemaid who giggled.
"Ethel, the new maid," O'Brien explained.
"When I saw you out there, I didn't know you were a former footman," Ethel remarked.
"I'm one who made it out," Thomas replied.
"That gives us all hope."
"Ethel, you'll assist with the luggage. Sir Richard will be arriving soon," Carson's voice rang out.
"We have a visitor, Mr. Carson," O'Brien pointed out.
"I've seen him. It's about time you picked up your child. Did you think we're an orphanage?" Carson retorted, marching off.
"Where is Mr. Bates?"
"Gone. Replaced by Mr. Lang."
"Well, not all the changes were disadvantageous," Thomas said, glancing over at the housemaid, Anna.
At that moment, Mrs. Patmore appeared, placing a plate of pancakes on the table. Ethel reached out her hand and promptly received a slap, "Hands off! The pancake is for Emma," the cook explained. Not only did Emma politely request a pancake, but she was also still quite small for her age, which made Mrs. Patmore keen on ensuring the child was properly nourished, including pancakes with jam filling. Emma grinned mischievously and stuck her tongue out at Ethel.
"Don't you have a job to do?" O'Brien snapped. Ethel rolled her eyes, complaining that she was a housemaid, not a footman, and she didn't see why she should perform the duties of a male servant as she left the room.
Thomas seated Emma on one of the nearby chairs. The pancake had already been divided in half—for easier eating, of course—and Emma gleefully reached for the half where the jam was already oozing out. In seconds, the child had smeared her hands, sleeves, and mouth with the red jelly.
"Would you like a pancake too?" Emma asked politely. "It’s too much anyway." It was a fact that Thomas had already learned from the letters. His child ate far too little, and on some days, even the old Patmore would chase after her with a piece of bread just to ensure she had eaten a slice by the end of the day. Mrs. Hughes had already been to the doctor. "There's no cause for concern," Clarkson had said at the time. Some children were simply fussy and slow eaters, but as long as the child didn't show signs of malnutrition, it wasn't a major issue.
"We'll share the second one," Thomas said, carefully tearing the pancake in the middle.
"Why are you wearing a glove?" the girl asked, puzzled.
"I have an injured hand."
"Oh." At that time, Emma didn't question why her father had a injured hand. In fact, she will never ask him about it, as Thomas will one day tell her the story, but by then, Emma will be much older.
#thomas barrow#downton abbey#downton downstairs#fanfiction#rob james collier#downton abbey x reader#rob james-collier
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What do we know about the Ricords?
There actually exists a fairly recent biography on Ricord — La République à visage humain: Jean-François Ricord, maire de Grasse, conventionnel, représentant en mission (2019). If you want to learn about him properly I think the best might be to go consult that book, because I couldn’t really find more substantial info on him than his wikipedia article and some dictionary articles. As for Marguerite Ricord, according to the memoirs of René-Nicolas Dufriche, she was born in Grasse, with her maiden name being Rossignoly. Her father, born in the 1710s or 1720s, was an ex-Oratorian and doctor who had never had much work, ”a lazy and caustic Epicurean, [who] had made himself formidable by the most biting satires in verse. […] Quite an old satyr, because of the fire which still sometimes flashed from his eyes, and the convulsive movements of his lips which revealed two or three threatening teeth.” Marguerite had grown up with a mother — a ”remarkably gentle” woman it is said she ressembled — as well as two sisters, one of which was married by 1793, and a younger one named Thérèse or Théréson. More basic info — such as her year of birth, marriage and death — I’ve however not been able to find (and the only reason I even know her name was Marguerite is because different historians have all called her that).
As for Jean-François, he too had been born in Grasse, in 1759, where he, once the revolution rolled around, founded a local Jacobin Club. On January 6 and 9 1792, its parisian sister club lists someone named Ricord as intervening during their debates. This is ”our” Ricord according to the index, though I do have some doubts about it considering he at this point should still be in Grasse, where he had been elected mayor just two months earlier. Ricord and Marguerite most likely didn’t go to Paris until the fall of 1793, when the former was elected to the National Convention. There, he would go on to vote for the death of Louis XVI, rejecting both an appeal to the people and granting the king a reprieve. One day after Louis’ execution, January 22 1793, Lucile Desmoulins writes in her diary: ”Ricord came to see me. He is always the same, very brusque and coarse, truly mad, giddy, insane.” The next day she tells us about having met Ricord after witnessing the funeral procession of Le Peletier, and a week later about dining with Ricord, Sillery and three others.
The military doctor René-Nicolas Dufriche reported in his Souvernirs de la fin du XVIIIe siècle et du commencement du XIXe (1836) that, two months later, March 15 1792, the following scene took place:
I went to take a leave, on the evening of March 15, at my uncle V... and the rest of his family, by then gathered near him, and I thus embraced for the first and last time my adorable cousin Aimée, who died of grief shortly after the tragic end of our uncle. That day, I found at my aunt's house the wife of a deputy from Var who was attending the conferences held at V... This woman, apparently very shy, probably because she had no use of the world, learning that I was leaving the next day for Nice, told me that she was from Grasse and the daughter of a doctor, and that if I ever went to that city, she urged me to see her family, who would welcome me eagerly.
On July 21 1793 Ricord shows up for the very first time in the Récueil des actes du Comité de Salut Public (I’ve honestly not been able to find any trace of him between Lucile’s diary entry and this, neither in official debates nor anecdotes). On that day, he got tasked with going to the Army of Italy, replacing the representative Pierre Baille who had gotten the mission to go there alongside Augustin Robespierre two days earlier. According to Mary Young’s Augustin: the younger Robespierre (2011), Augustin and Ricord may already have been acquainted with one another, seeing as the latter, according to her, had a flat on 5 rue St Florentin, the same street Charlotte had gotten her brothers to go live on after her fallout with the Duplays.
Ricord decided to take his wife along with him on the journey. According to the memoirs of Charlotte Robespierre, it was when she learned of this fact that she asked her younger brother if she too may tag along, something which the latter agreed to ”with joy.” We don’t know when exactly the group set out, but the first letter from them to the CPS is dated August 16, when they for the moment are settled in Sault. Six days later we find them in Manosque. A week after that, August 28, Augustin writes to his brother from Aix reporting that ”I embraced all the prisoners, Ricord first of all” which might suggest Ricord had for a short time been captured by counter-revolutionaries. Finally, on September 8 they had reached Nice, where they would also go on to stay for more than a month (we have letters dated September 13, 16, 18, 23 and 24, and 5 October 5, 7, 8 and 16). Here, they ran into the military doctor René-Nicolas Dufriche once again who left the following anecdote in his Souvernirs de la fin du XVIIIe siècle et du commencement du XIXe (1836):
Walking one evening on the beautiful terrace which borders the sea, I came face to face with the representatives Barras and Fréron, who both flanked Madame Ricord, the wife of their colleague, who followed them a few steps away, chatting to Robespierre the younger. A swarm of young staff officers surrounded the national representation at a respectful distance. I was forced to greet the first group and approach madame Ricord, to ask her for news of her family, who had received me so cordially in Grasse.
“Monsieur,” citoyenne Ricord said to me, “aren’t you a bit of a Girondin?”
“No, madame, I’m simply a doctor.” Then, slowly retreating, I went to see the husband, who affectionately held out his hand to me and took a few steps away from Robespierre so that we could talk more at ease.
“Citoyen representant,” I said to him, “your wife just asked me a very inappropriate question.” And I repeated what she had said.
“Certainly, very inappropriate, and it does not surprise me, because my wife compromises me every day… Forget what she told you… I am counting on your silence.”
"Admit, however, citoyen representant, that if Madame Ricord's question could cause me some grief, I could not help saying that your wife's suspicions infallibly relate to what she saw me do in Paris at my uncle V... She was waiting for you there, as you well know, chatting with my aunt and my cousin, while you deliberated in the neighboring salon... Isn’t that how it is?”
"Certainly; I repeat to you that my wife does not have any common sense. Be calm, and whatever may happen, you will find in me a warm friend who will make use of your services.”
While complying with the somewhat interested words of M. Ricord, a loyal man, I was not completely reassured. I had humiliated self-esteem and swallowed too much the ridiculous pretensions of a few Figaros, exclusive patriots and aesculapian servants of the proconsuls, so as not to apprehend the denigrations. Confining myself therefore into a clientele which increased every day, I avoided with extreme care the national representation and all its entourage.
According to Charlotte’s memoirs, it was also while in Nice that Marguerite caused her to fall out with Augustin:
Public spirit in Nice was no better than in all of Provence. But there we had nothing to fear from the counterrevolutionaries; there was a division of French troops. The general in chief, Dumerbion, and his general staff protected us, Madame Ricord and I, when her husband and my brother went out, which happened often. During my stay in Nice I went to the theatre only three times. The first time we were respected; the second time, the box that we had reserved had been taken over; the third time they threw apples at us, which did not reach us. General Dumerbion saw this and sent his aides-de-camp to pray us to come to his box. Then they no longer dared to throw anything at us, but after a few minutes, we left the theatre, and never set foot in it again.
Robespierre the Younger and Ricord had found that Army of Italy, which was soon to become illustrious by its great exploits, in a disastrous destitution. While they visited the different divisions and substituted everywhere order for disorder, abundance for famine, we kept occupied, Madame Ricord and I, in making shirts for the soldiers. In the evening, to relax, we walked in the country around Nice, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback. Our equestrian outings made people talk, and fed the viciousness of our enemies. It was written in Paris that we acted like princesses; several journals paid by the aristocracy propagated this absurd accusation, and Maximilien Robespierre wrote me to let me know. My younger brother spoke to me about it too, and I promised him to refuse myself the pleasure of riding from then on.
Madame Ricord, who was the most frivolous and inconsiderate person in the world, made the same promise but with the resolution not to keep it. Here I must give an idea of her character. For long I had believed her to be only coquettish and flighty; but I saw at last, through my own experience, that she was malicious and sought every means to make my younger brother quarrel with me and send me back to Paris. My presence was unbearable to her; a passionate lover of pleasure, and often of pleasures not permitted to respectable women, she found me a strict and rigorous witness who was getting in her way. Indeed, a lady who interested herself in me, and who saw in Madame Ricord’s household that I was displaced in her society, and in that of a lady she spent her time with who was no better than her, told me once: You are too virtuous to remain her; your presence alone criticizes them. I did not at first understand the meaning of those words; later, and when I had been the victim of the blackest treason, I recalled them, and I admired the simplicity with which I had been unable to understand them.
To return to the rides on horseback, which had been formally forbidden me by my two brothers: one day when Robespierre the Younger and Ricord were out, Madame Ricord proposed that we go on one such ride, and here is the occasion: we had been invited, she and I, to dine with some persons of her acquaintance. After dinner, and when the horses were ready as well as a coach for those who did not know how to ride, Madame Ricord said: Let’s go; the coach and the horses are ready; absolutely as if it had been agreed in advance that the ride would take place. I approached her and reminded her in a whisper of my brother’s prohibition; she did not listen to me and left me, laughing. I did not dare to explain myself more fully before the rest of those present; I resigned myself and got into the coach.
For the whole length of the ride I was upset and had a heavy heart, so much was a affected to be disobeying my brother. Assuredly I took no part in the others’ pleasure, and I would have preferred a thousand times to not have left the house. One idea consoled me. If my brother, I said to myself, learns of this ride, as it is inevitable that he will, at least he will know that I was not the one who wanted it; he will know that I protested to Madame Ricord, and that she did not want to take account of them; he will know at last that she was the one who wanted this ride and that I could do nothing other than follow her; Madame Ricord will have to assume the responsibility.
Two days later my brother returned. The day of his arrival he did not speak to me of the ride we had taken, and I believed that, knowing that I had been forced, so to speak, he did not hold it against me. But the next day I was quite surprised to hear him reproach me. I wanted to explain myself; he replied that I was the one who had wanted us to take that ride; so I called Madame Ricord to witness. What became of me and what was my surprise and my indignation when that woman, instead of declaring the truth, reinforced with an imperturbable effrontery that it was I, effectively, who had wanted the ride and had taken her along against her will? I was floored; I lacked the words to respond; those who were present could believe that I was guilty to see the assurance of Madame Ricord and my stupefaction. But should my brother have believed this odious lie? He knew me: he knew I was incapable of lying. Why then did he not want to believe me? When I was alone I wept much. That scene had made the most painful impression upon my heart. But I resolved to hide my distress, not to show it to anyone, especially not my brother. He no longer spoke to me of it, and it would have been possible to believe that nothing had happened, if he had not kept a certain coldness in regard to me that caused me to despair. There is the result of Madame Ricord’s lie. As for her, she had neither more cares nor less gaiety because of it; she still had her laughing and frolicking humor: one might truly have dad, to see her air of satisfaction, that she was happy with herself, and that she had done the world’s greatest act.
It will rightly be supposed that after having been so cruelly played by Madame Ricord, I could no longer have for her either esteem or respect; that is, at least, if I had had any for her before the scene I have just described. In effect, how should one esteem a woman who knows so little of the rules of propriety and her duties as a wife to commit the gravest offenses against them? How should I have loved a person who continually compromised my younger brother with her advances, to which he believed it essential to his honor and duty not to respond? In truth, if modesty did not hold back my pen, I would say some things which would not be to Madame Ricord’s advantage. She was young and charming; but her coquetry was at least equivalent to her beauty. She wanted to shine and be adored at any price, and would do anything to get attention.
Ricord loved his wife, and had unlimited confidence in her. Absorbed as he was by numerous occupations, he did not see her offenses, and could never have suspected them. Ricord had every public and private virtue; he could be equaled but not surpassed in patriotism; he was one of the most ardent and intrepid Montagnards. A faithful and trustworthy friend, a tender husband, he deserved a different wife, and never was a couple, in my opinion, less well matched. Probably he had always been unaware of his wife’s actions regarding me; she would set him against me, and, since he saw only by her eyes in these matters, he believed everything she said.
My departure from Nice was approaching, though I did not suspect it. I did not know then, and I have only learned since, that Madame Ricord unceasingly abused me to my brother, inventing a thousand lies in order to make him lose his friendship for me. My brother’s coldness redoubled with each passing day and I knew not what to attribute it to. Doubtless I should have asked Augustin for an explanation concerning this change; but I saw him so busy, so overwhelmed with work, that I could not resolve myself to do so. We were both victims of the cruelest of hoaxes.
Madame Ricord, who perhaps hoped that my brother would be less insensible to her advances in my absence, plotted my removal. She set a trap for me, and right away I fell into it, so little was the ability to resist that woman in my character. My brother having left Nice on a six-day trip, Madame Ricord proposed that we should spend that time in Grasse, with one of her friends. I accepted, without suspecting anything, and we left. We had hardly arrived in Grasse when a letter was brought to Madame Ricord which had been, it was said, addressed to Nice. Madame Ricord told me that this letter was from my brother and that he prayed me to return as promptly as possible to Paris.
Judge of my shock! My brother, without coming to see me, without bidding me farewell, was sending me away like a reprobate. Nothing could have been more incredible, and yet I let myself fall into this crude trap. Listening for the moment only to my indignation, I reserved a place in a private coach departing for Paris, and I left the next morning.
I have since much reflected, sadly, on this precipitated departure. I should have had the letter where my brother supposedly ordered me to leave shown to me; I should have returned to Nice, waited for him, and asked him whether it was true that he was banishing me, so to speak, from his presence. I would have gotten proof of the contrary from him directly; my eyes would have been opened upon the abyss that had been dug before me, and his eyes would have been opened about a woman whom he had believed until then—all her calumnies and all her lies.
But, to my unhappiness, it was not so. I credulously believed what Madame Ricord told me, and still I do not dare think of all the conjectures that Robespierre could have drawn from my brusque departure. She would have told him that I wanted to leave without seeing him, because I did not care for him; what would she not have told him! She would have embittered him against me in every way. It was easy for me, upon his return to Paris, to judge the effect that the venomous words of the Madame Ricord had had on him. He no longer wanted to see me, and the events of the Thermidor took place before I could explain myself to him. Thus, to the grief of having lost my two brothers is added that of having had this misunderstanding with one of them, who took the idea that I had wronged him to the grave. Is it possible for one to be unhappier than I? Madame Ricord congratulated herself for what she did; she could not have known that she was preparing me an entire life filled with tears and regrets!
(I myself have already speculated on whether this really is the (full) story behind Augustin and Charlotte’s fallout in this post).
On October 17, Augustin writes from Nice that Ricord has gone to Lyon and only he remains in the city (Mary Young speculates that Margueite might have stayed in Nice too and it was now, with her husband out of the way, that the love affair between her and Augustin really blossomed out). One day later, Fréron writes from Marseilles, where Ricord’s made a stop, to Desmoulins and tells him that ”Ricord is going to tell you about so many things. […] [he] will give you my adress,” The same day Fréron also wrote to Lucile Desmoulins exclaiming: ”How lucky Ricord is! So he is going to see you again, Lucile, and I, for a century, have been in exile.” […] He is leaving, this fortunate mortal, and I venture to give him this letter for you, the content of which he is unaware about.” Fréron you f:ing creepo. This instead suggests Ricord had been given a leave and was on the road to Paris. Eleven days after Fréron’s letters were penned down, October 29, Ricord presented himself at the parisian Jacobin club where he, after having denounced a spy hiding in said club and provoked a decree to arrest the man in question, complains about the dragged out trial against the Girondins, saying that Brissot should only need to answer the following two questions: Are you Brissot? and Are you the deputy of the National Convention? If the answer is yes, Ricord argues, he shall be shot, citing as examples similar judgments he has seen in Marseille, ”which have done the greatest good.” His suggestion was however not received by any hearing, with the deputy Renaudin rising to state that these measures may be suitable in Marseilles, but that in Paris, it must still be the law that condemns, and Ricord being met by murmurs when wanting to justify his opinion. He had to content himself with giving news regarding the south, praising Barras, Fréron and the Committee of Public Safety and encouraging the idea of purging Paris of aristocrats, and this time he was met by a warmer response.
Ricord presented himself at the Jacobin club again on November 23 (this is the last time he’s recorded as speaking there) where he again praised Fréron and Barras and asked that Marseille be left to them. Six days later we find him at Toulon together with Augustin, Barras, Fréron and Saliceti. On December 11 they get the order to march on the city from the Committee of Public Safety, and nine days later, they could report that they had entered it.
In his memoirs, Barras writes the following regarding the Ricords in Toulon:
Bonaparte, after the siege of Toulon, was appointed brigadier-general, with orders to join the Army of Italy, under the orders of General Dumerbion; it was then, through the patronage of Aréna, that he became intimate with Robespierre the younger and Ricord and his wife, afterwards his protectors. From the time Bonaparte joined the first Army of Italy, holding very low rank, he desired and systematically sought to get to the top of the ladder by all possible means; fully convinced that women constituted a powerful aid, he assiduously paid court to the wife of Ricord, knowing that she exercised great influence over Robespierre the Younger, her husband's colleague. He pursued Mme Ricord with all kinds of attentions, picking up her gloves, handing her her fan, holding with profound respect her bridle and stirrup when she mounted her horse, accompanying her in her walks hat in hand, and seeming to tremble continually lest some accident should befall her.
Augustin, who had taken a bullet to the knee during the taking of the city, left for Paris just two days afterwards. According to Charlotte’s memoirs, her brother went to lodge with ”his collegue Record” (she probably means Ricord) during his stay in the capital, no longer wanting to see her after their fallout. Barras’ memoirs similarily contains an anecdote about Augustin and Ricord meeting up with a boy whose mother (who Augustin had known) has been guillotined, and giving him clothes and food while on a stay in Paris together. But this sounds unlikely to be true, considering Augustin and Ricord never went on leaves to Paris at the same time.
Ricord stayed in Toulon throughout the rest of 1793 (we have letters confirming this dated December 23 and 28 and January 5). On December 29 he got tasked with going back to Nice by the CPS, where we find him on January 20. Six days later, the CPS wrote to inform him that he had been the subject of several denounciations:
…Have you studied the men around you enough? Right now, it’s the aristocrats that make up your société habituelle in Marseille. You have moved in with one of these suspicious men, named Saint-Mesme. The patriots making up the Supervisory Committee were molested by you. […] The Committee has also been informed that you plan to decide alone who are those who, placed under arrest by the representatives of the People and the Supervisory Committees, must be detained. And here the Committee reminds you that you are powerless in Marseille. Your mission is limited to the army of Italy and the department of Var; everywhere else your authority ceases, it is null. Finally, you claimed that the law against emigrants was too rigorous, that the Convention would be obliged to revoke it. Isn't this frightening, isn't it putting off auctions? Does this not call for alarm and distrust in the pledge of national wealth? The Committee of Public Safety, fellow citizen, would have liked to spare itself the painful duty of pointing out such errors, so as not to indulge in the memory of the good you have done. It likes to think that this is only a momentary aberration of yours. […]
Ricord nevertheless remained away on missions up until the fall of Robespierre (I’ve however not found any anecdotes/interesting information regarding him during the rest of the period). We know Marguerite was still together with him up until at least April 5, when Augustin wrote to his brother: ”Ricord and his wife embrace you.” But two days after the brothers’ execution, July 30, a CPS decree signed by Collot d’Herbois ordered Ricord to immidiately return to the Convention. Ricord understood he was under suspicion for his ties to Augustin, and on August 5 he authored the following letter (cited in Young’s Augustin: the younger Robespierre , page 174) from Nice:
Monsters that the Republic still has in its bosom have plotted new assassinations. An unbelievable conspiracy has found place in the hearts of traitors… But their authors have received the just punishment that they merited. It is that you should be aware of this that I publish the proclamation of the National Convention to the people of France... This event will only augment your zeal and make you more vigilant in seeking out the guilty. The Constitution needs all your zeal in unmasking and pursuing the enemies of liberty and equality.
And one day later, still in Nice, he also wrote this letter to the CPS, confirming he had received theirs:
Upon reading, citizens and collegues, your letter and the proclamation of the National Convention, I regretted not being at the Convention to vote for the death of the infamous scoundrels who had the criminal audacity to conspire against freedom. The perfidious! as they had deceived the people! I blush to have been the friend of Robespierre the younger. It is true that I thought him honest; but from the moment of his treason he had no more implacable enemy than me. You will learn without surprise that all hearts are entirely for liberty, the National Convention and the government. The army, the popular societies, the administration, all have sworn once again the annihilation of all kinds of tyranny. In accordance with your decree of the 12th, I am leaving in two hours to travel to the heart of the National Convention.
Salut et fraternité,
Ricord.
On August 6 we find a letter to the CPS sharing suspicions regarding Ricord. According to wikipedia, Ricord was also accused by Cambon on August 24, though I’ve not found the minutes for the session which he does so… Regardless, Ricord was lucky and these denounciations never went anywhere.
In her memoirs, Élisabeth Lebas claims that Ricord and several other men unsuccessfully tried to seduce her sister-in-law Henriette shortly after thermidor:
Our position was so dreadful that my sister-in-law had to return to her family. It sufficed that, young and pretty, and having lost her mentor, she could not solicit my liberty; those curs, like Ricord and others, pursued her, seeking every means of seducing her, even promising her my liberty. Though she was young, she saw well that those monsters were seeking ways to corrupt her and dishonor her family. She preferred to leave, guessing rightly that they would do nothing either for me or for my brother-in-law François Le Bas, adjutant-major.
After this, it’s not until the following year I’ve found any info on Ricord. But in the aftermath of the Insurrection of 1 prairial (May 20 1795) we find a decree ordering the arrest of ”Charbonnier, Escudier, Salicetti and Ricord, for having fomented movements in Marseille and Toulon whose history belongs to the era which followed the days of Prairial.” We have a defence written by Ricord dated July 30 the same year, as well as another from October 14, but he nevertheless remained in prison until November 1795, when he benefited from an amnesty issued at the closing of the National Convention. But just a few months later he came under suspicion again for participation in the conspiracy of equals. I’ve however not been able to find much info on his role in this affair besides the fact that he again got off the hook.
Finally, in 1816 Ricord was exiled to Belgium as a regicide where he died on 21 February 1818, at the age of 58. I don’t know what became of Marguerite. As of now, I’m also unaware whether or not they had any children.
#Marguerite said something political which the men in her life didn’t approve of instead accusing her of compromising them?#I can’t for my LIFE put my finger on who THAT reminds me of#srs charlotte this wasn’t even supposed to be about you and it’s made your story even more messy#ricord#ask#augustin robespierre#charlotte robespierre
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Vernon Presley's interview with Good Housekeeping, January 1978 (Part 1)
First of all, I want to say that telling this story is going to be difficult now that Elvis is gone. Those of you who have lost loved ones, who have suffered what I am suffering now will understand what I mean.
Elvis' death was so sudden that it will be years before I'll be able to accept the fact that it really happened.
Yet, even while grieving I've been greatly comforted by the thousands of fans who loved Elvis and who have expressed their sympathy. They know they'll never see him perform again, but they'll cherish always the memory of the pleasure he gave them - as will I. My love for my son began even before he was born on January 8, 1935. At that time there was almost nobody poorer than my wife Gladys and me. But we were thrilled and excited when we learned that we were going to be parents. I was only 18 years old, but throughout Gladys' pregnancy, it never occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to take care of her and the baby. Elvis' birth was long and difficult for my wife, and as her labor pains went on and on, I grew frantic.
My parents were at our house with us, along with two, women, one a midwife, who told us when it was time to call the doctor. After what seemed to me an eternity, a baby boy was born - - dead. I was desolate at the loss of our child. But then my father put his hand on my wife's stomach and announced, 'Vernon, there's another baby here?' At the time Elvis was born, medicine hadn't advanced far enough for a doctor to predict twins, so his arrival took us completely by surprise. Our little boys looked something alike, but I don't think they were identical twins. Even though the elder one was dead, we named him Jesse for my father; the younger one we called Elvis, for me, since Elvis is my middle name. We chose the middle names of Garon for Jesse and Aron for Elvis because we knew a couple whose twin sons had those names.
Of course, Elvis and I both wondered, over the years, whether his life would have been drastically different had his brother lived. I've concluded that it wouldn't have been, because I believe Elvis' career and contribution to the world were fated from the first. For during his early life, certain things happened which convinced me that God had given my wife and me a very special child for whom He had some very special plans.
Gladys and I were so proud of Elvis and enjoyed him so much that we immediately wanted more children. But, for reasons no doctor could understand, we had none. While Elvis grew from infant to toddler to lively little boy, we consulted doctors about our failure to have another child. We prayed about it, too. There was no medical reason why my wife didn't conceive again, but she didn't.
When Elvis was about ten years old, the reason was revealed very clearly to me in a way that I can't explain - l can only say that God spoke to my heart and told me that Elvis was the only child we'd ever have and the only child we'd ever need. Elvis was a special gift who would fill our lives completely. Without little Jesse who was born dead, without the other children we'd hoped to have, we understood that we were an extraordinarily complete family circle. As soon as I realized that Elvis was meant to be an only child, I felt as though a burden was lifted. I never again wondered why we didn't have additional sons and daughters. It's hard to describe the feelings Elvis, his mother and I had for each other. Though we had friends and relatives, including my parents, the three of us formed our own private world. Elvis was a good child who seldom gave us trouble. I did spank him a few times, but now that I think back, I believe it was for nothing.
I was a deacon in the Assembly of God Church in East Tupelo and used to take Elvis to church with me every Sunday. Later, after we moved to Memphis, he was baptized into my church, yet neither the Assembly of God nor any denomination ever owned him completely.
Elvis grew up very close to his mother. He used to call her by a pet name, 'Baby'. He was also close to me so that we had a wonderful, balanced family relationship. I didn't choose a goal for him and then shove him in that direction. Some fathers want their sons to be football players or lawyers or whatever. I only wanted Elvis to do what made him happy.
When he was a boy, I asked him to go hunting with me, but when he answered, 'Daddy, I don't want to kill birds', I didn't try to persuade him to go against his feelings.
There was a terrible day when Elvis was about six years old. He had developed acute tonsilitis with such high fever, he was on the verge of convulsions. Gladys and I were afraid that we were going to lose him. Even our doctor admitted that it was hopeless. 'I can't do anything else', he told us. 'Maybe you should call another doctor'. That, in effect, is what we did, because my wife and I turned in prayer to the greatest healer of all, God. I do believe in prayer. I do believe in miracles, so that day I prayed to God that He would miraculously heal our child. My wife and‘ I prayed together and separately, and by that night, I could see that Elvis was better. God had worked the miracle we'd asked for, again reassuring me that our son's life was special.
I don't mean that I knew that Elvis was going to be famous, because at that time the idea never crossed my mind. A person doesn't have to be a singer or a movie star or a president to fill an important role in the world. He can be a truck driver or a farmer or anything else and make his contribution. I only knew that Elvis had a contribution to make one way or another, that the Lord seemed to have His hand on him.
The writer of an ugly, untruthful book about Elvis said on TV that we Presleys were nothing but poor white trash. Well, I want to answer that right here, because his comment riled the whole state of Mississippi.
Poor we were, I'll never deny that. But trash we weren't. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure what 'trash' is. There were times we had nothing to eat but cornbread and water. But we always had compassion for people. When I was growing up, we never had any prejudice. We never put anybody down. Neither did Elvis.
About the time Elvis reached his teens, we all moved to Memphis. Elvis may have hated to go off and leave his Mississippi friends but, if he did, he didn't say anything to me about it. He was a good son.
Gladys and I trusted him so completely that we'd go to a movie and let him have friends over for a party while we were gone. I expect there was some beer drinking that went on, but that's about as wild as it got.
To tell you the truth, Elvis never did drink a lot. Although, once he about killed himself drinking peach brandy. He got a bottle and it tasted so good that he drank a little more and a little more until he'd drunk too much.
But he was never a heavy drinker.
Even after Elvis was in high school, we continued to be such a close family that he didn't spend a night away from home until he was 17 years old. Then my wife and I phoned all night to be sure he was all right.
#a real lovely and interesting interview#pls dont take all your info from the movie!!#elvis#elvis presley#elvis history#elvis presley history#music history#king of rock n roll#vernon presley#elvis interview#elvis presley interview#elvis aaron presley#gladys presley
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"Hidden Desk Helper": Male Robin getting sucked by Tharja while his wife Noire is in the same room
Robin had to stifle a gasp as he tried to split his focus, both on the field reports he was reading, and on his wife Noire. He sighed as he looked up, deciding to try focusing on his wife.
Noire: "I'm sorry honey, but I just, I don't trust my mother! Look, I know you said that you talked to her, but I'm sure she's planning something."
She bit her thumb nail nervously, she'd never been able to stand up to her mother Tharja, and so had turned to her husband, her mother's old obsession Robin, to have him stand up to her for her. She knew that by now Tharja should have moved past her obsession with Robin, having married her father by this point in the timeline, but she couldn't help the paranoia that Tharja was still planning something. And she feared it had something to do with Robin too.
Robin for his part sighed in frustration.
Robin: "Noire, I love you, but we've talked about this. Your mother isn't planning anything, at least nothing that she hasn't already ran by me that is. And before you say it, I'd know if she had cursed me, or slipped me a love potion. Now please, I need to finish going over these reports, if something important is in these, then I can-can't miss it."
Noire sighs and nods with understanding, walking over to kiss her husband as an apology.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. Here I'll let you focus. Just, can you please talk to her again? Just to be sure?"
Neither she nor Robin noticed the pink glow in the other's eyes, nor did either notice the loud sucking sound coming from under the desk. What was truly distracting Robin from his work wasn't really Noire's worries, rather it was the woman under his desk, busily sucking on his cock. Tharja bobbed her head quickly, hungrily gulping down her true love's cock, the taste, the very smell of his cock driving her wild. She'd came three times already and her love hadn't even came once yet! He was so much better than her husband!
Tharja had previously given up on ever having this, ever knowing the pure bliss of having her beloved's cock when she had settled with her current husband. With her daughter coming back in time though, new possibilities had been opened. Her future self had sent their daughter back with a special spell, one that would blind anyone inflicted with it to her presence during sexual acts. It had been a gift to herself so she could have what she truly wanted. She rubbed her pregnant belly, already large as it was several months in, with her daughter Noire. Her's and Robin's daughter. She was so proud of their daughter.
(Let me know what you think. Should I have jumped into the lewd from the start? Should I have put in more explicit sex? I think the reveal at the end is more exciting than simply describing the blowjob, but let me know your thoughts. Also yes, this creates a time paradox, I'm aware, but time is weird in FE, it works on a multiverse principle, so changing this timeline doesn't actually change the others. Making it possible for Noire's dad to be someone else in her timeline, and then be Robin in this one.)
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HEADCANONS MCU AU
Okay! We are 5 days away from the fantastic four cast reveal and I think there is no better time to talk a little about my fantastic four MCU AU. Some headcanon in general:
Johnny and Susan are of Puerto Rican descent on their father's side (they can speak Spanish) and have Wakandian descent on their mother's side (the day the Real Wakanda was revealed they had soo many questions).
Susan is called by Reed "sue" or "Susan", Ben calls her "Suzie" and Johnny calls her by all of these including "Susu" (her father used to call her that, now she just lets Johnny call her that since with the others gets very uncomfortable)
Reed has been an orphan since he was 9 and has been in the system ever since, but he hired Ben to be his tutor and bodyguard.
Ben was born on Yancy Street and grew up there until his brother was killed by police violence.
The 4 have a very large distance in age (Susan is 8 years older than Johnny, Reed is 6 years older than Susan and Ben is 12 years older than Reed)
Susan's mom suffered from postpartum depression and psychosis when she had Johnny. Reed's mom passed away when he was born.
Ben's mom left and never came back. The Storm's mother died in a car accident when Johnny was 5 years old and at the funeral Ben showed up to give Susan his number, introducing himself as an "old friend of his mother's".
When Susan was 18, her father was arrested for murder and she sought out Ben to ask him if she could stay with him as a favor, since she wanted to start in a place where neither she nor her father would be known.
Susan is a genius, but she gave up her scholarship abroad to take care of Johnny.
Everyone's IQs are: Ben 127, Johnny 139, Susan 155 and Reed 267
Herbey started out as a robot to do Johnny's chores (Herbey was Reed's gift)
For a long time Ben thought that Susan was his daughter, until Susan made it clear that her biological father was Franklin Storm.
Because Reed, Ben and Susan cook horrible, Johnny learned to cook for the good of all (but many times they ordered take outs)
Reed had been a millionaire ever since Johnny and Susan met him, but he didn't like to talk about it.
Reed was in charge of taking care of the house (since he was the main cause of its almost destruction most of the times).
Johnny had a stutter due to the anxiety he developed as a child. But thanks to the atmosphere of his new home and practicing, it disappeared.
Johnny because he and his sister didn't have much money. He learned to sew, knit, and alter second-hand clothing. So mucho that he likes to treasure hunt vintage clothes.
When Johnny entered high school Ben gave him his brother's clothes.
Some points:
I would really like to touch the fact of maternity, because it's not a Paradise, so i would like to take away that "Susan is the mom of the four" because she is not.
If i was ever able to write this down as a story: the past, the present and future would always touch (meaning if this was a movie i would need three actors for each character at least: young, adult and future)
I'm gonna make this four the best found family that any character in the mcu has ever have.
Namor and Doom are sooo different from the comics in this (like half of the fandom would burn me alive)
Johnny is so depress (someone arrest me because the LEVEL that i'm gonna make this child cry)
Ben best character
Reed has problems
#marvel#mcu#fantastic four#marvel mcu#human torch#johnny storm#susan storm#invisible woman#reed richards#mr fantastic#ben grimm#the thing
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TW: cancer, illness, hospital mention, death child abuse and all that follows
I'm the Anon who talked about c-ptsd symptoms and "only imagining the darkness as a child." You can tag me as "🌱☔️"!
(Vent)
In the last two years I went through great healing - I finally got friends and they showed me a completely different perspective on life (earlier I only had friends who themselves were in genuinely hard situations [depression, abuse, etc.]) I found role models and inspiration, new interests, and finally got access to some of the basic resources I didn't have as a child.
I slowly started to acknowledge my pain and step by step started to grow. About a month ago I even got to reveal it to two of my close friends (separately), of whom I knew that they (although they wanted to) couldn't understand me without having some of that "background information." One broke down crying, saying that she only now did understand many things looking back, and the other was sincerely shook, saying that he "will need to process that." For neither of them did I include the actually painful details, I only barely mentioned how my Dad's father was neglectful and sometimes aggressive, and how my Dad adapted and justified his ideology so he doesn't have to face the painful past and admit that the way his parents treated him wasn't right. He was harsh and extremely critical (and physically neglectful!) both towards us and himself and hated all emotions - he almost only let himself feel "righteous rage" against his and our imperfectness. He knew that he was intelligent, (he truly was!) so he tried to prove his worth by doing something great for the world - but he never got to achieve his dream. Three months ago, in October, he died of cancer. (It was the very same type his father had died of.) He was only a few years older than 50.
[Once I brought him food to the hospital and he was sitting on his bed and nudged me to take care, and dress up warmly, because "it is cold in here" (he was by then constantly freezing of fever), worried for me not to catch a cold - he wasn't ever so gentle before. 😢 ]
It's a tragedy. I did love him, despite all - in the whole world, I was probably the closest to him and understood him the most. I was always the translator and advocate between my parents and even my little brother. I was always there to listen and even managed to break the ice a little so he accepted some caring from me.
Our lives (sadly but undeniably) got a lot more peaceful since then, Mom started to slowly heal as well (hallelujah!) (her family was nothing ideal either, but I won't go into details...) and is a lot more kinder now and I'm truly happy that she is getting better. Now we really have a lot better relationship and I'm glad to be 18, because now she doesn't treat me as a traitor, or as a child who's wrong by default, but as a friend. (Yess! Life goals!)
The original idea I started to type upon was that even though I acknoweledged the pain earlier, recently I reconsidered and all my "trauma" was because I was a selfish and self-centered child (nor this nor the opposite can be proved). My Mom used to say that I was "very good at self-pity" and that I "didn't have much empathy." Now, that really hurts, if it's true, because all I ever defined myself by was my will to help people (back then by self-sacrifice). And now I'm just facing the reality that all I have experienced as "traumatic" was because I took all that my parents said to heart (threats and "creative punishments" I don't even know I remember right, [Mom doesn't] but that made me believe that all I ever have can be taken away at any given moment and it's only their mercy that it isn't) or because I was indeed a horrible kid as a 4 years old so much that they could only deal with me this way??? I will never understand. I only know my "symptoms", the comics I drew and the bed time story I told myself all about escaping (to a forest, to a hospital with an illness or because of getting hurt, being homeless, getting into a children's home, etc.) and going away so I won't burden them. I never wanted to burden them! Why are children burden to their families...
I'm still pretty harsh on myself, especially lately. Also, I got to reunite with a friend of mine who was also abused and just moved away from home, but the way she told me her story, made me see my experience a lot less significant.
Thank you for patiently listening! Just writing it out helped put things right in my head already.
BTW thank you for all you do!! You don't even realize how much it means for many of us! 💖
I wish you all the bests!
Hi 🌱☔️,
First of all I'm so glad to hear about your healing journey. I'm also so sorry for your loss, but I'm glad to hear that your relationship with your mother has improved.
I think it's a little ridiculous that you've been made to feel like you were a "selfish" or "self-centered" child, because you were a child. As children we can really only process things in the context of ourselves, you know? We've just began to navigate the world, and the self is the only thing we know to be true, so it can be what's used to measure against other things, you know? I feel like anyone who suggests you should've known better, or that you should've had more empathy, especially at 4, doesn't really understand childhood development. I also want to suggest that if you were a "horrible" kid at 4 years old then it's indicative that something was impacting you.
Please know that trauma is not defined by what happened, it's defined by its effect on you. In other words, no matter what happened, if you were traumatized by it, then it's valid trauma. What happened is important, but it doesn't determine whether or not you're "rightfully" traumatized. That's because our brains, genes, environment, and other factors are all so different that people are going to psychologically respond to the same situation on different levels. Some people may not find a particular incident traumatic while another may be deeply disturbed, and that's okay.
I often find that comparing your trauma to others just minimizes your own trauma, and that can feel bad. It's important to remember that comparing your trauma to others is usually not conducive to healing. Your trauma is significant to you just as your friend's trauma is significant to her. You may be going through different things, but your trauma and what you're going through as a result is still worth examining and healing from. Your trauma is valid.
It's definitely easier said than done, but it may be worth working on being kinder to yourself. You've been through a lot, you're going through a lot, and as a survivor, you owe it to yourself to give yourself a break, you know?
I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.
-Bun
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Lively confirmed her pregnancy on Instagram after hinting at it during the 10th Annual Forbes Power Women's Summit.Congrats are in order for Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds, who are expecting their fourth child together!Lively coyly teased the news at the 10th Annual Forbes Power Women's Summit Thursday in New York City as she walked the red carpet in a glitzy sequined dress. During a panel, Lively said, “ I just like to create. Whether that's baking or storytelling or businesses or humans, I just really like creating."For a couple days, neither Reynolds nor Lively’s reps have confirmed the news — but what else could fans expect from a couple that loves to joke and tease each other online? Luckily, for those who weren’t sure whether or not this was some sort of joke or promotional tool got confirmation from Lively herself via Instagram on Saturday, where she also called out paparazzi hanging out trying to get a photo of a pregnant Lively. “Here are photos of me pregnant in real life so the 11 guys waiting outside my home for a 🦄 sighting will leave me alone. You freak me and my kids out.”Lively went on to continue those who have given her family space and offered their congratulations in a less predatory manner: “Thanks to everyone else for all the love and respect and for continuing to unfollow accounts and publications who share photos of children. You have all the power against them. And thank you to the media who have a “No Kids Policy”. You all make all the difference 🙏♥️. Much love! Xxb”Lively and Reynolds share three daughters — James (7), Inez (5), and Betty (2), and the couple has gushed about how wonderful their three girls have made their lives. Back in May, the Shallows star opened up to Forbes about how becoming a mother has put her “at ease” with herself. "Once I had children, that just became even more profound because my time was even more precious," she said. "But also I think having children for me made me feel so much more in my skin. I never felt more myself or at ease in my own body or more confident—not to say that there aren't a bevy of insecurities coming at me a million times a day, but I just feel incredibly settled."During the pandemic, Reynolds revealed that the girls lived for hot pink dresses, adding that he wants to let the girls embrace their own interests without reinforcing gender stereotypes.“I try not to push gender-normative ideas on my kids as they’re born, but each one when they came out that shoot, they wanted to make dresses, they wanted to dress in hot pink all day. So, that’s what I do. This morning I made dresses out of tissue paper, which was fun for them. Not bad at all.”Aside from being two very cool parents, Reynolds and Lively seem to be a very cool (and very goofy) couple. The two rib each other on social media constantly, but Reynolds clearly has nothing but respect and love for his wife. During an episode of David Letterman’s My Next Guest Needs No Introduction, Reynolds explained how Lively “runs the show” when it comes to their kids. But, in true prankster form, Reynolds joked that after becoming a father he would use his wife as a “human shield” to defend their kids. “I used to say to her, ‘I would take a bullet for you,'” Reynolds told Letterman. “I could never love anything as much as I love you.”“The second I looked in that baby’s eyes, I knew in that exact moment that if we were ever under attack, I would use my wife as a human shield to protect that baby,” Reynolds admitted.Congrats again to the growing family! And here’s hoping that whole “human shield” scenario doesn’t actually happen.<br><a href='https://www.scarymommy.com/entertainment/blake-lively-ryan-reynolds-pregnant-baby-no-4-calls-out-paparazzi'>CNN-News18</a><br><a href='https://www.scarymommy.com/entertainment/blake-lively-ryan-reynolds-pregnant-baby-no-4-calls-out-paparazzi'>Blake Lively Confirmed She's Pregnant — And Called Out Creepy Paparazzi Scary Mommy</a>
#movies#streaming#tv-Shows#Blake Lively Confirmed She's Pregnant — And Called Out Creepy Paparazzi Scary Mommy
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A Fate Written in Indifferent Stars - Chapter 1
The Republic has fallen and the Empire has risen. Obi-Wan lives in exile on Tatooine, the distant guardian of Luke Skywalker. Amidst the desperation and desolation, the mysterious appearance of a Nightsister draws his curiosity. As he tries to piece together her true intentions, he finds himself more deeply entangled wit her than he ever intended.
Hello, Lovelies.
This is my first real attempt at Star Wars fanfiction. So I'll start off by saying that I'm reasonably familiar with a lot of the hard canon like the films, but don't come for me if I contradict something that happened in a comic or novel. I'm doing my best.
I'm trying to have a little fun with an OC and I admit this is very self-indulgent. I hope you'll not judge me too harshly.
Thank you dear reader. ❤
Tragedybunny
Obi-Wan lounged in his seat in the nearly empty cantina, sipping his drink slowly and observing. Even with the years that had passed on Tatooine without incident, he was ever suspicious that he would be discovered at any moment and found the local spot to be an important information hub. Despite its rundown appearance and questionable drink selection, it had the distinct benefit of being near to a cluster of docking ports of Mos Eisley known for less scrupulous customs agents. Meaning that to many who wanted to come and go without being noticed, it was a convenient stop. Tucked away in a dark corner he could observe them all, and monitor local chatter for any increased Imperial presence. All it cost were some of the precious credits he learned from whatever menial labor he had taken up, and time, which of these days he had plenty of.
Today seemed as quiet as so many of the others that had stretched on since he had deposited Luke into the arms of Owen and Beru. An endless parade of much that was the same; stinging sand, the unending heat, and nothing to hold onto but hope. Hope that one day the boy would grow into all that they had hoped his father would have been. He had just come to the last drops in his cup when he felt it, a ripple in the Force, it was a presence unknown to him, though the way it moved around them felt vaguely familiar, like a half-remembered dream. Muscles tensed and his senses reached out as he prepared himself for all the worst scenarios that played out in his mind. A hand strayed to his belt, looking for the lightsaber that was not there.
None of those scenarios were even close to the figure that strode through the cantina doors, a woman wrapped in a red cloak trimmed with a thin line of gold that covered her from her hair down past her waist, where it revealed black leggings and worn red boots. Only her hands and face were left visible to others. He could see she had high cheekbones and angular features, her gray skin was adorned with several linear tattoos of a deeper gray, and the eyes that peered from under the hood were a deep gold. There was no mistaking that she was the source of that disturbance he had felt, a tenuous but present connection with the Force, raw and unrefined with a touch of the dark side to it. To be sure she was neither Sith nor Jedi, but given her appearance, he was reasonably sure of her origin, unlikely as it was. Seeing her had drawn old memories to the surface of his mind, and he recalled that he’d felt the way the Force moved around her in only one other place, Dathomir. Admittedly, a Nightsister on Tatooine was almost impossible but wasn’t he here against nearly the same odds? She paused a moment at the door glancing around as if to take stock of what she saw. If it met with approval or disapproval he couldn't tell, her face remained a passive mask, neutral and unreadable.
It appeared that whatever she thought, the cantina was deemed to be good enough because after her initial assessment she stepped forward, moving deeper inside, and making her way to the bar where only a couple of patrons were seated. In response, after giving it a moment to not completely echo her steps, he rose from his seat and followed, looking as though he were simply seeking another drink. He chose a space as close as he could get to her without attracting attention and leaned nonchalantly against the counter. The situation discomforted him. What could possibly have brought her here? He didn't trust a Nightsister’s appearance to be some mere coincidence, not with what this planet was hiding. Her people have been known to serve dark powers in the past, he couldn't risk the chance that he or the boy had been, or would be, discovered. That meant he’d have to assess the situation as quickly and discreetly as possible.
As he passed Obi-Wan his second drink without prompting, hand open to look for payment, the human bartender gave her a quick once-over. Likely he'd never seen any species that exactly matched her looks, being that Dathomirans were a specialized subspecies of Zabrak that had rarely ventured off their home world before they were nearly wiped out. Imperial credits dropped on the counter earned her his full attention along with her own drink. "New here? "
"Is it that obvious?" If he had any doubt left it was confirmed hearing her speak, the accent of her people was nearly unmistakable.
Continuing to lean against the bar, he listened while looking into the distance, feigning disinterest in everything around him, another drifter from the sands that few paid any mind to. “I would remember a pretty thing like you having come in before." The flattery was being laid on thick today and he sensed that there was an ulterior motive from the bartender behind it. Not surprising, though Tatooine had many immigrants, few were of the conventionally attractive sort that certain businesses would be interested in. "Are you perhaps interested in work? Since you just arrived I assumed you may not have arrangements."
"Perhaps." Her tone was skeptical as she took the drink from his hands and took a first hesitant sip.
"If you're interested, I know a guy with some easy well-paying work. No toiling out in the sun or down in some mine shaft. Perfect for a delicate thing like you." He smiled at her with clearly forced congeniality.
"I'll give it some thought and I just may take you up on that." With her noncommittal answer, he moved along the bar to help another new arrival. Leaving Obi-Wan practically alone with the new arrival, sipping her drink, and watching the door. Perhaps she was waiting for someone.
Cautiously he inched his way closer to her, getting as near as he dared. "Some would say it's a bit of an odd choice to settle on Tatooine. It is a dangerous place you know."
"The whole galaxy is a dangerous place these days." She answered, setting her drink down and turning to face him. Those gold eyes seemed to glow ever so slightly as she studied him for a moment. He held his breath, would she be able to sense what he was? Most Nightsisters were Force Sensitive to some degree, though not all were as powerful as Talzin or Ventress had been.
When some time passed with no remark he allowed himself to relax and continue the conversation. "Fair enough I suppose. And what brings you to our only moderately dangerous, in comparison to the rest of the Galaxy, world? Oh, I beg your pardon, I haven't even got your name. Ben Kenobi.” He held out his hand and tried to give her a more convincing smile than the bartender’s. Since she hadn't detected anything, he thought he may as well keep going. If he could get anywhere now, it would be groundwork for later.
She took his hand, returning his smile ever so slightly, the barest hint of sharply pointed teeth visible between her lips. "I'm Zee, and I suppose to put it simply, I’m here to start over.”
"Well if you need anything, Zee, don't hesitate to ask. Be careful with that one,” he gestured to the bartender, “who knows what he’s trying to recruit you for, brothels, casinos, drug running."
She shrugged. "I never trust anything that seems too good to be true, but thanks for the info." A brunette, green-skinned Mirialan appeared at the door and waved to Zee. It would seem she wasn’t here completely on her own. Finishing her drink, she set the glass back on the bar counter and began to walk away. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around Kenobi.” As they started out the door, the Mirialan whispered something to her, and Zee glanced back at him before quickly exiting. He could only idly wonder what that had been about.
____________________________________________________________
His eyes were closed and he could feel the Force around him, living and mobile. He drew in a breath, reaching through it to his surroundings, sensing and feeling them. Through studying with Master Qui-Gon, his connection to the Force had grown greater every day.
A sharp noise cut through his meditations, severing him from his sense of peace. A message incoming to his holo communicator, a rarity these days. His pulse quickened, his first thought was of Owen and the worry that something happened to Luke. "Obi-Wan.” Her voice was entirely unmistakable, even as an agitated half-whisper, and his eyes opened immediately upon hearing it. "Obi-Wan, damn you! Answer me.”
He scrambled toward the table where he had left the communicator on the other side of his small living area from where he was currently seated. The impending sandstorm that has driven him inside this day might cut the transmission at any moment. When he reached it, his breath was stilled for a moment, there she stood in holo form, seemingly unchanged from when he’d last seen her. "Zelena?” He asked, not quite sure he could believe what was before his eyes.
Her expression turned from one of dire frustration to relieved surprise. "You answered! "
He hadn't seen her in years and for a moment he felt all the longing of the last precious moments he had spent with her rushing back to him. He was also painfully aware that, given the events that had led to those moments, something must be terribly wrong for her to be calling him. "Of course, I told you if you ever needed anything I'd be here. "
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to have to call you. I - I don't really know how to get myself out of this.” She stopped speaking for a moment arms wrapping around herself as though looking for comfort.
"What is ‘this’ exactly?" What had she gotten herself into that was bad enough that it caused her to hesitate? He felt tension flood his muscles, so much for serenity today. It had to be astronomically bad.
"I've been doing some work to rebuild my Sisterhood, I don't want any judgments on that from you Obi-Wan, and I ended up in a bit of a spot with the Black Sun." She stopped again still hesitating frustratingly and seemed to turn to check her surroundings.
He didn't know how much time they had for her message to get through. “Zel, please, just tell me.” He poured his whole will into sounding reassuring and strong, hopefully, it was enough to give her confidence for what they were facing.
For just a moment, there was something of a look in her eyes that he’d seen before, and it tugged at long-buried places in his heart before it was all too soon gone and she continued. "They have me on Ord Mantell, working jobs for them. I've managed to sneak off long enough to call you but they'll be looking for me. I can't get away by myself. Please." In her last word, he heard something in her voice he’d never heard before, fear, real and tangible.
He sighed, really deep down he knew that there was never any doubt he'd end up going to her, but he would have preferred it if it didn’t involve one of the galaxy's most notorious gangs. "I'm coming. Send me your coordinates. "
She seemed taken aback and he was genuinely hurt that she had ever doubted him but her clear relief washed away any hesitation he might have. "Thank you Obi. I'll be sending them. I have to go, I can't risk being discovered. Please hurry. "
As soon as her image vanished he was packing, assembling things from around the abandoned hut he’d set up as a small but comfortable home. Damn fool thing to do, run off into the maw of waiting gangers for a Dathomirian Witch. A Witch that had left him without so much as a shed tear or a look back. He couldn't find any more bitterness for that though, especially considering she'd been right about it in the end.
"You're really going to her?" The spectral voice of Qui-Gon interrupted him.
"I have to I promised. " He could hear the concern from his old master and he tried to brush it aside. They both knew that there were things more important than her that still needed to be looked after, but he’d given her his word, and he intended to keep it, while still keeping himself from forming another attachment to her.
"Be careful." It was a warning, though not a strong one. He knew Qui-Gon had faith in him.
"I won't forget my duty here." Even if he tried she never let him hear the end of it given all that has happened between them.
Tucked away in a box hidden beneath his bed he found the last item he intended to take with him, a lightsaber. It hasn't seen much use since the incident a couple of years ago with Leia, and with any luck, that trend would continue. But it was better to have it and not need it. "What of the boy if you don't return? "
It gave him the first moment of reflection he’d taken since her call. There was indeed much at risk but he felt something pulling him toward this beyond just his promise. Perhaps it was the will of the Force itself, telling him there was more at play here. "The Force will guide me back. "
The presence of his master dissipated but he could tell that he'd been approved up. All that was left was to find transport to Ord Mantell and chase down Zelena.
______________________________________________________________
The marketplace of Mos Eisley was crowded with an array of species. They came from all over the Galaxy, some out of desperation, some with nefarious desires, and some to disappear into the sands just as he had. He felt just a bit foolish haunting the stalls and storefronts in pursuit of her, trying to be inconspicuous even after having been at it for hours. The twin suns hung low in the sky and very soon the more prudent would close up shop, knowing the night was cover for the more unsavory citizens of the city. It would seem as if his quarry had eluded him today.
Then he spotted it, a flash of red near where one of the local butchers had set his wares out on display outside of his building. Moving swiftly through the crowd, careful not to draw attention to himself, he got as close to her as possible without being spotted, keeping out of sight just behind the corner of the building. Her voice carried over the din of the market and it was clear she was arguing with the Togrutan butcher. "You're asking that much for meat that's been baking in the sun all day! That's ridiculous sleemo.” She was certainly feisty, he’d give her that. Curiously, he waited to see where the exchange was headed.
“Take it or leave it, girl.” The butcher spat with thinning patience.
"Half.” She declared and crossed her arms while glaring at him. Obi-Wan almost expected her to conjure up some witch’s trick, instead, she simply continued to stare with iron determination. "The market is closing, do you really think someone else will come and take it off your hands?”
Another moment passed with neither giving way until without a word, she turned and began to walk away. "Fine." He rumbled as he relented and began to pack her purchase, while she let herself look a little smug.
When it was finally in her hands, Obi-Wan moved in colliding gently with her as she turned to walk away. "Watch where you’re - Ben!” A brief smile passed over her features when she recognized him.
"Apologies I wasn't paying attention. Good evening Zee.” His rehearsed tone was warm and friendly.
"Following me through the marketplace again?" She teased and adjusted the weight in her arms.
Although she didn't know it, she was completely right. Since that day she’d arrived, he'd arranged a couple of coincidental meetings with her in the marketplace and on her way to work. Through a combination of following her at a distance and listening to talk in the cantinas, he’d gotten enough information about her routines that it wasn’t too much of a challenge to set them up. He’d learned she’d taken up residence in a crowded tenement building, a haven for recent immigrants, not much better off than where Anakin had once lived with his mother in slave quarters row. Along with that, she’d started at Famina’s, one of the smaller casinos in the city, situated in a rough area not far from where she lived. Still, the work likely offered an appealing alternative to some of the harsher employment found on Tatooine, that he could personally attest to. Although he was still convinced serving overpriced drinks to sabacc players with delusions of being high rollers wasn't her end game. So he’d been using these encounters to build rapport with her. If he could just get close enough, she might let down her guard, maybe even think of him as a potential ally. "What gave it away?” He bantered back, falling in step beside her. "That looks quite heavy, do you want a hand?”
“It's fine." She didn't remark on him continuing to follow as she made her way across town to her home so he took it as permission to remain by her side.
"If you're sure. That stack of meat is almost as big as you.” Sweeping his gaze across the street, he made sure they weren't about to be run down by an errant speeder as Zee concentrated on her burden.
"Well, my species is carnivorous.” They were out of the chaos of the market and onto much quieter streets.
"Is it? I don't think I've met many... " Trailing off, he feigned embarrassment, waiting to see how exactly she would describe herself when pushed a bit.
“Zabrak. Don't worry I won't hold that against you."
"Don't Zabrak have horns?” They’d reach the housing block which was engulfed in its own kind of chaos. Families with multiple members shared close quarters, and many escaped outdoors into the relative cool of the evening to feel less confined. Adults argued or gossiped, elders sat in chairs simply breathing in the fresh air, and everywhere that there was room, their young ran rampant.
"Not all of them.” Before they reached Zelena’s door they made their way through a group of Rodian younglings playing while a not-so-watchful group of older teens stood some distance away. To him, their noise and exuberance were a sad echo of the times he’d spent helping with the lessons of the Temple’s younglings, and he felt their loss weighing on him once again. “Ben, is something wrong?” She stopped right at the door, and even with her friendly concern, it appeared she wouldn’t be letting him through her threshold.
He shook his head and chased the memories away. “No, just a long day.” She hadn't gone in but hadn't told him to leave either so he continued to loiter around for a moment, drawing out their time together.
"I had better get ready for my shift.” She’d finally come around to dismissing him.
"Of course. Where did you settle in at?" He asked, even though he knew the answer.
“Famina’s. You should drop by sometime. I'm sure even a hermit like yourself would find it enjoyable.” She reached over and pressed the switch to her door.
It was, among his life's accomplishments, a small triumph. But a triumph it was still. He'd made it past her initial defenses and gained a bit of her confidence. He could grow that and soon enough he'd figure her out. "Perhaps.” He waved as he began to walk away. "Good seeing you again."
"See you around Ben.” She waved back before disappearing into the inside of her apartment.
#star wars#star wars fanfiction#obi wan kenobi#obi wan x ofc#obi wan x oc#orginal character#nightsister oc#nightsister#a fate written in indifferent stars
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Final JVC Post
Serial Experiments Lain
I love this show. Maybe that's obvious since I was the one who recommended it to be watched, but I really think this is one of the best anime of all time. BUT I do think that having to watch only 4 episodes may have been detrimental to the experience. I had trouble choosing 4 so I chose the 4 that would most clearly communicate the themes. If you enjoyed the episodes we watched or want to know more I recommend you watch the whole show.
I'll try and explain the themes and happenings here briefly, as it might come off as cryptic and hard to parse at first. Lain is a girl who has a strong connection to the Wired, an analog to the internet in a more potent form. The show touches on the connection between humanity and technology, zooming in on the blurred the line between reality and the Wired.
In the first episode, Lain begins to connect to others through her Navi computer. She's shown to have trouble connecting with others otherwise, but as we see over the course of the show, and entirely new "Lain" emerges from the personality she cultivates in the Wired. The question then becomes which Lain is the "true" Lain.
This was made in the 90s before worldwide connection through the internet was as robust as it is now, so this commentary on sense of identity and new ways of connection through the world wide web is seen as prophetic by some. The power lines in the show are representative of this connection afforded by the Wired. For example, In the opening shot we're shown these power lines with a low hum and the sounds of people talking.
The girl, Chisa, who committed suicide sheds her physical body by throwing herself off of a roof, but through cards and later through mail we see that she is still active and messaging people through the Wired. She chose to exist online rather than in reality, as she felt the person that she cultivated online was more her than her "real" self. She expresses this in the mail she sends Lain. We also see Lain's connection to the Wired materialize in her ability to see Chisa's projection later in the episode, which also shows the way the Wired has begun leaking into reality.
Lain begins to deliberately strengthen this connection to the Wired further and further as the show goes on. By episode 4 she's becomes very engrossed, surrounding herself with technology and computers. We also see in this episode that programs like PHANTOMa have started to interfere with reality, and Lain is able to observe this first-hand.
Her father warns her at the end of the episode not to confuse the Wired with Reality. However, Lain disagrees. To her, the Wired is more than reality could ever be. She plans on interfacing with the Wired fully; Full range, full motion, full realization as a digital being.
I think now more than ever we can see what SEL was pointing towards. The internet is not a subset of reality, nor is it another reality in itself. It's one with reality in a way. It's an interface for very real human interaction through means that seem artificial. The you that exists online is very different from the you that exists in reality. On this page, I am Kuri rather than Kamron, but these two existences are neither completely different nor completely the same. It's more like another part of me that exists here as a part of my online presence, which is another version of me.
Anyone who interacts with the internet extensively will probably notice this strange connection the web has with reality, and has probably thought about what that means for how humans connect with each other in the information age. Serial Experiments Lain paints a picture of a world where the internet physically leaks into reality and where the extreme connectivity of the world-wide web is fully materialized.
In episode 12 it is revealed that there is a Lain that exists as a reflection of the human collective unconscious that took form in the Wired. There is a different image of Lain in each person's mind. At the end of the episode, with the help of Alice, Lain rejects the idea that existence in the Wired is all that is needed and that the Wired is preferable to reality. More specifically, Lain realizes the value of having a physical body, something that the "god of the Wired" is unable to cope with. This choice between real and Wired is the apex of the show's philosophical themes.
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Touma stepped into the library, immediately enveloped in the tranquil ambiance. The warm, wooden interior exuded a subtle, comforting scent, basking in the soft, filtered sunlight that streamed through the expansive windows. Towering bookshelves, adorned with tomes of all shapes and sizes, created an inviting yet imposing atmosphere.
His gaze was drawn upward to the mezzanine, a small loft accessible by a narrow, winding staircase. There, a lone girl sat on the floor, her back leaning against a polished railing. A cascade of black hair framed her profile as she cradled a book between her crossed legs. From this elevated vantage point, she had a clear view of Touma's approach, though her attention remained absorbed in the written world before her.
"Hello, Yashiro," Touma greeted, pausing with his hands in his pants pockets and lifting his head to meet her gaze.
Yashiro looked down from her perch, momentarily caught off guard by his presence. Her lips parted slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. "How did you know I'd be here?"
Touma's lips curled into a subtle smile. "This place is perfect for solitude. Almost no one comes here."
"I didn't come here to hide," Yashiro replied calmly. "I just wanted to read."
"Don't you ever find it lonely?" Touma inquired.
"Only when I'm surrounded by people," Yashiro admitted. Her fingers absently traced the spine of the book in her lap. "Why aren't you at the cultural festival?"
Touma stood amidst the towering bookshelves, his eyes fixed on Yashiro as he spoke. "I believe festivals and ceremonies are for those with something to celebrate. I was thinking about taking a stroll. Would you like to join me?"
“I don’t think I’m allowed to leave after sneaking out by climbing the wall,” she shrugged, raising an eyebrow for a moment.
Touma offered a reassuring smile. "I've made arrangements. I'll have you back before bedtime."
“Where are we going?” Yashiro asked.
“Where would you like to go?”
“Anywhere with a view of buildings and skyscrapers. I don't like being here—it gives me bad dreams,” she frowned.
“You have to adapt to living here,” he said, causing her to sigh. “May I ask about your dreams?”
“I had one where I was speeding away in a car. I saw... like crime scene photos of my father all over the news. Gutted,” Yashiro blinked.
“The way he was found,” Touma observed.
Yashiro frowned, locking eyes with him for a moment, then closed her book and rose to her feet. Her movements were deliberate as she began to walk along the mezzanine at a measured pace, her fingers lightly tracing the railing and the book in her other hand.
“The last thing I remember amidst the voices and faces is the police finding me, and then a gunshot knocked me down.”
"How your mother died," he acknowledged, following her with his gaze from the lower level.
Yashiro paused mid-step, glancing back at him.
"Even though they're dead... in my dreams, I fear I'm just like my father," she frowned, her eyes avoiding his gaze.
“The interplay between our subconscious and our waking thoughts often reveals profound truths. Tell me, why do you believe you share this resemblance with your father?” Touma asked, his voice calm and measured.
Yashiro met his gaze for a moment before continuing to walk. “What I believe means nothing. Neither beliefs nor desires alone can alter reality.”
"Ah, but reality is a multifaceted gem, isn't it? Our beliefs and desires have a curious way of shaping the facets we choose to focus on. Perhaps it's worth exploring why you've chosen this particular facet, the one that echoes your father's image."
Yashiro paused, her steps slowing as she contemplated his words. She finally spoke, her voice slightly hesitant as she rested her forearms on the railing and gazed at the bookshelves. "Do you think… is it possible to change those facets? To see a different reflection?"
Touma's tone remained calm and unwavering. "I think you're capable of it. What are you reading?”
Suddenly, Yashiro dropped her book. Touma caught it in time, exchanging a glance with her before opening it.
“Isabel Paterson… she advocated minimal government, laissez‐faire capitalism, and individual rights in both the social and economic spheres,” Touma observed her for a moment with a subtle smile, as her brows furrowed. “Perhaps I should introduce you to the works of Rose Lane and Ayn Rand for the American libertarian movement. Why don't you come down from there?"
Yashiro hesitated for a moment, then walked toward the narrow staircase that led to the mezzanine. She began her descent, her steps deliberate. As she did, Touma moved closer and extended his hand to help her down. For a moment, she looked at his palm, until she finally placed her hand in it.
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Gil to Audrey "this Christmas is special because I'm with you Audrey"
************************************************************************ Christmas was the favorite holiday of Gaston's youngest son. Gil loved it because it reminded him of his mother, Agatha also known as the enchatress (the one who turned King Adam into the beast), Gil remembers how she was celebrated, her dad and her, before they were sent to the island and separated, once the barrier was knocked down, Gil, her dad and her older brothers met with her. But just that year, Gil was celebrating with someone else. His girlfriend, Princess Audrey and his family.
************************************************************************ Gil and Audrey's families were extremely surprised when Gil and Audrey revealed their courtship, Audrey's grandmother. Leah, I wasn't happy at all but I tolerate it only at the request of Aurora and Felipe who were happy with all their heart for Gil's relationship with Audrey. While Gil's family was happy, happy for them.
***********************************************************************
Gil was standing in the window of his bedroom in Auradon Prep, looking at Harry and Uma having a snowball fight. To tell the truth, Gil has never seen snow before. In the six months he has been in Auradon, this is the first time it has snowed. He was taken out of his thoughts when he heard the voice he liked to hear the most in his life.
"Hey, Gil, ¿what's up, love?"
Audrey asked as she approached him until she hugged him from behind.
"I was just looking at the snow outside. ¿What about you?"
Gil responded by going back to the window. But also hugging her.
"¿I was coming to ask you if you want to come with me to Auroria for the holidays?"
"¿Does your parents and your grandmother agree with that?"
"They were the ones who suggested it... and my grandmother, well, you know. ..."
"Okay, then of course. When are we leaving?"
"Tomorrow, so you should probably start packing."
"Well then."
"I will help you."
Once Audrey finished helping him pack, an idea came to her mind.
"Hey, ¿do you want to have a snowball fight?"
"¿What?"
"A snowball fight. Come on, put on a jacket and I'll show you"
After putting on their jackets, they went out and with the very kind and grateful help of Harry and Uma, Gil finally understood the concept of a snowball fight. Needless to say, they spent most of the day outside in the snow. The next day... Gil and Audrey were in the limousine on their way to their parents' castle in Auroria when Audrey decided to start a conversation.
"Have you ever celebrated Christmas on the Island?. I remember that Harry and Uma were the only ones of the V.K. who seemed to have known something about Christmas"
"That's because only some of the families on the Island celebrated a non-Hallowen holiday. Mal, Jay and Evie and many V.K. celebrated Christmas, while I, my brothers and my father, Carlos, the Facilliers, CJ, Harry, Uma, Harriet and her father celebrated Christmas and other holidays. But obviously not to the extent that you do it here in Auradon"
"Oh. Well, then we should definitely go to the Christmas Fair and turn on the lights"
"Yep. That sounds great Audrey"
About four hours later, the bright black limousine finally stopped at the snow-covered doors of the castle where Aurora, Felipe and Leah were waiting for them wrapped in warm winter clothes. Once they got out of the limousine, the three of them hugged them quickly. Neither Gil nor Audrey were not very surprised when they received a hug from Aurora and Felipe, but both as well as Aurora and Felice were quite surprised when Audrey's grandmother. Leah hugged Gil so openly. Overcoming their commotions, they followed the others inside the castle.
"¿Hey, are you ready to go to the fair?"
Felipe asked as he entered Audrey's room while showing Gil an old family photo album.
"Yes, we are, dad"
Audrey responded as they got up, they both put on their coats and hats before following him and Aurora to the garage of the castle. Although they could have taken the limousine, Felipe chose to drive his red Range Rover SUV instead. In ten minutes they arrived at the fair, and Gil looked around in astonishment. Everything was so beautifully decorated, there were a lot of happy and energetic children running around, and a large choir sang Christmas carols.
"¿Why don't we go ice skating?"
Audrey suggested when she approached the track.
"Normally we go every year anyway."
"¿What is ice skating?"
Gil asked confused.
"You'll see"
Aurora responded while Audrey drove him to the track.
"I think you'll enjoy it"
And it ended up turning out that Gil is a natural ice skater, something that Felipe was extremely jealous of since he could barely last four seconds on the ice without softening his ass and that's a lot to say debitor has been trying for years. Because of this, Leah, he and Aurora chose to stay on the side railing and see Gil and Audrey laugh and smile adorably. One of the most beautiful moments was when Gil picked up Audrey and turned her around, and just as he was taking her down, they shared an adorable kiss. Of course, neither of them noticed that Aurora was taking pictures with her camera from the side line. After ice skating, they decided to try the bumper cars and, of course, you can imagine how much fun they had with them. Then they tried the cups of tea, and fortunately for Felipe, he managed to avoid getting sick for the third year in a row. Then they went to the games and, of course, Gil made sure to win a prize for Audrey (it's the typical thing the boyfriend should do). He was won by a red panda teddy bear that had a bright red Christmas scarf by shooting the eight cans with a nerf gun. Of course, Aurora only had to secretly capture the moment when Gil gave the prize to Audrey. After a few more hours of going around and doing different activities, including gingerbread frosting, it was finally time for the Christmas lights to turn on, a show that Gil had not yet seen.
"¡THREE! ¡TWO! ¡ONE!"
Everyone shouted as all the lights of different colors turned on creating a beautiful variety of colors that bordered the streets of the city.
"¡HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
They shouted and then a lot of artificial fires illuminated and sky. After enjoying some hot chocolate at a local cafe, Audrey was practically asleep, so Gil took her in his princess-style back to the car. Another moment, that Aurora only had to take a picture. Once they returned to the castle, Gil took Audrey back to her room and put her in bed, and just as she was about to leave, she grabbed his hand
"Gil, Stay... with me"
She murmured half asleep. Gil did what he told her, and went to bed with her, to which Audrey immediately curled up next to her and fell asleep with Gil shortly after. Aurora and Felipe, who had come to see them, found them sleeping peacefully, so Felipe turned off the light and Aurora closed the door with a smile on her face, knowing that she would be happy to look back at the photos they took that day.
THE END
************************************************************************
#Gil x Audrey#Gil and Audrey#Gil Legume#Audrey Rose#Gil ❤️ Audrey#Gaudrey#Gil/Audrey#GL/AR#Gilbert Legume
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