margarettelizha

[margarettelizha]

Prompt #2: Bark

“Bastion, darling, we must figure this out before Papa gets home, he won’t appreciate such a lack of decorum.”

Bastion - who was entirely unconcerned with decorum, lack of it, or otherwise - was doing his level best to lick every square ilm of Maggie’s face he could reach.

Olivier, despite the hesitation he had displayed in Lord Angelique’s study, had indeed prepared an entire room for Bastion’s nursery. It was a much smaller room, perhaps once dedicated to housing a pianoforte or similar large instrument for practice. Any remaining furniture had been removed, sans a small well-locking cupboard that held the supplies one would require for puppy rearing. Large windows and mostly unadorned drapes filtered a rare sunny sky in beams of golden light to where their little party was assembled on the floor.

The normal operations of the household had been put on hold, Maggie and Edith entirely devoting their time to Bastion’s acclimation. He had gone for little adventures around the estate, encountering all manner of mysterious and interesting things — he was not particularly fond of the suits of armor on display. They had toured the grounds, met the staff, and spent lazy afternoons in the greenhouse for naps when his energy had been expended.

The books Maggie had requested on puppy rearing had been quite adamant about exposing puppies to as many sights, sounds, and smells as possible to produce an even temperament in adult dogs, and she was entirely committed to the education of her new charge. Cosette, one of the laundry maids, had been asked to invite her sister’s family for tea and cakes and playtime. Having no children of her own yet, Maggie was grateful for the borrowed little ones, and it had been hard to tell who enjoyed the experience more — pup or toddlers.

The cheerful chatting with Cosette’s sister as they carefully supervised little hands and little teeth had lifted Maggie’s spirits tremendously. She was grateful to have such a grand distraction. If she had been without mothering duties, she might have started a long lasting feud with their cook with the number of dishes she would need to prepare to keep her mind occupied while Olivier… while he…

“My lady, would you like to take lunch here, or in the greenhouse today?”

Edith’s warm voice found her through the fog, Bastion having fallen asleep in her lap again where she was mindlessly petting him.

“Greenhouse, if you please. He’ll sleep like the dead now, it won’t hurt to move him, and when he wakes we’ll have a nice walk.”

She followed Edith out, little collar and leash in hand, Bastion tucked sweetly into her arms. Her progress through the house meandered, trying and failing to keep her mind from wandering with her steps. The intrusive thoughts of what Olivier could be doing at that very moment lurked in the back of her mind, a thing with half-hidden eyes that waited relentlessly to strike.

“When Papa gets home,” she said to the dust motes in the corridor, to Bation’s soft ear with softer curls, to herself, “We shall have a lovely time, just the three of us. We have to get you all fit to travel if you’re to come with us. Airships can be quite scary the first couple of times, but I think you’ll take to it quite well.”

‘Papa’ was something she kept trying on like a hat, undecided whether to bring it home. She supposed that with their own children, it would be a choice Olivier would have to make for himself, but every time she spoke the word it curled into the corner of her mouth. It felt warm, as though she had just pulled it from the hearth, soft on her tongue, quiet and steadfast just like him.

She was letting the idea of motherhood in as a cautious acquaintance - unfamiliar, and full of possibility.

”You know what they say… puppies are good practice for children.”

The door to the greenhouse swung easily open, and Maggie pressed a small kiss to the top of Bastion’s sleeping head. Her little world was changing so quickly, with the season, with the times, with every sun — best not to rush.

[margarettelizha]

11. Wild West AU for Maggie and Olivier 👀

He's seen her sixteen times and counting since he arrived in town. More than two weeks ago, and he still doesn't know what her voice sounds like. He's seen her caught in the rain, and he's watched her from a distance as she's thanked Frank and Thelma, who run the general store. He's seen her crooning to the sweet dappled gray she rides into town.

He's enamored at the way her hair catches the sunlight, the loose curling twisting like a flaming halo around her smiling face.

He's not a man for poetry, but he's composed a thousand verses to her golden eyes.

Maybe she'll hear them one day, he thinks. Maybe she'll laugh at how short they are, or roll those dazzling eyes for him. Maybe she'll clasp his hand the way she clasps those of the people in town who aren't strangers riding in with cattle from two towns over, heading to newly purchased acreage. Maybe she'll invite him and his brother for supper with her parents, and he'll bring a badly made pie.

Maybe she'll tell him her name.

She catches him staring at he tugs at the bandana drawn over his nose and mouth, turning away. The bear last spring was more unkind to him than the sheep, so it's a small victory for what it cost him.

He ducks his head, heat rising to his cheeks as he lurches back around to face his saddlebag.

"Excuse me," the drawl is sweet as honey, warm and smoldering like he's pouring syrup straight from the tin bubbling over the stove. He swallows. Knows before he even turns around. So he doesn't.

"I said excuse me, and I ain't about to say it a third time."

He breathes. Once. Twice. Turns, his head lowered, knowing exactly where to let his eyes fall. He's never seen them so close. The sight of her searing gaze is almost enough to drive him to his knees.

"M--" His voice still sticks. It's not as bad as the spring, but close enough. He has to clear his throat to shove words out of it even when he isn't tongue tied. "Ma'am?"

"Why do you keep looking at me like that? If you're planning to stick around you aught to learn some manners," she crosses her arms, taps a foot in the dust.

She smells like honeysuckle and cinnamon. His chest tightens.

"Well?"

"You...you're the most beautiful woman I think I've ever seen," he admits in a rush. "I...I'll stop looking if that's what you'd prefer, ma'am."

Her cheeks darken - oh god, she's got freckles - and he glances away.

"Oh!" She doesn't sound mad at least. He dares to meet her eye again. "Oh well...well that's..." Her hands fall to fidget with her skirt. "Maybe tip your hat next time. Say hello."

The command gives him a morsel of courage that he devours without question. "I will. Only...I don't know your name."

Her smile could bring the coolest of summer rains if that's what she wanted.

"It's Maggie."

Olivier feels himself smiling. His hand reaches up to his hat, pulls it gently at the brim. Her cheeks are a riot of red.

"You look awfully lovely today miss Maggie,"

And she laughs.

[margarettelizha]

Waiting Game

Grief is such an odd thing. It has lain dormant in me for so long, that I mistook it for genuine acceptance. Awakened and ignited, it burns in my chest, eating away at me. I’ve been doing what I can to keep myself busy while Olivier is away. I keep my regular appointments, do my work in the Firmament, attend social gatherings with enough attendees that my inability to carry a conversation at the moment will slip by entirely unnoticed.

The greenhouse has become my sanctuary. The hammocks he so carefully arranged for me are more inviting than any bed in this house, and I feel as though I can’t get enough sleep. I know I technically occupy Olivier’s former rooms, and that his current one is quite close to mine, but this is the place in our home that feels the most… him. This room is full of his choices, his handiwork - the things he hand selected to give me comfort and joy. The memory of his pleased grin has been my constant companion these last suns, my heart panging in my chest each time it resurfaces.

There was a time I wouldn’t have cared at all how he filled his time. Or pretended not to, at least. But now that we well and truly belong to one another, each parting feels like a physical blow.

I know I’m being dramatic. Edith keeps asking me if I feel quite well, and if I think I’m catching cold. I jump at the smallest sounds, constantly listening for footsteps or the sound of the doors. I feel as though I’m nineteen again, waiting for any scrap of information. The nightmares have certainly gotten…. More inventive. I had one not two suns past, a replayed memory of laying Percy in his grave. Only it wasn’t Percy. I woke, sobbing, to a cold fireplace. I spent the rest of the night with all the candles lit, in Olivier’s bed.

I just want him home. I want to love him without reservation, without guilt or fear. I want Eir and Sayuri to be safe and together, and I want to go on that stupid double date with them. I got to pretend for just a moment that things were normal, for Moonfire. Olivier and I sat on the beach like we were courting, sharing our space and our meal. He looked so perfect in the setting sun, under the stars. I kept having the horrible, irrepressible thought that when he dies, that would be the memory that haunts me - his eyes, starting to wrinkle with his laughter, watching the sea.

I’m having a lot of thoughts I can’t stamp out, these days.

[margarettelizha]

Last Night in Limsa

I spent my last night in Limsa much the same as I spent the first - no gil, no friends, and no clue what the next dawn would bring. It had been made abundantly clear that I wouldn’t be welcome in the city for the foreseeable future, and that my exile would be enforced with prejudice if I decided to test that decree. I can take a hint. It might take a couple of tries, but I’ll take it eventually.

This really isn’t my fault. It’s not as though she was wearing a sign that said “Only beloved daughter of our richest and most generous client who he keeps locked up like a songbird”. Unattended ladies at the Wench looking bored and devastatingly beautiful are as close to a religion as I have left. She quite enjoyed the worship I offered.

I would have understood if the Captain had just settled at flogging me. We could have been over this by now, punishment to fit the crime and move on. But apparently the client wants me dead, and the Captain - gods bless her, and despite her shouting - doesn’t.

Exile it is. How long, Twelve only know.

I don’t know why I thought to call on Maggie. I haven’t thought about her in years, but I know her folks are good at finding work for the hard working sort. It’s been a long time since I needed to sell my blade. In an incredible stroke of good luck, she’s lodging at a mercenary company in Gridania…. Less good luck, because her husband works there. I’ll work on being happy for her while I make my passage north.

It’ll pain me to be away from the ship that long, but the alternative… there is no alternative. I’ll trade the crashing waves for the hiss and shiver of the Twelveswood until I’m summoned home with a pardon.

I only hope it doesn’t take too long.

[margarettelizha]

#LesbianVisibilityDay

[margarettelizha]

Return to Me

Our anniversary is in the next couple suns. If you had asked me a cycle ago what I thought it would look like, I could have lived to the end of time and not guessed where we would be now. It makes me wish I could go back to the girl I was on our wedding day, give her the reassurance I needed.

With everything that’s been going on, I’ve had barely any time to prepare. I wasn’t anticipating being trapped in Ishgard while the investigation continues, but I promised Olivier I would do what he needed me to, and he needs to know I’m safe while he’s… he’s not.

It’s hardly worth dwelling on now.

I had the particularly good foresight of ordering his gift from a local artisan - according to our accounts he is someone our family has worked with for years. Because the workshop is in Foundation proper, I was able to convince Madame Bassot to let me go with just Edith and Edouard, the newest addition to the guards at our front gate. We’ve all been pretty high strung since family dinner. It certainly went better than last time, but I am hardly the only person in this house reliving sending someone off to war.

I really hope he likes it. I tried to match it as carefully as I could to the earring he typically wears, and the silver he seems to prefer. A sliver of my cypress doorway, a sliver of his cedar, to keep with him wherever he goes.

I gave you my heart the moment I gave you my hand, to do whatever you wished. That you have offered yours in return is not something I thought possible.

I know I offer him little protection, but I will not rest easy until he is safe in my arms, for however long I get to keep him this time.

[margarettelizha]

Get to know me!

I don’t have any actual pets at the moment, so please enjoy this little felted guy I made!

I was tagged by @umbralsound-xiv and @ffxivtribehydrae

Last song listened to: SAD GIRLZ LUV MONEY Remix ft. Kali Uchis and Moliy ! It’s on Maggie’s playlist and has been on repeat for weeks now

Currently reading: I’m gonna say that RP counts, because @blueberryaesthetics and I have a gothic horror AU for Maggie and Olivier that I re-read about once a week because it is SO good

Currently watching: Restoration videos on YouTube. Things have been pretty stressful lately, so it’s really soothing to watch things get steadily cleaned and repaired so they can work again!

Current obsession: It was Tears of the Kingdom until I finished it yesterday ;n; Onto the next!

All of the folks I know have already been tagged, so I’m excited to make more friends!

[margarettelizha]

|| Character Master List ||

All active OC’s under the cut! I’d love opportunities for RP, asks, or messages!

Margarette “Maggie” Lizha

Also goes by Lady Margarette Theroux, but very rarely outside of Ishgard

Seeker Miqo’te from Ul’dah

Born in Summer ♋️ , 25 years old

Ul’dah socialite turned Ishgardian nobility (she’s still figuring it out)

Married to Lord Olivier Theroux ( @blueberryaesthetics ) | [Fractured Fabergé] in a Jane Austen style arranged marriage plot

Themes for RP: Ul’dah Social Circles | Merchant | Ishgardian Nobility | Kugane | Politics | Formal Functions | Cooking | Fashion | Slice of Life

Carrd (WIP)

Maggie is a non-combat, non-WOL character who makes a great foil for all the super cool badasses of Eorzea. I would love to write with new friends in Ishgard, old friends from Ul’dah, merchants she meets in her line of work, or strangers she meets in the city states!

Jack Deveny

At least, that’s his name right now

Highlander Hyur from ???

Born ????, ??? Years old?

“Not So” Private Detective

Unattached, and he hates to see a beautiful person drinking alone

Themes for RP: Detective Work | Informant | Casual Conversation | “I know a guy” | Noir

Carrd WIP

Combat character, non-WOL

Jack is a charming addition to any room, and will happily chat with just about everyone. I would love to write with contacts old and new, subjects of his investigations, clients hoping to hire him, or old war buddies (Which war? Good question.)

Remember Atrox

Hellsguard Roegadyn from Abalathia’s Spine

Born in the Summer ♋️ , 28 years old

Very legitimate sailor currently in between crews for reasons that are not at all her fault, clearly

Recently broken up and shattered about it

Themes for RP: Life in Limsa | Piracy | Treasure Hunting | Friendly Ear at the Bar | Travel | Theatre

Carrd WIP

Combat character, non-WOL

Remember is a gentle giant very likely to lose her concentration on the battlefield thinking about the pretty healer who patched her up the night before. I would love to write with rival pirates, lady loves old and new, fellow treasure hunters, fellow theatre lovers, and anyone else she might have met while traveling

[margarettelizha]

Do you understand the violence it took to become this gentle?

[margarettelizha]

DREW BARRYMORE as Bjergen Kjergen in WAYNE’S WORLD 2 (1993) dir. Stephen Surjik

[margarettelizha]

A Moment with the Fury

Olivier is such a fixture of formal mass that his absence is immediately noted and remarked upon. I’ve learned that the path of least resistance is to go myself, so that I can answer the well meaning and pointed questions.

Yes, he’s quite well. He’s away on business. His responsibilities prevented his attendance. He developed a very rare allergy to incense, it’s all quite tragic. Actually, he’s decided that he hates all of you, thank you for asking.

If I don’t answer them at mass, I will repeat the same conversation at every function for the next sennight. We rarely attend mass together: our busy schedules are already so conflicting, our orbits only intersecting for a sun here, a night there. It doesn’t help that I avoid it whenever I can. I’ve tried, in those long bells listening to perhaps the hundredth recitation of the exact same account of Halone’s virtues, to imagine a place I despise more than this cathedral, and each time I come up empty.

I can see my breath with each exhale, the vespers are cloying and make my head fuzzy, and the Enchiridion is as dense and difficult to parse as always. All of this, for bells on end, where one must sit in complete silence without shifting or fidgeting least you draw judgmental eyes. Just as everything else among Ishgard’s nobility, every mass is a pageant. Unlike Ul’dah, where everyone is attempting to flaunt as much wealth as they can, jingling along with each step, the game here is to be the most pious and humble. Who, among these somber and well painted faces, is the most devoted to the Fury?

Her statue watches the proceedings as impassive and unseeing as I have always experienced the gods to be.

I play my part with as much aplomb as I am able: subdued, unadorned dress, modest hair, jewelry that was gifted to me by Olivier. It’s taken me close to a cycle, but I finally have most of the prayers memorized, and I am much more confident about when I’m supposed to sit and stand. My feet don’t touch the floor, perched on the pew. Another in a thousand reminders that this place was not made for me, nor I for it.

The question of my belonging is not, however, something I am willing to debate with anyone in this room. I am representing House Theroux, I am seated half a dozen rows behind my mother and father in law. Another thing I have learned: not to expect more than a polite nod of acknowledgement when we meet one another like this. Olivier has assured me that I have their approval, and not to expect their friendship. I wish that brought me more comfort.

I do take the opportunity to pray, for all the good it will do. For Olivier, of course, for his protection and safe return to me. For my parents, their safety and prosperity. For our house, our longevity and that we are doing good with what we have been given. For the people of Ishgard, that they continue to prosper and enjoy peace.

My heart pangs in my chest as I offer up a prayer for Eir, and Sayuri.

Please let them be safe, please let them come home, please let it be swift.

I have offered the Fury plenty of prayers since my wedding, but this is the most earnest one by far.

[margarettelizha]

okay venat enjoyers here you go

https://twitter.com/koyoriin https://patreon.com/koyorin https://instagram.com/koyori_n https://www.pixiv.net/member.php?id

[margarettelizha]

Ishgard babies and their little Halones?

[margarettelizha]

[margarettelizha]

Finding out that Maggie enjoys a good meal as much as I do was a lovely surprise. She even takes notes! I implored her to find us a restaurant in Ishgard, perhaps there would be one we could frequent regularly but it...

I didn't realize how much I'm not exactly fond of seafood. Their special was cold fish. In Ishgard.

Her company made the meal worth it, but I don't think I'd want to go again if I didn't order the steak. It smelled wonderful, but she was so excited to order the chef's special that I had to resist. We swapped our personal thoughts on each portion of the meal, and I do think the dessert was marvelous.

...I wonder if she can find somewhere that makes a nice roast?

@margarettelizha

[margarettelizha]

My wife is a much different person when we're away from home. My home, I suppose, as she's still getting used to it. The two of us went swimming close to the Free Company House we've been staying at while I work 'for' Mist, and I think...it's the first time I've seen her relax.

Maybe one sun I'll be able to make her smile the way she does when she thinks I'm not looking.

It might have been an arranged marriage, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends, at least...

@margarettelizha

[margarettelizha]

What tragic horror character trope are you?

Maggie Lizha

The Witch

“People need to find blame wherever they can: it makes the bad things in their life feel just a touch more bearable. The witches are so often blamed for the curses others are under that no one even questions it anymore. You point to a supposed witch and everyone else prepares the stake, no matter their innocence. To be born and believed a witch is one of the worst curses of them all - you can have friends and family, but there’s always a dread that someday, someone will point to you, and everyone you once trusted will throw you into the pyre. If you’re here reading this, you’ve probably been burned before, and I don’t blame you for wanting to hide away to really become the witch they all say you are, to curse them. But to be a witch is to brush your fingertips over the bark of a tree and watch it grow a touch stronger. Keep that in mind.”

Tagged by: @neoma-eltanin Thank you so much!!

Tagging: @bumlb

Link to quiz!