#(they know all of the gentry house seals like the back of their hand but...so many new people...)

[arcxnumvitae]

Movement halts mid step as a command carried. A group draped in attire befitting of palace security filled her line of vision; not a gap of doubt to be heard. Slowly, her arms extend out from her sides. Grip far from her weapons if only to de-escalate a matter of trespassing. Last thing she needed was an incident over carelessness.

— Not to mention the punishment that would await her.

“Forgive the intrusion.” Had Anna faced a similar issue when she popped by to see that other fae?

Fingers slowly reach for the small pack by her waist; one carefully withdrawn without breaking eye contact. A silent prayer of gratitude for changing the location of her knives lest the guards react with less than enthused patience. Held by the edge, a deep raven envelope rimmed with gold shines under the light. Sigil pressed into melted wax with dusted matching yellow; winged serpent of the sea front and center with the remainder of the crest laid behind it. Faintly she could spot the laced violet among the corners of the invitation; a trick of the light to breathe honor of the Empress’ colors.

“A delivery for King Camhlaidh from Empress Calore.” (Loraine)

@lunarxdaydream || Continuation

Suspicious eyes continued to follow the woman's movement, a collective tensing rippling through when she reached for a pouch at her waist. Upon an envelope being produced, one guard stepped forward to inspect it. A seal marked the back, one supposedly from that empress who had visited a time or two again. Unfortunately...they were unsure exactly of what her seal looked like. Should they risk bringing this messenger to the king bearing a potentially fake seal? ....

The guard with the envelope glanced back to their companion, who made a small gesture with his hand and addressed Loraine.

"We will escort you to the king's advisor to verify this letter. If it is indeed Empress Calore's signature, you will be allowed to present it to the king."

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Always There

Note: I know I’ve been MIA for a while but the “writer block” bug bit me good. Anyways, hope I can apologize better with this Gibbs Prompt!

Prompt: Gibbs has a panic attack after hearing old military footage.

"Tony, knock it off, you're gonna make me drop it and then we're all gonna be in trouble," you warned the overly excited agent as he made grandous hand motions near the tray of coffees you had.

"Oh come on, Y/N. I know you're just as excited as me. You're the biggest crime noir movie nerd I know."

You just smiled at his theatrics as the both of you exited the elevators and walked towards the bullpen, where the rest of the team was waiting.

"Tony been talking your ear off about the new Gregory Haines film?" McGee asked as you handed over his coffee with an eyeroll.

"You have no idea. It took him 10 minutes just to order his coffee because he was busy talking about the trailer with the barista."

You handed Bishop her loaded breakfast bagel and latte before finishing with Gibbs' tall black coffee. He was quietly engrossed in whatever case file was on his desk, barley looking up to greet you. It was unusual of him since you two were kind of a thing now. Of course no one knew about it, but for the last 3 months or so, you and Gibbs had been going on late night dates and hanging out at each others houses, occasionally sleeping together.

You blamed his distant behavior on keeping a professional cover with you so as not to arise any suspicion from the team, but kept a reminder in your head to ask him about it later.

"But she just can't help going back to him, totally oblivious to the fact that he's actually the town murderer-

"DiNozzo. Are you able to focus today?" Gibbs inquired in irritation, irrupting Tony's lengthy synopsis to Bishop. His tone was a bit more gruff than usual, even throwing Tony off a bit.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry boss. Back to work."

As Tony took his seat at his desk, McGee pulled up a picture of a very obvious decomposed body being pulled from the water. "Master Sargent Gantry, was found by local police, washed up on the shore 2 days ago. Shot in the head, the county's ME determined the cause of death to be a suicide after tracing the trajectory of the bullet and the linking it to the Master Sargent's missing sidearm that the police found when doing a sweep of the lake." Using the clicker, he changed the screen so that it showed a picture of a plastic bag filled with what looked like letters and a personal recording device. "Unfortunately, a couple days later, they also found this vacuum sealed bag containing letters to the Master Sargent and a recording of an unidentified male admitting to friendly fire during a firefight back in Iraq of 1991."

"1991? Wasn't that-

Before Bishop could finish whatever historical fact she had in mind, she was interrupted by Gibbs.

"Operation Desert Storm."

All of you turned to look at him as he stood up from his desk, coffee in his hand.

"DiNozzo and McGee, I want you two getting all the information you can from Master Sargent Gentry's time in the Marine Corps. Find out if anyone had any problems with him that would suggest motive. Bishop, I want all the records pulled from the ME that did Gentry's autopsy, talk with Ducky and Palmer. Y/N, you're with me. Abby and Sloan are going over the recording found with our victims body."

No one dared asked any follow up questions as all the clues were adding up. His more than usual grumpiness, the distant look in his eyes. You all knew Gibbs served in Desert Storm so seeing what looked like a fragging on a superior officer and possible friend, would definitely offput him.

You caught up to him as he entered the elevator, destined to the lab. It was quiet for a few seconds before you decided to speak.

"You ok?

He just nodded, but didn't speak further on it. Once the doors opened, you were following behind as he entered Abby's lab, where Sloan was already waiting. She looked just as worried as you felt.

"Whadya got Abbs?"

"Ok, so luckily for us, the letters and recording were vacuum sealed in a plastic bag, preserving them perfectly. The letter don't give any names or clues as to who wrote them but when I listened on the recording, I found something."

Gibbs nodded to her, to which she turned to her computer and clicked a button, immediately filling the lab with loud sounds of machine guns firing. It was the only time you had ever seen Gibbs visibly flinch. As you all listened to the audio clearly describing a firefight with enemy forces, you noticed the change in Gibbs' demeanor. He seemed to stand rigid as his free hand slowly closed itself in a fist, while the other adjusted holding his coffee in almost a nervous manner.

Are they coming from the south side or not?!

Who's got eyes on that treeline?!

The sounds of bullets ricocheting off of metal could be heard as a couple of men cursed before returning fire.

Check your fire Watts!

Did I hit him?! Tell me I didn't hit him Sarge! Is he moving?!

You could see the hard swallow come from Gibbs as he turned towards the exit, glancing quickly over you before looking away. In that split second, you identified exactly what he was feeling. Panic.

"That's enough Abby," you spoke, making her quickly stop the recording in concern. You looked over at Sloan who was also know focused on Gibbs.

"You alright Gibbs?" she asked tentatively.

He cleared his throat and nodded before heading to leave. "Send the recording to DiNozzo and McGee. Have them identify the voices."

As he walked out, he threw his full cup of coffee away in the trash, confirming that something wasn't right. As Sloan made an attempt to follow him, you stopped her.

"I got it. You stay with Abby."

He had almost managed to escape you through the elevators but you threw your arm in between the doors, causing them to open back up as you slipped in.

As the elevator began it's accent, you watched as Gibbs leaned his head back against the wall, eyes shut, and began breathing a bit heavier than before. Knowing, he would never want anyone to see him like this, you hit the emergency stop button and went over to him.

"Gibbs. It's me, y/n. Can you hear me?"

He didn't answer, but instead turned to face the wall, hands gripping the railing till his knuckles were white. You knew at this point, he was fully immersed in a panic attack and couldn't talk. He was now breathing through his mouth, eyes still shut and you knew if you didn't so something, he was gonna start hyperventilating.

So you squeezed yourself underneath his arms so that it was you between him and the wall and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his head down to hear you.

"Jethro, it's me. You're having a panic attack and I need you to slow your breathing for me, alright?"

He shook his head in defiance as his jaw clenched and unclenched.

"Just listen to me. Listen to my voice. You're here with me. We're in the elevator, no one else is here."

You were surprised when he used one arm to wrap around your waist, squeezing you tightly, as the other stayed gripped to the railing.

"I- I can hear them-

Your heart broke at the sound of his voice. He sounded defeated and almost scared, causing you to hold him tighter. Still, you whispered the same words over again, hoping to bring him out of the obvious memory he was reliving.

"You're not there anymore. It's over, you're here now. With me. In the elevator. Bishop is down in the bullpen. Ducky and Palmer are in autopsy. Vance is in his office."

You recited everything to him, describing all the details.

"Just breath with me Jethro. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Keep doing that."

You practiced normal breathing with him until you finally felt some of his body relax. His other hand eventually let go of the railing and joined his other arm to wrap around you. His grip was still tight and his face was buried in the crook of your neck but his breathing was a lot better. Now you began to feel his body start trembling as all the adrenaline was slowly finding ways to leave him.

You knew the worst of it was over and you didn't need to talk anymore, but just hold him and stay with him until he was back in control. You ran your fingers through his hair in the same motion over and over again while making sure to take in deep breaths.

Once you felt his grip loosen and take a step back, you wiped your own tears that had fallen and smiled gently up at him. He quickly wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, obviously somewhat embarrassed about what happened but as he turned to look away from you, you pulled his face towards yours and kissed him.

You heard him sigh into the kiss as he pulled you back into his arms.

"Thank you," he said, moving to nuzzle your neck again.

"Of course. I'll always be there for you Jethro."

The both of you took a few more minutes to pull yourselves together before facing the rest of them team, which you knew were gonna have a lot of questions after Abby filled them in on what happened.

But none of it mattered as you smiled slightly to yourself, feeling closer to Gibbs than ever before.

[moosoobi]

Battle Royale

(1) Fresh bread, French Prince

G.Lafayette : Hamilton the musical

Sometimes when you work on a project, there are moments when you need to take a break and work on something else. That’s really the case with In The Night, I have all these ideas but sometimes I feel confined to ITN (I literally have not started Chapter 3 when this is posted). And thus this fic was born. I hope you enjoy! 

Y/N and Lafayette’s POV 

Bridgerton inspired AU (watching the Bridgerton series would probably help in understanding ideas of ‘courting’ and finding a suitors) 

Odd social structure (dukes are essentially owners of land which was popularized in London, Washington is considered a president, and Lafayette is now a prince!) 

not my cover image 😟

Word count: 4k

Literally the biggest thanks to @deja-you for proofreading and some great feedback, ILY 🧎‍♀️

—-the Washington residence

The dreamy clouds would stream across the sky as Y/N began to read the newest article from Thomas Paine, the most notorious writer known for acknowledging every piece of gossip and whispers among the noble colonists. 

The pamphlet felt newly written, as few spots of the odd-smelling ink would smudge. Though Y/N was not awake, a young boy delivered this meticulous pamphlet to the Washington residence before dawn. 

As the daughter of the president, being the center of noble gossip was nothing new to her, in fact, gossip was never the center of her attention either. But something about this pamphlet in particular would surely catch her eye. 

She began to read:

‘The scene for this courting season is looking quite interesting. Now that these young ladies are finally of age, they will indeed add competition to the scene.’

Ah yes, the annual  courting season. A time for women and men to make their move and commence into the adult world. While many aren’t satisfied with their partners, reputation seems to grow higher than feelings. 

‘Many pertinent names are included in this season, and I’m honored to document the presence of these people.’ 

‘The Schuylers: all three of the incredible General Schuyler’s daughters are finally entering the courting scene simultaneously. During the war, many soldier boys would fall head over heels to impress them, and many were unsuccessful. I’m ecstatic to observe the lucky men to take the hand of Angelica, Elizabeth, and Peggy Schuyler.’ 

‘The Payne’s: Miss Dolley Payne has finally been granted entrance into this courting season. Many theories and speculation suggest that her arrival to the scene at the same time as the other great names was not a coincidence.’ 

‘And finally, the most significant family joining us this season,’ 

Y/N sucked in a breath 

‘The Washington’s: His grace’s pride and joy, Y/N, will be the most imperative competition this season. The pressure of being the president’s daughter, as well as the stigma of conceiving an heir, follow her wherever she resides. Nonetheless, Y/N Washington is an extraordinary star among the courting scene, and it would indeed be foolish to throw away your shot.’ 

‘It’s just common sense.’ 

‘-Thomas Paine’ 

It would take Y/N a couple moments before her squeals of excitement could be heard across the residence 

Shortly after, the rumbles of Y/N racing down the stairs would cause her parents, George and Martha, to take suspicious glances at each other. Y/N finally reached the dinner table where her parents were finishing up their morning tea. 

“What’s got you going so early, dear? I usually have to pull you out of bed around this time,” Martha questioned 

“Sir Payne wrote about me in the paper! My entrance to the courting scene seems to be the most glittering cluster of ink in this pamphlet” She squealed 

Y/N excitedly, yet also harshly, slid the pamphlet over to her parents, moments later they would observe her words to be true 

“That’s great, dear” Her father, George, looked up from the paper with a smile. “I know you’ll represent the Washington Family name well, although it’s a shame you’ll have to lose it when you get married” he sighed 

“Oh lighten up George, Y/N will be the talk of the town, I’m sure she’ll attract some worthy gentleman” 

“Damn right he better be worthy.” His eyes transferred from Martha to Y/N 

“Remember Y/N, very few are prepared to handle a Washington, you can even ask your mother.” 

Y/N couldn’t hold in a giggle as Martha rolled her eyes. Both Y/N and George watched as Martha arose to place her porcelain dishes in the sink

“Well I must be soo blessed to have to take care of two of them.” 

George turned back to Y/N and slid her a letter across the table, keeping another letter in his opposite hand, which was still unopened

 “May I ask what this is?” She held up the letter. Even the feeling of the paper could tell Y/N that it came from the colonial gentry. The scent faintly reminded Y/N of champagne and flowers, and the seal was a sparkling coral-pink shade. The letter appeared to be already opened 

“The Schuyler’s are inviting you to a small tea get-together, whatever you kids call it.” 

Y/N opened the envelope, searching for the details. How exciting was this, to be among the best of the best, especially in the greatest city in the world. Before she could reply, George began to speak again

“I’ve already requested for two escorts to accompany you on your way to the Schuyler residence.” Y/N turned to him in confusion 

“Huh?” She questioned “escorts?”

“Now that you’re officially in this courting season, your safety could be potentially in danger. I’m just trying to make you comfortable” He retorted 

“Father, I’m sure I’m capable of walking on my own. I mean, the Schuyler residence isn’t even that far and-”

Y/N was interrupted by multiple knocks on her door. She shot a ‘this isn’t over’ glare to her father before wandering over to her front door. She opened the door and found a surprise

The Duke of Monticello and the Duke of Manhattan, my father’s two trusted secretaries. Dropping the formalities, Y/N addressed them by their first name 

“Thomas? Alexander? Don’t tell me..” she turned back to her father. Jefferson and Hamilton stood at the doorway, both with flowers and nervous in the presence of Washington 

“Father, I’m starting to question whether you worry for my safety, or worry for your pickiness of my suitor.” Thomas and Alex attempted to hold in their laughs as if their lives depended on it 

“Of course I do!” He held a hand to his chest as if he was hurt “although I do owe them a favor-” a smirk spread across Thomas’s and Alexander’s face, yet was quickly faded as Washington addressed them 

“But no funny business with my daughter. If I hear of any shenanigans from either one of you, you both have serious consequences.” Y/N turned back to the dukes, both of them appearing drained of color. 

“Let me get dolled up and we can be on our way” Y/N swiftly ran upstairs, leaving Thomas and Alexander alone in the presence of their boss. Those poor, poor, boys

Five minutes later, Y/N glided down the stairs in her fancier skirt. Her corset gave her an amazing shape, and her hair made her appear to be a celestial being. She caught the dukes’ eyes lingering on her for a little too long. Luckily, Washington wasn’t around. “Let’s keep our focus on what’s really matters, guys” she laughed 

“R-right...” they said in unison, both turning away and pretending to be interested in the furniture in the house. Y/N had never seen the two secretaries so calm around each other, it made her realize the power the Washington’s have in the colonies. A simple order from a Washington could probably end wars, especially if it’s capable of making Jefferson and Hamilton contain their pride 

“Your graces?” She held out her hands, signifying that she was ready to depart. The dukes held out their forearm and elbows for her to take. Y/N intertwined her arms into theirs, and they headed for the Schuyler residence.

A few minutes down the path and Alexander Hamilton decided to break the silence 

“I still can’t believe you’re entering this season, Y/N. I mean, I still remember running around those horrid military camps all those years ago” he chuckled. It’s true, it’s been all these years since the war and so much has changed 

“I like to believe I’ve grown into a wonderful, young woman, don’t you think?” I batted my eyelashes towards both of them 

“Of course darlin’” Jefferson cut in “but just because we’re your honorable colleagues doesn’t mean Hamilton and I won’t be lining up for your hand” 

“Don’t be so sure. I heard this season has a few aggressive competitors on both sides. The Schuylers, the Paynes, even the Madisons! I might have to step up my game. In the meantime, both of you have to keep an open mind.” 

Thomas and Hamilton stared at each other, surprised by her response. 

“And If I find out that both of you placed bets on which one of you will earn my hand, I’ll be reminding my father to collect both of your heads.” 

Their heads hung in defeat “alright, alright darlin’ I think I kind of like my head attached to my body. No need to get violent.” 

“Plus I don’t think any of you can truly handle a Washington.” Y/N giggled, her arms still intertwined with theirs

“If Jefferson and I don’t scare away the competition, I’m sure your father will” Alexander chuckled, Thomas visibly reacted to the joke as well 

“Oh come on, the two most popular dukes of the colonies have nothing on a suitor that is truly worthy of me” she scoffed 

“And where would you find such a worthy contestant? Someone better than a duke?” The three stopped in front of the Schuyler residence 

“Don’t kill my hopes, a Washington has her ways” Y/N removed her arms from Thomas’s and Alexander’s, heading for the front door. As soon as she was greeted by General Schuyler herself, she waved goodbye to the clashing dukes 

“She’s so mine, Hamilton.” Thomas stated 

“I’m sure you should be worried about your tomcat nature, Jefferson, don’t get too ahead of yourself” Alex retorted

Jefferson audibly scoffed before wandering with him into the city 

—-France

3 weeks prior to Y/N reading that exciting pamphlet, Marquis de Lafay-- Now Prince Lafayette sat around a table of French nobles and officials. It felt like ages since he’s been in the colonies, and it has only been a few years ever since the French Revolution had ended. Yet instead of abolishing the monarchy system in France as Lafayette promised to the colonies, he and a few other nobles replaced the previous royal family. 

Lafayette was later titled as a Prince, as were other leading men of France, but he urged to continue being addressed as the ‘Hero of two worlds’. 

But with a new era upon the people of France, came the countless government meetings and conflicts that he had to resolve. 

“Your Majesty? Are you even paying attention?” Secretary Robespierre whispered over his shoulder, causing him to visibly straighten himself out. 

“O-Oui. Why wouldn’t I be?” Lafayette laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. Robespierre rolled his eyes before whispering again. 

“This is our last meeting of the day. With all due respect sir, can you get yourself together?” 

“Okay, Okay.” Lafayette sighed with boredom 

He missed the colonies dearly, sometimes he wished he never left at all, but seeing his country yearn for a revolution compelled him to sail across the Atlantic once again. He often daydreamed of his riskier lifestyle with his closest friends and soldiers, as well as the feeling of awe while serving directly under General Washington. Never in his life did Lafayette think he would miss the adrenaline rush of stealing cannons and leading fully arm battalions. 

His teenage memories of fooling around in those military camps, wandering the streets of New York City severely intoxicated, and the best memories of all, the memories of escorting the General’s daughter, Y/N Washington, to buy bread and pastries for him and his fellow soldiers. 

Oh, what could she be doing now? 

If it weren’t for the revolution at hand, Lafayette would’ve surely bent a knee once she set foot onto the military camping grounds. Lafayette held such a high respect for Y/N when they first met, especially since she was the daughter of his most admired general. The women in France just couldn’t compare to her heavenly beauty, and her kindness was unbeatable. She was the greatest treasure that Lafayette had stumbled across during his time in the colonies. Although many noblewomen would attempt to take a bite of him, Lafayette stayed loyal to his non-existent promise to Y/N.

A quick quill-slam to the table, and he was quickly drawn back to his reality. Why should he worry about his previous General’s daughter anyway? Lafayette was now a Prince, he could have anything he wanted. But the moment he set foot in France after the American Revolution, he lost the most precious things he already had. He yearned for glory, but at what cost? The cost of abandoning his bonds in the colonies? 

He sighed, standing from the meeting table and wandering to his quarters. Secretary Robespierre followed closely behind him. Sensing an odd tension from Lafayette’s mood, Robespierre attempted to address his situation

“Do you need anything, your majesty?” Lafayette froze in his tracks, weighing his two options 

“Actually...” Lafayette turned to face him “Schedule me a ship to the colonies. The earliest one you can find.” 

Robespierre tilted his head in confusion, letting the last sentence sizzle in his head.

 “I’m sorry, what?” 

The prince in distress sighed with fatigue. “I’ve decided I’m heading to the colonies, tout suite.” Lafayette kept his gaze strong  

‘B-but sir, you have so much to take care of-” Robespierre was notably panicking at this moment. “-and the recent shortages-”

“Mon Ami, there are at least three other ‘crowned princes’ who are perfectly capable of maintaining this nation. One prince gone won’t hurt the economy”  Prince Lafayette stated firmly 

Robespierre debated for a moment before confirming his thoughts “Alright. I’ll notify you when the earliest ship can be sailed. But what shall you do about the gossip? Perhaps they will believe you are not responsible enough for this role.”  

“Let the people speak as they please. In the end, I’ll remind them who’s in charge.” Lafayette began towards his quarters once again, Robespierre stayed behind to script all of his thoughts. 

Finally in his study, Lafayette dipped his quill into the nearest container of ink and started to write. 

‘To the Great General Washington, It’s been ages since we’ve last written…’

Maybe Lafayette will be able to have a taste of his old life. 

---the Schuyler residence

Giggling echoed throughout the Schuyler residence as the 5 girls enjoyed their tea. 

“Have you gals read Payne’s newest pamphlet? We’re the talk of the town as of now” Angelica, the oldest Schuyler, smiled with satisfaction. Her luminous complexion complemented her coral pink gown. 

“I never expected our courting debut to be so..” Eliza searched for the right words “..turbulent among the talkers..” she took a sip of her tea 

“I’m still stunned by the feedback” Y/N laughed nervously “My father even requested his two most clashing secretaries to escort me here, they didn’t even argue once” she said in awe 

The top 5 girls of the season all sat in one room. Though they would eventually become each other's courting competition, they were great friends nonetheless. During the war, Y/N would stay in the Schuyler household while their fathers were out of town daydreaming of being free from the king, attending a few balls together, and watching soldier boys trip over themselves. After the war ended, Dolley Paine became a mutual connection through their high ranking families. The 5 got along way too quickly. 

Peggy held up the tea pot “another fill, ladies?” Y/N and Dolley nodded, both taking their turns to fill their cups. 

“Awee, look at you Peggy, you’ll make a perfect wife” Dolley teased. The rest of the girls laughed it off, yet Y/N didn’t feel at ease with that statement. 

“You don’t actually think we will all get married that quickly, do you?” Y/N looked around to see their confused expressions. “Guys?” 

“Well..” Angelica pondered for a moment “I believe that it’s ideal to marry on your first season” 

Peggy had to stop herself from spitting out her tea 

“That soon? But we’re so young, and-” Eliza interrupted

“And we’re ladies. Society expects us to do nothing more and nothing less with what we’re given” Angelica takes a content sip of her tea once again “I don’t make the rules around here.” 

The silence was awfully louder than the conversation. 

“Alright.” Dolley smiled “I guess we'll just have to make this next few weeks extra special, right?” 

Y/N took a deep breath “the best of the best.” She muttered

Peggy turned to her and nodded, and Eliza was quick to join. Y/N faked a smile at the girls, ‘I guess that’s just how it is’ is what she thought, and Angelica would raise her glass for a toast 

“A toast to the best courting season?” The 4 other girls raised their glass as well. 

Though many hours were filled with laughter and giggles, Y/N couldn’t help but imagine how much her life would change within the next few months. And just by entering this season, Y/N will give up her youth and give someone her hand to please someone. To please herself? To please the people? To please her parents? She had no clue 

She stared out the window, remembering those nights of staying at the Schuyler residence, watching those drunk soldiers stumble across the street. Many of them were her friends, friends she had met through her fathers rank. She smiled at the thought of the most memorable gentleman she had met while at those camps. 

‘The French Foreigner’ is what they used to call him, but only before he became comfortable in the colonies. ‘Marquis de Lafayette’ was his title, and Y/N always loved the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. 

“I don’t know what my father told you, but I’m sure I don’t need you to accompany me simply to buy bread” Y/N stood stubbornly 

Lafayette gently grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips 

“I just want you to be safe, mon ange, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt..”

 He kissed the back of her hand, maintaining eye contact. Y/N appeared as if she just experienced a revelation “..shall we be on our way, mademoiselle?” 

She took a moment to think, her head still in the clouds. Y/N slowly nodded “Alright.” The two intertwined arms and headed into the city 

Oh how she missed the old days. Y/N hated to admit it, but she truly believed she met the most exquisite gentlemen during the war. Whenever she’d stay at the camps with her father, a small group of soldiers would always keep her company. A tailor, an abolitionist, two immigrants, the camps were definitely a mixing pot. 

At that very moment, Y/N prayed she’d be able to find someone like the men at her fathers military camp during this courting season. 

Y/N jumped at the tapping on her shoulder

“Y/N? Don’t tell me you already have suitors lining up out there for you” Y/N shook her head and laughed 

“I just spaced out. That’s all.” She attempted to change the subject “What were we talking about?” She questioned 

Peggy interrupted “Next week's ball, the first ball of the season. Do we show up in our best, or do we build suspense until the last seasonal ball?” Peggy debated 

“Let’s take one ball at a time, shall we?” Eliza proposed her idea 

“Well for the first ball, I suggest….” All the girls gathered around Angelica to hear her plan

—-Lafayette’s quarters (France)

Prince Lafayette neatly folded his clothes as he was departing for the colonies within a few hours. He remembers the excitement he felt when he traveled to the colonies for the first time, having to dress like a pregnant woman in order to board the ship, but he still cringes at the imagery. 

He elegantly stuffed his belongings into his shoulder bag. He stood back to admire his rushed work, but he felt as if he was missing something. 

Lafayette looked around his quarters, his eyes became glued on his treasured gun, gifted to him by General Washington himself. The wooden hilt was stained with god knows what, but the gold trimmings were shining in the afternoon sunlight. 

He’d already have French soldiers accompanying him, he was a prince after all. Would he need such weaponry? 

“I do not see why not.” He muttered to himself before stuffing it into his bag with the rest of his belongings. Lafayette dusted off his fancy clothing and stood in triumph, well, before a woman cleared her throat behind him. 

Lady Adrienne stood at the doorway to his study, her emerald green skirts creased against the doorframe. Lafayette and Adrienne previously courted before he left for the colonies, which ended up being her last straw. Lady Adrienne attempted to stop him, since she was a loyalist to the monarchs of France, but Lafayette refused to listen. 

“que veux-tu? I'm busy at the moment.” Lafayette covered his bag with a nearby coat, crossing his arms. 

“I heard you’re going back to the colonies. What’s so special across the ocean that you can’t have here? You’re a prince for god sake” 

“It’s none of your concern, get out of-”

“Last time you left for the colonies- left me for the colonies- you just weren’t the same when you came back.” she was on the verge of yelling

Lafayette sighed, having already been through this conversation ever since he came back to France. 

“This is nonsense. I need to be alone as of now.” Lafayette turned away from her to continue packing his belongings. She had a hurt expression on her face; part of her mind refused to believe he wasn’t her suitor anymore. Ever since he left for the colonies. 

She slowly began to advance towards him. “That is no way to talk to your previous courting partner, Lafayette.” Her tone was strong yet unsure. 

“It’s Prince Lafayette to you, and there’s a reason why we’re not courting now..” He was notably irritated by her presence. 

Lady Adrienne wasn’t leaving his quarters until she was given an answer. 

“Was I not enough for you to stay in France…?” she rested a hand on his shoulders, Lafayette visibly cringed. “What’s in the colonies that you can’t have here?” 

Lafayette swiftly turned towards her, brushing her hand off of his shoulder in disgust. “I don’t have to answer to you—“ he attempted to retort

“—Don’t tell me you’re still mad that I had more faith in the monarchs of our country rather than you” 

Lady Adrienne rolled her eyes annoyingly, Lafayette blood had already begun boiling long ago. She started moving closer to Lafayette, attempting to trap him in his room, and forcing him to stay in France. Although this was her main plan, she wanted an answer, and she wanted it now. 

“Your own lover didn’t believe in you. Is that why you’re so upset? It’s quite the reaction for something so minuscule—” she scoffed. 

Lafayette snapped

“—as a matter of fact, you weren’t my lover. It’s not you, its...” 

Lafayette, clearly frustrated, struggled to hold up under his old friend’s gaze. She saw it in his eyes, the way they lightened when he thought about the colonies. 

She saw a similar light in them the day he returned from France. Perhaps it was the praise he obtained for the foreign war, or perhaps some treasures he discovered, or maybe someone.

“Lafayette... Did you find another partner in the colonies?” 

The panic was visible in his eyes, but there no was no reason to panic, he thought. 

Lafayette brushed up against lady Adrienne, his lips were millimeters from her ear. He began

“Our relationship ended from the moment I set foot on that ship, and I do not regret it one bit..” 

He stepped out of her reach and continued to pack away his belongings, Lady Adrienne was frozen with shock.

“My business in the colonies is my business only,” He stated strongly. “And you are free to believe whatever you want, it would benefit me in the least to care about what you think. Am I being clear?” 

Lady Adrienne could only stand in silence

“Security! I’d love for you to escort this maiden out of this quarters at once!”

He’d never forget the hatred in her eyes as she was humiliatingly taken away. Lafayette kept his mind on his current task: the colonies await his arrival. 

—to be continued—

[ainarosewood]

30 Day WoL Writing Challenge-Day 5-Grief

@seaswolchallenge​

Night fell on the Rising Stones seeming darker with the pall of grief that hung heavy.  Y'shtola and Krile had departed earlier to monitor the coccoon floating over the wall and keep Yda company since the Hyur had yet to leave it.   The Twins had retired to their rooms to deal with the loss in their own way.  Thancred had sat at the bar to drink, F’lhaminn quietly serving the bard sorrow in her eyes.  The younger scions had shifted about uncertain and seeming at a loss the weight of grief evident in their faces and forms.

Rhonar, his body still aching from the Lalafell's Scathe to blast him onto the airship, found himself unable to remain in the Stones his own heart aching with the loss.

Closing his eyes he readied the Return Spell and shortly found himself in the Gridania Aetheryte Plaza.  The city was a-bustle as always with adventurers running here and their giving the Rhothgar a wide berth.  

There was by far more of the yellow clad Serpents about due to the recent troubles most of them also gave way for him as he began wandering but their faces were filled with sympathy not concern like the adventurers.

He wandered aimlessly his heart ready to burst with the pain of grief.  He was also furious with himself.  Why, why had he allowed the bastard Ilberd to shock him into stillness long enough to summon the Primal.  Why had he been stupid enough to think that tossing the eyes over the bridge would have ended it.  How had Ilberd gotten them in the first place?

"Dear friend, what brings you here this late?" A gentle voice interrupted his mental tirade.

The Dragoon started in surprise and looked up to see a concerned  and overtly tired Kan'E'Senna standing in front of the path that lead to the Lotus Stand.  Two of the Serpent Sworn trailing her.

"I....was lost in thought and not paying attention to my surroundings, Forgive me Seedseerer." he rumbled bowing in apology.

"There is naught to forgive, pray allow me to tend to those wounds." the Padjal responded removing her staff from its sling.

His eyes widened in surprise and he jerked causing his body to flare with pain.  Seven Hells, Papalymo certainly knew how to make something be an effective deterrent.  He nodded to her not trusting his voice at the moment.

Shortly the gentle warmth of the cure spell washed over him and the pain from the sear was gone.  He opened his eyes and gave her a grateful, if halfhearted smile.

She smiled back concern still filling her features.  "Pray join me this evening, dear friend."

Rhonar started in surprise again, part of him wanting to deny her.  But even before he could form the words his mind flashed back to Minifillia's statement just prior to the disastrous banquet.  "As you will, my lady," he rumbled in response.

Kan'E then turned to the Serpent Sworn stating, "You are dismissed for the evening,"

"But my Lady," one started to protest.

She looked him square in the eyes her own leaf green gaze stern as she stated, "I have no further need of your escort.  Or do you believe our champion incapable of keeping my safety within the walls of the city?"

The poor Hyur stammered an apology and Rhonar suppressed a further smile.  He had to admire the quite fire that resided in the Padjal and demanded respect from her subordinates.  

Once her former escort took their leave she turned back to the Rhothgar stating, "Come join me for tea, dear friend.  You look to need a distraction from you thoughts."

The Rothgar gave her a nod began walking with her as they made their way to the Gentry's Ward.  Gaethen the guard at the gate bowed to the Seedseer surprise evident in his features as he saw whom was accompanying her but he said nothing as he opened the gate for them to pass.

They made their way up the paths passing by the manors of Gridania's most influential families.  Until at the top of a hill they came to another.  The Padjal lead him through the ornate gate and to the house proper.  Then she motioned for him to follow her as she opened the door.

As he entered the house the Rothgar noted it was as he would have expected from the gentle woman, warm colors shone on the walls filled with various paintings of landscapes.  

The floors were wood polished smooth with a gentle shine to them.  All around was simple but elegant furnishings and potted plants scattered through out. The whole place smelled of faint flowers and home cooked baking.  He followed after her feeling slightly awkward and yet comfortable in the home.

"Please, take a seat," she stated as they entered the living are motioning to a couch that while worn was still beautiful, "Give me a moment to change into something less formal then I shall begin on the tea I offered you."

The Rothgar nodded again and took the offered seat.  Kan’E stepped away leaving the Dragoon with his thoughts.  Once again he found his grief raw in his breast threatening to rip free.  It hurt deeply that Papalymo had given his life to by them time against the Primal. Rhonar still had a boiling anger at himself that he hadn’t been able to stop it.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize the Elder Seedseer had returned until the chink of delicate china sounded as she laid a cup before him.  He started and bowed stating, “Forgive me my Lady its seems my thoughts were distracting me again.”

The Padjal dressed in a simple tunic and pants her robes and crown of office gone just gave him a gentle smile stating, “Again, there is naught to forgive, but tell me dear friend.  What happened on the wall that troubles you so?”

He blinked in surprise, “Were you not informed?”

She replied, “The reports we received were that the Griffon was the former Captain of the Crystal Braves, Ilberd and that he had led an assault against the Wall disguised as Grand Company Soldiers.  They also stated that he betrayed his fellows and used them and himself to summon a Primal which is now contained within a cocoon of light above the Wall.”

Rhonar nodded, “Aye the cocoon was made by Papalymo,” his voice threatened to break at the Plainsfolk’s name, “He sacrificed himself so that it could be formed, the same spell of sealing that Louisoix used at the Battle of Cartaneau.”

Despite himself tears began falling and he furiously scrubbed at them annoyed.  He needed to be strong, not burden her with his grief.  She had enough to worry about with the threat of war looming.

“Oh my friend,” she said softly placing a hand on his arm in sympathy.

Hearing that feeling the gentle touch was all he needed and he began weeping all his pent up grief and anger flowing forth.  He brokenly told her how he blamed himself how furious he was that he didn’t see, that he hadn’t destroyed Nidhogg’s eyes that day on the Steps of Faith.

Through it all she listened and waited patiently for him to fall silent before stating softly, “I do not believe you are to blame Rhonar.  You had no way of knowing the Eyes would have survived falling into that abyss much less that they would somehow be recovered and used as a weapon.  Also Archon Papalymo did as he believed he needed to.  It wasn’t your fault and he would not want you blaming your self like this.”

“I...I know your right, my Lady,” he stated softly, “Thank you for listening to all of that.”

She gave him another warm smile and a gentle squeeze on the arm, “I knew when we crossed paths that something was troubling you dear friend.  Hence why I invited you here, now why don’t you take a sip of the tea before it gets cold.”

He nodded and delicately picked up the cup terrified that he was going to break it and sipped the tea.  It tasted wonderful the right blend of floral and bitter and he gave her a grateful smile.

They spent the rest of the evening together drinking tea, eating scones and exchanging stories about the little Lalafell whom had done so much for the Realm.

[bapydemonprincess]

Meet the Parents

HELLO EVERYONE! Hope you’re having a happy last day of 2019, cause I sure am!! The past couple days me and @grelleswife have been working together on this story! >w<

It’s about my dear gloomy boi Ambrose and his new companion Eddie that we’ve developed together.

This story takes place months after Ambrose forming the contract with the demon, and when he finally decided it was time to try and fix this mess, for the little corvus found himself regretting this at every turn.. as his bond with the demon grew.

It was time to seek out help from higher powers, thus throwing caution to the wind and heading back to his family’s home to introduce Eddie to the other demon in his life: His Mother.

Hope you all enjoy this!!! Because @grelleswife and I had a LOT of fun making it!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Ambrose was constantly shouting at himself in his mind as he drove himself and his companion across country to his family’s home.

“You’ve gone mad, haven’t you?” It went on. “First you contacted a demon, contracted the demon, and now that you’ve known the demon for- what, a couple months, you want to take the demon home to your family. TO YOUR HALF DEMONIC FAMILY.”

But Ambrose kept driving, already knowing they were nearing the family’s property, and recognizing every little detail and tree and just slowly spiralling into a little panic attack.’

“Hey, now..” Came a voice from the side, quiet and understanding as always. “I can practically smell your sweat, you know. It’s okay, Ambrose. I’m sure things won’t go as bad as you may think they will..” A brief chuckle. “I mean, I’ve gotten used to acting human and living like a human, so I’m sure I can pull off a visit with your family.”

Ambrose didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. He knew he had dug his own grave, now. He knew he’d likely dug Eddie’s grave too. This.. this poor young demon, who merely thought this was just going to be a “meet the parents” scenario like any other time in any media you can imagine, had no idea the dumb mortal he’d made a dumb contract with was actually bringing him to likely get insta- killed by an even more POWERFUL demon.

Mum had explained “demon ranks” years ago one time. The memory was very vague, but there was definitely a lot hanging on a demon’s power as well as some kind of title.

And if his Demon Mother could commit feats like stopping a train with just one hand, or put a dent in a heavily armored tank with just one finely dressed shoe, then Ambrose was most certain he/she was a goddamn powerhouse in their own right. And the chances of said powerhouse even KNOWING about his current predicament with this other demon, who likely could NOT do anything like what they could, made surviving this whole day very, very unlikely.

Ambrose almost wished he could fast forward to the “getting killed by Mum” part and just go on with his afterlife..

Oh, but here they were, at the driveway. Nothing looked any different than it had the many million times he’d come back.

And it wasn’t the first time he’d even brought someone new home, either.

It was just.. a few minor differences, like say this one was gonna.. y'know, take his soul at one point (again, if he survived this) and all because he wanted some goddamn demon powers.

His foot slammed on the break halfway through the driveway. There was only a few meters left.. but SOMETHING finally spoke up in his brain and body and did the “hopefully” smart thing!

Eddie slightly jolted in the passenger seat, eyes widening in shock at the sudden halt, when they could tell themselves that they were so close!

“Um, what was that for?”

“We can’t go in.”

“… Why not?”

“Eddie, just trust me. We cannot go in.” Ambrose’s words were coming out sharper, faster. He wasn’t able to move; not even just his eyes to look over at the demon.

“Then why did we even come here, Ambrose?”

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY, I just- I made a dumb choice. I came up with a dumb idea! I do it all the time, Eddie!”

“Ah, Ambrose-”

“I know, I know this looks bad, but listen, you have NO IDEA how bad it REALLY, REALLY IS, EDDIE!”

“Ambrose..”

“I mean it’s SO BAD, I know for a fact that the minute we go up to that door, BEFORE we can EVEN knock on it–”

“AMBROSE!”

“WHAT, EDDIE??”

Ambrose finally snapped his head around to glare at the demon while he seethed and panicked, feeling like this one time his panic was justified in every sense of the word, when.. he finally managed to focus on Eddie, who was staring ahead at something, and merely lifting a hand to point at it. And Eddie himself looked like he now had something to fear, too.

And as Ambrose turned his head again to look up ahead at whatever it was, his brain kind of had already began realizing.

What he’d predicted in his ramble that would happen.. was already beginning before they’d even stepped outside the vehicle itself.

Up ahead and at the end of the fresh, bright green lawn, standing on the front steps in front of the front door, was none other than Sebastian Michaelis.

Standing there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Both youths in the vehicle remained seated, staring back, frozen in place like two little wild creatures that knew, above all else, that a predator was right before them, and it would only take one single movement for the predator to be on them.

The threatening personage standing before them outwardly resembled a mortal man, but Eddie knew the truth that lay beneath the deadly beauty of his exterior. That aura…he hoped in vain that he was mistaken, but there no denying the grim reality. This was another demon, far older and more powerful than he, with a commanding presence that could readily hold sway over lesser spirits. Such indomitable strength…by the nine circles, that demon must be one of the Diabolical Gentry!

“W-why didn’t you tell me that one of your parents belonged to hell’s nobility?” Eddie squeaked out, barely forcing the words from his trembling lips. Ambrose didn’t possess a scrap of demonic power—that was why Eddie had been summoned by his irascible master to begin with. Still, Eddie couldn’t believe that he’d failed to pick up on Ambrose’s heritage. Was he that weak and naïve? Why hadn’t Ambrose trusted him with this secret? However, any hurt and shame that Eddie normally would have felt were promptly supplanted by an overpowering terror. Like all demons, Eddie well knew the taste of fear, the delicious tang it lent to cursed souls, but he’d never truly experienced it himself. This was akin to torture, every fiber of his human body screaming Danger! Danger! even while his consciousness grappled with the fact that there was no escape.

“My family’s too damn complicated,” Ambrose stuttered. His face had gone chalk-white, far exceeding his usual pallor.

The next thing they knew, the car doors were ripped off the automobile, and black tentacles snaked around the two youths. Eddie screamed like a wounded hare as he was hoisted aloft. The other demon’s tentacles tightened around his waist and encircled his arms and legs like manacles before making their way to his throat, choking the young demon with merciless brutality.

The elder demon snarled, flashing their sharp white fangs. “I’ll only ask this once, scum. What the hell is your business with my child?”

Tears of pain sprang to Eddie’s eyes as he glanced furtively at Ambrose, whom the demon had drawn close to himself like a mother hen sheltering her chicks. Wouldn’t revealing their contract be considered a betrayal of his master? Though his false lungs screamed for air, Eddie clenched his teeth and remained silent. If this is to be my final hour, I won’t defile our covenant with my cowardice.

The other demon’s eyes blazed crimson in their fury, and he bent Eddie’s limbs until the bones creaked dangerously. A little more effort on his part, and they’d snap like twigs. “Answer me!”

“J-just t-t-tell him, Eddie!” Ambrose cried, whirling around to face the captive demon. For the first time since he’d made Ambrose’s acquaintance, the white-haired corvus looked panic-stricken. “Don’t hurt him, Mum! Please!!!”

“Mas…ter…” Eddie croaked, grimacing in agony.

The other demon stiffened, and his gaze darted to the white seal on Eddie’s left hand.

“You…contracted…with my son?” he whispered. Somehow, the softness was more far frightening than his earlier roar. Incredulity, horror, anguish, and grief raced across his face in rapid succession.

The demon swiveled his head to look at Ambrose, who shook uncontrollably. “Show it to me.”

Ambrose stood rooted in place.  

“SHOW IT TO ME!!!” the demon roared, his expression contorted in agony. Despite his current predicament, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a measure of sympathy. After all, what parent would want their child to sell their soul to a devil?

Meekly, Ambrose pulled off his right glove and showed the back of his hand to his demonic parent, displaying the seal emblazoned thereon. The boy hung his head, but the demon grabbed him by the chin, staring into those gray eyes as if trying to divine the secrets of a lost language.

“What have you done, kitten?!”

Wheeling around to face Eddie, the demon growled, “Contracts be damned. While I still live, no one will lay a hand on my children. You are vermin, less than nothing, compared to one such as I, and I will end this here and now.”

“NO!!! Leave Eddie alone!!!” Ambrose screamed, struggling helplessly against the tentacles that still bound him.

Just at that moment, two people burst out of the house, presumably summoned by the present commotion. Their attire and dark skin reminded Eddie of the mortals who hailed from East India. One of them was a tall, vigorous man with white hair and a hand swathed in bandages. Eddie instinctively flinched at the power emanating from him…divine power. The other person appeared somewhat younger, closer to Ambrose’s age, with black hair and gentle, carmine eyes. They also sported dark, feathered wings, a little tail, and a small pair of horns, and their aura baffled Eddie. He immediately sensed their demonic energy, but they also bore the same heavenly light as the man did. He’d never met anyone like this. Of course, Eddie’s mind was largely preoccupied with his imminent demise.

“Sebastian, what’s the meaning of this?” the man gasped, staring at the flailing Eddie.

“Mama, please let that demon go!” the younger one begged, clutching at Sebastian’s arm. “We should discuss this peacefully!”

“There is nothing to discuss now except how I will destroy this insignificant little imp of a demon and sever their sorry attempt to steal Ambrose’s soul!”

“MUM, DON’T! PLEASE DON’T!!!”  Ambrose found himself shrieking at the top of his lungs, even as he felt his throat burning, his panic rising to levels so high, he was barely aware of what he was doing when he managed to somehow rip through his mother’s grip on him, and practically tackled the tentacle covered young demon.

“Ambrose’s soul?” Agni repeated quietly, still staring and trying to put everything together, but not having enough time before seeing his youngest son grapple the younger demon along with Sebastian’s tentacles. “By the Gods! Ambrose!” He immediately shouted in alarm, knowing for sure what his husband had been about to do with those tentacles; It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them in action, after all.

Aarushi was covering their mouth in horror, but unable to look away, eyes shrinking to tiny beady red dots.

And Sebastian was snarling even more, looming in on the two now in one spot, his whole form almost all inky black, except for his bared long fangs and his glowing, seething eyes…

“Get off the little wastrel at once, Ambrose.” He commanded in a mildly low simmer, but his voice warping to a deep growl all the same. “We will discuss your idiocy in this in a minute, but for now I have to remove the source.”

Ambrose lifted his head from keeping it resting- no shielding Eddie, and his dark stormy eyes glared up at the elder demon hanging over him, filled with a familiar anger.. a feeling almost close to hatred itself, but not quite. He felt the little demon in his grasp and under the dark inked tentacles start shaking violently. He recalled Eddie bringing up briefly something about sensing others emotions, especially certain ones that stood out the most.. Perhaps like say, whatever the hell it was he was feeling currently.

“No.” He simply snapped out. “I- I will not move until you BACK OFF and let me actually EXPLAIN, Mother! So- So if you wanna rip someone up, you’ll have to take me as well!”

This response immediately had the demon physically jerking back, another snarl leaving his mouth.

Sebastian didn’t speak again for even longer, slit pupils just taking in the entire scene before him of his precious kitten SHIELDING a demon whom he’d agreed to a contract to, thus giving away his SOUL. His LIFE.

It was catching up to him now.. however long Ambrose had known this demon, had been contracted with this demon, their bond had CLEARLY grown in that small window, and now… now….

Ambrose noticed even more tentacles rising, and even the entire front lawn growing dim.. the sun itself had entirely vanished…

Fuck, I’m DEAD. He immediately thought, but all he could do was squeeze the lump he’d been clinging to the past few minutes, wishing he could say something to the demon. Something like “I’m here, I’ve got you” or “I’m so sorry” or maybe something like “It’s been actually nice getting to know you for the past few months… Eddie..”

“Am… brose..?” He heard Eddie hiss out, and cracked open his eyes. Wait.. had he said that last part out loud?? Shit.. WAIT! Ambrose finally noticed the tentacles were GONE and.. he was just hugging EDDIE!!

Ambrose peeked back up at his Mum and the others, and saw once again his mother had returned to his human male form, not just a black inky silhouette anymore.

But that didn’t mean he was any less scary right now.. Oh no, Sebastian was absolutely livid as he still remained in that spot, but with his shoulders up, and his hands curled into such tight fists. His teeth had shrank a bit, but he still bared them all the same, and those eyes… oh nothing had changed about those.

“You wanted to explain, then explain, Ambrose.” Sebastian uttered, voice still quite low.

Now they all stood there on the front steps expectantly; Mum, Dad, and even Goddamned Aarushi, who Ambrose shoulda KNOWN would be visiting here by some fluke as well. After all, Aarushi had no qualms with returning to their family a lot more often than Ambrose…

“Alright.. okay..” Ambrose finally breathed out, and slowly, gradually, pulled away from Eddie, who he was also surprised hadn’t passed out by now.

“Look, a.. couple months ago, after um, having a really.. pretty bad day, I went to a local old book store that had popped up in the area, and just thought of looking around and finding anything to help feel better! That’s all… Then- then I happened upon a book that went like “Various Rituals for Everyday Use” and, I thought- I dunno, I’d just read it for the hell of it!”

As he took a pause, he noticed the various changes in his family’s face… Both Father and Aarushi having looks of surprise and almost fascination, though Aarushi kept that constant look on of concern for their younger sibling in place as well. And Mum was… well, obviously he needed to keep going or else things would just go back to the doom and tentacles again.

“So after going through most of it, I came upon apparently what was some kind of easy, “modern” way to contact a demon with no mess! Y-you know, like with a ritual sacrifice or something..” Ambrose trailed off, losing steam as he recalled certain stories that had similar situations.. BUT he REALLY didn’t want to dwell on that yet! NOT YET!! “All it took was a piece of paper, and writing out why I wanted a demon, and what I wanted from them, and to sign my name in my blood before putting the paper in an open, natural spot. So I went a bit outside town to a nature reserve forest I liked going to, and just put it on a tree stump and waited..”

“A piece of paper.. on a tree stump.. in a forest.” Sebastian was repeating now, eyes trailing off to look out into space while he processed this.

“Ye- Yeah.” Ambrose got out, sort of starting to slouch where he stood as realization took hold on how utterly stupid this all sounded. He then noticed Eddie at his side turn more towards him, looking like he wanted to reach out and touch Ambrose, comfort him while he tried to tell this totally unbelievable story…Just don’t, He tried to telepathically tell him. Just don’t bother, Eddie. I know I’m a dumbass. I’m just trying here.

Seeing his master look so frail and pitiful—so alone—made Eddie want to wrap him up in that human gesture called a “hug.” However, Ambrose’s demeanor and the amalgamation of fear, embarrassment, and anger brewing inside him suggested that this might not be the best strategy. Instead, Eddie shyly moved his left hand toward Ambrose’s right until they were almost (though not quite) touching, and decided to jump in to spare his master further humiliation.

“A-and that’s how I was summoned!” he squeaked, trembling as three pairs of eyes turned towards him. The elder demon (Ambrose’s “mum”) glowered balefully, but the other two (Ambrose’s father and sibling?) looked curious, albeit concerned. “The ritual wasn’t especially potent, but I’m…well, rather weak, so it was enough to help me make the crossing over to the mortal world,” Eddie continued haltingly. “I hadn’t contracted since Queen Victoria’s reign, and I was curious about how much time had passed and what changes had occurred since then. Then I met Ambrose, and he said that he’d brought me here because he wanted demonic power.”

“Oh no, Ambrose!” his sibling cried, bringing their hands to their mouth, tears glistening in their eyes. While visibly distressed, Ambrose’s parents didn’t seem surprised. “Not this again, kitten,” the demon muttered in despair. Eddie blinked, taken aback. It was almost like they’d expected his master to make this specific wish. Ambrose slouched lower, his eyes downcast. Unable to resist the impulse any longer, Eddie grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The corvus shot him a startled look, but he didn’t reprimand Eddie or jerk his hand away. His curmudgeonly tendencies had been subdued by the frightening experience they’d just endured.

“S-so when Ambrose told me his wish, I offered to serve him for as long as he desired,” the young demon stumbled on.

Ambrose’s mother scoffed. “You expect me to believe that there were no other stipulations to this contract of yours?” he spat.

“W-well…um…not really,” Eddie said bashfully. “I haven’t had many contracts, and I want to learn as much I can, experience as much as I can! And serve my master to the best of my abilities and…just have someone to talk to. As I said earlier, I’m not terribly strong, so other demons either pass me by or treat me cruelly.”

The older demon stared at him and shook his head in disbelief. “You truly are an amateur.”

Eddie blushed, and Ambrose scowled. “It’s not his fault, Mum. Eddie’s made some mistakes, but he tries his best!”

Eddie brightened. His master could be dour and gloomy, which made the demon fret that he wasn’t doing a good enough job. But now Ambrose was praising him!

“It’s because he deserves my best!” Eddie blurted out. “My other masters treated me like a thing that they could torment and kick around at whim, or a mindless tool to achieve their wicked goals, but Ambrose made me feel like a person. We’ve watched movies and browsed antiques shops together. He can be cross with me at times, but he’s never laid a hand on me. I love reading to him or just talking to him—he’s awfully clever, I’m sure you know that, bloody brilliant! A-and he gave me presents of my very own! My glasses…and this pocketwatch.”

Fumbling for a moment (as he was still holding on tight to Ambrose’s hand), Eddie removed what had become his most prized possession from his front pocket. The other demon drew in a sharp intake of breath, pain flickering for a moment in those ruby-red eyes.

Oh no. Maybe Eddie shouldn’t have done that. Had he unwittingly accepted a family heirloom from his master?

“Am-ambrose is the best master I’ve ever had,” Eddie plunged ahead, feeling overwhelmed by his devotion to the pale, sad youth and the maelstrom of emotions raging within Ambrose’s soul. “I’d do anything for him, even die for him. It hurts me when I how lost and angry he is, and…and I just want to make him smile!” To Eddie’s bewilderment, his eyes burned with tears. He still wasn’t completely used to inhabiting a human body, and he supposed mortal forms more readily reflected the inner workings of the heart. Ambrose had flushed pink, while the rest of his family gazed at Eddie in silence.

“I know I’ll have to eat his soul whenever he’s finished with me, b-but I don’t want to,” Eddie whispered brokenly. He thought about how Ambrose had tried to shield him from his mother’s wrath. ‘If you wanna rip someone up, you’ll have to take me as well!’ The little demon put his head on Ambrose’s shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. “He’s precious to me.”

“Enough!” the other demon cried, with the same pained, haunted look in his eyes as when he’d seen the pocketwatch.

You didn’t grow attached to your prey. That was one of the cardinal rules by which all demons abided. What point was there in caring for a soul that you would devour? But, against his better judgement, and without being aware of it until it was too late, Sebastian had gotten attached to the deeply wounded but indomitable Earl of Phantomhive. The watch this “Eddie” now had in his possession was a poignant reminder of the vanished past, of the child to whom Sebastian had been not merely butler, but sword, shield, teacher…father.

In a different way, the feeble, naïve imp had apparently bonded with Ambrose, who sat in stunned silence while Eddie wept against his shoulder. Sebastian still wanted to obliterate this demon from existence, but his heart was torn by the grief of which Eddie had gotten a foretaste—the unbearable pain of destroying what you have come to love.

“Moonlight,” Agni’s voice broke the silence eloquently, stepping up to be near his husband again as he enveloped the demon’s clenched fist in his own hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it right there as he looked into his husband’s pained expression, and knew without a doubt exactly what Sebastian was feeling after he too had seen that familiar pocketwatch. “Please, let’s go inside and sit down. We can all discuss this further once we’ve all settled in.” He looked over at the two young men across the way (though the former khansama had an inkling the demon was not always a man), and smiled warmly to them, trying to show as much as he could in the little time he had that he himself welcomed them here no matter what was going on currently. “Perhaps we can serve up some tea as well. You still love my chai tea, right Ambrose? Does your friend drink any as well?”

Ambrose ran a hand back through his hair, taking a deep breath in and then out, trying to will his face to cool down from going so red! “Um, well he usually just makes me the tea and uh, drinks whatever I’m drinking, so.. Eddie?” He asked the other by his side, and after a pause, slightly twitched his shoulder to get the demon’s attention too. He knew Eddie was still aware, but he’d likely become a little overwhelmed after that bout of crying.. And as awkward as it was currently to just stand there and let the demon weep on him, especially after he’d.. basically poured whatever kind of heart he had out in front of Ambrose’s family, Ambrose didn’t want to turn harsh or let his discomfort get to him. No, not this time. He staved it off in favor of just trying to pep the demon up gently.

They were not out of this yet, after all.

Meanwhile, across the way, Aarushi had taken a loud breath out. A sigh of deep relief that their brother was still intact, as well as their new companion. They’d only just MET, after all, and despite the predicament their brother had gotten into, Aarushi wanted to get acquainted with this young demon! It was rare to meet another demon, after all. From all of Aarushi’s knowledge, they were always dangerous, no matter who you were, and it was best to just stay away!

But to meet one around their age or even younger maybe?? That certainly sounded like fun! If… Mama would allow it.. hopefully..

—

While Agni busied himself with preparing the tea, Eddie and the rest of the family seated themselves around the dining room table. Sebastian noted that Eddie was still holding Ambrose’s hand and was tempted to make an acerbic comment, but he decided to let that pass…for now. Ambrose himself looked exhausted to the point of collapse. Parental instinct took over, and Sebastian reached out to smooth his mussed-up hair.

“Mum, you’re embarrassing me,” Ambrose hissed, his face turning blotchy red.

“Sorry, kitten,” Sebastian sighed. It always pained him when his child spurned displays of affection, but the realization that Ambrose’s days might be numbered rubbed salt in the wound.

“Ambrose, you know Mama’s just like that,” Aarushi chided gently. Ambrose rolled his eyes but said no more. In spite of his present anxiety, Sebastian smiled. Ever the peace-maker, little Aaru, truly their father’s child.

Turning to Eddie, Aarushi asked, “What kind of demon are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind,” Eddie stammered, huddling closer to Ambrose. “Um…I suppose I’m what you’d call an imp. One of the lowest ranks. N-no title, or anything of that sort.” The little demon’s gaze darted timidly to Sebastian. Both demons were aware that Eddie was hopelessly outclassed. A few gruesome seconds, and Sebastian could easily remove that contract seal from his kitten’s right hand…

“That’s okay! Titles aren’t everything,” Aarushi said reassuringly. “What really matters is who you choose to be.” Eddie blinked and stared at them—a common reaction to Aarushi’s kindness. Sebastian himself still marveled at having brought such a softhearted child into the world.

Their black wings flapped cheerfully. “Oh! I’ve been so rude! I never actually introduced myself to you. I’m Ambrose’s older sibling, Aarushi,” they chirped. “Father’s human, but the goddess Kali blessed him with her power. Mama’s a demon, as…as I’m sure you figured out by now.” Their bright red eyes fixed Sebastian in a sad, reproachful look. Aarushi abhorred violence, and Sebastian reflected ruefully that they might scold him for his behavior when they were in private.

“Mama and Father met and fell in love while Mama was on contract. Later, they got married and settled down here to raise a family!” Eddie’s mouth formed a surprised little “o.” Such unions were practically unheard of in hell.

“I had no idea!” Eddie exclaimed. “It’s just…Ambrose is mortal, so I naturally assumed…”

Sebastian glanced over and saw a dark scowl twist his younger child’s face. “It’s complicated,” Sebastian interjected smoothly. The story of how Hannah had stripped an infant Ambrose of his demonic powers to save his life remained a painful one, and they had enough troubles with which to contend. Right on cue, Agni emerged, bearing five steaming cups of chai.

In an attempt to change the subject, the demon brought the chitchat to a close. “But enough of that. We need to concentrate on the matter at hand—what to do about this contract.” Agni seated himself next to Sebastian and placed a hand over his. Just having his husband present made the demon relax. They would fix this. He’d been one hell of a butler in his day, and they would fix this.

Sipping his tea, Sebastian’s mind raced through centuries of knowledge on diabolical covenants. “There are a limited number of outcomes that a contract may have, the most common of which involves the demon devouring the contractee’s soul,” he began slowly. His throat closed up on the last words, and pictures of Ambrose’s dismembered, bloodied corpse rose unbidden to his mind. Agni squeezed his hand comfortingly. Have courage. I’m here, the gesture seemed to say. Not wanting the younger demon to sense his distress, Sebastian continued resolutely. “However, Eddie has indicated that he no longer wants Ambrose’s soul for this purpose.”

“No! Never!” the demon shook their head emphatically, gazing at Ambrose with an open adoration that made the young man blush.

“One means of forestalling this outcome is to kill the demon or demons involved, which renders the contract null and void.”

Ambrose’s eyes flashed fire. “Mum…” he growled. At the same time, Agni pleaded, “Now, moonlight…” and Aarushi begged, “But Eddie’s nice, Mama!”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Calm yourselves. I could do so if I wished, but it appears I am outnumbered.”

After a brief silence, Eddie plaintively asked, “What else can be done?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed pensively. “That depends on the phrasing of this particular contract. Do you recall exactly what you and Ambrose said when you formed the covenant?”

“That Eddie would lend me his power for as long as I desired, that he would serve me faithfully to the fullest extent of his abilities, and that he could claim my soul when our contract came to an end,” Ambrose jumped in. Eddie nodded. “Yes, that’s right!”

Relief rushed through Sebastian. He could work with this. Cocking an eyebrow, he remarked, “Kitten, it’s fortunate that you summoned an inexperienced imp. Most of us would never agree to such vague terms. ‘For as long as I desire!’ You could stretch the contract out for the duration of your lifespan!”

Both Eddie and Ambrose looked mortified. “Sheesh. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. Like I said earlier, I’d had a bad day,” Ambrose grumbled. “And how was Eddie supposed to know this stuff?”

“In this case, your blunders might literally be your salvation. We can find a few loopholes, I think,” Sebastian winked. An idea—admittedly, an outlandish one—began to piece itself together.

“Eddie, are you quite sure that you said you would claim Ambrose’s soul when the contract ended? You didn’t include any words that specifically alluded to eating?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Eddie replied.

“You’ve thought of something!” Aarushi exclaimed happily, eyes shining. “I know you have, Mama!”

“It’s risky, but I might have a solution. When demons speak of claiming a soul, it’s generally understood to refer to the act of soul-eating. However, an ancient, much less common use of this phrase describes a ritual in which a human soul is transformed into a demonic entity.”

Everyone around the table froze.

“That’s impossible, Mum,” Ambrose whispered.

“Exceedingly difficult and fraught with risk. Not impossible, kitten,” Sebastian corrected him. “It can be done, but only if various conditions have been met. The human must be allowed to reach the end of their life peacefully, dying of natural causes. Otherwise, the trauma of having the soul ripped from the body will doom the ritual to failure. The human in question must agree to be changed of their own free will. Ideally, their soul should also have some prior connection to us. This is certainly true in Ambrose’s case. In addition to being a contractee, he’s my son, and one of the Matriarchs already had to alter his soul in his infancy.”

“It’s a long story,” he added after seeing the look of curiosity on Eddie’s face.

“I-I don’t think I’m strong enough to complete a ritual like that…” the young demon said apprehensively.

“You don’t have to be. Our family is on good terms with that particular Matriarch, and she’d lend you her power. In fact, a Matriarch’s presence is required for this type of ceremony. They’re the founders of our race, after all, and their brand of magic is crucial. Even then, success won’t be guaranteed, I fear. We’d be interfering with the natural order of things, and there are always consequences to that. Not to mention that other demons might try to foil our efforts if they caught wind of it.”

Sebastian’s eyes burned scarlet with determination. “But I will go to any lengths to save my child, even desperate ones.”

The surprise and awe around the table lingered a little further, only small noises coming forth, such as Aarushi’s audible choked gasp and the soft noise of Agni kissing his husband’s hand once again as he looked only at him with such pride and relief. A look that clearly said “I knew you would think of something.”

And then Ambrose was lifting his head, his chest noticeably rising and falling as well as he took in this plan, and all it implied.

“M… Mum..” He was only able to get out, before a choked sob made it through, and a tear finally visibly rolled down his left cheek. “You… you would… you would l-let me..?”

“Ambrose…” Aarushi was squeaking out now, seeing their brother in such a state immediately affecting them. And instantly Aarushi was getting up to to go to his other side, wrapping arms around him and holding on tight.

And for once the young man didn’t struggle from the sudden hold, his mind and body still locked down as he stared on at his mother, whom he’d stubbornly rebelled against for years, whom he’d run away from within a moment’s notice. A part of him simply wanted to deny it. After all, there WAS so much time between then and now. An entire lifetime of waiting.. an entire lifetime for something else to come up. For his mother to change their mind and hunt them down and sever Eddie to pieces, if the mood hit them.

But across the way, in this strange and rare moment, Ambrose saw and actually felt his demon mother’s tender gaze on him.. Telling him all that the ancient demon felt, and had always felt since his birth.

And once again another sob came out, and Ambrose’s head sunk again, his long white hair coming around to cover his face the lower it dipped.

“Thank you… Mum…” He managed to choke out, “… th-thank you.. so much.”

And then he felt a hand cupping the side of his head, he looked up a little, and saw through his hair a tearful Eddie, as the demon tried to get their beloved master and friend to rest his weary head against them this time.

And Ambrose went without complaint, as the tears and sobs kept coming.

And while that happened, Eddie looked back up at his master’s mother and father over the table, and nodded in agreement with what Ambrose had said. There were no other words, truly, for how grateful he was for getting to stay with his master after all this, and get the chance to change the mistakes they had made, to change fate itself for Ambrose.

—

Ambrose eventually calmed down enough for them to all finish their tea, and Agni suggested that he and Eddie stay the night. “It’s been an eventful day, and you two especially need to rest,” he’d urged. Not to mention the matter of Ambrose’s badly damaged car, but Mum could repair that easily enough. Eddie fetched their suitcases, and Ambrose pointed him in the direction of his room. Turning in the hallway, Ambrose nearly ran into his mother. For a moment, the two stood awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. Ambrose was still trying to process what had happened over the past hour. But he suddenly knew that what he needed more than anything right now was to be held. So he did what he’d refused to do for years on end—hug Sebastian and rest his head against his chest. His mother’s arms were around him in an instant, loving and secure. Ambrose found himself crying again, body wracked with quiet sobs. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, not only for today and the whole muddled business with the contract, but for all the years of anger, bitterness, and resentment he’d put his long-suffering mother through.

“There, there,” his mum replied soothingly, stroking his hair with a trembling hand. Impulsively, he clutched Ambrose tighter. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have been that vicious, but you scared the hell out of me, Ambrose. When I saw that seal, the only thing I could think of was that I was going to lose you—"

He broke off, burying his face in Ambrose’s hair. “Watching one of my kittens suffer such a fate is more than I can bear,” his mother whispered.

“But all I’ve ever done is b-be mean and ungrateful…and push you away.”

“You’re still my child, kitten. I’ll always love you, no matter how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you!” Looking up with tearful eyes, Ambrose stammered, “I-I love you too, Mum.” His mother’s eyes widened (normally, Ambrose would rather die a slow and painful death than say anything of this sort) before the demon started to purr and gently kissed the top of his head.

Eddie’s voice drifted down the hall. “Ambrose! Are you coming?”

“Just a minute!” Ambrose yelled over his shoulder, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“I’d best let you go before your demon gets worried,” Mum smiled, smoothing Ambrose’s hair back into place. This time, Ambrose let him.

“You’re sure you’re all right, dear?” Mum asked fretfully as Ambrose turned to go to his room.

“Yeah,” Ambrose replied. To his shock, he found himself smiling, and he felt more content than he had in years or…ever, really. “I think I am.”

[daebakinc]

I Still - Pt 2

Pairing: Jimin x Reader/OC Genre: Fairytale AU, Angst, Romance Word Count: 3.9K Summary: Jimin’s punishment for offending a goddess is confinement to the Garden of Loneliness. Doomed to spend all eternity there, alone and hidden behind a mask, only Fate herself can intervene to aid his redemption discover him: his one true love. A/N: Inspired by The Untold Truth by BTS. Parts: Prologue, 1

All the books you had read could not have prepared you. Nor all the love songs ever sung, nor the stories of true love told by the generations. No human creation could ever encompass or convey the spark of power held in a single kiss. That simple press of soft lips against soft lips set a tingle through your nerves, set them ablaze. If one could drink lightning, you imagined it would still pale in comparison. You felt alive.

Although you had never kissed a man in your life, you knew you were ruined for any other. Although you did not know him, did not even know his face, you knew this man was as much yours as the ruins you found him in. There was no other truth in the world but this.

            As suddenly as he kissed you, Jimin pulled away as if torn from you. His chest labored to rise and fall and those miserable eyes held only shock. You could only imagine your face held some kind of the same dazed look. How else could one look when their world was turned on its head, never to return to the ignorant innocence of how it once was.

            “I-” his tongue flicked out of his mouth to lick his lips, “I always know her creations. They’re cold. They have no warmth. But you…”

            Your hand reached up to graze your quivering lips. How could a single kiss affect you both so? Was it the magic of this place or something more? You leaned against the tower, your legs too weak to hold you upright any longer.

            Jimin stepped closer again. His voice was unsteady with wonder. “You… you are warm. You are human, are you not?”

            You nodded.

Jimin yanked you from the tower to enfold you in his arms. The mask was cold against your shoulder where your cloak had slipped to expose it. Jimin pressed his face closer, all but burying it in your skin as a child does to his mother’s in the wake of a nightmare. Without conscious thought, your hands found his back, anchoring him against you. As your mother did when she still showed you tenderness, you ran your fingers delicately up and down his back. Slow strokes to draw the trembling from his skin and the desolation from his heart.

For how could there not be when he clung to you so after learning you were a daughter of Eve. How long had Jimin been alone for him to react as if you were the dearest person in his heart? How long had he been tormented by the silence and an isolation so complete it would starve the soul and reduce the mind to the delirium of speaking of thousands of years and inhuman creatures of cold?

“Jimin,” you whispered. “Who did this to you?”

When he did not answer or stir, you shifted to try to see his eyes. Jimin’s grip tightened, an animal whimper escaping his lips.

“I’m not leaving, I promise. But Jimin, who did this? They must be punished—”

“No.” Jimin stumbled away from you. His eyes were wild, holding the same mindless panic of a spooked horse. “We cannot speak her name! She must not find you here! She will punish us both! Go!”

You reached out to him, your own heart infected with Jimin’s palpable terror. “Jimin, what—”

“Go!” Jimin scrabbled at your shoulders, pushing you towards the outer wall. “However you came, go back! Do not return! Leave before she finds us!”

“Who?” you shouted back, whipping around.

But all you saw is Jimin’s back as he fled into the tower, melting through the wall of sand.

“Wait!” When you tried to follow, the tower wall rebuffed you, solid as the stone surrounding it. “Jimin!”

The window at the top of the tower remained dark and not a sound but your own breath and heart broke the stillness. No rush of storm or attack heralded the immediate coming of that or who Jimin so dreaded. Indeed, all was just as it was in all its strangeness.

You circled the tower, searching with your hands and eyes for another entrance, but it remained as obstinate as you. No door or window appeared, no weakness beneath the churning sand. The mystery of the man and this place did not allow you to give up so easily, but even though its golden threads had not pierced the sky, dawn had to be fast approaching. You had to return; the penalty for being caught out of bed during hours no respectful lady would be about would be confinement to your room for a week. More if your parents were not in a forgiving mood.

Stepping away from the tower, you shouted, “I will be back tomorrow! I’m not afraid of anyone!”

The door into the tower was just as you left it. As you crossed over its threshold, you looked back over your shoulder. The unearthly flowers still glowed, the tower and statues still stood. You could not hope dearly enough that it was not all a dream.

“I’ll be back,” you promised yourself. You would.

Cutting two strips from your petticoat after you closed the door, you tied one to the handle. The second went around a bough of wisteria above the door. In such a place, you could not be sure if it would let you find the door twice unaided.

With quick steps, you raced back through the forest and into the village. It was as you left it with not a soul awake or about. The hearth was still cold, not yet awoken from its sleep to provide the meals of the day, when you passed it. You hid your clothes beneath your bed, slipped your discarded nightgown over your head, and crawled into bed. As you rolled over to settle in for the few hours of sleep you could steal, you glanced out the window. And froze.

The moon should have been sinking below the horizon in meek deference to the day. But she had not moved. She still hung high in her nightly reign, scarcely moved since you escaped your home. As if time had stood still the entire time you were in the garden.

Goosebumps crept across your skin despite the down blanket cocooning you. Jimin’s words arise and ring in your mind.

The door was sealed thousands of years ago. As I cannot leave, no one may come unless by her will….

Could you truly have encountered… magic?

 The ghost of Jimin’s kiss lingered on your lips when morning finally came, Sleep having withheld her blessings. Yet you could scarcely believe it to be real for magic did not exist in the world. Not in yours…

You waited until your father had ridden to his office and your mother went to call on the other town matrons to enter the kitchen. After your mother had deemed you no longer a child and instead a young lady, it was forbidden territory. No need for gentry to mingle with the help. In fact, quite the opposite.

But you preferred it to any other room in the house. Herbs hanging from the rafters and lemon water used to clean filled the air with a welcoming earthy smell, the kind that instantly sets all hearts at ease. There was no fussiness, nothing that had to be kept clean and polished and perfect. Everything had its place and function, beautiful in its simplicity and value.

When you were younger, you played under the table, pretending to be a hungry dragon, kept at bay only by the sweet scraps slipped to you. The stool is where you sat with a cup of tea, sniffling as your scraped knees were tended to. To you, it is everything a home should be.

In the center of it was Noemi. Your nursemaid, your teacher, your mother more than the woman who bore you. Although you were now too old for a nursemaid, she had been retained as cook and head of household. She was the one who asked after your day, encouraged your zest, showed you what love could be. One of the very few.

            “Not even midday and you look like a nymph,” Noemi smiled, waving a flour covered hand to wave you over. She wiped her hand on her apron before gently plucking at your hair. “Wisteria? I didn’t see you go out into the garden.”

            “I walked around the house,” you lied, eyes on the purple petals in her hand.

So last night might not have been a dream. The tower in the garden… the man in the mask… Jimin… the kiss.

            “Unescorted?”

            You rolled your eyes at the teasing twitch in Noemi’s smile. Sitting at the table, you carefully avoided the flour and took an apple slice from a bowl. “I don’t need someone to escort me around the garden within my own walls. Mother’s being ridiculous.”

            “She’s just worried about you looking the part of a proper lady so you can make a match. I’ve heard tell your father is looking about for one for you.”

            “He can look all he likes, but there’s no one around here rich enough for him. I’ll end up an old maid.”

The apple started to taste sour in your mouth. Other girls your age were already wedded and bedded with flocks of children, this you knew. But you had far better plans, much more to do before you were willing to be tied to a man, let alone one you did not love.

To change the topic, you asked, “Noemi, do you know of any stories about a man cursed to live in a tower for eternity?”

The older woman did not stop kneading the pie dough. “You devoured my myths when you were younger, but what has you interested in them again all of a sudden?”

“No reason. Simply an odd dream I had.”

Noemi paused thoughtfully. “A man locked away in a tower. Now that’s not the sort of thing you hear every day. I can’t say I have heard of it.”

“Oh. Well, it was only a dream.”

 That night, you ran faster than you had ever before to your ruins. They appeared unchanged, giving no indications anything had happened the night before. No tiny bejeweled bird darted from the flowers and vines as you tiptoed around the central enclosure. At the bend, you hesitated with your toe just out of reach of the moonbeams. Your heart pounded, dropped into your stomach. You could not tell which caused its unease: the possibility you had indeed dreamed a fantastical dream, or that that dream was an actuality.

You stepped forward, turned your head, and there they were. Your two strips of petticoat marking the door to the garden. The Garden of Loneliness, Jimin had called it.

Your fingers trembled as they wrapped around the handle. Dangerous hope wound tight round your chest. What if the door would not open? What if the space beyond was a normal garden and the tower within a decaying ruin like the rest? What if Jimin was not…

The door swung open on its own, pulling you along with it, deeming your spiraling thoughts intolerable and making the decision for you.

Just as the night before, the same sight greeted you. A blanket of flowers shining with their own light surrounding ghostly statues and in the center of it all, the tower of sand. But tonight, a light was in the high window. Your heart jumped involuntarily. He was there.

The light moved then faded, like a lantern being lifted and carried away.

You jumped behind a battered statue of a youth with a billowing cloak, pressing to its chilled side, and waited.

An arch opened in the tower, sand peeling away in a curtain of diamonds. Jimin, clothed and masked as he was before, stepped out into the moonlight. You stopped breathing, worried the sound would give you away.

A little longer, you would wait. You needed to speak with him, find the answers to the questions that slept like hot coals in your soul. But if he ran away again, you might not have the chance.

“Goddess?” Jimin called.

You ducked your head in alarm. He had seen you.

Looking down, you searched for the stray edge of cloak or dress that gave you away. You saw none. You were completely hidden behind the expanse of the statue.

“I know you can hear me,” he said, his voice roughening with impatience. “Goddess!”

His bootsteps moved away from you. You risked a peek around the statue’s shoulder.

Jimin stood on the edge of the garden in a patch of open grass just large enough for his feet. He was looking up at the wall, or perhaps up at the muted heavens.

“Is this some new trick of yours? Making me dream you sent love to me at last? Is it?”

He grasped at the vines that formed a mass of woven branches stretching towards the sky. Against your bated breath, they held his weight.

Jimin called to the goddess again as he climbed. It was not a cry of devotion or supplication. His voice dared demand an answer from the gods, cracking in its anguish.

You dared not move from your place even as Jimin climbed higher and higher, beyond the height of his tower.

“Goddess, you have taken everything from me! I have nothing left!” Jimin screamed, sobs choking his words that plummeted down to your ears. “Why can’t you just let me die?”

He reached for the topmost vine that curled over the wall in its escape from the garden. It broke as his fingers closed around it. Jimin fell, his cloak billowing beneath him like the useless wings of a silenced songbird shot down from its perch.

Heart in your stomach, your feet ran though you knew you were not fast enough. “Jimin!”

He landed with a nauseating thump in a thick bed of roses. The flowers’ heavy perfume burst to life in the air and their delicate petals had not yet finished alighting on Jimin’s body when you crashed to your knees beside him.

He could not be dead. Yet he laid unmoving and noiseless.

Careless of the thorns that pricked your skin through your skirts, you moved closer. Your hands fluttered over his chest, useless in your hesitation to cause him pain. “Jimin? Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes were closed beneath his mask that miraculously remained on his face. But as you reached to remove it, his lips moved.

“What?” You leaned your ear to his mouth, holding your breath in the hope of feeling his on your skin.

“It did not work,” he murmured. “She still keeps me here.”

“The Goddess?”

Jimin’s eyes bolted open. They fixed upon yours that were so close. His eyes reminded you of earrings of tiger’s eye stone you saw in a traveling market. The darkest of umbers streaked with flecks of unearthly copper like captured stars.

“You?” Jimin scrambled away. He stood, quaking. You prayed he wouldn’t leave again. “You… came back? How?”

“I said I would. I walked through the door on my own two feet as I did last time,” you replied. You sat still as you would when approaching a wild animal despite the trepidation in your own legs fighting to make them flee. You saw people die from falls a third the height, yet Jimin lives. “How can you be standing right now? You fell…”

“I cannot die,” Jimin said, bitterness weighing down his voice. “I could fall from that same height a thousand times and not suffer the least injury. I am cursed with immortality.”

            “That’s impossible.”

            “You saw with your own eyes. I do not lie.”

“Magic, or whatever this is, doesn’t exist!”

Jimin laughed and spread his arms. “This place does not exist! The Garden of Loneliness exists outside of Time itself. It has no anchor to anywhere in the earthly world.”

“Then how did I get here twice?” you retorted.

His lips pursed and his gaze lowered. “I don’t know. It should be impossible.”

You rose to your feet, but Jimin did not notice. His eyes seemed fixed on the roses. You looked down and sprung back with a racing heart.

Where they had been flattened by Jimin’s body, the flowers grew straight and whole without a petal missing. Perfect.

“Did you do that?” you asked, thankful your voice did not shake.

“No. Things don’t change here. Watch.”

He snapped a rose’s head from its stem and as you watched, a new rose grew, the exact twin of the one pillowed in Jimin’s palm. Your lungs could not remember to breathe. An illusion, your mind said, but the pain of the rose’s scratches on your legs and hands prickled unlike any dream injury you could remember.

“Nothing changes, nothing dies,” Jimin said softly. “From inside this tower, I watched my friends, my family, age and grow gray with it, and die. I watched them live. They laughed and wept, found new families and friends. Without me. All without me while I stayed here unchanged and alone.”

Common sense told you to run from this madman, but you did not move. “Who are you?”

He dropped the rose and met your eyes. “I told you. I am Park Jimin. I am the man foolish enough to deny the Goddess of love and thus condemned by her to a life without love of any kind in the Garden of Loneliness for all eternity. After all you have seen, do you doubt me still?”

            Words desert your dry mouth and leave your tongue heavy. Be practical, do not believe in the fantastical for it cannot be true: that is the lesson beaten into your being with word and hand. Dreams and magic of all kinds are for silly children. And you were not to be one.

            But here magic was standing before you, surrounding you. Wonder at your fingertips if you only extended your hand to touch Jimin. It invited you to believe as you so wanted to in your most secret of hearts. The same heart that clutched to the memory of Jimin’s kiss with the fierceness of a lioness.

            In their dark recesses, Jimin’s eyes begged you to believe in him as well.

            Jimin’s gaze dropped to your hands held tightly together in front of you. His mouth popped open. “You bleed.”

            You looked down to find droplets of blood, robbed of their scarlet color by the night, trickling down the backs of your hands. One drop traveled to the tip of your ring finger, hung, then fell to the grass. It landed on one of the flowers, a dark spot on the glowing petal. A breeze like a sigh drifted through the garden.

            Jimin’s eyes went to the sky, scanning the stars like a rabbit inching from the bushes searches for the hawk. He darted closer to you and drew a handkerchief from his cloak, rending it in half. Rings of twisted silver twinkled on his fingers as he wound the fabric round your hands.

            “You should go,” he whispered urgently. “I do not know why the Goddess has not come, but if she does and finds you, she will kill you.”

            “She did not come last night and I see no goddess now,” you replied. The tiny sparks flowing from your hands whenever Jimin’s fingers brush your skin emboldened you. Goddess or no, he was yours. “Come with me. Out of this place.”

            Shadowed by the mask, you could not see his eyes, but his tone was final. “I told you I cannot leave.”

            “You also said no one could enter.”

            Denying him the time to counter, you wrapped your hand around one of his and ran towards the open door. Blood roared in your ears with the unknown as you neared it. Elation sang in your bones with your first foot over the threshold.

            Then it shattered when an invisible force wrenched your body to a halt. You turned. Jimin still stood in the garden, those tiger eyes blank in their resignation. No. You did not admit defeat so easily. Gripping your own wrist with your other hand, you pulled and heaved with your heels digging into the soft earth. Praying to whoever heard, you willed Jimin through the door, saw him walking with you on the road to the village and his freedom.

            “It’s no use,” Jimin said when you at last gulped for air after wiping the sweat from your forehead, muscles weak from fruitless exertion. “See?”

            He pointed behind him.

            You followed his finger. A delicate rope of silver that began within the tower of sand stretched taught through the air. It ended in a loop tight around Jimin’s ankle like a suffocating snake. How you had not noticed it before escaped you.

            “That?” you panted. If that was all…“I’ll make short work of that.”

            No barrier thwarted your reentry into the garden. Still clasping Jimin’s hand, you knelt at his feet and pulled your pruning knife from your skirt pocket. You trapped one end of the rope beneath your foot and with a practiced movement, slid the knife beneath it and jerked the knife upward. The rope caught on the curved tip of the knife and snapped.

            Warm with triumph, you smiled up at Jimin. A corner of his mouth lifted upward in a sad cousin of yours. He shook his head. You looked back down and cold drenched you.

            Just as the revived rose, the rope shackling Jimin to his prison was once again whole.

            “No.”

You cut again, and again, and again, hacking at it with movements driven wilder and wilder with each frustration until you threw your knife with an infuriated cry.

“It isn’t your fault,” Jimin said soothingly. Beneath the sudden tenderness was an ancient defeated submission, the kind that destroys the hearts of the strongest and those who witness it. “What are the powers of a human compared to the enchantments of the gods? Go. Forget this place and live.”

Forget me, his silent words said. Forget me as all others have while I always remember you.

Jimin’s grip on your hands loosened. But you did not allow him. You gripped his hands tighter and straightened so quickly you forced him to take a step back.

“I won’t forget you, Park Jimin,” you proclaimed passionately, staring into his widened eyes. “I will come back every night—”

“You cannot—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I cannot do.” Too many people dictated your actions in the past, but not in this. You refuse. “I don’t care what god or goddess keeps you here. I will come back every night until I determine how to free you from this place. I promise!”

            Jimin stared at you like you were a creature he had never seen before and one he did not know if he should be glad or feared of. For all that his face is hidden behind the vacant white of his mask, you saw the struggle in the tightness of his mouth and the storms in his eyes. The punishment of a god battling one of the most treacherous forces known to man: hope.

His hand hovered over yours before lightly laying on top of it. Hesitantly, he brought them to his lips and branded your fingers with his second kiss. “Come again tomorrow. If she does not strike you down then, perhaps she truly has forgotten this place... and me.”

[chaoticrice]

WIP

YO I FEEL GENEROUS TONIGHT, SO HERE IS THE ENTIRE OPENING SCENE FROM “THE BURDEN OF RULE”

Here ya go Riley @skystones

He was aboard the Bahamut.

People were dying just outside – in the sky above Rabanastre. They were soldiers – husbands, fathers, sons and brothers. They were merely defending the lives of the innocent people in the city below – they did not deserve this. Larsa knew that.

There beside him all day was his brother, Vayne. He was tall, and strong and dignified. He was fierce, yet calm and collected. He was a military genius and he commanded respect. As far as Larsa could remember, he had always admired his brother greatly.

Until today. And as the airships outside fell and crumbled into nothing, so too did any admiration Larsa had left for his brother.

His heart ached. Another airship fell from the sky. How many more people had to die today? Why must he be forced to sit here and watch these people suffer from the safety of the Bahamut?

He had to do something. But he was not the Emperor, as Vayne was. However, he was there with him. He could try to persuade him to stop the senseless killings, to end the war right then and there. So he tried – but Vayne would not heed him. Larsa had never felt so powerless – and he hated it. He was always taught that words were powerful, but now his words meant nothing to Vayne. And as he continued to ask Vayne to stop the war, he both felt and heard his voice fade into nothing. And even though his lips moved and his throat ached from screaming, his voice was completely muted – it was useless.

All he could do now was slow down his breathing.

He could hear the sounds of war through the walls of the Bahamut. The sounds of airships shooting, crashing – and he could even hear the screams of the soldiers who fell off those ships. But now, over the sounds of death, he could hear his brother’s voice.

“Observe well, Larsa,” and as Vayne spoke, the calm expression in his eyes faded away, and was replaced with ferocity, “Watch and mark you the suffering of one who must rule, yet lacks the power.”

It was a warning, Larsa knew – one that was directed only at him. Should he become Emperor, and should he fail to lead his people…

But he didn’t have time to think on that now, as he saw the Princess Ashe of Dalmasca and her party approach them.

Vayne continued to speak. “Such a woman is not fit to bear the burden of rule. Weep for Dalmasca, for she is lost!” Larsa looked up at Vayne, and no longer saw his brother. He saw eyes looking back at him – eyes that glowed red. And when Vayne spoke to him with no emotion, Larsa felt what was last of anything human in his brother leave his soul. “What of you, my dear little brother? Are you fit to bear the burden of rule? As I weep for Dalmasca and their powerless Queen, should I too, then, weep for Archadia’s future?”

This was not right, Larsa thought as he began to panic, his breath quickening. This was not how it happened. None of this was right – neither his brothers words, nor the pure feeling of fear in the pit of his stomach. In this moment, he was supposed to cast his fear aside and fight his brother. Instead, he was allowing his fear to fester, and soon it spread from his stomach to his heart, and it spread until it consumed his entire being.

 He turned around and ran.

He ran faster than he ever had before, the world blurring around him into a sea of red light. His breathing became heavier, and his quickened heartbeat echoed in his ear. There wasn’t enough air to breathe, and there wasn’t enough distance he could put between himself and his brother.

Larsa awakened gasping for air. His heart and lungs had led him out of his dream and into reality. He sat up, and allowed his breathing to slow down.

But that was no dream, he thought, as he felt beads of sweat run down the sides of his face and onto his neck. It was a nightmare – the third one this week.

As his nightmare quickly began to fade from his memory, one thing remained ingrained into his mind: the echo of his late brother’s last words.

“Are you fit to bear the burden of rule?”

It was then that he noticed the pain in his head. Pounding since the day before, his headache was relentless, and it engulfed the entire left hemisphere of his skull.

He heard a firm, yet gentle knock on the door, followed by a deep, muffled voice. “Are you awake my lord?” Larsa recognized the voice as Basch’s.

Larsa had asked him long ago to please call him by his name – but unfortunately for Larsa, Basch was a fan of formality.  With unwavering fealty, Basch had been serving as his Judge Magister for five years now. However, he was more than Larsa’s personal guard, and he was more than a commander of the military – he was family. The closest Larsa had, as there was no one else in Ivalice who bore the blood of House Solidor.

“Yes,” Larsa called, “You may come in.”

The door opened and Basch entered the room in full armor – the sounds of the metal clinked, filling the still air with each step he took. He removed his helmet, revealing a warm smile – Basch loved mornings. “Did you sleep well?”

Larsa wanted to say yes. He wanted it to be true – but it simply wasn’t. In fact, he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep all week. And with the constant pounding in his head, he didn’t have the strength or patience to tell his usual white lie. He brought his hand to his left temple and attempted to ease his head pain with a gentle massage. “I am afraid not,” he admitted.

Basch’s smile had fallen to a look of concern. “I am sorry to hear that.” He looked down at a white envelope he held in his hand. “But perhaps – this will lift your spirits.” He walked over to Larsa and handed it to him.

Upon taking it, Larsa immediately recognized the Queen of Dalmasca’s seal- but once he opened the envelope and pulled out its contents – a letter – he knew it was not from Ashe. He recognized the soft, rounded ink strokes as Penelo’s handwriting.

But before he could begin reading, Basch had one more thing to say. “Just a reminder: your meeting with the Senate leaders will begin shortly. I will wait for you outside.”

“Thank you, Basch.” Larsa’s voice was still soft from sleep. He was truly grateful for all Basch did for him – especially now with his pounding head. He gave him a small smile, and as Basch took his leave, Larsa began to read the letter.

 Dear Larsa,

How are you these days? I overheard Archadian sky pirates spreading rumors that you are falling ill, but I know it isn’t true; you are one of the strongest people I know.

Anyway, today I am not writing to catch up. Ashe has assigned me to invite you to her twenty-fifth birthday celebration at the end of this week.

I know you are busy, and have been for the past five years (understandably so!), but it would be nice to see you again. My troupe will be performing a new routine in honor of the Queen. It should be our best performance yet!

I hope all is well with you. You are my best friend; please don’t forget that. If those rumors are true: please take care of yourself.

Your friend who misses you,

Penelo

Larsa’s lips curved into a tired, yet sincere smile. Penelo’s words warmed his heart – they always did. He hoped he had been able to do the same for her.

Guilt struck him like a blade to the heart. Had he really been neglecting his friendship with Penelo?

It had been nearly three years since he last saw her – at Ashe’s party as well. He had been invited every year, and he attended the first two. But every year after that, he had been far too consumed in his country to leave it. The reconstruction, expansion, and integration of Old Archades was a task far more overwhelming than Larsa could ever have imagined. The bill barely passed into law – a narrow victory with the Senate’s final vote at 14 – 11 in favor of the bill. Despite its status as a new district being passed into law, and its new name given - the district of Orbon - there were those who still saw it as Old Archades. To the Gentry of Tsenoble, Orbon was a district designated for the poor, and they wanted nothing to do with it.

There was still so much classism – so much classism, entitlement, stubbornness and materialism – and Larsa was losing his patience for all of it.

For the past five years since he received the title of Emperor, Larsa had worked tirelessly day and night to bring this new district to the capital – all while helping Ashe with the reconstruction of Dalmasca – and there was still so much work to do.

He supposed this was exactly why, after the war, he and Ashe decided to form the Council of Ivalice: a gathering of world leaders and ambassadors that met every year in hopes of promoting and maintaining peace. The meetings served as a time when he could learn from people from all over Ivalice, but once a year wasn’t enough for him – not when he was still so young, and there was still much for him to learn.

Larsa took a deep breath and exhaled a heavy sigh that relieved only a small fraction of the figurative weight he felt on his shoulders. He looked over Penelo’s words once more, and took them to heart. He gazed out the window to his left and saw a clear blue sky, and it reminded him of Dalmasca.

“Perhaps I overburden myself,” he thought out loud. He had been doing a lot of his thinking out loud lately – it was the only way any thought could stand out amongst the hoard of ideas, worries, plans, and regrets that crowded his mind every day. “But there is far too much progress to be made, if I am to build a better world.” His words reached no one’s ears but his own, and now more than ever before, he wished his friend was here to hear them.

He felt a sense of calmness as he gazed into the soft blue of the summer sky, and it was then he understood how someone could choose to live a life as a sky pirate – sometimes he wished he could just fly away from it all too.

But he couldn’t. He had that meeting with the Senate leaders to attend – one that he had been anticipating for months now. He wasn’t going to let anything stop him from introducing this next bill – not even this damned. Pounding. Headache.

[elsewhereuniversity]

The Plumber

When a pipe in the middle of campus bursts, it causes a significant problem for a number of students. They have classes on the other side of the sidewalks that are currently awash in running water three times wider than the sprinkler overflow. And annoyingly enough, it’s a water main. So it’s not just three or four sidewalks covered, but half the campus is cut off from the dorms and other buildings. The grass is swimming in it, and the water is coming out just fast enough that it flows there too, like a swamp. There’s a significant portion of faculty that can’t cross, either, and there’s a general, heavy feeling of unease as those who can cross the water begin to realize the friend they were walking with is stopped just before it. Stuck.

She isn’t called.

But sometime around lunch, when the crowded cafeteria is even more packed than usual thanks to people who can’t go back to their dorms, a big, unmarked truck pulls into the parking lot, and a woman climbs out of the driver’s seat. She opens the back on an array of tools, a number of which she puts in a bucket, and a few of which she puts on her shoulder before, without being told, she wades into the now-four-inches-deep water and follows it to its source.

Trailing on her heels is something that is not a dog. The Gentry know it is not a dog, and clear a path for the mortal woman it accompanies without having to be told. Ignoring, deliberately, that she comes only with a ring of steel, wrenches of aluminum, and not an ounce of salt to be found on her person.

A student that sees it go by remembers a voice, lost now, whispering in their ear “It’s a dog today” and hurries into a building out of its line of sight.

The Plumber surveys the damage, the water six inches deep here where the break is, and sighs.

“Water,” she tells the crowd, “Is not going to be available to that half of campus,” she points to the dorms, “until this is fixed. I’ll have to shut it off. No showers, don’t use the toilets.”

She knows the word will get to where it needs to go, and moves off to find the shutoff with the Not-A-Dog trotting at her side. He helps her dig out the pipe itself, because she didn’t bring a digger or any heavy equipment, and she thanks him with a scratch behind the ears and a kiss on the nose.

After, she swears, blistering the air almost visibly, when the problem comes to light. It reminds the watchers that she wasn’t called. She’s simply shown up where she’s needed, because this is a thick pipe; an old pipe. It’s been eaten away by time, cracked, and collapsed, and a fairly large section of it is unsalvageable. She’s going to have to cut it out.

That brings a few more almost familiar curses to light where They flinch, knowing too-well where she learned them, and with whom she walks.

Somehow, one of the Geology Lab’s rock-cutters is in her bucket of tools. It makes cutting out the ruined section of pipe much faster, and she doesn’t question it. She measures, swears, cuts, and all the while the crowd, standing around in almost-stagnant water, inches a little closer and a little closer.

The Hound is not at her side anymore, but two iron necklaces she did not arrive with dangle out of the front of her plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up as she kneels in the mud with a new section of pipe. She’ll have to weld it in place; she’s not looking forward to it. It’s going to be long and arduous, since the grass and soil are soggy with oversaturation of water and the pipe won’t heat up fast or evenly.

She snarls at the folk that have crowded so close she can feel the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck prickling.

“I swear on my favorite hacksaw if y’all don’t back out of my personal space, I will turn the water main back on and leave it like this until ya can get some OTHER plumber out here. An’ I will take my pipe with me! I’m not going to weld this in place when I could burn any one’a ya from proximity alone!”

Harming the Gentry, even by accident, is a debt she is not stupid enough to accrue, and her words are an oath. They curl on the air no different than the vulgar language before.

Between that and her companion, it works.

The crowd draws back enough that she can dig out her tools. There’s a high-power blowtorch that definitely does not belong to her and isn’t the one she brought out here, a welding mask that is hers, and a protective garment. It deflects the sparks from the metal bands she’s using as solder on the new pipe before they even touch her bare forearms, and it vibrates on a frequency that makes the watchers squirm.

When she finishes the tools and garment are put in the bucket; she turns the water main back on, checks her work, and turns it off. There’s a section just thin enough to develop a slow, minor leak; the kind that, over time, could grow into another situation just like this one. So she reapplies the heat, and a little extra metal.

It’s not elegant, but…

Later, once she’s cleaned up some, and removed one of the two iron necklaces, she tells a staff member that she knows is old enough to be her great-great grandmother, no matter how young she appears, “Best thing would be to replace all the ground piping within the next few years, as you’re able. This here is a fix that’ll last, but over the next decade or so all the bigger pipes in the ground are going to do this, because they’re so old. The soil is just a touch acidic. Just enough to ruin all the pipes after a couple hundred years. Just enough to cause a commotion and inconvenience like this often enough to be troublesome.”

The staff member nods gravely. “I understand. The board will hear this professional evaluation.”

She nods back, a touch sharply, and gathers up her bucket of tools, that contains only her tools that she brought with her and nothing else, and her wrenches and her shovel.

Another staff member asks, “When can we expect your bill?”

He must be New.

“I’ll drop by in about a week,” she replies. “My professional guarantee is that anything missed in the initial inspection that crops up in the first week, I will fix without additional charge. Anything new that happens will be a separate bill, provided it’s unrelated to the work I’ve done previously or it happens more than eight days after a job is complete. If this pipe acts up again, or the welding job comes loose, call me back. You have my number.”

And someone does, they realize, they have her card in their pocket, but there is no name on the card, only ‘Plumber’ hand written where the business name should be printed; in ink that gives off a faint copper scent. And sulfur.

She cups a hand around her mouth and whistles, the sound carrying unnaturally over the campus. By the time she gets back to her truck and loads up her tools, the Not-A-Dog is in the front seat, panting gleefully. The tongue hanging out of his mouth is tinted an unnatural shade of blue. He also has blue markings on his shoulders and sharp horns that stick up between his ears.

“You had fun,” she tells him as she slides her aluminum wrenches next to the cast-iron Empress that she did not dare bring in case someone took offense. “But that has got to go. It’s not coming home with us.”

A pile of what looks like rags is between his forepaws on the seat, but one is black as tar and leaving an oily residue on her leather seat. Her Hound whines plaintively, ears dropping back in his best doggy pout.

“No. Ya don’t have to give it back, but I won’t have it in the house. Not with that much crud on it. I’m not gonna tolerate another little monster running about bursting copper piping in the basement. It cost me three thousand dollars and a week to fix the damage last time.”

He lowers his head and huffs, tail swishing petulantly as he snorts and picks it up in his teeth reluctantly. The other ‘rags’ seem to repel the dark drops that roll off of it, and the Plumber wrinkles her nose.

“If ya really MUST keep that one in particular, yer gonna have to seal it in yer box. I’m not kidding about that crud, having it manifest a sentience and tear our house apart once was quite enough for me.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

The Hound snorts again, dropping it back to the pile.

“Alright.”

As the truck drives away, the Hound’s head sticks out of the window and his long blue tongue flaps in the wind. The folk of Elsewhere University breathe a bit, relaxing, and the earth quivers as a channel digs itself to drain the water into the river. The campus is once again accessible to all, and the staff members pass around the card of the Plumber, muttering.

Who was going to negotiate for her price? And more… who was willing to deal with Him to pay her?

[x]

I love this for a lot of reasons and not least is the implication that the pipes are hundreds of years old despite the university sitting at not quite 150 - more time passes underhill than above it and it makes so much sense this goes for pipes and other structures as well as students brought below.

[nadiaofazeroth]

The Gift

Even when the world is scrambling to save itself, Nadia is determined to give the best presents...

Dear Jeanne & Anduin...

Or is it just King and Queen now? Has fate brought us to a point where we must be formal with one another?

I suppose we may never know.

Nevertheless, I hope that this second and final gift of mine finds its way into your hands as soon as possible. I know it’s a lot, but so is the amount of friendship and kindness the two of you have shown me over the years. Some day, maybe, I might be able to address you as my kin.

But until that day comes, if it ever does, please accept this wedding present from the House of Ravenscroft. May your marriage be filled with nothing but joy and prosperity, for your kingdoms, your families, and, most importantly, yourselves. Someone should have a happy ending.

You will be tempted, I’m sure, to seek me out after reading this. While I’m not quite ready to face the world yet, I do love a good game. You both are always welcome in my home...if you can find it that is.

All my love, 

N.R.

....

The fire in her library crackled steadily as she poured the hot wax over the seal of her envelope. Mechanically, she pressed her seal onto the glimmering pool, holding for a few moments before lifting. Her house crest lay embedded in the inky blue wax, a reminder to everyone of who she was.

“Shall I be taking my leave, Mistress?”

Nadia glanced to the side at the death knight waiting patiently beside her desk. At first, his being in her home had taken some getting use to, but eventually she became accustomed to his presence and mannerisms. Honestly, the tables had turned now, and seeing his general blank and confused looks whenever she forced him to sit down for tea or asked him to hold her son always gave her a good chuckle

“Yes,” she handed the note to him, which he stuck into his pocket before turning making his exit. His heavy footsteps echoed throughout the empty room as he made his way towards the large doors that stood ajar. The mage sighed and sat back in her chair, thinking about what repercussions might occur as a result of her actions and maneuvering.

Guess she would have to wait and find out...unless...

“Wait,” the mage rose from her chair, though with some difficulty, ““I’m coming with you.”

“...Are you sure that is wise?”

“I didn’t go through all of this just to pass up seeing the looks on their faces.”

He seemed like he wanted to protest further, but decided against it after glancing over the determined look on Nadia’s face for a second time. “As you wish,” he nodded before turning on his heel and heading out the doors, leaving to make all the preparations necessary for her impromptu journey.

Alone once more, Nadia sighed and lowered herself back into her seat, intent on relaxing as much as possible before heading out in only a few moments. Massaging the back of her neck with both hands, she thought back to the last trip she had taken. The one that had been the farthest of them all and put the finishing touches on all her work...

...

Nadia had never understood how Jeanne had always seemed so uncomfortable in the warmer, drier climate of Elwynn forest. But as she stood there in the ruins of a once great kingdom, the cold and the fog that practically seeped into her bones made it all so much clearer. 

Shattrath had made her accustomed to humidity, and Dalaran to the cold...but never together, and the mage did not like the combination. 

Another musky breeze picked up, making her wrap the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. She should have brought a heavier one. Even the death knight Balthier seemed perturbed, though for entirely different reasons.

“They should be here by now,” his sunken and echoing tone was on edge, his fingers tapping anxiously against the rune covered sword at his side. 

“There’s still time,” she commented in an attempt to relax him, though it only seemed to make her anxious as well. He was right to be concerned; they were in unfamiliar territory and far too exposed on the cobblestone road.

He sniffed and took a few steps forward, as though the short distance would help him to better peer out into the fog, “If they are not here in five minutes, we are leaving.”

Nadia opened her mouth to try and put him at ease again, but the sudden chill in the next breeze made her go quiet. Balthier, too, sensed the change in the air and drew his weapon at once, the runes looking even more eerie in the thick fog. 

They weren’t alone anymore.

“Goodness, I’m not as jumpy as he is, am I?”

“No, I wouldn’t say so...”

It didn’t take long for the two new voices to be paired with the approaching outlines through the fog, both shadowy and draped in dark robes. 

“Approach no further,” the death knight strode forward to stop them when the pair got too close for his comfort. One of the hooded figures appeared as though they were about to step in front of their companion, but the other held out their arm to stop them. 

“You would dare raise your weapon at your Warchief?”

No one else moved as the last to speak pulled back their hood to reveal the smirking visage of Sylvanas Windrunner. Nadia felt bristles run down her spine, not at the Banshee Queen herself but at the title she had just used.

“My allegiance lies with another,” Balthier smarted back, his sword still pointed only a few feet away from her heart. 

“It’s okay, Balthier,” his Lady interrupted, deciding it was best to intervene when Nathanos Blightcaller’s glowing red eyes flashed dangerously. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if a fight between personal guards were to break out.

The death knight sneered but put his sword away nonetheless, stepping back to stand behind the mage. Now that the most immediate problem had been taken care of, the two women took a moment to regard each other neutrally. Seconds passed by that felt like minutes until finally someone spoke.

“Ravenscroft,” the elf greeted, nodding her head once as a show of respect.

“Windrunner,” Nadia replied, tilting her chin down as well, grateful that she had been shown the small mercy of not having to refer to the leader of the Horde by their new title.

“When I received your letter for a private meeting, I first thought it was a prank. Or perhaps an attempt by my foes to get me out in the open. You have been silent on all fronts, not speaking or appearing to anyone, Alliance and Horde alike.”

“I have been busy. A lot has happened.”

“Yes, a lot has.” Her gaze drifted from Nadia’s and over her attire, a beautiful noir cloak and dress that put their surroundings to shame, “You’re in mourning, though I must say you wear grief remarkably well. A bit ill suited for the weather, though.”

Her eyes narrowed at the mention of her mourning, “Let’s dispense of the small talk, shall we?”

“Hmph, as you wish. I have always appreciated your honesty...” The smile on her face faded a little, “Why are you here?”

“You have something that I want.”

“And what might that be?”

“Why, we’re standing on it.”

“Pardon?”

“I want Gilneas.”

At first there was a moment of silence, but then Sylvanas let out a single laugh before shaking her head in disbelief.

“Do you have any idea how much went into taking this crumbling kingdom in the first place? How much we have put into holding it?”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea. Which is why I’ve come with an offer I think is rather good.”

One of her hands extended out towards the Warchief, and in it materialized an extremely thick scroll.

“You use a surprising amount of Blight. A diluted form, but a lot nonetheless. Well, I managed to get my hands on some and had some of my people examine it, break it down if you will. There are many components....many necessary components. Without even one, the whole thing becomes unstable and collapses on itself, making it entirely useless.”

“Get to the point,” Sylvanas muttered, visibly put off at finding out that someone had managed to acquire such well kept knowledge.

“Of course. I thought you might want to know I’ve made some investments is all.”

Nadia strode forward towards the Queen, hand still outstretched. The Elf approached as well, meeting her in the middle as their champions stayed back while boring holes into each other’s foreheads with glares of fiery red and cold blue. It took all of Sylvanas’ self control not to snatch the scroll that was offered to her, though she was sure her sneer was enough to relay her discontent. 

“What are these?”

“A list of all the deeds to my new properties. Those components you need, from mines and lands in specific climates with certain plants and animals...they belong to me now.”

It was hard to keep a straight face when the Forsaken Queen’s sneer went from irritated to enraged, her hands crinkling the scroll as her grip tightened. It changed back to annoyed as quickly as it had come, however, and she chuckled darkly.

“And now I have a choice to make: my Gilneas or my Blight.”

“My Blight, technically,” Nadia couldn’t help but comment with a small smile.

Sylvanas smirked back, “Yes...so I’m to understand you’re going to give me all these holdings in exchange for the entirety of the ground we stand on?”

“Bring me all the land ordinances, deeds, and registers that compose the entire kingdom of Gilneas, all the land that belongs to the common people, the gentry, and the crown...and you’ll have your Blight back.”

“...I’m beginning to see why Vol’jin was so infatuated with you now,” her words made the mage visibly flinch at what felt like a cold dagger being plunged into her chest at his mention, “You really are a piece of work.”

“I think that’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Do not get used to it, I am simply regurgitating what he would constantly spew about you. It was impossible to get him to shut it sometimes...but now it makes sense.” She handed the list back to Nadia, “I could always use another advisor in the Undercity court, someone who the rest of the world respects and trusts. It would certainly make my time easier.”

The mage blinked, “Thank you for the...interesting offer. And while it is tempting, I am currently...occupied with other matters.”

Sylvanas raised a brow and looked the woman over, not believing her cover up in the slightest. She also noticed more now that she had a chance to really look her over. Such as how her draping cloak conveniently covered her from the base of her neck to her toes, how her posture was different, as though her weight had been distributed differently...

The new Warchief felt her smirk grow as Nadia passed the scroll on to Balthier, “Remove your cloak.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take it off.”

Her frown deepened, and there was something in her eyes that let Sylvanas know she had guessed correct, “Is this really necessary?”

“Do it.”

At first, the mage remained frozen, only her hand moving as she fiddled with the collar of her cloak nervously. Finally, with a roll of her eyes, she pulled back the draping fabric and placed her hands on her hips with a defiant huff.

“Well, you certainly are ‘occupied’,” the Queen tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully at seeing the telltale swell of Nadia’s stomach underneath the fabric of her black dress. “I thought you seemed a little cranky; the last time Vol’jin left you ‘occupied’, you napped like I’ve never seen before. Perhaps invest in one once we are finished here?”

“Oh, shut up.” She let the cloak fall back around her body, fidgeting with her collar again as she glared off to the side with a blush, “You see now why I’m hesitant to reenter society: it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“You mean I’m the first to know? I’m flattered,” her grin only increased when the mage trailed her unappreciative scowl onto the elf. 

“Have we come to a suitable arrangement or not?”

Sylvanas’ shoulders shook with mirth as she crossed her arms, “Give me a few days to...think it over. We’ll be in touch.”

...

That had felt like so long ago, when in reality it had only been a few months.

Now, she was in unfamiliar territory once more, looking up from out from behind a pillar as much she could in the gardens below the king’s quarters of Stormwind Keep. It wasn’t nearly as cold as Gilneas had been, but she felt chills going down her spine anyway. 

“Did you give the note to Binky like I asked?”

“Yes, mistress,” the hollow voice replied in a low whisper behind her.

“And you left the box on the balcony?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“And you made sure no one saw you leave?”

“There is not a soul in this castle that knows we are here.”

She hummed in relief and strained her eyes more towards the balcony where such fun had once been had. Not much later, a faint light could be seen in the window, and then another. Soon multiple candles had been lit, casting shadows of people onto the walls and class panes of the balcony doors.

They swung open only a moment later, letting both Anduin and Jeanne rush out into the night. Nadia couldn’t see or hear very much other than muffled speech, but she felt the coldness in her spine leave when she saw them lift up a stack of papers and exchange them between each other at lightning speed.

“I stand in awe, my lady,” Balthier muttered when the couple embraced each other up on the terrace. “I almost cannot believe you pulled this off.”

“I am no saint; I did keep the coastline and ports for myself.”

“But still, I stand in awe.”

Nadia simply hummed again and let one hand rest on the curve of her belly when the pair broke apart and began going through the papers once more, almost in a state of disbelief. One of the first smiles she’d shown in nearly half a year appeared on her face. The chills returned to her spine, however, when Jeanne suddenly froze and turned out towards the garden. The mage retreated into the shadows just as she leaned out over the railing and peered into the pitch black garden.

“We should go...”

She turned on her heel and disappeared completely into the dark, the death knight following closely behind as they set course for the mysterious and surreal forests of Duskwood. Home.

Someone should have a happy ending...

@druidickats  AHHHH! I’ve been trying to hard to finish this! I wanted it to be a surprise! Just a little tidbit to go along with the wedding thread from way back when!!! It ended up much longer than I thought it would be though, lol! Hope you enjoyed!!

Nadia’s dress and cloak can be found by clicking the links, though I wish the cloak were black in the ref.

Now, to continue with the other threads!!!

[mel-loves-all]

A Olicity Historical Romance AU inspired by the movie, The Scarlet Pimpernel. 

A/N: One of my all time favorite films is the 1982 version of The Scarlet Pimpernel.  I fell in love with Anthony Andrews when I was 13 years old and to this day his portrayal of the Scarlet Pimpernel still makes me swoon.  This will probably be about 3 chapters and is currently T-rated with a possible turn to M.

Chapter 1

London, England 1793

Lady Felicity Overwatch, widow of the Earl of Smoak, a renowned beauty of the English ton and member of a clandestine network that helped smuggle aristocratic Parisian children into Britain and away from the violent, bloodthirsty mobs of the reign of terror that currently swept France, stood at the edge of the crowded ballroom and tried not to show her distaste for the decadent waste of elite society.

How could so many people stand by and dance and laugh while so many lives were being snuffed out in the most heinous and callous of ways in a country not far from their own?  Entire families, who had committed no offense other than to have been born into French gentry and wealth, were sent to the guillotine under thunderous cheers of revolutionary masses.

For the last year, after losing her beloved husband Arthur to a sudden and unexpected sickness, Felicity had wanted, no, she had needed something to aspire to.  A higher cause.  And she had found it by helping a covert group, run by an elusive and mysterious leader known only by his symbol, the flower called the Scarlet Pimpernel.  No one knew his true identity, but he was extremely clever and amazingly good at what he did.  He, with the help of others like herself, helped save countless innocent lives.

She shivered at the memory of the first time she had seen the man.  After months of discreetly mentioning her sympathies with the plight of those being persecuted, she was approached to help.  Her cliff-side residence, in the remote seaside corner of Dover, was to be used as an entry point, one of many secret arteries of the network, to help bring the orphans into Britain.   Felicity had made sure to be in attendance, at the first arrival of the delicate goods, to ensure that every specification she had been sent, via a letter signed only with the melted red wax seal of a flower, was met.      

And there he was, walking ashore in the dim moonlight, through the shallow waves of the small, hidden cove located under the cliffs of her manor house, tall and virile, dressed all in black with a sword hanging at his side like a wicked pirate. A cloth mask was tied over the top half of his face and short cropped hair, only revealing a strong masculine jawline, full sensual lips and two piercing blue eyes that conveyed his displeasure at her unplanned presence.  His arms had been full of two small children who even in their sleep clung to him like the savior he was.

He had gently handed one of the little boys to her and as the warmth and weight of the exhausted child melted against Felicity’s chest he said, with a perfect mix of reprimand and teasing, “This is an unexpected pleasure, Lady Smoak,”

His deep, husky baritone, caused the rest of her body to ignite with a heat she had never felt before.   Never.  Not even with her beloved Arthur.  The lenses of her unique silver framed eye spectacles, fogged over just a little bitty bit, before she was able to pull herself together enough to respond.

“I only wished to make sure everything went as you requested.  I could not bear it if one of the children did not make it to safety.  I meant no harm,”

He did not respond, simply looked at her as if taking measure of her heart, and ultimately coming to the conclusion that she was sincere.

He said not one word more to her, but as he delivered the last child to the men he had stationed at her home and glanced back at her, as he boarded the small boat that had rowed him ashore, he tipped his head to her in acknowledgement and appreciation.

And that one encounter had sealed Felicity’s fascination with the Scarlet Pimpernel.  

~~~~~~

She was jostled out of her musings by the boisterous movement of the ballroom’s revelers and had to straighten the diaphanous silk layers of her roman styled gown that proclaimed her Aphrodite, the goddess of love, beauty and pleasure.  It was too revealing for her personal taste, with so much of her skin exposed, but it had been all that her hand maid could come up with at the last minute.  Her long blonde hair was styled high upon her head with a few loose curls that rested upon her chest.  She was one, if not the only woman that moved in society, who was known to wear corrective lenses in public and she frowned as she thought of all the vanity that made that fact, so.  

The annual costume ball, hosted by Lord Oliver Queen, the Duke of Starling, was always packed to capacity and Felicity had reluctantly decided to attend to keep up appearances as a carefree English Lady.

Felicity looked around the room, its gaudy decor overwhelming her senses, and did not see the Duke of Starling with his usual group of eager to please him “friends.”  The man was an enigma to her and a man she had the most conflicting feelings about.  From the first, it had always been that way.   At her coming out ball three years earlier, she had been instantly attracted to his indigo blue eyes, charming smile and tall, athletic build until…he spoke, and therein lay the problem.  He was a charismatic and handsome man, yet, peculiar.  With each absurd, flowery and high-pitched word and inane riddles without answers he muttered, revealed a soul that belonged to a ridiculous fop of a dandy who was only concerned about gossip, the indiscretions of those around him and the latest fashions, which he wore to an unabashedly fanciful and lace-filled extreme.  He probably owned more powdered wigs than she did.

But Felicity swore, at the oddest moments over the years…she would catch the briefest flashes of cunning and intense intelligence, frustrated boredom and…loneliness in his stare. Perhaps she only wished to see more to him and they were figments of her imagination because she would blink, and his trademark laugh and flamboyant turn of phrase, “sink me,” would remind her of what and who he really was.  A man, not meant for her.

Although he was blessed with a face that made a woman’s body crave and want things, his frivolous nature had guided Felicity away and towards a better man in Arthur.  Arthur had been much, much older, but gentle and kind.  They had not been blessed with any children and with no living male descendants, Felicity had inherited his fortune.  One to rival the Duke of Starling’s as a matter of fact.  

Felicity sighed with disinterest and decided to find a peaceful corner to wait out the evening till it was appropriate to leave.   She found her way through the crowd and walked through the hallways till she found a quieter wing of the house and entered through a set of french doors that brought her into a stunning floral solarium.

The scent of oranges and a multitude of exotic flowers welcomed her as she walked through the beautiful indoor garden and she felt at ease for the first time in a long, long time.  She stretched on her toes to smell a blossom that hung from a tree branch and then her abrupt, scream of surprise was muffled under the hand that was placed over her mouth and pulled her into a secret room off the edge of the conservatory.

She struggled against the hard, muscular body that towered over her from behind and the fingers that kept her from making any further sound as the hidden door slid closed in front of her and sealed them away from the faint voices in French that could be heard coming closer.

“Steady now, I won’t hurt you,” was whispered to her, and she instantly recognized the baritone.  The softness of the lips that had grazed the shell of her ear made shivers of awareness run through her body.  

The Scarlet Pimpernel.  What was he doing here?

His arms tightened and drew her closer so that she was surrounded by his heat and solid strength as both of them listened to the hushed conversation unfold on the other side of the wall.

Felicity’s futile struggling completely ceased after she realized who the whispers belonged too and tried to catch every muffled word spoken in the other room.  Bits and pieces of the conversation painted a picture of what was going on.  They were two French operatives sent to spy on and gather information amongst the English and were on the trail of who they thought was the Scarlet Pimpernel.   They had followed a shadowy figure into the manor as the Duke’s annual costume ball was in full swing.   French spies and the Scarlet Pimpernel?  Why wasn’t she terrified?

She was plastered against, head to toe, soft curves against sculpted granite, the Scarlet Pimpernel.  A man, she did not know the identity of, and blood thirsty spies sent to destroy and kill him where just feet away.  Yes, she was scared, but why wasn’t she truly afraid?  Instead of uncontrollable fear, she was excited and energized.  And the steady cadence of the Scarlet Pimpernel’s breaths and heartbeat and the way her body fit perfectly within the cradle of his arms, made her feel safe.  Absurdly and crazily, safe.

~~~~~~

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[filosofablogger]

I started today’s good people post about a single person, Mama Rosie, who is doing wonderful things.  But, she is doing so many wonderful things, and having such an impact, that I quickly realized I would not be able to finish it in time, so I switched gears (another symptom of my bouncy mind) and decided to write about multiple good people doing good things.  I went in search, and I found these …

I had never heard of the band Midnight Oil, but of course daughter Chris had … she knows every band that has existed since the beginning of time (and refers to my music as “bad taste”).  Anyway, the band Midnight Oil, an Australian band dating back to the 1970s,  is giving a concert in Fremantle, Australia on 29 October.  According to the band’s lead singer, Peter Garrett, every single cent will go to support marine protection organizations, charities that work in the areas of reef protection and climate change.

Peter Garrett

The band has long identified with environmental causes, and Garrett himself was on the international board of Greenpeace for two years from 1993-1995.

One of the organizations the environmentally-minded band will be supporting will be the Australian Marine Conservation Society. Started in 1965, the independent charity works to create large marine national parks and sanctuaries, support sustainable fishing practices and protect threatened ocean life such as whales, sharks and seals. The organization also works to protect the Great Barrier Reef, the world’s largest coral reef system (344,400 square kilometres), which is severely threatened by environmental pressures and climate change.

Midnight Oil typically earns up to $210,000 per concert, so their contribution is nothing to sneeze at!  Great job, guys …. and thank you!

Joseph Badame and his wife, Phyliss, were survivalists who stocked up on everything: dry food, generators, fuel, survival books, thousands of rolls of toilet paper — all to keep them alive in the event of a disaster or some other crisis. When the crisis came, however, all the food they had stockpiled would be of no use.  In 2005, Phyliss had a massive stroke that left her paralyzed, and she died after another stroke in 2013.  Joseph, then nearly 70 years of age, had quit his job years before to take care of his wife, and had eight years’ worth of medical bills. He managed for a few years, but this year he defaulted on his mortgage and could not pay his taxes, and in August received a foreclosure notice from the bank.

Joseph planned to move to a small apartment that he could afford with only his Social Security, but what to do with all this food stored in the basement of the house?  Sometimes, I think, fate steps in and brings people together for a reason.  Last month, Joseph met Victoria Barber, a local food truck owner who just happened to be taking donations to help people in Puerto Rico in the wake of Hurricane Maria. Joseph donated $100 in cash, but more importantly … he took Ms. Barber to see the food in his basement and told her he would like her to send it to the people of Puerto Rico, who needed it more than him.

Barber and her husband spent the next week raising money to transport the barrels. Badame helped, too, and wore a red T-shirt: “#PRSTRONG” it said, with a heart below it. Members of the local police department and a high school soccer team helped carry the supplies out of the basement, and the barrels were repacked so that each contained a variety of dried goods.

Badame said it was his own life that was saved. “I’m tired, old, depressed, feeling like I’m a failure regarding the survival thing,” he said. Then Barber “came along, gave me a shot of adrenaline. I couldn’t believe it.”

Sometimes things just happen that way.  Hats off to Joseph Badame and Victoria Barber whose ships just happened to pass one day, and together they made a difference to the good people in Puerto Rico.

Pro athletes have been much in the news of late.  Until recently, I thought of most pro-athletes as overpaid, greedy people, but I am learning that many of them have big hearts and generous spirits. Not a hockey fan, I had never heard of the Montreal Canadians player, Jonathan Drouin.  Drouin has partnered with the Canadiens Children’s Foundation to host less fortunate children at a Bell Centre suite for the team’s games. He is making a personal annual contribution of $165,000 that will go toward a suite that will be used to provide underprivileged children and their families an opportunity to attend games they would not otherwise be able to. And just last month, Drouin donated $500,000 to the Fondation du Centre hospitalier de l’Université de Montréal (CHUM), and a pledge to help raise $5 million for the hospital.

This is one athlete with a heart of gold!

It’s just a little thing, really … it didn’t cost anything except a small bit of time.  But sometimes those little things mean so much.  An unnamed 92-year-old man went to his local Bank of America in Montebello, California, to withdraw some cash from his account.  Unfortunately, his state-issued I.D. had expired and the bank teller refused to honour his request.  Perhaps confused, and definitely upset when the employees would not help him, he was told to leave, but he refused, for he needed to withdraw his cash.  So, the bank employees called the police (nice folks, eh?)  Luckily for the man, the officer who arrived on the scene was Officer Robert Josett, a man with a good heart.  Officer Josett took his time to take the man to the nearest DMV (Division of Motor Vehicles) and helped him renew his identification card.  Officer Josett then took the man back to the bank and made sure he was able to withdraw his money.  As I said, a small thing, but we can understand how much it meant to the man.  Thumbs up to one caring officer!

Stephen Davies was born without a lower left arm.  He spent his first decades on earth without the aid of a prosthesis, and finally, as an adult, decided to invest in one.  He was disappointed in the available designs … he wanted something ‘cool’, but they were all the same … functional, yet boring.  He posted about his experience online, where it was seen by one Drew Murray, a volunteer for a group called e-NABLE that was doing some innovative things using 3D printing to create artificial hands.  Drew offered to make a functioning arm for Stephen.  Stephen was so impressed with the results that he talked Drew into a partnership, and together they formed Team UnLimbited, an organization that makes prostheses for children free of charge.

While I do not understand this technology of using a 3D printer to create prosthetic limbs, I do understand innovation, character, and generosity, and these two men are rich in all three of those!  Just look at some of the fun ones they have made …

“We’ve done Iron Man designs, Harry Potter, Lego and Spider-Man. The key is making something the child actually wants to wear and feels is cool enough to show their friends.”

Two great men, a wonderful organization, and a bunch of happy kids!

  And I end with a story about the City of San Diego in California.  In March, 2016, San Diego Mayor Kevin Faulconer announced a “Housing Our Heroes” initiative to provide secure rental housing for 1,000 homeless veterans.  Last week, they exceeded that goal and have provided housing for 1,007 previously homeless veterans. But the city is not stopping there.  According to CEO Rick Gentry, they will be expanding the program to include other homeless people and hope to house another 1,000 by the end of the year.

For incentives, landlords received $500 for the first units they rented to a homeless veteran and $250 for each additional unit. They also received an average of $1,500 in security deposits and $100 in utility assistance per household.

Jimmie Robinson, a landlord who rents out several houses, took in seven homeless veterans in the Housing Our Heroes initiative. Robinson said the incentives were “eye-catching,” but were not the greatest motive for taking in homeless veterans.

“When you get to meet them, the satisfaction of helping people turn their lives around was more important. When you see somebody rebuilding their lives, that’s what it’s become for me, more than than the incentives.”

Wonderful job, San Diego!  I hope we see more cities taking this initiative soon.  That there are people living on the streets in this nation of plenty is unthinkable.

These are just short stories about people doing mostly small things, but every one of those things count, each one of these people are showing compassion for their fellow mankind, and they are making a difference.  My hat is off to each of these fine people!

Good People Doing Good Things … Little Things Mean A Lot I started today’s good people post about a single person, Mama Rosie, who is doing wonderful things.