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gaypirate420 · 10 months ago

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Boyfriend // Jasper W. Hale.

Jasper Whitlock-Hale x male!reader.

A/N: Just wanted to write the Cullen's being a family and Jasper being a ranging homosexual.

Summary: Jasper likes a booooyyyyyy uuuuhhh~

Fluff. Blood drinking (animal).

Esme was in the kitchen, making some food for Bella now that the girl comes for dinner almost everyday. The mother of the household saw a particular blonde coming downstairs with a smile on his face and fingers texting rapidly.

Esme smirked, she was filled with curiousity, Jasper rarely leaves his room and rarely smiles, no, he doesn't smile at all.

"Where are you going, hun?" The woman asked, the blonde stopped on his tracks and his smile has now faded but maintain a polite smirk that seems only reserved for any women that holds authority over him.

"Just goin' for a walk, ma'am." He spoke softly, Emmet from the couch laughed, the mother arched an eyebrow and Jasper narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"He's going to see his boyfriend!" Emmet shouted from the living room, a laugh coming from Edward followed.

"He's not my boyfriend." Jasper rolled his eyes and meet his "mother's" teasing smirk.

"Yet." Alice chimed in with a smile.

"Go ahead, Jasper. Tell Esme who is not your boyfriend." Rosalie spoke after Alice with a playful smirk. Jasper furrowed his eyebrows to his "twin." Should he tell Esme? He doesn't tell her anything anyway.

"Isn't he one of Carlisle's ancient friends?" Edward spoke this time from the couch, Esme tried to guess which one of their friends could be Jasper's type, or at least what she thought it's his type.

"He's not ancient." Jasper spoke with a defensive tone which made the rest of his siblings chuckle.

"He's like a million years old." Emmet said from the living room.

"So who is it then?" Esme spoke politely and took Jasper by his arm but not really touching him. Jasper sighed, he feels embarrassed and angry.

Jasper said your name.

Esme's mouth opened to speak but closed immediately. She knew you, or well, of you. You're not really the extrovert type and the only vampire that hasn't had a problem with you is Carlisle. You're a little too mischievous for the rest of vampires.

"May I go now, ma'am?"

"Yeah his boyfriend gonna be so mad if he arrives late for their date!" Emmet shouted again, making everyone laugh. Jasper thinks about attacking his "brother" to make him shut up, those loud thoughts making Edward feel uneasy now, hitting Emmet with his elbow discreetly to shut him up.

"Do you like him?" She whispered. Jasper nodded, a small smile appearing on his rosy lips.

"Yes, ma'am." The blonde whispers back. Esme nodded and smiled widely.

Jasper is reserved, withdrawn and he seems miserable most of the times, but right now, he looks happy.

"Does he treat you well?" She asks something that is very important for her, the blonde's lips curl into a smile again and his mind reading brother read all of the sweet thoughts he got about you.

"Yes, ma'am."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jasper walked through the forest, the moon was about to rise and the air was cool.

Someone is running near the woods, the leaf crush under the rapid walk.

His golden eyes looked around, trying to find the source of the sound. The trees, he can hear the wood cracking and the leafs falling.

"Look over here, goldilocks!" You shouted.

Jasper smirked and turn around to see you up on a tree. You jumped and landed infront of him.

"Did I scare you, cowboy?" You spoked teasingly as your red eyes meet his golden ones.

"I was trembling with fear, pretty boy." He muttered softly, his texan drawl making you feel all tingly. He couldn't help but to stare down at your lips as they curled into a smile.

"Let's meet at the top of our tree!." You smacked his shoulder softly before zooming out. Jasper chuckled and started to run behind you matching your incredible speed.

You did a spin and take a bunny that passed by. Jasper shaked his head.

"Stop showing off!" The blonde shouted behind you. You laughed.

"You're jealous you're not as cool as I am!" You responded before starting to climb a tree. You could hear Jasper catching up with you before you jumped from one tree to another, feeling the wind hit your face and the comforting smell of plants after a rainy day.

Jasper admired your vampiric beauty as he ran, he felt those strange tingles in his stomach again. He couldn't take his eyes off you.

You climbed and jumped until you stopped at the tree you've designated as yours and Jasper's. You looked down at him as he climbed up to meet you.

"You lost." You teased as you hold the bunny on your arms.

"I let you win." He replied with a smirk. You laughed and sat down on the branch of the tree.

"You lost and loser's don't get juicy bunnies for dinner." You bared your fangs at the small animal, Jasper looked at you and smirked.

"I dare you to do it. I want to see you drink the blood of an animal, pretty boy. Actually drink it." He talked between a chuckle. You furrowed your eyebrows and growl at him playfully before taking the bunny and bury your fangs on the small creature.

You pulled away, he could see you swallowing the blood before your face scrunched into one of pure disgust.

Jasper bursted laughing at you.

You smiled, you've never heard his laugh, it made you feel a strange sensation on your stomach. Or it may be the horrible sip of blood you've just drank.

"May I?" Jasper asked holding his hand out for the bunny.

"It's all yours, blondie. I warn you, that's the worst blood I've drank in four hundred years." You handed the perishing animal to his pale hands.

Jasper bared his fangs, his pupils dilate, hiding his golden eyes behind a pitch black wall. He buried his fangs deep into the animal, the bunny screamed but the cries died down quickly as the vampire drains it's life.

A couple of blood drops fall down his sweater. The blonde pulled away and tossed the dry cadaver of the animal down to the forest.

You couldn't pull your eyes away.

That was hot you have to admit. You cleared your throat.

"Do you actually like feeding from animals?" You asked, you always wondered if animals are as tasty as humans, Jasper thinks for a moment about it, he nods.

"It was hard get used to the taste. But it is better than feeling like I want to kill myself after each feeding." He spoke softly and with full honestly.

You lean over and wipe the blood from his lips with your thumb.

Jasper froze for a second. Your touch was gentle, his shoulders relaxed. It's been decades since he felt something so nice.

Your face was now so close to his, your eyes meet. If there's a word that defines you it's impulsive.

You lean over and lock your lips with his. It was a slow dance, shy at first from both parts.

Jasper pulled away, his golden eyes wide and shiny, he was about to withdrawl but instead came back in full force. Kissing you in a bolder way, his cold hand cupping your jaw.

He depends on the kiss, a delicious moan leaves his lips, a groan from your part following after, he's tasting you, touching you and drowning in your scent. He has never felt this way and he couldn't control his urges.

Your back meets the huge tree. Jasper it's almost on top of you now.

The blonde pulls away once more, to take a useless breath. You feel dizzy with happiness because the southerner felt himself radiant with joy.

The two stay silent. Eyes lingering into each other for a couple of seconds before Jasper's lips touch yours a third time. This time it's more gentle and loving.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time...ever since I met you, you light up my world, darlin'." He whispers, you can only look at him, you've never had anyone be this soft and caring with you.

You want to speak, to say you've felt the same way, that he became very special to you, that he made you feel worthy and loved.

But he could feel it too. He knew.

His lips leave a soft kiss on your forehead before he rests his head on your shoulder. You smile and wrap your arms around him.

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A/N: Heyyyy, sorry I've been away. I'm really focused on school and that's why I haven't written shit. This was on my drafts so here it is. You can still send requests or asks just know I'm going to take a little of time in answering. Hope you liked it!

#jasper whitlock hale #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock #jasper cullen #jasper hale #jasper hale x male reader #x male reader #twilight x male reader

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venerawrites · 9 months ago

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Hey, could you write some Gaara angst. He and his fiancé fought over something and the argument was that bad where he said things that he shouldn’t have. His fiancé has to leave for a mission the next day,a dangerous one at that. Things go wrong on her mission and she’s now in the hospital and it’s hard to say if she’ll live or not. Gaara is in complete emotional distress and guilt because he feels that it’s his fault that his fiancé might not live.

Have a lovely day!

author's note: I saw "she" in the request, so I am rolling with a fem! reader. It's not a secret I love writing angst, so I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you like it as well! <3 Thank you for requesting!

warnings: none, other than reader can be a little bit annoying in the first half lol

This is not how the evening was supposed to go.

As the last day before your two-week mission, you imagined it as a romantic day, filled with lots of laughter, kisses, and good homemade food, which you had spent all day making.

A screaming match in your fiancé's office was definitely not part of the plan.

"Lower your voice", Gaara sighed, his fingers making their way to rub soothing circles on the side of his forehead. You had stormed into the Kazekage's building about an hour ago, and while your demeanour was progressively getting worse and more aggressive, somehow he had still managed to remain collected.

"Excuse me?", you let out a scoff, marching towards his desk and slamming your hands on top of it, "Don't command me like that! Who do you think you are?"

The words triggered something inside of him and he abruptly stood up, slamming his hands right next to yours and getting right in your face. His eyes, usually calm and inviting, were now cold and dark, showing that there was a storm brewing inside of him.

"I am your fiancé, but most importantly your Kazekage", he gritted his teeth, emphasizing his title, " I know you are upset and I said I am sorry! But your shenanigans stop now!"

Tilting your head, you remained silent and narrowed your eyes, determined not to give up on the little staring contest you had going on. Pressing your lips together, you moved your jaw in annoyance, your breathing heavy with the pent-up frustration.

"Well, guess what, Kazekage?", your words came out almost mocking, while a small sarcastic smirk appeared on your face, "If you tired of dealing with my "shenanigans", maybe you should run and complain to your little friend from the Leaf. I am sure he would be more than happy to hear we are on the verge of breaking up because of him."

"Are you hearing yourself?", Gaara finally raised his voice, moving away from the desk, while running his hand through his red locks, "Break up because of Naruto? You are being absolutely ridiculous, Y/N!"

"I am being ridiculous? This is our last day before my mission and you decide to spend it with Naruto!", you screamed, shaking your hands in the air and making a few steps towards him, "One would've thought that you two are engaged, instead!”

A dry chuckle made its way past his lips and he shook his head, trying to calm his mind. Gods knew he loved you more than life itself but in moments like these he questioned how fate decided to bring you together, considering you were polar opposites.

Gaara was a calm, collected, and reserved individual. He was extremely hard-working and devoted to his nation, so naturally every decision he made was always centered around the well-being of others. He always carefully considered all his options before acting, and rarely resolved to action, if the problem could be resolved peacefully with talks.

You ,on the other hand, were hot-headed, impulsive, and stubborn. Always acting before thinking, you often fail to consider anyone else's needs and wishes in moments like this, too blinded by your selfish desire and feeling of injustice. Unlike the red-headed shinobi, who you described as your "better half", you faced problems head-on, even if that meant you would regret it later.

There has always been some tension between you two, even since you met during your Chunin Exams, but no one believed you would get together, especially after Gaara went through his life-changing phase when he realised the importance of friends and family.

Yet, years later, here you were - a Leaf shinobi who transferred to Suna and was engaged to the Kazekage. Somehow your clashing personalities worked in harmony and you managed to bring the best out of each other.

Well, most of the time...

Today, after he decided to spend the whole day with Naruto, Sakura, and Kakashi, thus resulting in him having to work through the evening, was not one of these times.

While the Leaf ninjas were your old comrades, it was not a secret that you did not share a close bond with them, especially with the blonde.

Naruto has openly vocalized his opinion that Gaara is too good for you and he can find a better, calmer half, who would compliment him as a future spouse of the Kazekage. He always made it clear that while he did not exactly hate you, he did not approve of you.

In response, you did not hide your thoughts about their friendship and the fact that your partner was giving him too much credit. Of course, Naruto did have some role in his decision to change for the better, but ultimately it was Gaara who did all the work. Additionally, the blonde was loud, assertive, and loved to poke his nose in other people's business, including your relationship.

"Y/N, enough!", your fiancé's voice boomed, his aura suddenly darker, "Do not talk about my friends like this!"

"Do you keep the same energy when he talks about me?", your brow raised, "When he says how I don't deserve you and tries to fill your head with the craziest ideas about us!"

Gaara let out a puff of air, before turning around and marching towards you. Stopping just a foot away, he lifted his hands towards you, laying them on your shoulder.

"I. Had. Enough!", he hissed each word through his teeth, a sign he was really pissed off at you now, "No one talks about you and no one is trying to fill my head with anything! I don't need anyone to tell me that we are incompatible when I can clearly see that myself!"

The insults and swears that were ready to fall from your mouth got stuck in your throat and your eyes widened for a few seconds, before narrowing again.

"What are you getting at?", this time your voice was quieter, but still with a note of challenge behind it.

Suddenly there was a spark of uncertainty behind his blue eyes. Slowly removing his hands from your body, he walked towards the window with his back facing you.

"I think we need a break. It's just... It's not working anymore", he murmured, gaze focused on the peaceful streets of Suna. He found it easier to say what he was thinking right now if he avoided looking at you.

A minute passed.

Gaara expected you to scream at him, swear at him, or even grab something from his desk and throw it at his head. But when he heard the door of his office opening and slamming shut, he jumped in surprise. Turning around, he found the spot where you were standing just a minute ago, empty, while your diamond ring shined lonely at the edge of his desk.

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

It's strange how distorted a person's time perception becomes once they are eagerly waiting for something.

Two weeks, which usually flew by, given his busy schedule, now felt like an eternal nightmare for the young Kazekage. Eaten by the guilt of how your last conversation ended, he severely punished his mind and body by refusing to eat, drink, or socialize with anyone outside his work. He practically lived in his office and if it wasn't for Kankuro to send him to shower every morning, after working the whole night, he probably would had not set a foot outside.

This morning, however, he refused to do even that. You were supposed to come to report about your mission any moment now and he shifted nervously in his seat, mentally rehearsing the apology he wanted to say to you.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Gaara kept glancing towards the door, yet no one entered, except his secretary who kept dropping piles of paperwork on his desk. He tried to question if any ninjas have showed in the building today, but she kept shaking her head "no" with an apologetic smile on her lips.

Finally, just after noon, a small, barely audible knock reached his ear and he immediately straightened his posture and fixed his hair, before giving his response. His eyes gleamed with anticipation and he stood up, ready to greet you back home.

His, smile, however, quickly dropped once he saw that only one of your teammates, Bumi, entered his office. Covered in scratches across his face and hands, he looked like he had taken some rough beating not long ago. Gaara's blood froze.

If Bumi, the largest and the most skilled ninja in your squad, looked like this, what has happened to you?

"Lord Kazekage", the man greeted, before bowing his head. He made his way towards the desk and placed a tightly wrapped scroll on it, but his gaze remained cast downward.

"The report for our mission."

"Where is Y/N?", the red-headed ninja asked, not even glancing at the document given to him. He had a bad feeling about what was happening and Bumi's lack of eye contact and nervous twitching did not help to ease his worries.

Your teammate looked up, meeting Gaara's intense stare for just a second, before clearing his throat and focusing on his shoes again.

"She...", he stopped, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another, "Um... she is not here at the moment."

"I can see that", the Kazekage pointed out, completely unamused, "Which is why I am asking - where is she?"

Bumi moved uncomfortably again, before letting out a sigh and taking a seat opposite his red-headed leader. His knee kept bouncing and he nervously shifted around his seat, before opening his mouth again:

"The Elders warned me not to tell you... yet."

Gaara's glare hardened and he crossed his fingers on top of his desk. Pressing his lips in a thin line, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising feeling of panic inside of him.

"You answer to me, not the Elders", he almost growled, his eyes not moving away from your teammate. His jaw tensed and that was enough of a sign for Bumi to spill out what was on his mind

"She is in the hospital", he blurted out and Gaara's breath hitched. His fingers started to tremble and he quickly placed them on his knees below his desk, a poor attempt to cover the shock that hit him when he heard the other male's words.

'Maybe it is just a check-up', he tried to reason in his head, 'maybe it is nothing too serious.'

Almost like he read his thoughts, Bumi decided to continue:

"It all happened so fast", he looked down, mentally reliving what happened just this morning, "We were on our way back when we were ambushed. Y/N... She has been acting weird the whole mission. She kept missing her shots and her reactions were slower than normal... I don't know what happened, but it was almost like she was not herself."

Cold sweat started forming on Gaara's temples and he felt his heart speeding inside his ribcage. He felt like he wanted to jump out of his seat and run to the hospital, but it was almost like his body was disconnected from his brain and it chose to stay frozen in place.

"So when this ninja swung his katana towards her stomach, it was too late for her to block it or move away...", Bumi gulped, his eyes now glossy, "The doctors said the cut was so deep, it damaged some of her insides too. And by the time we arrived, she also lost a ton of blood. They... They are not sure if she can make it."

Gaara always considered himself a man who knew what pain was. He has endured so much during his childhood, that he always thought nothing could hurt him anymore.

But the way his whole soul shattered the second he heard you may not make it, was a whole new type of pain. One that pointed its ugly finger to his face, screaming "It is all your fault!", while simultaneously creating feelings of rage and bloodthirst... feelings that stayed buried deep inside of him for years.

"Which village?", was all he said, his blue eyes now empty and staring at the blank wall at the opposite end of his office.

Bumi gulped, standing from his seat. The look on Gaara's face... He has not seen that look since their Chunin days. He was about to sneakily exit the office when the Kazekage's cold gaze fixated him on the spot.

"They had Leaf headbands...", he mumbled, before quickly adding, "But they could've gotten them from anywhere. I don't believe our allies-"

His words were interrupted by the Kazekage's hand which lifted in the air, cutting him mid-sentence. Getting up from his chair, he grabbed his hat, before walking past Bumi towards the door. Thousand different thoughts and ideas were racing through his brain about how he should deal with the situation, but they ultimately led to his need to see you straight away.

The last words he said to you kept echoing in his mind and he felt like throwing up. If he had shown up for your scheduled date night, if he had kept his tongue behind his teeth, if he had shown up at the gates the morning before you left... maybe you would be here, with him, instead of fighting for your life.

He knew he had to get to you, to be with you and somehow beg you to stay with him. But before that, he had one final request to make:

"Gather the Elders and the War Council", he instructed Bumi, while making his way past him, "Our alliance with the Leaf is over."

cc artwork: concept art for "Assassin's Creed: Mirage"

#gaara x reader #gaara imagine #naruto imagines #gaara of the sand #gaara angst #naruto angst

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babsharrison · 2 months ago

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Safe Haven - John Wick

(Chapter six)

Pairing | John Wick x Original Fem! Character

Summary | In search of a breath in his tumultuous life, John Wick finds himself in a charming bookstore where he meets a sweet and welcoming woman. As they grow closer, John questions whether she can love him despite the dark secrets he carries. While battling the shadows of his past, he must protect the love that is blossoming and discover if hope and redemption are truly possible.

Word Count | 3.2k (hihi 🤫)

A/N | Happy Halloween, everyone! I know it was supposed to be a Halloween fic with John Constantine, but I totally ran out of ideas for the storyline 😭

Previous chapter!

The park was stunning under the golden sunlight. The weather was perfectly cooperative, as if the universe was on Mia's side that day. The sky, without a single cloud, displayed a deep and serene blue, and the trees around, with their dense and lush canopies, swayed gently in the breeze. Mia felt at peace there, as if the park were an extension of the bookstore—a place where she could feel at home, surrounded by tranquility and beauty.

The event was going better than she expected. The welcoming atmosphere had an almost magical touch, attracting people of all ages. Children ran back and forth, some stopping at the small tables where books were displayed. Young couples and families walked hand in hand, showing interest in the covers of stories carefully selected by Mia and Tom. Some paused to leaf through the books, and Mia noticed the spark of curiosity in their eyes, which made her even more hopeful for the future of the bookstore.

She watched from afar with a discreet smile on her face, satisfied with the outcome so far. The sense of harmony enveloped everyone, as if for a few hours they were immersed in a world of words and stories.

Tom had stepped out for a moment to fetch his girlfriend, Lyla. Mia had always liked Lyla—her striking beauty was complemented by a kindness that won everyone over. Lyla was always willing to help with the bookstore, offering support and creative ideas. This friendship made Mia feel grateful to have her around.

While waiting for the two to return, Mia walked over to one of the tables to organize some misplaced books, observing the satisfied faces around her. The gentle breeze brought the fresh scent of trees and damp grass, mingling with the light floral perfume of Lyla that still seemed to linger in the air since the last time they were together.

She took a deep breath, savoring the moment. The park vibrated with laughter and conversation, but in her heart, there was a serene calm, as if all the effort to keep the bookstore alive was finally being rewarded. Mia felt that this event was a small step toward her dream—a place where people could reconnect with the joy of reading.

For a moment, her eyes drifted into the crowd. Although surrounded by people, she couldn’t help but think of John. He still hadn’t shown up, but she knew he was the unpredictable type. Would he come? And if he did, what would it be like to see him in that environment, so different from the bookstore, where he always seemed serious and reserved?

As these thoughts occupied her mind, the sunlight reflected off the leaves, creating patterns of light and shadow that danced on the park’s ground. It was a perfect day, and she could only hope that fate would collaborate once more, perhaps bringing John’s presence along with it.

Not far away, on the other side of the park, John stood in the distance, shaded by a tree, his eyes keenly observing the movement in the park. He had opted for something more discreet this time—dark jeans and a shirt with a brown jacket over it, quite different from the usual suit he wore. It was rare for him to allow himself to step away from the nearly constant uniform of his professional life, but that day, the relaxed atmosphere of the park seemed to call for a more casual approach.

Even so, his survival instincts were always on alert. The hitman in John never rested. He observed the event as he would any mission, sweeping the area with his eyes and mentally mapping out exits, assessing people and watching for any suspicious behavior. There were families, children running between tables, adults curiously flipping through books. Everything seemed... normal. But normal was not something he easily trusted.

Yet, his gaze always returned to her. Mia.

She looked different under the sunlight—more vibrant, more radiant. The light dress she wore, in a soft shade that contrasted with the surrounding greenery, made her seem like a natural part of that environment. He noticed how the fabric moved with the breeze, accentuating her silhouette in a way that, though modest, drew him in almost inevitably. John wasn’t the type of man to be swayed by appearances, but there was something about Mia's naturalness, her simplicity, that made him want to get closer, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

He watched her interact with people, always so polite, so kind. She seemed at ease there, as if that small event in the park were an extension of the bookstore she loved so much. There was a lightness in Mia’s movements, as if the world didn’t carry the same weight on her shoulders that it did on his. This intrigued him—and, on some level, unsettled him.

As he watched, John assessed the location. There were few easy exits if anything went wrong, and the number of people meant he would have to be careful if any threat arose. He couldn’t help but evaluate each unfamiliar face, paying attention to any odd behavior. That was part of who he was—an instinct deeply ingrained.

But in that moment, there were no signs of danger. Just Mia and her world, functioning in perfect harmony. John clenched his fists, struggling against the urge to approach. He knew the right thing would be to turn away and disappear, but something kept him there. He didn’t allow himself to get involved with "normal" people—not anymore. The cost was always too high.

Still, there was something in Mia that made him hesitate.

He found himself watching as the sun illuminated her face when she leaned down to help someone, the genuine smile she offered to each person. There was a beauty in that, a simplicity he didn’t know. It was as if, for a moment, the world around her was lighter, less dark. And part of him wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be a part of that, even if just briefly.

John took a deep breath, trying to push away the thoughts that plagued him. The doubts about his presence there and what it meant to be so close to Mia made him uneasy. But even from a distance, her eyes seemed to pull him closer, as if saying it was safe to approach. He knew that wasn’t true—nothing was ever safe in his life. Yet, in that moment, he hesitated, an almost irresistible impulse drawing him toward her.

A car screeching to a halt behind him snapped his attention, jolting him out of his reverie. He turned, instinctively on guard, his survival instincts kicking in. Almost without realizing, he heard light footsteps on the fallen leaves covering the grass, and his heart raced. As he turned, the last thing he expected to see was Mia, approaching with her hands behind her back and a sweet smile that lit up her face.

The sight of her caught him off guard, and he felt his heart skip a beat, an almost forgotten sensation. The lightness in her expression and the joy radiating from her made her seem even more enchanting. It was as if the world around him had vanished, leaving only that singular moment, where nothing else mattered.

John almost looked around, perplexed, wondering how she found him. It was as if she had a sixth sense for locating him, no matter how well he hid. He wondered if, somewhere deep down, she understood him in a way that no one else could. The way her eyes sparkled, filled with fun and an innocence that intrigued him, made his mind spin. He was so used to keeping his distance, but Mia seemed to be a force pulling him to a place he had never allowed himself to be.

“I'm so glad you came!” She exclaimed, her excitement filling the air with vibrant energy. Her smile was contagious, and even though he was reluctant, John couldn't help but feel a small, genuine smile appear on his lips, something he hadn’t done in a long time. “You seemed hesitant to approach, so I decided to come over and call you.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, incredulity escaping his lips, but there was a lightness that contradicted his usual distance. “I just... didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding at all! Come on, I’ll show you what we’re doing.” Mia took a step forward, gesturing with her hands for him to follow. “The event is pretty lively. There are lots of people and several tables with books.”

He hesitated for a moment, but the way she spoke, so naturally, drew him closer. “And are you... okay?” He asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yes! I’m a bit nervous, but that’s normal, right?” She laughed, the sound light and sincere. “I just want people to enjoy it and come to know the bookstore. Every person who walks by is a victory!”

John watched her as they walked, noticing how she seemed to shine in that atmosphere. “You really care about this.”

“Of course! It’s a dream I’m trying to keep alive,” she replied, the sincerity in her voice making her even more captivating. “And I hope you, Mr. Wick, feel part of it too.”

He laughed, a low sound without humor. “Mr. Wick? Don’t make me sound so formal.”

Mia stopped and turned to him, her eyes sparkling with fun. “Okay, then you prefer John? I’ll try to remember that.” She tilted her head, looking at him with an expression of camaraderie. “Just don’t make me call you ‘Mr. Wick’ in public, because then you’ll really make me nervous!”

He shook his head, laughing. “Don’t worry, you can use whatever you want. I’m not very good with these title things.”

“Great! So, John, are you ready to mingle?” Mia continued to gently pull him in the direction of the event, her excitement almost palpable. “I promise you’ll have fun.”

He hesitated, but her confidence was contagious. “Let’s see how it goes.”

As they approached the tables with displayed books, John felt his gaze drawn to a thick volume with a richly bound leather cover. His fingers itched to pick it up, feeling the weight and texture of that well-crafted book. There was something almost nostalgic about it, a silent appreciation he had for such details.

“Do you like bookbinding?” Mia asked, noticing his interest.

“I do,” he admitted, holding the book between his hands. “It’s... an art in itself, preserving stories.”

Mia watched him, visibly surprised. “I would never have imagined. I think there are a lot of things I still don’t know about you.”

John turned the book in his hands, appreciating every detail on the cover. “Bookbinding is a form of respect for stories, don’t you think?” He commented, almost as if speaking to himself. “Something that transforms content into something enduring.”

Mia smiled, fascinated by how he viewed the object in his hands. “I’ve never thought of it that way… but it makes perfect sense. A good book can last generations. That must be why I’m so attached to my grandfather’s bookstore.”

He raised his gaze to her, with an expression that mixed surprise and understanding. “It seems he passed on more than just a business to you. It’s rare to see someone so young have such an appreciation.”

“I think it’s one of those things you learn over time. And I... well, I feel like I’m just starting.” She shrugged, a light smile on her lips. “And you? How did someone like you come to like bookbinding?”

John hesitated, but for some reason, the barriers he usually erected seemed less solid. “It’s... complicated. It’s part of a past I tend to leave behind, but... I still like it.” He paused before letting out a small smile. “In a way, it’s almost therapeutic. A work of precision, something that requires patience.”

“Maybe you can teach me one day,” she suggested, joking but with a touch of sincerity.

John raised an eyebrow, a shadow of humor on his face. “It’s a more tedious job than it seems, Mia.”

She laughed, tilting her head. “I’m willing to take the risk. Besides, maybe a little tedious routine would be good, don’t you think?”

He chuckled softly, a rare and warm sound that made Mia feel a slight flutter in her heart. Mia adjusted the books in her hands, her thumb absentmindedly brushing against the worn spine of the bound volume she had just handed to him. John watched her in silence, his eyes analyzing, almost as if he were assessing the safety of that brief moment of tranquility. Even without speaking, she felt the weight of his gaze and, curious, decided not to rush him, allowing him to absorb that instant.

“The cover of this one is a bit worn, but I think it’s even more beautiful that way,” she remarked, glancing at the book before looking back at John. “It seems like it has a story beyond the story, you know?”

John tilted his head slightly, holding the book with an almost reverent delicacy, as if pondering the profound meaning behind Mia’s words. “A story beyond the story,” he repeated, his voice sounding like a soft echo, more directed at himself than at her. The phrase resonated within him, evoking memories of distant times, of a life that now seemed a lost shadow.

Mia noticed the subtle change in his face, as if for a brief moment he were trying to reconnect with something he had left behind. A smile illuminated her face, for she felt that, even without needing words, she had established a small bridge between them, a connection that transcended the present moment.

Before she could formulate further thoughts or share any revelation, a familiar voice cut through the air, calling her name. It was Tom, accompanied by Lyla, who had finally arrived. Their presence brought a new energy to the environment, but Mia couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment she had shared with John still lingered between them, like an invisible, delicate thread connecting them.

She waved to her friends before turning back to John, who also seemed to have noticed their arrival. “John, feel free. I’ll be right back,” she said, tilting her head slightly and offering a soft smile.

Upon hearing the affectionate way she pronounced his name, John felt his heart palpitate with an unexpected strength in his chest, as if that simple gesture of kindness had briefly shattered the barrier he kept around himself.

After Mia’s smile, John remained in his place, his eyes vaguely following her as she moved away to greet her friends. He tried to distract himself, observing the details of the event, but it was inevitable that his gaze returned to her from time to time. There was something in the lightness of her movements, in the way she spoke with her friends, that made him think of everything he rarely allowed himself.

***

Tom leaned toward Mia, speaking softly while casting a brief glance in John’s direction.

“So, that’s the mysterious man from the bookstore, isn’t it?” he commented, a curious smile on his face.

Mia chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yes, that’s him. He came to check out the books.”

Lyla, always with a keen eye, exchanged a smile with Mia. “And he seems to have more than just a casual interest in the bookstore, don’t you think?”

Mia shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, but her cheeks flushed slightly. “He’s just… different. I think everyone deserves a place to disconnect for a bit.”

Tom smiled, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “Sure, and maybe he’s actually found something here.”

Mia nodded affirmatively, allowing herself a quick glance at where John was, without him noticing. “Maybe. He seems like someone who could use some peace.”

John, on the other side, was trying his best to keep his attention on the surroundings, but even without directly facing her, he perceived every smile and laugh. Although he was reluctant to feel part of anything, that atmosphere—those people—had a strange effect on him.

John allowed himself to be enveloped by the warm atmosphere of the small makeshift bookstore in the park. There was something there—the scent of books, the soft laughter of people around, the gentle sound of music in the distance—that seemed to suspend time, creating a rare refuge amid the chaos of the city. The park was lively, with families, couples, and curious readers exploring the book tents scattered across the grass and surrounded by flowers and small hanging lights.

As John leafed through the book he held—a vintage edition with slightly yellowed pages—Mia approached, noticing his interest. A smile lit up her face as she recognized the title: it was one of her favorites, a classic romance she revisited whenever she could.

“This is one of my favorites,” she said softly, the enthusiasm evident in her voice. “Have you read it?”

John looked up at her, catching the sparkle in her eyes. “Not yet,” he replied, his voice low and thoughtful. “But it seems like a good choice.”

“It really is!” Mia said, speaking about the author and the passages that had touched her the most. John absorbed every word without seeming to, as if her description brought unexpected meaning to the volume he held. A rare impulse led him to buy it, almost without realizing it.

She guided him to a makeshift table serving as a payment station, near one of the park’s paths, decorated with small flowers and candles. As Mia organized the receipt and wrapped the book, a figure approached among the temporary shelves. An elegant man, with a contained posture and a dark suit that contrasted with the relaxed setting, stopped beside them, feigning interest in some of the displayed books.

“Good afternoon,” he said, holding a random book, his eyes fixing on Mia with a calculated smile. “I didn’t expect to find such an interesting collection in the middle of the park. It seems like a rare opportunity.”

Mia smiled, as welcoming as ever but with a hint of curiosity. “Thank you. We hope readers truly feel at home here. Can I help with anything special?”

“Perhaps,” the man replied, casting a quick, discreet glance at John before returning his attention to Mia. “Marco Vitale,” he introduced himself, with a distant but calculated courtesy. “I’m not usually one to stop at events like this, but… today I felt drawn to this collection.”

The mere mention of the name was enough to put John on high alert. Marco Vitale was a dangerous name, familiar in a way he’d rather avoid. While Marco’s presence there might have seemed coincidental, his light, casual tone didn’t fool John; this encounter felt anything but innocent. Positioned beside Mia, John observed him closely, showing no hint of discomfort, every fiber of his being prepared for any imminent threat.

Marco maintained the same courteous smile, as if John’s presence were casual. Mia, oblivious to the subtext of the conversation, thanked Marco for his purchase and handed him the book. And as she finalized the payment, John noticed that Marco’s gaze lingered on her a bit longer than necessary, before throwing a look at John that carried more than it seemed.

The idea that merely being there could have attracted Marco was a sharp reminder that, no matter how much he tried to escape, the shadows of his world followed closely behind.

Next chapter!

Tagging: @hope92100

#john wick x reader #john wick #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanu reeves x reader #keanuverse fic #fanfic #fanfic writing #romance #fyp #john wick fanfic #john wick fic #john wick series #john wick imagine #thomas shelby x reader #john my beloved

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evans23 · 19 days ago

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RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 9 - UNWANTED SOLITUDE [B1]

Pairing : Judge Turpin x OC (Emily)

Summary : She was the one. He knew it at first sight. He has been alone for a long time, a solitude he has never been able to fulfill but she was the one, even though she doesn't want him.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Arranged mariage.

A/N : And my favourite one is back !

OUT OF REACH : Part II

TO BELONG : Part III

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

He had noticed her one evening at the theatre. She was in the stalls, the seats reserved for modest people who could not afford a seat. He had noticed her before the play began, a Shakespearean drama, not that he had followed any of the action. The scene, at no time, had fascinated him as much as this charming creature whose curls fell in cascades on her shoulders instead of being tied in a bun as propriety demanded. She stood straight and when she had raised her bright green eyes to him without seeing him, he had been captivated, hypnotized.

After that evening, he had not really thought about her, until that September afternoon when he had seen her in a dusty old bookshop where she was interested in a collection of poetry. He had gone in to buy a societal work that was causing a stir in court. He had been struck by her obvious education, yet her clothes betrayed her low status. She must have attended a parish school or one of her unofficial girls' schools that, in addition to teaching them how to be good wives, also taught them how to read and write and the basics of mathematics.

That was when the bookseller came up to her briskly, snatching the book from her hands.

"Miss, these books are for sale, you don't leaf through them like newspapers," he growled.

She looked down, blushing slightly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, nervously playing with the ribbon of her dress.

The bookseller was about to retort, but Richard intervened, his deep voice echoing in the small bookstore.

"I don't think she did any harm to your books by leafing through them, sir," he said sternly.

"Lord... Lord Tur... Lord Turpin," the salesman stammered, bowing exaggeratedly. "I know she can't buy it," he added pettily.

The young woman blushed a little more, embarrassed at being humiliated in this way. Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Did she tell you ?"

"No, but I know her family well. Her father is a small merchant without money who struggles to make ends meet."

His humiliation was total and Turpin did not miss the eyes that welled up in his eyes.

"Miss is here at my request. This book, she bought it for me, but I think I will have to buy my books elsewhere," Turpin replied, his eyes flashing.

He grabbed the young woman's arm and led her out of the store without knowing what strange force was taking hold of him. He would never have done such a thing under normal circumstances.

"Sir," she said, surprised and frightened by his gesture.

"I couldn't let him insult you any longer," he said, finally releasing her.

She looked up, surprise evident on all her features.

"You shouldn't have done that, he won't allow me to come back and he's the only dealer who gives him prices..." she hesitated for a moment, biting her lower lip, "correct," she finally breathed.

"Reading is a rare quality, especially for a young woman..." he stopped himself just in time to say of your condition, "I know a small bookstore near Fleet Street where you can find what you're looking for at a low price. It's where shrewd men buy their books for next to nothing."

That was completely false. This bookstore was one of the most expensive in London, but he would make sure that the seller gave him the lowest possible prices against the promise that he would pay the difference.

She just nodded, clearly intimidated by his imposing stature.

"May I ask who I have the honour of speaking to ?" he finally asked.

"Emily. Emily Everwood, sir," she said before quickly correcting herself, "Lord Turpin."

"So you know who I am," he said more to himself.

"Well, you were in the paper yesterday morning," she said, looking up at his for the first time.

Indeed, one of his judgments had caused a sensation. A thirteen-year-old boy who had been punished with one hundred lashes before being sent to work on a plantation in the United States.

"I should be going. Thank you, sir," she said, looking down again.

She walked away quickly under Richard's heavy gaze as he watched her fade into the London fog. It had been a long time since he had felt this way. The last time was for a young woman named Lucy. She had rejected him for a penniless barber and was now living in a small, shabby apartment above a pie shop with their little girl. It had taken him a while to process the rejection, but he had finally moved on, vowing never to fall in love again. Except that he had just fallen in love again.

It didn't take him long to learn that she was the daughter of a respectable merchant but ruined by unfortunate investments two years earlier. He still ran his small business, but he was desperately short of money and the old man was ill.

She looked young, but she was only sixteen years younger than him. Nothing insurmountable. Not that age was any obstacle in their patriarchal society, but he didn't want a child to educate, he wanted a woman to support him as he turned forty-eight.

He thought for a long time. Was it worth the risk ? She was penniless, without title. She would bring him nothing compared to all that he would bring her. But he was in love and if he wanted to ensure his descendants, it was now or never.

So he had gone to the Everwoods one afternoon, dressed in his most sober frock coat, his back straight, his cane in his hand which clattered on the pavement. Emily's father had come to open the door for him. He was a tired but affable old man. He had stood there in awe as he saw the High Judge of London at his door, thinking quickly who he might still owe money to. Probably a lot of people.

"Mr Everwood, I am here on a matter of the utmost importance. May I come in ?"

The poor man stepped back slightly, his eyes wide with fear, to let Richard into his house, which was in serious need of work, even though his daughter maintained it with care.

"I... I can raise the money," Mr Everwood began.

Turpin held up a hand to interrupt him.

"That is not why I am here. However, the proposition I intend to make to you could solve all your problems," he began with controlled confidence, "I have noticed your daughter, Emily. I believe she deserves a better future than what you can offer her."

Mr Everwood clenched his jaw but said nothing, much to Richard's satisfaction.

"I can offer her a decent life, a position, a life where she will want for nothing. If you would grant me her hand."

The silence that fell was heavy. Mr. Everwood did not know what to say. He had not expected this and even less from a man like The Death's Judge.

"Dad, you can't decide for me," Emily's voice startled her as she threw open the door to his room.

Richard did not know that she was there listening at the door, but he did not blink.

"My daughter, think of our situation. This marriage would bring you so much. Think of your future, I have nothing to offer you, I am sick, I have debts."

"Dad,"

"Emily," her father interrupted him, "he must not be such a bad man and..."

He was interrupted by a coughing fit. Emily immediately handed her a glass of water under Richard's unyielding gaze.

"Miss Everwood, Emily, I am sincere in my desire to make you my wife."

"You don't even know me," she replied sharply.

"We will have plenty of time to get to know each other. After the wedding."

Emily didn't know what to say. She wanted to refuse him, she wanted to get angry, but on the other hand, she also saw the practicalities of accepting. Except that she knew Richard Turpin's reputation. Falling into his hands could be much worse than poverty.

"Emily, you are no longer... you are no longer a young girl. The chances of finding a good husband are almost nil. It is unhoped for."

Emily straightened up abruptly, her cheeks red with anger, stung that her father had dared to remind her of her status as an old maid.

"You want to sell me like one of your sacks of potatoes ? Like one sells a mare ? Dad !"

Richard clenched his fists but tried to keep his cool. He had to play it smart if he wanted to get the outcome he wanted quickly.

"Miss, I'm not here to buy a wife. I'm here because I see in you what I've been searching for a long time without being able to find. I'm sure we can get along. You'll never be afraid to challenge me, you'll never be afraid to put me in my place, and I in return will have a mate. I offer you and your father a better life, away from trouble. Away from misery when your father is dead and you find yourself begging on the streets. But, the choice is yours of course," he whispered the last words.

He suppressed a smile, knowing full well that his arguments had hit the mark.

"I'll come back tomorrow to hear your decision," and with those last words, he took his leave of the Everwoods.

The night was long and full of screams and tears at the Everwoods. When Turpin returned the next day, at nightfall, Emily was nowhere to be seen. She had locked herself in her small room, listening through the door to the exchange between the judge and her father as they discussed her and the bright future that Turpin would offer her.

"I... I know you're a respectable man," her father began.

She wanted to scream.

Lord Richard Turpin, a respectable man ?

What respectable man was nicknamed The Death's Judge ?

He condemned more than he pardoned, had children whipped or had their ears nailed to the ground in public as a "lesson". Would this be what he would do to their children if he did wrong ?

Would he beat them as she had been so often at school for the slightest mistake ?

"I agree to give you her hand. I entrust her to you," her father finished saying.

Her eyes burned but she refrained from shedding a single tear. No, she would not cry even if the bell had just fallen. Sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands clenched on her worn dress, she felt confused. A mixture of anger and resignation. She knew that it was the best thing to do, for her, for her father who had always sacrificed everything for her. Wasn't it up to her now to ensure their survival ?

"I'll be back tomorrow. I hope my fiancée will be here," Turpin said forcefully, turning his head toward the door he knew led to her bedroom.

As promised, he returned the next morning. Emily sat by the fire, her face downcast. She rose slowly as Richard entered.

"I wish to be alone with my fiancée," Richard said to Mr. Everwood.

Emily's father hesitated, it was not right, but one look from Richard dissuaded him from arguing.

"Emily, I know that's not what you wanted," Richard began when they were alone.

"If that's what my father wants, then... then I don't really have a choice, do I ?" she cut him off.

"I wish it were your decision," Richard said in a voice so soft that she looked up in surprise.

He looked at her for a long time, trying to probe her mind, to understand what she really felt. He could discern fear, resignation, but also a slight glimmer of rebellion.

She, she knew that refusing would be madness. Although she was considered one of the prettiest girls in their neighbourhood, she had never been proposed to and honestly, what man would have been worthy enough of her, of her wit, of her vivacity ?

But it was not because Richard Turpin was rich that he would have more respect for her and all that she could offer if only this world of men would offer him a chance.

"It is also my decision," she whispered, "I accept."

She plunged her deep green eyes into Richard's dark ones. She wanted to cry, he could see it, but she bravely held herself back.

"You will not regret it," he whispered, taking her hand, "I promise you."

"Promises mean nothing. Actions are what count," she replied in a harsh voice that surprised Richard.

Without taking his eyes off hers, he pulled a velvet box from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it. Inside was a gold band set with a sapphire.

"To seal our engagement. It belonged to my mother," he said as he slipped it onto her finger.

Emily stared at the ring with a mixture of admiration and apprehension. She had never held anything so expensive in her hands and now, this ring was hers.

"Don't take it off," Turpin said more like an order than a request, "our marriage will be announced soon, you cannot be seen without your engagement ring."

She closed her eyes, understanding the hidden meaning behind this request, this order. Now that she was going to belong to him, she couldn't let doubt hover, humiliate her future husband.

And so, under Richard's strict guidance, the preparations began. The wedding would take place within a fortnight, at the end of September. In the meantime, the Everwoods' debts had been paid in full and a carpenter had come to take care of their dilapidated building.

"The wedding will be worthy of your new life, Emily," Turpin told her one day when he was taking her to see one of London's most renowned dressmakers to have her wedding dress made.

She let herself be undressed, dressed, and measured by the dressmaker, aware that Richard was waiting in the next room. The wedding dress would not be her only gift. He had told her that he did not want her to take her old things. At the manor, all she would have would be new and reflect her new status. She must leave Emily Everwood behind to become Lady Emily Turpin.

Emily, for her part, struggled with a thousand and one conflicting thoughts. She didn't want to become a submissive and silent wife, but did she really have a choice ?

On the wedding day, most of the guests were from Richard's world. On her side, there was only her father and his new suit that Richard had had made so that he would have something decent to wear.

Father and daughter advanced into the small chapel carefully decorated with white flowers. People whispered as she passed, but Emily didn't hear them, as if she had left her body. Arriving in front of Richard, her father lifted her veil and kissed her on the cheek before handing her over to her future husband.

The exchange of vows, the officialisation of the marriage by the priest, Richard's chaste kiss on her cold lips, she had the impression that all this had happened to someone else.

During the reception in a posh tea room, Richard was more than in his element while she, intimidated and trembling, would have liked to escape, but she couldn't. He held her firmly in his arm.

The end of the evening did not come too quickly for Emily who was at the end of her strength. Short of breath because of the too tight corset, her apprehension of making the slightest misstep and the fear that gripped her throat. The fear of having sealed her fate to that of a monster.

They finally arrived at the manor where the few servants were waiting for them.

"Here is Mrs. Watson, she will take care of you," Richard said, nodding to an old woman with features as severe as his master's.

The old woman led Emily to the bridal chamber and prepared her for the night, undoing her hair, removing her heavy jewellery, and undressing her into a silk and lace nightgown.

Shivering, Emily sat on the edge of the bed, feeling more alone than ever, not knowing that Richard felt this way too. In fact, he had felt this way for a long time, since childhood, since that day when his own mother had told him, when he was only six years old, that she had only had him out of duty and that she didn't care if his father could beat him like a plaster cast as long as he was not at her feet. But with Emily, with his new wife, he hoped to finally fill this unwanted loneliness.

Emily had also been alone all her life. She had been lucky enough to be loved by her father, but she had had a harsh education in this small school for girls that she had attended, where she and the other girls had been regularly beaten for no real reason other than that they were children who had to be taught obedience, submission. She still remembered how, every evening, she hid her tears from her father and where, every morning, her stomach twisted with pain, making her nauseous.

This had lasted until she was ten, when her father had discovered the true harshness of this establishment that promised to raise future young women as worthy as ladies and he had taken her out of school, deciding that she would teach herself at home with the books he could offer her and that she would help him in the store where she could learn to count and do accounting with him.

Growing up, her tendency to refuse the slightest constraint and her astonishing intelligence for a girl of her background and condition had made many men back down, not that she had never had the slightest interest in one of them. But as the years passed, her twenties faded and her beauty began to fade slowly, she too had begun to feel the weight of this unwanted solitude.

She jumped when Richard came into the room, dressed in night pants and the shirt he had worn during the ceremony.

He looked at her, a fire dancing in his eyes and advanced slowly, like a feline circling its prey. Emily. This woman who had captivated him with a single glance in a London theatre was now his, here, in his room and she would soon share his bed and his entire life.

He stopped right in front of her, placed his hand on her cheek and lifted her head gently before leaning down to press his lips to hers tenderly. She pulled back slowly, her eyes losing all defiance, all trace of rebellion. She was scared.

"You're mine now, Emily," Richard whispered.

She closed her eyes, knowing full well that she couldn't stop him from exercising his right as a husband. She had agreed to marry him, she had closed the trap on her herself, and now he could do whatever he wanted with her, subjugate her by any means necessary.

"You're mine and I won't let anyone forget that. And certainly not you."

#alan rickman #judge turpin x reader #judge turpin #sweeney todd #evans23 #rickmas2024

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boughclan-clangen · 26 days ago

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BoughClan Naming System

boughclan and its neighbors along the coast abide by a strict naming system which is simple, but effective for cats of the clans to quickly identify each others' skills and life stories. naming ceremonies are not only held for major life transitions, but also for cats who display new proclivities for skills they hadn't shown before, such as cats who retire and become particularly adept at telling stories. name changes are celebrated not only within the clan, but also at each gathering as part of clan news.

as such, most suffixes have specific meanings, and many are reserved only for cats who take up specific roles. for cats who are generalists, or who have not yet displayed a particular proclivity for a specific skill, there are generalist suffixes which usually serve to affirm the cat's given prefix. attitude toward generalist suffixes varies between clans and individuals; some find these prefixes to be an honor and a sign of a dependable cat, while others find them boring and uncreative.

prefixes are generally given at birth based on the color of the kit's fur. in exceptional circumstances, such as an outsider joining the clan, they can also be based on other striking features such as eye color, body size, or, very rarely, scarring.

name changes are never issued on the basis of disability, nor are cats ever forced to retire if they have a disability.

below the cut is a list of suffixes the clans of the coast use and their meanings, separated by the role they are reserved for.

Doctor Suffixes

-feather : receives many omens, adept at dream interpretation

-leaf : especially good with herb & berry mixtures, superb healers

-pool : great memory for lore-keeping, rely on their knowledge of clan history to give personal advice

-sight : forward-thinker, reliable advisor for leaders & deputies making decisions affecting the future of the clan

Mediator Suffixes

-tail : good at carefully navigating delicate political situations

-whisker : good-natured and light-hearted demeanor

-shine : charismatic and easy to like

-face : unbreakable composure

Warrior Suffixes

-heart : true to oneself, especially strong ideals

-fern : especially thoughtful

-moss : especially thoughtful

-stream : good swimmer

-belly : good swimmer/diver

-fall : playful, mischievous

-claw : strong, good fighter

-fang : strong, good fighter

-eye : excellent hunter

-nose : excellent hunter

-ear : excellent hunter

-leg : great climber

-foot : great climber

-swoop : great climber

-wing : especially fleet of foot

-flight : especially fleet of foot

-cloud : introspective

-storm : ambitious

-flower : generous, kind-hearted, selfless

-dawn : generous, kind-hearted, selfless

-shade : good at stealth, sneaky

-dusk : good at stealth, sneaky

-ghost : tends to be visited by StarClan or the Dark Forest frequently

-spirit : tends to be visited by StarClan or the Dark Forest frequently

Elder Suffixes

-song : good storyteller

Generalist Suffixes

-pelt : affirmation of given prefix

-fur : affirmation of given prefix

-stripe : a tabby cat or a cat who has one bold stripe

-blaze : a tabby cat or a cat who has one bold stripe

-dapple : a spotted, marbled, mottled, or tortoiseshell cat

-spot : a spotted, mottled, or tortoiseshell cat

-speckle : a spotted, mottled, or tortoiseshell cat

-swarm : a spotted, mottled, or tortoiseshell cat

#boughlore #boughclan-clangen #clangen #clan generator #warriors #warrior cats #wanted to post this mostly because i thinkm y own naming system is kind of sick LOL #but calling it 'my own' is also kind of misleading #i based it off ailuronymy's naming system and made some tweaks #also wanted to post this to answer some questions before theyre sent about whether or not i change the cats' names--i definitely do #soem of the clangen randomly generated names get me so bad #most of them i can't take seriously hahaha #so i usually end up changing their generated names ot things that fit better #sometimes ill leave the generated prefixes if they fit but usually they actually dont. like an orange cat named icekit is not gonna fly #and more often than not the generated suffixes are SO silly #sorry but WHAT leader is out here naming warriors shit like thundermunch. please im begging.#anyway i hope u all find this neato

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tishots-skvad · 9 months ago

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An old, but cozy answer in Wakfu ask... When Aurora was dubbed a manipulator who was "probably even capable of killing Armand"... I decided to make a little joke about this theory. And I'm glad that in the end they were made into a sincere loving couple✨✨✨

────────────────────────────

How is Aurora doing? Well, it's naturally hard for her in her new place. She's still getting used to the palace and our customs.

– I haven't asked the ladies-in-waiting for help to get dressed for a long time. But how the hell to fix this one... a leaf!?

────────────────────────────

But I know she's secretly making big plans...

Next year, if the situation in Sadida kingdom improves, she wants to start designing her reserve. Even, modestly writes to his mother that on our honeymoon we could arrange the capture of rare animals together.

────────────────────────────

– Has His Highness atrophied his sense of tact? What were you trying to find there?

– At least a conspiracy plan.

– Very funny. It's nice that King Sadida has such an increased interest to the life of his wife, but Ozamodas is punished with a dozen lashes for peeping.

– I think I've already received enough...

────────────────────────────

#wakfu #ask #comics #AU #OC #wakfu armand #wakfu aurora #armand sheran sharm #aurora de laurent #armivrora #aurora's tail✨✨✨

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aquamarine-oceanfront · 2 months ago

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TADC Tower Records Cafe collaboration information

A few hours ago, the official Japanese Amazing Digital Circus Twitter account revealed that the series would be collaborating with two Tower Records Cafes in the country. Ticket pre-sales begin on the 18th (JST), and the actual collab will start between October 31st and November 1st (depending on the store) and run until the 25th.

What will this entail, exactly? As Tower Records' post on the matter says (roughly translated):

ポムニたちをはじめとしたキャラクターたちのイメージコラボメニューの販売やオリジナルメニュー特典のほか、コラボ限定描き下ろしを使用した店内装飾で皆さまをお迎えいたします！ In addition to selling new menu items styled after Pomni and company, as well as specially-made bonus postcards, everyone who comes will be greeted with in-store collab artwork (made just for the occasion)!

They'll also be selling merchandise (some new, some pre-existing) to people who consume the event's food.

That's the gist of it, but I felt like summarizing all the relevant information I could (near-entirely from the aforementioned blog post) - the fruit of my efforts is just below the jump.

To begin with, attending the cafe requires advance reservations, with each time slot lasting for an hour & twenty minutes. Attendees buy online tickets (worth 500 yen per person, accompanied by a 500 yen meal coupon) tied to the number of seats they'll need - oddly, they're grouped into either 2 or 4 seats independent of the flat 500 yen/person rate, which means that a single diner is still technically in the "2 seats" category despite obviously only needing one.

(Also: they do offer same-day tickets if - and only if - there happens to be vacancy. They don't come with any meal coupons, though.)

(As a second side note, every price I mention in this post includes tax.)

Of course, your ticket won't (entirely) cover the cost of food and drink. The Cafe limits the amount of either you can buy: a single person (500 yen) can purchase no more than 1 food item, 1 sweet, and 3 drinks. (This is also the limit for same-day tickets.) However, the upper limit scales in accordance with the price of the ticket (and, in turn, the amount of people expected to be in your group) - at absolute most (4 people/2,000 yen), diners can get 4 food items, 4 sweets, and 12 drinks.

Right now, I imagine, you're probably wanting to see those food items. Without further ado, here are the two options (both costing 1,890 yen):

Pomni Hamburger: Includes buns, hamburger patty, pickles, a chedder cheese slice, red-leaf lettuce, tomato, and ketchup. Served with French fries & monaka. (I'm not 100% sure about that last one but it's the only translation of モナカ that seemed plausible in this context.)

Ragatha Omurice: Includes chicken rice, a thin omelette "sheet" (オムシート), and ketchup. Served with potato salad, red-leaf lettuce, mozzarella cheese, cherry tomatoes, & monaka.

Now we move on to the sweets:

Caine Cupcake (1,690 yen): A cupcake with strawberry whip, strawberries, blueberries, mixed berries, mint, powdered sugar, chocolate sweets, strawberry sauce, & monaka.

Zooble Parfait (1,690 yen): Includes a strawberry no-bake cake (literally "rare cake," or レアケーキ - I assume it's a cold or at least cool treat), mango ice cream, corn flakes, mascarpone whip, blueberry sauce, yogurt, mixed berries, mint, chocolate sweets, rolled chocolate, & monaka.

Jax Pancake (1,890 yen): A thick hotcake served with blueberry sauce, mixed berries, blueberry cream, whipped cream, strawberries, blueberries, chervil, silver dragees (tiny edible decorations), powdered sugar, monaka, & latte (panna?) cotta.

The drinks make up the largest category by far - each one is priced at 900 yen:

Gangle Berry Tea (HOT): Made with raspberry syrup, black tea, mixed berries, and mint. Also mentioned (but not pictured): whipped cream & monaka.

Jax Blueberry Yogurt: Made with blueberry sauce, drinkable yogurt, blueberries, whipped cream, and mint. Not pictured: monaka.

Ragatha Blue Lemonade (HOT): Made with blue curaçao syrup, lemonade, and lemon slices. Not pictured: whipped cream & monaka.

Pomni & Kinger Strawberry Milk: Made with strawberry syrup, diced strawberries, milk, whipped cream, strawberry sauce, and a cherry. Not pictured: monaka.

Caine & Bubble Cranberry Juice: Cranberry juice with raspberries and star-shaped nata de coco. Not pictured: whipped cream & monaka.

Finally, there's only one takeout option:

Takeout Bottle w/Popcorn (980 yen): Specifically popcorn colored red, blue, & yellow. They make these in-store, and Tower Records recommends you eat them as soon as possible (regardless of whether you open it or not). They're also exempt from the aforementioned purchase limits - buy as much as you'd like. (Or as much as is available - each store will keep the public updated on their inventory through their respective Twitter accounts.)

(Curiously, one of the many disclaimers seems to state that the "collab & takeout menus will be available for the whole [financial] year." I don't know if I'm misinterpreting the original Japanese sentence - コラボメニュー・テイクアウトメニューは通期提供です。)

As an extra bonus, every order (including the takeaway bottle) comes with a bonus postcard featuring some of the event's artwork. The selection differs depending on the date: come before November 12th and you'll get one of these at random:

However, if you come between the 12th and the 25th (the event's closing date), you'll instead get one of these:

Finally, people who pay for any of the aforementioned dishes will be allowed to purchase merchandise on-site.

The above promo picture conveniently separates the new items (top) from the existing ones (bottom). The former includes acrylic stands and badges (sold either individually or as a full set of 8 - the latter being the upper limit for them no matter what), clear files, and mugs (1 per person). The latter is mostly stuff InfoLens made for the Japanese market (some of which will only go on sale on November 7th), with the lone exception of Jax's AniMatez figure. Also: the limit is specifically per person, not per the number of seats - so one attendee won't be considered two people, even if they're technically in the "2 seats" category. (Remember that from earlier?)

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #amazing digital circus #digital circus #tower records #japan

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blindmanspuff · 2 years ago

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Aganorsa Leaf Announces Rare Leaf Reserve Maduro - Cigar News

Aganorsa Leaf Announces Rare Leaf Reserve Maduro - #Cigar News @casafernandez #cigars

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#Aganorsa Leaf #Rare Leaf Reserve #Rare Leaf Reserve Maduro #Terence Reilly

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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year ago

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 8: The Lake

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: T - nakey lakey time Word count: 6.1k

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Author's Notes: This chapter has a lot of segments preserved from the book, the lake scene being widely regarded as one of the golden moments in Benophie's love story. (And good god almighty what goats do I need to sacrifice to make sure we get it in the show?!? 😜) But the immediate aftermath of the lake scene also gives lots of readers the ick - me included - so as always, I have rounded things out to fit the cheeky, gentle character of Show!Benedict. Enjoy 💙

There were advantages, Benedict soon discovered, to a long, drawn-out recovery.

The most obvious was the quantity and variety of excellent food brought forth from Mrs. Wiggin in the kitchens. He’d always been fed well at Aubrey Hall of course, but Mrs. Wiggin truly rose to the occasion with him tucked away in his sickroom.

Another perk of staying abed was the simple fact that, for the first time in years, he could enjoy some quiet time. He read, sketched, and even closed his eyes and just daydreamed - all without feeling guilty for neglecting some other task or chore.

Benedict soon decided that he’d be perfectly happy leading the life of the indolent.

But the best part of his recovery, by far, was Sophie. She popped into his room several times a day, sometimes to fluff his pillows, sometimes to bring him food or her medicinal tea which he genuinely believed was helping, and sometimes just to read to him. He wasn’t sure if her level of industriousness stemmed from a desire to earn the compensation he had promised, or to be useful as a means of thanking him. He was just happy that she came to see him so frequently. She was every bit the nurse he knew she would be.

She’d been quiet and reserved at first, obviously trying to adhere to the standard that servants should rarely be heard. But Benedict had had none of that, and he’d purposefully engaged her in conversation, stretching out the length of each visit.

But mostly he just enjoyed being in the same room with her. It didn’t seem to matter if they were talking, or if she was just sitting in a chair, leafing through a book while he stared out the window. Something about her presence brought him peace.

A sharp knock at the door broke him out of his thoughts and he looked up eagerly, calling out, “Enter!”

Sophie poked her head in, her shoulder-length hair brushing against the edge of the door. “I brought you some more tea.”

“Tea? Or tea and biscuits?”

Sophie grinned, pushing the door open with her hip as she balanced the tray. “Oh, the latter if Mrs. Wiggin has anything to say about it.”

“Excellent,” he smiled. “And will you join me?”

She hesitated, as she always did, but then she nodded, as she also always did. She’d long since learned that there was no arguing with Benedict when he had his mind set on something.

“Your color is back,” she commented as she set the tray down on the bedside table. “And you don’t look nearly so tired. I should think you’ll be up and out of bed soon.”

He smiled gamely, “Do you think so?”

“Yes,” she smiled and lifted the teapot. Benedict watched her hands as she prepared the tea. She moved with an innate sense of grace, and she poured the tea as if she’d been to the manner born. Clearly the art of afternoon tea had been another one of those lessons she’d learned from her mother’s generous employers. Or maybe she’d just watched other ladies closely while they’d prepared tea. Again, he noted that she was a very observant woman.

“Fix yourself a cup,” Benedict said, biting into a biscuit, “and come sit by me.”

She hesitated again. He knew she’d hesitate, even though she’d already agreed to join him. But he was a patient man, and his patience was rewarded with a soft sigh as she poured herself her own cup and sat in the chair by the bed, regarding him over the rim of her teacup as she took a sip.

“No biscuits for you?” Benedict asked.

She shook her head. “I had a few straight out of the oven.”

“Lucky you. They’re always best when they’re warm.” He polished off another biscuit, brushed a few crumbs off of his chest, and reached for another. “And how have you spent your day?”

“Since I last saw you two hours earlier?”

Benedict shot her a look that said he recognized her sarcasm but chose not to respond to it.

“I helped Lizzie and Anne with the laundry,” she said. “Then I borrowed a book from the library and read outside.”

“Really? What did you read?”

“A novel.”

“And your assessment?”

She shrugged, “Overly romantic for my taste.”

“So you do not long for romance?” He gave her a lopsided grin.

Her blush was instantaneous. “That’s a rather personal question, don’t you think?”

Benedict tried to think of a witty reply, but as he watched her face, her cheeks turning delightfully pink, her eyes cast down to her lap, the strangest thing happened.

He realized he wanted her.

He really, really wanted her.

He wasn’t certain why this surprised him so much. Of course he wanted her. He was as red-blooded as any man, and one couldn’t spend a protracted amount of time around a woman as gamine and adorable as Sophie without wanting her. Hell, he’d wanted half the women he met, in a purely low-intensity, non-urgent sort of way.

But in that moment, with this woman, it became urgent. He suddenly had the urge to lean forward, take her face in his hands and kiss her passionately. Then pull her into the bed where he very conveniently already was. He wondered if she had ever been kissed before.

Of course he wouldn’t act upon his urges - he was a gentleman, not a scoundrel. She had proven herself to be a personable, respectable, and highly intelligent woman and she was technically in his employ for the moment. He wouldn’t sully their mutual trust and friendly companionship by leaping upon her.

He frowned, cleared his throat, and tried to push his wicked thoughts from his mind by downing his teacup. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” he croaked. “Any chance you’d like to read some more?”

Sophie looked up at him cautiously. Was he flirting with her? She supposed it was only to be expected. He was a man after all, and had proven he was a cheeky devil in many of their past interactions. She was shaken less by the fact that he had asked her about romance and more by how similar the conversation was to the one they had had at the masquerade. There too he had tried to probe deeper, believing her to be avoidant of attachments. The truth of course in both instances was that she was hiding how much she did long for romance, because she wanted it with him.

She was grateful he had changed the subject. “Yes, I’ll read to you.” She placed her cup down and rose a little too quickly from her chair. She needed some distance from him until she stopped feeling overheated. She perused his bookshelf and they agreed upon a decidedly unromantic Shakespearean tragedy.

Sophie kept her eyes down and read aloud, uninterrupted through the entire play. As she settled the book in her lap she found that Benedict had fallen asleep again. He could have been sleeping for an hour and she wouldn’t have known. He did look much healthier, which signaled to her that he was no longer in need of a nurse and she would have to leave soon. She hadn’t yet put any effort into looking for a new position, she had been too overwhelmed with navigating Aubrey Hall, interacting with the staff, and caring for Benedict.

She would start looking tomorrow and would likely be gone before the week was out. She would leave Benedict for the last time. It pained her, but she knew it was for the best. She sat in silence by his bedside watching him breathe, studying the angles of his face, trying to capture the moment in her memory forever. She looked about the room too; the opulent fabrics, gleaming wood, and all of his artwork. She would miss Aubrey Hall, the beauty of its furnishings, and the warm, homey feeling it gave her. Quietly, she stood and walked around the perimeter of the room, slowly taking in each image on the walls. Sunny green landscapes bled into winter scenes which were overlapped with charcoal sketches of hands, flowers, the back view of a woman’s cascading hair.

Leaning against the desk she noticed the large sketchbook he sometimes had in his lap. She chewed on her lip, deciding how intrusive she should be. Knowing she would leave soon anyway, curiosity got the best of her and she sat at the desk, quietly lifting the sketchbook and laying it open. The first pages were of varied landscapes. Some were of Aubrey Hall and some were of Bridgerton House in London, dressed in climbing wisteria. Most of them featured no architecture at all, just a babbling brook or a windswept tree, or a rain-dappled meadow. And the amazing thing about his drawings was that they seemed to capture the whole and true moment. Sophie had that familiar feeling of stepping into the landscapes which she had confided in Benedict. He was a more talented artist than he had professed to be.

The portraits were fewer in number, but Sophie found them infinitely more interesting. There appeared to be at least one of each of his family members. Several of whom she thought must be his mother, then two dark-haired men, one dour and one jovial, who she recognized as Colin. Both of them looked incredibly similar to Benedict. A younger boy with dimples, then a series of four lovely young women. Three of them were smiling serenely, but the one with the darkest hair had a chin set with determination and eyes staring off, looking as if she were ready to conquer a nation. He had beautifully captured the new raven-haired Viscountess, whom she also recognized from the masquerade. The last portrait was of a devastatingly handsome dark-skinned man with short hair, scrunching his face in laughter. Sophie had no idea who that could be.

Her favorite drawings were of what appeared to be some sort of outdoor game. At least five Bridgerton siblings were holding long mallets, and one of the girls was depicted in the forefront, her face screwed up in determination as she tried to aim a ball through a wicket. Something about the picture made Sophie smile. She could feel the merriment of the day, and it made her long desperately for a family of her own.

She glanced back at Benedict, still sleeping quietly in his bed. Did he realize how lucky he was to have been born into such a large and loving clan?

With a sigh, Sophie flipped through a few more pages until she reached the end of the book. The very last sketch was different from the rest, if only because it appeared to be of a night scene, and the woman within it was holding her skirts above her ankles as she ran across -

Good god! Sophie gasped, thunderstruck. It was her!

She brought the sketch closer to her face. He’d gotten the details of her dress - that wonderful, magical silver concoction that had been hers for only a single evening - perfectly. He’d even remembered her long, elbow-length gloves and the exact manner in which her hair had been styled. Her face on the other hand, was less recognizable and almost wholly hidden by the demi-mask. Perhaps the contours of her cheekbones and chin were somewhat accurate, but the features of her face seemed soulless, nearly blurred. This made sense, she realized, given that he’d never actually seen her face in its entirety.

Well, not until now. Her heart began to pound. So he had thought of her after that night. He had thought of her enough to remember her in great detail and commit the time to drawing her, even if only just once. He had wanted to remember her - whether as a beautiful ornament of a mysterious evening or for some other reason, she could not say. But her discovery made it all the more clear - she needed to leave Aubrey Hall. She needed to leave before her secret was discovered and complicated matters any further. She would start to look for a new position right away.

___

The next morning after breakfast, Sophie decided to take a walk around the estate. Before she consulted with Mr. Dewitt about finding her next position, she wanted to form a complete picture of the grounds in her mind. She wanted to take in the fresh air and say goodbye to it all.

As she set out through the gardens and across the lawn toward the lake she thought of Benedict, of how kind he had been to her and how much she would miss him. She would miss him more now than she had for the past two years, if that were somehow possible. Where before she had longed for the idea of him, constructed from their brief hour together at the masquerade and otherwise a bunch of fantasy, now she would miss him as she had come to know him. A gentle, witty man who had treated her with the utmost respect. It actually aggravated her. If he would just treat her like a servant, she’d have no trouble remembering that she was an illegitimate nobody and he was a member of one of the ton’s wealthiest and most influential families. Every time he treated her like a real person (and it was her experience that most aristocrats did not treat servants like anything remotely approaching a real person) it brought her back to the night of the masquerade, when she’d been, for one perfect evening, a lady of glamour and grace - the sort of woman who had a right to dream about a future with Benedict Bridgerton.

He acted as if he actually liked her and enjoyed her company. And maybe he did. But that was the cruelest twist of all, because he was making her love him even more, making a small part of her think she had the right to dream about him.

And then, inevitably, she had to remind herself of the truth of the situation, and it hurt so damned much.

Emotions swirling through her, she surveyed the expanse of the lake and marched onward into the wood that bordered it on one side. It was a lovely day, unseasonably warm and sunny, and the air held the gentle fragrance of the first blooms of spring. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d taken a walk for the simple pleasure of enjoying the fresh air. Perhaps in the forest she could find herbs or mushrooms to pick and bring back to the kitchens, maybe even go to the lake edge and dip her toes in the water if she was feeling particularly daring. The water was surely still freezing, so early in May. Still, it would feel good. Anything felt good that gave her a fleeting sense of leisure and peaceful, solitary moments.

Sophie picked her way through the forest, stepping over tree roots, and pushing aside low-lying branches, letting them snap back behind her. The sun barely peeked through the canopy of leaves above her, and down at ground level, it felt more like dusk than late morning.

Up ahead, she could see a clearing, which she assumed must be the lake edge. As she drew closer, she saw the glint of sunlight on the water, and she breathed a little sigh of satisfaction that she still had her bearings about her.

As she drew even closer, she heard a large splash and realized with equal parts terror and curiosity that she was not alone. She was only ten or so feet from the edge of the lake, easily visible to anyone in the water, so she quickly flattened herself behind the trunk of a large oak. With her eyes she began to chart a path back through the woods that would be the quietest and most concealed.

Her thoughts were broken by a crowing shout from the lake, “Aha!” Then the whistling noise of an object in flight, and a thud on the ground a few feet away from her. Completely bewildered, she looked over to see a ball roll to a stop in the dirt. It was wet and lavender in color, small enough to be held in one hand.

What on earth was going on? Had she been seen? Was someone throwing things at her? If she had a sensible bone in her body, she’d turn right around and run back to the house, but she just couldn’t quite keep herself from peeking around the tree and looking to see who might be lobbing objects into the woods and be mad enough to splash about in a freezing lake.

Dropping to a crouch to try and stay hidden, she leaned slowly around the trunk until she could see the surface of the water.

And she saw a man.

A naked man.

A naked Benedict.

It was wrong of her to stay.

So wrong.

So very, very wrong.

And yet she did not move an inch.

She found a large, bald-pated rock, mostly obscured by a short, squat bush and sat down, never once taking her eyes off of him.

She still couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. He was, of course, partially submerged, with the surface of the water rippling against his rib cage.

The lower - she thought giddily - edge of his rib cage.

Or perhaps if she were to be honest with herself, she’d have to rephrase her previous thought to: he was unfortunately partially submerged. What she could see of him was magnificent. He had lean, smooth muscles and broad shoulders. Water droplets glistened in his dark hair and across his pale skin, making him sparkle like a gem.

Sophie didn’t care if it made her wicked to stare. Dash it all, she was curious, and she was already in love with this man. She’d spent her life taking the safe road, the prudent path. Only one night in her short life had she completely thrown caution to the wind. And that night had been the most thrilling, most magical, the most stupendously wonderful night of her life.

And so she decided to remain right where she was, stay the course, and see what she saw. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose, as she was planning to leave anyway. And so she sat back, tried not to move a muscle, and kept her eyes wide, wide open.

___

Benedict had never been a superstitious man, and he’d certainly never thought himself the sort with a sixth sense, but once or twice in his life, he’d experienced a strange surge of awareness, a sort of mystical tingling feeling that warned him that something important was afoot.

The first time had been the day his father had died. He’d never told anyone about this, not even his older brother Anthony, who’d been utterly devastated by their father’s death. But that afternoon, just moments before he had heard his brother’s cry for help and his mother’s screams from the front lawn, he’d felt an odd, numb feeling in his arms and legs, followed by the strangest pounding in his head. It hadn’t hurt, precisely, but it had sucked the air from his lungs and left him with the most intense sensation of terror he could ever imagine.

He had been with his siblings in the drawing room, watching them play while his pregnant mother rested in the conservatory nearby. When he managed to regain control of his limbs amidst the shouts from outside, he gathered the children, holding little Gregory by the hand, and guided them all out the door to see what was going on. By the time they saw the bent form of their mother holding their father on the grass, he was already dead, having collapsed after being stung by a bee. Anthony had marched toward them all, eyes wide with shock and streaming tears, and could barely speak as he ushered them back inside, beginning the darkest period of their lives. Benedict still had difficulty believing that a man as strong and vital as his father could be felled by a bee, but there had been no other explanation, it was just a cruel twist of fate.

The second time it had happened, however, the feeling had been completely different. It had been the night of his family’s masquerade, right before he’d seen the woman in the silver dress. Like the time before, the sensation had started in his arms and legs, but instead of feeling numb, this time he felt an odd tingling, as if he’d just suddenly awoken after years of sleepwalking.

He’d stepped outside to steady himself with some fresh air, and then he’d seen her, and he’d known she was the reason he was there that night; the reason he lived in England; hell, the very reason he’d been born.

Of course, she had gone and proven him wrong by disappearing into thin air, but at the time he’d believed all that, and if she’d let him, he would have spent the rest of his life proving it to her as well.

Now, as he stood in the lake, the water lapping just above his navel, he was struck once again by that odd sense of somehow being more alive than he’d been just seconds earlier. It was a good feeling, an exciting, breathless rush of emotion.

It was like before. When he’d met her.

Something was about to happen, or maybe someone was near. His life was about to change. It was the last thing he had expected when he decided to go for a swim that morning, to test his renewed vigor and shake the lethargy of being bedridden for days. He took a step into slightly deeper water, the soft sludge of the lake bottom squishing between his toes. The water reached a few inches higher on his body. He was bloody well freezing, but at least he was mostly covered.

He scanned the shore, looking into the trees and down in the bushes. There had to be someone there. Nothing else could account for the strange, tingling feeling that had now spread throughout his body.

“Who’s out there?” he called out.

No answer. He hadn’t really expected one, but it had been worth a try.

He squinted as he searched the shore again, turning in a full circle as he watched for any sign of movement. He saw nothing but the gentle rustle of the leaves in the wind, but as he finished his sweep, his eyes landing on the ball he had tossed ashore, he thought he could see something in a nearby bush, and he somehow knew.

“Sophie!”

He heard a gasp, followed by a flurry of activity as the bush shook and twigs began to snap.

“Sophie Beckett,” he yelled. “If you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you, and I will not take the time to don my clothing.”

The sounds of her movement ceased.

“It’s alright,” he called out, trying to show her he was good humored, despite having to yell. “Show yourself.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by some more rustling and slow, hesitant footsteps. He watched as she emerged from behind the bush and moved to stand at the shore, dressed in her threadbare cloak and the lavender dress of the housemaids. Her hands were balled into fists at her side and her jaw was locked. She was flustered, and it was adorable.

“What are you doing here?” He grinned at her.

“I was on a walk. What are you doing here?” she countered. “I suppose this means you are fully recovered, though that” - she waved her arm toward him and, by extension, the lake - “can’t possibly be good for you.”

“I am feeling much better, thank you.” He continued grinning, loving how it seemed to make her grow more aggravated. “I had to get out of that stuffy room and refresh myself. Were you following me?” He sank down and began to tread water playfully.

“Of course not,” she replied and he believed her. “That would be indecent.”

And then her face went completely red, because they both knew she hadn’t a leg to stand on with that argument. If she had truly been concerned about decency, she’d have left the area the moment she’d seen him, accidentally or not.

He lifted one hand from the water and twisted his wrist as he motioned for her to turn around. “Turn your back and wait for me to come out,” he ordered. “It will only take me a moment to dress.”

“I’ll go to the house right now,” she offered. “You can have your privacy and…”

“I’ll need you to walk back with me,” he cut her off, “in case the water has brought my cold back and I fall ill.” He stuck out his lip in an exaggerated pout and could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “Or if I twist my ankle.” Still she glowered. “Or if you twist yours.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she sighed, exasperated.

“Stay put,” he ordered and started to advance out of the water.

Once he moved, her eyes bugged out of her head and she whipped around, turning her back to him.

Sophie crossed her arms and stared at a knothole in a tree trunk as if her very life depended on it. The infernal man wasn’t being particularly quiet as he went about his business, and she couldn’t seem to keep herself from listening to and trying to identify every sound that rustled and splashed behind her. Now he was emerging from the water, now he was reaching for his clothes, now he was…

It was no use. She had a dreadfully naughty imagination, and there was no getting around it. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she was certain her cheeks must be eight different shades of red. A gentleman would have let her weasel out of her embarrassment and hole up in her room back at the house for at least three days in hopes he’d just forget about the entire affair.

But Benedict Bridgerton was obviously determined not to be a gentleman this afternoon and was clearly taking his time getting dressed.

“I’m sorry I came upon you unexpectedly sir, but it feels like you are just toying with me,” she grumbled.

“You are free to face me at any time,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I assure you that I asked you to turn your back for the sake of your sensibilities, not mine.”

“I’m fine just where I am,” she replied. The absolute devil was in this man.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably only three minutes, she heard him say, “You can turn around now.”

Sophie was almost afraid to do so. He had just the sort of perverse sense of humor that would compel him to order her around before he’d donned his clothing.

But she decided to trust him - not, she was forced to admit, that she had much choice in the matter - and so she turned around. Much to her relief and, if she was to be honest with herself, a fair bit of disappointment, he was dressed, though his white shirt was clinging to him and transparent with the water from his skin. She swallowed to keep her composure.

“Do you truly need me to walk you back to the house?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” he said. “Take it as punishment for spying on me.”

“I wasn’t - “ Sophie’s denial was automatic, but she cut herself off halfway through, because of course she’d been spying on him.

Benedict raised an eyebrow at her, smirking, “That’s what I thought.”

She scowled at him. She would have liked to have said something cutting and witty, but she had a feeling that anything emerging from her mouth just then would have been quite the opposite, so she held her tongue.

“It’s very bad form to spy on one’s host,” he said, crossing his arms and managing to look both authoritative and relaxed at the same time.

“It was an accident,” she grumbled.

“Oh, I believe you there,” he said. “But even if you didn’t intend to spy on me, the fact remains that when the opportunity arose, you took it.”

“Do you blame me?” She had found her witty retort.

He grinned. “Not at all. To tell the truth, I’m quite flattered.”

“It was academic curiosity,” she smirked back at him. “I assure you.”

His smile grew sly but he didn’t say anything further. He just held her gaze until she felt her legs would give out beneath her.

“Well,” she chimed, tearing her eyes away from his. “Now that we have that settled, shall we return to the house?”

“Let’s,” he nodded, stepping toward her. “Ah,” he bent and picked up the lavender ball, giving it a toss in the air. “Almost forgot this.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“This,” he grinned, holding it up triumphantly with a raised pinky, “Is my chance for redemption.”

Sophie just stared at him with a furrowed brow.

“Pall mall. Have you ever played?” She shook her head. “Well, it’s something of a family tradition you see,” They started to walk slowly through the trees, Sophie following at his side as he explained. “Every season when we come here for our country ball we start things off with an annual tournament. My brothers and sisters and I have been playing since we were children and now the competition is…” he stared off, searching for the right word. “Well, it’s brutal. A key part of the game is to knock your opponent’s ball off course and there is quite an established history of balls ending up in the lake.”

Sophie smiled, intuiting the rest of his story.

“Last year,” he huffed, “my sister Eloise was rather overzealous and managed to send my ball,” he held it up again, “straight across the water. I had to sit out the rest of the games.”

“You couldn’t use another one?” Sophie asked.

“Oh no, no, no,” Benedict shook his head emphatically. “There are rules and we honor them. Well,” he smirked. “Some of us do. Anyway, there are no other balls to play with. The rest are all claimed, except red of course,” At this point they had stepped out of the wood and were back on the sloping lawn beside the lake. He looked pensively out over the water. “We never managed to find that one.”

Sophie smiled again. “I’m glad your swim reunited you with your ball and it didn’t share the same watery fate.”

Benedict looked down at her and stared into her eyes, saying nothing. He was looking at her today with a new intensity, a burning behind his bright blue eyes that reminded her of how he looked during the masquerade. It made her shiver in a wonderfully delicious way. She needed to make it stop.

She turned on her heel and began walking up the lawn toward the house. After a beat he followed behind her. “So, your family will be hosting the country ball again this year?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “They should arrive in a week or so.”

“Oh,” Sophie paused, remembering her task for the day was to look for a new position and make ready to leave Aubrey Hall. Now with the whole Bridgerton family and their aristocratic guests en route, it was more imperative than ever that she depart quickly. “I’m sure it will be lovely,” she said weakly.

At this point they had reached the edge of a garden bordered with flowering cherry trees. She slowed her steps, taking in the sight of the beautiful blossoms and enjoying the fragrant air.

“What are your plans for the day, Miss Beckett?” Benedict asked behind her.

She turned to face him. “Actually, seeing as you are well again,” she took a deep breath, “there is no further need for me here. I shall find a new position as we agreed upon. I expect it won’t be too difficult and I should be gone before your family arrives.”

She was not expecting his face to fall the way it did, the way his lips parted and his brow knitted as if he had just received terrible news. His eyes darted for a moment, then he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “Of course,” he nodded. “I’m sure Mr. Dewitt can assist you.”

“Yes,” Sophie sighed. “I’ll go and meet with him now.” But her feet were rooted to the spot. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to leave Aubrey Hall and she didn’t want to leave Benedict. Especially not when he kept looking at her like that, and not when he seemed to share some of her sadness at the thought of parting. But what was she supposed to do? Ask to stay on and work as a maid, drawing herself deeper into the heartache of being around him and risking the discovery of her secrets? Throw herself upon him this very moment and kiss him? No. Her mind knew what was right, even though her heart and her feet were not obeying it. So she stood, warring within herself until she managed to lift one foot and turn back around, feeling as if she had lead weights in her shoes.

Her eyes had barely left his when Benedict reached out and grabbed her by the arm, “Miss Beckett,” he yelped with urgency.

Sophie froze. He had never touched her, not unwarranted like this, since they had been reunited. He had helped her onto his horse and she had held him while they rode to the inn, but he had not reached out to her in any way since. Why would he? He was an aristocrat, her employer, and she was just a maid. But his grip was around her elbow, not too tightly, but insistent nonetheless. She looked back at him.

Benedict seemed to realize how inappropriate he was being and released her with a small nod of apology, “Sophie,” he said, softly. “Before you leave,” his eyes were darting again. “Would you allow me to paint a portrait of you?”

“A portrait?” This was certainly the last thing she had expected to hear.

Benedict nodded, “A small one,” he grinned nervously. “You can keep it as a token of my gratitude.”

Sophie didn’t know what to think. Again he was showering her with kindness, piling favors and gratitude upon her when she had done little more than use common sense and help him get over a cold. No one had ever painted her portrait before and she was unlikely to get the opportunity again. It was an aspect of life reserved for the upper classes. Her father had never included her in the family portraiture when he was alive and family was the last thing the Cowpers regarded her as. She was everyone’s shame to hide, to be forgotten, to be erased from memory. Benedict’s offer moved her deeply.

“How long will it take?” she asked, trying not to sound rude. “I really should go before the country visit.”

“Not long, One sitting, maybe two. I’ve done plenty in my time.” He smirked. “I’ll finish it while you look for a new post.”

Sophie felt her heart swelling. There was no reason for her to refuse him and of course she wanted to spend more time with him. If she could leave Aubrey Hall with his painting she would have some small piece of him to keep forever. Whenever she ached for him, she could look at his initials and touch the brushstrokes made by his hand. Maybe it would help ease the pain.

“I don’t have anything to wear for a portrait,” she blushed, looking down at her simple servant’s uniform.

Benedict smiled gently. “It doesn’t matter. I only need to capture your face.” He stepped closer, inches away, looking down into her eyes with that fathomless smolder again. She could feel his breath on her skin. “The rest can be whatever you’d like.”

Sophie had to stare at the ground or she feared she would fall over. She nodded briskly, “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. I would be honored by such a gift.”

She could hear his relief as he exhaled. “Very good,” He backed away, making it safe to look at him again. He looked practically giddy. “Tonight after dinner, meet me in the nursery. My supplies are in there. Come as you are.”

Sophie nodded, unable to hide a smile from her own face. Then, while her legs were still in working order, she turned and strode quickly through the garden and toward the house, leaving Benedict to make his own way, her punishment be damned.

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