#a few sorts that are still around by the time we get to the 19th century and some that have changed or petered out with time

[chiropteracupola]

A May morning.

[hedgehog-moss]

Last time I went to the village to buy bread I saw a woman in the street who was dressed like a 19th-century peasant, complete with a thick old-timey accent with dialect words no one uses anymore—she was telling a little group of people to follow her so of course I had to drop everything and follow her too.

And it turned out she was a theatre actress who has read a lot of local archives in libraries and town halls, and offered her services to organise guided tours of various villages to tell people about local history in a fun way, by playing characters who lived here in the Middle Ages, the 19th century, or WWII. It's such a cool idea! I talked to her for a bit after the visit and she said she wasn't sure it'd work / attract enough people, but she had groups of tourists + local families show up for the visit every week, in every village where she did this, so she think she'll be hired again next summer.

When I joined their group she was talking about WWII, and how my & other nearby villages were known by the Nazis and Vichy as a hotbed of terrorists, with some Gestapo officers killed in bomb attacks. (In retaliation the Nazis eventually rounded up 100+ locals and deported them to camps, as well as shooting a few.) I was mostly familiar with WWII anecdotes from the North-East, where my grandparents lived during the war, and I found it funny how different they sounded—my grandfather made Resistance activities sound well-planned and careful (espionage, sabotage, underground presses, infiltrating railway services etc) while oral histories around here make them sound a lot more spontaneous and—handcrafted? like "Emile brought what we needed for the bomb in his wheelbarrow hidden under a layer of straw and we exploded 2 Nazis."

We then went to visit the former girls' school, and I learnt a lot about my country's history of education for girls! Also it was really sweet because there was an old lady in our group who had attended this school as a child and had lots of school memories to share. Most of them were very wholesome, until eventually our tour guide went "Surely you also have some School Mischief to tell us about" and the old woman at first was like no no no no, I was a good girl. And then she conceded that when she had to sort lentils for the nuns' dinner and she resented one of them for berating her in class, she'd do a shit job on purpose and leave some little stones in the lentils.

Then our last step was the fairground where the town fair was (and is still) held, and our tour guide told us little 19th-century anecdotes (in-character, more like acting them out) that she'd found in old postcards and letters in the archives—how the town fair was where you'd go for your dentist appointment (i.e. to have your bad teeth pulled with pliers with no pain medicine) and to get any object repaired, like damaged pans or clogs; how there were dancing bears and performing monkeys; how one year the merchant who sold linen for women's trousseaus had her linen display trampled "by 300 cows" (might have been an exaggeration) and she hit the cow herder and it started a massive brawl.

My favourite anecdote was how back in the 1800s the local innkeeper was frustrated by the fact that the nearest village is just 10km away, and people who came to the fair often decided to go spend the night there so their journey back the next day would be less long, and so he started to tell them about the beast that lives under the bridge between the two villages. Travellers say horses go mad when they see it and just jump into the water. Some say the beast has dug up corpses from the cemetery because it likes human flesh, though of course it prefers it fresh. I'm now convinced half of local legends were single-handedly created by business savvy innkeepers determined to get more customers than the rival inn 10km away.

I'm sad I only learnt about these visits at the end of summer when they're coming to an end, but I'll definitely follow this woman around again if she returns with more stories next year!

[seat-safety-switch]

Mini-golf is something I've spoken about many times, at great risk to my own life. In my town, you see, the mini-golf industry is represented by an extremely powerful lobby. That's why we have approximately three "courses" for every hundred people, the highest ratio in the world. Why am I against it? No golf carts means no driving.

You might think it's silly to be opposed to mini golf purely on the basis that I don't get to drive a little electric car around the property at irresponsible speeds. I'm sure you have strong opinions about things that I would consider silly, too. That makes you look like an asshole now, doesn't it?

Thing is, enjoying the great outdoors is best done with an open-air vehicle, gazing at the wonders of nature. And even if those wonders of nature have been artificially curated by the same groundskeeper who is now screaming at me for having driven across four sand traps and the country club, it still counts as calming.

Mini-golf? Too damn small. The mind rebels. Not natural, every sense screams, until you end up getting super mad and eject your putter into the parking lot on the 19th stroke on a "par 2" hole while some very patient toddlers wait behind you in line, not yet having been taught the concept of "play-thru," but perhaps also not wanting to pick a fight with a fully-grown adult who achieves apocalyptic rage levels when not operating a motor vehicle.

Now, I've worked out a sort of methadone solution here. Halfway house shit. Because I can't afford to play on the big expensive country club courses (it's sort of a Caddyshack situation, but mostly just the part where they hate me and everything I stand for) I'm stuck with mini-golf, and have to make my time at Al's Little Tee Big Fun and Ed's Big Fun Regular-Sized Balls as enjoyable as possible. That's why I brought a mini-golf-cart.

That's right. For just a few bucks on eBay, you too can avail yourself of a 1:24 scale golf cart that you can take out of your pocket and pretend to drive between the holes. Making vroom-vroom sounds is a little unrealistic for what is supposed to be a brushed-DC forklift motor, but you gotta do what makes you happy. The only downside is that this tiny plastic conveyance came from Playmobil, which almost certainly means it's going to explode in some kind of elaborate German mechanical failure soon. Like the poor guy in the parking lot last time whose GTI had a mini-golf putter get stuck in the windshield.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 70

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe: Military School

Words: 6K

TW: Smut

Masterlist

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Saturday, March 19th; 10:30 AM - At Lucy's place.

I sigh as I look at my study notes, which have taken over Lucy’s personal space. At least... if I can still call it that. I’ve slowly started filling it with my presence. Ever since I decided to move in after school, I’ve been bringing my stuff. I already brought a large suitcase from home last week, and I plan to do the same on our next trip to Barcelona. I’ll leave a few things there just in case, but most of it will be moved here. I should be resting, but I can’t. I was on the couch with Lucy, trying to start a series, but I didn’t last long. I was bored and felt useless. We’ve been moving around so much lately that I’m not used to staying still anymore. That’s how I ended up in this situation. I haven’t been feeling great lately, I must admit. I’m stressed out because of a few rejections I finally received from galleries. It’s only a small handful, but it’s unsettling. On top of that, I got feedback from Mr. Fields, and it wasn’t good. He’s not going to change his mind about his offer in Cardiff. I’m taking my time to give him an answer, but let’s just say I don’t want to accept it. And of course, our professors decided to schedule their exams for the two weeks before the break... That’s not helping my stress. I was about to start reading a new chapter when the sound of shuffling papers caught my attention. I look up to see Lucy gathering my notes that were scattered across the table.

- "What are you doing?" I asked, perplexed.

- "You’re unbelievable. No matter what I do, you always find something to cling to like a kind of drug when you start to lose control. Well... you know what I mean, right?" she backpedaled after realizing what she’d just said.

I smiled softly, crossing my arms as she continued to pile up my notes in her hands. For a moment, I wondered if she was respecting the order of my chapters or if I’d have to sort them all out later. Those thoughts quickly disappeared when she spoke again.

- "You need to detach yourself from studying, so we’re going out."

- "Really?" I raised an eyebrow.

- "Yes. You’re going to lose your mind if you keep studying this much."

I bit my lip as she held out her hand for me to give her the paper I was holding like my life depended on it.

- "I don’t think-"

- "Oh yes, it’s a great idea," she interrupted me. "Come on."

- "Fine..." I muttered, handing it over. "So, what do you have planned?"

- "We’re going to help the girls at the gym."

- "The gym...? You mean the studio?"

- "Yeah, the gym," she said, putting the stack of papers in my organizer. "I texted Jenni, and it seems they’re in the middle of renovations, so it’s the perfect time to lend a hand."

- "Alright..." I sighed.

I’m far from motivated, but it seems like it’s for a good cause.

- "Who’s there?"

- "Jenni, Aitana, Beth, and Alexia."

- "Alexia?" I repeated in surprise. "She didn’t tell me she was staying."

- "It wasn’t planned. Jenni hosted her last night. Their transport got canceled, apparently."

I raised an eyebrow. I’m really surprised she didn’t tell me, to be honest. Well, we haven’t talked since we parted ways yesterday.

- "What about Alba?"

- "As if I went that far in my questioning," she rolled her eyes. "You can ask her yourself in a few minutes. Go change first. Do you have any old clothes?"

- "Uh, no."

I blushed at the thought. I haven’t brought any of that yet. I prioritized what I wear regularly.

- "Well, I’ll have to find you something."

After getting ready, we were set to leave. I was wearing Lucy’s clothes, and nothing could make me happier. Surprisingly, traffic was light for a Saturday morning. The weather was warming up, finally allowing a few rays of sunshine to appear. Well, it wasn’t Barcelona’s twenty-five degrees, but I wasn’t going to complain. Seeing the outside world was doing me a lot of good, surprisingly. Lucy parked in the same spot as last time. I recognized Jenni’s car near ours. I assumed the other two cars belonged to the friends she had mentioned. I was excited to see them again. I hadn’t seen them since our trip to the Alps.

- "Are you mad at me?" I asked as she opened the rear door of the building for me.

- "Mad at you for what?"

- "For isolating myself whenever things get tough in my life instead of coming to talk to you..."

I turned to see her walking behind me. She met my gaze with a smile plastered on her face.

- "I’d be mad if it wasn’t so obvious, yes. But don’t worry, that’s not the case. I know you, and I know what’s bothering you right now. I’ll never force you to talk, but you know communication is important, and if you ever feel the need to talk, I’m here."

- "Thanks... I think I just need a hug right now."

- "Then I think I’ll offer my arms for that."

I laughed as I melted into her embrace when she opened her arms. In the end, I might be regretting the couch now. I’ll think about it next time. I sighed softly, inhaling her scent. It’s become my favorite. It’s fruity, yet soft, with a hint of coffee. It’s strange, but totally harmonious thanks to her natural body smell.

- « te amo," I murmured against her neck.

- « Te amo también, mi amor."

The doors to the main room creaked open a bit farther down. I didn’t even need to turn around to know, given how loud they were.

- "Ah, I knew I heard some noise!"

I turned around, recognizing Alexia’s voice. She had a huge, toothy smile. At least we could be sure she was happy to see us.

- "I’m so glad you’re here. We needed a bit more muscle around here. Don’t just stand there. We were waiting for you."

We walked over to greet her with a kiss on each cheek. We entered the room, where upbeat music filled the space. We greeted the guys as well, though it was less pleasant since their cheeks were sticky with sweat. It wasn’t surprising. They hadn’t slacked off this morning. They had already started tearing everything apart. The mirrors were dismantled, and the door on the right had been removed, revealing the hallway Lucy mentioned last time. If I remember correctly, the classrooms will be there.

- "Wow. Looks like you’ve made good progress," Lucy commented.

- "Yeah, pretty much," Aitana replied. "Jenni knows how to keep us motivated."

We laughed as she raised the beer she was drinking. A pack was lying in a corner, along with a few empty glass bottles. I wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, but it seemed like they’d been working since early this morning.

- "We didn’t know where to start, so we decided to tackle this area."

- "Yeah, yeah, it’s fine," Lucy said, making the same observation as me. "Have you started on the locker rooms yet?" she asked, glancing in the other direction.

- "No, that’s the next step," her best friend admitted.

- "Alright. Well, I think that’s a priority, along with the break room at the back. The furniture for those two rooms will arrive in a few weeks."

- "Okay, we’ll keep working on that then. We were just waiting for your orders, Commander."

Alexia and I stifled a laugh. It was quickly stopped by her mock-serious glare. Jenni gave us a knowing smile. After all, that nickname was here to stay. It suited her personality. But honestly, we couldn’t deny that we’d all be lost without her. Even now, she was playing the role of project manager.

- "Do you already have plans for how it’ll look?" I asked her.

- "Of course. We worked with an architect. Do you want to see the final design?"

- "Well, yeah!" I feigned offense that she hadn’t shown me yet.

- "Oh, sorry," she teased. "Jenni, where did you put the copies of the plans?"

"Uh, I think upstairs, in the office. We didn’t need them today. »

- Thank you.

- Can I come with you? Ale asks as I grab Lucy's hand.

- Yeah, sure, my girlfriend replies.

We head upstairs. Nothing has been touched here yet. I doubt much needs to be redone. It's a bit old, but it will just need a fresh coat of paint and probably some cleaning too. We stand at the front of the office while Lucy rummages through the drawers one by one.

- Ah, here they are.

She places them in front of us with a triumphant look. I smile, noticing how proud she is of her work. And she should be—it all looks fantastic. The color scheme is navy blue and white, with black aluminum accents like the entryway they plan to install. It gives an industrial vibe, a style I often see and love. At least I won’t worry about our tastes clashing if we ever decide to pick or even build a house together. Despite that, they've still kept the authenticity and charm of the stone walls.

- Do you like it? The plans can still be changed, but we can’t alter the major parts anymore.

She's talking fast, and her expression is a bit tense. Our opinions must matter a lot. I don’t answer right away, lingering over the locker room plans. There will be cabins on one side and showers on the other, with a small private stall for privacy. The idea is well thought out. Of course, there are also toilets. The color theme remains the same, and it looks like the mirrors they removed from the main room will be reused here.

- It’s great, I break the suspense first. What do you think?

- Same here, Ale responds. Honestly, you guys made excellent choices.

I continue examining the plans for the back area, where they plan to refresh the hallway. The toilets won’t be touched, but the break room will be completely redone. Again, the blue stands out, with minimalist furniture and a blue accent wall.

- That must have taken a lot of work, she adds.

- Quite a bit, yeah, but between weekends and my evenings at the dorm, we managed to make it happen.

The final plans are for the rooms reserved for common classes. I also notice a room marked as an office.

- What’s this room for? I ask, pointing to it.

- It’s for personal follow-ups. We thought it would be better to have a room that offers privacy.

- Why not use this office? I ask, gesturing to the one we’re standing in.

- We didn’t want members to have access to the back area. A sign will be put up saying it's staff-only. I don’t think people will linger here, but the idea isn’t to supervise them all the time. Plus, important documents and storage will be kept here.

I nod. It makes sense. At least they won’t have to worry about surveillance. I frown, lingering over the other classroom plans. Oddly enough, they seem very plain—just white walls, which is strange compared to the rest.

- Why won’t the classrooms be decorated?

- Ah, you noticed? I was wondering the same thing, Ale points out.

We both look up at Lucy. My question seems to have amused her.

- To be honest, Jenni and I talked about it for a while. We want you to handle the decor for those rooms.

I’m speechless. Ale gives me a big smile and pats my back in support.

- A-are you serious?

- Yeah! I’ve seen what you did with your room in Barcelona. You’re totally capable of this. I was going to ask you about it—I just hadn’t had the chance yet. These rooms don’t need repairs, just renovation and decoration, so there’s no rush. What do you think? Will you take it on?

- Of course she’ll accept! Ale exclaims. That would be awesome!

I blush, flattered that she thought of me for this task.

- Yeah, sure… I think I can do that if you really want me to. Do you have any ideas already?

- Not really, she admits. We held off so you’d have the freedom to imagine what you want. But we can give you some suggestions if you prefer.

- Honestly, you caught me off guard, I chuckle nervously. We’ll have to talk more about it.

She smiles knowingly, and I think I understand. My little guess was right.

- If it becomes your next obsession, that’s fine with me.

I roll my eyes, laughing. Alexia watches us, not fully understanding the situation but wisely choosing not to intrude, sensing it’s a private conversation between us.

- Well, how about we go help the others? That’s what we’re here for, right?

That’s how we spent the rest of the day, helping our friends. Lucy was right. I needed to see something different, to enjoy life. I was happy to spend time with them. Everything was done in good spirits. The girls were demolishing things while we, the girls, were in charge of loading the van Jenni rented with the old furniture. We made several trips to the nearest dump. It took most of our time because of the traffic, but it was fun. We also went to the mall across the street to restock water and beer since we were running low. It’s really convenient having a building like that so close. I’m sure it’ll attract a lot of people—after all, everyone goes to the mall, so they won’t miss the gym’s sign. One thing’s for sure: we laughed a lot throughout the day. I was finally able to forget about my life for a while. Lucy and Alexia got along so well. I’m even starting to wonder if she might prefer Alexia to Mapi. I guess I’ll never know. It’s not something Lucy would admit, knowing her. By the end of the afternoon, we’d cleared out the break room. Lucy promised the guys we’d come back next week to help with the locker rooms, which are much bigger. In any case, I was happy to be there. At least I knew I’d be doing something other than studying. Our friends suggested we stay for dinner, and we agreed. We ended up at a pizza place nearby. Something tells me we’ll become regulars there. They serve pizzas, but also pasta dishes. Tonight, we all had pizza. Lucy and I ordered two different ones so we could share. They were excellent, but next time I think I’ll try the pasta to see if it’s as good. 

The day came to an end. We said our goodbyes late at night before everyone headed home. Surprisingly, I wasn’t as exhausted when we left as I’d been when we arrived. Lucy seemed to feel the same way.

- We could make cookies, I suggested.

- Cookies? she laughed. Why cookies?

- Well, we’re not tired. Might as well do something productive. We could bring them to the girls tomorrow. They’d love that.

- Wow... why not? But I’m not sure I have everything we need, she said, already checking her cupboards.

- Well, how about a chocolate cake then? You must have some chocolate, right?

Lucy laughed and finally pulled out a bar of dark chocolate.

- Yes, I do. That’s doable.

- Cool! Let’s get to work, then.

I rolled up my sleeves, making Lucy laugh.

- Slow down, master chef. Start by washing your hands.

- You just had to kill my enthusiasm, huh? I said with a playful pout.

- No, I’m teaching you. A good chef knows you always wash your hands before starting, she teased with a wink.

I laughed but followed her advice. After everything we did today, it wasn’t exactly sanitary to start cooking without cleaning up first.

- Maybe we should shower before starting, huh? We’ve been sweating all day.

- No, I’d lose my motivation, I admitted.

- True, you’re right. Alright, let’s get to work.

After washing her hands too, she pulled out a cookbook. I had to admit, I’d never made a chocolate cake before. I felt a little embarrassed because it’s such a basic thing.

- So, I’ll read the ingredients, and you get them out.

- Maybe it makes more sense to do it the other way around, right? Since you know where everything is.

- Alright, if you say so, she teased.

I list the ingredients for her, and she places them on the countertop. It's time to begin. She preheats the oven, and then we get to work. Everything is done with a cheerful mood. Nothing is too serious. She has me follow the recipe, pouring the ingredients into a bowl, while she takes care of melting the butter and chocolate over a bain-marie.

"Why don't you just use the microwave, since you have one?" I teased.

"I prefer doing it this way. It's how I was taught. It's supposed to be better. Plus, no microwaves involved."

"Hmm... if you say so."

I dip my finger into the melted mixture and bring it to my mouth once everything has melted, abandoning my bowl that's been ready for a while.

"Hey, don’t touch that."

"We could totally eat this as is too."

"Unless you want a stomachache, sure, we can," she teased.

I pouted to show my dissatisfaction.

"My grandmother used to forbid me from eating the batter like that, but she always let me lick the bowl at the end," I shared.

"Well, you can lick the bowl too if you want," she laughed. "Alright, all that's left is to mix everything together. Do you want to handle it?"

"Can you do it? I never managed to do it right when I was a kid."

"You've grown up since then, you know?" she teased. "Come on, you'll do it."

She tugged on the sleeve of my sweater to pull me in front of her. I frowned but took the whisk and mixed our two bowls together. Lucy finished up when she noticed my movements were slowing down. Smiling playfully, I dabbed my finger in the mix and smeared it on her face. Lucy gasped in surprise.

"You dared!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I moved closer to lick her cheek, trying to erase the evidence. Lucy backed away immediately, but it was too late—I had already cleaned it up. She wiped her face with her sleeve.

"Oh, so you want to play, huh?"

She dipped her fingers into the batter, and I laughed as she pinned me against the counter before I could escape. She slowly dragged her fingers from my forehead to my chin, smearing the rest down my neck.

"Come on, that’s over the top," I giggled.

"What? I’m just going to clean it up like you did," she said mischievously.

I tried to wriggle out of her grip, but it was a lost cause. She was holding me too tightly, her body fully pressed against mine. There was no way out.

"It's my turn to get even," she whispered before kissing my forehead.

I kept laughing as she continued her "clean-up" down my nose. I had stopped resisting. I was the one who had started the playful mess, so I wasn't going to stop her. Things got more intense when she reached my lips. She lingered particularly long where the last bit of chocolate had been. We kissed, devouring each other’s mouths, before she moved down to my chin. Our eyes locked with heavy intensity. A warmth stirred deep in my stomach. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at me with such desire. I bit my lip as she moved even lower after finishing with my chin. She ended up at my neck, and I realized why she had smeared so much chocolate there. 

Breathing shallowly, I closed my eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing. I gripped the counter behind me to keep my balance. She alternated between using her tongue, sucking, and giving soft kisses. A moan escaped my lips, and I immediately covered my mouth with my hand. I realized she had just bitten the edge of my collarbone. She lifted her head to meet my eyes again. The knot in my stomach tightened even more. There was a delicious tension in the air. She wanted me—it was clear from her eyes. We stayed in that position for a moment, neither of us breaking the silence that was filled with meaning. It was now or never. She was waiting for me to react, but I didn’t know what to do. Inside, I was panicking, but I wanted this. I could feel it in every part of me. When she started to pull back, I couldn’t let it end like that. I grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her passionately. I needed her. My move surprised her, and she leaned into me with her full weight. We were dangerously close to breaking apart. We devoured each other with our eyes, silently asking what was next.

“I want this,” I whispered. “Please.”

I was grateful she hadn’t asked the question first. I preferred making the choice myself. She appreciated my response, as I could tell by the low growl that escaped her throat.

“Are you sure…?” she asked.

I nodded as I returned to her lips. I could feel her smile as my arms wrapped around her neck, pulling her closer. I heard her chuckle when she suddenly lifted me off the ground. Her lips didn’t give me time to cry out.

“It’s all for you tonight, Princess,” she whispered, attacking my neck again.

Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around her waist and tilted my head to the side. I never knew where she got her strength from, but I wasn’t surprised anymore. She paused for a moment at the edge of the kitchen, and I realized she was turning off the oven. Then, expertly, she returned to my neck as we headed down the hallway. I didn’t even notice what was happening around us before I was pinned against the wall of our bedroom. That thought alone heightened my excitement. Lucy’s hips ground against my most sensitive spot, and if I wasn’t sure before, I could now feel the dampness there. I would have loved for her to come back to my lips to muffle the sounds I could barely contain. Lucy must have noticed because she stopped her sweet torture on my neck, which was probably well-marked by now. She knew it was one of my weak points. Her warm breath sent shivers down my body. She nibbled on my earlobe before whispering:

“Don’t hold back your pleasure, baby,” she murmured. “I want to hear you. I need to know how you’re feeling.”

After her words, she hit just the right spot, and I couldn’t hold back the sound that escaped my lips. Damn.

"That's much better," she teased with a playful smile. "No more holding back, okay?"

I squeaked as she continued to tease between my legs with her hips, punishing me with waves of pleasure, eliciting more moans. Unable to form words, I nodded to show I understood. She didn’t give me a chance to react or even think about it—probably for the best. She kissed me again, more softly this time, as she carried me to our bed. My heart raced as her hands wandered under my sweater. I lifted my arms to help her remove the barrier that seemed to be bothering her. Her lips wanted to return to my now burning body, but I held her back for a moment.

“I-I want to see you too, please.”

My voice was fragile, pleading in the moment. Lucy laughed softly but nodded. For the first time, she gave me a bit of space, sitting up on top of me.

"You don’t have to ask, you know. You just need to undress me..."

I smiled timidly and pulled off her sweater, tossing it somewhere in the room.

"You don’t really give me the time," I teased her.

She laughed, and to my surprise, she quickly removed her bra, letting it join the pile of clothes. I was mesmerized by the sight before me. Lucy was a stunning woman. I still wondered what I had done to deserve her...

"Is this better?" she murmured.

I nodded, bringing my gaze back to hers. I blushed, knowing she had caught me staring.

"Go ahead," she whispered. "Don’t be shy. Everything is yours, my love."

With a touch of shyness, I brought my hand to her left breast. She shivered slightly at the contact. I noticed her watching me with a small smile. I lingered on her perfect chest. It wasn’t too large or too small. As soon as my finger grazed her nipple, it hardened instantly, a clear sign that her excitement matched mine. I finally looked back up into her eyes, and she nodded, giving me silent permission. I gently cupped her breast, caressing it more fully. I had been waiting for this moment for so long. It fit perfectly in my palm. I took my time. I wanted to explore every inch of her body. I rolled us over so that I was on top. With my occupied hand, I continued to caress her more confidently. My other hand supported me as I leaned down to focus on her other breast with my mouth. I kissed every part I could, even letting my tongue trail over certain spots. My excitement was building fast, and it seemed Lucy’s was too, given how she squirmed beneath me. I gained confidence as she didn’t hold back her sounds. The most intense moment came when I sucked her nipple hard. I wanted to take my time, to savor the moment, but that clearly wasn’t in her plans. Her hands quickly found their way to my back. The need to feel her bare skin against mine prompted me to let her undress me too. I gasped when she suddenly flipped us over, letting our chests press against each other for the first time after she had removed my last piece of clothing from the top.

- I said it was for you tonight. I intend to keep my promise.

- Bab-

I don’t have time to protest before she returns to my lips, my neck, and finally my chest. She kisses me everywhere, her tongue joining the dance from the start. I close my eyes to savor the sensation I had almost forgotten. With Feli, everything was quick. She didn’t linger on foreplay, preferring to get straight to the point. Experiencing such tenderness again brings tears to my eyes. Lucy, unaware of my tears, continues her torment, alternating between each breast with her hand or her mouth. She’s everywhere, for my perfect pleasure. It’s when she moves back up towards me that she notices my state.

- Hey, what’s wrong? We can stop if it’s too much for you.

- N-no, don’t... D-don’t stop, p-please.

Despite myself, tears come in streams. I didn’t want to ruin this moment. Not in any way. Lucy slides her fingers under my eyelids, as she has become accustomed to doing.

- D-don’t stop, please, I beg her.

She kisses me tenderly. This gesture calms me a bit. I return her sweet kisses, adding more passion to the next ones. She reignites the flame with her hands continuing to caress my chest.

- It’s going to be okay, she whispers. Tell me what I should do. Or show me if you prefer.

I nod and try to stop my tears once and for all. She still wants me, even with my disheveled mind and the tears that must have affected my appearance. My heart burns as much as my body. I linger my hands on her jeans, struggling with her belt with my trembling hands. I want to go faster, and Lucy chuckles at my sudden impatience.

- Okay, wait. Slow down.

She lifts herself to help me undress her. We soon find ourselves both in just our underwear, warm as embers after multiple caresses and kisses. Everything is soft. Lucy returns to my chest, now as marked by her as my neck. Her body fits perfectly with mine, moving slowly, making sure our thighs touch each other. I press against her from time to time, without realizing it. She was heating me up, and my desire quickly becomes too powerful and uncontrollable. Then comes the moment I was most apprehensive about. She starts to move down, but by reflex, I pull her back towards me.

- Relax, darling. Trust me.

I let her go with those simple words after a final exchanged kiss. She kisses my stomach first to tease me, though I was already at my limit. To make things difficult, I don’t make it easy for her. I squirm, though I have to keep my stomach contracted the entire time. I recognize some places where she lingers. They are where my scars are. I also flinch when she playfully nibbles. Then, she stops when she reaches my last piece of underwear. Surprisingly, she doesn’t remove it. She prefers to go lower, starting again from my knee. It’s too much. It tickles, as I am sensitive there. I try to close my thighs together, but Lucy holds them open with a laugh.

- Stop torturing me, I reply in a short breath.

- Come on, baby. You won’t escape this, she teases, continuing her trail of kisses. I want to kiss every part of your body.

I moan as she continues inside my thighs. Damn. I can’t resist much longer.

- P-promise me you’ll come back up after, I beg. I want you with me.

I don’t want to be the only one having pleasure tonight. I don’t know what she had planned, but I want us to come together for our first time.

- Alright, she murmurs against my warm skin. I promise.

She continues her path gradually, passing over my legs. I don’t remember being this sensitive here. I can’t stay still. Lucy keeps me pinned down with one hand on my stomach and the other on my thigh. I can’t close them or escape. She understands that she needs to hold them firmly to achieve her goal. A goal she eventually reaches. I don’t even dare to look down. All I know is that my panties must be quite wet in her eyes. I feel the coolness as Lucy breathes on it to tease me.

- Look at me.

I do so with difficulty. Seeing her at my center, holding my legs, makes my stomach churn. I’m struggling to realize that this is happening. The woman who, a few months ago, was tormenting me with training sessions to bring me down to earth, is now between my legs. I don’t protest when she pulls on the waistband of my black lace thong. I don’t know what possessed me to wear it this morning, but I’m thankful now. She does it gently to give me time to push her away if needed, but I don’t. Especially not in my state. I want her. Now. Still, she takes wicked pleasure in driving me crazy like she did a few minutes ago with her kisses.

- Luce, I complain.

- Oh, are you impatient now?

I move my hips as she has long since removed my last barrier. She gazes at me, and I blush. I thought I would feel vulnerable when this happened, but the way she looks at me makes me melt. With a smile, she teases my clitoris with her finger.

- I should make you beg.

- Y-you wouldn’t dare!

- And why not?

She plays with me and even dares to laugh. I plan to get my revenge when it’s her turn. As if she could read my thoughts, she dives right into my center to kiss it. I can still feel her smile. Just from the contact, I moan loudly. Her tongue takes over before she sucks on my sensitive skin. I cry out, propping myself up on my elbows at the sensation.

- Oh, fuck!

I can feel Lucy’s smile again. She doesn’t say anything, just pulls me down with her arm. I let myself fall back, closing my eyes. The sensation is exquisite. I had forgotten what it felt like to experience such pleasure. Her tongue explores every inch of my little garden, eliciting more than one moan or cry of pleasure. I cling to the sheets as best I can to avoid pulling her hair. If she had been at my level, her back would be covered in scratches. She mixes it with some sucking before going even lower. It’s the last straw. My moans fill the room, and I quickly grab her hair. I no longer know if I want to restrain her or pull her away. My head isn’t in the game anymore, and Lucy takes wicked pleasure in building the pressure in my stomach. I’ve never felt such pleasure before. When I reach my peak, I pull her hair. She quickly understands the message, finishing the moment with a final little kiss before coming back up. The absence of her mouth is already replaced by her hand. My own can now scratch her back. With my other hand, I quickly venture under her completely wet underwear. A short breath escapes her. It’s my turn to leave her with no opportunity. I take her lips, covered in my moisture. We caress each other while kissing. When she inserts a finger into me, I have to break the connection.

- O-oh my God.

I contract around her finger, no longer used to such presence. Lucy, who had started moving, stops immediately.

- Are you okay? she murmurs with concern.

- Y-yes! Don’t stop.

Understanding the meaning of my positive reaction, she waits for me to relax before adding a second finger. She doesn’t give me time to think and starts a gentle rhythm. I’m tense at first, but pleasure soon takes over as she speeds up. I realize I’ve fallen behind on my end. I have to concentrate fully to reciprocate. It’s intense. We are making love. The room echoes with our sounds. Lucy manages to find my lips to seal them together one last time. I struggle to return the kiss. My focus is much lower. Especially as our last acceleration takes its toll on us. We scream one final time in unison when we climax. I’m overwhelmed by her intensity. My teeth sink into Lucy’s shoulder, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. She’s in the same state as me, against my neck. The room eventually quiets down, with only our ragged breathing filling the space. It took us both a moment to recover. She’s the first to remove her fingers before I do. I’m exhausted, and my eyelids have become heavy. Still, I remain awake. Lucy kisses me one last time before getting up. I watch her carefully as she removes her underwear that had stayed on until the end. It must be quite a mess now. She pulls back the covers, and with a tremendous effort, I slip underneath. She immediately joins me, wrapping her arms around me. I smile, realizing what just happened.

- I love you, I murmur.

- I love you even more, she whispers, kissing my temple. Have sweet dreams, my love.

Under her words, I finally let myself drift off to sleep.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hello!

I am an aspiring author who struggles with accurately portraying historical clothing, and I stumbled across your blog while searching for photographs and information on late 19th century/USA Gilded Age fashion. From the research I've seen compiled across books/the internet, the clothing of the upper class from that area is very well documented in paintings, garment catalogues, photographs, museums, etc....but finding information on what the day-to-day wear of normal people was like is proving much more difficult. Since you seem to be knowledgeable in the subject of historical clothing in this approximate time period, I was wondering if you knew about any good resources to learn more about what people who couldn't afford to follow upper class trends were wearing in the general era as well as any general information around these items.

If it helps, I'm focused on eastern and southeastern United States farming/small railroad town/mountain mining/gulf coast wetland communities, but even just more general resources about what sort of clothing that the average poor person during the Gilded Age wore would be greatly helpful. I've been able to find a few photographs here and there, but these probably aren't an accurate depiction of a persons' 'day-to-day' wear, and I also haven't found much on how women learned to sew homemade clothes, what garments if any would have been bought, where people in rural areas would have sourced their cloth, what undergarments were like, how work shoes were made & aquired, ect.

Please feel free to ignore this if it isn't something you're interested in answering as I'm sure you get a lot of asks, but I'd greatly appreciate it if you have any pointers!

So here's the thing about 19th-century clothing:

in many ways, it's the same all the way down

now, that's a serious generalization. is a farm wife in Colorado going to be wearing the same thing as a Vanderbilt re: materials, fit, and up-to-the-minute trendiness? obviously not. but because so much of what people wore back then has only survived to the present day in our formalwear- long skirts, suits, etc. -we tend to have difficulty recognizing ordinary or "casual" clothing from that period. I also sometimes call this Ballgownification, from the tendency to label literally every pretty Victorian dress a Ball Gown (even on museum websites, at times). Even work clothing can consist of things you wouldn't expect to be work clothing- yes, they sometimes worked in skirts that are long by modern standards, or starched shirts and suspenders. Occupational "crap job clothes" existed, but sometimes we can't recognize even that because of modern conventions.

A wealthy lady wore a lot of two-piece dresses. Her maid wore a lot of two-piece dresses. The trailblazing lady doctor working at the hospital down the road from her house wore a lot of two-piece dresses. The factory worker who made the machine lace the maid used to trim her church dress wore a lot of two-piece dresses. The teenage daughter of the farm family that raised the cows that supplied the city where all those people lived wore a lot of- you get the idea. The FORMAT was very similar across most of American and British society; the variations tended to come in fabrics, trims, fit precision, and how frequently styles would be updated.

Having fewer outfits would be common the further down the social ladder you went, but people still tried to have as much underwear as possible- undergarments wicked up sweat and having clean ones every day was considered crucial for cleanliness. You also would see things changing more slowly- not at a snail's pace, but it might end up being a few years behind the sort of thing you'd see at Newport in the summer, so to speak. Underwear was easier to make oneself than precisely cut and fitted outer garments for adults (usually professionally made for all but the poorest of the poor for a long time- dressmakers and tailors catering to working-class clientele did exist), but that also began to be mass-produced sooner than outer clothing. So depending on the specific location, social status, and era, you might see that sort of thing and children's clothing homemade more often than anything else. Around the 1890s it became more common to purchase dresses and suits ready-made from catalogues like Sears-Roebuck, in the States, though it still hadn't outpaced professional tailoring and dressmaking yet. Work shoes came from dedicated cobblers, and even if you lived in isolated areas, VERY few people in the US and UK wove their own fabric. Most got it from the nearest store on trips to town, or took apart older garments they already had to hand and reused the cloth for that.

I guess the biggest thing I want to emphasize is that, to modern eyes, it can be very hard to tell who is rich and who is anywhere from upper-working-class to middling in Gilded Age photographs. Because just like nowadays a custodial worker and Kim Kardashian might both wear jeans and a t-shirt, the outfit format was the same for much of society.

Candid photography can be great for this sort of thing:

Flower-sellers in London's Covent Garden, 1877. Note that the hat on the far right woman is only a few years out-of-date; she may have gotten it new at the time or from a secondhand clothing market, which were quite popular on both sides of the Atlantic.

Also London, turn of the 20th century.

A family in Denver, Colorado, c. early 1890s.

Train passengers, Atlanta, Georgia, probably 1890s.

Hope this helps!

[black-rose-writings]

Inspired by some recent conversations, I'll do something I wanted to write out for a while - how would Bella Swan fare as the Sun Summoner.

Bella Swan is the go-to example of a poorly written "blank slate" protagonist, Twilight birthed half of the shitty fanfic tropes of the last few decades. I also shares a lot of parallels to SaB/Grishaverse as a whole, imo, but it a sort of "evil twin"/twisted yin-and-yang sort of way.

There's a lot I could go into here, but let's just stick to the premise - the heroines.

Firstly, it's important to say that their backstories are super important to how they turned out as people, so "Bella Swan as Sun Summoner" and "Alina with Bella's personality" would be kinda different - Alina's damage comes from not being able to grow up, while Bella's are from parentification, from being forced to grow up too fast.

(Since most of my audience is probably not familiar with Twilight, a significant part of Bella's backstory is that her mother is not a very practical, to put it mildly, and that Bella had to be the responsible one in the relationship from pretty early on in her life. Honestly, narrative-wise in many places, it feels almost like Alina was supposed to be the protagonist of Twilight (a 21st century teenager dragged into the supernatural kinda against her will) and Bella was supposed to be the heroine of SaB (a gothic heroine forced to grow up too fast, fascinated and drawn by the supernatural), but I digress.)

There's two ways her's backstory could go:

If we go the orphanage route, there's not really much that needs to be changed - in fact, she almost makes much more sense as a product of such environment than Alina. I'm calling this one Bellalina (she has Alina's backstory and talents, but with Bella's personality). Bellalina was a sickly child, who burried herself in books, dreaming of a life that seemed out of reach, while being forced to take care of the younger children and generally help around the orphanage, getting herself a brainy job in the army as soon as she could to get away. She'd have a much more complicated relationship with Ana Kuya than Alina has, similar to the complicated feelings Bella has to both of her parents (again, for my Grishaverse followers, Bella was heavily parentified by her mom and seems at least somewhat aware that it messed her up, and she has a distant relationship with her father, especially early on in the books, mostly because they're basically strangers when the books start).

The only problem with the orphanage route is that I kinda have hard time believing someone with Bella's personality would manage to avoid being discovered for so long.

Bella's original backstory is hard to transplant into the Grishaverse, just because of how differently marriage is treated in the Grishaverse compared to the modern world, especially in the social classes Bellalina would need to be to recieve the necessary education. I'm calling this one Liza, considering the slavic version of Isabella is some form of Elisabeta and she is Bella in the Grishaverse). But here's an attempt at a plausible version - Liza's mother was either a lower noblewoman or the daughter of a wealthy merchant, who eloped with a soldier when she was younger, but quickly changing her mind after getting a taste of the less-than-wealthy life, returning to her parents, either pregnant or with baby Liza. Grishaverse!Renée(Renata, maybe, if we wanted to slavify her name) and her family would certainly try to get her divorced or have the marriage annuled (depending on the relevant law in Ravka). This might work, or she might just have to wait for Grishaverse!Charlie(I'm thinking of slavifying his name to Kirill, which has different origins, but there's no russian version of Charles and I refuse to name him Karel) to die (which is not exactly an unlikely fate for a lowly soldier). Either way, Renata, due to having such sordid past (by 19th century standarts) and possibly still being technically married to Kirill, has hard time remarrying, only managing to do so when Liza is almost 16. At which point, Bella decides she might as well join the Ravkan army, seeing it as the best way to set herself up for her future (and probably to get away from her mom and her family, who probably didn't let her forget about having a common father and questionable legitimacy).

Either way, she ends up in the army - Bellalina still in the carthography unit, Liza, I'm not sure what Bella's skills would be good for in a 19th century army. Maybe some kind of communication officer? A clerk? Some kind of intelligence work (like, the boring, paper-pushing kind)? (that would be very ironic considering Alina's utter disregard for the concept of secrecy) A secretary/typist for some higher-up officer? IDK, something fitting for a well-educated, observant and intelligent, but physically feeble girl.

From here, the divergences mostly end.

She's sent across the Fold as part of an assignment, things go badly, she's discovered as a Sun Summoner, pretty much as it goes in the books.

Except Bella is into it. She's been dreaming of having a dashing hero sweep her away into a magical life since she was little. She would spend the entire ride to the little palace asking way too many questions like an over-excited toddler. She'd be crushing on Sasha so hard (especially after he saves her life).

She would dive into her studies head first once she arrived. Again, this girl dreamed about this her whole life. She loves this, she loves the power. Mental block who?

She is also very observant. She would clock Aleksander's immortal ass within two conversations (and probably confront him about it first opportunity to get him alone).

Bella is also significantly hornier than Alina, so Winter Fete would get much spicier.

Now, the real big question: Would she believe Baghra? My answer is no. Primarily because she would have confronted Sasha about the before-mentioned immortal bullshit before the Fete, and would probably recieve at least an outline of the plan at that point. (Considering how non-chalantly OG!Bella rolled with vampire murder lore, she would probably be fine with some tactical fantasy nukes, especially if framed through "protect the people you care about" lense). Also, if Bella was promised a good dicking, she would not listen to Baghra on principle, because she's horny and she's NOT going to be happy about getting cockblocked.

Que good ending, immortal overlord Sasha and his immortal saint wife Bella bring world peace.

[ineffable-suffering]

Ceci n'est pas une plume.

(from this doc of all of Neil's answered asks)

The meta goes a little like this: I like nerdy stuff about language (and also Good Omens), so I wanted to elaborate on why Angels and Demons don't actually ever speak any language except their own. They simply have the ability to flick a translation switch and (make anyone) understand what's being said in whatever other language.

Also, I end up making a way deeper point of it and why it's so telling that Aziraphale would learn French (and magic) the hard way, in the end.

Find out with me under the cut!

(Word count: 1820 | Reading time: ~8 minutes )

Aziraphale and Crowley's exchange in front of Marguerite's restaurant started me down this path and I'm pretty sure that this is actually how it works. Because it ties together a few other loose strings that have been floating around in my head about the whole langue deal in Good Omens.

Let's structure this by the questions Neil has already answered about it.

The Lead Balloon

I feel like the "in the beginning"-scene in S2 showed us that Crowley did not actually have much of an idea what exactly the plan for Earth and the humans were (instead, Aziraphale did). He might have found out later still, after asking his questions, but I feel like the second part of that answer is more likely to be true, since they both seem to understand this metaphor. This is further supported by:

Ergo: They're speaking in the language of Angels but we understand it in English (or whatever language we selected on our Amazon Prime). Automatically translated for us because Crowley and Aziraphale wanted us to understand them.

"Ciao. It's Italian. It means Food."

They sort of are, yes. Idiots who either forgot to turn on their own auto-translator, or idiots who aren't aware that they have one for other languages except English, or idiots who were miffed that Crowley actually knew-knew a word in another language and didn't want to admit that they didn't.

Où est la plume de la jardinière de ma tante?

Right, so. The exchange that fuelled this meta. First of all, as a funny side note, the origin of that peculiar sentence:

La plume de ma tante ("my aunt's quill") is a phrase in popular culture, attributed to elementary French language instruction (possibly as early as the 19th century) and used as an example of grammatically correct phrases with limited practical application that are sometimes taught in introductory foreign language texts. As Life magazine said in 1958, "As every student knows, the most idiotically useless phrase in a beginner's French textbook is la plume de ma tante (the quill of my aunt)." The phrase is also used to refer to something deemed completely irrelevant. [link]

So basically, it's historically the most nonsensical and dumb phrase any student of the French language gets taught. And yet Aziraphale has been "wittering on about it for the last 250 years". Even looking smug about it, to this very day. Gave me a good chuckle.

Also:

In the 1973 horror film The Exorcist, Catholic priest Damien Karras interviews [...] a girl believed to suffer from demonic possession. While Karras probes to determine whether the possession is a hoax, the demon Pazuzu—who has possessed the girl—speaks in Latin and French, languages presumably unknown to the girl. When Karras demands "Quod nomen mihi est?/What is my name?" in Latin, the demon exclaims "La plume de ma tante!", using the phrase as a non sequitur to mock and evade Karras' line of questioning. [link]

Using that particular phrase to avoid answering a question you're being asked? Like: "You speak every language in the world perfectly ...

Neil, Neil, Neil, *shakes head fondly*, is there anything that you don't give layered meaning to, ever? No. No, of course you don't. And I adore you for it.

The whereabouts of the aunt's gardener's pen questioned, Aziraphale then says "But you still understood me" when Crowley calls him out for his bad French.

This is curious and affirming of my auro-translator theory for two reasons:

1) Aziraphale wouldn't have said this if he'd uttered this sentence in the language of Angels and simply hit the auto-translate button. Because if he had done it that way, of course Crowley would have understood him. But the reason Crowley understands him is not because Aziraphale used his language auto-translate, but because, again, Aziraphale, for two hundred and fifty years, has been wittering on about the plume of his imaginary tante.

2) Point one is further proven by a tiny French nerdy fact I can provide because I actually did learn and graduate in French back in school, lol. Because Crowley actually makes a mistake while trying to not-automatically translate the sentence. He says:

But "jarndinère" is actually a female gardener (le jardinier = male, la jardinière = female). So, when Crowley says "he doesn't have a pen", he actually gets it wrong, which further proves to me that he (as well as all other angels and demons) doesn't actually understand the phrase like someone does who has learnt the language in a human way.

Crowley doesn't have the automated translation on in this moment, so he doesn't translate it correctly. Because he doesn't actually speak French. At least not in the sense that us humans interpret "speaking a language".

Comment ça?

Basically, what I'm trying to get at is: Would you say that Google Translate speaks every language in the world? That it's native and fluent in every tongue ever spoken? Or is it simply a program that can access all the language knowledge its been fed and as soon as you hit enter, it translates any and every language back to you?

Google Translate never learnt any language, it never sat down and went through the onslaughts of vocabulary and grammar that studying a language comes with. It never got frustrated with seemingly nonsensical sentence structures, subjonctifs (French-learnes, you know what I mean) tenses and conjugations. It never spent ages trying to understand different dialects and accents, never spoke with natives to figure out the hidden slangs and sarcasms that would never be translated on paper. It never went to night classes where the teacher wittered on about pens and gardeners and aunts.

No. Google Translate is being told a sentence and it soullessly, programatically recognizes the language through its binary coded translation filter and mirrors the equivalent in whatever other language you want it to.

It's furthest any-a thing could be from speaking a language.

And exactly like that.

Exactly like that is how angels and demons "speak" every language in the World. Hitting an imaginary auto-translate-and-auto-recognition button.

Aziraphale and French (and magic)

Just like with Aziraphale being giddy about the idea of human magic, of learning card tricks and pulling coins out from behind ears, Aziraphale chose to never hit his translate button when it came to French.

Why does Aziraphale learn magic the human way? Because he knows how to do it the ethereal way but that's "no fun."

And why does Aziraphale learn French the human way? Because he knows how to do it the ethereal way, but that's "no fun".

Let me recap real quick: Two of the very base principles of any angel's job and/or purpose (on Earth) is to 1) do miracles for humankind to ensure their souls will at some point be added to Heaven's tab and 2) be a being of Love and love all of Her creations.

Or, the condensed version: Magic and Love.

And what are the two things Aziraphale finds no fun (= boring and unsatisfying) to do the way it was intended for all angels?

Magic and (the language of) Love.

Aziraphale chose to try and learn magic as well as the language of love organically, without the God-given ability and the binary coded translation system Heaven provided his corporation with.

He wanted to learn it the human way. The hard way. The fun way.

Neil: "It's like magic tricks, which he is terrible at but loves to do, and miracles, which are no fun, but which he does very well."

Because that's the point, isn't it? Most of us think: "Wow, wouldn't it be great to be able to do actual magic? Simply snap your fingers and have any-a wish come true? Speak every and any language in the universe and never have to pick up a dictionary ever again?"

Sure, for the first few exciting moments, miracles and conversations maybe. But sooner or later, it renders everything meaningless. Soulless. Flavourless. And who loves flavour more than Aziraphale?

It's somewhat similar to why typing a sentence into Google Translate is never going to be as exciting as being able to finally translate it yourself after years of practising. Or why telling an AI to conjure up a picture of a beautiful landscape will never, ever be the same as working years on your own painting skills to one day finally be able to paint it yourself.

Heaven (and ultimately Hell) don't care about the process. The hardship. The pain and passion of putting work and effort into the journey. They only care about the end result. The means to an end.

Crowley: "They don‘t care how it gets done, they just want to know they can cross it off their list."

Want to speak any language in the world? There you go, automatic translator. Want to ensure humans will be added to the Heavenly/Hellish soul tab? Boom, you can do real magic. Get to work, then!

So, for Aziraphale to choose to learn the two things he was provided with to do his Heavenly work in the most efficient, soulless and flavourless way possible the human way instead, really says it all, doesn't it?

But he learnt the most important one the hard way, without his auto-translator.

The one language all angels are supposed to know fluently and wordlessly anyway.

The one language that makes an angel.

The language of Love.

Except that when it's programmed into you with the intent to only ever work as a means to and end instead of the beautiful journey it is, it will never be the real, organic, passionate, hard and wonderful thing it was meant to be.

And Aziraphale knows this.

Which is exactly why he learnt magic and French the real, human way.

***

Small addendum that I couldn't really fit into any paragraph up there: I think it's also really telling that Aziraphale only properly committed to learning French the right way by going to Monsieur Rossignol's (for those who haven’t seen it yet: rossignol means nightingale in French) night classes in 1760 after the first time we see Crowley rescue him (Bastille, 1739). There might have been a time before that where Crowley got him out of a precarious situation, but for all we know, it was the first one where Crowley really showed up for an angel in need who was absolutely swooning over it. Time to let the nightingale to teach you how to become fluent in Love!

[carlyyyyxbishhop]

Seasons / Damien Haas

The loud music pumped through my brain, making my migraine ten times worse. I stirred the straw around in my drink, watching the ice spin round and round.

"Hey nice tattoo, what do the roman numerals stand for?" I reluctantly dragged my eyes away from my drink to look at the man standing before me.

"It's a date." I reply bluntly, taking my attention off the man to scan the room for Ruby. 

"What date is it? Oh wait let me guess," Great, he didn't get the message that I didn't want to talk, "the nineteenth of May is it? No May's the 5th month, uhhh."

"June." I state bluntly, "The 19th of June." I pick up my drink and walk away from the man that seriously could not take a hint.

I push through the sweaty people at the party in search of my sister. The bass is rattling my brain and I can't deal with the noise.

My eyes lock on the backdoor and I make a beeline for it. My hand makes it to the doorknob when an arm comes out of nowhere and blocks me in.

"What's the password?" I look up to see Aaron, Ruby's idiot boyfriend.

"Not now Aaron." I try to push his arm away but he doesn't let me.

"Rube's looking for you." He replies, looking around the room as if to pretend he's looking for her too.

"Yeah right, let me out dickhead." I give his arm one final push and he finally lets up.

"Whatever." He mumbles under his breath as he walks away.

I make my way into the backyard of the suburban house and take in my surroundings. A pool, a small firepit nearby and a table surrounded by people playing beerpong. I go for the option that involves not talking to people and walk towards the pool. It's dark, dimply lit and from what I can see walking towards it, empty. 

I sit by the side of the pool, put my drink down next to me and lay on my back. You can barely see the stars in LA, but I pretend I can see them. I reach my hand to my right and let it touch the top of the water, watching small waves ripple over the surface.

"Uhhh, hey." I hear from behind me. I sit up quickly, spinning around to face the voice. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, I just didn't want to sit here in the dark if you didn't know I was here."

I nod slightly, still not being able to fully see the person behind the voice. I can recognise a male figure sitting on one of the pool chairs in the dark corner.

"Don't like parties?" He asks, probably hoping to fill the silence where some sort of response would have been.

"Not really," I reply tearing my attention from the man to look back at the house of crowded people.

"Me neither, that's why I'm sat in this dark corner. Trust me, I'm not like a predator or anything."

I turn back to him, "That's exactly what a predator would say."

He laughed, "How do I prove I'm not a predator then?"

I put my hand to my chin as if deep in thought.

"Well first of all, you could come out from the shadows so I can atleast identify you if you attack me." I say matter of factly. He seems to ponder the statement before picking up his own drink and walking towards me. He sits a fair distance away from me by the pools edge. 

The light hits his face as sits down and I see his features. The first thing I notice are his dark eyebrows, he has dark features all around. He takes a sip from his cup and looks in my direction. I look away.

"Do you have a name? Just incase I need to report you to the police later." His smile makes my lips turn up too. I've never been great a hiding my smile.

"My names Damien, just incase you might need it." 

"I'm Riley," I follow, assuming that's the most appropriate response.

"What brings you to this party you so obviously don't want to attend Riley?" He dips the bottom of his cup in the water a few times as he asks. I can't help but watch.

"Well I was supposed to be babysitting my little sister but she always ditches me as soon as we get anywhere." I watch as he taps the ground with his cup, making small water rings on the stone.

"Ahh, so pretty much the same as me. I was dragged here by my friend and then immediately ditched for a girl." He nods as he speaks.

"So what you're saying is we have the same villain origin story?" I ask, trying to hide my smile. He looks up with a sly smile.

"Yeah, I guess we do." I meet his gaze for a moment before someone yells behind us.

"Damien! Damien!" I turn to see a man standing at the backdoor of the house looking out into the dark backyard.

"Well, I guess that's my queue." He says as he stands up, brushing his jeans with his hands. I watch, silently hoping he'd stay.

"It was nice meeting you Damien," I smile up at the stranger I'd just met.

"You too Riley, good luck tonight," He walks past me slowly. I watch him walk towards the backdoor, I watch his friend greet him with a pat on the back and then I watch as he disappears into the busy house. I look back up at the sky, hoping my night ends soon.

[thenightfolknetwork]

Shortly after my 7th untimely demise, I came into a bit of money, and decided to spend it on a small 19th-century estate. It’s a gorgeous house, complete with turrets and everything. The turrets were, ah, fully collapsed when I first arrived, and the rest of the house wasn’t in much better shape, but I knew it was a fixer-upper and was confident I could handle it. And I was right! There were certainly some surprises along the way, but a few months ago, I was finally able to start moving in.

As often happens with these sorts of properties, there were some pre-existing tenants that weren’t listed on the contract. My bedroom has an enchanted mirror permanently bound to the wall, the stables house twin 11-year-old ghosts, the kitchen has a automatically-refilling bowl of perpetually fresh apples, and the library fireplace foretells visions of doom—not to mention Stain, the black cat (…I’m pretty sure she’s just a regular cat, but she’s still very much a figure of the property).

It’s. So. Much fun. I was worried I’d get lonely! But now, I can get ready for the day while having a lovely chat with the mirror, snag an apple from the kitchen, go read a book in the library and tell the fireplace that they’re looking particularly unnerving this afternoon, and then chop vegetables for dinner while supervising the kids’ potion-making—I usually don’t care for children, but these two are delightfully precocious, and it’s been a while since I’ve had apprentices. And Stain—she’s wrapped around my shoulders while I write this—she looks like she got hit by a car! She’s adorable.

We all have our spats, but the estate is big enough for us to have our own spaces, and we’re all doing our best to ~communicate~, as you like to say. It’s going swimmingly. Except.

Like most old properties, the house has collected a fair amount of dust over time. In this case, though, all those dust bunnies turned… sentient. Overall, they’re perfectly pleasant to the rest of us, but like to be left to their own devices and aren’t keen on doing what others want. I certainly won’t be judging them for it.

However, while the estate was left to fall into disrepair, the rifts that developed were—are—oh, how do I say this. Well. I probably shouldn’t beat around the bush. I’m having, er, dust bunny gang wars? In my house? And I am fed up with it! The mirror needs cleaning twice a day, the apples have to be washed before eating, Stain’s getting frankly concerning hairballs, and the twins—! Actually, they seem to be rather well-adjusted. I think they may be betting on the fights with the fireplace.

Anyway. As for me, in most of the house, the turf allotments are pretty stable. Not so for the room directly under my bedroom. Practically every other day in there’s a dust bath, and I just can’t sleep with all of the snapping and coordinated dancing and bloodcurdling screams going on.

I’d like to be able to finish moving in to my home. I was even hoping to set up my spinning wheel in that room, but I can’t expose all of those loose fibers to the dust. I am very literally losing sleep over this. What should I do?

Oh, reader. What a frustrating situation! I would like to commend you for your commitment to sharing your home with its previous occupants, and in your success at building a home together you can all enjoy. At least, most of the time.

I understand that the dust bunny population prefer to keep to themselves and enjoy their own autonomy. And I think you're right to respect that preference, to a degree. But their behaviour is now infringing unacceptably on the peace and comfort of your home's other residence. Enough is enough.

Your first step it to try and open lines of communication between yourself and the bunnies. A simple communication ritual should suffice. Set yourself up with a talking board and few candles, and see if you can encourage the bunnies to speak to you directly.

If you're thinking this sounds rather similar to methods used to contact the more antisocial members of the spirit community, you'd be correct. You are trying to speak to sentient dust, and statistically speaking, household dust is largely composed of dead skin cells. A little light necromancy should see you well on your way to negotiating a lasting peace.

As with any peace negotiation, there will be compromises. Before you start this process, think carefully about what you are and aren't willing to give up – and what it is, precisely, you're asking for.

Are you trying to claim the spare room as your own territory, or declaring it a no man's land? Do you intend to act as an intermediary between dust bunny factions, mediating for a broader peace, or are you simply trying to put limits on how these factions behave in the shared spaces of your home?

With clarity of purpose and a commitment to communication and compromise, I think you'll be able to find your way to a solution that works for everyone. If no solution is forthcoming, you might consider a small show of force to encourage co-operation. A new vacuum cleaner, featured in a prominent position in the contested territory, for example.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[norman-and-co]

Hello witches and wizards of tumblr! My creator finally made us a tumblr to post photos and videos we made on here as well for all to enjoy.

(We do have a tiktok its @sarouv.black.and )

Anyways let's introduce the mcs shall we?

Name:Norman Ravenclaw

Year: 7th

House: Ravenclaw

Birth:2nd of February

Sexual orientation: Bi king

Patrounus: sawn

Norman is the 7th year ravenclaw prefect and a captain of the quidditch team.

He is part of the decadence of Rowena Ravenclaw . His family somehow managed to keep the Ravenclaw name still.

Because of this he's a trust fund kid who has more money than he can ever do with from his parents (he has a really good relationship with them yippie)

He also is one of the top of his classes in ravenclaw only failing at Herbology. He can't get a plant to stay alive longer than a week.

Ironically he's somehow always around and pops up way to often. It makes him perfect for being a prefect but terrible for students who want to sneak out after curfew or cause chaos.

His favourite hobbies are, music and baking.

Name: Sarouv Black

Year:7th

House:slytherin

Birth:4th of September

Sexual orientation: gay

Patrounus: black bear

Sarouv ironically shares a last name with the black family. He doesn't tend to explain further more on why or if he's related to *The* black family like the head master.

Despite being in slytherin he ironically doesn't seem like he belongs there he's quite but sweet and friendly that *loves* animals and will spend all the time he can in the forests around hogwarts sometimes the forbidden forest. He has a spot he tends to go to study or get away from people.

He's a 7th year but he joined hogwarts as a 3rd year.

He's quite skilled on a broom but will never sign up for quiditch and never had despite constant requests to by other people.

Yes he does have a massive scar on his face from being hit with a spell but he doesn't like to talk about it. He got it during his 4th year whichcie when he became so quite.

In the 3rd year he was rather much of a trouble maker bunking of classes and a very loud and rowdy he was a bit cold to people and that coldness is still there but it's not that bad as it use to be.

Name: 'Cole Furburry'

Year:6th

House:Hufflepuff

Birth: 19th of November

Sexual orientation: pansexual

Patrounus: none.

'Cole' ended up at hogwarts at the end of the fith year and start of the sith year. None one knows really where he came from but he's a odd bunch.

Somehow despite all odds he ended up manipulating the sorting hat into putting him into hufflepuff. And he had admitted it to a few students.

Cole isn't his real name it's a fake one he took up when he escaped azkaban as he was sent their at a young age due to him being the only one alive at the sight of the the murder of his parents with no other evidence than pointing to him. So when he escaped he changed his whole appearance and name somehow manged to worm his way into hogwarts and into being a hufflepuff so he's least likely to be a suspected fugitive.

He's a bit insane sometimes and I mean how can he not when he spent years in a cell with dementors so he will have these random episodes of delusion and pure madness.

He's power hungry. He needs all the power he can get. Why? So that he can feel safe. So what if that means learning unforgivables?

He gets along very well despite everything with the boys from gryffindor and slytherin.

He does though have a personal hatred to Duncan and Everett where he has attempted to hurt either of them when left alone.

He loves his beast classes and potions

He can be often found at the library or at the pen's at the animal classes.

Anyways thats the mcs

Hope you all enjoyed.

[feyreweekofficial]

Announcing Feyre Week 2024 Prompts!

art by: niruskyart (twt)

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your patience and waiting as we came up with our prompts for Feyre week 2024! We were sad that there was no Feyre week in 2023 so to make up for it we are making a super-week and offering two prompts a day!

All prompts are completely option and there is ZERO obligation or requirement to do both prompts each day or to follow any prompts super strictly. Please feel free to pick whichever prompt you prefer on any given day you're participating! You may all follow the prompts as loosely or closely as you desire!

Look below for a little blurb about each prompt and some questions to get you thinking!

Monday 3/18:

Lady of Many Faces: As our lady of many faces Feyre has numerous parts of her personality. She's a mother, a high lady, a friend, a sister. She's cunning, kind, mean, thoughtful, nosy, and all sorts of things! How would you like to explore the different facets of Feyre Archeron? What sides of her character do you think could be further explored, or should have been explored?

Immortal With a Mortal Heart: As a Made being who was born human, Feyre may be one with this magical, faerie world, but at her core her heart will always be human. Does she struggle with this? How does her humanity impact her outlook on life and her interactions with others? In 1000 years will her heart still be mortal, or will she lose that part of her?

Tuesday 3/19:

Starfall: What kind of Feyre week would we be without the obligatory Starfall day? Starfall is one of the most beloved scenes from Feyre's journey and signaled a great change in her life! Does Feyre come up with any new traditions for Starfall? How does she celebrate it with Nyx? As of ACOSF, both of her sisters will now be celebrating with her from now on, does she do anything special with them?

New Beginnings: Today (March 19th) is the spring equinox in the Northern hemisphere, and one of the main reasons we chose these dates for our week! There's some speculation that Starfall takes place around this time in the books, and we wanted to honor that. As the frost melts and the seasons change new life blooms for us and for our beloved Feyre. What were Feyre's new beginnings like? How has her life changed? What was it like for her to wake up from her depressive winter "slumber" and come into herself? How has she changed over the course of the series?

Wednesday 3/20:

Cursebreaker: Feyre is the cursebreaker who freed the land from 50 years of suffering. What is having this title like for her? Is it burdensome? Do you think we'll see her breaking any curses in the future? "Cursebreaker" also has quite the intense meaning in the series, how does Feyre feel about that? How could her cursebreaking be explored further?

First of Her Kind: Feyre has done a lot of firsts throughout the series! She is the first to be made as she was. She's the first to come back from the dead bearing the powers of 7 high lords. She is the first High Lady and the first to survive looking into the Ourobouros. Are there any more iconic firsts Feyre will explore? How far can she go?

Thursday 3/21:

Childhood: We know a few scarce details about Feyre's childhood that have been scattered through the books. What more do you wish we knew? What do you imagine her childhood to be like that perhaps wasn't stated in the books? Is there anything you wish happened? How did Feyre interact with people before they fell into poverty? Did she have any interactions with her mother? What about after poverty?

Found Family: Feyre has found a family for herself through the Court of Dreams that is different than the one she was born to. Does she have any special traditions with them? Are there aspects of her relationship with them you wish were added? What's Feyre's domestic life like? How will her relationship with her family grow and change?

Friday 3/22:

AU: What would Feyre be like in alternate universes? What would Feyre look like in our world, another fantasy world, a video game? Anything Feyre AU! There are a million different ways we can imagine Feyre.

Theories: Do you have any Feyre theories, or just theories you really like? Share them with us! What would it be like if those theories were true? What do you imagine for Feyre in future books?

Saturday 3/23:

Warrior: From slaying the Middengard Wyrm to training with Cassian to defending the Rainbow all the way to fighting in the Summer Court with Morrigan, Feyre is a warrior and a fighter. How can we explore this? Does she learn any new fighting styles, or will there possibly be a battle she's needed in?

Jack of all trades: Feyre has many skills and hobbies! She paints, teaches, reads. She's passionate about trade and her work as High Lady. She's redone the entire Night Court budget and was vital in the development of the treaty with Vallahan! She posesses many different skills! Is there any skill you think she's good at or would have that's not explicitly in the books? Do you see her trying to learn anything new? How will she continue growing as a painter? As a teacher? As a High Lady?

Sunday 3/24: FREE DAY!

Reminder, there is no obligation to do both prompts or hit both prompts in your post! Your post does not have to even match the prompts at all. All prompts are there to stimulate your thinking about Feyre and provide options for things you could possibly create!

Let us know if you have any questions!

[specialagentlokitty]

Mr Evershed x student!reader - hidden art

Hi. Can you please do prompt #42 (from the new set) with Mr. Evershed? Somewhere along the lines of that he spots the tattoo on one of his students. - Anon 💜

42: “Nice tattoo.” “Thanks.” “What’s it mean?” “No idea.”

Sitting on the wall, you flicked to the next page of your book, taking a sip from your water bottle and you set it back down.

It was quiet in this part of the school during lunch, and since you weren’t a big fan of other people, you enjoyed sitting here instead.

It’s probably why you were easy to find, because when the door nearby opened you looked up from your book and you gave a small smile.

“Good afternoon Mr Evershed.” You greeted.

“How’re you today?” He asked.

Putting your bookmark into the book, you closed the book and set it aside.

“I’m good, what brings you out here?”

Mr Evershed sat on the bench and gestured for you to go over to him so you did. Gathering your things you made your way to the bench and sat down.

He held out a bit of paper to you which you took and quickly read over.

“Basketball competition?”

“I know our school focuses a lot on football and rugby, but you seem to enjoy basketball the most, I thought maybe you would be interested in playing on a team outside of school.” He smiled.

You nodded your head, folding the paper and you put it into your bag.

“Thank you sir, I’ll take a look later.”

He smiled at you, gesturing to your book.

“And what are we reading today?”

“A collection of French poetry from the 19th century.”

“French? I didn’t know you could speak French.”

“Oh I can’t, I can read it. I can understand if someone talked to me in French but I actually can’t speak the language, I’m not very good with the pronunciation.”

“Ah, right. Well, it certainly makes a difference. Would you say it’s a good read?”

“Absolutely, it’s good. Very different to other poetry I’ve read. Though there are still some works that nothing can beat, a few works by Shakespeare for example.”

He chuckled a little bit, nodding his head in understanding.

You took another book out of your bag and held it out to him.

“Maybe you would be interested in this, it’s a series of letters from world wars one and two that have been compiled into a book.”

He took the book from you.

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to give it a read and have it back to you at the end of the week.”

You always gave him something to read, mostly old books, you never read modern literature, telling him it didn’t have the same effect as old literature did.

And since he was an English teacher you thought he would have interest in looking them over, which he did.

He liked to encourage people to keep their hobbies, to peruse them if it was something safe and of course not against the law.

He’d made that mistake once and it resulted in graffiti all over the school.

But you weren’t a trouble maker, you kept to yourself, you work in your classes, you had good grades, passing grades at least.

The bell rang and you picked up your stuff, giving him a small smile.

“See you later sir.”

“Have a good afternoon, and remember it’s non uniform day tomorrow!” He called.

You nodded, making your way inside.

The next day you went into school, it was some sort of festival going on.

You weren’t really paying attention when it was being explained, all you knew was that you didn’t need to wear uniform, and there was activities inside and outside.

But you weren’t interested in any of them, you thought it was just a waste of your time, so you made your way into an empty classroom, sitting on the windowsill as you read.

You head your headphones on, listening to music, blocking out the noises of everything and the people all around yelling and shouting.

Because you were listening to your music, you weren’t aware of the door to the classroom opening and closing.

The moment Mr Evershed walked in he stopped, looking over at you.

“(Y/N)? Why aren’t you outside with everybody else?”

He waited for a reply, and when he didn’t get one he began to make his way over.

As he got closer, he noticed the colour on your arm, but he realised that wasn’t it.

He reached out, tapping your shoulder with the papers he was holding and you turned to look at him.

Setting your book down you pulled your headphones down.

“Hello sir.”

“Hello to you too. What brings you here?”

“I don’t want to partake in the festivities, they aren’t really my thing. People and loud places.”

He hummed a little bit.

“Right, sorry. I forgot. How are you? Are you alright in here?”

You nodded your head.

“Yeah, it’s pretty quiet so it’s not so bad over this way. Plus I’ve got my music and book to keep me company.”

“Good, I’m glad. Do you mind if I sit with you while I grade some papers.”

You gestured to the classroom.

“Go ahead.”

He sat at one of the tables and you jumped down to join him, sitting down with your book as you carried on reading.

Mr Evershed used this as a chance to look at your upper arm again to confirm his suspicions.

“Nice tattoo.” He said.

You looked up, grinning a little.

“Thanks.”

“What’s it mean?”

You gave a shrug.

“No idea.”

This made him chuckle.

“How long have you had it for? And I’m rather sure that it’s illegal for you to have a tattoo.”

“You would be right on that, it is. But, I can get one with a parents approval from certain places, it was my birthday gift last year from my dad.”

“I see, do you mind if I take a look?”

You shook your head, pulling your sleeve up so he could see the whole design.

It was of a tree, he wasn’t sure what kind of tree it was, maybe a willow tree or something similar, but where it should be green it was covered in all sorts of colours, all in a watercolour style.

“It’s really nice. Out of all the students here you’d be the last one I’d suspect if a tattoo.”

You laughed a little, pulling your sleeve back down.

“I’m careful to hide it, it draws too much attention.”

“Well, as long as you keep it hidden I can’t see any wrong with that.”

“Thanks sir.”

He nodded, turning back to his paperwork and you went back to reading.

You were just a bundle of surprises, and even now there was still a lot that nobody knew about you

[littleastrobleme]

Has your museum done any clothing conservation work? Of the historic garments and textiles you have handled, which one is your personal fave?

Thank you for the ask, yay!! This is gonna be long-winded because I'd like to give a good answer to a good ask!

I work at a new(ish) job at a university where I mostly do research, but when I was at the museum (a small decorative arts museum in a sort of historic/museum district in my hometown), how to properly store and conserve the garments in our collection was one of the most pressing questions we discussed. The frustrating thing about garment/textile storage and conservation is that it requires

A. Space and

B. Big moneys

Neither of which the small museum had. Amazingly, for having been in closets on shelves or in cardboard boxes in a basement for decades, most of the garments (which were predominantly mid-late 19th century dresses that had been bought in the 50s or 60s) were in great shape! However, the few that had been munched on by mousies had really been munched on, so those guys would need a lot of help before going on display. The museum has some mid-19th century quilts and coverlets that are in great shape, so those dudes are safe for display and are much-admired.

The museum is currently undertaking a massive refurbishment project, as it is housed in a late-19th century residence that has never had proper repairs, so all of the gowns and a few orphaned bodices are currently wrapped in archival tissue and squirreled away in historic furniture throughout the museum. We had an artist-in-residence who wanted to hang the dresses from the ceiling (I threw a polite FIT) and our director wanted her tween daughter to model the dresses (I threw a slightly politer FIT), but such as it is, how to best conserve and display the garments is still a matter of ongoing discussion.

In response to your second query...

It is so hard to say which garments were my favorite! Since I've spent several years now in the icy trenches of Franklin Expedition research for my thesis, garments from the 1840s-50s were really neat to handle because they were created in my time period of study and made me feel connected to that era.

(The information attached to this dress, meanwhile, stated that it was worn by a teenage girl and was made around 1802, so it was probably still at least mildly in style when Erebus and Terror were built!)

But my very favorite was an 1880s winter walking dress. The 1880s is my favorite decade of 19th century fashion, so it was really delightful to see how lightweight and cozy a velvet dress from that era actually was.

(There seem to be some vaguely 18th-century inspirations in the trims!)

Hopefully in the future, once they get the repairs squared away, the museum will be able to dedicate more space to proper garment storage (probably flat in big archival boxes, supported with tissue, kept away from any erstwhile mice!) and hopefully display some of the garments that are in good shape. They are so beautiful and enchanting and they deserve to be seen!

Thanks so much for the ask!

[attorneytrash]

I really really really love Such Terrible Tales, it's one of my favorite fanfictions of all time!! I was wondering how you write a "period piece" so well with all the terminology, dialog, and flow of the work feeling so reminiscent of 19th-20th century novels! (It still has its roots and humor in the modern era, but you get me.) Do you do a lot of research and editing before you publish a chapter or does it just flow naturally for you? Did you read a ton of Jane Austen and bodice rippers before penning the Jackdaw? Have you you plotted out Such Terrible Tales in full before writing or do you just fly by the seat of your pants (or do you do a mix of both)? Sorry if this is nosy, I'm just so curious and invested and I'm looking into writing fanfictions that captures a similar feeling myself ^q^

OH MY GOSH HIIIIIIII wait i've never gotten one of these before. this is so exciting. fair warning my advice will be terrible but you did ask

first off thank you I can't believe you think i write a good "period piece" (what is the period? we just don't know) because I feel like i'm so slapdash about it and it's all Vibes. ANYWAY I'M REALLY REALLY HAPPY YOU'RE ENJOYING THE FIC. TRULY

genuinely one of the reasons I started writing STT in the first place was because I was on a kick of reading stuff that takes place in that general era (again, what the actual era is remains unclear). A few people have pointed out the Jane Austen of it all, and I think when I was in the middle of reading an austen novel you can tell because of the language in those chapters. basically, I don't know if this is true of everyone, but I tend to lean into the style of whatever I'm reading at the time. I also think it helps, if you like audiobooks, to listen to audiobooks in the style you want to write in! Especially with older works, audiobook narrators are really good at getting the flow and cadence of the language across, and it helps get your mind flowing along and sort of "hooked in" to that style. or it does for me at least!

ALSO I do jot down a lot of notes, specifically little turns of phrase that I like! so for example, I wrote down to use the word "directly" meaning "right now" (as in, "I will read you the letter directly") and "presently" meaning "in a short time" (as in, "we're expecting his arrival presently"). Little things like moving words around too ("what have you there" rather than "what do you have there" etc) give it that sort of feel. if that makes sense. i just take a lot of notes

One tip I will give is that a little really goes a long way with old-timey language. I notice it less when listening to the audiobooks, but in older books the sentences are LOOOOOOOONG which is what makes them so hard to parse sometimes. And often in romance novels that take place in victorian or regency era they'll overdo the language to the point that it makes you roll your eyes (though I'm sure I've done that once or twice too)

ANYWAY I'M PRATTLING ON SORRY as for the plotting. I have a bare-bones skeleton that has all the larger plot twists in it, so I can make sure to foreshadow things. That being said, I think part of what's fun about a serial fic is coming up with things as you go while still having to stay true to what you've already written. One thing I will say is that it's EXTREMELY helpful to keep a couple cheat sheets: one is a timeline, which keeps track of all the events that happened in the past, when they happened, etc. The other is a list keeping track of what every character knows and when they find it out. It's saved me many times when I've forgotten who's aware of what secrets etc.

YOU'RE NOT NOSY AT ALL and in fact I'm seriously thrilled to get an ask like this bc i could talk about writing for days. I hope your fic goes well and that you have fun with it ^^

[asterrrrion]

Just saw someone on pinterest saying "idk is Verlaine french" and actually you know what this is the last straw. So, I'm french, I've studied both of those authors in middle and high school, and it's time to discuss what they were really like, because I see a lot of information on japanese authors going around in the bsd fandoms and the american authors generally don't need to be introduced.

So, first off, to start with the obvious, YES. Verlaine is french. So is Rimbaud. Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine are both very famous 19th century french poets. Actually, Rimbaud is arguably the most famous french poet ever, and usually the first author you ever study in poetry when you study french literature. Verlaine is, today, mostly known for his association to Rimbaud, although his poems are still read.

Starting off with the less mentally unstable of the two... Paul Verlaine. Which, if the only thing you know about those authors is bsd canon, is probably surprising to you. (But tbh, I have so many questions about WHY they were represented like that in BSD.....) Fair warning, though : the less mentally unstable of the two isn't saying much. Both of them were complete madmen.

Paul Verlaine is this guy :

Ironically, Paul Verlaine is his birth name. He was born in 1844, started to write in 1858 at the age of 14, and died in 1895 at the age of 51. His most known book is his first one, Saturnian Poems, published in 1866, so if we ever get an ability name, it'll probably be that. Saturnian, because at the time, Saturn was considered to be the planet of melancholy, which in the 19th century didn't mean a weird sort of nostalgia, but rather an undiagnosed depression. He's the archetype of the tortured poet - a concept he majorly theorised himself -, basically, and was either appreciated by his contemporaries as a genius poet or depreciated as a mad asshole (most of which is due to his story with Rimbaud).

He got along "well" with his mother, except for the part where he tried to murder her because he was sad the girl he loved married someone else and then died. More seriously, his parents loved him, and his father passed in 1865. His relationship with his mom was both very loving and very violent - as I said, murder attempt, but he lived with her also -, and he was in love with his cousin, Elisa, an orphan who was raised with him. He wanted to marry her but she settled for a rich guy and then died giving birth in 1867. Afterwards, he got very into alcohol and violence. He then finally married Mathilde Mauté, 17, for whom he wrote a few love poems. They had a son a few years later.

He wrote a shit ton of poems, I'm not kidding. He's mainly known for Saturnian Poems, but also a bit famous for his erotic poetry - which i'm not a big fan of,,, -, mainly because he wrote both about men and women.

His literary movement was the Parnassian movement, whose main point is to make art for art, for beauty, and to detach art from any notion of usefulness.

He was, as a whole, a piece of shit. He beat his wife and his son extremely violently, sometimes almost to death. His wife divorced him after four years of marriage, in 1874.

I'll do the next part introducing Rimbaud soon, I guess, and then probably a last one to talk about their relationship.

[allmoshnobrain]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 17 of ? | masterpost

word count: 3117 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

We kicked back and enjoyed our breakfast, talking and laughing while the music played softly from the record player. I smiled, soaking in the scene, letting it stick in my memory: the morning sun streaming in, sneaking through the window, hitting Dave's ginger hair and lighting up his face. His hands deftly cutting the fruits, the juice from the strawberries he held dribbling down the knife blade as he chatted with me, the sound of his voice filling up the room.  It was calm.  Like pure happiness.

✦ summary: Amidst their new shared life, Dave and Nore create a memorable celebration for Nore's 19th birthday, with a surprise date and unexpected gifts.

✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, romance, fluff

✦ a/n: Hello! I think this is one of the longest chapters in the story so far, but I wanted to keep it all in one part since it's a special for Nore's 19th birthday! Plus, I wanted to give them a cute moment before the angst makes a comeback, hehe. By the way, in case any of you were curious, Nore was born on June 20. Yep, she's a Gemini! In my mind, that makes a lot of sense lol Hope you enjoyed it, and comments and feedback are totally welcome! ❤

✧ when I’m sad, she comes to me / with a thousand smiles / she gives to me free / it’s alright, she said / it’s alright / take anything you want from me / you can take anything, anything ✧

Dave and I were happy living together, at least for the following weeks. Those were the days when we were more in love than ever; Dave’s love for me burned as bright as the anger he felt towards the world and his past. He was like fire, intense and desperate, and I remember knowing, even back then, that I would never be the same again after being loved like that.

Our routine was calm, even though we had our fair share of hurdles, especially when it came to money. Dave worked at a car wash for a few weeks, but then he went back to just selling his drugs. He said it was just easier this way, plus it gave him time to focus on his music. He’d spend his days jamming, practicing, and creating, perfecting old solos, sketching lyrics for his songs.

I ended up going back to my old drawing hobby; it wasn’t too long before I found myself sketching all sorts of portraits of him, trying to capture the way his forehead would scrunch up a bit when he was too focused, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his lips. Our days were filled with art and each other's presence. And, for a while, that was enough.

As the days rolled by after being kicked out of the band, Dave's low spirits started to ease up, being replaced bit by bit with a fierce determination. Dave was still kind and sweet to me, but to the rest of the world, he seemed even more rebellious and angry than before. He was getting into fights even more often than usual, and he was having a real hard time getting a new band together, as many of his friends just didn't want to deal with his more and more common bursts of anger.

I watched these events unfold with a heavy heart, trying my best to help him. I knew he was putting on this front because he was hurting. He never let himself cry in front of me, but his sleep was restless, and many times I would wake up in the middle of the night because of how tormented he was by his nightmares. He'd hold onto me real tight, like he was scared I'd just vanish, and only then could we both finally go back to sleep.

In the middle of all the chaos, he loved me like he’d never loved before, and I knew that most of my days would end with me wrapped in his arms, surrendering to his touch as he undressed me, kissed me, and loved me. And there, with him, I felt alive.

Sometime down the road, I scored a new job at a neighborhood’s record store. The owner had a daughter around my age named Patricia, and even though the store got pretty busy, things there had a pretty chill pace. We'd spend our days talking and reading all the music magazine articles in the store. Turns out we had quite the same taste when it came to music, and it didn't take long for us to become friends.

Time flew by quickly, and before I knew it, my birthday had arrived. I stretched with a sigh as I woke up, soaking in the sunlight sneaking in through the curtain. I sat up in bed, surprised that Dave wasn't there; he usually snoozed in later than me. I got up, heading to the living room still in my pajamas, and caught a nice smell of cooking in the air.

"Hey there," I yawned when I spotted Dave, looking very focused while cooking something. 

"Morning, birthday girl. Happy birthday," Dave looked up and flashed me a grin. I leaned on the doorframe, watching with a smile as he turned off the stove and plated the scrambled eggs he was whipping up. "Was gonna bring you breakfast in bed, but you beat me to it."

"I can totally go back to bed if you want," I teased. He chuckled, coming closer, and put his hands on my hips before planting a little kiss on my forehead.

"Don't sweat it. Go get changed, I'll set the table."

I went through my usual morning routine and changed up before heading back to the living room. Stepped into the room, and there was Dave, all set up at the table with various foods: he'd chopped up some fruit, whipped up scrambled eggs, poured orange juice, and there were even some pancakes. A Fleetwood Mac song was coming softly from the record player, which made me smile because they were one of my favorite bands.

"Not claiming to be a master chef here, but I hope you like it," he said, flashing a smile as he took his spot at the table. I poured some juice for myself. 

"I loved it, Dave," I grinned right back at him. "Thanks." 

"So, you got work today or what? 'Cause I've got a few things lined up for us," he asked. 

"Nope, not today. Boss gave me the day off," I said, tilting my head, kinda curious. "What's the plan?" 

"Ah, now that's a surprise," he grinned, and I playfully rolled my eyes, giving a little chuckle.

We kicked back and enjoyed our breakfast, talking and laughing while the music played softly from the record player. I smiled, soaking in the scene, letting it stick in my memory: the morning sun streaming in, sneaking through the window, hitting Dave's ginger hair and lighting up his face. His hands deftly cutting the fruits, the juice from the strawberries he held dribbling down the knife blade as he chatted with me, the sound of his voice filling up the room. 

It was calm. 

Like pure happiness.

Our moment got thrown off by a sudden knock on the door. Dave furrowed his brow, looking annoyed at the door before he got up to answer it. I watched, curious, as he swung the door open and headed outside to talk to someone who looked like a delivery person. He was taking way longer than I thought, and I was about to go check things out, but it wasn't needed. I jumped when Dave came rushing in, looking more excited than I had seen him in weeks. 

"You've gotta check this out," he said, grabbing my hand. "Come on."

"What?" I laughed, trailing behind him as we ran down the stairs of the building, making a beeline for the garage. But he just chuckled low and kept tugging me along. "Dave. What's going on?" I let out this little shriek that turned into laughter when he came to a sudden stop, almost causing me to crash into him if he hadn't steadied me, holding me close. I took a step back, a bit out of breath and kinda baffled, a little smile creeping up on my lips. "Alright, tell me."

“You tell me,” he said, handing over an envelope. I furrowed my brow, puzzled. "This one's for you." 

"You brought me down to the garage for an envelope?" I joked. 

"Nope," he laughed, nodding towards our apartment's parking spot. "Check that out."

My mouth opened in amazement as I glanced over at the parking spot. Right next to Dave's old Mazda was the most jaw-dropping motorcycle I'd ever seen, shiny and new with an electric blue paint that almost seemed to glow. 

"Dave, what the fuck?" I turned to him, totally incredulous, and he laughed. "Did you buy this thing?" 

"I wish. That envelope came along. Maybe you should open it."

I popped the envelope open quickly, excited to crack this case, and my eyebrows shot up when I yanked out the motorcycle keys and a letter, with a handwriting I instantly recognized as my mother’s.

"Dear Eleanore, 

I hope you know that despite recent events, your dad and I care deeply about you. And of course, we couldn't forget your birthday! 

I must admit, I was a bit surprised to hear that you're living in Los Angeles instead of staying with your cousin. You know Long Beach is right around the corner, so your dad suggested that a decent ride would be an ideal birthday gift. 

Consider it a vote of trust after what happened last year. 

Enjoy your day! 

Love, 

Clémence Burton 

p.s.: We heard you're living with your boyfriend. We hope to meet him soon."

"Check this out," I said, handing him the letter while I scooted over to get a closer look at my gift. Dave skimmed through the text in the letter, raising an eyebrow. 

"You're a spoiled little rich kid," he laughed, flicking the letter back at me. I caught it and rolled my eyes with a grin. "Your mom sounds kinda scary."

"That's just how she is. But don't stress over it," I replied. 

"It's kinda hard not to think about it all," he said, gazing at the motorcycle with a sort of longing look. "Damn, Nore. I knew your family had money, but..." 

"Yeah, they're loaded. But I'm not," I said, playfully. Dave rolled his eyes but smirked. 

"If my mom was packing cash, I'd be hittin' her up for way more than your basic allowance every month. You've got any clue how many drugs you could score with the price of this bike?" 

I scoffed, my face getting a bit warm. It was sweet to get a gift like that, no doubt, but even though my parents had money, I wasn't too keen on relying on it. I learned early on that taking their money meant taking their rules, and that wasn't something I wanted anymore.

"Let's go back inside," I changed the subject, grabbing Dave's hand. He laced his fingers with mine, the warmth of his skin helping to shake off some of the frustration that talking about my parents always stirred up. We went back up the stairs to our apartment.

"Can I get a killer bike like that for my birthday?" he blurted out, and I laughed. 

"Isn't your birthday kinda far off?" I quipped as we reentered the apartment. I watched as he grabbed his leather jacket and house keys. “You headed out?“

"Yeah, but I won't be gone long," he grinned and planted a small kiss on my forehead. "Got some deliveries to make. Be ready for your surprise when I'm back, cool? We're going out at five."

“Do I need to wear something specific?” I tried to squeeze a hint about his scheme out of him, but he just grinned back, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

"Nah, just look stunning. I mean, that's a given with you, anyway," he cupped my face in his hands, planting a bunch of small kisses on my lips and making me giggle. "See you in a bit." 

"Later, Dave."

Dave left, and I focused on clearing the breakfast table, nibbling on the leftover fruits as I stored the food and tidied up the dishes. Then I focused on picking the outfit I would wear to celebrate my birthday. I was on the hunt for my Motörhead tee in the pile of shirts at the end of the bed when I heard the phone ring and rushed to answer it.

"Hello."

"Hey, Nore."

"Cliff?? " I asked, stunned, a mixed bag of feelings flooding in as I heard his voice. I missed him, because we hadn't been talking for weeks. I was angry, too, because there was one very obvious reason why we weren't talking; I hadn't exactly worked through the sting of Dave being kicked out yet. And even if I wasn't ready to admit it, I was stoked to hear Cliff's voice again. To know he was there. "How'd you even know my number?" I finally managed to ask. He let out a sigh.

"It ain't rocket science when you've given your address to my mom... I can't believe you're living with Dave." 

My cheeks warmed up.

"Yeah, he asked and I... I didn't think it would be a problem."

“Your mom’s pissed, you know?” 

“Yeah. I figured. But you know I don't care.”

He let out a soft chuckle.

"Happy birthday, by the way," he said.

"Oh, thanks," 

"Do you want to chat with Lars and James? They wanted to wish you a happy birthday too."

I paused. The way Cliff spoke, it was almost like the past few weeks of silence because of Dave hadn't happened. I could never hold a grudge against him for too long, but being upset with Lars and James was a new experience for me. It was kind of confusing, especially after that call from James a few weeks back. I admit I tried not to dwell on it — the desire and longing I had heard in his voice that night, the way he seemed genuinely distressed not to have me around. 

I definitely wasn't ready to deal with that.

"I think I'll pass for now," I said quickly. "It's just that..."

"You’re still pissed off at us?" Cliff's tone carried a tinge of disappointment.

"It's not exactly that. It's just... complicated. But please tell them I appreciate it."

"Alright. Will you be around when I'm back?"

I hesitated, but who was I kidding? Despite all the trouble with Dave and the guys, I couldn't really stay away from Cliff.

"Yeah, sure," I said, a small smile involuntarily creeping onto my lips.

"See you then."

"Later, Cliff."

Dave showed up right at five to pick me up for the birthday surprise. I was in the middle of fixing my outfit when the jingle of keys at the door hit my ears. Soon enough, he showed up, casually leaning against the bathroom door frame.

"Hey, babe. You look hot," he said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

"Hi," I finished fixing my hair and turned to face him with a smile. "I'm all set. So, are you gonna spill the beans on where we're headed?" 

"Patience, my dear. You'll know soon enough. Ready to roll?"

I followed him to the car, sneakily studying his expression for any clues about what was in store, but he just shot me a knowing smile as we cruised out of the apartment parking lot.

"Why are you staring at me?" he smirked.

"Just curious. You gonna let me in on the secret plan?" 

"Guess patience isn't your strongest suit, huh?" he chuckled, and I playfully rolled my eyes.

At last, we pulled up to a spot where a line of cars had already formed for parking. I looked at the scene curiously, letting out a soft chuckle when Dave used one hand to cover my eyes. 

"Dave, what's the deal?" 

"Just keep 'em shut, alright? Trust me, it's gonna be worth it."

I followed his lead, even though my curiosity was on the brink. I waited, a smirk tugging at my lips, while he kept driving and then deftly maneuvered the car. Finally, he parked, and I heard a rustling sound as he grabbed something from the back seat. I fought the urge to sneak a peek. 

"Alright, eyes open," he announced, and I obeyed, taking in the scene unfolding around me with a grin that just kept growing; we were in an open field, the sun dipping toward the horizon as cars settled around us. And right in front of us, a big screen stood, still turned off.

"A drive-in theater?" I exclaimed, my excitement evident. I looked over at Dave and noticed he had a bunch of snack packs and soda cans in his hands. 

"Well, you're a movie fan, right? Figured it'd be a cool idea," he handed me a bag of chips and a can of cola. 

"I love it," I grinned, reaching for his hand. "What's on the movie list?" 

"Indiana Jones. I know it's not exactly the most romantic choice, but it was the only flick playing today..." 

"Dave, you brought me to a drive-in on my birthday. That's pretty romantic in my book," I quipped with a soft laugh, and he smiled, pulling me a bit closer and planting a gentle kiss on my lips. "Plus, I like Indiana Jones," I added, and he chuckled.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, stars started to twinkle in the night sky, and the movie began. I tried my best to follow the storyline and enjoy the chips and soda Dave had considerately gotten, but I couldn't resist exchanging glances and grins with him. Before long, those glances turned into his hand finding my waist and pulling me close as I surrendered to his kisses, the movie almost entirely forgotten as we basked in each other's warmth.

I let myself stay in his embrace as the movie wrapped up and the credits rolled, a smile gracing my lips as I absentmindedly played with his hair, feeling a light flush in my cheeks as he gazed back at me.

"So, did you enjoy your day?" he asked softly.

"It was amazing. Thanks, Dave," I smiled.

"Hey, it's not over yet," he teased, and I let out a soft chuckle. Leaning over, he popped open the car compartment and retrieved a small package, handing it to me. My eyes fixed on the little box, and then I glanced up at him, intrigued. "Couldn't let the day go by without a little something." 

I opened the box, a warm feeling spreading through me as I caught sight of its contents: a silver necklace with a delicate blue stone pendant. Dave gently took the box from my hands, sweeping my hair aside to clasp the necklace around my neck. His fingers traced the curve of the chain, cradling the tiny stone in his palm before he looked at me with that familiar smile. 

"Reminded me of you when I saw it. Thought it'd suit you," he shared, and I chuckled softly. "Even if it's not quite as grand as that motorcycle..." 

"Shut up, Dave," I whispered, drawing him into a tender kiss. His laughter brushed against my lips, the kiss as easy and familiar as always. Pulling back, I met his gaze, my eyes locked with his as his hand cupped my chin. "I love it. Thank you." 

A soft smile curved his lips as his hand found mine, our fingers intertwining while I rested my head against his shoulder. I allowed myself to linger there, embracing the happiness I felt, the solace and comfort his presence brought, and how things had certainly changed for the better since the disaster of my last birthday.

I didn't know what the next year held for me, but I hoped it would be just like that day: brimming with happiness and peace, despite everything.

And with the boy I loved by my side.